The roads were maintained on this side of the Loch, which was a nice sight for the convoy. They never saw this kind of communal altruism on their side, and to see that folks over here actually cared for their minimal infrastructure was a sight for sore eyes, and sore tires. The convoy of the few dozen supply trucks rattled on for miles until finally reaching the endpoint of their journey: the small town of Blargie. The men unloaded themselves before the trucks even found a place to park, taking their troves of weaponry, construction supplies, and so on as they gradually jumped off the moving vehicles.

“Oi Rej!”, Yelled one of the many cloaked soldiers who was carrying some miscellaneous piece of artillery equipment, “‘E’ve got a perfect view of feckin’ Dun da Lamh from ‘ere!”.

Reginald Barry MacDonald stepped out of one of the trucks from the passenger-side door, binoculars in hand. He spoke back to the soldier while raising his artifice to see the hill which once housed a prehistoric Pictish fortress, noting the great unimportance of how it held itself; its remaining ancient features largely wiped from the face of this green earth. The hill was nothing more than just that — a hill. Rej lowered his binoculars and pointed to one of his aides with a tight-fitting black leather glove to get their attention, then back to the hill which was once important to that ancient Scottish civilization.

“Wipe whatever’s still up there and put up a base.” Rej ordered in a monotone voice.

The aide obeyed with a nod and began signaling to the hundreds of moving soldiers to head upwards.

Rej's Regiment Captures SC111, 107, and 109