SSV Normandy, Deep Space
September 9th, 2186
"Do you see that… in the distance?" A gloved finger stabbed at the glass viewport to indicate the looming speck out in space.
Garrus Vakarian tilted his head, pressing it against the viewport as best he could. In the distance he could see a shadowy piece of what looked like debris, and that was it. He turned back to face the younger quarrian girl with a confused flare to his mandibles, "I believe so… yes?"
"That is the system's mass relay… if we can get a closer look at it once Joker is done discharging the drive core's static we can tell if all the relays were damaged as badly as the one in the Serpent Nebula. Then we can begin to understand what happened to the Relays to damage them like this, and perhaps how to repair them."
A soft chuckle filled the cabin, underlined by the amused subtones of Garrus' voice. "I'll leave that to you and Adams, Tali. I'll make sure to give Joker the order to take us by it once he's done, though." Garrus pulled away from the viewport that lined one of the walls in his new Captain's quarters and began to mill across the floor. He wasn't entirely comfortable living in here, and it was clear by the fact that he hadn't brought many of his belongings up here. The limited wardrobe that he had on the Normandy had been squeezed into the closet alongside Shepard's old clothes. His datapads were scattered around his desk, stacked ontop of datapads, printouts, and other items left behind by Shepard. "I can't help but feel like she'd have some grand plan for how to get the Relay's back online. She'd intimidate some scientist or go head to head with some officer and cannibalize another ship's drive core to reignite the relays or something. Instead she leaves me in charge without so much as a handbook."
Garrus' musings were interrupted by a sharp and heavily accented laugh from Tali'zorah who had made her way over to where he was standing, her bright white eyes stared up at him from behind her foggy helmet. "I do not think even Shepard would have an easy time with this predicament, saera. You are doing the best that you can do." The diminutive girl wrapped her arms around Garrus' waist and allowed her helmeted head to rest on his chest.
Awkwardly Garrus returned the hug and found a place of his arms to rest, one going over her shoulder to wrap around her back while the other went under her arm to likewise support her. His mandibles flared as he stared at her, finally cocking one eye and asking "Saera? I'm not familiar with that word, I've never heard you use it."
"Oh." Tali's voice was sharp and coated in sudden embarrassment, "It uh… it is an old quarrian word of endearment. It is meant for… erm… it is meant for the one you are with."
"What's the translation?"
"Oh… erm… it means my soul's soul, it is typically used for quairan lifemates, I am sorry if—"The younger woman's nervous ramblings were cut off when Garrus pressed his mandibles against the forehead of her helmet in a symbolic kiss—the sentiment of which immediately silenced Tali. Finally, when she spoke again her voice was soft and calm, "I miss Shepard too, Garrus… I wish she were here to help us with this."
"We have successfully entered the effective range of the planet's magnetic field, Flight Lieutenant Moreau."
"How many times do I have to tell you to shove the 'Flight Lieutenant' shit and just call me Joker, Hammer?" An over exaggerated sigh came through the CIC over the 1MC as Joker descended into melodramatics at Serviceman Hammer's insistence to call him by his rank—likely an intentional jab at the helmsman just to irk him.
Ashley Williams stood over the Galaxy Map, standing on the command podium that overlooked the CIC and offered a glimpse into the cockpit. Garrus had told her that he was going to take some personal time and had asked her to take the deck while they initiated the static discharge. As XO it was technically her responsibility to oversee the CIC in his absence anyways, but Ashley itched while she was on the podium. She longed to be three decks below getting into bullshit with the other marines—no doubt exactly what James Vega was presently doing.
"Commander Williams," the familiar voice of Natasha Arnette cut through the din of chatter in the CIC with ease, drawing Ashley's attention in her direction. "Sensors are reading no other vessels in the area and are picking up no signals in this area. Recommend we retract all sensors and weapons and begin static discharge when you're ready."
"Thank you Lieutenant Arnette. Lieutenant Mangin, begin powering down all of our sensory equipment."
"Aye aye, Commander." The young woman replied, her hands dancing over the console before her.
"Operations Chief Ivey, begin powering down all exterior weapons systems."
"Affirmative Ma'am."
And like that the CIC was ablaze, officers darting between duty stations ensuring that each of their respective arrays were deactivated and prepared for the static discharge.
"Weapons offline."
"Sensors offline."
