Chapter 3 – Early Grave
(Ten years ago)
February 22nd, 2201, 0947 hours — Kite's Nest, Gunthel System — The Planet of Bahak
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…
(First Lieutenant Lancelot Percival – Fifth Battalion, 104th Marines)
Fifteen minutes after landing on Bahak
Percival's boots carved heavy divots into the sand as he sprinted through the no-man's land towards the slaver's lines. His rifle was pressed tightly to his chest and his shoulders were drawn inward as he attempted to make himself as small a target as possible. Behind him charged the rest of his platoon – around twenty marines, all of them angry at the friends that they had lost. All of them determined to make the batarians pay.
While the rest of the company was still screaming lustily at the rousing words of their captain, Percival instead chose to save his breath for the matter at hand. Instead he focused on drawing air deep into his lungs – focused on expelling all the carbon dioxide his body was producing. While Kara, Ducky, and Jazz were all still screaming their heads off, Percival was entering a trance.
The enemy trenches were less than twenty meters away now, but none of the batarians had yet to respond to the charge thanks to Zulu Company's massive wave of suppressing fire. Percival put on one more burst of speed and pulled ahead of his platoon. His left hand fell from the barrel of his Lancer to the grenade belt at his waist. He ripped a grenade from his belt, primed it, and tossed it directly into the trench in-front of him.
The grenade went off with a thundering boom, throwing up sand, blood, and bits of armor. Percival rolled into the trench and landed in a crouch amidst a mass of scattered, batarian bodies. Some were bleeding while others merely looked to be disoriented. A few who had been further from the explosion were pulling themselves to their feet and scrabbling for their weapons.
"Lok Nag Madan!" A brutish voice exclaimed. One of the nearby slavers raised a hairy paw and pointed at Percival, gesturing for the rest of his comrades to shoot. Percival raised his rifle and put a burst into the slaver's battered armor, shattering it and killing him instantly. The slaver slumped against the trench, his head lolling lifelessly.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose up and Percival instinctively threw himself to the side. A barrage of spikes raked through the air where he'd been standing a mere split-second before. Percival dropped to a knee and returned fire, his return-burst catching the slaver in the faceplate of his helmet and blowing out his brains in a fine, crimson mist.
A few of the other slavers not killed by his initial grenade-toss were beginning to stir, but Percival ignored them and began to pull himself out of the trench, heading for the next one. He didn't bother to look back, trusting the rest of his squad to handle the stragglers. A few recognizable shouts told him that Cormack and Kane had stayed behind to clear the trench while the sound of overlapping footsteps, unhappy muttering and a light, cheerful whoop told him that Kara and Ducky were currently right behind him.
He ignored a few small trenches, occasionally gunning down a slaver who had exposed himself to fire upon his fellow marines but otherwise leaving them for the rest of his company. Instead he set his sights on the large trench ahead. The trench ahead was larger and had smaller, interconnecting trenches as well as intersections where Percival could see fortifications had been placed. Percival could see marines from other companies running towards other parts of this larger trench.
"Platoon on me!" He bellowed into his radio. The fighting here would be among the thickest, and Percival wasn't one to hang back and let others fight the harder fights.
"Roger that, LT."
"Affirmative."
The effects of Zulu Company's suppressive fire had started to wear off and the slavers were starting to regain their senses and return fire. A rain of spikes whistled past him but he ignored them like he ignored the cries of the marines that they hit. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another marine suddenly get impaled by a large harpoon from an active Kishook, but he ignored that too. He ignored it all— all the fear, the anxiety, the screaming—and focused on the just getting himself to the trench.
He primed another grenade – this time an inferno grenade – and tossed it at the point he intended to enter the trench. Unlike his last one, this grenade went off with barely a sound, allowing the screams of the batarians caught in the flames to reach his ears. He pressed a button on the barrel of his rifle, causing the omni-blade attachment to spring to life, and leapt into the trench.
He landed among the flames like a demon from hell, knees slightly bent to absorb the shock. Around him were the charred, smoldering corpses of nearly half a dozen slavers. He had landed in a small clearing that he surmised to be an intersection judging by the number of branching pathways. Unlike the last trench, this one was almost three times as wide and ran for much further in either direction. Ahead of him the trench opened up wide to continue deeper into the batarian lines. He could see slavers running towards him, screaming angry curses in the batarian language.
He ignored them and focused on the still enemies around him. The floor of the trench was glassy where his grenade had gone off and the air around him still shimmered from the heat. A batarian stood a foot away from where he'd landed, trying desperately to put out the flames currently eating their way up his legs. The slaver looked up in surprise and pain at the massive marine that had suddenly materialized seemingly out of nowhere, surrounded by fire and the bodies of his fellow slavers.
"Madan! Tan Madan gotak ka tala—!" The batarian cried. Percival violently drove the omni-blade of his rifle deep into the batarian's chest. The slaver's fingers made a few feeble attempts to grab his rifle, but that soon stopped as his heart gave out.
He raised a hand and quickly shoved the batarian off of his blade, lifting his rifle to unleash a barrage of suppressive fire towards a group of slavers charging towards him. All but one went down just as his rifle overheated and began to cool down. The batarian let out a long, angry scream and threw his weapon to the ground. He lowered his bladed shoulder and dashed right at him.
Percival ripped his combat knife from his-sheath, side-stepped at the last moment and jammed it up to the hilt in the base of the slaver's neck as he flew past him. The batarian crumpled like a puppet with his strings cut and landed face-first over the burning body of another of his fellow slavers.
All around him his fellow marines were landing in the trenches, careful to avoid falling into the flames that still licked hungrily at Percival's boots. A few of them fired bursts into the fallen batarians while several fanned out to cover the side passages. Individual batarians and small groups of two or three would stumble out of an adjoining trench to attack them but they would be quickly cut down by the more-coordinated Systems Alliance marines. The bulk of the slavers must have been pre-occupied elsewhere.
