Chapter 14 Revelation

Rashid paced back and forth in front of Alaby's room, as the other men gathered around the room, while McDoland and the other mercs checked the scene. Alaby had been killed by one shot to the head, the back of Alaby's head scattered about. A few of the mercs kept a makeshift cordon, keeping the workers away from the scene.

"Large caliber," Houston said. ".44 or higher."

"Like that hand cannon you carry at your side?" Patrick said, eyeing Houston's revolver.

"Both of you shut up," McDoland said. "Listen, we're running out of time. We need to get them out of here, fast."

"Then we'd better leave now, then," Ryan said. "We'll only keep drawing attention."

"I'll tell Rashid," Chan said. "They should start moving now, to keep suspicion from rising."

"Do that," McDoland said. "I'll check the net for anything that'll pop up."

Nodding, Chan walked to Rashid and led him away from the mob. "Rashid, it's getting too dangerous for you all to stay here any longer, you have to move the civilians and workers to Hail as soon as you can."

"Of course," Rashid said. In the back of his mind, though, he was running through what could have happened. Alaby had probably found out who the traitor was too late, and paid dearly for it. "What do you think we should do first?" Rashid said.

"I've already got a suspicion of who did this," Chan said. "After I handle them, I'll accompany you to Hail."

Rashid nodded, then pulled Chan close. "I think I know who you think did this," he said. "See if you can't bring the 'trio' to my office, I'll wait for you there."

"Of course," Chan said, as Rashid walked off. Quickly, he separated Abdul, Afmad and Auda from the other mercenaries. "Men, come with me. Commander Kurama wants to speak with you about what happened."

"He doesn't think we did it, does he?" Afmad said.

"No," Chan said. "He believes you three can find the one who did this, at least that's what he implied." He motioned them forward. "After you, gentlemen."

After a short walk, the men went into Rashid's office. There, they saw Rashid leaning on the window that let him view the floor. His head was down, and when he heard the door opened, he sighed heavily. "You're all here, then?" he said.

"All four of us," Auda said. "Just tell us what you need!"

"I need to know why," Rashid said. "Why you sold us out."

"Why we what?" Abdul said quietly. "What are you talking about?"

"You've endangered all of us," Rashid said, standing up straight. The three could now hear their commander loading a pistol. "You killed one of the most trusted allies we had, and for what?" He turned around and pointed the pistol at the men, a .45 Desert Eagle. "Why did you do this!"

"We didn't do anything!" Afmad shouted. "What the hell are you thinking, you lunatic!"

"You can't lie to me," Rashid said, motioning the three to get away from Chan and the door. Slowly, the three men did. Auda didn't see the floor, though, and tripped over a table leg. His friends tried to help, but Rashid pointed his weapon at them, and they moved away. "Chan, would you?"

Nodding, Chan started to walk over, when Rashid started firing. The hollow points hit Chan in the shoulder and leg, the Korean collapsing like a sack of rocks. The trio scattered around the room, while Rashid walked over and gave Chan a good kick to the ribs. "You nearly had me killed back in Burgham field!" he yelled. "I was trusting you to keep us safe, and you nearly had all the men at the field killed!"

"I didn't think you'd figure me out this soon," Chan coughed. "What gave me away?"

"Houston's advice," Rashid said. "You slipped your hand too early."

"You'd take the advice of an American?" Chan said, confused. "I can't believe you would trust them after all that's happened…"

"That time is past," Rashid said. "You three," he said to Auda, Afmad and Abdul. "Have the men prepare a way to transport Alaby's body back to Haiti." He looked back at Chan. "After we're finished here."

"You really suspected us, didn't you!" Auda said. "Even after we were the first ones to volunteer to help you!"

"You were also wanted men, and in a desperate situation. You could have been doing anything to bide your time until an opportunity presented itself. Am I wrong in thinking that?"

"Well…" Afmad said, quietly. "We did kinda jump on the chance for a safe place to hide…But hey, we're as much a fan of the Earth Sphere as you!"

