Genie's Trap: A Mobile Suit Gundam SEED Fan Fiction
Episode Twenty-One: The Sea Dyed Red
Date: February 28th, C.E. 71

We had passed the refinery, and as the freedom fighters had expected the trio of ZAFT carriers had withdrawn, taking with them one BuCUE which had managed to limp away from the battle along with the GAT-X102 Duel and -X103 Buster, which had been spotted atop the Lesseps but had not engaged in the battle directly. I heard several of the Desert Dawn claiming to have been circling the grounded Duel, firing RPGs at the mobile suit while the machine ineffectively attempted to return fire. From what I heard it sounded as if the Duel's pilot were struggling to compensate for the loose sand and heat convection.

For a time it seemed that the celebratory atmosphere was going to turn into a full-scale party, what with the alcohol flowing freely between the North African freedom fighters and Earth Alliance crew members, but then the old chief from Tassil called everyone to a memorial for the fallen. The two groups separated, with the locals moving forward to form a semicircle around a mortar, the old man slowly reading through a list of the dead while every half-dozen names were commiserated with a firing of the mortar.

"Azib Shamsedin. Ahmed el Hosn. Al Guivari. Stein Offer. Tandom Ronna. Stephane Lindberger. Loisy Fahd," the old man chanted.

The crew of the Archangel stood back, in a second group, lamenting those whom they knew or just talking quietly. I heard Mu La Flaga ask, "Continue to fight, huh?" but was too far back to hear any response over the sound of the mortar and next set of names.

"Ovan Talkof. Khalka Pinlad. Usal Hallah."

I stood even further back, next to Flay, who sat on a crate in front of a small fire. She'd had the least contact of anyone with the locals, having been shut up in the ship most of the time: first inventorying their remaining supplies so that the officers could make of list of what was needed, and then helping to stow the supplies before the battle. Knowing none of the people being mourned she didn't feel like intruding on the grief of the others, and wanting to be supportive I stood next to her.

We parted company with the Desert Dawn the next morning, but to my surprise Cagalli and Ledonir were given rooms onboard. I saw them when Flay and I came to breakfast the next morning, picking over their food a little reluctantly: it was rather bland compared to the local cuisine that they had enjoyed with the freedom fighters. Our friends – Miriallia, Tolle, Kuzzey and Sai – were seated at a different table, reminding me that I hadn't talked with Sai since he'd tried to pilot the Strike. He wouldn't meet my eyes now, and Flay wanted to sit at an empty table.

Once breakfast was done our friends headed to the bridge to start their shifts, Flay went to report to the Quartermaster, and I went down to the hanger deck to help with the sonar system.

The Archangel had been designed for space combat, with subsystems that allowed it to perform atmospheric entry and hover over the ground. It had never been intended to travel by water, except perhaps to move from dry dock to a mass driver in order to be returned to space. Faced with an extended journey over water a thought had been taken to safety; so among the supplies delivered was a pair of sonar systems that had been installed in compartments beneath the Lohengrin positron cannons, which were themselves beneath the hangers.

A compartment with an awning hatch had been filled with the sonar controls, which normally would have been on the bridge. Since there was no room on the bridge for an additional station the controls were designed to transmit their information to the bridge stations. Chief Petty Officer Murdoch was supposedly in charge, with Petty Officer Second Class' Jackie Tonomura and Dalida Chandra II from the bridge crew assisting; but Lieutenant La Flaga had been called in over a dispute and I'd been brought in to iron out the issue.

Seated on a bucket and typing away on a laptop I worked to create a translation program as Chief Murdoch gave a report over his headset.

"We're working on it right now," the man explained. "The kid's making final adjustments. Please wait a little longer."

I didn't have a headset, but out of the corner of my eyes I saw PO2 Tonomura and Chandra share a smile and CPO Murdoch pale slightly. He told the group, "She says to hurry."

