Parangosky clearly has a plan regarding where to find resources for our new missiles. Even the Geth need time to retool production. After all, mass-producing key elements for a frigate or cruiser requires resources.
And the leaders in Element Zero production are the Asari. In mining too. And they won't sell such equipment to the Geth. No way. They won't sell Element Zero either; we need to find a middleman or other sources of resources. Trophies, for example.
If missiles can be assembled from scrap materials—provided there's a massive enough Mass Effect Drive Core, a reactor, and four engines—why not take advantage of it? Especially since there's information that there are guests on the planet.
More accurately, not just information, but a combat engagement. While we were baring the teeth of the wicked ONI, the landing party on the surface began clearing the governor's mansion and, concurrently, the colony administration. And very soon, they encountered armed resistance.
The governor's men mostly surrendered after the first onslaught or didn't resist at all. Lacking even adequate armor, judging by their training, they were more "parade soldiers" than anything truly combat-capable. Some of them have armor and weapons, but against the trained infantry from the UNSC Apollo, they have little time to do anything.
So the Marines advanced, successfully clearing the first floor. Until, in one of the halls on the second floor, the squad came under heavy fire. The Lieutenant and I had only just moved toward the hangars and couldn't participate. A soldier who peeked into the room where the enemy was located was simply gunned down, including through the wall, and then a grenade disk flew into the corridor.
The rest of the infantry managed to disperse, but the enemy, again, has shields and training. A purple sphere yanked a soldier out from behind cover, and he immediately took a bullet to the face. One precise shot. Professional, fast, and accurate.
Then we were able to examine the attackers. Lean, tall, with backward-curving knees and seemingly sunken bellies. Judging by the shape of the helmets on their heads, there were two vertical protrusions, looking like horns or my ears. Salarians. Their armor confidently holds hits, their weapons are accurate and quite rapid-fire, and there are also two "wizards" in the group.
Even by the way they leap between covers in bursts, covering each other with fire, you can see how good they are.
The enemy is clearly well-coordinated; the wizards throw those rushing them out of windows or lift them up, after which they are shot while the rest are suppressed by fire. And they are advancing. We've already lost a quarter of the landing party, even though the enemy has only slowed down. And Parangosky isn't sending in the elite, even though she sees everything.
The more I look at this, the more I confirm: this is part of the plan. It's not worth sacrificing infantry excessively in that case.
"Khaela, to the landing party: do not pursue the enemy, do not engage. Not your level. Lead them, don't expose yourselves. They wiped out the first squad. Continue escorting."
There are only punctures and knocked-off elements on the Salarian armor, but the first-aid kit built into the armor with a regenerant—which the scientists are decoding—negated the process.
To pierce their armor, you first need to break the armor itself by piercing the Kinetic Barrier and destroying the armor plates; second, you need to deal damage that the first-aid kit cannot quickly restore.
Our bullets are okay at this, but not ideal. If the patient didn't die after the metal injection, they'll be injected with "Medi-gel," a local regenerant that will return them to duty in seconds. The bullet can be extracted after the battle, just like incorrectly fused bones and tissues can be reset. We have something like that too, but less compact. Fifteen-by-fifteen centimeter first-aid kits for us, and an injector in the armor for them.
In short, you need to kill them on the spot before the shields restore and regeneration heals the wounds. Ordinary infantry can't handle this; the enemy covers each other, and the wizards tear things up in narrow spaces. And my avatar is running after the Lieutenant, who decided to go down personally. We are moving slowly.
"The enemy squad will reach the hangar within seven minutes."
The Lieutenant didn't even try to hide her irritation.
"Then don't chatter in my ear. Do you even have armor?"
I snorted.
"I have shields," I tapped the belt with the pouch, "but for armor, I'd need to go to the armory; we won't make it."
The Lieutenant sighed.
"You're useless. Pilot it, at least you won't die immediately."
I climbed into the Pelican, having first taken off my shoes and starting to unscrew the back of the pilot's seat. Fisher looked at me, then at the army boots by the wall (which a bot was about to haul away), then back at me, at my bare feet with claws, and asked:
"And what, in your opinion, are you doing?"
I continued unscrewing the seat back. Good question, what am I doing.
"First, tails. Second, without the seat back, I won't be able to strap in properly. I use vacuum suckers on my soles. Any more questions, Lieutenant?"
I pulled a foot off the floor with a characteristic air pop. The Lieutenant looked at me like I was an idiot.
"And was it worth it? I really don't understand. What's next, armored bras? A striptease because the gear doesn't fit?"
I didn't comment on that.
We loaded into the Pelican; I brought in another ten Geth, climbed into the pilot's seat, and the Lieutenant sat down next to me. She looked once more at how I was sitting without a backrest and bracing my bare feet against the floor, and commented again:
"How do you even live with such a fan on your backside? Not as an officer, I'm genuinely curious."
