Author's Notes: Apologies for the delay. I was finally hit with a writer's block, and then hit with more delays as the holiday preparations intensified. I had hoped to get this published before or even at Christmas, but alas.
To justinmil22: I am doing some minor editing on previous chapters. My apologies for that. It shouldn't happen anymore, unless I spot something that is story breaking during my initial editing.
Anyway, enjoy!
Admiral Vinia fixed her gaze on the holographic screens, eyes narrowing as she meticulously analyzed the data, all the while receiving additional reports.
Earlier, as her ships slowly cleared a corridor for the fleet, Commander Venatix's group had reported a successful incursion. They had navigated through the asteroid field, glimpsed the alien planet, but the details became vague after that.
They had noted the presence of alien fighters before reporting an attack. Some ships in the group had claimed it was coming from the planet, unsettling any turian who heard it. Vinia didn't blame them; it sounded almost fantastical.
The last update had Commander Venatix ordering the group to enter the planet—a bold move, but the lack of further communication was worrisome. Vinia had ordered another task group to retrace their steps, attempting to support the ground invasion. Before they could get far, alien ships had appeared on the task force's flank and opened fire.
She had lost two ships before the rest of the fleet covered the retreating group, and the alien ships promptly vanished.
Undeterred, Vinia tried again with a larger group, only to be met by more enemies. No ships were lost that time, but it had become evident that the enemy was observing them, waiting for opportunities to pick them off one by one. With no alternative, Vinia could only continue her course and hope the invasion force had successfully entered the planet, taking steps for occupation.
However, there was a nagging feeling that the Admiral could not shake off. As the bulk of her fleet slowly cleared the asteroid field in front of them, she wondered if she was merely following the enemy's predetermined path.
Granted, there was a chance that the enemy's effort to keep the fleet together in one large convoy was part of a strategy to lure them into a kill zone they had prepared. She didn't feel it was that, though. Unless the enemy had a powerful weapon that would eliminate the numbers game, an ambush couldn't be their end goal. They had planned something else, and she felt frustrated that she couldn't figure out what it was.
"Admiral."
Vinia blinked, turning to the right, where the voice originated. It was the saluting Captain Daedalus. She returned the gesture before asking, "Anything new, Captain?"
"Just a progress report," he replied as he lowered his arm. "We've cleared this sector of enough asteroids to push forward."
"Enemy presence?" the Admiral inquired.
"We have yet to detect any," Daedalus said. "Shall we move forward?"
Vinia hesitated. She looked at the data once more before shaking her head. "How many more sectors are left before we have a clear shot to the enemy planet?"
"Eighty more sectors to go," Daedalus answered. He seemed to study her for a moment before adding, "We're making good time, Admiral."
"We are," she agreed. "Yet I have not shed that feeling that we're marching at our enemy's pace."
Daedalus' mandibles shook in a grimace. "It is rather strange that they have left the whole convoy in relative peace."
"That's what bothers me," Vinia said with a sharp shake of her head. "It's as if they are allowing us to pass through for no good reason."
"What do you suggest, then, Admiral?" the Captain asked.
Vinia closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. After a few moments, she nodded sharply once. "Move to the next sector, but do not start any clearing operations," she replied. "Instead, task a few groups to do a sweep of the surroundings."
"Some Captains won't like it," Daedalus replied. "Their frigates are most likely trapped in the alien world without any naval support. They wouldn't want us to delay."
"Maybe that's what the enemy wants," Vinia countered. "For us to blindly rush forward. I'm not taking that chance. Let us first check our bearings and be sure there's no enemy presence about. Once we've confirmed that, we'll continue with the clearing operations."
Daedalus nodded before saluting. "I'll inform the rest of the fleet, Admiral. They won't be happy with the delay, but your reasoning is sound."
Vinia saluted back, then watched as her Chief of Staff walked away. She sighed, looking downwards. She sounded so confident, yet that nagging doubt persisted.
Why hasn't the enemy done anything yet?
"Why haven't we done anything yet?" Ensign Clark Dobson asked. Not to anyone specific, though, but rather posed it as a general question to everyone in the virtual bridge.
The Shoemaker had been one of the few frigates tasked to watch over the alien fleet. Apparently, Moreau's weaving through the enemy's initial salvo had impressed Captain Matterson enough to assign their frigate as the lead of the observational teams.
Clark was just glad they had survived. One frigate of their group had completely evaporated. He even heard they lost a destroyer. They had hit the aliens back, and there was a short period where everyone had been firing back and forth until the whole momentum of the conflict just died down. Word came through that the aliens sent a planetary invasion force, but no one on the fleet seemed to be worried; after all, New Carolina had one of the biggest Militia members of the USA. One could even extend that to the whole Federation.
Clark was honestly more worried about themselves. They got twenty-six ships left, facing against a hundred. He expected some sort of grand plan to meticulously whittle their numbers down, or maybe even concentrate on hit-and-run tactics to delay them.
Instead, they were currently parked between four large asteroids, gravity locked into their orbits, running cold to avoid detection. For some reason, Captain Matterson was trying to keep the whole enemy convoy together, leaving them entirely unmolested.
Hence, his question.
