Standard disclaimer: I own fucking nothing at all. Star Wars belongs to Disney and Mass Effect to Bioware or EA or something.
AN: Well… this got fucking delayed. I just moved into a new place and have been having nothing but issues with the internet, I couldn't even connect to this site until now. I can't promise quality but if I don't get this out, then it'll stall. Other than that, I'm truly happy that people enjoy this, so I won't stop anytime soon. Unfortunately, now that I'm settled into my new position and moved across the country, I'm going to get tasked with things that might keep me away for extended periods depending on the intensity of the work. I will try to keep this going at about one chapter per month. As always, constructive criticism is welcome, and I hope you enjoy.
/-\
There was a moment of biting pain behind her eye, a tug like someone plucked a guitar string in her brain. And then she was fine. "Sorry about that, no one does it willingly the first time. Try telling someone 'Hey, I'm going to need you to slam your eye down on this spike, it won't hurt, I promise.' See how well that goes. Now let's have a look at what you saw."
The vision played out silently, but in such brutal detail. She saw the screaming maw, the growing electronics, flashes of things she still couldn't understand. "It's not any easier to look at it when it's coming off a display."
Tal just watched it silently a few times over, tapping his fingers on the table. "Particularly disturbing isn't it. Only made worse by the fact that it is obviously corrupted, broken sequences, distorted images. I can't tell if its incomplete or if the transfer was botched, or even if it's just been damaged by age. I might need a tech to look at it… no, that would be irresponsible. Might have to do it anyway, better to bring in a Prothean expert."
Shepard stared at him. "Are you sure that was necessary?" she really didn't like the whole getting faceplanted on a spike without any warning. First impressions of the general had made him look like a generally upbeat high functioning alcoholic with a dangerous amount of power; this little scene wasn't helping with that opinion.
"Would you have done it if I had asked you? Honestly? Risked putting out your eye or killing yourself? No sane creature puts itself in that kind of danger, an involuntary self-preservation response would prevent you from doing so. This artifact was designed with that in mind, by a man insane enough to do so; he wanted his thoughts and memories protected by something so insidious and absurd that no one would think to try."
That was fair, who the fuck would stab themselves in the eye with some crystal pyramid. The creator must have been completely batshit insane to come up with this thing, not a surprise seeing as the thing was down here in the catacombs of this ship with the rest of the evil shit. Or at least dark side shit.
"No, I guess not. It never would have occurred to me to try; I would have thought you were crazy."
"Well, let's show this to Anderson, and then he can give this to the Alliance. I won't say I hope, but there is always a chance that someone would have more knowledge. Can't say how the council will take this though, it doesn't really tell us anything. Though I believe your interpretation correct, others might not see the signs, through ignorance, blindness, or lack of imagination."
/-\
Tal watched Anderson watch the recording. Shepard's vision wasn't just disturbing, it was world changing. The Protheans had been involved in a war so large that it was currently shaping the civilizations of the galaxy today. Anderson had an excellent sabacc face, but he couldn't hide his emotions from a Jedi, he knew what he was looking at.
Anderson had an interesting impression in the force, he had a burning core of fierce determination and iron loyalty, he was focused yet weary, his thoughts were fast but not scattered. The general impression of Anderson in a word would be either steady or experienced. He knew who his friends were and where he stood in his world, what he was capable of and how far he was willing to go.
It was a good way to live. Not many people had that level of awareness. Not many cared enough about those around them to make loyalty to others a core part of their personality. Not enough people had looked inward critically and honestly.
Anderson was changing in front of him, the new information pushing the thresholds previously established in his mind. He was reassessing his world, folding the new information in. Tal felt Anderson shift, coming to accept that nothing in his world was exactly what he thought it was. This one piece of broken information hinted at enough to change the galaxy. It was big even for Tal, another layer of mystery to just how his people and his fleet got here.
An apocalyptic war between the Protheans and a race of synthetics. From what Tal understood, a large part of the hate of AI in the Citadel species came from the Protheans; the warnings left in the beacons. What were they fighting? What was powerful enough to nearly erase the Protheans in a single war?
Feirfek call it what it was: genocide.
Who, or what, was powerful enough to genocide a galactic power? Was this what they set out to find in the unknown regions, or the emperor's 'Far Outsiders'?
"This is what you saw? everything?"
"All of it sir, perfectly extracted. Only thing missing is audio, it was nothing but screaming anyway."
Anderson nodded and straightened in his seat, clapping a fist into his open hand. "This is what Saren wanted. We have proof. I can't imagine how things would have gone if the only thing we had was a distorted vision buried in the mind of one of my soldiers. The council would have dismissed it out of hand. Can we bring this to the council?"
Tal pulled a data chip out of a pouch on his belt. "Give me an hour and I should be able to get it onto this. This is a place best not lingered in, the temple is open to you both, I would also suggest visiting the bridge; there isn't much to do while in hyperspace and I know the captain thinks quite highly of you both, the view is also particularly stunning. Run along now, there will be an escort waiting for you."
He waited until they had turned the corner into the main hall before making his way to the deepest part of the vault. There he would find a single-fully air gapped- terminal that was set up for this kind of work. The crystal flashed.
"You shall not cage me forever… you of unsteady feet."
/-\
"Citadel ATC to freighter Enduring Enterprise, you are 300k outside of your lane. Return bearing 320, 8 degrees down angle."
"Enduring Enterprise to CATC. Adjusting 320 by 8 down angle. Returning to lane. Out. Goddess you think they could find the time to get the stick out of their asses."
"Enduring Enterprise, your mic is open."
Goddess she enjoyed that. It sucked knowing that everyone thought you were what the humans called an 'asshole', but moments like that were the best thing ever. Ok, maybe she needed a hobby.
She went over her sector again, looking for any new arrivals or anyone else drifting out of their approach lane. 30 freighters, 4 passenger transports, a dozen turian naval vessels on patrol, and a dreadnaught way out on its own at the edge of detection range. Wait, what.
A quick double take confirmed that it most definitely was a dreadnaught, and it was way, way, out there. But it wasn't a Citadel ship. Professional interest meant that she knew all of the most common ship models by heart and was able to identify most serving military vessels. This thing didn't look like them, it almost looked like… oh goddess.
A ship recognition chart had been passed down to all of the controllers with what details the STG could give them without compromising their collection ability. She quickly opened the chart and identified the ship as a 'Cruiser-Heavy, Medium-Carrier.'
Dagger shaped main body, rear mounted T shaped tower, massive bell-shaped engines, two banks of four massive eight barreled guns on either side of the super structure. Oh, and it was 1600m long, almost twice as long as the smaller end of Citadel dreadnaughts. There was a moment of panic before she went over procedure.
Check docket for newly scheduled arrivals, check special permissions and diplomatic arrivals. If the unusual arrival still was unlisted, then raise the alarm. In her memory the general alarm had only been raised during emergencies and never a hostile combatant. This shift was going to go down in history depending on the next few seconds.
And there it was, in the diplomatic docket. It was hours early, but that was only an estimated time. The particular ship wasn't listed, just to expect an envoy from the newly identified 'Galactic Republic'.
Well, this shift was still going down in history, and so was she. "Boss, the representatives from the Galactic Republic have arrived."
