- Location
- Vietnam
See folks this is what happened when your opponents play really dirty, Turian forces is still fighting with the mindset of UN peacekeeping forces, future generations will look back and be amazed at the number of blunders made.
[Fanfiction] [Mass Effect] For the Motherland!
- Thread starter ComradeH
- Start date
- Location
- Netherlands
Actually, this one is even more messed up than a UN peacekeeping mission - at least in an UN op, the command is relatively united. Here:
- The Top brass of the Turian Hierarchy is almost oblivious to the whole fuck-up
- The top commanders of the Turian invasion force are co-conspirators, they are more concerning about finding a secret ancient weapon stored on Shanxi than actually fighting
- The field- and company- grade commanders have no information about humans, other than "a primitive race just illegally activates a dormant Mass Relay"
- The Turian invasion force has absolutely no intelligence - other than the favorite tactics of "Macross Missile Massacre", the insane ability of Terran electronic warfare and for some reason, the Terrans have to travel for 1 hour at sub-light speed to reach a Relay.
- Location
- Vietnam
The inquiry verdict after this debacle sure looks to be... interesting.
- Location
- Netherlands
At least it will not be as fucked up as many war in human history.
A review on Fanfiction suggests booby traps in Vietnam War style to welcome the Turian on Shanxi - I'll leave it for you to think how messed up it will be.
Chapter 13
- Location
- Netherlands
"The Breach of Shanxi" - Day 1
==============
"Unlike other races, humans do not consider losing a city as a 'lost', at least not as severe as other races of the Citadel Council. The Turians speak of capturing a city or controlling a majority of it as a victory. Though whether the city was in one piece was irrelevant. The Asaris would have surrendered by the time the city gate was breached. They abhorred violence and bloodshed. The Salarians, well, there would be no capturing the city, but there would be capturing the City Hall done by Special Task Group. No one would be wiser by the end of the day. The Quarians had no city to speak of, the Volus, Drell and Hanar... no one was sure about their military doctrines.
The humans? They make up a new school of combat for that - urban warfare. A synonym of that word is Hell, terrible after-life. That was a part where they excelled at, even surpassing the Krogans. Don't ask how or why I know all of that."
- Urban combat Training, unknown author on an Turian armed forces' online forum
==============
Location:
Turian Cruiser Fist of Thunder
Orbiting Shanxi
Zhusanjiao System (Occupied)
People's Repulic of United China, Terran Federation (Contested)
Time:
2501 – 8th Month – 10th Day (Galatic standard)
Early morning (local time)
Turian General Brutus Oriendas read the report in both shock and anger. Those primitive humans dared to resist the might of Turian Hierarchy! They inflicted tremendous losses to his Eighth Legion. More than three thousand men were killed within a single day. Those... barbarians... primitives... they... they blew up the only spaceport on their homeworld, just to kill fifteen hundred men of his. A spaceport was a highly expensive piece of infrastructure and could take few years to build. However, those humans... just blew it up. It was almost too similar to the Krogan, to deny an enemy the chance to use the facility. The extremely high cost of rebuilding afterwards made the practice undesirable, even the pirates and their four-eye masters still followed this unsung rule.
Yet, the human just blew it off, not as a move made in desperation, but in a deliberate and careful active defense measure. The General would be applauding the audacity of the human if they did not kill thousands of his men and rub it in his face. Now, he was fuming and raging in his own wrath, unable to understand why the human refused to back down and submit to the rule of Turian Hierarchy. After all, it would be a much more beneficial route. The Ring would have the peace they needed to search for the secret ancient weapon, and the humans would have a much better arsenal than what the suit rats could give.
Eezo generators, orbital elevators, omni-tools, omni-gel and a wealth of knowledge and culture, the list was just too long to count. Everything those beggars and thieveshad, his proud nation had more and of a higher quality. He just had to stop their futile and insane efforts, and then they would have to see reason. May be sending in the full fist of steel would help. After all, while the Eighth Legion had lost a third of its number, he still had two-thirds left, not to mention other Legions within the armanda.
Right, that was the overall plan. He stood up and watched the planetary map on his omni-tool. If he showed them the full might of the Hierarchy, they would stop, especially when they realised victory was impossible, but how could he do that? It would have to be a show of force so shocking that they would have to surrender to spare the times of those they were trying to protect. A strategic victory, but the target must still be important enough...
He could take their capital!
Yes, if he gathered his troops and managed to take their capital city, and take it with minimal losses while inflicting heavy casualties on the defenders, it would serve a harsh blow to their morale and the humans would have to capitulate. Yes, it was a sound idea. The rest of his legion, roughly 4000 men, and their support, should be more than enough to seize the city and defend it for a few days against any counter-attack until reinforcements could arrive. With the support of friendly Sixth Legion, who was still in full strength, taking the city and securing its population would be easy enough.
The Turian General gathered his staff and they quickly drew up a plan, focusing on a massive attack with armored assault and gunship support. During the said time, the remaining Eighth Legion was sent toward the planet under heavy escort of the Navy. A full varen-pack of frigates was even deployed just to make sure the landing was safe. Lucky for them, there was no major attack launched from the humans. Sure, there was a few sneak attack here and there, but after a mass bombardment, the battlefield returned to its original state – the humans must have been scared off by the display of overwhelming firepower.
After over an hour of consideration and calculation, their plan was done. His first order was to send scouts to the city for recon. He wanted to know what he could possibly expect, and he wanted to have a few civilian deaths here as possible. After all, they were trying to bring these primitives into the civilized galaxy, and it would not work to kill thousands of civilians while trying to show them a better way.
Brutus watched the screen on the bridge. A pair of frigates under fighter escorts was sent flying over the city, scanning the whole area to find anything worth of interest. There was no drone attack noted, may be the humans had already spent all of their fighter wings… Quite a waste, but it worked beautifully enough to take down his force. Then, the reports came back, no human heat signature was detected. It was unlikely that they were able to hide from Turian sensors – their uplift was too recent for them to do that. Therefore, the most probable explanation was that those human civilians were hiding.
Once again, he had to give these humans credit. They understood limiting civilian casualties. They would become productive members of the Hierarchy after they have been assimilated. He signaled the remains of his Legion to advance. The sight of a full armored column moving toward their destination was major to behold. Some Asari bitches would call this overkill, but those blue-skin escorts failed to understand a simple basic fact. This was war, and these primitives would have to learn that they could not stand up to against the Turian Hierarchy.
And to prove it, he gave the order for the frigates pair: destroy the capital below them.
==============
Location:
Children's Square
Commerce district
Capital city Zhen Zhu (contested - destroyed)
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao system (contested)
Time:
2501 – 8th Month – 10th Day (Galatic standard)
Mid-morning (local time)
Decanus [sergent] Legolas Fintus stood in the landing craft, taking a glance at his contuberium [squad] of eight green recruits. Granted, they liked to think that they were not exactly green as they had already received the training at camps. However, they had yet to draw any blood or take part in any operation, which made them "green" in Legolas's eyes. Compared to them, he had already had a few years of service under his belt, and while it was not exactly front line action, it was still enough for him to have learned a few things. Aim first, then fire, or you would look like an idiot wasting valuable time, and causing your rifle overheating. If you saw a grenade, roll away, or your shield would be drained and you would be dead sooner.
Glancing at the ceiling of the drop ship, he read the motto of the technician, "If your ship gets blown out off on the sky, it will not be because of a technical malfunction". It was a very chilling boast. It was correct, but still... It was too bloody and too much of dark humor – not for Legolas though, he was in the force long enough to appreciate it.
The ship rocked slightly, signaling that his ship had entered the atmosphere of the planet. Stupid suit rats! They could have laid low and be quiet, saving him this deployment and giving him some nice and easy relaxing vacation. But no, they uplifted some primitive aliens and all pyjaks like that, forcing his task force, and by extension, him, to intervene and deliver the punishment.
At least it was only the suit rats and their pets. There was no way they could cause any trouble for the overwhelming firepower of the Turian Hierarchy anymore. After all, the High Command had just proved their prowess by demolishing the capital city on this planet. Sure, those pesky aliens were able to maul his Eighth Legion heavily, just to lose their capital city in a blazing flame. Seeing such a devastated scene, the morale of the enemy would have plummeted by now. The only job left for him and his men was probably stepping off the drop ship and begin sweeping the city for any survivors and begin patrolling. The operation was expected to end somewhere between two to four weeks. While it was quite long for his lazy contuberium, it was sufficient, especially when everyone would get some shore leave afterwards.
The shaking of the ship increased tremendously, with red lights flashing in the cabin, over the public adress system, everyone was asked to strap in, due to aerial turbulence. However, Legolas paid them no mind. He stood tall and straight, with one hand holding his rifle and the other gripping a handle hanging from the ceiling. Ten minutes of awful and violent shaking made a couple of his Peditatus [Privates] look like they were about to puke.
Let them puke, he though. It would be better for them to let it go than holding things in. It was right most of the time, and this might be one of those times...
The unlucky troopers were able to control themselves and their puke, which Legolas found such impossibility amazing. His mother still embarrassed him in front of his younger siblings with the fact that he vomited a lot when he was younger... Ah, nostalgia... Blinking his eyes a few times, he looked at his men again. They all looked half eager and half afraid. Good, it meant they were not stupid. After all, he was having the same feeling himself.
The ship had stopped shaking (violently) a few seconds ago. Now, the ship was descending through the clouds and approaching the ground. Through the windows, Legolas watched the ruined city outside. It was probably very beautiful once, at least until his commander decided to bomb it to oblivion. Now, there was only rubble there. A few "spikes" remained standing. But those were also covered in soot and smoke, and would probably fall by the end of the day.
What a pity...
Black smoke was rising from the ground, fire was blazing in a corner of the city, some birds were flying away in haste and fear, and that happened before he landed. Well, what were these primitives called again? Hu-mang? Hu-mon... No... human, right, human. These humans, if they wanted to blame the Hierarchy for destroying their capital, they should blame those suit rats instead. After all, those thieves and beggars uplifted their pathetic race without permission in the very first place.
Bah, he would leave the exact details for the brass. He was just a soldier fighting as he was ordered. He had his job to do, and someone else had their own. For now, he wanted to focus on his task: securing this wretched planet.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke out loud
"Men, listen up. Remember your training. Move fast, stay low, aim sharp, then rinse and repeat. Remember that, and you will be home with your loved ones before you even realise it. Understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
They were still nervous, but at least they seemed a little less afraid now, which was fine to him. Courage was not the absence of fear, but facing that fear and overcoming it. Those were the words of wisdom spoken by his father. He was a good and brave man... Legolas knew that his dad would not rise above the rank of an Optio due to the lack of connections and favours, but it did not mean his men had no respect for him. Spirits, his old man was considered one of the best commanders, possible the best one, on their planet for five years in a row.
Legolas just wanted to be as great as him...
He gazed out the window of the dropship again, and what he saw surprised him greatly. There were still some buildings and other structures intact, like the statue in the square. It was the statue of some... younglings, or children, probably, of these humans. Some were wearing something like shorts and other was having skirts on them. To be honest, minus the biological appearance, they looked just like some statues of Turian children.
It was strange. Amidst a ruined city, a statue, or a group of statues to be more precise, was still standing. Statues of children playing and having fun. The golden color glimmering under the sunset looked completely out of place to the rubble around. What a sick joke of fate... His dropship was slowly touching down on the square, just a dozen meters of so from the statue...
KA-BOOM!
"ARGH!"
"HMM!?"
CHUNK!
"Urghhh..."
Legolas suddenly found himself being thrown up into the ceiling and his ship was pushed upward into the air. The unlucky ship fell down, hard, to the ground and rolled over a few times. Inside the bay, Legolas was hit every surface, from the floor to the ceiling, from the left wall to the right. His head banged on the wall and collided with the troopers inside. Finally, the rolling stopped with the dropship's being the ceiling and Legolas lying painfully on the bay's ceiling.
His blurred vision faded away along with the throbbing pain. Grabbing his head and grunting, he tried to stand up and failed miserably. He was shocked and dizzy, his balance off completely. Something was shuffling near him; the banging sound of metal against metal was heard. He even faintly heard the sounds of some kind of explosion, but he had no idea what they were... He was too disoriented to think or act clearly. The last time he felt this kind of headache was when he celebrated his high school graduation and woke up the following day in a jail cell. That was a long story, and probably better saved for another day.
Slowly, his vision returned, but not after what felt like a century. The first thing he felt was something sticky near his eyes... It was blood. Turian blood. It was probably his own due to an injury. Turning around, he was planning to rally his men and get out of the dropship when he saw the grim, brutal truth. His men were all dead. Yes, none of them survived the explosion. Their "Killed in Action" reports were flooding his omni-tool. Eight men, eight reports. No, it was ten, the pilot and co-pilot were also killed.
He tried to sit up, what he saw scared him greatly. It was a gruesome scene. All of them were still strapped in their own seats and dripping blood onto the ground. A hole, as big as two fists combined, was seen on the ground (or the "ceiling" in this case). Shrapnel and fragments scattered all around him. Luckily, the hole was closer to the front of the ship than to the rear, where he was standing. Just a few meters off and he would be minced.
A chill ran down his spine when he looked at his dead men closely.
"Spirits..."
The men closest to the hole were... burnt off, somehow. Their faces were blackened, if not outright burnt by... something. Probably by the heat coming in through the hole. The others fared not much better. Some had the back of their heads bloodied and broken due to violent collision with the wall. Some were punctured by the fragments of metal; grey and black pieces buried in their suits. Those men had probably not activated their barriers beforehand, despite being instructed during the mission briefing... If Primus Pilus "Gory" was here, he would say that they died due to their own stupidity... Still, they were his men.
However, the more he watched, the more he baffled. What... But... Spirits! What happened? His drop ship was certified as "sufficient" before deploying into action. They must… They must have been who in their right mind could attack the armed forces of Turian Hierarchy?
Right, those suit rats and their pets.
Grunting, Legolas brought himself up and opened the ramp door. Normally, the ramp would open automatically "downward" toward the ground, but as the ship had already been turned upside down and the power off, he manually opened it, with the hatch going "upward". At least it could provide some cover from incoming firepower from above. Hopefully.
The door had yet to open fully, but he had already heard the fight going on outside. The chilling sound of the Mass Effect rounds was almost drowned in the deafening thunder of these strange weapons. He was not sure what they were, but they could be kinetic-based, as they had a very distinctive sound and had seen antique ones from Palaven's past still, and heard the clinking sounds on the ship hull. However, these rounds probably would not be as effective as Mass Effect weaponry, as the kinetic barriers would still hold.
Hmpf, well, these primitives just got lucky. They only killed his men because they were unprepared and green. Legolas had to credit them that, but he still had no idea how they blew up his drop ship (or how he actually survived that attack). However, he had no time to think.
When the ramp door had opened up enough, he rushed forward, hiding behind another dropship. Crouching behind and shooting his Munifex in a direction he believed fire was coming from, he nudged another soldier's shoulder, making him turn around, just in time as a few rounds streaking through where his head was a few seconds earlier. As a fair note, his shield had just drained. Talk about being lucky...
"Yes, sir?" the soldier asked.
"Who is the commander here?"
Legolas asked, trying to be heard over the sound of gunfire.
"I have no idea, sir! Our contuberium's Decanus was killed when just stepped off the dropship. We were just firing blindly here, and... where's your squad, sir?"
"...They were dead trooper... Where is the rest of your squad?"
"On the other side of this dropship, sir. They were able to reach a wall that surrounded this square."
"And where is Gamma Contuberium?"
" They are all behind your dropship and fighting to hold back the second prong of these humans' attack."
Well, it was not too bad. They were holding their ground against the attack, or the ambush. However, there was one thing bugging Legolas...
"Why, in the spirits' names, aren't these humans being rooted out?"
Sitting tight in one place would not be productive or safe in the long-run. These humans were shooting at the policing force, directly violated Citadel's law. They had to be punished, and a quick check confirmed that his kinetic barrier was on and at full charge. The Discens next to him also had his gun and barrier recharged.
Good. Time to fight.
Wiring his omni-tool into the shared signal of Gamma Contuberium, he spoke into the microphone
"Gamma Contuberium. This is Decanus Fintus, I'm assuming control as the highest ranking available non-commissioned officer in the vicinity. Any objection?"
There was only silence that answered him. The thundering sounds of enemy fire and the clanking sounds of bullets hitting the wall were still present along with the streaking sound of the Turian guns. A battle was still raging, forcing him to take matters into his own hands quickly. After three seconds and no one voicing their oppositions, he became their commander from this moment on.
"Heavy weapons: suppressive fire. The rest cover him. On my mark... Mark."
The sound of friendly gun fire suddenly flared up, mixing in with the thunder coming from human's line. Going around the dropship, he rushed toward a half-blown concrete wall surrounding the square. Taking a peak to observe any enemy positions, he was surprised. Instead of a reinforced bunker (or anything like that), everything he saw was just plain rubble. Grey rocks and scorched debris were all around. Where, in the spirits' names, were those humans hiding?
Eyes following the blue darts of light flying through the air, he noticed a specific position was being hammered by the heavy weaponry. It was a window on the second floor, belonging to a demolished building. Assuming the heavy weapon expert was aiming correctly (which he hoped), Legolas had no idea about which he should found amazing: the fact that these humans were able to camouflage their position expertly, or the fact that they were fighting from inside a ruined and half-demolished position, totally going against Turian combat doctrine.
It did not really matter. They were hostile; therefore, they must be dealt with. However, he only had a general idea where the enemy was staying, and not who could be in there or where precisely. They were somewhere in that rubble, but where exactly? No, finding and flushing them out would be too costly, not to mention that they were pinned down here. He needed some kind of fast and hard solution. Coincidentally, he knew the answer. A squadron of fighters happened to be near here - of course, the fact their leader was his old friend was just a happenstance.
"This is Gamma Contuberium calling Sigma Squadron, do you copy? Over."
A few moments of static, then, the voice of his old friend was heard. "This is Sigma Squadron. I hear you loud and clear... Legolas, I though you are in command of Charlie Contuberium. Over."
"I was, Ambrosianus, I was..."
"... Understood. Let me guess, you need fire support?"
"Affirmative Sigma. The rubble is being marked on your tactical map right now. They were pinning us hard and well-camouflaged. Requesting air strike."
"Copy that Gamma. Inbound time: two minutes."
"Roger, two minutes."
Legolas let out a relief sigh. While some would probably call him a coward, fighting against a camouflaged opponent while you were being pinned was not bravery, it was simply stupidity. He could accept the craziness to achieve victory, but he would not agree with the fools wining a battle with a high casualty rate. Gamma Contuberiumcontinued to fire on the rubble, even if the only reason was to convince the enemy into thinking that the Turians would break out on their own. Well, it sucked to be them when Sigma Squadron arrived.
Two minutes of constant bullets trading (and no one was seriously injured, what a relief) had passed and the Sigma Squadron swooped in like a bird of prey, unleashing a hailstorm of bullets and missiles. The sounds of explosion filled the air, temporarily overwhelmed every other sound. Orange flame, once more, engulfed the rubble, reducing it to... more rubble. Whoever had been in there rubble before would surely be dead by now. He was right. There were no more gun shots coming from that direction anymore. The ambush on this side had been neutralised. Good riddance.
The Squadron turned around and ran a strafing run on the other end of the square. From the cheering he heard, the Delta Contuberium was probably being hit hard and was under serious threat. The relief from Sigma Squadron could be seen as divine intervention, saving them from the enemy hostiles. The square was finally secured.
This square was considered as vital because the area in and surrounding it could hold a half of a full strength Cohort of nearly 500 men, plus their support. High Command wanted to use this as a secondary command hub to support the main base, and planning on pushing deeper into the capital city. It was the objective of Charlie, Delta and Gamma Contuberium was to seize and secure this square, which they had done. This would mean possible awards and promotion due to the fact that they were the first landing party here.
Just in time too, he was kind of hoping for a retirement with some nice perks.
Suddenly, two streaks of white smoke appeared from outside his eye sight, moving toward his friend's fighter. What? They were... missiles? What kind of missiles? They were small, possibly carried on shoulder, but what kind of shoulder-carried missile packed enough power to deal with a Turian fighter? The answer came instantly: the ones he was watching.
His friend's fighter barely had enough time to notice the incoming threats, let alone dodge, and was destroyed in a ball of flame. The other pilots were shocked to the core, not making any maneuvers as they normally would. Thanks spirits that those men were able to regain the control of themselves, or today would end with more than one pilot of Sigma Squadron dead.
In anger, the surviving members of the squadron split into two flights, and went toward the origin of those missiles, aiming to avenge their commander. Legolas watched that scene grimly. He had to credit their bravery of whoever fired those, but no matter how much he respected that, they were still his enemy, forcing him to neutralise, capture or kill them. However, the job did not have to be in that precise order.
Unfortunately, the shock of losing his friend was nothing like what we was about to see.
The sky was suddenly filled with bright shining streaks of light. They were orange and yellow... and the fighters were literally torn apart. Originally, the squadron had eight fighters, now, only one survived the onslaught with heavy damage. Black smoke and blue fire was seen flickering out of this fighter. The craft flew toward the direction of the spaceport, hoping to land in friendly territory. However, that hope was for naught as it came crashing down a few moments later.
What?! A full squadron slaughtered by a bunch of primitives? Legolas and his men were shocked into silence. Some even stood up amidst the quiet battlefield, dumbstruck by the carnage they had just witness.
On their right, a few hundred meters away, a glittering light was seen, but went unnoticed by the Turians. Legolas had been seen wearing a red-blue armoured suit with golden bars on his collar. The Turians knew that it was standard issued suit for an officer, but for the men on the other side, he was simply screaming "Shoot me please", and shoot him, they did.
Two rounds, each a .50cal, were fired. Just like the sniper attack at the spaceport, the first round brought the kinetic barriers to half charge and the second finished the unlucky Turian officer. Legolas was shot at his centre of mass and flew completely to one side, further startling his men. He just laid there, on the ground, as shocked as his men.
He could not believe what just happened. A full squadron wiped out, a contuberium was lost even before combat. The enemy focused fire on commanders. Ineffective and outdated weapons were still able to killed men with kinetic barrier. There, with blood oozing out from his lower chest, Legolas whispered quietly, just enough for him alone to hear. "Was it the right thing?"
Then, his world turned black. Decanus Legolas Fintus was officially "Killed in Action". However, he could be considered a lucky man. He had a quick and (relatively) painless death. Moreover, he was killed shortly after a firefight, when the enemy's death was yet to be confirmed. It was much better than what his men would face in a few days.
==============
Location:
Central Square
Administrative District
Capital City Zhen Zhu (contested)
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao System (contested)
Time:
2501 – 8th Month – 10th Day (Galatic standard)
Mid-morning (local time)
Evocati [Private First Class] Sisvus Octavilinus ducked in a bomb crater, cursing his terrible luck for the third time in the last ten minutes. Reports were coming in from the second task force. Things seemed to be in a somewhat better shape there than here. He did not know if he should relieved or curse (for the fourth time). CharlieContuberium's drop ship was lost due to mines. Spirits, what kind of army was still using mines these days? They were ineffective and easy to be spotted and neutralised. If Sisvus was correct, the Hierarchy had already stopped using them years ago... and these primitives used them as "standard" weapon.
Charlie Contuberium lost a dropship due to mines in that small square, but the mines had already destroyed at least three dropships here. While Alpha, Bravo and Omega were landing, those mines were activated, wiping out the entire task force completely. This forced the commander to send in the second wave, which included him. Looking at the battered and scorched first wave, he almost did not want to fight. However, enemy anti-air fire just ripped apart his dropship, grounding him and his unit effectively.
Those bullets... were real brutes. The enemy had at least three heacy guns in the area. Sisvus had no idea what they were made of, but those rounds were effective against both dropships and troopers. Smoking wreckage and half-destroyed bodies were the proof for that... Oh spirits! They were real monsters! What kind of races was responsible for such savagery? Even the Krogan used the Mass Effect based weapons during their rebellion, which would only leave a clean hole behind. The enemy would still be dead, just much neater when compared to this... massacre.
The burnt grass was now covered with the blue blood of dead Turian soldiers. Debris of destroyed dropships littered the ground, knocking down the trees, or became burning mass graves for the unlucky souls.
All of this happened in less than twenty minutes. Spirits! Command had already checked and said that there was no one in this city before they began this campaign. How could there be any kind of resistance now? What kind of race could fight with this kind of relentlessness in a ruined city? The Krogan came close. From what he had read, they were even worse on Tuchanka and during the Rebellion.
These primitive aliens... Killing them would be probably a favour to the galaxy.
But to do that, Sisvus would have to survive first. However, that would be a major challenge as he could not raise his head due to the blanket of fire overhead. While it was not precisely continuous, it was more than enough to pin everyone down where they were. While Sisvus's kinetic barrier could take a few of those bullets, he was pretty sure that five could drain the shield and the sixth would turn him into a blue fountain. That image alone was more than enough to encourage him sticking close to the ground.
