The Best Laid Plans

by TheLearnedSoldier

In a timeline that spins off after the events of Mass Effect Two, the Reaper invasion is delayed until 2201, and while the races of the galaxy have more time to prepare, they still aren't ready. This story takes in the waning months of that war on the human colony world of Benning, and follows the exploits of Major Jon Waggoner and Staff Lieutenant Elizabeth MacLougherty.

The Best Laid Plans

Chapter One: Landfall

SSV Hastings - Orbiting the Planet of Benning

October 2201

"Lieutenant MacLougherty!" Jon called out as he picked his way across the cargo bay of the SSV Hastings, deftly avoiding the strewn pieces of kit laid out on the floor as wall as a number of soldiers wrapped up in their own preparations for the mission ahead and paying him no mind. "Major Jon Waggoner, Naval Intelligence." He extended a hand to the woman who would be leading the contingent of Marines that would be accompanying him to Benning. The Major had already stowed his armour and weapons to be packed onto the shuttle and unlike the armoured Marines was dressed in simple combat fatigues. A large stainless steel Rolex Daytona was clasped firmly to his left wrist with a Carnifex pistol holstered at his hip.

"Sorry for the late introductions, but I've been informed that you've been briefed thoroughly." He studied the young woman standing in front of him. Fresh faced, fair skinned and freckled, she was not quite what the Major had pictured when he had read her dossier on the short shuttle trip to the Hastings. However, the nasty looking scar on her left cheek coupled with the rather impressive resume of commendations in her file told the Major what he needed to know.

"We're not exactly expecting a cake walk once we get planetside but Intelligence is largely positive. The Reapers left a comparatively small force on Benning during the initial invasion, enough to take out comm relays and many of the docked starships but not enough to overrun the planet completely. The resistance is holding out and hopefully we can increase their effectiveness once we make contact." He gave her a warm smile, it felt good to be in the field again working with combat marines. The war had made him realise how much he yearned for his own days with the 103rd. That time had passed though and now his focus was elsewhere. "Any questions?"

MacLougherty picked her way through the SSV Hastings, passing Navy crewers in the halls-the ship was a-bustling, and it was no surprise; they were deploying to the front line of the Reaper War, and these people rather sensibly didn't desire to end up on Dragon's Teeth. She reached the elevator and hit the key for the cargo bay/hangar deck with the side of her gauntlet-probably not necessary, but a side effect of growing up comparatively poor. Her family'd had one omni-tool between them, which meant that she'd often had to interact with the world by hand. The elevator doors opened and she quickly strode out, heading for her XO, 2nd Lieutenant Malcolm Davisson, an older, grizzled combat veteran whose service record was longer than hers, albeit less riddled with galaxy-shaking wars. Well, at least until recently.

"Lieutenant." He turned and nodded at her, the prosthetic that replaced his right eye not quite sitting properly in the raw-looking pink scar tissue that had never fully healed.

"Lieutenant." It was an old joke and one that really wasn't funny any more. Just one of those pre-battle rituals soldiers end up developing to cope. "What's the situation, aside from the fact that we're dropping into a combat zone with an unknown number of hostiles and week-old Intel, with no support aside from an ONI spook?" She smiled humourlessly.

"Well, like you said, plenty of Hostiles. Intel says resistance is 'Minimal', but Intel didn't think the Reapers would get here so early, so Intel can shove it." He brought up a holo-map of the capital and the surrounding area. "This is Joughin...reaper forces landed here..." A red circle appeared on the map. "...and according to last reports, had overwhelmed the local defenders here." A blue circle appeared a bit to the west of the red one. "Militia fell back to the city, and that's where reports get spotty. Could be they held them off and we're just a glorified bunch of messengers. Could be the whole planet's taken and we're walking into a death trap." He looked at her, then behind her, his expression immediately hardening. "Spook's here." She turned around and sighed, then turned back to Davisson "Wish me Luck."

"Luck, LT."

"Lieutenant MacLougherty!" The ONI officer called out from across the room, carefully navigating his way past her men, some of whom looked at him neutrally, some with thinly-veiled disdain, and some with open hostility, though the majority simply ignored him and went about their duties; ONI didn't have a great rep with Alliance Marines, partly because of the secretive nature of the organisation and the largely rampant, borderline secret police-esque powers they wielded in the Alliance, and partially because their "Intelligence" wasn't always that reliable. Very few faces were still smiling in the room when the spook walked in, and one of those was Flight Lieutenant Antonin Belevich, who was one of three shuttle pilots prepping their birds for the insertion, and the one that would end up flying the one carrying the Spook. Lucky him.

She picked her way over to him, meeting him halfway. He spoke first, extending a hand. "Major Jon Waggoner, Naval Intelligence." She cocked a brow and he dropped the hand. "Sorry for the late introductions, but I've been informed that you've been briefed thoroughly." He looked her over, apparently scrutinizing her appearance. She almost hoped the man assumed she would be meek and inexperienced; being underestimated made her job that much easier. Odds were good he'd seen her CV however. He outlined the intel thus far and smiled, apparently warmly but she wasn't ready to trust him, and certainly not on the merits of his smile. "Any questions?" He asked.

She nodded, "Yeah, are we going to be able to expect support from the locals, do we know if there are any actual reapers-destroyers, troop transports, or heaven help us, anti-aircraft models, how long will the Hastings remain on site, and who has operational command on the ground?" She was afraid this guy would try to take command, and while he looked like he could handle himself, it would hurt the mission more than it helped if he did. She crossed her arms and looked at him skeptically.

Jon allowed himself a smile as the Lieutenant fired off a list of questions. She liked to be prepared, that much was clear but the way she regarded him made it obvious she either didn't think much of him, or much of the Intelligence Branch. The Major didn't blame her, he had felt the same way when he had been a Marine and accepted the thinly veiled disdain from the soldiers of today as a peril of the job he now did. His own previous combat experience mattered little in their eyes.

"The majority of the resistance is made up of Benning's colonists led by surviving Alliance personnel. As far as we know there are no Destroyers in the vicinity but there is evidence of troop transport ships, processers and yes, anti-aircraft models." The Major's expression had turned serious but he spoke with clarity and confidence. He had faith in the plan, it wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination but it would work-had to work for the people on Benning.

"The Hastings will wait until we are succuessfully launched before pulling back to the agreed rendezvous. The comm relays we will set up will allow us to keep in contact throughout and will be used for extraction once the mission is complete." Jon paused before answering the last question. MacLougherty watched him warily, arms folded across her chest, her face a mask of skepticism. The Major could guess her thoughts fairly well; she was worried the old spook would get in her way and try to take command of her men. Did she think he was only capable of bumbling from one incompetent disaster to the next? Perhaps he was being too harsh, he told himself and she was just being protective of those under her.

"Don't worry Lieutenant. These are your Marines. I may be the ranking Officer but you have command over your men and in any combat decisions we will face. My role is non-combatant. Personally, I'm not sure how realistic that'll prove to be but we'll find out." Jon took his eyes from MacLougherty to gaze over the men in the cargo bay. "I've read up on what the Third did on Palaven." He said quietly. "It's a privellige to work with you." He turned back to the Lieutenant trying to gauge whether he had eased any of her concerns.

"That's all the questions I have, then. You should get ready for a combat drop, if there's AA, this will be, at best, a bumpy ride, at worst, a suicide run. Those shuttles are good, but they aren't that good. Yours is the centre-most shuttle-19-0215. The one with the happy-looking Russian standing next to it." She turned to leave, then paused a moment before turning back. "Thank you, Major. You have no idea how grateful I am to hear you say that." She nodded once, giving him a faint smile before turning to leave. She stopped next to Davisson and spoke to him without turning. "What's he doing?" She asked quietly.

"Just heading to his shuttle. You worry too much, Lieutenant." He chuckled faintly before looking at her. She turned to him and nodded and he snapped to attention, and began barking orders. "Alright, Marines, final call! Get that baggage stowed and loaded, or leave it behind, and get your asses in those shuttles. Move, move, move!" The troops in the bay hopped to it. Most of them had already finished and were just waiting for the order, and those got up immediately and double-timed it to whatever shuttle they'd been assigned. About seven of them took a little longer, which was understandable, but unacceptable in a possible combat scenario. Davisson was all over them, "Get your shit stowed, marines! you wanna be left behind?" "

To which they replied in unison, "Sir, no Sir!"

"That's what I like to hear! Move it!" And they did.

Lt. MacLougherty bloody well hated these shuttles. They were loud, rickety, and jumped all over the damn place in atmo. They were also prone to inducing flight sickness in rookies; they didn't have any of those today, but she'd had to help a marine get his helmet off more than once when it almost suffocated them by way of clogging his air intake. She'd heard they'd fixed that problem. She wasn't eager to test the theory.

There were around twenty troopers in the bay with her. She was on the rightmost shuttle, which was piloted by Flight Lieutenant Raina Douglass, and which led a bit and flew a little higher, because she firmly believed in placing herself in more danger than her men. The ONI officer was in the centremost, which was behind them, below them, and to their left, and Davisson in the leftmost, which was piloted by Flight Lieutenant Daniel Chun, and which flew in the least dangerous position, behind, low, and to the far left. Unless they were flanked, they'd be the last ones targeted.

Which was exactly what happened. Suddenly there was a deafening bang, a rush of air, and a scream that was bitten off midway through that she couldn't tell the source of, and the next thing she knew she was hauling herself out of the burning wreck of the shuttle, which had impacted in a cornfield and ripped its way about twenty metres through before sliding to a halt and landing on its lid. She wasn't sure who else had survived, but based on the flames, not many. Her first reaction was to get herself clear, then look around to get her bearings, before running back to the flaming shuttle and hauling the pilot out by her shoulders, just barely getting clear before a secondary explosion totalled the shuttle and anything that might have been left over. She unlimbered her rifle and took up a position in the defensive perimeter that had formed. She did a quick headcount, and casualties were lower than she had expected; of the twenty-two personnel in the shuttle-twenty marines, plus herself and the pilot-twelve were up and on their feet with either no injury or very minor wounds, four were walking wounded, and four, including Lieutenant Douglass, had serious injuries that would put them out of action for a while, but which weren't mortal. Only one DOA-Corporal Kennith Brand. He'd been flung clear of his harness-which had malfunctioned-and impacted on the ceiling, breaking his neck and killing him almost instantly, or so one of her men told her. She had no way of knowing, and right now, it didn't matter.

She commed the others on a frequency she made extra sure to secure: "Hello, this is Lieutenant MacLougherty; are there any other survivors, repeat, did anyone else make it?"

She resolved to wait for a response, and deployed her men in anticipation of the Reaper troops that would undoubtedly arrive. They were stuck here unless they abandoned the wounded or got a new form of transport.

She repeated her response, this time on a standard Alliance comm channel, "Hello, this is Lieutenant MacLougherty with the Alliance Marines. Does anyone read, over?"

She tried again, "This is Lieutenant Elizabeth MacLougherty of the Systems Alliance, does anyone copy?"

A middle-aged male voice broke through, "Copy, this is Commander Polonski of the Benning Civilian Defense Force, we read you, Lieutenant. Is this our reinforcements talking?"

She sighed with relief, as did several of the men around her. "Affirmative, Commander. We're on-planet, but we've been hit by Reaper AA. Multiple casualties, can you spare transport, over?"

"Affirmative. So that fireworks show was you, then. We registered another shuttle going down near the Capital, and a third managed to put down somewhere in the southern forest. We'll pick up the one that got hit near the capital then swing around to grab you, copy?"

"Copy, Commander. Thank you." She switched back to her unit's frequency. "Major, do you read me? Lieutenant Davisson, please respond." Nothing. She tried again. "Major Waggoner, do you cop-" A staticy transmission came through "Co- -tenant, - -s -gent He-nn, -'ve b-n -t down near the -tal. Major Wa-'- -conscious, - -n't sure how b- -s wounds -re. -dic's d-d, -nd -o are si- -thers. Res- - -s -e m-ly fine."

"Say again, you're breaking up. Is this Herrmann?"

"-tive, -'-m. Waggonner's -able - -spond. -n you -nd help?"

"Yes, the local militia's en route. I shouldn't have to say this, but if you see someone who doesn't look like a walking corpse, hold your fire! Cerberus has no presence here, so anyone not a slavering beast gets a free pass, got it?"

"-py, L-ant. He- -t."

She looked around, sighing, before radioing one more time. "Lieutant Davisson do you copy? LT, please respond."

"Copy, Lieutenant. This is Davisson. Sorry for earlier, there was a jamming tower nearby. They've seeded the things all over the map as far as we can tell, and even being near one screws with comms. We took it down, recommend doing the same if you see one."

"What are your casualties?" She bit her lip unconsciously, anxious about the response.

"Two dead, four seriously wounded, one might be mortal, and the rest of us are wounded in some way ma'am. Mostly either something broken or minor abrasions, but a bunch of us are little better than walking wounded."

"Who died?"

"Chun and Jordan."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"MacLougherty out."

"Copy that, out."

She took her helmet off and rubbed her forearm across her brow, sweating less from the heat-it was fairly cool, actually-and more from adrenaline She took a drink of water before she heard rustling in the bushes. She and several other marines aimed their rifles at the source, and she called out, "Alliance Marines! Identify yourself or be fired upon!" She waited a moment, and was about to open up when she got a reply.

"Don't shoot! We're friendlies!" The voice sounded off, but she lowered her rifle, and signaled for the others to do the same. There was some more rustling and a squad of troops in olive drab fatigues and garrison caps came out, toting old-model M-8s-except they weren't soldiers, they were kids. The oldest couldn't have been more than sixteen.

She couldn't stop herself from asking, "Where are your parents?"

"Dead. Almost all the adults went to fight the reapers. All we've got left are people under eighteen and over fourty, plus anyone who couldn't or wouldn't fight." He took it in stride, not missing a beat, and not tearing up.

