MSG: In Vain Doth Valour Bleed

by His Divine Shadow

The 10th PzK and the Titans nearly turn Hameln's Remembrance Day into its Armageddon, as Kaempfer battles Barzam on the bridge across the Weser, while the Church's plan to stop Mellenthin reaps a bitter harvest. Chapter 21 UP!

10. Chapter 9

MSG: In Vain Doth Valour Bleed

Chapter 9

Berchtesgaden, Bayern, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

'It's up to you,' he says. 'You're the only one who can sort this out', he tells me. Assholes leave me to hang in front of a Federal court martial and NOW they call me back! Ingrates, the lot of them! They can coax me into dicking around down here after the fact, but they can't get me reinstated into the service with a clean record because it's not 'politically prudent at this juncture'!

Camael Balke's thoughts raged unchecked as he stomped his way back towards Dorff and the car, boots slogging through the mud and grass, coat drawn tight across his shoulders against the chill air.

The ex-Ranger had not needed to be coerced into coming out here, but he'd waited to give an affirmative to the request until after Balke had admitted that he needed his help to solve the mystery of Non Sequitor and the Salzbergewerk accidents. At first, Balke had chafed at being "assigned" a "chauffer", but Peter Dorff was as determined as he was to find out what was happening, and he had a lot more to lose. Moreover, the Pionier had taken it upon himself to lie to his own family about his whereabouts for the next month or so, and Balke had to admit that was gutsy. Bavarian wives were notoriously vindictive when it came to being smokescreened, and Balke knew that Dorff was risking not only his life on this little adventure, but also the possibility of a great many nights sleeping on a couch with a feather-filled blanket as his only company. That paled in comparison to the heartbreak that Balke knew the poor man was suffering from being separated from his wife and children, but had to give the guy credit for having a spine enough to tackle what could very well be leftover Zeon from the War.

Balke had begun to wish he had a family of his own to use as an excuse to NOT come out here. As much as he wanted to be vindicated in the eyes of his former, chosen profession, he did not appreciate having one of his former colleagues, a Brother from the Order of the Teutonic Knights, dropping in on his smut shop unannounced (especially when he was stark nekkers and coming off a week-long sex and substance orgy). The conversation between the two of them had become quite heated, and Dorff on the speakerphone had been forced to rely on the fact that if pressed, he would chokeslam both Balke and his uninvited guest if they did not start speaking civilly to each other. That was when the Brother informed Balke that the Order had reactivated him in light of the "burgeoning possibility" that Zeon partisans had, under the orders of the imprisoned General von Mellenthin, begun an operation on Terra's surface, under the noses of the Federation and the Titans both.

As it was, he'd spent three days here using all his best information-gathering tricks to try and clear up the picture, or even at least confirm whether or not this was anything but an accident. While people were more than happy to talk to him, there was simply no way to know what happened inside the salt mine until the work crews cleared it out. That was going to take an immensely long time. Balke had to acknowledge that if this disaster was a means of covering some shady tracks, it was good enough to shake even the most determined foxhound.

Who could it be? How many of them are there? He was grudgingly forced to also admit that if the unknown someone was planning to hurt the Federation, now was the perfect time for it. The Kilimanjaro base had fallen to a Kalaba strike just a few days ago, and Titans presence on the surface of Earth was lower than ever. The Federation was becoming hard-pressed to find soldiers to defend the planet with, and the Titans were only busy bees in space.

Live Zeon soldiers in nice, peaceful, unprepared Europe. Talk about asking someone to face down his or her bad dreams. It's not fucking fair.

Balke hissed as he stubbed his toe on a rock, catching himself from tripping. Dorff laughed at him from the car.

"Breaking a leg now will do us no good, Captain," he remarked, his florid face grinning as Balke gave him the finger.

"I'm pretty certain that even down a leg, the result will be the same, Dorff. This place is a disaster area. It'll take them weeks to clear it." Balke slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door angrily. "The only thing I've been able to verify is that the body count may be larger than estimated."

Dorff looked at him as he started the car. "How so?"

Balke pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut in fatigue. "The entire night shift of the mine is missing as well as the day shift. The disaster team thinks they may all be down there."

"But you think not?"

"Thinking's a little hard for me right now, Dorff. How do you keep everything clear in your skull?"

Dorff smiled. "Beer and pretzels, Captain. And not working for quasi-religious Crusaders, of course."

"Remind me to retire again later. Let's get on the road to Bonn. Time to have a talk with that dingleberry Edgrove tomorrow with all the evidence backing my play to get me either institutionalized or incarcerated with von Mellenthin as my cellmate."

"And you claim dreams never come true." Dorff glanced at the chronometer on the dashboard. 1448 hours. Too early for dinner, but they would time it just right if they could reach Bonn in about four hours or so. Traffic would be murder, though, so Dorff figured they'd have to stop along the way.

Mannheim, Hessen, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

The cell door's locking mechanism whirred open, and Dietrich von Mellenthin opened his eyes. Without moving anything else, the blue-green orbs flickered over to the door as two guards entered the room. One of them tossed a plastic-wrapped bundle on the bed beside him. It was fairly heavy, and made a satisfying thump when it landed.

"Change," said the guard.

Von Mellenthin moved, fluid as a cat, to his feet. He picked up the parcel and tore open the plastic with his hands, inhaling the scent of the smoke-gray and gold uniform inside. Even after Grissom had had the battered uniform resized, repaired, washed, and pressed, it still retained the smell of the War. For a moment, he was content to simply clutch the uniform to his face, breathing in the past and reliving it in memory that only the olfactory sense could loop back to the consciousness. War and sex, so tangibly different in scent, but the results were so amazingly similar. Only those two human functions elicited such a response from what was the species' worst and least-appreciated sense. Even the smell of food could not tap into the amount of memory buried in the aromas of war and sex. He would have wept if not for the guards.

Then, the green prison uniform he wore suddenly seemed as abhorrent to his flesh now as when he had first donned it almost eight years ago. He stripped quickly, as uncaring about being nude in front of the guards as he would have been in front of a mirror. With a relish he did not bother to try and mask, he began to dress in the only skin he had ever preferred. The guards watched, implacably, as the prisoner became a Major General of Zeon Mobile Infantry again.

"No officer's sidearm?" he queried, a slight smirk on his face widening into a leer as the guards scowled. They had also not brought him his Academy ring, though his other decorations were provided.

He stomped the last immaculately-polished black tanker's style boot onto his foot, adoring the feel of the uniform again with the entirety of his being, brushing the shoulders and arms with his hands, as though he were sweeping away invisible lint. He studied himself in the mirror for a moment before he looked at his guards and smiled in genuine glee. "Game face is on. Let's go."

One of the guards held out a set of manacles. "One last set of bracelets to make this picture complete, General, sir."

Von Mellenthin caught the snide within the 'sir', but chose not to respond as the cuffs clicked into the locked position on his wrists. "After you, gentlemen."

"No, General, after you," said the other guard. "We insist."

"As you wish." Von Mellenthin stepped out of his cell and out onto the walkway. Gen-Pop was lively today, but when he walked out of his cage dressed in the uniform of Zeon, the entire building went eerily silent. The prisoners stared, jaws agape. Von Mellenthin paused and looked down at them, his smile a permanent fixture today.

One of the guards prodded him with a truncheon. "Keep moving, von Mellenthin. The ladies don't want autographs."

"Let's take him down in the cargo elevator," commented the other. "Less conspicuous that way."

Von Mellenthin began walking, towards the area where the access gate to the service elevator was. Then he stopped again, turning his neck to spear the guards with an eye. "You know what? I think we should take the scenic route."