Without being distracted from the preparation and warming up the engines, I replied:
"Even you noticed my backside. So, it wasn't in vain," and began the takeoff, so the Lieutenant had to shut up and not interfere, "the xenos killed a dozen soldiers, getting away with only wounds. We won't win a direct fight."
They could if she requested ODST or Spartans, but the high command is clearly against it. We'll have to work with what we have.
"Fire support?"
In a bunker-type building? Only to collapse the structure on the heads of the enemy and the personnel.
"No, Lieutenant. A direct ban from the Vice Admiral on the use of heavy weapons," and under her questioning gaze, I added, "no clearance to know about such things. Regarding my appearance, it's a construct. Which means it's specifically designed to attract attention. And to show effectiveness in battle."
The Lieutenant snorted.
"I figured that out, I'm not an idiot. The question was about the difficulties in daily life and work. This performance with the chair, for example."
While doing the pre-flight preparation, we could talk a little.
"Less than you think, Lieutenant. Enhanced muscles, many modifications. I can be literally whatever I want. Of course, I spend more time on grooming, and some poses or actions are no longer viable, but it's a matter of practice and only that. And now we're taking off," I finished the discussion under the starting hum of the transport's engines.
What to do with the Salarians, hm?
I assume Parangosky wants the xenos to leave. Not out of humanism; I don't believe in the Vice Admiral's humanism. More likely some plan. Probably a provocation.
It's too obvious that the attack force is being held back intentionally. Our enemies likely don't know that we could have solved the issue in various ways, even by sending Spartans and my avatar after them. But that isn't happening. No bombardments either; blowing up the hangar wouldn't be difficult, even using Pelicans to block the airlock, if there were the will. The conclusion is obvious: they will escape. Which means it's necessary.
In any case, the xenos are breaking through to the hangars; the landing party is keeping its distance, picking off the emboldened governor's men trying to resist. And we in the Pelican are dropping toward the planet. And above us, a frigate—actually two—is taking position. One with a MAC, the second an anti-aircraft one. Ready to drop pods with troops on their heads. A precaution, which is correct, but with a direct ban on acting now. The Pelican from the surface reported:
"Peacock Leader to fleet. I see the hangar airlocks operating. Orders?"
I looked at the Lieutenant. She's in charge.
"Shoot down whatever flies out. Escort the target if impossible. We'll be there soon."
"Acknowledged."
I decided to remind her.
"Ajax has changed the targeting of the complex's anti-aircraft system. An unpleasant surprise awaits them."
The Lieutenant only bared her teeth at that.
"I hope so."
We are flying, the enemy is moving, the locals are getting in the way and dying. Suddenly, over the residence's loudspeaker, the boss's voice rang out:
"This is Margaret Orlenda Parangosky. Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI). Your leaders are dead. An intelligence fleet is above your planet. Your only chance for amnesty: destroy the xenos. Or die protecting them. Decide."
The guards looked at each other, looked at the Salarians, and died from small tungsten bullets.
Those guys, it seems, don't care who they shoot, and now they are killing everyone—guards, servants, clerks, whoever they encounter on the way. And they are talking in an unknown language. I wonder if it's their own dialect, not programmed into the translator? Good idea.
The Lieutenant, from the gunner's seat, watches what's happening on a tablet through the residence's cameras while I pilot the machine. It seems something about my skills and capabilities has started to dawn on her.
"Can you intercept, Agent?"
I shrugged.
"We'll see," and I dropped her the view from the residence's hangar camera, where the ship is; they'll reach it in a couple of minutes.
Judging by the heat trails, it's warming up the engines. Preparing for takeoff.
"You must make it in time, that's an order," the Lieutenant noted, but she's not interfering, which is already good.
Their ship is rounded, thin, and elongated, with a sharp vertical nose. A streamlined hull without wings or other external elements, resembling more a fish with a narrow long nose and thickening toward the stern. White and orange in color. Impossible to confuse with a human creation.
"I can hack the hangar systems and block the exit," Ajax reported over the radio.
"Do it," the Lieutenant ordered.
We entered the atmosphere, literally falling in a tailspin toward the residence. The fight isn't visible yet, but it's continuing on the cameras. The enemy has reached the hangars and is loading into the ship.
"I don't like something. The ship is a bit small for large cargoes," the Lieutenant noted, "a Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine simply won't fit. It should be bigger."
Also true.
"They were taking equipment. There was another transport, obviously. Ajax, do you see anything extra?"
"Negative, Khaela," he replied over the radio, "and I can't block the airlock; it's been switched to manual mode."
"A thousand devils!" the Lieutenant growled, "fly faster!"
