Authors Note: So I wrote this a while ago, only now am I deciding to translate it over to here. So I'll address what I realize is primarily wrong with this first chapter: I wrote this for a Titanfall community, and as a result I took the liberty of assuming people would understand the Titanfall specific concepts here. I recognized post writing this isn't likely the case, so I apologize in advance. From now on I will attempt to clarify subjects and concepts unique to either fandom in this crossover. Thank you!
This was supposed to be easy, yet somehow I'm not fucking surprised.
Of all the Militia cells in the Frontier, it seems the M-COR simply can't get enough of me. I've accomplished a good lot for a pesky little grunt, I'd say. I shook my head as the Radio Operator from my command squad had reported several enemy Titanfall inbound, their locations on the battlefield marked on my HUD. This, after we've pushed back the Last Resort AND pinned the 6-4. Just fucking great. These harvester raids were starting to get a bit more costly than they're worth, granted, I let the drones do most the dying. I knew that the cloak drones my unit had purchased out of pocket would allow us to get positions on the titans without taking too heavy a fire, so I quickly had some of my rifle squads break off from suppressing the 6-4 and instead ordered a unit of Stalkers to take their position via BluFor Tracker and sent a request to strike them with a good Phantom 55mm gun run with Tac-Chat. Gotta love combined arms warfare.
"6 titans, three platoons, sounds like an issue." I said, raising a brow as I analyzed the current situation. Matching one titan to a platoon was doable, they could take them out in that fashion, my only issue would then be getting the jump on the remaining three titans. "Have the line platoons set up a Hasty Ambush against those titans, once they're dealt with we'll break contact and head for ORP 'Hammer', then get me Crossroads."
"Aye, Sir." Was the response from the young Marine before he lifted his radio handset. "Apache, Wesson, and Caliburn, Apache, Wesson, and Caliburn, this is Shooter, new operational objective; eliminate incoming Titans and then break contact to ORP Hammer. Fire support assets are available, Hasty Ambush advised. Over."
《This is Apache, Understood.》
《Wesson, Wilco.》
《Roger that Shooter, Caliburn out.》
With my orders issues and acknowledged, I quickly scanned my immediate environment. Had to be on the lookout for enemy pilots because they were often rather sneaky and could come from any direction. I then reached out to my XO, who had been leading a different command squad so that if a titan landed on any of us the company would still have leadership. "Five, this is Six."
《Send for Five.》
"Things are getting pretty dicey, enemy pilots are soon gonna outnumber us Grunts. Prepare the mortar section with Precion Non-Nuclear Warheads."
《Affirmative, prepping N2 Directed Shells》
"Good, break. Four, Five."
《Yes, Sir, Four reads.》
"Take the Specialist Section and run intercept on the remaining three Titans."
《Got it.》
"Six Out." My team should arrive at the ORP (that's Operational Rally Point) first, to assist in directing the other platoons. And to get a good survey of the land and where to set everybody up because we couldn't have 3 platoons of Marines too close; that's asking to get hit with some ordnance. Keeping an eye on my Radar, my four man team made their way down the streets of this backwater colony. It was rather large for being unregistered, though most these buildings were prefabricated and the roads weren't exactly modern standard. An agricultural colony by the looks of it, which is probably how they made a living like this; sell food products for cash so it couldn't be traced back here. Now that the IMC had found it however, thermite strikes had set the distant crop fields ablaze, covering the horizon in dark smoke. Quickly arriving at ORP Hammer, we took to a second story building which gave us a decent overview of the colony block. From there, I began to assign fronts and sectors of fire for each platoon to take when they got there. Then, I opened a connection to crossroads. "Crossroads, this is Shooter Actual. I request Grimm Assets to make landfall within approximately twelve mikes. Positions marked on BFT, how copy?"
《Solid Copy Shooter Actual. Grimm Assets standing by》
These "Grimm Assets" were of course Reapers. I'm hoping they can do some damage to the remaining Titans and get their attention for my Grunts to finish them off once they're within our killzone. We'll use firesupport to suppress Militia riflemen while we engage the titans, and hopefully we do this quick; I don't think those drones will hold off pilots much longer. Every minute we stay here more Marines are gonna die, how much longer do we have to hold these god damned harvesters before we can just blow 'em and leave? We've already won at this point, this just Spyglass pushing his luck to see how much he can get out of it.
