I am a timeless chorus; a sweet unity of purpose
My future is your past.
If you would survive... come! There is safety in my grasp.
Come, let us stop our struggle. Be my path into your mind. Grieve, and earn my mercy... for consumption in due time.
Chapter Fifty-Two: The Battle of Nine Navies Pt. VI
Rannoch
Fred's status light flicked green twice on John's HUD. Charges set.
Blue Team stacked up against the wall. John toggled his status light green — Go.
The section of wall imploded inwards as the shaped breaching charges flared. Kelly was the first to go in, bolting through the opening not half a second after the entry explosives detonated. Fred followed, then John, with Linda at the rear.
A trio of smoking Geth Troopers lay on the floor, dispatched by Kelly's ACS as she made entry. Her status light winked green. Clear.
The four Spartan-II's of Blue Team fanned out into the hallway of the Reaper base they had aggressively accessed. Outside of the breach, the sounds of battle were distant and removed, an mere echo in the back of the mind.
Cortana chimed over the team's comms, voice light but businesslike. "Find me an access point."
John signaled the advance down the hallway, himself and Kelly looking forwards, Fred and Linda covering the rear.
"There!" Cortana said, highlighting a glowing terminal embedded into the wall. All John had to do was get close to it; the MJOLNIR Mk. VII allowed for onboard AIs to remotely infiltrate systems without having to remove the chip from the helmet.
Linda flashed a yellow warning. Contact. Red dots flared on the motion tracker, back in the direction of the breach. She and Fred pressed themselves into the walls of the sparse, cover-bereft hallway, the sniper crouching low, Fred standing high. A squad of Geth Troopers came around the corner at the end of the hallway, the first rank falling to overwatch fire from Fred and Linda.
John could see another squad of Geth coming to reinforce, and another beyond them. The element of surprise was clearly gone at this point. Plasma rounds sparked down all sides of the corridor, a number impacting on the energy shields of the four Spartans. He tapped on Kelly's shoulder, waving down the hallway to where the Geth forces were formed up and firing. Kelly pivoted on her feet, stepping behind Linda where she too joined in returning fire down the corridor. John kept his attention down the opposite end of the hallway, trusting his team to keep the attackers at the other end at bay while Cortana finished her work.
"Schematics acquired," Cortana announced, as if she had read John's mind. "Good news, I know where to plant the bomb. Bad news, it's smack-dab in the middle of the base - and this is a big base."
"Bigger than the Uneven Elephant?" Fred quipped in between rifle bursts. Linda exhaled in amusement, dipping behind Kelly to give her shields a chance to recharge. It was the joke name that Sergeant Major Avery Johnson had given the Covenant command/refit station Unyielding Hierophant during Operation First Strike.
"No," Cortana said, "Thankfully, it's a significantly smaller elephant."
John's HUD flashed, the top right corner showing a miniature-sized map of the Reaper facility that Cortana had marked with the routes to the center of the base - a spot she had labeled: Main Reactor. With a few blinks John had enlarged the map, quickly studying the relevant sections. "Let's move. Fred, architectural deterrence."
"Roger," Fred replied. He swapped his ACS for the M-41 SPNKR on his back, shouldering the typically unwieldy launcher as if it were nothing more than a rolled-up exercise mat. He fired at a point thirty meters down the hallway, once at the ceiling and once at the floor. The impact of the rockets made the hallway violently shudder, closing off that side with a debris pile smoldering with smoke. Fred dumped the spent rocket tube, putting another one in smoothly before returning the SPNKR to his back.
Blue Team navigated through the outer layers of the base with relative ease, Cortana's directions, motion-tracker intel, and the intense speed of their movement giving them the advantages they needed over the garrisoned forces. Cortana hacked open most doors they came across, having wormed her way into the base's security systems as she was designed to do. What Reaper and Geth infantry happened to be in place to oppose them were dispatched with ruthless barrages of sparking blue hard-light in well-coordinated fire patterns. There were few words exchanged between the Spartans, communications done mostly by status lights and hand signals. The fluidity with which Blue Team navigated the flow of battle was akin to master musicians reading from sheet music they had long memorized - and the quartet of Spartans had been performing together for decades.
Progress briefly halted at a large door that Cortana didn't immediately open via electronic subterfuge. "One sec," she said. Blue Team settled in, stacking near the door, rifles pointed in relevant directions outwards. John took a moment to analyze the physical design of the base in more detail. It was strange, the hallways and rooms a disconcerting mesh of Geth and Reaper designs. Smooth, reflective wall panelings broken by sprouts of jagged black metal - mixed conduits of electric piping running along the ceilings sparking with plasma-blue and magnetic-red energy. The composite materials played hell with their thermal and infrared vision.
The entire base was purely utilitarian, each area serving the facilities greater main purpose of communications operations and power generation, and nothing else. Geth and Reapers didn't need barracks to sleep in, mess halls to eat in, or meeting rooms to brief in.
"Problem," Cortana said, only a slight hint of annoyance in her voice. "They're wisening up. Door access on my end has been completely severed from the control networks."
"Manually then," John said, pointing at Fred, then the door. Fred got to work immediately, setting up a breaching charge around the doorframe. This would change the operation. Blowing open every door they came across would take time, time that the enemy could use to delay their progress and muster a better defense. As Fred finished with the charge, John keyed him comms. "Normandy, Sierra-Actual."
"Go ahead Sierra." It was Colonel Kirrahe on the comms - Shepard must have been still fighting on the ground with the rest of the Allied assault force.
"Reporting mission delay - " John did some quick mental math, continuing "Add five to seven minutes to the mission timer."
"Roger Sierra. Situation on the ground is currently stable. Skies are hot, but on-point extraction is still a go."
"Confirmed," John replied, closing the line. It was good that the fight outside the base was still in full-swing, since it meant that there were less hostiles in the base itself. Fred flashed his light green. Charge set.
Blue Team readied themselves, and Fred blew the door.
"Wait!" Cortana yelled in their ears, the warning instant too late.
Kelly rushed in, rifle raised… and was immediately sent sailing back out of the opening and off of her feet. She slammed against the wall opposite the door, ACS clattering down onto the floor away from her and energy shields shattering.
A hulking Brute came roaring out of the smoke obscuring the blown doorway bolting right towards Kelly, heavy clarm arm lowered like a ram. John's mind raced as his instincts flared, ACS raising to target the Brute. It must have been standing completely still not to register on their motion trackers, waiting to pounce as Blue Team came through the doorway. Recovering at a speed that only a Spartan-II could manage, Kelly dove away from the Brute just a half-second before it slammed into the wall with such force that its heavy claw embedded a few inches into the metal.
