Chapter 4 – Escape onto the Sands
February 22nd, 2201, 1212 hours — The Planet of Bahak — "Slaver's Valley", Mining Facility D6
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…
(Malan Ghar'aran – Khar'shan Restoration Coalition)
Mining Facility D6, worker locker room
Ten Years Ago
Revak slammed an armored first into the metal plating, leaving a deep dent on the surface of the locker. The outburst had come suddenly and swiftly, causing a few of their fellow batarians to wearily glance up at the disruption. Revak said nothing. He merely stood there, his head resting against his clenched fist. His four eyes were closed and a thin river of blood ran down the side of his head. Though Revak did not immediately voice the source of his rage, Malan however, knew. He knew his brother all too well.
"Those fools, those blind as'shos," Revak finally snarled. Outside, the sounds of a heated battle raged on. Loud, dull booms sounded in unsteady intervals as Systems Alliance heavy armor smashed batarian fortification after fortification. The higher-pitched whine of heavy machine-gun fire had been going on non-stop for the last few hours. The yelling… Even from within the metal walls of the facility, Malan could hear the dying screams of both humans and batarians alike.
The large batarian slammed his fist into his locker again. "Devils take their sight. Hundreds- if not thousands- of us dead, because those thrice-blasted as'shos are cowards."
A few of the other batarians who were resting nearby were quietly observing the outburst. Some were slumped down on hard, metal benches, shoulders forward and heads in their hands. Others lay sprawled out on the ground or sat on it with their backs against the dirty walls of the locker-room. Many of them had a dull, lifeless look in their four eyes. They knew they would soon be called on once more to fight. Malan wearily stood up, strode over to his elder brother and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"What's done is done, Erak. Besides, the Feranks are dead – killed in that last assault. The blasted Systems Alliance ignored our ships and landed heavy armor on the surface."
Revak sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the locker, nursing his bruised fist. The air in the facility was warm with the constant running of the mining equipment and the effects of the brutal Bahakian sun was not a foe to be forgotten either. Rivulets of sweat ran down the large batarians golden skin, dripping down onto his battered armor.
"Our soldiers are strong, but the Systems Alliance is disciplined and well-trained," Revak continued. "We never had a chance against a concentrated assault. What fighters we have left should have been striking from and falling back into the sand. We should have left this planet long ago – should have never tried to make our stand on these cursed dunes. The Feranks were fools to think us safe here."
"The Feranks were cowards indeed," Malan agreed. "They had too much faith in the orbital platforms and in the weapons of our slave ships, brother. But remember, we also had nowhere else to go."
"There is always somewhere else to go. Somewhere we could survive and regroup and continue with our mission." Revak growled. "Facilities can be rebuilt, slaves can be replaced… Now, our people are caught between the hard hammer of the Alliance and the anvil of this god-forsaken planet. This valley will be our tomb—and the tomb of the dream that was a restored batarian empire."
The younger batarian turned and looked at the faces of the weary batarians around them. All of them had lost too many friends and brothers in the last few hours. With the exception of him and Revak who had been former SIU, none of them were trained nor used to prolonged open warfare. Many had been former slavers, but their experience was limited to fighting unarmed foes. Even more had been merely civilians – refugees who had fled to distant colonies when the Reapers attacked.
"We could surrender…." Malan mused.
Revak rounded on his brother. "How?" he growled. "Look at what the Feranks did to the slaves at this facility. Maybe our brethren at the other facilities may have a chance at leniency, but the Systems Alliance forces will take one look at what we did to their people and gun us down on the spot."
"The Systems Alliance has laws, if we lay down our arms, then—,"
"—Then we find ourselves in front of one of their military tribunals or if we're lucky, a Council court. Then, we find ourselves declared war criminals and are either executed, imprisoned for life, or assassinated in our cells!" Revak spat. The hulking batarian wiped the sweat from all four of his eyes and picked up his Graal Spike-Thrower.
Malan gazed steadily at his older brother. "What do you suggest then?"
The former Special Interventions Unit operator-turned soldier loaded a fresh new cartridge of flechettes into his weapon and shouldered it. Outside, the sounds of batarian weapons-fire was slowly dwindling. "We fight, together, and then when the opportunity presents itself, we run. As long as some of us remain alive, the dream does as well."
Malan did the same with his own weapon. The slavers around them took the hint and silently began to rouse themselves, grabbing weapons and putting on helmets. They were few now – fewer than they had been just a few short hours ago. Instead of building their trenches and fortifications behind the cyclonic shield, the Feranks and the other leaders of the Kar'shan Restoration Coalition had opted to do so outside, hoping to keep the Alliance out of Slaver's Valley for as long as possible.