A batarian turned a corner only to be met with a hail of bullets from Percival's Lancer, as did his friend behind him. Yet a third batarian passed the threshold but unfortunately he made the fatal mistake of stopping to mourn his fellow slaver – the second one that Percival had shot.
"Pardak! Erak T'chak Gante! Pardak!" he wailed mournfully. The batarian looked at the body of his friend and the spike-rifle clutched in his gloved hands dipped ever so briefly.
Every Systems Alliance marine had a universal e-translator that parsed alien languages into either English, Spanish, or Mandarin and parsed their own tongues into the alien tongues used by the many races of the galaxy. Unfortunately, that technology sometimes did not work with uncommon sub-dialects. While Percival and his marines could understand common Batarian, the slavers were using a crude, mercenary dialect that their translators couldn't parse. However, the tone of the exclamation was clear. Pain was one thing that seemed to transcend all species.
Percival trained his rifle on the mourning batarian but some nagging feeling kept him from pulling the trigger. Before he could even question what it was a hail of gunfire from somewhere to his left cut the slaver down. He frowned as Kara marched up to stand beside him with her Lancer raised. Around him his marines were making quick work of the remaining slavers. Percival knew better than to celebrate just yet. the ones manning the outer lines were hardly going to be a part of the slavers' elite forces.
"You had just given him another reason to kill you, LT. Now's not the time to get soft," she said with a grin.
How her customarily cheeky demeanor somehow manifested itself even in the midst of battle, Percival didn't know. If it was a façade it was well-practiced. That sort of façade was hard to keep up when all you could hear around you was gunfire and the pained cries of dying marines. Ducky and Jazz pulled up beside her while Sterling, Kane, Cormack and Woodhouse pulled up on his right.
"Any idea what "Pardak, Erak T'chak Gante, Pardak" means?" Percival asked her. For some reason a part of him couldn't shake those words.
Kara shrugged as did a few of the other marines but Sterling sheepishly raised a hand. "I think it means "Get up, Brother!" in one of the more uncommon Karshan dialects. Pardak must have been his name," he explained.
"How the actual fuck could you possibly know that?" complained Private Kane.
"I was in ops support before transferring to the frontlines, plus I've got a talented tongue," shrugged Sterling. Both Kane and Cormack rolled their eyes, eliciting a small grin from the heavy machine gunner.
"Can we cut the shit and try to remember that we have a horde of angry slavers trying to kill us?" whined Ducky. The marine had taken a knee to the entrance to another trench and had his rifle trained down it. Somewhere far down that way they could see tracers and spikes flying back and forth.
"The corporal is right, let's get back to business," Percival said authoritatively. The grieving slaver was banished to the back of his brain, where he would wait his turn to reappear among Percival's nightmares. Percival then pressed a finger to his comms. "Dimi, Ruiz, take your squads and clear the left and right passageways, Fairy your squad is with mine! We've still got an entire front to clear!" He barked.
"Roger!" the two NCO's replied. Percival watched as each squad took to one of the smaller passageways that ran parallel to the large one Percival and the rest of his platoon. The loss of Carrsen and Eugene had left a noticeable hole in Gunnery Chief Dimitrios' squad while Ruiz's squad was missing Ivanovich. Hopefully they'd gotten her to a medic in the back lines.
The remaining marines of his platoon grouped up and formed up behind him. They'd be going straight down the gut.
James marched up beside him at the head of his squad. The short marine looked no worse for wear unlike the rest of his men. Percival could see that a few of them had taken light grazes. Michaels in particular had taken a nasty spike to the forearm. It was currently still there, although a generous amount of medi-gel had been smeared around the entry and exit wound. The corporal caught Percival looking and gave him a thumbs-up which Percival returned.
"What a fucking morning, any word from the captain?" James asked.
"None yet," Percival replied. "Our orders still stand though, take these lines and establish an LZ. You're still with me on this one, right?"
His Gunnery Chief chuckled like a father would after hearing their kid ask a stupid question. "You get hit in the head on the way in or something? Of course I am."
Percival smiled, then opened up the channel to the rest of his marines. "Let's go, onto the next intersection! We need to take their lines before the artillery touches down!" He barked again.
He took point, his Lancer raised. Way down the trench he could see an oversized platoon-strength group of slavers angrily defending an intersection against another platoon of marines. A couple of spikes shot down the trench that Percival and his platoon were currently heading down but luckily the trench was wide enough that his marines could spread out and avoid getting hit. The slavers didn't seem to be watching the trench that they were in, with any luck they'd be able to take them by surprise.
"We're coming up on an enemy strongpoint, soften them with grenades and set up a crossfire but don't charge. You don't want to get caught in friendly-fire," Percival quietly ordered.
He could hear the rasps of helmets and some quiet acknowledgement lights from his marines. Gunfire and screaming filled the air from both wounded slavers and marines alike but the platoon didn't make so much as a whisper as they advanced to flank the slaver position.
They set up behind a few lines of sandbags not twenty meters from the slavers. The slavers had set up their fortifications on a small, man-made hill of dirt, giving them a height advantage that allowed them to suppress some of the other marines from the battalion currently trying to push past this point.
"Ready grenades," Percival whispered over the comms. Jazz, Kara and Ducky all prepped grenades and stealthily moved to take up places beside him. Thankfully the batarians hadn't noticed the marines encroaching on their flank.
Things went south before Percival could even blink. The platoon that had been attacking the position suddenly decided to break ranks and charge. Percival watched as two marines went down with spikes through their faceplates but the rest of them pressed on, intent on seizing the fortification. Before he knew it they were at the hill and engaging the batarians at close-quarters, robbing Percival's platoon of the ability to use their grenades.
"Shit! What the fuck are they doing?" James shouted.
