A/N: So yes, I decided I was going to split Shepard's military background into two different chapters, this one is the lead-up. I'd like to thank those of you who have read, and RamenKnight for his faithful reviewership, and also KasumiCain for reading and reviewing just about everything I've written to date.
UPDATE: Re-edited as of 9-20-13, grammatical fixes mainly.
Morning stretches, quick workout. Shower, shave, dress, armor.
Routine morning duties, and even as a lieutenant-commander in charge of a regiment on an Elysium garrison duty, it had to be obeyed. Toweling off, I dressed in naval undersuit, then began the task of armoring up. First was utility belt and carapace. Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. Cuisses, greaves, boots, all snapped into their joints, hooked into the trauma system, and snapped and laced. As shoes for your feet put on the sandals of the Gospel. Kinetic barriers primed, full suit seated and straightened. With all of these, take the shield of Faith. Finally, tactical helmet with built-in sniper optics and comm gear to communicate with planetary militia, should the need arise. Take the helmet of salvation ... Last, cleaned and oiled the night before, broken down and storage-ready, sidearm, sniper rifle, shotgun, and obligatory assault rifle. ... and the sword of the Spirit.
An echo test ensured all comlinks were secure and encrypted, and off to the duty station.
Briskly marching through the equally brisk morning air, I stopped in at the mess for morning chow.
Some of the newer militia and green regulars started to rise, but I waved them down. There was a sense of urgency that the Officer could discern.
"Morning, LC." Suggs, the mess officer, greeted me as usual. He scooped a heaping pile of fried tubers and meat strips on my tray. I did enjoy the officer's mess for evening chow, but there was nothing like a greasy start to a day.
"Morning, Suggs. Whats new?" The Diplomat arose to socialize a bit.
"Heh! You know very well whats new, you're the one who put through that order for 3 tons of local ambrosia. And you know very well who gets to cook that godawful crap!"
"Aww, and here I thought you were going to thank me for doing thirty percent of your job!"
"Just eat up, sir!" We both had a good laugh. Ambrosia, of course, was the legendary 'food of the gods' in Greek mythology. Elysium was analogous to heaven in the same lore, and so naturally the colonists had formed a planetary dish with that moniker. Though one had to wonder if it was ironic or not; essentially a blend of Earth-strain cabbage, local boiled tuber, farmed seafood, and the veins of a leaf found only on the farming continent, all suspended in a simple flour and meat broth. While the flavor itself wasn't all that bad, vast quantities being prepared meant that the fish smell tended to overpower any indoor cooking facility.
Sitting down, I opened up the day's reports by the night watch and aerospace patrols. The Officer still had an uneasy feeling, though the Soldier found nothing remiss about the reports themselves. Stellar anomalies, brushfires, an unsanctioned duel ... usual backrocket stuff.
Going over my mental checklist of the day's duties one of the junior officers walked over, nervousness in his every step.
"Hey, uh, LC, I had a question, if I'm not bothering or anything. I could always ..."
"Simmer down, soldier. I've always got time. What is it?" I felt confident I knew the question, its not like every other militia member had asked me at one point or another ...
"Well, ever since you assumed command of our post, we've been drilling more and more, have gotten in more shooting and tactics exercises than standard for most regular outfits, and are pushed harder than would seem normal. Do you know something we don't?"
There it was. Local vs. outsider. Having been in that position myself only a few years previous- hearing of Alliance troops passing through Mindoir, and trying to deduce their purpose, I understood this one's inquisitiveness. And apprehension, as most books and movies taught you increased training meant the Big Day was at hand.
I exhaled, and allowed the Officer front and center. "Well Private Fiske, its like this. There's a super-secret galactic organization that controls everything. They directly affect the galactic economy, keep the governments moving as puppets, and even control the media. They ensure that everything happens according to their Master Plan, and that every galactic citizen- outlaw or otherwise- bends to their every whim." I maintained a stony stare at the private, while watching his face move through approximately fifteen expressions. Mainly variations of confuddlement and shock.
"We-well, uh, why, uh, why tell me?"
"Because they decreed one less militia member from Elysium, and now that I told you, I have to kill you."
Another four expressions. Disbelief and fear were the last two.
I stood up comically, and loudly announced: "By decree and bull of the Galactic Illuminati, Private Jared Fiske of the 4th Elysium Combat Regiment is to be terminated due to knowledge of the group!"
Suggs shouted from behind the mess line, "Quit scarin' 'em and just tell em you're a ruthless taskmaster who thrives on the misery of your troops!"
I sat down. "Essentially, I'm a ruthless taskmaster who thrives on the misery of my troops. Brass doesn't just send N6 teams anywhere, and so I'm just fulfilling my duties of protection as best I can. Say, are there any Boy Scout troops around?"
Fiske, slumping slightly in relief, seemed to be caught off-guard by the question. With him, it seemed pretty easy to do. "Well, yeah, my brothers are in one."
"Then you may know that their motto is to 'Be Prepared'. The founder, an Englishman from Terra two hundred-some odd years back, name was Lord Robert Baden-Powell, had been asked once what that meant. 'Prepared for what?'. His answer: 'Why, for any old thing'. So I am keeping you all prepared. Does that answer your question?"
He got up and stood at attention. "Sir!"
I returned to my planning while shoveling down bacon-analogous rations.
After marksman and hand-to-hand drills, I figured I would hold do a refresher on defensive structure and fortification. Sun-Tzu and Schwarzkopf were great to study and practice, but a coordinated defense could frustrate a superior force.
"The best areas for defensive fighting are where, Private Smith?" There's one in every unit ...
"Sir: Cities, forests, mountain passes, hilltops!"
"Good answer, but if you're defending a city, something has gone terribly wrong! Especially for you heavy-weapons fetishists. Many armies have been frustrated by attrition while attempting to clear and occupy cities, yes, but then you have civilian casualties to worry about, property liabilities, and even friendly fire. Especially if the enemy doesn't worry. When defending a city, surgical strikes are best. Snipe some enemies, block a few streets, plant booby traps."
Emphasize all major types of ground they may need to defend.
"As for forest and jungle- only if you know your terrain. You can have the best defensive plan since Bastogne, but if a pack of tigers you didn't realize lived in the area get hungry, you are out of luck. Knowledge is power in that regard. Mountain passes are some of the best defensive terrains, but they are rare and most modern tech can level the advantage. You do have the advantages of a chokepoint, concealment, cover, and morale."
I sure hope the anti-air detachments remember that. Just in case.
"I recently wrote and distributed several pamphlets concerning family-level defenses in this part of our fine planet. Has everyone gone over them with your families?"
Most of the hands raised. Good, good.
"As for those of you who haven't yet, lease do. Its not a matter of scaring them, its a matter of keeping them ready. You all volunteered for a reason, and they are making a sacrifice to not see you for a few days each week. It could be more if we ever get mobilized. Has anyone here heard of Mindoir?"
All but a few hands went up.
"That's my home planet." A few wide eyes of realization. "I watched my family get gunned down, I watched friends die because we didn't have a truly organized and trained militia. Your midday chow assignments are to draw up three defensive plans: A home defense plan involving your family and homestead, an outpost defense plan involving this entire regiment, and a continental defense plan involving the three regiments and materiel stationed here. You may come up with plans by squad, but everyone must make their own family defense plan. I expect to see them at 1400 sharp. Dismissed."
For midday chow, I decided to brave the enlisted mess again and have some ambrosia. The smell walking into the humid mess hall was almost physical-causing the eyes to water, the breath to catch, and sweat to run.
Slopping a ladlefull into the tray, Suggs gave me a nasty look. "Yeah, LC, I saw you walk in here. Here's your lunch with a side of miasma!"
"Oh, please. Its not like you couldn't delegate!" I retorted, nodding at the unruly privates on KP.
Suggs looked stricken. "And then be the one to clean the latrines? Naw, I'll take the unprocessed stench any day."
I shook my head. "Well then, why are you even complaining?"
He laughed. "Don't you read the extranet? Complaining lets you live longer. Something about venting stress other people just let eat them up."
"Or perhaps its just that people drop like flies around complainers, skewing the results."
"Yeah, whatever. Quit holding up my line!" Suggs waved me off with the ladle.
For the next hour or so, I listened to questions, reviewed familial deployment stratagems. No Billy Joe, just because your kid's Plinkster has less range doesn't mean you deploy them at the front to 'soften up' the enemy. No Bill, putting your mother-in-law in that tree due to her 'eyesight' isn't a sound move. You DO realize that that's a fuel tank you're banking on being your main defense, Karl? That's pretty genius, using a coffin trick with a wheelbarrow. Notice I'm not smiling.
Not all of them were strategically challenged, though. I kept track of the ones who had solid guerrilla plans, like the one who lived alone but had mass effect weapons remote-controlled around his property, along with clickers, flash bulbs, and other distractors. As for the outpost defense, plans were fairly homogenous due to the fact that we already had fortifications set up. The main differences seemed to be in the complexity and positioning of the four regiments.
