Chapter 24
CE 73, December 9th, ZAFT Diocuia Base, Black Sea Region
Afternoon 12 42
The BABI peeled off from its pursuit vector, banking in the opposite direction, its target having arced its turn sharply enough that the comparatively heavyset attack unit could not keep up. From behind it, a DINN accelerated, and its torso compartments opened; dozens of missiles streaked out from launchers, each accelerating for the target circling its front.
A wave of white condensation washed over their target, a grey-schemed mobile suit, with a similarly-coloured flight backpack, lined in red, as it kicked its armoured legs forward and out; the blast from several limb-mounted rocket thrusters slowed the forward momentum of the unit to a crawl as it released countermeasure canisters, before letting gravity pull it downwards, in a different direction. Moments later, the devices popped open, scattering powerful heat flares mixed with chaff particles in a blossoming cloud behind it; the missiles closed distance in a heartbeat, before scattering like water upon a cliff face as the warheads went chasing after false targets that only the electronics in their seekers could see.
Shoulder thrusters burned as the target unit reached over its back; moments later, its arm equipment connected with a massive solid wrecking ball, its hammer flail; and with shocking speed, the unit swung the blunt weapon, attached back to its arm by a length of composite cable on a motor winch, powerful enough to fling its impossibly heavy load at a speed measured in meters per second, upwards at the DINN.
The blow, coming from below, missed, barely, the linked projectile clipping the DINN's left wing in a burst of sparks and debris; the impact was enough to cause the lightweight aerial unit to dip through the air. Its right arm aligned, heavy machinegun rifle in hand; a burst of rounds streaked towards the target in reply.
70.6mm rounds smashed into and ricocheted off the surface of a solid shield, as the target faced its opponent, its powerful thrusters and manoeuvring wings keeping it afloat, and in motion. Its left arm, normally to be equipped with a crushing vice, rose to take aim at the DINN; a heartbeat later, a triple-barrelled cannon on its forearm spat forth a torrent of beam shots that quickly took apart the DINN into so much worthless scrap, each piece of debris slagged at the edges.
The target unit continued turning, its thrusters blazing brightly, as it brought the hammer flail, tethered to its right arm, back for a second pass. The BABI, attempting to strike from another direction, had just transformed into its humanoid form, in an attempt to snap off a more accurate shot, before the weapon struck the mobile suit in a resounding blow. The thunderclap of a fatal impact accompanied the strike; it took the machine apart in the blink of an eye, scattering the shattered remnants of the dismembered BABI through the air and into the seas below in a rain of unidentifiable machine parts.
"Simulation ended," a computerized voice intoned. "Your score in this simulated action is two-nil of two."
Alan Reidr was very much satisfied with the simulated operation of the ZGMF-X2000CQGB&S GOUF Crusher. ZAFT First Strike Corps pilots were afforded almost all of the combat privileges of their FAITH pilot brethren, which meant that requisition of special units was something well within their realm. The shared body with the mass-produced base GOUF Ignited model meant that the issues of resupply and repairs weighed less than expected for a squadron equipped with a custom unit.
He opened the hatch of the simulator unit, climbing out of the pod to look at the other four to his left, which were still rocking about on their hydraulic suspensions. A minute later, those stopped and opened as well, revealing Grace Sakerfield, and a very exhausted trio of Larry Falke, Fredric Koherng, and Amano Suzuki.
"Dammit, Grace..." Fredric wheezed. "This is going... to take years off my life!"
"I apologize for that," Grace replied, her tone brusque. Climbing out, she immediately headed for the exit.
"What's her problem?" Larry asked, joining his former trainee. "For a simulator testing to get us used to our new units, she's awfully fired up."
"She... has a bit of a temper," Alan replied. "I don't really know either, but she's usually not so standoffish. I'll speak to her about it later."
As the members of Reidr Team left the simulator, Alan moved to look into the interior of each of his subordinates' pods. Grace's unit had simulated her new machine, a GOUF Ignited; she had opted to add an additional beam polearm to the unit's rear carry clamp. While the weapon was not standard on the GOUF, it was nothing out of the ordinary.
What worried him, however, was that the display showed that she had fought her other teammates on the ground, without taking to the air. Her opponents had been Larry in a Gunner ZAKU Warrior, Fredric in Blaze ZAKU Phantom, and Suzuki in a Blaze ZAKU Warrior. She had soundly defeated all of them.
He was lying when he had told Larry that he didn't know what her issue was. He knew, just as well as she knew.
Just like how a customized OMNI Dagger L drifted around the edges his subconscious, so too, did a Sword Dagger L did the same in Grace's. The impact on her was far greater; her issue with the machine had began since their first meeting.
Refreshing himself hastily, he walked around Diocuia Base, looking for her second-in-command. They had first met, almost three years ago, when they were both brought into the ZAFT Expeditionary Force, the new military unit formed to facilitate a planetary invasion of the Earth Alliance. They were in the same team that had first fought during the battle to establish a foothold on Carpentaria. Their subsequent battles had taken them all over the globe, from the assault on Gibraltar, to the attack on the Victoria Supercomplex, and even to the grinder that was the Saragossa Defence Line, and the frantic retreat across the planet after the debacle of JOSH-A. They had parted ways temporarily afterwards, but when ZAFT established their Deep Strike Corps, they had met each other again, and had remained so up to today.
Throughout all of these, Grace had been his second-in-command, his eyes on his back. He had lost count of all the times they had saved each other.
He was also aware that she was not like most Coordinators. Her temper was uncommonly quick to flare, and it rendered her frustratingly resistant to outside commands once she kicked into her "kill mode". Yet, he had never found a situation where that had cost him something precious. She had always reined herself in just in time.
Alan was aware that "just in time" was, logically speaking, not a good excuse for a life-or-death situation. At the same time, he had been fighting for so long; he had forgotten how to follow common logic. The only logic he knew how to follow was to flow with the situation.
Alan found Grace sitting alone in a corner of the base, set aside to look like a small garden. She was silent, brooding, and remained that way even as Alan took the space on the bench that was beside her.
"Commander," she said.
"Still thinking about that sword-based unit?"
"I... yes. I have not found a way to negate it."
"We're a special warfare group. Interdiction of single targets is not within our scope; if the mission is completed successfully, it's a job done for us."
"What if our orders were to target that unit?"
Alan was silent. "Well, there's five of us."
Grace gave a wan, tired smile. Alan saw in her face the weight carried by a person who had taken on a personal mission that they could not afford to fail. "There's four of them, too."
"Bottom point is, we'll deal with it when it comes," Alan said. "Even the best, most meticulous plan, shored up with more contingency plans, is just a guideline to the actual process." He eyed her, managing a grin on his usually expressionless face. "Think about it; has there been a mission where our plans have ever gone smoothly?"
Grace chuckled, despite herself. "I suppose that part is true, seeing as you're putting in an effort to smile." She stood up. "I'm going to get myself acquainted with the GOUF Ignited further. I'll see if I can get Airspace Command to let me take my unit up into the air."
When Alan rose with her, she waved him down. "I'll do this alone first. I'm not spoiling for a fight; I just want to ease my transition from the ZAKU Warrior."
Alan sat back down, watching his longtime comrade walk away. At length, he rose from his seat, and made his way back towards the base.
The previous Bloody Valentine War had, on a basic mental level, shackled them all with a primal fear of failure. Most veterans did not speak of it, but very few of them wished to escalate the war. The radical policies of the Atlantic Federation seeping into OMNI, however, usually gave them little choice.
