Soldier of OZ: Walker's Account

Chapter 12 – Zechs, Distracted by Victory

Before Midnight of 9 June, AC 195, Mirny, Sakha Republic

Flight Lieutenant Ogasawara Emi pulled the lever opening the cockpit hatch, watching the instrument panel and forward display rise and the cockpit door open. The cold night air filled her cockpit immediately, causing her to shiver in her crop top. About forty meters ahead, she spotted fellow F/L Oswald Walker rising to his feet in front of his crippled mobile suit before awkwardly walking forward. Squinting through her goggles, she could see he was clutching his left side.

"Walker, how badly are you wounded? Walker?" She pulled off her radio, grabbed the first aid kit off the back wall of her cockpit, and undid her restraints, falling out of her cockpit and landing on her feet.

"Walker!" she shouted across the Siberian plain.

Walker kept slowly moving towards her, now limping. He was missing his folding cap, and she could see red staining his white gloves. As she approached him, he seemed to stop, take a deep breath, and pulled something out of his abdomen. He screamed in pain, much louder than Ogasawara thought Walker could scream, and clutched something in his bloody hands.

"Walker!" she screamed, before sprinting across the plain to him. She reached him just in time to catch him in her arms as he fell forward.

"What the hell happened to you?" she shouted at him. His face, normally kept clean and neat, was a sprayed with a black substance and a few shades paler than it should have been. He looked like he was sweating and his eyes seemed to move rapidly back and forth. She carefully set him down on the ground and looked at his tightly clenched hands. With little effort, she wrestled his fingers apart and found him clenching something—a long shard of polymer plastic about twelve centimeters long with half of it soaked in blood. "What is this?"

"Cockpit…shrapnel…Gundam fired at me, didn't dodge fast enough…" he mumbled. "Debris entered my cockpit. Commander, I'm in a lot of pain…arugh…"

Walker winced in pain and Ogasawara looked down. In his double-breasted green jacket, on the left side, was a visible hole through the material. The hole was surrounded by an expanding red spot.

"Shit, Walker, you've been stabbed!" she screamed. "How did you get stabbed in your own cockpit?"

Walker mumbled something incoherent, a trail of drool out of the right corner of his mouth. "Gaaahhh…"

"What?" Emi demanded angrily.

Walker opened and closed his jaws for a few minutes, and visibly tried to focus. "…I think I'm going into shock, Commander Oga-Oga-Ogasa..."

"Just call me 'Emi'," she told him, looking around. Besides their two mobile suits, they were alone in field. No Gundam or other mobile suits to be seen. Just bursts of cannon fire in the distance."Just…lay down," she told him.

"Yes ma'am."

"And stop talking!"

"Yes ma'am…" he mumbled, sounding lightheaded.

"Just stay still, I need to find the wound," she hissed at him as she began pulling at his double-breasted jacket, trying to tear it open.

"I think…I think I punctured my spleen," he told her quietly.

Emi growled angrily and begun undoing his uniform. "Damn it, Walker, you take the wrong parts of your job way too seriously, and now you're bleeding to death." She finally undid all ten polished buttons and opened his uniform, then tore apart the maroon blouse he was wearing underneath it. The shard of plastic had gone through the wool jacket, the blouse, and even his undershirt.

"Damn it," Emi hissed, peeling his undershirt off the wound. A steady stream of blood trickled out of a small, jagged hole over his abdomen. "Okay, it looks like you ruptured your spleen."

"…right again…" Walker mumbled, too softly to be heard. He coughed twice, hacking up blood on her chest, before his head fell backward limply.

She put a hand on his wound, opening the first aid kit by cracking it against the hard ground. A few basic medical supplies fell out. "Apparently, your service uniform doesn't protect your internal organs from getting skewered by shrapnel."

She carefully moved Walker on the ground so she could prop his feet up against a nearby rock. "Is…is that why you wear that? In case you get…hurt?" he asked, sounding increasingly delirious.

The wind blowing across the plain caused her to shiver as she searched through the supplies with one hand. Walker coughed again, louder, hacking out more blood. She put more pressure on his side.

Remember basic medical. Keep him awake, talking, active, anything to keep him from going in shock. "What, you think I like wearing crop tops?" Emi asked, grinning frantically. "We're outside Mirny, Siberia, at night. It's nine degrees centigrade out here with wind chill. I could cut glass here."

Hearing her, Walker stifled for a few seconds before laughing out loud. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh: they sounded short and difficult, and ended with another bloody cough. "I'm…I'm sorry for laughing, commander."

"Afraid you'll offend me?" she asked, keeping pressure on his abdomen.

"Yes, but also because it's very painful, ma'am…" he said, before coughing again, this time spitting out blood.

"Come on, Walker, stay with me here," she told him. "This isn't a movie, people survive penetrating splenic injuries all the time."

Walker coughed a little more. "Really?"

"Of course," she snapped at him. With her left hand, she tore open the packaging around a large bandage, exposing the adhesive. "Now, this'll stop the external bleeding. The medics will be here in a second, and they'll deal with your internal bleeding."

Removing her bloody right hand, she tried to wipe off the blood steadily trickling out of Walker before sticking the bandage on, then began wrapping his abdomen with gauze.

"How do you feel, Walker?"

Walker didn't immediately respond, but some blood did trickle out of his mouth. "Walker!" she yelled.

"I…my vision is very blurry, and I have a lot of light headedness. The pain is still quite severe," he said, biting onto his lip. "Really…really, severe…really…r-really…"

"Walker, you're going into shock!" she yelled as Walker started stuttering and shaking more violently. She felt his forehead, finding it clammy and warm; while she was shivering, Walker was actually sweating.

"…r-really…really severe…"

"Damn it Walker, stop that!" she barked at him.

Walker coughed out some blood and tilted his head, letting some of the blood trickle out of his mouth with gravity. "S-Sorry, commander. I…my heart rate…is rising."

"Because you're going into septic shock! Or hypovolemic shock, I don't know, I'm not a doctor!" she yelled back at him. She looked around before hissing angrily, then stuffed the remaining supplies into his pockets and picked him up as carefully as she could.

"Can you still walk?"

Walker responded by vomiting out a mouthful of blood.

"Damn it, you survived a Gundam cutting your machine in half, but some plastic shrapnel turns your insides into Swiss cheese. Real nice, Walker," she mumbled, carrying him over to her machine and setting him down between the kneeling legs. She reached into one of her pockets and took out a folded Mylar space blanket, tore open the packaging, and began wrapping Walker inside it carefully.

"I'm…I'm not cold, commander…" he mumbled, sounding even weaker.

