MOBILE SUIT VARIATION
VOLUME 1
By yodaman
The year is 0079 (about to become 0080). The Earth Federation is on the verge of winning the one-year war with the ultimate victory in mind. They have made a solar weapon out of mirrors that, once used, will gather up the sun's energy and destroy one of Zeon's main bases, Solomon. You might think that Federation would've easily won the battle with their new weapon and one of their top pilots, Amuro Ray, leading the assault. But then, the unexpected happened. Reinforcements from Granada came and destroyed the weapon. Solomon was devastated, but the forces soon proved too much for the Federation. A retreat to Luna II but the Federation forces were destroyed before they could arrive to their destination. A few months, the Earth Federation surrendered to the Principality of Zeon. Most of the Federation members have accepted this change and are living peaceful lives under this new control, but not all are so submissive. A rebellion has usurped and the peace has broken once again. Lead by such famous Federation aces such as Tenneth A. Jung and Heinz Baer, the rebellion has made many strategic hits against Zeon. But now, in a small base in the depth of the Amazons, the trouble will begin once again.
CHAPTER I
The crimson lightning
Zeon Mobile Cruiser Chimera, Earth Orbit
"Admiral, we're ready to begin our descent," the pilot announced to the bridge.
"Thank you, lieutenant," Rear Admiral Kycilia Zabi replied. "Has California Base confirmed its intelligence?"
"Yes, ma'am," the radio technician answered. "Our escorts will be in position shortly and will meet us at the designated coordinates."
"Excellent. Have the mobile suits on standby. Tell the major that he may launch his company at his discretion," Kycilia told the radio operator. The woman turned to the inter-ship com to carry out her orders. Kycilia had supreme confidence in her mobile suit commander to make the correct decision on when to launch. Turning her attention to the pilot, she said, "Lieutenant, let's get underway, shall we? We can't keep the Feddies waiting, now can we?"
* * *
"Major Ridden, the admiral says you can launch at your discretion," the radio officer wearing Mobile Assault Force lieutenant's rank tabs said through the communications screen in the top left corner of the cockpit.
"Thanks, lieutenant. Ridden out." The lieutenant's face winked out of existence with the press of a button. Johnny "Crimson Lightning" Ridden leaned back in the cockpit of his MS-14B Gelgoog High Mobility Type. He felt decidedly uncomfortable. It wasn't the seat that was bothering him. He had had this particular machine for nearly a year and was as comfortable in it as he was in his pilot's normal suit. No, it was something else. Something...nagging at the edge of his mind, like a word on the tip of his tongue but couldn't remember.
Forget about it, Johnny. This is just another mission to wipe out the Feddies once and for all, he tried to reassure himself. He participated in literally dozens of similar missions to root out Feddies that continued to resist after the One Year War. In all of them Johnny had felt perfectly comfortable. Why should this one be any different?
You know why, a tiny voice whispered inside of him. It's because she is here. She is watching you, not from afar, safe from the battle, but right beside you.
As much as he hated to admit it, Johnny knew it was true. His greatest fear was that no matter how hard he fought, no matter how skillful he was, Lady Kycilia would die and that there would be nothing he could do to prevent it. It was that fear that drove him to train relentlessly and to be the very best mobile suit pilot he could be.
"Major, we've cleared the upper atmosphere and have joined our Gaw escorts," the radio technician said, reappearing on the communications screen.
"What sort of mobile suits are the Gaws equipped with?" Johnny asked. He knew the Earth Attack Force had to make do with older suits, but he hoped that they could spare a company of YMS-09 Prototype Doms to assist in the attack.
"Checking now, major," the woman replied. The screen went blank for a few moments, then she reappeared. "They say that they're carrying a full company of YMS-09D Dom Tropical Test Types from Africa. The captain in charge asked to pass along a message from Major Greenwood. He says to give 'em hell, sir."
A smile came to Johnny's face. The one-eyed native of Side 4 was among the oldest pilots in the Zeon military and was one of Johnny's best friends despite the difference in birthplaces. "I surely will, lieutenant. Are we over the combat zone?"
"We're about fifty kilometers east of the target. The admiral wants the mobile suits to deploy at ten kilometers and go in on foot to avoid any AA interference," the radio operator replied. "That means you should be ready to launch in five minutes, major."
"I will. Ridden out." The screen once again winked out, leaving Johnny alone with just his thoughts.
Lon Kou was not a morning person. Before he consumed his morning pot of coffee, most Federal personnel were smart enough to stay out of his way. Hence when he stumbled into the mess hall, the line to the coffee promptly disappeared, allowing the disheveled 2nd lieutenant dressed only in a pair of slacks and white t-shirt to make a beeline for his beverage.
After pouring himself a cup, Lon made his way to the communication/radar room, the first stop in his morning rounds. Nothing had ever happened before, he mused as he sipped his coffee, so there was probably nothing wrong with getting started a little early so he could catch an extra five minutes in the shower.
