The Brotherhood of Battle:

Prologue:

"It's a unique role, being part of a first-response team. Especially when you've got not intel before insertion. You never know what you're going in to; it could be a walk-in, walk-out mission, or like dropping feet-first into Hell. I won't lie, it's usually the latter." - IMC Sergeant Jeremiah Price

"The outpost went dark about four hours ago. There've been reports of Militia activity in the area, but we haven't received anything solid. We don't know who or what could've done this, but we must proceed with caution. Everyone understand?" The soldier with a bushy beard and intense voice barked to his squad in the bay of the dropship.

The other four soldiers nodded, giving murmured acknowledgements in turn. They stood patiently on the metal grates on the floor of the dropship, ready to disembark at a moment's notice. The group did a few last-minute checks of their weapons and equipment to make sure they had everything they needed for the operation. Despite the knowledge that this would likely only be a reconnaissance mission, the squad had come prepared to take on nothing short of a small army. Rifles, grenades, satchel charges – the lot. It was strange that command would allow the group of marines, mere grunts in the IMC arsenal, to use the ordinance, but Lincoln wasn't about to complain.

"Remember, this is a recon-op only. We're here to investigate the aftermath. We still aren't sure what happened, but that's what we're here to find out." Sergeant Price announced to the members of Goblin Squad, who stared at their commanding officer with intense stares and firm grips on their weapons.

"Landing in T-Minus 30 seconds. Get ready, Goblin." The shuttle pilot called out to the five men standing in the drop-bay.

Rifleman Jake Lincoln ejected the magazine of his C.A.R. SMG one last time, checking that the motion was fluid and smooth. He hoisted up the rifle and squinted down the HCOG sights, making sure the barrel was correctly aligned. He breathed out a heavy sigh as he braced himself for the deceleration. He was ready.

"Landing in five, four, three, two, one!" The pilot counted down, her shouting coupled with the high-pitched whine of the shuttle engines coming to a halt above the ground. The ramp descended onto the outside world, the rain and the night sky coming into their vision. "Go, go, go!"

Goblin Squad rushed out of the dropship, setting up in a practised procedure. Making contact with the ground and dropping to one knee as they swept the immediate vicinity, with eyes squinted and rifles raised. As soon as all five men disembarked, the ramp raised to its original position and the pilot flew off again, ready for a hot extraction if it was required.

The pitter-patter of the drops of rain falling on top of Lincoln's helmet reassured him somehow, that this was happening. This was real. It was time to get his head in the game and focus on completing the mission and getting home, safe and sound with the rest of his squad.

"Sound off." Sergeant Price ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Mallory, checking in." A voice to Jake's right spoke.

"Devon, checking in." Another announced at the same volume as Price.

"Lincoln, checking in." Jake said aloud.

"Ramirez, checking in." The last voice spoke to the rest of the squad, this one with a slight Spanish tinge to it.

"Alright, Goblin. Let's move out." Price ordered, raising himself to his knees, still keeping his rifle up as he proceeded towards the IMC complex roughly five-hundred feet away. The rest of Goblin Squad followed suit, keeping in a tight formation, sweeping the perimeter as they continued towards the collection of buildings.

Passing through the first entrance, Jake peeked around the doorway and did a quick scan of the room. Nothing, they were alone. The ceiling strip-lights were off, occasionally fizzling and sparking into life, only to return to their previous state moments later. The intermittent illumination offered brief glances at the room around Goblin Squad. Papers were still in order and waiting to be organised, hot beverages were unattended, abandoned and left to grow cold. Private Lincoln shuddered from nerves, as he flicked on the flashlight fitted to the under barrel of his gun.

"Looks like nobody's home..." Sergeant Price mused as he crept forward toward the next room, his EVA-8 shotgun at the ready.

"Like they all just got up and left." Mallory observed. "Weird."

Lincoln nodded absentmindedly, it was strange. As if they'd all just abandoned whatever they were doing and had disappeared into thin air. It was creepy, and it sent shivers up Jake's spine whenever he thought about what might have happened to the soldiers and scientists that had been stationed at this outpost.

"Move out. We have to find out what happened here." Price ordered. "Mallory, Devon - with me. We'll clear out the west side of the compound. Ramirez and Lincoln, you two search the east section. We'll meet in the southern section in an hour. Keep in radio contact."

Ramirez and Lincoln nodded, whispering muted acknowledgements, and proceeded to break left and proceed deeper into the outpost, whilst Price and his team went in a different direction. After a few minutes of searching and combing through the silent IMC station, Ramirez exhaled heavily and asked Lincoln to stop.

"Hang on, Jake, I don't like this." He told Lincoln, fear clear in his eyes.

