Military planes weren't much fun to ride on - well, they were the first two or three times. After that, they weren't much fun. They were nowhere near as safe or comfortable as civilian airplanes. The first thing you noticed straight off was the lack of walls. It was a big, noisy, open space - a gutted, flying silver bullet. Without any barriers or dividers to section off the plane they could load any shape or size cargo they wanted - a necessity when transporting large numbers of vehicles, artillery, and personnel. The outer walls of the plane were left bare. The pilots and crews manning these aircrafts didn't have time for paneling and decoration; they needed the wires exposed for quick changes and repairs. Even the personnel seats themselves seemed to be designed like an uncomfortable after thought. They were scattered along the walls of the plane, some grouped together and others spaced apart. They were built from steel piping and thick strips of fabric. The bars were wielded to the plane, and folded out of the way to allow more room for cargo. Most Marines couldn't handle sitting in them for extended periods of time, and often found alternative places to settle once the plane reached cruising altitudes.

A young Marine in uniform emerged from behind the door of the cockpit. He looked a little young to be a co-pilot, but not at all nervous or unsure. Marines were never unsure of themselves. He made his way down a short flight of stairs and over to a slightly older looking man seated off to the side, staring into space.

"Sergeant Timberlake?" He spoke.

The man's eyes landed on the younger solider and gave him a questioning glance.

"We are 30 minutes outside of the air field, sir."

The man nodded, effectively dismissing the younger Marine. When the door to the cockpit closed again Staff Sergeant Justin Timberlake looked over at his unit. They'd scattered themselves out amongst the cargo. Some sat in groups on the floor playing poker and blackjack.

Others were going through their packs: checking and rechecking their gear, looking at photos and video recordings from the field. The general mood was cheery and excited, thick with relief. They were finally going home after an 11-month deployment.

Timberlake stood up from his seat and called the attention of the other men.

"Alright men, we will be landing soon. Don't forget we report for drill two weeks from today at 0700hrs. I expect each and every one of you to be on time, cammies on - sans the hangovers. Understand?" His voice was commanding and authoritative, a byproduct of having already spent more than 6 years in the Corps.

"Oorah!" They replied in unison.

"Any questions? Now is the time to ask them."

He hadn't anticipated any, and moved to dismiss, but a hand shot into the air.

"Serge!!" A red headed man called out.

Justin straightened up and looked down at him with annoyance. It was Corporal Billingsley, their version of a class clown.

"What is it Billingsley?"

Before Billingsley could speak another Marine shouted out. It was his sidekick, Lance Corporal Wilson.

"Why are you so quiet Serge?"

Timberlake rolled his eyes.

"I don't talk because you talk enough for the both of us, Wilson."

The rest of the unit laughed and Wilson shook his head.

"That wasn't my question, Serge," Billingsley said.

"Well, spit it out."

"I, uh, I was just wondering if you're planning on having a girl waiting for you when we land? Or, is it going to be your Dad again?"

"Yeah, Serge, how come we never hear you talk about a girl, or see a woman coming to get you? Aren't you lonely over there poor Serge?" Wilson mocked.

The rest of the men laughed.

"A year in the field, those pipes gotta need some kind of cleaning out!" Someone else yelled.

That caused the Marines to fall into a fit of laughter, muttering in agreement to themselves. For as long as the Serge had been leading them there hadn't been a girl around, not even a pathetic tag chaser just looking to bang a man in uniform. The Serge was handsome enough, and seemed down to earth. He could get any girl he wanted, but it was becoming more and more apparent that he didn't want any.

Timberlake rolled his eyes internally as he waited for them to settle down, but didn't crack a smile or show any sign of emotion.

When they were quiet enough he said, "You've never seen my woman because your mom is too worried about how you would feel finding out that I'm your real daddy."

Wilson's face turned beet red as the other men burst out in laughter.

"As you were," Timberlake said.

"Awe, pick up your face Wilson," one of the men teased.

As the men began to gather their belongings Timberlake returned to his seat. He turned to a small window on his right. All he could see were clouds and blue skies. It was calm and peaceful, a far contrast from the conditions surrounding the mission he was returning from.

Events from the past year flashed through his mind. Some were happy: helping children and families, making friends with locals. Of course, kicking the shit out of the enemy and blowing things up were always a good time, too. It was no coincidence that he'd joined one of the only professions in the world where you got to spend all day making things go BOOM! But, some memories were not so happy. Some were violent and tragic. This had been his third deployment for the Marine Corps, but it was by far the most difficult.

He reached into a side pocket in his jacket and pulled out a photograph. It was of him and his best friend, fellow Marine Staff Sergeant Chad Willings. The two had joined the service together fresh out of high school, for the most part. They returned from every mission side by side, except for this one. Chad had fallen victim to a suicide bomber six months before the mission was deemed complete...

"I can't wait to get home, fire up the grill, and drink a couple of beers. Get some ass... Yes...." Willings reminisced.

Justin chuckled as he walked beside him. They were patrolling a small village in Afghanistan, clearing a path for the Army to come in and set up more permanent housing and begin peace talks with the tribal leaders. The goal was to unite all of the Afghan villages so they could better defend themselves against intruding Al Qaeda forces.

