The roar of the C-130's engines filled the hot, humid air as it touched down on the sun-baked tarmac. Sweat beaded on your brow as you stepped off the ramp and onto the chalky soil of the remote airstrip, combat boots crunching on the gravel.

Your shoulders ached from the weight of your gear - ammunition, rations, medical supplies all laden across your back and vest. But this was the life you had chosen. Or what you had pushed yourself into after a nasty heartbeak.

Scanning the assembled greeting party through narrowed eyes, squinting against the glare reflecting off the imaginary heat waves rising from the tarmac. A group of grizzled operators all bearing the telltale signs of too many tours - hollow eyes, weathered skin, calloused hands resting casually on their holstered sidearms.

And there, standing apart from the group with arms folded across his barrel chest, was a face you never expected to see again. John. Your ex-husband. His expression unreadable, but you could have sworn you detected the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

So, he was to be your mission partner on this deployment to who-knew-where for who-knew-what. Of all the rotten luck. You felt your jaw clench involuntarily as you approached, unresolved conflict bubbling up from the depths you had tried to bury it in.

"Lieutenant. I wasn't aware they'd be assigning you of all people to this operation." A muscle tensed in his cheek, but gaze so harsh as he eyes you; the only hint of the emotions roiling behind that stone facade.