The Hero Rises

by Random Equinox

When time has run out and the Reapers come to consume all in their path, then a hero must rise to lay old conflicts to rest, rally allies and enemies alike and challenge fate for the sake of the galaxy itself. A novelization of Mass Effect 3.

51. Sacrifice of Angels

Chapter 51: Sacrifice of Angels

Editor's Note: As readers will have appreciated by now, Shepard's personal logs usually covered events in a thorough and detailed manner. That being said, I believe now would be an opportune moment to provide a different point of view, one with a broader perspective on the [overall strategic overview/beginning and end] of the war. To that end, I have appended a series of excerpts from the personal logs of Fleet Admiral Steven Hackett.

---

We never stood a chance.

I never really appreciated that until the Reapers came to Earth.

Shepard had been warning us about them since 2183; alerting us to their existence and urging us to band together. I had taken him at his word and had done my best to prepare, but there was always that nagging feeling that maybe I should have done more.

It was the last week of September when I learned that we had finally run out of time. Captain Wang and his team weretasked with investigating some unsettling rumours and the veracity of their claims, and I'd left standing orders for him to contact me once he had finished his analysis. He finished in the wee hours of the morning.

"And you are certain of your conclusions?" I asked after skimming through the summary.

"Yes," Wang confirmed. "Lieutenant Norman crunched the numbers herself."

"So the ships flooding into the Exodus Cluster are batarian, but the power signatures are consistent with transports and freighters, not warships."

"Yes, sir."

That was a relief. When we got the initial reports, our first fears were that the batarians were launching a pre-emptive strike of some kind. Of course, the truth could be far, far worse. I tapped the datapad he'd given me. "Comm intercepts indicate they are packed with refugees and that they fled Hegemony space. Do we know why?"

"Details are fragmented and inconsistent, sir. There are a few common elements that we've managed to piece together, though. First, the Hegemony's communications network in the Vular system went down about fifteen hours ago. The Department of Information Control claimed the loss of signal was due to severe space weather and that there was no reason to be alarmed…yet ships were scrambled to the system to investigate."

In other words, the batarian propaganda machine said one thing, but if you read between the lines, you found something entirely different. "Go on," I prompted.

"Second, the Hegemony Minister of Information made an extranet broadcast approximately thirty minutes after the Vular system went dark. He announced that ships of unknown origin were attacking all space traffic near Khar'shan, but insisted that the situation was under control and there was no reason to panic. The reports we heard, however, say that the unknown ships were destroying any and all batarian vessels, without sustaining any casualties of their own.

"Third, Khar'shan went dark within an hour of the broadcast. Many of the neighbouring systems followed suit, but not before their colonies began mass evacuations. The galaxy has effectively lost all contact with the Hegemony."

"And that was…" I checked my chronometer. "…twelve hours ago."

"That's right, sir. Now here's the kicker: nine hours ago, we lost touch with the first outpost listed in that report. When we received a distress call from the second outpost, we sent the SSV Ain Jalut to investigate. By the time she arrived, though, the outpost was destroyed. The Ain Jalut was only able to take preliminary scans from the edge of the system before retreating. But what they found…"

"Indeed," I nodded. "Thank you, Captain. You're dismissed."

I sent word that I wanted to see Admiral Anderson as soon as possible, then began issuing orders. Despite the early hour, he arrived promptly: the door chime rang just as I finished. I ushered him into my quarters and sealed the door.

"How bad is it, Steven?" he asked without preamble. (1)

"Bad." I quickly summarized Wang's reports. "There's something massive on long-range scanners and it's coming our way."

"Is this what Shepard warned us about?"

Anderson meant was this the long-awaited invasion of the Reapers. The invasion that Shepard had thwarted twice, at great personal cost. The invasion that he had been warning the galaxy about for years, urging and pleading for the various races to prepare for. Alas, his words had fallen on deaf ears. Any measures we had taken were minimal at best. But now…

Now we had run out of time. "I'd stake my life on it," I said gravely.

Anderson took a moment to digest the gravity of the situation. "How long do we have?" he finally asked.

"Not long. I've sent word. The Sixth and Seventh Fleets will mobilize in the Asgard and Utopia systems to guard Terra Nova, Eden Prime and the mass relays. The Second, Third and Fifth Fleets will mobilize here at Arcturus Station. The First and Fourth Fleets will take position inside the Sol system—the First to engage anything hostile emerging from the Charon Relay, the Fourth to act as Earth's last line of defence. The Eighth Fleet has been broken up into individual ships and flotillas to safeguard the rest of Alliance space." (2)

In other words, seven out of eight fleets had been deployed to guard Earth, the Sol system and the neighbouring systems accessible by mass relay. One fleet would have to protect everything else. Anderson knew as well as I did that that might not be enough. Not if the Reapers had truly come.

"I'd better catch the next shuttle to Earth," he said. "Shepard's latest hearing starts in a few hours. I'll meet him in Vancouver and fly him out on the Normandy, even if I have to shoot my way to the starport."

"Good," I nodded. "We need him if we're going to have any chance of winning this. Once you've got him, head to the Citadel. We're going to need the Council's help to coordinate a counter-offensive."

"Agreed," he sighed. "God help us all."

---

Sometimes, I wonder if anyone will live long enough to look back at the events of this war. I wonder if someone will question my decisions. I wonder if someone will second-guess my choices and judge my actions. While I might bristle at their presumption, part of me hopes that someone will. Because that will mean that we lived long enough to look back at this war with the benefit of hindsight.

I had transferred my flag to the SSV Orizaba—which happened to be commanded by one Captain Hannah Shepard—to oversee the battle to come. (3) I still remember my surprise when the first contacts appeared on long-range sensors. Twelve ships. Eleven vessels, each about half again as long as an Alliance frigate. One vessel that was twice as long as an Alliance dreadnought. That was it. Only twelve ships. Was that the extent of the Reaper fleet? Or, more to the point, was that all the Reapers thought was necessary?

"Sir, they've locked weapons," Operations Chief Meaney reported.

"Red alert," Captain Shepard declared. "Shields up. All hands to battle stations."

I signalled Serviceman Eisenberg to open a channel to the fleets. "All ships, this is Admiral Hackett. Prepare to engage the enemy. Dreadnoughts: fire at will."

While every dreadnought opened fire on my command, it was the SSV Logan that scored the first hit. I wasn't surprised: she was the Third Fleet's flagship, and Admiral Singh's pride and joy. Singh had acquired a reputation for obsessively running simulations to calculate the optimal firing position of his ship's weapons. Why would now be any exception?

Every available ship opened fire on the lead Reaper. The sheer amount of damage it sustained would have destroyed any other ship. But this wasn't any ship. This was a Reaper. It shrugged off our opening salvo like it was nothing, with only a ripple of flashes to indicate we had hit it at all.

Finally the Reaper peeled off, but not before firing a single shot. A single strobe-like blast that swept down like the hand of a wrathful god… and ripped right through three corvettes—shields, hull plating and all—like they weren't even there. One of the corvettes exploded right on the spot. The other two fell into pieces and began drifting through space.

Then the other Reapers responded with a salvo of their own. Eleven streams of brilliant light shot out like solar flares, each a deadly stream of superheated metal fired at incredible speed. Eleven beams hit our ships, mercilessly carving through shields, armour and decks until they struck their engines. Eleven ships went up like flares—exploding, burning and sputtering out in the cold uncaring void. Eleven crews of good, brave men and women—husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters—lost their lives. And that was just the beginning.

At first, the dreadnoughts and cruisers focused on the larger Reaper capital ship while the remaining vessels targeted the smaller Reapers.

"Shields at ninety-one percent!" Lt. Commander Dorn reported.

"Sir!" Lieutenant Commander Farrell cried out. "We just lost the Warsaw and the Longewala!"

But they kept coming. So we simply fired on any target of opportunity.

"Starboard! They're coming around for another pass! Evasive manoeuvres!"

"Shields at seventy-eight percent!"

But they kept coming. Fighters were swatted out of the sky like bugs, dying by the score.

"—the hell is command? This is Grey Squadron. We're being picked apart out here! We've got no support and—"

"Shields now at fifty-two percent!"

And they kept coming. One by one, our ships—frigate, cruiser, carrier, dreadnought—were destroyed.

"Mayday, mayday! This is the Tsushima. We've lost all thruster power. Weapon systems are offline. Requesting emergency assistance. I repeat: this is the—ARGH!"

And they kept coming. They just kept coming. Our forces began scattering, as ship after ship succumbed to confusion or panic. The comm channels became jammed with orders, counter-orders, calls for assistance, cries for someone—anyone—to rescue them. The battlefield before me was devolving into chaos and there was nothing I could do to turn things around.

