Battle of Shanxi

Vasseus Kandros

Admiral Vasseus Kandros was a proud member of the Turian Hierarchy. An Admiral, no less, leading the 13th Turian Patrol Group from his dreadnought, the Triumphant Talon. Though no longer the cutting-edge, thanks to the completion of the first new Indomitable-class vessels two months ago, the Talon remained the current standard for Hierarchy dreadnoughts. Vasseus was one of the few in his family to receive such a high position. And he had every intention of adding the Kandros name to the ranks of Turian heroes. Unfortunately, the times were largely peaceful and he hadn't seen any opportunities to do so.

Until four hours ago, that is, when his patrol fleet detected another presence in the system shortly after exiting FTL. Five ships, four of them cruiser-sized one frigate-sized. Gathered around the inactive Relay 314, clearly attempting to turn it on.

It didn't seem like these criminals had detected his fleet yet as his bridge was buzzing with activity. After a few moments of analyzing the situation, Vasseus quieted his subordinates with clear orders.

"Order all ships to switch to tight-beam comms and prepare for combat." he declared authoritatively. The bridge crew did as ordered with all the efficiency expected from them.

A minute later, he ordered his fleet to maneuver around the unknown fleet and approach them from the direction of the system's star. While true stealth was impossible in space, avoiding detection was still possible, if one realized that most sensor packages could only scan a limited region of space at any time. Given their activation of the relay, Kandros decided their sensors would be facing forward, toward the Relay. And the opponents' passive detection of heat signatures would be blinded by having the star behind their approach vector.

After closing the range, a clearer image of the unknown ships became apparent. Only two of the cruisers, Hostiles Two and Three were actually warships. The remainder appeared to be unarmed. All of them unknown designs, not matching anything in Citadel records.

"Instruct the Wrath of Palaven to target Hostile Three." Kandros said, referring to the other dreadnought in the fleet. It was an even older design, being the predecessor of his flagship's class, and this patrol run was, in fact, meant to be the last mission of that particular ship before it was mothballed and placed into the strategic reserve. Still, it was a solid Turian vessel with a proud history.

"We will target Hostile Two. The cruisers will destroy the remaining criminal vessels." Kandros finished.

"Admiral... aren't these unknown ship signatures?" One of the young lieutenants, the communications officer, on the bridge asked, hesitation in his voice.
"Your point, Lieutenant?" Kandros asked harshly.
"Couldn't this be a first contact situation?" The lieutenant elaborated.
"Even if it is, Lieutenant" Kandros replied calmly "I'm not about to allow some primitives to risk unleashing another Rachni War on the Galaxy."
"Understood, sir." The lieutenant deflates, accepting the order.

Thirty minutes later, the fleet of the primitive criminals had been destroyed. That left the question of where they had come from, considering that none of the planets in this system were inhabited. His fleet quickly noted the second, the fully active, Relay in the system, one that hadn't been online the last time a patrol had passed through the system.

In retrospect, he did have to admit that these primitives knew their naval engineering. Even in what was essentially an ambush, both of the enemy warships had taken two hits from the dreadnoughts' main cannons before being crippled by a third. Not only that, but they had distracted the frigates long enough to allow two of the support vessels to escape.

Before following the relay to the origin of these primitives, Admiral Kandros decided it was prudent to send a report back to the Hierarchy of this encounter before proceeding. He left his second in command to handle the fleet's move into the next system while he sent the report from his quarters.

"The 13th Patrol Fleet encountered a fleet of primitives attempting to activate Relay 314. Fleet engaged primitives, destroyed two cruisers, two support vessels. No Hierarchy casualties. Two support vessels escaped through Relay 315, which had been already activated by the primitives. Moving through Relay 315 to pursue the fleet remnants. Requesting ground support in order to pacify primitives in the name of the Hierarchy.

Signed, Admiral Vasseus Kandros"

Terse, but adequately informative. Satisfied with the report, Vasseus sent it back to Hierarchy command over the standard military channels. He allowed himself a smile, thinking of how proud his daughter, his entire family, would be. Proud that a Kandros was responsible for bringing an entire species under the Council's rule.

It had been twenty hours since the skirmish at Relay 314. And Admiral Kandros was very glad he had decided to get some sleep while the fleet was in transit. Five cruisers and a dreadnought was a more significant force than the Terminus slavers and bandits he had experience with. On top of that, Kandros realized just how much of a difference crew discipline makes. The enemy ships, despite most likely using ships as dated those of pirate bands, kept their ships in fighting condition much longer than he had expected.

"Hostile One is down" a report came in from one of his cruiser captains. "Repeat. Hostile One is down. Hostile presence in Orbit neutralized."
"Copy that, Hammer Three." the comms lieutenant responds.

While Kandros was considering the battle plan, his second gave out what standard strategy would call for. "All ships, concentrate fire on enemy ground battery."

"Belay that!" Kandros interrupted, making a flash judgment "All ships, withdraw to regroup. Protect Anvil from further ground fire. Sword will draw enemy fire if needed."

Five tense minutes later, the fleet was out of range of the colony's massive ground battery. The biggest and nastiest surprise the fleet had been unfortunate enough to encounter. Despite the two-minute reload time demonstrated earlier, the ground batter did not fire again. Most likely, the cannon was too slow to track the Turian vessels as they actively maneuvered to evade it.

With the immediate combat situation over, Kandros breathed a sigh of relief.
"Alright. All units, status report." he ordered, running his talon across his head crest
"This is Anvil," replied the exhausted voice of Sparatus, Captain of the Wrath of Palaven, and a nephew to the current Turian Councilor "Our ship has taken heavy damage. Estimate two to three hundred crew casualties. The ground battery breached sections 6 through 13 and the slug is still embedded in the hull. Ship at 70% combat efficiency, maybe less."

"This is Hammer Three," The first cruiser section "Hammer One and Five lost to enemy dreadnought. Hammer Two and Four lost to ground battery. Hammer Three and Six at 60%. Hammer Seven at 100%."

