Typhon.
45 miles to RV Point with Major Anderson
Thank God for Vortex shields !
Jack psychically and mentally braced himself inside the operator's compartment of BT-7274, biting his lower lip as his said vortex shield was busy earning its keep; keeping back a veritable blizzard of 80mm rockets cascading down on him in a tangled mass of white contrails and orange fires, spewing from the dual shoulder launchers of the Tone class IMC Titan standing firmly in the 12:00 position.
The Tone's Core ability. It meant serious business. The withering salvo of warheads tore up the forest, snapping off branches and filling the air with torn leaves and puffs of dust and kicked up dirt.
Some of the rockets went off course, deflected by the shield, and went on to detonate nearby, shaking Jack within the cockpit with their shockwaves. At the top of his HUD, he kept an eye on the quickly depleting status of his shield bar. It was taking the brunt of the rockets that did get through, but most were caught by it, stopped dead and getting suspended in mid air.
Come on, come on ! This has to run out eventually. What is his core running on-
The last of the rockets flew in. There were no more following them.
Ha !
Oh. And my own core is fully charged.
Time to bring the pain.
As the last of the explosions died, the Vortex Shield reversed, and spat out everything it'd caught. A bouquet of bright orange explosions bloomed on the Brute, hiding it from view. There was a momentary flash of energy- a quick blue light as the smoke cleared- that proved that its own shields were gone.
Meat on the table. Let's end this.
For good measure, Jack employed his own core ability: also a salvo core. A few quick interface commands later, he was unleashing his own storm of rockets toward the now mostly exposed Tone. More white contrails snaked out, each tailing a rocket that was dead on target.
Yet another blast rent the air, the largest one of all. Fragments and chunks of metal the size of trash bins were flung high into the air, trailing fire, as the enemy Tone disintegrated under the devastating bombardment.
KIA. That's a wrap !
" Titan down, BT ! We got him ! "
Jack's moment of victory, though, was soon interrupted.
" Enemy pilot has ejected ! He is in the air ! "
[ Guardian Mode Engaged ]
The white character text update flashed up on Jack Cooper's helmet HUD as he hurtled toward the ground, having leaped from the freshly opened cockpit of BT-7274.
Legs extended, his tooth-soled combat boots stuck the pine needle-covered dirt forest floor. He automatically bent his knees, absorbing the shock, while drawing his Alternator SMG all in one fluid motion.
Adrenaline was filling his veins; ice cold and awakening, as he spun around to face BT, bringing up the muzzle of the Alternator and zeroing in through its HCOG scope-
- on the IMC pilot who'd landed on the top of his Titan seconds before. The enemy operative must've scaled one of the trees, and been waiting for the right moment to perform the well-feared maneuver known as a " Titan Rodeo ": pouncing on top of a Titan, and dropping an explosive charge into one of its exhaust ports. Or, if said ports weren't exposed, a placed shaped charge would negate the Titan's shields, and deal punishing damage to its hull.
His late mentor and teacher, Captain Tai Lastimosa, had drilled the extent of that threat into Jack's head over and over during the long hours spent training Jack in the art of being a pilot. Having an enemy pilot rodeo-ing your Titan was even more dangerous than facing another Titan, in that you couldn't bring any of your own Titan' firepower to bear. The only means to remove the unwanted passenger without leaving your Titan was to employ the defensive measure known as " Electric Smoke "; a cloud of dense black mist charged with electricity that hid yourself from view, while electrocuting to death anyone caught in its radius.
Without that measure, though, you had only one recourse: Disembark, and deal with the boarder face to face.
" Always, always, keep your firearm ready for action at the drop of a hat ", Lastimosa had told him more than once. " This is a perfect example of why the pilot is the other half of a Titan's strength ".
Jack, as with everything Lastomosa had told him, hung on those words and took them as gospel. He didn't know when they'd prove useful, but didn't doubt them whatsoever. He was on his way to being a Pilot; he'd have to learn everything there was to know about that coveted status if he was going to last.