"Psychological warfare, Dobson," Lieutenant Commander Michaels replied. "Captain Matterson is trying to screw with their heads."
"I don't see how that would work," Clark replied.
"Well," Ensign Moreau joined, "if you cut out all but one path moving forward, any competent commander will wonder what's the catch in the seemingly perfect path."
Clark rolled his eyes before clarifying. "What I meant was that we're facing aliens, not humans. How sure are we that whatever Captain Matterson is planning, it'll actually work?"
"We don't, Mister Dobson," Captain Curry replied easily. "That's why we're here, to report to Captain Matterson if his gamble is working."
Clark took a deep breath, his last exhale coming out as a sigh. "Apologies, Captain," he said. "I guess I'm rather antsy just waiting here."
"No apology needed, Mister Dobson," Curry said. "I understand the feeling."
"Better an antsy navigator than an antsy gunnery officer, I say," Moreau added. "At least the navigators won't open fire at the enemies while we're trying to be all sneaky."
"It ain't brave talking behind your superior officer's back, Moreau," Michaels replied with a small grin.
"Then she should just log in, so I can say it to her face," the helmsman said smugly.
Clark glanced at the terminal where the currently absent Lieutenant Tenma would usually have been present. "Why isn't she on the Bridge?" he asked.
"She's meeting with her team," Moreau, surprisingly, replied. "For what, I don't know."
"She's overseeing the ammo fabrication as well as getting more updates on the alien weaponry," Michaels added. "Unlike being a helmsman, the gunnery officer has lots of responsibilities."
"Love you too, Commander," Moreau said with mock cheeriness.
Michaels chuckled, then suddenly sat straighter when something beeped on his terminal. His eyes danced on his GRADR screen for a moment before whistling appreciatively.
"I'll be damned," he declared. "The enemy fleet has stopped. Some of their ships have also begun separating into smaller patrol groups but are not straying far from the convoy."
"I need visual confirmation," Curry ordered.
"We got you, Captain!" Pippa's voice sounded within the bridge.
A few seconds later, two large screens appeared, front and center. They displayed videos of the enemy fleet, as seen by the two RDPs that were moving around the asteroid field. They confirmed the halt of enemy movement, as well as the formation of patrol groups.
"Dana, send all the data to the Silent Watchers," Curry ordered. "I believe Captain Matterson will be pleased with the news."
"Sending."
Clark watched the video for a few more seconds before he shook his head. "How long do you think they'll pause?" he asked.
"Would be nice if they just stayed there until the new carrier fleet arrived," Moreau replied.
"Yes," Michaels added. "It would be nice, but it won't happen. They'll probably continue clearing out asteroids in a few hours, real-time."
"So only a few hours?" Clark asked, frowning.
"Every second counts, Dobson," the older man replied. "Besides, if the aliens truly succumb to human psychological tactics, Captain Matterson is likely to continue employing them to buy us more time."
"Can we still refer to it as human psychology if it holds true for aliens as well?" the helmsman asked.
Clark didn't hear the answer, his eyes back to the display. Inside him, apprehension and relief battled, leaving him unsure of his thoughts. He knew the overall plan, but the waiting was eating at him. It felt rather odd that he'd rather be in battle than sitting there, stewing. He considered himself a more careful man, one who would rather be given time to think before acting. It was one of the reasons he chose the Navy rather than the Mobile Infantry.
Thinking of the MI got his thoughts on New Carolina, about the alien invasion. He wondered if the enemy had started conquering any of the major cities and how many they had already killed. Before he could go deeper, though, he sharply shook his head.
New Carolina could take care of itself, he reminded himself. All the worrying was just going to be a distraction, and he could not afford that. So he did what he could—focus on the enemy movement and prepared himself.
Mark Shepard flinched as the mediship's boarding-departure ramp hissed open, unleashing a torrent of hot, dry air that whipped through the cargo bay. The sudden blast reminded him of the time he had opened the heated oven back at home, though this one seemed to tug at his clothing, pull on his hair, and smelled absolutely acrid. Even the seasoned crewmen winced. However, the experience was short-lived. As the shimmering blue gravity tube whirred to life, the wind's fury and the bitter smells subsided. In its place, a steady thrumming pulsed through the air—a comforting rhythm of the ship that replaced the chaotic cacophony of the gale.
"Go, go, go!" an assisting crew member shouted, his arms waving back and forth to signal the Militia to exit. Those at the front of the line didn't hesitate, swiftly exiting the ramp and jumping into the gravity tube.
"You ready for this, babyface?" Wallace, standing to his right, asked.
Mark nodded silently, earning a scoff from the person to his left.
"Hope you ain't scared, kid," Jayne said. "'Cause we ain't got time for wobbly legs. And keep your damn flappin' to yourself when we jump, ya hear? Last thing I need is a screamin' mess messing up my landing."
Mark chuckled, turning to the man. "You worry about yourself, Cobb," he replied. "Unlike you, I actually know how a gravity tunnel works."
Jayne grunted in return. "Hope your shots are straighter than your mouth, kid," he said, then smiled. "Straighter than Wallace, at least."
"Don't listen to Jayne, babyface," Wallace replied with a grin of his own. "Man's jealous he ain't as stylish as me."
