2-26-2157 1165 hours (Alliance standard time)
Sidobia
Bostra
Medical Hospital, Turian Space
Saren Arterius fought through the pain and stared at the light mounted on the ceiling. It blinded him, but demanded his attention in a way he could not refuse. He'd lost clarity; the ability to discern the difference between reality and fantasy. For all he knew this was the afterlife, with the spirits of his ancestors shining down and not even know it.
The light flipped off. His nicating membranes worked swiftly to restore vision, revealing a group standing behind what was once the light. They wore white coats lined with various instruments, masked with semi-rigid cloths. One of them moved forwards, helping him to rise. "You are very fortunate Mr. Arterius."
Saren looked around and noticed he was sitting on a hospital bed. There was no aircraft, nothing indicating movement over Sidobia; now he appeared to be merely on the ground. A good thing; turians had never been known for independent flight.
"Well I certainly don't feel lucky," Saren answered, stretching his sore limbs. The bottom of his feet still burned from the grenade blast, almost as if someone had set them ablaze and left fire still going.
One of the turians, age-streaks coloring his mandibles a tint of gray he'd rarely seen, snorted. A clipboard rose in his hands, data scrolling across the screen. "You are very lucky young one because I say so. It took hours to get you back into shape. You're missing two layers of skin on your feet, severe combined lacerations and contusions in three points on your back, abraded dermal layers on twenty percent of your body … and let's not even start with the shrapnel."
"That … hurts." Saren lowered his head. The older doctor had to be in the last decade of health; the surreptitious cane he leaned upon gave proof to that.
"That is only natural. We managed to take out the majority of what was embedded in you, but a few pieces still remain. We are scheduled to remove them tomorrow."
"Why not just do it now?" Saren asked.
Before the old one could answer his question, a figure entered the room accompanied by two body guards. The hospital staff quietly made an exit, leaving him alone with the newcomer.
Councilor Sparatus, arguably the second most powerful turian in the Hierarchy next to Primarch Fedorian, strode to the side of Saren's bed with effortless grace. Predatory eyes examined every inch in moments, lingering over the blue-stained wraps binding the worst injuries. "Good to see you didn't die."
"Nice to see you too Councilor." Saren couldn't hold back the sarcastic remark. He knew well enough to expect nothing else from the Councilor; and pettiness did not belong with the Hierarchy, more so for Spectres. But that didn't mean he would make it easy for the Councilor.
Sparatus looked Saren in the eye. "There has been an incident in one of our colonies since you've been out."
This was a surprise. Saren composed himself, "What incident, sir?"
"There was a terrorist attack on a colonial Helium-3 refinery. Three batarians managed to sneak in, killed a few guards and engineers, and then sabotaged the whole plant. Needless to say it's a huge mess."
Saren blinked, astonished. "Sir? You did say three batarians, did you not?"
The Councilor understood the meaning behind the question. "It was an inside job. One of the engineers was a batarian and he seems to have assisted the sabotage, if not mastermind it."
Information clicked through Saren's mind, contingencies, and likely actions taken by the Council. "How is the Hierarchy reacting?"
"Currently the Primarchs are debating on a course of action," Sparatus replied.
"But if –,"
Sparatus held up a single talon, stopping him mid-sentence. "I know what you are going to say. Trust me I feel the same – but we walk on unsteady ground. As of now all investigations into the incident indicate that the saboteurs acted on their own, meaning there is no link to the Hegemony."
"Then why are you here? There has to be a reason!"
The dim light of the room reflected miniscule points of fire in Sparatus's eyes. "While we cannot take action against the Hegemony directly, there is nothing prohibiting us from sending a message."
Saren blinked in confusion. Information flowed through his mind, but continually looped back at the inconsistency. "Where are you going with this?"
"Are you aware of the animosity between the humans and batarians?"
Saren thought back to the reported attack on the then-unknown human colony a few months prior. Servius had been ordered to investigate, only to arrive just in time to witness a massive battle. Comprehension slowly filtered through his mind, fitting the pieces into place. "Yes, sir."
"And are you aware of the Council's decision to force the Hegemony to return all slaves?"
Saren gave a slow nod, confidence returning. Sparatus smiled, a needle-toothed expression. "It appears that the Hegemony isn't quite living up to their end of the bargain. The humans have managed to recover thousands of individuals by simply buying them back from the Hegemony – which in turn indicates the humans don't care how they get their people back, so long as they do."
"And this is relevant because …?"
"It's simple really. The Hegemony sold back a few thousand slaves, claiming they were merely acquiring the innocent humans from the degenerates of society, and the payment to be merely the ransom slavers were demanding. No one believes that ludicrous lie, but the humans have little choice other than armed conflict." Sparatus shifted to look back at Saren. Seeing the turian Spectre still did not understand, he sighed, and continued, "The humans are in a similar position as we. STG has concluded that to save face and potential disaster, the Hegemony is distancing itself from the marketing of human slaves and cut virtually all ties with the rogue batarian fleet. That being said, STG has also uncovered that a great many human slaves are being held on Torfan – a fact the humans must know as well."
