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First Contact

Chapter 1: Retaliation

Everybody had bad days; it was an unavoidable fact of life. However, after his overall brand of bad luck for the past few months, Fox suspected that whatever deity presided over the universe sought to personally give him as many was feasibly possible in an attempt to break some kind of cruel record.

Everything had started going downhill after the war with the aparoids. He lost his father’s ship –which he had not even had the chance to pay off yet, and nearly the lives of his team in the process. General Pepper had been forcefully retired from the injuries he sustained and he lost Peppy, as the aging hare took his old friend’s place. Starfox had nearly been put out of work, most of their earnings from the war had been needed just to get themselves a new ship to call home, an outdated CDF carrier that Slippy had spent the rest of their credits trying to just make space worthy once more.

Then, to compound on their misfortune, Venom broke the ceasefire not three months after the war with an unprovoked attack on Fichina, destroying the garrison and capturing the frozen world for some unknown reason. Since that moment, they had relentlessly harassed CDF vessels and nearly succeeded in taking Zoness from them, waging an aggressive crusade against the weakened corneria forces in a nearly unstoppable tide that threatened to consume the entire system.

Unable to sustain such a desperate campaign against a seemingly strengthened Venom, the newly inaugurated General Peppy had hoped to end it once and for all with a strike at the heart of their growing empire, assembling nearly every functioning vessel left under their control in a massive military undertaking.

Yet less than a day before the assault was to be launched, Venom had attacked, apparently aware of Peppy’s plan. Jumping in System with an overwhelming powerful force, leaving the stunned CDF defenders hopelessly outnumbered. The resulting clash was waged with numbing desperation as they battled for their lives.

A battle, Fox was reminded as the carrier’s bridge shuddered, that was still being fought.

“ROB, get me a lock on that Venomian destroyer, full broadside! Slippy, get me a connection with our team on the ground! I want a status update! How close are they to the extraction point?” The vulpine barked out his orders as the carrier quaked from another direct hit, sparks erupting from the ceiling as a panel overloaded under the strain. At that moment he greatly wished he still had the Great Fox. This ship was a dim comparison to the mighty dreadnaught. With it, their situation would not have been so grim.

As the two members of his crew still onboard the ship hastily carried out his orders, Fox glanced out the bridge’s window at the chaotically unraveling void war. They had lost virtually a third of their combined forces in the opening minutes of the sudden attack as they tried to organize the fleet, leaving their already wholly outnumbered forces to continue in a frantic fighting withdrawal. Most of their remaining vessels were trying to hold the Venomians back long enough so they could extract the soldiers they had on the ground. A process complicated by the invading forces Venom had slipped through their piecemeal AA defenses to harass the withdrawing infantry and armor.

Papetoon had been the center of their now defunct plan, a place to station their consolidating forces. As such, most of the combatants to be used in the ground assault had been planetside, preparing to embark on the vessels in orbit. And they very well could not abandon them, especially as half of Fox’s team was down there. Caught off guard, the crew had been scattered before the assault. Falco and Fay were the only ones he could call on for escort duty. Both Krystal and Miyu were stranded on the ground, their arwings sitting uselessly in births on the carrier. The two women had been seeing about grabbing any spare parts they could before the strike so Slippy could keep their ships going. Without the money necessary to keep their arwings repaired and outfitted, they had resorted to searching elsewhere for their needs, using surplus supplies given to them by the CDF.

Regrettably, this left them ill-equipped to handle the developing situation. All Fox wanted at that moment was to get every member of his team back safe and sound, a want that would only grow more infeasible as time passed, for time was a luxury they could not afford.

As it was, they would need a miracle to get out of this shit storm.

The destroyer ROB targeted imploded, whittled down by a concentration of fighters and CDF cruisers, giving Fox some measure of satisfaction that the fight was not entirely one-sided. They might have been outnumbered, but damn did they give as they got. Venom would have no easy victory today. Not if he could help it.

“ROB, switch to prow plasma batteries… to target… that….” The vulpine drew to a bewildered stop, his unfinished order caught in his mouth as he watched a strange anomaly manifest itself overhead of the planet, its bluish violet hue suddenly exploding into existence. He could only describe it as a swirling blue maelstrom suddenly bursting into reality, some kind of roughly circular vortex of cerulean energies. From his carrier’s position, Fox saw something that he could hardly believe. The abrupt energy formation was almost completely two-dimensional, almost like a doorway… or a portal.

