A/N:
Yeah, it's a bit early, but those who follow my profile know that I've been sick the past few days and seriously doubted my ability to get the update out and ready for a Sunday release.
So I decided to release it a day early... I doubted anyone would mind.
Chapter 1:
"Humans were a bad enemy to fight - which also made them a good enemy, for orks made little distinction between the two concepts. No matter how many humans were killed, there were always more to take their place, shiploads of them brimming with vengeance. Humans were like a weed, like a disease, almost impossible to cleanse from a world. For a greenskin that made them something more than an enemy, for a fight against a favored enemy was a joyous thing. Orks loved going to war with humans, because defeating the humans meant something."
— Warhammer 40000
May 6th, 2210
He could see it, just barely, through the deep. The outlines of his vision were so blurry, they gave him no detail whatsoever, but the centers of his vision, the places he focused upon, he could discern clearly enough. He could see the face of a woman, dark red hair with brown undertones, she had dark green eyes, much like his own. She looked old, but not at all elderly, like the facets of age were only just beginning to show upon her otherwise youthful face.
The woman smiled, the smile warmed his heart, made the edges of his vision become ever so slightly clearer.
She spoke to him, she said "John…" Before she paused, and looked behind her, computers and terminals began flashing red. "John Sh…" Always, always his true name was hidden from him, never could he hear what he had been known as before he became one of 'them'. "John Sh… I love -" The terminals behind her exploded, he saw her become frightened, as veiled men draped in shadow stormed the ship. "I love -" Alarms began blaring as she was grabbed viciously, she tried desperately to get back to him, to speak to him, to finish her declaration. "I love y-" A gun was put to her head as the alarms increased in pitch and tone, and before she could speak again, her brains made a quick and forceful exit from her head. The Mass Accelerated bullet tore through her skull and her brain.
The Woman's eyes rolled to the back of her head as a light seemed to pour from the exit wound. The light was bright, pure white, and piercing, He found that he couldn't at all look at it without an all-consuming pain drilling into his skull.
"JOHN!" He heard a voice shout, this voice was not at all like the warm, friendly voice the Woman spoke with. This one was deep, harsh, and sounding not at all unlike -" JOHN S2-15, GET UP RIGHT NOW!" And not an instant later, he felt the world shake and the ground give out beneath him.
The very next thing that John Sigma Two, Fifteen, felt was the sensation of a cold concrete floor gleefully rushing up to meet his face. John had already been here for a year, but still something kept him from reacting as automatically as his instructors would like, and therefore when he thrust forward both of his arms to break his fall, all he succeeded in doing was bracing his chest, his head still snapped forward and slammed against the ground, throbbing as it did so.
"Two Fifteen, what in God's name made you think you could sleep past the base-wide alarm?!" Demanded the harsh, deep, and American Southern-accented voice of his instructor, a SIGMA One, a first generation, volunteer super soldier for the Alliance Armed Forces.
SIGMAs were, simply put, the best in the Alliance's not inconsiderably sized and talented military had to offer. SIGMA Ones, or 'S1's' as they came to call themselves now, were the first generation of the program. Created by the late Jason McGraw, father of Christopher McGraw, and the Alliance's first Artificial Intelligence, 'Nikola', the SIGMAs were trained in ways that did in fact break most men. This training, however, served only to make them unbeatable, even before their bodies were bio-mechanically augmented by the most advanced medical and surgical technology the Human, and now, Quarian, race had to offer.
The SIGMA Ones had at least two noteworthy, and almost universally classified, operations in each and every war the Alliance had participated. They'd been instrumental in bogging down the Turians on Palaven, during the Second Contact War. They'd slaughtered thousands during the Mercenary Wars, the most legendary of their numbers had even gone into a Space Station, and single-handedly cleared it of each and every of the few hundred mercenaries, with only a minor injury to show for the effort. Their most extensive deployments continue to be in Human Rebellions, where regiments up to 300 strong had taken to clearing out entire city-states in days. Despite that, though, the Rebels continued to pop up, and so they continued to stop them.
SIGMAs were lauded as unbeatable soldiers, indestructible warriors, and undefeatable Humans of Mass Destruction. They'd killed far more than they had been killed, though with each war they undertook, far fewer of their number were given 'classified assignments' with 'undeterminable completion times'. But despite the accolades, they were still Humans, and they'd made mistakes, as evidenced by the thousands of SIGMA casualties by the hands of the Turians during the Second Contact War, the hundreds lost during the Mercenary Wars, and the dozens lost during the Rebellion, which was, despite the Alliance Armed Forces' best efforts, still ongoing. This was why the SIGMA Twos, or 'S2's' were created.
