Soldier of OZ: Walker's Account
Chapter 25 – A Home Far Away
7 April, AC 195, East Jerusalem
It had been more than a month before Operation 'Daybreak', and the first of the Gundams had been confirmed on Earth. After a reported sighting of one in continental Libya, Flight Officer Walker was on standby with the rest of the 4th Special Airborne Division of the Middle Eastern Air Army. In the meantime, a thought had occurred to him, something from his engineering days.
"So it's still there? It would look like an unusually large Leo, a meter taller than usual."
He was sitting in a secure communications room in the Staff HQ for the Middle East Air Army at UESAMECOM.
"If this is what you're talking about, sir, it hasn't moved." At the other end of the line was an engineer he knew at the Corsica Mobile Suit Works. "I'm pretty sure there are more than a few pieces missing though."
"There must be, I found an armored faceplate and integrated radar array. It looks sort of like a helmet from a Roman Legionnaire." Sure enough, bound by thick harnesses onto a simple trailer, was a white faceplate with a crimson red sensor array, made of high-tensile titanium alloy.
"Do you really think this'll be any use sir, even if you can restore it?"
"I hope so, but there's no way to tell." In his hand, he held printouts of transmission sent to him by Zechs Merquise, photographs from observation aircraft in the field.
Gundams are on Earth.
In the present, Flight Lieutenant Walker was having another particularly realistic dream, watching his life replaying before him. He'd been resting his eyes in his small room in the Diekirch Mobile Suit Troops Training School, a tiny facility that would barely qualify as a college next to the Lake Victoria Academy. It was 29 July, and classes were canceled for a Christian holiday; 'holiday' just meant that Walker went from above-ground work—teaching—to below-ground activities. He'd fallen asleep holding a well-worn book in his hand, with a name embossed on the cover in gold: Tubarov Villemont.
Walker was about to close his eyes again when the telephone on the wall rang and he reached for the receiver.
"This is Walker, go ahead." He sat up in his chair. "The Military Commissariat? A drumhead court-martial?"
II
In a clearing in a less-populated ward of Colony L3-C-421, Flight Lieutenant Ogasawara sat on the rim of the open cockpit of her OZ-12SMSK 'Taurus', reading a newspaper. On the floor of her cockpit, an open thermos was within arm's reach, as she flipped through the Informer, the colony's ironically named local fish-wrapper.
At the feet of her mobile suit, a detail of "Magarmach" commandos escorted a line of Alliance Space Forces prisoners-of-war, survivors from mobile suits including the 191st Mixed Battalion and the 108th Intelligence Squadron. The remainder of OZ's Taurus and Leo mobile suits were perched throughout the three wards, rising like black and blue titanium monoliths throughout the residential community, which she got a good view of. The POW's and soldiers on the ground got to look at the wreckage of moss green and olive mobile suits, and crippled but largely intact purple mobile suits, OZ-06MS and OZ-06SMS respectively.
"Ogasawara!" That belonged to the older F/L Clarkson, who waved at her from the ground. Giving an annoyed sigh, she slipped down on her tether to the street level.
"What's the matter, Clarkson?"
"Nothing. Which is why we're handing the situation off to the local militia and pulling out." Clarkson sounded pleased with himself, so Emi just scoffed, flicking her bangs.
"What's that?" Clarkson gestured under her arm.
"You've never read a newspaper?"
"I know what it is, I was asking why you're reading some trash printed in a blockaded colony."
"It's something to read."
"If you're searching for something to read, Flight Lieutenant, maybe you should consult your own datalink." Flight Officer Luna Armonia stood atop a Leo's severed right arm, looking down at them.
"Fine then," she replied, stuffing the newspaper into Clarkson's chest and letting her tether pull her back up into her cockpit. Clarkson watched her lift up and shook his head.
His mustache twitched. "I'll never understand her."
"I don't expect so, Flight Lieutenant," Luna told him calmly.
Clarkson ran a hand through his grey hair. "So, I expect you'll be taking the survivors from the intelligence squadron to your sister, the lieutenant colonel."
Luna didn't respond, instead taking the newspaper from him and unfolding it carefully, so he continued. "Just as well, now that we know Taurus units are capable of fighting inside a colony's habitable zone, we can expect the General Staff to be much more aggressive."
"And you don't look forward to that?" Luna asked him.
"Hey! If you've got time to chat, get back to your damn machines and open the datalink to the general channel!" Emi barked from her cockpit.
Clarkson looked at her oddly before turning to his own machine down the street. The encrypted military datalink was a term for both point-to-point transmissions through tremendously high frequency—radio bands in the range of 300 gigahertz to 3 terahertz—and general broadcasts in extremely high frequency—30 to 300 GHz, like the ones that Barge and the Earth Sphere military satellite network constantly broadcast at all times. In addition to crucial data and orders, EHF was used to broadcast more general news and information, along with supplying the Space Forces with access to Earth Sphere's civilian Network, mostly hosted on terrestrial servers.
Switching his left MFD over to EHF, he found it to be bursting with news. All of OZ, both in Earth and space, was hearing the same story repeated over and over.
"Ogasawara, do you hear this?"
"Yeah, Clarkson. I hear it."
"…Lieutenant Colonel Zechs Merquise, hero of the Mobile Suit Troops, has been arrested on suspicion of treason and is being held in former-UESASACOM Headquarters in Buenos Aires…" the tinny voice reported, as though she were listening to an FM radio.
III
The year is After Colony 195. The Lightning Count, Zechs Merquise, has fallen. But the loss of its most decorated knight has done little stop OZ in its march of history. With the decisive victory in Colony C-421, OZ demonstrated the superior mobility and firepower of the next generation Taurus against the Alliance Space Forces. The United Earth Sphere Alliance had posted its Military Space Forces in the colonies and strictly controlled their political and economic freedom. With its sudden collapse on Earth, the Alliance Space Forces, both its navy and mobile suit troops, remained in control of colonies.
But this control was diminishing, as OZ waged its war of liberation in Outer Space. And with C-421, OZ not only negated the greatest advantage of the enemy mobile suit troops, but secured a tactical victory by seizing elements of the much-diminished Alliance intelligence corps. The fall of one great hero would not stop that.
The liberation of the colonies aside, OZ's first order of business was to attempt to offset the tremendous numerical advantage that the ex-Alliance still held, in terms of naval forces but particularly in the mobile suit troops, where Leo squadrons and battalions greatly outnumbered Taurus and Leo units. Appreciating history, the General Staff understood that both superior technology and training could not necessarily offset superior numbers and longer combat experience, and sought a solution that would fit with the political objective of liberating and arming colonies. One of those solutions was the implementation of the mobile doll system, which ensured every Taurus could be made operational, whether or not it had a pilot.
