The composite hulls of the armored battalion crouched beneath the jungle canopy, each one cloaked in shadow.
Not a single engine rumbled. No heat shimmer rose from exhaust ports.
Only the soft, rhythmic crackle of moisture evaporating on hot metal betrayed the machines as living things.
They sat like hunting beasts, waiting.
Erich von Zehntner's command vehicle rested half-buried in vines and fern, its painted armor cloaked by camouflage netting.
He listened to the encrypted channels.
Each voice came to him through a haze of static and coded distortion, men whispering coordinates, brief acknowledgements, the muffled pulse of breathing masks.
Some transmissions came from the other tanks. Others from the infantry screens hidden in the mud, watching for the glint of movement.
Then the call came.
"Armor spotted ten clicks out. Hostile force estimated brigade size. Scratch that… make it a division."
