Chapter 4 Repercussions
Commissioned by MaceShepard
Written by BloodRaven
"This, my compatriots, is an absolute clusterfuck." The voice declared with a resolute surety that summoned images of high society. The room could be conservatively be called disgustingly opulent. Arched windows looking out into the void of space with nothing but reinforced stained glass and kinetic barriers. Platinum filigree, pure malkavian wood furniture, a holo-projector that was encrusted with a facade of angels dancing with birds.
The only way to get more garish would be having a 1980s glam rock band with stage paint and diamond platinum encrusted clothes.
Instead those standing around the holoprojector chose the most drab and business-like skins to wear in this house of wealth. Around her stood the representative of the titans of the Infected Citizens League.
Most were military or military aligned persons, officers of all the major branches, and major military organizations were present, but that didn't stop the bureaucracy and political elite from sending their own puppets and representatives. Morakot Rungrueang among them.
An undercurrent of tension passed the silent assembly. This was touching on a long standing and mostly hidden conflict that had been brewing within the ICL. One Rungrueang was just touching on as a fresh faced political appointee from southeast asia.
To the youth the bold, "Who's the garrison commander?" She asked, although she felt like she demanded it, cutting into the silence like a knife. A senior officer hesitated before typing into a holographic interface, several faces popped up. The colonial quarantine governor was a saggy old man from Britain, thinning hair cut into a monk bowl. Carrier of course, he was likely already dead.
The garrison commander's portrait was highlighted, "Visili Von Popovich, lieutenant colonel of the 355th Royal Fusiliers Regiment." A synthetic voice helpfully elaborated, plain and unassuming he was a model career soldier, unaffected by the mutations or customization that everyone indulged in nowadays.
The final face to pop onto the display surprised her and caused a mumble to erupt around the table, "Captain Sir Anthony Rochford Windsor, Crown Prince of England, inheritor of the Commonwealth. Commander of the 2nd battalion garrison of the Quarantine World Shanxi." The synthetic voice once again helpfully explained. He was a handsome young man, no older than twenty five if Rungrueang could judge from looks. Unfortunately for him, he was a carrier.
"What is a crown prince doing on a backwater out here?" Someone shouted in annoyance. Indeed their voice was not alone as they read the inscription under his name.
A British general stepped forward, "Rochford demanded a frontier posting. We had no reason to deny it to him." He cleared his throat before adding, "I can't tell you ladies and gentlemen, how important it is we get him back."
Rungrueang wracked her brain for english gossip and mumblings. Being part of the Thai royal family, if a lesser cadet branch, she was not unused to the subtle intrigues that could go on for the struggle for the throne, or to avoid it with all seemly effort. Her cranial VI intelligence hopefully provided for her when she pinged it, the headlines that crossed her eyes, beamed into her retinas from her glasses made her groan in shared annoyance.
"Hazel Shepard, second in line to the throne of Great Britain, once again enters barfight, sexual harrasment allegations abound"
Great Britain after the Green Flu once again became a powerhouse. Inheriting many of the United States of America's naval assets lost to infection, they eclipsed France as a naval power and asserted control of the seas of Earth. The United States regained control of their assets only after Britain had reactivated its own naval shipyards to supplement their fleet, and began to churn out copies of the then superior American ships. The Royal family of Britain managed to keep the country together during the crisis, circumventing the parliament to deploy the military in martial law and shut down the country. It had been a risky gamble but one that paid off when the green flu managed to be contained to only a few urban centers. Britain got out of the war lightly, losing three million people.
America lost nearly one hundred million.
Here the crown prince was on Shanxi, someone spoke up asking her question for her, "Is he accounted for?"
"We have no way of knowing, the turian ship's are jamming our fleet, but it looks like they initiated evacuation before the horde reached the primary settlement. It's possible, but we'll need to board their ships and take a cargo manifest."
