[The Soft Rains] Phase 01- The Cradle of Civilization

The gunships finally managed to disperse the crowd. It was like herding animals, not sentient beings, this was inhuman and the behavior of the attackers was something to think about. Defending yourself when attacked is something but this seemed like a meatgrinder of epic proportions with no sense to it.

This Dano guy was a class one psycho. Either had been before or became here. How could these idiots even survive to get this far? The knife in his chest looked quite freaky but judging by his cybernetics, it must be an area where it didn’t do much.

Frhe’ya came up behind her cover and sprinted over to Sellers, crouching in the shadow next to her and leaning towards a wall. She kept her barriers up for the time being.

“So far so good, was this the expected 'welcome', Sellers? Did hardly seem like… human beings.”

Rajapaske slowly lowered her rifle, staring at the mess their weapons had made of the attackers. Blood. Lots of blood. The wounded still whimpering and moaning in agony with ruined limbs. Muscle memory made her eject the heat sink still in the Mattock, the cherry red sink clattering against the cracked concrete and dust.

"I'm good, ma'am," She reported to Sellers. There were things they'd need to do but for a moment she just allowed herself to stare at the carnage.

Then Dano showed up and said something in that accent and she switched to staring at him.

The mass shifted, buckled, then collapsed. That was the key for this type of warfare: momentum. Charging ahead with seemingly no regard for loss of life and limb, they looked unstoppable. Melting away in fear as the gunners swooped overhead, Sinisa wondered why he had ever even worried. Still, it was a close thing. If that air support hadn't showed up then and there and broke the camel's back, they might've been in for a much longer ride.

Nothing wrong with that, though, he reckoned; Sinisa had watched the rebels flee with unconcealed disappointment. So soon? He hadn't even switched to incendiaries yet! He fired a few half-hearted potshots at the rearguard, but it wasn't the same. That's the problem with duck-hunts: they don't put up much of a challenge. A nice aperitif that left you wanting for the main course. Unsatisfied.

Once the exodus was complete, he clambered to his feet and compacted his weapon. And then he casually sauntered over to the group. Behind him, the wails of the merely wounded were a distant murmur - but rising in intensity. The noise irritated Sinisa. He had a half-thought about putting them down, but he figured this was probably against Alliance etiquette.

"How kind've you to put on a show, Sellers," he said breezily, "I enjoyed the overture, but the finale left something to be desired. Perhaps an encore." He reached up his arms and stretched, slowly, arcing his back. The gash on his forehead had mostly staunched by now, but it left a long trail of blood down his cheekbone. He rubbed it from his face like a runway model adjusting her make-up.

"Nice footwork out there, pink," he added, his gaze flickering to the group's token asari. He was pretty sure she had given her name before, but even if he had heard it, he'd be damned if he could remember it. Asari names were like that. She'd waded into the fray with an alacrity that had probably set the marines' teeth on edge, but gained an admirer in Sinisa. What's the point of being a soldier if you can't enjoy yourself?

Speaking of enjoying yourself, Dano had returned, much to his amazement, though he was looking a lot worse for wear. It turns out he had run - just not in the direction Sinisa had thought. The slums were dangerous for hired help - back in Mumbai, a whole squad of contractors had disappeared in one - but he doubted that had phased Dano. He doubted that the Reapers had phased Dano.

"Tendaji was a switch?" Hardly unexpected, but still bad news. "He had all this time to case the FOB. Probably got all the ins-and-outs; time schedules, weak points, the works." It was only then that Sinisa remembered that Bigsby's head was scattered over a ten-metre radius. They had met three people so far: one was now dead, one had turned traitor, and the other was certifiable. Ozymandias was becoming less and less comfortable.

His eyes slid down to the knife jutting out of Dano's torso, while also taking in some of the scenery.

"You got a little somethin' on your chest, big guy."

"All good over here, ma'am." Cline replied as he rose from his cover.

The Australian found his feet a little heavily.
"Yeah, I'm in one piece over here."
He noticed Rajapaske just staring at the aftermath. Uneasily, he inquired "you alright there?"

Dano appeared then and said something he found difficult to understand through the other man's accent. When Sinisa 'translated', Hueyt nodded understanding.
"Which one was Tendaji? How did you not find out about this before now?"

Judging from the facial expression of some of the others, she had not been the only one left puzzled by Dano’s story and Tendaji’s fate. She gritted her teeth, that racist bastard.

It made a certain sense though when they had been talking about Zaman and his people. But how was it possible to get someone weird like Tendaji inside? Or did he get turned while being here? Then everybody could be a potential traitor. Even Dano after his mysterious return from running errands as strange as that seemed.

She chuckled at the comment of Sinisa towards her and nodded.
But the man was right, the situation had deteriorated to a point where they desperately had to try and reclaim the initiative if this was supposed to end well. Sellers had to answer that part.

"Alive."

What a fucking waste.

That was really all that could be said about the whole thing. Good marines were dead. Civvies were dead. Even the innies (he wasn't exactly going to shed a tear over them but people were people, corpses were corpses, and there was nothing pretty about the way any of them had died).