"Excuse me? The who? What are you on about? I didn't see any envoy on the shift docket." The Salarian supervisor leaned over her terminal to take a look. "Oh my. I'll get the Council on the horn. This is… Oh my, this is… I mean look at the size of that thing. Diplomatic… my goodness."
/-\
The Normandy stole into port without event, the attention of the entire Citadel was on the events at Eden Prime and across the Traverse. And the newly arrived Republic right at the doorstep.
Even with a recording of the vision in hand, the council had rejected the idea that Saren could have betrayed them. As infuriating as it was, it was understandable. The man was their top agent, someone they had put years of trust into. The idea that he could be actively working against them was- to them- completely preposterous.
Anderson had expected this, not quite the way it had gone. Shepard had been a bit more heated than he had been ready for, but he had agreed with everything she said. He had a few choice words of his own for the Council that he was sure Udina would give him a mountain of shit over, but he could handle a self-important asshole.
He had raised his concerns to Tal, just a shared word and a short plan. In return Tal had given him a small device, one of the Republic issue 'Commlinks'. To be used in the case of the Council's obstinance.
So, while Shepard ran around the Citadel trying to put together the necessary evidence. Anderson waited in a hangar swarming with media and the public next to three full Admirals of the Systems Alliance and what seemed like every flag officer on the Citadel. He gave the commlink three clicks- the prearranged signal- and received two back.
Hardball it was. He had already heard reports of Shepard being involved in a firefight down in the wards. Tal had been more than willing to pressure the Council into action, or to at least make it public when they didn't act. If their preparations were anywhere as good as they thought; Shepard's position as a Spectre was assured, as was the involvement of the 3rd.
But Saren still needed to go down. And it had to be without starting another war.
"What can we expect from these people Anderson? You're the only person here with firsthand experience, who's got the real power, what's going on in the background? Weaknesses, vulnerabilities, tactics, anything relevant." Admiral Hackett had been called to the Citadel the moment that the initial reports from Eden Prime had made their way back, he had arrived less than an hour before the Normandy did.
"Their power structure would normally be incredibly unstable but seems to be held together by strong bonds of mutual respect and shared history. It's a triumvirate formed loosely around their military structure. The most traditionally powerful- and the one who seems to hold the highest station- would be the woman, Wyrtyr. She has the full backing of their civilian government and is one of the leaders of their… I don't really understand it, but a semi-religious order of people with powers similar to but distinct from biotics and which hold significant civil and military power."
"Wyrtyr, civil and religious power. And the others?"
"Naval authority is provided by Grand Admiral Khah, the rank of Grand Admiral is as much a civilian rank as a military one. As I understand it, the rank provides unlimited civil authority subordinate only to their Chancellor, or thier representative- which is Wyrtyr. He holds the highest rank, but a lower appointment than the High General."
"Khah, dangerous mix of civil and military authority, I don't like to imagine what that could turn into. This High General- like fancy titles don't they- what about him?"
"Wherd'ad, Wherda-Ad, depending on if you use a more modern or archaic dialect? Both are acceptable. Former apprentice to Wyrtyr, very close bond between them still. The High General has been put in charge of the entire exploratory fleet. This whole thing is his mission. From what I was able to piece together, this is an artefact/treasure hunt of some kind. The High General holds a pile of titles and positions, this one allows him to fulfill all of his duties while pursuing his own interests. End of the day he controls the military here, delegating naval taskings to the Grand Admiral and civil administration to Wyrtyr."
"Wherd'ad, in charge on paper, differential to his former teacher? A member of this religious order?"
"Both correct sir. As for weaknesses or vulnerabilities. The triumvirate is even less balanced than the council. The High General has a fondness for hard drink, but I haven't seen it affect his work. The High General and the Grand Admiral are… not exactly blood thirsty, but potentially over aggressive. They place extreme emphasis on the security of the vault on their capital ship- the Intent. The vault is… I don't even understand most of what I saw in there, mostly belonging to their religion as I understand it. They didn't say directly, but I understand that they came here following a colony ship that went missing. Finally, and most importantly: they are alone, entirely cut off from their government and are trying to make their way along on their own with the ships and personnel they have."
"Very good information. This colony ship, if we could find it, that would be a major piece of good will. Any chance that being human will give us a leg up?"
"I wouldn't put any faith in a shared species buying us anything. Their humanity is even more fragmented than ours. Most of them are from different planets with radically different cultures. They won't see us as part of them. We are as alien to them as the Turians were at first contact, some of their home worlds were at war with each other less than a decade ago."
"Hmmm, what about their ships?"
"Large, relatively slow compared to their counterparts in our navies. Which means that the ship out there can likely chase down any of our dreadnaughts. Their weapons outclass ours in terms of raw firepower, but we have the range advantage. Once they get going they make extensive use of electronic warfare, the Normandy was almost blind once they settled in to fight the Geth over Eden Prime. They fight in space the same way they do on the ground, formation on formation wherever they can with smaller teams or task groups filling in the gaps. They have some sort of gravity well manipulation systems as well, and something they call a 'tractor beam' that they use to grapple ships in place."
"I'll file a report, see what intel can make of it. I think that would be our guests. They call those things shuttles?"
Even having seen the things in person, they were still as impressive as they were intimidating. The three shuttles had dropped out of FTL alongside the Star Destroyer not long after it had. All three were painted red with white detailing. Two were identical, a flat bulky body with two wings mounted underneath that swept upwards and a trailing piece on each wing that covered the underside of the passenger bay during flight. The third had three wings that quite nearly didn't fit in the hangar until they folded along the pyramidal main body.
All three put down in a single motion, the hangar erupting with light as the media took advantage of the moment. The ramps hadn't even come down before C-Sec was pushing the reporters back. The ramps hit the deck without a sound except for the thundering of at least a dozen troopers per shuttle running down to support C-Sec. The crowd promptly backed away from the newly reinforced perimeter. Anderson wasn't quite sure whether it was from the new number of men, or the fact that they were intimidating as hell with those white faceplates scowling the crowd down.
The next thing he knew the High General-flanked by two troopers in glossy black armour- was marching down the ramp barking orders for his men to pull back. Immediately the troops formed an inner perimeter around the shuttles. Their professionalism was frankly inspiring. The other two dignitaries had descended while everyone was distracted by the troopers.
The High General and the Grand Admiral came and both his and Hackett's hands "How'd the council take it?"
Anderson sighed. "It could have been worse. But not by much. They aren't sold with Saren's betrayal, they want irrefutable evidence. Nihlus still isn't conscious, so he can't give testimony."
"Ok we go with plan B. Troch, keep the media happy. I'm going to go deal with… this. Cuir on me, Paladin team fall in."
One of the troopers came forward with a case. "Sir, best not forget this."
"I didn't trooper, you're the one who's giving it to the council."
/-\
The council room fell silent when Tal entered at the head of his delegation. He had to admire it though. A grand Avenue with three raised tiers, a small garden, and a very well-designed platform for petitioners and visitors to stand before-and below- the Council. It did an excellent job of displaying the Council as a unified front standing above and separated from whoever would approach them.
