The shockwave from the first twelve-inch naval shell hitting the central valley switching towers did not arrive as a clean, distant boom. It traveled through the deep alluvial clay of the delta as a low, subterranean rumble that buckled the iron tracks of the southern siding line, causing three uncoupled grain tenders to jump their mounts with a heavy, metallic shriek. A column of oily black smoke rose against the freezing grey sky three miles inland, marking the exact point where the regional wire network had been severed from the continental core.
The regional warlords weren't trying to intercept the data-stream anymore. They were physically formatting the landscape to match their strategic map lines.
