Once Upon a Time in Bahak
(Ten Years Ago)
February 22nd, 2201, 1429 hours — Kite's Nest, Gunthel System — The Planet of Bahak
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption…Profile Reconstruction Required…
(Malan Ghar'aran – Khar'shan Restoration Coalition)
Mining Facility D6 – En-route to the Ore Freighter
As he travelled down an empty corridor, Malan could hear the wind howling and shrieking outside the facility. It snatched up sand and debris, tossing it to and fro. Malan could hear it scratching against the outer metal of the facility like a pack of wild animals.
The howling was good, it would mask the heavy bootsteps of Malan and his fellow batarians. The wind, however, was a nuisance. It would likely interfere with most radio communications, but in Malan's experience it wouldn't be enough to interfere the piloting of the ore freighter. Those ships were designed to withstand Bahak's merciless sandstorms. Hopefully the wind would be enough to mask them from any anti-aircraft batteries the Alliance devils might have installed.
Malan held up a fist and the other batarians immediately stopped obediently. He cautiously peered out past the corner, wary of any signs that would indicate the presence of Systems Alliance marines or an ambush. His brother was counting on him to secure that ore freighter. Without it, they would be stuck on Bahak with nowhere to run. The Systems Alliance would eventually hunt them down, and they would either be forced to fight to the last man or submit and face the so-called justice of the Council.
The next corridor was clear. Malan swallowed his trepidation and swung around the corner with as much confidence as he could muster, weapon raised. He couldn't afford to show weakness or hesitation now, not while he was leading the batarians behind him and most certainly not while so many fellow batarians were counting on him. He had stood in his brother's shadow for far too long. Now that his brother needed him, Malan had to prove that he was not afraid to stand on his own.
The air grew colder as they descended into the depths of the facility. Before the Systems Alliance attacked, the passage down into the mining area had been a welcome respite from the blistering heat of the main refinery or the Bahakian suns. Now, it felt unnatural and foreboding to Malan. In the Batarian religion Drak'Thalan, orthe realm of death, was historically portrayed as a frozen wasteland devoid of life. The resemblance was not lost on Malan. Though the temperature was low, Malan was bathed in a cold, nervous sweat.
The sound of Malan's own heartbeat threatened to drown out the storm outside. They had not encountered a single, living soul since they had entered the facility. Revak's diversion had been much more effective than Malan could have hoped for, but that only meant that there were more Systems Alliance marines hunting his brother than he could of anticipated. Malan had to swiftly secure that ore freighter.
Malan may have relied on his brother's guidance for most of his life, but was no slouch when it came to combat operations. He had been accepted into the Special Interventions Unit of the Batarian Armed Forces on his own merit and had served a brief but distinguished career with them prior to the Reaper War.
The group reached the heavy steel doors that led to the main mining area. Malan took a knee on one side of the doors. The rest of his batarians followed suit on either side.
"Do not charge in," Malan ordered. "The devils will likely have set up defensive positions. Do not hit the freighter, and do not shoot the slaves." The batarians around him all grunted in agreement.
"Dakon, open the door," he grunted to another batarian. Dakon nodded and made his way over to the mechanism. He placed a burly paw on the crank handle and began to turn it.
Ancient gears sprang to life with an ear-rending shriek, causing Malan to grind his teeth together. There would be no element of surprise for him and his batarians. The doors opened painstakingly slowly.
Malan took a deep breath and slowly inched his head out from behind cover. The Alliance marines had turned on the floodlights that lined the mining area, bathing the entire arena in oily fluorescent light. He could see the slaves milling around the back of the mining area. The ore freighter sat blessedly-undamaged on the loading platform.
"Is it empty?" another batarian asked.
A sudden rasping noise drew Malan's attention. It wasn't an organic sound, or the noise the slaves' chains made when they shuffled. Though Malan had been here many times before and was familiar with all the sounds that could be typically heard in the mining area, this one was unknown to him.
His instincts kicked in. His four eyes grew wide and he immediately withdrew behind cover just in time to avoid a blistering hail of bullets.
"Ambush!" he bellowed.
Dakon gave a shout of anger and swiftly slid past Malan into the doorway, firing his spike-thrower in blind, white-hot rage. Malan cursed and quickly spun out from behind cover as well. He yanked Dakon out of the path of another hail of gunfire hurtling towards him and slammed him back behind cover. Dakon let out a few strangled breaths at the near-miss and blinked at Malan in appreciation.
"Idiot!" Malan spat. "Grenades, then suppressing fire!"
His batarians nodded. Malan and several others tossed spike-grenades as far as they could into the mining area. After a moment they detonated and the incoming gunfire slackened as the enemy marines took cover to avoid the blasts.
Malan and the rest of his batarians swung out from behind cover and began to fire. His eyes grew wide as he saw the small fires that had coated the ground around the mining area. One of the grenades must have inadvertently detonated some of the fuel barrels. The fuel was an oily substance that could cling to surfaces and sustain a fire when ignited.
He could now see that the Alliance had been hiding behind various mining equipment and ore cars. The battle immediately began to descend into confusion and pandemonium. The marines cut down a batarian a few meters away to Malan's left. He pitched forward, landing face-first in one of the fires and causing a wave of sparks to fly up into the air. The surviving batarians replied with an angry roar and began to advance, weapons ablaze.
Malan's heart began to twist as he saw numerous slaves at the back of the mining area begin to get hit by stray fire from his batarians. Many fell, writhing in soundless agony. The rest didn't run – they couldn't, not after the barbaric surgeries they had suffered. They merely cowered in place, looks of abject fear and terror etched on their many faces. The lobotomies had made them little more than animals.
"Watch your fire! You're hitting the slaves! Stop!" he bellowed.
But two more batarians fell screaming to the Alliance gunfire. Though the batarians outnumbered the marines, the batarians had no cover while the marines did. Several of Malan's batarians began to panic at the death of their comrades, their gunfire becoming more and more wild. More slaves were hit, but still the slaves didn't run.
