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!

11. Chapter 10

MSG: In Vain Doth Valour Bleed

Chapter 10

Mannheim, Hessen, Central Europe

November 9, 0087

The voice of Reinhardt von Seydlitz echoed throughout the building, giving it an almost godlike quality as it assailed the hearing of every living soul in the Penitentiary. Reactions were mixed, as shock is never the same for any two people.

Warden Grissom stood rock still, unable to do more than breathe as a ghost from the past proclaimed its spite to the entire living world. Everyone said that the vengeful judge of their fates who was speaking to the world was dead, and had been dead for years. If they were wrong about that, what else were they mistaken about?

Irina Fields shivered, realizing that not only was her interview now irrevocably overshadowed, but that they had just been speaking of this very devil, and he had come as though summoned. There stirred within her breast a sense of urgency, a need to flee, to escape this place, recoup, and return at full strength. It warred with pride and lost, and so she did not move, and only listened to the evil voice pronounce its terms to a world that never saw it coming.

The prisoners were divided between a sense of hostile confusion that bordered on annoyance at their fellow inmate being cut off in mid-interview, and an overwhelming adulation that bordered on a hope that spurred an immortal fanaticism. As a whole, they turned their eyes on the dozen guards, and they hungered.

The guards did not notice the change in the atmosphere immediately. Most did their duty of keeping watch on their charges, but not a one was totally focused on their assigned task. Too many words rang in their heads, words like biological weapon and guilty and several million deaths. And inherent within all of these was a simple instinctual fear, one that could only be summed up as a kin to 'fear of the unknown'.

Dietrich von Mellenthin threw back his head and laughed. "My brother!!" he cried out, voice punctuating von Seydlitz's words. "The eight years you've made me wait are forgiven!! This is priceless!!"

Fields was the one to recover first, and she turned eyes that brimmed with shock and loathing on her subject. "W-w-what d-did you s-say?"

Von Mellenthin wiped an eye with his sleeve and looked at her, his own eyes gleaming with mirth but his ears still listening to von Seydlitz speak. "I'm terribly sorry about your ratings, dear, but this really is delightful. I couldn't have timed this better had I been there myself."

She was confused. "Are-are you suggesting you knew?"

"Of course," he grinned. "It's my plan. My seed planted eight years ago for this moment, now growing into a tree of woe to crucify hateful Terra upon."

Fields's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out as her mind tried to work itself around von Mellenthin's words.

He turned his lips downward in a frown, but his eyes were still ebullient. "Surely you can appreciate the irony of this all. A man in a cage making an entire world tap dance to his own tune, using the dead as his vessel of revenge. This should come as no surprise to you, really. After all, the 10th Panzerkaempfer was nicknamed the 'Ghosts'."

Still she was silent, even as a look of utter revulsion began to form on her face.

Von Mellenthin sighed, and then waved a hand in the air in exasperation (as much as he could with the chains, of course). "Typical. Do the best job you can to the limits of fallibility, and no one grasps it. And even if they do, they don't appreciate it at all. Earthenoids, I swear you're all dense as Jove."

He leaned forward, face growing larger in her eyes as he stared into them; his own a cheerful opposite to what hers exuded. "You're disappointed that my own little scheme has cast a pall over yours. I can smell the ambition on you, my dear, and it's an old odor to my nose. But I am still at your service, after all. I can help you now, as I promised Grissom I would help him. Would you like that?"

"H-how?" If her voice were capable, it would have been a hiss. Instead, it came out choked.

How quaint. "I know one way to give you what you want. Immortality in the eyes of the viewers, the all-important audience, the ones who tuned in to see you rake me over coals for their pleasure," he glanced down at her forgotten PDA and the list of pre-prepared questions, "which you were in a few minutes going to do, I see. They hear and see my brother right now, but he won't be on much longer, and the fickle crowd will want more. I can give them that for you. And you only have to do one thing."

"What?" She spoke the word like a thirsty man speaks 'water'.

Von Mellenthin's eyes never changed. "Die."

With von Seydlitz's voice still speaking, the Zeon General wrapped his manacled hands around Irina Fields's throat and crushed her larynx with his powerful fingers with no more effort than crushing an empty aluminum soda can. She was dead before the first guard's truncheon struck him between the shoulderblades, never even realizing what happened to her, but he did not release her until the third blow. Dazed, but conscious, he ceased struggling and let himself hit the floor and lie still.

A kick in the gut heralded the arrival of Grissom on the scene. "Get this animal to the basement room! I've got some words for him! And get the fucking doctor up here, NOW!!"

Von Seydlitz ended his speech as they dragged him away, but von Mellenthin's laughter went on and on inside.

Heidelberg, Baden-Wuerttemberg, Central Europe

November 9, 0087

"Not bad," said de la Somme around the clapping, the eight children arrayed in a row behind him where they had stayed throughout the speech. "Coulda used some spitting, maybe a derogatory gesture or two."

Von Seydlitz gave him the finger almost casually, without looking at him, while dialing Weissdrake's phone number on his own cell with a practiced thumb. "Like that?"

"Awww," sniffed the shorter pilot, wiping away a fake tear, "it's so hard having to watch you grow up so soon!"

"Shut up and be ready to switch signals," he barked at de la Somme, making the children jump with its violence. The ringing phone on the other side picked up. "Are you prepared, Kommandant?"

"Affirmative, Colonel," replied Karl Weissdrake from Lammersdorf, where the buildings burned out of control and he had a gun in a Federal Corporal's mouth. "Switching to the closed-circuit to Bonn now."

"Good. The final phase begins now. You know what to do."

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe

November 9, 0087

"All right, folks," spoke Colonel Lucas Edgrove with more confidence than he actually possessed at this juncture, "what are our options?"

The staff room in the Central European HQ in Bonn was full for the first time since Operation Stardust in 0083. The horseshoe-shaped table was packed tight with staff officers and adjutants from every branch of the Federation Armed Forces available. A few stragglers were still coming in, but Reinhardt von Seydlitz's face was still on the main monitor that took up the majority of the far wall, trapped in a still frame that had not budged in ten minutes. Those stuck in traffic or waiting for 'thopter transport to pick them up were on speakerphones strewn across the room, each manned by lower-ranked staffers as a stopgap for communication. The only conspicuous absence was Titans Captain Garrett Sajer, whom Edgrove knew was undoubtedly on the phone shrieking at Titans Major Tizard in Lyons before coming in here to give his own inevitable opinion.

