[Tshombesha] The Game Has Changed

The key to any effective armed insurgency is a lack of presence, of defined form. The enemy can't hit what isn't there, they can't beat what doesn't stand and fight, they can't guard against the knife that darts out of the darkness to cleave tendons, sever nerves, to slip between the bones of the rib and pierce the artery. A thousand tiny cuts can do the job of any great big fuck-off hammer and intelligence could (and would) outmaneuver raw strength nine times out of ten.

Eclipse knew this. Internalized it. Their doctrine was built on the backs of salarian and asari warfare; adopted and tailored and honed it until they were satisfied that yes, this would do quite nicely.

This was why, when they made landfall on Tshombesha, the Suns had found their sensor networks overwhelmed by thousands of tiny bots. Simplistic VIs that had obscured their vision for precisely an hour and twenty five minutes. Why, instead of immediately moving to take the cities, Eclipse had first delved deep beneath the vast, bone dry mountains of the western hemisphere. Taking refuge in the countless abandoned mine shafts sunk as the corporations had searched for iridium and eezo. Why they moved their troops at night, evading 9 Codos patrols, their gunships flying under the LADAR floor. Why they had watched. Why they had waited.

Why the men and women of Solia platoon were here, now, coming in along the river from the sea. The storm at their backs, the towers of Victoria before them.

Final weapons checks. Take a few spare sinks. Let the mechs unfold and unpack, rising where the gunships had dropped them off an hour before. They had time, all the time in the world.

Nobody knew they were there.

Nobody knew they were coming.

"When we hit the city you will watch your shrelling squad formations. You will maintain your lines or so help me gods I will break you on the fucking Wheel. Primary objective is to secure the Mayor and his family, the regional Overseer and his family, and the MUT vice-president of Regional Operations and her family. Kill anyone who interferes.

Secondary objective is to secure the slums and make contact with the Liberation Guard. They will be our main allies during this campaign. Do what you like in the town but do not, I repeat do not, pull any shit in the slums or I will feed you to those people. Do I make myself clear?"

He grinned, a thin, skeletal thing at the chorus of affirmative replies. There was blood in the air. They could fucking smell it. And, while the first lieutenant would never be described as a pleasant man, he was absolved via competency and seniority.

There was a reason that he was the one leading the first strike.

"Now let's go send our friends a message shall we?

Move out."

To use a human expression, everything was running like clockwork. As to be expected of Eclipse War Doctrine, they'd arrived at Tsombesha, their movements a shadow in the dark. That they'd made landfall without any welcoming party from the Suns illustrated how much of a well oiled machine they could be.

And yet every machine can be deconstructed, broken down to the base elements. Or you could just smash it with a hammer. Result is the same.

The helmeted trooper's blue optics briefly scanned his unit, everyone at the final stage of prep, each with their own assignments on hand. Mars' assignment would inevitably involve figuring out how to use the proper application of force was best utilized. For all the Eclipse boasted the deadly assuredness of the thousand cuts, a single slice across the jugular was always going to put something down faster, with less work and mess for everyone.

For example Mars thought, as he filed away an audio recording of their CO's speech, along with other pertinent tactical data for later access, Why waste our advantage of surprise, and not go for a decapitation strike on Elizabeth, the capital of this mudball, and take out both Suns and local leadership.

No guarantee it would work of course, what with the Blue Suns fortifications being what they were, but hardly insurmountable. An immediate, decisive blow, could potentially cripple the Suns right away. But Command thought differently than Hadrian Mars, and the junior NCO didn't get to where he was by bitching at the apparent idiocy of his superiors.

There were other means of getting the point across.

Either way, I'll do this like I've always done. Leave nothing to chance, don't underestimate your enemy, and always go for the kill.

Before this was over, he'd make sure his enemies recognized how they'd never had a chance at all.

If this was clockwork, then Doran was perfectly happy to be a gear in a well-oiled machine. She was buzzing with energy as if she’d swallowed a plasma grenade. (She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.)

She fell into position silently and quickly with the ease of long practice. It was almost strange how easy it all came back.

If she had a flaw as a soldier, it was that tactics on a large scale weren’t her forte. The immediate problem – capturing the targets – was her priority. Still, she knew enough to know there were a lot of potential ways to approach the situation, and not one of them was going to lead to anything but drawn-out, bloody warfare.

Before this was over, things were gonna get ugly.

Now this was Bistis' forte: Sneaking, being quiet, taking someone out before they knew you even existed... Watching the fear on their comrades faces as they had no idea what was happening.

It was the best.

Now, if only everything went to plan. Getting the mayor and his family would be the easy part. Getting out alive, that would be the difficult part.