Over a period of twenty hours, the remnants of the Alliance garrison at L1-E-063 had slowly been worn down through constant attrition—in those twenty hours, they'd fought no less than thirty skirmishes with OZ. Where there'd been thirty mobile suits dug in deep in the colony's superstructure there were now three, that had fled into the habitable zone, local time just after midnight. They planned to link up with a separate company that was still outside. In the meantime, OZ's commando fire teams had silenced their ground support.
"No response from the command tower!"
"We better get the hell out of here then."
"Yes, sir!"
Three machines, all OZ-06SMS 'Space Leo' mobile suits, stood near the large access shaft on the edge of the colony habitable zone, with one reaching forward with and then spinning its manipulator to manually open the service door. One of the two machines covering him spotted incoming enemies.
"Two hostiles, inbound!"
"Open fire!"
The barrage from their three beam rifles proved easy for to evade for an OZ-12SMS 'Taurus'; in fighter mode, they banked and evaded, leaving the beams to cut through the colonial cityscape, as the flight leader reestablished a heading and fired a single, low-power shot from the powerful beam cannon his machine carried. A wave of particles sent the Leos where they planned to go, through the access hatch, but in pieces, with the commander's model flying out through the superstructure and exploding in space. It was the mobile suit equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel.
The three mobile suits escaped through the gape in the side of E-063 as the bulkheads slowly shut after them. They left fighter mode, transforming into black and red angels of death, as they linked up with the rest of the squadron, already engaging a number of other Pioneer Leos. By the time the colony had drifted into sight of the Space Fortress Barge, the other unit commander had obliterated the last of his survivals with a full-power blast from his beam rifle, thousands of meters long, across the axis of the colony.
There were no Alliance survivors to hear the message OZ broadcast, unencrypted, on the general frequency. "Soldiers of the former Alliance, stop this futile resistance! The Order of the Zodiac has come to bring peace to Outer Space. Now, let us welcome a new age together." They were words from Lady Une, Countess of Hanover and OZ's diplomatic envoy in Outer Space who watched that very battle from aboard the Alliance's old space fortress.
Flight Officer Tycho Nichol, leading a unit of OZ-01MD mobile dolls—in effect, simply OZ-12SMS that entered a combat zone without pilots and operating as autonomous mobile dolls—around E-063.
"That should be the last of them. Give the guys from First Recon our thanks for cleaning up on the inside, we'll finish up out here," Nichol announced.
"You can tell us yourself, Nichol," a pilot from the First Recon battalion replied smartly.
Nichol laughed in his helmet. "Right, I forget mobile dolls don't appreciate decorum. In any case, we're done out here."
"Acknowledged, withdrawing from combat zone. See you back in Barge."
Nichol nodded and gently changed his heading. "Comet 2-1, this is Comet Actual."
"Go ahead, Comet Actual."
"Colonel Une wants this colony secured in time for the D-Area Summit today. We'll wait for the Mimas to complete its sweep before rendezvousing with the rest of the fleet, then we'll take on more check from either end."
"Roger, sir. What about mine clearing?"
"Fuck, I forgot about mines." The navy's extraterrestrial minefields were as much a part of the inter-colonial Alliance blockade as the Space Forces or their Mobile Suit Troops, perhaps more so. If OZ was liberating the colonies, they had no choice but to painstakingly clear them out. "I hate mines," Nichol mumbled.
"Roger that," Comet 2-1 responded as his communications system pinged—a audio message from the OZSS Mimas (CL-40) acknowledged they'd completed their sweep and had nothing to report.
"That's our cue. Follow my lead."
Comet 1-1 and Comet 2-1, each accompanied by two mobile dolls, took the next ten minute to avoid the minefields and insert into E-063 from either side of the main axis. Nichol's flight entered in fighter mode before returning to normal inside the main pylon.
"This is Nichol. The mobile dolls are nominal. Or rather, everything's in perfect form," he reported back to Barge. He could see on one of his MFDs that his signal was additionally being patched through to another colony in the area, C-102. On his top left minidisplay, Lady Une appeared in the cabin of a car.
"Is that so? Then return the unmanned mobile suits back to Barge, Mr. Nichol."
"What about security?"
"The Colonials consider mobile suits their enemies. I'll speak with their representatives privately after the conference today."
The call ended and Nichol shrugged. I guess they want to return to normal life as fast as possible. He flipped a switch, switching to the channel used exclusively by the mobile dolls. "Canceling existing orders. Return to Barge."
To their credit, mobile dolls might lack creativity, but they're fast and they obey commands about as good as raw cadets.
Inside the fully-functioning cockpits, the flight sticks slid back and forth, MFDs flashed and instruments beeped as they entered fighter mode and promptly left through the same access tunnel as they'd entered. With nothing left to do, Nichol did the same. He was not aware that he and his units were being monitored, by someone who had just appreciated the novelty of mobile dolls.
IV
Walker had no way of knowing the exact details, but he did suspect he wasn't the only outside interested in the mobile doll program. In the wake of Zechs Merquise's formal arrest, Walker was ordered to remain in Diekirch as a material witness. To take his mind off the subject, he studied the work of Tubarov Villemont, chief engineer of one of OZ's design teams, just as Colonel Treize had instructed him to earlier that month.
Not ten minutes after the call informing him of Zechs' arrest, he'd gotten another call, this one from the Luxembourg General Staff: his classes had gotten him noticed by Villemont's staff at the Ruhr Valley No. 4 Mobile Suit Factory in Düsseldorf, and they'd requested him for a handful a number of vague proving operations. Listening to the call, Walker was certain that this had something to do with the mobile doll program. But instead he was sitting in the marble halls of the Military Commissariat.
On the other side of the mahogany doors, in what was affectionately called the bullpen, a dozen officer cadets and second lieutenants rapidly scrambled about, carrying boxes of paper files pertinent to the court-martial of Zechs Merquise. Against the opposite wall, O/C Edward Parsons propped one foot up and crossed his arms.
"And what exactly are you doing?" a young lieutenant asked angrily. Like all officers in the commissariat, they could be distinguished by the silver, rather than gold, insignia they wore on their caps, and the silver pipping along their uniforms. Parsons just shrugged back and the lieutenant kept staring at him, eyes twitching.
"Parsons! Get in here," a breathy voice ordered from one of the small private officers that surrounded the main floor. Parsons got off the wall and leisurely entered, closing the door behind him.
"I hate that little bastard," the lieutenant hissed under his breath.
Major Cebotari, in full uniform, sat to the left of the door, legs crossed. The young mans' eyes immediately went to the long aquarium behind her, which he strolled over to and began tapping a finger against.
