Author's Notes: Sorry for another update lag. This has been finished for eons, so it shouldn't have taken as long. Glad to see some people are actually reading this. Always encouraging. I hope you enjoy this chapter. There's combat coming soon, so don't worry, it won't be all dialogue. You'll notice I arbitrarily changed romanizations on names; this was done to preserve the phonetic sound and closest translation possible. Bandai America did a terrible job with the names, but I'm lucky enough that this fic features only a few cameo appearances of media characters (Ray Yuki being the biggest exception, even if he is a very minor character).
Disclaimer: See first chapter. I still don't own this. Come on. Give it up.
Mobile Suit Gundam SEED - Fog of War
Phase 3: Reach Out
Training to be a mobile suit pilot was rigorous. They were out in space almost every day, and when they weren't, they were getting lectures on armaments, tactics, and flight protocol on a daily basis. They also soon learned the ritual of 'cleaning the giant', which was the practice of taking a power-scrubber and washing off the garish bright red paint from 'bullet' hits on their GiNNs. Nagisa discovered just what kind of a hassle it was, a chore requiring at least an hour of effort, and studiously endeavored to not get hit as much, a boon that paid off in blocks of free time aside from the mind-numbing notion of it being a survival skill.
Oftentimes there were scrimmages against different recruiting pools, these usually representing loose groups of recruits from different PLANT stations. It was the closest the military got to intramural sports, during wartime. Kunio, Nagisa, and their friends began to form an even tighter group, drawing in Suzuka into their fold. She was pointedly left out of the loop about Nagisa though; none of them trusted her that much. It was a strange thing, knowing you could trust your life to a fellow recruit but not your origins. In time, Nagisa became used to the secrecy, and sometimes was so involved in it, that he often forgot he wasn't a Coordinator.
But by and large, the Slalom dominated their off-hours occupation time. When they weren't studying, they were putting their GiNN Trainers through their paces in the Slalom course.
"Come on, come on." Kunio grumbled, looking at his progress screen. He and his friends were out in Boaz's near-space, putting themselves through laps on the Slalom. It was pretty late—almost lights out—and they still needed to put Doyle and Nagisa through another run. Currently in the track was Suzuka, who was burning a path with expert care, not straying a meter off of her planned course. Hers was a course of reliability over innovation, and it got the job done spotlessly. A few seconds later, as she passed the last buoy, he got her time on his screen: 1'12'20.343. They were all getting pretty close to the Top Twenty-second mark which separated them from Isaac Joule's record. "Nice work, Suzie. Get back."
"Copy," Her sweet-toned voice replied, distorted only a little by static.
"Doyle, up." Kunio said smartly.
Doyle's GiNN hovered at the beginning of the track, stretching its arms and legs absurdly, like a metal-clad track runner. It took a prod with the fake GiNN sword to get him to actually move, and end his horsing around. Within seconds he was past the second buoy, moving recklessly into a flight pattern that brought him within mere meters of each buoy. He finished in at 1'16'53.240.
"Nagi, up."
Nagisa grunted an affirmative, and checked his Trainer's status. All systems were go. So without fanfare, mentally crossing his fingers, he hit his verniers, and streaked past the start nav-buoy, commencing his run through the Slalom.
The GiNN, definitely not a young piece of equipment, responded well, given the circumstances. The sheer irony of the Trainer's existence was that Boaz's training facility GiNNs were put through more stress than almost any other mobile suit units, subjected daily to proving-ground caliber punishment on the order of a dozen times. It was almost expected that they be a little uppity and persistent in developing problems, and this day was no different as he passed the fourth buoy in a drift turn.
A sudden alarm alerted him that his left bottom vernier was going to give out on him. If it did, he'd have unstable thrust and would be unable to control the mobile suit for the rest of the run. However, he was determined to finish the lap on the Slalom—not as a matter of pride, but as a consideration that these were real combat circumstances. Can't call quits when under fire because of a bad jet, he reminded himself, adjusting his thrust to more evenly distribute the load, compensating by using the left-top and right-bottom verniers at one-hundred percent.
"Running into some snags here. Got a tilted thruster." He said into his helmet mike, powered straight for the next buoy, cutting a shallow angle, and checked his status. Only a few more to go.
There was a burst of static. "Don't push it too hard, Li will have a fit."
