Planet Oma Ker, Turian Hierarchy.
This Turian colony is actively unlucky. First, the humans fell on them, delivering a series of nuclear strikes and burning out the colony's power system, leaving a mass of dead and irradiated. Which led, among other things, to a scandal over how easily a human ship bypassed the defenses and conducted a series of sabotages. It's been a long time since the Turian Hierarchy was dunked into the swamp like that.
Then, when the victims were buried, the crisis stabilized, and the defenses of this three-hundred-million-strong colony were strengthened, a new threat fell upon it. A much more terrible threat.
It all began, as last time, with the appearance of a single ship from the Mass Relay with one Turian on board. The same stories about the Truth and demands to submit. About giant ships and armies. About power. Turian Hierarchy security listened to everything, sent it to the analysts and the Council. No one else ignored the situation; moreover, they compared it with what the previous one had said. It matched.
The Turian Hierarchy government did not repeat previous mistakes and immediately declared a combat alert. And immediately sent a request for help to everyone: Asari, Salarians, anyone ready to come. Even mercenaries and PMCs. Significant forces were needed in the shortest possible time.
Turian Hierarchy sensor stations searched in vain for any traces, mass distortions. Emptiness and silence, only the calls of another Turian to accept the new Truth. And yet the defense mobilizes; the anti-aircraft system enters operational mode. Ships realign, civilians are evacuated en masse. The planet is urgently preparing for defense; the military is digging in. After all, early warning has its perks.
During these days, millions of Turians left the planet, mostly those too young to serve in the army. Those for whom it is too early to die.
This is not two hundred thousand people in mines with nowhere to run. Nearly three hundred million permanent residents of the colony, many spaceports, and an extensive system of anti-aircraft towers. In orbit are stations that previously performed border service functions, but are now returning to their original function: a forward supply base for the small fleet.
One of the most difficult problems for fighters is rotation. You can launch interceptors in advance, but when they start landing and taking off, there will be difficulties. For this, stations and supply ships, tankers, exist.
On the surface, there is an extensive air defense system at every major city. Both small guns and massive rail towers of ship caliber, capable of attacking a fleet in orbit. An enemy landing force is in for an unpleasant surprise. Plus, some buildings will become outposts and bunkers, and beneath them is hidden a network of tunnels for protection against shelling and collapses. When it begins, every city will become, in a sense, a fortress with multi-level protection.
The fleet is also not bad. A detachment of six dreadnoughts, plus two Asari ones. Four aircraft carriers for five hundred fighters each. Fifty cruisers, two hundred destroyers, and a mass of small craft of all sorts, kinds, and races. Even the Volus sent a number of ships as a client race of the Turian Hierarchy. Everything that could be gathered in the shortest possible time. No one knew exactly what would happen, but the troops were preparing for the worst.
Quite significant forces, capable of if not destroying, then containing any opponent from the known galaxy. The Batarians would have bled out trying to break through these forces. Except maybe the Geth fleet...
But its (the Geth fleet's) exact characteristics are known to no one. Maybe they'll stop them, maybe not. But even for them, it will be hard. The colony will stand; everyone is sure of that.
What they are not sure of is "where the attack will come from" and "what forces the enemy possesses." Data from those evacuating during the first attack is very contradictory. Both in terms of directions and in terms of attacking forces. Just in case, even unconfirmed rumors of five-kilometer super-dreadnoughts were taken into account, though there was no confirmation.
In the end, by decision of the command, the ships and orbit control stations were concentrated primarily over the most populated part of the planet. And they began to wait.
They waited for four days. Last time, the fleet appeared around this time. But nothing, emptiness. On the sixth, the tension began to subside, though the fleet still jumped at every signal, and the army continued digging in. There are no fools to stop if you are given time to prepare.
Asari forces approached; biotics were sent to the surface, distributed among the troops, and two more dreadnoughts with escort were added to the defensive formation. Then another dozen cruisers arrived from the human blockade forces.
On the eleventh day, several scouts disappeared over the northern tip of the planet. There were no signals for help or attack. They just... vanished. Naturally, everyone understood. The enemy is there. But how many are they and what are they doing? Scanning yielded only interference; there is no communication on the surface. As if there is nothing there. Or the signal is being actively jammed.
"Ships don't just disappear, even small ones. We need reconnaissance."
Fortunately, for such a case, there are stealth frigates. And across the surface, they sent shuttles; perhaps something could be found that way. Especially since there is an approximate area of signal loss. And again, shuttles entered the zone and their signal vanished. They didn't come back. Waiting didn't help; the ships never appeared, the signals were never sent.