"I know that now," Rashid said. "And I realize that many of the other men from the bars and speakeasies are willing to help us." He pushed his foot down on Chan's chest. "So who do you work for? Earth Sphere?" He kept pressing down. "Or OZ?"

"Does it matter now?" Chan said with a smile, as blood from his arteries spilled onto the carpeted floor. "So I'll tell you this…" he said, motioning Rashid closer. Quietly, he whispered, "Were you actually expecting you dying enemy to tell you anything important?" With one last laugh, Chan died, and Rashid angrily shot at the body until his magazine was empty.

"Change of plans," Rashid said, dropping the magazine from his weapon. "We're moving everyone now! Place charges around the building and set them to detonate in twelve hours, get all the families and supplies to the transports! Place squadrons three and four to the south to draw the enemy forces away, six will stay with the transports!"

"On it boss!" Abdul said, nearly pushing the other two men out. Quickly, the workers and mercenaries were mobilized, herding the families onto the transports and rushing them from the factory, as the suits from squadrons three and four, eight suits each, rushed south, waiting for the first contact with the enemy that was coming to investigate. But before that, Rashid went to his console for one last contact. Quickly tracing the contact information back, he found that his contact Howard was now on Earth, somewhere in the Mediterranean. "Howard, come in! This is Rashid! I have vital information concerning our situation, respond!"

"Rashid, do you know what time it is?" Howard said, hurriedly putting on his glasses. "What is it?"

"Our initial base has been discovered, we're moving to a new location! I'll try to contact you as soon as it's secured, but we'll need supplies, whatever you can spare!"

"What happened to those funds we've transferred?" Howard asked, scratching his head. "Can't access them?"

"You don't understand! We're targets now, and until I'm sure that we've left the ES radar, I can't do a thing! Just please wait for my contact!" Severing the call, he ran out himself, running for the hangar, for his own suit. "Afmad, what's the status of the families?"

"We're loading them as fast as we can, but they're trying to grab some of their things-"

"Force them on by gunpoint if you have to!" Rashid said, booting the suit up. "I don't care what they have to grab, even if it's a family pet! Get them on the transports no matter what!"

"Rashid, what's going on here!" Houston screamed. "Everyone's running 'round like a chicken without a head!"

"Chan was the traitor, Houston! I don't know what you're all planning, but I'm moving my people to Hail immediately!"

Houston nodded. "I'll inform the others," Houston said. "We'll go our own way, just make sure of one thing."

"Make sure M doesn't go too far."

Nodding, Rashid joined with third and fourth squadrons, while Afmad and the others practically forced the workers' families to board the transports atop the suits. Many of the families tried to fight against the mercs, crying that they were leaving behind important heirlooms and their money. The mercs just made sure the husbands of the families knew what was at stake, as soon enough, a calm sense of fear had spread through the families. Other teams ran through the factory, rigging charges on load bearing beams and fuel tanks, as the more technically inclined wiped any and all information off the computer system after transferring it to secure flash drives and discs. Disaster nearly struck when a worker forgot to fasten a strap tightly enough around one of the suit's being transported, but a member of third squadron supported the fallen suit until it could be properly secured.

"Slow down, you fools!" Abdul yelled. "Panic and you're liable to kill someone! Go as fast as you can, but make sure you don't screw up!"

After a half hour of hurried loading and packing, the first transports were away, moving through the late night towards hail, over massive dunes and freezing cold. Mothers huddled their children close, as squadron six tried their best to keep ahead of the convoy. But even at full tilt, with their suits designed for desert conditions, they still had some trouble with a small slip or near fall. But the way seemed mostly clear, and the trucks and families were soon disappearing from view. Also disappearing were the four mercenaries, all moving to the east, to the ports in Palestine. Houston might have had some trouble alone, but the IRA and PLO had developed a rather polite relationship over the past few decades, and would probably be more than willing to help each other in a desperate situation. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" Rashid asked. "I can have one of my teams provide escort, if you wish."

"Don't worry," Houston said. "You get your people to safety, we know how to handle ourselves. Good luck, Rashid. We're counting on you."

