New Warsaw

There was one point of crossing left to move beyond the flooded river:A small mountain pass that the Turians had found out about through orbital imaging and airborne scout vehicles when said vehicles weren't being harassed by their few remaining and armed planetary defense fighters. The Sixth Division's reserves were thrown into this gap.

If it fell, then the Turians would have an open road into the heartland of the planetary Resistance, a way to finally wipe them out. They'd brought artillery, guns and every single weapon system they had available to try and break through, but were met by the valiant defenders of the Valley. Three lines of defensive trenches, dug-in artillery and tanks and anti-air systems that made the air thick with air intercept missiles and Flak and thousands of the UNSC's finest men and women.

Clara held onto the wooden frame of the truck bed they were in as she and the Militia were moving toward the Valley itself. Between two steep cliffs rising high into the heavens, UNSC defensive lines and command posts were already visible, with spotters on the walls of the valley already providing targets for the 152mm cannons situated at the rear line.

She heard the guns fire in a volley to their right from their dug-in emplacement and watched the shells arc in while Sun Devil triple-A lit the sky up in flak to deter Turian airstrikes. Marines and Army troops manning defense guns also fired toward the Turian advance down below, farther in the jungle, while the Featherheads' artillery returned fire.

When the trucks halted, the Militia and the Army reinforcements dismounted, with the girls following the officer cadre toward the closest defensive position just as hostile shells landed, geysers of dirt and debris launched high into the sky. It was a sight straight out of an eight hundred year old conflict from the history books.

When they reached the first line of Trenches, the Militia were dismounted, rifles at the ready as the soldiers around them mobilized to reinforce the forward lines. Carla approached the local officer, snapping a crisp salute and stating, "Militia's here to assist, sir! Point us at the enemy and we'll rip'em a new asshole!"

"You're Grayson, right?!" The man asked. She nodded, to which he said, "Blessings for your mother! She and the troops defending the crossings saved our collective bacon out there!" before pointing at a gap in the lines where a shell had landed and said, "Cover that hole! Rest of the Army's remnants are rerouting infantry here to the best of their ability, but regrouping's taking time!"

"Roger!" The girl nodded, trying to keep a stiff upper lip. She gave a wave to the fireteam, all of whom nodded then ran toward the defensive position in the crater, diving into the mud as gunfire snapped above their heads. Carla moved up with her team, pulling a grenade and hefting it toward the enemy's advancing forces.

Rifle fire, zipping bullets and the screams of an artillery battle the likes of which might not have happened since the Great War nearly 800 years ago back on Earth. Regardless of it, they fought, gunfire raking the trees and catching Turian troops off-kilter. Sarah was right beside her, now hauling a general purpose machine gun with a box magazine.

Spent casings piled high in the trenches even as Turian batteries fired on them, airburst magnetic shells detonating overhead in an attempt to stop the UNSC's armored fighting force from repelling them. The few tanks and SPGs they had present focused fire, explosive shells and APFSDS rounds mixing in, catching enemy vehicles and infantry in their blasts.

A mad bastard of a soldier to their right raised high the Battle Standard of the Sixth Armored Division, the gold-red-blue triangle flowing in the wind above the UNSC's and Black League's Coat of Arms. The Banner of the League hovered high, black and yellow like a bumblebee, the emblem of the Earth's continents in the center like a shining beacon.

Carla watched a Turian force attempt to clamber into the trenches of a forward unit. She slammed Sarah in the shoulder and pointed at the bastards before aiming her own MA5K. Her rifle rippled while her friend's own Machine Gun let loose, spitting lead like a hose did water. Sarah laughed heartily, keeping her gaze down the holographic sight as she swept the contested trench's edge.

The others of her unit soon joined:A young Quarian named Tanya by her mother and father, a corporal belonging to the Army's Sixth by the name of Lawrence and one Tabitha, an old woman and a baker that was good friends with most of the kids. The lattermost brought supplies. Ammo, food and water. She then moved in to join, firing at the Turians and calling out, "Come on, ya cunts!" in a taunt, "Momma's gonna fry ya like the chickens ya are!"

Two of their fighter-bombers overhead swept in, dropping another flurry of napalm canisters down on the enemy's lines before one of them fired its 30mm rotary cannon at a Turian gunship, raking it with explosive shots that concussed its pilots, destroyed part of the wing and caused the bird to careen into the cliff face to the right.

Mortar teams from the Sixth's organically-included artillery crews arrived on trucks and transport Saddlebacks, dismounting with the tubes and setting up at the rear. Artillery spotters and crew who had already been there told them distances, zeroing and everything while supply units unloaded the 100mm shells, spreading them out evenly among the crews.

The first mortar-man aligned the shot and called, "HALF-CHARGE!" only to watch one of theirs adjust the shell. He covered his ears and barked, "FIRE!" before ducking as the loader dropped the shell down the tube. A thwomp echoed, followed by the whistling of the shell as it arced high, then low and struck a position the Turians were advancing toward.