Magin and Ivey chimed in at nearly the same time to report that they'd followed out Ashley's command, receiving in turn a nod from the Commander. "Specialist Traynor, please notify Lieutenant Adams that he may proceed with the drive core static discharge at his earliest convenience."
"Copy that, ma'am." Came the English voice of the Normandy's Chief Communications Specialist Samantha Traynor.
Ashley could faintly hear Traynor as she relayed Ashley's command to engineering. Meanwhile the Lieutenant Commander just sank into the railing that wrapped around the command podium and allowed herself to relax. "Non-essential personnel dismissed until further notice. Get yourselves some downtime."
Williams herself just stepped back from the command podium and slipped into the Normandy's central elevator. Silently Ashley prayed that maintenance would get the central stairwell working on the Normandy again so that she wouldn't have to rely on the slow lift to carry her from the crew deck to the CIC dozens of times a day. She was halfway down the hall towards her cabin when a voice called out her name, and stopped her dead in her tracks.
Behind her was Lieutenant James Vega, dressed in fatigue pants and a gray SAMC t-shirt that did little to hide his bulky gene-enhanced muscles. From behind Vega she could make out Corporal Cyzilie Worbaar, Gunnery Sergeant Amani Faunce, Corporal Hallie Chadwell, and finally Lieutenant Natasha Arnette. "Aye, we're all going to unwind in Normandy's lounge for a bit while the eggheads down below fire off into the gas giant." Of course, it would be James Vega to snipe her before she could crash in her cabin.
With a muffled sigh Ash turned around and began towards the group of assorted sailors and marines who all stood in or around the doorway of the Normandy's lounge. The lounge had been an addition by Cerberus when they'd designed the ship, and it either had survived Alliance retrofit or the Alliance simply hadn't gotten around to removing it yet. With the ban on alcohol on Alliance warships still in place the lounge was officially only for relaxation and non-credit poker. However, Shepard had been very loose with her enforcement of the rules and had allowed a decent stock of alcohol, mostly leftovers from before the Normandy came under Alliance control, to stay in the lounge. Now Shepard was dead, and the ship fell to Ashley & Garrus to take care of. Suddenly the Lieutenant Commander found herself uncomfortably unsure of what direction she saw for the Normandy, and how she would settle into her new posting.
Ash was jarred immediately from her introspection by the rough hand of James Vega coming down on her shoulder, his cheerful face staring at her. "C'mon Ash, I'll pour first drinks."
With a slight grimace Ashley sat down on one of the bar's stools, her head coming to rest in her palm as her elbow braced against the bar. Outside the nearby window were the first tendrils of light cascading around the ship as the static was discharged. Out of the corner of her eye, in a blink and you would've missed it moment, Ashley could've sworn that she saw Arnette staring at her with an unfamiliarly dep gaze. As soon as she caught sight of the look it was gone, replaced by a friendly smile from the sharp blonde woman. The clatter of glass against the bar brought Ashley's attention around to Vega, who was steadily pushing the glass closer and closer to her while whispering "Drink! Drink! Drink!"
Illyria, Elysium
September 10th, 2186
"There's one thing I don't understand sir, you never asked me about what happened on the Citadel, or what happened to Anderson." Shepard's face was genuinely confused as she looked up at the older man. She was seated on the cold cement floor of a warehouse that they'd taken up in. While Illyria still stood in the aftermath of the Reaper War, it wasn't pretty; Shepard and Hackett were more than willing to leave all of the housing areas to the city's true inhabitants.
In return to the Commander's question Hackett just smiled, his lips a thin knowing line for a moment. "I spoke with Major Coats before I saw you in London. I asked him those very questions, and he told me about how sharp your response was. I figured that whatever happened up there was brutal as hell, and I already knew what I needed to know. You pushed on where all of your peers fell, you made your way into the enemy's most guarded stronghold, and you fired the shot that killed the Reapers. The fine details of whatever happened in the Citadel, and who killed Anderson, can be addressed later."
Shepard swallowed hard, scenes from that day flashing through her mind as if it were happening all over again. It'd been weeks and she thought she'd finally come to terms with it all, that she had finally begun to smooth the callous veneer over it like she had her other traumatic memories. She could still feel the tension of the trigger when her finger pulled the trigger against all commands. She could see the look of sadness in Anderson's face as he accepted his fate, and she could remember the pain she'd felt as he died beside her. "I did."