With that, von Mellenthin took a hard left and began walking quickly down the stairs, two at a time, into the general population. The guards lurched, then hurried to catch up.

"NO! Come back here, von Mellenthin!" called one of them as they hurried down the stairs to catch up, but the damage was already done. He was at the bottom before they could reach him, waiting for them.

"Hey, Charlie!" called down one of the other guards, "you need some help with him? You and Hopkins having problems down there?"

"Fuck off, Eddie!" sang back 'Charlie', the snide guard, pissed that the prisoner was herding them through the general population just to make a scene. He pointed a finger in von Mellenthin's face. "Try any shit like that again, and you might accidentally fall on a moving bullet. Get it, convict?"

The Zeon general smiled evilly. "Haven't I haunted your kind enough already? Killing me will make you a very popular guy to me, especially when you sleep."

"Stow it and walk, or you'll be late."

As the three of them strolled towards the far door that led to the rest of the complex, von Mellenthin saw that ahead, the former Zeon soldiers had formed two parallel lines alongside the door, and were standing at military attention, awaiting his passing as though he were reviewing them. His already-ubiquitous smile grew even larger when they saluted him as he approached, without even being commanded. To make room for he and the two guards, they took a single step backwards, widening the aisle towards the door, where two other guards awaited them.

With his hands chained, von Mellenthin could not return their salute, so he opted for something a little different instead. As he passed the last two former soldiers, he paused in his walk for a third time, spinning around to face the rest of Gen-Pop and those whom he had already passed. He raised his chained fists in the air above his head, fingers clenched together.

"Sieg Zeon!" he called out, his baritone voice sounding like thunder as it reverberated from the walls.

"Sieg Zeon!!" was the returned reply from the soldiers. "Sieg Zeon!!"

The chant continued, even as the guards began to forcibly lead von Mellenthin out of the doors. Soon, even the nonmilitary prisoners had taken up the hail, until everyone in prison greens was shouting, with fists in the air.

"Sieg Zeon!! Sieg Zeon!! Sieg Zeon!! Sieg Zeon!!"
 

"In all honesty," continued Warden Grissom, "I'd expected you to bring more people with you for this."

FNN correspondent Irina Fields smiled, teeth white as pearls. "No, just me, the camera man, and the sound and light people. In all honesty, Warden, if I'd had a clue just how large a space you were going to give us, I would have brought more."

"We try to make our guests more comfortable than our inmates, Ms. Fields. This room used to be an auditorium, but was closed down for reasons unknown. I'd never seen the need to reopen it until this." Grissom had to keep from fidgeting. He was twice divorced, and looking for company, and 'Ms. Fields' was really a 'Ms.' that he would love to tack an 'R' and a '-Grissom' onto. She apparently thought he was something of a prospect, too, considering the amount of times she had smiled at him since her arrival at Mannheim Military Penitentiary. She made him feel like a schoolboy with a crush, and he was reasonably certain he was acting the same way.

Won't matter. Von Mellenthin will behave himself and make me look good, and then she'll know who's running the show here.

She was speaking again. "I want to put the chairs over there, with only about a meter between us. That'll make the camera angles more personal than professional, even if the interview is bland as dirt."

"A meter?" Grissom frowned. "He'll be chained and all, but that seems a little close—"

She hit him with the smile again. "Pretty please, Warden? You already said he'll be chained and I'm sure he won't try anything with you and your guards present." It was common knowledge that Irina Fields got what she wanted when she wanted it. There was not a soul in the news industry that was as relentless, ambitious, or driven as she was. The rumors about her would have made the Marquis de Sade blush and Thomas Torquemada wince at some of the tactics she had resorted to or the things she had done to claw her way to where she was now, the hallowed position of FNN field reporter, just a rung or two down from the main desk at the six o'clock broadcast. The one thing the rumors all did agree upon, however, was that she did deserve to be there, no matter how she happened to make the trip. She was absolutely fearless, totally determined, and got the job done no matter how much dirt or shit she had to crawl through to accomplish it.

What she had not bothered to do, however, was get to know anything about her subject for the evening in advance. Grissom knew that she was under the impression that while von Mellenthin was the only Zeek general captured alive during the War, she presumed he was an older man. Thirty-one (the General had celebrated a birthday in mid-October) was hardly old, and Grissom was a bit apprehensive about von Mellenthin's uncanny ability to get into someone's head and charm them into malleability. In her ignorance, Fields did not recognize the inherent danger she was placing herself in.

Despite his misgivings, Grissom relented to her request. "All right, then, but don't let him kiss you."

Fields's eyes narrowed, then she laughed as she realized he was just joking. "If I can handle those geriatrics in Dakar, then I'm certain that I can handle an old Zeon general, Warden."

Grissom casually took her by the upper arm and drew her a few steps away from her crew. "Ma'am, with all due respect, I don't think you have a clue what it is you're dealing with here. Dietrich von Mellenthin isn't like anything I've ever seen before, and I've seen the best and worst of people in this place. Spacenoids don't view life the way we do, and I don't think they consider us human at all. Von Mellenthin is a lifetime subscriber of Zeon Daikun's ideas of human evolution, and I'd suggest you treat him exactly like what he is."

Fields leaned in so close that Grissom could smell her breath. "And just what is he, Warden?"

"A savage beast in a cage, with no morals or scruples whatsoever that would correspond to a normal value system. Even the shrinks say his superiority complex is so absolute as to be inhuman."

"You're actually worried about all this," Field quipped, then she touched his face. "That's sweet, but I'm a professional. I've seen battles and space, and I know what I'm doing. Being inhuman doesn't mean he is inhuman, and he's going to catapult my career into a higher orbit than Side 6. I busted my ass for two YEARS to get permission to conduct this interview, live, across Earth, and he will behave himself like a gentleman throughout it, or you'll make him pay. But that won't be necessary, because if you did your job properly then he won't have enough will left to do anything but answer what I ask him. I'll make him bark like a dog if I want him to."

She glanced at the clock on the wall. 1655 hours. "Showtime in less than five, Warden Grissom. I think you'd best go attend to our shackled Prince of Darkness while I finish things up here." She patted him on the shoulder as he turned to leave.

"I hope you're right, Ms. Fields. I truly do." Grissom motioned to the guards, who marched out of the room behind him.

The chorus rumbled its way through the prison like an oncoming storm, echoing through the pipes and the walls, and Grissom shivered involuntarily as he saw von Mellenthin approach in his Zeon uniform. "I hear your fan club calling."

Von Mellenthin shrugged. "They see me in this uniform and it gives them something to hope for. My compliments to your tailor for the repair work. I can hardly tell where the damage was."

"Yeah, well, we try to put up with everyone's wishes here. The customer knows best. I didn't know you had the Zeon Cross."

"With Oak Leaves, yes."

Eyes on the medal, Grissom squinted. "No Sword as the addition for exemplary field valor?"

"I might have warranted it, but the War ended before then. No, only one man in my division received the Cross with Leaves and Sword before Metz. The Federation did not allow posthumous Zeon awards ceremonies."

"The 'Killing Star'?" guessed Grissom.

Von Mellenthin blinked. "Yes, that's correct. You know your history well, Warden Grissom. I am impressed. Anyhow, I received the Cross for Berlin, the Leaves for Paris. It was the least the Zavis could have done after giving me an understrength division and telling me to win their stupid war for them."

Grissom snorted. "You're claiming to have a problem with the War?"

"Only the inevitable outcome considering the way it was run. The Zavis acted like Hitler and the OKW/OKH did in World War II, and I was not afraid to tell them so."

"I'll bet. Next you'll be saying you weren't in command at Luxembourg."

