"I'll be happy when we're done winning over hearts and minds for the day, sir." Corporal Thompson mutters as the camera crew is busy taking shots of the landscape for their footage.

Landscape. That's hilarious. By landscape I mean endless sea of sand. We're not on high enough ground to really enjoy the mountains that Afghanistan has to offer, instead we're deep in her bowels. Gritty, dirty, brown expanses for as far as the eye can see.

"Keep your head up, Corporal. This last Shura will be about forty-five minutes and then we can get back to the base for some grub." I reassure him.

Truth is, I'm not so sure how much time we should be wasting on these Shura expeditions either. Every time we trek all over hell's half acre to meet the village elders and have a pow-wow with them about how we’re here to help, not hurt, them and their kids, I can't help but feel like we're the butt of a national joke.

People aren't idiots, they know a propaganda campaign when they see one. It's difficult to occupy a country in war and also try to convince its citizens that you're not the enemy. That's the real battle, and I'm not sure we're ever gonna win that one.

"I'll tell ya, I can't wait to get back. I hope with the time difference it's not too late to get a hold of Nadine," Thompson squints and twists his head as he tries to solve the time zone equation in his head. "Three weeks. It's crazy how it's so short, but feels so long."

"It'll fly by, Corporal." I reassure him.

But I know it's a lie.

Kids waiting for Christmas ain't got nothing on us. After over 14 months of duty, the last three weeks will make molasses look like an Olympic sprinter. In some ways it feels like I was just getting settled into camp yesterday. In other ways it feels like this stretch of time has somehow expanded beyond my own lifeline. Like I was born into this war. Like I’ll die from it.

"Don't worry, you'll be back with her soon."

I watch as the camera crew from CNB gathers around the silver haired news anchor who's come to capture a glimpse of our time over here. They've been following us for damn near a week, pulling guys aside with little interviews, and generally disrupting our routine. It's the nature of the beast though. Without news coverage, we'd get no support back home. People get too caught up in the morality of the war, and forget that there are real people torn from their real lives fighting it.

The news guy, Cooper Sanders, has been great as far as these guys go. He's been real gung-ho about experiencing everything for himself. When I first met him, I wrote him off as just another Hollywood type. Full of Botox and bravado, but he's kept up with us pretty good. Even running an obstacle course we threw together, in full gear, just for shits and giggles. He’s good in my books. Even if he does wear make-up.

I let my eyes travel over to his personal make-up artist, Tiffany. She’s clearly been watching me for a while cause her face lights up like a light bulb when she notices my gaze.

I shouldn’t have fucked her.

"I hope you're right, Captain," Thompson continues. "I just got a bad feeling ya know? I know there's only a few weeks left, but I keep thinking this is when we're gonna get in the shit. If I could cut it short and go home today, I'd be on the first flight out. I just wanna be back with my woman and meet my son!"

"We know, Thompson. We know." Corporal Armstrong interrupts. "Most of the guys just wanna get home and get some poon, man. You though ... all you keep going on about is meeting a baby. Me, I'm gonna get back to the US and try to make babies with every girl who gives me the time of day. Just try to make em, mind ya. Not get all hormonal about actually having them, like this guy." Armstrong throws his arm around Corporal Thompson’s neck and tugs his head under his armpit in a headlock.

"Screw off, Armstrong," he twists his head back out and takes a step back. "I'm not getting hormonal, I've got my first kid back home and I've never even met him. You don't get it. Until you can find someone who'll love you for more than a night, or for more than fifty bucks, you won't understand."

"Well, your mama don't mind all the fifty dollar bills I've been throwing her way. Just sayin'" Armstrong teases him.

"Man, my mama is a nice lady. I keep telling ya, she's a good, God loving woman. She wouldn't have nothing to do with your low-life ass." Thompson smiles. After more than a year together, the guys all chuck shit at each other and laugh it off pretty quickly. They say that the Marines is a brotherhood, but I'd say it’s more than that. I'd always gotten along with my own brother, but the bond I have with these guys runs deeper than blood.

