As Sunny followed Jenkins through the camp, he navigated through the familiar landscape of chaos and destruction. Medics rushed past, carrying bodies on stretchers, their faces set in determined expressions. The wounded men screamed and moaned, their cries echoing through the camp.
Sunny walked by a makeshift medical tent, where surgeons worked tirelessly to save lives. The sound of drilling and sawing filled the air, accompanied by the acrid smell of antiseptic and the sweet, metallic stench of blood. The scent of cigarettes and alcohol wafted through the air, mingling with the smell of sweat and smoke.
He passed by a group of soldiers huddled around a fire, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames. They were swapping stories and jokes, their laughter and shouts punctuated by the occasional burst of gunfire. Nearby, a group of soldiers were gathered around a radio, listening intently to the chatter of commanders and strategists.
The camp was a labyrinth of tents, makeshift shelters, and sandbagged bunkers. Barbed wire and concertina coils surrounded the perimeter, and guard towers loomed overhead, their searchlights casting eerie shadows on the ground. Sunny walked through the camp with a sense of familiarity, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a practiced air.
As he followed Jenkins, Sunny's gaze fell upon the wounded men, their bodies broken and battered. He saw the fear in their eyes, the pain etched on their faces. But he didn't flinch, didn't react. He had seen it all before, too many times. The sights, the sounds,