The Rook

by Twisted Fate MK 2

On the way down to New Mombasa, Rookie falls into the Slipspace Rupture and ends up crashing down on Menae, high above Palaven, right in the midst of the Reaper War. From there, the war itself will shift and the fighting persists, but who knows what an ODST will add to the mix. (Redo of an older story)

33. Operation : New Moon - One

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Two weeks later, John woke up to the chirping of his alarm and rolled over in his tiny, thin bed. Sitting on the edge, he rubbed at his eyes and sighed before he grabbed his under-shirt and stood, pulling it on.

His apartment wasn't much, barely more than a closet for a bedroom, a living room and kitchen combination, and a bathroom right beside the main door. But it came at least somewhat furnished with a metal dining table and a refrigerator beside a stacked up washer and dryer set, and even a dishwasher. So even if it was otherwise barren, he couldn't find it in himself to complaining too much. Not for a private apartment on the Presidium itself, much less the Citadel at all.

From what he'd been told, those tended to cost an arm and a leg…

And that was in peace time.

It even came with its own - outdated, admittedly - VI, which chimed quietly while he fried a couple of eggs for his his toast to say, "Councilor-Interim Hackett to see you, Sir."

"Hackett…" He murmured, sighing and adding some butter to his eggs before dropping the temperature to steam them with a lid on and turning. Stepping into his bedroom, he grabbed his black under-armor for his suit and got to work getting into it, "Tell him to come in, I'm getting dressed."

"Yes, Sir."

When he came back out, dressed in his fitted suit, it was to find Hackett salting the eggs he'd left steaming and adding toast to the toaster slotted into the wall over the oven. Without turning, he said, "I hope you don't mind, son. I haven't eaten yet."

"What's mine is yours, Sir." He answered with a shrug, taking the single-egg sandwich the man offered him while he waited on his own toast. Standing beside the table to eat, he asked, "To what do I owe the honor, Sir?"

"Shepard informed you of the build-up for Operation - New Moon?"

"She did, yes."

"We're mobilizing this evening." He explained, turning with his own sandwich and taking a weary bite while he switched the stove off and leaned against the counter beside it. "I came to ask you to assist personally."

"I imagine my Clan already agreed to."

"They did, but…" Hackett frowned, "I have something a bit different in mind for you, Doe."

"Different how…?"

Two hours later, he was walking along Docking Bay Ninety-Seven, along one of the dozen or so gantries servicing a large ship parked there. It was a block, clearly Krogan design just a few hairs past cruiser weight. Where Turian cruisers were sleek, almost avian, this was a veritable brick of rust-colored armor that curved to crests at the top and bottom, pockmarked by entrenched manuevering thrusters. The ship angled in from the bottom and sides of the ship suddenly two thirds of the way up, sloping up and in towards a wide, hammerhead shaped front end. His experienced eyes picked up four long stretches of segmented armor he was sure could withdraw to expose more weaponry just behind the 'neck' of the warship', built above and below the front-most handful out of long banks of turret-mounted heavy guns. A section on the top and bottom of the horizontal hammerhead was made up of glass, through which he could see a command deck, set back and protected by the heavily armored front and the twin GARDIAN lasers built onto the ends of the hammerhead.

It almost reminded him of the UNSC, for a moment…

Especially with the frankly massive engines at the back.

"Impressive…" He murmured, pinging the ship with his VISR's updated system scan - now, after he and Beu's efforts, it could identify most weaponry the galaxy's major players used. The system identified the heavy turrets as 'heavy slug accelerators' and the top rows of protected launchers as torpedo launchers. The bottoms, though, came back as 'null inf' and he asked, "What are the lower launchers?"

"The Hammer of Krant." Hackett grunted, "And the lower launchers are mass catapults, to launch insertion pods more safely than the test ships were able."

"Impressive." He reiterated, unsurprised by the speed of the innovation - war was, if nothing else, a mother of invention and adaptation. "What about the older models?"

"Support launchers." Hackett answered, "Still in service, but being rebuilt to accommodate the Normandy's stealth innovations, where possible. The updated designs will be meant for reconnaissance drops more than mass-assault."

"Useful for cutting new drop teams' teeth, too." Better that than dropping a dozen new graduates into a hell-site and hoping that half came back, at least, as had been the norm later in the war back home. The dumb-torpedos would be harder for the Reaper electronic warfare systems to throw off, too. "How many of this class do we have?"

"It's been dubbed the 'Solus' class." Hackett offered, making something spin in John's stomach. Hackett didn't seem to notice, though, only going on quietly, "We have eight of them. Heavily armored and with massive kinetic barrier generators, and slow for it, but able to actually shrug off one or two glancing hits in a battle. And with wide bays full of enough pods for a platoon drop apiece."

"Support ships?"

"I have three carriers staged for the mission, meant to help keep the Oculi off you all." Hackett nodded, "And twenty destroyers. Both are a mix of classes, but… They'll do for the opening salvo of New Moon."

"Just the opening…?"

