12-27-2157, 2343 hours (Alliance standard time)
Arcturus Station
Arcturus Stream
Private Office
Dain desired nothing more than to shrink back into his shell to avoid the gaze of the titans before him. He sat somewhat uncomfortably in a conference room alongside two of humanity's top leaders. The room itself was quite large with the usual dull metallic grey finishing, with an occasional scene dotting the walls, bringing some much-needed life into the room's tedious appearance. In front of his seat rested a large desk, unique in its counter-appearance to the surrounding walls; it's warm, pecan colored material almost breathed an aura of tranquility.
To one side, a well-worn cream chair sat at the table with two others like it flush against the wall. Along its length stood a long shelf that was filled with both books and the occasional model ships, ranging from small corvettes to the ever-popular super carrier miniatures.
It was clear to Dain that he was sitting in a highly important, rarely used room, possibly even Prime Minister Bonaventura's private office. He'd never thought of considering himself worthy of the Prime Minister's personal attention, but the events leading up to this occasion had been nothing short of surprising.
The small vessels, lined on the shelves, drew his attention once again; he couldn't stop staring at them, reminding him of the massive naval battle he'd barely managed to survive. The faces of his crew, the strained fury on their faces as they pushed into the darkness against all odds just to live another few minutes, flashed before his eyes again. He hated being away from them, but knew his job was critical. Now that it was complete, the only thing he could focus on was returning to the fight.
Dain shook his head, returning his gaze to the soft-toned wood before him. After having been giving a medical evaluation he'd been cleared for debriefing. It was how he'd found himself enjoying a nice cup of high-quality coffee, a small token of luxury, before being summoned before the titans of humanity. The Prime Minister himself sat across from Dain while Admiral Spencer stood off to the side, watching from the sidelines.
Bonaventura looked like a combination of a hollowed skeleton with stacked meat; his body clearly being exhausted, shaken, and disheveled, his aged tiring eyes reading the report with precise attention. Dain couldn't help but feel weary just by looking at the man, not that anyone could ever blame him. As humanity's Prime Minister, he alone carried the immense burden of ensuring mankind's future. Throughout the man's long career, it was obvious he'd learned how to ingest negative information and make some very heavy choices.
Since the invasion on one of humanity's colonies, it would seem as if a good amount of pressure had been lifted with the arrival of the SSV Damascus, something Dain was mildly pleased to have done. It had been a rare case of good fortune that not only had another ship escaped from the Theta-Shanxi system, but had also brought a great deal of intelligence on the enemy. Learning about one's adversary was often the first step in defeating them.
"So, is this everything you've managed to learn on our new foe?" The Prime Minister asked the Commander.
"Yes sir," Dain replied briskly. "From the data that we've managed to piece together, it is clear they rely heavily on eezo to power their weapons, ships, armor, - virtually everything. A lot of good soldiers have died making sure I've gotten this far and there are still many more left back there."
Bonaventura shut his eyes, lips moving in a common but silent prayer for those lost … and for the safety of those now at risk. "What is the update on the fleet's readiness?"
This time it was Spencer's turn to deliver an answer. "Preparations are still underway. We've managed to gather the necessary auxiliary ships and are now waiting only for the rest of the combat ships under Admiral Dresher to arrive. Our QRF hovers slightly above one hundred combat vessels. Whatever remains of the Raloi battle-group have already pledged their full support."
"That is excellent," Bonaventura responded. From his expression, he was taking great comfort that at least humanity's first contact had borne fruit. "I am unsure if you are aware, but I've managed to get into contact with the Raloi Confederacy. It appears their situation is very similar to ours. They've mobilized their fleets to secure their colonies and have scrambled whatever assistance they could muster. Unfortunately, it seems they won't arrive in time, which puts the burden solely on the forces we are assembling now."
Spencer knew the Prime Minister wanted a deadline and realized he couldn't delay any further. "My guess is we'll be fully ready in less than eight days, assuming Shanxi can hold for that long."
The fact sank in for several moments as silence washed over the three individuals in the room. Dain couldn't imagine the responsibility held by the soldiers at Shanxi, defending an entire planet while the rest of the Alliance continued to waste time preparing for an offensive.
"All those years spent practicing for this scenario and it still leaves us unprepared for when it finally happens," Dain growled under his breath. It was a sign of how tired he was already: it was the height of poor manners to basically accuse the Head of State so bluntly.
He knew the two older men in the room shared his feelings, but couldn't allow themselves to let emotions get the better of them. The unfortunate truth was that while, the now identified, batarians continued to attack Shanxi, it allowed the Alliance Navy to heal its wounds. Every additional moment the defenders held out, was another moment given to the Alliance to prepare. Not just for a rescue mission, but for an all-out galactic scale war. Despite the new data, intelligence on the batarians was still sparse, with their full military capabilities still largely unknown. Every fleet, not just the relief group gathering at Arcturus, was getting ready for a possible attack on any colony within Alliance territory. It had been, and still was, a logistical nightmare adequately mobilizing such a large force across countless systems. Nevertheless, they had made good progress; the question still remained: was if it was enough?
The Prime Minister skimmed through the latest summary on the batarians. The minimal briefing Dain had received stated that trusted analysts, cross-referencing the information of the alien's linguistics, had managed to produce a reliable translation key. With the aid of the station's AIs, the translation software had been improved greatly, speeding up the process. There were still a few minor problems, but those were mundane compared to what they were dealing with now.
"I am afraid everything we have here isn't enough to retake Shanxi, much less hold it if this truly becomes a galactic war. I cannot sacrifice valiant lives needlessly by taking back the colony only to lose it once more, so we must wait until we have the appropriate forces." Bonaventura's voice had dropped into the bone-weary grumble. The poor man had circles under his eyes eclipsing Dain's own.
"Thankfully we have another battlegroup that will be here within the next twenty-four hours, along with fifty thousand troops from the Big Four. It seems they realized the threat is real, and are itching for some payback." Spencer stated; it was good news, but only under the circumstances. Any comment involving 'Big Four' and 'payback' a month prior would have been cause for panicked deliberation. "As per my recommendation, all vessels heading towards Shanxi will purge their navigational data banks of the locations of our colonies and anything that may be of use to our enemy. If we fail, we'll make sure they won't be able to attack other colonies. From there, anyway." It was a grim reminder, but a necessary one, of how high the stakes were.
Leaning back on the chair, Dain couldn't help but be filled with worry. The past days had been extremely stressful and he could only guess how bad the upcoming ones would be; the slow, never ending buildup to what would most likely be one of the most important events in human history. Nothing like this had ever happened and it was only by luck that the human race was united; if it had been divided the outcome would have mostly likely have been much worse.
"So, does this mean we continue to let Shanxi hold out on its own?" Dain asked, but the pain it caused bled through like a deep wound.
Bonaventura sighed, looking even wearier than before. "For the time being yes. Time is all we can give, and every second of it is precious. I pray we do not run out of it in the end." He could understand the young man's eagerness to purge Alliance space of the enemy and get some much-deserved retribution in the process, but he could not allow the rest of humanity's colonies to become vulnerable.
It was remarkable that after decades of colonization, the human race had truly become a super power of gargantuan proportions. Evaluating, searching, and researching every system they've encountered, humanity had spread its influence across dozens of colonies. Whether for better or worse, the endlessness of space and distance between worlds and systems had created a slightly militarized government with thousands of warships under its command. Even individual nations held formidable fleets. It had long been assumed that when the time came for humanity to unleash these tools of war it would be upon itself, now things were different. Every ship, rifle, and soldier were now changing its aim, shifting away from the center and against a common enemy; mankind had spent much time producing great quantities of all things that created death and now had the perfect reason to unleash them.
"Still the fact that Commander Hackett has maintained a small flotilla nearby is outstanding in and of itself. It would seem the batarians lack self-awareness and I plan on taking advantage of that flaw," Spencer snapped. He was processing as much information on the enemy as he could, analyzing the facts presented and using it to extrapolate their behavior.
"And what of the turians? Do we know anything about them?" Bonaventura asked, referring to data on the other race held within the packet.
"I'm afraid we know even less about them," Spencer replied, "But the good news is that our analysts have already begun creating a translation for their language as well. The majority of the data being used comes from what the batarians have bothered to write down."
