The instant Corporal Kobe finished transmitting his request for reinforcements, he burst out of the house and sprinted toward the gunfire.
He wasn’t deluding himself into thinking one more rifle would turn the tide.
He’d seen what the corrupted creatures could do. An entire squad had been wiped out by them. If a full unit couldn’t stop them, what chance did a five-man fire team have?
His plan was far simpler.
Hold them back with gunfire for as long as possible. If the line collapsed, fall back into the village and force the monsters into a maze of narrow alleys and mud-brick homes. With enough civilians scattered throughout the settlement, the creatures would be slowed by confusion and divided attention.
All they needed was time.
Once air support arrived, the nightmare would end.
As for the villagers...
Kobe shoved the thought aside.
They weren’t American citizens. They weren’t his family. His mission wasn’t humanitarian aid or UN peacekeeping. He was a U.S. soldier stationed in Afghanistan, not someone expected to throw away his life protecting strangers.
That was the calculation.
Reality greeted him with something entirely different.
The moment the shooting began, he’d expected everyone to barricade themselves indoors.
Instead, the whole village erupted.
Men and women poured into the streets alongside him. Elderly men with gray beards. Elderly women. Teenagers barely old enough to shave. Nearly everyone emerged carrying a weapon.
The arsenal looked like a museum assembled by the Soviet Union.
AK-47s.
Ancient Mosin-Nagant rifles.
Even the occasional RPK light machine gun.
In this stretch of Afghan desert, owning a gun wasn’t a hobby.
It was survival.
The arrival of five American soldiers had already put everyone on edge. The first burst of gunfire sent the village into motion almost by instinct. At first they’d assumed the Americans had started causing trouble again.
Then they saw the enemy.
Trusting U.S. troops was one thing.
Trusting towering humanoid monsters that barely resembled people was another.
The choice became very simple.
Just like that, Kobe found himself backed by more than twenty additional rifles.
"Only three left!" Kobe shouted as he reached O’Neal’s position, firing controlled bursts between words.
"One died during the ambush," O’Neal replied, squeezing off another burst. "Looks like another bled out after we withdrew."
He frowned.
"But they’ve learned."
The remaining three corrupted humans were still roughly two hundred meters from the village.
This time, they weren’t charging empty-handed.
Each one carried the armored door from a Humvee, using it as a massive improvised shield while advancing through the hail of bullets.
It wasn’t a perfect defense.
Kobe and the villagers simply aimed lower.
If the shield protected the head, they’d shoot the legs instead.
Progress slowed to a crawl as rounds hammered into knees, shins, and ankles.
"When’s support getting here?" O’Neal yelled over the gunfire.
"Less than a minute. A drone should arrive first!"
"Great," James shouted. "Let’s hope it drops something that turns those freaks into fertilizer."
Almost on cue, the sharp whine of a turboprop engine echoed overhead.
A Predator drone streaked across the sky.
Everyone looked up.
Kobe.
O’Neal.
James.
Even Jordan and McGrady, still operating the machine gun from the rooftop.
They watched it disappear beyond the horizon.
Silence.
"...Damn it."
O’Neal emptied an angry burst toward the advancing monsters.
"It’s just reconnaissance!"
They’d been fighting for their lives, praying for salvation.
Headquarters had sent a flying camera.
"Hold the line!" Kobe shouted. "If the drone saw us, command knows what’s happening. Air support can’t be more than three minutes away!"
Inside the forward operating base, every eye remained fixed on the Predator’s live feed.
No one spoke.
The creatures on the screen stood over eight feet tall, their bodies grotesquely distorted beyond recognition. They advanced through concentrated rifle fire carrying nothing but scavenged vehicle doors, shrugging off wounds that should have dropped any human.
It looked impossible.
Phil Coulson quietly broke the silence.
"Mutates..."
"What?"
Colonel Huck turned toward him.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
Coulson’s expression remained unreadable.
Without authorization from S.H.I.E.L.D., he had no intention of explaining what he suspected.
Huck studied him for a moment before letting it go.
Whatever those things were, there was a more immediate priority.
"They need air support."
He turned toward operations.
"Authorize concentrated lethal strikes on unidentified hostile organisms. IFF code: TW0300Z."
No one knew what to classify the creatures as.
"Unidentified hostile organisms" would have to do.
The order raced through the command chain.
On the flight line, four pilots sprinted toward two waiting A-10 Thunderbolt II attack aircraft.
Back at the village...
The corrupted humans had closed to within one hundred meters.
One of them absorbed two more rifle rounds.
It threw back its head and roared.
With terrifying strength, it hurled the Humvee door like an oversized discus.
The spinning slab of armored steel screamed through the air.
One villager managed only a single terrified cry.
Then the door sliced cleanly through his torso.
Blood sprayed across the dirt.
"O... holy hell..."
Even O’Neal flinched before resuming fire.
The sight shattered the villagers’ resolve.
People began retreating.
Every person who fled weakened the volume of fire.
Every lull allowed the monsters to advance faster.
Eighty meters.
Seventy.
Forty.
With each step, another defender lost his nerve.
At thirty meters, the three corrupted humans roared in unison.
They discarded their makeshift shields.
Then they charged.
"Machine gun suppression!" Kobe bellowed.
"Fall back into the village!"
Whether anyone could retreat before the monsters reached them was another question entirely.
Then a new sound split the desert sky.
A deep, thunderous roar.
Jet engines.
Every head snapped upward.
Two A-10 Thunderbolt IIs screamed overhead.
"Target area confirmed."
"Commencing attack."
The pilots locked onto the charging monsters.
"Targets acquired."
"Engaging."
The A-10 wasn’t glamorous.
It was old.
Heavy.
Ugly.
But over the deserts of the Middle East, few aircraft were better suited to the job.
The attack planes dove.
Their GAU-8 Avenger rotary cannons unleashed a storm of 30mm shells.
The air itself seemed to vibrate.
A torrent of depleted uranium rounds ripped across the battlefield like metallic rain.
As the aircraft pulled up, Maverick missiles streaked downward and detonated among the targets.
The earth convulsed.
Fire.
Dust.
Fragments.
When the smoke finally cleared...
There was nothing left.
The corrupted humans had been reduced to shredded flesh scattered across the desert.
Powerful or not, they were still made of flesh and blood.
They weren’t the Hulk.
Against overwhelming air power, there wasn’t enough left to recover an intact corpse.
Kobe finally let his rifle fall.
"...It’s over."
He and the rest of the surviving soldiers collapsed onto the ground without caring how ridiculous they looked.
Each of them silently reached the same conclusion.
The moment they got home...
They were putting in their discharge papers.
Coulson stepped out of the command center and switched to a secure communications channel.
"Proceed with the rescue team immediately."
His voice was calm.
"Recover every fragment of those mutates."
He paused.
"I want every last cell."
New York.
Evenson Richter suddenly felt the final thread connecting him to the Middle East snap.
The last corrupted human was dead.
He glanced at his watch.
"Not even twenty-four hours..."
He clicked his tongue.
"That was quicker than expected."
After a moment, he simply shrugged.
"So be it."
A faint smile curled across his lips.
"Hawyster’s operation should be reaching its climax by now."
His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"This one is going to make the Middle East look like a warm-up."
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