Day 862
0400 GCT
Yuma System?

I was jostled out of bed by the sudden lurch that accompanies the end of every Jump. Been here this long and still don't have my 'flight legs'. The veteran pilots aboard would probably get a kick out of that, but they were all out of their bunks, thankfully.

No clue what the day holds.

Pausing, I checked the previous entry before continuing.

233 days left in contract.

Writing journals and counting days. Certainly not what I'd expected of my second IMC contract, but a paycheck is a paycheck, and the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation certainly help make ends meet. A majority of the IMC's military workforce consisted of private contractors, though most pilots only saw the pay as a bonus to wiping the Frontier of the terrorist Militia. Unfortunately, that left mercenary pilots like myself in the glorious position of being hazed, heckled, and downright shunned among my peers.

Now, I'd like to think myself as more than a simple gun for hire, seeking profit and yearning for unsavory acts; I just squandered my talents back home and needed something to pay the bills. After failing to get into any good universities, I'd lied my way into construction, and taught myself to pilot a powered work loader. Eventually my credentials, or lackthereof, were made public to my bosses, and I was let go. Seeing there was a high demand for experienced workers on the Frontier, and rumors of the IMC's acceptance of lesser-qualified laborers, I booked a ride and left my life in the Sol system behind.

I found work as the operator for a power loader on an oil rig on the planet Harmony. I'd played everything safe, followed all the rules and was content to live my life anew. After much journey and time, I was finally happy with where I was in life.

The Miltia's Marauder Corps decided that this rig wasn't drilling for fuel for the residents of citizens all over the planet, but was a covert black site responsible for fueling the starships hammering Militia bases several systems away, and attacked.

While most of the crew abandoned the site to the Militia, I'd decided to hide in my power loader, and attempt to stop them from destroying the rig. As the terrorists rigged charges to destroy the towering supports, I'd used the loader to crush their evac ship, and kept them secure until the IMC could be summoned.
Seeing the value in a trained pilot, and apparently mistaking my stupidity for cunning bravery, they offered me a job in their security force, my very own Titan, and one hell of a pay raise. As I said, the IMC certainly made ends meet.

After the grueling and dangerous pilot training, I thought I was ready. Mere months into my first three year contract, I was ripped from my cockpit by an enemy titan, half crushed, and left for dead. Had I not crawled to a nearby IMC garrison, I would have died. Mistaking my cowardly reluctance to die for tenacity, I was given a second chance. Though I'd had to foot the bill, I was given a shiny new set of legs, and an even shinier new Ogre Titan. I wasn't going to get beat again.

I'd worked my ass off until my contract ended, earning minor skill and acclaim just trying to stay alive. Since I'd spent most of my earnings retaining the ability to walk, I signed up for another three year stint in the Frontier. This time, however, I'd spent the better part of two years on this ship, only leaving for security detail on milk runs, despite Militia presence in the system. So here I was, keeping a simple journal and counting days until the mocking jeers of 'Hemingway', 'Spillane', and 'Frank' could be a thing of the past.

It was important to me, and that's all it needed to be.

Regardless, it was time to see what the day held. Ship jumps weren't uncommon, but we generally kept to the Demeter system as part of an IMC blockade meant to shield the vital fuel depot at Demeter. Our Captain mentioned in passing that we'd be making the journey to the Yuma system some time in the near future, but failed to give a reason beyond 'security detail'. In short, I didn't know because he didn't know.

I joined the other pilots in the common area, debating asking if any of them had heard anything about the upcoming op. Mere steps past the doorway, the ship's intercom blared to life.

"All personnel, this is Vice-Admiral Graves. As you know, the Militia fleet remains operational in the wake of their refueling raid in the Yuma System, and we have deployed probes to a number of sectors."

Marcus Graves, now that guy was something. I don't know what a 'vice-admiral' was, and personally I didn't care, but his boss signed the checks and said to do what he says, so I obeyed. A veteran of the Titan Wars, he wasn't content to simply pass down orders through the chain of command, no; Graves was a man who gave ordering speeches to all the men aboard a ship, used all hands under his command as his weapon, and personally rode into battle to oversee everything. I'm not sure if he's incredibly brave, confident, or just suicidal.

