Chapter 35 - Melvin
The night before departure never looked dramatic from the outside.
There were no speeches or final patrols, just the steady movement of a unit packing itself away.
Connex containers sealed. Gear stacked on pallets. Forklifts whining through the compound while soldiers tried to convince themselves they weren’t counting hours.
Melvin walked the gravel lane toward the outer wire because the quiet there made it easier to think.
Behind him the base still hummed with radios, engines, and laughter that came a little too fast.
A year of war packing itself into crates.
Mac fell into step beside him without a word.
Melvin felt the shift before he saw him, the familiar weight of his presence settling somewhere low in his ribs. The panther inside him recognized it instantly.
They walked a few more yards in silence.
Across the compound Barnes and Diaz were arguing with a crate that refused to close. Reynolds sat on a stack of duffels laughing at something Laird said. Someone had music playing near the motor pool, low and distorted through a cheap speaker.
The unit still functioned.
It just wasn’t theirs anymore.
“You ready?” Mac asked.
Melvin watched the gate lights flicker in the distance.
“No,” he said honestly.
Then he shrugged one shoulder. “But I’m packed.”
Mac huffed quietly beside him. “Same.”
They stood there another minute, the wind pushing dust across the gravel.
Then a truck rolled past toward the flight line.
Melvin brushed his fingers once against Mac’s wrist as it passed.
A quick, natural touch.
“Then we go,” he said.
Mac nodded.
They walked back toward the barracks without looking over their shoulders.
A few hours later the compound woke before the sun.
The aircraft waited on the runway. Floodlights washed the tarmac in hard white light. Soldiers moved in loose lines carrying rucks and duffels, boots scraping against concrete.
Melvin climbed the ramp and ducked into the cargo bay, the smell of hydraulic fluid and recycled air hitting him instantly.
Mac dropped into the web seat beside him.
Across the aisle Diaz was already leaning against his pack with his eyes closed. Reynolds scrolled through his phone like he couldn’t decide who to message first. Laird stretched his legs out and declared he planned to sleep the entire flight.
Melvin doubted anyone would.
“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.
Melvin nodded.
The ramp lowered.
Light poured into the cargo bay.
They stepped off into open sky. There was no wire, no towers, no red lights, only open space beyond the runway.
For a split second Melvin felt the panther stretch beneath his skin, not in caution but in release.
Mac adjusted his ruck and moved forward.
Melvin fell into step beside him.