She felt his forehead. "You're burning up, that's why. Just shut up and stay awake."

Walker blinked a few times. "Commander Oga...Command…Emi. Emi."

She looked back at him. His blue-green eyes had dark bags under them now. "Just stay awake, Walker, the medics will be here soon."

"I'm…very sorry about this." He shifted underneath the aluminum blanket. "Very sorry, about…causing all this trouble. And coughing…all over your…shirt."

"Don't worry, I've got a whole wardrobe of them," she told them. "Where are those damn medics?" she mumbled softly.

"Wait here, Walker, I'm getting my radio," she told him, climbing up the cockpit hatch. "Not like you're going anywhere."

She took her radio headset and put it on, hearing strange chatter over a channel. Listening to it, she blinked and turned, just in time to see a twinkling flash, a few kilometers away. A second later, it grew much brighter, like a dying star before vanishing.

"Walker, look!" she said, pointing. "Walker?"

Walker wasn't responding.

II

Walker blacked out, so he missed a few things: the self-destruction of Gundam-01 by its pilot, the arrival of a Eurasian Army medical helicopter, being loaded onto a stretcher, then being evacuated to Mirny Air Force Base and treated by a military surgeon.

Emi watched him as they rapidly moved him from the helicopter to triage tents, set up specifically for the few survivors left among the Eurasian Leo units and OZ Aries squadrons, listening to the Russian coming out of the tent. The red-and-yellow flag of the Union of Eurasian Republics waved from a flagpole in the middle of the tent complex.

Someone finally exited. "Doctor!" she yelled, approaching a physician wearing soiled scrubs and a mask.

He noticed her bloodstained hand and clothing, pulled off his mask and adjusted his glasses. "Right, ma'am, you came with the captain, didn't you?" he asked her in English.

Emi tilted her head. Right, Eurasians don't use our ranks. "Yes, that was me, how is he?"

The doctor, a middle-aged Russian man with thinning hair and the wear of a twenty-year military career on his face, looked at him before smiling a little. "Comrade Walker will be fine," he told her. "As you said to the medics, his spleen was ruptured. I sutured the rupture closed and it will heal with rest and time."

He washed his hands in a nearby sink before pulling off the latex gloves and washing them again. "You did well to keep him fairly stable before the medevac, Comrade Captain."

The doctor looked at her again. "His fever and infection are easily treated with a vasopressor and antibiotics. We'll return Comrade Walker to your care very soon, I can promise."

She crossed her hands, looking less relieved than inconvenienced. "Is he awake?"

"Not yet, let him rest. Rest is crucial. Is he important to you?"

"No," she told him quickly and seriously. The doctor kept looking at her, drying his hands off. "He's a comrade, and under my command for this operation."

The doctor immediately backpedaled. "Of course. I did not mean to imply…something else. Excuse me."

He walked over a Eurasian Army officer, a sharp-dressed Russian woman with short hair in a camouflage and a folding cap, and addressed her in Russian. "Tovarisch Mladshiy Leytenant, would you please ensure the OZ Captain leaving the operating tent leaves with the other captain who came with her? There is an ongoing operation, I understand."

"Of course, Tovarisch Mayor, which captain?" she asked.

The doctor pointed at Emi, who stared back with suspicious eyes that made the junior lieutenant jump a little bit.

"The chesty one with the legs, Lieutenant. I did not get her name," he told her plainly in their tongue. "Next patient, please!"

III

Walker woke up in the medical ward. The first thing he saw a Eurasian Army junior officer, a man a few years his senior, awkwardly putting on his service tunic. The men and women of the Eurasian military dressed in the style of most of the pre-Alliance world military forces, seventy years ago—olive drab tunics with insignia on the lapels, over green blouses and ties, along with matching slacks or breeches with boots. The Eurasians liked bright colors, however, so their collar insignia came in bright colors—in this case, red—and their trousers carried the same color stripes. It was potentially ironic that the Eurasian Armed Forces, more than two-hundred years old, dressed in a style that was actually more modern than the Alliance, the Romefeller Foundation, and OZ.

He watched the junior officer awkwardly pull on his tunic, before he realized what was causing so much trouble: he was missing one of his hands. He'd probably lost it quite recently, when the Gundams attacked Mirny. He was young enough that an advanced prosthetic was probably in his near future.

Walker sat up in his bed before wincing in pain. He still felt like he'd been stabbed in the stomach.

Still barefoot, he carefully climbed out of bed. Pulling his IV rack after him he circled around the bed to the front where he looked at his chart. He could read just enough Russian, along with the pictures, to discern what had happened to him.

He looked down the top of his own medical gown. Pretty good stiches. He opened and closed his hands. Ten fingers. He looked down again. Ten toes. I still have all my digits.

Looking around, he spotted a small drawer that he shared with the adjacent bed, occupied by a comatose woman. He went through the drawers until opening the third one from the top, in which he found his dirty, ragged hunter green uniform.

IV

Breathing the late afternoon air, Kaneshiro Kanna wrapped her knuckles against the edge of the bench. Past her, David Bishop was lying on the soft grass while A. K. Mazuri sat on another bench.

"…Ukraine, Russia, Belarus…we were just in Sakha…Mongolia, Armenia, Georgia…"

"Georgia's not in the Union."

Dac was counting with his fingers. "Are you sure?"

Mazuri nodded, not facing him. "It's not."

"…Armenia?"

"You already said Armenia."

Kanna rolled her eyes when she managed to discern the sound of someone tapping faintly against the glass that lined the courtyard they were sitting in, around a statue of an ancient Eurasian doctor in a suit and tie, with an equally ancient emblem of a hammer crossed over a farming sickle on the pedestal. She turned in its direction, to see Walker tapping a finger against the glass, before looking for a door into the courtyard.

"Taichō!" Kanna called out, as Dac and Mazuri looked in the same direction. Walker passed along a few more windows before reaching a door, which he opened with some effort.

"Sir, you're awake!" They rose to their feet as he approached them slowly, taking careful steps.

"See, I told you he was fine. Little thing like that wouldn't keep the F/L down!" Mazuri said cheerfully.

"How long have you been here?" Walker asked, as Kanna patted him on both shoulders with more force than he was expecting. "How long was I out?" he asked, glancing at his wristwatch, broken and with a cracked face.

"Not even a day."

He looked at the three of them: Kanna wore a red tank top and black spandex workout pants with a red flower pattern on the left leg. Mazuri wore a tan khaki suit with a two-button blazer and slacks, complete with a folded handkerchief in the breast pocket. Finally, Dac wore denim jeans and a green sweater over a blue blouse.

