Protocol 4

Chapters

1. Orwell
3. Rabbi
4. Daybreak
2. Saddle Up

1. Orwell

He’d always hated Jumping. Not the physical activity of jumping, no. Jumping as in the Jump Drive that let the various factions of the Human empire go from one point in space to another in the blink of an eye.

It didn’t have any effect on the human body, except his apparently. His vision always went foggy for a few minutes after a Jump. Something one of the onboard ship medics coined “Johannsen Syndrome.” At the very least, it was officially logged in the Militia’s records as that, so if anyone else had the same problem he had found it.

Literally, all the atoms and particles in a Jump were abruptly pushed at the speed of.. Hell the speed of something really fast, causing the light receptors in his eyes to briefly have mini-seizures and quote, “turn off” for a bit. He didn’t like that explanation, but he also didn’t like being blind for indeterminate amounts of time after such a crucial and vital military function such as Jumping.

Though, the truth was it wasn’t instant. It practically was, taking only minutes instead of entire lifetimes to cross distances that no one man should be able to cross. A voice over the ship’s internal intercom crackled to life, “Jump Successful, Arriving at destination. Brace.”

It was at that precise instant when coming out of one that he felt the hull of the MCS Orwell shake and buckle. ‘Ah well that isn’t good.’

He’d lost his vision, and at the same time lost his balance as the rough quaking of the ship tore him from his feet and onto the harsh metal floor. He fumbled around for a bit as the ship’s emergency alarm sounded, and he groaned from the displeasure of not being able to see during whatever the hell was going on. For the second time in short history, the intercom buzzed and crackled to life, “Emergency. Emergency. Hull breach detected in the Third Deck; Titan storage. Continued breaches in-” He shook his head as the audio of the ship's speakers got drowned out by his own thoughts, and the tinnitus in his ears. ‘Fuck, AK you better be somewhere I can find your miserable metal ass.’ His rose to his haggard knees, still in full combat gear save for the trademarked helmet pilots wore, which should still be in his quarters.. On Second Deck. “-Pilots, please report to Captain Hurana.”

Aaand there it was. He got his ass as close to the nearest wall as possible, starting to use it as support as he moved down the narrow-ish passageway in his still blinded state. His ears picked up the distant yell of orders and he picked up his pace. He figured he could at least get directions toward Hurana if at all possible.

In the time it took to move down the hall to where he’d heard the yells, more shakes rocked the hull of the Orwell, and he openly groaned as the harshest lights of the beast's interior started to return to his dark eyes. Nevertheless he pushed on until he heard the surprised shout of someone, “P.pilot, shit. Second deck is to the left and up the stairs aft.”

He barely made out which direction the soldier was pointing out to him, the man offering a half salute and sauntering onwards as his vision only half returned, being able to make out vague shapes as another violent shake caused him to lose his footing and fall face first right onto the hard floor. “Nnh fuck’s sake..”

The next minutes were rough as various squads ran past him to other sections of the ship as he made his way to his sparse quarters on the ship. It’d taken him minutes but he managed to get there, fumbling with the door and almost slamming it open with too much force from his left metallic arm… and unceremoniously falling straight into the room. He picked himself back up with his still limited vision and quickly felt around for that helmet, finding it and practically slapping it onto his shaggy head.

It’s HUD clicked on and came to life, “Vision parameter ‘JS’, please.” At once, his vision was eased by his helmet’s specially programmed settings to correct any loss in normal sight. It wasn’t exact, but now he could make out more details than just vague shapes, he could even read with this now.

Sighing a brief exhale of relief, he grabbed the things most important to the current situation from his nearby locker. Grabbing his issued Data Knife, his Mark 6 Smart Pistol, and his D-101 Longbow rifle, slinging the latter around his arm and closing the locker before turning back to retreat from the cramped little bunk he occupied. “Hah, fucks sake.”

He stepped out and saw another squad running down the bay towards where he came from, waving at the assumed leader weakly to draw his attention and question him. “Oi, rifleman! What the hell is going on out there?”

The soldier in question ordered his guys to keep moving as he regarded the pilot, “Sir! From what the Lieutenants are telling us the Jump sent us straight into-” Another large shake took the words from his throat.. Violently. This one was earth shattering, sending the ship into tassels and throwing all manner of garbage and shrapnel flying around. Unluckily, the rifleman he’d sequestered had fallen victim to the shrapnel, his unarmored neck having been cut clean across by an unsecured knife.

He fell to the floor before Johannsen could call for a medic, struggling over to the downed man he tried to render first aid, his helmet advising him that the man’s jugular had been severed. It didn’t take an AI to tell him that though, arterial blood spray went everywhere. He shook his head and watched the man die, his squad long since passed on to the next section of the ship without him.

He cursed himself for not seeing it coming, and for not being able to save the man. Tentatively, he moved his hand up and closed the eyes of this soldier, doing so quickly and efficiently as he moved down to his shirt, ripping off a section of his dog tags and putting it deep in his pocket. He actually paused.. he looked a little like.. “Rest easy kid.”

He turned his attention to where it needed to go, moving towards Hurana and the bridge. Now that he could somewhat see, it was easier than before to keep his balance. He was worried though, it never took this long for his full vision to return to him. Even on the first few times Jumping, it never took more than five minutes.

He shoved that to the back of his mind as he moved down cramped hallway after cramped hallway, moving like a Pilot should now; clearly, concisely, with precision and purpose. Hell, he’d probably impress the “drill” sergeants back at the major camps around the Frontier with the way he could twist and move down narrow hallways.

He passed by soldiers and airmen alike, all moving to various emergency stations as he finally found what he was looking for, the way towards the bridge, and towards Captain Hurana. It took excessively too long, at least ten full minutes from coming out of Jump to getting to this damn place, and it was abuzz with personnel running every which way. The vibrant calming blue lights on this deck did nothing to abate the sheer panic on some faces.

His helmet seemed to catch the attention of various senior officers, eventually pointing him towards the man himself, the Captain pointing his full attention to him. “Lord, an actual fucken Pilot. Took you long enough Sergeant.”

He gave a half assed salute and rolled his neck, having been expected to probably unlock the helmet for a face to face chat, but obviously not being able to, “Sir. Heard the call but had to grab my gear, what in the hell is happening?”

He groaned and pulled an antique looking pocket watch from a pocket on his uniform, checking the time and looking back toward the Pilot, “We Jumped straight into a killing field. Asteroids and other debris are rocking the hull, and we’re being hit by unknown ordnance by unknown bogies. Techs are picking up blips but they disappear just when we find ‘em.”

“Ghosts then, Sir?”

He laughed huskily, before letting out a deep sigh. “Unfortunately. Equally unfortunately they got a lucky strike on us when we came out of Jump, big ass asteroid hitting Titan storage on Third Deck. Blew open a gash and took out the entirety of the section’s crew and personnel. And before you ask; Titans should still be operational so long as they didn’t get caved in by that rock.”

His sigh must have been more than audible as his body language conveyed his relief, AK being safe was a pretty large priority. “Eases my troubled mind, Sir… Alright, then what’d you want from me, and where are the other Pilots?”

“Only other two pilots on board are officially MIA, you’re the only one who showed up.. The others must’ve taken hits from the numerous strikes and breaches..” The Captain was somber, the Militia only had so many trained Pilots, and replacements for the Titans were hard to find on a good day.

“...Right.”

“Aye, Pilot. But I’m afraid there’s worse news. The Jump Drive has had some kind of anomaly, the tertiary spatial array getting misaligned somehow and resulting in an unstable buildup of energy.. That could mean unwarranted Jumps, Pilot… I wish there were some other way, but you need to grab your Titan and literally rip it out of the ship. We simply can’t risk a blind Jump.”