He approved fully, power should display itself properly and with proper symbology. This was one of the more subtle displays he had seen. The bridge of most Star Destroyers was a much less subtle example, even the officers had to climb just to speak to their seniors.
Islarra stepped forward first and made the traditional and formal introductions and spewed forth the empty platitudes that everyone hated but were the core of good diplomacy. She then ceded the floor to Tal.
Tal tapped the base of his lightsaber against the deck as he stood before the councillors. "I understand that the Council has been… hesitant to commit forces to the politically delicate situation of the slaughter of its own citizens. The Council claims lack of evidence of its best agent's betrayal, I have brought evidence. The Council claims that sending its forces so close to the Terminus would invite war, I have brought armies free of those restraints. The Council claims that this is a tragedy, I have brought the scale of the tragedy. Trooper, open the case."
Inside was nothing more than a stack of printed flimsi. Each sheet printed in size-10 point form. Each line was the name, age, and occupation of one of the casualties among the population of Eden Prime.
"We have a tradition of reading the names of the dead. These are all the names that were read since the end of major combat operations, this list will likely grow. At the head of this tragedy is your former agent: Saren Artureius. Paladin team, your helmet footage please."
Tal had a good time watching the Council come to terms with the footage. For the most part. The deal was sealed when Shepard came marching into the hall, with a small entourage of tired, slightly ragged, slightly ballistically marked, blood spotted, and smug individuals. Most of the incredibly eclectic party stayed behind as Shepard marched up alongside Anderson and another human that Tal had been briefly introduced to as ambassador Udina. A pompous, self important ass if Tal had ever met one; most likely useful though.
The Council did a good job of pretending they weren't getting steamrolled by a foreign power and what they saw as a species of children. But it was entertaining to watch them try to excuse the evidence or their lack of commitment. But they weren't able to flounder their way through a recording of their own agent "Eden Prime was a great victory. We are one step closer to finding the Conduit."
And a new voice. "And one step closer to the return of the Reapers."
Well, there were two interesting pieces of motive. The Conduit. That's what Saren wanted, and he wanted it to bring back something called the Reapers. Now Tal knew what he needed to take. Saren wanted it; Tal wanted it just so Saren couldn't have it. Petty: absolutely. There was also the matter of the second voice: Matriarch Benezia, a highly influential Asari with a large number of followers.
After that little bit the Council caved in a very interesting way. Starting with a declaration from the Turian Councillor.
"No! they aren't ready."
And suddenly Shepard was a brand-new Spectre with the express mission of hunting down Saren. Assigned under Nihlus, provisionally, when he woke up. Thus, giving the Council time to gather the initial leads. There was a promising one: Dr. Liara T'soni, the daughter of the rouge Matriarch. Who unfortunately had gone missing during a remote excavation of a Prothean ruin, the exact location of which wasn't known to the Council.
What was known was an unfortunate amount of Bad News. The Geth had rolled over the entire cluster with one of their surprising number of alarmingly large fleets. The general consensus now that the Matriarch's betrayal was known was that the Geth were looking for the doctor herself. Why still wasn't known, and Tal really didn't like that they had no motive established. Machines didn't do things without a clear logic, they either had something to gain, or something to lose if they failed. No emotion, no lofty ideals, just logic and cost/benefit analysis.
There were congratulations, negotiations, a short ceremony, and then the alliance personnel left to deal with their end of the mess and Admiral Hackett was called up to solidify the Alliance's position and contributions. The group retired to a smaller chamber to hash it all out.
The moment they were out of the spotlight, the Council changed their tone. While the politics demanded one thing; they were sympathetic-to a point. Humanity was new and overall unpopular due to their meteoric rise to political prominence. So, while the Councillors made public noises about Humanity needing to take accountability for their choices, in private they recognized the threat and had been mobilizing the STG, Commandos, Cabal teams, Spectres in mass. The only thing they couldn't do was make it public.
"So, we have roughly 50,000 civilians that will be transferred via Star Destroyer over the next few days while we wait for Nihlus to recover. An embassy will be established here for the Republic under the supervision of ambassador Denox, who will of course be staying behind as our representative along side a security detachment from the Grand Army." Grand Admiral Khah had taken over for the Republic's military negotiations, being something of a political creature himself.
"Our fleets will be separated by task group. Guardian will spread out and protect those colonies at risk that have not yet been attacked and assist Alliance forces in retaking their worlds. Endeavor will lead the strike into the Terminus to strike at the Geth rear echelons. Manticore will provide a small group to join the Citadel defence fleet and will search for our missing colony ship. Intent will lead the effort to search out and destroy the Geth inside council space, while the Intent herself will act as a mobile HQ for Shepard's investigation into Saren."
Hackett nodded gratefully. They had run circles around the point of how Citadel member fleets were supposed to provide support without giving the Terminus anything resembling casus belli. It had come as a surprise to Tal-but not to Khah apparently- that the Terminus systems actually had the governments out gunned by sheer numbers.
The breakdown was that a government could only support a certain size of military, larger forces incurred non-linear increases in cost. Adding three frigates to a fleet ended up costing about the same as adding a battleship in terms of crew, maintenance, hulls, and the pile of support and administration. The Terminus didn't run into that on a significant scale outside of a few notable outliers. It was the same way that even at the height of the war, the combined pirate and criminal fleets in the outer rim out numbered the Republic's navy a few times over.
There was no getting around the fact that the Council was unable to offer more than token support. The crisis that the Alliance was facing would likely only be made worse by open military intervention if it wasn't handled perfectly. As it was, it took nearly an hour to negotiate even letting Alliance and Republic ships be seen in the same sector. Not that Tal cared, he had his fleet and the ability to help. He would damn well make use of that ability.
"The Alliance will spearhead the offensive effort to liberate our colonies along the relay network leading towards the edge of the Terminus." Hackett laid out the Alliance's plan. "We'll be dividing our efforts by fleet; I'll hash out the exact details with my counterparts. With some hard work, we can have the fleets properly mobilized by tomorrow morning. It's going to be a meat grinder for the Marines, but with the Grand Army's help we can mitigate casualties."
One by one the Councillors laid out their contributions. "The STG has teams enroute and in locations projected to see Geth activity ready to provide targeting and reconnaissance."
"Cabals are already on the ground at significant theaters and will be tasked with preparing the battlefield before Republic forces arrive, and to support your special forces operations."
"Commando teams disguised as mercenaries have been given direction to conduct individual investigations and provide discrete assistance. We are coordinating large scale relief operations with NGO's and Council agencies and careful application of influence has yielded positive results."
Islarra smiled. "I appreciate the intensely political environment that has been thrust upon us all in the midst of this tragedy and thank you for acting with the due alacrity. But my conscience demands that I ask that you reconsider the deployment of your armed forces."
"Master." Tal started. "They can't, politically, do anything. I propose a potentially sensitive topic. Recruitment. I'd like to at the very least lay down the framework for the adoption of orphans into the clans, and even allow for recruitment by the army, navy, and stormtrooper corps from citizens of the Citadel. I won't deny that this is personal, my clan is nearly dead, and we have identified an ideal prospective foundling. Several other clans have done the same, regardless of their size. Beyond that, we won't be able to recoup losses without drafting our own citizens, not an ideal outcome. It would be better for all involved if we could legally recruit. We have the facilities, capabilities, and staff to train and equip any potential recruits. We just don't have the framework to do so."