"Commander?" Hackett's voice held a slight note of confusion, but also compassion. He could tell that the memories hadn't faded in a way few others could, because he no doubt had such memories of his own.
"I killed Anderson, sir. The Illusive Man was there, he was indoctrinated, and the Reapers had given him some sort of advanced form of indoctrination to wield. He could control us not just mentally, but physically too. He forced me to pull the trigger and shoot Anderson, but I managed to shoot the motherfucker myself afterwards. It was right before I opened the Citadel arms for you."
The confusion on Hackett's face began to clear as he stepped forward, crouching beside the crumpled Shepard. At recollection of the memories she'd begun to ball herself up, bringing her knees towards her chest in a defensive manner subconsciously. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his steely blue eyes locking with hers, "Commander, whatever you did aboard the Citadel saved the entire galaxy. If the Illusive Man was working with the Reapers and had some control over their abilities then he was a very powerful enemy. Whatever he might've forced you to do isn't your fault. The Illusive Man was a sick perverted man, and he'd been a pain in the ass to the galaxy for decades. I know how close you and Anderson were, and I know that holding the gun that killed him will haunt you for years, but you didn't kill Anderson—that sick son of a bitch did, and you avenged him."
A silence descended upon the stretch of warehouse that Shepard and Hackett were in, only pierced by the drip... drip... drip... of a distant leak somewhere in the warehouse. Shepard let her head sink into her hands, slowly massaging her face in exhaustion for just a second, and when her head rose again there was a different look on her face. Gone was the broken and pained Shepard that'd been on the ground, instead her sharp pale features were those of the brutal soldier born from Elysium, Akuze, and Torfan. Her steely blue-green eyes were as hard as they'd ever been, and she once again looked like the woman that'd been appointed the first human Spectre three years prior, a transformation that brought a small creeping smile to Hackett's lips. Even if her heart still being battered by the turmoil of grief and guilt she wouldn't let it out. Shepard fashioned the iron restraints of will over the pain as she had so many times before and struggled to her feet. Pain shot through her body, no doubt from her failing cybernetics, but she wouldn't be crumpled on the ground any longer.
For his part, Admiral Hackett allowed her to rise on her own power, his eyes just intently watching her all the while, his smile thin and satisfied. He'd forged her into a weapon in the fires left behind on Elysium, and that weapon had threatened to shatter under the pressure that the events of the Battle of Earth had brought to bear, but Hackett knew better than that. He'd seen Jessica Shepard pull herself out of hell before, and he'd just been waiting to see her do it again, encouraging her all the while. "Sir, I'm ready to give you my report on the infiltration of the Citadel."
Normandy, FTL
September 10th, 2186
What had been an interesting afternoon of fellowship while the Normandy discharged its static had wound down into a hazy and blurred night. Those gathered were in various states of intoxication, with Worbaar and Faunce having to physically carry Hallie Chadwell back to the marine bunks. Most incapacitated of all was Natasha Arnette, who laid half slumped in her stool, half laid across the bar, drool seeping out of the corner of her mouth. James Vega had left an hour or so start his shift in the shuttle bay, supervising the marines that were on duty.
Worbaar stopped and cast a pitiful look at Arnette, the Corporal grimacing at her friend's condition, "Almost feel bad leaving her like that with you, XO. I guess that's why you don't party with the Command Officers. Go easy on her, aight Commander?"
Ashley snorted a laugh and nodded slowly, "Just get back to your bunk Corporal, I'll make sure the Lieutenant is alright."
Worbaar nodded and returned her attention to supporting her half of Hallie Chadwell, and collectively the three marines began to stumble out into the crew deck. Ashley gently placed a hand on Arnette's shoulder and shook her a little, trying to see if she could get the young sailor to wake up, but the girl was out. It seemed that Arnette didn't drink nearly as much as she boasted, and couldn't handle half the liquor she'd had.
With a cautious gentleness in her actions Ashley began heft Arnette up and over her shoulder. The older marine was far more acquainted with drinking, and though she wasn't sober she was on her way there. The lift didn't even begin to stir Arnette, instead the Lieutenant just let out a bit of a snore while Ashley finished getting her over her shoulder. The walk across the crew deck to her own cabin was a difficult one, mostly because her balance still wasn't one-hundred-percent and she was pretty sure that she almost collapsed at least twice.