"This is Skirmisher One," The frigate section "Lost Skirmisher Six to enemy cruisers. We took some minor armor scarring from enemy GARDIAN. Skirmisher One and Four at 90%. Skirmisher Two, Three and Five at 100%.

This is Archer One," The second, reserve cruiser section. "Archer Five through Seven at 60%. Archer One through Four at 100%."

"Understood. We have time until the ground forces arrive." Admiral Kandros began "Any tactical comments about the hostiles?"

While several minutes passed as the Captains consult their own subordinates, Admiral Kandros quietly reflected on the losses taken. The 'primitives' had a dreadnought, five cruisers and a ground battery against their two dreadnoughts, fourteen cruisers and six frigates. And the Turians lost four cruisers and a frigate. If they had stayed to bombard the battery, they most likely would have lost the Wrath of Palaven as well, even if they had managed to destroy the ground battery.

The enemy tactics and discipline were of an impressive quality, even by Turian standards. They were aware of their own weaknesses and took full advantage of their strengths. The main gun of the enemy dreadnought was virtually identical in performance to the Talon's gun, though perhaps more accurate. Their cruisers, while somewhat lacking in firepower, were both mobile and resilient. And their entire formation had successfully feigned a disorganized withdrawal to lure the Turian formation into the sights of the ground battery before suddenly regrouping. These were enemies worthy of respect, primitives or not. But this only served to make Kandros even more determined to prove the strength of the Hierarchy.

The admiral snapped back to reality as Anvil became the first to make a comment. "Based on the presence of the ground battery, and the size of the defense fleet I believe we are above one of their major colonies. Therefore, we can expect GARDIAN-equivalent anti-fighter batteries around the capitol in addition to the heavy battery."

Archer Two was the next to respond. "Like at Relay 314, the enemy formation consisted entirely of warships capable of taking significant damage, even more so than Turian or Batarian designs. Given that a major colony should have an entire fleet guarding it, I suspect the enemy doctrine is based around small, elite numbers, losing which is probably a very significant blow."

Waiting for Archer to finish, Hammer Three gave their input "I agree with Archer Two. Reviewing visual records, I can see three heavy cannon turrets and seven GARDIAN turrets on the cruiser. In addition, the enemy cruisers also had spinal weapons that were responsible for most of the damage done to Archer and Hammer. I've been going over our sensor readings, and the most logical explanation is that the spinal weapons were laser-type direct energy weapons. These primitives are clearly more advanced that originally anticipated."

Finally, Skirmisher Five sent their input. "Before the battle, my sensors briefly detected what may have been a the remnants of the fleet encountered at Relay 314. They disappeared off the scopes before anyone had a solid lock. It's possible enemy ships retreated from the system to call for reinforcements."

A few seconds of silence as the admiral and his captains considered this information. Finally, Archer One broke the silence. "Do we abort the ground attack?"

For a moment, the Admiral was outraged at this doubt toward his plan. But he forced himself to remain calm and avoid a disgraceful, impulsive outburst. He then realized it was a neutral question, not a request to abort. And with the possibility of incoming enemy reinforcements, it was a tactically valid option.

"No." Kandros replied with conviction as he activated his omni-tool "Capable though the hostiles might be, we can overcome the enemy ships as long as we don't engage them above the ground battery. Hammer and Archer, consolidate the ships at 100% to a single formation and send the damaged ones back to Turian space for repairs. Anvil, make what repairs you can. But I'll need you here in case enemy reinforcements do arrive."

As he spoke, three Turian ships arrived from the relay. The first elements of the ground force, the rapid response unit that had been on alert when his call went out. Not enough for a permanent occupation, but enough to take strategic control in the capital.

Having patched through to the commander of the ground forces (whom he instantly recognized), the Admiral fluidly continued his speech "General Arterius, I want the ground forces on the ground and moving toward the capitol in twelve hours."

Desolas Arterius
0330 hours, Shanxi time

Eleven hours later, General Desolas Arterius was among the first to set foot on this garden world. While landing over twelve hundred clicks away from the nearest hostile settlement was not standard protocol for a ground pacification, he understood the Admiral's reasons. The enemy anti-orbital battery was powerful, and only the most incompetent of Hierarchy fleet officers would consider a dreadnought to be an acceptable loss.

And so, the mission of taking the battery, and the enemy capitol, was given to him and his men. Looking into the sky, he quickly picked out the formation of three shuttles that was transporting the 135th Marine Company. The company he had his brother Saren assigned to, so the kid could serve close his older brother.

Not long after, the first heavy transports made landfall on the grassy plains and deployed the APCs and other armored vehicles before taking off to orbit again.

The last of the ground attack force, a total of eight battalions, made landfall on schedule and started the advance toward the enemy capitol at 0415 hours, local time. The timing wasn't ideal, Desolas admitted. They'd arrive around midday, too late for a dawn attack, too early to hold position and wait for the next dawn.

Malcolm Williams
0100 hours, Shanxi time

The military command bunker below the Shanxi was buzzing with frantic activity. And a considerable amount of panic on the part of several of his officers, noted general Williams. In fact, Williams himself, a veteran of the Arcturus Insurrection, was one of the few people who managed to remain calm.

The veteran MEC commander had actually retired a couple of months ago, only to take up command again six hours ago. His replacement, colonel Wright, had called him in to help in an advisory role eight hours ago. Two hours later, it was clear to Williams that the young colonel, just barely more than half of Williams' own age, was completely breaking down under the pressure of an extraterrestrial invasion. Therefore, Williams made the spontaneous decision to come out of retirement and take command of the situation.

And Williams soon realized the Shanxi Milita was deep in the shit. Besides the two Interceptor-12s and the Shanxi 1st Armored, the Militia had a mere two battalions of poorly trained light infantry. And the only vehicles integrated into those battalions were transport trucks. They also had a stock of fifty MCX-A47 Valkyrie MECs. And Williams knew how that particular American MEC was a glass cannon at best and a useless parade gimmick at worst. Not to mention the fact that there were only twelve MEC operators enlisted in the Militia.