"Is boarding them absolutely necessary? We can negotiate a ceasefire!" Another voice, this time it was Yvonne Verenenko of the United States of America
"They attacked us without provocation and invaded one of our worlds. I think we're far beyond a simple ceasefire right now." A colonel from the European Federation, Colonel George Moulin declared with the pounding of fists on the holoprojector.
"Peace is only out of our grasp if we choose to pursue war. We must at least provide the facade of negotiations for the benefit of the rest of Citadel space." A woman in business attire and hardly a modification on her snarled in return to her warmongering opponent. Her name didn't pop up, but she was most certainly a representative of one of the major business concerns.
"Silence!" A voice boomed over the growing yelling of the assembly. The bulkhead squirmed as a face emerged and the Grand Admiral of the League Navy Vincent Trujillo spoke, his voice amplified by the sirens and speakers all around them, "This is my fleet, and this is my battle, we are to fight this as doctrine demands. They will receive an offer of surrender, any who try to fight or run will be disabled and boarded. We cannot let any contaminants escape the planet's surface. You are all here at my sufferance, and I will eject you at my will." His eyes looked over the first row facing him, before his head disappeared into the wall once more and from the ceiling his face emerged once more so he could view everyone from above, from a position of strength.
"We will recover all carriers, and uninfected as we can, it is our duty and responsibility. If the crown prince is among their number then so be it, if not, then once again, so be it. I am deploying two regiments of drop troopers and carrier strike teams to the planet to contain and eradicate the infection. Our first priority is containing the outbreak at all costs."
Their luck held as they sprinted through the bunker corridors connecting the settlement. By luck the bombardment had not collapsed most of the tunnels and Windsor had an override to most of the still closed doors.
Saren wouldn't admit that luck, not when he felt like a bucket of shit sealed shut with glue and spit. He was wracked with horrible coughs and chest pains now. Spitting out what he assumed to be part of his lungs, already turning red with corpse bile and the effort he was putting them through.
Desolas wasn't much better. He was short of breath, sneezing every few minutes, Saren could see he was in pain all over, his scales were inflamed so that he almost glowed pink from irritation.
"Here! This exit!" Windsor declared and kicked open a heavy looking steel blast door into the erupting firestorm of the settlement. They emerged from a storm shelter into the plaza before the central administration building. The tower was shrouded in dust and fire, like a pillar in hell.
There were hordes of the infected clustered around the entrance, too many to fight. "Get the quick ascension cables out, we'll climb on the exterior." Desolas called out, pointing to the side of the building that had collapsed in on itself after it was impacted by a frigate slug. The fact the building still stood at all was testament of the human's engineering ability.
They skirted the edge of the horde, using the broken terrain and craters to approach and climb the side of the building, once they reached the edge of the building's cratered side, the Turians produced a loop of steel wire and a gas propellent charge to attach to their rifles, Windsor, in an astonishing feat of athleticism jumped nearly eight feet into the air to latch onto the ledge of the next floor. It didn't stop the human from cursing all the while about forgetting his own utility belt.
Saren prayed they wouldn't be noticed, but that was a fool's hope, his eyes caught the whooshing movement of one of those flying monsters, its wings were grotesquely huge, the body not much different. Its face was a disfigured maw of teeth and two radar dish sized eyes. Its veins, eyes, and mouth glowed blue, as if some inner power was propelling it.
"Harpies!" Windsor cried, pulling himself up another floor and getting into a crouching firing position before firing selective single shots. Saren and Kepla pulled themselves up and joined their fire with Windsor's.
Their combined firepower brought it down, a few mass accelerator rounds passing through its membranous wings and causing massive tears to form in the limbs that had the creature plummet with a screech closer to electrostatic than.
"This wrong! Not natural mutations!" Windsor screamed from his position, pulling Desolas up as he struggled.
"More of them!" Kepla shouted, firing his pistol into a small flock of the encroaching infected creatures.
Saren was disturbed, this was a disaster, worse, this was a disaster of the Hierarchy's making. His family would be disowned, his clan destroyed. Purely the fault of the last sons of the Arterius clan. For they had brought this hell upon themselves, destroyed a world. Possibly rendered it uninhabitable by their meddling. The only balm would be to face the music, be a martyr, a sacrificial scatha for the Turian people to absolve the greater whole of their failing.
