Disclaimer: I do not own the Stargate franchise, nor the Evangelion franchise, nor do I claim to. The Stargate franchise is owned by MGM, the Evangelion franchise is owned by Gainax Studios, the original characters and concepts in this story are obviously owned by myself, the US President that appears in this tale... well, he's owned by a completely different company all together, but you won't be finding out which one until the next chapter.
Author's Notes: There's a glossary of terms now on my profile page for this story, feel free to look at it at any time. Also, I finally figured out why I like Eva so much, because there isn't a single character on the cast list outside of Seele that I don't want to see achieve their goals or get a great big old hug – heck, I even want to see Gendo reunited with Yui, if only so she can slap some sense into him.
Act I: Opening Moves
Part I: The Anvil
Cheyenne Mountain Complex
Colorado, United States of America
August 3rd, 2015
0754 hours Mountain Standard Time
The day started out like any other at the US Air Force base situated in Cheyenne Mountain. In fact, as one might soon notice after spending any amount of time working there, despite everything that went on in the world the entrance to the massive underground complex always seemed remain the same and never seemed to change – not even any rust or changing of the guard, by the looks of things. It was a comforting thought, and one that calmed Colonel Cameron Mitchell's mind as he drove his car into the complex and along the long, winding, blast reducing, corridors.
On the inside though, Cheyenne Mountain had gone through many, many, upgrades, mostly this was in regards to the complex's size. The massive facility now extended well over three miles into the ground, skirting the boundaries of what was financially feasible for the still sovereign United States of America in the process. The biggest additions to the complex came in the form of the bio-mech support structures, the single largest of these being the Proving Ground, a gigantic room filled with sturdy metal plates and wide open spaces that provided the perfect . . . well, proving ground, for the resident 138ft giant fighting robot, with more on the way.
Mitchell chuckled at the thought moments before he found a parking space. To think, just ten years ago the very thought of using giant fighting robots, and cyborg ones at that, in combat sounded utterly ridiculous to him . . . Actually, come to think of it, it still did. Why were they using the GFRs again? They were a massive target, they couldn't secure buildings as well as infantry, they were beyond overkill against tanks, they cost twice as much as a BC-304C, and to top it all off they had some of the most stupidly designed controls ever. Ah yes, that's why they were using them, because their source in Area 51, the designer of the bio-mechs, had made it clear that the enemies they going to be facing soon were going to be using an "Absolute-Terror Field" – thankfully, usually only called an AT-field – and they needed something to project their own AT-field to cancel out and bring down the enemy's, otherwise their opponent would just cheat and warp reality so that the "bullets" curved around it, and only the bio-mech could produce an AT-field right now.
What really got Mitchell's gears whirling and grinding though was why they even needed to fight their new foes in the first place. They needed to fight them because the Katsuragi Expedition decided to poke the big, glowing, sleeping giant with a large stick and blow up most of Antarctica, causing what simply became known as the Antarctica Blast – in the US at least, every country had their own name for it. Still, whatever name people decided to call it the results were clear: a large portion of the Antarctic ice shelf melting, a gigantic hole in the ground, and earthquakes up and down every major fault line on the planet. Actually, things probably would have been a lot worse had the Ancients not somehow anticipated an event like it and built a ring of shield generators on the continent to contain the blast. That was of little comfort to the people along the fault lines though, especially if they were in California or Chile, both of which were simply devastated by the ensuing earthquakes and aftershocks. The fact that a lot of those earthquakes had caused tsunamis probably didn't help.
"Good morning, Colonel."
"Good morning to you too, Walter," Mitchell answered back to the Chevron Guy as he passed him, his mind still on autopilot.
All told, 2.2 billion people died as a result of the disaster and its aftermath, mostly from disease. They were lucky though, people had focused more on repairing their own countries then striking at their neighbors, with few exceptions. Unfortunately, one of those instances of grand theft resources occurred on the continent of North America between the USA and Mexico, but fortunately said dispute was resolved quickly, albeit violently. But that wasn't the end of it,diplomatically a massive battle between proponents of isolationism and world government raged in the UN: the US and Russia chose isolationism, Europe chose world government, the British Commonwealth chose to make their own alliance, the Middle East and everyone else was split right down the middle. Needless to say, the UN building in New York was now a convention center.
Still, with all that was going on in the world, it really was amazing that the SGC wasn't effected all that much by what was happening outside the mountain. The main "problem" they had with the outside world was their rivalry with their Russian counterparts, it had started with them recovering the Giza stargate at the bottom of the ocean and briefly sending out their own teams to explore the universe, continued with them leasing the gate to the SGC with the condition of a Russian SG team being on staff, escalated when the SGC finally bought back the gate with a combination of ship designs and technology, and snowballed out of control from there to memetic proportions. It was now pretty much a running joke among the people of the Milky Way and Pegasus galaxies that the Russians and Americans were always trying to one-up each other, and always seemed to run into each other at just the wrong moments – heck, there were even rumors going around that the Ruuskies had managed to develop their own GFR, but that would be ridiculous.
"Ah, Colonel Mitchell, right on time," said the voice of Lieutenant General Hank Landry, breaking Mitchell out of his expositionary autopilot as he entered the control room.
"General, just the man I wanted to see. What was going on there?" Mitchell asked, pointing to the deactivating stargate.
"Our trade delegation to Hebridan ran into a bit of a snag while negotiating the newest contract between us and Tech Con Group," the aged General explained.
"Let me guess, the Russians?" Mitchell responded wryly.
"Yep. Landed one of their Korelev-class battle cruisers at the local spaceport, waltzed right into the company's headquarters, and started negotiating for enough large-scale transports and upgrade kits to fill Oshkosh. Completely sidelined Lockheed-Martin and their engine contract," Landry answered as he turned and started to walk up the stairs to the briefing room, Mitchell in tow the whole way. "But that's not why you wanted to see me, is it?"
"No, sir, it isn't," Mitchell responded when they reached the top of the stairs.
"You wanted to ask about the whole deal with the GFRs again, didn't you?" Landry inquired knowingly as he passed the table.
"Yes sir, I did, and and if you'll allow it let me first start off by saying once again how much I disapprove of the idea of using children to pilot these things," Mitchell started as they passed through the doorway to Landry's office, Mitchell closing the door soon after.
"No, I won't allow it," Landry responded as he sat down in his chair.
"Sir?" Mitchell queried in a confused tone.
"Believe me, Colonel, I don't like this anymore then you do, probably even less, but we've been over this a million times. The Source's designs are inescapable on this, the bio-mechs must be piloted by a human child," Landry seemed to get pensive for a moment before continuing. "We've tried to give them as normal a life as possible, we've trained them as much as possible so that they'll be prepared, and we've outfitted their war machines with the best technology available so that they'll be ready when the time comes – assuming the documents written by Mayborne and Wier's mutual friend are accurate."
"That's still not good enough, sir," Mitchell countered.
"No, no it isn't, but like I've said before: if the documents turn out to be accurate then the threat will appear within the next two weeks and will exhaust their forces in one year. After that we can just mothball the GFRs and hand the pilots an honorable discharge, end of story," Landry replied before getting a mirthful look on his face. "But we've been over all this before years ago, you're just trying to get one last shot in before fireworks start on the off chance that either I'll listen to you for once, or to provide some exposition in case Dr. Felgar's theory that 'God writes fanfiction' turns out to be true."
"Hit the nail right on the head, sir. However, in defense of Dr. Felgar's theory, the 'Noodle Incident of 2011' really was quite disturbing," Mitchell admitted in the O'Neill-ish tone he used when trying to imitate his predecessor.
"No-one's going to doubt that, but the fact still remains that as distasteful as it is it's all perfectly legal since the executive order allowing people of any age to join the military as bio-mech pilots was signed. However, since you're so interested in the pilots and their mechs, I have a job for you and SG-1," the General said with a hint of mirth.
"Ready and willing, sir," Mitchell responded quickly, the previous conversation temporarily forgotten.
"Glad to hear it. Your mission will be to accompany bio-mech pilot Airman First Class Donald Reeves to the Gamma Site where you and he will stay to oversee the final stages of production for the second GM-206, codename Baldur, I'll have specifics for you and the rest of SG-1 at the mission briefing at 1400 hours. Dismissed."
