Disclaimer: All characters owned by Bioware
A/N: This is my interpretation of the Siege of Torfan. I've rewritten it a couple times, and taken a lot of creative liberty with it. I should note that SPARTANs are not a reference to Halo; it was an acronym that actually worked for what they do.
21 December 2177 – Arcturus Station – Office of the Systems Alliance Secretary of Defense – 1300 GST
The room was quiet. Tension filtered through the crowd of military brass, intelligence analysts, and political figures, as they stood casting glances at one another. After what seemed like an eternity, the low beeping of the telecom pierced the silence. A woman in a gray suit stepped forward, flipping the switch on the comm.
"Operation Bluepoint is a go," the voice on the other end spoke.
The woman nodded. "Tom," she turned to one of the intelligence analysts.
"As you are all aware," the analyst began. "We've been engaged in unconventional warfare with batarian forces in the Terminus Systems for two years. It's no man's land as far as the Council is concerned, so the rules of war don't apply."
He paused.
"As we saw firsthand during the Skyllian Blitz."
The memory of the battle on the alluring, tropical planet Elysium was still fresh in everyone's mind. The Alliance had won, but they'd taken heavy losses.
"We've identified an outpost where a high-ranking member of the Syndicate is currently running slaver ops out of. His name is Kasko," the analyst continued. "Torfan is a small moon in the Corthion System, Titan Nebula. Current intelligence places his numbers at around four to five thousand."
"Hostage potential is unknown, but Kasko is a known slaver," another analyst, this one in Alliance dress blues, continued the briefing. "So orbital bombardment is out. We're still waiting on intelligence on the planet specifics from science division, but it's looking like getting marines on the ground is going to be the way to go about this."
"Deployment?" Another officer asked. This one carried himself as a soldier hardened by years of battle rather than an analyst accustomed to the sterile halls of starships and offices.
"Two SPARTAN battalions should get the job done. We need to get in quick and quiet. If they think something's up, they might kill any hostages on site."
"You sure?"
"Paratroopers like being outnumbered. Keeps the game fun for 'em."
"And the best way to deploy a thousand of them on a glorified asteroid that's five mass relay jumps away from any naval station?"
The soldier turned to a woman in dress blues with pure white hair pulled back in a tight bun. "If you could put together a strike team of frigates for deployment and a task force for logistics and contingency..."
"Absolutely," the woman's tone was direct. "Hackett, I'll need a complete resource list for the Fifth Fleet. I'll pull the Puncak Jaya for transporting the marines."
"Hell of a long way to fly a dreadnought," someone interjected.
"It'll be the best way to run a surface spec-op from the air. We need to have reliable comm channels, and having a dreadnought will ensure that," the woman replied. "We'll also put three or four cruisers on standby, in case things get ugly."
24 December 2177 – Systems Alliance Base 06A – Lt. Shepard's Quarters – 1928 GST
The soldier sat alone in the darkness. She could hear the distant sound of Christmas carolers in the streets and the faint hum of the heater. Glancing out the window, snow was falling, illuminated by the blue streetlights. Her eyes shifted back to the glass in her hand. The amber liquid splashed over the clear, perfect ice cubes.
She took a drink, shivering briefly as the whiskey warmed her throat. It had been nearly a year. Touching her hand to her face, she ran her fingers gently over the scar on her left cheek. A framed photo sat on her desk. A squadron of fifty soldiers stood, posed in tactical armor, the majestic purple sky illuminated by the blue orb resting on the horizon. "The Ill-Fated 970th HTC Squadron," as they came to be known by the media in the weeks that followed the massacre.
Fuck. What the hell do any of them know? She took another drink. All I did was survive. Everyone else died and what does the Alliance do? Slap "N7" on my chest and ship me off to OCS. The brass sure has funny criteria for picking leaders.