"Spyglass will brief you on the results of the search."

"Pilots, I have scanned all possible designations within jump range of the Yuma system. Life forms have been detected in sector Bravo-Two-One-Seven, previously believed to be uninhabited. The Militia forces we seek may be hiding there. Recommend an advance team led by Sergent Blisk to investigate, with a suitable compliment of supporting units."

Spyglass. Cap says its the entire IMC database downloaded into the super-computing brain of a modified variant of one of those new Spectres. Spyglass handles logistics, navigation, deployment, and communication between all deployed IMC forces, and is rumored to be capable of taking on a command role. I don't know if he's unique or if there's an army of them, but other pilots all claim he's ridden in dropships with them. Never seen the bot outside of my heads-up display, and for that I was thankful; the bot creeped me out. He could mimic inflection all he wanted, but he was an expensive, cold, calculating machine, and compared to him I was a cheap gun for hire, and I'm certain he knew that.

"Very well. So ordered. All pilots, gear up and stand by for deployment. Sergeant Blisk has command on the ground. Good luck, Graves out."

Some time during the speech, Captain Riggs entered the room, startling me by finishing off the speech with, "Alright, ladies, you heard the men, kit out and 'git out!"
Riggs was sort of an inspiration. He'd enlisted as a basic infantryman, and quickly rose through the ranks. Some higher-up stuck him in a Titan simulator for shiggles, and he was proficient enough to quality for basic pilot training. While he's certainly not a pilot, and likely never will be, the man is a quick-thinking and mean presence on the battlefield.

The entire room sounded off with an affirmative "Aye, sir!" before rushing down the sprawling hall to the armory. The quartermaster pretty much gave free reign to pilots' kits, so long as it was reasonable. Of course, grunts often grumbled about this, given they were all issued standard gear and had to buy any aftermarket equipment themselves. I stuck to my usual: a suppressed G2A4 Battle Rifle, outfitted with an Advanced Optical Gunsight, a RE-45 automatic pistol, and a rapid-fire Sidewinder micro-missile system, putting in a requisition for each ammunition type to be sent to be stored in my Titan in the hangar. Fully kitted out, us pilots made our way to a staging area just outside the hangar for our orders. We didn't have to wait very long for Riggs to come by, checking names on his roster.

"Alright, so, Korvin, Davin, Kami, and Foster will be the first of our boots on the ground, after the spectres mop up of course. Three chalks of grunts will be on standby to gather any possible intel from the colony, and it'll be our job to assist against any hostile elements. Now, command doesn't think there'll be any Militia presence in the area, so Titans will remain on standby for drop here on the ship. Yom, Keane, Reano, Trettin, Faraday, and I will drop in our Titans as support if, and only if, things go tits up. Alright, lets go kick some ass."

Again, a chorus of "Aye, sir!" rang throughout the hall, and we all scurried about; the four first wave pilots to a waiting drop ship, five others to the hangar, and the rest of the pilots just went back to the common, waiting to be relieved.

Second wave. Not bad, after almost months of lazing about on the ship. It didn't guarantee I'd see some action, but at least I'd get some more time in my Titan. Making my way to the hangar, I passed by a group of grunts waiting for pre-drop checks on their pod.

"Yeah, no, I heard that these Spectres are the new Mark IIs we've been hearing about."
"I always thought that pilots were the Mark IIs. You know, what with the wallrunning and everything."
"What? No, thats....no."
"Yeah, I hear they grow human skin in these huge vats, and layer it on top of a Spectre skeleton. Synthetic biology work. Next-gen stuff."
"That's nothing more than a crazy rumor, mate. Pilots aren't some weird sci-fi experiment, they're regular men just like you or me."

There was no way I could pass this up. I slowed and stiffened my gait, metallic legs whirring and clicking on the hard steel floor below. They turned towards me, and, with the most robotic movements I could, I stopped to wave before slowly continuing onward.

