Menae - II

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Normally in a siege - and this was that - even the most fanatical Covenant forces, if they couldn't overpower them outright, would relent eventually.

Not because they were beaten, of course. No. They only withdrew to tend to their wounded, retrieve their dead if they could, and regroup for the next assault. That only ever happened once, maybe twice if the defenders were lucky or particularly well entrenched. Or motivated, like on Reach. Sometimes, in that sort of instance, rather than resume the assault the Covenant would simply bombard the position - with Wraiths and the like, Scarabs, or even orbitally, if they'd been properly pissed off by something.

But there was a cycle to it all. A logic. A pattern.

In, out. Parry, thrust. Tit, tat.

These… These things, though, they didn't have that pattern. That logic.

They just… Kept coming.

"Brute!" His alien partner snapped out, turning and pointing a long talon at a huling form loping unevenly in the midst of a crowd of Husks. He raised his voice, calling out to the aliens on the wall around them. "Put the Husks down! Clear me a shot!"

He and the aliens around him shouted their affirmatives and stood, peppering the charging line as it crossed the cracked terrain and leapt over the mounded bodies of their fallen kin. Long lances of bright, automatic fire leapt out and tore into the unarmored Husks, ripping limbs and heads off in splashes of brackish blood. As the grey-skinned Husks were cut down, John watched the Turian level a long rifle on the charging Brute, his arm wrapped around the front of the rifle with the grip and his hand nestled in the crook of his elbow.

"One… Two…" The Turian sighed, and a single, louder, crack ripped through the air. Almost at the same moment, the Brute's mangled head snapped back and to the side, hanging limply as it stumbled, and then tumbled end over end, sliding to a stop barely ten feet from the wall.

A handful of Husks had managed to slip closer while the Turians focused on the ones shielding the Brute, and John stood and raised his magnum, snapping off precise pairs of shots into the abominations as they came. The heavy rounds ripped into the frail things, cutting them down as they flailed at the walls, trying to climb them and finding no purchase. While he did that, Garrus and the Turians turned their attention on another wave of Husks coming, this time supported by wild fire from a couple dozen Cannibals.

"What's wrong?" The Turian demanded sharply as they all dove for cover, Turians all along the wall ejecting the same odd little cylinders from their weapons and loading in more.

"What?"

"Your weapon." He grunted, flicking a look over the wall and flicking his mandibles. "Is it damaged?"

"No."

"Then why aren't you-"

"Out of ammo." He answered, standing up a bit and snapping off a shot that caught a Cannibal in the knee, sending it tumbling. He ducked back down quickly, but not before a round cracked off the side of his helmet, deflecting and jerking his head to the side as he threw himself down and swore.

Sharp clawed hands dragged him back into cover, and the alien shot him a look, "Are you out of juice for your kinetic barrier too?"

"My what?" He blinked, thinking quickly. "You mean your shields?"

"Yes, my- Spirits, who are you?"

"John Doe."

"Haha. But rea-" The Turian jerked his head to the side, then hissed and turned to stare up, pressing a finger to his comm-piece. "He's what?! Negative! Negative launch! Corridor is not secured! I repeat - corridor not secured!"

"What's happening?"

"Use this, cover the wall" The Turian snarled, yanking his blocky rifle off his back and shoving it into the ODST's chest. He ignored him after that, snarling, "Spirit of Acquisition, hold your position! Orbital is shot to hell and- No, we don't have anti-air batteries online! They never arrived!"

He stood just enough to poke his head over the wall and the rifle with it, held sideways to expose him less. The first burst was new and fresh, the weapon's recoil unknown, so the shots went wide, peppering the ground a few feet away from one of the Cannibals. The second, though, caught the monster in the throat and face, reducing it all to more of a pulpy mess than it already had been. As it tumbled, another stood, clambering for it, and he put two bursts into its side and kept on, emptying the magazine- Clip- The whatever-it-used into two more of the monsters before he ducked back down.

"How do I-"

"Spirits, please…" The Turian murmured, staring up.

John followed his gaze, watching as the warship that had been supporting them steadily turned, banking away and up at an angle, with a swarm of fighter craft flitting in a loose around it. The ship managed to make it a few kilometers, far enough he thought it would make it. He didn't know who was on it, but its importance was obvious.

And not just to him…

Suddenly, a black warship larger than the Turian ship came hurtling down from on high, legs spread like a grasping hand. A hand whose fingers closed around the ship as it slammed home, fire pouring out of its decks from the impact alone. As the Spirit of Acquisition listed to the side and fell, John could see long arcs of scarlet lancing through the ship, carving into its engines and decks with unerring precision while the fighters swarmed, trying their damndest to fight off a fighter swarm ten times their number.