Christ, they're like adults in there. It was unsettling, they looked like kids, but when she looked in their eyes, she saw pain and battle-fatigue most adults would break under. She immediately re-evaluated the kind of people that came out of Benning, as well as her initial evaluation of the fighting potential of the locals.

"Where's our transport? We've got wounded here."

The soldier-because that's who this was-nodded, gesturing with his rifle back through the corn. "Back that way. We wanted to approach on foot because we were worried you'd shoot us down if we tried to come in with the vehicle. I'll radio the driver. He stepped aside, and the remaining troopers fidgeted a bit, obviously uncomfortable with the scrutiny of her men. A short while later, a pair of skycars and a civilian ambulance showed up and they began loading their wounded in. After that, everyone hopped into one of the vehicles and they headed to whatever constituted the local base. Which she found out was a bombed-out police headquarters on the outskirts of the capital. They dismounted and the soldiers-which she saw were, in fact, mostly young children and old-timers-got her wounded out and secured to medical gurneys and inside in a time that would impress hardened battlefield medics and which broke her heart by its implications. A soldier-a young woman no older than seventeen showed up and told her that the Major was being treated in one of the interrogation rooms, which had been cleverly repurposed as a medbay. She resolved to talk to whoever was in charge here, make sure her men were patched up, and wait for the Major to wake up. Hopefully get some chow in her men as well.

"The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." It was a phrase Jon had heard often in the military and one which he had found out to be true at various random times throughout his career. He thought it absurd that the quote sprang suddenly into his thoughts as he watched the flames lick the thruster at the rear of his shuttle. The Marines to their credit, remained relatively calm throughout as the pilot struggled frantically to level the craft out.

"We're going in!" The shout came from the cockpit. The Major remembered the initial impact, the awful, almost otherworldly sound of tearing metal, the pain of being thrown forward against the restraints of his harness and then only blackness as the back of his head struck the seat.

Chapter Two: Hard Contact

It was the seering pain in his head that he noticed first. Something at the back of his mind urged him to fight off the darkness that surrounded him. Slowly, painfully, the Major began to come to. His eyes opened a fraction before he shut them, almost blinded by the intense light of the room. He took a few deep breaths before attempting it again, doing his best to blink away the harsh glare as a figure came into view.

"Major, you're awake." The voice was soft and pleasant, but apparently surprised. Its owner was a young girl who by Jon's reckoning could not have been anymore than eighteen. Pale skinned, mousy haired and with anxious eyes, she watched as the Alliance man propped himself onto his elbows before pulling himself up into a sitting position. The room swam with the effort and Jon had to put a hand on his bed to steady himself. "Oh, be careful please!" The nervous voice urged, placing a petite hand on his as she crouched beside him.

Trying to shake away the last of the cobwebs the Major took in his surroundings, the room contained a number of military style cots but little else. He noticed the large mirror on the far wall and surmised this was likely one of the militia bases, he knew from the ONI reports that the resistance had set up one of their HQ's up in an old police station. Only one of the other cots was occupied, a sleeping corporal, her head heavily wrapped rested on it.

Jon managed a small smile for the young girl who continued to crouch beside him. "What's your name?"

"Marina." She responded with a timid smile of her own. The Major guessed she had been put in the room to keep an eye on him and the Corporal. He hoped the trained medical staff were elsewhere.

"Marina. What about the others? The rest of the soldiers? Is everyone else ok?"

"I...Five." She cleared her throat before continuing, "Five didn't make it.

The Major nodded. "What about Lieutenant MacLougherty?"

"That's the woman in charge?" Jon nodded again." She's ok. Went to talk to those in charge. Last I heard she was getting the rest of the soldiers some food. She should be around here somewhere I think."

"That's good." He gave Marina another smile before rising to his feet. His knees almost buckling under him as he did so.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Said Marina, taking hold of his arm her voice full of concern.

"No. No, it's definitley not." Jon agreed, gently pulling away. "But needs must." He sighed. He was still fully clothed he noted thankfully as he checked the time on his Rolex. By his count he had been out cold for the better part of three hours. He did his best to give Marina a reassuring smile before heading for the door. He appeared more confident than he felt; his head hurt and the world still lurched on occasion.

Fortunately for him, Lieutenant MacLougherty proved easy to find. After asking around the station he was able to ascertain she had secured some grub for her Marines before doing a quick recon of the base. He met her on the stairs leading to the ground floor. "Lieutenant." He greeted her with a nod. "Glad to see you're ok. What's our situation?"

Lieutenant MacLougherty left the base mess feeling at least moderately satisfied; they'd made landfall, linked up with the local resistance(which was a lot more competent than they appeared, as she'd surmised) and most of their people were accounted for. There were casualties, but that was an unfortunate truth of war, and MacLougherty knew from experience that getting hung up on casualties was a great way to produce more of them.

She'd seen the rest of the base, and while it was a fairly chaotic place, much more informal than she was used to, it was an astonishingly well-oiled machine, something she attributed to necessity and the fact that a good chunk of the officers either had some kind of professional experience in the military or police force or were long-term colonists who'd been doing this since the colony was founded. Most of the people calling the shots were older-the youngest senior officer she found was a thirty-year-old Lieutenant Commander named Maya Sobreno-the soldiers were extremely good at what they did. There was still the aspect of the scared kid in them, and she'd caught more than one pair locking lips in a corridor before awkwardly disengaging and blushing madly when she approached, but those were all byproducts of their youth, amplified a thousandfold by the strong likelihood of annihilation. Honestly, they'd earned the right to devolve into a gibbering mass of putty with the kind of shit they'd been going through since the invasion, and she was just glad they didn't.

She was heading up a flight of stairs from a survey of their stash of vehicles-mostly civilian gigs with minimal modification, though they had three M-29 Grizzlies in there as well as a couple of stripped down M-35 Makos with lighter armour and guns trading that for speed and maneuverability-when she bumped into Major Waggoner, of whom her first thought was Damn, he looks like shit. The ONI Major looked like he was barely being held together by the medi-gel or whatever they'd pumped him with, and looked just as determined to kick ass as before, perhaps more so. She nodded to him as he spoke and stopped on the stair below him, one leg up on the next step.

"We're short twenty-three of our intial complement. Eleven dead and twelve too wounded to move, let alone hold a rifle. I thought that figure was one higher until you showed up." She smiled wryly at this. "Though I may be proven right if you don't get that looked at better." She sighed. "About eighteen more are too wounded to be fully effective in a firefight, which means our stock of soldiers at full strength, not counting militia is..." She paused to do a quick run of those numbers. "...twenty-five. Of the sixty-six we dropped with. Those aren't great numbers. Luckily this militia's on the big side-almost fifteen thousand, fighting as guerillas across the planet. This is their central HQ, which would make it prime reaper-bait if they stayed in one building more than a day. They've been fighting hard and long, but these kids are tougher than you'd think. If you want to know how many are here, it's around seven-hundred. Most of them have seen more action than your average Alliance Marine sees in their whole god-damned career." She paused for a breath. Then she realised how much this was getting to her, closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths, "Major, I know I have operational command, but I want you to make this call, please. They're planning to make a big push against the main reaper encampment, just north of the capital, with everyone in this whole damn hemisphere. It's unbelievably risky; there are two AA reapers and a destroyer there, not to mention countless husks. They have a couple weapons that have proven to work, two M-920 Cain's and a trio of Thanix Missile trucks, but we'd be sending kids in there. I know they're good soldiers, but for christ's sakes, they're kids." She realised she was trying to clear her conscience of giving the order but she didn't care, this was a bridge too far. "Major, they want our opinions. Mine originally, but now that you're awake, maybe you can persuade them to pursue a different course...?" She looked at him, hopeful.

Jon allowed himself a wry smile at MacLougherty's joke, even if it was at his expense. Marine humour was black at the best of times and this certainly was not the best of times. His face turned grave as she counted off the butcher's bill to him, it seemed Marina's estimates had been off by quite a distance and the Lieutenant now had a fighting force of only twenty five.

He continued to listen in silence as she filled him on the state of the local resistance. There at least the news was a good deal more positive until McLougherty stopped suddenly, looking away from in and taking in a number of deep breaths as if struggling to continue.

"Lieutenant?" He asked gently, not wishing to rush a woman who had just lost twelve of the soldiers under her command. Jon waited patiently until she spoke and did not interrupt until he was sure she was finished. He knew what she was doing. She might have made her own mind up but she was looking for reassurance from someone and despite the fact these were her Marines on the ground she needed validation she was taking the right path. The Major looked around where they were; the stairs were busy with Colonists and marines passing them every few seconds. Wordlessly, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and led her toward the ground floor where they found a quiet corridor just off the main entrance.

"You're right." Jon said finally. "They're just kids and even with all the action they've seen they are not soldiers. It's suicide. They're outnumbered and outgunned. The only option they have is hit and run." He paused to run a hand through his hair. A full frontal attack would mean the end of the Benning resistance. "They want a victory, god knows I can't blame them but they need to think realistic. A propaganda boost against an obtainable target." The Major's eyes met MacLougherty's. "The comm scramblers! They'll be defended but not overly so. Bring them down and Benning will be able to make more than sporadic contact to the outside." It made sense to Jon but he was all too aware that it was the Lieutenant who made the combat decisions, even if she had deferred to him breifly. "What do you think?"

Lieutenant MacLougherty sighed explosively and nodded viguorously. "Yes, that could work. Have them perform co-ordinated strikes against them all-or even just a good chunk-and then call the Alliance. Let them know the threat is worse than we feared, we've taken heavy casualties, and we need reinforcements. Yes..." Without thinking, she hugged the Major, then immediately realised her mistake as her eyes went wide and she backed away. He expression remained one of horror as she rushed out of the room and up to the base Commander's office.

Several hours later, just before sundown, she was at the head of a group of around twenty of the local militia. Small groups like hers were sneaking through bush, or over plains, or through cornfields toward the comm jammers. At 1730 precisely, Capital Time(Set to Joughin's time-zone) each group would attack their respective jammer, hitting it with EMPs, Grenades, Heavy Weapons, Shaped charges-whatever they had on hand to pulverise them.

Her people-and she'd all but formerly adopted this platoon, getting to know their names, their fears, their hopes and their dreams. She knew what family they'd lost and what motivated them. She knew who they'd seen die and how many of their old friends they'd been forced to gun down. It was the worst thing an officer could do, but she didn't care right now. She'd heard maternal instinct was the most powerful force in the galaxy, well then it couldn't hurt to weaponise that, here. They moved through a wheat field, and before they reached the edge, they stopped still. She watched her HUD's clock count down the minutes.

1720: The squad settled into position. Someone sneezed.

1721: Someone down the line coughed. The soldier next to her-Sergeant Paddy Kilkenny shifted from foot to foot, looking at her nervously. He didn't even have facial hair, yet.

1722: One of the troopers down the line-she was pretty sure that was Private Alicia Harris-ejected the thermal clip from her M-8 and slammed in a new one. Elizabeth wasn't sure if that was a nervous habit-and a bad one-or if she'd forgotten to do it earlier.

1723: She heard a low rumbling in the distance and looked off to see artillery fire landing on target. Whether that was reaper or a premature assault by her guys, she didn't know.

1724: She realised that the artillery was some kind of heavy fighting up that way and that it was almost certain someone had jumped the gun. She cursed to herself and resolved to wait another minute before going ahead of schedule.

1725: She decided someone definitely dropped the ball and gave her squad the go ahead to move up. They did, moving low to the ground before breaking out into a sprint on her command. They reached the low rampart wall around the comm jamming tower and mounted it. The yell that had been rising in her throat without her knowledge or consent suddenly burst forth, and it soon spread to everyone else as they rushed the small husk garrison with a pair of marauders as overseers, gunning them down in droves. Soon it was over, and, aside from two grazes and a leg-wound that they could mend at base, there were no casualties on her side.

1727: They finished setting the charges and bugged out, not willing to risk breaking comm silence in case they were wrong and that massive battle they still heard was just a completely separate affair.

1729: They fell back to the other side of the wheat field and set up on a low hill. MacLougherty took out a small, compact pair of binoculars and sighted on the target, detonator in the other hand. She waited until the clock hit 1730.

1730: MacLougherty hit the switch, and the tower exploded in a magnificent fireball, chunks of metal landing everywhere. That was going to ruin the farmer's week, but not as badly as the reapers already did.

They bugged out and headed to base, whereupon MacLougherty resolved to give whoever'd jumped the gun a stern talking to. As they made their way back, they passed several wrecked spires, and MacLougherty smiled to herself in satisfaction.

Jon had felt naked without his armour and Avenger rifle but both had been lost in the crash. Even with their loss and the bump at the back of his head Jon counted himself damn lucky. Just the same, leading an attack on a Reaper position with only his Alliance fatigues and his Carnifex that was not ideal and the cornfield he and his squad were hiding in did not offer much in the way of cover.

His mind drifted to the other teams in similar positions to his own. He and McLougherty had both argued that each squad would be led by a marine and the militia has readily agreed. He found himself thinking of the Lieutenant, the hug had taken him by surprise and the young officer, mortified by her breach of protocol had avoided talking to him as best she could throughout the rest of the day. The Major smiled, she shouldn't be so hard on herself, he thought. He was hardly going to reprimand a subordinate officer for something as trivial as that considering their current situation.

He was broken from his reverie by the sound of the the low rumbling of the artillery and pushed himself up through the stalks just enough to see the first rounds hit their target. The whoops of joy from the resistance fighters were drowned out by the landing of the shells. Jon bit back a curse as he checked his Rolex. The rounds were too early.

"Damn it. Damn it!" He looked around the cluster of fighters, half of them still young enough to be in school. "Alright! Let's hit it!"