"Fairy, have your squad cover the other platoon! Jazz, Ducky, Kara on me!" Percival screamed.
He wasn't going to stand by and let the other platoon get massacred by the better-entrenched force. Percival vaulted over the sandbags and began sprinting towards the hill, the marines from his fire-team close behind him. The batarians were preoccupied with making mince-meat out of the other charging platoon and were thus unprepared for Percival's little improvisation.
"I thought we weren't charging!" Ducky screamed as a line of spikes embedded themselves in the ground a foot away from where he was running.
Kara laughed and fired mid-stride at a slaver taking aim at a wounded marine. "What's the matter Duck? You trying to live forever or something?" came her breathy reply over the squad-com.
Percival leapt and in one fluid motion heaved himself over the fortifications, his boot colliding heavily with a slaver about to fire on a fellow marine. The slaver stumbled and growled and attempted to bring his Spike-rifle to bear but was quickly gunned down by Jazz, who had followed right behind Percival. The marine lieutenant gave his subordinate a nod of appreciation stepped over the dead slaver and sprayed his Lancer at a group of slavers still taking shots at the other platoon.
"I'm bringing up the rest of the platoon! You watch yourself!" James called out over the comms.
A few of the slavers had begun to take notice of Percival's little intrusion but by then the rest of his fireteam had made it up into the fortifications. They began prioritizing the slavers who were still trying to target the rest of the other platoon, leaving the slavers who had begun to react to Percival's assault.
Every marine hated quasi-close quarters fighting, the kind of fighting where both you and your opponent were too close to effectively use a long-barreled weapon and yet too far away for knives. The corporal and the private were no slouches in the close-quarters combat department, but they both lacked the reflexes and the combat intuition that came so naturally to Percival in a situation such as this.
As Jazz and Ducky gunned down the slavers who were slightly further away, Percival parried a slaver's bladed spike-rifle with his M7 Lancer. For a moment they struggled, locked in a battle of strength.
Percival took a single step back and to the left, causing the batarian to overextend and stumble forward just a foot. The marine lashed out with his boot and tripped the batarian as he stumbled, causing him to land face-first in the dirt. Without a second thought, Percival drilled a burst into the back of his head.
A loud howl caused his helmet to vibrate. A nearby batarian flung his spike-rifle to the ground with a cry and charged at Percival. The marine lieutenant ducked beneath his charge, pivoting so that he was now behind the batarian. As the slaver attempted to turn around and meet him, Percival put the barrel of his rifle against the slaver's chest and triggered the omni-blade attachment. He went down with a gurgle.
Percival turned just in time to see a pair of slavers who had him in their sights get gunned down.
"—Turning your back on the enemy, what the fuck are you thinking?" James cussed at him. The rest of his platoon had arrived.
"I was thinking that you were watching my back!" Percival grinned.
Another slaver popped up, only to be gunned down by both marines.
"I am going to request a new first lieutenant as soon as we get off this rock," James muttered. The clatter M7 Lancer fire was now vastly outstripping the whine from the slaver's spike-rifles. The marines from the platoon that had foolishly charged the front of the hill in a direct assault were finally able to do some damage now that Percival had diverted enough attention from them and the slavers were now being decimated from both sides.
"And I am going to request a new gunnery chief as soon as we take this damn hill, maybe get someone I can finally see eye-to-eye with," Percival joked in return.
The short marine bristled, "Oh motherf—"
"The Systems Alliance should really stop recruiting hobbits, huh?" Kara laughed.
"I'll have to make sure our next transfer isn't from the Shire," Percival chuckled. His rifle overheated and he immediately let it fall. Before it had even hit the ground his M-5 Phalanx was out and he was giving one last slaver a quartet of new eye-sockets. A few chuckles started to come up over the comms, one of the marines in James' squad slapped the small gunnery chief on the back.
"Yeah, where'd they find the Gunnery Chief anyway? Khazad-dum?" Sterling cried out.
The last of the slavers finally fell, and the only living, breathing things up on that hill were wearing Systems Alliance blue. A few marines looked oddly at the heavy machine gunner.
"Cause you were talking about lord of the—,"
Kara shoved her friend roughly, causing the big gunner to stumble onto his knees and nearly impale himself on the bladed pauldrons of a slaver corpse.
"Shut the fuck up, nerd."
Though the hill was now theirs they still had to take the rest of the trenches. Percival loaded a new ammunition block into his Lancer, checked the heatsink, and began to make his way back down the hill.
"Platoon on me!" Percival shouted. "Check your heat sinks, were keeping this party going!"
"You heard the Lieutenant!" James grunted. "Now is not the fucking time! We still have an ass-load of slavers to deal with!"
Percival gestured for the second lieutenant leading the other platoon to leave a few men behind to guard the wounded and for the rest to follow him. The second lieutenant was in no position to disagree. His eyes were cold and glassy and he seemed to be able to do little else but nod. He waved at his men to follow behind Percival's platoon.
The platoon finally reached a long trench that ran perpendicular to theirs. Steps had been carved out on both walls of the trench to allow shooters to fire over the trench. Percival could see almost a dozen other smaller trenches just like the one his platoon had just emerged out of opening up into this one. From these adjoining trenches emerged the other platoons from the 104th. It had to be the final line.
Percival recognized a familiar marine with a set of Staff Lieutenant bars on his pauldrons standing up on one of the steps, firing over the lip of the trench. He leapt up onto the step beside him with a single leap and took a knee.
"Avery!" he called out. "What's the situation?"
Staff Lieutenant Avery Miller whipped around and crouched to avoid the incoming enemy fire. The marine turned around and depolarized his faceplate.
"Percival!" he cried. "Get your men up on the line! The rest of the slavers have pulled out and set up defenses about fifty meters north of the trench!"