He baulked. Rather unexpected from what he was supposed to do.. But it could be done. With the right ejection of bulkheads and walls he could probably push it right out into open space. “Uh, Aye Sir. I assume the path will open itself for me and AK?”

The Captain nodded, “I’ll make sure of it. Personnel are evacuating now, get moving Pilot. Dismissed.”

He did an abrupt salute and about faced, practically sprinting off to the Titan deck to see about retrieving his boy. When he was out of sight, Captain Hurana smirked an evil, devilish smirk as he unholstered a Mark 6 Smart Pistol, beginning to plug the staff of the Bridge with the thick .45 ACP rounds. They all went down quick, slumping over the stations they sat at.

Any who raised a hand or weapon to stop the traitorous officer were quickly snuffed out by the targeting reticle from the pistol, making quick work of any and all personnel around the Captain. Loading a fresh magazine and holstering the weapon, the Captain looked toward the emergency Axe located just out of sight, breaking the glass and taking the tool, hefting it high above his head and swinging it down hard on various control surfaces of the command area.

Satisfied with his work, he let the axe fall to the metal floor as he breathed in and out deeply, beginning to run towards the escape-rafts located not far away. ‘Damned fools and rebels, the lot of them!’

He’d worked himself into a fervor, getting to Third Deck was the easy part. Now how to get in and grab AK? He had managed to find a windowed section of the Orwell overlooking the damaged area, spotting Titans of various classes moving free of their racks trying to seal the incurred breach. It was massive by human standards, probably at least two full cartball fields long.

Nevertheless, now that he was close he could probably flick on a communication link with AK and not have it be staticky to shit and back. He tapped a specific button on the back of his helmet and opened the secure line between him and his Titan, “AK? You there you russian bastard?”

A familiar cool robotic voice chimed in his headset, “Hello, Pilot. There has been severe compromises to the MCS Orwell since we last spoke.”

He chuckled and deadpanned, “Really? Didn’t notice.”

“Plausible. Your Jump initiated blindness might have caused you to miss the occurrence, medical routine J-12 suggests you take slow and deep breaths.”

“N.no, AK I’m fine. We got a job to do though, what’re the chances you could make your way towards the Starboard Titan airlock?”

“86.8 Percent chance of success, Pilot. Engaging electro-magnetic locking pulse, I’ll be with you shortly.”

He watched as the Atlas class chassis of his Titan, AK-5823 climbed out of the breached section of hull, engaging the magnetic locks in his feet to walk right along the ship towards his current position. He snickered as that big dopey fucker made his way, noting the now probably long dead Techs added the new sonar lock and tracking rockets like he’d asked.

It took practically no time at all for the goliath to make his way to the Titan sized airlock meant for loading and unloading cargo, and within minutes it was depressurized for AK’s swift entrance. Repressurization took time, but Johannsen was eventually reunited with his battle buddy, embarking hastily into AK’s accommodating cabin. “Welcome aboard, Pilot. It has been exactly Six hours and 43 minutes since your last embark. Let us proceed with the mission.”

“Aye AK, Captain Hurana should have ejected cabins and sections of the hull for us to get close to the Jump Dri-” A large and deeply shuttering quake rocked the ship again, before the Titan’s HUD alerted him to the firing of various hull-mounted cannons the Orwell had access to. He shuddered to think what would authorize the use of the two-thirty railgun.

“L.lets just move, AK.”

“Roger, Moving.” AK turned and had the airlock depressurize again, opening the doors to outer space as the pair began to move towards the rear section of the large transport class battleship. Coming into view was where the Captain had jettisoned… nothing. No cabins or compartments had been removed for easy access and removal of the inner Jump Drive containment zone. He groaned outwardly.

“Of course, it’s never easy. AK, take us around back, we’ll just burrow right through to this fucker.”

“Right away, estimated arrival in 43 seconds.” And off they went to rear loading and dry storage. It took exactly that amount of time to reach at the Titan’s quick footfalls, entering through the cargo airlock quickly, not having much time to lose if the ship jostled and moved even more components out of place in the Jump Drive.

The hulking Atlas class Titan moved easily through the cargo area, even full of motionless crates with no personnel to speak of.. Abnormal. AK brought up an internal schematic of the Orwell, and together determined the target was to the left and down, thoroughly unreachable by Titan normally.

“Well, we’re about to knowingly damage Militia property and maybe send it deep into unregistered space. Ready for this, AK?” He posed, already knowing the answer with a smirk on his face.

“Ready as ever, Ethan.” His partner responded in that same cool robotic tone, but he could tell AK was itching for a chance to tear through unarmored steel plating. And tear through he did, kneeling down right where multiple plates of hardened steel were bolted down together, ripping them straight out from the ground as they started to burrow to their target, approximately 20 meters down and left of Rear Cargo.

It was trivial to move past the reinforced plating and wiring holding the ship together, AK letting loose some of the new 70mm tracking rockets into various superstructure elements before them, making it ever easier for the Titan to kick a big enough hole into the floor to expose the white chamber of carefully arrayed lenses and focuses reinforced by thick polymer metal alloys. The pair found the central power supply heavy and saturated with the dangerous excess in energy it contained slightly knocked off it’s proper resting place. The arrantly charged Jump particles in the room ‘leaking’ directly from it.

“Alright AK, that’s our boy. Grab that fucker and send it out the damn airlock.. Carefully.” Johannsen urged forward as the giant complied, reaching down with one large hand to grab it as tactfully as he could manage, the other hand holding him up in the breached section of the Jump Drive’s containment sphere.

Managing to grab the central power supply without too much egregious damage, the Titan backed through the giant hole he’d made. Steady with robotic precision, bringing the charged orb up to the cargo deck. “Christ AK, it’s ready to burst!” Immediately, ship alarms rang that unauthorized tampering of the Jump Drive was occurring, and for personnel to be warned of them.

“No kidding, Pilot. Rapid release of charged dark-matter Jump-particles suggest detonation time of 34 seconds.” The Titan wasted no time in getting to the still open airlock, sealing the massive hulking door and beginning depressurization. All in all, it took seconds they didn’t have getting the doors properly opened and closed, and it would be a razor’s edge race to get the drive away from them.. Close… close.

“Depressurization complete, let’s mov-” The biggest impact yet had shook and roared violently through the ship as AK turned around to see and entire side of the Orwell completely missing, the shock and battering shake filled with shrapnel and debris send the Titan over itself, with the Jump core falling right onto the floor with him.

Johannsen didn’t have time to utter an expletive as it detonated, sending everything in an absolutely massive radius straight to hell before he could even blink.

He groaned. He’d always hated Jumping. Wait.. Jumping?

Johannsen opened his eyes, still alive and still kitted in full combat gear. His eyes hadn’t readjusted to the light, the same vision parameter still active and compensating for his lack of vision. Noticeably absent was his partner, AK. And… where the hell was he?

He managed to fumble around for a moment before realizing he was on grainy, shifting ground. Sand. He was in the middle of a fucking desert. He sighed and took assessment of his surroundings, deciding it was officially an emergency when the only thing he could see was a towering hunk of what was presumably once the Orwell way off kilometers away in the distance.

He clicked the same button on the back of his helmet to open the secure communications link with AK, hoping beyond hope he was within the roughly three kilometer flat range he could actively talk to him with in unobstructed spaces, “AK? You copy on freq?”

A low staticky buzz replied to him, which meant the Titan was either outside of the communications link range or.. Outside of communications link range. He let out a deep sigh and started to try and remember what the steps were for survival in a desert. What type of terrain.. Sand dunes. Heat? ...Yeah.

He assessed the time of day, determining it was roughly around five or six pm. He didn’t know how this system’s time worked yet, but he did his best to guess what he was used to. Rolling down his sleeve to conserve the sweat on his one ‘good’ arm, he pulled the still slung D-101Longbow rifle around him and let it naturally find it’s purchase in his shoulder, beginning the trek to the wreckage he saw in the distance. It would be a long walk.