Von Mellenthin quirked an eyebrow. "I wasn't. Where's the nice reporter lady?"

"In the auditorium. Remember our deal, von Mellenthin."

"I've not forgotten, Warden Grissom. Shall we proceed?"

Grissom fidgeted. "She'll call when she's ready. Quite the balleater, this one."

Von Mellenthin smiled. "Of course she is."

The door creaked open, and a sound crew guy waved them in.

Heidelberg, Baden-Wuerttemberg, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

"'Good afternoon from Central Europe. This is Irina Fields, FNN news, here at Mannheim Military Penitentiary, where in just moments I'll be conducting, live, the only interview ever given to Major General Dietrich von Mellenthin, former Zeon commander of the vaunted 10th Mobile Armored Division during the One-Year War. For those viewers who aren't informed, the 10th Mobile Armored Division was responsible for Operation Lorelei, the conquest of Europe during the Terra invasion, and while they made remarkable gains in their drive towards the Iberian peninsula, they were eventually halted, then turned back, by Federal Forces just prior to Operation Odessa.'" spoke the pretty face on the vidvision screen in Eichbaum's Bar on the Hauptstrasse, managing to get this off to a grand start by mispronouncing his last name, saying 'Mel-in-thin' instead of the proper 'Mel-in-tin'. Every face in the joint tonight was turned towards the screen.

Unlike the non-informed viewers that Ms. Fields was alluding to, everyone in this place knew of the 'Hessian Lion' and his merry band of mobile infantry from the War. The dichotomy of Operation Lorelei was still being studied years after the War, but not tonight. This evening, the eyes of scientists, politicians, soldiers, and civilians were on the vidvision screen, to catch a glimpse of something so rare that history books would bear the name for however much eternity there was for the human race.

That something was sole survivor, and everyone wanted to see it. Too bad it was a lie, but even Planck's Constant was not.

Despite the misnomer, the same basic urge held true for Reinhardt von Seydlitz, sitting in a dark corner of the already dimly-lit bar, sipping at a glass of something dark with a foamy head. His gray eyes were riveted on the screen, seeking the face of his foster brother, whom he had not seen since Metz. He needed it more than the beer he was drinking, even if it was just on a screen instead of in person. He would have preferred "in person". As it was, his uniform was underneath a nasty green trenchcoat that did not seem out of place, considering that it had begun to snow outside.

He was taking a risk being here, but seeing as how his appointment was just down the street, he could not help but take a quick tour. He had been to the Palatinate Museum, the ruins of St. Michael's Basilica, the Karlstor dungeon and archway, and the Bismarck Column across the Neckar River. But he'd especially wanted to visit the Heiliggeistkirche, the Holy Ghost Church, which dated back to 1399 Old Calendar. Elisabeth von Hohenzollern was entombed there, and he had wanted to speak to her before Operation Nemesis began, as one Prussian to another. King Ruprecht von zur Baden, dead since 1410, her husband, was also there, and he had asked for pardon in bringing the tools of war into Heidelberg for the first time since 1849.

Irina Fields was speaking still. "'It took FNN two years to convince the Federation Assembly to grant permission to speak with the man who some say was responsible for as much atrocity as Giren Zavi himself during the War. Considering the destruction brought to Luxembourg and Metz, among many other places in Europe, those beliefs may be truer than anyone wants to realize. Nevertheless, we at FNN, and this reporter especially, have been waiting to hear it from the lion's mouth for a long time. Viewers and listeners worldwide, the 'Hessian Lion', Major General Dietrich von Mellenthin.'"

Aside from the clink of glasses and bottles, and the sharp intake of breath from von Seydlitz, the bar was silent as stone as von Mellenthin, in uniform, stepped into the light, big as life and looking every inch the soldier he was, shaking a manacled hand with an apparently surprised Ms. Fields and smiling at the camera with all the flair he could under the circumstances.

Almost overcome with emotion, von Seydlitz had to take a long swallow from the beer glass before it shattered in his fingers.

He looks well. Thank God, he looks well. It has been a long time indeed, brother mine, and I can see you have not lost your propensity for grandstanding.

"Dietrich," he whispered, forcing himself to be quiet when what he wanted to do was shout it at the top of his lungs. In all his life, no one had touched him on more than a basic emotional level except the man on the screen. Even Antares had never been as close to him as von Mellenthin was. With a trembling finger, he pressed a button on a handset in his jacket pocket. It beeped dutifully.

"'It is a pleasure to speak with you today, General von Mellenthin.'"

"'It is a pleasure to be speaking to you, Ms. Fields. Yours is the only face I've not been forced to see here for eight years, and anything new here is a true delight.'"

Ms. Fields blinked. "'We try to accommodate, General.'"

The Zeon grinned. "'Accommodation is also rare here, and almost as beautiful.'"

Von Mellenthin and Ms. Fields were seated now. "'They called you the 'Hessian Lion' during the War, General, yet you seem the perfect gentleman. Why was that?'"

Von Seydlitz finished his beer and checked his watch. 1705 hours. He stood, sparing the vidvision one last glance.

A barmaid saw him stand to leave and angled over towards him. She had been the first to see him come in, and was almost smitten, even though he was older than she by at least ten years (his birthtime had been crossed about eleven hours ago). "Anything else I can do for you, sir?" she asked him, heart beating wildly.

"Not at the moment, no," he replied in the same tone as he had when ordering, turning his ice-gray eyes on her face as he pulled on his smoke gray gloves. He had encountered this phenomenon many times before, and while once he would not have turned down her not-so-subtle advances, his mistress at the moment was Nemesis.

With an almost visible effort, she tore her gaze from him and looked at the tabletop. "What, no tip?" she asked, her job surfacing to the fore of her consciousness for a moment.

Von Seydlitz grinned with his lips, not showing any teeth, as he gently touched her face with a pair of gloved fingers. Then he walked out the door of Eichbaum's, with von Mellenthin's voice in his ears as the cold air swirled about him.

Outside Eichbaum's, in the cab of a heavy-life truck, another beep forced Antares de la Somme's eyes open with the same shock that a cup of cold water would have elicited. "Wha-? Treaty of Ghent, teach!" he exclaimed to the air as he went from dream-state to wakefulness.

Wiping at his sleep-encrusted eyes with his gloved fingers, he reached over and started up the truck with his other hand. Glancing out the window into the snowfall, he saw von Seydlitz's head cross in front of the truck as he made his way to the passenger side door.

The cold air flowing in when von Seydlitz opened the door finished waking de la Somme. "Sheesh, Reinhardt! Were you born in a barn? Shut the frelling door already! It's freakin' cold!"

As the Colonel slammed the heavy door shut, de la Somme quipped, "So, how's your soul doing?"

As a reply, von Seydlitz reached out and grabbed the back of de la Somme's neck with a gloved hand, pulling the smaller man over and embracing him. For a moment, the two sat there with their arms awkwardly about each other, before the older man planted a kiss on his foster brother's head and released him. "My soul is very alive, and now it is time for its vindication. Get rolling."

De la Somme rubbed at the moisture on his cheeks. "Lemme stop my eyes from leaking first, okay?"

"You have ten seconds."

"Gee. Thanks, bro."

Von Seydlitz mashed another button on his handset, wringing another beep from the device. "I am not the one being a weepy little girl."

De la Somme swatted him on the upper arm with the back of his hand. "Leave me alone. We're going already."

The heavy-lift truck began its rumble down the Hauptstrasse, crossing through the Marktplatz that once was a square for burning witches and heretics, and where the bandit Hoesterlipps was publicly executed in 1812.

Von Seydlitz found that historical fact eminently fitting.