Two more blips on his motion tracker. A shimmer of purple-blue energy, and John was suddenly staring into the black-as-void eyes of a Banshee a meter in front of him. In his peripherals, he could see another Banshee had teleported right behind Linda a few meters away.
It was an ambush.
John leapt backwards before the thought to do so had really formed in his mind, the speed and power of the Banshee's swinging razor sharp talons breaking through his shields and scraping across the surface of his chestplate. He switched his ACS to its most rapid-fire mode and fired with one hand, hardlight impacts blossoming against the Banshee's biotic barriers. With his other hand he reached to his back, just below the HAVOC tactical nuke, grasping the grip of the Claymore heavy shotgun 'Helmsbreaker.'
John brought the shotgun up, pointed at the Banshee's center-mass, and fired one-handed. Helmsbreaker boomed with thunder and flame, and it was all John could do to keep the weapon in his grip and not go flying out of his hand due to the gun's massive recoil. As it was, the spike of deep pain signalled he might have broken part of his wrist.
The blast from the Claymore caught the Banshee full-on in the chest, and it staggered backwards as its barriers shattered under the force of the impact. The second's reprieve gave John a chance to check on the rest of his team, and to plot his next move.
Kelly was back on her feet now, her twin SMGs drawn and peppering the front of the Brute with 5x23mm caseless armor-piercing incendiary rounds. The rounds sparked as they struck the hulking Reaper's heavy armor, chipping and breaking off small pieces with each hit.
Fred was crouching, pouring ACS fire into the back of the Brute with one arm, the other buried elbow deep in the pack he had been carrying on his back.
Linda was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the other Banshee, a long-bladed nano-edged knife in one hand, M6H magnum in the other. She dodged around the Banshee's attacks as best she could, firing well-aimed heavy pistol shots into the Banshee's head and chest when there was an opening, returning strikes with her knife. John could tell that she was slower than usual, no doubt the result of her near-fatal injury during the operation on the moon B-1274. He grimaced as he saw Linda misstep by a few centimeters, allowing a sweep from the Banshee's talons to catch the spot on the inside of her right elbow that wasn't covered by a solid plate of MJOLNIR.
John had to turn his attention back to his own Banshee, which was recovering from his Claymore shot. The two locked gazes for a moment, orange hexagonal faceplate opposite sunken, blue-black eyes. There was no understanding between them save for the instinctual, base animal knowledge that one of them would win - and one of them would lose.
John never lost.
The Banshee flashed with biotic energy. John sprang forwards, reaching for another thermal clip to slide into the Claymore's open and waiting receiver. He had fought enough Banshees by this point to have developed a sense for some of their 'tells'. He spun around, shotgun up, correctly anticipating that the Banshee would teleport itself forwards to try and close the distance. Instead, it had overshot — and now had its back turned to him.
John fired another round from Helmsbreaker. Deep swathes of sticky flesh and shards of rotted bone blossomed away from the point of impact at rapid speed as the heavy pellets tore through the unshielded Banshee. He rushed forwards, body slamming into the back of the tall creature, sending them both forwards until he had the thing pinned against a hallway wall. John snapped his Claymore to a magplate, and with both hands reached for the back wound the weapon had just created. Gripping the edges, he used his enhanced MJOLNIR strength to tear the wound open even larger, pausing only so long to shove a fragmentation grenade into the opening.
He rotated the Banshee until it was facing in the direction of Linda's fight, then with all of his strength he kicked his Banshee over in that direction, sending the horror stumbling over. It collided with the second Banshee, then both disappeared in a cloud of smoke as his embedded grenade detonated.
Fred had found what he had been looking for in his pack — a lump of C-14 plastic explosive, detonater attached. The Brute attacking Kelly brought its heavy claw down hard onto the ground, roaring in anger as once again its prey dodged deftly out of the way. This time, instead of darting back to pepper the Brute with more submachine gunfire, she hopped onto the Brute's claw like it was a playset at a children's park, running up the arm and onto its shoulder. Fred hurled the plastic explosive at Kelly and she caught it. She slapped the explosive down in the recessed spot between the Brute's shoulder playing and its thin neck, then dove off to get as much distance as she could.
Even more violent than the grenade, the plastic explosives thoroughly removed the upper half of the Brute's torso, the remainder of the hulk dropping unceremoniously to the ground. Linda stood over two dead Banshees, one with its upper and lower body connected by a scant string of wirey flesh. The other lay open-mouthed, a combat knife sunk hilt-deep right between its eyes.
The quiet after the chaos was not unexpected, but it still came on strong.
"Clear for now," Cortana said, having examined their motion trackers and other suit sensors.
"Linda?" John asked, stepping over to her. The sniper already had a can of biofoam out, and handed it to John as he got close.
"I'm good," she stated, watching as John packed her right arm wound with the medical foam.
"Operational?" He asked next, seeing the way that the arm hung loosely. The Banshee could have severed the tendons.
Linda shifted her rifle into her left hand, bringing it up to her shoulder, testing out the balance of the one-armed, off-hand grip. "Yep."
John nodded, patting her shoulder as he finished dressing the wound. Fred came over, pulling Linda's combat knife out of the Banshee skull it was embedded in. He gave it a look over, flipping it over a couple times, twirling it quickly through his gloved fingers. Satisfied by his inspection, Fred nodded in approval, sliding the knife gingerly back into the blades sheath on Linda's breastplate.
"Good kill. Something about finishing the job up close, you know?" Fred said amiably. "Gets the blood pumping, doesn't it."
Linda sighed through her nose. "Inefficient. Could've taken down all three myself with a hundred open meters."
Fred cocked his head at her, reaching out and tapping his pointer finger on the hilt of her knife. "That's a pretty far throw… and I only see one knife."
Linda shouldered past him, the roll of her eyes obvious to them all even behind her helmet.
"Back at it Spartans," John said, bringing them back to the mission at hand. "Package isn't going to deliver itself. Cortana, what's the status of our evac?"
SSV Normandy
Shepard was fucking wired.
Two days ago he had been a central part of planning for the first stages of the liberation of Rannoch. Yesterday he had been running pathfinder missions in preparation for the arrival of the Allied Vanguard Force. Today, he had been thoroughly embroiled in the middle in some of the heaviest fighting he'd ever been a part of.