Author's Note

And there we go lads. Hope you enjoyed this little diddy, more to come soon.
The map I plan to use for the story.

3. Rabbi

It was a slog, even with the steel tread of Titan feet marching robotically against the grains below. And it certainly took all day to reach the target destination, but reach it they did. It was breaking to nightfall when the distant rush of water was able to be picked up by human ears, at least. He thanked whatever deity ruled over this place that the river had been flowing for at least a few hundred years, having a nice thick surrounding of plant life and tall trees springing right up on either side of the bank of the flowing stream. At least he assumed it to be a river, given the circumstance. He couldn’t see the other side of it from here, but it was definitely a river.

It would be a good camouflage and place to rest for the night, if absolutely nothing else. But where there is water and flora, there is most likely fauna as well. Somewhere up or down this river there had to be a civilization, and the most likely route was to follow the way the river flowed. For now though, Johannsen slid off the shoulder of his partner and fell to the ground below, stretching his limbs and moving to the flowing river to fill the canteens he had.

“Right, whaddya think AK? Do the LRRPs pick up anything out of the ordinary?”

“Current radar pulses to the North reveal open desert and foliage to the maximum range, however more anomalous readings concurrent with settlements are to the South.”

He turned his helmeted head to the South, the direction the river was flowing to, and sighed. That would probably put them deeper into the desert, if they couldn’t find a civilization they would be quite out of luck. “Copy. Let’s make camp here for the night, set yerself to silent running for the night, huh you big metal bastard?”

“Roger that.”

A Titan’s ‘silent running’ is mostly just a joke term between Pilots, but it’s really just dimming any outward lights and minimizing your profile as much as possible. Both Titan and Pilot had programs that automatically ran in low-light scenarios, such as dimming visors and cutting rifle lights. He yawned inside the helmet, his vision crawling along to near nothing as the sun fully set and what looked like a full moon pushed along into the open sky.

He motioned along to AK and quickly embarked into the cabin for the night. Setting his rifle to the side in a spot specifically designed to hold it, he sighed out and spoke the first thing that came to his tired mind, “Rabbi, who was it that sinned for the man to be born blind?”

He chuckled at himself, remembering the times when he was young that his father would read passages from that ragged old book. His helmet slipped off his head and onto a random control surface to his side, and his eyes closed shut as his world was bathed in near-total darkness. It was a peaceful kind of serenity, being in that infinite non-seeing void.

He didn’t know the exact time he woke up, but it was definitely still late in the night, and still enough time not to be able to see shit. He fumbled around in the cockpit with a groan, reaching around for where he thought he’d left his helmet. “Goddamnit, AK put the interior lights on.”

He figured that it might be easier to see… something with the lights on. Maybe. “Unable to comply. Pilot, we have unknown contacts approaching quickly, most likely in a low orbit capable vehicle. I was about to wake you.”

Ah, fuck. His groan deepened as a multitude of possibilities crossed through his mind, the forefront of them hopefully being a rescue team tracking his, admittedly sloppy, tracks. Although with his luck, it would be an IMC salvage team.

He pushed his hand through the basically pitch blackness in the cockpit, eventually landing his fingerless-gloved hand on that telltale helmet, cradling it close for a moment before popping it right onto his head and turning it back on. The vision it provided at the moment was… negligible, at best. But it was better than nothing, which was what it was before. The next thing he fumbled for was the rifle in its slot, which he didn’t need to spend as much time looking for as he picked the thing right up.

Staring right at the Longbow designated marksman rifle, he pulled the bolt back and racked the first 8.19mm cartridge into battery, his hands naturally knowing every curve, bend, and feature on the firearm from prolonged use. “Alright buddy, open the hatch and get into uhh.. fuck. What ambush pattern am I thinking of right now?”

To emphasize his own stupidity, he slapped his hand against the helmet’s surface to try and coax the information he desired from it. “Zulu 34! Good ‘ole Zulu 34.”

“That calls for multiple additional Titans dropping from orbit, Pilot.”

“Fuck! Ad-hoc it then, find something that’ll mostly cover yer big metal ass and try not to be seen until we can confirm these targets.”

“Roger that, I do not believe I will be able to climb a tree.”

He scoffed and chuckled, tapping the canopy of his partner before the Titan let him out into that mostly inky dark nothingness. Well except for some rather lovely and convenient moon light, that is. It lit up things just enough for the helmet to be able to pick up, and then display enough information to the rugged pilot.

He made sure the helmet itself didn’t glow as bright as the visor normally did, and slung the rifle to make his way up a decently sized tree, Titansized, at least. He found his footing in some of the higher up branches, mostly fumbling around trying to see what would hold his weight, and got nice and comfortable as the rifle was unslung and leveled at… “AK, what direction were they coming from?”

The Pilot scolded himself and spoke quietly into the comms link, cursing himself that he forgot to ask such a pivotal and simple question. “86 degrees North-West.”

He gave a simple thumbs up in response and turned his body, and more importantly rifle, towards the project location. He thought he could see something against the darkness of the sky, but it might have been something on the lens of the scope. He knew better though, it seemed to move despite the scope, rather than with it. It was definitely still a ways out, following nearly his exact path he came from not a few hours ago, but they had time until it managed to get to their position.

To him, he figured it definitely was some kind of low orbit transport looking for him and AK, the two partners imposing something of a black eye onto the IMC in battles prior. If this was even IMC, anyway. He still didn’t know what had engaged the Orwell before the uh, ‘Mega Jump.’

A couple of things surrounding that Jump were just plain strange to him too, number one being the automatic chronometer in AK that was acting up. It couldn’t decide between being the year 2733, 2350, or 1500. He and the Titan both attributed it to something wrong with the code or hardware, even if AK said everything was mostly in working order. He brushed it off, as he did with most things, but it still bugged him.

He sat silently in the light of the apparently full moon, the lush tree obscuring his body from the possible threat. It was closer now, enough to make out that it definitely was some kind of ship. It sure as shit didn’t look like any the IMC used, or even the Militia. The closer the ship got, the more he was worried. Bloody hell, was this planet inhabited by a third party? The frontier planets that didn’t agree with the Militia were usually just added to the IMC’s forces, but this definitely looked… different.

Roughly three kilometers out now, gaining distance fast. Looks like whoever it was, was getting impatient. It was close enough now to have AK start figuring out some information on it, basic stuff like hull composition and the crew onboard, which he was surely already doing. As for him though, the scope never left the target for a millisecond, his aim held nice and steady by his ‘bad’ arm.

“Pilot, composition of aircraft hull is some type of steel alloy, unknown materials are present all throughout its structure. It seems similar in construction to larger ships like the Orwell, but flies perfectly fine. Emissions detected from the vehicle are hard to define, composed of pure energy.”

“Right, pure energy just like how Jump drives work. These guys are lunatics, can you work out anything to distinguish them in there?”

“Scans of the vessel indicate crew composing at least fifteen individuals, three currently piloting.”

He hummed in agreement, silently doing the combat math if it came to that. It should be easy, sure, but nothing ever is. They’d have to wait and see what happened from here.

The damned ship was too hot, even at night. His feathers bristled at the heat of the small Griffonian designed dropship, the roughly fourteen other members of the ‘R and R’ team crammed in like sardines. All that body heat did wonders for the internal temperature, but it would be alright in a bit. Apparently, the pilots were ‘near something.’ They’d been saying that for about three Zemyla damned hours now.

He looked towards his sergeant who just shot him a ‘I know. Deal with the saddle sodomizers for just a bit longer’ type of look. He was lucky to even be here, realistically. He and the team should have been sent to the front a long time ago, but providence provides he guessed.