Eva waited, letting him tap his finger against the glass for a few minutes, as though he'd never seen an aquarium before. "Parsons!" she snapped softly at him finally. He stopped tapping on the aquarium in time to turn and catch something tossed to him.
Parsons smoothed it out and looked at it. "A black arm band?"
"Acht is dead. At least pretend to care, E.P.." She crossed her arms and put a hand on the armband on her right sleeve.
"If you can do it," he mumbled, pulling the band on. As he fiddled with the band, Eva stood up from her seat and he turned just in time to see the door open.
"Lieutenant Colonel Armonia!" Parsons declared aloud, saluting. Lady Soris Armonia, in her maroon and white uniform, smiled widely at them before approaching the aquarium and glancing into the soft blue light.
"My dear doctor, I didn't know you were a fish person," she said with a smile, leaning down and holding the file she was carrying behind her back.
"They belonged to my predecessor."
Parsons hid a distasteful frown. I'm beginning to see the point behind the eye shadow and makeup. It raises her mockery of others to the maximum level of annoyance.
"Lady Soris, will you be presiding over the pretrial hearing?" Eva asked.
"Yes, with two senior staff officers. We've all had experience with the typical post-ship loss court martial conducted by the navy."
"That's...not really a good comparison," she pointed out softly.
"No, but it's the best we have on such short notice. In the meantime, I've been sent to make sure everything's in order," Soris explained, not taking her eyes of the aquarium.
"Where's Lieutenant Colonel Une?" Parsons asked suspiciously. "She's presided over past hearings."
"Une's busy with our ambassadorial mission in space. So I'm in charge."
I wonder if that stunt with Barge has something to do with that, Parsons thought. "Yes, ma'am. Your orders?" he asked, sounding a little patronizing.
"Wrap up your pretrial investigation immediately. No one, not even his Excellency, can be allowed to drag this out while the Gundams are out there. As soon as you enough to precede the case, we'll do so."
"But…Colonel Treize will certainly want evidence presented in Zechs' defense!" Parsons pointed out.
"Exactly. Get to it," Soris said, standing up and smacking a file into Parsons' chest. "We're in a rush."
V
The Area D Summit was so named because it was hosted in the area of the D-prefix colonies, specifically inside L1-D-1307, in blatant defiance of the UESAETCOM, the Alliance's military headquarters in Outer Space, in D-120. It was a testament to OZ's progress in Outer Space—in a matter of weeks, in the face of overwhelming numerical superiority, OZ had established that it, and the colonies it had liberated, could act in impunity in the face of the main group of Space Mobile Suit Troops. An Alliance retaliation on the colonies already secured was guaranteeing a swift and painful response from OZ. The first of the All-Colonial Congresses, as they were called, could be held in safety.
The fact that D-120, like all colonies at the first Lagrange point, was well within the firing zone of Barge's primary cannon was redundant. In D-1307's parliament, leaders from various colonies not under Alliance control watched a video presentation narrated by OZ's extraterrestrial ambassador.
The first half featured footage of the Alliance's crushing "policing" of Outer Space.
"Today, in the year After Colony 195, we feel the denizens of Outer Space deserve to live freely. However, to date, the United Earth Sphere Alliance has oppressed you. The era of the Alliance has ended."
Footage of Alliance Space Mobile Suit Troops obliterating Colonial ships and fighters, of Leo mobile suits storming colony interiors, was replaced by OZ's own black Mobile Suit Troops, swiftly hunting down and obliterating their Alliance enemy. Some footage was just a few days old.
"A new order is being created on Earth, and it shall be the same here in space. You people are now free. OZ has come to support you."
The short video ended and Representative Nguyen of L1-C-102, addressed the murmuring All-Colonial Congress. "That concludes the public message from the OZ Military, or rather, the OZ Peacekeeping Forces as some call them. Rather than responding immediately, I'd like to discuss our response further in the next scheduled conference. OZ assures me that they're in no hurry for an official response. Accordingly, I'd like to adjourn the Area D Summit."
Nguyen adjusted his glasses just in time to see the see a representative he didn't recognize, who'd sat in the conference, leave as the delegates began to disperse. As he didn't recognize her face, she must have belonged to OZ, he reasoned. He caught up with her as quickly as he could; it was hard to miss the beauty in the blue suit and short skirt.
"I didn't have an opportunity to thank you," he explained once he caught up with her.
She turned to smile back at her. "Oh, not at all."
"At the moment, I'm alone in thanking you. But in the future, I hope my whole colony will thank OZ for their service."
"You're quite young for such a democratically-elected leader," she observed.
Nguyen had heard that one before. "Couldn't youth be interpreted as potential? We third generation Colonials understand the difference between the 'OZ' organization and the Alliance military, unlike our elders."
"Of course, OZ was once part of the Alliance. It'll take time for many to understand the difference. In the meantime, soldiers of the Alliance military are still scattered throughout the colonies." She bowed quickly. "You must excuse me, I must leave to liberate the next colony."
Quite an audacious statement to make. As she turned to leave, he raised a hand. "Pardon me, but I didn't catch your name…?"
She turned back. "Oh yes, that's correct. I'm responsible for OZ's activities in Outer Space."
She then did something that surprised him enormously—with a soft touch, she removed his glasses and placed them, backwards, just in front of her own eyes while smiling. "You may call me Lady Une."
VI
"So this is everything?"
Lady Soris stood in Eva's office, looking at her desk, which was now covered three awkward stacks of thick paper notebooks with black covers and a cardboard box of digital storage media. Two officer cadets were still sorting the files.
Parsons casually tossed a large diskette in a glass case into the box. "Yes ma'am, everything we have on the man known alternatively as Zechs Merquise, Millardo Peacraft."
"In effect, this is everything the Alliance and OZ has on Zechs," Eva added softly. "We'll pull an all-nighter while interviewing witnesses, and the board will be able to make their decision."
"And you've already gathered the witnesses?"
"All the witnesses we'll need," Eva assured her. "If necessary, we're quite capable of moving very fast. We know who signs the cheques, Colonel."
"I see."
Parsons reached to the desk and took a notebook. "Speaking of which, we'd better have some coffee and sandwiches brought if if we're going to get through this now..."
"Actually, Mr. Parsons, I'd like you to handle the testimonial interviews," Soris said, taking the notebook from the shorter man while grinning.
"…I understand, I'll speak with the rest of the prosecution."
Soris plopped down in an armchair. "For Zechs' defense."
Eva wasn't acquainted with Soris Armonia—she only knew her by virtue of her high rank and peerage, and her decorated military career—but she took considerable enjoyment and watching Parsons freeze in place, having just fished his mobile out of his pocket.
"…huh?" he finally said, his mouth very wide.