"There! See, you see! I knew it!"
"Those pilots are just bloody freaks. Exceptional warriors, but they're still freaks."
"Bollocks, mate, I'm telling you, it's a conspiracy."
"You and your conspiracy theories...."

Withholding a laugh, I made my way to the massive drop pod currently housing my Ogre. Entering, I made what final checks I could. Most of the technical aspects of planetfall were beyond me, but I always made sure to check that my ammunition was stored properly, and my Titan's kit was in order. Everything was....mostly up to spec. I'm not sure if it was a logging error or being on good terms with the quartermaster, but an suppressed Smart Pistol and a decent supply of ammunition was present in an ammo can atop the pod's seat. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I secured it in my titan and strapped myself in.

I'd expected that I'd have to wait in the pod for some time before eventually being called in for basic security. I certainly wasn't expecting the radio to come to life in a burst of static, a panicking grunt shouting over general comms. "Sir! It looks like Militia ships! They're deploying ground forces at the north end of the village, and we've got Militia pilots moving in from the east!"

"Alright, listen up pilots! This will be a good test of our new Spectres. Prepare for a battle of Attrition- neutralize every Militia unit in the area. Good luck."

Mere seconds later, Riggs calmly keyed his mic, addressing us second wave pilots. "Looks like we're going to be dropping ahead of schedule. All standby pilots, drop when ready; I'll see you on the ground." With a loud hiss, his pod left the ship, and descended towards the planet below. Four identical hisses signaled the speedy departure of the other pilots. With a hearty sigh, I double-checked my harness, and set the pod for planetfall.

"Standby." The on-board CPU, called out its alert in a monotone, synthetic drone.

"Separation Confirmed."
A small burst from the top-most booster flung the pod free of the ship, sending it slowly planetside. Comms were, surprisingly enough, clear of chatter, leaving me alone with my thoughts as the pod silently descended towards the planet's surface miles below.
I tried to avoid thinking about how a mere three inches of a borium-steel wall protected me from the harsh vacuum of space, and harsher experience that came with falling through a planet's atmosphere at terminal velocity. Above all, I tried not to wonder if that was just a hair or a crack in the glass-ceramic window.

"Alert. Approaching Shock layer."
Several hundred klicks up, the atmosphere condensed, providing stiff resistance to the large pod. To ensure survival of cargo, namely me, the pod's metal drag chute opened up with a lurch. The window was tinted a faint orange, but as the turbulence grew, so did the plasma and flames coating the pod. The pod jerked and spun wildly, with occasional bursts of acceleration in seemingly random directions, courtesy of the pod's course correcting thrusters. Say what you want about grunts, they had balls to drop into combat like this, and crammed like sardines in smaller pods no less; I'd take a dropship any day.

"Impact in 10...9...8"
A mere 15 klicks off the deck, my teeth were chattering, my heart was pounding, and in the back of my mind I regretted my decision to reenlist. My first atmospheric drop taught me not to clench my jaw, but now that I was actively trying worm my tongue out of danger, it felt too large for my mouth.

There was a loud crash of metal, and the pod suddenly spun quickly to the right; I'd hit something in mid-air, and I hit it hard.
Bright red lights filled the cramped pod as the on-board CPU warned of a collision, drop misalignment, and upcoming ground impact all at once.
Luckily, I'd been bracing for impact on the ground, but it was still quite a shock; I still managed to bite the edge of my tongue on the first crash.
Unluckily, the pod wasn't righted in time, and spun wildly instead of settling in the ground. I counted three skips before it settled to a stop, completely upside down.

The automated CPU apparently didn't give a damn about the crash, or the orientation of the pod, and released the safety harness, painfully dropping me to what was once the roof.
Making contact headfirst, I was out instantly.

\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////

"We're falling back to higher ground....we're falling back to the carrier!"

"Pilots, we've routed the Militia; hunt them down to their evac point! Don't let them escape!"

/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\

"IMC ground forces are down to 25%. Heavy losses across the board. Graves, we can't take much more of this."

"Roger, abort the mission. All ground forces, prepare for evacuation."

