Mass Effect is the property of Bioware. 20th Century Fox owns the Alien/Predator franchise.
!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!
Shanxi
Lieutenant Oleg Petrovsky, part-time officer in the Shanxi militia and currently fugitive from the turian occupation, studied the turian outpost through his binoculars. It was a small building, clearly prefab, that had been put up near the bridge to serve as housing for the turian soldiers. A gun turret had been placed on a nearby hill. A second turret was visible in the distance, in a similar high position on the opposite side of the river. It was a worthwhile target and, more importantly, was preventing him and his soldiers from crossing to the other side. Under normal circumstances he would have considered attacking it, even with the limited resources at his disposal. Unfortunately, the circumstances were far from normal.
The past couple of weeks had been difficult. He, and the few remaining soldiers of his unit had fled into the countryside when the call to surrender came. Since then, they remained hidden, living rough and begging supplies from local farmers. Initially, it had been nearly impossible to maintain discipline and keep his soldiers from doing something foolish; like attacking turian patrols, which, though satisfying, would undoubtedly have ended in their deaths. Fortunately, the turians themselves had solved that problem for him when they started their retaliation strikes. Three destroyed villages and about two thousand civilian deaths later and Petrovsky found it much easier to keep his soldiers in check. So, rather than throwing their lives away and endangering civilians in futile attacks, they had waited, observing as much of the invaders as they could, hoping that they could remain hidden until relief showed up.
From what they had observed, the turians were fond of routine. Patrols, changes of the guard, they all occurred with metronomic precision according to an intricate, but ultimately repetitive, pattern.
Now, something had changed. The guard had been doubled and the small prefab buildings had been sealed up. Initially, Petrovsky had thought that the turians had been alerted to the presence of his small band of fugitives and expected him to attack the outpost, but that seemed unlikely. If they were aware of his presence they would have increased their patrols and used their shuttles to search the hills. No, something else was happening.
"LT, listen to this!" His radio operator was waving a headset. "Listen! It just popped up on the net."
With a faint sigh of annoyance, Petrovsky abandoned his position. One thing that had definitely been lost was the proper distance between officers and enlisted. Still, under the circumstances, that was inevitable and he had never been that much of a fan of the whole martinet nonsense anyway. With no more than a cold stare, he took the headset and held it to his ear.
"... to all units. I repeat ... calling all United System Units..." The signal was garbled, sometimes with multiple voices overlapping, then only random noise. "... ETA ... thirty ... Dropship ..."
Petrovsky and the radio operator looked at each other. Then, as by mutual decision, they looked up. High above them, a long, white vapor trail had appeared, standing out against the blue sky, then another, and another.
-o-o-o-
Super-Cheyenne dropship, on approach to Shanxi
"You're in an express elevator to hell! And it's going down!"
Anderson rolled his eyes. O'Connor's attempts at humor tended to be on the lame side. Of course, under present circumstances, anything that relieved tension, no matter how cliched, was welcome. The UD-4Y Super-Cheyenne was plummeting down toward the planet at a terrifying speed, coming in on the steepest trajectory that the pilots could manage without bouncing off the atmosphere.
"Five-by-five, we're in the pipe." That was the voice of one of the pilots, confirming that they were on the correct descent.
Anderson closed his eyes and forces himself to relax. For the moment there was nothing he could do. The dropship would either make it to the ground or not.
