I don't own the Mass Effect.

Operation: Verdun III

Date: 10-11-2183

Location: Capital Front, Redcliffe, Feralda System, Northern Terminus

"The good news is that it missed your eyes by a few a millimeters. With the claws, at least. The swelling from the punches should go down in a few hours." Washana murmured, leaning right into my face as she carefully dabbed medigel into the cuts. "Now we just have to hope it doesn't get infected sir."

I glared at her with my right eye, my left currently swollen shut. "What have I told you about calling me sir?"

"Not to." She rolled a shoulder as she worked, frowning a little. "At least a few hundred times sir. Honestly, I have to wonder why you bother saying it when evidence suggests I'm going to continue offering you respect sir. Now please stay still so I can check on your other wounds."

Grunting, I held myself still as she lowered herself a bit, warm, scaled hands touching the skin of my chest as she worked. I tried not to look too closely at the collage of bruises and cuts that covered my pale skin, especially over my left ribs. Looking in the other direction wasn't an improvement, my right leg stretched out with a thick brace around my ankle and shin to keep it all locked into place.

I had just settled on staring at the curtain wall of the medical tent when it shuddered, flapping open to reveal Dietrich's lumbering form silhouetted by the driving rain outside. Teeth gleamed in his wild, unkempt beard as he caught sight of me. Water ran down him in rivers, but at least he closed the heavy tarp behind him to stop more of the cold liquid from getting inside. "Cie, finally let a woman take your clothes off I see."

Washsana flushed a little, pointedly focusing on taping bandages to pieces of my chest while I glared at him. My armor had long been removed, along with my shirt, leaving me only in a pair of pants that were as in dire need of a wash as my body was. "Deet. Don't make me shoot you."

He barked out a laugh, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How bad is he Washana?"

"Cosmetic cuts on his face, but the Vorcha missed his eye. Not deep enough to threaten anything." She reported, still working. "The emergency barrier in his chest plate stopped that carnage round, barely. He's got severe bruising, including internal ones on his ribs, and fragments of his armor got some nice gouges when it shattered. Oh, and his right ankle is sprained from something, he has no idea when it happened."

"No internal bleeding?" The larger human blinked in surprise. "He was really out of it on the way back."

"Concussion from getting his head slammed into the ground repeatedly by an angry Batarian." The medic replied. "Associated bruising on the back of his head, but his skull didn't break thank the goddess. Sorry, I thought that was assumed."

His eyes flicked to mine. "Recovery?"

"If we weren't in a war?" I asked, my voice low to avoid putting any extra strain on my ribs. "Couple months of lounging with lots of painkillers and gentle rehab."

Massive arms crossed. "And since we are in a war?"

"Lots of painkillers." I stressed the first word. "Figure a week off my feet before I upgrade to fire-step duty."

"Two." Washana muttered.

"One off the line." I replied tiredly. "At least two not going on any more raids. Assuming there's going to be any for a while after last night's debacle. How's everyone else? Shyeel out of surgery yet?"

He nodded, sighing. "She'll make it, but she's going to need more than a week. I don't think she's leaving the medical bunker for the duration."

Goddess. Hanging my head slightly, I exhaled heavily, winced a little, then shook it. "She's alive at least."

"Half of us wouldn't be if you two idiots hadn't rushed into that dugout like you did." Dietrich apparently felt the need to try and improve my morale a bit. "You did good Cie. And fuck if watching you take on those assholes in hand-to-hand wasn't impressive to see."

"My concussion argues otherwise, barely remember you and Illyan dragging me out of there." I muttered, then frowned as another thought occurred to me. "Please tell me you at least brought my helmet back after that asshole ripped it off?"

"Relax, Trena got it and your carbine." He assured me. "Said something about not wanting to see all your work wasted. More cursing, of course, but along those lines."

I snorted out a laugh, then immediately winced. Washana paused her work to glare up at me, and I nodded to show that I understood not to do that again. At least until I had stronger painkillers in me. "Everyone else?"