Christopher McGraw, the 'Mind of Humanity', had come up with the concept of the Twos when he'd looked at ancient Earth history, and had recognized a pattern. Career military men who started early in their lives, tended to be more effective than those who took the military as a job, and nothing more. This was most evidenced by the Spartans of ancient Greece, who were used as McGraw's prime example. They were taken from toddlerhood, and were trained in war until they turned thirty, before they were forced to continue think and act of nothing but war, death, battle, and destruction, until they either died, or their bodies simply couldn't fight anymore.
So McGraw spent months, years even, convincing the Alliance Parliament of the fact that the Twos would be a worthy investment, and when they'd finally conceded, and allowed him 612 recruits to begin with, he'd begun in earnest. The training they undertook day, after day, after day was brutal, and hellish, and many wondered what they were doing here, but the trainers and drill instructors were doing amazing jobs of warping the children's minds towards a pro-Human, pro-Military point of view. Already, some of John's only friends were starting to feel the sort of 'blind pride', as John had taken to calling it, that the instructing SIGMA Ones were conditioning them to feel.
And despite it all, John knew as he got to his feet and snapped to attention, despite the fact that they all had no parents, and no family aside from themselves, Christopher McGraw, the man that had sentenced them to this hell, was their only true father figure. McGraw was the one thing that seemed to almost force the kids to keep their Humanity and their almost innocent spirits. He had always, routinely, made it a point to visit each and every one of the SIGMA II Companies, at least once, every other month. Those days had to be the most exciting in John's memories, because they not only gave him a connection to the outside world, but they made him feel different, as if he wasn't just a soldier. Despite knowledge to the contrary, John felt like McGraw truly loved the Twos.
But of course, no one would vocalize those sentiments, especially not John, as he snapped to attention and spoke clearly and loudly. "I'm sorry sir!" He shouted, "I was… I had a hard time falling asleep, sir!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, am I not putting you to bed early enough?" Demanded John's instructor in a tone that reeked of faux-concern, as he kneeled down and got to eye level with John. John knew better than to respond, and it took his instructor only a moment's pause to continue, "well tough!" He shouted, almost exactly quoting what John had expected him to say, "you're a soldier, kid! You've been a soldier for a year now, it's about damn time you start acting like it!"
John waited, he knew what was coming. His instructor got back to his full seven and a half foot height and walked out to the middle of the barracks, and John joined the line of child-soldiers as the adult continued speaking. "Now, because of the sleeping beauty's few extra moments of blissful rest, we're all going to be working harder than yesterday. Breakfast will come after the quarter mile! And if you can't do your reps afterwards, you can forget about your lunches!" He shouted in such an authoritative tone that the SIGMA Kids knew he'd earned it, "now get dressed! You've thirty seconds before we make you move!"
And with that, the eighty SIGMA Kids that made up Delta Company scrambled to make their beds and get dressed, before what had happened almost routinely during their first few weeks would happen again. If they ever were late in reporting outside for their morning fitness runs, even by a single minute, four entire squads - of three men each - of SIGMA One Operatives would storm the building to force them out; obviously they would be using non-lethal paralyzing paint ammunition and flash-bang grenades, but the fact that they were attacking made the point clear enough. Wasting time would get people killed, and SIGMAs don't get killed, those were among the plethora of words that their instructor had given them the first time they were late, and the first time they all got paralyzed by the paint-wielding super soldiers.
John didn't waste time, but even as he lined up outside, he couldn't get his mind off of the events in his dream. He still remembered why Doctor Evelyn 'Mossy' Mossman had recruited him, enemies of the Alliance - whatever and whoever that meant - had killed his mother, who he thought was the woman in his dream. He couldn't believe that it only took a year of the military's brutal training to hammer the image of his mother out of his head, but he had to admit that the training had helped immensely in getting over his mother's passing. Besides, if he really wanted to think of it that way, he had McGraw and Mossy as his parental figures. Mossman checked in on him regularly, to see his progress, and McGraw checked in on them all bi-monthly, though his visits tended to hold no purpose other than to entertain the SIGMA Kids.
John pushed all of these thoughts from his mind though, as his instructor called for the march, and the eighty child-soldiers began the quarter mile jog.
Hundreds of light years away from the classified child-training facilities on the classified super-soldier training planet, an entirely different day was underway, for an entirely different young man.
Jorell'Sahn nar Mindoir, the son of the former admiral Talo'Zorn, and the Migrant Fleet Marine turned Alliance Marine Herinan'Sahn vas Midway, was playing gleefully in a small park a few blocks from his home. Jorell, only being ten Human years old, was unaware of this, but in the near decade that the Quarians had been introduced and merged to Human society, the Quarian standard of living and general treatment had improved at least threefold.