"Copy." Moments later though, Nagisa heard that same persistent, beeping alarm. It was going to die on him if he kept flying at attack speed. Only two more buoys and he would be clear…but would it hold out that long? Growling to himself, he willed the vernier to keep firing, and hoped to whatever deities existed that the fuel line didn't go too, causing the young Nagisa a premature death. Ending up FUBAR was not an option, not in a Trainer, anyways…
The last buoy came in sight, and as soon as he was clear of the turn, he gave a burst of speed with his three good verniers, re-angled, and cut thrust. The GiNN, now on ballistic instead of powered flight, maintained speed in the vacuum, hurtling noiselessly through the void towards the gate, until it passed, causing the two gate buoys to light up green. He'd made it.
"Time?" Nagisa asked, righting the GiNN unsteadily, hoping the thruster didn't decide to be spiteful and kill him now.
There was a pause. Kunio then read off his score. "1'12'111."
"God damn it, Nagisa!" Suzuka cried out over the open channel, sounding her frustration loudly. "Even with that POS GiNN Trainer of yours!"
Mimura Nagisa could only laugh, as he slowly flew towards his compatriots, smiling despite himself. He said to Suzuka, "You're going to have to bring in a couple of Nazcas, all of Earth's mobile armor, and the La Cruise Team to stop me now."
"Whatever," Suzuka said as they reformed in a diamond formation and turned towards the docking bay. "I guess this means I owe you midday chow."
Kunio, unseen, was grinning wide. "Smart girl, that Suzuka. What do you think, Doyle?"
"Way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Doyle confirmed as the group gently recovered into the launch bay, setting their GiNNs into the catch-harness, and a couple of maintenance teams rushed out to once again piece back together their hunk-of-junk mobile suits for another day of rigorous trials.
Each of them was privately snickering, knowing just what training division was being handed off that unenviable task…
Daily training went on like that for a while, with additional classes being held on such things as field operations, hand-to-hand combat, and zero-g acrobatics. In hand-to-hand, Nagisa really suffered. There was just no getting around the fact that his fellow recruits were physically superior to him in almost every way. They were faster, stronger…it frustrated Nagisa to no end, and sometimes, in his weaker moments, most of them after being thrown down on a gym mat, he felt a stirring of envy for their abilities which came so naturally.
No, not naturally, he thought bitterly. But no one would know the difference, now would they?
He kept his dissatisfaction with their gap in performance in check and to himself, reminding himself that they weren't to blame; he'd set himself a very high bar, and he would have to push himself to the very limits of his endurance and ability to compete with them on the level. He might not win, he knew, but he could still give them a run for their money. Thus Hand-to-Hand became an exercise in patience as well as combat training, as he struggled to make sure he wasn't taken down without a raucous and long fight. He managed to beat some of the female recruits, but that didn't say all that much considering the men just wailed on him. He didn't beat Suzuka though, which left him a little annoyed. Doyle though, constantly beat them all and ragged on them daily and nightly for it. As physically the strongest and most athletic, he already had a natural feel for how to fight with his body.
The trainees also studied the command structure, the current status of the war, and other technologies employed by the ZAFT forces. As time went on, and at great cost to Nagisa in free time, the ad-hoc OS became as good as the professionally-made ZAFT standard, and he was able to pilot the GiNN without any hindrance owing to being a Natural. Privately, his friends were impressed, knowing that he'd done something that was a great achievement he would never be known for, if all went well for him. Since Nagisa wasn't in the service for the praise, he was content with the knowledge that one personal goal had been met.
As far as command structures went, ZAFT was somewhat unorthodox. All mobile-suit pilots were commissioned officers, beginning with second lieutenant, junior grade. In practice though, most mobile suit pilots acted like NCOs in the command structure, as much higher-ranking officers like captains and commanders supervised them. The bulk of the enlisted men and women and noncommissioned officers were ship and station crews. The Mobile Weapons Corps was almost entirely outside of the regular command structure, operating on orders direct from ship captains, their executive officers, and admirals alone, and of course, their squad leaders. The lowest a mobile suit pilot could graduate from training was second lieutenant, junior grade brevet-rank, signifying they would prove that they earned the rank after filling in such a position over a trial period. The highest rank for graduation was First Lieutenant, which most times, when not accompanied by a Major, acted as a squadron leader.
During their study, several interesting developments occurred in the war. Apparently, the enemy ship known universally among the ZAFT forces as 'the legged ship' had fled from the area around Heliopolis, and appeared in a battle with Admiral La Cruise's team just as Rakusu Klein was recovered. The pilot of the Strike was proving himself a formidable opponent, and it was rumored that Asuran Zara actually knew the pilot—and that he was a Coordinator.
