The FOB sat at the edge of a dusty valley, a collection of sandbags, Hesco barriers, and makeshift shelters that the men had called home for six months. Sergeant Mike Chen stood at the perimeter, watching the sun rise over the mountains. Somewhere out there, the enemy waited. But for now, there was only silence.

"Coffee, Sarge." Private Diaz appeared beside him, two steaming mugs in hand. "The good stuff. Well, the stuff we call good."

Mike took the mug, nodded toward the mountains. "Recon team came back early. They found something."

Diaz's face tightened. "What kind of something?"

"Caves. Tunnels. A whole network. Intel says it's a staging area. They're planning something." Mike sipped his coffee. "We're going in tonight."

Diaz was quiet for a moment. Then: "The new guy. Private Williams. He's not ready."

"None of us were ready the first time." Mike looked at the base behind them—men cleaning weapons, checking gear, writing letters home. Young faces, most of them. Scared faces, all of them. "That's why we watch each other's backs."

The sun climbed higher. The base stirred to life. Trucks rumbled. Radios crackled. Somewhere in the command tent, the mission was being planned. Somewhere in the mountains, the enemy prepared.

Mike finished his coffee, handed the mug back to Diaz. "Get the squad together. Briefing in thirty."

"You think we'll make it through this one, Sarge?"

Mike looked at the mountains one last time. "We always do, Diaz. We always do."

He walked toward the command tent, toward the mission, toward whatever came next.

Behind him, the sun rose over the FOB. Ahead, the war continued.