by Cole Price
“Alliance fleets confirm transit complete,” Samantha reported, from back in the CIC.
I’ve examined the records. That maneuver was, by far, the largest single transition of naval tonnage through a single relay in known galactic history. According to Javik, not even the Protheans had ever accomplished such a feat. Possibly no civilization had, in countless millions of years.
Normandy led them all. Shepard stood on the ship’s bridge, silent and motionless, an icon in black and crimson posted behind Joker’s shoulder. I stood close by, watching the displays, marveling at what Admiral Hackett had wrought.
“Turian fleets confirm transit complete.”
Primarch Victus and the core of the turian navy, still about forty percent of its pre-war muster, ready to defend Palaven by bringing the Crucible to bear against the Reapers.
“Asari fleets confirm transit complete.”
Destiny Ascension loomed large behind us, Matriarch Lidanya in command, leading the last remnants of the Asari Republics against those who had sacked Thessia.
“Salarian fleets confirm transit complete.”
Not the entirety of the salarian navy, to be sure, but several dreadnoughts and their accompanying smaller craft. Quick, powerful, probably the most technologically advanced ships we had, ready to strike at the Reapers in the hope that they would not have to fight at home.
“Expeditionary Force transports confirm transit complete.”
A thousand merchant ships and freighters, drawn from all over the galaxy, most of them hastily converted for troop transport and military logistics. They carried almost a million soldiers for the coming battle. A substantial number of these were elite krogan warriors, under the command of Urdnot Wrex.
“Quarian fleet confirms transit complete.”
Almost every armed vessel that remained to the Migrant Fleet, centered on the quarian liveships, with Han’Gerrel, Zaal’Koris, and Shala’Raan exercising joint command. They flew with . . .
“Geth fleet confirms transit complete.”
The geth brought every ship they could spare, a great phalanx of dreadnoughts and all their supporting ships, technologically advanced and perfectly coordinated. The geth moved alongside their ancient enemies, the two of them already learning to cooperate effectively.
The last segments of the armada reported in: a single volus dreadnought, along with the small but powerful volus bombing fleet; a heavy squadron of hanar cruisers and frigates, crewed in part by grim-faced drell technicians; Ka’hairal Balak and the last vestiges of the batarian navy; Captain Jarral and about half of Aria T’Loak’s rag-tag flotilla of mercenaries and pirates; a few elcor ships.
Even I had made a small contribution. Every one of the Shadow Broker’s ships was out there somewhere, flying under Hackett’s command, including the three Normandy-class frigates that had survived the war thus far. Quintus Trevanian commanded Cannae, Tazzik commanded Dark River, and Feron commanded Sheguntai.
In my disillusionment I had given up on the habit of prayer. Even so, I made a silent wish, that our friends and allies might survive the hours to come.
“All fleets confirm transit complete. Maneuver Alpha complete.”
The entire armada was present and in formation, accelerating at two gees toward distant Sol, leaving the icy dwarf planet Pluto in our wake. Only then did Shepard speak, glancing to his right at a gleaming figure in Alliance undress uniform, sitting in the co-pilot’s chair. “EDI, are you ready?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Then get to it.”
I glanced at the mech as it folded its hands in its lap, closed its eyes, and became utterly motionless.
An indicator on her console surged. Normandy had opened a very-high-bandwidth channel back to the armada.
“Processing,” her voice announced over internal comms. “Processing . . . I have access. Protocol handshakes complete. Cryptologic protocols online. I am in full communion with the geth consensus.”
The next maneuver would normally have required many hours, perhaps even days, of preparation. More than enough time for the Reapers around Earth to detect our presence, and prepare for our arrival.
Fortunately we had two sentient supercomputers on hand, EDI aboard Normandy and ARGOS aboard Cannae . . . not to mention the combined computational power of millions of geth runtimes. Before even ten minutes had passed, every observation had been made, every calculation distributed.
“All fleets confirm ready for Maneuver Bravo,” said Samantha.
“Maneuver Bravo on my mark,” commanded Shepard. “Three. Two. One. Mark.”