"No…" The alien murmured, standing and watching as the ship fell, vanishing beyond the distant edge of the plateau. Weakly, he reached out for it. "The Primarch… Without him… Palaven…"

"Get your head down!" He hissed, watching rounds spark off the alien's shields. Snarling, he threw his borrowed rifle down and shot up, grabbing onto the lip of his armor, in front of his throat, and slipping a leg behind his, yanking his leg back as he turned and pulled, hurling him down onto the catwalk. "Damn you for- Ack!"

He hissed and coughed and snarled all at once as fire seared through his side, a lance of red carving out past him with a spray of crimson. He snarled and threw himself down, pressing a hand to his bloodied side and sucking in breath.

"Human you're-" The Turian rolled over and stook, taking up the castaway rifle and pulling a fresh cylinder out as he ejected the first and bellowed. "Medic!"

"No need." He growled, opening his chest compartment and yanking out the little cylinder. Popping the release, he pressed the nozzle into the wound and pressed the button down, spraying the antiseptic clotting foam into the wound and grunting. He threw away the spent container and rolled onto a knee, yanking his magnum up and ejecting its magazine as a Turian medic finally came scrambling up the wall to them.

Its sharp eyes locked onto his wound immediately, and he hissed, "You're the-"

"I'm fine." He snapped, shoving the magazine home and calling out, "Last magazine!"

"You're insane!"

"I'm an ODST!" He snapped back as he straightened, poking his head over and peppering the next oncoming wave of Husks with it until Cannibals turned their fire on him. Laughing, he added, "It's part of the job!"

"Remind me to introduce you to a friend of mine." He snorted, turning to the medic, "Run for a rifle - he needs one."

"A rifle?" He asked, "Not a thermal clip?"

"I said what I said." He barked, "Now go!"

Raising his voice, the Turian called out, "Hold the line - ten minutes! Saboteurs are rigging delaying tactics! All forces, prepare to fall back!"

"We're pulling out?" John asked, adding as an argument, "We're holding."

"We're haemorrhaging." The Turian corrected him, "Artillery is out of ammo. Most of our air support just went down with the Spirit of Acquisition, along with a lot of our command staff. Oh, and we lost the capital ship that's been holding air over us. Reapers will be falling on our heads before long."

"Drop pods?"

"If that means 'huge fuck off explosive thing with monsters in it' then yes." The Turian sighed, "Drop pods. Get ready for a long haul, we'll be living in hell for the next few days, at least, before someone gets in to reinforce us."

"Hmph." He shrugged, "Time to work then."

"Yeah." Garrus grunted, raising his rifle and rolling his neck. "Let's."

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Hours passed in the same chaotic, fuzzy, bloody mess he was used to.

With the loss of the Spirit of Acquisition and its escorts, Menae's fleet had been crippled. It had at the outset only been the Spirit and a handful of smaller escorts, along with several wings of ground-based fighters. Almost all of those fighters had gone down defending it, and the Reapers had cut through two of its escort fleet when they tried to intervene and save the larger ship. So now the ground commander - a General Corinthus - had decided to fall back, giving all lower ground to the Reapers in favor of consolidating what they had left in terms of air support and defence over the plateau itself.

A reasonable strategy, but…

"Leave the APC, fall back!" He heard Vakarian shout, backing up the steep ramp and waving his people along. John joined the dozen or so, abandoning the half-slagged wreck and scrambling up the incline while the outpost above them did its best to cover them.

A Turian beside him crying out as a high-caliber round ripped through her abdomen and sent her tumbling away in two pieces showed how well that was going…

Finally, though, they did make it, and John took the moment to collapse against the wall beside the gate, pressing a hand to his injured side while Vakarian moved off to… Do whatever it was he was going to do.

While he caught his breath he took stock of the outpost.

It was smaller than the one they'd been at before, with a wall on only one side, facing the low ground. But that wall was thicker, clearly meant for directional defence, and manned by larger, concrete - or something similar, it was impossible to know - towers with roofs and heavy guns not unlike the ones mounted on Warthogs. Light machine guns had been mounted every ten feet or so as well, with raised merlons to either side.

"Earth-clan?" He turned as a stubby, round little creature waddled over, a heavy pack on his back. He shrugged it off and spoke, pausing to rattle breath every few words, "Vakarian ordered me here. Earth-clan medicines. For pain. And an Earth-clan rifle."