Cutting the feed, Rashid changed channels to third and fourth. "Third squadron, take your position four hundred meters to the southeast! Fourth, with me! We'll take positions to the north and hold!"

"For how long sir?" one of the workers asked.

"Until I'm sure that OZ won't pursue us!" Rashid barked. "Now take positions, we're going to wait the entire year if we have to!"

Rashid and the others didn't have to wait long. A full force of ES troops soon came over the horizon. Helicopters, vehicles, infantry and suits. An entire force coming for the building, and anyone inside.

"Keep to formation," the major in command ordered. "Stick to plan if they attack! Don't separate from your squads!" The entire force gave confirmation. "Advance team two, pull towards the factory and investigate the area, enter only when you are sure it's been cleared!"

"Affirmative, sir!" the lieutenant said, as he tapped the driver of the transport twice, signaling him to speed to the building. The suits and choppers formed a large perimeter around the structure.

"They're pretty well armed," one of the maganacs said, one of the mercenaries. "Were those bombs only set on timers? Can't we detonate them?"

"They're set to go off in another nine hours," Rashid said. "Unless they actively start pursuing the convoy, we hold."

"Yes, sir," the man said, and Rashid nearly pulled a double take. "Sir?" he said quietly. It was quite an impact to hear one of the more experienced men call him that.

Slowly, the ES advance team made their way into the building, scanning the entrance. Reanou sat in the base and watched carefully. When Chan hadn't reported in at his usual time, he had decided the time to move was now. The plan had been thrown slightly, yes, but showing such dangerous rebels taken down by the mighty troops of the Alliance, and by extension, OZ, would do a great service to the Press Corps. "I hope your death was worth this, Chan," he said, as the advance team pried open the doors to the building.

"Entering now," the team radioed. Slowly, the camera entered a massive area, a hangar, pitch black except for the small flashlight beams from the soldiers. The area was completely empty, echoes from the men's boots and the clanging of the metal doors. The beams of light cut through the darkness, but did little other than offer some vague comfort that nothing appeared to be hiding. But nothing was there, save for a few hastily discarded belongings scattered around the bay. Clothes, furniture, even toys. The soldiers stalked forward carefully, weapons up, scanning everywhere. Above, to the left, there appeared to be a raised office, a dim fluorescent light still on. "Handle, take Turner and Perth, check that office area." The three did as ordered, as the remaining seventeen men of the team kept moving. Slowly, they split up through the complex, though never in a group smaller than three men.

"We've found a body!" Handle reported, his camera showing Chan's corpse. "Appears to be an Asian male, multiple bullet wounds."

"Au revior, Chan," Reanou whispered, as the camera panned around.

"This is team five, we've located another body." This time the camera showed a very different room from the clean office. This was a room filled with the smoke of incense, small statues and alien symbols dotting the room. In front of the door was a body, a single bullet wound in the forehead. "Black male, definitely killed recently, blood's barely dry."

"Can you find anyone still alive in the base?" the control team asked.

"Negative," the lieutenant said. "Whoever was here beat feet in a hurry. We'll report when we find something-"

"Sir, we've found explosives!" Scanning the feeds, Reanou focused on one that was set on a pillar, shakily focused on a bomb with enough explosives on it to level a high rise. On the front, a large digital time, counting down from "22:13:57" "It's gotta be a trick, sir, that's too long to leave an explosive to sit."

"The enemy watches cinema too," Reanou said. "Pull back to the outside and hold, we'll have E.O.D.s to you A.S.A.P." Quietly, Reanou was trying to figure out what had happened. Who was manipulating all this? His plan was almost sure to work, but what had gone wrong! "I'll be getting some sleep," he said to the nearest junior officer, a captain. "Wake me the second something happens."

"Sir," the man said. As Reanou walked to his room, the soldiers watched him carefully. Normally, he was a calm, passive officer, a welcome change from their usual commanders. He'd taken everything, from the assassinations to the sabotage at Burgham, well in stride. Now, he seemed concerned. And what worried Reanou was certainly going to worry his men.

