A/N:

Patient131071 - don't worry, they'll come much sooner than you think.

Celis - thanks for your review, and I appreciate you taking the time to read this fic. :)

subsider34 - hahaha, yeah, people tend to forget the most basic things when they have a lot of things in their mind.

CallsignReaper01 - well, you can rest easy friend, it concludes here.

FtDLulz - haha, I sure will, man.

"Guest" - life is predictable and unfair, you never know when you'll lose the ones you care about.

ianua cordis mei - Z - I appreciate your input bro, as well your astute observation. Yeah, I really I'm trying to make this as realistic as possible from the others fics. Once again, thanks for taking the time to read my story. :)

October 29th 2183 C.E.

Ferris Fields outskirts

His vision was blurry, and the sounds of battle raging outside were slightly muted as his ears struggle to regain most of his hearing. The back of his head hurt like hell, and he could feel something moist running ever so slowly there. As he started regaining most of his sight, he saw that he was lying down inside the Mako's floor, the cool metallic surface brushing on his face's left cheek. He brought both of his arms in front of him and stood slowly, trying not to tax himself. He felt a bit dizzy, which he assumed was caused by the massive ache he had on the back of his head. Up ahead, he could see Higgins and Irving—his comm operators—slumping on their respective holo-projectors, their eyes wide open and their body oozing blood from various wounds. Like him, they had neglected to wear their armor due to time constraints. A mistake they were paying now with their lives.

In front of the dead operators was a gaping hole, around two feet in diameter, that was forcefully pushed inwards by the missile's shape-charged warhead, the hole's edges were pointed within, which confirmed his conclusion. The holo-projectors were still bursting with continued activity, where platoons were conferring with their company commanders, and they in turn looking for their battalion CO, which was him. The comm lines were filled with men asking for advice and orders, which he heard all so clearly.

"Ferris Six, this is Bodark Six, come in." a voice boomed out on one of the holo-projectors. "Come in, Ferris Six, we need orders."

"Bodark Six, this is Ferris Five," another voice cut in. "What the hell happened, over?" Rodriguez listened in on their conversation. Ferris Five was the callsign of the battalion XO, which was Captain Adrian Walters. He and what was left of the battalion probably thought he was dead and assumed the worst, with Walters now continuing operations as the new CO, which was stated in the battalion's command structure. As the major went near the holo-projector to try and contact them, the conversation was still on-going.

"The batarians tricked Alpha Company, sir. The other enemy platoon used tactical cloaks and passive sensor blockers to roll straight through their lines, completely bypassing Alpha One's position and stunning them, over."

"Damn it," he heard Walters swore. "What happened to Ferris Six?"

"Last I heard they were setting up shop behind Alpha One's position, lost contact after that."

"Roger that, okay Bodark Six, give me a complete sit-rep on the battle there, over."

"Copy, we're currently on our way to assist Alpha Company, last reports from them indicated that the batarians we're hammering them relentlessly with heavy missile fire. Also lost contact with them after that, sir."

"Do what you can for them, Bodark Six. I'll assemble a relief force to render assistance, how copy, over?"

"Solid copy, Ferris Five we're en route and—shit!" Rodriguez heard Bravo Company CO cursing loudly on the line, followed by the staccato fire of various assault rifles and the occasional grenade going off. "The batarians are landing in reinforcements, sir! I see three dropships disembarking a reinforced platoon with mechs and attack varren. Over!"

"Roger Bodark Six, can you hold that position, over?"

"We're spread real thin sir, but we'll give 'em hell! Six out." With that, the line was disconnected. The holo-projector still wasn't working on transmitting, no matter how hard he tried to fix it. He tried the reconfiguring the other one but to no avail, both the projectors only receiving incoming transmissions and nothing else. Even his own omni-tool shorted out during the blast that disabled his Mako, rendering his communicator useless. Without a way to contact what's left of the militia, he was completely on his own. Goddamn it!

He heard a couple of voices moaning behind him, turning around, he could see what was left of the armed escort, coming around to consciousness after the missile impact. Slowly coming around, he could see and hear one of them was still grousing softly, sluggishly opening their eyelids. But the major didn't have time for this, he needed to act now while he still had a militia that needed leading, and that was exactly what he intended to do. Closing in on the gap between him and the nearest militiamen, he grabbed the young man by his armor's chest piece with one of his hands and started shaking him furiously. "Wake the hell up, buttercup!" he yelled rather loudly at the waking soldier and slapped him silly at both of the man's facial cheeks with his other free hand. "I said wake up!"

