Turin's finest frequent Luciano's Shield Haven, a favorite police officer
joint, especially for members of the city's plain-clothed strike team, a
unit of the "toughest sons of mothers" the Italians have ever produced.
The team's chieftain, lean white guy with a silver flattop and a rock- climber's physique, also happened to be a quitting chain-smoker and confidant of the somewhat androgynous private investigator.
"Detective Noin! I see your peach fuzz is one micrometer closer to becoming legally respected lip fur!"
Louis lazily pointed a meaningless gesture, as if to say "yo," as he boldly took a seat.
"Come to score steroids, my boy?" He again let the barb slide, and initiated conversation.
"Someone really should work on the sign, you know. You take refuge in both a shield-" The team leader raised his own voice.
"Exactly, we can take refuge in armor and castles together. You schoolmarm types always call everything redundant, as if there's a problem with duel protection."
The issue always put the two at an impasse, something Louis could live with. His friend usually held the advantages, in verbal sparing.
"So, Louie, what can you do for me today?" Just like him, to always insist he's getting the service.
"Heavy Arms needs to know the associations of two perps he picked up. I shared what we had on the books, but I hoped to find more off the record." The cop leaned close, bringing his mouth inches from the detective.
"Thanks for the tip." Louis proceeded to slide his manila dossier folder around the party's breakfast plates.
"I know those names. They're a team, those two. I once had them in lockup myself. They tended to a train of mules running crank through Piedmont. Just kids, those mules, and these two were low level enough to get stuck doing that chore. They didn't do hits in my town, and they were smart enough not to shoot when I caught them. They stuck to the inmate code, man. We tried to shock them in the hole, but they held their nerve. They stayed in, no complaint, and earned parole early."
"Recall anything about the legal aid, Anthony?" Louis highlighted what he and Trowa had found.
"Hold on, just where did your Heavy Arms found these two?"
"Somalia." Victor Anthony thought it over.
"They never said a word while incarcerated, so naturally, the court had to appoint someone. They played cool, because they new amphetamines aren't taken seriously, and we couldn't prove in court that they'd mistreated those kids. In fact, I learned, they didn't mistreat them at all."
Louis gave the officer an inquisitive look.
"What do you mean?" Vic steepled his fingers, much the way His Excellency did.
"Those guys were just moving around war refuges, kids that willingly worked off their busing fees by running the crank."
"Where did the refuges come from?" Vic focused his hindsight.
"I think they were Greek. It happened that a pocket of Treize Faction soldiers swarmed that way, splitting a Virgo column in two. Interesting thing is, only fast Aries and Tragos broke through to Greece. The larger Treize force escaped toward Sanc." Louis scratched his embarrassingly smooth jaw line.
"That is interesting. I heard rumors Romefeller did that on purpose." Vic felt obligated to point out his own point.
"You're looking at the wrong intrigue, as usual," he leaned in close again, expression sincere, "the way these guys had their logistical operation set up, you'd think Romefeller or Treize had been a full partner in the ruse. No outsider could possibly know Greece would see just enough combat to confuse authorities, yet keep the narcotics train going. My information sure wasn't that good."
Maxwell House Stable: Mogadishu, Somalia
Duo designed the stable to the opposing side of the garage, to better dampen the sound. Instead of the stainless steel he favored for his turbine engine monster machines, Maxwell cased everything in oak or yew, with a light almond finish.
Dry flan-shaded straw crumpled under their feet, as they walked along the wide aisle. A thin Somali with a salt-and-pepper Rollie Fingers handlebar mustache offered his jeweled hand to Duo Maxwell.
"Howdy, Mr. Maxwell. You called for three steeds?" He tipped his Stetson hat at Dorothy.
"Why is he dressed like that?" Dorothy whispered to Trowa.
"I think the VIP crowd wants to see cowboys in the stables, so Duo makes the Somalis cowboys." Catalonia stifled a chuckle.
"Did he hire Ms. Noin as a cowboy fashion consultant?" Duo and his cowhand couldn't hear them over their own loud banter, a small- talk exchange that didn't interest Barton or Catalonia an iota.
"Guys, come look at your rides!" Duo waved them in, like a base running coach.
"See this gray Mare with the silver mane? Her name is Pewter. This copper stallion is named Lincoln. And this golden charger is mine. This mare's name is Diva, because it's every boy's dream to have a blond diva."
