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!

18. Chapter 17

MSG: In Vain Doth Valour Bleed

Chapter 17 (part 1)

Aerzen, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 17, 0087

". . .2105 hours, seventeen November double-oh eight seven Universal Century, official deposition of First Lieutenant Angela Novak Dyson, service number 8891717 by Captain Camael Balke, service number 5457893," spoke Balke into the vocoder box that sat on the plyboard table in front of them. He paused to light a cigarette, offered one to Dyson, who accepted both the tobacco and the light Balke presented from his Zippo, then continued. "This deposition covers events that transpired on fourteen and fifteen November double-oh eight seven, following the destruction of the Federation 103rd Mobile Infantry Company at the hands of the remnants of the Zeon 10th Panzerkaempfer Division at the Teutoberg Forest near Steinbaum, province of Lower Saxony, with two survivors. Covered within this debriefing will be what transpired during the time of captivity of First Lieutenant Dyson and Lieutenant Junior Grade Lief Dyson. First Lieutenant Dyson has been made aware of her rights in accordance with the Uniformed Code of Military Justice, to which all members of the Federation Armed Forces are entitled and subject to therein."

If Balke had had a choice in the matter, they would have been alone in a room far more comfortable than this one. The light bulb was a dim, low-watt one, granting the room a sense of twilight, insufficient to focus on details but also insufficient to cloak the fact that this used to be the upstairs larder of one of the town of Aerzen's less-reputable bed-and-breakfast hostels. Despite assurances to the contrary by the owners, Balke was certain they would rather be host to water moccasins than to Federation military personnel, especially ones in black and red like the two that stood behind him as he sat at the table across from Dyson. For her part, even after cleaning up, Dyson looked like six layers of pneumatic-hammered shit. Balke knew that only time would wash away that look: he had seen it on himself, back in the War. . .

He thumbed the vocoder OFF. "Okay, Lieutenant, are you ready for this?"

Dyson's eyes took on a steely countenance as she sucked in another drag on the rapidly-dwindling cigarette. Balke could almost feel the ghosts dragging on her. Despite an obvious discomfort, directed at the stone-faced pair of Titan guards at the rear of the room, she smiled wistfully. "Ready as I'll ever be, sir."

Balke snorted. "Cut that 'sir' shit out. My name's Camael, or Captain if that's a little much for you, and this is a debrief, not a goddamn Inquisition, no matter what Major Tizard thinks. You're Federation personnel, not Titan, and that makes you my soldier, not his servant. Clear?"

Dyson blinked wearily. "Clear. . .Camael."

"Good." Balke leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table. "Look, Lieutenant, I know what you're going through. Believe me, I know. We've both gotten our asses kicked by the same crew, and it feels exactly like it should: like shit. I've seen the Lion's teeth, too, and they feel really fucking bad when they're digging into your flesh and bones. I've lost my fair share of friends to the 10th Panzerkaempfer and the supermonkeys, so let's cut the Mickey Mouse bull. We're just two officers talking about the shitty week we had at work. You can start whenever you're ready." Balke activated the vocoder when she nodded her assent. "Lieutenant, tell me what happened after the battle."

"That's where things get a bit hazy, Captain," said Dyson with a half-chuckle. "For Lief--Second Lieutenant Dyson--and I, the battle never really ended. . ."

Steinbaum, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 14, 0087

"'Would you be~lieve. . .that yester~day. . .this girl was in m~y arms and swore to me. . .she'd be mine eter~nally. . .'" crooned Antares de la Somme to the Dysons as they waited for whatever it was they were waiting for. This was the fifth Elvis Presley tune he had serenaded them with, and it was beginning to get on the nerves of the beleagured Federation officers. "'And Ma~rie's the na~me. . .of his la~test fla~me. . .'"

The slash of the Dom Tropen's heat saber made a thrumming swoop sound as it descended on the outstretched arms of Lief Dyson's kneeling GM Command, severing the hands from the lower arms. The entire suit shuddered as though it had nerves that felt the pain of the loss of its extremeties, but once it was over, the crippled GM Command became still again, and the Zeon soldier piloting it climbed out of the cockpit. Lief bristled as he watched the Zeon wipe his hands on his uniform, as though touching the Federation suit that anyone would have been proud to pilot had soiled him in some manner.

While this occurred, Angela Dyson remained very close to her husband, watching the Zeon guards for any sign of a lapse in attention. Thus far, she had been disappointed. The two guards, who looked identical to each other, were the pilots of the twin Gelgoog Jaegers that stood not far distant. Close enough for she and Lief to escape, if it weren't for the two boys with machine guns in their way, and the bizarre little man who knew Elvis songs by heart. Gelgoogs had been required study at Nijmegen. . .

"You know," cut in Lief in the middle of de la Somme's tune, quite aggravated, "the Antarctic Treaty covered torture using duress!"

The slight pilot abruptly ceased singing, choosing instead to pout at the physically-larger Lief. "I know," pointed de la Somme at Lief's nose, "you did not just goof on the King. I know you didn't. Don't be cruel, man."

"Yeah, I sure did. What of it?" dared the Federation pilot. "Elvis sucked anyway." Lief was deliberately goading de la Somme.

De la Somme's already-large eyeballs nearly popped out of his skull. "Oh. . .my. . .GAWD," exclaimed the shocked Zeon ace, "you have got to be **** me!! NO ONE says that about the Big E!!"

Remembering that Lief was unarmed and that he was about to get into a musical debate with someone who was not only one of the finest pilots Zeon had ever fielded in the War, but who also may or may not be emotionally stable and had a loaded pistol on his hip, Angela Dyson decided this needed to be nixed, right then and there. "Play nice, please. Everyone has their tastes."

De la Somme crossed his arms over his chest and huffed out a breath. "The only taste an Elvis-hater has is ass," he proclaimed, matter-of-factly.

"Face it, buck-o," continued Lief, not willing to give up the fight just yet, "the man was a thief and a half-rate musician."

"WHAT?!?" screeched de la Somme, clapping both hands onto his head and raking his spiky hair back with his narrow fingers. "Elvis made rock and roll, you---!"

"Liar," spoke a teasing voice from off to the left, as Dietrich von Mellenthin chimed in from the funk he had been rapidly slipping in to during the last hour or so. "Mozart made rock and roll. Congratulations, Leutnant Dyson. Not many people can find one of Antares' buttons to push after only an hour in his presence. You have succeeded admirably."

De la Somme whirled around to face this new broadside. "Be quiet, you!" he spat accusingly at his older foster brother. "The whole Earth Sphere knows your taste in tunes, Deet! Stay outta my turf, wouldya?"

As the boys continued their debate over the value of a long-dead ("Elvis LIVES!! I've SEEN him on Von Braun in a 1973 Stutz Blackhawk III!! Swear to GOD I did!!" hollered de la Somme in the midst of her ruminations) recording artist, Dyson pondered their current predicament. That they had been left alive this long after the massacre of the 103rd Mobile Infantry Company by people who despised her and her loyalties was probably the scariest thing about this whole debacle. She wondered what they were waiting for. Thre was still enough uncivilized about war for her to be concerned that the Zeon had something. . .hateful in the works for her. She was not afraid of being raped, or killed, but she had to inwardly confess that if they forced Lief to watch then it would be like dying a thousand times for her. She prayed that whatever it was they were planning, it would be swift.

In the meantime, she took the opportunity to survey her foes. Most had not deigned to exit their mobile suits, but there were a few out and about. The spiky-haired ball of constant energy that was Antares de la Somme seemed to flit from place to place with the manic zeal of someone with way too much idle time on his hands, when he wasn't engaged in futile debate with music critics, but she was astute enough to notice that he wasted little in the way of movement unless he wanted to. There was one man, a short, mustachioed, almost-slight man wearing Zeon Marine rank tabs, who was very quiet but gave off an aura of being more dangerous than he looked. The scar-faced man who looked like he had been burned in the past held the same rank as de la Somme, and looked as though he knew how to make things happen when they needed to. It had been Scarface who had coordinated the cleanup effort on the battlefield, and he was the one in charge of the Dysons' young guards.

The Zeon had been very fastidious with their battlefield, almost reverent to their own dead, and callously crude to the Federation remains. They had turned the Federal mobile suits into a tableau of horror, pieces scattered about burning torsos, suits holding their own innards in their frozen hands. Cramer's Guncannon Heavyarms had actually been crucified on one of the ancient and massive trees of the Teutoberg Forest, its ruined limbs pinioned to the huge trees adjacent to the one it had been stapled to by the fallen Dom Tropen's heat saber, then set ablaze. Since the sun had still not risen, most of the available light was from mobile suit searchlights and Cramer's macabre funeral pyre. The three downed Zeon suits were stacked as though on a bier, afforded all honors possible.

And the man responsible for all of this stood less than fifteen feet away from her, looking as immovable and impregnable as a fortress all his own.

Uncannily, Dietrich von Mellenthin tilted his head and glanced at her, as though he could feel the loathing emanating from the female behind him as easily as he could feel the chill air caress the flesh of his face. "Perhaps," he began, modulating his voice in the direction of his captives and ending the Elvis debate, all at once, "you were both wondering why you are still alive."

Something snide tried to leap from her tongue, a verbal lash to scar the man's ego, just a piece of pain to repay him for all of this carnage, but when she met his eyes with her own, something made her quail. As the piercing blue of his eyes locked on her, she suddenly felt very small, like a child trying to measure herself up to an adult who may as well have been God, for all her ability to withstand him. It was a similar feeling to how she had reacted whenever her father had enacted his parental authority, and she instinctively recoiled, no, abased herself before von Mellenthin in the same fashion. Her conscious self, along with her military training and discipline, fought against the reflex, but for all of her weapons against it, whatever von Mellenthin had sorely outclassed them. She froze, then lowered her eyes as though to appease his displeasure, real or imagined, and she hated herself for doing so.