\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////\\\/////

I slowly came to, aware of the taste of copper in my mouth and a deep throbbing in my skull. The entire right side of my vision was foggy and blurred, which meant one of two things: I'd suffered major cranial trauma and was experiencing visual impairment, or I'd simply pressed my face against my helmet's lens. I wasn't trained in any first aid beyond 'inject a stim or two to keep from dying', so I sincerely hoped for the latter.

Unable to fully rise up in the cramped pod, I righted myself in a sitting position and removed my helmet. Managing to blink away any lingering fuzziness, I was relieved to find it was just a smudged helmet. I'd removed it to clear the smudge when a loud series of bangs rang throughout the pod.

First I thought I was under fire, but it was just the explosive bolts deploying, opening the pod. My Titan flopped out and deployed in a surprisingly nimble display contrary to its stocky design. Despite my pilot training and human form, I was significantly less graceful, practically crawling out of the pod and into the open air. In my defense, I wasn't made of hardened steel, borium, and ceramite, and the crash had taken quite a bit out of me. Slowly, painfully rising up, I could see a wrecked Crow dropship sitting in a smoking crater, and a small walled village in the distance. Fires burned among the mixed prefabs and scrap buildings that composed the colony. A flaming husk of an Atlas titan smoldered among a massive breach in the wall, smoke obscuring my sight into the village proper. A quick glance skyward showed a distinct lack of an orbiting IMC supercarrier. No IMC boots, titans, or ships nearby.

I was left behind.

"Borak," I began, addressing my Titan. "See what you can do about the pod." With nary a second of delay, the machine went about rolling the even larger pod into position. Despite the care it took, the pod ended up slamming down with a massive crash of steel on earth, and another explosive bolt detonated, throwing a door panel yards forward with a clang. "Hold position and enter parade mode," I instructed, deciding that low power wasn't enough. That sound might attract unwanted attention, and having a slow titan in the open would be detrimental to my health; parade mode would set the titan AI to regard any non-IMC personnel as civilians, and would therefore not engage unless engaged.

Once that was done, my titan lowered to the ground, and seemingly powered down. It's active nuclear reactor would probably show up on orbital scans, but anyone doing light recon would simply see another titan out of commission. Grabbing my rifle, I set out towards the village. Crossing the ruined farmland surrounding the outer wall, I was sure I'd hear the distant crack of a rifle before getting shot, but that proved to be nothing but my own paranoia.

I'd made it to a rocky outcropping overlooking a squat two-story building, and shouldered my rifle. I'd wished I had an enhanced optic, the magnification on the AOG was lacking compared to an actual sniper, but it served its purpose.

I could see enemy grunts going about tending to their wounded and dead, gathering them for burial and leaving the IMC where they died. An MCOR pilot carried the upper half of a spectre on his shoulders, jumping from rooftop to rooftop towards the center of town. I was debating getting up to move to a better vantage point when I noticed an incoming militia dropship fly down from a massive crashed carrier on a distant mountain. It circled the village once before setting down out of sight.

With slow, deliberate movements, I made my way down from the rocks and into the building beyond the wall, making sure not to activate my jump kit lest I alert the distant grunts of my presence. From this better vantage point, I could faintly make out a figure in the sprawling tower in the center of town. Despite the limited magnification of my optic, there was no mistaking the huge length of the armor-penetrating Kraber rifle, clearly a sniper providing overwatch. Luckily, it wasn't pointed in my direction, but rather towards the western edge of the village, where a massive radio tower rose from a square building.

I'd seen enough.

I quickly, but stealthily made my way back to my titan, ordering it back into the open drop pod. Checking my the pod's input computer, I'd found that the crash hadn't had any negative side effects on my titan, which was pretty fortunate given the circumstances. I set the system to re-arm my titan, outfitting its chaingun with standard anti-personnel 20mm ammunition. Deciding that the farmland was flammable enough, I'd fitted half the countermeasure tubes with electric-smoke, a quarter standard smoke flare, and the remaining quarter with white-phosphorus.