The handler chortled, but Dorothy muttered something about "perverse Americana." Trowa remained mute, nuzzling Pewter.
"Duo which one you want, Dotty?" She grabbed the reins of the ruddy one.
"Why do you call this one Lincoln?" Maxwell shrugged.
"He's the color of an old American penny. Abraham Lincoln was featured on one side, so he's the namesake. I also have a little foal called Penny."
"While we're one the issue of names," Dorothy addressed.
"Yes?"
"Don't call me Dotty."
"Are they meant for equestrian therapy, Duo?" Trowa led Pewter out of her trailer, mounted the saddle.
"Yeah, the rehab center gets a share of time for substance abuse patients, and nervous system rehab patients get some time, too. We also have a juvenile delinquent program, or rather, 'troubled teen,' I'm supposed to say." Trowa snickered.
"Any Gundam pilots in the program?" They shared the laugh.
"I forgot to ask you guys. Would you be interested?" Barton grinned.
"No thanks. I already take care of a dozen animals. I've had my fill." Pewter whinnied.
"I hear that, but you're taking it the wrong way, Pewter." They rode to the gate, manned by four UN teal berets. Duo flashed his Preventer ID card.
"Agent Hades. Good morning, guys. I'm out on a mounted cavalry recon with Taskforce Trinity. Note there are three of us." They got it.
"Our radio call sign will be Trinity, and we'll only be on the TACNET if we're in danger, okay?" The quartet saluted, and resumed their laidback posture as the cavalry team rode out.
"Excuse me, Duo. What's the chain-of-command?" Duo thoughtfully addressed Dorothy.
"This is Trowa's operation, so it's his to see through, right buddy?" The circus clown curtly acknowledged that truth.
"That's right, but we're all more-or-less equals here, so feel free to share your opinions."
"That goes without saying," said the blond one, "but thanks for saying it anyway." They rode on, staying clear of the rode, in favor of the chaparral brush and rocky desert of the virgin wild.
Duo traded his usual priest collar for a neutral scarf and acid- washed jean jacket. Dorothy sported her old dark White Fang khaki uniform, minus all insignia. Trowa compromised between the two, wearing highly faded khakis, and a little extra.
"What are you doing?" The blond lady stared down the pilot, alarmed.
"I wanted to wear my makeup."
"I'm sorry?"
"My clown makeup, my own personal war paint." Trowa explained the purpose of the scouting mission, a topic to fill the silence with.
"Last night I had a few minutes to discuss emergency field surgery with Major Sally. It was just shoptalk at first, but you know how that goes. Soon, she went off on a different tangent, and we theorized the nature of the enemy. Being heavily engrossed in the healthcare of our own wounded, we began probing the medical welfare of our counterparts. I pressed her to discuss the facilities she used in the Chinese Resistance, and we applied what we knew of that, to how those resistance fighters would adapt their medical practices to this environment.
She believed the warlords of last night's battle would probably have a preexisting field hospital place out of sight of any roads south of Mogadishu. We think they'll occupy a duck blind of a tent, on the south side of a large hill or dune, probably by an abandoned well.
We spent a few minutes looking at updated topography maps, and marking known abandoned wells in the best areas. We're out here looking for a hypothetical enemy field hospital."
Author's Note: Releana is practically the focus of the show. She's the one all the center players believe can achieve world peace. Zechs and Heero put a lot of stock in her. Duke Demail even appointed her Queen of the World. Yet for all this, at the end of the series, and even at the end of the movie, she's merely the Vice Foreign Minister!
Who is this superhuman being that could be her superior? I think he should be a Hawaiian diplomat named Colin Kurasuwa.
Mosul, Kurdistan
"...No "Department of Defense" ever one a war; see the histories. But it seems to be a standard civilian action to scream for defensive tactics as they do notice a war. They then want to run the war- like a passenger trying to grab away from the pilot in an emergency."
-Robert A. Heinlen, Starship Troopers
Mosul is a city the Kurdish people have battled for many different times since successfully capturing it from Iraqi forces in the spring of 2003 in the Common Era. In the Year AC 197, Kurdistan shares the city with their southern neighbor, Iraq. The peace is unsteady, as it has been since the end of the Arab Unification Wars, a period that saw great horrors done to these non-Arabs.
The proud soldiers of Kurdistan's army, the Peshmerga, speak a brand of English informally taught by American Special Forces out of Fort Benning, Georgia.