"What about you, Captain? You gonna get home and find yourself a good woman to settle down with? Or you gonna throw fifty bucks at Thompson's mama?" Armstrong asks with a twinkle in his eye. Thompson gives him a nudge in the ribs with his elbow but doesn't say anything to defend his poor mother, this time.

"Nah, you boys know I'm married to the Marines. She's been keeping a roof over my head and feeding me three square meals a day since I was eighteen." I answer.

“From the doe-eyes that make-up chick’s been watching you with, I’d say you already slayed some pussy over here, didn’t ya?” Armstrong says too loudly.

He hasn’t changed since the jock I knew in high school. When I first got off my leadership course and was assigned leadership of this platoon, I was shocked as shit to see him in my ranks. Cameron Armstrong was our school’s big quarterback. He was supposed to head off to university and play college football for the Colorado Buffaloes.

Instead, he followed his gut to the military. I’ve asked him, off-side, if he regrets it. He said the only thing he’d ever change is that he would have joined the army sooner. That being said, Armstrong’s contract is expiring soon after this tour and he’s made it clear that he’s still gonna go play college ball. We like to bust his balls and tell him the Buffaloes won’t take on a geriatric like him, but he just brushes it off. Truth be told, if anyone has the swagger, skill and gumption to get out of the military and go back to school to play some football, it’s Armstrong. I look forward to watching him play one day.

“Keep it down, Armstrong!” I hiss, popping my head up like a gopher to see if Tiffany heard. From the friendly smile on her face she didn’t seem to. Or, if she did, she didn’t care. Instead, she bats her fake eyelashes at me and gives me an exaggerated wink.

Don’t dip your pen in the company ink, they say. Even though she’s not military, she’s here under our care. I should’ve known better than to fuck her brains out the first chance I got. And the second. And that third time was just greedy. Damn it, fourteen months is a long time with my old right hand, palm-ala. It’s not like you can just go into town here and pick up chicks. That’s a good way to get your dick blown off.

“I knew it, you dog.” Armstrong’s eye’s light up. He’s got me and he knows it. “Good for you, Captain. I would’ve got in there myself, but you must’ve been waiting at the ready for her, huh?”

“Something like that.” I brush him off. The last thing I want to do is get into the nitty-gritty of how I fucked big tits Tiffany over there in the back of a U.S. military vehicle. I don’t need rumors like that following me around.

"Whatever, you two have no idea what you’re missing by chasing all that tail all the time. Someday, if you’re lucky, you guys will find someone. I'm telling you, when you find a girl like my Nadine, it puts all this in perspective. I never thought anything would be more important to me than the army, but now I've got my son and my woman. It just changes man, you'll see. You'll meet someone who'll throw you off your game and make you forget all about this," Thompson sweeps his arm across the dusty landscape.

"Ha! Wanna put some money down on that one?" I shake my head; I can't even imagine a world where anything means more to me than the military. It's just the way I'm built. "Nah, you can have your domestic bliss, Thompson. I've got all I need with the army."

"Hey, Captain!" Cooper Sanders trots over to us, dust billowing around his feet as he takes each step. "We've got the shots we needed now. Thanks for being so patient with us." He smiles and his eyes crinkle into a spider web of fine lines. However, no other wrinkles form on his face. For a man with a full head of silver hair, his face is suspiciously free from aging.

"All right, form up!" I stand up straighter and call out to my platoon. Our group is forty strong, plus the CNB crew adding another eight. The men stop gaggling around and line up. They know that our break is over.

"We've got one more Shura to do, then we'll be calling it a day. I know it's been a long one. I know you're tired and hungry and your body just wants your bunk, but let's end this on a good note, boys!" I call out, and watch my guys straighten up and shake off the oppressive heat and dirt to focus on our next job. You can always count on a soldier to put the job first. I would trust each and every one of my boys with my life.

No question.