"The First Wave"
During the hours of the day where the sun stood the tallest, the initial counter-offensive by the I.M.C. had begun. Far behind the frontlines, small strike teams formed pockets of stubborn resistance against the flood of Militia troops and convoys desperate to either escape the death trap, but slowly the damn was being built and maintained and slowly, the life-blood of the Militia's momentum was being squeezed out right in front of them.
One of the last targets on the I.M.C.'s hit list was a military outpost-turned-depot serving as just another crucial artery in the Militia's supply lines. Their fleet wouldn't be able to respond for another seven hours minimum however, that was all the time needed to wipe out their numbers in a colossal encirclement.
Still surrounded by embers and ashes left over from a heavy bombing campaign, Alan and his Titan marched toward their objective to create an encirclement of their own at the aforementioned occupied outpost. "Pilot, Outpost Sierra-9 is now in view, there has been no other contact with the rest of Strike Team Foxtrot." Evi explained to her user, "How do you wish to proceed?"
"Attempt to hail them one more time, we'll give them seven minutes maximum before we move out on our own." Alan instructed his Titan. To say the operation had a few hiccups was… an understatement. Miss drops, comms were a mess, enemy aircraft still contested the sky, if there was a mistake to be had, chances were that it had happened. Fortunately, organization was not lost and units had begun to dig in for the secondary phase of the operation, but they wouldn't be able to do so forever as the Militia were throwing its rear-guard at the problem to solve it. Alan supposed the Militia believed that they could slam their head against a wall and still come out on top which at the very least propped up an amusing image.
"There has not been any contact from Foxtrot." Evi told Alan after her timer was up, "Incoming transmission from the I.M.S. Miss Fortune."
"Ok, Pilot, listen close," Naomi started as soon as he answered the call, "We can't keep lines too clear since we're playing hot potato with the Militia trying to listen in on us, so our standard channels will have to suffice for now. In short, you have the go ahead for the current objective. Rendezvous will be slower, but everyone else will get there eventually for a debrief. Good luck down there! Over and out." The woman cheered him on before ending her quick message.
Nothing ever goes smoothly does it?
"Evi, keep an eye on scanners, we're moving out." Alan ordered.
The Pilot and his Titan stalked through what remained of the trees and kept their sights on the concrete prize before them: A decently sized structure with walls surrounding it in the shape of a hexagon- what was left of it anyways. On each corner was an automated turret badly in need of repairs and out of commission until a proper team of mechanics could get to repairing them, the proud I.M.C. logo now were scrubbed away with a messy show of spray pair or debris, and it would have looked abandoned had it not been for the ant-sized heads peaking over the walls and patrolling the perimeter.
"Enemy forces appear aware and expecting an I.M.C. offensive, recommend using superior range to annihilate the enemy." Evi said to Alan.
"What, afraid of a little small arms fire? And here I thought second generation Titans had the superior armor." Alan said as he prepared himself for the coming battle.
"Negative, Pilot, however, without clear intelligence nor the view of the outpost's interior, it is unclear what threat may lie behind the walls. Encounter with larger models will hinder combat effectiveness and risk destruction." Evi told Alan. She had a point; he'd be lucky if he could survive against a something like a Legion one on one.
"Odds of survival should it be an Ogre?" The Pilot asked. Anything smaller and he could work with what he had, but against a fat Titan designed to take a beating and with effective defensive options? Doubtful.
"27% chance of this unit's survival. Forgive my lack of strong offensive abilities."
"Right. Well, if we just sit here then this whole op is just mute, so let's just charge through the front gate and wing it eh?" Alan finished, manually taking control of Evi.
He rose from the crouched position she had set herself in and made the first step forward. Pushing aside an ash covered tree, Alan made a dash forward toward the already crumbling walls of the outpost. There was a squad of grunts jumping out his way but a single rocket took care of them in a splash of fire and dirt. Without there being much of a challenge to stop him, the Pilot used his Titan equipment to jump into the air and carefully maneuver a hover over the walls and their defenders, kicking a pair of grunts off as he landed on the wall itself and fired salvos of missiles from his launcher onto the Militia infantry and their useless weapons. In his assault, Alan had fired upon a medium-sized Titan arising to the challenge of defending the outpost: A single Ion-class Titan.
Wanting to take advantage of his initiative, Alan dashed forward, crushing unfortunate souls under either his own Titan's feet or a sheet of rubble and rebar, and slamming a hard fist into the Ion's body that sent it stumbling back, but the Ion was quick to retaliate with small laser leaving a scorch mark in Evi's side. Assuming the simulations were realistic, he needed to keep on the offensive and use his weaponry sparingly else the missiles would just be thrown right back at him.
Alan fired two locked on missiles anyways, but as he expected they were grabbed right from the air and shot back via vortex shield. After that, the two played a dangerous game of ping-pong before Alan gave up on the endeavor and dodged the two projectiles. Constantly backing up, the Ion deployed a set of tripwires, but Alan was faster, capable of sneaking in closer before they dug into the concrete ground and came online, but their presence then sliced the arena down to a third.