"The report from Buenos Aires basically condemns Zechs for his actions," Soris began. "Though the staff here has exercised all due diligence and objectivity, we know beyond reasonable doubt Zechs killed most of what was left of Jagdstaffeln 88 and several pilots in Jagdstaffeln 13. We have irrefutable video evidence. I'm not that interested in excessively defending a guilty man, even if he is the legendary Zechs Merquise."
She stretched her arms over her head, looking almost like a cat with her eyes closed. "Parsons, Perez, Parker, you'll handle Zechs' defense. We're setting an example, after all. Do whatever you need to protect the image of propriety." She rose from the armchair, pulling her arms back and sticking her chest out as she stretched more. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to return to something that matters, like the war effort."
Soris promptly headed for the door, leaving Parker and Perez saluting from the table and Parsons standing behind with his mouth ajar. Eva said nothing but made no effort to hide how much she was enjoying herself.
Parsons kept staring at the door well after it closed before turning back to the other two officer cadets and barking instructions. "Fine then! Perez, review the footage! Parker, check Zechs' mental stability and the like. I'll speak to the witnesses,"
He then yanked out a notebook from the bottom of one of the stacks, sending the rest toppling over everywhere. Eva had to hold back her laughter as the other two cadets tried to catch the files, while Parsons walked over to the aquarium and opened the glass cabinet next to it. He indiscriminately yanked out a bottle of aged scotch out before closing it.
"You know you can't drink that," she told him softly.
"It's for the pilots. You ever known a pilot who didn't drink?"
Eva didn't have a response for that, and Parsons continued as he he dropped the bottle into a cardboard box, before sweeping his notebooks and pens off the table into it. "You see, this is the problem with OZ. We spent weeks making sure that Zechs would have to leave OZ before he could ruin it from the inside, and now we're going to go through the trouble of defending him. Next we'll be arming the colonies, just we can go through the trouble of disarming them!" he snapped, storming out of the office and slamming the door behind him. The smile didn't leave Eva's face when her mobile went off in her pocket and she drew it out.
"Speaking of losing their nerve…"
VII
In North America, the pace of fighting had slowed considerably. As had happened elsewhere, OZ had viciously battled its way to just before a crushing victory over its enemies, only to pause and pursue a diplomatic option. In Xinjiang, it had failed and the opposition was crushed instead. In Utah, it seemed more likely to succeed. The lead company of the 40th Canadian Victoria Cross Airborne Division, OZ's premiere Aries unit north of Mexico, had relocated to the Coloradan Republic's capital, Old Denver, not to fight but to stand in honor guard for negotiations with the civilian delegation from the Zionist Party.
In the National Assembly in Denver, Pilot Officer Levinsky shuffled his feet about under his cape. "Three-hundred thousand square kilometers and not a drop of coffee. I can understand the no alcohol, but coffee? Really ma'am?"
Flight Officer Kaneshiro Kanna leaned on the tall glass windows and smiled. "Think of it as a few days of clean living."
"Right," he mumbled, rubbing his face. "I need to wait until we leave this strange land before I can get a decent cup of coffee. Wonderful."
His whole body shook before standing upright again. "So, ma'am, do know you anything about the woman from the Romefeller Foundation whom offered to arbitrate with the Republic of Utah?"
"Right, 'offered'," the F/O mumbled sarcastically, adjusting her white gloves and crossing her arms under her cape. "OZ doesn't have many of its own diplomats, and the Foundation shows up, after all the fighting, to fill in the gaps. Real convenient."
The two stood over the rotunda windows overlooking Republican Square to the west, to the city hall building that faced the National Assembly. An armored limousine pulled up just in front of a large granite statue of an indigenous American standing over an extinct Bison with a bow.
"That must be her. Whatever you do, ma'am, please don't do anything rude."
"What're you talkin' about?" Kanna demanded.
The two marched down to the lobby to greet the Foundation's envoy, only to be rather surprised: out of the limousine, in one of the Romefeller Foundation's expensive royal dresses with a sash in OZ colors worn over one shoulder, was a young woman—a very young woman—with very long, straight platinum blond hair, violet-blue eyes and rather curious eyebrows. Kanna and Levinsky stood at attention as the girl curtsied quickly before she ran a hand through her hair and smiled.
"Dorothy Catalonia. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
The granddaughter of the Duke of Liechtenstein got right to business, strolling right up to the President's Office and claiming it her own for now.
"Ms. Kaneshiro and Mr. Levinsky, I'm sure you have your own plans, but I would like you to personally sit-in on these negotiations," Dorothy explained, as she unrolled a large map of center of the continent onto the mahogany table.
"Of course, Ms. Catalonia."
"Please, call me Dorothy," she told Kanna as the map was set up. She pointed at the bottom of the top left quadrant. "The delegation we're meeting will be arriving from the capital of the Utahan Republic, New Jerusalem," she said, pointing to a city on a lake, surrounded by harsh mountains and deserts.
"Assume we don't know that much about Utahan politics," Levinsky said quietly.
"All you need to know is Zionist Party, who will have to approve any peace treaty, represents the partnership between the Continental American Military District of the former-Alliance and the influential Latter-Day Saints Church," she told them, her voice sounding like that of a schoolteacher. "No matter whom they are or what they believe, people are very predictable once you know such knowledge of their goals."
VIII
Just as the Sun Queen had ordered, the Military Commissariat continued working nonstop on the pre-hearing paperwork. Officers ate their meals at their desks before returning to their assignments.
Cadet Perez noticed Parsons sitting at his desk in the bull pen with a notebook computer. "What's that?"
Parsons looked away from the screen. "One of Zech's old acquaintances is a Flight Lieutenant Walker. This is his online mail account from the Middle East Air Army. The subpoena just came through and I thought I'd entertain myself."
"What's in it?"
"Pretty much exactly what you'd expect for an abandoned mail account on the Network in that part of the world. About three hundred letters from Protestant organizations selling miracle cures and warning about internationalist plots to let children divorce their parents. About a hundred from Sunni groups warning about the downfall of decent society and the disloyalty of academia. An invitation to invest in a Ponzi scheme in California. Some pseudo-pornography. And one Marxist newsletter." He closed the laptop. "Very boring, like Walker I bet."
Carrying the laptop in one arm, he entered Eva's office to find it empty. Perez glanced over his shoulder as he looked about.
"Where is she?"
"Major Cebotari? His Grace Duke Dermail and the Foundation's governing board wanted an in-person briefing, she's already left for Brussels."
"So we went through all this just so they could give Zechs a slap on the wrist?" Parsons asked, before groaning. "God, what is wrong with us? What's wrong with them?"
"Hopefully not that much," Perez answered. "Flight Officer O'Brien's ready to be interviewed."
Parsons crossed his arms and closed his eyes. "And who is he again?"
