The convoy passed the checkpoint, and the buildings behind it were already close at hand. Searchlights swept back and forth across the camp in a steady rhythm, while plenty of soldiers patrolled the area.
Ryan lit a cigarette, showing no sign of how nervous he was.
To him, a scene like this could no longer be called a "big occasion." He would not feel particularly nervous because of it.
A man who had nearly died several times regarded everything with an even mind.
He turned his head to glance at the driver, whose driving posture had completely changed, and laughed twice. "Don't be so nervous."
"You have to understand, they say they can mobilize ten million soldiers at any time. That also means these people basically can't know one another."
"As long as we say little and our papers are in order, they won't find any reason to suspect us."
After the vehicle entered, someone waved a gas lamp to direct them.
Where the vehicles stopped and how the goods were unloaded differed every time they came.
No driver could know exactly where he was supposed to go at different times. Someone was always assigned to guide them.
Soon, the convoy arrived at an open area, where an officer in charge of logistics was already waiting.
He counted the vehicles, then filled out a form. He did not forget to complain, either. "Why did you arrive so late?"
According to the original plan, they should have arrived at noon. Now they were more than ten hours late—that was far too late.
Ryan took out a pack of cigarettes and shoved it over, grinning ingratiatingly without a trace of proper decorum. "We didn't collect enough grain, so we had to make a few extra stops."
The registering officer glanced at the