The truck engine had just shut off.
The air in the yard returned to silence.
The dust that had been kicked up had not yet fully settled.
Fine particles floated slowly in the sunlight.
The door opened.
A young officer jumped down from the truck.
His boots hit the ground with a dull thud.
His movements were steady.
As if he was already used to this kind of environment.
The soldiers in the yard all stopped what they were doing.
Some were cleaning their rifles.
Some were moving crates.
Two sat on the steps chatting.
Almost at the same time, they all looked toward the center of the yard.
The new platoon leader.
The young officer's uniform was neat.
His collar straight.
His epaulettes clean.
He was close to 1.8 meters tall.
Solid build.
Broad shoulders.
He looked like someone who had trained for a long time.
His face was young.
But his expression was not frivolous.
No excitement common in new officers.
No forced authority.
Just calm.
He stood in the yard and glanced around.
His gaze swept across the buildings.
Dormitory.
Warehouse.
Flagpole.
And the thirty soldiers in the yard.
His eyes moved quickly.
But steadily.
Like he was confirming the environment.
Mike stepped out from the office doorway.
He stood on the steps, looking at the young officer.
"Welcome to the border."
His voice wasn't loud.
But the yard was quiet.
Everyone heard it.
The young officer turned his head.
Their eyes met for the first time.
Only then did Mike really look at him.
Young.
But very solid.
Standing straight—not forced, but natural.
Then Mike noticed something.
At the young officer's waist—
a blade.
A machete.
The sheath was simple.
The handle showed clear signs of use.
But aside from that—
no other weapon.
Mike's eyes lingered for a second.
No gun.
Soldiers usually carried firearms.
Even in remote posts like this.
At least a pistol.
But this platoon leader had none.
Only the machete.
Mike frowned slightly.
He said nothing.
Just remembered the detail.
The young officer stepped forward.
"Joseph."
His voice was low.
Simple.
Mike nodded.
"Mike."
"Deputy platoon leader."
They shook hands briefly.
Mike's palm was rough, calloused.
Joseph's hand was just as hard—
but controlled.
No excessive force.
The handshake lasted a second.
Then they let go.
Mike turned.
"I'll show you around."
Joseph nodded.
They walked across the yard.
The soldiers resumed their work.
But many still glanced at them.
The new platoon leader—
young,
and somehow different.
Mike spoke as they walked.
"Small post."
"One platoon. Thirty men."
He pointed ahead.
"Dormitory."
"Warehouse."
"Mess hall."
"Duty room."
Everything was simple.
Concrete walls.
Metal roofs.
Border posts didn't care about appearance.
Just needed to be livable.
Joseph said nothing.
Just listened.
Occasionally, his gaze drifted into the distance.
The forest.
A true primeval forest.
Tall trees.
Thick trunks.
Canopies woven together.
A dark ceiling of leaves.
Mike noticed.
"That forest's huge."
"Real wilderness."
"Easy to lose your sense of direction."
He paused.
"And there are plenty of beasts."
Joseph glanced once.
Then looked away.
They kept walking.
At the far side was a crude training ground.
Packed dirt.
Old tires.
Iron frames.
The soldiers trained here.
Mike stopped.
"Daily work is simple."
"Patrol."
"Guard duty."
"Recording."
He smiled faintly.
"Not much happens."
He leaned on a metal frame.
"A lot of well-connected kids—"
"get sent to places like this."
"Serve two years as platoon leader."
"Add border duty to their record."
He shrugged.
"Then get promoted."
Joseph didn't respond.
His expression didn't change.
Mike glanced at him.
Dropped the topic.
The tour ended quickly.
They returned to the yard.
Life resumed.
Quiet again.
Days passed without incident.
The border stayed quiet.
The forest stayed quiet.
Routine formed quickly.
Patrol.
Training.
Duty.
Then the soldiers noticed something.
The platoon leader was often absent.
Every day, at a fixed time—
Joseph would leave.
He walked out the gate.
Straight into the forest.
At first, no one cared.
Officers had habits.
Some liked walking.
Some liked training.
But Joseph was different.
He always entered the forest.
And stayed a long time.
Morning.
Or evening.
Gone for hours.
The soldiers began to talk.
"What's he doing?"
"Hunting?"
"Walking?"
Someone shook his head.
"That forest's too deep."
"Easy to get lost."
Another said,
"Maybe he has a map."
Just guesses.
No one asked.
A few days later—
Mike finally did.
Evening.
The sky dimming.