Likewise as his orders halted in his drying throat, so did that of both the CDF and the Venomian fleet as they regarded this unexpected development, bringing the battle to a temporary standstill. This was an unprecedented event, perhaps some sort of spatial storm?

Unexpectedly, the disc like anomaly flickered and the edges of the glowing formation contorted, slowly disgorging something from its depths. Shocked, Fox realized some kind of spaceship had exited the strange void storm, a vessel unlike anything Lylat has ever seen.

The vulpine studied its unfamiliar gunmetal grey hull and rigidly quadrilateral design with a fresh upwelling of uncertainty and fear. But, he could not help but notice its small size, not even the length of a CDF cruiser. Not that it brought him any peace of mind.

Fox had never encountered its like before, nor its unusual method of transit. The vessel was completely and utterly alien. And it was that word that terrified him the most. Alien. Unknown. Fox vividly recalled the war with the aparoids that had nearly wiped out their civilization, a tragic event not even a year in passing. The thought of another incident like the aparoid crisis would be enough to panic even the most stalwart of minds.

Then, just as quickly as the portal appeared, it winked out of existence, leaving the alien ship to float ominously in the void. Time seemed to run to a standstill, all eyes focused on the foreign vessel as it hovered portentously in the black. Then, without warning, a blue light flashed into existence behind it as the small craft hastily tried to correct its course, burning fuel away from both factions.

Perhaps whoever they were, they had not been expecting to drop out in front of two obviously battling fleets. And the more Fox considered it, the more he suspected it of being some kind of exploratory vessel. That would explain its diminutive size and sudden arrival. But that made little sense to begin with. And Fox’s stressed mind tried to hastily disseminate the possibilities this sudden arrival portended, his thoughts overloaded by the sudden influx of unanticipated data.

“F-Fox, what is that?”

At last, Slippy had found his voice to speak, the amphibian eyeing the alien ship with a healthy level of fear.

“I don’t know, Slip.” He replied, all thoughts on battle temporarily forgotten.

Yet it seemed the Venomians were not of the same mind, a flash on the carrier’s senses alerted him to the repositioning of a squadron of their starfighters… on a direct intercept course with the alien spacecraft.

Realizing what they intended to do, Fox felt a jolt of terror race down his spine. With no time to explain, he slapped the comms device on his chair. “Falco, don’t let those fighters reach that ship!” The idiots! They intended to destroy the unknown craft, either unaware, or what was most likely, uncaring of the possible gravity of such an action. It was just like them, to meet uncertainty with violence.

Yet Falco was positioned too far away and the venomian fighters were too fast.

Fox watched in growing dismay as the alien vessel’s engines glowed brighter, obviously in a desperate bid to outrun the hostile craft. Its hull burst into action as chains of golden light raced across the void, striking down a portion of the incoming strike fighters with pinpoint accuracy, yet there were too many for its admirably powerful defenses to repel. And with horrified eyes, the vulpine watched the venomian ships release their payloads.

The wave of smart bombs crashed against the alien vessel’s unprotected hull, the destructive force of the numerous venomian missiles buckling the thick plating as the strike crashed into its aft. Perhaps hitting some vital systems, the entire rear end of the extraterrestrial spacecraft exploded in a blinding flash of light, the fatally wounded vessel listing heavily to its side, a series of secondary explosions tearing ugly gaps in its hull as it vented billowing gusts of silvery atmosphere into the unforgiving void, as if replicating the last breath of a dying soul.

With terminal deliberateness, the ship inexhaustibly sunk downwards, pulled in by Papetoon’s intense gravitational field, where it would crash against the desert world’s surface. Yet, Fox could see small puffs of smoke as tiny pods escaped the dying vessel.

Then, as if in some form of divine reprisal the sensors array onboard the carrier shrieked into activity, sounding the arrival of over a dozen unknown signatures. Fox’s maw flopped open in dreaded disbelief at the sight, as a wave of similar ruptures in space flickered into being at the edge of local space, disgorging a fleet of immense, unrecognizable spacecraft. The ships were utterly massive, colossal vessels dwarfing anything in both the CDF’s and Venom’s arsenal. Unlike the previous one that had met its ill-fated end, these were clearly made for one purpose, to wage war, steel grey hulls and looming barrels mounted on prows crowded their local space, a host of heavy-set utilitarian warships unlike anything seen before.