Throughout all of it, he had managed less than six hours of sleep. Today more than the previous days, he was kept standing only on sheer will, copious amounts of stims, UNSC Ultra High-Density Nutrient Replicant Bars - Flavor: Peanut Butter, and Sirta Foundation Biotic Recovery MAX Liquid and Calorie Replacement Drink: Blue Ice Mountain Explosion! 16oz.
"Okay, I got it Joker, it's getting hotter out there. Too hot for the Normandy."
The Normandy's pilot came back over the comms channel, sounding irritated. "Yeah. Lucky for us, the Reapers are pulling whatever they have in the area and throwing it our way. Including a Destroyer. There's a chance the whole ground force gets overwhelmed if we don't wrap things up quick."
"Well we just got Sierra-Actual's report. There was a slight time delay, but otherwise it's going as planned. I'm takingViper-Heavy, by the time we get there they should be ready for extract," Shepard said.
"Copy. Be careful, try and stay under the radar. I'll come running if you call, but I'd rather not have to."
"Roger," Shepard said, cutting the connection. He sighed, trying to rub some of the dryness and fatigue out of his eyes with his hands. It didn't work.
So, a rush of new Oculus drones, living gunships, and an on-approach Destroyer meant that the Reapers were trying to reinforce the base. The plan had originally been to use the Normandy herself to exfil Blue Team, but if the airspace was getting too crowded the dropships would work just fine. Smaller, easier to maneuver, harder to find, harder to hit.
The main inter-deck elevator shook as it stopped, doors sliding outwards on well-maintained hydraulics. For a brief moment, Shepard had the flash of a distant memory fill his mind.
It was after Cerberus had brought him back to life, when they "rescued" him from the peaceful, all-encompassing darkness of the end just to throw him back into the chaos of war and death. He had been touring the Normandy SR-2 for the first time, and had stepped out of this very elevator into the shuttle bay. Back then, it had been nearly empty save for a single Cerberus-branded Kodiak shuttle.
Today was a stark contrast to that past. The bay was a beehive of activity. Shepard saw Humans, Salarians, Quarians, Sanegheili, Turians, Asari, and a couple of Krogan. Some had been on the Normandy before Rannoch — Ultra 'Harum's Rangers, Captain Kal'Reegar's Marines — others they had picked up during the fighting today. Under the impromptu command of Colonel Kirrahe, the Normandy and its crew had been dashing up and down the battle line all day, strengthening the defenses at the tips of enemy pushes, reinforcing beleaguered units, and med-evaccing wounded soldiers back to the Forward Operating Base that had been set up at the Assault Force's landing site.
Shepard stepped out into the bay, Garrus quickly falling in besides him.
"What's the word?" he asked. His Turian XO had some new scratches and dings in his armor - they all did. A salve of medi-gel clung to the grey skin of his neck, where a lucky Marauder's burst had broken through his kinetic barriers and winged the very top of his shoulder.
"Reapers reinforcements are arriving. The Normandy will get lit up if we try and get Blue Team from the base. We're taking Viper-Heavy instead, going in fast, low, and under the radar," Shepard said. He noticed that save for the gentile whine of the Normandy's two shuttlecraft idling, the hum of activity and business had quieted to a near standstill. He looked around, catching the eyes of nearly everyone in the bay. The Commander was on deck.
Shepard looked to Viper-Heavy, their stealth Pelican Gunship. The vacuum-black angular plating gave the aircraft a dangerous, predatory look to it. The enclosed, angular pods containing the ANVIL missile launchers mounted underneath each stubby wing helped as well. He caught the eye of the two crewmen of the craft, Flight Sergeant Dalton and Senior Airman Cehack. "Dalton, Cehack, up for a hot extract?"
The two shared a quick glance, smirked, then Dalton said, "High-risk high-reward is what we do all day Commander."
Shepard nodded. "Good. Vega!"
"Sir!" the big Marine called, stepping forwards from amidst a group of Reegar's Quarian Marines.
"You know how to work that mounted gun on the troop-bay?" Shepard asked.
Vega bared a predatory smile. "Thoroughly."
"You're with me in Viper-Heavy. Dalton! Get her spooled up, I want us dusting off in sixty seconds."
"Aye sir!" Dalton replied, grabbing Cehack and rushing back into the Pelican to prepare it for mission.
Shepard turned to Garrus, "Get a team together to fill the Kodiak, ready to bring help if we end up needing it."
"Got it," Garrus said, bouncing off to fulfill his orders, head snapping back-and-forth looking for who he wanted on his squad.
Throughout the bay soldiers and crew repositioned themselves out of the two shuttle's flightpath. As Shepard moved to Viper-Heavy, he scanned the bustling crowd, looking for someone in particular.
Thankfully, with her helmet off the azure blue of her skin made Liara stand out. She caught his gaze from across the shuttle bay, smiling at him with such familiar warmth that Shepard felt some of the tension ebb out of his back and shoulders. It was a brief moment, yet its positive impact on his state of mind was undeniable.
He joined Vega in the troop bay of the Pelican, and Shepard felt the power of the craft's engines cycling up as Dalton readied them for launch. He grabbed a handhold as the bay door closed as Vega worked over the triple-barreled HMG mounted on the deck.
It was a tense few minutes, Viper-Heavy running in full active camouflage, Dalton flying as close to the deck as he could, weaving between hills and hugging the depressions of dry riverbeds or small canyon rifts. His comm pinged, the ID flashing as Colonel Kirrahe's. "Colonel?"
"Commander, we're sending all aircraft squadrons in the area to the base to give you some cover. After you extract Blue Team, your orders are to report directly to the UNSC Infinity in orbit. Normandy will rendezvous there."
Shepard furrowed his brows slightly, but he didn't ask questions. "Yessir."
The link closed, only to be replaced by the pop of the Pelican's intercom crackling to life. "Strap-in guys, the airspace is heating up. May be in for some high Gs."
Shepard and Vega did as they were told, finding seats and fastening the restraining straps over themselves. The maneuvers started almost immediately, precipitated by a massive push of acceleration that made Shepard clench his jaws hard. The next few minutes blurred by as Viper-Heavy weaved through the airspace towards Blue Team, hugging the ground close. The internal temperature of the Pelican skyrocketed as waste heat from the screaming engines and the active stealth systems dumped into heatsinks, and Shepard had to bump his armor's internal cooling systems to maximum.
"Fifteen seconds!" Dalton called back over the intercom. "Opening the bay!"
Shepard and Vega slapped the releases of their crash webbing, hurrying towards the rear of the bay. Vega centered himself behind the deck-mounted HMG, racking the substantial bolt with emphasis. The Commander tucked himself against one of the sides of the bay, bracing himself as the sealed bay door started swinging open. The bright mid-morning light streamed in, accompanied by the harsh sounds of battle outside. His bones shook as the gunner, Cehack, let loose a substantial stream of chin-cannon rounds towards unseen targets below.