Maybe that is what drove Saren on as he fired, securing headshots after headshot on the oncoming infected foe. What had occurred to them, the terrible afflictions that the human test subjects suffered… but… Windsor's words carried weight, this was unnatural, this horror was beyond even his reckoning. He needed to live, he needed to survive, to speak to the human government about whatever this anomaly had occurred.
"Fire and move!" Windsor screamed, jumping up to the next ledge and pulling himself up. Saren waited until he got in position before ordering Kepla forward. He was the key, if he died, well they were all dead. No one else could pilot the bird out of here.
The fire and maneuver continued, 'two more floors, then we're on the landing pad!' Saren thought, then the screaming and percussive force all around him stopped. It took him a few seconds to realize what was happening. The orbital bombardment was ceasing.
The ultimatum repeated every thirty seconds, and all the while the human fleet grew bigger and bigger, new frigate and cruiser flotillas jumping in from FTL every five minutes. But Vasilias eyes were locked onto the largest ships, two pill-shaped craft with no visible weapon ports waited in the center of the formation, they were dreadnought sized and matched and Asari dreadnought's circumference as well. If he had to guess they were likely ungainly, the lack of maneuvering thrusters and visible standoff weapons indicated they were likely army troop carriers or some sort of bulk transport.
Equally concerning was the three ships in the far rear, also dreadnought length. They were made up of four distinguishable parts, two large pods at the end of long and spindly connecting superstructure frames, that ran to a central pod that held the main reactor, and a massive engine module attached to the rear. If his scans were right the two pods at the end may separate and open the entire thing into a V shaped contraption. For what purpose he didn't know but by their location and the attending support from consort craft they were vulnerable and they were important. Artillery ships probably, as the lack of any true traditional dreadnought designs in the main fleet indicated they decided to separate them away from their more mobile assets..
Of course, he also had to worry about his own fleet. The battle damage to get here had been tremendous, and the losses he had sustained trying to provide close in fire support to the planet an unexpected topping to his disaster pie.
He was already outnumbered, their only hope, to flee, was a fool's errand, where would they flee to? The relay? No reinforcements awaited them there, and traversing the relay into Neutral space would mean they'd still be days away from any reserves.
While the prisoner had made good points, he didn't know what a Turian's honor meant.
He knew what he had to do, "All ships with significant damage, prepare to retreat back to Citadel space. Legion transports and shuttles, comply with the stated orders and report to the north pole of the planet." He sorted the ships on his display, that'd leave him with a flotilla of thirty six ships against fifty to sixty in the opposing fleet. He could hide in front of the planet, a common tactic to force the enemy to be more discerning with their firepower, but they were planning on burning its biosphere to the ground likely enough, behind the planet, force the fleet to come to him. Hopefully. Truly Vasilias didn't have many options here.
"All ships, fly with me, prepare to launch all shuttles with evacuated civilians at the north pole." He'd make the enemy assume he was complying and landing at the north pole before continuing on to the reverse side of the planet. It would provide cover from their sensors long enough for his most damaged ships to escape. A few hours time and holding down the bulk of their fleet would hopefully by his most damaged ships time to escape.
Once again the specter of knowing so little about his foe reared its ugly head. A disaster all of it.
The prisoner was brought before him again, "We're transferring you and your charges to a legion transport. You'll be put in command of the garrison in the north pole, we expect you to know how to handle the situation as it develops there. My people's lives will be in your hands."
"So you have seen reason."
"Only inasmuch as my honor dictates. I will not use your people as human shields, and I have large numbers of wounded and critically damaged ships, the ships will be scuttle as best we can. You understand."
The prisoner looked thoughtful for a moment, then sighed, "I'd hope you would surrender without a fight, but it seems people are the same everywhere. Very well, I'll not interfere as your crews scuttle their ships and destroy sensitive materials." Slowly the human extended his hand, well both of them, as they were bound, but Vasilias took his meaning readily enough.