The ship lurched, signalling a sudden slow in speed, and the voice of their lovely pilot choked over the buzzy intercom, “Green light Chicksz.” Doors on either side of the ship opened, and the flyers of the group practically fell out as they got into a flying formation just in front of the ship. He was one of those flyers, somewhere at the bottom of the proverbial and literal pecking order as he flew at the end of the large ‘V’ formation.

They slowly took the ship in for a landing near a river’s edge, and seeming that it was this far West, it was most likely the beginning of the Guto river bordering the Saddle Protectorate, and the Griffonian Empire. The ship eventually touched down and let the earth-bound Saddles out, the already moving Griffon team proceeding towards the roughly one kilometer distance to the river.

Fortunately for him it wasn’t uncommon to have to walk, or move in general, at longer distances like this. It was a standard patrol, Captain Alleoue in front and Lieutenant Arante right next to him. Just behind them, Sergeant June led the rest of the six odd griffs in an orderly fashion. He, as always, was in the rear. Like he’d thought many times, his sorry hide was lucky to be here, Privates usually didn’t get the option to go on specialized teams like this unless they provided some kind of service or specialty. Helpfully, he had an affinity for all things mechanical.

Though, that didn’t particularly apply in this case, not yet at least. It was fucking dark out here, and they didn’t expect to be out this long. He just sighed internally and thanked Zemyla the full moon was out tonight, giving better visibility than nothing. The griff in front of him broke formation and moved just off to his right side, looking at him while they walked.

“Szo you’re the mechsz expert out here, whaddya thinksz thisz could be?” Corporal Delonge was an Imperial Griffon, with the accent and all to match. He was not.

“Honestly don’t know. Looked like treads but weren’t a solid track. Might be some kinda suit, maybe?” They whispered quietly, not exactly wanting to throw off the other members of the griff team. They didn’t particularly give any care to the Saddles behind them, neither did the Saddles… disorganized lazy heathens.

“Riiight. That’sz crazy talk, Chevy. But I promisze not to desztroy whatever it isz too bad, you know, szo you can get a nice look on it~”
He could practically hear the sarcasm dripping from the Corporal’s beak, just raising a brow in response and telling the oversized chicken to get back in formation. This time he outwardly sighed and rolled his eyes, but to tell the truth he was rather excited to see just what did cause those tracks, and how it set up a beacon like that.

The team was probably around five hundred meters from the river now, definitely close enough to hear the audible rushing waves in the water, at least faintly. Vision was alright, but he didn’t put his entire trust into it. He cradled the lightweight rifle under his wing that everygriff here had, the trusty mass-produced H43 pattern firearm. He hated the fucking thing, it was vastly inferior to other options. At least it was simple to use…

He turned his head to look back at the Saddles trailing lamely behind the griffs, just shaking his head at the vastly inferior group. Something told him they wouldn’t have a very successful military career after-

His head snapped towards the nearby treeline, definitely having seen something glimmering there. He pulled out the rifle under his wing and held it aloft, looking down the scope for a moment to pass over where he thought he’d seen something. It took a moment, but something barely visible within the trees was definitely there… what the fuck was that?

Just what in the fuck are these things?? He’d been watching them ever since they landed that junk looking ship roughly a kilometer out, then a bunch of four legged bird things stalked towards him. He was mostly just confused as he tried to get the magnification up on the variable zoom scope, still rather unable to make out the fine details of anything. Just broad strokes.

What he could make out though, was what looked to be a sharpshooter looking right at him, rifle and all. He didn’t like that one bit, putting the crosshairs right on target. “C’mon guy, put the rifle down..”

His breath hitched in his throat as his finger idly played against the trigger, just waiting for a sudden movement from the creature. He heard his heart beat in his chest, the thumping sounding in his ears as the cold night bit at his skin, “C’mon… drop it.”

Eventually whatever possessed the strange bird thing to aim at his rough position passed, and he went back to the rest of his squad just ahead. He’d already taken a look at the majority of whatever force this could be considered, finding what looked to be a rather obvious officer leading towards the front… maybe two, actually.

Why they’d ever want to do that is beyond him, but there was no doubt now, they were after him and AK. He pulled his head from the scope and looked behind him, foggy and fuzzy vision making a shit time trying to find the big metal dickhead he called a partner. He knew AK would have found something decent to hide behind, or maybe in, but not if these creatures could get close enough for detailed inspection.

He rocked his head side to side, cracking the vertebra in his neck, before looking right back down the scope towards the first officer he’d spotted. They’d gotten a bit closer now, and he could just barely make out some foggy shapes across their various uniforms. He’d guessed it was medals, or maybe their equivalent of rank. Whatever the case, he knew they were all armed with firearms under their wings, making this that much more difficult.

His finger played against the trigger of the Longbow, his sight right across that black coated officer’s helmeted head.

Must have been nothing. He could have sworn though…

He sighed and slung the rifle underwing again, pushing up to catch the Corporal, falling back into step as they marched right along. His mind was bugging him though, and his eyes kept along that same general area of the treeline they were rapidly approaching.

His pace quickened and he moved up alongside Delonge, eyes looking around their environment, and not liking what he felt. “Corp’, this doesn’t feel right. Feels like we’re walking into a killzone.”

“Relax Chevy! There’sz nothing out here that could hurt usz. I’m Szure the Captain is putting usz in the beszt poszzibl-”

A loud shot rang through the air, and immediately the Sergeant ordered everygriff drop to the sand, the squad doing so without hesitation as they got their guns up in nearly every direction. He knew where it came from though, of course he did. He heard his voice scream out, “Zemyla damnit! They're in the trees!”

His rifle found itself aimed directly at where he thought that shimmer came from, the retort of the Griffish made instrument of war sounding back as he fired seven quick rounds, his squad seemingly content to fire random shots wide into the treeline, then the voice he recognized as the Lieutenant screamed over the fire, “The Captain’sz dead! W.we’re doomed!”

He scoffed and cursed himself for not saying something about that damned tree, and he cursed his officers for being such weak incompetent chickenshit.

Fuck, that got ‘em squawking for sure. He didn’t much appreciate the fire he got in return either. He put his sights onto the other officer, basically motionless over the one he’d just put down, he wasn’t going to give him a chance either.

The loud retort of the eight millimeter round tore through the night sky, just like it tore through the other poor creature's face. Literally in one ear, out the other. A clean shot that dropped him instantly, what he failed to account for was the flash of light that… had just given him away. Okay, moving now!

He quickly dove out of the tree and to the ground, landing with a thud and a grunt before getting his feet under him to sprint back into some form of cover. “AK! NEED A BIT OF HELP HERE BUDDY!”

He heard the massive hunk of junk move from… somewhere, he’d lost track of the Titan as he was getting into his own position. Turns out, his partner had simply submerged himself into the river and was waiting for the opportunity to release himself from it. “Counting 12 hostiles, ballistics put their rifles at 7.62 caliber.”

He laughed as he threw a grappling line towards the Titan, embarking quickly as a round zipped in and pinged against the armor plate he was just next to. It was actually an impressive volume of fire, considering from what he saw there was no squad automatic weapon among them.

“Alright buddy, let’s hope these birds don’t have AT weapons!”

Rounds were being dumped into the treeline, the officers were dead, the radiogriff was practically screaming into the equipment, and the Saddles were running around like fucking chic- like idiots. From what he could tell, two enemy shots were fired and two Griffons were KIA. Everyone here knew that meant it was most likely a marksmare, maybe even Equestrian. Fuck.

He heard the voice of his Sergeant yelling over the gunfire, “leave the bodies we’ll come back for them! Alpha you’re advancing, Bravo you’re covering. Move!”