A human gun? That sounded wonderful - the alien ones were good, but they lacked that Human smell of gunpowder, and its kick.

He took the medicine - a simple syringe with a small button one one end and 'inject in afflicted area' written in English on the side - and grimaced. The aliens obviously knew English - their translators worked in it after all - which meant it being in English didn't assuage his concerns. But then, if they wanted him dead, they'd have just shot him by now. Even if they just needed an extra gun in this fight, they didn't have any rationale for poisoning him.

So he took it, pressing the needle through the fabric of his undersuit and injecting the medicine.

He felt the burning in his side, which had slowly been coming back over the last few hours, wash away in a cool rush as the drugs kicked in and he sighed. Turning to the alien, he pursed his lips, bobbed his head, and murmured, "Thanks."

"Of course, Earth-clan." The alien said, turning from his pack and holding out a little metal oval to him. "And now, your rifle."

"My… Rifle?"

"A standard series Avenger." The alien said, sounding… Perplexed. "It is… Standard Alliance military issue."

He took the weapon and found the little button the alien pointed out, which let it expand with a dull whir. The grip, unlike the rifles he'd used so far, was obviously built for Human hands - the grip size and contours said as much - and the readouts were all in English. The fact that it was, without a doubt, alien to him but uniformly Human - and the alien had called him 'Earth-clan' put to bed illusions of it being a similar race - but from an 'Alliance' rather than the UNSC meant…

Well, he wasn't sure. But it implied a lot, and all of it theoretical in a branch of physics he had never been able to wrap his head around.

Time travel, dimensional displacement, or slinging - which he ruled out since these aliens knew of Earth - all had… Implications.

Quietly, he said, "Hey, alien…"

"Yes?"

"Can I… Ask you some questions?"

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"The Reapers are mopping up who we left behind, Sir." Garrus growled, standing in one of the shelters his fellows had erected in little clusters scattered across the open ground beyond their protective wall. "A dozen men and women, some tanks that were too damaged to move- I did everything I could, Sir."

"You did well." General Corinthus said, voice staticy and echoing faintly across the poorly connected audio-comm. "As well as you could at-"

"Damn it." Garrus growled as the connection was washed through by static. He flicked a look at the engineer beside him, but he only shrugged unsurely and turned to work on the shelter's support-strut.

"-karian? Vakarian can you-" The General's voice washed out again, before it finally came back. "Vakarian, report!"

"Sorry, General." He sighed, "Connection dropped."

"We owe it to the Spirits that we can speak at all…"

"Yes, General." He wasn't quite as religious as the older man, but given circumstances, he could certainly forgive it. "As I was saying, I did all I could. I have the rest entrenching, and wounded and logistics preparing to fall back to the inner circle."

"That's two layers inward…"

"Yes, General." He answered, "I'm presuming we'll lose the plateau edge."

"Already?"

"Yes, General."

"When do you think that will happen?"

"Before the day is out." He answered, "Outposts one through five are better defended, and close enough that what we have left can keep the Reapers out of our skyline. And the higher ground that way, towards the ridge you're near to, will offer better artillery advantages than here. But out here, on the flatter side of the plateau, they'll hit us from every direction. Reaper air power will come in too hot, too often, and without any cover against it. I don't want to lose our logistics specialists."

"I see…" Corinthus rumbled, "An apt summary of the terrain."

"You told me before, Sir." He added cautiously, "Frank opinions only."

"I did." General Corinthus answered, "Very well. Pull them back. And I want you with them."

"What?" He blinked, "But I can still-"

"It's not negotiable, Vakarian." General Corinthus cut him off, "The Hierarchy is preparing for an assembly to negotiate an alliance for the war. With the Primarch's death, you're one of our most uniformly respected Turians. Not in line for the role, certainly, but… More than an adequate liaison. If temporarily. General Victus and I agree, we can't risk you."

"I see…"

"Make your arrangements there and retreat to Outpost Eight with the logistics forces, then leave them to Commander Arakis." Corinthus ordered, "You're to come to me at Two."

"Yes, Sir." He didn't like it, obviously, but… Well, he couldn't do much about it, really. "I'll be there inside the hour, General. And, with permission…"

"Yes?"

"I'll be bringing an… Interesting guest."

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Liara hesitated with her hand inches away from the door release and worried at her lips. What if she was still getting changed? It would be rude to go in, then. Would it not? And besides, Shepard had been in a foul mood for days, now. Wouldn't walking in on her when she wasn't expecting it upset her? Or-

"You're overthinking again." She chided herself, sighing and shaking her head. Quietly, she asked, "EDI?"