The view outside of the troop bay shifted laterally as Dalton spun the Pelican around, giving Shepard a view of the dogfights raging around the Reaper base. Allied ground forces had already begun their organized withdrawal from the battle, having served their intended purpose. Viper-Heavy halted their spin, the rear of the Pelican now pointed towards the sharp edge of a section of the Reaper base's roof.
Blue Team was on the roof, embroiled in a heavy firefight with a substantial amount of Geth and Reaper infantry pouring out of a smoldering hole in the roof a few dozen meters inwards. The Spartans had taken cover behind jagged outcroppings of synthetic-black metal that seemed to have sprouted from the roof at random, ducking out to send streaks of blue lightning from their energized rifles into enemy targets. Bits and chunks of Reaper flesh and bone coated the area where Cehack's 40mm cannon rounds struck true, as well as errant pieces of warped Geth armor shards and once vital internal cabling.
Vega went to work with the aft-facing HMG, raking the enemies on the roof with an increasing tempo of automatic fire as the three barrels spun up to its full rotational speed. Shepard's arm flared blue, and he tossed a wide-arcing ball of biotic energy out of the Pelican that blossomed into a roiling singularity, sweeping several Geth and Reapers off of their feet and into the swirling negative mass effect fields.
Shepard keyed into Blue Team's comms. "Ride's here! Let's go!"
"Copy." The Master Chief's response was curt, yet the instant Dalton had manueverd the Pelican close enough to the lip of the roof Sierra-058 had leapt into the bay. She joined Vega in providing cover fire to the rest of Blue Team, firing a Battle Rifle with one arm. Sierra-104 and Sierra-087 were next in, followed lastly by the Master Chief. As soon as the Chief was inside Shepard slammed the door controls, Vega and the Spartans firing out of the rear until the very last second before the bay sealed itself.
Dalton didn't need any prompting, tilting the nose of the Pelican upwards and opening up the throttle. Back in his seat buckled into the crash webbing, Shepard put a comms connection request to Colonel Kirrahe, who accepted immediately.
"Package delivered, Sierra secured," Shepard said.
"Confirmed. Ground elements are already at minimum safe distance. Air elements are evacuating at best possible speed," Kirrahe replied. "I'll send the detonation order once all of our teams are clear. See you on the Infinity Commander. Kirrahe out."
Shepard couldn't actually see the detonation of the UNSC nuke from inside Viper-Heavy, but he imagined what the Reaper base being enveloped by nuclear fire would look like, and the visual satisfied him greatly.
UNSC Infinity
"We're here Commander," Vega said. "The Big House."
Shepard didn't realize that he had fallen asleep until the big Alliance Marine gently nudged him awake with his elbow. The Pelican's engines were cycling down in a quiet whine. The four Spartans of Blue Team were already gone, the bay door lowered down onto the Infinity's hangar deck. Shepard rubbed at his eyes, trying to massage some of the burn of setting fatigue that had settled behind them. It didn't help. He unfastened his restraints, grunting as he got up. "The Big House?"
"Yeah," Vega said, raising an eyebrow. "The Infinity. The Big House. The biggest, baddest ship in the fleet, can smack down Reapes like the hand of God."
"Don't let Joker hear you say that," Shepard said, stretching out his arms and legs. He relished the familiar ache of the motions. "He'd take it as an insult to his girl."
"No insult," Vega said quickly, "Different ships, different purposes. The Normandy is your compact, suppressed pistol, perfect for when you need it quiet, quick, and clean. The Infinity though, she's a fuckin' shoulder-mounted rocket launcher, ready to bring the noise and clean the clock of anything she's aiming at."
"How do I look? HIGHCOM presentable?" Shepard asked.
Vega gave him a once over, then smirked. "Looks like you've spent all day in active engagement zones."
He looked down at his armor. He had spent all day in active engagement zones. The black, textured plate was marred with dirt and marked with a heap of new scratches and dents. Smatterings of dried Reaper blood stained his plates and undersuit in places, as did swathes of the semi-slick, egg-white synthetic fluid that ran through the artificial veins of the Geth. "Good enough."
When he stepped out of the Pelican, it was like stepping out of a cramped broom closet directly into the largest, most crowded event area at a sprawling convention center. The UNSC Infinity's main hangar bays took up the majority of four decks, spanning the entire width and nearly half of the supercarrier's five kilometer length. The bay was a picturesque example of the kind of organized chaos abound in the military.
Dozens of aircraft packed the pads of the hangars, each attended by a group of hangar crew in their role-colored BDUs. Broadsword and Longsword strikecraft refueled and rearmed, weapons techs affixing missiles to waiting underwing hardpoints and feeding long chains of cannon rounds into the gun systems. Those with damage significant enough to have taken them out of the fight retreated via elevators down into the vehicle maintenance and storage decks down below the flight deck. Squads and Platoons of Marines in full battle-rattle marched into Pelican troop carriers and heavy-lift Albatross dropships, ready to jump into the fight down the gravity well. The air smelled like burned cordite, spent fuel, and ozone, and the sounds of dozens of pairs of engines at every spectrum of power drowned out almost everything else.
A bright-eyed UNSC Second Lieutenant with a sharply pressed uniform was waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp. She leaned in to be heard over the engine noise. "Commander Shepard! I've been instructed to guide you to the briefing hall, if you would follow me!"
He did so, following the woman to the tram line that ran lengthwise down the center of the hangar bay. A car was waiting for them and Shepard had to shake away a second's disorientation when the shutting of the tram doors cut out almost every bit of the surrounding hangar noise.
He grabbed a handhold, and was once again reminded just how big the UNSC Infinity was when two minutes had passed and the directional display on one of the car's walls showed they weren't even halfway to their stop. Occasionally he would notice a change in directional force as the tram car would ascend up or downwards instead of forwards.
The Lieutenant - L. Wyn, the nameplate said - cast a furtive look at Shepard. He angled his body to face her, an invitation to ask the question he could see on her lips.
"What is it like down there, sir?" Wyn asked. "The fight on the ground, I mean."
Shepard met Wyn's gaze. He could see the confidence and curiosity in her deep brown eyes, but there was something else there too. Just beneath her carefully crafted outward projection of professional competence, he recognized the subtle signs of tension and nervous fear. Wyn hid it well, but Shepard had seen it enough in others — the precise, deliberate set of the shoulders, the controlled breathing, and the tightly clenched hands.