Saren thought about the small moon frequented by criminals. The stronghold was a dark stain on the galaxy; not as odious as Omega or a dozen sentient-trafficking proto-colonies in the Traverse, but reprehensible nonetheless. Dark rumors abounded about the place, believed by few, but never quite refuted. "I still don't understand why we haven't burn that damn place to the ground."
Sparatus laughed, a rasping sound from deep in his chest. "I can see why you may think that, but I also believe the Spirits favor you. You are about to get your wish."
"Sir?"
"Given the humans are not easily intimidated, and almost certainly would refuse to be bystanders, chances are that they're planning something right now, or soon will be." Sparatus glanced around, checking the corners form what appeared habit than actual concern. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Analysts place an extremely high probability that the Alliance will act on this intelligence, and attack Torfan."
"It is going to be a bloodbath." Despite the potential hazards, the soldier in Saren felt a twinge of admiration. The time for justice had long since passed the miserable planetoid.
"True, but not one covered in turian blood." Sparatus leaned back, resuming a more normal tone, but remained fairly quiet. "The Hierarchy wishes to be involved, and is currently in communication with the humans as we speak. Unofficial, of course but it's happening."
"Where do I fit in?" Saren questioned.
"Simple, the Council cannot ignore this, nor can they appear to be seen as either weak or doing nothing. Therefore – a unofficially – you and your squad are going to assist the humans in freeing any slaves on that moon. If I might suggest, burn that place to the ground with extreme prejudice."
Saren hesitated. "I assume if I am captured or killed the Council will deny any responsibility?"
The Councilor heaved a longsuffering sigh, mandibles quivering shut with a click. "In short, yes. I know it's not an easy thing to ask of you, and not one without risks. Still, the decision is yours."
Saren nodded, struggling to speak with a voice stronger than his body technically should have allowed. "Yes sir, I can do it. I will do it."
"You are aware that the Council and Hierarchy will disavow any knowledge of your or your participation?" Purely rounded spheres peered into his very soul, examining it for flaws.
"Yes, sir."
Sparatus continued watching him, before giving a single, slow nod. Then he extended a hand. "May the spirits guide you, Spectre Saren Arterius."
"Thank you sir. I promise to bring any turians held there back home." Saren reached out a talon, cracked, scratched, and blackened with thick hospital bandages.
"Don't thank me," Sparatus smiled. "But you might need to be more careful in your wishes, Saren. You've impressed me thus far, but I am easy. You will have the entire Hierarchy witnessing your actions. Failure is not an option. In addition, if things go as planned, you will be back in action before these scars have a chance to heal."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Councilor."
Sarlik
Oma Ker
Spaceport
Tibertitus Strarian never had a chance to view the news broacast. Summoned from his official post in the outskirts of the city, he'd flown at once to Rotas and stayed for only ten hours before being called to make his report to the Primarch.
'Seven months on the job,' he thought, sitting in the empty forward cabin of the airliner, 'and this mess had to happen!'
His two principal deputies, a pair of highly skilled turian engineers, had been left behind on the destroyed Helium-3 refinery and were even now trying to make sense of the chaos and what could be saved. As he reviewed his notes for the Primarch meeting later, he started to realize just how overwhelmingly unprepared he was.
Three hundred turians were known to have died in the fire; medical experts were either still busy gathering more dead or performing the gruesome task of identifying them. So many dead was unfortunate, but not a matter of great significance – except in the fact that they would have to be replaced by staff drawn from other refineries. Assuming they could get the Oma Ker operational again.
And that was the good news. The bad news bordered on catastrophic. Damage inflicted to the refinery was devastating, leaving almost all of it totally destroyed. Reconstruction would take a minimum of two years – possibly three – to rebuild. Then there was the cost of replacing all destroyed or heavily damaged materials critical to a refinery of that size. After that there was the issue of how much special equipment would have to be purchased from outside sources. The volus were a good choice to start, but their reputation of cheap knock-offs made any Primarch hesitate. Elkoss manufacture was a byword among many Hierarchy soldiers for 'substandard.'
'Thirty-six months,' Strarian reflected bleakly, 'If we can divert resources from other parts of the colony while crews work at rebuilding the destroyed refinery, Helium-3 production will be stable for a maximum of eighteen months. We'll need engineers at other refineries to make up what was lost, which means increased workload for everyone.' For a moment, he was glad to be a simple analyst, and not an engineer.
Pulling a holo-tablet from his briefcase, he began to jot down some notes. His flight was only three hours, and Strarian did not notice it was over until the pilot physically came to his seat to announce they had landed.