"Neither do I, James, but we have our orders. The sooner we finish, the sooner we get out of here, okay?" Lincoln said, doing a once-over of his gun before he patted his squad-mate on the shoulder, trying to reassure his friend.

Ramirez nodded and swallowed a lump in his throat. Sweating profusely, he held his rifle at the ready as he entered the next room, his flashlight sweeping the room.

"Ugh, what is that smell?" Lincoln commented, wrinkling his nose. The scent was like something he could only describe as putrid, like rotting meat and gunsmoke, mixed together into a freaky fusion.

"Uh, Jake, I think you should come take a look at this..." Ramirez spoke. Lincoln entered the room his squad-mate was in, a living quarters. Military mattresses were laid out into bunk bed patterns, and there were several wardrobes and desks scattered around. A footlocker was situated at the foot of every bed.

Lincoln sighed as he came to stand next to his friend, but his relative boredom with their mission so far was quickly replaced by intense disgust as he laid eyes upon the gruesome sight that was displayed before him.

A body. A male, in his late thirties, maybe. His eyes were glass marbles and his mouth hung open in a last expression of terror. The look of fear was etched onto his features, and would stay there forever now. His throat was slit, a wide laceration cut into his throat, gore and blood dripping out of it in a steady stream. Bugs had already began to land on his body, and decomposition would take hold soon enough.

Jake sneered in disgust at the image, and turned away as he keyed his communicator into Goblin's shared frequency.

"Sir, we've discovered a body. It's one of the scientists." Jake whispered, aware of his surroundings more than ever.

"Copy that, Private. Can you identify the cause of death? Was it the Militia?" Price asked.

"No signs of a struggle, but his throat's been slit. This was deliberate, sir. I couldn't say that it was the M-COR for certain, but that seems highly likely." Lincoln reported, casting a wary glance over to Ramirez, who shrugged.

"Damn terrorists." He heard Price mutter. "Lincoln, see if you can find anything useful that might tell us what the Militia were doing here. There must have been a reason that the facility was attacked. The M-COR doesn't just attack at random."

Lincoln nodded, knowing that there was no point in the gesture, seeing as Price wouldn't know he had nodded. He cleared his throat and made a hand signal at Ramirez to keep moving forward. His squad-mate nodded and walked on though the room.

"And be careful, boys. There's no telling whether the ones who did this are still here or not. Price out." The rugged voice of his commanding officer spoke.

"Copy that, sir. We'll be careful." Lincoln replied before cutting the line.

He turned to follow the path Ramirez had taken, stepping over the remains of the IMC scientist as he went. Poor bastard. He deserved a proper burial, and his family would have to be notified. But Jake had a mission to uphold, an objective to complete. And a few dead bodies weren't going to stand in the way of that fact.

"Find anything, Ramirez?" Lincoln asked, as he wandered through the door to the next room. A computer suite. No reply came, and after a moment of quiet, Jake flicked up his C.A.R. to scan the room, his flashlight casting light wherever it pointed.

"Ramirez?" Jake whispered, worry creeping into his voice. "This ain't a good time for your games, buddy." Lincoln felt panic beginning to rise in his chest. "C'mon, man. Quit fucking around. Ramirez!" Jake said, a little louder.

Then he heard it, a soft gurgling to his left. A low moan came soon after, and Jake snapped his weapon to look at the source of the disturbance. A smaller room, connected to the computer suite. It was pitch black in there, but it was large enough to fit a small car inside. No telling what could be hiding in there, Jake thought, as he crept closer to the open door.

"Ramirez? You in there, buddy?" Lincoln asked the gloom of the smaller room. Another gurgle, definitely coming from inside. Jake swallowed nervously, pointing his torch directly into the darkness.

What he saw would haunt him, and was etched - burned - into his brain. Ramirez, holding his neck desperately. Choking as if he were drinking water but couldn't swallow. And there was a man, standing behind his friend, clad head-to-toe in orange and green tinted armour. The mysterious figure had a knife embedded in his friend's neck, and removed it as soon as he saw Jake, taking hold of Ramirez's head - and spinning it suddenly so it faced the wrong direction. There was a sickening crack, and Ramirez's lifeless body fell to the ground with a loud 'thump' sound.

"Oh, shit." Was all Jake managed to say before the mysterious figure leapt up and into the overhead vent in the smaller room. Lincoln fired off some rounds, but knew there was no point. Price's voice quickly flooded the speaker in his helmet.

"What the fuck, Lincoln?! Why are you shoo-"

"We've got enemy contacts. It's the Militia!" Jake cut the Sergeant off mid-sentence. "Ramirez is down! He's fucking dead!" He shouted in panic.

"Get a grip, Private! You need to get out of there, now!" Price yelled through the headset. "Oh, shit! Contacts!" Price suddenly closed the channel, gunfire echoing from somewhere in the complex.