The slavers were smart. They were unwilling to fight the Alliance at close quarters even with their spike rifles and bladed armor, and instead had chosen to move the battle to where they had the tactical advantage. They had pulled out of the trenches and had set up a line of defenses at the very entrance to the valley. They had the relative high ground, and the entire battalion would have to cross yet another killing field if they wanted to finish off the batarians.
Percival nodded. "Platoon! Get up there and lay down some fire!"
"Roger that Lieutenant!" Kara cried. "Woodhouse, Jazz, Ducky on me!" The corporal gestured to two other members of first squad and together they raced up onto the steps and started firing out of the trench. "Sterls, Cormy, Kane, focus on the kishook emplacement!"
Percival turned back to Avery. "Where's the captain?"
The staff lieutenant pointed behind them, Percival's blue eyes followed his finger and eventually spotted him. He brought his gauntlet up in a quick salute.
Marines had stopped pouring out from the adjoining trenches. Every last one looked like they had been through hell, one in every five were sporting some sort of wound. Percival couldn't help notice that there were a lot less marines now than there were a short hour ago. Even if they could seize the line and allow for the heavy artillery to land, Percival wasn't sure that the battalion would have enough men to actually seize the facilities, especially if they had to fight across fifty yards with no cover.
A hand reached out and tapped Percival on the armored thigh. Percival looked down and spotted a slim, female marine from Zulu Company with a pair of second lieutenant bars and carrying a massive M-110 Crocodile Heavy Machine Gun. She raised a gauntlet and held it out to Percival.
"Mind giving me a hand, first lieutenant?" quipped Second Lieutenant Guinevere Lockley.
His heart lit up with relief. At least she was still alive. Percival depolarized his faceplate so Guinevere could see the big smile he had plastered on his face. He grabbed her and helped her up onto the step where she immediately dug the tripod of her weapon over the lip of the trench and started firing.
A hail of spikes flew over Percival's head. A few combat technicians tried to send their drones across the no-man's land to disrupt the batarian defenses but they were gunned down before they could do any real damage. Carnage rounds couldn't be fired fifty yards away, and very few of the marines had any long-range weapons.
Zulu Company had the heavy weapons, but even with their combined firepower the rest of the 104th were having trouble shooting through the thick web of metal barricades and energy shields that the slavers had set up. Percival cursed, they were going to have to charge if they wanted to end this.
A gruff voice suddenly came up over the battalion-wide channel, "Marines of the 104th and the 78th, this is Fleet Admiral Octavian. Hold your positions."
"What the fuck?" Sterling shouted.
A low, rapidly-repeating rumble suddenly began to assault Percival's ear drums. A quartet of M-49 Thresher Fighter Jet suddenly flew down the batarian line, spewing depleted titanium rounds. Columns of flame erupted from where the fighters had dropped mini-thermobaric payloads onto the slavers. Off in the distance Percival could see another squadron doing the same for the marines of the 78th. The rumble was replaced with the guttural screams of hundreds of slavers.
"The 63rd fucking did it!" laughed Ducky. "They brought down the space cannons!"
The screams were drowned out by the drone of more than a dozen massive M-87 Goblins that suddenly appeared in the airspace above the battalion, each with an M-178 heavy artillery battery clamped underneath. They all simultaneously released their cargo and twelve, massive metal behemoths dropped onto the blood-soaked sands. They were each the size of a small house, with a single barrel nearly two-and-a-half feet in diameter and twelve meters long protruding from their metal bodies.
The bay doors of all twelve Goblins opened up and from each popped out a pair of M-44 Hammerheads. They immediately began flitting around like their namesakes, firing on the surviving batarians.
Percival could see a few platoons from the 63rd emerging from the Goblins. They carefully rappelled down to cover the batteries, accompanied by several platoons of the specialized combat medics that were going to be assisting them once they had found the slaves. Those immediately rushed to the surviving marines of the 104th and began providing treatment. A few were led off deeper into the trenches by some of the more able-bodied marines to help those who had been left behind in the taking of the trench.
"You know, Octavian ain't bad for a chief squid, even if I could have really used a 'danger close'," Jazz nodded in appreciation. A few of Percival's marines grunted in agreement. Fleet Admiral Octavian had been in charge of the 9th fleet ever since it had been formed eight years ago. Percival was willing to bet that most upper-echelon naval officers wouldn't have diverted two squadrons protecting their precious ships just to paste a few slavers on the ground, especially with a ton of enemy ships still kicking around in orbit.
"He takes good care of his men," James called out from somewhere down the line. "I've served with him for the last six years, he won't spill any more grunt blood than he has to."
Percival sighed and wished dearly that he could remove his helmet and run a hand through his hair, but protocol wouldn't allow him to do so until the area was cleared. They all watched slack-mouthed as the Hammerheads made short work of the remaining slavers on the field. No one wanted to interfere with the Hammerheads. With the threat gone, the battalion's combat engineers began to calibrate the batteries while the 63rd covered them.
He turned to where the captain was and saluted once more. Percival wasn't looking forward to seeing the casualty reports from the last two hours. He had lost men from his platoon and his company before, but he had never lost them in such large numbers. He suspected that casualties were going to be in the ballpark of twenty-five percent battalion-wide. A lot of marines had been lost taking the landing zone, and even more would lose their lives reaching and taking the facilities.
Percival finally broke out of his salute, his hand dropping limply to his side. He was just about to grab his rifle when his hand suddenly found itself filled with the smaller hand of the marine beside him. Second Lieutenant Guinevere Lockley looked at him and smiled her beautiful smile.
Percival returned it and squeezed her hand gently. He wouldn't die here, no he wouldn't.
(Ten years ago)
February 22nd, 2201, 1011 hours — Kite's Nest, Gunthel System — The Planet of Bahak
(First Lieutenant Lancelot Percival – Fifth Battalion, 104th Marines)
Somewhere out on the Dunes of Bahak
Percival let his helmet drop from limp hands and let out a shudder.