Mannheim, Hessen, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

"If I might be allowed to speak candidly," continued von Mellenthin, "my nickname was given to me by the Federal armed forces, I presume as a gesture of respect, or hatred. Either way, you would have to ask them."

Irina Fields was still getting over the shock of seeing this man in the flesh, so very different from her expectations. His youth was one of the larger, yet altogether pleasing, bonuses. That he was younger than she was by about three years helped her treat him as more of an equal than she had originally thought possible. With the older veterans, they tended to be nervous or hesitant about what she might ask. Von Mellenthin exhibited no signs of caring what she asked him, no matter the subject. It was as though he was immune to any form of self-consciousness on the part of how the entire Earth Sphere thought of him or what he said.
It also did not help matters that the man was singularly handsome, and that if things had been different, she could have dated him. Even his voice, with its accent, was catching. Of course, the knot was that he was actually younger than she. Remaining composed despite these thoughts, as any professional should, she continued. "So much has changed since the War, General, both here on Earth and in space. Have you managed to keep up with things since your incarceration?"

"Oh, yes. The warden is very much appreciated for allowing the news to be broadcast to us here, and for letting us know things the media does not choose to report, and we repay his generosity by not allowing baser instincts to rule us. Now, if you're going to ask about current events of this day, I admit I am somewhat behind on the times."

"How do you feel about the continuing conflict between the Federation and the AEUG? Does it seem to be a familiar war to your perception?"

"I would have to answer in the negative, especially when comparing it to the Zeon War of Independence."

She raised an eyebrow to that. "What makes you say that, General?"

"The battle between the AEUG and the Federation is an internal conflict between humans with an idea of who should be running the government. The Zeon War of Independence was fought for an independent space, between two different species. Were it the same type of quarrel, Axis would not have sided with the Titans."

"You can't seriously believe that Spacenoids and Earthenoids are two separate species, General."

Von Mellenthin's smile widened. "I most certainly can, and do. I am no more an Earther than I am a Martian. The Federation has accepted that Spacenoids are different by their creation of a separate system of due process for Earthenoids and Spacenoids. That includes a separate system of law as well, I might add. Their own work to disassemble such a belief structure has instead reinforced it, and the largest example of this is the Titans."

Fields decided that now was the time to change the subject. "Going back to the One-Year War, I understand you actually knew the Zavi family prior to the war. What were they like?"

Von Mellenthin took a deep breath before replying. "Yes, it is true that I and my family had dealings with the Zavis, as did all the representatives of the Bunch colonies of Side 3. You have to understand before I begin that the perspective of the Zavis has been clouded into a sort of one-dimensionality since the War, and that your perceptions of them may be far from the truth, so what I say may be surprising, almost repugnant in fact, to anyone who has become used to thinking of the Zavis as a pack of monsters. From a personal aspect, they were very much like any other family that desires power.

"If I may be allowed to speak frankly of the dead, Archduke Degin seemed to me, even to a boy, as a man who was both attracted to and repelled by politics. He was very desirous of achieving political and social goals for his people, but unable to shake off the shame of the accusations that he had a hand in Zeon Daikun's untimely death. He may well have been guilty, and that guilt blinded him to many things. I hear that he and Admiral Revil were on the brink of an armistice before the end, prior to the Battle of Abowaku."

"That seems to be the truth of it, General. Please continue your fascinating insights." Fields, despite herself, was actually very interested. This man had been privy to things about the Zavis that few had ever been. Besides, von Mellenthin was a natural storyteller.

"The children were seemingly easy to understand, and that made them even more complicated than the Archduke. Garma was very young, younger even than most of the people he commanded, but he had never really wanted to be a soldier. I believe Garma would have been completely happy to have read a book rather than fly his Dopp aerofighter into battle, despite his actions before his death. He was always the quiet and shy boy, who became bowed over by the expectations of others, but considering that he was a Zavi, the same could be said for all of the Archduke's spawn. His becoming a soldier helped him overcome his inherent shyness, but that was really the only good thing that ever came of his being in uniform, for him. He simply did not possess the heart of a true warrior, though he went to the darkness without end like one. Garma represented the future, but he had to die to satisfy the present. I like to think he knew when he went to command the North American division that his life was already at its epilogue.

"Kishiria was the one whom I had the most contact with. It was from her that my unit originated, despite its autonomous functionality. She was cursed with being the ugly duckling that grew up to be an equally ugly adult duck. She gloried in the romance of war, the battles when the good hero vanquished the evil antagonist with the power of love and rescued the maiden, sweeping her off to some sweaty coital escapade somewhere off the pages, to live happily ever after until the marriage ended and the drinking began. This facet permeated everything about her, but she could not look in a mirror and conclude with certainty that she could be the damsel in distress. I once mentioned to her that perhaps she was destined to instead be the good hero instead of the weakling damsel, and if the post-War debriefings are accurate, she realized that before the end on Abowaku. She was very much the dreamer, even more so than Giren, but not so much that she failed to recognize that for every happy ending, something had to suffer.

"Dozul was exactly what he was: a kindhearted man trying to be a tough guy trying to be a kindhearted man. He and I saw little in common with each other, so we took pains to avoid each other except at the business level. Dozul's largest problem was that he possessed a working knowledge of a caregiver, most likely from his mother. I've no doubt that he loved his wife and daughter with the entirety of his being, because that was how he did things. But in his younger days, he hated what he was, and so he affected the gruff arrogance he was more noted publicly for. His size and appearance only served to heighten the illusion. He was the athletic one of the bunch, and seemed to relish contact sports and bruises the way an academic relishes accolades about his or her published work. He was loud, obnoxious, and generally rude, but anyone who truly knew him could see that he cared deeply for everyone around him, and that it scared him that despite his best efforts, he could not protect them all. The assassination of Saslo was his greatest failure, especially since he survived that incident and Saslo did not, which explains a lot about his dismal defense of Solomon. He was unable to distance himself from his men, and that was one of the reasons he and Char Aznable did not get along.

"Saslo was dead before I really got to know him, and it was at his state funeral just before the purges in Side 3 began that I first became acquainted with the Zavis. I was a mere thirteen years of age in 0069, but from what I've gathered from those who knew him, he was singularly uninterested in politics except as a tool. His death was a tragic piece of misfortune that led to more tragic pieces of misfortune. From what I understand, he was more like Garma than any of the others. Imagine what would have been different had it been Giren lying on that bier in 0069."

"Which brings us to Giren himself."

"Yes," nodded von Mellenthin, "the very 'face of the devil', Giren Zavi himself. He's been accused of so many things, from being the reincarnation of Adolf Hitler to the source of volcanoes, herpes, and stillborn births. Would it surprise you to know that Giren was an intellectual by nature? Yes, Giren enjoyed research, the sciences, and understanding the fundamental makeup of the universe around him. He enjoyed operas, dancing, and tending gardens. He loved children, probably because he grew up with so many siblings. He was a fanatical speller, would cheer at football games, and preferred to tune up his own motor vehicle. He also had a passion for flying kites and crossbreeding flowers.

"He was about as normal as anyone, with one psychological exception: he was obsessed with not having anything with authority above himself. He hated his father for being his father, and after the death of Zeon Daikun, he began to set up his chess pieces to place himself at the top of the food chain. He was the ultimate rebel, and would do everything possible to ensure that he was the one calling the shots. But he also knew that he would have to delegate to his siblings for a time during the War, and I am certain his skin crawled with that itch. His nature made him consider his brothers and sister as threats to his own position, just as his father was. You must realize that to a man like Giren, the patricide of Archduke Degin with a Solar Ray was no more troubling to his conscience than you or I stamping on an ant. Who in hell cares about the fate of an ant? And yet, for someone who understood nothing of familial relationships, he was very close to his siblings, and I think that closeness was what drove him over the edge during the War. He also envisioned a very different world for Spacenoids than Zeon Daikun did, and it was because of that vision that billions died in the War. To Giren, the idea of being a superior human fit perfectly with his own psyche, and no amount of logic was going to change his mind about it."