Lincoln turned on his heel, sprinting towards the sound of conflict as fast as his legs would carry him. Breathing hard, he made his way back to the entry point where Goblin had entered from and continued to run towards Sergeant Price's location. The gunshots he had heard echoing throughout the complex had ceased, and soon enough Jake reached the rest of Goblin's location. Only to find his three comrades gunned down and left to die. Mallory and Dover had already expired, their chests still and their eyes staring off into the distance, lifeless.

Price sat against a wall, blood leaking from several bullet-wounds in his chest. His shotgun was aimed at Jake, who held up his hands as a way of surrendering. Price dropped the weapon after a moment and Jake ran to his superior's side, studying the damage and pulling out a field med-kit. Price just put the equipment down and shook his head, he knew it was too late to save him.

"What happened, sir? What did they-" Lincoln began. Price coughed, hard. His breathing was ragged and shallow; Jake could tell that the Sergeant didn't have long.

"The Militia..." He whispered, trying to form words. "Pilots... They ambushed us. Wounded one of 'em. Get…" Price wheezed his words, "…out of here..."

Suddenly, the Sergeant went limp and he exhaled a long sigh. Jake clenched his jaw and looked at the floor, a pang of despair in his chest. He was the only one left. He'd kill these bastards, if it was the last thing he'd do. The fallen members of Goblin Squad deserved that much at least. Walking away from the site of the battle, Jake returned to the entrance to the complex, radioing in for the dropship that had got them here to return - he had to leave, now.

"Echo two-seventeen, do you read? I need an immediate extraction from the mission zone ASAP." Jake spoke into his microphone, waiting for a response to come from the white noise and crackling of his comm-unit,

"Roger that. Echo two-seventeen, on approach to extraction zone. ETA seventy seconds. Stand by." A female voice replied after a few moments of tense silence.

After about a minute of waiting in the rain, Jake could start to make out the high-pitched whining of the dropships engines coming into earshot. After a few more moments, the IMC jumpship came into visual range and began to decelerate to extract its only passenger from the mission zone. Suddenly, a loud boom came directly to Lincoln's left, and a missile zipped its way towards the incoming aircraft.

Jake cast his gaze to the source of the shot, and widened his eyes in fear when he saw an Ogre Heavy-Class Titan painted in the colours of the Militia, orange and green, wielding an enormous chaingun, pointed directly at the approaching dropship. The missile missed the aircraft, fortunately, but soon the Titan unloaded the contents of its weapon on the vehicle. Dozens of over-sized bullets fired in a constant volley at the jumpship's right-wing, crippling the ship. Another rocket was fired from the Ogre's shoulder-mounted launcher, and zipped directly into the engine of the ship, exploding and making the aircraft spin wildly out of control and crash on the ground, engulfed in a fiery explosion.

Jake shielded his eyes against the bright explosion with his arm, grimacing as he thought of the female pilot who laid dead in the burning wreckage somewhere. He directed his gaze to the Ogre standing nearby. It appeared that the Titan hadn't seen him yet, but Lincoln knew that could change at any moment. Retreating back into the complex, the IMC soldier traced his path back to the computer suite, and into the smaller room he had witnessed Ramirez get killed in. His squad-mate's body was still lying there, a pool of blood formed around it. The face staring up at the ceiling in a last expression of agony, the head twisted around to face the wrong direction. Jake bent down and placed a hand on his friend's neck, searching for his chain. Finding what he was looking for, Lincoln ripped the dog-tags from Ramirez's luke-warm body, stuffing them in a pouch on his belt. He patted the man's body and closed his eyelids, so they didn't stare into nothing.

"Rest now, brother. Your mission is at an end." Jake spoke softly to the body. He sighed and stood up.

Stepping over his dead friend, Jake approached a terminal at the back of the small room, the backlit screen glowing in the gloom. A transmission terminal, Jake observed. Perfect, it was just what he needed if he had any hope of escaping the clutches of the M-COR Pilots that were no doubt scouring the base searching for him. Setting the transmission frequency to the IMC emergency broadcast channel, he spoke into it his S.O.S., letting the message loop after he had finished speaking.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday. IMC Goblin Squad has been attacked by insurgent Militia forces. We have multiple casualties, and our evac bird's been shot down. We are in need of immediate assistance from any nearby IMC forces. Say again." Jake spoke into the terminal microphone, clearly and plainly, making sure to enunciate every word, so anyone picking up the transmission would hear his plea for aid with clarity. He pushed a few buttons on the terminal; he set the message to repeat itself on the IMC channel. He sighed, it was all he could do for now.

