Lions in Blue and Silver
The story of mystery upon the stars, and eighty percent casualty rates.
Ahern had often heard the phrase 'hear a pin drop' when referring to absolute silence. To him, it was stupid – you might hear a pin hit the ground, but you certainly wouldn't hear it dropping through the air, no matter how quiet it was.
The silence that enfolded the assembly hall in the wake of Jon Grissom's blunt announcement of hostile alien life, however, made him seriously reconsider that. Nobody spoke – hell, nobody seemed to breathe.
Grissom's gritty voice lanced out. "Based on a combination of wreckage found and what we extrapolated from some very degraded electronic storage media found in the system, the AIS and the Manswell Institute of Mechanical Arts have come up with very rough estimates of what we're facing. While not a single ship was actually salvageable, a few were at least structurally semi-intact."
More images flashed up, showing wire-frame models of sleek arrow shaped ships with raptor-like wings and heavy centerline hulls. "We've identified at least two models of what we think is a frigate or light-destroyer, and one that's a capital-class ship eleven times bigger than our heavy-cruiser. For now, we're calling this a battleship, like the old naval vessels. While we have no information on weapons or defenses, the sheer size of the craft is far more than we can achieve with our current understanding of material science and mass displacement."
Grissom gave a cool smile. "Also, keep in mind these ships may be at least five hundred years old, which means if we run into these customers in the near future, they will be even more advanced."
He touched the controls of the podium again, bringing up a silhouette display of a human male and the more bird-like alien. The alien towered over the human by a third of a meter, with wider shoulders and a thicker chest. "The aliens appear to be extremely robust. While obviously most of the corpses we recovered were in extremely bad shape – vacuum damage and blunt trauma – we can draw a few inferences.
"The 'raptors,' as we have decided to nickname Contact Beta, are larger and, we presume, stronger than us. Fragments of weapons and armor found indicate they use mass accelerators like we do, but instead of ballistic propulsion of tiny bits of metal, their weapons seem to hurl small packets of compressed particles. Our scientists think this sort of weapon would perform similarly to heavy ammunition, except with an explosive factor.
"The ship wreckage shows traces of eezo, so their propulsion systems are probably similar to ours. We did get lucky and find a mostly working kinetic barrier generation device on one of their combatants that we're working to reverse-engineer right now. As you can imagine, personal kinetic shields have been something pursued by the SA for some time, but our most promising models last for a few minutes and can't stop heavy or repeated fire.
"We're still prototyping and testing, my fellow Marines, but we think this little device can bounce at least light rifle fire for some time before shield integrity is lost."
Grissom clicked the podium again, displaying a star map. "Right now, the only relays left that we haven't unlocked are in the Scoperta, Iera, and Zhang Systems. Given that both Scoperta and Iera are towards the direction the raptors are believed to have come from, we've locked those relays down tight. The Senate is authorizing laying down new hulls to form the core of a 3rd Fleet, which will secure both systems and ensure anything coming through those gates gets a very warm welcome. We still plan to open the relay near Shanxi later on, but after that we will not open further relays until the fleet is prepared."
Grissom touched the control, the image shifting to an information graphic. "The Systems Alliance has no intention of being blindsided by potentially hostile aliens. Our caution regarding the relays is not going to stop anything that decides to open them up from the far side. While we would all hope that when we make contact with aliens that said contact will be peaceful, it's foolish to assume such will be the case. We will need to be prepared, both for peaceful contact and hostile contact.
"Obviously, no one expects Marines to handle diplomacy, so you boys and girls don't need to worry about that half of the operation. If things go Brazil on us, though… then we need to be prepared for some serious warfighting. That is why the push is being made to develop a special ops unit."
Grissom gripped the podium, eyes intense. "I will not lie to you, Marines. The training we have laid out is the most intense and complete program ever undertaken by human soldiers. We drew on lessons from both the American Army and the German Heer, along with insights from other past military units. The force we envision developing will have to be able to fight not only harder and better, but smarter, than regular Marines, or any other human force in history."
He tapped the control, displaying a set of matte-black heavy combat armor, with white and red striping down one arm. "We've tentatively named this special ops group 'Code N.' The group will be organized along strict cellular command structures – four teams answering to a coordinating officer, who himself answers directly to both Marine and AIS overseers for target planning and logistics. Code N will have superior access to experimental weapons, armor, and cyberware, as well as the new line of genetic modification viral therapy being tested by the University of Vancouver.