"And yet during the War, you yourself spoke our repeatedly against having the Zavis involved with your people, General. Why did you push for that, when you knew them so well?"

"Because I did know them so well," explained von Mellenthin, tapping a finger to his head. "The Zavis were the very reason that Zeon was defeated, because at their core, even Dozul's, they were not soldiers, but instead politicians. I assure you that if any of them had been soldiers, those mobile suits outside would be Zakus and not GMs." He glanced at Grissom and his guards from the corner of his eye, noticing that they were all wearing skeptical looks on their faces.

"That's an interesting theory, General."

"No theory there, just fact. The Zavis basically remained outside the scope of the Zeon military operations until the third assault drop on Terra and the signing of the Antarctic Treaty. The only exception prior to that point in time was the initial blitz and the colony gassings, which were Giren's idea, and tactically logical I might add. That Operation British failed to strike Jaburo is a fortune of war, but not an irrecoverable dilemma. Before the stalemate, which you will note did not occur under my command, the Zeon armed forces, outnumbered still by thirty to one, accomplished the greatest military campaign in the history of humankind. No terrestrial empire ever conquered that much of the planet. Half of the surface of the planet was under our flag, and that did not change until the Zavis decided to undermine their field generals and make policy themselves. But I would have done things quite a bit differently, had I been given command."

Field flashed her smile again. "Let's discuss that, shall we? What would you have done differently in the War?"

Von Mellenthin waved a hand in her direction and leaned forward. "Let's not talk about that, shall we? The past being the past, it's best not to dwell too deeply into it. I'm no lover of 'what if' scenarios. Instead, let's talk about today. Yes, what I would do today if I had the means by which to do so."

That confused Fields for a moment. "What about today? In what way?"

The blue-green eyes twinkled. "Let us presume, for a moment, that somehow a group of Zeon soldiers did what Colonel Bitter and his men did at Kimbareid in 0083, and managed to hide themselves on Earth from the Federation. As an example, let's use England as their home away from home. . ."

Pfoerzheim, Baden-Wuerttemberg, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

A nudge to the ribs woke Camael Balke from a less-than-peaceful slumber. Grimacing, he cracked open an eyelid. "Why couldn't you be a beautiful blonde, waking me for some sordid adventure, Dorff?"

"If beautiful blondes are what you're looking for, Captain, there's one talking on the radio right now who might tickle your fancy," quipped the ex-Ranger as he turned up the dial on the radio broadcast of von Mellenthin's interview.

"'. . .the first thing I would do, after acquiring such weapons as I would need for this task, is wait until my opposition was suitably distracted, in a very similar fashion to what the Federation currently is today. In other words, wait for a proper moment to strike with the utmost power, and in such a way that retaliation was long in coming. . .'"

Balke's lips peeled back from his teeth in hate. "Have you been listening to this asshole the entire time?"

"Yes, Captain. He's extremely articulate, and quite the storyteller. He went through a 'Life and Times of the Zavis' segment that almost made me run off the Autobahn, it was so compelling."

"Remember that word compel," snorted Balke as he sat up and began to seriously listen.

Lyons, Rhone-Alpes, Western Europe
November 9, 0087

"'. . .next step is to discover a weakness, a chink in the armor, some horrid conspiratorial sword of Damocles to hold over someone's head, because you know that on the open field of battle there would be no way to win in a pitched battle. Let us say, for example, that these freedom-fighting Zeon partisans uncovered some startling truth that would bring shame to the Federation, like that they were seeding food shipments to the Sides with half of a lethal poison, which would remain inert until the other half was introduced into the food supply, like in the event of another Spacenoid uprising. . .'"

That's a hell of an idea. I'll have to submit it to Colonel Ohm in the morning. Major Golan Tizard's concentration was diverted slightly by the move on the screen, a rather rambunctious attack on his flawless-thus-far Pirc defense by a black knight/bishop combination. Sajer's getting impatient. I'll have to stamp out his knight as a lesson.

The Zeon general was definitely aware of the aspects of the game. Tizard wondered what it would have been like to have faced the 'Hessian Lion' on the field, but that had not been in his theater of operations during the War. He shifted a pawn a space forward, effectively trapping the unsuspecting black knight.

Heidelberg, Baden-Wuerttemberg, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

"Now!" spoke von Seydlitz into the handset, at the same time he slammed a green flare on the side of the heavy-lift truck and fired it off into the atmosphere, to detonate in the sky with a bang. The incandescent spark flashed its life into the atmosphere, a harbinger from another time given life once more.

Near the Karltor archway, where the harbor docks were, the cellular container doors of RMS Ruhrort, Duisberg, and Westfalia opened like a clamshell, and on a trail of fire rocketed the MS-18E Kaempfer belonging to Vladimir Margul into the air from the interior of Duisberg, landing inside the city with a thump that rattled windows and shook the earth, before making a long-distance jump to the side of the Koenigstuhl. The green-gray-and brown mobile suit, bristling with weaponry, ratcheted a round into its shotgun and pointed it at the huge telecommunications tower that was situated on the mountainside, behind the castle, from a range of about five meters. Anyone near a window in the tower could look down the muzzle of the massive weapon, and know that one pull on the trigger would ventilate the entire tower. The red eye that glared forth from the squat head underneath the wicked spiked antenna brooked no arguments.

A hair's breadth behind Margul's Kaempfer, an MS-14C Gelgoog Cannon launched at the command of Private Gary van Allen, touching down with significant asphalt damage in the vicinity of the Gaisberg lookout tower, its thrusters powering it there in a single jump. The beam cannon mounted on its shoulder scintillated once, and a spear of light impaled the main headquarters of the Polizei on the corner of Rohrbacherstrasse, immolating the building in an explosion that consumed the structure and setting fire to several others. It was impossible to know how many people perished in the first shot of Operation Nemesis. It also removed all of Heidelberg's paltry ability to combat mobile suits, the equipment burning in a slagged wreckage along with their pilots.

If the green flare that still dazzled in the sky were not indication enough to the citizens about downtown that something was amiss, the resulting explosion of the Polizei HQ and the incineration of most of the surrounding block was enough to shock even the most clueless passerby.

Two more Kaempfers, the remainder of the 2nd 'Grimravers' Shock Platoon, sped across the few blocks between the docks and their assigned destinations. Verniers bellowing to slow their impressive speed, they skidded to a halt beside a large green building, one covering each direction up and down the Hauptstrasse, kicking aside parked automobiles and street signs in their haste. As the heavy-lift truck containing von Seydlitz and de la Somme parked itself in front of the doors, Lacerta and Reiter popped the hatches on their suits and jumped to the earth, Taiga-70-R submachine guns at the ready as they marched towards the only entrance to the structure.

In a simultaneous launch from the ships, the two Dom Tropens and their cousin Dom all walked from their berths and cut on their massive ground-effect thrusters, enabling the huge suits to glide on cushion of air. Skimming across the Hauptstrasse, mindful of the landmarks as well as their comrade Zeon on the ground, they hopped onto the Mannheim-Heidelberg Autobahn and went to the maximum land speed that McKenna's Dom was capable of, which was 240 kph. Hurtling the overpasses as they floated at their tremendous speed, they were on their way out of the city limits moving due north, heat sabers and raketen bazookas dangling from their backs, MMP-80s in their hands.