"I see." Was all Bonaventura said. The idea of the batarians being part of some sort of alliance with another race unnerved him greatly. Searching under his desk, the Prime Minister brought up a bottle of wine. He poured himself a generous amount of it, taking a rather large sip from his glass. He graciously offered some to the two naval officers, who politely decline. Leaving his glass unfinished, cognizant of perhaps more than he should have, Bonaventura turned to address them. "Then the next step is clear. All fleets are already on high alert and Parliament has increased military spending. The First and Third fleets have fortified Earth's Relay with the Second and Fourth split between Eden Prime and Terra Nova."
Bonaventura could see it was good news for Dain, knowing that humanity's inner colonies were secured, but was equally frustrated to see the Alliance's skewed priorities. The frontlines were at Shanxi, not Eden Prime or Terra Nova, and giving more time for the batarians to push those frontlines deeper into Alliance territory was a terrifying mistake. A token force of fifty ships, ranging from cruiser to battleships, had been deployed to guard Arcturus from any possible attack with another thirty underway.
Bonaventura knew that if those ships were allowed to join Spencer's command, the relief mission would greatly be sped up. However, he could see both of the naval men present clearly realized those ships were essential in guarding the rear guard in case the mission at Shanxi failed … but still couldn't help but lament over the fact that those ships weren't being mobilized.
"Considering the overall situation," Bonaventura started once again, "I believe it wise to activate half of the Fifth Fleet's battleships and bring its dreadnought to the cause as well."
Those words caught the attention of both naval officers. The heavy firepower those ships could bring to bear was astronomical and to hear them be activated for the upcoming mission was like a godsend. This fundamentally changed the options the QRF could pursue in any possible naval engagement. Dreadnoughts were excellent in providing long-range support while battleships could immolate any opposition on the battlefield. The fact that the Prime Minister was willing to commit all those ships, which played a crucial role in Arcturus' defense, was shocking.
"Are you sure?" Spencer asked, apparently finding it hard to believe his words.
"A hundred percent," Bonaventura responded firmly. "You'll need the extra firepower if the mission is expected to succeed. Parliament will want my head for this, but I don't think that'll make a difference in the long run if we fail. Now if there is nothing else you two are dismissed."
Both naval officers gave a crisp salute before walking out of the office. After exiting the room, Dain paused, struggling between maintain decorum or asking the Admiral a very serious question.
Spencer's keen eyes picked up on the young man's inner turmoil, and took pity. "If you want to ask a question, feel free."
"Sir, do you think even with the additional support that it will be enough?" Dain asked.
Spencer looked at his fellow officer, seeing the doubt in his eyes hidden behind a wall of courage. "Commander, you were there in the system right in the thick of it. You know more than any of us of what to expect. I cannot guarantee Shanxi will end in complete success, but I do know I will try my best to make it so. That is what any of us can do at this point." With the question answered, both officers continued onwards in silence.
Baja
Shanxi
JSF 37th Reserve Battalion
The Falcon transport squadron tried staying in full formation as they flew towards their destination. The sheer number of Falcon transports was a sight to behold, or it would have been if the JSF pilots didn't have to worry about dodging enemy scanners on their AA guns or fighters. The black horizon was illuminated by anti-aircraft fire and burning buildings.
Mitchell, never having seen so many of them at once, was awestruck by the scene. He could just imagine what the enemy must've been thinking when they saw the massive fleet of shuttles fill the dark sky overhead, assuming they were capable of doing so.
In the passenger section, Mitchell watched Ghosts and Pioneers rechecking their gear with as much ease as breathing. One of the Ghosts next to Mitchell, a young private he'd just met, by the name of Nick Salvatore turned to him. "This is where the fun begins eh?" he said with a grin, a New Jersey accent clear in his voice.
Mitchell had learned that Salvatore, despite coming from an Italian family, had enlisted in the JSF rather than the Enforcers. He guessed Salvatore truly believed the UNAS to be his home and would defend it against any threats.
"I guess so," Mitchell replied, grinning as well. It was good to be with his brothers and sisters of the 37th battalion. Though consisting mostly of rookies, the 37th had proven themselves fierce warriors in the many battles plaguing the city.
"You've been marked?" Salvatore asked, meaning if Mitchell had engaged the batarians. It was thanks to General Williams that the JSF, and every human force on the colony, was able to receive intelligence on the enemy such as their biology, species name, and behavioral patterns.
"Yup," Mitchell replied. "I fought on the Sentinel bridges about two days ago." He motioned to the private's SCAR rifle. "You ready to use that weapon, rook?"
"Hell yeah!" Salvatore replied with gusto.
"Good," Mitchell said. "Just check your fire and keep your head down, hoorah!" he saluted the kid with a smile. Even though they were similar in age, Mitchell had experienced more hardship in the last few days than most men did in their lifetimes. The war seemed to have aged him by about 20 years. The dirt and grime covering his face and armor showed the scars of the battles he'd fought in.
From what he could gather, Baja was one of the few central command hubs left standing on the continent. Its entire west coast had fallen to the enemy, but thankfully the batarians weren't able to push any further thanks in part to the range of mountains and tropical forests that had long divided the continent in the center. The only way to maneuver around them was to heard north, across SGB territory. Still that was as far as good news went. The batarians had taken New Denver in the early days of the conflict, reducing the morale of some troops and putting more pressure on Baja. To make matters worse General Chu was confirmed to be KIA. While the situation in other fronts was grim, the JSF refused to surrender; they would die before admitting defeat.
Suddenly a missile flew by, hitting a nearby Falcon. A small explosion followed, but luckily it was only a glancing blow, knocking the transport a bit off course. The Falcons responded by opening fire with their own 35mm Gatling guns.
"WHOA!" A pilot yelled. Mitchell, along with the rest of the men, could hear it on the radio. "We got enemy AA guns firing from the ports!"
"Copy that," the pilot carrying the seventh platoon replied. "Taking evasive actions! All pilots break off and regroup at the secondary LZ at the southwest end of the harbor!" The shuttles changed course, flying over the city while the enemy forces below launched another missile barrage followed by torrents of mass accelerated slugs. None of the shots managed to land a critical hit on any of the mobile shuttles, but a few did come close. It was unnerving for the JSF infantry as they were completely exposed to enemy air support. Luckily the batarian's air campaign in the city had momentarily been halted.
Realizing their enemy held an advantage operating in the darkness, the batarians had decided to hold back their fighters and bombers until dawn, likely for a massive aerial siege that would serve as the knockout blow similar to New Denver. Realizing the inevitable outcome, General Parker had deployed numerous strike teams across the city and region in hopes of capturing critical infrastructure. All assets had been committed from ground troops to aircraft.
Unfortunately, the JSF air forces were too few in number to wage a massive counter-attack, opting instead to conduct limited air strikes and bombing runs where the situation was most critical. The reason being, if the 37th managed to reactivate the city's air defenses, then the North American aircraft would be free to use their minimal numbers to maximum effect, destroying ground assets on the ground completely unrivaled and allowing forces on the ground a chance to mount a counter-offensive. It all came down to this one operation.
The Falcon shook violently, anti-air flak smashing around the shuttle. Dazed, Mitchell could hear the pilot swearing as he fought with the controls of the shuttle transport, flying further into the harbor. Missiles and bullets continued flying past the transport as AA flak exploded around it, causing jarring shudders that wracked the transport. Only the death grip on their seats prevented the infantry inside from falling loose and onto the floor. The Falcon's stealth systems allowed it to avoid enemy targeting missiles, but couldn't defend against 'dummy' rounds. Thankfully, while there were many dummy rounds being used by the batarians, they were too inaccurate to get a critical hit on the Falcons.
Mitchell looked down at the water and noticed that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies floating in the sea, blood darkening the water around them. Even in pitch black darkness the gore was visible through the burning wrecks surrounding the sea graveyard. He swallowed hard. The shock of battle had inured him to the sight of blood, or so he'd thought. The sheer number of bodies in the water couldn't be all military; there had to have been civilians caught in the crossfire. Mitchell pushed down an enraged sensation, saving it for the upcoming fight.