"We do this because we estimate in conflict with alien beings of superior technology, that Code N would face casualty rates of higher than eighty percent in some cases."
Ahern winced, and saw looks of concern on many faces, but not any real shock. Despite years of study, the boffins working on the Mars Archives couldn't even understand a tenth of what the Forerunners had left behind. It was clear humanity had lots of catching up to do, and a glance back to pre-Iron times when less advanced human cultures had run into more advanced ones showed that eighty percent casualties would be an understatement if anything.
Grissom straightened. "This is why you are here. As I said earlier, we've picked the best of our forces, those with the most potential, the most drive, the best skills. All of you have tasted battle: fighting pirates, terrorists, and backland native life. You've fought in zero-g, in radiated valleys, on worlds far from Sol. To even have made it this far, you have had to demonstrate excellence.
"But we can't afford to kit out twenty-five hundred Marines as special forces soldiers, or even half that number. Based on our limited number of trainers, the cost of gear, and the realization that we can't tear all of the best and brightest out of our military, SA Command has decided we will be fielding a smaller number of special forces teams. Specifically, ten teams will be chosen to form N-Series combat teams, or NCTs."
Grissom gestured to the man standing to his right, wearing a gray-tinted version of the new standard dress uniform and the epaulets of a general. "General Izunami is with the AIS. Along with the teams we plan to recruit for service with Code N, ten teams of specialized soldiers for infiltration and recon will be recruited for 'Code S,' the AIS military intelligence combat section that will support Code N. Functionally, the soldiers we recruit for both will need the same abilities: toughness, ability to think on your feet, flexibility, bravery, and a will to excel. Given that Code N will tend towards direct combat and Code S towards infiltration, those of you who are scout-snipers and engineers will probably end up with Code S, while riflemen and heavy weapons soldiers with Code N, but we're not making that a hard and fast rule."
Grissom glanced at the General. "For now, General Izunami will describe how we'll be conducting the selection process. You should all be proud to have gotten this far, and even if you do not get selected for this round of training, you will be at the top of the selection list the next time we do recommendations. You are all a credit to humanity, Marines."
He turned. "General."
Izunami was a tall and slender man in his late forties, with a mix of Asiatic and African features. Dark, slanted black eyes gazed out from a hard face, with a wide nose, a cruel mouth, and a heavy jaw, and his hair was carefully pulled back in long thin braids trimmed to military length requirements. His voice, when he spoke, was smoky and raspy, as if he rarely talked.
"Thank you for volunteering. On the tables in front of you are three forms. The first is an acknowledgment that nothing you have learned today can be communicated to anyone not in this hall, on pain of death. Nothing, Marines. Any violation of this is an immediate gunshot to the head from the Commissars."
He glared, then continued. "The second is a form informing you that it is very likely you may die during the selection process. It will be an exceedingly trying evolution, and while we have made preparations and adjustments to attempt to ensure everyone's survival, it is doubtful there will be no losses. The final form is a receipt of the fact that if you are sitting here, you just got moved to your maximum time in rate and pay for your rank. For everyone under the rank of chief, this means you now qualify for immediate promotion. This does not apply to officers, but officers will receive an extra TAB accolade on your service jacket, almost ensuring promotion during the next review cycle."
Next to Ahern, Rachel pumped her fist. Ahern sighed.
"These pay raises are in effect immediately, along with double normal hazardous duty pay. Given what we're going to be putting you through, you're going to earn it, even if you don't make it." He paused, glancing around the room. "This force, whether you make it through tomorrow or not, is going to be the core of the strike effort against any alien hostiles we face over the next three years. Those of you not chosen for N or S service will be reassigned to training commands to stiffen and increase readiness of our Marines, or will be given the honor of raising and training entirely new units from scratch."
Izunami smiled. It wasn't a pleasant looking smile. "Given that some of you are not going to live to see your promotion, I suggest celebrating tonight, as long as you keep the reasons why you got promoted to yourself. Now, we will cover the evolution that will determine selections.
"There will be, as stated earlier, four phases. The first phase is a battery of physical and psychological tests that will be administered tomorrow morning. Anyone who does not meet the standards set by our doctors will be removed. This test should take no more than twenty-five minutes per person, and we should have you all cleared by noon tomorrow. Those who fail at stage one will be tapped to provide training to current Marine forces.
"Phase two will start upon completion of your testing. You will be taken, as five-person teams, to the edge of the Okefenokee Bayou-Bay south of here. Your goal will be to reach one of fifty ten-person shuttles located at least ninety-five kilometers from your starting point. As you all know, the Okefenokee is one of the most lethal, radiated, and dangerous environments on Earth where life is able to survive. You will be given one primary and one secondary weapon, basic medical gear, anti-radiation and anti-toxin supplies, and five days of food and water. Each shuttle is controlled by remote VI and is code-locked. It will only take off when ten people are on board. After the last shuttle has taken off, all remaining participants not aboard a shuttle will be evacuated and will have failed to proceed.
"Out of the five hundred teams currently present, no more than one hundred teams – five hundred of you – can proceed to the next phase. Those who fail at stage two will be chosen to lead and build an entirely new Marine force to accompany the newly designated 3rd Fleet.
"Those aboard the shuttles will be treated and allowed two days to recover before phase three. Phase three will be a tournament-style elimination contest. Combat will be by team, and will proceed until only twenty-five teams remain standing. Combat will be simulated using laser tag-style weapons and nonlethal paint grenades, in the environs of a special training area recently finished in central Brazil. Teams who succeed will press on to the final phase, those who fail at this stage will be set aside as reserves for the N and S teams, and given additional training as well as granted service with the Solguard."
The General folded his arms. "The final phase will be one-on-one combat demonstrations and interviews with command staff. Final designation of N or S-status will be conferred at that time. Given that we only expect to commission twenty teams, the remaining twenty-five Marines not chosen for N or S-status will receive an automatic pass through the phases during the next selection cycle, and will be given assignments with the Guard of Iron."
At that, a quiet murmur washed across the room. Service with the Solguard was a vast reward, given that the ranks of that elite force were given the best training, pay, and facilities in the military. But to be allowed to work with the Guard of Iron was even more unheard of. The ceremonial force was highly trained, but even beyond that, were the personal guard of the Lords. Even a short assignment with the Guard usually parlayed itself into extremely lucrative contracts as private security or even transfers to the X presidential protection detail.
Izunami glanced around the room, which slowly fell silent. "Many of you are asking why we are making such rewards even for failure available. That is because you are very worthy of such, and because the rewards offered will aid us in stiffening and upgrading both you and the forces you are attached to. We believe that there is every possibility that there will be deaths or injuries in training, and having a large pool of applicants to replace casualties will be useful in ensuring training can move at the proper pace."
Izunami placed his hands behind his back. "One hundred of you will become the razor's edge of the sword of the Alliance. We all pray that we are wasting our time and yours, that in the fullness of time when we come across aliens, they will be friendly, and the SA can step out of an era of ruthless suppression and into one of true democracy, peace, and prosperity once more. But if that is not the case, if the raptors do turn out to be hostile, it will be you men and women sitting here today who save us all."
Grissom spoke again. "Please fill out the papers in front of you and take the electronic padd sitting next to them, along with the digital dog tag. The tag will allow us to track you and assist in recovery during phase two, so don't lose it. You have the rest of the day to yourselves. Report to Carran Field on the east side of the base tomorrow at 0800 sharp in undress BDUs only. Do not bring weapons, armor, or any form of equipment – everything will be issued once the examinations and interviews are done."
He glanced around the room, mouth set in a hard line. "I would suggest you all get some rest tonight, to prepare for tomorrow. It will be an exceedingly fatiguing day."
The lights came back up to full, and Ahern blinked, before shaking his head and turning his attention to the paperwork.
Author's Notes:
A few details that might go unnoticed:
– 'Prothean' is the asari translation. Until the end of the FCW, humanity called the Protheans 'Forerunners.'
– The Guard of Iron were special elite units that descended from the mercenary troops that conquered Earth under Victor Manswell. Think of them as like a mix of Delta Force + Marine Ceremonial Guard + rock stars.
– General Izunami is the father of the Major that commands Vega in "Paragon Lost."
– I've had to take some liberties with maps and star positions. Based on the galaxy map in the game, Sol is actually closest to Citadel Space, far closer than Shanxi. Which makes no sense (along with Tuchanka being smack in the middle of Citadel Space one jump from the Citadel, lol).