Dawn broke to the sound of engines.
At first it was a low rumble like distant thunder. Then it grew teeth, rotor beats stacking over each other until the roofs rattled and chickens burst from their crates. Doors swung open all over Aldo. Sleepy faces turned skyward.
"Mother of—" Rowan stopped in the street, jaw slack. "There's more of them."
Four silhouettes knifed in from the south—two CH-53s heavy with slung loads, a Pave Low shepherding them, and a smaller utility bird on the flank. Cables hung under the heavy-lift helicopters like spider legs. The first CH-53 bled speed and dipped, lowering a pallet the size of a wagonhouse onto the meadow outside the palisade: fuel bladders and a diesel generator wrapped in net. The second bird set down a bundle of Hesco bastions and a telescoping light tower. The escort flared and hovered, kicking dust across the fields.
Villagers poured toward the gate, hands over ears. Children pointed. Dogs lost their minds.