"Benning!" The young resistance fighter raised his glass as he shouted the toast to the roar of approval from the assembled fighters. The attack had been an unmitigated success; the Reapers had been taken completely unawares and the militia and Alliance marines had pulled out without the loss of a single man.

"Benning." Jon returned the toast and took a drink. It was a vile home brew type of hooch that almost made him gag but as he reminded himself, it was alcohol and it did the job.

He spotted MacLougherty in the crowd and walked up to her, clinking his glass against hers. "Congratulations Lieutenant on a job well done."

MacLougherty sighed and nodded at the Major. "Thank you, Major, but we both know that this is just the first step. We still need to make contact with the Alliance, and figure out our next move." She rolled her shoulders and sighed again. "Right now, I think these kids have earned a rest, but I'm going to have to talk to the Alliance." She finished the glass she had in her hand, set it on a nearby table, and, with a quick evaluation of her troops in the mess-the young ones, the old ones, and the marines-she headed out to the Comm booth.

About halfway there, she found a militiaman slumped against a wall, and while she initially thought that he was injured, a quick once-over reassured her he'd just been so tired that the floor had seemed like as good a place as any to sleep. She smiled wryly and resolved to get a good night's sleep as well, tonight, as soon as she'd made contact with the Alliance. She moved on.

When she reached the comm booth, there were two technicians and an officer bent over the console. When she entered, they looked up at her, though the technicians soon returned to their work. The officer headed over to her. He was in his mid-fifties, black, short-cropped hair with streaks of white at the temples and a short, well-kept beard. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'd like to attempt to make contact with the Alliance." The man nodded.

"We've been trying to do that all day with little luck, but you probably know something we don't; go ahead." She nodded at him in thanks and took a seat at the booth that had just been vacated by one of the techs; a freckle-faced girl with dirty-blonde hair. The rig was older, but MacLougherty could work with it. She input her comm codes and tried hailing the Hastings.

"SSV Hastings, this is Lieutenant MacLougherty, how copy, over?" No response. She modified the frequency slightly. "SSV Hastings, this is Lieutenant MacLougherty out of Benning, please respond, over." Still nothing. She looked over at the other tech-one of the oldest she'd seen, in his early twenties with black hair and a short goatee-who turned a knob and flipped two switches before nodding at her.

"Try it now, ma'am."

"SSV Hastings, this is Lieutenant MacLougherty, please respond, over."

She was rewarded with a faint crackle before a fuzzy transmission came through. "Lieutenant MacLougherty, this is Commander Jameson of the SSV Hastings, what's your situation, over?" She breathed a sigh of relief. The tech next to her pumped his fist in the air. The motion seemed off, somehow. She didn't think about it too much.

"Heavy casualties. Reaper presence much higher than anticipated. Request reinforcements, over." She waited for a response.

"Copy, Lieutenant. I'll relay your request up the food chain." There was a long wait, about five full minutes, during which tensions in the room got rather high before the comm panel came alive again. "Lieutenant, command says it's a no-go. They're requesting help from the allied powers. They'll be able to get back to you soon. I'll contact you on your personal comm frequency when I have word, over."

"Copy that, Commander." She sat back in her chair, inexplicably drained from that. She looked at the others who looked shaken but solid, and realised they'd heard every word. She silently cursed her indiscretion before rushing to reassure them, "I'm sure they'll send someone. We just have to sit tight." She smiled faintly, then got to her feet and nodded to them in thanks before heading off the find a bunk-she needed to sleep. She wasn't at her best, the screwup in the comm booth proved that. It was tiny things at first, but if she didn't rectify it, it could get her or someone else killed. She found a bunk in the officer's quarters and fell into it.

She thought back to the older tech, and realised that he'd had a prosthetic arm...she wondered why that didn't occur to her before. Probably because she'd been caught up in the moment, but it explained why he wasn't dead or on the front. It was one of the older models that didn't restore your full range of motion. She wondered how many of the soldiers here would have something like that or worse by the time this battle was done. She didn't want to think about it.

She never noticed falling asleep, but before long she was out cold.

Chapter Three: The Morning After

Jon allowed himself a smile as MacLougherty quickly took her leave soon after he joined her. He had to admire her single mindedness even in the midst of a celebration. The destruction of the comm scramblers increased their chances of making contact with the Alliance. The Major knew the militia's technicians were working on that very task but as neither he nor the Lieutenant had been sought out, he had to assume their efforts were still a work in progress.

He struck around the fringes of the party for a short while longer, a number of the more drunken militia men gave him a few congratulatory slaps on the back and slurred their thanks for what the Alliance team had done so far but most kept their distance. He was separated from the majority of the militia by age and from the Marines due to his rank; the soldiers remained respectful but distant.

After bidding a few farewells he decided to find out how MacLougherty was faring at the Comm booth only to find the Lieutenant had already departed. He was cheered to find she had made contact with the Hastings and the news that rescue was not imminent was disheartening but not surprising. The Alliance were locked in a desparate struggle and evacuating a small group of soldiers who were with a well armed resistance in defensible positions with good supply lines would not be high in the Brass's priorities, at least for now.

Thanking the technicians, Jon returned to the room he had originally woken up following the shuttle crash. He realised he had not slept since then and felt suddenly bone weary. He managed to fold his fatigues over a nearby chair and kick off his boots before disappearing under the cots thin blanket into a deep dreamless sleep.

He found MacLougherty the next morning after a cold shower and somewhat meagre breakfast. Even so he ventured he looked a damn site better than he had at any time since the crash. "How are you feeling this morning Lieutenant?" He greeted her warmly. "Fancy taking a walk with me around the perimeter? Do a bit of scouting of our immediate surroundings and maybe think about our next move?"

MacLougherty woke up the next morning and realised she'd passed out in full kit. She headed out to get a quick shower and shovel whatever was available into her gullet before heading back to the comm room to see if they'd gotten any news. She was halfway there when she got a message on her personal comm, as promised. She brought up the message:

FROM: SSVHASTINGSCMDR, CODENAME "KINGLY"

TO: BENNINGOPCOM, CODENAME "BOONDOCKS"

SUB: ALLIED AID

BODY: [ERROR, BODY ENCRYPTED. ENTER ACCESS NOW]

ATTACHMENTS: [ERROR, BODY ENCRYPTED. ENTER ACCESS NOW]

She sighed and input her code clearance.

[ACCESS DENIED, CLEARANCE LEVEL 'LANDING' REQUIRED.]

"Stupid son of a..." She realised they wanted Major Waggoner to sign off on it. She sighed and headed off to find him, which she did, not much later outside the barracks.

"How are you feeling this morning Lieutenant?" the Major seemed in a good mood. "Fancy taking a walk with me around the perimeter? Do a bit of scouting of our immediate surroundings and maybe think about our next move?"

"No, Major. Sorry. Some jackwagon figured it was a great idea to encrypt a message from the allies. Probably a polite refusal, anyway. Mind opening it up?" She transferred the data over.

The Major nodded as he opened up the Omni-Tool on his right arm as MacLougherty forwarded the data on to him. Typical Alliance bureaucracy he thought to himself as the comms transferred onto his machine. Nothing could be simple. They send a comms to the Officer who was able to contact them in the first place after months of near silence from Benning and their reply is too high clearance for her to access.

FROM: SSVHASTINGSCMDR, CODENAME "KINGLY"

TO: BENNINGOPCOM, CODENAME "BOONDOCKS"

SUB: ALLIED AID

BODY: [ERROR, BODY ENCRYPTED. ENTER ACCESS NOW]

ATTACHMENTS: [ERROR, BODY ENCRYPTED. ENTER ACCESS NOW]

Jon quickly input his clearance code and waited for approval. He scanned the message from the Hastings and its two attachments and gave a low whistle. He read them again to ensure he had the full understanding of what was being offered.

FROM: SSVHASTINGSCMDR, CODENAME "KINGLY"

TO: BENNINGOPCOM, CODENAME "BOONDOCKS"

SUB: ALLIED AID

BODY:

Hello, Major. I've been informed I am to send this your way. I've got no idea what's in there but I sure as hell hope it's backup, for your sakes.

ATTACHMENTS: Two. Message from [TUCHANKACOMM] and [SURKESHCOMM]

FROM: TUCHANKACOMM

TO: BENNINGOPCOM, CODENAME "BOONDOCKS"

SUB: Ready to crack some reaper skulls.

BODY: This is Commander Grek. I've got a couple hundred Krogan ready and raring, here. Let me know where you want 'em.

FROM: SURKESHCOMM

TO: BENNINGOPCOM, CODENAME "BOONDOCKS"

SUB: Ready for action

BODY: Captain Mihana, Salarian Third. We're ready to deploy and willing to do out part, Major. Let us know where you want us.

The Major deftly copied the text of the two attachments and pinged the to MacLougherty to read herself. "Offers of support from both the Krogan and Salarians," he explained as he powered of his omni-tool. "It's not Alliance...but honestly Lieutenant it was a hell of a lot more than I was expecting."

He ran his head through his hair as he thought over their next step. War assets were strung precariously thin, Jon knew that accepting help from one of either the Krogan or Salarians would almost certainly mean the other would be deployed elsewhere. "The Krogan are on a high, the genophage have been cured and they're winning renown throughout the galaxy for their exploits against the Reapers. The Salarian's on the other hand have had Sur'Kesh ravaged." He looked to the Lieutenant, trying to gauge her reaction and whether she would follow the same reasoning as him.

We know exactly what the Krogan bring to the party and a couple of hundred could hit the Reapers hard...but not hard enough to win us Benning." He gave a sad smile, the desire to take the fight directly to the Reaper's was strong but not the smart move, not right now." He paused, perhaps waiting for MacLougherty to intercede but she kept quiet, seemingly content with letting the Major talk. "On the other hand," Jon continued after a few seconds, "Guerilla warfare is right up the Salarian alley. Five-hundred or so espionage trained operatives helping the resistance here on Benning? They could make the difference for the people fighting here."

The Major paused again, "I know I'm the Senior Officer here Lieutenant but this is big. Even if the decision is ultimately mine, I'd appreciate your thoughts." He spoke earnestly, he was confident he would make the decision he felt right but even in the short time he had known MacLoughery, he had already found himself trusting her judgments and readings of the situations they faced.

MacLougherty was horrified. Her face was composed into a mask of calm, but inside, her mind was racing. On the one hand, Salarian aid would mean a lot of her troops would still be alive. On the other hand, the Salarians had just had their homeworld ravaged, and five-hundred troops diverted here could spell their demise on other fronts, especially if they died. She quickly weighed the options, and her conclusion stunned her.

"Call the Salarians, Major. They're the best suited to this kind of war." She inwardly cursed herself, because she may have just doomed the Salarians to a slow extinction, or at the very least the possibility of a major military defeat somewhere down the line, but she had to save her soldiers. She privately decided she hoped there wasn't a hell, because if there was, she was almost certainly on the fast track there, now.

Jon gave a slow nod and hoped his relief wasn't too evident. MacLougherty had made her decision thinking along the same lines as him. The Salarians were better suited to the type of war they were fighting on Benning. The Major hoped that placing five hundred of their soldiers directly into the Reaper's firing line wouldn't hurt them fatally on their other fronts.

"I'll get the contact out to the Hastings and the Salarian third." He said looking to MacLougherty with renewed admiration, knowing she could have gave him half an answer and played it safe. "Thank you Lieutenant. Honest advice is hard to get. I appreciate it."

He took his leave from the Lieutenant and headed straight for the Comms station. So far his dealings with the resistance members on Benning had been universally positive; the militia treated the Major and the rest of the Alliance team with respect and gratitude. It may have only been their third day planetside but he found himself with a feeling of appreciation toward the Benning colonists. He was desperate to help them out any way he could and hoped this was the first step toward their liberation.

FROM: BENNINGOPCOM

TO: SURKESHCOMM

SUB: Welcome aboard

BODY: Captain Mihana, Salarian Third Division, Your offer of help is greatly appreciated. The situation on Benning is bordering on desperate but the Colonists fight with renewed determination since Alliance arrival. The presence of the Salarian Third will only bolster their resolve. It will be an honour to fight alongside you.

- Major Jon Waggoner

Jon quickly typed up a second message and forwarded it to the Hastings, updating the Captain of the teams current situation, a report of the action against the comm blockers and his invitation to the Salarian forces. He checked his Rolex once he was finished and saw it was still early morning. He decided to try and track down some coffee, it had been three days since his last taste and he began to worry, only half-jokingly, that he may soon begin to experience withdrawal symptoms.

He found the mess mostly deserted, with only a couple of the tables having any occupants. The Major spotted MacLougherty seated at the one closest by the window, by herself and seemingly lost in her own thoughts. The coffee he was served was strong but passable and he carefully picked his way through the hall to join the Lieutenant. "Enjoying some downtime?" He asked as he pulled up to the seat across from her. "I know you deserve it."

MacLougherty smiled faintly, tinged with more than a little melancholy. "Thinking of the fallen." Her smile fades and she looks at him directly. "I know it's a bad move to dwell on the dead but I can't stop running the list through my head. And then I add every man I've ever lost and it gets to be staggering." She took out a datapad and placed it on the table, bringing up a list.