It would be pretty dangerous to go up against an unknown number (but at least two) of enemy pilots and countless militia grunts, but I needed to stop the Militia from gathering any intel from Spectres that could be used against us, and I had to get to the long range radio if I wanted a chance to call for help.

"Borak," The titan, fully kitted out and ready for battle, exited the pod and stood at attention. "Lets go kick some ass." It loosened its posture, slammed a closed fist into an open palm, and then dropped to one knee, opening its hatch for me to enter.

Nearly done gathering their fellow fallen, two militia grunts were taking a quick smoke break. Not one for awkward silences, one began, "This is a new low for the IMC. Weapons testing on innocent civilians?"

"You must be new; this isn't the first time they've pulled something like this."

"I'm just saying, the IMC are going way too far....hey, you hear that?" Deep, rhythmic thumps were approaching from the rear of the village wall.

"Yeah sounds like....weren't all our titans sent up to the carrier, to back up MacAllan?"

Immediately afterwords, an IMC Ogre broke through the remains of an Atlas, flames and steel dancing off its hull in a shimmering display. Both grunts keyed their radios, shouting warnings of an enemy titan in the perimeter before being gunned down. Distant cracks of a rifle signaled the sniper firing on the Ogre, but the massive AP shells were stopped by the titan's shields. With a whistling whoosh, a cluster missile was fired at the tower, detonating and sending multiple secondary explosives throughout the sniper's nest before they could react.

The Ogre made its way through the streets of the burning village, laying down suppressing fire in doorways and windows to discourage grunts from turning the narrow pathways into a killzone. A pilot sitting atop a rooftop uncloaked, firing a guided rocket at the massive mech, discarding the spent launcher and rushing off to another rooftop; the rocket had little damage, but soaked up most of the titan's shields. The titan's main gun sprayed a trail of tungsten slugs towards the pilot, narrowly missing as he ran towards the hovering dropship. With a hiss of static, the pilot contacted the ship's controller on an open channel.

"We've got enough of these robots, let's cheese it! Set a course for the Freeport System now!"

The dropship turned, allowing the pilot to enter the troop bay via the loading ramp. Shutting behind him, the dropship rose slightly in the air, humming as it calculated its hyperspace jump. The massive titan climbed atop a house's roof and jumped towards the dropship. Making contact, it drove one fist into the heart of the ship, attempting to prevent its escape. With an earth-shattering roar, and a blinding flash, the ship and titan disappeared from sight.

"Warning! Unknown warp signature detected! Warning! Radiation spike detected! Warning! GPS lost! Warning! Altitude! Altitude! Impact in 20, 19, 18..."

"Would you fucking can it, Borak! Stabilize and prep all systems for Titanfall." I dislodged my titan's fist from the crippled dropship, shearing it in two. As the plasma's surrounding glow intensified, the Crow disintegrated, completely vaporizing its crew and cargo. One mission accomplished, I thought to myself. Small consolation, as my Titan was descending from the planet's upper atmosphere without a pod's thrusters or drag chute to aid in a safe landing. I'd seen videos of malfunctioning pods that deployed their explosive bolts and separated the protective housing mere seconds after detaching from an orbiting carrier; it wasn't a pretty landing for the Titan, and definitely wasn't something you'd want to put a pilot through.

As the falling Titan rattled and roared through the atmosphere, I couldn't help but think back to the astronauts of humanities past; pioneers in every endeavor, but every flight was a test in one way or another. Did every flight and re-entry carry the dread of potential disaster? When the harsh brilliant glare surrounded their descending capsule, did they ever stop to think 'This is it; this is how it ends'? At least they would be remembered, cherished by men from every bickering nation for braving the cruel void of space and daring to defy nature for the briefest moment in time. Having failed to reach the IMC, they would likely assume me killed in battle, or worse, a traitor defecting to aid the Militia in some deranged act of rebellion.