"One of Noin's men. He surrendered to Jagdstaffeln 13 when they secured Barclay Kamb Naval Station and has been in our custody since then."
"Right, right. I'll speak to him in second floor conference room."
F/O O'Brien was waiting in the empty conference room, nervously pulling out pieces of lint from his hunter green uniform when Officer Cadet Parsons entered and he snapped to his feet. Putting on a neutral face, Parsons circled the table and saluted O'Brien, who hastily saluted while remembering he outranked the younger man.
"Sir, I'm Edward Parsons, charged with Zechs Merquise's defense."
"Of course," O'Brien replied, nodding. "Uh…shouldn't you be cooperating with Colonel Zechs then?"
Parsons sat down, checked his wristwatch, and opened a notebook. "Sometimes these defenses are better if avoid that, believe it or not. So, you were reassigned to Noin's command after your injury on the Belorussian Front. Before that, you were in First Recon, under F/L Chernenko."
"That's correct."
"And when you met Zechs Merquise in Antarctica, how did he seem?"
"I…I suppose he seemed calm and confident. Like the other times I'd met him, which weren't many."
Parsons pretended to write something into the notebook with a pen. "I see. Tell me sir, Zechs instructed Noin and yourself to evacuate when the pursuit squadrons arrived. After that, he said something very unusual, didn't he?"
O'Brien slowly nodded.
"And what was that, sir?
There was a pause before he responded. "…he said, 'Long live the colonies.'"
The room seemed eerily, uncomfortably quiet. Parsons checked his watch again, holding back his grin. "Are you thirsty, Flight Officer?" eyeing the bottle of scotch in a cardboard box.
XI (Eyecatch)
"Forces of the former-Alliance military unjustly stationed have been forced to surrender. With OZ's powerful Mobile Suit Troops, full operations have commenced for the removal of minefields, with the hopes of reestablishing communication and transit between colonies."
Duo Maxwell, the pilot of the infamous Gundam-02, frowned at the broadcast from a colonial news station recently established on Earth. "I thought OZ was supposed to take over the colonies, not free them from the Alliance."
In a safe house owned by the pilot of Gundam-04, Quatre Rebaba Winner, the two Gundam pilots were trying to formulate a plan. "They do. If OZ used force, the colonies would prepare to retaliate. But they'd be welcome if they aided them first."
So what the hell are we? Preliminary surveyors? He shrugged. "Most people in Outer Space are easy going. No one's gonna' question OZ's plans," he prclaimed.
"It's time we returned, with our Gundams. They were built for the people of the colonies, we're the only ones who can save them from this evil plot."
Good thing no one can hear us. They'd tell us how crazy we sound. "You're right. But how?"
Far from the Gundam pilot's hidden subtropical lair, the leadership of the Romefeller Foundation gathered for an uncharacteristically militarized briefing from a trusted officer of OZ in the scenic Grote Markt in downtown Brussels. The ancient halls, preserved as a World Heritage Site by the UESAESCO—the long acronym for the United Earth Sphere Alliance Education, Scientific and Cultural Organization—was now in the custody of the Foundation itself.
Eva stood in the conference room of the Maison du Roi, in front of a massive digital screen with Zechs Merquise's dossier on it. By coincidence, in the corner of the screen was the same video that the Gundam pilots had been watching, which had moved onto the topic of Colony C-102.
Duke Dermail Catalonia gave a somber sigh and rapped his knuckles on the table. "While we appreciate your candor, Doctor, we know all this. Give us the same briefing you gave the General Staff a few weeks ago, during the Darlian Investigation. What is the worst case scenario?"
Eva sized up the crowd of Europe's wealthiest royalty, political leaders and other elites, then cocked her head very slightly.
"Simple," she said softly. "The worst case scenario is that Zechs becomes Millardo Peacecraft, and rallies people—his countrymen, other so-called 'pacifists', but most problematically, his comrades—and leads them against the Romefeller Foundation, and by extension, OZ. Short of a civil war between the military forces of OZ and the civilian leadership of the Foundation, he would have no choice but to target both, even if he didn't want to."
She smiled dangerously at all of them. They know that, in some respects, OZ broke from the Foundation when it launched the Revolution of its own accord. Romefeller had enormous control over the Alliance for seventy years, in many respects more than it had over OZ. One could even claim OZ is the only thing guaranteeing the independence of the colonies from the next Alliance the Romefeller Foundation endorses.
Duke Dermail managed to smile back under his mustache. "On point as always, Eva. Please continue."
"After that, Zech's death: whatever the circumstances, it would mean martyring him, thereby becoming a hero for the remnants of the Alliance. Zechs Merquise was already a hero to Alliance soldiers and junior officers before 'Daybreak'. If he were to die, he would become another casualty of a claimed Foundation political takeover."
"She's right," one member of the board interjected. "He's enormously popular with both groups. My son, a captain in the Alliance Navy, practically saw him as God."
"So, something as brutal as that is no solution either," the duke said in agreement. "Then what?"
"The last option: force him to flee. Preferably alone. Like any other human, Zechs' behavior is governed by the power he holds. Discarding OZ, he has no limitations, but he does lose a considerable amount of his power. He cannot rally military forces to his cause without declaring war outright, and becoming a warmonger himself. He can barely rally anyone to his cause, besides those closest to him. Should Millardo Peacecraft abandon the name Zechs Merquise, he will still be dangerous to many. But he will be far less dangerous in the immediate future."
The council went silent, as the nobles seem to ponder over the explanation. One of them spoke.
"I do think your grandnephew should be here, Dermail," an elderly official sitting next to Dermail explained.
"Perhaps. But we should look at this as reasonable men. Zechs is like a brother to Treize, and I don't care for pitting brothers against one another. I've had enough of that as of late," the Count of Liechtenstein ruminated.
While the Foundation's leadership waxed philosophical, on the very colony the news broadcast had spoken of, OZ had a made a surprise headway in their securing of Outer Space. The search for Alliance sympathizers and saboteurs had led to something quite different.
With her hair tightly done up and in her modified crimson-and-white military uniform, Lieutenant Colonel Une went to a detention cell in the main building of what was an Alliance garrison, but now served as her headquarters on C-102 and that of the local Colonial militia.
Still wearing his normal suit, Nichol was looking very pleased with himself when he recognized a young corporal, Une's secretary. Une had already arrived and was about to personally interrogate the new prisoner, but Nilsson showing up a few minutes later was not uncommon.
"Mr. Nichol, what's going on?"
"Our security patrols found someone in D-1307, not known to the colony registrar. He surrendered to CAST insertion team and he's been detained here."
"During the conference?"
"The very one."
In a jail cell with a security detail posted in front of it, Lieutenant Colonel Une stood just in front of the open door in the dimly lit room. Sitting in a chair before her was a small, fragile looking elderly man, a scarred face with a comically long nose hidden by a thick mop of grey hair on his head.