"It's been tough going," he answered. "The initiative of our assault allowed us to accomplish our primary objectives, but the Reapers and the hostile Geth are dangerous, capable enemies. They're fighting hard."
"Heard a report of the Reaper base down there getting nuked. Was that you?"
Shepard flashed a quick half-smile. "That's classified."
Lieutenant Wyn allowed herself a short laugh that was both warm and restrained at the same time. She straightened her posture once more, returning to her diligent job of waiting with Shepard for the tram car to arrive at its destination.
"How are you doing sailor?" Shepard asked. The question clearly caught Wyn off-guard, and she looked at Shepard with furrowed brows.
"I'm - " she started, before taking a second to actually form an answer. "I'm doing okay."
Shepard nodded slightly, reading into the lines in between the words. "Is this your first tour?"
"Yes sir," Wyn said, mirroring Shepard's nod. "Eight months underway so far."
"Not a bad first posting, all things considered," he said, gesturing around the tram in reference to the UNSC Infinity at large.
"Best ship and crew in the Fleet," Wyn said quickly, chest puffing out just a couple of inches.
"Did you go to OCS?" Shepard asked. She looked young, around the right age for someone who had gotten a four year degree at a university or military academy and immediately followed it with an officer candidate school.
"I did. Signal Corps after university."
"Signal Corps?" Shepard said, "A comms wizard then. Any specializations?"
"Tactical intelligence,' Wyn said. "Making sure that all the information coming in from frontline units flows to where it needs to go."
Wyn cast her eyes downwards, and was silent for a moment. Shepard could see what the gesture meant. "So you have the training to be dirtside elbow-deep in an F.O.B.'s comms center, but instead you're here serving as an aide to some Major or Colonel in SIGINT, fetching drinks and making sure that important guests aren't late to their briefings," Shepard said.
Lieutenant Wyn gave him a conciliatory smile. "Well, the briefing has actually already started…. But - yes. Normally it's fine but during combat… it feels strange when I'm asked to get coffee for my Colonel while there's shooting going on outside."
The briefing had started already? Was Shepard late? The more likely scenario was that most of the briefing wasn't meant for him anyway, just a small part or something near the end. He decided to go with that thought - he didn't like the idea of being late because he had been too busy taking a nap in the back of Viper-Heavy.
"Keep your head up," Shepard said, putting as much easy warmth behind the smile he gave her as he could. It didn't feel like enough, but it was what he had. "I was a Second Lieutenant once... my Colonel was in Requisitions and Supply. Colonel Munn. Yorkshire Gold Tea only for her, with a splash of milk."
"French vanilla light roast with equal parts cream and coffee for mine," a small, knowing smile playing across her lips. "Inventory?"
"Inventory..." Shepard said, sighing in remembrance. How many hours had he wasted counting, sorting, organizing, and reporting on the exact quantities of rations, munitions, first aid supplies to a superior officer who was unabashedly riding his desk until retirement? Too many to remember, he thought. "I don't do that anymore. Perks of command."
They shared the light humor of the moment, two Humans from different galaxies brought together by unknown supernatural forces and then sudden war, bonding over their shared experiences of the different mundanities forced upon newly-minted officers. The realization that came to Shepard at that instant was powerful enough to feel like a physical blow.
He looked at Wyn, actually looked at her this time, studying her face and features. Her jet-black hair had been brought back in a tight ponytail, contrasting with the paleness of her skin. Narrow cheekbones drew the gaze inwards, towards sharp, almond brown eyes. She was at the same time utterly unique and incredibly similar to any other Human he had ever seen. It was difficult for Shepard to get his head around the fact that Wyn had come from an entirely different galaxy, both remarkably unlike and unbelievably similar to their own. Two Earths, two Humanities…. it made Shepard's tired mind ache. Still, he was aware of the benefit that encouragement had on morale, and he didn't care that Wyn wasn't one of "his."
"This is our fight, all of us," Shepard started. "The Marines in the trenches, the pilots out in the strikecraft, the techs in the engineering bays, the cooks behind the mess line - even officers and their second lieutenants in the SIGINT rooms - we all have our jobs to do. Doing them well is what will make the difference between victory and defeat - and I plan on winning. Do you plan on winning Lieutenant?"
She gave him a true smile, one that reached her eyes. "Oh hell yes sir."
The tram car dinged pleasantly as it slowed to a halt, the door sliding open as they arrived at their destination. His words had had a visible effect on Wyn - her shoulders were more relaxed, the muscles in her neck weren't as tightened, and her still professional posture was slightly less rigid. Second Lieutenant Wyn strode out the door, gesturing Shepard to follow. "It's not far from here," she said.
He followed dutifully, immediately noticing the increase in security in these new wide corridors, deep in the heart of the Infinity. Guards from each of the different fleets either stood by with serious looks on their face or chatted in low, amiable voices. Shepard found it interesting how quickly it had become normal to him, seeing all the different races that composed the Allied Fleets mingling together in one space.
Shepard could tell that they had arrived when the guards outside the doors changed to statue-still Spartan-IV's. Wyn deposited him in front of a door that Shepard guessed was a side door. They exchanged salutes and small smiles, then she spun away to her next task. Shepard shared a nod with th Spartan-IVs and stepped through the door into a short, dimly-lit hallway.
Colonel Kirrahe was waiting for him at the end of the hallway, just before it led into the room beyond. He waved for Shepard to join him, and they both stood staring into the large auditorium chamber. Expansive vidscreens lined the walls of the room displaying all kinds of tactical and strategic information, while at the front of the room on a raised platform a holographic projector displayed a mock-up of the entire system in real-time. Several of the most prominent members of Allied HIGHCOM stood or sat on the raised platform. He recognized several of them - Lasky, Hackett, Shala'Raan, Tibrinus, Manis, Thel 'Vadam, among others. Dozens of senior Allied command staff filled out rows of chairs ascending outwards from the raised platform, most looking inwards, some looking at datapads, omni-tools, or whispering to neighbors and aides.
Shepard felt a dark, intrusive thought stab into his fatigue-addled mind. A bomb right here in this one room would cripple the Allied Forces… He remembered the first War Summit on the Citadel, where the UNSC was first introduced to the rest of the galaxy at-large - and where Cerberus had launched its assault on the Citadel, starting with the brazen assassination by a C-SEC mole of Councilor Sparatus while he was on the stage during the Summit. Could something like that happen again? Could it happen here, in the well-protected depths of the most powerful ship they had on their side? He shook the thoughts away, frowning.
