It was dark when I awoke; high pitched screaming echoed around the small room. My nerves came to life like electrical conduits. After the prior night, I had fallen asleep with my rifle beside me, cradling it like a long lost lover. Now I clung to it as I looked nervously around the darkroom.

It was then that I recognized the high pitched girlish scream, Westcott.

"If he doesn't shut up soon. I'm going to fucking kill him," Robinson muttered as he pulled a blanket over his head to muffle the noise.

Westcott was still lying on the makeshift bed we'd made up for the kid. His eyes were closed, but sweat was pouring from his face as it contorted in terror. Wetting a cloth, I placed it on his forehead and spoke to him quietly.

"It'll be alright. You're safe now." I reassured him: lies, all lies. I felt like a parent telling their child that Santa was going to visit. My words were well-intentioned but ultimately false.

"A warrior won't become stronger if you support them." Kuwta's pale blue eyes gleamed in the dim light of the consoles. "This is a battle he needs to win himself."

Westcott moaned as Kuwta rolled back over, leaving me to decide the best course of action. It might not be the Orc way to help someone through their pain, but it was mine. Throughout the rest of the night, I sat with Westcott, waiting for his fever to break. I wrung out the cloth and watched over him. If he died, he wouldn't be alone.

When the morning arrived, my eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep.

"Cup of Joe?" Sarge asked as he rose and stretched his arms.

I nodded, not trusting my voice at this time in the morning. Caffeine was good at any time, but after a sleepless night, it was manna from heaven. In the Marines, coffee was referred to as Joe or CLP. CLP stood for 'Cleaner, lubricant, preservative,' the acronym was intended to be used for gun oil - but the Marines had adopted it for coffee. It was pretty accurate, you didn't drink it for the taste, but it kept your body moving in the same way gun oil kept a weapon's parts working.

The coffee was strong and black, just the way I needed it. I was on my second cup when Westcott sat up suddenly. His cheeks puffed as if he was a drowning man attempting to breathe, and his eyes were open and wild. I thought for a minute he was going to run.

"Easy now, soldier," Sarge said calmly.

Westcott glanced in his direction, and as his eyes focussed on Sarge's weather-beaten features, his breathing calmed slightly. "Sarge?"

Sarge nodded encouragingly, "It seems you're still amongst the living. How do you feel?"

"It hurts; everything hurts. The last thing I remember is running away from the line .. then nothing." He stopped, confused. "What happened?"

"Your stupid ass got blown up." Robinson explained helpfully, "That's what happens when you're a SUC."

Westcott looked down at the floor. He'd just been tarred with the worst insult you could give a fellow Marine, and he knew it was accurate. No one trusted a 'Small Unit Coward.' You were meant to have your brothers' back, not run away and leave them in the lurch.

A sultry voice rang out from the corner, "I was surprised you wanted to save him, so weak and feeble. Still, he must be good for something?" Kuwta said with a smile.

Robinson silently glared at her. The Marines were like family. It was an unwritten law that we could insult each other, but it was beyond the pale for an outsider to do so.

Westcott spluttered, "An Orc? What is she doing here?" He asked pointedly. His already bloodshot eyes widened further, and he started rocking back and forth. When someone has a traumatic injury, I'm fairly certain the doctors recommend avoiding stressful situations while they recover.

Sarge apparently had an alternative approach to therapy. He slapped the kid roughly across the face. "Snap out of it, Marine." He growled. The kid's eyes filled with tears as he looked up at the grizzled man. "Don't even think about it." Sarge snapped, "If you'd held your ground like the rest of us, then you wouldn't be in pain."

Westcott nodded numbly. His lip quivered a little, but he wisely held back the waterworks.

"This is Kuwta," I indicated, gesturing to her so Westcott could make the connection. "She operated on you, and without her help, you'd have died," I emphasized.

He nodded, "Thank you." Then he looked at the rest of us, "I won't run again." He stated with heartfelt honesty. Nice words, and he undoubtedly meant them, but I doubted any of us trusted them. Once a coward, always a coward.

The door to the interior of the ship hissed quietly opened, and Robinson lept up. As always prepared to defend his right to first pickings from the breakfast cart. This morning, however, he was disappointed. Instead of the delivery robot, our purple-skinned overseer walked calmly into the room, flanked by two taller figures wearing armored suits. His bald head shone under the ceiling lights as he silently waited for us to become silent.

"Squad 264. You have three minutes to gather your gear before departure. It is time for you to deploy." In front of him, a timer appeared suspended in the air, counting down.

