They would say sometimes that the first day was always the hardest. It was Rowan Collins' fifth day, and things weren't getting any easier. Diving into the brush on the edge of the field, Rowan laid still on the ground, in the shade of a tree. Quietly, he reached down the string on his neck to his binoculars
Scanning the distance, he saw a group of roughly two hundred armed men in uniform. They were crossing the road in the opposite direction, and there was no way they could spot him that far away. He checked each tree, branch for branch, each bush, and each alcove. There wasn't an enemy sniper in sight.
What was this combat training bullcrap anyway? He put down the binoculars and sighed, pulling out his metal canteen. The water tasted horrible, but he was becoming dehydrated for all the sweat. What was this fifty pounds of garbage on his back all the time for? He signed up to go and plug some holes into something.
There was no danger here, he was sure. He broke the silence and radioed headquarters. "0226 reporting in, enemy sighted heading west at..." He felt cold sharpened steel on his neck. "Damnit Collins, ALWAYS BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS!". The knife was gone and he turned around to see the vein bulging on the commander's forehead. Tomorrow was going to be a harder day.