I Have a Modern Weapon Gacha System in the Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 47: Ground-to-Air Engagement

Outside the command center, within the Basa Air Base, the PATRIOT Advanced Capability-3 (PAC-3) launchers stood in fixed positions, angled toward the sky. Their rectangular canisters were already elevated, aligned with the tracking data being fed from the radar array.

The AN/MPQ-65 radar rotated steadily, its phased array locked onto the incoming track. Data streamed in real time—range, velocity, trajectory—all updating in rapid intervals as the system computed an intercept solution.

Inside the fire control station, the operators moved fast but controlled.

"Track confirmed. Hostile missile inbound," one of them reported, eyes locked on the screen.

"Interceptor solution ready," another added.

"Launch."

"Copy. Engaging."

A sharp tone echoed through the system.

Outside, one of the PAC-3 launchers reacted.

The canister lid snapped open.

A fraction of a second later, the interceptor missile ignited.

A violent burst of flame and smoke erupted from the launcher as the PAC-3 shot upward, leaving a tight trail behind it. The missile climbed fast, guided immediately by the radar’s tracking data, adjusting its course mid-flight with small, rapid corrections.

Inside the control room, the two tracks converged on the display.

"Inbound missile at fifteen seconds to impact... interceptor closing... ten seconds..."

Adrian stepped closer, eyes fixed.

The gap shrank fast.

"Five seconds... four..."

The screen flickered as the two tracks merged.

"Impact!"

Outside, high above the base, a sharp flash cut across the sky.

The explosion was tight and contained, a direct hit. The incoming missile shattered mid-air, fragments scattering outward before losing momentum and falling away in burning trails.

"Intercept successful," the operator confirmed. "Should we track the bogey and intercept it sir?"

"No, we need to know why it fired on us. Can you contact him again?"

"Yes, sir."

The comms operator switched frequencies again, adjusting gain and pushing the transmission through on multiple bands this time—standard VHF aviation, UHF military, even a general emergency channel to force a response.

"Viper Two-One, this is Basa control. You have fired on this installation. Cease engagement immediately and state your intent."

Static filled the speakers.

Then—

"This is Viper Two-One," the pilot came back, voice tighter now. "You are operating unauthorized military systems inside a Philippine Air Force base. You are considered a hostile force. Stand down or we will escalate."

Adrian took the mic.

"You already escalated," he said evenly. "You fired first. We intercepted. No damage done. So let’s not push this further."

A short pause followed.

"You are occupying a military installation without authority," the pilot replied. "You are armed with foreign and classified systems. That is already escalation."

Adrian didn’t respond right away.

Behind him, one of the operators spoke quietly. "Sir, aircraft is adjusting altitude. He’s climbing slightly... repositioning."

On the radar screen, the track curved, widening its turn as it set up for another run.

Adrian raised the mic again.

"Viper Two-One, listen carefully," he said. "We are not your enemy. There are hostile biological threats in this area. You’ve seen what’s happening out there. You fire again, you’re not hitting zombies—you’re hitting people trying to keep this place running."

"Doesn’t matter, the fact that you are operating a foreign military hardware means that you are possibly working for other foreign nations. We see that you are taking advantage of the situation to invade the sanctity of our territories."

"What the fuck," Adrian muttered under his breath, he was shocked to hear that kind of response.

For a split second, he just stared at the screen.

Not at the aircraft.

Not at the radar.

At the situation.

Then it clicked.

They weren’t dealing with a misunderstanding anymore.

They were being treated as an invading force.

"Sir—he’s rolling back in," one of the operators said, voice tight. "Altitude dropping. Speed increasing. He’s committing again."

On the main display, the FA-50’s track shifted sharply. The turn tightened, nose dipping as the aircraft transitioned from wide orbit to attack profile. The speed indicator spiked.

"Radar lock confirmed again," another operator added. "He’s painting us."

Adrian exhaled once, slow.

That was it.

"Patriot battery," he said and added. "Engage the aircraft."

A half-second pause—just long enough for the weight of the order to register.

Then—

"Copy. Targeting hostile aircraft."

Outside, the PAC-3 system adjusted.

The AN/MPQ-65 radar shifted focus, refining its track on the aircraft instead of the outgoing missile. The targeting solution recalculated in real time, factoring speed, altitude, angle of descent.

Inside the fire control station—

"Solution locked," one operator said.

"Interceptor ready."

"Fire."

Outside, a second launcher activated.

The canister opened.

The interceptor missile launched with a violent kick, smoke and flame blasting outward as it punched into the sky. It climbed fast, then corrected its trajectory, angling toward the descending aircraft.

On the radar screen, the interceptor accelerated almost instantly, its velocity climbing past Mach 3 as it cut through the sky in a straight, aggressive line. The guidance corrections were minimal—tight, precise adjustments driven by the AN/MPQ-65’s continuous track data.

"Interceptor speed increasing... Mach three point two... three point five..." one of the operators called out.

The FA-50 pilot saw it coming.

The aircraft broke its dive.

Hard.

The nose pulled up while the jet rolled sharply to the right, trying to bleed the intercept geometry. The pilot dumped countermeasures immediately—flares burst out in rapid succession, bright streaks falling behind the aircraft as it tried to confuse the tracking.

"Countermeasures deployed," the operator confirmed.

"It won’t matter," another said. "PAC-3 is hit-to-kill. Radar-guided."

The interceptor didn’t even acknowledge the flares.

It stayed locked.

"Missile speed Mach four," the operator added. "Closing fast."

On the feed, the FA-50 pushed into a high-G turn, trying to outmaneuver the incoming interceptor. The airframe shuddered slightly under the stress as it pulled hard, banking left this time, attempting to force the missile to overshoot.

It didn’t.

The PAC-3 corrected mid-flight, its control surfaces making rapid, almost imperceptible adjustments. The guidance system recalculated continuously, shaving distance off with every fraction of a second.

"Ten seconds to intercept..."

The FA-50 dropped altitude suddenly, diving to gain speed, then rolled again, trying to break line-of-sight.

Still no effect.

The missile held its course.

"Five seconds..."

The gap closed too fast for any further maneuver.

The FA-50 pilot tried one last move—a sharp roll combined with a climb, attempting to force a vertical separation.

But the interceptor was already there.

"Impact!"