Nagisa felt a pang of sympathy for the unnamed soldier who was fighting on the 'legged-ship'. Though he didn't say it, he was in something of a twisted, parallel situation, but he couldn't be sure that the coordinator 'traitor' was fighting for good reasons. He had no evidence to back up a claim either way.
The war was grinding towards a long period of build-up and unload, build-up and unload as several skirmishes occurred here and there, though there was word that the brass might have something up its sleeve sometime soon. Until then, they would be working towards eliminating threats near the PLANT colonies while the regular army flattened Earth's space-launch capabilities.
Flight school was steadily moving towards its end result, and final examinations would soon come, and they would then receive their rank warrants and assignments. For now though, the routine seemed to become one with the students, and vice-versa. Sitting around flight manuals and technical readouts, the three men from Aprilius and their one female counterpart were reviewing for their final examinations.
"You know, this has been something of a ride, hasn't it?" Suzuka said, looking up from her 'ZAFT Arms Manual', breaking a long silence. Her sinuous frame wasn't hidden by the baggy jumpsuit anymore as she wore her barracks clothes of a tight shirt and a pair of slacks. The trio was thus reminded of her femininity in that regard, but they didn't do much about it. "I'm glad we all met."
"Yeah." Nagisa said. "It's good to make friends in strange places, and Boaz is about as strange a place as any."
Kunio gave a thumbs-up. "You guys are the best fire-team a pilot could ask for. And it helps, having a brother in the service."
"Two brothers, you mean." Nagisa added with a jab to the shoulder. Kunio was always reticent when it came to talking about Satoshi. "He's a Captain but he's not dead."
"Fleet." Doyle said with a scoff, playing a game of solitaire, "Unless you're inside one of those GiNNs, space is a game."
"Don't dis' fleet man," Kunio said with a growl. "Most of our casualties are fleet-based."
"He's just being cross for the sake of argument," Nagisa interjected, before an altercation started. Satoshi and father were both in fleet, he knew, so he felt a little jibed. Father…when did I start thinking of Colonel Mimura as 'father'?
Suzuka closed her manual. "Lyles just thinks that 'flight suit is the last suit you wear' and all that MS-BS. He isn't serious. Are you?"
Doyle looked up again, a little more bashfully this time. "Well…"
"See?" Suzuka picked up her manual. "Crushed like a paper-cup."
The group continued to study, and the next day, at the Strategy lecture, they received a lesson that their instructor had for a long time put in the works. It was for their benefit, Instructor Nara, the strategist from HQ knew, so he was going to put his all into it. When the student-recruits assembled in their classroom, he stood in his uniform, looking at the plasma-screen board blankly. Once they were settled, he turned around and spoke in a loud voice, his tall, bulky frame moving with practiced ease.
"Soon, most of you will become members of the proud fighting force of the Zodiac Alliance of Freedom Treaty—ZAFT—and join your countrymen in our fight for survival against those Natural bastards." He said with a grunt of emphasis on the last two words. His sister and brother had been on Junius 7 at the time of the Valentine of Blood, and he would be dammed if he was going to forgive some stuck-up genetic purist for murdering his family. "And you will have to realize, that no matter how terrible they are, they're still people, and you'll be in the business of killing."
The room was utterly silent, no one even dared make a rustle of clothes or even tap a pen. This was the real deal, as it were, the lecture. It had been a long time coming, some of them knew, and it sort of represented to them the beginning of the end of their training cadet careers. It was a morbid lecture, to say the least, but one they needed to hear.
Nara focused his eyes on the younger of the Mimura brothers, Nagisa, staring him down. There was something about the recruit that he didn't quite like. It was as if he was always ready to please, always trying a little too hard. People like him had a tendency to burn out, and he didn't like wash-ups. What he liked less was people who were sympathetic on the battlefield, and Mimura Nagisa had shown a proclivity towards being soft. He was almost wholly unlike his older brother, whom Nara saw as almost a replica of the young Asuran Zara—whom he'd trained in that very same room, not a year before—though there were distinct differences. Kunio was no less impressive though.
"There will come a time, not far from now, when you will have to kill." He said forcefully, as if to Nagisa alone. The teen, behind a veneer of dark-gray-black bangs, stared unflinchingly up at him, though Nara could tell those eyes were uncertain. "Combat isn't fun. It isn't like training here. Training here is fun compared to being out there."
The instructor struck a hand out and pointed towards the bulkhead closest to the surface of the Boaz asteroid. His thick thumb remained unwavering in the air, hovering just a foot above Mimura Nagisa's full head of hair.
