A word of caution. Because most of this chapter is dominated by Duo, I used scriptfic and several other juvenile devices to move events at his amped pace. All other chapters operate in my normal style. Please review.
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Thanksgiving
Day, A.C.197
Maxwell House
Mogadishu, Somalia
Dramatis Personae
Former Gundam Pilots
Duo Maxwell: owner of Maxwell House, and Host.
Quatre Rebarba-Winner: owner of Quatre's Qrib and heir of the Winner Fortune.
Trowa Barton: clown and friend of Quatre and Duo. Chang WuFei: Earth Sphere UN Preventer.
Friends of the former Gundam Pilots:
Hilde Schbeiker: Hostess of Maxwell House, and co-owner.
Sally Poe: Preventer, Wuffe's partner.
Rashid Kurama: Maguanauc soldier (retired).
Dorothy Catalonia: Student of Political Science. Howard:
Retired Gundam Designer/Engineer.
Manager: Ring Master and General Manager of A circus.
Act one, scene one.
"Man!
How did the Waltons get through all those years?" Duo found himself
suffering from writer's block, just writing a multi-denomination
prayer for a holiday dinner.
"They just seem to know how to say
thanks; I-I don't have any religious training! This kind of thing
is Quatre's gig (sigh)," he resigned.
"I thought this would
be like one of Hilde's cakes, without tasting like one of 'em."
Suddenly...
"Duo Maxwell, (raspberry)-oye," Hilde grunted, encroached within the all -concealing shadows. : You can be scum when left to yourself!"
Duo sighed again (he's that type).
"Sorry about that, I-yeah just make a lot of put-downs when I'm frustrated," he apologized.
"At least you don't vent your rage like Eminem," she consoled.
"Hey! I don't have any rage within me; I'm no WuFei Chang!"
New Voice: "Um hum, I dropped by a few hours to lend my support, but it seems I might need to schedule an anger management class." Duo: "WuFei! How y' been?" WuFei: Upset." He cracked a thin smile.
"Actually, I've been expending surplus bullets at space-mines, cleaning up, and demolishing mobile-suits. It's not just patrol for WuFei." Duo couldn't help but smile.
"So you're not bored or anything, right?" WuFei's smile contracted into a set, intense frown.
"Heck no, it's been quite a fulfilling trek from the war." Hilde moved quickly to cheer up the two somber party-poopers.
"Guys, let's go see how much fun the Sooners are having!" The baby vets nodded, and said "OK."
"As long as there's not a forgetful clown here that you could fall for," Duo joked; and gasped.
"I'm sorry, do you have your foot in your mouth or something?" There stood Trowa Barton: three strikes and you're out, Duo. "This isn't your usual flak-trap," Duo mumbled.
"This is a wonderful place, guys. How did you ever get the cash for it? 03 asked, eyeing the ambiance. Duo sighed, looked at the orange-dome roof, and explained.
"Well, it started just after Christmas of last year, when we all stopped Operation M. You see, I started thinking, Mariemaia said the new suits were a gift from her father. So, Dekim, or whatever his name was, still had money in the bank, having not spending it sic on the suits, he still had all of the Barton Foundation money in his account, saving it for some ugly purpose. So I look into it. What do y' know? I'm on the payroll. It seems that I had a boss pension waiting for me, so I cashed in. I hired a glorified ambulance chaser, and... got my retirement dough a little ahead of time. It paid for everything." Trowa and WuFei glanced at each other.
"I had no idea," Trowa said blankly.
"Me neither, son of a gun," said WuFei. The colony trio was interrupted, as Duo checked out Hilde, who was looking longingly at a two-person arcade game.
"Hilde, yantooplay 'MAN FROM HADES INTERSTATE MASS MURDER?" The ex-OZ officer expressed mock-enrapture.
"Oh Duo, you mean it? Wow, (change of pace) I'll kick you butt!"
"Sure, go for it, I'm known only for winning losing battles, so don't expect much of a challenge," he invited.
"C'mon, I'll race you!" Hilde counter-invited.
"So, you want to make some quick money?" What do you think, Trowa? Yes, WuFei does.
"Why don't we just have fun, like those two?" 05 asked, nodding at the gaming duo (pun: couple).
"This would be fun; I've got an idea," Trowa answered, smiling like the fox. They shared the same smile for a moment.
"Tell me then, what do you have in mind?"
"Well," he began, "we collect a pot for prize money," WuFei, Trowa noticed, was getting anxious, so Trowa smiled as he continued.
"Then, we setup a booth. We will charge one dollar for every attempt." WuFei frowned.
"Attempt at what?"
"Attempt at making me laugh," the young clown explained. Chang groaned, he felt as if he had just seen the 'Peacecraft Queen' sink.
"You have got to be kidding," WuFei stated in disbelief.
"Not at all," 03 assured, "Cathy will win the prize money, and we'll all have a handsome sum." 05 caught on.
"Now I get it, your running a scam!" Trowa ordered WuFei not to raise his voice.
"Let's do it."
Same
Day,
Maxwell Country,
Rural Colombia.
Dramatis Personae:
Zechs Marquise: Owner of Tallgeese, and is the greatest soldier in the Earth Sphere.
Lucrezia Noin: Zechs' partner.
Heero Yuy: Former Gundam pilot and heart of outer space.
Mordred Bartista: Czar of the drug cartel.
