Oll Persson passed through the camp's main gate and, following the sentry's directions, took the packed-earth road toward the administrative and reporting area deeper inside.
He still wore his unremarkable dark gray civilian clothes and carried a worn military backpack. His steps were steady, his gaze calm as he surveyed his surroundings.
Orderly but rather monotonous barracks, neatly parked Chimera troop transports and Sentinels, the faint sound of engines being tested in the distance, and air heavy with dust, diesel, sweat, and a faint trace of ripe grain drifting from the distant fields.
It was a typical garrison atmosphere, fundamentally no different from many places he had served, except that this one seemed a little more "peaceful," and perhaps a little more lax.
Yet that first impression of "peace" was utterly shattered as he passed a training ground enclosed by a simple fence at the edge of camp. A thunderous roar rang out, accompanied by hurried, heavy footsteps and painful gasps.
"Fuck! It's only twenty kilometers, and you're already done?! Where's all that fucking energy you had when you climbed the wall to sneak out?! Huh?!"
Oll Persson looked toward the sound.
On the circular track around the training ground, a figure staggered forward at something close to a crawl.
It was Johnny, though he bore little resemblance to the crafty fellow who had been plotting to buy cigarettes and slip away half an hour earlier.
He wore full gear, carrying what looked like over fifty kilograms, enough to bend even his sturdy frame double.
His uniform was soaked with sweat and clung to his body, outlining his violently heaving chest and trembling legs.
Sweat poured down his face, mixing with dust into filthy streaks, while his mouth gaped as he desperately gulped air.
A few paces behind him stood