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Lucas’ gut like a lead weight. “How soon, sir?”

    “Two weeks. We’re taking over a mission from Third Marines.” The captain delivered this news as if he expected Lucas to be grateful.

    He was already concerned about losing four weeks of training, but Lucas knew the worst news was yet to come. “And that mission is?”

    “We get to hunt terrorists,” Stanley replied, seeming pleased with himself.
     
    “Respectfully, Captain, that’s not the mission we’ve been training for.” They hadn’t spent nearly as much time training the platoon to be appropriately aggressive with the populace as was needed with this change in deployment.

    “You’ve got two weeks still to get your men ready,” Stanley replied, as if the previous six months didn’t matter.

    “Due respect, sir,” Lucas chose his words carefully as he struggled for a way to impress upon the captain the ludicrousness of the situation, “that’s not enough time to completely revise the platoon’s preparations.”

    “We’re Marines, Lucas; we’re all trained for this.” Stanley’s impatience was showing. “We follow orders when they’re given. We don’t question them.”

    Lucas wondered how many war crimes were committed because of that mindset. “When can I expect a list of equipment we’ll have access to?”

    “Why do you need that?” the captain’s expression became confused.

    Lucas bit back his sigh of frustration. The muscles in his back ached from tension. “So I can arrange for the necessary training.”

    “Why do you need to adjust your training?” Stanley looked more baffled, if that was even possible.
     
    “To ensure my men’s effectiveness and safety.” Lucas’ frustration blossomed into anger, and he knew his tone was bordering on insubordinate. Beside him, Noah shifted his weight until his arm nearly brushed Lucas’ shoulder. Inexplicably, the majority of Lucas’ anger drained away.

    “They’re already trained on the only piece of equipment that matters—their M16s.” The captain looked so proud at this pronouncement it was obscene.

    “What about special equipment—”

    Lucas didn’t get to finish. Stanley cut him off impatiently. “You have your orders, Lieutenant. Frankly, your questions are bordering on disrespectful.”

    Noah’s presence beside Lucas was suddenly more pronounced. Lucas released the breath he was holding and smoothed his features. “I apologize, skipper. I’m just anxious to ensure my men are as prepared as they can possibly be.”

    “That’s admirable, Lucas,” Stanley said, smiling jovially and slapping Lucas’ arm like they were buddies. “Now, why don’t you go share the good news with your platoon?”

    “Yes, sir.” Lucas bit down on the inside of his cheek.

    The captain ambled away down the corridor. Lucas stood, grinding his teeth, feeling absolutely impotent.
     
    “Lieutenant, I think we should go inform the platoon,” Noah said from just behind Lucas’ shoulder. His presence was soothing, but that was something Lucas would ponder later.

    He took a deep breath. “Yeah, let’s get it over with. They’ve all got personal business they need to see to, as well.”

    Lucas squinted against the sudden brightness as they both put on their utility covers and stepped into the bright sunshine. “With your permission, sir, I’ll revise the training schedule for the next week,” Noah said.

    “Yes, good,” Lucas replied, forcing himself to refocus on the task at hand. “Get them as much time on the Infantry Immersion Trainer as possible.” The Immersion Trainer was a Middle Eastern village assembled in a deserted warehouse that combined live interaction with virtual effects to provide Marines with the most realistic training scenarios possible.

    “Roger that, sir.”

    “Any suggestions for additional training I should arrange for?” Lucas asked.

    “Your Marines are remarkably well trained, sir,” Noah answered. “They’re prepared for the