He leaned in, and in just as loud a voice, nearly shouting, demanded answers from the passive Nagisa. "Are you ready, are you prepared to kill, Recruit Mimura?"
"Yes, sir!" Nagisa shouted back, out of reflex more than actual thought. Was he ready to kill? To kill other human beings? To protect his friends, he would have to, he knew. That was why he enlisted. That was why he'd spent his last twenty-six days on this blasted asteroid rock, an airless moon from hell, so he could learn to fight, learn to pilot, and yes, learn to kill. Even if they were Naturals. Hell, he would kill Coordinators if they got in between him and his family and friends.
Nara scoffed. "What's that, recruit?"
"Yes sir, I am ready to kill, SIR!" Nagisa barked back, emptying his lungs with the effort. His young voice was a counter to Nara's basso in the large, otherwise silent room. The other recruits looked on, half in shock, half in awe as the customarily soft-spoken recruit went off like a hand-grenade in their instructor's face. He didn't quite care anymore—he didn't have to prove himself to some instructor to know what his goals were. If they involved killing to achieve, well that was just the price he was willing to pay.
Instructor Nara gazed firmly down at the student, hiding his surprise, before moving on. "You are going to be among the finest of pilots, so you'd all better look sharp, unless you want to mess up my ZAFT, and I won't let you mess up my ZAFT, I promise you that."
The lecture went on like that, with Nara making points here and there about the ethos of being a soldier during wartime. It wasn't very entertaining, of course, but it was a necessary step in their education. This man was a friend of the famous Andrew Bartfield, the Tiger of the Desert, and he knew real soldiers, real generals. Men and women who made him proud to be a member of the ZAFT armed forces, and he showed his students—and his enemy, ignorance—no quarter.
When he was done, he just stood at the end of the row of desks. "Recruits, dis-MISSED."
Nagisa and the others filed out of the room quickly, offering salutes to their instructor as they exited. When they were out in the hall, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking over it, he saw Kunio and Suzuka, both of whom seemed somewhat concerned, Kunio more so.
"You all right, Nagi?" he asked, lifting thin eyebrows in question.
Nagisa sighed heavily and forced a smile for their benefit. "I'm fine. Nara just gets on my nerves."
Suzuka took his arm, and Kunio held on to the boy's shoulder as they headed out, finding Doyle and putting him in tow. The young female recruit said with a grin. "That sure was funny though. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The look on Nara's face was so priceless. The man always did like things that blow up in his face…"
Feeling the warmth of Suzuka's arm against his, he quirked a brow, but said nothing about it. Hearing her take on the incident though, Nagisa smiled wryly. "I guess."
Kunio scratched his chin pensively as they walked. "I wonder what got Nara so focused on you though…" he trailed off quietly, and threw his brother a look that demanded further discussion at a later time. There were some worry lines on Mimura Kunio's smooth features, but he managed to keep his concern in check. In his mind though, he asked himself if Nara had caught onto Nagisa's ruse.
No, couldn't have, he mused, shaking his head absently. No reason for him to be suspicious.
Final grading examinations proved difficult, but doable. It basically consisted of a long battery of tests, written and oral examinations, and a simulated combat exercise. If anything, the FGE was simply exhausting in its thoroughness and tiresome nature. By the end of the first day, even Kunio was beginning to think that enlisting was a bad idea. By the third day, Suzuka swore she'd never do something so stupid again. When the fifth and final day of exams arrived, they were almost dead, sleep-walking to their examination rooms, and then, the final 'scrimmage' match between fire teams. They were going to suit up, assembled in the Pilot's Lounge, when Instructor Li arrived, with a few sealed containers carried in by a couple of Fleet MPs.
"Welcome to your last and final examination, recruits." Li said curtly, offering them a salute. He was proud of each and every one of the nineteen remaining recruits—one had flunked out and was reassigned to Logistics, poor soul—and those that were left represented some of the toughest flight training known to man. He had ample reason to be satisfied with them. "Congratulations to all of you who remain."
There was some muted applause amongst the small band of cadets, as they glanced furtively at the container crates the MPs had pushed in. They floated conspicuously behind instructor Chen Cho Li, who wore a pristine black fleet officer's uniform with the rank insignia of a captain-rating or higher commissioned officer.
"Now, for your scrimmage. These are the targets. Look carefully." He pointed to the first in the line of crates, which the military policeman opened with out fanfare, revealing its contents, turning it towards the recruits for viewing. Inside, sealed for zero gravity transport, were bottles of soft drinks, popular snack food brands from PLANT, at least one bottle of whiskey, and sealed, still hot meals.
