MSG: In Vain Doth Valour Bleed

Chapter 8

Augsburg, Bayern, Central Europe
November 1, 0087

It was not a matter of laziness on Camael Balke's part that prevented him from opening his shop for nearly two weeks after his return from his trips to Obersalzburg and Hessia. It was matter of rampant and unstoppable intoxication. Those in the business he worked for who knew him and what his situation was did not blame him in the slightest for wanting some time off. Truthfully, they owed him vacation time, and a month barely covered it.

After his return to Augsburg from Mannheim, and his all-too short conversation with the monster Dietrich von Mellenthin, he had decided that after having come up with not one shred of physical evidence to prove that something came off of the late and unlamented bulk freighter Non Sequitur that could erase the stain of the War from his past, the time had come to party like it was 0999. Ever committed to his missions, a habit that had been partially responsible for his disgrace in the eyes of the Federation Armed Forces, he decided to go forth and plumb the depths of Augsburg's ample and bizarre nightlife.

After several days of public drunkenness, Ecstacy peaks, acid trips, bar brawls, violent mood swings that took him from rapturous giddiness to soul-wracking fits of weeping to choleric frenzies, whirlwind one-night stands formed at one party and broken at the next one, and more times waking up in a pool of his own vomit and spilled booze than not, he finally came out of the stupor he had been living in.

A ray of sunlight, managing to pierce the gray skies typical of the German winter months, struck him full in the face, and with monumental effort, he managed to groan and move a hand to cover his eyes from its brightness. Unfortunately, it also meant he was awake, and that was not a state he wished to be in. Managing to shift himself away from the tiny ray of light, which to him felt more scorching than a beam rifle's coruscating flicker of energized death, he blinked his agonized eyes open, silently praying that the world was not going to visibly spin for him. To his great relief, it was as stable as it usually was. He closed his eyes again and wiped at his face with the hand he had used to cover his eyes. Something deep in his consciousness registered that there was something cloth-like in that hand, so it seemed the thing to do. It was not until after he was done and opened his eyes again that he realized the object in his hand was, in fact, a pair of women's underwear.

Eyes slowly adjusting to vision-though-sobriety, he managed to wriggle into a sitting position. Looking around, he realized he was in his own above-shop apartment, and that he was alone. Eyes shifting to a spot on the cluttered nightstand, he breathed a sigh of relief that his wallet was still there, which was a real miracle. He had no idea whose panties were in his clenched fist, but the owner had apparently seen fit to part with them.

I hope I was as good as I must have thought I was, he mused, grimacing and trying to remember something, anything, about the last three nights or so. Recollection eluded him, just like his absolution. He swore under his breath and wondered if there was an untouched bottle he might have stashed somewhere, anywhere. The fog that was his mind did not divulge that information.

Dropping the underwear, he reached back and clasped his hands, stretching so that his spine and ribs all cracked, fighting the dizziness of the blood rush to his head by sheer effort of will. It was time to get up and do that thing that most would call a life, but he much preferred "penance" as a descriptor. He carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, mindful of the broken glass and debris strewn across the floor of the apartment. Groping around the nightstand, he managed to get a hand on his wallet and opened it, checking the balance on his bank account via PDA link.

"No wonder," he groaned aloud. He'd broken the bank two days ago. Nothing to steal, no need for the wallet.

The moment had arrived to judge whether or not the hangover that was making his skull pound and his thoughts moist also had an effect on his mobility and balance. Dropping his wallet back on the bed, he slowly began to ascend. Halfway up, he straightened his legs, feeling both knees scream in agony at the weight. By luck, skill, or miracle, he managed to stand upright, the cartilage and ligaments attached to his kneecaps popping rather pleasantly into motion again.

Yay. I've evolved. Take that, von Mellenthin. Wobbling slightly, he began the long trek to the coffee maker, the TV, the bathroom, all of which seemed several dozen kilometers away. Stumbling a number of times en route, he finally succeeded in getting to the bathroom, glancing in the mirror at the round face, the dark hair, and the soldier's physique he fought hard to maintain; he was not entirely displeased with what he saw, except for the red in his eyes and slackness of his jaw. The expression on his face could only be described as "stupid".

He slapped himself once, and did not feel a thing. Bummer.

