AN: Well here we are for Chapter Eleven, I hope you all enjoyed chapter Ten and I hope you continue to enjoy this story. What did you all think of the Meryl outlook from the prior chapter? The reason I introduced that character will become apparent in pretty short order, don't worry. Not to mention wasn't it refreshing to get a new perspective? A non Zeon perspective? I thought it would be but anyway let's wrap up this AN and get to the fic.

Surprised? Well I have nothing new really to discuss for this author's note so its pretty damn short hah.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam, that's all on Sunrise, and therefore Bandai, blah blah, its a creation of Tomino's, guys a fucking genius...Kinda


January 16th, 0079 UC

Federal controlled space, Federation withdraw from Side Five

Columbus Carrier: Bermuda

1000 Hours

Meryl O'Sullivan stared grimly at the wreckage of her Saberfish decorating the vacant hangar's floor, of the vessel's compliment of six fighter craft only her's had returned from its sortie. But even then it had barely returned at all...having portions of its left wing blown off not to mention having entire meter long strips just punched through it from enemy fire had killed the bird. Her first combat sortie in this war had damn near been her last and while she knew she had done all she could...it seemed nothing could stop the Zeon. Machine gun fire had torn apart the fuselage, some rounds coming within feet of striking her, she knew she was lucky to be alive but she did have something minor to show for her own survival.

She had shot down one of those damnable humanoid weapons, a mobile suit. It had taken every single one of her missiles to bury that damned thing in fire but in the end she witnessed its fusion reactor go off and just consume hundreds of meters outward in a flash of light so bright that it threatened to blind her even through the glare resistant materials of her helmet. Those things were hard to kill though, machine gun fire couldn't do much more then scratch their paint job and given their impressively deceptive speed they could avoid most other strikes unless if you caught them unaware like she had that 'Zaku'. She was told later it was only one of the antiquated generation one variants, a notion that horrified her.

She had been fighting a fucking antique? It taken all of that damage and firepower to destroy a model that was now not even being produced? Yet even so it showed those weapons were not invincible regardless of whatever propaganda came out of Side Three but at the same time...their effectiveness in battle was now unquestionable. The entire first Federal Fleet, the largest assembly of warships called together in decades, the massive and overpowering strength of the Federation had been shattered...

Of the hundreds of vessels that had traveled to Side Five only a small fraction of that escaped the battlefield alive, and even then that had come at the cost of entire portions of their surviving fleet giving up their very lives to slow down the advancing Zeon forces. The sacrifice was heart rending, tens of thousands of brave men and women of the Federation had died there due to the pointless cruelty and greed of the Zeon. Then there was the colony cluster itself...She didn't know who had launched the first nuclear strike but the result had been horrific. The Federation had loosed its entire nuclear payload and Zeon did the same, perhaps as many ships that had been lost to those damnable mobile suits were simply evaporated in nuclear reaction.

But the damage had stemmed far further then the Federation or Zeon fleet, caught helplessly in the crossfire between the Principality and Federation it had simply ceased to exist all together. Another two billion lives lost because of this war, because of the Zeon...

'Damn that black suit...' She had scarcely fought at all in that engagement her Saberfish hadn't been supplied with sufficient fuel to begin with nor armament but she was still confident she could do something, anything to stop the Zeon advance. She had scarcely shot down her first Zaku when she had spotted that suit and noted its rather unique coloring, assuming it to be some sort of command unit or veteran pilot she had engaged it. At first as her tracer fire raked up the machine she was convinced she could score a debilitating hit before it could even react but despite her volley it had turned and apparently not feeling any of the damage that her fire should have inflicted merely returned fire.

Never in her life had been in a dogfight quite like that, where any damage she could inflict the enemy could return tenfold, where any strikes that might have shot down a Gobble or Gattle would merely fail to penetrate the rather impressive armoring on the suit. Yet even so she had flown her best, tried to outflank or use her superior speed to force the mobile suit to overextend and leave its hopefully more vulnerable backside visible to her but it had never occurred and then it had charged at her senselessly and full of the reckless abandon that would get you killed flying conventional craft.

Yet all the same she had hoped to exploit that stupidity and when she moved to overtake the suit...she felt a involuntary shiver run down her frame.

The memory of the barrel of that rifle just staring her dead ahead, round awaiting within its magazine to send her straight to hell...

The Zeon pilot outplayed her handily and in the burst of fire that had torn her craft apart she had for the first time truly felt fear creep into her body, the fear of death, of dying in the cold blackness of space. The fear of powerlessness. The burning crimson eye of the unit's camera just staring into her as if the pilot viewing her could strip her down to her very soul, as if they could dictate whether she would live or die.

Her fists clenched until the skin bleached itself white.

She never wanted to feel that way again.

She never wanted to feel helpless again.


January 18th, 0079 UC

Lunar City of Granada, Zeon Occupational Headquarters

Earth Sphere Territory: Luna

1400 Hours

Granada had fallen mere hours after the battle at Side Five had concluded he had been told upon his arrival. Yes and now with the second of hopefully many victories to come to them, he had come to the distant and rocky moonscape. The city's habitat had been mostly spared the full wrath of Zeon but even days after its fall, he could still see the occasional signs of battle that had raged within its streets and far above it in the black void of space. Kycilia had claimed the city as her own command base for the continued conquering of the Moon and perhaps beyond it, it made sense in a purely tactical viewpoint but he couldn't help but ponder at the masked woman's true intent.

