The Arm's mobile field unit – that giant, slick black motorhome with all the technological advancements as the space shuttle – had found a perfect staging area on a large patch of flat farmland between two old barns at an abandoned cattle ranch. It was southwest of down and accessed only by a meandering chain of gravel roads that may or may not be plowed or maintained during the harsh winter months. The fields were still lined with rows of barbed wire fence, ...