1

Airfield No. 3

Northern Egypt

October 23rd, 2016. 4:26pm

"Let's fuck with Amsel's head General." I said amusingly. The sun is setting and me and General Townsend are doing last minute planning for Operation Lightfoot in my HQ. So far all is set for the big show: military police are ready to direct the tanks to their objectives and wet the sand to curb the dust clouds. Sappers have assembled 500 long handled mine detectors, 88,000 lamps to mark the minefield for the advancing armor and 120 miles of marker tape to delineate cleared paths in the minefields. And five miles away Field Marshal Amsel has no fucking clue what's going to happen thanks to a false communication that said any attack made by the Federation was going to happen next year when in fact the diversion was going to happen at eleven thirty and the main attack was happening at midnight tonight.

"And just how do you intend to do that?" he asked.

I pointed to a small tick on the map. "That is an Imperial supply dump located just a mile east of our forward most firebase. Captain Healy said that it has enough fuel, food and munitions to keep the 15th MS Army supplied for a good long fight. Also there is a small trench and bunker complex id the same vicinity. Let me lead a team to attack the bunker and the supply dump."

General Townsend leaned back into his chair and contemplated my request. "How would that confuse Amsel Lieutenant Colonel? I'm curious."

"If I attack the bunker at eleven twenty, ten minutes before the diversionary raid, Amsel will think that my attack is the precursor to the main attack. Then the main diversion launches at ten minutes later. He won't know whether to reinforce the north or the south and thus he will stall couple that with the face he believes the major offensive is coming next year. . ."

"So when we initiate Operation Lightfoot at midnight his whole defense strategy will be in tatters because he'll have three conflicting things happening. I like it Major, I give you permission. Who will be on your team?"

"2nd Lieutenant Stadtfeld as XO Sergeant Brown, Corporal Newberry, Corporal. Garcia as assault and Pvt. Powell as support." Newberry, Garcia and Powell I pick because they showed the most improvement. They whole unit has improved considerably since we got here, I even heard General Whitestone brag to Federation High Command that the once detested and ignored 3rd Armored Calvary is slowly becoming the best unit in the entire 8th Army, all that's left is to see how it does in combat.

"Speaking of 2LT. Stadtfeld, how is your fiery little protégé doing?" Oh how proud I am to call Sweetness my protégé. The transition has been smooth, she's been fully accepted by the men and her and Marla are now inseparable friends. She has picked up some of my mannerisms, my bad ones (she called MG. Walker of the 11th Infantry Division a pigheaded dipshit the other day. . . that should clue you in what she's picked up)

It took her two days to master all the guns used by this unit as well as the ones carried by the other units in this Army (shit she even got good at the heavy machine guns and the smaller artillery pieces) But what really made me swell with pride was how quick she mastered the art of mobile suit combat: half a day.

Tossed her a manual for the D Type GM. . . with my hand written corrections and simplifications, the Feddie's made it hard for even me to comprehend. . . to her to read. Finished the manual in an hour, then put her in one and explained the controls, functions and the like. Had it moving and operating in two hours. Let her pick what kind of armament she wanted, she picked the shell firing GM rifle and explained the fire controls and how to activate and use the beam saber. Another two hours and she had it down

The only snag came when we dueled together. She kept trying to imitate my moves and was getting beat by me easily. Finally I told her that if she wanted to really shine in a mobile suit, don't try and imitate the aces. Create your own set of moves, your own style that can be identified as yours and most importantly never forget the basics; they will save your ass more often than flashy moves.

Of course she wasn't too sure of her abilities, said that she couldn't duplicate the moves she used in her Guren-Mk II (the Knightmare Frame used by the Black Knights. . . I pumped all the technical data I could get about these Knightmare's for research purposes). The following conversation is still fresh in my head. . .

October 18th, 2016

"So you're telling me that your nothing without your Knightmare Frame is that it? You learned how to use a mobile suit faster than anyone on planet fucking Earth, but you can't use it." I asked harshly. I was sitting in my D Type GM (painted in colors, black torso and trimming with white limbs, of course) and she was in hers. I couldn't see her face, but the tone of her voice painted a clear picture of a face twisted with anger."

"Exactly you fuckhead! I'm fucking USELESS!" I exhaled; maybe I was a bit too harsh.

"Wait right there Sweetness." I moved my GM close to hers and opened my hatch. "Can you open your hatch?" I got nothing from her end but a slight sniffle. "Please Kallen?" That got a response, her hatch opened. I exited my suit and jumped the small space between out suits to land on hers. She was crying a little.

"Sit up." She slowly sat up and moved to let me sit in the cockpit. I pointed at her then pointed to my lap. She sat down on my lap and hung her head. "Hey, I didn't mean to make you cry Kallen."