Yori was busying himself with final checks on his mech squad. He tapped a button on his haptic interface, and watched the mechs rise from the crouching position that the gunships left them in. His helmet HUD streamed information from the 7 LOKI mechs. Armor integrity, positioning data, software errors, sensor data. Dozens of numbers cycled through his view, his eyes twitching through them at a practiced haste. He uploaded the latest facial profiles of the HVTs to their databases. No accidents under his watch.

The mechs began to move into a squad formation. All the chess pieces were on the board. It was time to make the first move.

Aw yeah. Now it was interesting. Kenlin's practiced fingers switched through multiple channels, quickly scanning and testing the entire local communications networks, probing, digging for future weaknesses. There wasn't much to worry about yet but once they knew they were under attack, having an fly on the proverbial wall as they chattered, arranging resistance, troop movements. Well that was priceless, in Kenlin's opinion. Knowing where they were, what they were planning, before you got to them made aaaall the difference.

Until the time came to dive into their networks and listen in, though, it was time for gruntwork. Alongside his fellow Eclipse troopers, the Salarian checked and double checked his gear. Arnor, weapons, drone. All checked out, all ready to go. He fell in with the others at the end of Aalos' speech.

Time to start bringing these rebels down.

"Shit, why's everyone so quiet? Anybody else gettin' the chills? Heh. This reminds me of the old Basilian estate on- Nah, forget it."

The turian seemed to forgo snake-like slinking, standing tall and proud with a large shotgun slung across his chest. On his hip was the knife he was so fond of playing with; in a large pack on his back, several medical supplies. He would have preferred entering as a non-combatant, not for any fears of killing or moral reprehension but because it was easier to not have to do things until after the shooting. But, a job was a job, and he could never get away with choosing everything.

His helmet clouded his vision as he attempted to regulate his breathing. Eventually removing and adjusting it, he found his way much clearer. He slowly began singing to himself, inaudible at first.

As the drums of war,

He began marching forward, attempting to keep pace with the rest.

Beat in your heart,

Slight adjustments were made to his hefty shotgun, a few itches scratched here and there.

Take your vicious hand,

A slight pull on his leg indicated his knife belt was improperly secured. It took him no time to tighten it. A slight whisper escaped his lips.

"Commit the vicious art."

Rain fell to the earth, fat droplets of water beating down the fields of grass, drumming against plastiglass windows, turning the earthen roads to mud and muck piece by piece; it stuck to their boots as they moved into the town center.

It was quiet; silent and still. The only company the storm and the twin bursts of fire that cut through the LOKI's guarding the exterior entrance.

A full platoon. Three "rifle" (the ratio of specialist to general troop was far too skewed for his liking but at least everyone here could shoot straight) squads with tech and biotic support, a detachment of line infantry mechs. And him and the Sergeant of course, grim, dour pair that they were, stretched too thin salarian and battle scarred asari.

Hacking programs sliced into the heavy garage door. They swept through the motorpool at the base of the tower, their approach masked by VIs running interference with the arcology's security systems. Pile into the freight elevator. Men in first, LOKIs in last.

Watch the numbers tick past in silence, hear the musical chime as they reached the twenty fifth floor. Pile out into the deserted service hallways, LOKIs off first men off last. Move down the corridors in unison, armor the color of onyx and fresh cut topaz cutting a stark figure in the gloom and half light.

There was a door. A pair of combat techs took up positions on either side, the haptic lock shifting and cycling as they went to work.

"When the door opens you move double time, you do not stop. Synths in front. Fleshies in back. Make for the Umbilical on me, any falls pick him up, Basillian can patch them up later. Kenlin" Dark eyes, eyes the color of swamp muck cut across to the scarlet salarian. "Deploy the dataspike on my go."

Fifteen minutes of pure, uninterrupted chaos in the security mainframe courtesy of their friends in the Guard; painstakingly pieced together over the days and weeks before the corps made landfall. A gift to their liberators.

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

"Go."

The doors folded into the walls revealing a crowded food court, they had stayed inside like the good little sheep they were. "The Blue Suns Corporation'll be operating in the slums over the next several days" they said. "just try to continue about your business as normal".

Aalos stepped out into the concourse, leaving behind muddy footprints. Flanked by bone-white mechs, backed by better than forty men, he stepped out into the bright, orderly lives of those poor little sheep and loosed a burst from his Locust into the metal gridwork up above.

"EVERYBODY ON THE FUCKING FLOOR."

Now run. Run into that screaming crowd. Run and trust your brothers to catch you if you should stumble.

Run for your lives.

Tick tock tick tock times a wastin'.

One thing Hadrian Mars knew about dealing with a large number of frightened civillians was you couldn't always count on them to keep their heads down, especially when you were the "bad guy" in these scenarios. That said, people, humans anyway, are at their most relaxed when eating, and while they were no doubt panicking in their hyperactive little brains, so long as they illustrated their control of the situation, they wouldn't have to worry about a revolt, and shouldn't try to instigate one, by doing something stupid to make the civvies desperate.