And then… things got worse.

By then, we'd lost almost sixty ships—including the SSV Fuji. In addition, virtually all of our corvettes were gone. Chief Meaney had finally gotten our sensor array back online, after it had been knocked out for an agonizing nine minutes. "Admiral, I'm detecting a ship bearing three-one-zero."

"Alliance or Reaper?"

"Reaper." He might have said more, but a beep drew his attention back to the console. "There's another ship. Both have the same configuration and power signatures as the hostiles we are currently engage—" Meaney broke off again as the console gave another beep. And another. "Sir," he said with growing dread, "there's an entire fleet of Reapers coming our way."

A fleet. A whole fleet of Reapers. And there was nothing our three—count that, three—fleets could do about them because they were tied up dealing with a mere twelve Reapers. As I watched, a flotilla of frigates—Second or Third Fleet, it was hard to tell by this point—tried to disengage and intercept the fleet. Their vector took them past one of the smaller Reapers, which casually blew them to smithereens one by one. My fists clenched in frustration.

"Shields at twenty percent!" Dorn shouted. "A few more hits and they could be gone for good!"

"Their weapons are charged but they haven't locked onto us," Meaney reported. "They're heading for the mass relay. Estimated time of transit: thirty-eight seconds."

I watched helplessly as the Reapers' plan became abundantly clear. They had destroyed the Sixth and Seventh Fleets, or otherwise rendered them inoperable. They had sent twelve of their own to engage the fleets protecting Arcturus Station and screen the rest of their fleet so they could make a direct run for the mass relay. I turned to my right. "Serviceman Eisenberg, open a priority channel to Admiral Lindholm of the First Fleet now. Transfer the signal to my personal console."

Lindholm's face appeared on my console's display screen a moment later. "Admiral Lindholm," I began, rapidly entering commands on my console as I spoke, "a Reaper fleet will be emerging from the Charon Relay in twenty seconds. We cannot intercept them before they make the mass transit. I'm sending you our combat telemetry now. Share the data with the Fourth Fleet and prepare to engage the enemy."

Despite the resolution, I could see her eyes widen imperceptibly. She had been briefed on the Reaper threat, but she had been under the assumption that the Second, Third and Fifth Fleets would be able to slow them down, if not stop them outright. We all had. If a force of that size couldn't deal with the Reapers, what chance did the First Fleet have?

But Lindholm knew her duty. "Understood," she simply said. "Time for us to earn our pay. Lindholm out."

Her image disappeared. As the Reaper fleet began travelling through the Arcturus Relay, I returned my attention to the battle before me.

Things had gotten even worse, if that was even possible. Twenty-six more ships had been destroyed, several more had lost power or were seriously damaged. And the twelve Reapers were still operational. Their shields had sustained varying degrees of damage. One of them—the ship that Singh had initially fired upon—had actually lost its shields entirely. But they were all still in the fight and racking up a horrific list of kills. I continued to direct the fight as best I could, but it soon became clear that we could not possibly win. We were completely and utterly outmatched.

The ship rocked as we sustained another hit. "Shields at eight percent!" Dorn shouted. "GARDIAN system offline."

"Hull breaches on decks three, five, six and seven!" Meaney declared.

"We're venting plasma coolant from twenty separate power conduit ruptures!" Serviceman De Boer added.

"Evasive manoeuvres!" Captain Shepard immediately ordered. "Pattern omega!"

While Farrell carried out her orders, I pulled up the latest tactical data and put it on my display. It took a few seconds to filter out all the fleet diagnostic data—seconds I didn't have to spare—and focused solely on the position of my ships relative to the Reapers… and the various mass relays in this station. There was only one way out of this debacle that wouldn't end in a complete slaughter.

But… there was something I had to do first. "Commander Dorn," I said, "get me Admiral Drescher."

Within seconds, the commanding officer of the Second Fleet appeared in miniature before me. I got straight to the point: "I'm about to order a general withdrawal of our forces from the Arcturus System and will advise Arcturus Station to execute an immediate evacuation."

I tried to ignore the way everyone momentarily froze around me. Some even broke protocol to openly stare at me. They all knew what that admission meant.

Drescher knew that too. She also knew why I was informing her of my plans privately—or as private as things could get on a ship-to-ship communication. "If we all break off, the Reapers will destroy us one by one. You need someone to buy you time to withdraw."

"The Second Fleet has to hold off the Reapers until the rest of us can disengage and retreat through the mass relays," I admitted. "Once we're through, you can assist Arcturus Station with the evacuations."

I made it sound so simple. But it wasn't. We both knew I was sacrificing the Second Fleet so the Third and Fifth Fleets could live to fight another day. I was choosing to sacrifice some lives to save the rest. Choosing to sacrifice someone else to save me. Maybe I should have had the Fifth Fleet hold the line instead. Go down with my ship and the men and women of my fleet. Pay the ultimate price for my failure today. But if I died, who would take command of the Alliance fleets? Who would coordinate and direct the Alliance response to the war that the Reapers had so brutally begun? By the time the chain of command had clarified and settled on that question, more lives would have been lost. And that I could not abide. Furthermore, the Second Fleet had taken more damage and sustained more casualties than any other fleet in the system. Which meant sacrificing them would save more ships and more soldiers for the war to come.

So I made my choice.

Like Lindholm, Drescher knew her duty. "We'll buy you all the time we need, Steven. It… it has been an honour and privilege to serve with you."

"The honour is all mine, Admiral," I replied sadly. "Hackett out."

Closing the communication, I chose the closest mass relay and sent its coordinates to Meaney. "Chief, transmit these coordinates to the Third and Fifth Fleets." Not waiting for Meaney to confirm my orders, I caught Eisenberg's eye. "Open a channel on all frequencies."

As soon as he gave me the signal, I began to speak: "This is Admiral Hackett. I am ordering a general withdrawal. I repeat: all ships, prepare to retreat. Third and Fifth Fleets will head for the designated mass relay and rendezvous at their assigned coordinates. Second Fleet will cover our retreat. First and Fourth Fleets: evacuate through the Charon Relay and do the same. All inhabitants of Arcturus Station are strongly advised to begin evacuations through the Arcturus Relay. Further instructions will follow on channel Crimson Tacit. Godspeed. Hackett out."

Once again, I closed the channel. As the crew began to execute my orders, I signalled Eisenberg again. "Get me the Normandy, immediately!"

I waited with bated breath as he established a connection. The Normandy had been finishing some sorely needed retrofits before Anderson assumed command. With any luck, he'd be able to get her spaceborne. If we were really lucky, he would have the other Shepard by his side.

Finally a face appeared on my console's screen. The image resolution was poor, but I managed to make out Shepard's features. So did Captain Shepard, judging by the sigh of relief she gave. I was more concerned with the fact that Anderson was nowhere to be seen. My heart sank as the worst-case scenario immediately came to mind. But I forced myself to put that aside.

"Shepard," I began. "We've sustained heavy losses. The Reaper force was overwhelming. There's no way we can defeat them conventionally."

"—know," Shepard replied. "Anderson... o-ordered me-me-me… Citadel, to talk to the Council."

Anderson ordered him to head to the Citadel without him? He wouldn't do that… unless he had been killed in action. Or maybe, just maybe, he chose to stay behind on Earth while Shepard and the Normandy escaped. I wanted to debrief Shepard right then and find out what happened to my friend.

But there was something else I needed him to do. Something more important. "First, I need you to head to the Alliance outpost on Mars, before we lose control of the system."

Shepard didn't hesitate. He didn't question my motivation or rationale. He simply snapped off a salute and said "Yes, sir."

Even after the hell he'd been through, he was willing to follow orders. The least I could do was give him some kind of explanation: "Our scientists have been researching the Prothean Archives with Dr. T'Soni. They may have found a way to stop the Reapers. Maybe the only way to stop them. I'll be in contact soon. Hackett out."

I replaced Shepard's face with the tactical display. More Alliance ships had been destroyed in the short time I had spent issuing orders. Most of the Third and Fifth Fleet were now en route to the mass relay. Unfortunately, I didn't see a single ship leaving Arcturus Station. In all likelihood, they were still in the process of evacuating. Trying to squeeze one last civilian onboard before departure. Which meant they were sitting ducks.

The Second Fleet—what was left of it—must have seen that. The outpouring of weapons fire seemed to increase, if that was even possible. A half dozen cruisers suddenly picked up speed and headed straight for the Reapers. Sensor readings indicated that they were powering up their FTL drives. A suicide run, I realized. They were going to sacrifice themselves to take out the Reapers.