The pair was moving steadily along, despite the blistering sun. Timberlake was watching the crowd on the left and Willings was scanning to the right. Both moved with rifles in hand but pointed to the ground. Two more two-man teams and an IED resilient vehicle called the Buffalo crept along behind them, ready to provide cover for the two Staff Sergeants and constantly reporting their position to the powers that be.

"What do you plan on doing?" Willings asked.

Justin shrugged in response. He hadn't thought much about it. He hadn't been home with his family in California since joining the service. Right after boot camp he'd been based on the East coast. Out of the past four years of his life he'd spent three of them overseas.

"Shit, I don't know, man."

"Come on J, we only have six months left until we're state-side again. You've got to have something you want to do, or something you're looking forward to when you get back." Willings pulled a towel from his pocket and began to wipe the sweat from his dark brown skin. "At least say you want to try to find a nice honey to lie with."

Both men laughed, and Justin shook his head.

"Chad, man, not everyone thinks about ass all the time. Besides, maybe I don't want to find just anybody, man. Maybe I want a real woman."

Willings rolled his eyes.

"Oh, you're one of those soft sentimental type cats. Alright, I feel you. But, damn son you need to think about getting some type of ass in the meantime. A year of this shit, and this fuckin' heat, with no women, is enough to drive a man crazy. This lotion and internet porn shit isn't cutting it."

Justin scrunched up his face at the mental picture. Willings cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrow.

"Naw, man, come on. We're being real here. There ain't any females around, for real. The only enlisted females are traveling with the Army, and it's still against conduct to touch them even if we did get close to their camp. But, you remember old girl back home I was telling you about? Monica Sanchez?"

"Ha, how can I not remember? You're constantly talking about her."

Justin was talking, but his eyes were trained on a group of kids crossing their path. They were chasing after each other and sword fighting with sticks. He couldn't help but smirk.

"Yeah, man, that honey is down for a brotha like me. She never misses a beat. I'm always getting letters from her; she's always there when I call or video chat. Plus, her sex game is tight man. I'm just letting you know I am going to murk that when I get home."

Justin looked confused.

"Murk?"

Willings rolled his eyes and dropped his rifle momentarily.

"Son, murk means the same thing as -let's see- kill that, beat that, smash that, murder that pussy."

"Okay, I get it," Timberlake said.

Gross.

He should have known with Willings. Even though he and Chad had been friends for years it seemed like Chad was always using a new word or phrase when they talked.

"Good. Keep up, white boy."

Justin rolled his eyes.

"That's if Jody doesn't get to her first."

Chad sucked his teeth and tilted his head to the side.

"Man, fuck Jody."

The convoy continued down the road, the rocks and debris crunching underneath their boots and tires. As they walked on, scanning the rooftops and doorways, they noticed a woman up the road. She wore a long black dress, with red pants underneath, and a red scarf covering her hair. She was struggling with a basket of food and various bags of goodies from the nearby market place. They watched for a moment as the woman paused, attempted to hold onto her balance, and then dropped all of the bags. Her items spilled out onto the dirt road and she let out a visibly heavy sigh.

"Hold on, man. Let me go help her out."

Willings signaled with his hand for the convoy to halt before heading toward the older woman.

"Willings!" Timberlake called. "We don't have time for this!"

Willings, who'd begun a lazy jog toward the woman, turned back with a smile.

"Good opportunity to do some community service! It might get us some Haji's on our side."

Justin, looking for a shady place to sit down, headed for a rundown building and sat on the front steps. The other Marines remained in their formation. Some took a knee to rest; others used the break as an opportunity to guzzle water. It was hot wearing all that battle rattle, Kevlar wasn't exactly breathable. For a moment Justin just stared off into space, thinking about his conversation with Willings.

Truthfully he really hadn't given much thought to what he was going to do when he got back home. Maybe Willings was right, maybe he did need to find a girl. There was no telling if and when the 'right one' was going to show up. It could be months, years, maybe never. It'd be nice to have someone to share dinner with while waiting on forever to arrive.

Justin turned his glance over to Sergeant Willings. He was chatting with the old woman - well, he was attempting too. Their civilian translator had been temporarily reassigned to another unit for the day, so the language barrier was preventing the two from communicating effectively. Justin just smiled for a moment, watching at Willings resorted to hand movements. He was trying to explain to the woman that he was helping her to the side of the road. The group of children sword fighting with their sticks moved toward Willings, attempting to show off their defensive skills to the Americans. He smiled at the kids as they ran around him in a circle, taking him prisoner.

A sudden drop in altitude rattled the plane, yanking the Sergeant back into the present. The clicking and clacking of metal upon metal sounded through the belly of the plane, barely audible over the roars of the engines. Justin pinched the bridge of his nose as his head began to throb. He hated the flashbacks, hated the migraines that he got when he thought about that day. He sighed as he looked down at the picture of himself and his best friend posing in front of their first forward operating base, rifles in hand, looking like two badasses still wet behind the ears.