"It seems the enemy is using jamming equipment. And shooting down our transport," noted the Asari Matriarch commanding the ship group.
"The question isn't that," noted a Turian officer, a centurion, "not just what, but why. During the last attack, it was just a frontal assault. But now they've cordoned off a certain zone. Why? Why are they waiting?"
An interesting question. At such distances, enemy activity is not visually tracked. Only by instruments. And on them, silence. But ships don't just disappear, which means there must be enemies there.
"We need to send a detachment for reconnaissance in force. Likely, the enemy is landing ground forces. We need to understand what we are dealing with," noted another Turian Centurion, one of the commanders of the ground forces.
The Prelate objected:
"We've already lost two shuttles. Sending more ships means losing them too."
The first agreed.
"Therefore, we need to send a detachment covertly. A small group of professionals who can confirm the presence of the enemy and withdraw. Minimum tracks, maximum information."
The fleet commander, Legate Takrus, clarified:
"And you have such a detachment? Specialists don't come from nowhere."
The Centurions looked at each other.
"We'll gather one if we don't. Professionals are gathering from all sides. We have two Spectres here; let them handle it. Right now, their skills will be critically necessary."
No sooner said than done. A detachment of four Turians and three Asari, as well as a Salarian, was dropped by a stealth frigate practically at the edge of the anomaly. Among the agents were two Spectres at once: the Asari Tela Vasir and the Turian Talos Volantis. Both on the battlefield by order of the Council. What even the Citadel Council didn't know was that Tela Vasir has been working for the Shadow Broker for over a decade.
A Spectre paired with the Broker is a hellish combination. The Broker provides information for services, and the Spectre possesses the power and authority to apply it. And this time, she received an atypical task for herself—reconnaissance in the field. Both the Council and her second employer want to get information. Her task is to gather data and survive to deliver it to command.
***
Tela Vasir easily agreed to go on reconnaissance. The Broker doesn't often give work directly, but the tasks given are interesting, and the pay is good. After all, she is a Spectre, and that's a high level. It's nice when the leadership values you.
And now, having received the task, she moved to Oma Ker. Especially since the Council was all for it and confirmed it with their own order. The task is simple: work as a journalist-scout in the field, gathering information. Record every second of contact with the enemy on camera. Survive and pull out the data. And then some can be sold to the Broker, and the simpler stuff to the Council. Even if she has to sacrifice the others, including her fellow Spectre. Information is more important, and the Broker pays too well.
The shuttle wailed strainedly, moving just above the planet's surface, over a solid layer of jungle, scattering birds. Another couple of meters down and it would start clipping the treetops with its hull. But the Salarian pilot was completely confident of success. Risk is the norm for this race, but the task must be completed.
"Below radar level," as the pilot himself said.
And the detachment is still alive and not being fired upon. Which means everything is normal.
It wasn't possible to go lower; the monorail below curves too fast for the ship, but as long as they haven't been shot down, they likely haven't been detected. No traces of the enemy have been noticed either. Nor traces of battle. But that says nothing; the region is on the outskirts, sparsely populated.
"We are approaching the jamming zone. Prepare for landing."
The sensors have already begun to die; it seems this isn't just a jammer, but a device flooding the sensors with interference and false targets. According to the radars, there are a dozen targets of all degrees of hostility and sizes around us. But zero reaction. In any case, flying further is simply dangerous.
"Find a spot and land us; we'll move across the surface from here."
"Understood," the Salarian replied calmly. He had intended to do so himself.
The enemy isn't visible, but it's better not to catch their eye. Which means they'll have to move on foot. Likely, previous scouts didn't do this and were destroyed. And couldn't report because of the jammers.
"We need to destroy the jamming device. Otherwise, we won't be able to report to the fleet. Or pass unnoticed."
One of the Turians noted:
"We need to find it first. We have no idea where the device is or what it even looks like."
Finding a landing spot from the air was not difficult, fortunately the enemy didn't find them. The group landed, leaving (and camouflaging) the ship, and moved through the forest on foot. All in camouflage, silently, not using radios. Just in case they were listening. In such conditions, the less signal the group creates, the harder they are to track. Thus they moved for several more hours along the monorail until they came to a settlement.
A square block of buildings, with walls along the perimeter and buildings positioned with entrances facing inward, forming a small square residential fort. At the corners were turrets, charred and destroyed by the look of them. And here are the traces of battle. Record it.