Colin Kurasuwa, a man with dark hair greased into a pompadour, leathery skin, and indigo eyes, willed his 185cm Irish-Japanese body into this environment, looking every bit the Special Forces ideal.
Those men, he new, were America's "real" diplomats in this region, back in the days of those Unification Wars. It's just human nature to accept those willing to fight and live in the trenches with you faster than those just trying to haggle you over to one's way of thinking.
Colin appreciated this long ago, when he first integrated himself into Specials training sessions with indigenous peoples. He recalled the Specials Creed:
Seeing that I dedicated myself to being a Special, fully knowing the dangers of the profession, I will always endeavor to ideals and esprit de corps of my Specials Unit.
Professional soldiering means protecting the honor of His Excellency, and never failing his orders. Energetically will I destroy the enemies of Colonel Treize. I shall better them on the field of battle for I am superior, and have more heart. Specials don't recognize surrender. I'll never allow my comrades to be taken by enemy hands, and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my leaders. Complete readiness will be my status as I display the fortitude needed to fight toward the object of my mission, even if I stand alone. I'll gallantly show the world I'm a specially fit and elite soldier. And thus acknowledging the fact that a Special is a more elite soldier who arrives at the cutting edge of combat in any environment, I accept that His Excellency expects me to fight further, faster, and stronger than all other combatants. Losing is a worthless act envisioned by worthless people. Never fear, for you were selected by the best to be the best.
Several informal additions exist to round out the creed:
So be it, Sir! Sucking is for the vanquished; don't suck! Stupid is as stupid does, so stay smart! Safety is the standard outcome of Special strength. Shriveling away is not the Special way!
Still others exist, some profane, some silly, but the first or last ones are the ones typically grunted at graduation.
Colin had trained with some of the men sitting across him, and they'd shared this creed, and the duties that go with them, and gently reminded them the Turkish swat learned under similar supervision:
Silenced Weapons Assailing Terrorists!
So goes the motto of Ankara Turkey's Special Weapons And Tactics Paramilitary Police Unit.
"You can take them out, Mr. Foreign Minister, but I must have your word as the soldier you are, that these men will restrain themselves like proper soldiers."
Without a drip of reluctance, Colin vowed he'd reign in the SWAT team himself, if they became overzealous.
"Then bring them in, get them out, and clean up whatever they ruin."
The team's chieftain, lean white guy with a silver flattop and a rock- climber's physique, also happened to be a quitting chain-smoker and confidant of the somewhat androgynous private investigator.
"Detective Noin! I see your peach fuzz is one micrometer closer to becoming legally respected lip fur!"
Louis lazily pointed a meaningless gesture, as if to say "yo," as he boldly took a seat.
"Come to score steroids, my boy?" He again let the barb slide, and initiated conversation.
"Someone really should work on the sign, you know. You take refuge in both a shield-" The team leader raised his own voice.
"Exactly, we can take refuge in armor and castles together. You schoolmarm types always call everything redundant, as if there's a problem with duel protection."
The issue always put the two at an impasse, something Louis could live with. His friend usually held the advantages, in verbal sparing.
"So, Louie, what can you do for me today?" Just like him, to always insist he's getting the service.
"Heavy Arms needs to know the associations of two perps he picked up. I shared what we had on the books, but I hoped to find more off the record." The cop leaned close, bringing his mouth inches from the detective.
"Thanks for the tip." Louis proceeded to slide his manila dossier folder around the party's breakfast plates.
"I know those names. They're a team, those two. I once had them in lockup myself. They tended to a train of mules running crank through Piedmont. Just kids, those mules, and these two were low level enough to get stuck doing that chore. They didn't do hits in my town, and they were smart enough not to shoot when I caught them. They stuck to the inmate code, man. We tried to shock them in the hole, but they held their nerve. They stayed in, no complaint, and earned parole early."
"Recall anything about the legal aid, Anthony?" Louis highlighted what he and Trowa had found.
"Hold on, just where did your Heavy Arms found these two?"
"Somalia." Victor Anthony thought it over.
"They never said a word while incarcerated, so naturally, the court had to appoint someone. They played cool, because they new amphetamines aren't taken seriously, and we couldn't prove in court that they'd mistreated those kids. In fact, I learned, they didn't mistreat them at all."
Louis gave the officer an inquisitive look.
"What do you mean?" Vic steepled his fingers, much the way His Excellency did.