Many Humans did, in fact, blame the Quarians for the state the Alliance had been 'forced to', meaning its sovereignty from the Citadel Council by virtue of the Second Contact War. Those Humans tended to be the 'rebels' of which his mother feared, and his father wouldn't admit to fearing, but they still were numerous enough to be a thorn in the Quarian Race's redevelopment. It was true that the vast majority of Humans respected the Quarians, if not for their ingenuity and the fact that they'd helped advance Human society and technology considerably, but for inadvertently showing them that their fears of the unknown were all but unfounded. Before First Contact, the Humans had been completely and utterly afraid of aliens, of any kind. This fear had significantly slowed down their colonization rates, and immensely racked up their military development, which proved invaluable during the Second Contact War, where the Humans realized that, somehow, the aliens whom they thought would hold all the power, were not as formidable as they had first thought. The Humans were the ones to be afraid of, not the aliens, and this was why the Alliance was, at least generally, left alone, and the Quarians were allowed, after centuries, to settle down and rebuild, and become the once proud species they had been, so long ago.
But Jorell knew not, any of that. All he knew was that he moved regularly, that it was unfair that he had to be stuck inside of a bubble when his older friends got to get QIS and wear Human clothes over their mask-less enviro-suits, and that every now and again he had to be herded in beneath the house, and that the ground and sky would shake with the fury of those not at all satisfied with the adventurous life of travel and excitement that life could give them. All Jorell knew was that he was happy, and the tales his mother told him of discrimination could never happen to him by Human actions, the Humans were too cool, to nice, and too accepting to say such unkind things.
Jorell paused what he was doing as he could feel his bubble vibrate. This was strange, as Quarian Kid Bubbles, simply put, didn't vibrate. It took Jorell a few moments to realize that it was the winds howling and shrieking that was making his bubble vibrate, he looked up to the sky and saw an Alliance Frigate descending from the sky. He could see, just barely, the enormous letters printed upon its side, which spelled out 'SSV Midway'. He heard his mother talking about the Midway, it was the ship his father served on. It descending from the sky could only mean that it was going in for a landing at the landing-stations only a few miles from the playground.
Jorell smiled widely as he looked at the might Alliance war machine. He himself only had a limited knowledge of ships - he was only ten, after all - but he knew that the Alliance Frigates were the most numerous in the navy. They were the lightest armored, but they also were more sleekly designed, as opposed to the blocky, bulky, and angular designs of the higher classes of warships. Unlike the 'Ship Grunts', the Destroyers, Frigates tended to keep their distance in naval engagements, they stayed with the Dreadnoughts and Carriers, to protect them. The saying went, 'Frigates are snipers, Destroyers are Shotgunners, Dreadnoughts are missile launchers, carriers are cavalry, and Flagships are the Commanders.', that was how Jorell remembered them all.
Jorell knew that this particular frigate, the Midway, was actually a Heavy Frigate, which had been designed and authorized for use of outer colonial defense from the Rebels. There were only a hundred fifty Heavy Frigates in the Navy, and they weren't as fast as the sleeker, smaller, and less weighted light frigates, but they still had a lot of fire power within them. Their main cannons, Mk. IV Rail Guns, could get their payloads moving up to thirty nine thousand meters per second, three thousand meters more than the regular, Light Frigates, and the Carriers. They had enough strength to pierce the hull of a light frigate with one shot, two if it was a glancing blow, and a Heavy Frigate in three. They had all manner of missiles and defense/offense turrets as well, but the fact remained that no Frigate was armed enough to take on any higher class warship alone, not even Heavy Frigates. That was why Frigates tended to rely heavily upon numbers, and fought much like Snipers, they would keep their distance and destroy their enemies from afar, or destroy enemy fighters that could damage Dreadnoughts, Carriers, or - Ancestors forbid - Flagships. The Frigates were unique in the fact that they could play many roles, thanks to their design, and it was such that they hadn't been phased out, as some political leaders had attempted to do, citing that Destroyers could accomplish just as much as - if not, more than - the Frigates. Those political leaders had to, as the Human phrase went, 'put a sock in it', when a Colonial Defense Fleet - comprising primarily of Frigates, with only a single Carrier - acting as the de-facto flagship - as backup - successfully defended a colony from assault, during the Mercenary Wars.
Of course, the young Quarian child knew very little of this, all he truly knew and understood was that his father was home, and right on cue, he heard the Quarian Accented voice of his mother call out to him.
Jorell rolled around and happily rolled towards his mother, who'd bent down and was smiling widely behind her mask, her arms wide, waiting to embrace her child. Her suit was black and light blue, as was her mask. Unlike many Quarians, who fully embraced the Alliance's nano-mechanical immunodeficiency solution, 'QIS 612', by openly walking without their mask on Human worlds, Talo'Zorn only allowed those with whom she lived with, namely her mate, her mother, and her son, to see her face. This was common enough that few ever gave her odd looks about her choice, and as such her child didn't mind at all that he couldn't see his mother's face as she smiled gleefully upon embracing her child.
"Father's home!" She said gleefully, her soft voice filling her child's heart with a warm feeling. "We'll have the entire weekend to spend with him!" She smiled.