Next to the settlement was a small monorail station fort. A typical Turian colonial structure. It makes sense, as it allows one to fight off either pirates or predators, of which there are plenty on the planet. And there is someone inside. The detachment lay low at a safe distance, looking around.
A Turian brought binoculars to his eyes.
"Lizards with glowing shields, hunchbacked dwarfs. About a dozen."
Tela Vasir repeated the Turian's movement. Indeed, humanoid lizards in armor, long snouts full of thin sharp teeth, and strange, horseshoe-like weapons. A few shots for the Broker. The recording is running anyway, but just in case. Let there be more images.
At least one dwarf humanoid is also walking around, with something like a box or a sack, shaped like a pyramid, on its back. It moves on all fours, and in its paw is something similar to a familiar weapon, glowing pink. Can't make it out.
"There's our enemy. So, they are landing troops under the cover of jammers, just as we thought. What's next, withdraw or try to move further?"
An interesting question, as long as we haven't been detected. If we start reconnaissance in force, trying to find more evidence, we might not make it back. But if we go, we might get more information and trophies. Which is also interesting.
"Send the pilot to the rear; let him get to the ship and report to the fleet what we've seen here. And we'll go forward. Sniper, to position."
Reasonable, but risky. Crawling under enemy shells is not something anyone wants. Especially since
the enemy we were looking for. But rushing back isn't an option either. I'm also curious about the fate of the turians—are they dead or captured?"
"Fine, move out. Act fast."
The squad moved, carefully closing the distance and taking up positions. A sniper, biotics, Tela Vasir herself and a turian, engineers, and shock troopers. On the plus side, the settlement was nestled among dense vegetation, but the last hundred meters had been cleared on all sides. Everything was by the book, but how inconvenient that was now. It meant they would have to engage in open terrain or rely on the sniper's work.
In general, the idea of sending a squad that hadn't particularly worked together on a reconnaissance mission was frankly stupid. On the other hand, everyone here was a professional with their own reputation. It might just work. The moment of truth.
The sniper attacked, but not from the group's side—from the other, so that the enemies would be shielded by buildings and wouldn't see the squad immediately. It wasn't a given that it would work, but one could hope. Maybe they were idiots.
The lizards jumped up immediately at the shot and the death of their kin, closing their shields and scanning for the enemy. Another one appeared on the roof, carrying something long-barreled. The hunchbacked midgets simply hid behind the parapet, occasionally peeking out. The parapet was a bit high for them; they had to pull themselves up to see.
"Sniper on the roof."
The problem was that the lizard sniper, after popping out, immediately retreated and was also only peeking. Trying to shoot him from a distance of a hundred paces was possible, but we would only draw attention.
"Ideally, we take out the sniper and then begin."
He hadn't noticed us yet, but attacking across open ground under sniper fire... Not desirable. But we could try to lure him out into the line of fire of our own sniper's flank.
"Agreed. Sniper first. Now, move out carefully and quietly. We'll be the bait."
"Understood. Moving out."
The process risked dragging on, and the squad moved toward the settlement, crouching low. They couldn't wait; if the enemies got spooked and called for help, there would be trouble.
A hunchbacked midget was the first to notice the squad, pulling himself up to peek over the edge; it was a bit high for him. He pulled out his horseshoe-like weapon and began firing toward the squad, gesturing wildly. The accuracy... non-existent. Out of fifteen shots, only two green flashes hit armor, dealing no damage. The rest either fizzled out or passed high or low, setting the grass on fire.
Worse, the other enemies reacted to this, turning toward the attackers. Not the best move, as the sniper hadn't gone anywhere. Another lizard collapsed behind cover; judging by the way his head jerked, he'd taken a hit to it. Minus two. In response, a white beam from the enemy sniper struck Tela in the chest.
"Take out that damn sniper!" the asari hissed.
The bastard had almost dropped her shield, and only a roll saved her from testing how the white beam would damage full armor.
"Copy that," the turian sniper replied phlegmatically.
The squad began firing back haphazardly. One of the turians dropped to a knee when a white beam from the lizard sniper, who had switched targets, hit his armor, but then the sniper himself was struck down by ours. He fell and didn't get back up—excellent. The lizards and midgets were firing green flashes. Not particularly accurate, but dense. The armor was holding for now; there weren't that many hits, after all.
"What the hell is that?"
Two streams of pink flying streaks headed toward us. They flew slowly, in an arc, but toward the squad.
"Dodging will be easy," one of the commandos remarked mockingly.
