Chip Off the Old Block

by dave-d

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, in 'The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes' had written 'It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.' That proved true during a visit to a military base for Sousuke and son Moto.

Another rediscovered and resurrected story from 2004 or 2005 (found on the 'Blissful Ignorance' site), one in the continuum of 'Waiting is the Hardest Part' and 'Family Matters.'

I know that one reader had asked about this particular story and a couple of others a few years back. I had then thought them lost forever. This story, at least, did not seem deserving of eternal obsolescence. The story will be presented without change, with the exception of punctuation and grammatical corrections.

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Mithril out in the open. The economics of Black technology. A well-attended 'secret' demonstration. Sousuke and son in the middle of well-coordinated plot. Some things just cannot be planned for...

Good and Bad. Yin and Yang. The evolution of Mithril came with great opportunities… and with great risks.

The mission in the Crimea had been a success, but presented a tremendous problem for organization. It might have been possible to cover-up Mithril's involvement in the Wormwood Threat, but the likelihood for success was low, according to the Bureau of Statistics and Probability. Instead, the powers that be saw a silver lining…if Mithril came into the open after averting a global catastrophe of epic proportions, the reaction of the international community should be positive. Especially if the organization laid claim to the laurels it had earned previously during the Scalar Crisis. Sooner or later, Mitril would be uncovered. Such a discovery could very easily be painted in a very poor light… no one likes to be deceived. A deception on such a massive scale… and for such a lengthy period of time… was likely to ruffle a large number of feathers no matter how altruistic Mithril made itself out to be.

The ripples were still being felt across the globe, and many of the responses had been extremely negative. Some of that ill will came at the prompting of less philanthropic shadow groups, none of whom were prepared to work out in the open… and all of whom would greatly benefit by the dissolution of their arch rivals. Nevertheless, the vast majority of reactions had been positive, or at worst neutral. Mithril's existence as an independent force was still being argued in the political and legal arenas, with no official resolution expected any year soon. Thanks to the hard work of Minister of Finance Borodenko, Mithril's coffers would not suffer any shortages in the immediate future. If anything, investors were appearing in increasingly greater numbers. Likewise, nations were quick to offer their backing. Some merely hoped to share in whatever Black Technology was still exclusive to Mithril. Most, however, were rather concerned about the United State's rather close relationship with the once secret mercenary force.

The nation of Japan was no exception. Unbeknownst to many, it had its own connection to Mithril. Once the organization made itself known, the government rushed to cement a more official relationship. In essence, that was the reason that Sousuke was at the JSDF base on one of his vacation days.

An HBD-5 Arm Slave had been delivered late Sunday night, supposedly under a shroud of secrecy. A small contingency of Mithril troops were on guard, supplanting the sovereign soldiers. The Halberd was the hot topic of discussion between the military and political leaders of Japan… the officials were poised to make a very lucrative offer to Mithril, should the mecha be as capable as stories made it out to be. Major Sagara would be handling the HBD-5 during the validation demonstrations.

A member of the JSDF, Sousuke could very well have been ordered to run the exhibition. Still contracting out to Mithril, he could have been coerced from yet another direction. Instead, he volunteered… he did not make his reasons known, however. It would be the day after Moto's eighth birthday, and he had promised his son the chance to sit in an Arm Slave. The X8 was a fine machine, and would have sufficed. The Halberd, however, held a special place in his son's heart. It was one of the mechas that had kept his father safe during his combat missions. He had a picture of one on his wall, next to a painting of Arbalest and a classified photograph of the Aegis.

When the day arrived, the military base was a veritable hornet's nest of activity. Ceremonies preceded and followed the actual showing. The HBD-5 had turned out to be everything it had been touted to be… everything and more. The Lambda Driver capabilities especially had been quite an eye opener. Crowds seemed intent to linger forever, necessitating forceful escort off the premises for many eager observers. The security forces began to rest easy when they heard that a Mithril transport helicopter had launched from the TDD-2.

It had been the grandest of days for Moto. First, he got to go with Father, not Tomoe or two year old Shusaku. Second, without having Mother there to birdseye him, he had made quite free with the refreshments. On a number of occasions, his father had told him it was impolite to carry two or three cups of punch at a time, or to stuff his pockets full of finger sandwiches and small pastries. Third, he had been given the wondrous opportunity to sit through fanciful ceremonies, with brass bands, an over flight by fighter jets, speeches, and a testimonial to his father's skills. The ceremonies bracketed the A.S. demonstration, the very substance of a young boy's dreams. Fourth, and best of all, he had seen the HBD-5 up close and personal. Personal was a rather apropos term… the A.I. had shocked everyone, except Moto, by turning itself on and interfacing with the boy. Sousuke, aware of his son's Whispered talents, was both proud and concerned. Mostly the latter. The number of people who could interact with the Halberds was steadily growing, but anyone capable of activating the highly advanced A.I.s was a valuable commodity…to official forces and secret groups alike. Moto was also a potential target to schemers in the dark… how could a male… and one born after the event that created the mysterious humans… become a Whispered himself?

Sousuke hoped that a large bullseye hadn't been figuratively painted on his firstborn's back. That would be danger enough. In addition, when she found out… and she ALWAYS finds out… Kaname would have his hide.

He had let Moto sit in the Arm Slave, after his son promised not to touch anything. Moto had kept his word…at least physically. Before his father had any idea what had occurred, Moto had initiated some form of contact with the A.I., prompting the machine to show him a number of teaching programs. Start-Up Procedures. Simple. Calibration steps and Systems Initialization. Child's play. Mobility and Mechanical Manipulation. Not very much of a challenge. Weapons Systems and Combat functions. Piece of cake. Lambda Driver and related capabilities. Challenging, but not overly so.

Moto could operate the Halberd. At least in theory.

No one would have guessed that such a talent would prove crucial.

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He could not be identified, even if he were captured. The imposter was quite certain of that. The urge to smile, to flaunt his hidden knowledge, was annoyingly strong… there was no need to prance or tease, as the fools would learn of their mistakes soon enough. A significant demonstration, especially one of this nature, is very difficult to keep secret, especially if paid ears were everywhere. Furthermore, large crowds of dignitaries and officials… ones from different organizations that had little contact with one another, if any at all… provided all sorts of opportunities to those who were gifted in espionage and subterfuge.

His mission was straightforward, but not simple. There were other doppelgangers there with him, each having an important task to perform. They were accompanied by a number of operatives with false identities, men who had spent months to years working at those agencies that were once felt likely to be of significant value in the future. Their group's planning had been prophetic, bordering on precognitive. This mission's planning had been precise, taking every possible contingency into consideration.

The fruits of their labor would be more than worth the effort.

Sharing a joke with a real military attache, he laughed longer and harder than the humor called for. The poor sap was looking at him with a concerned eye. He simply didn't know the real joke. The HBD-5 would be stolen right out from under the watchful nose of the JSDF and Mithril. It would be taken to a heavily defended location and disassembled. After enough data was collected to allow for reverse engineering, the actual parts themselves would be auctioned off at exorbitant prices. No items would remain after the event. Not too long after that, the jewels of Black Technology would be available to anyone with enough money. Official clearance, pledges of accountability, ethics, and scruples would no longer matter.

The vest inside his expensive suit was filled with a large number of tranquilizer darts, each having no metallic parts. Like a cliche from good and bad spy movies alike, his official briefcase contained items that could be locked together to form a projectile weapon. He could assemble the tools of his trade in total darkness if need be. His proficiency with the weapons was phenomenal. After all, that was why he had been selected.

The parameters of the mission were not his to select, or to question. If they were, he would be using weapons that killed, not ones that simply disabled. He failed to see the logic involved. They were going to steal a very significant piece of equipment. The men responsible for that technology… and the profits they stood to gain from it… would put all of their resources behind its recovery. Would they really go to greater lengths, or use more severe methods, if the innocents were killed instead of incapacitated? Would they really be slowed down by the need to consider some of the survivors to be possible moles and inside men? Would they be fooled even for a minute by some of the planted evidence? Ah well. It's not mine to question why… it's mine to do or die.

He checked his watch. It was time to begin.

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Sousuke did not like the circus and sideshow atmosphere that had accompanied the exhibition. He knew the reasons, but this was serious business, not a used car lot. In addition, he was very uncomfortable with the number of strangers still milling around the base. Security concerns did not go down just because someone decided to turn things into a festive occasion. The opposite was invariably true.

He stopped a moment, to consider if he was simply being paranoid, or if he was overly concerned because Moto was on the grounds. No, security measures were always lax in his opinion… despite the fact that he had raised concerns on numerous occasions. The systems and human measures were geared towards non-military personnel and conventional disturbances… they would prove little impediment to determined professionals. Mithril members were experienced, but were spread somewhat thin given the enormity of the proceedings.

'Who is going to steel a twelve ton Arm Slave?' was the response he got to his complaints. His standard answer of 'Do you have the clearance level, and do you have the time to read the list?' did not win him any converts. 'Major Sagara, you of all people should know that Mithril is out in the open now. The days of cloaks and daggers are over.' No one ever wanted to hear about the other organizations, the ones that were STILL working in the shadows.

Making a point to seem busy with inconsequential matters, he kept an eye on the Halberd as he moved a number of supplies from point A to point B to point C and back to point A again. Too many nonessential personnel and guests hanging about. This looks like a good time for a drill. There will be no reason for all of those people to return when the drill is over. He walked over to a control box on the wall and punched in his I.D. code. Throwing a switch, he triggered a fire drill. He didn't care if any of his superiors took exception at his timing.

Now, to find Moto and keep him close. Punching a restricted number into his cellular phone, he called the Mithril dispatcher to find out the E.T.A. for the transport copter.

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A Fire Drill? NOW? What was the chance that an automatic protocol was operational, despite the special arrangements? Low. Someone was suspicious, or at the very least, admirably paranoid. No matter, the operation would begin a bit prematurely.

The covert agent activated his high frequency transmitter, setting off the small subcutaneous devices in his unsuspecting comrades.

Time to make this day TRULY memorable.

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Zenzai cakes. Check.

Tried on HAZMAT suit. Check.

Pork Gyo Za. Check.

Got a look at schematics for T-2 and X-10. Check.

Daifuku sweets. Check. And check again.

Drew a picture for Father's cork board. Check.

Yakitori with Teriyaki sauce. Check.

Crawled under and inside one of the base Armored Cars. Check.

Steamed shrimp dumplings. Working on it.

Moto had a large linen napkin unfolded on the table top. He was busy stuffing it with dumplings and filled-pancakes. The table had been abandoned. Everything was going to waste. Mother hated waste. Besides, it would be nice to bring something back for Tomoe and Shusaku. 'Being considerate', Father called it.

Just as he was tying up his booty, Moto heard his father's voice.

"Moto, have you been behaving yourself? Where is Sgt. Akimota?"

"The sergeant went to the rest room. He hasn't returned yet. I have not been admonished for my actions, sir." Moto tried to keep his impromptu linen bag inconspicuous.

Sousuke rubbed his son's head affectionately. "I'm not going to confiscate your snacks, Moto. You were being considerate for your sister and brother, were you not?" He tried not to smile.

"Naturally, father. You have trained me very well. Despite what Mother says!"

Sousuke allowed himself a grin. "Yes. I see. I hope you are not thinking of going into politics, son. You would probably have a talent for diplomacy."

"Father!" Moto was scandalized, until he realized his father was joking. His mother and father did not care much for politicians and diplomats, and the feelings had trickled down to the children.

"It's time to be serious for a minute, Moto." Sousuke squatted down, bringing his face on a level closer to that of his boy's. "I'm not entirely comfortable with the number of strangers on the base today, even though there may be a valid reason for it. You remember my lectures on hiding in plain sight and capitalizing on opportunities, and how that pertains to covert enemy operations?"

"Yes, Father. This is common sense, not something like Mother's woman's intuition. There are logical reasons." Moto wondered why no one spoke of man's intuition. He knew better than to ask his mother that.

"In case I give you the 'Danger' signal, or you discover a desperate situation on your own, I want you to hide in the Halberd. There will be risks with that plan… and duties. Tell me your thoughts on both." Sousuke wanted to judge his son's reasoning ability.

"A question first, Father. If I may."

"Go ahead." Sousuke was curious what his son's agile mind had grabbed on to this time.

"Father, didn't you say they were going to rename the Halberd the Halisen?"

"Oh." Sousuke's eyes went big for a moment, his surprise noted by his son. Moto smiled. He liked to see his father surprised. "That was just a joke."

"Really?" Moto smiled. "If I hide in the Arm Slave, Father… I'm supposed to call Mithril?"

"Yes. Very good. The red button near the transmitter. A voice should respond after a connection is made. The person on the other end will be qualified to ask you questions and to take your report." Sousuke patted his son on the shoulder.

"Defensive systems, with call signal shut-down?" He remembered viewing a brief tutorial on the automatic capabilities of the machine.

"Yes. The red light below the optical array will flash, warning any friendly personal to steer clear. You will not disengage, no matter who you think might be in danger."

"OK, Father. Anyone could be a spy? Except for you and me?"

"That is correct. What is the greatest danger you face, and the one reason I almost hesitate following this course of action?" Sousuke's face was very grim. He couldn't help himself. The heart of the HBD-5 would be one of the safest places in the course of an emergency. But, if an enemy force were to succeed in hijacking the Arm Slave….

"Father. If the Halberd is the object of an enemy mission, then I would be trapped if they succeed."

"Yes. Worse, if they were to escape with the machine, then Mithril might take actions to destroy the technology if recapture seemed too risky or unlikely. There is only so much the automated defense system can accomplish. Did you see the Eject lever in one of the instructional segments that the A.I. Showed you?" If not, Sousuke would need to describe the cabin layout for his son.

He was not going to frighten his son with an educational tale of his mother's capture by Gauron.

"I did, Father. Pulling it halfway back releases it after ten seconds. Pulling it all of the way back activates rockets and a chute. I understand." Best not to try the latter indoors or in a truck or ship.

Moto's thoughts went a couple of steps forward. If the automatic systems proved ineffective, the option for active defense… and offensive actions… existed. He knew better than to make his thoughts known to his father.

"Very good. Let's hope it never comes to that. I feel comfortable covering all possible situations. If you think you have enough snacks, let's move back towards the hangar."

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It was too simple.

MUCH too simple.

And, with no blood, there was no thrill.

The imposter made use of the fire drill, watching as the real guards and maintenance people in this corner of the complex scurried to man their positions or make an orderly withdrawal. Higher ranking officials shepherded guests. That's it, folks. Walk down that narrow hallway like bulls led to the slaughterhouse. Sweet dreams, all.

He was running out of darts. But, he was also running out of targets. For the umpteenth time he cursed the luck of the draw. The fun stuff was outside. The strike on the armed Mithril personnel. That would be a challenge… and, in certain circumstances, deadly force had been OK'd.

His fellow operatives often commented on his keen senses. It was a joke amongst them. They'd ring a bell and see if he'd drool. They'd bought him a scratching post. They'd hung a stuffed bat in his locker. No doubt they were all jealous. Those senses served him well.

A sound. Someone moving quietly. Very quietly. Someone skilled. A desk fan was blowing in his direction. Two odors? Likely two individuals. The smell of food. His stomach growled. That was a sound he did not want to hear… did not want someone else to pick up.

There was certainly a thrill now.

Keeping low, he removed his shoes and duck-walked over to a recess between two counter tops. His eyesight growing accustomed to the dark, he should have an advantage over anyone stepping into the better lit areas of the office he had hidden in. He watched a near invisible string he had strung across the poorly visible doorway. It moved ever so slightly. Someone was crawling into the room.

He reached inside his dress uniform for a small re-breather and a flat gas grenade taped to his abdomen. That would be a good way to take down his cautious adversary.

There was no time.

Maybe he didn't want too much excitement after all.

A form rushed into his field of vision quickly, pistol out and firing. Shots hit the wall behind him, at a point his head had been occupying before he instinctively dropped to the floor. Shit! How? There must have been some subtle set-up he had missed in his quick perusal. This was no ordinary soldier.

He tugged hard. The adhesive tape tore loose a handfull of hairs as he readied the grenade. He threw the device towards the likely area his opponent's roll had carried him to. He cursed as the weapon was shot out of the air, no longer functional. I'm going to save one dart for the bastard who excluded the use of deadly force. Hell, if it was a matter of survival, who could blame him? If only he had pocketed a pistol… he had seen plenty of them out in the open, hanging in holsters or in obvious weapons lockers.

A cloud of thick white particles filled the air. The discharge of a large fire extinguisher! Smokescreen. This could be to his advantage as well as his detriment. Quickly, he ran through a number of options. He decided to leap over the two closely situated desks, making a run for the door. He would seek a setting of his choosing before moving onward.

His jump had been silent. Still, two shots grazed him while he was airborne. As he neared the door, he was caught by surprise. The second person was a child. Landing, he refrained from firing, intent on knocking the boy aside, making his getaway. He was caught by surprise a second time.

The boy swung a cloth bag towards him, letting it open and discharge its contents. Pelted by a plethora of foodstuffs, the man felt his leg swept out from under him by a deft martial arts move. The damn child was an burgeoning adept!. Falling on his back, he knew he was finished.

"Stand up, hands on your head." The voice behind him was an adult. No wavering. No fear. The sound of impending death, if any wrong move was made. A look at the boy's face killed his idea of grabbing him as a hostage. The boy stepped back, but did not retreat. His eye movements were no doubt a signal to the unseen gunman.

There was another sound. Another set of footsteps. Then, the sound of a compressed air gun just as the gunman's pistol fired at the new target.

"Excellent work as always, Major Sagara," a wheezy masculine voice said after the Thump of a falling body was heard. "A shame we are not on the same side any more."

The imposter turned to see a high ranking base official holding a dart gun similar to his own. "You did well just to survive. Let's get back to work. There's no time to delay." The officer spoke with the tone of voice of a man accustomed to giving orders. "The boy!"

The child had turned and run. The officer had fired and missed. The imposter quickly brought his gun to bear, but held his shot. He was running low on darts.

Besides, what harm could a young child do?

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Moto ran.

He ran like a rabbit chased by hounds. He ran like his life depended on it.

The base, which no more than an hour ago had been a panoply of sights and sounds, was strangely quiet. The young boy rightly supposed that anyone he saw that was awake, alive, unbound, or acting on their own cognition, was the enemy. The word simultaneously filled him with excitement and with terror. Enemy. Father had talked about having this enemy or that, many times. Now he, Miyamoto Sagara, had an enemy of his very own.

He was anxious. What had happened to his father? Was he alive, but unconscious... a prisoner? Or, had he been killed, a victim of this evil plot that cared nothing of young boys and their families? Father gave me an order. I MUST follow it. I will get to the Arm Slave. No time for tears. Fear is the mind killer.

"I will do my duty."

The lessons his father had taught him from an early age paid off. So did the viewing of the countless movies and television shows. He was wise enough to know that cliches that worked on film might not work in real life. But, he was clever enough to know that real life could mimic art. The knowing was important, for certain. Deciding what to do with one knows was just as important.

Moto stood staring at the large grill that led to the ventilation system. He would chance it, realizing that one wrong move might cause a noise that gave him away, or might knock loose some dust or plaster that was just as damning. On his hands and knees, or flat on his belly, he made his way from room to room until he ended up at another grill, one overlooking the hangar area.

He saw what there was to see. Men dragged unconscious bodies out of the way, securing them with rope or wire. A large tractor was situated in front of the Halberd, with a number of men running large cables between the two machines. Six M8 Arm Slaves, their hatches opened, were being prepped for duty.

"Hey, get those damned things ready. Those of us with piloting skills need to be out on the tarmac, not sitting on our duffs swilling coffee and stuffing our faces. If the fine folks at Mithril land some troops and those frickin' metal lumps aren't ready to go, the blame will be on your shoulders. Move it people!" A man in an A.S. suit held a steaming cup of coffee. Similarly clad men and women lounged on rows of folding metal chairs or sat eating from plates piled high with food.

Some of the men working as support personnel gave the A.S. pilot the finger. He couldn't see, but Moto could. The man with the messy hair and dark glasses, sitting at a radio console, was also in his field of vision. He was speaking in Russian, but Moto could understand a fair amount of what was being said. An Mi-26 Halo helicopter had taken off out of the well of a modified Super Tanker and was en route to the base. It would be escorted by a number of VTOL fighters of a designation he was unfamiliar with. Operatives placed in commercial and military air traffic control jobs would make certain no word of their presence would make its way to suspicious ears.

Moto had read about modern Russian helicopters. The Mi-26 was one of the largest copters in the word, well able to carry a single Halberd. He had no doubt what the enemy's plan was.

Moto looked about the room as best he could from his vantage point. There was a vent ten yards from the HBD-5. If he could find the right turnoff, he should be able to make it there… if the vents were all on the same system. Crawling in the dark, he had an idea what a mole must feel like. He found his way to the viewpoint he wanted.

"Man, I can't wait to get the bonus check from this mission." A slovenly overweight main in stained overalls worked with a large wrench in one hand and a haphazard over-stacked sandwich in the other. "SHIT!" Most of the meat and cheese shot out in different directions, landing on the cement floor. The man rebuilt his sandwich any way. "Those big shots at Mithril ain't so big, are they. Those Jap toy soldiers ain't nothing, either." He walked over and kicked an unconscious man hard in the head. "This motherfucker gave me a hard time ever since I got here. He doesn't look so tough anymore. They was all too stupid to know I was workin' for someone else."

"More elbow grease and less talk, or else I might kick your fat head, then you wouldn't be working for anyone. I don't want to be the last one lining up to get on the damn heli when it gets here. With my luck, there will be one seat too few." A thin man with a greasy goatee finished checking on the hydraulic system of an X-8. "It'll probably be your fucking fault… you take up at least three seats. I'm going to suggest we hang your sorry ass OUTSIDE the thing." Finishing his work, he gave the lounging pilots a 'thumbs up' sign.

The helicopter is critical. Moto added another reason to stop that bird if he could. The scenarios played across the darkened screen in his mind. If he could get into the Arm Slave unseen, and was able to lay low, he could use the mechanical arms of the machine to tear large holes in the Mi-26. That would ground the copter and strand the enemy forces. It would also put him in the middle of a lot of angry men. Similarly, he could wait until he was near the copter to activate the automatic defense system, ordering the A.I. to lay down a circumferential ring of fire from its weapons… if they were still loaded after the demonstration. The auto-destruct device might prove useful, if overly melodramatic. It might be hard to set it… get out of harm's way… and then hope that no one figured out what was going on in time to shut things down.

Of course, he COULD simply go out with all guns blazing, taking out the Mi-26 with the Halberd's teeth and claws, so to speak. Naturally, he was just a kid, and that scene was straight out of his daydreams. He'd probably trip, shoot himself in the foot, or park the damn thing for them under the helicopter by accident!

What was an eight year old supposed to be able to accomplish? True, he wasn't just any young boy… but, the task ahead of him was daunting. He was scared. Uncertain.

'First, you should always decide what you want to do', his mother had told him on many occasions. 'Then, you should figure out the best way to get it done. All of that is useless, if you aren't willing to get the task done'.

She was right.

He nodded his head. Wiping a tear from his eye, he remembered something Tomoe was apt to say and Shusaku would ape. 'Do it. Just do it. I bet I could'. If he could pull this off, it would be quite a coup! Tomoe couldn't even dream about doing any of this.

There were men throughout the hangar, but only one man stood near the HBD-5, a tow cable in his hand. For a moment, Moto visualized him as a goalkeeper. The men nearest to that man were the fullbacks. This was just like the soccer games his squad had played in against teams of older boys. He had been slightly intimidated at first. Those boys had been bigger and stronger. But, they had NOT been faster or more skilled. He was able to score in those games. He could score here, now.

He could do this.

If he could get his legs moving again.

5... 6… 4... 3… 4… 7

5... 6… 4... 3… 4… 7

He had to remember those numbers. He wished he had a pen, so he could write them down on his hand.

5… 6… 4… 4? No. 3… 4… 7

5… 6… 4… 4… COME ON MOTO! He couldn't let his excitement cause him to fixate on that simple mistake. What would Father think?

5... 6… 4... 3… 4… 7

5... 6… 4... 3… 4… 7

He needed to get those on the keypad before anyone could stop him. He then needed to get inside and secure the hatch before anyone could ruin his plan.

Kick out the grill

Jump on the stack of crates

Slide to the floor

Run up to the HBD-5

Punch in the numbers 5... 6… 4... 3… 4… 7

Climb in the machine and hit the Emergency Close button.

Make contact with the A.I.

Place a call to Mithril

Even saying it sounded hard. But, he was going to do his father proud. He held his breath and kicked with all of his strength.

Nothing happened. Damn. It always worked on TV.

Frightened, he looked around the room. Fortunately, the noise level was such that his banging on the grill hadn't been heard, or hadn't seem out of place.

Closing his eyes, he kicked again. And again. And again.

The grill broke free, then hung down into space. He couldn't stop his last kick. The metal panel broke free, bounced off the crates, and hit the large man's hand, making him drop his sandwich into a pail of grease.

"Damn it all to Hell! Where the fuck did this thing…." The man looked up. His eyes widened. "A kid. What is a kid doing up there?"

That was Moto?s cue.

Sliding out from his perch, he landed hard on the pile of crates below. Hitting on the edge of one, he had to windmill his arms dramatically to keep his balance. The crate tilted, ready to slide off its spot. Jumping to another box, Moto sent the crate falling.

Just then, turning to see what his large companion had been babbling about, the thinner man had no time to yell as the huge container of spare parts hit him square in the face, slamming him to the ground.

Tomoe would have loved that. Moto jumped from box to box like a squirrel going from branch to branch. The best route down would take him uncomfortably close to the angry man holding a small remaining strip of bread crust.

He had a rather large wrench in hand.

The mechanic didn't stop to check on the condition of his companion. The spreading pool of red near one end of the large crate made that moot. He no longer mourned the loss of his light repast. What was done was done. No, his goal was to put at least one good lick on that damn kid, leaping around like he was some kind of frickin' monkey. He took up a stance like a batter awaiting the next pitch.

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Slipping into an A.S. suit, the erstwhile imposter was glad to be out of that over-starched uniform. He was equally pleased to be strapping on an X-8 rather than a tranquilizer gun. If the mecha was called to action, it would be for a kill or be killed confrontation, not pacification. A smile graced his face when he realized just how badly he needed to vent his frustrations. To top everything off, that blasted child had made a fool out of him. In front of a superior.

"A kid? What is a kid doing up there?" He heard someone speak those words.

The man stopped sliding one arm into the fighting suit. Looking up, he saw a large wooden box fall. He saw a ponderously large man swing a large metal tool at the darting form of a small boy. The boy! The mechanic had missed and the boy had grabbed onto the wrench, used the large man's momentum, and sent the fool hurling into a row of barrels. Dirty hydraulic fluid rushed across the hangar floor.

"STOP THAT BOY. STOP HIM NOW!" His shout startled another A.S. pilot standing near him.

Guards, mechanics, ordinance personnel, all looked up in curiosity. No one made any effort to stop the running boy.

The pilot finished pulling on his suit. "KILL HIM IF YOU HAVE TO. WHATEVER IT TAKES, STOP THAT CHILD!" Now running, he admonished himself for being so dramatic. He had to admit to himself that his reactions were the result of anger, and that the anger was a matter of injured pride and the earlier mission limitations.

No one with a gun took the pilot seriously. A loader put down a heavy belt of 30mm projectiles for one X-8's gatling gun. Picking up a large metal rod, he swung it along the ground in an effort to trip the child. He received one of the greatest shocks of his life. The boy did not simply jump to avoid the rod. He jumped on the rod, ran along its full length, and kicked the startled ordinance man right between the eyes. The man went down hard, dislodging an unlocked canister of A.S. anti-armor grenades. The large spheres rolled hither and yon across the hangar.

"STOP HIM. STOP HIM YOU IDIOTS!" The boy was running towards the prize, the Halberd. Was it a matter of coincidence, or part of a plan? Could the boy be carrying some form of explosive device? Too late, he remembered something he had heard in passing, earlier that day. One of the base personnel had been showing the A.S. to his son. The machine had accidentally activated itself. "DON'T LET HIM REACH THE MITHRIL A.S.!" Fools! "ONE HUNDRED EUROS TO THE MAN WHO STOPS HIM."

The boy ran fast, in a straight line. He jumped through the cab of low slung tractor, switching the vehicle from Neutral into Reverse. Holding onto the large tow cable momentarily, a mechanic was dragged painfully across the hardened cement. He had not finished hooking the cable to the HBD-5.

Shots rang out. Sparks flew off of the Halberd and a number of nearby ordinance bins. The boy slid under the legs of a welder waiting to intercept him. He then lashed out with a nasty punch to the groin on an ordinance chief who had tried to capture him in a large empty sack.

Climbing the recumbent HBD-5, the boy stopped to type numbers into a key pad, bullets ringing of the hull of the craft close by him. The A.S.'s hatch began to open.

"SHIT!" The pilot slid to a halt. He would try a different tact. The Halberd needed to be captured mostly intact. As long as the scientists could plumb its secrets, and the auctioneers had plenty of desirable parts to sell, the mission would be a glowing success. If the mecha had a few holes in it, or was charred here and there? Well, it was better than not getting it at all, right? He ran towards one of the X-8s sporting a large orange flag. Those three machines were the ones that were ready to roll.

One of the other A.S. pilots figured out what he was up to. He ran to another flagged X-8. A number of other pilots caught on too, racing to see who could reach the third A.S. first.

The mechanics and loaders were too caught up in the confusion and excitement. The other mechas were left only partly prepared for now.

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Father! I remembered the code...

Moto slid in under the opening hatch. No time to wait. Stretching out his foot, he hit a large red button. At the same time, he flipped the switches that would activate the automatic defense system. To make things work their best, however, he needed to get the A.I. Involved.

He slammed a small fist down on a control lever.

"CAUTION. EMERGENCY CLOSE IN THREE SECONDS… TWO… ONE… COMMENCING". A cold mechanical voice. Automatic, but not the A.I.

The hatch fell hard, and then locked. A few stray rounds had made it into the cockpit, embedding themselves in the uninflated escape raft behind the pilot seat.

That was too close. But I'm in. I'm doing what Father told me to do.

Moto watched the signal indicator on the control console. The message system was attempting to reach a Mithril submarine, probably the TDD-2. He hoped someone would answer soon.

The pushing of a button activated the forward view screens. Men were running towards the JSDF Arm Slaves. They were getting in. Even an eight year old had no trouble understanding what was going on.

I hope the automatic systems do SOMETHING.

Moto brought the power system to life. Soon, enough energy was available to stand the HBD-5 up. A series of chimes rang out as lights changed from red to yellow, and from yellow to green. When the last of the flashing green lights stopped blinking on and off, the Halberd announced its readiness.

"POWER ON FULL. MOVEMENT GREEN. WEAPONS GREEN. DEFENSIVE SYSTEM POWERED. LAMBDA DRIVER ON STANDBY."

That was good. Very good. He felt as if he had accomplished something. The instructional program had explained the sequence of actions necessary to check on armament levels. He pushed the necessary buttons.

"GENERAL DYNAMICS XM-809, EIGHT HUNDRED ROUNDS OF URANIUM DEPLETED AP, NO TRACER. BOFORS PCX-75, 30 ROUNDS AP REMAING, WITH 20 ROUNDS OF HE. TWO HASTA HIGH-SPEED ROCKETS WITH KINETIC WARHEADS. HELLBORE RESERVOIR EMPTY. GRENADES AND MINES DEPLETED. SONIC WEAPON DISABLED."

Well, there was ammunition after all. This wouldn't just be a game of Keep Away. Moto didn't know how long that load would last. Should he trust the automatic system? Could it triage intelligently, or might it exhaust the weapons wastefully?

"MOVEMENT DETECTED. ARM SLAVES. IFF IDENTIFIES AS X-8S. FRIENDLIES. IS THIS CORRECT?"

Moto toggled the switch that would give the 'No' response.

"UNDERSTOOD. NOT FRIENDLIES. ONE ENEMY WITHIN DEFENSIVE PERIMETER. ACTIVATING DEFENCES."

The HUD showed a glowing orange crosshairs. The central X centered on the nearest X-8, which was in the process of bringing up its shoulder mounted gatling gun. A loud Whhhiiirrrrrrr sounded, as the HBD-5 brought its own multi-barrel gun to life first.

At that range, the automatic aiming system was more than adequate. The opposing A.S. threw off large orange sparks, then shuddered violently. Moments later, a large explosion ripped the X-8 in two, sending up a cloud of greasy black smoke. The head piece and upper torso rolled across the hangar, scattering the anxious onlookers.

The other two pilots were no slouches, Moto soon found out. One ducked his Arm Slave behind a large row of equipment cannisters. The other moved quickly sideways, crab style, firing his craft's guided missiles. Two stubby rockets flew towards the Halberd in a blur.

Moving by algorithm, the HBD-5 ducked and rolled, avoiding the missiles, but ending up in a precarious position. The visible X-8 shot upward, breaking the chains holding heavy lifting equipment. The resultant rain of large metal parts sent a large noise throughout Moto's cockpit and impeded the movement of his machine.

The light for the gatling gun flashed on the console. "No!" Moto hit the button for manual control. He did not want to waste any ammunition. This was not all that different from some of the video games he played with Father's permission, under the baleful gaze of his mother. There were no Power Ups available. The XM-809 could not hit any opponent from this position.

It was up to him.

The pilot cursed. In three different languages.

That boy was quick. No. In all likelihood, the initial movements had been automatic. Still, the child had needed the presence of mind to activate the system. As a result, one X-8 lay fragmented on the floor. Two others, by excellent planning, were performing a pincer movement. The other X-8s lay fallow, the distracted assholes on the start-up team too befuddled to get back to prep work.

'Let's see how fast the system can react,; he thought. He launched two missiles, pitifully slow compared to the weapons he had used on more advanced Arm Slaves. They missed. Not too much of a surprise. The machine had evaded the Pawns, but had put itself in a situation where it was in serious danger of being check-mated. Looking around the room, he knew just what to do.

The huge metal rafters held miles of chains, hooks, claws, electromagnets, and operator cabins. Some of those could be brought crashing down with a few well-placed shots. He did so, watching the resultant downpour with a large grin.

'Crying for Daddy yet, little boy?'

Movement caught his eye. Someone had set the hangar doors in motion, intending to trap the Halberd inside. Not a bad idea, but they still needed to get the damn thing outside when the helicopter arrived. That should be any minute now. They couldn't afford too much of a delay.

Finally, mechanics and loaders were running to the remaining X-8s. 'About fucking time!' And, someone was actually using his or her brain. A crane truck with a powerful looking electromagnet was heading towards the fallen HBD-5. It wasn't strong enough to lift the A.S. itself, but it could help remove the refuse when necessary, or might even be able to impeded the movement of the boy's machine if he somehow managed to get it back on its feet.

"But why take any chances? Time is of the essence. No one can fault me for wanting to be sure." He hit the switch for the gatling gun. Ammunition was fed into the weapon. Placing his aiming reticule on the target, he opened fire.

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Moto fought to keep his calm.

Too many things were happening at once. One enemy blew up. Another ran out of sight. The third had missed with missiles, but cleverly brought the ceiling down. 'Mother, I remember the story about Chicken Little. The sky really IS falling!' He noted on a side viewer that the big doors were slowly closing. Men were hurrying about their work. Another approaching X-8 was bringing its gatling gun around.

"Urzu-7, this is D-2 com do you read." The communications system, had come to life. The message had gotten through.

"Hello. This is Miyamoto Sagara. The Halberd is being stolen. We are in combat." Moto could not pay to much attention to the conversation. He needed to get the HBD-5 moving before it was brought under further fire.

"Is this a joke? You are on an official line. The consequences for any horseplay will be severe! Identify…." The man on the other end of the com system stopped to listen, startled by a series of loud cracks and spangs.

"No… time…." was all that Moto spat out as the HBD-5 shuddered. Deep gouges were cut into the areas of the Halberd he could see on the view screens. A button caught his eye. It was a drastic ploy. But, this was a drastic situation.

He brought his hand down.

The rocket assist device fired. It was fully charged. The HBD-5 shook, stationery. Then, slowly, it inched forward. Metal was melting, and the cockpit was growing warm, but restraining junk was falling away from the craft. Suddenly, without warning, the Halberd was sent sliding across the floor, aimed directly at the firing enemy machine. The rockets gave out just a moment after impact.

"What is the situation. Report. Special Response Teams have been notified. If this is a hoax…."

Moto ignored the speaker. If he had been Uncle Kurz, the next words from his lips would be something on the order of 'Hoax my ASS!' He cringed, thinking of what Aunt Melissa might say.

He actually cheered as the HBD-5 slid across the floor. Running up against the X-8, he had a momentary reprieve. What should he do now.

"A.I.? Can you hear me A.I.?" No response.

"The A.I. Will respond to specific personnel only. You NEED to make a report, young man. What is the situation?" The voice on the radio was growing angry, but the tone spoke of great fear too.

"Got… to… think… fighting… hijack." That was all the answer Moto was going to give now. Next. Just like in one of my wrestling games. He swung his arms around, the A.S. waldos transmitting his movements to the machine. The Halberd grasped the X-8 and pulled it off of its feet.

A proximity alarm sounded. The third X-8 had stepped into view.

'I hope the pilot holds his fire. His comrade is right next to me. And, what is that truck trying to do?'

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Sousuke was slow in regaining consciousness. But, anyone else would have been under a fair bit longer. By good fortune, he had a partial resistance to the anesthetizing agent used.

Groggy, he realized that he was bound hand and foot. He was gagged. The tight quarters he found himself in were entirely dark. Someone had made a tactical mistake, leaving him alive.

What was going on?

Where was Moto?

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"You little Son of a Bitch!" The pilot was very angry. The warning light on the outside of the HBD-5 had gone out… no longer on automatic, the craft must be under the control of that little whelp. "You think holding me here, in the line of fire, will keep you safe? Watch how a real pilot thinks."

He pulled a lever, exploding the bolts on top of the X-8. Uncovering the button on the top of that same lever, he pushed it. The pilot's seat was ejected, but the pilot was not strapped in. Flipping in mid air, he landed on a large pile of canvas as the seat went on to crash against the far wall. "This ain't make believe, you little worm!"

Laughing, he watched his fellow pilot open up with his gatling gun. Smoke partially hid the firing X-8. Stinging death ripped huge chunks out of the floor, as the stream of bullets made its way towards the Halberd. "Nighty night! Oh, but mama never had a chance to tuck you in!" He sat down. No need to jump in another one of the near ready Arm Slaves.

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"No! I WON?T let my Father down. I… WILL… NOT!" Moto's shout caught him by surprise. He had the HBD-5 moving, but there was no way to avoid that hellish gunfire.

Blue light flickered on in the cockpit. The screens changed color, and a panel opened.

"IMMEDIATE LAMBDA DRIVER START-UP, 25% STRENGTH SHIELDING AVAILABLE. LINK ESTABLISHED. AWAITING COMMANDS."

The digital readout showed the Lambda units progress, as the shields grew in intensity. The stinging metal bees from the opposing Arm Slave bounced harmlessly off of the glowing nimbus.

"My turn!" Moto's intentions sped far ahead of his actually planning. What should he use? Looking at the closed hangar doors, he realized that he might need to find a way to cut through them. "Hello, A.I.?" He hoped the thing would respond and form an effective team with him.

"A.I. OPERATIONAL. PILOT?S BRAIN WAVE PATTERN ANALYZED AND RECOGNIZED. AWAITING COMMANDS." This mechanical voice was subtly different.

"A.I., do we have a monomolecular cutter?"

"AFFIRMATIVE. DO YOU WISH TO EMPLOY IT? THE BUTTON IS HIGHLIGHTED."

True to the A.I.'s statement, one of the weapons buttons was surrounded by a halo of green light. Moto pushed it. Watching the 3-D Arm Slave representation on the HUD, he saw the spectral Halberd place its Portable cannon in its holster, grabbing a long oblong shape.

"CUTTER SECURE AND OPERATIONAL. SELECT APPROPRIATE TORQUE AND ROTATIONAL SPEED."

Uh oh. Moto had no idea what values to select. "A.I., select values appropriate to cutting through a JSDF Arm Slave, X-8 model. Do it now."

"VALUES SET."

Moto moved his arms and legs appropriately, pushing the HBD-5 into a low crouching run. The cutter was held off to the side, like a buzzing wing of death. Backing away, an enemy A.S. fired until its gatling gun spun empty. Missiles were launched, with no greater effect. As the pilot wheeled his craft, ready to run for his life, the Mithril A.S. struck.

Moto jerked in his seat as the blades fought to grab hold. Soon sparks obscured his view as a terrible sound of metal tearing metal filled his ears.

"INCREASING POWER RATIO."

Just as the sparks diminished, the resistance dropped considerably. The madly spinning device had passed through the hollow center of the X-8. Brown-orange hydraulic fluid spurted every which way. A small but eye-catching splotch of red stood out in stark contrast.

Blood. Moto bit his lip. Blood. Human blood. From a man that was just torn asunder. By him. He shivered, the full weight of his action falling on him all at once. This was no heroic dream. This was not a cold and detached video game. A man is dead. Not just that. ANOTHER man is dead. His head spun fiercely. He felt as if he were going to pass out. He rolled up into a tight ball. The Arm Slave sat down, its arms hanging limp at its side.

The blue lighting went out. The panel closed.

"A.I…. A.I… are you there? Don't leave me alone, A.I." Tears were streaming down from Moto's eyes, even though he did not recognize a feeling of sadness. "Father. Where are you, Father?"

"Miyamoto Sagara, do you read? Over. Repeat, do you copy, Miyamoto Sagara?" The voice on the com system was back, insistent.

"Y-Y-Yes, Sir.? Moto watched as a strange looking truck headed in his direction, a large boom extending to full length. A huge disc was swinging at the end of the structure. On other screens, more X-8s were standing up from their resting crouches. "I… I... must fight again…." Moto's voice had a strange warble to it.

"Listen closely, young man. For now, you are Urzu-7. I presume you are Major Sagara's boy…." The voice was stern, but a touch of kindness had made it seem less imposing.

"Yes, sir."

"Well Urzu-7, I am Commander Phillips, acting captain of the TDD-2. We have been watching your video feeds, so I have an idea of what you are trying to accomplish. If you reach a safe place, do not worry about abandoning the Halberd. We will destroy it on the ground, if necessary. We will blow it out of the sky if the enemy helicopter somehow manages to take it airborne, as your actions have given us a link. Your actions have alerted us in time. Good work, son."

Moto watched the view screen, frozen. For some reason, he had to fight to move his limbs. A large CLAAANNNGGG sounded, as the HBD-5 lurched forward. That's a magnet! Men were hauling hooked cables across the floor in his direction. Three X-8s were moving to surround him, each taking one point of a large imaginary triangle.

"Sir… I… I can't…."

"Are you frightened, Urzu-7?" Cmdr. Phillips didn't wait for an answer. The likely reason struck him. "Is it because you killed a man, Miyamoto?" For a moment, he remembered his own reaction, after killing his first adversary up close and personal.

"Yes, sir." Moto closed his eyes, letting out a muffled exclamation as the HBD-5 was pulled off its feet, causing his head to press down hard on his shoulder. "Yes."

"That speaks well of you, son. Especially at so young an age. Your father would be very proud of you. Will be very proud of you. But first, isn't there something he would want you to do, right now?"

"Father?" Moto's head snapped up. Father. He didn't know if his father was alive or dead. "Father!" Fear coursed through him, followed by nascent anger. He could not let his father down.

It was time to get busy again.

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It should have been over.

The HBD-5 should be down, pacified. That damn kid should be injured or dead. Instead, the Lambda Driver activated… but how? At best, one in ten pilots have the capacity to interface with those tricky units. He himself had tried on a number of occasions and failed.

Another reason to hate that child.

Climbing into a ready X-8, after having dragged a lower ranking pilot out by the nostrils, the agent cringed momentarily. He remembered the sight and sound of that unholy chainsaw ripping through the JSDF A.S., and his fellow pilot. 'I sure as shit don't want that happening to ME!' But, there had been a great development… the Lambda Driver had gone dormant or down entirely. The little snot probably got too emotional or overheated. Good to see he's just a little boy after all. I doubt that this is some kind of trick, with him playing possum.

It would be different this time.

He smiled. The guy in the electromagnet truck sure had balls… probably three of them! He went after the Halberd after seeing what that thing did to the second X-8. Magnet attached, he was driving his truck around the HBD-5, cable at maximum extension. Clever man! He's going to wrap that kid up in a cocoon of wire. Nothing the Halberd can do THEN!

Waiting is the hardest part.

The pilot was feeling anxious. True, the HBD-5 was still in a seated position, unmoving. But, this was a prime opportunity to put some holes in it, when there was no return fire and no Lambda Driver. Besides, they were behind schedule, and that fucking brat may have known enough to contact someone at Mithril. If he had done so, the chance for success may be slim to none. If there was no chance at success, there was one thing he wanted to do before making a run for it: he wanted to kill that kid.

Why wait? He activated external speakers:

"TIME IS RUNNING SHORT. MAGNET TRUCK, WITHDRAW. I WILL COMMENCE FIRE IN FIVE SCONDS. HANGAR DOOR OPERATOR, OPEN THE DOORS. MISSION SUCCESS RATE HAS DECREASED. PREPARE TO BOARD HELICOPTER UPON ARRIVAL."

If Mithril had time, it and the sovereign nation of Japan could send up enough aircraft to brush away the helicopter's escort. The copter itself had a cloaking system similar to that used on Mithril's machines. But, Mithril may well have a way to defeat any technology they have intimate knowledge of. If that were the case here, the best they could hope for then might be a short ride and a drop off in a heavily populated area of the city… they could all work on their own to blend in and escape at that point.

It had been only four seconds, but he could not wait any longer. Smiling, he squeezed the trigger for the gatling gun.

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Fully armed, Sousuke made his way through the deserted areas of the base. Everywhere he passed, men and women were unconscious and restrained. There was no time to check on them now. He knew where his priorities lay.

Moto, first. The HBD-5, second. Retribution? He was a soldier, and shouldn't be concerned with anything so petty. But, he was also a father of a son in danger. Retribution ranked a close third. If anyone had harmed Moto, the types of things that he had done in Afghanistan would be just a way to break the ice.

There was a risk he dreaded. In this circumstance, non-lethal force was not called for. Even though he himself was conscious, he would have to consider any waking person an adversary. An adversary should consider himself or herself a dead man walking. But, if he were to kill innocent personnel?

"How?" That was the only word the first man said. He made it easy for Sousuke… he was carrying a gun and standing guard. No friendly would be doing that, there. A burst from his M89 assault rifle hit the man across the mid section, folding him up like a cot.

"Look out, there's-" The armed woman managed to get three words out. Obviously, she was a fast talker. Only her head and one shoulder had been visible to Sousuke. He put bullets into both .

There was a group of enemy combatants ahead. The fools are reacting too slowly. What do they think the gunshots mean? Would their comrades be shooting unconscious victims? 'This is combat, IDIOTS!' These people must be the support personnel for the mission, stuck on perimeter duty. Not expert soldiers. Sousuke planned to go through them like a scythe through wheat.

A long burst from the M89 brought some sense back to the enemy forces… at least to those who still lived. Fighting with each other for position, the jumped behind desks and metal filing cabinets, weapons at the ready.

'Can't rush in there as it is. Even pitiful soldiers could take me down. Time to even the odds.' Sousuke pulled the pins on two fragmentation grenades. He lobbed them into the room at strategic points.

"Grenade!" That highly insightful word was the last one uttered by anyone in that room. The explosion did its job. Carefully passing through the room, Sousuke absentmindedly considered what kind of mess the clean-up up crew would have to deal with tomorrow. This was a little bit more than an ink spill or a mocha catastrophe.

Everyone must serve in his or her way.

Dodging around corners and fighting his way through further light resistance, Sousuke couldn't help but think about another risk he dreaded. Kaname. Just what would she say and do when he and Moto got home? What could he possibly say to her if their eldest son didn't come home?

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"If you do what you must son, bad people may die, but many more good people will live. Your own life is worth more than all of those bad men combined. The lives of the innocent people that could be harmed by illicit spread of the technology in that Arm Slave are in your hands." Cmdr. Phillips words echoed in Moto's ears.

"A.I., please reactivate." There was no change in the lighting or the control panel.

A quick scan of the full compliment of view screens showed that he and the HBD-5 were in a growing predicament. That wire could cause a problem. But, the truck wasn't finished, yet started to back away. Moto was swift enough of mind to figure out one possible cause of that.

'Gotta move. Now.'

Back in combat position, Moto brought the Halberd back to life. "I'm on it, Commanader!"

"Stout lad!" Moto could pick out a trace of pride in the distant man's voice.

"I'm on it, Father…." he whispered to himself.

There was a simple mistake in the plan to wrap him up in cable. The monomolecular cutter was still in hand, and was up against the body of the A.S. A desperate move should work. Activating the cutter would injure the HBD-5, but should allow him to cut through the restraints before the Halberd was too seriously injured. Or so he hoped.

He pushed the button.

The Arm Slave shuddered, and a horrible noise shook him to his very core. Damage control lights flickered on, in ever increasing numbers. Smoke began to fill the cockpit. But he was free.

A small victory!

His thought was short-lived. The HBD-5 was thrown backwards. Small streams of light shown into the cockpit from the outside, through holes made by one of the X-8's gatling gun. What to do? THINK!

Images flashed before his eyes. His school. His friends. The playground. None of the other children would believe what he had been through so far, even if he could tell them. Never mind that. Why am I thinking this, NOW? Running. Races. It's what I do well.

Moto had planned on running and dodging about the hangar area, but caught sight of the opening hangar doors. There! He through a control lever full forward, activating full motile power. Chased by fire from his fiercest adversary and the other two X-8s, he ran in a random weaving pattern. Cranes, trucks, barrels of fuel, and pallets of ammunition were hit by the fire that narrowly missed him. Men and women were rushing to light vehicles and jeeps, or simply running, trying to get out of the way. As long as Moto headed for the exit, was chased, and was fired upon, the exit was closed to everyone but the fighting Arm Slaves.

The HBD-5 was knocked off its feet by a missile strike. It could not afford to remain stationary even for a moment. At the cost of making himself terribly dizzy, Moto executed a log roll, moving the craft out of the path of a withering spray of projectiles. Disoriented, he still had enough presence of mind to run his machine behind a large row of fire fighting equipment.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. A.I., please activate. PLEASE!" Still no sign of life from the capricious A.I.

"Hang in there young man. Just keep doing what you are doing. The whole crew is rooting for you!" Cmdr. Phillip's words buoyed Moto's spirit. He was good at Dodge Ball. He could do this.

Time passed. The hangar was ablaze in spots. Heavy equipment fell. Smoke began to impair visibility. He ran, slid, jumped, and rolled countless times, too busy staying alive to return fire against three opponents. Suddenly, his luck came to an end.

He found himself trapped in a corner.

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He was not about to be stopped.

Sousuke cut a swath of death and destruction through the groups of insurgents that stood in his path. Those that were smart enough to run would no doubt report to the real combat specialists. That would make things more difficult. But, he had been in tighter spots than this before.

He finished off a clip against a group of mechanics who had run away from the chaos behind them. What they found waiting for them was much more dangerous. They had no opportunity to ponder the error of their ways. Looking into the hangar, Sousuke caught a glimpse of the Halberd. It was running. It was being chased. Fire was converging on it from every direction.

MOTO!

His top choice would have been to commandeer one of the X-8s. But, there were groups of armed men scattered across the hangar area. He would die before he reached an Arm Slave. There was another option… somewhat drastic, and perhaps something out of an adventure movie. A holding area for lesser used armored vehicles was situated right next to the hangar.

No one got in Sousuke?s way during his mad dash. He ran hard until it felt as if his lungs had caught fire. There was no time to waste. If the vehicle he wanted was there, there might be a chance. IF it had been kept fueled and armed as it was supposed to be. A tank would have been better. Tanks and APVs were kept at the far end of the compound. No doubt the planners of this operation had taken them into account.

The Type 87 would do just fine.

Kicking open the door, he stepped inside the garage. Flipping a switch lit a large bank of fluorescent lights. Running past old model armored recovery vehicles and retired tanker trucks, he stopped at his destination. The Type 87. The previous generation self-propelled Anti-Aircraft vehicle, its twin 35mms situated at each end of a turret, all resting on a heavily armored MBT chassis.

Sousuke first dropped into the driver's position. Saying a short prayer, he pushed the starter button. The engine coughed, then roared to life. Fate was smiling on him. This would still be tricky for one man, but he would do whatever he could. Climbing up the front of the turret, he slid down into the gunner's seat. The guns needed to be traversed to the rear for now. He did so.

Back in the driver's compartment, he pulled back a lever and set the 44,000 kg machine rolling in reverse. Shoving the lever forward, he built up speed as he headed for the large set of doors leading into the hangar.

"I'm coming, son"

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He couldn't help himself.

The pilot found himself feeling a grudging respect for the kid. True, the magnificent machine was doing the work… but, the boy was showing inborn talent. Naturally, he had found himself respecting a foe on a number of occasions in the past, as well. That had never kept him from snuffing them out on the spot.

By the odds alone, there was no way that one Arm Slave could continue to evade three others. Watching as groups of people ran or drove out onto the runway area, the pilot knew the helicopter would be taking off fairly soon. 'Before the sands in the hourglass ran out, I want to see that little shit's luck run out!'

It looked as if his wish were to be granted. Three aisles between towering stacks of equipment led to one corner of the hangar. An X-8 now sat at the mouth of each aisle. The Halberd was backed into the corner. "No way out now, kiddo! It's been a good run. Look on the bright side… you won't have to go to school anymore…."

One of the other JSDF mechas launched a pair of missiles at the Mithril craft. The pilot cursed. "Damn your bloody carcass to Hell. He's mine!" There were not enough rounds left in the gatling gun to support a prolonged duel. But, there ought to be enough to bring that little fuck down! Pressing the trigger, he added to the firepower concentrated on the HBD-5.

A loud noise could be heard behind the X-8s. A pair of large doors had been pushed open. An armored vehicle headed in their direction. It stopped. Stunned, or fixated on the Halberd, none of the A.S. pilots fired as a man jumped out of the driver's hatch and disappeared inside the turret. One X-8 turned to face the new foe, bringing up its portable cannon. Its operator had waited too long.

The pilot kept his attention on the boy and his machine. The HBD-5 was firing back with its Bofors, concentrating on one of the other X-8s. Perfect!

He had spoken too soon. At the same time shrapnel bounced past his view screens from behind, the glowing blue cloud of light reappeared around the Mithril A.S.

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Sparks were flying around inside of the HBD-5 now.

Threat alarms were screaming for attention and the % function on the Arm Slaves limbs, servos, and power plant were steadily dropping. Blood dripped down from a cut on Moto's forehead, obscuring the vision in one eye. He did not have the time to wipe it away.

His gatling gun ran out quickly. He took a number of missile hits while bringing the Bofors back out, the Halberd falling down to one knee under the unrelenting punishment. After placing a number of solid hits on his opponent, Moto felt close to tears when he saw the portable cannon fractured by return fire. Something else was moving on one of the view screens.

He couldn't spare it any attention.

He was too close to use his missiles. There was no time to get out the cutter or Anti-Armor dagger. Running would accomplish little, but he had no other options left. If he could knock down one X-8, and run free down its aisle, he might prolong this game a little longer. "A.I., YOU AREN?T DOING YOUR JOB. I'M JUST A KID AND I'M FIGHTING. A.I.!"

A stray thought passed through Moto?s head, just as time seemed to be slowing down.' I REALLY have to go to the bathroom. BAD! How come they never show THAT in any of the action movies or video games?'

"LAMBDA DRIVER CAPACITY COMING BACK ON LINE. ARM SLAVE STATUS SEVERE, NEARING CRITICAL. SHIELD STRENGTH RISING."

The blue light was back. The panel was back. Moto's hope returned as well. He didn't know how long the quirky system would stay on line this time, but he meant to make the most of it. With a somewhat less stressful atmosphere surrounding him, he took notice of the new arrival to the battlefield. It was an Anti-Aircraft vehicle. He could not place the designation, but didn't care at that moment. It appeared to be on HIS side. The HBD-5 stopped in its tracks momentarily, as Moto took a moment to clap his hands. One of the X-8s had been brought down with extreme prejudice by his ally.

"A.I., highlight weapons buttons. Red light for rockets… blue light for monomolecular cutter… green light for Anti-Armor dagger. Do it now."

"DONE."

Charging at one X-8, Moto pushed the button for the Anti-Armor dagger. His mind working quickly, he decided on a course of action. His own safety was not his highest concern at the moment. There was no way that he could consider any of his actions a success if a single bad guy escaped. He would deal that X-8 pain in passing, but he wanted to find that helicopter and do it wrong.

With a powerful downward swing, the HBD-5 brought down its Anti-Armor dagger dead center in the chest of the doomed JSDF Arm Slave. Moto left the dagger behind, not knowing that its blade had pierced the pilot the way a pin does a butterfly on a display board. Looking in his rear view screen, he saw that the final X-8 was following his footsteps, thirty yards back or thereabouts. Stacks of supplies were shredded alongside the X-8 as the unseen A.A. vehicle continued to fire.

"WARNING. SYSTEMS SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. LAMBDA DRIVER UNSTABLE. SHIELDS WILL BE DOWN IN TEN SECONDS… NINE… EIGHT…."

"Dammit!" Moto blushed, taken by surprise by his own outburst. But, it was justified. Not only was there an X-8 on his six, but he also caught sight of two newcomers joining the fight. All this, just as the blasted Lambda Driver system was announcing its next seizure.

"…FIVE… FOUR… THREE…."

Moto had chosen an arcing path, to give him a better view of the Mi-26. The two fresh X-8s were not following. In fact, they were heading directly for the helicopter. Moto realized why. The helicopter's rotors were a blur. Its wheels hopped a few inches above the runway… settled back down… and hopped again. The surviving enemy forces were about to make their break for it.

'Not if I can help it.'

"…TWO… ONE… LAMBDA DRIVER SHUTDOWN."

Moto pushed the button outlined by red light. A grid came up on his HUD that described various flight paths available; listed wind and atmospheric conditions; and suggested various probabilities of success for various firing stratagems. Working the chairside mouse, he brought his cursor over to one option and left-clicked twice.

There was a slight jolt as two Hasta missiles launched. The two new generation hypervelocity weapons screamed as they closed on the target helicopter. Moto strove to keep from thinking about the number of casualties when he saw the Mi-26 come apart like a model copter packed with M-80s.

There was no time to celebrate victory. The last thing he remembered was tumbling over and over again.

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This was almost too much to take.

'First the damn thing is vulnerable. Then the damn cloak of invulnerability appears out of nowhere. Then it's vulnerable again. And then not.' The pilot had long since used up every off-color word that he knew.

A violent man by profession, he had nevertheless looked down on anyone who had shown himself to be morbidly attracted to torture or pain. Until today. He could almost understand how those types of people felt. He cursed the vagaries of fate. He put the black mark on himself. His earlier though danced about his mind, shaking its figurative finger in his face.

'Besides, what harm could a small child do?'

The Halberd had been on the verge of being brought down like an antelope bitten in the neck by a lioness. Then, the damned Lambda Driver system came to life again. Now, an armored vehicle on his tail, he followed after the HBD-5, hoping the defensive system would go on the fritz. The pilot counted what little blessings he had left. At least that fucking brat never learned how to use the stupid thing to its best offensive capacity.

He bowed his head a moment as he passed by a fallen X-8, its pilot compartment pierced grotesquely by a large dagger. Another comrade down. He himself was not about to be defeated by a child. He would lay that boy's death on his fellow pilots' graves in place of flowers. "I SWEAR IT!"

The pilot hit a switch that added a filter to the view screen as his X-8 ran out into the bright sun. He watched with a sense of detachment as two missiles fired from the Halberd, leaving smoke trails behind. Before he could blink twice, the helicopter had been blown asunder. Flaming rotor fragments arced across his field of vision as the largest intact portions of fuselage compacted themselves against the unyielding ground, setting of a serious of explosions.

More graves. More comrades in need of justice.

"YES!" His faith had been well placed. The glowing shield was gone again. He had a clear shot at the rear of the stationary HBD-5. Two other X-8s had passed him by, but were not orienting on the prey. "Thank you. He's MINE!"

He fired his two remaining missiles. His aim had been exemplary. A large smile broke out on his face as he saw the closely placed explosions throw the Mithril Arm Slave into a series of rolls. With a great deal of relish, he armed his X-8 with its own Anti-Armor dagger.

One stab for each of the fallen!

His heart race increased steadily with each step his A.S. took towards his adversary. The HBD-5 was not moving. There would be no miracle shield this time.

Spanggg spanggg spanggg spanggg WHAMMM WHAMMM.

"Wha…"

Sousuke rode the adrenalin wave until he threatened to wipe out.

Throwing the vehicle into a mad rush, he had burst through the metal doors. Careening the Type 87 against large metal shelving units, he caused a thunderous cascade of supplies and equipment in his wake. At one point, rather than slowing down for a tedious series of turns, he burst straight through on large rack. He only hoped that the gun barrels would not be damaged. This was NOT Driver's Ed. There was no time for hand signals or safe driving. The only test he wanted to pass was the final exam for 'Saving Moto 101.'

If he had a driver, and were sitting in the gunners station, he would have taken shots at the armored cars and trucks he saw heading out of the hangar. They very well could be carrying ATGMs that could be a threat to himself or his son. They were not a priority target under the circumstances.

Two men in mechanics overalls rushed straight into his path, turning in horror. Sousuke hardly felt a bump as he squashed them beneath his treads. I certainly hope they were the enemy! A speeding jeep, with only one occupant, met a similar fate when it drove out from behind one large wall of crates. Sousuke cursed. He couldn't afford to throw a track as a result of a collision.

Turning one corner, he caught sight of a scene that took his breath away. The HBD-5 was cornered. There was an X-8 between him and Moto, and visible gun barrels from at least two more. Without applying the brakes or downshifting, Sousuke pulled himself out of the driver's hatch. Leaping and climbing, he felt something in his groin pull as he made his way in a rush to the gunner's station. Ignoring the pain, he sighted his twin cannons as the vehicle slowed to a halt.

ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk ChChunk chinggg chinggg chinggg chinggg chinggg chinggg

The dual 35mm guns fired at a fearsome clip, sending a double spray of shell casings ricocheting off the surrounding wall and stacks.

Sousuke grunted with satisfaction as the targeted X-8 began throwing off small pieces of metal, and then lost one mechanical arm and both legs. Good thing these Arm Slaves weren't Venoms or better. No time to savor his small victory. He had to move to a point where he could see a suitable target. Sliding down to the armored deck, Sousuke grimaced in pain as he landed. Engine roaring, the Type 87 began its forward approach once more.

Head raised above the hatch opening, he saw the Halberd begin to wither under fire, but Moto was fighting back gamely. The Bofors was destroyed, and Sousuke knew the A.S. was effectively defenseless in its current location. He didn't have a clear enough view to be of any assistance. 'Please. I don't want to witness the death of my son!'

The HBD-5 began to move. The Lambda Driver came back on line! Moto's machine ran out of Sousuke's view. An X-8 strode quickly into view, but disappeared as it followed after the Halberd. Sousuke hoped that the glowing shield would hold up. If it didn't, he would have some words to say with Mithril mechanics when all of this was finished.

He would bring a large stick with him if anything happened to Moto.

An X-8 sporting a huge blade in its chest blocked his path. There was no time to look for an alternate route. He would have to risk climbing over it. If the fallen machine was not as bad off as it seemed, he may be in for some trouble. Dark exhaust shot out of vents on the armored vehicles rear deck as Sousuke gunned the engine after making initial contact with the obstructing A.S. After a series of bumps and bounces, and a drastic angle of ascent and descent, he slid the Type 87 through the corner of a large pyramid of waste oil barrels, aiming his vehicle for the open hangar doors.

"Damn!" Sousuke caught sight of two more X-8s. Swerving his vehicle for a moment, he took a look into the hangar area behind him. 'Good!? No additional mechas in sight'. As soon as he ran out into the open, he stopped the Type 87 abruptly and changed positions once again. He felt like cheering as he saw the HBD-5 launch two missiles and bring the Mi-26 down hard. His heart was in his throat when he saw the Lambda Driver shield go down. "Just a moment more!" He shouted, firing on the X-8 heading for Moto. His shots came too late to prevent the launch of two missiles.

The HBD-5 was down. The X-8 approached, Anti-Armor dagger raised. Seeing red, Sousuke emptied both cannons on the JSDF Arm Slave, watching it smoke and quickly explode.

"Moto!"

He had himself to worry about as well. Helicopter down, and a perceived threat sighted, the two remaining active X-8s brought their weapons to bear on the Type 87. Sousuke knew his time was up. He whispered quietly to himself: 'Kaname. Moto. Tomoe. Shusaku.'

Cement jumped up in large chunks in front of the enemy mechas. Two Halberds were firing from the air, descending at a rapid rate, their ECS now turned off. Two more HBD-5s had hit the ground running, their long-range flying wings discarded. Caught by surprise, the X-8 pilots did not have time to raise their machines' arms in surrender before the fire from the four Mithril craft found their mark. There would be very little of the bodies left for identification purposes.

Not too much later, two Mithril troop helicopters popped into view, escorted by a flight of six anti-tank copters. Jets roared overhead, fresh from their victory against the air arm of the marauding forces.

"Better late than never," Sousuke said somewhat sourly, as he jumped to the ground and started limping towards his son's Arm Slave.

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Moto heard himself groaning. It caught him by surprise, until he remembered just what he had gone through. Someone was shining a light into his eyes, one at a time. The obnoxious odor of smelling salts lingered in his nostrils.

Opening his eyes voluntarily, he saw a crowd of strangers, all of whom smiled or applauded when they saw he was OK. His head moving from side to side, Moto caught sight of the one person he most wanted to see.

"Father! Father, you're still alive." Moto couldn't help himself. Tears fell.

Sousuke himself was not one for tears. There were few time in his life when he had cried. His arms wrapped carefully around his son, this was one of those times.

"Moto, how are you feeling. What can the medical team do for you?" Sousuke knew it was almost a pointless question, given the state his boy must be in… but, it gave him a chance to judge his faculties. It gave his son the opportunity to see that his father was deeply concerned for his welfare.

"Father… I REALLY need to pee!"

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The doctors reassured everyone that Moto was fine.

He would not need to be hospitalized for observation. Sousuke was in considerable more pain than his son, but nothing could be done for him except for rest, pain killers, and an appointment for physical therapy. There had been very few friendly casualties in the hijack attempt. The enemy, in stark contrast, filled a large number of body bags.

Collateral damage was an entirely different matter. Given the enormity of the crisis, no one was tempted to speak on that topic, today. Fortunately, no part of the base exhibited severe enough damage necessitating it be shut down.

The events would certainly cause base personnel, and the upper brass of the JSDF, to think long and hard about base security. The folks in C&C and Intel at Mithril would no doubt be burning the midnight oil as well. But, for the moment, it was a time to rejoice in the kind glow of Fate. It was a time to celebrate heroes, young and old. As Mithril was no longer a covert agency jealously guarding its identity, Sousuke had no trump card to play.

There would be no way to keep things out of the news.

It wasn't as if Sousuke was going to lie to Kaname, or ask their son to keep his mouth shut. When Kaname saw Moto's bruises and scrapes, she would pounce on his father like a cat on a mouse. No, the danger lay in the power of repetition. If the story showed up on every channel… every minute for hours on end… Sousuke knew exactly what sort of steam Kaname would build up. He was safer in the Type 87, caught square in the crosshairs of two enemy X-8s.

Debriefing could wait for the next morning. The base commander, himself still groggy, graciously allowed Sousuke and Moto to return to the comfort… and relative safety… of their own home. Convincing himself that he was not delaying matters, but was rather rewarding his son's bravery and successful actions, Sousuke took his son to their favorite ice cream shop. Moto chose a syrup-covered concoction larger than his head. His father smiled, watching him eat until he couldn't take another bite.

They both drove home in silence, too exhausted to speak. Sousuke paid extra attention to the road, knowing that more deaths occurred on the highway than did in A.S. battles. Glancing over at his son, who had fallen asleep, he smiled as he remembered something that Moto once said as they drove home from pre-school:

"Moto, Father can't pay too much attention to you now. Driving a car is a very important mission. Great caution is called for. Most accidents occur within twenty-five miles of the home."

"Father, does that mean twenty-five miles from where we live now?"

"Yes, Moto."

"Father, why don't we move then?"

After parking the car, Sousuke took Moto up into his arms. He wondered what his son might be dreaming. How could anything be more exciting than the adventure he lived through today? On a serious note, he wondered what scars would be left behind emotionally, if any. He would talk to a combat psychologist at Mithril and see what advice he or she might have to offer.

Sousuke stopped at the foot of the stairway leading up the hill to his home. A variant on the old adage came to mind. 'Most injuries take place within twenty five steps of where I now stand.' Squaring his shoulders, he went on to face the inevitable.

Nearing the top of the stairs, the front door opened. Tomoe's and Shusaku's heads poked out. Kaname stood in the center of the doorway. She looked at Moto, and then at Sousuke. Her face was drawn. Both hands were on her hips at first, but reached outward when Sosuke brought their eldest son near.

"Is he OK, Sousuke?" Kaname's voice cracked. Sousuke recognized that inflection. It was the 'I'm scared, because I know something, but haven't been given too many details' voice. "I received a phone call from the base saying something happened. They said you both were on the way home. The news showed…." She needed to catch her breath. "The news showed destroyed vehicles and body bags. The Halberd. The Halberd was down, smoking."

"He'll be fine, Kaname. He's exhausted."

"Were you injured in the Halberd, Sousuke? I don't see any bandages."

Sousuke stood quietly for a few moments. "I was not in the A.S., Kaname." Sousuke?s posture and voice would have given nothing away to any person on earth… except for his wife. "I was unconscious at first. Then, I came to the Halberd's rescue, just as Mithril troops came to mine."

Kaname began to get suspicious. The only thing that held her back was the absolute absurdity of her thought. She took Moto from Sousuke's grasp, cradling her son in her arms. His eyes opened.

"Please don't get angry at Father, Mother. We won." Moto's voice was quiet, but strong. Snuggling close against his mother's warmth, he quickly fell back to sleep.

Kaname turned towards Sousuke, the narrowing of her eyes not hiding the bonfire growing within. She silently mouthed the word 'we.' She spoke very slowly and very deliberately. "Sousuke… who… was… in… the… Halberd….."

"Here, hand Moto over to me. He must be getting heavy in your arms. Let's tuck him into bed. Then you can give me a long deep kiss. I've been thinking about that all day." Sousuke took Moto back into his arms. "I'll tell you all about things. Maybe we should wait until the kids are asleep, and you and I can sit together in the soaking tub. I have a rather nasty groin pull, and can certainly use some tender ministrations."

Kaname's expression did not change. She didn't take a single step following Sousuke, who had just started into the foyer. "Sousuke… WHO… was… in… the… Halberd…."

Sousuke stopped. He answered in a very quiet voice: "Moto was."

"Tomoe, Shusaku, go jump into your beds!" Kaname gave her youngest two children quick pecks on the cheeks before patting them on their rumps.

"Uh Oh, Daddy's in big trouble again?" Tomoe sang.

"Oh oh, Dada's bitrubba…." Shusaku mimicked, tripping over the footies on his nightwear.

Kaname followed silently behind Sousuke as he carried Moto into his room and put him to bed. When they walked out, Kaname gave Sousuke a short kiss on the lips.

Sousuke raised his eyebrows, a slight feeling of hope rising up within.

"Before you get down to business and tell me everything that happened today… before the stop at the ice cream shop… let me tell you that that kiss might be the last one you get for a while. And Sousuke…." Kaname?s face was unreadable.

"Yes, Kaname?" There was a growing lump in Sousuke?s throat.

"About that groin injury. It's OK. You won't be needing anything down there for a few weeks….." Walking closer, she added "…Minimum!"

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The End