"Hey! Are you alive?"
Sisvus turned to the side to see his Decanus, Brius Calptus, crawling on the ground toward him. Nodding instead of answering, he slightly turned his body to have an easier chat with the leader. Behind Brius were a few more Turian troopers from different units. They probably came together after being shot down by the ambush. Tough luck it was...
Everyone was afraid, losing multiple friends in less than an hour... Life must be harsh for them...
"OK... I think we have enough men now. Listen up. See the two-story building on the right?"
He motioned with his head and kept speaking.
"There is a hole in the wall. We'll move in and flank these pyjaks, clearing the danger for the next wave. Command just informed me that we will have armoured support for that. So, keep those dropships safe and we'd live and see the night. Questions?"
"How could we move in? The only cover we have now is this bomb crater. Getting out means we have no cover, and I don't want to die yet."
"How many smoke grenades do you have?"
Then it was decided. The makeshift unit of merely six troopers would throw up a smokescreen, covering their quick advance to the half-demolished buildings. Once inside, they would clear out the enemy. As those heavy weapons were focusing on the outside, hitting them from the rear should be fairly easy as they would not suspect or expect it from the beginning. Hopefully.
Throwing the smoke grenades, the ground in front of the half-destroyed and burning square was quickly covered in a thick layer of smoke. The view of the heavy weapon nest quickly faded away behind the grey-coated air. Six men rushed to one side while their friends were stood up to cover them. Then, hell broke loose, again.
Their friends were cut down, one by one. Some had their arms blown off, while some had their legs cut away. However, some would say they were luckier than the ones got shot in the torso. Those unfortunate soldiers were turned into a blue mist or had a large gaping hole appear. He had no idea how those primitives were still able to fire that accurately. It was either those aliens were highly lucky, or they were equipped with inferred vision. To be honest, Sisvus had no idea which one was worse. However, this was not the time to stop and think. He had to press on and avenge his fallen comrades.
Jumping through the hole on the wall with the make-shift unit, six men moved forward along the hallway. The view inside was not exactly... pleasant. The bombing run earlier had practically destroyed a good portion of the building complex. The section he was walking in now was some kind of a restaurant. He saw tables and chairs around the hall, most of them were already scorched or damage. Only a few left standing and remaining in some degree of cleanness. On the floor, chunks of dark grey debris were scattered, crunching under his boots every time he walked over.
It was quiet... too quiet.
That kind of silence was not a good one, rather, it was something... wrong. Sisvus was never a man of literature, but he still vaguely remembered some "serious" words and that only mentioning them was more than enough to tell that the situation was terrible. It was like the solid organic waste was about to collide with the Rotational Air Circulation Device...
The "restaurant section" ended, leading to a staircase with a beautiful rug (or what left of it) in the middle. The enemy heavy weapon nest was on the balcony of the second floor. That meant climbing the stairs. While it looked pretty far and high up, they could at least faintly hear the sounds of this weapon barking nearby. They were close to it now.
Quickly going up the stairs, someone let out a sigh of relief.
"You know, I think these primitives have already retreated. There should be no one here, and that weapons nest is probably controlled by a VI."
"What makes you say that?"
"So far, no one has attacked us yet."
Sisvus was planning to say something smart to shut that man down before he saw something dropping in front of his eyes: something green-grey and cylindrical shape, with some kinds of holes on the body. Oh, there were three of them.
Huh?
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three continuous deafening sounds boomed, deafening him to everything but the buzzing sound in his ears (and brain), accompanied with a blinding flash of light that took out his vision. His eyes felt like someone just flash burn them with fire and then pushed a flaming rod into each one of them. While he was still covering his eyes with his hands, Sisvus felt like he was pushed back by a tremendous force. He fell backwards, with his head banging on the staircase a couple times. There was something, or someone, heavy lying on his chest.
He just laid still (he was pretty sure about the part being knocked down) and had no idea what was happening. When he finally found out...he wished he had not. Of the six men who had come inside the building, but only three were alive now, and one was critically injured. Sisvus was stunned, somehow, the kinetic barriers did not keep them alive long enough. Those enemies were able to defeat or break down three fully-charged barriers, and drain at least one more.
How, in the name of the beloved spirits, did that happen?
Speaking of which, where were those humans, or if they were even humans at all? Sisvus had heard tales about Quarian Marines. In public, no self-respecting Turian would praise them, but privately, no smart and experienced soldier would badmouth or insult the Quarian Marines' combat capability. Yes, that had to be right, the Turians were not policing a primitive race uplifted by the Migrant Fleet, they were fighting against the suit rats themselves! That was the only plausible explanation.
On top his chest, something stirred and grunted. Oh, that heavy piece of whatever-it-was was Brius. Guess that meant there were officially two Turians in one piece here now. The third, barely alive, Turian was the same one who said that no one had attacked them. Yet. Heavy emphasis on the word "yet".
"Decanus, are you alright?"
"If you define 'alright' as feeling like having been rolled over by a tank, splashed in the face with an Eezo cloud and staying under an oven... Then, yes, I'm perfectly fine."
Brius got to his feet, and he instantly gave out the order
"Get up Evocati. The way is clear now; the enemy had retreated. Check that trooper to see if he can move. If not, stabilise him."
"Yes sir."
Sisvus stood up after Brius had rolled off. Almost dragging himself to the injured soldier, he almost felt pity. That guy was seriously injured. His entire chest was shredded into pieces, just like what a varren would do to a fresh chunk of meat, albeit slightly messier. Sensing the gaze of his Beneficiarii, he just turned around and shaked his head sadly. Brius seemed surprise but quickly gave a grim nod. Losing men was regrettable, but such was the basis of war.
Sighing, Sisvus gave the dying soldiers some painkillers at a high dose. The injured Turian suddenly jerked up and gave a weak smile while eyeing a gun nearby. Following his gaze, Sisvus's eyes suddenly darkened. However, it was the dying wish of a brave trooper. Who was he to deny it?
Putting an assault rifle in his comrade's hand, he stood up straight and saluted the brave soldiers. He just received a grim nod and a smirk in return. What was worse was that Sisvus did not even know his name.
The last two Turian soldiers stood up and ran up the stairs. Their eyes darted to both sides, almost wanting not to look back. They buried their sadness and despair simply by being "good soldiers". Sisvus cursed silently. He would have this building blown up to avenge his fallen comrades, one way or another.
There was a beeping sound coming from Brius's omni-tool. It looked like an incoming order or report was coming in. The Decanus skimmed through it before turning to Sisvus without even stopping.
"Alright Evocati. I have a message from Command. The third wave, composing of armoured units and being escorted by a large contingent of fighters, is coming down. They will be more than enough to take care of these heavy weapon nests. However, if we could eliminate any of them, it would relief some pressure on our forces in the square. What do you think? Retreat and let the big guns do their job, or push on and avenge our fallen comrades?"
Sisvus gave a predator smile and reply with some bloodlust in his voice.
"Forward, sir. It's what we do best. We press on, we move forward."
"Well said, Evocati. Well said."
They moved up, clearing room to room. However, they found nothing. No resistance, no documents and no trace of life. It was almost as if those attackers had vanished after killing four Turians in a flash. The only good news was that they were coming close to their objective. The thundering sound was very clear now, and he was even able to hear some kind of clinking and clanking sounds mixed among that. What could it possibly be?
They still went up, checking every corner with both haste and care to the best of their ability. Finally, they reached a pair of giant doors made from a brown wood, or what looked like brown wood. They were fairly large. Sisvus was sure that each door was as wide as his arms' reach. Regarding the height, he believed that it would be as tall as three Turians standing on top of each other. What made it even more interesting was how it opened. He saw that these humans appreciated classical as well: the doors could be opened by a handle.
A bronze-coloured handle with detailed sculptures on it, no less.
He was reaching for the handle when Brius suddenly grabbed his hand and shaked his head silently. The Decanus simply whispered in his ear one word, "Trap." It was plausible. Those wretched suit rats had tricked him not long ago, and he would not put it past them to doing it again. They could have placed a mine or some other trap of sorts by the door which would activate when he turned the handle. Bad luck then... Brius pulled something off his back. It was a breaching charge. Silently placing it on the wall, the Decanus saw to a viscous smile appeared on Sisvus's face.
"Do what the enemy expect of you in an unexpected way."
Brius whispered quietly again, either to himself of for the benefit of this trooper. Sisvus mused, wondering why he had not thought about that earlier. Probably because he had no breaching charge...
Standing behind the Decanus, he lightly nudged his shoulder, signaling he was ready. A few seconds later, the wall was breached by an explosion, pushing the debris inward. Wasting no time, both Turian troopers rushed in with guns at the ready, to fire at the enemy inside with surprise and sheer volume of fire power. It was a sound tactic, if only there was an enemy to be seen inside the room. None. Not even the one manning the heavy weapon.
Yep, it was the unlucky soldier all over again.
He saw some kind of black turret with four "arms", with two guns on each side. It was one of those heavy weapons. Now, closer, he had the chance to look it over. Firstly, he positive that it was not a Mass Effect based weapon. While it was still a kinetic projectile weapon, it relied on the "old" model of chemical combustion of sort. The Turian Hirerachy had used them for centuries before discovering the Prothean Data cache and turned to the newer and better weapons. The clanking sound he heard earlier were the empty bronze cylinders dropping to the ground.
Yep, they were combustion based weapon. Those... cartridges? He believed it was the right word... Those cartridges were still warm and smoking lightly while rolling on the ground. The air in the room was filled with some kind of burning smell. It was not outright toxic or annoying for him, just... different. He was used to odorless Mass Effect weaponry, so being close to such a primitive weapon was a real experience.
What surprised him the most a switch connected to the heavy weapon nest. What kind of stupidity was this? They left an "on-off switch" for a heavy weapon? Looking down at the switch, Sisvus observed it, just to be sure. It was a black box with a silvery switch on it. At the moment, the switch was on the side of the word with the alien phrase "ON" written next to it. In addition, a red blinking light could also be seen nearby. To be honest, he felt pity for these aliens. These people did not even have omni-tools, but their masters could use them with ease?
Glancing at each other and then shrugging, they stepped forward and scanned the room, just to be sure that it was clear of any surprises. Then, Sisvus moved forward to the wooden table with the black box on it and flip the switch. Instantly, the turret turned silent, or this one at least. Two more heavy-weapon nests in the area were still firing, but this one was deactivated, at least. The clanking sound also stopped and light on the black box "jumped" to the other side of the switch, coloured green.
Letting out a relief sigh, Sisvus turned around, facing his Beneficiarii and said, "Mission acc..."
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
His sentence was cut short with a new hailstorm of bullets... blowing through the wall and the smaller door inside. His shield was drained quickly, and he quickly felt something piercing on his armoured suit, and then his chest. Strangely, he did not felt any pain, despite being shot at. Turning his head to the side, he quickly found out that Brius had suffered the same fate. Both Turian troopers were laying on the ground bleeding out.
"Spirits..." Brius whispered quietly before finally laying still.
Sisvus was in a real state of shock. He knew he was just shot at, but he had no idea how that had happened. However, he did not have much time to think or wonder. The small door on the side suddenly opened up with a bang, revealing... a black tracked drone, used for ground combat. Grunting, he tried to angling his body in order to see it better, and he quickly wished he did not do that.
That drone was probably based on the same build as the heavy turret outside. However, instead of being a major piece of black metal and carrying four big guns, it was much smaller and only had two smaller arms. However, despite being smaller, that did not mean it was weaker, as proven by his dead Decanus and his injuries. The drone just rolled toward him on its tracks, and bent slightly downward, almost as if looking down on him in pity. Sisvus would love nothing more than grabbing his rifle and blowing that ugly droid's head off. However, he was too injured.
What will happen to me, Sisvus silently wondered. The "face" of the drone suddenly flared up... No, it was something akin to a screen. On that was the face of an alien. A member of their armed forces if his clothes and headgear were reliable indication. They... The rumour was true, they looked just like a little like the Asari, minus the blue skin and the crests on their head. This universe must have a sense of humour...
The alien spoke, while Sisvus had no idea what he was saying, he quickly understood it thanks to the subtitles on the screen. "Welcome to Shanxi, you motherfucking bitches!"
The drone opened fire again before he had any chance of saying anything. Sisvus became the newest name on the Killed in Action list for the VII Legion that day. He had no idea that the drone had reactivated the heavy-weapon nest, surprising everyone when the third wave arrived. Thinking that the emplacement had been cleared, there was no air strike on that position until it was too late. Later, the third wave would land with bullet holes and scorched marks everywhere. Then, and only then, would the IX Centuria would be able to take control of the Central Square and surrounding blocks. However, they did not know one thing: Sisvus had flipped the switch.
At 1130, Earth Time, the sun was getting high over the Central Square, watching and trying to relax, the Turian soldiers in the surrounding area of the square were engulfed in flame again. While loss of Turian Hierarchy was light, the IX Centuria garrison force was effectively cut off from the advance, the X and VII Centuria. They would surrounded by fire for over two hours before the relief could arrive. The Eighth Legion was officially rated combat inefficient and had to merge with its sibling Legions for the rest of the war. However, its armored units were still intact and hunger for vengeance.
Worse, the breach was still there, and the tanks were now ready to storm through the breach head.
==============
"Unlike other races, humans do not consider losing a city as a 'lost', at least not as severe as other races of the Citadel Council. The Turians speak of capturing a city or controlling a majority of it as a victory. Though whether the city was in one piece was irrelevant. The Asaris would have surrendered by the time the city gate was breached. They abhorred violence and bloodshed. The Salarians, well, there would be no capturing the city, but there would be capturing the City Hall done by Special Task Group. No one would be wiser by the end of the day. The Quarians had no city to speak of, the Volus, Drell and Hanar... no one was sure about their military doctrines.
The humans? They make up a new school of combat for that - urban warfare. A synonym of that word is Hell, terrible after-life. That was a part where they excelled at, even surpassing the Krogans. Don't ask how or why I know all of that."
- Urban combat Training, unknown author on an Turian armed forces' online forum
==============
Location:
Turian Cruiser Fist of Thunder
Orbiting Shanxi
Zhusanjiao System (Occupied)
People's Repulic of United China, Terran Federation (Contested)
Time:
2501 – 8th Month – 10th Day (Galatic standard)
Early morning (local time)
Turian General Brutus Oriendas read the report in both shock and anger. Those primitive humans dared to resist the might of Turian Hierarchy! They inflicted tremendous losses to his Eighth Legion. More than three thousand men were killed within a single day. Those... barbarians... primitives... they... they blew up the only spaceport on their homeworld, just to kill fifteen hundred men of his. A spaceport was a highly expensive piece of infrastructure and could take few years to build. However, those humans... just blew it up. It was almost too similar to the Krogan, to deny an enemy the chance to use the facility. The extremely high cost of rebuilding afterwards made the practice undesirable, even the pirates and their four-eye masters still followed this unsung rule.
Yet, the human just blew it off, not as a move made in desperation, but in a deliberate and careful active defense measure. The General would be applauding the audacity of the human if they did not kill thousands of his men and rub it in his face. Now, he was fuming and raging in his own wrath, unable to understand why the human refused to back down and submit to the rule of Turian Hierarchy. After all, it would be a much more beneficial route. The Ring would have the peace they needed to search for the secret ancient weapon, and the humans would have a much better arsenal than what the suit rats could give.
Eezo generators, orbital elevators, omni-tools, omni-gel and a wealth of knowledge and culture, the list was just too long to count. Everything those beggars and thieveshad, his proud nation had more and of a higher quality. He just had to stop their futile and insane efforts, and then they would have to see reason. May be sending in the full fist of steel would help. After all, while the Eighth Legion had lost a third of its number, he still had two-thirds left, not to mention other Legions within the armanda.
Right, that was the overall plan. He stood up and watched the planetary map on his omni-tool. If he showed them the full might of the Hierarchy, they would stop, especially when they realised victory was impossible, but how could he do that? It would have to be a show of force so shocking that they would have to surrender to spare the times of those they were trying to protect. A strategic victory, but the target must still be important enough...
He could take their capital!
Yes, if he gathered his troops and managed to take their capital city, and take it with minimal losses while inflicting heavy casualties on the defenders, it would serve a harsh blow to their morale and the humans would have to capitulate. Yes, it was a sound idea. The rest of his legion, roughly 4000 men, and their support, should be more than enough to seize the city and defend it for a few days against any counter-attack until reinforcements could arrive. With the support of friendly Sixth Legion, who was still in full strength, taking the city and securing its population would be easy enough.
The Turian General gathered his staff and they quickly drew up a plan, focusing on a massive attack with armored assault and gunship support. During the said time, the remaining Eighth Legion was sent toward the planet under heavy escort of the Navy. A full varen-pack of frigates was even deployed just to make sure the landing was safe. Lucky for them, there was no major attack launched from the humans. Sure, there was a few sneak attack here and there, but after a mass bombardment, the battlefield returned to its original state – the humans must have been scared off by the display of overwhelming firepower.
After over an hour of consideration and calculation, their plan was done. His first order was to send scouts to the city for recon. He wanted to know what he could possibly expect, and he wanted to have a few civilian deaths here as possible. After all, they were trying to bring these primitives into the civilized galaxy, and it would not work to kill thousands of civilians while trying to show them a better way.
Brutus watched the screen on the bridge. A pair of frigates under fighter escorts was sent flying over the city, scanning the whole area to find anything worth of interest. There was no drone attack noted, may be the humans had already spent all of their fighter wings… Quite a waste, but it worked beautifully enough to take down his force. Then, the reports came back, no human heat signature was detected. It was unlikely that they were able to hide from Turian sensors – their uplift was too recent for them to do that. Therefore, the most probable explanation was that those human civilians were hiding.
Once again, he had to give these humans credit. They understood limiting civilian casualties. They would become productive members of the Hierarchy after they have been assimilated. He signaled the remains of his Legion to advance. The sight of a full armored column moving toward their destination was major to behold. Some Asari bitches would call this overkill, but those blue-skin escorts failed to understand a simple basic fact. This was war, and these primitives would have to learn that they could not stand up to against the Turian Hierarchy.
And to prove it, he gave the order for the frigates pair: destroy the capital below them.
==============
Location:
Children's Square
Commerce district
Capital city Zhen Zhu (contested - destroyed)
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao system (contested)
Time:
2501 – 8th Month – 10th Day (Galatic standard)
Mid-morning (local time)
Decanus [sergent] Legolas Fintus stood in the landing craft, taking a glance at his contuberium [squad] of eight green recruits. Granted, they liked to think that they were not exactly green as they had already received the training at camps. However, they had yet to draw any blood or take part in any operation, which made them "green" in Legolas's eyes. Compared to them, he had already had a few years of service under his belt, and while it was not exactly front line action, it was still enough for him to have learned a few things. Aim first, then fire, or you would look like an idiot wasting valuable time, and causing your rifle overheating. If you saw a grenade, roll away, or your shield would be drained and you would be dead sooner.
Glancing at the ceiling of the drop ship, he read the motto of the technician, "If your ship gets blown out off on the sky, it will not be because of a technical malfunction". It was a very chilling boast. It was correct, but still... It was too bloody and too much of dark humor – not for Legolas though, he was in the force long enough to appreciate it.
The ship rocked slightly, signaling that his ship had entered the atmosphere of the planet. Stupid suit rats! They could have laid low and be quiet, saving him this deployment and giving him some nice and easy relaxing vacation. But no, they uplifted some primitive aliens and all pyjaks like that, forcing his task force, and by extension, him, to intervene and deliver the punishment.
At least it was only the suit rats and their pets. There was no way they could cause any trouble for the overwhelming firepower of the Turian Hierarchy anymore. After all, the High Command had just proved their prowess by demolishing the capital city on this planet. Sure, those pesky aliens were able to maul his Eighth Legion heavily, just to lose their capital city in a blazing flame. Seeing such a devastated scene, the morale of the enemy would have plummeted by now. The only job left for him and his men was probably stepping off the drop ship and begin sweeping the city for any survivors and begin patrolling. The operation was expected to end somewhere between two to four weeks. While it was quite long for his lazy contuberium, it was sufficient, especially when everyone would get some shore leave afterwards.
The shaking of the ship increased tremendously, with red lights flashing in the cabin, over the public adress system, everyone was asked to strap in, due to aerial turbulence. However, Legolas paid them no mind. He stood tall and straight, with one hand holding his rifle and the other gripping a handle hanging from the ceiling. Ten minutes of awful and violent shaking made a couple of his Peditatus [Privates] look like they were about to puke.
Let them puke, he though. It would be better for them to let it go than holding things in. It was right most of the time, and this might be one of those times...
The unlucky troopers were able to control themselves and their puke, which Legolas found such impossibility amazing. His mother still embarrassed him in front of his younger siblings with the fact that he vomited a lot when he was younger... Ah, nostalgia... Blinking his eyes a few times, he looked at his men again. They all looked half eager and half afraid. Good, it meant they were not stupid. After all, he was having the same feeling himself.
The ship had stopped shaking (violently) a few seconds ago. Now, the ship was descending through the clouds and approaching the ground. Through the windows, Legolas watched the ruined city outside. It was probably very beautiful once, at least until his commander decided to bomb it to oblivion. Now, there was only rubble there. A few "spikes" remained standing. But those were also covered in soot and smoke, and would probably fall by the end of the day.
What a pity...
Black smoke was rising from the ground, fire was blazing in a corner of the city, some birds were flying away in haste and fear, and that happened before he landed. Well, what were these primitives called again? Hu-mang? Hu-mon... No... human, right, human. These humans, if they wanted to blame the Hierarchy for destroying their capital, they should blame those suit rats instead. After all, those thieves and beggars uplifted their pathetic race without permission in the very first place.
Bah, he would leave the exact details for the brass. He was just a soldier fighting as he was ordered. He had his job to do, and someone else had their own. For now, he wanted to focus on his task: securing this wretched planet.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke out loud
"Men, listen up. Remember your training. Move fast, stay low, aim sharp, then rinse and repeat. Remember that, and you will be home with your loved ones before you even realise it. Understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
They were still nervous, but at least they seemed a little less afraid now, which was fine to him. Courage was not the absence of fear, but facing that fear and overcoming it. Those were the words of wisdom spoken by his father. He was a good and brave man... Legolas knew that his dad would not rise above the rank of an Optio due to the lack of connections and favours, but it did not mean his men had no respect for him. Spirits, his old man was considered one of the best commanders, possible the best one, on their planet for five years in a row.
Legolas just wanted to be as great as him...
He gazed out the window of the dropship again, and what he saw surprised him greatly. There were still some buildings and other structures intact, like the statue in the square. It was the statue of some... younglings, or children, probably, of these humans. Some were wearing something like shorts and other was having skirts on them. To be honest, minus the biological appearance, they looked just like some statues of Turian children.
It was strange. Amidst a ruined city, a statue, or a group of statues to be more precise, was still standing. Statues of children playing and having fun. The golden color glimmering under the sunset looked completely out of place to the rubble around. What a sick joke of fate... His dropship was slowly touching down on the square, just a dozen meters of so from the statue...
KA-BOOM!
"ARGH!"
"HMM!?"
CHUNK!
"Urghhh..."
Legolas suddenly found himself being thrown up into the ceiling and his ship was pushed upward into the air. The unlucky ship fell down, hard, to the ground and rolled over a few times. Inside the bay, Legolas was hit every surface, from the floor to the ceiling, from the left wall to the right. His head banged on the wall and collided with the troopers inside. Finally, the rolling stopped with the dropship's being the ceiling and Legolas lying painfully on the bay's ceiling.
His blurred vision faded away along with the throbbing pain. Grabbing his head and grunting, he tried to stand up and failed miserably. He was shocked and dizzy, his balance off completely. Something was shuffling near him; the banging sound of metal against metal was heard. He even faintly heard the sounds of some kind of explosion, but he had no idea what they were... He was too disoriented to think or act clearly. The last time he felt this kind of headache was when he celebrated his high school graduation and woke up the following day in a jail cell. That was a long story, and probably better saved for another day.
Slowly, his vision returned, but not after what felt like a century. The first thing he felt was something sticky near his eyes... It was blood. Turian blood. It was probably his own due to an injury. Turning around, he was planning to rally his men and get out of the dropship when he saw the grim, brutal truth. His men were all dead. Yes, none of them survived the explosion. Their "Killed in Action" reports were flooding his omni-tool. Eight men, eight reports. No, it was ten, the pilot and co-pilot were also killed.
He tried to sit up, what he saw scared him greatly. It was a gruesome scene. All of them were still strapped in their own seats and dripping blood onto the ground. A hole, as big as two fists combined, was seen on the ground (or the "ceiling" in this case). Shrapnel and fragments scattered all around him. Luckily, the hole was closer to the front of the ship than to the rear, where he was standing. Just a few meters off and he would be minced.
A chill ran down his spine when he looked at his dead men closely.
"Spirits..."
