A Hop, Skip and a Failed Jump
To think it had come to this.
The very heart of the IMC’s operations on the frontier being assaulted by a ragtag band of upstart farmers, pirates and bandits.
If you had said to any member of the IMC a single year ago that Demeter, the pride and joy of hundreds of thousands of soldiers, commanders and workers alike, was going to be assaulted by a force that rivalled their own, you would have been laughed and ignored for being a moronic fool.
But now?
Things were different now thanks to this damned McAllen, the traitorous bastard that abandoned the IMC fifteen years ago and now had the sheer audacity to fight against those whom he had mutinied against more than a decade ago.
Because of him, the IMC had suffered setback after setback, being denied landing a killing blow to the Militia time after time and now, it was they who now were staring defeat right in the face.
Ever since McAllen joined the Militia just under a month ago, the IMC had suffered failures on every front and though they had given their best, it had not been good enough to prevent this day from coming.
However, just as IMC could face a crippling blow today, so too could the Militia. They had raised the stakes, pooling all of their resources into this all-out assault and now they were going to pay the price. It was time to put this game of cat and mouse to a close and every single member of the IMC was determined to do his or her part to quash this rebellion once and for all.
A faint rumble ran through the Goblin, the dropship used throughout the Inner system and the Frontier alike, as its engines heated up and flared to life. The pilot started running through his system checks to ensure everything was in order, giving his passengers time to perform one last check on their equipment before they were dropped in the battle that would determine the very fate of the Frontier.
The hold of the ship was brimming with bodies, both of the standard foot soldiers, simply referred to as Grunts, and of the most experienced, the deadliest and the ones who truly could live up to the title of a one man army, the Pilots. It was easy to tell who was who, the Pilots custom gear, armour and equipment standing them out of the crowd as clear as day. There were roughly a dozen of the Grunts, with the Pilots standing at six strong themselves.
As the background noise of the ship, and the several others sitting side-by-side in the hanger of the carrier slowly increased as they continued to ready themselves, so too did the sounds of equipment being prepared, magazines being removed, checked for ammo and then reloaded and the general murmur of pre-battle talk of the grunts. Though they were all expected, the whispers weren’t of the usual banter between friends or the worried promises that everything was going to be okay. Their attention was instead focused on a very rare and also disconcerting sight, a Spectre.
But this one in particular wasn’t one of the usual automated robotic soldiers that they usually fought alongside.
This one was a Pilot.
It had been unheard of before now for a human conscious to be placed into the silicon mind of these killing machines, as if the Pilots alone weren’t deadly enough already. Of course, there had been rumours, there always were within any armed forces, of crazy doomsday weapons and Spectres going rogue but never did these Grunts believe this one had any backing to it.
The Spectre Pilot was equipped no drastically differently that any of the other Pilots, with the signature jump kit equipped on the back of his waist, a combat harness to carry the abundance of ammo that the Pilots had and that was that. No armour was necessary, the cold, hardened skeleton of the standard Spectre platform would protect the Pilot from any incoming small-arms fire and damage to his ‘vitals’. Though it went largely unnoticed, one with a perceptive eye would spot that the induction port located on the back of a typical Spectre’s head that Pilots so often utilised to their advantage to hack was gone and was simply metal as per the rest of its head.
Unnerving as it was to the Grunts on board this particular dropship that one of their Pilots was a Spectre, its fellow Pilots paid it no mind whatsoever. It was not due to the fact that they didn’t care, they had simply learned to take many things in stride as per necessary of a Pilot. Some of them had fought through dozen of battles, seen things that would make a regular man break down and had slain hundreds, if not thousands of enemy combatants and so to have such a minor thing as one of their fellow pilots, one that they would not likely see again following this battle, be a Spectre off-put them would be unbecoming. After all, Pilots weren’t exactly human to begin with, the sheer amount of cybernetics, augmentations and training they had received had altered them in ways that many regular humans couldn’t fully fathom.
One Pilot in particular among those gathered had experienced this. Though it didn’t stand out as much as the Spectre Pilot did, he too was different to the other Pilots aboard the dropship.
If close attention was paid to the Pilots armour, all of them had small pins adorned on their armour right above their heart signifying their ranks. Four of the Pilots had rankings ranging from one through to fifty to allow for clear and precise identification of a person’s rank whilst in the midst of combat, which differed to the more traditional ranking of Grunts given the Pilot’s need to be far more mobile than the average soldier. The Spectre was of the rank fifty, the highest one could achieve.