Almost simultaneously, every ship in the armada jumped into FTL, for just a little over four seconds.
Boom. The sound of our return to normal geometry sounded through Normandy’s hull once more.
Sunlight through the forward viewports, the golden light of Sol, only eight light-minutes away. Off to our right, the tarnished pearl of Earth’s moon, showing new scars from the Reaper bombardment that had smashed all of humanity’s colonies there. Ahead of us . . .
Blue and white in the sunlight, crimson and tarnished silver in the dark, battered but still beautiful, a world only sixty thousand kilometers away.
“All fleets confirm transit complete, breakout within acceptable tolerances. No casualties. Maneuver Bravo complete.”
“Contacts.” Another voice: Miranda Lawson, working to paint an image of enemy dispositions. “Reaper signatures identified. Human resistance intel confirmed. Estimate seven-five Sovereign-class capital ships, four-two-zero destroyers, prox four thousand Oculus-class drones. Already moving to interdict the Citadel and Earth.”
Shepard and I shared a quick glance. On paper, we actually outnumbered the Reapers currently present around Earth, by a narrow margin. In practice, given their massive technological superiority, the odds were much less favorable.
About four-to-one against us, and that assumes we can coordinate our attack perfectly. Whereas normal military doctrine calls for attack at no less than three-to-one odds in favor.
“Targeting priorities have been allocated and assigned,” said EDI, still working with ARGOS and the geth consensus to compute the best possible pattern for our first salvos. “Admiral Hackett signals concurrence.”
Shepard nodded, his voice betraying none of the unease he must have felt. “All right, this is it, everyone. Be ready on my signal.”
He waited, five seconds, then ten, watching the small tactical plot sent to the bridge from the CIC. The allies and the Reapers accelerated toward one another, approaching optimal firing distance for our dreadnoughts.
“Fire!”
Our armada, dreadnoughts arranged in front to form a wall of battle, opened fire on the Reapers.
Even in our viewports I could see the result: great waves of projectiles, glowing blue-hot against the darkness of space, rolling away from us toward the distant Reapers. Unfortunately my naked eye was helpless to see the result. The closest Reaper forces still flew almost ten thousand kilometers away, even the enormous Sovereign-class ships vanishing in that distance.
“Reaper weapons fire,” said Miranda.
Crimson beams of energy lashed out across space, seeking our ships.
“All dreadnoughts, stay on target,” Admiral Hackett commanded.
I felt a deep chill. Hackett was accepting an enormous risk. Our dreadnoughts could eventually wear down the massive kinetic barriers of Sovereign-class platforms. It had been done on several occasions during the war, especially at Palaven. Unfortunately it required sustained fire, from several of our heaviest ships, to take down one Reaper. Evasive action might keep our dreadnoughts alive longer, but it would badly degrade our ability to maintain sustained fire on the designated targets.
“First confirmed Reaper kill,” said Miranda, her voice still cold and calm.
“Yes!” hissed Joker, although his attention never wavered from his boards.
“Dauntless destroyed,” reported Samantha.
“
Second confirmed Reaper kill.”
“Ancient Mandate destroyed. Elbrus destroyed. Rainier destroyed.”
The Reapers were finding our range. Four dreadnoughts killed in less than two minutes.
“Stay on target,” said Hackett.
“Third confirmed Reaper kill.”
“Indomitable destroyed. Dominion destroyed. Galactic Unity destroyed.”
I performed a quick calculation in my head. At this rate, by the time we ran out of dreadnoughts, the Reapers would still have about half of their Sovereign-class ships left. To say nothing of the hundreds of similar Reaper platforms, still out harvesting the rest of the galaxy.
We are hurting them. Not enough to defeat them. Not even enough to slow them down very much.
Meanwhile, Shepard watched for the point at which he would issue his final order to the fleet. Optimal firing range for our cruisers and smaller craft, not long before the point at which the Oculus drones would swarm into our formation. Our own fighter wings would have to deploy, to defend us from that threat.