"Options?" snorted one of his staff. "I guess we could spread our cheeks with both hands and beg the big pirate not to hurt us too badly."

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Frank?" spat another one across the table.

"Exactly what I said. We have no options. This is something we've never even considered before."

"Why not? I thought Rapid Response was supposed to have all the bases covered."

The first staff officer, Frank, blew out a breath before slamming his hands on the table. "We don't have any for dealing with the dead, dumbass! This is Europe, where all the Zeeks are dead, remember?"

"Enough!" snapped Edgrove, before his people started a fight in his own boardroom. "We need to act realistically here, people. The Zeeks caught us with our pants around our ankles and a come-hither look on our faces, but that doesn't mean we're helpless. Let's get a handle on what we're dealing with, okay?"

The collective silence in the room was palpable, until Sajer stormed in, slamming the heavy wooden door aside with a banging thump. He had a look of sheer disgust on his face, and Edgrove actually had to hide a smile. Sajer stomped over and threw himself into his seat, fuming.

Edgrove looked across the room and continued. "Let's assume that this . . .whatever he is has this Nemesis thing, and is ready to deploy it. What are our countermeasures like?"

'Frank', the representative for Rapid Response, shook his head. "Like a leaky sieve. We're completely helpless against a biowarfare weapon of the magnitude he's implying. It also depends on what vector he'll use to pass the weapon along. It could be a number of different things, air, water, and food like von Mellenthin said . . . shit, it could be contact-passed skin to skin for all we know. We've got nothing to work on, and even if we did, there's no telling what the hell it is."

"Screw that," yelled Sajer over the din caused by the Rapid Response officer, "screw you, and screw this!! Would somebody please tell me who in the blue hell this prick on the vid even fucking is??"

There was a moment of silence before Edgrove spoke, softly and slowly. "A dead man. Or so we all thought. From the War."

Sajer blinked, his face twisted into something like a scowl. "And? So? He's a vet, big fucking deal. Why are you all shitting your pants over this?"

"You took Tactics and Procedure at Nijmegen, correct, Captain?" asked Edgrove, still staring at the top of the table.

"Yes!"

"Do you remember the name 'von Seydlitz' from the OpFor section of the text?"

Sajer was quiet for a moment, his anger-clouded mind trying to dredge the name out of his subconscious memory, along with a picture to match the one that stared at him from the screen, which flickered for a very brief instant. "Oh my God," he finally whispered, "that's 'Black Adler' von Seydlitz."

"Correct, Captain. 'Black Eagle' Reinhardt von Seydlitz himself, alive and well and holding a gun to all our heads."

"But he's supposed to be dead!!" screeched the Titan, his eyes staring at the screen in a mixture of awe and loathing. "They told us he WAS dead!!"

"Gee, thanks for catching up. Now that we've enlightened our youth about our boogeyman, can we get on with this, please?" queried the female in charge of Signals, who had been living in misery since her waves had been so easily hijacked.

Sajer stood to his feet. "Get the goddamn historian in here! I want to know everything about this asshole," he spat, pointing a finger at the face on the screen, "and what he's capable of!"

"Everything, Hauptmann," spoke von Seydlitz's voice, as the face on the screen moved and its eyes fixed themselves to Sajer.

The entire room burst to its feet except for Sajer, who collapsed backwards into his chair, shocked speechless.

Von Seydlitz smiled. "I hope I am not interrupting anything private, but I thought that it would be a gesture of understanding that I speak with you all directly as opposed to airing all of your dirt over the open airwaves."

"HOW??" yelled Edgrove at the Signals rep, who simply buried her face in her hands and shook her head as he thrust a finger at the screen.

"Do not shout at her, Oberst Edgrove, Commander-in-Chief, Federal Armed Forces Europe. My people and I have seized control of your communications nexus at Lammersdorf. That we have is beyond the scope of her control, or yours."

"What the hell do you want, Zeek?" asked Edgrove to the screen.

"What I demanded, of course, but mostly I want to see you all suffer under the heel of our revenge. Eight years we waited for this day, and we will wring you dry of despair before we are through. For the next forty minutes, at least." The gray eyes scanned over the room. "You should be packing. You have little time left to cross the Westerwald and avoid the calamity I have in Nemesis."

"What is Nemesis? Some new weapon of mass destruction you've concocted? Gas and nukes and colonies not enough for you anymore?" called out one of the other officers.

"No, no, it does not require a new trick to butcher Earthenoids with. Instead, we have decided to use a blast from the past. Pre-historia, to be more specific. Have you ever heard of Pfiesteria piscicida?"

"No."

"I thought not. Allow me to educate you subhumans about it. It is a naturally occurring dinoflagellate lifeform that likes to feed on animal tissue for its sustenance. It has a particular liking for fish, and inhabits coastal seawater regions. It likes shallow sea bottoms, and when left undisturbed, it remains dormant. Its hunting method involves a corrosive neurotoxin that it releases into a victim's bloodstream, causing massive hemorrhagic lesions that eventually kill the victim, which the Pfiesteria then begins to feed upon and multiply.

"In humans, it causes respiratory, skin, and gastro-intestinal problems. It also causes memory loss and confusion, a low-key Alzheimer's disease effect, as it were, before it kills with agonizing and inexorable slowness. It particularly prefers blood. It is quite the vampire, our little Pfiesteria."

"You son of a bitch," spat 'Frank', his eyes burning with rage.

"You may be thinking to yourselves that because it is so limited in environment, Nemesis will not have the effect I claim it will. You could not be more stupidly mistaken. In an age of genetic research, it was simplicity to alter the makeup of this tiny dinoflagellate to a freshwater environment, and then make it . . .stronger. Over the last eight years, we have bred these things in abundance, and we have enough to infect every freshwater source and reservoir on the planet's surface. It will get into people's homes through the tap, through the sewage lines, and multiple other methods of transit, and then it will kill them, feasting on their blood, their very life essence itself. Just like the Federation has done to space, glutting itself on the blood of its betters for sustenance.

