“You realize this isn’t one flight, right?” Melvin said.
Laird cracked one eye open.
“Four legs,” Melvin added. “And we’re switching birds in Kuwait.”
Laird groaned and pulled his cap down over his face.
The ramp closed with a heavy clang.
The aircraft began to move.
Beside him Mac leaned his head back against the bulkhead. “You feel it?” he asked quietly.
Melvin nodded. “Yeah.”
The engines climbed to a roar and the aircraft lifted, the ground dropping away beneath them. For the first time in months the war slipped out of reach.
Hours later the aircraft shuddered as it dropped back through clouds.
Kuwait.
The ramp opened and heat flooded the cargo bay, thick and familiar. Soldiers blinked into the light, stretching stiff legs while crews guided them across the tarmac toward another aircraft waiting under floodlights.
Melvin didn’t bother checking his watch.
Time had already started to blur.
They were in the air again before it could settle.
Germany came gray and cold through the windows of the terminal. Coffee, fluorescent lights, soldiers moving through the concourse in loose groups while another aircraft fueled on the far side of the glass.
Then Ireland.
Rain streaked the windows while ground crews moved under sodium lights and the soldiers inside the terminal moved slower now, the exhaustion finally catching up.
By the time they boarded the last aircraft, conversation had faded to quiet murmurs.
Most of the soldiers around them slept in awkward angles. Boots braced against the metal floor. Helmets tucked against packs.
Melvin leaned back and closed his eyes. The pressure in his chest wasn’t danger anymore.
It was transition.
He opened one eye and glanced sideways. “We survive a year in-country and the Air Force still wins with chalk pasta.”
Mac almost smiled.
The aircraft jolted as the wheels struck runway. Rubber screamed, then steadied.
The cabin went quiet.
Melvin felt the change before he saw anything. The air coming through the vents tasted different.
Cooler. Cleaner. No dust. No trace of cordite sitting in the back of his throat.
The engines wound down.
“Home,” Mac said quietly.
