I raced through the alley, with a bulky equipment in arm. It was the first time going to war, the first time going on a real mission, and also the first time running such a long distance with a 7 kg rifle. Beads of perspiration trickled down my cheeks as I dashed towards the camp despite being enervated from the running such a long distance. Everything around shone in the crimson evening light, signalling that there was not much time left for me to reach the camp. I had parachute from a plane and arrived in a forest nearby. The only task for today is to reach the camp and have sufficient rest in order to carry out tomorrow’s mission.
As I rushed past the long stretch of doors, the chilling wind whipped against my face. The air seemed fresher than before and the entire village seemed to turn placid after a bustling day. Incessant chatter resounded through the air as families tucked into their dinner. There seemed to be a sense of warmth lingering around this village as the people here chatted in joy. Perhaps not. In frigid air, I was panting for breath, perspiring profusely. If not for my country calling all men to join the war, I would have been at home spending time with my family too.
As these thought passed, I neared the camp. The camp was a dilapidated biscuit factory vacated for quite a while. Paint from its façade had started peeling off, exposing a brown layer of bricks at certain parts of the building.
I called a comrade through my mobile phone to inform his that I had reached the camp. Seconds later, the rusty iron door creaked open. John stood at the door. Within a split second, I had entered the building, breathing in stale air filled with the smell of filed wood. The door closed gently.
“Come in quickly next time” John said in a low voice, “Don’t let anyone discover us”.
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