The men closest to the hole were... burnt off, somehow. Their faces were blackened, if not outright burnt by... something. Probably by the heat coming in through the hole. The others fared not much better. Some had the back of their heads bloodied and broken due to violent collision with the wall. Some were punctured by the fragments of metal; grey and black pieces buried in their suits. Those men had probably not activated their barriers beforehand, despite being instructed during the mission briefing... If Primus Pilus "Gory" was here, he would say that they died due to their own stupidity... Still, they were his men.
However, the more he watched, the more he baffled. What... But... Spirits! What happened? His drop ship was certified as "sufficient" before deploying into action. They must… They must have been who in their right mind could attack the armed forces of Turian Hierarchy?
Right, those suit rats and their pets.
Grunting, Legolas brought himself up and opened the ramp door. Normally, the ramp would open automatically "downward" toward the ground, but as the ship had already been turned upside down and the power off, he manually opened it, with the hatch going "upward". At least it could provide some cover from incoming firepower from above. Hopefully.
The door had yet to open fully, but he had already heard the fight going on outside. The chilling sound of the Mass Effect rounds was almost drowned in the deafening thunder of these strange weapons. He was not sure what they were, but they could be kinetic-based, as they had a very distinctive sound and had seen antique ones from Palaven's past still, and heard the clinking sounds on the ship hull. However, these rounds probably would not be as effective as Mass Effect weaponry, as the kinetic barriers would still hold.
Hmpf, well, these primitives just got lucky. They only killed his men because they were unprepared and green. Legolas had to credit them that, but he still had no idea how they blew up his drop ship (or how he actually survived that attack). However, he had no time to think.
When the ramp door had opened up enough, he rushed forward, hiding behind another dropship. Crouching behind and shooting his Munifex in a direction he believed fire was coming from, he nudged another soldier's shoulder, making him turn around, just in time as a few rounds streaking through where his head was a few seconds earlier. As a fair note, his shield had just drained. Talk about being lucky...
"Yes, sir?" the soldier asked.
"Who is the commander here?"
Legolas asked, trying to be heard over the sound of gunfire.
"I have no idea, sir! Our contuberium's Decanus was killed when just stepped off the dropship. We were just firing blindly here, and... where's your squad, sir?"
"...They were dead trooper... Where is the rest of your squad?"
"On the other side of this dropship, sir. They were able to reach a wall that surrounded this square."
"And where is Gamma Contuberium?"
" They are all behind your dropship and fighting to hold back the second prong of these humans' attack."
Well, it was not too bad. They were holding their ground against the attack, or the ambush. However, there was one thing bugging Legolas...
"Why, in the spirits' names, aren't these humans being rooted out?"
Sitting tight in one place would not be productive or safe in the long-run. These humans were shooting at the policing force, directly violated Citadel's law. They had to be punished, and a quick check confirmed that his kinetic barrier was on and at full charge. The Discens next to him also had his gun and barrier recharged.
Good. Time to fight.
Wiring his omni-tool into the shared signal of Gamma Contuberium, he spoke into the microphone
"Gamma Contuberium. This is Decanus Fintus, I'm assuming control as the highest ranking available non-commissioned officer in the vicinity. Any objection?"
There was only silence that answered him. The thundering sounds of enemy fire and the clanking sounds of bullets hitting the wall were still present along with the streaking sound of the Turian guns. A battle was still raging, forcing him to take matters into his own hands quickly. After three seconds and no one voicing their oppositions, he became their commander from this moment on.
"Heavy weapons: suppressive fire. The rest cover him. On my mark... Mark."
The sound of friendly gun fire suddenly flared up, mixing in with the thunder coming from human's line. Going around the dropship, he rushed toward a half-blown concrete wall surrounding the square. Taking a peak to observe any enemy positions, he was surprised. Instead of a reinforced bunker (or anything like that), everything he saw was just plain rubble. Grey rocks and scorched debris were all around. Where, in the spirits' names, were those humans hiding?
Eyes following the blue darts of light flying through the air, he noticed a specific position was being hammered by the heavy weaponry. It was a window on the second floor, belonging to a demolished building. Assuming the heavy weapon expert was aiming correctly (which he hoped), Legolas had no idea about which he should found amazing: the fact that these humans were able to camouflage their position expertly, or the fact that they were fighting from inside a ruined and half-demolished position, totally going against Turian combat doctrine.
It did not really matter. They were hostile; therefore, they must be dealt with. However, he only had a general idea where the enemy was staying, and not who could be in there or where precisely. They were somewhere in that rubble, but where exactly? No, finding and flushing them out would be too costly, not to mention that they were pinned down here. He needed some kind of fast and hard solution. Coincidentally, he knew the answer. A squadron of fighters happened to be near here - of course, the fact their leader was his old friend was just a happenstance.
"This is Gamma Contuberium calling Sigma Squadron, do you copy? Over."
A few moments of static, then, the voice of his old friend was heard. "This is Sigma Squadron. I hear you loud and clear... Legolas, I though you are in command of Charlie Contuberium. Over."
"I was, Ambrosianus, I was..."
"... Understood. Let me guess, you need fire support?"
"Affirmative Sigma. The rubble is being marked on your tactical map right now. They were pinning us hard and well-camouflaged. Requesting air strike."
"Copy that Gamma. Inbound time: two minutes."
"Roger, two minutes."
Legolas let out a relief sigh. While some would probably call him a coward, fighting against a camouflaged opponent while you were being pinned was not bravery, it was simply stupidity. He could accept the craziness to achieve victory, but he would not agree with the fools wining a battle with a high casualty rate. Gamma Contuberiumcontinued to fire on the rubble, even if the only reason was to convince the enemy into thinking that the Turians would break out on their own. Well, it sucked to be them when Sigma Squadron arrived.
Two minutes of constant bullets trading (and no one was seriously injured, what a relief) had passed and the Sigma Squadron swooped in like a bird of prey, unleashing a hailstorm of bullets and missiles. The sounds of explosion filled the air, temporarily overwhelmed every other sound. Orange flame, once more, engulfed the rubble, reducing it to... more rubble. Whoever had been in there rubble before would surely be dead by now. He was right. There were no more gun shots coming from that direction anymore. The ambush on this side had been neutralised. Good riddance.
The Squadron turned around and ran a strafing run on the other end of the square. From the cheering he heard, the Delta Contuberium was probably being hit hard and was under serious threat. The relief from Sigma Squadron could be seen as divine intervention, saving them from the enemy hostiles. The square was finally secured.
This square was considered as vital because the area in and surrounding it could hold a half of a full strength Cohort of nearly 500 men, plus their support. High Command wanted to use this as a secondary command hub to support the main base, and planning on pushing deeper into the capital city. It was the objective of Charlie, Delta and Gamma Contuberium was to seize and secure this square, which they had done. This would mean possible awards and promotion due to the fact that they were the first landing party here.
Just in time too, he was kind of hoping for a retirement with some nice perks.
Suddenly, two streaks of white smoke appeared from outside his eye sight, moving toward his friend's fighter. What? They were... missiles? What kind of missiles? They were small, possibly carried on shoulder, but what kind of shoulder-carried missile packed enough power to deal with a Turian fighter? The answer came instantly: the ones he was watching.
His friend's fighter barely had enough time to notice the incoming threats, let alone dodge, and was destroyed in a ball of flame. The other pilots were shocked to the core, not making any maneuvers as they normally would. Thanks spirits that those men were able to regain the control of themselves, or today would end with more than one pilot of Sigma Squadron dead.
In anger, the surviving members of the squadron split into two flights, and went toward the origin of those missiles, aiming to avenge their commander. Legolas watched that scene grimly. He had to credit their bravery of whoever fired those, but no matter how much he respected that, they were still his enemy, forcing him to neutralise, capture or kill them. However, the job did not have to be in that precise order.
Unfortunately, the shock of losing his friend was nothing like what we was about to see.
The sky was suddenly filled with bright shining streaks of light. They were orange and yellow... and the fighters were literally torn apart. Originally, the squadron had eight fighters, now, only one survived the onslaught with heavy damage. Black smoke and blue fire was seen flickering out of this fighter. The craft flew toward the direction of the spaceport, hoping to land in friendly territory. However, that hope was for naught as it came crashing down a few moments later.
What?! A full squadron slaughtered by a bunch of primitives? Legolas and his men were shocked into silence. Some even stood up amidst the quiet battlefield, dumbstruck by the carnage they had just witness.
On their right, a few hundred meters away, a glittering light was seen, but went unnoticed by the Turians. Legolas had been seen wearing a red-blue armoured suit with golden bars on his collar. The Turians knew that it was standard issued suit for an officer, but for the men on the other side, he was simply screaming "Shoot me please", and shoot him, they did.
Two rounds, each a .50cal, were fired. Just like the sniper attack at the spaceport, the first round brought the kinetic barriers to half charge and the second finished the unlucky Turian officer. Legolas was shot at his centre of mass and flew completely to one side, further startling his men. He just laid there, on the ground, as shocked as his men.
He could not believe what just happened. A full squadron wiped out, a contuberium was lost even before combat. The enemy focused fire on commanders. Ineffective and outdated weapons were still able to killed men with kinetic barrier. There, with blood oozing out from his lower chest, Legolas whispered quietly, just enough for him alone to hear. "Was it the right thing?"
Then, his world turned black. Decanus Legolas Fintus was officially "Killed in Action". However, he could be considered a lucky man. He had a quick and (relatively) painless death. Moreover, he was killed shortly after a firefight, when the enemy's death was yet to be confirmed. It was much better than what his men would face in a few days.
==============
Location:
Central Square
Administrative District
Capital City Zhen Zhu (contested)
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao System (contested)
Time:
2501 – 8th Month – 10th Day (Galatic standard)
Mid-morning (local time)
Evocati [Private First Class] Sisvus Octavilinus ducked in a bomb crater, cursing his terrible luck for the third time in the last ten minutes. Reports were coming in from the second task force. Things seemed to be in a somewhat better shape there than here. He did not know if he should relieved or curse (for the fourth time). CharlieContuberium's drop ship was lost due to mines. Spirits, what kind of army was still using mines these days? They were ineffective and easy to be spotted and neutralised. If Sisvus was correct, the Hierarchy had already stopped using them years ago... and these primitives used them as "standard" weapon.
Charlie Contuberium lost a dropship due to mines in that small square, but the mines had already destroyed at least three dropships here. While Alpha, Bravo and Omega were landing, those mines were activated, wiping out the entire task force completely. This forced the commander to send in the second wave, which included him. Looking at the battered and scorched first wave, he almost did not want to fight. However, enemy anti-air fire just ripped apart his dropship, grounding him and his unit effectively.
Those bullets... were real brutes. The enemy had at least three heacy guns in the area. Sisvus had no idea what they were made of, but those rounds were effective against both dropships and troopers. Smoking wreckage and half-destroyed bodies were the proof for that... Oh spirits! They were real monsters! What kind of races was responsible for such savagery? Even the Krogan used the Mass Effect based weapons during their rebellion, which would only leave a clean hole behind. The enemy would still be dead, just much neater when compared to this... massacre.
The burnt grass was now covered with the blue blood of dead Turian soldiers. Debris of destroyed dropships littered the ground, knocking down the trees, or became burning mass graves for the unlucky souls.
All of this happened in less than twenty minutes. Spirits! Command had already checked and said that there was no one in this city before they began this campaign. How could there be any kind of resistance now? What kind of race could fight with this kind of relentlessness in a ruined city? The Krogan came close. From what he had read, they were even worse on Tuchanka and during the Rebellion.
These primitive aliens... Killing them would be probably a favour to the galaxy.
But to do that, Sisvus would have to survive first. However, that would be a major challenge as he could not raise his head due to the blanket of fire overhead. While it was not precisely continuous, it was more than enough to pin everyone down where they were. While Sisvus's kinetic barrier could take a few of those bullets, he was pretty sure that five could drain the shield and the sixth would turn him into a blue fountain. That image alone was more than enough to encourage him sticking close to the ground.
"Hey! Are you alive?"
Sisvus turned to the side to see his Decanus, Brius Calptus, crawling on the ground toward him. Nodding instead of answering, he slightly turned his body to have an easier chat with the leader. Behind Brius were a few more Turian troopers from different units. They probably came together after being shot down by the ambush. Tough luck it was...
Everyone was afraid, losing multiple friends in less than an hour... Life must be harsh for them...
"OK... I think we have enough men now. Listen up. See the two-story building on the right?"
He motioned with his head and kept speaking.
"There is a hole in the wall. We'll move in and flank these pyjaks, clearing the danger for the next wave. Command just informed me that we will have armoured support for that. So, keep those dropships safe and we'd live and see the night. Questions?"
"How could we move in? The only cover we have now is this bomb crater. Getting out means we have no cover, and I don't want to die yet."
"How many smoke grenades do you have?"
Then it was decided. The makeshift unit of merely six troopers would throw up a smokescreen, covering their quick advance to the half-demolished buildings. Once inside, they would clear out the enemy. As those heavy weapons were focusing on the outside, hitting them from the rear should be fairly easy as they would not suspect or expect it from the beginning. Hopefully.
Throwing the smoke grenades, the ground in front of the half-destroyed and burning square was quickly covered in a thick layer of smoke. The view of the heavy weapon nest quickly faded away behind the grey-coated air. Six men rushed to one side while their friends were stood up to cover them. Then, hell broke loose, again.
Their friends were cut down, one by one. Some had their arms blown off, while some had their legs cut away. However, some would say they were luckier than the ones got shot in the torso. Those unfortunate soldiers were turned into a blue mist or had a large gaping hole appear. He had no idea how those primitives were still able to fire that accurately. It was either those aliens were highly lucky, or they were equipped with inferred vision. To be honest, Sisvus had no idea which one was worse. However, this was not the time to stop and think. He had to press on and avenge his fallen comrades.
Jumping through the hole on the wall with the make-shift unit, six men moved forward along the hallway. The view inside was not exactly... pleasant. The bombing run earlier had practically destroyed a good portion of the building complex. The section he was walking in now was some kind of a restaurant. He saw tables and chairs around the hall, most of them were already scorched or damage. Only a few left standing and remaining in some degree of cleanness. On the floor, chunks of dark grey debris were scattered, crunching under his boots every time he walked over.
It was quiet... too quiet.
That kind of silence was not a good one, rather, it was something... wrong. Sisvus was never a man of literature, but he still vaguely remembered some "serious" words and that only mentioning them was more than enough to tell that the situation was terrible. It was like the solid organic waste was about to collide with the Rotational Air Circulation Device...
The "restaurant section" ended, leading to a staircase with a beautiful rug (or what left of it) in the middle. The enemy heavy weapon nest was on the balcony of the second floor. That meant climbing the stairs. While it looked pretty far and high up, they could at least faintly hear the sounds of this weapon barking nearby. They were close to it now.
Quickly going up the stairs, someone let out a sigh of relief.
"You know, I think these primitives have already retreated. There should be no one here, and that weapons nest is probably controlled by a VI."
"What makes you say that?"
"So far, no one has attacked us yet."
Sisvus was planning to say something smart to shut that man down before he saw something dropping in front of his eyes: something green-grey and cylindrical shape, with some kinds of holes on the body. Oh, there were three of them.
Huh?
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three continuous deafening sounds boomed, deafening him to everything but the buzzing sound in his ears (and brain), accompanied with a blinding flash of light that took out his vision. His eyes felt like someone just flash burn them with fire and then pushed a flaming rod into each one of them. While he was still covering his eyes with his hands, Sisvus felt like he was pushed back by a tremendous force. He fell backwards, with his head banging on the staircase a couple times. There was something, or someone, heavy lying on his chest.
He just laid still (he was pretty sure about the part being knocked down) and had no idea what was happening. When he finally found out...he wished he had not. Of the six men who had come inside the building, but only three were alive now, and one was critically injured. Sisvus was stunned, somehow, the kinetic barriers did not keep them alive long enough. Those enemies were able to defeat or break down three fully-charged barriers, and drain at least one more.
How, in the name of the beloved spirits, did that happen?
Speaking of which, where were those humans, or if they were even humans at all? Sisvus had heard tales about Quarian Marines. In public, no self-respecting Turian would praise them, but privately, no smart and experienced soldier would badmouth or insult the Quarian Marines' combat capability. Yes, that had to be right, the Turians were not policing a primitive race uplifted by the Migrant Fleet, they were fighting against the suit rats themselves! That was the only plausible explanation.
On top his chest, something stirred and grunted. Oh, that heavy piece of whatever-it-was was Brius. Guess that meant there were officially two Turians in one piece here now. The third, barely alive, Turian was the same one who said that no one had attacked them. Yet. Heavy emphasis on the word "yet".
"Decanus, are you alright?"
"If you define 'alright' as feeling like having been rolled over by a tank, splashed in the face with an Eezo cloud and staying under an oven... Then, yes, I'm perfectly fine."
Brius got to his feet, and he instantly gave out the order
"Get up Evocati. The way is clear now; the enemy had retreated. Check that trooper to see if he can move. If not, stabilise him."
"Yes sir."
Sisvus stood up after Brius had rolled off. Almost dragging himself to the injured soldier, he almost felt pity. That guy was seriously injured. His entire chest was shredded into pieces, just like what a varren would do to a fresh chunk of meat, albeit slightly messier. Sensing the gaze of his Beneficiarii, he just turned around and shaked his head sadly. Brius seemed surprise but quickly gave a grim nod. Losing men was regrettable, but such was the basis of war.
Sighing, Sisvus gave the dying soldiers some painkillers at a high dose. The injured Turian suddenly jerked up and gave a weak smile while eyeing a gun nearby. Following his gaze, Sisvus's eyes suddenly darkened. However, it was the dying wish of a brave trooper. Who was he to deny it?
Putting an assault rifle in his comrade's hand, he stood up straight and saluted the brave soldiers. He just received a grim nod and a smirk in return. What was worse was that Sisvus did not even know his name.
The last two Turian soldiers stood up and ran up the stairs. Their eyes darted to both sides, almost wanting not to look back. They buried their sadness and despair simply by being "good soldiers". Sisvus cursed silently. He would have this building blown up to avenge his fallen comrades, one way or another.
There was a beeping sound coming from Brius's omni-tool. It looked like an incoming order or report was coming in. The Decanus skimmed through it before turning to Sisvus without even stopping.
"Alright Evocati. I have a message from Command. The third wave, composing of armoured units and being escorted by a large contingent of fighters, is coming down. They will be more than enough to take care of these heavy weapon nests. However, if we could eliminate any of them, it would relief some pressure on our forces in the square. What do you think? Retreat and let the big guns do their job, or push on and avenge our fallen comrades?"
Sisvus gave a predator smile and reply with some bloodlust in his voice.
"Forward, sir. It's what we do best. We press on, we move forward."
"Well said, Evocati. Well said."
They moved up, clearing room to room. However, they found nothing. No resistance, no documents and no trace of life. It was almost as if those attackers had vanished after killing four Turians in a flash. The only good news was that they were coming close to their objective. The thundering sound was very clear now, and he was even able to hear some kind of clinking and clanking sounds mixed among that. What could it possibly be?
They still went up, checking every corner with both haste and care to the best of their ability. Finally, they reached a pair of giant doors made from a brown wood, or what looked like brown wood. They were fairly large. Sisvus was sure that each door was as wide as his arms' reach. Regarding the height, he believed that it would be as tall as three Turians standing on top of each other. What made it even more interesting was how it opened. He saw that these humans appreciated classical as well: the doors could be opened by a handle.
A bronze-coloured handle with detailed sculptures on it, no less.
He was reaching for the handle when Brius suddenly grabbed his hand and shaked his head silently. The Decanus simply whispered in his ear one word, "Trap." It was plausible. Those wretched suit rats had tricked him not long ago, and he would not put it past them to doing it again. They could have placed a mine or some other trap of sorts by the door which would activate when he turned the handle. Bad luck then... Brius pulled something off his back. It was a breaching charge. Silently placing it on the wall, the Decanus saw to a viscous smile appeared on Sisvus's face.
"Do what the enemy expect of you in an unexpected way."
Brius whispered quietly again, either to himself of for the benefit of this trooper. Sisvus mused, wondering why he had not thought about that earlier. Probably because he had no breaching charge...
Standing behind the Decanus, he lightly nudged his shoulder, signaling he was ready. A few seconds later, the wall was breached by an explosion, pushing the debris inward. Wasting no time, both Turian troopers rushed in with guns at the ready, to fire at the enemy inside with surprise and sheer volume of fire power. It was a sound tactic, if only there was an enemy to be seen inside the room. None. Not even the one manning the heavy weapon.
Yep, it was the unlucky soldier all over again.
He saw some kind of black turret with four "arms", with two guns on each side. It was one of those heavy weapons. Now, closer, he had the chance to look it over. Firstly, he positive that it was not a Mass Effect based weapon. While it was still a kinetic projectile weapon, it relied on the "old" model of chemical combustion of sort. The Turian Hirerachy had used them for centuries before discovering the Prothean Data cache and turned to the newer and better weapons. The clanking sound he heard earlier were the empty bronze cylinders dropping to the ground.
Yep, they were combustion based weapon. Those... cartridges? He believed it was the right word... Those cartridges were still warm and smoking lightly while rolling on the ground. The air in the room was filled with some kind of burning smell. It was not outright toxic or annoying for him, just... different. He was used to odorless Mass Effect weaponry, so being close to such a primitive weapon was a real experience.
What surprised him the most a switch connected to the heavy weapon nest. What kind of stupidity was this? They left an "on-off switch" for a heavy weapon? Looking down at the switch, Sisvus observed it, just to be sure. It was a black box with a silvery switch on it. At the moment, the switch was on the side of the word with the alien phrase "ON" written next to it. In addition, a red blinking light could also be seen nearby. To be honest, he felt pity for these aliens. These people did not even have omni-tools, but their masters could use them with ease?
Glancing at each other and then shrugging, they stepped forward and scanned the room, just to be sure that it was clear of any surprises. Then, Sisvus moved forward to the wooden table with the black box on it and flip the switch. Instantly, the turret turned silent, or this one at least. Two more heavy-weapon nests in the area were still firing, but this one was deactivated, at least. The clanking sound also stopped and light on the black box "jumped" to the other side of the switch, coloured green.
Letting out a relief sigh, Sisvus turned around, facing his Beneficiarii and said, "Mission acc..."
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
His sentence was cut short with a new hailstorm of bullets... blowing through the wall and the smaller door inside. His shield was drained quickly, and he quickly felt something piercing on his armoured suit, and then his chest. Strangely, he did not felt any pain, despite being shot at. Turning his head to the side, he quickly found out that Brius had suffered the same fate. Both Turian troopers were laying on the ground bleeding out.
"Spirits..." Brius whispered quietly before finally laying still.
Sisvus was in a real state of shock. He knew he was just shot at, but he had no idea how that had happened. However, he did not have much time to think or wonder. The small door on the side suddenly opened up with a bang, revealing... a black tracked drone, used for ground combat. Grunting, he tried to angling his body in order to see it better, and he quickly wished he did not do that.
That drone was probably based on the same build as the heavy turret outside. However, instead of being a major piece of black metal and carrying four big guns, it was much smaller and only had two smaller arms. However, despite being smaller, that did not mean it was weaker, as proven by his dead Decanus and his injuries. The drone just rolled toward him on its tracks, and bent slightly downward, almost as if looking down on him in pity. Sisvus would love nothing more than grabbing his rifle and blowing that ugly droid's head off. However, he was too injured.
What will happen to me, Sisvus silently wondered. The "face" of the drone suddenly flared up... No, it was something akin to a screen. On that was the face of an alien. A member of their armed forces if his clothes and headgear were reliable indication. They... The rumour was true, they looked just like a little like the Asari, minus the blue skin and the crests on their head. This universe must have a sense of humour...
The alien spoke, while Sisvus had no idea what he was saying, he quickly understood it thanks to the subtitles on the screen. "Welcome to Shanxi, you motherfucking bitches!"
The drone opened fire again before he had any chance of saying anything. Sisvus became the newest name on the Killed in Action list for the VII Legion that day. He had no idea that the drone had reactivated the heavy-weapon nest, surprising everyone when the third wave arrived. Thinking that the emplacement had been cleared, there was no air strike on that position until it was too late. Later, the third wave would land with bullet holes and scorched marks everywhere. Then, and only then, would the IX Centuria would be able to take control of the Central Square and surrounding blocks. However, they did not know one thing: Sisvus had flipped the switch.
At 1130, Earth Time, the sun was getting high over the Central Square, watching and trying to relax, the Turian soldiers in the surrounding area of the square were engulfed in flame again. While loss of Turian Hierarchy was light, the IX Centuria garrison force was effectively cut off from the advance, the X and VII Centuria. They would surrounded by fire for over two hours before the relief could arrive. The Eighth Legion was officially rated combat inefficient and had to merge with its sibling Legions for the rest of the war. However, its armored units were still intact and hunger for vengeance.
Worse, the breach was still there, and the tanks were now ready to storm through the breach head.