KIA:

OPCHF. Hallum Tavus-Styx

PV2. Maya Jones-Styx

PV1. John Tress-Styx

Tech Specialist Angela Davis-Styx(Civilian)

Spaceport Worker Hanan Carr of the Vol-clan-Styx(Civilian)

Ret. CPL. Harrison Grenwich-Styx(Civilian)

Corporal Ingrid Hetmann-Styx(Police)

Gerald LeMaye-Styx(Civilian)

PV1. Travis Williams-Kurata

PV2. Peter Travers-Kurata

CPL. David Keith-Kurata

SYSCHF. Gerald Conner-Cipritine

CPL. Agawa Ro-Cipritine

PV1. Maximilien Cortes-Cipritine

PV1. Darren Fields-Cipritine

PV2. Jason Wilkins-Cipritine

PV2. Martha Traviss-Cipritine

PV1. Liam MacDougal-Cipritine

CPL. Helen Corth-Cipritine

CPL. Helen Graves-Cipritine

PV2. Daren Miller-Cipritine

PV1. Todd Jensen-Cipritine

PV1. Arthur Hart-Cipritine

CPL. Mara Danan-Cipritine

PV2. Mark Fortner-Cipritine

PV1. Debra Trevor-Cipritine

GUNCHF. Yvonne Strevski-Cipritine

CPL. Gerald Blightey-Cipritine

PV1. Travis Jones-Cipritine

PV2. Donald Miller-Cipritine

PV2. Amelia Miller-Cipritine

CPL. Kennith Brand-Benning

PV2. Marcus Riggs-Wilson-Benning

PV1. Elizabeth Redforde-Benning

PV1. Richard Lark-Benning

PV2. James Kent-Benning

PV1. Richard Leighton-Benning

CPL. Marcus O'Toole-Benning

PV1. John Dartford-Benning

PV2. Jennifer Milton-Benning

PV1. Frederic Norton-Benning

PV1. Karen Fortwell-Bennning

WIA(Beyond Recovery):

CPL. Alice Meade-Styx

PV2. William Righton-Styx

PV1. Johnathan Thatch-Styx

SYSCHF. Debrah Hauptmann-Styx

PV2. Kelly Su-Cipritine

PV1. Jane Tryst-Cipritine

PV2. Chastity Jenson-Cipritine

OPCHF. Kevin Darson-Cipritine

CPL. Eric Jones-Cipritine

PV2. Jessica North-Cipritine

PV1. Fushosha Hito-Cipritine

PV2. William Kilkenny-Cipritine

CPL. Arthur Miller-Cipritine

PV1. Helen Smith-Benning

CPL. Jessica Taylor-Benning

SYSCHF. Maya Hernandes-Benning

PV2. John Francisco-Benning

PV1. James Matthews-Benning

CPL. Marcus Corden-Benning

PV1. Anaya Krol-Benning

PV1. Gertrude Jamesson-Benning

OPCHF. John Johnson-Benning

SYSCHF. William Hakamori-Benning

CPL. Horton MacTavish-Benning

CPL. Aria Alianda-Benning

WIA(Possibility of Continuation of Duties):

PV2. Maria Tate-Benning

PV1. Arthur Francisco-Benning

PV1. Harry Rheid-Benning

PV2. Marco Uccidere-Benning

PV1. Jason Stole-Benning

MIA:

PV2. Jason Cortes-Styx

PV1. Paul Rheaves-Cipritine

CPL. Maya Angelou-Cipritine

OPCHF. Gerald Forthright-Cipritine

She gestured to the datapad. "Everyone I've ever lost in my command or directly caused to appear on the official listings, or the unofficial ones is here. Civvies, too." She sighed and buried her head in her hands.

"Do you know what the worst part is? Some of the soldiers from Styx I can't remember the faces of. Every time I think of them the loss is made that much worse by the realisation that I don't remember what they look like!" She crossed her arms on the table and buried her head in them and began to sob, her shoulders shaking slightly with each one.

Jon took the datapad and scrolled quickly though the list. It made for painful reading even for just a quick glance. MacLougherty was right, it wasn't a good move to dwell on the dead; remember them, yes; honour them but a soldier couldn't let the loss of comrades play on their mind, that was a sure fire way to eat anyone up, even those with the strongest mentality.

He said nothing as the Lieutenant hid her face and sobbed quietly across from him. Jon allowed himself a quick glance across the mess but no one was paying them any attention. Considering what the colonists had went through he imagined such a sight was common.

The Major looked back to MacLougherty. He could have tried to say something, how a soldier couldn't dwell, how the best way to remember the dead was to fight on to victory but the words seemed hollow even in his head. It was easy to see the Lieutenant's professional demeanor and attitude, the scar across her cheek and the commendation list and forget she was still a young woman responsible for the lives of a company of soldiers in the greatest way humanity had ever faced.

He knew there was nothing he could say, it might be she needed this, a chance to vent and cry without judgement. So the Major kept silent and offered a hand, resting it gently on top of hers until she was ready.

MacLougherty sobbed herself dry before slowly recovering. She wasn't sure if the Major was aware, but a hand on her shoulder and an unjudgemental companion were the absolute best things he could have offered her right there. Words might have helped, but the mere presence of someone who knew what she was going through, especially a silent one, did wonders for her. She dried her eyes and looked across at him.

"Thank you, Major. That...I think I needed that. When you're around these kids-these soldiers, you feel like you have to put on a brave face, you know?" She paused a moment, thinking. "I'm pretty sure it's because we see these kids-and for the love of god, that's what they are, even if they've seen more violence than they ever should have been exposed to in their lives-we see them, and what they've been through here, and we feel like we have no right to let it out if they barely do." She sighed. "I just...I think the best thing to do now is to not let anyone else get added to the list, you know?" She looked across the table at him, waiting for some kind of response.

Jon gave her a smile that conveyed sympathy. He understood exactly where she was coming from, had been in her exact position at one time in his career and was all too aware that he could draw up his own list comparable to MacLougherty's. The Major gave her hand one last squeeze of reassurance before withdrawing it back across the table.

"I'd like to tell you we won't be adding anyone to that list and hope we don't but we're both Marines, even if my days are past. We know it's not realistic, not here in a place like this." Jon gave a sigh, his own words had a sobering effect. He was already aware but hearing it spoken out loud wad a different matter. "The only thing we can do is look out for one another. I hope you know I have your back Lieutenant. Always. I know you'll do the same for me."

MacLougherty nodded. "You're right, of course. I have to prepare for the worst and hope for the best." She sighed, then looked up at him sharply, as if just registering the latter portion. "Of course I have your back, Major. I refuse to let your name go on that list just as much as everyone else on this planet." She looked out the window and realised it was almost sundown. She turned back to the Major. "We should get going. We need sleep if we're going to be welcoming Salarians. They might not get here until later, but I'd rather be bright eyed and bushy tailed than ready to bite some poor Salarian's head off because I didn't get a good night's sleep." She smiled wryly and got up.

"Good night, Major." She headed off to her quarters-she'd been issued semi-permanent ones until they were needed or the base moved again. She was hopeful of their prospects, now, especially with Salarian troops on the way. She'd heard a lot about them and if even half of the rumours were true, they could turn the tide in this battle.

"Good night, Lieutenant." Jon said as she took her leave. He watched her as she departed, giving no indication of the turmoil she had just went through only a couple of minutes before. The Major had to admire her resilience and hoped he had helped, even in some small way to give her a degree of comfort. He sat at the table, watching the sun gradually set and savouring the hot, bitter coffee held in his hand.

MacLougherty was right, with the Salarian's incoming either tomorrow or the following day at the latest, they would both need their rest but something kept him from returning to his cot. Instead he toured the station, stopping off with any group of Alliance marine he came across, seeing how they were getting on and taking on board any suggestions or concerns they may have had. He knew they would be on Benning for a while yet and although Lieutenant McLougherty was in command of the soldiers Jon knew it was about time he got to know the men and women he was fighting with better. He may have held the rank of Major but they were all in the exact same position.

It was three hours later before Jon was able to turn in, sinking gratefully into the small cot in his quarters. With injuries light the past few days the former interrogation room had been given over to him completely and he let himself enjoy the quiet silence of the dark room as he drifted off to sleep.

MacLougherty stood on the field in front of the base the next morning and watched six Salarian stealth-equipped shuttles put down. The Reapers hadn't even turned to track the damn things. She folded her arms across her chest.

They'd found the base with alarming ease, which told her that either the base was obvious or they'd been there too long. She decided to play it safe and made a mental note to advise the base commander to relocate. The Salarian Captain-green skin, tan spots-trotted over to her.

"Captain Mihana, Salarian Third Division. We're ready to bring the fight to the Reapers. Are you in command?" He blinked twice, waiting for an answer.

She shrugged her head. "Staff Lieutenant MacLougherty, Second Compandy, First Regiment, Third Brigade, Alliance Seventh Corps. I have direct command of Marines and Major Waggoner defers to my judgement. He's Alliance Liaison and Strategic Command. You can take your pick, really. Then there's Commander Polonski, regional Militia command and in charge of the base."

Captain Mihana just blinked at her. She sighed.

"Assume I'm in command, then. Major Waggoner can overrule me, but he hasn't seen fit to do so, yet."

Mihana nodded and jerked his head back at his men. "Where do you want us, Lieutenant?" She thought a moment. "Ask Commander Polonski for bunk arrangements-he should be around. Greying hair, bushy beard. I don't want to step on any toes. Breakfast is at oh-seven-thirty, and we'll have a strategy meeting at oh-eight-thirty, local time, in the staff room. If you need any help getting around the base, just ask one of my men or local militia-they can direct you. Any questions you have, just grab me, the Major, the Commander, or my XO, Lieutenant Davisson. Anything else?"

The Salarian shook his head. "Nothing else, Lieutenant. Thank you. We'll be ready for action soon. We just need some food in our bellies."

He wasn't kidding. At 0730 the Salarian turnout at Breakfast was astounding. They ate their weight in canteen food. She held her tray and began searching for a table. At one point she leaned over and, unable to contain it any longer, asked a Salarian private why they ate so much.

He blinked at her. "We have hyperactive metabolisms." He then went back to his meal as though that answered everything and she moved on, shaking her head. She spotted Waggoner and slid into a seat at his table. "Can you believe their appetites, Major?" She tucked into her meal; unconvincing-looking stacks of pancakes and scrambled eggs. It was food, and while she may not have had the metabolism of a Salarian, she hadn't had a good meal in a while. After a long time in the field, military rations tasted amazing.

Jon's plate was already empty by the time McLougherty swung into the unoccupied seat next to him. "Can you believe their appetites, Major?" She asked with a nod to where a number of Salarians were seated. For such slight creatures the amount of food they were able to put away was impressive but the Salarian's weren't the only ones to catch his eye as he watched the Lieutenant savour every bite of her breakfast.

"Seems our new friends aren't the only ones with a healthy appetite." He said, watching her over the rim of his coffee mug with a grin on his face. "Just kidding, Lieutenant." He held up a placating hand, suddenly aware that MacLougherty may not take the joke in good jest. He was still getting to know her on a personal level and having no real idea of her boundaries, had no wish to irritate her.

"I'm interested to see what the Salarians can do in person." Jon changed the subject to more professional matters. "Had a chance to talk with Captain Mihana shortly after you did. Seems to know his stuff and told me about the strategy meeting you set up. It's a good idea, gets the Alliance and Salarian Officer's together from the offset." He took a sip of his coffee and give a wry smile. "There was some...confusion, shall we say, about how our command structure works down here and my attempts to explain it to him only seemed to result in more of it. We can explain it to him in the meeting further if needs be but I'm of the opinion that if it's not broke, don't fix it and so far it's worked damn well for us."

Jon finished off the last of his coffee and set the mug back on the table. "Speaking of which," he said as he tapped the face of his Rolex, "We need to get going soon."

MacLougherty smiled faintly at the Major's dry humour, a smile which only grew wider when he hastily apologised. "There's no need for that, Major. It's all in good fun." She listened politely when he talked about the Salarians. When he got to suggesting they get going, she quickly finished off what was left on her plate and got up. She chucked it in the dispensary and headed toward the door, assuming the Major would be right behind her.

She made her way to the staff room where the whole command staff was waiting. Mihana, still in his gear stood on the far side, in conversation with Commander Polonski. Lieutenant Davisson leaned on the right-most wall, his usual gruff expression plastered on his scarred face, even though she knew he had a heart of gold underneath the exterior. Lieutenant Commander Sobreno, the young senior officer in charge of logistics already sat at the table to the right of the gruff Lieutenant who'd been in charge of the comm booth and whose name she'd never gotten. There were two more Salarians she didn't recognise, a middle-aged woman with the look of a civilian in a lab coat with a name tag that read "Richards", and a pair of Marine NCO guards from her unit-Johnson and Keith. The table could easily have sat twenty but right now it barely needed to serve half that number. She slid into an available seat with no real regard to rank or hierarchy and the others did the same. The only ones that remained upright were the NCO guards and Polonski, who stood at the head of the table.

Commander Polonski cleared his throat. "As you are all aware, Benning is under siege and has been for almost two months, now. We've had some recent victories, especially the destruction of the comm towers with the help of Lieutenant MacLougherty and Major Waggoner." He bowed his head to each of them in acknowledgement. "This allowed our friends from Sur'Kesh to be contacted and land, for which we are just as immensely grateful." Captain Mihana nodded curtly.

Polonski cleared his throat again. "Anyway, we now have plenty of opportunities to advance our campaign against the Reapers. I'd like to take suggestions from everyone here for targets and strategies." He sat down.

Commander Sobreno was the first to make a suggestion. "Hit the base. We've been planning it this whole time, and I say we push 'em off our planet once and for all."

The Civilian, oddly enough, was the first to counter, "That's all well and good, Maya, but that will cause immense casualties-unthinkable numbers." She nodded. "What we need to do is find some way to neutralise the Reapers with minimal casualties. It's possible we could manufacture a weapon that would specifically target reaper tech, or even that such a weapon already exists." She looked at Captain Mihana almost accusatorily.

Captain Mihana blinked. "Negative. We don't have anything, and to synthesize something would take too long-assuming we could even acquire materials and facilities to do so." He shook his head. "Too risky, too little payoff. We need to think like flitnats; take little bites from the enemy until it collapses in on itself. Take out sensor stations, comm buoys-kill advanced reaper forms like Marauders and Banshees. When we've dealt enough damage, take out husk-conversion facilities, troop-transports, and smaller bases. Then take out the destroyers and Anti-aircraft units. Then take the main base of operations. By then Reaper presence there will be minimal."