Nothing with Kycilia was ever as it seemed, that had become evident within their first meeting, and the rumors that surrounded her...

Perhaps she sought a garrison command far from the prying eyes of Side Three and thus her older brother. If Kycilia was ever to truly challenge Gihren then she would need supporters, and a army all her own, and perhaps here she could gather both. The command post she had chosen within the city had been the former chief director of the city's operation's own residence, he supposed that was the Federation's equivalent to one of Zeon's governors. The structure he supposed was fanciful and spacious enough to suit one of Degwin's children but even so he found the entire thing an affront to his senses.

It was filled with treatises and documents, tomes and electronic devices filled to the brim with everything stemming from Federal regulation regarding the governing of a territory to a copy of that accursed Charter that the Federation loved to lord over the colonies. Perhaps had it been filled with documents relating to military secrets, things that could give them advantage while the fools in Side One and down upon that pebble hovering in the cosmos Earth debated upon their impending defeat it would have softened his view. But as far as he knew it, there was nothing to be gleaned here. Nothing of value stored away, not to mention that building's former occupant had been a keen collector of seemingly useless and trivial trinkets.

Honestly in this day and age kept a fucking mineral collection? Their goddamn rocks.

Yet that was where he found himself-staring at fucking rocks. Awaiting a summons to meet with the Admiral herself, to be debriefed upon the events of Loum as far as he knew and be given their next assignment. Roland had been surprisingly tight lipped upon their coming to Granada only speaking of how he had been ordered to recall Typhon to the Argus and have the ship leave the debris field of Side Five only a little over six hours after the battle had ended. Over the course of the next day and a half found him along with the rest of Typhon coming to the first of the Lunar cities to fall to Zeon.

Surrounding the entire city was a sizable portion of the Admiral's own forces including her flagship a dominating Gwazine that just dictated the surround space that was filled with its lesser brethren. Even the Argus a mighty vessel in her own right had seemed outright tiny compared to the massive battleship. As the ship touched down within the interior of the city it was the first time his boots had ever struck ground that was not a artificial construct. Was this supposed to be some poignant moment for him? Some grand realization to come to him? Nothing came nothing but the grim fact that this city was to be the first of the new territories of the Principality once the war concluded.

As his eyes scanned upward staring outward at the thick metal of bulkheads and interior he couldn't help but find the entire settlement inferior to the Sides themselves. With the Sides at the very least the illusion of nature was given but within this crowded and overfilled slum no trace of natural beauty, not even a hint of it was present. No this construct was inferior to a colony, it was merely a province of the Federation cast in the shadow of Earth, yet even still as observed the conquering of the city he couldn't help but a soft stirring of pride within his breast.

As the Zeon flag was raised up above and the Federation flag cast down, as Zaku marched in its streets, as Zeonic soldiers paraded throughout the city. They were for first time unquestionably winning this war. Yet even so as their unit was transferred to the administrator's residence and told to await their meeting he couldn't help but feel pangs of regret. He could still be fighting, pursuing the fleeing Federal forces as they sought refugee, killing the last remnants of their navy, yet instead here he was...in some manor house, awaiting summons by a Zabi.

He held nothing but the deepest respects for the family of course, they were the rulers of their nation, of their people...but he was a soldier, not a politician.

Not to mention it had been nearly two months since he had last had to dress himself in parade standard, not to say he didn't care for his dress uniform it was just...too pretentious for his tastes. Yet even so dressed in parade standard he was, gone was his plain normal suit or in its place a standard issue BDU. No he was dressed to officer standard, his rank insignia decorating the hem of his collar, his service ribbons pointedly on display.

Resisting the urge to scratch at the back of his neck he merely stilled his hands and had them continue to rest at his side, Kycilia couldn't keep them waiting forever-eventually they would get to the point of their coming to Granada.


January 18th, 0079

Lunar City of Granada, Zeon Occupational Headquarters

Earth Sphere Territory: Luna

1600 Hours

It scarcely seemed like a moment after he sat down upon a uncomfortable and likely overly expensive couch that world exploded into action, detonations rocked the structure about them, the sounds and cracks of constant and automatic gunfire raged within the interior halls.

Battle had come to this place.

"What the fuck..." Roland murmured as he dug into his waist holster retrieving a glinting and freshly polished handgun of Zeon manufacture.

Likewise both Drevis and Poulin had drawn their own sidearms, only it appeared he himself and Emre had yet to do so at which both caught a rather odd look from the Captain that seemed to exclaim: 'What are you stupid? Draw your damn gun fool!' Internally scowling at himself he moved into position along with the rest of his teammates, it was if they were repeating the Battle of Loum save it was here in the flesh rather within the protective multi toned layered armor of a mobile suit.