The man instantly sprang back to complete consciousness, getting up while putting a hand on one of his cheeks which was starting to redden. The other militiamen next to him also got back up, surprised by the sudden noise that was filling inside the Mako. The third man next to the other two was still drooping over in his seat, with his harness securing him in place. "You," Rodriguez pointed to the first man, "check your friend here if he's still alive. And you," he pointed to the other one. "see if the driver still has a pulse." Both of the men quickly obeyed his commands and went to their assigned tasks. A few moments later, both of them went back to the major.

"Kowalski's dead, sir." The first man said with a sad voice. They must've been close. He couldn't entirely reprimand him for being miserable, war was hell, most especially when it comes to your friends.

"Same goes with Felton over there, major." The second man told him as well, motioning at the driver's direction. Four people dead. Damn those fucking batarians! With just the three of them left, they needed to join up with whoever was left out there immediately. If they somehow managed to attract the attention of a wandering enemy unit, the last thing they'd be able to do is kiss their sweet ass goodbye. Grabbing hold of the dead's militiamen's Lancer assault rifle and his combat utility harness, he quickly put it on and checked the rifle's condition. A full standard ammo-block was in place and the red dot sight was perfectly calibrated. Excellent! Looking at the two men in front of him, both of them just gave him a confused, questioning look. Probably pissed because I just raided their dead friend's equipment. He thought to himself. But he didn't care, they needed to survive and get the hell out of here.

"Don't just stand there, get moving! Now!" The two militiamen leapt into action and grabbed their respective rifles. "Grab anything useful: spare ammo-blocks, grenades, ration packs, water, and everything that can be of use. Ditch the useless shit." Both replied in the affirmative and did as they were told. A few seconds later, they were all ready. The major approached the vehicle's rear hatch and accessed its controls. A quick beep was heard that signified it was ready to open. Pushing the button on the side, the hatch slowly opened, with the double-door swinging outward. "Alright, I'll go first. After that, you follow." He ordered the first soldier, which gave him a quick nod.

He cautiously went outside the armored vehicle's hull, the light outside quickly assaulted his vision. Putting a hand up, he leapt out of the disabled vehicle and took a quick look on his surroundings. The green and lively paradise of Ferris Fields was now stained with the signs of heavy fighting. The sound of gunfire was still clearly heard, followed by a couple of explosions and men from both sides shouting orders and screaming in pain. His nostrils could pick up the scent of burnt metal, explosive residue, and the distinct odor of human blood and another of which he thinks was from a batarian. A second man also followed him out of the vehicle, both of his feet impacting the ground with a soft crunch from the grass. "We need to get moving, link up with Alpha Company, over there." Rodriguez told the man next to him, with a finger pointing east, where he thought Alpha was located.

"Sounds good, sir," the first man told him. "we should get—" he didn't get to finish his sentence. A burst from a nearby assault rifle impacted on one of the Mako's rear doors. It was quickly joined by a few others as weapons fire peppered their precarious position.

"Get behind the Mako, now! Move!" The militiamen hastily obeyed the order, and the three of them took cover behind the disabled vehicle's hull, temporarily sheltering them. As more bursts from the enemy's rifles still continued pounding them, Rodriguez needed a plan to take them out quickly. If they alerted the others, they were completely and utterly fucked. He looked at his men. They were nervous, for that he was sure, and the second militiaman was actually trembling, his hands making it painfully obvious as the rifle he held wasn't steadying. "You!" he pointed to first soldier. "What's your name?"

"P-P-Private Elwood, s-s-ssir." He stammered with his reply. The major quickly faced the other one.

"And you?" he asked.

"Corporal Mendez, sir." The man tried replying casually, though his voice was obviously laced with fear, and his hands still shook. Jesus, these kids are plain scared shitless. He needed them to watch his back if they intended to make it out of this mess alive. And he needed the both of them right the hell now.

"Look, I know both of you are scared, alright?" he said to them calmly. "But I need both of you to focus on keeping each other's backs covered and the enemy taken care of. Okay?" Both of them gave him a solemn nod. "Alright, so here's the plan. Elwood, I want you on the other edge of the Mako, ready to provide covering fire. Mendez, you're with me on the next edge here, also ready to provide cover. When I give the order, fire on short-controlled bursts as to provide accurate suppression and prolong your weapons' heat sinks, and then I'll go forward 'til I'm close enough to lob a grenade. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Both of them answered sharply, the sense of renewed purpose on the edge of their voices.