The Comm Lieutenant, who'd been looking down at the table and scowling this whole time, suddenly spoke up. "Why not wait?" All eyes turned to him. "Well...well I hear that the Alliance is looking for the pieces to some big weapon to take out all the Reapers in one go. If we wait long enough, odds are good they'll find it and the war'll be over without any more of us dyin'."

Lieutenant Davisson spoke up, now. "'Cept that ain't how this works, pal. Longer we wait to push 'em off, the more that'll show up, the more civvies'll be converted to husks. It'll snowball until this whole world's a big wasteland. Time is not our friend. I say we go with the Captain's plan, but without the little stuff first. Hit the husk facilities, hit the small bases. Casualties, sure, but you give a little to get a lot. Then you hit the big bases and by that time we've got a bunch of Reapers who are hurting badly and a whole lot of experienced troops." Commander Sobreno shook her head in disgust, Captain Mihana looked thoughtful, and the Civilian seemed to be at least partly cowed.

Commander Polonski looked at Major Waggoner. "Major, what do you think?" All heads turned to view the Major.

Jon listened in silence as each idea was in turn put forward, debated and discussed. He looked to MacLougherty waiting to see if she would interject but she seemed content to take a similar approach to him, allowing the rest of the table to air their on own opinions on strategy. In the end it was someone volunteering for the Major to speak up rater than Jon interjecting with his own opinion that turned all eyes at the table to him.

"Hitting the base isn't an option in my opinion. We don't have the number of trained bodies for it and the casualties, and even if the mission were somehow successful would be catastrophic." He turned just in time to see Lieutenant Commander Sobreno fix him with her own death stare, her pretty features turned into a mask of anger directed solely at him. The Major pointedly ignored her before continuing, "There is no super weapon either, far as I'm aware. Unfortunately there will be no quick fix."

He looked around the table as he spoke, his voice clear and confident. "Waiting them out isn't an option either. Even if this were a simple numbers game they the advantage and most importantly, can make more. Every soldier we have is vital, they simply churn the next batch of fodder out of one of their facilities." Jon sighed, he knew the odds facing them but as before, actually hearing himself say them had a sobering effect.

"Captain Mihana and Lieutenant Davisson have the way of it. Small scale actions well within our capabilities, we chip away at their base and build our way up. It won't be easy and it won't be quick but it's the only option we have. Take any victory we can get and use it, build the morale, let the people of Benning see that we can hurt the Reapers." The Major ran a hand through his hair, "The only quandary I have is whether to target the more dangerous Reaper infantry." He paused as he weighed up the implications of each action in his head. "I'm leaning toward yes." Jon said finally. "In the grand scheme of things they might be small fish but they're damn dangerous, Banshees especially. The create fear in the ranks. If we bring a few down that can only be a positive for morale." He turned to Lieutenant MacLougherty. "What do you think?"

MacLougherty nodded. "They're right. Small-scale attacks building up to the big ones. It won't be glorious, but it'll work, and we'll have lower casualties." Secretly, she harboured some doubts on the actual choice-the long view meant there was more opportunity for a curve-ball, and it was always possible that someone would drop the ball and get a lot of people killed. She was fairly sure that if someone did it would be the gung-ho Sobreno.

Commander Polonski nodded once. "That's what we'll do, then. We'll defer to the veterans' judgement on this." He stood, silently signalling everyone else to do so as well. "Dismissed."

The officers began to file out, but MacLougherty stayed behind to talk to Commander Polonski. She touched his arm and pulled him aside, jerking her head at Sobreno as she left. "You think she'll be a problem?"

He looked back at her, then shook his head. "No. She's brash, but her heart and head are in the right places, and she won't have much influence on that area anyway." He paused a moment. "Are the Salarians going to be of any help, Lieutenant? I got the impression they know what they're doing, but they all seem so..." He paused, as if searching for a word. "Frail. Child-like, almost. It's probably nothing..."

"Don't worry, Commander. They're top-notch fighters. And they've got as much stake in this war as us, maybe more. Their homeworld got hit a while back and there's no way they can even get started forging a new home for themselves until the Reapers are dead and gone. They'll fight harder than any of us, and that's what I'm more worried about. I don't want them to go out in a blaze of glory, rescuing us because we made a stupid mistake..." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm dumping too many worries on you. Just be ready for action, and trust Mihana. His boys know this kind of war better than anyone." She shook his hand. "Good luck out there, Commander." She turned to go.

"You too, Lieutenant. You too."

Chapter Four: Hit Them Where it Hurts

As before Jon felt naked without his armour. Sobreno had, through gritted teeth, offered him one of the few spare sets the Militia had but the Major had refused stating that he should have no preference on armour just because of his rank. It wasn't bravado on his part but his pragmatic side told him that senior and experienced Officers were in short supply and he was putting himself at unnecessary risk. It was a sentiment shared by Sobreno who told him the same, albeit a little more bluntly than the Major had cared for. "If the boys from the militia take the risk without any armour then I can do the same," he had replied, hopefully ending any argument. Sobreno took her leave with a look that was equal part admiration and disgust.

Their target was a bombed out school, held by a small Reaper force as a Forward Operating Post for attacks into militia held territory. Scouts reported the location to be comparatively lightly held to similar targets; two Banshees had been spotted, several Marauders and Cannibals and a unknown number of Husks. This was one of a number of targets selected because of their proximity to one another. If one strike team got in trouble, reinforcements would be close at hand.

"Our main targets are the Banshees," Jon had told his assembled team "But we can not ignore the rest of the Reaper force present. Due to their combat style, a Banshee will usually stay toward the rear at first, marshalling the other forces before moving forward themselves. Therefore, once contact is made priority will be given to other reaper units first. The Husks will charge at us directly making our clean up of them relatively easy. Marauders and Cannibals are of course much more dangerous but due to our overwhelming numbers fire superiority should be gained quickly. Once the Banshees begin to move our focus turns to them. Aim for the head. Alliance reports show that attacks to the Banshees head are fourty percent more effective in draining their shields. If we can manage that then the Benning resistance has another victory."

And so it proved; as Jon had predicted the Husks tried to swarm their line but were easily cut down. Marauders and Cannibals inflicted several casualties on his team, including one militiaman KIA but were cut down in turn. It was the Banshees who proved the most difficult opponents. As soon as the pair of creatures appeared on the battlefield the Major saw several men begin to waver. The psychological impact of them was undeniable; their sight was obscene and their screams bone chillings. "Hold the Line! Hold your line!" Jon had bellowed as the pair advanced, just about doing enough to bolster the resolve of several of the more anxious resistance fighters. He noted with pride how no one fled as he looked down the barrel of his newly acquired Avenger rifle and squeezed off a burst of fire directly at the leading Banshee's head.

Less than thirty minutes since their initial attack, the resistance fighters were pulling back in good order, each target successfully taken down. As a number of teams joined up as they ran into each other on their return to base he noted MacLougherty amongst one of them. He dodged through a number of soldiers, too busy celebrating with smiles and backslaps to pay him any heed. The Lieutenant was hanging back toward the rear of the group, making sure she was the last one out with no one left behind. "Lieutenant," Jon said as he approached her with a smile. "How'd you get on?"

MacLougherty'd had a similar experience, though she'd led her men differently. She'd kitted out her platoon as two-man sniper-spotter teams. The sniper was handed an older model M-92 Mantis and set up in a hide of some sort around the small municipal airstrip the Reapers were using as a base. The spotter was placed within ten feet with normal kit-an M-8 Avenger and M-3 Predator. Older stuff again, but tried and true. They were also handed binoculars to better spot targets. Only about eight of her men were kitted out in assault gear, and they were all being held back, either in case the Reapers attacked their perimeter or there was mopping-up that needed doing. She waited until each pair reported in;

"Team Two ready."

"Team One, ready to go."

"Team Three on station. Ready when you are."

"Team Four's ready."

"Team Five is good to go."

"Team Six-Ready to dome some fools."

"Alright, all teams, pick your targets and fire at will. Don't let any of them get past you. If they concentrate, radio Team Zero and we'll move to block them."

The tranquility of the area was shattered as a series of rolling cracks erupted, one after another. It got to the point where it almost sounded like a continuing peal. After a minute or two it petered out, with only a round here or there. They were mopping up.

"Got a Marauder heading for cover-Three, he's exposed from your side, can you get him?"

"Copy, five. Scoped and dropped."

"Watch it, four, you've got a couple husks heading your way. One down."

"Six nailed the other one. Good catch, Two."

"Big ugly fellow rushing you, One. Matches description of a brute."

"I see him. Concentrate fire, people, they take a lot to kill."

The brute didn't stand a chance. Two shots from each rifle and he toppled over, crushing a couple husks he'd been escorting.

"That's a wrap, people, let's get back to base!"

MacLougherty's team arrived back with only one minor wounded-Team three's spotter had gotten sprayed with a couple drops of molten metal from a ricochet. She was trading him off to a medic when the Major caught her.

"Lieutenant, how'd you get on?"

"Extremely well, actually. Only one WIA, and he'll be fine in a few hours with a bit of medigel. You?" Her troops milled around, most of them showing off their shiny new sniper rifles. Several of them had voiced desires to become designated marksmen, and she saw no problem with that. They were pretty damn good at it.

Jon gave a slight grimace. "One KIA, McLowry, one of the militia men. Couple of walking wounded but all targets were eliminated." His frown turned to a slight smile, everyone had known that any success would come at a price. So far it had been thankfully light but it was never pleasant to lose a man under your command. "Glad you and your team made it back in one piece." The Major said changing the subject. It was true, MacLougherty had shown herself to be a valuable Officer with a sound tactical mind and great leadership skills. More than that, he now considered the younger Officer as a friend and looked forward to any chance they had to talk.

A chance for further chat was interrupted when the Major noticed a young man loitering close by him and MacLougherty, a hand-held vid recorder in his possession was pointed directly at them. Jon tried to shoo him away with a flick of his left wrist. "One of my ideas," he admitted turning back to the Lieutenant. "Thought it would be good to show the 'verse what we're up against here. Now Benning has managed to regain some sort of external contact we can upload vids to the extranet. Let people know we're still fighting and winning victories. Propaganda maybe, but it's a morale boost for our guys and anyone watching.

MacLougherty nodded, suitably impressed. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind, but she saw its strategic value. That was why he was in charge. She was good tactically, but she didn't consider little things like propaganda wars or similar. She just maximised her unit's kills and minimised casualties. That was her job. "I think it's an excellent idea." She paused a moment. "What about helmet cams? As long as the feed isn't going to civvies and just other military-types, helmet cams shouldn't be a problem. Even if it is going to civvies, we can always just send feeds from older ops. It gives marines something to compare to and a better idea of what we're doing here. Your call, of course..." She shook her head. "Anyway, we should get to work planning our next move, soon. We hit 'em hard, but they've got plenty they can throw at us." She paused. "Sensor stations might be a good call. Small, still, but bigger than the garrisons we've hit so far. Being machines, it'll be the same as stabbing an eye out." She looked at him, waiting for a response.

The Major nodded, once again MacLougherty was proving just how valuable she was, first with the suggestion of helmet cams and then turning the attention of their attacks to sensor stations. "I like your thinking Lieutenant." He said agreeably. "Makes a lot of sense, I'll back you on that at the next strategy meeting."

Jon looked around, aside from the enthusiastic camerman slightly in front of them, they had fallen slightly behind the rest of the group. "For now we'll celebrate another victory." He put a friendly hand on her shoulder and led her to follow the rest of the fighters back to HQ. "Get you a drink in the Mess?" He offered with a smile.

Before he could get an answer he heard the scream. Terrifying and blood curdling there could be no mistaking its source. The Major turned to face the way they had left but saw nothing. His eyes scanned the ruined and pockmarked buildings and pods but could see no movement. "A missed target?" He wondered aloud to the Lieutenant.

MacLougherty heard the scream and her sidearm was immediately in her hand, and she was on one knee scanning the surrounds. "Could be it wasn't attached to a base. Or maybe it's a new arrival and-...No, we can't think that way. Probably a missed target." She continued scanning the buildings in this time. She'd handed her rifle off to a militiaman earlier who'd wanted a look at it. She'd assumed she'd get it back by the time they got to the base, but that seemed an eternity from now and she felt like an idiot. She had her M-5, her combat knife, and her armour. She wasn't sure the major had even that much-she hadn't been paying attention.

"We're exposed out here. We need to head for cover." She looked around and spotted an overturned armoured vehicle down the road a ways. It wasn't ideal, but it would make for a good hiding spot. She caught the Major's eye and jerked her head back that way. "Grizzly. Go, I'll cover you." She stood and scanned the street, backpedalling after him. Damnit. An M-5 isn't going to do fuckall against a banshee. She hoped the Major had a trick up his sleeve, because right now they were pretty much screwed. She heard a brief shout of terror and a sickening crunch from the direction of the base and was suddenly fairly sure where that cameraman was...and the Banshee. She cursed, wheeling around. "Major, wait! The Banshee's that way!"

Jon moved off at once, hurried but not rushed toward the overturned vehicle. He picked his way over the debris strewn street carefully, his rifle raised to his shoulder, constantly scanning in front of him.

"Major, wait! The Banshee's that way!" Jon stopped in his tracks, he had heard the scream again but had no visual sign. As if on cue the creature appeared from an alleyway only a few metres from the Grizzly. The Major smoothly brought the rifle to bear, the head of the Banshee caught dead centre in his sights.

He squeezed the trigger. The only sound was the click as the weapon failed to fire. The old and well used rifle had finally given up the ghost, jamming itself at the most inconvenient moment. Instinctively and without wasted movement the Major dropped the Avenger and went for his sidearm. The pistol coughed a volley of shots at the Banshee but with no effect, bouncing harmlessly off its barriers.