But then the cruisers suddenly slowed down and veered off-course. I sagged in my chair as I realized what had happened: all ships based on mass effect technology were hardwired to prevent FTL collisions. If the FTL plotter of a ship's navigation system detected an object of significant mass in the path of a planned jump, the FTL drive would refuse to engage. This safety feature was so inherent to mass effect technology in general, and the FTL warm-up protocol in particular, that removing it was virtually impossible. At the time, we attributed this to the foresight of the Protheans, who we mistakenly believed had also built the mass relay network. Now, I wondered if this was a contingency put in place by the Reapers, to prevent anyone from trying this exact tactic.

All I know for sure was that the Second Fleet was systematically and totally obliterated. The last thing I saw, before my ship reached the mass relay, were the dozen Reapers moving through the wreckage of the Second Fleet like an inexorable force of nature. Closing in on Arcturus Station. And there was nothing we could do.

And then we jumped through the relay and I saw no more.

---

The Third and Fifth Fleets—what were left of them—rendezvoused in the Petra Nebula and began the grim task of gathering damage reports from the surviving ships and tallying our casualties. After a few hours, I contacted the SSV Logan and requested a private meeting with Singh.

I can't tell you how relieved I was when his image materialized on the holopad. "How does it look, Nilesh?"I asked when he responded.

His face looked haggard on the holopad. "We're in better shape than we were after the Battle of the Citadel, Stephen," he replied bleakly, "but not by much. Take a look for yourself."

He transmitted his initial casualty reports, while I did the same. As soon as I read the summary, I understood his dismay. Three years ago, the First, Third and Fifth Fleets had participated in the Battle of the Citadel, fighting Sovereign and its geth armada while simultaneously protecting the Council. Ultimately, we won—but at a terrible, terrible price. Each of the fleets had lost approximately a third of their ships. Despite our best efforts, we had been unable to rebuild them to their original strength before the Reapers invaded.

Now? The Third Fleet had been reduced to half of its original strength. The Fifth Fleet hadn't fared much better.

Singh shook his head. "Not the best way to start a war," he said. "Have we heard from the other fleets?"

I was just about to say no when Eisenberg contacted me. "Admiral Hackett? Sorry for the interruption, but we're receiving a transmission from the First Fleet. Admiral Lindholm is standing by."

"She made it out?" Singh whispered. "Thank the gods."

"Patch her through," I ordered.

"Ines," I greeted her when her holo-image appeared. "I'm relieved you made it out alive."

"Likewise."

"What's your status?"

Lindholm didn't mince words. "We'd lost half our ships by the time we got your order to retreat. I had to sacrifice a tenth of my remaining ships so the rest of the fleet could make it to the Charon Relay."

I quickly did the math. The First Fleet had been the largest in the Alliance Navy. Even after the Battle of the Citadel, it still had more ships than any Alliance fleet. But if Lindholm's assessment was accurate, the First Fleet had taken horrific casualties, enough to reduce their numbers to those of the Third and Fifth Fleets.

"And the Fourth Fleet?" I asked.

"Completely surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned. Their chances of disengaging from the fight and making it from Earth to the relay…"

She didn't have to finish that sentence. "I understand," I said.

"Steven…" Lindholm paused as if reluctant to ask, but ultimately plunged ahead. "I don't see Kastanie."

"I…" I closed my eyes in shame as the memories came back. "The Second Fleet had taken more casualties than the Third or Fifth. I… ordered Kastanie to cover our retreat."

"Oh… I see. Oh, Kas…"

We fell into a horrified silence as the gravity of the situation hit home. The Second and Fourth Fleets were lost. The First, Third and Fifth Fleets had each been cut in half. And there was no word as to the fate of the remaining Alliance fleets, but none of us imagined it could possibly be good. (4)

Neither Ines or Nilesh said it, but it was clear that the Reapers had defeated us handily. Despite all my experience and all my preparations, I had failed to defend Arcturus Station, the de-facto capital of the Alliance. I had failed to defend Earth, the homeworld of my people. I had presided over the most devastating defeat in the history of humanity. And I had no idea how I could turn things around.

"We never stood a chance," Singh said bitterly.

"The sword and shield of the Alliance," Lindholm chimed in. "The best humanity had to offer. And the Reapers beat us without even trying."

Their words finally snapped me out of my funk. I was their commanding officer. They looked to me for guidance, for leadership, and I had to provide it. Even when I was lost. Because if I didn't intervene, then their fear and despair would grow and spread like a voracious cancer, incapacitating crews and paralyzing soldiers, until the defeat and destruction that was feared came to pass. And then the Reapers' victory would be absolute. Right now, right then, the men and women under my command had to believe—without absolute certainty—that their leader knew what he was doing, even when every scrap of data proved otherwise. They had to know I had a plan. That certainty and belief was critical if they were to ignore their fears and focus on their duty. And today, right now, that started with the admirals who stood before me. (5)

"Belay that," I said sternly. "The Reapers drew first blood, and a lot of blood at that, but they haven't wiped out our fleets or our colonies. They may be formidable and unwholesomely powerful, but make no mistake: they are not invincible. We saw that at the Battle of the Citadel and we saw that today.

"This may be the greatest conflict humanity has ever seen, but it's only the beginning. We fought the Reapers at Arcturus and the Sol system. And we will continue to fight until we can't fight any more. For we are still the sword and shield of the Alliance—and we have a lot of work to do. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison.

"Good. Now I want casualty reports and damage assessments in two hours. You'll get your orders in three." It was a stalling tactic at best, and they knew it. But Ines and Nilesh needed something—anything—to do, and now they had it. So they deferred to my authority and ended the conversation.

I sat there, staring at a blank screen. Wondering what the hell I was going to do. Fighting this war as if it were any other conventional military conflict clearly wasn't an option. All that would do was delay our inevitable defeat and slaughter. Checking my chronometer, I decided to contact the Normandy—and hope to God that Shepard had found something.

It took a while for Eisenberg to make the connection. I wasn't sure if he succeeded: all I saw at first was a blurred, roughly man-shaped figure behind a rippling stream of static. "Shepard, are you reading me?" I tried. "Commander?"

The figure said something unintelligible. Someone else replied. Then the resolution cleared up.

It was Shepard. I sighed in relief. "Did you get to the Archives?"

"I was there," he confirmed. "So was the Illusive Man."

Of course he was. "I was worried Cerberus might try something," I said. "Did you get the data?"

"Most of it," he replied. "He downloaded some before I could stop him. EDI and Liara are analyzing what we recovered."

Dr. T'Soni came into view, as if she'd heard her name. "Doctor," I greeted her. "What have you learned? Was it worth the effort?" (6)

"Preliminary evidence suggests the data is a blueprint for a Prothean device," she nodded.

"Device?" I repeated.

T'Soni nodded and pulled up a holographic schematic of the device in question. Alien script—Prothean, presumably—ran along each side. "A weapon, massive in size and scope," she elaborated "that's capable of unquantifiable levels of destruction."

Could this be the answer to my prayers? To all our prayers? "Send me the data," I said. "We'll do our own analysis. If Liara's instincts are right, this might be the key to stopping the Reapers."

"I hope so." Shepard leaned against the railing, revealing the exhaustion that he had kept at bay… until now. A feeling I wholeheartedly shared.

"Sir, you should know that Major Alenko was critically injured. We're taking him to the Citadel."

Critically injured. But not dead. Which meant he could still contribute to the war effort. Perhaps that was a bit heartless but, after the slaughter I'd just presided over and the grimness of the situation, I could only muster so much sympathy.

"Sorry to hear that, Shepard. But we both know this is just the beginning." It then occurred to me that his choice of destination offered another possibility. "Talk to the Council," I added. "Show them what you've found. With luck, they'll give you all the support we need."

Shepard did his best to keep his skepticism from showing. At least, from showing too obviously. "Anderson said the same thing. I'll do my best, but... what if they aren't that accommodating?"

"Do whatever it takes to get them on board," I replied immediately.

His response was a simple, silent, textbook military salute. Clearly his experiences over the last few years hadn't diminished his respect for the Alliance, a testament to the man he was. The man we needed him to be. Because with him on our side, leading our efforts in the war… we might stand a chance of stopping the Reapers.

We might stand a chance of winning this war.

"I'll be in touch soon," I told him, returning his salute. Hackett out."

---

Looking back, I am struck by how hopeless the situation seemed. The Reapers had proved to be every bit the unstoppable adversary we had been warned about and then some. They conquered our homeworld without effort and crippled our fleets. They did the same to world after world, race after race, showing no compassion or mercy. Despite all my protestations to the contrary, it seemed at the time that our defeat—no, our extinction—was assured.