The obvious occurred to Walker: he was the only one in uniform, albeit a bloody and oil-stained uniform with a hole in the left side. "So, in the day I was in the hospital, did the war end?"

As the four walked in a line, Mazuri snickered, his hands in his blazer pockets. "Sort of, sir."

Kanna explained, as they left the hospital for Mirny Air Force Base by bus. Kanna sat next to Walker. "Flight Lieutenant Ogasawara was with you when you arrived from Mirny AFB. She left after that, but I did have a chance to speak to her."

"What did she say?"

Kanna cocked her head. Her voice took on a casual, friendly air. "Not a lot, to be honest." On the plastic bus bunch along the outer wall, she propped the balls of her feet up next to her hands on the edge of the seats, sitting like an energetic child might. "Basically, Une-tokusa was able to force the Gundams to surrender somehow."

"You're joking," Walker said. He didn't sound happy.

"I wish. Somehow, she forced the Gundams to withdraw, except for Gundam Zero-One, which self-detonated in front of Colonel Zechs via one of its battery packs!" Still sitting like a frog, she leaned towards him on the bench. "Guess the Gundams are as crazy as we thought they were. Turns out Zero-One's pilot was some fifteen-year-old!"

As a flight lieutenant, Walker had actually seen the classified report from the Alliance's Third Naval Hospital, where the Gundam pilot was originally held before he escaped, on the same day as the Battle of Corsica. No, not really. "Yes, it's pretty crazy," he said slowly. "How he'd get away?"

"How do you know he got away?" Mazuri asked calmly. Walker gave him a look.

"It's unconfirmed, but his body was taken by Zero-Three. We lost more than half of the forces at Mirny, so that was it," she said, shrugging.

"Of course. So the team's been on standby since?"

"Affirmative," Mazuri told him.

"What did you do in the meantime?"

"You mean, this morning and afternoon?" Dac asked. "Well, let's see: we had a late breakfast in town. Attending a briefing at noon. Had lunch, then watched a movie none of us could understand. Awesome time, really."

The bus stopped down the road from Mirny AFB, as they all climbed off. "So what now, sir?" Dac asked.

" I can't tell you for certain. But for myself, I'm going to get a new uniform, then report to the colonel. Outside town, there's about ten tonnes of Gundam scattered across the Siberian countryside, and a lot of work to be done before the others come back," he told them. "In the meantime, you're dismissed."

Mazuri glanced up at Kanna, who just shrugged, hands crossed over her chest.

V

"Walker, it's Zechs. I heard you took a minor bruising against Zero-Three. That's good news."

Walker was lucky—the staff at the OZ divisional headquarters had spare uniforms, and he practically defined "average" height and build for his age and ethnicity. I've always heard women have a harder time getting uniforms, he thought as he pulled a new double-breasted jacket over the fresh blouse. Another thing I can't relate to.

"I'm in the fields east of Mirny, the Gudam's detonation site. I could use your help here."

He listened to the voicemail left by Zechs as he finished buttoning his tunic. On the table in the changing top were a few other personal effects: his ceremonial saber, which he'd tossed into his mobile suit before deployment, its scabbard now pockmarked and scratched extensively, and his mobile suit pennant—largely resistant to the same scratching thanks to its construction. There was his personal defense weapon, the German machine pistol, less scratched and banged up then his saber,.

He took the pennant and dropped it into his briefcase, before gathering his saber and his mobile phone, which had remained in his uniform the whole time. He left the divisional headquarters, and took a borrowed Eurasian Army motorcycle—a Dnepr off-road model—out to the battle site.

As soon as he was on sight, he was looking through the upturned dirt, getting his fresh white trousers stained by tan soil. A perimeter had been established by the Red Army's 9th Guards Division, or rather, what was left of their Leo mobile suits. Looking up at them, he remembered they were indistinguishable from Alliance mobile suits, except for their gold-white-red Guards insignia painted on their torsos.

"Listen up!" He spoke to four OZ officers, all flight lieutenants like himself, who had been brought in from the Siberian Air Army to handle the delicate situation. "This is a regular mobile suit recovery operation. Across about a forty meter radius, we're looking for under seven tonnes of wreckage made mostly of GND polymer—that's short for Gravitationally-engineered Universal Neutral Discharge polymer, which the press calls Gundanium alloy when you add it to conventional materials—along with a high-powered beam rifle and ramming shield together weighing under two tonnes. We're lucky that the pilot self-destructed while stationary, meaning the wreckage dispersal is minimal. Bismarck and Borusewicz, see if you can isolate whatever's left of the explosive compound that augmented the power cell overload. I'd say RDX."

"Not Pentaerythritol?" Borusewicz asked.

"I'm not a chemist, are you?" he asked. "I mean that seriously, a chemist would be useful right now. Forget it. The point is, the Colonials designed a phenomenal war machine, that was equipped with an incredibly substandard self-destruction device. Unless their objective was to leave just enough evidence for us to completely reverse engineer anything we obtained."

There was something halfway between a murmur and a chuckle among the officers.

"Think about it. That's a mobile suit with a fusion reactor that must put out…twenty-five hundred kilowatts? You can't safely hardwire that to form any sort of catastrophic reaction. So you use the disposable power cells its carrying for its beam cannon, which makes sense. But it also means you'd have to literally pack a Gundam with enough military-grade explosive to destroy the evidence…"

"…which, thanks to the Gundanium, they couldn't."

"That's what I'm starting to think. Hussein, you know something about beam rifles, right? Can you give me your general estimation as the condition of the cyclotron in the beam cannon? I've heard that's something that wouldn't survive an explosion."

"I'll take a look, F/L."

"Von Wulf, you're with me." He glanced over at the massive cargo carrier with a flatbed surface capable of transporting a mobile suit. "I want to see what we've got."

"Jawohl, Flight Lieutenant. This way."

He followed the officer up the side ladder and onto the flatbed. Before he, arranged in approximate layout, were a few tonnes of Gundam Zero-One, lying face down: much of the right leg, a good deal of the torso and wing roots, the main propulsion thrusters,

"The damn wing roots kept us from lying it on its back." he said, glancing over at the large mobile crane nearby. "All the same, we've around found a lot. The condition is another matter."

Walker nodded. More than I expected, he thought, glancing over as a Leo carefully picked up most of the beam cannon.

"So what do you think, sir?"