Doyle was the first to regain his speech faculty. "Sir…? What are those?"
Li grinned voraciously. "They're your targets for this engagement. Lock and load, Doyle. You've all earned it. Consider this ZAFT's going-away present for you, before you guys head to the front."
"Eh, maji?" Kunio gaped, staring at the crates. There must have been enough for at least twice the number of recruits present, and then some. "For real?"
"You'll find that aside from Basic, ZAFT treats its soldiers well." The flight instructor said with a grandiose gesture, ordering the MPs to open the other crates. He fairly beamed at them, satisfied that this batch of recruits would turn into fine pilots. Maybe, if they were good enough, there wouldn't be a need to train so many of their young men and women for war. It was wishful thinking, Chen knew, but he was allowed hope, though it wasn't standard-issue along with the uniform and turf.
"So no more exams?" One recruit, a kid from Boaz itself asked. "No more tests?"
"No more tests, Ratchet." Li confirmed.
The recruits didn't need second promptings. They fell upon the high-quality meals, drinks, and junk food like a swarm of carrion-eaters around a recent kill. With only the bland mess-hall food to eat for the last month, they were all starved for some real, down-to-earth—figuratively speaking—consumables. As Suzuka, Kunio, and Nagisa found a corner for themselves, they heard Doyle yell.
"Mien Gott in Himmel!" He exclaimed loudly, holding up a plastic-wrapped cardboard box "Pizza! And beer!"
Kunio smiled, gazing at the others with satisfaction. It had been harder than he thought, going through a month of condensed training. He'd found within himself a reservoir of patience and strength he didn't really believe was there. What made it more pleasing was that his father seemed to have known it was in him all along. Now, only half a day before graduation, he felt very glad that he'd enlisted in the military, and held none of the reserve he'd had before about ZAFT.
What surprised him the most though, was the change he saw in Nagisa. When they enlisted, he was a little worried that he wouldn't be able to hold up. He'd set such a high bar to jump over—to be among ZAFT Coordinator ranks—that Kunio honestly had doubts he could do it. But almost by sheer force of will, determination, and drive, before his eyes Nagisa became a hard-nosed, dedicated soldier trainee, making up for his natural shortcomings with skill, talent, ingenuity, and sometimes just plain cheating. He wondered what would happen if anyone ever found out about MS-DOS.
They'd either court-martial him and try him for espionage, Kunio thought with morbid amusement, or give him the Nebula Award for bravery.
Watching him stand there, squeeze-bottle drink in hand with a slice of pizza, with Suzuka leaning against him slightly, Kunio saw Nagisa in a new light. And he definitely noted how amiable Suzuka was being with him, and grimaced inwardly with some good-natured jealousy. When did that happen? It couldn't have been anything serious though; recruits didn't have time for relationships.
Don't go locking-on too soon, bro.
Doyle too, had grown, if not in the physical sense as much as the metaphysical sense. Though he was still a party-animal and a playboy, he'd gained a lot of responsibility and dependability over the last four and a half weeks of training. And, as if it were actually possible, the three grew even closer-knit, even more a single, cohesive unit, a band of brothers before the first shot was ever fired.
"A toast," Suzuka said, detaching herself from Nagisa to raise her sports-bottle of whatever-it-was inside, smiling wide. "To a month in hell, so we can end the hell around us."
"Here, here!" Doyle cheered, raising his own drink.
Nagisa and Kunio stared at each other for a long moment, lifting their drink-hands automatically. For a moment, an unspoken communication went between the two, one acknowledging the other's ability, the other thankful for the endless support and confidence. Both were proud to be able to call each other friends and brothers. Even if the insane war being fought around them—which they would join in a matter of days—they'd found something good amongst the rubble and chaos, something strong. They'd found friends, family, strength, and the courage to face their fears. That was something worth toasting.
"Just like old times, right Kun-kun?" Nagisa said with a hint of dry humor.
He shook his head slightly, a little sardonically. "No, not like old times. Better."
Nagisa shrugged emphatically, sipped from his drink, and looked out of the window that overlooked the launch bay, towards the twenty GiNN Trainers still berthed within. A wistful expression passed over him as his friends celebrated their graduation a day early, and his thoughts went out to the myriad stars of the depths of space. What sort of fate did they hold for him? Almost every night, before he fell asleep, he would ask himself the same thing: what am I made of? What can I do?