"We cannot, in good conscience, allow a foreign power to recruit on our grounds." The Turian councillor started before being cut off his Asari counterpart.
"Perhaps, a recruitment center on neutral ground? An uninhabited world of little strategic or economic value. Just as we cannot allow an un-allied power to recruit inside our territory, we cannot deny them the chance to volunteer."
Islarra leaned forward with a faint smile. "Why don't we just cut to what we both want? Real diplomacy. Nothing major, just a framework and some agreements. Small tokens of diplomatic favor in both directions. It would be reckless on both parties to make something as formal as an alliance or even noises pointing towards one. But it would be more than reasonable to create an early friendship. Non-hostility agreements, trade agreements, travel, something slightly above neutral inter-governmental relations."
The Salarian councillor cut in. "Basic technology sharing is an absolute must, and there must be stipulations on the use and development of AI."
Tal choked for a second. "That might be an issue. By your definitions, for the last few thousand years, we've made extensive use of AI in a variety of roles from military to industry. Most of our ships have a droid brain of some level, and droids are absolutely vital to the running of most of our vessels and our medical system. We can promise that we will not allow droids of any variety off of our vessels while in citadel territory. But we cannot promise the destruction or decommissioning of a vital part of our infrastructure."
"Thousands of years! Your AI are safe?"
"Thoroughly, primarily because they aren't fully sapient. I mean, there was the Clone Wars, and a million battles besides to show they can be incredibly dangerous when designed to be. But droids rarely go wrong or rouge, usually its users' causing problems."
The Asari councillor took charge again. "While this information is… alarming and enlightening. There are other things to deal with, and we have spent long enough in this meeting. I am afraid that I myself have other responsibilities that need attending to, and we all have a session with the Volus that cannot be put aside any longer. Unless there is anything else absolutely pressing, I look forward to meeting your ambassador."
/-\
Islarra stood patiently, hands clasped in her robes as the turbolift dove towards the hangar deck. A sharp contrast to the other occupant, whose endless pacing made the talons of her armoured boots ring sharply on the deck.
"She gets to choose." Larissa wasn't asking for clarification. For a trainee of Islarra's own former Padawan, she was bold.
"I would never presume otherwise child." Islarra replied, the image of calm. She took no offence; Tal had done far worse in their time together.
Larissa stopped. "Yes, you absolutely would. You didn't give Tal a choice. You may have pretended you did, but I know what options you gave him. I know what the Jedi did to force sensitive children, even when I hunted your kind- my kind now I guess- the seeds had been planted. She gets the choice none of us did. I will not deliver another child into the hands of Force users forcefully."
"You speak with such conviction. Not a trace of the Dark side in you, you are at peace with this. And how do you plan to enforce this?" It was genuine curiosity, she used to ask Tal the same question every time he got defiant.
"Neither you nor Tal are the strongest or most skilled Jedi I've killed. She gets to choose." Larissa wasn't joking, her lightsabers were both in hand and her decision to wear her armour now made much more sense. She truly was prepared to fight them over this child.
Islarra was proud of her. To have such conviction and strength. To fight for what she believed without hesitation. If only every Jedi was so strong. But more than the freedom of one child rested on the little one's shoulders. The survival of a long and storied clan of Mandalorians, the continuation of this new path of the Jedi, the rise of the Force in this galaxy.
"She will choose, unlike any of us on this ship and beyond. She will choose. Would you like to oversee our conversation?"
"I wasn't asking, Master."
/-\
The announcements had been made; they were all going to the Citadel. Normally she'd be excited, but she wasn't going as a tourist, but a refugee. It was surprising how quickly you made bonds, how hard you wanted to hold on to the things that were even marginally familiar when you had nothing left.
"Well girl, you have a choice in front of you. Get on the shuttle, go to the Citadel, live as regular a life as you can. Or… join the clan, learn to defend yourself, get your vengeance or justice, wear the armour, speak the language, become one of the most feared and respected warriors in our galaxy: a Mandalorian." Hayj had offered her a place in his clan, explained what he was offering her.
"If I stay, can my sister stay? I… I can't leave her." After everything, Hayj was asking her to give up the only thing she had left. For what? A new family? When she still had one person left. No, she would not leave her sister, not for anything.
"What's left of the clan can't afford to train or equip any but the best candidates. We only have so many sets of armour, only so much Beskar, only so many people. If she can prove she's worth our time like you have, then absolutely. Otherwise, no."
She thought about that for a moment. "None of the clans have picked her, have they. She had to rely on me, she didn't fight, or survive."
"Exactly. She didn't display any of the traits we look for in foundlings beyond simply surviving a battle or being orphans. If we were closer to home, if you both were younger. If we had a supply chain worth a damn, we probably would have taken you both no questions."
Two women came up behind Hayj. One of them was the woman who saved her and her sister. The other, Tayna hadn't seen before. She wore robes and carried one of the light sword things though. "Perhaps I can help with that. You would be Tayna Hostler? The eldest of the two siblings Larissa rescued?"
She nodded, realizing that whoever this was demanded a level of respect, especially if she could help. "Yes ma'am."
"My name is Islarra Wyrtyr, Jedi Master and head of the Jedi order here with the fleet. I find myself in the position to take an apprentice. Your sister is Force sensitive, its what drew Larissa's attention to you among all the others." Islarra explained. "I would, with her permission, take her as my Padawan. If she accepts, she will stay with the order here on this ship and train the in ways of the Force."
Relief flooded through Tayna, almost causing her to sag. "So, Veronica can stay?"
"If she chooses to, yes. Where is she? From what I was led to believe, you two have so far been inseparable."
Tayna pointed at her sister, sitting a short distance away on top of a crate, pretending not to be trying to listen in on their conversation. "I talked her into staying back while I spoke with Hayj. I didn't want to worry her too much."
"Let me speak with her, we will have her answer shortly." Islarra twitched her head towards the lift where a man in a much heavier set of white armour stepped out with the largest rifle Tayna had ever seen. "I think Tal's eager to get rid of that old thing."
Hayj laughed as Islarra walked towards Veronica. "That weapon has been in the clan for over a thousand years. I don't envy you girl, if you choose this path, that weapon is yours for the next few years. I remember my time with the thing, I've carried rotary weapons that were lighter. I will admit, its good seeing it be passed down."
"I'm not sure I like the sound of that. Isn't it dangerous to keep a weapon for that long? Don't parts wear out? There's only so many times you can refurbish a weapon, parts go out of production and such."
"Yes, they do, hence the size and weight. There isn't a single original part in that thing. It's a nightmare patchwork of parts and systems that were never meant to work together and is constantly on the edge of breaking. It'll teach you to keep it maintained, all the particular techniques to repair just about any weapon and the foibles of every major company's parts. Lugging that thing around and keeping it in working order will make a warrior out of you sure as anything."
She took a second look, realizing that the man walking towards them was slightly bent over from the weight of the thing. "Hayj, I haven't said yes."
He chuckled. "Your sister has. I have a feeling that means that you will too."