"And the best part about this is that you have no filtration system capable of coping with this organism and its corrosive effects, and no means of simply telling the world not to drink water. Even if you put a halt to every freshwater supply on the planet, the death toll will make the losses during the War of Independence seem like a normal obituary page on a news screen."

The silent horror the room was feeling was so palpable it could have been touched. Edgrove whispered, "How could you do this? You risk your own people as well."

Von Seydlitz smiled the grin of the unabashed predator, but did not show any teeth in the tightening of his lips. "No, quisling. In space, we recycle all our water, and do not import it from the planet's surface. Hence, we are under no threat, as every Side and colony will quarantine themselves from Terra the moment the news leaks that your water supply is lethally contaminated. Terra will be the leper of the Sol system, and none will touch your face even in sympathy. Not even the vaunted Federation Starfleet, were I to allow its existence, could help you against Nemesis. They could ship a thousand ice asteroids to Terra a day and still not proof the new water against the Pfiesteria. You will all be damned if you think that I am bluffing and prefer to call it rather than fold."

Edgrove cleared his throat around the sick lump that had formed. "It would seem you have us at a disadvantage, then."

"Precisely."

"How do you wish to proceed?"

"I have dispatched a vehicle to retrieve Generalmajor von Mellenthin. Have him waiting in front of Mannheim Penitentiary for its arrival, unharmed. Once he and the rest of the Zeon military prisoners are released, your guards will be allowed to leave unmolested, to depart this land and never return. You and yours have thirty minutes to do the same. Once the hour is past and you have kept your end of the deal, I will have my people disarm the devices containing Nemesis, and the Federation may go about its business of removing itself from space wholesale. It may also go about the business of publicly executing every living Titan, and you may start with that one there." The finger on the screen pointed to the audience, whose eyes automatically went to Sajer, who had been fussing with a cellular phone a moment ago. The Titan's demeanor was more confident now, and Edgrove fleetingly wondered why.

"Eat shit, Zeek! If you and yours weren't such cowards, you'd fight us fair and square!" Sajer would have frothed at the mouth if he had known how.

"I seem to recall a similar challenge issued by one of us to one of yours at Metz. I hold your gauntlet in the same measure as your kind held Juergen Gyar's." The eyes turned to Edgrove. "You remember. You were there. I can see it in your face. It is as evident as the sun's rise. Beware the advice of that sniveling puppy in black and red, and of those around you who do not KNOW who I am and what I can do. Remember Metz, and KNOW that I do not lie."

Edgrove was trembling. "How many of there are you?"

The gray eyes did not blink, and there was no grin to cross the face of von Seydlitz. "Legion. I look forward to seeing you at the first Germania-Federation summit when we take control of Berlin and set up the new Zeon government. I suggest you bring a large bag of goodies to repay us for our mercy. Without it, I may choose to hold the murder of my father on the heads of not just the Titans, and the cost may just be a pile of the skulls of your firstborn children to decorate the New Year's bonfire with."

A phone buzzed, and someone to Edgrove's left answered, spoke a few words, and the man on whom the fate of all Europe depended sank into his chair, too weary to stand. "We will need time to comply, Colonel."

"No rush, really. I will call again before the hour, to ensure that you are doing your part to the fullest. We would not want there to be any mistakes in judgment, would we?"

And the image blinked out at last, leaving a black screen and silence in its wake.

"Our pooch is royally screwed now," muttered Edgrove, voicing the thought of everyone in the room.

Save one.

Sajer's smile was one of triumph. "So's his. It's been taken care of."

And all eyes turned to the Titan, with horror in their depths.

Mannheim, Hessen, Central Europe

November 9, 0087

Grissom flung himself into a chair across the desktop from von Mellenthin, rage fuming and nostrils flaring. "You promised me, Zeek. You swore to me that you wouldn't fuck this up!"

Von Mellenthin glared back. "You weren't listening. I swore on the life of my father that I would behave."

"Keep your goddamn semantics out of---!"

"And that was before I learned from that whore that he was DEAD!! So that promise had the same substance as my FATHER!! ASHES!!" Grissom could never have come close to rivaling the pure rancor in the voice of the Zeon General, and the warden's head recoiled from its violence.

"Listen," began Grissom again, calmer now that his own anger had quailed before the roar of the lion, "I'm sorry about your father's death, I truly am, but you just murdered a woman. I can't let that slide."

"And I cannot let the murder of my father 'slide'. YEARS, Warden Grissom. He's been dead for YEARS, and none of you bastards had the courage to tell me."

Grissom shrugged. "What good would it have done? You couldn't have attended the funeral. Besides, you've still got your foster brother, who is alive---"

"Do not try to placate me, pig! I know that von Seydlitz is alive. I have known that for eight years. He's alive by my order."

For a long moment, they were both silent, as was the one guard in the room. Another was outside the door.

In the General Population above, something stirred, then came to life. The prisoners began to group together, moving towards the guards in packs. The guards did not fail to notice that.

"Hey, what the fuck do you skells think you're doing?" snapped one of the guards. "Get your asses back and disperse!"

"You killed the General's father," said one of the prisoners, flexing his wrists. "You're the ones who should be in the cages, not us."

The guard ratcheted a round into his submachine gun. "Yeah? Well, when you have the guns, you can fucking dictate. Until then---"

The three-round burst caught the speaking prisoner in the chest from a range of about seven feet. The man was thrown backwards into the arms of his comrades, prison greens browning with blood that spattered from the wounds.

"---fuck off! Now the rest of you girls get the fuck out of---"

The roar went up as one single howl from every prisoner's throat, and they charged the guards in a rage.

The sound of machine gun fire, coupled with the caterwauling of the prisoners, was as evident to the Titans guards outside the complex as it was to everyone inside the building.

"What the shit is going on in there, sir?" asked one of the Corporals to the Sergeant who was in charge of their four-man platoon.

"It's a goddamn riot! McKlusky, get your GM up and running. Hancock, Tibbets, get those doors chained up. I'll start the compressors. You know the drill, people, move!" His handset buzzed, and he snatched it from its holder.