"Good morning, lieutenant," the communications chief greeted Lon. Only he, Lon, and a warrant officer that sat hunched over the radar occupied the small room. The room was strictly utilitarian save for a handful of magazines that littered the consoles.
"'Morning, Kurt," Lon replied. "Anything new?"
"'Fraid not," Kurt answered. "Baer hasn't contacted us since he left last night, and the Zeeks haven't budged a centimeter."
"Hmm." Lon raised the cup to his lips and took another sip. Today was shaping up to be another quiet day, and in Lon's book that meant a good day.
"Contact!" the warrant officer practically screamed, startling Lon so much that he spilled his coffee all over his hands. "Sir, I've got a large heat source bearing straight for us!"
"Lemme see," Kurt said, bending over the radar screen. "Probably just a Fat Uncle coming in on a supply run or something."
Lon saw Kurt's eyes go wide. Lon asked, "What is it?"
"We've got a Zanzibar and three Gaws coming at us," the comm chief answered as he scrambled back to his console. Slapping a large red button labeled ALERT and flipping a switch that opened the PA system to the entire base, he said, "Red alert! Repeat, red alert! Everyone to your battle stations!"
Looking up to Lon, Kurt said, "You better get to your mobile suit, lieu—" but all that he saw was the door slamming shut.
* * *
"Lieutenant!" a mechanic objected as Lon pushed him out of the way and slid into the cockpit of his RGC-80 GM Cannon. "The left arm is still being rebuilt! You won't be able to handle the ninety mike-mike with one arm alone. Give me fifteen minutes and I can get it mounted."
"No can do," Lon said absently, already absorbed in getting his GM operational. He skipped over the shoulder straps and closed the cockpit hatch. The main monitor came to life, displaying nearly a score of RGM-79 GMs and GM Cannons. "Everybody check in."
All seventeen pilots checked in green and good to go. The green and brown GMs quickly made their way to the forest that surrounded the mountain base; Lon barely had time to disperse them into fire positions just as the four aerial behemoths came into visual range. The Zanzibar led the pack, flanked on either side and to the rear by a Gaw.
The maximum effective firing range of the 240mm cannon on the GM Cannon was just shy of two kilometers. Lon had the lead vessel in his scopes, thumb hovering over the trigger, just waiting for the right moment to land a 240mm rocket in the Zanzibar's bridge. Apparently the wait was too much for one of the other pilots, because a boom echoed in the forest as GM Cannon fired. Lon cursed the idiot that had prematurely fired, then cursed again when the shot went wide and completely missed the two and a half hundred meter long vessel.
The Zeeks returned the shot in kind. Yellow particle beams raked the forest, igniting the trees and underbrush. Several GMs exploded under the barrage, adding to the rapidly growing inferno. The flames spread quickly around the surviving handful of GMs, licking at the armor plating and leaving blackened char wherever they went.
"We gotta retreat!" one of the pilots cried through the radio, his GM clutching its MMP-80 almost nervously.
"Hold your ground!" Lon howled into the radio. "They can't see us through the flames! Your GM can handle the heat. Concentrate your fire on that Gaw at two o'clock!"
His words seemed to have some measure of success, as the GMs formed into something that resembled a military platoon. Lon squeezed off a shot at the Gaw as it began a wide turn that would bring its mega particle guns back into the equation. The 240mm rocket shot true and impacted against one of the thermonuclear jet engines. The explosion violently shook the carrier, but not enough to ground it. Half a dozen other rockets shot out as well and found marks on the wounded steel leviathan, further crippling it.
Even as cheers erupted through his radio, something nagged at Lon. Something wasn't quite right about the situation. There was something that should have been there but wasn't.
He figured it out a half-second before the base exploded on his rear monitors, raining steel shrapnel upon the mobile suits.
"Behind you!" Lon cried, but it was too late. The Zeon mobile suits—Doms, he thought—were already hacking through the remaining GMs with the 360mm bazooka that had been the hallmark of the MS-09 series. The GMs' superior titanium alloy availed them nothing as the rockets tore them apart one by one.
Lon snapped up his MMP-80 at one of the Doms, but a red and black blur to his right caught his attention. The computer immediately identified it as MS-14 Gelgoog. Lon's blood ran cold. He'd heard stories about what those machines could do, that they even surpassed the Gundam in strength. Panicking now, he fired his Vulcans at the taller machine, but it was already moving with its own counter. Amber beam sabers sprang to life at either end of the pommel that had appeared in the Gelgoog's hands. With speed and grace that Lon could never hope to match, the red and black suit decapitated his GM Cannon's head, then proceeded to dismember the right arm and shoulder cannon with equal speed and grace.
The last thing Lon saw was the beam saber filling his cockpit monitor with light before the heat consumed him.