No sooner then he had drawn the 8mm Z08 that hung at his side was the door promptly kicked in, raising his handgun upward in practiced motion he looked on as the vacant doorway was filled not by the expected appearance of opposition but a normal clothed Zeonic soldier wearing little more then his BDU and sporting the obvious indicators of battle-blood stained his impressively muscled frame albeit Dieter off of just a glance couldn't tell if it was his own or not. The newly appeared soldier approached Typhon in their various battle stances, each and all had a gun leveled at the man but Dieter internally frowned at the gesture.

"Lady Kycilia isn't here? I thought she was meant to be meeting with yo..." The man was silenced when he realized all of the firearms possessed by Typhon were leveled in his general direction.

'Its not as if Kycilia would be betrayed by her own vetted security.' The soldier seemed to grasp that he was under suspicion given his entry and he began to speak as he continued his approach. "Is Lady Kycilia alright? We have the front entrance locked down but I heard gunfire coming from the interior." He continued his approach and from this distance Dieter could make out the markings that indicated this man was part of the Zeonic 'ground forces' as such things went, infantry. Which given his choice in weapon, a heavy and sinister looking automatic rifle of Zeon origin made perfect sense.

"I'm Private Weiss, a member of Kycilia's occupational forces..." He broke off however as despite he himself along with Emre lowering their guns Roland and Drevis both continued to have it leveled at the man squarely in the chest, he couldn't see if Poulin had continued to hold him up or not but it didn't make much difference, two guns was apparently enough.

"Toss the rifle onto the floor and approach...slowly." Roland commanded as he flicked the safety off of his own firearm.

"Listen, I don't know what you think is going on but we don't have time for this..." He was silenced as Roland merely gave the man a hardened stare and his finger inched a hair closer to the trigger. Despite the apparent lack of time in their situation the soldier complied and lazily lowered his rifle to the floor and as ordered slowly came forehead until he was just a hair's breadth away from the position that Typhon had taken up around the office.

"Dieter secure him, Drevis try to get through to Kycilia's office and see if she is secure...we may need to move to intercept any potential hostiles." He shot a brief look of annoyance to his commander before giving a resolute nod and taking two steps forward when the soldier's head exploded outward, the crack of a rifle shot rang out as his own face and chest were coated in liquid crimson. Half blinded he took a step back wiping away his eyes with sleeve just as he was shoved down as the heavy oaken desk was titled over, paper and books flew upward in frenzy.

Within the door way was another male, this one dressed in plain and ill fitting civilian garb, but within his hand was some variant of a M series rifle. 'Feddie!' His mind seemed to scream, they had wasted time by pointlessly interrogating and harassing one of their own solders, and now that poor bastard was goddamn refuse on the floor. "Hostile!" Roland barked as he raised himself above their makeshift cover and let loose with a quick salvo of cartridges that bit into the false wood of the door paneling.

"Sir Kycilia is locked down further into the interior offices, the Royal Guard have secured her and are awaiting reinforcements, we just need to wait until they get here." Drevis reported off from the hand held radio rig he was operating. His normal cocky and arrogant demeanor had been replaced with a almost uncharacteristic seriousness, perhaps he was simply afraid to face battle outside of his mobile suit, perhaps he realized that this situation wasn't a joking matter.

Perhaps it stemmed from Lady Kycilia herself being at risk in this scenario.

"Shit!" He heard Emre mutter as the thick and heavy wood of the desk's layering blew out from return rifle fire as he let out down his own barrage of small arms fire.

The enemy rifleman continued to fire in short and controlled semi automatic bursts, and that was all he needed to do he realized...they were pinned, outgunned and that was with only one enemy, if another combatant showed up they would be completely fucked. Roland turned to him just as he was squaring his back against the desk and preparing to fire in his own attempt to nail the bastard before one of his damned friends showed up. No way in hell a single infiltrator had managed to immobilize and assault the residence of Admiral Kycilia, no he had to have backup coming.

But by the same measure they would have reinforcements coming as well, this was a waiting game to see whose backup arrived first, who would live and who would die depended upon the response time of either party.

He pulled himself into a kneeling position and let loose with a handful of shots just as Roland gripped his shoulder and pulled him towards him, their eyes locked. "Kries, we need to holdout until-" Whatever words his Captain was going to offer beyond those six he would never know. He was caught when a round punched through the table and slid across the flesh of his skull sending the man tumbling to the ground, his hair and face caked in gore that seemed to materialize within nanoseconds as skin was ruptured, blood vessels burst and his superior crumpled.

All he could see in that instance was his superior splayed out across the ground, blood pooling from wounds, his life ebbing away. Letting out a short breath he felt his fingers tighten around the metallic butt of his pistol. Pulling himself upward and placing himself against cover again, the muzzle of his pistol angled outward towards the entryway into the room. Just as the Federation soldier within the doorway turned to fire into the room once more he let loose with the round, his finger jamming downward on the trigger far harder then what was required to pull it.


January 18th, 0079

Lunar City of Granada, Zeon Occupational Headquarters

Earth Sphere Territory: Luna

1700 Hours

The ruins of the interior office were silent for a moment, in the lull of the gunfire he rose noting that apart from the remainder of Typhon the majority of the garrison that had rushed into quell the insurgents...were dead or dying. Ears still ringing from the loud and ever present gunfire, movement still sluggish from being shoved to the floor eyed the scene with dispassion borne of professionalism. Or what he could bring to the surface that resembled it anyway, his fingers trailed across his neck and lower face from where he had felt, tasted, and smelt hot liquid blood splash against him, brain matter spraying against his dress uniform.