"Those guys were just moving around war refuges, kids that willingly worked off their busing fees by running the crank."
"Where did the refuges come from?" Vic focused his hindsight.
"I think they were Greek. It happened that a pocket of Treize Faction soldiers swarmed that way, splitting a Virgo column in two. Interesting thing is, only fast Aries and Tragos broke through to Greece. The larger Treize force escaped toward Sanc." Louis scratched his embarrassingly smooth jaw line.
"That is interesting. I heard rumors Romefeller did that on purpose." Vic felt obligated to point out his own point.
"You're looking at the wrong intrigue, as usual," he leaned in close again, expression sincere, "the way these guys had their logistical operation set up, you'd think Romefeller or Treize had been a full partner in the ruse. No outsider could possibly know Greece would see just enough combat to confuse authorities, yet keep the narcotics train going. My information sure wasn't that good."
Maxwell House Stable: Mogadishu, Somalia
Duo designed the stable to the opposing side of the garage, to better dampen the sound. Instead of the stainless steel he favored for his turbine engine monster machines, Maxwell cased everything in oak or yew, with a light almond finish.
Dry flan-shaded straw crumpled under their feet, as they walked along the wide aisle. A thin Somali with a salt-and-pepper Rollie Fingers handlebar mustache offered his jeweled hand to Duo Maxwell.
"Howdy, Mr. Maxwell. You called for three steeds?" He tipped his Stetson hat at Dorothy.
"Why is he dressed like that?" Dorothy whispered to Trowa.
"I think the VIP crowd wants to see cowboys in the stables, so Duo makes the Somalis cowboys." Catalonia stifled a chuckle.
"Did he hire Ms. Noin as a cowboy fashion consultant?" Duo and his cowhand couldn't hear them over their own loud banter, a small- talk exchange that didn't interest Barton or Catalonia an iota.
"Guys, come look at your rides!" Duo waved them in, like a base running coach.
"See this gray Mare with the silver mane? Her name is Pewter. This copper stallion is named Lincoln. And this golden charger is mine. This mare's name is Diva, because it's every boy's dream to have a blond diva."
The handler chortled, but Dorothy muttered something about "perverse Americana." Trowa remained mute, nuzzling Pewter.
"Duo which one you want, Dotty?" She grabbed the reins of the ruddy one.
"Why do you call this one Lincoln?" Maxwell shrugged.
"He's the color of an old American penny. Abraham Lincoln was featured on one side, so he's the namesake. I also have a little foal called Penny."
"While we're one the issue of names," Dorothy addressed.
"Yes?"
"Don't call me Dotty."
"Are they meant for equestrian therapy, Duo?" Trowa led Pewter out of her trailer, mounted the saddle.
"Yeah, the rehab center gets a share of time for substance abuse patients, and nervous system rehab patients get some time, too. We also have a juvenile delinquent program, or rather, 'troubled teen,' I'm supposed to say." Trowa snickered.
"Any Gundam pilots in the program?" They shared the laugh.
"I forgot to ask you guys. Would you be interested?" Barton grinned.
"No thanks. I already take care of a dozen animals. I've had my fill." Pewter whinnied.
"I hear that, but you're taking it the wrong way, Pewter." They rode to the gate, manned by four UN teal berets. Duo flashed his Preventer ID card.
"Agent Hades. Good morning, guys. I'm out on a mounted cavalry recon with Taskforce Trinity. Note there are three of us." They got it.
"Our radio call sign will be Trinity, and we'll only be on the TACNET if we're in danger, okay?" The quartet saluted, and resumed their laidback posture as the cavalry team rode out.
"Excuse me, Duo. What's the chain-of-command?" Duo thoughtfully addressed Dorothy.
"This is Trowa's operation, so it's his to see through, right buddy?" The circus clown curtly acknowledged that truth.
"That's right, but we're all more-or-less equals here, so feel free to share your opinions."
"That goes without saying," said the blond one, "but thanks for saying it anyway." They rode on, staying clear of the rode, in favor of the chaparral brush and rocky desert of the virgin wild.
Duo traded his usual priest collar for a neutral scarf and acid- washed jean jacket. Dorothy sported her old dark White Fang khaki uniform, minus all insignia. Trowa compromised between the two, wearing highly faded khakis, and a little extra.
"What are you doing?" The blond lady stared down the pilot, alarmed.
"I wanted to wear my makeup."
"I'm sorry?"