"We have to find a way to set off those explosives," one of the experienced pilots said. "They've already got techs coming to defuse the bombs, and if they find anything, we'll running right into a sandstorm naked!"

"Could a blast from our rifles do the job?" Rashid asked.

"It's risky, sir," the man said. "There's plenty of enemy out here, and they won't all be hit by the blast of debris. Plus there's the chance it may not trigger a detonation at all. You can't hit the bomb directly, that'd just destroy it. Plus the fact that each bomb is separately triggered from another. By the time you hit enough to collapse the roof, the Alliance would have already punched you full of holes."

"Then if they're sending explosives experts, we can stop them from arriving. Squadron three, have half your men fall to the rear of the ES formation and observe where they came from. Once that's done, take positions to the rear and wait for the team. We have less than ten hours, gentlemen, let's make sure we do this right!"

As the night slowly moved by, the four men from squadron three finally saw it on their monitors, the helicopter coming from the Alliance base. "Hold fire until they're well in range," the experienced man leading the team said. "Anyone who disobeys, I'll throw you to the Alliance troops for being so stupid!"

"Roger," Namir said, tracking the helicopter. It had been quite some time since he'd be in combat in his suit, but the motions he'd been taught were still there, and still sharp. By now, McDoland and the others were probably storming through the desert, leaving a trail a blind man could follow. But that wasn't what was important, keeping the families and other suits safe was. Idly, his mind wandered back to Rasshid, how he had given his life in Abha. Namir had never really held a belief in his life. Sure, his parents raised him in a submissive house, and they had even made the hajj to Mecca once. But he'd still gone over what had changed a quiet friend into a fierce lion that day, right until his death. It wasn't any teachings that the instructors had given, they were merely tutors in war. It hadn't been Rashid, or the elder Mr. Kurama, because neither could have instilled such borderline madness in any of the workers. So what had done it?

"Ready weapons," the leader said. "They're nearing range!"

"Wait, I'm picking up something else!" another man radioed. "They've got gunships, five of them, flying cover on the truck!"

"Where'd they come from!" the leader said. "Blast! Namir, you target the gunships, you two, fire on the transport!"

"Roger!" Namir said, as the four opened up with their beam rifles.

"This is chopper Delta, we have confirmed enemy Mike Sierras in the vicinity, engaging." Tilting his bird down, the pilot gave his gunner a perfect shot at one of the brown suits, but was forced to break off when a fusillade of laser blasts came too close for comfort. "All choppers, protect the transport until it can reach the enemy structure," he said calmly. "All other priorities are secondary."

Namir tried to keep the choppers away from his comrades, but it was like swatting away bees. Every time he thought he had one, another appeared in a different direction. The other suits were focused on the transport, and with good reason, but it was difficult for Namir to lock on long enough to get a clean hit on an enemy chopper.

"Namir, get your head on straight!" the lead pilot barked. "Those choppers'll take us out unless youUARGH!" he screamed. One of the choppers had managed to fire off a rocket volley into the suit's head and left shoulder. The armor took most of it, but the main sensors were destroyed and the left actuator was damaged, meaning the suit was one arm short. The five other choppers were closing, and Namir felt himself start to panic-

"No, don't panic," a small voice told him. "Those are your comrades out there, you won't let them die! Do as McDoland taught you," the voice said. "Take careful aim," he lined up his rifle with one of the oncoming choppers. The other two suits were starting to fidget around, their shots going wild, the transport chopper rapidly leaving the combat zone. "Take a deep breath, then exhale." He did so, and the shaking of his crosshairs lessened.

"Squeeze the trigger."

His shot burst through the empty night, scoring a direct hit on the chopper that hand hit the lead pilot. Despite the choppers breaking off again, he kept firing the same way, dropping chopper after chopper, giving his comrades some breathing room, and letting them focus, finally taking the transport down, and turning their attention to the retreating enemy choppers, taking three more before they were done.

"Nice job, Namir," the lead said, pulling his suit over. "Mind giving me a hand here? Can't see out worth a damn."