"It's more than I expected. I missed the self-detonation out in the field, but from the description, there wasn't much left." Then again, this confirms my suspicions. A pilot could have survived this. I survived worse than this. And I'm not an insane, conditioned Colonial anarchist. "Let's assume they at least destroyed most of the internal electronics, power conduits, gyroscopes and the reactor—those are all things OZ pioneered."

He scratched his chin as he tapped the side of the Gundam's right leg with his boot. "What's the name of the officer the Eurasians are sending in on this?"

The battle happened in their country, so the Eurasians had every right to investigate. Even more so, they were lending cranes, recovery vehicles and Leos to the effort. "A major from the Red Army, a Konstantin Novikov."

Walker blinked and looked at von Wulf. "Konstantin Dmitrievich Novikov?" he asked.

"I think so, sir. He's right over there. Meanwhile, I want to take a look at the other side."

"I'll take the shoulders." Walker circled around, surveying the wreck, when he heard two familiar voices—Noin and Zechs—speaking from beneath him.

"So, even Gundams end up as scraps of metal. Or polymer."

"This Gundam's design is based on Tallgeese. So I think the basic technology utilized for Tallgeese could be applied to it."

Zechs glanced up at Walker, who politely looked up before reaching out and into a crack in the armored plating wide enough to stick his hand through.

He continued. "Noin, would you mind if I took this Gundam with me to Lake Victoria?"

"Are you planning to rebuild it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It seems I'm still preoccupied with its pilot."

"The dead pilot?"

Zechs knelt down over some debris. "I have a feeling he's alive. It's unlikely after that blast, but I do hope so. As a fellow pilot, I feel we were meant to battle. "

Walker couldn't even permit himself to mentally redress what Zechs had said while facing him. Instead he pulled harder at the coil of wiring he'd grasped through the crack in the armor. This is where you and I disagree, sir. I expect him to be alive to, but I wish he weren't. And regardless of my feelings towards Une, whatever she did to end the battle should have been done sooner, before good soldiers were killed.

VI

Apparently, Lady Soris Armonia was passing on her way through the city of Mirny in Siberia, and wanted a chance to speak to her fellow lieutenant colonel, Zechs Merquise. It was the sort of coincidence Walker didn't like but was used to. High officers did this sort of thing. Jetting around on Romefeller's dime. At least Soris was doing to meet with soldiers, and not her boyfriend or her nephew or the like.

That evening, having returned from the wreck site, Walker cleaned himself and found himself looking for Emi—he actually meant to do so earlier, but running around busy with a dull ache in his side had slowed him down. He was lucky he was still young.

Not surprisingly, he found Emi speaking with the Viscountess at their divisional headquarters. He saluted both of them swiftly.

Soris came with her adjutant, a well-groomed Lebanese squadron commander Walker didn't recognize who about the same age as the rest of them. His uniform was identical to Walker's, except for the single large diamond on his rank insignia in place of four smaller ones like Walker, and that he'd worn his double-breasted jacket completely closed, revealing the gold colored edging along the right edge, whereas Walker folded his to the left, revealing the white lining underneath. Emi dressed as Walker had, except with a mirrored jacket, the normal custom for women.

"Walker, good to see you got out of that mess."

"Thank you, my Lady."

She smirked at the title of address, before extending a gloved hand at Emi, who looked at it and shook it. "It was good finally meeting you, Ogasawara. There aren't that many vicious warriors like us among the women in OZ, after all."

"Thank you, Colonel."

Walker glanced at the two. This is a compliment?

"If I don't see you before I leave, I look forward to you in space. It'll be brutal enough for you out there."

"Yes, ma'am. And please give some thought to my proposal."

The lieutenant colonel and the squadron commander excused themselves, leaving Emi and Walker in the same room. Walker glanced at her with an expression he hoped would convey what he was thinking. Apparently it did.

"Don't ask. Armonia has a reputation as a superb, unwavering pilot with no sense of fear. Not perfect qualities but very good ones for First Recon."

"Of course." He decided to cut to the point. "I wanted to thank you, Lieutenant Ogasawara."

She looked out the window at the night. Mirny looked like practically every city in Siberia at night: well lit, quiet, and short of cars. "You can still call me 'Emi', Walker."

He nodded a little. "Thank you, Emi."

"How do you feel?"

"Fine, except for some residual pain. I've felt much worse."

"That sounds like something you'd say, Walker," she said, leaning against the wall, crossing her arms. Her ceremonial katana tapped its sheath against the wall. "Should I call you that? Oswald? Or just Walker?"

He tried to take a natural pose. It was hard to do standing in the middle of a room, so as gracefully as he could, he sat on the edge of a nearby table. "I'm sure you know on my personnel file I'm still Oswald Walker. But it's an unfortunate name for an officer in the Alliance Special Troops, and even more so for a certified mobile suit engineer."

After Colony 175, OZ builds the first mobile suit, then goes underground as a secret society. And while they haven't kept the monopoly on the technology, OZ still manufactures more mobile suits each year than the rest of the universe combined, Emi thought as she looked at Walker, the young, unassuming engineer with brown hair and sharp, angular eyes underneath straight eyebrows. If there was any way for a normal, working class kid to join that cabal, mobile suit engineering certification is probably it. Having 'OZ' on your belt buckle didn't mean a lot.

"So just Walker?"

"Yes."

Emi gave him the sort of look that indicated he was under no obligation to speak further on the subject, so he didn't. He stood up and sniffed the air a little. There's that smell. Expensive soap.

"Excuse me, I need to check if orders have come in yet. I'll keep you informed. Good evening, Emi."

Walker excused himself. He thanked her, which meant he had nothing else to say, and he was very worried he might slip off the table or otherwise make a fool of himself. He could only hope Emi couldn't tell that was the case. Plus he expected if he was forced to just stare at her to maintain eye contact in this setting, something awkward was bound to happen.

VII

All it took was one cup of coffee to remind Walker of a few things—first, he was used to late nights, and second, unlike alcohol, a little caffeine went a long way.

Two hours after meeting Soris, Walker strolled into the hangar were OZ-00MS 'Tallgeese' was being stored, not because he expected to do any last-minute revisions or to be struck by an epiphany in the area of engineering, but because he wanted to see how the machine had fared against Gundam-01. Compared to the wreckage, quite well—some melted armor here and there, but otherwise, little damage, except for missing left arm, completely severed a meter past the ball point.

That makes perfect sense. Tallgeese is made of titanium alloy. A beam saber would completely cut through it. When the Gundam got its hit in, it countered. clearly. He recalled what he'd seen before being shot down, their beam sabers crashing against one another and the air around them visibly flickering as light refracted unevenly, the shuddering magnetic fields lighting up the night. It replayed perfectly in his mind.

If he hadn't been wearing his folding cap, his hair might be standing on end.

What I don't understand is why Zechs would suddenly...miss like that. Something happened, something that had distracted Zechs. He'd been winning that duel, he was certain, and then he suddenly lost an arm?

Walker ran his a hand along the severed arm, feeling the contours of melted and re-solidified titanium.

"'Evening, Chief."

He turned to see A. Mazuri sitting, legs crossed, with a tall glass bottle of Stolichnaya Premium on a nearby table. It was half empty.

"Really? Vodka?"

"Hardly. Just filtered water. You know the Russians are very picky about that sort of thing here?" he asked.

"Yakuts," he said, correcting him. Walker sat down opposite him while he poured into a plastic cup.

Taking it, Walker sniffed the cup before drinking.

"See? At least it's cold," Mazuri said. "Then again, nothing's like you expect it in the magical land of the Eurasian Union. When I was a kid, people talked about Siberia like it was the surface of the moon. And that the Russians swam in this stuff," he said, finishing pouring.

"Climate change will change those things." Walker eyed the books Mazuri rested his other arm on. "Technical manuals?"

"For the Leo. I mean, I know I'll probably never operate one again, but all the same." He poured another glass of water. "Ever ride one, sir?"

"Of course I have. I think every Speciali had. Even if the Aries was our most famous machine, we all trained on Leos. I also worked at Corsica, which manufactured them."

"No kidding?" he asked. "My whole career was in a Leo before 'Daybreak'. I suppose it's done everything I've asked. Or…something."

The two sat in silence, as Walker finished his cup of water. Finally, he spoke again. "So, not much luck with the nightlife?"

That got Mazuri going again. "I know we're in a city in Siberia, but come on. I'm pretty sure a third of the people left as soon as they heard the Gundams were coming. They must be enjoying our continued misery." He moved his arms and looked at the manuals. "Manuals aren't the worse thing to be reading. And they'll put me to sleep."

"Run into any obstacles?"

Mazuri raised an eyebrow, and Walker just shrugged back at him, brushing a little dust off his cape.

"It's not really something to brag about, but I've read those things backwards and forwards. I even contributed on one for the Aries. You should ask."

Mazuri seemed to consider it. "Fine, Lieutenant. Here's something I've always wondered about: could you tell me why we call them 'vernier' thrusters and rockets? What's the difference? Oh, and please keep the engineering parlance to a minimum."

Walker nodded, setting down the plastic cup. "All right, well…you understand that we're talking about propulsion systems, right?"

"Of course."

"Can you think of a machine equipped with vernier rocket engines that's not a mobile suit? An aircraft or a missile?"

"Well, sure, there's…well…" Mazuri paused. It actually gave Walker a little satisfaction to see an intelligent man like Mazuri stumped like this. "What about…no, wait…"

He looked at Walker, who continued. "You can't, because there are none. You think 'vernier' is its own technological standard, like a turbofan or radial engine, but it's not. Not exactly. The word 'vernier' comes from the Seventeenth Century French mathematician Pierre Vernier, who devised the Vernier Scale."

Mazuri nodded. "That does explain why we call it 'vernier' not 'ver-ni-er'," he said, using the proper French pronunciation and then pronouncing it as it would be read in English. "But the Seventeenth Century…that was six-hundred years ago, there was no space travel back then."

"No, there wasn't. The vernier thruster was originated as a secondary rocket engine on spacecraft in the Twentieth Century and Before Colony period. We have similar systems today, though they're now just called 'attitude control motors' or ATM. Vernier thrusters served as a secondary propulsion system for altitude control in conjunction with the main propulsion system of a spacecraft."

Mazuri frowned. "So, how does that apply to mobile suits?"

He nodded, and gestured to the mobile suit behind him. "That goes back to the first mobile suit, Tallgeese. Twenty years ago, after completion, the machine was put through the proving grounds. OZ found out that the complete models' greatest advantage over other conventional weapons that already existed was as rapid deployment weapon with enormous firepower. But to do that, you'd have to make it far faster than it could ever be from its own locomotion."

The ex-Alliance ace crossed his arms as Walker continued with his story. "It was also the only way to keep such a huge target from being shot apart by missiles and cannon fire on the battlefield. Against the original designers' recommendations, some new minds modified one of the two ATM banks from a prototype space cruiser, grafting those two huge engines onto the back of the first mobile suit's frame. When it was found that the Tallgeese could physically take the punishment of those two huge rocket engines, the literature started calling them 'vernier' thrusters or rockets, and here we are. It's why our Aries don't have any vernier thrusters, they use dedicated turbofan engines and aerodynamics could achieve flight and maneuverability. An Aries is lighter than some attack aircraft, which gives it excellent aerodynamics, among other things."

"So, they're called vernier engines even though they're the main propulsion device. Why not just put vernier thrusters on an Aries?"

"Well, rocket engines have progressed a long way in the last decade. But among other things, turbofans have vastly superior fuel economy. You remember Nairobi, when we fought for an hour, full power, on half-full tanks? Tallgeese, or any of the Gundams for that matter, can only manage a few minutes of full power flight."

"Explains why only one of the Gundams is actually capable of prolonged flight."

"And even it is relying heavily on gliding performance, hence the wings," Walker pointed out, referencing Gundam-01. "Every other Gundam, and all other mobile suits, would fall to the ground like an aerodynamic brick if they flew half the time Aries dodes. Because it's directly inspired by Tallgeese, the thruster pack on a Pioneer Leo is the same: just two smaller vernier rockets mounted on opposite ends. That's why they're called 'vernier thrusters'. It's the new Tauruses that will have a different arrangement, of an actual propulsion system and a separate vernier system. With all engines built directly into the frame."

"So I've seen. The new Taurus looks like one hell of a machine, should be able to give a Tallgeese a run for its money, without killing the pilot."

"Well, Taurus was intended for extraterrestrial deployment. There already exists a terrestrial variant on paper, the OZ-12AMS," he said, putting emphasis on the 'A'. "The primary difference will be the replacement of the primary rocket engine with a modified turborocket engine for any sort of sustained flight. It should handle comparably to the Aries, but with better thrust. However, there are already so many veteran divisions pilots using Aries, I doubt it'll serve as much of a replacement. By design, it'll be more controllable than Tallgeese, but the price of keeping from killing pilots is less violent performance."

"Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it, sir?"

"Wonder about what?"

"If the reason we had 'Daybreak' in May was to keep the Alliance from being able to deploy the Taurus."

Walker scoffed a little. "Alliance Space Forces with a space-capable machine that could possibly out-turn a Gundam? It's a frightening thought."

