"And when he goes to Heaven,
To St. Peter he will tell:
Another marine reporting, Sir;
I've served my time in hell."

Epitaph on the grave of PFC Bill Anderson, KIA in the Guadalcanal Campaign 1942 according to historian Samuel L. Morison & based on a 1917 poem by Frank Bernard Camp.

Chapter 17.3 - Virmire: Forlorn Hope

That day… Saren taught me what it really means to wage war.

A lot of people will probably write that off as another empty statement regarding the cruelty of war, especially considering what the Reapers would later be capable of.

But, try and imagine the following situation:

You have, somehow, managed to work your way from 'civilian with a gun' up to meet the high expectations of seasoned soldiers and, more importantly, to match the quite dangerous task of surviving and succeeding in some of the harshest battlefields of the time - Shepard's missions.

And that's not even counting the myriad of difficulties trying to cope with the fact that, bam! Suddenly you were part of a fictional universe in a setting around 150 years in the future. And you could make educated guesses about the future. Only, if you did that too openly, you'd be worse than dead...

Despite this more than challenging situation, you have grown more confident, in your equipment, your teammates, your very own skills. You think, foolishly of course, but you think that you actually aren't that bad of a fighter and able to adapt. That, together with your trusted squadmates, you may actually be able to master any situation the battlefield throws at you.

Of course it isn't easy. But even with all the difficulties in your way, all the close calls and narrow misses, one thing has remained: A subconscious trust, the faith that somehow, you will still be able to come out on top.

And then have it all taken away in just one moment.

Missions with Shepard in charge had always seemed… controllable, somehow. Of course, large parts of that had been down to me knowing a lot of stuff in advance, I'm not gonna lie. But all my knowledge wasn't worth a dime when the shooting started.

The ordinary mission under Shepard's command involved us getting somewhere, infiltrating/shooting up the place, taking out all hostiles, grabbing whatever we came for, and then getting out. It usually was… clean, in a way. Controlled.

But this, the chaos of a true warzone, where my comrades died around me, where …

That was a different beast.

And it could not be controlled.

I have, on multiple occasions in this account, talked about how combat affected me. While I do not want to repeat myself endlessly and bore you out of your mind, I think I have to reiterate something.

Those of you who've been out there fighting know what I am talking about. But I have hopes that there will be some readers, maybe decades or even centuries from the time I'm recording this, that never had to experience life-or-death combat. But they too must understand.

It's worth remembering that humans are still animals. We may be more intelligent, we may have something that is called 'culture', we may be so far above the food chain that we aren't really part of it anymore - but we're still animals at our cores. When pushed into a corner, all our oh-so-high level of evolution and culture is rendered useless, and the suppressed animalistic instincts come back out - all the training barely enough to tame it in the first place.

Humans somehow 'unlock' extra strength when forced into a life-or-death scenario. Some say it's adrenaline, some say it's just an insane amount of focus you get, but I am not so sure it is that simple. I've read accounts on how people have torn apart shackles to get out of certain situations, something impossible under calmer conditions. Others manage to solve complex problems in a matter of moments, based on pure instinct and reflexes, and later just can't do the same thing when they're at ease.

It is only too fitting that World War One, the so-called 'War to end all Wars', is remembered for being the first total war, the first war dominated by heavy industry, for machine guns cutting soldiers down by the thousands, the first fighter planes, the first tanks, mass use of poison gas... and yet still, when all that fancy new tech only led to bloody stalemates, and it was necessary to dig them out of their trenches... warfare returned to hand-to-hand combat, knives, improvised trench clubs, or even goddamned spades to bash each other's heads in, like our primal ancestors millennia before.

... I am talking, and thinking too much again, aren't I?

Ah well. That's how I am, and I am not going to apologize for being thoughtful.

The lack of Shepard's guidance did cause me to slowly, but surely, loose myself to instinct and reflex.

Following the ingrained steps of aiming, firing, retreating like an automaton.

A moment of hesitation, a pause at the wrong time, would mean the end.

In other words: I lost myself. I ceased being the man I was.

I was Raven. This was no longer an alias, masking the truth. It just was the truth, plain and simple.