The Super-Cheyenne shook violently as it plunged into the atmosphere. The temperature rose steadily while internal cooling systems struggled in vain against the friction heating. Minutes passed while the pilots struggled to keep the dropship on course and the marines were slammed repeatedly into their shock frames.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the dropship leveled off, changing from an essentially ballistic trajectory to a glide, and finally to powered flight as the air-breathing jets activated. It was a series of maneuvers that they knew well. The UD-4Y was the last incarnation of the UD-4 series, that had carried colonial marines into battle for generations, long before the founding of the United Systems Military. By now they held a special place in military history. In fact, it had been a UD-4 that had carried lieutenant Gorman and his ill-fated platoon into battle on LV-426, the event seen by many as the beginning of the chaotic years that saw the power of the companies broken, only to be replaced by the bureaucracy of the United Systems. Of course, some things had changed. In Gorman's time, the marines would have been huddled together inside an M577 APC, a vehicle that had become nearly as infamous as the unfortunate lieutenant. The M577s had been scrapped or sold to planetary militias, and their successor, the Grizzly APC, was far too big to fit inside the cargo bay of any of the Cheyenne series, or even the larger Vikings. A new vehicle, the MAKO, was supposed to take over the combat insertion role, but so far that particular program had not even resulted in a prototype. As a result, the marines would just have to walk the final distance. In practice, few regretted the loss, even though it meant that the initial assault would lack armor support. The M577s with their non-existent ground-clearance and over-complicated weapon systems had always been more trouble than they were worth.
"Communications established. All ships reporting successful atmospheric entry."
Anderson let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. This was very good news. His platoon, spread out over two Super-Cheyennes and four Vikings, was still intact. If they could make it all the way to the surface without losses, they were far more likely to achieve their objective.
"Commencing approach to target."
Once again Anderson was flung against his shock frame as the dropship twisted through a tight turn. It was a far from comfortable experience, but, in a way, it was also reassuring. The danger of the initial drop was over. From here on in, the only real threat was that of enemy action and now that it had achieved horizontal flight the dropship would be able to maneuver and defend itself. Around him, the marines were checking their gear.
"On final approach."
Another violent shock, but this time Anderson actually welcomed it. He knew what it meant: The weapon bays on either side of the dropship had opened. There was no real need for it, because they were supposed to capture the objective intact, rather than painting white lines after the dropship had turned the area into a parking lot. Still, no sane pilot would approach a hostile target with his weapons locked away behind closed doors.
Anderson activated his microphone. "ETA to target?"
"Five minutes," came the response. "Are you ready to deploy?"
"Good to go."
The dropship swept through a tight turn.
"Target spotted. No sign of- FUCK!"
The Cheyenne twisted into another turn as the pilot yanked on his controls.
"Hostiles spotted! They have AAA!"
-o-o-o-
On the ground, a turian gunner looked through the sights of his twin-barreled gun turret. It was not a particularly good weapon for air-defense, as it lacked early warning radar, or, for that matter, the volume of fire that was typically required to guarantee hits on a fast moving target. Fortunately, these targets were not moving particularly fast, which indicated that they planned to land, rather than strafe his position. There seemed to be at least three, possibly more, coming in from different angles.
The gunner adjusted his aim, focusing his attention on the largest target, then let fly with a salvo of mass accelerator slugs.
The DR-4 Viking was a recent addition to the United Systems Military. Unlike the UD-4 series, the Vikings had been designed from the ground up to incorporate mass effect technology, rather than having it added as a supplement. Also, unlike the UD-4 series, it was modular in design. It could carry a variety of cargo modules, depending on the mission. It made for a fast, versatile, and highly maneuverable transport. However, at the same time, it lacked the ruggedness of the older design. Two mass accelerator slugs hit the Viking. One ripped off part of its right engine pod, the other tore into the cargo module, killing three marines. The pilot executed a violent maneuver, twisting out of the line of fire while simultaneously trying to bring his crippled craft down on the ground. It was the mass effect core of the Viking that saved it. As the flight computer noticed the damage, the system went into emergency mode automatically reducing the Viking's mass while simultaneously bringing it down almost vertically in a controlled crash. The impact as it hit the ground finished the job that the turian guns had started: the Viking would never fly again, but it saved the occupants as both the cockpit and the cargo module filled with crash foam to absorb the remaining momentum.
The turian gunner never knew any of this. Even as he struggled to re-acquire the target a Super-Cheyenne dropship twisted around in mid-air and a stream of 25mm tracer rounds sliced through both the gun turret and the gunner. A fraction of a second later two Mk.10 Zeus rockets slammed into his position as well, turning what was left of his corps into glowing ashes.