And it was clear they intended to fulfill their purpose as the fleet of alien dreadnaughts ponderously pulled away from the edge of the system on a direct course for the two fleets, launching a swarm of what could only be interceptors, a swarming cloud of strike craft.

As the alien force bore down on them, Fox shook his head fretfully, nearly driven speechless at the sight.

“What have they done?”

*****

“Admiral, all captains are requesting an update on the rules of engagement.”

Matthias studied the holotank, his eyes searching for an answer to that dangerous riddle. Rules of engagement indeed! What did that mean when one was pressed into a war with an alien race of unknown origin, or two apparent races for the matter? The only thing he knew to be certain was that the standard ROE would not help him here, and that such a hostile action as they had received could not go without retaliation. These aliens had destroyed one of the ships under his command, without provocation. He could not ignore that, whether it may have been a misunderstanding or clear ill intent. There was no room for conjecture here. He had to make decisions on what the facts appeared to be. Alien forces had struck down one of his ships with apparent, blatant ill intent, and reprisal was the only appropriate response.

Yet worries assailed him nonetheless. Should they attempt to make contact? That appeared to be what would make sense as the apt course of action. Yet as he watched a section of the battling aliens disengage and move to what was obviously an attack position, he speculated that they wished not to talk and that option had never been on the table to start with.

“Ash, any suggestions?” He turned to the A.I’s avatar hopefully. Surely she would know what to do.

Digital hands on hips, the holographic woman frowned. “Well, I sent the customary first contact package over all known frequencies, but there was no response. They might not operate using any similar radio waves or any that we might know of. They might not understand it, or maybe they just don’t care. There are just too many variables, Admiral.”

Ash enjoyed the pursuit of knowledge as did most if not all A.Is and so by default, despised the lack of it. And as it stood now, they had exactly nothing to use. If there was ever a time where they would have to literally fly blind, this would be it.

“Not as helpful as I had hoped.” Matthias added his own frown to the growing pool shared by the crew on the bridge.

“There is however, one small shred of good news, Sir. I am picking up several distress beacons in close proximity to another somewhere on the planetoid’s surface. It would seem some of Lancer-1’s crew survived. How long that remains true on the other hand, remains up to debate.”

“Great news, but once more not helpful. I need viable information and I needed it yesterday.” He gestured to the tactical map, at the alien forces they approached. Longswords had already been launched and the colony ships were secure at the center of the fleet, protected by a majority of their fighters and the destroyers, leaving the remaining forces to offensive operations. “I need to know who and or what we are dealing with, and how my captains should respond.” He could worry about the survivors when he could afford the time to do so.

As an A.I, Ash could multitask at an inhuman level. As it was now, she had already started a preliminary analysis on the aliens, studying ship design, composition, and even color. And in this quick examination, she identified two separate factions, having labeled each as Alpha and Beta respectively. And from her studies she was able to recognize similar fleet tactics as that the UNSC employed, though the Alpha aliens utilized it far more aggressively. If she was to speculate, she would assume them to be the attackers. They had also the ones to attack Lancer-1 and therefore had been designated as priority one by default.

In general it appeared that the Beta aliens were not the instigators as their fleet had assumed what would for in all intents and purposes be a protective stance in orbit around the planet. And as of yet they had not designated a portion of their forces against them, either wishing to not appear aggressive or unable to shift the resources to do so.

For the moment she had yet to crack the communications signals these aliens used, their protective algorithms simply incomprehensible. It would take time for her to get an understanding of even their most rudimentary systems, a challenge that admittedly peaked her interest. She could have worked faster on a cypher, but the possible threat of alien artificial intelligences such as herself rendered her actions slow and innocuous.

She sifted through all of this information within milliseconds and within that time, formulated her answer, the holotank’s colors shifting as the Beta aliens once more received the yellow shade of a neutral unit.

“Tell your captains to designate the Alphas as priority one. I believe that the defenders of this planet, at least for the moment, do not wish to or are unable to attack us. It is quite possible they can be reasoned with. And we cannot afford to face both forces as a unified front. As is, we already remain oblivious to their capabilities. I suggest an immediate withdrawal as a secondary course of action.” It was possible they stood no chance against these aliens, and in that scenario retreat would be the best solution.