"Hopefully some of our ships will either survive or run, otherwise we may very well be stuck on this accursed planet," Malan grumbled. The slaver captains were currently valiantly holding their own in space against the Systems Alliance, but the opposition commanders were actually trained in ship-to-ship combat. Slaver captains generally excelled in quick strikes and stealthy exits. They were not soldiers.
"A few of our brothers are still out of system, and I have a few contacts with the Blue Suns. We fight until we can fight no more, then we can fall back into the desert and call for an evacuation or take the facility's cargo ship. We can then escape into the Terminus Systems where the Systems Alliance will not follow," Revak said.
"A sound plan, brother," Malan agreed.
Revak suddenly stopped and turned to his younger brother. Around them flowed a tide of their fellow slavers, all of them either heading to their designated posts moving to take up defensive positions on the battlements. The batarian placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. Malan could see the black batarian script tattooed on his older brother's chestplate. It is—or was—the Ghar'aran family motto, back when the Ghar'arans still had an estate and a mansion in Khar'shan's premier district. Malan had it embossed onto his armor as well. We bow to no one but death.
"Remember, you are all I have left," Revak whispered. "Stay safe, and take no risks. I cannot lose you."
Malan nodded in return. "You too, brother… you too…"
February 22nd, 2201, 1232 hours — The Planet of Bahak — "Slaver's Valley"
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…
(First Lieutenant Lancelot Percival – Fifth Battalion, 104th Marines)
En-Route to Mining Facility D6.
Ten Years Ago
"Keep moving! Whatever you do, don't stop!" roared Percival.
A hand-made grenade landed some distance in front of him, detonating and kicking up a plume of sand that the wind carried straight into Percival's visor. He ducked just in time to avoid a volley of metal spikes that soared over his helmet. Percival grunted and fired his Avenger through the smoke and sand, unable to see through it and tell whether or not he had hit something.
A few meters to his left, a Hammerhead advanced slowly towards the mining facility, firing its turret at the slaver lines. The spike rounds ignored the armored vehicle's kinetic barriers but were reflected harmlessly off of the thick, metal plating. A few meters behind it advanced a few of his marines — Corporals Kara Johansson and Duc Nguyen and Private 2nd class Laverne Kane.
Suddenly the Hammerhead exploded, sending a wave of pressure that knocked Percival to his feet. A plume of hot air and fire momentarily overpowered the heat of the scorching Bahakian sun, temporarily overwhelming the marine's temperature regulators in his armor.
"Kara! Ducky! Kane!" screamed Percival. He looked back to see Sterling crouched over Ducky, the large gunner laying down suppressive fire with his massive M-76 Revenant. The smaller marine shook his head and flashed his superior office a thumbs up before moving to take cover behind a rock, firing his Avenger as he went. Kara was pulling the other machine gunner to his feet and shoving him towards safety.
"Jesus Christ," Kara cursed. "Ten more meters and that would have fried us!"
"Perc, the fucking batarians have mortar teams up on the valley ridge! We need to paste those guns or our company is toast!" James cried over the comm. The gunnery chief and his squad were a few meters back, laying down covering fire from a trench.
"Damn," Percival cursed. He crawled over and rolled himself into a trench where currently Jazz and a private from squad four were taking shelter in. "Where is Miller? What have we got?!"
"No clue! We've only got one hydra missile left, but there's at least three mortar crews targeting us!
"Just our damned luck to be assigned this facility. We're the only ones in-range of those mortars," Jazz quipped. Another shell landed close-by, knocking a plume of sand into the trench. Jazz shook her head and spat out a mouthful of sand.
"Use it!" Percival ordered.
A marine rose up from a nearby trench and took aim with her hydra launcher. A spike suddenly slammed into the side of her head, knocking her over where she twitched spastically for a few moments before growing still.
"Fuck!" Jazz cried.
Without missing a beat, Percival scrambled out of his trench and dashed towards the fallen missile launcher.
"Cover the goddamn Lieutenant!" James screamed over the company channel.
The gunfire intensified around him as the entire company rose to cover Percival. Percival dove for the launcher and shouldered it, taking aim at one of the mortar emplacements situated up on the lip of the valley. He took a moment to steady the launcher, growing stock-still even as spikes flew past mere inches away from him, then fired. He then immediately tossed it aside, grabbed the tags off of the fallen marine dead on the ground beside him and raced back to his trench, sliding back in just in time to avoid a volley of spikes that would have surely killed him had he been even a second slower.