"Sir," Mitchell saluted before leaving the office.
Landry starred at the door where Mitchell had left for several seconds before sighing to himself. He was getting too old for this. Heck, they were all getting too old for this, there was hardly a member of the original SG teams younger then 40, and he himself would be turning 70 that October. Of course the Stargate Program had been in operation for 18 years, which meant that like-it-or-not those same kids the Colonel was looking to get out of the military would be taking over his job soon . . . but not that soon. The senior members of the SGC still had a lot of fight left in them, and it would be a cold day in Hell before they gave up the best damn job in the world just because of a simple thing like aging. Those kids could take his job when they earned it, and that was a long way off.
Down in the bowels of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex and many hours later one of the oft-talked about children, the pilot of America's sole operational bio-mech, was playing hard to get.
"Leona!" Command Chief Master Sergeant Christopher Ramsey called out into the cavernous hanger. It was big, no doubt about that, half a mile across and over 400' tall, it was designed specifically to house the gigantic forms of the GM-206 Wolverine. Well, house a GM-206, currently Tyr was the only GFR there, but it was still a very impressive sight even if it was mostly submerged up to the upper slope in its armor in Multi-Purpose Artificial Amniotic Fluid (specifically, XL-337). Still, as big as the place was there were only so many places for someone to hide in, especially when there was a skeleton crew of technicians in the massive hanger.
"You looking for Senior Airman Hancock, sir?" one of the technicians asked.
"Yes Staff Sergeant, I am. Have you seen her?" Ramsey responded in a slightly annoyed tone.
"She's in the command pod now, sir. Last I saw she was listening to something on her MP3 player, probably explains why she didn't hear you."
"Thank you, Sergeant."
"You're welcome, sir," the technician said before rounding up the crew to move on to their next job.
Of course you're in the command pod, Ramsey thought to himself before moving amongst the retreating technicians towards said plug. It had always been like this, almost as soon as Leona Hancock had been able to run and definitely as soon as she knew she was going to be a GFR pilot she had spent as much time as she could hanging around Tyr. Heck, she had even slept in the command pod on more then a few occasions, much to the bemusement of the bio-mech's AI. All that said, it really came to no surprise that his suspicions and the tech's words were confirmed as soon as Ramsey looked inside the command pod, still in its cradle on the 'water-level' scaffolding and platforms.
"Airman!" Ramsey shouted as soon as he was at the entry plug's hatch, causing the dirty blond-haired girl inside to jump and slightly scatter the papers she was working on. "Airman, is there any particular reason you did not heed my call?"
"Yes, sir," the teenaged Air Force tykebomb answered automatically in a crisp tone. "I was doing my homework in here, while listening to one of General Carter's lectures on applied wormhole physics, and I got too caught up in my own actions and thoughts."
The Sarge nodded slightly at that. "Well, there wasn't too much harm done this time, so I'll let you off with a warning, just don't let it happen again."
"Yes, sir," Hancock snapped, still on auto-pilot.
"Good. Listen, pack up here and get into your NSU, you've got some sims scheduled in half-an-hour, I'll follow you along shortly," Ramsey stated, moving to the side after he had said that to allow Hancock to get up and out. He stood there for several more minutes, watching her go before going to check on some of some of Tyr's systems.
"You are worried, Sergeant Ramsey," an old baritone stated simply.
"Yeah, Tyr. Yeah I am," Ramsey said softly.
"About Airman Hancock?" the old voice asked.
"Yep," the Sergeant answered honestly.
The giant cyborg suddenly turned its head to look towards the digital tiger pattern camouflage wearing human in front of it. "We are ready, Sergeant Ramsey. You have taught her well, and have been an exemplary commanding officer. You have nothing to fear . . . Well, except fear itself," it added that last part with a hint of humor.
"I know, Tyr. I know," Ramsey sighed. "But it's still nerve-racking to have to send her and the others out to fight and die because we couldn't think of an alternative solution to the Source's crazy plan."
The massive battlemech seemed to become pensive for a few pregnant seconds before replying. "I have overheard some people calling you and the commanders of this base monsters for what you do, but by your very words and actions you prove them wrong – you do not enjoy the prospect of sending children into battle one bit. However, if it will give you some solace, there are people in this nation's history who have served in combat, without the protection of several feet of trinium-neutronium-carbon-titanium armor and the best damn AI on Earth, at much younger ages then Leona and they turned out just fine, even winning a few medals in the process."
"You know, considering just how many medals are awarded posthumously that doesn't exactly inspire confidence in me," Ramsey quipped.
The titan born of a kleptomania-like brand of American industrialism gave a shrug that would have been barely noticeable on a human. "In this world you take what comfort you can. Besides, the chances of everything aligning in such a way to kill her is astronomical. Nay, it would be far easier to believe that she would get arrested for assaulting a congressman that tried to get her out of the unit."
Ramsey had to laugh at that. "Oh, there's no doubt about that! She'd probably nail 'em right in the jaw while giving them a philosophy lecture. . . . Speaking of congressmen, it just came down the wire that Senator Vargas of Sonora will be visiting here at 0900 hours on Thursday, so try and put on a good show for him while he's here."
"I will do so, Sergeant. You're going to be informing Airman Hancock of this as well, I assume? Most likely after her sim run?" the cyborg did a bizarre imitation of somebody raising an eyebrow.
"Indeed," Ramsey replied simply, using the SGC's most popular catchphrase.
"Very well, if that is all, I shall return to the inevitable task of military bureaucracy, and shall await yet more insults being thrown at this fine establishment by its 'superiors'."
Ramsey just shook his head in bemusement before walking off. "See you later, Tyr."
U.S. Navy P-3C Orion
Somewhere above the former Antarctic Ice Shelf
August 4th, 2015
0223 hours Unknown Standard Time
"Found anything yet?" the pilot asked over the Orion's in-crew radio frequency.
"Nothing yet, sir," one of the sensor operators answered honestly.
"All right then, we're moving on to the next part of the grid," the pilot said before banking the turboprop plane and its heavily upgraded sensors off towards to nearby lake.
"There's gotta be something out here," the co-pilot muttered, his eyes scanning over the rocky, slimy, and still damn cold surface of Earth's southernmost continent. The effects of the Antarctic Blast were still plainly visible across the surface of the landmass almost anywhere you went on it, and varied from the gigantic crater that took up most of the India-ward side of the continent, to the newly active volcanoes dotting the mountain ranges, to the massive patch of a species of bioluminescent algae that had been exposed to the sun after a million years that the Orion and its crew were flying over at that very moment on their way to the shore. It really was quite ironic, a lot of the scientific community had assumed that there would be nothing left alive on the once-frozen continent after the Blast, human or otherwise, but in reality it turned out there had been an entire ecosystem designed for the Antarctic cold and total lack of sun hiding just beneath the ice cap, and when the immense heat and concussive force of the Blast melted said ice cap . . . well, it was like hooking a nuke reactor up to a sports car. All right, so the life was almost totally alien and beyond freaky at times, but hey, life was life. "Hyperspace window signatures don't just show up on their own," the co-pilot continued.
"Sure they do, Oscar. It's called a sensor ghost, or systems' glitch, depending on what flew up your transistor," another one of sensor operators snarked in a helpful tone.
"Cut the chatter, Johnson!" the first operator snipped before something on his caught his eye. "Whoa! Whoa! I think I got something! Mike, get us out over the water, quickly!"
"Rodger that," the pilot acknowledged before accelerating to 400 knots. "Hey, just so we're not flying blind here, what exactly is it that you picked up?"
"It was a trench, big one, looked pretty recent, like something had plowed into the ground to create it within the last couple of hours," the first said excitedly just before he double-checked his readings again. "Bingo! I was right! One crash trench, 100 meters below the surface of the lake . . . God Almighty, will you look at that? It looks like they tore up the whole lake bottom on their way down."
"Any sign of what made it?" one of the flight engineers asked curiously.
". . . No, I'm not picking up anything on any of the scanners," one of sensor operators responded after a moment. "They might me using a cloaking device though, the trench curves up at both ends so they obviously had enough power left to pull up, whether or not they're sitting down there though is anybody's guess."
"What do you say we pop a few sonobuoys then, and see if we can't rile them up enough to give away their positions?" the TACCO asked with a slightly manic grin, the thrill of the hunt finally getting to him after several hours flying around without finding anything.