He looked with squinted eyes at the flora-covered landscape of Sarlik, the VIP-only spaceport outside of the city and walked alone down the boarding stairs to a waiting X3M skycar. The skycar sped off at once, without stopping at any of the security checkpoints, the license on the front window providing clearance. Security officers snapped to attention as the X3M passed, then returned to their business, barely visible from his perspective. The sun was bright, the sky clear – except for some thin, high clouds. Strarian gazed out the windows, vaguely noting the scenery, but his mind continued mulling over figures rechecked a half-dozen times.
It was a start, when the driver had to inform him that the Primarch was waiting, and they would take an express route.
Strarian had been made a consiliario to the system's Primarch for just six months, which meant that along with eight other colleagues, he advised the few men who alone made the decisions that mattered in the colony. His portfolio was energy production and distribution, the sole reason for his summons. He'd held that post since the prior year, and was only just beginning to establish his plan for a total reorganization of the seven regional ministries that handled energy functions – and predictably spent most of their time battling one another – into a full department reporting to the system's Primarch and governor. That would be a much more efficient process instead of having to work through the Council of Ministries bureaucracy. It was his hope that through his method, any reports regarding the colony's energy production, use, and utilization, would be streamlined straight to the colony's leaders.
He briefly closed his eyes to thank the spirits his first recommendation, delivered a month prior to the incident, had concerned security and political reliability in many of the fields. He had specifically recommended further military police forces placed inside the refineries, along with increased fire brigades. For this reason, he did not fear for his own career, which up to now had been an interrupted success story.
But … he shrugged. The imminent task he was to face would decide his future in any case, and perhaps his colony's.
The X3M proceeded down the skylane, speeding through the open center lane the military police kept clear for the exclusive use of consiliario's. They sped past various commercial buildings before arriving at the Ministry gates, less than thirty minutes after leaving. Here, the driver stopped for security checks, three of them, conducted by the military police. Five minutes later the skycar pulled into a landing pad in front of the Council Ministry Department, a modern fortress housing some of the colony's most important officials. The guards that worked there knew Strarian by sight, and saluted crisply while holding the door open so his exposure to the humid temperatures would last but a brief moment.
The Council Ministry had been holding its meetings in the fourth floor room for only a month while their usual quarters were undergoing renovations. Strarian made his way through the building, enjoying the few pieces of turian art expressed in the building, taking advantage of the chance to admire something that didn't reek of poor taste. Unlike most of his colleagues, Strarian preferred having exquisite examples of his culture presented.
The room was deathly quiet as he entered. Had this been in an arsenal, the atmosphere would be akin to a company of turian soldiers about to meet their funerals.
"Good day to you all," Strarian said, handing his coat to an aide, who withdrew at once, closing the doors behind her. The other men moved at once to their seats, Strarian taking his halfway down the right side.
The system's Primarch brought the meeting to order. His voice was controlled and businesslike, allowing no emotion; the epitome of efficiency. "Tibertitus Strarian, you may begin your report. First, we wish to hear your explanation of what exactly happened."
Strarian cleared his throat. "As you all know, at approximately oh-six hundred hours yesterday Citadel time, three armed batarians entered the central control complex of the Rotas Helium-3 complex and committed a highly sophisticated act of sabotage."
"Who were they?" A general asked sharply.
"We only have identification for two of them. One of the saboteurs was a staff electrician. The other," Strarian pulled a digital interface from his brief case and placed it on the table, "Was Senior Engineer Tolk. He evidently used his knowledge of our control systems to initiate a massive fire, which spread rapidly before the fire brigades could put it out. A security team of ten military police officers responded to a triggered alarm. The last saboteur, yet to be identified, killed or wounded five of these officers with a Phaeston rifle presumably taken from building security. According to an interview with one of the officers, the lieutenant was killed leading his men. They killed the saboteurs fairly easily, but were unable to prevent the complete destruction of the facility."
"If the guards responded so quickly, how then did they fail to prevent this act?" The general demanded angrily. He examined the interface with palpable hatred in his eyes. "And what was this hideous batarian even doing there in the first place?"
"Work in the refinery fields is arduous, and we've had a serious problem filling many posts there. My predecessor decided to conscript experienced engineers from nearby regions. You will recall my first recommendation last year was to initiate a serious vetting process for any and all new workers, and to limit our hiring's to Citadel affiliated races – with a heavy exception to batarians, as you will understand."
"We have noted it, Strarian," The Primarch said. "Go on."
"The guard post records all radio traffic. The response team was moving in under two minutes, within the expected window. Unfortunately, the guard post was located three kilometers away from the control building. A new security post was supposed to be built nearer to the control building, but plans for it were delayed." Strarian made sure to keep his voice dry, matter-of-fact in tone. There was no reaction around the table. It seemed unspoken consensus agreed that no incident such as this would ever be repeated. Strarian continued. "I have already ordered increased security at all Helium-3 refineries. Also on my orders, all known acquaintances of the saboteurs have been detained for questioning. Before the guards could kill the saboteurs, they were able to disrupt the refinery's control equipment in such a way as to create a massive conflagration. They were also able to wreck the control equipment so that even if a crew of engineers could have been gotten in, it is unlikely that anything would have been saved. The military police were forced to evacuate the building, which was later consumed by the fire." Strarian remembered a sergeant's badly burned face with tears flowing down over the blisters as he told his story. "In conclusion, there was nothing more that could have done."
"What about the fire brigade?" The general asked.
"More than half died fighting the fire," Strarian replied. "Along with over a hundred citizens who joined to save the complex. For the most part, the fire has been put out by now due to the fact that most of the fuels stored in the refinery were consumed in about five hours."
"But how was this catastrophe possible?" A senior member asked.
Strarian was surprised by the quiet silence in the room. 'Have they already met and discussed this affair already?'
"My report described the exact dangers here. The room was quite literally the nerve center controlling the refinery, and the same is true for all of our large Helium-3 complexes. From here, a man familiar with control procedures could manipulate systems throughout the refinery at will, causing the entire complex to self-destruct. Tolk had such skill, which is why I have recommended that we begin compartmentalization of our systems to prevent another act of sabotage such as this."
The Primarch sliced to the heart of the problem, eyes focused on his face. "What effect will this have on production?" Half the turians at the table leaned forward to hear Strarian's answer.
"We have lost thirty-four percent of our total crude Helium-3 production for a period of at least one year. Our other refineries will be forced to cover the loss, overextending their work forces." Strarian looked up from his notes to see the impassive faces cringe as though slapped. "However, the good news is that the facility can be rebuilt, though the hydrogen pipelines would need to be placed away from debris."
"And how long will it take for the Corp of Engineers to restore production?" One of the consiliario's demanded, the head of transportation, Strarian believed.
"If we bring in every production equipment on the colony and operate them around the clock, my rough estimate is that we can begin production in twelve months. Clearing the all of wreckage will take at least three months alone, and another three will be needed to relocate equipment and commence operations. Full operational status will be achieved within two more years. In addition, while this is going on, we will need to replace any lost systems."
"So even three years from now production may not be completely restored?" The Primarch asked.
Strarian double-clicked his mandibles. "Correct. The current situation has never happened before, either in this colony or any other within the Hierarchy. The staff engineers I left behind are making arrangements for production as quickly as possible with equipment already on site."
"Very well," the general nodded. "The next question is how long can the colony operate nominally on this basis?"
Strarian looked back at his notes. "There is no denying that this is a disaster of unprecedented scale to our economy. To answer your specific question general, we can make perhaps a modest reduction in the use of energy in power usage, make some cuts to our machinery and a few services, and finally limit mobilization of our mechanized units. Even then, we can only function for an estimated three months before we face shortages and need to ration. Our best option is to ask for assistance from other colonies to ship fuel for our colony's consumption. I am sure Palaven would understand our situation. Not to mention we will have to improve efficiency in all aspects of our economy, and for that we will need the assistance of the volus."
The Primarch scowled before acquiescing. "Very well. I will get on the line with Palaven and Irune, inform them of our situation and ask for assistance."
"And what about the Hegemony? We can't just let them off the hook! We must do something to show them we'll not take this lying down!" The general angrily demanded.
Every turian showed a face of sympathy, but it was Strarian who broke the silence. "That would be … difficult."
"And why is that?" The general snarled. His chilling tone sent shivers up Strarian's spine, making him wonder if it had been a good idea to speak up at all.
Regaining his bearings, he answered the general, "Because from what we've discovered thus far, the terrorists had no connection or direct ties with the Hegemony. So we can't officially do anything."
Officially being the keyword," the Primarch said, capturing all ears. "Thanks to intelligence kindly gathered and shared by the STG, the humans are preparing for an operation. Most likely to regain their captured civilians. Perhaps we can provide some assistance – off the record."
The general laughed a great plate-cracking guffaw in their presence, uncharacteristic of turians. "Well Primarch, I am beginning to like you more and more."
"Whatever your wish is, sir." Strarian demurred, unable to challenge the Primarch's words. Even if he had concerns of such actions actions. Primarily of how they were to keep their involvement concealed.
"It is a good thing as well, Councilor Sparatus should be convincing speaking with our very own Spectres as we speak." The Primarch stood and looked at the gathered men. "I must excuse myself, I have preparations to make. I don't believe it to be worth mentioning, that I will not worry about what we have just discussed to leave the room." The subtext was clear to all in the room; whatever happened next would be critical for efforts far beyond their colony.
London
Earth, Alliance Headquarters
Briefing Room, Alliance space
This was the first time Hower had been in this particular highly secure briefing room on Earth. He'd heard rumors of the amphitheater. Its aura almost breathed of secrecy, as if gravely important matters were regularly discussed within its circular walls. Certainly almost everyone whom had been there experienced a life-changing events … and not necessarily for the better.
And today, Hower had a feeling his own life was about to change. Clustered around him were roughly four dozen N7 marines of similar rank, many of whom he did not know. What could possibly call for such a gathering of elite warriors?
General Volodin and Fleet Admiral Spencer entered the chamber without fanfare. Spencer returned their salute as another man soon followed after, one of clear North American descent. From the uniform, the man was UNAS navy captain. One many in the Service knew on sight to be an exceedingly dangerous individual. Hower swallowed. Hard.
The N7 marines stood at attention and saluted.
"At ease," the admiral motioned them back.
Spencer escorted Volodin to the center stage, both conversing without words, even to Hower's sight. Spencer sat next to the UNAS captain, while General Volodin stood at the podium. Just then, the door whispered opened again. This time a group of fourteen individuals entered. The majority of the newcomers were mostly comprised of turians with a salarian and asari thrown into the mix for seeming variety. However, four of the newcomers stood out as humans, their uniform indicating membership in the Spetsnaz Guards. One of them – Hower recognized immediately – was Captain Izotov, the Russian squad leader who had nearly blown up Hower and his squad on their final mission to capture the batarian colonel on Shanxi. Hower wasn't excited to be working with him again, or his squad if they were anything like their leader.
It was then that the N7 marines did a collective double take at the sight of another group of four individuals. The marines – and Hower by extension – a recognized each of them by their respective trademark uniform, emblazoned with gray insignia, indicating their position as elite warriors for the Citadel: Council Spectres.
Before Hower could make any more observations, the newcomers faced the marines, snapping crisp salutes before taking positions next to the N7s, facing the podium. Among the marines, there were slight twitches and glances at the newcomers. Hower could read them all, and knew them to be as confused as he. What the hell was going on?
"Good evening, marines," Volodin began. His form atop the podium shimmered in the spotlights. "Please, take your seats."
As one, they sat. By the suppressed mirth on Admiral Spencer's face, Hower could tell they'd been caught staring at the newcomers. But Volodin soon continued.
"I understand that you are all very confused at the moment. I promise you explanations in good time. First, let me say this. You are to be commended for having the best operational record of any unit in the fleet by far. Two months ago, in the midst two bitter weeks of combat, there have been a over three hundred KIAs and several hundred wounded or missing in action."
He paused to look at them, a rare smile forming. "It is very good to see that many have made it out of that hell hole." The smile slowly faded, replaced with the normal taciturn expression more common to his face. "However it is my severe regret that I will ask all of you gathered here to once again venture into the darkness that is war."
Volodin paused, sipping from a styrofoam cup before returning his attention to the crowd. "You have all been assembled tonight to prepare for what could easily be a pivotal moment in history: Operation Eagle Claw. As many of you know, during the raid on Shanxi, the batarian slavers were able to make it out with hundreds of thousands of civilians, and while we have managed to regain some there is no doubt in anyone's mind that the Hegemony isn't interested in returning the rest. And if they aren't interested in giving us back our people, then it is time for us to take them back, forcefully if necessary. Captain Murray here …" Volodin motioned to the UNAS captain. "… shall give you the full details."
The general surrendered the stage to the Captain. Hower noted that the newcomers didn't seem to recognize the man either, for obvious reasons.
Murray made a rasping noise, setting off the microphone in a basso rumble. "My name is Captain Jacob Murray. I am a captain within the UNAS navy. I am sure that many of you are wondering why someone from a member state of the Alliance is briefing you, but the special nature of this operation mandates my involvement."
The room darkened, allowing a large hologram of an unfamiliar planetoid take shape in the air behind the podium. Multiple squares blossomed to the sides, showcasing views from positions much closer to ground level. Based on the images, it looked as if its environment were hot and dry, with a rocky terrain and a single body of water. It orbited a gas giant and if Hower comprehended the readings aright, required a shield for inhabited areas.
"This, based on our intelligence, is what the batarians called Torfan. We have strong evidence that this is where the remaining humans are being held. This moon has long since served as a base for criminals, mostly batarians, who have built deep underground strongholds. It is a single class D moon orbiting a class J gas giant. The surface is arid and contains only one large body of water; the majority of water exists in subterranean aquifers. All life on the planet has evolved to rapidly consume water, and often conserve moisture to the extreme. Thankfully, you won't have much trouble with indigenous life. This system lies on the edge of the Attican Traverse and is considered by the Hegemony to be untouchable. Your mission is simple: you are going to prove them wrong, get in there, eliminate all opposition, and rescue the captives."
Hower raised his hand, eliciting an acknowledging nod from the Captain.
"And if the enemy surrenders?"
"Excellent question. If the enemy does indeed surrender the course of action is entirely up to you. I want all of you to understand …," Murray said, looking around the room and into everyone's eyes, "…that you may not have the time nor the manpower to properly secure them in the chaotic environment. You will be too busy either combating the batarian slavers or escorting the human captives." The captain smiled lost in thought before continuing.