Lincoln hummed as he backed away from the console, spinning to look at the doorway to the room. Exiting, he slowly made his way back to where Sergeant Price had been killed. He still had a mission to complete, and he had to collect their tags. He wouldn't let the Militia deny them that honour. Making his way quickly and quietly through the complex, Jake stumbled across more dead bodies of deceased scientists and soldiers he didn't know. They all either had slit throats or bullet wounds to the head. Many of the soldiers weren't even in their combat gear or wielding weapons. The Pilots must have struck fast and hard, not taking any prisoners.

Jake felt himself get angrier every time he saw another body. Another son that a mother would never see again. Another lover that a widow would never hold again. Some of the bodies could've been fathers or mothers for all he knew, waiting to see their child again after their deployment had finished. The personnel here had probably felt safe on this base, an insignificant IMC complex in the middle of nowhere on some backwater Frontier planet. They might've thought that it would be a simple tour of duty, and they'd avoid the conflict. They probably didn't want to find trouble, but trouble had found them.

Whatever the M-COR wanted with this base, they weren't afraid to use any means necessary. Even if that meant killing harmless, defenceless IMC scientists. They were practically civilians, for fuck's sake. This was nothing short of savagery on the Militia's behalf.

Arriving at the death place of the majority of Goblin Squad, Jake knelt down next to each of his comrades, tearing the dog-tags from their necks and stuffing them in his pouch. The rain seemed to have gotten worse, and Lincoln could hear the Ogre striding around outside, keeping a watchful eye on the perimeter.

Jake knew he couldn't risk escaping into the jungles of the region, with the Titan guarding the outside of the complex. And the Pilots could move much faster than he could run. No, his best chance was to find somewhere to hide and hope that the Militia didn't discover him. Hope that the IMC reinforcements would arrive soon, and save him. If there were even any reinforcements coming.

Lincoln swallowed nervously as he searched for a quiet room to hide for a while. It was unnerving, hearing the Pilot footsteps from seemingly all around him. He wondered how many there were, Price had made it sound like there were several. He knew there was at least one Pilot here. The one that he saw murder Ramirez in cold blood, possibly the one tied to the Ogre outside.

Looking down at the floor, Jake saw something glint in the light of his torch. It looked like a kind of liquid. Creasing his brow, Lincoln stooped and placed a gloved finger in the substance. Bringing it up to his eye, he rubbed it with his thumb, testing the consistency.

It was blood.

But there weren't any bodies around. And this blood was wet, still fresh. The blood of the staff that had been killed by the Militia was beginning to dry, and his squad hadn't come this far before they were gunned down.

Then suddenly, Jake recalled something Price had said to him just before he died; "Pilots ambushed us. Wounded one of 'em." Jake's eyes widened in realisation; this was Pilot blood, and it was fresh.

Lincoln shot up and hoisted his weapon back up to his shoulder, frantically scanning the corridor he searched for any sign of the wounded Pilot. Jake's shallow breathing sounded loud against the relative quiet of the complex, aside from the pitter-patter of rain on the roof and the dull thumps of the Ogre's footfalls outside. Lincoln's eyes squinted to make out anything in the darkness, hoping to see the Pilot before it saw him. Jake hoped he wouldn't die today, he hoped it wasn't his time.

Treading carefully, he slowly made his way towards the nearest doorway to get out of the corridor and hopefully out of harm's way. Even if a Pilot was wounded, they were still very dangerous and Jake wasn't about to chance his luck. Maybe if he had the element of surprise, he'd be able to eliminate the threat before it killed him. He didn't have any plans to die here on this backwater planet. No, Jake had always planned on going out with a bang, if he was destined to die in battle.

All that was left to do now was hunker down and wait for the IMC to come and rescue him from the Militia. Lincoln hoped they wouldn't take too long, he didn't want to be stuck on an abandoned IMC base with a bunch of good-for-nothing terrorists for any longer than he had to be. Retreating to the darkest corner of the room, Jake sat down and aimed his gun at the doorway. If any M-COR bastard walked through, they'd get a nasty surprise - that was certain.

After a few minutes of quiet, Jake realised that his breathing had levelled out; his body having had time to recover from the shock of seeing the jumpship go down in flames and the Ogre shooting it down. So why could he still hear a quiet panting? Then Jake heard it; a groan. It was one of pain. Definitely human, and from the tone of the groan, it sounded male.

Had he just unknowingly sat down in a room with a Pilot? A Militia Pilot?

Jake heard a radio keying into a broadcast frequency, linking to an outsourced connection. Lincoln's eyes widened in fear and realisation, his hand flew up and clamped to his mouth to stop him from making any noise. In the darkness, he could just about make out the dull glow of the Pilot's lights on his armour at the far end of the room.

Oh, shit.

"Command, this is Urban." A gruff voice began; it was quiet and sounded like it was in pain. "I have the information you requested, Sarah. We ran into some trouble with an IMC Grunt task-force, nothing we couldn't handle."

