"Boom!"
The exploding grenade kicked up a dense cloud of dust and smoke.
Too bad the bullets that struck home were like mosquito bites, utterly incapable of harming it.
Even the grenade blasts couldn't make the surface of the ice cream monster, which looked so easy to melt, show the slightest sign of softening.
Two globs of ice cream snowball punched straight through the top armor of an infantry fighting vehicle and burrowed inside.
"Boom! Boom!"
A violent detonation tore the vehicle apart, scattering fragments in every direction. All that remained on the hard pavement were two deep craters, as if the spot had been shelled by artillery.
"My fuck, never in my life did I think I'd see ice cream turn this terrifying!"
"Bitch, bitch, when I get back I'm gonna eat ice cream every damn day!"
A few American GIs traded wisecracks, using humor to mask the raw fear gripping their hearts.
The ice cream monster drove its fist into the frontal armor of another infantry fighting vehicle that couldn't react in time.
The entire war machine was sent flying by the punch. The churning shockwave shredded the vehicle midair, reducing it to a rain of twisted metal fragments.
The debris fell like a downpour. The surviving soldiers stared blankly at the scene. Their morale shattered. This was not a monster they were equipped to fight.
"...This is nothing but a one-sided slaughter... We don't stand a chance."
A broken soldier's voice crackled over the comm channel.
The wreckage of infantry fighting vehicles practically carpeted the entire street. Residual fuel inside the hulls burned, sparks shooting upward. Steel glowed red-hot. Fires raged everywhere, and thick black smoke billowed into the sky.
A single Demon-level monster had turned Afghanistan into an apocalyptic wasteland. And still, those congressmen on Capitol Hill refused to give up.
By now, it was no longer just about the poppy fields and cannabis crops. America wanted answers. They wanted a result.
That was why they kept pressing the attack. If even their most advanced weaponry couldn't put down one Demon-level freak, then humanity's only hope would rest on superheroes. And that thought made those powerful men deeply uneasy.
The area had fallen eerily silent, like a post-apocalyptic ghost town. Only the crackle of flames disturbed the quiet.
The Taliban and the Ten Rings had been utterly routed, pulling back from the region entirely.
Even most civilians had fled. Those who remained huddled indoors, too terrified to step outside.
At the U.S. military airfield in Afghanistan, C-17 transport planes touched down one after another under the guidance of the control tower. Weighing over seventy tons, these colossal machines roared off the ramp on the power of their gas turbines and assembled just beyond the runway.
The Big Red One. The United States Army's premier fighting force. M1A2 SEPv3 main battle tanks upgraded with new munitions produced by Stark Industries (4 and programmable airburst rounds), a matching ammunition data link, new thermal imagers, and a new remote weapon station. Price tag: twenty million dollars apiece.
M2 Bradley infantry fighting vehicles bristled with blocks of reactive armor.
Well-trained, heavily armed elite infantry.
This was the might that let America lord over other nations, the confidence behind its status as the lone superpower in a multipolar world. Yet ever since monsters and superheroes had burst onto the scene, that power seemed to be losing its worth.
"Why aren't War Machine and Iron Monger deployed here?"
The commander of U.S. forces in Afghanistan bellowed into his phone.
He didn't want tanks or Apaches. He wanted War Machine and Iron Monger!
"Calm down, Commander. The Big Red One has more than enough firepower. Don't put blind faith in War Machine and Iron Monger. In terms of raw firepower alone, the Big Red One outclasses them by a mile."
The voice on the other end replied.
"To hell with firepower! You think I don't know you're refusing to send War Machine and Iron Monger because you're scared for the safety of the Pentagon and Wall Street!"
The commander in Afghanistan couldn't help but curse.
Ever since the Monster Association's global rampage and the near-fall of Wall Street to monsters, America had not only ramped up procurement of War Machine and Iron Monger units but also grounded all existing units from overseas missions. Not a single War Machine or Iron Monger could leave U.S. territory without explicit congressional approval.
Of course, the War Machine and Iron Monger units that Blade Tech Industries had sold to other nations could still operate abroad. There was nothing anyone could do about Zod Heath now.
"Commander, watch your language!"
The commander slammed the phone down, seething.
Sending the Big Red One against that abomination was suicide, wasn't it?
The attack helicopter battalion wasn't even eager to answer frontline support calls. They had a strong feeling they'd end up dead.
The Big Red One soldiers on the front lines, the ones riding tanks and believing in the might of steel behemoths, had already learned their lesson the hard way.
The ice cream monster didn't care about distinctions between Americans, Afghans, Taliban, or Ten Rings. Its mission was simple: destroy the poppy and cannabis crops, and have some fun killing people along the way.
This time, the Taliban and Ten Rings had taken devastating losses. Their foundations were cracked, their strength sapped. The vacuum left behind would likely be filled by American control, used to grow even more poppies and cannabis. Provided, of course, that they could eliminate the monster.
"Requesting support!"
"Monster... Aghh!"
Listening to the coordinates crackling over the comms, the pilots of the attack helicopter battalion said a silent prayer for each other before steering their Apaches toward the front.
Alongside the Apaches came other gunships laden with heavy ordnance. They spotted the ice cream monster from miles out. Hellfire missiles and autocannons roared to life.
"We just need to dump all our Hellfires on it, right?"
One of the helicopter pilots said.
Then a glob of ice cream snowball turned his aircraft into a fireball.
In any other place, kids or dessert lovers might look at a massive ice cream snowball and think it was a dream come true.
But the other pilots who witnessed the scene felt like they might develop a lifelong phobia of ice cream.
"Fuck! That freak's ice cream snowballs hit like a 155mm tank cannon!"
"Evasive maneuvers! Don't let it tag you!"
"I don't fucking believe some ice cream can shrug off bullets and missiles!"
Some helicopter pilots went berserk with adrenaline and fury. Others cowered in sheer terror. Autocannon fire and Hellfire missiles blanketed the ice cream monster. The effect... well, it didn't really make a difference.
After all, dodging the monster's snowballs was next to impossible.
Half an hour later, the Big Red One was completely wiped out.
When the news reached Congress and the President, their faces twisted with disbelief. You had to be kidding. That was the Big Red One! America's elite fighting force!
Were they really so fragile and helpless against a Demon-level monster?
/-\
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