"Believe me when I say commander, that this assignment will test your will and resolve. I will personally be operating in a support capacity so I cannot order you to choose a particular course of action. The captives take priority above anything else. Do what is necessary to get those captives out of there by any means."
'Do you realize what you are saying?' Thoughts echoed in Hower's mind. He understood a few commanders present had lost many soldiers fighting the batarians, and were likely itching for payback. He held no doubt some would take advantage of the situation to settle personal scores. A part of his mind rebelled at the very thought of allowing such acts, but his more rational side prevailed. Whatever the batarians were, they had long decided their fates by becoming slavers, taking humans, and attacking the Alliance. Hower gave a reluctant glower, but refrained from further questions.
"Operation Eagle Claw will proceed as following. Phase one: a small team of N7 marines will deploy to Torfan's surface via one of the captured batarian drop-ships and eliminate any AA defense. My ship will carry the rest of the operatives, and deploy groundside once the AA threat has been eliminated."
Hower was unaware of any batarian ship ever being captured, his own personal experience indicating the enemy prefer destroying their own ships than let the enemy capture it. He'd read the reports on Shanxi, of many ships being destroyed … any salvage had to be a rather difficult task.
"Phase two: N7 marines, Spectres, and Cabals will deploy, gaining entrance through multiple bunkers to avoid our forces being bottlenecked."
Hower again raised his hand.
"Yes, Commander?"
"Sir, will we be given mission specialist personnel to access the batarian computers?"
The captain grinned and turned to Spencer.
"I'll let the admiral explain that one." Spencer took the center stage.
"In a manner of speaking," the Navy man said. "We will come to that point later. Let me assure you however that this specialist may not be the ideal candidate, but he is our best and only option to deploy on Torfan discreetly."
Like Captain Murray's statements … Admiral Spencer's reply was another puzzle. Who exactly was their specialist? What was their combat experience? Would they be a liability? These questions were vital; if the specialist was just a computer analyst then the marines would have to babysit a vulnerable package while in a combat hot zone. Many soldiers would prefer KP duty for months.
"Phase three," Murray continued, "will consist of locating the captives' location, and escort them to the extraction point on the planet's surface. Once everyone is ready for extraction, pop a green flare so my ship can begin deploying Falcons for pickup."
Several questions formed in Hower's mind. How would they gain access to any batarian's computers if there was only going to be one specialist? Another concern immediately sprang to mind, who would pilot the batarian dropship? Had anyone ever deciphered the batarian's control systems? It seemed unlikely since his team was the closest to such knowledge … but they'd failed miserably. If only an AI had been available, or more time to download from one of the corvette's terminals.
More questions raced through his mind. Were there batarian recognition signals needed from the dropship? Or would they be hoping the incoming batarian shuttle would be enough to fool them? When a plan had so many missing bits of data, the marines had been trained to stop and reconsider its effectiveness. Unanswered questions led to complications – 'snags'. And snags led to injuries, death, and failed missions. Of course there were situations where the marines|had to deploy with limited intel or even none at all, but an operation this big – in cooperation with other forces no less – led to many complications. Simpler was better. He held his questions though. For now.
"Phase four will be the elimination of any evidence showing Alliance or Hierarchy presence on the moon and return to Alliance space. That part of the operation will be the responsibility of Captain Izotov's squad," Murray indicated Spetsnaz with an open palm. "I highly recommend everyone be extracted from the moon should any of you desire to continue living."
Murray's words sent a shiver up Hower's spine. Thoughts of what the Spetsnaz would do to purge all evidence of the operation sent dark fantasies to his mind. For a moment he almost pitied the batarians. If the Spetsnaz were involved, then it was clear it was going to be a bloodbath.
Hower considered the mission plan for a moment, noting the other gathered forces take it all in. This operation would be the hardest engagement of his life by leaps and bounds. Even if everything went according to plan, there was no conceivable way they wouldn't lose people to the strong defenses. But … he remembered the men lost under his command on Shanxi. If the cost to return all humans to their home was for him and his team to make the ultimate sacrifice – he could live with that. Metaphorically speaking.
"This op is considered extremely high risk. There are too many unknown elements involved, and we simply do not have the time to gather the required intelligence. I speak for all of the Alliance when I say that we cannot order any of you to do this. This is a volunteer only operation. Anyone willing to take part in this, please stand."
Almost as one, nearly every member of the audience stood up. One human near the end, bowed his head regretfully, and moved back; the door opened just enough for him to exit, and he was gone. Yet, there was an obvious look of pride on both the Admiral and General's faces.
"While there are other details of the mission that you need to be briefed on, I'm sure that you want some answers."
The question that came foremost to the Commander's mind was how many marines would be taking part in the operation. Looking around, he could tell an operation of this magnitude would surely need more than a few dozen operatives.