However, its pin differed from the others as alongside it was a small green and white tag with the number ten etched onto it. Whilst it was not immediately obvious to someone unfamiliar with the ranking system, this Pilot was a generation ten pilot, the absolute best of the best. Compared to a Grunt, Pilots were on a whole other level. Compared to a generation one pilot, a generation ten pilots was too on a completely different spectrum.
The last Pilot, one who seemed to blend in with the rest of group with no problem too had a pin besides his rank, a small grey and white pin with the number four etched onto it. Besides this small tag, nothing else about him seemed to signify he was a generation four pilot. Usually the higher the generation of the pilot, the more they may stand out with the extreme cases being entire limbs being replaced with prosthetics, with legs being particularly prone to this.
However, this Pilot seemed just like the other four ‘regular’ Pilots, with no metallic limbs or other noticeable differences. His armour differed from the others but only due to his current equipment.
Three of the others had the more standard R101- C carbine, a jack-of-all-trades assault rifle, good at everything whilst not being specialised in one particular setting. The last being equipped with a MK-5 Smart Pistol, a self-targeting pistol that allowed for extensive movement whilst allowing the Pilot to take down foes on the fly.
Their clothing likewise reflected their loadouts, with the first three being equipped with the usual combat harnesses, hardened armour plating and clean white armour alongside their standard-issue helmets whilst the last had an open-faced helmet, signifying her role as ‘Covert Ops’. Whilst the open-faced helmet may initially seem counter-productive due to lack of protection, many Pilots in that line of work wore it in order to fit in better with the ordinary Grunts who too often had their faces revealed.
The generation four Pilot had a completely different set of armour on however.
Whereas the other pilots, excluding the Spectre, were fitted with hardened plates of armour and a either a full-faced helmet or a partial helmet, this Pilot had taken a different approach.
His face was covered by a gas-mask esque visor highlight by five glowing blue ‘eyes’ that served to give the Pilot as unhindered a view of the environment as possible. A gray-white webbing pulled over his head served to act as a hood that helped to protect him from the elements. The webbing continued down and melded into the armour on his torso before eventually stopping at his waist.
Laying over the top of this webbing was an army-green combat harness that held his various weapon magazines and ordnance. Whereas the webbing wasn’t quite as effective as the plated armour most other Pilots went with, advances in technology allowed it to act as kevlar, slowing down bullets enough that they didn’t penetrate, only bruised.
Of course, throw enough bullets downrange and they would get through but it helped to protect the Pilot from stray fire as well as during small skirmishes.
The rest of his armour was similar to a regular Pilots, knee-pads to stop abrasions during parkour as well as whilst entering a Titan, sturdy boots with thick soles to prevent the Pilot from having to replace them after every battle, and of course, the famous Jump-kit. This piece of equipment was the easiest way to tell apart a Grunt from a Pilot as it was this that gave them their well-renowned agility and movement. The two jets, located on the back of their waist, allowed the Pilot to both boost themselves up higher than one could ever jump with a strong thrust or slow their descent from what would usually be a bone-breaking fall.
A Pilot without their Jump-kit would be extremely hindered and they’d rather be caught dead than without one.
From the light-weight webbing to the lack the lack of thick-armour plating, all of this was to reflect his role as a longer-range marksman, his armour being equipped with more specialised sensors and improved cloak effectiveness should the Pilot choose to equip that.
Currently, this Pilot lacked the external module for the cloak, as both the internal module, embedded in the centre of his back that provided the primary function of the cloak as well as its external power source was needed for it to be activated. Instead, a small vial of STIM was held within the gauntlet at his left wrist, ready to be injected at a moment’s notice.
The effects of STIM were many, from allowing the Pilot to run at breakneck speeds, even for a Pilot, to helping him to recover from otherwise fatal wounds that would cripple a regular man. For these reasons alone was why he decided to have a STIM unit installed within his suit, it provided much better synergy with his style of combat of constant movement and relocation compared to the more passive, slow style that one found more traditional marksman to have.
The weapon he carried too reflected his preferred method of battle, a G2A4 battle rifle. Holding a midpoint between a typical carbine like the R101-C and a longer range semi-automatic rifle like the Longbow DMR, the G2A4 provided enough utility at most ranges to be suitable for him. It was a tried and tested weapon with over four decades of use since it was first implemented and so far this had rung true for the Pilot ever since he first used in it training.
It was currently equipped with a Holosight, providing a built-in ammo counter and a precise point to which to aim with whilst also keeping a clear and open field of view, a sight truly built as a jack-of-all-trades. The magazine had too been modified, with it been slightly longer than the standard-issue magazine and whilst this might hinder a swift reload, he found that the extra four bullets more beneficial and it often gave him just enough rounds to put down an additional foe or two.