After relieving himself (a function he was in more dire need to perform than he had noticed earlier), he continued on his Hajj towards the kitchen and the dual blessings of black coffee and current news. Out of habit, his hand slapped the ON button on the vidvision as he maneuvered past the mold-caked dishware and stained, partially filled glasses that made up the majority of his place settings. He chided himself for his slovenly living conditions, putting to rest any questions as to why he lived alone. The fact that he was naked and scratching the hair on his chest while standing in his kitchen did not even cross his mind as a possible culprit for his solitude, any more than the fact that the window blinds were open.

The vidvision, perpetually set to FNN news network, was louder than anything had a right to be, but Balke endured it anyway. At the very least, it served to slice through the haze his higher consciousness was wading through.

"'. . . Titans Commander-in-Chief Brigadier Jamitov Heimann announced today that relations between Earth and Axis quote 'could not be better'. Denouncing the AEUG/Kalaba renegades in a press conference earlier today, Brigadier Heimann promised to 'bring the malefactors to justice under the righteous might of the Federation'. Recent troubles on Side 2 and other Spacenoid colonies have forced the Titans to commit more and more forces in keeping the discontented populations under control. Titans Space Commander Colonel Bosque Ohm was quick to agree with Brigadier Heimann's proposal of a united Titans/Axis task force to hunt the AEUG insurgents down. Axis representatives were unwilling to comment on the proposal at this time. In other news. . .'"

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Space was going to explode, sooner or later. All the signs and portents that anyone who worked in the Intelligence business could recognize said as much. Balke picked up the percolator and sniffed the odd-colored contents. It appeared to have been the container of what smelled suspiciously of very cheap bourbon. Grimacing, he poured it down the drain of the sink and started running water into it, sloshing it around. While he gave it a thorough swabbing, he started looking for a coffee mug or cup or something that was not infested with some alien form of life. The first one he grabbed slipped from his wet hand and exploded into pieces upon contact with the floor.

"Shit," he muttered quietly. He finished with the coffeepot and started setting it up to brew. He would have to sweep the shards once he was in the mental state to do so. Without coffee, breathing was a challenge. Deciding that his current condition was intolerable, he decided upon drastic measures. He cleared all of the dirty dishes out of one of the sinks, then stoppered it and began to fill it with ice-cold water. This was going to be painful, but at least he would be able to think.

"'. . .said the man was raving as he moved, stabbing and slashing as he went. Citizens commented that the teacher who subdued the man after being badly wounded himself was 'a hero'. The final toll of casualties was nine dead, fifteen injured. Police say that they plan to question the suspect as to why he attacked the classroom of children once he awakens from his coma. . .'"

The smell of brewing coffee began to overpower the rancid odors of booze, vomit, sex, and unwashed human-with-bad-diet. When the sink had reached a suitable depth, he took a deep breath and plunged his head into the frigid water, the shock of it making him gasp despite himself. Submerged, he closed his eyes and let the temperature force his blood to pump faster, clearing some of the hangover-induced fog from his mind. After a minute that felt like an hour has finally passed, he raised himself from the icy liquid, feeling it flow down his skin of his back to pool on the floor. He let the breath he had been holding go with an explosive exhalation.

"Ahhhh!" That was much better. He shook water out of his eyes and hair, scrubbing his face with his hands. The world was still fragmented, but at least now he had something tangible to focus on.

Maybe I'm not cut out for redemption. Maybe this is the plan God had for me all along. Maybe that Spacenoid Nazi isn't telling a lie after all. Perhaps I really am living in the best of all possible worlds. I set my own schedule, I don't have to do a lot of labor, I make a decent living, I've got the world's most dedicated customer base. . .this could be a lot worse. It was so easy to justify disappointment when coffee was about to hit your system. Finding another reasonably clean mug, he reached for the percolator as it beeped that its task was complete, eager to imbibe of the dark, black, liquid heaven.

"'. . .tragedy yesterday in Berchtesgaden as the site of the 400 year-old Salzbergewerk salt mines collapsed after an explosion. Residents claim this is the worst disaster to ever befall the mines, and that they harbor little hope of survivors. Experts at the site believe the explosion was an accident involving dynamite used to hollow out the cavern. Rescuers and work crews have been digging around the clock to discover the truth about what happened in the second disaster in the Obersalzburg area this year, following a freighter crash in the mountains nearby this past May. Our reporter on the scene says that it will take several weeks to even clear out the mines enough to begin a proper investigation. Local authorities claim that at least thirty are presumed dead inside the mountain. . .'"