He was certainly in the crucible of it now.
He was being boarded.
Maybe his enemy had been lying in wait, or maybe he'd detected Jack's approach from further away, and had prepared this attack on the spot. Either way, it was the last thing any Pilot wanted, and Jack was no exception. From the moment BT had informed him, in that baritone-yet-still-robotic voice of his, that they'd been boarded, Jack knew exactly what had to be done.
Nobody was going to put a scratch on his Titan if he had anything to say about it.
Now, he had the enemy dead to rights.
The IMC pilot had an SA-3 Mozambique pistol- a curious, triple barreled handgun that fired shotgun blasts- in one hand, and a satchel charge in the other.
The adversaries spotted each other at nearly the same time. Jack opened fire, the Alternator's familiar " chp, chp, chp " firing sound filling the air, along with a salvo of its 10mm expanding tip rounds as they slashed toward the IMC. He'd aimed for the other Pilot's head, but the latter reacted with impressive speed, diving away to the right with a tactical roll and cloaking as he did. Jack thought he saw a bullet graze the Pilot's shoulder, but it all happened so quickly, he couldn't be sure.
Shoot. He's gone ghost.
" The enemy pilot has cloaked himself. ", BT communicated to him.
" Noted, BT ", Jack kept a tight grip on the Alternator, sweeping it back and forth, while slowly backpedaling and moving at an angle away from BT. He wanted to put some distance between himself and the now-hidden enemy; this was a prime opportunity for a knife attack.
Especially from the back. Not fitting way for an SRS ( or, technically in Jack's case, someone wearing the helmet of someone from the SRS ) pilot.
Where are you ?!
The forest was silent. Too silent. Predator silent.
Until-
Chhhnk !
Something buried itself into the side of the Alternator; an IMC-issued fighting knife ! It'd clearly been aimed higher, at Jack's chest to be exact. If he hadn't spotted a telltale shimmer in the air and turned on a dime, with reflexes he didn't know he had, that's where the blade would've gone.
What the- ?!
" Hostile pilot has de-cloaked ! 12:00 "
Seething anger flooded Jack's blood now, as he spotted the enemy's pilot's cloak dissipate alongside BT's warning. The enemy was revealed a few yards away, and already charging in !
A second knife was in the Pilot's hand, one with a serrated edge. Without giving it a thought, Jack drew his own serrated blade. His Data knife had been sharpened a few hours earlier, and he mentally expressed thanks he'd remembered to do that.
Not a moment too soon, as the enemy pilot reached him. The tip of his combat blade jabbed out toward Jack with a swift movement, like a striking cobra. Matching the attacking, by letting his honed instincts and training take over as they were supposed to, Jack brought his own knife up and to the side.
The blades clashed, and the IMC pilot's blade deflected off. Sparks flew out, and the combatants immediately squared up for another swing at each other, boots shifting as they prepared to attack again.
Switching which hand held the knife with that same formidable speed, the IMC pilot threw everything into a new strike, now aimed to drive the tip of the knife between Jack's ribs.
Jack jinked to the other side, getting outside the attack arc and swinging an arm down as hard as he could to bring his armored forearm gauntlet down on the IMC Pilot's wrist. He connected, and the deadly blade was forced down. The Pilot staggered, momentarily off balance, and Jack took the opportunity.
He stabbed out with his Data knife, taking a split second to aim for the point where the Pilot's helmet met his torso armor. The tip of the knife went through the gap, and there was wet shhhk sound as the cold Titanium pierced flesh. The knife buried itself, nearly up to its hilt.
Take. That.
A half second later, the Pilot's blade fell from his hand. Now nothing but dead weight, the freshly deceased IMC pilot sagged forward, and began to fall. Jack yanked hard on the knife, and pulled it free, letting his dead foe faceplant into the ground.
Jack stayed in a fighting stance, though. There was no way he was going to get caught off guard in case this IMC had allies anywhere close by.
" BT, can you detect anything ? "
" Negative, Pilot. The immediate area is clear. "
Peering into the mass of forest foliage, Jack searched for any hint of anyone's presence. Another shimmer, rustling bushes, anything. At the slighting hint that there were more of them, he was ready to re-embark and deal with whoever it was using the full extent of BT's firepower.
But, nothing. There was nothing at all.
" Hostile pilot is down. You fought well, Pilot Cooper. I am reminded of Captain Lastimosa ".
Heavy breathing finally slowing down, Jack felt the tide of adrenaline ebb, as BT praised his skills.
He glanced down a the IMC pilot lying on the ground, who was undeniably dead by now, with a puddle of crimson having now pooled around the neck area.
One down. A whole lot more to go.
I'd much rather be the one launching a sneak attack, not the other way around. Well, it turned out for the better in the end.
" Thank you, BT. I'm sure the Captain would be proud of you too. ".
" Your confidence is well placed, Pilot. "
Jack knelt, and proceeded to remove all the ammunition the dead Pilot had been carrying. In the process, he noticed that the Pilot had an actual B3 Wingman Elite Revolver ! The Elephant-killing hand cannon was chambered in .357 Magnum rounds to boot, with a gold inlay around its magazine chamber.
Classy. Well, its no good to you now, eh ? Thanks. I'll be taking this.
The Wingman felt nice and heavy in his hand. Jack extended both arms, aiming the revolver out toward a nearby tree. He resisted the urge to fire- a shot now would be a neon sign to anyone who was within earshot-, but he could still sense the raw power the Wingman had in it.
Even a Spectre wouldn't be able to withstand a direct hit from this beast. Granted, it did have about a third the capacity of a Hammond P2016, but it did have at least twice the stopping power. It could be a worthy trade off, if he used it right.
A fine addition to my collection.
" Pilot Cooper ! Multiple Titanfalls detected ! IMC signals ! "
Jack's admiration of his new revolver was abruptly interrupted by BT calling out the urgent situational update. The Vanguard Titan marched forward, the ground vibrating around his footfalls, stopping at Jack's side.
The big Mech's shadow fell over Jack, and he turned to look up at BT standing at the ready, his 40mm Tracker cannon brandished in both arms .
" They are nearby- 1,000 yards. Approaching quickly. I recommend you embark, pilot. "
" Sounds like a plan. "
Taking on an enemy pilot on foot was one thing; taking on an enemy Titan on foot, though ? No thanks. That's what your own Titan was for.
Slipping the Wingman into his holster- the big revolver actually did fit, though it was a big snug- Jack stood, as BT descended to one knee, opened his cockpit, and extended one arm out toward his pilot.
Launching into a run, Jack raced up the length of the metal limb, Jack did not bother to fight off the rush of the experience.
No matter how many times you boarded your Titan, you always got that sense of dominance and power as you entered the operator's compartment. Your Titan had that effect on you; it was tall, it was mighty, and it was yours. Your first embarkation, of course, was its own brand of special, and one that you didn't ever forget. On the other hand, though, every successive boarding after that still gave you that sensation anyway.
You were a pilot, and you were ready to unless the full extent of what your Titan could do.
" Restoring manual control. "
Settling into the pilot's chair, Jack set his palms on the controls as the compartment sealed itself with a firm, armored chrmp. The interior lights and console displays lit up, illuminating the walls as the viewing display came online, letting Jack look out through the depths of the forest again.
At any moment, the enemy could burst through the treeline into the clearing.
" Status on the enemy ? ", Jack checked the cannon's ammunition count. He was pleased to find it was fully stocked.
Sabot rounds, and an expanded magazine.
" Two Titan signals, still on approach. Your vitals indicate you are fully alert. That is good- a pilot must be fully aware of what he is about to face ".
Jack grinned beneath his helmet. He wasn't an overconfident man, but as a man, he liked it when others told him good things about himself that he knew were true. It wasn't arrogance if it was true.
" More than ready, BT. "