The captain gestured to the turian Cabals and Spectre teams to come up onto the stage.
"To fully explain the situation requires time that I do not have at the moment." Murray continued. "Admiral Spencer will see to it that the proper files will be made available to you regarding the Hierarchy's unofficial participation in the raid. Suffice to say, today marks a pivotal moment in history and the official activation of the First N7 Marine battalion."
For a few seconds, Hower's mind ground to a halt. A battalion was anywhere between two hundred fifty to well over eight hundred men. In some ways, it made sense in light of this operation. The Alliance would commit all necessary resources only if there was enough manpower to make it successful. The generals and admirals weren't deluding themselves about their prospects of survival.
Hower mentally screeched to a halt again as he realized what the Captain had just said: an entire battalion. That meant this would be first time the N7 marines would be operating on a scale larger than platoon sized for an extended period of time. Now Hower wanted to see those files even more.
The captain turned to the Spectres and Cabals.
"Saren. Nyreen. I think that it's time for you to introduce yourselves." Two turians stepped forth, a male and female. The male had the basic features of most male turians with azure eyes and a prominent scar on his left cheek. The female lacked the head-crests of her male counterpart, but had red clan markings on her face.
The male flipped his mandibles, bowing slightly with one arm folded to his chest. "Major Saren Arterius, Citadel Spectres. Commanding officer of Zeta Team.
Stepping forward in imitation, the female followed suit. "Lieutenant Nyreen Kandros. Charlie Company, First battalion. Kabalim of Noricum."
Both turians showed all the physical signs of being experienced veterans, but their eyes shone like a freshman cadet's in the naval academy.
'Excited at the inclusion, or just naïve? Hopefully excited.'
"For at least the duration of this mission…" Murray continued, "…the Spectres and Cabals here will form the vanguard and assist in the operation in any capacity they can. Commander Howe, your unit is assigned to operate in conjunction with them. Cooperate with Nyreen and Saren to deploy these men and women as seen fit."
Howe shifted ever so slightly. He was confident in his ability to command anything up to a battalion – something he'd done in the recent past during high risk ops – but it felt somewhat uncomfortable at the prospects of ordering around units that weren't his, or even of the same species. The captain noticed his discomfort. Admiral Spencer noticed as well.
"Do you have a problem, commander?"
"It's nothing, sir." Howe quickly responded. A little too quickly. Silence hung in the air for a few more seconds as Murray kept a knowing gaze on Hower.
There was no sense hiding why he was almost fidgeting now.
"Sir, while I am more than willing to carry out the mission within the stated parameters, it feels… odd… for me to command units that I have no knowledge. I don't know their combat skills, their experience, or how best they are to be utilized. Sir."
Murray chuckled slightly. Strangely, Admiral Spencer boasted a conspiratorial smile; he obviously knew something that the marines didn't.
"Yes, that would be a bit awkward. Which is why you won't be necessarily ordering them around, but rather working with them to complete the mission. For simplicity sake they still fall under their respective leaders command but you will be our official liaison to them. I know it will be quite a juggling exercise, but I am confident that you will succeed in this endeavor."
For the third time in an hour, Hower's train of thoughts came crashing off the rails. For the first time in a long time, all of the marines clapped and cheered for their newly appointed liaison. A few grinned widely, while others whistled. Howe felt the blood flowing to his cheeks, showing his clear embarrassment.
"Hey slow down mate, you still need to be promoted to operate three teams!" One marine yelled.
'Damn bastards are enjoying this too much.' Hower thought as the teasing continued. Making that kind of mistake in front of leathernecks was just asking for mockery.
Just then, the Captain checked his chronometer and raised a hand to silence the crowd.
"Unfortunately, the admiral and I are out of time. All the necessary information will be forwarded to your omni-tools at the earliest opportunity. Operation Eagle Claw is slated to begin in seventy two hours. I know that you would all prefer to get to know each other right now, but the Spectres and Cabals are needed to finalize the new equipment slated for this operation. In the meantime, you will be given new armor, equipment, and weapons. And please don't forget to speak with me regarding any arrangements you may wish to make on the ship."
The captain and admiral left for the exit. The other marines poured onto the stage to offer their personal congratulations.
London
Earth, Alliance Headquarters
Personal Quarters, Alliance space
Murray poured himself another cup of tea. Before he sat the teapot down, he proffered the container to Spencer. "You're sure that I can't interest you in some Oolong tea?"
"I'll pass, thank you. I am more of a coffee person." Spencer replied.
"I could have brought in some coffee if you'd asked."
"Why don't we skip straight to business, captain?"
Murray sighed in resignation. "It hurts me that you won't allow me to be a gracious host, but alright."
"I'm still surprised that you are still intent on having the Cabals and Spectres take part in the operation."