"That's easy for her to say, but this thing," I complained, "is made by ZAFT, so it's not going to connect easily. I don't suppose that she would be willing to let Sai and Kuzzey come down to help?"

"Not until the sonar is working," Mu answered. "I asked for them first; and she told me that until the sonar is working they need all hands on the bridge. We should 'count ourselves lucky' to have Jackie and Dalida." He nodded to the pair performing adjustments on the terminals.

It took another couple of hours before the work was complete, and I headed to the aft landing deck to take a break; the Captain had authorized the crew to take short breaks outside. After spending most of the morning in the bowels of the hanger the bright sunlight dazzled me for a moment, and I had to shield my eyes while they adjusted. There was an illusion of air currents as we passed over the sea, and the movement of the moist air was refreshing on the skin; so I left my jacket inside and took a seat in the middle of the space.

A cloud passed overhead, and for a few minutes I was able to clear my mind and just enjoy the sparkling waves. The passing of the cloud seemed to signal the end of my mental filter, and I began to remember again the past few days.

The café in Banadiya, where I'd first met Andrew Waltfeld in disguise: he admonishing, "Hey! Wait! Don't force your bad habits on this guy!"

Later, when he'd brought us to the palace he was using as a headquarters, discussing a miniature copy of a Martian fossil: "I have no idea why they call this thing a whale stone. Does it look like a whale to you?"

When he asked me, "So how are winners and losers determined? At what point do we put an end to it?" Aiming a pistol at us he demanded, "When every single enemy has been destroyed?"

I remembered the whole of that last battle with ZAFT forces, as Waltfeld maintained, "I'm not done, youngster!" and "There's no choice but to fight! As long as we're enemies! Until one of us is destroyed!"

Earlier, when I asked LTC La Flaga about 'berserkers' he'd told me, "Yes. Berserkers were normally gentle and well behaved . . . but in battle they got excited . . . and became stronger, as if becoming a different person."

Was I a berserker? During the battle, at that last moment when, out of power and facing defeat, I'd felt again that sense of clarity: as if I'd known exactly what I had to do to win. At that moment I'd been sure that it was him or me; only one of us would be able to walk away from that confrontation.

"But still . . . however," I tried to reason with myself, "if I don't fight who will be able to protect my friends? Without the Strike ZAFT would have destroyed the Archangel at Heliopolis, or anywhere else along our journey . . ."

Even with the Strike I couldn't help everyone: the memory of the destruction of the 8th Advanced Fleet, the death of Vice Foreign Minister George Allster coming back to me. I remembered Flay's words as she grieved her father's death: "Because you're a Coordinator too, you're not fighting seriously, are you?"

Flay still hadn't admitted her partial responsibility in that: if she hadn't distracted the bridge crew they might not have been out flanked by the ZAFT ships. I had managed to save the refugee shuttle, when the pilot of the X102 Duel had targeted it.

Raising my head I confirmed to myself that I was doing the best I could. It had been little more than a month since we'd all been swept up in the war against the Earth Alliance and the PLANTS, and while everyone was surprised by how fast I'd learned to handle myself in combat I was sure that there was still a lot more to learn. For a moment I tried to convince myself that I could continue to pilot the Strike, that defending my friends was reason enough, Andrew Waltfeld's death – the death of someone I had known personally – at my hands, no less, still weighed on me.

Behind me the hatch opened, and a rather husky woman's voice called out, "Well, hi! You're out on the deck, too!"

It was Cagalli, coming out to enjoy the sea air, most likely. Looking over my shoulder I saw that she was wearing her customary red tee shirt and light grey cargo pants, her blonde hair in need of a trim. Suddenly I was sure that I wanted to be alone, so getting up I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. To my shame my eyes were wet at the corners, a fact that the young woman picked up on immediately.

"Have you been crying?"

I turned away, but she caught my hand, calling, "Wait!"

Turning back, I gave her a fierce look that made her let go, but when I turned to leave she ran around in front of me and threw her arms around my waist.

