Afternoon, dusk.
30 kilometers west of Hasakah City, Northeast Syria.
Amid the endless yellow wasteland, a convoy of more than twenty vehicles kicked up clouds of dust, speeding from north to south.
The sun shone brightly over the exposed Gobi, the sand reflecting a golden hue.
Inside one of the convoy's Oshkosh L-ATV light tactical vehicles, Lieutenant Langsen leaned back in his seat, squinting at the monotonous and sleep-inducing landscape swiftly passing by.
The bullet-proof glass of the car windows blocked most outside noise, leaving only the low and steady roar of the engine humming in his ears.
He had just ended an unpleasant radio call with a Kurdish liaison officer, arguing over the distribution of supplies for half an hour, which left him somewhat irritated.
