The third method—persuading them to disguise themselves as a merchant caravan and slip into Cross Guard at dawn two days from now—wasn’t even that hard.
“Got a bad feeling.”
Same reason as when they’d suggested climbing over the city wall. Torres supported the idea, and Finn nodded half‑heartedly.
“Then I guess we’re sleeping here again tonight.”
It was a dug‑out campsite, like a burrow. At that, the soldier in charge of cooking laughed and said, “Then should I bring that out for dinner side dish?” The forward recon team led by Ranger Finn.
Once these guys went out on an operation, the average time they stayed in the field was half a year. Of course, if something big happened, they sometimes came back in a month or two. But this time, they’d already been here eight months.
Spending that long out here, they’d tried all sorts of things. One of them was salting down the meat of game they’d caught and making ham to store.
“Then how about we have a drink?”
Finn took the words with obvious excitement. In a way, this was a unit that should have their nerves sharper than the ones standing on an actual battlefield, but whether their nerves were blunt or just thick, it was hard to say. No—maybe they were even more sensitive on normal days so they could afford nights like this.