“Cruiser squadrons, fighter squadrons, stand by.” Shepard’s voice remained under coldly perfect control. “On my command, engage the Reaper forces.”
“Roger that,” came a masculine human voice, one of the fighter pilots. “All fighters, form up on me!”
Up ahead, I could see a kind of graininess in the dark, a veil composed of many tiny objects catching the sunlight. My first sight of the Reaper forces: the Sovereign-class platforms in their own wall of battle, hundreds of support ships, thousands of Oculus drones.
Shepard watched his plot, turned out the drone of Miranda and Samantha’s voices, waited, waited a moment longer . . .
“All allied forces, attack!”
“Acknowledged.”
Normandy leaped forward, leading all of our smaller ships for the last time, hurling us into the hottest part of the growing Battle of Earth. The apparently empty space before us suddenly turned into a howling storm of blue and crimson light. I lost the thread, unable to follow events any longer.
“Go get ‘em, Joker,” said Shepard, resting a hand on the pilot’s shoulder for a moment. “We’ll be back in the CIC until it’s time to go support Hammer.”
“You got it, Commander.” Joker glanced over his shoulder at us for just a moment, all the time he could spare from the battle. “Be careful down there.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Stay focused.”
“Aye-aye.”
Once we reached the CIC, little remained for Shepard to do. With the allied fleets fully committed, overall direction of the battle reverted to Admiral Hackett. Shepard had to fly and fight his own ship, but most of that task was up to Ashley, Joker, the gunners, and the engineers. For the most part he watched the large tactical plot, waited for orders from Hackett, issued an occasional order of his own, and otherwise left his crew alone to do their jobs.
I couldn’t follow the tactical plot in detail. It looked far too crowded, exceeding all my prior experience in naval warfare by at least two orders of magnitude. I could see the allied fleets fully entangled with the Reaper formation, most of our units firing at targets of opportunity rather than according to an overall plan. Only our hard kernel of dreadnoughts continued to hammer at the Sovereign-class Reapers, taking them down one at a time, accepting terrible losses in return.
I found myself standing close to Javik, who stayed to the shadows at the edge of the CIC to avoid getting in anyone’s way. He stared at the plot with uncanny concentration. I wondered whether he saw details I could not.
“Impressive,” he muttered after a few minutes. “Already your forces have destroyed more Reapers than our Unity ever managed. I doubt they have taken such losses in a very long time.”
“It’s not enough.”
“No.” His broad head rose, as if to focus on some detail of the battle. “This is your last effort. If this attempt fails, if this armada scatters in defeat, then the Reapers have won. They will hunt you down and destroy you in detail.”
“Us,” I breathed insistently. “You are part of this war too, Javik.”
“Rrrh. My apologies, Dr. T’Soni. I am too accustomed to thinking of all in this cycle as primitives, as something other than the Unity, something lesser and base. In some ways that is true. Your technology is inferior, your systems of government are naïve, and your disunity has done you much harm. Yet . . .” He raised a hand, as if to reach into the tactical plot. “I can see great courage and strength of will here. You have accomplished things that my people could not.”
I smiled wearily at him. “What is your tactical assessment, Commander First Class Javik Taran?”
“As you said, it is not enough.” He pointed. “There. Do you see? The allied fleets have lost their forward momentum. They continue to inflict damage on the Reapers, but they also continue to pay a terrible price, and they have stopped making progress toward Earth.”
I watched the plot for perhaps a minute. It helped if I unfocused my eyes slightly, made no attempt to pick out fine details. If all I could see was two shapes, crimson and blue, then I could discern what Javik had told me.
The blue mass had pushed some distance into crimson-held space, but then it had been forced to stop, stand its ground, fight simply to hold what it had already taken. Even the immediate vicinity of the Citadel remained in Reaper control. Earth itself, another forty thousand kilometers ahead, may as well have been in the Andromeda galaxy.
Five minutes passed. Ten. Normandy swooped and soared, gunning down Reaper drones by the fistful, even helping to destroy a few destroyer-class platforms. We took minor damage, not enough to impair our fighting capacity. I ignored all of this, watched the tactical plot.