Quick headcount all around, instinctive and habitual. The asari was acting more like a girl out of boot than the girl who was actually just out of boot (who looked like she was handling herself alright). The merc looked like the cat that ate the goddamn canary. Cline...existed. The planetside soldier looked like he was about to shit himself.

About as expected. But then Dano showed up and started making noises.

Joshua was ninety percent sure they were words. A finger tapped against his leg and he was about thirty seconds away from literally rekeying his translator when the language center of his brain finished parsing the auditory mess and decided to clue the rest of his head in.

Ah. Well then.

Full on Earthside shitfest and congratu-fucking-lations Service Chief you just got a nice and shiny invite.

Somewhere, Alazar was probably laughing.

Emma was the last to respond, she had merely been staring at the scene of destruction, the bodies piled up in the wall where the innies attempted to swarm them. It wasn't warfare so much as a slaughter, they weren't so much people as animals.

A year ago, she would have been hyperventilating, a girl from Cardiff who had a pretty sheltered childhood. Instead, all she did was look on at the scene, without a word.

"Clear"

"Not like this. We've had problems sure but..." Sellers began, only to be interrupted by an approaching Hemmings.

"We weren't the only place hit. These are coordinated attacks through the whole region right now just like this." he started, before looking up at a Mantis coming in to land outside.

"Shit..." And with that he darted off away from the group at a near sprint, leaving Sellers holding a "I don't like what's about to happen" look on her face. She recovered herself and started speaking again.

"Look, I need everyone to go ahead and get geared up. I have a feeling we're about to get even more unpleasant news." she said, sighing while looking back at the Mantis.

Approaching from the dust were three men, two in spit polished armor as as Hemmings was trying to speak to the trailing one. The leader was a man had leathery tan skin and broad shoulders. His face seemed a little chubby, but the first thing someone would notice instead was the large gash cutting across the right side of his head. Whoever he was, his eyes were on full of fire and hate as he silently stode up, looking at the scattered corpses.


"An' what the hellll do you think you limp dicked sorry sons of bitches is doin' standin' around gawkin' like that. Don't you recognize it when an honest to gawd Rear Admiral of the Systems Alliance is present? I've seen PRIVATES less fucked up than this shiet. Snap to it!" He bellowed, any assortment of phlegm and slime coming from a mouth that likely had never once kissed its mother.

Behind him Hemmings and the other man were now arguing.

Sellers rolled her eyes and let out a long sigh. Today was going to be a very long day for her.


Somewhere Dano had wandered off again.

And where, by the abyss, do all those husks come from and where are they indoctrinated? That was what Freh wanted to ask but could not as the gunship was taking up everyone's attention. She nodded at Sellers' orders and crossed the space to where her gear was located, near the entry to the bunks.

Dust has settled on everything near the entrance, also on top of her bag and the Disciple on top. She took the shotgun and shook it to remove the sand. A quick check was enough to ensure it was good to go. Freh'ya attached it to the small of her back. From a hardened pocket she fished three lift grenades and attached it to her right hip and basically was ready to go.

"Ready when you are." she said towards Sellers, when suddenly the guest started to speak. Or scold more likely.
There had been no announcement of a high ranking officer by anyone, so she had not been paying attention. Now she turned and had a closer look. From his looks he seemed to be a weathered veteran. Freh'ya greeted with her republic's formal military gesture of her right fist to the center of her breast.

"Can do, ma'am." Cline replied.

After grabbing the rest of his gear from his bunk, Michael then heard the Rear Admiral shout. 'Here's hoping he doesn't make himself a target here.' the combat engineer thought.

Quickly shooting off a salute to the Rear Admiral, the Service Chief then said "With all due respect, sir, we weren't notified of your presence. We just got here."

A dozen meters away, in the hut amidst the rest of his gear, Vukovic was suddenly incredibly grateful that he'd cleared the blast zone when he had.

"Do I LOOK like a GOD DAMNED Rear Admiral to you son? I work for a gawd damned livin' you little shitpaste piece of dirt. Twenty Five years of servin' the Systems Alliance making sure the slime like you don't do anything to fuck up our fine military. And now the good lord has allooooowed me to come forth and do my duty again here, do you understand? And which particular fuck up are you, eh? Seeervice Chief Cline! HAVE SOME RESPECT FOR RANK SON! I bet you were one of those they just pulled off the line to train and feel pretty because all the worthwile Marines had gone off and diiieed so that your lot could snuggle up all nice and tight at night with your tiny dick and happy little teddy bear. Is that what you did? I bet it was. And what the fuck is going on with that equipment right there? Is your Alliance Issued Gear not good enough for you? Are you BETTER than what the Systems Alliance Marine Corps has imparted upon you for the sake of your betterment? When I was in your position we didn't have any of that fancy equipemnt or toys. Hell, our gear was hardly better than that FUCKING RABBLE you just turned into a fine red paste. You better get your shit straight, Cline, because I swear by Anderson himself that I will come down upon your asshole so hard you think Hackett hisself ran a dreadnaught into you. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!" The speaker exploded, his face turning beat red as more liquid poured from his mouth.