My team and I immediately got to prepping the engagement zone: my Marines would be fighting those enemy Titans right now. As the sounds of gunfire and battle intensified, my suspicions were in fact clear that Apache, Wesson, and Caliburn Platoons had in fact hit the enemy titans and their supporting infantry. Meanwhile, my squad was placing down hard covers and AMP Walls for Marines to fall back too, along with Satchel Charges placed where terrorist forces were likely to take cover. I had even called up some units of Spectres to help provide covering fire. At some point during our preparations, I could hear my team's radio once again crackle to life.
《This is Caliburn, Enemy titan neutralized by Archer Missile Fire. Hostile infantry is pushing us back, but we're leaving anyways.》
《Apache, Titan dealt with. Falling back now, and we've got company.》
《Brimstone this is Wesson!》
Brimstone was our weapons Mortar section, currently being commanded by Graph.
《This is Brimstone, send your traffic》
《We've hit a Legion, can't crack it and taking heavy casualties. Requesting N2 Directed Shell at grid 18990154.》
《Are you sure you can escape the blast radius? It's 80 meters at lowest yield.》
《I fucking hope so, but we're not leaving till this Legion is cooked.》
《Understood. Firing round now. 30 seconds 'till impact.》
《Got it, Wesson out.》
I took out my BluFor tracker and stylus and drew out the battle plan from there, telling of where the enemy Titans were likely to converge from, since their movement was restricted by where they could fit. With that in mind, I placed down the points where I wanted those Reapers to drop onto, as well as where I wanted my Marines to set up and fight. I boxed up several engagement areas and numbered them for ease of reference, then established our next attack point assuming things go right and then an Alternate Rally Point for if they go wrong. I then also designated Casualty Collection Points, here and an alternate near the ARP since I've all but confirmed we've been beat up rather decently. At some point during my jotting, it seemed for a bit that the whole world shook with a thunderous roar that drowned out all the sounds of battle and even caused some interference with my HUD: the N2 Shell. I got my head down and put my eyes to the sky to check for any falling debris as a result of the massive explosion.
Non-Nuclear Weapons, also known as N2 Weapons, referred primarily to a type of explosive that was capable of generating nuclear level yields without the nasty radiation side effects. N2 Shaped Charges, or Directed warheads, focused all that power into a specific point or area; usually vaporizing whatever was caught in its path. N2 Directed Mortar Shells luckily weren't super powerful; they are made to be fired out of an 80mm Mortar Tube afterall. Since they're an airburst shaped charge, they could be used against individual titans, however the overpressure shockwave still was lethal to humans around the target. With the blast over, I awaited to hear the effect on target from Wesson. I eventually got my answer, but the voice over the radio was clearly not the same one that called for the strike.
《Brimstone, this is Wesson. Good effect on target, break-break. Wesson is now moving to ORP Hammer.》
The cracks and pops of gunfire had returned to the streets and once again they came alive with movement. Spotting my Marines moving down one of the streets towards us, my team sprung into action along with a unit of Spectres to assist covering them. They were carrying injured, so moving was dangerous without supporting fire. As my team of Marines got on line, the Spectres began to advance, laying down covering fire with their rifles against the advancing militia onslaught. By the looks of it, the Militia had a number of plainclothes insurgents alongside some M-COR riflemen. "You all Caliburn?" I shouted to the nearest Marine as he ran on by.
"Yes, Sir!" The Marine spoke. "The Command Team broke off westward to get an observatory position in a banking complex!"
"Alright, set the wounded then get to your designated fighting positions. We'll cover you."
"Aye aye!" With that, the Marine turned around and began to fire off his R201 at the direction of the enemy, driving some insurgents to cover while the rest of his team, each with another Marine in hand, moved up past him. At that point, battle handoff was to me. Lifting my own R201 assault rifle, I quickly glanced left and right to recognize that my radio operator, and company Gunnery Sergeant were to my immediate flanks. I then ordered my Corpsman to go assist at the CCP, so he broke off.