"The proverbial creator," she remarked, smirking.
"So, I finally get to meet the military big-shot," he smirked back at her.
A staff officer elaborated. "He was caught in the act of destroying the evidence: a small but highly-developed workshop, likely capable of producing a prototype mobile suit."
"So he succeeded?"
"It appears so."
Une drew out a snub-nose revolver, a private purchase, and held it against the eldery man's head. The nearby officer jerked back in surprise. "Well then, were you the one who designed the Gundams?" she barked.
"What a stupid way to ask such a question!"
"Just answer! You must have been heavily involved in the Gundams!"
"No, not with the other four," he countered.
The officer winced as Une considered the new development. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Think, Zodiac. I designed the best Gundam I possibly could. Why would I make four more variations of it?"
"So you're claiming you only designed one of them?"
He nodded. "The masterpiece I call 'Deathscythe'."
Wow, even its name is theatrical. What a shock, Nichol thought.
"The others happen to be a coincidence. The Alliance prohibited communication between colonies, and I only created one Gundam."
At the same time on Earth, in the headquarters of the 13th Guards Medal of Heroism Division outside Singapore, Squadron Commander Sebastian Krist stared at a scrolling computer screen, reflected clearly on his large sunglasses.
"Commander Krist!"
"What is it Lieutenant?" he asked, not looking up at the visitor.
"Just letting you know the H.L.V. are standing by and ready for launch."
"Good. Maybe we'll get some peace and quiet after that," he said, before glancing up at the younger officer through his glasses. "Take a seat, Flight Lieutenant, you look a little jittery."
"Very well sir," he said, pulling out a chair. "Shame about this Zechs business, isn't it?"
Krist gave an indecipherable nod. "That it is."
"Didn't you know the Lightning Count, sir?"
Krist got the feeling this conversation wasn't just going away. "I did. Fought with him during 'Daybreak' actually. Never thought he'd b a traitor, of course," he said, half-lying and half-not caring.
The F/L seemed to be taking it harder, and just shook his head. "I guess part of growing up is seeing your heroes fall, isn't it?"
Krist nodded, before reaching to his computer and stopping the scrolling screen. The F/L looked up and saw the reflection of a dossier photograph on his sunglasses.
"What are you looking at sir?"
"Some dossiers from the Alliance Space Forces, from the Military Commissariat. Future troublemakers, really."
"What makes you think that?" the F/L asked as he circled around the table to get a look himself. The screen changed to reveal three service photographs of three different young officers.
"Call it intuition. I didn't just know Zechs, I knew Arroway."
"You mean that Alliance Admiral that died in the battle at L4?"
"The very one. She had a few crazies in the Space Mobile Suit Troops on a short leash, and now that she's gone, I expect they're going to be a problem. Especially these two," he said, pointing with two fingers at a young woman and a young man.
"Captain Carmen Soletta. Major Umar bin Khattāb," he read aloud, looking at the two handsome pictures. "They both Colonials sir?"
"There are other Colonials, but these two I'm worried about. You know what they say."
He glanced at the flight lieutenant, who just stared back at him.
"No, what do they say…sir?"
"There's no-one as fanatical as a convert," Krist explained.
Above them, the lights turned from white to red, and a klaxon blared loudly as Krist shot out of his chair, hands on the table.
"What was that?"
The flight lieutenant was already on the telephone, and turned back to him. "Raffles Perimeter reports two mobile suits attacking from the east!"
"Scramble all available companies immediately and put all troops on alert!" he ordered him.
"Do you think it's a Gundam?"
"Just relay the damn orders!" He didn't want to answer that if he could help it.
As the battle begun at Stanford Raffles Cosmodrome in Singapore, Walker sat in a chair in the waiting room in the Military Commissariat Luxembourg, pulling back his sleeve to check his wristwatch.
Right about now, some kids from the Military Commissariat are probably rooting through my room in Diekirch. He ran a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair, as the door on the other wall opened to reveal a young, dark haired officer cadet.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Flight Lieutenant. Come in."
Walker followed Parsons through the bullpen and into one of the offices. Immediately, he found himself distracted by the illuminated aquarium built into the wall.
"Eye-catching isn't it?" he asked the O/C.
"That's what I said," he replied quickly. "Edward Parsons, sir."
"Oswald Walker."
"Take a seat, sir." Rather than sitting behind the desk, Parsons dragged the chair from behind the table and around to the chair Walker now sat in, placed himself in it and leaned in his direction.
"So how can I help you?" Walker finally asked.
"Do you know what's happened?" he asked.
"I heard Colonel Zechs Merquise was arrested in Argentina for suspicious behavior."
Parsons nodded, beckoning Walker to continue. Walker just stared at him.
"…in?"
"…suspicious behavior in the Tallgeese mobile suit."
"Thank you sir," Parsons said, abruptly standing up and circling around his own chair. "Zechs and his cohorts wiped out all of Jagdstaffeln 88, most of Jagdstaffeln 13 and a number of airborne carriers."
Walker sighed quietly as he continued. "Zechs killed at least five mobile suits himself. So I guess the question is do you have any idea why he'd do this, sir?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Parsons."
I could take the pen on the desk behind you and stab you in the brain, you tech-head. I've see Eva do it. Parsons stared at him. "Are you sure, sir?"
"I'm not as well acquainted with Zechs as you might think. Not as much as Lieutenant Noin or the Otto Richter."
Parsons sighed and began pacing around the office nervously, the only thing he could do to avoid sitting on the desk and pulling one of his legs up. "Unfortunately, Lieutenant Noin is one of his accomplices and missing, and Officer Otto is dead. So that leaves you."
Walker waited for Parsons to stop in front of the aquarium. "You couldn't interrogate his Excellency?"
Parsons barely resisted punching the side of the aquarium, then turned to Walker, forcing a grin. "Are you hungry, Flight Lieutenant?"
XII
After they easily breached OZ's defensive perimeter, only one thing separating two Gundams from the H.L.V. gantries at Site No. 3 towards the middle of Singapore Cosmodrome: the royal blue mobile suits of Krist's Battalion. But in the first major altercation exclusively between OZ and the Gundams since Mirny was different from those encounters before.
"This OZ unit isn't like the others!" Gundam-02's pilot cried out. While there seemed be to be traditional Leo formation line that OZ's ground mobile suits preferred, this wasn't a replay of past encounters. Behind a handful of short-lived forward scouts, the bulk of their forces remained concentrated well out of both Gundams' engagement range. "I can't get any closer!"