The soldiers that crowded the floor in torn heaps, in bloodied piles, be they Federation or Zeon were a reminder to him. The sloppiness, that indecisive, that hesitancy would get you killed. He had frozen when his pistol had come into his grip, when he faced the prospect of killing not through distance within his mobile suit but, face to face, as if he was some infantrymen...Of course that hesitancy came from the fact that the man who had been his crosshairs had been wearing a uniform similar to his own. Yet even so he had hesitated.

The man died regardless of course, whether he had pulled the trigger or not that comrade was fated it seemed to die, just as the other corpses that lined the floor, just as his commander...grinding his teeth in outright frustration he let out a hiss of fury. He was sick of this indecision, of this hesitation, of his own failures continually being shoved back in his face. Had he just shot the soldier upon his entry, they would have been in a better position to return fire on the incoming attacker, had he just shot...perhaps Roland wouldn't have taken a round to the face.

He felt as if this was all a result of his actions, yet in some way, he believe that this was the way it was meant to be. A bloody pool of destruction was always destined to follow in his wake. Yes, he was a being borne for the appropriate era...nearing half of Humanity was dead if one followed the census already, why wouldn't that number continue to grow? He was a killer, through his own actions or his sheer apathy, people would die around him. Eventually it would culminate in his own destruction.

...That was fitting he supposed.

"Poulin, Emre, Drevis...you guys still breathing?" He murmured as he ejected the spent magazine from his Z08 before digging around the interior of his holster and retrieving the spare he kept within it. You never knew when you might need another collection of 8mm cartridges.

One by one the members of his team sounded off, affirming their wellness, yet even so...

Scowling he eyed the initial shooter, the rifleman who had killed not only the soldier who had come to secure Kycilia but also his Captain...his Superior, his Leader. The man's face was ripped away from the impact of one of his shot's that had nailed him squarely on the bridge of his nose resulting in the bones of his face just compressing and shattering inward from the trauma. This corpse was responsible for the death that soaked this room, he was the first life he had taken outside of a Mobile Suit, some random, nameless Feddie.

Some portion of him wanted to actually thank the man, because of what he had done...he'd finally realized it.

Just what Burns had been speaking of years prior. "Do not think, do not feel, do not hesitate. The enemy will not, and if you do hesitate, if you do freeze...you will die." The first and perhaps greatest lesson the arms instructor had ever given him, the first time he had held the same model of handgun that now was clenched between his fingers...

His pistol felt so light within his hand as he turned it towards the other assorted bodies that decorated the plush carpeting, staining it with their blood and viscera. The seconds of gunfire echoed in the chamber was he fired into the bodies, some of them could still be clinging to life and that just wouldn't do. After all if they were going to kill the soldiers of Zeon then, they would in turn have to be content being killed by Zeon.

Yet at the same time the discipline instilled within him demanded there be some measure of control applied to the situation, there needed to be something done. Anything to ensure that they were not simply sitting on their hands while a possible attempt assassination of one of the children of their Sovereign was ongoing. Eyeing his comrades he saw that none of them were stepping forward to seize the mantle of leadership from the Captain, they were merely following the same directives he had issued before his death.

Would it have to be him?

Of course it would be him, he was the natural choice.

Even among the superior race of Zeon there had to be Leaders and those that followed.

He would be one, he was destined to be one.

"Drevis...try to get the Royal Guard on the line again, we need to know if we still have active shooters in the building." He eyed the collection of corpses again, four Federation soldiers dressed in plain garb, it was the makeup of a assault team, but it was still too small to effectively have a chance of assassinating Admiral Kycilia if that had been their aim to begin with. If there were more enemy combatants within the manor then they needed to move to engage them, they couldn't risk the loss of Lady Kycilia even though such a outcome was implausible.

"Right." Drevis commented as he once more began to fiddle with a small transceiver and radio that adored his hip. Had Drevis been the only one to think that bringing in a radio was a wise decision? He hadn't even thought to ask to requisition one, he was a pilot after all, he was meant to fight within his suit. Yet he couldn't fault Drevis's forethought, not in this scenario the cocky bastard had thought to bring in something that none of them had it was their only link to the other forces within the building, and thus a clearer picture to what was ongoing.

"Poulin, check the wounded see if any of these poor bastards are still breathing." He offered the mechanic absently, he didn't know what the man could do besides basic first aid that was taught to every cadet at the Academy, that wouldn't suffice for bullet wounds yet even so if even one of the soldiers that spilled into the room to assist them only to be met by barks of gunfire from the Federal soldiers could be saved.

He wouldn't be opposed it to it.

"Emre you can stop clutching your damned wallet, the firefight is over." He groused as he eyed his fellow Lt whom had that stupid hunk of leather grasped between his fingers, his handgun firmly gripped within his free hand.'I understand wanting to have the motivation to return alive from battle but honestly...' He let out a soft sigh. Maybe it would look differently to him if he had a child? A wife? A life beyond his current set of duties, obligations and dictations hoisted down upon him by the military or state.