That said, there was almost always a "hero" hiding in the mass of frightened cattle, waiting to ruin their day. Ranging from morons eager to impress their girlfriends, to fucking professionals in plainsclothes, these irritations needed to get a bullet in their heads sooner rather than later, in the off chance they managed to screw things up.

With that in mind, Mars held his Carnifex in a steady grip, eyes scanning through the crowd of frightened faces for the one foolish enough to make a move, and to put him out of his misery before the mechs (fucking piece of shit LOKI's. Outdated, cheap, and recyclable. Just like the rest of this bloody company) with their less than subtle targeting heuristics decided to mow down a crowd to eliminate a single target.

Not if Hadrian could help it. One bullet, one popped skull, one problem solved. Not to say he didn't respect someone who had the balls to screw with a platoon of professional killers but...

Sorry pal, but I can't let you interfere.

He thought, looking for the pair of eyes that held madness, bravery, or both.

Bistis was also eying the huddling masses carefully (scared animals backed into corners and all that) but wasn't too worried. He had armor, kinetic barriers, was flanked by both mechs and other, more vulnerable Eclipse. So in the event of a stupid civvie trying to play hero he was going to be at the bottom of potential targets.

But then... he realized, if one of his comrades were taken down, he may have to drag them out. Then he really would be vulnerable. Dragging a salarian, an asari, or shrell forbid the fucking turian. Would slow him down. And he couldn't just ran by and leave them. Oh no. If he did that he would get so much varren shit that he might as well leave the Eclipse and become a fucking freelancer

shit

He started watching everything and everyone more intently then, picking up his pace as his paranoia increased.

As the doors folded open, the mechs streamed in first, ready to take any fire from any brave citizen of the planet who felt that they'd make a difference. His vision played over the various reports of his servant machines. The mechs continues onward, van-guarding the advance of the eclipse, walking steadily forward like a constrained river.

He could literally feel the seconds going by as the elevator ascended. The program was ready. The mechs were ready. The mercs were ready. Why wasn't this elevator going faster?

The voice of his commander snapped him out of his anxious thoughts, and Kenlin nodded in the affirmative.

"On your mark."

As Aalos counted off, and hit 'Go', Kenlin launched the program. He liked to think he could hear the network crashing. The sounds of a million different bits of junk data, false location readings, and just plain system jamming was the sound of a symphony to the red frog. Of course that was all metaphorical, and this was real life. He was only half a step behind Aalos, long enough to deploy the program and get caught up in the moment. The loud crash of a shotgun blast overhead joined the staccato bursts of SMG fire.

And then they were off and running. Every second counted.

Basilian began with a saunter, not seeming to truly understand the urgency; by the time he realized his comrades were running, he had begun to fall behind. Luckily, his stride was lengthier and a bit more controlled than his salarian and human accompaniment, and he caught up rather quickly.

"Here's to one hell of a party!" he shouted, scanning the crowd for anything intriguing. A wealthy asari caught his eye.

Think there'll be enough time? he wondered, often considering a branching out into the kidnapping and extortion business.

"Not worth it," he decided quietly. He slowly began to tap a rhythm on his shotgun as he walked even with the rest of his squad.

"Oh, Fair Palaven, how I cannot miss you so!"

The singing was accompanied by quick, methodical movements of the head.

"Your sweet embrace and your lovely face has made me sore to go!"

Eclipse communications scrolling across her visor let her know when the network went down like a house of cards. Doran let a smirk settle on her lips, and though it wasn’t visible with her full helmet, it leaked into her body language: a don’t-fuck-with-me swagger that served her well on more than one occasion. She steered clear of the turian and his babbling (why the fuck did they need him anyway?) sticking close to the more vulnerable techs as extra security.

She was a varren eyeing something wriggling and crunchy when she looked at the civilians. Poor dumbasses looked like they were gonna wet themselves – which was just how she liked it. The less resistance, the less people she was going to have to crush into powder, and nobody wanted that, did they?

Hm, maybe a little show to keep it that way? A stray spark arched between her fingertips at the notion – then she thought better of it. No, not for civvies.

She noticed the green salarian (Something like bisque or biscuit. Bistis.) tense, his natural energy turning into something coiled tight as a spring. Maybe his name was a bit slippery, but she knew body language. She tapped on her earpiece, opening a private channel directly to the salarian’s. The ‘death mask’ helmet was worth every credit just for this feature. The way it unsettled people who weren’t used to it was just a bonus.

“Keep it together, Bistis. I won’t let anyone smoke your ass.”