Before the coffee mug, filled with its steaming contents, even touched Balke's lips, his universe clarified, then crystallized, erasing every trace of the hangover that plagued him from his mind. His eyes bugged out of his head as his mind wrapped itself around the words Obersalzburg, tragedy, freighter, and presumed dead.

And they all hearkened to a single sentence, complete with the mocking voice: 'I'm positively certain that nothing came off of that ship but death.'

His heart racing, he carefully sipped from the coffee mug, wondering if this was not some sort of joke the anticipation of caffeine was playing on him. It was not the caffeine. At that moment, the phone began to ring for his attention, and like a man walking in a dream, he moved towards it. He made it halfway when the door buzzer also sounded. Decisions, decisions. He took a long, scorching swallow from the coffee mug before deciding that the door was more important, and he walked towards it, a blank stare on his face as everything he had spent months hoping for began to form in the depths of his mind, overriding everything else.

That son of a bitch! That SON OF A BITCH!! He was lying the entire time! Where would I hide if I were a group of Zeon on Earth? Under a fucking mountain, in the deepest hole I could find, that's where!! I've got to go there again! I've got to KNOW!

So intent was he on his thoughts that he did not even realize he was stark naked when he opened the door.

Regensburg, Bayern, Central Europe
November 1, 0087

"Yes, Herr Leiger, we are quite pleased with the vessels. My concern wishes to express its gratitude to you and your crew by allowing your people to remain in Regensburg for a few days, at our expense. . .Yes, we realize that this isn't a normal event, but Regensburg is a beautiful and fascinating city, one your Westphalians are not familiar with, and we thought it would be rude to not show them the sights. . ." spoke 'Ernst Schwarzeidechse' into the cellular phone. ". . .We will have them back to you in seven days' time, guaranteed. Your company has performed up to all our expectations with the refit, and we are in your debt. Should we require your services again, may I speak on behalf of my concern that you will be our first choice for intra-Europe shipping. . .No, thank you, Herr Leiger. Auf Wiederhoren."

Karl Weissdrake pressed the OFF button on the phone, breath steaming in the cold atmosphere, and turned to Reinhardt von Seydlitz. "It's done."

"Very good, Kommandant. These nine are destined to be dumped into the Donau, so you and the Gefreiters Foxe may depart for Munich to make your rendezvous. I trust everything is arranged to your satisfaction?" They were standing in the cargo hold of RMS Ruhrort, the last of the three eight hundred-ton barges. Westfalia and Duisberg were already loaded and ready. The last of the heavy-lift transports would be stowed here, their cargo containers (each with a mobile suit and all its armaments within) to cover the nine red liquid stains that colored the otherwise gray deck.

"Yes, Colonel. There are three refitted Medea transports waiting for us. We'll hit Lammersdorf in seven days, the same time you reach Heidelberg. The practice drops we performed with the simulators succeeded in every way I needed them to. We won't fail."

Von Seydlitz allowed a ghost of a smile to form on his lips as he looked without hesitation or revulsion at the scarred visage of his longtime associate. "I know, Karl. You have not failed me yet, or Nemesis." He put out a hand, and Weissdrake took it without hesitation. "Remember to meet us afterwards on E431 northbound, before we enter the Taunus Gebirge. Speed is essential."

Weissdrake's eyes gleamed. "I know. We'll see you there, Reinhardt. Be careful." He turned and began to walk towards the ramp.

"You and yours as well, Karl."

The Airborne specialist stopped halfway up and turned to face von Seydlitz. Snapping to attention, he saluted. Von Seydlitz returned it.

"YO!!" called out a voice above them, completely destroying the mood of the moment. "Are you gonna spend all night making out down there, or can we get these suits stashed before some Hafenpolizei wonders what we're doing late at night playing around here and comes to take a peek at what we've got, because if we get busted, I'm gonna tell him I was out jogging and didn't see nothing, and then I'll—"

"Enough." Von Seydlitz's hand dropped from the salute, and his cold grey eyes swiveled to the top of the loading ramp to glare at Antares de la Somme. "You made your point several verbs ago. Say Tschuess to Karl, then load the trucks."

"Tschuess to Karl," smirked de la Somme as he embraced Weissdrake. Like von Seydlitz, he had known Weissdrake for a long time as well. "Don't look stupid while you're away."

"Don't look stupid while I'm gone. Take care of the Colonel and the rest of this. I'll see you at Taunus." With that, Weissdrake walked away, towards the truck with the Foxe twins waiting in it.

