Dialtone and Firewall drop into a foxhole next to Forge, whose badly wounded arm is wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage trailing rivulets of blood down to his hand.
Firewall reaches for her iFAK, "Let me see that."
Forge grunts, ignoring both her and his wounds, and fires wildly at the Cobra line, keeping his head down to avoid enemy fire. Firewall drops the kit and follows suit, firing blindly at her former captors. Forge stops firing and tries to adjust the headset nestled in his ear, straining to pierce through the cacophony of gunfire, "Say again. Your last was garbled."
A voice filled with excitement responds, "I said. Stop. Drop. And watch Cobra roll over."
The stranger's enthusiasm is palpable even through the roar of battle. The Joes hear, "DANGER CLOSE!" over their headsets.
Suddenly, the familiar roar of an A-10 Warthog fills the air, followed by a thunderous BRRRRRRRRRRRT! as it fires its massive 30mm cannon.
Missiles WOOSH past the Joe line, tearing into the Cobra forces with ground-shaking explosions.
The sounds signal the destruction of the Cobra Stingers and the end of the line for numerous Cobra soldiers. The maroon aircraft swoops up from the attack run, executing a stunning barrel roll before banking and turning sharply for another strike.
The sight of the aircraft sends a surge of excitement through the Autobots.
"Holy shit! It's Powerglide!" Beachcomber shouts, relief in his voice.
"Stay low, 'cause here I go!" Powerglide comes in fast and furious, his nose cannon obliterating everything in its path. Cobra Troopers, Peace Keepers, and Vipers scatter in a vain attempt to avoid the line of death created by the brutal and unforgiving weapon.
Powerglide lets out a loud "WOOP!"
WHRR-TSCHZZ-TSCHZZ-TSCHZZ-CHK.
Suddenly, the A-10 transforms into an awe-inspiring robot towering over 50 feet tall. The mechanical giant dwarfed Bumble Bee and Beachcomber, making them look like mere children in comparison. Gleaming maroon armor glinted under the sunlight.
For a moment, silence swallows the sounds of war.
His arrival sends pangs of dread and panic through the Cobra ranks.
With a powerful grip, he hoisted an enormous cannon, its seven barrels thick and menacing. Cobra forces ran in fear as he took aim and unleashed a barrage of fire upon the enemy.
Explosions erupted in the Cobra line, sending debris and dust swirling. The sheer force of Powerglide's weaponry rattled the ground beneath his feet.
"Look at 'em go!" he called out cheerfully, his voice booming across the battlefield. The playful excitement in his tone starkly contrasted with the death around him.
The Cobra lines break.
"Fuckin' hell!" Tombstone grabs one last rifle, unloading on the giant robot, obliterating his troops.
Onesi orders a full retreat. Officers and NCOs echo the call. Cobra soldiers bug out. Many don't make it.
With the chaotic withdrawal of the Cobra forces, the battlefield transformed into a grim tableau, where the remnants of battle lay strewn about; a jumble of battered Stingers, the charred corpse of the crashed FANG, shattered weaponry, and the haunting cries of wounded soldiers. Tension and despair filled the space as soldiers once did.
Falcon scanned the scene, spotting Bulleit. Her hands worked quickly to assist Greaser, who had collapsed nearby.
"When you're done with our side, we've gotta triage them," gesturing towards the fallen Cobra troops, their condition dire.
Bulleit nodded without looking up from Greaser's wounds, "We're low on everything. I'll do my best."
Suddenly, an ominous sound echoed across the desecrated land, a long, low, guttural growl that sent shivers down their spines.
Bulleit's eyes widened with fear as she looked up at Falcon, who drew in a sharp breath.
As if on cue, the bodies of the fallen Cobra soldiers began to twitch and convulse.
There was a surge of horror as several started to rise, groaning and dragging themselves toward their fallen comrades to feed.
Falcon squinted against the bright sun, his eyes scanning the sky above them. Spotting Grand Slam still circling above, Falcon signaled him to land: "What did you see up there?"
"You're not going to like it. Cobra pulled out. Now, there's a horde, several hundred, nearly here. And it looks like every dead snake that still has a head is crawling toward us," he goes quiet.
"Is there anything you can do from up there?" Falcon asks.