With a whine and a shudder, the RMS-179 GM II came to life beside the trucks. Three others just like it lay dormant, awaiting their absent pilots' commands patiently. The humanoid red-and-black mobile suit gripped its 90mm machine gun in its left hand and took hold of a hose with its right, even as the other two men finished chaining the door to the building and raced away from it.

The Sergeant was on the handset, talking to the caller, who happened to be his superior, Captain Sajer. "Yes, sir, we heard the whole thing. The prisoners have begun rioting inside."

"Sergeant," the voice of Sajer was faint, as though he were whispering, "initiate Plan Whisper. Say again, Plan Whisper. Authenticate."

"Sir, I---"

"Authenticate, goddammit!"

"Aye, sir, Plan Whisper. Authentication code is Cloudkill."

"Terminate every living thing in the building. Especially that fucker von Mellenthin, understand?"

"Aye, sir." The phone clicked off without another word, but he and his boys had their orders. "Fire 'em up and hook 'em in, boys!! Smoke the whole lot of 'em!"

Tibbets ran for his own GM, while the other man, Hancock, ran to the second tanker truck and flipped the red lever that activated the compressor, pumping the gas into the hoses that the GMs were hooking into the primary environmental control system for the Penitentiary, guaranteeing its spread throughout the building.

The sound of the pumps thrummed through the building, but none of the rioters or the eight surviving guards heard them over the screams and the gunfire. The guards had managed to make a stand in front of the doors, and were pouring volley fire into the mass of prisoners, who just kept coming despite terrific losses. The problem was that there were more prisoners than bullets, and the guards knew it.

It was the smell that hit first, an odd odor of newly mown hay, tangible and growing stronger. One of the guards took the time to look up at the ventilation grille and screamed as a yellow gas began to pour from it in ever-increasing density.

"GAS!!!" he shrieked, voice overriding even the prisoners, who stopped their advance under cover of tabletops and corpses to also look on in terror. Their riot forgotten, the panic became universal to both prisoner and guard as they realized what was happening.

Only the guards knew where the emergency masks were, and they were on the far side of the complex where the prisoners were. The cloud, denser than air, began to settle.

And men began to die.

Von Mellenthin sniffed the air, and something in his lungs hitched. "No," he cursed.

Grissom had not yet noticed, his mind too intent on the riot going on above them. "What?"

Von Mellenthin raised an eyebrow. "It seems your Titans have finally discovered what your lives are worth. What all our lives are worth." And he pointed at the ventilation grille above him.

Grissom's eyes widened.

Above them, pandemonium ruled. The guards threw themselves at the metal doors, trying to escape the confines of the building and the lethal gas, which was dropping men like flies, choking and coughing. The chained doors would not budge, and the submachine guns were not enough to blow the door apart.

"Goddamn . . .Titans . . ." rasped one of the guards in his last breath, lungs consumed by a fire that raged out of control, his throat sealing shut from the inflammation of the tissue.

It would have been a shock to all involved to discover that the use of this gas dated back to World War I, in 1915, and accounted for 80 of all chemical casualties of the war. It was called carbonyl chlorine, also known as phosgene.

With Grissom suitably distracted, von Mellenthin rose to his feet and smashed his clenched fists into the guard's face, driving the man's skull backwards and into the wall. His helmet took the brunt of the blow from behind, but his nose crumpled under the hammer force of the Zeon General's fists. Rearing back, von Mellenthin thrust his fists forward again, crushing the guard's windpipe before he could make a sound. Grissom surged to his feet, but the younger and far more athletic von Mellenthin kicked the desk, knocking the warden to the ground, still fumbling for his pistol. Von Mellenthin leapt over the desk and landed squarely on Grissom, one boot on the hand near the pistol and one on his neck, with his full weight and force directed downward. Grissom's arm broke across the radius and ulna, and three vertebrae splintered, then burst, and he was dead before ever getting a shot off.

Time was of the essence. Von Mellenthin remembered studying this chemical in Ancient Unconventional Warfare, and knew he only had about forty seconds to find a mask or an ammonia-soaked pad to avoid fatal lung damage. There was still one guard outside, and across the hall was an emergency firefighting kit, complete with anti-asphyxia mask. He hoped the filter was strong enough. He snatched the keys from Grissom's pocket and unlocked his manacles with a minimum of awkwardness and maximum speed, then threw open the door.

The outside guard did not turn around. "Hey, do you guys smell---?"

The density of gas in the hallway was not great yet, and von Mellenthin was thankful for that even as he grasped the guard's helmet with his freed hands and broke the man's neck with a twist. The guard slumped to the ground, and von Mellenthin shattered the glass on the firefighter's box with a boot heel, grabbing the mask pulling it over his face. He grabbed Grissom's pistol and the submachine gun from one of the dead guards, snagged the fire axe as a second thought, then walked into the cloud of yellow gas with the most freedom he'd had in eight years.

"Give the gas another couple of minutes, then take a gun, go in there, and empty a clip into von Mellenthin's face," ordered the Sergeant to Hancock. "They should all be dead by then, but the Captain wants us to make certain that fucker's a corpse."

"Yes, sir!" replied Hancock. The tankers were almost empty now, their lethal cargoes pumped into the building. The whole place would have to be burned now, along with everything inside it. But that was a job for later.

"Sir?" boomed Tibbets's voice from his GM's speaker. "I think you oughtta take a look at this."

"What is it, Corporal?"

"I've got an intermittent blip on the sensors, sir. Very long range, but closing very fast. I would've noticed earlier, but it's been zigging in and out of ground clutter. Range now less than ten klicks. Wait! Now I've got two of them! No! THREE!"

"Identify!"

"Unable to get a visual, they're jinking all over the---Doms!!"

The Sergeant was sprinting towards his GM when the first 880mm bazooka round caught the hose-wielding McKlusky's GM in the torso, turning the proud red-and-black mobile suit into a fireball and a rain of shrapnel. The hoses broke loose and fell to the ground, their remaining gas spewing in harmless amounts into the atmosphere, its density too low to do more than color some plants.

McKlusky's toppling suit collapsed backwards, its pilot reduced to charred proteins, and crashed to the earth, just as the first Dom Tropen skidded into visual range.

"Got him!! Our first catch of the war, Lieutenant!" exulted Master Sergeant Inaba Ogun, Dom Tropen absorbing the recoil of the 880mm bazooka with ease.