Which made Shepard's accomplishments all the more miraculous.

I knew he would be critical to any plans the Alliance made. It was why I chose him to be the 'tip of the spear,' as I told him in one of our many conversations. But to say he exceeded my expectations would be a colossal understatement.

He started off by seeking the support of the turians for our plans, which would be put forward at an intergalactic war summit. Sneaking through enemy lines, dealing with the news that their Primarch had been killed, fighting alongside the turian soldiers until what passed for their government determined the next ranking officer in their chain of command, and extracting that new Primarch from the battlefield. Convincing Victus to let men and women, most of whom he'd shed blood with, fight and die while he escaped may have been the toughest part of that mission, but Shepard pulled it off.

But that was just the beginning, as Victus wasn't willing to commit significant turian resources unless Shepard could convince the krogan to help. The krogan. There were still some lingering tensions between humans and turians from the First Contact War. Given that the turians were the ones that deployed the genophage against the krogan, it was safe to say that relations between them were far, far worse.

Many people would have given up at that point. Or conceded when the asari got wind of our plans and declined to attend the war summit. Or admitted defeat when the salarians made it clear that they were extremely upset with this plan and intended to raise all kinds of hell.

Not Shepard, though. He pushed ahead. He arranged for the war summit to be held on the Normandy, as an Alliance vessel would raise the least objections amongst the various species. He reached out to the krogan—a move made considerably easier by the fact that he had helped one of the most influential krogan, Urdnot Wrex, on more than one occasion. And when he learned that the krogan wanted a cure to the genophage in exchange for their aid, and that such a cure might actually be within reach, he fought tooth and nail to make that happen. He fought despite the objections of Dalatrass Linron and many other influential men and women. He fought for it because he genuinely felt the genophage was a punishment far out of proportion to the crimes committed by the krogan during the Rebellions, one that robbed them of any future as a species. He fought for the krogan because he believed that restoring hope for a brighter tomorrow was the right thing to do. Even in a time when ruthless pragmatism and cold military realities were more important than ever, Shepard still fought for the right thing to do. (7)

And he did it. Despite all the opposition raised by the salarians, the Reapers and Cerberus, Shepard did it. He went to Sur'Kesh and extracted a fertile krogan female who bore the key elements to a viable genophage cure. He went to Tuchanka and fought, overcoming numerous setbacks and obstacles to disseminate the cure. Through his hard work, blood, sweat and tears, he forged an alliance between the turians, the krogan and humanity.

But he was just getting started.

Shepard found the time to travel amongst the stars and gather all sorts of resources—soldiers, scientists, engineers, specialists, mineral caches, technology, equipment and ships—both for the front lines of the war and to build what would be known as the Crucible. Many of these discoveries were made on his own, but some were the result of missions that I had sent him on. I admit I was somewhat hesitant to pull him away from his standing orders, given the seriousness of the situation. (8) But there were few soldiers under my command with a service record and success rate as impressive as Shepard's, and the Normandy's stealth features gave his squad a greater chance of going in and out without being shot down. As a compromise, I only contacted him if I discovered the Normandy was already in the system in question, rather than pull him halfway across the galaxy to put out some random fire.

Though the one time he traversed the galaxy was arguably the most important: when Cerberus launched an all-out assault on the Citadel itself. What might have happened if Shepard had dismissed Councillor Valern's suspicions or delayed his return? What might have happened if Shepard was unable to help secure C-Sec headquarters so Commander Bailey and his officers could begin to organize a response? What might have happened if Shepard had failed to convince Councillors Tevos and Sparatus that Udina was collaborating with Cerberus? I don't know for sure. I am confident that if Shepard had not intervened when he did, Cerberus would have pulled off a successful coup against the Citadel Council, which would have been disastrous for our efforts to coordinate a galactic response—both against the Reapers and Cerberus. It was no coincidence that asari and salarian assets were reassigned to the allied war effort following the coup attempt, when neither species had provided much in the way of official commitment or support.

Shortly after that incident, Shepard got involved in a war between the quarians and the geth. One that the former started despite his requests to the contrary. Despite his displeasure, which he made abundantly clear, Shepard did not hesitate to help both the quarians and the geth. He planned and led the mission that drove the Reapers off Rannoch. It was his heartfelt pleas that finally ended the conflict between the quarians and the geth, and allowed the quarians to return home after almost three hundred years. Thanks to Shepard, both the quarians and the geth were ready to commit their technological, naval and military resources to the allied war effort.

He continued to seek help and information, a quest that uncovered a mysterious race known as the Leviathans and their secret association with the Reapers. (9) Following that mission, he embarked on an even more dangerous one to Thessia, prompted by the asari government upon the Reaper invasion of their homeworld. He sought a piece of technology that could lead to a key piece of the Crucible—which proved to be a Prothean beacon that the asari had secretly been using to gain technological advantages and galactic influence for centuries. By his account, Shepard almost succeeded in acquiring the beacon... before Cerberus intervened, taking the beacon away at the last minute.

Up until that point, Cerberus had been a frustrating adversary, one whose unexpectedly military aggression had split our focus and cost countless lives. But that audacious act, on that day, was the last straw. Despite the devastating setback and his personal reservations, Shepard redoubled his efforts. He pursued the Illusive Man's operatives to Horizon and uncovered the brutal experiments, rampant brainwashing and horrifying slaughter being done at Sanctuary, a compound that had been advertised as a sanctuary for the millions of refugees fleeing the Reapers. He planned a series of attacks designed to draw out and isolate Cerberus elements, allowing us to take them apart. He paved the way for a successful attack on Omega, which Cerberus had taken over and turned into a staging ground for their operations.

And he was instrumental in leading an all-out assault on Cerberus headquarters, where he discovered that the final piece needed to complete the Crucible—the Catalyst—was actually the Citadel itself. Unfortunately, he also found out that the Illusive Man had succumbed to Reaper control and informed his new masters of this discovery, upon which they seized the Citadel and relocated it to Earth itself.

Which led us to today.

---

I had transferred my flag back to the Orizaba, where I would command the fleets during Operation Return. The word had been sent out for every available ship to rendezvous in this system. Many were damaged in some way or other. Only some of them were fully combat-ready. To be perfectly frank, we needed more ships.

There was one asset that Shepard hadn't been able to acquire: the salarian First Fleet. It was renowned for having the most advanced, bleeding-edge technology out of any fleet in the galaxy, a reputation it had held until the Reaper invasion. Alliance Intelligence had confirmed that, admitting that STG agents had obtained schematics of the SSV Normandy's stealth systems and the Normandy SR-2's Reaper IFF algorithms—which they used to build dreadnoughts with stealth capabilities. Such a thing had been considered impossible, but the salarians had apparently pulled it off. If we had the First Fleet, it could make a real difference.

Unfortunately, the salarians had not seen fit to grant us authority over the First Fleet. Officially, they claimed they needed it to protect their homeworld of Sur'Kesh. Unofficially, rumour had it that Dalatrass Linron was still seething from Shepard's repeated defiance and his decision to cure the genophage, and had withheld the First Fleet out of spite. Despite all our outreach efforts, the salarians—or Linron—had refused to change their mind.

It was the interim director of Alliance Intelligence, Eli David, who offered to make one last attempt. He claimed he could find common ground with the Dalatrass with their mutual connections to intelligence gathering and covert operations. He believed he could make her see that allowing emotion—in this case pride—to override intergalactic relations or basic survival was unprofessional and a poor long-term strategy. It was worth a try, he said. What did we have to lose?

That was two weeks ago, and we hadn't heard from him. Maybe he had succeeded. Maybe we had not.

But we couldn't wait any longer. The time had come. The Reapers had forced our hand.

Thankfully, we wouldn't be going in blind or without a plan. Throughout the war, Shepard's associate, Miranda Lawson had been organizing the wide and disparate assets, determining how they could best strike at the Reapers, and formulating a plan of attack. At the time, I had attributed this to her superb strategic acumen—something that continually reminded me how much she had contributed to the war effort. It was only now, in the last few days, that she had revealed the truth. Over encrypted tight-beam communication, Lawson had told me that her plans had been based on an intelligence asset, one that Shepard had created and activated in the first, desperate hours of the war.

While he was extracting Dr. T'Soni and the Crucible schematics from Mars, he had ordered the Normandy's crew to modify their complement of probes. Originally, they were designed to collect mineral resources or scan planetary sensor anomalies. While Shepard had used them for that purpose when he was preparing to assault the Collector base, he had something else in mind this time. The upgraded probes, which he deployed before leaving, formed a sensor grid that could collect data on the strength, effective range, fleet composition and exact location of all Reaper forces in the Sol system. It was this asset, which he called 'Delta Source' which provided the intelligence Lawson had used to formulate her attack strategy.