"H-Hey, wh-what," I objected.

Patting me on the back the young woman soothed, "It's all right. Everything's fine. Everything will be just fine." Going on, she added, "Don't worry. Don't worry."

It had been a long time since anyone had hugged me in a platonic way – Flay was usually ardent in her desires, and not much into cuddling unless it was post-coitus.

Cagalli took a step back and took my hands in hers. "Did that help you calm down?"

"Uh," and "Um," were all I managed to get out, but then Cagalli realized what she was doing, and snatching her hands back she stammered, "D-Don't get me wrong! I couldn't ignore a child who's been crying, now could I?"

She was almost fierce about her reasoning, adding, "That's all that was! Okay?"

The young woman went stalking off, but when she reached the doorway back into the ship she thought better of going back inside; instead she slumped against the wall. I didn't want to go back inside, either, so I went to the rail that surrounded the deck and stared out over the Red Sea off the port side of the ship.

"You know, you're a real puzzle sometimes," Cagalli said conversationally.

When I looked her way she glared, and accused, "The other day, you told me off and slapped me."

I remembered the incident: Cagalli had gone off with a group of Desert Dawn, trying to catch the ZAFT forces that had attacked the town of Tassil, hoping to find the occupying forces low on weapons after laying waste to the town. They would have been wiped out if I hadn't caught up in the Strike, and in the aftermath I'd slapped her and demanded, "What the hell can you protect with just your feelings?"

"Oh, sorry," I told her.

"Well, not that I care anymore," she sighed, sounding rather like she'd taken my words to heart. Rather than try to fight with the limited weapons of the freedom fighters during that last battle Cagalli had taken to piloting the second skygrasper support fighter.

In an attempt to change the subject she asked, "Why in the world are you a Coordinator in the first place?"

My face fell, and Cagalli seemed to realize that her question was wrong. "Oh, that didn't come out right. Why are you siding with the Earth Forces if you're a Coordinator?"

I went to join her by the wall, commenting, "Do you find that strange? I get that a lot."

My memory raced back to the three times I'd been asked that question; the first being when my one-time friend, Athrun Zala – who was now with ZAFT – demanded, "What are you doing with the Earth Forces? Why are you siding with the Naturals?"

The second had been Commander Gerard Garcia of the Eurasian Federation base Artemis, when he maintained, "But you're a traitor to the Coordinators."

And the most recent had been in Cagalli's company, when Andrew Waltfeld had wondered, "I have no idea why you've decided to fight against your own people," while holding us at gunpoint.

Sliding down the wall to sit next to her I considered their words while the young woman figured, "Well, whether it's strange or not is not the point. But this war got started because the Coordinators and Naturals are at odds!" She ended by asking, "Doesn't that have any effect on you?"

"What about you?" I countered.

"My feelings for someone don't change just because they're a Coordinator," she answered, a little hotly. Of course, the Orb Union was one of the few nations where genetic heritage wasn't held against you; so to be asked such a question would be considered offensive.

"Same here," was my reply.

Cagalli stressed, "But I must fight this war because we're under attack."

"Same here," I repeated. She was glaring at me now, perhaps thinking I was making fun of her. With a smile I added, "The Coordinators are no different from anyone else."

"But you guys can do so much more than we can. From birth."

"Only if we practice, study, or train properly," I maintained. "We're not born with special abilities, just because we're Coordinators."

She allowed that: "I guess you're right."

"It's true that we don't catch deadly diseases," I allowed, "and we're born after our genes are operated on . . . to alter our potential abilities and physical features. But I understood those to be the Natural's," I cringed at the use of the word and corrected myself, "or everyone's dream. That's why we exist."

Relenting, she admitted, "Yea. You're right about that."

Turning the conversation around I asked, "So, why?"

Before the conversation could go any further Flay stepped onto deck. She'd taken her jacket off as well, and rolled her pink under-shirt up under her breasts; revealing her toned midriff between the shirt and miniskirt, with an inch of thigh showing between the bottom of the skirt and the top of her mint-green stockings. "Kira! Here you are!" she called out.

