The afternoon wind swept across the MOA Complex airstrip, kicking up loose dust along the tarmac. Thomas Estaris stood near Hangar Four, his arms crossed, watching as the Apache AH-64's maintenance crews finished their final checks. It was a brutal-looking machine—sleek, angular, armored to the teeth with its 30mm M230 chain gun hanging beneath its nose like a clenched fist. Rocket pods were loaded and locked. The twin rotor blades were motionless for now, but even standing still, the aircraft exuded a raw, mechanical aggression.
He took a breath. The Black Hawk flight earlier that week had been a recon mission, a way to see the world from above and process just how far the infection had spread. But this time, he wasn't just sightseeing.
"Really going up in that thing?" a voice asked from behind.