"I'm low on fuel and ammo. Out of missiles," Grand Slam grunts, "I'll stall them as long as I can." Once again, he takes to the air and opens fire, this time on the undead, closing in on the Joes, hoping to reduce the threat. His plasma rifle clicks empty. He pulls his sidearm, a trusty 1911, which requires him to fly lower, and begins bringing true death to the battlefield.
Falcon felt a knot tighten in his stomach, "Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
While the plan accounted for the possibility of a horde, he had hoped to use it against Cobra. Knowing they'd have superior numbers, he hoped his small force could use a mass of walking undead as reinforcements, forcing Cobra to fight on multiple fronts. Now, his rag-tag group had to face off against the shambling mob.
After drawing a deep breath, he began shouting orders, his voice commanding and clear. "Bumble Bee, Beachcomber, get the worst of the wounded out of here! Bulleit, get them to the FOB, and do what you can!"
The two Autobots transformed, their mechanical forms shifting rapidly. Their doors popped open, "Load us up!"
The Joes worked frantically to load Forge, Greaser, and Throttle into the two vehicles while keeping an ever-watchful eye on the approaching zombies.
Ground hobbled to Bumble Bee, nestling the limp body of Pound close to his chest. Tears streamed down his face.
The large dog stood his ground during the worst of the fighting. Ground had fitted him with eye and ear protection. He had even found a ballistic vest for his best friend and tried to shield him from the worst of the shrapnel.
He failed.
He gently placed the big dog in the back seat across Forge's lap, "Take care of him."
Forge, blood down one arm, placed his good hand over the German Shepard, "I will."
The sounds of the undead grow as the mob trudges ever closer.
The instant the doors clicked shut, Bumble Bee and Beachcomber roared to life, accelerating away with Bulleit and the wounded securely inside, their tires spitting gravel into the air. As the fast-moving vehicles sped past the tree line, a terrifying sight emerged; an oncoming stream of zombies began to stagger and drag their worn corpses from the shattered forest, their groans striking terror on those left behind.
"Everyone, circle on me," Falcon called out, "save ammo for headshots."
The decaying mass moves closer, black teeth gnashing at the air as skeletal fingers scratch through the air, ready to clamp down on their next meal. More ghouls stumble through the chaos of smoking craters left by artillery. Inching ever closer.
"Stay together. Stay tight. We've dealt with worse." Falcon calls out to reassure his team. The gathered group is bathed in shadow as the massive Autobot Powerglide steps up behind them.
Falcon looks at the enormous robot, standing like a monolith over the field.
With a mighty swing of his arm, Powerglide mows down the first line of undead monsters. Turning sharply, Falcon shouts to their new ally, "Grab one of my Joes and get them out of here! Follow Bumble Bee!"
Powerglide responded by scooping up Drifter, holding him securely in his massive hand before launching toward the tree line. In a seamless maneuver, Powerglide transformed back into an A-10, the roar of his engines almost drowned out by the horrifying cacophony of the approaching horde. Unleashing a final barrage of bullets, he laid a storm of fire upon the undead, eliminating many of the gathering swarm before turning to follow his friends.
The Joes find themselves surrounded by moaning undead, low on ammo, bruised, battered, and bloody. Still, they stand defiantly. Falcon checks his shotgun as Smith, Bowyer, Ground, and Scrounge, joined now by Dialtone, Firewall, Grand Slam, Sneak Peek, and Jinx, prepare to fight off the growing pack of rotting meat.
"We need to move as a unit," Falcon grunts, "we need to try and make it back to base." In response, he hears the sounds of weapons being checked as the group prepares to move.
Jinx removes her blindfold and resheathes her sword. She readies her rifle, "You know, Falcon, a simple hello would have done." He turns to see her give a subtle wink before bringing her weapon to her shoulder.
Grand Slam lets his plasma rifle and flight pack fall to the ground with a thump. Seeing Falcon's questioning look, he shrugs, "Out of fuel and ammo, they'll just slow me down." In his hands are his trusty pistol and a black-bladed knife.
No one else speaks, their eyes fixed on the decaying creatures getting closer.
Falcon stretches his neck before speaking, "Let's move. Call 'em out as you deal with them."
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