"Especially for the Colonials. Grey Tauruses to replace purple Leos."

Walker nodded, rising to his feet. "Right. Still, as an engineer, the thoughts of a veteran Leo jockey inside a second generation mobile suit would have been very interesting."

Mazuri watched him leave from the table, walking towards the exit. "So what about me then?" he asked jokingly, as Walker stood up from the table.

"This is the first time we've spoken so long," Walker pointed out. "Hopefully I've taught you something, Mr. Mazuri. I'm not a very interesting person, so I have make up for it by being informative. Something a charmer like you wouldn't necessarily know."

Mazuri grinned at him, flashing those rows of straight, white teeth. "I see, sir." He watched Walker turn around and stroll out of the hangar. "Come back any time you'd like another drink, Flight Lieutenant," he jeered at the other man, who just waved back with one hand, not facing him.

VI

About ten minutes prior to Walker's conversation with A. Mazuri, he'd actually spoken again with Emi. He'd actually had to deliver her some documents, under more relaxed circumstances: when he'd arrived, he immediately suspected she'd had a few very large beers or something else an hour or so ago, before the local bars had closed, and seemed like she was ready to retire for the evening. The elder flight lieutenant sat, legs crossed, in a recliner, her boots propped up against the nearby coffee table. A red banner bearing the coat of arms of the Union of Eurasian Republics was tightly hung from one wall, which Walker stared at, hands behind his back.

It's not actually a coat of arms, as it doesn't follow heraldic rules. It may be two-hundred years old, but it's obviously not a royal insignia of any sort, nor a family crest. The escutcheon in the center is a world globe with the Eurasian continent in the center, underneath the outline of a five-pointed red star. It is supported on either side by ears of wheat. A rising sun appears at the bottom. It does seem to match the other national symbols of Eurasia.

"Walker?"

Walker immediately turned around and looked at Emi, who was propping her head up with one hand. "Didn't you have something for me?"

I should avoid getting sidetracked analyzing things. "Sorry, I was distracted. We don't have one of these in my room," he said, gesturing with his thumb at the sat down on the couch opposite of Emi, where she'd dropped her double-breasted jacket, and opened a folder. On the other wall, facing the banner, a black-and-white portrait of a Eurasian political leader from centuries ago stared over the room somberly, bald and with goatee. Or one of those.

Emi gestured at him with an open hand as he looked through the documents. "The First Recon Battalion will remain here at Mirny before joining the First Belarusian Front at Smolensk. The Front's objective is to surround and destroy the remainder of the Alliances' West Russian Air Army and East European Ground Divisions."

Emi leaned forward, her necklace dangling from her neck. "So several air force divisions, most of an Aries division, and several armored and mechanized infantry divisions and battalions. At least one Alliance Air Army, or whatever's left of it."

Whatever you do, don't stare down her crop top. Sooner or later, she's going to call you on that. Walker averted his eyes, gesturing a sheet of paper. "That Alliance Corps has managed to hold onto parts of far western Russia, Northern Belarus, and almost half of the territory of Latvia. Now, international cooperation has been practically impossible, frustrating progress."

Emi sorted through the sheets "Right, Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia want to reform the Baltic Federation, but they can't decide who gets what parts of the Alliance armed forces in their countries. Not to mention the ex-Alliance in Latvia is basically fighting a war with itself, with pro-Riga nationalists fighting pro-Alliance partisans. And everyone wants to make sure they take more equipment than the Russians and their side."

No one can claim she doesn't follow the news. "It's a complicated situation," he said in agreement. "The only international agreement there's been is that all the Union republics—including Belarus, Russia and Ukraine—want all Alliance troops in their territories out, and OZ is going to oblige them."

"I get it, you don't envy me," Emi said, looking through pages

He looked up at her. "Look at it this way, you'll probably only be there until the campaign ends or First Recon is needed in space. Then they'll send the rest of us to manage whatever's left."

Emi scoffed, and there was a knock in the direction of the door—by the empty doorframe, two flight officers stood side by side, in uniform, one with her arm nonchalantly across the other's shoulder. Walker noticed the friendlier-looking woman had a bindi, or red dot worn by men and women in South Asia, but probably best known for being worn by Indian women. She wore her black hair in a tight, disciplined-looking bun in the back of her head. Her arm was draped around the shoulder of a shorter comrade, an Asian woman with dark hair in a bob and wearing an eye patch.

It took a second, but Walker realized he recognized the unfriendly-looking woman—it was Tsujimoto, from Nairobi. Apparently, she'd been promoted.

"Look who I found, Emi!" the woman with the bindi said, smiling.

"Flight Officer Tsujimoto, congratulations on your promotion," he told her calmly, immediately standing up and approaching the door. The Japanese officer stared at him blankly, as did the woman with the bindi, who he didn't recognize, before squeezing her comrade a little more.

"She was just wandering outside in the dark," she said, leading Tsujimoto Nabiki to the table, and past Walker, who just stood with one hand extended. Emi smiled, rose to her feet, and embraced Tsujimoto briefly.

"Nabikichan, genki?" Emi asked, smiling at the shorter woman. Tsujimoto scoffed a little, said something in Japanese Walker didn't catch, before gesturing at her eye patch with one hand, as the two sat back down.

Walker shifted his open right hand very slightly before closing it and hiding it behind his back, trying to seem preoccupied. Emi noticed him and paused in her conversation with Tsujimoto, reverting to English. "Oh, Nabiki, I think you know Lieutenant Walker."

Walker nodded, keeping his hand behind his back. "We've met."

"And this is my second seat, Indira Syed Khan."

Syed Khan extended a hand towards Walker, who gratefully took it and shook it. "Pleasure, Lieutenant."

"Likewise, Officer."

"Walker here has fought against more Gundams than any other pilot in OZ, besides the Lightning Count," Emi said, gesturing with her head.

"Fighting is a charitable way of putting it. More like 'not dying' really."

Syed Khan laughed at what she thought was a joke. Walker just looked at her with his neutral, indecipherable expression, and she began to think it wasn't. "Wait, so you're Colonel Zech's Walker?"

"I suppose so, though I'm more an engineer by trade," he admitted. "Speaking of which, Ogasa...Emi, I'll give you back your evening, there are some maintenance issues I wanted to take a look at. If there's nothing else."

Emi just shrugged, so Walker took his leave. Syed Khan watched him leave, before turning back to her CO. "Is there something between you two?"

Emi turned to Syed Khan slowly. "…excuse me?"

"Is there?"