The Mattock, per default, can only fire in semi-auto, a single round at a time. Common sense would tell you that's a bad thing. Lieberschaft, the manufacturer, however used to advertise it as a feature, as this doesn't allow a soldier to just spray 'n pray when stressed out, thus enforcing accuracy and ammo conservation, on top of reducing the tendency to overheat the gun.

At least since Virmire I know that there is more than a grain of truth to that, and it helped me greatly. Martinez for example, the second PSC and equipped with the 'default' Alliance Avenger, started to get severe heat problems later on and almost depleted his entire ammo block - more than two thousand rounds - in the span of twenty minutes. Additionally, he utterly burned out the internal heatsink. Something that came back to bite him when the Geth kept on coming.

And the Geth just kept coming en masse.

From all angles, every direction. Nowhere was safe. Guns, rockets, those goddamned flying drones - what we had in equipment and maybe in skill over the individual Geth units, they had in sheer overwhelming numbers.

Troopers in the dozens. Destroyers, shrugging off fire and distracting us from their brethren. Hoppers that constantly threatened to stab us in the back. And Saren's tank-bred Krogan, modified to be stronger and indoctrinated to fight for his will - which, of course, wasn't his will at all.

Of those enemies, I preferred killing the Krogan.

At least they bled just like us.

Maybe, under Shepard's direct leadership, we would've fared better. But as things were, I slowly, but surely felt more and more isolated from the others, any semblance of squad discipline and order gradually decomposing.

I didn't dare to use my stims just yet, for fear of completely losing my mind. But it was a close call.

Desperation clenched my heart and strained my mind. I felt paralyzed, unable to break out of the same thought processes and cycles. My thoughts were slow, any sparks of ideas and initiative drowned out by the volleys of gunfire and explosives around me.

In a small part of my mind, I kept repeating the same mantra.

We need to do something. We're losing. There has to be something I can do.

But there was nothing.

My very thoughts were starting to be consumed by the battle, tunnel vision set in, a dark flickering in the corners of my eyes. The blood pulsating in my ears made it impossible to hear the comms.

I awoke briefly when a body crashed down next to me.

Private Katsavidis. Face-down in the water, heavy red clouds surrounding his helmet.

Another element on my HUD went red.

I screamed. It went unheard in the explosion of yet another salvo of rockets.

At this point, the value of our lives could only be measured in minutes.

But then, suddenly, the firing ceased. We had done the impossible.

Twenty minutes, forty-eight seconds into the battle, we had exhausted the Geth's reinforcements.

But the price had been costly.

I think I should consider myself lucky that my memory of the events aren't as sharp anymore, following my injury later that year… No, no going ahead of myself.

What little I do remember, I need to bolster with the extensive combat logs my suit and the squad-comms kept. It was time to take stock. I had foolishly thought that it couldn't get any worse. Of course, I was mistaken.

Katsavidis, Davies, and Garraway were gone. Killed In Action.

Kats had been overwhelmed by too many drones at once. Only seconds prior, he had succeeded in taking out two juggernauts… at least, as Miller phrased it with thick voice, as he kneeled to close his friend's eyes; "He went down with'a fuckin' grin."

Since Mason had been knocked out, Garraway had manned our squad LMG, and done excellently to thin their ranks… but even her heavy armor had been no match for a whole salvo of rockets, which had exploded her into a mess of limbs, chunks of bloody flesh, and shrapnel. …

I still have to shiver at the vague memory.

Let's just say that it wasn't a pretty sight, and leave the mental images to me.

And Davies, the recently-promoted PSC, sturdy like a fucking tree… felled by a single Geth Sniper.

Just like that.

With a finger click.

If I want to be bitter and cynic, I wasn't even surprised.

He had, after all, jinxed it.

Of twelve soldiers that had originally formed Overlord team, only nine were left alive, and only seven of us were still combat-ready. Davies was barely hanging in there. Miraculously, he had sustained no further injury during all of that… but his time was ticking away.

To further increase the horror I felt, Danners had paid the price for sticking with me. We had shared our cover when a flanking Hopper went unnoticed for too long. I hadn't even noticed how she had fallen next to me, two holes in her chest. Until Ash had taken matters into her own hand and gave me a shove to get my attention. Once I overcame the shock, I went to work. I had stabilized and sedated her, even made a small field surgery. Her wounds caused a slow, but steady trickle of blood to fill up her lungs. I had to punch a hole into them and insert a small tube to act as a drainage.

