It's Ken who interrupts this time. "Riveting story, Commander, fantastic stuff. But now that betting's done, we need to see everyone's cards." We made him dealer at the start of the game. He's doing okay so far.

"Right." I toss mine on the table. It's an okay hand – a two and five of diamonds, a three and six of clubs, and a four of spades.

"Shep's got a straight, Mordin's got three of a kind, Zaeed's got two pair, Tali's got…got…" His voice trails off.

"What? What's she got?" Kasumi asks.

"I don't fucking believe it," Zaeed grunts. "The girl's got a bloody royal flush!

"Royal flush? Intriguing. Assume this means Tali'Zorah wins?" Mordin pipes up.

"Yeah, this round." Ken shakes his head as he slides the gargantuan pile of poker chips over to her. "Dunno how you do it, girl, but you'd put casinos out of business at this rate."

Tali shrugs. "What can I say? I've got a good poker face."

"Raptor Six, this is Bloodhound. We're set up in the tower, over."

"Roger, Bloodhound, start ranging. Out." I turn to PJ. He's setting up his spotting scope and puffing away on a cigarette. It's his third one in thirty minutes. The company's set up in front of us on a big, open plain. All the buildings are on our side of the MLR. Smart move, if you ask me. We give the pirates too many flanking opportunities if we put the MLR in the middle of them. Plus, house-to-house fighting is a real bitch.

"That thing ready?" I ask.

"One sec." He gives it a tremendous whack and it whirrs to life.

"Now it is." I deploy my rifle's bipod and set it up on the edge of the parapet. I look through the scope and start searching around for anything beyond the MLR that can be used as cover.

"PJ."

"Yeah, bro?"

"Debris pile, their side of the MLR."

"I see it."

"Range?"

"Six-two-three yards." I write down the distance on a range card. These cards are standard issue for snipers – we use them to record distances to targets so we're not compensating on the fly when the shit hits the fan.

"Tag it One-Alpha."

"Roger." PJ presses a few buttons on the spotting scope. "Done."

"You see the dune?"

"Which one?"

"The one to the right of the debris pile." A pause as he swivels the scope around.

"I see it. Six-five-four yards."

"Tag it Two-Alpha." I jot down the range on the range card.

"Done." My radio crackles to life.

"Raptor Six, this is Raptor One Actual, over."

"This is Six, send traffic."

"Raptor Six, we're seeing dust clouds on the horizon." I glance at PJ. His eyes are still glued to the scope.

"Say again, Raptor One?"

"I say again, there're dust clouds on the horizon, over."

"Roger, Raptor One. Pull in your OPs and go to one hundred percent alert, over."

"Wilco, Six. One out." I look out at the horizon, and the biggest dust cloud I've ever seen is hanging lazily in the sky.

"That ain't good," PJ remarks.

"Yeah, no kidding." Raptor One comes on the radio again.

"Raptor Six, this is One Actual. We've got a visual on hostile foot-mobiles coming out of the dust-storm."

"Roger, One Actual. How many?"

"Three regiment-strength units."

"Roger, One Actual. You are weapons free."

"Here we go," PJ mutters.

"Are they seriously going to try a frontal assault?"

"Shit, bro, they've got the numbers to do it. And we're spread so goddamn thin they might actually break through." I look through my scope and see a rag-tag mass of aliens coming out of the dust – turians, batarians, salarians, even a couple of asari, mouths frozen open, bellowing barely audible battle cries. It'd be a lot less scary if there weren't so many of them.

"Let's get spooky." I activate my omni-tool and turn on my tactical cloak.

"Roger," PJ says. He follows suit. I press the PTT button on my transmitter.

"Steel Rain, this is Bloodhound, adjust fire, over."

"Bloodhound, this is Steel Rain, adjust fire, out."

"Grid one-eight-oh-five-niner-one, infantry regiment in the open, ICM I/C in effect, danger close, over." They're getting closer now. Some of our boys on the MLR have already opened up. The pirates have done likewise.

"Roger, Bloodhound, read back for copy: grid one-eight-oh-five-niner-one, infantry battalion in the open, ICM I/C in effect, danger close, over."

"Affirmative, Steel Rain."

"Roger, Bloodhound. Standby for shot." A pause, then a distant crump. "Shot out."

A mortar round is completely silent in flight, so the only warning the pirates get is when a round explodes right in the middle of them, scattering them like bowling pins.

A modern Alliance-issue 120 millimeter mortar firing your run-of-the-mill proximity-fused HE shell has a kill radius of about twenty-five meters and a wounding radius of about seventy-five meters. Start firing ICM rounds – which we're not, since this mission is danger close – and you can easily double that. That's not including the possibility of casualties from SNT or the overpressure effect. To put it bluntly, it is extremely good at fucking people up. Get a whole battery on a fire-for-effect mission and you can get a real meat-grinder going. Which is exactly what I'm about to do.

"Steel Rain, this is Bloodhound. Ten rounds, fire for effect, over." Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds. Grovel, you scummy motherfuckers, for I have a radio hot-linked to Weapons Company.

"Roger, Bloodhound. On the way." I release the PTT button, bring the stock of my rifle to my shoulder, and look through the scope. I have a few seconds to get a target before impact. Six 120s firing ten rounds each will bring down some serious hell.

"Find me a target, PJ."

"Got one. Batarian, looks like an officer. Tagged him for you. Range five-two-two, elevation three plus one, wind one minute left to right." An arrow pointing to the right appears in my scope, and I swivel the Avenger around until the officer's in my sights. He's yelling at someone and making hand signals. Stupid. That kind of stuff is exactly what PJ and I are trained to look for. I hold an inch above his chest to correct for bullet drop.

"On target."

"Fire." I squeeze the trigger.

And the world explodes.

The mortar rounds start detonating one after another on the plains, turning the ground into a killing field. We can't see shit through all the dust the shells kick up, but body parts are flying everywhere.

"HO-LEE SHIT!" PJ hollers. "HA-HA! WOOO! YEAH! THAT'S SOME WRATH OF GOD SHIT RIGHT THERE, BRO!" The shockwaves are shaking the tower something fierce. I start counting explosions.

"CAN YOU SEE ANYTHING?" I yell to PJ.

"CAN'T SEE SHIT, BRO! BUT THEY'RE IN THE FUCKING HURT LOCKER NOW!"

The mission's coming to an end. Fifty-eight, fifty-nine…sixty.

There's an eerie stillness in the air as the dust clears. Nothing's moving out beyond the MLR.

"Did I get 'im?"

"Who, the batarian? Shit, bro, if you didn't, the mortars sure as hell did. Ain't nothing left alive out there."

"Raptor Six, this is Chaos. Give me a sitrep." It's the garrison commander.

"All companies down to half-strength, Chaos. Including walking wounded."

"Roger, Six. Hold position."

"Not like we're going anywhere," PJ mutters.

"This is Steel Rain! We're getting a lot of EM traffic over here!"

"Roger, Steel Rain, what is it? There's a crump, crump, crump in the distance. PJ looks at me.

"That ain't outgoing."

"Counter-battery radar! They've got a lock on –" The signal dies with a loud whine. There's a boom, boom, boom to our rear.

"Well, shit. There goes our arty. What else we got, Jack?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious, man. We're the only thing standing between these assholes and Elysium now."

"Well, that's just fucking peachy."

"Chaos, this is Raptor Six Actual! They're on our flanks! Taking heavy casualties!"

"Hold position Six, Headquarters Company is attempting a relief-in-place!" That gets my attention.

"Headquarters Company? They're sending out the chairborne to fight now?" A deafening thundercrack suddenly echoes throughout the colony. PJ and I glance at each other.

"That wasn't thunder, bro."

I look over my shoulder in time to see the Tarawa explode right over the center of Elysium, sending brilliant red-orange streaks of fire into the atmosphere. The sky goes dark with pirate ships – they're literally blotting out the sun.

"Oh, this can't happening…"

"What?"

"They got an entire goddamn fleet. And they got the Tarawa."

"Looks like we're gonna pay Him back sooner than we thought."