Warnings of dangerous impact conditions and a less than ideal landing zone went largely ignored, and I didn't bother bracing for impact. With an earthshattering roar, the Titan crashed into a still forest below; the force of the impact uprooting trees and large chunks of earth in a gaping crater stretching twenty meters across and three meters deep. Trees not uprooted by the blast caught fire from the radiant heat of the glowing metal goliath, and the echo of the crash reverberated all throughout the woods for miles to come; all went unnoticed by the incapacitated pilot.

Twilight Sparkle, faithful student to the Princess, was likely the only pony in the entire town of Ponyville awake at such a late hour; such an event was far from uncommon. The young mare was often studying from various tomes to aid in the improvement of one spell or another, but tonight was reserved for 'simple' stargazing. Beyond the edge of Luna's controlled sky lay an expansive and nearly uncharted space, and the Princess' pupil took it upon herself to be the one to graph the unknown stars, simply in the name of discovery (and, despite what she would tell anypony, a slight bit of pride. She'd probably get to name a few unknown constellations!)

Despite the complete lack of light pollution, her magically enhanced telescope was still far from an effective tool for looking into deep space, and she hadn't made much headway. Having debated turning in for the night for the past few hours, she'd reluctantly given in. Removing her strained eye from the padded eyepiece, a distant flash in her peripheral caught her attention. Curious as to it's origin, she once again scanned the skies, catching sight of a brilliant orange splendor descending from the sky.

Given that there was no meteor shower scheduled for tonight, and the rarity of such cosmic anomalies, she tracked its descent with great interest. She did curse herself for setting the telescope for its maximum distance, as the relatively nearby meteor was merely a black blob surrounded by a bright flame, but she was almost certain she'd be able to track its landing; at least the bigger fragments that didn't split up and burn off in the atmosphere, as she was observing happen. Who knows what kind of precious metals could be found from a such a meteor; perhaps some unknown starmetal could be christened in her name if she were to claim this discovery as her own. Twilightium, or Sparklium, or....okay admittedly those were fairly silly and vain choices, but she'd likely have time to study the hypothetical metal, and could come up with a decent name later.

Caught up in her own thoughts, the young mare failed to spot the distinct blue jets that spun and righted the falling mass, guiding its descent towards the uninhabited, but rather close Everfree forest. With a bright light the meteor crashed, throwing up flames, flora, and earth in an instant. Seconds later, a massive BANG rang through the town, testament to the volume of the thunderous crash. Startled awoken by such a loud and nearby boom, nearly every resident of the town turned on their lights and exited their homes, eyes glistening in the soft moonlight.

All across town it was the same; all eyes pointed towards the Everfree.

Author's Note

Friggen drop pods man

The battle of Demeter has a really cool IMC intro
But I feel the intro from ODST has the whole drop pod thing down.

Warhammer has some sick as shit pods too, which inspired the Titan pod here

See, in game pilots are delivered via dropship, troop pod, or drop in with their titans (or just respawn magically on the ground)
When the titan falls, its got like some sabot or something, if you watch it fall it discards something about a second before impact

I figure it'd be easier that way to have the titan in a pod, and drop that from a glorified torpedo tube.

So what if a pilot wanted to drop with it? Stick him in the titan

But like, what if the sabot wasn't the only option
Maybe you could drop a titan in a pod, which wouldn't be discarded
You could put a MARVN and a small repair bay in there

Shit would cost an arm and a leg, and would have to be recovered after battle, but having a small place to rearm and repair on the front lines sounds pretty cool to me.

Okay brief explanations for those not Titanfall savvy

Rifle is basically a futuristic M14

Sidearm is a full-auto 45 caliber pistol

Smart Pistol is a cheap gun that locks onto enemies and the bullets automatically track towards them

Anti-Titan Weapon is a Rapid fire rocket launcher

Titan is a giant robot. Ogre class is the heavy, slow but strong unit

Spectres are automated infantry

Spyglass is a prick

And Im not lying about the Kraber, that thing is friggen huge
The kraber is the fuckhuge rifle here

Edit: WHY DIDNT ANYONE REMIND ME THAT GOBLINS ARE IMC AND CROWS ARE MILITIA
THAT IS AN IMPORTANT DISTINCTION TO MAKE