Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse
Chapter 252 - 252: Smoke Beyond the Ridge

39 Days Since First Strike — Forward Operating Post Echo, Camarines Sur

Dawn had not yet broken, but the jungle was already alive.

Chirping insects, creaking bamboo, and the low hum of Echo's generators blended into a constant drone of life—natural and mechanical. Lieutenant Ramirez stood near the observation platform, his eyes locked on a thermal feed from the drone patrol that had gone up an hour earlier.

Behind him, the engineers were finalizing the last segment of Echo's wall—a modular, lightweight barricade reinforced with metal salvaged from a collapsed cell tower.

Phillip's voice came through on comms. "Any signs of the source?"

"Negative," Ramirez replied. "But the southern ridge lit up five minutes ago. Controlled burns. Not wildfire. Someone's clearing land."

Phillip didn't answer right away. Then: "We'll need Eagle."

Same Time — MOA Complex, Command Center

Thomas Estaris entered the control room just as the first live feed displayed on the main screen. It showed a wide stretch of jungle rising into a high slope. Thick smoke curled from a dozen fires—orderly, methodical, and likely man-made.

Keplar pointed to one screen. "See the symmetry? They're cutting forest. Could be for agriculture. Could be defensive."

"Or industrial," Sato added. "It's too early to tell."

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "What are the odds this is a rebel group?"

Keplar hesitated. "Fifty-fifty. No flag, no emblems. Just activity. But they're organized. That's not just survival. That's strategy."

"We need to know who they are before we move in."

Phillip nodded. "Then let's do it the old way. Shadow scouts. Long-range recon. No contact."

40 Days Since First Strike — Jungle South of Site Echo

Shadow Scout Elias crept through the underbrush, his camo netting streaked with jungle mud. His drone hovered low, only ten feet above the canopy, its rotor blades nearly silent. The feed it transmitted flickered for a second—then came into focus.

An elevated village. Not huts, but structures. Two-story buildings made of reclaimed concrete, sheet metal, and what looked like salvaged construction scaffolding. Solar panels. Rain catchers. Wind turbines. A large clearing surrounded it—burned clean, likely for farming or visibility. Defensive trenches lined the outer perimeter. Watchtowers.

Elias whispered into his mic. "Definitely not a random settlement. They're fortified. Disciplined patrol patterns. Some guards are wearing uniforms—mix of military fatigues and improvised armor."

He paused, zooming in.

"Also… I count at least three spotters. They're using field binoculars, maybe even scopes. They know the terrain."

Back at Echo, Thomas listened in through the secure relay line.

"This could be former AFP," Phillip muttered. "Or a breakaway military enclave."

Thomas folded his arms. "Or worse—mercenaries."

Later That Night — MOA Complex, Command Hall

The images from Elias's recon were displayed on the projector. Dozens of photos—guards with rifles, crates marked with faded logistics codes, power relays, even a radio tower with a blinking red light.

"They're broadcasting," Sato observed. "Shortwave, most likely. Encrypted loops."

"Can we break it?" Thomas asked.

Keplar shook his head. "Not yet. But we've picked up similar signals from the Zambales mountains two weeks ago. That could mean they're connected."

"Or the same group."

Phillip leaned forward. "You're thinking a network."

Thomas nodded. "It's not just pockets of survivors anymore. We're looking at entire power blocs. Some will want peace. Others might see us as a threat."

"And if they're armed?" Keplar asked.

"Then we don't lead with weapons. We lead with water, power, and medicine."

Phillip raised an eyebrow. "You really think goodwill will get through to a faction that's been off the grid since the Fall?"

Thomas turned to him, voice even. "If they're sane, they'll want to survive. And if they're not… then we have other methods."

41 Days Since First Strike — Jungle Clearing, Observation Ridge

The next recon team had set up a semi-permanent overwatch station camouflaged under a blanket of vines. With their equipment trained on the fortified village below, they observed for nearly eight hours.

The report that came back confirmed Elias's initial findings—about 120 to 150 people. At least 30 were fighters, armed and patrolling regularly. The rest seemed to be builders, technicians, farmers. No signs of infected. No corpses. No prisoners.

They were a functioning community.

But what stood out most was a single flag raised atop the tallest structure—a dark red cloth bearing a faded symbol: a clenched fist inside a broken circle.

Keplar examined it on screen. "That's not random. It's deliberate. Might be a warlord faction. Might be a resistance cell."

"Or a new order," Sato said.

Thomas studied the emblem. "They haven't attacked anyone. No raids, no broadcasts, no forced displacements. They're focused inward."

"And that makes them dangerous," Phillip added.

Thomas didn't disagree.

42 Days Since First Strike — Temporary Conference, Lucena

A new planning council had been assembled. Raul from Redsand joined via secure feed. Captain Rosario from the northern enclaves was patched in from Cabanatuan. Even Dr. Sato's assistant was present—representing the southern basin evacuees.

Thomas stood before them all.

"We have reason to believe another organized faction exists in southern Luzon," he began. "They are disciplined, armed, and self-sufficient. We do not yet know their ideology or intent. But we have to prepare for three possibilities."

He raised one finger. "First, they're friendly. Isolationist, but open to diplomacy."

A second. "Second, they're indifferent. Neutral. Willing to exist, but not interact."

A third. "Or third… they're hostile. And they've just been waiting for someone to approach."

Silence followed.

Raul was the first to speak. "We hid to survive. If they did the same, they may be as scared of us as we are of them."

Captain Rosario added, "But if they're armed with old-world hardware and the will to use it… diplomacy must come with eyes open and shields ready."

Thomas nodded. "Agreed. Which is why we won't send a delegation unarmed. Phillip and I will go ourselves—with backup on standby."

Sato frowned. "That's reckless."

"It's necessary," Thomas said. "We don't just expand territory. We expand trust. Or we're no better than warlords."

43 Days Since First Strike — En Route to Fortified Village

The tiltrotor passed over the highland jungle in near silence, carrying Thomas, Phillip, two scouts, and a medic.

As they approached the coordinates, the pilot radioed: "Contact made. The settlement acknowledged our presence. They've sent a team to meet at the southern landing field. No shots fired."

Thomas looked out the window. "Let's see who they are."

The aircraft set down in a burned clearing. A reception party was already waiting—five individuals, all armed but weapons slung low. In the center was a woman—tall, dark hair in a braid, and eyes sharp as knives.

She spoke first.

"You're Overwatch," she said.

Thomas nodded. "And you are?"

"Commander Lira Morales. You're standing on the edge of Fort Calinog. We've held this ground for twenty months. Welcome."