[Tshombesha] The Game Has Changed

Kenlin's mouth had dropped open and his eyes had bugged in surprise when the light glinted off the armored bodies of the Suns in the city below. They were there to fight the Suns, yes. But not on THIS mission. That changed things. His surprise was interrupted by orders from his commander and he nodded in the affirmative before tapping the side of his visor, opening a channel to command.

"Command, Solia squad has visual on a Blue Suns force currently engaging Liberation Guard forces. We estimate the Guard will be compromised within the hour. Redirecting to assist per secondary objectives and requesting additional support!"

"Get those four eyed bastards the fuck out of my operation! Get those blood sucking vicious bastards... I'll kill em all!"

The turian was clearly in unrest at the presence of the rival mercenaries.

"Is anyone securing transportation?! Spirits alive and spirits dead, what the fuck is going on with you rats! Move, bug eyes! MOVE!"

Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT THE FUCK UP

Deep breaths deep breaths deep breaths

Hold

Internalize

Exhale.

Thank the Wheel for polarizing functions on your helmet.

Good

now that we've successfully repressed our desire to strangle the platoon's only dedicated medic and the rising tide of panic at going up against an equal number of Suns with more on the way

A quick, terse "We're good" (a woman of many words was the Sergeant)

let's go see about that transport shall we? Down the way, both sets of access doors slid open letting rain and wind into the concourse.

"Form up." There was a pause, a moment's hesitation and he ran a quick, critical eye over his men. A few (like the fucking turian) were outright losing their shit. More were keeping it together, busying themselves in last minute checks on their drones or their guns or the mechs.

It felt

It felt so hollow. They would follow him because he was good at what he did (or at the very least not a complete fuck up) and because the shadow of the Ogre loomed over them. Nobody wanted to paint a nice, fat, target over every vital organ and extremity they had by deserting or questioning their orders. But

and this was the thing, that but

They weren't going to follow him for him. He didn't inspire loyalty, vague fear maybe, professional respect, but no loyalty. Never loyalty. Behind his closed helmet his mouth opened and closed once or twice, there were words, there were words that he wanted to say.

But nothing came ou-

"I know what some of you are thinking right now. You're thinking that this is varrenshit, that this isn't what we're here for or what we're equipped for." He was facing them, at the head of their little group as, behind him, outside the window in the driving rain, the lights on the ambulances and firetrucks were flickering on; the men and woman securing it running through the basic pre flight list. He was facing them and oh fucking shrell what was he doing?

"And you know what? You're right. But we are fucking Eclipse; shit happens, we stumble, we land on our feet and we keep. Fucking. Moving. We adapt and we survive. And if anyone here's going to say that that's not true, that a full platoon of Eclipse troopers can't take on a dozen Suns who don't even know that they're coming, then I'd say that you don't deserve to wear this fucking uniform."

The cargo doors hissed and peeled up, ramps lowered, hatches slid back.

"Load up people. We've got Suns to kill and some insurgents to save."










Smoke and storm and EMC and their own false flags guarded them, hid them so that when the first yellow boots and bonewhite pads landed on the rootops and balconies ringing junction cross, the improvised shuttles disgorging their heavily armed and armored cargo, they did so unseen.

And when they struck they struck first, bursts of Eclipse fire raking the wasteland around Junction Cross.

Tight.

Controlled.

Precise.

Aalos was right. He didn’t inspire loyalty; he wasn’t someone who could forge bonds between his soldiers by strength of charisma alone. If he inspired kinship in Doran it wasn’t because of his pretty words. (Not entirely. She would never admit that she was surprised , even a little impressed.) It was the profound hollowness of his tone for a split second before his shoulders squared and he reminded them that they could do this. Strange, maybe, but they were all a little dark and twisty since the whole galaxy got knocked on its ear.

It was almost relief when they dropped out of the transport and into a warzone.
Doran slid into position at the opening of one of the narrow streets, the impact a ghost of sensation against her armored shoulder. Peering around the corner resulted in a hail of gunfire and she jerked back. Shit. She swung around the corner and fired a couple of bursts.

Biotic power spilled over her shoulders and down her arms, her shield hummed a bit as tendrils brushed against it, and she could catch the scent of burning ozone. She snatched at a pile of crates sending them toppling across the mouth of the alley to form makeshift cover. Doran released the power reluctantly and dove for the newly opened position, adding more suppressive fire into the mix. A few shots hissed across her shields (leaving little ripples like a stone skipping across a pond) before she was crouched safely behind the crates.

She listened for further orders with one ear while she tried to hit one of these slippery bastards.

