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Northern Sardakistan, Area of Foledonia’s landings

A goat farmer stood in his field, a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck, and a wooden staff in his right hand. Despite his old age, he was a capable and hard worker, known around his coastal village for always being quite the handyman. Today however, he was working a different job. Instead of working with his goats, helping around the village, and or going into the larger town nearby to buy wares from merchants, he instead began taking a walk up through the mountains that overlooked the coast. With him, he took his binoculars and an object that he carried in a bag. When he began his little mission he came into contact with two major convoys of Nogovastanians, making their way further north it appeared. During his trek into the coastal mountains, he had stopped to admire the view a few times, drink from a nearby stream, until reaching a point that gave him a good overview of the coast.

At his destination, he would nestle himself into a hidden location between the rocks to avoid detection. Around this time he would reach into the pouch he had brought along with him, pulling out a walkie talkie set to a frequency used by the Mujahideen. After the arrival and mistreatment by Nogovastanian forces, he felt sickened to know another foreign enemy had landed so close to his town. Soon, he had taken his binoculars off from around his neck, and raised them to his eyes. He reported what he had seen back to the Mujahideen listening on the other end. “Lots of them.” He spoke into the walkie talkie.

“How many, brother?” Asked the man on the other end.

“Lots.” He replied.

“Do they have the vehicles with the big gun and tracks, brother?”

“Yes. I can see, uh, lots.” Responded the old goat farmer.

“What about men? How many Kafirs can you see? Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands?” Questioned the voice on the other end eagerly.

“It’s, about tens of thousands, inshallah.”

“What else, soldier?”

“Boats. Lots.”

“Allahu Akbar! You’ve done great, brother. Your information on the Kafir will help greatly.” The voice on the other end said enthusiastically.

“Allahu Ackbar.”

With that, the old man turned off the walkie talkie, placing it back in its pouch. Not too long after his scouting mission, the old man would make his way back down the mountain, taking another route down the backside of the mountain instead. Routes like this are essential to the local populace to avoid areas with high foreigner activity. He would return back to his village just in time to prepare dinner, and lockup his goats.