From the corner of his eye he saw MacLougherty move toward him but she was too late. With another screech the Banshee launched it's own attack, throwing its biotic projectile directly at the Major. The glowing ball of energy was slow, Jon had enough time to react to scramble out of its path but he wasn't quick enough. The projectile smashed into the wall only a metre behind him, its energy dissipating against the concrete and deflecting a small shockwave outward.

The Major regaining his footing was caught in the radius of the blast, his body falling limp as the projectile faded. With a soft sigh he slumped to the ground, unmoving and unconscious as the Banshee advanced.

MacLougherty swore loudly and ran at the Banshee, firing shot after shot uselessly into its barriers. The thing scooped the Major up and began heading off. She kept firing until her clip ran dry, and then she ejected it and put another in. While she did, she tapped her helmet comm, just remembering that that was even a fricking option. "MacLougherty to base, we've made enemy contact inside the city! Repeat, enemy contacts inside Joughin! Request immediate assistance on my co-ordinates!" She switched the comm off and emptied another batch of rounds into the Banshee before drawing her combat knife, running after it before it suddenly vanished, taking the Major with it. She stopped where it had been and blindly flailed her arms around, praying it was some new stealth setting and not their infamous teleport, but knew what had happened before she'd even started. She screamed and threw her knife at the wall, where it embedded up to the hilt, and fell to her knees, clutching her head and rocking slightly.

Not again...not again...

Cipritine, Palaven, Three months earlier.

They'd managed to break past the Reaper blockade, using FTL ships with the safeties uncoupled as massive kinetic slugs, taking out several of the enemy vessels and drawing the rest into an engagement over the planet before dropping thousands of troops on the planet. The Third Brigade was working in conjunction with several Turian Legions and a Krogan battalion, as well as several Asari Commando Squads to retake the Turian Capital of Cipritine. They'd made extremely good headway, steamrolling Reaper defenses outside the city. Unfortunately it had quickly degenerated into Urban warfare, with Marauders, Cannibals, Banshees, and everything in between taking potshots at them from windows and corners, ambush after ambush. She'd already lost almost a dozen men that way, and she expected to lose more. It was going to be a long battle.

Their current objective was a Reaper command-centre, which relayed signals from the Reapers themselves to their husks on the ground. If they knocked it out, no less than a quarter of the enemy forces on the whole planet would simply stop responding, and projections estimated it would be a lot higher. The whole third brigade was dedicated to hitting that facility. They were getting very close-less than four blocks off.

Another ambush-two marauders and a dozen husks. They came from both sides of the street and her platoon dropped and sprayed fire into them. One wounded-Private Jenson. A marauder round had ripped through her shoulder and her arm was barely connected. There was blood everywhere and she was screaming horribly. Medics grabbed her and pulled her into a Mako that was one of several modified for handling field casualties and attached to the third. They moved on.

A block away from the facility, all hell broke lose. The whole column ended up going against hundred and hundreds of husks of all shapes and sizes. Casualties were atrocious-of to her left, a tank was ripped in half by a brute, and everyone inside was killed or mortally wounded before they could nail the bastard. A gunship flew overhead with two harvesters hot on its tail. A moment later, two fighters rocketed past in the same direction. She sprayed fire along the enemy line, and she thought she saw a husk go down, but she wasn't sure. There was too much going on.

Eventually, she and her men were on the other side, and almost to the bunker. And then a banshee came out of nowhere and before anyone knew what was going on, she'd dragged her XO, Operations Chief Yvonne Strevski. MacLougherty locked eyes with the woman and she nodded. She tapped her squad's designated marksman on the shoulder-Corporal Rogers-and said, simply, "End it." He looked at her like she was crazy but sighted down the scope of his rifle. She waited.

And waited.

And waited, until the Banshee vanished with Strevski. She blinked twice then turned slowly to face Rogers. "Why didn't you take the shot?" Her apparent calm surprised her.

"Because they were just taking her prisoner, we aren't ON-..Mmmfff!"

That last was because she'd sent a hard right hook into the man's jaw, breaking it and sending him to the ground in a heap. "DON'T YOU EVER HESITATE LIKE THAT AGAIN, YOU HEAR ME!?"

"B-bu-dey wuh onwy takin heh pwisoneh!" His broken jaw muddled his speech.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK HUSKS ARE YOU STUPID ASSHOLE?!"

He had no response for that, and she handed him off to the Medics, who didn't comment on the black eye he had as well after that.

They took the bunker with comparatively low casualties.

The next day she had to gun down a husk that she thought looked an awful lot like Gunnery Chief Strevski. And she vowed to never lose another soldier like that.

When the squad of militiamen showed up, MacLougherty was curled up in the fetal position, repeating "Not again..." over and over.

Chapter Five: Endgame

It was becoming an all too familiar feeling for Major Waggoner, the voice at the back of his mind screaming at him to wake up, to push out of the darkness that surrounded him. Even in his half conscious state he could tell something was not right, he felt as if he was floating. The memory came back in fragments; MacLougherty's shouted warning, the banshee appearing and the biotic attack coming right at him.

The banshee...

The memory snapped him awake. With a groan of supreme effort he managed to open his eyes and lift his head to find himself in the arms of the creature. The once slight Asari had no difficulty cradling the Major's muscular bulk in its arms. Sensing its quarry waken the creature turned and screached. Jon felt the cold breath wash over, ripe with the smell of death and decay. The darkness called back to him. With a soft groan the Major passed out, falling limp in the Banshee's hold.

He felt the gentle shake on his shoulder. Once again with strenuous effort the Major fought against the encompassing black of unconsciousness and blinked blearily at the figure crouched over him. As it had been in the old interrogation room of the police station. there was a young girl hovering above. Like Marina, she was pretty although her features were hidden behind several layers of dirt. "Alliance?" She asked him quietly. He could tell she was older than Marina, although still in her early twenties Jon guessed. Unlike the nurse's assistant, this woman was more confident and assured in her demeanour.

"That's right." Jon said, trying to sit up. He was prevented by a firm hand on his chest.

"Stay there for now." She commanded gently. "Figured you got hit by one of those biotic attacks, can screw with a person for a while. The Banshee brought you in here at least an hour ago, carried you like you weighed nothing. You've been out cold since. Figured it was time to wake you up."

"Thanks." The Major replied weakly. "Where are we?"

The girl smiled sadly. "The end of the line."

MacLougherty sat on her bed, rocking softly back and forth, eyes wide and staring, though they didn't focus on anything in front of her. She was reliving those two moments in her head, over and over. Her mantra of "Not again..." echoed faintly through the room. The few militiamen and officers who'd tried to console her had long since given up, and she was left alone with her demons. Someone had seen fit to post a guard on the door, though whether that was for her protection or the others' she didn't know or care. She was dimly aware of someone laying a tray on the bed next to her, and a faint conversation in the hallway outside.

"How long has she been like that?"

"Since they found her near the scene of the Major's abduction."

A pause. "Damn. You think she'll snap out of it?"

"She's tough, Captain. She'll pull through." The shuffle of feet, and she was left in silence again.

Some time later, whether minutes, hours, or days, she wasn't sure, she began to have an internal debate.

You're better than this, Elizabeth.

Am I? Then why isn't Waggoner here?

Luck of the draw. Self-pity won't help him, now.

Nothing will.

Wrong. He's still alive. You know he is. Get some people and rescue his ass.

They'll never go for it. Waste of resources.

No it isn't. Think of how many recruits they'll get from the prisoners there. Hitting those facilities could end up single-handedly winning the battle. The PR ramifications alone would make it worthwhile.

We can't pull it off.

Damnit, woman, get a hold of yourself! It's better than sitting here and doing nothing!

Fine. I'll ask.

She got up and walked out, much to the surprise of the guard. "Ma'am! Ma'am, you-..." He swore and chased after her. She picked up her pace and rounded a corner into the command centre. Commander Polonski, Lieutenant Commander Sobreno, Lieutenant Davisson, and Captain Mihana were all there, as well as a new face; An Alliance Captain in his mid-thirties with platinum blonde hair. They all turned when she entered, in apparent shock. She suddenly had a thought and looked down at herself to see her uniform was filthy and streaked with blood. It was probably a testament to her own skill in combat that it was recognisable as a uniform at all. She sighed and moved on, realising the state of her uniform didn't matter.

Commander Polonski was the first to speak, "How can we help you, Lieutenant?" No mention of her mental state, then. She appreciated that.

"We need to hit the husk-processing facility." The Commander traded a glance with the unidentified Captain.

"Lieutenant, I can understand you're upset, but-"

"No, hear me out. We've been pounding the Reapers for almost a week, now. Hitting that facility would be a huge morale booster, getting families home. Not to mention the fact that they're filled with people who have every reason to want to fight the Reapers. Some of them are probably Alliance Personnel taken in the opening battles." The Captain looked skeptical, the Commander looked sympathetic, Sobreno looked gung-ho, as always, the Lieutenant's face was a careful mask, and oddly enough it was Mihana who spoke next.

"She's right." All heads turned to face him. "We've done all we can to weaken them. With the recruits we'd gain we could start hitting larger bases. We can't afford to wait." He nodded once.

Lieutenant Davisson nodded. "What the hell. Beats sitting around here." He patted the Captain on the shoulder. "Lieutenant, meet Captain Wilson, SSV Hastings. When he heard about the Major he brought half his marine contingent down here, at great expense to his own career." The Captain looked almost embarassed.

"When I heard that the Major was MIA and you were Catatonic, I know you'd need help."

MacLougherty blinked at him, surprised. "You could have sent another officer. What about the Hastings?"

"She's...ah...moved on." That was a surprise. The Captain had willingly intertwined his own fate with that of Benning. If the planet fell, he'd be stuck here with everyone else until more help arrived.

"Where'd she go?"

"Classified. But she's in good hands."

MacLougherty nodded. "How many did you bring?"

"Almost four-hundred." MacLougherty whistled softly. That brought their total strength at this base alone to over sixteen-hundred. They were a force to be reckoned with.

"We just need to plan our attack."

Commander Polonski nodded. "You'll have everything we can spare, Lieutenant. The Makos, the Grizzlies, everything. This is our turning point. We either take this base or we lose the planet. I realise that, now." He nodded.

Sobreno pumped her fist in the air, "We're taking the fight to them! Ha-ha!"

They got to work.

The holding pen Jon found himself in was one of several in the complex; a long abandoned spaceport. Sara, the girl who had looked after the Major while he was unconscious told him that at one point each pen held close to 100 people. She had saw it with her own eyes when fighting with the resistance before being captured only two weeks ago. She listened to Jon's news about the arrival of the Alliance with a sad smile; she didn't say anything but he knew exactly what she had been thinking; it's too late for us.

From where he stood in the pen Jon could make out three dragon's teeth poking out over the roofs of the complex. They were thankfully unused currently but the Major couldn't help but wonder if the tip of one of those devices was where his end lay. Just another entry on the long list of Alliance casualties lost in the war.

Before he could grow despondent Sara was kind enough to rescue him. Despite seemingly resigned to her own fate the militia member was still upbeat, talking to Jon and asking him questions on how the war was going elsewhere. Jon kept the meat of most of his replies light, not only did he have military confidentiality to worry about he was also aware that the war was not without a high cost. He handpicked examples where the Alliance and their allies had won victories and and glossed over the details of any defeats as best he could.

"Do you hear that?" Sara asked him after their conversation had lulled. Jon looked but could hear nothing."

He shook his head. "What do yo-"

"Ssshh!" She interrupted before pausing, straining to listen. "That!"

Jon stood still and tried to do the same. "...Gunfire."

"The Alliance?"

The Major smiled. "The Cavalry."

MacLougherty was given command of one of several units set up and given a callsign specifically for this op. If all went well, odds were good these units would be more-or-less the same ones that hit the main base and shoved the Reapers off the planet. Hers was mostly sniper-spotter pairs, as before with her twenty-five marines and the other militia that had helped her hit the comm tower taking up the slack. In all, hers was the smallest-Sixty-one troops in all, counting her. They were to move in against the lightly defended South wall; lightly defended because it was up against a sheer cliff face. They were meant to rappel down, leaving their snipers here to cover the advance with a small guard contingent. Their callsign was 'Angel', and their job was to knock out crucial systems before rendezvousing with the team assigned to grab prisoners.

Captain Mihana led his Salarians, and their job was to hit the better-protected, but still inferior, north wall. It was the only side of the compound whose wall was weak enough to breach with shaped charges. They were to come at it from the north-east, through a heavy forest. Mihana assured them his men could make it through without getting lost or bogged down. Their callsign was 'Quicksilver'. They'd be freeing captives in the mess.

Captain Wilson was leading his own troops, with the assistance of two M2140 Caelax MBTs on loan from the Turian Hierarchy, and a squadron of Alliance fighter-bombers from the Hastings who'd be available to the other units as well if they needed close air support. They were attacking from the east, which was the side where the Dragon's Teeth were plainly visible. Second best defended, and tied with the Eastern wall. They'd spotted a couple Ravagers on that wall, and at least one Banshee. Callsign 'Hammer'.

Commander Polonski had elected to lead the militia personally, and had called out all the stops. Less than a hundred militia had stayed behind, mostly walking wounded and med-techs, and their job was to move the base while this op went down to a pre-determined location, which only the commanders knew thus far. All three grizzlies and both of the Makos were with them, and Polonski had a direct line to a battery of militia-controlled artillery, which he'd linked to each unit commander and XO's comm system, so that they could task fire support if necessary. He'd cautioned them, however, not to use it unless absolutely necessary, because they'd risk wounding prisoners. His men would hit the west wall, where the main gate was. Callsign 'Anvil'. Together with Hammer, they'd do what the name suggested, and sandwich the Reaper forces between them to be annihilated. At least that was the hope.