There was a reason that he did all of this that was hidden even from Kunio. This confidential notion was that all through his life, most of what he had done he'd found incredibly easy. He wanted a challenge worth taking, a challenge that was capable of bringing him to the very edge and back again. He wanted something to prove his mettle, an achievement he could look back on with pride and self-satisfaction, knowing that one singular thing was what made him who he was.
Maybe he was wrong to want to do so, to strive so hard to be one of them, in essence the ultimate challenge, to surpass one's self, but he wanted it more than almost anything. Protecting his newfound place in society was still first—but not by much.
The assembly yard inside Boaz space fortress was fairly large. On demand, it could seat at least a thousand, and hold about just many and then some if all parties were standing. A stage dominated one end of the massive chamber, and doors on the sides and rear emptied into the vault-like room. It was a brightly lit cross between a ballroom and a parade ground. Normally, it was used by the civilian inhabitants of Boaz as a gathering hall for important events, but since the war began, more often than not it was a training hall and mass-briefing room. Today, it served a special purpose, keeping in the tradition of its owners' strong beliefs in keeping in stride as a single society, and also following the rich military heritage it inherited from many different military forces since the beginning of human history.
Standing in rows and then columns were the latest batch of recruits from various PLANT colonies, all having started their training at roughly the same time. There were at least five hundred, divided up by graduated rank, rating, and division. All divisions were present, afforded the same glamour and prestige in having graduated from the military's training programs. From left to right, it was Strategic Operations and Planning, Intelligence, Fleet Security/Infantry, Mobile Weapons, Mechanical Logistics, Logistics, Corps of Engineers, Weapons and Armament—arguably one of the most riotous of the organization, their job was simply to blow things up, and they loved every moment of it—and Medical Support Personnel. From these broad divisions almost every soldiering career in ZAFT originated; every profession in PLANT's military began with one of these categories.
The most sought-after positions though, were of course Operations and Planning, the sure ticket to a command and commission, and Mobile Weapons. Though technically equal to everyone else at this point, they were still seen with more respect than the others. Some of the others were 'pogue' soldiers, to them.
Standing at the front rank of pilot candidates, Nagisa, Kunio, Lyles, and Suzuka looked ahead towards their superiors, the instructors who'd taught them until this point, as one by one they were called forward to receive their promotion warrants, any merit awards they might have earned, and a last word from their D.I.s.
"Hayes-Sato, Suzuka, First Lieutenant, Junior Grade." Chen Cho Li announced, going by enlistment order and rank divisions instead of alphabetical order. As the girl walked up to him, he smiled and saluted. Suzuka was definitely one of the best to come out of this crop, in his opinion. Drill Instructor Nara wasn't far off, but he had his own troops to promote. "Good work, Lt. Hayes-Sato. Keep at it."
"Thank you, sir!" She saluted curtly, and received her promotion warrant. She was also awarded a Good Conduct Award for her straitlaced training, not subject to a single reprimand or punishment detail during her month of training. She was sent to her place in the line again.
"Next. Doyle, Lyles Maverick. Second Lieutenant."
At the announcement of his name, Lyles stepped forward, saluted, and was presented with his warrant, and a punch on the shoulder, Doyle's trademark currency of goodwill. The tall young man stood tall in his uniform, the dark red, black, and splash of yellow hourglasses at the collar, white belt and boots, the uniforms of the Elite Pilots' squadrons. Though he was only a second lieutenant, the fact that he'd been issued such a uniform foreshadowed his assignment, and he wore it with pride.
"Mimura, Kunio Toshiro, First Lieutenant."
"Hai!" Kunio's eyes widened. That was the highest rank one could graduate from the standard Mobile Weapons program, and guaranteed a squadron command. He moved forward automatically, executing a perfect parade-ground salute, eyes intensely focused on Instructor Li.
"Nice job, Lieutenant. You're going places, young man." Li handed over the proper papers, a Good Conduct Award, saluting him. At the end of the day, Kunio ended up breaking the one-minute mark at fifty-eight seconds, three milliseconds. He ranked tenth overall, in the flight history of the academy. He also racked up the second-most amount of logged flight hours. "Go get 'em, Soldier."
"Sir!" Kunio saluted again, wishing his father were around to see this. He would have to settle for his brother and his friends, but that was good enough for him right now. Walking back to the group, also dressed in crimson and black—unlike the overwhelming majority of those behind them, who wore olive green and white uniforms of lieutenants and ensigns, standard assignments.
"Now, the other Mimura. Mimura, Nagisa Ayato, First Lieutenant, J.G." Li said with a formal parade salute.