"Good, get to it. I'm counting on ya." The militiamen both went to their position on the front and back edges of the Mako's hull, their backs leaning on the vehicle with their Lancers splayed on their chest, and their heads peering carefully over to take a quick peek on the enemy's position. Rodriguez was standing next to Mendez, who was making last-minute checks on his weapon. The enemy kept on firing for about a few seconds or so until he could hear the distinct beeping of their weapons as it stopped to vent their heat sinks.

"Now!" He yelled loudly and ran forward. Both soldiers exited their respective covers and laid down suppressive fire, filling the air around the batarians with hyper-accelerated slugs of steel. A few unlucky batarians who weren't taking cover were quickly taken down, alerting the rest who dove on the ground to shelter themselves from his men's onslaught.

The enemy was just about a few dozen yards away in a slightly elevated position, with a bunch of chest-high boulders that provided them with limited cover. As he made their way towards their position, the major ran near the enemy's position, sprinting in an irregular pattern, running straight for a few meters or so then cutting left, a few meters after that he then made a cut to the right, throwing the aim off of any of his would-be assailants. As he slowly got nearer and nearer, the batarians noticed his presence and began opening up on him. Millimeter-sized tungsten rounds began gushing dirt all around him as the rounds were scattering all over Rodriguez's position.

The enemy quickly stopped their fire on him, as Elwood and Mendez began firing on the enemy's position again after a brief moment to vent their weapons, their surprisingly accurate fire giving him all the time he needed to close in on the batarians and throw a grenade. After about a few seconds running, he stopped just about nine yards away from their boulders and went prone. Grabbing a single M97 High-Explosive grenade from his utility harness, he pressed the top-most button on the device and set it to arm for a three second fuse. Without further hesitation, he reared his hand back and threw the thing over at the batarians. It landed behind the boulder, and a quick flash of yellow and orange flame engulfed their position, their screams overtaken by the sound of the huge explosion that emanated from the grenade.

Not wasting his time, the major quickly stood up and charged the remaining distance separating him and the hostile aliens, smoke still stemming out of their cover. The militiamen's suppressing fire stopped for fear of hitting their CO. A few moments later, he arrived, climbing atop one of the boulders with his rifle aimed downwards. He could see about seven batarian soldiers lying down on the ground, their armor sprinkled liberally with fragments, and blood flowing freely from about a dozen different wounds. One of them was still alive, slowly unfolding his pistol and aiming it carelessly at Rodriguez's silhouette. The major didn't give the poor bastard a chance. He aimed his rifle on his target and fired two rounds on its head, a few centimeters above the left eye brow. The target went limp instantly, the pistol he was holding clattering sloppily on the ground.

With that over, Rodriguez turned around and quickly gestured for the two militiamen to get over his position. They both nodded and ran towards his position, arriving about ten seconds later and panting slightly from their brief sprint. "You guys alright?" he asked the both of them.

"Yes sir," Elwood replied for the both of them, the stammering he had earlier now completely gone. "that was some crazy stunt you pulled off, sir. Charging without a hard suit."

"I second that." Mendez joined in. All three them gave out a quick, light chuckle before returning to their serious demeanor.

"Check these guys out for a functioning omni-tool," the major ordered both of them. "I need to link up with the command freq and assess the situation." Elwood and Mendez quickly gave out a sharp nod and went to work, while Rodriguez stood guard over them for any incoming threats. The battle was still raging heavily, hearing the sounds of discharging rifles and distant explosions. They needed to get those batarians out of here, now. From what he read on them while he was still resting on the first few days he got here, they were seriously bad news: slavery, prostitution, and illicit drugs were all perfectly normal to them. And they'd practically kill anyone who gets in their way.

"Sir," Private Elwood stood up from the corpse the major had shot earlier and went straight to him, an omni-tool with its elastic wrist-band clearly gripped on his outstretched hand. Accepting it, the major quickly strapped it on and activated it, immersing his left arm once again with the holographic interface's orange glow. After finding the necessary program in it, he quickly set up his communicator's link up with the omni-tool, providing the necessary configurations to set it to the militia's command frequency. A few moments later, his screen displayed the following message: [DIAGNOSTIC IN PROGRESS…] You've gotta be fucking kidding me! Rodriguez gritted his teeth. The display told him to wait for just a few more seconds as his newly acquired omni-tool was syncing-up with his communicator. Impatiently counting off the seconds as time went by, a loud beep told him that the diagnostic was finally complete. About damn time! He quickly set up the settings again. After waiting for about a second or two, his ear was rewarded with the sound of various men reporting on the line.

"—we're being pushed back, Alpha Company can't hold this position any longer. Ferris Five, requesting permission to withdraw. Over."

"Acknowledged Alpha Six," the sound of Captain Walters was heard on the comm, his voice weary and drained. "recommend you set up northeast of the colony's perimeter and link up with Crimson One-Three, over."

"Solid copy, Ferris Five. Heading there now, out."

"Bodark Six, what's your status?"

"The batarians are reinforcing their foothold on their primary staging area," Bravo's commander said fervently on the line, the echoes of gunfire and screams clearly evident as the battle dragged on. "They just dispatched another platoon here, attack varren are harassing both of our flanks, we're combat ineffective at this time, over."

"Damn it," the battalion XO swore. "alright Bodark, turn back now and rendezvous with Crimson Three-Two at Ferris Fields' northwestern approach, over."

"Roger that, Ferris Five, en route now. Out." The batarians we're kicking their asses badly, and they were almost winning. That was completely unacceptable. If they won now, the lives of thirteen thousand men, woman, and child would be forced into slavery. And that was something that major wouldn't allow, even if it meant him dying for this to stop. Pressing the transmit button on the omni-tool, he quickly announced his presence.

"All units, this is Ferris Six. Give me a complete sit-rep on all unit dispositions, over." He said steadily over the command frequency. Various gasps and voices of disbelief were clearly heard, all of them surprised at his sudden reappearance. They quickly gathered their wits and reported in.

"Alpha Six here, company strength down seventy percent, First Platoon completely combat ineffective, over."

"Bodark Six here, major. Company strength is just at eighty percent, over."

"Ferris Six, Crimson Six, company at full-strength, awaiting orders. Over."

"Archer Six-Four here, sir. Fire support munitions down to about nine Charlie-Golf-Mike One-Twos, and we're setting up turrets and drones to slow the enemy's advance, over."

"Buffalo Troop here, sir," the happy, Southern twinge of Second Lieutenant Albert Johnson was heard. "we're harassing forward batarian skirmishers, and are currently in a delaying action to give the boys at Alpha and Bravo enough time to withdraw, over."

"Alright," the major said on the comm. "I need a ride, Buffalo, how fast can you get here?"

"Based on your IFF tag's location, I'll be there in three mikes, major."

"Make it fast, Buffalo. Out." Rodriguez quickly called up on his XO. "Crimson Five, what's the latest intel on troop movement and strength?"

"It's not looking good, major," Walters voice told him. "Archer Six-Four sent out a recon drone to look for them after we lost contact with you. Based on the intel it collected, rough estimates put the batarian's strength at about four hundred plus men, supported by attack varren and about two dozen LOKI mechs, sir. They were setting up a secondary staging area a few klicks east of the other one we found. As of right now, they don't have armor support, but they do have numbers. They're closing in on the colony's northern outskirts at this time, ETA will be about ten minutes."

"Jesus Christ," the major swore softly. "this isn't a simple slaver operation, it's an invading army."

"My thoughts exactly sir, we'll hold them off for a little while till we can come up with a plan. I was hoping you'd have one right about now, major." The three Makos that comprised Buffalo Troop were within sight now, barreling towards them at full speed.

"Don't worry, Ferris Five, I have it covered. Right now, I want you to delay their advance at any cost. I repeat, they must not reach the colony, captain. Understood?"

"Lima Charlie, sir, we'll hold the line. Ferris Five out." The Makos arrived a few seconds later, with the lead vehicle stopping just right next to Rodriguez and his team. The turret's top hatch opened, and Lieutenant Johnson stood proudly out of it, a helmet encasing his head in a protective shell, with a transparent visor shielding his eyes, which also gave him constant information about his tank; and finally, a smile firmly placed on his lips.

"Afternoon, sir!" Johnson said to him, giving out a playful salute. "Heard you boys needed a ride." Despite the seriousness of the situation, the young major couldn't help but laugh at the armored officer's casual greeting. He was grateful too. With all the stress he'd build up during the battle, he was finally relieved of most of it.