Krist's 1st Guards Battalion, joined by the OZ-07MS 'Tragos' of 6th Separate Artillery Battalion, did not let up, pouring everything they had into the Gundams. Between the two mobile suits and the distances involved, most of their shots unsurprisingly missed—but even just a fraction of it was an incredible amount of fire for them to contend with.
"Just head for the Site Number Three as fast as you can!" Gundam-04's pilot shouted back over the local channel. He fired his vernier thrusters and skimmed along the tarmac at a position of four machines with autocannons, believing he could eviscerate them at close range. Normally he could have, except two Leos with siege cannons fired from their concealed position, sending him to the ground.
"Quatre!"
Unmanned observation aircraft circled the Gundams as they linked up, relaying video to OZ's general staff in Luxembourg as well as Colony C-102's Presidium. While Earth Forces' crack troops seemed to press whatever advantage they might have had, Nguyen and C-102's executive council considered their options.
"So those are the Gundams. They're still fighting OZ on Earth."
"The Alliance military oppressed the colonies, with OZ's assistance. I can understand a Colonial sentiment to retaliate against Earth," another admitted.
With his back to an elder statesman, Nguyen stared at the screen. "Yes, but even now, our promotion of peace is hardly being ignored by OZ itself. Do we really plan to keep running around while weapons like those exist?"
"Those Gundams fight because they truly believe in their cause, the defense of the colonies," the elder statesman objected.
"I must disagree, sir. They're a threat to those very colonies. We must show OZ our intent, before the Gundams force their hand further."
The elder statesman was unconvinced. "The Gundams chose to fight out of their love for space. They're desperate, fighting untold enemies. So why can't we help them?"
"This is why!" Nguyen countered, nearly shouting in turn. On screen, Gundam-02 literally cut a Leo in half, horizontally, with its scythe. As the torso toppled backwards, its cockpit hatch blew off on exploding bolts and the ejection seat rocketed out, only to vanish in a bloody mist from a burst of Vulcan fire from the cannons mounted in the Gundam's head. It had probably been instinctual more than anything, but the OZ Earth Forces pilot went from life to not existing in a fraction of a second.
"Tell me, sir, what exactly happens if we don't agree with the Gundams? If our interest disagree with theirs? Our that our interests already disagree with other colonies? What if a refusal to resist OZ to the last man sees us joining their long list of enemies?"
Nguyen felt his left arm, feeling where the metal pins were left in his humerus from injuries he'd taken less than a decade earlier, in campaigns of civil resistance against the Alliance military occupation of C-102. "OZ is the only thing that's kept Area D from being retaken by the Alliance, what's to say we're not already complicit in that?"
The elder statesman didn't have an answer for that. Nguyen didn't even take the time to revel in this small victory, and turned to an aide. "Call the delegates—we're making a statement."
In the National Military Academy in El Palomar, behind the elite infantry of the 4th Córdoba Parachute Brigade, Zechs Merquise stood leisurely in a dining room, watching as reports came in of an official statement being issued by the All-Colonial Congress on the situation in Singapore.
"We wish to announce the consensus of the Area D colonies. The mobile suits known as Gundams, currently engaged in warfare with the Earth military of OZ, have no connection with Colony Area D." The young delegate adjusted his glasses before continuing. "We also declare that if the Gundams consider OZ an enemy, then Area D shall consider the Gundams the same. OZ has treated us fairly, and together we have sought common ground in spite of past differences. We hope that the Gundams are defeated in their attack on Earth. We further hope that other colonies will follow our example with this declaration."
"What a cruel, but predictable, twist," Zechs mumbled softly. "OZ has poured lives and materiel into its Outer Space campaign. Are a few words its only promised reward?"
In Singapore, Krist listened to the broadcast as he rapidly keyed instructions into his communications system. It almost looked like the battalion was closing the noose around one of the Gundams, at least.
"Commander, did you hear that?"
"I did, but don't assume a bunch of so-called terrorists care! They came to Earth all on their own didn't they? They're probably fine with a few colonies not understanding their glorious cause," Krist shot back. As the Gundams were tossed about by dober gun fire, he was about to call in air support when his flight lieutenant screamed over the channel, having just been burned alive. It was enough to give him a moment's pause, though not for long.
"Sir, new contact, heading zero-three-zero, it's Unit Zero-Five!"
"Looks like the whole party's here!" Krist said, in frantic laughter, the screams of just a few seconds ago ringing in his ears. "AWACS Eagle Eye, keep an eye out for Unit Zero-Three, I bet he'll be showing up soon!"
"With respect, Centurion Actual, I don't think we can fight four Gundams!"
Closing the channel, he grinned and rapidly spun his machine to heading 030. "I've fought Gundams at Mirny, and lived. I have no idea if I'll do the same here, but death is an old friend. Do you hear that? I no longer fear it, or the Gundams!"
XIII
While Singapore burned as two more Gundams struggled to rendezvous with the first pair, two flights of Taurus mobile suits led by Lieutenant Colonel Une and F/O Nichol descended on L1-C-1013, a rare double-torus Stanford-design colony. Three combat engineers in Space Leos, signaling with a torch, had promptly been obliterated when a beam cannon fired through the side of the outer industrial block. Two manned Taurus mobile suits were caught in the same particle wave and were annihilated instantly.
"Two manned suits are down! No mobile dolls hit, probably thanks to their reaction times!" Tycho reported.
For once, I'm glad not to have Ogasawara or First Recon. The last thing I want is her telling me I shouldn't have offered the possibility of surrender, Une thought discontentedly. "Mobile doll unit, prepare to fire with your beam cannons!"
Nichol immediately chimed in. "Colonel, the beam cannons are too powerful! A direct him from that many could seriously compromise the colony's structural stability!"
"Oh?" Une smirked. "Nichol, since when has OZ tiptoed its way through war? We're not engaging in diplomatic talks, we're fighting against our own destruction. Collateral damage is not our concern, just like it's not the concern of enemies holding out against us!"
She hadn't seriously expected a response, but when she got one, she was silently grateful. The voice of an old man came through on the open channel, its origin the colony in front of them.
"Hah! I'm delighted to hear that OZ is still so vicious! In that case, I'll happily surrender to you!" the old man jeered.
"And I'll accept your surrender, now show yourself!" Une reveled in her momentary success. I don't know if it's just another ploy of theirs, but the links between each Gundam designer have made it comically easy to track them down.
On Earth, both Walker and Parsons occupied the working office floor in the Commissariat, the former sneaking glances at a thin monitor bolted on the wall that relayed the only story anywhere, the ongoing battle of Singapore. Parsons sat with his back to the monitor, surrounded by open notebooks and plates of food, apparently engrossed in his own conversation.