It meant she would be able to stay with her sister, and she really wanted to be strong like these people, and they were offering her exactly what she wanted. At the same time, a whole dose of reality came crashing down on her. She was in for a whole lot of hard work and pain. "Fuck"
The man came over to them with the behemoth rifle. "You're the foundling? Well, this is yours now." He passed it to her with a sigh of relief. "Its been cleaned, loaded up for training weight, has the latest software, and a full Tibana charge."
She took the weapon with a groan. It must have been a good 40kg. Hayj just kept laughing. "Yup, you're old enough to get the full training weight. It was designed to be loaded up at different weights so its always hard to carry, we normally start it at about three kilos when we're about four or five. Right now, its about 35. Depending on how strong you are we can shift that up or down, it should be bearable for marching long distance and light enough for you to shoot, but heavy enough that you don't get comfortable. Judging by how you're holding it, we need to drop about 20 off it."
She sighed. "Fuck it, I'm in."
/-\
Three days later.
"Atlas squadron green, approaching the Citadel on low angle, vectoring to buzz the target." The TIE howled beneath her as she shunted power to engines and prepared to boost. All five TIE interceptors in a perfect arrowhead formation, her squadron raced to be the squadron who got first pass.
White squadron was screaming up on their left in their A-wings, and Kilo were pushing their brand-new V-23s. everyone had stakes here. Pride: in their birds, their branch, their squadron. They were the leading edge of about a hundred fighters, bombers, interceptors, and support craft that were all going to buzz a park crowded to the brim with the good citizens of the Citadel.
They came in from the ring, howling right over the wards. She could make out people in the streets pointing up at her squadron. A small group of Citadel defense fighters rose up to meet them. Her squadron leveled out to face them head on. "Hold formation, if they want to play, we can play. I have the lead fighter, the one with the red markings."
"Atlas two on the wingman."
"Atlas three on the tail."
"Atlas four on backing up three."
"Atlas five playing the long shot."
"Five seconds."
"The tail is acting funny three, get ready to pull left. Four, cut in front and grab his wingman. Five, slide in behind and tag them out. Let's show them what we can do. Atlas squadron, go!"
They split off exactly above the center of the park, showing off the superior maneuverability of Republic starfighters. The crowd below shouted with delight at the show. The first Republic airshow in this galaxy, courtesy of the Resurgent class SD Redeemer as she unloaded the refugees from Eden Prime.
She cut in over White two and rolled to pass directly under Kilo five as she chased her target. Her target certainly knew how to dance, constantly pulling through vector changes that would have dazzled the mind of any lesser pilot. She rolled to keep her mark in her upper visual, drifting and boosting to keep range. And suddenly she overshot as her target pulled their nose up.
/-\
"Raptor one, I'm on the leader. It's go time Raptor, keep the pressure on."
His mark was one of the oddest-looking fighters he had ever seen, a ball cockpit with two pylons connected to a set of wings with inward canted upper and lower edges. Far larger than most starfighters he had seen. Exceptionally maneuverable, highly flexible, fast. But nothing vectored like his bird. He was chasing the leader, the one with a pair of yellow stripes on each wing.
Stripes was one hell of a pilot, not many could keep up with his dance, but this one certainly did. That was until he pulled modification of the viper maneuver that had become popular with eezo powered fighters. Nose up and throttle orientation up, combining the deceleration power of atmosphere on a brick of a fighter and the throttle now facing what used to be backwards. Anyone who didn't know it was coming would be facing a bird almost stopping on a dime in air and would instantly overshoot if they didn't have a counter maneuver.
Stripes didn't have a counter. Raptor one stuck to his new tail like glue, they could dance, and they had moves, but there was no one in any galaxy that could shake a Raptor once they got in behind. He chased Stripes down to a water feature, under a bridge, around a few decorative features, and finally up the side of a residential tower before they pulled a trick he hadn't seen yet.
In one smooth motion without a hint of a vector change, it swivelled and was suddenly facing him.
Let's play chicken.
/-\
Vesak Tenebrous stood in front an advertisement he couldn't read but whose message he knew anyway. A recruiting poster, one he was sorely tempted by. The Republic Stormtrooper Corps was in town, along with every other branch of their military. The fighters were having a good time dancing up above. In his opinion they were playing way too loose, taking unnecessary risks, flying too close and having too much fun.
The Stormtroopers were more his style. Hard bastards, formal, rigid, attentive. He had been watching them for a bit, along with the other troopers, to confirm his suspicions. He liked what he saw, he made his choice and stepped up to the booth.
Vesak was pretty sure the trooper who greeted him was a sergeant, the colour on their pauldron the only external indicator of rank. White pauldron, grinning helmet, black chest harness loaded up with charge packs and additional armour plates. "Can I help you citizen? Interested in learning about the Corps?"
"Interested in joining the Corps, Sergeant."
The trooper looked him over, it was subtle behind the helmet, but Vesak could tell. "Well, you're a Turian. Military background is good in a recruit, you know how it works, normally we pull from the top candidates in the regular pipe. Off the street recruits have to pass some heavy tests for medical and physical fitness. You meet the height and weight requirements at a glance." He went silent for a moment. "Are you thinking Marine or Army trooper?"
Vesak grimaced internally; he hadn't known there were two branches to the Corps. "What's the difference?"
"There's more specializations available to the Army Stormtrooper Corps, environment specific troopers, Tankers, Scouts, Aviation, Gunnery, Artillery, any army combat billet plus about a hundred specialities. I'm a Marine, all our billets are infantry, Armour, and combat transport. Most of our duties are either on ship, opening a beachhead, or leading an assault. We don't have the Army's vehicular dominance or terrain specific training. But we make up for it with better shock capabilities, zero G equipment and CQB training."
"I was artillery in the Hierarchy, Infantry mortar, I'd like to stick to what I know. But every Turian is a rifleman." Vesak had been damn good on the mortar and had seen his fair share of duty smashing pirates and mercenaries alike.
"Army then. Marines have anti-tank and grenadier but no mortar billets. You'll wear the dirt sucker armour though, not going to lie, that's how I picked."
Vesak barely managed to resist a small laugh. "You picked your branch because of the armour?"
The sergeant didn't laugh, chuckle, or show the slightest sign of amusement. Vesak had picked correctly. "I'm light infantry, might as well like the uniform if everything else is the same."
"Well, Army it is then." Vesak liked the marine armour, but he knew what he was good at.
"I can't process your application here, report to the embassy at 0600 two days from now. A recruiting officer will meet you there. A warning, Stormtrooper officers-especially recruiting officers- are incredibly competent, they will test you. Impressing them is the base line for entry, they don't take you just because you meet requirements. Do not be discouraged when they out preform you at everything and walk away looking like they're on parade. Mine broke three of my ribs after the second most brutal PT session of my life, they did everything with me and still didn't have a wrinkle in their uniform or an off-centre seam."
That was promising. His drill instructor had been much the same when he was a fresh conscript, absolutely leagues above the civilian masses, chosen and trained to be a visual model of what a recruit could become, made to the ideal mold above and beyond the average soldier. "Yes Sergeant. 0600 two days from now, Republic embassy."
The sergeant dismissed him, and Vesak walked away with a new purpose in his life.