"Watch your fire! Stop it!" He ordered desperately, but the batarians were too engrossed in fear and adrenaline and battle-rage to take heed. Malan grabbed the nearest batarian and shook him, but the batarian flung him off and continued to fire recklessly at the marines, not caring that he was hitting several slaves.
The fires began to burn hotter and hotter. Malan screamed in frustration and tossed a grenade at one of the ore diggers some of the marines were hiding behind. It detonated and tore the machine apart, sending several of the marines to the ground with fresh shrapnel wounds. They began to scream as well, though Malan could barely hear them above the gunfire and the roaring of the spreading flames.
The other batarians tried to follow suit, sending grenades at the second Alliance position on the other side of the mining area. Some fell short and detonated near several other fuel barrels, adding to the flames that continued to burn hungrily around the area.
The air in the depths of the facility was no longer cold but hot, uncomfortably hot. Malan blinked away sweat and tears. He had fought in dozens of battles before but nothing like this.
"Focus fire on the surviving marines!" he roared. With one flank now effectively secured, Malan could turn the entirety of his attention on the few marines that remained.
The air grew hotter and hotter as the flames continued to spread hungrily around the mining area. They began to spread towards the other fuel barrels. One barrel exploded as the flames reached it, coating a nearby batarian in flame. He began to scream and flail, stumbling around the area before he finally succumbed to the fires. He was quickly consumed by the flames, where his body served as fuel for the growing inferno.
They had to get the ore freighter of here before the flames reached it. "Dakon! Open the bay doors! We need to leave!"
Dakon nodded and immediately turned and sprinted towards a control panel by the landing platform. Upon reaching it, the batarian began to type frantically.
Malan and the rest of the batarians covered him. The surviving batarians advanced onto the few marines that remained. One rose slightly from behind cover, grenade in hand. Malan quickly put him down with a volley of spikes. The marine slumped forward onto the low barricade he had been hiding behind, red blood oozing from his shattered chestplate.
The grenade slipped from his fingers and detonated, kicking up sand and hurling shrapnel at the rest of his comrades. Distracted, the surviving marines were easy targets for the rest of Malan's batarians. The last one died holding the hand of her friend, her face a mask of anguish and despair.
The hangar bay doors above finally slid open and the storm invaded the facility. Winds howled and the sand began to claw its way in. The sky was a heavy crimson, with angry streaks of purple and orange running through it. For some reason the sight of it filled Malan with gut-rending guilt. No, that was wrong. Malan knew why.
Malan grabbed the nearest batarian and shoved him towards the freighter. "Go, get on!"
"What about the slaves!?" Another batarian hollered.
Malan looked at the slaves. Slaves of all species stared back with wide eyes that were too big for their emaciated heads. Their eyes were filled with fear and pain. A few had their hands stretched out towards Malan, chains dangling from skeletal wrists. They could have slipped out of those chains at any time— gods knew that they were emaciated enough to do so —but they didn't. Malan and his kind had barbarically robbed them of too much in their desperate bid to rebuild their home.
The flames crept closer and closer to both the ore freighter and the slaves. He didn't have the time—he just simply didn't have time to load them onto the freighter. His brother was out there, fighting for his life in the sands. He couldn't lose his brother. He was all that Malan had left.
Malan's soul felt as if it were being torn apart. In that moment Malan knew that his soul was damned.
"We go now!" he finally commanded.
The batarians quickly sprinted onto the ore freighter. Once they were on, many dropped to the deck in relief, tears streaming down their four eyes. Dakon quickly dashed to the pilots cockpit and powered up the ore freighter. With his hand on the controls, Dakon swiftly and deftly brought the freighter out of the fiery cavern and into the storm above.
Malan collapsed into the co-pilot's seat beside him and stared out a viewport as he did so. Below, he could see more explosions as more fuel barrels exploded. The mining area was now fully exposed to the storm above. The sand clawed its way into the facility like a swarm of hungry gnats.
He saw the tiny figures of the slaves grow smaller and smaller as they ascended.
Malan closed his eyes, but he could still see them.
February 22nd, 2201, 1414 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)
En-route to assist Zulu Company
The wind howled and howled like a caged animal, screaming to be let out. It picked up tons of sand, tossing it around Percival with enough force to scour his armor clean of all the blood and dirt that he had acquired on this planet.
The sky was a bright, ominous crimson that seemed to herald something terrible. Angry lines of purple and orange crisscrossed the sky as the storm raged beneath it. The sight of it filled Percival with a sense of terrible foreboding. It seemed to almost whisper to Percival – promising that beneath its gaze, Percival would know loss.
Percival's boots carved heavy divots into the sand as he continued his relentless march towards Gwen. Like the sand, caution was thrown into the wind. Percival couldn't afford to waste a single precious second, not when Gwen could be in danger.
An armored figure a few feet behind Percival brought his hand up to this helmet. "Percival, you need to slow down! We could be walking into an ambush!" James called out. The smaller gunnery chief was struggling to keep up with the long strides of his commanding officer, as was the rest of the surviving members of X-Ray company.
Percival turned his head but refused to slow down his pace. "We need to get there as soon as possible! Gwen has no—,"
James put on a burst of speed and caught up to Percival, grabbing him by his forearm. "You need to fucking slow down, man!"
The marine jerked his head at the rest of the company. "These marines are counting on you to look out for them – to get them home! You running off half-cocked with your company stretched thin as shit is just going to get us all killed!"
Percival's vision suddenly went red. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt white-hot anger, but he felt it now at this very moment as his best friend held onto him, keeping him from going to Gwen.
With a sudden fury, Percival grabbed onto James' wrist and squeezed. James let out a cry of pain and let go. Percival then shoved the smaller marine into the sand.
James landed on his ass and stared up at his friend with hurt and sorrow in his eyes. The rest of Percival's squad had caught up just in time to witness the altercation.
"Sir, what the fuck?" Jazz asked. The marine knelt down and helped pull the gunnery chief to his feet. She tried to wave for a medic but James shook his head. Sterling, Kane and Kara looked at Percival with wide eyes. They had never seen Percival lose his calm like that before. Ducky looked coldly at his commanding officer but stayed quiet.
When he realized what he had done, the anger faded as quickly as it had came, carried away by the wind as well. "Shit, James I'm so sorry…" Percival apologized.
James rubbed his wrist and sighed. "I know you're worried about Gwen. You care about her, and I do to! - But you can't just rush in! Who knows if the slavers set up any traps or ambushes for us? You're going to get yourself killed!"
Percival sighed. "You're right, I'm sorry... I'm scared, James. I can't lose her..."
His friend clapped him on the shoulder. "You won't," James replied firmly. "We're going to reach her in time."
The blond marine blinked away several few tears that had formed in the corner of his eye and gave his friend a light slap on the back. "Thanks for having my back man."
James let out a light laugh. "I'll have it 'til the day I die man, you know that."
Percival smiled and took another deep breath. James and the rest of Percival's squad moved up to stand beside him, his prior outburst quickly forgiven but not forgotten. Together they watched as the rest of the company caught up. The storm continued to howl, throwing sand around. It blotted out the sun, cooling the air and impeding their vision to a degree. Multiple tiny sandstorms could be seen making their way across the dunes.
"I don't like sand," Sterling grunted.
Kara cocked her head. "Why's that?"
"It's coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere," the gunner grumbled.
"Dude, every time we're on shore leave you're the one always dragging us out to the beaches," Kane blurted incredulously. "If you hate it so much why do we always go?"
Sterling gave a shrug and a grin. "What can I say, the babes make it worth it."
"I think I may want to get married on the beach. Maybe on Thessia, I heard they have gorgeous beaches," Jazz added.
"Aeia has some really nice beaches as well, so long as you get your food catered in from off-world," Ducky also chimed in.
Percival looked at his squad and gave them an appreciative smile. For one brief, blessed moment, the weight on his heart eased ever so slightly and he could catch a quick breath. He didn't know what he'd do without them. He knew, however, that he would do everything he could to bring them back home. All of them.
The rest of the company was now caught up. Percival turned to James, who then nodded.
The company began to march as one towards the mouth of Slaver's Valley where the marines of Zulu company were currently fighting for their lives.
As they grew closer, they could hear the sounds of battle rising in a slow crescendo. The marines of X-Ray company were now at the base of the valley entrance they had marched down from just a few short hours ago. A full company had marched down, and now only slightly over half remained.
"Pick up the pace, marines!" James bellowed. The entire company roared back in acknowledgement and began to run up the hill towards their fellow marines. They could hear the gunfire growing louder and louder. They were close enough to hear the guttural shouts of the batarian slavers in their brutish, alien language and the screaming of dying marines.
Percival led the charge. His heart was in his throat now, and he could acutely feel his sweaty fingers against the inner lining of his gloves. His long legs allowed him to quickly outpace the rest of his marines.
"Come on you apes, do you want to live forever?!" James screamed from right behind him.
Percival was the first one over the lip of the hill. He emerged into a nightmarish landscape of sand, bodies and gunfire. The storm was at its strongest outside the valley, where its high walls had kept the worst of it out. He could see Alliance marines doing their best to huddle beside the barricades that they had set up to keep any slavers from entering the valley.
The batarians, however, had not attacked them straight on. They had spread out into numerous groups and had somehow managed to encircle Zulu company, attacking them from different angles and rendering their barricades mostly useless.
The rest of X-Ray company finally made it over the hill. Like their fellow company, they too had no cover should the batarians choose to switch their attention to them.
"Flank them! Take their positions!" Percival ordered. His company immediately began to shift into action. Concussive rounds and tech drones flew out towards the batarians, who now found themselves fighting on two fronts.
Percival immediately began to search frantically for Gwen, but the all the wind and the sand made it hard to see. He felt a hand tap his pauldron. It was James.
"Comms are dead in this storm! You go find her! I've got the company!" he urged.
Percival nodded. He held out a gloved hand. James gave it a quick squeeze before letting go and disappearing out into the howling sands.
Percival rushed into the fray. Fire from his Avenger assault rifle tore into the body of any batarian Percival encountered as he continued his relentless search for Gwen. His fire was swift and precise. Slaver armor was thick, but Percival managed each time to direct his fire into the gaps in their armor where their flesh was exposed. Spikes and tracers streaked across the air around Percival, but somehow he wasn't hit.
Percival came upon a batarian with his back turned to him, firing on another group of marines. Percival unsheathed his knife and ran it across the batarian's neck. The batarian fell to the sand, clutching his ruined throat and gasping desperately for breath. Percival didn't spare him another look as he continued his quest.
Along the way he saw several dead marines from Zulu lying in the sand. Percival checked each and every single one of them. Every time he turned a body over his heart leapt into his throat and his chest constricted. Thankfully, not a single one of them was the woman he loved.
As he was checking another body, a batarian suddenly appeared out of nowhere and swung his bladed spike-thrower at Percival's neck. The marine threw himself backwards, narrowly avoiding the blade, and landed with his ass in the sand. Frantically, Percival began to crawl backways away from his attacker. He tugged at his pistol strapped to his waist.
Just as the batarian was about to pull the trigger, a high-calibre bullet suddenly passed through his head, blowing out a fist-sized hole through his faceplate and causing a sharp, red mist to spray out into the raging storm.
The slaver crumpled as if his strings were cut. Percival looked around, trying to spot his phantom sniper, but he couldn't see anyone.
Three armored figures suddenly appeared out of the storm like ghosts and headed towards Percival. One of them had a modified M-76 revenant. The armored figure gunned down any batarians in the vicinity with lethal precision.
The other had an activated omni-shield in his left arm and a pistol in his right. Both of the armored figures had red and white stripes running down their right arms. The one with the omni-shield was using it to cover the third figure – a slimmer, clearly-female marine.
The N7 with the shield spotted Percival. He tapped the female marine on the shoulder and pointed at him.
The female marine ran to Percival. She knelt down beside him and depolarized her faceplate.
Percival felt his heart fill with relief. He almost wanted to cry with happiness when he saw that it was Gwen.
She grabbed his hand and gave him a smile, then pulled Percival to his feet. The N7 with the shield nodded at Percival. Percival nodded back, and both N7's disappeared back into the sands.
"Percival, thank god you're here! They ambushed the captain and separated us from one another!" Gwen said. She gave him a quick embrace which was returned fervently by Percival.
Percival grabbed his Avenger and began to scan around the immediate vicinity for threats. "We need to find James and coordinate a retreat. We don't know how many of them are out here."
Gwen nodded. "I think the storm is messing up the long-range comms!"
Percival cursed but tried the comms anyways. "James! James, do you copy?! James!".
He waited a moment with baited breath, but there was nothing on the channel but static.
Percival cursed again and shut off the channel. "Come on, we need to rally the companies!"
Gwen nodded. She also shouldered an Avenger assault rifle and took up position beside Percival. Together the two lieutenants forged ahead through the sand, gathering what marines they could. Percival and Gwen both fought tooth and nail to save as many marines as they could. The surviving marines of both X-Ray and Zulu company began to rally behind the two officers. The batarians were soon on the defensive.
The storm suddenly gave way in front of Percival for just the briefest of moments. On a distant dune beneath an outcropping of rock, Percival could suddenly spot several familiar figures. It was his squad.
A slim, armored marine lay bloodied in the sand a few meters ahead of them. A dark, ominous figure towered a few meters beyond her crumpled form. It was tall and broad, and had a number of sharp protrusions exuding from its shoulders. Behind it were dozens of other dark figures, partially obscured by the storm.
Percival recognized the marine lying in the sand and roared in fury. There wasn't supposed to be another one.
He charged forward, firing with reckless abandon at the figure in the storm. As Percival closed the distance, the figure slowly revealed itself to be a massive batarian in the heavy, thick, spiked armor. Black, ornate batarian script decorated it in various locations. Percival knew instantly who he was. It was one of the Ghar'aran brothers.
The batarian hurled himself out of the way and quickly pulled himself to his feet, firing his own spike-thrower at Percival.
The rounds somehow entirely missed Percival. The marines and the batarians around them began to fire wildly at each other. The combatants on each side threw caution and self-preservation to the wind, only seeking desperately to inflict as much death and destruction onto those on the other side of the line as they could.
Percival continued to charge towards the batarian, firing as he went. The batarian was surprisingly fast, rolling out of the way again with a speed Percival wouldn't have thought the massive batarian to be capable of.
Percival's rifle overheated. He hurled it away and instead dove right at the batarian.
His combination of weight and speed allowed Percival to knock the batarian into the sand, rip the rifle right out of his massive hands and toss it away. Percival began to rain a series of heavy blows into the batarian's face, seemingly uncaring of the dozens of rifles that were beginning to lock onto him.
The batarian silently weathered the storm of blows and waited. Seeing his opportunity, the batarian pushed off the ground with his legs and twisted, using his considerable strength to reverse their positions. Now Percival was on his back with the batarian straddling him. The other slavers held their fire and instead re-focused on the attacking marines.
The batarian produced a large, crude-looking metal knife with a serrated edge and drove it towards Percival's face. Percival's eyes grew wide as he saw it. Reacting instinctively, Percival just barely managed to deflect it into the sand.
The batarian was momentarily caught flat-footed by the maneuver, allowing Percival to rip his pistol out of his holster and empty the magazine into the side of the batarian. Most of it was deflected by the heavy metal armor, but at least a bullet or two had managed to penetrate.
The batarian rolled off of Percival. Percival scrambled back up onto his knees only to get hit in the face by a wave of sand that the batarian had kicked at him, causing him to temporarily go blind.
The batarian whipped his knife at Percival. It struck him in the upper meat of his left arm and sank deep into his flesh. Percival let out a scream and doubled over in pain. With his enemy temporarily incapacitated, the batarian lunged for his spike-thrower and levelled it at the wounded marine.
Suddenly several guttural screams suddenly sounded out over the wind. Out of the corner of Percival's eye, he could see the two N7's carving ruthlessly into the batarian's left flank, slaying slaver after slaver like a pair of merciless, grim reapers.
Their actions momentarily captured the attention of the batarian as well. The Ghar'aran turned his head towards the N7s and his eyes were suddenly filled with rage and fear at the sight of his dying brethren.
Percival took the opportunity to tear his final inferno grenade free from his belt. Despite the tears in his eyes, Percival managed to prime it and hurl it at the batarian.
The incendiary device hit him full on in the chest. The Ghar'aran was immediately covered in fire from the grenade. He screamed painfully in a language unfamiliar to Percival as the flames crawled up and down his body. One side of his face was covered in fire. Several nearby batarians rushed to their fallen leader. One of them tried to smother the flames while the others imposed themselves in front of the Ghar'aran, shielding him with their own bodies. The rest of the batarians began to consolidate around the group.
Percival pushed himself to his feet and pointed at the batarians. The marines rallied and began to launch a fierce assault at the surviving batarians, shouting furiously.
Suddenly a dark shadow passed over the entire battlefield. The thrum of a mass effect engine began to overwhelm the howling of the wind and several marines were forced to their knees by the backdraft. The heady, metallic scent of eezo began to infiltrate Percival's air filters.
Percival looked up into the sky. He watched as a familiar ship suddenly landed right on top of the batarians.
Its bay doors opened to reveal a dozen batarians. Half began to gesture to the surviving batarians to board while the other half laid down suppressing fire.
A figure in decorated, bladed armor leapt out from the ore freighter and onto the sand. He sprinted towards the defensive circle formed by the surviving batarians. The batarians let him through, allowing him to grab the fallen Ghar'aran brother and pull him to his feet. He got beneath him and began to help his wounded comrade towards the freighter. The surviving slavers surrounded the duo protectively. Percival waved for his marines to shoot the two but the slavers fired viciously at any marine who tried to do so.
But the surviving batarians managed to get safely on board. The bay doors of the ore freighter slid closed with a loud bang and the ship immediately began to rise, taking the batarians beyond the reach of the surviving marines. Percival watched as the ship rose higher and higher, passing beyond the storm and leaving the sandy, hellish dunes of Bahak behind.
Just like that, the battle of Bahak was over for Percival and his marines.
February 22nd, 2201, 1414 hours — Kite's Nest, Gunthel System — The Planet of Bahak
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption…Profile Reconstruction Required…
(Lieutenant Commander Thomas Locke – N7 Team One)
En-route to assist Zulu Company
Two figures in battle-worn combat armor lay hidden in the shadow of a rocky overhang. Each of them had a red stripe flanked by two white stripes painted on their right arms. The storm whirled protectively around the pair, hiding them from prying eyes.
Lieutenant Commander Thomas Locke peered through his binoculars at the distant carnage. A vicious battle was erupting just a few hundred meters away. A force of Batarian slavers had somehow managed to outflank and ambush the Systems Alliance marine company assigned to guard the entrance, and the marines were now in a desperate fight for their lives. The other companies were currently still at the slave factories and the Jaegers were currently fighting in another area. Tom and his team might be all the help that the imperiled company would get.
"Linda, you in position?" Tom asked.
"In position as I'll ever be. The terrain around the fighting is too uneven for me to get an unobstructed view of the entire battlefield, and there's nowhere with enough altitude for me to get around that. Sand isn't helping either," replied Staff Lieutenant Linda Churchill.
"Make do with what you have. Fall back if you draw too much heat."
"Copy that Tom, just know that there are some parts where I won't be able to cover you or Alex."
Staff Lieutenant Alexander Avery lay beside Tom. The N7 brushed a bit of sand off of the barrel of his massive M-76 Revenant. "Just record me wherever when you can, I'm going to want a copy of this," he replied back.
"You're messed up, Alex."
Alex gave a hoarse chuckle. "Love you too, Linda."
Tom slapped Alex on the forearm. "Time to go, the company doesn't have much time left."
"I was waiting on you, boss."
"I'm waiting on you, boss!" mimicked Linda over the radio. Avery gave Linda a quick, scathing retort that Tom chose to ignore.
As was his custom, Tom quickly swiped a hand over the hidden compartment in his armor where he kept the photo of his dead wife. He said a quick, wordless prayer in his head, asking her to watch over him.
He also asked her for her forgiveness. Tom was apologizing to her for making her wait a little while longer for him.
The N7 pulled out a battered but well-maintained Phalanx pistol. "Let's go then."
The two N7 special forces soldiers rose out of the sand and darted out from underneath the overhang. The batarians were engrossed with fighting the marines of the 104th. With any luck, Tom and Alex would enter the battle with the element of surprise and all the force of a hurricane.
Tom and Alex began to run towards the battle, keeping as low as they could. Their job would be to secure the commanding officer, kill the enemy commanding officer, and save as many marines as they could. Linda would provide what sniper support she could for both her fellow N7's and the marines.
"Thermal's working wonders at seeing through the storm. Mark targets for me."
Tom immediately marked a trio of batarians high up on a rocky bluff. From that vantage point they had nearly the entire company in their gunsights and cover from any marine fire.
Two batarians suddenly crumpled as if their strings were cut. Tom hadn't even heard the gunshots over the howling of the storm.
The third batarian looked around in panic before he too pitched forward.
"Done. Anything else?"
"Squad leaders, anyone you think might be in charge," Tom ordered. Tom and Alex were maybe fifty meters away from the fray now.
"Roger."
They were now close enough to hear the screaming and the shouting. None of the batarians had translators, so all Tom could hear was their thick, guttural language tearing through the wind like a cannon. The marines were yelling as well, pointing out targets and calling for medics.
Alex dropped to his knees and began to unload his Revenant at a group of slavers shooting at some marines hiding behind a few inadequate barricades. He managed to down two of them before the rest of the group noticed and turned their attention to the murderous N7.
Alex's heatsink overheated, prompting Tom to slide in front of Alex and trigger his omni-shield.
A giant, golden, kite-shaped energy shield sprung into existence from the omni-tool on Tom's wrist, catching the blistering hail of spikes the slavers returned at the two soldiers.
Tom grunted as each spike impacted on his shield. He drove his armored boots and the bottom lip of his shield into the sand and held firm against the volley.
After a few seconds, Alex had managed to slip in a new heatsink. He tapped Tom on the shoulder to indicate his readiness.
Tom moved his shield to the side ever so slightly, allowing Alex to fire back at the slavers. Without any cover, the group was quickly decimated.
"A good start!" grinned Alex.
"That's it. I'm putting you up for a psych eval once we're off-world."
Tom stood up, giving the dead slavers no more than a fleeting glance. "Linda, try and find the marine commander. Alex, let's keep moving!"
"Copy."
"Copy."
The storm raged as the two N7s continued their death dance, flitting through the sand like a pair of vengeful spirits. Alex would cut down any slaver he could get in his sights while Tom would cover him with his omni-shield. Out in the dunes where there was no cover, Tom's omni-shield was a blessing. Linda would take out any targets that either of the two marked.
Suddenly, a blue marker appeared on Tom's HUD. "Tom, think I saw a marine with a lieutenant's insignia, right over the next dune! Hurry!"
Tom began to sprint up the hill, legs pumping while his lungs fought to take in more oxygen. Alex was close behind him.
He passed the top of the dune. At the bottom of it was a female marine lieutenant and three other marines. A marine lay in the sand behind them with spikes protruding from his abdomen. Some distance away, Tom could spot nearly a dozen batarians firing at the group, partially hidden by the storm. One of them was a massive batarian wearing heavy, ornate metal armor covered in black, batarian script.
The batarian wasn't doing anything to draw attention to himself, but Tom's trained eyes picked up a series of gestures and body language from the big batarian that told him that he was the one directing the others. Tom's shivered. His instincts, honed over twenty-five years of combat, told him that this batarian was dangerous.
Before Tom could direct Alex to take him out, the batarian raised a battered grail spike-thrower and shot a quartet of spike flechettes into the chest of one of the marines. Tom cursed. He sprinted down the dune and leapt into the air while he was about halfway down. He landed right in front of the female marine just in time to catch a barrage of spikes on his shield.
Alex had just put down a slaver when the massive batarian suddenly shouted something in his alien language.
The rest of the slavers suddenly backed away into the storm. The massive batarian did so as well, backing carefully away as he kept a wary watch on the two N7 soldiers.
The threat gone, the female marine began to frantically wave Alex over. The N7 immediately rushed towards the fallen soldier and pulled out his med-pack. "FOF says he's Captain Toshiro Hitsugaya, Zulu Company, Fifth Battalion, 104th marines," he told Tom. Alex grabbed a tube of medigel and began to treat the man, furiously brushing sand away from his armor's injection points. Tom raised his omni-shield and situated himself in front of the pair, eyes peeled for any slavers who might decide to try their chances with the group.
The female marine turned to Tom. "Second Lieutenant Lockley with the 104th," she said as a manner of introduction. "You guys got here just in the nick of time!"
"Give me a sit-rep, lieutenant!"
"Slavers ambushed the company from all directions, made our fortifications useless! I managed to send out an SOS on the battalion channel before the storm got too bad, but I'm not sure anyone else is coming! Fleet tried to send in some close air support but the slaver ships shot them down! I think we're on our own!"
Alex looked up from the bleeding body of the marine captain. His hands were bloody from his attempts to staunch the captain's wounds. "Fan-fucking-tastic."
Tom ignored his teammate and took a moment to consider their options. The imperiled company was scattered across the entrance of the valley and was being attacked from all sides by an unknown amount of assailants. Air support wasn't an option, and there was no word from the rest of the battalion. Their commanding officer was also down, as was their communications.
Tom turned back to Alex. "Is he stable?" he asked, jerking his head at the marine captain.
His fellow N7 wiped his hands on his chestplate, leaving a pair of bloody smears running red down the front of his armor. "For now," Alex replied.
Tom booted up his omni-tool. "Linda, I'm setting up a nav marker. We're leaving the CO of Zulu here with two marines. Get over here and watch over them."
"Roger that, Tom. I'll be there in five. Also don't try to stay too far. Our personal comm system is hardened enough to withstand the storm for now, but there's no telling it'll hold up if the storm gets worse."
"I got it, just get here quick."
Tom took the opportunity to take a quick breather. Despite the battle raging around him, he took a moment to appreciate Bahak's natural beauty. Bahak was a desert planet known for its raging surface storms and its wealth of mineral deposits. Whenever there was a storm, the electric charge made the atmosphere thick, streaking the sky with red, orange and purple as did now. The sight of it made Tom hopeful for some reason.
But Tom had to remember that there was still a battle to be fought and won. The N7 then turned to the two other surviving marines from Zulu. "Stay here with the captain, I'm sending one of my teammates to you."
"Yes sir," acknowledged one of the marines.
Tom then turned to the female marine lieutenant. "Lieutenant, we need to round up your company, pull them out. The enemy has you outflanked. This isn't a fight we can win."
Second Lieutenant Lockley nodded in return. "Roger that El-Cee. The company should be towards the east."
"Let's move out then. Alex, let's go!"
His friend nodded, shouldering his M-76 revenant and rising up from beside the wounded captain to join Tom and the female marine. Together the trio made their way east, wading through the storm. It was a laborious journey. The marines had to battle both the wind and the sand at every step. Both Alex and Tom were sweating in their armor, and they could hear the second lieutenant breathing hard behind them.
Soon they began to hear gunfire and screaming in several languages. The trio crossed the threshold of one last dune and found the rest of Zulu company.
The fatigue began to fade from Tom's muscles, to be replaced by mounting adrenaline. Tom surveyed the scene the best he could with the storm raging around. With the lack of leadership, the besieged marines had splintered into small pockets of resistance. Survivors had grouped up into small squads and were being attacked from all sides by the batarians.
The slavers made intelligent use of the storm, repeatedly hitting the marines and falling back before they could launch a sustained counter attack.
Tom braced his pistol over his omni-shield and began firing furiously at the nearest slaver. The tiny platinum shards whipped through the wind and tore into the slavers metal faceplate. Alex dropped another slaver from another group with a well-placed burst from his Revenant.
"We need to find First Lieutenant Jordan! She's the second!" Lockley told the N7s.
Both special forces soldiers nodded. Together, the three continued to move through the storm, doing their best to save any imperiled marines where they could.
"Tom, look!" Alex suddenly blurted. The N7 pointed to the north.
A wave of Systems Alliance soldiers had charged up from Slavers Valley, their angry yells carrying over the howling wind, and engaged the batarians.
Lockley whispered something that Tom couldn't hear over the storm and the wind.
The lieutenant pointed at the newcomers. "That's X-Ray company! We should find their CO first, he can help us!"
Tom nodded. He raised his shield once more and began to head towards X-Ray company. Lockley followed close to Tom, while Alex brought up the rear.
A large, male marine caught Tom's attention. The marine put down batarian after batarian with a precision that would have impressed nearly every N7 that Tom knew. He was also running from fallen marine to fallen marine, looking for any wounded.
Alex finished putting down another batarian and glanced in the direction Tom was staring. "That's one hell of a marine," the N7 admitted.
Tom managed to spot a set of first lieutenant's bars on the marine's pauldron. The marine might know the location of the company's CO.
"Hey, come on!" he urged his group. Together they headed towards the lieutenant.
As the marine was checking another body, a batarian suddenly emerged out of the storm and attacked the lieutenant with a large, curved bayonet attached to his weapon.
The marine was caught completely off-guard. He managed to narrowly dodge the blade, but was caught flat-footed by the ambush. The marine fell back on his hands, crawling away from the attacker.
Tom cursed. The batarian advanced towards the lieutenant with his weapon raised and was about to end him when his head suddenly jerked forward. The batarian immediately crumpled as if his strings were cut. A fine, red mist sprayed out into the storm.
Alex gave a grunt of admiration. "Damn Linda, was that you?"
"That marine is one lucky SOB. I was actually looking for you guys, good thing he was so close to you."
"Good shooting Linda. We needed him alive. Another company from the 104th is here, and he's one of their officers," Tom replied.
"You two owe me drinks then."
"Next time for sure."
Tom tapped on Lockley's arm and pointed towards the lieutenant. Lockley gave a surprised gasp and began to move towards him. As they crossed the sands, Tom did his best to keep the female lieutenant safe behind his shield to protect her from any other ambushes while Alex shot at any batarians that looked like they wanted to try their luck.
When they got close enough, Lockley dashed over and pulled the lieutenant to his feet. Both of them depolarized their faceplates, allowing the N7s to see the looks that each marine gave one another. The dynamic between the two was not lost on the N7s.
Alex gave Tom a sly look. "Come on boss, we should go find the CO of Zulu. They can handle themselves."
"Agreed," Tom returned. He gave the lieutenant a nod which was returned, and then Tom and Alex disappeared back into the storm.
The pair moved across the battlefield, lending what assistance they could when they could. They felled batarian after batarian, administering medical aid where they could and directing lost marines back towards the location of the two officers and the other members of their company.
Alex suddenly halted and grabbed Tom's arm. "Look!" he pointed.
Tom followed his finger. It took him a while, but Tom finally managed to spot the hulking, familiar figure of the large batarian he had seen earlier in the battle. The batarian lay crouched atop a rocky outcropping like an ambushing predator, using the storm and the rocks as highly-effective cover. A squad of marines was taking shelter just below the batarian, firing at another group of slavers some distance away and completely unaware of his presence.
Tom and Alex both began to move towards the group in an attempt to warn them, but were suddenly fired upon by another group of slavers. They were forced to stop and deal with them.
The last of the attacking batarians fell in time for Tom to see the batarian leap off of his perch and descended among the marines.
He let out a kick which slammed into the chestplate of the nearest marine, sending him flying off the dune. The marines all turned to towards the batarian, but they couldn't fire on him without risking the possibility of hitting each other.
The batarian had no such problem. He raised his spike-thrower with a single hand and fired a wide volley at the marines.
Most of them managed to duck or throw themselves out of the way in time, but one of them dropped in pain as several flechettes embedded themselves in his armored thigh. The marine grabbed at the wound and howled in pain.
The batarian began to advance menacingly towards the wounded marine. Two small, female figures came between the batarian and his prey, yelling something to the rest of the squad that Tom could not hear. Two of the other marines who had managed to dodge the spike volley began to drag the wounded man away.
The female marines began to fire at the batarian advancing rapidly at them, but their bullets simply glanced off of his thick, metal armor. As he approached them the difference in size became more and more painfully evident. Both the marines were small compared to the huge batarian. Still, they stood their ground and continued to fire in a valiant attempt to buy their friends time to remove their wounded comrade.
The batarian had begun to reach for one of the female marines with a large hand clad in a spiked, armored gauntlet when the other one suddenly moved and shoved his intended target aside.
Tom watched as the batarian grabbed her in his claws instead.
For a moment it was as if the storm had ceased it's howling to Tom. The wind, the battle, the yelling – Tom could suddenly hear none of it.
With an underhanded swing, the huge batarian drove the bayonet of his spike-thrower into the gut of the marine. The force behind his blow lifted her off her feet and into the air. There she hung suspended, her blood running down the bayonet to coat the rifle and the gauntlet of her killer.
After what felt like an eternity, time and sound resumed for Tom. The batarian pulled his rifle back out and let her go. His victim crumpled onto the sand where she lay, unmoving. Her friend and the rest of her team could only stare at her body in shock.
The batarian wasn't even looking at this victim. He wasn't looking at the rest of the marines either. Instead his gaze was fixed on the marine lieutenant still fighting with Lockley by his side some distance away.
Tom watched as the lieutenant finally spotted the grisly scene and began to sprint towards the batarian.
The batarian raised an armored gauntlet and made a gesture. Tom spotted several-dozen shadowy figures who had until then remained hidden in the storm suddenly begin to move to flank the approaching marine.
"It's a trap! Alex shouted. "He's going to be surrounded!"
"Come on! We need to break their flank!" Tom replied.
The two N7's charged at the slavers hidden in the storm. Tom took a running leap off of a small outcropping and brought the sharpened edge of his omni-shield down in a massive overhand swing onto the helmet of the nearest slaver.
Tom's mass plus the added acceleration allowed the omni-shield to travel through the batarians helmet and into his chest. Blood spurted everywhere, coating the sand and Tom's armor. He grunted in disgust, raised an armored boot and kicked the batarian off of his shield.
Gunfire from his teammate turned another slaver's face into a pulpy mess. Tom dashed over to his next victim – a batarian with his attention still on the charging lieutenant.
Tom sliced him in the back of his knees with his omni-shield, where the batarian had no armor. The batarian fell to his knees, where Tom parted his head from his shoulders with another precise swing from his shield. Several nearby batarians had finally begun to notice the two murderous N7s and began directing their attention away from the lieutenant.
Meanwhile the lieutenant had reached the large batarian in the decorated armor and had engaged him in close-quarters combat. The pair looked to be exchanging blows in the sand. Tom saw the marine narrowly dodge a serrated knife that the batarian had driven at his face. He managed to deflect it and empty his unholstered side-arm into the batarian's side.
Another trio of slavers stood several meters ahead of the two N7s. Alex managed to put two of them down with another long burst from his Revenant before it overheated and he was forced to duck down and swap heatsinks.
Tom charged towards the surviving slaver with his shield held in front of him. Spikes thudded against it, but Tom pressed forward with determination.
Tom reached the other survivor and ducked under a wild swing. Tom slammed his shield into the slaver's face, stunning him. The N7 quickly primed a grenade and deftly hooked it to one of the metal protrusions jutting out from the slaver's armor. He then kicked him away and dove into a roll to put as much distance between him and the batarian as possible.
Tom quickly brought his omni-shield up between him and the slaver just in time to protect himself from the detonation. The grenade went off with a loud thud, sending flesh, bone, and fragments of metal armor hurtling in all direction into the sand.
The commotion caused the huge batarian to look in the direction of the two N7s, where he was momentarily distracted at the grisly sight of several of his brethren lying in bits and pieces in the sand around the two special forces members. Tom and Alex watched as the marine lieutenant took the opportunity to flick a small device at the batarian.
The batarian was immediately engulfed in flames and began to scream in pain. All of the surviving batarians immediately stopped firing at the marines and began to coalesce around their wounded leader.
"Holy shit!" cheered Alex. "He lit him up!"
A dark shadow suddenly passed over the two N7s, prompting them both to look up at the sky. An ore freighter entered into the immediate airspace, blue light from its mass effect engine spilling from its thrusters.
It stopped just over the batarian position and began to descend. The thrust of its engines kicked up sand and kept the attacking marines at bay. Tom watched as a pair of cargo-bay doors slid open. Several batarians began to fire from the doors at the marines, while several others leapt down and ran towards the batarian who had been ravaged by the marine lieutenant's incendiary grenade.
One of the batarians running towards the survivors was clad in thick, decorated metal armor similar to the one who had been burned. He reached the fallen batarian and quickly but gently pulled him to his feet. He slipped one arm over his shoulder and began to help his friend hobble towards the freighter.
Tom and Alex both watched as the surviving batarians formed a protective bubble around the duo. All the batarians still out on the dunes had begun to retreat towards the cargo freighter. The marines tried to stop them, but the batarians aboard the ship fought tooth and nail to buy their brethren the time they needed to retreat. Despite their differences and the atrocities the batarians had committed, Tom admired that. Some traits and actions were universal across all species.
The last batarian eventually boarded and the doors slid closed. The ship immediately began to rise. Tom watched as it did so, wondering if at any moment one of the System's Alliance ships from the Ninth Fleet might take the chance to shoot it out of the air.
But it wasn't meant to be. Tom kept watching until the ship broke atmosphere, fully engaged its mass effect engine and flew away, growing smaller and smaller in the distance until Tom could no longer see it any more. The battle for Bahak was over.
The storm suddenly stopped then, almost as if the storm too had been watching and waiting for this particular moment. The sun suddenly emerged as well, alighting the area with warmth and sunshine. With the sun hidden by the storm, the air had been almost cool while the storm had raged. Now that it had abated, the warmth returned in force.
Tom unclasped his helmet and pulled it off his head. Despite the temperature regulators in his armor, his silver-streaked hair was plastered to his head with sweat. The N7 took a deep gulp of unfiltered air, thankful that he had managed to survive yet another day. His search for a way to bring back his wife could continue.
Alex removed his helmet as well, his M-76 Revenant slung back over his shoulder. The other N7 unscrewed his canteen and dumped the remainder on his face, letting out a satisfied sigh as he did so. "One hell of a fight, huh?"
Tom removed his own canteen and drank deeply from it. "One hell of a fight," he agreed.
Alex screwed the cap back on his canteen and returned it to his belt. "You know, that lieutenant had some great instincts and some great moves. Think he could be a candidate?"
Tom looked at his friend and cocked an eye-brow. "Are you thinking of sponsoring him?"
"Maybe," shrugged Alex. The N7 removed his knife and began scrapping at the dried blood on his armor. "I have a few questions for him though. Frankly I'm a bit surprised that any of the companies managed to evacuate all their slaves in time to come to Zulu's rescue."
"You can sponsor him if you want," Tom said.
"What, you think he can't hack it?"
"No, I've just got enough of my plate without having to sit through an entire vetting process," Tom replied.
Alex chuckled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "What, you got better things to do? This campaign is likely over, Bahak was their last stronghold. The slave wars are all but finished."
Tom's thoughts turned to what loomed on the horizon for him. He couldn't tell his team – couldn't tell anyone, anyone except Marcus. Tom and the admiral of the Ninth went back to before the Reaper wars. He had lost people just as Tom had during that terrible, terrible conflict. He too was willing to do whatever it took to see those he had lost just one more time.
Alice had sent him a strongly-encoded message just prior to the battle of Bahak. She had told Tom that she had made a breakthrough – had identified a means by which, given time, they could use to bring back everyone the Reapers had taken and converted during the Reaper war.
If this was true, Tom could possibly have his entire family back one day. He could have his wife back, and if he managed to bring his wife back he could finally find it in himself to face his child. It was a slight chance, but a chance nonetheless.
Tom's icy-blue eyes flashed towards his fellow N7. "There's always another fight, Alex... Always," Tom said simply.
Alex gave a bark of laughter. "You know, sometimes you need to stop taking yourself so damn seriously."
Tom gave his friend a grin and gave a reluctant nod of agreement. Together, the two headed out to find their third teammate so that they could head home.