Heorot Manuela: Mordred's master snoop-hunter.
0600, Rural Columbia Morning
Burstcom: "Noin, thermo's showing a convoy. Looks like Mordred Bartista's trucks. They're not the government, or legit farmers." Noin watched carefully from her mobile-suit.
"You're right, I'm blazing." C-4 lit-up the road, dismembering four, ten, and eighteen-wheelers.
"Well done, Noin, now let's get 'em." She raised her Taurus to the treetops and beamed targeting data to the Tallgeese, who was lying within a duck blind.
Zechs diligently searched for the most dangerous threat of all.
"There he is." Zechs spotted Gemini, the pride of Bartista's mobile-suit fleet.
"Noin, drop below the road-ridge, Gem' is here," he warned his partner.
"Right away." Crouched on its stomach like an army-man sniper, Tallgeese fired the beam- cannon. Plasma-pulse engulfed the hybrid monstrosity, with little effect, as expected.
"Mercurius and Vayeate, this could be tough."
The
Siamese-suit directed its heavy cannon in the direction of Zecks,
still not sure where Merquise was.
The Lightning Count didn't
wait, however, lighting the vernier and accelerating in a head-on run
at Gemini.
The drug-money suit leveled the cannon, and earned a
radar-lock noise. The detector in Tallgeese warned Zechs of the
upcoming shot.
Gemini fired, but Zechs swept to the side, advanced
on the suit; an obvious echo of his first fight with Hero. He made a
move for the beam- saber, but at the moment of impact, elected to
perform a backward somersaulted, kicking Gemini into a nearby ravine.
"Noin, maybe it would be best to fall-back from this battle. Bypass them by flying southeast. I'll meet you on the other side," he firmly suggested, keeping his eyes peeled for threatening mobile-suits.
Ol' Gem moved his beam-saber-equipped shield from the shoulder to the left hand, and placed the cannon to his back, giving up on shooting Zechs.
"That's okay, give me your best shot." Zechs placed his own gun in a shoulder notch.
"This could take some time, and that would be a disaster."
Maxwell House
"Y'all
come, y'all come, make the man laugh! Fifty-dollar prize! One
dollar a try! Exchangeable for gold! Really fun! Really worth it!"
Could WuFei make the sell?
So far there have not been any
challengers, but, some newcomer might have Trowa's number.
(Bathroom break)
"I'm about to turn a sure profit at my booth; I am the king of cons!" Trowa found the joy of deceiving people, and he felt as if he owned the world.
Columbia
The Lightning Count sailed at a slight to right slant toward the green goblin; Gemini. Saber held high, Zechs kept his mecha-hand close to the cannon's trigger.
"Once
more, I must come on top!" Moment of impact II, Zechs succeeded in
placing a pulse around Gem's left hand-shield... right to the
face.
Tallgeese danced inside, parrying a futile cat-slap, and
punched Gem's retreating chin with his freehand Superman
style.
Gemini could no longer stumble- he just fell down. That
didn't stop him from hitting the jets.
"Calling
the mobile-suit Gemini, this is Zechs Merquise. I am declaring the
end of this battle. If you wish to acknowledge a recess, just say
so," the Count requested of the drug-lord's hand.
The green
suit, Zechs noticed, set down on a distant hill.
"Okay,
this is Heorot Manuela. Why should I yield when I have the
advantage?" The suit inquired insolently.
Zechs decided to play
Vega, and appeared on Gemini's screen, hoping Heo' would follow
suit.
"Advantage? You mean your numerical superiority? Don't count on that, friend, I just want to give you a breather, so we can go another round," he smiled coolly, taking note of the mobile-suits encircling him.
'Is
he directing them himself?' Zechs pondered, his gut saying
'yes' the whole way.
Heorot appeared on Zechs'
screen, ready to continue dialogue.
"Sure, we can go another round sometime, but only if you can survive long enough," he accepted, then signed off.
"What
the Devil does-" Zechs gasped, seeing white streams spraying in his
direction.
He pressed in the overdrive, a last-ditch effort to
survive. He cleared the flood, eyeing the black Aries suit below.
"Now's my chance to kill him," Zechs said, glad to be alive, and also, glad he, the suit, and the verniers survived overdrive output. He powered up the beam-cannon, grasping it tightly, and earned a direct hit on the unsuspecting hybrid suit.
"Darn, he was able to deploy his shields," the Count said, seeing suit plop over in defeat.
"See you in round two, Vega, (laughter)!" He laughed, nursing Tallgeese to the rendezvous area.
"Nice try with the space-lasers, Heo' boy!"
Maxwell House
Homeboy1: "Yo-yo, entertaining this guy has wiped me out, man."
(The key here, is to think of potty humor)
Homeboy2: "Did you say wipe? Tubular, man!"
Homeboy1: "(Laughter) Stay off that, man, it's hard being Cool, Rich, And Popular."
(Acronym: CRAP)
Homeboy2: "Solid, man, who could handle a WAD of me, imagine a load!"
Homeboy1: "Did you say handle? Man, get jiggy with that quickly, headmaster, this has left me pooped!"
Homeboy
2: "Not to mention the chili dog, right?"
WuFei was terribly
dismayed.
"He's laughing, Trowa Barton is laughing at these guys. I've been wiped out." He pulled his gangsta bowler over is eyes, and departed in shame.