"The Titans are gassing the prison," declared Lucian McKenna in his Dom. "I'll get the General. You two wax these fuckers fast and hard."

"You got it, sir," confirmed Kerr as his Dom Tropen went to full ground speed and drew its heat saber from the casing on its back.

Ogun's Dom Tropen stowed the 880mm raketen bazooka that had felled the first GM from a respectable range of about a dozen kilometers, with obstacles, with one hand while he unlatched the MMP-80 with the other. The "panzer"-camouflaged Zeon suit cut loose with its 90mm autocannon, even as the first GM began to return fire with its own gun, using the Penitentiary as cover against the incoming rounds.

McKenna slowed his Dom to about 100 kph and came in low to avoid being taken out by random fire. The two remaining GMs didn't stand a chance.

"Cover me, Tibbets! I'm getting up now!" rasped the Sergeant as the Zeon suits began to close at their insane speeds. His GM began to rise to its feet, gun clutched in its hands, and he cursed it for being to slow to awaken. He watched through his elevating main camera as the Zeon walked a line of 90mm across Tibbets's GM's face, shattering the suit's main camera and sensors. He was enraged at getting caught with his pants down, and was wishing he had not ordered Hancock to go inside the building and finish off von Mellenthin.

Then his own death arrived, as the second Dom Tropen literally hurtled the entire height of the building, slammed a knee into the already-staggered GM that belonged to the unfortunately very green Tibbets, and drove ahead, heat saber swinging. The friction blade decapitated the Sergeant's GM as the suit slid past on its GES thruster system, made a 180-degree turn, and ran the GM through, blade sinking effortlessly into the cockpit and reducing the Sergeant to a perforated cinder. Kerr allowed his Dom Tropen's foot to stomp the severed head of the GM into a powder of metal chips.

Tibbets's GM toppled over into the earth, even as the Dom Tropen that hosed his suit's head followed its comrade over the building, and put a dozen rounds into Hancock's inert GM. Tibbets squeezed off another burst at the aggressor suits, but missed wide right. The Dom Tropen never even moved its green mono-eye, but simply pointed its autocannon and emptied the rest of the clip into Tibbets's grounded GM. The mauled Titans suit twitched a few times, and then lay still.

McKenna's Dom slid to a halt at the doors. "Ogun, put a round into that door there. Those pieces of shit chained them shut."

Ogun reloaded the MMP-80, and then complied with one pull of the trigger, the shell casing falling to the ground below.

Kerr poked at the GMs with his Dom Tropen's heat saber, checking for signs of life. "Stinking Titans love their gas too much, Lieutenant."

"What do you expect of scum, Private? Nice hurdle back there, by the way. Worthy of a Marine." That was a praise few Marines ever gave to ones who were not Marines, but it had been an impressive move.

"Thank you, sir. Gotta think quick to keep up with Commander de la Somme, sir." Kerr hoped his own pride at the compliment wasn't beaming through the radio.

"I'll be back in a minute. I hope for all our sakes that the General's still alive in there, but I don't have a lot of hope." McKenna grabbed a gun, then popped the hatch on his Dom, feeling the burst of cold air wash through the cockpit. "Time to go hunting."

Inside, Hancock walked through the yellow-hazed building without care, pistol in hand, seeking the man in the Zeon uniform amidst the corpses. That the wretched and twisted pile of the dead before him, arrayed in prison greens and khaki Federal uniforms alike, had all used to be people did not faze him. They weren't Titans, so they were all inferiors anyway. Besides, there was nothing wrong with a load of dead prisoners. Less taxpayer money being dumped into a hole like this, anyway. He made his way up the stairs towards von Mellenthin's cell, expecting him to be there since there was no sign of him with the rest of the dead in Gen-Pop. The gas was lessening as it settled to the floor, and there were holes in the building from stray 90mm fire from outside.

Hancock was mistaken. Von Mellenthin was aware of the presence of the Titan, and also aware that something had just shown up and pissed in their Cheerios, and though he was not certain of the outcome of the battle, a tremendous amount of fire had been exchanged with the Titans GM platoon. His eyes, safely behind the mask that appeared to be working quite well, watched the Titan stalker begin to move up the stairs. Placing the submachine gun on the ground quietly (everything was so quiet now that he was actually concerned that his own heartbeat could be heard), he decided to do something really dumb but a lot quieter than simply capping off rounds and attracting the attention of any more of the black-clad assassin's friends. He took the fire axe in both hands and flung it at the back of the ascending Titans.

He realized as soon as it left his grip that he'd missed, and he ducked behind his table cover before the axe even thunked into the wall ahead of the Titan, who whirled around. Seven shots rang out into the room, and von Mellenthin moved, feeling bullets whistle past him as he ran for the kitchen.

The Titan followed, realizing that his quarry was not only alive, but also very, very active. He glanced back at the fire axe embedded in the wall for a moment, and then gave chase.

McKenna paused at the doorway, watching yellow death seep out of the building. "Fuck! Too much gas! I can't get inside the building until it clears!" Then an idea struck him, and he ran for one of the tanker trucks.

Von Mellenthin squatted, submachine gun at the ready, underneath a steel countertop. The Titan was pretty good, but very confident. He probably wasn't alone, or he was so green he couldn't conceive of the possibility that he was alone.

Securing his mask in place, McKenna advanced into the building itself, glancing to and fro as if expecting a trap. There were bodies everywhere, and all of them had died in agony. I hope the universe pisses on the Titans from a great height.

He did not want to be the one to see the General looking like that, fingers distended into claws that had torn at throats as their owners tried to breathe the unbreatheable, blood and worse oozing from nose, mouth, eyes; not when von Mellenthin was alive less than an hour ago.

Further proceedings into the building also turned up nothing but corpses . . .and an axe buried in a wall near some 9mm shell casings. McKenna's eyes narrowed, and he called out with his best Marine voice, enough to penetrate the mask and echo throughout the silent halls.

"GENERAL!!!!"

"General . . ."echoed the voice to von Mellenthin's ears, and he knew. Crawling even as the Titan turned at the sound of the voice, pistol in hand, he made his way on elbows and knees to the piano, his piano, the only comfort he'd known in the eight years of this place. Reaching up with a hand from below the keys, he stretched his fingers and tapped out the opening bars to Mahler's 6th Symphony, 'Tragical'. Just the first seven notes.