"Alright, it's our turn! One every three!" I commanded, and us three Marines began to talk rifles with the enemy. Dropping to a knee, I stabilized myself as best as I could while I placed the reticle of the AOG center mass of my target. Since it was zeroed for 100 meters, I adjusted my aim a little high (engaging targets at this point roughly 50 meters away). Keeping calm was always difficult, but combat marksmanship was a skill learned. I tried to maintain somewhat natural breathing, but of course stress and fear made it somewhat erratic. Still, it was time to fight not think; my internal clock counted three seconds, and I fired. My shot went wide and narrowly missed the insurgent, going off to his right because I jerked the trigger. Still, it sent him ducking for cover, so on to the next one. 'Try not to overthink it', I told myself as I began to squeeze down on the trigger. With a push into my shoulder, my rifle kicked up as the insurgent went down: 8.19mm round tearing through his kit as I nailed him right in the ten-inch ring. He'd be dead within the next thirty-seconds. The other Marines were also taking their disciplined shots at individual targets, but it became clear we weren't slowing down the enemy advance. Luckily it seemed that those Spectres were taking majority of the enemy fires. So, I changed my orders: "Fire at will!"
Our disciplined rate of fire fell into a fusillade of hammer and controlled pairs, as troopers in white armor began to pull box drills and failures to stop on insurgents who began to get a little too close for comfort. Within the 25 meter mark, I acquired another target, and with that one sight picture fired two shots. He jerked back as blood began to seep through his gear and pour down his chest, even spitting some up onto his chin, telling of his lung wound. Still, he was standing, so I lined my third shot and put one right between his eyes in the center of his T-Box. He fell forward as bloody grey matter flew back, both hitting the deck at roughly the same time. Insurgent numbers had been held back by the mix of suppression from the Spectres and the accuracy of my men, but now they'd begun to focus on fires rather than movement; one drone sent out a series of jittery chirps as it sparked and cracked with hits and fell to the ground. In response, Gunnery Sergeant Feliz pulled the pin on a grenade and called "Frag out!" as he let fly. Four and a half seconds later, the street was covered in smoke and debris as fragmentation tore at the ground and prefabricated buildings, ripping flesh and leaving ears ringing. At such point, even I couldn't exactly find who to kill, but the remaining three Spectres went right to work: they assaulted into the insurgent positions. I couldn't see the carnage through the smoke, but considering the insurgents couldn't have seen them coming, I was fairly confident that this attack had been stalled.
Between heavy breaths, I once again opened up my personal comms. "Six to Four."
《This is Four, we've done what we can with these Titans but they aren't surprised anymore. They're advancing your way and we're breaking off.》
"Understood. Take what remains of Eyeball and provide assistance to Wesson."
《Will comply.》
"Six Out." The smoke had begun to clear, and the three Spectres stood there more or less covered in blood with a variety of insurgent bodies at their feet, each beaten to a pulp, ragged, and limp. Whatever remained of the insurgents had to be falling back, and gathered another 50 meters back down the road to escape having to fight the robots in hand to hand. Then, a series of familiar clinks and clacks accompanied by the recognizable chirps of a dying robot came with the ripping of metal and one drone dropped, followed by another in short order. I knew that was troublesome: insurgents aren't known for their accuracy, especially in full auto like that.
From a nearby rooftop came forth a pilot in green and orange, sliding across the dirt as the thrusters of his jumpkit burned, dropping the third Spectre as he did so before turning to my radio man. Acting fast, I jumped into my Marine, knocking him over a moment before the pilot could pull the trigger. There, while laying on top of my man, I fired my rifle full auto as he slid along the floor. My shots failed to connect. Kicking myself back up, I watched as the pilot went effortlessly from a slide into a jump and kicked off the prefabricated wall of a building back towards us. I ducked down as I pulled the trigger, and the sequence of many deafening cracks announced he was firing at me. His shots went high, mine went low. What came next was about what I expected; a midair kick, which went just over my head. I had done it before, so the pilot clearly didn't know who he was fucking with; I lifted my arms up quickly, the barrel of my rifle colliding under the pilot's thigh and causing him to flip backwards as he went over me. Adrenaline pumping through my body, I quickly turned around and rushed forward as the pilot skidded on his back into an abandoned vehicle, imprinting himself into it's side door with a metallic thud, a boney crunch, and a scream of agony. Still, I lifted my boot and used my momentum to give a jump kick of my own, planting my heel against his crotch for him to roll forward with another, this time higher, pitched wail. As he coiled forward, I lowered my rifle and pulled the trigger, letting free two rounds at point blank; the first pierced through the top of his skull and came out his jaw before going into his torso, the second entering similarly but exiting out the side of his neck. Probably cut through a decent amount of spine. Either way, the pilot was left a cut up, broken boned, red soaked corpse.