"Enzo, Max, thanks for your help, guys, here's your part of the deal," Trowa told the two scamming comedians. He handed them their money.
"It's a pleasure," the youth said, most likely sincere.
"Yes,
it certainly was, I haven't had this much fun since the end of the
war," the other man said.
'Strange,' Trowa thought,
'one guy is large with a gruff voice, and the other has a
youthful appearance, and a youthful voice. That always seems to
happen.' Trowa's eye lit up.
"Duo, I see that you've finished your game with Hilde, how did it go?" Maxwell looked down and said, "Oh, not so swell," now looking up, "I destroyed her." Trowa laughed again, and the two mobsters smile in response.
"Hey, you should see lounge-site, my private office space, Trowa. Feel free to bring your friends there, too," Duo waved, ushering Trowa along before he could protest the actual facts about his relationship with Enzo and Max.
Columbia
'Destroyer of his own men' made the trek to Heck: i.e., his camp, where Noin and the crew were waiting for him.
"How will the Chief take it, I wonder?"
"Lieutenant Zechs, I can tell by the flight data that your actions were the correct ones, and that you are truly the best soldier ever to step in a mobile-suit; but that's not going to repair the gun and the engines,"
Miser, Zechs' Crew Chief, lectured, peering at the diagnostic readout,
"Thankfully, the engines didn't meltdown. In fact, Tallgeese would run just fine at three-quarters output. The gun however, is beyond repair, the insides, anyway. You could use the rifle-cannon in the meantime, and I can have the engines running at speed at dusk tomorrow."
"The cannon will be fine, Miser, but I'm going to need the engine power- one day it is." Zechs took a step away from the crew-cut mechanic, then stopped, deciding to bring one more thing to the Chief's attention.
"One
more thing, I've got to follow a lead I've discovered and I'll
have to go out for awhile. Tell Noin I might be out until late...
where is she, anyway?"
The head grease monkey considered.
"Some experiment with the demolitions. I 'magine, she thinks someone tampered with the ones y'all set in th' jungle."
The count's eyebrows rose.
"Huh, tampered with? I saw the convoy's destruction- why would she think that anything is wrong?" Miser couldn't give a clear answer.
"Thanks
anyway, and double thanks for your work on the Tallgeese. Not even
Howard is this fast with it, and he created this beast. I'll return
before midnight."
Zechs saluted, then walked out of the portable
hanger.
"Don't be late, Zechs, we need you to pilot this monster," Miser whispered, not really trying to be heard. "Take care."
Mogadishu
Fountains, stuffed birds of prey, and DeathScythe waist deep in water; these were the unique parts about Duo's office: the rest looking like a nineteenth century men's club-room, sort of like the men's clubroom featured on 'Home Improvement,' or an Atlantic City casino.
"Quite a pad, huh Trowa?" Duo looked past his friend in pride.
"Strangely, it's as if I'm reunited with my tribe," said Trowa, in silent wonder.
"That's the idea, now we are men among our natural habitat," Duo bragged, in 'proud space explorer' tone.
"So you want to hear a little secret?" Duo asked rapidly. Trowa shrugged.
"Shoot." 02 pointed at Trowa's two 'friends.'
"Those two guys are going to help me in a secret mission." Trowa blinked, barely betraying surprise.
"Pardon?"
Duo: "(Sigh) Enzo, Max, illustrate."
The little one named Max pulled off his hat, and peeled dry paint from his face. Enzo retrieved a wet towel for his friend, and Max rubbed vigorously.
Max: "And out from the drought-pudding comes the epic-inspiring Quatre!"
Sure
enough, under the cosmetic cake layer, stood Quetre Reberba- Winner,
famed former pilot of Gundam 04.
Duo stepped forward, in Trowa's
direction.
"I need your help, buddy."
Columbia
C-4 lit up the road, dismembering four, ten, and eighteen-wheelers at a smaller scale than before.
"It
agrees with the computer sims, ma'am, someone tampered with the
demolitions," gray-haired and mustached Assistant Chief Chim
concluded.
Noin only smiled knowingly, having solved the case...
practically.
"Thanks for your help, Chim. I think I can handle everything from here," she excused herself.
"Could you tell the junior mechanics to taxi the 'distance flight configured' Taurus onto the runway? I'm going to take it out for awhile."
Senor Bubba's BBQ, Bogota, Columbia
"Buenos Noches, mi yammo Zecks Merquise. Llego por El Grandee Heorot, El en?"
"Si, Senor, El Grandee es en," the doorman answered. He pulled the door open.
"Gracias," the Count thanked, tipping the doorman.
"Sawdust
floors, what a shabby joint," he said to 'nada' as he walked
down a western hall.
Neon beer signs clashed with antiques all the
way down.
"Deadly
row, like the green mile," he snickered.
The wood shavings were
brittle, and created a spur like sound with every footfall. At last,
he reached the counter.
"Of
how can I serve," an obese Latin woman asked, standing behind the
counter.
"Bottled coca cola, curly fries, and two roast beef
sandwiches," Zechs ordered, avoiding water-ice.
"Si Senor, ponse alli, por favor," she requested. Zechs found a table, and waited for his order.
"This room is quite cheery, in a rugged way," he noted the load atmosphere, "still, it's not a dance club, I might find Heorot."
Zechs
had decided that Heorot Manuela would frequent this bar, after
reading the OZ MP records on the former soldier.