Oh, shit. Oh, fuck.

"One of them got a lucky shot in though - hit me in the leg with his shotgun." A grunt of pain, followed by a sigh. "It's riddled with buckshot, I can't move. I'm transmitting the co-ordinates to you now; make sure you get them to Bish. He'll be able to decrypt them." The voice spoke, apparently completely oblivious to Lincoln's presence. "There's still one more IMC Grunt running around here somewhere, but I'm sure Ward and Redding can handle it."

Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.

"Don't worry, Sarah, you'll see me soon." A pause. "It's one Grunt, what's he going to do on his own? By the time the IMC gets here in force, we'll be long gone." He laughed, then groaned with the pain of doing so. "That's right; we won't even give them the tail-lights. Oh, and thanks for the Titan. That Ogre you sent us is doing a fine job of guarding the perimeter. Shot down a dropship about ten minutes ago. Not sure what it was doing there, but it's destroyed now."

Anger began to boil in Jake's chest, seething at the Pilot's lack of care that he had killed an innocent IMC pilot. He'd make him pay for that. He'd make him pay for killing his friends. Blood must have blood.

Moving as quietly as he could manage, Jake put down his C.A.R. SMG on the ground and drew his Hammond P2011 from the holster on his thigh, as he stood up, pressing his back against the wall, moving slowly and carefully so that he wouldn't make any noise as he drew closer to the Pilot. He stared at the man, who was still completely unaware of the IMC soldier and his intentions. Lincoln briefly wondered that the gunshot would draw the attention of the two other Pilots that Urban had mentioned, but at that moment in time, all Jake could think about was getting his revenge and exacting justice upon this Pilot for killing Goblin Squad.

"Don't worry, Sarah. I'll see you soon. Terminating transmission." The Pilot spoke, sighing heavily after ending the communication.

A light in the corridor Jake had just entered from fizzed and sparked, momentarily casting light on a portion of the room, directly on Urban and the approaching form of Lincoln. The sparking only lasted for a heartbeat, but it was enough, Jake could clearly see the Pilot and he brought up his Hammond P2011 to aim it at his head.

Everything that happened next seemed to proceed in slow motion for Jake. The Militia Pilot tensed up and turned his head to look at Lincoln, the IMC Grunt who was aiming his sidearm at his head. He attempted to move his hands to grab his suppressed R101-C Carbine, but it was far too late for that. Jake gritted his teeth and set his jaw as he squeezed the match trigger of his gun, sending a bullet flying out of the barrel and into the Pilot's head with a loud bang.

The Pilot's helmet visor cracked under the force and the bullet flew straight through his skull, snapping his head back to hit the wall he was propped against, brain matter and gore spreading out in a star-burst pattern on the wall behind him. The Pilot's body went limp almost instantly and flopped to the side, falling and landing on the ground, hard. The blue backlight of his helmet flickered and died, followed by the rest of the dots of light scattered all over his armour.

Jake quickly knelt next to the dead M-COR Pilot, placing a hand on his neck, checking for a pulse, to make sure he was truly dead. Jake swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and sat down next to Pilot, mentally exhausted from the execution. He ripped the Pilots dog-tags from his neck and stared at them; '2nd Lt. Edward Urban, 99th Marauder Corps, Pilot Division'. They had a few droplets of blood on them, making the affair that much more grim. Lincoln creased his brow as he placed the tags into his spare pouch, with the rest of Goblin's dog-tags in it.

Jake snapped up to his feet as he heard noise coming from the complex, no doubt the other two Militia Pilots coming to investigate the gunshot. Lincoln didn't have much time. Thinking fast, he yanked the dead Pilot's helmet from his head, quickly plunged his hand inside to search for what needed to complete his mission then threw it away, making an attempt to try and reach his C.A.R. SMG before the Pilots reached him.

Before he could reach the weapon, however, Jake was pushed to the ground, losing his footing, and landing on his stomach. The air was stolen out of his lungs, winded by the impact. He grunted, gasping desperately for air. He tried to stand up, but he was forced back down to the ground, but he couldn't see anyone there. In a last ditch effort to retaliate, he reached out his right hand to try and take his SMG, but suddenly, his wrist was stamped on with incredible force and Jake cried out in pain.

A figure flickered into his view, deactivating the cloaking device that had hidden them from sight. Another Militia Pilot, their foot planted solidly on Lincoln's wrist, punching down with more pressure as time went on. In the few moments that Jake looked at the Pilot, he could see that they were not a rifleman like him; instead they wielded a sniper-rifle, a Longbow-DMR. Jake found the barrel of a B3 Wingman aiming directly at his face.

"This is for Ed, you IMC piece-of-shit." The Pilot growled.