Chapter 14
- Location
- Netherlands
"The Breach of Shanxi" – Night 1
==============
"Do not go gentle into that good night
Rage, rage against the dying of light."
- Dylan Thomas (1914 - 1953), poet, writer of [old] Wales, part of [old] United Kingdom
==============
Location:
Intersection of 6th and 18th Road
Commerce District
Capital city Zhen Zhu (contested – destroyed)
Planet Shanxi (contested)
Zhusanjiao system
Time:
18:00 (Terran Standard Time) – 20:00 (Local time)
22 February 2201
The night set down once more on Shanxi. However, this time, the city was not basked in darkness but enshrined in fire. Pre-fabricated buildings were lit up, leaving the flame to slowly eating away their structure. Wreckages of cars and bikes littered the ground, all of them was crushed into pieces. Some of them were buried under the debris, while some were crushed under the treads of alien tanks.
Yes, tanks. Or at least, what could be passed as tanks. They had more similar features to human's Main Battle Tanks (MBTs) with a long, sick barrel of gun as well as heavily looking armoured. That was where the similarities stopped though. The alien tanks, at a glance, were much smoother than its human counterpart. There was no clear distinction between the turret housing and the main body, the sensors and machine gun-equivalent were not visible. In fact, a few pairs of eyes were wondering if the Turians had actually not putting any sensors and HMGs on their tanks.
No one knew why, and none had the strength and stamina to look for the answer. The reason for that was simple. The First Squad, Gryffindor Platoon, Hogwarts Company of 75th Ranger Battalion was ordered to reconnaissance in force against a Turian armored unit parking in the main intersection of Commerce District. They were ordered to test and find out the toughness of those machines, paving the way for the counter attack.
Earlier, scouts and snipers originated from 54th Special Purpose Brigade had already confirmed the presence of infantry-graded individual shields. Each shield could absorb the energy equivalent to a 14.5x114mm, which was quite high and powerful. Sure, the Turian was thrown back due to the conservation of momentum and he was promptly finished off with a second shot, but the point remained: individual shield was able to put up a great resistance against small arms. The question here was to see how strong the vehicle-graded shield was. In other words, it was asking how many missiles or how much explosive it would need to break through the shields, and how much more to destroy those vehicles. High Command and General Williams had tasked Gryffindor Platoon with that task.
In short, they were test subjects, or lab rats for a more mundane and normal person. On the other hand, they were supported by their (arsehole) comrades coming from Slytherin Platoon. While the lions were specialized in demolition and use of explosive, the snakes enjoyed their superiority with infiltration and marksmanship. Needless to say, the noise and the silence could hardly go together, which made them continuously sassing each other. At least it was in good spirit and they knew when to stop, and in combat situations like this, it was required to shut up and focus on their jobs.
Lieutenant Harrison "Scarhead" Potter, Platoon leader, led this mission himself, bringing a bit more sophisticated equipment and co-ordination to the field. He slowly opened the door leading to the rooftop of an apartment. Through the opened gap, he used his rifle to scan in all direction, checking to see if there was any hostile nearby. Luckily, there was none being found. The scanner attached on his helmet also reported nothing out of usual. At least nothing unusual for a building being cut perfectly in half in a vertical direction.
Well, he had seen stranger things before, including a situation with his Marine neighbor trying to make bacons with a napalm thrower. She survived, but not her undergarments, and she became his cousin's wife (long story).
Anyhow, after making sure that there was no hostile around the destination, he spoke into the internal microphone inside his helmet, the signal of which was transferred with a short-range radio device to the friends behind. The all clear message was given out. From the shadow, three more figures appeared, one carrying a missile launcher, one more with its ammunition, and the last one brought standard anti-infantry weapon (read: guns) to the fight. In two nearby buildings, the other two fireteams were doing the same. All of them were part of First Squad, Gryffindor Platoon, and they would be the one making a surprise attack on the unsuspecting Turians. The mondus operandi was simple enough, yet deadly and useful in the same time. They divided where they placed the firepower, but they focused the attack on a single target.
The idea was not exactly new, but it was not exactly the conventional military tactics, at least not before (mass) deployment of self-propelled guns against counter-battery radars. The Second Battle of Dien Bien Phu showed tremendous success of such tactics, just like in the first where the Viet Minh independence movement fought against French colonizer army. The scattering and constant movement of the artillery batteries kept the defenders from mounting an effective counter attack, and destroyed their morale as well as their supply depots, which eventually led to their eventual defeat.
While the anti-tank missile batteries used by Terran Federation were not artillery used by the old nation-states of Earth, the sentiment was similar enough. If the soldiers spread them over a sufficiently large area, it would give enough troubles for the Turians to mount a counter-attack. Of course, the aliens could simply level the whole area and go back to sleeping. But in the end, they would require an attack too large to cover all of the launcher in the single strike, and even if they were able to make the attack small and concentrated enough, the Turians would still be unable to destroy all anti-tank weapons of Terran Federation in this specific skirmish.
The night was quiet, very quiet. There was nothing but the occasional sound of fire popping. The power was cut off, both by deliberate sabotage and by the destruction of the power generating site. Still, it felt as if the whole city was sleeping because of power loss and not by the destruction brought by war. Of course, that was assuming the birds also slept at night… If they were predators in the beginning of their evolution history, well, Harry hoped they would be quick in their executions. But now, he had little time to worry and to dream, he had tanks to kill.
Whispering into the microphone, he requested the reports from his squad. The crisp tone, posh and accented, was kept inside the helmet and transmitted clearly over the net:
"This is Claw-Actual, report. Over."
"This is Claw-2, the weapon is set."
"This is Claw-3. We are done. Over"
"This Claw-Actual. Acknowledge, all done. Prep the missiles and launch on my mark. Target: the farthest one on the right, next to the demolished coffee kiosk. Over."
Confirmations were sounded on the radio net. The missile operator of the fireteam was shouldering his weapon, aiming downrange. The tracking and targeting sensors had not been turned on yet, so there was only the electronic-enhanced scope to assist. While the process was practically and fully stealthy, its accuracy was fairly low, especially when the distance was over six hundred meters. At that range, without the support of a scope, aiming was virtually impossible, that was even before considering the usage of ECM and other active protective systems installed on the tank.
Scarhead gave a new order, all three missile operators switched on their sensors to lock on the target in the same time. Laser, infrared, ultraviolet, optical signature, heat traces… Every single method that could be potentially was used to guide the missiles. It was used to ensure the target to be hit and hopefully destroyed with a single salvo. If the enemy was paying attention to their read-out, their boards would be lit up like Christmas trees now. The Terrans were able to gain a lock on the Turian tanks, but in doing so, they also told the aliens of the impending danger.
Acceptable trade off then, it had been the way since the beginning of guided ammunitions. Developments had been made in both the tactics and technology, but a simple truth remained the same: a locked target would always know he was being locked.
Then, with a new order, three flashes of light were launched on the sky of darkness. While they were not equal to the fiery sun or "light in the black", they were catchy enough to be noticed. Through the zoom function of the helmet, Scarhead quickly noticed a few Turians jerking their heads and looking around. However, they were too late. At six hundred meters and with a cruising speed of approximately 200m/s, it only took three seconds for the missiles to reach their target.
Three warheads in HEAT – High-Explosive Anti-tank – configuration detonated on impact against the target. The first two missiles arrived in the same time, blinding everyone with the dazzling explosion when the struck on the kinetic barriers. In the heat and flash, no one was able to notice the third streak of light gunning toward the damaged tank. However, everyone saw it going down in a fiery ball of flame, burning a handful of nearby Turians.
It was a victory for the Terrans. The members of the First Squad of Gryffindor Platoon cheered and praised each other for their victory, a few short encrypted reports were sent to the Command, telling them about the result of the attack. Still hiding in the shadow, they inserted new missile for the second salvo. This time, their targets were not the tanks, but rather the soldiers themselves. Sure, killing the tanks would sound better, but depriving the aliens from their number and straining their logistic would also be a nice idea.
Besides, multiple small cuts were always more dangerous than a major stab in the heart, especially for a war of attrition like this. The American learnt in the hard way during Vietnam War. Sure, their casualty was much lower than their enemies, but they still had no choice but to leave in the end, and when fighting against them was not a fully professional army with little to none of the luxury… well, they still lost the war by a series of small cuts mixed with a heavy punch or two.
The new salvo honed in, hitting in the middle of three different groups. By the look of it, it seemed the local logistic and command personnel just took a serious hit. There were no "really flashy" amour suits standing there, which meant that there were no high-ranking Turian officers. However, the Squad felt content for taking down a handful of company-graded or even squad-graded commanders. It would be enough to disrupt the operational power of the Turian in the Commerce district within a few days.
Another salvo was launched, this time, every single soldier of the Gryffindor let loose their personal guns. For a unit carrying the name of the lion, each soldier was heavily equipped with the required barking power. Not only they carried more anti-tank weapon than a standard infantry squad, they also had the heavier rifle variant as well as higher amount of Light Machine Gun, or LMG. The result of that set up was… spectacular to say the least. The whole Commerce Square was engulfed in flame, another tank was hit and struck down, the crew of the third tank was riddled with holes and shrapnel while the forth was pinned down alongside their comrades.
The recoil of the gun was quite heavy, but not uncontrollable. The men had been well-trained in the usage of such heavy weaponry. The bipods were deployed, using various structures like the window frames or half-demolished balconies as support. On stable ground, their aim was able to hone down on the targets of selection, cutting them down or at least, pinning them behind some cover.
On the site of Scarhead, there were three LMGs being used. With the theory rate of fire at 800 rounds per minute and the cartridge of 7.62x51mm, the Pashanka LMG was capable of shredding respectable amount of armours and covers, especially in urban and forest environments, in short period of time. With two of them in a fireteam and three fireteams in total, that were three LMGs and a combined sustained rate of 4800 rounds per minute. The Turians suffered the attack with the full blunt of the attack.
What even more dangerous was that the lions were also highly competent gunner. While the recommended ratio was one tracer rounds for every five, they put it at one every twenty and still able to maintain the required accuracy at the target. It made their attack virtually invisible, and the only proofs of such an attack were the booming sound in rapid succession as well as Turians being hurt and maimed.
The covers of the Turians, most of which were just demolished pre-fabricated buildings, were torn apart in a blink of an eye. The ones taking cover behind were instantly peppered by the barrage of lead. While each round carried much less kinetic energy than the anti-material 14.5x114mm cartridges used at the spaceport earlier this morning, they had a much higher rate of fire. The quantity was able to compensate for the quality – and in the end, the "kinetic barriers" of those Turians were still sapped down, leaving their wearers vulnerable to the next attacks.
The surprise attack was achieving its result, but it would only be a matter of time before the aliens were able to recover and counter attack, or worse, calling in aerial and orbital support. If they were as good as the Terrans, their commander would be putting his beak over the phone now – speaking of which, did the Turians have beaks or normal mouths like humans? Still, it was not as critical as finding the said officer and taking him down before hell was raining down around them.
While the whole team was still scanning their eyes over visible enemies, their radio cracked with the aristocratic voice of the "slimy arsehole snakes", Draco Malfoy, also known as "Ferret" for unknown reasons to everyone but himself and "Scarhead".
"This is Fang-Actual. Confirmed kill on three hostile officers on radio. No visible officers left in the arena. Over."
The Platoon leader of Slytherin Platoon gave a new report, easing down the worry of the lion. However, for some members of the Gryffindor Platoon, it was not hard to notice the smug and pride in the tone of Lieutenant Malfoy. It was as if he was saying that he had dealt more critical, tactical and strategic damage. While he was correct on a technical level, he also failed to score less damage than the lions, considering that his unit was only able to kill individual Turians personnel while the Gryffindor had already killed two tanks and damaged two mores.
But then, the dick-measuring contest would be done later, the men still had their missions to complete. Besides, their second-in-commands (who were accidentally also their high school sweethearts) would cut their balls off (figuratively and literally) if they let the personal rivalry getting into the way of the missions. However, it was not that hard for the Lion Lead and Snake Lead. They knew precisely what was at stake, and they were more than comfortable to set aside their personal rivalry until after the battle.
Over the radio net, both human officers could hear the faint sound of the other's gun fire, one was continuous with short, precise bursts, the other with silent yet powerful punch of death. Such sound added an edge to their psyche and their tone, showing how urgent and critical situation here.
"This is Claw-Actual. Mission accomplished. Pull back, by the number. Fang-Actual, cover us. Over."
"This is Fang-Actual. Who would cover our retreat then? Over."
"This is Claw-Actual. Lady Katyusha will do that for you. Access code: Three-One-Zero-One. Tag the target and get the hell out of there. Over."
"Fang-Actual, thanks for the assist. Now bug the hell out. Over."
Harry closed the link towards Draco and quickly gestured towards his comrades with his hand signal. The Turians had been aware of their presence and he did not really want to push his luck by increasing the local radio signal, painting a target over his arse. Sure, he just had a talk with his douchebag and arrogant friend, but better to be careful than to be sorry. The First Squad, seeing the order from their Lieutenant, quickly packed up their weapons and slowly inched back, fireteam by fireteam, while still providing suppression fire against the enemy. Down range, The Turians were still unable to find out from which angle they were attacked, let alone counter-attack effectively. In the mean time, they were not aware that they were also being sniped by Slytherin First Squad, pinning them down and sapping their number in the same time.
The battle at the intersection was short, barely ten minutes, but it was a fierce one and the Terrans had total control and the initiative. Every single bursts from the Turian either went wide or got shut down, or both. The glowing streaks of hypersonic metallic sand were cut short every single time. It was not until the Turian decided to launch a mass charge that they were able to negate the suppression fire. However, by then, Ferret and his comrades had already retreated and tagged the location.
Ten seconds later, the Turians heard the whooshing sound in the air. None of them knew what they meant, but they all knew that it was a health hazard. And, just like the Nazi in World War Two and the religious fanatics in World War Three, they suffered the barrage of MLRS – Multiple Rocket Launcher System. It was a very mundane, simple and bare weapon, but it did its job well enough. In fact, so well that all MLRSs were dubbed by the name of their fore-mother: Katyusha.
The sky was quickly filled with a series of flaming darts. Each of them struck a nerve of fear in the mind of the reptile-avian mixed alien, and when there were more darts than they could count, they paniced. And like the Russian of old age had said "Those foes who heard Katyusha are now deaf; those of them who saw Katyusha are now blind; those who tussled with Katyusha are naught but ash", the Turians were engulfed in a series on fire. None escaped the barrage, none survived the bombardment.
However, the squads of Slytherin and Gryffindor Platoons were not aware of that fact. They were using the stealth of darkness and the confusion coming from the brief exchange to slip away. Using the sewer system, they were able to travel through the city without having going above ground. The smell down there was terrible, and there were a lot of things better left unsaid. However, it was not a major concern for them, their helmets blocked the smell and shined the way, while the armors made sure that their skins would not come in contact with… whatever floating in the sewer.
No one knew precisely why the sewer system was connected with the tunnel system, but they could probably guess. It was a good and effective measure to hide the defense lines in plain sight. After all, which sapient race was insane enough to have a pile of feces lying in front of their secret hideouts? Apparently, the answer was "mankind". At least, they were not insane enough to plant booby traps under the drainage to even slow down and hurt the enemy even more…
Or did they?
Anyhow, both squads were able to sneak away undetected. They were already moving toward their new strongholds, though the word may be a bit misleading. Describing them as chokepoints might be a better way. Their job was not to cling onto those positions with their lives, but it was to drag out and bleed the Turians. The countryside was just too wide, it would be a good place to hide, but a terrible place to launch an attack from. Such a strike would be seen miles away and with orbital supremacy in aliens' hands, it was better not to tempt fate. It would be much more strategic and tactical to launch counter-attack from inside the city itself. The closure would prevent the aliens from using any orbital strike lest they would hit their own troops.
The fighting would be brutal, being urban warfare and all. But by the end of the day, they would still have the chance to live and keep fighting.
Both squads returned to their original platoons before both units slipped out of the underground system, taking control of various buildings and chokepoints in the city. Fighting alongside them inside the city was the fully two thirds of 666th Corp, each of them had their own point to hold, their own ambush to lay and their own target to slain. The information gained by 75th Ranger Battalion and 54th Special Purpose Brigade was tremendously helpful in this regard. It was just in time for the defenders to shore up their attacks and distribute their firepower for maximum effect. Sure, the Turians had shields, but those shields were not invincible, and they would still bleed, die or explode just like the humans would. The knowledge, just by its existence, had been a major moral boost for the defenders.
It did not take long before some skirmishes took place around the cities. A few fireteams just accidentally met some Turians on the deployment route or at their combat sites. Gunfires were exchanged, fists were launched, claws was lashes out… There were feet clanking on the streets, there were tanks rumbling on the road and there were even a brief exchange of heavy ordnance between the Katyusha batteries (made of just rockets and some bamboo frames – literally) and the Turian gunships (with all those techno-magik on their bodies). However, for the first night on the ground of the First Contact War, it was surprisingly quiet. It was almost as if both sides were actively avoiding each other so that they could have their own time to sleep.
The mystery of the first quiet night remained unsolved for years to come.
==============
Location:
Children Square
Commerce district
Capital city Zhen Zhu (contested – destroyed)
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao system (contested)
Time:
2501 – 8th Month – 10th Day (Galactic standard)
Late night (local time)
The battlefield may be (deceptively) calm, but the command post of the Turian invasion force (or rather, "police force") was anything but. On the holoscreen, General Brutus Oriendas was fuming at the reports he had been given. Taking control of the capital city was... costly, far more than every officer had thought. The full strength of the Third Cohort, with nearly 500 men, had been deployed to seize this "important-looking" position, namely the biggest square and the surrounding office blocks. Seeing the target being ruined, reduced to pile of rubble and no signs of life, the entire command hierarchy had thought that would be an easy fight.
How wrong they were... The soldiers had to trade blood for every inch of ground they took from these aliens. Soldiers died for nothing or for a gain too small... Now, littered around the square was roughly one fourth of their Legion's total fighting strength. Their bodies and remains were being taken care of by their living comrades, some of whom were still in shell-shocked. Some of the dead were killed during that despicable ambush, more were killed during the fight to seize the surrounding area, and even more was lost because of that fire storm.
Under the dark sky, the fire burnt brightly. Their red and orange colours looked like they were promising something sinister and terrible to the invading (or policing) Turians.
Meanwhile, down on the ground, glancing at the report, the most senior Centurion grimaced, unable to hide his displeasure. Over 300 Turian soldiers were dead in return for less than 50 human bodies that were found. A six-to-one loss was not something you can scoff at, even when you had men and body bags to spare. And that was even before taking in the recent probing attack against Sixth Armour Pack, which destroyed three-quarters of their number.
However, General Oriendas was having none of it, rather, he was in denial. For the last fifteen minutes, he had constantly reminded every Centurion present that they were fighting against primitives, and that such a loss ratio was unacceptable. The only acceptable outcome was victory, a clean and flawless victory.
Brutus talked in a tirade, not noticing the stress slowly forming on his officers' faces. They were tired, bruised and tattered, most of which was due to the welcoming gifts of the defenders. One of them had even been "promoted" on the field after his commander had been killed. He was young, inexperienced and would probably the first to die the next morning. The most senior Centurion, also the commander of the Third and Forth Cohort in place of his deceased comrade, had to suppress the urge to curse, even if the only reason was because the young (and newly promoted) Centurion looked just like his only son, whom he taught the general dislike toward profanity.
Yes, he had no problem with swearing in the face of his superiors, especially General Oriendas, someone who rose through the ranks not by merit, but by... connections. The sentiment was shared by many other officers in the Legion. However, said idiot was too well-entrenched in the general's chair, probably waiting for his "term of service" to end so that he could join the political world. Needless to say, his military knowledge was... barely accepted for a Centurion, let alone being a General. That was the reason why the senior Centurion decided to tune out that annoying wining voice and contemplated future actions.
These... humans, while being stubborn and illusive, were highly trained, if not military savvy. In a single day, they inflicted more damage to a Legion than what the filthy Bat... pirates could do in a full month. They burnt two full Cohorts in a furry of flames when realising that keeping the spaceport was impossible. Kinetic barriers for infantry were destroyed shortly before men were... obliterated. That thought scared him greatly. The only weapon capable of doing something equivalent damage, as far as he knew, was the (in)famous Graal Spike Thrower. However, it was Krogan-exclusive (and he had not seen any of them here) and a short-range weapon, yet no sight of shooter had confirmed, simply because they were always out of sight.
The last line could lead to further complications, either these suit rats and their pets had cloaking technology (which was very unlikely), or they possessed a long-ranged sniper rifle capable of draining the kinetic barrier in a single shot. Neither of them was good news.
The bad news did not just stop there. Two key positions, both of them were selected as landing and staging areas, had been ambushed. Invasion force suffered heavy losses even before touching the ground. These primitives, somehow, were able to make mines capable of jumping and damaging the dropships at the same time. Moreover, some of them were even able to pierce the floor, killing the troops inside, further increasing the number of the dead. Those that survived were not exactly lucky or better off either. They were pinned down by accurate enemy fire from the surrounding buildings, some of which had already been demolished in the bombing runs. The way these humans were able to defend from a ruin was impressive to say the least, but still a major problem.
The first report was not exactly encouraging. His men were only able to confirm that there were minimum number of men in the buildings and those heavy weapons were just automated turrets. Despite being uncontrolled, those turrets had already killed nearly 100 men and at take out at least 10 tank-carriers (with various degree of damage) before being silenced. What shocked him the most were the Turians losses when trying to remove the threat. One certain heavy weapon nest was able to repel three flanking maneuvers, claiming at least twenty men while the defenders only left behind five dead of their own. This turret was only silenced after a tank platoon landed.
Yet, it did not go down quietly. It continued inflicting damage on critical equipment of the tanks, and while those tanks were still combat capable, their combat effectiveness was greatly reduced to none thanks to the loss of the range-finder, laser guidance system, and even the mass effect field on some. They were only fortunate that there were plenty of spares.
And that was even before considering the latest attack, barely an hour ago. A full armoured pack was annihilated in a handful of minutes. Everything was… too perfect, looking from the angle of the Terrans. They had the initiative to land first, they had the stealth to approach and lock on the targets before striking down, and they were merciless enough to crew-kill a few vehicles. The worst part, however, was the damaged against the tanks. Unlike the advance earlier this morning, those tanks were completely destroyed. The turrets were blown off, the Element Zero core was fried, and the less talked about the interior, the better. In fact, the old Centurion believed that not even a Krogan in bloodrage or a Turian Cabal operative could do that much damage… Yet, these… humans were able to. That alone demanded grudging respect and guard from him.
He grunted, noticing the general had already cut the connection and his junior Centurions were all looking around with strange and questioning eyes. Staring at the dimming holo-screen, he snarled, barely hiding his scorn and disdain for the incompetent general.
"Spirits, what could possible happen now?! Those spirit-dammed pests killed us in our first wave. They burn our men... and we were blamed for that!? Get down here you idiot! It was you who guaranteed that there should be no resistance in the first place you pyjak!"
Seriously, where the hell was Desolas the Miracle when the guy was needed? Up there chilling with a babe in his claw and a snack in the other – though considering the rumors about him, that was probably what was happening in the orbit.
The younger officers in the (temporary) command office just glanced at each other. They knew that fact too... Ash and soot covered their armours and their faces were unable to hide their tiredness. While the experienced officers were still able to maintain their rigid stance during the tirade of the foolish general, the young replacement officers were not. He just simply collapsed on the ground and breathed heavily under the pitying gaze of his more senior officers.
"Spirits... I lost my commander, my Contuberium as well as a fifth of my Cohort... Wha... What should I do...? And... that... that smell... why... why is it still there...?"
The young Turian just sat there, swallowing in the disgusting air filled with the smell of burnt fresh meat. He had been broken by these... savage primitives. These dammed humans knew how to fight a foe with superior capabilities. Hit them where they did not expect, and use the terrain to their advantage. They knew war, almost as well as the Turians did, but they did not know the lengths the Hierarchy would go. After completing this mission, he would probably request a "punishment order" to remind these beasts that such actions against Citadel Council, or the Turian Hierarchy, in general, were simply unacceptable. Ten humans killed for every Turian seemed like a good trade off, and if things got worse, they would increase the number of hostages until they learned it or they were no more. However, it was not a pressing matter now. As the Cohort commander, he had more problems to solve than inventing adequate form of discipline for these humans.
Still, the old Centurion knew better than to dwell into his rage. It would focus his mind and give him the necessary boost, but it would also cloud his own judgment in the same time. Respect towards the humans on one side, he still felt the code to avenge his fallen comrades… He decided to let the matter aside, he would solve it once it came knocking on his door.
His omni-tool suddenly flared up, signaling a request for a vid call. Upon answering it, he saw it was a childhood friend of his, but instead of joining the Army, he became a Navy officer, currently serving as an Executive Officer on a cruiser. Despite some unpleasant words by others, who had not joined the same force, they were still good friends (minus the time they were dead drunk and got locked in the talk of my-d***-is-bigger-than-yours). The Centurion became worried. His friend was a rigid man, ready to follow order to the letter. Unless something was seriously wrong, he would not contact him without permission.