"I think that's an excellent idea," the pilot replied evenly. "Hey, Rookie, fire off a couple of those things and let's see if we can get a few pings on them?"
"Can do, sir," the enlisted IFT acknowledged.
Outside the Orion made a diagonal sweep of the large lake and fired off a trio of sonobuoys into the water from its underside. As soon as the buoys left the quad-engined plane they deployed their parachutes, and began their slow decent towards the water. When the buoys did finally reach the water with a splash they dropped down several feet before deploying a yellow flotation device, while the contents of the buoy's main body continued to fall, at least until it reached the end of its line. Then the casing began to fall away, leaving an increasingly lengthening hextent of white poles, until eventually it had nothing left to reveal and fell away onto the bottom of the lake. Without the constraint of the casing the poles fell down as well, trailing conductive wires with bright orange balls around them as they did so, until eventually they formed a net-like web of sensors that looked remarkably like the Pentagon in Washington D.C. from above. Of course, none of that could be seen beneath the waves of a hot spring lake in the Antarctic winter.
"Anything?" the pilot asked expectantly.
"Nothing," the second sensor operator responded. "Look, we're hitting this place with every kind of sensor I can think of, and we're not getting squat. No cloaking system is that good, so it's very likely that whatever made that trench is long gone by now."
". . . All right then," the pilot said dejectedly, the sent of the prey once again lost in his mind. "Get the SGC on the line and tell them to look out for possible off-world infiltrators. We'll finish up our original search pattern, and then we'll head back to McMurdo. Agreed?"
"Agreed!" came back the unanimous reply.
Hancock family home, Peterson Air Force Base
Colorado Springs, Colorado, United States of America
August 4th, 2015
1515 hours Mountain Standard Time
"I'm home!" a small fourteen year old girl called out as soon as she entered the small mass-produced home in the AFB suburbs, identical to its companions save for the M-60 Patton-shaped lawn gnomes.
"Hello dear, back so soon?" Mrs. Sgt. Hancock asked cheerfully from the kitchen. Normally the young Airman would have gone straight to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex after school and would stay there until 2000 at night, so it was quite the surprise to see her home not long after school ended.
"Yeah, I called into the base to confirm it, and apparently I'm off for the next two weeks baring some emergency," Leona confirmed with a hint of sadness in her voice.
Mrs. Hancock just shook her head at this before going back to prepping the chicken pot pie. Leona had always been a workaholic for as long as they knew each-other, and while it was quite odd in the grand scheme of things for someone who was essentially a child soldier to be so enthusiastic about their job, Leona herself had always been the one to point out, and quote, "I pilot a giant fighting robot. Giant robots negate all angst." Which of course only made people worry about her and her psychological condition even more.
"You know dear, this could actually be a very good opportunity," Mrs. Hancock said chipperly.
"Really, how so?" Leona asked in a voice that somehow mixed in equal amounts of sarcasm, I-don't-care, and genuine curiosity.
"Well, I am on leave for the next two weeks, and now so are you. This could be the perfect time for some mother-daughter bonding time," Mrs. Hancock answered as she enacted her vengeance on a cucumber that had been especially hard to acquire at the market.
"Oh, joy!" Leona exclaimed. OK, not really, but 'Actually Mom, I'd rather spend my free time tending to paperwork and doing PT then with you' really doesn't sound that good.
Mrs. Hancock sighed at her adopted daughter's false happiness. She could take the disappointment, really, but it was just plain insulting that Leona felt the need to lie to her. Whatever misgivings she had though, she didn't voice them. "I was thinking we could go for a three day hike up in the mountains after you get home from school tomorrow, how does that sound?"
"That sounds great, mom," Leona lied.
"Leona . . ." Mrs. Hancock began in a tone that oozed disappointment before being interrupted by the door opening yet again.
"Hey! We're home!" twin voices called out in unison.
"Hello, squirts," Leona stated on autopilot.
"Hey, Big Sis!" the two voices, one male and one female, once again called out in perfect synchronization. "What'cha doin' home so so early?"
Before Leona could answer the male of the pair answered his/her own question. "Oh! I know! Her superiors must have finally smartened up and gotten her out of whatever secret project they got her working on to save face, probably after she punched a senator."
The tykebomb in the room felt her urge to kill her younger brother rising, but before she could act out on her various snarky instincts her sister intervened. "That's crazy, Nathan! Leona doesn't work on any secret projects, she works on deep space radar telemetry . . . or at least she did, but it looks like the higher-ups discovered her grades."
"Nathan, Sarah, that's enough. The reason your sister is home early is that she is on leave for the next two weeks, same as me. Now either you can go finish up the homework that you surely have, or you can stick around while your sister uses her superior strength and skill to beat you to the point of screaming 'uncle'," Mrs. Hancock stated evenly, even as Leona gave her younger siblings a predatory grin.
"Right! See ya later, Leona!" the nine year olds exclaimed in unison before leaving the room.
"You two better have your homework done by the time your father gets home or there'll be hell to pay!" Mrs. Hancock yelled after the twins. "And don't you start going anywhere either, Senior Airman Leona Fairchild Hancock. You're going to stay here and help me prepare this dinner, and then you are going to eat the dinner with the rest of the family. Do I make myself clear?"
The Airman in question opened her mouth to reply . . .
"And don't you dare say you'd rather have some of those MREs that you've been stocking in the fridge! No daughter of mine is going to willingly eat MREs when there's perfectly good normal food available, and I don't give a damn if your taste buds are actually deformed to the point where you like their taste."
. . . And then she promptly closed it, relenting to the superior authoritative powers of her mother. She then silently took up position at her mother's side and began to quietly help her with the meal, at least until she started humming Beethoven's "9th Symphony" to help pass the time in her head.
"No Leona, the curry powder doesn't go in the bread dough."
"Yes, ma'am."
Undisclosed location, somewhere on the American East Coast
August 5th, 2015
2:03 P.M.
"Well, this sucks," Prime Minister Shepley Jones of Australia stated bluntly, dropping the folder in his hands as he did so.
"That's one way to put it," President Dimintri Vladikovsky responded. "The loss of Argentina to the United Nations is a great setback considering the country's lithium deposits, but it's not a total loss."
"Yes, except that there's all that land that the free nations of the world have lost yet again," Jones pointed out.
"My point exactly. The UN is too spread out, they're the largest government body in history and there's no way they can regulate all that land," Vladikovsky shot back.
"They don't need to. Hell, they hardly regulate Africa as it is, save for the occasional bombing run," Jones retorted.
As the two supposedly mature world leaders continued to bicker about whether or not Argentina voting to join the UN would help or hurt their cause General Lai Shu of the Republic of China merely rubbed his head in frustration. It wasn't as big a loss as when the UN had absorbed the People's Republic of China, bringing an end to the ten year long war between them and the nation formally known as Taiwan, but it was still one more population group and military that would be joining their much feared enemies, and one more country that would have its resources dedicated to funding the UN's massive war machine. Sure, the countries that had members in the secret alliance known informally as Widerstand had access to intergalactic travel and a plethora of alien technology, but that was little use when their terrestrial enemy had somehow gained teleportation jamming technology and the only weapons they could deploy from space tended to be unsuitable for one reason or another. "Has everyone here has gotten word back from their fleets about large-scale attacks by the Lucian Alliance on strategically vital positions?" he asked suddenly.
At this the two bickering leaders stopped their argument immediately. "Why, yes, as a matter of fact the Combined Commonwealth Starfleet did report such a thing just a few hours ago," the Prime Minister of Australia responded in a polite but slightly surprised tone.
"Our fleet said that there was a good chance they'd be tied in engagements for at least a week," Vladikovsky said, continuing the PM's train of thought. "You must have very good intelligence in our fleets to have discovered such a thing. Am I also to assume this has happened to your fleets as well?"
The General nodded.
Sensing where the conversation was going the only other person at the table that day, the President of the United States, spoke up in his usual aggressive manor. "Now wait just a God-damned second, do you mean to tell me that there's absolutely no ships in any of our fleets able to defend Earth right now?"
Everyone at the table got a look that told the POTUS that he was absolutely right.
"Ah! That's not true!" Jones exclaimed suddenly. "What about the Israelis' and Koreans' ships?"