Invariably the man looked as though he was going half mad, even bringing Hemmins and the Admiral's attention from their own squabble.

"At ease, Chief!" Sellers hollered, only to earn a glare before the man went back into his rage, words deforming into an incomprehensible mess as he continued to bear down onto Cline, knifehand at the ready.

Cline receieved the rant stoicly, hardly flinching as he was chewed out.

"Chief, I EARNED my first Purple Heart and the Navy Cross on Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz. I EARNED my second Purple Heart fighting an insane biotic cult leader on some god-forsaken planet. I spent the entire goddamn Reaper War on EARTH with the 9th Marine Regiment." he said calmly, looking at the Chief accompaning the Admiral. "And for the record, I apologize."

"Fine," Rajapaske said to Hueyt shortly, "Seen worse."

She had, but it was...awe-inspiring...what modern weaponry could do.

At the arrival of the force of nature that was an Operations Chief of the Marines Corps, PFC Rajapaske did her best to fade into the background, shifting into at-ease quickly. When a SNCO showed up, it was best to do every by regulation and shut up-not shutting up or doing something wrong was like a beacon for those guys and you'd be running laps until you dropped before you knew it.

Cline was not shutting up. She winced in preparation for the OpChief's response. Well. At least the guy wasn't focusing on her.

Exit strategies were needed.

At that point, Merrick coughed, reappearing from where ever he had vanished to during the combat. His combat drone floated along in his trail and stopped along with the man who it belonged to about several feet from Cline. He coughed again and peered down at the fellow Ops Chief through his blackened helmet, wondering how much more angry this man could get.

So obviously this was no admiral, she thought as she folded her arms and watched the scene unfold. Humans had pretty loud voices and there had been some rumors when they first had appeared in the galaxy that they could change their skin color deliberately - it was a myth of course but Freh'ya now observed where that myth must have originated from.

Anyway, she would keep out of this mess for now.

And there it was. Fucking glorious, everything someone needed to say to that little puke but he couldn't because fuck it someone had to represent their rank around here and

...Is he

Yes.

...Is he really

Yes. Yes he is.

You have got to be shitting me.

Nope.

Whelp. Talk about natural selection in action. Still...

He risked a look around the doorframe and yep, yep about as bad as expected. Cline and the other poor bastards either too slow or too goddamn dumb to clear out. Mean, he wasn't exactly adverse to leaving some of them there but Jesus Christ he didn't envy them. And there were at least one or two who he would be fine bailing out.

No Josh. Don't be dumb.

He was going to do it, he was going to be dumb. Really dumb.

You fucker.

I know.

You dumbass.

I know I know I know.

He stood in the entryway and waved the woman from Recon over. Fuck what was the name on her badge? Did she introduce herself? PFC Raga...something. Ravaja? No, Rajan-

Rajapaske.

Thanks.

"PFC Rajapaske, need you for a second." A low undertone through their comms but it worked. Now to see if she was smart enough to take the out.

Rajapaske was indeed smart enough to take an out the moment it presented itself. Very carefully, she extricated herself and made her way to the hut where Service Chief Vukovic was taking shelter from the OpsChief, Mattock clamped to her back. The adrenaline was starting to fade.

"Chief." She said respectfully-guy was several paygrades above her and an N to boot, "Thanks."

On any other occasion, Sinisa would have folded his arms, kicked up his feet, and taken in the shitstorm. Precious were the times when he wasn't the one on the receiving end of a bollocking. Anyway, marines made much more satisfying targets than mercs, since the former actually took this stuff to heart. Sinisa had been called 'shitpaste' before. He figured he had taken it a lot better than the guy he stabbed in the throat for saying it.

But right now, he was knee-deep in heatsinks, cut off in some piece-of-shit base in some piece-of-shit shell of a country, and gradually coming to the realisation that this was the start of a long, long day. There was no way in hell he was going to stand around, in the middle of an active combat zone, shooting the shit. Time for a little facilitation. And if that meant inadvertently bailing out an uppity squaddie like Cline, then so be it.

"As much as I'm gettin' off on all this sexual tension," he declared, interceding verbally rather than physically between Cline and the belligerent OpsChief. The latter had a knife, after all. He patted Cline on his shoulder.

"You got a pretty mouth, Purple Heart, but I'mma need you to shut it for a sec while mama and papa have a domestic. Da?" Without waiting for a response, he swivelled to face his opponent.

"And you, Super OpsChief Admiral Man; not that I'm questionin' your priorities 'n' shit, but dja think you can stifle your erection for a few secs and give us the brief indoors, instead of in the middle of sniper alley? If, and when, we get back from whatever guaranteed slaughter-house you send us to, I promise I'll let you fix your strap-on and ram a dreadnought up my ass or whatever you want - although I should warn you, my commission is by the hour."

A sterling bit of diplomacy. The only reason Sinisa wasn't Secretary-General of the United Nations was because the United Nations was now a website being operated out of Swansea by a particularly dedicated MUN enthusiast, or so he thought.

"So that being said, how the hell did a bunch of dirt-eaters manage to coordinate a region-wide strike on your positions, when do we get to shoot them, who's behind all this, and when do we get to shoot them?"