"Flay," I replied, not sure why she was showing off. The only time I'd seen her wearing less was when she wanted to make out in my quarters.

"Phew. It is hot," she exclaimed, striking a pose in the sunlight before leaning down to look at me with those beautiful blue-grey eyes, her breasts swaying beneath her shirt. "I looked all over for you," Flay announced.

Putting her hands on mine she playfully accused, "Come on. If you were coming out here on the deck, why didn't you invite me to join you?"

The girl pulled me to my feet before pressing against my side, and I managed, "Yeah. S-Sorry."

I looked to Cagalli, wondering what she thought of this behavior, and received a flat look. Maybe later I could get the blonde's opinion of the way Flay had been acting lately, but maybe Miriallia would be a better judge as she knew Flay better.

"This feels so great," Flay gushed, but then seemed to change her mind, adding, "But I don't want too much sun. Let's return to your room afterwards."

Apparently Cagalli felt embarrassed by the way Flay was acting – the redhead was practically flaunting our relationship – and the blonde got up, calling out, "Bye! I wouldn't wanna get in your way!"

"Bye," I called after her while Flay pressed herself against my back.

When Cagalli was gone I accused, "That was a little rude, Flay."

"What?" she demurred, "was I being rude?"

"Cagalli and I were talking; you're welcome to join us, but to just butt in like that," I tried to explain.

Before I could go any further the alarm sounded, and PO Chandra's voice came over the PA, announcing, "All hands, level two battle stations! Repeat! All hands, level two battle stations!"

"Get to your station," I told Flay, pulling her inside the ship before grabbing my jacket and racing down the hall.

I reached the ready room to find Mu had already put on his purple flight suit and while I struggled into my own he hit the comm. to request orders. "Commander La Flaga, you'll take off in the skygrasper and provide anti-mobile suit support and artillery spotter. Ensign Yamato; as the Strike has no flight capabilities you'll remain on deck to provide support."

"Understood, Lieutenant," we both responded. Chief Murdoch's techs were working on the Aile Striker pack, lengthening the stabilizer fins to allow for atmospheric flight; but the modification wasn't complete and had to be tested. Combat was a bad time to test something anyway.

"I've already had the Launcher Striker equipped to the Skygrasper," the older man lamented.

"Go ahead and take off: I can be more accurate at range with the beam rifle, and it draws less power," I told him.

He nodded and headed to the hanger. By the time I arrived he was already hurtling down the port launch. Climbing into the cockpit I connected with the Combat Information Center and requested, "Miriallia; just give me the beam rifle and shield from the Aile Striker."

"Copy that," Miriallia responded.

Instead of being rolled over to the chalks I was released there on the hanger floor and walked out with the umbilical still connecting me to the ship's power. Half way out, however, the ship tipped back at a crazy angle; leveling out again before dropping back down to the water. The launch hatch opened, and taking the rifle I went to rest of the way, stopping at the lip of the opening so I'd have some place to hold on if we had to pull another crazy maneuver.

Something breached the surface of the water, a wide round nose that fired an energy shot before leveling out with just a couple of dorsal fins sticking out of the water. I fired the energy rifle too late, the shots hitting the water as the mobile suit dived, sending up a couple gushes of superheated water but doing no damage to the machine I'd been aiming for.

"I won't get them from here," I surmised, desparately trying to come up with an alternative. My mind caught on something, and I called out, "Chief Murdoch!"

"What is it?" the man responded over my right auxiliary screen.

He leaned in close to listen as I asked, "We still have the bazooka we got from the 8th Fleet supplies, don't we?"

Puzzled, the man confirmed, "Yeah, we do! So what?"

"Please get it! I'm diving into the sea!"

