The road ahead deteriorated without warning.
Artillery vibration had worked the pavement into a broken field of potholes and fractures. A heavy rig had gone over into the drainage ditch at the roadside. Its radiator ruptured, steam hissing in a continuous pale column into the cooling evening air. The vehicle lay on its side at an angle that made recovery without equipment a theoretical exercise. A family group worked at the doors with the desperate strength of people for whom the alternative was not acceptable. A mother wolf bracing the frame with one arm and cradling a limp pup against her chest with the other. The father calling into the air for an answer that was not coming.
The convoy halted completely.