"I want to see the space ship!" Jorell gleefully declared, it wasn't through lack of trying that he didn't know much about spaceships and the like, he was utterly fascinated by them, it was the simple fact that his young Quarian mind didn't retain the information too long. It wasn't as if his father minded at all, giving the young one a tour of the public areas on the ship, it warmed mother and father's hearts alike to see the wide-eyed expression of pure awe on the child's face.
The former admiral laughed warmly, "I am certain father would love to show you the ship, young one." She said, setting the child down, "come, let us see him!" She said, surreptitiously making sure that the GPS locator on the bubble was synched up with her Omni-tool, the child sure loved to wander and explore.
Lethargy, burning lungs, dehydration, and even a little blood from his lip, were what awaited John S2-15, when he arrived in the mess hall after the tiring half mile run. His instructor had 'surprised' Delta Company with an extra quarter of a mile, and he'd promised them that if they couldn't run it, after a year of the quarter mile, he wouldn't only be disappointed, but he'd know that they would need a lot more training, and that could possibly mean a lot less sleep.
John sat down at his table, his legs felt like jelly, his chest felt like fire, and his stomach felt so queasy and weak that he didn't think he'd be able to keep down the horrible food he'd been served for breakfast. It was a well known fact that military food was horrible, his mother had told him that once, but he'd never truly believed it until he'd been served real green eggs, which he'd steadfastly refused to eat until that had all he'd been given one day for breakfast, after a particularly grueling pre-morning PT session. After realizing that they didn't at all taste differently from what he remembered eggs tasting like, he ate them like any other morsel he got: Quickly and with little time to savor the horrid taste.
Two of John's closest friends in Delta Company sat next to him after a few moments. It was true that after the first few months, everyone in Delta Company had grown close enough to call each other anything from 'friend' to 'brother', if only because of their united stand to simply survive their soon-to-be lifelong military careers, but John S2-15, George S2-66, and Justin S2-99 were all closer to each other, than to many of the others. Whenever they had free time, which wasn't that often, they could be found hanging out with each other.
"Well… you look particularly exhausted, mate." Said George, his English accent still as thick as the day he'd been brought in, much to the chagrin of their instructor, who was still trying to almost literally beat it out of him. "What'd you dream of?" He asked, his tan white face showed a great deal of concern for his friend.
John didn't like talking about anything from his life before 'Hell Camp', and he guessed his dream was about his mom, even though he couldn't remember much. He knew he couldn't really lie to his friends, though, they were all he had, and if he'd learned anything besides how to fire a pistol with either hand, and how to kill any sentient being with anything he could get his hands on, it was that his friends would be all he had everywhere, on the base, on the battlefield, and in his life. To lie to them in any way could destroy that which he'd worked so hard to build and maintain.
So he spoke simply, "my mom."
"Oh… Damn." Said a dumbfounded Justin, with a momentary pause before his profane utterance.
"You're still having those dreams, mate?" George inquired.
John nodded, solemnly, "I'm having a harder and harder time of remembering her… Though." He said, feeling a single tear come to his sore eye, "I miss my old life." He lamented, "but as time goes on… It's getting harder and harder to remember it. Ducard is doing a good job at forcing us to remember the important things, I guess." The child-soldier shrugged.
The table was silent for a few moments as John's words sunk in.
"I can't really say there's much I miss." Said Justin, in a detached tone, "My orphanage sucked, my foster dad smelled, and my foster mom was never there. Anything was better than that…" He said, a slightly loathing hint in his tone.
"Same here… Though, I was just found." George remembered, "Mister Jemison caught me picking his pocket, and then he caught my right hook." He chuckled fondly, it was the one and only time he'd ever decked a SIGMA recruiter, and he knew he'd never forget it. "Took 'em two days to find me, clean me up, and ship me 'ere." He shrugged, "not much to miss, the asshole of a foster-dad and his football obsession, or the honor and integrity of the military. Easy choice." The three chuckled.
None of these words did anything to make the aching child-soldier feel any better, but the effort was what he appreciated, and he put on a smile to show them that he did, in fact, appreciate it. The three made idle conversation as they ate, before training resumed with their promised pushup repetitions, none of them were able to keep their breakfasts down.
Hours would pass by as this day would drag on like the others before it, they would finish eating, they would do exorbitant amounts of pushups, and they would finish their run. The first few hours of the afternoon were spent training with marksmanship, Ducard told them that they wouldn't even think about moving on to automatic weapons, until every SIGMA II, not just those in Delta Company, could get killshots at distances of over fifty five meters, with sidearms. John, George, and Justin had progressed greatly with pistols the last year, they could each hit kill shots at the required distances, and the latter two could get up to sixty meters. John had proven up to seventy five, the best in the company, which everyone knew Ducard was boasting about to the other Commanders, the only one in the other companies that could get close to John's distance was a Beta Company soldier, who could hit seventy meters.