Junius Seven had been a painful scar that they had not forgotten. Only the battle of Aprilius One had come close; in the immediate days that followed, many in ZAFT had been clamouring for a swift, strategic counterattack on OMNI. It was well within their means to attempt a punch-through assault through OMNI's lunar fleets to initiate orbital bombardment of their major Earth-bound bases, although the OMNI counterattack would have been equally devastating. Thankfully, cooler heads had prevailed; with PLANT Chairman Gilbert Durandal's actions, ZAFT had restricted itself to reinforcing its old positions and probing strikes, and now that the war was proceeding along normal expectations, even the most hotblooded fighters in ZAFT were beginning to wonder if it might not be possible to downscale it to a ceasefire, and eventually peace negotiations.
Alan had no compunctions as to the difficulty of such an idealistic action; the remnants of Junius Seven had been dropped by terrorists comprised of former ZAFT pilots, using former ZAFT units; nevertheless, ZAFT's self-restricted actions had finally won them, first, a modicum of understanding, then, as they moved in to take advantage of OMNI's brutality against frontline locals, a much greater degree of respect from the other nations.
Although the Atlantic Federation had pushed hard for the World Security Treaty, most of its constituent nations signed it out of pressure rather than actual desire for revenge. The South African Union, Equatorial Union, and the United States of South America had pledged support, but so far their assistance seldom went beyond the monetary and logistical. The Eurasian Federation and the Republic of East Asia, second and third in political power to the Atlantic Federation, were likewise unwilling to commit to total war, with most of their affected regions still dealing with the fallout of Junius Seven, and knowing that up in space, ZAFT Fleet forces remained largely un-bloodied, content to simply sit and watch OMNI fleet movement unless the call to action came. Unlike their Earth Alliance counterparts, ZAFT's space fleet was far more well-versed in hit-and-run tactics; if they truly wanted to, there was little chance for the ponderous warships of OMNI to goad them into an open battle, unless they attempted a repeat of the assault on Aprilius One. The Equatorial Union, along with the Kingdom of Scandinavia, had opted to remain neutral; they were not important in the long-term equation. The only remaining wild card was the Orb Expeditionary Force operating in the region, one which Alan was sure would pose no long-term threat.
At the same time, he felt a vague sense of foreboding. Throughout all these, he had rarely put in effort to identify forces from the Atlantic Federation. To the average ZAFT soldier, there was no distinction between the various soldiers in OMNI, but even without trying, Alan knew an Atlantic Federation camp when he saw one. Only a unit from that nation could pull off such actions like the Lohengrin Gate without batting an eye. Self-belief in their perceived superiority, he thought, is less a learned attribute, and more of a cult nature to them.
Yet, his recent opponents behaved nothing like the enemies he had come to believe them as. Alan thought for a while further, then pushed everything out of his mind. Ultimately, it did not matter which kind of soldier he was fighting; such thoughts would only serve to saddle him with hesitation. Only his mission mattered.
Alan turned a corner to see Fernandz Kodor walking past, in full uniform. "Why, if it isn't Mr. Reidr," Fernandz said. "Here to send me off?"
"I didn't know you were being assigned, actually." Alan replied. "Where are you going to this time?"
"ZAFT has assigned two of its Compton-class land battleships to the Eurasian Front; the Archduke and the Schneider. They're keeping the Uhlenbeck, their primary ship, in reserve around here." Fernandz replied. "I'll be stationed on the Archduke. They're shipping parts down from space even as we speak; once they're done, we'll be moving out. I'm heading there first to make sure no one steals my bunk... and settle some boring paperwork, I guess."
"So you're going back to the frontlines?"
"In a manner of speaking," Fernandz said, his gaze directed towards the westward horizon. "ZAFT Intel wants eyes on the ground to see what the situation is like on the front. We'll be holding position in the territory of Slovakia; OMNI may have regained control of Trencin Base, but they don't have the manpower to extend their hold. Think of it as us camping outside of their doors."
Alan pondered this new information for a moment. "Sounds devious."
Fernandz clapped his right hand on Alan's shoulder, a hearty laugh escaping his lips. "Hah! You don't know the meaning of deviousness yet unless you've worked as Intel, my fellow comrade." He turned to walk away, waving a hand in the air. "Until next time, Raider Leader. It was a pleasure working with you."
