Chapter 1: The Convoy
*vrrrm-vrrrm!!* A convoy rolled forward in a staggered formation, their engines growling in a steady rhythm. Each truck rattled with the weight of the gear and ammunition it carried, Inside the lead vehicle, *clink-clink* bolts clinking with the low *thud-thud-thud* every constant bump of the tires over the dirt road, mixed with the hiss of the radio. A few seconds later, a voice crackled through the static, "All Vehicle, this is Papa Bear, maintain spacing. Watch the ridgeline. Over"
"Copy, Papa Bear, out." The driver's gloved hands tightened on the wheel. His eyes flicked between the cracked road ahead and terrain beyond it, the sun's glare flashing against his visor. for a while no one spoke, the low roar of the engine and the occasional squeal of suspension filled the silence. In the back, a younger contractor shifted in his seat, his helmet bouncing against the wall. "Feels too quiet," he muttered under his breath. His words barely audible with the engine noise, but the man next to him heard it. "Quiet's good," came the reply, "Means we're not getting shot at."
Vanguard Solutions were professionals, ex-military, private contractors, men who had traded flags for paychecks. Their insignia, a silver spearhead, simple but unmistakable. Captain Marcus Hale also known as Papa Bear sat in the commander's seat of the lead MRAP, his eyes hidden behind scratched sunglasses. His posture was rigid, but not tense, he carried himself like someone who had seen it all. "Status check," he said into his throat mic, one by one, the voices of squad leaders came back over the intercom. "Bravo, check...Charlie, all good...Delta, rolling smooth."
Private First Class Torres, the youngest in the group, sat in the rear vehicle tapping his foot against the floor. He was barely a year out of the Marines. before joining Vanguard. His helmet still felt heavy, his rifle too clean. Beside him, Sergeant McConnell, an older, broad-shouldered man with a weathered look, noticed his nervous tapping. "Relax, kid. First rule of the job, stay sharp, but don't burn yourself out thinking ghosts are around every corner." Torres forced a laugh, though his eyes kept scanning the ridgeline through the slit windows.
The convoy push forward. Hale's gaze swept the horizon again, catching the strange shimmer in the air far ahead. Heat mirage, he told himself. Just the sun playing tricks. Still, his fingers drummed against his thigh, a habit he'd never shaken since Afghanistan. Something about the silence beyond the engines botherd him. Dust hung heavy in the air. From the turret of the lead MRAP, Specialist Ruis scanned the ridgeline. His optic adjusted and the .50-cal MG ready. Outside, the world was seamlessly still. The farther they drove, the heavier the silence, even the wind seemed to die. leaving only the rumbling of the engines and the occasional clank of the rifle sling against a doorframe. "Does anyyone notice that?"
"Notice what?" say's Torre. "It's to quiet", Ruis muttered, his voice low on his throat mic.
Captain Hale heard the exchange over the shared channel. He clicked his mic.
"Stay sharp, all units. Could be locals watching. Could be worse. Eyes on the high ground."
A few minutes of silence pass. Then something new, at first, it was faint, like a distant humming of wire *bzzzzzt*. Then it grew by the second, followed by a vibration that was strong enough to rattle the bolts in the dashboard. Ahead of them, a barrier of some sort was making its surrounding grey slowly creep in.
"All vehicles, hold!"the Captain Hale barked into the intercom.
Brakes screamed as the convoy ground to a halt. Men and equipment came flying to the front of their vehicles. Radios exploded with static before cutting out entirely. The sharp smell of ozone stung their nostrils. A rhythmic sound like a heartbeat echoed through the air. Every soldier in the convoy froze as something or someone is preventing them to move. They gripped their rifles for comfort, their throats ran dry, sweat trickled under their body armor. Then, with a sound like tearing metal and rushing wind, the world folded in on itself...