Truth was though? Motivation was only part of what went into ensuring you came home alive again, first and foremost was skill, ability, strength...The weak perished, the strong prevailed.

That was the universal truth of their era, and it was why Zeon was destined to rule humanity.

He heard the sound of a rasping cough and a grunt of exertion just as his eyes trailed over to the cover that he had just moments before been using to avoid enemy gunfire.

Roland rose from the cover he had constructed out of the heavy wooden desk, pistol still in hand along with blood dribbling down his face in a steady stream.

"Sir..." He trailed off uncertain, he had expected Roland to be dead from taking a round to the head, and while the blood falling down the side of his head in thick globs and the burnt flesh revealed that it had been a close thing, it hadn't actually penetrated skull. Merely skidded through skin, the impact of the round however most certainly would have knocked him cold though...He hadn't even thought to check the man's pulse, he had simply fallen into the spree of death and allowed it to consume him.

Using vengeance for his fallen comrades as a justification to engage the Federation.

Roland eyed him, gazes locked in place for a moment before he gave a small and solomon nod of approval.

Apparently he had done well while during the Captain's incapacitation.


January 18th, 0079

Lunar City of Granada, Inner City, Commerce District

Earth Sphere Territory: Luna

1900 Hours

The bar they had stumbled into a hour prior was a dump, a dive, it reeked of urine, cheap alcohol, smoke and sweat. It wasn't what he normally sought in a drinking establishment but it would serve. Thankfully the cheap watered down booze at least proved cheap and given they had given their pay vouchers earlier, they weren't hurting for money. He wasn't at the very least, he had nothing to spend it on.

Save perhaps the monthly stipend he sent to his parents. Yet beyond that modest amount, all of his income seemingly just pooled together, every Mark, every month just sat in a growing account at Zum First Central...he was by no means wealthy yet at the same time if he did return from this war and decide to leave the service, he could live quite comfortably for a number of months before even needing to seek employment. So perhaps that was why he had offered to buy the first round, the moment that the first Zabi note left his wallet he felt that it was at the very least a usage of the currency.

The staff at the very least seemed encouraged by their presence, no doubt the local citizens hadn't had much cause to leave their homes during the seizure of the city. So theirs was likely the first fresh money they were getting in quite a while, so it made them courteously...for Feddies anyway.

'Former Feddies...' He internally corrected himself, they were now citizens of a territory under the banner of Zeon. Which officially made them citizens of Side Three or at least vassal citizenry. He wasn't very sure of just what the province of Granada would become in the aftermath of the war but given it was under their direction now at the very least he'd bury misgivings about the local populace until they gave him cause to think otherwise.

Then at the very least he could butcher them without hesitation.

"Still can't believe those bastards." Drevis mumbled as he nursed a stein the size of a pitcher.

"Assaulting the Admiral's own residence? Trying to assassinate her? Fools were asking to die." Emre agreed as he drained his own shot glass before signalling for another.

"Well its over, their dead, we aren't and we have to report back to Lady Kycilia tomorrow at 0800 so I expect you all to not get too sauced up" Roland grumbled as he refilled his own modest tankard with a nearby pitcher.

"Can't remember the last time I even drew my gun." Poulin stated pointedly as he merely stared downward into his own glass.

"We finally get shore leave and you lot are just going to sit there bitching about the war? Really I have to be the one to encourage you to loosen up?" He chided softly without heat. Truth be told? He was grateful for the time off, he had much on his mind and needed to process it before he would be fit again for duty. So he supposed it was a small miracle that Kycilia had postponed their debriefing to the following day, and not only that gave them leave to have some time free of the base. He hadn't had leave since this war had kicked off and he hadn't had a good drink in even longer so he was grateful.

As devoted as he was to his nation, to his state, his brothers in arms, his career...occasionally it was helpful to unwind after a time, tonight they could spend their time drinking, gambling, shooting shit and worry about the state of things in the morning. Their enemies wouldn't be going anywhere, the Federation wouldn't be going anywhere, they would resume their spree of ending the lives of Federal soldiers soon enough.

Drevis only offered a grunt in reply and continued to chug from his stein.

Emre gave a soft laugh and began telling a fairly uninterested looking Drevis about how lovely his wife's cooking was...again.

Roland merely pinched the bridge of his own nose before slamming back the tankard he had been gripping, apparently even their Captain had his limits.

Did the man having nothing on his mind save his family? It was almost nauseating, how could so skilled a soldier be so bound to duty and obligations that extended past himself, their nation, their...war. Was family truly so compelling? He had been written off, all but disowned for merely accepting up the mantle of Zeon, embracing the pride of the Duchy crafted by his people in the empty void of space. The shining beacon in the darkness that drew them all closer to the collective glory that awaited them all.

"So Kries...You going to stay with the military after the war?" Poulin questioned as he finally reached out and gripped his own glass before bringing it upward to his lips.

He quickly drained the remaining bourbon within his glass before just shoving the thing forward on the bar. He wasn't near drunk enough to bother even formulating a reply to that. Of course he would, why wouldn't he? He had found his calling, his purpose, his reason to live. To fight for Zeon, to kill its enemies, to secure its place among the stars, to give its people the proper station they deserved.

To give himself the proper station he deserved.

Poulin merely gave him a rueful shake of the head before continuing to nurse his own cocktail.


January 18th, 0079

Lunar City of Granada, Inner City, Commerce District

Earth Sphere Territory: Luna

2300 Hours

They had left the dive finally after nearly four straight hours of nursing drinks, bad jokes, Emre gushing about his child to anyone who would even vaguely listen and Roland and Drevis slowly contemplating how to devise a proper method of assassinating the family man. He was pleasantly intoxicated, his limbs now longer felt weighted, he no longer was burdened by the onrush of thoughts of the state of the war, of the possible peace that could spring up between the Federation and Principality.

No for now he could simply enjoy himself, it had been a long time since he had cut loose and he was certainly in no rush to have this night end.

It was of course that thinking that lead him to his current predicament.

Staring at the glowing vibrant neon sign advertising the services of the establishment in front of them before turning his gaze back towards his squadmate he raised a brow in question.

"Your serious?" He questioned acidly.

Drevis merely sent him a evil grin in reply before nudging Poulin who merely gave a shrug in response. 'What seriously? You don't care?' How could he not care? This wasn't some light hearted nonconsequential matter...

"Kries its my treat, and after our performance at Side Five I figure our unit's formation is as good as cemented, Admiral Kycilia has nothing to complain about." Drevis offered snidely before elbowing him roughly in the chest, he glared in reply. Bastard had pointy elbows.

"Well Josefine did always find them attractive..." Emre rumbled out agreeingly.

The Captain had to put a stop to this, the man surely couldn't condone- "It will be a good unifying experience for us I suppose, something to bond us out of battle." Roland considered softly before giving a singular firm nod.

'...Fuck my life.'

"Fine I'll get the fucking tattoo." He seethed as they entered the interior of the 'shop'. 'You bastards are going to pay for this, oh you will pay...' He had nothing against getting a tattoo, but had no real inclination to get one, not for the sake of simply having one anyway. Yet of course here he was standing in the drab interior of some rundown back alley piercing and ink parlor. 'Gonna fucking get hepatitis in this shithole.' He kept his body in near peak physical condition, he exercised regularly, despite his long tenure as a smoker he had kept the habit from overtly affecting his physical wellness...all undone by a single prick of a needle.

"What the hell are we even getting?" He questioned at Drevis who turned and regarded him seriously for a moment before gesturing to the insignia on his BDU. The unit patch? Well...He supposed it could be worse, it could have been something gaudy and at the very least it was something simple and hopefully easy to do...it wouldn't require any toning or coloring and if he understood this skill well enough, that was the time consuming portion of the practice.

"We are a unit." The aristocratic featured man offered softly before turning away.

'Goddamnit.' Why couldn't the man continue to make him hate him? To wish to strangle the life out of his body? Why couldn't he just be a pompous overbearing ass the entire time they were around each other?

"Well said." Roland offered Drevis before apparently agreeing with the decision on the ink they were to all get here.

He let out a weary sigh before deciding it would be best to just to get it over with, he was obviously both outnumbered and outflanked in this engagement.

"I'll go first." He offered.


Two Hours Later...

Rubbing at the raw skin of his wrist as he glanced down at the thin and well drawn lines that now decorated his pale and unmarred skin he couldn't help but feel...completed by the addition. Now he was adorned not only by uniform, deed and word but also his very body. It was a fulfilling sensation, now he could be reminded of his service, of his victory, of Zeon's triumph at Loum, in this war...whenever he witnessed the underside of his forearm. It would be a reminder of his greatness, Zeon's greatness, and the inevitability of their victory.

His victory.

He'd never voice that sentiment aloud though, he'd rather choke down a glass filled with razor blades.

No the others within his squadron could speculate upon his opinion of the design adorned his flesh. He certainly wouldn't commend Drevis for hoisting this unexpected...gift upon him.

He would however perhaps revise his opinion of the arrogant young pilot to be more favorable...if only just a little.

After all the bastard was already cocky enough, he wouldn't contribute to that.


January 21st, 0079

Lunar City of Granada, Zeon Primary Launch Dock

Earth Sphere Territory: Luna

0700 Hours

"Well as you can see...sir. I was able to fix some of the primary coolant and fluid transfer hoses that were shot up in the intake but, I couldn't rewire all of the electrical systems that shorted out back on the Argus. Just didn't have the space or equipment, maybe once Granada is shipped some proper MS upkeep gear I can rig up more then a patch but until then..." The behemoth of a mechanic seemed to shrug.

"Right, I get you Poulin is it anything I should worry about?" He questioned as he fiddled with a packet of cigarettes tugging off the tin wrapping that clung to the box of death sticks. He wasn't overly concerned with this matter truth be told, he was expecting their stay at Granada to endure until the conclusion of the war or at the very least until the meetings between officials of the Federation and Zeon who were cautiously approaching each other with tentative agreements of locations and dates for procedures to be arranged.