As I observed the cadaver, I took note of the old Militia Rifleman Pilot armor. Probably a hand me down from whoever trained this man. I turned back to the advancing insurgents, now that those Spectres were destroyed, there weren't much holding them back. However, perhaps if I let them know who they were fucking with, that'd dissuade them a bit. Nobody wants to push into the jaws that just killed their best man. I hoisted up the dead pilot by his flak, neck injury still gushing with arterial bleeding, and hauled him to the middle of the street. He was fucking heavy, the dead always are. I then hip tossed the body onto the hud of a car, sprawling him out for all to see before letting from my lungs a holler to get their attention. Several buckets looked up in my direction, and my plan worked. With morale broken, their advance stalled. Turning back to my Marines, they had a mix of amazement and horror on their faces. "Let's get back to our guys." I said coming past them.
"Uh, Cap..."
My walk turned into a bit of a stumble as I passed them, and my head started to groan as the adrenaline subsided. What followed was a bunch of hurt. My chest felt battered, but that seemed to be the least of my problems. The right side of my hip had this burning feeling combined with intense pain that made my stomach churn and turn to nausea. I instinctively gripped at my injury, gloved fingertip dipping into a hole that pushed past my uniform and into my skin, being coated in a thick warm fluid that I knew had to be blood, but I lifted my hand to see the crimson fluid anyways. "Fuck." I cursed as pain came to replace my rush of energy. Moving was awkward, but right now I didn't have the time for weakness. If those insurgents caught on that I'd been injured, they'd surely rush us. "C'mon, let's go!"
We broke contact and made the way back to ORP Hammer, where I then met with the platoon commanders of my line platoons, as well as my 1st Sergeant, Oscar, who had been leading my specialist section. Each and every one of us were dirt covered, visually battered, our uniforms charred and ripped from the intense fighting we'd been having for the past hour. I'd known these men for a good while now, however I noticed I was missing a familiar face. Oscar began to give me a SITREP as I limped on up due to my injury. "The Company's been hit pretty bad, but we've still got fight for those three titans. Admiral Spyglass intends on extracting us from here, once the LZ is clear." He reported, his synthesized simulacrum voice ever being an annoyance. It sounds almost like the real Oscar.
"Of course they'd want to pick us up right at our engagement area." I said, annoyed. "That's the order to kill those fucking titans; they don't die, we don't leave." I then unhooked my helmet and took it off to scratch at my head a bit. Looking over my Platoon Commanders, I noticed Staff Sergeant Aikens standing in for Wesson's 2nd Lieutenant Carver. I opted not to inquire, since I knew that meant he was either injured or dead. "The plan still stands." I announce, buckling my bucket back on. "While y'all were falling back, I placed satchel charges ready for detonation and hard cover for our troops. Take positions there and be ready for enemy assault. Brimstone is gonna come up and reinforce us, but we're not gonna have mortar support then. Oscar, I want you to quickly take Eyeball and set us up some pilot sentries: I doubt they'll move in without pilot support since we just merc'd one."
A series of nods and acknowledgements followed as we broke off. Platoon commanders began issuing orders to what remained of their squads as Oscar and several other simulacra brought forth pilot sentries and placed them in covered and concealed positions along likely avenues of approach for a pilot. At this point I was sure we were outnumbered roughly three to one, but those aren't odds I'm afraid of. I sat my ass down in a small little dugout to protect myself from any further incoming fire along with my radio man while Gunny Feliz provided security. I pulled out a number of detonators, each associated with one of the satchel charges my team had placed. When I got the word the enemy was in position, I'd begin to detonate them. Then, a familiar simulacrum came down next to me. "You okay, Dare?"
"I'm fine, First Sergeant." I replied, maybe with a bit of venom in my voice. I couldn't help it; I hated this thing. This robot here who had the voice, personality, and memories that belonged to my best friend. John had died on that Vinson Dynamics operating table years ago. This hunk of metal merely stole his name.
"Looks like you got a little roughed up there." He said, referring to my injury which I had forgot to treat. He came a little closer, but I didn't want it to touch me.
"There are other Marines much more worse off than me. This is nothing." I shook my head. I needed to get him away from me. "Call Graph, tell him to get the Mortar Section up here for support."
"Yes... Sir." The simulacrum seemed to get the message, and turned around. I eyed it with prejudice as it exited my little fighting hole, and continued to organize my detonators. My radio crackled to life as I did so.
