"They're moving," Dain said.
Revan stepped beside him and followed the Marshal's gaze to the ridge. It took a moment. The Dead Zone's gray-on-gray palette swallowed everything, but then he caught it.
Two figures at the base of the ridge, splitting apart. One east, one west. Low and fast.
"Any chance they'll just surrender and walk away?" Revan asked.
"Absolutely not."
'Fuck, ' Revan cursed inwardly.
They watched for another few seconds. The western figure disappeared behind the ridge's far slope. The eastern one was angling toward the tail end of the wreckage, toward the cargo wagon.
"The one going west," Revan said.
"The assault team came from the northwest ridge during the attack. I pulled thirty bodies. Their gear loadouts were staged, not carried long-distance. Means they had a forward camp nearby. Behind that ridge is the only terrain with enough cover."
"I noticed the same thing," Dain said.