Such a thing had happened only three times in the past, and one of them was when his friend had thought, mistakenly, to be cheating on his "female friend".
Dismissing his men and returning them to their duties, the old Centurion sat down on the most intact chair in the room and accepted the message. The tired and strained voice of his friend quickly filled the room from the holoscreen.
"My old friend, how have you been? I heard that the person of… questionable intelligence... just chewed you out. Yes?"
"Yeah... He just let out some incoherent and intelligible ramblings, while not realizing we all heard nothing."
A soft chuckle was heard, eliciting a small smile over his face. It was true that while his friend was quite an aristocrat, he had more direct manner of speaking. How they were able to maintain their friendship was a mystery to everyone, including themselves.
"Right. That idiot... He may have already bitten off more than he could swallow..."
Something came from his friend's voice that alerted him. It was something... damm, he wished we spent more time paying attention in Literature class back in school. He could not find a single word to describe it... It was something dark, terrible and it was just over the corner. His intuition told him that if he did not listen closely, he would regret soon. Moreover, he had a hunch that it was something against standing protocol, so he listened to what his friend had to say.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you remember the human's space force? A space station and nearly fifty ship, all of which were cruiser and bigger?"
"I heard about it. They were able to caused serious damages to us, but they were still pushed back and kicked out of the system. Why do you ask?"
"... After the orbit was secured, we were ordered to send out scouts. Standard procedure, mostly for reporting duty. My ship sent out twenty scouting drones while you were being deployed... I just received the report less than thirty minutes ago..."
Something terrible was coming. His friend did not say anything out loud, but his voice seemed to pass it without any spoken words. The elder Centurion could feel a chill going down the back of his neck. It was almost as if Death was watching over with a wicked smile. With a very, very calm voice, he asked his friend
"And?"
"... Buddy... We found no space dock or any space structures, other than the ones that were destroyed."
"What? None? They had nothing else here?"
"None, and that was a bad news, if not very, very bad..."
"How so?"
"Think about it, that idiotic general thinks that this is the homeworld of some species uplifted by the Quarians. However, we have found no space docks, the planet was sparely inhabited and there was no meaningful trace of Element Zero found in the debris here. All this evidence... It has me thinking that we are attacking some spacefaring race that just got in contact with the Quarians... and they may not use any Element Zero."
"What?!"
"You heard me, they don't use any Element Zero. They might be primitives at first glance... But what kind of primitive race able to stand up against us, the Turians, despite all the odds? Spirits, we're the ones who usually stand up and face overwhelming odds... Buddy, I know this sounds crazy, but we are probably the invaders here. Not onto their homeworld, but one of their colonies. You have seen, and heard, how they fight to protect this planet. What will they do if the news reaches their home?"
"Does the Admiral know?"
"You mean the Miracle one? He does, and he is plotting plans to find their homeworld and bring the fight to their doorstep. He does not look comfortable or relaxed, though."
A sudden chill went down the spine of both officers. If the Miracle was feeling unease after a single battle, he must have felt something wrong. And if he felt something was wrong, something would be definitely wrong or out of place. The space combat was probably the first reason. Despite being outnumbered by a factor of ten, the humans were able to inflict disproportional damage on the Turian armada and still able to maintain their number. Sure, those ships were scratched heavily, but the overall number did not decrease by many. It was as if they were still fighting on equal terms despite being outnumbered heavily. Spirits, the humans even destroy their own space station to keep it falling into Turian hands, effectively dragging even more Turian soldiers with them. Yet, all of that was slightly better than what happened on the ground. At least it was over quickly.
The men could not move under heavy fire, and death came sudden and in stealth. Those deaths were brutal and gruesome, more often than not, and the unlucky soldier would die missing a limb or part of his torso. Moreover, the casualty rate of the Army was not something which could be easily ignored. While the loss of 300 men was enough to render a Cohort ineffective, the loss of commanding officers were more than enough to take two Cohorts out of action. At the moment, both Cohorts were practically depleted in terms of both man and equipment, despite the first day having yet to end. All units committed to the ground campaign, one mechanised and four infantry cohorts, had either been wiped out or rendered ineffective.
It was only a colony... The senior Centurion was suddenly glad that he had decided to stay away from politics. When the dust settled, that idiot of a general would find himself in serious trouble and probably be wishing he had been eaten by a varren on Tuchanka in a public show for the Krogan... Taking a sigh he said
"If so, all we can do is try to take the planet and secure it as quickly as possible, but I am not optimistic."
"They are that good?"
"If not better. As much as I hate them, I must credit them for fighting smart and effective. I've already lost two Cohorts in a day, my friend. I'll probably lose more before this day is over."
"Yeah... What a pity..."
"A pity... aye..."
The two old officers just stared at each other on the screen, losing themselves in thought. Both were dealing with an internally conflicted. On one side, was their sacred duty to serve and obey their superior's commands, such was the code each Turian lived and died for. However, on the other side, was their disgust on their commander, a stupid and inept general who had no talent on military matters and did nothing but curry favours with some pyjak politicians. If they followed their duties, more men would be killed for nothing but potentially enraging a new alien race who could be as terrible as the Rachni or the Krogan. On the other hand, disobedience was something they could not stomach.
There was the sound of someone speaking from the call, the Navy officer told someone off screen something about scout reports. Then, he returned the conversation.
"I have to get back on duty now, my friend. I just call to tell you that... We are stuck in something terrible because of that idiot... I'm sending you the report along with my notes here... I believe there is something that may have I've missed... Use it well. There are rumours abut extra Legions coming, but... we can't take any more losses... Be careful my friend. We die for the cause."
The motto just echoed in the half-ruined room. Glancing around, the old Centurion just grumbled,
"Yeah... Die for the cause."
Outside of the windows were thin blue streaks of light. It was reinforcements. These two Cohorts here were too banged up to put up a proper fight tomorrow, and it looked like that idiot general was going all-out... stupid... He would probably sacrifice the entire Legion for nothing. Pyjaks... The only thing he could pray now was for decent Centurions to be leading strong and well-armed Cohorts. They would need that tomorrow morning.
A chirp was heard on his omni-tool. It was the report of the scouting operation. He just scanned through it, ignoring most of the confusing, technical terminology. He just wanted to see the notes his friend had written, as well as his men who had been in charge charge of this task. However, the document was still being loaded, and so he had to wait.
Glancing upwards, the old commander watched the blinking stars in the dark sky night. Normally, it would be soothing, but today, he felt something else... It was like something terrible was brewing across the horizon. If he was right, the humans were massing their troops, preparing for a counter-strike. Apparently, for these humans, losing their capital did not equal failure. Moreover, despite not being in the area, they had already been able to deal serious casualties to three cohorts. What if they focused their strength on those three exhausted cohorts and their reinforcements?
A chill ran down his spine. No, he would need to talk with the Centurions. If he could not lead them away from the deadly battles, he would try to reduce the losses of the Legion. Good soldiers were hard to find and to train, good Turians were even harder, and the two replacement Cohorts, the Seventh and Eighth, were filled with eager young men.
His comm officer ran into the room, relaying the request to land from the incoming reinforcements. The old man put one hand on his elderly face... The night was still long, and he had much to do.
==============
"Do not go gentle into that good night
Rage, rage against the dying of light."
- Dylan Thomas (1914 - 1953), poet, writer of [old] Wales, part of [old] United Kingdom
==============
Location:
Intersection of 6th and 18th Road
Commerce District
Capital city Zhen Zhu (contested – destroyed)
Planet Shanxi (contested)
Zhusanjiao system
Time:
18:00 (Terran Standard Time) – 20:00 (Local time)
22 February 2201
The night set down once more on Shanxi. However, this time, the city was not basked in darkness but enshrined in fire. Pre-fabricated buildings were lit up, leaving the flame to slowly eating away their structure. Wreckages of cars and bikes littered the ground, all of them was crushed into pieces. Some of them were buried under the debris, while some were crushed under the treads of alien tanks.
Yes, tanks. Or at least, what could be passed as tanks. They had more similar features to human's Main Battle Tanks (MBTs) with a long, sick barrel of gun as well as heavily looking armoured. That was where the similarities stopped though. The alien tanks, at a glance, were much smoother than its human counterpart. There was no clear distinction between the turret housing and the main body, the sensors and machine gun-equivalent were not visible. In fact, a few pairs of eyes were wondering if the Turians had actually not putting any sensors and HMGs on their tanks.
No one knew why, and none had the strength and stamina to look for the answer. The reason for that was simple. The First Squad, Gryffindor Platoon, Hogwarts Company of 75th Ranger Battalion was ordered to reconnaissance in force against a Turian armored unit parking in the main intersection of Commerce District. They were ordered to test and find out the toughness of those machines, paving the way for the counter attack.
Earlier, scouts and snipers originated from 54th Special Purpose Brigade had already confirmed the presence of infantry-graded individual shields. Each shield could absorb the energy equivalent to a 14.5x114mm, which was quite high and powerful. Sure, the Turian was thrown back due to the conservation of momentum and he was promptly finished off with a second shot, but the point remained: individual shield was able to put up a great resistance against small arms. The question here was to see how strong the vehicle-graded shield was. In other words, it was asking how many missiles or how much explosive it would need to break through the shields, and how much more to destroy those vehicles. High Command and General Williams had tasked Gryffindor Platoon with that task.
In short, they were test subjects, or lab rats for a more mundane and normal person. On the other hand, they were supported by their (arsehole) comrades coming from Slytherin Platoon. While the lions were specialized in demolition and use of explosive, the snakes enjoyed their superiority with infiltration and marksmanship. Needless to say, the noise and the silence could hardly go together, which made them continuously sassing each other. At least it was in good spirit and they knew when to stop, and in combat situations like this, it was required to shut up and focus on their jobs.
Lieutenant Harrison "Scarhead" Potter, Platoon leader, led this mission himself, bringing a bit more sophisticated equipment and co-ordination to the field. He slowly opened the door leading to the rooftop of an apartment. Through the opened gap, he used his rifle to scan in all direction, checking to see if there was any hostile nearby. Luckily, there was none being found. The scanner attached on his helmet also reported nothing out of usual. At least nothing unusual for a building being cut perfectly in half in a vertical direction.
Well, he had seen stranger things before, including a situation with his Marine neighbor trying to make bacons with a napalm thrower. She survived, but not her undergarments, and she became his cousin's wife (long story).
Anyhow, after making sure that there was no hostile around the destination, he spoke into the internal microphone inside his helmet, the signal of which was transferred with a short-range radio device to the friends behind. The all clear message was given out. From the shadow, three more figures appeared, one carrying a missile launcher, one more with its ammunition, and the last one brought standard anti-infantry weapon (read: guns) to the fight. In two nearby buildings, the other two fireteams were doing the same. All of them were part of First Squad, Gryffindor Platoon, and they would be the one making a surprise attack on the unsuspecting Turians. The mondus operandi was simple enough, yet deadly and useful in the same time. They divided where they placed the firepower, but they focused the attack on a single target.
The idea was not exactly new, but it was not exactly the conventional military tactics, at least not before (mass) deployment of self-propelled guns against counter-battery radars. The Second Battle of Dien Bien Phu showed tremendous success of such tactics, just like in the first where the Viet Minh independence movement fought against French colonizer army. The scattering and constant movement of the artillery batteries kept the defenders from mounting an effective counter attack, and destroyed their morale as well as their supply depots, which eventually led to their eventual defeat.
While the anti-tank missile batteries used by Terran Federation were not artillery used by the old nation-states of Earth, the sentiment was similar enough. If the soldiers spread them over a sufficiently large area, it would give enough troubles for the Turians to mount a counter-attack. Of course, the aliens could simply level the whole area and go back to sleeping. But in the end, they would require an attack too large to cover all of the launcher in the single strike, and even if they were able to make the attack small and concentrated enough, the Turians would still be unable to destroy all anti-tank weapons of Terran Federation in this specific skirmish.
The night was quiet, very quiet. There was nothing but the occasional sound of fire popping. The power was cut off, both by deliberate sabotage and by the destruction of the power generating site. Still, it felt as if the whole city was sleeping because of power loss and not by the destruction brought by war. Of course, that was assuming the birds also slept at night… If they were predators in the beginning of their evolution history, well, Harry hoped they would be quick in their executions. But now, he had little time to worry and to dream, he had tanks to kill.
Whispering into the microphone, he requested the reports from his squad. The crisp tone, posh and accented, was kept inside the helmet and transmitted clearly over the net:
"This is Claw-Actual, report. Over."
"This is Claw-2, the weapon is set."
"This is Claw-3. We are done. Over"
"This Claw-Actual. Acknowledge, all done. Prep the missiles and launch on my mark. Target: the farthest one on the right, next to the demolished coffee kiosk. Over."
Confirmations were sounded on the radio net. The missile operator of the fireteam was shouldering his weapon, aiming downrange. The tracking and targeting sensors had not been turned on yet, so there was only the electronic-enhanced scope to assist. While the process was practically and fully stealthy, its accuracy was fairly low, especially when the distance was over six hundred meters. At that range, without the support of a scope, aiming was virtually impossible, that was even before considering the usage of ECM and other active protective systems installed on the tank.
Scarhead gave a new order, all three missile operators switched on their sensors to lock on the target in the same time. Laser, infrared, ultraviolet, optical signature, heat traces… Every single method that could be potentially was used to guide the missiles. It was used to ensure the target to be hit and hopefully destroyed with a single salvo. If the enemy was paying attention to their read-out, their boards would be lit up like Christmas trees now. The Terrans were able to gain a lock on the Turian tanks, but in doing so, they also told the aliens of the impending danger.
Acceptable trade off then, it had been the way since the beginning of guided ammunitions. Developments had been made in both the tactics and technology, but a simple truth remained the same: a locked target would always know he was being locked.
Then, with a new order, three flashes of light were launched on the sky of darkness. While they were not equal to the fiery sun or "light in the black", they were catchy enough to be noticed. Through the zoom function of the helmet, Scarhead quickly noticed a few Turians jerking their heads and looking around. However, they were too late. At six hundred meters and with a cruising speed of approximately 200m/s, it only took three seconds for the missiles to reach their target.
Three warheads in HEAT – High-Explosive Anti-tank – configuration detonated on impact against the target. The first two missiles arrived in the same time, blinding everyone with the dazzling explosion when the struck on the kinetic barriers. In the heat and flash, no one was able to notice the third streak of light gunning toward the damaged tank. However, everyone saw it going down in a fiery ball of flame, burning a handful of nearby Turians.
It was a victory for the Terrans. The members of the First Squad of Gryffindor Platoon cheered and praised each other for their victory, a few short encrypted reports were sent to the Command, telling them about the result of the attack. Still hiding in the shadow, they inserted new missile for the second salvo. This time, their targets were not the tanks, but rather the soldiers themselves. Sure, killing the tanks would sound better, but depriving the aliens from their number and straining their logistic would also be a nice idea.
Besides, multiple small cuts were always more dangerous than a major stab in the heart, especially for a war of attrition like this. The American learnt in the hard way during Vietnam War. Sure, their casualty was much lower than their enemies, but they still had no choice but to leave in the end, and when fighting against them was not a fully professional army with little to none of the luxury… well, they still lost the war by a series of small cuts mixed with a heavy punch or two.
The new salvo honed in, hitting in the middle of three different groups. By the look of it, it seemed the local logistic and command personnel just took a serious hit. There were no "really flashy" amour suits standing there, which meant that there were no high-ranking Turian officers. However, the Squad felt content for taking down a handful of company-graded or even squad-graded commanders. It would be enough to disrupt the operational power of the Turian in the Commerce district within a few days.
Another salvo was launched, this time, every single soldier of the Gryffindor let loose their personal guns. For a unit carrying the name of the lion, each soldier was heavily equipped with the required barking power. Not only they carried more anti-tank weapon than a standard infantry squad, they also had the heavier rifle variant as well as higher amount of Light Machine Gun, or LMG. The result of that set up was… spectacular to say the least. The whole Commerce Square was engulfed in flame, another tank was hit and struck down, the crew of the third tank was riddled with holes and shrapnel while the forth was pinned down alongside their comrades.
The recoil of the gun was quite heavy, but not uncontrollable. The men had been well-trained in the usage of such heavy weaponry. The bipods were deployed, using various structures like the window frames or half-demolished balconies as support. On stable ground, their aim was able to hone down on the targets of selection, cutting them down or at least, pinning them behind some cover.
On the site of Scarhead, there were three LMGs being used. With the theory rate of fire at 800 rounds per minute and the cartridge of 7.62x51mm, the Pashanka LMG was capable of shredding respectable amount of armours and covers, especially in urban and forest environments, in short period of time. With two of them in a fireteam and three fireteams in total, that were three LMGs and a combined sustained rate of 4800 rounds per minute. The Turians suffered the attack with the full blunt of the attack.
What even more dangerous was that the lions were also highly competent gunner. While the recommended ratio was one tracer rounds for every five, they put it at one every twenty and still able to maintain the required accuracy at the target. It made their attack virtually invisible, and the only proofs of such an attack were the booming sound in rapid succession as well as Turians being hurt and maimed.
The covers of the Turians, most of which were just demolished pre-fabricated buildings, were torn apart in a blink of an eye. The ones taking cover behind were instantly peppered by the barrage of lead. While each round carried much less kinetic energy than the anti-material 14.5x114mm cartridges used at the spaceport earlier this morning, they had a much higher rate of fire. The quantity was able to compensate for the quality – and in the end, the "kinetic barriers" of those Turians were still sapped down, leaving their wearers vulnerable to the next attacks.
The surprise attack was achieving its result, but it would only be a matter of time before the aliens were able to recover and counter attack, or worse, calling in aerial and orbital support. If they were as good as the Terrans, their commander would be putting his beak over the phone now – speaking of which, did the Turians have beaks or normal mouths like humans? Still, it was not as critical as finding the said officer and taking him down before hell was raining down around them.
While the whole team was still scanning their eyes over visible enemies, their radio cracked with the aristocratic voice of the "slimy arsehole snakes", Draco Malfoy, also known as "Ferret" for unknown reasons to everyone but himself and "Scarhead".
"This is Fang-Actual. Confirmed kill on three hostile officers on radio. No visible officers left in the arena. Over."
The Platoon leader of Slytherin Platoon gave a new report, easing down the worry of the lion. However, for some members of the Gryffindor Platoon, it was not hard to notice the smug and pride in the tone of Lieutenant Malfoy. It was as if he was saying that he had dealt more critical, tactical and strategic damage. While he was correct on a technical level, he also failed to score less damage than the lions, considering that his unit was only able to kill individual Turians personnel while the Gryffindor had already killed two tanks and damaged two mores.
But then, the dick-measuring contest would be done later, the men still had their missions to complete. Besides, their second-in-commands (who were accidentally also their high school sweethearts) would cut their balls off (figuratively and literally) if they let the personal rivalry getting into the way of the missions. However, it was not that hard for the Lion Lead and Snake Lead. They knew precisely what was at stake, and they were more than comfortable to set aside their personal rivalry until after the battle.
Over the radio net, both human officers could hear the faint sound of the other's gun fire, one was continuous with short, precise bursts, the other with silent yet powerful punch of death. Such sound added an edge to their psyche and their tone, showing how urgent and critical situation here.
"This is Claw-Actual. Mission accomplished. Pull back, by the number. Fang-Actual, cover us. Over."
"This is Fang-Actual. Who would cover our retreat then? Over."
"This is Claw-Actual. Lady Katyusha will do that for you. Access code: Three-One-Zero-One. Tag the target and get the hell out of there. Over."
"Fang-Actual, thanks for the assist. Now bug the hell out. Over."
Harry closed the link towards Draco and quickly gestured towards his comrades with his hand signal. The Turians had been aware of their presence and he did not really want to push his luck by increasing the local radio signal, painting a target over his arse. Sure, he just had a talk with his douchebag and arrogant friend, but better to be careful than to be sorry. The First Squad, seeing the order from their Lieutenant, quickly packed up their weapons and slowly inched back, fireteam by fireteam, while still providing suppression fire against the enemy. Down range, The Turians were still unable to find out from which angle they were attacked, let alone counter-attack effectively. In the mean time, they were not aware that they were also being sniped by Slytherin First Squad, pinning them down and sapping their number in the same time.
The battle at the intersection was short, barely ten minutes, but it was a fierce one and the Terrans had total control and the initiative. Every single bursts from the Turian either went wide or got shut down, or both. The glowing streaks of hypersonic metallic sand were cut short every single time. It was not until the Turian decided to launch a mass charge that they were able to negate the suppression fire. However, by then, Ferret and his comrades had already retreated and tagged the location.
Ten seconds later, the Turians heard the whooshing sound in the air. None of them knew what they meant, but they all knew that it was a health hazard. And, just like the Nazi in World War Two and the religious fanatics in World War Three, they suffered the barrage of MLRS – Multiple Rocket Launcher System. It was a very mundane, simple and bare weapon, but it did its job well enough. In fact, so well that all MLRSs were dubbed by the name of their fore-mother: Katyusha.
The sky was quickly filled with a series of flaming darts. Each of them struck a nerve of fear in the mind of the reptile-avian mixed alien, and when there were more darts than they could count, they paniced. And like the Russian of old age had said "Those foes who heard Katyusha are now deaf; those of them who saw Katyusha are now blind; those who tussled with Katyusha are naught but ash", the Turians were engulfed in a series on fire. None escaped the barrage, none survived the bombardment.
However, the squads of Slytherin and Gryffindor Platoons were not aware of that fact. They were using the stealth of darkness and the confusion coming from the brief exchange to slip away. Using the sewer system, they were able to travel through the city without having going above ground. The smell down there was terrible, and there were a lot of things better left unsaid. However, it was not a major concern for them, their helmets blocked the smell and shined the way, while the armors made sure that their skins would not come in contact with… whatever floating in the sewer.
No one knew precisely why the sewer system was connected with the tunnel system, but they could probably guess. It was a good and effective measure to hide the defense lines in plain sight. After all, which sapient race was insane enough to have a pile of feces lying in front of their secret hideouts? Apparently, the answer was "mankind". At least, they were not insane enough to plant booby traps under the drainage to even slow down and hurt the enemy even more…
Or did they?
Anyhow, both squads were able to sneak away undetected. They were already moving toward their new strongholds, though the word may be a bit misleading. Describing them as chokepoints might be a better way. Their job was not to cling onto those positions with their lives, but it was to drag out and bleed the Turians. The countryside was just too wide, it would be a good place to hide, but a terrible place to launch an attack from. Such a strike would be seen miles away and with orbital supremacy in aliens' hands, it was better not to tempt fate. It would be much more strategic and tactical to launch counter-attack from inside the city itself. The closure would prevent the aliens from using any orbital strike lest they would hit their own troops.
The fighting would be brutal, being urban warfare and all. But by the end of the day, they would still have the chance to live and keep fighting.
Both squads returned to their original platoons before both units slipped out of the underground system, taking control of various buildings and chokepoints in the city. Fighting alongside them inside the city was the fully two thirds of 666th Corp, each of them had their own point to hold, their own ambush to lay and their own target to slain. The information gained by 75th Ranger Battalion and 54th Special Purpose Brigade was tremendously helpful in this regard. It was just in time for the defenders to shore up their attacks and distribute their firepower for maximum effect. Sure, the Turians had shields, but those shields were not invincible, and they would still bleed, die or explode just like the humans would. The knowledge, just by its existence, had been a major moral boost for the defenders.
It did not take long before some skirmishes took place around the cities. A few fireteams just accidentally met some Turians on the deployment route or at their combat sites. Gunfires were exchanged, fists were launched, claws was lashes out… There were feet clanking on the streets, there were tanks rumbling on the road and there were even a brief exchange of heavy ordnance between the Katyusha batteries (made of just rockets and some bamboo frames – literally) and the Turian gunships (with all those techno-magik on their bodies). However, for the first night on the ground of the First Contact War, it was surprisingly quiet. It was almost as if both sides were actively avoiding each other so that they could have their own time to sleep.
The mystery of the first quiet night remained unsolved for years to come.
==============
Location:
Children Square
Commerce district
Capital city Zhen Zhu (contested – destroyed)
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao system (contested)
Time:
2501 – 8th Month – 10th Day (Galactic standard)
Late night (local time)
The battlefield may be (deceptively) calm, but the command post of the Turian invasion force (or rather, "police force") was anything but. On the holoscreen, General Brutus Oriendas was fuming at the reports he had been given. Taking control of the capital city was... costly, far more than every officer had thought. The full strength of the Third Cohort, with nearly 500 men, had been deployed to seize this "important-looking" position, namely the biggest square and the surrounding office blocks. Seeing the target being ruined, reduced to pile of rubble and no signs of life, the entire command hierarchy had thought that would be an easy fight.