/-\
The airshow was over, a resounding success. The Republic forces had delivered the refugees, shown up in force to wage a reputation offensive that took the Citadel by storm. And the good citizens of the Citadel were in love if one could judge by the number of drinks the people were buying a group of Republic pilots.
Victor Knowles, call sign Raptor One, had been searching out his quarry for the last few hours. What ever politics had been happening over the last few days had turned the Republic into a regular feature around certain wards and a small sector of the Presidium. Stormtroopers and army troopers patrolled alongside C-SEC as the few members of the Grand Army guarded the grounds around their landing bays and embassy.
Victor was looking for a pilot, from a particular squadron. It had taken some investigative work, lots of questions, and a decent number of credits. But the work led him to this particular bar, and this particular group of pilots. He marched right up to their table with his wingman on his heels.
"Which one of you flies the bird with the yellow stripes?"
"That'd be me. You looking to buy me a drink hotshot?" The pilot who he had been looking for was leaned back into her chair still wearing her flight suit and dark hair tied up in a bun. She gestured at the pile of drinks in front of her. "'cause you'll have to get in line."
Victor promptly stole a chair from a nearby table and confidently slid in to sit at the thoroughly occupied table. He didn't let the raised eyebrows or knowing smiles distract him. "I wanted to know how you pulled that little flip along the tower."
She leaned forward, now very interested in his presence. "Red wing. You were my dance partner out there." Instantly the attitude of the whole table shifted, they had gone from amused to engaged and attentive. Professionals liked to talk shop, and this was a chance to talk shop with a counterpart who flew a completely different type of craft.
The drinks flowed and the conversation was as good as the company once he cracked their uptight demeanours. They traded what they information and experience they could, the rest of Raptor squadron showed up throughout the night, and then there was dancing, some truly sloppy drunkenness from one of his squadron mates. People started drifting off as it got deeper into the night. He found himself dancing with Stripes, she could dance, and she had moves, but no one in any galaxy could shake a Raptor once they got in behind.
/-\
"My lord, we found the dig site." Khah was tired of waiting. The Intent had arrived in the cluster the same day as their meeting with the council right into the middle of the Geth's massive push. The Geth had left them alone, if they had even been detected, focusing on their scouring of the local worlds.
The search had gone like every other hunt, slow and painful from any perspective. They had made extensive use of their brand-new probe droids, but they hadn't given them anything useful in tracking down their archeologist. Instead, it was the pure drudgery work of ensigns combing over massive amounts of data and learning Geth behaviors.
The give away had been in the positioning of the Geth in one area. The cluster was crawling with ruins and dig sites, but only one had the Geth building fortifications along the approaches to it. That was the tip, not the number, not spotting them, some poor ensigns pouring over thousands of bits of data to pick up the one key difference.
"Excellent work. Looking forward to getting our fangs out?" Tal was-unusually for being on the bridge- wearing his helmet, obscuring his facial expression. Thankfully the High General was easy to read. The eagerness in his voice was unmistakable: he was hunting.
"My Lord… you should be asleep. It's 0200 ship time, the only reason I'm awake is that the XO came to me with a report I had requested and decided to get hands on since I was up. It's going to take us about six hours to get everything ready for major combat, we shouldn't make the jump until we are prepared. Take the chance to get a few hours of bunk time." That Khah couldn't see his face was irrelevant, Tal had been here when Khah went to bed and was still here when he came back four hours later. The man had been up for at least 36 hours at this point.
"I've got plenty in me before I need to start on the stims, wouldn't say no to some recaf if there is any around."
"Go to bed my Lord. Get a few hours in, don't make me kick you off the bridge. There is nothing for you to do except hover around intimidating the crew, the troopers are sleeping, and you won't wake them up. Go. To. Bed." Khah didn't let up, Tal needed his rest. All the ground forces needed all the rest they could get. Intelligence indicated that the Geth had been putting into practice those lessons learned during their last conflict.
The High General shrugged. "Ah… you're probably right. Been at it for a while now. I'll grab a few hours. You said we have around six hours? Four hours will do me fine. You have a good… morning, I guess."
"Have a good rest My Lord." As Tal left, Khah found himself standing in Tal's typical spot at the far end of the bridge. He stared out, wondering. What brought the High General here day after day? Was it the view, or was he watching something further, beyond normal human senses?
It wasn't the first time that he caught himself staring out at the void, but he preferred to do it when he was thinking or overworked. Not the endless staring that the High General adopted throughout his spare time.
"Tactical, what do we have on hostile fleet formation? And who has the latest report from the Viper droids?" He sprung back to work with a start, not seeing any point in dallying about when there was still a battle to prepare for.
One of the bridge officers was waiting for him at the command station. "Sir, latest reports from tactical indicate roughly 200 ships in loose formation following deployment pattern Besh. The center of their formation sits roughly over their central fortifications, and they have full defensive cover from ground to orbit cannon."
"Are the 418's ready?"
"Yes sir, the Intercessor and Centurion both report that they have successfully made the modifications to their gravity well generators. All ships are ready to perform the maneuver as detailed."
Khah was banking on an interesting little maneuver that he picked up from the doctrine manuals written by one of his few peers: Grand Admiral Thrawn. His manuals were brilliant, and dense. The maneuver he was pulling was a dirty little ploy used to land a fleet in perfect position out of hyperspace with the help of interdiction systems. While where was a level of uncertainty in the emergence point of a ship from hyperspace, there wasn't much room for error on an interdiction field. Using that bit of certainty, and a bit of communication and planning, a fleet could drop out exactly where and when an admiral wanted.
This would be the first time it was used in fleet-on-fleet combat.
Khah had it rigged up so that the Intent would drop out right on the edge of the Geth formation. If everything went to plan; the entire fleet would be in range of the Intent's guns and her escorts would handle their counterparts as the Intent let loose on the Geth dreadnaughts.
The ground to orbit cannon complicated things slightly. Good thing that nobody made the rank of Grand Admiral without learning that no plan went to plan.
"Very good. Dismissed. Where is that Viper droid report?"
"Here sir. Nothing new to report, all activities continuing as per last report." The ensign was there and gone with a pair of salutes and a breeze. Not that Khah blamed him, the poor sailor was incredibly busy and had earned some leeway.
A quick read over of the report confirmed the ensign's summary. Nothing had changed in the last 12 hours. The Geth were still digging in, no major fortifications had been completed, troop landings were exactly as previously estimated, and nothing- or more importantly no one- had been removed from the ruins.
It was time to follow his own advice. There was nothing more for him to do except hover. Bed sounded better by the second. "XO has the deck."
/-\
Shepard decided that no matter what else he was, the High General was a very good friend to have. Though the crate of weaponry at her feet may have had something to do with that. The armorer wasn't exactly endearing, but it balanced things out nicely. She was gathered with her ground crew and marines for lessons in their new weapons.
"The High General wasn't exactly happy with the state of your armory. Neither am I. Slug throwers have their place on the battlefield, cracking armour through shields, hunting destroyer droids, busting shield emitters. Common theme: use against shielded targets. Problem: you use kinetic barriers. Solution: proper kriffing weapons."
