Chapter 11: A Rude Awakening
A/N: Prepare yourselves for the second battle of Shanxi! This is by far the longest chapter yet, at just over 7000 words, so maybe grab a snack? By-the-by, give a listen to 'Not A Number' followed presently by 'Kilindini Harbor' from the Halo 2 Soundtrack, if you're feeling like some appropriate music to accompany the first part of the chapter!
Drescher was vibrating. People don't get to give history-making one-liners often. Garrison Officers especially. She stepped down from her podium, and observed her crew returning to their work. Her command deck was a thrum of activity: officers, AI, aids, all of them buzzing around in the hive that was fleet command. A small part of her missed the Bridge and it's wide vistas and the commanding presence one felt. But, it simply wasn't helpful for commanding an armada. As a result, she was now buried deep in the heart of the Indomitable, in Central Command.
That didn't mean she regretted her decision, Drescher still reigned absolute over countless tons of equipment, over 400 thousand crew, and some of the deadliest weapons to ever exist. That shit made your blood pump. She made her way to Tactical, by far the most clustered part of this cluster fuck. Her arrival made her motley crew jump to attention, and begin shoving tablets, e-papers and various other insanities towards her. Leaving slipspace was always fun in a fleet, as hundreds of Captains reported in, and were tallied and marked on the massive tactical map on the front and back walls.
Shanxi stood, marked green, only a seemingly small 400 AU away. That put her own forces in orbit around the super-jupiter known only as Theta3. And, according to UNSC policy, right beside what might remain of the Shanxi Garrison. "Comms! How's the penetration survey going?"
"We haven't found any sign yet commander, give it a few- We've got something! IFFs mark… only one ship…" A little sigh spread through the crowded room, but Drescher didn't let the blow marr her. She couldn't, not here.
"Put us in contact Comms, and keep searching for signals."
"Aye ma'am!"
Scanners stood next. "Admiral, we've identified an entity matching the given description of the Tuning Forks described. We're also picking up unknown IFFs in and around the Shanxi gravity well, and in various smaller sections across the system."
"You think they saw us?" The Admiral asked, a grin on her face. A polite chuckle left the mouths of those in the vicinity, as the officer himself struggled to keep his lip straight.
"Likely Ma'am, at the moment we're estimating between 300 and 450 vessels in system based on squadron density and gravitational disturbances, most of them are centered around the Fork and the colony, but isolated pockets do exist."
"Understood Sensors, begin establishing our Dragnet, I don't want too many surprises today understood?" Drescher didn't spare a breath before wheeling to another station. "OOB! Establish hunter-killer protocols, and set up manned squadrons, I'm setting aside 50 light/mediums from Wings 1, 3, and 4 to be assigned to destroy straggler forces. Designate callsign CALVARY. Take no significant risks! It seems we're already fighting undermanned, I do not want to be forced from the field before reinforcements arrive."
"Admiral, Rear Admiral Hohe is requesting permission to deploy the scout fleet?"
"Granted Comms, no chances from those bastards got it?"
"Strategic command is receiving battle statistics from allied AI designated 'Zizka,' shall I set up a general briefing?"
"Prioritize vessel information for me, I'll set something for the next hour; anything else urgent flight deck!"
"Receiving broadband signal from orbit of Shanxi!" Comms immediately jumped into action, along with the vast majority of his assigned officers. "IFF signals have failed to be identified! Analysis in progress Admiral!" Drescher made her way towards the commotion, as the noise of the room dampened. "AI estimates with 99.97% certainty that the message is clean, shall we take a listen?"
"Deploy privacy screen." A clear 'film' of shield developed around the communication station, and the air grew fuzzy, as sound became heard in perfect clarity. "Play it."
It was a video message, it's quality perfectly transcripted. Before her laid a… something? A strange, angular carapace covered what she assumed was it's face, with strange inset eye sockets that appeared almost black on the screen before her, leaving its orange eyes to bore directly into the feed. It's face was a bony white, with red and orange stripes marking the areas above its eyes, and between them. She could only see it's face, which made the uncomfortable close up seem intentional at least. Its face split at where she'd assumed its mouth would be, and began to speak. Whatever language it spoke did not match the noticeably artificial voice that snapped from the speakers.
"Trespasser, you have entered space occupied by the Turian Hierarchy, powerdown your vessels and-"
"I think we've heard enough of this. Turn it off, and scrub the transmission for a translation matrix. Otherwise, have someone start working on a translation codex. In the meantime, I get the feeling they can understand us. Let's call 'em back."
Litrinox was about to demand an explanation of his increasingly manic banner officer, when the sensors deck exploded into activity. Without the Sensor Officer to filter it all, junior officers and aids just started spewing reports into the void. "Detecting gravitational disturbances in sectors 1440AF3 through-" "Scout ships report extreme radiological disturbances-" "-Can't find any word on numbers-"
"QUIET!" Litrinox roared. "Sensors! Return to your post and get me something out of that mess!" The man jumped from his position, and raced for his seat, while Litrinox ran his hands through his crest. "Tactical, get me an update!"
Tactical was in no better a state, though at least he was at his post. "Admiral, scout teams report estimates of over 350 ships, some are putting it higher, IFF tags seem to match those for human forces already encountered, but readings are fuzzy-"
Sensors screamed out an update, "Admiral! Enemy forces are marked on our tac-map! New estimates from combined sensor grid estimate gravitational displacement of approximately 550 vessels, but we're getting conflicting reports: silhouette scans report approximately 200 vessels, but this doesn't line up with our identification protocols at all!"
Comms piped up too, "I'm getting confirmation of Sensors' readings from the rest of the fleet, Admiral Hirabix wants a sitrep as soon as possible, and our Commodore's aren't far behind Admiral. Ground forces are worried about this as well-"
"Understood Comms, I'll have a strategic meeting in five. Tactical, Pull back all exposed patrol fleets beyond those directly observing our unidentified fleet-" This drew a new temper from his Sub-Admiral.
"Admiral! You cannot possibly be entertaining the idea that these aren't enemy forces!"
"We must consider all available scenarios here Sub-Admiral, I will exhaust all other possibilities. Comms, direct a standard heave-to warning."
"Understood sir." Comms sounded skeptical, hell the entire bridge did. But, well, they still needed hope. Litrinox had to give it to them. The next few minutes were more of the same. More violent reports, the centralization of the fleet, and more and more accurate scans of the enemy force. And, of course, the recalling of the advanced fleet from beyond the relay. Made up of parts of the 109th Garrison Fleet that his task force had, ah, 'requisitioned;' most of the assault frigates and cruisers of the outer colonies had been requisitioned on his order. It was, in two words, utterly illegal. But the potential risk was far outweighed by the rewards right? Well, Litrinox remained convinced of that. He had to remain convinced, else all this was for naught.
In anycase, this force made up nearly a hundred ships of prodigious quality, and expanded his already significant numbers advantage. 450 ships now stood against what was rapidly seeming to number barely 200, (despite what the glitched gravimetric readings had to say) hopefully we could-
"Admiral, receiving unidentified forces' response system-wide on all frequencies. "
Ice laced its way through his body. "Play it Comms."
The human that appeared on the screen was the female variant, at least according to Medical's estimations. It was almost uncanny how closely these females resembled the Asari; indeed, it was practically identical excepting their crests, replaced on humans by a mass of fine hairs. This human was no exception. It's eyes were of an ashy quality, and it's face seemed soft, yet had a strikingly angular structure that amplified the seemingly predatory nature of the species. It was dressed in a crisp gray suit, armor padding its chest, with ribbons of gold and onyx crenulation marking it's shoulders with bars, and it's left chest with strange colored patterns, an avian perched above a blue orb wreathed by green leaves.
It began to speak, and the translator program followed shortly. "Turian Hierarchy vessels, this is Admiral Drescher of the United Nation's Space Command Indomitable. Your forces have without provocation destroyed human military vessels and have invaded and occupied our colonies. If you do not immediately withdraw your ground forces from our planet, and your fleet and transportation devices from this system, your persons and equipment will be eliminated with extreme force. This is our final warning."
The feed cut, and there was silence on the deck. There was silence across the whole system, as commanders mentally prepared themselves for battle.
Jones dodged a fallen beam, as his carrier shuddered. More Than One had intercepted another blast meant for the crippled frigate Publius. Alien patrols had uncovered their hiding spot in the gas giant's rings, and that meant it was a mad dash into open space. It hadn't gone well, being that the Publius broke down in the middle of the jump. Well, broke down was a bit of an understatement, given that the drive core had been cracked, and her superstructure compromised. Luckily, More Than One was an Eion. Eions don't break.
"Admiral! Detecting slipsp-" A crash, and the sensors officer smashed against his console.
"Wear your damn belts Mashik!" was all Jones bothered to say in reply. It was damn foolish to not be strapped in right now. Besides, whatever was happening right now was likely not nearly important as the fire streaming in. Shields were a joke at the moment, weapons was practically unable to do anything but load autocannons and fire wildly, and the air marshal was sitting in his chair, weeping silently.
Another hit, and comms turned back. "We've lost contact with friendly forces, our comms tower is damaged, I'm sending for repairs."
"Understood Comms. Helm, can we make intercept for projectile designation α-84?" Helm, a gruff and silent man, managed a nod to the affirmative, as the vessel shifted rapidly, straining the inertial dampeners even more, and stirring a groan from the bowels of the ship. Sooner or later, the stress to the frame would shred the More in two, but there was no time to think about that. No time to think about anything really.
"What was our estimate for Publius' evacuation?"
"Only a few more minutes Admiral, but we have no way to actually confirm that until our tower is repaired."
"Good, hopefully they'll be able to escape in time."
"Captain, uh, enemy forces seem to be… retreating?" Tactical seemed puzzled, even in her emotionally deadened state. But the tactical map didn't lie, as it showed several enemy ships breaking away, exposing themselves to incoming fire. Sensors used this brief dead air to shout his own warning.
"Slipspace rupture danger close!"
"What!? Put it on main screen!"
The camera struggled to follow the zipping objects, traveling at not insignificant fractions of C from a swirl of blue near the back of the formation. The angular gray metal was unmistakable, even at this distance and speed.
"Get comms up now! And put us in range!" Such a request was needless, given the state of their would be pursuers. The lightning fast shards of metal, identified helpfully by the AI as state-of-the-art destroyers, were already tearing into enemy forces. A laughable resistance was being put up, as a torrent of poorly aimed cannon rounds and missiles struggled to find their mark. The beams of energy directed by human vessels had fewer problems. The kilometer long lead vessel was already burning a hole in the center of the enemy line of ships, melting through the core of what appeared to be the flagship, and skewering another vessel as it approached from 'above.' Two others, trailing the leader, spewed their own deadly beams, one sliding off a chunk of a corvette, another only singeing it's target as it sped past it, preparing for another pass.
The small, yet booming cannons of a growing flotilla joined the destroyers, as a squadron of frigates and their accompanying corvettes emerged from behind the ruined Eion, and shielded it's broken form from the raging battle.
The Turian forces were already fleeing, but not nearly so successfully as their prey had been. A corvette on the far-right flank was shredded by a well aimed MAC round that gutted her, a cluster of missiles overpowered another's shields, and a third was deleted by a nuclear mine laid by a destroyer. What was left of the alien force launched themselves into FTL, one only barely escaping the onslaught of a MAC round. The bridge processed this moment in silence, as the protective hardlight shields of multiple vessels patched gaping holes in the superstructure.
"Admiral, comms tower is back online." The Admiral didn't waste his shaky breath with an order, and simply nodded to her. The technician was quick in hailing the heavy cruiser that served as the flagship for the relief force. But the line was quiet. Jones didn't have any words left to say. He only stood, and tried one last time to stifle the utter exhaustion he had been suppressing for the last few days.
When he spoke, the calmness of his expression broke into uncontrollable emotion. "This… this is Admiral Jones of the Shanxi Defense Fleet… thank you…"
"CALVARY reports destruction of advanced Turian forces. Additional remnants of SDF have been recovered, total tonnage recovered now numbers five vessels, though all are in poor condition." As the tactical officer finished their report, Drescher allowed herself a grin.
"Friendly casualties?" The Admiral asked.
"None appreciable ma'am."
"Excellent, relay a division of CAV forces into two parts, and have them pick apart remaining stragglers… how's our intercept looking?" Drescher's fleet had already covered a vast amount of territory within the system, and as of this moment was hurtling toward a desolate grey planet hugging the bounds of the inner asteroid belt called Theta2. A fantastic point for a gravity assist into the inner solar system, and specifically Shanxi. The invaders couldn't let us secure it, and thus, battle was inevitable. The main body of the fleet's assault force would be intercepting whatever enemy force managed to arrive before them. Drescher's own contingent force, the 50 or so odd battleships and artillery vessels, along with a screening force of carriers and frigates, would arrive just after the shocking blow of the spearhead, the light frigates, destroyers, and cruisers, to blast apart any undue resistance. And, perhaps, secure the prize she'd been planning for.
"Admiral! Slipspace jump is on schedule, we'll be arriving in 20 minutes."
"Thank you navigation, IOPs!" Drescher walked quickly towards the little corner of the room occupied by 'Infantry and Orbital Personnel.' "How's our little surprise coming along?"
The officer in charge, Lt. Mosley, was a man of few words, and deep tone. "Two of our prowlers are being fitted. They will leave when able."
"Wonderful, tell Roj and Kilney to send the bastards my regards."
An aid found Drescher just as a notification went off in her neural lace. "Admiral, our tactical briefing is ready in Conference Room One, we're sending a modified version to officer's laces across the fleet."
"I'll be there in a moment then." The aide promptly vanished into a sea of activity, which left the Admiral with nothing to do but make her way back towards her impending meeting.
"What do you mean they 'just destroyed you!'" Litrinox bellowed. Spit flew from his mouth, something unbecoming of a Turian school boy, much less the Admiral of the Fleet. And yet, most of his fellow Admirals and Captains felt much the same way. These primitive forces certainly had an extreme amount of fire power, and they were rather durable as well, but even against overwhelming odds, "You lost over half your forces and were routed from the field before their main force even arrived!? How is that even possible!?"
The Senior Captain among the survivors of their raiding party was a young woman, utterly and obviously shaken by the events that had occurred only mere minutes before. After all, Captain Jialtrai was only a junior officer, a Captain for only the last few months, who had been stationed to garrison a farflung colony rather than an active war zone. Before today, she'd never even been in active combat. Today, she saw an entire task force reduced to scrambled retreat.
"I… they were just so fast Admiral… and their beam weapons were… we couldn't put up any fight! Our guns could barely track them!" Jialtrai countered, bare emotion edging into her voice. "Besides, their forces had Dreadnoughts! At least three Admiral, three ships over 1000 meters long, all of them moving faster than a corvette!"
Litrinox appeared ready to spew out another diatribe at that, but his Sub Admiral was ready with a relevant comment. "Captain, please have you crew send your battle logs at once, in the meantime what remains of your force will rejoin the primary garrison at the colony. You are dismissed."
Litrinox stared daggers into Desolas, but he didn't bother to countermand the order. The Captain bowed sharply, and disappeared from the display. Leaving the group of Admirals, Sub Admirals, and Commodores silent before a looming threat. The small, electronically secure room they were arrayed within, both in person and via projectors, was tight, yet necessary to protect against their AI problem.
Desolas took the stage once more. "I don't think we can hold our position on the gravity assist anymore." A ripple of low grumblings and affirmations took the small group from quiet contemplation to bickering as the party lines formed once again. Desolas was the head of an ever growing faction within the Banner Officers, one calling for tactical withdrawal from the system they'd fought hard to secure. Litrinox had been clear on his opinions toward that particular idea, and had stomped it down many a time before.
The Admiral took no time restating that opinion. "Desolas I have withstood this insolence enough times from you-"
"Admiral, please! You can see as well as I the effectiveness of this force, our time would be better spent evacuating this system than preparing for some futile defense against an overwhelming enemy! I mean, spirits! Dreadnoughts in a vanguard!?"
"It was probably a deception-"
"Well it worked! Can we truly call the bluff on something like that!? You remember the losses we took in our initial encounter, if such casualties occur again how could we hope to survive!"
"Silence! Our defensive position is more than enough to negate the losses we took before! You are out of line Desolas! Now return to it, before I am forced to demote you!"
Desolas choked back a laugh, before coming to an expression of incredulity, then disgust. "You have not half the support necessary for it." The Sub Admiral turned his back to Litrinox. "I shall leave you to your doomed defense... I hope you're right, you know. But I know you won't be." The man left the room to a stunned Litrinox. He wanted to sputter a reply, but thought better of it. He turned, and tried to regain control of his briefing.
"...Admiral Jaikur, as was discussed, I want your frigates skirting the outer edges of the zone of battle…"
The space above that barren planet was black. Dark and unfeeling in all aspects. The Turian vessels that hung in the vacuum drifted listlessly. Their lights blinking like stars in the vast space. Eyes turned to the heavens. Systems checking and rechecking. The few slipspace detectors that managed to work, in their jerry-rigged manner, began to detect something. Across dozens of ships, klaxons blared their horns, screens flashed, and sensors officer's gave the same speech about the inaccuracies of the sensors. A feeling of dread, resolution, fear, permeated the ranks of the Turian forces.
Then, a part of reality broke down. A pair of particles, infinitesimal in scale to the universe around it, came into existence for a brief, shining moment, separated by dimension, and drawn toward each other inexorably. They accelerated at speeds incomparable to light, reconciliation forced the particle faster than anything that could conceivably exist, and faster still. Fast enough that it broke a hole in reality itself. A gaping vortex, swirling blue and white, then purplish black as the gaping wound solidified, erupted in activity as the angular human vessels escaped the space between realities.
Some went flinging toward the Turian line, trying to line up the beam weapons on masses of enemy forces, while others began to lob magnetized rounds and plasma tips as soon as they could see the winged vessels. Other portals opened across the battlefield, some skirting the edge of the battle, others opening among the alien lines entirely. Slow, hulking vessels, devoid of primary weapons (causing confusion among the ranks of Turian tacticians) began to spew out hundreds of fighters, bombers, and missiles that couldn't hope to be tracked.
But such horrors as carriers were not the main concern among the Turian officers. What horrified them was the sheer size of the enemy. Even as MAC rounds and hardlight began to smash unwary Turian frigates to bits, the Turian Admiral couldn't believe the size of the vessels he was facing, just how many dreadnought sized vessels had managed to appear before him. But he cautioned himself to panic. They still had a numbers advantage after all, 300 vessels against barely 100? 2000 meter ships with no direct armaments were certainly not going to change the pace of battle, even if the swarms of fighters they began to spawn were already outnumbering Turian flight crews three-to-one.
The zipping flys that were human light and heavy frigates served their own disruptive role, dipping in and out of enemy lines with well placed FTL. Just as the enemy began to learn their trick, decoy portals are placed, drawing important fire, and leaving long, spinal guns out of position for the next attack run. Nuclear flares burn holes into unlucky turian frigates, and force cruisers into tight formations of self-protecting fire. Formations that packs of destroyers could blast apart with ease.
Turian forces were paralysed by utter panic. Even the three dreadnoughts, wielding the largest guns the Turians had, the flagships of the Turian force, could only just break the shields of enemy Frigates. But for every Human vessel that took an unlucky hit to their reactor, or a devastating round to the bridge, one of the already dwindling numbers of Turian cruisers would be messily bisected, countless vessels annihilated by well aimed plasma torpedoes, and an endless barrage of cannon rounds that, if one is lucky, merely gutted the unlucky craft hit, rather than venting atmosphere, or sending the ship into a lethal spin.
The battle was no easier for the already overwhelmed fighters of the Turian navy. The mass effect gave them maneuverability, but that was no cure for the disease that was the UNSC's pure numbers. The tables were turned, if only in a microcosm of combat. Still, it was no help that human strategic bombers faced barely any resistance by the 10th minute of combat, and were all but impervious to the GUARDIAN point defense systems that were designed to ignore shields, not burn through them.
It was about now that all vestiges of tact and valor left in the Admiral of the Turian Fleet left him. It happened as a fellow dreadnought had it's drive core destabilized, and it's reactor containment melted down. The THS Ganter, the pride of its fleet, had her crew so violently irradiated by the meltdown that they were dead in seconds. All by the well placed bomb of a single bomber. Admiral Jaikur had tried to save the vessel, but the point defense Corvettes he'd dispatched could barely melt through the energy shields present on a single fighter. He watched, helpless, as his forces withered on the line. He'd be the first Admiral to lose a dreadnought in combat since the Krogan Rebellions. Jaikur didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that.
The battle continued to go poorly as Jaikur ordered his retreat. A secondary group of human forces swung around the planet in a gravity assist, springing a trap on forces that were expecting some reprieve in the area away from combat. Although Turian forces there put up a fight, the lightning fast ships, accelerating with help from the gravity well, zipped past with only minimal damage, and scored their own deadly shots on the wounded craft.
But the ships on this intercept were by no means similar to those already encountered. For with them was a section of light cruisers, Epizeuix-Class vessels bristling with three primary MACs, 1500 meters of metal and fire, headed straight for the two remaining flagships. Calling what ensued 'panic,' would be a gross underrepresentation of what the mere appearance of those vessels did to the Turian lines.
The appearance of the Human capital ships magnified that reaction a thousand-fold. The appearance of the gargantuan slipspace portal was already a horrifying sight to the crew of the defense fleet, but what emerged: the massive barrel hulls of the heavy battleships, assault carriers, and the flagship herself, the UNSC Indomitable. The flagship gave her welcome to this dimension with a twin firing of her SMAC, an action that, if only briefly, slowed the vessel in her charge into the frontline, and unceremoniously deleted a Turian Cruiser from existence with dual plasma-charged rods. The battle of Theta2 was won in that moment. But it was not over. Admiral Drescher still needed her prize. In the heart of Central Command, the Admiral placed an order, and a prowler, hiding in the debris of a shredded frigate, made its move.
Prowlers were uncomfortable. Designed to operate at the extremes of stealth, these vessels were designed with every possible amount of excess space removed, as to allow its complex heat radiating mechanisms to work. That meant designing ships that were meant specifically to fit average human dimensions, plus maybe a bit of armor. Spartan Vs were not that. And Spartan Roj was especially not that. Currently, he was crammed into the cafeteria, the largest room in the UNSC Lament, and yet one that could barely hold 20 people at once. Much less the 16 Spartans arrayed within.
Still, they had a job to do. One that was currently approaching at about 10,000 meters a second. This briefing had to go fast. The intermittent chatter of his squad was rather banal in comparison to that, he had to admit. Buhari was trying to fit his joke about the ill-fitting codpiece into conversation somehow, and Rockford was shutting him down at every opportunity. God, could those two bang already or what?
"Attention Spartans!" The room was silent in an instant. Roj couldn't help but smile as he took his position at what could generously be called a podium in the back of the room. "In less than 10 minutes, the Lament will be within striking distance of our primary target."
A holographic projection appeared above them, displaying the small vessel in the grand scheme of the battle. Turian ships blinked out of existence every so often, displayed as awesome blasts of violent energy, or pitiful winding-downs. "Our objective, as you're probably already aware, is the Turian Flagship, located here." He pointed to a now highlighted figure, surrounded by the skittering remains of the alien forces. "Lament will be approaching from above, while Recompense's team, led by Kilney, will be approaching from below. We have two objectives today Spartans, Recompense will be going after the small potatoes, securing Engineering, server data, and anything else pertinent identified, holding down the fort till we can get our Marines inside. We, on the other hand, get the fun job. Secure VIPs, commandeer the vessel in the process, and give our Marines a chance to latch on."
"Why is your concept of fun always the hardest part of the job?" quipped Krusc, as he donned his greyish helmet.
Roj chose to ignore that comment entirely. "We will be approaching via standard boarding pods launched to these specific locations," A series of small dots appeared across the hull of the Turian vessel, "From there, your Fireteams' designated AI will use the data delivered to us by the Shanxi Garrison to guide you to your locations. If plans fail, attempt to disrupt or delay as much as possible. Recommending CQC weapons for everyone, that means you specifically Long, you're not bringing a marksman to a breach-and-clear understood?" Long, already wearing her maroon helmet, did her best impression of a sad mime.
"If Long is done, we have a final disclaimer. This is an alien race. You all received the briefing from upstairs about known enemy force multipliers, the rumors about 'wizards' especially. We don't know the validity of their claims, but we do know that soldiers on the ground believed they existed, and took heavy losses pushing them back. All their forces appear to be vulnerable to plasma and energy weapons, so be sure to pack some. Stay cautious in there, don't be afraid to link up if needed." Roj scanned his teams, then picked up the SMG he'd laid on the table. "We're going in standard fireteams today lads, Sigma Team report to airlock 1, Gamma to 2, Kappa to 3, and Beta gets to follow me to 4, any further questions?" The sounds of sliding weapons and shuffling armor answered that question masterfully. "Good! Get ready for launch, we have-" An alarm began to blare. "...no time. Get to it!"
It was a short walk to the cargo-pods, to say the least. A 200 meter long vessel isn't exactly a slow traversal, especially when you could run a one minute mile. Still, ducking under low hanging ceilings was a hassle, and meant that, as always, the gargantuan Spartan arrived last to the boarding pod.
"Nice of you to join us Roj." Krusc snickered as he cleaned his scattergun.
"Nice of you to wear your armor this time Krusc." He bit, clapping him on the back. "Roll call Beta Team."
"Krusc-1492 is present." Krusc waved.
"Long-2026 here." She slotted a plasma tipped rifle onto her back.
"Buhari-1071 seems to have misplaced his magnum..." Buhari intoned, a tinge of worry breaking into his normally smooth tone.
"You might want to check your belt big guy. And, Combat AI Alexios-6349-DP here. God, Buhari why is your HUD visibility so damn high?"
"Why are you judging my aesthetic decisions Alex? You don't even have eyes…"
"A fair assertion Buhari, counterpoint, it appears you can't even use yours to find your weapons."
Long let out a low whistle at that. "Damn Musra, hope Rockefeller wasn't in earshot for that!"
Roj chose that moment to butt in, "Load up assholes, we actually have something important to do right now." Roj tapped a button, and a small, cramped looking pod opened up in the back of the room. "In ya go lads, I trust you've actually packed everything?"
"We're not rookies here Roj, have a little faith! Even packed you some ointments to help that stick out your ass..." Krusc jabbed, as he pulled himself into the pod.
Roj shook his head, as he squeezed into the already cramped space. The fact that a human could fit inside at all was a miracle of ergonomics, the fact that Roj, a 7'6" Spartan, could manage to bordered on magic. Perhaps it was, he mused, as Buhari pushed himself in, followed finally by Long, who took her position at the pilot's chair.
"Bridge, cargo's loaded in Pod 4, you can fire when ready." Roj reported cooly.
"This is Bridge, Roj, formally designating you as leader for Beta Team, recording you as Beta Capsule, and will receive transmissions under callsign Beta, howcopy?"
"Loud and clear, time till go?"
"No time, Beta, godspeed and good hunting." A hard WOOSH of decompression and loss of gravity hit the pod, and in a moment the emergency lights went on, and the lightshow of space combat appeared in the viewport.
"I've sent best fit routes to your lace Long, accounting for likely obstacles." Alexios said, his avatar an orange flair of light, clouding a view screen to her right.
"Thanks Alex, we're on approach."
The battlefield was utter chaos. Behind a backdrop of exploding vessels and stray rounds of ammunition, the pod, barely 10 feet long at best, flung itself through the cold of space. Their target was obvious, as somehow it was avoiding the massive flairs of promethean beams and MAC rounds, while managing to be the biggest alien craft visible. Small flares of blue and white mark signs of combat across the view. Human vessels zipped through desperate groupings of targets like sharks through a school of fish, while distant ships belch metal and plasma, and flare with blue, or more often, redish-white hazes. The black was alive with color, and death. And they traversed it silently. As spectators, for the moment anyway. Alexios' plans worked swimmingly, as always. That didn't mean things didn't get dicey, but Long could do her job more than well. Dodging past dogfights, massive spaceships, or their deadly payloads, was no easy feat. And yet Long did it without issue, comment, or even a significant change in facial expression. Nerve wracking as the 20 minute flight may have been, Roj knew they were in good hands. And so he remained focused on the mission.
The enemy flagship hung in their viewport, still making a desperate escape out of the gravity well. At least, that was the running theory as to why they hadn't used whatever form of FTL they'd created. But our forces were still harassing them as much as possible as they attempted to flee. Hopefully that would keep them from escaping with us on the ship. Hopefully.
"Preparing for final approach, buckle-up everyone, it's about to get bumpy." Long intoned, as she swerved suddenly, and accelerated.
Stealth pods like this one had impressive thrusters, and limited cloaking abilities while doing so. This came at a cost of no inertial dampeners, and a very large increase in internal temperature. Not a comfortable ride, but survivable in short bursts. Long dodged the fighters currently harassing the Turian ship, and aligned the pod with the enemy, before slowing down. This was the fun part. Approach the vessel without being detected by the enemy point defense.
These last few moments were a delicate maneuver, especially with the rather unsophisticated engine attached to this thing. And yet Long managed to match velocity perfectly, and bring the vessel in gently. Ignoring the swiveling turrets that never managed to shoot directly at Beta Pod, the view port was slowly filled by the metallic gray of ship metal. Finally, Long steered the pod breachside, and turned on the super magnets, locking them to the ship. And making them beholden to its gravity. The supersoldiers instantly began to slide into what was now, confusingly, down.
Roj unlatched his seat, and fell to the entrance of the ship, a resounding clunk marking his arrival at the 'bottom.' "Alex, I'm in position, Beta! Form up, and prepare for breaching." A small commotion came up behind him, as Krush and Buhari joined him at his back.
"Prepping breach." Alexios said, as Long took up her position at the back. A deep, horrible thrum of energy erupted at their feet. "Estimated entry time approximately 5 seconds. 5...4...3...2…"
The Spartans initiated their Active Camo as the floor fell out beneath them, and soon found themselves climbing up into the ship, as gravity began to work more naturally. That meant that the final layer of metal had to be pushed off. That was why Roj was in front. He braced himself against the rapidly cooling walls of the shaft they'd bored, and pushed the last slab of metal from the top, popping it like a cork, and shining a light into the tunnel. The interior was rounded, an ovid corridor painted white, with large encroaching crenulations circling the border between corridor segments. Alien words and small implements are arrayed uniformly, placed next to guiding lines, and various buttons and valves.
What caught most of Roj's attention was the dumbfounded Turian sailor that was just staring at the new denizen from in the ground. The black-suited Spartan drew his pistol and fired in the time it took the poor bastard to think to reach for his gun. "Hostile encountered, no shield equipped." The Turian wasn't wearing any sort of armor, only what appeared to be a white cloth-like substance. "Pass me my SMG Long." A short bullet fed weapon shot up (or fell down?) the borehole, and Roj caught it in his left hand. The Spartan scanned the long hallways, and hoisted himself up. "Area clear, get on up here lads, mission's a go."
"Admiral, our drive core is 75% charged, we'll be able to jump through their fighter screen soon." Engineering reported cooly. Jaikur nodded, and said nothing. He hadn't said much at all since the destruction of the last dreadnought. He'd watched with tears in his eyes. The man didn't think he could speak without making an emotional mess of himself, which was why he had reduced himself to nods, and hand gestures. It wasn't like much else was needed. Shields continually reported the status of the kinetic barriers, Tactical tried to rally the rest of the fleet, the bare 150 ships left, with an increasingly despondent voice. She'd listened to the panic of dozens of officers as they realized there was no hope left to spare. Their screen of anti-fighter frigates and corvettes was gone, which left the THS Weritroz entirely exposed. How they hadn't succumbed to a torpedo was anyone's guess. It wasn't for long.
A long, low siren erupted from the central console. Even the Admiral was startled by that. He knew what it meant. Jaikur moved quickly from his position by the viewport to his chair, and pressed a button to shut the damn thing off in the Bridge. "Security, what's going on?"
The tired man sitting behind the Admiral spoke with incredulity in his voice. "We're getting reports around the ship of… spirits they sound like thresher maws Admiral! Boarders across all decks!"
"Mobilize our marine reserve and-"
"Admiral we have no marine reserve, they're planetside!"
You could hear a pin drop in that room. "Security, I need you to coordinate with Engineering on gravity defense, Systems I need you to start venting air in all untraversed sectors, Sensors do we have a lock on their positions?"
"Yes Sir, but it's nonsensical… I'm getting internal readings in practically every corner of the ship!"
"I can't access primary controls for life support Admiral." Came Systems, "I can barely control our own? Diagnostics, I want you to run a reboot of our mainfra-"
Jiakur interrupted "It's no use! You remember what happened to the Reticent? I imagine that's what's happening to us! Systems, you still have control over this room correct?" The officer nodded yes. "Lockdown our cabin to verbal passcodes, we need a runner to start locking blast doors leading to the bridge-"
A dull roar sounded in the back, first cutting the Admiral off, and then launching him into the console he was standing before. "What the fuck was that!? Helm are we still moving?"
"No Sir! I'm getting an override from engine bay!"
"Engineering what is that?"
"I can't contact primary control Admiral, either they're being jammed or are dead. We're losing eezo-core power Sir, we're dead in the water."
Jiakur paused, his expression turning a shade darker. "Comms, if you can, broadcast a ship lost beacon. We can't have our forces be deceived if they manage to commandeer the vessel, Engineering I imagine you can't activate a self-destruct?"
"No sir, we're stuck here."
"Thank you Engineering… bridge crew, we should prepare for breach, take up defensive positions-"
The blast door gave off a high pitched whine, before it began to leak superheated metal. "Shit, weapons drawn, they're here!" The door was blasted off its hinges, and only just missed the Admiral at his post, flying instead into the Security officer in front of him. The Admiral pulled his weapon, and began to fire in the smoke, hoping to at least wound the fuckers that did this. He watched as Comms turned into a corpse with a missing upper torso, as the posted marine guards were cut down by well placed bolts of light that melted right through armor. The Admiral jumped over the now ruined console, and found himself some modicum of cover against the hail of fire. He lifted himself up to try and get something aimed off, but he saw nothing. Nobody saw anything, as the crew stopped shooting.
"Who's alive in here!" He shouted, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the door, as he slowly moved back.
"Weapons still here!"
"Helm's not doing great!"
"Duikirk's alive!"
"Vakarian still here!" a chorus of choked voices began to ring out. The Admiral needed to get behind better cover.
"Victus! Do you have a grenade left?" The smoke was clearing, but the light… the light was off somehow, it looked filtered, almost artificial in a way... "Shit! I think they're cloaked, suppressive fire!"
A rain of fire launched itself downrange, but next to him a stray shot bounced off thin air, and for a moment revealed an armor-clad human that looked twice his size, and wore midnight black. The Admiral turned to fire a shot, but only got off one before the Human's fist knocked the gun from his hand. Jiakur activated his omnitool, and lunged for the thing, before a blast launched them both into a wall, and the Turian into darkness.
A/N:
And that's a wrap folks! Don't forget to like and subscribe! Or, whatever it is they call it here… I suppose we should address the elephant in the room. I'm kinda sorta a week late this update. Insert don't make a girl a promise, jokes at your leisure. This update was a difficult one to make, not only because I'm a terrible procrastinator, but because I had other things that I was also procrastinating on at the same time. I apologize for that. As always my ambitions got ahead of reality, and that tends to cause the suffering of the people that are relying on you. Now, maybe saying that missing an update on a fanfic is 'suffering' is over dramatic, but I suppose it gets the point across. Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you guys had a Happy Thanksgiving! Or whatever it is all the non-Americans did this Thursday. Please leave feedback when you can! Reviews make the pencil sharp, and inject a little emotion into my cold, cold heart. Yes, even the mean ones!
By the way, 1000 followers. I have no words to describe how that makes me feel, thanks again!