《Five, this is Four.》
《Send for Five.》
《Shooter Actual wants Brimstone up here for our final engagement.》
《Roger, we are Oscar Mike.》
Only once they were all laid out did I pull out a packing bandage from my first aid kit. I knew how much this was going to suck, so I called the radio man and Feliz over to help me out. I removed my belt and stuck it in my mouth before I had my Marine hold me down. Gunny Feliz then slowly approached me, ramping up my anxiety as his hands approached the hole in my flesh, blood seeping through like a weak hose. The then plugged it; his middle finger on the right hand going knuckle deep into my skin to stem the bleeding. I shook, and kicked, biting down hard onto my belt as I let forth wails into it. He then began to start packing in the gauze. These moments felt like eternities as I dealt with pain I at one point would have regarded as insufferable. You see, it's not getting injured that sucks: it's getting fixed. With the hole plugged with gauze, a bandage was quickly wrapped around my waistband to hold it in place so it didn't fall out. When all was said and done, I turned over and let the contents of my churned guts roll from my face as I was overtaken with nausea. Then, with tears in my eyes, snot dripping from my nose, and MRE upon my chin and lower lip, I sat back up taking deep breaths. Wipe my face on the forearm of my uniform, then back to work.
It was only a few minutes before the enemy began their assault; the Titans had decided to take care of most my drones pinning down the 6-4 before sweeping in to finish us. So there would indeed be hostile pilots coming at us. At the scale of our raid, Spyglass had determined that Titan and pilot support wouldn't be necessary, but I really wanted some. Luckily, this was our battlefield: enemy fire was more or less ineffective due to the hardcover we had managed to set up, and Graph's men had just arrived. I had him be overall commander for Apache, Caliburn, Wesson, and Brimstone in the engagement, figuring since I was injured I wouldn't be the best for moving and shooting at the moment. Rounds filled the air as shots from attacking insurgents cut through gaps and unprotected lanes. Every once in a while there were screams, presumably an insurgent's but that could have been anyone. I'm told a team of Four 6-4 Pilots had attacked during the initial first wave, and managed to fuck up a good number of us with gravity stars, pulling some multiple Marines out from their particle shield walls and exposing them to enemy fire. However, that didn't save them from pilot sentries. I had received word that the three titans advancing on us were a Scorch, Ronin, and Ion. All titans good for farming us Grunts. Guess we got lucky taking down that Legion early. "Call for Grimm." I said to my radio man.
"Aye aye, Sir." He responded, before lifting the handset to his long range radio up. "Crossroads, this is Shooter."
《Shooter, Crossroads, send your traffic》
"Shooter requesting deployment of Grimm marked on BFT, time now."
《Request acknowledged. Grimm assets deployed, impact in ten seconds.》
"Tango Crossroads, Shooter Out." With that, the two of us (Feliz kept on lookout for advancing enemy) looked to the sky as six objects burned through the atmosphere: that was Grimm, our Reapers. If their landing was as planned, they'd land behind the Titans and in the ranks of the Militia infantry to help disrupt their attack and draw fire. Communications was constant, as it usually is during fighting. I awaited the signal to detonate charges.
《Wesson, and Apache is taking heavy casualties, that Scorch is pushing hard. Ion seems to be more or less ineffective however... Eyeball commence interception against hostile Ronin.》
《Copy Brimstone Actual, Eyeball engaging Ronin with Mag Launchers.》
《Enemy infantry at point three.》
At that, I took detonator three, and pulled it, confident one of the explosions that happened following the action was my satchel charge going off.
《...Good effect, enemy infantry neutralized... Hostiles on point five》
I picked up detonator five and triggered it.
《Yep, those are kills. Grimm two, three, five, and six is destroyed, however the Scorch has taken heavy damage and the Ion is still rather occupied. Eyeball, SITREP?》
《This is Eyeball, enemy Ronin has been engaged, taking casualties but it's taking damage. Preparing for our next strike, over.》
《Understood Eyeball. Apache has just taken care of the hostile Ion with Archer Missiles. Beware, pilot ejected. Caliburn.》
《Caliburn has taken heavy casualties, but this scorch is about toast.》
《Roger. Requesting detonation on point two... Good hit, now hit One... Nice.》
《This is Eyeball, Enemy Ronin Reactor Core has been exposed, moving in for th- NUKE! FALL BACK!》
There, my hands froze for a second, though I couldn't tell why. Specialists are all simulacra; copies of a human intelligence. Robots. It's not like I cares about them. Perhaps I was merely worried that I had lost assets that could be used to save some of my Marines. A bright flash cut through the sky along with an earth rattling detonation of a nuclear core. Streets filled with debris as some buildings collapsed and were blown away. A cascade of debris fell upon us, and we all got as low as possible to shield us from the damaging shockwave. Such an attack had disrupted the entire battlefield.