She opened the holo-card from one of the few people she trusted who was still alive – Service Chief Sergio DeMarza – her brother in arms who'd been with her through basic training, tactical operations and warfare/infiltration school, and N-School. The man who'd fought beside her on the shores of Elysium. And then, they'd parted ways. He'd been ordered to the 1st Special Forces Group in the aftermath of the Skyllian Blitz, and she assigned to the 970th. In retrospect, it was a good thing. If he'd been on Akuze, he'd probably be dead too.
Still, seeing his face made her smile. The dim glow of the orange screen illuminated the room.
"Hey Shepard. Merry Christmas. So you get to spend the holidays on Earth, huh?
It's been a hell of a year, you know? Things are not going too great here. Our platoon commander was killed last week taking down a band of krogan pirates working for the Syndicate. It was pretty gruesome, but I guess that's the life we live as marines, huh?
Get to meet the new ell-tee tomorrow. Some combat engineering genius whose daddy's a captain and pulled some strings to get his ass into OCS. As you can tell, I'm thrilled."
DeMarza's golden-brown eyes widened with sarcasm.
"Anyway, I gotta get to the mess if I wanna eat something other than pureed space-monkey shit. Talk to you later… ma'am."
A mischievous grin crept across DeMarza's olive face as he emphasized the last word. Shepard wouldn't tolerate insubordination from anyone else in the galaxy, but with Sergio, she wouldn't have it any other way. The rigors of the training exercises in the dense Amazonian jungles of the Interplanetary Combatives Academy and serving together in one of the largest, most decisive Alliance operations in history formed bonds that couldn't be broken by the barriers between officers and enlisted men any more than they could by being half a galaxy apart.
Shepard sighed as she switched the holo off. You know, you should really quit sulking. They're dead. Nothing will bring them back, she thought to herself. And there's still a war going on. Though she'd been within the relatively safe walls of Arcturus Station and OCS for most of the time since the massacre, she'd still heard about the cold, bloody fights against the batarians that had raged on since the Blitz. She was, after all, a Special Forces operative. The Alliance had reasoned that fighting fire with fire was the best strategy, which meant that Special Forces teams and Tactical Regiments had done most of the fighting against the batarian terrorist cells that had plagued human settlements with raids and massacres for the past two years.
Yeah, man up and move on. Akuze is in the past. The Alliance needs you now.
04 January 2178 – J. Carson McCallum Alliance Training Facility – Officers' Barracks – 1900 GST
Staff Commander Patrick Kyle stood at attention as the man sitting at the desk before him perused the personnel datapad, squinting occasionally. "You served at Elysium, commander?"
"Yes, sir. I led the ground unit that deployed from the Taipei."
"Elysium ... did it change you?"
"Sir?"
"Elysium was a victory for the Alliance, but not without cost. The batarians massacred us on our own colony. Did it affect how you think about this war?"
"I… don't know, sir. They fight ruthlessly, but no more so than any of us, sir."
The man remained silent, continuing to peruse the personnel file. "And you've achieved level-seven proficiency in land navigation?"
"Yes, sir."
"Commander, your experience in ground combat and your skill set put you in a unique position to be an important asset to the Alliance. As of right now you've been reassigned to the 2nd Battalion, First Special Forces Group. This elite group of soldiers is trained to carry out operations in hostile territory via sub-orbital airborne deployment. They're the best the Alliance has to offer. I have one question for you, commander."
"Yes, sir?"
"Have you ever wanted to jump out of a frigate screaming above the surface of a planet overrun with enemies?"
12 March 2178 – SSV Puncak Jaya – Bridge – 0900 GST
A yellow light blinked on the console where a yeoman stared blankly at an array of screens. After a brief moment, the blinking registered and shook the soldier from his daze. "Sir? We've got an Alliance shuttle requesting permission to board. Mission security clearance level 10."
The starship's CO, Admiral Reynaldo Lopez, nodded. "Open port-side shuttle bay doors. Relay instructions."
