Soldier of OZ: Walker's Account

by Synthesis

In AC 195, five Gundams come to Earth in Operation 'M', testing the strength, virtue and intelligence of officers and soldiers of the world's armed forces. After failing his first encounter, one ex-engineer has a chance at a better outcome, and takes it. An effort to reconcile 'Gundam Wing' with 'The Glory of Losers', from the perspective of those in OZ.

38. A Simple Test

Soldier of OZ: Walker's Account

Chapter 38 — A Simple Test

9 September, AC 195, inside L1-D-120, Republic of Noventa

Major Umar Khattāb of Alliance Space Forces, still in his olive drab normal suit, posed for the video crew in front of the wreck the engineers had just dragged in: a largely undamaged OZ-12SMS 'Taurus', taken from the raiding party on the colony just days ago. He put on a triumphant smile and tried to assume as heroic a pose as possible, holding his helmet at his side.

"Why are we bothering the major with this right now?" the crew chief asked, annoyed.

"You'll see," one his Khattāb's wingmen said while removing his own helmet.

"Major, sir, congratulations on this daring victory!" a reporter said, followed by her news crew, complete with a logo-wearing boom microphone operator.

"Thank you, we're…quite pleased."

"Our audience, of course, has been following your exploits, but can you brief us in your own words?"

Khattāb glanced over his shoulder at a captain wearing a service uniform, who tapped his wristwatch discreetly, and then turned back with a wide smile. "Well, we've successfully captured an intact example of OZ's most advance mobile weapon, the Taurus mobile doll. We've captured other OZ mobile suits in the past, but none that differ from the weapons in our own arsenal."

"Well, that's a lie," the crew chief whispered to Khattāb's wingman, who chuckled. The two were still snickering when they spotted a woman in civilian attire entering the hangar and saluted quickly.

"And this weapon will…?"

"Aid us in our defense of the Republic's territory, yes," Khattāb finished for the reporter. "This is quite a coup for us against OZ."

"Thank you so much for your time, Major Khattāb, I don't think we can overstate what an honor it is to meet…probably the greatest war hero of the Space Mobile Suit Troops," the reporter began.

He spotted something over her shoulder. "Actually, that's not really true. The real greatest hero of the Space Troops, if I can take a moment of your time, is right over there…" he said, raising an arm and pointing. "Captain Soletta, Captain, if you'd please!"

Wearing a tight, short-sleeve sweater and her hair in an elastic band, Carmen Soletta shook her head and held up her hands, even as the major kept beckoning up, before relenting and walking across the gantry.

"Here we have a real warrior, Captain Soletta, even if she doesn't look like it," Khattāb announced, throwing an arm over the younger officer. "She's gone out every time I've been sent out, and more! A few days ago, she saved the life of thousands of our comrades escaping from Earth in low orbit. This is who you should be interviewing."

"You're too kind, Um-…Major Khattāb," Soletta said modestly, holding up both hands as the boom mike nearly hit her in the forehead.

"No, no, don't be modest. I'd say Captain Soletta here is the best pilot in this colony. She can certainly fly circles around old men like me, and she doesn't need a bunch of medals to do it."

"I don't…" Soletta insisted, before the reporter cut off her with a stream of questions.

When the news team left, Soletta heaved a sigh and sat down on a nearby equipment trunk, holding her forehead with one hand. "I really wish you wouldn't do that, Umar."

Khattāb smiled from ear to ear. "It's part of your duty, Captain. And I meant every word, Bella."

'Bella' looked up at him and shook her head, as the crew chief approached holding a tablet computer. "Now that we're done with that nonsense, let's open 'er up. The demolitions and chemicals scan came up clear?"

"For the last time, Chief, yes, they did. Nothing out of the ordinary," another technician announced, standing directly in front of the pock-marked cockpit hatch, holding a powerful sensor beacon directly up to it. His crew chief swiped his finger along the tablet, and an access panel popped open on its hinges before falling off. The technician then pressed three LED-lit buttons inside the recess, causing the cockpit hatch to open after the brief whine of hydraulic pistons. A blood-stained sky blue normal suit fell out, clanging against the metal floor. The crew chief jumped.

"Holy shit!" he gasped.

"That's why we waited till they left," Khattāb's wingman explained. "Don't worry, scanning showed he couldn't possibly be alive. He must have died from concussion."

"Scanning didn't say anything about a corpse!"

Soletta stared in disbelief. "It had a pilot. I thought this was a mobile doll!"

"It is. And I was fighting it in mobile doll mode," Khattāb explained. "Captain?" he asked the officer in uniform, who was leaning over the body as it leaked for tears in the suit.

"The pilot must have either died or lost consciousness very suddenly," he said, examining the corpse. "Perhaps from g-forces. When that happened, his normal suit detected it, and his mobile suit switched to mobile doll mode. The rest of this damage was postmortem, if he did die, probably from shots you made at his cockpit."

"He was the best pilot I'd encountered," Khattāb admitted. "He must have overexerted himself after disabling the safety redlines. He scored six kills before we got there, and with the mobile dolls he wiped out another three and two frigates."

"I don't see any unit or rank insignia," Soletta said. "He must have removed them before going into combat."

"Normal mobile doll mode has anti-capture mechanisms. Even if you were able to disable one, which is hard enough, they have a self-destruct mode, a small charge enough to destroy reactor, the weapons and all other electronics. But if the pilot is incapacitated, however, the mobile doll mode doesn't activate that function."

"Because the pilot might still be alive," Soletta finished for him. "Which is how we've captured our first Taurus. How do you know all this?"

"Intelligence Squadron does mean something, ma'am," the captain replied, rising back to his feet.

Soletta looked at Khattāb. "What are you smiling about?"

"I'm relieved, frankly. Earlier I thought I was fighting a genius mobile doll. Instead, it was just a good pilot OZ threw away."

II

Surrounded by a fleet of smaller supply ships, the OZSS Over the Rainbow made its final burn to match its orbit to that of Space Fortress Barge. EBC-31 was large enough to cast a shadow across one side of the space fortress has it drifted in front of Sol.

Flight Lieutenant Ogasawara sat just outside a maintenance hatchway near a major hangar door, her normal suit tethered to a socket.

"Good to be back?" Flight Officer Tsujimoto asked her over the radio.

"Good to get off this flying relic finally," she countered, as others ships—all faster and more modern—maneuvers between EBC-31 and the fortress. "Just watch: the second we get in range of Midway, Alliance guns are going to cut this thing to ribbons."

Nabiki laughed. "Yeah, they probably will."

There was a tone on the channel they shared. "That would be the Sun Queen, looks like her new toy finally arrived from Luna."

"I think I'll take a look," she said, reaching into her utility pouch and taking out a monocular, giving her tether a yank and then leaping up the side wall of the ship. She reached the edge of the hull facing along the dorsal superstructure just in time to spot a long exhaust trail left by a single mobile suit carrier, designed in sled form-factor, carrying two mobile suits through her monocular.