《Gah, agh. All Callsigns, report!》
《Apache, we're fighting. Hard Cover assets have been damned. Over.》
《...C-c... Caliburn. Casualties taken, but the Militia over here are in retreat.》
《Wesson. We're fucked up, but we're up》
《Brimstone here.》
《...Eyeball this is Brimstone Actual, Radio Check.》
《...》
《Eyeball, this is Brimstone Actual, Radio Check.》
There was a long pause of communications silence. I had begun to stomach that they'd all been killed by the blast, or if it was a fission reactor then they'd all been hit by the EMP. As of now, however, they were MIA until their fate could be determined. Still, at least it seemed that the Militia had began to call off their attack and fallen into disarray. I stood up to observe the battlefield, which had indeed been gruesome. Gore accompanied by bodily fluids of all kinds stained the ground, both where bodies lay and where injured had crawled off either to save themselves or die. Even now, Marines were moving eachother to the CCP with a wide variety of injuries from apparent ballistics wounds to amputations, broken bones, and thermite burns. The air stunk of a disgusting concoction made up from gunpowder, thermite, charred flesh, shit, piss, and death. To those not ready for it, it'd have made them vomit.
《Militia forces are withdrawing. All forces consolidate.》
That meant we had won that fight. Although this came at too great a cost. Marines weren't a dime a dozen like most the Militia seemed to believe, or at least not the Marines of Sigma Company. Too much death for too little gained, no matter how many extra drones Spyglass could make at this rate. I lead my command team to the CCP, full of injured, dead, and dying warfighters as a medical team of around five Corpsmen tried to save as many lives as possible. One of the Corpsmen, mine, spotted me and immediately recognized my injury. "Sir! You're hit!"
"I know. That's not important though. Fight's won, evac is on the way. I'm getting the wounded out first, so we're calling CASEVAC." I then turned to my radio operator and held out my hand for him to give me his handset. Upon receiving it, he made sure that that he was on the channel with crossroads. "Crossroads, Shooter Actual."
《Receiving, send for Crossroads.》
"LZ is clear, send down CASEVAC first. Stand by for CASEVAC Nine-Line."
《Roger, standing by.》
I pull out a little notebook I had kept in my cargo pocket and quickly turn it to the page in which I had written all this down. No matter how many times I do this I just can't seem to remember all these words. I then also hold out a hand, and Doc gives me a slip of paper with casualty counts to assist in my delivery. "Line one, ORP Hammer, Grid 1,8,9,8,7,5,3,3... Line two, same frequency, same call sign... Line three, eleven urgent, nineteen priority... thirty routine... Line four, stretchers and ventilators... break." I had to take a moment to digest the numbers I had just announced. That was 60% of my Company, not including whatever casualties were taken by Eyeball, and that could be all of them. And nearly half of those men are dead. "Line five... forty-one litter, fifteen ambulatory... Line Six, Possible Enemy... Line seven, marked by panel... Line eight, fifty-six IMC Military... Line nine, wartime."
《Roger, reading back Grid 18987533, same freq same callsign, eleven urgent, nineteen priority, thirty routine. Stretchers and ventilators, break... Forty-one Litter, Fifteen Ambulatory. Possible enemy in area, marked by panel, fifty-six IMC Military, and wartime.》
"Good readback Crossroads, Shooter Actual Out." I then returned the handset and looked back to the Doc. "I'm gonna leave Z-MISTs to you." I said, and he nodded. That was always one of the hardest parts; calling in the Casualty Evac. These were my men, and somehow someway I'm the one who got them hurt. I'm responsible for them, and the cruel reality of war is that I can't make any promises. I can't promise them they'll come back, and I can't promise their families they'll see eachother again. Of course, I forgot to include me in the nine-line, but I wasn't about to be CASEVAC'd out of here to leave my men. Not like Demeter. I walked out the CCP and helped organize security for the landing zone as men continued to collect up bodies, bagging them up and moving them, along with the wounded, in preparation for extraction. It seemed that it was clear we were getting out of here too, for the Militia didn't want to push us. Which meant they probably didn't have a reason to, since if Spyglass was still siphoning their harvesters then surely they'd have continued fucking with us.
