Various Places in Somalia

The decoy dolls belonging to the Maguanac Corp are little more than wood and plaster Aries piƱatas with JATO rockets for propulsion and secondhand radios to give the illusion of an avionic systems presence to electronic sniffs. Abdul and the guys added steering mechanisms and other nickel-and-dime doodads to the mix, but for Rashid's purposes, a kite on a pogo stick might have sufficed.

With no fanfare, he catapults a few on some aluminum rails set atop his artillery piece, and poaches for the slightest potshot.

A frozen orange rope roughly tags the lead doll, looks like said rope is 100mm in diameter. That's a target. He reads his fire-finder, a passive unit that measures signals from the local communication towers as his radar. A smart piece of electronics, Rashid's sensor exploits the well- known phenomenon of electromagnetic waves altering to the presence of solid objects. He pinpoints the unaccounted for signal-return, satisfied he has the location of a target, probably a Leo. Shoot-downs of more decoy dolls concur with his conviction.

Rashid announces this conclusion by shooting two fuel-air explosive rockets over the island to that point.


Funny thing about the warrior spirit, it never views a turkey shoot as unnatural until a lull in the battle lets the warrior reflect. Why should the warrior doubt himself? The fates selected HIM to fight enemies that HIS leader decided should die. That selection means HE is within the righteous community of warriors chosen to prove HIS way of life is the one made of the right stuff. If opponents just fall out of the sky dead, then it only proves what the fraternity of warriors has said all along. Of course, we brothers in arms can be the only ones that know this secret, because our wives and mothers can never understand that these living among them can perform these feats-of-arms, because the world is supposed to be too SAFE to need such greatness at the warrior's trade.

At the will of this warrior spirit, Kale Sandstone killed one Aries after another, just like in his realistic training sessions. The rules of inertia pulled all these mobile-suits into his field of fire before the pilots could change bearing, and adrenaline, all warriors understood adrenaline, tried to fool Kale into believing a lot of time is actually passing.

He must already be an ace! He guns another one until an explosion satisfies him that it's dead.

Concussion tumbles him from the pedestal of the righteous warrior. His position in the pantheon of right stuff warrior is replaced by a pink slip from Mars, Ares, whoever decides what fighter is supposed to be deified, and only the trade of the vanquished remains.

But the benevolent will allows him a ladder back up the pedestal; his nameless enemies cunning takes full aim, as it happens, on the highly shielded left arm, precisely on the shoulder socket where the arm interlocks with the shield. Fate holds out, the suits breadbasket cockpit takes a firm concussive tsunami, but the furious rancor is reserved for that left arm and shield, now just slag and cinders.