Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse With My Military System

October 14th, one o'clock in the morning. At Clark International Airport, the C-17 Globemaster was aligning for its final approach. Inside the cockpit, the pilot's voice was calm but focused as he communicated with the control tower.

"Papa-Alpha-Tango, this is C-17 Globemaster, callsign 'Globemaster Charlie-Three-Niner,' requesting permission for landing on runway two-niner," the pilot radioed.

The air traffic controller's voice crackled through the speakers, "Globemaster Charlie-Three-Niner, this is Clark Tower. You are cleared for landing on runway two-niner. Wind 320 degrees at 8 knots. Altimeter 29.92."

"Copy that, Clark Tower. Aligning for runway two-niner. Wind and altimeter noted," the pilot replied, adjusting the aircraft's trajectory slightly to compensate for the wind.

As the C-17 descended, the co-pilot methodically ran through the landing checklist. "Flaps set to 30 degrees, landing gear down and locked, speed reducing to approach velocity."

The pilot nodded, his hands steady on the control yoke. The runway lights glowed in the darkness, providing a guiding path for the massive aircraft.

"Final approach looking good. Runway in sight," he announced, his tone betraying a hint of relief after the long flight.

In the cabin, Graves stood by a window, watching the runway lights grow closer. He could feel the subtle changes in the aircraft's movements as they prepared to touch down.

The C-17's engines roared slightly as the pilot made fine adjustments, ensuring a smooth descent. With a gentle but firm touch, the wheels made contact with the runway, the initial screech of rubber on asphalt echoing through the aircraft.

"Touchdown confirmed. Engaging reverse thrusters," the co-pilot reported, pulling the levers to slow down the aircraft.

"Globemaster Charlie-Three-Niner to Clark Tower, we have landed safely on runway two-niner," the pilot informed the tower.

"Roger, Globemaster Charlie-Three-Niner. Welcome to Clark International. Taxi to apron via taxiway Bravo. The ground crew is awaiting your arrival," the tower responded.

The C-17 taxied off the runway, following the illuminated path toward the designated apron. Graves exhaled deeply, a mix of exhaustion and anticipation settling over him. As the engines powered down, the ground crew approached, ready to assist with the post-flight procedures.

Once the aircraft came to a complete stop and the engines were shut off, Graves gathered his belongings. Stepping off the Globemaster to the cargo ramp, he felt the cool night air of Clark International Airport welcoming him.

And then he caught sight of Richard and Sara walking towards him expectantly. Graves performed a salutatory salute and faced Richard firmly.

"Sir." 

"At ease," Richard nodded in response to Graves' salute. "Graves, good to see you back safely," he said with a stern but relieved tone.

Sara, carrying a tablet and a few documents, approached them. "Welcome back, Graves. We have heard your concern about the progenitor launching a projectile on the aircraft…where was it hit?"

"The pilot said on the right side fuselage," Graves led the two towards the starboard side of the C-17 Globemaster. As they approached, the vastness of the aircraft became more apparent, its dark gray fuselage towering above them, illuminated intermittently by the airport's floodlights.

They walked along the length of the aircraft until they reached the area where the pilot had indicated. Graves pointed upwards, directing their attention to a specific section of the fuselage. The damage was not immediately visible from the ground, but as they got closer, the details became clearer.

"There," Graves said, his finger tracing an invisible line in the air. "You can see the crevice and scratch here."

Richard and Sara followed his gaze, squinting in the dim light. There, etched into the metallic skin of the aircraft, was a distinct mark. It was a jagged crevice, about a meter long, accompanied by a series of deep scratches that trailed off, as if whatever had caused them had grazed the aircraft at high speed.

The crevice itself was not wide, but it was deep enough to be of concern. It looked like something had impacted with enough force to deform the metal, but not enough to penetrate completely. The scratches seemed to suggest a glancing blow, one that had barely missed inflicting more serious damage.

Richard examined the damage thoughtfully. "This... This was no small feat. Whatever hit us had to be moving at an incredible speed to make this kind of impact."

Sara, meanwhile, was taking photographs of the damage with her tablet. "I'll document this and run some analyses. We might be able to determine the trajectory and possibly the nature of the projectile. Could be one of the progenitor's abilities or his subordinates."

"Let me see the pilot and the co-pilot," Richard requested.

Graves nodded and led Richard and Sara back towards the cockpit. As they entered, the pilot and co-pilot turned to greet them.

"Richard, this is Captain Miles and First Officer Harper," Graves introduced them. "They were at the controls when the aircraft was grazed."

Richard extended a hand to each of them. "Thanks for getting everyone back safely. Can you walk me through what happened exactly?"

Captain Miles nodded. "We were maintaining our flight path when suddenly there was this loud scraping sound on the right side of the fuselage. It was brief, but it felt like something high-speed grazed us."

First Officer Harper chimed in, "We immediately checked all systems for any malfunctions, but everything was functioning normally. No alarms were triggered, and there was no loss of cabin pressure."

Richard's brow furrowed in thought. "And you didn't see anything on the radars? No incoming objects or anomalies?"

The pilot shook his head. "Nothing, it was like it came out of nowhere. We've never experienced anything like this before."

Sara, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. "The analysis of the damage might give us more insights. We're dealing with an adversary who defies conventional understanding."

"Keep us updated on your findings," Richard instructed Sara. "And show Captain Miles the picture of the damage." 

Sara showed the image to Captain Miles, who leaned in for a closer look. After examining the picture, he nodded slowly.

"Can this be fixed?" Richard asked, looking at the captain.

Captain Miles replied, "Yes, it can be repaired. This type of damage, while serious, is mostly superficial. The crevice and scratches are on the outer skin of the fuselage. Our maintenance team will need to assess the extent of the structural integrity compromise, but it's likely a matter of replacing or repairing the damaged panels and then conducting a thorough inspection to ensure there's no underlying damage."

First Officer Harper added, "The aircraft's structural frame is designed to withstand much greater stresses than this. As long as the inner frame hasn't been compromised, the repair should be straightforward."

Richard nodded, satisfied with their technical explanation. "Good, make sure it's given top priority. We can't afford any downtime on our aircraft, especially when we are about to embark on a mission that requires us to go to another country."

"Speaking of mission, Sir Richard, you said to me earlier that you came up with a plan to get yourself stronger. Can you share with me the details?" Graves asked.

"Oh…that can wait until tomorrow," Richard said. "It's already one-thirty in the morning, get some rest and we'll discuss it first thing in the morning, at exactly ten o'clock."