The ZAFT machine broke the surface again, firing a miniature torpedo that detonated on the forearm of the Strike; exploding but the force being absorbed by the Phase Shift armor. I fired back, but by that time the aquatic mobile suit had dived again: my shot producing a geyser but not penetrating the sea water far enough to do damage to my target.

"Diving? What do you mean diving? The Strike!"

"I know!" the Strike wasn't designed for underwater combat. "But we gotta do something!"

Mu was all alone out there, fighting two flying mobile suits that had an edge in maneuverability and versatility: he couldn't hope to combat an enemy both in the air and under the water. Even though the Strike wasn't designed for it I'd looked over the technical specifications enough to know that it was possible for the GAT-X machine to operate underwater for a short amount of time. The thrusters would give me some maneuverability – enough to operate at shallow depths and to return to the ship if the Archangel stayed close to the water's surface. As the deck tipped crazily again I staggered back down the launch and retrieved the massive bazooka from its storage compartment, and then returning to the front of the launch I fired the thruster and leapt out over the sea.

One of the ZAFT mobile suits fired up at me, and I fired one of the bazooka rounds after it, following the explosion as I fell into the water. Using the maneuvering thrusters I managed to stabilize myself, dodging an attack and firing off another bazooka round. The enemy machine dodged, and I noted, "It's quick!" before the Strike was rocked by a second mobile suit ramming into my shoulder.

The first machine rammed me also, firing a trio of mini-torpedoes as it angled away, and I raised the bazooka to fire again, missing again. Fighting underwater was just so different from all the other combat I'd done, but while the enemy mobile suits had the upper hand their tactics were somewhat predictable: another rammed me, and dropping the bazooka and shield I retrieved the left side Armored Schneider combat knife while grabbing hold of a stabilizing fin with the right hand. Aiming at what looked like an intake for the underwater thrusters I rammed the knife through the armor and let go.

I'd only meant to hamper the machine's mobility, but I must have hit something besides the intake as the armor along the leading edge of the mobile suit began to crumple, completely imploding before it could reach a safe depth.

Perhaps in retaliation the second machine raced towards me, preparing to ram me again. By now I had some sense of how to maneuver under water, so unsheathing the right-side combat knife I moved forward to meet the combatant. He fired two mini-torpedoes, which I dodged, but he'd fired a second set of torpedoes, and I was forced to throw up my arms to take the hit, losing the grip on the combat knife in the resulting explosion.

Swearing at the loss of the weapon I was forced to take the hit from the oncoming ZAFT machine, rolling out of the impact as best I could, and then moving away. I could see debris falling through the water – Commander La Flaga must have destroyed one of the airborne mobile suits – and I looked around frantically for anything that I could use. Spotting a beam rifle I pulled the connected robotic forearm off and took up the weapon, searching through the deepening gloom for the second aquatic mobile suit and spotting it just in time to cushion the impact. This time, though, I did not try to push away.

Bringing the rifle up I aimed for the same intake I'd punctured on the other mobile suit and pulled the trigger, the energy bursts having such a short distance to travel were barely dissipated, and after two point blank range shots I pushed off, firing a third as I drifted away. The resulting explosion forced me even deeper, the cockpit alarm going off as the water pressure outside the Strike began to reach a worrisome level, and I fired the thrusters; retreating to a shallower depth now that the underwater enemies were taken care of.

Passing through the debris of the mobile suits I thought again of Andrew Waltfeld. "I know," I said to the memory of him, "But unless I do it, we'll end up . . . There is a major difference between attacking others and defending our friends and loved ones."

End Episode 21

NOTES: Under water combat is a lot like space combat, right? No, actually the realities of underwater combat include resistance and depth pressure. In these situations mobile suits under water would act more like capital ships in space. Not much deviation in the episode except for a few lines while Kira is talking with Cagalli and his requesting Sai and Kuzzey. In previous episodes I've downgraded Kira's programming skills: he's good at making patch programs on the fly, but he really does need the others to help stabilize the program into something that can be used long-term.