"That's 'cause I'm not trying to attract fancy men to my party."
Before anyone else could reply, one of the assisting crew called out, "Third group, you're good to go!"
"Well, that's us, gentlemen," Wallace said. The three of them walked toward the ramp, pausing slightly before the end. Wallace then turned to the other man. "Jayne, want to hold hands?"
"Hah! Fuck off, Wallace!" Jayne exclaimed, grinning wildly as he turned to look at them. "I ain't one for slow dancing!" Then he shouted as he jumped backward off the mediship, his whoops of joy overheard in the air.
Wallace and Mark looked at each other, the former shaking his head in amusement.
"Well, kid," the older man called, bending his knees. "See you on the ground!" With that, he too jumped away.
Mark rolled his eyes and walked toward the end of the ramp, as if he were taking a stroll in a quiet park. The first step he took outside of the ship, his foot acted like it stepped into something solid. Once his other foot joined, he loosened his knees as he fell from the ship.
As the ground approached, he braced himself. His feet landed on solid ground, knees bending slightly. He felt no pain, thanks to the gravity tunnel. It made a few-story drop feel like a mere jump down two steps of the stairs.
Mark quickly moved out of the landing platform. Like the makeshift ones in Ashley Station, it was a square drawn from white tape, and once he crossed the border, he was out of the gravity tunnel's range.
The first thing he noticed was the heat. The air was pretty unforgiving, even with Eva adjusting the environmental systems of his clothing. Granted, there was only so much they could do, but he had never experienced them fail in keeping him comfortable. Then, there was that smell, that thick stench of burnt metal and ash. His throat itched to the point that he had to cough hard, making him turn away before his eyes widened at the scene before him.
It was even worse than having seen it in a video feed. While he was on ground level and couldn't see the crash site, it was still horrible. Twisted metal limbs speared the sky, everything else was rubble and fire. There was a taste of despair, like a metallic tang that clawed at the back of his throat. He just stood still, letting everything wash over him for what felt like hours before he felt someone patting his left shoulder.
It was Wallace. "Nasty, isn't it?" he commented.
"Horrifying," Mark replied, turning to him, only to spot Jayne also joining them.
The man too stared at the city, though with such heated intensity that took Mark aback. He then felt that he did not want to be one of the aliens that would be facing Jayne Cobb.
Wallace patted his shoulder again. "Come on," he said as he turned to leave. "Let's hurry."
With one final glance at the city, Mark followed the two men moving ahead of him as they headed towards the base.
It was a newly built structure, enclosed by a metallic wall and guarded by armored personnel. Not New Carolina MI, if the colors indicated anything. Instead of blues and greens, these armored individuals were colored in desert camo with a bit of scarlet for accents.
In fact, that was a thing Mark noticed. The armored Militia, even the welcoming team coming to meet them, all wore different shades of brown.
As the trio was guided inside the base, the heat and smell disappeared—probably because of the strong environmental systems in place. With the most oppressive elements gone, Mark was finally able to really study the whole structure.
It was undoubtedly well-built, with the wall structures robust and lined with power cells. Judging by the slight blue glow and the hum, there was a graviton shield covering the area. Tents were scattered around in an orderly manner, with Militia and—judging by the green uniforms—some MI personnel moving in and out.
Mark wanted to continue his observations, but when he spotted the backs of Wallace and Jayne as they entered what looked like one of the larger tents in the base, he knew he had to stop sightseeing. Quickening his pace, he also entered the shelter and was greeted by a very athletically built woman.
Her sharp eyes were framed by dark lashes, and while she kept her expression mostly neutral, there was a slight quirk of her full lips, as if she were half-smirking. Mark didn't quite know if that was on purpose. Her brown skin also matched well with her very curly dark brown hair, which she wore in a very practical bob. The straight posture and the very professional aura she exuded had Mark believing she had probably been part of the regular military before.
"Commander Reynolds?" he asked.
She tilted her head to the side. "The commander is inside. Just gather with the rest of your group and try not to start a fight."
"Yes, ma'am," Mark replied with a nod. Moving deeper inside, he noted that the interior was built with pragmatism in mind. Lit with natural light from the slits of the tent, he could see multiple terminals around the tent, occupied with operators connected to the DriftNet. Except one, which was being repaired by a rather cheerful-looking woman with grease staining her face.
At the center of the tent, Mark could see the Militia he traveled with. Wallace was motioning him over, and as he approached, Mark could see Jayne rolling his eyes when he spotted him. However, he didn't say anything, even when Mark stood beside him.
The young Shepard studied his surroundings once more, this time trying to look for the commander. He noted two other men that weren't at a terminal, but considering one was wearing a white uniform with a red cross on his shoulder, he guessed it was the other man—the one wearing a well-worn brown coat and glued to his tablet—who was the base's leader.
Tall and lean, his slightly tanned face sported lines in his eyes and mouth, giving him a weathered look. His short, tousled brown hair with flecks of gray added to the impression. However, his eyes still looked sharp, and the squared jaw gave Mark the impression that he wouldn't falter under pressure.
"Sir."