"It's not you. . . it's just. . . all I hear from everyone is how great you are as a pilot, something I'm used to hearing. . . when it was me as the ace. I didn't want to disappoint you. . ."

"You haven't yet, nor will you ever." I wiped away a tear that was trailing down her cheek. "I know you can devastate the enemy in this if you try."

"But. . . all the things I could do this machine can't handle. . ."

"A GM Kai shouldn't be able to reach the upper echelons of the atmosphere then fall back to Earth with itself or its occupants intact, but you and I are living proof that it can be done. Let me show you something." I reached into my back pocket and dug out my wallet and picked out two pictures. I showed her the first one, dated April 23rd 2011. I was sixteen, three inches shorter, had short messy hair and was wearing the Alliance Space Force issued pilot suit. A smile came to her face.

"You were so cute! How old were you?"

"Sixteen. I was only fifteen when I enlisted but I lied about my age, it's easy to say your seventeen when your six three. Went to Lake Superior Military Academy to learn how to pilot mobile suits, graduated a Chief Petty Officer and off I went See the MS that I'm posing in front of?"

"Uh-huh."

"That is a MS-06C Zaku II, that line of suits was put into service in 1991. That suit was ten years old when I got it and all of my early exploits as a pilot were done in it. I piloted it for close to three years. Now look at this pic." This one was dated 2014, my arm was still there so it was before Los Angeles. Only physical differences there was I grew three inches and my hair was past my chin

"Now the suit in this one is a MS-09 Dom, it went into service in 2009 and was five years old when I got it. This is the suit that I piloted when I earned my ace title. Do you see what I'm trying to get across to you?"

She took a bit of time before she answered. I took the time to admire her. . . god she's cute. She looked at me. "I see what you're saying Geoff. It's the pilot in the cockpit, not the suit that determines skill."

"Very good Sweetness. Tell you what. . . we'll duel every day until you beat me. If you do, you can give your GM a personal touch. How's that?"

She smirked at me. "You're on Geoff!"

Present Day

She did it four days later. It wasn't a clear defeat, she fought me to a draw, but I let her have it none the less. The reason is simple: I've dueled Andy, Jer, Mike, JJ and Ashley at least once and never have they beaten me or fight to a draw, Kallen succeeded where they have failed. Now her skills as a pilot are in full bloom and her GM now rests with a red on grey paint scheme.

"She is doing fine General. Well, that should cover everything right?"

"Indeed Major. Good luck tonight on your mission." We shook hands and I walked out of the HQ with him. Kallen was sitting in the sand on the left side of the door, the slight breeze caching her hair. Letting General Townsend walk off I took a seat next to her. "Spying on me?"

"No, Lt. Darden didn't have anything for me to do so I decided I'd wait out here for you."

"Really? What do you need me for?" I asked.

"I want to know how you became the White Knight. . . and why your arm is always wrapped up. You've said the story was a long one, well I have time, tell me." I wanted to tell her no, but she had that determined scowl of hers. . . so it looks like I have no choice. I undid the buttons on my uniform and peeled it off, leaving the tank top on.

The wrapping went all the way up to my shoulder; with a quick hand I unraveled the wrapping without taking my eyes of her. With every inch I reveled her pupils got bigger and bigger, her mouth slightly open and silent. Finally my arm was unwrapped, and next came the glove. She let out a gasp when the gleaming metal surface of my arm was out on display, the setting sun reflecting off its surface. She didn't speak, so I started my story.

"November 16th 2014, the Battle of Los Angeles. 2014 was a busy year for the 101st Mobile Attack Division, the unit me and Andy were with. Washington State in March, Oregon in May and Northern California in July. Finally in August the Alliance launched Operation Cascade, the planed liberation of Southern California. The plain was to have the 101st and 82nd Mobile Attack Divisions attack from the south and the 75th Mobile Ranger Division attack from the east out of Nevada."

"We made it to Los Angeles by November 3rd and by the 14th we had the city cut in half. All was going smooth until November 16th. Out of nowhere three fresh enemy divisions attacked us from the sea in an attempt to turn the battle in their favor. The 101st and the 82nd held our lines and repulsed the attack, but the 75th was caught with its pants down and was mauled. They had to retreat back into Nevada and they needed cover to do so."

"Me and five others volunteered to cover their retreat. I was a Lieutenant Junior Grade at the time and had a reputation as a first class pilot, even had my Dom painted in my own color scheme, black on white. As soon as the 75th began to retreat a huge enemy pursuit force came out of nowhere, five minutes into the fray the five other pilots were dead. Didn't matter, I had my beam bazooka and heat saber and was ready for a fight. And I gave them one; I fought for two hours and had amassed a kill count of fifty when three Reich Earth Assault Carriers showed up. They are these huge ships that they used to drop mobile suits onto a battlefield, each one holds twenty five mobile suits."