Von Mellenthin waited until he had elicited the exact reaction he had been looking for, then removed his gaze from Dyson. Too easy, cattle. Your Mind and Spirit are both weak, just like every other Earthenoid when I remove your capability to use Flesh and Strength. He had been both fascinated and disgusted by the practice of a nation risking its females in combat situations, an unheard-of assumption of risk for any New Koenigsberger, and one he himself would not have dared, but his knowledge was not so deficient in history that he would ignore the precedents for such. Shield-maidens and warrior-womenfolk permeated myth and folklore throughout the world, Europe included. Nevertheless, that mythos simply did not fly in New Koenigsberg cultural parameters.

Lief was the one who answered, standing down from the bullish stance he had taken while facing down de la Somme. "The thought had crossed our minds, along with what it is you're still here for."

Von Mellenthin smiled, almost gently; a very human gesture on his part. "You are still alive because I have a use for you both. As for us," he waved a hand towards the trees, "we're waiting for somebody."

"And he ain't Elvis," stated de la Somme with a frown.

Near Schieder-Schwalenberg, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 14, 0087

The legs of his GM II making contact with the earth transmitted as a crump sound, followed by a hissing whine as Lt. Connor Horvath's mobile suit recovered from its aerial descent to the ground after having combat-dropped from the circling Garuda-class transport Avignon. True to their word, the pilots of the huge vessel had dropped the twenty suits of Delta Co, 2nd Battalion, 54th Titans Tactical Armored Brigade right on the edge of the Teutoberg Forest, as imposing a place as any could be. Horvath checked his systems for any signs of stress or malfunction, then keyed his comm to the Company net.

"Gimme sitreps, people," he said, meaning his Platoon commanders. He keyed the button that blew the parachute from his GM II's wide shoulders to flutter away. Around him, the suits of Delta Company also cut away their drop chutes and started shouldering weapons as they began falling in on their Platoon leaders. Twenty Hizacks and GM IIs, mint-condition and fully-loaded, ready to bring pain to the enemies of Earth and honor to the Titans.

"First Platoon, all present."

"Second Platoon, all accounted for."

"Same for Third."

"Fourth's all here."

"Fifth Platoon, all present, Lieutenant."

"Roger that. Time to earn our paychecks, as the Major would say. We're pretty far north of the fight, so we're going to have to cut through the forest to get there ASAP. First and Second, I want a twin-wing screen vee formation as we negotiate. Third, you take center and rear, Fourth and Fifth'll be behind you as reserve. If we're gonna catch these bastards, we're gonna have to move fast and furious, so lock, load, and kill anything not Titan you find. Avignon will be providing air support, and you know she's got the guns to make it stick. Five minutes to prep your people, then we move. Get busy." Horvath keyed off the mike and leaned back into his GM's chair, taking a moment to settle his helmet more comfortably on his head.

Steinbaum, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 14, 0087

"'Waiting for somebody'?" queried Angela Dyson, obviously confused.

"Yes. He's being fashionably late, but he will be here shortly." The Zeon General turned around to face his prisoners. "But you needn't concern yourselves with that. Your concerns should lie with the mission I have for the both of you."

Dyson shook her head. "Whatever the fuck it is you want from us, you won't get it."

Von Mellenthin smiled, just a tiny little smirk from one corner of his lips. "Oh, rest assured that if I wanted anything from you, I most certainly would get it. But I have another use for the both of you, a use that should not interfere with your duties as Federation officers and all that 'I must continue to resist' idiocy." Pacing to and fro, von Mellenthin pointed at the Dysons' damaged GMs. "I've spared your lives for the purpose of performing a single task for me. No other reason should allow for your continued survival."

"Are you always this long-winded, or did you write this speech for just this moment?" mocked Lief, trying to stifle a yawn.

There was an awkward moment of silence, as if no one present thought that a defeated man would dare insult a Zeon General who was holding all the guns. The twins who guarded the two Federation officers gripped their rifles a little more menacingly, and their neutral expressions clouded over. Then, there was a giggle, followed by the ringing of loud laughter, as Antares de la Somme sucked in great breaths and whooped with joy, pointing and laughing at the Dysons.

Von Mellenthin, bemused, stopped pacing and crossed his arms, tapping his toes and rolling his eyes heavenward. "What, Antares?"

The younger ace was wiping at his eyes, tears of delight streaming down them. "I--I--hee, hee, hooooo boy! I'm okay, really." De la Somme took another moment to stifle the giggles. "Ahhhh, I'm done now, thanks. That came outta left field, didn't it, Deet? I knew I wasn't the only guy around who gets bored when you wax all royal and all that!"

Von Mellenthin crooked an eyebrow. "Yes, well, that aside, I'll just stop and get to the point." He turned his eyes back to the Dysons, but this time, there was a fire behind them, a smouldering font of some base emotion that neither of the Dysons could identify immediately.

It was Lief Dyson who caught on first, and he squeezed his wife's hand urgently, warning her. The look in von Mellenthin's eyes was one of utter and total triumph.

"I've destroyed the 103rd Mobile Infantry in less than four minutes' time. My men and I have obliterated the only Federation presence capable of withstanding Zeon in Europe. The rest of your kind are scattered, barely combat-worthy, and too frightened to bring themselves to the field of battle. Your Titans shall be next, if they dare risk their power railing against the inevitable when Axis is watching every move they make." The General stepped closer to the two Federation officers, stopping only a pace or two away, as though tempting them to some form of rashness. "Their time is running out, you see, and I believe they know it, too. They've not had a great deal of luck with the AEUG these last few months, on Terra or in Space, and Haman Kahn sits in her fortress and simply waits for the right time, patient as a spider. Killing Brex Forra was a mistake on the Titans' part, especially in the eyes of a paranoiac."

The snow and debris crunched under von Mellenthin's boots as he resumed circling around his captives. "You two will have your mobile suits returned to you. I have taken the head from one and the hands from the other, as symbols of your defeat here. You, Oberleutnant Mrs. Dyson, will bear your own head in your hands to show your superiors that your failure here was absolute. You, Leutnant Mr. Dyson, will likewise display your lack of hands, because even with them you could do nothing. When you arrive in Bonn, you will deliver this message to your Federation masters from me: tell them that Varus' legions are still lingering in Teutobergerwald, and that the might of another unwanted and foreign empire has now joined in their lamentations."

Lief blinked. "And that's all?"

"Correct, Leutnant." The expression on von Mellenthin's face was one of those 'I'm-too-clever-for-you-to-know-what-I'm-talking-about-but-someone-you-work-for-will-get-it' looks that those too smart for their own good wore like masks.

Those kind of people drove Dyson up a wall. Cramer had done that kind of thing all the time. "And if we refuse?"

Von Mellenthin's face did not appear to move, but the smile on his face was suddenly larger and, to Dyson's perception, far more. . .predatory than any human's should be. The menacing expression, though it required the movement of about three facial muscles, changed the demeanor of von Mellenthin's entire visage into something more atavistic than his bearing foretold. Dyson began to become very, very afraid.

The General's bestial countenance did not waver as he spoke. "Leutnant, you will perform this task, because you have no choice in the matter. Your books all say that I am a monster: will I have to prove them correct in their assessment?"

Aerzen, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 17, 0087

"Yeah," cut in Balke when Dyson paused in her story, "I've seen that one. Four inches of Neo-Lexan glass between him and me and I still didn't feel safe."

Dyson shivered, stubbing out the butt of her third cigarette into the filling ashtray. The lingering smoke was adding a pall to the already-gloomy room. "I like to think I've been around, Captain, but I'll swear to my deathbed I didn't think a human could make a face do what that man's can."

"There are quite a few things that man can do that people can't," said Balke by way of explanation. "And I hesitate to call that thing in command of the Zeon 'human', but that's my personal bitch. And Antares de la Somme. . ." I can't believe THAT three-dipped devil is still alive, too! Federation Records has a LOT of fucking explaining to do! FOUR goddamn aces! FOUR! Goddamn von Mellenthin, von Seydlitz, Margul AND de la Somme, all still fucking breathing!! "Your information regardng him was very helpful. It explains a lot about how the Zeon have been so prepared for all of this."

"I know you'd prefer not to believe that he's still alive, Captain, but I've got no doubts."

"Yeah, I'll bet. I don't have any, either."

"Any what?" Dyson had missed the last part of Balke's comment.

"Doubts," clarified the Intelligence officer. "Between your physical description and reports from Records and Kassel's survivors, it would seem that on top of everything else, the 'Killing Star' also got out of Metz alive at the end of the War. The Titans," he pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the two guards, which he'd nicknamed "Goon" and "Thug", "are doing what they can to find out where he's been these last eight years and what he's been up to. Berchtesgaden's residents never mentioned anyone like him being around, and people would damn sure remember that spastic little shitball. This brings us to. . ."

". . .to just before things began to get really fucked up, Captain."

Kassel, Hessen, Central Europe
November 14, 0087

The last of the nine Cerberus attack helicopters leapt off of the ground where it had been resting, taking to the air once more to seek its prey. Camael Balke held up a hand to ward off the spray of ice particles that the dual-rotors kicked up from the ground and into his face. He watched the line of blinking lights that were the rest of the 103rd MI's helicopter contingent as they headed for their intended destinations. They would break off into pairs (and one odd-man out) to begin sweeping every waterway they could within the limits of their fuel, seeking the RMS Ruhrort and the lethal mobile suits of the Zeon 186th 'Deep Dwellers' Amphibious Platoon (formerly 'Battalion'). The word from Nijmegen was that Duisberg had been a red herring, and now there were three Zeon suits and a barge missing in Europe.

Shivering, Balke hoped they would catch a break with this screen. There just weren't enough air assets the Federation could bring to bear to cover every single river and canal that Europe could boast. Rivers made up a third of Europe's intra-continental transportation, and the spiderweb of waterways was extensive just because natural rivers were so plentiful. Balke had his suspicions that after the Rhine-Waal feint with Duisberg, Ruhrort and the Zeon he sought were no longer on the Rhine itself. Even a double-back would be too simple to predict. The problem was where the Zeeks diverted that third possible chemical bomb, and what its target was. Balke had to admit that von Mellenthin was very, very good at making him run into dead ends.