Kunio spared a look at Nagisa as he was called forth while his brother retook his place in the rank. Nagisa, like the other three, wore dress reds, his rank insignia absent, as they hadn't yet been issued theirs, strode towards the instructor with sharp clops of his immaculate white boots, coming to a halt with a salute of his own.
Nagisa held the salute, filled with a deep sense of achievement. He'd set out to prove himself worthy, and here, the first stage of it, was now evident for all to see. Most of all, he knew how hard he'd worked to get there, and to be given the rank of a First Lieutenant—junior grade aside—was splendidly good fortune. The only thing that made the experience bittersweet was the knowledge that his birth parents were both dead and unable to witness his coming of age in the military.
"You've acquitted yourself well, Lieutenant Mimura." Li said quietly, out of earshot of the other graduating recruits. His face was stern, but Nagisa could catch the hint of a smile lurking there. "Don't try too hard. Just stay alive. No need to impress, just get the job done. The greatest heroes are the unsung ones. When things go right, no one knows they even exist, because everyone takes 'em for granted. Anyways, show them your spirit."
"Understood, sir." Nagisa took his promotion warrant in one hand, and saluted with the other. He also received the distinction of most flight hours on record, and a Gold Ranking award for his assiduous studies with the training corps, putting him in the top one percent of grade-earners, an outstanding achievement even by ZAFT standards. Something that wasn't mentioned though, was that most Mobile Weapons devotees didn't really care for academia, and only the Strategy and Ops people really valued that award.
Other candidates were called up and presented with rank and medals, as needed, until they were all standing in their ranks, as full soldiers for the very first time, some of them assembled near former schoolmates for the first time in a month. Their faces were still young, but now they were a disciplined force to be reckoned with.
"Atten-HUT!." Li called as he finished, and even though the recent graduates were all at attention, the stood even straighter. "You've all done very well. We, your instructors," Li said, nodding to Nara and Latour, both of whom were present near this section, "Are all proud of you. You represent the hope of this generation for peace and prosperity for the PLANT colonies, and deliverance from the hands of the Earth Alliance. Give them your best shot, then keep on coming. We salute you."
The instructor suited his actions to words, executing a brusque salute, facing them square. As he did so, he shouted out, "Pilots—DISMISSED!"
With the ceremony at a close, they were to now go to their bunkrooms, pick up their bags, and pick up from their mailboxes their duty assignments and insignia. The four young pilots of the 'Aprilius Gang' milled together, headed back to the trainee barracks in the highest spirits of their lives. Their espirt de corps was there too, the new uniforms only adding to the natural high they all had, heads in the clouds.
Waiting for them at their mailboxes, in addition to their assignments, were messages from home, allowed them now once their families were informed of their graduation and promotions. It was a cherished, quiet moment, as they took their things to the bunkroom and looked them over carefully.
Nagisa and Kunio received the same message from their parents: we knew you could do it. turned out for the best, didn't it? stay strong, boys. Kunio embraced his longtime friend and brother tightly, and Nagisa, overcome with emotion, returned the bear-hug, as they both laughed—and cried—at the great irony of their situations; a son who wanted to resist tradition now embodying it, and the secret soldier fighting for his natural enemy. There was a charged feeling in the room, as both Suzuka and Lyles looked on in astonishment, but rather satisfied themselves.
"Now…assignments…" Suzuka muttered, fishing through her satchel for her stationing papers. She found them, unfolded the printout with the hourglass-glyph of the Zodiac Alliance of Freedom Treaty, and read the brief half page of text.
first lieutenant (j.g) suzuka hayes-sato,
you are to report to the nazca-class ship solomon, under the command of captain ray yuki, by 0700 as of tomorrow morning. you will be assigned to the special operations mobile suit squadron under the command of lt. mimura kunio. be prepared for immediate departure upon boarding.
"Hey!" Suzuka shouted over the din of the boys' laughter, waving her duty papers about madly, trying in vain to get their attention. She had to physically come in between the two brothers and their elder friend to get their undivided attention.
"What are you ranting about, Suzie?" Lyles asked innocently, sitting on the edge of a low bunk.
"Kunio's my squadron commander. Check out your orders, Kun-kun." She grinned, brushing her long hair back, deciding it best to begin to place it in her dual ponytails.
Kunio opened up his printout, scanned it quickly, and stifled a gasp of surprise. He'd not expected that much good luck, to get a command and as good a pilot as Suzuka on his first run. "She's right…damn."
"Guess I'll have to start calling you 'sir'." Suzuka said with a wink.
Kunio shook his head vigorously. "You do that and I'll bust you down to PFC."