McKenna heard the sound of the piano, and headed that way, a spark of hope kindling.

The Titan whirled around again at the sound of the piano, squeezing off a round at the baby grand that thudded into the elevated top. Von Mellenthin took careful aim and opened fire with the subgun, putting eight rounds into the Titan's knees. His scream was audible even with the mask, and the black-clad man dropped to the floor, his blood puddling on the clean kitchen floor.

McKenna burst in at the sound of the machine gun fire, to see the Titan drop shrieking, and he leapt to the top of a table and put two rounds into the man's head with his pistol. Ears perked, he listened for the sound, any sound, of another living person in this room. His eyes glanced at the piano, and then widened as the uniform of a Zeon General appeared before him, submachine gun in the air.

"If you're going to shoot me, Leutnant, at least get your feet off the table first," spoke the baritone that everyone had known so well before the end of the War.

"Giren's balls, it's a pleasure to see you, sir," McKenna said around a grin, saluting.

Dietrich von Mellenthin reached out a hand and helped McKenna off the table, squeezing the gloved hand for a moment in thanks. "I trust you brought the limo?"

"Three of them, sir. Had some trouble with the valets, though." McKenna went grim. "No one else survived here, sir. It's pretty bad."

"I know," replied von Mellenthin. With a look of hatred in his eyes, he drove the stock of the submachine gun into the dead Titan's face, splitting the skull open with its force.

"That's for killing my men, genebait!" He threw the subgun away contemptuously. "Let's get to Heidelberg, Leutnant."

"Negative, sir. We're on our way to the Taunus mountains, to rendezvous with Commander Weissdrake and Colonel von Seydlitz there."

"Just like Reinhardt to plan the itinerary without me. Very well, then, to Taunus Gebirge we go!"

To von Mellenthin, the sight of the three Doms was truly a thing of beauty, as much as breathing the cold outside air was a relief to his lungs when he threw the mask away. "I think I'll ride in the hand, Leutnant. I've been cooped up for a while."

"You got it, sir. I'll make the ride nice and smooth."

The sun was setting in the west, and no stars were visible, but von Mellenthin knew what freedom was, even as he brushed away the yellow powder from his uniform. The wind whipping around him would take care of the rest. He returned the salutes that the other two Doms gave him, and then clambered into the cupped left hand of McKenna's Dom.

"McKenna, tell Ogun and Kerr to put this place to the torch. Destroy the building and everything in it."

Ten 880mm rounds later, the Mannheim Military Penitentiary, and all its history, was reduced to a pile of burning rubble. This war it did not survive, and von Mellenthin viewed its destruction as a severing of himself from it. There would be no more cages for him, or for anyone else, in this place.

"Forward, to the future!" he yelled, and the three Zeon suits began their journey north. "A future we will decide, and limited only by the bounds of our imaginations!!"

Lammersdorf, Rheinland-Pfalz, Central Europe

November 9, 0087

"The package has been retrieved intact, Kommandant. Connect the call once again," spoke von Seydlitz's voice.

"Understood. Transmitting now." The still-hostage Federation soldier dutifully pressed the red closed-circuit link between Heidelberg and Bonn, relieved when the sour barrel of Weissdrake's pistol was removed from her mouth.

"You and your people have done well, princess," spoke the badly scarred man in the Zeon uniform who killed without remorse. "I told you that you and yours would live a little longer with cooperation, and I did not lie. Stay here with the connection open for ten minutes, and you will all be freed. Do not venture outside until then, or you forfeit your safety. Is that clear, Untermensch?"

As a collective, the five survivors of the Lammersdorf on-duty Signals platoon nodded plaintively. Weissdrake nodded in return and walked out of the building. The fires in the other structures were dying down, except for the motor pool. He nodded at the Foxe twins' Gelgoog Jaegers as he climbed into his own Command Gelgoog, relieved that the rescue went according to plan.

"We're done here. Waste the rest of this place, then let's go."

In unison, the twin beam machineguns raked incandescent fire across the telecommunications dishes and the master control building. What did not slag under the energy of their fire simply burned under the intensity of the beams. A few bursts were all it took, and Lammersdorf ceased to exist as an installation.

"Maximum ground speed, kids. We have an appointment to make, and only three hours to make it in."

Running at their top speeds, the Gelgoog Jaegers were faster than his own Command Gelgoog, but 180 kph wasn't shabby. Hurtling through the forests and hills of the North Rhine-Palatinate, they made for an easterly direction, avoiding centers of population when possible.

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe

November 9, 0087

It had been ten minutes since von Seydlitz had spoken to them, but no move had been made to leave. Not since Sajer had boldly and proudly announced that he had just exercised one of the powers of his office and had von Mellenthin killed. Now, Lucas Edgrove waited for the repercussions that were sure to happen, wondering which city would die first as Nemesis was brought to bear. There were many possibilities, and most were betting it would be right here in Bonn. As it was, there were a lot of soda cans littering the surface of the great table now, instead of water pitchers and glasses.

I can't believe he did that. What an absolute idiot. Sajer still perched in his chair, eyes sharp and head held high. He was practically smirking, thinking that the death of von Mellenthin would convince von Seydlitz that the Titans did not fear him or Nemesis, and that the man would surrender. For once, Edgrove wished his Titans adjutant was a combat veteran, just to even hope to explain to this hothead that their possession of von Mellenthin was the only thing holding von Seydlitz back. If the 'Hessian Lion' were indeed dead, then the 'Black Eagle' would massacre the world in his rage. Surrender was not an option to be contemplated now, any more than it was contemplated at Metz.

Behind his eyes, Sajer was becoming concerned. One of the components of Plan Whisper was a callback once the deed was done. Mannheim had been silent for some time now, and this worried him. He would never allow it to show to these lessers, but he began to wonder if things went as well as they were supposed to. That he would catch heat for the slaughter of the entire prison complex, including the administration and the civilians, did not bother him. There had been a riot going on at the time, after all. The destruction of the building would erase the rest of the traces. He was so wrapped up in his thought that he did not hear Edgrove calling his name the first time.

