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MILLER.
    “Yeah, drop pods.”
    “I hate those,” Miller whispers back. 
    Heart rate finally slowing Sanders chuckles, “Not as bad as the memories waking up from the cocoon though.”
    “Screw that,” Miller whispers shakily over the intercom.
    “What’s going on?”
    A few seconds elapse as Miller glances around the terminals, “looks all quiet boss.  Patrols are all normal.  Proxy sensors aren’t showing anything and overhead drones aren’t showing anything on the thermals.”
    “Alright, I’ll be back there in the office in about thirty.  Anything comes up ring the intercom in the head.”
    “Rog.”
    Sanders pulls a towel from the closet and heads for the showers.  The cool concrete against his bare feet would have felt rough but he only registers the scraping and dragging as friction against his strides. 
    Standing and soaking under the hot water he lets the entire room steam up before lathering up with soap and washing himself down.  He takes the soap and scrubs down his face and scalp.  He glances at the shampoo and then turns around to soak under the shower. 
    Kind of nice not needing shampoo, but I miss it.
    Shutting off the hot water he dries himself and pads back to his room.  Inside he pulls the sheets up in his rack and straightens them out before sliding it back into the wall and sitting down at the desk to slip into the thin skin that goes under the armor. 
    Hanging from several hooks he slides the various pieces of the suit on and locks them into each other.  First the chest piece and backpack, “You can’t power up any of the systems without the battery pack,” his drill instructors had said.  Next came legs, “Doesn’t matter if you can lift your rifle if you can’t move with it on your own.”  Locking each of the pieces into the other layers he glances at the helmet and its opened faceplate to check and make sure each piece is correctly locked.
    “Reading all green from your suit,” Miller’s voice comes over the speakers in the helmet, not whispering this time.
    “Yep, check out a rifle from the armory for me?”
    “Assault Rifle or Marauder?”
    “Rifle,” Sanders says shrugging.  “Not much chance we are going to need anti-vehicular rounds or anti-squid firepower.”
    “Is there much chance we will need anti-personnel rounds?”
    “Point taken,” Sanders says composite boots clicking down the hallway. 
    In the control room Miller sits feet propped up behind the bank of holo screens with a rifle set caddy corner on the desk. 
    Sanders picks it up and checks the magazine to find out how many rounds are loaded, sixty.  He chambers a round after finishing the safety checks and clicks it into place on the hard mount holster over his shoulder.
    “Like that boss man?” Miller asks.
    “Got a feeling Mills.”
    The blank black metal helmet nods slightly. 
    Sanders activates the suit’s interactive command system and accesses the holo screens and checks the inputs from each. 
    Feeds from the blockades around Solace dominate most of the news feeds.
    “Looks like this shit is getting pretty serious.  They have significant aerial assets as well as heavy ground armor.  We won’t be knocking them over easily.  Planet had way more helium on its moon than even the geologic summary said.  They’ve been making a killing for nearly half a decade.”
    “Yeah,” Sanders crosses his arms, “Looks like we are likely going to be heading over there.”
    “Huh?” Miller says helmet turning.
    “Yeah O, came in last night after he caught me looking at the deployments.  We are looking at heavy installations and heavy armor.  If we try and deploy aerial assets it's going to be a massacre because their equipment is almost as good as ours.  We would give it to them, but they’d make it expensive.  If we dump Grendels we can secure their infrastructure and some of their equipment keep it from getting into the fight.”
    “Last I looked at it last night we were in