VOLUME 1
By yodaman
The year is 0079 (about to become 0080). The Earth Federation is on the verge of winning the one-year war with the ultimate victory in mind. They have made a solar weapon out of mirrors that, once used, will gather up the sun's energy and destroy one of Zeon's main bases, Solomon. You might think that Federation would've easily won the battle with their new weapon and one of their top pilots, Amuro Ray, leading the assault. But then, the unexpected happened. Reinforcements from Granada came and destroyed the weapon. Solomon was devastated, but the forces soon proved too much for the Federation. A retreat to Luna II but the Federation forces were destroyed before they could arrive to their destination. A few months, the Earth Federation surrendered to the Principality of Zeon. Most of the Federation members have accepted this change and are living peaceful lives under this new control, but not all are so submissive. A rebellion has usurped and the peace has broken once again. Lead by such famous Federation aces such as Tenneth A. Jung and Heinz Baer, the rebellion has made many strategic hits against Zeon. But now, in a small base in the depth of the Amazons, the trouble will begin once again.
CHAPTER I
The crimson lightning
Zeon Mobile Cruiser Chimera, Earth Orbit
"Admiral, we're ready to begin our descent," the pilot announced to the bridge.
"Thank you, lieutenant," Rear Admiral Kycilia Zabi replied. "Has California Base confirmed its intelligence?"
"Yes, ma'am," the radio technician answered. "Our escorts will be in position shortly and will meet us at the designated coordinates."
"Excellent. Have the mobile suits on standby. Tell the major that he may launch his company at his discretion," Kycilia told the radio operator. The woman turned to the inter-ship com to carry out her orders. Kycilia had supreme confidence in her mobile suit commander to make the correct decision on when to launch. Turning her attention to the pilot, she said, "Lieutenant, let's get underway, shall we? We can't keep the Feddies waiting, now can we?"
* * *
"Major Ridden, the admiral says you can launch at your discretion," the radio officer wearing Mobile Assault Force lieutenant's rank tabs said through the communications screen in the top left corner of the cockpit.
"Thanks, lieutenant. Ridden out." The lieutenant's face winked out of existence with the press of a button. Johnny "Crimson Lightning" Ridden leaned back in the cockpit of his MS-14B Gelgoog High Mobility Type. He felt decidedly uncomfortable. It wasn't the seat that was bothering him. He had had this particular machine for nearly a year and was as comfortable in it as he was in his pilot's normal suit. No, it was something else. Something...nagging at the edge of his mind, like a word on the tip of his tongue but couldn't remember.
Forget about it, Johnny. This is just another mission to wipe out the Feddies once and for all, he tried to reassure himself. He participated in literally dozens of similar missions to root out Feddies that continued to resist after the One Year War. In all of them Johnny had felt perfectly comfortable. Why should this one be any different?
You know why, a tiny voice whispered inside of him. It's because she is here. She is watching you, not from afar, safe from the battle, but right beside you.
As much as he hated to admit it, Johnny knew it was true. His greatest fear was that no matter how hard he fought, no matter how skillful he was, Lady Kycilia would die and that there would be nothing he could do to prevent it. It was that fear that drove him to train relentlessly and to be the very best mobile suit pilot he could be.
"Major, we've cleared the upper atmosphere and have joined our Gaw escorts," the radio technician said, reappearing on the communications screen.
"What sort of mobile suits are the Gaws equipped with?" Johnny asked. He knew the Earth Attack Force had to make do with older suits, but he hoped that they could spare a company of YMS-09 Prototype Doms to assist in the attack.
"Checking now, major," the woman replied. The screen went blank for a few moments, then she reappeared. "They say that they're carrying a full company of YMS-09D Dom Tropical Test Types from Africa. The captain in charge asked to pass along a message from Major Greenwood. He says to give 'em hell, sir."
A smile came to Johnny's face. The one-eyed native of Side 4 was among the oldest pilots in the Zeon military and was one of Johnny's best friends despite the difference in birthplaces. "I surely will, lieutenant. Are we over the combat zone?"
"We're about fifty kilometers east of the target. The admiral wants the mobile suits to deploy at ten kilometers and go in on foot to avoid any AA interference," the radio operator replied. "That means you should be ready to launch in five minutes, major."
"I will. Ridden out." The screen once again winked out, leaving Johnny alone with just his thoughts.
Lon Kou was not a morning person. Before he consumed his morning pot of coffee, most Federal personnel were smart enough to stay out of his way. Hence when he stumbled into the mess hall, the line to the coffee promptly disappeared, allowing the disheveled 2nd lieutenant dressed only in a pair of slacks and white t-shirt to make a beeline for his beverage.
After pouring himself a cup, Lon made his way to the communication/radar room, the first stop in his morning rounds. Nothing had ever happened before, he mused as he sipped his coffee, so there was probably nothing wrong with getting started a little early so he could catch an extra five minutes in the shower.