"Captain Sajer!" snapped across his hearing, and he looked at Edgrove with contempt.

"Yes, Colonel? What do you want?"

Edgrove drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"There've been reports of three Dom-type mobile suits in the vicinity of Mannheim. That matches the report we got from Heidelberg that three Dom-types left their other suits at high speed, due north. Better call your people and find out who won."

Sajer blinked, then reached for his phone. Edgrove turned to the others in the room. "That makes nine confirmed suits, people, plus whatever they used in Lammersdorf. He's got close to company strength to play with, on top of his bioweapon."

"He can't have more than a dozen suits," snarled Sajer, "it's just not possible."

"My question is: how'd he get nine suits in the first place, especially suits that are better than what the 10th had during the War? Where'd he dig them up from?" queried Frank, the Rapid Response officer.

"We're checking on that with Anaheim and others now. Could he have gotten them from Axis?"

"I doubt it," said Edgrove, "they don't seem to be on speaking terms with their Spacenoid brethren. Remember the speech, he said that Axis would be judged, too. For treason."

"Could be a bluff."

"This whole thing could be a bluff, but we can't take that---"

The vidscreen flared to life again before Edgrove could finish, and the cold gray eyes turned themselves upon them again. "Interesting. You have disabled the interior video cameras so that I cannot see you all. No matter. I thought I would take great pleasure in informing you that your Titans assassins have failed you. Our General lives, and is presently en route to me here. We had to break a few things, mostly Titans, to retrieve him, but he is unharmed, and so are my people."

Sajer threw the phone across the room angrily. "You son of a bitch! You murdered my people!!"

"Who were in the process of murdering the entire prison, including the Federation guards and the civilian news people. Titans are tough guys when they are hiding behind tanker trucks of phosgene gas and their foes are chained inside an abattoir, but they have no spine whatsoever on the field of battle. Three Doms took down four GMs easily enough, and never got touched. Why the AEUG has such problems with you greenhorns I will never know."

"This has gone far enough, Colonel von Seydlitz," spoke Edgrove, finding a voice around the fear that a freed von Mellenthin generated in him. "Surely we can come to an---"

"Understanding? Not likely. I was going to be content in letting you and yours leave the Zeon state of Germania alive, but it seems you would rather put up a fight. Well, we would love to accommodate your last military campaign, but we have an appointment in Berlin and a government to run, not to mention eight NewTypes to raise."

"Don't you dare!!" begged Edgrove. "Not them! Please!"

"Oh?" Von Seydlitz tilted his head to the side. "They are that important to you? Why?"

Edgrove was silent, and the Zeon Colonel's harsh eyes began to twinkle in amusement.

"I see. You need them to kill Titans with."

"HUH??" spat Sajer, glaring at the screen.

"Very slick, breeding natural NewTypes to fight the devil you created. Give them a dozen years or so, then use them to put down the Titans and restore power to the Federation. Who among you realized that you had given away all your bullets in the course of the negotiation? You, Colonel? One of your old Generals? Preparing for the long-term campaign, were we?"

Edgrove's fists were clenched tight, and tears shimmered in his eyes. "God damn you, von Seydlitz!!" Our only hope . . .taken by our worst nightmare . . .

"It is for the best this way, Colonel. You would have no conception of the proper care of a genetically superior being. Best leave such things to your betters, like myself. We will take excellent care of them, and Zeon will be stronger for it. If you and yours want to rid yourselves of Titans, you can always do what we had to do and start a war. Yes, a nice civil war to decide who will rule and who will die. It would be quite the revelation, would it not? Still, if you want to lose more of your men and mobile suits trying to stop the 10th Panzerkaempfer and reclaim your 'property', tell your weaklings and cowards to meet us in the place where one empire ended and another began. As a sign of my magnanimosity, and as a bone to throw you after the dismal defeat of a Titans platoon to three older yet far superior mobile suit designs, I pledge to withhold Nemesis from the waters until after we reach Berlin. If you have not done as I have tasked you by that time, the world will die. Now if you will excuse me, I have a welcome to attend to. Fare poorly, and may your path be sown with thorns and stones."

Von Seydlitz's face moved out of the range of the screen, and another face appeared. This one was so different from von Seydlitz, it was a study in contrasts. His rank tabs bore the pips for a Commander.

"Oh, yeah, and one more thing, assholes: watch your step to Hell, cause it's a loooooooong fall!! Toodle-oo!!" And the screen went black.

Sajer turned and faced all of them with a look of utter disgust on his face. "You fucking backstabbing traitors!! Why didn't you tell---?"

"NOT NOW!!" yelled Edgrove over the Titan's diatribe. "This is a fight we'll have later."

Sajer nodded rapidly, like a jackal. "You're damn right we will, Colonel," he spat the rank like a curse. "Right now, I'm calling Major Tizard and telling him to get the 54th mobilized! We'll see if that shitball and his nine suits have the guts to take on a brigade of Titans this time!"

"No, you won't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm exercising my authority as Commander-in-Chief of Europe and superceding the Titans in this matter."

Sajer actually hissed, making him appear all the more reptilian. "Which regulation is it this time, Edgrove?"

"None. I'm just tired of listening to you babble. You fucked up, we'll fix it." He looked at the Signals officer. "Get me Kassel on the line. I'll speak with Captain Cramer myself. And get the historian in here after all. We're about to have a conference call."

Heidelberg, Baden-Wuerttemberg, Central Europe

November 9, 0087

"Pack up your children, Kommandant. It is time we left this place."

The younger Zeon held out a hand to Erik, who took it without hesitation. "Let's go, gang. We're going on a field trip."

"To where?" asked one of the others as they followed von Seydlitz down the hallway in a line.

"The mountains. We're going to meet our boss, and then we're going to---"

Von Seydlitz ground to a halt, then slowly turned around and marched two steps back, grabbing Erik's face in a gray-gloved hand with an inordinate amount of violence.

"H-hey, Reinhardt, what the hell?" stammered de la Somme, shocked.

"Do you like being inside people's heads, child?" asked von Seydlitz to the small face gripped with bruising force in his fingers. "Do you enjoy playing in people's heads?"

A whimper managed to escape the pinched-in lips.