The big mistake had been sinking most of the colony's military spending into those shiny top line warships in orbit. The ground battery hadn't been cheap either, but it had been a condition for being part of the Alliance Bastion Planet Initiative, which not only granted the colony over half its' overall funding, but also excluded it from most Alliance taxes.

But, as the one of the leading founders of the Shanxi colony, and a career Special Forces officer, Williams had a few contacts up his sleeve. But he needed time. And that meant a tough call. Several, of them, most likely.

It didn't take him long. He had made tough calls before.

He slammed his cybernetic fist into the table. "Everyone, shut it and listen up!" Williams ordered.
"Captain Jones, get the 1st Armored ready to go. We need the Tigers to delay the enemy until we can properly fortify the city."

"Sir, the company only has ten..." Captain Catherine Jones objected.
"I know." Williams replied calmly, cutting off the objection.
"The Interceptors don't have ground strike..." Captain Jones began a second try.
"I know." Williams repeated, now staring down the petite blonde woman. The rest of the command room has fallen completely silent.
"It's a death sentence!" Jones almost shouts.
With a sigh, Williams replies a third time, averting his eyes from Jones' face.
"I know. But we need more time."

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the command bunker becomes somber. Silence reigns for a good twenty seconds.

"I... I understand, sir." Jones replies, suddenly, the panic is gone from her voice. "I'll tell the ladies."

Jones saluted the general before leaving the bunker. And it seemed the exchange that the officers present had just witnessed caused them to pull themselves together. At least for the time being. Ten minutes later, the esteemed general was on the phone, waiting for a response.

After a few rings, the phone was answered. "Yeh, 's Hoarce. Oo is it?"

"It's Williams."
"Williams, ye ol' bastard! I bin tryin' ta call ye for hours! Everyone saw the battery foirin'. Got any idea wot they foirin' at?" Hoarce replied with a thick accent.
"We're about to find out, Irish. And the Milita's even more shit than the day I gave up on it and retired." Williams explained the situation to his old war buddy.
"Shite." Hoarce eloquently replied before realizing "Wait. Yer back in the saddle?"
"I am." Williams confirmed "And I think we need to put Phoenix Battalion back together to save this colony from whatever's coming."

"Put' it back together?" Hoarce repeated in surprise "Yer daft, Williams. There's only, wot, twenty o' us left, and half o' that ain't even on the planet! And in case ye 'aven't noticed, none o' us are exactly in our first youth anymore."
"I have an idea. I think we'll be seeing a sudden surge of 'volunteers' from the ranks of the militia. And that fodder will need someone competent to lead 'em." Williams said.
"And what 'ole you gonna pull the mecs out of?" Hoarce asked, remaining leery of Williams' 'plan'.
"Like I said. I have a plan. And a contact. Classified, though. Can't tell you much. But I need you to get the lads and ladies back together."

Almost an hour after the call to the old Irishman, Williams was making his second call. The entire plan hinged on this one. And it had taken him a while to find the old instruction sheet.

Williams hung up the phone after three rings and called again.

Again, three rings and Williams hung up.

Finally, he waited exactly five minutes and repeated the process a third time.

Another five minutes later, a call came in. He let it ring five times before picking up.

"X-Ray, India, Alpha, Tango, Sierra, Hotel, Alpha, November, X-Ray, India, Romeo, Foxtrot, Charlie, Romeo, Foxtrot, Charlie." the old general quickly rattled into the phone.

"Free Comm granted. Comm closes in two minutes. Who is this?" A distorted voice responded.
"General Williams, Shanxi Command." the general replied.
"What do you want?" the questions continued.
"I want any and all assistance you can provide against imminent X-Ray invasion. Have manpower. Require MEC platforms, armament and medical personnel." Williams responded.

He wasn't sure why X-COM went to such lengths to remain a secret unit. After all, they were the great heroes of humanity who had repelled the Ethereal invasion. But he supposed they had their reasons and he respected the privacy of the organization.

Twenty seconds of silence. First, a brief response. "Comm extended, five minutes."

Finally, the full response came in four minutes later "Copy request, Shanxi Command. Have 130 MEC units with armament and medical personnel. Will also deploy 80 SHIV units. Require medical facilities and manpower. Will also observe Milita comms and provide commando support as available. XCOM-Shanxi, out."

The line was cut and a crooked smile appeared on Williams' face as he took out his second-to-last authentic Cuban victory cigar and lit it. With the militia's own stock of fifty MECs, he would have a force to be reckoned with. Win or lose, with the help he just got, humanity was going to show these aliens bastards just how much fight it can put up.

"Major Steinmann, Major Jenkins." the general bellowed, his voice carrying through the bunker.
Five seconds later, the officers in question were in front of him. "Get the militia together. I want 150 volunteers reporting in by 0300."

"Volunteers for what, sir?" Jenkins asked, confused.
Williams paused for a moment, realizing he hadn't explained the details of his plan to anyone in the militia yet.
"MEC surgery, Major." He replied flatly. "Dismissed."

Desolas Arterius

1200 hours, Shanxi time

Looking at the troop positioning, Desolas' mandibles twitched, a typical Turian sign of surprise, or in this case, irritation. Five hundred kilometers outside the capitol, enemy armor was encountered by his right flank. Three tanks had been spotted as they opened fire from an ambush position.

Captain Septimus had taken initiative and pursued the retreating ambushers with his own unit of fifteen tanks. In his aggressive advance, however, he had overextended. Only three of those tanks managed to break out of the brief encirclement alive and return to the main force. Septimus himself was dead.

The reports from the survivors were troubling, to say the least. First, they confirmed that the fleet officers' assessment about small, elite numbers also applied on the ground. Second, the hostile tanks had mounted what seemed to be a GARDIAN laser on their tanks. A naval gun mounted on a spirits-damned tank. Thankfully, the survivors also reported that there were only ten enemy tanks present in the encirclement, and they believed that those tanks were the entire extent of the enemy force. The best news was, that two of those tanks had been destroyed as Septimus' unit broke out of the encirclement.

