Transporting grain was no simple task.
It was a large-scale mobilization that required an immense amount of manpower and resources—numbering in the tens of thousands.
To deliver 1 ton of grain to the border, one had to account for the losses incurred during transportation—oxen, horses, laborers—everything. When tallied up, delivering 1 ton meant at least 5 tonnes prepared.
So, to deliver 100 tonnes to the frontlines, a staggering 500 tonnes had to be readied.
Each grain transport team consisted of twenty carts, led by one officer and ten soldiers responsible for maintaining order.
Every cart was manned by six laborers, one cart driver, one rear guard, and two guards flanking it on each side.
The six laborers were responsible for their designated cart. Aside from food needed for their own survival, the rest of the grain was to be delivered to the military camp in full.
Any spoilage of military grain—even a little—and all six would be punished under military law.
Because of this, the six-man teams had to work closely, guarding their cart as if their lives depended on it—which they did. This binding rule naturally turned each group into a small, tightly-knit unit, both cooperating and keeping each other in check.
Because of his soft hands and fair skin—clearly unused to labor—Lester Liew was quickly shunned.
He tried to volunteer as a cart driver, hoping to at least ride occasionally, but the squad captain, shot him a glare and promptly assigned him as the rear guard.
And so began Lester's miserable days of trailing behind the grain carts, eating dust.
When the roads got rough and the cart bounced too hard, the grain sacks would tumble off. Lester had to bend down and haul them back, coughing from the dust—if he was lucky. If not, he'd be splattered with fresh horse dung.
Any delay, and the mounted soldiers would come cracking their whips without hesitation.
Had Lester not been so quick on his feet, he'd have ended up like the poor soul behind him—bloodied and bruised from the lash.
Pathetically enough, that reflex came from years of dodging blows back home under Clara's iron rule.
He was so nimble that even the squad captain couldn't help but glance at him more than once.
Whenever Lester thought about this, he couldn't help but gaze up at the sky at a 45-degree angle, putting on a mournful, tragic air.
"Tch—" The sun was too glaring. After two seconds, his eyes stung and watered. His melancholy didn't last long as he lowered his head and continued trudging forward with numb legs.
He must've seriously offended that county official who filed his name on the draft list. Out of all the transport squads, he just had to be placed under this demon captain, Officer Rex—the fastest of them all.
A brief pause and he'd get whipped. After just three days, his first pair of shoes had already fallen apart.
Lester harbored intense resentment toward Officer Rex.
As for Clara, who had submitted his name to the draft? He felt both terrified and guilty. Hate her? He wouldn't dare!
Licking his parched lips, Lester reached for the bamboo flask on his waist to take a sip—only to realize, horrified, that it was completely empty.
It had been sunny every day since they left.
Even though it was the tail end of autumn, the days were scorching hot. A single flask of water was gone in no time. Whenever the team paused for a short break, anyone not on guard duty would rush to refill water for their group.
When there was a well or a decent spring, they managed. But if they came across one of those pitiful trickling streams, time wasn't nearly enough.
If tempers flared and someone bumped shoulders, fights easily broke out.
Lester, being the fastest of his six-man group, was always first to get water. The other four flankers would keep people from crowding, and they had long since fallen into a smooth routine.
Even so, today's luck was bad—they'd found a weak stream, and he had only managed to fill two flasks.
At least they had some water to split. The heat was barely bearable.
Those who didn't manage in time could only continue forward, praying to the heavens for rain.
And just like that—rain came.
The moment the first drops fell, the entire transport team burst into a flurry of activity.
People scrambled to pull out tarps, don straw raincoats and wide-brimmed hats, and calm the startled horses.
Just as things were getting chaotic, Officer Rex shouted an order:
"Pick up the pace—march faster!"
A collective groan rose from the entire unit. Was this man trying to kill them?!
Lester was sure now—this captain had a sadistic streak. He couldn't bear to see others having a moment of relief.
Still, the rain did cool the air, and Lester, half-dead from the blazing sun, felt like he could breathe again. The heavier, the better, he thought.
Many others were thinking the same—if the rain got worse, surely the team would be forced to stop.
But as it turned out, they were all far too naive.
The rain intensified rapidly. At first, people were still smiling through the downpour, but it didn't take long for the dirt paths to turn into muddy pits.
The cart wheels, weighed down by the grain, sank deep into the mud.
Where once they could simply walk alongside, now they had to push the carts through the mud.
Unlike Clara, Lester had no herculean strength. The wheels felt like they'd fused with the earth, and it took every ounce of energy just to budge them.
Mounted soldiers galloped back and forth, cracking their whips and shouting:
"Faster! Move it!"
Not wanting to get whipped, Lester gritted his teeth and gave it his all.
In such fashion, the twenty-cart convoy—over a hundred men strong—rushed ten kilometers through the rain and mud in just half an hour before reaching a post house.
The post couldn't fit all the carts and horses, so they unloaded hastily, dragging the carts under a nearby thatched shelter, stacking them as best they could.
Lester, soaked to the bone, felt a strange sense of gratitude that he wasn't a cart driver. Otherwise, he'd be outside trying to wrestle with a panicked horse in the middle of the storm.
At least now, he was under a roof, keeping close to the grain cart.
Meanwhile, Officer Rex and the ten guards had already disappeared into the post house's main hall for rest.
The afternoon sky remained dark and brooding, showing no sign of clearing. In fact, the rain had only gotten heavier.
Many of the laborers stood in stunned silence. Was the sky leaking? The rain came down like a river falling from the heavens.
In Lester 's memory, this was the heaviest rain he had ever seen.
The rain fell continuously from noon until the evening of the next day without the slightest break. The entire post house courtyard became a swampy mess, water mixing with mud into a filthy slurry.
He tentatively dipped a foot in—the water was past his calf.
Just then, Officer Rex stepped out of the hall and caught Lester retracting his foot. He frowned and murmured something to a nearby guard before heading back in.
Soon after, the guard relayed the order:
One more day of rest. Resume travel as soon as the water recedes.
A cheer erupted from the group—finally, a break.
(End of Chapter)
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