Another bone-jarring explosion shook the Falcon again. "That one was too close!" Foley yelled. "Pilot, how close are we to the harbor?"
"The hell if I'd know!" he replied angrily. "The fucking anti-air is giving me a hell of a time right now!" As if in response, the Falcon shook again, bringing forth another violent string of curses from the pilot as he maneuvered the Falcon towards the harbor, trying to avoid the enemy AA guns. As they neared their LZ, the Falcons took less and less AA fire from the ground.
"This is Major Johnson to the thirty-seventh battalion, we're dropping in ten so get ready!" Johnson's voice resounded in everyone's ears as the soldiers hefted their weapons.
"First squad ready!" Foley yelled, echoed quickly by second, third, and fourth squads.
Mitchell checked the comm. channels and nodded, everyone was online and were delving onboard combat nets through their comm links and synching up for mission data. They've been updated on the terrain, weather conditions, and possible size of the enemy force. The network was already jumping with speculation by the troops, all without words being spoken in the deafening interior of the Falcon.
Reaching its destination in once piece, the Falcon settled just over a charred road beneath them. The restraints keeping the JSF troops in their seats clicked and slid off. The quiet vibration of the Falcon's engines hummed through the interior as the side and rear doors of the transport began opening. With the Falcon still hovering at seventy feet, the infantry began dropping down ropes.
"GO, GO, GO!" Foley, now formally known as a Staff-Sergeant, yelled. Ghosts and Pioneers swung down from their transport, equipping their rifles as their feet touched the ground. Many shuttles did the same, while others chose to physically land. The staggered offloading pattern was standard procedure in case of an enemy ambush or ground assault. This ensured that not all of the battalion would be compromised.
Mitchell grabbed the rope as his turn came and rappelled down, his boots hitting the cold hard pavement. He knelt, equipping his modified SCAR, squinting downrange through his red-dot sight and waited for further orders. During the ride in the shuttle, the battalion had been refitted with new gear and ammunition; all the better since they were tasked with beating the batarians back from the harbor and recapturing the city's uplinks. Due to their quick deployment however, the 37th had been unable to receive translation software on the enemy's language. Mitchell wasn't bothered by it in the slightest; he, like many others, wasn't interested in communicating with the aliens instead motivated to put them down permanently.
Once the entire force had been dropped, the 37th battalion immediately took up defensive positions, sweeping the area as the Falcon transports hurried back to high altitudes and relative safety. The few Raptors deployed with the battalion roared to life as they came online.
Crumbling buildings surrounded them, the high-density commercial and residential housing lying dormant and abandoned. Where people had once walked the streets, socializing and exchanging goods for services, now stood decrepit husks of buildings. Essentially a ghost town. Four platoons of Ghosts spread out, sweeping through the derelict buildings, ensuring there were no hostiles or civilians in the area. True to their name they moved like unseen specters, moving through from building to building with near complete silence.
Twenty minutes past before the rest of the JSF force received an all clear message. Johnson called the rest of the battalion and ordered 6th and 8th platoons to advance. Having scouts guide the main body forward was a time-honored tradition dating back a millennium. The recon force cut along the side of the road, another twenty minutes passing before another all-clear transmission was received.
Immediately, Johnson ordered the rest of the battalion to advance, quickly, but quietly. The 37th battalion took advantage of the advance reconnaissance, running across the road, passing holes and charred remains of vehicles, gunships, and fighters; the sea just off the coast. Since Raptors were both a larger target and lacked the stealth camo fields, they were held back in reserve. The salty air smashed against the JSF troopers as they advanced through the derelict streets. Strangely enough, there were no batarians in sight.
Approximately eighty yards ahead near the middle of the street, a Spartan mobile artillery platform roared to life, shooting its massive cannon on a batarian squad. The 37th's infantry watched, through the feed of a Scryer drone, the artillery rounds tear into an enemy squad, annihilating them completely.
Mitchell assumed the four-eyes must've been either a patrol or were lost in the maze of the massive city since he couldn't see any signs of a large batarian presence in the area. As if to make his observation a lie, the Spartan artillery suddenly erupted into a massive ball of flame, the heat and force of the explosion throwing the nearest JSF infantry back. Two enemy bombers flew by over the city through the smoke, disengaging once their target was destroyed. Luckily for the individual soldiers, their adaptive camos made them practically invisible when they moved or stood still even if they were semi-conscious. Most took heavy advantage of that fact, frequently pausing to blend in the background, something believed to be insane considering the amount of armor and firepower at the fingertips of these soldiers.
Mitchell looked back at the mobile artillery seeing it burning, dismembered, and the crew turned to ash. The sight was horrifying and gruesome for the fresh cadets; but they maintained discipline. Continuing his rush down the street, Mitchell maintained his scanning of the area. The city was outlined in red, fire and smoke sending sparks of flame into the air. Neither the planet's moon nor a single star was visible behind the billowing shroud. The sounds of explosions and firefights echoed through the scarred city.
Bodies of dead soldiers and civilians alike, lying along the intersection at San Beugard Road, drove home the danger the battalion was facing. Looking further ahead, Mitchell saw numerous abandoned vehicles, some of them still having bodies inside of them. Despite the grim sights before him, the mission objective kept his focus. Passing through the metal graveyard, Mitchell noticed it was very quiet. Sounds could be heard originating from miles away, but the area itself appeared to be abandoned. He couldn't hear any noise nearby other than the constant vibration of soldiers' boots clanking against the pavement, but even then, that was barely audible.
To the battalion's left, Mitchell could see the charred remnants of what appeared to be a police station continuing to smoke, on their right stood an untouched, but clearly empty auto shop. When the battalion passed through the commercial district, they came upon a large square. In the middle was large, open grass from many parks with minimal cover. To the sides were parallel streets, each one presenting a viable route to the battalion's destination.
"Okay, we need to cover as much ground as possible. We'll split into five companies of three hundred men each," Johnson ordered. "I'll lead Second and Fifth Companies through Stenson Avenue on the right. Staff Sergeant Foley, you're in charge of First Company. You'll advanced through the street on the left. The Third will be responsible for relaying any vital intel to the other Companies. Fourth will maintain our rear guard and provide covering fir as needed, copy?"
A series of hesitant affirmatives were sounded from the other Company leaders. Even though they agreed this was the best tactical approach, the JSF cadets were still nervous about dividing the force. Mitchell couldn't blame them; no one could tell what they might come across.
Each company served a specific role within the battalion and was organized accordingly. 1st company was the primary fighting force, having a well-balanced mixture of Pioneers and Ghosts, was well equipped for most situations. 2nd company was composed of the dedicated scouts and were lighter equipped as a result. But with 5th company, the battalion's heavily armed infantry force, responsible for maintaining the majority of mortars, missile launchers, and Pioneers, they could give up-to-date information while having the capabilities to order a strike on a high value target. With 3rd company specializing in mechanics, logistics, and communications, they served as the command and control component of the battalion. So, it made sense to place them in the middle of the formation where they were the least vulnerable. The 4th served as the mechanized transport force, having the responsibility of operating the small complement of Raptors they had for the mission.
"First Company on me!" Foley said. The three hundred soldiers of First Company followed the Staff Sergeant's command. The rest of the Companies each followed their own separate orders by their respected leaders.
"We need to pass through the road, so Ice-pick will advance first to make sure the path is clear while the rest provide over watch." Foley addressed First Company with their first orders as a separate unit. Mitchell watched as each soldier in the Company activated their adaptive camos, virtually making the whole force invisible. The slight shimmer in the air was the only indication of JSF presence in the area, but in the darkness that wasn't much help to the enemy at all.
Following Foley, Ice-pick moved unseen through the war-torn street. Squads moved in four-man fire teams, covering each other as they moved from cover to cover. The troopers moved liked the wind, silent and invisible.
"So already a Staff Sergeant and in command of a Company?" Sergeant Dunn whispered. "Someone's moving up the world."
"Dunn, shut the fuck up," Foley bit back in a hushed tone. "Not the time!"
Mitchell, himself having been promoted to Specialist, continued walking carefully behind Foley, wondered what had happen to the civilians that lived here. The rest of the platoon fanned out behind him, weapons at the ready and scanning the area for any sign of enemy combatants. Mitchell felt a bead of sweat running down his back; his combat instinct was going off the chart as his heart rate increased.