Without pausing to think, Jake pushed his entire body forward, offsetting the Pilot, whose balance was momentarily thrown off due to his foot being planted so firmly on Jake's arm. The sudden move had enough of an effect to make the Sniper's Wingman misfire into the ground next to Lincoln's face, the bullet wedging itself directly next to his head in the insta-crete floor. The boom of the shot reverberated around the room, deafening the Grunt, but he didn't stop for a second, knowing that he had to survive, to get justice for the deaths of his squad.

Launching himself to his feet, Jake sent an uppercut straight into the Pilot's chin, knocking him back. In another moment, Lincoln drew out a knife he had lodged in his boot, holding it at an angle towards the reeling Pilot. He ran at the man, tackling him to ground and attempting to push the knife in the M-COR Pilot's neck. He struggled to remain on top of the man, and Jake put as much of his weight onto the knife as he could, pushing it down onto the Pilot for all he was worth.

It was slow progress, but the blade eventually pushed itself closer and closer to the Militia soldier's throat, no more than an inch from its target. The Pilot struggled and pushed Jake's hands away with as much strength as he could muster in his compromised position, using his legs to try and kick him off. With a shout of rage and effort, Jake used the last of his strength to push himself down onto the Pilot, and the blade sank through the man's scarf, embedding itself deep into its new fleshy sheath.

The Militia Pilot gurgled on his own blood as Jake rolled off his writhing form, panting from the effort. It sounded horrific to the Grunt, but Jake had always known that war was a messy business, and he was prepared to do anything to ensure his survival and the destruction of his enemies. However, he knew that it was mostly luck that he had succeeded in killing not one, but two highly trained Militia Pilots.

After a minute, he saw that the Pilot had stopped writhing and a small pool of blood had formed underneath him and his scarf was soaked with the man's own blood from the knife-wound in his neck. Grunting, Jake sat up and leant over to remove the knife from the Pilot's throat with a wet sucking sound, bringing the man's dog-tags with the blade. Like he had done with Urban's, Jake examined the identity of the man he had just killed.

'S. Sgt Jason Ward, 99th Marauder Corps, Pilot Division'

Jake looked at the man's armour, studying how it was slightly different to the other Pilot's plating. He had some green camouflage netting on his upper half and long insulated boots that went up to his knees. He didn't have as much armour-plating as the Rifleman, Urban, but he still had considerably more protection than an average Grunt like Jake. The orange and green pattern consistent with all Militia corps was apparent on his armour as well, and Jake briefly wondered where the third Pilot was. Then he remembered the Ogre that was outside that had shot down the jumpship. The shot it had made with its missile had been too accurate for a Titan OS to make, that could only have been Pilot skill at work when those shots were fired.

Jake looked around the room, observing the two dead bodies as if he was seeing them for the first time. He cast a gaze over to the first Pilot he had shot, Edward Urban, in a crumpled heap on the floor, his helmet discarded next to him. Jake looked into his palm, and saw the chip he had removed from the helmet sat there neatly. The chip had the information that the Pilot would have stolen from the facility stored on it, along with other information. A black box of sorts. He put the chip in a pocket on his trouser leg, zipping it to keep the item safe.

Stooping to pick up the second Pilot's sidearm – the B3 Wingman - as he left the room, Lincoln began to make his way back to the entrance that Goblin Squad had entered from, hoping to see IMC reinforcements arrived and ready to rescue him. Venturing out into the pouring rain, Jake looked up into the skies of the northern hemisphere of the backwater planet. Jake tried to make out the orange afterburners of a rescue shuttle that was no doubt on its way. But he couldn't see anything yet, so Jake turned to retreat back into the shelter of the IMC outpost, out of the way of any possible encounters with the patrolling Titan.

Jake turned back to head back to the entrance, only to be confronted by the hulking metal mass of the Ogre Titan, pointing its chaingun directly at the Grunt. Lincoln exclaimed in fear, dropping his SMG on the wet ground and diving to the side as a hurl of oversized Titan bullets flew out of the barrel, directly into where he'd been standing moments earlier. He was still knocked off of his feet by the impact though, and Jake was roughly picked up by the Ogre and thrown so he skidded on the wet floor of the landing zone of the outpost.

He groaned in pain, instinctively curling up into a foetal position to try and feel safe in the pouring rain and the inevitability of his death at the hands of the Ogre. A large metal hand flipped Jake onto his back, the Ogre aiming the gun at Jake's head with its spare arm. Lincoln struggled against the steel fingers, but he knew it was no good.

So much for going out with a bang, Jake thought, waiting for death to claim him.

Suddenly, a loud whooshing sound drew the attention of both the Grunt and the Ogre, and both looked up into the night sky to see several IMC jumpships appearing in the blink of tell-tale white light. Jake couldn't help but grin as he turned to face the Ogre who released Jake and stood up, the Pilot inside no doubt knowing to turn his attention to the oncoming dropships rather than execute a single Grunt.