3:00

2:59

Without another word, we scrambled to grab our gear. I hefted my rifle and pulled on my backpack. Standing with the rest of my squad as we prepared to move out.

Kuwta stood with us, at ease as if she'd always been part of the squad. If the overseer saw anything unusual in her presence, he didn't mention it. I wondered if he realized she hadn't originally been in our group. Perhaps we all seemed the same to him. He generally seemed uninterested in us.

As the timer reached zero, the overseer and his entourage turned and left the room. Our boots beat out a regular rhythm as we marched behind him down the winding maze of milky white corridors. The path seemed random, but our guide never so much as paused when we reached a junction.

After twenty minutes, we stopped outside a huge, reinforced door. Some hundred feet tall, it was sized as if for giants, within it though were several smaller doors, each opened and manned by Scrael, checking and approving a seemingly endless flow of creatures into the area beyond.

"Congratulations squad 264; you have been assigned to the group reinforcing base 8413. Continue through and join the general assembly area. May your actions bring glory to the emperor."

With that, our guides turned and left us. I looked at Sarge, who shrugged and moved to join the queue. "Fall in men." We moved into position beside him, slowly stepping towards the doorway and our waiting mission.

Directly in front of us in the queue were a grizzled looking group of tall humanoids. Their long furred bodies were muscled, and they looked dangerous. Yet they too stood meekly in the queue, waiting their turn.

Others quickly slotted in behind me, giving me the impression of waiting at a bus stop. The common theme was each group was small, weary-looking, and well-armed.

When we reached him, the Scrael was older than our handler, his blue skin was wrinkled from age and he had a long jagged scar under one cheek. As we approached he raised a small scanner and a beam of red light flickered across Sarge's face. Nodding, he jabbed a long finger at his pad.

"Combat Unit 264 - 1, proceed."

Robinson stepped forward, "Combat Unit 264 - 2, proceed."

I pushed Westcott forward next. The kid still didn't seem to be quite with it. "Combat Unit 265 - 5, proceed."

Then Kuwta stepped forward, "Combat Unit 176 slash 5. Please wait."

The others had disappeared into the room while we were left waiting in front of the door. Behind us, the long winding line collectively groaned.

A short, squat alien tapped my arm. He had pale, almost albino skin, but apart from the drooping jowls which dangled down his face, he looked nearly human. "What's the hold-up?" He asked, glaring impatiently at me.

"Who knows?" I comment obliquely, trying not to engage him in conversation.

Fortunately, whatever confirmation the Scrael had been waiting for must have arrived because he came out of his stupor.

"Combat Unit 176 slash 5, your designation of deceased has been revoked. Please proceed through the door to the mission briefing."

Thank fuck for that. I hurriedly stepped forward, and more importantly, away from the hostile glare that I felt burrowing into my back.

A light shone across my face as I was scanned in. "Unit 265 - 4, proceed."

I had been wrong; this wasn't a room. It was a vast hanger, stretching perhaps a kilometer or more in length. In the distance, it was open to the vastness of space. Most science fiction books describe the emptiness of space and portray it as a black expanse. They were wrong. There were a million stars out there—all sparkling brightly.

Sarge didn’t allow me to stand in awe for long. “Peters, fall in.”

It was just as well he’d been paying attention, there were thousands of people in the hanger already. It would have been easy to get separated. Sarge had sensibly claimed an area pressing against the far wall. This ensured that no one pushed past our group as they tried to find their own space.

Sat back against the wall I played space tourist, watching the various alien races as their squads filed into the room.

My nanobots worked hard to identify each as I noted them. The most common were the Greys. The nanobots told me these were named Kerbals, but these grey-skinned and glassy-eyed aliens were nearly identical to those I’d seen represented within science fiction movies and they’d always be ‘Greys’ to me.

When I’d reviewed the map earlier I’d noted the Reptilia, they were predictably lizard-like in appearance. They were acting passively enough, hissing and talking in much the same way as the others, but their massive jaws looked like they could easily rip a man's head from his shoulders.

I was overwhelmed as more and more races milled past me, the tall lizard headed Anunnaki, the inhuman bulk of the Golem clomping past. The myriad of races was incredible and daunting.

It made me realize just how small and insignificant I was within the universe. Just a few weeks ago I didn’t know for sure that aliens existed. Now I stood amongst dozens of them. A human about to go to battle with them.

At the front of the hanger a hologram of a Scrael appeared. Many times the size of the real alien this figure would be visible to everyone within the hangar.

Quickly the groups fell silent. There was a rustle of feet and other appendages as everyone present turned and waited for the mission briefing to begin.