"Commander," Kirrahe said in greeting. His voice was neutral, if even a bit light. "Long day."
"Yeah," Shepard replied. It was a statement of fact, not a question. Kirrahe would know, he had spent the entire day on the Normandy with them coordinating the pathfinder teams from the War Room in support of the main assault force. "Got the job done though."
"Yes we did," Kirrahe said.
"How are the casualties?" Shepard asked.
"Better than predicted. The majority of ours came from the ground engagement. The Geth took the worst of it up in space."
Shepard grimaced at that. Hundreds of friendly Geth ships had borne the brunt of the Reaper's attention while the Allied Fleet had gotten into position after transiting through Rannoch's Mass Relay. He was about to say something, but Admiral Hackett had taken center stage and cleared his throat. The Alliance man's long-standing reputation and presence of being commanded the respect and attention of the entire room.
"This concludes the general debrief and strategic planning session for the first stage of the liberation of Rannoch," he said. His gravelly, whisky-smoke voice filled the auditorium-like space with ease. "The success of the Vanguard force has given us a beachhead on the planet and established clear battlelines in space. Captain Skyheit's Battlegroup has cut off and surrounded the last remaining enemy vessels that have dug into the Geth orbital structures near to our lines. Our next priorities will be expanding our foothold on the ground and continuing to strengthen our position in orbit in anticipation of a Reaper counterattack. Detailed orders respective to each of your commands will follow from HIGHCOM shortly. Dismissed."
Shepard sighed. "Well, I seemed to have missed most of the briefing.
Kirrahe gave him a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, I'll send you the highlights. Besides, just need you here for the end anyway."
The auditorium became enlivened by movement and conversation as its occupants got up out of their seats.
Shepard straightened up when he saw Hackett detach himself from the rest of the assembled HIGHCOM staff and start walking towards him and Kirrahe. Hackett joined Shepard and Kirrahe in the side hallway, as several small meetings between Allied command staff in the auditorium coalesced into being in the wake of the briefing. This was where the real work would go on, where the more general grand strategy discussed in the briefing would be broken down into specific strategies and tactical ideas between the upper echelon of Allied command.
"Kirrahe, excellent work today," Hackett said, before pausing to look at a chrono on his wrist. "Yesterday, that is. The ground assault by the Vanguard forces wouldn't have gone nearly as well were it not for the efforts of your advance teams."
Kirrahe bowed his head slightly, humbly accepting the praise. "Lot's of moving pieces, we were just one of them."
"True, but securing that beachhead could have been a lot bloodier. Give yourself some credit." Hackett then turned to Shepard. As soon as he got a good look at him, the Alliance Admiral's face furrowed with concern. "Commander, you look… frankly you look like hell."
Shepard gave himself another once over. The dried dust and gore that had accumulated on his well-worn armor plating was a stark contrast to the clean, crisply pressed uniform that Hackett wore. Shepard gave Hackett a half-smile and a shrug. "Some of us still like to get our hands dirty, Admiral."
Hackett's eyes twinkled and he matched Shepard's smirk, clapping the Commander on one of his shoulders. "It's good to see you again in person Shepard. Didn't want to do this over comms or the QEC."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Didn't want to do… what?"
Hackett shared a knowing glance with Kirrahe, then let out a deep sigh, gesturing out towards the large auditorium chamber still filled with people and conversation. "Do you know what I see when I look out there son?"
Shepard thought the answer was obvious. There now existed a level of cooperation, reliance, and steadfast support between the major races of the galaxy that had once been thought to be impossible, if not immensely improbable. As he watched UNSC and Alliance Humans, Turians, Quarians, Asari, Salarians, Krogan, Sangheili - even some Volus a couple of hulking Elcor - engaged in the animated congress of battle-planning, Shepard lamented the fact that all it had taken for this to happen was the overwhelming threat of galactic extinction. "An unrivaled amount of cross-species cooperation in the face of a common enemy?" Shepard answered.
"No, that was last month's revelation," Hackett said, dismissing the answer with a wave of his hand. "What I see is a goddamn logistical nightmare. The Allied Forces are split into fourteen races, twelve command structures, and eight navies. Our ship counts number in the tens of thousands, ground troops in the hundreds of thousands. We have enough ordnance to blow the entire Citadel into its component atoms if it went off all at once."
Shepard pursed his lips, following down the direction Hackett was going. He guessed he hadn't really thought about that until now, just how gargantuan of a task effectively organizing the Allied Forces would be. With the Normandy unofficially detached from the rest of the Allied Navies main logistics structure, Shepard had been lucky enough to not have to think about it. "Yeah. Wow. Feel bad for whichever poor soul gets put at the top of this pyramid."
Hackett grimaced. "I am too."
"Now that the bulk of our Fleet has made it in-system, our force projection estimates put us near equal footing with the Reapers," Kirrahe said, "However, one of their greatest advantages over us is the efficiency of their command structure. As it turns out, millenia-old advanced artificial intelligences are very, very good at analyzing data, concocting appropriate responses, disseminating orders, and acting on them."
"We have advanced AI's too," Shepard posed, "EDI, Cortana, and the other UNSC AI's."
"And we plan to use them," Hackett said. "They might end up being our ace in the logistical hole… but it's not the same. With the Reapers and the enemy Geth, the AI physically controls the ship - there's no barrier between thought and action with them."
"But on our ships we have inconvenient meatbag middlemen slowing the whole process down," Shepard said.
"Mmm," Hackett agreed, "And most of these bags of meat would be very reluctant handing total control of their ships over to extra-galactic UNSC AIs, no matter how much they've proved themselves vital in the war effort thus far."
"I wouldn't be," Shepard said. "EDI has taken control of the Normandy several times when we've been up against the wall and human reaction time wouldn't cut it."
"Well Shepard, you're not the average bag of meat," Hackett said. "We should have gotten this chain-of-command crap sorted out before we got here, but everyone hasn't been in one place until now."
"Well, have we picked someone yet?" Shepard asked. "To put in charge of all of this?"
"Yes..." Hackett nodded slowly, somberly. "The unlucky S.O.B. who happened to bring up the problem first. Me. Want to trade?"
Shepard couldn't help but wince a little in empathy for the man. He sure as hell wouldn't want to be the one responsible for all these ships, crews, and soldiers. It made sense now that Hackett had been leading the briefing that had just ended. "No sir."
"Well, it was worth an ask," Hackett said, the briefest of sly smirks playing across his lips. "Alright Shepard, here's the rub. I'm giving you another command."