He grasped it, "Good luck."
"You too Captain. You'll need it."
Rungrueang watched with a tinge of hope as the alien fleet made towards the northern pole of the planet, but felt it dashed when only a third of the ships among them, primarily transports, broke off for the surface. The rest disappearing behind the orbital plane one by one.
An unfortunate outcome, but at least the Turians weren't using their civilians as cover. In an alternative view window, the majority of the delegation was observing the preparations for the planetary drop. Power armored troopers in ten foot tall suits were currently interfacing with the biomechanical matrixes. A second skin they called it.
The general infantry were loading up into individual troop drop pods and assault landers. An entire armor regiment was tying their vehicles into the very same assault landers and preparing for air drop onto the planet. That was just the mundane forces.
An entire division of Carriers were currently rush assembling a prefabrication base and all the infrastructure they'll need to wipe that continent off the face of the planet and reseed it with terraformed life. The world would forever be unsuitable to Carrier and child inhibition, but it would serve the ICL as another colony world.
The pictures and videos continued or fly past the viewing screens, status reports, troop movements, estimation on how many SCOpD (Sustained Combat Operations per Day) tons would be needed for just the initial operation. Tens of millions would be needed for the first week, and that was just to start securing the planet. Several divisions would be required to properly purge the planet in a state of infestation this terrible.
Rungrueang could list off the top of her head what the loss of a quarantine world would do. Child prices would rise five percent, growth tanks on other planets would need to work at an accelerated rate, putting further wear and tear on the equipment and personnel. Everyone from this planet was suspect, until a full array of testing was finished they could not be allowed to leave. The carriers were salvageable, many would probably insist on remaining here on Shanxi with their families, even though the lives they made were gone now. The children would need to receive the stage three vaccine, they'd be useless to the wider league, maybe the quarantine world could use a few thousand extra bodies.
And the war that would follow if both sides of militarists insisted on it would be devastating. Council space would go aflame like it hadn't seen since the Krogan rebellions, and the ICL Navy was not large enough to face the Turian navy alone, let alone the entirety of the council fleets, they'd have to be incredibly aggressive to preempt a Council invasion and pull a hail mary and destroy their fuel stockpiles and production sites. Millions of casualties in the first month easily.
She'd just have to pray for a miracle. Or make one.
Saren reloaded his human made assault rifle, suppressing a series of coughs that threatened to shake his entire body. He felt light compared to when the battle first started, the nearly hundred pounds of ammo he had grabbed already expended, and now he was down to two magazines. The horde was unceasing and now that the orbital bombardment had ended they had only one focal point to focus their assault on.
Windsor pulled Kepla and then Saren onto the roof, "You aliens… are heavier… Then you look!" He coughed out as he caught his breath.
Saren turned around onto his belly and shouted down a floor, "Des! Hurry!" Saren called out. Desolas looked up and began to ascend again as Saren picked off the closest infected.
"Harpy flock coming in!" Windsor cried out and fired his rifle. Saren looked up and saw the threat.
"Hurry!" Kepla cried out as he fired his borrowed rifle. Saren joined in and looked down to check Desolas' progress only to switch his targets once more. Desolas had been tackled by an infected and it was currently trying to claw out his eyes, both were precipitously hanging over the edge about to fall to the floor below.
Two shots, one into the back of the leaping infected, and another hit Desolas, impacting against his shield causing fragments to explode into the creature beside him. Kicking the twitching body into the void beside him, Desolas scrambled back to his feet away from the precipice.
Too late. A winged creature glowing blue impacted him and began to carry him off, "No!" Saren fired again, blowing a limb off the monstrosity but it kept flying, now it was in the air flying away from the tower.
Saren hesitated, if he fired now he'd kill his brother from the fall.
Windsor didn't hesitate. He fired his rifle, the round passed through the creature right into Desolas' chest. Both fell to the smoke covered earth, dead before they hit the ground.