"Cavalry's here." Jake muttered happily as the Titan opened fire on the first dropship unlucky enough to come into its crosshairs.

Jake heard the soundwave breaking several times as multiple IMC Titans fell from sub-orbit, eight in all, Pilots in every one of them. Lincoln couldn't make out the carrier they had launched from due to the rain clouds of the overcast sky, and so they appeared to drop from the heavens like angels falling from the sky to save his life.

The bullets spewing from the Militia Titan's chain-gun were simply redirected by the shields of the drop-ships coming to a standstill, apparently it hadn't noticed the IMC Titanfall. The ground shook as each Titan finished its fall and crashed onto the world below. Stryder's, Ogre's and Atlas' all slammed into the hard earth, standing moments later to approach the single Militia Ogre. The chorus of Titan weapons firing their hail of bullets and rockets directly into the Militia Titan. Jake almost felt sorry for it, being shot to pieces by a slew of ammunition. He groaned, trying to move away from the battle, but didn't get very far. A few of the bullets only just missing him, throwing small chunks of the ground onto Jake as he desperately backpedalled away from the conflict.

A few moments later, zip-lines shot out of the dropships in all directions, dozens of IMC Grunts sliding down them as quickly as possible and engaging the Titan with co-ordinated fields of fire in an act to support their Pilot comrades. Their weapons did very little against the Ogre, barely scratching the surface of its shield. Plenty of Grunts were caught in the crossfire and were shot dead by the M-COR Titan, killed from the massive damage inflicted by the oversized rounds the Titan-sized chain-gun fired, tearing off limbs and leaving massive gaping holes in their bodies.

Jake shouted in alarm, and desperately shuffled backwards, a terrible pain in his leg becoming worse by the second. Eventually he hit a wall, and couldn't go any further. He grunted in pain, gripping his leg in agony.

Then from the corner of his eye, Jake saw something amazing. A single IMC Pilot, sprinting full tilt towards the Militia Ogre, seemingly unaware of the danger the enormous machine posed to him. The robot saw him approaching, and pulled back a fist to squash the Pilot into the ground, Lincoln was about to shout a warning to the man, but instead he simply leapt up and over the Titan and it punched the ground where the Pilot had been moments earlier.

Jake watched in rapt fascination as the IMC Pilot scuttled across the hull of the machine, and mounted himself on its upper back, pulling a manual release lever and gaining access to vital systems of the Titan's inside. The man began firing the entire clip of his weapon into the robot, dozens of rounds pouring into its core computer systems. When his rifle had emptied, he pulled out an Arc grenade and stuffed it into the port, leaping away at the last moment to not be caught in the blast. It was the most amazing thing Jake had ever seen. One man had been brave enough to charge at a Titan head on - that took serious balls, not to mention a death wish.

The grenade detonated, releasing a burst of electricity throughout the entire Titan, shutting down all of its systems, leaving it completely defenceless to the enormous amount of Titan gunfire dispensed by the IMC machines across the courtyard.

The hull of the Ogre, cracked and destroyed, finally gave way to the onslaught provided by the IMC Titans. Jake briefly felt a twinge of sympathy for the Pilot in the Ogre, as the Titan collapsed into a heap of scrap, the armour all but gone and the framing charred and blackened. Some of it was still on fire, Jake noted, as the IMC Pilot reloaded his rifle and calmly walked away from the scrap-pile that used to be a Militia Ogre that had been about to kill Lincoln, had the reinforcements not arrived as soon as they did.

The Grunt quickly suppressed these emotions of empathy though, knowing he couldn't think about the enemy in any other way than that they were sub-human. Jake groaned as he began to stand up, pushing himself onto his knees. His armour was battered and broken in some places, near useless now. He slid his helmet off, knowing the danger had passed. He knew the protocols about taking off head-protection in a war-zone, but Jake didn't care. Besides, he was surrounded by a group of IMC Titans and their Pilots. He doubted that an enemy force would pick him off first if they were engaged again. He felt pretty safe, to be honest.

Jake coughed, immediately regretting the action as his chest burst into agony at the racking shakes the coughing made. Perhaps his bruises were worse than he had thought. Mind you, Jake thought, he had gone toe-to-toe with an Ogre and two Pilots, and come out on top. How many Grunts could say they'd done that?

Jake allowed a small smirk at the feeling of the light rain falling onto his face, wetting his slightly longer than regulated hair and rough beard that had started to grow in the past few days. He looked up to the sky, counting his lucky stars that he had survived the day.

He felt a twinge of sorrow at the thought of his Squad lying dead somewhere in the outpost, but buried his emotions for the time being as he saw a Pilot walking towards him, the same one who had ridden the back of the Militia Ogre.

