Combat helmets: Are they really necessary?

United Colonial Broadcast Network, September, 2358

A Thing About Helmets

Sev didn't know how many people knew what he did in regards to the namesake of this ship. He hoped that quite a few knew what he knew, because if they didn't know what he knew, then he knew that the people on this ship weren't as smart as he thought he knew, and if he didn't know as much as he thought he knew, then he knew that the looming invasion of Helghan might be in more trouble than he thought. And that, he knew, was a fact that was known. At least to him.

Still, as he sat in the mess hall of the New Sun, he suspected that the people didn't care about why the New Sun was called that. Chances were they were more concerned about what was going to happen in the next few days, not to mention what had been happening in the weeks up to this point. The first wave of Battle Group Mandrake had arrived at Helghan and had laid waste to the helghast fleet without the loss of a single ship. Then, it had proceeded to enter the planet's atmosphere, before beating a hasty retreat as the Stefan was destroyed, along with numerous other ships being damaged. In those weeks, the helghast had kept the ISA fleet at bay with some kind of planetary defence grid, with beachheads on the surface being few and far between, and every beachhead being paid for in blood. He prodded at his steak – real steak, grown on Vekta, not that synthetic crap from Mars. He was a soldier. He was meant to eat things like steak, because it was good for building up muscle. Still, there was a tradition dating back 400 years about giving grunts like him a last meal before being sent into the grinder, and while the grinder was still a few days away at least, the steak before him wasn't saying "eat me," it was saying "yeah, you're screwed." Or it might have been saying "go vegan, because I used to be a cow," but he wasn't counting on that.

"Hey Sev."

He barely paid attention to Garza as he sat down opposite him. He just stared at the steak, prodding it with his fork. To one side was mashed potato, to the other was green beans.

"Um, Earth to Sev?"

He continued to prod it with his fork.

"Um, Sev? You know the steak's dead right? You don't need to beat it to death."

Sev smirked and looked up at the man that had sat down opposite him. "Hey Garza."

"Oh good, the mute does talk."

"I'm not a mute."

"Yeah? Doesn't seem like that half the time. Like, outside combat you won't shut up, but inside combat you're a bloody silent protagonist."

"Well, look on the bright side Garza. If I'm the silent protagonist, and this is a videogame, then I get infinite lives."

"Guess so." Garza began eating his own steak. "Hmm. Grow them well on Vekta."

Sev supposed so. Years after the helghast had invaded the UCN's breadbasket, it had yet to fully recover. Part of him couldn't help but wonder how the people of Vekta felt that ISA men and women were getting steak, while they likely weren't, but "part" was the key word. He knew the stakes (not steak, stakes), and knew that what happened at Helghan over the next few days would not only determine the fate of the helghast's capital world, but potentially the future of Vekta as well. And if Vekta fell, then Earth would starve. It was as simple as that.

"Cheer up Sev, don't look so down," Garza said. He gave him a nudge. "Quick job in, quick job out."

"What, enemy morale low and rife with disorganization?" Sev asked. "Yeah, think someone forgot to tell the helghast about that."

Garza conceded the point with a shrug, but he didn't stop talking. "So, anyway," he said. "Been talking with Rico and Natko – whether we should adopt helmets and all that."

Oh God, here we go. Sev began to eat his steak.

"Yeah. So, like, Echo Squad is all 'hey Alpha, why don't you wear helmets?' And we're saying 'because we're not you Echo. We're Alpha. Best of the best. First in, last out.'" Garza bit into his steak and began chewing, while also speaking. "So, Rico thinks that we should be able to-"

"God's sake Garza, finish eating before you start yapping."

With speed that made Sev surprised his comrade didn't choke on his food, Garza did just that. "…to stand out," Garza continued. "Set an example for all the other jarheads who can't do shit without us." He glanced at a pair of marines passing by, armed with rifles, helmets, and on patrol. "No offence fellas."

One of the marines gave him the finger.

"See?" Garza asked. He had some potato and smirked at Sev through stained teeth. "Examples are absolutely needed here. Because you can't be the few and the marines if you ain't also proud."

Sev smirked – Garza was being Garza, but he was willing to play his game. "Alright then," he said. "Don't need helmets because we need to stand out, be proud, let all the men and women see pretty boy Garza fighting for home and country."

"Hey man, know my good looks are a curse as much as you do. Can't help it."

"But when we get to Helghan…" He munched on some beans, thinking of that inevitability, and the very real possibility that he'd die a horrible, painful death like hundreds of others had. "I mean, we're mostly going to be operating on our own. Sabotaging the enemy, clearing flanks, scouting ahead, that sort of thing."

"Yeah. And?"

"And that means that we won't be in the company of other ISA forces that much."

Garza opened his mouth, but no words came out. Which was good, because some steak was in there, and it gave him a chance to chew. "Huh," Garza said. "Guess that's a good point."

Sev munched on more of his steak.

"Still," said Garza, waving his fork at Sev like a third-grade math teacher. "Maybe there's something metaphorical about the lack of helmets."

"Say what?"

"Yeah. Like, here's the helghast," he said, prodding his steak. "Bland, uniform, all wear helmets, all fight and die for the autarch because that's what they're meant to do."

"Garza, are you seriously using food as a metaphor?"

"And here's us," Garza said, now pointing at the beans. "ISA. Ragtag. Individual. So when we get on the helghast…" He plopped his beans on the steak. "The helghast see us, standing tall and proud, and behind their helmets, they quiver in fear." He leant back and clapped his hands together. "Here that?!" he yelled into the mess hall. "We're beans!"

Given how half the room's heads turned to look at Garza, Sev deduced that they had heard it. And given how all of those heads returned to other heads or data pads, he also deduced that they'd deduced that Dante Garza was insane.

"See?" Garza asked. He helped himself to more potato. "Poetry in motion."

"Yeah, poetry. Hundred years from now they'll be studying your works in history class, as an example of what troops went through."

"Hey, I was forced to study World War Three poetry, least they can do is study mine."

Sev didn't think there was much WWIII poetry (posts on social media though, that was another story), but decided not to contest the point. "So," he said, deciding to contest another point. "If the helghast are the steak, and we're the beans, who's the potato?"

"Aliens." Garza continued eating.

"Aliens," Sev said blankly.

"Yep. Aliens. Smother everything like grey goo and break us down."

"Yeah, sure Garza. Whatever. Aliens." He put some potato on his fork and stared at it. Here's to you, aliens.

He ate the potato, finding that the aliens were rather cold. Not unlike the New Sun, which, despite its namesake, was most certainly not some shining ball of plasma.

Still, he wondered if Garza understood the namesake. A reference to when the Alpha Centauri star system was first colonized. When the people who had braved the trek across the stars hundreds of years ago had looked upon Alpha Centauri A; what was once a blip in the black no different from any other had become brighter, and brighter, until at last, it was the size of Sol itself. Some of those people had stayed on Helghan. Others had moved onto Alpha Centauri B and settled Vekta. Now, a new sun, and a new ship, one more powerful than any humanity had constructed thus far, was coming back to that new sun, and the world that dwelled in its shadow. And Sev knew that when the time came, people like him and Garza would be leading the charge. Without helmets on a world of dust, radiation, and war.

All the more reason to eat steak then, he supposed.

Chance were he wouldn't get another chance for awhile.