"Staff Sergeant, do you get the feeling we're being watched?" Mitchell asked in a shushed whisper.
"I have a feeling the enemy is nearby, but I don't think they're aware of our location. Our adaptive camo should make us invisible to them." The Staff Sergeant replied in an equally hushed whisper.
Mitchell grimaced. Since the enemy was near, the situation became a simple matter of when the fighting would start, not if. The HUD display on his helmet gave the location of the rest of the infantry in the platoon. Salvatore, Dunn, Allen, and a dark-skinned Pioneer by the name of Marcus Brown were only a few feet behind him, their pace equally slow. The rest were a bit further away, but still close enough for Mitchell's helmet to pick up their life signs. Moving forward, the platoon cleared the first house on the right, then the second. Everyone could feel the tension; it hung in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. As the platoon neared the third house, they heard a commotion and decided to investigate.
"Stack up," Foley whispered, giving hand signals to his men. The platoon lined up behind the house door with a few going around the back to see if there was another way in. Foley peered inside through the window and instantly became enraged. Angry snarls from the flanking soldiers indicated their feelings equal to his own.
Inside the home were several batarians, clad in red armor with black stripes, forcing a young woman onto her stomach and restraining her with ropes. Foley saw her face pushed into the floor, screaming in fear; the perceived cowardly action heightened his rage. There were several other women in the house that were visible, two teenage girls and a woman who appeared to be the mother. The older woman seemed to be crying, begging for something Foley couldn't quite make out. Evidentially, her request did not meet with the batarian invader's favor. He bellowed at her in his alien tongue, and then struck her face, sending the woman onto the floor next to the two teenagers. The batarian then went back to his comrades, who were finishing tying up the restrained daughter.
"Staff Sergeant, we're not going to just stand here and watch?" Dunn hissed, his eyes signaling he was moments away from barging in.
Foley kept quiet, analyzing the situation. Based on their armor, he could tell these batarians were from an entirely different set of group than the ones they fought just a few days prior. Those batarians had been wearing bronze colored armor with exceptional training and skill. Foley realized their victory on the Sentinel bridges had been nothing short of a miracle, a fluke even. Whereas those batarians had appeared well-trained, motivated, and battle-hardened these batarians presented an entirely opposite image. There were no proper defense positions laid out or even so much as a patrol or sniper to alert the others in case of attack.
Still, Foley carefully weighed his options. If they engaged the batarians, their cover might be blown and the enemy would know they were coming. If they continued onward, the Company could advance undisturbed, but no doubt the women would be horribly violated and most likely enslaved or killed afterward. He thought about his own family and what he would do to defend them. Just as one of the batarians began undoing the codpiece segments on their lower armor, he made his decision.
"Mitchell, flash bang through the window. Allen, Dunn, prepare to breach and clear. Salvatore and Brown, be prepared to deal with them from the rear, the rest of the squad is going in hot," Foley checked their expressions as he whispered the commands, pride swelling as he saw their reactions. Each face he could see was filled with a mixture of rage and disgust at the batarians' actions. The rest of the platoon held 360-degree security around the house, ensuring the breaching team wouldn't be caught off guard from enemy reinforcements.
"Copy. Be advised, we're at the rear door and ready to breach," Brown replied. He and Salvatore had led a small team around back and had witnessed the scene inside the home thanks to the cross-cam headset.
"Roger that. Watch your fire; civilians are present in the vicinity. All teams, breach on my signal," Foley said.
Mitchell began priming a flash bang grenade in his hands, his heart beat increasing by the second. Dunn and Allen placed a breaching charge on the door and took up positions on the sides, while Mitchell guessed Salvatore and Brown would just bust down the rear door.
"NOW!" Foley shouted. With perfect synchronization, Mitchell tossed the grenade through the window just as it detonated in midair in front of the batarians. Dunn and Allen watched Mitchell's throw, and then detonated the charge on the door, storming inside with all the trained fury of the JSF.
Over the radio, Mitchell could hear the sound of a door being kicked off its hinges. He didn't have much time to dwell on it as he and Foley targeted the batarians, firing short suppressed bursts from their rifles. Caught off guard and blinded from the flash bang, the batarians were easy prey for the Ghosts and Pioneer. Still one managed to land a few hits on Foley's shields, draining them before being killed by Mitchell. The duo then jumped through the window, entering the house with a roll and coming to a kneeled position with their rifles trained on the exit and stairs.
On his helmet-cam, Mitchell saw Salvatore and Brown gunning down the last of the batarians, who were playing some form of card game in the back. A batarian fell back dead on the hallway floor, one of Brown's bursts catching the back of the alien's skull. In an impressive display of skill, Dunn and Allen fired on other batarians, killing them with deadly precision.
Mitchell noticed a batarian descending down the stairs, warned by the gunfire and ready for combat. Once the batarian's eyes fell on the Ghosts he began waving his hands, causing a spherical blue field to warp into existence. Foley fired a burst from his rifle, killing the exposed batarian, but not before the enemy biotic managed to launch his attack. Mitchell leaped sideways in a shoulder charge, ramming into Foley and throwing the staff sergeant aside just as the biotic attack impacted him. Mitchell flew back, hitting the back wall. His shields shimmered, indicating the blast hadn't penetrated through his armor. He sighed in relief.
"Targets neutralized." Mitchell called out loud.
"Staff Sergeant, entry cleared," Dunn yelled across the room.
"Backyard and rear entrance secured," Salvatore said.
"Excellent Work," Foley congratulated. "Mitchell, I'll untie the girl, you go and see what you can get from the family."
Walking over to the family, Mitchell saw the mother protecting her daughters with her body, her back facing him. Kneeling, he tapped the woman on the shoulder. "Ma'am it's alright, the JSF is here."
The woman spun, hesitating a moment with a relieved look on her face, and then lunged at him, arms open wide. She embraced him while she crying on his shoulder.
"Oh, thank god! I thought we were goners, they were going to …," She couldn't continue speaking, thinking of the fate the JSF had spared her. Her eyes caught her daughter, untied and with a blanket covering her exposed body. Without pause, she ran over and hugged her eldest daughter, both crying in relief.
Mitchell turned to see the two teenage girls staring at him in fear. "You guys okay," he asked them. One of them nodded.
"Thank you," she whispered with a slight smile. "For saving us."
Mitchell smiled in response. "No problem."
"Ma'am how many enemy soldiers were here, do you know?" He heard Foley asked the mother.
"About ten," she responded, slightly calmer now. Not wanting to take a chance, Foley ordered two Ghosts to secure the upstairs of the home.
"Do you have other relatives living with you?" Foley asked.
The woman gave a nod. "My husband and son, but they're gone now. Tried to protect us." She said, grieving over the loss of her family. Foley didn't know what to say. All he could do was squeeze her shoulder sympathetically, and gently push her towards her daughters as he moved towards the door.
"Ice-pick on me," Foley ordered. The two JSF squads regrouped and waited for further orders. "I want a squad to remain here and evac these civvies. The rest of you follow me." He looked at the family, now free from the horrors of war. "We have more lives to save."
The Staff Sergeant led the platoon back onto the street, intent on accomplishing their assigned objective. "First Company regroup on me," He ordered through the radio.
"Roger that Staff Sergeant. First Company advancing," a Ghost replied. Mitchell realized it would take some time for the bulk of the force to reach them and until then the platoon was on their own.
"The rest of you weapons tight. We'll do some recon," Foley said curtly.
"You think the enemy knows we're coming?" Mitchell asked, his gaze searching the buildings for any sign of enemy spotters or snipers.
"If they didn't before, they do now," Foley replied bluntly, his response failing to encourage Mitchell.
Mitchell frowned at the platoon's current situation. Stealth was the only real advantage they had over the batarians. While the JSF had better weapons, training, and equipment, the sheer numbers of batarians nullified those advantages. With enemy ships maintaining orbital dominance, the JSF had to rely on small nimble teams to capture or destroy key locations even when the enemy outnumbered them. Any large offensive had to be put on hold until the city's uplinks were secured and the planetary cannons were brought back online. For better or worse, the fate of the city now rested in the hands of the 37th battalion and other JSF strike force teams operating within the city.
