RTS System in the Apocalypse: New World

The highway grew quiet after Golden Eagle passed through.

On each side were swiftly-made dug-outs.

The soldiers and vehicles were stationed on both ends, covering not only the highway but the area around it.

Every individual unit remained calm. Their weapons were cold from all the wait, and now, the time had come to warm them up.

The red tide was still at least a kilometer away.

However, at that moment, one of the Vanguard MBTs adjusted its cannon.

”Big Rhino to all Vanguards,” Big Rhino spoke on their radio channel. ”Giddy up. Bogeys on the way. Acquire your targets!”

”War Elephant copies!”

”Siege Bear, ready to rock and roll.”

”...”

Multiple cannons shifted at the same time.

Their barrels lowered slightly, following the white targeting rings spreading across the Radar map. The infected were still far enough to look like a crawling stain on the highway, but each squad had already divided them into clusters and priority groups.

Big Rhino smiled inside the turret.

”Load HE.”

”Loaded!”

”Range?”

”Twelve hundred and closing!”

”Wind?”

”Negligible!”

”Then let’s make the Commander proud. Let it loose!”

The first shell left the barrel. The ground shook in response.

Far ahead, the center of the red tide disappeared under fire and flying asphalt. Tens of infected shattered as soon as the projectile exploded. Those around them fell in twos and threes, killed by extremely lethal shrapnel

War Elephant fired not a second later.

Another cluster of infected was swallowed by the resulting explosion, yet it didn’t end there.

Siege Bear immediately followed up, not letting these infected a moment of rest.

The other MBTs joined the rhythm.

One cannon after another.

The highway flashed with fire. Explosions walked across the red tide, ripping gaps into the swarm before more infected crawled over the dead and filled them again.

Inside Big Rhino, the loader grinned.

”That’s a lot of targets.”

”Don’t get romantic,” Big Rhino replied. ”Load another.”

”HE loaded!”

The gunner adjusted the sight, following the next white ring on the Radar overlay.

The infected were closer now, but that wasn’t a problem. There were more in the back, and it was their job to whittle as much infected as they could before the enemy arrives close for the infantry to engage.

”Range?”

”Ten hundred!”

”Second volley. Pick the fat clusters. We want this promotion first than the rest.”

”Gladly.”

The cannon fired again.

War Elephant followed.

Then Siege Bear.

The next line of explosions struck deeper into the swarm, blasting runners, crawlers, and ordinary infected into the broken pavement.

The red tide did not stop, yet they continued.

In front of the tank line, the Machine Gunners watched through their sights. Their fingers rested against their MGs’ cold triggers. It was not the time yet.

Beside them, the Guardian GIs waited with MK19 Grenade Launchers fixed behind metal plates and broken car frames. Their launchers were angled slightly upward, not aiming at one infected, but at the places where the swarm would become thickest.

Cars blocked portions of the road ahead, but that was not a problem. Sooner or later, the infected would flood around those wrecks and squeeze themselves into clusters. That was where the grenades would fall.

The squad leaders beside them looked at the Radar map.

”Hold.”

The Machine Gunners and Guardian GIs held their breaths.

They lay behind broken sedans, concrete dividers, and shallow cuts in the asphalt made earlier by the Engineers. Sandbags and torn metal plates covered the front of their positions. From a distance, they looked like another pile of highway wreckage.

Only the muzzles gave them away.

The tanks behind them fired again.

The shells passed overhead with a sound that made their skin crawl coldly. Nobody flinched, used to such stimulation.

Their lanes had already been marked on the Radar map. Their danger arcs, firing sectors, and covered gaps glowed faintly over their vision.

Incidents of friendly fire was considered a negligible chance; unless one was very stupid to stand right in front of the tank’s cannon...

The red tide finally crossed the eight hundred meters mark.

Then seven.

Then six.

By the time they were clear on sight, the Vanguards had reduced their number greatly than before.

The Machine Gunner closest to the wrecked bus breathed slowly through his nose.

”Not yet?” he muttered.

”Not yet,” the squad leader replied.

The tanks fired another volley, eliminating more bodies. However, a few more replaced their death.

Five hundred meters.

The squad leader’s hand lowered halfway.

”Prepare.”

Their weapons shifted slowly. Ammo belts were straightened. Army Soldiers and Conscripts on the flanks adjusted their grips.

Four hundred.

The red tide was now visible, or rather, the black tide of infected ignorantly running toward their death.

”MGs, fire!”

The cold weapons warmed at once.

M249s tore across the highway in long, controlled bursts. The Machine Gunners did not chase individual infected. Each team owned a lane. Their barrels swept through knees, torsos, and skulls, cutting down the front of the swarm before it could properly reach the wreckage.

The first rows collapsed without a doubt.

The ones behind them tripped, soon riddled by bullets.

Then the second sweep came.

Beside them, the Guardian GIs remained still for two more breaths.

Their MK19s were already deployed, tripods locked, shields planted into the asphalt, HUD rangefinders correcting the arc of every shot. The swarm was not yet ripe enough for them to take action yet.

The MGs were already doing a good job. Mixing too much firepower would waste ammunition and destroy their timing.

Three hundred meters.

The infected poured around broken cars and squeezed between concrete dividers, bunching themselves into clusters that were much to the Guardian GI’s liking.

The Guardian GI nearest the wrecked bus smiled under his helmet. He was waiting for his squad leader for the command.

The squad leader watched the Radar map.

Several white circles bloomed over the thickest knots.

”Guardian GIs, fire.”

The MK19s answered with heavy thumps.

Grenades arced over the machine-gun lanes and dropped into the clusters. Each explosion was smaller than a tank shell, but meaner in repetition.

One burst after another walked across the tide, shredding infected packed too tightly to dodge, think, or understand.

Runners fell apart mid-stride. Crawlers flipped from the pavement, overwhelmed by the ridiculous number of projectiles aimed at it.

A lasher trying to drag itself over a sedan disappeared under two quick detonations.

The Machine Gunners cut the swarm flat.

The Guardian GIs broke the piles.

Army Soldiers and Conscripts watched the gaps, rifles ready for anything that survived the meat grinder.

A few did, but not as many.

A runner slipped between two wrecked cars, only to be cut down by three rifles before its feet fully touched the open lane.

A Spitter crawled over the side barrier, mouth already swelling with green fluid. A white ring flashed over its marker. Before the nearest soldier could even shift his muzzle, a sniper round punched through its throat and painted the concrete behind it with corrosive acid.

A Screamer tried next.

The Guardian GI nearest the wrecked bus did not wait for the throat to expand. Two grenades landed around it, killing it before any sound was born.

After that, the highway stopped looking like a battle between an army and the infected.

It had become another Tuesday work.