As invaluable as Shepard's and Lawson's Delta Source was to the evolution of Operation Return, there was one more source at our disposal. A human intelligence asset that could provide firsthand reports and confirmation of developing events. A close friend who I hadn't seen in for too long.

So it was something of a relief when Eisenberg informed me he was trying to contact me. "Patch him through," I told him.

Anderson appeared before me. "David," I greeted him. "How are you holding up?"

"We're ready to end this," he replied. "But… there's been a development."

"Only one?"

"It's a big one. And you're not going to like it."

---

After hearing what Anderson had to say, I contacted the Normandy and requested permission to come aboard. (10) As soon as it was granted, I entered the airlock with a small entourage—officially tasked with transporting some cargo, though they also doubled as a guard detail. Once the decontamination cycle was complete, we came aboard. I walked through the CIC, receiving and returning salutes from the Normandy's crew, until I found the man I had come to see. "Commander," I said.

"Admiral." Shepard stood to attention and saluted me.

I returned the salute. "Are you ready to bring the might of the galaxy to bear on the Reapers?"

A small grin appeared on his face. "Yes, sir," he said with relish.

"Good. While I brief you on Operation Return, I need you to get Admiral Anderson on vid-comm."

Shepard motioned a nearby crew member—a specialist, judging by her insignia—to establish communications before leading me to the War Room, where Lawson happened to be working. "Admiral Hackett," she nodded.

"Ms. Lawson," I returned. I hesitated, wondering if I should ask her to leave. I quickly decided she should stay: she had been instrumental in devising our plan of attack, after all, and knew most of what I was about to say. Besides, she would likely be accompanying Shepard in the many battles to come. "How much have you told Commander Shepard about Operation Return?" I asked her.

"Very little. I've kept him updated on the troops, ships and resources we obtained for the Crucible project and the overall war effort, but nothing about the plan to retake Earth."

My estimation of her rose another notch. It was rare to find a civilian who understood the concept of operational security. "Then it seems you need to be brought up to speed, Commander."

"Yes, sir."

"Our forces have been divided into four groups," I began. As I spoke, Miranda accessed the holographic display, which she updated to illustrate the basic plan of attack. "Originally, we had only three, but Ms. Lawson persuaded us to add a fourth group, code-named 'Spearhead'."

"I was inspired by Fleet Admiral Coronati and a tactic he employed at the Battle of Palaven," Lawson said. "He used unmanned freighters and spy drones to gather intel on the inbound Reapers before ordering his dreadnoughts to make a similar FTL jump. This negated the longer effective range of the Reapers' weapons, and the tactical advantage that provided. Once in position, the dreadnoughts were able to turn, lock on targets and fire first."

"Turning the Reapers' size against them," Shepard nodded. "They were slow and cumbersome compared to the turian ships."

"Precisely. While the Reapers ultimately succeeded in entering Palaven's orbit and continuing their assault, Coronati's strategy allowed the turians to destroy several Reaper capital ships."

"You've got something similar in mind for Spearhead," Shepard said.

"Spearhead consists of a small group of orbital platforms," I explained, "which we retrofitted with FTL drives and a plethora of weapon systems. I'll deploy them to cause maximum damage and confusion. Most of the firepower will be consolidated into 'Sword.' Comprised of the majority of our allied fleets and starships, Sword will try to destroy as many Reapers as possible. Their primary purpose, however, is to draw the Reapers away from Earth and the Citadel and provide enough of a distraction for our infantry force—code-named 'Hammer'—to land on Earth, engage the Reaper troops on the ground and aid Admiral Anderson's resistance forces.

"That leaves 'Shield'—a small task force consisting of the turian Seventh Fleet, the remnants of the Alliance Eighth Fleet and various other ships. Shield Fleet will escort the Crucible on a more circuitous route to Earth, using the other planets as cover. When the time is right, they will make sure the Crucible can dock with the Citadel."

"Sounds straightforward enough," Shepard said with a frown. "Why do I think there's a catch?"

"Because there is," I sighed. "I want you and your squad to join Hammer. Your objective is to take London."

"London?" Shepard repeated, clearly mystified. "Why aren't we hitting the Citadel directly?"

"Admiral Hackett?" a female voice came over the comm. "Commander Shepard? I have an incoming transmission from Admiral Anderson. Transferring his signal to the Comm Room."

"Perfect timing," I approved. "As for your question, Shepard, Anderson can brief you on that."

As promised, Anderson was waiting for us when we entered the Comm Room. After exchanging greetings, he got down to business. "I understand the Crucible needs the Citadel itself in order to function. Unfortunately, the Citadel was moved to Earth orbit a few days ago."

"Thankfully, most of the inhabitants managed to evacuate before the Reapers seized it," I added. "That includes the Citadel Council."

We all breathed a sigh of relief at that news. Things were grim enough as it was. Hearing the galactic governing body had survived could possibly be the sole piece of good news we'd receive today.

"That's probably for the best," Anderson said. Reaching to the side, he activated a portable holo-projector. An image of the station materialized beside him, but not in its usual open configuration. "As you can see, the station's closed itself since it appeared over London."

"Damn it," Shepard cursed. "We have to get the arms open if we want to dock the Crucible."

"Exactly," I nodded. "But there's more."

"London is surrounded by anti-air artillery—Hades cannons, we call them. Hammer transports can't land while they're active. Shepard, I need you to lead a squadron of smaller shuttles. Infiltrate with a ground team to take out the cannons using heavy weapons."

"The men who accompanied me are delivering an M-920 to your armoury as we speak," I explained. "They'll be giving one to each of the shuttles accompanying you on your initial assault."

"That should be adequate for the task at hand," Miranda said in a calm, understated voice.

Given the more popular name given to it by the troops—the Nuke Gun—I would hope so.

"Once the cannons are destroyed, Hammer can land and we'll set up a Forward Operations Base."

"I still don't see how we're getting to the Citadel from London," Shepard confessed.

Anderson switched the holographic display to a series of towers. "The Reapers use this beam to transport humans, alive and dead, to the Citadel. From the FOB, Hammer will launch an all-out assault on the Citadel beam. Everyone who makes it that far will take the beam to the Citadel, then locate and activate the Citadel arm controls."

"Once we see those arms, Shield Fleet will escort the Crucible the rest of the way to the Citadel," I said. "But timing will be critical. We don't have enough firepower to keep the Crucible safe for long."

Shepard shook his head ruefully. "Nothing's ever easy. No reason it should start now."

"It's desperate," Anderson admitted. "I don't even want to guess at our odds. But…"

"There's an old saying," I said. "Fortune favours the bold. Well, today's the day we find out. If we wait, the Reapers can pick us apart one by one and slowly bleed us to death. Conventionally, we can't defeat the Reapers without the Crucible.

"Get the Citadel arms open, Commander," I said firmly, "whatever the cost. We'll do the rest."

"Yes, sir."

I looked at Shepard, Lawson and Anderson. "Good luck… to all of us."

Anderson shut down his comm and the three of us left the War Room. When we returned to the bridge, there were a few additional faces. "Admiral Shepard," I acknowledged. (11)

"Admiral."

"Dr. Shepard."

"Hi there. Uh, sir."

When I last saw them, Admiral Shepard was organizing the various fleets assembling in the system. Dr. Shepard had finished his work on the Crucible, where he'd apparently made a tremendous contribution and more than one breakthrough, and had transferred to the Orizaba's engineering department. There was only one reason I could think of to explain why they had left their posts.

"We had hoped to exchange a few words with the commander before Operation Return commenced," Admiral Shepard explained, confirming my suspicions.

"Of course," I nodded. After everything they had been through, I could hardly begrudge a mother and father from speaking to their only son. Especially since they had only been recently reunited. "Carry on."

While the Shepards got together, I turned to the specialist. "Admiral Shepard brought word from the Orizaba, sir," she told me. "All fleets have reported in."

"Thank you, Specialist…"

"Traynor, sir."

"Traynor," I nodded. "Open a channel to the fleets." There was something I had to say before we set out.

"Channel open."

I stepped up to the galaxy map and took a deep breath.

"Never before have so many come together, from all quarters of the galaxy," I began. "But never before have we faced an enemy such as this.

"The Reapers have shown us no mercy. They have ravaged our worlds. They have terrorized our people and slaughtered our loved ones. There is no negotiation, no reasoning with this adversary. They only understand decimation and destruction. They have advanced throughout the galaxy, bringing ruin and terror in their wake… and yet their campaign did not go unchallenged.