Matthias nodded grimly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” The fleet's slipspace drives would need several hours to cool down, maybe less if they performed an emergency core dump. But that might irreparably damage their Shaw-Fujikawa drives, effectively stranding them at their next destination. Matthias was not ready to make such a fatalistic decision until he had no other recourse. For now, they would fight.

As the new ROE was relayed to the fleet, the A.I spoke up.

“What of the survivors from Lancer-1?”

The Admiral sighed. “Extraction would be too risky. Right now we cannot afford to rescue them.”

“What if they do not have the time to wait? Do we just leave them to their fate?”

He had not expected to be guilt tripped by an A.I and he rounded on her with a growl. “Damn it Ash, what would you have me do? Risk even more lives?”

“It may not be that much of a risk, Sir. If these aliens defending the planet truly do not wish to fight us, if that is indeed the case, they may allow a small recovery force through unmolested.” She suspected that they could play such a card into their hands, guaranteed of course, that these other aliens truly were not hostile.

“For an A.I, that’s a remarkably foolish assertion. What reason would they have to let an alien ship down to their planet?”

“Attacking the Alphas might make us appear as an ally of circumstance, and would be favorable for any interaction upon this battle’s conclusion. After all, Sir, this is precisely what we set out to accomplish.” She reminded him with unexpected, and somewhat forced, joviality.

He scoffed. “What, to war with an alien species?”

“To discover new life and further the goals of humanity.” She countered. Ash had a plethora of arguments to bolster her suggestion, but thankfully due to the constraints of time she did not need them.

Matthias sighed. He hated how she could twist words, but hated more the fact she was somewhat in the right, however small that margin might be. This was what they had started the entire expedition for, though admittedly not the way he had foreseen it playing out. Neither did he wish to leave anyone behind if he could help it. He had a responsibility to all of those under his command. And while it may have been wise to abandon them for the greater good, the guilt of the past weighed heavily on his shoulders, preventing him from making that cold and calculating decision.

Turning away from the A.I with an unenthusiastic sigh, he grabbed the attention of one of his comms officers. “Get The Midsummer’s Solace on the horn. I have a mission for them.”

*****

“Excuse me, could you repeat that? We’re doing what?”

Liam sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, this being the fifth time he had to explain himself in the last three minutes. “Did I stutter? You heard the orders just as I did. Now prepare for drop.” He growled, shoving past the redheaded man that had blocked access to his locker.

But the man did not leave, instead blocking the ODST's path.

“Respectfully Sir, but what the actual fuck? What kind of crazy ass bullshit is this? Aliens? A downed corvette and some sort of retarded ass, half-baked rescue mission? Who in the fuck thought this would be a good idea?”

He did his best to ignore Martin’s heated raving, calmly popping the locker open and pulling out his BDU, the bulky titanium plate weighing heavily in his arms. ODST armor had remained largely unchanged throughout the years, still as durable and faithful as it had been for the first men and women to wear it, though in recent years an assortment of various permutations had emerged for operatives with a penchant for select fields of combat.

As per his line of expertise, his personal suit sported additional ballistic plates to support his position as the command squad’s CQB specialist. It gave him that little extra protection that allowed him to get up close and personal for the… finer touches.

Martin was the team’s heavy weapons expert, something that fit his explosive personality quite well, perhaps too much so. Liam had tried to iron out his insubordination, but from the situation right now, it was clear he had failed.

He felt an arm yank on his shoulder as Martin got particularly aggressive.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?”

Liam turned to him and gripped the collar of Martin's undersuit, effortlessly forcing the man against a wall locker with a loud clang, a forceful attempt to remind him who exactly was in charge. Leaning forwards close enough that their noses nearly touched, he growled. “I am, I just don’t fucking care. Now, for the second and last time, get suited up for drop or I will leave your useless ass behind.” He punctuated his order with a sharp tug, tossing Martin to the ground in a heap of dangly legs and arms.

The rest of the locker room was silent, the other soldiers under his command studiously ignoring the confrontation as they each respectively readied for deployment. There was the occasional hushed whisper but otherwise no voices were raised. After a year under the Major’s command, they learned that he liked to run a tight group, follow orders and if you have anything to say, don’t. Such was their respect for the hero of Sigmus II that even the topic of dropping onto a possibly hostile alien world was not enough for them to break the silence. Or perhaps they were just too anxious to speak aloud.

Martin was the only one who did not follow that rule. And for that reason they often clashed, both in and outside of combat drills. Yet, for whatever reason, he had never moved him out of the company.

Once armored up, Liam tucked his helmet under his arm and stepped out of the locker room, marching down to the HEV bay ahead of the rest of his unit.

Oh how he despised his position. Those in charge had thought it a fantastic idea to put the hero of Sigmus II in charge of a company.

Liam scoffed.

He hated that title even more than he did the rank bestowed upon him.

There had been no heroes that day or any other during the length of the extended siege. It had been a grueling slaughterhouse planetside, and the worst naval defeat in UNSC history. It had been where the might of the UNSC navy proved it could be broken, that its armies could be defeated. It had only been the masterful propaganda sculpting of ONI that had turned such a drastic miscarriage of military management into overwhelming success, his failure as a leader, as an older brother, met with resounding applause.

With a snarl he smashed his helmet into the closest bulkhead, nearly cracking the ceramic coating against the steely surface.

From that point on his life had become a mockery, paraded around Earth and lauded as a hero, going so far as to receive a medal of honor and promotion from Fleet Admiral Hood himself. Yet he could never again look his family in the eyes, knowing the depth of his own shame and failure. How could he tell them all the stories were lies, that he was not the heroic figure they were led to believe.

In the years after he had become a rancorous individual, embittered with his own undeserved fame that haunted him no matter where he went. Not even drunken oblivion allowed him to escape his demons. So when he heard about this expedition, he knew it was his only recourse, his one true escape.

Liam cared not about what it was, only that it gave him an opportunity to leave, to get as far away as was humanly possible from the faults of his past. The existence of aliens was barely a footnote in his attention, the man more curious as to why these old thoughts returned. He had not held them since he left. Yet it seemed the call of battle was enough to dredge the unwanted memories up, reminding him of the true reason he chose this path

He could only hope to somehow redeem himself of his old sins, this maybe being the opportunity to do just that.

Shoving away his brooding as he entered the HEV bay, Liam retrieved his gear from the weapons lock up and made sure his drop pod was properly stocked with ammo and supplies. Unfortunately their company was not equipped with an A.I, the intelligent machines being too valuable a resource to send on such an uncertain venture. So they would have to get all of their information from the Solace’s initial radar scans and their own equipment once they landed. His only concern lay within the initial drop itself, how many would he lose to AA, if there was indeed anti-aircraft. What kind of force deployment would they be expecting, what kind of firepower? What were the rules of engagement?

He knew the Solace was approaching the planet already, swinging wide from the known hostile aliens to come low from the planet’s orbit, hopefully not to be fired upon by the second fleet. It was indeed a dumb plan, dumb being a very, very soft way of stating his opinion on the matter. Yet orders were orders, they always were. And he would not disobey them again.

Gradually, the rest of the company trickled in, men and women he had hardly bothered to learn the names of. The occupation of a helljumper was a violent, dangerous profession. Many tended not to live very long lives. Those that benefited from a penchant for survival were inclined to maintain a level of detachment in regards to their newer cohorts.

The fundamental heart of an ODST company consisted of a central force of veteran soldiers who maintained a tight-knit, virtually familial bond with one another. It was not until the raw recruits were baptized in the fires of their first handful of drops that they were allowed entry into this lauded brotherhood.

Unfortunately, as a result of the expedition’s unique nature of recruiting members all throughout the armed forces, such a close bond had not had the chance to develop. Most were not even from the same regiments, let alone knew each other before the voyage. And there was only so much that combat drills aboard a starship could do to bring a company together. Ironically, this drop might pull them together better than twelve months of drill.

Liam had tried his best to ensure that those under his command would have sufficient training and coordination, but it was a nearly impossible task. He only had a handful or so men with previous drop expertise. True, all helljumpers needed a certain degree of combat experience before they were allowed to attend one of the ODST academies and every one of them had served with some measure of aptitude in their own way. But most of the soldiers in his company had never participated in a live atmospheric drop into an active warzone, which was in itself, a whole other can of worms. And to compound this unfortunate truth, they would be deploying onto an alien occupied world with fuck all intelligence on what to look for or even what the ROE were.

Fatalities were always to be expected, it was a statistical fact for any military unit, though ODSTs always had higher casualties rates. But with such unfavorable odds, it was a very real possibility that none of them would be coming back from this.

The ODST chanced a glance at his mission counter, noticing that they had a good half hour before they were to drop over the southern hemisphere. The Solace’s scanners had picked up on Lancer-1’s crash site, any survivors from the descent or from the lifeboats would know to rally there for extraction.

Yet, the cruiser’s scanners had also detected what appeared to be a military installation less than five klick from the crash site. Imaging was rough, probably in part to the unanticipated and disruptive effects of energy based technology, something no doubt ONI would be very interested to hear. But the outline of the facility was a close match to what they would expect to see of a UNSC air base. There was no telling which of these alien sides controlled the compound, or what they could expect to find after they deployed. All he knew was that in fifteen minutes they would be passing into what the Captain most likely assumed to be weapons range with the defensive fleet. And in that moment they would receive their answer on whether or not this alien faction would play nice.

If not…

Well he suspected it wouldn’t be of any concern to him at that point.

Liam supposed he should have felt nervous at the uncertainties ahead of him, or even guilt that he never took the time to memorize the names of those who would undoubtedly end up dying under his command. But he didn’t feel anything, hadn’t in a very long time. This was perhaps the most interesting thing to occur in his life in the years following Sigmus… and he didn’t care at all.

War was always the same, almost comfortingly so in its grueling, bloodthirsty routine. They may have known literally nothing about these aliens, but at the least he could take some measure of comfort in warfare’s familiarity. If it was hostile, you killed it, as simple as that. He had been fighting for so long that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to do anything but. In some odd years he would reach his thirties, and had nothing worthwhile to show for his time in this plane of existence. He never started a family, hadn’t even had a girlfriend. He couldn’t even go home for fear of the changes his family would see in him. It had been some time since the funeral, that being the last time he saw them. And he wanted to keep it that way. They were better off without him, as most people were.

Sighing, the helljumper finished securing his HEV’s load, the drop pod laden with enough ammunition and supplies to keep him combat capable for at least a week, maybe even a month if he stretched it and the company pooled their collective resources together. He didn’t expect the mission to last that long, yet with the situations depthless uncertainty, nothing was absolute.

Another brief glance at his mission counter informed him that the main fleet would soon be within weapon’s range of their intended targets. As this ship’s commander of its ODST detachment, he was afforded a certain level of knowledge regarding basic fleet positioning and planning.

His conversation with Captain Strikeland had been brief and to the point. The fleet would engage this threat, and if necessary, would abandon his company on the surface if the enemy’s power proved to be greater than expected. As such, the faster he completed their objective and exfiltrated the surviving crew of Lancer-1, the better.

It was a predictable and blameless sacrifice when balancing the lives of a hundred ODST’s to that of a single cruiser, or even the fleet as a whole. He just hoped it did not come to that. He was not quite yet ready to die, at least not until he had met one of these aliens for himself. He had to admit some level of interest in coming face to face with an extraterrestrial. At the very least it would make for one hell of a story to tell in his ripe old age.

If he ever reached it of course.

By the time he was finished with his pod, the company was well along the way to completing the preliminary labor on their own respective machines, the grumbling figure of Martin huddled at the rear of the drop bay, standing beside the other men from the card game they had played earlier that day, Tim and Cullen. He hoped they would survive the drop, finding them to be the most agreeable men he had come across on this damned voyage. If they died, he would have no one to play cards with, and Liam did not have a talent for making new friends easy.

Curious as to how well they were taking such a strange set of circumstances, he stood in the background while they toiled, studying their movement. Outwardly they didn’t show any sign of stress, but that was to be expected. They were helljumpers, the toughest soldiers to have ever lived. It was also possibly due to the fact they would be away from the fleet by the time combat was initiated.

The only good part about this hazardous deployment lay in the fact they would not participate in the orbital clash. He, and by extension his company and most soldiers in general, would rather take their chances planetside, where their fates, (as uncertain as they may be), lay with the rifles in their hands.

In the end, when they moved to board their drop pods for surface deployment, there was no ostentatious speech or impassioned declaration that no matter what they faced, they would emerge victorious. It had been silent as each warrior climbed into their respective HEVs, a machine little more than a primitive torpedo, just as likely to kill them as any enemy they might come to face, alien or human.

Liam had never been much of a talker. Neither had he bought into all that verbose grandstanding when he had been a grunt. Most soldiers didn’t care about epic speeches or sycophantic words; they just cared about getting through the battle alive.

Grandiose verses would not see them through what was to come. Their actions would have to speak in their place.

War had never been a place for words.

*****

Fox watched with some level of alarm as the lumbering alien flotilla approached, a veritable tide of strike craft heralding their arrival. He was more afraid of them than the venomian fleet currently trying to wipe them out. Could those fools not see what they had done? Did they not recall the Aparoid conflict? Cornerian still had yet to recover, its cities and populous barely healed and he could only wonder how the Venomians had faired.

But it seemed they held little regard for their actions, or legitimately did not care either way. Did they not understand what this meant for Lylat? Another spacefaring race had found their system, with capabilities and power unidentified. True, the ship the venomians had destroyed had been so without much difficulty.

But these ships….

They were not of the same caliber. Their size and scope was nearly beyond comprehension. The largest vessel was easily thrice the size of the old Great Fox, and quite obviously a warship without question. They may have been peaceful explorers or wandering conquerors. Not that it mattered since Venom had no doubt eliminated any hope for peace with their reckless actions. Met with violence, they could only respond in kind.

His gloomy study of the approaching alien forces coming to an end, Fox recalled Falco and Fay back to the ship. If things deteriorated as rapidly as he suspected, the vulpine wanted the team to be onboard in case they had to enact a hasty escape. Their lives weighed more than the contract Peppy had given them and he hoped the hare would understand that.

His only other immediate concern was on how to get Krystal and Miyu back before shit hit the fan. They were still stuck planetside, last transmission he received from them was a garbled mess, but mentioned something about Venomians. He could only assume whatever of Oikonny’s forces that made it to the ground had set up some kind of jammer, preventing them from communicating and most likely from reaching the pre-designated evac point.

Fox could not come to their aid, as much as he desperately wanted to. Breaking away from the fleet or even trying to slip their arwings through the warzone was a fool’s errand, more likely to get them killed then accomplish anything. As it was they were somewhat safe back at the rear of the fleet, but a thick ring of venomian fighters and light cruisers prevented them from doing anything but staying where they were.

This only frustrated him even more. Never had the team been so scattered, and he felt helpless, unable to do anything but watch as events unfolded.

Movement from outside the bridge’s window grabbed the vulpine’s attention and Fox observed as one of the smaller, yet undoubtedly large ships, split from the main force on a direct heading towards the planet.

Apprehension piled in his stomach.

“ROB, can you calculate the destination of that alien ship?” Though he already had a pretty good guess on where it was going.

The robot’s computational software quickly afforded him a response.

“Continuing on current flight path, the alien vessel will achieve orbit directly above the fallen spacecraft in ten minutes.”

As expected they wanted to retrieve the survivors. Or did they instead want to purge the crash site of any trace of their technology? Either way, even he could see that such a maneuver was a risky gambit at best, and a horrible catastrophe at worst. What if the CDF fleet fired upon them? Why were they willing to risk so many lives? At the very least it painted them as either an honorable or ruthless species depending on their motives.

He supposed this also might be some test of faith. It was obvious there was a conflict occurring here. Perhaps these aliens were aware of who fired on them? The rest of the CDF task force was far too occupied fending for their lives to notice the relatively small ship heading towards the atmosphere. It might have been able to slip past undetected if not for the fact Fox had seen it.

A decision lay with the vulpine, did he let them go unimpeded, or did he stop them from doing whatever it was they came to accomplish? The choice was not an easy one to make. If he did stop them, he could very well be confirming to them that both the CDF and Venom were hostile. And that was assuming he could even stop them. The vulpine wasn’t knocking Slippy’s technical expertise. But he doubted a rundown carrier would be able to do much against a ship of that size.

Fox supposed he could request support, but their forces were stretched thin as it was maintaining the fragile battle line. They could not afford to even let a handful of fighters away.

Coming to a hard conclusion, Fox decided to take a leap of faith. Maybe these aliens would prove different from the aparoids. He desperately hoped this would prove to be true, that they only intended to save their people. Otherwise any tragic event afterwards would be of his own doing.

“Fox, what do we do?”

The vulpine turned to Slippy, projecting a confident grin he was hard-pressed to make. Their situation appeared to be a hopeless one, but perhaps, if luck was on their side, it would not be that way for long. “We’ll do what we always do, Slip.”