-o-o-o-
"One gun turret destroyed. No further sign of resistance, but there is bound to be more of those bird-faces around."
"What about Viking-2"
"Permanently disabled. Three casualties."
"Understood." Anderson sighed. Casualties were inevitable on a mission like this, but that didn't make it any easier. Nevertheless, considering what they were doing, losing only three marines during the landing was actually quite impressive. "Put us down. Then continue on to the rendez-vous."
"Roger that."
The Cheyenne braked sharply, hovering in mid-air. Even before its forward movement had stopped, the crash-harnesses disengaged and the entire floor dropped down, allowing the marines to exit. Within seconds the cargo bay was empty and the dropship took off again, zooming low over the ground.
"Get into cover!"
Anderson was the first to follow his own order and dropped flat on the ground in a small dip in the terrain, his eyes scanning the environment. Everywhere around him marines from his platoon spread out, searching for something to hide behind. Shots rang out, two, three. A marine stumbled and fell.
"There!" Sergeant Zim, who had dropped in the second Super-Cheyenne had spotted the snipers. Immediately, two marines swung the barrels of their M56 smart guns around and raked the area with bullets.
"Stay low! There's bound to be more of them." Anderson crept forward slowly checking around him of any sign of movement, half expecting to feel the impact of a bullet at any moment.
"Two more, over here!" That was from the crew of the crashed Viking, who had freed themselves of the crash foam and were now deploying. Anderson could hear the familiar sounds of a rifle squad going into action. Short bursts from the Lacrimae assault rifles, occasionally drowned out by the rattling of a smart gun.
"Got them both, no further sign of trouble."
"Good. Start unloading."
Unlike the Super-Cheyennes, which had only carried the marines with their personal gear, the Vikings also carried a considerable amount of supplies, in particular, ammunition. The three undamaged transports had simply put their cargo modules on the ground and taken off again, the fourth had crashed with the module still attached. All four were prime targets for an enemy counter attack or air strike, and securing the supplies had top priority.
"Sergeant Zim, take charge of the unloading. I'll be checking out the target."
The main task of his platoon was to take control of a bridge, less than a kilometer meters of where they had landed. Unfortunately, owing to the terrain he couldn't actually see the bridge from where the platoon had landed. The presence of at least one gun emplacement and the turian soldiers proved that the aliens had also recognized its importance; there were bound to be more of them around there somewhere.
Followed by a handful of marines, Anderson climbed the crest of the hill, past the smoking ruins of the gun turret, so that he could look into the valley beyond. What he saw was not encouraging. The turians had placed a small building near the bridge, as well as another gun turret, which the pilots had somehow failed to spot. What made the situation infinitely worse, was that both were on the opposite side of the bridge. His marines would have to advance downhill, over open ground, then through the choke-point of the bridge itself, in order to engage an enemy that had already been alerted to their presence.
"What do you think, sir?" One of the marines asked. "Shall we use mortars?"
Anderson nodded. "Looks like we have to, Rutgers."
He looked over the target area again. The small, hand-held mortars that every platoon carried had enough range to reach both the building and the gun turret, but it would be stretching them to their limit. They were not the most accurate of weapons and their small warheads could only do limited damage; reducing the turian structures would take time; time they could ill afford. The grenade launchers on the Lacrimae assault rifles were more accurate, but their warheads were even smaller, and, being direct fire weapons, required the users to expose themselves to return fire.
Suddenly, his radio activated.
"Sir, Stavich here. I was setting up our comm-gear and got a contact. "Some guy named Petrovsky. Says he's Shanxi militia and is asking if we need assistance."
Anderson hesitated. If they'd been fighting other humans he would have been nearly sure that this was some kind of trap. Against aliens that seemed unlikely. Nothing they had seen of the turians so far had indicated that the aliens would be able to successfully imitate human soldiers. Still, it never hurt to be cautious.