There it was. The words hit Shepard like he had been smashed in the chest with the armored claw of a Brute. A new command. They were taking the Normandy away from him. Shepard felt himself physically deflate, shoulders sagging as the last iotas of energy flowed out of him like water through a just-opened sieve. Hackett was going to assign him to logistical work, where he would lose his mind in the crushing waves of inventory reports and personnel logs. His crew, his friends - Liara, Garrus, Tali, Joker, Vega - what would happen to them? Would they stay with the ship, or also be reassigned to whatever job Allied command saw fit for them?
Shepard couldn't imagine his crew, no, his family, breaking apart like this. At least if the Normandy burst into fire and metal shrapnel during an unfortunate space engagement, he'd be with his crew when it happened. This felt much worse, like he was in a combat hospital and the surgeon was explaining that they were going to amputate both of his legs, but he was still too shell-shocked from the injury to understand why.
Why would Hackett do this? Some kind of retribution for being selected as Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Forces? If he had to suffer the burdens and consequences of ultimate command, might as well bring someone along like Shepard for the ride to share in the misery?
"Shepard? Shepard," Hackett said, snapping fingers in front of his face. The concern that Hackett showed when he had first come over was back, but more amplified now.
Shepard felt his eyes refocus, and Hackett's face sharpened from the general blur it had been a second ago. "I - I don't understand."
"Well of course you don't," Hackett said, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't explained anything to you yet."
"Why take the Normandy?" Shepard wanted to say that she was his ship and that he couldn't do that, even though he knew it wasn't true. The Alliance could do whatever the hell they wanted with the ship. The SSV stood for Systems Alliance Service Vessel - not Shepard's Service Vessel.
Hackett's face shifted from concern to confusion, and then to understanding. He put both hands on Shepard's shoulders reassuringly. "Shepard, we're not taking anything. The Normandy is your ship like the Kilimanjaro is mine, I wouldn't do that to you. This isn't a reassignment Commander - it's a promotion.
It was Shepard's turn to be confused. "A promotion?"
Hackett nodded, stepping back from Shepard once he was sure that the fatigued soldier wasn't going to fall over. "Yes, related to what we've just been talking about. Organizational streamlining. Kirrahe, it was your idea, why don't you tell him."
"We want you in command of Allied Special Forces," Kirrahe said. When he saw that Shepard's understanding was lagging just a little bit behind, he clarified. "All of Allied Special Forces."
"All of it?" Shepard asked, feeling a bit like a kid parroting back whatever the adults said to him. Then, slowly, the full realization of what that offer meant slid into the active parts of his consciousness.
"All of it, run directly through the Normandy," Hackett confirmed. "Alliance N7s, Asari Commandos, Turian Armigers, Salarian STG Pathfinders, Krogan Shock Troops, UNSC Force Recon and ODSTs, Sangheili Rangers - if they call themselves the best of the best, they're yours to call on."
"Why me?" Shepard didn't know why his mind had jumped so quickly and so certainly to the idea that Hackett would be punishing him instead. Well, he did know actually. The recent transition from balls-to-the-wall combat on a hot, dusty planet to calm, quiet conversation in an air-conditioned side hallway had fucked with his brain's core processing centers. That, and lack of sleep.
Hackett chuckled at the question, "Why not you? It's what you're doing already, using small, elite teams to accomplish objectives that our conventional forces can't. You've got a stellar track record, widespread name recognition, and respect throughout the fleets. The Normandy is already outfitted with a suitable command-and-control room. Every single one of us in HIGHCOM has already signed off on it without objection."
"What about Kirrahe?" Shepard asked.
"He's got his hands full," Hackett said, looking at the Salarian. "He also got a promotion."
"Head of Allied Naval Intelligence," Kirrahe said to Shepard, "Not just unofficially anymore. You and your unit will ultimately report to me, but HIGHCOM wants me focusing on grand strategy and intel analysis when it comes to the theatre at-large. More pointed tactical operations, that's going to be your purview."
This was unprecedented. A command like this would usually headed by a General, or Rear Admiral - and he was just a Commander, several ranks below that. Were it not for the extrenuating circumstances of a galaxy-wide war, it would have taken Shepard another couple of decades to get to this point otherwise. Now that Shepard understood what was being asked of him, questions started forming. "Is there a rank change with this assignment?"
"Technically this job should go to at least a Rear Admiral, Lower Half," Hackett said, shrugging, "If you want to start going by that, be my guest. Honestly, as long as you get the job done, I don't care what you want to call yourself. Your pay is being bumped up to an O-7 regardless, if that matters to you."
Shepard blinked rapidly. An Admiral? Did Hackett really just say, Admiral? Rear Admiral Lower Half, at the bottom of the flag officer pyramid, but still a flag officer. He tried out the title in his mind. Rear Admiral Lower Half John Shepard. Rear Admiral Shepard. RDML Shepard.
It didn't sound right. He had been Commander Shepard for so long that anything else felt… alien. He'd have to come back to that issue. "Do I have a staff for this command already?"
"No, none," Hackett answered. "You pick your own. Who you want, where you want them, we'll try to get them for you. With a few exceptions, of course. Any requests for Spartan-IV teams go through CINCSPAR Sarah Palmer, and the Arbiter is keeping his personal guard."
"What does that mean for Blue Team? They've run several missions with us at this point, and the Master Chief has been attached to the Normandy since the start of the war," Shepard said.
"We know, and we're well aware of how effective deploying Spartan-II's from the Normandy has been," Hackett said. "Lasky has assigned Blue Team to the Normandy until further notice."
Shepard couldn't help it when a small smile cracked through his weathered demeanor. Since he had first arrived on the Normandy, Shepard had come to rely upon Master Chief as much as he did Garrus, or Liara, or Joker. At this point the Spartan was more than just a special military envoy from the UNSC to the Systems Alliance - the Chief was part of the crew. Getting Cortana as part of the deal too was even better than he had expected, and the other three Spartan-II's of Blue Team had been nothing but professionally deadly. Shepard was glad that they would all be staying onboard.
"Understood," Shepard said. "Ships? Vehicles? Equipment?"
"Anything within reason if we can spare it," Hackett said. "But don't ask for anything cruiser-weight or larger unless you have a damned good reason. The balance of power in orbit is shakey enough."
It all seemed too good to be true. An expansive command of his own, that he could shape exactly how he wanted. It was a chance to make even more of a difference in the war effort than the Normandy could make by herself by itself.