"Yes, sir," Namir said, smiling despite himself. "I'll link my suit's feed to yours. Fall in behind me, I'll lead you back." Doing so, he started to understand why Rasshid had done what he'd done in Abha. Rasshid had been the first to really open his eyes, Namir guessed, to what waited for them all if the Alliance won over them. Interrogations, jails, executions, for everyone that had helped, maybe even the children. Namir wouldn't let that happen to his fellow workers, or the mercenaries that had come to prove themselves as just as loyal. The trainers, yes, they were gone, but Namir felt the corps was facing it's last proving test. If they survived the night, they would be worthy of their name, because family looked out for each other, and if the Alliance succeeded tonight, then they would have let their family down.

"Sir, we've lost contact with the E.O.D. team!" the captain said, rushing into Reanou's room. The major dragged himself out of bed, rubbing his head.

"Captain, pull our forces back from the factory before those bombs go off, I want no more deaths from this."

"Sir?"

"I did not stutter, captain!" Reanou said sternly. Nodding, the captain closed the door, and Reanou poured himself a small glass from his personal store of wines. Taking a sip, he mulled over what was happening, but could not fit things together. Things were starting to fall out of control, and he would soon prove a hindrance to Trieze if this continued. He needed to crush this problem, before the Operation was truly enacted.

Rashid watched as the enemy suits and other troops moved away from the base, almost like they were retreating. Still, they waited until the rest of team three returned, and left when they put the damaged suit in the factory. They couldn't afford to let one suit slow them down, not when the Alliance could return with a larger force. As the sun crept into the sky, the desert wildlife quickly found what shelter it could before it was fried. Then the bombs went off.

The pillars supporting the roof fell like a child's toys that were knocked down, the roof falling in like a sinkhole. What few personal belongings inside were disintegrated, the suit destroyed by the shockwaves and actual blasts, as concrete and metal was piled atop it. The smoking pile of rubble just sat there, until the next, and larger, ES team moved in, seeing the pile still smoking. They set up a larger perimeter this time, sending in airborne troops to check that nothing was a danger, and moved through, using Leos to clear the larger rubble, but nothing valuable could be found. The scavenging would go on through the weeks to come, all for nothing.

"You say that you're finishing the suit?" Mr. Kurama said, as he and Instructor H sat outside on one of the sidewalk cafes in the colony. "I'm glad to see my funds have been put to good use."

"Indeed," H said, putting his drink down. "Redundant heat sinks and white coating were also added, as you requested. I gather you will send this one down to the Arabian Peninsula, correct?"

"I can't say yet," Mr. Winner said, for plausible deniability, if nothing else. His face grew stern. "You still have concerns about my choice of pilot."

"A few," H said. "He is only a boy, after all. I realize that no father would ever put their child in such a situation without first weighing all the options, but do you really think he could understand what we are trying to accomplish here?"

"My son bears more weight than you can imagine," Winner said, taking his drink. "You said it yourself, he has a gift, but that gift comes to him at a price. He can read people, almost like books, but like books, some are good. Others are bad."

H nodded. "I know, but he's still barely a young man. Do you really think that he'll be able to stand it? Revolution isn't a clean business, even you know that."

"He learns fast," Mr. Winner said with a soft smile. "And he always bounces back from tragedy, did you know?"

"Of course," H said softly. Mr. Winner always had strong feelings for his family, and what had happened to his wife had weighed heavily on him. Sometimes it seemed that he blamed himself for letting it happen, even though many still made the same mistake up to that day. "I've already set up a training program for the boy, he can start whenever you think he's ready."

"He's ready now," Mr. Winner said, leaving some money to pay the tab. "I may be an old bastard, but I believe my son can do this. He's his mother's son, after all."

Nodding, H took his things with him and left the café. Quickly, he made his way to the meeting area for his colony's rebel activities, careful to make sure no one was following. Making his way down into the bowels of the colony, he made his way into a small service corridor, making a maze out of his way to the meeting area. Finally arriving, he knocked carefully, and walked in to see most of the men gathered. "Where are the others?"