On his hip was the B3 Wingman, a beast of a gun evolved from the classic revolvers centuries ago. What it lacked in capacity, it made up for in brute strength and precision. Landing a shot on one of these was enough to put all but the toughest enemies down and even then, a quick follow-up shot would silence the rest. As long as one had a good aim and a swift hand, this sidearm never failed and in the life-and-death situation Pilots were put in every day, he found that it was just too trustworthy to pass up.
The final firearm in his arsenal was rounded out by a Sidewinder, a gun deceptively similar in size to the rest of his weaponry though the potential damage it could cause far outweighed anything else he carried. Designed as a hard-hitting but portable Anti-Titan weapon, instead of the usual bullets that regular weapons were loaded with, the Sidewinder fired micro-missiles with a shaped warhead designed specifically to breach the shields and hull of an otherwise near-impenetrable Titan. The small blast radius and the deviation of the missiles were not a problem when used against a Titan given their huge form but these traits made using it as a anti-personnel weapon highly impractical.
However, just as Anti-Titan weapons would be incredibly difficult to use against more human targets, regular weapons would be hard-pressed to do even the smallest bit of damage to even a Stryder, the weakest of the Titans so it was imperative that all Pilots carried something hard hitting enough to deal with Titans on foot, should the need arise and vice-versa. Thankfully, carrying both sets of weaponry was easy for a Pilot to carry, the added weight barely slowed them down, if at all.
The last of his equipment was rounded of by his Arc grenades and Data knife, both located on his torso within easy reach at all times. The appearance of the Arc grenades were not hugely different from a standard frag grenade, with only a blue tinge on the rim of the explosive separating the two visually. Their payloads however differed massively.
Whilst the traditional frag grenade exploded in a cloud of shrapnel to tear asunder anyone close by, the arc grenades delivered a deadly electric shock to immediate area, outright killing most foes whilst paralysing or disorientating the rest. They were his preferred ordnance due to their ease of use as well as effectiveness on all targets, from the lowly Grunts all the way to the toughest Titans, it was simply great against them all.
Lastly, his Data knife was sheathed on his left hip, ready to be used at any time should the situation necessitate it.
Whilst most Pilots favoured using their brute strength in melee combat, their altered bodies easily providing them with enough force in a kick to outright kill most men, he preferred to silent precision a knife offered when dealing with any close-quartered targets.
The Data knife also offered another use, which most Pilots primarily used it for, as with a small press of a button on the hilt of the knife, a small chip extended from the centre of the blade to the tip.
Whilst he didn’t know the exact mechanics of how it functioned, it essentially allowed Pilots to hack Spectres quick and efficiently without the knowledge of how they functioned or the need to expose their inner circuitry.
It did this by using the access port located on the back of a Spectre’s head, mainly used the software update and logistics scans. By inserting the knife into this pot with the chip extended, it allowed the built in software in the knife to be upload into the Spectre’s mainframe, effectively switching their loyalties in just a few seconds. This function also worked whilst hacking large, stationary turrets by locating the control panel for it and go through a very similar process for the same results.
Though this was a tactic often used very liberally by other Pilots, he found the few seconds that was necessary to hack either the Spectre or the turret to be too risky as it was required of the Pilot to be still whilst the software was uploaded which put them at great risk if any other hostile was nearby and noticed them. Regardless, it was another tactic to use in the extremely wide arsenal of a Pilot and it had proved useful from time to time.
Any last minute checks on their equipment was cut short as the all clear was given for the dropships to take off. Every Grunt or Pilot on-board grabbed a nearby rail to steady themselves as the Goblin’s engines roared to full power, slowly lifting the ship off the ground before they and several other dropships deployed from the hanger and away from the safety of the carrier.
As soon as they were clear of the ship, the extent of the fierce battle that was being waged above this planet became clear as the sight of hundreds, if not thousands of ship locked in fierce combat was revealed to them. Several of the Grunt let out a small whistle of appreciation at the sight as it was unlike anything they had ever seen.
“Looks like the fleet is kicking the absolute crap out the Militia, they slaughtering them out there!” A Grunt exclaimed to his friend, tapping his mate on the shoulder and gesturing to outside the window, and it looked like he was correct.
Though their numbers were equally matched, the Militia were fighting with older ships, some decades old with clear signs of wear and tear whilst the IMC ships were nothing but the newest, latest carriers equipped with state-of-the-art shielding and weapons. For what is was worth, they were putting up as much as a fight they could, giving just as many blows as they received but unless the fight on the ground was in their favour, it looked like they were fighting for a lost cause.