Mark glanced in the direction of the voice and saw the woman who had directed him in the tent walking towards them, accompanying the last three members. The latter joined the gathering Ashley volunteers, while she walked toward the man Mark had pegged as the commander.
Reynolds turned, unhurried, as he faced his caller. He then looked at the gathered men in the center of the tent. He looked at the woman once more and gave her a small, roguish smile. "A full group this time, Zoë?" he asked.
"Our luck had to turn around somehow, sir," she replied evenly, though there was a hint of a smile.
"I'll take what I can get," the commander said before he walked to the front and center of the group. "Well, folks, as you now may know, I'm Commander Reynolds, and this here is my second in command, Sergeant Alleyne. Welcome to Serenity, the most forward Militia platoon base of the western district of Peninsula. We got complete facilities running, from a tent pretending to be a mess hall, to a trauma clinic, run by our very own surgeon, Doctor Tam."
He paused, allowing said doctor, the one with the white coat, to raise his hand. Some volunteers returned the gesture, while the others nodded at him. Once that was done, though, all of them turned back to the commander, awaiting for him to continue.
"Unfortunately," the commander continued, though losing his smile this time, "that's the only introduction you will get. With your arrival, we finally have enough fire teams to run rescue operations, and I ain't one to waste time. There are a lot of folks out there that need saving, and I won't prolong their suffering because I like to hear the sound of my voice.
"Right now, I need you to connect to the base's network," he continued. "From there, you will receive your assigned team and which tent you can find them. Go there, meet your teammates and leader, and get out there. We clear?"
"Yes, sir," all the Ashley volunteers replied.
"Good," Reynolds said, his smile returning. "Stay alive, gentlemen, and Godspeed."
As he walked away, Mark marveled at how the base leader had controlled the room and commanded their attention so quickly. The man was probably ex-military as well. However, before Mark could delve deeper into it, Eva chimed up.
"Mark," she said, "you've been assigned to Team Bravo in tent seven."
Mark nodded, then felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned, only to see Wallace and Jayne. The former looked at him expectantly, while the latter seemed to be more intent on staring at the bubbly woman who was still fixing the terminal.
"I got assigned to tent three," Wallace said. "How about you two?"
"Seven," Mark replied.
"Two," Jayne answered as well, turning his attention to them.
"Damn," Wallace cursed. "Guess we're going our separate ways then."
"It ain't like you weren't expecting it," Jayne said with a shrug. He then began to walk toward the exit, making the other two follow him. "I just hope my team can fight worth a damn."
"They should," Mark replied. "Didn't they specifically call for Militia with certs seventeen and above?"
"Doesn't mean much," Jayne said smugly, smirking at him. "Ain't you here?"
The young man rolled his eyes. "That honestly just says something more about you than me, Cobb."
Wallace chuckled. "Alright, ladies, stop fighting," he mock ordered. "We got work to do, yeah?"
Jayne grunted, shaking his head. "Whatever," he said as they all stopped in an empty place, where all the other tents were visible. He looked around before his eyes zeroed in on one of the nearest structures. "That there I reckon is mine."
Wallace was also scanning around for his assigned place before he stopped, staring at another tent. "And I'm guessing that's mine."
Eva had also mapped out where Mark was supposed to go in his head, so he looked at the two of his compatriots. "Mines further away
So, I guess this is it?"
Jayne grunted once more. "You two take care, ya hear?" he said gruffly.
"Take care, Cobb. You too, Wallace."
"Stay alive, guys."
With a shared nod, they went their separate ways, and Mark couldn't shake the nagging doubt of splitting up from them. He may not have known them for too long, but they were from Ashley. They were practically neighbors compared to almost anyone else in the base.
It was such an irrational thought that almost instantly, Mark felt silly being hesitant. So, he paused, took a breath to center himself, and then kept walking. Step by step, he steadily paced until he arrived at tent seven and entered.
The interior of the tent closely mirrored the Command Tent, albeit with noticeably fewer terminals. Mark contemplated approaching the available staff to inquire about the location of Team Bravo. Yet, as his gaze shifted toward the tent's center, he realized he didn't need to disturb them. There were three individuals, visibly armed and engaged in an animated discussion, standing huddled together in the midst of the tent.
There was a high chance he was looking at Team Bravo.
Mark hurried towards them, but his steps slowed as he noticed something peculiar—familiar faces.
"Mark!" David called when he saw him. He raised and waved his hand to call him over.
"Dave!" Mark returned, a wide grin on his face as he too walked to meet him. As he moved forward, he glanced at the two other people near his friend.
John Spartan stood with both hands rummaging through what Mark assumed was his tactical backpack, resting atop a long table beside an Mk-500 sniper rifle. Mark's attention then shifted to the individual directing John—the probable owner of the weapon, Lieutenant Amira, the MI assessor they had met weeks ago. Their presence momentarily threw Mark off, but he quickly resumed his stride to greet his friend.
"Tell me you've been assigned to Team Bravo?" David asked as he offered an open palm.
"Yeah," Mark replied, slapping it automatically. "Guessing you as well? Why the hell didn't you message me?"
"I did," David replied, grabbing Mark's hand as they made contact, gripping it firmly before shaking it once. "You'll probably get it later. There's too much traffic going on right now, and I'm guessing a priority system has been set up. Sorry. I guess I should have called. That one would have gone through."
