The military truck slowed before anyone told them it would.Most of the soldiers inside were asleep — heads tilted back, mouths open, boots braced against duffel bags. Dead to the world.
Jeffrey wasn’t. Neither was Scayes beside him. They hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes, but the silence between them was loud. The kind that pressed against your ears.
The truck rolled to a stop. No one moved. They all waited for the order. Even Jeffrey. Especially Jeffrey. You never dismounted before the E-6s and E-7s gave the word. Not if you respected the chain.
His chest felt tight. Not fear exactly. Anticipation. The kind that bordered on pain. He told himself to breathe. In. Out. He knew he was breathing — he just wasn’t registering it.
Then it came.
“DISMOUNT 255! DISMOUNT!”
Boots slammed to metal. Gear rattled. Men woke from dead sleep like machines flipping on. Jeffrey didn’t wait to be told.
“Third squad! Formation!”
They snapped into place almost automatically. Even the other squad leaders let him take the lead. He’d been in the 255th Horizontal Unit through two enlistments. He knew every face. Every habit. Every weakness.
He stood at parade rest, spine straight. Pride swelled within him.This is it. This is what I signed up for. Staff Sergeant Miller waved him over.
“Scayes, take over.”
Jeffrey stepped forward toward the cluster of senior NCOs — staff sergeants, sergeants first class, a sergeant major. Scott hovered close enough to hear but far enough to pretend he wasn’t listening.
Jeffrey locked into parade rest.
“Staff Sergeant Miller,” he said evenly, “when are we wheels up?”
Miller didn’t answer immediately. That was the first sign. The second was the way he looked at the floor.
“Scott,” Miller said quietly, voice lower than it should’ve been. “You’re not coming with us.”
The words hit harder than any punch.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re going to California. Thirty troops. We need eyes and ears on the ground there. You’ll link up with reinforcements later. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
Jeffrey’s jaw tightened. California. Aid work. Not overseas. Not combat.
“Sir … with respect, that wasn’t the briefing.”
Miller’s eyes met his. “Plans changed.”
That meant something had gone very wrong.
Jeffrey swallowed the frustration rising in his throat. This was supposed to be it — forward deployment, proper engagement, real action. Instead, he was being redirected to … what? Cleanup? Civilian stabilization?
He felt betrayed.
And then he felt ashamed for feeling that way. Because people were dying in California. Miller placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re one of my best. That’s why I’m sending you.”
Jeffrey nodded once. “Yes, Staff Sergeant.”
He turned before anyone could read his face.
The thirty soldiers assigned to him waited in loose formation.He paused a second. Composed himself.
Then: “Alright. Listen up.”
They quieted.
“We’re not going overseas. We’re headed to California.”
Groans. A couple cheers. Someone muttered, “Guess I’m not getting shot today.”
Another replied, “Don’t jinx it.”
A few laughed — that short, sharp laugh soldiers use when they don’t know how else to react.
Jeffrey raised a hand.
“Embrace the suck. We move in ten. Those two buses are ours. We stop once for supplies, then we roll. Headcount before departure. Questions?”
Silence.
“Good.”
He took a breath, then louder:
“HOOOAH!”
“HOOOAH!” they echoed back.
The ritual steadied them. Scott fell in beside him as they walked toward the buses.
“You’re basically acting First Sergeant now,” Scayes said.
“Negative. Never happening.”
Scott smirked. “So what does that make you?”
Scayes allowed the smallest grin. “A monkey’s uncle.”
Scott barked a laugh. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
The humor was forced. But it worked. On the bus, soldiers counted off. One voice missed his number, staring blankly ahead until someone elbowed him.
“Wake up, hero.”
Seventeen on one bus. Thirteen on the other. Thirty total. Jeffrey looked back once — toward the aircraft loading the rest of his unit. Then he turned away.
California awaited. And he had a feeling this would not be aid work.