"Last my people heard the I.N.S. Judea was on its way to set up an outpost on a stargate-less planet and would not be back for some time, and the R.O.K.S. Sohn Won-yil is currently undergoing extensive repairs following operations against pirates near P4X-7182," the General answered, his tone seeming to get graver by the moment.
"Well somebody better get on the line with Jerusalem and tell them to call their ship back, otherwise we're going to have to rely on the Ancient Chair Weapon to defend the planet, and might I remind you that it still hasn't been tested in an actual combat situation since the Wraith rammed into the damn thing all those years ago," POTUS stated in a voice that was practically shouting.
"That's not exactly true," Vladikovsky said cryptically. "But you're right, Mr. President. At the moment almost all of our mobile defenses are currently occupied, and coincidentally all of it is happening within the same week," he paused for dramatic effect. "I smell a rat, but whom?"
"We should dedicate a good portion of our intelligence agencies to finding out who that is. This could just be a coincidence, but it could also be the first rumblings of a true partnership between the UN and the Lucian Alliance, or something else entirely. I suggest we find out just which one it is gentlemen," the sole non-head of state at the meeting that day expounded. "Agreed?"
"Agreed," came back the small choir of responses.
"Now, if that's everything, I suggest we close up for the day," Jones said in a slightly tired tone. A few seconds of silence followed, then Jones disappeared, followed soon after by Lai and Vladikovsky, leaving only POTUS at the now truly empty table.
The President, for his part, merely sat calmly in his seat considering all that had happened up to that point for one final time before all hell broke loose. When he was just a boy growing up on a farm in Idaho he had imagined becoming president to help rid the world of Communism, but then the Union collapsed and Communism had begun to fall apart across the globe, leaving him in a bit of a quandary about what to do in his as yet unrealized political career. Enter the Antarctica Blast and the UN's rise to power; the soon to be president instantly recognized the signs that the super-national body was rapidly heading down the road to that hated red ideology and organized and begun laying the groundwork for a grass-roots movement to oppose the UN, which soon lent itself to a Senate seat, which soon lent itself – if only barely – to a victory in the 2012 presidential election, which soon lent itself to him finding out that not only was there alien life out there in the cosmos – to say nothing of the absolute genius that was the Stargate Program – but that there was in existence a secret cabal of various people from across the globe called Widerstand that was dedicated to not only stopping the massive global hyperpower that dominated the world in its tracks. It was certainly more subversive then he would have liked, but it had also certainly been useful to his goals, and it had allowed him to set the stage for the next – and possibly final – act of humanity's play.
Somewhere in the Colorado Rockies
August 6th, 2015
11:20 P.M. Mountain Standard Time
"You still awake, honey?" Mrs. Hancock asked her daughter softy as she walked towards her.
"Yeah, yeah I guess I am," the still very much awake teen soldier answered.
"Any particular reason you're still up then?" Mrs. Hancock inquired with a hint of mirth in her voice, putting her arm around her daughter as she did so.
"I don't know," Leona admitted after several seconds of complete silence. "I've just got feeling going through my bones like something's going happen soon … Heh, you probably think I'm being completely nuts here, don't you?" she asked ironically, twisting her neck towards her mother as she did so and causing her sulfur-colored eyes to catch the moonlight in such a way that it amazingly didn't look totally terrifying.
"No, of course I don't, sweetie," Mrs. Hancock answered honestly. Don't and couldn't. Despite the tension that cropped up between the two Mrs. Hancock genuinely loved her daughter and wanted only the best for her, and despite what some doctors had said she honestly couldn't believe that the little girl in front of her was anything other then perfectly sane. "Lot's of people have had those same kind of feelings all throughout history, and a lot of times those 'gut-instincts' have been right," she continued.
"So, what? Humans have some sort sixth sense about these sort of things?" Leona asked incredulously.
"I suppose you could say that," Mrs. Hancock answered, returning them to the silence that reigned before. "So, are you enjoying yourself yet?"
Leona got one of her snarky looking faces on for a second before answering, as if daring her mother to accept the answer. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I am, but don't…" she was cut off by the ringing of her cell phone, something that she quickly remedied by snatching the offending instrument out of her coat pocket and flipping it open. The caller ID proudly proclaimed that the call was from BMP Cmnd, and upon seeing this the young pilot could do little to contain the look of absolute joy that covered her features. "Hancock here," she answered as professionally as possible. ". . . I see. Very well, beam me over in thirty seconds then."
"An emergency I take it?" Mrs. Hancock asked knowingly.
"Yeah! Something big came out of the Sea of Japan and is attacking a pretty big UN force arrayed against it," Leona proclaimed with all the excitement of a eight year old finding out they got a puppy for Christmas.
"Well, I suppose this is it," Mrs. Hancock said before hugging her daughter tightly for what she prayed would not be the final time. "Please come home safely," she whispered, her tone betraying the heartfelt worry inside her.
"Don't worry mom, I'm not going to die out there," Leona said with absolute finality as she distanced herself from her mother.
"Well, still . . . good hunting," Mrs. Hancock finally decided on.
"Thank you," the five-foot-one-inch teen soldier acknowledged a split second before she disappeared in a flash of blue light.
Mrs. Hancock just stood there in the clearing for a few more minutes, silently absorbing her daughter's call and wondering what the world for them would have been like if her or her husband had never been assigned to the lower levels of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Of course, given the chance to change the past – which was a distinct possibility at the SGC – she wouldn't change one thing. After all, if it hadn't been her child selected to be the pilot of a giant cyborg engine of destruction it would have been someone else's, and only God knew if they would have been anywhere close to the expert pilot that Leona was.
With one final sigh of resignation Mrs. Hancock turned back to the camp and starting picking things up. She wouldn't be going back to sleep anytime soon, and she might as well get back home so that she could watch the President's inevitable speech revealing the existence of alien life and the Stargate Program. It was definitely going to be a long day tomorrow.
Women pilot's locker room, Bio-Mech Program Section
Sub-level 31, Stargate Command
2331 hours, Mountain Standard Time
"What do you mean I'm not deploying?" Hancock practically shouted.
"I mean just that, Airman," CCM Ramsey responded. "Relations have never been good with the UN, and Japan is UN territory. So unless the blue caps decide to forget the last decade and a half of history between our two nations and let us assist in their operation you're not going anywhere."
"But if and when they do decide to let us help I should be ready to do so," Hancock reasoned.
"Indeed you should, which is why you're going to strip out of your civies, don a quick release jumpsuit and underwear, and then come back up to level 22 and watch the jackboots get their asses handed to them by the giant monster with the AT field on the Fox News Channel in the mess hall with the rest of us," Ramsey spoke in a tone that left no room for argument.
"Yes, sir," Hancock relented before waving Ramsey out of the room and changing. A minute and a half latter she was out and walking towards the elevator with the Sergeant.
Suruga Bay
Japan, United Nations
August 7th, 2015
1522 hours, Japan Standard Time
It was a peaceful day in Japan, the sun was shining, the air was clear, the cicada was singing, and there was an UN armored column of Type 74 tanks parked along the entirety of the Tomei Expy with their 105mm rifled guns pointed towards the Bay where, coincidentally, at least eight destroyers were stationed. They'd been warned about this day, they had prepared, and now they were about to test their skill and metal against the greatest threat mankind would ever know. They were hungry for blood, and they didn't have to wait long.
Out in the Bay the battle began with a start as a violet-colored lance pierced the U.N.S. Onami dead center, ripping apart the engine room and causing tons of fuel to spill into the ocean, before sharply jerking from side to side and splitting the hull of the Takanami-class destroyer in two before retracting down into the depths. Unlike in the movies the ship didn't immediately sink to the bottom of the sea, especially considering the cleanness of the cut, but that was of little comfort to the sailors on-board as their once proud vessel began its descent into Davy Jones' Locker. The attacker, for its part, decided on that moment to make itself known by lifting its form out of the water two hundred meters away from the sinking warship.
