Then a soft beep chirped from the console mounted beside Aiden. He didn't flinch—just reached forward and tapped the green-lit button. The speaker crackled before a voice filtered through, a little garbled by road hum but recognizable.
"Sir," came the young recruit's voice over the speaker, a little fuzzy with static. He was the one driving their RV, and though his voice trembled slightly, it carried the crisp professionalism of someone trying hard to do everything right. "We're about to cross the last marker of the cleared zone. Another three to four kilometers over the ridge, and we'll be past the last transmitter."
Aiden clipped in his low voice. "Understood."
He reached for the comm console, as his fingers adjusting the frequency with ease. The hum of static sharpened briefly, then settled into a crisp silence as he synced with the main convoy broadcast line. One final flick of the dial, and he leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the overhead map as he began speaking.