His captain stood where he had last seen him. Blood dripped down his fingers onto the bloody sand.
Surrounding him were the surviving platoon leaders of X-Ray Company. A vein pulsed across the temple of Staff Lieutenant Avery Miller as he repeatedly clenched and unclenched his teeth. His chestplate and armored arms were coated with human blood, but Percival couldn't tell if it had come from him or some other poor, unfortunate marine. Judging by the quantity, it had likely come from multiple donors.
Second Lieutenant Alexa Volkov was crouched a few feet away, hands propped on her M7 Lancer that she had laying across her knees. She had a few gashes and indents on her armor from a couple of near misses but otherwise appear unharmed. She coughed a few times and angrily spat a wad of blood and phlegm on the sand beside her.
Percival looked around, Second Lieutenant Adito Yogambe was nowhere to be seen.
Captain Michael Garen's helmet lay at his feet. His eyes stared off to where the surviving members of his battalion were currently regrouping for the next push.
Percival was the first to make a move. He took a few steps towards his captain, reached out a bloody hand and gently closed the captain's eyes. He then removed the tags from around the captain's neck and held them out to the Staff Lieutenant, who shook his head and indicated for Percival to keep them. Percival slid them into a utility pouch and sighed again.
Avery walked over and wrapped a hand around the shaft of the oversized kishock harpoon, giving it a slight tug. The captain's body swayed at the gesture.
"Better to leave him there," Alexa grunted.
It had been a lucky shot by some lucky batarian. The harpoon had likely been fired at a steep angle. It had arced high, out of the line of sight of its victim, and had gone right through the captain's chest, embedding itself deep into the sand behind him.
"I am not leaving him here, Alexa!" Avery spat. He threw down his Lancer and took the shaft in both hands, tugging harder.
"Let him be, better that he remain on his feet than be covered up by this accursed sand," the second lieutenant returned.
Elias ignored her and tugged even harder. Percival quickly brushed away his tears and moved to grab his new CO.
"Staff, stop!" Percival cried hoarsely. The captain's body quivered as the staff lieutenant continued to work on the harpoon. "Stop it!"
Avery made to shove his fellow marine away, but Percival was several inches taller and much more solid. He grabbed Avery and pried him away from the captain. The staff lieutenant struggled but eventually gave way.
Elias wrenched himself away from Percival and screamed in anger, kicking at the corpse of a nearby slaver.
Alexa got up from her crouch. She walked over to the captain and gently placed a hand on his chestplate, muttering in Russian. Afterwards, Alexa picked up Elias's Lancer from where it lay in the sand, dusted it off, and held it out to the new commanding officer of X-Ray Company.
Avery accepted it and clipped it on his back. He pressed the palms of his hands against his face and gave a long, low groan. His two fellow platoon commanders waited patiently beside him as the man grieved.
When he finally removed his hands, Avery looked a lot more composed. He looked as if the man he had served under for more than half a decade wasn't impaled on a harpoon just a few feet behind him. He booted up his omni-tool and pulled up the company roster, scrolling down the list. Percival winced at the sheer number of flatlines.
"Second Lieutenant Yogambe's dead, company casualties are at nearly a quarter, with maybe eighty percent of those fatalities," the Staff Lieutenant quietly reported.
Percival winced. In a company of 160 marines, that meant there were about 120 marines still standing. His own platoon had fared only slightly better. Seven marines out of his platoon of thirty-two were down for the count. Both Alexa and Avery's platoon had taken a similar amount of casualties. The captain's platoon had been hit the lightest, while Yogambe's platoon was half-gone.
The Staff Lieutenant tapped another button on his omni-tool and pulled up four other rosters, each one representing one of the other four companies in the battalion. Glancing at the list, Percival could see swaths of black where whole squads had been wiped out. He didn't try and look too closely, lest he spot a blacked-out name of a marine that he knew too well, but he couldn't help but notice that his company was the only company who had lost their commanding officer. Though a few lieutenants were KIA, Major Fergusson and the other captains were still kicking.
"Battalion casualties are around thirty percent," Avery continued, "with the rest of the 63rd and the special combat medics we should be back up to slightly over full strength."
"How are we splitting 1st and 4th platoon?" Alexa asked, referring to the captain and Yogambe's former platoons.
"4th will go to a first lieutenant from the 63rd who will be attached to our company. I'm going to put Gunnery Chief Suen in temporary command of the 1st. Each platoon is also getting four combat doctors-slash-psychiatrists-slash-whatever." Avery replied. "Keep them alive. Just because they're combat certified doesn't mean they've seen actual combat. Aside from that, two platoons from the 63rd will be joining our company for the duration of the mission."
He then pulled up a map of Slaver Valley. Four mineral extraction and processing plants which doubled as slave facilities were scattered along the southern half of the valley, while another four were in the northern half. They were large, ugly structures with the typical batarian spiky architecture and could have potentially held up to a battalion of slavers each, but our intel said that they were mostly filled with slaves.
"The 78th will take the top four facilities, while we get the south. Each company takes a facility while Zulu company guards the valley entrance, just in case there are any enemy forces elsewhere on this planet headed our way. We don't have any information on the status of the interior other than second-hand information, but our informants told us we can expect large open spaces with a lot of refinery equipment, conveyor belts, and walkways."
"Fine by me, better than close quarters with the batarians," Alexa shrugged.
"Once you secure the facility, find the slaves and call it in," Avery continued. "Admiral Octavian will get his rescue ships down as soon as they finish up with the rest of the batarian fleet."
"How long do you think that'll be, Staff?" Percival asked.
Avery rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "No idea, last I heard half the batarian fleet was still kicking while the 9th was at 70% operational capacity. We take that facility and we hold it until they say differently."
