Steamrolling through chapters is what I do best, though my writing suffers for it sometimes. Let's get this chapter going as well, then.
I forgot to disclaim this content on the first few chapters, so here's a story-wide disclaimer so I don't have to type out one every single chapter. I'm not sure if that's how it works, but hey, I'll try either way.
Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect or any content related to Mass Effect, or anything owned by BioWare, EA, or other parent companies of the series.
"Order the gunnery deck to fire cannons two through six, Lieutenant. I want to see more spaced Quarians before the day is done," Yorrich ordered, watching as the ordinance officer thumbed the fire order, then bracing himself on his feet when the entire ship quaked. The massive ship-to-ship cannons on the side of the dreadnought lobbed rounds the size of softballs at speeds faster than any ship could match, with a few kilometers per second to spare. Those rounds barreled out of the guns in a steadfast charge toward the Migrant Fleet, the pseudo-nuclear shells rocketing through the open nothingness of space like light particles through light-fiber. The CERAF flagship and its fleet had managed to catch up to the Fleet sooner than expected, and the consequences were dire.
The ships of the Flotilla didn't stand a chance.
The five rounds blasted apart all they touched, some stopping after hitting a single ship, some passing through the smaller ships and burying themselves deeply into the ships behind them. Within a few seconds, seven more ships were destroyed and two more had delayed-explosive APTD rounds inside of them. Within the next minute, those ships were gone as well. Without a single blink, Admiral Yorrich had just ordered the deaths of another six thousand Quarians. They had plenty more ammunition to load.
Things weren't all going well for the Cerberus fleet, however. The massive live-ships were almost impossible to hit, even with the armor-piercing rounds that they could load. Every time the Quarians presumed another shot would be fired, the ships around the massive civilian vessels would swarm around them and form an impenetrable barrier of metal and Quarian lives. Each time a hole was opened, more ships would fill its place. It was quite frustrating, and Yorrich found himself enjoying each bout of rounds fired less and less as the frustration of impatience irked him.
"Sir, nine ships were destroyed by the shots directly, and six were crippled by the blasts. What are your orders?" the logistics officer, an uptight human woman with deathly pale skin, called out. That position was practically useless aboard the massive Cerberus dreadnought, but Yorrich did enjoy hearing the amount of casualties he inflicted.
"Load the same cannons again. Keep punching until they don't have ships large enough to cover those blasted live-ships," Yorrich ordered, then turned to the observation port to watch as what few battle-ready vessels the Quarians had faced off against his brand new and top-of-the-line fleet's frigates, destroyers, and cruisers. It was almost a massacre of epic proportions if not for the fact that his fighter-pilots were having a rough time keeping up with the well-trained and heavily-experienced Quarian pilots. He had lost a frigate and two destroyers thus far, but his losses were nothing in comparison to those of the Quarians, whose entire species was weeping in agony as he took chunks off of their tiny population.
"Aye, sir," the ordinance officer, a young blond man with the bars of a lieutenant on his collar said, relaying the orders down to the gunnery deck. There was silence for a moment before the lieutenant gave the report that the guns were ready to fire. The admiral immediately gave the fire order, and so the onslaught continued.
He hadn't even unleashed Project Effigy's crew yet.
"We're exiting the Hades Cluster now, Commander. We should be able to see the Fleet in less than a half-hour of flight. Keep yourself braced, Shep," Joker reported, closing the comms to Shepard before kicking the Nelson into full-gear, the guns loaded and the torpedoes primed for combat. The way that Shepard and his lover seemed desperate only hammered home the implication that they would soon be in combat befitting of a full-scale war. Whoever was behind the attacks, they had just declared war on Tali's people, and Mathias would never stand for that.
It was a cold and silent half-hour on the Nelson, everyone aboard, even Garrus, holding their breath in anticipation of the coming conflict. The marines aboard were prepped for ship-to-ship boarding parties, and they would be under the direct command of the commander. It was the dream of every marine, from recruit to veteran, to serve under an N7, a Spectre, or a war-hero, and they were serving under all three in one man. That at least made the morale of the boarding party rise to extreme heights. Shepard was as nervous as anyone else, as he always was, but he would never show it. It would look bad to the men if they were to see him shaking in his boots at the thought of a probable suicide mission.
Mathias walked up to the comms station at the head of the bridge, hovering his fingers over the transmit button and thinking of what to say as they entered into what could possibly be the deaths of all of those aboard the ship. Finally coming upon a convincing and convicted speech, he tapped the button and held it, raising his voice confidently.
"In the next thirty minutes, we'll be entering a warzone, a battle between the Quarian Flotilla and an unknown fleet of hostiles that emerged out of the darkness of space to kill innocent men, women, and children," he started, taking a moment to collect his anger and hide it from his words, "In the next forty-five minutes, we'll be engaging in that combat. I'll be brutally honest with you, crew; we're going up against an enemy we know nothing about, with allies whose ships and weapons are outdated by years, decades, or even centuries. There's a high chance we won't make it out of this one alive.
"But each and every one of you, men, Quarian, Turian, or otherwise, is a hero. Some of you pledged your support for me on the original Normandy. Some of you pledged your support on the Citadel before boarding the Nelson. All of you are blindly following me into Hell without a second glance back over your shoulders. That's an enormous weight to bear, and just know that whatever happens, everyone on this crew will bear it with you. It's been an honor to serve with you all, regardless of how long you've been serving under me. We may make it out, we may not, but either way, let's give these bastards a fight they'll never forget!" he finished, listening as the cheers and shouts of the crew, even the ones who had only recently met him, filling the decks of the Nelson.
They would be going into the fight blindly, but at least they would be going together, and boldly so.
"Fire," was the simple order given by the admiral, the guns on the ship shaking the dreadnought to its core and causing the officers on the bridge to brace in their seats. Yorrich quite enjoyed those guns; he'd have to see if he could fit a few more to the side of the ship if The Illusive Man could be convinced of the necessity. He was sure he would be able to talk the man into putting out a bit more money for the cause of the fleet.
Another five rounds, another few destroyed Quarian vessels, another devastating casualty list.
"This is a most peaceful way to spend a morning. The view is amazing," thought the admiral as he watched the chaos unfold through the viewport on the bridge. It wouldn't be long now before the Quarian live-ships were exposed for his main battery to fire. While he knew the massive gun could punch through multiple smaller Quarian ships, he wasn't willing to risk the long reload time after missing the first shot and hitting a few frigates and a merchant ship instead of his intended target. He needed to bore a hole through the ship-wall that was the Flotilla, then launch another of the monstrous gun's rounds.
He was right about one thing, though; there was beauty in the carnage. The bridge glowed a dull red as the colors of the flaming explosions before his eyes filled the emptiness around him with their light. The entire room around him was bathed in a sea of flickering reds, yellows, and oranges. A single shadow, formed due to the positioning of the Flotilla higher (in insignificant, relative terms, at least) than his own ship, covered his face down to his eerie grin, flashing up and down to occasionally show off the gnarled face of the man ordered to slaughter an entire people.
His red and orange reverie was broken when a flash of blue cleared past his viewport and suddenly one of the frigates beside his dreadnought split into pieces, crew members being spaced and blown apart as the vessel tore into three distinct pieces. The explosion that shook the other escorts near it was dark blue, a noble and deeply hopeful color that flashed into the viewport and fully lit the dim bridge behind him, then flicked into existence over his face as well. Yorrich snarled as he watched what looked to be an Alliance destroyer zip past his dreadnought and approach the Quarian combat frigates.
Then, as quickly as his snarl came, it was replaced by a grisly smile as the admiral understood just who had come to the beck and call of the Quarian people.
"Commander Addison, relay the command to Project Effigy that his assignment has just begun. Make sure he targets that destroyer," the admiral calmly said, looking at his new executive officer. The man simply nodded and brought his finger up to his earpiece, relaying the order through a private channel to Project Effigy's ship.
The show would carry on, only it was about to get much more interesting.
"Bank around the Quarian vessels and light up those enemy light-assault ships! I don't want any of the allied frigates destroyed, Joker!" Mathias nearly shouted into his comms, jogging toward the transport bay and practically taking the entire armory with him as he sped towards his anticipated ship-to-ship boarding party. His heavy N7 armor was fully pressurized and prepared to spend a small amount of time in space if necessary, though he hoped he wouldn't need to experience something like Alchera ever again.
"That's a tall order, Commander. I'm not sure if this destroyer can pull off what I knew the Normandy could, but I'll give it my best. We'll be deploying the shuttles at high speeds; the enemy fleet doesn't have any carriers, so I'm not expecting heavy fighter resistance, and the Quarian fighters should be able to take the heat off of you. We can't be too careful, though," the pilot replied.
Shepard reached the shuttle bay just in time to watch the squad of marines that would take the second shuttle load into the space-faring taxi. They were all dressed in commando armor, with the latest assault rifles and the latest shields. He hoped it would be enough to take on whatever resistance they met on the ships they ended up boarding, because the name of their game was ship-hopping. There were a number of escort cruisers in the center of the fleet, but the primary target was the dreadnought. They would never make it to the capital ship if they didn't take out the escort cruisers first, though, and so they would be going from one ship to the next. Shepard switched comms to his platoon and opened his channel.
"Alright, men, we're going straight into the belly of the beast on this one. We don't know how much resistance there will be, and boarding is an extremely antiquated method of taking down a ship, but there's no way we can take out that many cruisers with the Quarian frigates and one Alliance destroyer. We'll have to do it the old-fashioned way and hope for the best. I hope we're lucky and we all make it out of this alive, but I can't promise you your safety. Let's get the job done," he finished, stepping up into his squad's shuttle with Tali and Garrus behind him.
"Oorah! Oorah! Oorah!" was all he heard from the comms as each of the Alliance marines shouted their battle-cry into the radio, most likely pumping their fists in their own shuttle. He smiled a regretful smile, knowing that for some of those men, it would probably be their last shout. He was proud of them.
"Shuttle pilots are ready to go. We'll be launching the shuttles in thirty seconds, Commander. Hold tight... and good luck," came the voice of Joker, once again managing to somehow fit space-combat and talking over comms into the same span of time. The man really was an incredible pilot. Shepard looked around at Tali, Garrus, and the five marines that had joined the fight as part of his own squad. He showed his regretfully smiling look to Tali and Garrus, who both looked at him with understanding and sympathy, then raised his own hand in a fist-pump the likes of which he hadn't performed since his days as a lieutenant.
"Oorah!" The marines joined him in shouting, and all the fear in the world was gone.
Then he felt weightless as the shuttle-bay opened and his insane bastard of a pilot let the shuttles take off at nearly full flight-speed. The shuttles they were using were designed to take heavy-gravity atmospheric reentry at speeds higher than most destroyers could manage without hitting a relay, so the shuttles were fine. It was making sure that they weren't ejected into immediate anti-ship fire or even an enemy ship's path that was up to the pilot of the Nelson, and Joker was the best of the best. Thus, Mathias felt his entire body go weightless with an artificial feeling of confidence and hardiness as he counted up the seconds the shuttle had survived without being blasted apart by enemy fire.
He looked out the viewport of the transport shuttle to look as the second shuttle weaved left and right like their own to dodge debris and the occasional slow-moving torpedo. He could see the pulses of enemy and friendly rounds pass or bounce off of the light armor of the shuttle as enemy fighters buzzed by, firing at their Quarian adversaries. He saw Tali nervously stare out of the viewport on the other side, then heard a massive screeching noise and a large bang as something impacted the top of the shuttle, then he watched through his viewport as the right wing of an enemy fighter bounced off of the shuttle and flew out into space, colliding with a Quarian fighter and causing both to explode in a ball of fire, tumbling forward through space at many times the speed of sound.
The pings, thumps, and denting noises that played out and echoed into the shuttle reminded him of the stories he had heard about a date and part of the world after which the Normandy had been named, June 6 of 1944; Normandy, France. Watching the events outside of the shuttle and hearing all of the rounds nearly finding their marks, only to bounce off of the hull after hitting the armor at the wrong angle made him feel as if he knew exactly what those men had gone through. He was a hardened battle veteran, and still it was already starting to be the most agonizing few minutes of his life. He felt like he was helpless, and he practically was until the shuttle reached its target.
Suddenly, the reinforced transparent metal that made up the viewport of the shuttle dented inward, the shuttle tumbling sideways for a few seconds before the pilot righted their flight pattern as a particularly large round hit a piece of debris next to the shuttle, and Shepard immediately knew that they were in for a fierce few moments of Hell. He recognized the type of round that had just hit that debris. Quickly reaching up to tap into his comms, he called out to Joker.
"Joker, there are enemy ships with ship-to-fighter flak guns on them. I need you to spot and remove that threat im-" he was interrupted as one of the rounds went off right below the shuttle and jostled everyone aboard, making him slam back into his seat and hit the back of his helmet against the wall. He went to finger his comms button again, but Joker responded.
"Will do, Shepard. I see the guns you're talking about. I'll give them a pounding for you. Sit tight!" his pilot responded. It was only a few seconds later when he saw the overbearing form of the Nelson pass over his shuttle and launch ship-to-ship torpedoes at a vessel that he couldn't identify. The viewport was lit up by a blinding blue light, and he knew that hundreds of the enemy had just met a gruesome and white-hot death in barely an instant.
The sounds of all-out warfare rang in his ears for a minute or two more before a red light lit up above his head, signifying thirty seconds to target landing. He grasped his assault rifle and hardened himself for the first of seven ships to board. The slaughter had not yet begun, not the battle between hands, at least. Ships had been destroyed, lives had been lost, but no one had met sword to sword yet, and that was about to change.
The light changed to yellow.
Ten seconds.
He felt the bottom of the shuttle jolt as it landed in one of the open bays of an enemy cruiser, left ajar so that fighters could come and go in sorties. They were now effectively a foot deep into Hell, and as soon as their shuttle touched the ground, the cacophony of rounds blitzing off of the shuttle started tenfold. The enemy had seen him coming. There were MG positions pointed directly at the doors to his shuttle, and he could hear the rounds pinging off of the hull of the armor. Tali and Garrus looked as nervous as he felt, and he hoped he wasn't about to lead them to their deaths.
A green light.
Go.
The door to the shuttle opened and the men piled out of the shuttle as quickly as they could, assault rifles in hand and their shields on full blast. The first man out had barely touched a step to the cold metal of the hangar before the machine gun buzzed past him and tore through his shields. The first round that went through hit him squarely between the eyes and his head banged against the hull of the shuttle as his brain was splattered over the paint. His chest was filled with rounds as the MG held fire over the shuttle's door. The man behind him caught a round through the sternum that severed his spine and he immediately fell straight to the ground like a pound of jello, dead before his foot touched the ground.
Two men, gone in an instant.
Almost all of the rest were luckier; they filed out to the left and right, diving into cover as the machine gun pounded the ground beneath their feet, all but one of the marines, at least. He dived to the right and only managed to make it to the edge of the crate behind which Mathias was in cover. A round caught him in the side as he slid toward cover, and he immediately felt all of the breath leave him as his blood instantly ran cold. Shepard pulled the marine beside him and looked over his wound. He wouldn't make it, not by a long shot.
"I promised my sister... It was only for a year..." and with those final words, he was gone. Shepard's head was ringing, his emotions fighting his battle sense for a moment as memories of Elysium, of Akuze, of all of the battles he'd seen over the years, all of them filled his mind at the same time. He heard his name being called and felt something on his shoulder, but his anger was rising inside of him faster than he could control it. Then, he saw a flash of purple in front of him and he was brought back to the battlefield instantly, the ringing in his head clearing up as he looked at the Quarian in front of him.
"Shepard!? Are you alright, are you hurt?" Tali worriedly asked, ducking down as one of the machine gun's rounds bounced off of the top of the crate just above her head.'
"No... no, I'm not hurt. You're no use in a long range firefight, Tali. I need you to hang back one piece of cover behind me and blow away anything that gets close enough for your shotgun," he said as he raised his hand and tapped into his comms, "Garrus, did you make it through alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, these five marines and I are just fine on the other side of the hangar from you. I've got two from our squad and three from the other shuttle. They're all that made it through. We're pinned in a half-square of crates facing those MG's. No one's wounded. There's no way for me to take a shot. What should we do?" his oldest friend asked, the sounds of ricocheting rounds resounding over the radio with everything else.
