The sweltering heat had gradually faded, and on the Nagaril Great Plains, heavy ears of wheat swayed faintly in the wind.
Food and harvests were often associated with joy.
But in the next instant, tanks thundered straight through the middle of the wheat fields, crushing swathes of nearly ripe grain into the earth.
It was not just one tank, but an entire Tank Group!
A vast wheat field was more than half ruined in no time at all!
Ryan, the machine gunner inside one of the tanks, remained silent. He had come from the countryside. His grandparents, along with his parents, had run a farm.
Whenever people talked about farms, they imagined beautiful pastoral scenery, a comfortable and leisurely pace of life, and all sorts of wonderful things.
In reality, all of that was a misunderstanding. People had watched too many unrealistic films and television shows, or read authors' idyllic descriptions of farms in novels, and formed a mistaken impression.
Farms were not romantic at all, just as pastoral scenery could never withstand the harassment of mosquitoes, especially at night.
Without the help of modern agricultural machinery, farm work was anything but simple. When Ryan was young, he had often helped his family with various chores in the fields.
Those were absolutely not pleasant memories.
Yet seeing so many nearly ripe ears of wheat flattened in the field still made him feel a little sorry.
People who had never farmed could not understand that feeling of regret.
The weather in Nagaril had begun to cool over the past few days. Even at the hottest time, the temperature no longer exceeded forty degrees, which made things somewhat bearable.
Earlier, when Nagaril was at its hottest, it had been utterly unbearable.
The tanks' paint and design meant their interiors were destined to