The Generation four Pilot was interrupted from his thoughts on the matter as a private channel was opened between him and Spyglass, the modified Spectre that served as an intelligence officer, namely the one that was overseeing the ground forces for this battle.
“Pilot 16024, your assigned Atlas Titan will be warping in alongside your dropship as you jump onto the planet’s surface. It has been equipped with all the equipment you have requested and will be ready immediately following your arrival on the planet, I trust this will be to you satisfaction.” Spyglass cold, metallic voice filled his earpiece as the left side of his HUD was filled with a blueprint of the Titan he had requested.
He had called in a few favours to be given this Titan for the upcoming battle rather than waiting for it to be manufactured as he fought. Though resources were stretched as likely hundreds of other Pilots were likewise requesting the same thing, he had been deemed capable enough to put it to good use and his appeal was met.
His requested Atlas Titan was kitted with his usual equipment as it was what he was most comfortable with. An XO-16 chain gun equipped with an extended magazine was his primary weapon, which offered a good balance between infantry and Titan combat as he would likely be facing both threats equally today.
Multiple modules had been installed within the Titan at his request, one of them being one that focused on improving the ‘dash’ capabilities of the Titan. By circumventing more power from the core within acceptable parameters, it allowed the dashes of the Atlas to recharge quicker, overall offering greater mobility that could be used both offensively and defensively.
The other most notable customisation he had requested on his Titan was a modification to the sub-core unique to the Atlas class of Titan, the power core. This modification differed slightly from the ‘dash quickcharger’ as instead of drawing additional power from the core of the Titan, it harnessed the excess power that the nuclear core of the Titan inevitably produced once it had reached maximum output. By doing so, it allowed the damage core of the Titan to reach the necessary power for it to spin up faster as it was receiving the latent power given to it by the main core as well as any additional power it could safely harness. All in all, it gave him the edge in Titan combat as he could more liberally use the Atlas’s unique sub-core more without fear of being without it when he needed it most.
The private channel between him and Spyglass was widened to a public broadcast for their dropship before he had a chance to acknowledge or respond to Spyglass. It was a trait that the modified Spectre portrayed often. Cold, methodical and spending no more time on a task than what was required, it was something that the Pilot could respect to a degree, as much as one could when the target of the praise was an AI and it was simply the way they were programmed. Regardless, it was the way he had been treated since coming in to service four years ago and he expected no different.
“IMC forces, you will be deploying to one of numerous nuclear reactors on the surface of Demeter in order to prevent Militia forces from overloading the reactors and crippling the facility. It cannot be stressed enough how important it is that you accomplish this goal, Demeter is a key installation that is the only thing allowing additional IMC forces from the Inner planets to jump to Frontier and without this refuelling station, we will be effectively stranded here until a replacement facility can be built. You will be transported to a facility at these coordinates, “as he spoke, a set of coordinates flashes up in the top left of the Pilot’s H.U.D. before morphing into a small map that detailed the reactor’s layout, “once on the ground, you will receive further instruction on how to prevent Militia forces from damaging the reactor.”
“Though a drop-pod would usually be used for deployment in such situations to reduce deployment time, the orbit at the required height above the reactor is currently too contested to safely have a cruiser lock itself into orbit for drop-pods to be deployed. You will instead be warping in by dropship. Any requested equipment and ordinance will be jumping in alongside you for immediate access once on the ground. Standby for immediate departure, the IMC is counting on you.”
And with that, the channel was cut and everyone braced themselves as the Goblin started to head towards the planet. Though they would be warping in, they had to be close enough to the planet for the coordinates to be locked in properly due to the limitations of the smaller jump-drives that the dropships carried.
Steadily making its way towards the planet, flanked on either side by multiple other Goblins, as the dropship drew away from the relative safety of the main portion of the fleet, the ship rocked once or twice as nearby stray flak hit the shields.
The Grunts on-board glanced at each other worryingly before steeling themselves again and locking their gaze forward. It was clear nobody wanted to be caught up in the mass of fire being exchanged between the two fleets and the squad leader of the group quickly spoke up as another volley impacted against their shields.
“I’m no pilot but even I could do a better job at not getting us shot at, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he yelled loudly, almost losing his grip as their ship was starting to be constantly bombarded whilst they edged closer and closer on the borders of the brawl between the two armadas.