"Callada's a bit out of it, concussion but the other medics say she should be all right. The Kithans are in the walking wounded, a few fragments from that artillery shell got through their armor and cracked some of their plates. Idas says it hurts like hell but isn't dangerous." His left arm rose, letting me see the bandaging poking out of the armor on his left wrist. "Got my own souvenir from that explosion, missed the artery, but not by all that much. Everyone else is beat up and exhausted as shit, but all right apart from that. Thul's got them on the support line right now, Major Kaste asked him to."

I frowned a little. "We better still be rotating back to the reserve line today. We need a fucking break, it's been a month."

"We are, she just wanted a bit of extra support in case those fuckers try anything while the Fifty-Seventh is rotating companies."

Some of the tension eased out of me at the assurance, and I nodded. "I don't suppose..."

His beard bristled as his face twisted into a scowl. "Thul tried to press her, but she wouldn't or couldn't say why we're under the blackout."

My own lips twisted. It had taken us a week to realize we were even under one, and so far all I'd gotten out of the elder Kaste was that he had orders to restrict all external communications to military chatter. No fucking reason why, or for what reason. Even our news about the rest of the campaign was coming in filtered, which meant I didn't trust it in the slightest.

Even better, both of the communications trucks we had with had evidently had their extranet access disabled, forcing all of our transmissions to go through the main communications hub back in Hintertown. Since those assholes were currently blocking off all of our requests, it left us with no fucking idea of how Ayle and Amy were doing in their own investigations. Never mind the personal shit, like Trena's messages to Ghai or Illyan's to Erana. Or mine to Shepard, who was probably losing her shit at me not getting her the intel she asked for.

"I'm going to hunt down that old Turian and break his fucking mandibles off." I muttered before glancing down at Washana. "Am I good to walk?"

Her youthful features glanced up at me, an arch look on her face. "Want to rephrase that sir? You shouldn't be moving for at least the rest of the day."

I rolled my eyes. "Are you done patching me up?"

"Yes." She admitted reluctantly. "Dietrich? He's going to need his cane if he's going to be up and around."

"Figured." A hand reached behind him and pulled the weaponized stick off of his back. Giving it a single twirl, he offered it grip first to me. "Heavy thing."

"That's the point." I took it, planted it onto the ground and exhaled. This part wasn't going to be fun. Washana rose before I could start moving, and planted both of her hands on my chest. Not with pressure to keep me from moving, but gently, making it clear she was there to support me when it inevitably got difficult.

It did so in the first moments, my everything hurting as I tried to use my cane to lever myself up. Without the young Maiden I probably wouldn't have managed to get up at all, and I leaned heavily on her when I was finally on my feet.

No sooner had I managed to do so, and was gathering myself to make the attempt at walking, when the flap flung itself open again. Three tall figures entered, taking their bloody time about it, Dietrich shifting to make room for them while his expression shifted to a bland frown.

"I see you're awake, Reyja'krem." Commander-General Kaste rumbled from his place in the center, the Turian staff drone on his left working to shake out and collapse the umbrella that had kept his boss's hide dry. "And in good humor, or do you always work threats against your commanding officer into casual conversation?"

A muscle in my cheek twitched. "I don't appreciate being listened in on, Kaste."

"I don't appreciate being threatened, Kean." He retorted, mandibles quivering slightly. "Not when I know you meant your words."

I placed both hands on my cane, doing my best to look as though I wasn't resting all of my weight on it. "Then maybe you shouldn't keep me in the dark, General."

His eyes narrowed at the scorn I put into his title. "What happened to your honor, and respect?"

"Athame's ass Kaste," I shook my head tiredly, "I respect the crap out of you, but I preferred it when you were a bloody Colonel. You actually answered my questions then."

The old Turian simply stared at me. "I have my orders. As do you."

"My orders come from Ayle, and she gets them from the Lady Warlord." I reminded him. "The last I knew my orders were to support the 121st in the campaign until it was over or we were released to hunt for Krom. But I have no idea what my orders are currently supposed to be given that you aren't letting me contact either of them. For all I know Krom has already smuggled himself past the blockade and T'Ravt wants us chasing him."

"Unlikely." He remarked.

