Ground, Gobi Desert, en route to the Illiguo border.
"Ninety kilometers to the border! The road conditions are terrible, it's likely crossing will be even later than I originally anticipated."
The driver of the lead vehicle, "Shadow," glanced at the navigation screen, his voice cutting off intermittently due to the constant jarring.
The armed pickup truck bounced crazily on the uneven terrain of the Gobi Desert, each jolt feeling like it dislocated the internal organs of the passengers.
Petrovsky didn't respond; most of his attention was focused on the dim yellowish sky outside the window.
Though the US Army fighter jets had already withdrawn, the unease in his heart hadn't diminished in the slightest.
His years of special operations experience told him that the enemy would not give up easily, especially an adversary like the United States.
Losing the option for direct air strikes meant they were likely to employ other more insidious means.