"Alright, answer him, but be careful. Don't give any information away until we know more. And try to find out which side of the river he's on. If he's genuine, this may just solve our problems."
-o-o-o-
Shanxi, turian command center
"General Arterius, the main element of the human assault force is entering orbit."
"I see." Desolas stared at the map in front of him. The first wave of human shuttles had landed over a large area, dispersing the assault force in small packages. That was not the way a turian landing force would operate, but he understood the logic. The humans were using their vanguard to secure strategic locations, preparing the way for the main assault. It wasn't something that would work under normal circumstances unless the assault force had plenty of time to study their targets. These, however, were not normal circumstances. The humans were attacking their own planet. They knew the terrain and therefore knew exactly where to land. His own troops were reacting quickly, like the good, disciplined soldiers they were. Unfortunately, that was all they could do: reacting. As long as the humans controlled the orbits, they would be able to hold the initiative. It was not a happy thought. He was trapped on this planet, along with more than thirty thousand soldiers and nearly fifteen thousand support personnel. Somewhere out there Septimus Oraka was doing his best to change that situation, but for the moment Desolas could only rely on the weapons he had available planetside and they, unfortunately, were limited.
It hadn't always been this way. In the old days, during the Krogan Rebellions, the Hierarchy had fielded a wide array of ground-based weaponry to supplement the fleet's ability to provide ground support. Over time that had changed. Turian planets still had massive defensive weapon emplacements, but those were primarily fixed defenses. He had a few of those with him, air-defense guns that had been stationed around the human headquarters, which he had appropriated for his own use, but the mobile, ground-based weapon platforms of old had almost completely disappeared. After all, with the strongest fleet on the galaxy to support them from orbit, what need was there for ground troops to carry their own heavy weapons? They were seen as relics, obsolete, and a waste of precious funds that were needed desperately to maintain the turian fleets and the enormous shipyards that supported them. Those that remained had been placed in reserve, and he had not thought to reactivate them for his campaign. In any case, even if he had thought of it, deploying them would have been difficult, if not outright impossible, since turian soldiers no longer trained to use them.
But now, for the first time in centuries, a major turian ground force was trapped on a planet where the enemy held the orbitals; and all Desolas had to support his soldiers were a handful of fighters that had been detached from the fleet; his troop transport shuttles, which, while heavily armored and shielded, carried only limited weaponry; and smaller military aircars. The latter were neither well-armoured, nor heavily armed, and relied primarily on speed to stay out of trouble. The question was: what would the humans bring to the fight?
Under the circumstances, he was not too worried about orbital bombardment. Most of his soldiers were stationed in and around the main city, and it seemed unlikely that the humans would resort to bombarding their own city. However, the humans seemed to have their own way of doing things. During the initial ground campaign they had not used air support; understandable, given the turians' complete control of the orbits. Instead, on multiple occasions his soldiers had reported the appearance of heavy, Tomkah-like vehicles, carrying weaponry that severely out-gunned his shuttles. His fighters and frigates had made short work of them, but without that option, his soldiers would be at a severe disadvantage. After the surrender, they had found the remnants of other vehicles, destroyed by the humans to prevent the from falling into turian hands. Their functions had never been determined. The human landing craft were already displaying their ability to support ground troops, launching volleys of rockets and gun-fire against turian positions. There was no telling what else they would be able to deploy.
"Have all our air-assets stand ready, but don't oppose the landing. We don't have the fighters to spare."
"General!" Another one of his aides came running toward him. "Sir, we've lost contact with the southern district headquarters. They reported being attacked by over a hundred human soldiers, then they went off the air."
That as even worse news. The district headquarters functioned as a communication hub. With it gone, his ability to control the soldiers in that area had been reduced considerably.
"Put a strike team together, as many as we can launch within the hour; then send them in with assault shuttles. We need that headquarters."