“We’ll get through this one alive.”

It wasn’t exactly a comforting assurance. But given the uncertainties they faced, it was the best they could ask for.

Suddenly, several flashes of light lit up the bridge’s viewport and Fox was made witness to just how powerful these aliens were.

*****

“Admiral, approaching MAC range in two minutes.”

Matthias only briefly acknowledged the announcement; more focused on the tactical display before his eyes. As per Ash’s suggestion, only the aggressing fleet had been labeled as hostile, the defenders would remain a neural target as long as they did not attack. As doubtful as he was in the veracity of her findings, he would follow her judgment as sound until proven otherwise. But if they did attack, he would show no hesitation in bringing the full might of their fleet down upon them in retaliation.

He just hoped it would not come to that seeing as they were blatantly outnumbered. And as the reports slowly came in on enemy offensive abilities, he had to bite back a scowling curse that would have burned the ears of even the most grizzled of veterans.

Lasers, these aliens employed honest to god laser weaponry. Something previously considered far in the realm of science fiction by most experts. Matthias could only wonder what those weapons could do to their titanium battle plate. It was enough to give him qualms about what they were about to start. But he remained firm on his decision. They had little choice but to continue.

Yet, what was perhaps more worrying was not in fact the lasers, but the obvious use of some kind of shielding technology. Now closer to the conflict, one could see the flickering of light with their own naked eyes as lasers crashed against barriers.

Would their weapons even have an effect? The only thing that prevented him from calling a retreat was the presence of their MAC cannons. He was confident those at least would do something. And a retreat may not truly solve the problem now that these aliens knew of their existence. It was possible they would only be leading them back to UNSC space.

And that something he absolutely could not allow to happen.

No. This had to be resolved on their own. Contingencies had already been put in place to wholly erase navigational chart data if it became clear victory was not a possibility. With little recourse left to them, this would have to be an all or nothing gamble.

Matthias took a moment to study the ships that had maneuvered into clear attack positions. They were small, but that did not mean they were inferior or any less of a threat. He could see a faint similarity between them and his own ships, both being of blocky, industrial constructions whereas the defensive forces were wedge shaped, almost artistic in a way. Fighters were visible, spanning the still forming line of alien ships. It was a small relief that the fleets fighter core outnumbered them, though he suspected this was only true because of the heavy combat already in place before their arrival.

“One minute till MAC range Sir, the fleet is requesting orders.” An ensign informed him of the coming ultimatum.

If their timing had been correct, the ODST Company should be deploying to the crash site at that very moment. If the situation went south, they would only have to try and hold on for as long as it took to extract the survivors of Lancer-1. After that, it was anyone’s guess as to what happened next, which was why he hoped it would not come to such a point.

Matthias sighed, stepping away from the holotank to bark out orders. I guess this is it.

“Coordinate all MAC capable vessels. I want one targeted on each frigate analogue. And have the fleet keep distance once we are within maximum engagement range. Set up a defensive screen utilizing our interceptors and remaining corvettes. All colony ships are to stay at the rear of the formation. The destroyers are to protect them at all costs.”

They could not afford to lose even a single one of them. They were the lifeblood of the fleet, and its only way of procuring supplies.

His anticipation was that the MACs would keep them out of range of whatever weaponry these aliens would bring to bear. All they needed were a few trial salvos to gauge the enemy’s offensive and defensive capabilities. From there he could develop a more suitable tactic. Hopefully the Magnetic Accelerator Cannons’ range would supersede that of the enemy’s. He would prefer to keep them at a distance for as long as possible considering he could not anticipate the extent of damage their weapons could achieve.

Matthias didn’t know what type of loses to expect, but out here, so far from allied space, any loss would be irrecoverable. He looked towards the powered down holo pedestal beside him, frowning softly. Ash was no doubt too occupied with coordinating the fleet’s weapons to be of any help to him at the moment. He would have to do all of his own thinking now.

“Admiral, MACs are in range.”

Matthias nodded, wary hazel eyes gazing out the bridge’s viewport to what would be humanity’s first interstellar conflict with an alien species. And he knew that none of them were prepared for this, they never could have been.

A weighty sigh slipping past his pursed lips, the Admiral mumbled a silent prayer for the trials yet to come.

“All ships fire when ready.”

And may god have mercy on our souls.