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!

15. Chapter 14

MSG: In Vain Doth Valour Bleed

Chapter 14

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe

November 13, 0087

Camael Balke's boots rapped on the tile floor as he marched loudly down the hallway of the Rheinische Landesklinik.  He was on the third floor, which was simultaneously the ICU and the burn ward, and he was certain the noise he was making was disturbing to those below him who were unlucky enough to not be in one of the nice sound-dampered rooms.  As it was, his step was broken only as he was evading the wreckages of human forms that were lined along the hallway walls.  He was especially careful not to touch anyone with the item he had under his arm, for fear of causing more injury.  He gritted his teeth as he grimly walked forward, anger on his face and disgust in his heart.

Three hundred and forty-two people had died in the Zeon attack on Bonn, a hundred and forty of them Federation personnel.  The majority of them had died from concussion and shrapnel rather than chemical burns or particle cannons.  Another five hundred or so were wounded, and they had filled every hospital on this side of Kaiser-Karl-Ring to admit them all.  There was an oily, waxy coating on everything within an eight-block radius of the hollowed-out crater that used to be Federation HQ.  The place was a disaster area, with the stern end of a 1000-ton barge sticking out of the blackened remains of the Federation compound.  He shook his head unconsciously at the memory of viewing the carnage.  They were still trying to find survivors underneath the rubble, cutting away at the final resting place of the husk that was RMS Westfalia in their zeal to find someone, anyone, alive in the lower levels. The near-constant rain was not helping matters much, and the blast site was a morass of slime and misery.

He turned a corner sharply, spotting Dorff standing guard on the door he sought.  He would have smiled at the sight of the ex-Ranger playing door goon, but there was nothing for him to smile about here, not with the news he had come to deliver.  Thus far, ever since their return to Bonn two days ago from Koblenz, the only good thing that had happened for the Federation was the discovery of how the Zeeks had infiltrated their suits into Heidelberg.  The registry of Westfalia had led them to Rhein-, Maas-, und See- Schiffahrtskontor GmbH, a firm out of Duisberg, as being the ones who had contracted out the vessel.  It just so happened that the man in charge of R-, M-, und S- Schiffahrtskontor GmbH had actually been trying to use the civil police forces to track down the whereabouts of nine of his crewmen, last seen in Regensburg, not to mention three 1000-ton draft barges, also last seen in Regensburg, all of which were IMO-rated to prevent a close inspection, and none of which had been purchased for use as a massive phosphorus bomb.  Balke had Bryton tracing the phosphorus at this very moment, and he hoped his old pal had something to go on. The strings of investigation had finally come together in Bonn, in one big boom.  Now the question was how many strands of this web had they still not seen.

If there was one thing Balke was getting very tired of, it was the Zeon having all the fun.  They had yet to regain the initiative in this fight, and until they did, von Mellenthin's people were going to have their way with the Federation all the live-long day.  He cursed himself for the umpteenth time this morning for being a pathetic excuse for a soldier in the Intelligence business.  His lack of information was costing them this fight.

"Is he awake?" he asked Dorff as he came to a halt.

The ex-Ranger nodded, his expression the most somber Balke had ever seen.  "As much as he needs to be.  Prepare yourself, Captain.  He looks a lot more like his place of work than a human right now."

Balke grimaced, then nodded towards the door, which Dorff opened.  The smell of antiseptics was almost overpowering, and he gritted his teeth as he entered.  This would be about as pleasant as he'd thought it would be.

After the Zeon suits of the now-confirmed 186th 'Deep Dwellers' Amphibious had left the vicinity of Bonn, rescue workers had gone apeshit on the entire site.  One of their early discoveries was the near-dead form of Colonel Lucas Edgrove, who had apparently been blown through a plate-glass window before being burned by phosphorus and slammed into a Fachwerk hard plaster wall.  How he'd survived was nothing short of the hand of God and dumb luck working in unison.  Edgrove was on the bed, swaddled in more burn wrappings than a crystal vase being shipped overseas, and encased in a different form of plaster than what the paramedics had pried him from.  Very little of him was visible above the nose and below the chin.  He had more wires and tubes sticking out of him beneath the wrappings than should be possible.  Machines and devices beeped dutifully as they monitored vital signs and other such necessary components to determine whether or not the person they were attached to was alive or just fooling.

Balke needed no machine to tell him Edgrove was alive.  The harshness of the eyes that glared out from between wrappings was proof enough.  The whirring hiss of the oxygen bellows that helped Edgrove to breathe was the only thing that broke the long silence.  The window blinds were open, the gray light outside illuminating the room better than the fluorescents could.

Edgrove was not alone in the room.  Sajer fiddled with a lap console on the far side of the Colonel's bed.  Balke squelched the urge to smoke, and swore to get Dorff for not telling him in advance that there was company.

"Sir," he spoke to Edgrove gently, "I have arrived."

"No shit," said Sajer, lips curled in his ever-present sneer.  "We thought you were the flower girl."

"Wow," snapped Balke, "so you're thinking on your own now, eh?  That explains the smell, cockknocker.  Are we done with the fruity conversation, or shall we degenerate to name-calling and kicking sand?"

Sajer finished whatever he was doing with the console.  "Don't  bother, we're done.  Put that thing down, Balke, and pass me the cords and the disc."

"It's nice to see you alive, Colonel," said Balke to the ruin on the bed.

"Wish I could say the same, Captain," spoke an electronic facsimile of Edgrove's voice from a speaker near his bedside.  With the extent of the damage to his nose and throat, the doctors had had to run a tube into his esophagus for him to breathe through.  This did not prevent a subvocal transmitter from being installed for Edgrove to communicate through, however.   "Where have you relocated headquarters?"

"The University, sir.  I don't think the 10th would come back to destroy the former seat of the Elector Prince of Koeln, no matter who's living there."

"Good thinking.  Maybe next time we'll put all of our assets into museums and memorials, just in case."  Edgrove's eyes narrowed.  "Report.  I don't see balloons in your hand, and the look on your face tells me you'd rather be somewhere else anyway, so it has to be bad news."

Balke tossed a disc to Sajer, who deftly caught it with a mobile suit pilot's better-than-average reflexes, then set the old-style projector device on Edgrove's plaster-swathed chest like he were a table.  "Unfortunately, it is.  Our supermonkeys have hit us again."

"Figured they'd give up after the awful thrashing they got here in Bonn?"  Sajer leaned over to plug in the projector.

"If you're going to be a dick about this, get out."  Balke rubbed his hands on his trouser legs, wiping away the sweat.  He had always hated hospitals.  His conscience did not allow him to be at his best in such an environment.

Sajer held his hands up in mock surrender, then reached over and dimmed the fluorescent room lights.  The projector spat the image from the console onto the far wall.  One of the few decent uses for an all-white wall was its ability act as a screen.  Edgrove, while annoyed at the projector on his body cast, was in the perfect position to see by.  The picture was not particularly pretty; a collection of ruined buildings, and destroyed Federation tanks and vehicles, debris scattered across low-rolling fields and littered streets.  Sajer winced visibly, and Edgrove's oxygen bellows gave a longer hiss than his usual breath as he gasped around the tube in his throat. 

Balke cleared his throat uncomfortably, then began:  "At oh-six-thirty hours yesterday, the 10th Panzerkaempfer struck Kassel.  They came out of the west, through the Habichtwald forest.  From what  I was able to gather from the locals and what few survivors there were from the base, their strength is greater than we'd believed.   I'll take you step-by-step through what I've been able to gather from reports and physical evidence . . ."

Kassel, Hessen, Central Europe November 12, 0087

"Perhaps they had no choice, Generalmajor," said Reinhardt von Seydlitz as he shook his head, "stranger things have happened in these last eight years."

"Of course they had a choice, Oberst," spat Dietrich von Mellenthin, "they just chose poorly."  The General's knuckles were white, gripping the field glasses in anger.  "What in hell possessed them to allow this?"

What had gotten von Mellenthin so hot under the collar was on the far side of the Fulda River from the 10th Panzerkaempfer's present position.  They had known there was a Federation kaserne here in Kassel, but what had not been noticed was that in the intervening years since the inception of the base, the eastern half of the city (which was quaintly divided in two by the river) had grown around the Federation installation.  Now the kaserne, complete with a fully-functional airfield, was integrated into the community itself instead of being on the outskirts of the city's suburbs.

"This will present a problem for us.  Should we call off the attack?"

"Absolutely not!" growled von Mellenthin, tossing the field glasses back to von Seydlitz.  "The attack goes as intended!  Do we have an adequate map of the city?"

"It is outdated, but should be accurate for any structure older than five years."

Von Mellenthin's face took on an evil countenance as he looked at von Seydlitz.  "Grab it, then meet me down below.  We'll just have to run a new take on an old solution."  Then he leapt off of his Zaku Hi-Mo's hand and slid down the arm to the open cockpit hatch plate.

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe November 13, 0087

" . . .As you know, Kassel base is an integrated part of the city of Kassel itself.  We built the entire thing in an undeveloped section of land abutting Autobahn 7 between Niestetal and Kaufhungen suburbs.  Over the years, the city simply grew around the base.  The area the base sits on is composed of primarily low-rolling hills, with little in the way of obstructions except for the city itself.  With Cramer and his mobile suits gone, the garrison for the base and its airfield was composed of a company of Type-61 tanks, some lighter armored vehicles, a couple of light recon helicopters, and several of the older Calliope wheeled missile tanks.  In addition to the mobile forces, Kassel also had about a dozen fixed emplacement particle cannons and nine fixed Calliope missile batteries along the perimeter.  Cramer took his attack helicopter contingent with him to Magdeburg . . ."

Kassel, Hessen, Central Europe November 12, 0087

Von Seydlitz's finger traced a line across the map.  "Move into the eastern sector of the city using these three bridges across the Fuldabrueck.  After you have crossed, destroy the bridges behind you.  That will prevent an excess amount of civilians from moving back and forth across the river, as well as cutting off an escape route for the Federals.  Your suits will have no difficulty making the jump back across."