This bar suited
his taste, or rather, the select haunting places of his crowd. Heorot
is a hard adventure-lover, who had formerly worked with the 33rd
Independent in Somalia, but split with Alex and Mueller sometime
before the assault on the Noventa Cannon. In area of raw talent, he
was Noin's number one student, but he was "impossible," or so
Noin's scribbled notes say. You know what the rogue is doing these
days.
Zechs spied a glass door with closed blinds.
"Of course, a closed fiesta," he triumphantly mouthed, certain he had found Heo'.
"Hola, Senor Guapo, tu hamburgasas y papas eres terminitos," a teen waitress delivered the roast beef and fries to Zechs.
"Gracias, muchacha," he thanked, not realizing he had offended her.
"Cerdo!" She assaulted, storming away.
"Silly girl," he laughed, paying her little mind.
"Heorot, may Christopher protect you as long as you're in Colombia, because I'll show you no mercy."
Maxwell House
"The Noventa cannon?" Trowa asked, surprised by Duo.
"Yep, about a month ago, Sylvia asked me to go up there with her, and explore the possibility of building a monument there. But when we went up there, we saw a construction crew rebuilding the facilities. We barely escaped with our lives, and have been planning an assault ever since," Due explained.
"So, today is just one big ruse?" Trowa asked, still surprised.
"All the nonsense with you, Quatre, WuFei, and Rashid, yes," Duo affirmed.
"A monument for the Field Marshal, I guess," Trowa speaking.
"Yep,
and by the way, WuFei's a part of the plan, too, and not an
unwitting part, either."
Trowa focused his eyes on Duo, hoping
no important fact has escaped him.
"How much have you investigated?" Duo seemed to have rehearsed this.
"Seems
to be a group of discontents, nothing more, but the cannon has the
Preventers worried, as you would expect. However, Aerial surveillance
has been useless, (sigh) something that has me worried. Stealthy
means professional. Only their unwillingness to use active sensors
allowed Silvia and me to get close."
Despite the dangers, Trowa
had confidence in Duo, who was obviously topnotch.
"So Trowa, you ready to conquer this thing or what?"
"Can't wait," he enthused but didn't (you know).
"Ok,
Enzo and Max need to go, before hypothetical spies start getting
suspicious," Duo instructed. Both: "Right."
Duo walked to a
lion statue, and ran a magnetic card trough it.
"Ok, Trowa, you go through this passage, as I 'check on the turkey,' Maxwell instructed, as a secret door opened mechanically.
"Take care, I'll be with you in a second."
Canal Defense Base, North of Panama City, Panama.
"Pagan,
has Relena sent any agents on a fact-finding mission in Columbia?
This is important," Noin asked the old man over the web.
Pagan's
brows ruffled.
"Are you there? In Columbia, I mean," he asked, stalling.
"No, Pagan, I'm in Panama, I just need to know," and she expressed little patience.
"I'll tell you, since Relena needs all the allies she can get: she has appointed the Gundam pilot Heero Yuy," he gave in.
"Hot blast! I was right! Thanks Pagan, and take care of yourself," Noin signed off, jubilated.
"Who else would have, and could have, repositioned the explosives so that they'd only destroy the vehicles, darned kid. What could he be doing out here?"
Bubba's BBQ
In little over one second, Zechs had jimmied open the lock with his tungsten-steel rapier... and walked into a WILD beer-bash, typical of Heorot Manuela.
'I'm expecting the maximum, as you always told me to,' Walker's words echoed through the count's skull as he saw all of the drunken soldiers.
"Heorot,
this is the spirit of Zechs Marques. I have come to claim your
soul!"
"Well ain't that so? (Hiccup) I like it where it is,
and you ain't touchin' it," he drunkenly pulled his sidearm,
which was waving before him.
"Y'
think y' can fool me when I's drunk? Shoot, you no ghost, you
just too dang fast; I know all about your overdrive trick. Besides,
you shoot me wit a beam-cannon right AFTA wood. You think I'm a
dummy? Huh?"
The Count held his hands on his waist, and his head
high.
"Excuse
me, I guess I'm my only fan here, but if you ask me, I'm not to
worried about that."
Manuela felt he had the upper hand.
"Fan my butt-"the former hero cutoff his opponent.
"That's right, I brought my sword here exclusively for that purpose." This angered the drunkard.
"Why you brave ! Use the lead, guys!" The liberator tossed a smoke grenade from his waist in an underhand fashion.
"Just shoot, guys!" Zechs rolled backward and out the door as drunken and smoke-obscured shots followed.
"I'm
glad that juice slows reflexes!" Zechs yelled, speeding along.
He
popped upright, pulling a Champaign bottle off a shelf, before
flopping once more. With bubbly in hand, he pulled an ice pick free
from his belt, with the freehand, a small plasma torch. An odd sight:
the Lightning Count squirmed free of the room, keeping his thrower
pointed into the room at all times.
At last, some thugs rotated
before the door, suspecting strongly that the Count still lived.
Cork: "Pop!"
A
dark-orange firestorm broiled the insurgent gunman berserkers; giving
them dancing flame halos!
Zechs pivoted to fill the rest of the
room. Dis-Fantasia spread rapidly. Shooting would have been an
anti-climax to the inferno-jet, therefore Zechs hopped, slammed in
the door, and started welding.
