Chapter 10 The Convoy Trap

• The desert night was a lie.
• It looked quiet—miles of open ground under a pale moon, the soft hum of wind through steel skeletons of old transmission towers. But beneath the stillness, death moved on wheels.
• Three transport rigs rolled across the Valecross Plateau, their silhouettes sleek, matte black, reinforced. No flags. No lights. They didn’t need either. They were escorted by four off-road security crawlers, each bristling with mounted auto-turrets and signal dampeners.