His legs picked up on instinct and started to move up as fast as he could to the treeline, Bravo team laying down more fire for their movement as the combat continued. They’d most likely relocated by now, it would be suicidal not to, but that’s when his ears heard various ‘plinks’ against something heavy metal just beyond his sight.

He really wasn’t prepared for what poked through the treeline, some massive metal monster with glowing blue eyes like a demon starting laying fire into the team members ahead of him, explosions rounding in his ears as his Sergeant was turned into a Griffon shaped bloodstain on the sand, his own body dropping straight down like a sack of potatoes as he threw his rifle down.

He heard the screams of the Griffs around him as an explosion rocked sand and pebbles all over him, feeling pain carve its way into his left rear leg as he screamed out in agony, tearing his eyes away from the ground to see the hulking beast step free from the treeline, if only partly, and fire on the friendly Saddles and Griffons just behind him.

It was a slaughter. He couldn’t pry his eyes away from the thing as it decimated the entire fifteen griff section, w.wait this was… o.oh Zemyla..

He felt his eyes involuntarily close as he passed out from the agonizing pain in his leg, his head hitting the sand stained with his friends and his own blood, fading deep into that inky black nothingness.

It wasn’t a fair fight, it never was against unprepared infantry. ‘Titan, Titan!’ Yeah, he’d heard it before, though this time it was really like he was a god of death, tearing through what seemed to be just cloth and simple armor with the high explosive 40mm tracker rounds from AK.

Within minutes the hostiles were down, and he turned his sights on the ship that was seemingly starting back up, trying to escape from him and his partner. No sir, not on his watch. “AK, test out those new homing rockets that the Fleet so lovingly gave to us.”

“Roger that, Pilot.” Was the simple response his order, a shoulder mounted pod deploying from the Titan that housed the rockets themselves, armed and ready to fire. Five loud ‘whirrs’ sounded as they shot out from the launcher, and locked themselves onto various points across the ship’s vital targets. Within 20 seconds, five entire rockets found their marks one by one as the ship went up in a glorious fireball of death and destruction.

Johannsen snorted and turned his attention to the remaining targets and ground level, immediately surrounding him. None of them were combat capable anymore, if they even lived. Fuck, he needed intel from them. “AK, any vitals among the wreckage here?”

“123 meters to the front, multiple heartbeats. Analysis says most will die within minutes, one is not beyond saving.”

“Cover me.” He tapped the canopy and it opened right up, hitting the sand and moving his ass straight to the designated survivor. He pulled up and slid against the grains under his boots, getting down to his knees as he slung the Longbow rifle over his shoulder. He took a look at the creature, and from such a close and personal view he knew this wasn’t something that should be possible, whatever.

He ripped open the first aid bag he had on his backside, applying a tourniquet for the back leg at where he thought the best possible place, jeez this leg was torn up. He looked his eyes towards the face of the creature and plucked the damn thing out of the sand, it’s breathing was a bit wet… not a terribly great sign all things considered.

He tore open a syrette of Exicedrin, plunging it just into the bird thing’s ass and picking it up, right up over his shoulder. He turned to leave but noticed the rifle he’d dropped before passing out, making a small sound of thought before picking it up and slinging it with his own Longbow.

This was gonna be an interesting day, he told himself as he walked back to the tree cover.

Author's Note

How ironic, a sniper that can't see. To the blind man the world is black.

LRRP - Long Range Radar Pulse
AT - Usually anti-tank but here it's anti Titan
KIA- Killed In Action

4. Daybreak

The night sky was so opulently beautiful sometimes. He would never admit this to anygriff who asked, but he had a secret love of anything to do with the night, and the stars it allowed him to see. Sure, the moon princess of the ponies was a sworn state enemy, but that didn’t matter to him. Politics didn’t matter. The simple matter of it all was that it was simply gorgeous, and he adored it.

He loved any chance he got to admire it, though was usually simply too busy to take much time out of night-schedules to star gaze. He actually laughed more than once at the thought of what his mark would be if he’d been born a pony, something between stars and mechanical work, no doubt. Maybe a telescope, or something to that degree. Or maybe something more nebulous and vague that applied broadly, like a silver star. He’d read stories about ponies like that, Prav below, he knew more about the individual pony than most of his comrades, he’d wager.

But there he was, a lone Griffon in the Imperial Griffonian Army, staring at the sky like a dumbstruck changeling getting their first taste of love. He’d wager not many of his comrades would understand that one, either.

This was nice, more than nice even… so why did it feel wrong? It was like the only things around him were stars, everything else felt like an infinite distance away. He tore his gaze from the universe above, it’s swirling majesty calling to him like an alcoholic to their vice. His eyes looked around the foggy and blurry nothingness below, and once he looked underneath himself, he fell.

He fell and fell into that infinite void, but no sound left him. His beak was stuck closed, and his limbs were weighted down with the Gods own strength. His eyes flicked up towards the rapidly falling universe. Or was he simply falling away? It felt like seconds and millenia, inches yet kilometers, thought and action. No savior came for him, and he fell.

His eyes began to wink open slowly, the stinging light of the day star burning into his ruffled feathers. He was under some kind of tree cover, and below that some kind of tarp. Daybreak, he thought. If he was alive, that meant he was captured. If he was captured, that meant he was needed for something.

He breathed in rather calmly, given the situation. He pushed himself up with one of his clawed forelegs, wincing as the motion shifted and torked his injured rear leg. ‘Right, shrapnel…’

He saw the bandaged leg, multiple spots having been stained light with blood that had soaked in areas where presumably the shrapnel hit him. He’d also seen that in addition to his rear left leg, his wing and side had taken lighter hits. Whoever had bandaged this wing clearly never had before. Pain, it let him know he was alive. He let out another wince for the Griffons he knew weren’t feeling that pain, and started looking his head around the area he currently occupied. It must not be very far from where he’d fought his captor, or captors, if the river was still audible and the trees were still overhead.

He stayed quiet for now, the worst thing you could do in a situation like this was to reveal information such as being awake, followed shortly by going into a panic. So, he avoided both of those so far, a rather short checklist but still a very important one. What he did do however, was check the immediate surrounding area he currently resided in. Whoever took him captive had left his grey infantry-griff uniform on, now spotted with blood stains and tears across it’s soft surface. He still didn’t understand the thought behind giving R and R teams soft uniforms instead of the usual Army body armor.

He suppressed a groan of pain as a muscle twitched and caused his injured limbs to shuffle only a few inches, deciding the pain was negligible if he could find answers. He’d been stripped of all weapons, his helmet, and any way to tell where exactly he was. Figures. Around about that time is when his eyes glanced towards the river itself, seeing something that made him release an audible gasp. He regretted it immediately as the once motionless metal monster that decimated his team turned to face directly at him.

“Pilot, the captive is awake and seems responsive. Recommend now as the time to speak.”

The voice of that thing was deep, and robotic. It spoke with the strangest accent he had ever heard, and vaguely sounded like something from one of the allied pony forces that aligned with the Griffon Empire. The immediate thing running through his mind was sheer terror, his body simply not responding to his orders, despite wanting to run or fly as far away as fast as possible. He started to shake at the giant’s gaze, in the daylight coming to realize it wasn’t some monster, but a creation of claws and metal, a mechanical beast.

As much as he adored technology, the last thing he wanted was to be here. His terror only heightened as he heard something thud against the dirt next to him, and heavy steps moving towards him. He could barely pry his gaze away from the technological terror, but managed to wrench his sight towards the thing moving towards him. It was a strange minotaur, as far as his fear-addled mind could tell.

The two-legged thing was covered in some kind of clothing or uniform, all in a green yellow and black looking camouflage. He also seemed to wear some kind of body armor lined with pouches and equipment, for what purpose though he could not understand. His presumed captor walked right up to the edge of the tarp above him, not crossing the boundary between open tree topped sky and low hanging cover.

“So, just what in the hell are you?”

