Welcome Back, Commander - Beginning of Issue 4

The village rises out of the dust like a hallucination.

By the time your boots hit the cracked road leading into Kharbat al-Nour, your tongue is dry as powder, and your limbs move like someone else's. Every muscle aches. Your eyes sting from sun and sand.

Yousef is the first to spot you. He’s standing at the edge of a collapsed wall by the mosque, rifle slung over one shoulder, a half-eaten date in the other.

His eyes go wide. “John?”

You give a small nod, your voice low and hoarse. “Water.”

He tosses the date, grabs his canteen, and rushes toward you. You drink deep—too fast, nearly **** on the first swallow, but you don’t stop. You only come up for air once the world starts spinning.

Yousef studies you with a cautious look. “Where the hell have you been?”

You hand the canteen back, wiping your mouth. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, well, the village nearly shit itself without you.”

You don’t flinch. “You follow my orders?”

He stands straighter. “Me, Samir, and Hassan—every day. Rebuilding. Guard shifts. Ration tracking. We even stopped a raid from the Ghazi militia. Minimal losses.”

You nod once. “And the roads?”

Yousef grins. “Scouts are rotating every six hours. We’ve laid out three IED nests across the mountain trails and the southern road out of the wadi. If they’re coming, we’ll hear them before we see them.”

That earns him a second, slower nod. You’re too tired to smile, but the weight of command eases, just for a breath.

“Good,” you say. “Keep me updated. Anything—movement, chatter, even dead air—comes up, I want to know.”

Yousef raises a hand in salute—half-respectful, half-habit.

You turn from him without another word, your boots dragging slightly as you cross the square. The village is quieter now—still moving, but slower.

You walk through it all, not looking back. Not until you reach the edge of the oasis.

Your tent is still standing.

You step inside, strip off your gear one piece at a time—rifle, vest, sweat-soaked shirt. You collapse onto the cot before your knees give out.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. But it comes.