"You see, sir, no matter what our defense is, we're going to hit a wall over the fact that a flight of dead pilots are all that it takes to convict. We'll approach this from a self-defense perspective—that the pursuit squadrons fully intended to kill Zechs and destroy Tallgeese—but it's hardly less treasonous. And that's ignoring the Gundam."
He played around with the half-eaten steak on the plate in front of him.
"I don't know if you fully appreciate the gravity of it, but first, we can't claim it was an accident. An accident is the only way you can even try to suggest that many pilots dying unintentionally. It's just so obvious that it's not. Zechs Merquise had every intention of rebuilding that Gundam. He had every intention of giving it to its pilot. And he had every intention of killing anyone, OZ or otherwise, who stood in the way of his duel."
He looked at a small piece of beef on the end of his fork. "Second, we can't claim he was insane. That's another thing that might get Zechs off, but I can't make that argument in good conscious."
"Why not?" Walker finally asked. Parsons had been doing almost all the talking.
"I might not have a lot of years of experience, but I've met mad pilots, officers whose minds have been torn apart by shellshock and trauma. We think it doesn't happen in OZ because of our conditioning and our age make us more resilient, but it's there. And nothing Zechs has done would indicate he was any less sane than you or I."
Speak for yourself, friend. "I see, Mr. Parsons."
"Do you? If a preliminary drumhead like this looks this bad, I can promise that a prolonged trial over a few weeks or longer won't be any less forgiving." Parsons gave another sigh. "Of course, this is all irrelevant isn't it? Because in six months' time, Zechs will be buried in the ground under an unmarked grave with six bullets lodged in him. The man killed most of two pursuit squadrons!"
The two men sat in the silent office. Walker looked devastated, as the magnitude of what had happened began to sink in. "Are you all right, sir?" Parsons asked finally.
"I'm fine, it's just a lot to take in."
Parsons nodded sympathetically. "It's getting late, why don't we resume tomorrow?"
"I'd appreciate that," Walker mumbled as Parsons shuffled his documents back into his folder, before leaning back in the chair and holding his head. The officer cadet watched him and looked under his desk.
"If you'd like, sir, I think I have…" he began, with the sound of things jostling under his desk.
"Pardon me?"
Parsons sat back up and set down an expensive but empty bottle of scotch. "Sorry, looks like its empty."
Walker chuckled. "That's for the better, but I appreciate the offer."
"I keep it for comrades who can actually drink," he said, humoring Walker.
"Good evening, Officer Cadet."
"Good evening, Flight Lieutenant."
Walker left the bullpen, silently strolling out of the Military Commissariat. He was actually glad the bottle had been empty, but it might have done something about the feeling of misery he carried in his chest, like an overwhelming pressure. He marched down the street before spotting a public video conferencing booth, which he stumbled into and propped his back against the far wall. Inside the booth, Walker stood for a few seconds before he began to whimper hysterically, crying over the thought of his fallen hero.
XIV
"All of the Gundams have fallen back from the power station and communications array, they're moving for the third H.L.V. site!"
Krist grit his teeth as he squeezed off another burst from the beam rifle carried by his OZ-06MSK Leo Command-type. "Four Gundams at one location for the first time since New Edwards, and we're not all dead? I think this is going pretty well for two low strength battalions!"
"Centurion Actual, we're scrambling aircraft to intercept the H.L.V., but your orders are to shoot down any launch vehicles. We think the Gundams might be attempting to use the launch vehicles to escape!"
"You couldn't let me have this moment, could you?" Krist shouted back. "The Thirteenth has fought four Gundams to a standstill, consider yourselves fortunate!"
"Sir, something's happening with Unit Zero-Four! The cockpit hatch is open and it looks like the pilot disembarked!"
Increasing his camera's magnification, he brought the distinctive Gundam into better view, as 105 mm HEAM rounds and beam fire glanced off it, slowly but surely wearing down its armor. He was just in time to see the tiny silhouette of its pilot slide off the tether and onto the ground.
"Centurion, Beagle, concentrate your fire on Unit Zero-Four!" he shouted into his headset. "Victory or not, if we don't destroy at least one Gundam here, we'll be the laughing stock of the Earth Forces Mobile Suit Troops!"
"Acknowledge, Centurion Actual!"
"Yes sir!"
Gundam-04 shuddered under the continued barrage of fire, even without the Tragos' and dober gun-armed Leos turning their fire onto the other Gundams while they descended into Site No. 3. Soon it was only the only Gundam still in the field. It had nearly been reduced to a halt, when it twinkled in the night before exploding violently, catching a few mobile suits in the blast and showering shrapnel everywhere.
"Holy shit! Did you see that?"
"All callsigns, Unit Zero-Four just self-detonated two hundred meters from Site No. 3, probably to cover the escape of the other Gundams! Direct all fire onto any H.L.V. lifting off!"
Even those mobile suits not caught in the blast were still enveloped in a rapidly expanding cloud of dust and smoke, rushing outwards and covering much of the area. Krist had to toggle rapidly from optical to thermographic cameras and trying to spot the launch vehicles but only caught the exhaust trail of their solid booster rockets firing off, lifting them from the ground.
"The vehicles lifting off, all callsigns, target them!" Krist snapped.
"Which ones are the decoys?"
"Just shoot them all! Shoot every one until you run out of shells, damn it!" Soon, over the cloud of smoke and exhaust, cannon shots and beam fire crisscrossed around the round heavy launch vehicles. As he blindly shot all about, Krist never considered his old comrade Walker, sitting in the dormitories at Diekirch, staring blankly at schematics for a proposed mobile doll, the planned successor to the operational OZ-01MD Taurus units with red eyes. His head slid into a gloved hand as he was bathed in the dull glow of the notebook display in front of him changed, diagram to diagram.
Author's Notes:
I thought this chapter would have more Zechs. It barely had him at all, though he will be appearing in the next one. I am, however, happy that the consummate backstage insider, Dorothy Catalonia, was able to appear, expect to see more of her next chapter as well, alongside her more famous cousin. I have to admit, this chapter ended up dancing around in circles a great deal, but a few things were accomplished: Walker got sad, the Gundams left Earth, Krist blew up a Gundam (as far as he's concerned), and Parsons finally met Walker (for what I'm pretty sure is the first time). Expect more sad Walker next chapter!
Hopefully Krist's little diatribe, "Consider yourselves fortunate!" should sound familiar to anyone who watched Gundam Wing's dub. I don't have that many chances to drop in memorable little lines from the show, I need to do it more often if I can.
As you might have noticed, I cut this chapter a tiny bit earlier: when Une orders that the H.L.V. be intercepted by low-orbit missiles, which turn out not to be working. There's a presumption that the Gundam designers somehow did this from captivity, but to my annoyance, it's never explained. As such, I've kind of swept that aside, hoping it'll be explained better when the new manga addresses that fact.