It was 190 feet tall with long gangly arms whose fingers fell past its knees, it skin was algae green, and it had sun bleached white bony-like protrusions all over its body that functioned as gill guards on its thighs, shoulder pads of Liefeld-ian proportions, a ribcage on its chest, and a bird-like mask that served as a face mounted right between the gigantic shoulder pads, but its most eye-catching feature was the glowing red orb in the exact center of its chest. It made a large impression on the forces arrayed against it, striking fear into the hearts of men, making children cry and women weep, and it also did a pretty good job of making itself the biggest target dummy on the island – as was evidenced by the hundred plus 105mm tank rounds flying towards it, which were quickly followed by quite a few 127mm autocannon rounds from the Onami's sister ships.
Unfortunately for the UN forces the stipulations of the various scientists connected with the American bio-mech program turned out to be entirely correct. As soon as rounds reached a certain point around the creature they hit the AT-field – acting much like the armor of a T-34 tank – and were deflected off at odd angles away from their target, and in some cases into their allies. The creature's retaliation was swift and brutal: a violet-colored directed energy weapon speared out from the giant's chest along the path set for it by its magnetic containment field and hit the front of the tank column before splitting into the shape of a crucifix in a somewhat clear attempt at psychological warfare, destroying yet more tanks in the process. It then repeated the process with the back of the line, and then strategically applied the beams to the center of the column, all before moving back to the destroyers and their new flying friends.
SGC mess hall, sub-level 22
Stargate Command, United States of America
August 6th, 2015
2337 hours, Mountain Standard Time
Hancock winced internally as she continued to watch the UN Air Force's humpbacked "Vincent" heavy VTOLs being slaughtered on international television. All around her similar reactions could be felt from the personnel arrayed in the increasingly crowded mess hall. On some small level they knew they should have furious at the UN commanders for what they were having their troops do, on some small level they knew they should have been disturbed that FNC could position their satellites in such a way as to get crystal clear footage of the battle from several angles, and on some level they knew they should have been supremely concerned that an alien life form of vague origin was rampaging across the Japanese coast, but all they could really do is sit in silence and pray for the men and women dying like animals half way across the globe.
When a group of artillery made up of M270A1 Multiple Launch Rocket Systems was destroyed though one of the members of the Army's SG-25 team finally snapped. "You idiots!" Prt. Lancer yelled in a fit of hysterical rage. "You stupid fucking idiots! You could have been shooting the thing from 50 miles away! Why? Why in fuck's name would you have them engage a target from less then five miles away on open ground?"
It was extremely hard for anyone there to dispute the Private's tirade, the UN commanders seemed to purposefully sending their troops to be slaughtered by the creature the brass in charge of the bio-mech program had long ago designated as an Adaptive Non-Standard Extra-Terrestrial – or ANSET for short – perhaps a political purge was underway? However, even as she watched a wave of "Jenna" bombers drop a series of 100ft long bombs that exploded into 50ft wide blasts – Definitely a political purge, Hancock mused – the Complex's sole pilot couldn't help but find her eyes drawn to a small dark shape on a nearby street corner. Evidently the reporter covering the debacle had the same idea because they both shouted out their observation at the same time as soon as the camera zoomed in on the shape.
"Oh my god there's a kid down there!"
Command Center, Central Dogma, Nerv Headquarters
Hakone Geofront, Japan, United Nations
August 7th, 2015
1609 hours, Japan Standard time
Commander Gendo Ikari couldn't help but smirk under his iconic tented hands, the UN military was making a complete fool of itself and soon control would handed over to Nerv, then they'd deploy Evangelion Unit-01 with the Third Child, beat the enemy, and snag all the glory and funding.
"It's protected by an AT-field, as expected," Vice Commander Kozo Fuyusuki observed blandly as part of the scripted conversation he and Gendo had practiced beforehand.
"Yes, normal weapons will have no effect on the Shito," Gendo continued, internally giving himself a high five over the perfectly executed exposition done for the monitors.
Over on the second highest platform of the terraced Command Center the phone rang and one of the generals answered, considering the resulting volume of his voice it wasn't hard to find out what the conversation was about. "WHAT? What do you mean Fox News is streaming footage of the battle? How in the world did they find out about it anyways, isn't Japan still under a media blackout?" under his hands and unseen by everyone, Gendo once again let himself have a satisfied smirk. "Uh... Yes, sir, I understand," the General hung up the phone and once again resumed sitting. "Damn those filthy American troglodytes and their insufferable, uncontrollable, news media. All right people, let's wrap it up."
"Right," one of the other generals interjected. "Have the troops lead the target towards Mt. Takanosu, and ready the N2 mine!"
The leader of the sapient weapons systems plodded its way across the landscape with its own equivalent of a happy skip. The pitiful Tau'ri combined arms forces weren't even putting a dent in its protective field, and it frankly doubted they even knew how. Still, it was just dreadful fun to smash their forces to pieces while on the way to its destination, and it seemed like nothing could ruin its day. Honestly, this was the force that had overturned galactic civilization in less then a decade? It really seemed like they had absolutely nothing going for . . .
click
Ah, landmines . . .
General Landry's office
Sub-level 27, Stargate Command
August 7th, 2015
0320 hours, Mountain Standard Time
"General?" Sergeant Ramsey said tentatively from the doorstop of Landry's office. "Permission to enter?"
"Granted," Landry answered quickly, downing his second cup of coffee as he did so.
"Sir, has their been any update on the situation in Japan?" Ramsey asked as he stepped into the office.
"The ANSET is currently bombarding Hakone from the crater rim of the mountain," Landry pointed to the screen of his laptop where PJTV was giving a live report on the situation with his now empty mug. "Frankly, I'm amazed that mine did any damage at all, never mind blowing half the damn thing's leg off. However, it looks like it's learned from its mistakes and is now cutting a path with its energy weapon to knock out any more mines that might be in the way – by the way, it finally stopped with the blasted crucifixes."
"So am I to assume that we'll be allowed to assist in this fight now?"
"Negative."
"What?" Ramsey inquired incredulously.
"I called Commander Ikari not five minutes ago and offered our help – with the permission of the President – and he told me that Nerv had the situation completely under control," Landry explained in a tone that said that he couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. "You, of course, have permission to speak freely on this."
"Under control? Sir, the city's being bombarded by a pissed off giant monster and nothing they have can . . . Unit-01?" both realization and disbelief seemed to dawn on the Bio-Mech Personnel Director's face.
"That would be my guess," Landry said dryly, briefly getting back up to go get some more coffee.
"But how? Pilot Ayamani was severely injured in the activation test for Unit-00, and without her they won't be able to activate Unit-01 . . . unless the Commander's managed to get back in contact with his son since the last intelligence briefing."
"You know, on the one hand I feel I should be praising you on actually reading the intel reports on your Nerv counterparts, but on the other I can't help but wonder if this'll turn into some kind of gossip ring when things inevitably become more public," Landry quipped as he walked back from the coffee machine and sat down at his desk. "Huh, well what do you know? It appears that the two of them really did get into contact with each-other again."
City streets
Hakone, Japan
August 7th, 2015
1925 hours, Japan Standard Time
With a jerk and a shudder the massive purple form of Evangelion Unit-01 reached the surface and hit the top of its launch restraints, within seconds the locks were disengaged and the massive cyborg took its first step. It would have been a terrific success if it was a technology demonstration, but unfortunately for the pilot this was not a tech demo but rather an actual combat situation. Then, seemingly to add insult to the designers' names, the situation failed as a tech demo as well when Unit-01 collapsed onto the street after it second step.
The Shito, which until then had been regarding Unit-01 with what could only be described as bemusement while bombarding it with half a dozen different sensor sweeps, decided on that moment to simply walk over to the fallen Eva, grab the alleged superweapon's head with its left hand, take the the Eva's left forearm with its right hand, and then crush it, causing a sickening wet crack to ring throughout the streets as the Eva's bones, flesh, and armor snapped. Then, just to add additional injury to the insult, one of the Shito's violet lances appeared from its left forearm briefly before slamming into Unit-01's right eye and exiting on the other side of its head – there was obviously a lot of blood split before the wound cauterized from the heat of the lance.
Seemingly convinced that its enemy had been defeated when the light from its remaining eye went out, the Shito went back to its preparations to blast into the Hakone Geofront with its primary energy weapon. Defying that assumption however, Unit-01 suddenly broke through the restraints around its mouth with a simple flex of its muscles and lept back into action, running towards the retreating Shito with a roar. The Shito, however, was not so easily ambushed and as soon as Unit-01 was within 50 meters it proved this by delivering an extremely fast punch to the purple titan's face, which was quickly turned into a negative by the cyborg when it bit into its opponent's arm with lightning quickness. That's when things got harry.
The Shito began slamming Unit-01 into the ground, using its own bleeding arm as a short makeshift flail, at least until the weight became too great and said arm snapped off like a piece of celery at a vegan's retreat. The enemy of Earth's humans retaliated by sweeping its legs under the cyborg giant, felling it and opening up the way for it to deliver another attack, this came in the form of the Shito's primary energy weapon. A terrific screech filled the air and a glowing white beam shot out of its core, boring into the space where Unit-01 had been just a second before and plowing through every layer of armor the Geofront had in one shot.
Up above, Unit-01 spat out the dismembered arm of the Shito, quickly regenerated its left forearm, and extended the lance held within the arm. The cyborg then came down on the head of the monster, hitting the AT-field for a few tense seconds before following through and driving it down onto its back and into the dirt. Then, in a move that was faster then most humans could see, the purple avenger drove the Shito's arm lance deep into the alien's own core.
Time seemed to stand still in the fortress city. Where once there had been pitched combat, now only stood a frozen scene of gore and brutal heroism. Then, the silence was broken, a deep hearty laugh started to echo through the city, its source evident as the pulsating chest of the Shito. It was disturbing beyond a reasonable doubt, and it rocked the senses of any human that heard it far more then the crucifix-shaped beams ever did, but it was not the final shock the fiend gave its enemies that night. No, that came in the form of a rapidly blinking core, the sudden explosion, and the massive symbol made out of fire that stretched out into the sky and froze the blood of any veteran of the galaxy-wide war eight years prior that happened to be watching.
The Ori, it seemed, had returned.
Homeworld Defense Combat Information Center
Sub-level 32, Stargate Command
August 7th, 2015
0410 hours, Mountain Standard Time
The atmosphere in the HDCIC was such that it seemed that if one were to honestly try one could slice of pieces of the air due to the tension turning it into a gel-like substance. Almost immediately after the battle in the Hakone streets General Landry had dispatched SG-9 to meet with the Ori embassy on P4J-987 and find out just why in the hell an ANSET had self-destructed into a massive version of the old Ori logo from the bad old days. That had been 40 minutes ago, and they were still waiting for a response back. Nevertheless, the General had decided to take the initiative and had ordered the base to be on high alert for any more ANSETs – it was a purely reactionary measure, but considering that alert they had gotten from the Antarctic three days ago and the attack on Hakone it really didn't hurt to be extra cautious.
At least those were the thoughts of Major Joseph Parsons as he gazed at the screen in front of him. By now practically the entire base had woken up or been called in, the coffee machines had been worked mightily to meet the demands of their increasingly desperate human overlords, and almost everyone was at their necessary stations in the massive CIC – including the GFR Mission Commander, himself. Still, despite the situation he couldn't help but be amused at the response to the situation. He'd read 'the J-Files' same as every other high ranking member of the bio-mech program when he had gotten the job, so he had a pretty good idea of what they were going to be facing in the coming battles, but because of that he'd learned that not only would the ANSETs only be attacking Japan but that the entire scenario would eventually lead to some sort of assimilation plot, and... well, let's just say that it was generally agreed upon that that was the point in the document where the writer started taking some sort of controlled substance. So, really, most of his planning of possible strategies in the then upcoming war had involved strategies for combined mechanized warfare with giant robots, not killing ANSETs.
"Sir?" Technical Sergeant Gale Epperson questioned in a way that was clearly meant to get his attention. "We just received word that the 670th Drone Bomber Wing has lifted off from Carranza Air Base, which brings the total number of operational automated defenses to 73 percent. That's as good as it's going to get for now, sir."
"Glad to have the help, but what about our manned defenses?" It was a strange dichotomy that resulted after the Antarctica Blast, the extreme loss of life had resulted in drone technology being one of the most funded military projects in history, which in turn resulted in massive increases in the production of drones of all kinds with the members of the free trade agreement/mutual defense pact known as the (British) Commonwealth of Nations being the the biggest producers and users. They were still no match for human soldiers, not by a long shot, but for picket defenses and large 'conscript' armies they were perfect. Plus, if they really needed to a human pilot could assume direct command of a drone if the situation warranted it.
"They're scrambling, sir," Epperson explained. "It'll be at least 12 hours before everyone's fully mobilized, but luckily we don't need everyone. As it is we have eight Navy aircraft carriers, five Marine amphibious assault craft, all three Coast Guard aircraft carriers, and all their attached fleets already active, along with 60 percent of all manned air and ground assets."
"Huh, well what do you know?" Parsons mused. "It looks like the President's dick measuring contest with the UN actually paid off."
"It would appear so, sir," Epperson agreed, still keeping the icily professional demeanor about her voice.
"So, how's our pilot, ready to deploy?" Parsons asked semi-rhetorically, it was pretty much a given that Hancock would be ready to deploy at the slightest moment but it never hurt to ask.
"Last I heard, sir, she was sitting down in the locker room and reviewing the footage of the battle on her tablet," Epperson said plainly.
"Of course she was," Parsons replied dryly. "Very well, give me updates on the status of our forces every ten minutes for the next two hours, Sergeant. That is all."
"Sir," Epperson saluted curtly.
Parsons went back to examining his coffee in a needlessly existential manor, if for no other reason then that he simply had nothing better to do barring the ANSETs blasting military intelligence and creepy future knowledge into a thousand pieces and attacking twice in the same night.
"AT field detected! Pattern Bravo! It's appeared in low orbit over the Philadelphia!" Technical Sergeant Amelia Harwood yelled at the top of her lungs from her position on the other side of the large holographic roundtable that dominated the center of the room. "Andrews confirms, definitely a Pattern Bravo."
"Well you know what they say about military intelligence," Parson commented out of the blue, causing several people around him to raise their eyebrows briefly before getting back to work. "What's it doing right now, Sergeant?"
"I don't know, sir," Harwood answered, brushing a single green bang of hair that had gotten out of her brown mop and into her face back into place as she did so. "From what I can tell it's just cruising at 345mph towards the capital."
"Not anymore!" Technical Sergeant Nicola Prichett called out. "Reports are coming in from D.C. that the Pentagon has been struck by a white beam originating from orbit."
"WHAT?" Parsons roared. "I thought the Pentagon had Asgard-grade shielding on it."
"It does, sir," Epperson cut in. "The beam must be of a type that the shields can't block."
"But what could penetrate an Asgard shield without even slowing down like that?" Pichett asked.
"A psychic attack," answered a newcomer, Chief Master Sergeant Walter Harriman – the senior, and token male, member of the bridge bunnies – with General Landry in tow. "We faced a similar attack during the Ori War when they deployed an unfinished prototype capital ship against the Odyssey. The crew ended up having severe migraines for at least two weeks afterward due to the side effects from the mental probing by the Prior onboard the enemy vessel. However that ship needed to have a greatly increased power supply just to operate the psychic weapon, never mind the shields, engines, secondary weapons, and life support."
"So it's safe to assume then that the S2 reactor the ANSET is undoubtedly using is powerful enough to power both the AT-field, the weapon, and its own body?" General Landry asked curiously as Walter took his seat around the holotable.
"I believe so, sir," Prichett stated.
"Transmission coming in from the Pentagon," Harwood reported.
"Patch it through," came Landry's immediate reply.
". . . Stargate Command, this is Homeworld Security, we're under . . . Oh dear God in Heaven, get that thing OUT of my head! . . . Sorry, but this is definitely a psychic attack here. Hey! Don't you dare talk about my son that way! Require immediate assistance," the voice of the one and only General Jack O'Neill came over the comms, albeit in tone that could only be described as the unholy union of absolute terror and the classic O'Neill brand of snark.
"On the way, sir," Landry responded as soon as O'Neill finished talking. "Major, you have the con, get Hancock to her mech and have her . . ."
"Uh, actually, this is kind of embarrassing but the attack has stopped, you guys can hold off on the giant fighting robot for now, we really don't need it now. Ah! We do, however, need immediate medical assistance, but we've already got someone calling 911 for that," came back the interruption from General O'Neill, causing everyone in the CIC to look about nervously. "And before you ask: no, I'm not being mind controlled right now. I do, however, have a nose bleed."
"He's right, sir," Epperson reported crisply. "The ANSET has broken off its attack vector and is accelerating towards South America at high speed," another series of alarms started blaring in the CIC before Parsons hit the silencer on them. "However, there is another Pattern Bravo coming in off the Atlantic at an altitude of 100ft near South Carolina, looks like it'll make landfall on Hilton Head Island in 10 minutes."
"Oh, for crying out loud, stop them Hank!" O'Neill shouted over the line.
Landry looked around for second, then motioned to Parsons. "OK, now you have the con. Go kick some ass, Major."
"Can do, sir," Parsons replied before waking over to the intercom and calling up the base's lone pilot.
Women pilot's locker room, Bio-Mech Program Section
Sub-level 31, Stargate Command
August 7th, 2015
0415 hours, Mountain Standard Time
As soon as Hancock got the call she shut down her tablet and sprang into action. Within seconds she was completely naked, save for her dog tags, and walking towards the carefully folded form of her M-2 Neural Synchronization Uniform (NSU). It was form-fitting, insulated, armored with Kevlar and ceramic plates in strategic places, contained all the necessary life-support equipment for up to six hours of vacuum exposure (once the helmet was on), could expand like a regular G-suit to help blood flow, and was donned in less then fifteen seconds, five if one counted the time it took to activate the vacuum seal and make the suit truly skin tight.
After that was done Hancock grabbed her neurohelmet – which resembled a cross between a square-ish motorcycle helmet and a pilot's air mask – and vacuum collar, and ran towards the bio-mech hanger as fast as she could. Two minutes and several flights of stairs later she reached the hanger, and came to a stop five feet away from the command pod. "Is it ready?" the small soldier asked the head technician – Senior Master Sergeant Leon Fox.
"We've been ready for almost ten years," Fox answered happily. "The missile pods are armed with Harpoons, the railguns' ammo banks are filled with HEAP-I rounds, the MAC's capacitors are brand new, the primary naq-acks are powered up, the secondary naq-acks are on stand-by, and all that's needed is for you get in that pod and go kick some giant monster ass."
"Oh, you have no idea just how long I've waited for you to say that," Hancock said in the same voice most people reserved for sex.
The young airman then proceeded to put on her helmet as she walked over to aforementioned pod – apart from plopping the thing on her noggin this consisted of locking her lower jaw guards, donning the vacuum collar, and activating the environmental seals, which did a splendid job of causing the rubber of the oxygen mask part of the helmet to clamp down on her face like some kind of man-made octopus. She got into the pod with little flourish, got the five point harness buckled in over her chest, and moved her body ever so slightly to allow Fox to clip her twin air hoses into their appropriate slots on the seat behind her head, they would provide vital oxygen and other gases to her while in the pod. So, with that done and a quick check of her vitals on her helmet's integrated HUD she gave the thumbs-up to the maintenance crew, which in turn notified them to close the hatch to the command pod and seal the life support systems.
Outside the pod Fox gave the signal for the pod inserter to begin its work. It was actually a rather simple setup – just a grabby bit and a pushy thing, as Colonel Reynolds had once put it – but in this case simple was good, the less complex the system the less chance for something to go wrong and hurt someone. Thankfully nothing like that happened, everything went off without incident and the pod was inserted into the back of Tyr, with the twin armor plates folding into place over the pod entrance soon after.
Inside the pod Hancock barely paid any mind to the various chatter going on over the radio. Why would she? She already knew her synch ratio – 92 percent, thank you ATA gene therapy – she already knew every part of Tyr from head to toe, she already knew the deployment sequence, and she already knew Major Parsons' catchphrase for the situation – 'BioMech lance [insert unit number here], deploy!' Honestly, if there any more BattleTech junkies around here we'd be living in the Inner Sphere. So instead she occupied herself with personalizing the six different multi-function displays situated around the cockpit as it started to fill with MPAAF and the hanger started to drain of the same substance.
The MPAAF itself was rather interesting. XL-337 was a non-toxic artificial LCL substitute created in the early days of the American bio-mech as a alternative to the LCL used for the Evangelions, since the source for LCL was impossible to reproduce and they really didn't want to have to go sneaking around Nerv HQ with giant buckets every time they needed a resupply. This meant that it had almost all the same characteristics of LCL, but could be manufactured en masse for whatever purposes they may need. It was oxygenated enough to breath, it acted like a fairly good shock absorber, it functioned as a supremely good coolant for the pilot under combat conditions so they weren't boiled alive by either enemy heat-based weaponry or their own weapons' waste heat, it helped the neural connectivity of the pilot and mech along, it was mint flavored, and as an added bonus it was pretty much impossible for a person to break down into protoplasmic ooze in the stuff – though all pilots were still required to not make skin contact with the stuff while inside the cockpit just to be sure, no-one wanted to chance having someone pull a Ikari or Sohryu because the synch rate spiked too high.
As the final phases of the launch were underway, and the old and experienced feeling from Tyr filled Hancock's mind in a way that defied explanation, the walls of the command pod phased into terrific 3-D display of the world from the perspective of Tyr's head, the young soldier recited a prayer her chaplain had taught her and that she had modified to her own situation, and then she spoke over the internal comms. "You ready, Tyr? This is the big one."
"I have been ready for this day longer then you could possibly imagine," the AI's voice rumbled back. "Let us smite the enemies of the Tau'ri, and win this day for life and freedom."
"Glory to God, and victory to the Republic," Hancock intoned, using the American bio-mech program's own variation on Nerv's rather confusing logo.
"Final locks are released," Sergeant Harriman reported dramatically.
"Right then. BioMech Lance One, deploy!" Major Parsons shouted in an equally dramatic tone.
Right on cue. The bridge bunnies sure love their theatrics, don't they? Hancock mused just a split second before her world turned to white.
Hilton Head Island, South Carolina
United States of America
August 7th, 2015
0620 hours, Eastern Standard Time
It was a beautiful morning on the Atlantic and the island flanked the sounds, but to the multitude of citizens waking up to the news of the events in Japan they couldn't help but look towards the sea and wonder if they'll be next. The air raid sirens breaking the early morning calm like an ICBM hitting a china shop certainly didn't help matters, and the large black and orange humanoid form rocketing towards the shore only escalated thing, but the giant robot appearing in a flash of white on William Hilton Pkwy. did manage to calm things down in its own bizarre way.
It stood 138ft tall, coated from head to toe in gray and black digital tiger pattern camouflage, with a fulled out form that looked undeniably sturdy and powerful. It had missile packs on its shoulders, two triple barreled direct-fire weapons ports in the chest, a large cannon mounted under its right forearm, and a simple visor-ed head that looked like it had stolen a stereotypical space marine's helmet that stood stoically between the two missile packs like some kind of old defender of mankind's empire. The only clues as to who it was were written on its shoulders and chest, the logos of the SGC, USAF, BL-1, and the Star-Spangled Banner, along with the world Tyr in bright white letters, but those were only noticed slowly by the evacuating populace of the town.
The large war machine's opponent was an entirely different matter all together. It stood – or rather hovered – nearly 243ft tall, with a broad humanoid form, a skull-like face that stood in stark contrast to the bird-like mask of the ANSET that had attacked Japan, a black, orange, and white paint job, and two tiny-tiny arms that looked like sheets of printer paper and stood in stark contrast to the self-contained engine of destruction that they belonged to. It was rapidly accelerating towards the shore with its back towards the sun, eager to meet the challenge posed to it by the gray before it.
However, the two giants weren't the only combatants on the field. In the ocean was the U.S.C.G.S. Valley Forge, a Ticonderoga-class cruiser, and its two escorts – the U.S.C.G.S. Sides and the U.S.C.G.S. George Phillip, both Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigates – along with the Zumwalt-class destroyer U.S.S. Michael Monsoor. In the sky there was a full squadron made up of twenty four Boeing FQ-27 Sky Knights armed with four AGM-65G Maverick missiles and two AIM-9X Sidewinders each in addition to their built-in M61 Vulcan 20mm Gatling cannons, with two flights of Northrop-Grumman F-302B Ocelot space superiority fighters armed with four 2000lb GBU-31 bombs and two M-560 .50 railguns each on their way. On the ground there were twelve M270A2 MLRS and twenty M109A6 Paladin artillery pieces of the South Carolina National Guard within 30 miles that were diverted to help set up a coastal defense perimeter. Indeed, while it may have looked like a one on one duel to the media, it was in fact a combined arms battle that would put a previously only theoretical tactic to the test and write a whole new chapter in the history of human warfare.
"Airman, remember the plan," the Major spoke over the subspace comm channel between Tyr and the HDCIC while an image of his face appeared on her hud. "Get in close with your AT field, and then when the phase space equalizes . . ."
"I nail the core with my plasmabeams, I got it sir. You just make sure everyone else knows when to hit that sucker," Hancock cut in with a familiarity born from years of working with the man, mentally coiling Tyr's leg muscles as she did so.
The grizzled thirty-seven year old major simply nodded at this before cutting the connection. That was that, no more words needed to be spoken, it all came down to almost a decade of training and the bond forged between the combatants from that.
With a start Tyr sprang forward almost a thousand feet, leaving two deep footprints in the loamy ground. The ANSET noticed this almost immediately and extended its powerful AT-field to meet the threat, immediately coming to clash with Tyr's own powerful field. A large orange hexagon appeared in the air for a few seconds, moving back and forth ever so slightly as if there was a primordial struggle for dominance going on, then Tyr added the strength of the bio-mech's three back-up Mk. III naquadah generators to the mix. The phase space equalized, and both Tyr and the ANSET's AT-fields ceased to effect the world.
Almost immediately afterward Tyr lurched to side to avoid the arms of the ANSET, the absurdly small arms had unfurled like a Jacob's ladder into what could only be described as toilet paper sheets of death and were now whipping toward the 'pint-sized' bio-mech. In retaliation six bright blue plasmabeams lanced out and hit the ANSET shoulder, Tyr had to shut them down to avoid overheating but it was worth it in the eyes of the young soldier piloting the cyborg to see her enemy's right arm fall off its body and explode into blood. The ANSET shot back with its own energy weapon, it was successful in Tyr's regular energy shields to 60 percent and glassing a portion of the beach, but little else.
By now of course the two combatants had maneuvered so that they had switched positions, a fact that was quickly taken advantage of when the Monsoor fired its two 7in railguns at the ANSET's core. The rounds hit dead on and caused several severe fractures along the core, thus stunning the creature briefly, a fact that was quickly taken advantage of by Hancock, who activated Tyr's jump jets and tackled the ANSET, carrying the both of them into the miniature delta at the center of the island. There were, of course, at least nine RGM-84 Harpoon Block IVs already in the air when Hancock preformed this maneuver, but luckily the missiles' guidance systems were advanced enough that they tracked their target over its new trajectory, compensated, and managed to nail the core when Tyr back-flipped off of the target – luckily keeping its AT field active the whole time to continue to neutralize the target's own.
The ANSET got up and fired its energy beam once again, this time dropping Tyr's to 35 percent and causing a the oceanic inlet behind it to flare up with steam as the beam dug deep down into the sandy floor. Even with that the defenders wouldn't let their enemy rest tough, as the Sky Knights soon evidenced by firing half their compliment of Maverick missiles while Tyr let loose with four Harpoons to split their target's attention. It worked, the ANSET's remaining left arm lashed out and destroyed the Harpoons, allowing 48 Mavericks to get through. As if the chunks of its body being blown apart by the American military's own version of a Macross missile massacre wasn't bad enough it was once again buffeted by 7in, 5in/54, and 76mm rounds from the Coast Guard and Navy ships in the Atlantic.
Inside the cockpit of Tyr a light on one of the MFDs turned from red to green, signaling that the cool-down cycle of the plasmabeams was completed. "Hey, Tyr, open up a comm channel on all frequencies. I want to say something to this bastard before we blast him to smithereens," Hancock said cockily as she dodged the ANSET's tattered arm again.
"Very well, try to make it quote worthy, will you?" Tyr asked as the comm frequency opened.
"Hey big, mean, and stupid!" the ANSET actually turned its head to look at the bio-mech, it was definitely listening. "Here's a tip for the afterlife that you could have really used back here: you fuck with the best, you die like the rest!"
Six blue lances of light crossed the distance between the two giants in less then a second, boring deep into the core of the giant monster, and exiting the other side. The ANSET stood stock still for the briefest of moments, then massive tumors started to bulge all over its body, with the finale coming in the form of a massive explosion of blood a second after that.
"Well, what do you think?" Hancock asked joyfully.
"I believe I would put that line at a six on a scale of ten," Tyr stated stoically.
"Ah, screw you, that was a nine and you know it," Hancock shot back, joy still quite evident in her voice. "What about you, Major? What did you think?"
Silence was her reply.
"Major?"
"Uh, sorry about this, Airman, but we're going to have to redeploy you," Major Parson's voice finally responded.
"What do you mean, sir?" Hancock asked curiously.
"Eight more Pattern Bravos have appeared everywhere from Alaska to McMurdo, plus that ANSET that attacked the Pentagon is swinging around towards Yucatan and jamming all our comms along the way," Parsons reported gravely. "I'm sorry, Hancock . . . Hancock?"
Silence was now his reply.
"Airman? Airman? Dammit, somebody get a confirmation on the pilot's status!"
Author's Notes: Whoa. Alrighty then, sitting in at over 13,500 words this chapter is the longest I've ever written, and believe me when I say that it was worth it. This chapter also uses more named OCs then I've ever written in one story, even more then my original stuff from my DA account. Can you believe we're only on the second chapter and have at least four more subplots to introduce? (Wild, isn't it?) Good news though, you'll be seeing a lot more of the NGE and SG characters in the coming chapters and plots, I just thought it necessary to introduce a lot of the OCs first – well, that, and rehashes of Shinji meeting his dad in the Eva cages have been done to death, reanimated, and then killed again over the last decade.
Now, in case anybody is wondering why I didn't have Shinji be picked up in Tokyo-2 or the outskirts of Tokyo-3 like in most fanfics, I have a very good reason for that. Matsumoto City (the city that gets turned into Tokyo-2 in NGE canon) is on the other side of the country from Hakone (which becomes Tokyo-3), and on top of that is the headquarters for the United Nations as of 2007, which would automatically involve far too much politics for our heroes (and the viewer) to handle if it really was attacked by the Third Angel. Now, as for the locations I gave in this chapter for the Third Angel attack, those were brought about from several hours examining the area around Hakone with Google maps – seriously check these locals out, they fit the first episode almost perfectly. Yet virtually no fan fic authors have picked up this, or the fact that Tokyo-3 is on top of a large mountain (with a just beautiful view of Mt. Fuji by the way), weird.
Now, before any asks about why Arael didn't make the heads of everyone at the Pentagon explode, I'll just say that there's a very good reason Gendo refers to her as the "Angel of Information Warfare." As for Hancock, I know that skirting the line of Mary Sue-dom with her very closely, but for some reason I just felt compelled to write a strong female lead (which is rapidly becoming a trope for me), and I figured, "Well, if I'm giving the bad guys a Death Star – a very apt statement considering later events – I might as well give the heroes a lightsaber." As for the SGC's stuff, keep in mind that this is definitely an alternate universe from the main SG metaverse – a term that's actually used in "Ripple Effect," which from the context makes it sound like canon is a spawn point for AUs. Now, as for the rest, just stay tuned and we'll see what happens.
Now time for something fun before the final soul crushing news, there are quite a few references and naming gags in this chapter, can you spot them all? (Answers will, of course, be given away at the beginning of the next chapter.) One final note before I go, I'll be moving down to Texas on the 11th to start college, so updates may be a little sparse for a while, but enjoy this preview in the mean time – try to imagine it being spoken by Allison Keith for that extra oomph.
The morning wares on as Leona continues to battle against a seemingly endless number of Adaptive Non-Standard Extra-Terrestrials across all of America's territories. During the fight one ANSET begins attacking Stargate Command directly, prompting Commander Gendo Ikari to offer the assistance of Unit-01 piloted by Rei Ayanami, and the President considers the offer. Will he sacrifice Rei's life to save his country, or will he stand firm on his convictions and possibly destroy his people as a result? Next time on FBL: "On All Fronts: The War Comes Home."