The battle began at 0820, local time, when Hammer moved in. MacLougherty had an excellent vantage point up on the cliff while she waited for her cue. Hammer moved up, the charge led by the Caelaxes, who rolled up and sent several rounds into the wall. By the time they'd reached it, it had crumbled into rubble, and they set up on either side, with the Marines pausing on a hill just behind them. It looked like a stall, but when the Reaper forces came pouring out, it was shown to be anything but. The Caelaxes opened up with their built-in flamethrowers, and the Alliance marines poured fire in, too, until there was nothing left of the wall's garrison but a black stain and a mound of charred flesh. The Caelaxes rolled over the bodies, further crushing them into the ground, and moved into the compound. The alliance marines were right behind them, firing accurately and precisely. A quartet of Alliance fighter-bombers screamed overhead and the west wall exploded into chunks, opening a hole for the militia, who took advantage of it quickly, streaming in. Their kit was older, though, and while they made up for it in numbers and dedication, they took several casualties in the opening moments before they'd pushed the Reapers back, further into the compound. The Salarians weren't visible in all this, which MacLougherty assumed meant they were doing their job. She looked down at the husks on the wall beneath her, tugged once on her rappel line to be sure, and gave her boys a thumbs up. They began their descent, and the snipers began to open fire on targets of their choosing. The unit landed amidst the husks and either gunned them down at point-blank or used their personally preferred form of melee to kill them. Only a couple minor wounds, and half of them were from militia who'd slipped on the rappel lines and skinned a knee or an elbow, or forgotten to use gloves and now had rope burn. They paused on the wall to see if there'd be a Reaper response, and then headed down to hit their targets and then find the prisoners. Taking out the systems was easy enough-They just had to head to a row of transformers, strap EMP charges to each one, get clear, and hit the switch. Then it was rescue-time. They spotted the Salarians near a group of buildings off to one side and headed over to help, taking a couple husks down on the way. This was going well, but if they didn't wrap this up, and fast, the Reapers would bring in backup, and that would probably mean a destroyer. She pushed her fingers into the seam of the door, pulled, realised she wasn't enough, and waved a couple marines over. They pulled, hard, and after a couple seconds the door came back. MacLougherty got in the seam and pushed it open, until the gap was wide enough to admit three humans, side-by-side, then she stepped inside and clicked on her rifle's flashlight. The place was dimly lit, and she could have moved around without the light, but she didn't want to step on someone's fingers or something by accident. The light scanned across a sea of faces huddled against the walls. She didn't see the Major, but that was probably just because he was in another building. She hoped so, anyway. She couldn't bear to think of how she would feel if they did all this and the Major was already dead. Mihana and his Salarians had probably gotten that one. She lowered her rifle and waved the marines in. "Come on, people. Start evac'ing. Time is not on our side, here!" Her marines got to work.

The sounds of the battle drew ever closer to where Jon and the other twelve prisoners were being held in their holding pen. Sara whooped with delight and clung on fiercely to his arm as they watched a quartet of Alliance bomber swoop overhead before unleashing their payload. The ground shook with the force of the explosions. While the rest of the captives cheered Jon remained stoic, he would save his celebration until they were actually free and he knew they were by no means out of the woods yet.

As if reading his thoughts, the barred gate to their pen slid slowly open. "The Alliance?" Sara gasped.

"No." The Major replied. "Not the cavalry."

Three husks appeared from behind the gate and Jon knew what was about to happen; either they were going to drag the prisoners off to stop them from being rescued or kill them outright knowing they would have no chance to use them for their own purposes. Jon was determined that would not happen." Behind me!" He ordered the rest of the group. The Majority had been with the militia but a few weeks in captivity had rendered them almost combat ineffective, too weak to do anything against a reaperized husk.

The Creatures advanced at a sprint; Jon met the first with a thrust kick to the chest that took the Husk off it's feet. The rest of the prisoners stayed back as he had commanded, unwilling to risk injury or death with rescue so close. Jon couldn't blame them and intended to do his part to set them free. He stepped aside as the Husk on the ground tried to grasp at him only to walk into the outstretched hand of the second one. Creating just enough distance, the Major grabbed at the wrist and swung his body around, his shoulder coming in against the creature's armpit and throwing it cleanly across the pen. Before the husk could regain its feet Jon ended it with a stomp to the skull.

His world exploded in seeing pain as the edges of his vision blurred. The third reaper had got behind the Major and clobbered him hard. He felt his knees buckle as he fell onto his back. The creature jumped into view; he managed to get his hands up to fend it off as it screeched at him but he was feeling himself weaken already. Suddenly, the back of the Husk's head exploded in a shower of blood and gristle and the creature slid limply off him. A new face appeared into view. "Major Waggoner."

"Captain Mihana?" He took the Salarian's offered hand and got to his feet unsteadily. The Salarian team had taken care of the remaining husk and had set up a quick defensive perimeter. "Where's MacLougherty?" For some reason the Major had pictured her leading the rescue but she was nowhere to be seen. He felt his knees buckle again. What if she was already dead? What if she had died leading this rescue, What if she had died in the initial contact with the Banshee trying to save him.

"Corporal! Help me with Major Waggoner!"

MacLougherty had a weak rescuee with one arm over her shoulder. She was helping him get clear, but without better transport, the bulk of these people wouldn't get very far. They had the Makos, Grizzlies, and Caelaxes, but even those could only carry so many. It was possible they'd have to leave-

No. She refused to even consider it. They could get them out, if they had to carry them out. She saw a Caelax roll past and flagged its driver down. The vehicle came to a halt, a breath of steam from the hydraulics letting out a faint hiss. The hatch on the top opened and the commander looked down at her. "Can I help you, LT?"

She nodded. "Any way you can carry the civvies too weak to move on their own?"

The man shook his head. "No can do, Lieutenant. Caelax is a military vehicle. Crew's cramped as it is and civvies won't be able to cling to the hull. Don't worry, though, Captain Wilson's bringing up the Makos. We should have enough space between them and the militia's."

She nodded her thanks. "Alright, Chief. Good hunting, then." She heard him say something about it not being hunting, and then something about mopping up, she thought, before the hatch slammed shut and the Caelax moved on. She saw that the Salarians had set up a triage station for wounded soldiers and malnourished or injured civvies. She set hers down there and looked for Mihana. She spotted him off to one side, conversing with Wilson. She headed over. "Captain Mihana!" He stayed in conversation a moment before Wilson nodded and turned off. She was about to shout again but he turned and waved. She reached him. "Have you seen Major Waggoner?"

Mihana nodded. "He's helping the wounded and the civilians." She felt a breath escape her she hadn't noticed she'd been holding.

"What did Wilson want?"

Mihana blinked. "He was just telling me that there are a dozen lightly armed Makos en route. We'll be loading these people into them."

As if on cue, a column of Makos rolled up, preceded by the rumble of their engines. Alliance medics hopped out and began triaging, getting those seriously wounded on board first, and leaving the ones able to walk or too badly injured to save. The first and third Makos filled up first and turned around, heading back to base. She suspected it would take at least two trips from each one to get everyone out, and that was just wounded and civilians. It would take another go to get the rest of the militia back, unless they were asked to take a hike, which she suspected they would.

Satisfied that they were being tended to, she began to check casualty reports, which were coming in now from various unit commanders and NCOs. It was worse than she'd thought. Of just over sixteen-hundred-One-thousand, six-hundred and fourteen to be precise-involved in the assault, they had three-hundred and twelve casualties. Fourty-seven were combat fatalities, seventeen were either mortally wounded or likely to never recover from their wounds(in her experience that meant missing limbs or head trauma), one-hundred and six were walking wounded, and one-hundred and fourty-two had minor injuries that would heal on their own with a little time. Her own unit had the lowest casualties; three, all either walking wounded or minor, Quicksilver had twelve, with only one fatality. The majority were either with Hammer or Anvil, and mostly with Anvil. She'd realised that would be the case but the numbers were something else entirely. She hoped the Militia got plenty of recruits out of this. She checked the tallies of civilians rescued and was even more surprised. It was almost a full thousand. She re-did the math and realised that those Makos would need to make a lot more trips than she'd initially thought.

Captain Mihana had insisted the Major stop at the nearest aid station and Jon had reluctantly agreed. However he had taken the choice to discharge himself just as quick upon arrival after seeing how swamped the few medical personnel already were. Due to the sheer scale of the operation and subsequent evacuation they wouldn't be going anywhere fast and Jon had no desire to add to the medics' case list. Instead he went and found a way to make himself useful and hoped he wouldn't pass out, he had already suffered enough embarrassment on that account.

Mako's were already rolling up and the Major decided to make himself useful again, assisting the nearest walking wounded, a young female resistance fighter, into the first vehicle. Captain Mihana spotted him as Jon grabbed a stretcher with an injured Marine on it, if the Salarian disapproved of his actions he gave no hint, nodding at Jon as he moved away.

With the first Mako loaded, the Major took a step back to catch his breath, letting his eyes scan the crowd before him. Marines, militia men, Salarians all milled together as they waited for orders or moved off to new positions or waited to be evacuated. It was then he spotted MacLougherty, poring over some sort of document intently. Jon found he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face as he realised she was ok. With her back to him she didn't notice his approach.

"Lieutenant." He placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "You're a sight for sore eyes. Glad to see you're alright."

MacLougherty started when the hand fell on her shoulder, gentle though it was. She turned and saw the Major, nodding in greeting. Her relief at seeing him was tempered by the casualties.

"I'm one of the lucky ones. Take a look at the reports." She forwarded the data to him, even though she was fairly sure he'd've gotten one.

"This op was too costly. Tell me that these people are likely to join us, because if we don't replace the people we lost here, this only delayed the inevitable." She held up a hand. "I know most of them can barely move right now, but some of them can, and the ones that can't will likely recover. But we need recruits."

Jon thought he saw the glimmer of relief in her eyes when she realised it was him but she was immediately straight to business. Whether he had been expecting a grander show of emotion or not, the Major once again found himself in admiration at her professionalism. He scanned the list she had given him, it made for heavy reading.

"These people are likely to join us," he replied in reassurance. "A lot of them were militia previously and will be up for the fight. We'll get new recruits because of this, because of the victory that was won here, of the people who you freed and this show of strength." He swept his hand over the picture in front of them; Salarian soldiers working with Benning resistance fighters, Marines helping wounded civilians to safety. "I know it might not seem like it on the ground but this is a great victory and a huge propaganda coup. I know Marines might not believe in the value of that but this will be felt galaxy wide."

He ran his hand through his hair, he was bone tired and his head was pounding from where the husk had clobbered him. "I ...I heard this was your idea, shortly after I was taken. I know it wasn't just for me but I just wanted to say...Thank you."

MacLougherty's expression softened. "You'd've done the same for me, Major." She paused a moment, then cleared her throat as another set of Makos pulled up and the process repeated. She looked back at the data, scrolling through a couple after-action reports when she heard a sound that made her blood run cold. It was a sound she'd heard once before, on Cipritine.

The low, rumbling pulse of a reaper's main gun spinning up.

Suddenly, half the base was enclosed in shadow and the ground shook. She turned around and saw a Reaper Destroyer land just beyond the North Wall. The small 'eye' that was the main refractive disk for its main gun was glowing red. Someone shouted "GET DOWN!" and then a red beam lanced out and speared a pair of Makos, sending one flying into the air to land on its top and the other exploded down the middle, sending one half flying to slam into a cluster of militiamen, crushing them to death and the other half to embed itself in the east wall. MacLougherty swore, which was lost as the fighter-bombers swept through and dropped their payloads. It didn't even make a dent.

Everyone was scrambling for cover now, looking for things thick enough to stop that gun. An officer waved the Makos off, shouting for them to go, but they were already gone. The Caelaxes turned their main guns up and began pouring fire into it, and the Militia Grizzlies did the same. The Gun spun up again and MacLougherty snapped out of it, dragging herself to safety with the others. Suddenly she realised there were still wounded in the open and she swore, running back to grab them. She grabbed a middle-aged man beneath the armpits and began hauling him to cover. The fighters went past again, something she heard rather than saw, firing their guns instead of dropping a payload. Someone thought to call the arty in and several rounds landed on target. The gun fired again, wiping out a Grizzly and a Militia Mako in one pass. The Mako was atomised. The grizzly was grazed, and two crewmen climbed out and half-ran, half-staggered for cover before their vehicle's core overheated and an blue-white explosion erupted from just below the main gun, sending it flying. It hit the ground and began to roll, digging up a small ditch before slamming into a combined group of marines and militiamen's legs and taking them off at the knees. She looked away before they started screaming. She saw a Thanix Missile truck roll up and after a minute, both of them launched and impacted on the destroyer. They got lucky and one hit the 'eye' just before the shield closed, causing the thing to reel back, sagging to the ground with a massive tremor. The fighters made another pass, but the thing spun up and took two out of the sky. One of them spun out of control and rammed into the ground not ten meters away from her, causing her to reel back and shield her eyes before she grabbed another wounded-this one younger, not even in her twenties yet. Another round of artillery landed on target and the Reaper let out a mechanical screech that prompted half the people in the area to fall to their knees and clutch their ears. The other half merely stopped, mid-motion and stood stock-still. Finally, the two surviving fighters made another pass, etching a line of holes into one side that belched flame before another round of artillery fire impacted, and the whole area was silent, save for the cries and screams of the dying. Half the compound was ablaze, and she refused to even think about how many more casualties this was. She headed out to help salvage what they could of this mess.

The Reaper counter attack had the effect of giving wings to the relief effort. Jon and the other Officers done their best to control order and ensure the retreat was orderly with no one left behind. Minutes ticked by as time slowed to a crawl, everyone fearful of a second attack. It wasn't until an hour later that the Major was satisfied their goal had been achieved. He jumped into the very last Mako as it rolled out, it hadn't been intentional but he took a measure of pride in knowing that he was the last to leave.