Alan watched as the intel officer walk off. "The same to you too. Good luck."
Fernandz merely replied with one last wave, the massive silhouettes of the near-finished Compton-class landships occupying the base's skyline of the afternoon sun as the two ZAFT soldiers parted ways.
CE 73, December 14th, Training Room, Mannheim Base, Germany, Eurasian Federation
Afternoon 14 22
Ray grimaced inwardly as Kaguya landed Caleria on her back with an over-shoulder throw, a solid thud resounding throughout the room. Even through the training mat, the younger pilot had all the air knocked out of her, and Kaguya let Caleria gasp for a while to regain her breath, before pulling her back up.
Seated to the sides were the other mobile suit pilots currently present in Mannheim; all of the personnel of the Blizzard and Manhunter squadrons. Ray had taken the chance to begin teaching them several close-combat moves; he had thought that it would be a good idea to begin by getting them used to the inertia of what they would be doing, before they moved on to replicating physical actions with mobile suits.
With the exception of Esther, the majority of Blizzard Squadron were less than equals in unarmed combat; even then, Kaguya had made short work of the OMNI Captain, easily gaining the upper hand in a brief tussle that ended with Esther on the ground.
"First things first, you'd want to remember that keeping your balance is the key to overpowering your opponent." He glanced around, finally setting on Rolan. "You're up next."
"Ah, nuts," Rolan muttered, stepping into the padded area. He raised both hands up in a vague approximation of a grappling stance. "Graaah! Let's get this going!"
Ray arched an eyebrow, looking at his opponent up and down. "Been watching The Luchadores 2 yesterday night on Channel 16, Rolan?"
Behind Rolan, Benjamin grinned, while Caleria chortled openly. Karl managed with a smile that, to Rolan, clearly conveyed; do you actually know what you're doing?
"Yes - shit, stow it, you punks!" Rolan snapped in response. Lowering his stance, Rolan faced Ray, slowly advancing. "I know the basics of grappling. Keep a low core-"
Ray lowered his stance in response, catching Rolan, as the Eurasian officer attempted a pre-emptive tackle midway through his own sentence, no doubt hoping to catch Ray off-guard. Leaving momentum to do his job, Ray caught the younger officer mid-charge and shifted his centre of gravity to Rolan's right, and for an instant, Rolan's feet left the ground as Ray lifted him up bodily, before throwing him sideways and onto the mat with a simple judo throw.
Rolan's failed surprise attack only made Caleria's laughter louder, and even Karl and Benjamin were hard-pressed to keep from making any sound.
Ray reached out and hoisted Rolan up. "Well, you have the 'element of surprise' part down. Remember to keep a low core, alright? 'Low' subjective to the opponent you're facing, of course."
"I get it, I get it," Rolan grumbled, shaking his head to clear the disorientation. "Oi! Are the three of you going to stop, or what?!"
"To be honest, what I just did is only applicable to human-against-human fighting," Ray said. "In mobile suits, you have to remember that it's entirely possible to right yourselves with thruster work before you even land on the ground, and that's not counting the fact that most mobile suits don't have the necessary drive power to lift another unit up, even with inertia. Still, a moment of disorientation may give you the edge in a close-quarters fight."
"You've all probably watched how I fought against Rasel Grey," Ray said, ignoring Rolan's attempt to pull away as Ray reached out to pull him back, setting him in position as a human demonstrator. "In such a situation, it's best to limit your opponent's mobility; it doesn't matter if your opponent is a GUNDAM or a Strike Dagger. Don't let them destabilize you so that they can use their thrusters to return the situation to their favour; push your advantage and take the lead. Don't pull them into a slugfest either; it does neither side good, and you're worse off if the other side has Phase Shift. You've probably all heard of ZAFT's exploits with their warship, the Minerva; we don't know when or if they might mass-produce the Impulse, so keep that in mind."