De la Somme's smile threatened to split his face apart. "I'm never stupid-looking! Bring me back something from Lammersdorf!"

Weissdrake waved once, then climbed into the idling truck. With a roar, it began to move towards the highways, on its way to Munich with three Gelgoog-type mobile suits stashed in the rear.

Von Seydlitz reached the top of the loading ramp, waving at Haskell and Kerr to come over. De la Somme watched the truck until it disappeared behind the warehouses that lined Regensburg's harbor area.

The smaller ace pilot sighed audibly. "He was such a good boy growing up. Now he's left home to go play on his own."

"Karl was never a good boy. That is why he is going to Lammersdorf and not you."

"And what magnificent role shall I perform in this grand play you're directing, Oberst? I can do a decent Mercutio if you'll cue me."

Von Seydlitz did not even grin. "A role of great importance, Antares, but not yet. I will, however, be requiring the use of Kerr and Ogun's Dom Tropens, as well as the Dom belonging to Leutnant McKenna, but not until we reach Heidelberg. No, your role is to wait, watch, and wonder."

De la Somme frowned. "Sounds boring, mein Bruder."

"It will be, for seven more days. Then, nothing will be boring ever again. In the meantime, be patient and stop picking fights with Margul."

"You are just determined to remove any hope of me having a good time, aren't you?"

"Determination is part of the job. I trust the other two ships are ready to cast off?"

The younger of the pair actually went serious for a moment. "Yes, sir. Duisberg's ready at your convenience. Five minutes after that, Westfalia can put to water."

"Make it ten minutes between departures. A little space goes a long way in not attracting attention."

De la Somme gave out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. "If you'd wanted to be inconspicuous, Reinhardt, baby, you wouldn't have blown up the salt mine."

Von Seydlitz conceded the possibility that the manic ace pilot had a point, but surprise was the key to the next phase in the plan, and the explosion was the most efficient way to cover their tracks. He did not reply to de la Somme's statement.

The first of the remaining trucks roared past them into the cargo hold, maneuvering into its position perfectly. After piloting eighteen meters of mobile suit, driving a truck in an enclosed space was no challenge whatsoever, even with vehicles of that size and weight. Ruhrort shifted in the water, bobbing up and down, as several hundred tons was stowed aboard. The other two trucks waited their turns patiently.

"Kommandant, inform Gefreiter Taglienti to cast off now." It was time to dispatch the first ship. At standard cruising speed of about 18 knots, it would take about seven days to arrive in Heidelberg.

De la Somme put two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle that overcame the rumbling of the trucks' engines and make von Seydlitz wince. Then he waved his hand twice, following it up by giving the furthest ship the finger. For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then, the engines of the 800-ton barge began to cough, then strengthen, and its propellers began to make revolutions. Small figures on the ship began casting off lines that tied the massive vessel to the dock, and it began to pull away from the harbor and move out into the Danube River.

"See you at the party, boys!!" yelled de la Somme after the departing vessel, waving frantically. After a few seconds of that, he stopped and noticed that von Seydlitz was staring at him. "What?"

"What was wrong with walking over to the ship and telling Taglienti to set out?"

"I liked my way better," smirked de la Somme, "it's what tiggers do best."

Von Seydlitz closed his eyes and shook his head, walking away from the other pilot, muttering to himself. Unable to resist, de la Somme followed, hopping up and down in circles around von Seydlitz as they proceeded towards Westfalia, leaving the noise of the trucks behind.

Lyons, Rhone-Alpes, Western Europe
November 3, 0087

Someone was calling him, but he was heedless of their pleas. The total concentration of Titans Captain Garrett Sajer was on the three RMS-106 Hizacks arrayed in front of his brand new mobile suit. There were the lifeless wrecks of three other Hizacks behind him. He had to admit that the slime at Anaheim Electronics had been outdone the RMS-154 Barzam. It was superior to the Hizack in every way, which helped sweep away the stink that seemed to travel along with every mobile suit designed by Spacenoids. Barzam was not a Spacenoid creation.

Kicking the mono-eyed suit into a run, he slashed out with his beam saber, forcing the Hizacks to scatter. One of them took a shot at Sajer's Barzam with its 120mm autocannon, but hit nothing but air as the more agile suit veered to the left and power-jumped towards its quarry. Caught off-guard, the Hizack stood little chance of evading the more-powerful Barzam's attack. With a deft flurry, Sajer rendered it into scrap, the titanium composite armor of the Hizack no protection against the fury of the beam saber's blade.

