The command car was filled with a blend of smells.
The sharpness of low-quality tobacco, the stench of wet sheep wool soaked by rain, and the damp cold brought in by iron boots stepping on the muddy ground, all compressed in the narrow space, making one's chest feel heavy.
Several older Northern Territory commanders leaned against the sides of the carriage, smoking pipes with lowered heads.
Smoke rolled slowly under the dim light of the oil lamp, like an indelible mist.
The sound of the rainstorm hitting the car roof was continuous, crackling, dense, and urgent, as if countless shards of stone were being poured down from above.
The car door was suddenly pushed open from outside.
Cold wind along with rainwater rushed in, as a drenched scout stumbled into the compartment, leaving a trail of muddy water.
He was barely able to stand, yet forcefully held on, without saluting, he just gasped quickly a couple of times.