"Let me show you what is in MY head, child, and learn this lesson well!" And von Seydlitz concentrated on hate. It flowed from him like a wave of empathic poison, into the wide-open mind of an eight year-old boy, who tried to scream and could not around the relentless grasp of the fingers. Von Seydlitz showed the child the War, Metz, and the endless hate he had for Terra, for the Federation, and for everyone who had cost them the War. Nothing but pure hate.

After the child began to sob chokingly, von Seydlitz released him, and the boy fell backwards into de la Somme's arms.

"Stay OUT of MY head, NewType! We are not so different, you and I, in that I know all the ways to hurt you as I know the ways to hurt myself. Remember this!"

With a steel glare at de la Somme, who looked like he was about to cry himself, von Seydlitz stalked on down the hall. "I am not here to be a fucking nice person, Antares. Get used to that, if you have not by now! Lacerta! Has the data been cleansed from the system?"

"Yes, sir. It's all gone. We've wiped the slate clean."

"Excellent," he turned to the captives and spread his arms wide. "Thank you all for the choice hospitality. We will be leaving you now, and taking your wards with us for proper education. They will be treated as well as they deserve, no more, no less. Take my advice, scientists: if you want to practice genetic research, go to Side 3. In the meantime, get out of town and do not return to Germania. We are the new management, and you are all just Earthers to us. Get out!!"

They did not have to be told twice. Helping the wounded director, they herded outside the building and ran into the winter air, not looking back.

"Lock this place up as we leave. It is history. Load the children into the truck's cargo pod, Kommandant." He pulled out his handset and spoke on the unit 'push'. "Get the suits moving towards the Taunus. Kapitaen Roberts, you have point, but do not leave us behind, especially slothful Gefreiter Haskell in that Zaku Cannon. Kommandant Margul, your people occupy flanks at three- and nine-o'clock, as well as our six to cover us. Seventy klicks, maximum ground speed. Space the suits in a circle with three kilometers between each one. The truck runs in the center, along with the Zaku Cannon. We have not as far to go as the others, so we need not rush. Blast anything Feddie that comes near us. Let us be away from this place."

With a lurch and a rumble, the truck began moving, and its armored guardians moved with it like bull elephants protecting the herd. In fact, that was very close to what they were doing. With but a whisper compared to the raucous entry they made when arriving, the Zeon left Heidelberg and ventured northward.

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe

November 9, 0087

Garrett Sajer did not need to return to the confines of his office to dwell on the ramifications of Plan Whisper's failure, but he did anyway, if just to remove himself from the presence of Edgrove. When the Federation Colonel had declared that the Titans were out of the loop in tracking down the 10th Panzerkaempfer, he had ground his teeth together so hard it was a miracle that something did not crack. As it was, he had a sore jaw now, and that did not enhance his mood any.

One of the worst things about being in Bonn was his lack of mobile suit access. He had considered rounding up whoever was willing and giving chase himself, but his Barzam was in Lyons, along with the rest of the Titans. These Federal sheep would rather sit and relent to von Seydlitz's demands than risk their own necks hunting down nine old Zeon mobile suits. They would be too busy shitting themselves in fear of Nemesis.

Sajer knew that von Seydlitz had fucked up. The Zeon Colonel had alluded to an activation code that controlled the devices that would release Nemesis into the water supply. That means he had to be alive to use that code. To Sajer, "removing the man with the code" translated to "threat no longer relevant". It would be so easy.

Still, it was a gutsy move on Edgrove's part to commit the only viable combat force the Federation possessed in Germany: the 103rd Mobile Infantry Company based in Kassel. Most of them were green recruits, but their commander was Captain Herschel Invictus Cramer, who'd fought in Africa during the War. Sajer knew him by reputation. He was a prissy bastard, but a capable one. And a Federation MI company was numerically superior to a Zeon one. Nine suits would wither quickly in the firepower of twenty assorted Federation armored assets.

What annoyed Sajer the most was that the best chance to see combat to ever step on European soil was going to be claimed by Federal Forces and not Titans, especially himself. Killing a pair of Zeon aces and a group of malcontent veterans would be quite the feather in the cap of the 54th TTAB, especially in the eyes of the other Titans. Enough that the heads of the 10th Panzerkaempfer would perhaps convince the Titans hierarchy that they were wrong about Captain Garrett Sajer, and assign him to space combat duty.

For the first time in his life, he began to pray that the Spacenoids won against the 103rd MI. Then, he would get his chance.

He mashed the speed dial button on the phone for Lyons, then waited to hear it pick up. "Major? This is Sajer. Edgrove's committing the 103rd, sir. We're not going to be allowed into this one."

"It doesn't matter, Captain."

"Sir?"

"Cramer will lose. He's a pro, but not the kind needed for this mission. Von Seydlitz is out of Cramer's league, and not in the good way. Even if they succeed in a Hail Mary, the 103rd will no longer be an effective combat force when it's done."

"How can you tell?"

"Study history. Von Seydlitz has, and he's had eight years to think this move up. Cramer will go in thinking his numbers will pull him through, and he'll get nothing but mauled in the process. Any fool can see it."

Sajer did not mention that he, himself, did not. "Orders, sir?"

"Stay close to Edgrove. When Cramer's people bite it, be there to say 'I told you so'. We'll get our chance, Garrett, don't fear about that. I've already begun preparing the logistics needed for the operation."

Sajer swallowed nervously. "Um, sir? I feel the need to report that during von Seydlitz's second contact with us, I initiated Plan Whisper. I must report that it failed, with the loss of all four of our people."

There was a long pause on the other end. Then, "Very well. Now Cramer's goose is really cooked."

"How so, sir?"

"Von Seydlitz just got his boss back, which just increased the threat of those nine suits by a factor of ten. Von Mellenthin's calling the shots, and he's the best Terrestrial armored operations strategist the Zeeks had in the War. He's the brain behind von Seydlitz's claws. Be ready, Captain. We will have a fight coming, and I expect to win it, 'Hessian Lion' or no."

"Understood, Major. See you on the field."

Tizard hung up, and Sajer, ever the hater of reading and research, began rummaging around in the database for reference material on Major General Dietrich von Mellenthin and the 10th Panzerkaempfer Division.