What's really damn well pissing me off is that we still don't have a goddamn clue what the point of all of this IS yet!! He stomped back towards the comm tent, yanking the tent flap open and causing a shower of old snow to dislodge from its resting place, to crumble to the ground. "Anything YET?"

Braxton Bryton had not moved an inch from where Balke had last seen him almost half an hour ago, ass in a chair and headphones squeezed to his ears. Balke slapped the back of his subordinate's head to get his attention, and Bryton reluctantly removed the headset. The big earpieces left red marks on Bryton's skin as the plastic peeled away.

"What?" snapped Bryton, annoyed that there was now only the noncom on duty listening into the silence that was the 103rd's frequency. Bryton had begun to lose all hope, even with the knowledge that the Federation suits had begun experiencing radio interference before reaching Steinbaum to fight the Zeon. But there was not a peep, nothing, coming through on the 103rd's "push".

Balke shrugged. "Still nothing, huh?"

Bryton's head hung down as he stretched his aching neck. "Not a sign, Camael. It's like they vanished without a trace. I wish we had an eye to see with."

"Weather's too shitty for satellites," said Balke, agreeing. "We might have to go ourselves and see."

Bryton rolled his head from side-to-side. "Brilliant idea. What are we waiting for?"

Balke snorted. "Sarcasm fits your ass like Spandex, Brak."

"So?"

"Spandex is still a privilege, not a ri---" Balke's tirade was interrupted by a beeping that came from one of the other communications consoles, an unmanned one. Bryton threw himself out of his chair at the console, and he and Balke nearly collided as they jostled for the RECEIVE button and the headset. After a few seconds of fumbling and slapping, Bryton planted himself in the seat with the 'phones on his skull, and Balke snagged another set to link in.

"Kassel, this is Dog Three, do you copy?" It was one of the Cerberi.

"This is Kassel Command, Dog Three, we copy, over. What's the problem?"

"Oh," laughed the helo driver, "no problems, Kassel, just thought you might want a gander at what's going down on frequency six-niner-six-one-five, that's all. I got a ghost while skimming the sound net, and I think I've plugged into the Titans' tac net."

"If you have," grinned Balke, "I'll owe you a dozen drinks when this is all done. We'll check it for gold. Kassel, out." Balke flipped off the RECEIVE switch and grabbed Bryton's shoulder. "Bring up that frequency, Brak. Let's play peek-a-boo with Captain Assclown and his jolly rogers."

"I won't argue," commented Bryton as he keyed in the numbers. A burst of static as the hopper ran its decryption software, and---

"---engaging unidentified targets at coordinates Charlie-Yankee six-seven-six-niner-niner-zero! Request immediate supp---"

"This is Major Tizard on Dauphin, Avignon! Engaging what targets? Delta Company is supposed to be in Bielefeld, not in the field!"

"Understood, sir, but Lieutenant Horvath ordered us out of Bielefeld to combat-drop onto the 103rd's operations area to give support---"

"Ooopsie," commented Balke. "Someone just pissed on Major Lizard's burrito."

"Shhh!" hushed Bryton, attention rapt.

When Tizard spoke again, it was eerily calm. "Avignon, your orders are to render whatever support you can give to Delta Company as it applies to their extraction from combat area. Tell Lieutenant Horvath to pull his people OUT and laager at coordinates Charlie-Yankee six-seven-six-niner-niner-niner and wait for reinforcements. Do you understand?"

Teutobergerwald, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 15, 0087

It all happened so fast that Horvath did not realize what was happening until everything degenerated into the chaos that war brings.

Everything was fine, kosher, copacetic, inasmuch as it could be. The Titans were running on low-light vision, turning the picture on their screens into a tableau of greens and blacks, with excellent picture quality. Despite this, the Teutoberg Forest showed them what amounted to a wall of impenetrable black. The trees were taller than their mobile suits, and the canopy the huge sentinels gave shrouded the depths of the forest as though the sun never touched this piece of land. Horvath had been a little uncomfortable, knowing that just a few kilometers to the southeast, Cramer's 103rd had walked into this very same forest and vanished. But there was no Minovsky umbrella here to play havoc with Delta Company's ability to see or communicate. In spite of these constant mental reassurances, few of the Titans wanted to move forward.

"Well, what're we waiting for?" he asked over the open channel. One and Two, move forward."

Not a suit moved immediately, even after the acknowledgement that his order was understood. "I dunno, Lieutenant," chimed in Nelson from Second Platoon's formation of four. "It's not that we're scared or nothing, it's just, well, LOOK at that place! It's enough to give anyone the willies! Who the hell knows what the fuck's in there?"

"Jesus, Nelson, you sound like a girl. You're in a friggin' Hizack for Christ's sake! Get your people moving and let's go kill some Zeeks, or are you scared of the fucking boogeyman?" Horvath was getting upset. An entire Company of Titans, frightened of the deep, dark woods. Who'd have thought it?

Reluctantly, one of the suits of First Platoon, a GM II, began to move forward towards the treeline, beam rifle at the ready. The GM's all carried beam weaponry, while the Hizack drivers tended to opt for the 90mm machinecannon for their suits. The rest of First Platoon, along with the other suits of Delta Company, waited to see if the trees ate their comrade. Avignon flew overhead, its altitude quite low, as it made a circle around the point where it had dropped Delta Company.

The GM II stopped at the trees, scanning side to side with its head. Horvath took his eyes off of the suit on his main screen for just an instant, attention drawn to what seemed like movement amidst the black of the forest. "Iron Knight Three, did you see that?"

"Negative, CO, I can't see shit. Switching to infra-red," said the GM II pilot. "I dunno what you guys're so scared of. It's just a bunch of old trees and snow and---"

Horvath felt it before he saw anything. A sudden chill went across his skin and through his bones, and his eyes left the screen for his secondary camera and re-focused on the main screen, just in time to see Iron Knight Three's GM II give a violent jerk, as though it had just been punched in the gut. Staggering back, its gyros misaligned, the Titans mobile suit partially turned around, and when its torso moved, Horvath could almost make out a large shape behind the GM II, looming out of the darkness. The screen flared to a blinding white, as the GM II suddenly became enveloped in an electrical corona. Horvath covered his eyes with his hand, trying to preserve his night vision, even as his other hand groped for the screen shift switch, cycling the camera to IR spectrum.

A second mobile suit was present on the screen, even as the white signature of the GM II began to crumple. The second shape, all spikes and hate and the telltale signs of Zeonic Corporation's design philosophy, snapped its arm backwards, and the GM II flew off of its feet, crashing through the trees as it was pulled into the forest, like a fish on a line. A cascade of colder snow and tree branches partially obscured Horvath's vision, but his audio receptors picked up a sickening hiss-sizzle sound emanating from the woods, a sound he did not recognize. Then, out of the forest stepped Iron Knight Three.

"Oh, my God," whispered someone on the open channel, as they apparently saw what Horvath had just noticed. From the center of the GM II's chest extended a long blade-like protrusion, right where the pilot's cockpit was located. The glow of a heat saber was very stark in contrast to the cooling metal that was the inactive GM II. The Titan suit moved further out of the trees, and Horvath could see what he could only catch a glimpse of before.

The Zeon Gouf Custom that had run Iron Knight Three through lifted the dead suit up a little higher, using its embedded heat saber as a lever, and walked it two more steps into the open. And there it stood, as though daring the Titans to avenge their dead comrade.

Over the open channel, in a German-accented voice Horvath had never heard before, there came the words: "Fools. Even Martin Luther once said 'Demons live in many lands, but particularly in Prussia.'".

The Gouf Custom's free arm, the one not holding the heat saber, reached over and almost casually tore the faceplate off of the GM II, throwing it to the ground in contempt, before swinging its 75mm Gatling shield forward and stitching a line of tracers between itself and one of the Hizacks of First Platoon. The Titan suit seemed to dance as it was riddled with the armor-piercers, collapsing to the ground in a heap, its pilot never even having a chance to pull the trigger of its 90mm cannon.

This spurred Delta Company into action, as the entire front line, six suits' strong, opened fire on the Zeon suit that had slain two of their brethren. The Gouf Custom weathered the barrage for a moment, using the dead GM II as a shield against the hail of incoming fire, before tossing it aside and vaulting backwards into the trees, followed by the crisscrossed tracers and particle beams of the Titans. As the forest swallowed it whole, Horvath noticed that its angry red mono-eye flared to life as it snapped off another shot from its 75mm, the rounds smacking another GM II in the head, knocking out its main camera. The Gouf Custom melted back into the depths of the forest, and the Titans charged after it, the Hizacks spraying fusillades as they pressed forward after the Zeon suit with the black eagle tattooed prominently on its right breast.

Horvath could recall seeing the black eagle whenever the Gouf Custom fired, but could not recall when he had begun screaming.

Garuda-class carrier Dauphin, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 15, 0087

Once the comm officer admitted that, yes, the channel was closed, Major Golan Tizard placed the commlink down on the console and stalked away, face pale with palpable rage. There was not a soul aboard Dauphin that could miss it. It was a rare occasion that Tizard ever became so angry as to incense him to the point of speechlessness. He glided past the tactical station without a sound, past his assembled staff officers, all the way to the far end of the bridge before stopping. Then, he stood there for a long, long set of moments, motionless. There was hardly a sound on the bridge for the duration of time it took the Titan to compose himself, and then:

"Mister Volkyr?" The question was spoken so quietly that if anyone had been straying their attention from the black-and-red-clad uniform, it would have gone unheard totally.

The dour G-3 of Operations glanced at his superior, ripping his eyes away from the illuminated tactical screen that displayed the map of Lower Saxony. "Yes, sir?"

Tizard turned around, and his face was the essence of a stormcloud. "All units: commence Liontamer immediately. Full mobilization as per the plan. Set Dauphin's new course for the nearest field capable of landing a Garuda and make certain Foxtrot Company is prepared to disembark at speed."