Still, the Lieutenant Commander managed to keep her feet about her and laid the passed out Lieutenant down on her bunk, draping a sheet over her. Ashley then settled into the couch for a bit of rest herself, curling her legs underneath her to find the perfect comfortable position. Across the room she could see the cracked and charred N7 helmet that now rested in her room as reminder of Shepard. It'd been in the captain's cabin while Shepard was alive, but Garrus had given it to her due to the nature of their relationship. Pain shot through her chest at the sight of the cracked visor, and for a moment she wondered what kind of pain Shepard had suffered during the fall from the Normandy SR-1. What intense burning she must've felt as her body passed through the atmosphere and life slipped from her, only to have Ashley shun her when she miraculously came back to life. "I'm so sorry skipper." Ashley whispered as she closed her eyes and tried to find some sleep, "I'm so sorry."
"Ma'am?"
The voice pierced the silence that'd fallen over the room, and shattered the security that Ash had found behind the blackness of her eyelids. Her head turned to see a very groggy and confused Arnette sitting up in bed, her blonde hair a mess around her shoulders and her eyes desperately trying to figure out where she was. "Nothing Lieutenant, how are you feeling?"
"I feel like warm shit ma'am... and... where am I?"
"My cabin, I brought you in here rather than try to get you back to the bunks while you were passed out. Turns out you can't hold your liquor half as well as you can talk shit." Ash's face was crossed with a wry grin as she sat up on her couch, eyeying Arnette to make sure that she wasn't going to puke on her bunk, or fall over. A lurch from the girl indicated one of those things was indeed about to happen, and she watched the young lieutenant try to stand up only to begin teetering on weak knees.
Ashley was on her feet in an instant, darting across the floor to catch the Lieutenant before she collapsed, realizing a moment later just how close they were. Her arms were wrapped around Arnette underneath her armpits, and their faces were inches apart. At this range she could smell the vodka on the younger woman's breath, but moreover she could see an ill-restrained lust in Arnette's eyes. Ashley's cheeks grew hot as she repositioned the lieutenant back onto the bunk and untangled her arms from her.
To Arnette's credit, the younger woman's cheeks were flushed a bright red and the lazy movement of her eyes betrayed just how intoxicated she still was. Ash flashed back momentarily to when she'd collapsed on this very floor after receiving reports of her old team's death, and how uncharacteristically soft Shepard had been. Ash's remembered Arnette's recent loss, and the corners of her mouth sagged into a sad frown. "I'll help you to your bunk lieutenant, no point in you having to go see Dr. Chakwas tomorrow for injuries sustained just trying to get back to your bunk."
Still, Ashley felt guilt arc across her chest like an errant thunderstorm. She could tell that Arnette was, at the very least, infatuated with her—and Ashley wasn't distancing herself. She'd taken things slow with Shepard, she'd tried to hide her feelings, only to eventually find them reciprocated by the Commander; she'd also watched Shepard die twice. She resolved that her decision on how to handle this would be better handled at a different time with a far more sober mind.
STG Facility, Ilos
September 10th, 2186
"Captain, the final anti-infantry cannon has received critical damage to its heatsink and ammunition feed. Our on-site engineer attempted field repairs but the enemy overwhelmed the cannon and killed both he and the gunner. They are now pushing directly towards the mouth of the facility and towards us." The rapid fire situation assessment came from a young jittery salarian private, his dark green complexion not worried but grim. He was wearing the matte black armor of STG and had a venom shotgun in his hands.
Upon their initial investigation into Ilos STG had found that the protheans had built an in-ground canopy that deployed to cover the Conduit when it wasn't actively being used. It could be manually raised or lowered, but was naturally raised to keep prying eyes from finding what they had been working on—which allowed STG to reinforce it with a kinetic barrier and funnel any traffic towards the Conduit through Ilos' long sprawling underground chamber. As it was now, STG had reinforced the opening of said chamber with AA emplacements, anti-infantry cannons, and a reinforced position held by the bulk of STG's fighting force on the planet.
The attacking forces had fallen in droves to the AA cannons at first, and few managed to crawl from the wreckage of their freighters, but then they got smart and aimed several well placed suicide fighters at the cannons. The tactic had ended STG's superiority over their air forces, and now they'd spent the past day and a half repelling advancing ground troops. Meanwhile, the mixed forces of gangs, pirates, Hegemony survivors and various miscreants had been bombing the facility as best they could. It seemed they were hoping to deprive the salarians of any insight or wealth that might arise from Ilos if they weren't allowed to have it themselves.
