The rain began to taper off as the first pale gray fingers of dawn touched the eastern horizon. It showed the rugged, lonely grandeur of the Basalt Deep gap.
The deep gap was a narrow, upright gorge forty yards deep and only twelve yards wide, carved through ancient fiery rock that rose like black glass castle walls on either side. It was the sole geographic bottleneck connecting the toxic lowlands of the Great Rust-Mire to the high, sun-baked plains of the Outer Badlands.
At the southern entrance of the gorge, Arthur Vance stood atop a flat dark rock ledge. His wet duster hanging was heavy on his shoulders, his tactical monocle clicked down over his left eye.
Behind him on the high northern bluffs of the Red Mesa, the Iron Ark convoy was entrenched in an impregnable horseshoe formation.
Master Old Anvil Szabo and Kira Jansen had set the two captured Type-58 howitzers on the twin shoulders of the canyon rim, their heavy barrels zeroed over the gorge entrance. Nomad hunters manned the dark rock low roof walls with iron crossbows and captured Promethean rifles. Meanwhile, Toby Mallow coordinated ammunition spreading from the central supply cart.
Beside Arthur on the black rock, his four companions stood ready:
