The word "terrorism" is politically and emotionally charged, and this greatly compounds the difficulty of providing a precise definition. Studies have found over 100 definitions of "terrorism". In my world, a terrorist is someone who commits an act designed to create fear and terror within his opponent. An abiding characteristic is the indiscriminate use of violence against noncombatants for the purpose of gaining publicity for a group, cause, or individual. The symbolism of terrorism can leverage human fear to help achieve these goals.
Mindoir was an act of terrorism, and all those batarians who committed atrocity on my home and to my family were terrorists. It was meant to send a message to humans throughout the galaxy.
As an N6 designated solider, I had been deployed to multiple planets in various systems on peacekeeping, and more often peace making missions. Our colonization efforts tended to strike a chord among other species and it was often necessary to deploy Alliance soldiers to ensure peaceful settlement and sustainable relations between humans and other species.
The revelation that we were not alone in the universe united humanity in a way many would not have thought possible. However, it is sometimes easy for us to forget that humans have a long-standing history of cruelty towards one another. We learned to fight each other before we fought other species. Despite our new unity, we continue to be divided along ethnic, religious, and cultural lines.
We are social animals. We seek out communities for protection and survival. And we fight for resources and the right to live.
The first time I killed another human being, it was completely out of instinct.
My team sent to Moros, a small rock planet with an average temperature of -73 and a population of around 28,000. Each city-state of Aite (a nearby doomed Garden world plagued by violence) claims the rights to exploit the planet for its heavy metal deposits; individual city-state governments maintain three small habitats on Moros, as far away from one another as possible. Nevertheless, the planet's wars have extended here, and the habitats infrequently send commando teams to assault each other in small-unit actions.
The inhabitants of Moros have, over time, set large numbers of antipersonnel and anti-vehicular mines at common choke points across the planet as a method of defense against each other.
Violence on Aite was worsening and the Alliance feared for human inhabitants, so my unit was there to ensure the safe evacuation of cooperative human settlers.
One Saturday night in July, our squad was patrolling in the border town of Keady. As usual for a Saturday night the streets were packed with locals searching for the only form of entertainment available on Moros, drinking and dancing. We had been moving over some wasteland and came into a patch of dead ground that hid us from view. As we reappeared over the brow, we saw twenty or so people milling around an old armoured truck that was parked in the middle of the road. They didn't see us until we were almost on top of them.
Six mercs with machine guns had been about to climb into the truck, and we had caught them posing in front of the crowd, masked up and ready to go, their guns and fists in the air. Their plan was to drive south to hit the settlement at Gibriltar, and give us a spray as they went by. We got there first.
I motioned for us to halt and take a knee and I gave the hand signal for six enemies, a 'thumbs down' followed by the number six. Will immediately came up beside me to listen for my plan.
Born in England to a Swedish mother and a Scottish father, Will Early had moved to Australia for medical school. He passed his medical exams but hankered too much for the active, outdoor life and quit his first year as a junior doctor. He spent one year training hard before selection, and by all accounts he cruised it.
Anything physical was a breeze for Will, including picking up women. Six foot three, big framed and good looking, he got them all sweating. On his own admission, Will's ideal woman was someone who didn't eat much and was therefore easy to entertain, and who had her own car and house and was therefore independent and unlikely to mind his absence too terribly. No matter where he was in the universe, women looked at Will and drooled.
Apart from his success with women, the most noticeable and surprising thing about Will was his sense of fashion. He had none. Safari shirts, and pants that were always somehow too short, accompanied by a floppy hat and large sunglasses. He dressed like a cartoon character.
All in all a very approachable, friendly character in his late twenties, there was nothing Will couldn't take smoothly in his stride. That was until he met Laurie, fell in love, got married and had a little boy named Russ.
"Take Jan and move around to flank them from the right." I whispered, "I'll take Luis and knock on their front door."
Jan was 47 and immensely strong. She was an expert mountaineer, diver and skier, and jumper. The only complaint in her life was that she was approaching the end of her 25 years' engagement. She looked tough, with short grey hair and a sour look on her face most of the time, even when she was actually in a good mood. She was a very useful man to have around when it came to planning.
Will nodded and tapped Jan on her shoulder and they disappeared. Luis and I strolled right up to them.
Originally with the Para Division, Luis was a veteran of the First Contact War and had trained with David Anderson. He looked the part as well – rough and tough with a voice that was scary and eyes that were scarier. But behind the soccer hooligan face lay a sharp, analytical brain. Luis could polish off the Alliance Daily News' crossword in no time, much to my annoyance. He was an excellent football player and an absolutely lousy dancer. But when it came down to a fight, he was solid and unflappable.
The crowd went mad, shouting and running in all directions, pulling their kids out of the way.
Two were climbing into the back as I issued my warning, and four were still standing in the road. One merc was now fully facing me, desperately attempting to swing the long barrel rifle across his body to align with my chest. His eyes locked on mine – wild frantic eyes surrounded by fields of white snow. They never left mine, not even when my powerful MG rounds tore into his stomach, walked up his chest, and cut the carotid artery on the left side of his neck. His body hit the ground with a thud, blown apart by the blast of my gun, and still the eyes remained riveted to mine. The others returned our fire and we were in a severe contact.
When smoke cleared, all four of us were alive, and all six of them weren't.
Prior to this moment I had never killed a human being. That is, I did not know for sure that I had killed. When one is firing at moving shadowy figures in the confusion of battle one cannot be certain of the results.
Weeks earlier we had placed charges on Bridge 19, a main supply route (MSR) used by mercenaries and pirates for weapons trafficking, and we had blown it and the enemy convoy sky-high. But somehow, this incident was psychologically different than killing up close. They were a long way off, and the cover of night hid their shapes and movement and their very humanity. These people were close. Not close enough that I could feel them die, but close enough that I could see the look in their eyes when I killed them.
Instinct and training took over. The second that merc raised his weapon I didn't think; I acted in accordance with my training and the rules of engagement. I didn't feel a god damn thing.
He was a terrorist, a mercenary or a pirate. He prayed on the weak and the undefended and as far as I was concerned, there was a special place in hell reserved for he and his buddies and I was more than happy to send him there myself.
In Ancient Greek mythology, Moros is the personification of impending doom. He drives every being, mortal or otherwise, to its fated end. I was happy when 2 months later the last of the humans were evacuated and we were off that rock.
Little did I know I would be sent to Sidon, a large terrestrial planet with wide, cold deserts, and a bit of a sordid history. In the 2160's, the Alliance established a small domed research facility on Sidon. The project was classified until a Blue Suns attack brought the facility into full public view, causing a PR crisis for human settlement outside the Sol system.
In 2165, Groto Ib-ba, a high powered batarian mercenary was a member of the Blue Suns when they were contracted by Edan Had'dah, a wealthy batarian, to attack and destroy the research base at Sidon. Although Groto wasn't directly involved in the attack he, like all Blue Suns at the time, shared in the bounty of the operation. His knowledge of Blue Suns activity however attracted the attention of one Saren Arterius, who was investigating the attack on Sidon.
When Groto chose to spend his credits at a high-class brothel called the Sanctuary, intending to hire a human escort for the evening and take out his hatred of humans on her, Saren acted. The Spectre brutally tortured Ib-ba until he had what he needed, and then murdered Groto by breaking his neck.
Since then the research facility made Sidon a target for mercenaries and pirates, looking for valuables, resources, and research data on the weapons systems being developed there. The facility remained under Alliance control amid sporadic mercenary attacks, until the spring of 2176 when Alliance intel suggested the Blue Suns were planning a full scale attack in an attempt to take the facility and the weapons contained therein.
Locals also resented the presence of the Alliance, and its ability to attract dangerous attention. Several rebel groups had popped up and participated in random, ineffective attacks. With an average temperature of -62, colonization on this planet was not for the faint of heart and the locals were tough. It wasn't until rebel groups started hitting researchers and their families that the Alliance intervened.
We landed at Koura to find the weather characteristically unpleasant with blowing snow and freezing temperatures. I was sick of ice worlds. Even to this day, on a really cold night, I'll look at Liara and tell her how glad I am I'm not trudging through the frozen wastelands of Sidon.
When we arrived at the isolated hangar that was to be our home for the next week, I got things squared away and answered the first three questions you always ask when you arrive at a new location: where do I sleep, where do I eat, and where's the toilet?
We were crammed amongst all kinds of equipment including vehicles, shuttles, food, ammunition, weapons, and armour. There was gear anywhere, and Will couldn't resist taking whatever he could. I made my space out of several large crates containing outboard engines, and covered it with a ranger blanket to shelter me from the powerful lights over head. That night, the four of us crowded around our ration cookout and sorted our kit out. We knew we were going somewhere to do something, so the best we could do was prepare for anything. It's all very well doing all the exciting things, abseiling, fast roping, jumping through buildings, but what being special forces is mostly about it thoroughness and precision.
For the next few days, we brushed up on our skills with explosives, map reading in cold desert conditions, and heavy weapons handling.
Five days after arriving on Sidon, I was summoned to the conference room for orders along with another squad leader, Roberto.
Rob, all 5'2 of him, was despite his size, immensely strong both physically and in character. He always insisted on carrying the same load as everyone else. Sometimes, it was good for a laugh. All you'd see this giant ruck sack with little legs going at it like pistons underneath. At home, his hobbies included watching old black and white comedies, dancing, and chatting up women a foot taller than himself. He liked to stand either on the bar stool, or on the bar itself when speaking to a woman.
We stood in the conference room, my team and Rob's, very silent. The Alliance always sent two teams when they believed there was a high chance one of them would fail.
We were going in to eliminate Blue Suns leadership on Sidon. The reason the Alliance was not going to send in a full-scale attack was because the Blue Suns were useful in some ways, and their extermination was not warranted. New leadership was already set and ready to take over, all we had to do was set the conditions. Once new leadership was in place, the Blue Suns would abandon their pursuit of the facility, and peace would be established.
The trouble was doing so quietly, making it look like an accident or an internal dispute. This was real undercover black ops stuff and I was excited. I knew this was my chance at an N7 designation.
We had our mission, and we spent the next few hours pouring over maps and planning. Will set out with a shopping list to gather as much extra equipment as he could and set up our shuttle insertion into enemy territory.
Rob's team would try to go in through the intricate underground tunnels, while my team would insert, 50km from their base, and infiltrate under cover of darkness. Driving was not an option. The ground was too open and we'd be spotted or heard. We'd have to go in on foot, set up shop along the MSR, and wait for a convoy filled with Blue Suns leadership to leave for a meeting that had been arranged between them and the largest local rebel group at the time, the Batroun. The convoy would go boom, and the Batroun would be blamed. Two birds with one explosion. Extraction would follow 20km away where we would be picked up in a nearby border town.
I would stay in contact with Rob, while he attempted to accomplish the same feat underground. Both our plans hinged on making it look like an IED attack. However, being underground, his plan was much more complex and I was confident I'd get there first. There was a case of beer in it for my team if we did.
We used the next day to prep ensuring our equipment was evenly distributed so that in the event any of us were taken out, we'd still be able to carry on. Even with just packing the essentials (food, water, and ammunition) our packs weighed in at 209lbs.
Will had a ritual that I always somewhat envied. He always wrote four letters before deploying on any Op. One for his wife Laurie, telling her he loved her and not to be sad, one for his parents saying the same thing, one for me letting me know that if I botched the job as executor of his estate, he come back to haunt me, and one to his son Russell to read when he was older. He always gave the letters to his friend who worked in the QM to be distributed in the event of his death. He did this every single time we deployed.
I would watch him and listen to my music. I never worried about dying. My attitude to the work I was expected to do had always been that you take the money off them every month, you're a tool to be used, and you are. I kept myself fit and finely tuned because my body was a tool used for killing. I never did so blindly. I was bound by law to carry out my duties professionally and with regard for all laws and treaties set by Council space and Alliance Military Law. If I was ever given an unlawful order, it was my duty, as a soldier, to refuse to carry it out. But it doesn't change the fact that a soldier is employed for one specific purpose.
That night at around 0200 zulu time, we loaded onto the shuttle and flew, in darkness to our drop point. Everyone sat in silence, Will slept, Luis chain-smoked, and Jan went through Will's kit, searching for red survival chews. We were issued packs and packs of flavoured candies that contained about 1500 calories each. They were meant for emergencies when food was out and extraction was days away. I listened to the comms so I could hear the chatter between the pilots.
The words "lock-on" snapped us all back to reality.
I shouted it to my team. And they repeated it back, bracing for impact. The pilots were so calm when speaking to each other, evading the rocket that had been launched at our shuttle.
"Breaking left." We were thrown to one side of the shuttle.
"Fifty feet, right." We were being thrown and tossed as the rocket drew closer and I could hear a little fear in their voices. I threw off the headset and thought 'if this is it, I don't want to hear it.'
The shuttle deployed its flares and the rocket exploded mid air. We were safe, but now we were exposed.
"That was fun but let's not do it again." I said as I placed the headset back on.
"It's alright for you," came the response, "but we have to come back this way."
I laughed a little before the fact sank in that we'd be dumped further from our drop point than planned. No plan, no matter how well laid, survives contact with the enemy.
We exited the shuttle as quick as possible and established a defensive posture about 100m away as the shuttle took off and left us there in the silent cold dark. We had our two-minute listening halt, and waited to see if the enemy had tracked us down. Silence indicated we were in the clear so we started marching.
It was over a two-hour hike to the MSR and there was always a danger in finding a hide in the pitch dark. You ran the risk of waking up in the middle of a housing complex. We set up our tent in a long trench and covered it in snow, effectively camouflaging it.
The sun rose and I poked my head above the ridge to observe the traffic running along the road. The MSR was not a paved road, but a wide, vague outline of tracks about 200m wide. We were still a solid 20km from our intended mark.
But we had a problem: the Blue Suns had set up a checkpoint along the route and they were right on our doorstep.
I walked over to Will who was in the middle of relieving himself. Luis was being a good friend and holding the bag out for him. Whatever we brought in we took out. We left nothing behind.
"We're going to have to move." I said, looking down and trying to ignore the sounds Will was making.
"Now?"
"No. We'll wait till it's dark." I let Will finish his business and made my way to Jan, who was having no luck reaching Rob or anyone else on the comm.
"Anything?" I asked.
"No. Fucking piece of shit Alliance issued garbage." She grumbled in reply.
I smiled, not worried at this point. "Not an issue. The shuttle team will be at the RV tonight with a new one if they don't hear from us."
"We going to take our kit?" The thought of lugging that 200lb pack back to the RV was genuinely frightening. Even for a woman like Jan.
It's always dangerous to leave kit and then go back to it. The risk of booby trapping is high, and of course, someone could be waiting for an ambush. But sometimes, it needs to be done.
So there was nothing left to do but sit and wait. In a cold climate, if you're not moving or eating, you're freezing. So we ate as much as we could, slept in shifts in the tent and kept watch on the Blue Suns check point.
We sat there for the better part of the day before Luis pulled on the string attached to my arm, and gave me thumbs down. My body went on high alert as I prepared to jump for my gun and fight, until he waved it off. A truck full of Blue Suns had broken down on its way to the checkpoint and they were far enough away that it was a non-issue.
Jan was still having an issue with the comm and she suggested that we might have a bum frequency, meaning, even if we got a new radio we still wouldn't be able to communicate. We all decided we would make for the RV that night.
But our mission parameters would change rapidly when a wandering mercenary discovered us.
We heard the crunching of the snow getting closer and closer and we all grabbed our rifles and hugged to the edge of the ditch and waited. A batarian had made his way to our hide with the intent of relieving himself out of view of the others. This bashful batarian took one look at the guns pointed at him and was clearly ready to make a run for it. That is, until Will grabbed one of his legs, pulled him down to our hide, and stabbed his throat in one smooth motion. Blood makes a terrible mess of the snow.
We knew we didn't have long before his friends got wise and went looking for him, so we rucked up and prepared to move to the RV immediately.
"Jan, get on the net and tell them in plain speech we have a compromise and we're heading for the RV." I turned to the others, "Alright listen in," my command voice and presence taking over. "We're going to find the dead ground south to the RV." I continued. "If we make good distance now, we'll have the cover of darkness for the rest."
In situations like these, you fill your canteen, you stuff as much food as you can into your face, if you're Luis you light up two or three smokes and suck them back as fast as you can. You get ready to move and you don't know for sure how long you'll be moving.
We started out, Luis in the lead, myself right behind, Jan third, and Will, my second in command, taking up the rear.
We were outnumbered and in the open so we spread out in a line, spaced out about 100m apart, heading towards the RV. We were out of view from the MSR and the Blue Suns check point, but that would soon change.
What I suspect happened is that someone discovered the batarian buried beneath the bloody snow, ran back to the checkpoint, and mobilized the rest of his crew. Snow leaves tracks. We all stopped when we heard the sound of armoured vehicles coming our way.
"Stand to!" I cried, and the others repeated me. We dropped our bags and I took up a position standing in the middle as the others dropped to the ground and pointed their guns in the general direction of the sound.
Of course I was afraid. Any one who says they're not afraid in situations like these is either a psychopath or a Krogan. You want to make the biggest effort possible to hide it. And then the training takes over. You psych yourself up, check over your pouches and armour, pop the feed cover of your gun to make sure the snow hasn't got in and make sure your magazines are on tight.
"What's happening?" I yelled, still standing, "What's happening behind me, Will? Talk to me!"
"I can't see jack shit but I can hear em' they're a yard half right!" He shouted back immediately.
Luis yelled "Ready!" as loud as he could, and we waited.
Furthest from your mind is the thought of falling back. In fact it isn't there at all. So you stand your ground and listen, and wait.
"Jan!" I yelled, "you ready?!" I hadn't heard from her yet and I jumped a little when I heard her rocket fire and strike an armoured vehicle about 500m away. He was ready.
"Here it comes! Stand your ground!"
Blue Suns started pouring from the vehicle, quickly taking aim at us. We opened up a line of heavy MG fire through their disorganized gaggle of panicking troops.
The noise of combat is incredible, but I never hear it. I only hear the sound of the thermal exchange in my gun kicking in with each round fired. I get a sort of tunnel vision in a heavy contact. Time slows down a bit. I can concentrate on my breathing, remembering my training as I track each target and pull the trigger. At the apex of each kill there is a moment, outside of space and time, a perfect moment. A silent moment, before the world comes screaming back.
Another vehicle was coming over the ridge, and Luis got on one knee and took him out with a rocket before I could even say anything.
I knew at this point the entire checkpoint would be mobilizing and calling for back up. We were in it now, and there was no turning back.
"Will! Stand by!" I yelled as I got up and dashed about 50m forward into the oncoming fire, taking Luis with me.
You've got to move forward and take the fight to them. It's the last thing they're expecting. You're dead anyway. So anything you do is a bonus.
The general rule in a section attack is 'Up. He sees me. Down.' You get up, dash as far as you can, drop to the ground and start shooting while the team behind moves through you.
"Covering!" I put a line of fire down towards the enemy. They were disjointed and confused and were falling back.
"Moving!" I heard Will as he and Luis started running through us.
The second I saw them drop I took my eye out of my sight and got up and dashed. "Moving!" The snow was flying up all around us as we dashed in a zig zag towards the gun fire. We had them on their heels and they were collecting their injured as fast as they could and retreating.
We were four men attacking a platoon, and they were running from us. Time to press the advantage.
We continued our leapfrog fire team movement until we got to the ridge and were able to use the natural cover. There, we formed a firing line and picked them off, one by one as they ran through the open field.
When it was over, and all we could hear was the wind blowing through our helmets, we did a sweep through their lines. You are most alert when consolidating, because this is the best time for a counter attack.
Walking through the aftermath and assessing the damage, I watched Jan walk past a body and spin on her heels and fire two more shots into a merc as reached for his weapon.
"Fucking outrageous." Will laughed. We had just lived through the biggest contact any of us had ever experienced.
The question was, what now?
"Here's the plan." I said, panting. "We head west across the MSR until it gets dark, and then we sort ourselves out. Call for air support and extraction." Hitting the convoy was out. I hoped Rob was having better luck.
For the next several hours we conducted a fighting withdrawal against the Blue Suns back up that had arrived. When we finally broke contact we ditched our rucks and started running before finally stopping on a ridgeline that provided us some shelter from the wind. Jan had hurt her leg, and Luis was dehydrating.
Luis took out a candy and immediately spit it out. "Ugh. It's a green one."
"Give it here, I'll have it." Offered Will. He popped it in his mouth as we all started to relax a little.
"Aren't you going to ask me, Doctor?" Luis inquired.
Will smiled and chewed on the candy, "Ask you what?"
"How my herpes is doing."
We all had a good laugh. Broke up the tension while Jan and I sorted out the radio. Nothing.
"Alright. Options. We either head for the shuttle RV, or we make for the Alliance camp."
Will was always calm in a crisis. He gave no sign of his emotions when he asked, "How far is the camp?"
"Line of sight?" Luis piped up, "About 170km."
Jan scoffed. "That's a hell of a hike, Shep. On the other hand, there's a lot of pissed off people between us and the RV."
"And even if we make the RV it doesn't mean the shuttle will." Luis added. "Where there's one set of guns there'll be more. Many more."
We looked around to each other and it was obvious we had made our decision.
"We make for the Alliance then." I said. I looked at Jan and asked her if she was up for it, she had strained her hamstring on the run to get to this point but she nodded yes. Good enough for me.
"Jan, you take lead scout." I wanted her to set the pace. "I'll be right behind you with Luis third and Will in the rear."
Luis snorted. "Yeah he always likes it in the rear."
We had another laugh and set out.
And so, we ran. We'd left the contact well behind and we were looking good. Until the weather changed.
A massive storm landed and slowed us right down. The worst part was that we were sweating from running, and the weather was making us freeze. Even in an enviro suit, hypothermia was going to become an issue if we didn't stop soon and get warm. We kept running until we found a suitable hide, and bunkered down for the last hour or so of darkness. That night, we did 85km. That's two marathons. Luis was hypothermic, and we spent the next day trying to keep him alive with whatever supplies we were carrying.
He made it through the night and the following day, and as night fell again we picked up and started running. Two more marathons to go.
We arrived at the Alliance camp just before first light, exhausted, starving, frozen, but alive. We were checked out by the medical staff and cleared for debrief. Rob had made it and blown the convoy, and was eagerly expecting his case of beer on our next shore leave.
There was a small ceremony for the eight of us as we were awarded our N7 designations. David Anderson was there, and he pinned the N7 logo on my uniform himself. He smiled and shook my hand like my father would have, full of pride.
I had failed my mission, but I had somehow managed to get everyone back alive.
"If you go through life never having failed," Anderson told me at the reception, "you'll have no idea how to handle it when you do. And men will die because of it."
The responsibilities of a combat leader represent a remarkable paradox. To truly be good at what he does, he must love his men and be bonded to them with powerful links of mutual responsibility and affection. And then he must be ultimately willing to give the order that may kill him.
"Sometimes, your plan goes to hell the second you step out the door. All you can do is try to get the job done, and get back with as many as possible. You did good, son. You did real good. You deserve this. Welcome to the N7 branch."
It felt good to have Anderson's approval, and the N7 branded to every single piece of kit I could slap it on.
We were awarded with two weeks of shore leave on Elysium as decompression time before heading back to Rio on Earth.
Then the Blitz happened.