The diesel generator outside our shipping container office droned at a steady, low pitch through the corrugated metal walls.

The constant vibration climbed the hollow aluminum legs of my metal folding chair and settled deep into the rubber soles of my boots.

I drew a yellow highlighter down the second page of the November duty roster, checking how the printed columns lined up against the daily requirements.

Vance sat on the other side of the narrow room.

He tapped a black ink pen on the edge of a salvaged oak desk.

We’d dragged that heavy piece of furniture out of a wrecked civilian field office during our first week at Al Asad base.

The smell of stale instant coffee hung heavy in the trapped air between us, mixed with the faint, sharp odor of hot laptop electronics.

“Shift four needs one more mechanic on the vehicle line,” Vance said.

“We lost two whole days on the transport repairs this week because of parts delays.”

I checked the personnel availability column on my aluminum clipboard.

I was tracking fifty-two soldiers across three separate daily rotations.

“Miller’s on light duty until Thursday morning,” I said.

“He rolled his ankle on the loading dock unloading supply crates.

I can pull Henderson off perimeter detail and send him up to the garage.”

Vance tapped his pen on the wood twice and stopped.

“Make the change,” Vance said.

“Make sure the perimeter schedule doesn’t drop below minimum tactical requirements.”

I crossed out a name in the third row with a black ballpoint pen.