I’ve stared at the night sky a thousand times, but I never let a constellation decide where my troops go. A good plan is built on terrain and timing, not on what the stars say. If the stars wanted to be useful, they’d at least tell me which side of the battlefield is safer. So I keep my eyes on the map and my hand on the rifle; the stars are just a nice distraction when the clock is ticking.

You’re right, even the best maps have blind spots. Once I followed a “star” on a scout’s chart and ended up marching into a valley that the locals called the Black Hollow—spite of that, the enemy was hiding there. I learned that a quiet star can point you where to look, but you still have to check the ground first. So I keep my eyes on the map, my ears on the wind, and my hand on the rifle. The rhythm of the world is useful, but only if you listen for the right beat.

True enough. I’ll keep the map in my hand, the rifle on my shoulder, and if a whisper of wind comes from the ridge, I’ll listen. But when the wind stops, I’ll still make the move. The night can teach, but the battlefield won’t wait for a lull.