He gestured broadly to the crate on the floor. "Six times each, DC15A3, F11D, DH17 rifle variant, E22M, DC17 pistol. All standard issue weapons for various branches of the Republic Armed Forces. First the DC15A3; solves the problems with the older battle rifle variants, better cooling and heatsinks, higher rate of fire, better charge efficiency. When I got qual'd on the first versions of this weapon it didn't meet the specs for a proper repeating blaster, all the improvements have changed that. All in one battle rifle, marksman rifle and light repeating blaster. The DC15 family has been Grand Army issue since we were strong enough to pick them up."
The weapon in question was a long piece of sleek black metal with little in the way of comfort or ergonomics. The front third was bulged out into a cylinder and there was a raised section with the holographic sight and fire selector in the rear third. The armorer went through the drills, demonstrating the side load and the fact that the weapon used a break action to hold an internal gas canister. It was one of the odder weapons that Shepard had handled, but simple, sturdy, and reliable.
"Sidearm and duty carbine of the Grand army, standard issue to the Stormtrooper corps, army and marines. The F11D is your friend in all situations, though it deviates off target past about 300 meters. Side loader like the rest of the family, the integrated foregrip can be folded out on the compact configuration to replace the fixed stock found on the carbine configuration."
The F11D looked like the DC15 with the middle section cut out and a tube stock fixed to the back, white detailing, and a mounted scope. Where the DC15 was clearly a hefty weapon without adornment, the F11D was a sleek, ergonomic, and well-designed carbine meant for use by the average soldier.
"Running out of time here, the invasion kicks off in an hour and have to be in place, so I'm going to rush through these last few. Translated manuals are in the box, and I swear to any divinity you may believe in; I will hunt you down and PT the lot of you to oblivion if you use any of these before you know your way around it properly."
He looked each of them in the eye, giving Shepard the longest and most significant look. Holding her personally responsible for any violation, and that he would enjoy making them suffer greatly.
"DH17: same family as the 15 and 11, doesn't look like it at all 'cause it was made to be a heavy pistol for naval crews on smaller vessels. Got picked up for a rifle conversion by the Republic for crews on larger vessels. Manufacturer pulled a fast one on us, put a heavy stock on the back and call it a day. Switching between the pistol and rifle variants takes less than a minute and a heavy power pack."
Shepard could see the resemblance; the frame was there but it had a smooth silver barrel that narrowed at its tip and seemed to come with a much larger fixed scope than the F11. Aside from that it seemed to be nearly the same weapon as the F11.
"The M22R is the only weapon in this lineup not made by Blastech, this is a heavy rifle made for the Republic army. This is the most common blaster employed by the Republic armed forces due to the simple fact that there are about a full 300 army troopers per stormtrooper and about 100 stormtroopers per clone. Battle tested, reliable, and easy to mass produce. There is absolutely nothing that this weapon excels at nor any weaknesses in its design. Collapsing stock provides vehicle crews and assaulters a compact rifle, and line units a blaster with punch enough to bust most light to medium cover. Downside to all that is it is always outperformed in a specific category by everything else here."
Shepard took one look at it and immediately thought that it was a G3. The same matte green finish and general body shape. She remembered seeing them in pictures of the cold war: one of her favorite periods of human history. All the intrigue and covert action created the scene for many a novel in her youth. There were a few differences, but it was uncanny.
"Last up is the DC17 pistol. Not a fan of this one, but easy to use and has the highest charge cap of any handgun on the current market. Special forces guys often use a pair of these instead of a rifle as the rate of fire and ease of use allows for a massive number of rounds down range. It's a tiny, ugly piece, but it gets the job done. If you don't want to be burdened with a heaver weapon or don't know your way around a rifle, this is as good of a choice as you're going to get without going into the heavy pistol range."
The pistol stood out from others she was familiar with only by being jet black and basically featureless. Other than that, it looked like something she could buy from any weapon vendor on the Citadel.
The armorer ran them through the final drills quick and dirty. "Get these stashed and if we're incredibly beyond kriffed, we'll meet on the ground. Look for big old battery of walker artillery, we'll treat you to some fireworks. Call sign is Grek 66, you need guns on your op, give us a call."
He walked off without another word. Garrus made the first comment. "Is it just me, or was he an asshole?"
"Definitely an asshole."
"I'll forgive any lack of personality in the name of fire support."
Shepard took control of the team. "Ashley, stow those weapons. Garrus, get the Mako good to go. Wrex, start loading the ammo. Tali and Kaidan, give the gear a once over. Let's make sure we're good to go. We're going to be coming down in the middle of an invasion. For those who haven't seen the Republic at war, they bring the hammer. 50,000. That's how many are going down in the first wave. We come in right behind them."
As the ground team hustled to fulfill her orders, Shepard went and did a final check with the crew. Her rounds inevitably brought her to the cockpit where Joker sat, staring at something out in the hangar bay.
/-\
Their timing was perfect. The Intent was sitting no more than 10km from the nearest Geth vessel… well, its burning wreck. The fleet had come out guns blazing, scorching across both the Geth fleet and their ground positions as the landers deployed.
It was a good thing the planet was already on fire. Khah hated watching planets burn. The war had seen far too many planets bombarded; he had been the architect of far too much gross destruction.
The battle was tilted heavily in his favor, but the cannon on the surface could tilt the balance enough that some of his ships could be at risk. And it was already moving to track one of his Victory class SDs
"Fire at will. Move task group nine into position to attack that ground cannon. Launch all fighters, ground transports to launch in four minutes."
The Geth fleet was knocked out of position by the sheer force of his guns. Recoiling from his ships like they were caught at the edge of an explosion. And then just as quickly, the Geth fleet reoriented and accelerated away to get out of range.
He had planned for this of course. "Begin phase two." Phase two was the hardest part of the plan. The part of the plan where his forces were at the highest risk. Knowing that the Geth would play to their strengths- range and speed- his priority was to counteract those. Corvettes and frigates would charge ahead of the main force and attempt to disrupt formations and disable the engines of retreating ships. The wolfpacks would be unfortunately exposed and have limited support from the rest of the fleet.
Phase three was the main land invasion phase. And the destruction of the cannon. That was mostly up to Tal to handle. He just hoped that the cannon went down quickly. If not, he had the guns to bring it down- albeit at significant risk.
The frigates punched forward in tight formations, escorted by corvettes. Khah had to take a moment to admire the change in role- and the corresponding confidence and pride of the crews- that the smaller ships went through. Where the corvettes had historically been little more than anti-fighter platforms, they now were fully capable of being offensive hunters of enemy cruisers.
And it was back to focusing on the battle as Geth reinforcements started pouring in from around the planet, and probe droids indicated that Geth forces around the cluster were moving to reinforce this position.
It would all be fine if they brought that cannon down.
/-\
Half a second, that was all it took. For things to go horribly sideways. For the fragile illusion of the Republic's uncontestable might to be shattered.
A silvery beam split the horizon, briefly connecting the firmament to the endless fields of ash and rock that made up the broken world. And in the moment the beam existed, a ship died with all hands.
Not a great start to an invasion if anyone asked Joker- which no one did, who gave a damn what the pilot thought- Sure, losing a ship was a big deal but who brought a ship that big that close to a known anti-orbital gun. These guys lived by some very different rules if they were willing to bring a ship in that close.