His voice was like sandpaper, sounding like an entirely different unplaceable accent than the taller metal thing behind this one. It was the ‘griffish’ language to be sure, but in weird and strange vowels that definitely weren’t pronounced with a beak. His mind drew back immediately to the one thing that was drilled into him for situations like this. “P.private Chevocco Wesson, Serial 5467-7123-0019!”

The two-legged thing groaned and sat down at the edge of the tarp, roughly four meters away from his current position. “Right, you know I could do that too! Master Sergeant-Pilot Ethan Rohan Johannsen, Operational Number 4365-6723. Good to meet you Wesson.”

The thing's face was presumably hidden behind a full head covering helmet, explaining the lack of moving facial features when he spoke. Both of them had unintentionally given away surface level yet still important information about themselves, he’d given away his inexperience within the Army, and the unintentional stutter gave away his nervousness. This Sergeant though, he was experienced. Wherever this demon of a being came from, he knew war and how to kill, and his slightly jovial attitude gave away a deep psyche that was even used to the act.

“You know, I’ve never seen anything like you before. The Militia would probably have a massive hissy fit if they figured out I took out that squad of yours… sorry about that. Genuinely I am. I don’t like killing folks, but being a Pilot kinda changes ‘yer worldview.”

He just stared on incredulously, looking daggers into this thing that had casually wiped out his team with his armaments. “Of course, the hawk pities his prey, for they are not a hawk. Cut your honeyed words and tell me what you want.”

Johannsen’s shoulders slouched just a bit, it was going just about as well as he thought it would, all things considered. He tried to patch up the bird thing as best he can, not really being qualified to deal with veterinary emergencies. Although in cutting away various sections of the thing’s uniform, he did find that it was a half cat half bird… thing. Basically a chimera of sorts, or another word that he couldn’t quite remember at the time. “I want information. What province of the country are we in right now?”

He figured the best bet would be to play semi-informed, and hope the chimera thing would give additional information to save his own life. He was taught that if he was captured, he would eventually need to give up small minute details to keep himself alive longer, and hopefully the country they were in would be one of those.

“Yakhuz, in the Saddle Protectorate. You clearly aren’t from around here, and I know damn well I’ve never seen another like you. Who are you, do you work for the Equestrians?” The simmering anger was starting to bubble in the chimera, he could almost taste it.

“No, I don’t work for the ‘Equestrians.’ I’m a Frontier Militia Pilot, just a little lost.”

“Then why would you shoot an unknown team walking through the desert!?” The chimera winced in pain as he sat up, no doubt reopening a tear or two in his ass, he’d have to change those bandages soon too.

Johannsen paused. The close shaved hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he swallowed. “Because… I was scared. I have never seen something like you or whatever the hell was behind that squad of yours. Where I come from, you simply cannot exist. Now listen Wesson, because I’m only gonna say it once; I am not your enemy. I have absolutely no ill will to you, and after I can find a settlement somewhere around here I’ll be more than happy to let you go.”

He could see the anger still bubbling below the surface in the chimera’s eyes, and he knew that if the roles were reversed, no force on this planet could stop him from killing his captor. He sighed and looked off to the side, then up to the active-camouflage tarp he’d put over the birdy. Before he could pipe back up though, it spoke.

“I don’t think you’ll be offended if I say I don’t believe you. Imperial Griffons are taught to die before getting captured, and if I go back now me and my family will be hung. So just kill me now, my family will be compensated.”

His attention was fully turned back to the injured chimera, er maybe griffon, in front of him. That sounded like something not even the damn IMC would do, let alone any organization he’d ever been a part of. Fuck. “Jesus Christ, no! What the fuck? Why would you let your government do that?!”

It was his turn to get outraged, absolutely livid at the state of whatever planet this was. No self respecting government should ever do something as blatantly evil and heinous as that, he was honestly sick to his stomach. At some point during his speech he stood up without realizing it, now looking down at the chimera just meters away.

“It is how things are. One griff alone could not challenge the order, the King would execute us all.”

He looked back towards AK, then to the chimera/griffon. “What about these ‘Equestrians’ you mentioned earlier, why don’t you try to get them to help?”

The bird thing actually laughed out loud before sadly trailing off, “The Griffonian Empire is at war with Equestria. Have been for longer than I’ve been alive. And do you know why? For ‘the perversion of Harmony, and the legalization of suffering’ in Griffonia. What good propaganda, it practically writes itself.”

He didn’t know what to say, left momentarily stunned by the injured chimera who didn’t give up an inch in the conversation, rounding on his lull in speech. “And you claim to be from this ‘Frontier Militia.’ If that’s even true, you coward, you know damn well what I am and who I belong to, Zemyla above this is tedious. I’ve already told you I’m dead, might as well do it faster.”

He exhaled a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding in, looking straight at him as his hands reached up and removed the helmet from his head. The world went foggy and blurry, vague and unfocused shapes greeting him as he barely recognized the form of the chimera. For his part, the griffon found it utterly confusing to see such a strange facial structure that for a moment he was ripped from his anger to focus on the plain awe.

“I don’t know you Wesson. I don’t know your country or the creatures that I killed… what I do know is that I am in a world of shit, and apparently so are you. The way I see it, the only crime you committed was following a beacon. I’m not going to kill you… I can’t. I can’t.”

He exhaled as the griffon looked over his glassy eyes, his features haggard and tired, his unshaven face starting to build up a half decent ten o’clock shadow. “I’m going to have to change your bandages sometime. Try not to aggravate the wounds and stay down, kid. AK, watch him for me, let me know if anything else comes by.”

“Affirmative. Sentry and tracking protocols have been engaged for 4.3 hours now.”

Johannsen didn’t respond, simply pulling the helmet back onto his head and turning around to mosey wherever his feet took him within a hundred meter radius. He didn’t want to be there right now, hell he didn’t know where he actually wanted to be. He found himself hung into a tree overhanging the river a decent way.

He sat there just thinking for a bit, and the deep shit of a situation he was in. His breathing was steady as he got comfortable on the thick branch, the sound of the water rushing below nice and calming as his hand dug through a pouch on his bandoleer. Producing from it a clinking set of blood stained dog-tags stamped with the Militia’s 3rd Fleet symbol.

It was the set of tags from that Corporal on the Orwell. He stared down at the tags containing the basic information of who the man was. Hiro, Honata S. O-positive blood type, no religious preference. He never knew the man in life, and had only been able to watch him bleed out and die. Damn you, damn you all.

He stifled some noise he wouldn’t have known the meaning to, and held the tag close to his chest in his ‘bad’ hand. That damn metal thing was supposed to weigh basically the same as his other arm but he could feel a difference, even if everyone else said it was perfectly calibrated. He just looked at it, checking over the vambrace on where his forearm would’ve been, and the small little metal pin embedded into the material signifying his Master Sergeant stripes. Three chevrons and three little yellow rockers, and his name on a plate just above his wrist. ‘E. Johannsen.’

His other ‘good’ hand was more drawn to rest on the holster on his right thigh, his finger idly playing with the safety on the pistol inside it, eventually just deciding to let the dog tags rest on his bandoleer while his hands removed the pistol from its sheath and started messing with it. Pilots technically weren’t supposed to just be able to carry these, but Fleet accidentally put in a custom order for a hundred of the things chambered in a sluggish .45 caliber, and accidentally added on an extra zero.

He was in the room when the deck officers saw the price of the extra nine hundred things, nearly broke the damn communications terminal scrambling to get to the ship adjutant. He chuckled dryly remembering that moment. Back then he was still running with First Company as the attached Pilot, must’ve been just a year into his Titan service.

He just couldn’t stay with that company after… it happened. He physically removed the thought from his mind as he returned the Mark 6 Smart Pistol to it’s holster, that one in particular specifically made for him, engraved names and all. He also dropped the tag of Hiro back into the pouch, the clink of metal resounding in his head as it met the other tags inside.