Had I not, Danners would've suffocated in one of the most slow and painful ways possible. By her own blood, no less .

I can only keep thanking Dr. Chakwas for the thoroughness with which she had prepared me for this job. But even with all of that, Danners was out of it. She too would need a professional. I cast a long look into that strangely peaceful face, for a brief moment fighting away enough of my mental deadness to be grateful that I had been able to return the favour.

We worked with all the speed we traumatized and injured lot could manage to recover and to rebuild our lines. My hands quivered, I craved for a cigarette, but the package had been ruined by water seeping into my chest carrier. Not to mention that it would've been a generally stupid idea to take a cig break in an active warzone.

To make matters short, an overview.

The Mako needed extensive repairs, but could be salvaged and used. Ash and Gordon carefully drove it behind some pieces of cover and reinforced what they could. They worked fiercely to keep our last major weapon online, and fortunately succeeded. We moved our injured as careful as we could behind cover and left Garraway's last sentry to protect them.

The irony of a dead woman's legacy protecting two people clinging on to their lives was not lost on me.

Almost all of our proximity mines were gone. The barbed wire had been cleared out by heavy Geth weapons, or by Geth simply using their fallen comrades to create a way through. Only one of the energy barriers was left. All of Sadosk's technical mind couldn't bring the others back online. The crates were all missing slabs of their material, were scarred, or had deep gashes.

The LMG had blown up the moment Garraway did. Our squad radio was on the verge of breaking, and even with it being active, it couldn't overcome the jammers. My medigel reserves and medicine was almost depleted, as were everyone's ammo reserves. I had handed out basically everything I carried and was down to my Mattock, my pistol, one flashbang and two incendiaries. And one charge of stims.

Another wave like that would finish us. And still, no word from either Shepard or the NORMANDY.

I don't remember if anyone in the squad spoke at all. I honestly didn't pay too much attention either, shut myself out, and didn't dare look to the three corpses we had placed somewhere remote. I was disconnected from everyone else, out of synch, as good as a mech at this point.

I cannot say if there was an eerie silence over everything - of if that silence was only within me.

The order to regroup came. I must give Ash credit for sounding as firm as she did, even while yelling at us all.

The static clutter on my HUD was out, and no Geth units in our immediate vicinity, but comms were still gone. Only ever-present white noise.

I don't remember what Ashley said, or how the others that stood with her in a half-circle even looked like. My tunnel-vision was extreme. I only noticed her face, sporting a few more patches of medigel, my own wounds, numbing and throbbing, a few bits of blood on my armor from scratches I didn't bother to fix as to save medigel, and that Miller said something. I do remember his emotionless face, stained with brackish water but almost white, and how hastily and how urgently he spoke.

The decision was made to send out a small team to neutralize the Geth radio tower which had been located in relative proximity. It was the only chance to re-establish communications with the other teams and to come up with an idea, as that tower also hosted the scramblers that affected us.

Miller took Gordon and I with him. I do not know why. Maybe my medigel was actually so depleted that I was useless in the line, maybe he wanted me with him to keep an eye on me, or maybe I was just one of few guys left who had no injury that limited movement. I honestly can't tell.

My armor's logs say that we left the main team T + 37 mins into the mission and reached that destination seven minutes later. I don't know, that may just be the truth. I have no recollection of the way there, aside from one strange picture left in my head about how I helped Sadosk patching up a wound to his left 'horn'. Maybe it's because that injury so uncannily reminds me of Mordin. Or, maybe, because it can't be true - he wasn't even with us.

The log also says that we encountered resistance along the way and confirmed a couple of kills. It doesn't specify what units, or why on Earth we were able to go through just like that. Maybe the Geth couldn't deal with five teams at once?

The next thing I remember…

...and how I wish I wouldn't...

… is how Gordon and I watched Mils' back has he planted a satchel charge on the base of a twenty meters high tower, on top of a small hill a bit outside the Geth base.

"That'll do," he panted, and grabbed for the crude-yet-functioning detonator, "now we'll get some bloody distance between us 'an this bugger 'ere an' put some fire to their asses."

There was nothing left of the sarcastic calm he had displayed, even on Feros, when swarmed by dozens of Creepers. Only cool focus and dark fury.