"He was already dead, Saren. We have to go now!" Windsor dragged the larger turian by the collar. Saren didn't resist. They were both dead anyways, better to die from battle than firing squad.
His shock lasted a few more seconds before he shrugged off Windsor and walked on his own accord. They fled into the building and used the service access to the roof. The floor was covered in dead bodies, turian, human, and monstrous.
"Pilot, what's wrong with the shuttle?" Saren finally asked, now that they had nearly reached their objective. Defeat was in his voice, but determination filled the void.
"Engine was shot by a ground defense missile, it landed on the roof and was waiting for repairs when the infected came. Everyone else got on a different transport. So it should be fueled, it just needs a field repair." Kepla answered automatically, climbing the stairs desperate not to trip.
Windsor kicked bodies out of his path as much as possible as he climbed, "What do these repairs entail?"
"It'll need some physical overrides, it mostly burnt away the control surfaces, and we'll need to manually start the engine. We risk exploding midair, but honestly rather that than getting torn apart by these things."
"Will it be loud?"
"Very." Saren answered for Kepla, bending down to scavenge some ammo off a human corpse. The face looked so young for these creatures. He died standing, he died brave. That's what matters.
Windors paused to also grab a fresh combat webbing of ammo off a corpse pinned to a wall, head torn off the body. The sound of slavering infected getting louder below them, "Then be prepared for the horde to swarm us.
With that warning the trio rushed off the last flight of stairs and pushed past the body of a tank to see their salvation. It was a little worse for wear, the engine pylon already opened and half done with maintenance.
"I'll need a few minutes to do the lift off sequence, when I say it, complete the circuit on that engine manually and we can get off this rock." Kepla disappeared into the dropship.
Saren and Windsor looked at each other, and after a long minute of mutual observation, the human nodded and offered his arm. Saren cautiously grasped Windsors forearm. That mutual moment of respect passing they turned to the oncoming sound of battle.
The first wave came, flailing screaming figures. Bloody, soot covered, burned, eyes and mouth glowing blue. They were gunned down like the fodder they were, Saren and Windsor back to back, calling out their reloads, downing targets mutually at times.
After what felt like an eternity, a fresh set of corpses laid on the roof helipad. Then the bigger ones came, cancerous growths and cysts, veins along their arms glowed blue alongside their eyes and mouths.
Their arms sported a mass accelerator. Seeking cover independently, the duo fired at the creatures, suppressing the creatures and killing the first wave. There was precious little cover on the helipad but the terrain benefited the defenders, a handful of cargo crates containing tools and materials to repair the transport were clustered where they needed to be.
"One minute then hit the circuit!" Kepla called out as he turned the chin autocannon, firing it into air, scything down a small harpy flock seeking to flank them.
Windsor peeked up and fired at an exposed infected, "Cover the door Saren, make sure I got a clean path to the ship!"
"You don't know what you're looking for in the engine, I'll do it!" Saren retorted testily, pulling one of his last disc grenades free and sliding it behind the scant cover all the creatures were clustered behind. The explosion rocked the helipad and sent bits of flesh and body everywhere.
"You can barely walk, you stubborn bird!"
"I tore your leg apart, remember!"
"And its fucking healed-" A needle the size of Saren's forearm stuck next to the human's head, "Fuck!"
"Less arguing more fire you two!" Kepla shouted into the radio, "You got thirty second and about thirty more of these things coming in!"
"Fuck fuck fuck!" Windsor screamed into the air, preparing one of his own precious few grenades. An ovoid looking thing with the fuze and firing pin sprouting from the top of it. Saren didn't think the human could do it, but he threw the thing thirty meters into the open door leading to the stairwell. An explosion echoed from it, temporarily drowning out the sound of whining engines.
"Alright, complete the circuit!" Kepla shouted into the radio.
Windsor, true to his claim, jumped on the side of the engine and looked inside, "Is it the one thats broken?!" Arguing ensued between the human and turian, "Okay okay, flipping the switch-" the engine coughed to life, and whined at an unpleasant octave but it was working and that was what mattered.