-o-o-o-
Shanxi, turian district headquarters
"Sentry guns! There, there, and over here! Hurry up, we're almost out of time."
Tadius Ahern kicked the corpse of one of the aliens aside as he moved through the wreckage of the alien command and control station. They were tough bastards. He'd lost nearly a third of his marines fighting his way into the base. That was bad. What was worse, was that he would now need to hold it with his remaining men while a team of combat engineers tried their best to hack their way into the turian database.
They had already started. One of them was wearing a portable Virtual Reality-rig, her hands moving rapidly, manipulating objects that only she could see, while her companion was watching the proceedings on the screen of a small computer. Others were scouring the facility, removing anything and everything that wasn't nailed down. They were lost in a world of their own and it was up to Ahern and his men to see to it that they wouldn't get interrupted before they had finished their job.
"Captain! We have hostiles on the way."
No surprises there. They must know that we aren't here by accident. One of the frigates that had remained in Shanxi space had noticed the high amount of message traffic that passed through this location and marked it for further investigation. The original suspicions turned out to be correct. The local computer systems held a wealth of data. It also meant that the base had been heavily defended, which accounted for Ahern's losses, and that the turians would do anything to regain control of it.
"Status on the sentry guns?"
"All set up, sir. As long as we have ammo, they'll keep firing."
As long as we have ammo. Ahern snorted. That's inexperience for you! They had plenty of ammunition on hand, that was not the issue. The main concern was how to get it into the sentry guns while keeping his marines alive. That was a fundamental problem with the UA 571-C sentry gun. Basically, it was a standard smart gun, set on top of a small tripod mount and hooked up to an automated targeting system. It would fire on anything that moved within its firing arc unless the target carried an IFF transponder. Great in theory, but in practice, it came with a massive downside. The original M56 smart gun was designed to be operated by a single soldier, using a body harness and counter weights. It carried only limited ammunition to keep the total weight down. That characteristic carried over onto the sentry gun. This, combined with the targeting computer's tendency toward overkill, meant they ran out of ammunition quickly; ammunition that had to be resupplied by hand by a soldier standing out in the open next to the gun mount. In sustained combat that negated a lot of the potential of the automated weapons.
With a last look around the compound, Ahern dropped on one knee behind a cargo crate, just in time to see the first turian soldier coming over the wall.
-o-o-o-
Shanxi, near the bridge
"Everyone ready?"
"Yes sir! Petrovsky is standing by."
Anderson nodded. "Good." They hadn't had much time to set things up, but Petrovsky's presence in the area had been a God-sent relief. As Anderson had hoped the handful of Shanxi militia-men were on the other side of the river. Now they stood ready to attack the moment Anderson's marines took the field.
"On my mark... FIRE!"
Two small mortar bombs sailed through the air, arching over the hilltop that hid the launchers from the turian position. They would miss, of course, for the mortars were hardly precision weapons, and the marines stood by to adjust their aim and reload. The moment the bombs left their launchers, marines on the ridgeline jumped up and fire a volley of 25 mm grenades from their assault rifles into the turian building. These would not miss, despite the distance, for the Lacrimae's rifled grenade launcher provided excellent accuracy.
The turian soldiers were no fools. Whether they were familiar with small mortars was unknown, but they certainly understood explosions. Even before the marines could fire a second salvo, the turians came running out of the building, which was too flimsy to provide adequate cover, and spread out along the terrain, seeking solid cover wherever they could find it. On the hilltop, the gun-turret swiveled around, its twin barreled mass-accelerator seeking targets.
