Chapter Text
Tai Lastimosa was getting old.
He knew because he could remember when the Militia was a bunch of pissed-off civilians looking to start a fight. Now they had ranks and a cohesive look and barracks that weren’t a cluster of tents and some guy’s barn. The uniforms and supplies were still a bit scraped together, sure, but it was a visible improvement over those desperate early days.
He’d always known, always said that they’d be able to pull it together if they were just given the opportunity. It felt good to know he’d been right.
“How’s the evacuation been going?” Lastimosa asked.
“Well as it can be with how stubborn some people are.” Commander Edwards rolled his eyes “You know how it is. Some people think they can take on the IMC all by themselves.”
“We all did at one point.” Still, he understood Edwards’ frustration. The Militia worked because they were unified. They couldn’t keep track of every lone wolf with a gun that wanted to do things on their own. That was why they tried to get civilians out of the way when the fighting got too close—tried being the important word. “I’ll see what I can do. How’s that coms tower coming?”
“We’ve got the MRVNs working on it, should be…” Edwards squinted in the direction of the slowly-forming structure, still spindly and precarious-looking. Lastimosa could think of five ways it’d offer a good vantage point, but all of them ran the risk of him busting an ankle if he wasn’t careful about it. Despite this, it looked like there was someone climbing near the top—someone who didn’t look like a MRVN. “Ah, shit, this again…hang on.”
Edwards jogged off towards the tower. Lastimosa wondered if he should get involved, figured probably not, but also decided that he had to know. He caught up with Edwards in time to hear the Commander start yelling: “Rifleman, what the fuck are you doing?”
That definitely wasn’t a MRVN up there, then.
The person—dark hair, beard, Rifleman’s uniform, young-looking—glanced down from where he was perched on the scaffolding. He had rigged up a rappelling system, but it was questionable looking at best. “Helping with the wiring, sir?” called down the Rifleman sheepishly.
“Get down here, Cooper!”
The Rifleman scaled back down the tower, easily as if he were walking down the street. Lastimosa actually double-checked to make sure the kid didn’t have any SRS markings on his armor. He was light on his feet for being just a Rifleman. He also looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “Sorry, Commander, the MRVNs were having trouble with…”
Edwards silenced the Rifleman with a stern glare. “Private, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but we need all hands on desk for this defense. I can’t risk you breaking your neck doing maintenance. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Understood, sir.” The Rifleman caught sight of Lastimosa. His eyes widened, and the already red flush of his ears grew redder. “Uhm.”
Edwards glanced over his shoulder. To his credit, he didn’t smile at the Rifleman’s discomfort, though he looked for a second like he wanted to. “You want to be useful? We still need help getting the fences shored up on the west side.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get on that.” The Rifleman made fleeting eye contact with Lastimosa, nodding to acknowledge his present. “Captain, sir.”
To his credit, the Rifleman didn’t run. It was a hasty retreat, but he was subtle about it. “Fucking hell, am I gonna have to start putting leashes on the privates?” Edwards rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, we were talking about the communication situation?”
“Yeah, I need to make contact with Renegade, make sure they’re ready for Titanfall.” He wanted to check up on BT, too. Not that the Titan needed it, but Lastimosa had promised he’d call when he was settled in.
You can’t treat him like he’s a child, Tai. Karen’s voice echoed in his head; he could picture that look she got when he was getting too sentimental about the Titans again. He’s the intellectual equivalent of an adult. You don’t have to coddle him.
If she were here, he’d repeat what he always said when she accused him of coddling BT: It’s not coddling. It’s being nice. He’s my partner.
And a damn good one at that.
“Well, this should be done before nightfall. You can give it a shot on the regular coms but I know what it’s like.”
“Unreliable and irritating?”
“I was thinking something a bit harsher, but yeah, that,” Edwards snorted. “We can check the latest intel while we’re at it. They have to have figured out something about where those bastards are coming from by now.”
That was the hope, but the IMC had been getting clever. They knew they couldn’t just overwhelm the Militia with numbers anymore. They had to get creative. They’d even started using some of the Militia’s own tactics against them. It meant the IMC was worse off than when this war had started, but it made things more difficult, too. It slowed the fighting down.
Sometimes Lastimosa wondered if time was something they had the luxury of. He’d never admit it—hell, none of them would. After Demeter, it was easier to carry on as if that had permanently severed contact with the core worlds until proven otherwise. But they all knew. The IMC’s home base could send backup one day. The only question was whether they’d find a free and fortified Frontier when they did or a still ongoing war that they could tip the scales of.
So, we’d better get our asses in gear and keep winning. Starting with this fight, then moving on to the next, until this thing was over or they were all dead.
The communications setup they had was barely able to make contact with the Renegade. The planet’s atmosphere made communication with anyone in orbit difficult unless you had the right signal booster. It was going to make calling for Titanfall a bitch, but he could handle it. Lastimosa had been through worse. “So far they’re still quiet. Doubt it’s going to stay that way for long.”
“Well, keep your head down for now,” said Captain Benson. “Remember, we’re the ace in the hole. As long as we have the element of surprise…”
“I know, I know.” Two pilots dropping in out of nowhere could do wonders for your odds. “I’m just a visiting officer, nothing special. Hey, BT, how are you doing?”
“Intact and ready for combat,” BT replied, his voice a low rumble. “Waiting on your word, pilot. Are you all right?”
“So far, so good. Just hoping the communications tower gets set up before things get hairy.”
No response.
“Hello?” Lastimosa tested the connection. “BT? Benson?”
Nothing.
“Shit.” Well, guess that was that until that coms tower was up. At least MRVNs didn’t need to sleep, so he wouldn’t have to worry about nightfall slowing their progress.
Until then, he had intel files to go over, and a possible recon expedition to plan. He could call BT once the coms tower was up and running—assuming the IMC didn’t decide to finally make an appearance and ruin his entire day.
He didn’t want it to happen. But Lastimosa knew there were no guarantees in war. Better to plan for the worst and not have it happen than pray the worst didn’t come and be unprepared when it did.