Turning right onto Roach Avenue, the distinct sound of an alien sniper round impacting against the shield of a Ghost was suddenly heard, followed by a cry from the injured soldier. Based on the round's trajectory, the platoon deduced it must've come from one of the nearby three-story buildings off to the right.
"Contact. Enemy snipers, get down!" Foley shouted as weapon fire poured onto the platoon from same building.
The platoon responded initiatively, throwing smoke grenades and taking cover where they could before returning fire. Mitchell dove behind a vehicle, hoping the protection could stand up against the enemy's fire. As a squad of batarians wielding missile launchers came into view on the edge of the roof, Dunn and Brown fired their heavy weapon armaments, the feared Fire Spitters. Their rockets soared across the air, detonating right in front of the enemy engineers. The rest of Ice-pick opened fire with their SCARs.
"Anyone know how the fuck we're being spotted in our active cameos?" Allen barked.
"Probably through biometric scanners, motion sensors, or the fact we just had a literal firefight a few seconds ago," Foley shouted.
"Surely you jest, sir." Allen jokingly replied, firing his weapon in single-shots. "Maybe they are utilizing some meta-physical state we mere mortals cannot understand."
"Or perhaps they're just psychics," Dunn added.
"NOT THE FUCKING TIME ASSHOLES!" Foley barked, quickly running out of patience for his platoon's antics.
Mitchell ignored the banter and equipped his M120 with a 20x magnification scope and armor piercing rounds. He peered through the scope, selecting his target, and fired two rounds in the center of an enemy soldier's chest. The enemy's shields shimmered before collapsing and Mitchell fired a final killing shot. As the last round ended the batarian's life, his peripheral vision detected more batarians emerging from cover. He ducked back behind the car, just as his fellow Pioneers opened fire, triple-barreled SAW's ripping into the hardy stonework protecting the batarians.
"Pioneers, focus fire on those buildings!" Foley bellowed over the noise of the firefight. Four JSF engineers responded, firing another rocket salvo, practically tearing the building apart.
More enemy soldiers poured out of the buildings, weapons blazing, trying to catch the Ghosts and Pioneers in a pincer move. Luckily for Ice-pick, the majority combat element of First Company managed to arrive just as the enemy infantry began their rush. Mitchell was relieved at the sight of reinforcements. He shifted aim, providing covering fire while the approaching Pioneers split into two groups. The first group added fire to his, forcing the batarians to take cover under the high-output terror spitting from their SAWs. The second group opened up with their Fire Spitters, disorienting the batarians with the concussive force. Several Ghosts snipers began targeting the few batarians brave enough to venture returning fire.
Mitchell threw a frag grenade towards the batarians. He watched it detonate in front of an enemy combatant, sending batarian body parts flying everywhere. The steady fire on the other flank from Allen and Salvatore held the other batarians in check. Tan tracer rounds flew forth like angry wasps looking for a body to sting. Mitchell caught sight of a Ghost getting hit by an alien machine-gun burst. Despite the volume of fire, He ran over to the young soldier, dragging the injured soldier to safety and miraculously not getting hit in the process.
As Mitchell tended to the wounded Ghost, he caught a glimpse of the planetary cannons a few hundred yards straight ahead, guarded by two battalions of enemy soldiers, who were now taking defensive positions.
"Staff Sergeant, enemy hostiles inbound!" He yelled, pointing with his finger at the fast approaching batarians soldiers.
"This is Staff Sergeant Foley to all Company leaders; we're within visual range of primary objective. I repeat we're in visual range of the cannons!"
"Sergeant Foley, this is Captain Gonzalez of Fourth company, we're three hundred fifty yards from your position and closing in over."
"Lieutenant Blanco here, the Major has taken a sniper round to his jaw and can't talk right now, Second and Third companies are cutting around the batarian position. We'll try to outflank and box them in, but it may take some time before we're in position over,"
"I copy, over. We'll try to press forward and get as close to the cannons as possible," Foley replied. It relieved the soldiers of First Company that with a plan now in action, recapturing the cannons may not be such a difficult task. No doubt the combined force would be more than enough to drive the batarians back.
"Okay people, platoons one through seven are going straight in. Eighth platoon, I want you to flank the enemy and keep enemy squads separated. Ninth and tenth, provide covering fire for the rest of the Company. Priorities are heavy troopers, communication specialists, and officers. Wait for my signal." Foley ordered.
Waiting for the right moment to launch his counteroffensive, Foley watched as the majority of batarian soldiers reloaded their weapons signaling the perfect time to strike. "NOW!" He bellowed.
The momentary pause of suppressive fire gave the Company the perfect opportunity to respond. The batarians, despite having the advantage in numbers, were shocked at the incoming barrage of bullets, rockets, and grenades pummeling their position. Some batarians dove into cover while others returned fire wildly in the general direction of the JSF troopers.
The batarians were too shocked to register a JSF squad, Casino with their full array of weapons, circling around their positions. When they were behind several squads of batarians, Casino's Pioneers swept into the battlefield firing on the surprised enemy troopers. The members of Casino took cover behind barrels, crates, civilian vehicles, and even corners of buildings as they created a tide of rounds. Mitchell could feel the momentum shift as he gripped his rifle tightly, the constant recoil of the weapon smacking against his shoulder.
With the aliens' progress checked, Foley rallied his men. Mitchell and the rest of First Company kept up the pressure, pushing the invaders back despite the overwhelming numbers. One backpedaling batarian was caught with a Fire Spitter rocket dead center in the chest, the majority of his body disappearing in ash. The street's very foundations shook as several rockets from Pioneers were launched at the batarians.
"MOVE! MOVE!" Foley shouted to the soldiers as he fired.
Mitchell's ears were filled with the sound of rifles blaring, yells from the Company's infantry, and the vibration of hundreds of boots banging against the asphalt. The batarian's fire, in comparison, was intermittent and weak at best. A few, small batarian security teams quickly rushed into the street to deal with the advancing JSF troopers, but they were picked apart by the Ghosts' deadly accuracy. Taking advantage of the lack of fire, the Company charged through the street.
After firing his SCAR and killing a few batarians, Mitchell reloaded his rifle as he took cover behind a stone barrier. He assumed it was put there by the previous JSF taskforce deployed to defend the guns. Then he saw them ….
All along the harbor laid dozens of ruined JSF vehicles surrounded by even more dead soldiers. The JSF troopers had defended the area to their last breath, committed to their mission, people, and race. The smears of their blood stained the very ground he walked on as he stared at the fallen. To add insult to injury, some of the bodies appeared to be looted while others had obviously been dragged through the streets, the heavily irritated skin of the dead soldiers providing clear evidence. The sight enraged Mitchell as he fought [1]to keep himself controlled. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he turned to see Brown.
"Nothing you can do about them mate. If you want to honor them, then make sure they didn't die in vain." The massive man didn't appear to be fazed by the numerous bullets whizzing by him as he calmly reloaded his SAW and responded back. Mitchell thought that the man was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.
Still, the Pioneer had made a good point and Mitchell hadn't come all this way to be killed by simple recklessness. Regaining his senses, he responded as a Ghost should with a clear head and accurate fire. As he focused on the battle, he realized that this was their small window of opportunity. Far ahead, Mitchell saw several batarians bringing forward heavier firepower and were beginning to respond with rocket fire of their own. If the rear of the batarian element managed to recover before the JSF could secure enough ground, then his Company would be completely wiped out in the street. This motivated Mitchell into fighting even harder, killing batarians at a rapid pace.
Luckily no enemy armor had been spotted yet, making Mitchell believe that the batarians hadn't been expecting an all-out attack. Still he didn't get cocky; the bridge overhead was a great place for enemy snipers or a mortar team to fire on exposed infantry. Fallen debris acted as natural blockades, narrowing each side's capability to maneuver. Overall the area was a perfect location for a truly entrenched defense. Regardless, the firefight erupted into several warehouses and fishing stores nearby, further destroying the city's infrastructure.