Aalos' speech had a rather positive affect on Bistis' nerves. He wasn't filled with some sort of super salarian drive that was going to end with every Sun dead on the streets below and him being praised as a hero for it. But it had helped in finally allowing him get that nervous energy that had been plaguing him for what felt like centuries.

And then they entered the war zone.

Trailing behind the others the salarian took cover just as several bullets whizzed over his head.

"Shit. Good thing I brought my helmet.
"

He chuckled as he peeked up and returned fire.

Target priority information scrolled and crawled over his vision. The "game" had begun. Now it was a matter of choices, adaptation, tactics, and flexibility. He assigned commands to his small army of mechs, laying down covering fire, absorbing target priority from the suns. No matter how much he cared for them, how long he operated them, they were expendable, chess pieces to be sacrificed.

So far, things were going well, a few unexpected happenings, but well within normal boundaries of what he was capable of happening. Still, this fight could not be drawn out, it had to be ended, quickly.

While Aalos' assumption that they wouldn't follow him out of loyalty was somewhat accurate, Kenlin, being somewhat green and enthusiastic, felt his spirit bolstered by the speech, and at least for the next little while, he would follow Aalos to hell and back. Which was good, since fighting Blue Suns, even with the element of surprise, could be similar to delving through demonic pits.

As soon as they hit the buildings surrounding Junction Cross, a fresh burst of tech interference was sent out from his ECM suite, scrambling IFF on all the Suns' HUDS. Blue dots on their displays became red dots, red dots became blue dots, and nothing ever stayed the color it was for long. Communications became scrambled, adding to the confusion on the ground. After Eclipse's initial volley, Kenlin, having switched to his pistol rather than his shotgun for this range, spied a group of Suns huddling in a stand of some sort, having dodged (mostly) the initial attack.

His OT crackled with electricity as he fired an Overload burst into the middle of the small space, geared to burst both shields, and overload weapons tech, forcing down time and buying his fellow Eclipse some time before a counter attack, at least from the Suns in there.

Good, this was good it was good. Behind that inscrutable faceplate the poison green salarian's already unpleasant features twisted into an ugly, self satisfied smirk.

The ambush had been well executed, whatever else went down he handn't fucked up that at least. The bulk of Eclipse troops were arranged in a tight, cohesive, arc across the sprawl of prefabs. Securing the Guard's flank with the high ground and bracketing the stunned and reeling Suns. They were scattered, they were vulnerable, now was the time to press the advantage, carve them away as-

Get. A fucking. Hold of yourself.

Right, right, right, right. Priorities.

Aalos keyed in the Sergeant as down below, loose bands of troopers began pressing in on the square, led by a vanguard of mecha their lights cutting through the downpour.

"Maintain the formation around the square, we just need to keep them busy for a couple minutes longer."

The smile faded as a yellow armored form went down in the street, thrashing as rounds the color of day old bruises punched bloody holes in his hardsuit. The man fell, twitching in the mud. The Suns were reforming their units.

"Keep a leash on them."

It wasn't a hard and fast rule "never leave a man behind". Sometimes it wasn't feasible to extract. Sometimes it was in the name of a grand strategy or tactical maneuver. Sometimes shit just happened. But commanders, the good commanders, didn't waste the lives of their men. They didn't abandon them to the enemy if they had any opportunity to do otherwise.

Aalos wanted to be one of the good ones.

His second in command simply nodded, taciturn as ever and took up his position at the rear of the roof. Her orders crackling through the channels as he slid down the ladder bolted to the exterior to the next level, and then hopped down into the rain drowned street.

Water rushed over his calves, flowing downhill.

Street. River. Same thing.

"You three. You and you. With me."

Three riflemen. The ex-garitrooper from Bekenstein. The biotic specialist with the hatchet kissed face (Doran or some shit). He motioned for them to fall in line as he passed, moving behind the shells of buildings, angling for the Guard's improvised barricades.

For the time being the momentum was on their side.

Doran slogged through the mixture of water and mud, falling silently into step at Aalos' gesture.

Her nose wrinkled at the water falling from the sky. Sure, she had fought planetside more often than not, but she never got used to weather. It was one of the disadvantages of being a spacer. Wind, rain, snow, dust storms - it was all overrated in her book. Give her a climate-controlled habitat any time. She was mocked mercilessly during her first deployment over a passing comment, so she sure as hell wouldn't admit it now.

Dodging from building to building was easy enough, though she wondered exactly what Aalos had in mind. Either way she was ready for action, faint wisps of biotic power clinging to her shoulders in an unconscious display. She wouldn't admit it any more than her distaste for weather, but she was bored when the odds were in her favor.

