Chief Yarif led his elite guard under the cover of pervasive smoke and sand, stealthily approaching the reverse slope of the dune where Captain Don's command vehicle was stationed, like several Poison Snakes.
Near the command vehicle, there were only a few SBS members standing guard.
Don himself was pacing anxiously beside the command vehicle, occasionally lifting binoculars to view the fierce firefight on the high rocky terrain ahead, neurotically cursing.
"Captain! Yarif is coming!"
An SBS guard voiced a reminder.
Don abruptly put down the binoculars, his bloodshot eyes looking at the rapidly approaching pickup truck.
Yarif was the first to jump out of the vehicle, his face striving to maintain his usual calm, yet the deep-seated tension and resolve in his eyes were like needles piercing Don's nerves.
Don's heart sank heavily.
The gambler's intuition told him this was not a report on the battle situation.
"Yarif?"
