Chapter 95: Preparation

The hit on Greenfield City was a wild move, no doubt. The teams weren't exactly thrilled, but they had to roll with the Bureau's high-stakes game and cough up half their crew. Everyone knew most of these folks were probably gonna end up as zombie chow, just pawns in the big play.

Picking who to send was a real headache. Leaders had to figure out who they could spare and who fit the bill, while the rest of the crew was sweating bullets, hoping they wouldn't get the short straw.

The team dynamics were a mess, so it took a couple of days just to sort out who was going. After a lot of back-and-forth, they finally picked the unlucky ones. But it wasn't go-time yet; they still had to gear up for the assault. The Bureau knew the teams would probably send their B-team, but there wasn't much they could do about it. Everyone was in the same boat, and no one wanted to rock it.

The orders were clear on numbers, not quality.

Just muscle wasn't gonna cut it against the zombie horde, especially with the insane number of zombies in Greenfield City. If they didn't hit their targets fast, they'd be swamped. They needed serious firepower and zombie-proof gear to get in and out quick.

The Bureau took over the teams' rides and started tricking them out. They were betting big, hoping for a win.

They beefed up the vehicles for assault. Slapped steel plates on the front, welded iron bars over the windshields to keep zombies from busting in. Some of the beefier rides got a guardrail on top so someone could stand up there and pick off high-level zombies.

The truck beds got a makeover too, turning them into rolling fortresses. Iron frames on the sides gave the crew spots to shoot from. With the doors shut, regular zombies didn't stand a chance against these steel beasts.

The Bureau wasn't holding back; they handed out two heavy machine guns per team, with plenty of ammo.

But Wellington got wind that the Bureau's ammo stash was running low. This assault might drain their supplies dry. Even if they nailed the western part of Greenfield City and scored the salt they needed, they'd be in deep trouble without ammo and the stuff to make more.

Maybe the Bureau was so desperate they were willing to gamble everything for a shot at new ammo supplies.

With the limited gear they had, fixing up the rides wasn't gonna happen overnight. Wellington's 2,000 guys had already ditched the small oasis and set up shop on the edge of the refugee camp. They threw together a makeshift camp. Most of the crew picked for the mission were Ethan's old squad, using the same weapons they had when they gave up. Wellington wasn't about to risk his own guys on a mission he didn't think they'd survive.

Other teams were camped out nearby, scattered all over. It was always a ruckus, and the folks who knew they were doomed didn't even bother training. They just crashed in their tents all day, only getting up to grab some grub before hitting the sack again.

A few tried to make a run for it, but most of them were back in ten minutes, dead as doornails.

The Bureau had patrols everywhere, and each team had snitches, making it nearly impossible to escape. Everyone knew they were just zombie bait, but what could they do? Anyone who tried to stir the pot got nabbed and executed in front of everyone, their bodies hung up as a warning.

But the real zombie bait wasn't the armed squads; it was the poor souls in the refugee camp.

The nearly 100,000 people in the camp were just there to be zombie fodder. It only took a few hundred soldiers to pick out 30,000 of them and haul them to a big temporary camp a few miles from Greenfield City. Their job? To be zombie blockers during the final retreat.

Wellington thought he'd seen the worst of the apocalypse, but the Bureau's cold-blooded tactics made him realize he'd been living in a bubble of relative comfort.

In this do-or-die scenario, the Bureau dropped all pretense. Any pushback was crushed. Gunshots and screams were the soundtrack of the camp, with trucks hauling away bodies daily.

Wellington felt lucky he hadn't gone up against the Bureau before. He might've escaped, but his crew would've been toast.

After days of prep, over a hundred tricked-out vehicles were finally good to go. The Bureau's riot control armored vehicles and a few tanks from the city's SWAT team rolled into the camp. The teams got ready and started loading up. They were headed to a temporary camp on the outskirts of Greenfield City for one last night of rest before the big assault.

That's when Wellington saw the Bureau's heavy hitters. Just a few Type 96 tanks were enough to make any regular team wet their pants.

If it was just armored vehicles, Wellington's anti-materiel rifles could handle them. But real tanks? Forget about it. Piercing that armor was a pipe dream. And with the regular bullets the Bureau sold, he could maybe scratch the paint, but that was it.