As the arms inspection at Taji Camp concluded, the setting sun dyed the Iraq Desert a blood-red hue.
Song Heping stood atop the watchtower in the warehouse area, gazing at the sprawling military base that stretched for several square kilometers.
Hundreds of containers were neatly arranged, with the hangar doors partially open in the distance, revealing the outlines of armored vehicles.
The wind swept across the desert, lifting sand and dust, which struck the corrugated steel panels with a light, fragmented sound.
"Old squad leader, the checklist is done."
Jiang Feng climbed up, holding a tablet, his expression a mix of exhaustion and awe.
"Just the small arms alone triple the total we've handled over the past five years."
Song Heping took the tablet, swiping his fingers across the screen.
The data shimmered with a cold light in the dim twilight.
He once considered himself a big shot.