"When our colonies were attacked, we rallied our forces and fought back. When our homes were invaded, we stood our ground and fought back. When our people needed help, we came together and fought back. Weapons, ammunition, ships—they are all crucial tools, but they are only part of what makes us who we are.

"It was our will and determination that saw us stand fast and resist. Our discovery that we have more in common than we realized that brought us together in this darkest time. Our resolve to honour the fallen and fight for the living that kept us going, no matter the odds. No matter how bleak our future seemed. Because we knew we were not alone.

"Today, we will give the Reapers no quarter. We will fight them amongst the stars. We will fight them on the ground. We will fight, and we will keep on fighting, until we ultimately prevail.

"Each of us will be defined by our actions in the coming battle. Stand fast. Stand strong. Stand together. For this is our finest hour.

"Hackett out."

---

As soon as we returned to the Orizaba, Dr. Shepard returned to Engineering and my guard detail resumed their usual security duties. Admiral Shepard and I returned to the bridge, where I gave the order to move out. The fleets began travelling to the Pax system, where we would take the mass relay to the Sol system and begin our assault.

Unfortunately, things did not go as planned.

"Sir: we're getting an incoming message from the Seville," Chief Meaney said. "They're still having trouble with their antiproton injection systems."

That was a problem: military vessels injected antiprotons into a reaction chamber of hydrogen to generate the necessary power for thrust. If the Seville couldn't fix that problem, their mobility would be crippled. "Tell them to fall back and make repairs," I ordered. "Bring up the Shenyang to take her place."

"Yes, sir."

"That's the thirteenth ship to drop out of formation," Lt. Siddig frowned.

"They just need a little more time to make repairs," Meaney said, trying to make the best of it. "Once they're done, they'll catch up."

"Until then, that just means more targets for the rest of us," Eisenberg said with relish.

Siddig wasn't the only one who had kept track. I was disappointed by the number of ships that had to fall back, but I couldn't say I was surprised. Many of the ships assembled in this system had taken far more damage than I had hoped, enough to impair their operational effectiveness to dangerous, if not lethal, degree. The engineering teams had been working round the clock, but they needed time to make all the necessary repairs, time we simply didn't have. It was inevitable that some ships would require more time than I was willing to give. To be honest, I was surprised we hadn't lost more ships.

Thankfully, that was the last ship to report any problems and we were free to access the mass relay and begin our final journey. The mass relay transit itself was similarly uneventful.

"Approaching Sol relay, Admiral," Eisenberg announced. "We're through the relay in thirty seconds."

As soon as we emerged, I caught Dorn's eye. "I want status reports on all fleets as soon as they enter the system."

"Yes, sir," he nodded. A minute passed as the query was disseminated throughout the fleets. Then the replies began coming in.

"Alliance fleets reporting," Admiral Shepard announced. "Turian fleets reporting. Asari fleets reporting. Quarian fleets reporting. Geth fleet reporting."

As the fleet status reports came in, I felt a sense of awe. All these ships from all these species. The largest and most diverse armada in our history. All brought together in a common cause. I felt humbled to witness this historic moment.

"Admiral Hackett: all fleets reporting in," Admiral Shepard concluded. "Ready to engage on your command."

"Hackett to Sword fleets," I said over the comm, "set course on bearing three-one-zero by zero-four-five. Assume attack formation delta."

The ships began moving into position, with our dreadnoughts and carriers forming small groups near the centre—each with a cruiser escort. Our frigates moved out to cover our flanks, along with the rest of the cruisers. Once there was enough clearance, the carriers began deploying their fighters.

It took several minutes for the fleets to assemble in the desired formation. I waited a few minutes more to be sure before ordering a course correction. "Sword fleets: come about to bearing zero-two-zero, mark three-three-zero. Destination Earth. Hackett out."

There was just one more thing to do. I leaned over and got Eisenberg's attention. "Get me the Hyperion."

"Aye, sir."

The turian commander of Shield Fleet came on the comm. "Admiral Hackett."

"Admiral Antillus. You have your orders."

"We'll get the Crucible to the Citadel, Admiral."

"I know you will."

"Good hunting. Antillus out."

Once the fleets were ready, we proceeded towards Earth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eisenberg lean towards Meaney. "Chief," he whispered, "why are we heading straight for the Reapers? They'll see us coming a mile away." (12)

"The Reapers already know we're coming," Meaney shrugged. "They'd have to be blind to miss all the mass relay discharges as our ships entered the system. Remember: we're trying to get their attention. By heading in a direct path, we'll confirm our presence and destination. Hopefully, they'll reposition their forces to engage us, which will draw them away from Earth—"

"—thus clearing a way for Hammer to break through," Eisenberg realized.

"—and the Citadel."

"Which opens a path for Shield and the Crucible to dock."

"Exactly," Meaney nodded.

"I couldn't have put it better myself," Admiral Shepard spoke up, complimenting Meaney's deductions on my behalf.

By this point, we were halfway to Neptune. Idle chatter amongst the crew died down as the bridge crew concentrated on their work.

"Pulse manifolds purged and locked down," Eisenberg reported.

"Injection port alignment complete," Meaney added, possibly recalling the trouble with the Relentless. "Power core calibrated."

We approached Uranus and passed it by.

"Field stabilizers online," Siddig said. "Emergency generators on standby."

The marvelous rings of Saturn greeted us, its beauty offering one more reminder of what we were fighting for.

"GARDIAN grids online and powered up," Dorn announced. "Mass accelerator cannon fully charged. All missiles armed and standing by."

We had just passed Jupiter when Meaney spoke again. I don't think he meant for anyone else to hear him, but the acoustics on the bridge were remarkably good. "Cannon to the right of them. Cannon to the left of them. Cannon in front of them volley'd and thunder'd."

"Storm'd at with shot and shell," Siddig continued solemnly. "Boldly they rode and well, into the jaws of Death. Into the mouth of Hell, rode the six hundred."

"What in God's name are the two of you reciting?" Eisenberg burst out. (13) "Sir," he belatedly added for Siddig's sake.

"Steady there," Meaney said soothingly. "It's just a poem."

"I know that! But…"

The chief gave the serviceman an appraising look. "Don't worry about the Reapers. We'll deal with them soon enough. For now: just focus on your work. Follow your orders."

"You should listen to him," Siddig nodded. "He's a professional."

"That's what you said at our last poker game," Eisenberg replied.

"That I did," Siddig acknowledged. "As I recall, he won quite handily."

"Cleaned me out," Eisenberg chuckled ruefully.

The conversation seemed to settle Eisenberg's nerves. Just in time, too: Admiral Shepard had been monitoring the tactical display since we'd entered the Sol system. She turned to face me. "Admiral Hackett, twelve Reapers have left Earth orbit and are inbound on an intercept course."

I looked at the display. She was right: one capital ship and eleven destroyers were heading our way. The symmetry between this opening move and the Battle of Arcturus were striking. Back then, a task force consisting of the same number of ships handily dispatched three whole fleets without suffering a single casualty. The Reapers probably wanted to test this significantly larger armada, to see what we could do.

Well, they were about to find out. Accessing my console, I had the VI assign firing solutions for each Reaper and transmitted the data to the Sword fleets. "Hackett to all ships," I said over the comm. "This is it. Sword fleets, lock on your assigned targets, charge mass accelerator and Thanix cannons, and be ready on my signal! Spearhead, Hammer: standby."

The Reapers closed with incredible speed. Warning alarms began to blare throughout the bridge. Meaney was quick with an explanation: "Sir, they're locking weapons on us."

"All auxiliary power to forward shields," Admiral Shepard ordered.

"Commander Dorn?" I prompted.

"Dreadnoughts are entering weapons range," Dorn called out.

"Alliance dreadnoughts," I called out immediately, "fire!"

A barrage of shots lit up as the Alliance ships displayed their defiance in the face of their adversary.

"Turian dreadnoughts: fire!"

The turians added their firepower to the growing storm.

"Asari dreadnoughts: fire!"

"Salarian dreadnoughts: fire!"

"All remaining dreadnoughts: fire!"

By this point, there was so much fire burning through the void, it looked like a solar flare. But we were just getting started.

"Cruisers and frigates: fire!"

Leaning back in my seat, I watched the tactical display. I had deliberately set the firing times of the fleets so the shots would be staggered in a series of salvos. That kind of 'ripple fire' was the best way to deal with the Reapers' shields. With any luck, the first couple salvos would knock out their shields, leaving the remaining shots to hit the Reapers directly. If not, the dreadnoughts would be ready to fire again. And if we needed the extra firepower: "All dreadnoughts, arm Javelin missiles and prepare to fire."