"I've had it with this," he muttered, impatient with his soldering. He pulled a small vial from his red coat, and placed the liquid hydrogen contents along the melted door.
"That's that," he concluded, smiling at his handwork. Banshee-screams raved behind the discharged soldier, who was oblivious to it all.
"Do
tink I's a quitter, Hex? You no good, buds I's not drowned yet!
I'll get you, just wait!"
Someone, most likely Heorot, rapidly
holed the shatterproof door, unable to pass through it.
"Umph, (laugh)(laugh) he's too flustered to beat out of there. Go ahead, keep trying," Zechs privately mocked his enemy, feeling free to do so.
"Come now, you must have taken me for a fool if you thought I didn't have a ridiculous plan at the very least," he carried along, placing a wad of...money on the BBQ's counter.
"These guys never seem to grow up."
Maxwell House
I brought the smiles back, just as I promised," Duo stood in his very own superhero pose, smile included, as he watched the festivities, just before he "checked the turkey." From a distance, Hilda spotted him.
"Duo!" She huffed as she ran, "Where's Trowa?" She asked as she noticed his absence.
"He's hanging around my office. Why don't you give him company as I...check on the turkey?" The hostess blinked, registering just what was happening.
"Right, he's a social creature- I'd better get there before he cracks," she said a little too warmly. Exit Hilde.
"I wonder how the Cajun seasoning will go over," Duo shrugged as he moved along.
"Now this is child's play," Duo self-criticized, as he climbed into the kitchen dumb-waiter. (Duo thinks the name fits.)
"I'm
coming down to y', DeathScythe honey!" He whooped on his descent
into a dark basement, which he promptly lit up Clap-clap!
He
spotted Trowa and Hilde, who found their way there. (They had turned
on small lamps that Duo didn't notice somehow.)
"This is going too well," Duo complained, suddenly suspicious of the whole thing.
"Don't worry about it, Duo, I agree that this is too easy, but I don't think this so-called mission is a trap; you don't hide traps," Trowa assured his friend with cold logic.
"Yeah,
you're right, but I think this is just a part of something bigger,"
Duo resisted, looking at his own feet.
Trowa continued gearing up
without missing a beet.
"I agree with you there, this is just one cog in the machine." A few grunts versus the Noventa Cannon: think "Charge of the Light Brigade" at Goliath scale.
Inside Bubba's
"It's not my Lincoln fault, Mr. Mordred, you know Ima not 'sponcible when I'm off th' job," 'Poor Little Heorot' self-excused over the net, just after the raid.
"Well, we're just going to have to change tactics now, are we not?" The dark-haired Spaniard considered.
"What do you have in mind?" The castle era looking boss had an idea.
"Come
crash at my place, would you? I need you to stay out of trouble,
you're pathetic," the Arthurian named man scolded.
Manuela
seemed to be coming out of his stupor.
"You're
right, Mordy, we can't get into this type of trouble right now.
I'll stay at your place and stay out of trouble."
Exeunt.
Later, Outside Bubba's.
The Count waited, and was rewarded for his uncommon virtue. He spotted the Grandee, with other goons in tow, hobbling to an old German van.
"Be
the ignorant soldier I know you to be, and take me too you leader,"
Zechs whispered while lowering his spy-monocular, being uncommonly
cocky at the moment.
The van pulled out, most likely guided by an
intoxicated motorist.
"Lead the way." He started up his own olive-brown motorbike, and pursued the van down a dusty trail.
Shore of Somalia
At
last, the Gundam assault team stalled their breakneck charge, pulling
their super-bikes to a collective stop.
Quatre and Rashid were
waiting.
"The
rocket guns and the decoy-dolls are a go," Quatre yelled, waving
the team in.
(Moments pass)
"I don't like this," said Trowa, motioning toward the guns, "it will rain on our heads." Quatre frowned.
"Don't you mean, where's WuFei?" Trowa actually answered.
"He's on the island, picking apart the security net." Duo and Hilde laughed hysterically.
"You seem to be out of the whole humanity loop," Hilde commented.
"Maybe so, but you need me for this assault," 03 bragged, knowing he must have some value if they worked so hard to get him there.
"Now what about the guns?" Trowa pressed.
"The first wave of rockets will hit pre designated targets, and after that, we'll have continuous fire-support falling in areas we aren't residing," Q. Winner explained away.
T: "Who'll be manning it?" (The gun)
Q: "Rashid."
T: "What's my role?"
D: "I'll explain in the boat."
T: "What boat?"
H:
"One of our rafts."
Trowa nodded, everyone could explain the
mission in rapid fire discussion; all was squire.
One more
question.
"How'd you get a rocket-gun out here?"
R: "We brought it." Whatever.
Columbia
"Now I'm sure the only soldier better than me has retired, as well as the others," Zechs was discussing with himself as he rode an old OZ bike into his camp early Thanksgiving morning, with Heero, Heo', and not Heero Gundam pilots in mind.
"At
least I'm back before dark," he noticed the time. "I'm sure
they're not too worried."
He wasn't thinking about Mordred's
men.
On the (wet) road to Noventa
The
water was choppy STOP
Like a drowsy bull STOP
Duo
was in a rubber raft along with Trowa, who didn't understand him,
and Quatre was in another boat with Hilde, another member of the
team. (Rashid was manning the gun.)