After marksmanship, they would be taught scholastic courses by a multitude of AI's. AI 'Thomas Jefferson', named after one of the founding fathers for the Earth-Nation, the United States, handled history, both Human and Human Military. AI 'John Nash', named after a world-renown 20th and 21st century mathematician, handled their mathematics, John was rather fond of Math Class, he liked the numbers, they had a definite 'yes' or a definite 'no', no in-between, like History or English, both of which was handled by AI 'Olga Harris', a World War III era Historian, who was heralded as one of the first true civilian casualties of the war; the woman's ideas and philosophies were never really given any attention until the war ended so many decades after her death. Science and Physics was handled by AI 'Albert Einstein', a famous physicists from Earth's 20th century, World War II Era. They had other, far less conventional classes, such as military tactics and strategy, and Ducard had said many more would be introduced to them as their minds and bodies developed, such as today's new class, headed not by an AI, but by another SIGMA veteran.
John was sitting in the class now, he could feel his eyes drooping, it was rather boring in here. The walls were a pale yellow, the ceiling a tiled white, and the floor marble. The classroom was enormous, with room enough for all eighty members of Delta Company, and whomever their teacher was; John knew that the classroom would only ever be so densely populated this and the next lesson, before they were broken up to be taught separately. John unfortunately wasn't sitting next to George and Justin, but spending a year with Delta Company ensured that he wasn't without friends, so he did make idle conversations with his company-mates. His conversation and boredom were cut short when the door opened, the lights dimmed, and a SIGMA Operative entered, simultaneously activating a hologram projector.
"My name." Said the man, who wore the SIGMA I fatigues, the blue and black digital camouflage uniform, as opposed to the SIGMA II's black and red similarly camouflaged uniforms. "Is David Barton-S1-42." As he spoke, his name appeared on the holographic display, which cast a warm blue glow on the classroom. "This class is meant to introduce you to the various enemies you as SIGMAs will be fighting." He said, his voice was a deep baritone, and his accent was a thick, gravelly English. "Make no mistake about it, children, aside from your primary training and combat ops, this will be the most important class you will take in the entire program." He strode over to the right side of the hologram projector, and opened up his Smart Watch. "Today we will be going over weaknesses. Until I see fit that you have a firm grasp of every weakness in our enemy species, you will not advance to their strengths and their specific war strategies. Am I clear?!"
"Sir, yes sir!"
"Good."
A second passed, before an image of a Turian First Strike Ground Trooper appeared, his armor on, his rifle shouldered, and his feet planted firmly on the 'ground'; a determined expression was set upon his face, and his finger was resting on the trigger of his rifle.
"This, recruits, is a Turian." Barton began loudly, "they are as militaristic as we Humans, if not more so. Their entire society is based around the military. Their economy, goes to the military. Their workers, support the military. Their people, what do they do?"
"Military." The class said almost in unison.
"Damn straight, at the age of seventeen, every Turian is conscripted into their Military to do one full five-year tour, after which they can do whatever they want." Barton explained, "this means that any Turian you meet has military training and experience. Never underestimate a Turian, because they will exploit your hesitation!" He paused, and the hologram zoomed in on the Turian's head. "Like Humans, the Turian body is controlled by their brain, which is protected by their exo and endo skeleton. That's outer and inner, kids. You put three bullets in their heads, and they'll go down." The hologram moved down to show the torso, "they have two lungs and one heart. Putting a bullet in any one of these will cripple or kill the Turian, but their Achilles' Heel is their lower back." The hologram shifted around to show where he was referring to. "There's a large collection of nerves and arteries right here. It isn't their heart, and their bodies can unconsciously isolate them should they be damaged, but putting these things through intense trauma can put the Turians into a comatose state, or even give them seizures."
The hologram zoomed out and demonstrated, a Human with a bat came in swinging, and slammed into the Turian's lower back. Immediately the phantom dropped his rifle and fell to the ground, shaking and twitching in a horrifying fashion.
"Turian biology doesn't include a gag reflex, or the ability to vomit. But you hit them there, and they'll do the next best thing." The Turian in question started convulsing violently, as some sort of liquid began pouring out of their mouths. The entire class cringed, and a few made some noises, but the majority knew not to say anything, Ducard had once shown them a picture of a battlefield, and their reactions had incited a several hour long rant. "But Turians train to protect this area, and their armor and shields are thicker here, so effort will be needed to capitalize on this weakness. We can speculate that Turian super soldiers were augmented to remove this weakness, but we cannot confirm this.
"Of note, their biology allows them to heal a great deal faster than Human beings. Not as fast as a Krogan or Vorcha, but fast enough to be a worry should you be put in an extended engagement." A new hologram was shown, this one of a SIGMA fighting a Turian Ghost. "The Turians hand-to-hand and melee combat focuses on speed, ferocity, and their talons. Its primary weakness, however, is a low center of gravity."