The survivors also noted that there seemed to be a critical system in the rear of the enemy tank that would violently detonate if hit directly. Most likely it was whatever high-energy power source the hostiles used to power the main gun. The tanks had barriers, but they were sub-par compared to Turian tech. The armor, especially in the front, was reported to be thicker than Turian equivalents. But on the other hand, the enemy armor was also much less mobile than their Turian counterparts. A typical tradeoff in combat vehicles.

The enemy armor had not pursued the remains of Septimus' armor company outside the forest hills they continued to hide in. A cowardly tactic, the Turian general felt, but admittedly smart. He couldn't advance further toward the capitol unless this threat to his flank was dealt with. And the pieces fell together in Desolas' head. This wasn't the main defense. It was a delay action.

The terrain, forested hills, clearly favored infantry, which could go in on foot and root out the enemy armor with minimal casualties. Eventually. But that was time Desolas didn't have. Intel on potential enemy reinforcements was limited and holding the orbit with the ground battery still under enemy control was a gamble at best.

With that in mind, the general contacted fleet for additional support.

Saren Arterius

1430 hours; Shanxi time

As Saren Arterius marched through the forest alongside the rest of the company, he vividly recalled the brief speech his brother had given them along with their orders.

"135th Company! You will be acting as forward scouts and spotters for our gunships." his brother... No. His General said.

"You are to infiltrate the forest, locate the enemy armor hiding within and report their locations without being detected."

There must have been a reaction from one of his fellow marines, as Desolas' gaze had snapped toward someone to Saren's left in the lineup. Probably that glory-hound, Mentius.

"Some of you might think that this task is beneath a company of your caliber. While some duties expected of you are often considered more prestigious, I want to remind you of something. All duties demanded by the Hierarchy are necessary."

As Desolas said his final sentence, Saren realized that his brother was looking directly at him.

"Whatever duty you must perform, whatever task needs to be completed, so long as you demonstrate the unrivaled dedication and discipline of the Turian people, you will make the Hierarchy proud."

Saren dismissed his distracting thought as his radio clicked three times. Enemy spotted. Carefully, he crawled up to the ridge with his sniper rifle and took up a position near two other marines. The sergeant and one of the spotters.

Through his scope, he viewed the enemy. Four tanks total. Two aliens were visible, leaning out of the turret hatches of their tanks. Most likely tank commanders talking to each other. At first, he was shocked at the revelation that the 'aliens' were actually Asari. A long-lost colony, perhaps?

Adjusting his scope to zoom in, he quickly noticed the differences. Pink skin, not blue or purple. A thick growth of hair on the scalp. No head crests. They bore a certain resemblance, but they weren't Asari.

Once the Sergeant was finished calling in the coordinates. Saren spoke up quietly.

"I have clear shots at two hostiles. Permission to fire?"

"Hold fire. Wait for the air strike." The sergeant replied.

And so, Saren waited. The air strike never came.

1700 hours, Shanxi time

In the skies above, Saren could see the signs of an intense air battle. Primitive atmospheric craft were trying to force the gunships away from the enemy armor. Which had gone on the move since their first encounter, meaning they had more walking to do to find them again.

What angered Saren the most, however, was the fact that these primitives were actually successful in forcing the gunships away. The primitive cowards knew they couldn't win, but they refused to do the honorable thing and make a decisive stand.

A few hour later, it was clear that his brother, and the Admiral in orbit, had had enough. His company was ordered to withdraw from the forest. As they left, orbital fire rained down on the entire forest, setting it ablaze. By midnight, the final, tenth wreckage of the enemy armor was located amid the scorched forest and the Turian ground force could advance with secure flanks.

Desolas Arterius

0500 hours, Shanxi time

After breaching the perimeter wall surrounding the central portion of the capitol city, Desolas moved in after the vanguard units. The city was moderately large. About the same size as a Turian city with around five million inhabitants would be. The areas outside the wall had been fairly standard prefab structures. Inside the walls, though, it was a different story. Most structures looked fairly permanent. It was also clear that there was a military mind involved with city planning. Numerous obvious choke points could be seen in the street plan. For a front line soldier, it looked as if there were side streets leading around the choke points, but the side streets merely led to other, similar choke points. There were several key structures which had excellent lines of fire along the streets, windows just the right size for sniper or machine gun nests, thick roofs and walls that could likely withstand bombardment from cannons and infantry missiles.

Most of the fighting was focused on the northern side of the city, along the path to the ground battery. The central flank that he was part of had gone in practically unopposed. He had also noted that very few of the civilians they had encountered had resisted. Searching their housing, almost no firearms had been found. Perhaps some type of caste system, like the Batarians? Docile civilians ruled by a military elite?

As his own command unit advanced, he got a call from one of the vanguard platoons.

"Command, this is..." The soldier's voice sounded uneasy "This is Vanguard Three-One. We.. We're at the large structure in grid 375. There's something here you should see."

Not ten minutes later, Desolas was walking through the hostile building. Despite these being aliens, he could recognize the purpose of this place. It was a medical facility of some kind. He also noticed that it had been the site of a skirmish. Missiles had been fired into the windows and there were a number of fallen enemy soldiers lying on the ground.

One of the soldiers of the vanguard unit led him into an operating room. And he saw two members of this alien species in person for the first time. Lab coats and surgery scrubs were fairly universal between species. A metal beam had fallen from the ceiling and killed the doctor.

But it was the patient on the table that had attracted the attention of the Sergeant. Surprisingly Desolas noted that the Sergeant seemed pale, nauseous even, as she motioned toward the body on the surgical table.

That's when he noticed. The patients limbs had all been freshly amputated. The doctor had been in the process of cauterizing the wound when he'd been killed. The patient had bled to death from the uncauterized shoulder amputation. Why would the aliens do something like this to their own people? In the face of an invasion, no less?