"Its a cooling intake Dieter, if that engine overheats it and its fuel will explode." The dark skinned native to Side Three stated pointedly. Well while he was no expert on mobile suit manufacture or upkeep, the engine exploding would likely be a bad thing, so he supposed he would need to pay it more mind then he had been priorly yet even so, surely they would have the time needed for a full repair job. They just as Poulin had said, needed the proper equipment and facilities.

"The engine seemed to be running just fine even after it got shot up at Side Five." He reminded the man as he pulled free a single cigarette before grunting and pulling forth a second and extending it to the team's unofficial mechanic. Greg he had learned in the short time he had known the man was an expert on things mechanical relating to mobile suits, an obvious indicator why an otherwise only modestly skilled pilot would be hand selected into the special forces division under Kycilia.

The larger man just seemed to sigh as he accepted the free smoke and twisted its filter free before stuffing the tube of tobacco between his lips. "Yes Dieter and that was before you overclocked the damn engine and almost flash fried the actually good intake, if it can't filter fuel and expel exhaust waste then its worthless, you'd have to get another booster unit." Poulin grumbled as he lit his own cigarette before exhaling a harsh cloud of nicotine laced smoke.

"I doubt we could find a spare around here, this close to the front and it would take at least a week to get one this far from the Homeland, what with all the wartime traffic and...Zeonic in all likelihood would have to make a new one to begin with, it isn't like we have a shortage of Zaku." He stated rather dryly at Poulin. Yeah, if his engine cluster was slag then in all honesty he'd be out of the war until it could be replaced, that was unacceptable, but thankfully Poulin the miracle worker that he was had come with a solution albeit a temporary one.

A new engine and booster unit would be better but that would also lead to delays as the unit was installed and not to mention as he stressed before the sheer time it would take to get out here to Granada. It might have been on the side of the Lunar surface closest to Side Three but that was still a hell of a trip even by conventional warship nuclear drive. So he could only hope that this patch job could hold over until a proper repair job could be done.

"Which is why I rigged up the intake as best as I could, as long as you don't overstress the engine it should hold up fine for now." Well it was better then nothing, and it would keep his mobile suit usable for the foreseeable future, he shouldn't complain but even so he didn't like it. What if he was wrong? What if Kycilia deployed Typhon once again, he'd either have to request another unit or make do with his damaged one.

'Just when I was starting to think of getting custom work done on the thing too.' He thought sourly.

He buried the negativity and grousing though, it wouldn't do him and therefore Zeon any favors and so it was something to discard.

Work towards a solution, strive ever forward.

"Anything else you can do?" His question was simple and the reply either way would be just as simple he knew.

"I will take a poke at it tomorrow, but in all honesty? I doubt it...I may be former Zimmad but even I ain't that good." He let out a short and almost bitter sounding laugh.

He eyed his fellow servicemen curiously at the admission. Zimmad, Zeonic's primary competitor and chief market rival. They were a less renowned, less funded and utilized company these days following the full introduction and mass production of the Zaku series but he could still remember the bidding and propaganda wars being waged back in the Homeland years prior between the two companies. That Poulin was a former engineer with them though...

Well it explained where he got his technical skill if nothing else.


January 22nd, 0079

Side One, Federation Docking Berth 19

Shangri-La, Federal Space Force Military Headquarters

1500 Hours

Meryl O'Sullivan wiped away the stale and dried sweat that had clung to her forehead for the prior half hour, at the very least she should be grateful to be of some use today. The last week hadn't been the most pleasant of her time with the Federation, no in the aftermath of Loum everything had gone horribly. The surviving officership of the Federation were under constant pressure by the civil and legislative bodies that made up the Parliament to dictate a proper course of action, and of course her being a officer made her apart of that quagmire.

It seemed if she wasn't busy filing away report after report, she was in constant meetings with fellow Federal officers or even worse, civilian representatives of one Side or another. It was pure unadulterated chaos, and they had Zeon to blame for it. No one, not a soul within the Federation could have predicted that Zeon might actually defeat the Federation outright in a decisive battle, yet now for better or worse all of humanity knew of its victory at Side Five. Knew of the Federation's bloody withdrawal, of the colony cluster's outright destruction.

Yet even more distressing was the news coming from the brass on Earth, were they honestly considering outright surrender? To Zeon? To the monsters that had killed billions of people? Yet even despite her disgust at the mere notion of Zeon actually triumphing from its wicked deeds, she understand why that would be a thought...Their military strength was depleted, it would be months, maybe years before they could rebuild their shattered fleets and even begin to approach the strength they had prior to the outbreak of war.

How were they going to fight against such a force that could break their greatest fleets in half? Mobile Suits, never in her life could she have dreamed that traditional naval strength and striking power would be rendered redundant by such a technology. Stepping away from the interior of the fighter, her plain coveralls coated in grime, grease and grit she frowned at the stubborn engine block. The Saberfish was far more delicate then the Tin Cod but she supposed it was a good enough plane to fly...it just couldn't match up to what it was being asked to face though, no the Zaku line had them outclassed in nearly every capacity from firepower to armoring.

It wasn't quite as fast as the Saberfish but was close enough to render that advantage a non factor, something she could attest to from personal experience.

Once again she was drawn back into the memories of battling against that black Zaku in the battle for Side Five. Her rounds just failing to penetrate its thick armoring, its return fire barely avoiding her as she backpedaled her fighter into a more advantageous angle. If she had missiles, if she had anything that could do damage to it...When she had first encountered it, she had raked its flank with fire and scarcely done anything to it. Except when she had struck at its engine mount, the thruster system for propelling the war machine.

That seemingly had some effect as the mobile suit had turned to protect itself near immediately.

'It likely wasn't as well armored as the frontal chasis.' Her mind chided her wishful thinking. Of course the engine wouldn't be as well protected as the front of the suit, but trying to get around to engage it again had proven impossible, all the machine had to do was keep it out of scope and it negated her one avenue of success assault, even then the suit's movements had been crisp and precise so clearly she hadn't done any true damage to it even by striking against it.

"Lieutenant!" She heard the sharp crack of the base commander's command and she immediately stiffened. She was off duty at the moment, surely she wasn't going to be chewed out for ignoring some minor report or updating her superiors...the entire point of coming here to work on her bird was to get away from that bullshit for a moment, there was a war raging out there and the very least she could do was attempt to get her fighter serviceable again to fight it.

"Yes sir!" She replied as she turned to face him already stiffening her body into ramrod straight parade attention.

"You are to report to the briefing room immediately, we have a visitor and they asked for you." At the order she internally raised a thin blond brow. She was requested? By someone who could order the Colonel who ran this installation around? God what the hell could this be?


AN: Well there we have it, the lead up to the finale, the next two chapters will basically be dictated by the final stretch of the plot. I can't say too much without spoiling all the juicy tidbits of what is going to happen out at Side One, but if you read the Yuuka one shot: Impact then you likely have some idea. So there isn't much need for me to reveal more eh?

You know I received a pretty interesting message relating to this fic a few days back via Reddit, specifically the Gundam Subreddit where I have advertised this story a few times. In that message I got asked a amusing question, well I thought it was amusing but in truth it did hit on a few points I have been trying to subtly poke at as far as mental states of the characters. To sum it up the fellow asked if Dieter was a psychopath, in my reply I basically stated that he had several psychopathic tendencies but wasn't outright psychotic.

Namely I pointed towards his sheer apathy towards life as a big one, overall he has little to no regards to the value of other people's lives, and this was sort of hammered home by his time in the Academy so basically while they were honing his survival and killer instinct, it was meanwhile snuffing out any sort of lingering attachment towards people as a whole. Combine that in with the Zabi doctrine and overall you have a fairly cold and uncaring person, and Dieter occasionally ponders his actions, why he feels no guilt, no real reservation with ending lives, he realizes that there must be something wrong with him but overall cannot stop to even attempt to fix himself. So he buries those lingering doubts and reservations, racks them up as personal failures, I think I expressed that best with the lead up to Loum.

His doubt in himself, in his own actions was rationalized by him as lack of devotion to his cause, his duty and then preceded to be buried by the Zeonic victory there. Never once did he happen to think that there was perhaps lingering guilt or doubt based around his actions at Colony 13, although he is occasionally revisited by memories from there as the last chapter proved, but they are for the most part ignored.

So basically the only people whose lives have even a modicum of value to him are those of his own countrymen, just as the only state that matters to him is itself Zeon.

His persona is tied into the Principality, his beliefs, his thought process, his very existence is bound up in the notion of Side Three, his own ambitions and dreams all tie into it. Basically it is the other half of himself, he views himself as a utility to the state and as a soldier, not a person. Yet at the same time his own desires, greed and ambitions extend beyond his role. He wants to be great, not just as a soldier but as a leader, he wants to live up to the ideals of his homeland.

His self importance ties into his devotion if you want to get down to the basics, he fights because of that, patriotism aside he is a fairly selfish person. Yet at the same time there is the groundwork for him to become outright unhinged, if the only balancing mechanism for his actions is removed, all he is left with is what he has done. So I suppose look at it through this lense.

Without the Principality, without Zeon he likely would devolve into a full blown psychopath. A friend I had back in my college days would likely say that Dieter would have an extreme sense of narcissism and moderate psychosis. As it stands though? He lacks the trademark total lack of empathy and human awareness that would make him undeniably a psychopath. He cares, just about select people, in select amounts, all based around his own beliefs.

Yuuka on the other hand I undeniably confirmed was a sociopath to some degree or another. A very unhinged one at that. I could explain that conversation in another whole AN though and this is dragging on. But before I do end this topic, I would like to point out this is the sort of question I would love to get in the comments, I mean it seems in my stories all the serious and thought provoking comments or questions I receive always come from some secondary source that isn't affiliated with my story itself.

Anyway as always I would like to remind you all to review, favorite and follow. No feedback is sort of grating upon occasion truth be told, how am I supposed to know what works, what to improve on and what to fix for future works if I don't hear from the fanbase? Admittedly I do sort of cut this fiction's lack of interest some slack due to how pathetically small our little fanbase here is but...even so. Just a handful of paragraphs explaining what you would like to see, what needs to be fixed, etc, etc would be helpful upon occasion.

Till next time in: The Soldier of Zeon

-Reborn Akatsuki