"Copy that." Gordon said and looked down. "Nothing from Williams or the others, they're - Hoppers!"

Four of them suddenly jumped into our field of view as we returned fire.

I was hit twice. The first one knocked out my shields, the second hit was a glancing blow off my pauldron. But my HUD started flickering immensely.

Gordon was off worse. Much worse.

As in, he was shot from behind.

The Hoppers acted as a distraction. I should have figured it immediately, but didn't do so until it was too late.

On this hilltop, we had no cover. The Hoppers were killed, but four Drones and four Troopers took advantage of the opening we offered.

It all happened too quickly for me to react, aside from doing the obvious and keep firing. It was effective in that it dropped one Geth, Miller took care of another one.

Only then did we realize that Gordon remained still. His icon on my display turned red, and flatlined. Before it flickered and vanished, the humanoid icon representing his armor reported severe and fatal damage to his heart.

The howling rage in Miller's cry and the hatred in his eyes still send a shiver down my spine. But there wasn't any time to mourn or grieve. We had to keep going on. Or else we would join him too, soon.

"RPG!"

His scream left me no time. I dropped to the ground just in time to hear the projectile screeching past me, impacting somewhere behind me.

The blood that pulsed in my ear made it difficult to make out any other sound. I shrugged off the dust, drew a bead, and pulled the trigger multiple times. The sound of Miller's Avenger joined my own gun.

The fight lasted for twenty more seconds. I felt three more RPG explosions. We managed to repel them for the time being, but my armor's VI calculated that we had only around sixty seconds until even more Geth would swarm us.

It was time to get out of here.

"Fuck…"

I turned around.

A dark feeling spread through my stomach and took control of my heart.

"Shit, Raven." Miller said, astonishingly unemotional. "I think that's it… for me…"

My feet started moving the same moment he caved in and slouched against the station's hull. His Avenger, still smoking, dropped by his side. The corporal pressed his hands on his stomach. It did nothing to conceal the gaping hole where his armor had been burst.

And how blood and… entrails...

I rushed to his side, my last charge of medigel at the ready, wanting to do something. But my squad leader only waved his hand.

"It's… useless…" he croaked, and gave me a lopsided grin. "There's less in me… left than a... fuckin'… cardboard cutout."

He coughed. A massive gush of blood came over his lips. Rationally, I knew that he was beyond rescue. But I refused to accept it.

"Shut up!" I said, anger mixing into the feel of helplessness. "If I can get you to the NORMANDY-"

"...Don't waste ya breath, mate." He spoke hastily, as quickly as his injuries allowed. "I've got… five… at a most… 's long as I can keep my guts in… that is…"

As to alleviate any concerns that I had, and just as if he'd just been taking a stroll and tripped over a root, he dismissively waved his hand again. It already shook heavily.

"Don't feel any pain… Chakwas been cooking'... strong stuff… Listen…"

Numb, I kneeled at his side. He handed me a small device.

"Take this bloody thing… get as much distance… and send it… I'll keep 'em from… messing with the charge…they ain't gonna turn me… int'a fuckin' husk, for sure..."

"... anything I can do for you?" I asked quietly.

"...a box in my stuff… black 'n green… make sure... gets to ... family…"

"I will, Sir."

"Atta boy… now, go… get the fuck out… tell' em... say 'sorry'... 'n shit..."

He laughed, but this only caused more coughing, more blood. His breathing went irregular. By speaking, he had robbed himself of minutes.

My HUD started lighting up in red. Enemies were closing in, and fast.

"Go, boy…"

He rose his pistol. Leaning against the tower's dark concrete, he pointed it to where more Geth were going to pour in any second. His hand shivered violently.

Seeing me frozen in my tracks, he turned his head around. The grim ferocity his features displayed, the insane grin with which he had decided to face his demise, the glare which ordered me to obey his words… it's burnt into my very soul.

He mustered all his strength for one, last time.

"Go!"

The dying man's screamed order removed the curse of paralysis from my mind. Unable to think for myself, I simply followed orders.

With a last look to the corporal, and to Gordon's corpse, I...

I ran away.

I inhale.

I exhale.

I shiver uncontrollably.

For a moment, I am back there.

For a moment, I am caged in my own mind, again.

For a moment, I feel the exact same desperation as I did then.

Cold paralysis, an icy, dead hand holding heart, mind and soul in a crushing grip.