"There's more..." the sergeant stated ominously. Desolas was then led down one of the hospital hallways. He noticed a puddle of Turian vomit just before he came around the corner. Near a large pile of rubble from the collapsed ceiling, there was a spilled cart, containing at least five sets of amputated limbs. He looked away from the gruesome sight. Desolas idly looked around the hallway as he pondered on this disturbing mystery for a few seconds.

"What's this then?" he muttered to himself.

Desolas had noticed something strange about a piece of nearby rubble. A glint of grey metal reaching out from underneath the concrete rubble. He knelt down to touch it, when the piece of metal sent out a couple electrical sparks. Suddenly the pile of rubble shifted. By the time Desolas had risen from his position and taken a step back, he found himself standing face to face with a very large mech.

In that second, time seemed to slow down and Desolas noticed that the left arm of the mech was nearly disconnected. The mechanical joint was detached and the armed dangled on the side, held on only by electrical cables. He noticed that while the mech's 'head' stood at the same level as his, the mech was actually in a kneeling position. And in slow motion, Desolas saw the mech's right arm rise high for a blow, the metal gauntlet around the mech's hand resembling a hammer more than any ordinary fist.

While Desolas stood before the giant, frozen in shock, the sergeant pushed him to the ground. And the mech's unstoppable fist slammed the sergeant into the wall with a sickening crack. The shields were of no use, nor was the sergeant's hardsuit. As the mech pulled away its' fist, now stained with dark blue blood, Desolas quickly tried to scramble away from the metal giant, but was suddenly stopped when he found himself backed against the tipped-over cart.

The metal giant tried to follow Desolas, but suddenly stopped and looked back, realizing its' crippled arm was still pinned beneath the rubble. The few seconds the mech needed to pull itself free were likely what saved Desolas. The rest of Vanguard Three had noticed the commotion and peppered the mech with rifle fire. Desolas himself managed to pull out his Predator and put in a few point-blank shots.

But the mech seemed to withstand the punishment as it advanced toward Desolas. Just as the mech lifted its' fist and was about to crush the Turian general into the ground, there was a small explosion on its' back. The mech reeled and froze. Two more explosions and the massive fist came down right next to Desolas. The mech tried to push itself up, but with a final explosion, it fell limp and collapsed on top of Desolas.

Five minutes later, after the squad had lifted the broken mech off him and Desolas had taken a minute to make sure the falling mech hadn't broken anything, the general turned his attention to the wreck. Soon, he noticed there was a dark red liquid seeping out from its' torso. This was a mech... it couldn't be... blood, could it?

Waving his omni-tool over the remains, Desolas was shocked at what he saw. These were no simple mechs. These cybernetic monstrosities were the reason for the amputations. Desolas could understand the use of cybernetic implants in making oneself a better soldier. But this... this abomination crossed the line. And yet, Desolas now realized just how dangerous their enemy was. This was an enemy that was prepared to sacrifice the very spirit of their own homeworld for the sake of victory.

Thus, he briefly prayed to both the Spirits and the Titans that they hadn't just started the replay of the Rachni Wars.

Vasseus Kandros

0600 hours, Shanxi time

The invasion was not progressing as impressively as he had expected. It was only an hour ago that Desolas had finally reported reaching the capitol. And a few minutes ago, they had reported taking the ground battery. The hostiles had only put up token resistance there. The reason became clear soon enough. The hostiles had (explosively) sabotaged the cannon's targeting systems before abandoning the indefensible position to the Turians.

Instead of a glorious triumph for the Hierarchy, this was turning into a bloody and vicious affair for both sides.

As his was fleet moving in to provide precision orbital fire, a report came in from sensor.

"Activity on the Relay. Most likely hostile reinforcements." As the sensor officer began reporting the numbers, enemy ships appeared in the holodisplay. "Two dreadnought-class, eight cruiser-class, five frigate-class."
Suddenly, the lieutenant started muttering to his subordinates. "Wait... this can't be right. Check the readings again."

"Something wrong, Lieutenant Helean?" Vasseus asks, calmly.
"It seems neither of the enemy dreadnoughts has a main cannon. They're both drastically different designs, and likely have different tactical roles."

Surveying the situation, Vasseus quickly came up with a fairly standard battle plan and began marking the appropriate positions in the command system.

"Archer, you're the forward line. Skirmisher, flanking support for Archer. Anvil, rear fire support. Sword will handle forward fire support." And like the well-oiled mechanism that it was, the Turian fleet sprung into action.

This would work. The Turian fleet still had the advantage of numbers, even if the crews were getting worn down by the long alert period before battle. The cruisers would stay at the right range from friendly dreadnoughts while the frigates moved around to flank the enemy. If the enemy ships stayed at range, the combined forward firepower of the Turian fleet would wear down their barriers and destroy them.

If the enemy ships advanced to their cruisers and began knife-fight maneuvers, they would become vulnerable to flaking fire and the dreadnoughts would destroy them.

If the enemy cruisers tried to ignore the cruisers and frigates and push toward the dreadnoughts, they would expose their' vulnerable engines and the Turian cruisers and frigates would destroy them.

But the orthodox battle plan fell apart before his eyes in short order. The swarm of small-craft disgorged by the carrier took down Skirmisher two frigates at a time; overwhelming the frigates' GARDIAN and barriers with sheer numbers and riddling their hulls with holes. The enemy fighter swarm simply ignored the casualties sustained as it wiped out Skirmisher over the next twenty minutes. After the last Turian frigate was destroyed, the majority of the swarm returned to their mothership, while the remainder continued to screen the formation from the modest Turian small-craft complement.

Meanwhile, surprisingly fast for its' size, the armored enemy dreadnought advanced directly toward Archer. In fact, it seemed that the dreadnought was even faster than it's own cruiser screen. Overconfidence, perhaps?

Ten minutes later, the enemy dreadnought had driven directly into Archer's formation and the cruisers were turning to engage it with their forward firepower. Then the enemy unleashed its' broadsides. A full barrage from both sides focused fire on a single cruiser. Archer Two through Five shattered to pieces as a wall of red beams shot out. He stared at the screens in disbelief and realized he wasn't the only one.