But when the asari jerked to the side, the pink needles also changed direction. This caught her off guard. The first few needles shattered against her kinetic shield with flashes, but then they began sticking directly into her armor. The commando screamed, trying to rip the needles out, but when they shattered, lightning ran through them and they exploded in a cloud of pink gas.
The asari's body was thrown back, and then the grenades on her belt detonated, finally tearing the victim apart and showering those nearby with shrapnel.
The turian was luckier; he dodged most of the needles. A few pierced his armor, but the lightning didn't trigger a chain reaction, and he only jerked, leaving dents on the armor. It helped that the barriers were a bit high for the enemies, and those hunchbacked midgets simply couldn't aim properly.
Naturally, the squad continued to return fire. When the tungsten began hitting the lizards' shields, they started to shudder, and those carrying them began to miss; it seemed they didn't deflect the inertia. All of this was being recorded and transmitted to the armor's data bank. The recordings could be sold later, yes. They also needed to haul away trophies as samples and proof. Energy weapons not of Geth manufacture—Tela was going to be rich!
Another pink explosion, and three were dead in total, while Tela's own armor had dropped by half. That left three of us here plus the sniper. These pink needles were incredibly lethal, and they homed in, too. But the enemy defense was already failing. Only two lizards remained, and... four hunchbacks. The squad had almost reached the wall. Another hunchback down, excellent. And another. We had a good sniper.
"Explosives!"
Mine the clamps blocking the airlock and—boom! And don't ask how asari commandos know exactly how to breach turian-made shutters. Experience is diverse like that.
As soon as the shutter began to fall with a hiss, a blue orb dropped into the opening passage. Tela jumped on raw reflexes, but the asari on the other side of the door did not. And now four (including the sniper) were storming the enemy cover, trying to take out the enemies firing pink needles first.
"Another one down," the sniper reported.
Only three enemies left. A lizard and two midgets, one with a needler. There was one point to clarify, so Tela threw it onto the network:
"The needler is mine!"
"Finish them first," the turian Spectre snapped. Oh, what a problem—there were four of us left plus the pilot, trophies enough for everyone. One asari, Tela, three turians, and a salarian pilot.
Well, you suggested it. Pop out, throw, anti-gravity, grenade, hide from the return fan of needles. Except the second Spectre didn't hide and took a needle to the face. It exploded, and the turian vanished around the corner with a hiss, clutching his face, which was dripping blue blood. It looked like he'd lost an eye. No matter, girls like scars. Those who understand men, anyway.
So, pop out and finish off the last survivor. That was it.
"Clear!"
The squad entered. That left four of us. A mortality rate of exactly half—against an unknown enemy and without a practiced team, a good result.
"I think there's no point in going further. We have the recordings, confirmation that the enemy is on the planet."
"That was obvious," Tela snorted, "but the trophies are better. We'll hand them over to command, let them study them."
The turians liked the idea.
"Spread out! Search everything!"
The squad scattered, looking for traces. Everything there was had to be filmed and delivered to command, whichever one they answered to. Tela herself grabbed the Needler, which had taken the most lives today. A fairly large weapon for an automatic, with a familiar shape. There was a grip, a wide body on top with needles sticking up, and a narrower but longer body below. You slide your hand through the middle, press the bar, and the needles burst out the front. Convenient and intuitive. And these pink crystals on the belt—could they be ammunition? And how does it reload? Whatever, we'll figure it out as we go.
They also found five strange containers in the settlement. Why strange? They were round, but thanks to spacers, they took on a square shape to make stacking easier. And they were purple.
"This is stupid! Why make round boxes and then spacers to make them square? Wouldn't it be easier to just make them square from the start?"
By the way, they couldn't open them. We didn't even understand exactly how to open them. So we grabbed weapons and made recordings. Tela got a horseshoe-shaped one-handed pistol that fired green, and a Needler. The others took what they could.
"Um, people. Take cover, now!"
Everyone reacted instantly, asking no questions. About twenty seconds later, a hum echoed. A loud hum. And then several dozen rounded machines with cannons underneath—clearly single-seat ships—streaked over the camp. And they all moved in the direction we had come from.
"Looks like we're too late," the turian Spectre hissed.
Tela nodded.
"Better if we don't show ourselves for now, or they'll wipe us out from the air. And then back. We'll hope the fleet has better luck with reconnaissance. And hope our pilot didn't try to bolt and we still have a ship."
***
In space, things went more successfully. A pair of stealth frigates successfully reached their positions, took photos, and managed to escape the enemy, getting away with only holes in their hulls. And now the fleet of the Turian Hierarchy and their allies was trying to digest what they had found there.