It wasn't a massacre, though. Not as much as the UNSC forces wanted. The bastards were still pushing. It was uphill every way, but they were focused on dislodging the defensive force. Two Pelicans flew in low and deployed two more tanks, plus the ammunition for the reloads. One of them fired its maw-mounted cannon, a dangerous coilgun loaded with HE rounds.

It tore through the treeline, forcing back a Turian tank and several infantry platoons. Clara dropped to one knee, reloaded her rifle, then barked, "WE'RE RETAKING THE FORWARD TRENCH LINE!" before radioing, "All units, this is Sergeant Grayson, Callsign EAGLE-SIX, we're retaking the forward Trenches! Turian forces in the area are thinned!"

"Copy that, EAGLE SIX. DAGGER ONE, Fire Mission, mark seven smoke shells to provide cover, Dagger out," The mortar crew commander in the rear replied. Indeed, arcing in, seven shells detonated, clouds of gray smoke billowing high to shield their advance. Clara urged her comrades forward, climbing out of the trench first and surging through the smoke.

The others followed quickly, another infantry platoon from the Sixth's dismounts immediately settling into the defensive position. She jumped into the damaged trench, sliding down the rear wall and noticing two of their own, a Quarian and a Human, dead beside each-other. She murmured a quick prayer and whispered, "Sorry," as she retrieved ammo from their pouches, sliding the mags into her own empty ones.

She then took cover behind the trench wall that was facing the enemy, stood up and fired from cover, feeling the mud cause her clothes to stick to her frame. She felt a round zip right by her ear and another strike her chest plate, knocking all the air out of her lungs and her, on her ass. Sarah moved in, appearing out of the smoke like a mud-drenched devil, her GPMG immediately ripping belts.

The others jumped in as well, with the Army Troopers lobbing grenades toward the Turians. One of them took a slug to the face and dropped dead in the trench, but his ammo was still up for grabs. She gave him a quick goodbye, then grabbed two grenades from his belt. She then watched Sarah jump in and lift her to her feet. The girl joked, "This crap really exfoliates the skin, huh!?"

Carla barely let out a laugh, but she did feel that little bit of reinforcement. She rallied her team, spreading them out so that Turian grenades wouldn't instantly take them all out and watching as they laid hell down unto a squad trying to push back up the hill and retake the very trench they were in. To their immediate right, another trench raider squad jumped in, ODSTs redeployed from other parts.

Black-armored and faceless, they brought about hope for the Sergeant, who smiled at the sight of them. She dropped a spent magazine into the mud, slammed in a fresh one, then heard the thunderclap of one of their SRS-100s. She watched a Defoliator detonate in a blaze of hellfire, catching multiple Turians flat-footed and burning them alive.

Carla spoke, "I think this is the most I've fired my rifle this conflict," as she checked her magazines. She dropped another spent one, grabbing another off the body of a fallen comrade and sliding it in. Sarah beside her also dropped to one knee, removed the empty box magazine for her MG and slid in a fresh one.

She spoke, "Turns out I'm a bloody good machine gunner," with a grin.

"Accuracy by volume of fire makes anyone good," Her blonde Grayson homie shot back, grinning back at her. Sarah snorted, stood up and aimed to fire, but ducked as a round skimmed the top of her helmet, causing her to go wide-eyed and let out several noises to test her hearing. Carla snorted and laughed a nervous laugh, but stood up and returned fire.

Lilac flares exploded across the Turian lines next. The entire Militia team looked over to the right, noticing a human Biotic among the ODST Squad's ranks, his biotic amps glowing purple as he aimed and sent forth another artillery blast to supplement their own guns. One Turian officer waved the men and armor back.

They'd suffered even more casualties here than they did when they first landed on the planet, Carla thought. They were retreating and regrouping. She sighed deeply, watching the vehicles run back into the ravaged Jungle, pursued by the UNSC's own walking barrages. Night began to fall as silence settled over the trenches.

Relief washed over the troops, though it was mixed with sadness. As they began removing the corpses from the trenches for later burial, Carla took her helmet off, simply sitting in the very foxhole they'd secured, rubbing her face and looking at herself. There were still a lot of dead from their own unit, disappointingly enough.

Sarah sat down next to her and offered her an energy drink. She cracked hers open, letting the gas hiss and fizzle out for a sec before taking a sip. She coughed, then said to Carla, "This is gonna keep me awake for a week..." only to get a snort out of her. The MG gunner gently elbowed Carla in the shoulder and said, "Hey, relax... We beat'em back."

"This time," Carla sighed, "What's next?"

"We kick'em off our rock," Sarah replied sharply, taking another sip from what she suddenly felt was battery acid. Or at least a very poor choice of energy drink. The two girls looked at one-another, then nodded and bumped fists as if to recodify the promise that they would get the Turians off their new home planet.

Rannoch

The Highlander Mech was a majestic piece of machinery. The mass production models with their ACEs allowed the pilots unfettered movement and unfettered speed. Though several were still getting used to operating the combat mechanoids, they were getting there. Fact obvious by Rael following two others into battle. They fired machine cannons at tank-shaped and human-shaped targets, cratering them with AP rounds.

One of the three mechs shifted a weapon on its shoulder and aimed it. The cannon charged for three seconds as the mechs moved to flank the targets. A beam of azure light lanced forward, cutting in half the intended target by melting the titanium from top to bottom. He then shifted his aim again and fired at another trio of silhouette targets.

Rael followed close behind, moving to the best of his abilities, even as his suit gave a few small warnings about overstress. He watched the smartscope system on his HUD connect with his personal heavy rocket launcher, then skid to a halt and aimed it toward a fortified concrete bunker. He squeezed and the missile launched, then struck and detonated, shattering the cover.

Slinging the weapon onto his back, he drew a beam rifle and said, "Highlander One and Two, on me. Flag in sight," before leading the others forward. He felt his brain go into overdrive, Marina's voice audibly humming in a warm, dulcet tone to try and soothe him. The beam rifle, a plasma weapon adapted from the earlier HACS prototypes, shifted in his arms.

Coolant flowed into the weapon's maw as it charged. He aimed for the silhouette of a hostile mechanoid:one of their comrades on an opposite team. They were playing CTF, obviously, so the flag was in the 'enemy base', another part of the Training Ground. He zeroed in on the hostile IFF and aimed, leading the shot and squeezing.

The beam lanced forth and caught the mech dead in the chest, heating the plate slightly. Their weapons were adjusted to fire non-lethally in training, but for their mechs to be marked as lost if hit. He'd just barely managed to snipe what looked to be the opposite team's heavy. It was a six-v-six fight and they'd also lost a mech prior.

Rael had just evened the score out. They kept moving, running across the battlefield and 'supporting' elements of their own advancing armor. Radio and telecom systems played in their heads as the pilots spoke to one-another, finding themselves coordinating. It'd been some time since they started this accelerated training phase, but alas.

He gasped as, from among the buildings of the training center, a swinging axe came in. The powered axes utilized by the suits acted much the same as the plasma weapons, with different settings. Had he just been hit, he'd have 'lost his head' and the entire sensor suite, effectively putting him out of action. He pile-drived the mech down onto the floor, put his beam rifle up to his head and spoke, "Out!" before pushing past him.

Even with safeties, firing the beam rifle up close was basically like putting a plasma torch to the mech. It would've damaged parts of it. He pushed with his platoon, feeling their feet thundering against the ground. He gasped, however, when a direct impact EM round struck one of their mechs, causing it to stumble forward and fall.

Even odds again. Four v Four with two guarding their base. The enemy that had just popped Hazard was a Sniper variant, though. He could see the charging mag-rifle in the distance being aimed at him. He heard the trigger click in a moment of clarity so strange it stunned him, before he shifted his weight left, avoiding the EMP round by a hair's breadth.

Warning systems began to blare loudly in his ears, but he ignored them, disengaging the Mech's safety limiters and drawing his own combat blade, a long-bladed knife with an EM system attached to it. He closed distance with the sniper, dodging another shot narrowly before utilizing his suit's Jump Jets to dive right at him, pinning him to the floor and his blade, onto the chest and canopy.

He felt a lightning bolt strike his suit's back, systems overloading. Marina spoke, "We have been eliminated..." though she didn't sound disappointed. Rael himself cracked a small smile, then sighed. As the suit powered on again, he saw the image flash in his HUD. 'RED TEAM WINS'. He looked upon his team-mate, who now held the enemy flag on his shoulder, then gave a thumbs up.

"Not bad," Rael's father spoke to them over the com, "RTB, boys and girls. Someone's here to see you."

The mechs that had been taken out all stood to their feet, marching over toward the hangar bay and settling themselves in. The pilots bumped fists, being good sports about it, before heading to the command room. There, however, they all froze when they saw the familiar face of Admiral Kaine standing before them.

She smirked and said, "Pilots. Apologies for the sudden arrival, but I figured I'd witness how one of these training exercises goes while we're pulling the Fleets together," before watching them all scramble to line up and salute. She waved them off, "At ease," only to look over to Rael's father and state, "You really drilled them something mean, Raf."

"Only the best, ma'am, even with the accelerated programs," He replied, smiling proudly as he looked upon them all, his son included. She nodded approvingly, approaching the group and looking all of them over. He asked, "I suppose there's more to this than just a courtesy visit, though, ma'am? The Admiral doesn't usually leave when we've got Fleets mustering."

"Indeed," She replied, then sighed and said, "From what I've seen today, your team, though reckless, is capable. The First Highlanders will be deploying with us into battle. Your vehicles, personal effects and equipment will be moved aboard the Moscow for Operation SHADOW STRIKE... The retaking of New Warsaw and our subsequent targeted push against the Citadel's forces."

"We're deploying," Rael murmured, stunned.

"Indeed... Henceforth, you are no longer mere Cadets, boys and girls. You're our first Generation Mass-Production HACS Pilots. The Highlander First," She stated bluntly, staring all of them down calmly. She added, "Pack your gear and say your goodbyes. Our War starts soon..." only to look at Raf. He sighed deeply, looking upon his son, then nodded to them and dismissed them with a salute.

To War, then...