The water was monotonous,
beating the boats one tide-like wave at a time, in the same rhythm as
'Three Blind Mice.'
"Fight with this theme, flow with this tune, be possessed by this spirit, you plan for me is to act on a certain feeling?"
Trowa
wondered if Quatre came up with all this 'caca.'
Duo
tried to dismiss it.
"In
a way we are actors, Trowa, we didn't know exactly what we were
doing during the war, right? Likewise, we can only use our motivation
as a key until WuFei gives us the answer, you got that?"
Duo was
close enough to a bull's eye, Trowa decided, that he didn't argue
the point.
"Yeah,
until WuFei clears the fog that's all I can do."
They both
hoped WuFei would top Prometheus.
"You think Trowa swallowed it?" Hilda speaking.
"Yes, I really think he BELIEVED it, Hilde, I know Trowa, and I also know I've just won forty dollars," Quatre said, full of pre-battle bravado. (He's partially role-playing.)
"You may know him, Quatre, but he's not a crazy mystic like you are," Hilda countered, being herself.
Quatre held back from saying "oh yeah?" and shut up for the duration of the trip.
Maxwell House
A manager and a circus veteran walked into a secret men's club, and the image of a young man arose from light.
"This is the holographic Duo Maxwell, I have just stepped out to demolish the Noventa Cannon. I am guessing this is Catherine, actually I know it is. You walked through my scanner, see, and I just left a message so that anyone asking about my assault force wouldn't be left in the dark. See you when I get back!"
The
Duo image waved smartly, and blinked out. A bubble of anger boiled to
Cathy's surface, before submerging back down.
Manager laughed.
"(Laugh) what do you know, he left when he was off duty for once! Ha- ha-ha! Cathy turned on him.
"Manager, please-" Two large top-heavy sunglasses-wearing men stormed lounge-site, pointing bulky handguns somewhere, and shouting.
"Spread you're hands! Etc! The manager's knees buckled.
Could Cathy keep her cool this time?
In the Dining/Guest area
These
people, a young lady named Dorothy, and an older man, Howard, were
fine characters, but Count Townsend, mustached World Leader, had
expected to meet Quatre, who he had first met at the start of
Operation Nova.
Howard, who had been spending time at a health
resort in Yalta, was telling "one of his stories."
"...The
Alliance MPs were right on our tells, so I said, "Hey, a
graveyard..." Beep-beep-beep!
Pager, the perfect distraction!
Townsend promptly pulled it to his eyes. TROUBLE IN DUO'S ROOM, DO
SOMETHING.
-Sally Poe.
"Pardon my abruptness, Howard," Townsend excused himself, rushing across the guest area.
"I
only have an air-taser," he huffed under his breath, now
jogging.
He pulled it out, moving sown the hall, preparing for the
unknown.
The import-export portal, or door, was right ahead. A
firecracker!
He forgot about the heck-stone he had bought from a
Somali kid earlier that day.
He briefly fumbled for it before
making the pull. Lit and tossed, it was followed by the mustached
Count.
"(Duo-like yell)" At top speed, he bounced off the door hinges, placing two taser-shots into the two guys that look like bodyguards, who tried in vain to pivot around on their knees, but only made it to three o'clock. Zip-zip!
Town
moved in rapidly for hand-to-hand, dropping his taser. He bowled them
over, giving the left guy a staggering chop on the neck.
Following
this action, he found himself on his knee and kicked the guy on the
right side. The other man and the woman in the room set to work
stomping on the men's hands.
"Mission
complete," he (Townie) applauded, "Thanks a lot guys," he
thanked the two. They constantly said, "no, thank you," as he
placed binds on the prisoners.
He asked them if Major Sally had
been there.
"No, mister, only these two, and a hologram of Duo." He inquired behind his back. He asked more.
"He
said they're invading the Noventa Cannon."
The Count asked who
"they" were.
'And Major Sally,' Townsend expected.
"Okay."
On The Island
The team didn't have much beach to land on, just a shelf really. Trowa had a question, admiring this mega-crag.
"Have you been training for this?" Quatre answered.
"For
a month now; you're the odd man out.
Trowa agreed that he was.
"Then
forgive me if I lag behind," he added. The conversation abruptly
ended, as Quatre, then Trowa, followed Hilde's gaze. They, along
with Duo, followed the descent of a slender and sweat-soaked
climber.
WuFei Chang enters.
He smiled fiendishly at Trowa as
they all moved toward each other.
"You
have a lot of guts approving me after that scam you pulled in
Mogadishu," burned 05, glaring down at Barton like Lando on Bespin.
Trowa evaded the subject, asking, "The security is safe-guarded
with no-shows, right?"
WuFei lifted his chin.
"The
Moguanacs beefed-up the White Fang's 'White Blindness'
program; I used that."
Duo firmly placed his hands together and
asked about the recon for the operation.
"Right,"
Chang droned, pointing to the concealable holographic projector at a
stone that was being shadowed by the island peak. The image crackled
on, phasing into something that made sense. Not right away, because a
few scenes from a Magic Wrestling Organization (MWO) brawl had been
recorded.
Duo's jaw dropped.
"(Sigh) man, spare me, WuFei," he groaned, wishing to move past the show.
"Ok." 05 thumbed a button, and a photographic image of the peak appeared. (Horizontal view.)