The hangar had just been opened. With the ship's turrets, the defense went much more cheerfully; the Pelican was driven off. But the soldiers from the UNSC Apollo, having lost a total of sixteen infantrymen, simply took up defensive positions at the entrances and aren't going in. The right decision.
"This is the frigate UNSC Ghost. Ready to provide fire support."
Before the Lieutenant could say something extra, I immediately replied.
"Impossible for now, UNSC Ghost. Our troops are in the residence. Stand by."
Under the Lieutenant's furious gaze, the ship replied.
"Understood, UNSC Ghost standing by."
A familiar ship. It was the one that tore apart the Batarian cruisers during the first contact. And the Captain is good too. It seems Parangosky dragged him into her squadron.
"They're taking off," the Lieutenant snapped, "I hope they don't escape because of your indecision."
I didn't comment on that. As soon as the ship starts and...
Thermal explosion lock x4.
"They mined the anti-aircraft system. Amazing."
The Lieutenant remained silent; I continue to lead the ship falling toward them. We are in missile range. Excellent. Set the lead, correction. And launch. A flash of scarlet light evaporated the projectile. Anti-aircraft on a shuttle? How cute. The same light brushed against the ship's hull, melting it slightly, but nothing critical. It lacks the power to destroy ships, except maybe to hit infantry.
"Not so simple; these flying bricks are really tough, we've checked."
Below, flashes can already be distinguished; the enemy ship rose above the building, doused one of the Pelicans with laser fire, melting its engine. The ship swayed, but not critically, and the shuttle began to accelerate, continuing to trade fire with the last machine. The Pelican, with machine-gun fire and a missile, caused an explosion on the target's hull and reported:
"Pelican-03, left one-on-one with the target. Made a hole in him, knocked out the laser. Need support."
The Lieutenant immediately jumped on the line.
"Pelican-03, this is Pelican-04, we see the target, ready to support. Give us targeting," after a couple more seconds, a marker appeared, "target acquired, launch."
A pair of missiles broke from our hardpoints. I am gradually pulling the ship out of the tailspin and braking, making the Lieutenant turn quite pale.
It would be easier with interceptors, but using them was also forbidden. But after hits from Longswords, nothing identifiable would be left of this tub. The bosses don't want that.
Coming out of the dive half a kilometer above the surface, I and "Three," firing machine guns, rushed after the enemy ship. Another hole formed on the target from a missile, a smoke trail is also present, and one of the blue "bulbs" of the engines is blinking. But the enemy continues to fly, and we continue to fire machine guns.
"I don't think it can make it to space," I noted, "with holes like that and a failing engine. But it's not worth the risk. We need to put the missiles exactly into the engine block. But carefully; they need to be interrogated. And we need to understand where it's even flying."
At that moment, a hatch opened on the target ship and a purple dot flew toward us.
"Evasive!"
The dot passed by, but the second one hit "Three," catching the hardpoint, which was ripped out with the meat, and the ship vibrated.
"Pelican-03, we're hit! What kind of crap is that?"
"Wizard," Ajax replied over the comms, "disperse; the speed of those balls is low. He's just throwing them along the path of movement. A dangerous anomaly; if you fly into it, just don't stay directly behind the target."
The Pelican pilot assessed it.
"Acknowledged. And are mages even normal?"
I was the one who answered here.
"New to ONI, soldier? Magic, anomalies, mutants. Anarchists and bandits are trying to stop us. It is our duty to resist this heresy!"
"Don't clog the channel, both of you," the dispatcher from the UNSC Ghost demanded.
In the end, the spheres forced us to shift a bit and act more carefully, although we managed to knock out one wizard with the machine gun; he went flying to the ground. Marked the impact point on the map.
But they fulfilled their goal, gaining a few seconds while we maneuvered. The ships have already left the city and are racing over the fields toward huge white hemispheres of grain elevators. Hundreds of meters each, and there are more than a dozen here, clearly built with a surplus for the future.
Finally, the second engine went out from the machine-gun fire, leaving only a smoke trail. The enemy began to slow down. Even without the missile barrage.
"Excellent, lead them to landing and capture," the Lieutenant ordered, "are we waiting for air support?"
From the frigate, they replied:
"This is UNSC Ghost, ODST in pods, Lieutenant. Give us a point and I'll drop a squad of real muscular warriors in heavy armor to help you."
At the questioning look, I only shrugged. What about me? I don't know much more myself.
I'll try to ask again.
"Vice Admiral? Have you decided to capture them?"
She looked at the hologram.
"No, but you are good enough to provide the conditions for capture, unless of course they are covered by a carrier."
A carrier. Well, of course!
The avatar stood up abruptly at that same moment, peering at the grain elevators we were flying toward. Not that, not that, those are ordinary buildings. But that one, perpendicular to the others. White and orange. Rounded. And there are nacelles. Oh, shit.