As the dreadnoughts acknowledged my orders, the fleets' barrage was hammering into the Reapers. Their shields flickered in an angry burst of silver-blue as they were inundated with wave after wave of rounds. Several destroyers lost their shields entirely.

That left the salvos from the cruisers and frigates. I suspected that wouldn't be enough, though. "All dreadnoughts: fire missiles!" I barked.

Some of the shots were clean misses. I prayed that they would find new targets amongst the remaining Reapers, and not blow a crater into Earth's surface. The vast majority, however, hit the first wave of Reapers. Flares of light pierced the darkness as the last of their shields collapsed. Explosions burst out along their hulls as the remaining rounds slammed home. Half of the destroyers were knocked out of position by the impact.

Then the Javelins closed the gap and exploded. The first two Reaper destroyers crumpled under the onslaught, slowed down as if trying to contain the damage, then finally disintegrated. Several more spun around from the impacts before going up in flames. One destroyer spun around wildly and collided into another, then another. The three of them, caught in an embrace of twisted metal, burning gases were driven by the remaining Javelins into the unshielded Reaper capital ship. A moment later, they all exploded, and a new sun was borne, however briefly, before winking out.

Every man and woman on the bridge burst into cheers. I imagine a similar reaction was underway on every ship in the combined fleets. I couldn't blame them. After years of relentless slaughter and senseless massacre, where our ships had attacked and retreated without ever gaining any ground, we had finally struck back. In one decisive blow, we had just taken out twelve Reapers—at once. They were no longer invincible demi-gods of death and destruction. We had just seen that the Reapers could be beaten. They could be killed. Finally, we had hope again.

And that may have been the greatest victory of all.

The Reapers didn't wait long before responding. "Sir," Meaney said, "the Reapers are moving out."

On the tactical display, I watched as virtually every Reaper broke orbit and began heading towards us. I wasn't surprised: if I was in their position, I wouldn't want to stay locked in Earth's gravity. Nor would I want to have the planet aft of my position, thereby cutting off a key avenue of retreat. The Reapers might be many things, but they weren't stupid.

I watched as a seemingly endless wave of Reapers passed Luna. "Hackett to all ships," I said. "Lock targets and prepare to fire. Thanix cannons and mass accelerator rounds only." No sense on wasting our Javelin missiles at this distance, when there were so many asteroids in the way. They would likely soak up several of our shots as it was.

They passed Mars.

"Sir, receiving an incoming transmission from the Normandy," Eisenberg reported.

"Patch it through," I said.

Shepard's face appeared on the main viewscreen. "Sir, I'm sending you updated firing solutions."

"From where?" I demanded.

He didn't even hesitate before giving his reply: "From the geth. EDI confirms the telemetry."

Farrell spun towards me. "Sir, they're firing solutions for the Reapers all right—but they're going right through the asteroid field."

"What the hell?" Meaney blurted out, forgetting normal decorum and protocol. "How is that even possible?"

Shepard shrugged. "Apparently they used the sensor feeds from each geth ship to triangulate and extrapolate the Reapers' positions while factoring in the movements of the asteroids. All the asteroids."

This was… surprising. None of our VIs were capable of such a feat. But from Shepard had told me, the processing power of the geth increased exponentially as their numbers increased. Maybe they were able to calculate the firing solutions with a greater chance of accuracy. It could hardly get any worse. More importantly, I had placed a lot of faith in Shepard's judgement over the years, and he hadn't let me down yet.

"Transmit the data to the other ships," I decided. "Tell them they are to use them until ordered otherwise."

"Yes, sir."

Once more, we opened fire in a series of staggered salvoes. The rounds flew through the asteroid belt like a storm of fiery light. As expected, some of those rounds detonated against various asteroids, pulverizing them into dust. The rest…

"Eight Reapers destroyed," Dorn said with satisfaction. "Twenty more seriously damaged."

Chalk another one up for Shepard.

"Admiral!" Eisenberg shouted in excitement. "The Reapers are splitting up."

They were doing more than that. Roughly half the Reapers were heading up and over the asteroid belt, while the rest went beneath.

"Why would they do that?" Meaney asked skeptically.

He was right to be so doubtful. There was no reason why the Reapers would intentionally create a weak point in their defences. The way I saw it, they were deliberately forcing us into a series of poor choices. We could stay put and let them hit us from two sides in a pincer maneuver. We could head over the asteroid belt and engage the 'top' wave of Reapers, while running the risk of the 'bottom' wave sweeping around and outflanking us. We could attack the bottom wave and be outflanked in turn by the top.

Or we could try running the gauntlet by flying straight through the asteroid belt, enduring attacks from above and below. And within—I had a feeling the Reapers had something waiting for us inside the asteroid belt. Something fast, small and deadly.

None of them were appealing options, if I were honest with myself.

Admiral Shepard frowned. "Sir, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I am."

"It's a trap," she declared.

"Agreed," I sighed. "It's also an opportunity, one we can't afford to pass up. We just won't follow their playbook to the letter."

I opened a channel to the fleets. "Spearhead, on my mark, deploy on bearing zero-one-seven by three-two-zero. Alliance Sixth Fleet, Alliance Seventh Fleet, Salarian Third Fleet and Turian Sixth Fleet will engage those Reapers once they're sufficiently occupied by Spearhead. All other Sword fleets, adjust heading to zero-zero-four by zero-two-five and increase to attack speed. Anyone from Hammer who gets through doesn't stop until they reach Earth."

I sat back and waited for a second. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds.

"Spearhead, engage!"

There was a brief blip of energy on the tactical display as the Spearhead weapon platforms jumped to FTL, and another as they emerged in the midst of the Reapers traveling under the asteroid belt. I saw some of them try to slow down and turn, but their size and momentum worked against them, just as it had during the Battle of Palaven. The weapon platforms had plenty of time to acquire their targets and lock on.

Then they got to work.

Each platform was equipped with a set of Thanix cannons, but their main firepower came from their complement of Javelin missiles. It was no exaggeration to say they were bristling with the weapons. Within seconds of returning to realspace, they were firing a steady stream of Javelins into the Reapers. At least four of them were destroyed before the Alliance, salarian and turian ships entered weapons range and joined the fight.

Satisfied that they would keep that half of the Reaper armada from coming around and hitting us from behind, I focused my attention on the rest of the fleets. "Transmitting new targets and firing sequences," I announced. "Do not deviate from your designated countdown. Asari Second Fleet and Turian 79th Flotilla: charge weapons but hold your fire. Maintain active scans on the asteroid belt."

As we approached the Reapers, our ships began to fire in sequence, sending salvo after timed salvo into the Reapers in an effort to replicate the success of our initial attack. Once again, the Reapers struggled to maintain their shields, but ultimately allowed some shots to slip through. "Hackett to all ships: prepare to engage the enemy. Concentrate fire on your assigned sector."

"Admiral," Dorn suddenly said, "detecting multiple contacts within the asteroid field accelerating on an intercept course for our position." He paused to assess the sensor readings. "Sir, they are extremely small and highly manoeuvrable."

Oculus drones, if I had to guess. Shepard's account of his assault on the Collector base had mentioned these constructs. Fast and heavily armed, they had been left dormant in the local debris field, activating upon the Normandy's approach to defend the Collectors. I had a feeling that the Reapers would pull a similar trick with the Sol system's asteroid belt, which was really the main reason why I hadn't chosen to send the ships through the asteroids. It was also why I had chosen to concentrate most of the Sword fleets in one group rather than splitting our forces evenly: to entice the Oculi into attacking a larger and more attractive target.

And they had taken the bait. "Hackett to Asari Second Fleet and Turian 79th Flotilla: hostile drone swarms are inbound on our position. Begin bombardment. Fighter wings one through twenty: engage at your discretion."

"Acknowledged."

"Roger that! All fighters on me!"

The asari and turian ships opened up—but not at the Oculi. Their weapons weren't accurate enough to deal with something that fast and agile. Instead, they followed their prearranged orders and began shooting the asteroids closest to the Oculi. The rocks superheated under the assault before exploding like bombs, taking out scores of the enemy at a time. All of a sudden, the asteroids that provided a perfect field to ambush our ships had turned into a lethal minefield—one that our ships were using to murderous effect. The few Oculi managed to slip through were quickly intercepted by our fighters, who were eager to dive into a frantic dogfight.

I spared a moment to see how Spearhead and its Sword escort were doing. They seemed to have the Reapers contained as well. So I returned my attention to the Sword fleets directly under my command. They had managed to take out eight more Reapers—five destroyers, three capital ships. I glanced at the rapidly closing distance between our forces and factored in our present attack vectors. There was no more time for any prearranged attacks. "All ships: break and attack! Pick your targets and fire at will. Destroy or cripple as many Reapers as you can! Hackett out!"

