This is Just a Dream

Chapter 7

The desert night did not fall; it descended like a heavy, suffocating shroud. In the theater of operations, darkness wasn't just the absence of light—it was a tactical environment. Here, in a hostile, jagged stretch of the valley, the temperature plummeted, turning the stifling heat of the day into a biting, abrasive cold that seeped into the marrow of one's bones.

Adam sat on an overturned ammo crate, his hands wrapped around a dented tin mug of lukewarm, bitter coffee. The fire in the center of their perimeter was a small, tightly controlled thing, kept low to avoid attracting unwanted attention. Its orange glow illuminated the faces of his squad—men who had become more familiar to him than his own reflection. There was Miller, the squad’s wisecracking machine gunner; Davis, who could dismantle a weapon in total darkness; and Smith, the quiet medic whose eyes always seemed to be cataloging the proximity of the nearest exit.

They were caked in the omnipresent dust of the region, their uniforms bleached and tattered, their gear held together by sheer willpower and liberal applications of 550 cord. They were tired, the kind of tired that made your hands shake and your thoughts turn slow and sluggish.

"I’m telling you," Miller said, breaking the heavy silence, his voice a gravelly murmur, "the moment I get back to the States, I’m ordering a pizza the size of a manhole cover. I don’t want to see a single MRE for at least five years."

"You say that now," Davis chuckled, leaning back against his ruck. "But in three weeks, you’ll be hunting through the pantry for those little pouches of crackers."

A low, collective chuckle rippled through the group. It was the humor of the trenches—dark, absurdist, and vital. Adam found himself smiling, the familiar banter providing a much-needed tether to his own sanity.

"What about you, Garth?" Miller asked, nudging Adam’s boot with his own. "What’s the first thing you’re doing when you hit the tarmac?"

Adam didn't have to think about it. He never did, he didn't even look up from his cup of coffee to answer. "I’m going to find Eden."

A collective groan went up from the squad, but it was affectionate—the kind of teasing reserved for the one man who still carried a piece of the civilian world he’d left behind like a sacred relic.

"Man, we know," Miller rolled his eyes, though his grin was warm. "We know all about Eden. Eden and her teaching, Eden and her frogs, Eden and the house with the porch."

"She’s a teacher, right?" Davis added, keeping the light tone. "Garth, you’ve told us that, like, forty times. We get it. She’s the one."

Adam leaned into the firelight, his expression earnest. He didn't mind the teasing. In fact, he welcomed it. Talking about Eden was how he kept her real. When the desert started to feel like the only world that had ever existed, when the mission blurred the lines of his past and future, he spoke of her to keep the map of his own life from fading.

"You guys don’t get it," Adam said, his voice steady. "She’s the reason I’m still here. When things go sideways, when the world feels like it’s ending, I think about her. I think about the life we’re building, and it makes all of this—the dirt, the noise, the waiting—feel like something I can endure."

"He’s a poet, that one," Miller muttered, though he passed Adam a spare ration bar. "A lovesick infantry poet."

Across the fire, seated in the shadows where the light barely reached, Commander Garrett Hanson sat with his rifle across his knees. He hadn't spoken, but his presence was a physical force. Garrett was the Monster, the man who stood between his squad and the chaos that perpetually threatened to consume them. He was a decorated, lethal, machine that was calculating every moment, listening to every noise.

He had watched Adam grow over these last few months. He had seen the transition from a green, idealistic recruit to a seasoned infantryman who moved with the calculated efficiency of a veteran. But more than that, he had watched the way Adam held onto his humanity.

Garrett knew the cost of that attachment. He knew that for a soldier, caring about someone was a liability. It made you slow. It made you hesitate. It made you want things that the military couldn't give you. And yet, watching Adam talk about the girl with the laugh—the girl who was the purpose for his soul—Garrett felt a strange, protective surge.

He remembered a time, a lifetime ago, before he had allowed himself to be turned into a tool of war, when he had also had a purpose. He had lost it, of course. They all did. But seeing Adam hold onto his, seeing him defend it against the encroaching cynicism of their existence, felt like watching someone fight for the last spark in a dying fire in freezing arctic temperatures.