How wrong they were... The soldiers had to trade blood for every inch of ground they took from these aliens. Soldiers died for nothing or for a gain too small... Now, littered around the square was roughly one fourth of their Legion's total fighting strength. Their bodies and remains were being taken care of by their living comrades, some of whom were still in shell-shocked. Some of the dead were killed during that despicable ambush, more were killed during the fight to seize the surrounding area, and even more was lost because of that fire storm.
Under the dark sky, the fire burnt brightly. Their red and orange colours looked like they were promising something sinister and terrible to the invading (or policing) Turians.
Meanwhile, down on the ground, glancing at the report, the most senior Centurion grimaced, unable to hide his displeasure. Over 300 Turian soldiers were dead in return for less than 50 human bodies that were found. A six-to-one loss was not something you can scoff at, even when you had men and body bags to spare. And that was even before taking in the recent probing attack against Sixth Armour Pack, which destroyed three-quarters of their number.
However, General Oriendas was having none of it, rather, he was in denial. For the last fifteen minutes, he had constantly reminded every Centurion present that they were fighting against primitives, and that such a loss ratio was unacceptable. The only acceptable outcome was victory, a clean and flawless victory.
Brutus talked in a tirade, not noticing the stress slowly forming on his officers' faces. They were tired, bruised and tattered, most of which was due to the welcoming gifts of the defenders. One of them had even been "promoted" on the field after his commander had been killed. He was young, inexperienced and would probably the first to die the next morning. The most senior Centurion, also the commander of the Third and Forth Cohort in place of his deceased comrade, had to suppress the urge to curse, even if the only reason was because the young (and newly promoted) Centurion looked just like his only son, whom he taught the general dislike toward profanity.
Yes, he had no problem with swearing in the face of his superiors, especially General Oriendas, someone who rose through the ranks not by merit, but by... connections. The sentiment was shared by many other officers in the Legion. However, said idiot was too well-entrenched in the general's chair, probably waiting for his "term of service" to end so that he could join the political world. Needless to say, his military knowledge was... barely accepted for a Centurion, let alone being a General. That was the reason why the senior Centurion decided to tune out that annoying wining voice and contemplated future actions.
These... humans, while being stubborn and illusive, were highly trained, if not military savvy. In a single day, they inflicted more damage to a Legion than what the filthy Bat... pirates could do in a full month. They burnt two full Cohorts in a furry of flames when realising that keeping the spaceport was impossible. Kinetic barriers for infantry were destroyed shortly before men were... obliterated. That thought scared him greatly. The only weapon capable of doing something equivalent damage, as far as he knew, was the (in)famous Graal Spike Thrower. However, it was Krogan-exclusive (and he had not seen any of them here) and a short-range weapon, yet no sight of shooter had confirmed, simply because they were always out of sight.
The last line could lead to further complications, either these suit rats and their pets had cloaking technology (which was very unlikely), or they possessed a long-ranged sniper rifle capable of draining the kinetic barrier in a single shot. Neither of them was good news.
The bad news did not just stop there. Two key positions, both of them were selected as landing and staging areas, had been ambushed. Invasion force suffered heavy losses even before touching the ground. These primitives, somehow, were able to make mines capable of jumping and damaging the dropships at the same time. Moreover, some of them were even able to pierce the floor, killing the troops inside, further increasing the number of the dead. Those that survived were not exactly lucky or better off either. They were pinned down by accurate enemy fire from the surrounding buildings, some of which had already been demolished in the bombing runs. The way these humans were able to defend from a ruin was impressive to say the least, but still a major problem.
The first report was not exactly encouraging. His men were only able to confirm that there were minimum number of men in the buildings and those heavy weapons were just automated turrets. Despite being uncontrolled, those turrets had already killed nearly 100 men and at take out at least 10 tank-carriers (with various degree of damage) before being silenced. What shocked him the most were the Turians losses when trying to remove the threat. One certain heavy weapon nest was able to repel three flanking maneuvers, claiming at least twenty men while the defenders only left behind five dead of their own. This turret was only silenced after a tank platoon landed.
Yet, it did not go down quietly. It continued inflicting damage on critical equipment of the tanks, and while those tanks were still combat capable, their combat effectiveness was greatly reduced to none thanks to the loss of the range-finder, laser guidance system, and even the mass effect field on some. They were only fortunate that there were plenty of spares.
And that was even before considering the latest attack, barely an hour ago. A full armoured pack was annihilated in a handful of minutes. Everything was… too perfect, looking from the angle of the Terrans. They had the initiative to land first, they had the stealth to approach and lock on the targets before striking down, and they were merciless enough to crew-kill a few vehicles. The worst part, however, was the damaged against the tanks. Unlike the advance earlier this morning, those tanks were completely destroyed. The turrets were blown off, the Element Zero core was fried, and the less talked about the interior, the better. In fact, the old Centurion believed that not even a Krogan in bloodrage or a Turian Cabal operative could do that much damage… Yet, these… humans were able to. That alone demanded grudging respect and guard from him.
He grunted, noticing the general had already cut the connection and his junior Centurions were all looking around with strange and questioning eyes. Staring at the dimming holo-screen, he snarled, barely hiding his scorn and disdain for the incompetent general.
"Spirits, what could possible happen now?! Those spirit-dammed pests killed us in our first wave. They burn our men... and we were blamed for that!? Get down here you idiot! It was you who guaranteed that there should be no resistance in the first place you pyjak!"
Seriously, where the hell was Desolas the Miracle when the guy was needed? Up there chilling with a babe in his claw and a snack in the other – though considering the rumors about him, that was probably what was happening in the orbit.
The younger officers in the (temporary) command office just glanced at each other. They knew that fact too... Ash and soot covered their armours and their faces were unable to hide their tiredness. While the experienced officers were still able to maintain their rigid stance during the tirade of the foolish general, the young replacement officers were not. He just simply collapsed on the ground and breathed heavily under the pitying gaze of his more senior officers.
"Spirits... I lost my commander, my Contuberium as well as a fifth of my Cohort... Wha... What should I do...? And... that... that smell... why... why is it still there...?"
The young Turian just sat there, swallowing in the disgusting air filled with the smell of burnt fresh meat. He had been broken by these... savage primitives. These dammed humans knew how to fight a foe with superior capabilities. Hit them where they did not expect, and use the terrain to their advantage. They knew war, almost as well as the Turians did, but they did not know the lengths the Hierarchy would go. After completing this mission, he would probably request a "punishment order" to remind these beasts that such actions against Citadel Council, or the Turian Hierarchy, in general, were simply unacceptable. Ten humans killed for every Turian seemed like a good trade off, and if things got worse, they would increase the number of hostages until they learned it or they were no more. However, it was not a pressing matter now. As the Cohort commander, he had more problems to solve than inventing adequate form of discipline for these humans.
Still, the old Centurion knew better than to dwell into his rage. It would focus his mind and give him the necessary boost, but it would also cloud his own judgment in the same time. Respect towards the humans on one side, he still felt the code to avenge his fallen comrades… He decided to let the matter aside, he would solve it once it came knocking on his door.
His omni-tool suddenly flared up, signaling a request for a vid call. Upon answering it, he saw it was a childhood friend of his, but instead of joining the Army, he became a Navy officer, currently serving as an Executive Officer on a cruiser. Despite some unpleasant words by others, who had not joined the same force, they were still good friends (minus the time they were dead drunk and got locked in the talk of my-d***-is-bigger-than-yours). The Centurion became worried. His friend was a rigid man, ready to follow order to the letter. Unless something was seriously wrong, he would not contact him without permission.
Such a thing had happened only three times in the past, and one of them was when his friend had thought, mistakenly, to be cheating on his "female friend".
Dismissing his men and returning them to their duties, the old Centurion sat down on the most intact chair in the room and accepted the message. The tired and strained voice of his friend quickly filled the room from the holoscreen.
"My old friend, how have you been? I heard that the person of… questionable intelligence... just chewed you out. Yes?"
"Yeah... He just let out some incoherent and intelligible ramblings, while not realizing we all heard nothing."
A soft chuckle was heard, eliciting a small smile over his face. It was true that while his friend was quite an aristocrat, he had more direct manner of speaking. How they were able to maintain their friendship was a mystery to everyone, including themselves.
"Right. That idiot... He may have already bitten off more than he could swallow..."
Something came from his friend's voice that alerted him. It was something... damm, he wished we spent more time paying attention in Literature class back in school. He could not find a single word to describe it... It was something dark, terrible and it was just over the corner. His intuition told him that if he did not listen closely, he would regret soon. Moreover, he had a hunch that it was something against standing protocol, so he listened to what his friend had to say.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you remember the human's space force? A space station and nearly fifty ship, all of which were cruiser and bigger?"
"I heard about it. They were able to caused serious damages to us, but they were still pushed back and kicked out of the system. Why do you ask?"
"... After the orbit was secured, we were ordered to send out scouts. Standard procedure, mostly for reporting duty. My ship sent out twenty scouting drones while you were being deployed... I just received the report less than thirty minutes ago..."
Something terrible was coming. His friend did not say anything out loud, but his voice seemed to pass it without any spoken words. The elder Centurion could feel a chill going down the back of his neck. It was almost as if Death was watching over with a wicked smile. With a very, very calm voice, he asked his friend
"And?"
"... Buddy... We found no space dock or any space structures, other than the ones that were destroyed."
"What? None? They had nothing else here?"
"None, and that was a bad news, if not very, very bad..."
"How so?"
"Think about it, that idiotic general thinks that this is the homeworld of some species uplifted by the Quarians. However, we have found no space docks, the planet was sparely inhabited and there was no meaningful trace of Element Zero found in the debris here. All this evidence... It has me thinking that we are attacking some spacefaring race that just got in contact with the Quarians... and they may not use any Element Zero."
"What?!"
"You heard me, they don't use any Element Zero. They might be primitives at first glance... But what kind of primitive race able to stand up against us, the Turians, despite all the odds? Spirits, we're the ones who usually stand up and face overwhelming odds... Buddy, I know this sounds crazy, but we are probably the invaders here. Not onto their homeworld, but one of their colonies. You have seen, and heard, how they fight to protect this planet. What will they do if the news reaches their home?"
"Does the Admiral know?"
"You mean the Miracle one? He does, and he is plotting plans to find their homeworld and bring the fight to their doorstep. He does not look comfortable or relaxed, though."
A sudden chill went down the spine of both officers. If the Miracle was feeling unease after a single battle, he must have felt something wrong. And if he felt something was wrong, something would be definitely wrong or out of place. The space combat was probably the first reason. Despite being outnumbered by a factor of ten, the humans were able to inflict disproportional damage on the Turian armada and still able to maintain their number. Sure, those ships were scratched heavily, but the overall number did not decrease by many. It was as if they were still fighting on equal terms despite being outnumbered heavily. Spirits, the humans even destroy their own space station to keep it falling into Turian hands, effectively dragging even more Turian soldiers with them. Yet, all of that was slightly better than what happened on the ground. At least it was over quickly.
The men could not move under heavy fire, and death came sudden and in stealth. Those deaths were brutal and gruesome, more often than not, and the unlucky soldier would die missing a limb or part of his torso. Moreover, the casualty rate of the Army was not something which could be easily ignored. While the loss of 300 men was enough to render a Cohort ineffective, the loss of commanding officers were more than enough to take two Cohorts out of action. At the moment, both Cohorts were practically depleted in terms of both man and equipment, despite the first day having yet to end. All units committed to the ground campaign, one mechanised and four infantry cohorts, had either been wiped out or rendered ineffective.
It was only a colony... The senior Centurion was suddenly glad that he had decided to stay away from politics. When the dust settled, that idiot of a general would find himself in serious trouble and probably be wishing he had been eaten by a varren on Tuchanka in a public show for the Krogan... Taking a sigh he said
"If so, all we can do is try to take the planet and secure it as quickly as possible, but I am not optimistic."
"They are that good?"
"If not better. As much as I hate them, I must credit them for fighting smart and effective. I've already lost two Cohorts in a day, my friend. I'll probably lose more before this day is over."
"Yeah... What a pity..."
"A pity... aye..."
The two old officers just stared at each other on the screen, losing themselves in thought. Both were dealing with an internally conflicted. On one side, was their sacred duty to serve and obey their superior's commands, such was the code each Turian lived and died for. However, on the other side, was their disgust on their commander, a stupid and inept general who had no talent on military matters and did nothing but curry favours with some pyjak politicians. If they followed their duties, more men would be killed for nothing but potentially enraging a new alien race who could be as terrible as the Rachni or the Krogan. On the other hand, disobedience was something they could not stomach.
There was the sound of someone speaking from the call, the Navy officer told someone off screen something about scout reports. Then, he returned the conversation.
"I have to get back on duty now, my friend. I just call to tell you that... We are stuck in something terrible because of that idiot... I'm sending you the report along with my notes here... I believe there is something that may have I've missed... Use it well. There are rumours abut extra Legions coming, but... we can't take any more losses... Be careful my friend. We die for the cause."
The motto just echoed in the half-ruined room. Glancing around, the old Centurion just grumbled,
"Yeah... Die for the cause."
Outside of the windows were thin blue streaks of light. It was reinforcements. These two Cohorts here were too banged up to put up a proper fight tomorrow, and it looked like that idiot general was going all-out... stupid... He would probably sacrifice the entire Legion for nothing. Pyjaks... The only thing he could pray now was for decent Centurions to be leading strong and well-armed Cohorts. They would need that tomorrow morning.
A chirp was heard on his omni-tool. It was the report of the scouting operation. He just scanned through it, ignoring most of the confusing, technical terminology. He just wanted to see the notes his friend had written, as well as his men who had been in charge charge of this task. However, the document was still being loaded, and so he had to wait.
Glancing upwards, the old commander watched the blinking stars in the dark sky night. Normally, it would be soothing, but today, he felt something else... It was like something terrible was brewing across the horizon. If he was right, the humans were massing their troops, preparing for a counter-strike. Apparently, for these humans, losing their capital did not equal failure. Moreover, despite not being in the area, they had already been able to deal serious casualties to three cohorts. What if they focused their strength on those three exhausted cohorts and their reinforcements?
A chill ran down his spine. No, he would need to talk with the Centurions. If he could not lead them away from the deadly battles, he would try to reduce the losses of the Legion. Good soldiers were hard to find and to train, good Turians were even harder, and the two replacement Cohorts, the Seventh and Eighth, were filled with eager young men.
His comm officer ran into the room, relaying the request to land from the incoming reinforcements. The old man put one hand on his elderly face... The night was still long, and he had much to do.
Chapter 15
- Location
- Netherlands
"I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy."
- John Adams (1735 - 1826), Founding Father of [former] United States of America
******************************
ISIO: Institute of Special and Intelligence Operations (catchphrase: "I see you")
IFV: Infantry fighting vehicle
DMR: Designated Marksmen Rifle
******************************
"The Breach of Shanxi" – Day 2
Location:
Unknown half-demolished apartment block
Ward 1, Residence District
Capital city Zhen Zhu (contested- destroyed)
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao system (contested)
Time:
03:56 (Terran Standard time) – 05:56 (Local time)
23 February 2201
The Slytherin Platoon was scattering around a five-storey apartment block, the one with a restaurant on the ground floor and half of its structure missing. From the outside, the building looked like a deserted ruin, however, only the "ruin" part was half-corrected. It was far from being a "ruin" when its main primary structure was still intact, and with a dozen men crawling inside, it was hardly deserted at all. Lieutenant Malfoy spent the first thirty seconds wondering why and how such a building could stand, then decided against it. He had the experience dealing with the engineers before, and they were too prone for a bout of insanity.
Besides, it was not like knowing the answer would help him here. He just knew that the room was strong and hardened enough to stand against everything, short of a direct shot from a tank, a missile, or a full aerial and orbital attack. However, attacking the said room was actually harder than one may think, it was concealed very well while still providing a good view over the streets on two sides. The vantage position turned the room into a temporary command post for Slytherin Platoon…
And as luck would have it, it was also double used as a relay point for communication of Gryffindor Platoon. Those brash lions were pushing deep into enemy-held territory, and if the reports of his watch were correct, the only thing separated them from the Turian was a single layer of wall. At that position, using normal equipment and protocol to contact with Command was… risky at best and suicidal at worst. Therefore, they needed a middle point to re-direct their communication array, just in case it was intercepted in the first place.
The whole field was erringly silent, completely unlike a major war raging on. However, for the Lieutenant, he knew it was only a matter of time before the whole city was lit up again. At least there would be no weapon of mass destruction being deployed this time… Probably.
Still, the atmosphere here was what he was afraid the most: the silence before the storm. Everyone knew the rage was incoming, but none knew precisely where and when it would land, which put the soldiers in a mood of frustration. The snakes were trying their best to distract themselves from that negative emotion, with various degree of success.
Corporal Flint, the biggest man in the platoon, was humming a pop song, one with a so predictive and addictive tune that it was considered as "trash" the moment it came out. In the window above him, Private Greengrass, the only female of the unit, was twirling her lipstick between her fingers. The obvious questions of where that stick came from and why she carried it along to the battle were not asked by none.
And the leader, Lieutenant Malfoy himself, was smoking. Sure, smoking killed, but it was no immediately, and it helped the white-hair man to ease down his anxiety and stress. It was much more appreciated at the moment, compare to a future healthy lung.
Some of his direct subordinates, however, had other definitions on relaxing right before a major problem.
"El-Tee, there is one thing I had yet to understand."
It was Private Goyle, arguable not the smartest man in the platoon, but he was one of the best guardian in protecting the snipers' backs. In addition, he was the first one who opened up to Malfoy when he first received Slytherin Platoon. Therefore, he was kept in the command squad of the unit, despite the severe lack of skill in marksmanship.
With one eye peeking through the hole, Draco did not even turn back, but he still gave his subordinate a response:
"Shoot."
"Why were you named Draco Malfoy anyway? I mean… no one would name their son like that, no one sane, that is."
That attracted the attention of everyone. To be fair, it was a question that everyone worth their salt would love to ask. After all, no one, even Private Greengrass with her father as an ISIO operative, could find out the answer. Every single member of the command squad was hinging on every single word that would be coming out of his mouth.
However, the man in the question had other ideas, mainly because he knew the truth, and he was not drunk enough to speak it. Considering that the most "drunk" he had been was due to both Greengrass sisters tried to drag him into the bedroom and mistakenly got the Scarhead instead (long story)… Yeah, his men would have to try better to fish it out of him:
"Goyle, you had yet to top in the platoon's bucket. Ten credit, just ten. And you had been delaying it for a year now."
"But sir, I'm broke."
"Broke and you still have cred to buy that nurse some flowers?"
"I run out of money for betting business, sir."
"Goyle?"
"Sir?"
"Fuck you."
A few chuckles were heard, but that was the end of the story. The command squad knew better than to push their commander into revealing his secret. Besides, keeping the ordeal a mystery made the whole situation a bit funnier, and in the threatening situation like this, a bit of humour never hurted.
The light-heart moment ended quickly enough. The scouts and overwatchs instantly sent in a new report, the Turian was on the move. Heading to their position was quite a large formation, 100-plus, with three vehicles, suspecting of one tank and two IFVs. Draco grimaced while listening to the news. His Platoon had little problem dealing with the infantry, but the armoured made the whole situation much harder. Being geared toward stealth and infiltration, Slytherin Platoon only carried a miniscule amount of anti-tank weaponry, and those were not enough to dislodge this reconnaissance in force of the Turian.
However, he still had a few ways to negate the firepower advantage of the aliens. After all, they were stupid enough to bring tanks to an urban fight. Sure, they had just one tank and their IFV-lookalike would be able to discourage any attack from an elevated angle, but it did not meant that he could not try to do anything.
"Fang-1, this is Fang-Actual, ready to detonate the road, on my mark."
The idea was pretty simple: to burrow a bomb under the road so when a tank was passing over, it could be detonated. The width of the road only allowed a single Turian vehicle to pass through – albeit with moderate infantry flanking. With a dead tank blocking the head of the advance, the force behind it would be like fishes in a barrel, easy target pickings for his men.
Still, he was not arrogant enough not asking for anymore help. Friendly rival between him and Scarhead aside, the brash man was highly talent in anti-vehicle warfare, in fact, half of the plan devised by Draco was thanks to input from that man. As a measure of anti-vehicle warfare, he received two fireteams from the Lions, securing two ends of the zone. It was those soldiers who actually planned the explosives underground and inside the rubbles, not the Snakes. Sure, they knew how to plant demolition charges, but when it came to anti-tank duties, their proficiency fell behind their counterparts.
And now, when two highly efficient models of explosive were introduced together? The Turians were in for a nasty surprise. The reports were now coming in burst, instead of voices, it was text, brief texts lining together to form a code, known only by the Snakes. Sure, any decent intelligence units could crack the code in less than an hour, but to see the gibberish text and to understand its meaning in less than a second, only a soldier of Slytherin Platoon could do that.
The pair of IFVs had already splitted up, each was supported by a light platoon of infantry, about twenty each. Both columns advanced into two parallel streets while the tanks stayed behind with a moderate escort detachment. It was a smart thing for them to do so.
There were only two roads leading from Turian staging ground toward this area, or at least, two roads that wide enough for an armoured vehicle to travel through freely. It was a bit… strange to think about it, as if the planners originally thought of the situation where the city would be invaded. The number of roads where armoured could pass through freely was abnormally small, and the ones allowed that to happen had integrated hard points and defensive positions. Surely, humanity was not that paranoid… right?
Then, such was way above Draco's pay grade, his major concern at the moment was to sap down the strength of the Turian patrol. Trying to kill them all would be suicidal, they outnumbered his unit by a factor of three, and outgunned him by a factor of four – minimum. Having the help from anti-tank specialists or not, the Turian shields would be able to save their armoured units from crippling shots, buying them a few seconds to retaliate. The same thing could be said about their infantry, each shield was capable of withstanding a full 14.5mm cartridge.
With that in mind, he should just try to sap down the strength of the advance. The explosives put on the road would be able to mission-kill the two IFVs and some of its escort infantry. May be they would be back to full strength by the end of the day, but that would be approximately 10 hours in the future, and in an urban setting like this, ten hours meant a long time. Besides, if he repeat the same style of attack tomorrow, and the day after that, and day after that too, it would be more efficient in the wrong run. A series of small explosions was always better than a single major one.
New reports were streaming in, the two columns were now getting through the streets methodically. While their movements were fairly slow, their gun turrets kept swinging from one side to another, ready to respond to any attack from the buildings on two sides of the street. The infantry kept raising the guns up, aiming at half-closed, half-opened windows and doors. While the reports were short and unimaginative, Draco was still able to feel the urgency lingering under the texts. His men felt threatened by these aliens, either because these Turians werea actually "aliens", or because they were showing high level of cohesion and professionalism. It did not matter much, they were invading human's ground, and his job was to stop them – no matter the cost.
A new message was sent, the two IFVs had reached the mark on the road, and Draco sent the order. On two roads, two independent charges went up in two simultaneous roars, throwing the two armoured vehicles slight off the ground while pushing their screening infantry away. With each charge was rated at 20kg TNT equivalent, it was no surprise to see both of them being halted instantly. Their shields, no doubt, had taken a great hit. The two vehicles then crouched down with their groans drowned in the fiery screech of flame and the grumbling of debris in the air.
Dirt and rock were thrown up, blocking the vision of ground-side Turians. Their ears were also temporary deaf and their sense of balance was severely impaired. Before they had a chance to recover and retaliate, however, the humans had already opened fire. The anti-tank specialists of Gryffindor Platoon stood up from the top of a (former) four-storey building before let loose their rockets. On each road, a soldier opened fire with his disposable launcher, leading to two rockets screeching through the air and then slamming down on the immobilized Turian IFVs. The wooshing sound of the two rockets flared up in the air, piercing the dying rumble from the two hidden bombs. Both of those vehicles were turned into molten slags in a blink of an eye, after another pair of explosions.
The two soldiers did not even stay and watch their handy work. They simply used the most basic type of anti-tank rocket (one called RPG-18, whatever it meant) with visual sight at the distance of roughly 100m before running away. "Shoot and scoot" was how they called it, which fit right into the plan of Draco, the one calling for avoidance of direct hard combat.
The tank in the back would be a problem though, but his unit would be long gone by the time it reached the combat site. It had been staying there for fifteen minutes so far, so it would take at least five minutes to arrive here, and even then, it would be late to protect the infantry. His unit would be long gone by then, but before that… He needed to leave souvenirs behind.
A new set of orders was given, this time, the rifles barked up. Invisible paths of bullets accompanied the loud crack of the chemical – kinetic cartridges in the Terran arsenal. Draco had already ordered his men to remove their suppressors, there was no need to be "invisible" in this case. The muzzle breaks on their guns would be sufficient in covering their positions, the lack of visible bullet paths would confuse the Turians, and the order was clear: they were not to linger around. They had to empty their magazine within a minute, then retreated.