Another five minutes, and Vasseus saw a hit from Wrath impacting the enemy dreadnought, causing a significant explosion in the engine section. But it was too little, too late. Only two ships remained of Archer, desperately trying to stay out of the enemy warship's broadside firing arc. As Archer shattered, the enemy cruisers pushed through Archer's formation, slowing only slightly to take a few shots of opportunity. The enemy cruisers formation was now nearly within knife-fight range of the Triumphant Talon, and several were already out of its' firing arc. Thankfully, it seemed that the hit from Wrath did something critical to the enemy dreadnought. It was having trouble maneuvering and as it failed to keep its' ridiculously thick and angled prow armor toward Sword and Anvil, the two Turian dreadnoughts were finally doing serious damage to it. Enough so that the warship began launching escape pods. As Vasseus deemed the enemy dreadnought to be crippled, he ordered his helmsman to get the cruisers back in the main gun's arc.

Vasseus then froze as he noticed the enemy fighter swarm return, and a group of five hostile frigates emerged from FTL behind Anvil. Powerless to stop it, Vasseus could only watch as the enemy frigates pulled to a halt and began firing into the near-defenseless rear section of the Wrath of Palaven and broke through its' shields... and stopped firing? The admiral's mind raced to find a tactical reasoning. His mind put it together as three enemy cruisers pull their broadsides toward the old dreadnought and launched what were most likely boarding pods at the ship. The Wrath was noticeably larger than the Talon, due to the volumetric inefficiencies of the older tech. And because of that, the enemy most likely assumed the Wrath was the flagship.

By the time Vasseus realized that his entire fleet had been destroyed in just under an hour, Four enemy cruisers fired focused their spinal lasers on his ship more or less point-blank range. Vasseus sank to his knees in defeat as his world exploded into white.

Vasseus felt himself lying on the ground, and yet he felt very light. A powerful, yet strangely gentle vibration went through him.

Is this what death is like? He wondered as he carefully opened his eyes. And he realized he wasn't dead yet. He was pressed against the rear wall of the bridge. Another vibration, this time more violent.

He pushed himself up from the ground and realized he was, in fact, weightless. The holoscreen was offline. As were all other systems in the CIC. By the look of it, he was the only one alive here.

It took him a few minutes to stumble into the actual helm chamber of the dreadnought. Just as the automatic door closed behind him, Vasseus suddenly found himself pressed against the cracked canopy, behind which an orange haze was forming. The ship was aerobraking. He still had a chance, even if it wasn't much of one. He spent a valuable minute releasing the dead helmswoman from the straps and taking her place. The helm systems still had power. Vasseus did have pilot training on his service record, though it was limited to shuttles and gunships.

After three minutes of trying, the helm controls died, along with any hopes of leveling out the broken remnants of his dreadnought and making a soft landing in the plains below. Looking ahead, he realized that the ship was heading directly for the capitol. He felt a moment of joy, inflicting a final injury on the enemy in his death, though the feeling quickly became hollow and he regretted his pettiness.

"I'm sorry..." He coughed "I'm sorry... that I failed you, Nyreen."

The admiral's last thoughts before the canopy shattered in mid-air, were of his infant daughter.

Saren Arterius

0550 hours; Shanxi time

It seemed that the primitives had finally chosen to make a stand at some kind of plaza. The open field was a semi-circle in front of a large, important-looking building. Most likely the command center of the colony.

Saren was alone in his position overlooking the battlefield from a third-story window. Suppression from the enemy mechs had taken out his spotter fifteen minutes ago. When they had first encountered these enemy mechs, the casualties on the Turian side had been brutal. The ones still alive were soldiers like him. The ones that had kept a level head and adapted their tactics.

In the brief moments of respite, Saren had written a list of lessons on his omni-tool. He didn't even need to look to remember them anymore.

Lesson One: Shields cannot be relied on. -Recruit Ortessus
Lesson Two: The same goes for soft cover. -Sergeant Hamat
Lesson Three: Aim for extremities, only missiles can break through the chest armor. -Recruit Kaala
Lesson Four: Stay out of close quarters. No exceptions. -Recruit Mentius

Every lesson learned from a fallen squadmate. The 135th company was down to half strength, and in return they had only managed destroy five hostile mechs. Certainly, they had damaged a lot more, and casualties were actually slightly in the Turians' favor, if the losses of hostile light infantry were counted. But almost every time it seemed they were coming close to killing a mech, the mech would calmly show its' back to the Turians, soak up the gunfire and retreat for repairs.

Many other companies had fared worse than his. He'd also heard reports of certain enemies on the field with portable laser weaponry. Limited to heavier automatic weapons, fortunately, rather than being standard issue. And there were also small, boxy support mechs (true mechs, not heavy cyborgs) in the battle, armored well enough to be used as mobile cover by light infantry and armed with more of those autolasers. Saren supposed he was fortunate not to have run into any of those with his company. A weapon that completely negated barriers was a frightening thought.

The aliens were strong, but they remained honorless cowards despite this. Saren could admit that fighting them was getting to him. When he looked at these alien soldiers, he saw a mockery of everything the Spirit of Palaven stood for. Every Turian method and tactic turned into something twisted.

The fighting seemed to have died down a bit for now. The hostile line of mechs and light infantry was holding for the moment, able to push back several smaller, uncoordinated Turian assaults from behind their prefab barricades. Meanwhile, the Turian units that were previously scattered across the city, were now converging on this battlefield and regrouping in the cover of the various buildings surrounding the plaza.

The lull was broken by the arrival of a heavy aircraft. A well-armored dropship that was definitely not a Turian design. Saren observed through his scope as the dropship hovered ten meters above ground, right above the hostile group. Ropes were lowered from the rear of the craft, though the first to exit was another heavy mech that just jumped out and landed with a heavy impact.

The mech was different, though. It was painted black, and it seemed to be a more advanced model compared to the others he'd encountered. Four regular soldiers descended down on the ropes. While not mechs, he could clearly see the difference from regular hostile troops. Their gear, their armor, their absolute calm in the very heart of the battle.