"They were flying low getting ready to drop their load when I managed to get on top of the lead on and placed three shots into its engines. I flew to the next one right as the first one exploded and did the same thing to the second and third one. Back on the ground I fought for another hour and a half and reached 75 kills when an Aries tried to get the jump on me. I shot it, but it flew into my Dom and dislodged a hunk of the cockpit frame, which buried it's self in my right shoulder."

Kallen was enthralled in my story, even if the image of a hunk of metal in my flesh sickened her. "Somehow my arm was still functional; the hunk hadn't severed any artery or the joint. I could have retreated, but the 75th was still in danger and I wasn't going to let them be torn to shreds, so I kept on fighting. The metal in my shoulder kept the blood loss minimal, and even though it hurt to move it I fought for another three hours. By the end I as picking up enemy weapons to use against them. Finally the Reich gave up and ceased its attack and the 75th escaped. With my last amount of strength I piloted over to a medic tent and with my own blood tallied my score in the cockpit: 125 MS shot down, three full Earth Assault Carriers sunk, 75th escaped destruction. And under it I wrote my final wish: if survive but lose arm, replace. I passed out after that."

"If what I'm told is correct, when they dragged me out of my mobile suit a Andy and another pilot looked on, and the pilot told Andy that he had seen the whole thing and said I looked like a Knight fighting off the unwashed hoards. Andy added the White part because of my color scheme and by the next day I was The White Knight of Los Angeles."

"They couldn't save your arm?" she asked meekly.

"No, the doctors told me if I had retreated when the injury occurred it could have been saved, but by continuing to fight I damaged the arm beyond repair. I came to three weeks later with the very latest model of biomechanical attached to where the old one had been, a two rank promotion to Lieutenant Commander, a transfer to the 13th MS Team of the 18th Mobile Suit Special Forces Division and the highest award given to American servicemen, the Medal of Honor."

She kept looking at my arm and was at a loss for words. "Why. . . why would you let your arm. . .?"

"Many have asked. The detractors and the officers I've pissed of assume I did what I did to get glory or to get promoted up the ladder quicker like some ticket punching cocksucker. Of course the ones claiming such things are themselves guilty of what they say I did. But in truth I did it, and did every other thing I've done in combat because I felt it was the right thing to do in order to win this war. Military service runs in the family; there's been a Kelty or two in every major war that America has been in, starting with the man who began the tradition, Baton Alexander Kelty. He fought in the French and Indian War and the American Revolution. His sons fought in the War of 1812 and so on. Hell my father was the first mobile suit ace, the famous Indigo Thunder. My older sister is a Captain in the Marine Corps and an ace in her own right, the Crimson Princess and my older brother is my brigade commander. I can remember my dad telling me that every Kelty who ever served always did what they felt was right to win, and it earned them promotions and commendations in the process, but they could have cared less."

Admiration, that's about the only word I can use to describe the look in those beautiful blue eyes of hers. For the first time since she's been here a soft expression was on her face, I could die right here a happy man with that face in my memory. "So. . . can you. . . feel with that arm?"

A red tint rose in her cheeks when she asked the question. I smiled. "Of course, this model is built with thousands of artificial nerves that connect to my real ones. It's just like a real arm, only instead of blood I have a special hydraulic fluid that circulates to keep it running smooth. Observe." I reached out and touched her cheek. Her breath hitched, no doubt from the cold metal and her face went redder. "Smooth, soft and warm. You can touch it if you want, I don't mind."

I rested the arm on my leg and let her touch it. She ran her fingers over the length of it, the sensation was very enjoyable. "It's cold."

"Yeah, I apologize for just going for your cheek like that. Consider it my inappropriate mishap, like you moaning out my name that-ow!" she punched me hard.

"Shut up! Like you have room to judge, you purposely didn't tell me I was topless that same day so you could stare at my breasts!"

"Well they're nice, best I've ever laid eyes on." Oh she was in a tissy! I love it when she's mad.

"Pervert!"

"Guilty as charged, just like you. How was I by the way? Must have been good for you to enunciate my name the way you did, prolonging each syllable the way you did." The shit eating smirk I had on either pissed her off more or turned her on, it can do both without me really trying. Then she put on a smirk.

"I'll never tell."

"Oh how you wound me! Anyway, tonight we're going to attack that bunker and supply dump Matt found sans mobile suits. We attack it ten minutes before the diversion raid in the south. I'm leading and you're second in command."

She got serious. "Who else is coming?"

" Mike, Newberry, Garcia and Powell. Gather them up and bring them here for the briefing."

"Right." she got up and went to gather them up, my eyes watching her effortlessly sway her hips and move her ass without meaning to. I said something to myself when I knew she was far enough away not to hear.

"Kallen, I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave."