Earth, London, 2253 hours local time.

Admiral Anderson slammed the butt of his pistol into the husk's misshapen face. He was rewarded with a dry crunching sound, akin to stomping on a giant cockroach, but the cybernetic creature only paused for a second before it renewed it's attempt to tear Anderson to shreds.

Hell of a way to die, he thought to himself, grappling with the husk as it's skeletal fingers tightened around his throat, If I survive all this and get fragged by a husk in an old blown out grocery store, I'll never forgive myself.

Fighting for breath, his vision beginning to blur, he dropped his empty pistol and plunged his thumbs into the husk's eyes, or what passed for eyes on the reanimated remains of some poor bastard.

It let out a shriek of pain and rage, it's grip loosening slightly, allowing Anderson to kick it squarely in the chest, knocking it back into a section of empty shelving with a crash that echoed through the abandoned store.

He considered retrieving his pistol, but remembered that he was completely out of thermal clips, following the ambush of his convoy on the way to the staging area for the assault on the citadel. As the husk scrambled to it's feet and fixed the bulging remains of it's eyes on Anderson, he picked up a two foot long piece of broken re-bar from the debris strewn floor.

The husk charged, it's arms flapping madly, and Anderson sidestepped, bringing his makeshift club across the creature's sunken chest with an impact that cracked several of it's ribs. Despite all that, the husk reached out, snagging his left wrist in it's iron grip. He swung the re-bar again with his right hand, smashing it into the husk's kneecap, bending it backward and causing the hideous squealing thing to release his wrist and fall to it's knees.

Anderson stepped back, gripped the club with both hands and raised it above his head for a powerful blow to finish his opponent. Then there was a loud echoing roar as the husks head burst like a ripe melon, spraying blood, skull fragments, and bits of cybernetics everywhere.

Major Coats stood in the entryway of the half demolished store, surveying the scene, lowering his Mantis IV sniper rifle.

"Could have used your help ten minutes ago." Anderson said, brushing bits of the husk off of his filthy pants. "We were moving to the staging area when a Reaper landed nearby and started tearing up our convoy. We lost some people, but most of us scattered and took cover in the city. We can probably round up most of them." He paused, noting the look on the Major's face. "What is it, what's happened?"

"We got a transmission from the fleet." Coats said numbly. "The Reapers disabled the relay before the Crucible came through. Shepard ordered a retreat, but they have nowhere to go. Most of the fleet is being destroyed as we speak. There is no help coming."

A stricken look came across Anderson's face. "Any word on the casualties."

"They're high," Coats said grimly, "Reaper reinforcements showed up and inflicted seventy percent casualties. We get an occasional broadcast from a fleeing ship, the Reapers are hunting them down mercilessly. A few ships might be able to hide though."

"And then what?" Anderson said. "It's a hell of a long flight to the nearest inhabited system."

"I don't know, they're probably better off than us."

Anderson chuckled darkly at that. "We should round up the rest of my team and get to the nearest FOB. We've got a lot of work to do."

"What do you mean sir?" Coats asked, a confused look on his face. "We've just been stalling until the fleet came for us. They just failed. We're finished.

"Major," Anderson said. "There are three principles that have kept me going since this damned war started. First, as long as your heart is beating, you still have a chance of winning. Second, regardless of what you think you know about any situation, you can count on Shepard to come in and pull your bacon out of the fire."

"You think Shepard's still going to be able to do anything?" the major asked.

"As long as she's alive, she'll be working on some hare-brained plan to save humanity. Hell, she even died for two years and still came back to kick some collector ass."

"Well, I suppose her help wouldn't be unwelcome." Coats said, handing Anderson a handful of thermal clips. "But what's the third thing?"

Anderson offered a grim smile, as the two soldiers walked toward the front of the ruined store.

"Always have a plan B."