The hologram depicted the SIGMA and the Ghost fighting. The Ghost went in for several quick jabs and then a slice of his talons, the SIGMA blocked the blows and intercepted the talon. The Ghost tried to wrench its grip from the SIGMA's unbreakable grip, and when this failed, he tried to sweep the SIGMA's legs out from under him. This failed, and the SIGMA delivered a powerful, debilitating punch to the Turian's skull, dazing it.
"You can counter it with speed and power. A good defense is the best offense for a Turian." He paused, "another weakness on the Turian, for the males at least, is their mandibles. Akin to testicles on a Human male, you break a mandible, you'll have broken a Turian."
The class took this in as a new hologram appeared. This one showed a Salarian STG agent, in full armor, holding a pistol loosely in its right hand, aimed outward at an unseen target.
"Salarians are your next threat. Nowhere near as physically powerful as the Turians, but they make up for it with speed, agility, and raw mental capacity. Generally, any given Salarian is two and a half times smarter than the average Human. You fight a Salarian, you want to go in with a Squad AI as your tech defense. You go in quick, hard, and fast, and the Salarian will go down just as fast." The hologram played out, the Salarian ghosted backing up as it fired its pistol at unseen enemies. Qucikly, three SIGMAs appeared in the air and surrounded the Salarian, these SIGMAs had no weapons, but went in fast and hard. They hit with debilitating, superhuman strength, and in seconds had the Salarian countered and defeated, with multiple broken bones.
"When you're fighting a Salarian in a firefight, you shoot for the eyes." Barton explained, "their lungs are small but powerful. Their heart is their smallest organ, and is difficult to properly pinpoint, as its essentially surrounded by a wall of the other organs. The only organ that isn't wrapped around the heart is the stomach and the genitals, both at the lower ends of the body. Their brain is in their head, but Salarian Brains are much less like Human Brains, they can handle trauma and injuries much better than ours can. So you shoot at eyes, or in between them, where their central nervous system is. Score a perfect shot, and they'll be dead before they can even start twitching." He explained. "Their bones and their organs are all weak, though, so while they are skilled in hand-to-hand, they rely on defense and agility. Brutalizing them with speed, force, and strength, is how you beat a Salarian."
The hologram shifted now, but not before a SIGMA Kid had his hand in the air. Barton nodded at the kid, who stood up to ask his question, "sir, what if it's a Salarian who is utilizing augmentations?"
"The only Salarians with Augments, that we know of, are STG operatives, and the only reason we know, and no one else doesn't, is because of Alliance Intelligence's hard work and determination. But their augs are nothing like the nanotubes we have, their bones are simply thicker, about as thick as a Human's. So they're still of little consequence, but do not discount the possibility of Salarian SIGMAs, as it is an increasingly probable possibility." Said Barton, as an Asari appeared in front of the class.
This one was a Commando, with warrior paint on her face, ornate armor on her body, and a powerful looking shotgun in her arms.
"This is an Asari. They're a bigger galactic hypocrite than we are. They want peace, yet they're more corrupt and they've got more skeletons in their closets than the Turians and many of the Asari Client Races combined." He explained, "they rely heavily upon biotics in combat, but their physiology is remarkably similar to ours. So you fight them with mass: More Bullets, more strength, more tactics. Hit them in the head and they die as fast as a Human. Their hearts are weaker than ours, so if you hit them there, that's a confirmed kill too, but don't aim on their left chest, their hearts is in the center of their chests." Barton explained. "In hand to hand combat, first off, try to avoid it at all costs. With their biotics, they're a big threat. However, if you can defend long enough you can make a chink in their armor. Respond with brute force to destroy their barriers, and then you'll be good, their bones are one and a half times thicker than a Human's, but your augmented strength will circumvent this.
"Those are the big three. Each society compliments the other, so engaging all three at once will be difficult, but that's why you're here, to learn how to destroy your enemies even when the odds are stacked against each other." He paused, "But they aren't your only enemies. Here you have Batarians." The hologram shifted to a Batarian Hunter, his armor black and his face mean, as he held his rifle haphazardly in alert-carry. "They have as many weaknesses as strengths. Their muscles and bones are twice as dense and thick as a Human's, which means they're strong and resilient. Their skin is thicker than ours, but easier to break. Their immune systems are stronger, and their training fine-tunes their reflexes. But they're lazy, they're used to civilian targets. In addition, they're stupid, arrogant, and despite what they'll have you believe, their training is sub-par, only good enough to teach them which end of the gun to point at the enemy." He explained, "shooting them in any of the eyes will guarantee an instant kill, as large nerve clusters are behind each one and each cluster can devastate the body if destroyed. Shooting in between all four sets will guarantee an instant death.
"In hand to hand combat, Batarians are bested only by Drell, Turians, and Krogan, in that order. They rely on brute force and strength to do their dirty work, so speed, agility, and defense are key to defeating them. Their primary weakness is their eyes, they're big targets and one hit will paralyze them." The hologram demonstrated, a SIGMA arrived and began fighting the Batarian, the Batarian's slow and bulky movements were all dodged by the quick, spry SIGMA, who slammed his fist into the Batarian's right eyes, the Batarian slammed onto the ground, partially paralyzed as it writhed in pain.