"Yes, Doctor T'soni?"

"Is Jane- The Commander, I mean, is she… Decent?"

"She is fully clothed, yes." EDI answered, "Shall I announce you?"

"That… Would be nice, yes."

"Very well. One moment, please." EDI answered, going silent for several long moments before she returned. "Commander Shepard is ready for you, Doctor T'Soni."

"Thank you." She smiled, "And, please, it's Liara."

"Very well, Liara. I will get the door for you."

It clicked and whirred open as soon as the woman - AI or not - finished speaked, and Liara smiled as Shepard turned to her from the aquarium mounted into her wall.

The woman was lithe, but powerfully built as ever, with shoulder-length scarlet hair she tied back in a small bun at the base of her head and bright green eyes. A thin scar curved around one of them, courtesy of a Commando's Biotic infused fist nearly five years before hand, and another scar curved along her jawline. That one was due to her reconstructive cybernetics - the more stressed she was, the harder they worked, and the harder they worked, the more the more synthetic parts of her skin cracked, revealing the reinforcements beneath.

Without which, you'd never have expected any of her was any more false than any other Alliance soldier.

"Liara." Shepard smiled, sounding tired but moving over anyway, throwing her armored arms around the Asari. Liara returned the gesture until the woman pulled back, "Thanks. Rough week, and-"

"Hugs help." She chuckled, "I know. You've hugged half the crew - and Joker twice."

"Hey, he needs hugs."

"Just don't break him." Liara sighed, turning to watch the fish swimming in the tank. She raised an eyebrow, "When did you get these?"

"Old crew-member sent them to me." Shepard explained, "While we were on the Citadel, dealing with the Council's… Anyway."

"Miss Chambers?"

"Mhm." Shepard nodded, turning to watch a Sunfish drift by. "And don't think I didn't notice someone installed a VI controlled auto-feeder…"

"Oh, do you disapprove?"

"Not at all." Shepard chuckled, "Less dead fish this way."

"My sentiments exactly." And being the Broker meant she'd had the access to have the VI installed during the retrofits. Quick, easy, and Shepard wouldn't lose any more of her beloved fish… That Liara always had to replace. Turning, she stole the Commander's seat and sighed, "Sadly, this… Is not a social visit."

"I figured." Shepard grunted, turning to finish checking the harnesses of her breastplate. "We're coming up on Menae."

"Inside the hour…"

"And?"

"The Reapers are burning Palaven." Liara murmured, "And Menae is faring little better. And only by virtue of the Reapers focusing so heavily on Palaven itself, and the defending fleets."

"So we'll need to move fast to pull the Primarch out." Shepard nodded, "Understood."

"My… Assets also reported the Spirit of Acquisition went down on Menae." Liara added, frowning, "That would be the Primarch's personal ship. I… Can not be certain he is even alive. And my assets can not confirm either. They are elsewhere on the moon, fighting. Or unresponsive."

"I see…" Shepard went still and then sighed, "We're landing regardless. If nothing else, we can take their wounded on the Normandy. Maybe logistics, or civilians, if they need it. Or even officers, if they decide to pull back."

"Unlikely, with Turians."

"Even so." Shepard turned to her, eyes hard, glinting with a faint wash of red. "We're landing. We'll go from there. Tell Joker to come into low orbit with stealth on, and order Cortez to prep the Kodiak. I'll need you and Vega with me."

"Understood." She nodded and stood, "We'll be ready inside the hour, Commander."

The woman only nodded, all friendliness gone, as she turned to retrieve her helmet. It clicked into place quietly, and Shepard grunted, "Let's get it done."

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Just a bit shorter than initially intended, but mostly because I cut a K's woith of 'literally talking to the Volus to get basic info we all already know' which would be a dry, boring read. Also, a boring write. Also also, last chapter was longer, lol.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed~!

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Believer :

As funny as that'd be… Might make everyone act hostile while he's in a mode where that would lead to him shooting them, and getting shot in turn.

Calcipher :

There will be a decent amount of recycling. Some plot points will tweak, be shifted to different periods of time, or be drawn out better - that's the goal, at least. But I can't escape recycling some old points.

JEP :

Yep, thanks, corrected it.

Edboy :

I won't spoil, but he will only affect things he could reasonably know about to alter the events surrounding.

Adeter :

Many such arcs will be similar here. Won't detail much, as I have a number of alterations in mind and don't want to spoil.