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.

85. Emi's Gambit

Soldier of OZ: Walker's Account

Chapter 85 – Emi's Gambit

"Offended by what?"

Ogasawara Emi, in a dark-colored tanktop over her white uniform trousers, stared at Flight Lieutenant Kent from her chair. Every so often, Kent's nominal superior in the First Recon Battalion would say something sufficiently abrupt or unexpected that it would leave the older officer at a loss for words. Kent had that look presently; If Emi was amused by her victory, she didn't indicate it presently.

"Well, the fact that there's someone better," was his eventual reply, with just enough convincing confidence that he managed to recover a little of the typical swagger he'd possessed when entered her office at the battalion headquarters outside Diekirch.

"There's always someone better," a younger woman smirked from behind him. Kent could tell there Tsujimoto Nabiki was in the opposite corner, legs propped up on a folding table.

"Oh, that's easy for you to say, little girl," he replied cockily. "Leave this to the actual pilots, will you?"

As usual, the insult just left Natsumi grinning more.

"She's right," Emi corrected him, almost sounding academic. "I never said I was the best. Or one of the two best."

"But you did say you were the best pilot in the First Recon Battalion," Kent pointed out. "Multiple times, in fact. Who else would there be?"

Emi put down the pen she was holding and looked up briefly from the neat stack of paperwork, large, dark maroon eyes flashing in annoyance. "Well, the Gundam pilots, I'd presume. Next, the late Zechs Merquise."

"Fine, you're the best pilot in OZ," Kent added quickly. "The point is, they're sending out the Armonia Sisters to kill Zechs."

"And you think they should be sending me?" Emi asked, the corner of her mouth curling up coldly.

"I think they should be sending us, the whole battalion. We're the pride of the World Nations Space Forces, aren't we? Here on Earth," he concluded awkwardly.

"Why do you care?" Natsumi asked.

He finally turned to face her. "Same reason you ought to—it's my duty."

"I find that hard to believe, Kenchan."

"So do I," Emi muttered in agreement as Kent dismissed her with a wave of his hand and turned back to his superior. "That's not something I'd think would bother you, actually: duty."

Kent glanced up at the ceiling with a sigh before putting his palms on the folding table. "Fine, I'll spare you the niceties. Sooner or late, we're all gonna' go up to Outer Space to fight. Some of us are going up there to die. It's part of the job. What I'm sayin' is that, for once, those big brains up on Herrenberg Hill tried to solve a problem weeks rather than months late, and His Excellency isn't stopping them." With Emi still sitting, he knelt down slightly. "Kill Zechs, and at best, all of this goes away. At worse, the White Fang has to figure out how to act like a proper navy, so maybe they'll be half as assed as we are."

"I never said it wasn't a good idea," Emi added calmly.

"Like most unchivalrous ones," he jeered. "But we need to be real here: we might only have one chance at this. If Zechs isn't completely stupid with power, he shouldn't give a potential kill squad more than one chance at him."

"He might be," Natsumi offered.

"Yes, he might be; you wanna' risk the whole war on that?" Kent growled over his shoulder. "It's a good idea, but they're not following through, as usual."

"And we would be the follow-through?" Emi asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"A company or more of the best Taurus troops in Earth Sphere? Instead of just two Gundams? Assuming you can't have both," Kent speculated.

"I have to say, Kent, I didn't see this coming from you. Sir Jerome Kent, Knight of the Romefeller Foundation, the paragon of duty."

"Keep joking, but you know I'm right." He rubbed his crooked nose. "And to get it out of the way, it's nothing against the man himself. Zechs Merquise was a great man a year ago. Maybe less. But right now, the fucker's crazy and he needs to die for everybody's good."

"Very poetic, Kenchan," Nabiki piped in.

Kent stood up to his full height and raised both hands in warning before turning to the door. "Don't say I didn't warn all of you. The general staff's got the right idea, but they're sending the wrong people."

"Kent, if you think the Armonia sisters aren't, in fact, capable killing machines, you've probably got the wrong idea."

"What I think is that two Gundams aren't going to be enough," he informed her, halfway to the door.

"Why not send the whole Space Forces Navy then?" Nabiki teased.

Kent raised an eyebrow, but departed without a further word. Emi's eyes wandered back to her paperwork, then to Nabiki. "He may have a point."

Nabiki gave an unconcerned smirk, flipping her hair with one hand. "Upset they didn't send you? Jealousy's not a good look, jealousy over killing more so."

"I wouldn't rule that out yet," Emi warned her, tapping her pen twice against the folding table before tossing it at Nabiki, who barely responded in time to catch it. "Remember Walker?"

"How couldn't I?" she grinned mischievously.

Emi rolled her eyes. "He's looking for a pilot for the new Tallgeese at Findel."

Nabiki's dark brown eyes widened. "And you think…?"

Emi imitated Kent, her arms apart and hands raised, palms to the younger woman. "Paperwork's for people who aren't pilots. Enjoy."

II

"I think we might need to kill Sean."

"Who?" Carmen Soletta turned in the quarters she shared with her collaborator. Livia Semis was adjusting her baggy uniform tunic under her harness, before opening the leather holster on her right side. Soletta resisted the urge to check her own holstered sidearm.

"Lieutenant Thompson. The guy with the arm."

"Oh, him." Sean Thompson's friendly smiling appearance appeared in her mind. She could also see the problem: if there was anyone aboard Libra who suspected the reason behind their defection, acting on OZ's behalf, it was probably Thompson. "We might," she concluded carefully.

"I'm not happy about it either," Livia assured her. "I mean, he's a little annoying but I don't want to murder him. Not that it wouldn't be too difficult."

Carmen sighed. She could see where this was going. "What do you have in mind?" she asked, not bothering to hide the impatience in her voice.

"You know the primary passage up to the north block? There's two secondaries along that, same level."

"And one of them is sealed, yes."

"Sealed, but not inaccessible." There was no concealing the reality that Libra was probably too large a super-battleship for the entirety of the White Fang Navy, much less the skeleton compliment afforded to her. Even after its completion, entire sections deemed unnecessary for daily traffic and combat readiness were sealed, cut off the life support system and left at little or no atmosphere; in the south block, this extended to an entire unoccupied deck. Most could be pressurized as needed by any of the crew. "Maintenance passage twelve off the starboard passage, there's a vertical shaft or vent or something about halfway between the accessways. Knock someone out, leave them in there, then depressurize the whole section. They'd be lucky if they found him when salvage teams were combing the wreck in twenty years, whatever hasn't deorbited."

"You realize knocking someone out isn't as easy as cinema suggests?" Carmen asked.

"Fine, restrain him, whatever. The point is, he suffocates to death and no one finds him any time soon. If we have to kill Thompson to keep our cover, we might as well get away with it." Livia's expression managed to look even more concentrated. "Which leaves the exponentially bigger problem of Zechs."

"You want to stuff Zechs into a sealed compartment and depressurize it?" Carmen asked her, holding back an incredulous laugh.

"I'm hoping a Gundam might do that," Livia hissed in response. "Who cares which one. It'd make this problem a lot easier to deal with, then we can move onto the next military revolt."

"Rethinking your career in OZ?"

"I'm rethinking my career in the military period. I'm tired of dealing with dangerous people, assholes, and dangerous assholes." Carmen was having trouble controlling her smirk and she shot her a look. "And don't think the Alliance was any better. I read the after-action report on 'Citadel'. Congratulations are wrecking half a city."

She half-expected Carmen to easily lay her out. Instead the Noventan gave a patronizing shrug. "So, Sean Thompson. Anyone else?"

"No, just him. I can't get a feeling if it's all just a brilliant acting job, or he's actually as oblivious as he seems. But I don't think we have to worry about anyone else. Yet."

"Poor kid. You don't think we could….throw him off somehow?"

"How?" Livia raised an eyebrow. "Make out in front of him?"

"You don't think that would work?" Carmen gave the younger woman a distant, almost scientific look.

An abrupt chill ran down her spine. "No, not really." She gave her wristwatch a nervous glance. "Come on, we have to show up for our alleged jobs before casting even more suspicion."

Carmen nodded and reached to the small unfolded tabletop by their bunk, taking the small electronic anti-eavesdropping countermeasure, a little larger than her thumb. She folded its polished rectangular stand into the metal body, slipped it into her trouser pockets, then likewise folded the table up into the cabin wall.

"Any word from the Barton Foundation?" they could hear First Lieutenant Thompson asking uncomfortably loudly when they found him in his ready room.

"Why are you asking him?" Second Lieutenant Carey asked sharply before Major Ishikawa could respond.

"I just…" Thompson began awkwardly as he saw Carmen and Livia discreetly enter through the open doorway. "Good, you're here," he cried out, exasperated.

"We were just trying to get Lieutenant Carey to stop bullying Lieutenant Thompson," Ishikawa said, a smirk appearing under his dark beard. Ishikawa now had one of the olive drab daily uniforms, albeit missing its scarf and unbuttoned at the collar, favored by the more prestigious officers aboard Libra.

"The party leader isn't joining us today?" Livia asked as innocently as she could manage. Carmen nearly rolled her eyes.

"No, I think not," Sub-Lieutenant McIntyre responded, having traded his OZ Space Forces uniform for a common brown-and-green working uniform. "I don't think either of you have met Lieutenant Somerset. A veteran of the Colonial militia, like yourself, Captain Soletta." Accordingly, a very slender, dark-haired woman with pale features raised her hand in the front row of seats and looked over her shoulder.

"Nice to meet you," Livia managed to mumble as she and Carmen drifted to the free seats in the front row.

"If you mind me asking, what's the Barton Foundation?" Carmen asked loudly. Livia glanced up at her.

Thompson looked immediately flustered once more. "They're the major non-government organization out of L3, on the intercolony scale. They've taken control of the industrial base in the area 'X', and have a history with the Colonial Liberation Organization two decades ago."

"And that's good thing?" Livia asked, sounding hopeful.

"That's what we're hoping. But contrary to what Lieutenant Carey is suggesting, it might be too early to approach the matter that way. In the meantime, we have a more immediate concern in the World Nation Space Navy."

"We have other concerns besides that?" Thompson asked skeptically as Ishikawa stood behind the room's controls.

The lights dimmed and a field overlay over Earth and Luna appeared on the primary display, bathing them in blueish light. "The combined defense fleet for Low Earth Orbit has been busy: they've broken from MO-II, with one particular group on trajectory to put themselves somewhere behind our primary force, between L1 and Luna. We've designated this for our purposes 'Task Force Z'."

The scale of the field encompassing shrank rapidly, Luna expanding from practically a pinpoint to a clear circular object, and Earth leaving view entirely. Seemingly dozens of different orbits were visible as faded lines, with only a select few highlighted clearly. A point was drawn on one past Libra's own orbit, in the vicinity between the First Lagrangian point and Luna. A diagram appeared, highlighting a number of separate ships. "Three Hanoi-class anti-mobile suit destroyers, one Belgrade-class light cruiser, one Berlin-class escort carrier, almost a dozen other support ships and a single Ganymede-class battlecruiser."

"So they're up to something?" Thompson asked quickly.

"Very overtly. Furthermore, we're fairly certain the command ship, the battlecruiser Callisto, is equipped to carry mobile suits, unlike the escort carrier Hamburg."

"How certain?" Carey asked with her usual suspicion.

"Good intelligence certain," Ishikawa assured her coolly. The large, sleekly armored hull of the Ganymede-class battlecruiser dwarfed the other vessels on the display, with its twin mobile suit catapults and large twin gun turrets arranged in four-point symmetry. "With this much firepower, if paired with the Space MS Troops' thermonuclear torpedoes they have a reasonable chance of crippling or even sinking Libra in a single strike, were we separated from the rest of the fleet. That's what we initially thought they might try to do, given their trajectory, but this may simple be a deterrent to ensure our flagship remains in a defensive posture and thus, unable to capitalize on the largest beam cannon in Earth Sphere."

"Or split the rest of the fleet to support the Libra in preemptive engagement," Carey pointed out.

"Or it's a trap," Livia heard Carmen mumble behind her.

A large smile appeared on Somerset's fair face. Thompson glanced at her, then back at Ishikawa, his face filling with alarm. "Wait, so you think...Commander Milliardo?"

"The supreme commander already sank Barge almost single-handled, I don't think it's unbelievable that might be able to sink a battlecruiser and its escorts," Dorothy Catalonia declared from the entrance to the ready room, almost causing Thompson to jump. She floated into the dull blue light, long hair shimmering after her. "But if we know that, naturally OZ knows the same, or better. So it's a trap."

"Give Commander Milliardo a target he can't pass on, a high-risk task force that could harass the rest of the White Fang Navy until checked. But then use it to kill Milliardo instead," Semis muttered, staring down at the mobile suit tracking board on the raised circular dais, a diamond shape lit by yellow and red lights.

"Lieutenant Catalonia," Ishikawa greeted her courteously, after the rest of them failed to do so.

"Would they be willing to risk one of their most valuable surviving battlecruisers on a gamble like this?" Carey asked pointedly.

McIntyre cleared his throat loudly in the relative silence. "Our opinion in the navy is that they would. Even while they're regrouping what's left of the Space Forces Navy, it seems clear Treize thinks his remaining mobile suit divisions present a better counter to our own automated troops, if not Libra outright."

"They may be giving our own spacecraft and MS screening capabilities too much credit," Somerset added.

"Plus, what would it mean for the space habitat revolution if our supreme commander were killed even before reaching the World Nation's defensive line. It'd be serious blow for our political standing as the champions of the revolution."

"They don't think much of the resolve of our fellow Colonials," Thompson declared, almost sounding offended.

"They're probably right," Ishikawa chided him, his voice hardening. "The navy shouldn't be the only realists here: don't forget that we took on Heero Yuy's mantle of Colonial Liberation single-handed in the Artemis Revolution without appointment by the colonies. We took on that responsibility."

Ishikawa gave a sigh and ran a hand through his beard, as if feeling for a bruise. Dorothy smiled thinly at him. "If Sedici can't be here, someone should speak for him. It might as well be me."

"I don't think he could ask for a better stand-in," she declared, in that sharp tone that made it impossible to judge her genuine sincerity.

Carmen was looking up at the large display. "So either the supreme commander comes in force, and they kill him with nuclear weapons or whatever else they have available, or he ignores them, and they threaten our rear and supply lines back to Luna and L1. And if we break off ships from the Libra's battlegroup to respond, they can just run and take their chances in OZ-controlled space, and we've just wasted time splitting up the fleet."

"A mobile suit strike is far and away the fastest response we can muster at this time. Some of the returning Treizists must've exposed the state of our anti-ship bomber force. So that's what they're expecting, if this is a trap," Dorothy concluded.

"It probably is," Carmen mumbled, glancing at the younger woman out of the corner of her eye. Dorothy smiled back at the muscular Noventan.

"So either way we're screwed," Thompson declared deadpanned. "Then what? Bring the fleet together and prepare for harassment?"

"Task Force Z is expecting to respond to a Gundam attack, the way OZ did back on Earth many times. But what if they were mistaken?" Dorothy asked.

"Our automated squadrons would get slaughtered on first strike like this, the Virgos are barely capable of offensive space combat, Taurus troops would cut them to ribbons," Carey declared.

"Our Virgos maybe," Somerset replied, grinning from ear to ear. "But not yours."

In the vast central hangar immediately below the Ready Room, large enough that at least three of four walls running lengthwise had their own natural orientation, they found Chief Petty Officer Avram directing the hangar crew with his usual energy and fury. On the ceiling (or from a different orientation, wall) mounted cranes were dragging up large gantries and storage racks from the compartments beyond the walls. Neither Carmen nor Livia had experience Libra's interior at his volume.

"Captain Forrestal wants to send a message to the White Fang Mobile Suit Troops," Somerset shouted loudly enough to be heard. "No hard feelings about the equipment shortage," she said, regarding them with a smirk.

"Equipment?" Thompson shouted back, confused.

"Sirs! Automated Squadron Nine-Nine-Nine is loaded up and ready for action," the C.P.O declared. "With the improved Virgo mobile dolls!"

Livia turned from Avram to the direction the others were staring: nearest to them, a single, bulky mobile doll stood, even more top heavy than the original Virgo design. What stood out immediately were two shoulders of planet defensors, their bright red paintjobs against the rest of the mobile suit's predominantly smoky black livery: the new mobile doll had more than twice the discs for a total of eight, four on each shoulder. Behind each massive armored shoulder and its associated defensor housing was a long, triangular stowage compartment. Aside from the compartments and the active protection system, the mobile doll carried no external weapons or ordnance.

"They still need their new colors," Avram declared with less bluster, sounding slightly guilty. "We ended up painting the Taurus troops first, don't ask why, it's a whole story…"

"So this is the improved Virgo?" Semis asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.

"Original service code OZ-03MD, designation 'Virgo II', to enter White Fang service as WF-02MD," Ishikawa recited with his usual calm.

"I didn't even know that there was an improved model planned to enter service before the end of the year, and I…" Semis began before stopping. She was about to relate that her father, a colonel in the Earth Mobile Suit Troops, would naturally have some insight into the Romefeller Foundation's industrial projects, but stopped herself, not out of an attempt at secrecy, but because of how ridiculous it sounded in her own mind.

"I'm seeing more than double the defensor discs, and shoulder joint control thrusters from the Space Leo," Carmen declared, taking her place. "Those weren't present on the original Virgo mobile doll?"

"They were, integrated into the shoulder hemispheres under the defYou haven't seen one up close?" Carey asked, surprised.

"OZ Space Mobile Suit Troops hadn't adopted the Virgo for service back then, just deployed them in 'Nova'," she explained with a smirk, before cocking her head. "And the armament?"

Avram was already consulted a clipboard which he shared with Thompson. "Replacing the fixed-mounted direct-feed short-barreled anti-ship beam cannon is the multipurpose beam rifle, the same improvement on the general-use rifle carrier by the OZ-06SMS with the option of field-swappable energy cells. Other options includes the revised short-barreled anti-ship cannon with the direct feed into the powerplant, as well as beam sabers for anti-MS combat. Either weapon can be stowed in the storage compartments in the external module. Said module also houses the primary vernier thrusters and a dedicated propellant tank, alongside a miniaturized beam cannon cyclotron, and can be jettisoned if damaged at the cost of thrust and energy generation. Otherwise, same Gundamnium alloy skin over the improved fuselage and limbs."

Thompson looked up from the clipboard. "Wait, so a mobile doll can carry either a beam cannon and a beam rifle, or two of the same kind?"

"What do you think it's called the 'Virgo II' for?" Somerset teased him. He stuck his tongue out in response briefly.

"So not just a proper space combat machine, but an assault mobile suit at that," Semis muttered. "With enough squadrons, you could move beyond skirmishes with Leos and attack ships directly."

"Captain Forrestal's hoping this will help reduce our considerable disadvantage in numbers vis-à-vis the World Nation Space Navy," Ishikawa explained.

"Disadvantage?" Thompson echoed.

Ishikawa sighed and smiled. "Contrary to what's been said by Commander Milliardo and the Party Leader, without Libra we are outnumbered more than two to one by the enemy fleet alone. That excludes the remainder of the Strategic Missile Force and the Space Fortress troops garrisoned to MO-II and so forth."

"And Libra itself, aside from having the biggest beam cannon in Earth Sphere, isn't the super-battleship it's been talked up to be. Not with a skeleton crew and so many of its systems untested or nonoperational," Somerset added. "It's the largest mobile suit carrier in history that's short of pilots, with the biggest gun in history that has a mixed track record of actually firing."

"Thanks for the confidence boost, guys," Thompson groaned back. "I'm so glad that I chose this side." Carey gave him a jovial slap on the back.

"But how will it fare against the Taurus troops? OZ still has more than one complete space division and multiple battalions," Carmen pointed out urgently.

"That's what we're going to find out," Ishikawa answered cryptically.

"What you're going to find out," Somerset added coolly.

"Automated Squadron 999, like our separate squadrons, consists of sixteen mobile dolls over the usual twelve," Dorothy's voice declared triumphantly from behind and above. "They'll be joined by manned Taurus units for their first combat test."

She does know what she's talking about. Or at least she can count. "I take it this is where we come in?" Livia finally asked, scowling.

"Correct, Lieutenant."

"Two squadrons of mobile suits against a battlecruiser-led task force," Carmen declared warily. "Was this your idea, Major Ishikawa?"

"No, it was mine," Dorothy interjected, her grin widening. "We've finally overcome the obstacles to fielding the improved mobile dolls, what better opportunity to test their capabilities?"

"It's just a game to her," Livia heard Carey mutter softly under her breath. "Meanwhile we're being sent on a one-way trip against an OZ battlecruiser and whatever the hell else they have waiting for Zechs Merquise."

"It's not a suicide mission," Ishikawa assured her quickly. "Even if you're routed, the combat data alone for the improved Virgo model will be invaluable, on top of forcing the World Nation to stay on their toes."

Even if we're routed. So in other words, we're definitely being sent out. Livia tried to hold back the dismay she could feel appearing on her face. "Mission support?" she asked, mustering some enthusiasm.

"The Lunar Military District has most of the Ninetieth Heavy Space Bomber Regiment standing by at Lavoisier AB. Four Tupolev bombers will time their strike with anti-ship missiles prior to their arrival."

"You won't be sent out alone," Dorothy chimed in, her voice abruptly neutral and emotionless.

"Four? Great, so they'll know we're coming," Carey snapped.

"That's still up to forty-eight anti-ship missiles," Somerset pointed out. "That should at least soften up the escorts if not the Calisto herself."

"If they're not all shot down," Thompson observed with surprising candor.

"You're mobile suit pilots," Ishikawa explained sternly. "Unfortunately, this is what you signed up for. But we hope these new mobile dolls will be up to the task."

Livia glanced back up at the improved Virgo, with its boxy limbs and disproportionately top-heavy stature that would've strained its frame, hydraulics and internal skeleton in normal gravity. The ungainly but still intimidating combat machine, driven by the latest version of Tubarov's control software, now in the hands of the Artemis Revolution.

"And how many of these do we have?" Livia asked, forcing a laugh into her voice.

Ishikawa smiled back. "Enough, we hope. That's what Task Force Z should tell us."

It was almost an hour later, after extension planning, discussion, and more jibes by Carey on Thompson, when they and the other human pilots were released to make their separate preparations. Livia floated unusually close to her partner's larger build as made their way to what they thought was safe.

"Well?" Carmen whispered.

The inference was clear: would they attempt to leak the upcoming strike? "Forget it. They'd know." She found it dubious how beneficial any warning could be when a technical analysis of the improved Virgo wasn't available. "They'll just have to adjust their response. The planet defensors look the same, even if there's more of them, and so does the cranium and monoeye. Even if the anti-MS destroyers are ineffectual, they still have a battlecruiser."

"What about us?"

Livia grimaced as the two lurked in an unlit deck further from the hangar. Killing Sean Thompson seemed like a distant concern now. "Same as before: we'll wing it."

III

"So, this the best you could manage?" Helena Arroway asked.

"More like the best they'd give us for a suicide mission." From the flight deck of a sleek transorbital mobile suit carrier from the Tupolev Design Bureau, the same model once favored by Colonel Zechs Merquise, Omar Clarkson and Helena Arroway stared at the bulk of the ships belonging to the forced assembled for a singular purpose: to lure out the supreme commander of the White Fang military and destroy him, along with OZ-13MS, the Gundam Epyon.

"I'm really enjoying your optimism," she gloated at him, her khaki jacket almost floating off her shoulders as she turned in the cabin.

"My optimism aside, what would you have requested?" he asked, watching the Callisto, the largest ship in the force, grow in size as their shuttle floated towards its rendezvous. The question managed to sound gruff but sincere.

"Taurii. Armed with nukes," the response came from the next compartment.

Squadron Commander Clarkson sighed and rubbed his chin with his gloved hand. "You would say that, wouldn't you?" He turned to follow her in his own blue normal suit, helmet latched over his back.

Arroway had made her way through the crew cabins and into the shuttle's primary compartment, pressurized for the convenience. Clarkson found himself less worried about the possibility of a stealthy mobile suit or a particularly fast fighter punching a hole into shuttle's wall, when there seemed like so many other more obvious ways to die racing towards them.

For contrast, the former Noventan Minister of Defense was studying their cargo: OZ-13SMS1 and OZ-13SMS2, the twin Gundams from the Marius Crater Mobile Suit Factory.

"So these are the same Gundams deployed at L1-D-120?" she asked, a hint of admiration in her voice.

"After reconditioning, yes," Clarkson said, stopping himself on the guardrail at the edge of the walkway when he joined her. The black and white mobile suits were stretched out onto the floor of the compartment, their equipment stowed in racks above them: good for safe storage, but not suitable for rapid deployment. Their pilots weren't on board anyway.

"Who else has them?"

"Excuse me?"

"Mercurius and Vayeate. Are they deployed elsewhere?"

"As I recall, the original two prototypes were destroyed capturing the rebuilt Unit Zero-One, the colony-killer built by the Winner Corporation." That was lost when we split with the Romefeller Foundation, he hesitated to add. Multiple Gundams in the wild: that was another thing that could kill them, and had almost killed him. No wonder I got shot down.

"And the rest?"

"There were no rest, as far as I know. Too costly on top of sharing production lines with the Virgo." He sighed under his grey mustache. "The White Fang controls the product line now, so there might be one or more aboard Libra, or they might still be sitting on spare parts."

He prepared himself for some particularly bleak appraisals of the situation from their civilian guest. Instead, Helena Arroway turned to him and gave him a smart, sharp smirk. She was still much younger than him, and attractive at that, her straight black hair in a shiny civilian-style bun behind her head. He felt old. "Doesn't matter. You've got the pilots, after all."

He forced himself to smile back, maybe the first time since they're meeting aboard the Africana. "That's the hope, ma'am."

Unless the White Fang had one or more of the Gundam pilots on their side. He could tell she was thinking the same, though she hadn't said it.

"Sir, we're on final approach, preparing for rendezvous maneuver and cargo transfer BC-120. ETA one-four-three-zero," a woman's voice announced over the talkback.

"I hope Lieutenant Colonel Armonia and her younger sister are everything they say they are," he permitted himself to mutter quietly, staring at the long barrel of Vayeate's large-caliber beam cannon, the most powerful weapon of its kind to ever be formally adopted by OZ, in a limited production run.

"You should," she gloated. Her expression softened slightly. "From what I saw, I think they are. Let's hope that's enough for the legendary Zechs Merquise."

Clarkson stood in silence, tightening his grasp on the railing in front of him and frowning underneath his mustache. After a few seconds, Arroway glanced back at him. "What? No indignant comeback for an ex-cabinet minister of a fallen nation?"

He turned to her, jaw clenched. She found herself studying the creases in his lean, muscular face, small, tired eyes under a boney brow, and almost felt taken aback. Somehow, he looked older than she expected. "Total cargo transfer should take less than thirty minutes. Don't worry, you won't need a normal suit."

He was correct; the OZSS Callisto's docking/umbilical tube, extending out from its open dorsal hangar by more than a hundred meters, was waiting for them alongside the ship's engineering compliment and a pair of OZ-06SMS perched on the forward end of the catapult; excessive in his mind. A young sub-lieutenant was waiting for them, saluting smartly enough but visibly in a rush.

"Flight Lieu-…Squadron Commander Clarkson, permission to come aboard?" he asked, in spite of everything, at the end of the docking tube.

The sub-lieutenant didn't conceal her staring at Arroway, who smirked back. Visible behind her, he could see a large two-seat fighter ship, possibly a trainer, being coaxed to the side on the hangar floor, in preparation for the new materiel being brought on board. "Permission granted, welcome aboard the Callisto, Commander Clarkson and…"

"Arroway. Helena." Arroway smiled with thin, red lips. "Don't worry, your boss is expecting me."

They confirmed as much in the short trip from the decks overlooking the hangar to the bridge immediate above them.

Entering through a door discreetly wedged into the back corner, Clarkson took in the familiar surroundings of the battlecruiser bridge, shared by the Ganymede-class and its smaller sister, the Titan-class. He looked at Arroway and was almost shocked to response: the younger woman's eyes glazed over with what could hardly be confused as nostalgia as her head rotating across the layout of the bridge of the latest class of Alliance Space Navy warship: two command seats, for the commanding and executive officers, at the back of the trapezoidal armored compartment, a massive data display dominating the wall behind them that separated the bridge from its adjacent briefing room. Navigation stations behind the bank of reinforced viewports at the front, the shutters presently raised for a view of the Tupolev's extreme stern; defensive and offensive weapons stations along the port and starboard; two discreet work stations for sensors and communications, and between them and the XO and CO, a Halo holographic display system. Even with every seat occupied, there were only eleven working officers present, when there felt like there should've been more.

Then Arroway broke her trance, a gloating glee returning to her sharp features. "Didn't you used to mix Kuznetsov's cocktails?"

The World Nation Space Forces naval captain's eyes widened briefly under the visor of his cap, the same uniform black adopted by OZ's terrestrial navy captains for winter use, before he smiled back. "Defense Minister Arroway, even with Commander Clarkson's advanced warning, it's an unexpected pleasure," he managed to reply smoothly.

Clarkson saluted as expected. "Captain Hasler. I'll apologize in advanced for the trouble."

"No apology necessary, Clarkson. After all, a year ago we all had careers in the armed forces of the United Earth Sphere Alliance."

"Earth Sphere Unified Nation," Arroway announced. "Doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it?"

"As good as any reason to retire I guess," Clarkson scowled at her before maneuvering to the XO and presenting her with the leather binder he'd kept under his left arm. She took it gratefully and immediately opened it. "Per Executive Order 863, I'm taking provisional command of this task force charged with the destruction of 'Epyon' Gundam and its pilot. I'd like to keep your captain on as my equal partner in this operation, given his experience and his direct history with many of the White Fang's own senior navy commanders."

"Thank you, Clarkson," Hasler offered sincerely. "As an experienced pilot, may I ask for your personal appraisal on the materiel?"

Clarkson had expected the question but still felt himself pausing before giving response. "As I understand it, the Armonia sisters enjoyed the privilege of sitting out most of the fighting in and around Luxembourg; they were too late to join Walther Farkill's assault on UESAEUCOM. When Brussels sought to escort Relena Peacecraft from the Funen Island Demilitarized Zone, they expected to run into one or more Gundams in the way. Instead, she surrendered herself peacefully when her kingdom fell, and they saw little use after that point." He frowned again. "So they're in excellent condition. How're the pilots?"

"You should ask them yourself," Hasler replied, while his own XO manipulated the control panel attached to his seat. Of the four large multipurpose monitors arrayed over the forward viewports, the larger pair in the center flickered from their idle screens and switched over to a video feed from the dorsal hangar. Standing among a row of light interceptor spacecraft in their violet military normal suits, Soris and Luna Armonia turned in the direction of an unseen monitor display next with the camera itself, floated over and saluted sharply.

"Squadcom Clarkson," Lieutenant Colonel Armonia began, a wide grin appearing on her face. "Sorry we're not there to greet you in person, but we wanted to see what you brought us."

"Thank you for securing our Gundams on such short notice, Commander Clarkson," Luna added more deferentially. Soris smirked at her younger sister.

"You're welcome. Frankly, I wasn't expecting the pair of you so soon," Clarkson admitted.

"We weren't expecting them at all, as they're well aware," Hasler confessed, still seated. "Apparently, MO-II's

"Hence the inceptors," Soris added jovially, gesturing at the row of slate-grey Boeing long-range spacecraft behind her. "The brass at MO-II, the same ones who leaked the task force's existence to the White Fang in the first place, don't think they'd look for Gundams being delivered by shuttle or Gundam pilots by space fighters."

"Because they're something much less subtle, like the battleship Peacemillion?" Arroway asked skeptically, taking the polite offer of a seat by Hasler's XO.

"Defense Minister Arroway, I'd heard you might be gracing us with your presence. It's really been too long!" Soris jeered enthusiastically.

She must be having the time of her life, Clarkson thought regretfully. "Whether or not it's half as clever as MO-II is hoping, it's a gamble we've taken. And if Milliardo Peacecraft considers a mere taskforce with a few Space Leos below his dignity, we can threaten Libra directly from the direction of its Lunar supply lines and force him out. And if he considers it an affront to his dignity and takes the bait, we'll fight his Gundam right here."

"All worked out, huh? It sounds clever, I'll give you that," Arroway echoed.

Clarkson tried to ignore the warning discernable in her voice. "I'll join you in the hangar shortly, Colonel," he announced as the feed ended, and turned back to Hasler. "If you don't mind entertaining Citizen Arroway."

"I wish I still had my autograph book," he offered half-heartedly as Clarkson floated towards one of the bulkhead doors behind him.

"So OZ Space Forces central command is operating out of MO-II now?" Arroway asked skeptically. "Given up on C-102?"

"It's not that we don't trust the colonies," Clarkson muttered, pausing at the exit. "Actually, that might be exactly it. But more immediately, with the loss of Barge we need a central headquarters and staging area in Low Earth Orbit. MO-II already served as a transit and communications hub for the First and Second Aerospace Divisions when they first deployed to Outer Space."

"Space Forces still holding our principal resource satellites doesn't exactly make up for losing most of Luna, but it's better than nothing," Hasler exclaimed, turning in his seat. "Assuming Libra can't just punch a hole in it with a single shot from its main cannon, it's as defensible a position as there is in Outer Space, assuming the rest of the Space Forces Army keeps the Colonials from simply running around it."

"As if Treize Khushrenada still needed to prove his suicidal bravery in the year of After Colony 195," Arroway laughed darkly.

Hasler sat up in his seat, touching the visor of his black uniform cap. "If I may ask, Commander Clarkson, who do you answer to in this operation, if not the Lord Protector?"

Just about to push himself into the corridor waiting for him, Clarkson looked back at Hasler. "You just saw her."

"My god. There really isn't a commander-in-chief of Space Forces is there?" he asked, visibly alarmed.

"Luxembourg's still trying to convince Broden to take the job. Or at least leave his colony."

"You people really are worse off than we realize," Arroway teased, eyebrows raised in mockery as Clarkson floated off. "It's like I'm actually a civilian here."

"Fine sentiment from a surviving member of the Noventan Republic's cabinet," Hasler muttered, glancing at the seat next to him and its occupant. "We've got a conference room free if you'll like to offer your credentials for the job."

Arroway's loud, nearly-piercing response came as she threw her head back, chest bouncing in laughter at the joke, shoving Hasler in his seat with one arm. Even his XO had to hold back a chuckle. Hasler straightened his cap and grinmed back.

"And for the record, I didn't mix Yuri Kuznetsov's cocktails. I poured his scotch," the Callisto's captain said with a grin.

IV

"Squadron Commander Ogasawara Emi."

Visibly anxious to the point of almost twitching, Flight Lieutenant Walker remained sitting, as instructed, at the small, baroque table in one the sitting rooms in the New Castle in Ansembourg. Towards the nearby large window, the Lord Protector stared out at the hillside of brown and green pine trees, the colors of a lately arrived winter.

Walker stared at him in turn. "Your Excellency…?"

"My apologies, Walker, I am listening," Treize Khushrenada turned and explained, a smile on his face.

Walker forced himself to take a deep, deliberate breath. "Is something the matter, sir?"

"Nothing, just surprised at how unseasonably warm it's been." Treize was holding a fragile-looking teacup, the light blue and cerulean porcelain an unforgettable holdover from the style used by the Alliance for sixty years before them. He sat down and returned it to its matching saucer, clasping his white glove hands together. "Last year by this time, snow was starting to fall. According to the Ecology and Environment Ministry, the whole year was unusually warm, potentially a point of concern."

"I see, sir." Walker wasn't thinking about the climate; he knew in the first few decades of the Alliance, there'd been a relative cooling trend, but had never thought much about it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to distract from the topic." A civilian staff member, a footman in domestic service terms, in elegant livery refilled Treize's cup. Almost twitching, Walker guarded his own half-filled cup with his left hand, still wearing his leather pilot's gloves. The footman retreated. "So, Commander Ogasawara from the First Recon Battalion. Continue."

"Well, she's the best living pilot I know personally. That's including Lieutenant Colonel Armonia, Commander Krist, and Flight Lieutenant Petrosyan." Walker put both hands flat against the table before adding, "And Your Excellency, sir."

Treize looked up, slightly bewildered, before smiling again. "Thank you for the candor. You've been deployed to so many different fronts, Walker, that your opinion on her capabilities carries considerable weight. Combined with your technical expertise and your history, it could be argued that you have unparalleled insight into this topic."

Walker could feel the look of surprise on his face at the remark, and made no attempt to hide it. "Furthermore, sir, not only would she obey and order, I'm sure she'd enthusiastically volunteer for the role if you gave Tallgeese to the First Reconnaissance Battalion as the premiere unit in the Space Forces Mobile Suit Troops."

"It would be difficult for her to turn that down," Treize acknowledged. "Have you considered what combat role the battalion would be best intended for? I know you're not interested in serving with the Space Forces General Staff despite the efforts of Krist and others."

Walker cleared his throat softly. "I've had an opportunity to consult the design documents on Libra…"

"…along with your short deployment with the Libra subcontractor at MO-V, no?" Treize was teasing him now.

"…yes, and that, and I've concluded that a precise strike on the central block is not only feasible, it's probably relatively easy so long as we can breach the White Fang Navy's defensive line for any period of time. Libra's anti-ship and anti-mobile suit offensive armament is largely incomplete, excluding its main gun; were it crippled, the White Fang could no longer count on their primary mobile suit carrier to adequately protect itself from any threat and would have to reevaluate. A surprise strike on Libra, shortly after the fleet is engaged, could disable the main gun." Walker was awkwardly trying to make space on his side of the table for a leather-bound notebook embossed with the Order of the Zodiac's emblem. "I actually have a very simple simulation on hand and.."

The footman tried to accommodate him. "Walker," Treize interrupted.

The flight lieutenant stared up at him. "I believe you."

Walker's shoulders sank as he relaxed into the baroque dining chair and he set his notebook on his lap, head tilted slightly. Treize raised his eyebrows. "Walker, did Mr. Zhou put you up to this?"

Walker seemed to instantly stir from his brief stupor. "Sir?"

"Don't worry about it." Treize grinned good-naturedly. "So Ogasawara? Fine choice, given the current circumstances."

"A fairly obvious one," Walker confessed.

"If she'd take it." Panic momentarily returned to Walker's face as Treize took his seat. "But you've already considered that. And of course, while I wouldn't make it a direct order, you have my endorsement."

"If you mind me asking, sir, who would be your choice?" Walker asked, slowly picking up his own cup.

"The Former-Countess of Hannover," Treize replied very plainly.

"Oh. O-Of course," he sputtered out, turning red. He meant Une.

Treize smiled again. "Actually, I'm not sure who. You'll have my backing with this. But if I'm not mistaken, it's still too soon in development to make a final decision given the materiel?"

"Of course, the machine is still in flight trials, and we're attempting to secure the improved armaments package," Walker said with a sigh. "Really, Tallgeese could be combat ready tomorrow, but it'd have to make due with the same weapons fielded by a Leo."

Treize nodded. "You still have work ahead of you, Walker. I would still like to read your analysis, if you'd share it."

"Of course, sir."

With a salute, Walker left his digital notebook behind with Treize in his sitting room and descended down to the New Castle's main hall. "Oh, leaving so soon, Flight Lieutenant?" Treize's portly, grey-haired butler asked, apparently standing guard at the main entrance like an unarmed sentry.

"Yes Mister…Carson," Walker finally managed, another footman offering him his white uniform cape and uniform cap, which he managed to take from him without being dressed against his will.

Mr. Carson seemed not to notice or care at the obvious pause or general awkwardness. "We'll have your motorcycle brought about immediately, unless you'd like a car…"

"No, back to Diekirch for me," Walker muttered sheepishly. A stern Englishman in his fifties was an extremely effective reminder that, military career or not, he hadn't even reached the twentieth year of his life yet. "They're keeping me busy with a new project."

"So I've heard, sir." Carson's look of unflappable poise shifted slightly, replaced by equally-serious gravity. "If you'll forgive me for saying so, I…pardon me, sir, I shouldn't say."

Walker was still straightening out his cape over one shoulder. "Say what?" He'd only been half-listening to Carson, fighting the urge to play with the polished black lacquered visor of his cap in his hand.

One again, Carson didn't seem to notice his fidgeting, or didn't acknowledge it. "The war, sir. I mean, the situation in Outer Space, not the…war more generally."

"Of course." Walker put on his cap in a nearby antique mirror and turned back to him. "You had a question?" he beckoned him.

"Well, sir, the staff here at Ansembourg are…anxious at the news of this whole Colonial revolt. Practically of them have family among the enlisted soldiers and support staff in the military, some of them with the World Nations Space Forces." Carson gave a disappointed closed-mouth sigh. "And unlike the past, we get so little news about the situation in Outer Space, and nothing from Luna anymore."

"Yes, that's definitely been the case," Walker said in agreement, a little too quickly. "The information blackout, I mean. It's not something we advertise, but with the Artemis Revolution everything's happened so quickly that the situation is still…fluid," he offered as an excuse.

Carson seemed grateful for that much. "Of course. We're quite use to political turbulence here among the Luxembourgers."

"I'm sure you would be." Walker blinked. "If you mind me asking, Mr. Carson, where were you born?"

The butler's thick eyebrows rose. "North Yorkshire county, sir, outside Harrogate."

"In England," Walker said redundantly.

Carson discreetly held back a chuckle. "Yes, Flight Lieutenant, in England."

Walker nodded. "Windsor. I'm from Windsor, I mean. Across from Detroit, not London. On the border of Ontario." He sighed deeply. "It changed sides at least twice after the Alliance fell, never mind the dissolution of the U.S.N.A. after the declaration of the World Nation." He wiped his gloved hand over his mouth, clenching his jaw.

"Is that…anywhere near that nuclear-armed rogue state, sir, the Republic of Utah was it?" the butler asked.

Walker could feel the surprise on his face, though it wasn't justified. It was entirely natural that an English household staff head, even if that household belonged to Treize Khushrenada, would have an imperfect knowledge of North American geography. Surely Treize favored this overwhelmingly British staff for their competency of service, not their knowledge of maps. "No, not that close. Utah was part of the Continental American Military District, and Ontario was…never mind. You were asking a question."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Flight Lieutenant sir, I didn't mean to pry into…inappropriate…"

Walker shook his head. "There's not that much information. And as the Lord Protector, Colonel Khushrenada's attention has to be divided across the whole World Nation, and not just one particular front. That was a failing of the queen that was." He winced a little at the sentence, the found himself grasping at his cap. "Do you see the insignia? The knight with the armored helm?"

Carson was attempting to discreetly squint at the small metal badge pinned to his cap, and instead Walker gestured at the pair of navy blue military standards hanging over the main hall. "It's the insignia of the World Nation Space Forces, it means I still belong to the extraterrestrial armed forces even if I'm here on Earth. If any of your staff know they have family, either civilian or military, with the Space Forces, they can contact me at Diekirch. It's not like you have that many people in this household after all."

Carson seemed almost taken aback. "Thank you, Flight Lieutenant, that's extremely generous. Given the situation, we don't want to unnecessarily burden His Excellency with our own minor worries, and the lack of information has been distressing," he expressed gratefully before pausing. "Of course, I mean no disrespect to you or any of your colleagues in the Luxembourg General Staff, or the World Nation leadership, or…"

"It's fine, Mr. Carson. It's really not a crime to complain," Walker said, fighting the urge to put his head in a hand.

Carson cleared his throat again. "Still, we don't make a habit of it, it's just been taxing on everyone. And if His Excellency, the Lord Protector, should be called on to lead the troops from the front, well, of course we'd be grateful for such a great man to do his duty, but…and I shouldn't say this, what with a war going on, but…" Carson stopped when he realized Walker was now deliberately facing away from him, staring at a wall. "Flight Lieutenant, sir, are you feeling unwell?"

So whatever Treize is thinking of doing, he hasn't told his household staff. I'm not sure why I thought he would. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson…just a little tired is all. But I'll still see about what I can do, I don't claim to fully aware of everything in Space Forces but I can certainly try."

---

Author's Notes:

As usual, yes, I am still writing. I even produced a chapter more in line with the manageable length I previously discussed, even if it is longer than I'd like, and it didn't even take that long to write: it was simply a matter of setting time aside and writing it, rather than my other stories (I need to acknowledge that between this, the stories I am updating, and the stories I'd like to update, I'm really taking on more than I can easily chew). Still, at least some headway made: advancing Carmen and Livia's sideplot, the belated introduction of the Virgo II (which likewise appears later in the manga than in the TV series), and the final appearance of an idea I've bandied about for some time with suggestions from others: a proper duel between OZ, and its Gundam (or Gundams, as the case is), and the White Fang and Epyon, that we were denied by Milliardo's smart if unentertaining refusal to accept Treize's challenge in the final hour. Of course, knowing what happens next (much less in the Endless Waltz OVA), we can see where this is going, but I'm hoping that's no so serious an issue. Treize's very obviously Julian Fellowes-inspired household makes a reappearance too (their future prospects don't look great either).

As always, thank you for reading and please leave any feedback you'd like to share.