Major Kirrahe shifted on his feet, his eyes flicking from the private in front of him to the distant advancing lines. He knew from intelligence reports that he'd read that the humans and batarians had been feuding for the past ten to fifteen years, having culminated into full blown hostilities with the Skyllian Blitz and later the Raid of Torfan. Commander Shepard's obliteration of the Alpha Relay and thousands of batarians hadn't aided relations at all, and after their near-decimation at the hands of the reapers it seemed that the batarians had completely cut themselves off diplomatically from the rest of the galaxy. This didn't bode well for his men on Ilos, for it seemed the batarians had it in their mind that Ilos fell in their realm and was being stolen from them.
"That was inevitable, private. We will stand firm regardless." He stepped away from the private and towards the center of the fortification that most of the salarians had taken cover inside of. It was covered on the top and on the sides, and occupied the entire mouth of the chamber's entrance. It would be the point that the hordes of vorcha, krogan and batarians would have to breach in order to get into the facility. "Listen here brothers and sisters, we have been trusted to hold the line here today. That is the legacy of the salarian people, our influence has shaped the galaxy but each time it was not without a cost." He began to pace back and forth as each STG soldier came to attention in a perfect formation in front of him. "We provided the galaxy a solution to the rachni, but before that we held the line with boots firmly planted in the ground." He whirled on his heels and began in the other direction, "We provided the galaxy a solution to the krogan, but before that we held the line with bullets and blood." He came to stop at the center of their formation, his finger now stabbing into the air passionately, "It was salarian minds that unlocked many of the breakthroughs on the crucible, but before that I watched men and women of the salarian union die on the beaches of virmire to prevent a Reaper invasion. The salarian minds deeper in this compound will unlock the secrets of the Mass Relays, and they will repair the galaxy's infrastructure, but until then we must hold the line!"
A chorus of affirmatives met his speech along with a unified salute, to which he returned an equally crisp salute. "Men, take your stations. Private Mhiranne, alert Colonel Vaewan that we will be directly engaging the enemy within the hour." With those final words the salarian formation broke, and Mhiranne began to break for a nearby comm station. Each spindly alien began to move about to their assigned position, some taking up sniping, others taking up manned cannons, and more still lining the front of the barricade.
The first of the batarian's small arms fire began to clatter against the kinetic barrier in front of the STG position, the last defense that the salarians had from total war—that and one other thing. Kirrahe smiled grimly to himself. The salarians were not an ancient species like the asari or the krogan, they were not a physically imposing species like the krogan or the turans, but they were a force to be reckoned with for their intellect. Rarely did a salarian fight without hidden tricks scattered about, a fact the batarians were soon to learn. He measured his breath as he watched the first of the vorcha peek around large overgrown pillars that formed a narrow funnel into the facility's entrance.
In their typical mindless fashion, the vorcha charged forward at full speed while howling at the top of their lungs. The first was nearing effective range of his weapons against the shield when the ground underneath him erupted. Everything from the vorcha's chest and below was liquified, flying through the air as he cried out in pain.
Nearby him was a charging krogan, his armor showing him to be part of a blood pack faction that was no doubt hired by whoever was organizing the batarian end of things. The brute's left leg suddenly disappeared in an explosion of flame, debris, and blood. All around the attackers' vanguard were eruptions as mercenary after mercenary triggered a buried landmine and was blown apart. From within the safety of their kinetic barriers the salarians began to open fire, the cracking of their sub machine guns, light machine guns, and venom shotguns tearing through the advancing enemy lines.
Illyria, Elysium
September 10th, 2186
Miranda Lawson had spent three days tirelessly scouring Illyria for anything that she could use for her impossible task, accompanied by the two imposing AIS agents that seemed to have infinitely coercive powers to secure valuable equipment from resistant owners. She'd been to hospitals, tech labs, and research facilities in and around the city of Illyria. The planet had been damaged somewhat by the reapers, but it hadn't been all that severe compared with the destruction wrought on other places. Several orbital strikes had eliminated large structures and damaged its prominent cities, Illyria not excluded, but Miranda found that she didn't have a great deal of difficulty finding the facilities she needed.
Now she was riding in the passenger seat of a skycar that was piloted by one of the AIS agents, the other riding in the back, as they traveled back to where Shepard and Hackett were staying. They'd taken up inside a freight warehouse during the day, Shepard arguing for it rather than going stir-crazy aboard the Dunkirk apparently.