Antares de la Somme, leaning casually on the lower leg of the standing Gouf Custom beside him, already knew what he was here for, and what they were doing, and most importantly, how to do it.  He occupied his time tormenting Margul instead.  He barely paid attention to the briefing, being more concerned with flicking a thin branch of dogwood at Margul's right ear from behind, tickling the other officer incessantly, then snapping the branch back when Margul went to grab at it.

The Colonel's finger shifted again.  "Your primary objective is to destroy the base and the airfield, including everything on them.   Kapetain Roberts and his team will blast a hole in the fixed perimeter defenses just after the air traffic radars have been neutralized.  Once the hole has been forced, Kommandant Margul and his 'Grimravers' will exploit, followed up by Roberts' Marines and the remainder of the supporting elements.  Eight suits total should be more than sufficient to reduce this base to ashes.  The Doms will continue on the path to Steinbaum and ready for our arrival.  Once this is complete, all assault forces will evacuate the region and proceed to Steinbaum.  I and the 358th Light Assault will remain behind, to guard our rear and to make absolutely certain that Cramer's 103rd has no choice but to go where we wish them to."

"Bait."  Weissdrake did not voice it as a question.

"An accurate assessment, yes," replied von Seydlitz casually.

"Secondary objectives?" asked Roberts, equally casually.

Von Seydlitz's face remained unreadable.  "Secondary objective is simple.  Once the base is dealt with, you are to punish Kassel."

"HUH??" perked up de la Somme at those words.  Murmurs swept across the group around the table, hushed whispers of stunned amazement. 

"Generalmajor von Mellenthin is displeased by Kassel's willingness to allow a Federal kaserne inside the city limits.  Once the bridges to the west side have been destroyed, your secondary objective is to sack the eastern half of the city.  You are to smite the citizens of Kassel as God smote Sodom, with fire and destruction.  The eastern sector is primarily businesses and industry, so most of the historical sites will be unharmed.  Civilian casualties will be minimalized, yet numerous enough to hammer home the point that we will not hesitate to obliterate anything that gives aid and succor to our enemies."

This was quite a change from the ordinary.  During the War, von Mellenthin had been deliberately lenient on the citizenry of Germany, doing his best to avoid combat on German soil because of his own historical ties to the nation.  This was a complete reversal of that policy, with the advocacy of the destruction of countless civilians and half of a major urban area.  The table was silent as they took that fact in.  Weissdrake glanced at de la Somme, who just winked.

De la Somme wondered if the priorities had changed.  If they had, then perhaps other things had changed.  He resolved to ask his foster brothers about it in the near future.  If anyone had been looking at him, they would have noticed his ever-present grin slide into something a little more sinister in bearing than humorous.

Von Seydlitz picked up on the tension of the other officers immediately.  "I realize how shocking this plan must be, but you must understand that the General is, to put it simply, livid at this development.  He feels the people of Kassel need to be an example to everyone who would oppose the will of Zeon.  In a strategic sense, the blow is designed to inflame Cramer into doing something rash, which will put him exactly where we want him.  On the tactical level, it will add another dose of unpredictability to this unit, making us harder to anticipate.  You have your orders.  Kommandant de la Somme, you know what to do.  Get to it."

"Yes, sir," he replied, saluting smartly before flicking the dogwood branch away and running back to his suit as the rest of the briefing broke up to.

"What's happening?" asked Erik as de la Somme climbed up the leg of the kneeling Gouf Custom and into the cockpit.

"Business, my lad.  And a bit of pleasure, too, but really mostly business."  He tapped a button and closed the hatchway before twisting around to face his young passenger.  "This is going to be rough and messy," he said, voice serious, "if you want out, tell me now."

"I'm in," replied the boy.  "What do you mean by 'rough and messy'?"

"We might die.  If we don't, a lot of other folks do."  Lights flashed red along the console as he flicked a forefinger on a row of switches, beginning the power-up sequence for the mobile suit.

Erik blinked once.  "Everyone dies."

"Yep.  The only choice I got is to kill or be killed.  You comfy with that?"  The suit made a whining sound that became a low rumble as the great machine came to life.  Systems across the cockpit kicked in, and  the screens flared to life as the cameras began feeding visual information across them.

"You're a soldier.  Do what you must."

De la Somme grinned, and Erik's eyes widened as the man he had spent the last few days getting to know and like turned into something completely different.  In his mind's eye, an eye that had been pried open by the best the Federation had to offer its hopeful NewTypes, he saw the 'soul' of Antares de la Somme dim, then flare into a light that was almost blinding, and he squinted reflexively as that light began to suffuse itself throughout the cockpit of the mobile suit, then bleed across the walls.  After a moment, the light had transferred itself throughout the suit, and de la Somme was normal again.

But the light stayed.  Erik took on a worried expression, his enhanced mind trying to come to terms with what he was seeing.

"You might be sorry you said that," said de la Somme to the boy, totally ignorant of what the child was seeing happen around him as in his own head, he just put his 'game face' on.  "I just hope you'll still love me in the morning." 

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe November 13, 0087

" . . .After determining their route of assault, the Zeon suits separated into groups of three to four.  But they initially messed up, which is why this entire thing is not only humiliating, but a real shitpile to piece together," Balke mashed the button on the projector, switching the picture on the wall from a photo still to a tactical map.

"What kind of 'messed up'?  You saying they actually made a mistake?"  asked Sajer, spearing a red Jell-O cube with a plastic fork.  Edgrove whimpered a bit, since it was his lunch that Sajer was demolishing while his own attention was occupied by the briefing.

"Something like that, though it didn't do Kassel any good anyway."  Balke glared at Sajer as he watched the egregious display of gluttony.  The Titans was torturing the immobilized Colonel in a very childlike way, but Balke could not determine whether or not it was conscious on the young Captain's part.

Edgrove's subvocal transmitter buzzed.  "Continue, Captain," he sighed, resigning himself to having to wait until dinner to eat.

"The first sighting was a green flare, a typical Zeek signal for attack, located here near the Herkules tower on the hill nearest the Wilhelmshoehe mountain," he indicated the point with a red light pen on the wall.  "But the first wave didn't attack the base itself for several minutes after the flare, and they approached from the southwest direction, out of Wahlershausen, but they stopped before crossing the bridges.  By this point, the base was secured and ready to repel the assault, but despite their readiness, this is where things start to get a bit hazy for us . . ."

Kassel, Hessen, Central Europe November 12, 0087

"The flare is aloft, Kommandant.  Why are you delaying?" asked von Seydlitz as de la Somme's Gouf Custom leisurely walked up to where his own suit and von Mellenthin's Zaku Hi-Mo stood watching. 

In the distance, the reverberation of the alarm klaxons on Kassel kaserne began their scream of alert as the advancing Zeon mobile suits made their presence known by marching through the city itself.  The sounds from Kassel itself became more strident and chaotic as traffic snarled and the city became very aware that dangerous things were cratering its streets with their footsteps.  De la Somme popped open the hatch again to talk to his commanders, tilting his head to listen to the din.

"That's obvious, Reinhardt," said von Mellenthin, eyes still affixed to the field glasses, "he's here to ask permission to play."

Von Seydlitz stifled a grin.  "Should we give it to him?"

"As long as the job gets done, I don't see why not."  Von Mellenthin smiled as a beam of light lanced out into the air and caressed a departing transport as it flew overhead, chopping a wing from the aircraft.  "I'll presume you'll want theme music, won't you?"

"Yeah, I was thinking about it," said de la Somme.  "Got any ideas?"

"Nothing you would listen to."  In the distance, the crippled transport plane smashed into a building, trailing smoke as it plunged to the fireball that was its doom. 

Von Mellenthin unconsciously winced.  The plane had come very close to demolishing the statue memorializing the Brothers Grimm, who had written their tales while living in Kassel hundreds of years ago.

De la Somme huffed.  "That's mean, Oberst.  I'm a cultural guy, too, you know!"

Von Mellenthin laughed.  "The ability to pronounce 'Rammstein' properly doesn't make you cultured, Antares."

"Ha, ha, jailbird.  Seriously, I was thinking of 'Mars, Bringer of War'."

Von Mellenthin peeled his eyes away from the field glasses, and von Seydlitz's jaw almost dropped.  "You want to listen to Holst?"

"Something like that.  So can I?"

"Yes, fine, whatever, just go already," said von Mellenthin, "And remember what your mission is.  I want Kassel to suffer for its foolishness."  He looked at the smaller form peeking out from behind de la Somme's seat and smiled.  "The world will learn that the Zeon that we shall create expects only two things from its subjects: obedience or death.  What happens to Kassel will remind all Terra of that fact."

De la Somme's lips turned downward in something that was almost a frown.  "I hope I don't hafta remind you, sir, that it's things like this that made people think you had Luxembourg burned.  That used to be a bother to you, even though it wasn't true.  Why's this any different than what the Federation thinks of you?"

The eyes of the General had locked on de la Somme's, and the younger pilot's own hazel eyes widened in surprise at the wrath that flowed from von Mellenthin's gaze, and from his words.  After a long moment, von Mellenthin returned his eyes to the field glasses.  When he spoke again, his voice had taken on the harsh quality that it always did when he was angry. "'Why?  I have not another tear to shed;  Besides, this sorrow is an enemy; And would usurp upon my watery eyes; And make them blind with tributary tears; Then which way shall I find to Revenge's cave?'"

Von Seydlitz glanced at de la Somme, then shrugged in the fashion he used when admitting that he had already tried to talk their brother out of something and had also failed.  De la Somme nodded grimly, getting that message more easily than the lines von Mellenthin had quoted from his favorite Shakespearean play, Titus Andronicus.

"Ho-kay," smirked de la Somme, "you're just miffed that Eintracht Frankfurt got trounced by Alemannia Aachen for the 2nd Division title this year."

"They had that game by two points and threw them away.  I'd have had their defenders executed.  You've got your wish, Kommandant, now go."

The hatch closed again, and the Gouf Custom turned and began to sprint away, its footsteps thundering behind it, leaving stamped earth behind it.

"What do you think?  Is he finally growing up?" asked von Seydlitz.

"It'd be about time."  Von Mellenthin lowered the glasses and smiled at von Seyditz.  "Holst.  Can you believe it?  I never thought I'd hear that come from Mr. Rock 'n Roll."

"Nor I.  It makes me wonder if---" Von Seydlitz stopped, and both their heads turned at the sound of the guitars thundering from the massive loudspeakers of the dashing Gouf Custom.  It was an opening, but certainly not to Holst's 'Mars, Bringer of War'.  The lyrics cued in, and the look on von Seydlitz's face degenerated into something resembling disdain.  The expression on von Mellenthin's was similar.

"Never mind," they said in unison.

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe November 13, 0087

". . .After the last of the Zeon crossed the bridge, they destroyed them using grenades and bazooka fire, separating the eastern half of Kassel from the western."  Balke changed the picture on the wall to show one of the shattered bridges, parts sticking out from the waters of the Fulda River.  "I was unable to get an exact number of mobile suits that were involved in the attack, the numbers range anywhere from one to twelve."

"A dozen suits would be enough, and then some," said Sajer, glancing at the next picture to pop up on the wall.  "The layout of that base is too open, even with the fixed emplacements."

"There's more to Kassel than what you see, Captain," said Edgrove through the speaker.

Sajer's flint-hard eyes narrowed.  "Explain."

"Kassel was designed to be an obstacle straddling the Fulda gap for any conventional armored force making an approach from either east or west.  On paper, it's nothing more than an airfield and some mobile suit hangars, but that's just paper.  The truth is that Kassel is a bit tougher than that, or would be ordinarily.  Back when we had a significant presence in Europe, Kassel was the place where an enemy could be stopped, then pushed back, and the base becomes a forward supply and logistics post for the counterattacking friendlies."  Balke changed the picture again.  "Our Zeeks didn't know that when Cramer took his suits and his attack helos with him to Magdeburg, he left his conventional armor assets behind, and while officially the 103rd only has a few Type-61s and Calliopes, Kassel is also the home of the 77th Armored Battalion, Special."

Sajer's face betrayed several levels of confusion.  "'Special'?"

"It's a garrison force, Captain," said Edgrove.  "Fifty Type-61s, fully loaded.  They didn't go to Magdeburg . . ."

Kassel, Hessen, Central Europe November 12, 0087

"'Get your motor runnin'!  Baah-dum-bah-bum-bum!  Head out on the highwa~ay!!  Baah-dum-bah-bum-bum!  Lookin' for adventure!!  Baah-dum-bah-bum-bum!  And whatever comes our wa~ay'!!" sang de la Somme as his Gouf Custom raced towards the other Zeon suits, the bridge exploding into pieces behind him, its supports falling into the river below.  Steppenwolf belted out its tune to the entire city, and de la Somme was in his element.

"Tornado One, halt at the last block of the city and lay down covering fire on that particle cannon."  That was Roberts, getting ready to do that Marine thing and open a big juicy hole in the defensive perimeter of the base.  The base itself had not fired on the Zeon yet, their presence in the city too great a threat to risk blowing up a bunch of civilians.

"Copy that, Marine One, but I've got a better idea.  Do your thing while I keep the dorks busy."

Roberts' voice was as startled as the Marine got.  "What?  Tornado One, don't—"

De la Somme's Gouf Custom didn't even slow down as it ran past the rest of the Zeon suits, skirting past van Allen's Gelgoog Cannon without even nudging it or breaking stride, and flung itself into the open kill zone around the base.

"Hang on back there!" he called back to Erik, as the base commenced fire on his position.  At what he presumed was the pre-sightings, he had a pair of particle cannons and about five Calliope launchers targeting him.  This would be a cinch.

"Tornado One, are you freakin' insane??"  The Command Gelgoog that de la Somme cruised past leveled its beam machinegun and opened fire, trying to knock out one of the turrets without hitting the Gouf Custom that was cutting into everyone's line of fire.

Erik clutched at the sides of his crash chair as the suit bucked and bounced under and around him.  He could barely hear de la Somme's voice over the noise of the Gouf Custom and the music, but for some reason he was not afraid.  Rather, he was curiously attentive to what was happening around them.  A scorching line from a particle cannon lashed towards them, but the Zeon suit sidestepped the bolt and continued its advance.  It did the same to the second cannon's wrath with contemptuous ease.  Zeon energy weapons began to track on the cannons from their own positions.

De la Somme snickered into the comm in response to Weissdrake's question, the guitar bridge of 'Born To Be Wild' blaring around him.  "Not me, baby!  I'm just goin' home!!"

Roberts and van Allen began their approach as the attention of the Federation gunners fixed itself on the lone Zeon suit that was making a mockery of their attempts to harm it.  The particle beams, designed for one long unidirectional stream of energy that would penetrate the strongest armor, scored their hate on the earth itself around the speeding Gouf Custom, vaporizing snow and soil in a nanosecond of intense heat. 

"These losers couldn't hit me if I were standing still!" sang out the pilot.  "In fact, that's what I'll do!"  And with a shudder, the Gouf Custom slid to a halt.  It gave the finger to the base, then wagged both its hands in a mocking gesture.  The volume of fire from the particle cannons began to increase.  Inside the kaserne itself, he could make out the movements of vehicles, seeing them with his main camera.  They were rolling tanks up to meet the Zeon mobile suits at the perimeter, leaving the interior of the base open for ravishing.  He smiled evilly and licked his teeth, beginning his advance again, but at a slow walk, shifting the suit from side-to-side to evade the incoming particle bursts.

"'Like a true--nature's chi~ld!  We were born--born to be wi~ld!!  We can climb so hi~gh!!  I never wan~na die'!!"  De la Somme was laughing in glee, even as his suit remained untouched by the fury of the Federation guns.  A flash seared the soil just in front of the Gouf Custom's feet, but that was the closest the enemy had gotten with the big guns.  His increased his speed from the walk to a trot, then a run again.

Then the Calliopes added their tune to the symphony.

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe November 13, 0087

 ". . .The fixed Calliopes were the eight-barrelled variant, with a cyclic fire rate of four missiles every three seconds.  Their original design was anti-armor, to destroy conventional tanks and IFVs in the open field, guided in by radar.  In a Minovsky-laden environment, they're nothing more than fire-and-forget mixed shaped-charge and antipersonnel fragmentation and high explosive boomers.  From the initial direction of the Zeon approach, five fixed launchers began their barrage at a distance of three klicks from the center of the base, which was the air traffic control tower.  That's short-range for missiles of that type."  The Captain had begun to undercut Sajer's Jell-O superiority by wielding a tool of his own to lay claim to the cubes.  The Jell-O was rapidly dwindling as the briefing continued, and Edgrove's eyes grew more and more desperate at each subtraction from the plate.

Balke pointed at a dense cluster of craters with the plastic fork, then at a collection of rubble at the edge of the city itself, beyond the kill zone.  "The first wave of missiles were grouped here, in a space measuring about half a kilometer in diameter.  Notice the roughly circular pattern of dispersal.  Also, notice the lack of anything within the blast pattern.  The second wave was reset for direct fire on a linear plane as opposed to the more standard artillery arc of fire, and the launchers remained on linear fire throughout the remainder of the engagement.  Its results were the same, with the missiles flying past their target to impact in the city itself. . ."

Kassel, Hessen, Central Europe November 12, 0087

The roaring of the Calliope rocket gun emplacements overcame even the ear-piercing volume of Steppenwolf, as their thunder poured from the barrels into a lazy arc that would intersect the approaching Gouf Custom.  Twenty missiles rained down on the position of the Zeon suit, hiding it in smoke and fire and flying earth.  From the haze, the Gouf Custom raced out of the firestorm, unharmed, trailing smoke behind it like the folds of a shroud, wisps streaming from the spikes on its armor. 

The particle cannons in a direct barrage, which passed futilely underneath the camouflaged mobile suit as it kicked on its thrusters and powerjumped over the incoming fire, joined the next group of twenty missiles.  The particle beams diffused into the atmosphere after some distance, but the missiles themselves plowed into the suburbs, turning buildings into deathtraps and charnel houses.  The barrage following that one was mockingly cartwheeled around, a missile passing between the upraised legs of the Gouf Custom as it balanced on its fingertips and completed the maneuver.

On the western bank of the Fulda river, the majority of the population of Kassel watched as one mobile suit made a mockery of the firepower of the Federation base.  As a stray missile lanced into the river, exploding in the depths and kicking up water and muck over the civilian rubberneckers, and they withdrew several steps as they realized that the river itself would afford them little protection against the fortunes of mobile war.  In typical civilian fashion, curiosity remained a greater force than self-preservation.

Fires began burning on the eastern half of the city, as more and more missiles went wild and impacted in the populated districts.  The eastern shore of the river was crowded with people trying to get away from the conflict, all to no avail.  With the bridges destroyed and traffic a wreck along the riverside for miles, it was a disaster.  Some tried to swim the river and were swept away by the current.  Pandemonium reigned supreme.

The Gouf Custom landed and spread its arms wide, daring the base to continue its efforts to harm it.  "'BOOO~RN to be WI~LD!!!'" bellowed the voice of the pilot in time with the song, ending it with a derisive laugh that made the blood run cold. 

On the Wilhelmshoehe hill, several kilometers from the base, von Mellenthin snorted.  "Grandstander, still.  He'll never change."

Von Seydlitz reached out for the field glasses, but was ignored.  He scowled at his older brother for hogging the glasses.

"They're bringing Type-61s up, and their two-barrelled Calliope missile tanks.  Antares will make fools of them, too."  The General changed his view.  "Roberts is about to make life a living hell for those particle emplacements.  They're paying so much attention to Antares they're ignoring the Gelgoogs altogether.  I told you we'd find a use for the slap mines from those Kaempfers."

With a snap of a long arm, von Seydlitz snatched the field glasses from von Mellenthin and brought them up to his own eyes.  "The slap mines will be sufficient to eliminate the guns.  Then they can engage the Federation armor at will.  A half-dozen tanks are no threat, anyway."

Von Mellenthin swiped at the field glasses, but von Seydlitz shifted away, and the grasping hand caught nothing but air.

"Hmmm," mused von Seydlitz, "curious."

"What?"

"The speed at which the Federals are leaving the interior of their kaserne unguarded.  I do not think I like it."

With a stretch, von Mellenthin yanked the field glasses away from von Seydlitz, who slowly turned his head and glared at the General.  Von Mellenthin watched as another missile swarm passed harmlessly over the speeding Gouf Custom, detonating within the town.  The Feds would do their sacking for them at this rate.  "Their Thistle scout helicopters are starting up."

"I will take your word for it, Generalmajor."

"Get your own glasses if you want to see the show, Oberst."

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe November 13, 0087

". . .Initial penetration of the base was made by a single mobile suit at 0637 hours.  By this point, the Calliopes had fired off a total of two hundred and forty missiles, all without hitting a single Zeon suit, mostly due to Minovsky interference and slow response time by manual gunners.  Flanking units of what we've determined were Gelgoog-types blew the particle cannon emplacements with slap-on demolition mines, but despite the loss of the two cannon the battle wasn't a foregone conclusion.  The Type-61s had yet to be engaged by the enemy.  There were six Thistle scout helicopters on station, and the eight-wheeled Calliope launchers.  By this point, the base commander had finally gotten around to sending a call for help. . ."

They were down to one Jell-O cube now, and it was being chased around the plate in a duel of plastic forks.  The scritch-scritch sound of the tines on the plate as the Captains dueled for the lone red gelatin cube did not even break Balke's rhythm.

Kassel, Hessen, Central Europe November 12, 0087

Another Calliope missile screamed towards the onrushing Gouf Custom, ten of its brethren behind it, traveling at the speed of sound; but to de la Somme, it was as though they were moving in slow motion, while he and his mobile suit were greased lightning.  His perception, fully extended throughout his Gouf Custom like it always was in combat, "saw" the streaking projectiles as they approached to bring violent death to its wielder's foes. Each of them was a representation of how much the Federation hated him and his brothers and his people.

He laughed, as he always did.  A hair's breadth before the first missile graced the armor of his mobile suit with its hell-sown touch, the Gouf Custom leapt aside, evading it as it had all the others like it.

"It's just a JUMP—to the left!!" he howled over the speakers, which were just wrapping up Steppenwolf.  The missile continued on its way, even as the mobile suit dodged the rest of the batch, to find its end elsewhere.  "And a step to the ri-i-i-i~ght!!"

In the distance, the particle cannons were silenced with two sharp explosions, as the demolition mines that Roberts and van Allen had placed detonated, ruining the energy weapons.  The remaining particle guns on the fixed emplacements were too limited in firing arc to be useful, unlike the Calliope launchers with their 360-degree arcs of fire.

With a hop, a skip, and a jump, de la Somme's suit leapt the simple chain-link and concertina wire fence dividing the base from the civilian world outside it, and he had yet to fire a shot or be touched by an enemy's weapons.  That very nearly changed, as a ground burst flung mud across the lower half of the Gouf Custom's legs.  The red mono-eye swiveled to glare at a Type-61 tank, one that had rolled up and hid behind a Calliope launcher to take a potshot at the advancing Zeon.  It never got the chance for a second shot, as a sturmfaust from one of the Kaempfers announced their arrival on the scene, turning the Type-61 into metal shavings.

"Meanie-faces are stealing my fun!" snarled the ace pilot, kicking the Gouf Custom into high gear as the three Kaempfers raced past him at a speed the Gouf Custom could not hope to match.  The Calliope launcher behind him erupted into flame as it took a bazooka round on its base, silenced forever, its killer spinning away from the column of smoke and fire, thrusters flaring yellow.

"Eat our dust, shitball!" spat Margul over the unit 'push', exploding the egg-shaped air defense radar with a bazooka round.

"You think you bad, monkeyfucker?  You think you bad?  Eat you face, I will someday," muttered de la Somme, devil's smile on his face.  "I show you baaa~ad, make you head spin and ass close."

The faster and nimbler Kaempfers swarmed through the base, putting mixes of hypershot and HE rounds into the mobile suit hangars and any other building or structure they could see.  Behind them, the Foxe twins' Gelgoog Jaegers 110mm machinecannons riddled the waffle-shaped Doppler radar on the far side of the landing strip, before turning their fire on the Type-61s that threatened their rears, their weird synchronicity in play as they wove in and out of the hangars and the support buildings, avoiding even the Kaempfers' fire.  The exchange of large-caliber munitions and energy bolts began to thicken as the tanks moved into formation and charged.

De la Somme flung his Gouf Custom at the air control tower.  When he reached it, he began to climb it, laughing as the people inside recoiled in terror and began to flee at the sight of his suit's red mono-eye glaring at them through their windows.

"WOMAN!!" he growled through the amplifier, the fingers of his suit encountering no real resistance as he reached into the tower control center, clawing at the people inside who were scrambling to get out of the tower.  The fingers closed around a person, who struggled in vain to escape the clutching hand.  The Gouf Custom scaled the rest of the tower, its huge feet locked in place in what used to be the control room.  It brushed off the communications antennae array from the top of the tower and reared to its full height, banging a fist on its chest like King Kong.

On the airfield, the Thistle scout 'copters took off under the weathering streams of 110mm warshots, the hail of incoming fire destroying two of the nimble little helos before they could take off.  A flash of light from the tri-barrelled missile launcher on the forearm of van Allen's Gelgoog Cannon touched off the hydrogen fuel cells that kept the aircraft going, vaporizing the helicopter hangars and setting every other structure in the vicinity aflame.

A Type-61's 150mm round deflected off of Roberts' Gelgoog Marine Commander's shield, cracking it and staggering the suit, but the tank was immolated as Weissdrake's own Command Gelgoog bathed it in energy.  The Federation tank exploded, its turret flipping end over end into the air.  The tankers poured on all the speed and fire they could, but it was inordinately hard to hit a target that could simply step aside from the incoming rounds, or leap over them, and the taller suits had elevation on their lower-to-the-ground opponents, whose rooftops were thinly armored.  Reiter's Kaempfer alighted on top of a Type-61, the tank shuddering under the crushing impact of 60 tons of mobile suit landing on top of it.  The evil-looking passenger ratcheted a round into its mammoth shotgun and fired between its own two-toed feet, the hypershot piercing the thinner top armor of the Type-61's turret with little difficulty at a range of one meter.  The Zeon suit's thrusters fired, catapulting the machine up and away from its kill just before the ammunition storage bay exploded, turning the main battle tank into a burning hulk.

The red mono-eye of the Gouf Custom glimpsed its thrashing captive.  "YOU'RE no woman!" roared de la Somme, casually tossing the shrieking man (who looked to be a Federation officer) over the spiked shoulder of his suit.  A Thistle buzzed past, twin 20mm chain guns chattering at a Gelgoog Jaeger, even as the Gouf Custom leaned to the side to avoid an incoming Calliope missile, which flew on past to destroy another hundred yards of asphalt and earth.  The rest of the stationary launchers were coming to the aid of the beleaguered Federation armor, and their destructive rain began to fall again, heedless of the people running on foot across the flatness of the base, fleeing burning buildings or wrecked vehicles to escape the Zeon.

The monstrous suit straddled atop the air traffic control tower banged both hands on its chest this time, its pilot making gorilla noises, still evading everything the Federation shot at it.  A surviving Type-61 elevated its guns and spat its hatred at the Zeon suit, the rounds falling short and blowing out the interior of the tower.

De la Somme felt the entire tower shudder under the impact.  Miraculously, not only did it remain standing, it was even strong enough to hold up the weight of the 63-ton mobile suit after the fact.  He giggled even as he dodged another missile.  "Heh!  I think I've got their attention!  What say we give 'em the loud sound?"

Erik did not respond.  He was in shock at the battle raging around him, his NewType senses becoming overwhelmed with information, most of it horrifying.  The Commonality reeled from the impact of it all, as their advanced consciousness melded with the naiveté of children came to grips with the truth of war.

Behind the tower, the earth began to move.

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe November 13, 0087

". . .After the last of the tanks were eliminated, the Zeeks had a field day with the base, destroying everything they could get their guns on.  Even the airfield was cratered into uselessness.  The Calliopes shot their wads into the interior of the base, trying to pick off the Zeek suits, but the quarters were too close for them to be effective.  As it was, the misses from the initial barrages had set fire to the city itself, and it was burning quite nicely despite the best efforts of the civilian emergency services that were able to get to the combat zone.  By this point, the 77th decided to make its presence known, using the tunnel system underground—"

"Tunnels?  You hid a battalion underground??" Sajer glared daggers at Edgrove.  He had been pouting after losing the last Jell-O cube to a triumphant Balke, who had cheated horribly by trapping Sajer's fork with his own and then grabbing the cube with his fingers for the victory.

"Don't feel bad, Sajer.  I didn't know about it either." Balke shrugged, chewing slowly.

"Security of information," buzzed the subvocal transmitter.  "And resources."

Balke crossed his arms across his chest, swallowing the remains of the Jell-O.  "You've got to be able to think about it from the Federation's point of view, Captain.  Ever since the AEUG began making serious trouble in space, the Federation has been pulling everything it can off of Earth and putting it into orbit to put out fires that the Titans won't.  Then came the brilliant idea to occupy the Philippines using martial law, and that took pretty much everything Titan out of Europe.  Now you can see the results of that grand fucking idea, so why not hide a few tanks and their crews from the registry?"

"Because you didn't have the right!" bellowed Sajer, face red as he glared at Edgrove.  "You and the rest of the Federation have got a lot of shit to answer for, Colonel, and rest assured that you will."

Tapping his foot impatiently, Balke sighed:  "This isn't a Titans pep rally, Assclown.  Just press the fuckin' button."

Sajer complied, breath escaping tight lips in a hiss.   How many more of these injustices will I have to endure?

Kassel, Hessen, Central Europe

November 12, 0087

"BRING THA NOIII~ISE!!"

Extending its left arm to its fullest, the 75mm Gatling machinecannon of de la Somme's Gouf Custom roared with the sound of the sky unzipping itself.  The entire mobile suit shook with the ferocity of its primary weapon cutting loose at full burn.  Lines of tracer fire stitched their way across time and space to riddle the fixed Calliope emplacements with destruction.  While his weapon tore the missile launchers apart, de la Somme continued to laugh, a demon-possessed Woody Woodpecker kind of cackle that made one's hair stand on end and heart begin to race.