"This can't be! It's a fake!" the asari Matriarch, who had brought the task force, almost snarled.
The turian Legate shook his head. Because he very much! Very much wanted the venerable Matriarch, who had seen her eighth century, to be right. He really did. But...
"But how can it even fly? It's enormous, its size is comparable to the petals of the Citadel. And an escort of super-dreadnoughts," the salarian noted, "they are larger than any known Citadel ships, and there are five of them. And those are just escorts for... THAT!"
The Matriarch snorted.
"If it's actually there. Such ships don't exist! They do NOT exist! It's a lie!" she almost screamed.
"They do exist! You saw the intelligence data. We all see it. And denial won't help us! If THAT moves against us, we'll have to stop it somehow. And something tells me, Matriarch, that closing our eyes and denying reality won't help! We'll just be slaughtered! Understand it already and accept it as fact!"
The commander just waved them off and looked at his deputy, who had quietly approached. He also tried not to get involved in the bickering.
"Has the ground group returned?" At the negative gesture, he asked another: "Communications?"
The man nodded.
"Yes, sir, we have contact. The shuttle reported that the squad reached an enemy outpost at the site of a captured Hierarchy post. They sent a transmission and decided to conduct a reconnaissance-in-force to better understand the enemy. There's been no contact since. They only sent a few photos, and that's it."
Understood. The ground forces reported they were successfully entrenching in new directions. And now we had an attack vector. Which was good. But if what the scouts saw was true, and not some unknown jamming system, how were we going to stop this... It must have defenses and weapons. It's not just a huge transport, is it? The fleet couldn't be that lucky. There must be a ton of weapons. Unknown and dangerous.
The Krogan during the rebellions were numerous, but armed with the same things as the Citadel armies. Same as the Batarians. This was clearly not the case here.
"Inform the surface to be ready for an attack. Our reconnaissance has been discovered; they must react. Time is running out."
The man nodded and left. The turian himself pulled out a pistol and slammed it onto the table with a crash. Firing in an enclosed space could end in ricochets. The argument died down instantly.
"I have your attention, excellent. The ground forces have confirmed the enemy's presence. We might not be sure if the fleet shown to us is real, but the fact is they are here. And they will attack. Both the fleet and the ground forces. Our generals and yours are currently busy digging in and preparing defenses. We should do our part and prepare the fleet. Perhaps you haven't noticed, but for the first time since the Rachni Wars and the Krogan Rebellions, we face the risk of, if not total annihilation, then billions of casualties and burned colonies. I was put here to protect this territory, and I intend to carry out that order. Now, let's get to work."
There, constructive progress immediately. They started forming battle groups based on the enemy's location. And light forces were allocated to pick off dropships and provide support to the forces on the surface. That was more like it. Of course, they positioned themselves some distance from the colonies. Specifically, if the enemy focused on attacking the colony, the ships could shell them from a distance. Otherwise, the enemy would draw forces away from the planet, and the fleets would retreat, stretching the enemy's forces and covering each other.
Yes, this would largely leave the ground forces without protection, but if the fleet was simply burned by an unknown enemy, it would only be worse.
The Council forces were allowed to redeploy, and then a signal came from the surface: numerous transports had attacked cities along the perimeter. The troops engaged the enemy; the air defense system was handling the task successfully, and the enemy landing force was taking significant losses. There was no news from the reconnaissance. And immediately, the discussion started again.
"If the scouts are alive, they likely hid from aerial detection."
To this, the salarian remarked:
"We're expecting the wrong thing. If the enemy attacked on the ground, the fleet will likely be brought into action soon."
And that was true.
"Fleet readiness. It's starting."
And indeed, it started. On the tactical map, right in the middle of the ship groups, the enemy began to appear. The comms officer shouted:
"Enemy! Right in the middle of the formation."
It all began suddenly. One second there was no one, and a second later, right above the ships of the defense fleet, the enemy forces began to appear. And just as the ships began to turn, a wave of projectiles crashed into them. The alarm system wailed, marking damage.
The asari looked in total shock at the giant, visible even at such a distance, exceeding any Citadel ships by almost thirty times. It seemed the Matriarch was struggling to breathe.
And its escort was tearing the nearest group of ships apart in close combat.
"Withdraw, redeploy! Cover the group! Maintain distance from the flagship!"
The turian commander was calm. Externally. Only his clenched fists betrayed how terrified he was. This was going to be a massacre. But we must hold out.
***
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