Once Bitten, Twice Shy Chapter 17: War and Peace, Part Four, a X-Com + Mass Effect Crossover fanfic

"We are trained for espionage. We would be legends, but the records are sealed. Glory in battle is not our way. Think of our heroes: the Silent Step, who defeated a nation with a single shot. Or the Ever Alert, who kept armies at bay with hidden facts. These giants do not seem to give us solace here, but they are not all that we are. Before the network, there was the fleet. Before diplomacy, there were soldiers! Our influence stopped the Rachni, but before that we held the line! Our influence stopped the Krogan, but before that, we held the line! Our influence will stop Saren. In the battle today, we will hold the line!" - STG Captain Kirrahe

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During the Ethereal war, constructing a Mechanized Exoskeleton Cybersuit took days. The surgery for the pilot's augmentation and adjustments took up to four days, and then the suit took another week. Finally, the pilot's training to peak performance lasted a month or more. The process was imprecise, expensive, and lacked the needed results on demand. Several times the program had nearly been scrapped in favor of the more costly and time consuming medical procedures. This was primarily due to two reasons: the alien metals needed to create proper MEC and the meld needed to ensure that a MEC soldier could survive the process yet still remain combat effective.

After the war, with the Ethereal Lunar Base converted into the XCOM headquarters supplies were no longer in limited amounts. New ways to create an MEC were thought up. More creative methods to transforming the crippled members of the armed forces and civilians of the Earth into functioning full bodied people was quickly undertaken.

It wasn't long before the best scientists that the human race had to offer came up with several methods to more quickly create MEC modifications in the various needed ways. Limited surgical procedures were designed to allow the common man, woman, or child to have the use of a prosthetic limb without needing a full body modification. From there it was converted into more convenient ways of augmentation and methods for switching parts.

Thus began the creation of the MEC Mobile Construction Platform. It was a simple concept that evolved into one of humanity's greatest assets in war. In the event that a soldier is wounded beyond the ability to regenerate they only need to be brought back to base and a prosthetic MEC limb could be graphed to the wounded area in an hour. Critically wounded soldiers could be converted into a functional MEC trooper within a day, with fully formed body and armor

Given a goal, the materials, and the time it was no surprise the MEC platform project succeeded. Alas lacking a war to create demand, the platform was remade for the civilian market. The critically injured no longer had to fear loss of limb, hospitals around the world buying the military made medical machine for the endless possibilities they held for the future. The meld infused body parts were used to create bodies for the elderly or disable, allowing them to contribute to society once again.

It was that technology Kevin Knives was looking to exploit.

The good Doctor had spent months examining files, reading notes taken by those who had examined the Alliance's stockpile of Alien data. Humanity needed a new ace in the hole, something that would stop the inevitable loss of human life in war but also not be used against them. It needed combat effective robots. It did not take long for Dr. Knives exploration of Citadel history to learn of the Geth.

An experiment with VI that grew out of control as it grew closer and closer to Artificial intelligence. It was an intriguing opportunity to the aged XCOM doctor. According to what data could be copied and stolen from the Citadel's "Extranet" the Geth had remained in their little pocket of space after their rebellion three hundred years prior. No ships of Geth design came out of their area, called the 'Perseus Veil', and the only evidence that the Geth were still even there was the space probes that would emerge from the veil at random intervals.

Like all divisions of the Alliance military, XCOM had access to dozens of military grade MEC platforms. Using his authority as the head of research the doctor requisitioned a twentieth generation platform. The machine lasted several hours in the lab before it was remodeled for the doctor's plan.

A dozen more devices had to be requisitioned from other XCOM departments. Mostly from what remained of the Inquisitor program. The old doctor plunged a syringe in his left arm, drawing out an ample amount for a DNA sample. The clones would need to be formed before he could begin reconstruction after all.

The XCOM head had already started to clone himself three times prior. The new bodies had violently rejected the good doctor's intended augmentations, the untested cybernetic additions had proven incapable of handling the combined energies of Elerium, Element Zero and Psychically enhanced tissue. The first body had failed spectacularly, a small sliver of eezo coming too close to an Elerium fuel rod. The resulting explosion ripped through the clone's container splattering gene altered organs across the lab and flooding the floor with meld laced ooze.

Knives second body expired when it attempted to channel biotics for the first time. Creating the mass effect field was simple, stopping it was impossible. The field fluctuated, bent, but refused to close off. When the mad man commanded his replica to stop all attempts to control the field, the field shattered. The biotic blue glow shifted into a violet wall of furious threads that tore the clone's body apart. The flesh and metal fell to the lab floor in a pile of diced body parts and cybernetic refuse.

Body number three suffered instantaneous brain death as it struggled and tried in vain to use its psionics. As the body produced the trademark glow of a psychic power the eezo in the blood reacted, attempting to tear its host apart from the inside. The clone struggled to suppress the field, suffering cuts but not anything lethal. The mass effect field calmed, just in time for the clone's mind to overload from the still building mental power. The brain overloaded, frying the infant like mind of Kevin Knives replica.

With each failure the process had become greatly improved. The death of each clone used to benefit their successors in line. Soon enough a perfect clone would be formed, and then the transfers could begin.

When the good doctor was finished, the Alliance would have a whole new army at its fingertips.

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The Predator class SHIV were not as combat effective as the Alliance brains would have liked. The model LQ-84i virtual intelligence had a limited learning capacity. It functioned using a basic situation awareness routine, if situation A occurs, use tactic routine 1, 2, or 7 to counter based on the environment. The learning program would take the combat data from any predator models that survived combat and transmit the data to other SHIVs in the area. The data package would inform the other VI about what tactics would work against what enemy, weak points the enemy possessed, and what skills would be the best to take down the enemy with

The Human scientists believed that using a learning VI the LQ-84i would be able to handle any threats the Turian defenders could use. The weakness in that logic was that if the Predators encountered a new situation, it took seconds to determine a new way to fight, and as all soldiers regardless of species will tell you: hesitation on a battlefield will get you killed.

All the combat data and attack routines of the SHIVS were based upon Turian tactics seen during the siege of Shanxi. Turians using element zero weapons, air support, armor support, and urban combat tactics. The people of Altakiril lacked element zero thanks to the UR-86ED warheads, and used Guerrilla tactics instead using improvised weapons. The constant changing of tactics, weapons, and other variables confused the VI intelligence as each situation changed and they had to repeatedly adapt to the enemy.