"One more thing," Avery added. The new commander of the battalion pulled up the picture of two batarians. Both of them had uncommon, goldish-yellow skin.
"These are the Ghararan brothers, former SIU, heads of the largest slaver ring, and rumored to be coordinating the defense of Bahak. One of the platoons managed to get positive ID's during the battle but couldn't confirm whether or not they'd been KIA. They probably retreated to one of the facilities. They're dangerous and a lot more tactically-inclined than most slavers. They're high-value targets, watch out for them and kill them if you can."
Percival stared at the picture in front of him. Unlike other species, batarians had four eyes – impenetrable pools of black. Most creatures on earth and on other planets usually had pupils with colored irises and white sclera. Batarian eyes seemed a whole lot more menacing, soulless, and just downright evil to Percival, especially when paired with the knowledge that these individuals were largely responsible for tearing thousands of individuals away from their families—children, lovers, friends… kidnapped from their homes to rebuild the shattered batarian empire.
Avery shut off his omni-tool and shouldered his lancer. The three remaining lieutenants of X-Ray Company shared determined glances and tiny, resolute nods. Justice was never a sanctioned mission objective, but it could still be had nonetheless.
"We're going to kill these bastards and save some slaves. Go back to your marines and rest up, lieutenants. We move out in two hours," Avery ordered. Together, the three of them began to head back to where the rest of the company was camped.
Percival gave the captain's body one last look and wiped a line of tears from his eyes, then turned his gaze north towards the entrance to slaver's valley. A slight breeze picked up plumes of sand and swirled them around Percival's boots. A lot more marines would die before the day was finished.
"Goodnight, captain," he thought.
(Ten years ago)
February 22nd, 2201, 1022 hours — Kite's Nest, Gunthel System — The Planet of Bahak
(First Lieutenant Lancelot Percival – Fifth Battalion, 104th Marines)
Fifth Battalion Temporary FOB
Percival wiped a line of sweat from his brow and took another big gulp of water. It was mid-morning on Bahak now, and the sun was starting to come up in full force.
The sound of marine chatter, booted footsteps on coarse sand and the low thrum emitted by the mass effect generators on the M-44 Hammerheads surrounded the Systems Alliance lieutenant. Several companies had erected large tents and shelters to keep away from the sun, while others took shelter either in the shadows cast by the trenches or the M-87 Goblins. Everyone except for those assigned to perimeter defense were resting in preparation for the assault on the facilities.
Percival came up to where his marines were currently camped. Jazz, Ducky and Kara were playing some sort of card-game while Woodhouse, Cormack, Sterling and Kane sat nearby, using the post-battle lull as an opportunity to inspect their armor and their weapons for any damages. Unlike his other three squads, none of his marines in his squad had been wounded. Sterling and Kane both had a few scratches on their armor from near-misses and Woodhouse received a light ankle sprain from jumping into a trench, but otherwise they were all intact. Unfortunately, Fairy's and Dimi's squad had each taken two casualties while Ruiz's had lost three marines.
The effect of the loss of seven of their friends on his surviving marines was palpable. Conversation was muted and terse. Tempers flared here and there over tiny, insignificant things that shouldn't have fazed such a tight-knit group of men and women. His platoon hadn't taken losses for almost a year, and most of the marines that had died today had been with the platoon ever since Percival had been given command of it nearly two years ago. The four remaining marines in Dimi's squad sat and stared listlessly at the sand surrounding them with a dull, distant look in their eyes.
Percival's quiet, almost-sullen arrival and the sad slump in his shoulders drew the attention of his marines. Kara looked up from her card game with a frown and waved a hand. "What's the word, LT? What did the captain say?"
Percival pursed his lips and shook his head sadly. His marines immediately began to whisper in disbelief. Some slowly shook their heads while others simply stopped what they were doing and stared at their lieutenant. The loss of their fellow marines had left the air cold and sour despite the burning, Bahak sun, but the news that their captain – the captain that they had all admired – had died threatened to undo them all right then and there.
"How did it happen?" Sterling demanded. The big marine shoved himself up onto his feet and pushed his way through a throng of fellow marines in an attempt to reach Percival. James luckily managed to stop the hulking, grieving marine a few feet away from him. "How the fuck did it happen?!"
Percival grabbed his helmet and twirled it a few times in-between his hands. "Kishook harpoon," he replied. "Happened sometime soon after we charged."
"Fuck!" Sterling screamed. He kicked at the ground, tossing up a plume of sand and marched off. Kane immediately followed and wrapped an arm around his buddy, whispering quietly to him.
Cormack sighed and buried his face in his hands. "What are we going to do, LT? What the fuck are we supposed to do?"
"Casualties are probably in the high twenties-low thirties across the company, and now we've also lost our commanding officer. I'm not sure we can take those facilities – not without help," Kara added.
"It's goddamn suicide!" grunted Ducky. "A million credits says every surviving slaver on this planet is currently waiting for us in one of those facilities! There could be thousands of them in there, entrenched and fortified, and we've got less than a battalion to take them! We should leave now and—"
"—And what? Sit on our asses while those fucking dirtbag murderers sit and laugh at us? Fuck that!" Sterling screamed. The big machine-gunner had returned, all hot, burning rage. He grabbed the smaller marine by his collar armor and pulled him in close. "Those fucking four-eyed bastards have to fucking pay for what they fucking did! They killed the goddamn captain!"
The smaller corporal was unfazed. "And they'll fucking kill us all too if we go in without backup!" Ducky retorted. "But maybe you're either too stupid to realize that!"
"—And maybe you're a fucking coward! You know how many fucking marines died just to get us this far? But I guess you don't give a rat's ass, do you? After all, it's only your first tour with us. Fuck us, right?
Things escalated when Ducky suddenly slammed his forehead into Sterling's nose, breaking it with a sickening crack. The vietnamese corporal then brought his armored hands up and then down hard on the inner elbows of the machine gunner, somehow managing to break the larger marine's grip. He then threw a quick jab at his chin, eliciting a grunt of pain.
The jab did nothing but irritate the larger marine. Sterling used the opportunity created by Ducky breaking his grip to wind up for a heavy, massive right hook to the smaller marine's side. It connected with a resounded thud that knocked the air out of Ducky and send him doubled-over in pain.
"Guys, stop it! Stop fighting!" Jazz yelled. She got up and tried to grab Sterling's arm but the larger marine easily shook her off, knocking her down. Some of the marines in Fairy's squad began to loudly place bets while others laughed at the sight of the physically-mismatched fight in an uncharacteristic display of cruelty. The marines were in pain – both from the loss of their captain and the loss of their friends. They knew that they were fighting a cruel, sadistic, and above all – desperate – enemy, and they knew that they were in all likeliness going to die in the next few hours. But what did it matter? There was a larger marine kicking the shit out of a smaller marine right in front of them. It was funny, and for a moment they could forget it all.
Sterling wound his arm up and launched another devastating haymaker, this time straight at the Ducky's face. Mere millimeters before it connected he felt himself suddenly jerked back by a large and powerful force. The big marine was yanked off his feet and thrown into the sand. Kane and Cormack immediately grabbed hold and held him down. The fall seemed to bring him to his senses. Ducky made a move towards Sterling but Fairy grabbed him in a headlock.
"Stop this, corporal!" Fairy grunted through clenched teeth.
Percival pulled Jazz to her feet then marched over to the marine he had just tossed aside like a ragdoll, blue eyes ablaze with anger and disbelief. Yes, he knew his marines would be in some pain, but to be fighting each other like this? It spat on the graves of all those who had died and disrespected their sacrifice.
"Stand down, marine! That's an order!" he barked. Percival whirled and pointed a finger at Ducky who was still struggling to break out of Fairy's hold. "Stand down! NOW!"
The murderous look in Sterling's eyes faded. Cormack and Kane loosened their grip and the big marine stood back up, brushing sand off of his armor. Ducky ceased his struggles, though he was breathing heavily and kept his eyes trained on Sterling. The cruel laughter died piece by piece as Percival spun and glared at each perpetrator. He didn't have to say anything to them. Each marine there filled with shame as they each caught a glimpse at the disappointed face of their commanding officer. Here wasn't some fresh-faced second lieutenant right out of Mars or Luna or Terra Nova. Here was a marine – young, yes, but brave and protective of the other marines under his command. Not once in the last two years since Percival had taken command had he ever made a marine take a risk or perform an order he wasn't willing to take or do himself. Here was a marine whom they had given their respect and trust, and whom they had received respect and trust from in return, and they could see it now in their commander's eyes that they were behaving undeservedly of it.
Percival looked around at his marines. They looked back like children who had done something wrong. He was angry, he was disappointed and yet he was also sympathetic. They had lost a lot in the last few hours and they were about to lose a lot more. Percival wanted to bring home as many of his marines as he could, and he couldn't do that if they were fighting each other, or if they were swallowed up by the hopelessness of their situation.
"All of us have lost something today," Percival started. "We're no strangers to loss - we are marines, but today we lost more than we were prepared to lose."
A few of the marines looked down and nodded. The faces of those they had lost came to the minds of each and every single marine. Carssen would never tell another of his famous jokes, Eugene had been about to become a father in three short months. Rahud had been halfway through an old book series that he had fallen in love with and now he'd never get to finish them. War didn't care and war didn't spare.
"We've lost friends… brothers… we lost a man who was like a father to us…" Percival continued.
Moisture began to form beneath his eyelids, which irritated Percival to no end. He angrily swiped a few fingers at it, only to grunt in exasperation as they came back again. His mind quickly flashed back to his last conversation with the captain back aboard the briefing room of the New York. He had known and he had understood how Percival had felt about a certain Second Lieutenant. He hadn't berated him, hadn't chastised him – hadn't written him up for violating regulations. He had simply understood.
"And we are going to lose more today, make no mistake about it. I wish it weren't true… I wish I could say that we won't lose anyone else today, but that would be a lie. It would be a lie because our fight is not finished. It would be a lie because we are marines," Percival said emphatically.
His marines around him nodded in solemn agreement. None of them were strangers to loss, but the fact that they hadn't lost anyone for quite some time had perhaps led them to temporarily forget one of the few, cold truths there were to being a marine. Several squads and a few officers from the other platoons in his company began to gather around to listen to the young marine lieutenant.
"Carssen, Eugene, Rahud, Dehlia, Kazuki, the captain… they died, yes, but don't forget that they died for the same reasons that all marines die – so that no one else has to! Remember that!" he roared at the assembled marines.
Percival pointed a finger up towards Slave Valley. "Remember that there are thousands of lives down there, waiting… counting on us!" he continued hoarsely. "Remember that your fellow marines gave their lives so that those down there might live!"
Almost half of the surviving company and several squads from the other companies had gathered now. Percival caught a glimpse of a familiar, beautiful face in the crowd of marines. Guinevere smiled up at him and for a moment Percival forgot all the pain and suffering he had just gone through. He felt invincible, unstoppable. He held up a gloved fist above his head and raised his voice even louder.
"Remember that the torch is ours now, to hold high and proud until it is our time to pass it on! Remember that those who are dead are not gone – not as long as those of us are still around to honor them! Remember that one day – when we join them once more, it'll be because we fought tooth and nail and to the last breath against those who would hurt others!"
"You're goddamn right! Tell 'em, Lieutenant!" cheered Cormack.
"Remember that we are the fifth battalion of the one-hundred-and-fourth marine regiment, twenty-fifth division! Remember what they call us— they call us the "Last of the Last"! Remember that if we die today it will be because we died fighting for something worth dying for, alongside brothers and sisters worth dying with!