It is only a moment.

My beloved one is my anchor.

Keeping me from drifting away.

But it's a close one.

I can only hope that I manage to get my emotions across, on record.

But at the same time, I am not sure if I want anyone to fully understand.

Regardless.

The words, emotions, and images need out.

Two Geth platforms tried to stop my getaway. Thankfully, I was just coherent enough to take them down. I sought cover behind a larger boulder, outside the detonation radius.

I took the detonator into my hands again. Miller's words had been clear, but something kept me from doing it.

I half wanted to turn around, to try something, to save his life from my stupidity. I refused to believe that my hubris would claim yet another life.

But when his icon in my helmet turned from red to grey, I knew that it was too late.

Biting my lip, and drawing blood in doing so...

I set off the charge.

The explosion temporarily covered up the gunfire, then a lengthy rumble.

When I looked up again, I saw that a landslide covering the small path upwards completely, stopping the ones chasing me from following. This momentary break would not last long, I knew that.

Empty inside, I activated my radio. The words came out of my mouth automatically.

"Private Raven speaking. Williams, do you copy?"

Static.

I wouldn't have believed it possible, but my heart sank even further. Feeling myself panicking, I spoke louder.

"Overlord team, Raven speaking! Report in!"

Nothing.

I lost my nerves. Feeling alone and threatened from all sides, I switched to an open frequency.

"Private Raven of NORMANDY speaking! Anyone hearing this, answer!"

"Rav… report…. You…?"

Jamming noises, a shrill shriek and bouts of crackling made it almost intelligible. I could not even tell if that voice was male or female. Let alone who I was speaking to.

"Raven speaking! We... destroyed the tower. Repeat, we destroyed the tower. Miller and Gordon are… are… dead. What now?"

"Rav… barel… *zzZZZzz* time… Shep… *creeeeeeeeezZzzzzzzzzzz* uke…

"I can't understand you!" I yelled, fear dripping into my voice, and anxiously looked over my shoulder, awaiting a Geth to jump me any second. "I'm coming back!"

"...ega...ive… setting off…. 'scape...out!"

My suits' VI cleared it up as much as it could. Whoever that was, they told me to not come back to the bombsite. To escape instead. They were out of time, and setting off the bomb.

It had all been for naught.

"Negative. I am coming back. ETA ten minutes. Hold position!"

I wasn't even sure if anyone had heard that. No comprehendible answer came in return. Instead, I began to move back, jogging at first, then running as if an Ardat-Yakshi was chasing me. The strain on my mind forced me to move faster, always faster.

I had not done all of this to stand there with empty hands. I had not sent everyone to their deaths to have Ashley die as well. And to have made no difference whatsoever.

And as much as everything in my body, and the vocal majority of my mind wanted me to run away, the small bits that still worked properly did not want to.

I don't want to make myself look like I had some sort of supernatural willpower, because in reality, the opposite was the case. I was barely coherent enough to make a decision at this point, instead of following the 'path of least resistance'.

I think a more accurate and fair way of describing it would be, that I was just incapable of admitting defeat. The idea of… having to make sure that what I had done would get some results at least, was such an obsession at this point, had become such a fixed idea, that any diversion from it would have completely broken my psyche. That sounds more clinical than what it felt like back then, but I think it makes sense.

As bad as it made me feel; I had to return to face my fate there.

The next thing I know, I was back at what the killing grounds of Overlord bombsite had become.

I know that I stopped for a second to take everything in, but not what my emotions were. I can guess however. And, to put it mildly, it couldn't be good.

Only two remained. Williams, and Sadosk. Fighting like they were mad, holding on to what little of our lines remained.

My recon hood gave a strange hum, then it finally broke. Before the HUD fizzled out of existence, it gave me a last look on my fellow soldiers's status.

Dickson and Danners were still unconscious, yet alive.

Corporal Mason was down and out. Significant blunt trauma to the head knocking him out; I do not know what it was. His skull showed signs of fracture, not enough that I would say that his skull had cracked, but serious in its own right. And the way the brain had swollen was worrisome as well.

José Martinez; KIA. Cause of death: Exsanguination. Legs ripped off. Bled out.

As much as that was a bad idea, I just had to look at his corpse. I wish I hadn't.

Wouldn't make the look on his face and those broken, void eyes overlap every mental image I have of him, the always messy, helpless but likeable drunkard.

I can't properly recall the status of every bit of fieldwork we'd put up; but it wasn't much left. The Mako's guns had malfunctioned and now sprayed sparks from multiple fist-sized holes all over the turret, but with the threat it had posed being neutralized, the Geth had largely ignored it. In a small break from combat, my squadmates had moved our injured into the cargo compartment where they were the most protected from any shrapnel.

And so, from twelve, we were down to three. And every single one of us was wounded as well. The fighting continued, but the Geth offense had become desperate. They merely threw in one unit after the other at this point; trying to grind us down.

But it was working. We had nothing left to resist with.

T + 1 hour, 14 minutes into the mission.

And the end was near.

Only one reason was left to hold on.

They had not set off the bomb yet.

"We still can't raise Shepard!" Ashley yelled as she spotted me, diving out of her cover to fire a long burst from her damaged rifle at two troopers. She hit both hard, and Sadosk, somehow still calm and effective, finished the job.

I grunted. The failed assault hadn't even worked. Not that it even matter anymore.

My recon hood could not even be reactivated. I tore it from my face, the sudden sensation of cool air, smelling of blood and smoke, hit me like a truck.

Then I fucking saw him.

I had my rifle back up in an instance, aiming above my head, at a point in the distance.

I tried to yell a warning, but my throat felt constricted, only a small croak came out.

He looked down on us, around twenty meters from me, about ten meters off the ground on that bloody hoverboard of his. Arms folded in front of him, a snarl distorting the already ruined face. No wonder watching how his units fared.

But he bled. Through my scope, I could see rivlets of blue all across face and upper body, where the armor allowed to see it.

Had he already confronted Shepard? Had things gone as usual? Or…

I refused to believe that he had killed Shepard. But this was so far removed from how it was supposed to be that I couldn't be certain. And the uncertainty drove me even deeper into the madness.

A wild idea crossed my mind. Maybe, if everything else failed… I could still get something from this.

I exhaled.

Did my best to remain steady.

Pulled the trigger.

And missed.

He effortlessly dodged shots, two times, three times. I made it easy for him. I was too exhausted to aim properly, too slow, too predictable.

By that point, Sadosk and Ashley had spotted him too, and their guns spat at him as well.

Whatever bullets didn't miss were absorbed by his personal shields.

"Foolish monkeys."

Saren didn't even speak loudly. Yet still, somehow, his voice drowned out everything else.

He unfolded his arms and tossed three objects into our direction in one swift motion, before speeding up and vanishing from sight.

Ashley let out a simply inhuman roar.

Saren's grenades exploded.

I came to my senses a few seconds later. Alarms blurted loudly from hidden speakers all over the base. I shook the concussion out of my head and jumped to my feet by instinct, but wounds and water slowed me down.

My shields had held, mostly. Two pieces of shrapnel had punched through my armor, but I didn't even feel it anymore.

A quick look around.

Sadosk was down. Ashley sat with her back against a crate, holding her chest.

Fear can be quite an effective anaesthetic as well, it turned out.

I dashed over. Sadosk was out cold, Ashley was responsive, but could only gurgle, not speak.

I used my last medigel reserves to patch her up as good as I was able to, but the blood loss was too substantial.

She too blacked out. I listened to her breathing, which was surprisingly regular. But even that was not a relief anymore.

What followed was… the only logical thing left to do.

I had let Saren slip through my hands. I had killed almost all of my colleagues in my hubris. The attempt to save one, had killed twelve. Shepard's status, and that of her squad, Kaidan, and the STG, were unknown. The NORMANDY had been been hit, sustaining damage.

Exhausted, I sat down next to Ashley's sleeping body. I had failed.

But there was one thing left in my reach. One act of defiance I could still commit before fading. Making sure that despite us having clearly lost…

Saren would not win either.

"All Alliance or Salarian forces, this is Private Raven speaking." I said, flatly. I gulped, then continued, having my radio set to maximal strength. It would burn out the device, but that was not important anymore.

"I dunno if you can hear this, but we're about to be overrun in a few minutes.
I'm the last one still standing.
Everyone else is dead or critically injured.
We're out of time..."

Tears shot into my eyes. I'd like to pretend that it was only dust or something, but I was despairing.