His head turned to look down stream at the water flowing right underneath him, and from here he could just about make out AK’s armored form in the trees still guarding over the friend he made. Friend. Why did he fire? They might’ve been friendly.

He just slowly shook his head as he pondered the rules of engagement he’d been assigned, a simple ‘just get the job done, Sergeant.’ The Militia entrusted him with special missions where there really wasn’t an ROE, and he just did what he had to do. He had one of those damned griffons in his scope, and they were aiming back. He fired first, doing exactly what he was trained to do.

He used to be called a coward more often than most would expect. And sometimes he still thought people said it about him when he wasn’t listening, or when he wasn’t around. Never to his face anymore, being a Pilot technically made him outrank enlisted personnel. The respect people held for Pilots and the hatred the Militia tended to have about combat snipers didn’t mix well, especially in his case.

Maybe if he didn’t take that shot they wouldn’t have thought so ill of him...

He was so tired.

Author's Note

And there we go! A shorter one than usual but it was important. Ole Joey boy being rather pensive and deep-cut about the engagement fuck up with the Griffons. Wonder how it'll play out oOOoOOOooo~

ROE - Rules of Engagement

2. Saddle Up

It was turning nightfall as his slow pace and haggard exhausted demeanor slugged through the loose sand under his heavy boots. He had struggled through the heat of this damned desert dutifully to reach the only visible structure in his radius, what he assumed to be the wrecked hull of the Orwell. His initial assumption of roughly ten kilometers seemed to be accurate, and at a nice walking pace he managed to get to the wreck at around two hours time.

He’d left his communications link to AK open the whole time, hoping that as he’d approached the site the hulking Titan would respond. To his chagrin, no such luck. To his further detriment, his vision seemed to be either permanently altered or taking it’s sweet ass time to return to normalcy. It wouldn’t pose him too much trouble as long as he kept the helmet on, but it would need to be taken off at some point.

He just sighed as he slung the now sandlogged Longbow back around his shoulder, activating his jump kit and starting to ascend to the top of the wrecked ship’s hull as best he could. It was trivial for a pilot as long in the service as he was to climb structures like this, he did it all the time out in the field where terrain varied heavily. Hanging off a particularly dinged panel of metal, he managed to make out stamped markings in a language he didn’t know.

“That's.. Odd.” From what he remembered from primary education, the universal language that the entire human empire used as their standard was derived from old English, a really odd combination of a large amount of odd tongues, and eventually turned into modern day Terran. It perplexed him that not only he couldn’t recognize the strange writing, but his helmet couldn’t either.

He snapped a picture of the odd writing and continued scaling the vessel, right up to the top as he had a nice vantage point to inspect the large piece of wreckage. It seemed this was some kind of exterior hull section that was ripped right off from the vessel.. It just didn’t look all too correct. Support pillars weren’t in the correct places and some engineering facets didn’t seem to make sense at all.

His further confusion continued as he spied an unfamiliar symbol on the side of the outer hull, what looked like a.. Saddle? It was a bizarre minimalistic saddle design, with that same unfamiliar writing on it in somewhat faded red paint, although still somewhat legible to people who could actually read it. “That isn’t.. Anything on the Orwell.. Where the hell am I?”

He groaned and pulled a small device from the interior of his bandoleer, fiddling with it before raising a small thin antenna and turning on the device, theoretically allowing anyone listening to emergency frequencies the ability to locate his position via this beacon alone. He reminded himself the range on the communications link should have been extended from the height of the wreck he found himself on, and tried it again. “AK, you there buddy? C’mon you hunk of junk, lemme hear you.”

A low staticky buzz chimed right back in his ears, and he sighed deeply. Finding a decent enough position to lay on atop the heavy metal structure, he brought the light pack on his back down and started to rifle through it. “Damnation and hellfire you metal beast, where the hell are you?”

Eventually he found the target of his rifling, he’d found the tightly rolled bundle of fabric that served as his campaign cloak and make-shift cover in a pinch. The fabric was weaved with integral cloaking threads, so it basically was just an invisibility blanket. He unwound it and thought of the best way to set it up, deciding something akin to a simple lean-to would do fine for the night, though he’d have to find something more permanent if he couldn’t reach his partner.. Or figure out where he was.

Finishing his terrible under-the-stars lean-to was easy, spare metal poles were abundant enough to prop up the invisibility blanket, heh, easily. He sat down under the tarp right on his haunches as he looked up to where he’d left the distress beacon at the highest point on the wreck. ‘Someone’ll hear it.’ He started removing the light armor surrounding his torso, the bandoleer of ammo and various supplies coming with it.

He looked out to the setting sun through the helmet, deciding to take it off and look with his unaided vision at the would-be beautiful visage. Treading carefully, he removed the somewhat heavy metal-polymer alloy helmet from his head and blinking away the discomfort, he opened his eyes and looked on at the horizon. It was blurry, and still rather dark. He could make out the thickest paths of light, from things like the sun, and he could vaguely make out colors.. But nothing like he could see with the assisted vision in the helmet.

He scoffed at himself, letting it turn naturally into a sad chuckle and then a laugh as he sat in the sheer ridiculousness of this entire situation. Hell, from his perspective just 12 hours ago he was Titan deep in enemy territory performing subversive sabotage and demolition. SERE wasn’t even anywhere near his mind, especially not in the godforsaken desert. Oh and lest he forget, half blind! He really hoped that wasn’t going to be permanent, but with the current sample size of roughly three hours with his proverbial lights turned off, it didn’t inspire much hope in him.

He laid his back down against the sand buffeted metal surface of the wreck’s outer hull, resting his head against his ‘good’ arm, holding the metal one up into the air as he stared at it. “Operation’s gone belly up, bro. What would you do if you were here instead? Hah, probably scream and try to find your squad.”

Bad memories and blood, that’s all that damned arm reminded him of. Unfortunately for him it was grafted straight into the stump of his shoulder, connected to his nervous system, and fully controlled by his one and only brain. He let it fall to his chest, still mildly surprised that for something made out of titanium and various alloys, it weighed nearly the exact same as his biological arm. Was necessary though, exact balance for a pilot could mean life or death.

He closed his dark eyes and tried to drift to sleep in the soft blue light of his helmet, hoping that if nothing else, the beacon would lead someone to his location for some more information. He was up the proverbial creek without a paddle, and eventually his thoughts drew to a close, and he was out like a snuffed light.

It was one of the most boring nights of her entire career. She lightly slumped over against the desk she was at in the darkly lit room she and a plethora of other griffins sat and worked in. Her eyes started to flutter closed before she caught herself, silently squawking awake and turning her head to make sure the multitude of personnel didn’t see her mistake… coast looks clear.

She sighed and resumed the boring task of monitoring various high and low band frequencies via the luminescent blue screens just before her. Sure there were interesting periods where her job was incredibly beneficial to the corps, but they were few and quite far in-between. Tartarus, the last time she remembered actually being useful was during the battle to retake the Griffish Isles.
She was almost about to slump over her post again before a broadband frequency monitoring screen let off a small beep, and alerted her to a literal blip on the radar. A small light appeared in a rough location out in the Saddle Arabian desert, which was odd because the range of frequencies they should be allowed to use was well outside what this one was operating under. She brought out a manual hidden in the small shelf below her desk, flipping it open with a claw to briefly check what range of frequency they’d actually be allowed to use in that region of occupied territory.