"The newly formed First and Second Fleets will be waiting for the success of stage one." Hackett nodded, turning to face him, "Roughly one hundred ships in all, although only four are dreadnoughts. Two of which are Turian. Should stage one succeed, they will punch through to reclaim the airspace over whatever of Menae is fully secured in stage one and, from there, we will stage for the third stage of the operation."

"The rest of Menae?"

"If it can be managed, yes." Hackett nodded, "Otherwise the Turian Home Fleet is going to push for Palaven herself, and attempt to extract as many civilians as they can, swapping casualties out for Krogan riding in. Resistance efforts on-planet are wide-spread, and we intend to add fuel to their fire."

"From there," Hackett sighed, "we will have to improvise, depending on what the Reapers' reaction is."

"I see…"

"It's not ideal." Admiral Hackett sighed, folding his hands behind himself and raising his chin, watching a handful of Turians running checks on the outer hull, suspended from a rolling trolley system on the scaffolding over the warship. "Nothing is ideal right now, though."

"It never is." John nodded, frowning. "But leading a unit-"

"You'll be platoon-lead, until you hit the deck." Admiral Hackett cut him off, turning to face him fully, "Supplies and resources are already allocated, as are team layouts. Your command on this run will mostly be symbolic. The Krogan respect you more than they do the Turians, even after their aid on Tuchanka. You can bring some cohesion to this operation. Without you, I don't expect the Krogan and Turians to get along for long when things get hard."

He understood the logic, but…

"I'm not an officer."

"Officially, you are." Hackett countered wryly, flicking him a look John took as an effort to tell him he was only half-serious. When the ODST shrugged, the man went on more gravely, "And you took the lead at Huerta, during the Cerberus assault. Your efforts saved hundreds of lives, at the least, and aided in the safe recovery of a Councilor to boot. On a day when we lost two of the others, that means a lot."

"I lost people, too." He argued, "Bad calls-"

"I reviewed the reports officers on the ground drew up." Hackett cut him off, turning to lay a hand on his shoulder. "You made good decisions."

"Then why did Thane die?!" He snapped before he could catch himself. Shaking his head, he said, "I'm sorry, I didn't…"

"I understand, son." Hackett sighed, "But… Even when you make the right call, you will lose people. I won't force this on you, but… Your people need you, Human and Krogan, on this."

He was quiet, for a while, watching the crewmen work on the hull. They were running last checks, from what he saw, and tagging plates that looked like they needed a bit more attention. Another group was walking along the heavy turrets, checking their entrenched turning components and looking down their barrels while a woman in a red suit made notes on a clipboard.

Quietly, he asked, "What is Shepard doing?"

"Scouting and rescue out in the Terminus systems, for another upcoming operation." Hackett answered quietly, "She is working fast response out there, doing what she can while we put you to work here."

"I see…" He sighed, "Fine. I'll do it."

"Happy to hear it, son." He nodded, smiling and gesturing at the ship, "She's yours, then, for now. Come back from this, you hear me?"

"Yeah." He chuckled, "That's always the plan, Admiral."

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Inside the ship, the halls were wider than he was used to, and taller too. Built for Krogan, he supposed, with sturdy inner plates and reinforced, grated floors. Lights were recessed into the roofs and the corners of the floors, just barely above the grating, with protected grating over them as well. Lockers were dotted along the walls regularly, usually right beside heavy bulkhead doors, filled with extinguishers, hammers, panelling and, more abundantly, banks of thermal clips, basic looking Mattock heavy rifles, and a few ammo-blocks. Banners and even thin sheets of stone decorated the walls, too, depicting the sigil of Clan Krant over murals meant to tell stories.

More than a few of which he recognized as from the battle to cure the Genophage.

More than a few of which had him on them…

"Doe!" A familiar voice boomed, before he turned and nearly cried out as Tar's huge form appeared and wrapped him up in a nearly bone crushing hug. Grunting, he let the smaller soldier go and John staggered back while he laughed, "So, you elected to sign up with us after all, eh?"

"I was under the impression it was important." He shrugged, cocking his head, "Us?"

"I'm on the 'Krant's Maul' once we head out." He nodded, smile thinning a bit as he sighed, "Urdnot Wrex gave our clan three of these ships, owing to your membership. Almost the whole clan has marshalled for this."

"But…" He shook his head, "I'm only in Krant for politics."

"That's only half true, Doe." Tar rumbled, gesturing at one of the decorative stone sheets. This one showing half a dozen Krogan spread out to either side of a lone Human reaching for a pedestal under a Reaper's gaze. "And not how many see it regardless. Every person that was there is revered by the Krogan, now. Shepard is a part of that, but so are you."

"Still, it's a lot to risk…"

"Think of it like this, then." Tar rumbled, shaking his head wearily but at least sounding more amused than annoyed, "The High Chieftain needs fighters, and can't command everything himself. So, he's picking trusted hands to take as much as can be taken. This is one less fleet he has to worry about. He's already got fifteen clan-fleets slated, though ours is one of only three meant for war."

"The rest…?"

"Trade, salvage, repair, rescue, the like." Tar rumbled, "Support fleets, small and given out to weaker clans to bolster them where their lack of fighters won't hurt so much."

"And the bigger ones don't mind waiting for a war fleet rather than a 'support' one." Doe filled in, nodding. It was clever - he could settle logistics problems quicker and easier, get more support from a broad base of weaker clans, and have stronger ones ready and chomping at the bit when they got their chance. Shrugging, he asked, "You were waiting for me, then?"

"Wanted to get ya settled." He nodded, waving for him to follow, and rambling as they walked, "The rest of the ground teams are mostly on the Citadel, grabbing gear if they can or blowing off steam until go time."

"Fair."

"So," he shrugged, leading him into a wide, heavy-duty lift and punching in the top floor, "let's get you settled in, and get to kicking Reaper ass, eh?"

"I don't think the Reapers have those…"

"Eh, we'll make do. It's what Krogan culture is all about!" Tar laughed, voice echoing out into the narrower hallway they stepped into. As they walked, he gestured at the walls - decorated now with the same sheats of stone, but this time painted with depictions of human and Turian soldiers fighting amidst ruins - and explained, "Some decks and halls are made tighter, more comfortable for non-Krogan like yourself, to accommodate more volunteers."

"Taking a page out of Shepard's book?"

"In more ways than one, Doe." Tar sighed tiredly, flicking him a look and humming, like he was considering whether or not to go on. But, after a moment, he just sighed and nodded, "Another reason we got this fleet so easily… We're the first Krogan war-navy in a thousand years, and we're headed straight for the worst fighting in the galaxy. A lot of people see it as, well…"

"A suicide mission."

"Right." Tar nodded, "Everyone's watching, to see how we do…"

"No pressure." John sighed, "Right?"

"No more than working a Tomkah's stomach." He snorted, stopping at a final door, far enough up along the long hallway John suspected they were nearer the command deck than where he'd come in. Tar gestured behind himself, at a larged, reinforced bulkhead door and grunted, "Access to the command deck is through there - down a flight of stairs, and up a hall twenty feet or so. You and your neighbors are non-human officers, hence the placing."

"Makes sense." If most of the officers were ship-bound staff for the control decks, then they'd be able to get to action-ready more swiftly this way. "And the launch bays?"

"Port and starboard, far side." Tar grunted, pointing the way they'd come, "Lift has its own, personal generator, so the bastard should work even if the ship comes apart. Any deck on it labelled with an 'M' is a main one, with access to both launch bays. Time comes, you'll be starboard."

"Understood." He nodded, gesturing at the unadorned door and asking, "My quarters?"

"Mhm." Tar nodded, punching the big green button beside the door and heading in ahead of him.

Inside the room was small, almost tight, with a thin blanket stretched out on a cot that was maybe five feet from the door that took up the entire width of the room. Right inside and to the left beside the door was a simple desk with a terminal built into the wall over it and a mechanical keypad waiting for use. On the other side of the door was a door built into the wall, left open so he could see the simple toilet inside.

"Hm." It was a spartan affair, but… "It'll do."

"Happy to hear it." He turned as Tar leaned down and pulled a small box from under his desk, handing it to him. "A gift from the clan."

"A gift…?" He opened it and, inside, he found a thick sort of poncho with a long back and a hood. It was pitch black and bordered in a dark orange the same color as Tar's armor. And a dark orange Krogan palm-print stretched up to his shoulders. Turning, he asked, "What is this?"

"A Battlemaster's mantle." He answered simply,looking, for a moment, somewhat… Anxious, as he explained, "An old tradition, but… Well, a lot of us are clinging to the ones we can, with everything changing so quickly. I matched the primary color to your armor for you. Others will have different, but…"

"It fits." He grunted, pulling it on and rolling his shoulders. The cloth was thick, but not too heavy - not enough to obstruct his movement, but enough he felt it. Nodding, he said, "It'll keep the rain off."

"Hah!" Tar rumbled, clapping his shoulder hard enough he stumbled, "Spoken like a true Krogan."

"I suppose…"

"Well," the warlord rumbled, "you settle in, maybe get some grub down on Deck Five. I'm going to make sure none of my warriors are acting like Pyjaks on the station."

"Good luck." John nodded, stepping aside to let the old warrior leave. "You'll… Probably need it."

"You can say that again…"

"Good luck." He smirked, "You'll probably need it."

"Smart arse…"

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7th Maniac :

Yeah, the Council aren't perfect… But they're people, and one thing I have wanted to portray throughout this story is that people are all on every - mostly - side of this conflict. You know, the Reapers not withstanding. Tevos in this has served for LITERALLY Sparatus' entire life. Losing her is like losing a pillar of society to him, and he feels that, and that was what I wanted to convey.

Captain Dick Scratcher :

Welcome to the Reapers, yeah. A LOT of people are going to die, before all is said and done. And in the series, losing SO MANY PEOPLE so quietly, and helplessly, always sold the horror of the Reapers really well to me.