When a sixth soldier, a female in a purple hardsuit and armed with only a pistol, rappelled down, Saren had a shot lined up. The female fell, but unfortunately seemed to be unharmed, as she stood up on her own. He took a second shot at the officer. Just as he pulled the trigger, he felt a faint whisper in his head.

My mind is stronger than your bullets. A voice, much like an asari's. Insulted, dismissive, superior.

And Saren saw the impossible happen. Despite his scanner reporting no shield or barrier, a brief, purple flash deflected the round just before it hit the woman's hardsuit. He forced a recheck on his omni-tool, which responded with nothing but error and anomaly messages regarding the woman.

What the hell kind of biotic witch is she? And what in the name of the Titans was that whisper? Have the hostiles hacked our comms? Saren wondered.

Saren kept following the biotic woman with his scope, but he didn't get another clear shot. Unlike her obviously elite subordinates, it didn't seem like the woman was contributing much to the battle, either. She didn't even use her pistol, nor did she open her mouth to issue any orders. She just calmly walked behind the line of mechs and 'stared' at each Turian position with her eyes closed.

Then, as she reached Desolas' position, she abruptly stopped and opened her eyes. The biotic witch raised her hand toward Desolas' forward command post. Desolas could just barely see a faint purple tendril of some kind. A minute later, to Saren's utter shock, Desolas stumbled right out of the front door of the building.

The mechs raised their rifles at his brother, and Saren frantically opened fire, as did a number of other Turian positions. The hasty shots did little to the mechs and he had no shots at the witch. Soon enough, Saren's rifle critically overheated.

But the woman ordered the mechs to stand down. They returned fire at the Turian positions instead of gunning down his brother. With his rifle overheated, he could do nothing but watch as his brother walked toward the enemy line, clawing at his own head and screaming incoherently.

Saren's mandibles went slack in distress as his brother reached the enemy line. Moments before Desolas was grabbed by the black mech, the Turian fell to the ground like a puppet with its' strings cut. And as soon as he regained his bearings, he began struggling in vain against the black mech that was dragging him toward the now-landed dropship.

Finally, with his rifle cooled down again, Saren saw only one option for saving his brother. He aimed for the head, to make it quick. But Desolas' shield took the first shot. Saren didn't get a second one. Saren saw the woman's arm raised toward him just before his world was filled with pain. By the time his vision cleared, the witch, her black-armored troops and Desolas were gone. There was only the dropship flying into the distance.

However, just after the dropship had gained some distance from the plaza, something big hit a section of the mech line.
Finally, orbital support, but too late for Desolas Saren thought bitterly.
As more shells hit the ground, Saren realized something was off. Those last two were too big and too slow to be dreadnought shells.
Then several strikes hit Turian positions.

Looking up, Saren realized with dread that it was not orbital fire. It was debris from a crippled dreadnought that was breaking apart as it fell through the skies.

But is it ours or theirs?

A minute later, the battlefield had descended into utter chaos. As the dust slowly settled, Saren saw that most of the plaza and the surrounding buildings were on fire. The building under him was one of the lucky ones. About half the enemy force was dead. But it looked very likely that Turians had suffered similar losses.

And resting right in front of the doors of the command center was the largest intact piece of debris. A tall, scorched section of dreadnought hull, partially embedded into the ground, partially resting against the adjacent building. Despite the damage, the word Triumph could be made out in Turian script.

And then, Saren noticed one of the mechs climbing atop a pile of debris. A flag in hand, the mech bellowed some battle cry and the enemy force quickly rallied, yelling back a drilled response. The Turians were not as quick to recover from the disarray of a dreadnought crashing down on their position.

It had been about two weeks since the remains of the Turian fleet had rained down on the colony. Saren was exhausted, mentally, physically and in terms of supplies as well. The Turians had lost this time. This battle, at least. Such was the reality of war, Saren told himself. Not every battle in a war would be a victory.

But he did know more about the enemy. Humans, they called themselves. Much like the salarians, only a handful of their population were trained soldiers. Most were civilians with no military training. Observing their infirmaries, he'd also noticed they had some kind of medical gel they applied with their primitive omni-tools.

Carefully peeking out from his current hideout, Saren judged that it was some time around noon. He knew he didn't have a chance at evading enemy patrols in daylight, so he continued to wait for nightfall. He was bothered by the fact that he hadn't heard any sounds of fighting for the past two days, besides the hit-and-run attacks he'd instigated. It was possible he was the last one left.

Bleakly, he thought back on the events of the past two weeks. An hour after the immediate chaos of the plaza battle, a Captain Vakarian had assumed command. Saren wasn't sure which unit he'd been in command of originally.

For the first three days, Saren had been alone. The initial enemy counteroffensive had blitzed past his position without detecting him. Pockets of isolated Turian forces held on in the city, refusing to surrender. The Captain had done well coordinating their efforts. Saren had been busy reporting enemy movements, as well as taking out humans that were foolish enough to break away from larger groups.

On the fourth day, Saren had rejoined a squad. The friendly squad had been pinned down by the hostiles. Saren had taken a position behind the enemy and the hostile squad had been completely wiped out in the resulting crossfire. The squad consisted of seven recruits (eight, with Saren), from three different companies (four, with Saren). Only recently out of boot camp, just like Saren. Despite the minor victory, morale remained low.

Saren had, somehow, ended up being the natural leader. Despite being the youngest of the group. The recruits continued to have some success in the following days. Then, on the seventh day, the humans had made a mass broadcast to the Turians' omni-tools. The images had been chilling. Standing atop a tall pile of Turian corpses, the enemy leader (a 'General Williams') had demanded the surrender of Turian forces. He'd made some kind of speech. The translation had been poor, but the final threat was clear enough. If the Turians thought they could subjugate the humans, then the humans as a species would respond by ascending to the same position the General was in.