Within seconds, the fleets were engaged in furious battle. Explosive rounds were traded with energy beams. Missiles flew through the void. Dreadnoughts and cruisers fired broadsides while the nimbler frigates and fighters flew in a deadly dance of steel and fire. Several shots impacted against the Reapers' shields or hulls. Three more went down in flames.

But we had started to take casualties of our own. Before my eyes, an asari frigate exploded, the debris taking out a nearby frigate. A batarian cruiser took hit after hit, pinpoints of red and orange spread over its hull like a conflagration before the entire ship disintegrated. There was the quarian frigate that drifted helplessly through space, gases pouring from a gash in its hull like a gaping wound. The vicious firefight that had broken out was taking a murderous toll on our forces. True, the Reapers were still losing ships, but they were effectively taking out ten of our vessels for every one of their own.

"Sir," Admiral Shepard said tightly, "I think we've got their attention."

On the viewscreen, an explosion almost blinded us as the Reapers destroyed three of our frigates. Frigates that had moved out of their assigned sector.

"But we're losing our momentum," I replied. "We're getting bogged down. Where's the—damn it! The Emden and the Jakarta are supposed to be protecting our starboard flank, but they're in too tight. And the Kwunu's out of position. Contact the Void Devils. Tell them to—"

"Sir," Eisenberg interrupted. "I can't get through to anyone! Communications are down!"

"The Reapers are jamming our transmissions," Meaney called out.

"Can you clear it?" Admiral Shepard requested.

"Working on it."

It was becoming clear that our advance had been blunted. Despite our earlier success, the Reapers were now retaliating in earnest. Worse, the battle was descending from a carefully orchestrated, well-managed fight into a frantic melee rife with utter chaos and confusion. Without the ability to communicate with each other, each ship was effectively left isolated on its own. Frigates were frantically evading the Reapers' fire without the chance to line up any sort of attack. Dreadnoughts were forced to engage with their point defence systems because they didn't have the time to charge and fire their main guns.

"We've lost the Nekyia," Farrell shouted. "And there's a Reaper bearing down on us."

"Attack pattern omega," Admiral Shepard ordered.

The Orizaba fired its main gun, followed by a volley of Javelins, before turning hard to starboard. Our weapons flew straight and true, managing to pierce the Reaper's shields and punch a hole in its hull plating. Unfortunately, it was still fully functional—a state shared by most of the other Reapers.

And things were getting worse: Oculus drones had broken through the fighter screen and the asari and turian ships blockading the asteroid belt. Some of our fighters were trying to engage, but without the ability to coordinate their assault, each squadron was essentially operating on its own. Worse, they were suffering friendly fire as they flew into our ships' line of fire. The Oculi, on the other hand, were able to start attack runs with impunity, their energy beams carving through our vessels. In fact, six of the Oculi were flying straight towards us. Our GARDIAN grid went to work, destroying one, two, three of the drones. Two more were taken out by a nearby squadron of fighters.

The sixth, however, flew straight into our shields and exploded.

"Shields at ninety-five percent," Dorn said over the din.

"The Logan's drifting!" Eisenberg shouted. "Her port engine's gone offline!"

That was Nilesh's ship. If it was destroyed, the flagship of the Third Fleet would be lost—along with their commander. We needed to muster some support. "Chief?"

"I need more time, Admiral."

The ship rocked as an errant Reaper beam grazed us. "Shields at 86 percent," Dorn reported. "Returning fire."

"Evasive manoeuvres," Admiral Shepard ordered. "Pattern theta."

"Make it quick, Chief," I urged.

The ship shook again. "Shields now at sixty-two percent," Dorn said.

"Sir," Admiral Shepard said. "I've been monitoring the other task force."

"Shield Fleet?"

"No."

Then she meant the fleets I had sent with Spearhead. "Go on."

"Sixteen Reapers were destroyed and over fifty more were damaged. However, the Spearhead assets have all been destroyed, along with the Sixth Fleet. Twenty more ships from the remaining fleets were also lost with all hands."

Damn.

"The surviving ships from the Alliance Seventh Fleet, Salarian Third Fleet and Turian Sixth Fleets seem to be retreating."

"They're trying to leave the system?" I asked sharply.

"No, sir. Their vector is taking them towards Europa, not the mass relay. And they're continuing to fire upon the Reapers as they retreat. Sir, I think they're trying to draw the Reapers to Europa, where they'll either regroup for a counterattack… or make a last stand. Anything to keep the Reapers occupied."

At least they weren't fleeing entirely. And their efforts might very well keep the Reaper armada from reuniting as one and bringing their full might to bear. But all of that would be for naught if I couldn't figure out a way to beat this bloody stalemate from turning into another massacre. I desperately racked my brain, trying to think of a new plan. A new strategy. But all I could think of was the poem Meaney and Siddig had recited from. Right there, right then, another line came to mind: 'Someone had blundered.'

I looked at the battle, wondering if I had blundered. Wondering how I could turn this battle around before it was too late.

Wondering if we had a chance to live another day.

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Author's Note: Apologies for being so tardy in posting this chapter. Unfortunately, this chapter took so long to write, I only finished the rough draft over the weekend. While I could have just posted it immediately, I wanted my beta reader to look it over—a good thing as it turned out!

Additional edits have been made as of May 12 to account for information in the Mass Effect codex. My thanks to 'evan11795' for catching that.

Inspiration was drawn from the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode Sacrifice of Angels—as some readers may have gathered from the chapter title, the names of various characters and certain pieces of dialogue. I claim no rights or ownership to the aforementioned material.

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(1): Despite their differences in rank, Rear Admiral Anderson and Fleet Admiral Hackett had developed a close personal friendship as well as a strong professional relationship, enough to refer to each other by their individual names in private.

(2): Hackett was the commanding officer of the Fifth Fleet before leading a task force to save the Council in the Battle of the Citadel. Afterwards, he was promoted to Fleet Admiral, a position that granted him overall command of the Alliance military.

(3): A human military term referring to the transfer of command of a military formation. While there can be some symbolism involved—up to and including the transfer of a physical piece of bunting or cloth—the main purpose is to ensure continuity of command. One might wonder if such an act was really necessary, given his aforementioned status amongst the Fifth Fleet and the fact that the SSV Orizaba was already the Fifth Fleet's flagship. Given Hackett's duties as Fleet Admiral, it is likely that he had been operating from a more administrative location prior to this engagement and thus had to formally transfer his flag to the Orizaba.

(4): Hackett would later find out that the Sixth and Seventh Fleets were completely intact, as the Reapers had blithely ignored conventional military strategy by bypassing the systems they were protecting. Sadly, the Eighth Fleet was reduced to a handful of ships,

partly through skirmishes fought when the Reapers opened new offensives against the rest of the galaxy, partly when the Reapers ambushed them when they attempted to rendezvous at our supposedly secret station over Ontarom.

(5): Technically, their holograms were standing before him. But Hackett was correct in all other particulars. Shepard recognized the same truths and strived to provide the same confident and reassuring figure to the men and women who served under him and fought beside him.

(6): After I became the Shadow Broker, I began searching for a way to stop the Reapers—a quest that led to a possible lead, a run-in with Cerberus and a less-than-pleasant conversation with the Illusive Man. It was after this encounter that I contacted Admiral Hackett to apprise him of my lead and request access to the Prothean Archives on Mars.

(7): While he may not have seen eye to eye on all of his decisions, Hackett certainly recognized Shepard's strength of character and moral fortitude. It was one of the many reasons he placed such a high priority on rescuing Shepard and putting him at the head of the Alliance war effort.

(8): Hackett had contacted Shepard frequently during his investigation and pursuit of rogue Spectre Saren Arterius, requesting his assistance on various missions and tasks. While Shepard did complete them without any official complaint, he did admit to some irritation in his personal logs.

(9): A harrowing account that can be read in earlier installments of Shepard's personal logs.

(10): A tradition hailing back to the early days of human exploration and travel across planetary bodies of water, which Hackett would have been expected to observe despite the seniority of his rank.

(11): During the course of the war, Hannah Shepard was promoted to Rear Admiral. Commander Charles Shepard wryly noted that she was probably reticent to accept the promotion.

(12): By that point, the allied fleets were passing by the dwarf planet Pluto, which would put them approximately 4.67 billion miles—or 7.5 billion kilometres—from Earth and the Reapers.

(13): These lines come from 'The Charge of the Light Brigade,' an 1854 Earth poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson about a charge of British light cavalry against Russian forces during the Battle of Balaclava. Miscommunication in the chain of command sent the Light Brigade against the wrong artillery battery, resulting in serious British casualties and no decisive gains.