"As long as you're offering, lieutenant." Rodriguez happily answered him back. The rear hatch of Johnson's Mako opened up, and the major quickly went inside, followed by the two militiamen. As the armored vehicle rumbled to life and sped its way forward, the young man in charge of the battalion swiftly opened up his omni-tool and called up the engineer platoons.

"Archer Six-Four, this is Ferris Six, respond. Over."

"This is Archer Six-Four, how can we assist?"

"Send out another recon drone to make a quick pass at the batarian formation," the major said to the officer. "and relay it's video feed to my omni-tool."

"Roger, solid copy on all, standby." The voice paused for a few moments, then returned: "Drone away, ETA to batarian formation ten seconds. Be advised this is our last recon drone. Feed will open up on your omni-tool momentarily. Six-Four, out."

His omni-tool suddenly projected a small display, and on it, was the grainy video feed projected directly from the recently launched recon drone. As it passed its initial reference points towards its intended destination, it finally arrived a few seconds later. He could finally see the entirety of the enemy formation. They were plenty of them, all cluttered together in large groups headed towards Ferris Fields. All of them were just surging forward in one direction, not bothering to secure their flanks, their rear, or setting up any support systems to maximize their advance. The mechs they brought along were jogging just alongside their organic counterparts, all focused on one thing: killing humans. Whoever was in command of this force clearly wasn't thinking straight, or isn't qualified for this job at all. Either way, he now had a plan in motion. It was a long shot, but if it worked, they could break the back of this invasion fast.

In this case, literally.

"Lieutenant Johnson," he called out towards the armored cavalryman. "where's our next destination?"

"We're heading around to bypass the batarian's force and link up with Crimson Two-Two on the eastern perimeter of Ferris Fields. After that, we'll just go around the main defense line and assist any way we can." Johnson explained to him quickly.

"Belay that order, lieutenant." Rodriguez ordered casually. "Head towards the rear of the batarian formation and keep up with them."

"Are you out of your fuckin' mind, major?" The man looked at him, his face showing complete and utter disbelief. "That's fucking suicide!"

"That wasn't a request, lieutenant." The major told him sternly. "That was an order."

"Yes, sir. Heading there now." Johnson replied hesitantly, he ordered his driver to change course, then opened up his comm to contact the rest of his Troop. "Buffalo Troop, this is Six. Reroute to grid square charlie-foxtrot-two-eight. Stay on my ass, boys."

"But that puts us just behind the batarians, sir!" Rodriguez heard the lieutenant's subordinate cry out on the radio.

"I know, Buffalo One, I know!" Johnson bawled on the radio. "Reroute now, the major's got a plan."

"Roger Buffalo Six, me and Two are right behind you. Out." And with that, the line went dead. After speaking to his dependents, the lieutenant turned his chair around to face him. The cavalryman's eyes showing the distinct signs of fear and indifference. After some initial hesitation, he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"What's the plan, sir?"

"It's quite simple, really," the major told him nonchalantly for a moment, then turned serious. "but we only get one shot at this, and we better not fuck this up. We clear?" The lieutenant gave him sharp nod. "Good. Now, once we reach the batarians' rear, we creep up on them and breach their lines. Once we penetrate deep enough, I want you and the rest of your Makos to scatter and cause as much chaos and panic as you can, once that's done, I'll order what's left of Alpha and Bravo to ditch their defensive positions and charge right at them. Also, before you move forward though, your assault will be preceded by a Devastator strike from Six-Four. Understood?"

"Sounds fuckin' crazy sir," Johnson told him casually. "but, if it works, we're home free."

"Yep, now make the call to the rest of Buffalo, lieutenant."

"Copy that," the man said simply, opening up his comm once more to speak with the rest of his unit about the major's plan. As he was doing that, Rodriguez opened up his omni-tool and set it up so Ferris Five and Archer Six-Four could hear him.

"Ferris Five, Archer Six-Four, this is Ferris Six, prepare for flash transmission, over."

"Roger, we read you, sir." Ferris Five instantly replied.

"Send traffic, over." Was all Archer Six-Four could say.

"I'll make this quick, so listen up," he told them straightaway. "Six-Four, prepare to open up a barrage towards grid square—" he checked his omni-tool. "—charlie-foxtrot-two-eight. Be advised, this is a danger-close fire mission, so watch our IFF tags before you plot the coordinates, fire only on my explicit command. Ferris Five, on my order, make preparations to abandon Alpha and Bravo's entrenchments and prep them for a full-scale frontal assault on the batarians' position. Understood?"

