[TIME REMAINING: 04:28:11]
[STRATEGIC TARGETS CRIPPLED: 1/3]
Redfield was awake and armed.
Shut gates. Archers and battlemages spaced along the walls. Torchlit crews finishing barricades behind the entrance. The warning beacon burning overhead, Highwatch's answering fire on the far ridge — and beside that distant flame, the cold glow around the unfinished artillery, brighter than it had been an hour ago.
The gun wasn't live. But its engineers had stopped taking their time.
Below, the last visible medicine wagons rolled south into the dark, under escort, already beyond reach.
James watched them go and let them go.
"We don't chase. Wagons that are out are out." He was already moving for his horse. "We breach, we take what medicine is still inside, we burn the rest, and we ride. Every minute here is a minute Highwatch spends digging in."
Nobody argued. The enemy was moving; standing still was the only wrong answer.
