Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. There is a reason this is called fanfiction. Fans write this. As a fan, it would be nigh impossible for me to own Gudam Wing . . . Besides, it wouldn't have turned out as good if I were the one who owned it.
Notice: I'll be at my father's this June (4-26), and unable to update on this story during my stay. I'll try to post a chapter right before I leave, and right when I get back home.
The night found Bane holed inside a run down, condemned building, with only five men remaining. The mission had taken an unexpected, unwelcomed turn, one that could very well prove fatal to any and all of the remaining soldiers of the Allies' Army. As it was, two out of the five men were injured, one needing immediate medical attention. One of the more medically inclined soldiers did all he could, but it was clear it wouldn't be enough.
"Lieutenant," he said, walking up to Bane, who was standing watch at the hallway. Bane remembered his name to be Doyle. "We need to get Hattori back to the base. Without proper medical attention-"
"I am aware of our situation," Bane interrupted laconicly. Earlier, they had attempted to contact the captain, but the soldier had been hit with a grenade. There was not enough left of either the radio or soldier to salvage.
"But, sir, we have to get back, or he'll die."
Bane closed his steel blue eyes against the wave of guilt, glad that he wasn't facing the soldier. "And how do you prepose we do that?"
"McNally might've made contact with the captain before he . . . before he died," the red haired soldier and acting medic replied, though he didn't sound too hopeful.
"The best thing we can do is wait here," Bane told him firmly. Doyle nodded, but Bane didn't see, he only heard him walk away. The lieutenant kept his eyes on the turn at the end of the hall, expecting rebel soldiers to enter any minute. Sleep was not an option.
Hattori died during the night, choking on his own blood. The deaths now totaled to seven. Having no time for formalities, they merely covered the body with an already bloodstained, ragged sheet, and left to beat the dawn.
The streets were still empty, but that was to be expected at the early hour. The only other living things awake on the Colony were the rats that were too small to even be eaten. However, the soldiers had little interest in rats. Survival and finding their commanding officer was foremost on their minds. In any case, they still had rations in case they were hungry.
"Suppose we don't find the captain," suggested on soldier, his face showing the worn years he had picked up throughout the night. "What then? What're we gonna do then?"
His voice had a hysterical edge to it, but his companions didn't answer.
"Are we gonna jus' wait here 'til we die?" he cried. "Like worms on a hook waitin' for the fish to come?"
"That's enough, Private Mayer," Bane ordered, no sign of weariness in his voice, although his tone was grave.
"Fuck you, lieutnenant!" he screamed. "It's all your damn fault we're in this mess! If it weren't for your fuck ups, the others might still be alive!"
"Are you suggesting that you want a different commander?" Bane asked mildly, but his steel blue eyes glinted dangerously from behind his tousled, platinum black hair.
"I-I didn't say that," Mayer amended quickly, losing steam.
"No, but you implied it," Bane told him, his voice remaining eeriely calm.
Another soldier, O'Mally, stepped foreward. "He didn' mean anythin' by it, Lieutenant. He's jus' tired and scared . . . Hell, we all are."
"Perhaps," the dark haired lieutenant allowed. He turned to the outspoken soldier. "I need to know, are you with us? Are you going to follow my orders from here on out?"
"Yes, sir," he nodded after a moment's hesitation.
"Good," Bane said. "Now, let's continue."
The Colony lightened, copying the effect of a sunrise, but it brought no comfort to the tired, worn soldiers. Light only meant that they were easier targets. Most of them had lost hope of survival, following Bane only to live longer. Colonists began to come out, though most were scrouging for scraps in the garbage, glaring in envy at the Allies' Army soldiers.
Appearing from seemingly out of nowhere, a group of Colonist, looking infinintly healthier than those searching the garbage, stepped out from where they were taking cover. They made their way fearlessly towards the handful of soldiers, carrying semi-automatic firearms. Outnumbered and outgunned, the soldiers had little choice but to wait for them to approach.
"Soldiers of the Allies' Army," called the leader, a tall man, scarred from a life of living on the Colony. "You are hereby under arrest."
"On what grounds?" challenged Trenton, the blood on his bandaged head leaking through. "Whose authority?"
The man stopped and grinned roguishly. "Mine. Tie their hands behind their backs. Search them. If they resist, kill 'em."