Standing victorious atop a mountain of broken Turian remains. Just before the transmission ended, the commander in his MEC walked down from the pile as four other MECs lit the pile with flamethrowers. Two hours later, as massed human shuttles were landing additional reinforcements on the planet, Captain Vakarian gave the order to stand down and surrender to the humans.

Enraged by the Captain's cowardice, Saren had defied the order. There had apparently been a few other squads that did the same. Then, on the tenth day, his squad ran out of dextro rations. Saren had shot Aressa for suggesting that they should surrender. It wasn't fatal, of course, but Saren silently regretted that he had to resort to fear to keep his squad in line. The next day, Saren discovered that his squad had deserted him while he was asleep.

And so, he had been alone again, fourth day counting now. No food. He had discarded his sniper rifle days ago, the first time he'd ever had a weapon deplete its' internal ammo block in combat. He suspected the replacement assault rifle he'd recovered from a fallen Turian was running low too. His sidearm was still good, though. He'd only seen other Turians from a distance. Prisoners in a camp outside the city walls.

He wasn't even sure what the exact time was, since he'd been forced to deplete all his hardsuit and omni-tool power reserves for a desperate tech attack to escape a patrol. By the time Saren got a chance to recharge them, the omni-tool systems had reset, including the time and date settings.

Suddenly, his omni-tool alerted him to something. It was another mass-broadcast. He was about to dismiss it when he recognized a distinctly Turian voice. It was none other than the Primarch. Paying closer attention, Saren noticed it was transmitted over secure Hierarchy comm channels, unlike the earlier message.

"The unfortunate misunderstanding," The Primarch sounded highly uncomfortable making the broadcast "that was the Relay 314 Incident, has been resolved as far as the Turian Hierarchy is concerned. The Hierarchy apologizes to the Systems Alliance, and to the population of Shanxi, that this incident was allowed to take place."

The camera switched to an asari reporter, also showing a large number of other journalists from every Council species. After identifying herself, the asari asks "Is it true that the forces of the Turian Peacekeeping Fleet opened fire on human vessels without making any attempt at first contact?"

For a moment, the Primarch was clearly forcing down an angry outburst. He calmly continued "The actions of Admiral Kandros were an unacceptable violation of several Council laws. The admiral has retroactively been stripped of his rank and the Hierarchy refuses to be held responsible for the actions of a single, power-hungry renegade. However, rest assured that the Hierarchy will be implementing additional military review procedures to ensure that bloodthirsty maniacs like Vasseus Kandros will no longer be able to rise to positions of leadership."

"This One's viewers are most curious as to what will happen to the captured Turian soldiers who took part in the incident." A hanar asked, polite (and long-wided) as the jellyfish always were.

"The Systems Alliance has agreed to release all Turians currently in their custody. The Hierarchy is presently working with the Alliance to make contact with soldiers that have yet to surrender. My orders to them are, that they should surrender to human authorities at once, so that they might be returned to Turian space as quickly as possible."

The Primarch continues, his voice far more even now "As the ground forces involved were not privy to the decision-making process of Kandros and the ship captains in the fleet, they had no reason to question the legitimacy of their orders. Therefore, they will not be collectively held accountable for their part in the Relay 314 Incident."

Saren could scarcely believe what he was hearing. But then again, it was clear enough that the Primarch had been politically pressured to make that statement by the other two-thirds of the Council. The Primarch delivered a final statement before the conference feed was cut. "After reviewing the preliminary reports, I can now safely say that I agree with the sentiments that the Alliance diplomat presented to the Council four days ago. It is best for all involved to put this entire disgraceful affair behind us and focus instead on the benefits in commerce, technology and culture that the Systems Alliance and Citadel Council can provide to each other."

Six hours later, Saren Arterius laid down his weapons and surrendered. None of the other two hundred and forty-two Turian survivors were able to corroborate Saren's account of Desolas' capture. Apparently, he was the only survivor who saw the confrontation at the plaza. With the Systems Alliance denying the capture of his brother and the existence of the black-armored commandos supposedly responsible, Saren is ultimately put into a psychiatric institution along with numerous other traumatized Turian recruits that fought in the Relay 314 Incident.

Saren's only solace was found in the fact that General Williams had died in prison, disgraced after being court-martialed for his desecration of Turian dead. After the doctors determined that Saren had come to terms with his 'trauma-induced delusions', the Turian moved on to become the third-youngest Turian Spectre in history.

Whew, that took a while. Although, this was actually the second chapter to be finished after the original timeline/infodump chapter (which is still being rewritten). This chapter too, has been repeatedly adjusted. Most notably, I decided to leave the awesomeness of X-Com's Flag Battleship for some other time and replaced the XDN Cronus curbstomping the Turian fleet with something slightly less impressive. I decided to put this out there, despite the rewrite still-being ongoing, in the hopes that it will motivate me to write more often.

Also, if you intend to re-read the first chapter to remind yourself of the backstory, I'd point out that a lot of the tech descriptions are going to be invalidated. The basic timeline and events will remain, but tech descriptions will not. In particular, certain mistakes on my part (such as MECs being immune to psi) will be corrected. Other frivolous bits will be cut out entirely and left more ambiguous to allow for more creative freedom in later chapters.

Update 1: Made a number of immediate fixes based on comments.
Lone Gundam: Thanks for pointing that out.
Kinunatz: Infantry laser weapons are definitely a part of human military doctrine. Never meant to imply otherwise, and I have added that to the chapter. They were initially included in some scenes that I had in my head but never managed put into good writing, and I ended up forgetting to showcase them directly. As far as Plasma weapons go, it's a technology X-Com kept to itself, same with psionics. It was reinvented by the rest of humanity some time after the discovery of the Mass Effect, but it doesn't ignore kinetic barriers outright, like lasers do. On top of that, plasma weapons are several times more expensive than lasers, which are themselves several times more expensive than ME weapons. Considering there is no tangible benefit in firepower between lasers and plasma as soon as shields and barriers are involved, the weapons never made it into widespread use. They will make an appearance in the story, but not just yet.