There was an awkward pause on the bridge as Tizard's words soaked in. The clock struck midnight, announcing the arrival of the fifteenth of November. Garrett Sajer's face twisted into something rapacious as what Tizard said hit home. "Excellent," was all the young Captain said as he ran towards the doors at the end of the bridge, where the hangar bay was located.

Tizard's eyebrow quirked at the rest of his command staff. "Well? What are you waiting for? I want on the ground in ten minutes or less, or Horvath won't be the only dead Titan officer on the field today. Make this happen."

As the Titans exploded into activity again, and the cacaphony of bridge operations reached its crescendo, Holt stepped beside his commander. "Sir? Isn't this too soon? Are you certain we should commit---?"

Tizard waved a hand, cutting his aide-de-camp off. "Horvath's stupidity has cost us the initiative as well as the element of surprise, and it is now readily apparent that whatever Herschel Cramer walked into, his destruction was absolute. I'll not sit by and have a Titans mobile company meet the same fate as the 103rd and not receive my pound of flesh in return. The fingers of my fist will close on the 10th Panzerkaempfer now instead of later, and I will still gain my victory on my terms. I will not be the mockery of the Titans because one of my subordinates was too foolish and impatient to obey me." Tizard's eyes slid over to stare at Holt, who actually recoiled from their intensity. "If we find Horvath's suit intact and operational, it will not be once I am done with him. Thanks to his ineptitude, the first field test of the Marasai will be against another Titan. Disobedience will not be tolerated, especially by my own commanders. Prepare my suit, Lieutenant, and then prepare your own."

Holt scrambled to obey, and Dauphin lurched downward and to the left as the giant carrier swung west towards its new destination.

Teutobergerwald, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 15, 0087

The Gouf Custom was picking them off, one suit at a time, and Connor Horvath realized that even with his entire Company, this one suit might very well win this fight. He popped off another blast from his beam rifle, the energy blowing through an oak and setting the remnants of the tree furiously ablaze. He was down nine suits now, and only one hit had been registered against the Zeon suit that moved through these woods like a wraith, striking and vanishing before retaliatory fire could take its toll. It was not only frustrating, it was frightening. A single pilot with one outdated mobile suit was making a mockery out of eleven Titans suits, and Horvath had already had to call up to Battalion for assistance, relayed via Avignon, which had not left the area.

He had formed up his remaining suits into something like a loose square, guns facing outward, as they slowly moved through the forest, shooting at anything that moved, hunting that which hunted them. Many of them were missing their main cameras, that being a location that this Gouf driver seemed to enjoy potshotting at range. Horvath marveled at the accuracy of the enemy pilot's shots: they rivaled what a good GM Sniper driver could do with pinpoint beam shots.

Another burst of tracer fire came from the right, the rounds thudding into the torso of a GM II, dropping the suit with yet another cockpit shot. The Gouf pilot seemed to take a liking to shooting GMs in the cockpit, while leaving the Hizacks crippled in other fashions. Horvath guessed it was just because the Hizack looked like a Zeon design, and the pilot's prejudices were just that exacting.

Another movement, and Horvath whirled and fired, his bolt missing the Gouf Custom by what seemed like inches, as the evil-looking mobile suit evaded to the left and sprinted away, out of sight.

"Is ANYONE able to see IR spectrum?" he pleaded onto the open channel at his Company.

"I am," said the cruel voice of the Gouf Custom's pilot, who enjoyed taunting them almost as much as torturing them.

"SHUT UP!!" shrieked Horvath at the comm, tired of hearing this devil mock him and his people.

"It hurts, does it not? 'The death of a friend is like the loss of a limb'; an apt proverb, is it not? How many limbs have you remaining, Titan?"

There was no change in vocal inflection, nothing to forewarn, but as the Zeon pilot spoke about the 'loss of a limb', the Gouf Custom burst out from behind a tree near the rear of the tactical formation and lashed out with its e-whip, striking a GM II and frying its electronics with its charge, removing the suit from action for a time. The other Titan suits opened fire, but the Gouf dropped one of the smoke grenades it had been confounding the Titans' visual abilities with and disappeared behind the concealing clouds.

"It is not your fault, really, any more than it was the fault of your Federation allies. 'Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel', after all, and you and yours are nothing but patriots."

"Would somebody please shoot this asshole?" cut in one of the Titans' pilots, Horvath was not certain who.

The Gouf Custom pilot laughed quietly. "'Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is', Titans. Surely in your eyes, I must be treading the stars themselves by now."

Another voice broke in: "Delta, this is Avignon! Major Tizard says help is on the way! Anything we can do?"

Horvath keyed the aerial frequency to ON. "Hell, yes!! Start levelling this whole goddamn forest! Torch the fucker out! It's just ONE GUY that's doing this to us!!"

Near Beverungen, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 15, 0087

The hull of RMS Fafnir, formerly known as Ruhrort, settled into the waters of the Weser gently as the two Z'Gok Es released it to float on its own. Wolfram La Vesta popped the hatch on his Hygogg and walked down the extended arm of the monstrous mobile suit to Fafnir's deck, heading for the bridge to activate the 1000-ton draft barge's engines. He did not need a lot of speed for this part of the run; the Z'Goks would provide most of the speed for the empty ship.

The three Zeon suits had physically carried the giant ship from the Lippe river estuary near Hamm all the way to the Weser near the town of Beverungen. That they had managed to traverse the countryside without being noticed at a higher rate of speed than originally intended, once La Vesta had decided to bypass Bad Pyrmont and wet the ship at an earlier point in the river instead. They would sail the ship the rest of the way north.

La Vesta reached the bridge and started flipping switches. "Nestor, I'm putting us at twelve knots, so I want you at eighteen if you can swing it."

"Roger, Sarge. I've got point from here on in, Sarge?"

"'Till I say otherwise, yeah."

"Roger that, Sarge."

The ship rumbled as its screw began to revolve towards its intended speed, but the barge did not move with Vito Taglienti's Z'Gok E clutching it in its talons. La Vesta confirmed the control panel's readings, then ran out of the ship and clambered up his Hygogg's arm. Time to make some more waves. The cockpit hatch closed behind him, bathing the interior in a pale green light. "Let's swim, froggies. Eighteen knots, and stay as deep as you can. We've been damn lucky so far, let's see if we can't keep it that way, eh?"

Aerzen, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 17, 0087

". . .tell me about his men. How were they handling all of this?"

"Like a bunch of high school jocks who'd just won Homecoming. They're all pros, even those two buck privates they had guarding us who looked barely old enough to shave. They took us down like we were nothing, then walked around that battlefield like they owned it. The ones who stayed in their suits I never got to talk to or see, but the others are all von Mellenthin's people to the core. Even the Marine looked up to him. Roberts, his name was, I think. Real hardcase, but stepped-to like the rest of them."

Balke flipped through his stack of papers. "John Roberts, Captain, Zeon Marine Corps, C-in-C of the 22nd Marine Battalion. Only reason he's not an ace is that he and his boys were busy blowing up buildings, bridges, and airfields instead of Type-61s. That 'Scarface' guy you mentioned fits a basic description of Commander Karl Weissdrake, C-in-C of the 555th Airborne, the guys who hit Lammersdorf. Karl picked up those facial souveniers getting his ass torched at Poitiers. Guess he lived through that, too."

"Guess so."

Balke turned to look at the two Titans. "So did we actually manage to kill any of these dicks back in the War? You wouldn't think so listening to this, would you?" He turned back around to face Dyson. "So you'd say his people have high morale at this point?"

"They won't break anytime soon, Captain," said Dyson, matter-of-factly.

"I was afraid of that. Continue, please."

"Von Mellenthin was merrily going about getting impatient as hell. This guy they were waiting for was really fucking late. . ."

Steinbaum, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 15, 0087

"I dunno, Deet," said de la Somme, voice a little worried despite his attempt to hush it, "he's really fucking late."

"Yes," agreed von Mellenthin, face like granite as he conferred with his command staff. "This is taking an unusual amount of time, even for him."

Weissdrake held up a hand. "I'll go look for him if you wish, General."

"No, that won't be necessary. Kapitaen Roberts, has Leutnant McKenna gathered all the data he needs from this little experiment?"

"Yes, General. He's confident we can replicate the same effect at any time, provided that the equipment is available."

"Then thermite the MagLab and start cloaking what we've done here. Let the Federation gnash its teeth in frustration trying to figure out how we circumvented the Minovsky Effect. I want us ready to move in an hour's time if possible. With luck, Oberst von Seydlitz will have joined us by then. Kommandant, what is the status of the children?"

De la Somme brushed some snow off of his head. "I'm not real certain, Deet. They're all asleep, and have been since the fight ended, but it's really more like some kinda coma than anything else. I'm stumped as to why or how, but I think it's some kinda reaction to them losing one of their own. I'm worried about that, too."

Von Mellenthin laid a hand on de la Somme's shoulder. "They'll be fine. Their loss is also our own, but we knew this was possible all along, didn't we?" That loss was a gory ruin in the cockpit of a Dom Tropen, along with a perfectly fine Zeon pilot.

"Yeah, but we're down five suits now, if Reinhardt lost Haskell and Dalyev's Zakus, plus Vlady's two Kaempfers. . .and Kerr." The smaller ace had not taken the loss of Nolan Kerr's Dom Tropen well, but was doing his best to keep it inside until a more suitable time. Ogun was also not grieving, but he had not come out of his Dom Tropen yet, and de la Somme was not willing to force the issue.

"Acceptable losses thus far," replied von Mellenthin, "but we must be careful not to lose any mo---" His sentence cut off as his head snapped up, eyes towards the sky, scanning with keen intent. "Did you all hear that?"

The Zeon officers strained to listen. Roberts shook his head. "Nothing, sir."

Von Mellenthin shook his head in return. "Oh, it's something, Kapitaen, and it's moving closer. We'd best make haste to leave this place."

"What do you hear, Deet?" asked de la Somme, his own senses becoming wired as he watched his brother scanning the sky.

"Trouble."

