“Distinguished visitors. How nice. Where’s the rest of my team?” he asked. The five soldiers who’d split from his team had helped another one out on a larger mission. “Where are they staying?”

“They left this morning. We lodged them at a hotel for the last two days.” She handed him a packet, her hand trembling slightly. Rick thought she couldn’t be older than nineteen. “You have rooms at the hotel. The hotel shuttle will take you. Just fill out this paperwork.”

He shook his head. “Lance Corporal, we cannot walk into a hotel lobby looking like this.”

She stood and pointed down a hall. “Sir, the gym has a locker room. Grab a shower and get some breakfast at the DFAC, then we’ll have the shuttle come for you.”

He scrubbed at his beard and thought about the breakfast waiting for them in the dining facility. “Fine.”

He turned to the team. He could tell they’d started to decompress. “Get your footlockers out of storage. Shower in the gym and slide into civvies. I’ll meet you at the DFAC.”

After filling out the paperwork for the hotel, making arrangements for a shuttle, and checking in with his commander and scheduling a debrief for tomorrow at eight, he went to the shower. By the time he got there, everyone had already left. He slathered cold cream on his face and neck to wash away the camouflage paint. The cream felt and smelled good. With it still on his face, he stepped into the shower. He’d take a longer, hotter shower at the hotel, but for now he relished the feel of clean water washing away weeks of grime. The water ran over his head, across his shoulders, down his torso. It mixed with green paint and red blood, making a strange brown color as it swirled down the drain.

By the time the water rinsed clear, he could barely stand up. He dug through the footlocker he’d collected from storage and found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He wanted to sleep, but he needed some real food first. The idea of another MRE held absolutely no appeal. He glanced at the big analog clock hanging above the door. Seven ten. Perfect. Only ten minutes since they’d started serving, so they should still have some of everything. Maybe even pancakes. His stomach growled and his mouth watered at the thought.

In the basement of the embassy, Rick found the DFAC. He walked in and smelled classic breakfast scents: meat cooking, breads baking, coffee brewing.

He closed his eyes and just sniffed it in. Ahh, coffee. After grabbing a tray, he loaded a plate with corned beef hash, a cheese and mushroom omelet, fresh fruit, and a stack of pancakes. He added a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee to his tray, then found his team holding a place for him at a table.