It sounded like cowardice, but Draco preferred to sapping their strength slowly over a period of time before launching a critical strike. They were still in top conditions here, well-fed, well-rest and well-armed. Fighting head-on at the moment was suicidal. Sure, he had the skills to win this skirmish, but he preferred to win this war and stay alive.
Even then, the sudden and brief attack was still able to score some damage. Thanks to the recon yesterday, the human now knew where to aim their guns, namely, at "flashy targets", who seemed to be specialists, NCOs, and more importantly, officers. His men did not bother to note down any new suits' variants or appearances, however, they just shot at any Turians not wearing grey armors. So far, more than ten targets had been reported with their shields depleted, and two of them were dead. In the same time, not even a single retaliate strike was given back.
The unit could press for more, but none of them was greedy. They withdrawn in neat order, with one section kept their sustain firing rate to cover for the other to retreat, then, each man in the last squad pull back while other squadmates kept firing. The whole attack took place within a minute, there was no casualty on the Terran's side, yet, they were able to inflict serious damage on the Turian, two IFVs mission-kill, suspected of kill-kill (or "they ain't fighting anymore"), fifteen-plus Turian infantry had their shields depleted, and at least two neutralized.
There was even a more impressive part, the tank was still staying at the back of the convoy. The attack was so fast, brief and sudden that it was not able to respond in time. And by the time it lurched forward, the whole Slytherin had been able to withdraw safely. The blue streaks of the ultra-hyper-sonic (was that even a grammatically correct word?) rounds just peppered harmlessly on the burnt buildings, dealing zero damage.
Draco was now on an escape route with his command squad. Using the "ventilation holes" on the wall, the one either deliberately made with liberal application of shotgun and sledgehammer, they were able to quickly move between different rooms and buildings. With the apartment block being built into a box, the internal movements of theirs could be safely concealed from the prying eyes of the Turians. In addition, the apartment also led down to the tunnel system, further covering their tracks. And last but not least, there was absolutely no air surveillance deployed by the Turians, not even a gunship or an UAV. They had to pay for that mistake dearly.
The ground trembled lightly, but it barely attracted any attention from the squad as they passed through the darkened hallway. The sound behind the prefabricated concrete wall was hardly important to them, especially when it was transmitted through a few walls already, or while they were going underground.
They moved to pre-set destinations, new sites of their ambushes and skirmishes. The group of Gryffindor soldiers would bid them farewell at the moment, returning back to their unit before finding any more armoured depots of the Turians before turning them into slags. Draco paused for a blink of an eye mid-stride before continuing. Surely, the Lions would be sensible and responsible enough to not use napalm within the urban environment.
Yeah, not his trouble then. As long as the Turians were dead, he would be even fine with the fucking Scarhead burning them down in flame while just wearing a boxer… Actually, that would be a terrible sight for nightmare. May be having his rival trapping the dino-birds in a series of explosion would be enough.
The trip underground was safe, quiet, even if nothing happened. While it sounded like a terrible and ironic fate for a war, every professional soldiers (read: everyone in the area) knew that it was actually the truth – for most of the time. A battle consisted of 80% boredom, 15% of "hurry up and wait", and only 5% of extreme fright. In addition, it was only very rare that a soldier could actually get a good visual on his target. More often than not, he or she was just shooting in the general direction of his team. The previous combat was the exception, rather than the norm, with a clear and well-arranged ambush site. But even then, without the assistance of the scopes (and the flashy armours of the aliens), his men would still have trouble seeing the Turians down there.
And besides, the range was around 200m, which was roughly ten times more than what an average FPS gamer was used to. It was one of the reason why the military never, ever, recruited gamers into their force.
Following the tunnel and taking a few turns, the command squad did not take too much time to reach their new sites, another apartment block. Though this one was more on the luxurious scale and it had a wider basement. Unlike the previous one, the apartment's core area had a conspicuously thick wall, it was actually a secret set of stairs, leading down to the tunnel and basement below. This feature of design was actually a part of compulsory part of off-Earth exploration, thanks human's paranoia for that.
Fucking Prothean and their mysterious data cache on Mars.
Sure, the industrialists and the bankers were complaining about the added costs (read: less money in the profit column), but in a strange twist of fate, the politicians were able to put down their feet and force those men to comply. After this war, no one would be able to shit-talk about this sense of paranoi anymore.
Draco glanced upwards, quickly noticing a few light rays were going in, lighting up part of the sealed component. Clearly, this building was busted, but its secret tunnel and hideout were still safe, probably. The light rays were coming in mostly from the third floor, so the second floor should be a nice place to stage up for the next attack.
However, that was when things started going wrong.
First, the door was stuck due to unknown reasons, and it took the combined strength of both Draco and Goyle to bust out the door. The first thing they heard was not the cracking sound of the door opening, but rather a yelp.
An inhuman yelp.
Draco quickly noticed he was not touching the ground, but rather something else. In front of him was not one, but three aliens. Three fucking Turians! Just like the briefing, their appearances were well-known to the young Lieutenant. Mandibles seemed to be made from bone-like materials, forming a crown over their heads. These ones must be males, because they were much longer than the overall shape of the heads. All of them were wearing grey armours, and only one of them had a silver bar running diagonal over the upper part of the suit.
They seemed to be surprised, none of them had even reached for their guns yet. Draco knew that he was spotting the same face expressions as them, the only reason they did not know that was because he was wearing an opaque helmet.
And because he was able to recover faster than them. He raised his bullpup rifle up and flipped off the safety switch purely by reflex, he stepped onward while peppering at the nearest Turian. He knew that the aliens had their own personal shielding, so his initial bullets would be ineffective. Yet, in the heat of the moment, he discarded that thinking and just focus on fighting. More explosions followed from behind him, alerting him that his squadmates had joined in the fight.
The information was pushed down in his brain, however, because instead of flashing brightly, the first Turian fell down with his body punctured multiple times, shooting out the blue alien blood. Strange, no shield… But Draco did not pay much attention to the question why, he just knew that the infantry-scale shields were temporarily off for these aliens, which made his job much easier.
All three Turian fell quickly enough and the knocked down Turian was shot in the back of the head by Greengrass, before they had any chance to fire back, though Draco was damned sure that their friends were now aware of his presence, which was sucked. Still, taking down four enemy combatants with zero casualty was quite a success already, especially after he had taken down two IFVs and injured a dozen or so of their soldiers.
Of course, lingering around and gloating would be hazardous to their health (and lives), which was pretty much enough to turn the "gain" into "loss". He should get the fuck out of there, as soon as possible.
"Bloody hell!"
Greengrass, the only female member of his squad (and his platoon) uttered a curse in the most British way possible, from the choices of the curse to the accent she used (whatever British meant). Draco would pick more… colorful languages to express his feeling, but then, she would scold him for using "foul language", and for a girl who was shorter than him by a full head, she really knew how to cow others.
"Ain't that some foul language Greengrass?"
"Not as foul as your wet dream mumbling Goyle."
The squad bantered in whisper while securing the room, shutting down all possible approaching avenues while putting overwatch on the windows. While no enemy had been spotted, it never hurt to be prepared.
Draco crouched down, hid behind stumbled chairs and tables in order to observe the guns of the Turians. They were interesting enough, quite user-friendly, despite being designed for "hands" with three claws rather than ones with five fingers. Thanks to the fact that the Turians had one claw on the opposite side with the other (just like humans' thumbs), he could hold the gun comfortably in his hand. The handle was also at a comfortable length, a bit longer than his DMR's, but it was still manageable.
However, the most interesting part was that there was no visible slot to insert the ammunition. At least, he knew the answer already. Instead of using catridges like humans, the Turians (and by extenstion, their friends and allies in the so-called Citadel Council) used grain-sized metal pellets as ammunition. The sand was extracted from a metal block, housed right above where Draco would put his other hand to balance the gun. A few simple clicks would be able to pry out the spent block housing and insert a new one, at least, that was the theory. He had yet to practice it and he did not enjoy blowing anything up by doing something wrong.
In addition, there was also another safety feature, an on-board computer, used to regulate the gun's operation, ranging from inserting new grains in the barrel to the cooling process. It was quite a pity that the computer was still "on", and Draco knew nothing about Turian language to turn it off… but then it was not exactly necessary. For the moment, he only needed the gun to be able to fire. But, shooting the gun within an enclosed room was a terrible idea… He should wait until the fight was at some open places then.
The second piece should be the shield generators… though where they were precisely on the dead Turian bodies would be another story. Finding them would only be a matter of time then, but, time was a luxury item that they did not have. His overwatch quickly noticed figures approaching from the outside, and there were voices downstairs. A second spent under consideration yielded the estimations of approximately two squads approaching, doubling their number.
While it had yet to reach the critical threshold of three to one level, it was simply stupid and suicidal to stay and fight. There was nothing to gain for fighting here. Sure, he could try to retrieve the Turian infantry-graded shield, but then, what good would come out of it? It would take too much time, critical time, and it was always better to steal some while under the cover of stealth, not when it had been blown away like this. Besides, he had been able to retrieve four rifle-like guns and two pistol-like sidearems. They would still be enough to show new insights on the Turian war machines. Hopefully, some guys in the staff would be able to guess something on the aliens by analyzing these guns.
But… before that…
"Goyle, Crabbe, plant explosives on the door and tunnel entrance. Bulstrode, Parkingson, cover them, kill any Turian going up. Greengrass, Zabini, Carrow, snipe the incoming birds from the outside. Stop them from getting close."
That was the plan. It was simple, easy, and it could be done by even a conscript hooked up on booze and sex.
The problem was that… this was a damned war. It went down wrong soon enough.
The Turians had been able to secure at least two machine guns emplacement outside, which quickly pinned down his snipers. The birds had already been able to zone down the human's position and kept peppering the room with their weapons. The machine guns pumped in a hailstorm of blue streaks of light from the outside, forcing the defenders' heads down. Meanwhile, their comrades downstairs were using the moment to storm upwards, at least, the squad was able to pin them down with grenades for the time being. However, their grenades had already ran out – they were forced to mass deploy them to compensate for the protection available to the aliens.
It was barely a minute since the Turian began the counter-attack, and the situation had been pretty hairy. The sound of explosion quickly filled up the room, fragments flew in all directions in the room, dropping harmlessly on the suits of the soldiers. At least the humans were equipped with a fully sealed helmet. They were quite cumbersome, but at least they protected the human against unknown biological threats from the aliens, and flying debris like this. Draco knew that there had been at least five clouds of wooden fragments being thrown in his face – and that were only the ones he awared off.
Without this helmet, he would have been blind already. Not to mention that the helmet also came with an integrated set of radio and simple HUD, allowing him to co-ordinate the defense of the squad with highest efficiency possible.
Or he could also use it to time the moment his men were done with setting charges, clearing all kind of traces of them being here. The moment the green light was lit, he yelled into the mic, ordering the whole squad to retreat back into the tunnel. Each and every soldier pulled back in neat order, only when under cover fire from the others. In quick order, they were able to get back to the hidden door with zero deaths.
However, they were injured. Greengrass had her bicep hit a few times, Zabini and Carrow were limping backward while both Goyle and Crabbe had cracks on their helmets. Other members were also showing various degrees on injuries, at least, as far as Draco could tell, none was hurt critically. Those wounds were not enough to put them out of the fight – just a patch up here and there and they would be back for the fight.
More importantly, he had been able to secured critical intelligence and technical data. Sure, the Federation was aware of the Mass Effect, and they had extra knowledge after First Contact with the Quarians. But real, hand-on items never hurt, especially when the Quarians refused to share any real working weapons to the Federation.
These four guns would be a tremendous boon for the force. While they were astronomically low in number, they would (probably) be enough to reveal some tactics used by the Turians, and through that, how to defeat these aliens.
The period from the moment to that time was another question, of course.
******************************
Location:
Command bunker – approximately 100m underground
Wild primitive jungle
North – East quarter-sphere
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao system (contested)
Hegemony of Oriental
Terran Federation
Time:
12:00 (Terran Standard time) – 13:00 (Local time)
23 February 2201
The captured guns had been delivered safely to the Command. The Slythering Platoon, H Company of 75th Batallion, was the one responsible for securing these weapons. The command staff was in hysteria when they received the toys. (Un)Surprisingly, half of the technical staff volunteered to test the gun – read: they brought them to the firing range to let loose. At least they were able to set up a proper testing apparatus before anything else… Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with those officers? They were all field officers, yet they were like kids in a candy store the moment they laid eyes on those guns.
To be fair, General Williams himself was almost lowering himself to that level, just almost. He was too old to act like a young kid, and his hip lacked too much lubrication to dash towards the firing range. Therefore, he was just sitting there, at the briefing table, with a full crate of coffee and screens blinking around his seat.
It looked like the lair of some evil genius, somehow.
And at the moment, he was sitting at one end of a long table, hands crossing into each other to cover the lower half of his face. His staff officers were no less threatening with their hard, emotionless faces and a deadly intent in the air. Add in the gloomy atmosphere and the low light condition, the image could spook anyone being unprepared for the image. For example, the young Lieutenant who was directly in charge of testing the gun. At least, he was able to keep his pants dry – for the moment.
Of course, General Williams had already instructed his men to not do so. Pranking others was fine and dandy, but pranking in the middle of a full blown war right on the site was definitely a good idea. Bat-shit insane or not, there must be a level of professionalism in the high echelon of leadership here.
Back to the young man, he was now delivering the technical report. While it was just basic Physics, only the Asian could understand it with a single hearing time. For others like him, he could still do so, but only after fifteen minutes of concentration and all technical jargons had been removed.
"… the weight of each metal grain was about 4mg, or four millionths of a kilogram. The Mass Effect core, powered by the Element Alpha, then decreases the mass of the said grain down even further, to microgram scales, which mean a few millionths of a single gram, a decrease factors of roughly a thousand times. The ultra-light metal grain…"
There were too many numbers after that, so General Williams decided to stop listening to it. He could understand the science behind them, but he failed to connect the said numbers into real life. In other words, he did not understand the applications of those numbers. Hopefully, the staff could translate it into more understandable knowledge, without the fuzzy and duzzy numbers… But seriously, how could those Asians understand them flawlessly?
A few (or a lot more than a few) moments later, the Lieutenant finished his report and looked at him expectantly. Sighing out, the General spoke up:
"So, Lt, what is your conclusion? What is the threat level of these guns?"
"Well, sir tactically speaking, It is not that different from ours, something better and something worse."
"And strategy speaking?"
"They trumped us sir. There is no need for them to be as concerned about the ammunition supply as we do."
"OK… begin from the beginning. On a human's body, what is the threat of these guns. And keep things simple please, in English."
It did not go well though. The young man quickly sipped into the technical speaks, quickly giving him a migraine. He could not understand the jargons being used there, which had gone straight from intermediate level to some very advanced stuff. The General did not even know how to spell half the words being used there, which led to him being lost within a few minutes.
Seeing no other ways, he had to signal the young man to stop before gesturing to Lieutenant Colonel Zhou Xiping, one of his staff officers. The man was also a citizen of the Hegemony of Oriental, which meant that he would be very dedicated to the fight here. More reasons for him to gist the technical data (or gibberish) into something understandable.
Luckily, the man knew the dilemma of the General, so he would try his best to translate the numbers into words, into something that everyone could understand. It was quite easy, yet insanely hard and critical in the same time. Not many people had the knowledge and the social skills to actually pull that off though.
The Oriental field officer watched the reports, focusing intently on the Conclusion segment while checking on his own personal datapad. After five minutes of mumbling, he drew his own conclusion.
Simply put, each shot consisted of a spherical grain with a diameter of one millimeter (1mm), taken from the iron-alloy metal block, which gave the bullet a mass of roughly four micrograms (4μg). The Mass Effect, with its bullshit space magic, then made the grain even lighter and propelled it to the staggering muzzle velocity of thirty thousand meter per second (30000m/s). In other word, they were very small bullets travelling very fast. This was in contrast to the Terran philosophy, emphasizing on moderately-sized bullets travelling at a hypersonic speed only (10g travelling at 880m/s). Thanks to kinetic energy being proportional to the square of velocity, the energy of a Mass Effect-based bullet was double than that of the Terran. In translation, it meant the pain was double when shot by a Turian gun than by a Terran shooter. Not exactly a nice scenario then.
However, other than the insane speed, Turian guns were sorely lacking in other performance department. First off, their bullets were purely kinetic, there were no additional effects to increase the damage dealt. To say that they were purely armor penetration would not be a great stretch. There was also no yawing effect, thus damage to flesh was minimal. And even then, even the prowess in anti-armour fights was dubious at best. Their insanely high speed meant great air friction and tremendous heat, which led to a very brief moment they spent going through the body and cauterize the wound. The high muzzle velocity and great air friction also led to the grain being lit up in air, painting a clear spot on the position of the shooter. In terms of warfare, it practically reduced stealth to zero. Fourthly, their momentum was abnormally low, even much lower than a handgun shot in the early twenty-first century. A factor of ten to be precise. The stopping power of the Turian rifle was pretty much zero, giving no advantage in stopping a surging charge.
Meanwhile, the Terran arsenal (read: their history of warfare) provided a much more adaptable ammunition systems, ranging from armour penetration to hollow points to defeat armoured as well as unarmoured targets. Their guns were also configured in a bullpup design, meaning the trigger was in front of the magazine, thus saving weight and overall length. This was quite crucial in prolonged or close-quarter combat. Furthermore, it seemed that the Turian guns were incapable of modding, as in attaching any other tools on it. While the idea was not precisely counter-productive (the most famous example would be the AK/AKM series), having one or two more tools never hurt in the long run. However, the lack of bayonet attachment drew serious questions on the sanity of the designers. At least, it meant the humans would have another advantage for fighting close.
But, before that, the humans would have to close in first, which was quite a challenge by itself. The accuracy of the gun, both at semi- and fully-automatic mode, was frightening. It just had a very small deviation in standard range – and the very shift was more likely due to environmental factors than due to design or operator's error. In fact, its precision and accuracy was comparable to a DMR in the arsenal of Terran Federation. To think that these were assault guns… General Williams had to hope that his men could caught the Turians in an ambush, ultilise the urban setting, and not engage the aliens on an open field without cover or support.
In addition, the Turian guns also came with a virtually limitless ammo supply. A metal block alone could sustain a soldier in intense combat for weeks, if not months. The trade off for this was that the soldiers failed to have sustained fire on the field. The operation resulted in a tremendous amount of heat, even much more than what generated by chemical explosions in Terran gun. While the humans could simply use the air to cool down their guns, the Turians would have to forcefully implement the matter. They would have to manually activate the cooling feature or else the gun would automatically deploy it, effectively shut it down. In general, a full minute and twenty second of consecutive shooting would force the gun to shut down for twenty seconds, the disruption was a bit too frequent. On the other hand, the firing rate was quite high and the whole gun was very light… It was an acceptable trade off though.
"So, in short, sir, this gun was basically a wet dream of a technician after having a heavy drinking with a spec-op soldier."
To be fair, he had a point. There were too many "cool" features there. Sure, the ammunition might be not the best on the market, but it was still able to do the job while looking absolutely cool. That was probably enough to sell on the idea for the soldiers. Besides, being a General and well aware of its shortcomings, using the gun had it certain allure.
And he wondered what would the Turian think about the human's guns though. Based on the given information from the Quarians… May be it would be something on the line of a Krogan-designed, Turian-produced, Salarian-modded, Volus-financed, Elcor-tested, Drell-and-Hanar-sponsored and Asari-used gun. After all, a human's gun was brutal in combat prowess, utilitarian in design, sophisticated and lean in modifications, affordable (cheap) in production yet still durable. With its design, it would not be far-fetched if some assassins actually enjoyed using it and gave recommendations. Therefore, a young and idealistic Asari Maiden would love to pick up such a gun and explore the galaxy.
Or at least, that was what the General would love to happen.
- John Adams (1735 - 1826), Founding Father of [former] United States of America
******************************
ISIO: Institute of Special and Intelligence Operations (catchphrase: "I see you")
IFV: Infantry fighting vehicle
DMR: Designated Marksmen Rifle
******************************
"The Breach of Shanxi" – Day 2
Location:
Unknown half-demolished apartment block
Ward 1, Residence District
Capital city Zhen Zhu (contested- destroyed)
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao system (contested)
Time:
03:56 (Terran Standard time) – 05:56 (Local time)
23 February 2201
The Slytherin Platoon was scattering around a five-storey apartment block, the one with a restaurant on the ground floor and half of its structure missing. From the outside, the building looked like a deserted ruin, however, only the "ruin" part was half-corrected. It was far from being a "ruin" when its main primary structure was still intact, and with a dozen men crawling inside, it was hardly deserted at all. Lieutenant Malfoy spent the first thirty seconds wondering why and how such a building could stand, then decided against it. He had the experience dealing with the engineers before, and they were too prone for a bout of insanity.
Besides, it was not like knowing the answer would help him here. He just knew that the room was strong and hardened enough to stand against everything, short of a direct shot from a tank, a missile, or a full aerial and orbital attack. However, attacking the said room was actually harder than one may think, it was concealed very well while still providing a good view over the streets on two sides. The vantage position turned the room into a temporary command post for Slytherin Platoon…
And as luck would have it, it was also double used as a relay point for communication of Gryffindor Platoon. Those brash lions were pushing deep into enemy-held territory, and if the reports of his watch were correct, the only thing separated them from the Turian was a single layer of wall. At that position, using normal equipment and protocol to contact with Command was… risky at best and suicidal at worst. Therefore, they needed a middle point to re-direct their communication array, just in case it was intercepted in the first place.
The whole field was erringly silent, completely unlike a major war raging on. However, for the Lieutenant, he knew it was only a matter of time before the whole city was lit up again. At least there would be no weapon of mass destruction being deployed this time… Probably.
Still, the atmosphere here was what he was afraid the most: the silence before the storm. Everyone knew the rage was incoming, but none knew precisely where and when it would land, which put the soldiers in a mood of frustration. The snakes were trying their best to distract themselves from that negative emotion, with various degree of success.
Corporal Flint, the biggest man in the platoon, was humming a pop song, one with a so predictive and addictive tune that it was considered as "trash" the moment it came out. In the window above him, Private Greengrass, the only female of the unit, was twirling her lipstick between her fingers. The obvious questions of where that stick came from and why she carried it along to the battle were not asked by none.
And the leader, Lieutenant Malfoy himself, was smoking. Sure, smoking killed, but it was no immediately, and it helped the white-hair man to ease down his anxiety and stress. It was much more appreciated at the moment, compare to a future healthy lung.
Some of his direct subordinates, however, had other definitions on relaxing right before a major problem.
"El-Tee, there is one thing I had yet to understand."
It was Private Goyle, arguable not the smartest man in the platoon, but he was one of the best guardian in protecting the snipers' backs. In addition, he was the first one who opened up to Malfoy when he first received Slytherin Platoon. Therefore, he was kept in the command squad of the unit, despite the severe lack of skill in marksmanship.
With one eye peeking through the hole, Draco did not even turn back, but he still gave his subordinate a response:
"Shoot."
"Why were you named Draco Malfoy anyway? I mean… no one would name their son like that, no one sane, that is."
That attracted the attention of everyone. To be fair, it was a question that everyone worth their salt would love to ask. After all, no one, even Private Greengrass with her father as an ISIO operative, could find out the answer. Every single member of the command squad was hinging on every single word that would be coming out of his mouth.
However, the man in the question had other ideas, mainly because he knew the truth, and he was not drunk enough to speak it. Considering that the most "drunk" he had been was due to both Greengrass sisters tried to drag him into the bedroom and mistakenly got the Scarhead instead (long story)… Yeah, his men would have to try better to fish it out of him:
"Goyle, you had yet to top in the platoon's bucket. Ten credit, just ten. And you had been delaying it for a year now."
"But sir, I'm broke."
"Broke and you still have cred to buy that nurse some flowers?"
"I run out of money for betting business, sir."
"Goyle?"
"Sir?"
"Fuck you."
A few chuckles were heard, but that was the end of the story. The command squad knew better than to push their commander into revealing his secret. Besides, keeping the ordeal a mystery made the whole situation a bit funnier, and in the threatening situation like this, a bit of humour never hurted.
The light-heart moment ended quickly enough. The scouts and overwatchs instantly sent in a new report, the Turian was on the move. Heading to their position was quite a large formation, 100-plus, with three vehicles, suspecting of one tank and two IFVs. Draco grimaced while listening to the news. His Platoon had little problem dealing with the infantry, but the armoured made the whole situation much harder. Being geared toward stealth and infiltration, Slytherin Platoon only carried a miniscule amount of anti-tank weaponry, and those were not enough to dislodge this reconnaissance in force of the Turian.
However, he still had a few ways to negate the firepower advantage of the aliens. After all, they were stupid enough to bring tanks to an urban fight. Sure, they had just one tank and their IFV-lookalike would be able to discourage any attack from an elevated angle, but it did not meant that he could not try to do anything.
"Fang-1, this is Fang-Actual, ready to detonate the road, on my mark."