As the Company continued to advanced, resistance began to stiffen. Batarian reinforcements began to respond in strength from the harbor. The Ghosts were destroying entire squads, but were unable to turn the tide. The batarians were fast to take cover, their gun emplacements firing on the JSF infantry. First Company reacted efficiently as one, Ghosts and a few Pioneers firing a quick volley of rounds from their SCARs, the bullets soaring through the air and killing a good number of batarians.
Suddenly a large explosion detonated near Mitchell's position, making him cringe at the blast. He watched as two Ghosts were shredded by a similar explosion, pumping crimson mist into the air. Mitchell became slightly nauseated at the gruesome sight as debris was flung everywhere.
"Enemy mortars!" He warned, barely able to force the vomit back down his throat.
Heavy shells began erupting from the bridge, the smoke trails barely visible in the black sky. They impacted around the street, causing Mitchell's ears to ring. He began to wonder if there was a chance that he might go deaf. Concerns about his hearing faded into anger, as he saw nearly half the infantry that had survived this far get killed under the barrage.
"Staff Sergeant, I can take a small team to eliminate the mortars?" Mitchell suggested, more of a question for a permission than a demand. Foley glanced at him, then up at the bridge before jerking his thumb at Salvatore and Brown. Mitchell gave a nod, fully understanding the Staff Sergeant's hand signals.
"Salavtore, Brown on me!" He ordered. Quickly, the three men broke off from the rest of the Company and headed left where they crossed onto the next street. Mitchell, scanning the area, came upon an escalator connected to the bridge. He mentally cursed; this street would have provided an excellent flanking option if not for the wreckage of vehicles and buildings blocking the way ahead.
Without verbal orders being given, the JSF squad started rapidly ascending the motionless escalator. Once they reached the top, Mitchell turned right, catching his first glimpse of the enemy mortar crews firing upon the JSF position below. Immediately, he and his squad opened fire. Caught off guard, the batarians were easy prey for Mitchell's team. Several bursts of SCAR and SAW rounds shredded every batarian within range. Lacking cover and heavy firearms, the batarians were easily eliminated; the JSF troopers continuing to approach the center of the bridge.
Looking below, he could see the next wave of batarian reinforcements arriving from the west and joining their embattled comrades. The newly arrived batarians began setting up turrets in an attempt to wrest fire superiority from the JSF. From his recently-won position, Mitchell could see Allen and Dunn destroying several turrets with a combination of rocket and sniper rifle fire, but that didn't deter the batarians from bringing up more. From his vantage point, Mitchell realized he had a great position to pin down the enemy. Of course, height advantage was useless without sufficient firepower. SCARs were efficient in close to mid-range combat, but from this distance they'd be akin to spitting. Then, his eyes caught the batarian mortar emplacements already set up on the bridge, formerly raining death upon his comrades
"Alright, we're going to use the enemy's weapons against them," He explained, running towards the mortars.
"That'll make for a nasty surprise," Salvatore said, jogging close behind Mitchell.
As the two Ghosts began moving up the mortar, Brown took the opportunity to reload his SAW. Once properly set up, the mortars began unloading death on the batarians below. While a single mortar was somewhat ineffective, it was soon bolstered by Brown's rapid-fire SAW. The mortar and the SAW firing in unison managed to eliminate a few enemy positions, but it was not enough to suppress the advancing batarians. At the very least, however, Mitchell's fire support gave the rest of the Company a bit of breathing room. It began regaining momentum as Mitchell saw them beginning to push forward.
"Mitchell, is there any way you can cover our advance?" Foley's voice came over the radio.
Clearly the man wanted every lit bit of covering fire he could get, and Mitchell couldn't blame him. Looking around, he came across several smoke grenades lying in crates. An idea immediately sparked in his head. He hoped it would have the desired effect. "Staff Sergeant Foley, have the Company switch to thermal," he said.
"Roger. First Company switch to thermals," Foley ordered.
"Salvatore, get every single smoke grenade inside that cache," Mitchell ordered, pointing to the crate.
"Roger," Salvatore grunted, running over and picking up several smoke grenades. He handed one to Mitchell, who in turn loaded the small sphere-shaped shell into the mortar before pressing the trigger. The mortar coughed its surprisingly mellow burst, and they began reloading.
"Seems the four-eyes are getting agitated," Brown called. His warning wasn't necessary, due to the increased number of enemies shifting their fire on the bridge. Most of the rounds impacted the bridge's railings; however, some ricocheted off of Brown's armor and shields. Mitchell was proud to note the barrage didn't deter Brown from continuing to fire his SAW on the enemy.
With another smoke grenade loaded, Mitchell and Salvatore fired the mortar, the smoke grenade traveled in an upward arc before going straight down like a rollercoaster. Impacting the ground below, the street started to become shrouded in a blanket of artificial smoke. Hexachloroethane-zinc and granular aluminum composite reaction filled the air, giving the unit cover as they quickly began moving and laying down a pattern of covering fire into the smoke.
"Keep it up, Mitchell." Foley encouraged. Mitchell complied, firing off twelve more smoke grenades. Even from his elevated position, he couldn't see anything below. The entire street seemed to be clouded in a deep fog.
"Thanks for the cover. First company, advance forward!" Foley ordered.
Suddenly a new voice cut in on the frequency. "Sergeant Gonzalez here, I figure you boys may need a hand," the newcomer said.
Looking behind, Mitchell saw the entirety of 4th Company arriving with a few Raptors at their side. The hums of the Raptors' engines were as smoothing as they were exhilarating. He saw them advancing behind 1st company, cutting large swaths of air with their .50 caliber machineguns, before losing them in the dense smoke. The sound of explosions and constant gunfire was the only indication of the raging fire fight occurring below. Mitchell noticed the JSF tan tracer rounds were emitting a golden glow through the dense fog as they soared towards their targets. He guessed the rounds were visible to the enemy, but did little to give away any exposed JSF soldier.
"Right, so now that's done how are we going to get down there?" Brown asked, peering down at the roiling smoke uneasily.
"Simple we rappel down," Mitchell answered with a smirk, clipping a carabiner onto the bridge's railing. Salvatore and Brown did the same, leaning away from it once their feet were firmly pressed against its main structure.
"Now let's get down there," Mitchell said, fast roping into the raging battle below. Both Brown and Salvatore followed close behind.
The moment his boots hit the pavement, Mitchell unclipped the carabiner and equipped his SCAR. He could hear Brown and Salvatore grunting as they reached the ground. Moving in an arrowhead formation, Mitchell taking point, the three dashed across the street to provide fire support for the two companies. Luck seemed to be with them, the defending enemy didn't notice his squad approaching from the left flank, through the still-thick smoke. Sprinting into range, the small squad opened fire. The sudden assault caught the batarian's attention. Mitchell and his squad shredded nearly a half-dozen enemy soldiers before they had to take cover and reload. He heard a low pitch growl rise from an enemy officer, who seemed to be directing the attack. The leader had a squad break off and engage the JSF team.
Mitchell had been hoping for just that.
His team advanced hard and fast, the squad's blazing guns taking some pressure off of the platoons. His group split the enemy squad's like a wedge, forcing the aliens to take cover behind anything reasonably sturdy.
He smirked at the success of the maneuver; the breathing space allowed his team to regroup while simultaneously throwing the batarians off balance. The smoke was rapidly dissipating though, making both sides rely on night vision. To one side, Salvatore fired a grenade launcher repeatedly, sparks emanating from underneath the SCAR he carried. The explosions froze the opposition for only a brief moment.
Their response to that hesitation was a powerful missile barrage. The majority missed as his squad ducked, missiles detonating behind them. Mitchell turned to see the damage out of perverse curiosity; the missiles had destroyed a supermarket.
"Brown, you and I are going to hit their leader!" Mitchell grunted. Brown gave a nod, throwing another grenade and forcing some batarians back. The fire-team was becoming increasingly unpopular with the batarians, if Mitchell was any judge, the comparatively small group defiantly holding their own against enormous odds. The two JSF soldiers then concentrated their fire on the four-eyed officer, who was bobbing and juking through cover to avoid the withering rounds. Salvatore was attempting to cover his teammates with little success; a single meager rifle was rarely able to match the firepower of five more.
"Come on boys! Let's show these four eyes what happens when you mess with the JSF!" Mitchell yelled. His squad bellowed approval, letting loose a series of bellows of support.