Teutobergerwald, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 15, 0087

All while being stalked like a dog that had attacked a toddler, Reinhardt von Seydlitz had been having his merry way with his pursuers. He had managed to get himself well-and-truly lost after the Cerberi had finally left him alone with his two dead 358th 'Unsullied' soldiers. The grief had faded to a nagging, painful sensation in the pit of his stomach, but it was not enough to crack his discipline, even over such matters as emotion control. He had not been particularly worried about the 10th Panzerkaempfer and how they must have fared against Cramer's Federals; McKenna's magnetic grid trap, combined with the plastic white phosphorus smoke and the preparedness of the Zeon under von Mellenthin's command would have all blended together perfectly into the best possible situation for his people and the worst possible for the Federation. Von Seydlitz was a pretty good estimator on outcomes, given enough data to quantify a conclusion based on predictive patterns. In this case, the Zeon had it, hands down, even without himself being present for the battle.

He had been slowly tracing his way back, seeking a landmark that he could cross-reference with his GPS to give his exact location in relation to the location of the 10th Panzerkaempfer units, when the Garuda bearing Titans markings had overflown him. He had followed it up until he realized that it was combat-dropping mobile suits, and that they were making a bee-line for the forest, heading southwest at a good clip. He was impressed by the Titans' ability to recover from a drop and move with good order, but drill and ceremony was not an immediate indicator of combat skill. There was only one dowsing rod that would measure the depths of that particular well.

The element of surprise had been all von Seydlitz's, and it had become very clear to him that the 'Black Eagle' would be in his prime with this Titans Company. He had killed or crippled nearly half their number, suffering only a particle burn that nearly slagged his shield in return. They moved like demons but fought like children. Not a veteran amongst them. With the scraps of Zeon's army, we could crush the Titans like an egg under a tank's tread! Where are their men of power, their champions?

A 90mm splintered the trunk of one of the trees he hunkered down behind, raining pieces of the old, cold wood over the head of his Gouf Custom. When the shower was over, he crouched the machine even lower, duck-walking it to another copse as an evasionary measure. The Titans commander, the one in the dolled-up GM II, had begun using a square formation to move his people, and they were systematically sweeping out every possible hiding spot, all while driving him further and further southwest. Little did they know that southwest was the direction von Seydlitz had wanted to go from the start, and his continuous taunts and sniping at their suits' heads was only spurring them onward towards their own destructions.

Then, inexplicably, they stopped.

Von Seydlitz took the opportunity to move again, watching them via IR. What are they waiting for? He brought up the 75mm Gatling arm, resting it across several tree branches, as he drew aim on one of the Hizacks. I will smoke this insensate wretch, and that should get them moving aga---WHAT??

In his infra-red filtered main screen, the forest was lighting up, as though dawn was breaking, but it was far too soon for that. Von Seydlitz abandoned his sniper's stance and shifted the Gouf Custom's camera to where the light was originating, seeking its source.

With its half-kilometer wingspan, the Garuda transport that had deposited the Titans Company he had been mauling with fair ease came into view, spitting tongues of fire from its ten laser turrets, setting the forest alight with its wrath. Beams lanced in all directions from the massive craft, and where those beams touched, fire erupted and things died.

Von Seydlitz cursed silently. They are trying to trap me in a ring of fire! Time to flee, Prince of Brandenburg-Preussen! Without any further attempts at stealth, von Seydlitz wheeled the Gouf Custom around, stood, and ran, even as the Garuda swung around to make another pass on the forest.



Avignon's huge wings cast a shadow blacker even than the forest itself as it brought its firepower to bear, turrets blazing away at the zigzagging IR form that had been positively identified as a Zeon Gouf-type mobile suit. The suits of Delta Company were fanning out in a line formation, playing hound to the Zeon's fox, though with this hunt, the hounds had an elephant on their side in the form of the mammoth Garuda.

"He's continuing southwest at a good speed. We're tracking him, but he's dodging everything we're throwing and plowing right through the places we've set on fire. I don't think he intends to stop, Lieutenant," explained the pilot.

"Keep on him, Avignon, he's gotta stop sometime. Then he's ours."

"I'll take your word for it, Lieutenant, but if this prick stops he's toast. We'll keep trying to cut---JESUS!!" The pilot broke off as several sharp bangs! echoed through the cockpit, and licks of fire and chunks of armor plate went spinning off into the atmosphere. More bangs sounded through the deck plating, echoing throughout the vast, empty transport. "That motherfucker is shooting at us!"

"What'd you think he'd do, blow kisses at you? 'Sides, those seven-five mikes-mikes aren't gonna hurt your bird. Keep driving him out of the forest, Avignon, don't let up!"

"Roger that, Delta One." More bangs as the Gouf tried to swat the Garuda away. The transport responded with another furious series of laser bursts from its turrets, igniting another several acres of woodland and forcing the Gouf to withdraw even further.

Aerzen, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 17, 0087

Balke scribbled a note on his palmpad, a technological affectation he had acquired before leaving Kassel. "And what happened then?"

Dyson blew a bang out of her face with a quick huff. "Before that point, the Zeon had been busy, but not in any rush. After von Mellenthin's little powwow, something changed in their whole scheme. Von Mellenthin started barking orders here and there, and things got real active. The Zeeks in their suits started gathering up all the weapons and ammo they'd stripped from our suits, as well as their own dead. That was a lot of guns, way more than what their own suits needed for operations. But even the ones that use beam weapons grabbed and went, too."

"Impressions?"

"I'd say they were a little bit upset."

Steinbaum, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 15, 0087

"It's time for you both to leave," said von Mellenthin to the Dysons. "Immediately."

Lief interlaced his fingers behind his neck, stretching. "What's the rush, Spaceman? We were just getting to start knowing each other."

Von Mellenthin actually seemed a bit hurried. "I don't have the time to discuss this with you. You know what to do, now get in your suits and leave here, before I rescind your safe conduct pass through MY country." There was a quiet rumbling sound that had begun to emanate from the ground, barely perceptible under the footstomps of the Zeon mobile suits as they moved to and fro.

Dyson could see Zeon moving with a definite purpose. De la Somme almost literally leapt into his mobile suit, the hatch coming very close to closing on his trailing leg just before he yanked it inside, sealing him within the huge machine. The light given off by the still-burning Guncannon Heavyarms was becoming brighter, or so it seemed.

Von Mellenthin grabbed one of the twins that had remained to guard their prisoners. "Get your suits going. Leave nothing behind except the dead. You," he pointed at the other, "get these Earthenoids out of my sight. Let them crawl back to Bonn to tell their overlords of their failure." The General faced his captives once more. "I've stripped your suits of all of their firepower, including your head vulcans, so don't get any ideas about trying to fight the good fight. You're piloting construction suits, for all intentions, so do the right thing and leave this place."

Dyson could stand it no more. "Sure, but why don't you get around to telling us what the fuck is going on first??"

The rumbling sound was getting louder. Dyson glanced over in the direction of Cramer's crucified and immolated mobile suit, and realized that there was a light in the sky coming from behind it. A Gelgoog Cannon clomped its way past them, hydraulics whining as it range-walked past, but Dyson did not miss what appeared to be heavy-caliber tracer fire arc into the sky from somewhere deeper in the forest.

Von Mellenthin saw her recognize something. "Any further explanation necessary, Oberleutnant? We are about to receive uninvited guests, and you will be in unarmed mobile suits. That puts your life expectancies at roughly eleven seconds apiece, comparable to the battlefield lifespan of a Cav Scout from the 21st Century. My advice is to run and not look back."



The rumble became almost deafening, as the huge form of a Titans Garuda mobile transport flying nap-of-the-earth exploded from over the treetops, blasting the snow from them with its titanic engines' wash. The Zeon reacted like ants that suddenly had their nest kicked. As the massive craft cruised over them, spitting laser fire in every direction, another line of tracer fire spanggged impotently off of the Garuda's armor, joined in short order by the firepower of the rest of the 10th Panzerkaempfer. The Garuda overshot the Zeon position and began to swing around for another pass, turrets unrelenting in their fire.

From the treeline near the burning Guncannon Heavyarms, a Zeon Gouf Custom, looking a bit battered and scorch-marked, burst from the forest, running practically backwards, stagger-stepping to regain its balance. Wheeling completely around to face its rear, the suit raised its 75mm Gatling and ripped a barrage of fire into the woods behind it, firing at something that did not hesitate to fire back. Three of the trees near the Gouf Custom simply vaporized in particle beam torrents, and near-miss large-caliber rounds began tearing apart the ground nearby.

De la Somme's Gouf Custom raced to assist the new arrival, heat saber drawn and shield forward as it charged. The guards that von Mellenthin had told to go was sprinting full-tilt for their idle Gelgoog Jaegers. Von Mellenthin himself had turned his back to his prisoners, face alight with rage at the sight of the Garuda, and of the Titans mobile suits that were tromping out of the woods.

The black-and-red mobile suits came out in a line, guns blazing at the Zeon as they came. Most of them bore battle scars, ostensibly from the weaponry of the Gouf Custom they had been pursuing. Caught with their britches down, the Zeon suits recovered from their surprise, mustering to engage the Titans in combat. The Dom Tropen joined its cousin Dom in a high-speed drive-by, spraying 90mm at the Titans while the Dom skimmed past, raking the treeline with 880mm bazooka fire. Great gouts of frozen earth and pieces of old trees already shredded by the fight with the 103rd MI launched into the air on columns of flame. Titans suits dove for cover or moved tactically to get out of the way. De la Somme's Gouf Custom ran INTO the forest and behind the Titans' line before any of them could get off a decent shot at the speeding suit, then came back around and fell on the Titans' rear, forcing them to commit suits to keeping the ace from massacring them all.