"Remember! We are marines!" Percival finished.
The entire crowd erupted into cheers. Percival dropped his fist and gave a great big sigh that was lost in the wave of noise. He was not a good orator – not by a long-shot. As a child he had been small, timid. In high school he'd grown a lot bigger, but he never managed to shake that timidity. He often stuttered even while talking to his friends, let alone strangers. Despite his big, broad frame, Percival had always felt like that same awkward short, lanky child with messy blond hair.
But ever since he had found out his father had died, Percival had had to do some growing up. Pain was the greatest teacher there was, especially the sort of pain that often accompanied the loss of someone you loved. It could either destroy you, or it could force you to grow – to become something more. Percival had felt that pain once before already, and today he had felt it again upon seeing the broken body of his captain. He hadn't let the pain destroy him before, and wasn't about to let it destroy him now. He would always be that small, timid, stuttering child… but it wasn't all that he was. He was a marine. He was a Systems Alliance marine lieutenant, responsible for dozens if not hundreds or thousands of lives.
He gently pushed his way through the throng of marines around him, all of them looking to pat him on the back or to shake his hand. Percival managed to make eye contact with his second-in-command. He jerked his head, indicating for James to follow, and together the two marines made their way out of the crowd.
"That was a damn fine speech, the teach you that at your fancy officer school?" chuckled James. Gunnery Chief James Fairchild gazed at his commanding officer with a mix of admiration and pride. He had come a long way from the green second lieutenant he had met two years ago, and James was looking forward to seeing the young marine continue what he hoped to be a long and distinguished career.
"Sadly no," Percival chuckled. "They did teach us how to do a really nice blanket tuck though."
The two of them walked side-by-side for a while, simply enjoying each other's company. Percival fished around in his pouches for an energy bar. He found one, unwrapped it, and then offered half to his friend. James took it and together they ate in silence.
"Who has command of the company now? Is it Miller?" James asked.
"It's Miller," Percival confirmed. "He says we're moving out at noon. Have the platoon rest up until then."
"Roger that," nodded James. The gunnery chief finished his half of the bar, swallowed, and then sighed. "I can't believe the captain's gone man… He seemed so untouchable."
Percival hooked both his hands onto the upper-lip of his chestplate and kicked at a rock.
"I know," Percival agreed. "His youngest is serving in the 18th right now, someone from the company ought to be the one to tell him…"
"Fuck this goddamn war," James cursed.
"Same, but this is Bahak. It all ends here, man. We take this valley and the slavers are done. We can all go home."
"Yeah, but how many more of us have to die before that happens?"
"As many as it takes," Percival said softly. His gaze went to the familiar silhouette of an approaching female marine. "Listen Fairy—James, get back to the men and make sure they're done fighting each other. If Ducky or Sterling are hurt, get them down to medical. I want everyone in top shape and ready to move out by noon."
The gunnery chief followed his gaze and recognized the newcomer. His face broke out in grin and he gave his friend a mock salute. "You've got it LT. Have fun." He turned around and headed back to where the platoon was camped, to give his friend and commanding officer some privacy.
Percival gave a small smile to his friend, then turned his attention back to the love of his life. Guinevere's hand darted out to give his hand a quick squeeze.
"That was quite the speech you gave there," Guinevere teased. Her other hand reached out to brush one of Percival's bangs out of his eyes. "I felt a little flutter in my stomach, and I think a few of the other female marines fell in love with you on the spot."
Percival didn't say a word. Instead he reached up, tenderly grabbed her hand and moved it down to his cheek. He closed his eyes and sighed, his mind going back to the last conversation he had ever had with his captain — the man who had been like a father to him.
"I'm sorry about your captain, love. I know how much he meant to you," Gwen whispered.
Percival nodded and opened his eyes. "He was a great man. I'm going to miss him."
"We're all going to miss him…" Gwen agreed.
Percival didn't reply. Instead he put an arm around her and pulled her close. In that moment he didn't care if there was a higher-ranking officer watching. All he cared about was that he was still alive, and that she was still alive, and about how he could keep it that way.
After a while, Percival looked down and took Gwen's face in both hands, tilting her head up so that she could see into his eyes.
"Gwen, listen. I want you to be safe out there."
Gwen scoffed softly and gently moved his hands away. "Safe? I'm a marine. Safe isn't exactly in the job description. Plus, we're just going to be watching your back. Nothing to be worried about, love."
Percival ignored her and grabbed her face again, more firmly this time. "I mean it. I know you're not one of the companies assigned to one of the facilities, but who knows what the batarians might have planned. Promise me you'll stay safe. Promise me."
"Percival, I can't possibly promise tha—"
"Promise me!" Percival whispered fiercely. "I can't, I just can't lose you, too."
Despite her best efforts to look reassuring, Guinevere couldn't help but let her concern slip through in the form of a slight frown. She had attended the same training academy and been in the same class as Percival before being assigned to the same battalion. Upon laying eyes on him for the first time, her first impression was that Percival was just another big, dumb, good-looking jock. As they had gotten to know each other better, she realized that she had been completely wrong. Percival was sweet, sensitive, and a big-brother figure to just about everyone. He was athletic, talented, smart, and the first to volunteer for any sort of training exercise – he was the perfect marine.
And in all that time of knowing him, Guinevere had never seen Percival look afraid. Sure, Percival had definitely been afraid, but Guinevere had never seen him show it. However, he was scared now. Guinevere could see it in his eyes. His usual warm, blue gaze now burned, as if someone had lit a fire in them.
Guinevere grabbed his hands one more time and squeezed them. "Lancelot, I promise… Semper Fi…"
Percival sighed in relief and looked down, doing his best to carve the sight of her hands in his into his memory. He prayed and prayed that it wouldn't be the last time he'd see her hands in his.
"Semper Fi," he whispered back.