He had chosen his moment well. The batarians had overextended themselves, not expecting a counterattack, and were now paying for that oversight. Their failing cover exposed them to the team, vulnerable to a vicious response. Almost gleefully, the JSF trio began picking them off with greater and greater frequency. Missiles and common rounds flew in both directions, making Mitchell wonder how the city could sustain this level of abuse. Despite their heavy losses, the batarians maintained superior numbers keeping the fight far from over.
Mitchell, with Brown and Salvatore at his side, rallied a number of Ghosts to a flanking position, once again pushing the aliens back. The Raptors rumbled forward, adding to their firepower to the fight and sending massive amounts of tungsten soaring into the batarians ranks. Fighting hard, Mitchell's squad managed to regroup with Foley's around another split-push, the two beginning to coordinate their fire effectively.
A burst of enemy fire penetrated through Mitchell's shields, the impact noticeable through the protective armor. He cringed but kept moving; he hadn't realized he'd been taking heavy fire; the adrenaline pumping through his system must have numbed the sensation. Taking a moment, he checked his HUD map. Crimson dots cascaded around the small blue triangle representing his meager force, multiplying in greater numbers as the distance increased. The realization made him shudder; despite the best efforts of his squad, the sheer volume of alien reinforcements was checking the JSF's progress, forcing them to find cover or risk being torn to pieces. As if in emphasis, the very air next to him sizzled with the crisscross of live fire.
The batarians seemed to sense the shifting momentum, pushing harder for the kill and sacrificing bodies for space. At this point, it was a matter of mathematics, the enemy had more soldiers than the JSF and both sides knew it. Mitchell could hear the gruff barking of a new officer, directing individual batarians into better positions. The batarians pressed their attack, setting the JSF force back on their heels.
"Staff Sergeant Foley, be advised. Enemy armor closing in on your position," the sound of General Parker's voice came through Mitchell's helmet.
"Copy that. Got any more good news?" Foley growled.
"Unfortunately, yes. Enemy Corvette is setting up firing solutions on your position! Get that cannon back online now, Staff Sergeant! You only have twelve minutes; I have a squadron of Stingers and Spirits attempting to distract it, but they can't hold on for long," the General answered.
"Roger, we'll get it done!" Foley said before cutting the link. "Alright, you heard the man. We only have twelve minutes before this place becomes a graveyard, so let's make sure it's one for the four eyes!"
The JSF force pushed forward with a new sense of urgency, firing in near unison. Rounds flew from the JSF weapons like vengeful hornets, kicking up little puffs of dust from the ground. The overwhelming firepower not only stopped the batarian advance, but started to push them back. The entire battlefield seemed to be one giant tug-a-war to Mitchell. Each side had taken control of the battle only for the other side to steal it.
"We're almost there!" Foley yelled. "Only a few hundred batarians now!"
Suddenly two Raptors exploded, crushing two Pioneers under the debris.
"Enemy tanks!" Mitchell warned, seeing four of the alien hover-tanks approaching. The leading machines belched fire, resembling the ancient tales of dragons, albeit in squat form. Taking cover, Mitchell cursed. At this point, the hover-tanks were becoming increasingly infuriating. While easily picked off, their maneuverability was more than supplementing their weakness.
"Pioneers, that's your cue!" Foley shouted. Thankfully, this time, the enemy didn't have overwhelming armor, the four hover-tanks being more than outmatched by the sixty remaining Pioneers. The hover-tanks seemed to realize this and took advantage of their maneuverability once again, dancing up and down in defiance of the heavy weapons. The Pioneers couldn't get a lock on the enemy tanks, providing cover for the now-advancing batarians. The Raptors did assist in slowing the enemy's progress down, but their weapons were dangerously close to overheating.
"Pioneers scatter fire! One fires high, the other low," Foley yelled, trying to find shelter from the hover-tanks' barrage. Mitchell found the idea to be solid, and even though his shields were about to collapse, he smiled at the batarian's soon to be demise.
The Pioneers, following suit, fired two volleys of rockets with one soaring straight ahead at the batarian infantry and the other into the air. The hover-tanks found themselves trapped as the two incoming volleys clipped them of their advantage. Two hover-tanks were destroyed in the air, one of them landing on top of an advancing batarian platoon in a gruesome end. Another hover-tank was destroyed on the ground, while the last one fell back.
Before Mitchell could blink the entirety of the batarian line was incinerated by a colossal series of explosions. Plumes of flames burst into the night sky, reaching hungrily for the stars before evaporating in the air. Even four hundred feet away from the blasts, Mitchell was still thrown back, now firmly convinced he was clearly deaf despite the helmet protecting his head, the constant ringing in his ears not going away. Several Ghosts and Pioneers seemed to have the same occur to them as they struggled to their feet.
As the shockwaves from the explosions rumbled past Mitchell, he could hear the comparatively subdued roaring of JSF Spirits flying by. He mentally swore to never to say a bad thing about the Air Force. His attention was caught by the pained shouts of the enemy, echoing through the harbor as they burned to death. A few Ghosts attempted to line up a few shots, only to be stopped by the rest of the Company, the batarians' suffering apparently serving as retribution for the lives they had taken and the sins they have committed.
"Ice-pick lead, Scythe-lead here, can you confirm enemy casualties?" One of the pilots asked.
"Scythe-lead," Foley called, Mitchell hearing appreciation working its way into the Staff Sergeant's words. "Targets are burning."
"Copy that Ice-pick lead," the pilot replied, the Spirits becoming invisible in the sky. "Returning back to base, have a good one, over."
Before Foley could respond, another voice cut into the channel.
"Staff Sergeant Foley, this is Second and Third companies checking in. Hope you liked our gifts to the party, over." Lieutenant Blanco said.
Mitchell involuntarily turned to see where the radio transmission had come from, saying a silent thanks. To his right, he saw a group of waving soldiers from the top of the harbor's highway.
"Blanco, you cheeky bastard, I owe you one," Foley said, Mitchell hearing relief in his superior's tone, now that their opposition completely annihilated.
"You can thank me by getting those cannons up. I see an enemy Corvette approaching and it looks mad!" Blanco responded.
Foley grew wide-eyed, remembering the urgency of the situation. "C'mon JSF we have to move!" A Raptor approached, slowing only to pick up Foley's squad and raced towards the cannons. The rest of the JSF force followed on foot at a slower rate.
The Raptor came to a stop, power sliding on the street in a spray of gravel. Mitchell and the rest of the squad barged out of the Raptor, sprinting at top speed towards the cannons' uplink structures. Rushing through the demolished doors, the squad entered the uplink and began bringing power back online. The batarians, thankfully, were too arrogant to destroy the uplink completely.
Dunn and Brown reached the station that controlled all the hardware, a series of consoles and terminals lining the walls. With haste, the two Pioneers danced their fingers across the controls, tapping commands on the console. The uplink's main screen showed the enemy Corvette fast approaching, gunships and fighters emerging from its bays. The rest the squad took cover where they could, their rifles trained on the entrance. Even with two companies guarding the uplink from the outside, Mitchell guessed Foley didn't want to take a chance being caught exposed.
"General Parker, Staff Sergeant Foley here. We've reached the cannons and are awaiting activation codes, over." It took all the composure for Foley not to demand the codes from the General right then and there.
"Roger, activation codes are as follows: Zero Hotel Nine Seven Bravo AB Four." The General began, sounding strangely calm. The rest of the activation code was relayed with the Pioneers limited only by the speed of their hands to insert it into the terminals.
"Copy, codes confirmed. Inserting activation codes!" Dunn yelled, sweat pouring down his face. Mitchell noticed he wasn't the only one sweating, the others feeling the same stress. The entire squad was high on adrenaline as the Corvette neared ever closer.
"Cannons coming online," Dunn reported. On screen, the massive cannons began powering up and locking onto enemy space and air forces.
"Let's see the fireworks." Brown said, stepping outside the uplink.