He manoeuvred Rolan around slowly, so as to show the sequence of events for that moment, eventually pinning the younger officer to the ground. "The key thing here is to disable quickly and move on to the next target; no matter how much armor they put on the limbs, joints are still joints, they're still going to be the least armoured points on a mobile suit, and that's where unarmed combat comes in."
"How about that move you did on the Rosso Aegis?" Karl asked, as Ray helped Rolan to his feet. "The one where you broke its arm."
Ray scratched his head. "Oh, that. It's a grappling move, but it was on the spur of the moment. It's everything that unarmed combat is, actually; adapting to the opponent on the fly. There's really nothing special to it outside of learning the moves; the real threat comes from a person who is able to switch up his or her stance and actions to match whatever you can do."
"What about basic moves?" Esther asked. "We're not looking to turn them into experts, but it'll help the pilots if they could at least fend for themselves without weapons."
Ray was quiet for a moment as he considered his response. He was certain that Esther was referring to the pilots due to arrive at Mannheim in a week's time.
"Permission to speak freely," Ray said.
"Sounds odd to be asking that on the sparring mat," Esther remarked. "But go ahead."
"To be honest, I think that teaching those pilots these moves are going about it the wrong way," Ray paused for a moment. "Most of them will never engage in the battles that we have to fight; they will move as part of a large formation, fight as part of a large formation... and die as part of a large formation of troops. Compared to us, who regularly face odds that are stacked against us in non-conventional missions, they have very little chance to actively face their opponents in a close-in fight that focuses on skills rather than technology and numbers."
"That may be true," Esther replied. "But I'm hoping that they can get just a bit more skill if it's what they need to survive. We're heading for a clash with ZAFT, and all signs point to it happening within the first half of the next year. We're situated at a crossroads; if the Saragossa Line comes under attack from Gibraltar, we'll be shipped off to assist the Spanish garrison. If ZAFT uses their Diocuia Base to spearhead a gutting blow, we'll either be mobilizing to intercept them as they move in from the south-east, or end up facing them within Germany itself. Unlikely as it is, if they move towards Siberia, we might be chasing them there too."
"I'm not saying that this is a waste of time for them," Ray replied. "But I'd rather teach these skills to their squadron leaders as a way to improve their control and command versatility. I agree that a battle in the near-future is inevitable... and losing too much manpower in the combat to come may result in more than just the embarrassment of allied reinforcements on home ground."
The room was quiet as Ray's words sunk in. Esther briefly closed her eyes in understanding; 'reinforcements', the case being that it would be highly likely that the Atlantic Federation would be providing them, and if that happened, both squadron commanders knew that Blue Cosmos would not pass up the chance to stick their greedy fingers back into the Eurasian Federation. The best thing they could hope for, if it were to reach that point in time, would be merely an escalation of the land war; Ray had no desire for the current conflict to devolve back into the strategic, massively destructive attrition warfare that represented the ending days of the First Bloody Valentine War, and knew all too well that the Atlantic Federation would be pushing for the exact same result if they were fully allowed in.
"Very well," Esther replied. "Rework the plan as you see fit, Lieutenant. I'll leave it up to you."
As the group dispersed, Caleria, Benjamin, and Karl gathered around Kaguya, asking for pointers in melee combat. To Ray's surprise, Rolan approached him instead.
"I'd thought you would go for Sakamoto instead," Ray remarked. "She's got actual training in unarmed and armed close-combat skills."
Rolan flashed a grin. "I plan to do that. But first, I need to avenge my loss, or failing that, learn how it happened." Rolan lowered his body. "You may be acting humble, but I don't believe for one moment you're any worse off than Kaguya when it comes to fist-fighting. I much prefer your brawling style, myself."
Ray smirked, falling into his stance. "Just a word of warning then, Rolan; I don't believe in tapping out."
CE 73, December 15th, Dover Force Base, British Mainland, Eurasian Federation
Morning 09 32
Major Venna Calis, commanding officer of the 47th Armor Tactics Battalion, Atlantic Federation 9th Tactical Division, looked at her wristwatch, her right boot tapping a steady rhythm against the concrete tarmac of the base as a sign of her impatience. Her previous orders had been rescinded at the last moment; she was supposed to meet up with a new officer. Around her stood her adjutants; her squadron commanders, and their flight leaders. She tugged on a stray strand of brown hair on her fringe.
At length, a man dressed in uniform showed up. Venna eyed the newcomer; while he wore the marks of a Lieutenant Colonel on his collar, the man looked like he desperately needed some time under the sun; or at the very least, some time doing frontline duty. His nametag read 'R. G. Broone'. The emblem of the Atlantic Federation's Office of National Intelligence was pinned over his name tag.
Venna saluted the Lieutenant Colonel, who barely acknowledged her gesture with an indifferent tilt of his head; a nod that was barely perceptible. Another bad mark for Venna's mental bookkeeping.
"You are Major Calis, I presume?" the pallid-faced Broone asked.
"I am," Venna replied, mentally taking note of his tone; she perceived an undercurrent of self-confidence, bordering on superiority, flowing around his words. "I am here to receive new orders for my redeployment from Dover Force Base to a currently-undisclosed location on the Eurasian mainland."
When Lieutenant Colonel Broone merely nodded and looked elsewhere, Venna began to feel impatience creeping upon her. She was not used to being shuffled around like baggage; she had her orders, at least until this morning, and her subordinates to answer to. If they were not going to tell her where her unit would be going, she-
"You can't be serious. You mean our backup are these chucklefu-"
"Ease off. We've just met them."
Venna turned her head to witness a trio walk up, with seven more soldiers behind them, following. Unlike Broone, who wore the tab of OMNI on his right, with the flag of the Atlantic Federation below, and the insignia of the Atlantic Federation Office of Internal Intelligence on his left, the newest group wore no other unit insignia on their uniform or their shoulder patches save for one.
The dreaded regalia of the 81st Autonomous Corps.
"Ah, you're here," Broone said. "Major Rells, this is Major Venna. She'll be providing support forces to you on this mission."
One of the trio, the one whose voice she first heard, gave a mocking laugh; his nametag read 'V. Dyald'. "Mainline troops to support us? They might as well be as good as cannon fodder! Just feed them into the fucking furnace already."
Venna shot a warning glare to one of her squadron leaders as he shifted in position, before returning her gaze to the foul-mouthed pilot. Dyald merely eyed Venna, before holding up a middle finger; his expression darkened faster than the ground under an approaching thunderstorm. "What's the matter? Never seen a Phantom Pain pilot before, tramp? In case you forgot, pea-brain," he pulled on his collar, the Captain tab glistening under the cloudless skies over Dover Force Base, "Special Forces have priority over fodder like you people in times of war. We're at war here, in case you people didn't already get the memo in CE 70!"
Venna remained silent, fixing her gaze on Dyald. The lanky, arrogant pilot started forward, a snarl forming on lips framed by stubble, before an arm reached out to pull him back; another member of the trio, whose nametag read 'H. Ignas'.
Her voice was, although mild as her appearance would have suggested, carried a hint of force that far belied her neutral, almost innocent appearance. "Vlitz, don't."
"Shut it, Hanna, what's your pro-"
The foremost of the trio, whom Lieutenant Colonel Broone had called by his family name, Rells, reached out and pulled Flitz back. "Enough. We're here to do our mission, not make new enemies."
Vlitz eyed Venna, but remained silent.
Rells reached out with his right hand, and Venna took it guardedly in a brief handshake. "I'm Major Geroda Rells, commander of the 9th ATS Flogger from the 81st Autonomous Corps. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Likewise, from the 47th ATB, 9th Tactical Division." Venna replied icily. "And to what purpose do I owe a cooperative mission by a unit from the... vaunted... 81st Autonomous Corps?"
Vlitz growled. "Hey, you might want to watch that lip, you b-"
Hanna reached out and yanked Vlitz back hard enough to make even the tough-talking pilot stumble. "Enough."