The Turian insurgents lacked the knowledge of how the Alliance hunters worked, only that with each attack they got smarter and struck faster. In the beginning the mechanical beasts were easy to ambush, easy to stun, easy to kill. However, each survivor meant the synthetic wolves would never be caught in the same way twice.

The Turian rebels quickly learned to fear the howls of the machines as the packs roamed across the icy flooded ruins of the once great cities. The merciless machines adapted quickly to their prey, hunting in coordinated packs, calling in reinforcements the moment their targets were sighted. More vicious tactics were employed by the Predator VI after engineers noticed the abysmal rate the cyberdog hunters were getting destroyed. With the new tactics uploaded the Predators became several magnitudes more deadly. The SHIVs began purposefully wounding targets to slow down groups, leaving mortally wounded targets as bait in an ambush location to draw in more prey, using more brutal and flashy methods of killing hostiles to demoralize survivors. The VI were still learning.

"Oh spirits! They're still coming!"

"Just go! Run while you can! I'll hold them off!"

"No! Stay away! No! Save me! Save me!"

"Keep running! There's more of them!"

"Spirits save us!"

Karak was panicking, he left the military because he never wanted to be a part of combat. He wanted to be an entertainment director, not a soldier. He had joined up with the other survivors, thinking that the Turians would be able to quickly force the threat off world for the fleet to obliterate. He realized how wrong he was when a male next to him had been split in half by the claws of the human's robotic Varren. The group he had been with had scattered like bugs when the human's metal beasts struck. Those in charge had been taken down first, clawed or chewed to death by the sleek silver monsters. Then the chase began.

That had been hours ago. Hours of running, screaming, fleeing and dying. Hours of watching his fellow Turians die, eaten by fang filled maws or torn apart by searing metal claws. Hours of trying desperately trying to stay one step ahead, any distance ahead of those killing machines and the bloody trail they were creating.

The chase had eventually led inside the city maintenance tunnels. The dripping, collapsed, semi flooded halls gave just enough cover and distractions for the hunted to escape their pursuers. With the last of their strength the group squeezed past clusters of flooded debris, ducking under collapsed passages and opening some destruction sealed doors. When the group came to rest, they found shelter in what had once been an employee rest room. Several pieces of furniture were partially demolished from the collapse, and a thin pool of water formed near the only door.

Karak was bent over wheezing from lack of breath, the three others remaining in the group of twenty were no better, "Did we lose them?" Karak asked, still gulping air into his exhausted lungs. His legs were aching, the muscles trembling. A nervous tremble had formed in both hands due to both nerves and the frantic pace that was needed to out race the devils that pursued them.

The only female in the group was the one to answer, replying between calming gasps."I...I think... I think so... " she panted out. The synthesized voice of the Human forged beast demonstrated just how wrong she was. "Targets lost. Begin search mode."

The artificial voice was speaking in the Human's native language. The Turians didn't understand it, none of the three needed to, they knew they needed to stay silent. Soon a steady staccato of heavy thudding footsteps and the telltale sloshing of water could tell them how doomed the terrified survivors were.

"Thermal traces detected, perusing possible targets."

As each step came closer to their hiding place among the flooded wreckage, the nerves of the Turians inside became more unsettled. When the beasts howled, unleashing a rusty screeching soul shredding sound, the Turians panicked. Foolishly the four pulled any loose objects in the room into a crude barrier in front of the door.

"Targets confirmed. Activating combat mode."

The last chair was placed in front of the door as the Alliance hunters crashed into the blockade. The slam occurred three more times, each blow stronger than the last. The cornered Turians threw themselves at their barrier against death, praying to their ancestor's spirits that they would live for another day, another hour, even another minute. The prayers of the soon to be dead were not answered.

The VI identified a previous scenario, and it activated the appropriate subroutine. The pack stepped back, arming their back mounted heavy plasma rifles. The Gatling gun style weapons unleashed a stream of concentrated plasma fire at the doors, melting the thin metal to slag, and penetrating the Turians who pressed themselves to the barrier. The machines walked forward past the freshly made wreckage scanning for anything living. The synthetic's sensors read only one Turian left.

"Survivor located. Orders confirmed: capture."

The last thing Karak could see past his blurry eyes, was the gleaming silver metal of the monster's fangs.

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"General Williams, landing zones are secured, markers have been placed for the G78 mechs."

The Fleet commander looked out at the stars, and just for the briefest moments, felt a small drop of mercy for those he was about to doom. The Shanxi survivor ruthlessly crushed the barely formed sensation with a haze of rage.

"What is the status of the hostage operations." The general asked.

The central comm officer only needed a second to double check his facts, "We are near or above quota in each area sir. Each Team is showing significant progress in capturing the Turian survivors. Turian insurgent groups have formed, but without their eezo based technology they've yet to form a substantial resistance."

Williams nodded, more pleased than he could show, "Send a message to the infantry and VI, weapons free. No more hostages, no surrenders are to be accepted. All free Turians are to be exterminated."

The comm officer's hands danced on his keyboard as the command was transmitted to the Alliance forces on the Surface.

"Adjutant, " Williams commanded, "Open a channel to the G78 controller."

The comm relay barely buzzed before a screen opened, displaying the eager grease stained face of the Officer in charge,"Controller speaking, Sir." the man responded cheerfully.

"What is the status of the G78?"

"We can launch at anytime, General."

"Arm them with a full load out, I don't want a Turian left when they are done."

"Understood, Sir. Launch will proceed in Thirty."

The instant the General cut the call, pilots were rushing to their positions as three drop ships broke formation from the ninth fleet and moved to previously chosen locations on Altakiril. The places with the greatest concentration of Turian survivors. It was time to deploy the Subjugators.

The Alliance MEC-M-22 "Subjugation mech" was the human answer for a terror weapon against aliens. Designed by Dr. Nagi Shorah of the United Japanese Islands, the machines were giant scaled versions of the XCOM MEC Armor, and the wet dream of giant robot fans throughout the history of mankind. Before the conflicts with the Turians had begun, Dr. Shorah's designs were little more than one test model and a lot of notes. New styles of weapons were needed against enemies that used tactics and weaponry that was frighteningly similar to their own. Thus, many unconventional weapons were reconsidered to be used to both confuse the enemy and shock them into submission.

Lasers the would pierce any material, slicing apart ship after ship into enemy ranks. Combat machines that learned with every battle, becoming more impressive with every kill, just like a real soldier. Giant robots that could walk across a battlefield, making the ground beneath them and the foe before them tremble with every step. Dr. Shorah's walking weapons platform filled all three niches quite nicely.

The essence of the MEC-M-22 was its multiple pilot assisting learning VI. The giant mech would move like a normal MEC trooper, albeit slower, but unlike on the predecessors the weapons mounted on the armor could fire independently of the users, guided by the hosted VI programs. In every test run a single M-22 proved to be just as effective as the competing teams of MEC troopers. Even against XCOM members the M-22 subjugation mechs were just as skilled in combat simulations, the heavy weapon load out and heavier armor making up for the lack of numbers.

As pilots rushed to prepare themselves for orbital deployment as well as their first round of combat, the largest MEC suits on record began to power up. Elerium reactors warmed up, turbines spinning, cores humming with power. Engineering teams rushed to double and triple check the pilot connections, a single mistake in the neural interface could prove disastrous. The pilots themselves entered their assigned war machine and stood stiffly in the center of the cockpit as dozens of workers strapped them into position.

Each pilot had to remain as still as possible as mechanical arms, electrical cords, and the cold metal of reinforcement hardware was secured to their bodies. Once the process was done each pilot focused, feeling chills rack their bodies as their minds linked with their armor. As they were locked into place thousands of connections between man and machine activated, removing the divide between both until they were remade as one. In unison the combat machines began to move, mimicking the steady breathing of their pilots as they moved as one body.

The Control Officer watched the steady progress on a monitor screen, taking note as each checkpoint was reached, "Weapons systems online, navigation online, co-pilot routines activated, neural link established." The second all three of the M-22 were reading green he opened a comm channel to the operators, "Pilots, status reports."

"This is the Blitzkrieg, Ready to drop!"

"Nemesis reporting, all systems go!"

"King Joffrey, ready to show the metal heads hell!"

"Alright boys, listen up! General Williams is going to deploy the three of you right on top of the biggest clusters of Turian resistance we could find." The control officer explained from their radio. "When I say right on top, I mean right on top. When you land, you will be standing right in the middle of their camps. I do believe I speak for everyone when I say we want you to stomp, crush, burn, shoot and smash everything that isn't human around you."

"I thought this was supposed to be work boss!" The Blitzkrieg Pilot remarked, "Ha, sounds more like a vacation!"

King Joffery's pilot chuckled, "And here I was thinking this mission was gonna be hard."

"Enough pillow talk boys. You drop in five."

"Four." Each pilot gripped their controls as their assigned metal monster was loaded into an over-sized cylinder, an Alliance Atmosphere-resistant delivery vehicle.

"Three." In each of the three orbiting drop-ships, a new model fusion lance charged inside of the Zeus drop-ships.

"Two." Preparing to fire their cargo the pods were aimed at the war scarred surface of Altakiril. Their payloads ready to unleash havoc upon the foes of mankind.

"One."

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It's funny how small things can turn the tides of any battle. In this case, a Citadel Spectre stopping to refuel before continuing to pursue a target.

Salarian eyes patiently swept over the collapsing buildings, the icy waters that flooded the roads, and the Human invaders that were professionally searching the streets. Behind those watchful eyes a clever mind was thinking, observing, and learning. Citadel Spectre Nnatal Kirrahe had been a Commander in the Salarian Special Task Group before he was recruited. He had never been promoted for sucking up, or earning favor. Kirrahe had always earned his promotions for his willingness to do anything and everything to ensure the survival of his teammates. Where other Salarians preferred smart thinking and clever subterfuge to fight, Kirrahe used an unorthodox weapon that was rare for any space-faring race.

He was called the 'Venomous Spectre' for a good reason.

With a triple specialty of Biological warfare, Poison weaponry, and psychological warfare Kirrahe would enter a battlefield and cripple both armies by himself. No tactic was too low, no method was too cruel to break the will of the enemy. The Spectre's malice for all the enemies of the Citadel was put to good use. Alliance soldiers were quickly slain by the STG member. Aerosolized thresher maw acid melted the Alliance armor within minutes, the saliva of a Varren den mother made for an excellent anti-coagulant for any levo-acid based life. Combining the two created an acidic gas that would severely injure the enemy and cause them to hemorrhage blood from the skin if the acid could enter the body.

Kirrahe had watched the Alliance mistreat their captives and was returning the gesture in kind. Slain Alliance soldiers were tied up in cruel positions, their equipment stripped and the carcass mutilated in a macabre display that would make a hardened soldier sick to their stomach. Kirrahe had paid attention to the reports of his people, just because the Human technology couldn't be deconstructed did not mean it couldn't be re-used.

Kirrahe's victims would aid those they would have suppressed. The Turians took to using human weapons with astounding ease. "War and the need to survive inspires quick learning." Kirrahe's grandfather had once told him. The young Kirrahe took the lesson to heart, and often learned much from the Veteran of the Krogan rebellions, lessons he put to use on Altakiril. New lessons had to be taught to the Turian insurgents, they were quick learners and put the Spectre's lessons to good use.

The Alliance soldiers could regenerate. So you had to bleed them to death or kill them swiftly. The Humans couldn't be touched by mass accelerator guns, thus you must crush them under rubble or destroy the ground under their feet. The Alliance searched for their targets with synthetic animals, they had to be cut down before the Humans. The Invaders used long range weapons and so very few were quick to move, thus to survive the Altakiril defenders needed to fight close and fight dirty.

Spectre Kirrahe's team had done well considering their limits on resources, manpower, and weaponry. It was only Kirrahe 's insistence on his people using his battery powered dart launchers that saved them from being totally unarmed. It was an engineer's call that Kirrahe's ship needed to be evacuated during the power loss at the beginning of the siege that stopped them from suffering total loss. Finally, it was thanks to Kirrahe's call to immediately begin salvaging any offline ships that prevented them from being without proper food or water during the battles to come.

Being a Citadel Spectre meant the STG commander was in a rare position. In the event of a massive breach in the Citadel laws, a disease outbreak or the invasion of a Citadel world, a Spectre could use their authority to call in support from the Citadel defensive fleet. Numerous Turians had chattered about the hope of reinforcements from the Hierarchy. Kirrahe knew better. When not in combat or aiding the survivors the Commander had pondered long and hard over the matter.

The loss at Shanxi had damaged a large amount of the Turian navy, over one sixth of the Turian ships had been damaged or ruined at that battle alone, and an entire fleet was currently occupying the airspace around Invictus to prevent the spread of any of the new species of Rachni from escaping. The Turians would never be able to recover Altakiril by themselves. A much larger task force would be needed, and even then anything more than a Pyrrhic victory would be impossible.

The Weapons the 'Human Systems Alliance' was using showed impossibly advanced technology. The VI driven synthetic Infantry were decades more advanced than anything the Citadel had developed. The Weapons were more accurate, and while they covered less distance, the armor piercing abilities of their lasers were devastating. The Armor that the Alliance soldiers used was Invulnerable to anything the Turians used against it, sans environmental damage, which just further illustrated the technological level that the enemy possessed. What little could be seen of the Alliance's air support just supported Kirrahe's theory, newer ships that possessed countermeasures against previously used tactics. The enemy evolved counters to the Turians in months, while it took the Turians themselves years to upgrade their military.

As the Turians around him prepared for another raid, the commander kept himself preoccupied with interrogating a captive. The human had been part of a scouting party, and protected by the detestable machine animals they used as guards. It was a simple enough matter to detract the humans with an explosive blast, kill the machines with strikes to the neck, and kill the unnecessary humans. The survivor had attempted to flee, of course, however a rod to the leg joint was sufficient to keep it from succeeding.

The Human had long fur coming from its head, a thinner frame than others, and the large mammeries on the chest would indicate it was a reproductive member of its species. Kirrahe took his time peeling the armor off the possible female, hopefully it would be able to be re-purposed as either a disguise or armor for the resistance. The female's body was thoroughly examined by the STG commander, only one other live human had been captured, so this one was expendable.

For a solar cycle the Salarian studied how his toxins and acids effected the human's warm blooded body. The experiments revealed just how frail the humans could be if the right chemical reactions were induced. However, poisons were difficult. The human body showed strong evidence of genetic tampering, and one modification must have been dedicated to dealing with poison and other biological weapons. The female would recover from poison at an annoying rate, only the most toxic venom would have a prolonged effect. Nntal enjoyed the challenge.

The Human had made more attempts to escape, particularly after it discovered itself undressed. The Turian guarding it had to be executed when he was discovered trying to help an escape attempt. The process repeated a few more times, until Kirahhe had enough and removed an eye as a warning. Either from the pain, the mutilation or the fear from the action, the human ceased the attempts to escape. Instead, all the human did was weep.

Due to the human forces blockading the planet, every drop of the vicious poison users materials would need to be carefully used. There was no way to gain Varren bile on a Turian ice planet after all. Once a proper poison was synthesized it could be distributed to the Salarians, but there would be no point if there wasn't enough to go around. The substance would need to be potent enough to effect members of the invading species, but there needed to be enough to effect a large number.

If the Humans occupying Altakiril could be dealt with the synthetic forces that they used would be easy to deal with. A biological weapon that could be used to flush out the invaders before they could take a solid hold on the ice planet would be necessary before long.

"Varren anti-coagulant not lasting... Perhaps use Volus black moon powder as an amplifier? No, counteracted by human regeneration. Maybe use some of the Slaver's paralyzing serum? Batarian torture products are less effective due to contamination, but could potentially slow regeneration. Could try powdered Element Zero. Cause neurological disruption?"

Kirrahe's musing was cut short by the whoosh of displaced air, one that came from a landing vessel or something crashing, The thunderous noise of crushing stone and buildings breaking under an impact said that it was most likely a ship crashing. The curious murmuring of both the Turian insurgents and his STG team in the camp made him consider otherwise.

"Commander Kirrahe! You need to see this!"

Kirrahe's eyes narrowed, his mind already at work and considering possibilities. "Large object. Landing noise too rough for ship. Sound of collapsing ground upon landing suggests heavier weight. Explosive unlikely, would have detonated. Other possibilities? Enemy uses Synthetic soldiers. Large weapon perhaps? Most likely threat!"

"Run Away!" Kirrahe bellowed, as the stone began to shift and rumble as the fallen object stirred. "It's a Human weapon! Take Cover!" He commanded.

The 'Weapon' stood on two legs, towering over the surrounding rubble. The STG members estimated its height to be nearly twenty meters tall. The Figure of the weapon was the same basic shape of the humans, two arms and two legs with a head on top, but that was where similarities cut short. The weapon was covered in thick plates of armor, with multiple weapons systems mounted securely. It wasn't hard to realize what the pilot of the machine was intending.

Commander Kirrahe looked across the camp at their small treasure horde of captured Alliance weapons. The Armor was useless, but the guns were a small hope. Several of the Alliance Rifles had show the ability to tear down buildings with shots of concentrated green plasma bolts, the only hope the Insurgent camp had, was if the Alliance were weak to their own weapons. In the madness of the ensuing assault, none of the insurgents taking position or cover had the opportunity to notice their captive escaping.

The war machine opened its assault with several salvos of grenades. The glowing green balls of death bounced across the camp, chirping merrily in a countdown of destruction. As they erupted in blooming bursts of their super-heated payloads the machine sprayed the camp with streams of rapid lasers. The random spray of shots wounded many, the lasers spearing past any hope of defense.

"Grab the Human weapons!" Kirrahe ordered over the chaos, "Use the green glowing guns! They are anti-armor! Aim for the legs! Cripple it!"

The Turian Insurgents rushed for the weapon's storage, hoping that the STG commander's order would become their salvation. The Human weapon noticed their efforts to run for the area, and reacted blockading the door with a stream of clinging flame. Those closest to reaching the guns were incinerated by the flames, the yellow jelly that fed the fires clinging to their flesh and ensuring their demise. Those who dodged the flames felt the searing heat and stumbled back into the spray of laser fire, their caution overwhelmed by panic.

The camp was burning from the plasma bursts and now the flamethrower's unceasing fires. The Turians scrambled to fight back with what they could, cocktail grenades splashed over their attacker, The few Eezo guns that still worked fired tirelessly at the legs, rubble was flung by biotics. Still, the unfeeling machine continued its assault. The cocktail's burnt out, lacking flammable materials to feed. The accelerator guns failed, their projectiles halted mid-air by a barrier. The Biotic flung rubble hit, but did little more than scratch the hardened armor of their tormentor.

Kirrahe's eyes swept the grim battleground before him, searching for an advantage, a tactic possible, anything that would grant them victory over the foe before him.

"Larger version of Alliance armored trooper. Weapons heavier. Armor thicker. Uses threat assessment. Piloted?" Kirrahe watched as the machine started to use more grenades, targeting the biotics and those with the eezo guns. "Definite pilot." The Spectre looked closely at the body of the machine, keeping out of its direct line of sight as he darted around the killer to spot any weakness. "Stable legs. Unlikely to tip. Fast reaction time. Less likely to succumb to strike in the back."

Kirrahe's desperation increased as some of his crew began to fall to the superior fire. "Must think quicker." he insisted in his head, "Machine must have weakness. Not legs. Not arms. Armor too thick...Turians dealt with smaller mechanized soldiers by burying..."

Kirrahe looked at the surrounding buildings, many of which were collapsing ruins after the siege began. Only one building was leaning towards the camp. What the Salarian thought up at that moment had such a little chance of success that it would only be divine intervention if it worked. Kirrahe looked at the struggling Turians around him, and knew he had little choice. If the gamble failed, they would all die anyway.

"Aim for that building!" Kirrahe ordered, pointing at his target. "Grab the explosives! We need to tip that building! Target the supports!"

The Turian rebels only hesitated for a moment, however their military training stopped them from questioning the commands of a Spectre. Their mix of weapons were several levels more effective. As the Biotics continued to keep the Alliance weapon at bay with thrown debris, the makeshift bombs of the Turians continued to chisel away at the looming colossus of stone and metal. Weakened by the white phosphorus flames, slammed by bombing runs, and now having its base assaulted by unstable blasts and demolition charges, it was only a matter of time until the building would fall.

Right on top of the Camp, the Turians, and the damned mech rampaging.

Several minutes of chipping away at the building lasted an eternity, as behind the makeshift demolition crew dozens of Turians died to hold off the metal monster another moment. "The moment the building begins the collapse we need to take cover." Kirrahe called out over their comm channel, "Our only hope of surviving this is if we can bury the machine!"

The building groaned and strained, struggling to keep itself standing. The Biotics defenders soon found themselves the target of the assault robot's fury, and biotic barriers provided no cover to laser fire. The STG members scattered about used their commander's acid laced grenades to try to further weaken the building, to little effect. Turian engineering was widely considered the strongest in the universe for a reason. The building cracked and groaned some more, but would not fall, even as they desperately tried to chip away at it.

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On Humanity's Seed worlds crime, terrorism, and even war were rare occurrences. After facing a war where you'd be another species plaything, all other conflicts fell short. What good was religion when you were in a biological prison being dissolved molecule by molecule? What was the point in fighting over oil if you were floating in space being tortured by otherworldly beings? Who cared who you were descended from when everyone else was dying from genetic nightmares brought to life?

The Ethereal war had devastated mankind's cities, it's people, and it's culture. However, it had also brought it together as had never been done before. Not out of love or compassion, but out of fear and hatred of a foe from the stars. War among nations was unheard of from that point on, what was the point when you needed to prepare for a foe that could come at any time?

Thus, government needed a new way of managing the people. Enforcing the law for the populace became a job for the military police. The development of psychic interrogations made discovering criminals pathetically easy. Prisons became a new work force, rather than leave their criminals and dissidents to waste in a cell they were assigned miserable or tiring labor. Crime was internationally punished with not only isolation but degrading tasks. An ambitious thief would all too soon find themselves working as a septic system cleaner. If you went into prison jobless, you would come out with several new skills added to a resume.

The miracles of an improved society had only detrimental effects on its combat force.

Without the threats of dangerous criminals, international terrorism, or war to harden humanity's fighters a solution had to be found. Sharing memories of combat with psionics only helped so much. Eventually after nearly ten years of peace military scientists had developed a system of virtual reality combat simulations. It was a stopgap, one limited by human imagination and historical experiences. No matter how real the simulation it never copied the feel of true combat, the shadow of death hanging over the battlefield or the whims of luck that determined who would return home and who would stay to occupy a forgotten grave.

The lack of true experience was a fatal flaw in the Alliance army, only compounded by the flaws of their supporting synthesized forces. Where a human soldier could learn and adapt naturally a machine had to be told to learn or, as in the case of many MEC drones, they never learned at all. Humanity's greatest asset in their newest war was not their all encompassing technology, nor the psychic gifts they could wield to devastating effect. Humanity's greatest war asset was their numbers.

Over the course of years trillions of construction drones, factories, and space platforms had been made. Each addition only adding to the already phenomenal speed that humans could create a desired product. For two hundred years, mankind constantly increased their production rates from a fear that they would need it when the Ethereal returned. It took a Turian solder two years of training to be ready to fight in their army, fourteen years of growing from birth before that. Sixteen years at minimum to produce a soldier. In contrast, an Alliance MEC drone could be created in one month and is combat effective the moment it stepped off the production line.

Each Alliance world could, at minimum, create fifty MEC drones a month. Even without counting the organics in the Alliance military the Turians were outnumbered. With each soldier the Turians lost the Alliance only became stronger in comparison. Every synthetic soldier the human army lost could be repaired or salvaged to return to combat in a month, while the Turians losses were much more permanent.

"Strike Alpha Seven, What is your position?"

"Command, this is A-7 leader, we are currently thirty meters from the target. Awaiting orders."

"Alpha Seven, command has Intel that there is a group of Insurgents hiding in a collapsed parking garage. Your target is the commanding officer, an image will be provided. Orders are to engage the Insurgent camp, capture the officer. All others are expendable."

"Command, clarification, does the target need a soft touch?"

"Negative Alpha Seven, command says the target just needs to be alive."

"Rodger that command, A-7 moving out."

The Squadron leader looked over his team. Ten of the new Templar shock troopers, ten Assault lances, and six of the medical saints. All of them were organics, an odd quirk for the usually mixed infantry. Alpha Seven was made up to use shock and awe, surprising and crippling the enemy in quick succession. All the troops were next gen soldiers, rookies that were even worse off than the rest of the infantry. Even memory melding and VR training didn't mean you could learn a new skill set to perfection in months.

The Templars were clunky, the loud thumping of the footsteps made them obvious when they approached. The plasma rod using Lancers were just as bad, the high speed movements they used cursed them with horrible tunnel vision, even with gene mods granting them better eyes and reflexes there was only so fast one could go before tripping up became hazardous. The Saints were the only reliable ones out of the three, the upgraded support specialists were a god send. The Saints were slower than the average trooper, but they made up for it by being able to boost their armor's movement rate during moments of necessity as well as re-supply the armors of their teammates and preventing the repetitive backtrack to base that other units would need as a matter of routine.

"Alphas! Listen up!" their leader barked out in a commanding tone. The soldiers stood at attention, their training kicking in instantly. "Command has given us orders, we have a nest of the metal heads to tear up. I don't want these feather brain freaks to know what hit them when we hit them! Who's with me?"

A loud 'hoorah' was their response.

"We're gonna split into four teams. I want three Lances, Templar and two saints to a group. Lances and Templars, I want one of each to go with me to secure a high priority target. The three teams will focus on crushing any and all resistance with extreme force. Saints are support only, I don't want anyone dying on this. Command has called no captives apart from the priority. Remember folks this is a smash and grab, killing the metal heads isn't the priority just a nice bonus."

Another 'hoorah', louder than the last, came from his listeners.

"We move in five, get moving maggots!"

The Assault squadron hit fast and hard. The lances rushed in grenades in hand, their approach hidden by the Tempar's heavy weapons spraying the entrance. The speed specialists reached their chosen doors, dodging aside and dropping their explosive delivery in time for a nearly perfect breach and clear.

The bloom of flame, slagged materials and the dying screams of the Turians caught in the blast were the only warning the Insurgent camp received. As the smoke cleared the Templars opened fire with their Gatling style plasma cannons. The interweaving streams of plasma forced the panicking Turians to duck for cover or risk searing death.

The organized resistance movement was shattered as another round of the Alliance green blast grenades were scattered between the survivors. The blast scattered debris and bodies around as the flames licked at the cowering survivors. The Turian Hierarchy trained members of its armed forces to fight in open combat, to fight in honorable combat against soldiers that would show them the same respect. They were surprised and terrified by the Alliance's methods of dirty fighting and dishonorable tactics.

The Squad leader entered the fray, clad in his MEC, weapons blazing as he charged towards their target. The commander of the ragtag group of Turian rebels lay on the ground, its left hand pinned to the stone floor with the remains of a pillar. The target Turian was thrashing about, no doubt in severe pain, some small cuts and burns from the grenade salvos had redecorated its looks but it would live.

The Alliance MEC moved to pick up its soon to be captive, its focus on removing the rubble so that the target wouldn't bleed out before returning to the Alliance outpost. It was with some small surprise when the Citadel designed construction suit slammed into the Squad leader, shoving the opposing mech suit away from its prey.

The MEC clad leader cursed, with the target so close by most of his weapons were useless for fear of collateral damage. Fortunately the construction bot lacked any projectile weapons as well. The Turian Pilot inside the opposing mech was visible inside its suit, and judging from his concerned gaze, it was going to do its damnedest to hinder their mission.

"Melee it is then." The leader muttered, activating his MEC's kinetic strike modules. The piston-like devices extended from the arms as a small eezo vent opened in the elbow joint. The pilot placed his machine in a steady boxer-like pose just as the Turian charged, the arms of its own machine telegraphing a straight punch.

Alpha seven's leader shifted his MEC with the oncoming attack, grappling the arm with one hand and pulling the Turian off balance. The spare left came down with the force of an angry god, slamming the Turian's construction mech on its 'head' and shattering the transparent material that shielded it's pilot.

Before a second blow could finish it, the Turian pulled back, carefully stepping around its still trapped comrade to grab a large chunk of debris and throw it at his attacker. A-7's leader slammed his fist into the rock, the kinetic strike module activating a mass effect field on impact and reflecting the projectile right back as a spray of jagged stone.

The Rocks shredded the chassis, piercing clean through the metals and materials of the suit. One rock in particular had pierced the pilot, tearing a large wound in the left shoulder. The Turian's left arm had gone limp, only held on by the remains of gray muscles. The Alien's dark blue blood spurted out, staining the remains of the robot. Despite the wounds and damage to its machine the Turian charged, seeking to at least wound its foe in its final moments.

The augmented blow from the MEC's fist denied him. The Turians flesh flattening and shredding as it was punched through the destroyed robot. The blue smear that was once a proud Turian soldier splattered on the floor along with scraps of metal and the rag doll corpse of the construction suit. The A-7 leader looked at his MEC's arm, and a small gash in his armor that resulted from the Turian's final attack.

Annoyed, he gathered the still crippled target, keeping the Turian cargo held firmly in his MEC's good hand. "Target acquired, destroy the camp and then return to base."

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Brigadier general Hummel was not happy, not in the slightest. Between the Alliance council meetings, working with Shanxi survivors, and other meetings a massive screw had been thrown into what he had thought was a perfectly functional machine. It did not take the Shanxi representative long to learn just who had pulled strings to have Fleet General Williams placed in direct command of Operation Falling Stars. "Fucking. Commander. Fucking Jack Harper."

Looking back with perfect hindsight it was obvious Harper had been letting Hummel win lately, normally the political battles had been more like a black operation rather than the dime store robbery it had been in the recent weeks. Where Harper normally would be an insurmountable wall of resistance, dissuasion and trickery there was no more than a hill of apathy. Harper's usual back room dealing, blackmailing, bribery, and suave talking was missing from their recent spars in the political arena. Now it was obvious why, Falling Stars was meant to be Hummel's greatest achievement to date and possibly be enough to bring him to the pinnacle of the Alliance brass. With Williams in charge of the engagement and Harper having pulled other strings to disrupt the occupation of Altakiril, it was more likely that Hummel would find his ass busted back to private when the blame game began.

Hummel had commanded a shuttle from Earth to the Luna base, when he confronted Harper he would do it in person. The half hour shuttle ride had gone by too quickly for the brigadier general's rage to dim even the slightest. Instead, the illuminated view of the XCOM headquarters only added gasoline to flame that was Hummel's fury.

"How-fucking-dare you Harper!" Hummel bellowed, barging into Harper's office.

Jack Harper looked at the steaming man with mild surprise and dismissive disinterest. "I suppose I should have expected you sooner," Harper remarked blandly, "yet, somehow I'm not surprised it took you this long to find something to make you charge in so recklessly."

"You put Williams in charge of Falling Stars!" Hummel accused, spittle flying past his enraged lips, "Why?!"

Harper tapped his intercom, opening a line to his assistant and sealing his office. "Carol, I will be in a meeting with Brigadier General Hummel for the remainder of today, would you kindly move around my schedule if you'd please."

"It would be my pleasure commander." The assistant replied with a cheerfully perky tone.

"Lovely woman Carol, she has this odd habit of looking to change her name every so often, but I digress it is rather creative." Harper commented casually, either blatantly ignoring the fuming man in his office or not caring.

Hummel glared. "I don't give a damn about your secretary!" Frank spat out between clenched teeth, "I want to know why you put a man who will retaliate against the Turians for Shanxi into what was supposed to be a stalemate situation! I want to know why you supplied them with the maximum security peacekeepers rather than the ones I chose! I want to know why you authorized the use of three of the goddamned Subjugators!"

Harper slightly reclined in his seat, clearly thinking for a tense moment, "You know what? Before we talk, I would like a drink." the commander stood up casually, opening a wall panel to reveal a small collection of booze. "Would you like anything Frank?" He asked, gesturing to a bottle, "I do recall you were a sucker for a vintage bottle of crown royal."

"I. Don't. Want. Booze." Harper ground out between his tightening jaw. "I want answers. Now."

Harper continued to ignore his rival's increasing ire. Instead of acknowledging his rival's questioning he poured two shallow glasses of whiskey, before handing one to the angered man. "Here, drink. It will make you feel better."

"I don't want the fucking drink!" Hummel yelled, slapping the offending beverage out of Jack's hand with excessive force. The glass, ice, and whiskey slammed into a corner of the office, spilling shards of ice and glass across the floor to accompany the puddle of wasted alcohol.

"That wasn't very nice..." Harper remarked dryly , his voice turning sour, deeper. Darker.

Frank felt a chill as he felt a cold hand grasp his neck in a vice-like grip. Fingers dug into his flesh, not enough to pierce skin but more than enough to keep his suddenly dry throat in its hold. The ambitious man wondered why he felt so weak, why he felt so heavy and why he felt no pressure on his feet. The lack of blood to the brain from the grip on his neck was as close to strangulation one could get without risking death. He had just enough air to realize it was Harper holding him aloft with one arm.

The XCOM commander was no longer relaxed, he was scowling, the look only adding to the eerie chill of his unnatural electric blue eyes. "We've known each other for a long time, haven't we Frank? We've played this dance for a long time. I want something, you get in my way. I push, you push back."

Jack Harper used his free hand to take a savoring sip of his remaining drink. "It was a fun game to play, you'd try to annoy me but in the end I always got what I wanted. Now the game has changed and your still playing the big boy's game with someone who doesn't have the time."

Harper dropped the man to the floor, allowing Hummel to wheeze and gasp for air."You see Frank, we are at war with a galaxy that hates or fears us. If we do your little dance we will get to join the galaxy... As a pawn for someone else." Harper returned to his seat, drink still in hand. "The end result of your operation as it was would give humanity a bargaining chip and lead us to the negotiation tables. What then, hmm?"

Harper took another sip, smacking his lips at the refreshing taste, "The Citadel's Defensive Fleet alone outnumbers us seven to one. Even with all of our machines, VIs, and drones supporting our armies they would win in open warfare. According to what history we have been able to dig up every race that has joined their 'illustrious' society has been the bitch of either the Asari, the Salarians, or the Turians. The only reason to go to the negotiation tables is either to piss them off or surrender. Now which was it Frank?" Harper questioned sternly, gazing at the red faced man with irritation.

"We could have had the Turians pay reparations." Hummel gasped out between gulps of air, "Humanity could be something more without loss of life!"

"You are more of a fool than I had thought possible." Harper snapped back harshly, grimacing, "The Turians have been shamed in the face of the galaxy, they've lost what little respect the other races had for them by picking a fight then getting their asses kicked. They ran back to their Citadel claiming a morale victory by killing our people!" Harper hissed with his own fury.

"We don't need to be seen a race of bloodthirsty savages!" Hummel protested, still weak and stunned from Harper's lung blocking grip "We don't need to fight the Turians and their supporters to the death when we still have the Ethereal or even the Reapers left to fight!"

"We need a position of power and respect in the galaxy!" Harper replied sternly, "The Turians have given us the opportunity to take their place as the interplanetary peacekeepers! If we had humanity follow your ridiculous idea we would be second class citizens in a community that we shamed! If we crush the Turians in this war the resulting loss in the Citadel's military forces will create a void in the galactic politics we could then fill! If the Citadel looks to Humanity as its protectors we could prepare them for the Reapers and use them when the Ethereal eventually return!"

Harper finished his drink in a burning gulp, glaring at the barely standing Hummel with disgust. "The Turians burned your home to radioactive ash and here you are looking for peace with them. Disgraceful." Jack pointed an accusing finger at his rival, "If I didn't know any better, I would think you were a sympathizer." Harper did not miss Frank Hummel's damning twitch.

"I want revenge for Shanxi as well!" Hummel protested, gaining back some fire in speech, "I just don't believe that slaughtering the entire Turian race is the way to do it! Humanity would be forever branded in the eyes of the other races as genocidal monsters! We cannot go to war with the entire Citadel and expect to win!"

"A Turian fleet decided to glass a planet, hoping to kill us." Harper looked down on Hummel now, like one would a particularly annoying ignorant child, "Rather than apologize and punish those responsible, the Turian leaders celebrated the action and even now seek our people to kill us! There are several copies of this information made public! How can you call for anything less than their total defeat?" Jack questioned with vigor.

"We have accomplished so much in the last two hundred years." Hummel explained, "I don't want to see everything our people accomplished destroyed or thrown away in some scheme for revenge!"

"You say that like you have a choice." Harper replied dryly, calming somewhat.

"What do you mean by that?" Frank demanded, on guard against another strike.

Harper's eyes took on a violent violet glow, "I've always thought you were weak minded. Now I have the chance to prove it."

For two centuries humanity had possessed gene modifications that would grant immunity to psionics and a weaponized variant to booby trap the minds of important personnel. However, Harper was a man who knew many secrets, one of those being how to ignore a human's psionic protectors. Hummel resisted as well as expected, believing his mind was safe. When his protections failed, that willful resistance failed as well.

Frank Hummel walked out of the XCOM commander's office nearly two hours after entering, his complexion and facial expressions much more cheerful than when he entered. With business finished Commander Harper paged his assistant."Carol, could you order my usual for lunch?"

"Certainly commander. Are you finished with Mr. Hummel or should I order something for him as well?" she asked professionally.

"No, thank you Carol. Mr. Hummel and I are done with our discussion." Jack replied with a smile, "I believe we see eye to eye now."

Harper leaned back in his chair, fondly gazing at an aged picture on his desk. The blond woman in its image smiled back, clad in XCOM armor with a major's pin on her chest. "Evangeline..." the XCOM commander thought morosely, "I know you would never approve of what I've become...I'm sorry." he insisted to an empty room.

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Codex Entries:

Alliance Infantry - Templar-Class Shock Troopers:

Developed during the Second Contact War (See Human-Alliance Conflicts), to counter Turian Biotics. It has been discovered by thorough alliance testing that Humans cannot naturally use biotic abilities. The Templar model titan armor is covered in hundreds of synthetic element zero nodes, allowing human soldiers to use a limited form of biotics. Due to the extra power supplies needed to properly fuel the armor, mobility is extremely limited by the addition of several micro-elerium power cells located in the (*Censored*) The armor is designed to provide comfort in any hostile environment, even able to withstand temperatures generated by jellied Elerium fueled flamethrowers. It is impregnable to small arms fire or laser shots, and is capable of withstanding sustained fire from both plasma and mass accelerator rounds. If power is diverted from biotics to the shield emitters the barrier created is capable of blocking several shots from a P4M1 Plasma Cannon before failing, however the increase in defensive power renders the user incapable of (*Censored*).

Alliance Super Heavy Infantry VehicleLQ-84i "Predator":

Created to exploit the Turian weakness to close range combat, the Predator-Class mech was designed with speed and ferocity in mind. Numerous characteristics were taken from various quadrupedal animals on earth and recreated in a streamlined metal body. The mech is equipped with new model shield system which rather than projects a protective barrier, forms a field of energy similar to the Turian's disruptor ammo. This field allows the mech to bypass most element zero generated fields and barriers. Each Predator is armed with one back mounted P9M11 Heavy Plasma Rifle, four sets of high frequency monomolectular edge claws, and a set of Injection fangs located in its mouth for any non-lethal missions. In order to support it's high speed anti-armor load out the predator mech is very lightly armored, and easy to damage. To cover for the weakness predators are dispatched in packs of six to eighteen, and its attack patterns focus on using demoralizing hit and run tactics rather than direct combat. In the event that the Predator is cornered or required to fight in direct combat it is equipped with a self destruct protocol, where the Predator will cripple the armor or shielding of an enemy before self-detonating in order to do the most damage.

Alliance Mechanized Exoskeletal Cybersuit Model Number 22 "Subjugation Mech":

Created with Shock and awe in mind, the G78 Subjugation Mech was designed and modeled after the giant combat machines in popular twenty-first century media. The smallest designed models are over sixteen meters in height. The weapon load out on a M22 are refit models of various MEC and aircraft weapons, including but not limited to: The Model Seven Fusion lances, M110 Gatling Plasma, Nuclear-Class Charge Particle Cannons, Elerium Hell-fire Flamethrowers, Elerium Enhanced Plasma Grenades, and Electric-Field Generators. The weapons load out is designed for maximum collateral damage and enemy demoralization rather than direct combat. However if needed the Defensive load out is as just as good if not better, requiring sustained artillery fire from several MEC Troopers just to break the shields.

Alliance POD-33 Drop-ship "Zeus":

Designed by Alliance Scientist, (*Censored*), The Zeus Drop-ships were rushed to production during the Turian-Alliance War after the destruction of the Colony world of Shanxi. Equipped with heavy armor, Fusion lances, Tempest Barriers and multiple deploy-able Barracks the Drop-ships are not only capable of deploying troops but can be quickly converted into a front line base. (*Censored*)The Zeus gets its name from its unique way of deploying troops while still in space. (*Censored*)When in orbit, the Zeus is equipped with a modified Fusion lance, that instead of launching artillery shells like its weapon counterparts, will instead fire an Atmosphere-resistant Delivery Vehicle, or ADV containing four to six Troopers inside.

Alliance Infantry - Lance Class - Assault Troopers:

Created to exploit the lack of maneuverability and speed that most if not all Citadel soldiers possess, Alliance Lancers were created as a next generation rapid assault specialist. (*Censored*)Lightly armored and lightly armed, skilled Lances are capable of rushing across a battlefield in an instant, their speed boosted by Elerium fueled jump jets attached to the back, hands, and feet. (*Censored*)Apart from the usual infantry load outs each lancer is equipped with an extendable plasma rod that functions as an arm blade. (*Censored*)When used with the jump jets an Alliance Lancer could cut a MEC soldier in half with very little resistance.

Alliance Infantry – Saint Class – Field Medics:

During the Ethereal War humanity realized that there was a drastic need for a better field medics: A superior method to healing the wounded, and a way to ensure that the medics would survive a conflict with enemy forces. Before the programs could be finished the Ethereal war was over. However the program continued, eventually creating several types of medic titan armor and various healing devices and techniques. (*Censored*)(*Censored*)(*Censored*)(*Censored*)(*Censored*) After the Start of the Alliance-Turian War, the various technologies were combined to create the Saint Armor. Focused on mobility and armor, the Saint armor lacks the Elerium Batteries that other Alliance soldiers use for weapon recharging, instead having a small reactor for recharging the power packs of other soldiers and fuel its own load out. (*Censored*)

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Author's Note

Wow.

This week I actually took a look at my statistics and decided that I must be doing something right. nearly five hundred reviews (mostly positive), over seven hundred subcribers, and once bitten is on the favorite list of over five hundred readers.

Anyways, I have a new poll open on my Author's page. It has been suggested by more than a few readers that I should have the Alliance use the Ethereal races to fight, so I will let the readers decide. Tell me what you want people, and I will do my best to provide.