After a moment of scanning, and then double checking that scanning, she determined that not only was it outside the acceptable range for military frequencies, it was outside of the range of her manual period. Which shouldn't have been possible, let alone in the middle of nowhere. She turned her head to face the commanding officer in the room, beckoning him over with a claw, “Cap’n, radar pinged outside the known ranges. I checked the handbook and it doesn’t say anything about it, what do you-”

Her sentence was cut short by another small alert beep and a blip to the radar, roughly 23 kilometers away from the original but it’s trajectory seemingly moving towards it at a steady pace. The officer she called over leaning into the monitor displaying the anomaly and then back to her, “Ja, good work Minth, send a copy of the data to my station and keep monitoring this. I’ll bring it up to the Kommander.”

She did a little salute with her wing as the Captain walked back to his desk, receiving a copy of the data and walking out of the radar center to speak with the commander of the overall section. She leaned back in her seat a bit as she watched him go, exhaling a breath she didn’t know she was holding in as her attention was brought back to the two blips on the screen. “Just what are you, little dots?”

The cool night desert air circled around the wreck of the ship, it wouldn’t be long until the sun rose across the area again. That same cool breeze wafted across his face and dried his fatigues during the restless night, his body naturally starting to wake up before the crack of dawn as it was trained to do. His eyes opened and the world was black, save for the distant and vague light of what he figured was a moon, and the barely perceivable glow of his helmet. His arm moved towards the blue light, smacking against it with a metallic clang as he basically slapped it. He groaned, this was gonna take some serious adjusting to.

He grabbed it by the bottom edge of the chin and sat up straight, slipping the tin-can-cover over his head and letting his vision adjust to it’s display. He briefly shut his eyes as the rush of vision flooded over him, still not completely back to what it could’ve been, but at least letting him see more. During low-light conditions like this though, he wouldn’t be able to make out fine details like writing… this was becoming truly bothersome.

He got up to his feet slowly as he took in his surroundings, the dark terrain of the sand dunes winding on as far as his assisted vision could see. He shook his head and reached down to grab the Longbow rifle he’d left leaning against a particularly mangled sheet of steel, his hands naturally finding themselves in comfortable positions on the weapon as he just simply stood and took in the view of the area. It felt like a calm chaos, like the feeling when you knew a windstorm was about to blow through.

His helmet allowed him to see the pitch black of the night sky slowly turn to a shade of dark purple, signalling the sun was approaching and day was about to break. He slung the rifle and slipped on his body armor, taking down his camouflaged lean-to and repacking it into his bag, putting everything neatly back onto himself and preparing for the day ahead. Reading through the mental checklist in his head of the gear he should have with him, he moved to recollect the beacon from the peak of the wreck, only to find the steady green light replaced by a flashing red one.

“Hah, you big metal bastard.” He shook his head and just looked up to the sky as the communications link was opened again, the same staticky buzz greeting his ears, before a quiet click replaced the white-noise.

“Hello, Pilot. The ambient temperature is 43 degrees Fahrenheit and rising. I am 1.3 kilometers away from your position and approaching quickly.”

“Haha fuck! AK where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you since I woke up here!”

“I have been 73 kilometers to the South-West of your current position. Charged Jump particles seem to have sent us to a random position within 350,000,000 kilometers from the initial detonation.”

“Right, okay. That should put us somewhere in the system we Jumped into, right? Do you have any idea where we are?”

“Triangulating the position of celestial bodies such as the sun appears ineffective, anomalous movement from it’s expected trajectory makes it unreliable as a navigation tool. The moon also exhibits the same behavior.”

His shoulders went slack as he looked out towards the South-West and released a held breath, now able to barely make out the shape of something moving towards him from the direction. “Never easy. Try your luck with contacting the Third Fleet? Or anyone?”

“Communications unresponsive. Friendly presence in the system seems to be ignoring us or non-existent.”

He cracked a smile through the helmet, “Was that a joke, AK?”

“Eyes up, Pilot. I will be on your position within 5 minutes.”

He chuckled openly and patiently waited for the arrival of his partner, the massive Titan signalling his position by the heavy footfalls that could be heard from far away as he moved like the slick war machine he was designed to be. Johannsen climbed down to a lower position on the wreck to be relatively on the same level as the Atlas class titan, and gave him a thumbs up.

“Took you long enough buddy. Why dont’cha make yourself useful and tell me some good news?”

“A deep range sonar pulse revealed a river 354 kilometers to the West. We will be able to make it by nightfall if we leave now, Ethan.”

“Copy, lemme update the beacon and we’ll head off, aye?” He nodded as AK gave him a simple thumbs up, moving back up the cleaved wreck easily as he scaled back to the top. It really was trivial for Pilots to climb and move, it was so drilled into their skulls that movement is your last lifeline, it was second nature to do so at any given time. In less than 20 seconds, he was back to the beacon as he reset it, changing it from a simple locational beacon to one that relaid a specific message.

Setting the now looping distress beacon onto the highest perch he could find, then using his sparse supply of tape to firmly secure it to the position, he left it behind to hopefully catch the ear of a friendly Militia team tracking him down. It’s all he could do, and eventually him and AK left the mysterious desolate carcass of a once beautiful ship behind. Beginning the long march Westward as the message played out for anyone to catch.

And only mere hours after two strange blips on radar were detected, a new monitoring station found itself captivated by a strange distress call.

“Vat do you MEAN ‘may day’!? Ze damned Arabiansz are under Griffonian control! Alert Kommander Hurtzel and make SZURE to elaborate the importance! Augh, idiocy!”

The piercing voice of the Captain monitoring the station had every griffon under his command straight at attention, the Lieutenant ordered to alert the Commander running off straight away, presumably to do just that as the station moved back to their positions, manning their stations and paying a close eye to the roughly 200 square kilometer area the pulses had ever been recorded.

Minth was no longer having a boring night, her job as radar and radio monitoring technician only being occasionally interesting, such as times like these. Ever since the appearance of the bizarre transmission from the original anomaly’s position, the Captain ordered her glued to his hip as he parsed the information and chose to move it up the chain of command.

Only after the Lieutenant had returned out of breath and wings visibly drooping, did the call over radio come that a joint Griffonian and Arabian response and reconnaissance team were heading to the location. The station would be responsible for relaying their communications to the proper department, but they all really just wanted to know what was out there to cause such a commotion in the first place.

She frowned as she wrote a transcript of the distress beacon, unfamiliar with the absolutely bizarre accent on traditional Equish. Nevertheless, her claw-writing was the best from everyone in the room, so on she wrote.

‘May day May day May day. This is Pilot/Sargeant Johnson (Johnsan? Johonsen) on emergency frequency 6-5-5.6. Declaring emergency situation. Stranded with A-K-5-8-2-3. Transport attacked during jump cool down (?). Unknown hostels. Unknown position. This message will repeat.’

She was utterly confused. She tried her best to write what she heard, but it was still disbelievingly hard to understand. But nonetheless, she sighed and handed the paper to the Captain, seemingly pleased with her work. She kept an ear out towards the radar monitors though, hoping maybe something else would come through to shed more light, that or the ‘R and R’ team’s analysis of the scene.

It wouldn’t take long for the Team to get to the wrecked ship buried in the sand, the team of Griffons and Arabian horses converging on the target in just under an hour’s time. The sun was scorchingly hot overhead, always hottest just after dawn, the Team finding the beacon quickly as they searched through the highest points on the scarred ship.

An Arabian on the ground grabbed the attention of a few of his comrades, pointing towards the faded red symbol of their country on the hull of the ship, it’s name even still legible. “SAS Striped Fury. Looks like an older model Fyrefly cruiser, doesn’t it?”

The others seemed to look on the ship with a bit of patriotism as the Griffons did most of the actual work, taking the device taped to a steel rod that was seemingly emitting the distress call right off and studying it while an officer searched the nearby area around the wreck, seeing gargantuan and heavy footprints leading far off into the desert. “Alright chicksz, mount up and letsz follow the trail. Tell ze Kommander we may have found szomething here.”