"Evasive! Everyone evasive immediately!"
We didn't make it. A scarlet beam passed exactly along my Pelican's course, judging by the instruments instantly killing both right engines, causing the machine to start tilting on its side and flipping over. The windshield cracked—it didn't shatter, but it shot red-hot shards inside.
"My eyeeeeeees!"
The Lieutenant's shriek was ignored in the attempts to somehow stabilize the rotation. The glass melted further, splashing onto the Lieutenant, who was dressed in a pilot's jacket and body armor.
This is why safety regulations require wearing a helmet and a special flight uniform. Pelicans can even exit the atmosphere; the pilot must be ready for this too.
"Airlock jettisoned," I blew out the rear hatch with explosive bolts, "abandon ship."
The Geth poured out as they were. Thanks to Mass Effect compensation, they can be dropped from a couple of hundred meters with no damage at all, just like a sack. A downed Geth ship doesn't mean the loss of the landing party at all. It's worse for me. I can jump out, but this body thrashing in pain on the seat belts can't. The boss, even if only for this mission.
"Khaela, abandon ship," the Vice Admiral ordered sharply.
The hologram looked at the boss. Questioningly.
"Understood."
She noted:
"The ship that is taking off now is equipped with a cloak. Targeting is needed for Ajax and the UNSC Ghost. Take care of it."
I nodded, and the avatar deactivated the vacuum suckers. Kicking out the cabin door with explosive bolts, I flew out of the falling ship through the rear hatch. The Geth are already gone; they are below. Having jumped out, I looked back at the burning Pelican.
Now this metal container is falling like a red-hot meteor exactly onto the field from a height of a hundred meters at a forty-degree angle. A couple more seconds and it will hit. Goodbye, Lieutenant.
At the same time, the large alien ship hovered over the warehouses, dousing the storage facilities with lasers. Why? Thermal distraction, it seems; warehouses with grain and flour can explode perfectly and burn well. The shuttle, meanwhile, smoking near the surface, races toward the big brother. The second Pelican, also with a clearly charred look but in better condition, is just landing. They saw what happened to our machine and managed to react.
But ours slammed its nose into the ground and rolled frantically, scattering earth, burning elements, and rotating around its axis, then went silent. A plume of flame from the engine blocks, as well as from under the roof. Fuel is burning; detonation soon.
The grain warehouses continued to blaze. If it weren't for me and the targeting, it would be difficult to calculate the ship that had started moving using instruments. I see it from Ajax; their cloaking system is excellent.
"Targeting acquired," Ajax reported, "conducting fire."
Many laser flashes fell on the large ship. A small ship. A hundred meters or so, no more than a hundred and fifty. But it doesn't show up on radars at all; if it weren't for visual confirmation, it would be difficult to understand that it's even there. Even now, when he sees where to shoot.
The first blue flashes hit wide, marking the targets. Another couple blew up another storage facility, hiding the ship behind it. One literally evaporated the central part of the shuttle, and it fell in pieces of metal onto the fire spreading in the field.
And here is the field. Landing!
My body was driven into the ground. Not deep; I have a compensator, like the Geth. Okay, get out and continue giving targeting. And here are the Geth, they ran up while I'm staring at the ship taking off under the flashes.
"Khaela-mind. We are ready."
I looked at the melting giant, which was still gaining altitude and which had never been hit by missiles. The lasers dealt some damage, but clearly not enough. Especially since the accuracy dropped as the target moved.
"No need, Geth. Task accomplished. The enemy has fled. With disinformation. Am I right, Vice Admiral?"
Now the puzzle has come together. Likely, there are spies somewhere here who reported that there are guests on the planet who weren't invited here.
Parangosky nodded in her office.
"Leave the field; it won't be good if you get burned. Join the survivors and wait for evacuation."
True. The Pelican exploded; the alien shuttle also fell onto the field in a rain of fire. A very significant fire is starting. Evacuation is needed; I'm already somewhat burned.
"Yes, ma'am."
The Vice Admiral, examining the image of the ship, smirked.
"And you are absolutely right; they received information. Information about the defense line of the factory for the production of the latest engines, right near the Mass Relay. How convenient. Information that someone important arrived in the system with an escort and they will be delayed here. And there are almost no defense systems here, but information can be obtained if I am captured. That there is a blockade of outdated ships at the Mass Relay, which they will be able to break through without problems. That a cruise liner with modern engines will pass forty light-years from the Mass Relay in two weeks. A lot of information."
The hologram bared its teeth.
"An ambush."
Parangosky nodded.
"An ambush. Task accomplished. Return. Another operation awaits us soon. Khaela. Your platform will be needed, intact. Take care of the repairs."
I nodded.
"Executing, Vice Admiral." and to the Geth, "let's go, we need to secure the platforms from the fire."
***
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