"The marines will need their skills." Murray inhaled the aroma; Oolong tea held a cherished tradition among much of Earth, despite the political dissatisfaction among its origins. For himself, the beverage gave a sense of comfort, a taste of home no matter where he was.
Spencer huffed. "The Cabals I can understand, their biotics will help immeasurably for storming the bunkers, but are you sure about the Spectres?"
"It is a sign the Council has given us their consent, unofficially, but it is still nice they will let us kill some four-eyes. Besides, Torfan has been a thorn on their side for way too long. Allowing us to take it out means we get our people back and remove a stain on the Council without them having to lift a finger. It's a win-win, the way I see it."
Spencer leaned forward. "Are you sure they will follow protocol? Spectres are notorious for playing by their own rules. The only entity they obey is the Council and we aren't it."
"I won't argue semantics with you, admiral." Murray reluctantly set his cup down, but kept his hands around the bowl for warmth. "Yes, the Spectres are held on a very loose leash, but you are forgetting the Spectre leader is a turian, and a good turian always obeys orders. With him on our side, the rest should stay within operational constraints."
"And if they find any turian slaves, how do we know they won't just bail on us and rescue them instead of staying on mission?"
Murray smiled. "Easy. If they do go off the reservation, we simply let them rescue any slaves that aren't human, and return them to their respective homes. I am sure that will win us some brownie points after we take care of Torfan. If not, hopefully it will be enough for them to forgive us."
Spencer let out a sigh. "Do you JSF mooks always try to manipulate everyone?"
"Only when it is beneficial. Anyway, Eagle Claw is set." The captain gave in, and took another sip. "And besides, we already have the mechs loaded onto my ship. The marines are certainly going to need the extra guns."
A/N: So last chapter I had a few reviewers asking what the point was of the previous chapter, the context of it, and why it didn't advanced the plot. To put it simply, it was to set up the events for this arch. Unlike the previous archs, which had the benefit of starting exactly where the last ended, this arch begins after a short time skip, thus requiring the previous chapter to set the events necessary for what we have planned. We needed the events from the last chapter to occur in order to provide the necessary motivation to lead the characters shown in this chapter to come to the decisions they've made. Otherwise it would look as if the characters were making their decisions with no motivation behind them. I hope to those that were lost in the last chapter are now aware of what I was planning and now understand where the arch is leading. I would like those same reviewers that asked me about the purpose of the last chapter to comment if I had succeeded in not only explaining it via AN notes, but also in regards to this chapter. If not please provide suggestions on how I can improve to avoid making the same mistake. Also please comment if this chapter has or has not advanced the plot and as per my previous recommendation, provide suggestions on how I can advance it.
Also in case anyone is wondering why the Enforcers or NCRA is not involved it is simply because I could not find a way to involve them in the story without stripping them of their character. The Enforcers have a moral code, which would be a determent on Torfan, considering it is going to be a bloodbath. I mean it is here where we get to see the Butcher of Torfan, wiping out unarmed and surrendered batarians, which would have created a conflict with the Enforcers. As for the NCRA, it is more likely they would go rogue and just start killing batarians, which is kind of a plus for the operation, but the issue then becomes that they won't fall back when ordered to and that would create other problems. I have given a lot of thought to the factions that were going to be introduced in the story as well as the type of events that would occur on Torfan and came to the conclusion that the JSF and SGB are the two factions, whose profile would align with this type of operation. For example, the JSF are masters of stealth and that will be necessary to infiltrate the moon and the SGB are ruthless SOBs that will enjoy killing batarians, but also know when to fall back. After all why die when you can live on and kill more batarians in the future. Anyway I hope my explanation why these two factions are involved and the other two aren't is acceptable to you guys.
Trivia:
1. The description of Torfan and its environment is fully thanks to V-rcngetorix as it was his vision of the moon that we went with. Please applaud the man, for he helped tremendously in this regard. Here is the link we used for describing Torfan: /database/planet_
2. Kablim is the turian word for Commanding Officer of a Cabal team according to wiki/Turian_Cabals. So if I am wrong, blame them. I do try to research as best as I can though.
3. Nyreen's cabal team name is inspired by an actual Roman legion assigned to NR Noricm providence that is today Austria. See how reading this fic makes you learn! XD.
4. So know we get to see the SGB are involved and it's our favorite Captain Izotov of the 68th armored. What does this mean for Torfan? What was Captain Murray implying by saying: "They were going to take care of Torfan." And what about the mechs that were mentioned? How will they figure into this?
5. Operation Eagle Claw is a reference to the failed U.S operation to rescue U.S civilians held hostage in the embassy in Iran during the Iranian hostage crisis.
6. We finally get introduced to the first Canadian character in the story: Captain Jacob Murray and we will also the see debut of the first UNAS navy ship in the next chapter hopefully.
7. Murray is a reference to Canada's arguably most important naval commander in WW2, Rear Admiral Leonard W. Murray.
8. Consiliario, Strarian's status, is latin for advisor.