Several hundred meters away, on the reverse slope behind the turret, lieutenant Petrovsky stared intently through his binoculars. He and his soldiers had slowly crept forward, edging as close as they could to the turian position. Then they had waited until the first explosion. The moment the turret turned Petrovsky gave a signal. Eleven soldiers raised their rifles. The range was long for the old M41 Pulse rifles that the Shanxi militia still used and none of his soldiers had sniper training. In the end, it mattered very little. The rear of the turret lacked even the most elementary protection. Most of the initial shots missed, but one or two hit the gunner in the back. The turian reacted quickly, trying to bring the turret back around so he could hide behind its armored gunshield, but it was too late. More bullets hit him as the militiamen adjusted their aim and he collapsed. Another soldier came running up, trying to take his place, but by now Petrovsky's people were moving up the hill, firing as they ran and he never made it. In the distance, Petrovsky could hear the sharper, higher sound of Lacrimae assault rifles as the marines set in their attack from the other side. He smiled. Time to finish this.
Shanxi, high orbit
"First wave is reporting, sir. Most of their targets have either been secured or are being contested as we speak. Losses are heavy but within the expected margin. Resistance is mainly on the ground, no real attempt at contesting the air."
"Good." General Perez checked his side-arm one last time. He wasn't expecting to meet any of the aliens up-close, at least not until they had either died, or surrendered, or both. Still, it was always good to be prepared. "Then we are ready to proceed. Ladies and gentlemen, when next we speak, it'll be on Shanxi."
The general turned around and started jogging toward his personal dropship. Behind him, his staff dispersed to the waiting shuttles.
-o-o-o-
High above the planet, five auxiliary carriers opened their launching bay doors. They had never been popular vessels, either with the navy that operated them, or the politicians that had to secure their funding. Slightly over half a kilometer in length, but bulky compared to most warships, they lacked the fast moving, hard hitting glamor of destroyers, without attaining the impressive size of the fleet carriers. Perhaps even worse, they didn't have a clearly defined task. Instead, they served as back-up for everybody else: jack of all trades, master of none. As a result, they tended to be everybody's first choice when it came to budget cuts. Still, they were very useful ships, mainly due to their flexibility. They could be kitted out as normal carriers to provide fighter support in situations that didn't warrant a full-sized fleet carrier, or, alternatively, they could be stuffed with shuttles and dropships to provide the spearhead of a marine assault operation.
With only a single launching deck, rather than the two of a fleet-carrier, and lacking the dedicated launch bays of the RDVs, the auxiliaries were relatively slow when it came to deploying their assault loads, but they could carry a lot of shuttles, and, unlike the RDVs, their launch decks were large enough to use full-sized cargo shuttles that would be needed to carry the marines' armored units to the planet. It took nearly half an hour, from start to finish, but by then Shanxi orbit was swarming with shuttles, carrying a full brigade-group of marines down to the planet. Further away the first of the massive cargo ships was decelerating into high orbit. There they would wait until the landing area had been secured to send down the main body of the invasion force.
The Viking is borrowed from Starship Troopers (the movie). The Cheyenne was the dropship from Aliens. I see the Super Cheyenne as being the latest incarnation, incorporating some mass effect tech for enhanced performance, but still basically the same vehicle
In canon, Petrovski was a corporal. I promoted him a bit. The ME writers seem to have a somewhat strange idea about military ranks. They casually promote NCOs to officer as though this is normal practice. In reality, while an NCO may be brevetted to officer rank under special circumstances, they'll still have to attend officer training afterwards if they want to continue rising in the ranks, especially in peace-time. Of course this may be different in a future military, but nothing about the Alien universe, which is the basis for my version of humanity, indicates that such a change has taken place. Under normal circumstances, the idea that Petrovski would make it from corporal to general in about twenty years is rather unlikely. Anderson, who was already a lieutenant, was only a captain after the same amount of time.
For the turian lack of heavy weapons I'm using the US Army in the period 1945-1950 as an example. They were so convinced that all future wars would be decided by airdropped nukes that they neglected their conventional equipment. When the war in Korea broke out, they found themselves using rifles to try to stop tanks. Not a happy experience! Here the turians have not fought a real war for 1500 years. Ever since the Krogan rebellions, they have relied on their fleet to win the war. Ground troops are just supposed to mop up what's left. Of course, one would expect them to learn from this experience, but that will take time.