The Gelgoog Jaegers came to life just as the Garuda came around, its turrets rejoining the battle. The twin suits, the three silver circles of the 555th Airborne emblazoned on their shoulders, brought up their hyperaccurate beam rifles and split up, alternating between moving in synchonistic tandem and snapping off shots at the armored leviathan that bore down on them. The beams were doing little to stop the Garuda, which was armored like a battleship, but they did get its attention, as more and more turrets devoted themselves to blasting at the Gelgoog Jaegers than at the rest of the Zeon, or the forest, which was burning quite nicely. Another Gelgoog, an S-type command unit, joined the Jaegers' attempts to bring down the Garuda, adding its own fire to the mix.



Von Mellenthin stood in the midst of this battle, unarmored and unheeding of any danger, while his captives lay on the ground, arms covering their heads for cover. Dyson looked up and saw him standing there, concussion from nearby explosions and near-misses making his greatcloak flutter like the wind would a cape. His face was a mask of hatred, his features twisted into something atavistic. After another moment of surveying the battlefield, which was something of a chaotic disaster as brouhaha's went, he started walking (Walking! she thought as she saw it) towards the Zaku High-Mobility that was his own mobile suit, thus far untouched by the fighting.

Lief Dyson was not a small man, even for a mobile suit pilot. Several years in the Service, combined with a totalitarian exercise regimen and his youth, made him a much stronger man than he looked. Dyson knew that her husband was no weakling, who had grown up with three older brothers and had to hold his own against them even before joining the Federation Armed Forces; that his impetuousity got him into more trouble than he needed to be in was a given, considering his temper, but he was usually able to fight his way out of a bad situation, or at least give as good as he got. It was that impetuousity that made him get up from the ground in the middle of a mobile suit-sized firefight, leave his wife's side, and throw himself at Dietrich von Mellenthin.

The Zeon General, for all his thirty-one years of life, had been genetically and environmentally conditioned to be the pinnacle of a soldier as well as a statesman. His strength had allowed him to be the last man standing on the Field of May, facing fourteen other designed warriors whose skills were equal to his own. He had been in more instances of hand-to-hand single combat before the age of ten than most professional boxers and full-time street fighters had in their entire careers. He was a champion bare-knuckle boxer and a hammer thrower, and those were just his after-school hobbies whe he was growing up. The greatcloak about his shoulders was not just for warmth; it was a trophy of his own physical acumen against a deadly predator, one he had killed with his bare hands. This did not mean that he could not be surprised when a lesser being chose to attack him, as in this case when Lief Dyson hit him from behind and tried to put him in a cross-arm chokehold.

Lief Dyson knew exactly what he was doing; this was a required technique for Federation personnel, basic hand-to-hand stuff. Fast and simple, this chokehold would immobilize, then render von Mellenthin unconscious in about three seconds' time, without injuring him further, and Lief would secure his sidearm all at the same time. Thanks to the Titans' providing the necessary distraction and von Mellenthin making the mistake of turning his back on two unarmed yet unbound Federation soldiers, this was their chance to end Nemesis right here and now, and capture the escapee General alive. This was a textbook maneuver for him, which was why he was shocked and confused when he discovered himself going from the man initiating the attack to the one on the ground, on his ass.

Angela Dyson had never seen anyone move as fast or as fluidly as von Mellenthin did just as Lief reached him and actually touched him. Then, Lief was on the dirt, and von Mellenthin just kept walking towards his suit. She could see the expression of total confusion on her husband's face, just before she had to put her face down as another nearby blast rained dirt and wood on top of her, and the ground heaved beneath her. Adrenalin flooding her system, she levered herself up and grabbed the biggest stick she could find, then charged. Lief grabbed at her ankle as she ran past him, bludgeon ready to knock von Mellenthin silly, trying to stop her, but he missed.

Dyson heard the whistle of the stick as it swung through the air with all the force she could muster behind it. While not as physically strong as her husband, she was faster, and more accurate with hand-to-hand and melee techniques. Von Mellenthin sidestepped her swing without even turning around, and made her look slow doing it. She recovered instantly, turning her follow-through into an upwards slash, as though she were using a sword. The General simply lifted an arm and brought it downward, intercepting her makeshift baseball bat with a counterblow, and the stick shattered in her hands.

At least he had the decency to STOP and do that! her mind chastened her as she stared at the useless piece of wood left in her hands. Von Mellenthin, silhouetted for a moment by an airburst explosion, a reminder of the battle raging around them, smiled a tiny little smile at her, like he would to a child. THAT pissed her off.

"Surrender," was all she could get out of her mouth.

The blazing ruin of a Titans Hizack staggered past in the background, collapsing into the forest to lie in a heap. Von Mellenthin closed his eyes. "Make me," was his response.

She did not know why, but her hands dropped to her sides and she said: "I can't."

Von Mellenthin's grin got a little wider. "Of course you cannot. No one can. Not today, at least." He turned away from her, the very picture of regal confidence. "Another time, Oberleutnant."

And Angela Dyson knew that she could not, and hot tears of frustration were her only comfort as she watched him walk away, climb into his Zaku Hi-Mo, and wave snidely at her as the hatch closed and the great machine went to war.

Aerzen, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 17, 0087

"You're lucky he didn't just kill the both of you. He can do that, you know," said Balke, amazed that neither of them were seriously injured in that episode of what seemed to him to be suicidal idiocy.

"Guess he liked us or something." Dyson leaned forward. "I've met professional athletes who can't move as fast as he did. His reflexes were unreal, and this is coming from a girl who makes her living with having good reflexes. He dumped my husband onto the ground like he would flick a penny into a pond, all while walking through a firefight! A mobile suit firefight, complete with air bombardment!"

Balke did not respond immediately, instead checking over his copy of the initial debrief that she had given Major Tizard's Titans yesterday. "And. . .here is where you and your husband left the field with your GMs?"

Dyson nodded, slumping back into her chair. "I'm sure we made quite a sight, too, the Headless and the Handless. We didn't find out about the battle's outcome until we got to Kassel quite a few hours later."

"Well, you didn't miss anything there," said Balke, derisive. "The Zeeks came out on top with that one, too. Tizard's hiding it, but most of Delta Company is gone, including Lieutenant Horvath, who apparently ran afoul of de la Somme sometime in the fight. And things," he waved a hand towards the window, the one that faced east, "have been like this ever since."

"At least we know where they are. That's something."

Balke nodded slowly, staring into space. "Yeah. Maybe."

Steinbaum, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 15, 0087

The battle was turning in favor of the Zeon, even with the almost-invincible Garuda in support of the Titans. The damage to Delta Company at the hands of Reinhardt von Seydlitz was too extensive, and the shock at being forced to engage multiple targets where before there had been one was long to linger and slow to disperse. The confusion was almost absolute on the part of the stunned Titans, while the Zeon moved with the well-oiled precision that a veteran unit developed over the length of a campaign.

The three Gelgoogs of the 555th 'Triple-Nickel' Airborne had been designated as the ones responsible for getting rid of that annoying Garuda that kept making combat passes over the battlefield, filling the combat zone with laser fire and destruction everywhere its shadow passed. While it was not really hurting the Zeon suits, it was forcing them to take into account its volume of fire, and compensate, making this fight last longer than it should.

Where the Titans were really hurting was in close combat. Even equipped with beam sabers, the blitz of Antares de la Somme and the pleasure in which the Zeon closed in on their foes rendered the more-advanced Titans technology inert. Even the vaunted speed of the less-advanced but more-nimble Hizacks was doing them little good, as the Zeon refused to allow them room to maneuver. The Titans were simply getting hacked apart, when heavy-caliber fire from the high-speed Doms weren't making them dive aside or risk being blown apart by a bazooka shell. What the Goufs did not cut down with their heat sabers, the remaining Zeon simply sniped at. The Titans numerical superiority had been whittled down to a mere fraction of their former numbers, and Lieutenant Connor Horvath's GM II lay among the fallen, slit open from neck to navel by the 'Killing Star'. The ace's Gouf Custom had leapfrogged over one of Horvath's own Hizacks to get at his GM II, slashed apart the Titan suit's vitals, then casually crescent-kicked the Hizack into the line of fire of one of the Doms, where it burst with great flair.

The single Zaku Hi-Mo, not much removed in mechanics from a Hizack, moved in and out of the fight with the customary leisure of someone who knew when and where he was needed, using its twin MMP-80 90mm machinecannons with deadly accuracy, the same way it had with Cramer's Guncannon Heavyarms. A burst here, a blast there, wherever it was, something either became crippled or someone died. Few attempted to engage the Zaku directly, mostly because its victims were already tied up with another Zeon suit. The only thing the Zaku was not hurting was the Garuda.



"Those goddamn suit drivers just told me to piss off!" complained Avignon's comm officer. He had just ordered the CO of Fourth Platoon, the highest-ranking Titan on the field now, to withdraw back into the forest and disengage the Zeon. The order had been as politely refused as much as anyone in the middle of a fight for their lives was willing to be mannerly.

"What'd you expect? Them to thank us? That moron Horvath--" the pilot's voice was strained as he gritted his teeth, wrestling with the stick to keep the giant craft in its turning arc even as the Zeon poured particle blasts into its armored hide, "---walked into a goddamn trap! Where the hell are our people supposed to go? Look at the fucking forest you're trying to get them to run through! It's practically an inferno!"

Another bolt sizzled across the bow of Avignon as one of the three Gelgoogs that was tormenting it capped off another shot. The laser turrets of the Garuda were blazing away fervently, but the Gelgoogs were too swift for the human gunners to maintain their target locks. To make matters worse, the Gelgoog Jg-types had begun pinpoint sniping the laser turrets. Unwilling to dispense Minovsky particles for cover and lose communications with the Titans on the ground, Avignon had set itself up for trouble.

"Low-level combat pass. Let's hit them with everything we've got, point-blank!" The transport made a steep drop in altitude, the treetops almost brushing its hull as it overflew them.

The Teutoberg Forest was a conflagration. The path of the Gouf Custom had prompted Avignon to light up a swath of fire almost three kilometers wide right through the center of the old woods. With the battle raging below, there was no one and no way to put the fires out. And while the forest burned, men died.

"Dauphin to Avignon. Status report."