All across the harbor, dozens of planetary cannons and AA batteries came online. The enemy Corvette, approaching from the west with a large contingent of fighters and bombers, was caught unaware as the planetary cannons opened fire. The AA batteries' fired hundreds of Disruptor torpedoes and Interceptor missiles skyward. Enemy bombers and fighters tried in vain to evade the carnage, but were soon destroyed with the massive quantity of ordnance, their wrecks crashing into the sea or onto land without discrimination. Without the cover provided by those aircraft, the enemy Corvette was completely vulnerable, a few dozen remaining torpedoes slamming into its kinetic barriers. The ship's barriers collapsed under the strain of the torpedoes, with several managing to severely damage the hull. It seemed the Corvette was too slow to activate its GARDIAN defenses as it stood like a frozen giant awaiting execution.
Then, the planetary cannons came into play. The coils, set in a rectangular array, began glowing dark yellow as their charges built up. With a massive screech, four 600-kilogram shells traveling at 0.32% of light, slammed into the corvette's hull, the rounds gutting the ship in half and outright destroying it. The harbor's other defenses came online and fired on the two retreating enemy Frigates, landing hits with an excessive number of rounds. They met the same fate as the Corvette, becoming expensive masses of scrap metal.
Mitchell shouted victoriously, cheering as loudly as he could. The massive fireballs over Baja were the signals to all human forces that the tide was turning. The city's horizon, for once since the war began, was illuminated against the dark shroud that enveloped it.
"Merry Christmas, you four eyed bastards!" Dunn hollered in joy, sticking his middle fingers in defiance. Mitchell shared the same gun-ho attitude, having achieved the impossible. In their immediate joy, no one bothered to correct the Sergeant of the actual date.
"General Parker, mission is completed. Planetary cannons are back online," Foley reported in.
"Roger, Staff Sergeant. Confirmed kill on enemy ships. All primary threats neutralized. Enemy forces are in full retreat. Staff Sergeant, you and your men have earned some rest, great job JSF." Parker replied.
"Copy that, General." Foley said before lifting his rifle in the air. Before him, hundreds of JSF troopers copied his action, cheering at the tops of their lungs. Overhead, Dozens of Stingers and Spirits soared overhead and filled the sky, taking full advantage of the regained air superiority and hammering fortified enemy positions. It was the beginning of the end for the invaders.
Baja
Shanxi
Archon command vehicle
In his Archon command vehicle, General Parker couldn't help but smile at the success of his men. The cadets of the 37th had truly earned their talons. Activating his communication system, he delivered the message for which every JSF trooper was no doubt waiting for.
"This is General Parker of the JSF to all friendly units; we are no longer on the defensive. I repeat we are no longer on the defensive! Consolidate and counter attack. The four eyes are retreating and I want us at their heels!" He then had the message play on a loop, hoping word would quickly spread.
"Sir, incoming priority message!" shouted one of the officers.
"Let's hear it."
"General Parker, this is Major Keating. We have captured an HVT, I repeat we have captured an enemy HVT."
Parker was immediately intrigued. "Major Keating, I read you. Can you be more specific?"
"Yes. We have what appears to be an enemy combatant. An officer to be exact. Its uniform and armor are of a higher grade than that of regular batarians and we have begun interrogating it."
"What have you managed to find out?"
"At the moment, only its name. Turik' Han. We believe the batarian to be a 'he', if their biology plays by the same rules as ours. So far, he has been quiet, neither outright resisting nor cooperating fully. We'll get back to you once we've gathered more useful information."
"Copy, Major. Do whatever you need to short of outright torturing him. That has never been a reliable tactic and won't be now. Find more on his personal history, maybe an old rival left him to die and we can use that to our advantage."
"Affirmative, General. Over and out."
Parker realized what a major advantage this was. Either the batarian could be used as a bargaining chip or a source of information. Regardless, the tide was changing and he would make sure to capitalize.
HSS Cursed Soul
Dreadnought
Command Deck
Off the Coast of Gian, Shanxi
"WHAT!? Toren's bellowing tone filled the command deck. The invasion had not been going well. In fact, it was experiencing many setbacks. First, Admiral Ban had attempted usurping command of the fleet, then there had been a confusion about his rightful ship placement, and … now this?
"Are you telling me, the humans have actually bested one of our own forces, and secured an entire city!" Toren's rage was rapidly growing past the generous limitations the crew had been given weeks ago. One of his most trusted officers, Amon, had perished in the fighting with the sneaking group of humans, and now he was being informed of the enemy's success! This was a clear blow to his pride. He would not stand for it.
He hadn't bothered informing Ban of General Han's death in the initial assault, believing it a task beneath him. Even though Ban was an Admiral in the Hegemony, Toren was greatly offended that the batarian in question dared to order him around like a subordinate. It was he, not Ban, who had found the primitives and as such, only he should reap the greatest rewards.
The slaver, who had delivered the news, couldn't stop from shaking, all too aware of Toren's brutal reputation. The stories told nearly rivaled those of Admiral Ban's youth, terrifying as the idea was. "It would seem so. We've also lost two Na'hesit frigates and a corvette. They failed to stop the cannons from coming online."
"And which humans were responsible for that!" Toren demanded. "I'm hearing reports of different sets of uniforms; the primitives are better organized than we'd thought." He carefully avoided any reference to his own lack of efforts in reconnaissance. "Don't tell me there's another faction?"
"The ones wearing tan armor, sir." The slaver was glad for a non-threatening answer for a change.
Toren scowled. "Do you have any other good news or are you really as useless as you seem!"
"N-no … sir, but there is one more thing." the slaver stuttered.
"Then speak and be out with it." Toren exercised a considerable amount of will, reigning in his temper.
"We've managed to acquire a sizeable sum of slaves from the city, a mix of males and females. They are being outfitted with implants right now."
Toren gave a wicked smile. "Excellent, that is good news." The smile grew. "I believe I should personally inspect the merchandise, to ensure they meet our standards."
The slaver spoke. "Sir, may I ask what about our forces in the city?"
"What about them?" Toren turned a curious eye to the map.
"If they do not receive aid, or orders to evacuate, they will surely be killed. Or perhaps captured … the primitives are dangerous enough without gaining information about us."
Toren raised his chin. "Their orders were to secure the city, and they gave me their word it could be done with the forces allotted to them." The dangerous grin came back. "If they were so competent, they would not need more resources …" He glanced around the command deck. "Let that be a lesson to all of you. Do not promise what you cannot give."
"What if we request Admiral Ban for-" The slaver made a huge mistake.
Toren silenced him with a single look. The slaver whimpered at the anger burning in his eye. "The subject is closed; our purpose here is to gain slaves. Now, make yourself useful and bring in more!"
"Sir, experiencing stress when communicating with Admiral Ban is understandable, but-" A shot impacting his head silenced the slaver. He fell on his back, blood oozing from his skull.
Toren stood, glaring at the people surrounding his chair, while holding a smoking pistol. The room was deadly quiet. "Does anyone else wish to question my orders?"
No one spoke.
Satisfied, Toren regained his seat. "Get this abomination out of my sight."
Two guards approached, respectfully tilting in the proper manner. Between the two of them, his floor was clean once more.
A/N: Well, I hope everyone has enjoyed this chapter and brought some much-needed plot advancement. To avoid confusion Toren believes Han to have died in the initial assault on the city and didn't even bother to confirm his status. Looks like that is about to come to bite him in the ass. Anyways I am glad to say that we are at the last stages for this arch. Stay tuned for more.
Trivia:
1. The title is a tribute to the JSF's motto, ' High-Speed, Low Drag.'
2. If you remember in his introduction, Dain was drinking a cup of coffee and complained about its taste and wished the Alliance could brew better quality? Well, it seems he got his wish in the worst possible conditions. Moral of the story: Be careful what you wish for.
3. I wish this chapter was up on New Year's in order for Dunn's statement to have a bigger impact!
4. Sergeant Blanco's original name was Blank meant to act as a placeholder before being changed to Bhlanke to finally settling on Blanco.
5. We have Keating from Ghost Recon making another cameo appearance.
6. If you paid close attention to the dialogue and the story thus far, you will realize Turik Han was the General that narrowly avoided death in Guardians of Freedom.
7. Reaper flight from Tom Clancy's H.A.W.X was originally supposed to take Scythe's role, however, I decided to switch it for reasons that will be shown in the final battle.