As for the continental defense, there truly were some harebrained ideas: dividing armor and infantry, paper gambits, border defense? Well, then. Time to straighten out these notions that turn-based strategy simulators were accurately translated into real life.
I can't expect every yokel to be Rommel or Patton or Montgomery or Lawrence, can I? But better that they try for themselves and see what wouldn't work in a simulation than make a bad call in crisis.
Everyone held seated formation, awaiting critique.
"The main problems I'm seeing with the larger-scale plans are either along the lines of logistical impossibilities, complex gambits, or improper dispersion. If you deploy fighting units, you need to have supply lines to get to those units! If you deploy armor patrols, some need fuel, and most will need repair!"
Guns and those who use them are not the only pieces.
I watched a few bewildered looks turn into dawning understanding. A few smug looks from the more acute-minded peppered the unit.
"So, what we are going to do is come up with a contingency continental defense as a full regiment."
A few moans throughout the hall.
Damn. I'm not nearly old enough to be getting the feedback due a martinet!
"This is meant not as punishment, but ..."
Out of the corner of my eye I caught a military courier waving frantically at me.
"One moment." I walked off the lecture floor and over to the courier.
"Couldn't this have gone to omnitool?" I asked. The Officer started squirming anew, sure that this was what had been bothering me.
"Sir, we've picked up a massive space force in-system. The Arcturus fleet has been notified, and has begun its move to intercept, but a significant number of troop transports are inbound, the bulk of which are projected to be landing on our continent!"
"What, are the turians getting twitchy again? Or what?" The Scholar began furiously crunching through disposition reports of the major militaries ...
"We suspect that its a pirate force. Makeup is inconsistent with any sanctioned navy, and the diversity is indicative of a pirate force."
My teeth clenched. Once more I would be on a world attacked by slavers and scum of all sorts. But who ... "Batarians." I ground out. "Has to be them backing the group. Thank you for letting me know. Get the other N6s on conference with me and make sure Alliance Command knows we are moving to defend."
The courier saluted then ran off.
"Lieutenant Sterling! Take over the exercise!" I barely heard the acknowledgment as I stormed off to the comm station, the Soldier raging, the Officer and Scholar planning, and the Sniper itching.
Walking into the command building, I returned the salute of the comm officer and opened my omnilink.
The other N6s all popped up, all in command of a regiment of militia. All in full armor, all with weapons.
"Just what the hell exactly is going on?" One of them asked. I recognized Garcia, who's regiment was projected to be the first hit.
"From what I understand, a ground force of pirates are inbound to the planet. Unknown objectives, assuming population harvesting, and symbolic destruction." I didn't need to explain much more than that- The Skyllian Verge was a hotly contested-though mostly politically- area near the Batarian Hegemony.
"Well, do we have an order of battle?" That would be Riggs. A machine in a fight, but needed some direction for long strategy.
Well, great. Looks like everyone would be depending on me for a defensive plan.
And what was the result the first time you were trusted with lives in the face of a slaver attack?
I shoved aside the thoughts of despair. I'm an Alliance Marine, we will not fall. I will not fail.
I briefly bowed my head and said a quick prayer, then looked up, determination fully refreshed.
"As it just so happens, my regiment has been doing defensive exercises, and we were just now discussing a viable continent-level defensive strategy. Which means Garcia, Miller, Krause: I need you to start preparing along with us since we included your regiments in our strategies. Hogue, Riggs: you need to hold the mining district above all on your area. Goldwater, Peoples, Mohann: you have the upper crust to hold.
"Whats the ETA on our invader friends?" Why hadn't I asked sooner? The Soldier and Scholar seemed to shake their heads.
"It appears that it could be as soon as 10 hours." Hogue, engineer as he was, answered. No one would bet against him knowing of the fleet's make up just by looking at the blips.
"Well, then. Better get all your assets prepared and deployed doubletime. I want regular sitreps and dispositions to my omnitool." The calmness that appeared on our faces belied the urgency and uncertainty that we all felt. "Remember, we are Alliance Marines. Your troops, their families, and all the citizens of Elysium look up to you for a reason. The fleet in orbit, they are depending on you to hold the line down here for a reason. Remember that reason: you are the most competent and elite troops the Alliance has fielded. When your armor is seen, you will strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. Fear of the evil they wish to cause, fear of the good we wish to uphold. And through this fear, you will save those who need it most. Godspeed; Shepard out."
Now it was time for war.