WARNING!
This story may include material not suited for all audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.
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Mass Effect and its entirety belong to Bioware and EA…
SECTION EIGHT V2
PROLOGUE
The French tried to build a canal in Panama before the Americans. At the height of their effort 500 workers were dying every week from malaria and yellow fever. They couldn't come up with cemetery space fast enough. Not to mention the morale problem all those crosses would have made.
So they bought shiploads of vinegar. In each barrel they put one body. And then they sold them as medical cadavers all over Europe. And for a while that was their greatest profit.
See this place always had a special way of dealing with both profit… and death.
CHAPTER ONE
Panama Canal, South America
Systems Alliance Territory
Earth, Sol System, Local Cluster
November 1st 2184 (Galactic Standard Calendar)
2300 hours Earth Time
It was the height of hurricane season. Winds were gusting up to around a hundred miles an hour, the rain came in at you sideways, and no matter where you went; you could not escape the cold.
The sun had long set making the storm all that much more intolerable. It wasn't as if the sun made any difference behind the giant dark clouds of Hurricane Bush, but at least during the day you can see where you are going.
The night just made things worse. Now you would be wet and cold and have no idea what is five feet in front of you.
That was what the six N7 recruits felt in the open door Kodiak shuttle as it made its way through the brewing storm; cold, wet and exhausted.
For the past six months they have underwent the most rigorous training any Alliance military personnel could go through. Finally, this was to be their last test.
If they passed this, they could count themselves among the best operatives the Systems Alliance had to offer. They would be, N7s.
"As some of you may have heard, there is a hurricane forming tonight! Well N7s, don't pray on good weather. N7s do not wait for a bright, sun shiny day. Oh no. N7s are trained to operate in the worst possible conditions and take said conditions, and turn them against their enemy!"
Staff Sergeant David Anderson looked around at the six recruits before him.
Sitting to his immediate left was Corporal Jacqueline Nought, otherwise known as simply Jack, to her colleagues. Although quick to anger and slow to rational thought, Anderson knew that such an asset would smooth over well in the N7s. Her dossier had more black ink than a thank you letter from an ONI operative. What Anderson did manage to find out was not at all pleasant. When she was five, she was kidnapped by slavers from her home on Eden Prime. After a decade of unknowns, Jack mysteriously reappears and is now one of the most naturally talented biotics he'd ever seen. He made a note to apply to her strengths when she inevitable graduated from N7 training.
To his right was Specialist Vladimir Wreav, a behemoth of a man standing over six foot five inches. The native Russian was as imposing as he was deadly. His dossier red that he once beat four batarians to death with his bare hands in a bar fight on Omega. Just looking at him one could tell that it wasn't far from the truth. His personality matched his fighting technique down to the letter; impatient, menacing, and powerful. Unlike the other, Wreav seemed almost completely unfazed by the hurricane around him. Instead he sat there, eyes gazing out onto the jungle below him, his tight fitting shirt, with a thermal clip bandolier crossing diagonally over it, was dripping wet. Covering his head was a simple dark doo-rag which was equally as wet as his torso. Anderson suppressed a smile. The N7s were the best of the best and Wreav was no exception.
Then there was Corporal Zaeed Massani, an experienced Australian marine who had nothing but good praises from his superiors. However what he did have was a long list of disciplinary reports that ranged from sleeping with senior female staff to punch others in the mouth. His most notable feature, something that always caught someone's eye, was his grotesque scar that covered the entire right side of his face, a milky white dead eye and a partially missing ear. He had ran with a gang back in his hometown of Sydney and received the scar by being shot by his best friend Vido Santiago. Zaeed had nearly died but for some reason managed to survive, pull himself out of his shallow grave, hunt down Vido, and kill him. When he was caught and brought before a judge, Zaeed was offered a deal: join the Alliance military or serve the rest of his life in jail. Zaeed had no love for the Alliance but the simple fact of there being no women in prison gave clues to his decision. After fighting in the Verge for nearly five years, his application for N7 training had gone through and thus, here he was. His thin black hair was covered by a beret and he seemed to faring somewhat well in the harsh conditions around him, but not as well as Wreav.
Sergeant Jacob Taylor, who was as accurate with a shotgun as anyone else was with an assault rifle, was next. Jacob was the one man of the six recruits that Anderson felt could be a leader. Taylor had come from a somewhat renowned family. His father was one of the crew members who disappeared with SSV Hugo Gernsback, a colony ship that went missing a few decades prior. He had all the inner workings of a take charge person and was extremely loyal to those around him. All throughout his carreer, Taylor had made an excellent NCO. He was one of the few to survive Major Kyle's charge on Torfan and appeared to have no psychological scars from it. More recently however, he was involved in the liberation of Eden Prime from Geth control, earning himself not only several medals and accommodations, but an offer from ONI as well.
The rest of the recruits, in Anderson's eyes, were pukes who he would never let pass. To him, they didn't seem to have the right stuff.
The most notable were Privates Alenko and Jenkins, both who were in the shuttle with him. Alenko had barely survived through the conditions of Anderson's course and Jenkins was the son of some general high up in the Alliance.
Anderson wasn't exactly sure how Alenko got to be included in N7 training but according to his record he was a biotic. Healthy biotics were a rarity before the L3 implants came around and since his biggest drawback was a series of migraines, Alenko seemed like a perfect candidate. But to Anderson, he wasn't anything near perfect. His record informed Anderson that Alenko was off duty on Elysium when the fleet of raiders and slavers attacked the colony. Details are sketchy at best but whatever went down planetside during the siege, it got Alenko noticed by the Office of Naval Intelligence. Afterwards, his file was surprisingly well classified. In the end it wouldn't matter. Alenko would not pass. Anderson would make sure of it.
On the other hand, Corporal Jenkins was only here because his father had pulled some strings to get his allegedly gay son to become the man he wants. Anderson, while he respected General Jenkins as a man, had no time to play babysitter to the guy's kid. Anderson's standing orders with Jenkins was to make sure he became a soldier with getting him hurt. How Anderson was going to do that was unknown to him but so far the kid seemed somewhat capable if not entirely worthless.
Anderson nevertheless, continued his rant.
"You each have on rifle, one side arm, and one white phosphorous grenade. This is a live E and E, so please keep those weapons safetied so as to not shoot off your nonexistent dicks!"
The Kodiak shook in turbulence.
"The rally point is a bunker, two clicks away from the drop zone! You will split into teams of two. Each designated area has twenty reactive targets. First team to hit all twenty and reach the rally point, wins!" Anderson briefed the recruits, making it sound more like a game than a training exercise.
"If anything goes cache down there, you pop white and radio in. I will be at each area monitoring your progress! If I see anybody drag ass, I swear to god, you will swim the canal!"
The shuttle continued its way towards the drop zone, ready to deploy the six tired and cranky recruits who wanted nothing more to do than to grab a few hours of rack.
SEVENTEEN HOURS LATER…
Colonel Donald Udina's shuttle flew calmly over the Panamanian jungle keeping a path identical to the canal below.
Donald Udina was what one would expect from a colonel; enough prestige to demand respect but not enough to gain credit. His boney face visually displayed his ever increasing age with ever line and crease. Even his hair, that once was flowing and vibrant, was now slowly fading away. Almost like his career. All that remained was a black widows peek with streaks of grey deforming the dull black.
Every now and then, he would grab his binoculars and gaze out into the storm.
With a sigh he set the binoculars down and turned to the pilot, Flight Lieutenant Steven Cortez. On a personal Level, Udina respect Cortez. He put his duty first and made sure to always keep his bird in top shape. Something Udina was grateful for as they flew through the on-going hurricane.
"Where's the original pick up point?"
Cortez turned away from the controls.
"About two clicks up the valley. So this was an N7 training team? When were they due?"
Udina sighed once more, "They missed contact six hours ago."
"Well Colonel Udina, that doesn't really mean anything … in a storm like this… No, it wouldn't be any wonder if they were delayed," Cortez observed as he kept the Kodiak level while simultaneously gazing out the kodiak's side viewport, keeping a lookout for anything awry.
The shuttle continued through the now full on hurricane. While hurricanes were normal in this part of the world, a hurricane lasting for three days was uncommon. Well, not exactly uncommon. In the more 'civilized' area of Earth, the weather had calmed down some from the destructive effects of the 21st century. Still, in places such as South America that boasted more third world countries like Panama, people have not been able to properly upgrade their technology into modern day levels. As a result, most of these places were overpopulated, environmentally cursed, smug filled zones that had the highest rate of criminals anywhere else on the planet.
It just so happened that when the United States evolved into the North American Union with Canada, Mexico and most of the Caribbean countries, they had still owned the Panama Canal. When the Alliance had heard of this from the NAU, they immediately purchased up several hundred acres and set up Fort Mercy. However 99 percent of the land they purchased was covered in the trees of the resurfacing South American rainforest. It was here that the Alliance had trained their N7s in Jungle Warfare. It was spilt into twelve zones ranging from Alpha to Lima.
Training Zone Bravo was one of these zones.
"I'm not seeing them. I'm coming back around," Cortez informed Udina as he banked the shuttle towards port but at the last second leveled out.
"Uh… wait a minute… I'm seeing something on the ground. I'm coming over towards your side."
Sure enough, Udina could make out a figure in the jungle below. The figure was running through an opening in the tree line and was barely visible from Udina's altitude. Still, Udina could tell that something wasn't right.
"I'm seeing one… No wait, two? I think he's carrying some one? Is he hurt?" exclaimed Cortez.
Sure enough, Udina could make out a form lying across the man's shoulders.
He wasted no time.
"Alright, let's get down there," Udina ordered.
However he was interrupted by the sounds of gunfire.
"What is that?"
The man on the ground, fired from the hip, aiming at a currently unknown target.
"Is that live fire?"
Another man, wearing nothing on his torso except for a thermal clip bandolier and a do-rag, charged from the bush and fired back at the man carrying his wounded comrade.
The man carrying his friend returned fire, nailing the other in his shirtless body. Udina watched in horror as the shirtless man fall in a cloud of blood.
"Jesus Christ, they're shooting at each other; get us down there!"
The surviving man turned and began running.
Through the trees and rain, Udina could make out the growing cloud of white phosphorus.
"There, there!" he reported to the pilot who made a direct route towards the smoke.
The shuttle made its decent into the green jungle with the hurricane still blowing overhead.
Author's Note:
Since I'm in a state of writers block on ME Infection, I decided to go ahead with my promise to rewrite Section 8.
To those just joining the fun and have not read my original piece, welcome! This fic is based off a movie I watched and was inspired by. Almost as soon as I finished watching the movie I hopped onto my computer and started to write. It was that good. So please, leave me your thoughts and if you spot anything out of place give me a holler.
To others who are rejoining us for Volume Two, I'm sure some are noticing an increase in detail and a replacing of characters. Several issues factored into this but the main one is my overall increasing writing ability. I'm not trying to be egotistical, I'm just observing the fact that I'm better than I used to be.