“Sorry Sir but this is the pre-mapped route to our jump spot, I can’t break formation with all these other drop-ships around me. No need to worry though, I’m starting to lock in our coordinates now, it shouldn’t be much longer.” He replied, his voice betraying a little bit of fear as he kept glancing between the on-board readout of their shields and the distance to their destination.
Before any retort could be said, an explosion to their right where previously a fellow Goblin had been rocked their ship violently to the left, their wing almost clipping the Goblin next to them before the pilot quickly wrested the dropship back under control.
Even the steadfast Pilots who up to this point held their nerves in check shot worried looks at one another, all but the Spectre Pilot, who kept his gaze locked straight ahead. The only movement it made was when the ship shook in order to right himself, which was becoming more and more common.
“I don’t know who’s bloody grand plan this was but I swear if you don’t get us out of this fire right now it’s going to be your ass I shove my boot up, got it!?” the Grunt captain shouted out, concern etched throughout his voice as the situation became more and more dire.
He wasn’t graced with a reply as the pilot was too distracted trying to keep everything in check as the situation spiralled more and more out of control. Even with their engines at max speed, the formation now a loose mishmash of what it was before, their pace was too slow to guarantee safety. Whether or not they made it would be a game of chance now, and he kept that to himself rather than incite panic within his passengers.
The shrapnel hitting their convoy was becoming more and more concentrated on their position as a few Militia cruiser switched their focus onto them, trying to take any victory they could get, no matter how small in the grand scheme of this battle.
With more and more of the Goblins alongside them erupting into debris and fire before being snuffed out by the vacuum of space, they became increasingly exposed to incoming fire and despite the speed they were going, it seemed like their destination wasn’t getting any closer.
With their shields weakening with each passing second, the pilots gaze shot between watching the readout of their systems and the progress of their coordinates locking in for warp.
Though it could be risky, and it was only now with the threat of death looming over them that he even considered it, they could perform a semi-blind jump, hopefully landing within the rough area of where they planned to go. It had been hammered into his brain during training to avoid doing these whenever they could as they left huge margins for error as warp technology was still a very new field of knowledge and the jump drives equipped on ships of smaller sizes like the Goblin were a very new and untested piece of equipment indeed. But with the choice being either certain death or the potential to be flung off somewhere completely random, it was incredibly clear which he’d prefer to do.
As a warning flared up on his readout of the shields about to crack and with no time left to debate the issue, he turned his attention to his passengers before shouting over the dull sound of explosion all around them.
“You may not like this but I’m going to have to do something incredibly risky, something we call a ‘semi-blind jump’! Now, I don’t have ti-“
He was violently interrupted as their shields finally caved under the fire they were receiving and the previously harmless, though threatening, flak that had been pounding against the ship began to finally hit the dropship proper.
Within a second the exposed right side of their dropship began to buckle and break, the glass window cracking and threatening to tear out any second.
Before anyone even had a chance to shout out their concern, the glass shattered and was blown out with explosive force, the previously deadened noise of being in the middle of a battlefield being immediately drowned out by the ear-numbing sound of air being sucked out into space.
The force of the decompression alone caused a number of Grunts to be torn from their position and flung out into the emptiness of space, their screams dying in their throats as they were either ripped apart by flak or as the air in their lungs was ejected from their bodies.
Those who remained only did so thanks to quick reflexes and an iron grip on whatever they could grab, with all of the Pilots making it past the initial decompression unharmed. It mattered little who survived the first few seconds though, they’d all be dead within half a minute of asphyxiation if they weren’t tossed out into vacuum of space or the dropship blew itself apart due to the critical damage it had received.
The pilot of the ship too had avoided being ripped out of his seat thanks to his harness but as the precious oxygen of their ship was sucked out into space with huge amounts of force, there was utterly no time to waste.
Whatever trepidations he had before were gone and slamming his hand onto the command to initiate warp, those who were left aboard the ship found their vision stretching further and further out, each second passing by feeling like an eternity, before it violently slammed back together.
The force of suddenly entering atmosphere with oxygen rushing back into to the ship to fill the void caused most people onboard to slip into unconsciousness instantly, their forms slumping to the floor or against the wall of the ship.
Battered from the harrowing experience and delirious from the previous lack of oxygen, the fourth generation pilot could feel his mind start to drift off involuntarily. The last thing his slowly closing eyes saw was a vast, sprawling forest beneath him and faint wisps of smoke to his left before he tumbled to the cold metal floor of the ship with a crash. The last vestiges of consciousness were filled with the deafening sound of rushing wind and a faint sound of motorised limbs before he slipped into darkness.