The rebels approached Bane first, as he was in the lead. The lieutenant waited patiently until they were within arms length. Knowing they would be confident he wouldn't risk death, he struck out, landing a solid punch to the first man's nose. Blood streamed down his face as he screamed. Bane kicked him in the stomach, and as he bent over in an automatic response, he smashed his boot in the rebel's unprotected face. Without slowing down, he disarmed the other two in a series of lightining fast, painful punches. By the time the rebels and Allies' Army soldiers broke free of their shock, Bane had confiscated one of the rebel's semi-automatic weapons.
The street erupted into a fenzy of gunfire, but neither the soldiers nor the rebels fired a shot. The rebels collasped to the ground, blood pouring from exit wounds in their chest, abdomen, and head. Behind the rebels stood more than a dozen of Allies' Army soldiers, wearing fresh, navy blue and black uniforms. Bane's men launched into a weary, but grateful, cheer.
"Lieutenant Marquise?" an officer asked, walking towards Bane. He had silver hair, with a large bald spot on top of his head. Bane nodded warily. "I'm Colonel William Bunt."
"Colonel," Bane said, saluting sharply despite his weariness.
"Where are the rest of your men?" the colonel asked.
The muscles in Bane's jaw clenched, but that was the only indication of emotion. "Dead, sir. Privates Jackson, Richards, Asano, Tibbs, McGreggor, and McNally were killed by the rebels yesterday. Private Hattori died last night from his injuries, and Private Trenton needs medical attention for his injuries."
"And what of Captain Montague and the rest?"
Bane shook his head. "I don't know, sir. We split up just before the first attack."
"I see," Colonel Bunt said. He seemed to consider that. "I'll have my men search the Colony for him. In the meantime, you take your men to Hanger 39. The way should be safe."
"Yes, sir," Bane saluted. He motioned to his men to follow him, and slowly led them Colony's hangers.
When the Allies' Army had taken his father and mother captive, his father told him to watch over his sister and friends. It was a job he took seriously, as it was the last thing his father had said to him. He had information from a trusted spy that they were still alive, and were being treated fairly, but he still hated the Allies with a passion for stealing his parents and forcing the heavy burden of responsibility and leadership onto his young shoulders.
Solo Maxwell took careful aim, and fired at the target, which had a crude drawing of a dark haired, vampiric man on it. The bullets hit the center, two hundred yards away. The chestnut brown haired young man didn't take time to congradulate himself, but fired three more shots in the same hole, and five others close by. In less than fifteen seconds, Solo had emptied the round into the target, creating a gaping hole in the middle of the figure's head.
He looked up from the sights of his gun to see the damage, then congradulated himself on his marksmanship. Cobalt blue eyes, currently free from the heavy responsibility of leadership and decision making, twinkled with pride. He indulged in a rare smile, and ran a gloved hand through his thick hair. Solo wore it long, just above his shoulders, with a single lock woven in a braid that hung just to the right of his face. Strands of thread-thin hair escaped the plait, giving him a careless appearance. He wore a black muscle shirt under an oil- and grease-stained jean vest. It had originally been a jacket, but the sleeves had been torn off at one time or another. His fading jeans fell over worn boots that had seen many better days.
Turning from the target, he holstered his gun without reloading it, a habit he was desperately trying to break. Suddenly remembering, Solo took out his gun and put in a new clip. With a self-deprecating smile, he put away the firearm and patted the holster. A snapping twig caused him to whirl around and redraw his gun, all traces of pride and humor gone.
"Trin?" he asked, seeing the familiar blond. He holstered the gun for a third time. "What're you doin' here?"
"Nothin'," she replied, smiling. Unlike Solo, her smiles were ready and welcome in even the most exterme predicaments. Her honey blond hair was boyishly short, save for her bangs, which hung around her chin. Prussian blue eyes stared up at him with passion and joy. As per usual, Trinity Yuy was dressed in an emerald tube top, form fitting blue jeans, and a lacy, black over shirt.
"Announce yourself next time, Trin," he told her with the barest hints of a smile. "I'd hate to lose you."
Trinity gave him a playful smile, sidling up to him. "Is that a professional sentiment, or personal?"
"Both," Solo said, taking the petite young woman into his arms. She responded by wrapping her own arms around him and leaning into his chest. Her head mised his chin by barely half-an-inch.
"Don't worry 'bout me, 'kay?" she told him. "I don't plan on dying anytime soon."
"Good," murmured the young man. "'Cause you're a fighter. I'd be scared if you gave up. I'd think I'd have to give up then."
"That puts a lot of pressure on me, Solo. I can't be the Rock of Gibraltar."