At the entrance to the ever nearing warehouse seh could see two Alliance marines standing guard. The skycar slowed to a stop and Miranda slid out of her seat, her boots clicking as they made contact with the faded concrete lot that sprawled in front of the warehouse. The two marines began to approach her, their eyes looking her over for any sign of who she was—they were a new addition since the last time she'd spoken with Hackett and Shepard. She was wearing a stiff black pantsuit that both managed to convey professionalism and allure at the same time, an outfit that Oriana had scoffed at.
"Identification ma'am?"
Miranda looked back towards the two AIS agents that were just now approaching from the skycar, the lead of which tendered an Alliance ID card to the Lieutenant Donnel, as his uniform identified him. "She's with us, Lieutenant."
"Aye sir. You are free to proceed."
Miranda didn't feel the need to thank the AIS agent, nor did she feel the need to interact with the marines anymore. She pushed past the Lieutenant, and then past his partner—a Chief Romez. She was bound for the entrance to the warehouse with a quick determination, and for good reason.
The green hologram in front of the door disappeared as the doors slid apart and revealed a deep and dimly lit warehouse. Nearby, against one of its walls, were the two people she was looking for. Hackett and Shepard had both been seated and focused on datapads, though now their attention was solely on Miranda. Silently they waited to hear what had brought her back here so soon, and she could tell there was a certain anxiousness for good news.
The last time she'd seen Shepard the woman had been nursing deep glowing scars on her cheeks. They came and went in severity, and unfortunate result of her early awakening from the Lazarus project. Occasionally he'd even seen the flicker of red light from the Commander's pupils, signifying just how much stress the Commander had been under. Her scars were still there, but now they were dark and hollow and there was no glow in her eyes. All her cybernetics were definitely non-functional, and that was bad for Shepard's health to have happened so early. She likely would have lived a full life without the cybernetics had they stopped working several years after her awakening, but it had been less than a year since then now—her body wasn't ready.
"I have everything I need, Shepard. I can begin the operation in 24 hours, but I'll need Dunkirk's medbay, and a team of surgeons. Admiral, here are their dossiers if you could have them aboard and prepared." Terror threatened to swell in Miranda's throat at what she'd just said, and the operation she was now locked in for. It was entirely likely that this would kill Shepard, or leave her severely disabled, but it wasn't a choice that'd been given to her. Miranda said a silent prayer that this didn't turn out to be as difficult as she feared it could be, for both of them.
A/N: The Mass Effect wiki gives us a super bare-bones description of Systems Alliance ranks, and doesn't give any kind of explanation for why there was a 'Major' Kyle. Due to that I've taken the liberty to expand on their rank structure, and explain some of the discrepancies.
Also, I've added a Codex section to the end of the prologue of the story. I'll try to update it with all the codex entries I've added so far, as well as an ever-expanding list of characters as I introduce you to the mostly-OC crew of the Normandy. I will still post all new Codex entries at the end of each chapter, but I'll also try to remember to add them to the prologue's codex index in case you want to reference a character / acronym / etc.
CODEX:
Note: while the Marine Corps are technically a part of the Systems Alliance Navy, they have been allowed by High Command to retain some traditional rank titles. Sometimes a rank within the Marine Corps can bear multiple titles, owing to the common marine behavior of referring to certain ranks by historical names of equivalence. Such can be observed with the rank of 'Chief', in that marines will commonly switch between 'Chief' and 'Sergeant' along with the appropriate prefix (such as Gunnery, Operations, etc.). This can also be seen with the rank of 'Lieutenant Commander' and its traditional name of 'Major'.
The Navy rank structure is as follows:
Officers
Fleet Admiral
Admiral
Vice Admiral
Rear Admiral
Commodore
Captain
Commander
Lieutenant Commander
First Lieutenant
Second Lieutenant
Ensign
NCO
Operations Chief
Gunnery Chief
Service Chief
Enlisted
Specialist
Serviceman First Class
Serviceman Second Class
Serviceman
The Marine rank structure is as follows:
Officers
Field Marshal
General
Lieutenant General
Major General
Brigadier General
Captain
Commander
Lieutenant Commander / Major
First Lieutenant
Second Lieutenant
Ensign
NCO
Operations Chief / Sergeant
Gunnery Chief / Sergeant
Service Chief / Sergeant
Enlisted
Corporal
Lance Corporal
Private First Class
Private