The African desert doesn't sleep — it just changes color.
At dusk, the sand glows copper, the sky bleeds red, and the heat feels like an accusation.
When Yug Bhati's convoy rolled into Fort Makana, it wasn't greeted with salutes — it was greeted with silence.
The base wasn't much to look at — a rusted skeleton of prefabs, radar dishes, and armored trucks coated in dust.
But beneath the ground, it was something else: a nerve center for Vulture 20's African logistics, hidden in plain sight under the banner of a fake humanitarian aid project called Sahara Crosslink Initiative.
As the convoy stopped, Yug stepped out in his green coat, brushing sand off his sleeve. He looked at the distant horizon — where smoke rose like prayers.
> "This place," he muttered, "isn't a base. It's a grave waiting to choose a name."
---
Inside the Command Bunker
A holographic map projected Africa in blue light.
Each pulse on the map represented a shipment, a deal, a hidden transaction — all part of a web Yug wove tighter than barbed wire.
General Khalid Rami, a hard-faced ex-Libyan commander, stood at attention.
His tone carried both respect and suspicion.
> "You're late, Mr. Bhati."
"No," Yug said coolly, "I'm right on time. You just didn't know the schedule."
The room chuckled nervously. Khalid didn't.
He pointed to the map — flashing red indicators near the eastern perimeter.
> "RBA units moving from the border. If they push through, they'll hit our supply trucks."
"Then reroute them."
"We can't. The only clear road is under French drone surveillance."
"Then let them see," Yug said, walking toward the map. "We'll make them think we're running west — and move south instead."
> "That'll leave the fuel dumps unguarded."
"Good," Yug smiled faintly. "Let them take them. I already sold those dumps twice."
---
Scene — The Ambush
Night fell like ink poured over glass.
Yug stood on a balcony overlooking the outer walls. A faint hum of engines echoed in the distance — too steady, too synchronized.
Amara Voss stepped beside him, headset on. "Unregistered convoy approaching."
Before Yug could respond, the base lights flickered — and died.
Then the first rocket hit.
The explosion threw sand and steel into the air.
Alarms screamed.
Sparks danced across the bunkers.
> "Move him to the safe room!" someone shouted.
But Yug didn't move. He stood firm, pistol drawn — Vulture P99, polished black with a faint green sheen.
A squad of masked mercenaries breached the south gate, moving like shadows through the smoke. They weren't locals. Their gear was European — French special ops gear.
A hit squad.
Sent for one man.
> "They're not after the base," Amara whispered. "They're after you."
Yug turned to her, eyes cold.
> "Then let's not waste their trip."
---
The Firefight
The scene was chaos wrapped in precision.
Yug moved through the corridors like he'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times.
He wasn't a soldier — but he was dangerous because he didn't panic.
Three mercs breached through the west wall.
He let them pass, waited for the last one to reload, then fired — two shots, two kills. The third lunged forward — Yug stepped aside, slammed him against the wall, and fired point blank.
He reloaded calmly, stepping over bodies, breathing slow.
Blood, sand, and gunpowder blurred into one color.
---
Scene — The Command Room
Khalid burst in, shouting over the gunfire.
> "They've breached the command hub!"
> "Then let them have it," Yug said, kneeling beside the radio. "They think they're attacking us. They're wrong. We're already inside their communications."
He plugged in a small device — the Dust Key. Within seconds, the mercs' encrypted comms flickered with static.
Yug hijacked their feed — sending false coordinates, fake retreat orders.
Outside, half their squad began shooting at each other.
A quiet smile formed on Yug's lips.
> "You play war like chess," Khalid said in disbelief.
"No," Yug replied, "I play it like music. You just have to know where to pause."
---
Aftermath
By dawn, the attack was over.
Dozens dead.
The fort half in ruins.
But Yug Bhati stood untouched, drinking black coffee as if nothing had happened.
Amara read the report aloud.
> "French fingerprints on the equipment. The hit was ordered by Moretti's men."
Yug didn't react.
He just looked at the sunrise — harsh and beautiful.
> "Rozam Moretti sent seven men for me," he said quietly.
"So?" Amara asked.
"So I'll send seven economies for him."
He holstered his pistol, the metal glinting like a signature.
> "Fort Makana stays operational. Double the pay of every surviving guard. And bury the rest quietly — they deserve silence more than medals."
He started walking toward the war room.
> "We're not at war yet, Amara," he said, "but when we are — I'll make sure even the dust remembers my name."
---
End of Chapter 5 — "Fort Makana."