Inside Barge, Flight Officers Kaneshiro and Mazuri sat, while Pilot Officer Bishop floated nervously.

"Something on your mind?" Kanna asked finally, leaning forward in her seat, legs apart.

"I got another letter from my parents—my sister is still out of contact, it's been more than week now."

Kanna whistled sympathetically as Dac turned.

"It's not that bad, really. She takes classified jobs all the time, and she can't call from them, even if she has the opportunity," he admitted. "But they're usually not in space."

"I'm sure your sister's fine, Dac. It sounds like she can take care of herself, right Ajay?" she asked, looking to her left. Mazuri was still immersed in a message he was reading on his mobile, so she gave him a good elbowing that almost threw him from his seat. "Right, Ajay?"

"Right, I'm sure she is," he said quickly, holding his side.

"What are you so focused on?" Dac asked, floating over.

"Knowing him, it must be some pair of legs on Luna," Kanna teased, reaching over for his mobile.

Mazuri obstructed her long arm. "I'll have you know, she's more than a pair of legs. She's got a great set of chombo too." He blinked and translated the Swahili for them, "Jugs."

"No, we got that, Wordsworth," Kanna fired back before overpowering him easily and snatching the mobile from his hand.

"Hey!"

Kanna whistled again, this time differently. "Wow, she's pretty hot!" she said, before tossing the mobile over to Dac, who caught it in mid-float.

"I'll say. Does she do anything besides overfilling a bikini?"

"She's a glamour model or something," Mazuri replied, a devious glimmer in his eyes as he wound his legs back and leapt at Dac. He could much more easily take his mobile back from the Ontarian youth than the Ryukyuan woman, and did just that.

"Hey!"

Kanna gave another whistle, this one ending on a sharp tone, and the two turned to see one of the doors to the adjacent hangars open. Walker passed through, holding his bag, and smiled at them.

"Welcome back, Flight Lieutenant, sir!" Kanna shouted as rehearsed.

"Hello, Kanna," he replied. His usual thoughtful impartiality was clear in his voice as he briefly glanced at Mazuri and Dac, tucking their tunics back under their trousers.

"Welcome back, sir."

"Yeah, what he said, sir."

"Thank you. So nothing happened while I was gone?"

"No, not at all, sir."

"Good. I think we've got a briefing waiting for us. It seems like it's finally time we all got back to work."

When Walker and the others reached the briefing room, he found himself surrounded by more officers from the 7th Strategic Division than he'd seen since the divisional inauguration on Luna. He knew there were 216 mobile suits in the entire division, and only a portion of them were housed on Barge, alongside separate engineering battalions. Each squadron was given a line of folding chairs to sit in, since floating about in low gravity would have made for a poor briefing.

Walker's team took their seats. In front of his row was Dmitry Chernenko. To his right was Omar Clarkson, with his stern-looking mustache. Behind Walker sat Flight Lieutenant Khanum, a handsome Kirghiz officer with dark, straight hair. Next to his group sat Flight Lieutenant Winthrop, a short-haired blond woman with thin-rimmed glasses and a British Order of Bath hanging from her neck. Next to her group was Flight Lieutenant Kim, with a bandage on a wound on the side of his head but otherwise unbothered. At the front of the room, next to Lieutenant Colonel North, was one his deputies, Squadron Commander Sun. Sun was a broad-shouldered, well-groomed Chinese officer whom Walker had never met before, apparently his unit was stationed on the Sarajevo, a light carrier in Barge's vicinity. He could overhear a conversation between the two.

"Chuang's waiting on us, you say?" North asked Sun, referring to the commander of the 2nd Space Division. "Well, I'd hate to keep the man waiting. Let's start."

He pulled down on the hem of his red uniform tunic and signaled for the screen behind him turn on. The lights dimmed and the screen showed a scaled rendering of the space between Earth and Luna.

"After some admitted delay, we are now commencing the Noventa Strategic Offensive Operation. Our intelligence gathered from the past weeks will allow for a direct and lethal strike directly at the enemy center at L1-D-120, bypassing its neighboring colonies. Even then, L1-D-120 has had adequate time to prepare a defense and reinforce its own local forces waiting to confront us. The space around that one colony represents the most heavily defended area in the entirety of Outer Space."

North gestured at the display changed, zooming in on the cluster of colonies that made of the Republic of Noventa. "We will not be counting on support fire from Barge for numerous reasons, including the fear of collateral damage."

Some grumbling could be heard through the room.

"The General Staff have outlined a battle plan in order to prevent being bogged down in these defenses. This is a joint operation with the First and Second Divisions: all three divisions, supported by the Space Navy, will directly engage the colony, forcing an Alliance counterattack from D-2110, D-441 and so forth. The Fourth Division, newly arrived and based out of Luna, will remain in reserve. Amid the counterattack, the Seventh Division, with the highest amount of total firepower available to it, will move further through the perimeter and directly invade D-120's interior zones."

There as more nervous chatter, causing North to roll his eyes subtly. Kim's hand shot up.

"Yes?"

"Why the Seventh, sir? Is the difference in divisional strength and firepower really that pronounced?"

That's a good question, Walker thought.

North held back a sigh. "Contingencies have been drafted for a breakthrough from any one of the divisions, but all our prior simulations have come to the same conclusion: the Seventh Division is most likely to breakout first."

He turned back to the screen, which had three set of jagged lines indicating the course of the divisions into the colony area. "At that point, Operation 'Citadel' will begin. Supported by separate battalions and other units, whatever troops in the division that are able to will directly enter D-120 and proceed to secure the strategic zones, starting with the weather control center…"

In the briefing room aboard the Over the Rainbow, Lieutenant Colonel Soris Armonia stood in front of a similar screen, joined by her younger sister. Before them, still in their sky blue and violet normal suits, sat most of the pilots of the OZ 1st Recon Battalion, their distinctive red-and-gold shoulder patches identifying them.

Lady Soris pointed to an area almost halfway between C-102 and D-120, marked with a few small points. "This is Midway, or as the Noventans call it, the Ventei Line. It's a debris field, ninety percent of which are the remains of a colony destroyed by a meteor shower in A.C. 099, the remainder of which is largely an Alliance minefield and remote gun network. It serves as the unofficial border between the republic and the rest of Area 'D'. The prerequisite of 'Citadel' is to clear that field for a major thrust into Alliance space."

Standing off to her side, Luna Armonia cleared her throat softly and Soris glanced at her for a moment.

"Also, I personally won't be joining the division into combat for the Noventa Strategic Offensive Operation," she admitted.

The body of pilots in front of her glanced at her incredulously, excluding one sitting at the front row, who crossed her arms and closed her eyes in consternation.

"Ogasawara will be the commander in the field," Soris announced after a pause.