The Militia Titan attempted to push Alan back onto the deadly trap but he escaped the punch's path and smashed Ion's hip joint with the back of his Titan's Quad Rocket Launcher. Five missiles to the back later, Alan shoved the unsteady Ion into its own trap, blowing off both an arm and a leg in the process. It was still operation, but there would be nowhere it could run and without weapons and its shield equipped arm, there was nothing it could do.
"Pilot, hull integrity at 58%, recommend retrieving battery from downed enemy before they self-destruct." Evi told Alan as the Pilot was laying down fire onto any riflemen that were taking a peek at the action. Without hesitation, Alan did as recommended, ordering Evi to provide him cover with her own chassis as he climbed out of his Titan.
The Pilot started tugging on the battery as he remembered, but then he looked up just in time to keep himself from receiving a roundhouse to the face, but a quick back kick sent Alan to the ground as the Militia Pilot, covered in scratches and a bit of blood, dropped from the wreckage of his Titan and continued the attack.
Alan quickly drew his Hammond but that too was kicked from his hand and with the Militia Pilot wielding a knife, there was little time to act. Alan used his grapple to latch onto the wreckage of the fallen Titan and pull himself between his foe's legs and picked himself up.
After drawing both his knife and his pulse blade, both readied themselves before giving a mutual nod. The Militia Pilot was the first to move, using his gear to leap higher into the air and deliver a kick to Alan's guard, but the I.M.C. Pilot returned the favor by stabbing the other man's leg.
"Pilot, multiple friendly signatures incoming." Evi reported to Alan whom he had just shoved off of him. The rest of the fight was rather one sided with the injured leg, but Alan wasn't perfect in his defense, receiving a heavy fist to his side that stunned him. Thankfully it wasn't his already injured side, but it wouldn't have mattered either way. Regaining his focus, Alan dodged to the side from an incoming left hook and sliced through the side of his opponent with one blade while the other stabbed right through the heart. The Militia Pilot struggled to keep on his feet, leaning into Alan's arm for support as he slowly lost the strength in him with each breath. Alan, laid the man on his back and dropped to a knee to make himself comfortable. It wasn't until the Militia Pilot's final breath and when his hand that gripped Alan's sleeve let go did the I.M.C. Pilot pull the knife from the now lifeless body.
"This is Foxtrot 1, Pilot Stassov, are you still in there?" Alan heard a voice call out over radio. Of course they'd make him do all the work…
"Yeah, I copy Foxtrot 1." The Pilot acknowledged. He finished pulling out the battery from the fallen Ion and climbed back into Evi's protective shell. By the time he finished installing the new battery, a trio of new Titans entered the outpost and mopped up what was left of the defenders.
Two Tones and a Northstar, two were more or less shiny new while one of the Tones was riddled with scars and worn paint- Likely 'Foxtrot 1'.
"Welcome to the strike team Pilot. I'm Captain Schnell, these two are Barry and Katie, they may be mercenaries and they may be relatively green, but I'm sure they can handle things on their own." The Captain introduced them respectively with their Titans. "Here's the sitrep," He continued, "We've got two more- friends of these two- encountering some difficulty in getting here, they'll regroup later. Right now, we'll be calling in for infantry support and refortifying this place for whatever these terrorists have to throw at us. Now secure a perimeter, reinforcements are coming in within the hour!"
- ( o ) -
There weren't many ground troops to spare, but those who arrived did so without giving a second to rest. Immediately they pushed their supplies out of their ships and onto the ground so the Goblin dropships could depart just as quickly as they left, teams of engineers worked with what little time and resources they had to get the turrets operational again, but it was to no success. Holes were patched, mines were laid outside, and hastily put together barricades out of rock and rebar were all that stood between the outside world and the outpost's newly retaken interior.
While the defenses were being handled, Alan was waiting for the inevitable assault. He did this by sitting on a large piece of rubble eating an MRE packed with him while his Titan was on lookout not far from its owner. It seemed arbitrary; however, the Pilot knew better than to put it off until later, especially if the news reached overly concerned ears. Still, he knew what it was like to fight without any energy to spare: Headaches, anger, a growling stomach, and an unfocused mind. It was dangerous to say the least, but someone wasn't having it.
A young and mostly inexperienced mercenary he made an example of some time ago…
"He's just sittin' on his ass doing nothing!" The young Pilot complained from his Tone who was supposed to be lookout for the newly established defenders, but here he was being a bother once again. "Care to do something other than laze around."
"Get back in line, Foxtrot-2," Alan ordered, "You have a new job to do and I just finished doing yours by retaking the place. That's not to mention the fact you arrived last among your little troop of friends."
"You don't remember me?" The Pilot asked, getting out from his Titan.
Alan ignored him
"Answer me dammit!"
"Shut it down, Edwin," The Captain intervened, "You're a mercenary but that doesn't mean you're free to do what you want. Now get back to reconnaissance, boy!"
"Out of everyone on this damn planet I just had to be put together with you."
Alan scoffed.
"Oi if I wasn't under contract… When the Militia come, I'll be glad to see them tear you apart!" The mercenary finished with a threatening finger.
Alan finished off his little meal just in time to hear one of the Grunts on watch to yell over comms. The Militia were sending out their vanguard.
A.N.: Thank you for your patience.
As always, enjoy!
~Firetoast312