Lopez, a veteran of the First Contact War, knew that the unannounced arrival and the security clearance level meant business. He swiftly about-faced and headed towards the elevator. He didn't know who would be arriving on that transport, but he knew he wanted to be there.
Bright white lights flooded the gray interior of the dreadnoughts shuttle bays. An array of massive doors lined a grated walkway, each door stenciled with a number. The admiral's footsteps clattered on the steel grating as he walked swiftly down the corridor. The sounds of pneumatic seals disengaging, mechanical parts moving, and metal hitting metal overpowered the admiral's steps as the door to shuttle bay 15 opened.
A man with a gaunt, scarred face, white hair with streaks of gray, and a goatee stepped out onto the walkway. Two silver stars were emblazoned on the shoulder-boards of his dress blues.
Lopez promptly saluted.
"Rear Admiral Hackett," the man's voice was low and rough as he returned the salute. "Walk with me, we have an assignment. Straight from the top."
"Yes, sir. Where are we going?"
"First, Earth. We're to pick up the Second and Third Battalions of the First Special Forces Group, along with a mission supply order. Then we will direct to the Arcturus Stream, where we'll rendezvous with the rest of Task Force Four-Four-Juliet. Our mission location will be revealed at that time."
Lopez raised an eyebrow. He'd certainly dealt with sensitive missions before, but nothing this secretive – at least not at this level. Starship captains were usually given at least some information. But he knew Hackett's reputation – he was a good soldier, and an even better leader. If Hackett wasn't worried, Lopez had no reason to be.
16 March 2178 – Systems Alliance Base 06A – Administrative Offices – 0900 GST
The heavy coastal rains pounded the concrete tarmacs and rattled loudly on the steel buildings as the Alliance personnel assigned to base 06A scrambled to prepare for the impending arrival of the SSV Puncak Jaya. Supplies needed to be organized and transported, crews had to be readied, and airspace had to be cleared to safely land a dreadnought.
The orders had come in only three hours prior, and now, nearly 1000 Alliance marines were preparing to board a starship to fight an unknown enemy in unknown territory. Fortunately, for the soldiers of the Sub-orbital Parachute Assisted Response, Threat Assessment, and Neutralization (SPARTAN) squads, this was the very thing they lived for. Adrenaline and adventure. Honor and glory. Packaged water and S-rations. A short lifespan and a resting place on a desolate world far from their home. "Take your pick," they would say.
Trucks carrying cases of alloyed water canisters, munitions, bottled oxygen, and medical supplies sped amidst the maze of buildings as orange lights lit up against the dull gray sky.
In one of the personnel buildings, the SPARTANs casually checked their personal combat gear – puncture-resistant Vaxton suits, composite armor plating, jump helmets, boots, suit comm systems, primary weapon, secondary weapon, main parachute, reserve chute, omni-tool and personal survival packs. In addition to their jump gear, each soldier carried an assortment of additional supplies dependent on his or her role within the squad.
As a platoon leader, 1st Lieutenant Alex Shepard was equipped with an advanced comm unit designed to track space-to-planet frequencies in addition to ground channels, along with an omni-tool chip linked directly to the platoon's Intel Chief. As a sniper, she carried an S-26 Equalizer long-range high-power rifle in lieu of the standard M-7 Lancer machine gun. Though bulkier and heavier, Shepard much favored her rifle for its ability to get the job done – quickly and quietly.
"Figures we'd get deployed just in time to miss summer," her fellow platoon leader, 2nd Lieutenant Emily Young, said matter-of-factly as she clipped the latches on her gear duffel. A front-lines shock trooper, Young had been recruited out of high school for her biotic talents, and she'd been climbing the ranks ever since. Now, at a mere age 21, she stood a member of what many considered the most elite combat unit in the Alliance.
"Check it out..." another voice trailed off as heads turned and bodies crowded towards the windows, and a starship the size of a football stadium hovered above the tarmac.
"Sweet ride," Young said.