"Keep talking about her, Garth," Garrett said, his voice quiet, slicing through the banter.

The squad went silent, eyes turning toward their commander. Garrett was looking into the fire, his expression unreadable.

"You need that," Garrett continued, his gaze drifting to the perimeter of their position, his eyes ever watchful for threats. "You need the memory of something clean, something that hasn't been touched by this place. It’s what keeps the soul intact when everything else starts to fracture."

Adam nodded, a small, grateful smile touching his lips. He understood that Garrett wasn't just giving him permission; he was giving him an acknowledgment.

"She’s a teacher," Adam repeated, his voice softer now, almost reverent. "She’s going to spend her life helping children learn how to see the world. I don't know how I ended up with someone so… bright. She’s like a light that doesn't go out, no matter how hard the wind blows."

"You’re a lucky man, kid," Davis said, his voice losing its teasing edge, becoming reflective. "Most of us just have the void waiting for us back home. You’ve got something solid. Most women want to be married to a soldier but they just can't be faithful, hell it isn't that hard to just be with one person and be devoted to them."

The conversation drifted then, moving from the personal to the practical—talk of gear, tactical maneuvers, and the upcoming mission profile. But the atmosphere had shifted. The fire seemed to burn a little brighter, the cold a little less oppressive. Adam felt the camaraderie of his squad, the deep, unspoken bond of men who had shared too much, risked too much, and survived too much to be anything less than brothers.

As the night wore on, Adam retreated to his position on the perimeter, his rifle across his lap. He stared out into the vast, dark expanse of the valley. The stars above were brilliant, unpolluted by the city lights of home, a cold, indifferent tapestry that seemed to mock the triviality of his longing.

But he wasn't alone. He had the squad, he had the mission, and he had his tether.

He reached into his pocket and touched the corner of the photograph, the paper soft and worn from months of use. He thought of Eden, of her smile, of the life they were promised. He was a soldier in a hostile land, surrounded by danger, but in the quiet of his mind, he was already home, in her arms.

He didn't know about the days to come. He didn't know about the path that would lead them to the ambush, the fire, and the tragedy. He only knew that he was fighting for the return, and that as long as he carried the light of her, he could never be truly lost.

Garrett walked the perimeter a few hours later, stopping by Adam’s position. He didn't say anything, just stood there for a moment, his presence a silent wall of support. He was checking the lines, but he was also checking on the boy.

"You’re good, Garth?" Garrett asked, his voice a low rumble.

"I’m good, Commander," Adam replied, his voice steady. "I’m exactly where I need to be."

Garrett nodded, a movement that was barely perceptible in the dark, but the Monster caught it. "Don't let them take that from you. Don't let this place turn you into a machine. You’re a man, Garth. And you have a life to go back to, some of us dont have that. Don't ever forget that."

"I won't, sir."

Garrett walked on, his silhouette disappearing into the shadows. The shadows didnt swallow him, the void opened and welcomed him into the dark, as if the shadows were an extension of him. That was one man that Adam vowed he would never cross.

Adam stood watch, the desert wind whispering secrets of old battles and lost souls. He didn't shiver. He felt the weight of his gear, the cold of his rifle, and the warmth of the promise.

He was an infantryman, a soldier in the theater of war, but he was also a man who loved, and that made him stronger than any weapon he carried.

The fire behind them had burned down to embers, a small, pulsating heart in the middle of the dark. The squad was sleeping, their breathing rhythmic and deep. They were the brothers he had chosen in the crucible of war, the ones who would fight for him, bleed for him, and carry him home if they had to.

He felt a deep, profound sense of gratitude. He was part of something larger, a collective, a unit, a brotherhood. But he was also a man who was waiting. And that waiting, that persistent, daily commitment to a future that felt both impossible and inevitable, was the most important mission of all.

As the first, faint hint of blue began to bleed into the eastern sky, Adam felt a shift in the air. The desert was preparing to wake up, the heat already beginning to stir in the dry, cracked earth. The mission would begin in earnest soon, the demands of the day rising to meet them.

But for this brief, stolen moment, he held onto the stillness. He held onto the memory of Eden’s laughter. He held onto the promise of the porch, the ring, and the life that was waiting for him on the other side of the war.