The comm officer mashed a button on his console, even as the Garuda rocked from another series of Zeon particle hits. "This is Avignon. We're not doing so well, Major. Delta Company is down to five suits still able to fight, and we're taking heavy fire from the Zeeks. The Delta leftovers refuse to leave the field, and we're having trouble giving them fire support."

"Understood. Foxtrot will be there in four minutes. The others are already moving. Tell Delta to hold out for as long as they can. The same goes for y----"

The comm officer never got to hear the rest of the message, as the bulkhead above the cockpit of Avignon suddenly burst apart, venting the pressurized interior to the atmosphere. Stricken, the great machine began its final descent to the ground.



Karl Weissdrake's Gelgoog Commander leapt from the top of the crippled (and brainless) Garuda, using the Gelgoog's powerful thrusters to land the suit without harm. A true stroke of luck, that, he thought as he watched the massive craft plunge into the raging inferno it had created. He deactivated the double-bladed beam saber he had used to carve the pilot's compartment apart when he landed. The two Gelgoog Jaegers raced up to join his suit, beam rifles at the ready.

This fight is all but over now. The Titans were crushed. Von Seydlitz's guerilla hit-and-run attacks, plus the fury of the Zeon counterattack, had brought low the Titans this day. Weissdrake counted the Zeon suits still standing, and was pleased that aside from some serious wounds to some titanium and steel hides, all of them were still up and moving.

"10th. To me." That was von Mellenthin, who was putting the final touches on a downed GM II that still had some fight and a head vulcan with ammuntion left. "Gather their weapons and ammunition. Now that Oberst von Seydlitz has deigned to join us, we can depart. Are my messengers away?"

"Affirmative, General," came Roberts over the channel. "They're heading south at a good clip."

"Excellent. We shall head north, to grid coordinates Hotel-Bravo five-seven-seven-one-one-eight, to rendezvous with---"

"INCOMING!!" yelled the synchronized voices of the Foxe twins.

"Where? WHERE?? Lemme at 'em!! I'll give 'em what-for!" blabbed de la Somme, Gouf Custom spinning around, mono-eye snapping to and fro, seeking targets.

Weissdrake tracked on his men's facing. "There! Aerial target, coming in at eleven o'clock!"

"And another at seven o'clock. The Titans seek to cut us off," noted von Seydlitz dourly, which for him meant 'neutrally'.

"Is the northward still clear?" asked von Mellenthin, and Weissdrake could almost smell the beginnings of some horrible plan cooking in the General's psyche.

"Yeah, it's clear," rumbled Margul from his Kaempfer. "I'll lead." The evil-looking suit gave a quick burst from its thrusters and took off running.

"And I'LL follow!! After him, boys!!" De la Somme whooped like a schoolkid and took off running after the Kaempfer.

"If we get split up, new rendezvous point is two klicks north of the last one. Don't be afraid." Von Mellenthin's confidence was contagious. "I've been preparing for this."

Were it anyone else, Weissdrake would have called 'bullshit' on that last statement, but this was Dietrich von Mellenthin, and his Will was Law. The scarred man rubbed exhaustion from his eyes. "Let's scoot, twins; we've got an appointment and it's not with the Titans."

The 10th Panzerkaempfer Division, all eleven suits strong and/or damaged, began a double-time north, the smoke from the Teutoberg Forest Firestorm concealing them as well as the plastic white phosphorus had, even as the incoming Garudas began disgorging Titans mobile suits from their hangar bays, to land on the earth with feet of fire and wings of gossamer silk.

Aerzen, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 17,0087

"You've been very cooperative, Lieutenant. I wish every interview I've ever done went as well," said Balke, smiling as he stood up. He held out his hand for her to take as she stood, which she accepted.

"Thank you for not making this hard on me either, Captain. What happens now?"

"Now?" Balke shrugged noncommitally. "Now we do what the Titans have to do: wait. When the supermonkeys get antsy, they'll jump, but until then, we wait. Or, that's what I have to do, really. You are probably going to either get shipped back to Kassel or find yourself a mobile suit and go kick someone's ass. With luck, it'll be the latter and not the former, if you get my drift."

Dyson's eyes looked a little wary. "A mobile suit? To fight them again?"

"Heck, yeah," Balke winked at her. "What von Mellenthin forgot was that today's a new day. Today, you might just be able to make him surrender, you know."

Dyson nodded. "Maybe you're right, Captain. I'd better go."

"Drop by anytime. Anything else you can remember that could help us, let me know, okay?" He showed her out the door, and the two Titans followed her, leaving Balke alone in the room.

The Intelligence officer walked over to the window, the one that faced east, staring out beyond Aerzen's border at a point about six miles distant, where he could just make out the blurry shape of a clock tower. That clock tower stood in the town of Hameln, which had become the Firebase Hameln as of noon, two days ago, when the 10th Panzerkaempfer had marched into the town to escape its Titan pursuers.

"Damn you to Hell, Dietrich von Mellenthin; you and all your rat-bastard sons of bitches," hissed Balke at the clock tower on the horizon, where the Devil had come to make his home.

Hameln, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 15, 0087

The most major and economical cultural center in the region of Weserbergland, Hameln had sprouted up in the year 851 AD around a Benedictine monastery. From this little seed of relatively banal beginnings, Hameln's history was a mishmash of ups and downs: the little market colony once under the dominion of the Duke of Braunschweig gained its independance in 1277, only to lose all its children in 1284 in the Exodus, later to become the tale of the Pied Piper; in 1664, the town was fortified and became known as the "Gibraltar of the North" for its Hannoverian impermeability, only to fall prey to Napoleon Bonaparte in 1808, who had the fortress destroyed; in 1867 Hameln became Prussian-owned, only to nearly be burnt to the ground in World War II, which succeeded in obliterating most of its town records. The millstone that sat on the civic arms of the town was often wondered to be around the collective necks of the citizenry, due to Hameln's spotty history.

For the most part, legends and lore aside, the folk of Hameln got on as they always had: with perseverance. They just didn't let things get to them, or at least, that's what they tried to do. A place that had survived the Piper, Napoleon, and World War II, certainly could handle anything else with little effort. 'Anything else' also included the One-Year War and the coming of the Zeon. The 14th Terrestrial Mobile Division, hot on the heels of the hellriding 10th Panzerkaempfer Division that had simply bypassed all of Germany in its race for Paris, had stopped over in Hameln for a day or so and then withdrew back to the east in the face of several Federation Army Groups that were mustering for Operation Odessa. The Federals also stopped in for a day or two, sampled what the town had to offer, and then moved on. The One-Year War had spared Hameln any pains, and not a shot was fired in the town limits. And Hameln moved on.

It came as something of a shock to the citizens this morning to hear the sounds of heavy-caliber weapons fire coming from the south, and moving closer as time passed. They had heard the Seydlitz Proclamation just like everyone in Europe had, but had not been overly concerned with Nemesis. They'd simply bought out the region of bottled water. said their prayers, and went about their daily business. But actual gunfire, and moving towards them, now that was an attention-getter. As the hours passed and the noises of furious combat crept ever-closer, the streets began to empty of people. Some even started some preliminary packing when smoke began to appear in the air from some point in the distance. Most just got on their knees and prayed to St. Vicelinus, who had been born in Hameln, for protection from whatever nightmare was descending upon their town. Even the Polizei prayed.

When the citizens could actually see the explosions as the fighting drew nearer, the Catholic bishop began to ring the bell in the church tower, warning those who could hear it that trouble was coming and that the door of the cathedral were open for refuge. A good portion of the 16,000 residents heeded the call, and soon the pews were full. The rest flooded the Lutheran chapel, until it was standing-room only; those who did not go to either stayed indoors and at home.

After a time, it became apparent that the fighting was not drawing any closer, but that a loud clanging sort of thump was, and that it was shaking the very ground as it sounded. The Lutheran church, on the western half of the town, heard it pass them by with a noise like the Host of Heaven clashing cymbals all in unison, but none dared look to see what was causing the ruckus. The noisemaker crossed the bridge over the Weser on Muensterstrasse and continued into the heart of Hameln, which lay on the eastern side of the river, and came to a halt in front of the Catholic cathedral.

Inside the old church, everyone, including the dead in the graveyard, had heard the thunderous noise, and where it had stopped. After a moment or three, there was a loud TAP, TAP, TAP at the closed doors of the cathedral, as if God Himself was knocking at the door. The bishop mustered his courage in the face of adversity, calmed his flock as best he could, feeling death was at his doorstep, and left the nave and made his way towards the doors, not listening to the pleas of the people who had come to trust him. With all his regalia in place and peace in his heart if not in his mind, he unlatched the door and opened it, ready to face Hell itself. He nearly dropped his jaw open at what he saw.

In the snow-encrusted courtyard of the cathedral was a Zeon mobile suit, one that had seen better days. Its armor was pitted and scarred, its shield a mass of twisted metal. The giant machine was down on one knee, deactivated heat saber grounded point first as if the mobile suit were praying to it. It was even bowed over in supplication, like a wounded knight kneeling to pray. A ray of sunlight managed to pierce the cloud cover for a moment, striking the mobile suit on its head and shoulders. It was picturesquely awesome, even if the recipient centerpiece of the picture was a broad-shouldered, spiky, Cyclopean machine of Spaceborne warfare. The bishop stared at the monstrous machine, while the sounds of weapons fire echoed in the background.

The Gouf Custom, white star-and-sword on its breast, crossed itself like any penitent would, before the great red eye dimmed and its hatch opened, disgorging a hyper little man who tossed his helmet back into the cockpit as he leapt to the ground and ran over to the bishop.

"Hey, howdy," said the manic pilot, crazed grin on his sweat-soaked and filthy face, reeking of mobile suit, combat, and death. "Just the man I've come to see. Got a minute for a God-fearing man, Padre?"

"I--I--" sputtered the bishop, "who ARE you?"

"Me?" laughed the pilot. "I'm Antares, but I'm just the message boy. See, my boss, Deet, he and his troops are out there fighting the Titans, and they're doing pretty good seeing as how it's a running fight and there's, like, a zillion Titans and shit--ooops, sorry about the language slip there---"

"It--it's fine, my son, now please---" interjected the bishop in vain, because the pilot didn't miss a beat.

