Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warnings for death, violence and fantastic racism.
…
If They're in Range, So Are You
2nd Lieutenant Regan Shepard was supposed to be on leave. She'd come to Elysium because it was cheap and close to the ship she'd been assigned to, the SSV Kokoda, and they brewed a damned good beer. Despite her extensive training and previous experience, she was very much a rookie when it came to commanding in battle, and so she'd planned to do one of those short courses the Grissom Academy offered in short-term battlefield tactics while enjoying a cold beer and not having to wake up in a sleeping pod.
The batarians weren't supposed to be this deep in the Skyllian Verge.
Regan had long since learned that 'supposed to' meant jack-fucking-shit out here.
The garrison was pinned down by a batarian dreadnought, which left the little holiday town of Curved Valley full of helpless tourists who could be enslaved or ransomed depending on level of wealth. There was a small hunting industry here, so there was a sporting goods store that sold sniper rifles; Regan kicked down the door, overloaded the security system and grabbed the best rifle in the place with all the thermal clips she could grab.
"This is 2nd Lieutenant Regan Shepard calling the SSV Kokoda," she signalled over the military line. "Do you read me?"
Static.
"Motherfucker," she muttered as she looked for an appropriate vantage point. Looked like she'd have to buy time for the cavalry to arrive.
She found a small comms tower and perched beneath the railing, pointing the sniper rifle at the four-eyed batarian coming in. Big bastard in heavy armour – probably soldier-class. Too bad for him he forgot his helmet.
One shot and he was dead. The other batarians immediately began searching for the sniper they knew was there – they moved like professionals – and their caution gave Regan enough time to aim and fire again, taking out the guy with the biggest gun.
So began a hellish twelve-hour siege that had Regan being chased around Curved Valley by slavers intent on killing the military unit they were sure were hiding here. Apparently it was part of batarian military doctrine to make tempting targets, stuff them full of troops, and kill the suckers who came to loot the place.
Humanity's military doctrine relied on hitting hard and fast. Regan used her biotics to pull up grenades and thermal clips from the dead batarians and when she got her hands on a grenade launcher…
"-Lieutenant Shepard, this is… Anton Dupree… SSV Kokoda. Do you copy?"
The crackling signal over her omnitool was a gift from hitherto-uncaring gods. Regan ducked behind a bit of broken masonry and activated her earpiece. "This is Shepard. Bastards are in Curved Valley and I'm pinned down. Please tell me you have an ETA, over?"
"Six hours. We're fighting three slave cruisers…"
"For fuck's sake…" Regan muttered. "Copy that. I've lasted for twelve, what's another six? Shepard out."
She grabbed the grenade launcher and lobbed a cryo-grenade over the wall to freeze the grenadier the batarians had brought. Then she grabbed the sniper rifle and finished him off.
Soon the bastards figured out there was one of her and surrounded the position she'd taken, preventing Regan from falling back. Exhausted and starving, she drank the last of her water, ate the last protein bar and counted the remaining ammo and grenades she had left.
Regan could hold out for about an hour more at the rate of current fire exchange… or she could go all out, pull a big damn heroes moment, and probably wind up dead within ten minutes.
Looks like I'm gonna be in the one out of four who die… Regan thought wryly as she loaded her grenade launcher again. She'd soften the bastards with a rain of grenades, pepper them with what was left of her sniper ammo, and then go out with nothing but her shotgun and light pistol.
Thirty batarians out of a squad of two hundred remained. Regan had done a hell of a lot of damage.
"Human!" One of the slavers suddenly spoke. "Your Alliance soldiers are dead. The SSV Kokoda has been shot down in flames. Put a bullet in your head and die with dignity."
They don't know I've been in contact with the Kokoda, she thought gleefully and decided to buy herself a bit more time – and lower their defences – by playing wounded gazelle.
"I'm hurt bad," she called out weakly. "You guys did a good number on me with that grenade."
"You've accounted for yourself well, I'll grant you that," the batarian agreed. "I will let you die with dignity instead of becoming a slave."
He looked over his shoulder at the batarians. "We'll advance once we hear a shot."
Regan picked up her pistol and fired it into her right thigh to produce that meaty bullet to the brain sound. Then she tied what was left of her t-shirt around her thigh to stop the bleeding just in case of some fucking miracle she survived this and waited until the batarians were just below her.
Fire in the hole, motherfuckers, she thought as she triggered her five remaining grenades and threw them over the wall.
They went off, producing the sound of screams and torn flesh, and Regan rose to her knees despite the agony and fired off her last three sniper thermal clips. Then she fell back to her shotgun as the remnants emerged from the bloody mess she'd created.
Five remained as they ran the gauntlet of the narrow corridor up to the wall she hid behind, so Regan took down three with her shotgun before running out of ammo and throwing it aside. Last was her pistol and the two batarians who crowded into the walkway were armed and only lightly wounded.
One of them was the speaker. "I didn't think a human could use batarian military doctrine," he said as they stared at each other with guns raised. "You should have killed yourself. Now I have to take you alive as an example for the Hegemony. Your death will be long and painful. But know that I, Balak, salute you."
Regan smiled grimly and shot his friend in the head. As the batarian collapsed, Balak stared at her. "Why did you do that?"
