Three kilometres from the frontline.
Senior officer Sir Arthur Thorne had blood all over his body, his armour practically drenched in it. He couldn't even keep count of how many Bharatiyas he had killed, but looking at his face, one could not tell that he was the victor at all. Instead, going by his sour expression, people might assume that he had been cornered and his group had been locked in an ambush.
Unfortunately, Arthur was in that exact situation. 'This is taking forever, damn it,' he cursed under his breath as he led his troops toward the next target. He wasn't being ambushed by the Bharatiya troops per se, but his current situation was hardly any better. He was practically a caged bird. He, and for that matter, the general as well, had completely underestimated the sheer scale of what a million troops actually meant.