Too easy. These things look so much like Zakus that it's a pleasure to kill them.

The radio squawked for his attention again, and he continued to ignore it. Whatever it was could wait until after his training run. In the scope of his universe, mobile suit combat was the only respite from a career doomed to ignominy, and he would be damned if anything interrupted his all-too-brief vacation from dealing with the cheap affairs of Europe.

He had his reasons for his animosity. The son of a Spacenoid mother from Side 4 and an Earth-born father, Sajer had fallen in love with mobile suits and fallen in hate with the Duchy of Zeon. When he had come of age, he had joined the Earth Federation armed forces, knowing that just because the War was over did not mean that all wars were over. When Aiguille Delaz's Operation Stardust came into being, he had begged to be sent into space to defend the mother planet from the Spacenoid depredations. He was denied, on account of his age and rank. When the dust from the colony drop had settled, and the Titans had formed, he had joined their ranks without ever looking back at the Federation's mustered soldiery. By that point in his career, he had already consigned the Federal Armed Forces as a lost cause. Any force that refused to fight and kill its enemy, much less deny such missions to someone willing and able to accomplish that mission, was the sign of foolishness to a man like Garrett Sajer.

With the Titans, he had expected to be on the fast track to promotion and combat opportunities, two of his greatest lusts in life. What he received in turn was very different. After requesting space duty in 0084, he was flatly denied, and the reason behind it was the original seed for his irrational hatred for all things Spacenoid. For the first time in his 21 years, he had been on the receiving end of political prejudice. The fact that he was half-Spacenoid had brought down the axe of judgment upon his career. He could (and would) be promoted, but as far as the Titans were concerned, he was staying on Earth, never to see combat against his "fellow Spacenoids" unless they broke through and happened to occupy the planet. The chance of some latent "pro-Spacenoid programming" done to him by his mother was too great to risk him not being able to pull the trigger in combat.

With the Titans/Axis alliance in place, there would never be a full-fledged invasion of Earth by the AEUG now. Again, Fate had damned Garrett Sajer to a life of being forgotten. Wars came and went, and he never got his chance to prove himself, and his loyalty, to Earth. Therein lay the root of all his hatred.

His assignment to Europe was also a slap in the face. While the 54th "Massachusetts" Titans Tactical Armored Brigade was one of the most revered, decorated, and notable units in the entire Titans mustered soldiery, with a heritage that hearkened back to the American War Between the States, its reputation was not enough to save it from being the burden of a fate all true soldiers fear the most: garrison duty.

Assigned with the duty of preventing Spacenoid sedition on the continent of Europe, the 54th TTAB was nothing more than a "what-if" scenario force, ready to put out fires that no one in their right mind would set alight. To make matters worse, they would be under the nominal command of the Federation provisional European government: that meant that they took their ultimate orders from Colonel Lucas Edgrove, who had the authority to supercede the order of the Brigade Commander, Titans Major Golan Tizard.

A jarring crash shook Sajer out of his ruminations, as one of the two surviving Hizacks managed to score a hit with a 120mm round on the gundarium alloy armor of the Barzam's dorsal right side. Sajer's eyes flicked over to the instrument panel, expecting red lights to blossom as the damage report displayed itself. Instead, everything remained normal. He marveled at the masterpiece of engineering he piloted. Gundarium armor was head-and-shoulders above even the vaunted Zeon Luna-Titanium. With such armor, it was no wonder that mobile suits like the RX-78 Gundam had been so devastating in combat during the War. With a snarl of pleasure, he wheeled the monstrous Barzam towards the offending Hizack and snapped off a shot from his beam rifle, narrowly missing the other suit. The pilot of the Hizack was not bad, as he used the inferior but still nimble suit's few useful tricks to evade the beam rifle's blast and shoot back. While the impact of the 120mm cannon was brutal, even to Sajer, it was also futile. The second beam also missed its target.