Her eyes still closed, Ogasawara raiser her arm and blurted out, "Baroness, ma'am, are you sure that's wise? Going from the battle plan, it sounds like battalion cohesion is going extremely important, even before beginning 'Citadel'. The loss of the commander in the field could be a serious problem."

"Which is why I've chosen you, Flight Lieu-ten-nant O-ga-sa-wa-ra," she said, emphasizing each syllable carefully.

"Yes, your Ladyship," the other replied rather curtly, lowering her hand, eyes still closed.

"Moving on," Soris continued. "Luna will now address the precise details of the planned insertion into L1-D-120. Luna?"

The younger Armonia sister stepped forwardly briskly and the image behind her change to a cross-section of a Stanford torus space colony. "Aside from the geographic information made available to all Mobile Suit Troops, all of you have received confidential details on our best intelligence concerning the precise layout of defenses over the colony's internal airspace. Despite the urge to share this to the other pilots who will also participate in 'Citadel', you are to keep this information to yourself for the time being. Colony L1-D-120's defensive layout has remained a classified secret since before the declaration of the Republic, and with…"

Back on Barge, inside the Operations Room belonging to the Colony and Asteroid Strike Troops, Major Eva Cebotari and Lieutenant Edward Parsons stood alongside the large, muscular CAST commandos gathered around a HALO station. Even without their armored spacesuits, the large men dwarfed them.

Warrant Officer Cameron gestured at part of the hologram with an open hand. "According to the interrogations of both Andrew Schmidt from D-1307 and the captive officers from the Hundred-First Intelligence Squadron from C-421, the ex-Alliance has highly accurate intelligence on the enemy order of battle and the composition of whatever forces that could be brought to bear in 'Citadel'. By contrast, our own intelligence on the Alliance order of battle is extremely poor, and we have only a basic assumption as to what defenses have been established both inside and outside the colony."

Certain sections of the colony structure were highlighted in red. "That's where we, and you, come in. CAST will be infiltrating two full companies of men into the 'D' Area colonies, including most of a company into the belly of the beast. Thirty officers from the Military Commissariat will be joining us."

Cameron's nearby smiled slyly at Cebotari. "You picked a hell of a time to return to Outer Space, ma'am."

"Trust me, Earth was so boring I wouldn't have it any other way," she replied breathily with a her own sly smile. Parsons smirked as he leaned to get a closer look at the individual blocks of the colony.

"I know how we'll be getting out," he said, shooting a glance at the assault rifles each CAST operative wore. "But how do you plan to get us in? Without giving the whole thing away."

"Ma'am?" Cameron asked.

"Apparently, our counterparts in Outer Space have forged passable IDs among the labor influx for the area. The Alliance isn't counting on small human infiltrators," Eva explained.

"So I guess we'll only know if they don't end up shooting us at the immigration desks," Parsons mused. This got a laugh from the commandos.

Elsewhere in Barge, North was wrapping up his own briefing.

"The Noventa Strategic Offensive Operation will commence at midnight, 12 September. Operation 'Citadel' will begin midnight, 13 September. You have three days in the meantime: some of you have existing orders for the field, the rest of you should get some rest while remaining on standby." North put his hands together behind his back. "Until then, good luck."

While the other officers dispersed, Chernenko tapped Walker with his elbow as North approached them. The message on Chernenko's face was clear: great, he wants something.

"Walker, Chernenko, I have something for specific for both of you right now. You know the Rio de Janeiro?"

Chernenko gave North a very sour glance. "No, I don't sir. Walker?"

"The Rio de Janeiro isa São Paulo-class light cruiser, CL-113," Walker offered as Chernenko threw up his arms.

"That's right. Since the Alliance sank the Goiás, it and the Santa Catarina are the last of its class in operation. The Rio's engines have been stripped for the Santa Catarina, and it's being converted into stationary gun platform and hangar, towed by the Engineer Corps into C-102's locality. You'll use your mobile suits to move it into final position at C-102's defensive line."

"Yes sir!" both officers replied.

"Then you'll regroup with the rest of the Seventh Division with the fleet for the offensive on Midway. Chernenko will take lead."

"Yes sir," Chernenko replied, holding back the sarcasm.

"Enjoy it—this is the last 'gimme' assignment you'll get," North warned them with a smile. At the same time aboard the Over the Rainbow, Lady Soris spoke to Emi privately after the other pilots dispersed.

"I'm not crazy about this favor, ma'am," she made clear to the Baroness of Oviedo, sitting on the top of the back of a seat, legs crossed.

"Come on, Jun," Soris teased. "You'll be as good a field officer as I ever was. Probably better."

"Yeah, right." She turned and opened a single eye. "Field grade?"

"I want you checked out for squadron commander. How long have you been a flight lieutenant? Two years now?"

Emi gave a defiant laugh. "Good luck clearing that."

"Making the legendary Jun Hono a field grade officer? That won't be a problem, right Luna?" Soris asked, leaning in the direction of her sister, who apathetically shrugged back.

"Who'll be doing the interview? You?" Emi asked after standing up.

"I doubt I'd be considered an unbiased party. The General Staff has someone else in mind."

"Like who?"

III

"One last burn, Liu—adjust your pitch by three degrees, then burn for another twelve meters-per-second," Chernenko ordered.

From the cockpit of his OZ-12SMS 'Taurus', Walker watched as Liu's combat engineers slowly moved CL-113 into position 8000 meters off C-102, matching the colony's orbit. The Space Leo Troops, working as improvised tugs, made their careful burn before killing their thrust again.

"Checking your trajectory, standby." Walker inputted the additional data with the keys along the sides of the cockpit's right-hand MFD, combining them with what he received over datalink. "Orbits appeared match, with only a zero-point-zero-five percent drift. C-102's tugs will hand it in from here."

"Spade Flight, you're free to go, thanks for your help."

"Acknowledged, Archer Actual," Liu replied as his Leo Troops changed their headings and departed.

"Beagle Actual, go ahead and return colony side to report with local defense. I'll stay out here," Chernenko informed him, sounding irritated.

"Affirmative," Walker replied as he entered fighter mode.

"You know, I used to be in First Recon?" Chernenko asked, defeat entering his voice. "Now here I am, dragging defunct cruisers around colonies."

"I know, Archer Actual."

It took Walker less than an hour to land, disembark, change out of his normal suit and back into his uniform to meet Kanna and the others in the central hangar. Despite the planned secrecy of both the Noventa Strategic Offensive Operation and 'Citadel', there was already a decent showing of the press around the legation grounds.

"How's the Rio?" Dac asked, raising his voice. "In normal words, non-engineering please."

"In position around the colony, though I'm not sure how much good it'll do as a defense platform," he replied, yelling to be heard over the sounds of reconstruction and repairs from the mobile doll sabotage weeks earlier.

"We could cripple it in one shot from a beam cannon, right? But the Alliance doesn't have mobile weaponry with that kind of firepower," Mazuri yelled.

"But they do have battlecruisers," Kanna warned as they crossed through one armored bulkhead to another one that was quieter. "One shot from the guns on a Ganymede-class, and that ship is sunk. I'd hate to be the poor saps stuck manning it if the Alliance ever counterattacks this far out."

"A good reason to leave it to the colonial militia," Mazuri said grimly. "Where to now? The legation?"

Walker nodded. "I should report to Colonel Une as well as Colonel North."

"Great. I've been waiting all day for someone to get their ass chewed out," Kanna muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, sir!"

The four sat together in an armored limousine that crossed through the orderly streets of OZ's host space colony. "So, they won't be using mobile dolls?" Dac asked.

"Not the ones we're used to," Walker said.

"Remember all those holes in the hangar? That's what happened when one saboteur hacked the 'learning' computers for the Taurus mobile doll system. I've heard the system's been severely curtailed since then," Mazuri added, resting his head and his arm.

"Right, no true autonomous deployment, they're saying." Kanna leaned back and stretched her arms as far as she could inside the cabin. Her uniform conformed to her chest as she grunted. "When we were running drills with Winthrop, you could see it."

Walker nodded, leaning out of the way of Kanna's big chest and arms on the seat. "Exactly." And that new mobile fortress won't be complete in time for it either.

"By the way, sir, what did you mean by that?" Dac asked.

"By what?'

"Not the one's we're used to."

"Akisamiyo!" Kanna snapped. "Let it go, Dac, it was just a turn of phrase!"

Dac blinked as they shifted in their seats, the car coming to a halt. "What, what did I do?"

The car had stopped in front of a traffic bottleneck near the security checkpoint along the legation's outer wall.

"God, what is it now?" Kanna groaned, apparently uncomfortable.

"Sorry, ma'am, the traffic's backed up! Lot of people!"

"It's probably nothing," Mazuri assured her. "Maybe a bomb-thrower or two."

"That's fine, we'll walk," Walker shouted towards the driver after shooting Mazuri a warning glance. The four opened the doors began leaving. It was barely ten meters to the security checkpoint on foot.

Outside the car, the cause of the congestion was evident: a body of uniformed and badge-wearing members of the press had been loitering around the security checkpoint, equipment in tow, and turned their glance to the officers exiting the car.

"Must be worried about the war," Mazuri said.

"I'd be too!" Dac replied as he forced his way into the crowd.

One particular woman with a small microphone turned directly to Walker and her eyes lit up. With her free hand, she grabbed her teammate by the collar of his uniform and dragged him forward. "Sir! Lieutenant Walker, sir, can we have a moment of your time?"

Kanna rolled her eyes as Walker half-shielded his face with an arm. "How'd they recognize you?"

"I have no idea."

"Sir, would you care to say anything on the rumors that Zechs Merquise has returned and is fighting on the opposition!"

Walker looked up as Dac winced and shook his head. Mazuri stared around. "We should have stayed in the car."

"Sir!" the dogged reporter cried out. "Sir, can you comment on the rumor that Lieutenant Nichol was relieved from his command because of comments he made about Zechs Merquise's new allegiances."

Walker gave a sigh in disgust and then turned to the journalist. "Flight Officer Nichol has been moved to a command aboard Barge. If you have any questions about an alleged Zechs Merquise, you should direct them to Ambassador Une," he said stiffly.

"Lieutenant, we have information suggesting you are the last subordinate of Zechs Merquise still in the military."

Another reporter shoved past her, holding his microphone. "Sir, what about the rumors of nuclear weapons being brought to bear against D-120?"

What, they couldn't find Noin? "I have only one thing to tell you: we are here for the sole purpose to secure the safety of the population of the C-102, which is a likely target of Alliance retribution and well within the reach of their fleet. Excuse me!"

The four finally made it to the security checkpoint, as Kanna handily forced both reporters back with one long arm, grinning at them. The MPs verified their identities and scanned them before letting them pass through.

"Well, that was fun. And people say the free press is overrated," Dac joked.

"Did you hear that comment about nuclear weapons?" Kanna whispered to Walker, who nodded back.

"I've got a few questions for Nichol, frankly," Walker replied when one of his pockets vibrated. He fished out his mobile and glanced at the screen briefly.

"Missed call?"

"No, nothing," he assured her.

IV

Still incarcerated, Duo Maxwell stood defiantly in front of the opaque CCTV camera housing, hands still cuffed. The spacious holding he shared with his fellow Gundam pilot, Chang Wufei, was intended for at least a dozen prisoners and had everything expected: toilets, sinks, shower heads and drains, and a complete lack of privacy.

"Hey, jerks! I know you can hear me! What the heck's going on here?" He stamped his feet angrily.

"Could you be any louder?" Chang asked from the spot on the brushed metal floor where he was resting.

"I'm sure you guys are getting a kick out of this, but damn it, stop ignoring me!" Maxwell shouted at the camera housing. He glanced over at his compatriot. "How can you be so calm?"

"How can you be so annoying?" Chang countered. "So they stopped with those annoying interrogations and interviews. Why don't you just enjoy them?"

"No way, man. Something's going down! This place is under lockdown now, and I demand to know why!" Maxwell screeched, turning back to the camera housing.

In the first of the two security rooms that constantly watched the two captives on CCTV, the security officers studied Maxwell's energetic and erratic behavior.

"What's he going on about?"

"Normally around this time of day, right before their dinner rations, we grab the shorter one for a short interview and checkup," a noncommissioned office explained.

"And we're not doing that now?"

"No, sir. The whole district's on full alert. If those two are going to try something, now's not the time."

Far away, on a highly-elliptical orbit from third Lagrange Point, Maya Barton sat in a passenger shuttle, mobile in her hand. She had sent Flight Lieutenant Walker a half-dozen new messages requesting he answer her previous messages, none of which had gotten a response. Though she was not one to show emotional distress like this, his intransience was causing her a lot of problems.

She quickly thumbed her mobile, scrolling through the images she'd taken with her mobile's digital camera over the last few weeks: none of them of a personal nature, all relating to her work for the Barton Foundation. Some of them were Oswald Walker, around the time of their meeting. Others were of Captain Schmidt, the Alliance pilot who'd crashed in L1-D-1307, after the Barton Foundation had gained access to him. Still others were of mobilizing Alliance troops in the Republic of Noventa.

"Miss, would you like something to drink?"

The flight attendant had eventually worked up the nerve to confront the tall, fashionably-dressed woman who was the lone passenger in the shuttle cabin, and had not said a single word since she had boarded. Maya stared at her over the rims of her rectangular glasses and shook her head.

"Oh, okay then." The flight attendant shuffled off nervously. Maya looked back at her mobile, the screen changing again. This one was not of a photo she'd taken, but one she'd found on the Network—a uniquely-preserved Confucian temple in a colony at the fifth Lagrange Point. She thumbed her mobile again, and the screen changed to a short message she'd been writing.

Mr. Li, you have the Foundation's blessing: appeal your case to OZ, with their agreement, Song will finally be able to depose Master Long. When he succeeds, the Foundation will force him to appoint you as successor. We see now that you are correct, and that Long's stronghold on the colony has gone too far.

With a click, Maya sent the message out, where it would be relayed by numerous communications satellites thousands of kilometers ahead to her destination.

V

Having briefed Lady Une, Walker remained on C-102 with the rest of his unit, awaiting further orders from the standby barracks. Kanna, wearing her tunic around her waist, looked up at him.

"What do you think that reporter meant, 'nuclear weapons', Taichō?"

He thought about it. "Well, the navy obviously has its nuclear arsenal, but I'm not sure what that reporter meant. There's nothing like that in the Mobile Suit Troops arsenal that I know of."

He leaned forward. "Maybe some new weapon we haven't been told about. I bet Nichol would be the one to ask that about."

"Yeah, right." Flexing one muscular arm, Kanna checked her wristwatch. "Right now, I bet Mazuri's on that date with that bimbo he was so pleased with."

Walker chuckled quietly and looked back up at Kanna, whose eyes were now wide open and staring past him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ogasawara Emi, wearing a black crop top, smiling back down at him, a thick manila folder in her right hand.

"Can I help you, Ogasawara?"

"Guess who's doing my performance review for my promotion to squadron commander?"

"Hey, congratulations ma'am!" Kanna chirped.

"Wait, why me?" Walker asked just as Emi shoved the folder into his chest.

"Good guess there, Walker. Orders from Colonel Armonia," she announced, her smile abruptly vanishing. "Let's get this over with."

"R-right," he sputtered, standing up and fixing the papers in the folder. "Again, though, why me?"

"Come on, Walker, you just ask me some stupid questions, sign a few forms, and then we're done. I'll treat you to a drink afterwards, would that make it better?" she asked impatiently.

Walker looked at her, than at Kanna, whose equally bewildered expression was replaced by a cocky grin and a thumbs-up. "Heehee!"

"Walker, are you coming or what?" Emi shouted back at him.

"Right away, yes!" he said, taking after her. Kanna was left by herself, on the couch, now resting her hands over her head.

"Dac, Ajay, you missed out," she said with a whistle. Behind her, a wall-mounted monitor set to an affiliate of the Muttahidah Satellite Channel. They were covering the ongoing Battle of Salt Lake City, while OZ brought a delayed hammer down on the remains of the Utahan Army.

The last days of the Continental War came down to street fighting between the Republican Guard and the 40th Canadian Victorian Cross Airborne Division. OZ-07AMS 'Aries' Troops showered Republican Guard tanks and armored cars with 90 mm APFSDS automatic fire, ripping them to shreds. The Guard responded with slow-firing 120 mm tungsten penetrators and 30 mm autocannon rounds, more of an annoyance to mobile suits. Except for the sporadic AMGM that managed to hit its mark, nothing even slowed the steamroll of OZ might.

3,218 meters underneath reclaimed land in the Great Salt Lake, First President Pratt sat in formal dining room, itself part of bunker complex fortified against nuclear-armed ground-penetrating missiles, trying to finish a plate of depressingly-named funeral potatoes. Every so often, the walls vibrated from OZ artillery pounding the streets above him.

"Thanks, Grumman," he muttered. The name of the Defense Minister of Utah adorned its share of back-alley walls, usually following an unsavory expletive, ever since news had broken out about his apparent treason. Now Pratt and everyone else walked around with a gas mask handy, even if the likelihood of a repeat of the incident was low.

"Mr. President, sir, your wife just called," a voice came over the intercom.

"Good grief," he stood up. "Is she still on the line?"

"No sir, she wanted to leave a message apparently."

Pratt sighed. "Must be running late for another show in Zurich. Thank you, Dave."

"Yes sir."

He missed his wife. He missed his children and his newborn grandchild. Sitting in the center of a collapsing state, there was a lot to miss. But he came from both enormous wealth and an old family: the Romefeller Foundation valued both.

He resumed slow, deliberate chewing until he was interrupted again by a siren going off. Though he reached for his gas mask, he realized it wasn't warranted when the Secret Service rushed into the room and immediately surrounded him.

"What is it?"

"Multiple OZ helicopters, sir. There are troops repelling down into the Presidential Palace Courtyard."

He sighed in relief. "Finally, it's over."

VI

The entire Mobile Suit Troop's First Recon Battalion was kept in the Landmark, a massive and extremely high-class hotel built in the 20th Century Revival-style located. It faced the plaza of the same name in C-102's historic Old Town district. It was a stunning contrast to the nice, clean apartment-style barracks in the Military Quarter where pilots from the 7th Strategic Division like Walker were posted.

"This is a little intimidating," Walker told Emi as they crossed through the lobby.

"Don't be. We're only here because we're not on the first-response dock like you guys are," Emi assured him.

"I see."

An express lift took them up to the high-level suite Emi apparently shared with the others in her flight, where they found Tsujimoto lounging on a couch, out of uniform, her eyes planted a large wall monitor. She wore a bizarre-looking black leotard under a very loosely-fit orange shirt that hung on her arms.

"Nabikichan," Emi sang immediately after she entered, her voice strained. "Would you mind helping Walker with his review for my promotion?"

Nabiki looked at them over the edge of the couch, munching away on a snack. "Why, don't you trust him?"

How does she stay so fit? Every time I've seen her, she's been eating something or another, Walker thought.

"That's not the point, Nabiki," Emi said, sounding strained. "It would speed up the process, so we can get to the actual interview."

"I trust the flight lieutenant not to make any mistakes, Emichan."

"NABIKI!" she barked.

She stood up and gave a sigh before disappearing from the room. "Hai, hai, hai."

Emi gave Nabiki a twisted smile, before turning to Walker, her expression abruptly distanced and calmed. "Help yourself to something if you're thirsty," she said, gesturing at the marble-countered bar. "Carlos…Flight Officer Motta makes a fantastic caiprivodka, but I don't know where he is."

"I probably shouldn't be drinking in the middle of this," he said as Nabiki returned to the room, half-way-dressed in uniform, and plopped down at the sitting table next to him, shaking the whole table. Looking particularly annoyed, she looked up at Emi.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you leaving, ma'am?"

Emi blinked. "I thought I would…I mean…"

"Flight Lieutenant Walker has been kind enough to help with this paperwork," Nabiki said, practically shouting in the other direction.

Nabiki gave her commanding officer a rather patronizing look before turning away again. "Don't you trust him?"

"…Of course I do," Emi sputtered out. Walker sat there, a stack of papers neatly under his hands, glancing back and forth between the two. "I'll…leave you two to it then," she said finally, marching swiftly out the same door they'd entered through.

Nabiki leered at her as she left, leaning back in her chair. Walker kept staring at her as she played around with her unbuttoned collar before leaving it as it was.

"What?"

"How do you know Flight Lieutenant Ogasawara again?" he asked again suspiciously.

"That's a longer story than you can afford, sir," she told him quickly.

The two remained at the sitting table for more than an hour, exchanging papers back and forth between them. In the lobby below them, Flight Lieutenant Chernenko shook hands with another uniformed F/L, that one from First Recon. The two took a seat in the lobby.

"They're keeping you up very nicely here."

"Better than they have to, but I won't complain," the other responded, removing his cap. "Thank you for coming, Dmitry."

"It's quite all right."

The other officer reached into the breast of his coat and took out a letter. "Can you give this to her?"

"I'll see Winthrop…I mean, Sibyl, at some point before deployment for the offensive. Though I don't know why you don't just send it over the wire."

"Network mail's too impersonal. Call me old fashion."

"Very old fashion." Chernenko glanced around at the crystal chandeliers hanging over them. "You seem down."

"I was talking to the medics."

"Well, there's your first mistake," Chernenko shook his head repeatedly. "The last people you should chew the fat with are college students and two-yearers," he told him, referring to those who enlisted for tuition money and other benefits, usually for a period of two years. Unlike the pilots in the Mobile Suit Troops, they would only spend a few years in the military, overwhelmingly in support roles, military police or as reserve infantry. "They don't have the same outlook on life."

"That doesn't mean it's wrong. The world doesn't begin and end at your avionics."

"My world does," Chernenko countered. "As does yours."

The other officer smiled. "There's more to this world than war. They remember to think about what they'll do with the rest of their lives. Dealing with life and death, I suppose they have to."

While the two reminisced, in the Military Quarter, the Mobile Suit Troops Medical Service ran drills for battlefield triage. A Taurus mobile suit was brought in on cranes, clouds of coolant swirling around and sirens blaring.

Dr. Arai, in her uniform and white coat, shouted over the chaos. "Cut the chatter! Wounded pilot coming in, medics deploy!"

A squad of newly-trained medics, both Terrestrial and Colonial, sprinted across the wide gantry to the cockpit of the mobile suit, dragging their triage equipment with them under their arms.

"Pilot is unresponsive!"

"Using the manual release!" another medic shouted as he climbed alongside the cockpit hatch and pulled open a compartment. Crying in pain, he pulled his gloved hand back briefly before pulling the lever release. The cockpit hatch popped open with a burst of propellant, revealing its pilot in a sky blue normal suit hanging limp from his seat. A sticky film of blood-red fluid had collected long his shoulders and underneath his helmet, occasionally floating away in the microgravity in spherical droplets.

"Looks like severe contusions and lacerations on the upper chest!" one medic diagnosed.

"Pilot is still breathing!" another medic shouted.

"And…? Dr. Arai shouted back at them.

"F-Free him from his restraints!"

"Get the stretcher first!" another medic shouted, while another one reached towards the seat restraints. He pressed on the release switch, only to spray of fluid over their faces, spurting from an unseen tear.

"Gah!"

The pilot whispered something, barely audible through his helmet.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Use the emergency release," he whispered more loudly.

"Medics, time is a factor!" Dr. Arai yelled.

"Where is it?" a medic asked.

"It's under my right arm," the patient muttered.

"Look under his right arm!" someone shouted.

"I can't see it through the gas!"

A different alarm sounded and the lights stopped flashing. Behind them, Dr. Arai felt her headset. "Medical team, Pilot Officer Levinsky is dead." She paused for a moment before adding sarcastically, "Good work."

Levinsky's body tensed up and he began undoing the seals for his helmet before pulling it off. His neck and part of his face were now stained deep red with simulated blood, some of it in his blond hair.

"Oh, man!" one of the medics whined. Another one hit his head against his triage kit.

"So am I free to go, ma'am?" Levinsky asked.

"Go get cleaned up, Mr. Levinsky," Arai replied, shaking her head. "I think that's quite enough for today, let's clean out that cockpit."

While Levinsky undid his restraints, Arai shook her head and floated over to another staff officer.

"Is that it for today, ma'am?"

"Like hell it is," she whispered. "Go get Cadet Thompson, the one with the scars. We're trying this again with a Leo."

"You think it'll be different, ma'am?"

"No, but if I'm forced to choose who I'll inflict these rookie medics on, I'm afraid the Leo Troops will have to bite the bullet."

VII

Walker and Nabiki were still working at their sitting table by the evening, but had nearly finished with Emi returned to the suite in civilian dress.

"Hello again!" Walker said, a little too loud, rising from his seat politely. Nabiki rolled her eyes.

Emi turned to him and glanced at herself in the mirror, wearing a sleeveless white mini-dress and matching heels and clenched her jaw. "I thought I'd enjoy the one last walk before everything went to hell."

"Nothing wrong with that," Nabiki said with a snicker as Walker sat back down.

"We're nearly done here," Walker said anxiously. "Just some general background left, names, dates, and your signature and seal a few dozen times and we'll be finished."

"Again, Walker, thank you for your patience here."

"Oh, I'm quite…"

"Nabiki, say thank you to Flight Lieutenant Walker."

"Thank you, Flight Lieutenant Walker," Nabiki chirped obediently, flipping the sheet in her hands over and returning it to the stack.

"You're…welcome." Emi just shook her head.

"Since you brought it up, I think I'll take in some of the nightlife. The flight lieutenant won't mind…?"

"Again, I'm almost done here," Walker repeated more insistently as Nabiki left the table. Emi just shook her head as her subordinate undid her tunic in the adjacent room.

Walker gave her a sympathetic shrug when his mobile, sitting by the edge of the table, vibrate noisily. She watched him clench his jaw but refrained from picking it up, letting his hands sit together.

"Problem?"

"No, not at all."

Nabiki returned, in the same loose-fitting orange shirt and formfitting black outfit. She gave a celebratory twirl in front of the door, then looked over her shoulder and gave the two of them one of her wide smiles. "Oh, and congratulations on your promotion, Junsan."

Emi gave a short, nervous laugh as she closed the door, while Walker looked at her. "Why did she call you 'Jun'?"

She put a hand against her head. "There's no harm in you knowing. When I first applied to the Alliance Officers Program in Japan, I didn't use my actual name."

Walker frowned and immediately flipped through the papers. "Hono Jun." He looked up, confused. "Hono Jun?"

Emi gave him an apologetic smile and sat down at the table.

"This is a long story, isn't it." He ran a hand through his hair. "Is that drink still available, Emi?"

Walker reorganized the materials arrayed out before him while Emi poured the ingredients for a cocktail out into a fragile-looking Collins glass.

"It's…the name of a manga character from my childhood. She looked a little like me by the time I finished secondary when I was sixteen." Emi smiled at him while opening the icebox. "There's a photo of me at the time, over there."

When she looked up, Walker was already at the other end of the room, in front of a neatly-organized shelf on the wall. He found a half-dozen glass-framed photographs laid out in the illumination. The first was, almost surprisingly, was of the ranking officer in a revealing white bikini with black laces, and two other women on the right. They were standing on a beach in Okinawa, he reckoned. On the other end, in a less revealing bikini, was Tsujimoto Nabiki, looking smug as usual. He didn't recognize the woman standing between them, with long dark blond hair and disarming smile, about half-way between them in height.

"It's behind that one, Walker," Emi said, mixing a second drink.

"Right, I…here it is," he said quickly. To his surprise, the same three women stood in school uniforms, Nabiki and Emi wearing matching blue-collared public school uniforms with red handkerchiefs while the third woman wore a different, more ostentatious one. Ogasawara Emi looked almost just as she did in the other photograph, towering over the other two.

"That's Henriette Kisaragi. We called her 'Honey', though." Emi handed him a glass, which he took after setting down the photograph. She was distantly related to the Catalonias."

Walker shifted the glass in his hand. "And your pseudonym?"

"Before I attended Lake Victoria, while I was in secondary school, I had a sordid past," she admitted quietly. "I was anxious to rid myself of it. At least for a while."

Walker nodded somberly. "I won't claim that I can relate, I really can't."

She held the drink in his direction, and he walked over and took it. "I'll drink to that."

Walker raised an eyebrow. "Having an unremarkable adolescence?"

"Character-building years," she offered. "Cheers."

"Kampai," he replied as their glasses clinked. Emi finished while he was still halfway.

"I needed that."

Walker just nodded while he drank, finally finishing. "Right, well, we should finish up here."

Nodding dutifully, Emi sat down and took a pen while Walker shuffled the stack in front of him. The streetlights came on across the colony, lighting up both Old and New Town, along with the Diplomatic Quarter that housed the OZ Legation and the Military Quarter, where it illuminated ground crews moving equipment and preparing for a full resumption of war.

Within view of L1-C-102, Lady Soris Armonia waited aboard the OZSS Over the Rainbow. The massive and ancient EBC-31 exploration cruiser had finished its full rearmament and engine refit, and was prepared to join the rest of the Space Forces in the Noventa Strategic Offensive Operation.

The outdated carrier wasn't on the mind of the Baroness of Oviedo, who was completely focused with the two mobile suits delivered to the carrier: OZ-13SMS1 and OZ-13SMS2, the first pair of production model Vayeate and Mercurius Gundam-like mobile suits. Unlike the blue and red prototypes, they were painted in traditional OZ colors: graphite black and gleaming white.

Her younger sister floated down to her from the ceiling, holding a clipboard with a paper showing the designation change from OZ-13MSX1 and OZ-13MSX2, as authorized by Treize Khushrenada himself. The lieutenant colonel nodded her head in anticipation as the two mobile suits, affixed to their rapid deployment sled, were given a final look-over by the diligent ground crew.

At the same time, in the Landmark Hotel, Walker and Emi were already very sloshed. The two had emptied a bottle of dry gin and the other bottles and cans of cocktail ingredients from the minibar. Walker sat at the sitting table, protectively lying atop the paperwork, his face planted down. Emi leaned back in her chair, using one muscular leg hooked on the table to keep from toppling backwards.

Sitting up slowly, Walker almost spilled his glass with his elbow. Taking it, he lifted it at Emi and smiled drunkinly. "So…Hono Jun?"

"She looked like me, and she kicked ass in a giant robot. That's pretty close!" Emi said before emptying her glass and letting the ice spill out on the floor.

"I'll take your word for it."

"You should!"

Walker nodded before falling back onto the table. "Hono Jun. Well, it's not a bad name. Mine on the other hand," he said before snickering. "Oswald Walker. Oswald Walker. Sir Oswald Walker. Sounds like a Scottish Peerage. Sir Oswald Walker: the upstart son of the lord who you rent your tenant farm from."

"Totally unsuited for you," Emi said in agreement. "Where are you from, anyway?"

"Windsor in North America. Lived there through the first year of secondary. Then OZ got me."

Emi gave a hearty laugh. "I must have had…a dozen different part-time jobs in secondary school. Traffic director, pizza delivery…hell, I was a waitress once." She arched her head back. "They had me…had me, and all the other waitresses with these low-cut bodices over our blouses…"

In mid-swallow, Walker blew out some of his cocktail before immediately apologizing. "I'm sorry, that wasn't you, I just needed to sneeze."

Emi apparently thought this was hilarious and laughed uncontrollably.

"So, Hono Jun," he repeated, his head bobbing back and forth slightly. "What took you from waitressing and pizza delivery and traffic direction to flying mobile suits for the Alliance?" he asked, cocking his head.

"That's a long story," she said, pointing while holding the empty gin bottle. "We are going to need more if we're going to go over that."

Walker shook his head very strenuously. "In that case, I take it back. I've really had too much."

"Oh, come on, bouya!" she said, still snickering at him. "Can't handle it?"

"I barely handled my own head just a moment ago," he pointed out, standing upright carefully. He walked in the direction of the couch, step by step, before propping himself up against it. He bobbed a little more before falling back into it, trying to keep his head upright.

Emi gave him a sad smile. "You know, I didn't expect to see this side of you."

"Is that so?" he asked, his head turned away and pressed against the mattress.

She finished the glass in her other hand. "You…have a reputation as kind of a stiff, Walker."

"I do, do I?"

"Well, you're not alone. I don't have many friends outside First Recon."

"Really? I thought you were quite popular," he said from the couch.

She shook her head again before leaving the table for the adjacent bedroom. "Not the same thing, Walker."

"Really?"

Emi paused, pulled her sleeveless dress over her head and tossed it onto her bed, and glanced at Walker's legs sticking out of the couch. "The female experience really is foreign to you, isn't it?"

"Completely foreign, mademoiselle," Walker assured her, his voice becoming more slurred.

Probably the human experience as well, Emi thought, her eyes rolling. She pulled on a dark-colored undershirt and leaned her head over again, looking at him through the doorway.

"Walker, are you still awake?"

His response was delayed. "Could you call me a taxi, please?" he asked slowly.

"Already on it."

Walker rolled off the couch, bouncing onto the floor in a pile and slowly standing up. "With that in mind, I'll take my leave. Thank you for the evening hospitality and the cocktail or six."

Promptly, he wandered in a deviating path to the door, bumping into the occasional chair and almost slipping on the ice she'd spilled earlier, before walking straight into the door. He bounced off again, opened it carefully then stumbled through. Emi stepped into the doorway in her underwear, looked at the trail he'd left and then at the stack of papers left on the sitting room table, before stepping back into her room. A second later, there was a polite knock.

"It's open, Walker."

Looking substantially more sober, Walker opened the door, stuck his head in, and made a straight line for the sitting table. "I left my paperwork, excuse me. Good night, Emi." Without another word, he left the room.

Standing in the dark, Emi stared at the door and shook her head, holding back a laugh. More than ever, she could see clearly the handiwork of the powers that loomed above them—the military machine that recruited a boy, trained him, and then paid him handsomely to fight in wars in distant places he'd never visit otherwise, to be a man he'd never have been otherwise.

VIII

Bright and early next morning, the hangar floor chiefs were barking from atop the cargo crates they stood on, each holding a clipboard.

"Winthrop Flight! OZSS Calypso! Chernenko Flight! OZSS Europa! Cage Flight! OZSS Asiana!Donovan Flight! OZSS Sarajevo!" one shouted.

Across a stream of OZ officers pushing their way in every direction, another one looked down at her clipboard and shouted similarly. "Clarkson Flight! OZSS Callisto! Kim Flight! OZSS Europa! Walker Flight! OZSS Callisto! Squadron Command Sun, you're on OZSS Over the Rainbow!" She lowered her clipboard. "Godspeed and good luck, Mobile Suit Troops!"

Able to see over the crowd, Kanna scanned the hangar floor and pointed with one arm. "He's over there!"

"Attention all CAST Insertion Teams, assemble in Hangar 3B. Repeat, all CAST Insertion Teams…" the speakers blared overhead, as she, Dac, and Mazuri shoved their way over to a very tired looking Walker.

"Jesus, sir, you look horrible."

Walker stopped rubbing his face. "Thank you for that astute observation, Mr. Bishop."

"What happened?" Kanna asked.

"You look like you went eight rounds with someone and lost," Mazuri offered.

"A gentleman by the name of Tom Collins," Walker muttered, handing Kanna his bag before holding his sides. He seemed to lurch for a few seconds, turning a little green, and then stood up straight.

"Awe, that's cute. When a girl does it, it's 'Hey, she must be fun! She's a party girl!'. When a guy does it, it's 'Wow, how sad is this guy'?" Dac explained with a smile, before Kanna offloaded both her and Walker's luggage into his hands, causing him to buckle.

"I'll be fine, I just didn't have time for a saline drip," Walker said, rubbing his face again. His hawk-like features had lost a lot of their sharpness. "How are you?" he asked finally.

"Could be worse."

"I said goodbye to a beautiful woman who wasn't in uniform, so I'm all set," Mazuri said.

"Being crushed to death," Dac grunted.

"This is the final notice to CAST Insertion Teams, report to…" the speakers repeated. In the hallway to an adjacent hangar, a sea of sky blue and violet normal suits huddled around an island of hunter green-colored armored troops brandishing assault carbines.

"Are you ready for this?" Lieutenant Parsons asked Major Cebotari, forcing himself to gloat. The senior Military Commissariat officer stood next to him, her violet normal suit opened behind her revealing long black hair and the contours of her bare backside. He waited for a response, but instead she just adjusted her hair while another woman with a straight, bob haircut did the back clasps of her suit.

"Thank you."

The other woman just nodded. Ahead of them, in the middle of the crowd, Warrant Officer Cameron stood next to First Lieutenant Ellis, an equally large, imposing man with a shaved head. "All right, all of you have memorized your insertion points. If you have to deviate from your planned vectors, don't panic: the point is not to be seen. That's why you're wearing military normal suits, in the end of the day, if the Noventans see anyone outside that colony who shouldn't be there, they'll shoot first and ask questions later. And make sure to use your destruction kits to cover your tracks once you've shed them."

Cameron holstered a large-caliber handgun. "The Mobile Suit Troops will provide the distraction, and we shouldn't be noticed. They will do their job, and we will do ours."

"If you are compromised—look at the box on your chest. It's something we've adopted from the Colony Liberation Organization: a personal self-destruct device. It will kill you, and in conjunction with your destruction kits, destroy any evidence alongside the people who discovered you."

Parsons glanced down at the small rectangular compartment over his right breast, then flipped the cover open to reveal a single red switch surrounded by caution markings. Around his left wrist there was another added compartment with a separate switch. "Well, this certainly inspires confidence."

Ellis put his hands on his hips. "You've all be briefed. I'm not the kind to give inspiring speeches, but I do want to leave you with something: chapter one, of The Art of War. All warfare is based on deception. When able to attack, appear unable. When on the march, appear inactive. When near, appear far." He took his helmet, marked with the distinctive CAST unit insignia on the side, and held it under his arm. "And when you're far away, make them think we're near."

Departing from L1-C-102, the Over the Rainbow brought its new drive systems to full power and began making its course corrections. Lady Soris waited in the same converted dining room that Treize Khushrenada had taken the surrender of Admiral Kuznetsov weeks earlier, watching the starfield shift.

"Lady Soris, incoming call from First Recon Battalion Headquarters."

"Send it through."

The long table behind her was bare except for a digital notebook, whose screen lit up.

"I got your paperwork. Congratulations, Squadron Commander Ogasawara."

"Thank you, ma'am." At the other end, Emi sat at a similar table in her hunter greens.

"How was your 'date' with the flight lieutenant?" Lady Soris teased.

"Pretty useful, actually." Emi shifted and crossed her legs under the table. "From what I could tell, his work hasn't suffered particularly, and it doesn't seem like his mental state has either."

"What do you mean by 'particularly'?"

"You should have sent a professional psychoanalyst."

"We tried that. But North doesn't care about the damage, only how to minimize the effects."

"I don't think there's any particular damage…"

"But?" Soris asked, turning, a hand on her chin.

"But I feel sorry for him."

"That's very forthcoming of you."

"I can be forthcoming if asked," Emi snapped back warningly.

"I know, I know," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. Thank you for your help."

The transmission cut and Soris turned to her sister, standing rigidly at the corner.

"No word from Ambassador Une, then?"

"No ma'am."

"If you want something done properly, do it yourself," she chuckled with a roll of her eyes. The Over the Rainbow had stopped its slow turn, and arrayed before her were a dozen smaller warships. Roughly ahead of them, adjacent in her view to Luna, was the First Langrage Point's Area D colony cluster.

"This is the command ship Over the Rainbow to all task force vessels: commence with the Noventa Strategic Offensive Operation!"

At her command, hundreds of mobile suits, dozens of warships and fighters, and almost a hundred thousand troops moved forward as one, with the shared destination of Midway.

---

Author's Notes:

Another chapter fallen prey to having too much to say and too much stuff to happen. Except the next chapter to be battle heavy, but still far removed from the original Operation 'Meteor' plotline. Additionally, our dear Emi is apparently a big fan of 'Uncle Go' Nagai, the famed manga artist most famous for his Mazinger and Cutey Honey series and their associated spin-offs, which is not something I think clashes too much with her established personality so far.