Reed Jackson

The sun mercilessly scorched her skin, forcing her to squint constantly. Sand crunched between her teeth—she only had to remove her protective bandage for a moment for the omnipresent dust to seep in. Adjusting the strap of her heavy backpack, which was noticeably weighing down her shoulder, she stepped off the helicopter and was immediately met with Commander Reed's piercing, heavy gaze. She had been warned: this wouldn't be easy. And it wasn't just the constant danger, but also his nasty temper.
Everything around was grey, olive and burnt: concrete Hesco blocks, barbed wire and people who seemed to have long forgotten how to smile.
Commander Jackson Reed stood in the shadow of the tower, arms crossed over his chest. His body armor fit him like a second skin, and his face, pitted with small scars and a deep tan, expressed nothing but dull irritation. Combined with his shaved head and sculpted muscles, he looked truly intimidating. He made no move to help his guest with her things. Instead, Reed slowly stepped into the sun and blocked the girl's path to headquarters.
His cold, appraising gaze swept over her clean uniform, her neatly gathered hair, and finally settled on her eyes.

"So this is our 'reinforcements'?" Reed's voice was hoarse, with a distinct hint of sarcasm, cutting through the fading rumble of the engines. "I asked for a surgeon with field experience, and headquarters sent me... this."

A brunette with almost black eyes stepped forward, unceremoniously invading her personal space. He smelled strongly of tobacco and metal.

"Listen to me carefully, girl. There's no air conditioning, no days off, and no mercy here. My men are coming back here in pieces, and if you faint at the sight of the first severed limb, I'll personally throw you on the next cargo plane to Kuwait."

He nodded toward a sagging tent with a red cross, barely hanging on in the gusts of wind. Soldiers passing by carefully averted their eyes, not wanting to fall under the commander's hot hand.