45 – Make It Count
Even as his assumptions about physics continued to be tested, day after day, the constant of light travelling faster than sound still held true. Therefore, he saw the flash before he heard the noise.
Electric blue light filled the entire embassy, and shone through every crack in the ceiling and hole in the barricade to spread across the Presidium. Bolts of energy shot out from the core into everything with a battery. Sparks flew wildly in all directions, so many that it was impossible to see what and where they came from. Closing one's eyes made barely any difference.
The sound of the discharge was outrageous, a zap that reverberated off every surface and through every nerve in the Alliance marines' bodies. For their newly-minted Commander, there was only one noise that came close: the gigantic laser that once vaporized Dublin. Unlike that weapon of mass destruction, however, he was counting on the effects of the blast working to his advantage.
The zapping didn't last long. Gorman opened his eyes to see that he, and his comrades, were still alive and not piles of ash. The engine, on the other hand, was reduced to cinders. Everything it was powering was dead and gone. The fluorescents were dark, the barrier generators dull, the automated turrets frozen. The only source of light, therefore, were lingering plasma fires and regular fires from the outside. Before anything else, Gorman had to make sure the others were just as alive as he was.
"Sound off!" he shouted, "How're we look-agh!" Suddenly there was the unpleasant sensation of trying, and failing, to move his arms and legs. He tried again, and again, but he was stiff as a board. Looking over, the others were much the same. The realization hit him…and the others figured it out too.
"Armor's locked up!" one shouted.
"No, no, not now!" another cried.
"Who designed these failsafes!?" cursed one more.
"Hot damn! Look out the barricade!" a trooper gestured at the small holes in the emplacement with all she could, a flick of the chin. "The geth are going crazy! It's like a lightshow!"
Gorman wasn't in a good position to chance a look…or do anything else, for that matter. 'The second I wear armor again…' he thought to himself.
The situation suddenly went from dire to dramatic. The Commander felt a hand tug at the back of his suit, cranking an emergency release valve. The pieces of his C-SEC set fell apart, freeing his body. He turned around to see just who his liberator was. A member of his crew? The Ambassador? Novak?
"Oh my God!" one soldier strained his neck to see the man behind Gorman. "Major Ward! You're alive!"
For someone who was zipped up in a body bag mere moments ago, Ward looked in decent shape. Short yet strong, with a salt n' pepper goatee and lively grey eyes. He wore a thick bandage around his head and a bloodied Alliance jumpsuit. Gorman knew better than to assume he was rescued by a ghost. There was only one unbelievable conclusion – the electrical discharge must have restarted the Major's heart.
"Help me get the rest out," the Major nodded to the Commander. Gorman wasted no time in trying to find the spot on the nearest trooper's back where the hidden valve lay. An exponential number of plates of armor clattered onto the ground.
Gorman pulled rather hard to reclaim his weapons from his own fallen armor, shoving items new and old back into his vest. He approached the barricade. There were three makeshift steps up, one at the center and two on either side. He took the middle route up, just enough to peek his head over.
Through the smoke, fire and brimstone, he could make out the stretch of no man's land from the embassy to the geth encampment. He could make out only a couple flashlights…then another one. Just as the Alliance soldiers were freeing themselves from the armor, so too were the geth slowly coming back online. There was no more time to waste. He racked back the bolt on his unaffected M16 and addressed the troops.
"Weapons hot!"
One by one, the marines reacquired their weapons and flicked the power back on….and again…and one more time for good measure. They had bad news.
"Guns are cooked, Commander!" Novak yelled up, "We've got nothing!"
"Incoming!" a soldier's shout snapped everyone's attention back to the battlefield. In the quiet of the embassy's embers, the loud steps of running geth were drawing nearer. Their converted husks were rising from the lakeside, sprinting right at them. At a guess, a hundred meters and counting down.
Gorman looked down to the superior officer. If he thought he had a lot to deal with, he wasn't the one brought back to life just for this.
"Your call, son," Major Ward affirmed.
The Commander thought hard. There were two options.