Her eyes narrowed as they neared enemy lines... were they going to rescue the fallen Eclipse? She groaned inwardly. Heroics then. Aalos was a halfway decent guy, she would give him that.

The commander was breaking off with a small group. For what he wasn't quite sure. What was important was that they needed supporting fire. Wiping more rain off of his helmet lens, he made more adjustments to the mech's commands. They pressed forward as one and began suppressing fire on the Suns. He would lose a few, that much was certain, but he was giving them an opening.

A bullet no bigger then a grain of sand flashed into the head of one of the LOKIs, water sizzling and boiling where it met the impact, and it fell in place. The body would be salvageable, that was something, at least.

And then the sky blossomed in heat and sound. How the grenade managed to get that high in the air and not come even close to hitting was unknown, it was just a big light sh-

Unless

He spotted the grenade just as it popped up from a dip in terrain. He had maybe half a second to think and react. He shut off motor control in all of the drones except the first line, it was the quickest way to get them low. The first line remained standing to absorb the blow. It was already too close to do anything else but try and salvage what he could.

The grenade impacted the middle-most mech in the first line, carrying it over the limp forms of the others. The rest of the first line were sent flying in opposing directions as the explosion drove a wedge in them. Some may have been in survivable shape, but he couldn't tell.

Crisis averted, for the most part, he reactivated motor controls for the rest of the mechs, they still had to keep up that suppressing fire. The mechs were stunned and suppressed themselves, for the moment.

Oh shit, where's the commander going?

Oh well, Aalos hadn't told him to come along so Kenlin supposed suppressing was the name of the game for now. Still on the rooftops above the square where the LOKIs were advancing, he took potshots with his pistol at any Blue Sun that dare showed any of it's color over their chosen cover.

He fiddled with his OT a second, and a duplicate Kenlin took its place on another rooftop, appearing to also take shots at Suns. The electronics suite in his suit took a moment to attempt forcing it's way into the Blue Sun's communications net to listen in.

...But really. Shrell fuck me sideways.

The Guard was huddled behind their makeshift barricades, damp, dirty, and exhausted from a solid days worth of constant low level fighting across the slums. Ammo was low (for those lucky enough to be toting modern military tech anyway) and the bodies of the fallen were stacked in the interior of one half-gutted prefab like so much cordwood.

Not out of disrespect mind. It was just the only dry spot in the entire fortified line.

They couldn't hold. They knew that. Aalos knew that. Fuck, even the grunts behind him, rifles cradled in their arms, helmeted heads twitching towards the storm of gunfire Solia traded with the pinned down Suns units, even they knew it. Fifteen minutes, half an hour the Suns would pull their shit together and there wouldn't be enough firepower in the whole Wheeldammed platoon to save them.

"How much longer." The four eyed aide de camp shifted uncomfortably under the salarian's gaze but was thankfully spared from another awkward excuse by the arrival of the man of the hour.

He didn't look like much. Balding, purpling bruises spread across a taped up nose and a hand swathed in bandages, forty in his rearview mirror and a long, boring life of middle management ahead of him. And yet and yet...dull green eyes narrowed into slits behind that black visor as he saw it. The way people almost unconsciously fell into position around the man, their bodies turned towards him their faces deferentially directed away. It practically oozed from him, puddling behind the human with every step his took.

Charisma. Henderson had it in spades.

"Good to see our allies here at last. So, Lieutenant..."

"Aalos." He had to bite down to keep from adding a "sir".

"Aalos how much time are we looking at?"

"Ten minutes to evac you and your men and that's cutting it real f-" the obscenity died in his throat and the Lystheni didn't bother trying to revive it, "close. Command'll have shock units moving through the slums to break the Sun advance but it's not going to buy us much but time."

Henderson was already relaying the information to the batarian from earlier and the handful of other men who had to be his lieutenants, runners breaking off, heading deeper into the warren of corridors and housing that formed the core of the complex.

"Right then what else?"

"We've got men stati-"

Out of all the men and women in Solia there was only one who had any warning; Kenlin's suit cracked the net just in time to hear a snippet of chatter.

"-uns on the ground this is Arrowhead two one two. Be advised aerial su-"
"-ldged Arrowhead confirm west pla-"

A second for it to sink it.

One.

Two.

And then the sky was fire.

Things were looking bad. He'd already lost a good portion of his mechs, and the Suns were pressing. He could still pull it off. He'd need time to recover, but the mechs were getting back into position and Wait, why is the sky orange all of a

Oh shrell.