John found the holographic depictions slightly unnerving. They were done in complete and utter silence, which gave them a ghost-like quality, and the brutality of their contents gave them a horrifying sense of realism. Their dull blue glow was the only friendly thing about them, but even that seemed to make them seem more frightening.
"Then you've got Krogan and Vorcha." A hologram of each appeared, side by side. "They're similar in that they evolved at the bottom of the food chain, and are bred to kill, and evolved to kill. Krogan and Vorcha both have accelerated healing factors, but Krogan are far more powerful than Vorcha, due to their extremely strong muscles, hard hides, thick bones, and multiple redundant nervous systems and organs. Krogan die with headshots, but Vorcha need to be debilitated with shots to the body and to the head, otherwise they'll get back up." The holograms depicted what Barton was explaining; the Krogan was hit with a large caliber bullet to the head, and slumped down to the ground, and Vorcha was hit with a wall of fire for an entire six seconds, before it too died.
"When going up against a Krogan in hand-to-hand, you need speed and cunning on your side, otherwise you'll lose. Period. Dodge the Krogan's blows, outsmart him, and then jam your knife in the junction between their plates, located at the back of their heads, right next to their ears. You stick the knife there, and one hard tug will rip the plates right off, exposing their brains for your onslaught." Thankfully the holograms only highlighted where the knife should go. "Vorcha, on the other hand, will heal just about as fast as you can hit them. So you need to hit them faster, and with a knife. Repeated stabs to the throat, chest, and face, will kill him, but watch out for their disease-ridden claws, as they will be used against you." Barton explained. "But both suffer from one major, common weakness: Numbers. The Vorcha have to stow away to get off of their planet, and the Krogan are still afflicted by the Genophage, so both are in short supply." He explained.
"This is a Drell." A new hologram appeared, this one showed a Drell. It had thick green skin, and wore armor lighter than what the Alliance Army wore. "They aren't militaristic, but are the primary ground defense for the Hanar. The Hanar have before attempted to create unmanned drones for their ground combat, but their aquatic homeworld and colonies creates incalculable amounts of rust, and turns the machines into hunks of scrap. So on the ground, they rely on the Drell, and in space, they rely upon satellites and UAV Fighter Drones. Hanar aren't much of a physical threat, just pump them full of lead and they'll go down fast. Drell, on the other hand, they rely on speed, agility, and martial arts to beat you in hand-to-hand, so defense and strength will best them, but they are a special case, which we'll cover later. On the battlefield, they prefer semi-automatic and extremely accurate weapons, preferring to take out a target quickly and switch to the next, though it's been centuries since they've actively participated in a war, so their skills in it are weak. Biologically, they have weak lungs in standard Earth-atmoshperes, due to centuries spent in Kahje's extremely moist atmosphere; but they possess dense muscles and bones. This, coupled with their speed and agility, makes them capable hand-to-hand opponents. However a major weakness is their memory, which is eidetic in nature, but completely uncontrollable; they can train to suppress this, but powerful trigger words, such as 'Mother' and 'Father', can in close proximity, distract them enough to score kills."
He paused, and the hologram shifted to a featureless, albeit large being.
"This alien, however, is perhaps the second most dangerous to us as a species, and as a military branch." He explained, "you cannot show knowledge of this race to anyone, as they are underdeveloped and undiscovered by anyone but us." Barton told them, before the hologram took form.
It was an enormous, reptillian biped. It stood tall at eight feet, with thick muscles and a tough hide of green scales. Its eyes were shaped like diamonds, and its irises were like a Snake's. It was armored in a uniform much like what late 20th and early 21st century Humans wore, Battle Dress Uniforms. This one wore a camouflage pattern not unlike the Woodland Camo, and in its arms was a weapon that looked suspiciously like a blunderbuss, with a battery on its end and a bayonet on its front.
"This is a Saltorian. From what we've learned about them, they evolved at the absolute bottom of their food chain." Barton explained, "early in their history, everything was trying to kill them. Plants, animals, even their own homeworld. They evolved to fight, literally, everything, even each other. They are an extremely religiously dedicated species, worshiping some god they call the 'Hoomanisire'." He continued, "they fight with wave tactics, their infantry moves in with kinetic weaponry akin to shotguns, while their other, more dedicated forces, stays back to fight with energy weapons."
"Energy weapons, sir?" Called out a SIGMA, "I thought they didn't exist?"