"No worries," Mark said with a shrug before turning to the other two. John seemed to be done as he was facing them, offering his now-free hand, to which was grabbed at once. "I'm surprised to see you here, John. You got your certification up to seventeen?"
John smiled as they shook hands. "Nah," he replied. "Considering I was about to enter the MI, I didn't think I needed to. Then the damned aliens started invading, fucking that up."
Mark groaned, though more in agreement. "Yeah," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm glad to see you again, though. I honestly thought we'd only meet again during recruit training. How the hell did you get assigned here if your cert is at fifteen, though?"
"It would most likely be due to his explosives training," Amira replied, as she too took a step forward to meet Mark. "It's a highly useful skill, especially for rescue operations in an urban area." She then offered her hand as well. "Shepard."
"Ma'am," Mark replied, looking at her offered limb, hesitating before taking it.
"I didn't think I'd warrant such a reaction," the woman said with a smirk.
Mark looked at her for a moment before shaking his head. "Sorry," he answered, shaking his head. "I guess our reunion feels rather…"
"Contrived?" Amara finished.
"It does feel that way, ma'am," John chimed in. He then raised his hands. "Not that I'm against it."
She chuckled. "You're not completely wrong," she replied. "While I had no hand in having any of you assigned to base Serenity, I did make it so I could get you three assigned to me. All of you were quite a solid team during assessment. It'd be stupid not to take advantage of that."
"Glad we gave you a good first impression, then," David commented.
Mark just shrugged. "I guess I'll just be glad we had worked with each other, at least. Though I'm guessing you'll be the default team leader this time?"
"Yes," Amira replied. "Though I'll most likely put you second in command, unless there are any objections?"
Before Mark could say anything, the other two spoke up.
"Nope," John decided with a shake of his head.
"None," David said, slapping Mark's shoulder.
When Amira gave Mark a look, he sighed before nodding. "I won't disappoint."
"Good," she replied, slinging her rifle onto her back. "Let's not waste any more time. Our assignment is in Sector Two."
She raised her arm, revealing the Gauntlet wrapped around her forearm. A holographic display popped up on top of it, large enough to showcase a map of the western district of Peninsula to all four of them.
"The sector spans from Pinckney Plaza to Boone Hall Boulevard, five miles from the crash site," Amira continued, and the map zoomed in. "While our main mission is to sweep the area for survivors, we first need to fix the nexus array near Beaufort Park."
The holographic display highlighted the area, almost at the sector's center, resembling a small building.
"The array is down?" David asked, a frown forming. "How did that happen?"
"The processing unit probably overloaded," Mark speculated. "When the aliens crashed, most of the planet focused on this area. It probably couldn't handle the surge of data. Hopefully, we can just restart the unit. If not, it'll have to be replaced."
"There should be a fabricator unit in the building with schematics for the processing unit," John added. "Is there still power running in the sector?"
"There is," Amira replied. "Power isn't going to be the problem, gentlemen. Our inability to have a Driftcon in this sector is, though. This is our priority." She then lowered her arm, causing the holographic display to vanish. "Once the array is fixed and the sector is back online, Militia intelligence will be able to get new data and accurately pinpoint SOS signals."
"Question," John said, drawing Amira's attention. "Without DriftNet, does that mean we won't have any comms?"
"Nothing leaving the city," she replied. "But we can still set up a local subnetwork, ensuring clear communication lines among ourselves."
"Like the MI Network?" Mark asked, a hint of hope in his voice. That hope faded when Amira chuckled.
"Sorry, Shepard," she replied. "You'll have to settle for talking to us like a normal person."
The other two briefly shared a laugh.
"Hey, it was worth asking," Mark protested with a chuckle of his own. "Oh, well. At least that's one less problem to contend with."
"Correct," Amira replied. "Clear communications are essential, especially given the risk of confrontations with these aliens."
"If we do, what's the ROE, ma'am?" Mark asked as he checked his weapons. He observed John securing his backpack around his back and sides before preparing his shotgun—the same model he used in the assessment. David, on the other hand, opted for his personal weapon this time, the ZM35, a short-barreled bullpup rifle. He too gave it one last check.
"The priority is the preservation of human life," Amira responded. "All actions must be evaluated through that lens. Avoid initiating any conflict with the aliens, but employ lethal methods when forced into confrontation. That includes defending yourself or protecting any humans in the area."
"And alien non-combatants?" David inquired as he finished checking his weapon.
"Use your discretion," Amira advised. "Just remember, our primary concern is to rescue any trapped residents."
"Yes, ma'am," the trio replied.
She fixed her gaze on them. "Last chance to back out."
All three shook their heads.
Amira nodded before closing her eyes. The rapid movement beneath her eyelids signaled her active communication with someone in the Drift. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and looked at them. "Let's get to the loading bay. Our transport's ready and waiting."
The baseball field in Beaufort Park remained relatively untouched by the destruction, making it a perfect evacuation zone. The Militia had established a temporary outpost to keep it clear from any hostile forces, serving as an ideal drop-off point.