Upon arrival back at their new base he was informed that MacLougherty had already contacted the Alliance informed them of the rescue and the total number of rescued as well as the attached 'butchers bill.' There was no celebration this time, the destruction wrought by the Reaper destroyer had dented everyones mood. The Major knew he had cheated death several times that day and gave a silent thanks that he had somehow made it through to the other side, again. A militia man was kind enough to show him where his new room was and Jon had just about enough energy left to fold his shirt over the chair before slumping over the top of the bed. He didn't bother removing his pants, boots or Rolex and fell almost immediately into a dark sleep.

The respite was short lived; the knocking on his door was light but enough to wake him. He sat up just as Marina walked in, the young girl turning a bright shade of red when she saw the Major was shirtless.

"I...message on the comms..." She coughed out.

Jon nodded. "I''ll be right there." Marina took that as he cue to exit and hurried away before Jon could say anything further.

He arrived at the comms room a couple of minutes later to find a holo of Admiral Greening facing him; the Major saluted. "Admiral."

"Major Waggoner." Greening was a handsome woman in her early fifties with a noticeable scar running from her brow down the side of her nose. "Glad to see we finally have a chance to speak again. We've all been following the updates from Benning with serious interest. My people are currently making their way through the vids of the latest engagement." Following Jon's initial idea, he had took MacLougherty's suggestion on board and ordered a number of their fighter to start utilizing their helmet cam for propaganda purposes. Evidently this had continued for the rescue mission. "Casualty list is high but the rescue list is higher." Greening gave a grim smile. "What you're doing down there..."

"I won't take the credit Admiral. The Junior Officers I have with me and the Marines and resistance fighters have been incredible.

"Of course, I..."

"We have them on the back foot Admiral." Jon interrupted, determined to put his case to her. "We've hit the Reapers hard and they are reeling. They don't have any reinforcements coming because they're tied up elsewhere. Give us the manpower and we have a real shot at liberating Benning."

The Admiral's expression turned sad. "Unfortunately Benning is not the priority."

"These are our people! They've suffered."

"Major," Greening said ignoring his plea, "Have you heard of Project Crucible?"

MacLougherty sighed and cupped her hands under the tap in her new quarters. They'd headed back a comparatively short time after the counterattack by the Destroyer and while she'd wanted desperately to get some shut-eye, the combination of an adrenaline high and the things she'd seen when the Reaper attacked caused her to doubt her capacity to sleep in the immediate future. She squinted her eyes shut, trying desperately to block out images of the devastation, especially the incident with the Grizzly turret. She realised she'd been running the water too long and embarassedly shut the tap off, running some of the stuff left in her hands over her face. She looked in the mirror and saw the effects of several days of prolonged, bloody fighting, and knew why the militia seemed so much older than they appeared. She hadn't fought this hard since-...No, she was fairly sure not even Cipritine matched this. On Cipritine she'd had plenty of professional, high-tech support ready on a moment's notice, and the battle had been over-at least for her-after a day or two, and she'd always had a transfer off-world or leave-taking to look forward to. This was a constant kind of Hell; even when they weren't fighting the threat of the Reapers still loomed. Was this how civilians felt? Was she becoming one of those old veterans she'd seen that refused to get close to their men because they knew they were going to die? Shit, she wasn't even thirty.

She turned away, running a towel over her face briefly, which she threw on the bed. She grabbed a datapad and scrolled through her messages. It was nothing but the butcher's bill, which reminded her that she needed to forward the after-action reports to command. She did so, sighing explosively and dropping the 'pad down again, heading out for a walk. She wasn't sure where, or why, or to what end, precisely, just that she needed to walk. She wandered the base a while, not paying attention to her surroundings. Eventually she bumped into a young miltia officer whose name tag read "M. Cortes", causing the young lady to began apologising profusely and offering to make it up. She cocked a brow, but smiled and waved her off. It was only then that she realised she was standing outside Major Waggoner's quarters, and that he was shouting.

"...manpower and we have a real shot at liberating Benning." She couldn't help it, she listened in.

A woman's voice responded, "Unfortunately Benning is not the priority."

What? It sounded like she was suggesting they abandon Benning!

"These are our people! They've suffered." Waggoner again.

"Major, have you heard of Project Crucible?" Suddenly MacLougherty was intensely curious-more so than she had been when she threw regs out the window and decided to listen in on what was obviously a sensitive conversation like a school gossip. What was important enough to pull support from here? What was important enough that this Admiral would abandon these people to their fates. They'd already begun liberating Earth, that wasn't an issue. The other Homerworlds were either liberated-like Palaven, had never been seriously hit-like...well, she couldn't think of one off-hand, did Rannoch count?, or had already fallen-like Sur'Kesh. Crucible could be anything, and while she felt dirty, she had to know if it was worth the trade-off.

The information the Admiral had given Jon left him reeling, so much so that he had to take a minute after the call ended to process it all. Could the end of the war really be in sight? It was hard to believe but he supposed the bigger picture was harder to keep up with when you were down amongst the dirt and bullets as he had been. He checked his Rolex, it was late but he needed to speak to the other Officers, starting with MacLougherty as she and Marines would be pulling out at the same time as him, as would the reinforcement the Hastings had delivered. Greening had said nothing of the Salarian Third but the Major assumed they would also be required elsewhere.

It felt like a kick in the teeth; so close to liberating Benning only to be pulled out before the job can be done. He knew the others wouldn't like it but orders are orders. He hated to leave the job only half done but he was certain he and the rest of the Alliance team had made a real difference on Benning; the Colony may have needed to wait a while longer for liberation but they had at least given them the chance that it was now a realistic goal.

He opened the door and almost ran straight into MacLougherty. "Lieutenant." Jon folded his arms, his expression serious. "You were listening in I take it?"

MacLougherty heard everything; there was a weapon being built to end the war in one fell swoop. If it was true-and the Alliance seemed to think it was-then they could end the war with minimal loss of life. If it wasn't...she thought about it and realised it would be nigh impossible to beat the Reapers in a conventional war. It might be do-able, but it would result in unimaginable casualties, at best. At worst it would end up as a glorified case of mutually assured destruction or even result in a loss, with the Reapers wiping them all out. If she thought about it, it made sense, but it still hurt to leave the militia here on their own. She resolved to slip them a hint, somehow, to reassure them that they weren't being abandoned, and warning them not to conduct any more major offenses once they'd gone unless they heard the worst.

She was snapped out of her reverie by Waggoner's exit. He knew exactly what she'd been doing and she resigned herself to at the least a stern talking to.

"Yes, Major. I was. I apologise...but is it true? Can it be true? Could this damned bloody war be so close to finishing?" She looked at him, hopeful. She didn't want to add another name to her list for a long time to come if she could help it. The Crucible would mean no more names, no more civilians dead, no more planets ravaged, not one more soldier dragged off, kicking and screaming to be butchered or worse. It meant she might finally be able to get some goddamned rest, not worrying that civilisation as they know it might end tomorrow. It would mean peace.

His visions of a stern dressing down vanished as he saw the hope in the Lieutenants eyes. Jon sighed, "Yes, or so Admiral Greening tells me. Seems like they have faith in this operation." He looked at MacLougherty and assuming she had heard most if not all of his conversation with the Admiral. "You understand all Alliance personnel are being pulled out of Benning and that includes you and your Marines." The Major knew MacLougherty would share a similar frustration as him at being withdrawn when victory was so tantalizingly close but orders were orders.

He waited to see what her reaction would be, assuming she didn't already know. It was the Lieutenant who had been the leading force in Benning's push for liberation; leaving now would hurt them all but he knew it would particularly sting for her. "Speak freely Lieutenant."

She nodded. "I understand, sir." She looked back at the general location of the Militia barracks, then back to Waggoner, smiling faintly. "I think we've given them a fighting chance." She paused. "If I'm honest, we've been here too long, and it's occurred to me that as much as we're helping the militia, we're hurting ourselves and our own troops. Mentally and physically. They can handle it here, and if they can't for some reason, then if the Crucible is what they think it is, it'll do it for them. Either way, they can manage." She sighed, realising she'd known this would happen sooner, rather than later, and that everything she'd said was completely true, but no less painful to admit.

"You want me to warn them to lay low or are they going on, business as usual?" She looked at him, head tilted slightly. She wouldn't begrudge him secrecy, but the militia should at least be advised that the end was in sight, and that more battles may simply be unnecessary casualties. They could tell them that without giving away anything vital. The Reapers-if they even noticed-would assume they'd been hit too hard by the Destroyer and were nursing their wounds. She waited for an answer.

Jon nodded along as MacLougherty gave her assessment of the state of her Marines. As was her habit, she was totally correct in what she said; the Marines were tough, if they were tasked to gut it out on Benning they would and the Major knew they would do the same for their newest assignment, whether they liked the idea of leaving the Colony or not.

"The details of the mission are to remain classified but you can let the Resistance leaders know they end is in sight. Tell them...tell them to just hang in there, liberation will be coming." Saying the words out loud actually took Jon by surprise, as if the implication was only just sinking in now he'd heard it from his own lips. The end of the war... He couldn't help the smile that broke out and before he knew what he was doing he had taken the Lieutenant in a close hug. "We're going to do it."

MacLougherty's eyes went wide when Waggoner hugged her, but after the initial surprise, she hugged back, happy to just have a shoulder to rest on. She funneled her suppressed anger at the orders, her guilty relief at the end of the fighting, her joy at the end of the war being so close, and her grief at her lost soldiers into the hug. She didn't cry, but she thought she might have trembled slightly. She just sat there, resting her head on Waggoner's chest, since their heights were too different for the shoulder. Faintly, she realised that if a militiaman or one of their marines walked in, it would be awkward, but she wasn't really paying that much mind.

Jon saw Mihana watching them in silence after a couple of seconds. The Major didn't push MacLougherty away but instead gently untangled himself from the embrace, regretful the hug had to end so soon, the feeling of a warm body pressed against his was something he had missed.

Captain Mihna." Jon said clearing of his throat. "I'm not sure if you've been in touch with your superiors yet but I'm to inform you that Alliance personnel will be pulling out from Benning as soon as operationally possible."

The Salarian gave no reaction other than a nod. "Indeed. I've been told the Salarian Third will be doing the same. Regretful but apparently for the greater good."

Jon smiled. "The greater good," he agreed softly.

MacLougherty just stood there for a moment, eyes wide while Waggoner talked to Mihana. She was fairly sure that the Salarian wouldn't mention it, but it still gave her pause that they'd had an audience. She waited a moment, then scurried away to her room to pack her things and evade the situation. When she was finished, she headed to Lieutenant Davisson's quarters to let him know that they'd be pulling out. She knocked on the door and waited for him the answer. A moment later, he did, dressed in an undershirt and fatigues and looking particularly bleary-eyed and she suddenly remembered what time it was. She cursed herself and started off with an apology.

"Sorry, LT, I forgot how late it was. I've got news, but it can probably wait." She turned halfway before he responded.

He waved a hand. "I'm up already, might as well tell me what it is. Good or bad?"

She turned back and smiled faintly. "A bit of both. We're being pulled out, all of us. Marines, Salarians, the whole group." She paused while Davisson took that in.

"Sir, all respect to our superiors, but what the bloody hell are they thinking?" She'd always admired Davisson's candor. It was something she aspired to herself. The man had been career military and was an NCO for almost twenty years before he'd gone to OCS-mostly because his family needed more pay, but partly because people had advised him to. He'd done well for himself since and was actually at the age where he could retire with a full pension. He was too dedicated to the Marines, though, and with the War having done the damage it did, she doubted he'd be retiring for a while yet.

"There's good news with the bad, Hal. I can't tell you details-heaven knows I probably shouldn't know-but there's some kind of end-all project out there that's about to finish the Reapers and this war once and for all." Davisson raised a brow, but didn't ask how she knew. "They're pulling us out so they don't lose a couple hundred guys in a battle that shouldn't've happened, from what I can tell. I'm allowed to let the Militia know why we're being pulled out but not how we're going to finish it or anything else. We have to just tell them to sit tight and hope they understand."

Davisson nodded, rubbing one hand over his beard-he hadn't been able to shave in some time and a salt-and-pepper beard was forming there. "I'll get the troops ready to roll. You know when we're getting pulled?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. Probably a day or two. The Salarians got word around the same time we did. I suspect Captain Wilson did as well. Pack everything and prep shuttles, but don't pull our guys from patrols yet. I want us to wiggle as much as we can in the room these orders give. Don't join any offensives, obviously, but otherwise go business as usual-more or less."

The Lieutenant nodded and gave her a quick two-fingered salute. "You got it, boss."

She smiled. "Get some sleep, Hal. You look like you need it."

He paused, looking thoughtful. "Respect ma'am, but you look like you need it more."

She nodded and headed back. He was right, she needed to sleep, even if she didn't like it. She'd try, and if all else failed, she'd at least get some rest. She was fairly sure she could pull off some sleep now that she knew it was almost over. She just hoped the militia didn't attack again-and that this weapon was everything they claimed it was, or this world was doomed.

Epilogue

The troops involved in the Battle of Benning were pulled out two days later, to not a little protest from the soldiers and the local militia. MacLougherty, Waggoner, and the Marines of the Second Company of the Third Brigade spend the rest of the war aboard the SSV Hastings, seeing little action beyond a single skirmish on the fringes of the Attican Traverse.

Less than three months later, the Reapers were destroyed with Operation: Checkmate and the firing of the Catalyst. Sur'Kesh was reclaimed, though the Salarians haven't fully recovered from their wartime casualties to this day. Female Salarians are in particularly short supply.

Benning survived the war, and the officers and soldiers of the militia were given a monument in the capital square. Twenty-three members were awarded the Star of Terra-the highest award in the systems Alliance can give for bravery. Sixteen were posthumous.

As for the galaxy, while weakened, hope remains for a full recovery, but most agree that it may never be the same again.