"The Saltorians figured it out, kid." Said Barton, "they use Lasers and Bullets as much as we use bullets ourselves. But Laser Weaponry is restricted to their special forces, their 'BattleVectors'. These laser weapons are extremely powerful, our estimates put it at being able to take down our shields with a full powered five second burst, and able to burn through Marine Armor with another two seconds of fire." He explained, "nothing in the known Galaxy is as effective against our forces as these weapons here. But they suffer from an extreme weakness: heat. If they fire for too long, the weapon overheats, and they can't use it until it cools down, five seconds is their maximum." He explained, "they have no shielding technology, but their scales are thick, about twice as thick as Human Skin, and twice more as tough. Their bones are several times stronger than ours, and on average they can lift more than six hundred pounds, and that's on average. Their BattleVectors can lift twice that with minimal effort.
"So in hand to hand, you need defense, speed, and a knife. Their genetic and physical structure isn't too different from ours, so if you engage one, you go for the face, the neck, or their chest. They have at least one backup for each organ, except their brains. This allows them to live for an average of six hundred and twelve years. If you can engage one, in a melee, with backup, do so." Barton explained, as the hologram enforced what he was saying. "In a firefight, you want to keep their infantry pinned with massive amounts of suppressive fire. Vehicles, machine guns, mortar and kinetic fire are all to be used. When going up against their energy-weapon wielding forces, keep your shields up and your heads down. Those things are tough even against Titan Armor."
"Sir." Called a SIGMA Kid, getting to his feet. "If the Saltorians are so dangerous and war-like, why haven't we just killed them?"
"Because that's not what we do, son. We will only raise our weapons against them if they hit us first, which won't be likely for several centuries at the bare minimum, they advance exceedingly slowly." Barton answered, before he paused, and the hologram cut off, leaving the room in darkness.
"Now. I'm about to show you the absolute most dangerous enemy you will ever find yourselves fighting. These people have been at the top of the food chain for so long that they could find no challenge except in each other. They are extremely war like and have even used nuclear weapons against each other, on multiple occasions." He explained, the darkness of the room amplifying the seriousness of his tone. "Three times they drowned their homeworld in an all-consuming war, and they nearly did it again before they figured out how to hit space. They've fought everything that has hit them with reckless abandon, and will hit harder and faster than anything you will face as a SIGMA II." He explained, as a hologram began forming. "These, as I said, will be the most dangerous foes you will ever face. I am talking, of course... About Human Beings." He stated, as the Hologram phased into existence, showing a SIGMA Operative, holding his rifle at alert-carry.
"Lieutenant Barton." Said a SIGMA Kid, standing up, "when will we have to fight our own species?" He asked, concerned.
"Kid, let me tell you one thing." Barton said seriously, "we've fought aliens on two different occasions. We fought the Turians during the Second Contact War, and we defeated them with massively disproportionate casualties, on their end. Then we fought several mercenary organizations, each one ceasing to exist when we were through." He explained, "every time we've fought aliens, their resistance was laughable. None of them have given us any sort of challenge, none of them have satisfied our desire for Human blood to grace the battlefield. So we had to find someone who could properly challenge our military might, but only one species in existence has the know-how and the experience to do this: The Human Race." He stated solemnly, "even now, we're fighting ourselves in the form of the Rebellion, which is the only standing war the Alliance has engaged itself in that has properly challenged us. That's because we're fighting ourselves, no one else can challenge a Human being, quite like a Human can! The Turians couldn't, not with their Spartan society. The Mercenaries couldn't, not with their guerrilla warfare. Only Humans can fight Humans, because only Humans have defeated Humans."
"With Human beings, you have two major targets to hit in a firefight. That's their head, and their heart." John was getting increasingly horrified at the detached way the man was speaking about this, about how to properly slaughter his own race. "Their heart is located on the left side of their chest, and three bullets from an SFR will put them down for good. In firefights, Humans dig in and try to beat you through attrition, and late-night assaults. Rarely will you find a Human army fighting during the day, but when you do, prepare yourself for a battle unlike any other, because Humans fight for keeps." Barton explained, as the SIGMA Hologram was now shown fighting Rebels, Turians, and various Mercenaries, always winning with minimal injury. "In hand to hand, Human bones are weak against repeated, strong, and fast assaults. Snapping them is easy, and if you can hit them with a strong blow to the throat, you can collapse their wind-pipe and effectively incapacitate them. However, when engaging a Human in hand to hand, expect him to employ dirty tricks. Kicks to the groin, dirt to the face, surprise knives, anything a Human can use as a weapon, he will, believe me." Barton explained. "Humans are a generally weak species, so they tend to employ large-scale machinery to do their warfare, mechs are common in Human armies, and are designed to take exorbitant amounts of fire and dish out twice as much damage. To counter this, get under the mech and plant explosives, it works every time."
"Humans also make use of Augmented Forces, as a type of assured victory. When going up against Human Augmented Forces, get numbers on your side immediately, arm yourself with extremely heavy artillery, or be prepared to call in a danger-close, precision, Naval MAG Strike, because damn near no ground forces can defeat the Alliance's SIGMA Operatives."
A/N:
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