It took Don and his squad roughly a minute to reach the transport zone.
The area had clearly been a parking structure once. Faded lane markings still cut across the concrete beneath rows of military floodlights, though now the entire upper level had been converted into a makeshift landing field.
Thick chalk lines stretched across the ground in intersecting patterns, guiding incoming and outgoing helicopters through organized chaos while UPSDF crews waved illuminated batons beneath the rotor wash.
The noise never stopped.
Engines idled in every direction. Another squad hurried past Don's group toward a neighboring transport bird.
Webb never slowed.
Their designated transport sat near the eastern side of the structure, a dark UPSDF chopper already running hot with both side doors open. A soldier stood near the skid counting heads as groups approached.
"You Seven-Alpha?" he shouted.
Webb lifted two fingers.
"Move then!"
