The relentless saturation bombardment lasted for more than thirty minutes before the final shell completed its descent. When the last explosion faded, the once-famous New York coastline had been reduced to a smoldering wasteland. The beach itself was blasted ten meters deep into the earth, and every surrounding building had been annihilated down to its foundations. What remained was a vast cratered plain—scorched, cratered, and eerily silent—carved into existence by the sheer force of modern firepower.
"Landing zone secure! Commence troop deployment!"
"AWACS, continue ground scans! Maintain confirmation of a clear landing area!"
The hovercraft landing vessels, heavy with soldiers, tanks, and armored carriers, surged forward over the waves toward the smoking shoreline. The stars and stripes fluttered proudly above them—but the men beneath it wore grim expressions.
What kind of enemy, they wondered, could possibly deserve this level of destruction?
At the edge of the ruined beach, a single ordinary zombie stumbled through the drifting smoke. Its arms had been blown off, its body charred and broken—a pathetic sight, hardly a threat to anyone. Yet the vigilant American surveillance drones picked it up immediately.
"Enemy sighted on the B-Sector perimeter! Requesting fire support!"
"Coordinates confirmed. Launching Tomahawk!"
The zombie staggered forward for a few seconds longer before pausing, as though it could somehow sense what was coming. It looked up just in time to see the descending silhouette of a cruise missile, its warhead many times larger than the creature itself.
The impact crushed it flat—long before the missile even detonated.
"BOOM!"
A deafening explosion followed. The blast left behind a crater fifteen meters wide and six meters deep, vaporizing what little remained of the undead creature.
From the command center at the top of the New Umbrella Corporation tower, Marcus watched the display screens with faint amusement. "Looks like the U.S. military's decided to spare no expense," he remarked. "That's very much Tony's style—if it doesn't work, just throw more money at it."
Standing beside him, the Winter Soldier nodded. "This battle will decide whether the United States survives as a global power. They won't hold anything back." He gestured toward the holographic map, where clusters of blue lights marked the American forces advancing inland. "Their plan is straightforward: three divisions advancing along separate routes toward central Queens. Once they establish a forward command base, they'll fan out and begin cleansing operations."
Marcus smiled, tapping a finger rhythmically on the table. "Good. Send in small groups of ordinary zombies first—just enough to lull them into thinking we're weak. Don't activate their adrenal mutations yet. Let them believe they're winning… then give them a surprise they'll never forget."
On the massive tactical displays before them, the first wave of American troops and superheroes had already made landfall. War Machine, Black Widow, Ant-Man, Hawkeye, Black Panther, and Falcon led the assault. Behind them marched tens of thousands of U.S. soldiers, supported by tanks, artillery, and mechanized carriers as they began pushing into Queens.
The heroes stood ready for combat. War Machine unfolded an arsenal of cannons and missile pods from his armor; Black Widow armed herself with the BFG plasma cannon, the same type Marcus had once wielded; Hawkeye prepared a high-tech composite bow loaded with specialized arrows; Black Panther's vibranium claws gleamed beneath the morning light; Falcon spread his mechanical wings and ascended into the sky with twin SMGs at the ready.
As for Ant-Man—he had already vanished, no doubt scurrying off with his insect army to some unseen position.
Once the troops entered the city's outer districts, they began encountering small pockets of zombies. Slow and disorganized, these creatures posed no real threat to the well-trained soldiers. Most were shredded by automatic rifle fire before they could even close the distance. Those that did reach the frontlines were pulverized by the M1 Abrams tanks, their reinforced armor shrugging off the zombies' futile claws. The few that survived that long were incinerated by flamethrowers, their remains reduced to ash.
The human alliance advanced like an unstoppable machine. Everywhere they went, they left nothing but charred corpses and burning rubble. The M16 rifles barked rhythmically, 105mm tank shells demolished entire buildings, and fire troopers swept the streets with roaring flames, ensuring that nothing could get within reach.
It was a massacre—clean, efficient, and entirely one-sided.
Even the fighter squadrons circling above found little to do. The air was clear, the resistance minimal, and the heroes themselves—those who had expected a desperate struggle—now found themselves being protected by the very soldiers they had come to assist.
The battlefield had become almost absurdly easy. It felt less like a war, and more like a live-fire training exercise.
After all, this wasn't a movie. No matter how many variations of the zombie virus one imagined, there had never been a creature born that could withstand the full force of modern American weaponry.
With their lines tightly organized and firepower synchronized, the U.S. forces pushed deeper and deeper into Queens. When obstacles appeared, they called in air strikes to flatten them. If reconnaissance drones spotted even four zombies in one location, cruise missiles were immediately deployed to wipe the area clean. It was warfare at its most absolute—a march of overwhelming fire and iron.
By the time the three divisions reached their designated checkpoints, casualties were almost nonexistent—save for a few unlucky soldiers caught in friendly fire. The operation had gone so smoothly that some joked it felt like a parade through the apocalypse.
Watching the feed from the Helicarrier, Admiral Wilde smirked proudly. "You see? I told you all this panic was unnecessary. With this kind of firepower, we could conquer any nation on Earth. You were worried about zombies? This couldn't be going better."
But Nick Fury did not share his enthusiasm. His single eye remained fixed on the tactical display, unblinking, his expression grim.
"Don't celebrate yet, Admiral," he said quietly. "We both know HYDRA and A.I.M. are behind this. And so far, none of their people have shown themselves…"
He trailed off, his gaze darkening.
"…which means they're waiting."
_____
T/N:
For readers who would like early access, my Patreon is available for just $4 per month. You'll unlock 90+ advance chapters and help support ongoing works.
🔗 patreon.com/user?u=79514336
You may also search Translator-Sama directly on Patreon.
Your support is sincerely appreciated