Shadows stretching from the forest.
Joseph was about to leave.
Mike leaned by the gate.
Lit a cigarette.
"Platoon leader."
Joseph stopped.
"Yeah?"
Mike exhaled smoke.
Pointed at the forest.
"What are you doing out there?"
Joseph answered simply.
"Running."
Mike paused.
"Running?"
Joseph nodded.
"In the forest."
Mike looked at the dense woods.
Silent for a few seconds.
"Be careful."
"Easy to get lost."
He paused.
"And beasts."
Joseph remained calm.
"Not a problem."
Mike shrugged.
"Alright."
"We're all adults."
"If something happens, that's on you."
A trace of helplessness in his tone.
But no objection.
Joseph had already turned.
The trees swallowed him.
The post went quiet again.
A few days later—
Noon.
The gate suddenly opened.
Soldiers looked up.
Joseph walked in.
His uniform dusty.
Boots muddy.
Breathing steady.
Over his shoulder—
a man.
In uniform.
But not theirs.
Mike stood in the yard.
Stunned.
"This is—?"
Joseph dropped the man.
Unconscious.
Clearly a neighboring country's soldier.
Joseph spoke casually.
"Saw him while running."
"So I brought him back."
Silence fell.
Mike crouched.
Checked.
Enemy soldier.
Fully equipped.
This wasn't simple anymore.
Mike looked up.
Joseph was already turning away.
"Get intel from him."
As if assigning a routine task.
Mike stood.
"Platoon leader."
Joseph paused.
"Where are you going?"
"Another patrol."
Then he left.
Disappeared into the forest again.
Silence returned.
Mike looked at the prisoner.
Said nothing for a moment.
Then sighed.
"Take him in."
"Interrogation room."
The soldiers moved immediately.
The atmosphere had changed.
No more casual movement.
Eyes fixed on the small room.
Enemy captured here—
something was wrong.
Mike lit a cigarette.
His face calm.
But his eyes sharper.
Then he entered.
The room was small.
A table.
Two chairs.
Crates in the corner.
Narrow window.
The prisoner was tied to a chair.
Weapons removed.
He woke slowly.
Confusion—
then clarity.
His gaze swept the room.
Stopped.
Cold eyes.
A soldier's eyes.
Mike sat down.
"Name."
No answer.
Mike waited.
Then nodded.
A punch landed.
A dull sound.
The prisoner bent—
but didn't cry out.
Second punch.
Third.
Time passed.
Minutes.
Dozens of minutes.
The air grew heavy.
The prisoner sweated.
Face pale.
But his eyes stayed hard.
Mike stood.
Went to the door.
Lit another cigarette.
"Continue."
The door closed.
Sounds echoed inside.
Dull.
Oppressive.
Time passed.
Hours, maybe.
When the door opened again—
The air was thick.
The prisoner slumped.
Barely recognizable.
Swollen eyes.
Split lips.
Dried blood.
Mike stepped in.
"Now—"
"We continue."
A long pause.
Then a hoarse voice.
"Special… unit."
Silence.
Mike's eyes shifted.
"What?"
"Special unit."
"Mission."
"…Infiltration."
"Border."
"Operation."
"Numbers?"
"I don't know."
"Recon group."
"Advance unit."
His voice weakened.
Mike nodded.
"Enough."
He left.
The air outside felt cooler.
He frowned.
Special unit.
That wasn't normal.
An entire special force in the forest—
this was serious.
He reported immediately.
Short exchange.
Orders came quickly.
Combat readiness.
Mike stepped out.
"Form up."
Thirty soldiers lined up.
"Enemy special forces likely in the forest."
Tension snapped tight.
"Heightened alert."
"Reduce patrol range."
"Full armament."
Immediate action.
Weapons checked.
Positions set.
The post transformed.
Mike stood in the yard.
Smoking.
Then he remembered.
Joseph.
Still in the forest.
Hours had passed.
If the intel was true—
an entire special unit was out there.
Mike was silent.
Then sighed.
"Even just for show—"
"I've got to find him."
He crushed the cigarette.
"You two."
Two veterans stepped forward.
"Gear up."
"Come with me."
No questions.
Rifles.
Ammo.
Flashlights.
Comms.
Minutes later—
They stood at the gate.
Fully armed.
Mike looked back once.
Then—
"Move."
The gate opened.
They entered the forest.
The trees swallowed them whole.
Silence returned.
Only the flag moved in the wind.
And deep inside the forest—
nothing could be seen.