North of Sena, Rift Valley Corridor.
The night was as thick as ink, saturating the undulating hills and deep gullies.
The wind whistled through the towering cliffs, emitting eerie sounds. The makeshift command post was set deep in a natural cave, damp and chilly, with the dim light from emergency lamps and electronic screens casting Song Heping's chiseled profile like a stone carving.
The air was filled with the pungent smell of dust, sweat, and cheap tobacco, mixed with the metallic scent of gun oil, ammunition, and the rusty tang of tense nerves.
The radio headset crackled with static, like countless poison snakes hissing in the dark.
"Boss."
Collins' hoarse voice came through the headset, "We've been waiting for two days. The bait is enough to attract them. Do you think those John Bulls... will really bite? Have they abandoned the operation?"