She didn’t honestly give a fuck that he was nervous, but they had more than enough jumpy trigger-fingers on this team full of crazy.

They needn't have worried.

No,

seriously they didn't have to.

They caught the civvies with their pants down and their belts loosened; everyone enjoying a nice little meal and trying to ignore what was going on next door, all wrapped up in their plates or their conversations or their drinks. So tell me, what's the natural response when almost four dozen heavily armed and well armored men and women interrupt your lunch meeting and tell you to hit the deck?

Tshombesha was stable. There were no genocides, no biochem strikes, no armed uprisings (well until now anyway). The people sitting at their tables when Solia so rudely barged in had, for the most part, never heard a gun fired before. Had never shot one nor had one pointed at them. This was the creme of the crop. Their world was one of air conditioned offices and regular hours and business casual wear.

When Aalos led his platoon through the court they cried. They hid. They hit the floor. They fled. They shit themselves. It was panic, pandemonium, and that was just perfect for Eclipse. They made it to the Umbilical, that highwire tunnel of glass and steel strung between the buildings, without much incident (unless you count crippling any kind of meaning response from the tower's internal security an incident). All of them, the bitter soldier, the nervous tech, the green operator, the brave, the possibly insane (Basillian was lucky that his CO didn't spot him eying the asari, the salarian would have pistol whipped the taste from his mouth), and the insanely smug.

Disparate personalities or not at least they could cover ground in an orderly group at a good tempo.

The platoon reconvened at the entrance, leaving chaos in their wake. So far so good, listen to the rain drumming against the glass as the storm came in from the sea, no need for anymore inspirational speeches just a quick electronic and visual headcount to make sure that nobody had been lost.

The best thing about being this high up was that you had such a commanding view of the area. And even the rain couldn't obscure the flash of light in the sprawling slums like the gods striking a match.

Or the blue armored forms that swarmed through it like maggots on carrion.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck shrell take me fuck.

There was a mission. They had a mission. Take their targets that was their mission. But nobody had counted on the Suns striking the city first. Nobody had thought that the fucking Suns would (in their own stupid fumbling way) get the element of surprise.

"Shit." His second in command, succinctly summed up the situation in her own brusque way.

Take the targets. Lose the Guard. Lose our only major and well organized ground-side allies.

Take the Guard. Lose the targets. Lose our main source of leverage and access.

Damned if you do. Damned if you don't. The Sergeant was looking at him. The men were looking at him. Decision time and what is one green colored frog to do?

There was a pause.

"Kenlin, patch through to MOB. Tell them the Suns fucked us on counter-intel and they've got the slums locked down and that the Guard is going to be compromised within the next hour. As the closest assets relative to their location, Solia will run extraction ops as per our secondary objective but we'll need heavy reinforcements. Sgt. Astia"

he glanced at the asari and then over to a handful of emergency response vehicles lashed to one of the tower's external pads.

"Secure transport."

No plan survives first contact with the enemy. Or even first sighting in this case.

Things were certainly going to get more chaotic from this point. And in chaos, lies opportunity. He thought, as he peered at their CO, as he visibly pondered their best course of action.

Eclipse stood to loose a great deal, no matter how this little skirmish turned out. Hadrian considered this, even as he served as Astia's six while they made their way to the vehicles. The key, he knew, was finding a way of achieving his true mission without the other members of the Eclipse suspecting anything untoward. Keep playing dutiful drone, or take risks this early in his plans. Benefits and negatives either way.

...Wait for an opportunity. Take it if you can, but don't expose yourself. I haven't come this far to be caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

Not yet anyway. Not until it was too late for his enemies to do anything but seethe or bleed out where he left them.

As soon as they were out of sight of the civilians, she’d slipped back into the clockwork like a snake through grass. No need to strut for her fellow soldiers – she wasn’t fronting for them. She was never more thankful she could turn off speech projection when she caught sight of the blue uniforms swarming through the slums. Sonofabitch.

Doran cursed under her breath at every god in the fucking pantheon as she moved with the platoon. A strange mixture of anger and anticipation kept her steady on a knife’s edge, at once drawing everything close enough to suffocate and pulling away for clarity. Terrible odds? That was her element.

"I know no one is going to smoke my ass, human. So please kindly mind your own business."

Bistis had actually managed to cool down as they left the foodcourt. The anxiety and nervous energy fading away the further away they moved away from the crowd.

But not all of it.

Noticing the Suns in the Suns below the salarian got a tiny bit more animated; anxious about what was going to come next.

The plan had changed, as it always did, but much more now then it ever had for Yori. His eyes swept over the rain covered glass and at the blue suns below. By the time they got down there, they would already be engaging the guard. They had to redirect everything quickly.

His eyes swept over the readings of the mechs, making adjustments to their routines as they prepared to assist the guard.