Soldier of OZ: Walker's Account
Chapter 87 – Outside Escalation
The OZSS Callisto, having been intercepted en route to the WFS Dimidium, had the dubious honor of being the first warship to engage the White Fang's newest mobile weapon: the updated space mobile doll, WF-02MD 'Virgo II', launched from the White Fang's flagship and joined by manned Taurus troops of the most experience pilots to defect to the Colonial revolution. Both the White Fang and the World Nation understood the obvious: beyond the value of a Ganymede-class battlecruiser and its taskforce, what weighed in the balance was the viability of the World Nation's extraterrestrial military arm, what remained of OZ Space Forces, to resist the momentum of the Artemis Revolution.
For that, both sides brought their planned trump cards: the new Virgo space assault mobile suit, successful deployed in secrecy from OZ. And in response, two of the OZ Space Force's production Gundams, the Mercurius and Vayeate, which the White Fang had not expected to be fielded this far beyond World Nation's final defense line.
The surprise on both sides was immediate. Positioned behind its counterpart's electromagnetic defense field, the OZ-13SMS1 'Vayeate' fired high-powered bursts from its long-barreled beam cannon, its fire control software synced over datalink with the active protection system carried by the OZ-13SMS2 'Mercurius' kneeling behind it, allowing two mobile suits to drop their defense field to a low enough power for a short enough time to fire powerful artillery through it before raising it again.
"Has anyone seen Thompson? Did he hit the silk?"
"He's dead, Lancer 2-3!"
"All troops, fall back. There are two Gundams on the Callisto's catapult! Squadron mothership, pull the Virgos back and regroup!"
"Is that it? Are we retreating?"
"Oh, shut up Somerset!"
"Lancer Actual, don't you have a beam canon? Destroy that Gundam!"
In the cockpit of her OZ-12SMS, Captain Carmen Soletta jerked against her restrains, every muscle in her body tensed in anger. "What the hell do you think I'm trying to do? Lancer 1-2, cover me! Lancer 1-3, keep our escape clear from any other more hostiles!"
"A-acknowledged, Lancer Actual!" she heard Lieutenant Livia Semis stutter in response.
"Wait, you think they have another Gundam?" Lancer 1-3 asked.
"Just try not to be too surprised, McIntyre!" Soletta snapped. Actually, I'm expecting a Space Leo squadron, but I wasn't counting on two Gundams out here either. She couldn't decide how to feel: enraged that she was reliving the last hours of the Noventan Republic with two Gundams—the same two Gundams, as far as she could tell—or impressed that OZ Space Forces had succeeded with such a simple trick. I guess I should just expect to die in battle due to poor tactical leadership. What a fitting end to my sad life.
"You go for a full-power shot and that AA will tear you to pieces if those Gundams don't!" Livia told her as the two snapped into fighter mode and closed the distance necessary to hit a target a small as a mobile suit perched at far end of the battlecruiser's dorsal catapult.
"Tell that to Somerset, I don't disobey orders!" But I do lie a great deal, so I'll do that instead.
Lancer 1-2 took the lead in their tight two-machine formation as two passed cleanly through the regrouping flight of Virgo troops. At what she knew was within the beam cannon's optimal range for precision firing, she armed and fired the switch for her Taurus' countermeasure dispensers, releasing a cloud of decoy flares and dipole fiber chaff along the Callisto's horizon at a distance of several kilometers; in the middle of that cloud, Lancer 1-1 returned to mobile suit mode and Carmen lined up her precision shot.
"For the love of god, please don't kill her, and especially don't kill me!" Livia heard herself cry out despite herself.
"What do you mean, don't shoot them down?" Captain Hasler demanded angrily from the commanding officer's seat on the bridge of the Callisto.
"There's something going on here," Helena Arroway responded forward of him, eyes planted on the view of the cloud of countermeasures and a hand raised in his direction.
"Sir, the antiaircraft gunners…" someone from the fire control section began.
"Will not be listening to this lunatic!" Hasler snapped back. "It's trying to target the bridge!"
"No, it's not," Squadron Commander Clarkson announced from a station on the bridge. "Suivant One, taking evasive…"
A different, shrill alarm blared as the aggressive Taurus laid into the Gundams with its beam rifle, but Clarkson could already determine the outcome before the sensor officers announced. "Suivant One is hit, but the field dissipated most of the blast."
"Suivant Two, here. The field's energy is depleted by more than half. It won't stand another shot of that power, shall we take evasive action?" a young woman's voice asked over the bridge's talkback dispassionately.
"Yes! Fire control, deploy our own countermeasures and cover the Gundams!"
"I agree with not leaving the Gundams as sitting targets, but you realize you won't hit any enemy troops with that either?" Arroway asked, her voice sounding distant to Clarkson over the activity of the bridge.
Hasler's frantically angry barking came in clear by comparison. "So I don't want to lose my battlecruiser or the Gundams, at least while they're sitting on my catapult? What of it, Citizen Arroway?"
Despite the apparent insult, Arroway's face was still the picture of gloating. "And what if those anti-ship bombers return? You think those chaff and flares will stop long range missiles? You've lost your touch, Rudolf," she countered.
"What?"
"They're trying to save the mobile dolls," Clarkson muttered, his eyes widening. "That, or…"
Hasler frowned impatiently. "Or what?" A chime sounded and he turned in time to see one of the White Fang Taurii explode in a glowing yellow-white ball after fatally moving into the convergence area of two antiaircraft batteries immediately ahead of the battlecruiser.
"Sirs, both the mobile dolls and enemy mobile suit troops are actively withdrawing!" an officer shouted from her station.
"Two more of those new Virgos just sacrificed themselves trying to draw fire from their escape vector," Clarkson pointed out. "At our ten-thirty."
"They're running for it," Arroway muttered. "Looks like your Gundams just saved us."
"Requesting permission to pursue the carriers?" the pilot of Suivant 1 asked.
"She means the mobile dolls," Arroway jeered.
"Negative!" Hasler blurted out quickly. "Negative, Suivant One and Two! All remaining ships, regroup on the line. Recall all remaining fighters!" The Callisto's commander gave a deep sigh and slumped into his chair.
More poised, Clarkson floated over to Hasler's seat and put an arm over the headrest, leaning towards him. "The Munich, Captain."
"Prepare to launch support ships and sound the Munich."
"Damage reports are still coming in from the rest of the taskforce. Dorsal main gun took damage from beam fire, elevation and traverse motors are affected, but otherwise our own damage is minimal," another officer announcer.
"Our escorts did their work," Clarkson mumbled.
"Clarkson…"
"No, I agree with you. Let them have their hit and run, whatever they were expecting, they didn't get it," he assured Hasler. He turned to Arroway, brow furrowed. "We've actually learned a great deal from this." She gave a snort in response.
"Callisto, your orders?" Soris Armonia asked from Suivant 1.
Hasler exchanged a look with Clarkson. On the forward display, red status overlays flashed for the Callisto's escort ships, reflecting their disproportionate damage. Arroway laughed out loud at them. "Colonel, ma'am, I think we're quite done for the day. You'll just have to…wait for more killing."
"Oh, there's always more killing," Clarkson ruminated.
"Yes, but not for us today." Clarkson could see Hasler manipulating his seat's personal communications controls with his right arm, and his voice echoed over the talkback. "This is Hasler to the L1 task force. The enemy's mobile suits appear to be withdrawing, but we have sustained heavy losses; all ships will reform on our position, close formation, and we will withdraw along our escape vector. Repairs and rearming to begin as soon as possible, following our lead."
He pressed switch and glanced back at Clarkson and Arroway. "This operation is over," he explained superfluously.
"It wasn't a complete route," Clarkson muttered. "It appears we did destroy almost all the Virgo troops and at least one Taurus."
"Recovery operations commencing," a junior officer announced. Hasler nodded.
"Two destroyers lost. One crippled. An escort carrier dead in the water, along with most of its fighters. I'd hate to see what a route would look like," Arroway taunted coldly.
Clarkson had to conceded her point, as his expression showed. "We need to compile all the battlefield data on the improved Virgos, starting with the escort ship readings and the Gundams."
Hasler nodded. "Speaking of which, immediately recall Suivant One and Two. It couldn't hurt to have the observations fresh in their minds."
"Colonel and Flight Officer Armonia are already in the process of disembarking."
Hasler rolled his eyes and sighed. "Have them report here immediately."
In solid black and white modifications of the standard OZ Space Force women's normal suits, the Armonia sisters were on the bridge, helmets under the left arms and a jaunty grin on the elder sister's face. Clarkson gave both of them a wary look.
"You match your Gundams. How very cute!" Arroway jeered. Clarkson put a hand against his forehead.
"Well?"
"Sir! Our own combat data from the appearance of the improved Virgos, as well as the White Fang Taurus troops, is being reviewed," Flight Officer Luna Armonia explained. "From my own observations, the modifications seem to be enhancements to maneuverability and doubling the number of defensor units. There were no discernable changes to chassis resilience under fire. Onboard weapons more closely mirror those used by the Taurus."
"So it's a major improvement on our own mobile doll troops," Hasler muttered grimly. "Depending on the inventory from Luna and what they're able to field, the White Fang Navy might one or several battalions worth of automated troops, each a match for our own Taurus troops."
"Don't undersell your own men, Captain," Arroway offered quietly.
"Let's not leap to conclusions," Clarkson said. "We'll need all that data, every last minute of it, analyzed by Luxembourg. At the very least, even if it's worse than expected, at least we won't be surprised. At best, the White Fang may've seriously revealed their hand. Colonel Armonia, ma'am, what about your opinion?"
Still grinning smugly, Soris Armonia stood silently, gloved fingers wrapping against her helmet.
"Suivant One?" Hasler asked.
"This was almost as fun as talking to the secret pope. Send me a copy of your findings for those new mobile dolls."
Hasler gave her an undisguised look of dismay before she gave a cocky turn on her heel and sauntered to one of the side exits. Luna Armonia snapped her heels together briefly before following her elder sister, and Hasler returned his head to his hands. With a different frown on his face, Clarkson looked at Arroway.
"Admiral Arroway, ma'am, what you said earlier."
"Excuse me?" she asked, an eyebrow raised, both at the statement and his use of her old title.
"During the battle. You said something earlier—that there was something going on." He paused, lips pursed. "What was that?"
Arroway lowered her eyebrows. "Oh, that. Just something I thought I saw, probably nothing."
"Try me," he insisted.
She sighed and crossed her arms over her expensive civilian clothing. "Well, one of those manned mobile suits, the White Fang Taurus troops. I thought one of them was acting a little strangely, given its high-powered beam cannon. But as I said, it was probably nothing."
"And what if it wasn't?" Clarkson repeated.
II
Returning from Medernach Aerodrome, Flight Lieutenant Walker found a junior staff officer running up to his motorcycle, looking a little exasperated. "Telephone call for you, sir."
On instinct, Walker groped the sides of his uniform for his mobile telephone. "I need a new mobile," he muttered absent-mindedly, before remembering the one he had lost in Brussels had already been replaced.
"No, sir, in comms. From Flight Officer Zhou. He's waiting for you."
Leaving his motorcycle in the vehicle pool, he followed the junior officer to a secure telephone line to be patched through. "Walker here, go ahead Zhou."
"Flight Lieutenant, sir. I'm…I'm sorry to spring this on you, but do you remember our conversation regarding the mobile suit, Tallgeese?"
Walker sighed between clenched teeth. He could see where this apology, and the rest of the conversation, was going. "Mr. Zhou, I don't think I need to explain to you how certain privileged information works…"
"Flight Lieutenant, sir, I work for the Lord Protector. And not in a 'we all work for the commander-in-chief' way, I mean that literally. Did you think I would just sit on my hands and wait while you tell me how His Excellency is going to be killed? By his own decisions?"
"Some point, we'll need to consider actual consequences for this behavior, but putting that aside—who did you tell, Mr. Zhou?"
"They're not his enemies, if that's what you think."
"Who did you tell?" Walker repeated, almost shouting and glancing around the room from his booth.
"Lieutenant Colonel Andrews."
Walker considered it—that was almost a relief. Despite his vocal displeasure at having been drafted by the Treizists during the fighting in north Ireland, Andrews had always proven himself to be loyal to Luxembourg and, by extension, Treize Khushrenada. He had never demonstrated particular inclination to the Romefeller Foundation, and he certainly wasn't part of the Peacecraft faction of government either. "And?"
"Lieutenant Colonel North." Zhou's voice made it clear that he was as surprised as Walker was, but he elaborated anyway. "It wasn't easy getting ahold of him."
"We've met." Walker held back the urge to praise the soundness of the selection of the choice. "And?"
He could hear the uncomfortable shuffling on the other end. "Lieutenant Colonel Chuang."
Walker felt an eyebrow rise. "What, were you just telling any colonel you could get ahold of?" He smirked. "How about the Baroness of Oviedo?"
"I don't know where Lieutenant Colonel Armonia is," Zhou confessed quickly. "Chuang said he'd talk it over with Andrews."
"And anyone else?"
"I didn't speak to anyone else, sir." Walker found himself acutely aware of how his conversations with Flight Officer Zhou had changed since his latest posting at Luxembourg. He suspected Zhou was thinking the same thing.
"And?"
"And they're on their way to Haerebierg Center."
I should probably punish him for this somehow, but I really have no idea how to go about doing that. He could probably figure out a suitable rebuke, but he immediately thought of what a waste of time it would've been even just to ask around, when he could already feel his attention being reapportioned to the looming task ahead: how to simultaneously satisfy the requirements of the commander-in-chief, to do his duty to the Lord Protector while ensuring he didn't commit suicide on the battlefield. Zhou might've deserved thanks for framing that dilemma so clearly, but he wouldn't get it from him.
"Is there a reason you're not joining us?" Walker asked him directly.
"I didn't…" Zhou began before pausing. "Flight Lieutenant, sir, I serve exclusively at the pleasure of His Excellency. I don't deal with mobile suits or war plans."
Our time with the Treizists proved that false, he thought.
"With this meeting, I've done everything I can when it comes to the mobile suit. So that leaves my duty, which is…"
"Which is to His Excellency," Walker finished for him. He was still unused to allowing this degree of irritability in his voice, even to a nominal subordinate. "You do that. See if you can't talk His Excellency out of deciding to kill himself." It felt good to use such undisguised language, so much so that he ended the call before they likely returned to dancing around the situation.
A junior communication officer in a hunter green uniform with silver trim had been patiently waiting outside the secure room, her face a picture of inscrutability. "Find Flight Lieutenant Kiest-Lang, have her meet me at the conference hall in Haerebierg. Tell her it concerns the next major Space Forces offensive," he said, not sounding entirely convincing to even himself.
To Walker's relief, Kiest-Lang did appear as summoned to Haerebierg Centre Militaire. The annoyed mobile suit commander found him waiting nervously in a secure conference room, his leather briefcase open on the table in front of him, rubbing his gloved hands together agitatedly.
"You know Zhou Jun?" he blurted out, a little too quickly.
"Treize Khushrenada's gofer from Earth Forces?" she said with a tooth grin. Walker didn't return the gesture, so she leaned in the doorway and crossed her arms. Instead of her normal suit, she was wearing her hunter greens, her cap in one hand. "Yes, I'm familiar with him."
"He's been discussing the problem with Tallgeese. My problem with the operational Tallgeese that was recovered from storage," he elaborated.
Her dark eyebrows narrowed. "With who?"
"Colonel Chuang and Colonel Andrews."
"And this is the problem that you're…convinced Treize Khushrenada intends to personally end the war with the White Fang, using Tallgeese?" she asked with some uncertainty. When he nodded she continued, "But you think that's a very poor situation regarding our commander-in-chief's future long life and good health."
She approached him before pulling back the chair nearest him and sitting down, resting her elbows on the tabletop. "And as for the colonels, you don't think advertising this little problem of Treize Khushrenada's self-destructive chivalry is going to lead to some solution you haven't thought of? Am I on track here?"
Despite her phrasing, there was no overt sarcasm in her voice. Walker looked up from the contents of his briefcase, grimacing. "Good afternoon, Flight Lieutenant Kiest-Lang."
She smiled back sympathetically. "Hello, Walker."
"You, uh, have the gist of it," he said, his voice low. "When I showed Tallgeese to Zechs—Colonel Zechs Merquise—the first time, it was just the two of us at Corsica. I was posted with the Alliance's Middle East Air Army, and I thought it was going to be the highpoint of my career."
"The man who gave OZ's greatest soldier his greatest weapon." Kalin pulled her arms back and crossed them over the plastron of her uniform.
"You know me very well." He scoffed. "Maybe that's all there is to me. Oswald Walker, middling mobile suit flight leader, prisoner of war and procurer of dangerous equipment used by dangerous persons." In his mind's eye, several images appeared in succession: the original OZ-00MS, the Lightning Count. The Republic of Noventa's mobile armor EA-01MA1 and Captain Carmen Soletta. Epyon. I'm becoming one of those military careerists who can't think too long on the actual details of my career and expect to remain sane.
"I know I graduated Lake Victoria at least two years before you did. And I'm planning to end this war with at least twenty confirmed kills," Kalin explained in the mundane tone she might use to describe her pension plan. "I don't pretend to understand how any of this happened in the first place. Do you actually know Treize Khushrenada will take this new Tallgeese into combat if there's no other pilot for it?"
Walker rubbed his forehead with one hand. "It's not like a military order has been promulgated. I don't even know he'd defer if I did supply an adequate pilot, it's just…what I know of him after these years." Have I known him for years? Or is that just my misery playing tricks on me?
She looked at him again with sympathy and pity. "You know, this is beyond your remit as Chief Engineer of Luxembourg. It's touching, really."
"That's not a real title," he told her bluntly.
She cocked her head to the side. "What if…you couldn't deliver Tallgeese to any pilot? I already heard about the test flights from Salehi and Meyer, and I'm sure they've made their own reports, but what if you just refused to deliver the actual mobile suit to either the Earth or Space Forces? Couldn't you just…not sign off somewhere in the process?"
Walker looked up, an almost offended look on his face. "Well, aside from Irving Salehi and Anna Meyer having already submitted their findings, I don't own Tallgeese just because I took possession of all the hardware. It's still World Nation military property. If I refuse to sign off on it, they can simply override me regardless of my reasoning. If I…just…bury it in some mountainside in the Ardennes, they can order me to unbury it. If I render it inoperable through sabotage, they can either order me to fix it or have someone else do it, possibly incorrectly. Short of requisitioning a H.L.V. and firing it into high orbit, I don't have many ways to actually get rid of a military mobile suit."
"So you've already thought of that," Kalin concluded. "I can see why you're trying to find another pilot."
Her pale featured twisted momentarily. "You're not asking me to take on it on, are you?"
Walker turned to the wall opposite him. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think you would…uh…well…" He stopped stuttering and turned to her briefly, his expression blank.
"Meet the expectations of the commander-in-chief?" she offered.
"Expectations," he repeated. Walker put his hands together, elbows atop the table, and resumed staring at the opposing wall. "Let me put it this way: do you think you can kill Milliardo Peacecraft in a Gundam? The same machine he used against Barge?"
He paused, as if waiting for an answer. "Otherwise, it's a suicide mission with a machine that will kill its pilot." He looked at her again; the characteristic acquiescent meekness had left his face, leaving an angular, almost cold stare. "I'd rather not send you to your death."
Kalin looked surprised. "Me neither. Thanks." She looked back at the documents. "So then what?"
"I'm back where I started. I need deliver an operational OZ-00MS to the military in Luxembourg in Western European Military District, either to the Fusilier-Chasseurs or the Fusilier-Grenadiers. It doesn't really matter, whoever takes it, I'll do whatever I can to make it an exceptional machine in my capacity as engineer. Then they, and I, will coordinate Space Forces and have it sent to the frontline at MO-II. And whoever is the pilot, I'll do whatever I can to keep them alive."
Walker stopped, jaw clenched. Kalin waited. "And doing that will may eventually require me become a pilot in combat," he concluded. His eyes looked almost glassy. "And so, if Tallgeese's pilot isn't killed in combat, then I…"
He stopped, and his vision seemed to refocus. Under his uniform's epaulets, his shoulders seemed to untense and assume a more natural sitting posture that they had been previously missing. Kalin kept staring. So even if Tallgeese's pilot isn't killed, then you probably will be.
"Well, at least I know what I can tell the colonels." He looked at her. "Thank you, by the way."
She shrugged as indifferently as she can manage. "Maybe you can talk them into acting together and overruling Treize."
"I think we had a global military revolt that proved that isn't possible." The corner of Walker's mouth tugged upwards slightly.
Kiest-Lang laughed at him loudly. "So, promise to behave yourself?" she teased him.
"What does that mean?"
"Don't freak out or keel over or anything like that," she warned him.
"Oh, that." He considered it. "Well, I'll try. I can't make any promises though."
He followed her shifting glance to the door. "So you won't stay for this?"
"Oh, god no," she blurted out. Walker's shoulders visibly slackened again and she paused as she reached for the door. "I still know people in the First and Second Battalion. I could blow the whistle, force those magazine models to take a stance publicly."
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Walker considering it, the cognitive fan blades spooling up gradually before he turned back to her. "Oh, I wouldn't ask you to put yourself out there, I think."
The two stared at one another for a moment longer, then burst out laughing. Walker felt lighter, in spite of everything else.
III
Dorothy Catalonia was still standing behind a crew station on Libra's overbridge while the bridge crew communicated commands for the return of the Taurus troops that had accompanied Autonomous Squadron 999. What was left of the autonomous squadron would be recovered afterwards and examined.
"At the moment, our primary concern are the human pilots," another second lieutenant explained, this one a short-haired woman almost a decade her senior in the short-sleeve drab-olive shirt and green trousers of a working uniform. "After that, the on-duty hangar crew will evaluate their mobile suits for repair and refit as necessary, though it's unlikely the pilots will sortie in the same machines anyway, given our inventory of mobile suits and shortage of pilots."
This explanation isn't actually necessary. "I understand, thank you," she mewed gratefully.
"At the same time, of course, we'll recover the mobile doll mothership and what's left of Squadron Nine-Nine-Nine." The second lieutenant winced and looked out of the corner of her eye at the adjacent crew station. Behind the officers on duty, the party leader was standing rigidly, unblinking eyes staring at the changing information displays.
"Three destroyers crippled or sunk, along with one Berlin-class escort carrier. Substantial damage to the armament of one Belgrade-class light cruiser. Minimal damage to the battlecruiser Callisto. Seven or more space fighters shot down, along with three enemy mobile suits rendered inoperable," a bridge officer announced dutifully ahead of him.
"At a cost of one Taurus destroyed, and its pilot killed, the heavy bomber regiment damaged or lost, and the loss of ten Virgo II mobile dolls, including three mobility kills, and the remainder damaged and likely to be written-off," Major Ishikawa observed. He glanced over his shoulder back at them. "Task Force Z has been routed from its operation, running back to the rest of the defensive fleet. A squadron of new mobile dolls, alongside two flights of Taurus troops and joined by anti-ship bombers from Luna, were able to chase off a large battlecruiser-led task force."
Ishikawa turned to face forward, a contented look on his beaded face. "I don't think we could've asked for more, realistically."
"They didn't get either of those Gundams. And they didn't sink the Callisto." The rebuttal came from Quinze Quarante standing nearby, not bothering to hide the pained look on his face. "We're fortunately that there was only one human casualty, frankly. Lieutenant Thompson, was it?"
"S. Thompson, first lieutenant of the Space Mobile Suit Troops," another officer confirmed.
"Colonel, please see to…" the party leader began before stopping himself. An awkwardness fell over the overbridge while the leader's head swiveled left, then right on his thin neck. He put a hand against the pocketed work vest he was wearing. "Someone please see to that as appropriate. I'm going to brief Supreme Commander Milliardo."
There was a respectful silence that did not terminate until several seconds after the cabin doors closed behind the party leader, when it was broken by Ishikawa. "I have a long day of data analysis ahead of me, not to mention the interviews with the pilots themselves, but if I had to draw an early appraisal, I would say that the new automated troops were shown as particularly effective against the navy, if less so against mobile suits."
"And ineffective against the Gundams." Ishikawa felt himself turn in sync with the others on the overbridge in the direction of Dorothy, who had another discomforting smile fixed to her pale face. The lieutenant near her visibly winced.
Ishikawa matched her with a genial smile. "Well, I'm optimistic about improvements that can be made to the current combat programming. This was their first operational use after all." He put his hand down on the station's seat in front of him. "Yes, in fact, I'm very optimistic about the operational service of the Virgo II going forward."
He said that louder than he needed. And he said "going forward." Dorothy allowed him the major to leave undisturbed; she instead followed after the slower-moving party leader, who she found was still alone in one of Libra's labyrinthian corridors, looking almost a lost, lonely old man.
"Party Leader, sir. I need to ask a favor."
Quinze's thin eyebrows rose and his expression changed to something more genial, as much as those boney features would allow. "That's unusual for you, Dorothy."
"Please let me speak with all of the Taurus squadron pilots as soon as they're available."
The party leader could've treated the request like one from a child; as Dorothy expected, he didn't. "The Space Navy Mobile Suit Troops will all be debriefed normally. You're free to join in the debriefing."
"Yes, sir, but I'd like to speak to all five of them in person."
Quinze stared at her. I've tipped my hand. If I hadn't asked, I probably could've just forced my way. Now he's going to ask…
"Does this have to do with Colonel Sedici?"
She gave an almost exaggerated nod, her long hair bobbing after her.
"Very well. Don't hesitate to let me know of anything you find that seems relevant. Either of you."
IV
Walker had been worried about his appearance before the three colonels arrived, but as in past experience, this was needless, as the first order of business was for Marcus North to embrace him in a dramatic, even fatherly fashion, and express his gratitude for Walker's vaguely described responsibilities in the months since September.
The other two lieutenant colonels took their seats and waited patiently until Chuang cocked his head and said "You can stop teasing him now, Marcus."
"You know he was under my command? Back in the Seventh Aerospace Division, before I was canned." He was still grinning, flashing a row of teeth with his prominent overbite. "This brainy kid right here."
"Yes, we've all heard the story, North," Andrews groaned. "Walker, would you please save us from Lieutenant Colonel North?"
Prior to their arrival, Walker had already prepared copies of the technical designs from OZ-00MS2, updated from Treize Khushrenada's older design specification from earlier in the year. A more detailed readout was being projected on the large display on the wall behind him. He'd stopped short of producing a plastic model in 1/100 scale from a civilian company like Tamiya, though he found himself wishing he had one on hand were it accurate enough.
"Sirs, if you skip a few pages forward, you can see the results from my test flights out of Findel. My own limitations as a pilot aside, the machine has behaved almost exactly as we'd expect the restoration to allow, comparing the data to the test flights of OZ-00MS after it was shipped out of Corsica and made functional."
"Don't break a rib," he heard Chuang mumble grimly. The eldest of the three lieutenant colonels took a seat at the conference table, adjusted his eyeglasses, and began looking at the documentation in front of him before clearing his throat. "Gentlemen, aside from interrupting Flight Lieutenant Walker's busy schedule, there was, in fact, a major engagement between Space Forces and the White Fang Navy in high orbit. So I'd ask that we address Flight Officer Zhou's concerns as promptly as possible."
Chuang glanced at the two other colonels, sternly frowning, as both men took their seats, then turned back to Walker. "Walker," he repeated. "Let's start with the basics: this Tallgeese II mobile suit is operational and ready to be outfitted with the same weapons as its predecessor."
"Yes sir."
"But not these additional weapons…the armaments package salvaged from the Alliance mobile armor prototype, Epidendrum." He frowned again at the name on the printout.
Walker's shoulders visibly slackened. "We're having more problems with that. Specifically, the anti-ship beam cannon."
"That unlike the primary weapon used by the Vayeate, it could, almost certainly, only fire once in the field."
"It was designed for a mobile armor's powerplant after all," North muttered, as though the problem were obvious.
"Even that's presenting something of a challenge, the Tallgeese was never designed to carry anything but a standard long-barreled dober gun in that shoulder hardpoint."
"But the original's compatibility with various anti-mobile suit weapons is retained?" North asked.
"Yes, though at present, it would just be carrying two beam sabers the shield's weapon station. During the test flights, it wasn't further outfitted."
"Same as a Leo," he muttered to Andrew. The latter's eyes were wide open.
"So as it stands, you've finished, tested and have nearly deployed a functional reproduction of the original Tallgeese air and ground superiority mobile suit that was operated by the Lightning Count before it was destroyed. The data suggests we can expect some nominal improvements in performance—maximum speed, combat range, thrust to weight ratio, even g limits. But it's not going to be comparable to the high performance superiority machines deployed in combat since then, most obviously the Luxembourg Gundam, Epyon."
Chuang turned to the other two again, as saying Now that wasn't so hard, was it? "Well put, sir," Walker acknowledged.
"And we can confirm that Flight Lieutenant Walker as brought the same technical excellence and fineness to this machine as he did for the prototype from Corsica, as we all expected," Chuang said, more directly at North.
"See? Not so hard to pay someone a compliment is it, Chuang?" North taunted him.
"Then we can move on to Mr. Zhou's concern: that as good a machine as this is—yes, I believe we've established that—if His Excellency, the Lord Protector, should pilot this machine into combat against the Luxembourg Gundam, currently the battlefield champion of the White Fang Navy, he almost certainly will be defeated, and very likely killed," Chuang finished sharply.
"You getting all this, Andrews?" North jibed out, grinning at his blonde colleague.
"Yes!" Andrews blurted back.
"So in lieu of improving the likely outcome of said engagement, which were it a possibility I'm sure Walker would be pursuing, we need to prevent said engagement happening in the first place," North said, turning back to Walker. "Mr. Zhou told us you'd been looking at that as well, without success."
"Excuse me!" Andrews interrupted, with an exaggerated gesture of the hand. "Excuse me, but I'd still like to ask if there are any legal or…constitutional measures that we could call on to solve this problem before it even becomes one."
The two other lieutenant colonels turned to him from their seats. Walker resisted the urge to stare. "You're asking…if we can legally forbid the Lord Protector from piloting a mobile suit in combat?"
"Not us. The State Assembly," Andrews clarified. He'd regained some composure and sounded nearly confident. "Just because Treize Khushrenada isn't an anointed monarch doesn't mean he isn't subject to the law, and the State Assembly is the supreme legislative body of the World Nation."
"Is that actually true?" North asked Chuang quietly. The other colonel gave a short shrug.
"We could actually make a law that forbids the Protector of the Realm from going into combat against the White Fang, in Earth orbit. That's specific enough to buy us a few months until we can deal with White Fang, or the Gundam pilots can deal with the Epyon problem."
"Are they still alive? After all this?" North asked.
"If that's the case, sirs, shouldn't this be brought to…lawmakers, or a constitutional lawyer?" Walker asked.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Chuang replied. "You realize that, behind that gracious, magnanimous facade of a grateful sovereign, His Excellency will take it as a personal insult."
"So? He can fire me then!" Andrew offered. North rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Well, I suppose it's good to have a backup plan," Chuang noted politely.
"So then, what's the actual plan?" North demanded.
"Thermonuclear weapons?" Andrews asked. North scowled at him and poked him silently in the plastron of his uniform. "I'm not joking. We authorize battlecruiser commanders to use their torpedoes upon confirmation of the Luxembourg Gundam. Yes, we won't be precise against a Gundam but it hardly matters; I'd like to see Milliardo Peacecraft pilot his way out of an atomic explosion hotter than the center of the sun," Andrews explained, batting North's hand away.
Chuang cocked his head. "From a technical aspect it would probably work, but I think thermonuclear weapons are something of a sore point with Marcus."
The debate between the three colonels grew more vigorous, and while remained standing at the head of the conference table, he heard a short buzzing sound and felt something vibrating in a pocket of his uniform; it took another second for him to realize it was a notification alert from his mobile. Walker hadn't yet used the new telephone to make calls or even send voice messages, but knew that it had been set up to alert him of datalink transmissions to the office's own servers.
"Excuse me, sirs, something's just come in," he explained discreetly as the three continued barking at one another across the table. He reached the small computer console built into the table, gave his credentials in the form of a fingerprint and camera scan, and saw the just-received communications waiting for him from a numerical code address that looked vaguely familiar; a second later the software identified it as the primary data exchange server aboard a Space Forces battlecruiser, the Callisto. Whatever was being transmitted, a gradually-filling progress bar indicated it was a large enough data file that it was still in the process of being received before it could even be reviewed by checksum and then decrypted.
Walker was unable to speculate what had just been sent to him over the highest-priority secure datalink available to him in long-range UHF band. North was now accusing Andrews of inexperience; Andrews made no attempt to deny it, but called North inflexible and impractical in turn. Chuang was trying to rebuke both of them, but found himself being ignored. When the progress bar was filled, Walker held his breath and tapped the touchscreen keys to decrypt and open the message, which confirmed its origination from the OZSS Callisto, hull code BC-120, and its commanding officer in a simple signature line over an otherwise text file. The only other content was a folder of digital photographs, video and sensor readings which filled up the small display built into the table. With a finger, Walker scrolled through the thumbnails before stopping one color monochrome, which he tapped twice to expand, and then froze.
Walker remained that way, standing at the end of the table, as the colonels continued their conversation. For what felt like an several minutes, but was more likely less than one, he stood, arms locked over the controls. He felt like he was in front of that desk in the Palais Royal in Brussels, with the so-called Queen of the World glowering at him angrily the afternoon the Duke of Liechtenstein was taken hostage. Except back then, he just spat out whatever viable-sounding excuse he could offer. Here, he was actually trying to think usefully, comprehensively, and even without at least one angry face staring at him, that was that much harder.
A few hours after that, he'd been with Treize Khushrenada and a detail of armed CAST soldiers in full combat gear, holding the World Nation Presidium at gunpoint. It didn't seem like something he would've done, like it happened to someone else, though he'd barely spoken a word.
In front of the conference table, he finally dropped his arms to his side and looking up. "Sirs, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I we just received data from the Callisto's task force out of L1, who were intercepted during their planned strike on Libra's supply lines." Somehow, he managed to keep his voice calm and disassociated as he spoke.
"What're the casualties?" North asked, frowning at him. "Are there casualties?"
"Yes sir, but that's not what they wanted brought to our attention." Focused on keeping his arms from shaking, Walker navigated the repurposed civilian operating system for the room's multimedia system, dimming the lights slightly and projecting an image on the blank screen behind him that replaced the schematic of Tallgeese. "If you'll please."
The three colonels looked similarly bewildered at the monochrome image taken from the telescopes aboard ships on the Callisto's vanguard, and Walker brought up options to manipulate color, contrast and brightness. The geometric shapes remained the same, but the image was given artificial, enhanced color and contrast, that brought out the details of three clearly mechanical constructs facing in the same direction, suggesting a tight formation, against a starfield.
"Are those…what are those mobile dolls carrying?" Chuang asked, squinting before rubbing his eyelids with a hand.
Walker used the controls to highlight each of the three machines in a red-tinted layer. "Beam rifles, an improvement over those used by the OZ-06SMS. Also notice these large, circular equipment pods behind either shoulder, and the exposed vernier thrusters, and the absence of a shoulder-housed cyclotron. All three machines appear mechanically identical."
"So these aren't necessarily mobile dolls outfitted with mission-specific equipment that wasn't commonly seen during Operation 'Nova'," North asked.
"I haven't seen any equipment like this at any time during Operation N," Andrews muttered.
"No. The engineering section aboard the Callisto believes, and I agree, that this is improved mobile suit would correspond with the object development code thirteen-thirteen-X-three-mod-one."
"English, Walker, if you'd please," Chuang asked.
He tried to exhale discreetly. He'd been posed with a technical question, one of engineering methodology. One he could actually provide an answer to, or at least something close to that.
"Object 1313X3 was the development code approved by the Main Armaments Directorate of the Alliance Defense Ministry for the separate design development from OZ-13MS, which was just the name given by the directorate—which only still exists in a computer server in Addis Ababa because there no longer is an Alliance Ministry of Defense—to all the development projects branching off from the first proposal that would eventually become the Luxembourg Gundam. I know this because I worked on it. Object 1313X3 was the third branching design, which eventually became OZ-02MD."
"You mean the Virgo."
"Yes, but the design was actually derived from OZ-13SMS1 and OZ-13SMS2, Vayeate and Mercurius. Hence its appearance. At some point, the server generated an additional code, which as requested was derived from Object 1313X3."
"Why isn't it Thirteen-Thirteen-X-Four then?" Andrews asked, curious.
"I don't think that really matters here, Thomas," Chuang mumbled.
"Apparently it wasn't that substantial of a change," Walker speculated, looking at the projected image. "The Virgo was an unmanned mobile suit designed without accommodation for a pilot in a cockpit, something no Gundam, or any other mobile suit, shares. This machine is apparently the same." He turned back. "The code was generated sometime in September, and the first two digits correspond with the Marius Crater Complex."
"Tubarov Villemont," North concluded. "These numbers are starting to grate, Walker, and it's obviously been adopted into service or it wouldn't been shooting down the Callisto's escorts. Is there a service code?"
Walker looked back down at the interface. "Some of the images are notated—'modification of OZ-02MD, a.k.a. WF-01MD, in White Fang Navy service.' From that, if it is sufficiently distinct not to be considered a normal subvariant, they would designate it WF-02MD."
"Virgo II," North mumbled.
Andrews glanced at his neighbor before looked down at the printouts for the new Tallgeese mobile suit given to him when he arrived. "Gentlemen, I'm aware I was just the Luxembourg press secretary, and I was never actually a mobile suit troops commander before the Treizists convinced me to join them on the Irish front, and I don't know these things, but may I ask what the difference is between us calling Walker's machine 'Tallgeese II', and these new mobile dolls being called 'Virgo II'?" he asked, slow and measured.
"Well, the Tallgeese has never been a production model," North reminded him.
"For example, sirs, if this new design replaced the previous model on the production line completely," Walker elaborated.
With that explanation, the three colonels remained silent. Walker appeared to hang his head, though he was staring at the thumbnails of image files on the table's display. "What kind of numbers are we expecting in Libra's complement of mobile dolls?"
"The original specification called for forty autonomous squadrons, alongside separate mobile suit and combat engineer battalions," North recalled. "They could easily hold twice that, but that's more than the entire sum of mobile dolls in service on Earth. And they wouldn't have had the time to deploy that even the original complement…"
He stopped himself and put a hand against his forehead, now visible tired. "Who wants to talk to parliament, and who wants to talk to the Lord Protector?"
"I'll go to Brussels. It was my idea, after all," Andrews answered. In contrast, his voice had taken on a new calm. "As for His Excellency…"
"We'll go together." Chuang pursed his lips briefly. "What if we…went on our knees, do you think…?"
"It's not the Sixteenth Century, Chuang." North removed his hand and glanced across the table. "Walker…"
"Excuse me, sirs. If there's nothing else, I'll need to leave." He seemed to realize how awkward that statement has been. "I mean, I'll forward the remainder of the technical breakdown thus far and answer any other questions, of course, but I…well, I have to go."
"Go where?" Andrews asked. Immediately, North reached forward and smacked him, softly, on the back of his head with an open palm.
"While searching for a suitable pilot, I've been in regular contact with a frontline unit in the Space Forces Mobile Suit Troops. Regardless of what additional data comes down from the Callisto, I need to brief them on this."
"You mean the First Recon Battalion," North clarified. The knowing look he'd prepared was wasted; Walker was already collecting his belongings into his briefcase, audibly snapping it shut before he looked up.
"Yes sirs. If you'll excuse me."
North flicked his wrist at him in resignation. "Go with God, Walker."
He went to Kiest-Lang instead. He found the taller flight lieutenant waiting amid the military motor pool, and she saw him approaching her hastily, briefcase under one arm and a grim frown fixed to his face. "You're still here! Maybe my luck is finally turning."
She raised an eyebrow. "You were only talking to them for ten minutes."
"Really? Only ten minutes?" He glanced at his wristwatch in his free hand before shaking his head. "Never mind. We have another problem, one we didn't create for once."
She leaned against one of Haerebierg's own 4WD military cars and looked up. "Great," she concluded. "I assume it's the White Fang?"
"How did you know?"
"There aren't that many problems in the world we didn't have a hand in. Arguably including the White Fang." She cocked her head. "Well?"
Where to begin? Walker stared at her, wide-eyed and jaw clenched, for a few seconds longer before shaking his repeatedly. "Later. When my brain's ability to reason catches up with what its already learned."
"That bad?"
"If I have to keep giving briefings like this, it's going to k-…" He stopped himself. He wasn't back in Brussels, a largely incompetent spy staring down an angry queen. He was in Luxembourg; he'd make himself remember that. "I just gave the one of the most difficult, unplanned situation briefings of my career, and it wasn't even about Tallgeese. Not really."
Kalin gave a long, sharp whistle, turning her head in the other direction. "Well damn. What do you need me to do?"
He hadn't expected the offer, and found himself staring down at his riding boots for a second, trying to think. He looked back up. "I need you to find Squadron Commander Ogasawara…Emi. Please find Emi. I think…she'll be at the Grand Théâtre in Luxembourg City, with the rest of First Recon."
"And?"
"When she asks, tell her it's not about Tallgeese. I sort of…burned that bridge earlier." He managed to keep himself from grinding his jaw. "Tell her…tell her it concerns the next major Space Forces offensive."
Kalin stared directly at him with those large, green eyes framed on either side by her dark bangs. "Really?"
"It may not be obvious, Flight Lieutenant, but I'm at my limit." He put a hand against his temple, his fingers twitching. He took a single, slow, deep breath, closed his eyes, and after a moment exhaled. "Thank you again, Kalin."
"You're welcome. I wasn't planning on going into town this evening." She rolled her eyes. "And what are you going to do?"
I can't keep trying to triage these crises as they come to me. I've been doing that for a year now, and here I find myself. "Right now? Try and make a phone call. But after that, the thing I've been avoiding up to this point: I'm going to show Tallgeese to His Excellency."
V
"Lieutenant Somerset, Ensign Noembreux, if you'd please."
The two White Fang Space Navy officers entered the circular computer core room, one of an entire array located directly beneath the deck housing Libra's overbridge, each with the necessary data and communications processing capability of singularly operating the battleship's full compliment of combat-capable mobile dolls, but intended to act redundantly. This particularly computer core featured a unique modification: over the computer hardware arranged on the room's circumference was a curved display screen that ran along the whole length of the hardware, almost completing the circle except for the necessary access hatch. In the available floorspace, a folding table with three chairs had been setup, with a small digital notebook and other notetaking materials.
Jane Somerset took one chair and Charles Noembreux took the other, both still wearing their drab military normal suits with their helmets hanging from hinges over their backs. Opposite them, Dorothy Catalonia waited with a wide smile. Having already been debriefed on the preemptive strike on Task Force Z, Somerset intended to remain silent until otherwise ordered; Noembreux did not.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but its this the mobile doll control center?"
"You're the same rank as Dorothy, Charles," Somerset reminded him quietly.
"Oh, that's right." He blushed a little.
"That's quite alright. And yes, it is," Dorothy replied, still smiling. "One of them. I'll be speaking to all the pilots who participated in that battle, starting with yourselves."
"Is that really necessary, though? You may not have been there, but you witnessed the strike in real time."
"Yes, but my own appraisal of the battle was not accurate. I was almost certainly mistaken about my assumption that this might've been a deliberate trap by the enemy."
Somerset raised an eyebrow in skepticism. Noembreux shifted nervously in his chair despite the microgravity. "But the squadron's combat performance was more than adequate, given the…well…"
"The unanticipated appearance of two of OZ's Gundams." Somerset's dark eyes narrowed. "The navy was under the impression that, with the Supreme Commander's own machine, and the seizure of the Marius Crater and adjacent territories in the Lunar Military District, OZ wouldn't be able to deploy any Gundams. So that was apparently inaccurate?"
"That was an overly optimistic assessment by our leaders." The explanation was given by Second Lieutenant Carey, who Dorothy interviewed after Somerset and Noembreux. She sat in a line at the table, alongside First Lieutenant McIntyre and Second Lieutenant Rochford; despite her rank, she had been steering the conversation. "May I ask where you heard that?"
"From Lieutenant Thompson. When I asked him, his exact words were 'With the Luxembourg Gundam on our side, along with Luna's factories, we don't need to worry about Gundams. At least, not from OZ'," she repeated, with particular emphasis on the last three words. "Apparently, he didn't know what the hell he as talking about. Again."
"It's true, I was with Lieutenant Carey during the conversation. For what it's worth, he sounded completely confident in that assumption," explained Rochford, a young man with closely-cropped auburn hair and freckles under his eyes.
"Did the late first lieutenant offer any reasoning behind that confidence?"
"Well…"
"He was talking to Sedici," Carey blurted out. She was among the three pilots in the second round of interviewing, when Dorothy had finished with Somerset and Noembreux. "He was talking to Colonel Sedici before he was dismissed by Commander Milliardo. And I assume the colonel was briefed by Major Ishikawa and Chief Avram earlier. It's not like we can ask him, can we?"
McIntyre, sitting between Carey and Rochford, raised his hand slowly. "Sorry, I'm confused, which him do we mean?"
"Thompson, the dead one!" Carey barked at him. Her voice had shifted from its usual annoyance to something resembling barely concealed remorse. "Though none of us are talking to Sedici either, are we?"
"Hmmm," Dorothy said through pursed lips, touching a gloved finger to the side of her chin. The pilots gave her incredulous looks.
"Hmmm what?" Livia Semis asked nervously. She had repeated the tendency a few minutes later as she interviewed Livia Semis and Carmen Soletta.
"I think what my comrade is asking is…that we're a little unclear on the need for this interview given that we already completed our debriefing."
"And you already interviewed the rest of the flight," Semis growled, as Soletta put a hand firmly on her shoulder. "Sorry," she added hastily.
Dorothy smiled back in a manner that caused Semis to visibly shiver. "I wanted to congratulate Captain Soletta on her magnificent performance in the field. You almost singularly sank an enemy battlecruiser…"
"I wouldn't go that far," Soletta mumbled. Semis no longer trusted herself to speak.
"It seems to me that you should've been the attack commander in the place of Lieutenant Thompson. Do you have any idea why that was?"
Soletta looked like prey caught in a trap. "What does that have to do with the mobile dolls?" Semis asked hastily.
"Nothing, ma'am. It was just an observation. In truth I think I've learned as much as I can from the pilots who accompanied Autonomous Squadron 999 into combat, or as much as I'll be able to add to Major Ishikawa's data analysis."
"And may I ask what that is?" Semis prodded further.
"The battlefield command routines, as used by OZ Space Forces Taurus troops during the war against the former Alliance at the First Lagrange Point, are at their effective limits. If you'll allow my impertinence, I don't blame the pilots; on the contrary, I blame the machines."
"So in other words, how they're being used," Soletta somberly corrected her.
Dorothy gave a nod. "Overriding commands may be needed as circumstance requires, but asking pilots to take primary command of mobile dolls in the field, as they did during OZ's campaigns in Outer Space and on Earth, seems ill-advised. But what I've seen is that better performance was observed with command routines issued by the carrier ship, from Lieutenant Somerset and Ensign Noembreux, when being supplied with timely data also interpreted by humans.
Soletta seemed to relax, throwing one arm over her the back of her folding chair. "So what are you saying, Lieutenant Catalonia?"
Dorothy's smile widened. The sense of trapping either of them had seemingly been replaced by something else. "Today, we have a very large number of operational space mobile suit dolls aboard, enough for tens of squadrons. That number is gradually increasing every day with inventories arriving from the arsenals on Luna. The World Nation will have seen this new type of mobile doll and reported along the military hierarchy, and will be preparing their own countermeasure. They might attempt to strike at those facilities on the Moon, but more likely they will concern themselves with the immediate threat posed by this very battlegroup, than unassembled materiel yet to be delivered. And we will naturally evaluate their tactics tomorrow, just as we are evaluating them today."
"And we move a step closer towards some…ultimately decisive battle?" Soletta asked.
Dorothy leaned forward enthusiastically. Semis' eyes twitched from her older comrade to the much younger, more diminutive girl sitting across the cable. It struck her how much Dorothy Catalonia, will her pale features given an almost porcelain quality in the unflattering lighting of the computer core, looked like a dressed-up doll; clad in her slightly baggy-fitting surplus dress uniform of the earlier age, when the Alliance closed the frontier of Outer Space, the metal insignia of the Armed Forces of the Committee for the Liberation of Peoples of the Habitats pinned to her right breast, a old leather harness belt over her opposite shoulder, holster at her side. The life-sized doll leered back at her, dissuaded by the larger, more muscular woman with darker features and thick, long curls of, almost black hair. You'd have to look hard to find a more disparate pair of officers fighting on the same side. "Exactly, Captain. I'm sure someone of your age, with your actual professional experience, understands that better than I ever will. We all have our duties in this, the Artemis Revolution. My responsibility, alongside others, is determining how fit for use these dolls will be at the crucial time."
"Which you know is coming," Semis said, surprising herself.
"I believe so. I don't think there's anything that can stop this war at this point." She gave an almost mischievous grin. "We will make our mark on history before this year is out, please be sure of that."
VII
"Mr. Zhou. I'm still deciding what consequences I have in mind for you."
Walker had that told Zhou Jun that immediately after he exited his 4WD military car at the head of the Lord Protector's three car motorcade, like a twisted greeting accompanied by what he could manage as a hostilely polite smile. It seemed to have its effect, as Zhou's eyes widened momentarily and his jaw slackened, before turning to the vehicle behind him. Walker saluted, as did Zhou, as two men from the Fusiliers-Chasseurs Regiment disembarked the third car and circled to the second one; the Lord Protector opened the door himself and exited, giving the waiting engineer a relaxed gesture with his right hand and Walker relaxed.
"Good afternoon, Flight Lieutenant Walker. I heard you've had a busy day already; how were the colonels?" It was a very simple question for Treize Khushrenada.
He took a moment to answer. "Also very busy, sir. At least I think so." He shot Zhou a look out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry we I didn't arrange this sooner, Your Excellency."
"I'm not," he said, almost cheerily. "And the test pilots, Flight Lieutenants Meyer and Salehi?"
"Yes sir." It occurred to Walker for a moment it was genuinely difficult to schedule meetings like this.
"That's very good, I'd like to speak with them immediately after seeing it." Treize stopped and stared at him, and there was nothing else for him to do besides peremptorily gesture in the direction of the high security hangar at Findel.
Th conversation continued as they made their way by foot, something Walker almost felt like he regretted. It seemed below the Lord Protector's dignity, somehow.
"Just before you arrived, I was able to get through to Lieutenant Colonel Broden at L1-C-102." Walker resisted the urge to stare at Treize's face, as if the name might conjure a memory of OZ's former ambassador to the space colonies and one of Broden's controversial predecessors. "I shared with him some basic data just so that he could have a picture of what was happening, alongside his counterparts on Earth."
"If Broden asks for any data, feel free to give however much you see fit. He's beyond reproach, I just don't think it's in his style to ask," Treize said, thoughtful. "You knew Broden back in your younger days, didn't you?"
The two of them stopped as one of the hangar doors was brought open for them. Walker hadn't expected Treize to remember that. "Yes sir, I did. I suppose you might say Albert Broden made me a soldier."
"Many officers in the Order still say that," Treize offered, before he continued. Walker hurriedly followed, making sure to stay ahead of the Lord Protector's dogged entourage, though once inside the hangar, the bodyguards took their position at the exits the two and Zhou climbed up the steel stairway leading up the observation gantry, their path lit only by regularly placed guide lights.
"L1-C-102 is better informed of the White Fang's day-to-day movements, particularly in the Lunar Military District, then we are. Both they, and the battlecruiser Callisto, have reported an improved mobile doll for space combat is being deployed by Libra. The White Fang forces on Luna are shifting available manpower from long range support of the navy to local defense; what can't be reasonably used for defense, they man plan to reassign to the navy. Same with their own inventory of mobile suits." Walker paused a few steps from the end of the stairway. "Sir, that's just their current analysis of the situation. Tomorrow…"
He stopped himself. He felt like he was holding back laughter, that sort of laughter that served as a thin veneer of bravado over unconquerable fear. The sort of laughter the pilots who'd seized L1-C-00421 must've mustered before they died, one by one, to the last.
Walker swallowed, almost gagging. "Tomorrow it could be completely different."
"If Albert Broden told you this, I don't think it will change that quickly," Treize said, his expression turned away from Walker. Apparently unbothered by the dim lighting, Treize reached the observation level and walked to the other side of the gantry, while he stopped at the control panel at the opposite side, flipping a bank of large switches.
The rows of industrial lighting on the tall hangar ceiling illuminated above him. Ahead of the observation level was the upper half of the chassis of the OZ-00MS2, the operational Tallgeese mobile suit, in its new blue-and-white livery.
Treize put a closed fist against his hip, his eyes slowly following the machine's lines up to the armored faceplate over its primary monoeye camera. "It's been done like the Taurus prototype from the Battle of Luxembourg," he announced.
I thought he would like that. Walker allowed himself some minor self-congratulation for recalling the OZ-12SMS prototype airframe that had been hastily painted in the colors of an Alliance Special Mobile Suit Troops colonel's uniform. Treize was still staring at the machine in front of him.
"In the opinion of Colonel Broden, as provisional commander-in-chief of OZ Space Forces, the White Fang Navy presently has the means to fight one, major decisive frontline battle against it. After that, short of a major seizure of additional industrial bases and resources in the Colonies or Luna, those territories we control, the White Fang must return to asymmetrical warfare away from the frontline."
"Their current restraint certainly seems to reflect that."
"Likewise, use of their thermonuclear arsenal would invite immediate retaliation from Space Forces' own missile reserves, which in spite of substantial losses to the Strategic Missile Troops, is still superior in numbers and reach."
Treize stared at the mobile suit, part of its white anti-flash paint scheme now partially replaced by brilliant royal blue.
"Your Excellency, may I speak candidly?"
"Of course, Flight Lieutenant."
"Sir, it really is too…dangerous for you to command from the frontline in your person," Walker announced, as calmly and detached as he could manage. In any machine, much less this one. He held that back; it wasn't his statement to make. "That is my assessment, and the assessment of the senior officers briefed on my work in Luxembourg."
"Milliardo Peacecraft, supreme commander of the White Fang, is already fighting on the frontline, isn't he?" It wasn't a question. "You could interpret this sortie as courtesy to him, at that time."
"But sir…" he repeated.
To his surprise, Treize interrupted him. "Remember this well, Walker: a war in which decorum is forgotten, gives rise to nothing but butchery." He narrowed his eyes. "That's why the wars of Earth's past were particularly tragic."
He turned to Walker, away from the machine. "I believe this machine is ready. At the conclusion of your testing, have it sent to the Space Forces defensive line out of MO-II."
He could offer no effective objection, no persuasive argument. "Yes, sir."
"And good work, Walker. I can already tell this is a fine piece of machinery. I should expect no less."
In spite of himself, Walker nodded. That place he had desperately hoped he wouldn't fid himself, he was there. He found his mind moved easily to the next step. "Thank you, Your Excellency." I wonder, how exactly do you tell your superior's that you're prepared to kill yourself in battle? Of course, didn't I say that exact thing to Zechs less than a year ago? "Whatever happens, sir, I won't let you down."
Treize almost looked taken aback. It was a completely foreign expression from Walker's perspective, almost like he'd taken offense for a fraction of a second before settling on raised eyebrows. "I never thought you would, Walker."
Author's Notes:
Yes, I'm not dead (though the previous updates to my other works were probably evidence enough of that). Nor is this story. And yes, I am ashamed of how long this took (my god, coming on a year, it's like the dark ages all over again). I've made peace with the fact that my old chapter-a-month pacing is long gone and never to return, but I should acknowledge some things (or excuses): things were in unusual change at work (not bad, though potentially meaning less "nothing to do but stare at my computer and write", though Xbox Game Pass is a culprit there too), I was juggling multiple stories, and maybe most seriously: this is possibly the hardest part of the Gundam Wing narrative to write in prose. If I could just rush into the conclusion of the Eve Wars, which to some extent the manga actually does, I could probably finish this story very unsatisfactorily in one or two chapters. Except it would be miserable, even compared to…this, with is another slow-burn intermediary chapter. And as much as I'm beating myself up…this is a story about an engineer, and the introduction of the Virgo II certainly is a noteworthy development in the eleventh hour. I'm hoping, maybe unrealistically, the next chapter will be easier to write: Dorothy Catalonia's awakening of the infamous dollmaster/puppeteer, Treize's preparations for the final battle, the Gundam pilots' typical bravado, and so forth. Those things put Walker in an awkward place, and I'm reminded of not a complaint, but a consideration from long ago, "Walker probably needs to be in this story more."
That's the bad news; the good news is, well, I'm still writing. I'm still hoping to hear back about the story. And aside from a number of embarrassing corrections that I'm going to avoid naming with the hopes that no one will actually notice they were wrong in the first place, I think things are actually pretty solid. I fully intend to not wait another year before writing again (becoming a homeowner, realistically, did not help; so I wouldn't recommend it if you actually have anything your life you care about more than homeowning like a normal, living human being). I will be updating my other stories. And while at least this chapter was substantial for the wait (~11,000 words), later chapters should be more manageable? As always, please leave any feedback, thoughts, compliments and critiques, and thank you for staying with me for this long.