Inhuman screams filled the air as the charging enemy melted under the blast from the plasma rifle.

"Another twenty of those bastards are dead!" Chase Mooseman yelled with glee as he checked the charge on his weapon. "I'm gonna need some power soon. This rifle won't make a very good club."

Roger, delta seven. Replacement cells were dropped fifty yards to your south ten seconds ago. Continue to attack and pick them up as you pass by.

Weaving the weapon around, searching for targets, Chase moved forward. He shot another group of green skins trying to hit his unit from the flank.

"Max, move up to cover my advance. Watch out for any of those flying lizards." Hearing a click acknowledging the message was received, Chase ran toward the cache of power cells.

His wingman, Matt Max, fired individual rounds into the visible enemy soldiers. "More greenies for me. One shot – one kill." He grinned as he knocked off two lizards trying to take down his partner. "I got your back, Chase."

Running into laser fire, Chase shrugged off the hits. His body armor deflected the laser through the series of tiny mirrors sewn into the vest. Unharmed, he reached the pile of power cells, replacing the nearly empty one just as another group of green skins attacked.

"Die, you slimy bastards." More of the enemy went down. Hands slick with sweat, his pulse pounding in his ears, Chase ran forward to the next position. "Move, Max. I got you covered."

"Watch your topside."

Flopping onto his back, Chase fired blindly into the air, using the last of the power cell but scorching the flying dragon's left wing. It spiraled down, hitting the ground with a thud. It flopped toward Chase on one wing.

Trying to reload, Chase knew he wouldn't be fast enough. He closed his eyes, waiting for the saw-toothed jaws to crush his body.

Max put two rounds through its head.

"Thanks, buddy." Chase felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. "We need to keep moving. Only a few more klicks to the target."

His ears rang with the voice of command central. Stop in place. Fire only if fired upon.

"What the hell?" The muzzle of the blaster waved around as if seeking more targets. "Why are we stopping? We're so close to the objective."

The Slythians have sued for peace. Hostilities will end in five, four, three, two, one.

The din that dominated the battlefield ended. Only a deepening silence remained.

Chase stood up on shaking legs, brushing the dust from his visor. Removing his helmet, he swayed with exhaustion. The adrenaline that coursed through his body dissipated, leaving him weak and in danger of falling.

"I got you, buddy." Max grabbed Chase's arm, holding him up. "Looks like we accomplished our mission."

"Yeah, but at what cost? Most of our teammates are dead. I can't even count the number of Slythians we've killed over the past five years."

"It don't matter, man. We survived. We won. Nothing left to do but send in our final report and get some much-deserved rest and relaxation."

"You know after thirty days we'll be fighting on some other God-forsaken planet." Chase drew himself up to his full six-foot height, puffed out his chest and screamed into the growing silence. "I'm not going to rest and I'm not going to relax! I may be dead in thirty-one days."

"The way you act while on leave, I'll be surprised if R&R doesn't kill you first."

The command voice buzzed in his ear. All soldiers prepare for extraction. Report to base for reassignment. You are hereby granted twenty-eight days of leave upon arrival at Prime World.

"Hot damn. We get to go back to Prime." Max flipped his visor up to reveal his face, its left side looking like molten wax. He'd been scarred by a Slythian flame weapon ten days prior. Scratching the puckered skin, he smiled crookedly. "I'll bet the ladies will want to hear about how I got this."

"It makes you look better, you ugly bastard." Chase laughed as he ran toward the approaching aircraft. "Last one there buys the first ten rounds."

*****

"Some weird shit is happening. We went in with ten thousand soldiers. I know our squad is down to you and me. We started with seven. If everyone else was in the same firefights we were, you'd think they'd suffer the same casualties." Max looked around the cabin of the small transport. "Can't be more than five hundred in a transport of this size."

"You're right. Most of these guys got to be REMFs. Soft as baby shit." Chase spat on the deck. "You know not everybody has the balls to be a front-line soldier."

"Notice something else?" Max leaned in. "We're the only old-timers on the ship. It's full of young guys. It's the vets that are missing. You think maybe they sent them home and forgot to include us?"

"That has to be the answer." Chase looked around the transport and shook his head.

"What else could it be?" Max leaned back into the webbed seat and began snoring almost immediately.

"Man, I wish I could get to sleep that fast." Muttering to himself, Chase thought about the missing soldiers. "I need to find out where the other guys are." He closed his eyes. "I'll do it after our leave is up." Chase was asleep in twenty seconds.

*****

"Prime world is just like I remember it." Chase licked juicy fat from his fingers and threw the rib bone onto the pile with the others. "Barbeque smoked just right. I wonder where they get the mesquite? Have it brought in from Earth or did they transplant some trees here?"

"It don't make no difference to me. I'm more of a wingman myself." Max cleaned every bit of chicken off the bones and placed them carefully on the pile he'd built. It looked like he was performing a voodoo ritual. "At least we both like the same beer." He sloshed amber liquid into Chase's mug, getting half of it on the table.

Chase leaned forward, licking the beer off the wood surface. "Man, that's alcohol abuse. Next time, try your one shot, one kill routine."

"Speaking of shots, I think the waitress is bringing ours now."

A female Quatranian approached the feasting men. She practically flowed across the floor, a shot glass of brown liquor in each of her four hands. "You gentlemen going to need anything else?"

Staring at her chest, Chase almost choked as she set down the booze and spread her robe wide so they could both get a glimpse of her more than ample breasts. He grabbed a glass, tossing it back. Reaching out, he pointed at one of her nipples. "How about some of that?"

"I'm not sure you can handle it, but I get off in five minutes if you want to come home with me." Her upper right arm snaked around Chase's head and pulled him to her bosom. She held him there long enough for him to be drenched in her pheromones, then let him go. "Just follow your nose, if you get the urge."

She sidled off to another table, her body swaying in a way only a four-legged woman could.

"I bet you get off in less than five minutes, Chasie boy." Max slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Me, I tend to go more conventional." He held up a thousand credit chip. "Who wants to spend the night with me? Earthlike only, please. But if you're interesting, you can always try to change my mind."

Six females and five males of various species stampeded toward the waiting soldier. He picked out a red-haired vixen from Slotius to help him make it through the night. He handed her a glass of whiskey, clinking them together and downing it.

"See you later, Chase."

"Don't forget, we're going to look into what happened to all our guys." Chase sipped his whiskey, looking for the waitress. He saw her walk out of the bar.

"Right. We still have fourteen days, man. I still got cash." He shouted over his shoulder. "You go look if you want, or you can follow your nose."

The scent of the Quatranian filled his mind, drawing him to the door. "Oh, hell. It can wait another day." He sniffed the damp night air, turning left toward the nearby apartment building.

*****

"Day twenty-seven, my man. Last chance to get laid before we head back to the fray." Max laughed. "That almost rhymes. I'm a poet who don't know it."

"Shut up, Max. My freakin head hurts. I don't know what's going on, but I need to find me some painkillers." Chase turned from his teammate and threw up last night's dinner. "That's a little better, but I'm afraid I can't take this anymore."

"What do you mean, buddy?" Max drew close. "After all the fights we been in and you're afraid of another one? Shit, man, you're the best there is. I would never have made it without you. We're a team, man. Unstoppable killing machines."

Wiping the foul-smelling vomit from his face, Chase hung his head. He turned to his teammate. "I want to go home."

"You thinking about returning to earth? Off to the land of nothing? What did we have there? Pollution, high crime, almost no food, and a bunch of scrawny, brainless motherfuckers so stupid they can't even dress themselves." Max stared down at the sidewalk. "You can't stay here. The only work you're qualified for is mercenary contracts, and you're trying to leave it."

"You said some of the old guys went home." Chase's muddled mind tried to piece together the conversation they'd had two weeks before. "I'd like that."

"They're dead, Chase. Killed in battle, died on leave, killed themselves because they couldn't take it anymore. Who knows, and who cares? I sure as hell don't. I know one day the end will come, but when it does, I'm going down with a gun in my hand, sending some slimeballs to Hell as my advanced guard." His eyes took on a demented glare. Max ranted on. "I want my mind full of everything I can possibly put in there. I been laid by the best and screwed by the rest. I've eaten shit and stuff some people would die for it's so good. I don't care what comes my way cause I've done it all!"

"I love you man, but I need more than that. Someone to come home to. Maybe even a kid of my own. You know, be like a real family man instead of a gun for hire."

"Suit yourself. I think you are one crazy mofo. Me, I got one more night, and enough credits to make it one to remember." Eyes glistening, Max shook Chase's hand, then engulfed him in a bear hug. "I love you, too man. See you on the high ground. Good luck going home."

Sergeant Mooseman, report to command ASAP for reassignment.

"You hear the recall?" Chase yelled at Max.

"I guess I have more leave time than you," Max called back. He hurriedly walked away, head down. He'd been a soldier long enough to know going to Command Central early was bad news. He didn't want to be around when the shit hit the fan. As Chase disappeared, Max muttered, "I'm not ready to go down without a fight."

*****

The door to the command center opened when Chase presented his ID chip. He walked into the deserted hallway.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He turned to go, stopping when a voice rang out.

Sergeant Chase Mooseman. A veteran of three planetary engagements. Decorated for valor. Fought against the Slythians for five years. They paid us well for the performance. You and your partner were the favorites to watch.

"What do you mean, to watch?"

You are part of the show, in or out of battle. Your combat skills and merciless actions were exemplary. We noticed a drop in your popularity during the pleasure portion of your performance. The Quatranian female may have been your downfall. Perhaps if you'd kept to bipedal forms like your companion did your ratings would be higher. Normally, we would keep you due to past satisfaction surveys, but you began questioning why you are here. Such behavior is unacceptable. Your contract is hereby terminated.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Chase heard the doors open. Three gigantic Nixrons entered, their skins heavily scaled armor. They stood silently, blocking the way out of the room.

This one has outlived its usefulness. Sell it to the Gadrealsist. They have developed a taste for human flesh.

Pulling out his sidearm, Chase shot the first Nixron center mass. The projectile bounced off its barrel chest, barely slowing it down. The monster knocked the weapon from Chase's hand, breaking his arm.

Continue to hurt it, but not enough to kill. Ensure the emotion sensors are on full power. We can make money from his death.

They dragged Chase, kicking and screaming, off to the butcher's block.

The sensors recorded the hours-long torture, his futile fight, and the end when the ax chopped off his head.

Now that the recording is finished, what's next?

The thin, grey-skinned creature sitting at the console pulled off the headset and wiped the red beads of perspiration from its skin.

The Slythinas got exactly what they needed. The wholesale slaughter of the dissident group satisfied the masses; bloodshed made them content once more. Mooseman's hedonistic behavior of the last thirty days is on file. I'm sure the Konodirans will pay handsomely for it, they prefer alien sex acts. Sell its death throes to the Acturians. They like to see animals tortured.

Grey-skin sighed, looking at the statistics on Chase.

Its actions were a big draw, but it began asking too many questions. It had to go. The next battle is scheduled for the Placie homeworld. The Facile Faction has some of the best fighters in the galaxy. We need to replenish our supply of soldiers. Send another slave ship to the Earther's planet to pick up more recruits. And promote 'Mad' Matt Max plasma rifleman. Make it the new headliner.