"Can you stand?" The Pilot asked, standing five or so feet away. He had a steely hardness to his voice. A clear sign that this man was a veteran, if nothing else.

Jake nodded, groaning as he hefted his battered body to its feet. He hopped slightly and only put a tiny amount of pressure on his left leg. It was too painful for anything more. Jake didn't know it then, but he had four broken ribs, a fractured shin and several cracks in his right arm.

"You look like shit." The Pilot simply told him, a hint of humour in his voice. Jake felt like it too. Lincoln laughed a little, ignoring the pain it caused him.

"I don't know why you guys are even here; I totally had that Titan under control. I coulda handled it." Jake added, a wide grin on his face despite the pain. "I don't know what makes you Pilots so special." He laughed. Jake couldn't see his face, but he could tell the Pilot was smiling too, somehow the Grunt just knew it.

The Grunts that had survived the battle between the mechanical giants made quick work of entering the IMC outpost, sweeping through its corridors. Jake heard them shout between themselves in the silence between himself and the Pilot. He heard the report of the Grunts finding his dead team-mates. Their deaths signalled by a simple 'friendlies down'. Jake shook his head. They weren't just friendlies, not to him. They'd been brothers-in-arms, true comrades that you could only receive from the trials of battle. Truly, Goblin's had been a brotherhood forged in battle. Jake felt saddened that he was the only surviving member.

An IMC Atlas made its way over to the pair of soldiers, snapping Lincoln out of his thoughts. The hatch opened and the Titan knelt on the ground, another Pilot stepping gracefully out, dressed quite similarly to the first man, but somehow differently. The man gave Jake a long look, up and down, echoing the first man's response.

"Captain." The first Pilot greeted as the second one approached. The Captain nodded to the Pilot, then focused his attention on Jake.

"You look like shit, son. What the hell happened?" The Pilot asked.

Jake cast his eyes down as he recounted what had happened to the man, who's Titan had since stood up and was now watching guard over the outpost, along with the other seven IMC Titan's. Lincoln heard the man hum in a hint of praise when Jake told him about how he had fought two Militia Pilots and come out on top. It drew a gaze from the first Pilot, but he said nothing. Once Lincoln had finished his run-down of the mission, there was a moment of pregnant pause between the three men. Unexpectedly, the first Pilot spoke up.

"You say you fought two Pilots – and won?" He asked; signs of disbelief in his tone. Lincoln nodded. "Well, shit." He turned to the Captain. "Either this Grunt just got a handy helping of divine intervention to survive that shit-storm, sir." He turned his helmet to regard Jake.

"Or?" The Captain said, urging the first man to finish his line of thought.

"Or… we might have a PTP candidate on our hands, wouldn't you say, sir?"

Lincoln narrowed his eyes in confusion. What the hell was a PTP, and why would he be a candidate for it? But he heard the Captain hum in thought, nodding slowly after a few moments.

"I think you might be correct, Turner. We might just have a potential Pilot in our midst." The man said, his tone revealing a small amount of mirth.

Lincoln's eyes widened in realisation. Him, a Pilot? That was insane. He was just a Grunt. A run-of-the-mill soldier just serving his superiors as part of a bigger picture, he definitely wasn't Pilot material. Surely, they weren't actually considering this?

"Well, it's decided, rookie." The Captain announced, pacing a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to the big boy club." He chuckled, turning to face the other Pilot. "Turner, seeing as you were the one that suggested it, why don't you take the rookie here under you wing? I bet you'll get along famously." The Pilot told Turner, who visibly shifted in mild annoyance at receiving his orders about training Jake. "Take him back to the Argonaut, and get his wounds checked out. Dismissed." The man said, turning towards the outpost to help in the sweep of the area.

"Yes, sir." Turner almost growled, as he turned away and walked towards a landed dropship; waiting to pick up the infantry and presumably return them to the carrier they had arrived from. "Let's go, rookie." He barked, and Lincoln quickly complied, falling in step with the bigger man as fast as he could manage, but Turner's long strides kept Jake at a very hasty pace in order to keep up.

"I didn't catch your name." Turner said in a rather flat voice.

"It's Jake." He replied. "Jake Lincoln."

"Alright, Lincoln." He spoke, stepping into the dropships bay, holding a strap on the ceiling for support. Jake did likewise, and the jump-ship quickly lifted off and began its ascent into the sky. "Let's see what you're made, shall we? The name's David, but you can call me Turner – or Lurch. I don't really care."

"Oh, and one more thing." Turner added. Jake raised an eyebrow. "Welcome to Hazard Squad."

Jake nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat as the ship accelerated into the clouds.

How the fuck was he going to become a Pilot?