"Because judging by the blood on your uniform, you're wounded. You've lost – I destroyed your unit and you don't have the strength to drag me, unable to walk, back to the cruiser and escape before the SSV Warsaw rocks up. I just shot the guy who could carry me." Regan bared her teeth at the batarian. "Kill me or not, you've lost and you're fucked. I hear the Terminus fleets don't respect someone who fucked up so badly."
Balak snarled and shot her twice in the gut with his pistol. Regan slid into darkness, smiling. She was going to die but at least she'd protected a bunch of civilians and the medals would look great on her coffin.
…
"She's going to make it, Anderson."
Admiral Steven Hackett's dry precise tenor broke through the Captain's reverie as he waited in the Warsaw's mess hall for word on Shepard. Anderson uttered a wordless exclamation of relief as he sagged back against the wall. He'd put a lot of effort into Regan Shepard – thought of her almost as a daughter – and to know she'd repaid him, Matilda and Patel in a big way – becoming the hero he knew she could be – was almost as amazing as the relief that she would survive her once in a generation heroics.
"And before you ask, she'll be back in action within a few months," Hackett added with a broad grin.
"Thank God. I'd hate to lose our best Spectre candidate." Anderson wiped a forehead wet with sweat.
"After this? The brass would be idiots not to back her." Hackett smiled again. "She's being sent to the ICA. One of Udina's regulations is that someone have an N-designation before their name is put forward."
Anderson looked in the direction of the med-lab. "Shepard's going to reach N7. I can feel it in my bones."
"As can I." Hackett folded his arms behind his back. "The Parliament's given us the go ahead to build that prototype ship with the turians."
"Thank God," Anderson said fervently.
"By the way, you're going to be the captain of it." Hackett surely wasn't smirking.
"You're too kind."
"And the Council has assigned a Spectre named Nihlus Kyrik – turian – to watch over the whole process," Hackett continued.
Anderson sighed and nodded. He supposed the Council had a right to keep an eye on their investment.
The doors to the mess hall entered and a tall, black-carapaced turian with red-lit ebony armour walked in. "Captain Anderson? I'm Nihlus Kyrik." The Spectre extended a hand and Anderson wiped off his sweaty palm before shaking it.
"Good to meet you," he said diplomatically. "I apologise if I look a little flustered – I've been waiting on the results of Lieutenant Shepard's operation and I just got the good news she'll make it and be able to return to combat."
"Shepard's the sniper who decimated a batarian slaver squad of three hundred at Curved Valley two days ago," Hackett explained as Nihlus' mandibles flapped curiously.
"I was looking up for the name of that sniper," Nihlus admitted calmly. "Humanity isn't quite ready for a Spectre – not with the candidates we've been assessing – but you're getting there."
"Ngaire Parata is more likely to be a Spectre's second in command," Anderson agreed as Hackett grimaced. "Kai Leng's an N7 now and he's ruthless enough, but…"
"But he's a racist asshole, if you'll pardon the language," Nihlus finished bluntly. "He's also looted the dead and I believe there's more bodies in his past than you might think."
Anderson grimaced in agreement. "Regan – Shepard – has actually studied Intergalactic Relations. Her speciality is irregular low-intensity urban warfare – she belonged to a gang of criminals, the Tenth Street Reds, when we recruited her – and she has minor biotic abilities in addition to her status as an Infiltrator-class soldier."
Nihlus frowned. "The Reds have ties to Cerberus."
"And Regan turned on them when they tried to sell children to those terrorist bastards," Anderson pointed out.
"Hmm, so she has standards." Nihlus studied the ground for a moment. "I'll add her to the list of candidates I'm personally researching. I assume you're sending her to the ICA?"
"Of course," Hackett confirmed.
"Good. Special Forces are always preferred." Nihlus nodded cordially in farewell. "May the spirits watch over you."
The turian left as the two Alliance officers glanced at each other. "Is this good or bad?" Anderson asked of Hackett.
"Good. Nihlus is ranked just below Saren amongst the Spectres, but he's a lot friendlier towards humanity." The Admiral folded his arms behind his back once again, studying Anderson. "Your job is to prepare Shepard for ICT. If she's half as good as you claim, she'll be a Spectre in ten years or less."
Anderson nodded and saluted the Admiral. He knew that Regan would make an excellent N7, but the hellishness of the training would make everything she'd been through feel like a walk in the park.
I keep on piling more and more expectations on you, he thought regretfully as he looked in the direction of the med-lab once again. And somehow, you rise up and exceed them.
Doctor Karin Chakwas emerged, having cleaned up, and smiled reassuringly at Anderson. "Tough little cookie, isn't she?" the British woman asked.
"She is." Anderson took a deep breath. "I need you to make sure she's ready for ICT by the next intake."
"Oh, for the love of…" Karin's voice was wearily disgusted. "It's going to take her three months to be ready for combat but I'd have to double that for ICT."
"Then I'll make sure she has those six months. But I need her in N-School pronto." Anderson clasped his hands together. "More than just her future is riding on this, Dr Chakwas."
The older woman's lips pursed but she nodded tightly. A veteran who'd survived Shanxi and the First Contact War, she knew when the balance between her oath as an Alliance soldier and the Hippocratic Oath was thin and sharp as a knife's edge. "Very well, Captain."
Anderson nodded and turned away. It would be five or six years before this ship was ready but already he needed to start planning a crew.
I'm sorry, Regan. You just wanted a better life but I have to forge you into a Spectre. I hope one day that you don't hate me for it…