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The militia from Niutigu Valley, forming the Third Battalion of the left column, had just entered their designated position when they saw logistics soldiers with red armbands rushing over with horse-drawn carts.
The scrawny farmer nicknamed "Monkey" jabbed his companion beside him and said with a smirk, "Look, the food's coming."
"Great," replied the stout farmer named Doug, his response weak with exhaustion, "I'm so hungry."
"I don't see anything special about fighting wars," Monkey couldn't help but complain, "Isn't it just marching on and on?"
Doug didn't say anything; he was wholly focused on filling his belly.
When the tarpaulin on the carts was removed, the militia were sorely disappointed. Instead of bread and beer, the carts were loaded with bundles of tools: pickaxes, shovels, chisels...
"No resting now!" The appointed battalion commander came over, barking orders at the militia, "Everybody up!"
