Ruins of a man

The desert sun beat down mercilessly, a familiar weight on Sergeant Landen Miles J.'s shoulders. Inside the sweltering CHU, the air hung thick with the exhaustion of a brutal night. "Rise and shine boys!" Sergeant Baker's booming voice sliced through the haze, rousting them from their meager four hours of sleep.

"Sir, yes sir!" they chorused, a tired, ragged symphony. Landen moved with the practiced ease of a soldier, the scent of stale sweat and dust clinging to him. He joined Mills, Holm, and Rogers in the washroom, the movements automatic, a ritual of survival.

Breakfast was the usual boiled eggs and toast, a meager reward for a hellish night. "One hell of a fight last night," Landen muttered, settling beside his friends. The unspoken tension of their recent firefight still clung to them like the desert dust.

"God, really again boiled eggs and toast?" Mills grumbled, a sigh escaping him. Holm lit a cigarette, the flare briefly illuminating his weary face. "Quit your whining. Be glad we have food on the table." The table fell silent, each man lost in his own thoughts.

"So what hell do you think they have in store for us today?" Landen finally broke the quiet, shoveling down his food.

Mills, mouth full, replied, "I hear headquarters has gotten Intel on an enemy base… the guys who shot at us last night? News is they’re sending a small recon team to take them out."

Landen stood up. "See you guys around." He had a more pressing engagement. Paco was waiting.