An aide appeared behind Hackett as if out of thin air. He whispered words in the Admiral's ear, then ghosted off as quickly as he came. Hackett frowned, nostrils flaring in what Shepard read as annoyance. "I'm needed elsewhere," he said. "Kirrahe, finish things up. Congratulations Shepard, and get some sleep. Pharmaceutically assisted if need be - that's your first order."
Hackett left Kirrahe and Shepard in the hallway, following the aide back out and away into the auditorium. As Shepard watched him go, he realized that the auditorium had almost completely cleared out, save for a pair of ensigns cleaning up the refreshment bar attached to the side of the room.
The vidscreens on the walls were shut down. But the glowing superimposed holographic of Rannoch still hung suspended above the room's large main projector. Shepard found himself drawn to it, walking out of the side hallway towards it. He peered upwards at the projection, marveling at the thousands and thousands of colored dots representing the ships in-system. Reapers in red, hostile Geth in orange, friendly Geth in green, and Allied Forces in blue.
Kirrahe followed, stopping to stand beside him, also looking up at faux-Rannoch. The two stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the flickers and flashes of soft light as the holo-display updated the system projection with fresh data. Shepard was glad for the quiet moment, his brain was still absorbing the importance and scope of his new assignment as best it could after a day of intense fighting.
"This is where its going to happen," Shepard finally said, nodding at the holographic. "Here... Rannoch - this is where the war will be decided. How can it not be? Everything we have, against everything they have."
He turned to look at Kirrahe. The Colonel's face had hardened so severely that it made Shepard worry that he'd been injured somewhow, before the rational part of his brain was able to process the sudden shift in his features.
"This…" Kirrahe said, gesturing towards the holo of Rannoch, "This battle - it's a sideshow."
Shepard frowned. "A sideshow?"
"If we lose and the Reapers kill us all, that's the end of it," Kirrahe said. "But if we win… we'll have no choice."
"The Flood," Kirrahe continued, voice becoming low and hesitant, as if the very words were themselves dangerous to speak. "I am extremely worried of what the Flood is doing while we are here in the Perseus Veil, Shepard, and that's putting it lightly. Everyone knows what happened to Thessia.
The brief injection of energy and that Hackett's news had given him flittered away. Shepard settled back into his tired grimace, recalling images from the footage of the horrific Flood attack on the people of the Asari homeworld. He remembered watching Liara view the footage, and the way her usually vibrant blue eyes had sunken back into a dark, glassy hollowness. She had locked herself in the room she had taken over in the Normandy for an entire day, and since she came out hasn't mentioned it once.
Kirrahe started slowly shaking his head back and forth in thought. "It's a matter of when they attack next, not if. When, where, and with how much force. Will they go for Sur'Kesh next? The Citadel? The remaining half of Turian space?"
"You're the new head of Allied intelligence," Shepard said. "What do you think?"
"Well, we know that almost all of Batarian space has gone dark. One of the spysats we had operating in the Hegemony caught a sighting of what could have been a Flood-infected vessel on approach to the planet, but we lost signal shortly after," Kirrahe said.
"Send some scout ships?" Shepard posited.
"Haven't had any to spare until now, but yes, I've sent recon orders out to a few vessels," Kirrahe said. "Whatever they might find, we're going to have to do something about it."
Shepard didn't want to think about facing the Flood, but he knew that he would have to eventually. They all would. Kirrahe was just giving voice to the dark, foreboding certainty that Shepard was sure a number of those in Allied command felt about the Flood. "Have any ideas?"
"Sure I do, but my best one was already shot down by HIGHCOM," Kirrahe said. "Only got three votes out of nine."
"What was the idea?" Shepard asked. He was curious to know what plan a competent, respected intel professional like Kirrahe brought that got so thoroughly denied by the majority of HIGHCOM.
"Blowing Relays," Kirrahe said, a flatness to his tone that suggested he was making an off-handed comment about the weather, and not about using Mass Relay detonations to wipe-out entire systems. "They're worried that it's too soon to go there. I'm worried that we haven't gone there soon enough… Admiral Lasky, the Arbiter, and the Geth agreed with me, but that wasn't enough."
Shepard didn't know how to respond to that. Were things really that desperate to where the head of Allied Naval Intelligence's best strategy involved sterlizing entire systems? Then again, who was he to talk? He had done that exact thing to the Alpha Relay to delay the Reaper invasion. The fact that the move had condemned over three hundred thousand Batarians to death, and had gotten him thrown in the brig by the Alliance, meant Shepard of all people knew how serious Kirrahe's suggestion to blow up Relays really was.
"One bridge at a time," Shepard said softly. It was all he could think to say.
Kirrahe made a grunting sound in the back of his throat. "Indeed. But just because we're trying to cross one bridge doesn't mean we can't prepare for the next." The Salarian pressed a button on the projector to disable the holo, and turned to Shepard. "Go back to your ship Shepard, get some rest. In sixteen hours I want to see the foundation of your command staff falling into place, and potential mission ideas forming. The majority of this battle is going to be two giant bags of hammers slamming into eachother, so let's make sure we remember the tray of scalpels we have on the side. Your tray of scalpels."
They clasped forearms tightly, then Kirrahe spun to leave the auditorium. "And Shepard? Whatever you end up naming your unit… make it reasonable please. I'm the one who's going to be saying it in front of HIGHCOM when I give your reports."
Kirrahe left Shepard with that, turning sharply once he stepped out of the main doors to wherever he was needed next. The silence of the room washed over him in the same way as gentle tide. Not total silence - he could pick out the quiet rustle of the air recyclers and the gentle thrum of the Infinity's reactor through the deck - but it was close enough that he basked in it for just a few more minutes.
A name. He would have to pick a name for his new unit, along with a motto, maybe even a mascot and a patch to put it all on. He took a deep breath, held in in his chest, counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Exhale. He summoned his omni-tool, tapping out a message to Viper-Heavy that he would be on his way back, and to prep for flight back to the Normandy. He had a lot of work to do, the first and most important of which was to collapse into his bed. On his way out he found that Second Leuitenant Wyn was waiting for him, no doubt assignedf to escort him back to the hangar decks.
"Commander," she said, smiling at him. "Ready to get back to the hangar?"
"Yes, thank you Leuitenant." An idea crossed his mind, and he pointed at Wyn, "Tactical intelligence, right?"
Wyn nodded, and he could see the flash of surprise and pleasure from her that he had remembered that. "Yes sir."
"How would you like a new job?" Shepard asked. "One with no more coffee runs?"
Happy Holidays everyone, thanks for reading.
Next chapter won't take four months to come out, I promise.
:)