The Turians found that their enemy was tenacious in fighting delaying actions. Where one Turian spearhead would break through at first, it would be blunted by the rearguard armor of each retreating axis of their foes' military. Tanks in pre-prepared ambush positions fired into the advancing Turian forces and their scouts, the Storm of Steel led by the Avian-like people's finest troops being blunted by entrenched army elements, hundreds strong.

Aviation would come in and deal with them, only for their aerospace defense fighters to emerge from amidst the mountains that shielded them, striking at them with long-range and BVR Missiles that made the fighting extremely long-distance, something Turian fighter pilots hadn't experienced before in any real Peer-to-Peer conflict. Their enemy, at most, had close-quarters gun-armed fighters leading the way while Gunships and other heavy-duty support elements would be providing the range with missiles.

A Turian column advanced down the open road now, slowly scanning for mines and targets while the screening platoons of infantry, one of which was Gracius's own platoon, pushed through the thick forestry, utilizing sensor eyepieces and scanners to detect enemy mines and IEDs. Lots of those damn things were placed along the roads. Many of them weren't even detectable by normal metal detectors, so the troops had to rely on EX residue and marks of shifted earth and shrub.

It was clear whoever the Yuenescee were, they and their Quarian brothers and sisters had long ago foregone any idea of surrendering peacefully. Even the city still faced almost daily probing attacks by the bastards of that 442nd Division. The masked and armored legions of the Black League fought for every inch of soil, which terrified Gracius. What if the projections were wrong, many thought. What if the enemy was going to return for their motherland with the full might of a liberation fleet?

They hadn't found any other suitable colonies to attack, either. Too much of the Terminus's Relay Network had been completely shut down, meaning travel between various systems at FTL speeds would take them months. Months they didn't have to end this war quickly. A protracted conflict was not what the Hierarchy had prepared for. They were here to occupy a couple of worlds and get these bastards to the negotiating table.

Gracius breathed a deep sigh. He was getting impatient, understandably enough. He had to get home to his family, to his own wife and children. The Asari be damned, they had to put them to the sword after so long. He still remembered the history lessons about the Krogan Rebellions. Here, however, the enemy was not some indefensible brutes that the Council had made a mistake of uplifting.

The enemy they faced was a calculate, strong-willed people formed of two separate species with similar traits. The only things really separating the Quarians from the Yuenescee, or whatever the true name of the species was, seeing as 'UNSC' was plastered on all their military vehicles, meaning it was an acronym, were tiny facial features, the feet and hands and the Aminoacid composition.

He felt someone elbow him in the shoulder and looked over to see Lupercal marching beside him. The Turian Corporal said, "Flights said they spotted something moving in the trees," as two Turian fighters that were providing CAP flew low past the convoy. The Lieutenant hummed, checked his Phaeston rifle and nodded as he scanned the tree-line around them. Lupercal mumbled, "This is insane."

"We're advancing down the roads they want us to advance. We don't have enough Defoliator units to clear out large-enough swathes of the jungle," His Lieutenant told him, "And their tanks are somehow thin enough to hide in the vegetation, not to mention how proficient some of their troops seem to be at making improvised explosives that can rip any of our AFVs in half. They remind me of us... Just smaller and pastier."

"No need to recap the crapshow we're in to me, sir. I'm well-acquainted with it by now," The Corporal replied smarmily. He told him, "I heard the General requested another formation to come to support us, but it's taking a while for the Hierarchy to deploy them from policing actions nearby the few remaining pirate systems in the Terminus. These people were thorough enough that all we're facing is bands of Mercs."

"What about Kar'shan?" The Turian officer asked.

"Gone, sir. Occupied by the League's forces," The Corporal replied, "Last we heard, the Batarian Army on the planet had surrendered utterly and completely."

"A band of barbarians that surrenders," The Lieutenant mumbled, annoyed. He'd honestly have wanted to be part of the task force that finally took them out, if it came to that at some point, but he could settle for the League's work. He asked sarcastically, "Remind me again why we're invading these people? Beside the obvious aggressive tendencies and the unfettered use of AI, I mean? They fixed one issue the Galaxy's been having and, going by how militarized they are, I think we could've been good friends."

Lupercal shrugged, "Gene-engineering the Quarian immune system to jumpstart it, utilizing nuclear weapons, using the Geth..." then he whispered, "The Asari being cunts and deciding we're better off fixing a mess the Batarians created?" only to get a short snort out of the El-Tee as they advanced. He checked his rifle, then spoke in a proper voice again, sarcasm and all, "I don't know, sir. For all intents and purposes, I'm just a rifleman. I'm not exactly paid to think."

"And yet you still do it, despite it all," The Lieutenant replied with a faux-edge to his tone, showing what one would assume was a standard Turian grin, his mandibles slightly open and his sharp teeth showing. He scratched the top of his head, feeling the missing crest, then mumbled, "Wonder if the kids will recognize me without the crest... And with all the scarring..."

"You'll be fine, sir," He shot back, "My fiancee might not know me after this, though. This whole mess reeks..."

"A good shower and some rack time with her and she'll remember," Joked the Lieutenant. He paused, balled his fist and signaled a halt, causing his entire platoon and the rest of the convoy to halt. The vehicles scrambled to the sides of the road, into irrigation ditches and into the shrubs, taking cover behind thicker trees in hope that whatever HEAT warheads the enemy's rocket launchers fired would be at least blunted by the trunks.

A whistle filled Gracius's auditory sensors. His eyes widened, bloodshot, as he craned his head back and screamed aloud, "MORTARS! TAKE COVER!"

The trees around them exploded into wooden shrapnel as the first volley struck. Thundering detonations filled the air as the Turian troops scrambled for cover underneath their armored vehicles or in the ditches by the sides of the road. Some shells detonated in airburst mode, washing the ground with the deadly rain of jagged shrapnel. Gracius had jumped in a ditch to dodge the shots and looked up, watching as several larger shells arrived amidst the drumroll of detonation.

Said shells split open mid-flight, spreading a rain of explosive pellets all across the battlefield. Cluster munitions detonated, shattering any remaining semblance of organization amidst the Turian infantry and killing several more soldiers. Gracius was thankful to see Lupercal had managed to take cover, though, narrowly avoiding death with a few of their comrades and two of their tanks.

Cluster charges. They really cared little for what they were leaving behind for future cleanup, werent' they? He radioed, "This is Lieutenant Gracius at Grid Epyrus Five, we're taking heavy fire from enemy artillery! Requesting counter-battery fire from any available unit, ASAP!" only to pause as he saw movement in the trees. The Black League's troops were coming in to further pin them down.

Tracers and MG Fire lit the air. The enemy soldiers, seemingly both Quarian and Yuenescee, advanced toward them with killer intent. Gracius rallied his men and women through hand signs, troops rushing across to the opposite side to defend while the tanks turned about and tried to go hull-down on the other side of the road. Two enemy AT rockets flew out from amidst the trees and one of them nailed a tank dead in its propulsion system. The tank remained operational, however, main gun thundering.

Return fire came from his troops as they set up, Lupercal himself screaming, "Bastards burst one of my eardrums!" while his Lieutenant watched his right auditory organ bleeding. He snorted, then ducked as a sniper round zipped over his head. He stood onto his knees and fired into the shrubs at the advancing enemy force, surprised to see them cooperating closely. They were also properly equipped, meaning this was an actual Army element as reported by the prisoners.

The tank's secondary anti-infantry machine gun lit the treeline up, cutting through the palms and other trees, shearing leaves off and putting down two enemy infantrymen who were out of position. A third fired a rocket from his launcher, but narrowly missed, hitting the tree behind the tank and giving a Turian sniper a clean shot at his head, which the Sniper took with little remorse.

The reply came fast when their own Sniper basically punched a fist-sized hole through theirs' chest, spraying bone and blood across the beaten dirt road. Gracius swore to himself and barked, "All troops, reposition! Tanks, covering fire!" as he stood up and fired at one of the men closing in. The soldier doubled over a bit, but was quick to aim his rifle again at the Turian.

A Turian rifleman surged forward, powering his Omni-Blade and thrusting it straight at the soldier's chest. The blade barely pierced through the armor plate on the chest of the man and broke off inside him, boiling away skin and searing the heart, which caused the man to drop. The Soldier jumped back into cover, taking two rounds to the shoulder and leg in the process, but was still fit enough to return fire.

The Fireteam began a fighting retreat, the Lieutenant being covered by both the tanks and his troops as they moved. Automatic fire zipped through the trees, tracers lighting up the darkened area below the canopy, muzzle flashes being targeted by the tank guns and MGs. One more Jackhammer missile lanced out from the treeline and struck the side of the tank, causing the ammunition aboard to burst, exploding and sending the turret sky-high.

Thankfully for the Turians, most of the squads on top of the tanks had dismounted by that time and were engaged in covering the withdrawal. The artillery overhead didn't slow, however, with some Turians being caught in the blast of an airburst mortar shell just as they were moving to reinforce the Lieutenant's platoon, all of whom crawled under the volleys being exchanged and shot their own bursts back at the Leaguers.

The League's own troops started pulling back as the drone of the Turian Gunships' engines echoed in the sky. Four gunships swept in fast toward possible artillery positions, but were forced to turn back the moment forty-millimeter autocannon fire lit them up with proximity flak rounds. One gunship's barrier broke and its engine started to smoke, but it was still serviceable enough to be used against the retreating enemy force in the treeline. Their autocannons ripped through the trees as they hovered above their comrades.

Gracius murmured, "Thank the Spirits for gunships," before climbing out of the ditch with the rest of his unit. He watched a squadron of allied vehicles, Defoliator tanks included, roll up. The Defoliators began firing their jellied petroleum projectors at the trees, lighting the area ahead in a fast-burning, superhot blaze that radiated heat even Turians would find unbearable.

A Turian Centurion jumped from the leading tank and stated, "Good job surviving so far, Lieutenant."

"Sir," The soldier nodded, "What's going on?"

"The Black League's troops are in a fighting withdrawal across all areas. The flood basin to our South is currently the site of the biggest armored battle the Turian military has experienced since the Unification Wars," His CO explained, then walked forward to a dead Quarian soldier. He picked up the strange rifle the soldier wielded, checked it over and said all the while, "We'll be pushing our advantage per General Fedorian's orders. We have to split their troops in half by the end of the week... Else they'll be able to form a defensive line per projections."

"Sir. It will be done," Gracius noted, then looked back at the rising, jungle-covered peaks ahead of them.

Heavy fighting ahead...

The rifles of the Militia ripped through the shrubs. Carla and her assigned squad of youth Militia ambushed a light patrol of Turian troops, their weapons tearing into the barriers and armor of the Soldiers that had pushed too far ahead of their own troops. Carla, though hesitant, fired at the Featherheads, focused on taking them down, on forcing them to retreat.

Sarah beside her barked, "EAT LEAD, YA CUNTS!" while she fired her machine gun. Two more youngsters behind her lobbed grenades at the Turians and took cover when the return fire came. Carla took cover as a shot zipped way too close to her head for comfort. She reloaded her weapon, spat phlegm to the side, knelt and pied the trunk again, firing as she went. Their team forced the Turian patrol to pull back into the trees opposite to them.

Carla grit her teeth and grabbed one of the grenades off her belt as she watched one of the youths get nailed by a shot to the chest. She primed and threw the frag, then ran toward the young man to help him. While dragging him into cover, she took a couple of shots to her vest, but thankfully survived to keep on moving despite the knockback. She showed their Medic to tag in, before gasping as a round nailed another of theirs in the head.

The firefight had been going on for five minutes at this point. Carla herself was moving on instinct by now, instinct taught by her mother. Her only luck was that her mom had seen fit to train her at home about how to use the various firearms in their arsenal, just in case something like this happened. She was, however, basically shoved into the role of being the de-facto Leader of this platoon of misfit youngsters.

So, whenever one of her own died while she was on autopilot, instincts dictated one of three things was set to happen based on a dice roll in her mind:She would burst into tears, too afraid to move, she would fire back at the enemy with almost zero accuracy save for suppressing them, or she would start rearranging the positions of her mobile team members while providing cover for those like Sarah, who manned MGs.

Almost always, so far, the dice had rolled in favor of one of the latter two, with crying being reserved for when they were back at base. Today was no different, as it hit the 'reposition' order. She barked, "TWO, THREE, TAKE COVER! FOUR, COVER FIVE! SIX, NINE, TWELVE, GET THE DEAD AND WOUNDED OUT OF THE WAY! MEDICAL, GET BIOFOAM ON TEN!"

She then popped out of cover and nailed a charging Turian with a burst to the noggin, sending him to the floor. She ran toward Sarah and re-linked a pair of belts, pat her on the back and told her, "Don't let that fucking trigger go unless you barrel bursts, you hear me!? Keep shifting fire, suppressive! I'll take a team to flank the bastards..." and she snapped off another shot, this one narrowly missing a Turian but forcing him back down into cover.

"Right on, mate!" She replied, before belting out a laugh as she let it rip. The rapid-fire of the belt-fed SAW sounded like ripping paper apart with a chainsaw. It was loud, harsh and beautiful at the same time, watching so many rounds tearing through the Turians' cover, kicking up a cloud of dust. Selecting her team-mates through hand signals, Clara then took up the formation to flank the Turians under the whittling cover fire of her comrades.

Bounding across the foot path that separated them, the girl threw a first grenade, leading the way, rifle up and firing into the targets' sides. The Turians, noting they were flanked, quickly repositioned to the best of their ability, negotiating the suppressing machine gun with a grenade that forced Sarah to displace with sixteen separate expletives in English espoused by the young woman as she jumped out of the Grenade's way.

Automatic fire rippled through as the youngsters laid waste to the Turians' side, but lost two more of their own. Clara would be lying if she said she didn't feel every single loss, the boy laying dead at her feet right now being a former comrade and possible future classmate for the small university that would have been set up here. Still, as she reloaded, all she could think of was how she was gonna get their wounded out of the line of fire after all was said and done.

She gasped when a Turian appeared out of the woodwork, pinning her to a tree by the throat and cocking back an Omni-Blade to try and stab her heart out. One of her comrades thrust his bayonet through the shoulder joint's weaker armor, causing the arm the Turian had pinned her down with to go limp, allowing her to dodge the blade, which impacted into and burned a neat hole into the tree she'd been pinned to.

With all the weight in her tiny body put into it, the girl slammed herself into the Alien, pinning him to the floor, putting the barrel of her rifle clean into his mouth and, with very little hesitation in the heat of the moment, turned his head to mulch with a full burst of automatic fire. To her left, the last few remaining Turian scouts were gunned down mercilessly by the youth. None had managed to throw their hands up and even attempt to surrender.

Breathing a sigh and wiping what she thought at first was sweat from her face, Carla yelped as she saw blood, that of the Turian she'd just executed, on her hand. She swallowed her own spit, trying to still her heart, then looked over at Sarah as she displaced her MG, stowed it on her back and showed them to move it. Turian Reinforcements would be coming any minute. She looked down upon the dead Turian and blinked, noticing the missing upper half of his head, then shuddered.

They rallied up, setting the dead up in positions where they could later recover the bodies without the Turians taking them, stripping them of valuable gear like ammunition, weapons and unbroken armor, then heading out. Carla shivered, remembering the dead Turian with the missing head. Part of her felt sick at having to do what she did, even noticing that the barrel of her rifle still had the blood of the alien staining it.

She breathed a deep sigh to calm down, then lead the way forward and out of the woodlands. The bastards were starting to burn it, drop firebombs and all. This really was turning into a nightmare now, what with being on the run continuously. At least they were nearing a semi-defensible position nearby an old riverbed with a creek running through it. Her mom said so.

God, she prayed reinforcements were coming soon. They needed more people, needed more guns. Their numbers were slowly being thinned by the Turians, proving that the bastards actually had capable soldiers and officers. If only whatever triggered this war hadn't happened, maybe they could've been good friends, bonded over being militaristic societies or something.

At some point, though, things had to give. The Batarians had started the war by attacking one of their new colonies. Now the Turians started the second phase by hitting this new colony. At some point, there would probably be a joke on the ExtraNet about people touching the League's colonies and starting another War, but it wasn't a gonna be a joke to people like her. That was the root cause of this massive war and the subsequent asskicking they would deliver to the Citadel Council. They weren't gonna go quietly.

The Council could count on that.