"Alright let's get outta here!" Kepla shouted in triumph as he brought the engines to full power. Saren made for the side door of the transport, pulling it open.
Windsor jumped down from the engine pylon and whooped.
A bone spine the length of a forearm skewered his head to the side of the dropship. The human was dead as a doornail. A chuckling gurgle-laugh emitted from the perpetrator, a malformed infected hunched over himself, his mouth was ajar with a mass accelerator barrel, and his entire body made up the housing of the sniper-like weapon. It was hanging from the helipad ledge so only its head was visible.
And it's head, like so many others, exploded with a single round from Saren's new rifle.
He couldn't leave Windsor's body here, not when the man was so close to escape. He got out his combat knife and began sawing the bone away enough to snap the humans's head free from his perch.
"Arterias, where are you?!" Kepla shouted at Saren's delay. He ignored the pilot's request and dragged Windsor's lifeless body into the dropship.
"We're on, lift us out of here!"
The ship immediately lurched to forty degrees upwards and the Gs were applied on Saren's body. He was thrown to the back of the ship and held on as they zoomed out of the battle zone. Kepla eased on the acceleration after a minute long enough or Saren to strap Windsor's body to the floor and to get to the copilot's seat.
"Where's Windsor?" Kepla asked as he did final preparations on their preparation to make orbit.
"He's dead." Saren explained simply, doing a navigation check and bringing up a panel to specifically monitor their damaged engine.
Kepla was silent for a long minute, "We lost so many."
"I know. I know and it's my fault." Saren replied automatically. Desolas' death hadn't hit him yet, the adrenaline and chemical concoction running through his body combined with his terrible condition compounded his numb expression.
"Uh, sir you vitals are erratic."
"No shit pilot."
"No I mean… I think you have a parasite in you. By the spirits you shouldn't be alive."
"Later pilot, we can handle this later just get us back to the fleet."
Kepla shrugged and began to ping for the fleet's IFF transponders, "I'm getting signals from the north pole. About twenty ships… That can't be right." He began to tap into the comms array, "That's all I'm getting, I'm only getting orange box IFF signatures from the darkside of the planet but…."
"How many?"
"About thirty. I'm reading weapon's fire-"
A cool clear voice interrupted Kepla's comment, "Turian dropship, enter geosynchronous orbit and prepare to be boarded. Do not evade, do not fight, any attempt to deviate from this upcoming flight plan will be construed as hostile. Do we make ourselves clear?"
"This is Pilot Kepla Deart of the Turian Hierarchy Navy, who is this?"
"This is flight control of the Infected Citizens League ship Kilimanjaro. If you do not adjust course to follow the flight plan given to you, you will be fired upon. Do I make myself clear?" The voice grew more testy but their patience held firm.
"Understood flight control. We're working under a damaged engine here, we may have difficulty reaching the indicated position." Kepla explained, trying to mirror the flight controllers' patient tone.
"Acknowledged turian dropship. If you cannot make a geosynchronous orbit, report to the North pole for decommissioning and capture. If you can reach geosync orbit safely report now on your condition, you have two minutes to assess and advise. The line cut in finality.
"We have one of their princes dead in our cargo hold." Saren said flatly.
Kepla double checked the gauges and engine parameters, "You think they'll be more angry if they find it in orbit or in the north pole?"
"We should tell them now." Saren admitted.
"We have confirmation of Sir Anthony Rochford." The British delegate announced to the gathered party observing the naval battle.
Rungrueang looked over to the man, and paled. He looked grave and tired, "He's dead. Died at the very last moment of evacuation to a headshot."
Silence reigned among the entire delegation, "What does his majesty's government demand?" Someone eventually asked.
"I don't know. I just don't know." The man deadpanned, visibly holding back his emotions. That old British stoicism showing through.
Rungrueang swallowed hard before speaking, "Do we have his body?"
"More than that, we have his last few hours in a witness."
"His lifeguard?"
"No. His enemy."