"As you can see," the Preventer lectured, pointing his sword at the image, "This looks largely the same as it did early in the year colony 195, however, the cannon is now completely covered by this Indian-red camouflage net. The gun IS there," WuFei paused to glare at Trowa, who was about to object.
"Because
Duo and Sylvia Noventa brought back reports, saying they saw the gun
from below the net, before skirts had been added."
Trowa
shuddered at how much like Lady Une WuFei sounded.
The image
changed, becoming more psychedelic.
"This is a false-color image. Everything not recorded in the Zechs Merquise report is a bright red-orange. Now we can see that more has changed than we had originally thought." An overhead view appeared.
"This
is an infrared image taken by MO-2. Very little man-made heat is
visible." The team was getting frustrated but still quite, which is
a positive sign.
An animated motion picture of the ascent route
caught their eyes.
"This is the route I have chosen for us." A one-by-thirteen hundred still observation photo revealed another perspective of the rock.
"We will climb in a column." A red line then covered the exact trail.
"I'll take point," WuFei added. Big surprise, that's how everyone expected it. He stabbed a cord into the projector, and continued.
"This is the security network closed-circuit images I downloaded earlier," he stated, as the pictures phased in.
"Watch carefully." A visual symphony of system-sight played for a long moment, with the team trying to comprehend.
"Once
we reach the summit, I'll signal the laptop to beam the data to the
Alliance supercomputer in Luxembourg, where techs will process the
data, put it in Questworld, and transmit the data to Rashid, who
should have an easy job of designating targets.
Hopefully, the
audio-visual data will be enough knowledge for this to happen." The
team understood; WuFei wasn't sure that he had found anything: this
can happen when one collects tons of electronic intelligence with no
time to process.
'People degenerate when they rely on machines,' and WuFei was clueless.
"Okay, for now there's nothing more to tell," he shouted, "it's time to climb!"
WuFei's taking point wasn't slowing the team at all, although he'd been trekking all day, and Trowa was hanging directly behind him, only because he didn't know the way so well, did he stay in the two spot.
"You
know, once we're on the verge of capturing this complex, these guys
are going to scuttle the greater sum of the knowledge we could use
concerning their activities. I just wish we could have probed
everything beforehand," Trowa confided with the group, unhindered
in speech, even when climbing an expert slope.
Duo peddled closer
to the clown.
"I know what you're saying, buddy-boy, but the ultimate terrorist tool is up there; w-we can't go for the trophy when we're lagging behind in the poles! We gotta shoot for the run we can nab, the cup can wait," eloquently argued the God of Death.
"You're
right again, Duo," Trowa replied sincerely, "Debate class has a
rising star."
The team reached a plateau, and waited for WuFei
to do something, his back reclined to better help him admire heaven.
"It
is regrettable," he addressed his men, checking out every one of
the others, "I would like to see everything. I guess I'm like
Lieutenant Trent that way, but we're not meant to have
everything."
He reached into his sack, and freed a familiar
tool, the grapnel.
"But, we haven't been left in poverty," he smiled at the others, who all caught on, save Quatre.
"'Left in poverty' means 'abandoned without money,' Quatre," Hilde explained, masking annoyance, barely. The three poor guys laughed heartedly, but an obligation to the mission forced WuFei to cut it short.
"(Laugh)(laugh) O-okay, let's cut this trip short with these," WuFei ordered in warm nature, displaying the special gun.
"This sucker has a rocket motor meant for use by lifeguards, and can reach a height of over 1000 feet, so aim high!"
Situations
Room,
Deep within the Noventa Cannon Complex
Commodore Chester Morris puffed his pipe, as was customary for him whenever a real situation jumped before him.
"Sir, we have a straight-wing fighter sailing at thirty-five klicks out-" Norris interrupted the Executive Officer.
"Deploy the Aires Zulu flight, Polk, that fighter's carrying standoff missiles," he told the X-O, Polk Browning.
"Aye-aye,"
Zulus (alarms buzz) all pilots to their suits, I repeat..." Chester
was certain this was a trick, yet he had no clue as to the nature of
it.
He couldn't hold his trump much longer, for the game could
end soon.
Outside
On the ridge WuFei watched a hidden hanger drop its jaw.
"Here's
you task, Trowa," the leader said evenly, never turning from the
maw. The young clown crouched forward, into a kneeling position, as
the others prepared to run. Out came an iron beetle, an Aries
mobile-suit, and a large black insect oblivious to oblivion. Trowa
hammered it with his gatling.
The seven-barreled cylinder slowly
rotated, waning in speed, symbolizing a false eternity for a moment,
before spinning thrice more, barfing gundanium shells through more
mobile-suits. He re-strapped the gun beside his other burdens, before
working to catch the others, who braved the tumbling titanium mecha.
Inside
This is the most easily defended place on Earth, and yet, that's what makes it easy to conquer.
"So, that's what they had planned, cunning," Norris thought, after seeing that the flight-suits never appeared in the air-surveillance network.
"Close
the hanger door, I want a security detail in their last week!" He
raised his voice, and slammed his fist, even though he was looking
forward to the battle.
This was going to be good.
Clack!
Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-dive! Trowa Barton beat the hanger door
by a pico-second, very nearly losing his valuable self to the
door!
He rolled to his feet, performing all the tricks to adjust
his eyes to the florescent lighting.
"Hey buddy, all right?" He recognized the voice as Duo's.