"Still working, sir," the leader said. "They've encountered a problem."

"With what?" H said, taking the news in stride.

"Communications," the leader said, handing a clipboard to H. "Testing's confirmed that it's range is far limited to what we originally had wanted."

"Far more limited," H said, handing the board back to the leader of the rebels. "Any other problems?"

"We've got a lot of leftover parts and alloy, sir," the leader said. "We literally don't have the space to store them, and OZ has already spotted most of our hiding places. We need to find a place for them, immediately."

H thought carefully, opening the door to his office and taking a seat, offering another to the rebel leader. "I have information on a group on Earth that is willing to help us. It's entirely possible they could use a few more supplies for their struggle." He smiled. "Let's schedule a supply shuttle for Howard, I hear he could use some entertainment."

Opening his door, Mr. Winner saw his head butler waiting in the foyer. "Good afternoon, sir," he said, bowing.

"Hello, Samir," Mr. Winner said. "How is Quatre today?"

"He's upstairs playing with his sisters, sir," Samir said. "Will you be needing anything, sir?"

"Just the business section in a few minutes," Mr. Winner said, climbing the stairs. Hearing his children's voices, he opened the door to see Quatre and three of his sisters playing a board game, laughing with joy. "Hello? What game are we playing today?"

"Father!" Quatre said, running to his father's side and leaping to hug him. "How was your lunch with your partner?"

"It went well enough, Quatre," the elder Winner said, patting his boy's hair. "We're expecting a major deal to come through soon."

"Father, come join us!" his daughters said. "Come, please, we've barely started, there's more than enough time for you to play!"

"I don't think so," Mr. Winner said, waiving away the offer. "This game always takes forever to play, and time is always one step ahead of me." He kneeled down and whispered into Quatre's ear, "Remember to go easy on them, I'll never hear the end of it if you don't!"

"Whatever you say, father!" the boy said, leaping back to his sisters, as his father walked to his study, Samir waiting with a business paper. "Anything good?"

"The attacks on Burgham field seem to have had one positive effect, at least for you, sir," Samir said, handing the paper to his master. "You'll see that your holdings have shot up immensely. Such a shame about all those people, though. I do wish there was a better way for your fortune to improve." Mr. Winner acted like he didn't hear what Samir was saying.

"Call my broker, have him buy up stock in foodstuffs and other perishables," Mr. Winner said. "Futures only. I have the feeling those are going to be quite valuable indeed."

"Anything else sir?" Samir said.

"Just a small coffee, old friend," Mr. Winner said. With a bow, Samir closed the door as he left, leaving Mr. Winner alone in his study. Of course he was a believer in a man's right to freedom and independence, but it didn't mean he couldn't pursue what many would have called "The American Dream" in centuries past. Scanning over the report in the financial section, he moved on to the Sports section. "Ah, England! You continue to disappoint, even now!"

"Ah, did the betting fall out again, sir?" Samir said, coming in with a cup of coffee. "I always advise you to go against England in the betting," he said with an aged laugh. "You really should start betting on the South American teams, every other living human being does."

"It's not like we have to worry about money," Mr. Winner said. "Put a thousand on their next game, would you? They're going up against Belarus, and I've read they're doing even worse."

"As you wish, sir," Samir said. Once again alone in his study, Mr. Winner looked over the reports on his own holdings once more. "I hope they'll be able to appreciate this," he whispered. "I'm doing it all for them."

Wow, an update! What madness is this!

Anyway, I feel I should mention another story in this, because this is a good one, folks, even for you fans of Maganac, called "Soldiers of the Apocalypse", by Mayhem777. An interesting look at what would happen after the Eve Wars and the Marimeia incident, it follows the Gundam pilots trying to adapt to a life of peace on Earth. I won't say too much, but it has a maze of plot twists and turns that are complex enough not to spot, but still easy enough to see after a second look. And without giving too much away, you'll still be shocked, even after what happens after the first major battle. So when you give Mayhem your review, tell'im Flyboy sent you.

After you give me your reviews for this story, of course!