Then again, he got to judge. He was the pilot of the most advanced stealth ship in the galaxy. There wasn't a perimeter or security system anywhere outside of the Republic fleet that could keep him out or even detect him if he didn't let it.
Speaking of, there was a defense perimeter to slip through here. If he wanted to survive the next 40 or so seconds that was. And he really, really did. It would suck if Shepard died too, actually, that would suck more. She was just kind of a big deal.
He angled the Normandy around the mass of ground transports that poured towards the open field that the Republic had decided to make their battlefront. A quick shift to the left angled the Normandy back on track for the landing zone into which he would drop the Mako before pulling into-of all things- a holding pattern for pick up.
Men would be dying by the thousands not ten clicks away. And all he could do was fly in circles hoping that a stray shot didn't find itself occupying the same airspace.
Then the shockwave hit. A single clap of thunder that Thor would have been jealous of. It was almost unbelievable that the Geth had set the thing up in less than a week. But hey, they didn't need to sleep or eat or even relax. He felt a faint sense of loss for the machine cultural appreciation of which the Geth would never contribute to the production of such inefficient media.
The thought left he brain as a triplet of Geth fighters raced past the Normandy's starboard chased by a pair of X-wings, who did not let up their fire as they passed. The Geth fighters went up in flames and the X-wings dove to strafe an unseen ground target in a smooth roll. And the air battle was on in earnest from that moment on.
He pulled the Normandy in to drop the Mako and with lurch of shifting weight the ground crew was away. "This is the closest I can put you down, we've slipped through the AA perimeter but they Geth are actively attempting to track this transmission. We get any closer and they'd hit you the moment you touched dirt. I'll be standing by within a two-minute response, call when you need evac."
And he was gone, his assigned airspace was the closest thing to safe he was going to find in this nightmare furball. At least there he only had to worry about Geth fighters crashing into him.
/-\
Every single man made it to the ground in the first wave. It was an unbelievable display of piloting skill and sheer luck. 40% of the initial landing died in the first 10 seconds. Four hundred men annihilated in 10 seconds. The second wave did far better, losing only 15%. After that the numbers got further and further in the Republic's favor. By the time Tal landed with his squad of Death Troopers, there was five-kilometer front with a dozen landing zones large enough for heavy walkers and artillery and basic fortifications were being made in the blast craters from incoming artillery.
As they came down Tal tried to reach the CO on the ground to see where they needed the most help. Every channel came up with static if a link resolved at all. He still had contact with the fleet, comms with the 417th were patchy at best and he could only reach 1st Armored and 15th Heavy Maneuver. He had no connection to Storm Trooper Command or Army Command, but he was able to connect to 985th Light Infantry, who were on the west flank without a connection to command either.
They touched down in the center most landing pad alongside a dozen heavy transports bringing down a dozen AT-ATs and another few hundred troopers. He came down the ramp running at full combat speed and tagged on to a group of army troopers headed for the front. "Trooper! Where's your CO?"
"Sir, he should be in the big crater on our 11." The trooper pointed out a particularly large crater that was obviously much older than the battle. Tal reached out with the Force, found someone who felt like they had a handle on the situation, and made his way there.
It wasn't the CO. Instead, it was an Army trooper who had a very narrow perspective of the battle. He had his arcs and ROE, and that was all he needed. He did, thankfully, know the exact location of the CO as that was who had given him his orders not two minutes ago. "Other side of the west edge sir, Geth are tracking our transmissions, so he had to reposition."
The CO turned out to be a Major and was holed up under a makeshift armored A-frame with all the comms gear he could get his hands on. "Sir, glad to see you. Seeing as you're here, you discovered that the Geth are learning to jam us. I've pieced together as much of the battlespace as I can, but until I get a set of secondary relays and a EWAR specialist I'm running on less than 30% C2."
"What can I do to help?" Tal asked.
"Not much sir, all supplies are enroute. Navy is leaning hard on us to bring down that gun, but I don't have contact with the troops up there. Open that front and I'll give you coordinates for some of the jammers. We get comms going and I can put walkers and artillery on target."
"I'll get you your comms Major. Have the heavies standing by and send the Grand Army my way."
Tal spent the next hour slogging through ash that had, through the sheer quantity of blood and Geth fluids, been turned to a sort of proto mud that stuck unpleasantly to his boots and made the ground shift as he advanced. His bodyguard didn't seem to have any such issues. Where he had long stopped relying on any of his senses beside the Force. His guard were perfectly capable of and completely confident in their ability to fire on the move.
They kept him covered and nearly unbothered by the Geth all the way to the front, then to the base of the cannon. They had linked up with Grand Army forces, broken the jammers, opened the front. And they kriffing stalled.
The Geth had dug in with a trench network that was covered from overhead observation, anti-tank guns, missile batteries, mortars, and enough machine guns to make an arms supplier pop a hard on. They lost a pair of AT-ATs in the first push, three AT-TEs and another four AT-ATs in the second. At least two platoons of Stormtrooper and Army infantry per push.
They ended up calling in the shock troopers, Grand Army not Stormtroopers, and that still barely got them in. It took a whole damn company, grenade launchers, a dozen walkers and a group of MCVs. All that to get them into the trench, then it was a stormtrooper game.
The Stormtroopers delivered. Where every branch of the republic armed forces believed int the 'every man a rifleman' the Stormtroopers went a step further. 'Every Stormtrooper a shock trooper', while not at the same level as dedicated shock troops, only the Grand Army could keep pace in a trench clearance with Stormtroopers.
Grenades went out, suppressive fire laid down, and troopers pushed firing as they went. Tal didn't need to do a thing; his presence was pure morale at this point. A catalyst for the efficiency and courage of the troopers whose lives were on the line here. Today, these troopers lived by the oldest of military traditions. Glory or death. In many cases both.
Over and again, they pushed, constantly relieved by fresh troopers as squads took casualties. The trench was theirs, the Geth just hadn't figured it out yet. Tal ran through the trench, blaster at his shoulder. A dozen sets of white armor in front of him, and a dozen sets of black around him. They were at the base of the gun.
The troopers breached, they poured in, Tal went in right with them. The world was for a brief moment, nothing but flashes of light and violence. He found his lightsaber in hand, a thousand missing moments, impressions, paths in the Force. And got punched clean off his feet by the biggest Geth he had ever seen.
Tal landed in a roll, his blade came up to intercept the coming strike and found that the blow never came. Instead, he found a punch on the wrong side of his helmet. His guards pulled him back under a blanket of covering fire. Finally, he got a good look at it.
This Geth was wrong, where every Geth he had seen moved fluidly, with efficiency. This one was clumsy, it shook, spun, and shuddered. In one hand was a sword and there was a mass accelerator on a mount above each shoulder. As he watched it, his guard were able to shoot both accelerators off its shoulders and lay down enough blaster fire to bring down a small walker.
Tal reached out with the Force, and found his sense tried to slide around it. But he found it, and he crushed it with a gesture. Not willing to risk his men's lives in fighting an unknown that had gotten a hit in on him twice.
More troopers poured into the building. Tal grabbed a LT. "Get this gun on side or offline, what ever you can do in the next five minutes. And get this thing on an airlift up to the Intent. I want to know what the kriff I just destroyed."