Upon making landfall, Amira introduced her team to the Militia lieutenant in charge, and Team Bravo received proper credentials to operate in the sector. They were also equipped with medical pouches for first aid. With these preparations completed, they began to move forward, sticking mostly together as they traversed the parkland.
The trip was swift, with most traffic heading toward the outpost. People huddled together as they moved forward, and Mark was relieved to see that there weren't many injuries. Medics along the line checked on everyone, distributing medi-gel to those in need.
Once out of the park, the scene turned grim. Streets were strewn with debris, some larger than people. They passed areas where entire sides of buildings had crumbled, completely blocking street access. Despite the efforts of some Militia to clear the path, it was evident that it would take some time.
Amira instructed Mark to lead the team while she ascended the buildings. Knowing how she operated, the trio waited for her to give them the all-clear signal before silently sweeping through the destroyed city. Fortunately, they encountered no one in immediate need of emergency assistance, and the residents they encountered were already leaving the city.
The organized manner in which evacuating residents moved, shielding children in the center with others forming a protective barrier, brought relief. Though armed only with blasters or pistols, the residents seemed capable of defending themselves until reaching safety.
Mark pointed them to the evacuation outpost, assuring them of a clear path. Despite the positive feeling of aiding the residents, the overall scene still painted a grim picture.
Upon reaching the target location, Mark assigned David and John to check the nexus array inside the building, while he stood guard at the entrance. After a few minutes, he began to regret that decision.
Mark was no stranger to the western district of Peninsula, acting as a gateway that smoothly transitioned visitors from Ashley into its urban culture, blending city and countryside aesthetics. Unlike the dizzying skyscrapers of the central district, the buildings here once stood like friendly giants, offering glimpses of the clear skyline. Sun-dappled parks, once alive with the laughter of children, punctuated the streetscape. Pastel-colored cottages with picket fences nestled beside modern lofts. Sidewalks adorned with fields of wildflowers peeking through cracks in the pavement.
All of that was gone now, replaced with ash, soot, and fire.
The young man looked up, spotting a dirtied and nearly destroyed sign for Café Aurore. He tried to summon memories of the place—the scent of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee mingling in the air, the chirping of native birds, and the gentle hum of cars' graviton engines. However, he couldn't. All that prevailed was the lingering smell of smoke and the scene of destruction.
"Shepard," Amira's voice called, as if she was just beside him.
Mark stood straighter. "Ma'am?" he asked.
"Don't get distracted," she replied. "I might be on overwatch, but that doesn't give you an excuse to be inattentive."
"Sorry, ma'am," he said, grimacing. "It's just… I knew this place."
There was a pause before he heard her sigh. "Understandable. However, don't lose focus. We can rebuild once everything is over. You want to be there to see it, correct?"
"Yes," he replied softly. "I'll be more careful, ma'am."
"Good," Amira said. "Give me a status report."
"Dave," Mark called. "Sit rep."
"We've just arrived at the nexus array," David's voice came through.
"Any problems getting into the server room?" Mark asked.
"No problems," his friend replied. "We were given immediate access, probably because of the credentials the Militia gave us. And you were right. The processing unit got fried, but thankfully, the servers themselves don't seem to be damaged. John is with the fabricator, making a spare part to replace it. Unfortunately, the chronosphere module is busted, so it will take some time."
"ETR?" Mark asked.
"Five, ten minutes," was David's reply.
"Thanks," he said. He then waited for a moment before he called, "Ma'am, did you get that?"
"Yes, Shepard, I did," Amira replied. "Good work, all of you. Also, standby. I spotted something. Hold position."
"Affirmative," Mark replied.
After a few seconds of silence, David chimed in. "Mark, how's everything out there?"
"It's bad," he replied, sighing in the end. "Mom loved this café. I still remember her bringing us here when she was still working as a cashier."
"How long ago was that?" David asked.
Mark hummed. "Three years ago, I think. It was before I met Hannah."
David chuckled. "I still remember that day."
"Dude, shut up," Mark interrupted, a small smile on his face at the memory. "We aren't in a private network."
"That suddenly sounds interesting," John's voice entered the fray, with a teasing lilt to it. "Do go on."
"Just keep on constructing, Demolition Man," Mark said sarcastically. That got a short snort of laughter, which seemed to infect the trio as the sound of chortling dominated the network.
That is, until Amira spoke up. "Shepard, I need your assistance."
Mark clamped down on his amusement. He cleared his throat before replying, "How can I help?"
"There's a situation brewing two blocks from your position," she replied. "I'm seeing four aliens. Fire team most likely. They intercepted a family. Man, woman, two children. They seem to be threatening the man."
"Give me a path to their flanks," Mark immediately said. "Dave."
"I heard," his friend replied. "Need an assist?"
"No," he replied as he began his run. "I need you and John working to get that array replaced. Stay safe."
"Yeah. You too."
"Eva," Mark called. She didn't reply audibly but flashed an image, an overview of the area, in his head. Nodding in ascent, he made his way forward, keeping an eye on his surroundings to ensure he wasn't about to run into another group himself. He turned to the left and squeezed himself between alleyways before weaving around the buildings and main streets, careful to avoid scattered trash cans and other noise-causing debris.