I glanced at Shepard. He kept his face well-disciplined, but I knew how to read it nonetheless. The corners of his mouth turned down, his eyes looked icy and bleak, and his arms folded as he stared at the plot. He knew.
“All ships, shift to targeting plan Delta-Five,” said Hackett. “Make for the Citadel at one-half gee.”
I frowned. If I remembered the battle plans correctly, Hackett had just done something Shepard would have called doubling down. He was gambling that a more aggressive approach would push the Reapers back far enough, and still leave him in command of a viable fleet afterward.
The blue inched forward, then a little more. The white icon representing the Citadel almost fell into the blue volume.
Almost. Not quite.
Shepard and Ashley took a moment to exchange grim looks.
“Contacts!” shouted Miranda.
Shepard stared at her. “Where?”
“Just dropped out of FTL a few thousand kilometers in the rear, accelerating toward us hard!”
Shepard’s face went pale. I knew what he was thinking.
Reaper reinforcements. This is the end.
Then a comm channel crackled into life, and a noise poured into the CIC, one of the weirdest sounds I had ever heard. It rose and fell, buzzing and howling, and for a moment I couldn’t imagine what it might be.
Then I recognized it.
Rachni song.
“Traynor, get a translation matrix on that!” Shepard snapped.
“Right away!”
A display flickered into life, text scrolling across it.
WE COME TO FIGHT THOSE WHO TAINTED THE SONG OF OUR MOTHERS.
OUR CRESCENDO WILL CLEANSE THE UNIVERSE OF THEIR SOUR YELLOW NOTE.
A wave of ships rolled through our formation, decelerating but still moving fast, slamming into the Reaper wall of battle.
“Confirmed Reaper kill. Another. Another . . .”
“My God,” Samantha breathed. “A dozen dreadnoughts. How did they build so many in so short a time?”
“They breed fast, they’re superb engineers, and they’re motivated,” said Shepard, a moment’s joy in his voice.
She smiled at him. “Good thing you saved them, then. Twice.”
“All ships,” said Hackett’s voice,
seizing the advantage. “Shift to targeting plan Delta-Eight. Use discretionary fire to support the rachni. Accelerate to one full gee.”
Following the rachni fleet, the allies pressed forward. Still firing, still taking heavy losses, they pushed at the Reaper wall of battle. Pushed hard.
Pushed until something gave.
It didn’t look like a panicked retreat. The Reapers simply turned, all at once, and began to accelerate away from us in a leisurely manner. They continued to fire at us, they used smaller platforms and swarms of Oculus drones to screen their maneuver, but the movement seemed very clear.
The Citadel fell into the volume of space we held. The Reapers completed their disengagement and began to accelerate more strongly, leaving our formation behind.
Admiral Hackett ordered a cautious advance on Earth, staying just out of the Reapers’ firing range.
“Traynor, what’s the fleet’s status?” Shepard asked after a time.
“We’ve taken heavy losses, Commander,” said the specialist quietly. “Casualty reports are still coming in, but I estimate we’ve lost almost half of our effective strength. Not counting the rachni, of course. They bring us back up to about three-quarters of our original numbers.”
“Reaper casualties?”
“Twenty-three Sovereign-class ships confirmed killed,” said Miranda quietly.
“Out of over a thousand in the galaxy as a whole,” I pointed out. “The Reapers will be more than a million years replacing the losses they took today. Even so, without the Crucible, we won’t be around to celebrate.”
“At least we’ve secured Citadel space for now,” said Shepard. “Let’s see what Hackett says.”
We didn’t have long to wait.
“Message from Fleet Command,” said Samantha. “Partial superiority established in Earth close-orbital space. Hammer assets are ordered to deploy according to plan Foxtrot-Three.”
Foxtrot-Three: deployment of the entire Hammer force to the British Isles and northern France, some troops sent to suppress outlying Reaper positions, most to land in London in order to set up a Forward Operating Base. Once again, Hackett had chosen to commit all of his resources to the attack.