The idea was pretty simple: to burrow a bomb under the road so when a tank was passing over, it could be detonated. The width of the road only allowed a single Turian vehicle to pass through – albeit with moderate infantry flanking. With a dead tank blocking the head of the advance, the force behind it would be like fishes in a barrel, easy target pickings for his men.
Still, he was not arrogant enough not asking for anymore help. Friendly rival between him and Scarhead aside, the brash man was highly talent in anti-vehicle warfare, in fact, half of the plan devised by Draco was thanks to input from that man. As a measure of anti-vehicle warfare, he received two fireteams from the Lions, securing two ends of the zone. It was those soldiers who actually planned the explosives underground and inside the rubbles, not the Snakes. Sure, they knew how to plant demolition charges, but when it came to anti-tank duties, their proficiency fell behind their counterparts.
And now, when two highly efficient models of explosive were introduced together? The Turians were in for a nasty surprise. The reports were now coming in burst, instead of voices, it was text, brief texts lining together to form a code, known only by the Snakes. Sure, any decent intelligence units could crack the code in less than an hour, but to see the gibberish text and to understand its meaning in less than a second, only a soldier of Slytherin Platoon could do that.
The pair of IFVs had already splitted up, each was supported by a light platoon of infantry, about twenty each. Both columns advanced into two parallel streets while the tanks stayed behind with a moderate escort detachment. It was a smart thing for them to do so.
There were only two roads leading from Turian staging ground toward this area, or at least, two roads that wide enough for an armoured vehicle to travel through freely. It was a bit… strange to think about it, as if the planners originally thought of the situation where the city would be invaded. The number of roads where armoured could pass through freely was abnormally small, and the ones allowed that to happen had integrated hard points and defensive positions. Surely, humanity was not that paranoid… right?
Then, such was way above Draco's pay grade, his major concern at the moment was to sap down the strength of the Turian patrol. Trying to kill them all would be suicidal, they outnumbered his unit by a factor of three, and outgunned him by a factor of four – minimum. Having the help from anti-tank specialists or not, the Turian shields would be able to save their armoured units from crippling shots, buying them a few seconds to retaliate. The same thing could be said about their infantry, each shield was capable of withstanding a full 14.5mm cartridge.
With that in mind, he should just try to sap down the strength of the advance. The explosives put on the road would be able to mission-kill the two IFVs and some of its escort infantry. May be they would be back to full strength by the end of the day, but that would be approximately 10 hours in the future, and in an urban setting like this, ten hours meant a long time. Besides, if he repeat the same style of attack tomorrow, and the day after that, and day after that too, it would be more efficient in the wrong run. A series of small explosions was always better than a single major one.
New reports were streaming in, the two columns were now getting through the streets methodically. While their movements were fairly slow, their gun turrets kept swinging from one side to another, ready to respond to any attack from the buildings on two sides of the street. The infantry kept raising the guns up, aiming at half-closed, half-opened windows and doors. While the reports were short and unimaginative, Draco was still able to feel the urgency lingering under the texts. His men felt threatened by these aliens, either because these Turians werea actually "aliens", or because they were showing high level of cohesion and professionalism. It did not matter much, they were invading human's ground, and his job was to stop them – no matter the cost.
A new message was sent, the two IFVs had reached the mark on the road, and Draco sent the order. On two roads, two independent charges went up in two simultaneous roars, throwing the two armoured vehicles slight off the ground while pushing their screening infantry away. With each charge was rated at 20kg TNT equivalent, it was no surprise to see both of them being halted instantly. Their shields, no doubt, had taken a great hit. The two vehicles then crouched down with their groans drowned in the fiery screech of flame and the grumbling of debris in the air.
Dirt and rock were thrown up, blocking the vision of ground-side Turians. Their ears were also temporary deaf and their sense of balance was severely impaired. Before they had a chance to recover and retaliate, however, the humans had already opened fire. The anti-tank specialists of Gryffindor Platoon stood up from the top of a (former) four-storey building before let loose their rockets. On each road, a soldier opened fire with his disposable launcher, leading to two rockets screeching through the air and then slamming down on the immobilized Turian IFVs. The wooshing sound of the two rockets flared up in the air, piercing the dying rumble from the two hidden bombs. Both of those vehicles were turned into molten slags in a blink of an eye, after another pair of explosions.
The two soldiers did not even stay and watch their handy work. They simply used the most basic type of anti-tank rocket (one called RPG-18, whatever it meant) with visual sight at the distance of roughly 100m before running away. "Shoot and scoot" was how they called it, which fit right into the plan of Draco, the one calling for avoidance of direct hard combat.
The tank in the back would be a problem though, but his unit would be long gone by the time it reached the combat site. It had been staying there for fifteen minutes so far, so it would take at least five minutes to arrive here, and even then, it would be late to protect the infantry. His unit would be long gone by then, but before that… He needed to leave souvenirs behind.
A new set of orders was given, this time, the rifles barked up. Invisible paths of bullets accompanied the loud crack of the chemical – kinetic cartridges in the Terran arsenal. Draco had already ordered his men to remove their suppressors, there was no need to be "invisible" in this case. The muzzle breaks on their guns would be sufficient in covering their positions, the lack of visible bullet paths would confuse the Turians, and the order was clear: they were not to linger around. They had to empty their magazine within a minute, then retreated.
It sounded like cowardice, but Draco preferred to sapping their strength slowly over a period of time before launching a critical strike. They were still in top conditions here, well-fed, well-rest and well-armed. Fighting head-on at the moment was suicidal. Sure, he had the skills to win this skirmish, but he preferred to win this war and stay alive.
Even then, the sudden and brief attack was still able to score some damage. Thanks to the recon yesterday, the human now knew where to aim their guns, namely, at "flashy targets", who seemed to be specialists, NCOs, and more importantly, officers. His men did not bother to note down any new suits' variants or appearances, however, they just shot at any Turians not wearing grey armors. So far, more than ten targets had been reported with their shields depleted, and two of them were dead. In the same time, not even a single retaliate strike was given back.
The unit could press for more, but none of them was greedy. They withdrawn in neat order, with one section kept their sustain firing rate to cover for the other to retreat, then, each man in the last squad pull back while other squadmates kept firing. The whole attack took place within a minute, there was no casualty on the Terran's side, yet, they were able to inflict serious damage on the Turian, two IFVs mission-kill, suspected of kill-kill (or "they ain't fighting anymore"), fifteen-plus Turian infantry had their shields depleted, and at least two neutralized.
There was even a more impressive part, the tank was still staying at the back of the convoy. The attack was so fast, brief and sudden that it was not able to respond in time. And by the time it lurched forward, the whole Slytherin had been able to withdraw safely. The blue streaks of the ultra-hyper-sonic (was that even a grammatically correct word?) rounds just peppered harmlessly on the burnt buildings, dealing zero damage.
Draco was now on an escape route with his command squad. Using the "ventilation holes" on the wall, the one either deliberately made with liberal application of shotgun and sledgehammer, they were able to quickly move between different rooms and buildings. With the apartment block being built into a box, the internal movements of theirs could be safely concealed from the prying eyes of the Turians. In addition, the apartment also led down to the tunnel system, further covering their tracks. And last but not least, there was absolutely no air surveillance deployed by the Turians, not even a gunship or an UAV. They had to pay for that mistake dearly.
The ground trembled lightly, but it barely attracted any attention from the squad as they passed through the darkened hallway. The sound behind the prefabricated concrete wall was hardly important to them, especially when it was transmitted through a few walls already, or while they were going underground.
They moved to pre-set destinations, new sites of their ambushes and skirmishes. The group of Gryffindor soldiers would bid them farewell at the moment, returning back to their unit before finding any more armoured depots of the Turians before turning them into slags. Draco paused for a blink of an eye mid-stride before continuing. Surely, the Lions would be sensible and responsible enough to not use napalm within the urban environment.
Yeah, not his trouble then. As long as the Turians were dead, he would be even fine with the fucking Scarhead burning them down in flame while just wearing a boxer… Actually, that would be a terrible sight for nightmare. May be having his rival trapping the dino-birds in a series of explosion would be enough.
The trip underground was safe, quiet, even if nothing happened. While it sounded like a terrible and ironic fate for a war, every professional soldiers (read: everyone in the area) knew that it was actually the truth – for most of the time. A battle consisted of 80% boredom, 15% of "hurry up and wait", and only 5% of extreme fright. In addition, it was only very rare that a soldier could actually get a good visual on his target. More often than not, he or she was just shooting in the general direction of his team. The previous combat was the exception, rather than the norm, with a clear and well-arranged ambush site. But even then, without the assistance of the scopes (and the flashy armours of the aliens), his men would still have trouble seeing the Turians down there.
And besides, the range was around 200m, which was roughly ten times more than what an average FPS gamer was used to. It was one of the reason why the military never, ever, recruited gamers into their force.
Following the tunnel and taking a few turns, the command squad did not take too much time to reach their new sites, another apartment block. Though this one was more on the luxurious scale and it had a wider basement. Unlike the previous one, the apartment's core area had a conspicuously thick wall, it was actually a secret set of stairs, leading down to the tunnel and basement below. This feature of design was actually a part of compulsory part of off-Earth exploration, thanks human's paranoia for that.
Fucking Prothean and their mysterious data cache on Mars.
Sure, the industrialists and the bankers were complaining about the added costs (read: less money in the profit column), but in a strange twist of fate, the politicians were able to put down their feet and force those men to comply. After this war, no one would be able to shit-talk about this sense of paranoi anymore.
Draco glanced upwards, quickly noticing a few light rays were going in, lighting up part of the sealed component. Clearly, this building was busted, but its secret tunnel and hideout were still safe, probably. The light rays were coming in mostly from the third floor, so the second floor should be a nice place to stage up for the next attack.
However, that was when things started going wrong.
First, the door was stuck due to unknown reasons, and it took the combined strength of both Draco and Goyle to bust out the door. The first thing they heard was not the cracking sound of the door opening, but rather a yelp.
An inhuman yelp.
Draco quickly noticed he was not touching the ground, but rather something else. In front of him was not one, but three aliens. Three fucking Turians! Just like the briefing, their appearances were well-known to the young Lieutenant. Mandibles seemed to be made from bone-like materials, forming a crown over their heads. These ones must be males, because they were much longer than the overall shape of the heads. All of them were wearing grey armours, and only one of them had a silver bar running diagonal over the upper part of the suit.
They seemed to be surprised, none of them had even reached for their guns yet. Draco knew that he was spotting the same face expressions as them, the only reason they did not know that was because he was wearing an opaque helmet.
And because he was able to recover faster than them. He raised his bullpup rifle up and flipped off the safety switch purely by reflex, he stepped onward while peppering at the nearest Turian. He knew that the aliens had their own personal shielding, so his initial bullets would be ineffective. Yet, in the heat of the moment, he discarded that thinking and just focus on fighting. More explosions followed from behind him, alerting him that his squadmates had joined in the fight.
The information was pushed down in his brain, however, because instead of flashing brightly, the first Turian fell down with his body punctured multiple times, shooting out the blue alien blood. Strange, no shield… But Draco did not pay much attention to the question why, he just knew that the infantry-scale shields were temporarily off for these aliens, which made his job much easier.
All three Turian fell quickly enough and the knocked down Turian was shot in the back of the head by Greengrass, before they had any chance to fire back, though Draco was damned sure that their friends were now aware of his presence, which was sucked. Still, taking down four enemy combatants with zero casualty was quite a success already, especially after he had taken down two IFVs and injured a dozen or so of their soldiers.
Of course, lingering around and gloating would be hazardous to their health (and lives), which was pretty much enough to turn the "gain" into "loss". He should get the fuck out of there, as soon as possible.
"Bloody hell!"
Greengrass, the only female member of his squad (and his platoon) uttered a curse in the most British way possible, from the choices of the curse to the accent she used (whatever British meant). Draco would pick more… colorful languages to express his feeling, but then, she would scold him for using "foul language", and for a girl who was shorter than him by a full head, she really knew how to cow others.
"Ain't that some foul language Greengrass?"
"Not as foul as your wet dream mumbling Goyle."
The squad bantered in whisper while securing the room, shutting down all possible approaching avenues while putting overwatch on the windows. While no enemy had been spotted, it never hurt to be prepared.
Draco crouched down, hid behind stumbled chairs and tables in order to observe the guns of the Turians. They were interesting enough, quite user-friendly, despite being designed for "hands" with three claws rather than ones with five fingers. Thanks to the fact that the Turians had one claw on the opposite side with the other (just like humans' thumbs), he could hold the gun comfortably in his hand. The handle was also at a comfortable length, a bit longer than his DMR's, but it was still manageable.
However, the most interesting part was that there was no visible slot to insert the ammunition. At least, he knew the answer already. Instead of using catridges like humans, the Turians (and by extenstion, their friends and allies in the so-called Citadel Council) used grain-sized metal pellets as ammunition. The sand was extracted from a metal block, housed right above where Draco would put his other hand to balance the gun. A few simple clicks would be able to pry out the spent block housing and insert a new one, at least, that was the theory. He had yet to practice it and he did not enjoy blowing anything up by doing something wrong.
In addition, there was also another safety feature, an on-board computer, used to regulate the gun's operation, ranging from inserting new grains in the barrel to the cooling process. It was quite a pity that the computer was still "on", and Draco knew nothing about Turian language to turn it off… but then it was not exactly necessary. For the moment, he only needed the gun to be able to fire. But, shooting the gun within an enclosed room was a terrible idea… He should wait until the fight was at some open places then.
The second piece should be the shield generators… though where they were precisely on the dead Turian bodies would be another story. Finding them would only be a matter of time then, but, time was a luxury item that they did not have. His overwatch quickly noticed figures approaching from the outside, and there were voices downstairs. A second spent under consideration yielded the estimations of approximately two squads approaching, doubling their number.
While it had yet to reach the critical threshold of three to one level, it was simply stupid and suicidal to stay and fight. There was nothing to gain for fighting here. Sure, he could try to retrieve the Turian infantry-graded shield, but then, what good would come out of it? It would take too much time, critical time, and it was always better to steal some while under the cover of stealth, not when it had been blown away like this. Besides, he had been able to retrieve four rifle-like guns and two pistol-like sidearems. They would still be enough to show new insights on the Turian war machines. Hopefully, some guys in the staff would be able to guess something on the aliens by analyzing these guns.
But… before that…
"Goyle, Crabbe, plant explosives on the door and tunnel entrance. Bulstrode, Parkingson, cover them, kill any Turian going up. Greengrass, Zabini, Carrow, snipe the incoming birds from the outside. Stop them from getting close."
That was the plan. It was simple, easy, and it could be done by even a conscript hooked up on booze and sex.
The problem was that… this was a damned war. It went down wrong soon enough.
The Turians had been able to secure at least two machine guns emplacement outside, which quickly pinned down his snipers. The birds had already been able to zone down the human's position and kept peppering the room with their weapons. The machine guns pumped in a hailstorm of blue streaks of light from the outside, forcing the defenders' heads down. Meanwhile, their comrades downstairs were using the moment to storm upwards, at least, the squad was able to pin them down with grenades for the time being. However, their grenades had already ran out – they were forced to mass deploy them to compensate for the protection available to the aliens.
It was barely a minute since the Turian began the counter-attack, and the situation had been pretty hairy. The sound of explosion quickly filled up the room, fragments flew in all directions in the room, dropping harmlessly on the suits of the soldiers. At least the humans were equipped with a fully sealed helmet. They were quite cumbersome, but at least they protected the human against unknown biological threats from the aliens, and flying debris like this. Draco knew that there had been at least five clouds of wooden fragments being thrown in his face – and that were only the ones he awared off.
Without this helmet, he would have been blind already. Not to mention that the helmet also came with an integrated set of radio and simple HUD, allowing him to co-ordinate the defense of the squad with highest efficiency possible.
Or he could also use it to time the moment his men were done with setting charges, clearing all kind of traces of them being here. The moment the green light was lit, he yelled into the mic, ordering the whole squad to retreat back into the tunnel. Each and every soldier pulled back in neat order, only when under cover fire from the others. In quick order, they were able to get back to the hidden door with zero deaths.
However, they were injured. Greengrass had her bicep hit a few times, Zabini and Carrow were limping backward while both Goyle and Crabbe had cracks on their helmets. Other members were also showing various degrees on injuries, at least, as far as Draco could tell, none was hurt critically. Those wounds were not enough to put them out of the fight – just a patch up here and there and they would be back for the fight.
More importantly, he had been able to secured critical intelligence and technical data. Sure, the Federation was aware of the Mass Effect, and they had extra knowledge after First Contact with the Quarians. But real, hand-on items never hurt, especially when the Quarians refused to share any real working weapons to the Federation.
These four guns would be a tremendous boon for the force. While they were astronomically low in number, they would (probably) be enough to reveal some tactics used by the Turians, and through that, how to defeat these aliens.
The period from the moment to that time was another question, of course.
******************************
Location:
Command bunker – approximately 100m underground
Wild primitive jungle
North – East quarter-sphere
Planet Shanxi
Zhusanjiao system (contested)
Hegemony of Oriental
Terran Federation
Time:
12:00 (Terran Standard time) – 13:00 (Local time)
23 February 2201
The captured guns had been delivered safely to the Command. The Slythering Platoon, H Company of 75th Batallion, was the one responsible for securing these weapons. The command staff was in hysteria when they received the toys. (Un)Surprisingly, half of the technical staff volunteered to test the gun – read: they brought them to the firing range to let loose. At least they were able to set up a proper testing apparatus before anything else… Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with those officers? They were all field officers, yet they were like kids in a candy store the moment they laid eyes on those guns.
To be fair, General Williams himself was almost lowering himself to that level, just almost. He was too old to act like a young kid, and his hip lacked too much lubrication to dash towards the firing range. Therefore, he was just sitting there, at the briefing table, with a full crate of coffee and screens blinking around his seat.
It looked like the lair of some evil genius, somehow.
And at the moment, he was sitting at one end of a long table, hands crossing into each other to cover the lower half of his face. His staff officers were no less threatening with their hard, emotionless faces and a deadly intent in the air. Add in the gloomy atmosphere and the low light condition, the image could spook anyone being unprepared for the image. For example, the young Lieutenant who was directly in charge of testing the gun. At least, he was able to keep his pants dry – for the moment.
Of course, General Williams had already instructed his men to not do so. Pranking others was fine and dandy, but pranking in the middle of a full blown war right on the site was definitely a good idea. Bat-shit insane or not, there must be a level of professionalism in the high echelon of leadership here.
Back to the young man, he was now delivering the technical report. While it was just basic Physics, only the Asian could understand it with a single hearing time. For others like him, he could still do so, but only after fifteen minutes of concentration and all technical jargons had been removed.
"… the weight of each metal grain was about 4mg, or four millionths of a kilogram. The Mass Effect core, powered by the Element Alpha, then decreases the mass of the said grain down even further, to microgram scales, which mean a few millionths of a single gram, a decrease factors of roughly a thousand times. The ultra-light metal grain…"
There were too many numbers after that, so General Williams decided to stop listening to it. He could understand the science behind them, but he failed to connect the said numbers into real life. In other words, he did not understand the applications of those numbers. Hopefully, the staff could translate it into more understandable knowledge, without the fuzzy and duzzy numbers… But seriously, how could those Asians understand them flawlessly?
A few (or a lot more than a few) moments later, the Lieutenant finished his report and looked at him expectantly. Sighing out, the General spoke up:
"So, Lt, what is your conclusion? What is the threat level of these guns?"
"Well, sir tactically speaking, It is not that different from ours, something better and something worse."
"And strategy speaking?"
"They trumped us sir. There is no need for them to be as concerned about the ammunition supply as we do."
"OK… begin from the beginning. On a human's body, what is the threat of these guns. And keep things simple please, in English."
It did not go well though. The young man quickly sipped into the technical speaks, quickly giving him a migraine. He could not understand the jargons being used there, which had gone straight from intermediate level to some very advanced stuff. The General did not even know how to spell half the words being used there, which led to him being lost within a few minutes.
Seeing no other ways, he had to signal the young man to stop before gesturing to Lieutenant Colonel Zhou Xiping, one of his staff officers. The man was also a citizen of the Hegemony of Oriental, which meant that he would be very dedicated to the fight here. More reasons for him to gist the technical data (or gibberish) into something understandable.
Luckily, the man knew the dilemma of the General, so he would try his best to translate the numbers into words, into something that everyone could understand. It was quite easy, yet insanely hard and critical in the same time. Not many people had the knowledge and the social skills to actually pull that off though.
The Oriental field officer watched the reports, focusing intently on the Conclusion segment while checking on his own personal datapad. After five minutes of mumbling, he drew his own conclusion.
Simply put, each shot consisted of a spherical grain with a diameter of one millimeter (1mm), taken from the iron-alloy metal block, which gave the bullet a mass of roughly four micrograms (4μg). The Mass Effect, with its bullshit space magic, then made the grain even lighter and propelled it to the staggering muzzle velocity of thirty thousand meter per second (30000m/s). In other word, they were very small bullets travelling very fast. This was in contrast to the Terran philosophy, emphasizing on moderately-sized bullets travelling at a hypersonic speed only (10g travelling at 880m/s). Thanks to kinetic energy being proportional to the square of velocity, the energy of a Mass Effect-based bullet was double than that of the Terran. In translation, it meant the pain was double when shot by a Turian gun than by a Terran shooter. Not exactly a nice scenario then.
However, other than the insane speed, Turian guns were sorely lacking in other performance department. First off, their bullets were purely kinetic, there were no additional effects to increase the damage dealt. To say that they were purely armor penetration would not be a great stretch. There was also no yawing effect, thus damage to flesh was minimal. And even then, even the prowess in anti-armour fights was dubious at best. Their insanely high speed meant great air friction and tremendous heat, which led to a very brief moment they spent going through the body and cauterize the wound. The high muzzle velocity and great air friction also led to the grain being lit up in air, painting a clear spot on the position of the shooter. In terms of warfare, it practically reduced stealth to zero. Fourthly, their momentum was abnormally low, even much lower than a handgun shot in the early twenty-first century. A factor of ten to be precise. The stopping power of the Turian rifle was pretty much zero, giving no advantage in stopping a surging charge.
Meanwhile, the Terran arsenal (read: their history of warfare) provided a much more adaptable ammunition systems, ranging from armour penetration to hollow points to defeat armoured as well as unarmoured targets. Their guns were also configured in a bullpup design, meaning the trigger was in front of the magazine, thus saving weight and overall length. This was quite crucial in prolonged or close-quarter combat. Furthermore, it seemed that the Turian guns were incapable of modding, as in attaching any other tools on it. While the idea was not precisely counter-productive (the most famous example would be the AK/AKM series), having one or two more tools never hurt in the long run. However, the lack of bayonet attachment drew serious questions on the sanity of the designers. At least, it meant the humans would have another advantage for fighting close.
But, before that, the humans would have to close in first, which was quite a challenge by itself. The accuracy of the gun, both at semi- and fully-automatic mode, was frightening. It just had a very small deviation in standard range – and the very shift was more likely due to environmental factors than due to design or operator's error. In fact, its precision and accuracy was comparable to a DMR in the arsenal of Terran Federation. To think that these were assault guns… General Williams had to hope that his men could caught the Turians in an ambush, ultilise the urban setting, and not engage the aliens on an open field without cover or support.
In addition, the Turian guns also came with a virtually limitless ammo supply. A metal block alone could sustain a soldier in intense combat for weeks, if not months. The trade off for this was that the soldiers failed to have sustained fire on the field. The operation resulted in a tremendous amount of heat, even much more than what generated by chemical explosions in Terran gun. While the humans could simply use the air to cool down their guns, the Turians would have to forcefully implement the matter. They would have to manually activate the cooling feature or else the gun would automatically deploy it, effectively shut it down. In general, a full minute and twenty second of consecutive shooting would force the gun to shut down for twenty seconds, the disruption was a bit too frequent. On the other hand, the firing rate was quite high and the whole gun was very light… It was an acceptable trade off though.
"So, in short, sir, this gun was basically a wet dream of a technician after having a heavy drinking with a spec-op soldier."
To be fair, he had a point. There were too many "cool" features there. Sure, the ammunition might be not the best on the market, but it was still able to do the job while looking absolutely cool. That was probably enough to sell on the idea for the soldiers. Besides, being a General and well aware of its shortcomings, using the gun had it certain allure.
And he wondered what would the Turian think about the human's guns though. Based on the given information from the Quarians… May be it would be something on the line of a Krogan-designed, Turian-produced, Salarian-modded, Volus-financed, Elcor-tested, Drell-and-Hanar-sponsored and Asari-used gun. After all, a human's gun was brutal in combat prowess, utilitarian in design, sophisticated and lean in modifications, affordable (cheap) in production yet still durable. With its design, it would not be far-fetched if some assassins actually enjoyed using it and gave recommendations. Therefore, a young and idealistic Asari Maiden would love to pick up such a gun and explore the galaxy.
Or at least, that was what the General would love to happen.