It wasn't long until he arrived at the location, and he heard them before he could see them.
"Oh, for spirit's sake! We're not getting anywhere with this!"
The alien language—turian, the translation file called it—was frankly bizarre to Mark's ear. It was like a mix of clicks, hisses, and rasps, blended together, making it sound very harsh and guttural. Translated, though, the voice sounded masculine and, for some reason, had a flanging effect to it.
Mark stopped before exiting the alleyway and peeked out of the corner. There, he saw four aliens and the human family around thirty feet away. One of the aliens had separated from their group, apparently trying to interact with the man who imposed himself to cover the woman and the two children behind him.
Unlike his compatriots, he didn't have a helmet, which Mark found rather strange. However, he wasn't one to nitpick good fortune and took a good look at the alien's face.
It was angular and sharp, mostly due to what looked like carapaces with a slight reflective metallic sheen to it. It gave him features such as what looked like mandibles around the jawline and slicked back spikes on its crown. Interestingly enough, he also discerned that the alien sported some sort of tribal tattoo that covered the upper half of his face.
They looked as strange as their language.
Mark then moved his gaze to the rest of the aliens, trying to see what else he could observe about them. Their silhouettes looked quite humanoid at least, noticeably tall and lean. However, upon closer inspection, he realized that their stance was strange, as if they were standing on their toes. They also wore dark gray armor with orange details that covered their upper bodies like shells, and what looked like some sort of box attached to their backs. The uniformity of the colors and patterns suggested they were uniforms, most likely military-issued.
There was a sense of wonderment and amazement in seeing these aliens for the first time. While Kaijus and Precursors were still the first alien lifeforms humanity had ever encountered, they seemed more like monsters than sapient species. These aliens, these turians, at least seemed to have military organization, which indicated a civilization. At the very least, humans could understand and empathize with that.
The tense interaction between the two parties, however, brought Mark back to the reality of the situation. He realized that the turians had their weapons—rifles, it looked like—at the ready. While not quite pointing towards the family, all it would take was just a few seconds to lift and aim. The only thing seemingly stopping them from doing so was their compatriot, apparently trying to communicate with the man that was holding a blaster, which was also pointing downwards.
"Look, I know you can't understand my language, but it's simple," the turian said. He pointed—Mark now noticed that the turian's hand had three digits—towards the man's weapon before gesturing back to himself. "Give it to me."
The man shook his head, putting on a brave face, extending his free arm as if trying to cover for his family. "It's the only weapon we have, and we have a long way to go. I'm not leaving ourselves vulnerable."
The turian groaned. "I don't understand your language, male asari!" He then repeated his earlier action. "Give me your weapon."
Mark blinked. Asari?
The man stared at him before gesturing at himself and his family with his free hand, then pointing in the direction towards Beaufort Park. That earned him another groan from the turian.
"Eva," Mark called.
"Executing handshake protocols to any of the AIs within the family," she replied quickly. "Handshake successful. June is now aware of our presence and is informing Mister Sullivan. They would like to know what they should do next."
Before Mark could think of a reply, he heard the turians begin speaking to each other.
"Nirox," the turian that had been talking to the man called. He was also smart enough not to turn his back on an armed person, keeping his eyes on the family. "I don't think we can get anywhere. I think he understands that I'm demanding his weapon. He just won't give it up."
The middle of the turian trio shifted. "I can see that," Nirox, probably, replied.
"Brave pyjack," another turian added.
Mark frowned. That's another strange word. Perhaps there were some words beyond the translator's grasp.
The last one of the trio then asked, "What's the next move then?"
Nirox sighed. "Orders are clear," he said in a rather resigned tone. "We need to obtain whatever weapons or technology this race uses. Kill him, but let the rest go."
"Ma'am!" Mark called sharply.
"I heard," Amira replied quickly. "I'll take the alien with the family. Hit them after my shot."
"Informing June of the situation," Eva informed.
Mark steadied his grip on his rifle before mentally connecting to the software of his weapons. He took the safeties off, then set the rifle for burst fire before taking a deep breath and waited. It didn't even take a second. Mark heard the children scream first before he heard the distorted roar of the hypersonic bullet. That was the signal he used to break from cover, rifle aiming towards the rest of the turians.
They reacted quickly, Mark had to commend them. They weren't standing blankly in place but were already each moving to one of the many large scattered debris for cover when they realized there was a sniper. He even noted that Nirox and one of his companions were grabbing those boxes attached to their backs, and with amazement, watched it unfold into something akin to a long rifle.
As the trio began to find cover, Mark was already aiming at the moving Nirox. With a steady hand, he squeezed the trigger, and his muzzle exploded with fire. His target stumbled, unharmed. Either the armor protected him, or they had shields of their own. He seemed to have realized that there was another enemy at their flanks and tried to aim at him. He wasn't given a chance. Mark shot at him once more, and blue mist seemed to explode in the air around him.
"Contact!" one of the turians screamed as he too aimed at Mark, only for his head to disappear as Amira took her second shot.
"Taren!" the last turian screamed before he jumped over to cover and kept his head down.
