He rubbed the back of his neck with his right palm and looked off toward the concourse display board.

He didn’t say a formal greeting, but his right shoulder lifted into a stiff, alert stance before he turned away.

Ten feet behind him, two other young Marines were sprawled across four vinyl chairs, their canvas duffels heaped on the floor between them.

One of them, a lance corporal with short-cropped hair and an unbuttoned collar, was laughing loudly as he tossed a handful of salted nuts into his mouth.

He jerked his thumb across the concourse aisle, his loud voice carrying easily over the background hum of the terminal.