"No, he was here briefing me, he was in First Recon during Operation 'Amur', before he almost got shot down," she told her, deliberately and emphatically. "What are you..."

"I just thought, he's sort of…charming."

Emi stared at her, in disbelief.

"For an engineer."

More staring. "Who is incapable of showing emotion."

"I don't even know what that means," Emi said, starting to sound irritated.

"I really don't like the direction this conversation is going," Nabiki said, looking through the magazines on the coffee table.

Walker visited the hangar that housed Tallgeese, checked the repair itinerary postings and had his conversation with Mazuri, explaining the finer points of mobile suit propulsion. On his way out, he met Yoshitsune from the Maintenance Division, and the two chatted briefly.

"I'm not too worried about that," Yoshitsune acknowledged. "Actually, if you don't mind sir, could you do me a favor? Lieutenant Ogasawara requested her inventory updates as soon as possible, and since your both lieutenants…"

"Fine, fine, I understand, Yoshi. I might as well bother her for a third time this evening." He took the folder from Yoshi and returned the direction he came. By the time he returned, the conversation in the room had changed significantly.

Syed Khan was grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, like hell you don't care, Nabiki, that's a bloody lie. What are you going to do, wear that eye patch the rest of your life? No offense, but I don't think you can pull of that look."

Tsujimoto scoffed, as she flipped through the Russian-language celebrity and human-interest magazine, mostly looking at the photographs. Periodically she reached into a box of chocolate-covered biscuit snacks.

"What about black Alliance Leo jockey, what's-his-name? He was handsome."

"Actually, I'm pretty certain he's in Walker's team now," Emi added, lying back in the couch, resting head on her arms. Tusjimoto said nothing, instead just rolling her eyes.

"Well, what about him? Or does he have a thing for scars?"

"We're not really together anymore," Tsujimoto told her, still flipping and snacking.

"Well, you did say it wasn't a long term thing," Emi pointed out. Tsujimoto nodded approvingly.

Syed Khan shook her head. "Then you should get it fixed before you go back on the market. I mean, come on, OZ will pay for the whole thing."

"I'd rather spend that money myself," she countered.

"Right, you and money. I forgot how sad your outlook on life was, and how shockingly self-content you are with yourself, in light of the fact. Come on, you had a lovely face, and you're throwing it all away over one eye. Why don't you go to whoever did Emi's work?"

Emi's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Well, come on, they're pretty bloody amazing, Emi. Take it as a compliment. Though Nabiki's got plenty for her size. How does she do eyes?"

"Wait, wait," Emi interjected, standing up and leaning past Tsujimoto to Syed Khan. "What do you mean work? I haven't had surgery, Indira."

"Oh, come on, Emi. Kudos for all the exercise it took to get those legs, and you should be proud of them, but let's be real here," she told her, poking her in the crop top.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Emi snapped back at Syed Khan, making it clear she knew exactly what she meant. "They're mine, and they're real."

"Okay, I'm not saying they're the reason you joined the Specials. Apparently, just wanting to be filthy rich isn't a sad set of priorities in life, at least if you're Japanese," Indira began.

"I said they're mine! Look!" she snapped back at her, leaning across Tsujimoto's lap, causing her to drop her magazine. With one hand, she grabbed Syed Khan's collar and with the other, she pulled down on the top hem of her crop top down several centimeters. "Here, look and tell me!"

"Let go!"

"Then stop talking crap!" she told her angrily.

"Could you please get off me?" Tsujimoto asked both of them, increasingly annoyed. "No wonder they need a staff officer. Emichan, if you want to settle this, why don't you show Indira a picture from you on your swim team in secondary school? She's not a cosmetic surgeon, I'm guessing," she told the two of them, trying to wiggle free.

"You know you can overreact a little, Emi?

"You know you can be a little bit of a presumptuous ass?" she countered.

"Excuse me, Emi?"

All three turned from the couch they shared to see Walker standing by the empty doorframe, file in one hand and knocking on the wall with the other.

"Walker, how long were you there?" Emi immediately asked, her voice very controlled. Likewise, Walker's expression was as controlled as usual, as though he was checking inventories or his life insurance policy.

"Only for about ten seconds," he told her, entering the room and holding the file at her. Emi, still pulling down her crop top, looked at Walker and quickly took the file, sitting up straight.

"The inventory report from Maintenance. Good night ladies," he said again, promptly walking out the door.

Tsujimoto sat up straight again, as Indira looked at the two of them and chuckled. "Wow, that almost got a little awkward," she said snidely.

Emi just put the file over her face and began striking it with her other hand, saying nothing.

VII

Walker wasn't the only one running around. After midnight, Emi was still with Tsujimoto and Syed Khan. They ended up looking for alcohol after the later had pointed out that they were in Russia, more or less, and neither bothered arguing with her. To their surprise, vodka, the famed spirit of the country, was very hard to obtain: all the stores were closed, but more unreasonably the sergeant on midnight shift at the Red Army postal exchange flat-out refused to sell them a single bottle of Stolichnaya or anything else for that matter, and when asked, gave a depressingly long list of reasons in heavily-accented English as to why. So, they went back to the divisional headquarters, where they found OZ Internal Army warrant officer, a young Asian man who had likely left the Buddhist clergy, given his shaved head and nine burned dots on his forehead, who did have two bottles of vodka, albeit of some local brand none of them had heard of.

"You know he wouldn't give that to us."

"What, his oaths don't require generosity?" Tsujimoto asked.

After three rounds of rock-paper-scissors, all of which Emi lost, Tsujimoto and Syed Khan watched like criminals around the corner while she sighed deeply.

"Two minutes."

Indira tapped her wristwatch. "One minute, ma'am."

Emi closed her eyes and clenched her jaw for a few minutes, mentally preparing herself. She opened her eyes, trying to keep them 'softer' along with her expression as a whole. She applied her tube of cosmetic war paint to her lips quickly, then pulled down both the straps of her crop top over her shoulders so that its tautness held it in place, then turned the corner.

"Oh, I've missed this. Like a solar eclipse, but entertaining," Syed Khan whispered as they watched her from around the corner. Tsujimoto nodded, grinning mischievously. Emi walked up to the warrant officer's desk, pressed her chest against the desk, ran a finger along his chin, and said something too softly for them to hear. The now extremely distracted warrant officer just stared back at her, visibly sweating in his uniform, as gestured to the bottles in a box behind his desk. He just nodded stupidly, so she took one, patted him on his bald head, and walked down the hall back to the corner, fixing her top.

Her expression had 'hardened ' to what it frequently looked like by the time she reached them and tossed them the bottle. "I hate you two. But maybe a third of a liter of vodka will change that."