He peeked his head up over the trench just in time to see a hail of small missiles race up the valley's face and slam into one of the mortar positions. A few marines cheered as smoke billowed up from the destroyed position. "Alexa, I need a few of your men to lay down some fire on the other mortars!"
"They're out of range, and we're out of hydras!" the Second Lieutenant replied.
"Just do it! Buy us some time!"
"Roger that."
Percival keyed his comms open and swapped to a general channel. "This is First Lieutenant Lancelot Percival with the 104th, X-Ray company. We're pinned down by heavy mortar fire from gun positions set up on the east side of the valley, can anyone assist!"
Another shell landed not six meters away from their trench, throwing up a plume of sand that rained down on Percival. The marine lieutenant spat out sand and cursed as he waited a response. Five seconds went by, then ten… beyond the trench, Percival could hear the guttural shouts of the batarian slavers and the cries of wounded marines. Above it – the whistling hiss of the flechettes from the batarian rifles. The whole company was bogged down maybe a two-hundred meters from the facility itself. The slavers had erected a line of barricades about a hundred meters out, and had converted the top of the mining facility into makeshift battlements. A pair of large, metal doors sat squarely in the middle of the front of the facility. That was their objective.
Finally, a voice came on. "First Lieutenant, this is Service Chief John Bradford with Jaeger Team Two, 7th Jaeger battalion. We're in the neighborhood. Our captain's busy right now, but we can lend a hand."
"Thank the fucking gods," Jazz hissed. The female marine inched up and let loose a wild burst from her Avenger. The private from squad four sharing their trench – Private Chakravar — did the same beside her. Percival couldn't see whether they had hit anything, but for a moment the hail of spikes flitting above their heads died down.
Percival sighed in relief. "You're a godsend, chief. Those mortar teams are up on the cliffs and making short work of our armored vehicles. We can't reach them."
"Keep your head down, we're on it. Sit tight, First Lieutenant."
"Thank you, Chief!" Percival replied. He then switched to the company-wide channel. "X-Ray company, we've got a Jaeger team taking out those mortars! Hunker down until they're done, then prepare to push!
Chakravar suddenly gave a shout and was knocked back on his ass, sliding back down into the trench. A foot-long metal spike was protruding straight up from left shoulder, blood oozing from the edges of the wound. The marine began screaming in pain.
"Chaky!" screamed Jazz.
Percival immediately leapt towards him, pulled out a tube of medigel from his utility pouch and began squeezing it around the wound. They didn't have the tools to pull it out right now, so instead Percival locked the private's armor-joint so that he wouldn't be able to move around
"You're going to be fine, Chak—you're going to be fine! Just don't move your goddamn arm!"
Private Chakravar screamed again in agony. "It fucking hurts, sir!" he cried.
Percival cursed and pulled out his last morphine-adrenaline injector and shoved it into a port in Chakravar's armor. Enlisted grunts were issued one syringe but officers were issued two, and Percival had already used one on another marine earlier that day.
The private's screaming soon stopped and his breathing became more even. His pupils grew wide despite the harsh Bahakian sun.
"How do you feel, private?"
The marine grabbed Percival's armor by the collar with his one good arm and pulled him in. "Give me a fucking gun, sir!"
Percival grinned and grabbed the man's pistol from his belt and shoved it into the marine's outstretched hand. "Make them pay. We'll get you a medic once we're inside the facility!"
The marine nodded and crawled back up to the lip of the trench to resume firing, careful to avoid putting too much weight on his bad shoulder.
Percival crawled back up beside Jazz and flipped back to his radio. "Chief, what's the status on those guns?"
Sounds of gunfire and batarian shouts of pain filtered through the channel. "Give us a few more minutes, First Lieutenant," Bradford said brusquely.
Percival cursed and swapped back to the company-channel. "Does anyone have some goddamn binoculars?"
Another figure suddenly came sliding into the trench and a pair of binoculars landed mere inches from Percival's face.
Percival grabbed them and pressed them to his face. "Thanks, James." His best friend nodded in reply and flashed him a thumbs-up before moving up to the lip of the trench to lay down fire.
Another Hammerhead went up in flames as a mortar struck it dead-on. Percival looked up to the ridge where the mortars were situated. One of the two remaining emplacements had fallen silent while strobes of fire and explosions could be seen at the last one.
Percival keyed on his comms again. "Bradford, tell me you've got this handled, our armor is getting pasted out here."
A few moments later, the fighting at the last gun died down. Percival's breath hitched up in his chest and he sat stock-still, glasses still pressed to his face.
A mortar round suddenly erupted from the first mortar emplacement and slammed into the ground not ten meters away from the lead-most Systems Alliance-held trench, throwing up another wave of sand. Percival was about to curse again when another round came from the second mortar emplacement and hit the ground forty meters away from the first shot.
A third round slammed into a batarian kishook gun crew. The fourth hit a large batarian trench and erased them off the face of the planet.
"Get your men ready, lieutenant! We'll walk you in!" the Jaeger team commander finally replied.
"Bradford, you beautiful bastard! I owe you one!" Percival laughed.
The slavers began eyeing the sky in alarm and fear as they saw their fellow batarians disappear amidst sand and smoke from the weapons that had been fighting on their side only a few short moments ago. Some slavers abandoned their fortifications and began running back to the facility. A pair of rounds landed atop the mining facility itself, and Percival could see bits of body and metal flying out in a gory mess.
"Don't be shy, lieutenant, but don't rush in either. I'd hate to be written up for friendly-fire."
"Roger that chief," Percival replied. "X-Ray, move up! Friendlies have taken the mortars and are going to cover our approach. Don't stray into their firing lanes!"
Percival grabbed his Avenger and crawled out of his trench, taking long strides toward the facility and firing non-stop at any batarian taking aim at one of his marines. James followed quickly behind him, as did Jazz and Private Chakravar. The remaining Hammerheads had rallied and had soon returned to lay waste to the batarian fortifications. Mortars detonated amidst clusters of slavers who remained in their positions and in their trenches to fight, throwing up limbs and showers of batarian blood into the air. More and more slavers began to turn tail and to retreat towards the facility. Many were wounded and had to be helped along by their fellow slavers. One batarian carried another who had lost both his legs in a mortar detonation.
The marines of X-ray company were on the move. They rose from their trenches and stalked towards the fleeing batarians, gunning down any who were still fighting. Many of them had lost someone to the slavers, and enough of their friends and fellow marines had died that day such that any thoughts of mercy or quarter were banished from their minds. These slavers had torn families apart and would continue to do so until they were stopped, here, on Bahak.
The batarian defenses beyond the facility were broken and crushed. Any surviving and fit slavers still fighting were trapped between mortar fire behind them and a wave of advancing blue armor. The guttural shouting and barking had died down, replaced with grim determination as the slavers outside the facility fought to the last man. There was no stopping the Systems Alliance juggernaut – not here.
The battlements atop the facility were devoid of life now. The metal doors to the facility opened as the slavers inside tried to hurry as many of their wounded brethren in as possible. Percival watched as one of the Hammerheads let loose a round right between the doors, detonating inside and throwing multiple wounded batarians to the ground. They did not get back up.
Percival cursed and opened up a channel. "Hunter two-six, hold fire on the entrance. Take out the remaining eastern positions."
The Hammerhead to Percival's left peeled off and began firing on the few remaining foxholes that contained fighting batarians. "Roger that, First Lieutenant. Hunter two-six, attacking."
James caught Percival's eye and nodded in silent approval to his commanding officer.
A pair of detonations erupted on the ridge. "Lieutenant, it's going to be danger-close now. We're destroying the guns and moving on to another objective." Bradford reported.
"Roger that, Service Chief. You saved a lot of men today, I won't forget that," Percival acknowledged. Marines, get inside! We've got people to save!"
Percival picked up his pace, his long legs allowing him to quickly overtake his fellow marines. He propelled himself to the front of his company, gun cradled loosely in his arms. There were only dead slavers between him and the mining facility now. He tried his best not to look at the carnage around him. The Jaeger team had left dozens of slavers in hundreds of pieces. Small fires raged on, surrounded by charred, glassy patches of sand, but would soon die out. A few marines behind him purged their stomachs out onto the dunes upon looking at the grisly remains of their enemies.
There was silence now as they ran. Soon, the sand would cover it all up, and it would have been like this nightmare had never happened.
A large shape pulled up beside Percival. He turned his head and saw his squad's heavy machine-gunner – Private Malcolm Sterling, keeping pace not two steps behind, his fellow machine-gunner Private Laverne Kane following close behind. Some ways back, Kara, Cormack, Ducky and Jazz ran together. Percival stifled a sigh of relief and pressed on.
Percival ran through the doors and into the facility – weapon raised. They had entered into a tall, broad hallway filled with old, dilapidated mining carts and dead batarians. Piles of raw, unrefined ore lay in dirty heaps around the room. A second set of doors lay open on the other end of the hall. The air did not grow cooler inside as Percival originally expected. Rather, it was hot and heavy. A flood of warm air emanated from beyond the second set of doors and from deeper within the facility.
Percival slowed and gestured for Sterling and Kane to cover the entrance. His two gunners nodded and moved to take up flanking positions.
James and second squad moved in next, followed by the rest of Percival's squad and other members of X-Ray company. Ducky and Jazz were in decent shape. Cormack was bleeding from a scratch on his upper arm but otherwise appeared to be okay. Kara's armor was covered in batarian blood. How she had managed that while under fire from both slavers and mortars, Percival wasn't sure.
"Where's Woodhouse?" Percival asked. The older marine was nowhere to be seen.
Jazz's eyes were wet with tears and Kara looked about ready to kill every last batarian on Bahak with her bare hands. Cormack grimly pulled a set of dog-tags from his ammo pouch and threw them at his First Lieutenant.
Percival caught them and closed his eyes for a moment. The old marine had been a silent linchpin of his squad ever since he had joined X-Ray company. He'd been a mentor of sorts to the younger members, and had never, not once in the entire time Percival had known him, lost his temper. He had served the company and the platoon quietly and faithfully for nearly fifteen years before Percival had taken over.
He slipped the tags around his own neck and sighed. Around him, marines from the company were preparing to penetrate deeper into the facility, distributing spare heat-sinks, tubes of medigel, and grenades, but a few went searching among the sea of faces, looking for missing squad-members or friends. Percival had been prepared to lose marines ever since he had set foot on Bahak. He knew Woodhouse would only be the first no matter how badly he wished that he would be the last.
Second Lieutenant Alexa Volkov jogged up and tugged on Percival's pauldron. "Perc, you've got to come see this."
The tone in his fellow marine's voice brooked no disagreement. Percival nodded, gesturing for James to follow, and followed Alexa to the back of the hall where a group of medics from the 63rd were treating a number of wounded marines. Many of them would survive – spike wounds either killed you outright, slamming into vital arteries or locations, or they hit non-vital areas – but a few marines were missing limbs from stray mortar shots.
Alexa led him to the very back, where a pair of combat medics in grey armor emblazoned with the red cross knelt over an armored figure lying on a collapsible stretcher. It was Staff Lieutenant Elias Miller. His eyes were closed and his skin looked pale and clammy. Gauze was wound tightly over his head over his left eye, and were soaked with medigel.
"What happened?" asked Percival. He knelt down and placed a hand over his commanding officer's chestplate. It was scarred and pitted, with tiny bits of what looked like human bone covering parts of it.
"Mortar round, killed half his squad and knocked him out," Alexa replied.
"Suit telemetry says his internal organs are still intact. We've managed to stop the bleeding and stabilize him, but the Staff Lieutenant hasn't woken up," reported one of the medics.
"Shit," Percival cursed.
Alexa slugged him on the pauldron, hard. "Chain of command is clear, the company is yours now."
Percival screwed his eyes shit and pressed his thumb and his index finger to the bridge of his nose. Though he was stable for now, head wounds were notoriously tricky. Even with modern medicine as it stood today, non-artificial comas could not be fixed nor could anyone successfully repair and replicate every pathway in the human brain. Percival had just lost his captain, and now Miller might very well never wake up. He wondered if Gwen and the rest of Zulu Company were still okay, or if perhaps the slavers had tried to take her away from him too.
"We're sorry, First Lieutenant, we did all we could."
Percival rose and placed a hand on the medic's pauldron. "You did your best, thank you. Stay with him and keep me updated on his status. I'll leave two squads here to protect you and the wounded while the rest of us take the facility."
"Sir, yes sir," saluted the medic. He knelt back down to care for Miller while his friend went off to tend to the other wounded.
James walked up to stand beside Alexa. "I heard about Miller, Perc. You're in command now, what's our next move?"
It sunk in then that Percival was now responsible for not just the lives of his platoon anymore, but the lives of every other marine in his company and that of the slaves in this facility. First Lieutenants almost never commanded full companies – at least, not for long. They rarely took over unless both the captains and the First Lieutenants of the company had been incapacitated and command had not had time to send in a replacement. Usually, this meant that the company was in deep, deep shit that was getting progressively deeper at a rapid pace. First Lieutenants weren't in command for long.
And Percival was only twenty-two years old. He had graduated from Officer Candidate School at the top of his class on Luna in 2198 about three years ago and had been bumped to First Lieutenant a few months ago ahead of more experienced Second Lieutenants such as Second Lieutenant Alexa Volkov and the former Second Lieutenant Mogambe because of his success on Horizon. A single successful campaign and a dozen successful missions might dangerously inflate the egos of lesser men, but Percival was not stupid. He knew he was far from qualified. Captain Michael Garen had served for more than twenty-five years and Staff Miller had served more than twelve. Percival on the other hand was barely of legal drinking age in the core human colonies. He was barely more than a child with a gun and a suit of armor. How was he supposed to lead his company?
You can't just pass this off. Just dive in. Someone has to do it.
"How many did we lose on the push?" Percival asked.
Alexa pulled up the company roster on her omni-tool and scrolled through it. "Not too bad all things considered. Only about ten percent casualties thanks to the Jaegers. We nearly all of our armor though," she replied.
About a hundred and fifty marines in the company then, Percival thought. "Send the remaining Hammerhead back to Yankee Company's position. They've got the biggest facility, they'll need it. Hopefully the batarians don't have any more surprises left."
"We should have asked the Jaegers to stay on those mortar positions," Alexa scowled. "Maybe we could radio Zulu Company for a few squads."
"The Jaegers are needed elsewhere, and Zulu Company is watching our backs," Percival replied. Without the Jaegers, Percival's company would have likely never made it into the facility. They had been fish-in-a-barrel out on those sandy dunes.
Percival's thoughts also turned to Guinevere. She and the rest of Zulu Company were currently stationed at the entrance to Slaver's Valley, preventing any slaver reinforcements from entering the valley and attacking the companies tasked with taking the facility. Percival hoped fervently that Guinevere wouldn't have to fire one more shot this campaign. If he lost her, Percival would have nothing.
"Remember, we're out of Hydras. That's going to leave us with nothing but grenades, concussive rounds, and a few mines," James cautioned.
Percival began to walk with determination towards the entrance to the heart of the facility. He paused to quickly adjust the chest-strap of a fellow marine but otherwise kept walking. "If all goes well, we just need to secure the facility and hold here until Octavian's fleet holds the airspace. If the batarians attack us we'll have the benefit of a fortified position," he replied. "How's Dimi's and Ruiz's squad?"
"Both are down to about two-thirds strength, same as mine. Chak's not going to be able to fight once the morphine wears off so we're leaving him here too. We've got twenty-two bodies left in the platoon."
"Okay, my squad will take point in the facility. Alexa, leave two full squads here to defend our wounded— one at each entrance of the hall. Keep regular contact with them, I want to keep our only known means of egress clear."
"You've got it, First Lieutenant."
Percival slipped a concussive round into the underbarrel chamber of his Avenger and shouldered it. He moved a few of his inferno grenades to holsters on the front of his utility belt and ensured that the strap keeping his pistol secure in its holster on his chestplate was undone for easy access. At times like this, Percival wished that he had a shotgun or some other close-quarter weapon.
He moved to where Kane and Sterling were still keeping watch on the entrance into the bowels of the facility. Kara, Ducky, Jazz and Cormack took flanking positions behind Percival. James and the rest of his platoon were a few steps behind them, followed by the rest of the company.
Percival turned around to regard all one-hundred and fifty grim faces. The large hall was now deathly quiet except for the sporadic moans of wounded marines and the rasp of shifting Systems Alliance battle armor. Who knew how many slavers were currently waiting for them inside. In the close confines of the facility, the slavers' bladed armor and their brutal spiked weaponry would have the advantage. Death was waiting for them.
"Does anyone see a doorbell?" Percival asked. A few of his marines chuckled. "No? Then what the hell are we waiting for!? Get inside!"
February 22nd, 2201, 1223 hours — The Planet of Bahak — "Slaver's Valley", Mining Facility D6
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…
(Malan Ghar'aran – Khar'shan Restoration Coalition)
Fifteen minutes earlier. The batarian position outside Mining Facility D6.
Malan howled in triumph and delight as one of the Alliance tanks erupted in a column of fire and smoke, sending several of the enemy soldiers into the sand. He slammed a meaty fist into his chestplate as a sign of appreciation.
"The mortar teams will make short work of these fools!" crowed a fellow slaver.
Galvanized, Malan directed a gang of slavers forward in an attempt to push in on the Alliance. Malan and his batarians had the defensive advantage of both the mining facility and the barricades and trenches that they had erected on the sandy slopes surrounding the entrance to the facility. Sure, they were not dedicated, professional soldiers, but with the Alliance armor soon to be removed from the equation, it would only be a matter of time before the Alliance bled out.
"Brother! What would you have us do!?" Shouted Malan.
Revak didn't respond. Instead, all four of his eyes stared unblinkingly down the makeshift scope of his spike-thrower at an armored Systems Alliance marine with a large, silver tube poised on her shoulder. The marine took a knee just outside out of the trench she had been hiding in and turned the heavy launcher towards the ridge where the slaver mortar teams were situated.
Revak squeezed the trigger. A flurry of spikes flew towards the marine. The batarian spike-throwers were crude, imprecise weapons and as a result the majority of the spikes flew haphazardly over the marine's head. However, one managed to embed itself into the temple of her helmet, sending her crashing into the sand.
"All units hold your positions! Cover the mortar teams!" Revak ordered. The former SIU-member had fought the Systems Alliance on many worlds, and knew that for all their individual, physical frailties when compared to the average batarian, the Systems Alliance had the benefit of discipline and training in trench warfare. If his slavers were to rush them now, they'd be cut apart by the remaining enemy armor – not to mention at risk of friendly fire from their own mortars.
Another armored figure rose from a dune-trench near the marine that Revak just killed. Unlike the first, this one was male and much larger. The big marine sprinted towards the downed launcher.
Revak's eyes grew wide as he realized what the human was attempting to do. "Kill him!"
Malan and several batarians roared in acknowledgement and leveled their spike-throwers at the armored figure. A line of spikes from Malan's thrower began to stitch themselves towards the marine.
But a fresh wave of gunfire came pouring out from the Alliance lines. A burst from a bald-healded female marine slammed into Malan's pauldron, knocking him off balance and sending him sideways into the sand. A fellow slaver dragged him behind a metal barricade by the collar of his armor.
"Brother! Are you hit!?" Revak shouted. The large batarian suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, crouched above his form.
Malan felt around his shoulder but didn't feel any wetness. The ornate batarian script that decorated his pauldron had taken a few hits but otherwise he was unscathed.
"No! The devils missed! Brother, what about the—"
Malan looked up just in time to see a shower of tiny missiles slam into the valley ridge above, engulfing one of the batarian mortar emplacements in fire and shrapnel.
"Devils!" cursed Revak. "Hold them! Hold them and cover the rest of our mortars!"
The nearby batarians rallied and intensified their fire towards the Alliance line. Malan grabbed his spike-thrower and took up position beside his brother. Together, the two batarian slavers gunned down two Alliance soldiers and wounded a third.
"If the mortars can take out the last of the armor, we may just have a chance!" Malan growled. Grenade detonations thundered down the batarian line. A slaver about a meter to his right pitched forward onto the barricades he had been firing from, dead.
"Do you hear that?!" Shouted Revak. Malan strained his ears and wished for the hundredth time that every batarian had helmet radios. Only a few slavers had them- high-ranking slavers such as Malan and his brother- otherwise the ill-equipped slavers relied on their loud voices to communicate. Malan wiped a line of sweat from his brow and paused, striving to hear above the gunfire and the screams of his fellow batarians.
There was gunfire coming up from the ridge. Malan could see strobes of fire up on the lip of the valley where the mortars were.
"Devils, what is going on up there?".
Another one of the Alliance armored vehicles erupted into flame, leaving just two more to go.
Revak stopped firing and stared up at the ridge, his four eyes squinting. Malan watched as his brother's eyes suddenly went wide.
"Malan! We need to go! Now! Grab as many as we can!"
Malan's brow furrowed with confusion. "Brother, what are you saying? Their armor is almost destroyed! We can crush them here!"
The larger batarian grabbed the nearest slaver and pulled him back. "Listen to me! We need to leave! Now!"
Malan knew better than to question his brother a second time. The slaver tapped on the shoulder of the batarian beside him and gestured back towards the facility.
"No!" Revak shouted. "North-east! Put the facility between us and the ridge!"
Malan saw a mortar round land not ten meters shy of the Alliance line. Still he didn't hesitate, deciding to trust in his brother. Revak had been his team leader when they had served in the SIU together, and Malan had never known his brother's instincts to be wrong.
Malan grabbed a few more batarians and shouted for them to run. Another mortar round slammed halfway between the batarian and the Alliance lines. A third round detonated amidst one of the batarian's last kishook harpoon emplacements, sending a flurry of limbs and gore out onto the sand.
Mortar rounds detonated atop the facility, wiping out the defenders stationed there. Together, the two batarians tried to gather as many of their men as they could, gesturing for them to run – to disappear into the sand. Some listened and followed. Many others ran towards the facility, hoping to take shelter there. Still, others decided to fight and remain on the defensive line. Those soon found themselves targeted by the mortars and the surviving Alliance Hammerheads.
"They have our mortars!" Revak grunted from beside his brother. "I did not see any of their dropships. It must have either been a flanking force or a team of their Jaegers."
"We still have brothers fighting inside from inside the facility?" Malan voiced. "Perhaps we could hold them from within! Escape in the freighter at the last minute!"
A volley of fire from the Hammerheads wiped out a file of slavers who had been retreating towards the mining facility. Malan screamed in rage and let loose a wild flurry of spikes towards the now-advancing Systems Alliance soldiers. The batarian watched as slaver after slaver pitched backwards onto the sand, cut down by the relentless Systems Alliance war machine. They were getting slaughtered.
Revak shook his head and slowed to help a limping batarian struggle along. "We cannot hold the facility against that many! The Alliance would destroy the freighter before we'd even make it on board! No, we need to be patient, brother."
Together, the two batarians led the survivors out into the dunes. The sounds of fighting began to fade into the desert as the slavers moved further and further away. The Alliance had thankfully been so intent on capturing the facility that they had not noticed the group slip away.
They moved beneath the scorching sun for some time before eventually coming upon a sandy overhang. The surviving batarians took the opportunity to quickly rest and bandage their immediate wounds. Maybe forty of the slavers had escaped the slaughter out on the sands. Malan pulled out his canteen and sucked several gulps of water down before handing it to a slaver next to him.
His brother set down the batarian he had been carrying and came to stand in front of him. "The nearest mining facility is another kilometer-and-a-half east. Garda was tasked with its defense. We should head that way and convince them to leave. We will need more men if we are going to get off this planet," Revak growled.
Malan bristled. Many batarians had died on this land. It chaffed the batarian to abandon all they had fought so hard for.
Revak noted the tenseness in his brother's shoulders and placed a gauntlet on the smaller batarian's chestplate. "The dream that is a restored Kar'shan lives within us, brother. As long as we live, the dream lives.
Revak was right, as always. The Reapers had left the batarian empire a mere husk of its former glory. The Council had all but abandoned the batarians following the war in favor of securing their own borders and rebuilding their own planets, and the batarians in their desperation had turned to the one resource that the galaxy still had much to offer – slaves.
Malan knew that his brother wished to rebuild Kar'shan more than anyone. The two had been princes back on the homeworld – they had hailed from a wealthy dynasty, had scores of servants and had lived on an estate that would have impressed even the most haughty asari. The Ghar'arans drew their lineage from a long-line of powerful warlords dating all the way back to Kar'shan's feudal era. Many Ghar'arans had served as Supreme Chancellors of the Batarian Hegemony.
They had been young when the Reapers attacked. Malan had just finished his second contract with the batarian's famed Special Interventions Unit, and his brother had already made quite the name for himself within the Batarian Armed Forces. When the Reapers had hit Kar'shan, both the brothers had survived, escaping with Captain Ka'hairal Balak and what was left of the batarian military. After Balak had pledged his forces to the legendary Commander Shepard, the two had fought side-by-side with the Systems Alliance on many fronts. Both had even fought at the Battle of Earth.
Both had felt betrayed when they had learned that the Council would not be helping them restored the Batarian homeworld. When the surviving batarian slaver guilds proposed their plan for a new Kar'shan, both the brothers had seen no better alternative. No help was coming from the Citadel – not for the next few decades.
"Do you have a plan, brother?" Malan asked.
Revak nodded. "The ore freighter is still parked in the facility we were assigned to defend. Once the fighting has died down, I will create a distraction and draw out their forces within. Once that is done, you will sneak back in, take the freighter and pick us up."
"How can you be sure that you can get them to leave?"
Revak crouched down and unfurled a map of the valley from his pouch, spreading it out on the sand in front of him. Malan and a few of the other slavers took a knee as well, peering at the map curiously.
The large batarian gestured at the southern entrance into the valley. "The Alliance left a company of soldiers guarding the entrance here, in case any of our forces attacked from beyond the valley."
"The Alliance have few tactical weaknesses for us to exploit. One of them is their unwillingness to abandon their men. I will take the bulk of our survivors after we have found Garda's men and I will hit the southern company – hard. The facility we just abandoned is the closest. The officers stationed there will have to take the majority of their soldiers out onto the field to stop us."
The batarians all grunted in agreement. Almost all of them were former slavers and nearly none of them had any formal war-training beyond what the two brothers had taught them before the Alliance had landed. They all knew that they weren't going to make it off the planet without the two brothers to lead them.
"When they do, you shall re-infiltrate the facility, take out the soldiers they have left behind, and pilot that freighter to us. Can you handle it, brother?"
"Of course. I won't need more than a dozen slavers. We will avoid engaging as much as we can – we don't want them calling for aerial support."
Revak rolled up the map and grabbed Malan's wrists in farewell. "Good, we will be counting on you to get us out. We bow to no one but death, brother."
Malan nodded resolutely. "No one but death."