Casualties were evacuated swiftly and by the numbers, bodies put into a different Goblin than the injured, stacked as neatly as time allowed within their body bags. Onboard medical techs immediately began their work on the living, trying to save the dying as they were transported to the Battle Aid Station. My heart sunk knowing a few more would die on the table. My company here had been effectively rendered combat ineffective. The IMC needs more Marines, these robots weren't saving anyone. Eyeball had still yet to turn up, no matter how hard we looked. But we couldn't stay forever, eventually militia reinforcements would show up and then they could easily roll us over. As life would have it, I spoke too soon when I heard;
《All stations this is Crossroads, enemy titanfall incoming!》
The last of us were getting on the remaining Goblins when it struck. A thunderous roar which shattered buildings and nearly caused the dropship to crash. Some of Brimstone, including Graph, and I were about to step aboard when the world shook once again, this time more violently than ever. I dunno what got me to turn around, but I did and what I saw horrified me; it had to be some sort of titan. This giant roughly 80 meter fucking mech stood towering above most the buildings, and with it's yellow and orange colored segmented heavy armor, it screamed Militia. I swear, I nearly accepted my fate there, but that wasn't an option. Though I was overcome by fear to the point that I had easily shit and pissed myself, I knew in the back of my head that if I didn't do anything now, my Marines were gonna die. An IMC Phantom came down firing rockets and guns, which would have destroyed even Ogre-Class titans, but this thing was another entirely. The shots collided harmlessly off this apparent multi-spectral shield, lighting up on impact in a glorious rainbow pattern along a hexagonal field. If it could take that, I knew there was only one thing I could try. "Graph!" I shouted, turning around to see him absolutely dumbstruck simply looking up at the thing. "Graph!" I hollered again, grabbing his attention. His face must have mirrored mine, because I could tell just by his expression he was thinking what I was: 'we're so fucked'. "I need an N2 shell and a Mortar!" I commanded, and after a moment his eyes furrowed.
"Are you fucking insane, Captain?!"
"Oh hell yeah I am! Now get me my Mortar and an N2 shell!" He shook his head at first before looking over to the Marine next to him, a mortarman, and nodding. The Marine handed me an 80mm launch tube, and one Directed N2 shell. I placed the shell in one of my pouches and put the heavy mortar over my shoulders, using my pack to prop it up, and stepped off the Goblin.
"But Dare!" Graph shouted at me, but I didn't have time. I had to quickly find a place to fire this thing from. Then, the Super-Titan began to move; each step was like a miniature earthquake, and whatever building was unfortunate to be in its path easily crumbled to dust while this Super-Titan thing marched on. Luckily, it was pretty much already coming towards me; probably to intercept the Marine's dropship. I couldn't let that happen. I picked a five story building offset from it's apparent path, and sprinted my way there with trousers full of whatever bodily fluids I had left in me up until the thing's arrival. I couldn't breath, my lungs were on fire, my back ached from carrying this heavy metal tube, and my hips screamed at me due to injury, with warm liquid beginning to once again drip down my right leg. I rushed through the door and up the stairs, dodging incoming debris and trying to get as high as I could, the roof preferably. Unfortunately, there was no roof access I could get to, so the fifth floor had to do. Then, while setting myself up at the window, I recognized I had no way of getting direct fire onto this thing. I had to figure it out now though, as the Super-Titan was coming just into what I wanted to be my engagement area. So, here's what I did; I picked a spot on the wall across from the window, stacked the mortar against it, moved a desk over to prop it up, and manually aimed the bitch to fire right at the Super-Titan like a makeshift cannon. From my window, I could see its pelvic girdle, which was a best a target I could hope for; if I could immobilize it my Marines would be safe. So, target acquired, I took my N2 Shell, and slid (practically tossed) it down the tube, wherein the mortar spat it back out at high velocity (and destroyed the wall).
The next thing I remember was a blinding light blasting off the Super-Titan's crotch followed by intense heat and pressure of the shockwave, which of course demolished my building and sent it (with me) to the ground. I was unconscious for whatever happened next, I didn't even know if I had stopped it. When I came too, I was told that the Super-Titan had been immobilized by a direct impact from a directional N2 shell to the pelvic girdle, that the rest of the company had made it out safely, I was found covered in a shit ton of blood that they say wasn't mine, it was a miracle I was alive, and... well... First Sergeant had apparently found me in the rubble.