Its footsteps rattling windows as it walked, the MS-06Fz Zaku II Kai piloted by Anton Dalyev opened fire into the air with its own MMP-80 90mm autocannon, its sound like the fury of a thousand jackhammers, setting dogs all over the city to barking and halting most civilian traffic. Despite the War never touching Heidelberg, there was little chance of confusing the sound of a mobile suit cannon for anything else. The civilians who were not already moving ran for cover, clearing the street away from the Zeon suits as fast as they could go. Along the way, the Zaku Kai's spent shell casings rained down onto the street below, a molten hail to accompany the screams of the fleeing population. People even abandoned their vehicles and fled on foot rather than attempt to swerve around the oncoming 18 meter mobile suit, whose red mono-eye saw everything around it.

Slithering out of the hold and into the Neckar River, two MSM-07E Z'Gok Es and the MSM-03C Hygogg that were the suits of the 186th 'Deep Dwellers' Amphibious Platoon began their mission. When the last of the ground suits, the MS-14Fs Gelgoog Marine Commander that was Captain Roberts' suit, had flung itself from the innards of its ship, the three ships began to move away from the docks, but under the power of the mobile suits beneath them and not their own engines. Running up to 14 knots, the ships continued on their way towards the Rhein, only the claw tips of their belly-hanging passengers visible above the waterline. After the Polizei station's cataclysmic destruction, no one was even paying attention to the river anymore.

The other suits began taking up their own positions, for maximum coverage through the Rhein-Neckar valley. From the onset of the launches to the positioning of Haskell's MS-06K Zaku Cannon beside the RZPD Deutsches Ressourcenzentrum fuer Genomforschung GmbH, the blitz had taken fifteen seconds.

Von Seydlitz was out of the heavy-lift vehicle, along with de la Somme, even before the first civilians had time to scream, ratty green overcoat forgotten as he dropped it to the ground, his Zeon uniform now proudly displayed before the world. Lacerta and Reiter were already waiting, the machine guns in their hands identical to the one in de la Somme's.

"Lead on," said von Seydlitz, drawing his own C357 from its holster. The two shock troopers kicked in the doors of the building, then entered. De la Somme was right behind them.

"Purge the files!!" screamed the director of the German Center for Genetic Research at his stunned secretary just as the main doors burst open, admitting three men in gray-and-gold Zeon field uniforms. The one Federation guard on the premises was in the process of pulling his pistol when a burst from one of the machine guns stitched a line of red blood and ruined flesh across his torso, dropping him. Another machine gun burst went into the ceiling, raining drywall and plaster to the floor of the main lobby.

"Nobody fucking move!!" roared the blond one, pointing his gun directly at the director. "Back away from the computer, bitch, or you die here!" The woman obligingly did not try anything suicidal, and the keypad remained untouched.

The shortest of the three Zeon paused for a moment, his machine gun still silent, before taking a right and moving down the hallway. The man who'd shot the guard stormed over and yanked the secretary away from the main computer with one arm, throwing her to the floor where his blond associate was putting everyone else in a group. The director followed, cursing inwardly and wondering how in the hell anyone had known about this place.

Antares de la Somme opened the door to a classroom where his intuition was leading him. Inside, he saw a middle-aged woman in the corner, trying to block anyone who entered away from eight young children.

"Howdy, Ma'am. I'm afraid you and your eight kids are gonna have to come with me, please." He gestured with the machine gun's barrel towards the hallway as he took several steps into the room, smiling the entire time.

The teacher, terrified but determined to protect the children, shook her head. "Who-who are you?"

Instead of the man with the gun, one of her students, the oldest one, Erik, answered. "He is Antares. He has come to set us free."

With minimal effort, every living being in the building was secured in the main lobby. The stench of fear was everywhere, as the unarmed doctors, nurses, and administrators were herded like cattle at gunpoint. There were about a dozen of them, all told, plus the eight children and their teacher that de la Somme had led in by the hand.

The eight children had been eerily quiet as they were led along into the lobby with the adults. In spite of that, the youngest of them cried out when they saw the body of the dead guard, blood pooling on the carpet beneath him. They were just beginning to realize that something was very wrong when the main doors blew open, admitting a blast of frigid winter air into the lobby.

Reinhardt von Seydlitz, pistol in hand and all the warmth of the winter outside in his eyes, strode in like a thunderstorm, the wind whipping his gray trenchcoat around his perfectly polished boots. "Which one of you is the facilitator of this place?" he asked, voice brooking no argument.

The director, slowly overcoming his shock, raised his hand. "I'm the senior administrator here. Who are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Oberst von Seydlitz, Herr Administrator. What I want is for you to do exactly as you are told for the duration of our stay here."

"What right do you have to do this?" The man was getting bold, despite Lacerta's machine gun pointing at him.

"The right of a conqueror over the conquered. Do not take the moral high ground with me, sir. We, after all, are not the ones conducting illegal genetic experimentation in national landmarks." Von Seydlitz took two steps forward and whipped his pistol across the director's face. Blood and teeth sprayed over a number of the lab's other employees, who cried out in surprise and fear. The children did the same, but were somewhat reassured by de la Somme's wink at them.

"You're making a mistake!" yelled one of the other employees. "This is a school! We're not conducting experiments here, genetic or otherwise!"

"Really. All schoolchildren rate Federation guards these days?" Von Seydlitz walked over and looked down at the man who'd spoken, harsh face and harsh eyes in accord. "I suggest next time you plan on tinkering with human genetic code, you do not acquire a Lassky sequencer and several dozen Kilian RNA processors on the open market where they can be traced."

Von Seydlitz crouched, bringing his eyes level with the man's. "Where I come from, genetic experimentation is a societal mainstay. You cannot hide the tools of the trade, not when the very techniques you use were pioneered by us." With that, he rose to his full height again and marched over to the crumpled form of the director.

As the director held onto his ruined mouth and sobbed, von Seydlitz stared at him. "This structure used to be a Mensa facility for learning. In 1693, it was called the Marstall, and it served as an armory for the Palatinate Elector-Princes. You hypocrites have turned it into a weapon production plant for the Federation, but now you have been liberated by the Archduchy of Zeon. Those eight children are the fruits of what you have sown, but I will not allow the proof of Zeon Daikun's theory to wither on a vine of immorality and sophistry.

"You have a satellite telecommunications dish on your roof." The Zeon colonel hauled the weeping older man to his feet. "Take me to your communications room. Lacerta, Reiter, watch these cattle. De la Somme, bring the children and come with me. The rest of you, behave yourselves and you may live long enough to enjoy being under the yoke of space. Move it."

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

That son of a bitch! cursed Garrett Sajer at his computer screen as the well-executed offense he had unleashed at Major Tizard's line spent itself on the Titan's superior's defense. Now his whole front was collapsing. He shook his head abruptly. No, this was just luck. Sajer's attention was diverted by the interview on the vidvision in the corner, his mood fluctuating between fascination and rage at the smug Zeon General.

"'. . .after that thing was secured, I would then find a way to spread the message to the oppressor government and all its population at the same time. In England, the simplest way to accomplish that end would be to capture a facility that enabled telecommunications via satellite system. I believe the nearest facility for our fictional resistance force would be Coventry, which is a node for most of the islands and has a connection to the rest of the Federal system via the nexus point near London. Convenient that the Federation continues to make use of relay systems formerly belonging to the NATO organization to maintain their own communications grid. . .'"

That's because it's cheaper that way, imbecile Spacenoid. He moved a rook to cover his last remaining bishop, wondering how he was going to get out of this one. Despite the fact that he had never won a game against Tizard, it never got easier to accept a defeat. Reaching over beside him, he poured more coffee into his black mug, pondering his next move.

