Eastern Raid

A Mobile Suit Gundam Side-Story

Produced by Ninja-Pirate Studios

Written by GM Ace

Chapter 3: Death From Above

Off the coast of Massachusetts

December 24th, UC 0079

2321 hours local time

Staff Sergeant Ed "Sparks" Trainer, Earth Federation Special Forces, 1st Airborne Company, 2nd Combined Arms Force, scanned the horizon with his night vision goggles as his Fanfan hovercraft sped no more than ten feet over the cold Atlantic waters. Next to him was Senior Airman Therese Luce, his copilot and gunner, and arrayed behind his hovercraft were the nine other Fanfans of the 1st Airborne.

Sparks had been beating around this war since the beginning, or perhaps one should say flying. He had gotten caught up in the first fighting in Europe, and had even gone up against the 10th Panzerkaempfer . . . once. That had been . . . sometime after the 10th took Paris but before they got stopped by the remainder of the 4th Cav at the Garonne River. His flight group (he had been a Senior Airman himself back then) had been tasked to give cover to a company of Type 61s that were making a run for it. As it turned out, both the Fanfans and the 61s got waxed. Sparks' bird had been barely clipped by a 120mm. It had gone down, hard, and Sparks had come away with a broken arm. His best friend and copilot, Ron Salett, hadn't come away from the crash at all. Sparks had teamed up with three survivors from the tanks (their ride had broken down halfway through the battle of its own accord and they had bailed; everyone who had actually fought was dead) and managed to evade capture and make it back to Federal territory. It had taken a few weeks to recover from that, both physically and mentally, but soon Sparks was back in the saddle and fighting again.

He hadn't gone up against the 10th again (thank God) but he'd spent some more time fighting in Europe, and then had been sent across the Atlantic to participate in the North American offensive. He'd even flown in the fight for California Base. Then, not a day and a half after California fell, his unit had been discharged from the Airforce, reinstated as a Special Forces unit, then shipped out here for one of the last operations to be had on North America. But before the big show started, the Special Forces MS had to arrive, and local supporting Zeon forces had to be taken out. Which was what had Sparks and the rest of the 1st Airborne buzzing over the sea on this fine night to support some Infiltration unit on a crazy mission to steal a MSM. "Of course, we do have some help in this mess," thought Sparks as he looked down out of his cockpit at the three vehicles zipping across the water below.

Corporal Terry Kardock of the 2nd C.A.F.'s "Hell's Angels" Experimental Assault Company bobbed his head to the music filling the interior of his vehicle. Dewar, his driver, was a big rock fan, and the rest of the crew didn't mind, although Kempe, the communications weenie, sometimes preferred Jazz. Usually Federal Special Forces units wouldn't dare to play loud music as they headed in on a covert op, since it's just generally a bad idea. But the unit was out on the water, where no one could hear them but friendlies, and the unit was highly unconventional anyways.

Kardock's ride was the experimental Type 75E Hovertank. As the GM and its brethren just weren't numerous enough to carry the burden of war themselves, the Federal forces still depended on more traditional units to plug the gaps. In the air, no problems; the Feddies had enough fighters and bombers to wreak havoc all over the place at this point. But on the ground the options were more limited. The stalwart Type 61 Main Battle Tank had been the primary force on the ground for the Federation, but had proved horribly obsolete. It just couldn't keep up with mobile suits, which would force a combined GM/61 force to go as slow as the tanks. In an attempt to speed up Federation task forces, the technical geeks warped the respected Type 74 Hovertruck. They'd made it slightly bigger with slightly better armor, stripped out the ground sonar gear, slightly increased the 20mm ammo, and added .50 cal machine guns from the 61s on the both sides and the rear. It also carried several anti-tank rockets in the hold for use by the crew. The result? A machine that could evade fire well, keep up with GMs, but didn't do a very good job at killing MS. It did fantastically against infantry and other lightly armored units, but mobile suits were the future, and if it couldn't kill mobile suits then it wasn't worth mass producing. But the ten units that were made were put together to form the Hell's Angels.

The Angels had been the first of the 2nd C.A.F. to arrive on the East coast, and they already had experienced combat together. A number of small Zeon groups, having nowhere else to run, had tried to make it to Logan. Some of them got whacked by the regular forces, some ended up surrendering, but others slipped by the Army. And two of these groups had run into the Angels. None of them had been in a surrendering mood, preferring death over dishonor, and the ten Hovertanks had obliged them. The units had been infantry only, so the Angels just charged in firing. The Type 61 machine guns were bad enough, but the 20mm was like a buzz saw from hell. Terry had been a Type 61 gunner before his transfer into the Team, which had some problems. One, being downgraded from two 150mm cannons to a single 20mm was kind of degrading. And two, blowing away an enemy tank or MS with those 150mm guns was a lot easier on the stomach (and produced much fewer nightmares) than tearing people apart with the 20mm. But he had his job. And not a single member of the unit had perished.

Terry was one of only two crewmembers in the hovertank that was previous service before the war, and the other was Kempe. Dewar, in the driver's seat, had been an amateur hovercar racer before he got drafted, which explained his current post. Kessler had been a teacher, of all things, before the war started and had served with distinction in an armored truck platoon, so she got handed the rear gun (arguably the second most important gun, since the 20mm couldn't cover the rear very well). Gahan, on the left, was just a kid who had been planning on college, and Penarubia on the right . . . well, he didn't talk much, so who knows? But they were all, by this point, experienced and more importantly trustworthy. Terry had learned the hard way what happened when you had a slimeball for a comrade.

Terry was . . . a kind of troublemaker before the war, getting in fights and getting caught dealing on the black market. He was too good to be kicked out, but still got kept down as a lowly Private. He'd been Private First Class a record eight times, and lost the stripe every time. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and with so many soldiers ending up dead, somebody had to fill their shoes. So Terry had ended up a Corporal in a Type 61 company. With some political type as his Tank Commander. The TC was supposed to be a strong, confident person who was also smart at the arts of war. But Terry's TC was a total friggin' prick. He nearly got the entire tank blown up in two battles with Magellas thanks to his idiocy, and the first time the unit engaged mobile suits he had actually bailed out of the tank and tried to run for it. Terry and the driver were on their own, and managed to kill a suit by themselves, without the loser's help. Mercifully, the TC never had to face disciplinary action for his deed; the first shots from a Zaku gun went over Terry's tank and blew the bastard straight to the hell he deserved. Terry was now the gunner and commander of Type 75E Hovertank Unit 03, third in command of the entire Company. Times sure had changed.

Something onshore caught his eye. He keyed his radio (there were no Minovsky particles about, so Kempe's laser equipment wasn't needed yet) and called the lead Fanfan.

"This is 75 Omega 3 actual to Razorbird One, come in Razorbird One, come in Razorbird."

"This is Razorbird One actual," replied the gruff voice of 'Sparks'. "What's up Omega 3?"

"Those look like explosions to you, Razorbird?"

Sparks trained his eyes on the distant shore, just in time to see another flash of fire. "Seems to be, Omega. You think our boy got started early?"

"That's the only thing that makes sense. He must've gotten found out after he grabbed the suit. If he got found out before he did, there wouldn't be much fighting going on. I think we should go with Plan Flashfire."

Sparks cursed to himself. Flashfire called for the Fanfans to rush on ahead of the slower Type 75s and engage the enemy to cover the SpecOps MS pilot. It was meant to basically save the pilot's ass if things got out of hand, which apparently they had, but it was more dangerous for the Fanfans. The 'copters could blow the hell out of the base, but they were still vulnerable to fire, even small arms. The original plan called for the 75s to maul the infantry to keep the Fanfans safe, but Flashfire had the 75s arriving after the Fanfans. Sparks knew he was going to lose people, but he had his duty, and so did his people.

"Roger that, Omega 3," he said grimly. "Just make sure you haul ass, boy."

"We will, Razorbird, we will. Good luck, and give the Zeek bastards hell. We'll be right behind you."

With that, the line cut off, and the Fanfans raced ahead of the 75s to face the enemy.

Fore River Base

Mark was one part enraged and one part elated. On the one hand, the base had been torn up, scores of troopers were dead, the two cruisers and the sub were gone, and both the Lieutenant and Sergeant Fewkes were dead. On the other, his tactic had worked, and he had the rogue Acguy dead-to-rights. He might catch some shit later for trashing the hangar, but he didn't really care (after all, the Acguy had finished the building off, hadn't it?). The ally-turned-enemy MS was helpless, so Mike took his time, advancing on it while keeping his gun locked on. But he was reluctant to kill someone so helpless. He keyed the speakers.

"You know, Feddie, I learned as a kid not to kick a man when he's down. Seems you're down. So why don't you hop out of there?"

"Screw you spacenoid!" came the answer. The Feddie sounded terrified, but there was a trace of determination in the hysteria. If anyone had asked Brian, he would have answered, 'Why yes, I was almost crapping my pants in fear, thank you.' But he wasn't going to tell the Zeek that, even if the guy asked him! Mike grimaced in his suit, then spoke again, hardening his voice and removing any sign of mercy.

"Feddie, listen up. You've killed my team and who knows how many of my comrades. I am really pissed off right now, so get out, surrender, or I WILL blow you up! Do you understand!"

The Fanfans roared towards the shore. No doubt they had been picked up by Logan's radar, but that was being handled by TIN Cods and Saberfish fighters. Fore River's radar should have picked them up, but fate was in their favor. Several of Brian's 105mm shots that he'd sprayed around the base had hit the radar station, killing everyone on the shift, and nobody had bothered to check if the radar was still operational. So Mark had no one to warn him of the incoming bogies.

Sparks hit his radio, turning it to the unit channel.

"This is Razorbird One to all Razorbirds, follow me in. Stay low so anyone who's there to shoot at you has less time for it, hit your targets as best as you can, and get out of here just as fast as we're going in. No heroics, got that?"

He listened intently as Razorbirds Two through Ten answered in the affirmative then nodded to Therese to arm the guns.

"Alright Razorbirds, let's go!"

The Fanfans rushed in, following their leader. Staying low as ordered, they swooped under the Fore River Bridge with barely enough room on any side. Sparks could see that a large chunk of the bridge had been blown away. "I wonder how THAT happened," he mused to himself. When he got a good look at the base, he understood why. Both MS hangars were in flames, the entire naval contingent of the base was gone, and numerous buildings and vehicles (including the radar station, he noted) had been blasted apart. All in all, it seemed this SpecOp guy knew his business. But then he saw the problem.

The Acguy was down, and looming over it was an Old Zaku, its rifle at the ready. Swearing, Sparks dove his Fanfan towards the Zaku as he heard the Zaku's speakers yell.

"Fine, you idiot! Go to hell!"

The Zaku was about to fire, and the Acguy was nearly out of time.

"Therese!" Sparks yelled. "Nail that Zeek! Try to disable his gun!"

Mark's patience was gone. The Feddie had told him, in a still-shaky voice, that he should go and drown himself in the river. So he told the stupid pilot to go to hell and pulled the trigger . . . only to yell in shock as his gun, instead of firing, blew apart when a rocket hit it.

"What the hell is this?" he yelled as the remains of the gun fell from his machine's hands. Then a Fanfan, a Feddie helicopter, buzzed right by his Zaku's head, firing the rest of its missiles at the base. It was so close he could see the crew's names - Staff Sergeant Ed "Sparks" Trainer and Senior Airman Therese Luce – painted on the side. He could even see the pilot giving him the finger! Snarling, Mark turned his Zaku to face the direction the Fanfan had come from, drawing his heat hawk. The damn Feddie MSM pilot had back-up. Nine more Fanfans roared almost straight into Mark's face it seemed, but most of them flew over and around him, scrambling to get at the vulnerable base. One dove for him, disobeying the order for 'no heroics' (which, ironically, Sparks himself had broken). Mark dodged the two missiles it launched, and then swung his heat hawk like a bat. It sliced off one of the ship's fans, and it spun like a top as it carried it screaming crew down to the ground for an explosive death. Mark noted that he'd made his first kill, but didn't care. He turned his suit around and gasped.

The base was in flames. Another Fanfan had been shot down by a storm of fire from infantry forces, but even it had gotten off four missiles. Combined with the surviving Fanfans and the two missiles from Mark's kill (which he realized now had smashed into the base because he dodged), a total of 85 missiles had hit the base. The armory, where many of the base's soldiers were, had been hit. It had blown a massive crater in the ground when it went, killing many more of Mike's comrades. That was enough to fill Mark with a sense of despair. But the despair turned to rage as he saw the Acguy, back on its feet, running towards the water. Raising his heat hawk, he used his thrusters to boost after his enemy.

"Come back here you murderer!"

Author's Notes:

Can you spot the reference to His Divine Shadow's In Vain Doth Valour Bleed? It's easy to find, you'll get a cookie if you do! And while you munch on your cookie, go read his work. It's much better than mine.

The 75E, my first attempt at an original design, started off as a Federation attempt to replace the Type 61 MBT. It included increased armor, rockets on the side, and even a small mortar. However, during its development I reread Zinegata's old version of Warriors in the Shadows, and realized I'd accidently made something a little like his Type 82. An accident, yes, and the likeness was more in the machine's purpose than design, but I felt it would be better if I changed the 75E to make it more unique.