"Ferris Five, copies."

"Archer Six-Four copies all."

"Get to it, then. God helps us all, Ferris Six out." Rodriguez put the communicator on standby and went near Johnson's navigation station. "How long 'til we make visual contact?"

"Right about…now." The lieutenant's display quickly switched from navigation to the gunner's sights. On it, he could clearly see the enemy's rear as the M35 carefully sneaks up behind them.

"One thousand yards and closing, sir." The gunner aboard the Mako informed them. This was it, in just a few short minutes, the fate of the entire colony would rest on this gamble. He didn't even want to know what would happen if this gambit of his failed. The lives of thirteen thousand people depended on him, and he wasn't about to let them down just because he fucked it up.

"Five hundred yards!" the gunner told them once more. That's close enough. He thought to himself. Reactiving his omni-tool, he quickly contacted the big guns.

"Archer Six-Four, deploy munitions!" he screamed on his comm.

"Roger that, six missilse on the way, shot over," the screams of missiles launching were heard once again on his ear piece. "Ferris Six, TOT five seconds. Bunker down guys, fire mission is danger close. Good luck, out."

Outside, the missile's deployed sub-munitions made impact, where hundreds of the little egg-sized bombs soaked the batarian's formation with deadly fire. Hundreds of explosions were heard as all of them went off at the same time, with most of the shockwave completely washing over the Mako's metallic hull, shaking it with minimal force. This is it…

"Johnson, gun it!" Rodriguez shouted at the lieutenant. The officer nodded at him and quickly shouted at the driver to bring the vehicle at full speed. The Mako suddenly lurched with acceleration as the driver slammed his foot on the throttle. In the turret, the gunner was quickly scanning targets of opportunity, passing them down all the info to Lieutenant Johnson for selection and target acquisition.

The M35 Mako armored assault vehicle had a crew of three: the driver, the gunner, and the commander/navigator. While the driver made sure that they made it out of the battlefield in one piece, the gunner and commander were working in tandem to get through to their targets. While the commander selects targets via his screen (which also connected him to the gunner's sights) he highlights targets of interest and relays them to his gunner, where he could do the rest. And that was what major was seeing right in front of him.

"Gunner!" Johnson yelled at his seat, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him. "Batarian infantry squad with a missile launcher! Three o'clock, thirty yards and closing!"

"Identified!" the gunner shouted in return, training the turret left towards the selected target.

"Fire!" the lieutenant ordered.

"On the way," the gunner pressed the firing button on his turret's joystick, and was rewarded with a loud boom! as the tank's one-fifty-five millimeter mass accelerator cannon went off, it's sound reverberating inside the hull. "Hit."

"New target," the lieutenant said once again. "advancing mechs, range forty-five yards, eleven o'clock."

"Identified, switching to HE block." The tank's gunner casually responded. Pressing a couple of buttons and swinging the turret once more to its next target.

"Fire!"

"On the way," another loud boom was heard, followed by a distant explosion a few seconds later as the cannon's golfball-sized high-explosive round found it's mark. "Direct hit, el-tee."

"Shit!" the lieutenant swore loudly, tapping his fingers away on the screen right in front of him. The major decided to take a peek. On it, a group of batarian soldiers were turning around from their advance and were quickly training their ML-77 missile launchers right in front of them. "Gunner! Anti-tank teams, sixty yards at your two o'clock, fire at will!"

"Roger," the gunner went to work, putting out round after round until the group endangering the tank troop was quickly decimated. They were making good progress, and now was the time for this armored thrust to expand.

"Lieutenant," he told the officer next to him. "do it."

"Copy that," Johnson turned on his comm to speak with his unit once again. "Buffalo Troop, this is Six. Scatter boys and give 'em hell!"

"Roger, turning now." The two other Makos flanking the lieutenant's vehicle quickly broke left and right, spreading their armored spearhead and hoping to break the enemy's back with enough confusion and panic to disorganize their advance.

All the major could do at this time was wait, this whole plan now completely depending on the actions of Buffalo Troop's three armored vehicles. If we fail…no, I shouldn't think that. He furiously chastised himself for being pessimistic. His job didn't allow for negative views. Having second thoughts now would cost the militia heavy losses, losses on which he cannot hope to accept. Come on, Buffalo. Don't fail us now…

Rodriguez wasn't a really a religious man. But now, he was hoping that God would grant them this victory, even if it was just this once. For the first time in a really, really long time, the major made the sign of the cross, clasped both of his hands, closed his eyes, and mentally started reciting the Lord's Prayer.

Our Father, who art in heaven…The sounds of Johnson calling out targets and the gunner responding to them were heard…hollow be your name, your kingdom come…A single missile struck towards the Mako's hull, it's shields barely holding, and swaying the vehicle immensely from the explosive blast, but the major didn't bother…your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…The gunner was cursing now, the main cannon was venting it's heat sink at a rather bad time, so he switched to the coaxial gun, opening up with a canvas-rip, fully-automatic barrage at a bunch of unfortunate targets. Again, the major didn't mind…give us this day, our daily bread, as we forgive those who sins against us…

The young man didn't have the pleasure of continuing his prayer. It felt like a few hours had already passed. Right next to him, Lieutenant Albert Johnson just let out a loud, bellowing laugh which lasted for a short while. Once he was done, he quickly faced the major, grabbed both of his shoulders, and shook him constantly. "We fuckin' did it, sir!" he ecstatically exclaimed. "They're stopping their advance!" Rodriguez quickly absorbed the newfound revelation and opened up a comm line to his XO.

"Ferris Five, attack, now!"

"Solid copy on that, sir! Come on boys, let's give 'em hell!" The high-spirited battle cries of about two companies worth of militiamen was heard on the entire command freq. By now, the batarian's offensive was finally stopped, and they had won this day. But, as much as Rodriguez hated to admit it, he couldn't take credit for himself on this victory. He had to share it with an almighty, omnipotent being named God, who was watching his sorry ass and granted his feeble wish earlier. Right at this moment though, he didn't care. The colony was saved. Every single man, woman and child was spared from a life of slavery. And he had God to thank for that.

"Johnson," he asked the armored cavalryman. "what's going on outside?"

"Alpha and Bravo are pursuing the batarians with extreme prejudice. Right now," the lieutenant cheerily explained. "they're already driving those four-eyed freaks away from the outskirts about a few dozen klicks off. Should be clear outside."

"Right, open the rear hatches." Rodriguez ordered softly. The lieutenant quickly acknowledged his command and pressed a button that opened the rear compartment. The twin doors slowly opened outward, as Rodriguez slowly made his way to exit the vehicle, he was assaulted again with the same stench he had sniffed earlier. Only this time, it was more repulsive.

Exiting the Mako, he surveyed the surroundings all around him. Dozens and dozens of bodies from both sides were liberally littering the battlefield, where some of them were charred to ash from the artillery or were immolated from the grenades. The green grass all over the place tainted with hundreds of dark, burnt scorches from all the grenades and Devastator sub-munitions he had deployed earlier. This wasn't paradise anymore. It was a glorified killing ground. As he walked on a slow pace, Rodriguez hastily had his thoughts think about the high casualties this battle had for the militia. Most of them were kids were God sakes, barely reaching their twenties. After all this fiasco, he was sure that he had to go back to the militia command post, drafting a shitload of letters to a lot of grieving parents and sweethearts. This was the worst part about being in charge: Taking full responsibility for the deaths of those underneath your command with your decisions.

He was suddenly brought out of his reverie with a moan from somewhere nearby. Looking around the corpse-ridden battlefield for about a few minutes or so, he quickly found it's source: a heavily wounded batarian, lying on the ground with a hand clutching a fatal wound on its abdomen, which was bleeding heavily. Based on what he saw, Rodriguez knew this guy was a goner, but now that he thought about it, he never really had the chance to talk to an extraterrestrial being before. Seizing the opportunity, he went closer to the four-eyed alien, cautiously eyeing him up if he had any weapons on him. Seeing there was none, he continued his approach. The batarian lazily raised its head up, sighted the lone human walking near him, and let out a low, rumbling chuckle.

"Human," he said to the young man, disgust completely apparent in his voice. "come to finish me off?" Rodriguez just stayed silent, gazing at the alien as he let out a couple of wet coughs, each spurting out small amounts of blood into his mouth. Without further thought, the major grabbed a couple of medi-gel capsules on his utility harness and applied it on the critically injured alien's grievous wounds. The batarian's four eyes widened in surprise, the anesthetic quickly taking in effect as the young man watched the alien becoming less tense.

"Why…why…are you doing this?" the batarian asked him, all of his four eyes facing him as Rodriguez crouched down near the wounded alien.

"I don't know, to be honest," the major truthfully replied. "I just wanted to help you out, that's all."

"But…why?" the alien asked him again, the confusion on his face clearly visible. "You barely even know me, human." Rodriguez just let out a soft chuckle, finding amusement at this hostile alien's reaction to random acts of kindness.

"We're not really that bad once you get to know us," the young man happily replied. "By the way, I didn't catch your name."

"I…suppose…you've earned it." The batarian spoke softly. The wound he had was slowly draining the life out of him. He doesn't have much time left. "I am Sergeant Malik…soldier…of the…Batarian…Hegemony."

"Pleased to meet you, Sergeant Malik." The young major courteously replied. "I'm Major Henry Rodriguez, commander of the Ferris Fields Colonial Militia."

The look on the batarian's face when he found out that the young man was responsible for their defeat was priceless. But in the end, the alien didn't feel insulted at that thought, he just laughed. "Outsmarted…by a young human…the galaxy…really is…going mad." With that the four-eyed extraterrestrial just laughed a bit more, and Rodriguez just laughed along with him. It really was a funny thought, after all. But then, the alien started coughing again, this one even more severe than before. Each cough made his entire body spasm with pain. Not knowing what else to do, the major just applied more medi-gel to ease his newfound friend's pain.

"Malik, how you holding up?" Rodriguez asked him, surprised at his own concern for the enemy's well-being.

"I'm afraid…it is time…for me….to join my ancestors, major." He told the young man softly, this time his voice wasn't laced with any type of malice, but more of gratitude. After coughing for what seemed to be the last time, he faced him and said, "I thank you…for your kindness, Henry…see you…in another life." And with that, the batarian exhaled one last time, his head slowly dropping to the ground as the last few moments of his life were quickly extinguished. With his four-eyes still wide open, Rodriguez outstretched his hand and respectfully lowered the eyelids of all of them.

"Rest in peace, Sergeant Malik." He said softly to the now expired body.

War is hell.

As the rest of the battalion finished up their pursuit of the invasion force, they slowly made their way back towards the colony's northern entrance. Arriving there, they were greeted by a large crowd of Ferris Fields' grateful colonists, who cheered and applauded the soldiers of the militia as they walked past them. But, not a single soldier of the militia was in a partying mood. People were killed, but more importantly, their friends were taken down by a race of hostile aliens hell-bent on making them slaves.

But the civilian colonists didn't notice their foul mood, and just kept on cheering as the soldiers of the colonial militia unhurriedly made their way to their respective barracks and homes to take a well-deserves rest and forget this whole day ever happened. Major Henry Rodriguez was one of them. As he arrived at his office, he takes a not-so-relaxed seat on his desk and powers up his computer terminal. If I'm gonna start writing on those condolence letters, might as well start now. He thought to himself. Accessing the militia databases, he quickly called up on the casualty list from the battle earlier and saw the figures.

Fifty-nine dead, ninety-four wounded. Just as he'd expected, heavy casualties indeed. Right as he was about to start typing one of the first of many letters, the door to his office opens, and right in front of him was the familiar face of Patrick Knowles and…Therese?

"Hey, Pat." Rodriguez just greeted weakly, not really in the mood for all the pleasantries.

"How you doing, son?" he asked the young man, his concern painfully obvious.

"I'll live." Was all the major could answer. His hands were on the terminal's keys, but it wasn't bursting with movement. It just lied still there, not typing away on the letters he was planning on making. In front of him, the monitor was still painfully blank. He was so focused on his intent on making all these letters he hadn't had a single clue on where to start. Goddamn it.

Next to Knowles, Therese just stared at him, her eyes widening with pure worry and unease. I must look like hell. With the numerous cuts on bruises on his voice, combined with the aching wound he had on the back of his head, Rodriguez imagined that he really did look like hell. An uncomfortable silence was creeping around them, not one of them knowing just what to say.

Suddenly, Therese just walked ever so slowly towards him, with her pale blue eyes still locking on towards his facial features. As she finally stood beside Rodriguez, she raised her left hand and placed it on one of his face's cheeks, the soft skin just brushing off on his rough features. The major just closed his eyes, brought his left hand up, and placed it on top of her hand touching his face.

Even though no words were exchange, the simple contact conveyed more than enough emotion that a few words ever could.

War really was hell.

Don't forget to review and tell me what you think.

-Rookie571