"I'm surprised the building doesn't collapse from the weight.  He's been balanced up there for a long time now."   Von Mellenthin watched as six Calliope emplacements burst into flames.

"He is wasting too much ammunition.  We have little enough 75mm as it is."

"When he runs out of ammunition, it'll be his own fault.  He was warned."  A surviving Thistle unleashed a pair of wire-guided anti-tank missiles at Royce Foxe's Gelgoog Jaeger, which dove out of the way to avoid them.  Another Thistle buzzed its way towards de la Somme's perched suit, preparing its chain guns for a strafing run.

The roar of the 75mm ceased abruptly, and de la Somme's voice called out "Get over here!!" as the e-whip lashed out of the Gouf Custom's right arm at the Thistle that was hovering and firing on the Gelgoog Jaeger.  The magnetic lash pierced the fuselage of the Thistle just aft of the vented exhaust ports, ruining the drive train of the main rotor and demolishing its engine.  De la Somme retracted the e-whip, drawing the ensnared Thistle to his suit, which he grabbed in his gigantic hands.  The second Thistle raked the Gouf Custom with fire, but did too little damage to the suit before it interposed the crippled scout helicopter between it and its attacker.  As the high-velocity 20mm shells perforated its brother Thistle, the pilot of the aggressor helicopter ceased fire abruptly and began a low-power climb to get behind the stationary Zeon.  It did not proceed very far, as de la Somme threw the captive Thistle at the other helicopter.  The two collided, then exploded into a ball of flame and shrapnel.  The pilot's howl of jubilation was deafeningly loud.

"Well," said von Mellenthin, lowering the glasses, "I would say we have this well in hand."

"Indeed."  A tremendous explosion shook the earth beneath their mobile suits' feet, as Roberts and van Allen destroyed the main power generator station of the base with concentrated fire.  The entire sky was illuminated by the detonation.  Von Seydlitz squinted, his better-than-average eyes catching something.  "What is that moving behind the tower?"

Von Mellenthin also squinted, then put his eyes to the glasses again.  "I don't see---wait!  That's a doorway!"

His foster brother was already talking into his radio.  "Tornado One!  Behind you!"

Erik cried out as the world erupted again into the loudest noise he had ever heard, and he clapped his hands over his ears as the 75mm Gatling shrieked its fury towards the Federation.  Its staccato grrrr-ing was punctuated by basso whumps as Calliope wheeled vehicles blew apart, and the maniacal laughter of someone whom he thought he knew.  To spare his fellow Commons the empathic shock he was struggling to control, he refused to allow his consciousness to deviate from his individual self.

As it was, the terror he was feeling from being in a war zone was nothing compared to the thought that he had been betrayed by his own emotions.  He had spoken up for Antares against the wishes of the Commonality, believing that the bizarre Zeon pilot was different from his brothers, that he could be used as a means to prevent the ascension of an evil that would brutalize people for its own pleasure; that the man who had become his kidnapper and his friend could be convinced that the Electors and their way was wrong.  Erik knew now, however, that his idea may have been futile from the start.  He had made a tactical error in judgment, because while "Uncle" Antares was not one of the gene-enhanced ruling class of New Koenigsberg, he was a product of their ruthless culture and merciless way of life, and had survived it.  To make matters worse, that environmental condition had merged itself at some level with the fact that Antares de la Somme was about two steps shy of becoming a NewType like the Commonality, but one suited only for war and destruction.  A wild form of the next step in evolution, a freak of nature as opposed to something designed by a godlike Man, possessed with the bloodlust of a people who cared only about domination and power over those weaker than themselves and justified it under a mask of higher responsibility towards their "subjects".  Antares fed on the exhilaration of combat, and it, in turn, fed on him in a symbiotic relationship compounded by the mobile suit, the greatest instrument of mobile armored warfare yet developed.

And for the first time since his encounter with the harsh and implacable psyche that was Reinhardt von Seydlitz, Erik began to be very afraid for the future.

But there was another facet to this situation:  he was beginning to enjoy it as well.  There was a thrill to it all, like a hollow spot in his stomach that only the violence could fill.  Knowing that one mistake would be enough to end it all right now, but that you and you alone had the courage to face death and spit on it.  The sensations were cold as the air outside on his skin, but inside he felt feverish, and his whole body trembled from it.  Even at his early age, his consciousness recognized a kinship with this way of "life", and its presence was both troubling and soothing to him at a very deep level. 

Even as his mind recoiled from the horror of it, his soul reached out and attempted to embrace it, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out at it all as he finally realized that he and his kind, indeed, were created for this exact purpose.

"Tornado One!  Behind you!" barked out of the speaker into the cockpit, overriding even the noise of the 75mm, intelligible even with the static that accompanied all Minovsky-permeated activities.

De la Somme slewed the torso of the Gouf Custom around as far as it would twist, then snapped the mono-eye camera around.  The main screen was filled with the image of a doorway opening in the earth, and the armored form of a Type-61 emerged from its mouth.  The paired 150mm main cannons began to elevate towards the perched mobile suit.

"Holy shit!!" exclaimed the pilot incredulously.  "The enemy's gate really is down!  Hang on back there!!"

He knew that the tank had friends right behind it, just as he knew that it was probably telling its friends that it was going to pop this Zeek suit in the ass with the money shot, then make left for another target and for them to back him up.  In the split instant as both 150mm guns fired, he jumped off of the air control tower, arcing backwards and somersaulting in midair.

The 150mm shells blew the tower apart, spraying chunks of hardened concrete and steel into the air along with their former passenger.  Reaching its apex, the 63-ton mobile suit plunged to the earth, slamming its left elbow down onto the top turret housing of the Type-61.  The thinner armor crumpled like tinfoil under the impact, and the whole tank shuddered, black smoke spewing from its engine covers and its tracks chewing up mud and sludge as they sank into the earth under the jarring weight.  The mangled turret was stove in, its twin barrels splayed out at different angles.  After a moment, the tank's turret attempted to pivot to possibly push the Gouf Custom that was pinning it in place off of it, but all it did was make a hideous grinding sound as the gyros tore themselves apart.  The commander's hatch opened, and the face that appeared was frozen in shock at the sight of Zeon mobile suit lounging on his tank.

De la Somme figured the wounded tank was still in this fight, even with the loss of its turret, but his main camera was looking behind and below the first Type-61, down a ramp into an underground facility he'd known nothing about.  He could see two other Type-61s readied at the ramp to ascend.  Letting the left arm drop, shield settling on the ground, he pointed the 75mm into the ramp at the lead tank and fired.  The flabbergasted tank commander retreated back into his vehicle, closing the hatch against the rain of hot 75mm shell casings. 

The hypervelocity warshots spannged off of the frontal armor of the Type-61 at first, then the armor gave way under the barrage and the vehicle exploded, flame billowing from the doorway, blocking its pals from exiting.  With the right arm, de la Somme pulled a green-striped grenade from the skirting armor of his suit, popped the top, and then tossed it down the ramp, following it up with two more.  He rolled the suit off of the damaged Type-61 and clambered to his feet, putting a single round into the elbow-dropped tank's engine housing to finish it off before jumping away from the ramp entrance.

Throughout the compound, Type-61s were materializing from underground, and the Zeon reacted swiftly to contain the situation.  De la Somme landed somewhere near a beam-riddled mobile suit hangar, just as the grenades he had chucked down into the underground facility blew up.

Von Mellenthin breathed out a sigh of relief.  "That took care of that.  The bastards had another base underground."

"Which explains their willingness to leave it virtually undefended, then open up its interior to our advance.  If we had been down in that fight, we may not have noticed that door opening until it was too late."

The General snorted.  "Antares would have been knocked on his ass first, then we would have known.  He's as wonderful to watch as ever.  They couldn't touch him."

"Yes," concurred von Seydlitz.  "Let us hope his abilities hold out, like everyone else's must."

"Hmmm?" mused von Mellenthin, throwing a sidelong glance at the Colonel.  "You having doubts already?"

"I always doubt the continuation of my ability to react to the unknown on the basis of pure luck."

"Never one to leave anything to chance, still."  The General grinned.  "You will be careful, won't you?  I'm looking forward to seeing if this Steinbaum thing works as well as you've advertised.  It would be a shame to have to posthumously admit that you were right."

"And miss the opportunity for you to laud my treacherous, devious, and obviously superior tactical mind?  Never."  Von Seydlitz checked his watch.  "Time to go."  He stuck out a hand and waved it up and down three times.  The trees rustled, shaking snow from their branches, as Haskell's Zaku Cannon and Dalyev's Zaku Kai slid between the massive trunks and out into the open.  The humming whine of the Doms powering up filled the air.

Von Mellenthin smiled warmly at his younger brother.  "Blood and power, Oberst von Seydlitz."  He stuck out his arm, fist clenched.

Von Seydlitz touched the General's clenched fist with the knuckles of his own.  "Blood and power, Generalmajor von Mellenthin.  See you in Steinbaum."  He turned and jumped down the arm of his Gouf Custom, swinging himself into the cockpit and closing the hatch behind him.  The red mono-eye flared to life, focusing on von Mellenthin as the suit moved off to follow its Zaku teammates, touching the bunched barrels of the 75mm Gatling to its head in a farewell salute.

About a dozen Federation tanks had made it to the surface.  The rest were immolated as the grenades' blasts fed on everything it could, chain-reacting through the passageways and setting off fuel cells and ammunition carts.  The fire spread until it reached the main ammunition dump for the base, cooking off the tons of rounds stroed there.  The Type-61s still below were consumed in a firestorm, their own munitions cooking off from the heat of the tremendous conflagration.  The earth bucked and writhed as the facility below was torn apart from the explosions, and then collapsed in on itself.  Great pits formed as the tunnel system became trenches that vented flames from below. 

A 150mm buzzed past the Gouf Custom close enough that it could be heard inside the suit as it twisted to avoid the incoming round.  "Damnation!!  Their fire discipline's as good as ever!  I gotta give the Feddies that much, at least!"  De la Somme backflipped the suit until he'd put the remains of a hangar between himself and the enemy.

The remaining Type-61s put up an impressive fight considering the demoralizing loss of unknown amounts of their friends, but they all died just the same.  The tanks operated on an "envelop-then-destroy" mentality that was useful against other tanks, but not real grand against mobile suits that were faster and more advanced than Zakus.

"Better them than me," he muttered out loud before keying his comm.  "Tornado One to Unsullied One:  mission successful.  Enemy neutralized.  No friendly casualties, minimal damage sustained.  All their base are belong to us, sir."

De la Somme could almost feel the flinch as he added the last line, before von Seydlitz responded: "Acknowledged, Tornado One.  Proceed with the second phase of the operation, then withdraw to meet Lion One and friendlies at grid reference point 99A at best speed."

"Got it, Colonel."  He watched on the main camera as von Seydlitz's Gouf Custom and its two Zaku-type escorts emerged from the city on the far side of the river, the civilians giving the strolling mobile suits a wide berth.  Then, like the others, he turned his attention to the burning eastern half of the city.

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe

November 13, 0087

". . .forensic evidence suggests that the Zeeks didn't get out of this one untouched.  Some of their suits may actually be crippled now, but what we do know is that we didn't kill any of them.  I'm reasonably confident that had the 77th managed to hit them with the full force of their numbers, the 10th might have been down a couple of suits before having to meet Cramer's people."

"Does that blustering hick even know yet, or is he still showing his troops how to jerk off in Magdeburg?" asked Sajer.

"Yeah. he knows.  He's hot-pissed and looking for someone to kill, and that's what brings me to the rest of this briefing.  After they got done trashing the base down to the last structural support, they moved on the eastern half of the city, to finish what the Calliopes started, and it's these events that really don't make sense when applied to the pattern of behavior the 10th Panzerkaempfer has previously used."  Balke shifted the picture to the city itself, with the destroyed buildings marked in red, with several buildings outlined in light green.

"Banks, train and rail stations, police forces, emergency rescue, fuel stations, radio towers, power generators, factories, infrastructure for maintenance of a standard of living in any urban environment.  All standard targets for a war of attrition and punishment against a civilian population; the same population they went out of their way to protect during the War."

"Casualties?" asked Edgrove, steeling himself for the worst.

"In the thousands.  They torched the eastern half of the city pretty good, and knocked a few buildings down for good measure.  They deliberately avoided the western half."

Sajer tilted his head slightly.  "So someone got mad at the Krauts for something.  Big deal.  What's it  mean to anything else?"

"It means," said Balke, rubbing his eyes with the fingers of a hand, "that the game has changed.  Rather than become the benevolent dictatorship, von Mellenthin's out for fear and tyranny.  The public is outraged by it, and most of Europe is screaming for someone to do something about it.  If they weren't pissed off about the whole Nemesis scare, then burning a city has really got them hacked at von Mellenthin.  But he won't care what Earthers think if he's here to subjugate them, so we can't take anything for granted now, except that we know that they aren't going to Berlin."

"How do we know that?" asked Edgrove.

"They spelled it out for Cramer.  Open the on-scene aerial photography file, Captain, and bring up the first shot."

Sajer complied, and a word appeared on the screen, black-etched on a gray background.  "'Steinbaum'?"

Balke nodded.  "The bastards wrote it in machine gun fire on the surface of the airfield, plain as day.  It's a town in Lower Saxony, which is northwest, not east, of Kassel.  If they're going to Berlin, they're taking the really long route.  Cramer's mobilized again and is going to give chase on land.  He's too angry to be reasoned with now.  His XO's pretty stable, though, and I'm hoping she can talk him down, because this is a trap, plain and simple.  Von Mellenthin's playing him like a puppet, but he thinks his guns and suits can get him through.  They touch down in Korbach in a few hours, then deploy for pursuit."

"Don't try to stop him, but try and make Cramer understand that it's up to him now," said Edgrove.  "If he doesn't beat them, what happened to Kassel and Bonn may happen to someplace else.  What're we doing in the meantime?"

Balke coughed, then cleared his throat.  "Not a lot.  I've got  a few eyes in the sky looking for those other two barges and the Zeek fish suits now, and the EFS Erebus and her task force is blocking the exit point of the Waal River and is sweeping inland with smaller ships to intercept them before they cross Nijmegen and the Luxembourg/Lower Saxony border.  The Academy is on full alert, and they've managed to cobble together some makeshift beach-based depth charge and ASROC launchers to hit the Zeeks with if they do cruise by, as well as the trainer suits with whatever armaments they could mount on them.  I've also got aerial recon trying to track the 10th's suits, but as long as they hide in the forests they'll be hard to spot without ground recon, too, and we just don't have the manpower for that while we're still looking for delivery systems for Nemesis.  Bryton's on his way to Kassel, and he's tracing the phosphorus that was used here.  I've been keeping Dakar notified of what's been happening, but I don't think the fuckers are listening to me, so I may keep my sitreps to myself."

"Do as you're told, Captain," said Edgrove and Sajer in unison.

A shadow moved over the light from outside, darkening the room for a moment.  After an equally long moment of silence in the room, Balke spoke again:  "There was one exception to the destruction list that I'm still puzzling out, because it doesn't make any sense to me whatsoever."

"What?  They stage a panty-raid on the university dorms at the same time they sacked Kassel?"

"You must've been the life of the party at Nijmegen, Assclown.  How'd you ever graduate thinking such dirty things about people?"  Balke ignored the upraised middle finger and walked over to the wall, tapping a finger on one of the green-illuminated structures.  "This one here was of no value whatsoever, but it was singled out for pillage despite that, the only one in its sector of town."

Another shadow fell over the windows.  Balke looked at Edgrove.  "It was a toy store. . ."

Kassel, Hessen, Central Europe

November 12, 0087

With a crash, the twelve-story office tower landed on a fuel station, which promptly blew itself apart and began to burn everything around it with glee.  The Gouf Custom straightened itself out after committing itself to the shoulder tackle that had toppled the previously-damaged structure.

"Ooo, lordy, this-un be big fun!" said de la Somme sarcastically.  As much the combat addict that he was, he hated doing what he called 'menial warfare'.  This was 'menial warfare' at its lowest, and it did the song currently playing no justice whatsoever; Elvis Presley had been a soldier, too, after all, and 'Suspicious Minds' was almost lazy enough to keep up with this job.  As it was, he refused to use any more valuable ammunition on the buildings, choosing instead to knock them down with brute force in a pattern only he could contemplate, and he was coming down from his battle-high very swiftly.

"God, how I miss the War!  That was a trip, lemme tell you.  Half-starving all the time, grabbing Feddie ammo and equipment to keep yours in the fight, marching and marching and marching through hills and woods and mountains and snow and marshlands.  Weather so dismal that that you lived in your suit just for the heater.  Bein' so tired you wanted to throw up and pass out, but too afraid to go to sleep because you might miss something that you'd never seen before.  Deet always knowing what to do whenever we ran into a fight, and always moving, never standing still but for a coupla times and those were never his idea.  Everything smelling like a fight, too, everything and everyone, and you didn't care after a while 'cause everything smelled the same given enough time in it.  And you didn't give a rat's ass 'cause it was the War, the one to get what we were promised, the one to set the order of things for the rest of time, the one to put Space on top.  But it didn't happen that way, and now. . .now we just got this to keep us going.  I'm thinking of retiring after this one, though.  This'll be my last campaign for Zeon.  I'll go back to Granada and settle down and raise a bunch of kids who'll always have a father because they need one and no one needs to be like you and me."  The pilot whistled nostalgically as he thought back for a moment.  "No one needs that."

The fist of the Gouf Custom lashed out, knocking the head off of a spinning plastic Ronald McDonald as it passed by.  "So, I was wondering what you were thinking of doing when this was all over, and you're free again, 'cause Space can be great if you've got a guide, and the view's so much better from orbit . . ." de la Somme's voice trailed off as the muffled sounds of sobbing came from behind him. 

Twisting around in his seat to investigate, he almost strangled himself on the crash straps.  Gagging, he brought the Gouf Custom to a halt and unbuckled himself, swinging inside the cockpit until his knees were on the chair seat and he was looking over the top to the tiny rear space.  He saw the huddled form of Erik shaking in misery, and his own face began to crack.  "H-hey, buddy?  What's wrong, man?  You hurt?"

He reached out to touch the crumpled form, but a hand came up fast and swatted his away before he could make contact.  The tear-streaked face that stared at him was an equal mixture of anger and pain.  "YES!" screamed Erik, teeth bared in grief and something. . .else.

De la Somme recoiled from the force of the emotions pouring from this child, speechless.  The Gouf Custom had been banged around quite a bit with this operation, and while he was used to the stresses of his brand of acrobatic combat, he hadn't considered his passenger.

"Yes, I'm hurt!!  Don't you understand?"  The child sloppily wiped his running nose on his sleeve, then pointed towards the main camera screen at devastated Kassel outside.  "This is why I am!!  This is why I was made!  If I don't have war, what do I have?  NOTHING!!  What do any of us have?  NOTHING!!  We're monsters, and they'll kill us, no matter who wins this war!"

"No!" said de la Somme, tears beginning to well in his own eyes.  "There's always something else out there, man!  We just gotta find it!  Deet'll let you go once we win, and you can do whatever you want—"

"But I want THIS!!" shrieked the boy.  "I feel it inside me!  Like another voice, telling me this is why!  I hate myself, Uncle, but I want it, too!  I'm so confused!!"

The angry face crumbled into abject misery again, and Erik's voice broke.  "And I---I love it!!"  With a wail, the child buried his face in his knees again, weeping uncontrollably.  "They'll never let us go, Uncle Antares!  Never!"

With a bit of a struggle, de la Somme squeezed himself behind the seat and gathered Erik into his arms.  "Listen," he said quietly, letting the boy cry, while crying himself, "there's only been a few people I've ever met who were made to do something, and I've been around for a while.  We can do what we want whenever we want, because that's what being free is.  I won't let them kill you, or me, or anyone else you don't want them to, and that includes Deet and Reinhardt, okay?  If we gotta, we run away, and they'll never find us where we go.  You're not the only one I've made this promise to, okay, and I haven't broken it yet to them, so I won't to you.

"I've got a little ways to go, just like you do.  I've gotta fight because I care, and because I love it, too, just like you do.  But I gotta give it up someday, and I've always known that.  I know what you're feeling, because I feel it, too, but we have a choice, man.  Come with me to Space when this is over, and we'll build a life after all this war, and we'll still be happy.  I know you haven't got anybody in the world but us, and we kidnapped you and your friends, so I owe you from that.  You were born for war, I was bred for it, but we can both step away from it if we wanna.  People do it all the time, and last I checked, I was people, not monster.  And you were, too."

He leaned Erik back and looked at the big green eyes, wiping his face with his own hands.  "Now put on a happy face, soldier.  Can't let guys like Vlady know we're having doubts, or they'll put frogs in our boots."

Erik's voice was a whisper.  "Thank you."

"Naw, thank you.  You made me remember what I left behind in Granada."  He pulled a technicolored handkerchief from a uniform sleeve and pressed it to the boy's face.  "Blow, then keep it.  Let's get moving and get this absolutely disgusting job done with.  I'm sick of wasting my time on buildings and crap."

He paused in mid-clamber, then turned back to Erik.  "Hey.  Wanna go shopping?"

The boy blinked.  "What do you mean?"

De la Somme pointed and smiled, his entire demeanor changing.  Erik stood up a little unsteadily and looked at what de la Somme was pointing at.  Then he smiled, too, wiping the last traces of his fears from his face.

Reinhardt von Seydlitz's Gouf Custom halted near the cluster of Zeon mobile suits, and he popped the hatch to see if his eyes were deceiving him.  They were not.  The eastern half of the city was awash in an inferno, as ordered, but his people had not budged from this spot for almost half an hour.  He had dispatched Dalyev and Haskell to their rally point and come to investigate himself.  He had his suspicions about who was behind this idiotic delay, and they were confirmed by what he was seeing at this moment.

With the exception of Margul's Kaempfers, which had whizzed past him as he'd jumped across the river, the other Zeon suits stood here empty.  At their feet, Antares de la Somme had set up shop, the boy Erik beside him, all smiles.  They each wore what appeared to be sunshades of a truly hideous design, and the Zeon ace pilot was distributing . . .toys.

The look on von Seydlitz's face would have made granite appear soft.  Eyes narrowing, he unstrapped himself from his seat and began the descent to the ground.  De la Somme's voice became clearer as he climbed down his suit.  The wind blew black-and-gray ashes in whorling patterns around him, and its chill was mitigated by the heat of the burning city.  He mused for a brief moment at the idea of hanging around in a conflagration, and how comfortable it was, and he wondered whether or not he was the only one at ease with the environment.  He concluded that while he had disagreed with von Mellenthin's decision to fire Kassel, now that the deed was done it was easier to handle.  Besides, this was Hessen, and that made these people's fates von Mellenthin's to decide, not his.

". . .that's right, make an orphan smile!  You survived the battle, you slew the oppressors for the glory of Zeon!  Now show the people you're out to impress that you still care!  Don't be a sad sack of shit about it, just grab and pass, there's plenty for everyone!  Hey, no two-sies, pal!  One at a time, please!"  The diminutive ringmaster was sporting totally unnecessary sunglasses whose frames were hot pink and shaped like five-pointed stars.

Von Seydlitz's presence did not go unnoticed, as a chill ran through everyone's bones that had not been there before.  "What are you doing, Kommandant?" he asked de la Somme in a voice that made the cold air seem tropical in comparison.

"Presents for the kids, Colonel, sir," he said, voice proud and a smirk on his face.  "The one with me," he indicated Erik, whose purple-framed shades were simple circles, but the lenses had hypnotic whorls in them, "got a little rattled with the fighting, so I thought I'd boost some morale.  Nothing wrong with making people laugh, is it?"

The cold gray eyes went even colder.  "You do, of course, realize that we are on a timetable.  Not to mention anything about the mission, Kommandant de la Somme.  When last I checked, raiding "Toys 'R Us" outlets was not on the program."

"Yeah," said de la Somme, running a hand over his short hair, "I just thought that—"

Von Seydlitz stepped closer, towering over the ace.  "Get this straight, Kommandant:  we are not here to boost morale, especially in prisoners.  We are here to accomplish Nemesis, not waste time and resources storing children's toys, or do you intend on throwing stuffed tigers at Federation mobile suits?"

Erik clutched the stuffed tiger in his hands, and de la Somme bristled.  The other assembled Zeon pilots, including Roberts, watched silently.

Von Seydlitz made a motion with his hand.  "Walk with me, Kommandant."  Then he marched behind one the leg of his Gouf Custom.

The Zeon collectively winced, and de la Somme sighed and ambled after his commander.  No one relished personal conversations with a displeased Reinhardt von Seydlitz.  He had a way of taking your darkest, most secret worries and smearing them all over your face until you wanted to crawl away.  When de la Somme caught up, the older man was leaning back against the lower leg of the mobile suit. 

"You are going to have to understand," continued von Seydlitz, "that these children may very well die before the end of this."

"Only because of us, Reinhardt!!" protested de la Somme, yanking the glasses off of his face.  "Only because we—"

"SILENCE." the single word shut de la Somme down like a light switch, von Seydlitz's Command Voice overriding any hope of ignorance.  "The possible ramifications of Nemesis are well-known to you, Kommandant, and you had your chance to back out of this operation years ago.  Now you will obey, and understand."  Von Seydlitz leaned closer, seeing defiance in de la Somme's eyes.  "Obey, and understand, or have you forgotten that we always have the ability to harvest these children's DNA and give their fates to the bio-scholars?" 

De la Somme went  shock white at those words.  In New Koenigsberg, the bio-scholars held a social position second only to the Electors themselves, and what they wanted, they got.  They were the genetic caretakers, scientists, and clerics of their entire society, and their power to shape the stuff of life was nigh absolute when it applied to improving upon the human creature, and they did not have to be kind about it, either.  They were tasked with creating the superhuman, and both von Seydlitz and von Mellenthin were products of their exhaustive research into altering the genetic structure at the macroevolutionary level.  Their progress was slow, but their successes were worth the long-term planning and waiting and watching and studying, and with every failure they only got closer to greater successes. 

Von Seydlitz almost smiled, but despite the failure of his lips to make the turn upward, his face became cruelly predatory as he continued:  "Clones are just as good as the real thing, and much more. . .malleable in the long run.  A bullet for each of them now ends nothing except your foolish attachment to a Federation weapon with green eyes and a nosy mind.  If Generalmajor von Mellenthin wills it, it shall be so."

With a roar, de la Somme leapt at his older foster brother, fists swinging.  Von Seydlitz casually turned the blows aside, then allowed de la Somme to grab him and start slamming him into the foot of his Gouf Custom.

"NO!!  I will NOT ACCEPT THAT!!  I will NOT, do you HEAR me!?!" de la Somme rammed the much-taller von Seydlitz against the Luna Titanium armor at every syllable.

Von Seydlitz did not even blink, as he reached over and grabbed de la Somme by the scruff of his neck, lifting him off the ground with one hand.  The younger man squirmed ineffectually as he dangled like a fish from a hook, clawing at an arm that he could not maintain a grip upon.  Skin muscles, long since deactivated in the human norm gene code, rippled across von Seydlitz's arm, shaking off the clutching fingers with minimal effort. 

"Very impressive emotional reaction, Kommandant, but hardly of use to anyone, even yourself.  But at least I know you comprehend my words now.  Take no mercies for granted, Antares.  They will become fewer and further between the more you rail against a fate you cannot change.  Remember the question of Power, and that it is by that means the will of Space will give rise to Zeon again.  And that is all that matters now."

"When did you get so hard, Reinhardt?" asked de la Somme accusingly.  "You used to think atrocity was a tool for the untalented."

It was very hard to see, but something struck home on the older man.  "It is.  Compared to what the Titans do on a daily basis, burning Kassel or slaughtering eight children is a nickel-and-dime operation.  Now, I will do what I can to keep these children as intact as possible, but do not deviate from your orders again, or I will have you be the one to execute them, and then sweep their bloodsoaked scalps into little plastic bags for shipment to the bio-scholars back home.  A more fitting solution to sedition I could not comprehend with immediacy, though I believe given enough time I could contemplate quite a few more that are equally vicious, if not more so than the last."

De le Somme shook his head violently.  "Never happen."

Von Seydlitz spun around, arm swinging, and slammed de la Somme against the cold metal, effectively reversing their positions.  The hand released the back of de la Somme's neck, then grabbed him by the throat before he could begin his descent to the ground, pinning him in place. "Antares, you know that I love you, and you know that  I am the one who has always put your needs first, but you are not indispensible to me, and if you even consider in your remotest thoughts the idea of betraying this Division over these children or some foolish scruple you have managed to hide over these last twenty-four years that will prevent you from carrying out your orders to the fulfillment of Nemesis, I will take extreme pleasure in crushing your bones to paste, locking you in your mobile suit, then burying you and it in a very deep hole here on Terra, alive and alone."

De la Somme had a number of different options, ranging from trying to kick von Seydlitz in the balls to going for his own sidearm with his hand.  He opted for none of them, knowing his foster brother too well to know that all would fail. Fast as he was, von Seydlitz was faster, and could anticipate each choice.

Von Seydlitz leaned forward and inhaled de la Somme's scent, in a similar fashion that a wolf would sniff at a trapped rabbit before snapping its neck in its jaws.  "I trust  I do not have to make my point more clear, do I, Antares?"  The younger man's face was bathed in sweat, and just enough fear that von Seydlitz caught its odor with his enhanced olfactory sense, and von Seydlitz could almost count the whiskers on the unshaved face. 

De la Somme gasped, still clawing feebly at the iron-hard hand under his chin, long fingers framing his face in a grip like tensor bands.  The proximity of von Seydlitz's face was too close for comfort, especially with him doing that sniffing thing he had always hated.  It was downright creepy, and no one liked being sized up like a buffet selection.  Most times, the predatory instincts that were alive and well in von Seydlitz and strengthened by the New Koenigsberg way of life remained below the surface, the beast hidden beneath the noble veneer, but this was becoming dangerous, and this was the only warning the older man would give that someone was about to cross the line with him.  He had to defuse this situation immediately.  "No, sir," he choked out, "just don't lick me, please."

