Advanced Infantry Helmet, Augmented Reality: eight hundred credits, plus monthly maintenance. Third-level Navy-spec Maglock armor: six thousand credits for a full set, plus monthly maintenance. MC-1 carbine, plus ammunition, magazines, and daily maintenance: four hundred and thirty credits. American-made Navy Combat Chest Rig: fifty credits. Government-issue one-size-fits-all socks and underwear: five credits per crate. Basic Training and Marine Infantry Training School: around five hundred thousand credits. The cost of training a Marine in the twenty-third century was enough to bankrupt the average middle-class family of four several times over. The Ministry of Defense's Department of the Navy spends well over five hundred thousand credits to train, outfit, maintain, and deploy a single Marine. The average Navy frigate however, say, an Escort-class, costs millions to construct and maintain. Simply put, while a Marine's life is worth more than he'll ever make in it, the ship he protects is worth ten times that amount. And they had lost enough of them that they were prepared to lose a few Marines to keep one.
	By 2225, the Merchant Navy was losing one out of every ten ships, carrying valuable food and supplies needed to keep the colonies alive. In 2226, the government was further embarrassed when a frigate deployed to hunt the pirates plaguing the colonies was captured, the crew caught by surprise when the pirates boarded the ship. There wasn't a single weapon on board to defend the frigate with. It led to the resignation of several Admirals and even the Defense Minister. When the new Minister of Defense took office a month later, he tasked the Department of the Navy with creating a new fighting force specially trained in providing security for both civilian and military ships. By 2227, every space-faring ship in the Human League was carrying a Marine security detail. The Minister of Defense wanted hardened Infantry veterans and experienced sailors for the newly-established Marines. What he got was every eighteen year old high school drop out who wanted to see space, get a free meal, and play with machine guns
	"You know we only lose one out of every hundred ships now?"
"I wish you would read less." Not all ships warranted a full Marine company. The smaller and faster ships, such as the Venus Vandal, had to make do with the leftovers. Leftovers like Lance Corporal Logan Garvey and Corporal Farid Martin. Martin was sprawled out on the couch in the Vandal's lounge, reading on his tablet. His bootless feet were propped up in Logan's lap while the Lance Corporal toyed with the settings on his helmet. His movie had suddenly quit playing, and he had no idea why.
"And I wish you wouldn't download crappy action movies on government property."
"It isn't illegal!" Logan defended. "It's just frowned upon."
"Right. That's why you only got an NJP and nearly kicked out MITS instead of a trip to the brig."
"They have no appreciation for the classics."
"Classic? It isn't even in Ultimate-HD."
"You don't need fifty thousand pixels to enjoy a movie."
"I best not be hearing junior enlisted scum talking back to a non-commissioned officer."
"You know, if I kill you and eat your rank patch, I gain your powers. Then I'll be in charge."
"See? Those movies rot your brain. You have to carry the NCO sword when you eat the patch or the rank won't transfer properly. You'll be stuck a terminal lance the rest of your life."
"Did you even bring your NCO sword?"
"Of course I did! what kind of pirate hunter doesn't carry a sword?"
"We're not pirate hunters, we're security guards. The gallant knights defending the princess. Pirate hunters are sailors, fuck those guys."
"Knights carry swords too."
	Logan pulled the helmet off of his head and set it on the table upside-down, pulling a pen from one of the many pouches adorning his belt. He used the pen to push in a tiny rubber reset button on the inside of the helmet and waited twenty seconds before turning it back on. Immediately upon activating the display, he saw a Cuban from the 1980's being killed with a chainsaw. The audio stalled momentarily before correcting itself. Movie night was saved and Tony Montana lived another day.
	The Advanced Infantry Helmet Augmented Reality was one half of Project Mjolnir, developed by DeepSilver Armaments in cooperation with the Ministry of Defense's Research and Development Department in an effort modernize the average soldier's equipment. The AIHAR covered the entire head and created an airtight seal when used in conjunction with Third-Level Maglock armor. The faceplate resembled a death's head without a mouth. Inside, computers used tiny hologram projectors to throw up a Head's-Up Display connected wirelessly to the nearest computer running the Overlord Operating System. In theory, a soldier could access anything from schedules for the next ammo drop to General Intelligence files on what native plants and animals were safe to eat. In practice, it was million-credit tech being used by a high school drop out film junkie to air old movies and internet porn. “The tragic fate of all military equipment,” Martin had said once. “Designed by the smartest in the world for the best in the world but used by anyone stupid enough to put their John Hancock on enlistment papers.”
	The Venus Vandal was an older ship outfitted with new tech and run by a young crew. One was even a female. The pilot was one Vera Notch, an Australian who comes from a wealthy family with ties to the separatists. Captain Garth Seymour was a middle-aged veteran who had spent his youth with the Coast Guard in America, fighting South American rebels smugglers before deciding there was more to the Navy than water. The crew was rounded out with Ezekiel Myers, who kept the ship's small army of bots maintained, as well as any repairs that might be necessary to the Vandal herself. He rarely left the workshop on the bottom deck and communicated via his remote-controlled robots. Logan didn't even know what the guy looked like, but the Captain insisted “Zeke” left his lair from time to time. Once, Logan descended into the ship's dark bowels to meet the little autist. He found a janitor bot being used to ferry food and dirty plates back and forth between the kitchen and the workshop. Zeke had asked to borrow his helmet so he could take it apart, but beyond that there wasn't much to the meeting. Logan didn't understand how he could sit in one room working on the same robots every day. After three days onboard the Vandal, the Marine was convinced he had doomed himself to four years of the most boring Military Occupation Specialty in the entire Fleet. It wasn't long before he was wishing for the days of Marine Infantry Training School again, for the wide open urban playground that was Port Malcom.

	They were all decked out in real, genuine Maglock armor, and their MC-1 carbines carried live, armor-piercing ammunition. It was the final rotation before graduation. Each recruit present was there because they beat out the losers, those too soft or injured to finish the school. The entire second rotation was focused on pitting the recruits against each other in the belief that the strong will eliminate the weak. That day in the Kill House, there wasn't a single person who hadn't earned there place. The Globe and Anchor was already painted on their armor in a dull matte blue. This late in the game, graduation was nearly guaranteed. The only drop-outs would be the injured, and most would just get rolled back to the next training platoon.
	Squad Five stood next to the planning table inside the safety bunker just a short walk away from the mock-up frigate, AIHAR helmets clipped to their hips. They had their three-dee hologram blueprints of the Kill House floating over the table's hidden projector, all the plans finalized and files uploaded to each recruit's helmet. Their Squad Leader, a recruit by the name of Leary, gave a salute to the Drill Instructors who would be watching the feed from the recruit's helmet cams and led the squad out of the bunker to the entrance of the large mock-up ship. Logan and Martin shoved each other playfully before donning their AIHAR. A red circle at the corner of Logan's HUD let him know that everything he did was being watched by the Instructor cadre.
	The recruits stacked up on either side of the entrance. Their breacher outlined the hatch with bright orange-and-black det-tape and returned to her spot in the line. “Blow it!” Leary ordered. The det-tape flashed and fizzled, burning through the metal hatch in a split second. The door fell in. Martin entered first. Logan entered behind. Leary followed with the rest of the squad. Inside, the first room of the Kill House was an open armory with three hologram pirates waiting. Martin shot the first just as the hologram raised its shotgun. The AIHAR's built-in ear protection muffled the sound of the shot somewhat, but the close quarters amplified the bang and bounced it around the metal walls. Logan tried to ignore it and lined up a shot on the second target, trusting Leary to get the third. The rest of the squad filed in and passed them, following a small corridor with several rooms. Only the Instructors knew which rooms held targets, or whether an ambush was waiting at the top of the stairs Leary and Logan were mounting. There was. In his HUD, Logan saw Leary's life signals cut out at the same time a barrage of gunfire sounded over nearby speakers. A notification read, in big bold letters, SQUAD LEADER DOWN. Logan snatched a grenade off his chest rig and pulled the pin, tossing it up the stairs. After the overpowering BANG, he rushed up the stairs and hosed the corridor with automatic fire. Leary was “dead” where Logan left him at the bottom of the stairs. If the maps of the Kill House were accurate and not another lesson from the Instructors not to trust intel, he should be coming up on the bridge. The rest of the squad focused on clearing the rooms one by one while Logan rushed past them all, his eyes locked on the prize. He wanted to be the first recruit in the platoon to the finish line, he wanted the win so bad he could taste it ––

	–– And then he was back on the Vandal, hearing church bells as someone knocks hard on his helmet. Logan didn't even realize he had fallen asleep. His movie had automatically shut off to after his eyes closed to conserve power, but it restarted after he yawned heartily. “Stow that weapon, Marine!” Martin was shouting at him. “What?” Logan yanked the AIHAR off of his head and sat it on the table.
“I got nothing against what you may or may not be dreaming about, but I suggest you take it to your rack instead of pointing it at your commander.”
“I was dreaming I was back at the Kill House...” Logan rubbed his eyes and yawned one more time. Martin's feet had retreated from Logan's lap and were pulled close as the Corporal inched away. All he offered was a weak “That's fucked up, man.” Logan finally noticed what he was so upset about. Where his friend's feet had been just a moment ago was a fine specimen of the phenomenon known as Combat Wood.
“You mirin'?”
“You're sick.”
“You never got Combat Wood before?”
“We're not even in combat! There is no shooting or explosions here!”
“I told you, I was dreaming about the Kill House.”
“Didn't that Andy girl almost frag you in there?”
“Fuck yeah man.”
“See? Sick in the head.”
“You can't seriously tell me you never got the tiniest bit excited in the Kill House.”
“I always preferred the Party Bus.” The Party Bus was part of the second rotation. A bus packed with as many recruits as possible drives through the city while the Instructors pick a single Marine to be the defender while all the other recruits gang up on him. Anyone who surrendered was immediately kicked out of MITS. Anyone who took the inevitable beating was given Maglock armor and a slap on the back. Anyone who managed to fight back was named the new Squad Leader. Out of Logan's initial two-hundred man training platoon, only seventy made it past the Party Bus. Some of them had to be rotated back because of broken limbs and other injuries and thus go through the Party Bus again with a new platoon. Legend had it that Logan's Squad Leader Leary did second rotation three times because he kept getting injured.
	“You're telling me you would rather be at the bottom of a pile of hot, sweaty recruits who all want to pound you instead of go through the Kill House again? That's kind of gay dude.”
“I just felt your dick rubbing my feet. I don't think you're in any position to be deciding whats gay or not.”
“All this talk of dicks and positions is getting me so hot,” Logan teased, scooting closer to Martin. His wood still hadn't wilted, and the Corporal was visible shaken. He fidgeted uncomfortably as Logan's face got close, a predatory grin showing off his pearly whites. Logan's forehead touched Martin's and they made eye contact. He felt intense heat throughout his body and he realized he wasn't just teasing anymore, and neither was Martin. They held their position, motionless, for several seconds. They both knew what was going on. Martin's lips brushed Logan's for a fraction of a second. There was no disguising it now. “What are you doing?” Logan breathed. “Shut up,” Martin grumbled back. He ceased his escape attempts, even went in for another kiss. Logan dodged it initially but gave in. This one lingered, more than a passing brush of flesh on flesh. Their Maglock chestplates clinked together, and they both hurriedly worked to release the seal, anxious to be closer together without metal plates in the way. Logan wasn't thinking about what they were doing anymore. They both relinquished control, and instinct had taken over. And instinct went hand-in-hand with lust.
	Logan raised himself up to pull his chestplate off and reveal his bare torso. The months of Marine training and military lifestyle had transformed two skinny kids into grown men, with strong backs and broad shoulders. Martin removed his hands from his armor to touch his comrade's chest. The contact, skin touching skin, sent electric shocks through the Lance Corporal's body. He grabbed the shoulder straps on Martin's armor and hoisted it up, dropping it on the ground with a clunk while his companion repositioned himself. Even more armor hit the floor as he ditched his leg and shin guards, sliding his pants down and exposing himself. It was Logan's last chance to back out, to deny what they were both doing, what they both wanted. There was no question. He wanted it, he wanted it so bad he felt like his chest was about to collapse in on itself. He pressed himself against his partner, feeling the growing erection pressed flat against his abdomen. Martin was already squirming, the feeling of bare skin touching his cock fueling his already overpowering lust. Logan reached a hand between them and brushed his fingertips along the member's underside. The movement elicited an immediate reaction so he kept going, teasing it by grasping the shaft and pumping slowly. Martin grew impatient and started grinding his pelvis into Logan's hand. The heat was intense, like holding the barrel of a rifle as it fires. 	Logan's own erection had not died down in the least. While Martin was busy fucking Logan's hand, he slowly stroked his own cock, keeping it ready for the real thing. It came sooner than expected, and Martin did too. His muscles tensed suddenly as his movements grew more frenzied, and a shot of hot white liquid drenched his hand and abdomen. Martin's breathing was deep and ragged, like he had just ran the obstacle course in record time. He hoisted himself up only to be pushed back down, as his partner lifted Martin's legs in the air. He knew what came next and was prepared for it. Logan took his cock in his hand and placed it at Martin's entrance, relishing in the heat of the moment. He pushed inwards and felt Martin's ass squeeze painfully tight. It took a second for him to relax his muscles and let Logan continue. There was less resistance as he pushed farther in, until his entire shaft was inside his friend. They held the position for a moment before Logan pulled out ever so slightly. With each small thrust, Martin's ass loosened more and more. Logan was finally able get a smooth in-and-out movement going and the pleasure multiplied tenfold. They were both breathing heavily, lost in the heat of the moment. They didn't speak, or even think. Every cell in their bodies was focused on that one moment, savoring it, enjoying it for all it was worth, trying to make it last as long as possible. Logan's face hovered just millimeters away from Martin's, and they shared another kiss, lingering and passionate compared to their previous nervous pecks. The two finally used their momentum to work together, syncing their movements to a shared rhythm. They pulled away at the same time and pressed together, and Logan finally felt that familiar pressure building up in his cock. He endured it and held off as long as humanly possible before the dam burst. Martin gasped as he felt Logan spasm inside of him, flooding his ass with his cum.

	“So are we gay now?”
“That depends. What characteristics would “gay” define?”
“Two dudes butt-fucking.”
“Sounds about right.” They had dressed quickly, donning their armor again and thanking every god who would listen that nobody had walked in on them. The couch had been cleaned in embarrassed silence, and their attempt at acting casual was failing miserably. “So what do we do now?”
“We protect the ship, same as we've been doing this whole trip.”
“So our fuck session just now was actually about protecting the ship?”
“Of course my young Lance Corporal. How exactly are we supposed to operate at peak efficiency if we're too backed up with sexual tension to think straight?”
“I don't remember that part in our class on managing combat stress.”
“Those pages were stuck together.”
	As Logan reached for his helmet, he was relieved that everything seemed to be back to normal. At least, for the time being. His HUD had several notifications waiting when he activated. The first alert that caught his attention was the little red recording circle. He laughed and removed the helmet. “What's so funny?”
“Check this out,” Logan said, handing his new fuck buddy the helmet. Martin slipped it on and immediately said, “I'm deleting this.”
“What? No! Why?”
“Why do you fucking think? I refuse to be party to the making of sex tapes on this deployment.”
“You've changed man, how is this relationship going to work if––”
“Shut the fuck up for a second. Something happened.”
“What do you mean something happened? Hey, talk to me man, what's going on?”
“When was the last time you checked these notifications?”
“This morning, I guess.”
“We got new orders. The Vandal's being rerouted. After she drops off her cargo we're headed back to Port Malcom. Something bad happened.”
“Give me that!” Logan lifted the helmet from Martin's head placed it on his own. They did indeed have new orders to return to Port Malcom. He skimmed the body of the text. Negotiations with the fell through. Simultaneous attacks took place against both sides. The Verner-Shaw colony was a molten slag. The representative from New Berlin was dead. The entire Alien diplomatic envoy was executed in retaliation. War were declared.
“Fucking hell. The pirates will have to wait, we're being redeployed to the invasion fleet. We're headed for Deep Space."