"---but we're really tired and we've been fighting for over eight hours while on the move now and my boss, who's also my brother, but so is Reinhardt and he's my boss, too, well, they sent me to find you---" the pilot craned his neck past the bishop, a strange zip-zip-zip kind of motion more reminiscent of a bird or a lizard's movements than a man's, "---you aaaaaaaaand, who the hell was it? OH, yeah!! It was YOU and the Buergermeister I was supposed to find!! 'S he in here? YO!!! Booger-master!! C'mon out if you're in there! I gots to have a word wit' you!"

"Look," said the bishop, trying to calm the little man down, "would you please explain what all this is about?"

The pilot blinked at the bishop. "Ritus ara." he said, as if to say 'Stupid, what did you think I was doing?'

"B-b-beg pardon?" stammered the bishop.

"RITUS ARA!!" yelled the pilot. "RITUS ZUFLUCHTSORT!! My BOSS--"

"--Deet--" confirmed the bishop, nodding.

"---wants to invoke the Ritus ara. He wants to request Sanctuary for he and his troops, from you, in your town, and he wants it right now." The pilot crossed his arms and shut up, waiting for an answer.

It took a little while for the bishop to let it sink in. "Wait one minute, please. I'll be back."

"Take your time, Pops," said the pilot, pulling a neon green Yo-Yo out of his trouser pocket, "it's just lives we're talking about here."

The imperative in the pilot's words was not lost on the bishop, any more than the sounds of warfare that rang in the distance. Closing the door on the kneeling Gouf Custom and the Yo-Yo-twirling Antares de la Somme, the bishop went to go track down Hameln's mayor.



"I'd like to help you," said the Buergermeister von Hameln, the mayor of Hameln, to the Zeon pilot with the Yo-Yo and the Commander's rank tabs, "but according to the bishop, the rite of Sanctuary was abolished in the 1800s, and is no longer recognized by any authority, be it Church or secular." There were children playing on and around the kneeling Gouf Custom now, as a crowd had begun to gather. The pilot, along with some child he had brought with him, was in the open cockpit of the war machine, looking down at the Buergermeister and the bishop as they discussed the situation.

"My boss---"

"---Deet---" confirmed both the bishop and the mayor in unison.

"---is aware of the history, but he asks it anyway, and according to him, if both of you snotsuckers agree to it and tell the Titans, then by Federation law they have to give over and leave us alone for as long as we're within the town limits." De la Somme glanced at his filthy fingernails even as he adjusted Erik on his lap. The boy was still in a daze, barely awake, and mostly unresponsive, which worried de la Somme greatly. "We didn't wanna bring this shit here, but here it is. You gonna help us, or not?"

The mayor spread his hands wide. "Even if I said 'yes', it would change nothing, so the answer is 'no'. We cannot help you."

De la Somme sighed, then reached over and flipped a switch. "They say 'fuck you', Deet. They say you ain't got no smoke, Deet."

A cacaphony of noise emanated loud enough that it seemed half the town could hear it. The crashing noises of a serious fight were deafening, but the roar of the voice on the other end was VERY audible. "YOU TELL BOTH THOSE LOW-GENE WORMS THAT IF THEY SAY 'NO' TO THEIR EMPEROR ONCE MORE, I WILL MAKE ALL OF HAMELN'S PEOPLE DISAPPEAR, NOT JUST THE FUCKING CHILDREN!!!" The sound of an explosion and a hideous screeech was what ended the transmission.

De la Somme flipped the switch back to OFF and shrugged. "Well, there it is. I think he's gonna bring the boys in real soon, so you'd might as well say 'yes' and save yourselves a lot of ass-augering, if you get the drift."



After a moment's conference, the mayor looked up at Titans Major Golan Tizard, eyes downcast. "The town and bishopric of Hameln have granted the soldiers of the 10th Panzerkaempfer Holy Sanctuary. No man may harm them or their property for so long as they remain within the limits of the town. Likewise, the town and bishopric of Hameln deny entry to any personnel of or affiliated with the Titans or the Earth Federation for the duration of the 10th Panzerkaempfer's Sanctuary."

The Zeon suits had taken up fire positions throughout the center of Hameln, facing outward in all directions. The Titans' suits were arrayed in a ring around the entire town, five Companies of mobile suits. Tizard's Marasai and Garrett Sajer's Barzam, along with a four-Hizack escort, stood just on the far side of Hameln's town limit, hatches open.

Sajer's face was a mask of disbelief, while Tizard's was coolly neutral. As what happened dawned on the younger Titans Captain, he began to laugh.

"What the hell are you jabbering about, you jolly, fat fool?!" spat Sajer down at the mayor of Hameln. "The Titans are ABOVE local law, much less a goddamn worthless claim as this horseshit! Get out of the goddamn way and let us kill those--"

"We accept the terms," said Tizard with little inflection in his voice, stopping Sajer's rant dead in its tracks.

"WHAT??" squeaked out Sajer, shocked beyond rationality.

"Let's go, Captain. Herr Buergermeister, kindly inform Major General von Mellenthin that this move is well-played, but this is not over by far, and we will outlast them in the waiting game. Have a pleasant evening." Tizard raised the Marasai to its feet from its kneeling position. It was untouched by combat, unlike the Hizacks, which looked like some child had hacked scoops out of their armor and attacked the paint with a fistful of nails. With that, the Titans' suits began their march to their lines.

Tizard keyed his radio as his hatch closed. "Lieutenant Wolstead, I want a field HQ set up in," he checked his reference map on his tactical display, "Aerzen, and I want it there NOW. Tell the Battalion commanders that I want a ring of black around this entire town, complete with checkpoints. NOTHING goes in or out without our knowing it. While you're at it, get Captain Balke and his merry little band of Federals up here ASAP."

"Yes, sir." Wolstead sounded as confused as Sajer had.

Tizard thumbed the radio to Sajer's suit. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing, aren't you, Captain?"

"You MIGHT say that, sir," came Sajer's fuming voice, "when we could level the whole stinking town and blast all those Zeeks to Hell and gone RIGHT NOW!"

"And accomplish what, Captain?" asked Tizard in his quiet voice. "Sixteen thousand dead civilians, all for eleven Zeon? And what if von Mellenthin is expecting to be attacked here? Will he pull another Metz, and blow apart the Titans in a pyrrhic victory that will cripple us right when we're needed the most? I think not, Captain." The Marasai lengthened its stride, forcing the Barzam and the Hizacks to increase their own gaits to keep up. "The time will come, Captain, when the Zeon will have to leave Hameln; when the town kicks them out, when impatience sets in, when whatever timeframe they have demands it, they will have to leave. All we have to do is wait, and then we will have them. Besides, I owe it to von Mellenthin for this little desperation scheme. Enacting a long-dead rite in conjunction with Federation Status of Forces Agreement 1014 was brilliant."

"What's 'Agreement 1014', sir?"

"That's the one that says that each civilian population has the right to deny services to Federation personnel, provided the public opinion warrants such a declaration. It's a post-War legal ruling in response to the amount of looting and all that nonsense that Federation soldiers engaged in on Terra during the War. Unfortunately, we must obey it, for circumstances' sake if for no other reason. This will be a game of the patient, Captain, and we must be thankful for it."

"'Thankful', sir?"

"Oh, yes," remarked Tizard. "Without this, we would never have regained the initiative that Horvath cost us this morning. Now von Mellenthin is in a purely defensive position, unable to maneuver, and trapped where he is, and WE have the overwhelming advantage of numbers and all the time in the universe. Even with the near-total loss of Delta Company, we hold supremacy. The Zeon think they're dictating the terms, but all they are doing is digging their own burial site in advance."

Aerzen, Niedersachsen, Central Europe
November 17, 0087

Which is exactly how things have stayed, strayed Balke's thoughts as he stared at the distant church tower in Hameln. Why the fuck am I even here? He knew why, of course: Tizard was expecting him to do something callously rash, and fuck this whole idyllic medieval scene up something fierce, which would give him the excuse to break the rite of Sanctuary and splatter von Mellenthin, then have an alibi for afterwards that would pin the ass-tail on the Federation donkey and not on the Titans.

Balke knew that Tizard was still hot under the collar, about the circumstances they were in as well as the loss of Avignon and Delta Company. For all the airs the Titans Major put on, he was almost as easy to read as Sajer was. Sajer, on the other hand, had been a Class-One full-torsal asshole for the last two days, and was taking it out on anyone he came across. He had lambasted Bryton yesterday at length about some sort of fuck-up in the debrief of Lief Dyson, and had not stopped screaming like a baboon until Dorff had poured a glass of ice water over the Titan's head. Sajer had vowed violent revenge, but the ex-Pionier had seemed singularly unconcerned. Tensions were rising in the camp the Titans had made of Aerzen.

Still, the information the Dysons had given him had brought him some insight into how the Zeon were equipped. Not well at all. For all of their mobile suits and ingenuity, it seemed that the Zeek supply line was only about ankle deep on an earthworm. The fact that they were scoring Federation guns and ammo, and that there was no evidence of a cargo vehicle or any sort of long-duration field equipment, led Balke to postulate that wherever von Mellenthin was going, he wasn't there yet, and he only had enough stuff with him to get him and his death commandoes to that point. So where ARE they going? What really IS Nemesis?

Her commentary also tracked dead-on with her husband's comments about the post-War whereabouts of Antares de la Somme. Von Braun had been mentioned in the middle of the Elvis debate, and Balke had the Titans skimming the records looking for anyone matching de la Somme's physical description. He had no proof, but Balke was willing to bet a week's worth of free video rentals that de la Somme was the elusive Rigel fan Waal, presumed-dead freighter pilot of the Good Ship Non Sequitur.

Balke wanted desperately to know the responses to those questions. Where can I go to get some? The answer lay six miles away, and all that was between he and what he wanted was a wall of Titans and one ancient holy rite.