"Stay where you are and make sure you don't get overrun. Those machine guns have to stop firing at some point. The moment you know you have a clean shot, I want the bastard on my side of the hangar sniped to oblivion. I'm gonna zig-zag forward and see if I can get a shot on the second gunner while he's focused on you. Sound like a plan?" Shepard returned, reflexively flinching as a tracer flew over his head and ricocheted off of the wall next to the hangar bay.
"Got it, boss. Give the word when you think it's clear to pop up. Knowing me, I'd get myself filled full of holes with guesswork like that," Garrus responded, ever the battlefield jokester. It was his method of coping with the battle, and Shepard understood that. They remained pinned for at least a full minute before the guns mounted on the crates at the far end of the hangar overheated, their gunners fiddling to open their cooling latches.
"Garrus, now!" Shepard commed, listening for the satisfying crack of Garrus's sniper rifle. He wasn't disappointed, as he peaked out of cover to watch one of the gunners, a sergeant by the looks of his chevrons, fall to the ground with a round through his neck. He was off like a rocket, charging from cover to cover as the infantry that was supporting the gunner broke from their positions and moved into combat positions.
"I could really use some help with that second MG!" Garrus's voice filed in through the headset of his helmet. Mathias vaulted over the crate he was behind and used his momentum to smash the rear of his rifle into the face of one of his opponents, pivoting on one foot and kneeling down to shoot the second one in the bottom of the chin, watching in satisfaction as he dropped to the ground without a sound. He saddled up behind the next bit of cover, a plated guardrail leading to a corridor, and answered.
"I'm moving as quickly as I can. Tali, you're good to move up. Keep low, I'll keep moving up as soon as you vault your cover. Go now!" he rattled off orders as was natural to him, waiting for the first smattering of purple to rise over the crates behind him before jumping his own cover and raising his assault rifle to empty a burst into the shields of the stunned man before him. When the man's shields were up, Shepard's thermal magazine clicked out of his gun and he raised his hand without hesitation, picking the man up off of his feet with his biotics and slamming him as hard as he could against the ground, front first. There was no mercy for murderers.
The sound of a shotgun resounded through the room and the head of a man who was charging at him from the side popped before Shepard could turn to attack him as well. His body kept going and slid to a stop at Shepard's feet, and the commander gave a thumbs-up over his shoulder to his girlfriend, too combat-minded at the moment to make a comment on the clean kill. He clicked another thermal clip into his gun and used his biotics to charge through the crates in front of him, splaying them all over the floor of the hangar and sending a man and a woman flying backwards. One surely died when her neck snapped on the railing behind her, but the other slowly started to stand up, disoriented. Not caring to waste his assault rifle ammunition on the man, Mathias pulled out his pistol, stepped on the man's back, pushed him down to the ground, and shot the man in black and gold in the back of the head.
The man's hand was still gripped around his assault rifle. That would have been unacceptable.
"Commander, you won't believe this, but there's... like... a larger version of the Normandy, basically an exact replica, engaging with me! It's faster than the Nelson, but I'm shaking it off as best I can. I need you to take care of those ships as fast as possible!" the voice of Joker filled his headset and Mathias was stunned. So this enemy had the funds to make a carbon copy of the Normandy, wore black and gold uniforms, and attacked innocent people... He looked down at the body of the man beneath his feet and was enraged when he saw the insignia on the sleeves of the man's uniform.
"Cerberus," Shepard hissed through his teeth, snarling as he pushed forward, a million things he wanted to shout out flying through his mind. He had the perfect shot on the other machine gunner now that he had flanked around. He aimed his rifle and moved forward, crouching and lining up his sights with the head of the man on the gun, then began to gently squeeze the trigger. He finally found the words he was looking for, "You've just started a war you can't win."
He fired.
I'm not sure if it's obvious or not, but his is actually the first ranged combat scene I've ever written. Most of my other writings include swordplay or hand-to-hand, but this is the first time I've used weapons like rifles and pistols.
It feels better, more natural, I'd even say, to use rifles in a story.