Twenty minutes later, Anjali was munching away on an idli, occasionally dipping it into a single serving pot of chutney, the Mark III rifle set up beside her, ready for action it would probably never see. All the while she kept one eye on the stretch of road she could see beneath her and the other on the portable screen that displayed what the spy drones saw. Not that they saw much except rocks, grass, moss and even more rocks.
For a first mission with the Shakyri Corps, Anjali thought as she took a sip of sweet spiced tea from a self-heating bottle, this was as dull as could be. She might as well be back at home on Rajipuri, sitting in a mountain meadow, drinking tea and eating idlis with chutney, just as she had back when she was girl. Except that back home, the weather hadn’t been quit