"I know," he sighed, "and I don't really expect you to be. But it's the truth, Trinity. I don't wanna have to wake up without you. You're too important to me. And that's not a professional sentiment."
"I love you, too," she whispered with a smile, tilting her face up to his.
"Hey, Commander, is this a private meeting, or can anybody join?"
The couple broke apart, blushing, and turned to the newcomer, Shawn Peacecraft. He was grinning in triumph at catching them off guard, sharing a rare tender moment. The smile reflected in his steel blue eyes, set in a handsome face. Platinum gold, chin length hair fell around his face in sunlit locks. His clothing usually consisted of blue to black wife beaters tucked into baggy, black jeans and combat boots; this was no exception. As he came closer, his grin melted, revealing that he had more reason behind his visit than to embarrass his friends.
"The L2 Colony base has been destroyed," he told them in a low tone, as if afraid others would overhear.
"What?" Solo demanded, the shock not allowing him to say much else.
"By who?" Trinity asked a breath later. "I mean, we know the Allies' Army was behind it, but who?"
"Colonel William Bunt," Shawn said, "or at least that's what the public thinks. But the real bastard behind it was Bane Marquise. He's being promoted to major today, so he's going to be given more reign."
"Damnit!" hissed Solo, barely containing his anger. "How many bases does that leave us, now?"
"Fourteen, altogether," the blond young man replied. "Marquise's really done a number on us this year."
Trinity's eyes widened. "We lost six bases in one year?"
"Yeah, no thanks to that fuckin' bastard," growled Shawn, spitting. "Probably has a spy somewhere."
"Not around here, he doesn't," Solo corrected. "Everyone here'd give their life for the rebellion."
"Yeah, whatever," Shawn muttered. "I say, we get rid of Marquise, we start winning. Seriously, the Allies wouldn't know what to do without him."
"Goddamn traitor," Solo agreed.
"Traitor? To whom?" Trinity asked in confusion.
"The Colonies," Solo replied angrily. "That bastard's a Colonist, I'd bet my life on it! As much as he knows about Colonies and Colonists . . ."
The petite blond fell silent for a few seconds. "Then why does he fight for the Allies?"
"Don't ask me," Shawn said. "He's probably a coward who figured the Allies would win the war, and sided with them. I mean, just when he started showing up, we started losing bases and men."
"That could be entirely unrelated," Trinity argued without much enthusiasm.
"Yeah," Shawn pretended to agree. "And you and I couldn't possibly be cousins, now could we? Face it, Trin, the guy's a fuckin' murderer. We have pretty solid evidence that he . . ." He swallowed suddenly. "That he killed your mother and my family."
He had been standing at attention for more than an hour, not moving more than was necessary. His legs were starting to go numb from standing, and he had already developed a cramp in his calf. Bane wanted the ceremony to be over, if to only get the life back into his legs. The newly-promoted general had other ideas, however. It seemed he loved to hear himself talk, and obviously thought everyone else did as well.
"But," William Bunt, now a general, said after nearly an hour of talking about how he swooped in at the last minute, armed with a few men, and saved Bane and his men from imminent death at the hands of the lowly, traitorous rebels, "I could not have done it without the courage, loyalty, and quick thinking of Major Bane Marquise, and Sergeants Trent Mayer, Martin Doyle, David O'Mally, and Oscar Trenton. Thanks to those brave soldiers, and myself, we have dealt a serious blow to the rebels' forces. I'm pleased to announce that we will soon defeat . . ."
Bane bit his tongue to keep from pointing out the fact that the base on the Colony was small in comparison to hundreds of others, barely more than a mere hiding place for the rebels. He also noted that, during his speech, General Bunt made no mention of the little Colonist girl found by one of the soldiers, or that the said soldier was killed in trying to take her to Hanger 39. Nothing was said, either, of the soldiers who were killed trying to survive in the Colony.
When the ceremony was finally over, Bane turned on his heel and left.
Well, there's the newest chapter of Chaos Theory! I guess everyone can tell by now this is one of those children-of-the-Gundam-pilots stories . . . Never fear, that's as far as that cliche gets! Review, please! I don't care if you like it, hate it, think I should be burned at the stake, what have you, just review!
goodbyegirl - Thanks for reviewing! It made my entire day! I'm so glad you like my story . . . Here's another chapter! And don't worry about me failing to dish out chapters, at least for a while. I have most of the story already typed out. I'll be posting and updating every week or so. Most would be every two weeks.