CHAPTER 274

A few days later, the scene shifted to a remote Harte Boer camp, nestled deep within enemy territory.

The air was thick with tension as a convoy of military vehicles approached, and dust kept on billowing in their wake.

The vehicles came to a halt, and the doors swung open with a metallic clank. Mondosh hostages both military and civilian were roughly dragged out, their appearances were starkly contrasting the disciplined precision of their captors.

The soldiers looked ragged and disheveled, their uniforms were torn and stained, hanging loosely on gaunt frames.

The same thing could be said for the clothes of the civilians.

Their faces bore the marks of their ordeal – bruises blossomed in angry purples and blues, and cuts marred their skin.

The Harte Boer soldiers wasted no time in showing their disdain, shoving and kicking the captives as they stumbled out of the vehicles.

The hostages' eyes, hollow with fatigue and despair, reflected their suffering.

“Move, scum!” barked a Harte
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