I had failed.

I had only made things worse.

"This bomb has to go off. No matter what."

"I'm starting the time. You have five minutes to make some fucking miracle happen, or get clear."

My voice finally broke.

"I'm sorry…"

My colleagues had not refrained from arming the bomb. They had tried to do that; but had been interrupted before they were able to finish the detonation sequence.

A splash of drying red all over the bronze-colored hull was evidence enough.

All in all, I only had to press three buttons to complete the task. I felt the former drive core come to life with a deep buzz that resonated through my whole body.

Approximate time until the core went critical: Four minutes, forty seconds.

It has to happen. It will be over soon.

And then, you'll be back home…

They say that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. In my case, all the memories of my old home, back in the time or dimension I had come from, all the memories I had suppressed for months upon months, came crashing back into my mind.

My parents. My grandparents. My brother. My friends…

Yet strangely, not a single memory from my time aboard the NORMANDY.

Whoever has fucking sent me here… are you happy now?

I smiled, and rammed the syringe into my throat. That way, my combat drugs would not be dispersed all over my body, but instead be inserted directly into the brain.

I was not quite ready to lay down and let the Geth disarm the bomb.

They appeared a few seconds later, and opened fire. Right when the drug kicked in.

A grotesque, yet strangely enticing cacophony of gunfire, screeching metal, armor breaking, the feel of recoil which numbed my arm, a smell of murky water, iron and blood in my nose…

I felt it all. And in the high dosage that I had chosen, the effects were amplified to almost painful sensations.

The drug removed all of my own, unimportant feelings from this world.

For the first time since my first comrade had died, I felt alive.

Complete.

Whole.

Surrounded by death, by the sacrifices of those I had tried to protect.

I didn't care.

I felt like a god, no -

I was a god.

And it was the day of judgement.

I felt impacts all over my body, yet no pain, not even a sting; I brought up my rifle and did my best to buy time.

I wanted to at least die on my feet.

I held on for two more minutes, according to the log.

I do not remember what I did.

My armor's VI logged twelve more kills.

But for all I know, I may as well have been dead, and the armor and gun worked on their own.

I heard it before I saw it.

Screaming and booming engines, the howling of mighty breezes tugging at my armor, the wheeze of missiles haunting the Geth.

Then multiple explosions, and platforms swept from their feet in droves.

I looked up.

Through heavy dust and smoke, as if a Valkyrie descended from Heaven to take me to Valhalla…

The NORMANDY. Hovering only a hundred meters over the bombsite, enemy fire lighting up her shields. The impact holes clearly visible still, but the fire had been extinguished.

Joker lowered the ship, most carefully but quickly, and turned the rear towards our enemy.

My… soul, for a lack of a better word it, returned to me. The drugs' effects vanished largely. I felt again. Desperation, Confusion, my injuries - but also a fire, the will to hang in, to somehow see this through.

I gripped my rifle firmer and send round after round against the Geth, determined to not let this last straw slip through my fingers.

I was able to fire five rounds before a heavy punch in my left shoulder sent me spinning to the ground.

My vision blurred, but through all the fog, I saw the Mako being set in motion.

Many - Fifteen? Twenty? - Salarians suddenly on the NORMANDY's ramp, opening fire into the Geth behind me as others jumped off and closed in on me.

Someone clasped me, lifted me up and over their shoulder. The red stripe and red hair was my only indication as to who they were.

I think I whispered to Shepard, that they needed to move, that they had two or less minutes left, but I don't know if I actually did - or if Shepard even heard me.

The last thing I remember is seeing Ashley cradled into someone's arms.

Then, Joker yelling something over the ship's comms, and an earthquake.

Darkness then, and nothing more.

I have held them back until now.

But now, tears wet my face, and my eyes hurt.

"And this is the story of Virmire and the first fuckup of many to come."

I say, trying to cover up my feelings with sarcasm.

It works only so well when you are crying and shaking.

She doesn't say anything, doesn't judge me.

The way her grip only goes firmer, without being painful, tells me everything I need to know.

We stand like this in silence for a few minutes. I catch my breath, she wipes some tears off my face.

"... how did I deserve someone like you?" I ask quietly, when the storm's surge calms down.

She smiles. A tiny smile, but genuine and full of affection.