Down the hall, at emergency response, a phone began to ring.


Lammersdorf, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

With a shudder, the cargo doors on each of the three Medea transports flew open, and the MS-14S Command Gelgoog bearing Karl Weissdrake vomited from its storage space, beginning its fall towards the heavily wooded ground below. In a V-formation just behind him, the two identical MS-14Jg Gelgoog Jaegers belonging to Royce and Bryce Foxe fell in perfect synchronicity, just like their pilots.

Weissdrake glanced at his altimeter, waiting for the number in meters to reach 100. Flicking his eyes over to the main camera, he saw amidst the trees and hills below the massive camouflaged dishes and buildings that belonged to the Federal telecommunications nexus in Lammersdorf.

Their purpose for being here.

At 100 meters altitude, the titanic parachutes on each of the three Gelgoogs burst from their containers, billowing out to slow the fall of the three 80-ton mobile suits. As their chutes reached full spread, the high-powered beam machineguns on the twins' Gelgoog Jaegers opened fire, spraying energized carnage into the treeline and buildings below, taking pinpoint care not to get anywhere near the main control building or the dishes. The motor pool erupted in a cloud of smoke and flame, even as the barracks and housing sectors collapsed in on themselves, gutted by fires, as the pulsing beams of brilliant death traced their lethal paths through the tiny Federal base, scorching everything they touched. Vehicles vaporized instantaneously from the intensity of the Zeon energy weapons. No fire was returned from the ground.

Got them!! They're completely helpless! exulted Weissdrake. A perfect HALO drop after all for the 555th 'Triple-Nickel'. At 40 meters altitude, he depressed the button that blew the parachutes off his suit, and kicked on the powerful thrusters of his Command Gelgoog, setting down right beside the building with hardly a bump. The two Gelgoog Jaegers also landed, at the same time, each of them with a beam machinegun angled into the sky, backs to one another.

Weissdrake hopped out of his kneeling mobile suit, pistol in hand. He walked into the main control building as though he owned the place, and after only having to shoot three people, he got what he wanted.

Mannheim, Hessen, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

". . .once the message had been broadcast informing the world of the lies their government had propagated, it could be said that the resistance would have an excellent hand with which to negotiate whatever it was they desired. It could only be done this way, as those seeking restitution would not be able to conduct a war in the normal sense. Thus, it becomes necessary to wage unconventional warfare, which in our study could not be immediately acted upon by the powers that be. Others would disagree, but that is how I would do it, of course."

Fields blinked. "That was fascinating, General, though I doubt our viewers would accept it as being possible in this day and age. The Federation is far from as weak as you portrayed it in your scenario."

"Really now?" smirked von Mellenthin. "Despite the setbacks in space, in Africa, in Southeast Asia? The loss of Jaburo? The necessity in negotiating the treaty with Axis? How strong is the Federation that cannot keep some holdover U-Con submarines from wreaking havoc across what should be secured sea-lanes and harbors? I don't think my idea is so farfetched, especially today."

Fields cleared her throat and went on. "I understand that during the War, you commanded an autonomous division, one that was distinctly different from the rest of the Zeon armed forces. Why were you able to impress such conditions on the Zavis and the rest of the military?"

Von Mellenthin awkwardly took a sip of water from a glass on the table beside him, cuffed hands very apparent to the audience. "Kishiria Zavi, of course. That and some heavy betting that I just happened to win."

"But you were no more than twenty-three. Twenty-three year olds don't command divisions."

"I never said it was easy. But between some skilled negotiations, some diplomatic measures, and some very good scores at the Academy, I was able to convince my superiors that I was capable of commanding that many troops, using my own methods. Oh, and I was helped by a violin."

"A. . .violin?" Fields was confused. "Please explain."

"Certainly. The hardest part of the entire thing was convincing Kishiria to promote me to Oberst, excuse me, Colonel, and relinquish command of the 10th Mobile Armored Brigade to me. I was a Hauptmann at the time, which is a Captain to you all. To do this, I wagered that I could make her cry tears of joy and sorrow at the same time. She found my proposition amusing, so I unleashed then-Oberleutnant von Seydlitz on her with his violin. Ahhh, that it worked so well still warms my heart to this day."

Fields checked her notes. "Reinhardt von Seydlitz?"

"That's correct. He was an excellent violinist. He was also my brother, and a very good soldier. He commanded one of my battalions during the War." He paused for a moment, smile fading slightly as his mind took him back. "And at Metz."

"Your brother?" Von Mellenthin's sparse file listed no siblings.

"Yes, my foster brother. One of the conventions of the Bunch colony of New Koenigsberg is fostering. We hold to many different things than the rest of Side 3. By virtue of birth and lineage, he was fostered with my family after his parents died. Thus, he was my brother."

"Your family life must have been very different than the rest of us."

"Perhaps. I like to think my family is as normal as anyone in my position's should be."

"You have very little family left anymore, General. Have you ever regretted that you never married before the War, or being in prison afterwards?" Fields could sense that concentrating on his family was the key to opening up doors in the heart of von Mellenthin. It was obvious that he desperately missed them, even if he was trying to cloak it under indifference.

His next reaction, however, was most unexpected. Von Mellenthin stared at her, smile slowly fading away. "What do you mean by 'anymore', Ms. Fields?"

"I mean," answered the FNN reporter, "with the death of your father three years ago, the placement of your mother in a ward for psychological therapy, and the death of your foster brother at Metz at the end of the War, you haven't a lot of relatives---" she stopped when she looked up again at his face, and she went pale.

The expression on von Mellenthin's face was a myriad of emotions, but confusion was the most prevalent. Even as he stared at her, unblinking, confusion turned to anger, and he slowly turned his head to look at Grissom, who had gone white as the blood drained from his face. Again, slowly, he turned back to Fields, and while the muscles in his jaws writhed and his face was hot with a fury barely being kept in check, the entire demeanor of the interview had suddenly gone ice cold.

Then he spoke: "I ask your apologies. I was not informed of the passing of my father, and am in something of shock. Please continue. There are ratings to consider, after all, and viewers are not here to see me grieve, though I think there are some out there who would indeed relish such a thing."

Heidelberg, Baden-Wuerttemberg, Central Europe
November 9, 0087

"The patch is almost done, Colonel. Lammersdorf is coming on line now," spoke Weissdrake to von Seydlitz via the cell phone in von Seydlitz's hand.

"Showtime in two, confirmed. See you at the Taunus, Kommandant." Von Seydlitz hung up the phone, then turned to the director, whose lip was swelling badly. "I trust everything is in readiness?"

The man nodded, in obvious pain.

"Good. You all may just live though this, provided you remain calm. We will be departing from this place shortly after my transmission is complete, and your lives will go on from there as the Weave wills it. Go back to your people and make certain they understand that."

He glanced at de la Somme and the children, who were in the control room, visible through a window and an open doorway from the actual comm room where von Seydlitz stood. For all their gifts, they looked like any normal human, and the oldest of them, the blond one, had taken quite a liking to the Zeon ace. Von Seydlitz guessed that he was the one whom Antares had communicated with during his espionage visit here some weeks ago. A pity, really, to have been tailor made for a war they could not have envisioned. Still, at least this way they did not have to die.

A red light began to flash on the side of the viewscreen before him, and the camera atop the monitor began to blink intermittently. Antares nodded at him and motioned for him to hurry up.

As the older of the two stood in a white square drawn out on the floor of the comm room, de la Somme reached for a button and pressed it.