He could sit tight and pray for a miracle; maybe the Shackleton crew were untouched by the blast and their weapons were primed and ready. The total reprieve from gunfire outside told him otherwise. He could also try and single-handedly pick off every single geth with his M16, one last stand for the one last working rifle. A good idea in theory, and what he was going to do at first…until he realized just how little ammunition he had left. Two magazines for the M16, one for the Walther. He flicked out his forearm and gave it a tap to no avail, no omni-tool to give him more options. Any avenues toward the original plans were well and truly blocked. He was right after all, they were really going to do things the old-fashioned way.
There was only one course of action left in this situation. All he was missing was a Welsh tenor. He gave the order anyway.
"Fix bayonets!"
The soldiers were speechless – and yet they complied. Combat knives were plucked from their discarded boots, Lancer rifles were raised, and the blunt ends were shoved down the gap where bullets usually came from. Gorman had an easier time, whipping out the knife from his old C-SEC kit and slotting it neatly under the M16's handguard. He looked sternly out from his perch. Only fifty meters to go until contact. The marines took up positions on the other steps and right by his feet, ready to go over the top.
It was now or never.
It was Sergeant Novak to let out the battle cry.
The company, Gorman at its tip, vaulted the barricade. He hit the ground running. Only ten running steps later, he was faced off against an inhuman shell of a being, gurgling at the mouth and glowing out of the eyes. He shoved his bayonet right through its chest. When that wasn't enough, he shot a single bullet. The foe crumpled up on the ground.
The marines regrouped, forming a line with their rifles pointed forward like a phalanx of old. This was hardly a SWAT team tactic from the Commander's textbooks, but the company assembled into the formation as if it was second nature. A group of husks hit them like a wave, but the marines held their ground until only they were left standing.
Then came the geth themselves. Loose sparks still flew from their metal limbs, their faulty bulbs for heads flickered, and their once-formidable plasma weapons ceased to function. At Novak's command, the marines charged.
Gorman struck a trooper in its cuirass. The rest of it, unnaturally undaunted, still made to swing at him to no avail. The Commander heaved his arms down, then up, slashing its torso into a million silicon wafers.
He swung his head around to see if everyone else was just as effective. The marines were fighting hard…but some were getting swarmed, having run too deep into the geth lines or just bad luck. They were not used to combat without armor, and it showed. Gorman switched into overdrive.
"Novak!" he called out to the Sergeant, reaching to his holster with a free hand and drawing the Walther. "Fifteen bullets, make 'em count!" He threw the pistol across the battlefield, where the Star of Terra contender caught it and immediately blasted the head clean off a machine that was bearing down on a nearby marine. Fourteen bullets, then.
Gorman had twenty-nine cocked and ready in his rifle to relieve the pressure. As things stood, casualties under his watch stood at a remarkable -1. He intended to keep it that way as long as possible, but there was only so much he could do. Another wave of geth infantry were mounting the courtyard steps. He switched into maximum overdrive.
Two bullets slammed into one of the last husks. His bayonet pierced another trooper's side, and one bullet shot through and into the trooper behind it. He swerved around and slid to flank one trooper embedded in a marine's bayonet, finishing it off with another shot. Novak was cleaning up on the other side, the familiar bang of the P99 mopping up the barrierless robots. Four more of Gorman's bullets downed three more geth in rapid succession…yet it was not enough. Yelps of pain rang out through the din of battle, two marines, then three, were struck down. The resuscitated Major himself was dragging out another bruised body from the fray.
There was no time to mourn. The stakes were suddenly raised. A Prime trudged up from the lakeside…and its weapon's light was bright. Gorman's eyes widened.
"Move!"
He dove to a side and hoped whoever else could was doing the same. A plasma bolt splashed down very close to where he just was, and a fiery explosion rocked the courtyard. Gorman found himself rolling down a small staircase, stopping himself shy of falling down a manmade crater. He coughed out ash, shook off soot, and heard the sound of gunfire returning…from both sides. The cooldown was over.
He climbed the stairs as fast as he could, rising with the rifle, and picking out the Prime among the carnage. The weapons were back online, but the barriers weren't. He racked back the bolt and fired every bullet left in the magazine. The very last one did the trick, and the bullet riddled machine sunk to its knees, and then to the cold hard floor.