"Good morning, lieutenant," the communications chief greeted Lon. Only he, Lon, and a warrant officer that sat hunched over the radar occupied the small room. The room was strictly utilitarian save for a handful of magazines that littered the consoles.
"'Morning, Kurt," Lon replied. "Anything new?"
"'Fraid not," Kurt answered. "Baer hasn't contacted us since he left last night, and the Zeeks haven't budged a centimeter."
"Hmm." Lon raised the cup to his lips and took another sip. Today was shaping up to be another quiet day, and in Lon's book that meant a good day.
"Contact!" the warrant officer practically screamed, startling Lon so much that he spilled his coffee all over his hands. "Sir, I've got a large heat source bearing straight for us!"
"Lemme see," Kurt said, bending over the radar screen. "Probably just a Fat Uncle coming in on a supply run or something."
Lon saw Kurt's eyes go wide. Lon asked, "What is it?"
"We've got a Zanzibar and three Gaws coming at us," the comm chief answered as he scrambled back to his console. Slapping a large red button labeled ALERT and flipping a switch that opened the PA system to the entire base, he said, "Red alert! Repeat, red alert! Everyone to your battle stations!"
Looking up to Lon, Kurt said, "You better get to your mobile suit, lieu—" but all that he saw was the door slamming shut.
* * *
"Lieutenant!" a mechanic objected as Lon pushed him out of the way and slid into the cockpit of his RGC-80 GM Cannon. "The left arm is still being rebuilt! You won't be able to handle the ninety mike-mike with one arm alone. Give me fifteen minutes and I can get it mounted."
"No can do," Lon said absently, already absorbed in getting his GM operational. He skipped over the shoulder straps and closed the cockpit hatch. The main monitor came to life, displaying nearly a score of RGM-79 GMs and GM Cannons. "Everybody check in."
All seventeen pilots checked in green and good to go. The green and brown GMs quickly made their way to the forest that surrounded the mountain base; Lon barely had time to disperse them into fire positions just as the four aerial behemoths came into visual range. The Zanzibar led the pack, flanked on either side and to the rear by a Gaw.
The maximum effective firing range of the 240mm cannon on the GM Cannon was just shy of two kilometers. Lon had the lead vessel in his scopes, thumb hovering over the trigger, just waiting for the right moment to land a 240mm rocket in the Zanzibar's bridge. Apparently the wait was too much for one of the other pilots, because a boom echoed in the forest as GM Cannon fired. Lon cursed the idiot that had prematurely fired, then cursed again when the shot went wide and completely missed the two and a half hundred meter long vessel.
The Zeeks returned the shot in kind. Yellow particle beams raked the forest, igniting the trees and underbrush. Several GMs exploded under the barrage, adding to the rapidly growing inferno. The flames spread quickly around the surviving handful of GMs, licking at the armor plating and leaving blackened char wherever they went.
"We gotta retreat!" one of the pilots cried through the radio, his GM clutching its MMP-80 almost nervously.
"Hold your ground!" Lon howled into the radio. "They can't see us through the flames! Your GM can handle the heat. Concentrate your fire on that Gaw at two o'clock!"
His words seemed to have some measure of success, as the GMs formed into something that resembled a military platoon. Lon squeezed off a shot at the Gaw as it began a wide turn that would bring its mega particle guns back into the equation. The 240mm rocket shot true and impacted against one of the thermonuclear jet engines. The explosion violently shook the carrier, but not enough to ground it. Half a dozen other rockets shot out as well and found marks on the wounded steel leviathan, further crippling it.
Even as cheers erupted through his radio, something nagged at Lon. Something wasn't quite right about the situation. There was something that should have been there but wasn't.
He figured it out a half-second before the base exploded on his rear monitors, raining steel shrapnel upon the mobile suits.
"Behind you!" Lon cried, but it was too late. The Zeon mobile suits—Doms, he thought—were already hacking through the remaining GMs with the 360mm bazooka that had been the hallmark of the MS-09 series. The GMs' superior titanium alloy availed them nothing as the rockets tore them apart one by one.
Lon snapped up his MMP-80 at one of the Doms, but a red and black blur to his right caught his attention. The computer immediately identified it as MS-14 Gelgoog. Lon's blood ran cold. He'd heard stories about what those machines could do, that they even surpassed the Gundam in strength. Panicking now, he fired his Vulcans at the taller machine, but it was already moving with its own counter. Amber beam sabers sprang to life at either end of the pommel that had appeared in the Gelgoog's hands. With speed and grace that Lon could never hope to match, the red and black suit decapitated his GM Cannon's head, then proceeded to dismember the right arm and shoulder cannon with equal speed and grace.
The last thing Lon saw was the beam saber filling his cockpit monitor with light before the heat consumed him.