"Oh, many things. One of the most important ones?"

She leans closer.

And plants a kiss on my cheek.

"On that day, despite everything they threw at you - You still made it out."

A/N: Well. That concludes Virmire. And I seriously hope that I didn't mess this up.

The fact that my writing style *slightly* differs from the normal, or rather, that Raven doesn't speak / describes the way he usually does, is intentional. Questions that remain - and there are quite a lot of them - will be answered in the next chapter.

By the time you're reading this, it will probably be a week after I am actually writing these lines. Right now, I have the chapter finished, but I will have to re-read it again with a clear head to erase as many errors as possible, and to give 5 Coloured Walker a chance to do the same. Seriously, without him, none of you guys would read this 'cause it would all be horrible and terrible. (Editor's note: Not true, he's much better now!.. But that might be my influence, so yea, praise me! - 5CW)

Just as much as Virmire was. I cannot describe to you lot how much I did not want to write this; but well, leaving it out just was no option either. Again, I can only hope to have made the best of it and still left the majority of you satisfied. And now, we can all look forward to better times again. Hooray. Maybe there are actually a few people left that want to continue reading...

That being said, I had a bit of a PM-conversation with someone who shall remain nameless because I am not sure if they want their name written here; and they made a suggestion which I found interesting and wanted to forward to you all.

What if - Raven does Not make it out? What if - Crow needs to take over?

I'd actually be interested in writing that myself, but seeing how I struggle to even write on *one* story, I just know it would end up in disaster. But how about you all?

I know that some of you, esteemed readers, are authors yourselves and have published here on FFdotNet. Others I've exchanged PMs with were looking to start writing, but have no idea how to begin, or were hesitating and doubting their own skills.

(Or maybe you just really don't like the way I handled Virmire and want to rectify my mistakes…?)

I've spoken with Crow / Armnorn, and we're hereby giving permission to any writer that wants to (provided they give their best to write a good story, of course), to explore that angle, with what I have written so far as a basis; including changes to how Virmire works out.

Just let me know if you do, and give me the appropriate credit. I am looking forward to reading it, if anyone is interested; and I think Armnorn even more so - surprisingly enough.

But, yeah. As for this story… the gigantic obstacle that Virmire is, is now out of the way. All primary missions save for one are done and dusted. Mass Effect 1 is coming to a close.

Time to finally see this through, and set up.

… just looking back at what I just wrote shows me how tired I am right now. Apologies. By the time you're reading the chapter properly, it will be cleaned up a bit. At least the schedule I forced on myself is working as intended - part 17.2 and 17.3 both took one and a half month, roughly, and splitting them instead of making them a single chapter of around 13k words has done wonders for my only reason I've delayed releasing 17.2 is that I wanted you guys to be able to read them in one go, as they are intended to be. I hope this actually does work as intended.

You guys judge me on that. If you liked the chapter, please consider leaving me a review - and if you're new, please consider favoriting and/or following as well!

Now, I don't know how long the next chapter will take, as I have an idea for another short story from another universe, and I feel that it is kind of blocking me from writing about ME at full 'efficiency'. We'll see. But I would expect 2 months, 3 at a most.

Take care, fellas, and I see you for Chapter 18: Race Against Time!

For Your Interest: A 'Forlorn Hope' is a 'military' term for a formation of soldiers fighting separated from the main army, and in positions where it is actually expected that most will be killed or wounded. Such soldiers would earn double pay, or be immediately granted promotion should they survive, or similar incentives.
That being said, 'Hope' is actually a wrong translation to English; the original Dutch/German words 'Hoop/Haufen' would mean heap or bunch.
Gives a nice double meaning to the title, in my books.

Editor's P.S: I'd say about… 15% of the delay on these two chapters is on me guys, just losing track of 'Oh, I need to beta this.', so, for my 15%, I say sorry. Though Raven likely disagrees with the percentage and I'm pulling the number from my but :P

Anyhow, this has been an enjoyable read and work for me, I hope it's good for you. Also, sorry for letting mistakes slip through last chapter, and, in all honesty, probably this chapter. Neither of us are perfect, but I figure we do a decent job of catching everything.

Anyhow, Cheers! Until next chapter.

Raven's P.S.: Included some small things into the chapter & 5CW's P.S.; because we totally did not forget about that :D