They laughed a little bit, and then Suzuka urged the rest to read out their duty assignments, the short version: ship, captain, and CO. Doyle would go first.
For once, he didn't dramatize. Instead, he read it as he saw it, and in his good speaking voice, stated, "Solomon, Captain Yuki, Mimura Kunio…? That's a probably a typo, isn't it? No offense, Kun-man."
"Nagisa." The girl nodded, prodding him with a soft hand. "Your turn."
Nagisa opened up the crisply folded Personnel Office stationary, looking at the military's logo, the address line, then the meat and drink of the duty letter. With an amused shrug, he uttered. "Solomon, Captain Yuki, Mimura Kunio. Looks like they want us together."
Kunio was speechless, much to the amusement of his newfound subordinates. They would be his flight team from now on, according to the assignment letters. It was a strange coincidence—and the more he thought about it, the more he figured it wasn't coincidence. ZAFT Command probably wanted as tightly-knit units as possible, allowing for instant battle readiness and teamwork. The more well-bonded a flight group was, the better they performed, statistically. He didn't know much about Captain Yuki besides that he was a former friend of his father's, back in his earlier years. Yuki was supposedly a young captain, not forty yet, and very charismatic. He did several missions under Admiral Raul La Cruise, and was formerly Asuran Zara's commanding officer. That was the gist of it.
"We're in this together then," Kunio said anticlimactically, smiling weakly. He really didn't want to be a leader, but if that was what was asked of him, he would do it. It made him feel marginally better that his teammates would be his friends. "Now we get to see how long our luck lasts."
Nagisa smiled too; he expected as much from Kunio, who'd always been the charismatic and strong member of their group, the decisive, cool and collected when the others weren't, able to bring them together even in the midst of one of their few fights—which had a tendency for getting ugly. He trusted every one of the people in that room with his life, and was more than willing to defer to Kunio. Doyle too, he knew, would follow suit. As much as he liked being the slick ladies' man, he'd learned when to rein it in.
There wasn't much left to do that night. They'd already celebrated the night before, so all they really could do was just talk, or try placing their rank insignia on their crimson pilot's uniforms without having the pin-holders fall down their shirts.
Suzuka was the first to complain, standing stiffly in her high-stock collared outfit, looking at the black leather-like shoulder pads. "They must have thrown all the starch in PLANT into these uniforms. I can barely move!"
"Cloth armor, maybe?" Nagisa suggested, poking at the fabric of his own clothing. Indeed, whoever fabricated the uniforms for the military sure as hell did a thorough job in making the jacket and pants as stiff as could be. It would take a wash or two so that they didn't appear as toy soldiers while on duty.
Military life is filled with a thousand small details, just like any existence. The life of a soldier is comprised of many myriad details that normally wouldn't strike people as important. A uniform may seem trivial to most people, but when a person was condemned to wearing the same uniform every day for years—even if it isn't the same exact article—it has to be something functional and likeable. The ZAFT uniform was supposedly 'better-looking' as compared to that of the Earth Alliance, and certainly, though nobody really compared, the ZAFT uniform was a few credits more expensive to produce, so of course it lent the new pilots a certain sense of unity. What they didn't like though was how stiff it felt, like any new article of clothing. They were almost afraid of the time to pick up their flight suits. If those came with the same 'starch-and-sell' policy, they would be in for a tough ride.
Staring at the rank insignia of a large yellow rectangle with a white line beneath it, Nagisa wondered how the next few days would unfold. They had no clue as to what kind of tour of duty they would have, except that it was an 'elite' post. Such posts were, unsurprisingly, the most demanding and oftentimes the most dangerous, with prolonged tours into enemy territory. They might even involve testing new technologies or tactics, a risky, trial-and-error methodology of war. There was a half-serious line that circulated regularly at the training center, and it was that the Elites wore red because they were invariably being used for target practice.
That night, after Suzuka left for her own bunkroom, Nagisa stared up at the bunk above him, pondering. It was almost 0100 when he turned off his bunk light, but the giddiness within him didn't allow him to sleep until almost a half-hour later.
When they left the next day, the only thing out of the ordinary was a small discovery which baffled the GiNN Trainer maintenance crews: number RTZ0-18 had recorded substantially less flight hours than reported, on its onboard system. When they made a sweep of the system hard drive and operating system, they couldn't find anything wrong to explain it. Deciding that it was for the best, the Master Chief Petty Officer ordered them to reformat the onboard computer drive and reinstall the OS to fix any recording problems. After that, it worked fine.
End Chapter 3