Syed Khan caught it. "I think we can split the rest, ma'am."

Emi's mood improved after finishing her half of the bottle. The two exchanged increasingly incoherent stories—though it was mostly Syed Khan and Tsujimoto doing the talking as one lied on the floor and the other on the couch, wrinkling their uniforms.

The F/L was nearly asleep when her mobile went off, beeping a musical tune, and she snatched it.

"What time is it?" Syed Khan asked drunkenly.

"Late," Tsujimoto answered.

Emi glanced at the screen of her mobile. "Have to go."

"What?" Syed Khan asked, surprised.

"Briefing."

"You're joking."

Emi burped a little, covering her mouth, then spoke. "This is what senior officers do when they're not fighting. That means majors and lieutenant colonels in the Alliance, and F/L and S/C in OZ. Go to briefings, tell important people important things, drink with their so-called friends, and then go to other briefings."

She washed her face in the sink, fixed her long hair, removed her jewelry, pulled her uniform top, cape and sword, all while the other two remained lying about. They were mumbling softly in their sleep when she left, trying to appear normal. Let's see how well I can feign sobriety.

She'd been asked by the two lieutenant colonels to debrief them on a particular colony, which she'd researched prior to Operation 'Amur'. By the time she arrived at the upscale office where Zechs Merquise and Soris Armonia were waiting, she was almost certain she didn't appear drunk in the least. At least she could clearly hear the two speaking through the door.

Chewing a breath mint and taking one last deep breath, she knocked twice with a gloved hand before opening the door.

"Thank you for coming so late, Lieutenant Ogasawara. Sorry about this briefing."

"It's no trouble, sirs," she lied, closing the door after her. The two were sitting in ornate chairs in front of the fireplace. There was a table between them with some liquor in a rectangular, glass bottle. How did they get alcohol so easily?

Soris nodded and continued. "Anyway, OZ always intended that, after the revolution, the veterans of the Special Mobile Suit Troops would form the core of OZ's new forces. But most Speciali served on Earth, not in the colonies—so Leo companies would make up the new Space Leo forces, and Aries squadrons would make up the new Taurus units. Piloting an Aries isn't a lot like a Taurus, but it's closer than a ground pounder's experience. Speciali who were in the Alliance Pioneers will switch to Tauruses as well."

"What about OZ's own Leo squadrons?"Zechs asked.

"There are never enough pilots," she admitted.

"It gets worse," Zechs said, somberly. He looked at Emi waiting in front of the door, perfectly still.

"Lieutenant Ogasawara," he said. "I appreciated your help on the battlefield yesterday. Please."

"Thank you, sir." Emi just gave a very slightly nod of her head, as she approached the holographic display in the center. "Colonel Armonia, will you be assuming command of the First Recon Battalion when we're deployed into space?"

Soris cocked her head and smiled dryly at a no-nonsense but tired looking Emi. "I've thought about it. But First Recon's got a reputation for a high mortality rate, and maybe I'm afraid for my own wellbeing," she said, running a hand through her orange-blonde hair wryly.

"I see."

"Not to interrupt, but the briefing?" Zech asked.

Emi synched her mobile with the projector, a progress bar appearing shortly before being filled, and the lights flickered and adjusted themselves. "Yes, sir. The briefing for Colony L1-D-120, the home to the Extraterrestrial Military High Command of the Alliance Armed Forces, in other words Space Forces Headquarters. The Alliance believed Barge to be insufficiently secure prior to its completion, and kept its headquarters in this American colony."

Switching through a few options with her phone, a fuzzy faux-3D representation of the cylindrical colony and the surrounding minefield appeared in the center of the room.

Soris, the resident space officer, put a hand to her lips. "If you remember your history, in AC 149, the Assembly passed the Shanghai Protocol, which returned jurisdiction of space colonies to the founding nations. But by that year, the United States of America no longer existed, so the Alliance retained direct control over it as an 'international colony.' Since then, it's been the Alliances' outer space bastion, regardless of progression of the war."

"It's easy to forget that politics among the colonies are as complicated as between nations on Earth," Zechs observed. Soris just smirked, looking at the hologram.

"OZ's space doctrine calls encouraging the Colonials to form their own federation, a nation of colonies. But even with the Alliance's fall, D-120 considers itself the voice of Earth in space. It's also home the three remaining organized Alliance Space Armies."

"Who's in command?"

The hologram changed to a photograph. "Brigadier General Gwinter Septim. Son of the last Alliance Space Forces commander-in-chief, he's both the ranking officer and the elected chief representative."

"Before his father was killed by the Gundams at New Edwards, three generations of Septim men kept D-120 in their pockets. The remaining two will never give it up, nor will they disarm. They and the rest of the Alliance in space will fight to the last man, and I intend to oblige them," Soris said candidly.

She sounds like she's looking forward to it. But what does that mean for the rest of First Recon, I wonder? Emi nodded politely. "Everything else is in my report. If you'll excuse me, I need to make preparations to leave for reassignment."

Zechs nodded at Emi, who saluted again before leaving the room.

"Not enough pilots, huh?"

"No, there are not. Have you seen the estimation reports from the General Staff for space deployment? They're asking for hundreds of Leos for distribution among the Colonial militias. Leo production for Earth has ended, only to resume for space."

"What are you expecting?" Zechs asked.

"I'm expecting, in a matter of weeks, for hundreds of colonial pilots to defend their homes in our old machines. And die for them. Against what, I'm not entirely certain."

She sighed. "And OZ will never be the same."


Author's Note:

So this was my first 'recap' chapter, though there was more sorting out of things than recapping. And good god, it was a long one (perhaps the longest chapter yet). Those of you who liked longer chapters might be changing your minds after this. I guess recap episodes of any series feel pretty long too.

I ended up choosing this route because I'm still finalizing details of a few aspects of the plot in the coming 'episodes', but I did want to establish/hint at a few things. Of course, it ended up spiraling out of control anyway, and things got removed: for example, the appearance of a new character (namely, a young woman Walker actually had a physical relationship with, if you can believe that). That will all appear in the next chapter.

I wanted to demonstrate that, even during a period of relatively 'nothing' happened, Gundam-wise, officers like Walker and Emi ended up running around nonstop doing the busywork that characterizes military life, from what I understand. Of course, being in a fictional setting, some of the busywork is a little...different.

Next chapter will be shorter. And perhaps even have some combat. In the meantime, hopefully you enjoyed my incredibly lame attempts at character-establishing humor (and hopefully you've also gotten used to it by now).