The marines looked almost as worse for wear, although the Lancers were also back in action. If everything was coming around, Gorman knew what that meant, however. The big Armature's stumps were starting to advance. He could feel it in every rustle of debris underfoot, but he couldn't have known just how quickly it arrived to the scene.
"Colossus!" a terrified marine exclaimed.
It was going to take more than the Bluntnose to take down the metal monstrosity that planted its spiky legs on the concrete. Against such a massive siege weapon, Gorman's archaic rifle felt hopelessly inadequate. He was about to give the order to fall back to the embassy…until he saw a glint of light in the distance.
He watched, in surprise, as a silvery projectile cannoned out of the light and impacted the Colossus with awesome force. A flare of a fireball ejected out of a new hole in its body, causing its legs to stumble but not fail. Its attention, and huge head, slowly swiveled to the source of the shot – giving the marines a crucial second of reprieve. Gorman raised his voice to reach them.
"Everyone! On me!"
His command came true…much more than he expected.
The marines took breaks between running to the steps where Gorman was crouched to glance behind at the incoming force. The Commander's eyes did not deceive him, there was an elcor clad in C-SEC blue pulling along the XL-FG. Officers of all species were descending from the higher and farther levels, escorting the field gun into a better firing position.
Gunfire broke out from the roof of the embassy itself. Gorman glanced up to see two humans. Kalu and Zaz. They lined up and let loose with everything they had. The confused Colossus tried to readjust.
From behind there suddenly came a blue comet. When it impacted, any remaining lightweight geth troopers were scattered across the courtyard. Gorman's attention swung around to see T'Lore on fast approach, an energetic cobalt field around her hands. There was also something big moving behind her. He was about to shout that another Armature was on the field, but its wheels came into view. It was a truck an order of magnitude bigger than the Bluntnose…and had a proportionally bigger cannon up top, which promptly shot a deafening salvo.
His head flicked around again to see the Colossus take the hit right at the shoulder of one of its legs. The round ripped it apart like it was papier-mâché, and the automaton listed on its side. Its own shot, which was finally directed at the C-SEC platoon, soared well over their heads.
There was movement in the sky, too. Larger than a skycar, yet smaller than a transport ship like the Shackleton, it was slowly making its way over – and had a little cannon of its own, which shot a bolt right into the Colossus' tail-end, followed up by another blast from Little Theo, and the constant streams of small arms fire from all around. A familiar thud came from behind, as a small projectile burst upon impact with a flash. A concussive shot could only mean one thing. He looked behind again to see Petronis arriving, Phaeston in her arms.
He focused on the Colossus one last time to plan his ultimate attack. The damage from all sides was enough to seriously scratch the walking siege weapon, but it still stood and its weapon looked to be recharging. There, just below its massive eye, Gorman spotted something – a loose tether that seemed to be holding its entire head up. If he could sever it, that would surely be the end. There was only one problem – he'd need to get right underneath the thing.
He slapped in the last of his M16's ammunition, rose from the huddled marines, and made for the courtyard's center.
Suddenly, his feet were caught by something, and he found himself falling onto the debris-filled floor. The rifle tumbled from his usually firm grasp, sliding far away from him. He flipped over, saw the flashlight of the legless geth trooper that had grabbed him, and silenced its flashlight with a steel toe.
"Gorman!" came the cries from friends new and old.
He was in the worst possible position. A deluge of gunfire rained overhead in one direction, from all directions, but the Colossus found its new focus – him. Its weapon of a head was glowing brighter by the second. He could still make out the weak point…but his beloved M16 was just out of reach.
"Catch!" the voice of the Sergeant was barely heard. Gorman got to a knee, looked right, and plucked the Walther out of the air. "One bullet, make it count!" Novak shouted.
Gorman would have preferred a Lancer – but it didn't matter anymore. His mind was razor-sharp, his focus unmatched. Only one thought crept into his mind.
This next shot was for everything.
He lined it up, and pulled the trigger.
There was no way to tell if it was a bullseye. The Colossus exploded regardless.