"Yes,
Duo, I'm just fine." Duo blinked, searching for a special meaning
in Trowa's words, but it was 03's turn to laugh. Now Duo
understands that the clown was jerking him around.
The others
laughed too, save WuFei, who interrupted by taking potshots at
security officers.
It was a small bay, meant to hold only the Zulu
flight crew, craft, and tools. This meant the security team's fire
was very concentrated.
So was the fire of Trowa Barton's
gatling.
The rotary-shower forced the guards back to the hall in
which they came.
"Good
shooting," WuFei patted Trowa on the back, moving for the hall,
along with Duo.
Quatre shuffled with the sacks WuFei and Duo had
put down. He bared two miniaturized mobile-suit guns, and something
that looked like a large canteen on a tripod.
"This'll
give us a backdoor," he said, not really explaining much.
He
decided to show Trowa instead. The Norse-looking lad sprayed his
laser-cannon across much of the door, even as the heat buildup
scorched his hands.
He pushed the tool to the brink, getting the
best cut, (the rich kid always gets the best cut) before tossing it
aside and replacing it with the beam-cannon. It had the effect of a
mace, pushing the door completely free.
"(Boyish
grunt) this barrel atop the tripod is actually an old 30 caliber
Browning machine gun. It will keep 'soldiers' from entering the
hanger, at least," the boy explained away the gadget.
The circus
boy said nothing, reading the rest by himself.
'Rashid will takeout the heavy hardware for us, hopefully, and the gun is for troops, he deduced. In a nutshell, that was the plan.
Within
the depths of the Alliance Supercomputer,
Luxemburg City
"(Grinding
grunt-whine)" The raw data smashed into the mainframe, waiting
indefinitely for something to make sense of it all. A dark-specs
wearing Arab named Abdul was the human working in VR for a
solution.
He placed all the materials in their correct positions,
at least he thought, before any traditional silicon soul could grasp
the task.
"Remember, all the topographic data can be handled by the machine, you put the man-made interior together," a mustached old man's voice told him, sounding ghostly in this cyber-world.
Data-streams
soared in like comet tails in hyperspace, a hard task for an old
Maguanac soldier, but his skills proved sufficient for this difficult
job.
Rapidly the integrated structure took shape, and the security
images formed a whole picture. Abdul put his fingers to his jawbone.
"I copy," Pagan relied, manipulating keys in his own world, "I guess it's time for electronic theft," the Arab sighed. His job was done.
"I've cleaned up here, pull me out, Pagan," he shouted again.
"I'm on it." The old Maguanac accelerated through a green-white tunnel for a brief instant in time, before gathering all of himself in a recliner.
"I've sent our message, and I'm pressing the button," said Pagan, as Abdul lifted himself free of the chair.
Today, 'pressing the button' means 'directing the mainframe's attention to autonomous system entrances,' at least, that's what these two had agreed on one month before.
Between lines
"Master Quatre, I have received word from Luxemburg, time for me to fire in anger," Rashid contacted the strike-team, warning of his eminent gunfire.
"Thanks, Rashid, I'm absorbing the target list," Raberba-Winner replied, appearing to shake something, or so it looked on Rashid's display.
'He's positioning the Browning.'
R: "Warn the others, over."
Quatre signed off too, eager to shout at the others.
"Hum, short target list, I've got some to spare for the cannon itself," he grumbled, stroking his unshaved chin.
"Gotta get used to this," he rubbed some more.
Main Leo Hanger,
Off the Coast of Somalia
"This is Polk Browning, our inter-netted defenses are under attack. All Tragos suits, deploy to the west side of the island. You will receive further instructions from there."
The PA system beamed this startling message to Colonel Kale Sandstone, leader of the 1st Recon Tragos Battalion.
"Peachy," he droned, as he ascended his "pleasure craft."
Inside Zulu Hanger
The duo of Duo and WuFei returned from the hall.
Duo put away his beam-scythe, and WuFei fastened away his Katana.
Both have soaked their uniforms from "doing the Jedi thing" in the hall.
(They were in Peacemillion assault dress.)
"Rashid is fighting, guys. Let's use the box formation," Quatre spoke up.
The plan was for Trowa and his gatling to take point, WuFei to assist and command, Quatre to navigate and communicate (giving him the real power), Hilda to cover the rear, and Duo to relieve whoever.
Situations Room,
Within the island
Commodore Chester Norris steeples his tobacco-stained hand together, as he excitedly watched the bulk of his world fall apart.
"Officer Browning, what's the status of the Noventa Cannon gunning station?"
Polk had known Commodore Norris for a great deal of time, yet was doubtful about the Captain's intentions.
"Well, Sir, there are auxiliary and manual systems that are in perfect order," he calmly replied, as surrounding hordes of techs battled some task or other in direct contrast to his calm.
"Good," said Norris, "you have the bridge, XO."
To everyone's complete surprise, the Commodore nonchalantly trotted away from the carnage.
Norris addressed the Chief of the Boat. "COB, take my launch key. Subordinate the XO, he has the con."
COB agreed.
"Aye Sir, XO has the con.
Word spread through the ranks.
"XO has the con."
"XO has the con."
"Affirmative, XO has the con."
The Xo watched in disbelief as the Captain left with a security detail to one of the exits.
"Sir, you have the con."
"Right, carry on."