"My clown makeup, my own personal war paint." Trowa explained the purpose of the scouting mission, a topic to fill the silence with.
"Last night I had a few minutes to discuss emergency field surgery with Major Sally. It was just shoptalk at first, but you know how that goes. Soon, she went off on a different tangent, and we theorized the nature of the enemy. Being heavily engrossed in the healthcare of our own wounded, we began probing the medical welfare of our counterparts. I pressed her to discuss the facilities she used in the Chinese Resistance, and we applied what we knew of that, to how those resistance fighters would adapt their medical practices to this environment.
She believed the warlords of last night's battle would probably have a preexisting field hospital place out of sight of any roads south of Mogadishu. We think they'll occupy a duck blind of a tent, on the south side of a large hill or dune, probably by an abandoned well.
We spent a few minutes looking at updated topography maps, and marking known abandoned wells in the best areas. We're out here looking for a hypothetical enemy field hospital."
Author's Note: Releana is practically the focus of the show. She's the one all the center players believe can achieve world peace. Zechs and Heero put a lot of stock in her. Duke Demail even appointed her Queen of the World. Yet for all this, at the end of the series, and even at the end of the movie, she's merely the Vice Foreign Minister!
Who is this superhuman being that could be her superior? I think he should be a Hawaiian diplomat named Colin Kurasuwa.
Mosul, Kurdistan
"...No "Department of Defense" ever one a war; see the histories. But it seems to be a standard civilian action to scream for defensive tactics as they do notice a war. They then want to run the war- like a passenger trying to grab away from the pilot in an emergency."
-Robert A. Heinlen, Starship Troopers
Mosul is a city the Kurdish people have battled for many different times since successfully capturing it from Iraqi forces in the spring of 2003 in the Common Era. In the Year AC 197, Kurdistan shares the city with their southern neighbor, Iraq. The peace is unsteady, as it has been since the end of the Arab Unification Wars, a period that saw great horrors done to these non-Arabs.
The proud soldiers of Kurdistan's army, the Peshmerga, speak a brand of English informally taught by American Special Forces out of Fort Benning, Georgia.
Colin Kurasuwa, a man with dark hair greased into a pompadour, leathery skin, and indigo eyes, willed his 185cm Irish-Japanese body into this environment, looking every bit the Special Forces ideal.
Those men, he new, were America's "real" diplomats in this region, back in the days of those Unification Wars. It's just human nature to accept those willing to fight and live in the trenches with you faster than those just trying to haggle you over to one's way of thinking.
Colin appreciated this long ago, when he first integrated himself into Specials training sessions with indigenous peoples. He recalled the Specials Creed:
Seeing that I dedicated myself to being a Special, fully knowing the dangers of the profession, I will always endeavor to ideals and esprit de corps of my Specials Unit.
Professional soldiering means protecting the honor of His Excellency, and never failing his orders. Energetically will I destroy the enemies of Colonel Treize. I shall better them on the field of battle for I am superior, and have more heart. Specials don't recognize surrender. I'll never allow my comrades to be taken by enemy hands, and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my leaders. Complete readiness will be my status as I display the fortitude needed to fight toward the object of my mission, even if I stand alone. I'll gallantly show the world I'm a specially fit and elite soldier. And thus acknowledging the fact that a Special is a more elite soldier who arrives at the cutting edge of combat in any environment, I accept that His Excellency expects me to fight further, faster, and stronger than all other combatants. Losing is a worthless act envisioned by worthless people. Never fear, for you were selected by the best to be the best.
Several informal additions exist to round out the creed:
So be it, Sir! Sucking is for the vanquished; don't suck! Stupid is as stupid does, so stay smart! Safety is the standard outcome of Special strength. Shriveling away is not the Special way!
Still others exist, some profane, some silly, but the first or last ones are the ones typically grunted at graduation.
Colin had trained with some of the men sitting across him, and they'd shared this creed, and the duties that go with them, and gently reminded them the Turkish swat learned under similar supervision:
Silenced Weapons Assailing Terrorists!
So goes the motto of Ankara Turkey's Special Weapons And Tactics Paramilitary Police Unit.
"You can take them out, Mr. Foreign Minister, but I must have your word as the soldier you are, that these men will restrain themselves like proper soldiers."
Without a drip of reluctance, Colin vowed he'd reign in the SWAT team himself, if they became overzealous.
"Then bring them in, get them out, and clean up whatever they ruin."