Mark marched forward, rifle steadily aiming at the crouching turian. Anytime he saw the alien pop up, his weapon thundered into action, exploding the air around the turian's cover, forcing the alien back down. With each burst, Mark came closer to the nearest debris, from which he took cover, laid low, and awaited his opponent's response.
"You spirit-damned aliens!" the surviving turian shouted, and the sounds of gunshots began to echo loudly around them.
Mark braced himself, ready for any sort of penetration to his cover. However, as loud as the crack of the alien rifle was, the pinging of impacts weren't as powerful as he expected. They didn't even seem to disturb the inner wall. Before he could ponder more about it, the turian screamed before an echoing screech reverberated around him.
Then, for a few seconds, there was silence, only to be broken up with a voice in Mark's ear.
"Shepard," Amira called. "I don't think my last shot killed the target."
"On it," he replied.
Mark took a deep breath, then slowly stood up. The only thing he saw of the last turian was his clawed hand peeking out of cover. He waited a moment, to see if there would be any changes before fully standing up, rifle up and ready as he made his way to the downed alien.
Once he arrived and saw the rest of the turian, Mark winced. The alien was lying in a pool of his own blue blood with his lower torso area just gone. However, he seemed to be clinging to life. Mark could hear the turian's labored breath bubbling from his mouth. The hand he had seen was clawing the dirt desperately while the other was holding onto his weapon.
Their eyes met, but Mark wasn't quite sure the turian registered his presence as an enemy. The struggles seemed to cease, and the arm that had been digging the ground slowly tried to reach out for him.
Mark set his rifle to a single shot, then aimed it at the alien's head. A single squeeze ended a single life. He stared at the turian's corpse for a moment before reporting, "Target neutralized."
"Good work," Amira replied. "Check on the family. See if they need any medical assistance."
They were still here, Mark wondered, and the answer came as he turned around. He saw the man, Sullivan, approaching cautiously, his blaster still on hand. The woman and children were nowhere in sight, which he was glad for. Blue blood aside, these turians looked and acted almost human-like, and there was no reason to give the kids nightmares.
Mark stood with his hands visible and the muzzle of his rifle pointed down, assuring the man of his non-threatening intentions. Sullivan seemed to appreciate it and nodded a greeting at him.
"Thank you," he said. "A bit longer, they might have done something drastic."
"They were," Mark confirmed. He then saw the woman and children seemingly peek out of a corner of the building, making him motion to them. "Are you or your family injured?"
Sullivan turned to look at them before he returned his gaze to Mark and shook his head. "Thankfully, no."
"Then I suggest you better get moving again," Mark said.
"You don't have to tell me twice," Sullivan agreed. "Evacuation zone is still at Beaufort Park?"
"Baseball field, yeah," he replied. "Be careful."
"Will do. Thanks again."
Mark watched as the man returned to his family, his embrace with the woman filled with silent reassurance. He then knelt before the children, who seemed to still be shaken by Amira's first shot, but their father's presence calmed them down quite quickly as they hugged him without hesitation.
The woman wore a complicated expression, giving Mark a hesitant smile, though the quivering lips threatened to take that away. The children were a bit more oblivious to the fear that gripped their mother. When Sullivan pointed towards Mark, their eyes went wide with wonder and waved at him, their smiles pure and untainted.
Mark smiled back and returned the gesture, not letting his arm down until they turned the corner. Once they disappeared, he sighed. "Do you think they'll have another encounter?" he asked.
"I'm keeping an eye on them so that won't happen," Amira replied. "They are traveling in a straight path, so they should soon encounter the Militia trying to clear the roads."
"Thank God," he muttered.
"Stay frosty, Shepard," she reminded. "Since I'm keeping an eye on the family, I might miss something coming from your end."
"No worries, ma'am. I'm keeping—"
"Lieutenant Amira, Mark?" David's voice interrupted. "We just installed the new unit, and it's booting up. This sector should have DriftNet… now."
Mark winced as he found himself getting overwhelmed by the cacophony of data flooding his head. In a fleeting second, a comprehensive awareness of the entire sector consumed him, a result of the information dump from various precinct sensors. The SOS broadcasts, all heavy laden with emotion, felt like raw cries for help echoing through the Drift that pressed down on his very soul.
Fortunately, Eva quickly erected a filter, mitigating the impact. Mark still lingered in that state of slight unease from the brief, yet intense exposure. Amira's voice cut through the shock, which thankfully helped him to pull himself together.
"Anderson, Spartan, good job," she said. "Join Shepard and see if you can gather anything from the aliens. Then standby until Militia intelligence can get a read out of the whole area. I'll join you once the rescued family is in the clear."
"Yes, ma'am," John replied.
"We're Oscar Mike," David added. "See you soon, Mark."
"See you," Mark replied softly.
The silence that followed prompted him to reflect on his earlier experience. SOS signals littered the surroundings; Mark found it almost incredulous. Though the majority clustered around Boone Hall Boulevard, the area nearest to the crash site, he recalled at least a dozen merely blocks away. Surveying the horizon, his eyes fixated on the numerous dilapidated structures, and he questioned whether their assistance could reach everyone.
There was no response. He didn't expect one. Instead, he steeled himself, fingers clasping around his rifle, and determination etching a sharp line across his lips.