As a Tactical Armored Brigade, the 54th was smaller than the standard Titans Brigade, which was the reason for its being commanded by a mere Major instead of a Lt. Colonel or higher. While its size made it easier to move the entire Brigade from one point to another, it also put it on the lowest priority for upgrades to its supply inventory. This fact had been of great concern to Sajer when he had been assigned to the 54th, who had wondered if he would never pilot anything better than the aging RMS-179 GM IIs or the Hizacks. He need not have worried. A commanding officer like Golan Tizard knew exactly where his priorities lay, and in so doing insured that the 54th got a nice piece of everything that came into the Titans' equipment list. This Barzam was one of those triumphs of negotiation and intimidation that Tizard knew best. Despite his best efforts though, Tizard could not convince the Titans Supreme Headquarters that the 54th was ready and willing to take the fight to space and destroy the AEUG once and for all. The argument that the reason that the Kalaba had never operated in Europe was because of the presence of the 54th TTAB fell upon deaf ears, and so it was in Europe that they stayed.

And so it was to the fate of the 54th that Sajer's own fate was also tethered.

Despite being in the 54th, and despite holding the position of Titans liaison/adjutant to Colonel Edgrove himself, Sajer was not content, and never would be until he was killing Spacenoids, whose very existence had cost him his own. All Tizard's attempts to mollify the young Captain would all be in vain unless he could succeed in changing the minds of Titans Supreme Command and getting his brigade into the fight for real.

Another hit, this time from the left flank, staggered the steps of his Barzam, but again the armor held against the impact of the shells. The mobile suit stumbled a bit, and the Hizacks attacked. The nimbler of the two closed for melee combat while the second gave fire support from the flank. The radio buzzed at him again.

"Not fucking NOW, dammit!" he screamed at it, watching through shivering eyes and his world shook from another hit and the beam rifle went flying out of the Barzam's grip. He managed to recover his balance and gave the gunnery Hizack a burst from his Vulcan gun pod. He watched with satisfaction as the black-and-red armor of the Hizack crumpled under the barrage, and it collapsed. That left the one that was closing in on him very quickly, heat hawk in its hand.

The Hizack's pilot had proven himself worthy, but not worthy enough. As the mecha-sized axe descended, Sajer deftly parried it with the beam saber, severing the blade of the heat hawk from its handle in the process. The second slash finished the Titans grunt suit, and the game was over. Sajer felt the all-too familiar rush of victory, muted by the knowledge that he would have to return to Bonn for another six days without getting to pilot this wondrous suit. That fact elicited a grimace of hate to form on his face.

I would murder the Federation itself for the chance to kill all of space. If there's any justice in the world, I will be granted that wish someday.

The radio buzzed yet again, and he angrily mashed a finger on it. "WHAT?!?" he snapped irritably.

The voice that emanated from the other end erased all traces of anger from him, replacing it instead with shame. "Captain, while I trust your outburst is due to your impressive victory, I should sincerely hope for your sake that you never take that tone with me again."

Sajer coughed, clearing his throat, as he brought the Barzam down from combat readiness. "No, sir, just the heat of the moment. How may I serve the Titans?"

Tizard's voice, colored by an eastern European accent that sounded a bit like Hungarian, continued. "Colonel Edgrove requests your presence in Bonn at the earliest opportunity. He seems to feel the need to have you there holding his hand when FNN broadcasts the interview with the 'Hessian Lion' on the ninth."

There was no small amount of dislike between Edgrove and the Titans, and that translated to their respective European command structure as well. Sajer knew that Tizard would love nothing more than to unify all of Europe's military presence under his own command. Like Edgrove, he was a veteran of the War, though his own successes had come from the Battle of Solomon and the Battle of Abowaku. For a space veteran to be consigned to Earth for the duration of the Titans/AEUG War was a shameful end to a stellar career. Sajer, had he been in Tizard's position, would rather have traded his fate with one of the victims of the Konpei Island naval review nuking back in 0083 than have to put up living with a fate like Tizard's.

Despite the injustices done to a man of his combat experience, Tizard was an honorable man, one who held up to a form of chivalry not usually seen in mobile infantry. He also had a keen intellect, a talent for using mobile suits to their fullest potential, and never seemed to lose his temper over anything. Sajer had to admit that Tizard was a far more patient man than he could ever be.

"I depart for Bonn in an hour and a half, Major. Do you think the Federation can survive long enough for me to shower?" His Barzam helped one of the Hizacks to its feet. The other five were clambering up on their own power after the training programs finally released them to their pilots' cognizance.

Tizard laughed. "I have every belief that it would collapse that much faster if you were not allowed a shower, Captain. See me once you've completed your ablutions and before you leave."

"As you command, sir." Sajer thumbed off the radio and began to march the Barzam back to the base motor pool with all the finality of a man going to a gallows.

And in his heart, hate writhed and grew.