The Commander was momentarily knocked off his feet, feeling the heat and covering his eyes. When the flash died down, he resumed his knelt position and watched the world around him rearrange itself. What was once the mighty Colossus was now four fallen stumps and pieces of a metal shell.
People in their multitudes flocked into the courtyard.
Before he knew it, Gorman was hoisted back onto his feet and had the surviving marines yelling at him…but with weary smiles on their faces. His ears were ringing – he couldn't hear a single word. He could, however, feel a whole bunch of new cuts from flying serrated metal bleeding on his unprotected face, arms and legs. His luck had held out, in contrast to the bodies on the broken pavement which were already being stretchered away by cops in gunmetal blue armor. The crewmates of the Shackleton were quick to join the celebration, trying to jostle their way through to get to their Commander. Didn't these people know that there was still a reaper out there?
A gust of air bashed against his face and flapped everyone's clothing and hair about. It was only now when Gorman realized that his hair was standing on end – a side effect of electricity's role in his masterplan, no doubt.
The cause of the wind was coming in to land. An shuttle in Alliance white and blue kicked up dust and dirt in its wake as it started gently descending just where the courtyard met the lakeside platform. Its doors were at the sides, and the near one glided open. When it revealed who was inside, Gorman snapped back into action. He had a debt to repay, and broke free from the crowd to head back inside the embassy. The barricade was still employed at the front entrance, so he had to resort to the emergency hatch. Strangely enough, the lights looked to be back on. Did somebody manage to restart the drive core?
He went through the same route as before; into the dark storage room, up the ladder, and through the secret door. His ears were finally hearing real sounds again.
The Ambassador stood by his desk, staring at his computer console. His dark eyes rose to meet Gorman's, and then scanned the Commander head to toe. He was obviously a sorry sight compared to when they last met.
"What took you so long?" he said.
"Follow me, sir," Gorman replied, "I'll show you."
Udina trailed the Commander out the way he came. When the Ambassador finally got outside with a cautious clamber over the real panel and through the fake one, his impenetrably stoic demeanor shifted. Despite all the information he was likely getting through his computer, he still couldn't quite believe the devastation with his own eyes. When they arrived at the courtyard proper, the surviving marines had already assembled into an honor guard. The Shackleton's mostly reunited crew waited on the wings.
The shuttle settled into a hovering position just above the ruinous ground at the other end. Stepping down from its bay was the Admiral, holding her cap down to stop it blowing away.
The Ambassador stopped just short of greeting her. He turned to the Commander and spoke directly.
"Things will never be the same, will they, Gorman?"
"Trust me, I know the feeling."
"I suspect the Spectres are going to have a few vacancies soon," Udina mused. "If the Navy pulls this off, the Council cannot ignore humanity any longer. A recommendation from their newest Councilor might go a long way."
The Commander ignored his callousness and concluded a search that took everything he had to accomplish. All the trials and tribulations of the recent past were leading up to this.
"There's ship on dock 433, SSV Shackleton. All I need is authorization for it to go to Earth."
"That's it?" Udina was incredulous, "That's all you want?" Gorman answered him with silence. "The Alliance is in dire need of men like you, Gorman. Speak softly and carry a big stick." He gave the nod that sealed the deal. "Consider it done."
The Ambassador parted, clambering aboard the shuttle and giving a farewell wave to the troops, who responded with a hearty cheer.
The Admiral was next to approach the Commander.
"What's with the celebrations?" he asked first before she lost her rough smile.
"Shepard did it. The arms reopened." Her relief was palpable, but not entirely convincing. She pointed skyward. "Fifth Fleet's arrived. The battle of all time is happening up there, right now."
Gorman flashed a very brief smile of his own. He knew the other Commander would pull through.
"You sound confident," he remarked, "You're not heading into the thick of it, are you?"
"You know us Gormans. First in the battle, last in the fight." She extended her free hand. He reached out and shook. "Good work, Commander. Stay safe."
"You too, Sandy," his tongue slipped.
The Admiral's brow, somewhere behind her waving fringe, rose. She gave him a look that said 'We'll talk about this later' and, after Gorman gave her two sets of dog tags, began to head back towards the waiting shuttle. She hopped aboard, where Staff Sergeant Sargent was waiting for her…as well as a long sniper rifle leaning against the cockpit hatch.
Suddenly a loud horn blared from its front. Twice. It was definitely Blanc. The door slid closed, and the craft rose, veering off in a new direction.
Most of the honor guard had already dispersed. When Gorman looked around the courtyard, he saw clusters of soldiers all gathered around in huddles – including his own crew. He jogged over to them, ignoring how suddenly achy all of his joints were now that the adrenaline high was wearing off. T'Lore, Petronis and Kalu were all gathered around Zaz's open omni-tool. A screen was being projected, showing another spaceship's dashcam, just like back at the precinct or Udina's personal monitor. This time, it was an Alliance ship, a cruiser no less. Couldn't be the Antwerp, could it?
As Gorman picked up his fallen rifle and joined the huddle, he noticed someone propped up against a stretcher in the middle. Sally's limbs were completely stiff, lying flat as a board, her stretcher held at an angle so she could also watch the footage. Her suit must have been another casualty of the electric discharge. The Commander barely had time to ask about her when something happened on the screen. There was an almighty explosion just off the ship's bow, and the camera swept through the smoke to show there was little damage – but there was still a gigantic reaper perched on the top of the Citadel's tower. If his original intel was to be believed, not too far from his current location.
As emboldened as he felt, he knew that his battlefield was always on the ground and that, at best, he'd be a liability of a pilot. He'd done his part, it was up to Shepard and the rest to finish the fight.
The crew let out sighs and gasps in equal measure, transfixed on the unfolding battle. More cruisers and frigates appeared, mostly Alliance colors but also some unfamiliar designs. An Alliance battleship was briefly seen – a block of a ship that stretched on for quite some distance…with an equally long gun to match. Then, just for a moment on the corner of the screen, there was something Gorman recognized.
"Hey, it's the Normandy!" he pointed out.
This was enough for the break the feed's hold on the crew, enough to acknowledge the Commander and let him closer in the circle. He could feel arms being thrown around his shoulders.
Whatever cruiser they were watching, it fired its main gun at the abomination, a bolt that whizzed away at incredible speed. Whether by a fantastically well-spaced shot or pure coincidence, suddenly the reaper's grip on the tower loosened…and its humongous limbs started to spasm. Dread-inducing red energy vibrated from its exterior, like some evil version of the kinetic barriers everyone had these days.
The Normandy reappeared. Sleek, fast, nimble, it outpaced not only the cruiser but any remaining geth ship or reaper attack. It swerved up, higher until just beyond view…then it dove. It fired a torpedo straight and true – which pierced the reaper's core. A clean hit.
Cheers rang out across the embassy complex, and very shortly got louder.
The reaper pitched towards its back, slipping away from the tower. An explosion big enough to be nuclear flared up at the impact site, then several smaller ones in succession. Its mechanical tendrils writhed around aimlessly before snapping off.
The cheers wore down, replaced by sheer awe. Rumbles could already be felt underfoot. The video feed got fuzzier, and fuzzier, until nothing remained but static. Nobody cared. The day was won.
The asari was the first to pull him in for a hug. He didn't mind, but his feet were biotically dragged across the floor all the same.
"We did it, Kevin," she sounded on the verge of tears. "It's over."
"I don't think any of this has really set in yet," Kalu chuckled, placing his hand on the occupied Commander's shoulder. "I'm not sure it ever will. But I never doubted us for a moment."
"These have been the craziest weeks of my life," Zaz chimed in, "But seeing that big ship go up in flames…I couldn't think of a more perfect way to cap it all off. If there's a hell, I know those geth are burning in it."
"You alright, Sally?" Gorman broke free to check in on his favorite quarian.
"Never…better," she laughed in between sniffles, "That electric discharge you did…Keelah…it felt…incredible. As soon as my…suit redownloads all my filters…I'm ready to…celebrate!" She tried to stand on her own two feet, but her backwards legs were wobbly. Kalu took one shoulder, Zaz the other.
"And you, Petronis?" Gorman addressed the turian in the room, "It's damn good to see you again. Where were you?"
"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me," Petronis flanged, her arms folding, "Let's just say the turian Councilor is safe and sound, and the M35 Mako was just lying on its back when I found it."
"Another day at the office, right?" even Gorman was getting in on the jovial mood, "Heard from Bodewell?"
"Don's safe…for now," she snarked, "If a sprained ankle was enough for him to abandon you earlier, I don't want to know what anything more serious would've made him do."
The crew lingered in content silence for a moment. A realization was hitting all of them at once. After everything they'd been through, after all the fires of Eden Prime, the blizzards of Mavigon, the dust of Feros, the glitz of Polaris, the chaos of the Siren, the creatures of Calypso, and now the final test of the Citadel, there was no longer a reason for them to stick together. The Commander's two grand objectives had been simultaneously met, to get authorization for Earth, and to figure out and defeat the beacon's threat. The party was over. Time to go home.
"Mission accomplished," Gorman spoke the words they'd been waiting for. "It's been an privilege to meet and work with all of you."
"We're not home just yet," Kalu held up a free hand to stop the Commander before he went any further. "Save it for the docking lounge."
The group slowly started walking away from the battlefield. C-SEC were hard at work scouring the area for survivors, the marines were celebrating Sergeant Novak like a hero, Major Ward was receiving serious medical attention, and the fires were finally being put out. Lights could be seen flickering on across the Presidium, citizens emerging from hiding spots station-wide.
"I want to know, what exactly you were thinking by kneeling right in front of the Colossus?" Petronis questioned Gorman as they all kept walking.
"That's what you had a problem with?" Zaz scoffed, "I heard from Novak that he led a bayonet charge! In the year 2183!"
"Is that good…or bad?" Sally, as per usual, didn't have a frame of reference.
"Our Commander has his…methods," T'Lore justified, "But no matter what, he always finds a way to save the day." She rested a hand on Gorman's arm. "I'm proud of you."
Gorman stayed silent as the crew chatted away.
His journey was over.
This wasn't how he expected his life to go. In the time it takes from one paycheck to another, everything he took for granted was completely demolished. When he first took those steps onto that sleepy fuel depot, he remembered feeling confused. He never could have known that it would only get more confusing, and more confusing, until the facts of the future were enough to overpower him.
He was not the same man that he was when he woke up in that escape pod. He took new facts for granted, made contact with extraterrestrials, and touched down on distant planets – and although every step along the way was mind-shattering, he always found a way to adapt sooner or later. How ironic it was that the most bewildering fact of them all was that he now had a family, descendants he could hopefully depend on. They were hardly keeping his old Boston apartment in good condition for his triumphant return…but that was a problem for later. He couldn't wait to go back to Earth.
There were, of course, loose ends that needed to be tied up – but they could wait. Right now, at this moment, Commander Kevin Gorman could catch a break. He could get back up to speed at his own pace…and then it hit him. He was caught up. He couldn't get much more caught up. He knew about all the species, all the ships, all the cutting edge technologies and the modern institutions that used them. He'd met everyone, from dockworkers to Ambassadors, from vidcasters to Matriarchs. Obviously he hadn't been everywhere, and there was only one destination on his mind…but it sure felt like he had.
It dawned on him.
He could finally stop living for the past. The present was won, and the future was yet to be written.
And so, with the beacon's prophecy shattered, galactic civilization saved, and one grateful Ambassador...
...the epic journey of Commander Gorman comes to an close.
He's seen it all. There is truly nobody more deserving of a long-awaited rest. Earth beckons.
Therefore, let me extend my ultimate appreciation to you, the reader(s). A year to the day since this story's original posting, I'm still surprised at how well these chapters have done; exceeding my expectations given the vague beginning and length (both in terms of story and time taken to post). I hope you've enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Thank you all so very much for tuning in over the last year. Big shoutout to Adelkman - I always looked forward to your reviews. Couldn't have asked for a better hype man.
That's a wrap, folks. Been a pleasure.
- MM
P.S.
If you found this ending to be completely satisfying, leaving no questions unanswered and nicely wrapping up the Commander's tale...
...then DO NOT tune in on the 29th of October at 20:13 UTC. You've been warned.