Von Seydlitz gazed into a widened hazel eye.  "I will endeavour to restrain myself from that dubious pleasure."  The anger on the younger pilot's face faded away, then gave way to contrition.  "Good, Kommandant.  Do not allow your attachment to that boy weaken your resolve.  If we lose, we all die, and I hold no doubt that the Federation will harvest what it desires from you, from me, from Dietrich, and from these children before they render us into mobile suit lubricant and try again.  Stay on our side, Antares, work with me, and recall this conversation every time you start to wonder about the future."

The other pilot swallowed once, trembling under his gaze.  Von Seydlitz felt something within himself wrench.  He hated having to bully de la Somme into doing anything.  The younger man had been under his wing for so long, this whole scene smacked of betrayal of trust between them.  But von Seydlitz knew that he did not  have the time to go about reinforcing de la Somme's loyalty in the kinder, gentler fashion.  He had to be re-motivated, and now, before his own sense of duty was overpowered by the allure of the NewType candidate.  Children had always been a weakness of de la Somme's, because he could love them indiscriminately and relate to them on a personal level.  But there was something different about de la Somme's reaction this time.  Von Seydlitz disliked most children, and they had quarreled about that topic before, especially after Dornbirn, but de la Somme had never before put children before the interests of his foster brothers, Space, Zeon, and the Race.  To pass it off as being foreign influence from that child NewType would be logical, but tactically unsound.  There was something else behind this.

That was when von Seydlitz realized that there was a silver chain of round links wrapped around his little finger.  He frowned slightly.  Dog tags had never been a facet of the 10th Panzerkaempfer: identities were implanted subcutaneously in microdot form to prevent loss of identity.  Slowly, von Seydlitz reached out with his free hand and grasped the chain, drawing it out from underneath de la Somme's unform jacket.

The captive squirmed.   "Don't!"

The item on the chain revealed itself as a simple golden band, unadorned and featureless.  Von Seydlitz's heart nearly ceased its beat, and he drew in a breath in a long, sibilant hiss, dangling it before the wide hazel eyes.  "Was ist das?"

De la Somme's eyes told him the answer to his question before his voice did: "My wedding band.  I'm married."

"Wann?"  A single word, unemotionally delivered.

"About four years ago.  In Granada.  Her name is Candace."

Von Seydlitz closed his eyes for a moment, then snarled.  "This changes things.  Why did you not tell us?"

"I knew you'd be upset, that's why!"   Tears threatened to escape from de la Somme's eyes again.

"You were correct."  With a flick of a wrist, von Seydlitz tossed de la Somme away from him.  The pilot landed on his feet and fingertips, like a cat, about ten feet away, coughing and grasping at  his throat with a hand.  He did not try to attack von Seydlitz again; it was like assaulting an iceberg with one's bare hands.  As great a pilot as de la Somme was, physically he was no match for a New Koenigsberg gene-augmented Elector-Prince.  Few things that walked on two legs were.

"You oughtta be happy, Reinhardt!  You and Deet're uncles now, too!"

A physical blow could not have hit the Colonel harder.  "You've spawned?"  In their society, reproduction was strictly controlled by the bio-scholars, to ensure genetic compatibility.  You could get married any time you wanted to, but having children was regulated until genetic deficiencies could be cataloged and/or controlled before fertilization.  It also kept the colony's population at a reasonably-stable three million persons or so.

One of Dietrich von Mellenthin's demands before the War was that every member of the 10th Panzerkaempfer be male and single, so as not to attach an inordinate amount of grief upon Spacenoid family units (and to keep his people focused on the fighting and their units instead of people they had left behind) in the very likely event that they all perished in combat during Operation Lorelei.  None of them had ever married, and had not planned to until they had returned to Side 3 as conquerors of the Earth Sphere.  De la Somme had violated both strictures in his four year absence from the 10th, and the randy little goat had probably knocked her up first.  Von Seydlitz crossed his arms.  "How many?"

"Two.  Twins.  They're both three now."

Von Seydlitz allowed some level of amusement into his voice.  "Castor and Pollux, I presume?"

De la Somme managed a grin.  "Naw, too cliche.  Polaris and Regulus de la Somme, actually."

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.  "I will speak with Dietrich about your concerns for the fates of the children.  But you will have to do your part if you desire my continued support in this matter.  Keep your feelings to yourself, and your anger, and your family, and do your job.  You will simply have to trust in me the way you used to, and hope that you will get to see them on Granada again.  I will keep this secret from the others, for now."

De la Somme nodded slowly, tucking the ring back under his uniform jacket.  "Tell him. . .I think the Federation did something really strange to these kids.  Erik likes war, Reinhardt.  It's not normal."

Silence again.  Then: "Finish your distribution, Kommandant, then get moving.  You, after all, are not the one being left behind with three suits to face the wrath of the 103rd."  Von Seydlitz ran his gray eyes over de la Somme's face.  "Though I believe you would relish it all the same."

De la Somme's voice rang out as von Seydlitz began to move away.  "How much more will everything change?  How much more before we're done with all this?"

Von Seydlitz did not look back, debris crunching under his boots, but his words were clear as a bell:  "Whatever must to win, Kommandant," he said, extending a hand like a reaper towards the ruin of the city, "or we will be the ones envying them."

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe

November 13, 0087

Another shadow crossed over the hospital.  "A toy store??" exclaimed Sajer, incredulous.

"Yeah," sighed Balke, "I don't know what to make of it, either.  It's a mess anyway, but if they're going to Steinbaum, at least  maybe we can take back the initiative and get this fight going our way instead of theirs."

"If Cramer doesn't stick his stupid head in the vise for them," Sajer snorted.

"I'd expect—" Balke was cut off by a commotion in the hallway, and the door to the room flew open.  Like a death specter, the black-and-red uniform of Titans Major Golan Tizard floated into the room, accompanied by its wearer.  In the hallway, Dorff was backed against the wall, two Titans facing him with their hands on their sidearms.  Two more Titan soldiers flanked Tizard as he entered, standing before the door.

"About time you got here, sir," said Sajer, smirking as Balke went pale.

The Major glanced around the room.  "Quite the powwow we're having, isn't it?" he sussurated in his quiet, velvet-smooth voice.

Edgrove's subvocal transmitter made a spitting sound.  "What are you doing here?" it buzzed.

"Following orders, sir," replied Tizard.  He pulled a piece of paper from his sleeve, then opened it and read aloud: "'By order of Federal Forces Command and the Assembly at Dakar, in light of the present medical condition of CinC Federal Forces Europe Colonel Lucas Edgrove that prevents his being fit and competent to continue the duties fitting the office, Colonel Edgrove is hereby relieved of command, which now passes to Titans Major Golan Tizard for the duration of the incident and/or until Colonel Edgrove is pronounced fit for duty by a medical professional, whichever condition applies first.'  In other words, I am in command of all forces in Europe now."

Balke took the letter from Tizard's hand and skimmed it.  "The hell you say!  This can't be more than two hours old!"

"Correct, Captain whom-I-presume-is-Camael Balke.  I received that letter just after I received orders to mobilize the 54th TTAB, which is above us as I speak."  The narrow fingers of Tizard's right hand twiddled in the air, directed at the ceiling.

Sajer glanced out the window, watching a Garuda transport fly over the hospital and break northwards.  Other Garudas were in the air as well, heading in different directions.  He laughed once, a callous sound of cruel joy, then moved aside to allow Balke to see.  The Federal Captain cursed under his breath at the giant black transport ships as they twisted above Bonn in an aerial ballet.

"Since you will undoubtedly ask," continued Tizard, inspecting his fingernails absently, "the push over the edge for Dakar was the timely receipt of an aerial reconnaissance fly-over photograph of the remains of eastern Kassel."

"Bullshit!" snapped Balke, flinging the paper to the ground to flutter at Tizard's feet.  "I just got the photos to disc less than three hours ago!  How'd you shitwads get them so damn fast?"

A thump—thump—thump sound in the distance outside became louder until the window was obscured by the great black form of a Titans GM II, which turned its humanoid head to focus its main camera into the room.  A black-and-red Hizack strode past a few blocks away, doing its part in establishing a perimeter, mono-eye tracking on its runners.

Tizard's eyes canted down at the sheet of paper, then at Balke.  "We're Titans, Captain.  We have our ways, and our own intelligence assets."  The shadow of another Garuda passed overhead, bathing the room in false darkness that matched the mood of the non-Titans present.  "Like it or not, gentlemen, I'm the one in charge now, and you need me and the 54th to kill the 10th Panzerkaempfer Division once and for all.  Cramer and the 103rd are blithely walking to their deaths, and I know he will not stop even if ordered, especially by me.  I must consider them lost, hope they take a few of the Zeon with them, and prepare a suitable response accordingly."

"Not that I'm disagreeing or anything, Major Liz—sorry, TIZard, but how could you tell that from one photo?"  Balke queried.

Tizard looked a little confused, as did Sajer.

"You said 'receipt of a satellite photo', 'a' as in singular.  One photo."

"Ahh," remarked Tizard, "you are correct in your assessment.  You are as sharp as I've been led to believe.  Yes, it was one photo.  Captain, pan the shot on the wall back to display the entire city, please, concentration on the buildings undamaged by fire or missile impact.  Just the ones that were knocked down physically."

Sajer complied, and the photo still on the wall zoomed out from the eastern half to the whole of Kassel.  Tizard pointed, and Balke's jaw dropped open.  A gargling sound emanated from Edgrove's speaker.

"You see, Captain, they're still playing with us.  They are more than prepared for Cramer.  Now, if there aren't any further questions, I would like to set up command and control at the University, and meld Federation assets with my own.  Captain Sajer, come with me.  You as well, Captain Balke."  Tizard spun on a heel and left, Sajer pushing past the stunned Balke and following.

Displayed on the wall in bright green "damage" blotches was a smiley face.