The engineer was carried by the pressure wave of rockets exploding around him. He had managed to give the mechs the same servo shutdown command as last time before it hit him. His ears rung as he hit the ground, his back stinging from the impact. He had no idea what had happened to his mechs, he lay there, trying to piece it all together.

He had all of a second to react, and no time at all to warn his team beyond a barely registered 'Get to cov-' before hell was opening up on the square. Kenlin jumped over the border of the rooftop he was on, holding an outside ledge and swinging himself into a window below. It wasn't much but it wasn't as exposed as the roof at least. He was still tossed around the room a little by the explosive force of the assault.

When it seemed as though it had faded he picked himself up off the ground, moving back to the window. His fist crackled with lightning as he sent another Overload hurtling at another group of Suns troopers below, and then he spotted Yori recovering from his blast, most of his mechs destroyed around him. The bright red frog quickly hit his cloaking device, activated his jump jets, and leapt from the window rushing to the other Salarian quickly and unnoticed.

"Ugh, you ok Yori? Let's get you up and get the shrell out of the open here." With that, the invisible amphibian helped Yori to his feet, hauling him to the side of the street and back within the cover of a ruined storefront. He took a moment to pop up over the ruined glass display windows to let off a pistol burst at a small group of Suns trying to make it across the battered crossroads.

Now that he was actually keyed into their frequency, hopefully no terrible surprises like the air assault happen again.

The world swam like an ocean above him. He was conscious, barely. He felt pain, but it was distant, like a drum heard in the distance, throbbing. He concentrated, and held on to the pain. It kept him awake, it helped him pull himself together. He built upon the pain and used it as his foundation. Slowly, he brought his hand up from the dull throbbing in his abdomen, and saw green ichor splattering his glove.

"-Yori?"

Shrell, not even a moment to himself.

The pain grew in intensity, like a dam being broken. He was lifted to his feet, his arm being draped over another, and he managed to keep up with the other, feet stumbling over each over. He dropped behind the ruined glass displays, broken pieces of it crunching against his armor as he cried out in pain. He couldn't help it. He was useless right now.

His helmet was cracked, and his HUD was flickering, but he didn't need clarity to see it.

[STATUS: MECH 1 THROUGH 11] INOPERABLE

[STATUS: CONTROL UNIT] INOPERABLE

[STATUS: REPAIR DRONE] STANDBY


No, he wasn't useless. He was worse then useless.

Clumsily, he checked his suit for a medigel vial. No dice. Either it broke or it fell off in the confusion. Trying to stave off the pain, he brought his SMG to point towards the door, covering the other's flank.

Plenty of information flowed to Kenlin's tool, parsed and gleaned from the greater whole as Suns communications pieced themselves back together together. Most was excluded in the interests of not setting his gear on fire through data overload, but there was enough to piece together a picture. A disjointed rambling picture granted, made out of glimpses and fragments of data, but it gave him a sense of the situation. The lay of the land as it were.

And the more chatter that poured through his earpiece the uglier that situation became.

Commando units ambushing forward elements. Suns casualties, moderate. Eclipse casualties light. Counterpush. Suns casualties light. Eclipse casualties moderate. Troopers had breached Victoria's arcologies. Troopers encountering heavy resistance from Suns shock squads. Troopers unable to fulfill directive, targets secured by Suns, yellow falling back to upper levels, blue units moving down. Suns reinforcements massing. Gunships dropping heavy weapons operators and support squads on rooftops. Suns gunships securing an LZ for medical evac. Securing an LZ for Legionnaire evac. Securing an LZ for trooper evac.

They were losing the field. Retreating in good order, taking their wounded and what tech they had left with them with them, sending Suns scattering with biotic volleys and tech bursts as they nipped at their heels, but losing it all the same.

It was time to go.

The door in the back of the store unlocked with a hiss and yellow armored form slammed it open. His expression unreadable behind the faceless helmet but the plates pitted by accelerator fire and heaving shoulders spoke volumes. He cradled a rifle in his arms, the muzzle unconsciously pointed towards the ruined doorway. Behind the trooper other black and gold shapes moved in the gloom and the rain, making their way back to the improvised transports through the muck and back allies.

"We're moving. Can he walk?"

Across the buildings a similar scene was occurring, except with less implicit comradery and more

"Get the fucker up and move you Wheelcrushed bastards."

A stray rocket had blown out the wall, burying half the room in a layer of rubble. Henderson was prone, bleeding but alive. Aalos's head was ringing, he was alive and wishing he wasn't because fucking Wheel it felt like someone had jacked a live cable into his spine.

He grabbed the nearest lieutenant and practically roared in his face. An anemic, high pitched roar, but a roar nonetheless.

"Get everyone who can move, we're pulling out."