Vlitz glowered at Hanna, but otherwise remained silent. And as far as Venna could see, apart from Vlitz and Hanna, none of the other pilots from Flogger Squadron had even moved a muscle; such a gross and prolonged breach of military protocol might as well be another day for them.
"The Atlantic Federation leadership has decided that the Eurasian Federation might need more than just token assistance in the upcoming battles," Geroda said smoothly. "We're here as the vanguard to provide that assistance."
"I see," Venna replied, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. "I suppose a few more units are accompanying your squadron into the new areas?"
"Yours will be the first," Geroda replied. "Others will follow."
Venna knew as well as she was an officer that Geroda's words meant a different story. The Atlantic Federation was attempting to forcibly intervene in the affairs of the Eurasian Federation; while she was Atlantic by nationality, she was disgusted at the degree of underhandedness that had to have taken place for this redeployment to have happened.
"Where are we being redeployed to?"
"Mannheim Base, in Germany," Geroda answered. "A nice place at any time of the year, really. Don't look so uptight, Major," the Phantom Pain squadron leader said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Your eyes looked like you were being told to prepare your unit for a trench battle."
Venna responded with a wan smile of her own. "Oh, you presume too much of me, Rells," she replied, deliberately picking his family name instead of his rank or first name. "It's a honor to be working with your unit. I'm afraid that my own men might be overshadowed in all to come."
Geroda simply smiled back, an action that did not quite reach beyond his lips, leaving his gaze mirthless. "You overvalue us."
As the Phantom Pain pilots walked away, Broone approached Venna. "There is more at stake in this mission than you realize, Major."
Venna merely eyed the intel officer with a steely glare. "I find it hard to believe that there is more at stake than the... 'well-being'... of the Atlantic Federation in this latest manoeuvre."
Broone blinked once, and, to Venna's surprise, a corner of his mouth crooked upwards. "Well, now, if you can see it that way, keep at it." He handed a data pad to Venna. "Mission orders. Go through them well."
Venna eyed the officer as he left after the Phantom Pain personnel; she had taken him for a straight-up Phantom Pain supporter, but his last words, especially the way he presented them, had smashed her initial analysis of him. "Spooks, the whole damned lot of 'em," she muttered. "Squadron leaders, report to your units. Get them squared up and ready for redeployment."
As her subordinates left her, Venna activated the data pad. On it was information regarding Mannheim Base; location, key personnel, and current status of facilities. Her blood froze, however, when she reached a certain point in the information on the screen.
Memories gripped her; her time as a junior officer, with her fellow bunkmate, a young Lieutenant by the name of Celina Searstone. For reasons undisclosed, she had committed suicide days before her graduation from the Atlantic Federation's Advanced Armor Tactics Combat Training Facility; Venna had went through the graduation ceremony without her partner to celebrate it with. Often she wondered where Celina would be, had she made it up the ranks; she was an officer that naturally empathized with those under her command, something that some officers could or would never learnt to do so, even for their entire service lives.
The spook had to have known. Venna did not know whether he was masquerading as a Blue Cosmos lackey, or if his support for the group was genuine, but one thing was clear, at least; something was afoot, and she was now in the midst of it.
She glared at the data; the personnel records of the 108th ATS Manhunters. Only one person could answer the questions of what had happened that day; she had dreamed of the day when she had enough authority to find out the truth for herself. She had not dared to think that she would outrank a former instructor, but now, the chance had presented itself.
Ray Feric... I'll beat some answers out of you if I need to...!
Afterword:
Fresh off the heels of the NEFA are, we're heading into the next one - the following events, told to hopefully give possible insight to the thoughts of the Eurasian Federation, are meant to take place along the series' own line of events as follows: Shinn's encounter with Stella, the takeover of the EA's Lodonia enhanced humans research laboratory, the defeat of the Orb fleet sent to pester the Minerva, and finally the attack on Berlin.