Earth Sphere, Sol System, Milky Way Galaxy
November 9, 0087

As the human race continued to listen and/or watch the continuing interview with von Mellenthin, they were suddenly shocked into attention as a shrill beeeep overcame the sound of the interview, and the picture dissolved into static.


In Mannheim, Ms. Fields lost her composure and called out "What the hell?" as everything suddenly went dead on the camera. Her crew began to busily trace the problem, trying to come back online.

"There go the ratings," remarked von Mellenthin casually from his seat.

"What's going on?" asked Fields, snapping at her people and throwing a glance at Grissom, who seemed equally confused.

Her sound man threw his hands in the air. "It's the goddamn emergency broadcast system! Someone's triggered it and it's overriding the entire system! Even the radios are being flooded with a new signal! We can't even bypass it just within this building!"


In Lyons, Major Tizard glanced over at his radio set, stood from the computer, and slammed a hand down upon it. When the trill did not cease, he shrugged and went back to his game to wait, but his head began to ache, forcing his concentration away from it.


In Bonn, Colonel Lucas Edgrove's eyes flew open from his nap, and he almost fell from his desk chair. He had been listening intently to von Mellenthin and had dozed off. He cursed and was in the process of straightening himself when his office door burst open, and he lost his balance, falling to the ground in a heap.

Several rooms away, a heavy brass paperweight flew across the room into the vidvision screen, destroying the device and ending the sound that made Garrett Sajer's teeth hurt and ears ring. "Son of a BITCH!!" he screamed, nostrils flaring in hate. He was going to have to pay for that vidvision from his own earnings, and the ringing in his ears was not stopping.


On the Autobahn, the vehicle transporting Camael Balke and Peter Dorff suddenly increased speed to nearly 200 kph.


And as soon as the strident squeal of the EBS started, it stopped, to be replaced with a high pitched tenor voice that came in loud and clear despite there still being nothing but static on the vidvision screens.

"Greetings, Earthenoids. We have now taken over your radiooo~o." The voice trailed off into a laugh, and then a picture formed from the interference.

The man who faced the viewers was young, perhaps thirty, with cold gray eyes and a face that seemed singularly incapable of a smile, much less a laugh. The man's raven-black hair, cut military short, gave him something of a sinister look, and the harsh lips on the angular face were held in a perpetual frown that was close to a scowl of contempt. It was evident that he was dressed in a uniform very similar to von Mellenthin's, and that it was definitely Zeon in design.

"Citizens of the Earth Sphere," began the new face, in a totally different voice than the one who had first spoken, "I am Oberst Reinhardt von Seydlitz, commander of the 10th Panzerkaempfer Division, Zeon Mobile Assault Corps, speaking to you from now-occupied Heidelberg in Central Europe. Rest assured that this is no hoax, and that I am serious in all my intentions. On behalf of the Archduchy of Zeon, I invite you all back to the War of Independence, and hereby render judgment upon the Earth Federation for its crimes against space and its own citizens.

"Make no mistake. I do not bluff. My people and I have waited eight years for the means by which to restore the balance of power and free space from the clutches of Terra. The results of reacting foolishly in the face of superior Zeon armored units now encamped here will echo throughout eternity, and the destruction will be unparalleled in the heralds of history. For those of you who still doubt our Will, remember that Europe is the most densely populated region on the planet, and then remember Metz. Heed my warnings not, and we shall scribe our epitaphs on the flesh of a billion souls with the blades of sharp revenge, and ink those words in the salt of your own hypocrisy. Remember that to us, be you Federation or AEUG, Kalaba or Titan, or even Axis, you are traitors or Earthenoids, which means you are all judged equally and together.

"For eight years, we have waited for this day, and we have not been idle. Thanks to some particularly unscrupulous Federation businesses, employees, and lax hireling soldiers, we now have the ability to set in motion a cataclysm that will dwarf even the annihiliation of Sydney during the Zeon War of Independence. Should we not be taken seriously, we will deliver into your very homes a biological weapon of nigh-unstoppable power called Nemesis. If this seems a falsehood, then dwell upon how simple is was for us to bring mobile suits onto the surface of Terra from space, all nicely packaged in a Lunarian ore freighter. Consider what else we have brought back from the darkness without end, the place where war is birthed.

"By the Word of the Ordnung of New Koenigsberg, and by the Mandate set down by the Carolignan, Saxon, and Frankish-Salien Kings of the Holy Roman Empire, I do hereby declare that I am the appointed scion of the House of Hohenzollern, and by blood and iron I am the ruling Elector-Prince of Brandenberg-Preussen. By such power invested in me, I do also declare that the Federation has committed unlawful acts upon the citizens of Terra and space, and is now judged by the representative of a higher power.

"On the charges of illegal imprisonment and unlawful war crimes trials of Zeon military prisoners of war, both past and present, I find you guilty. My demand is the immediate release of Generalmajor Dietrich von Mellenthin and all other Zeon prisoners, upon their own recognizance. Failure to comply within one hour will result in the deaths of several million Federation citizens.

"On the charges of willful acts of war, oppression, theft, and extortion against the free peoples of space, I find you guilty. I demand the immediate removal of all Federation presence from space, including all Sides, colonies, and long-range outposts throughout the Sol system. I also demand the immediate mothballing and destruction of the entirety of the Federation military space forces. You are banished from the stars, and you shall never feel their light upon your face again except when Sol sets below the horizon. I also demand the immediate dissolution of the so-called Republic of Zeon and the reinstatement of the Archduchy as the executive and legislative body of Side 3, its bloodline to be chosen by the citizens of Side 3 in one lawful election.

"On the charges of mass murder, genocide, and willful and repeated violation of the Antarctic Treaty of 0079, the basis being the illegal gassing of 30 Bunch colony, Side 1, the attempted colony drop on Granada, the assault on Von Braun, the illegal development of nuclear arms on both the strategic and tactical level, and the assassinations of key former Zeon civil leaders in the colonies of Side 3, I find you guilty. In light of the severity of these crimes, I demand the immediate extermination of the terrorist organization known as the Titans and all who have ever worn their uniform. In the tradition of the Code of Conduct for soldiers set down by Emperor Frederick the Great, obedience of illegal and unconscionable orders is punishable by death. All Titans are guilty, and all shall perish. Considering the Federation's inability to enforce it, the Antarctic Treaty is hereby repudiated. That means anything goes, and we will use every means at our disposal to punish the oppressors of space, including the use of Nemesis.

"On the charges of illegal genetic tampering and experimentation in a nation that is a signatory of the Charter of the Federation under the grounds that such research would be limited to stem-cell findings only, I find you guilty. The evidence is here with me, scrolling across your screens in the form of data removed from the mainframe of the RZPD Deutsches Resourcenzentrum fuer Genomforschung GmbH and all subsequent data on the eight natural NewTypes that they have created for the purpose of warfare and research. My demand is the immediate removal of all Federation armed forces, representatives, citizens, and employees from the Terran surface area between longitudes 5 degrees east and 30 degrees east, and latitudes 55 degrees north and 47 degrees north. By ruling decree, the Federation is hereby expelled from Gross Deutschland, and Germania forthwith secedes from the Charter of the Earth Federation. You have one hour to comply, or the armed forces of the Zeon state of Germania, being the 10th Panzerkaempfer Division, will sear the life from every Federation soul in Deutschland, without quarter or hesitation.

"These are non-negotiable terms. Obey them or be excruciated. You have one hour, or in the name of all who have fought, suffered, and perished to be free, I will sever the life of the Federation and all who call it friend, home, and nation from the fabric of the universe itself. God will have no mercy on your souls, and nor shall I. Sieg Zeon."