I dipped my head to acknowledge the point, "But possible. The point is that I'm a mercenary who suddenly can't contact his employer. Of course I'm fucking annoyed."

Well, it was more that I couldn't contact Ayle, but being unable to message T'Ravt made for a better excuse. Kaste wasn't an idiot, he probably knew what I was really upset about, but he only let out a chirping sigh and shook his head. "I haven't heard any updates about the assassin, or any direct orders from the Lady Warlord. General Mascal has setup blackouts over all three operational theaters, only top-level commanders are to relay vital communications."

Dietrich let out an annoyed rumble. "The traitor is dead, what the fuck is he worried about?"

"The loss of the Intelligence and Electronics Warfare teams leaves central headquarters vulnerable to the enemy's hacking attempts once again." He supplied. "The less coded chatter they have to try and read, the longer it will take them to break it."

"That's a nice excuse." I shook my head. "But it doesn't cover why I can't even send an encoded tablet on the supply shuttles."

The recently promoted General stared back at me implacably. "Everyone besides the Reyja'krem, please leave the tent."

Behind him, his two Turian staff members both glanced at him, then each other. Neither looked happy, but they obediently turned around and stepped back out into the rain. Dietrich and Washana pointedly did not move, even when the General glanced at each of them in turn. The former crossed his arms firmly, looking like he was prepared to wait for hours if it was required.

I waited until I was sure that Kaste had gotten the point before I grunted, carefully lowering myself back to the medical table. "You guys get out of here, I'll call if I need help walking back."

If anything Washana looked even less thrilled than Kaste's people had, but she dutifully fell in with the bearded man as the two of them headed out, the flap door closing behind them.

"Are you done being an ass now?" Kaste chirped, his voice annoyed as he pulled a flask from his belt. "I understand you feel the need to impress your subordinates but it's unseemly for one of your rank to act as you do."

"I'll be done being an ass when you stop publicly keeping me in the dark." I growled, holding out a hand and taking the preferred drink from him. "I still don't understand why you insist on keeping this private."

"Because I swore an oath, on my honor, to the Lady Warlord to serve in her army." He replied tiredly. "And I am stretching my sense of propriety enough by evading my orders as it is."

Unscrewing the flask's top, I took a soft sniff. Illium Rum. I immediately threw it back, the bitter burn utterly delicious as it trailed down my throat. "You got a message back from Ayle then?"

There was a tired nod as he pulled a separate flask from his belt, taking a quick sip from it. "I did. According to her, all off-world communications are being routed through Mascal's new communications officer. They actually flew a frigate out to the system's FTL buoy to manually install a gate, and the ship is staying nearby it just in case. The official reports from the other fronts are apparently accurate, the pushes are proceeding slowly but steadily."

Frowning, I took a slower sip from the liquor he'd given me. "Then what the fuck is Mascal doing?"

The old Turian shook his head and sighed. "I have no idea. The initial acts, consolidating our communications, made sense. But these additional precautions... there was no alarming war news from other campaigns that I heard of, and the Warlord was safe on Xentha."

I kept frowning at him. "You have a theory?"

"Outright betrayal seems unlikely. He is the lord of a mid-sized city upon Xentha, has his own mansion complex in Celthani, is more than well compensated for his position, and has been loyal to Lady T'Ravt for decades." His mandibles twitched into the Turian version of a wan smile. "There is also the small fact that the campaign obviously continues."

"Yeah." I exhaled. "Fair point. So he's loyal, he's been competent up to this point, and he has a reasonable excuse for the localized blackout. You think he's lying to her maybe? Making the campaign sound better than it is, and making sure no one can contradict him?"

Kaste looked uncomfortable. "It is... the most likely scenario I can envision."

I snorted quietly. "How far behind schedule is he?"

"No timetable was assigned to this campaign, the Warlord knew it would be long and hard. But with the amount of forces he has been given..." His voice trailed off, letting me complete the thought.

"She probably expects better progress than he's been making." Taking a final pull of the alcohol, I capped the flask and asked my next question. "And he doesn't want to alarm her so he's shutting down anyway that people, especially us mercs, could get information to her. Fucking vain prick. Ayle say anything else?"

"That they are still investigating." A hand accepted the flask when I held it back to him, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "Though she declined to say what."

"Unit matters." I dismissed his concern with a wave of my right hand. "Checking into those lowborn who tried to jump me and Mirala, nothing you need to worry about."

"Very well then." The General grunted quietly, returning both flasks to his belt. "Now to the official reason I'm here. Your report on the morning's raid."

I seriously considered asking for the flask back, that wasn't a topic I was eager to talk about. Not in the immediate aftermath of the event in any case. It had been our third raid in as many weeks, and the fiasco it had ended in was all the more infuriating because it had been, by far, the least dangerous of the three.

Raid number one had been Kaste's idea, and I had to give the old man credit for a ballsy plan. We, plus the other two mercenary teams, had painted up our armor and adjusted the style to match those of the enemy's militia. Then we'd lingered in the support trenches, waiting for them to launch a full attack against our lines. After they had, we'd moved up and joined the general retreat when the assault was beaten back.

Which had only been the most nerve-wracking few minutes of my life, since it wasn't as though the troopers in the trenches behind us could stop shooting, and we had to stay to the rear in case things went to shit so we'd have some kind of chance of getting away. Athame or the paragons who stood upon the Pillars were watching over us that evening, because we managed to get to the enemy lines, apparently just another group pulling back from the failed strike. Then we'd started tossing incendiary grenades in every direction and generally causing as much chaos as we could. A combination of demo charges and a called-in artillery barrage had served to cover our retreat.

Raid number two had been come with a heavy dose of distraction. Artillery pounded the enemy lines in a two kilometer stretch for three days straight, to the point where guns were firing in rotation to prevent them from melting from the heat of it. It had been followed with a massive barrage of smoke rounds into no-man's land... and then seven small teams had struck out at other parts of the line, each no more than a platoon in size, each hitting parts that the observers and scouts had believed to have had their defenders reduced to prepare for the hammer blow we were obviously gearing up to throw.

It had been a bit rougher, but we'd had a solid squad backing us, and everyone had gotten out relatively intact.

Unlike last night.

Blowing out a breath, I nodded at the General. "We kicked off the operation at one in the morning. Artillery started up their distraction barrage a bit late, maybe ten after, but within the parameters. Once the shells were flying we set out into no-man's land. The 54th Xenthan sent their assigned platoon with us, they stopped in a ditch forty meters out and setup to cover us."

"How many heavy weapons did they carry?"

My face pulled into a frown as I tried to fight through the haze the concussion had left me with. "One heavy machine gun, two lighter models. They didn't have a sniper, so we left Voya with them."

He nodded, then made a motion for me to continue.

Swallowing, I did so. "We approached the line by stealth, our guess about their night vision gear being crap was right. They didn't react until we were throwing grenades and making our sprint in. First five or ten minutes went as planned, Thul and his team held the right flank, mine took out our target gun nest. Things went to shit when Trena tried to take out their target nest, there was a dugout near it. They hit it with grenades, focused on their target. Stupid thing turned out to be a tunnel connects to the goddess alone knows where."

His mandibles flicked outwards once. "How rapidly did they respond?"

"Very." I sighed, then winced as the heavy exhale put pressure on my bruised ribs. "My team was closer, we got there just as Trena exhausted herself biotically keeping a barrier up to protect the Kithans. I tried to use tech mines to suppress them while Callada kept up a singularity to protect our flank."

"I take it that did not work?"

"It did initially. We got Trena up and stumbling, and were in the process of withdrawing when more reinforcements showed up, probably from another fucking tunnel." Reaching up with my right hand, I carefully indicated my face. "Wasn't time for a good plan so Shyeel and I counter-charged to clear a path while the Kithans kept them off our backs. Things... got a little blurry after that."

"From what Ul Adaara told me, the pair of you didn't hold off a swarm of militia and Vorcha, you drove it back nearly thirty meters and were nearly to the enemy's front line when you fell."

The honest admiration in his voice made me both flush and flinch a little. Vague, jumbled memories of close-quarters combat flashed across my vision. Shyeel and I, both hurt, both bleeding, trying to shoot, punch, and bayonet our way through a dark trench while Callada hauled Trena's stumbling form behind us. "I think he was exaggerating. We surprised them, got a bit lucky, and if Thul, Dietrich, and Illyan hadn't hit them at just the right time they'd have executed us both while we were down."

"The last is true, perhaps." Kaste shook his head. "But I do not believe him capable of exaggeration. How else do you explain that they recovered the pair of you on the enemy's firesteps?"

"I..." My head shook a little. "Fine, maybe Shyeel and I did make that far. We still almost got torn apart in the end. Then almost got killed by our own bloody artillery."

His mandibles flared in a brief grin, though his tone remained sober. "Was it Aldaara's decision or yours to call the artillery down while you were still withdrawing?"

"His, pretty sure. I don't really remember that part like I said." I shrugged one shoulder in a rolling, Asari motion. "Approve of it in hindsight. We would have been shot to pieces, even in the dark, without some kind of distraction. Even if it did almost kill a few of us. From what I've been told, we got moving during the barrage, stumbled back to the covering platoon. They more or less picked us all up and hauled us back like luggage and called down more artillery to make sure no one followed us."

The General nodded slowly, turning and beginning a slow series of paces back and forth across the tent. "A wise precaution, though it was the mention of tunnels that worries me."

I tried to track him without moving my head, but with only one eye the traditional Batarian pose of neutrality wasn't an option, and my chest hurt to much to rotate at the waist, so I actually had to turn my neck to follow the movement. "You think they're going to try and burrow under us?"

"I have seismometers in place, but no. I fear it's more likely that they are intended to do exactly what they did." He exhaled, an annoyed and tight sound. "Provide rapid reinforcements from unexpected angles. Any attack could bog down rather rapidly if they were intelligent about the placement."

My own nose flared a little. "And it lets them keep their reserves underground, deep enough that our lighter guns can't get to them."

"And it matches the slow down in their general attack patterns." Kaste nodded. "They're establishing in-depth defenses that will make any attack even more difficult than it already would be. Reports from the flanks indicate they're actually reinforcing gun positions with heavy construction materials and eezo pylons."

"Settling in the for the long haul." I assumed with another slight shrug. "Let's us catch our breath, if nothing else."

"While making our mandate of attrition more difficult." The Turian pointed out.

"I'm broken up about that." Sarcasm may or may not have been dripping in my voice. "So unbelievably upset. How long can you stall Mascal?"

His mandibles twitched a little. "Until whatever insiders he has in our units, and I must assume there are some, inform him that I am not attacking the enemy. Perhaps a week or two, if the enemy's attacks stop entirely."

"And when you get a direct order to attack?" I asked quietly.

"Honor demands I follow said order." Kaste's voice lowered to something solemn. "But I will endeavor to do so as intelligently as possible."

The fingers on my hands briefly tightened around the table's edge, then relaxed as I forced them to. "We're outnumbered by an order of magnitude, Kaste. Superior equipment and training doesn't matter much. Shit, we're lucky their artillery is content to waste it's time on counter-battery operations instead of hammering us every-time we twitch."

"This is not my first war, Kean." He reminded me, but there was no reproof in his voice, only a firm reminder. "My prior statements stand."

Another tight exhale hurt, but the pain helped me focus as I nodded. I couldn't change who the old Turian was. If Mascal ordered him to launch a suicidal charge, Kaste's old fashioned Xenthan honor would demand he make the attempt. He'd delay, plan, and do everything he could to make it less suicidal, but in the end he'd do it.

"I understand," I spoke after several breaths of silence had passed, "If it comes to that, see if you can get our power armor transferred out here. And if I can help in the planning stages... it's been a while since I've done anything larger than a squad, but I'd like to be involved all the same."

"Of course." There was a polite bow of his head. "I'll ensure that you are on the reserve lines for at least a full week, make the most of it."

I grunted, and then he was turning away without another word. A flash of lightning through the open flap later, then I was alone with my injuries for all of thirty seconds before it was flung open violently, spraying me with water.

"Cieran." Trena's voice was low, her posture a bit slumped as she shuffled in. Unlike the rest of us, she was still in her 'night raid' outfit. Which really made it sound more impressive than it actually was. Her armor was covered in mud and dirt, trying to cover up the streaks of metal where the paint had flaked or been scratched away, and over-top of that was a dark cloak that we'd stitched together from blank blankets.

Similar cloth had covered our guns on the way in, doing everything we could considering our available supplies to minimize the chance that someone would see us in the darkness.

Right on my old friend's heels was Washana, the younger, taller Asari irritably closing the flap behind them though it was Trena who spoke again. "Athame's ass, you look like crap."

My only functioning eye rolled. "You always think I look like crap scales, how does me being beaten up change that?"

She snorted. "I meant that matted shit you call fur. In comparison to that the bruises are a fucking improvement."

I blinked slowly, then made a show of glancing at Washana. "Did you hear something talking? I swore I heard a tiny, annoying little voice bitching again."

The Maiden managed, barely, kept her face straight. "You must be hearing things again sir, I don't see anyone else in here."

"I will fucking kill you both." Trena muttered, her hands shifting as she tossed a pile of cloth at me. "Here ape, something to keep the rain off your pale ass while we get you back to our hole in the ground."

"Thanks." I murmured, taking it up and then wincing a bit at the motion. "The door keeping the water out?"

"It was sir. Illyan did good work." Washana reported, gabbing the dark fabric from my hands. Unfolding it revealed another crudely sown trench-coat, and she circled the table to help me into it. "Do you need more painkillers?"

"Not right now. Maybe one when we get back."

"Such a whining bitch ape." Trena crossed her arms, somehow looking down her nose at me despite the fact that I was still taller than her even when I was sitting on the low table. Before I could retort, she continued on. "What did that old Turian want?"

"Mission recap." It was a fight to keep my expression neutral as I rose my left arm, letting the Eclipse medic pull a sleeve onto the limb. "And news from Ayle. She's still hunting, and the leading theory is that Mascal is trying to save face."

Her blue lips twisted. "Fucking lovely. Any chance he's going to do more than pass messages once every couple of weeks?"

"Doubt it." My own mouth drew into a thin line. "We might be attacking in the near future scales. Couple of weeks at most, unless the Krogan running that fortress loses his mind and decides to attack us all out."

Her expression hardened, but she didn't look shocked. "Told you it was a matter of time ape."

"You did." Not that it mattered, and Trena knew it. "How bad is my gear?"

"Guess." Arms crossed her chest. "We're going to have a lot of work ahead of us ape, and that's just to be prepped for time on the support line. It's going to be a fucking bitch to get everything fixed up enough to be on the front again. And you can fucking forget attacking unless you, me, and Illyan take the next three weeks to do nothing but fix crap."

I exhaled as Washana finished helping me into the coat, then grabbing my cane in my right hand once again. "Then help me up, sooner I'm asleep the sooner I'll wake up and we can get started... I don't know if we've got three weeks."

As it turned out, we did. Three weeks to the day from the failed raid, the first full attack went out from our lines, and we were in the fucking middle of it.

Next up is Operation: Verdun IV

And the slog continues, injuries are piling up, and they at least have a working theory as to why they're under a communications blackout. Next chapter will cover their attempt at a direct attack on the enemy's defenses, though how involved Cie will personally be given his current state is something we'll have to wait and see about.

Please read and review, criticism is welcome, flames not so much, as usual. Reviews are my lifeblood as a writer.. every-time my email goes off with a review it makes me want to write more, so please take the time to leave one. Guests can leave them as well, and it only takes a minute, so please. Even if it's as simple as "I enjoyed it, please continue."

Thanks, Kat

Current Poll Standings:

Voya – 18

Sederis – 16

Illyan – 8

Review Responses:

burutone → Unfortunately I have zero skills as an artist, so any fan-art would have to come from you guys.

Guest → Sort of.

5 Coloured Walker → In the case of a tie... I have no idea. Probably separate stories for both of them.