(Archangel's Amazing Adventures, Set 3, Chapter 12: Homeward Bound)
(20 January 988)
(Location: Ancient Ruins, mountain range northwest of Zozo)
"I can't believe that such a miserable city as Zozo is the gatekeeper to something as magnificent as this," Fuu gasps out, in clear awe of the caves themselves, much less what was theoretically rumored to be within.
"It is," Nicol says. "Come on, step lively," he notes as he begins moving in, his modified Thompson sweeping ahead. They had used the fledgling plastics industry in Vector to make a series of specialized Thompson forearm stocks that had Weaver rails necessary for attaching tactical lights or laser sights. This did nothing significant to reduce the weight of each weapon, but helped in dark areas and intimidation factor. Supposedly every Thompson in the Archangel's growing arsenal would receive that modification...
Immediately inside the cave in question, there was nothing of threat to the intrepids, but they knew to check regardless—anything could ambush them at random. Fuu and Nicol moved generally south with a hint of west; they passed under a natural stone bridge as they began the dirty work of the ground exploration. "Wow, compared to Figaro's caves, there is practically no wildlife here," Fuu notes almost sourly. She did not like the noise the Rorynex she was carrying delivered even with one shot, and she definitely did not like the 'random encounter' RPG game mechanic now that she lived it, but something had to happen, did it not?
"I know. I wonder what happened?" Nicol asks, realizing something had to have happened to depopulate—messily depopulate, given the bloodstains here and there—a large cave area.
Almost on cue: "Eeepp! A blood stain," Fuu half-squeals. Her tactical light was centered on the ground where a large pile of blood and gore had dried into a somewhat rough mass. The mess was definitely aged, there was nothing wet to it to suggest it having been fresh.
"Something was here," Nicol notes. "Make sure you are locked and loaded, anything could have caused this."
"Nicol?" It was not her getting his attention, but her tone of inflection that immediately caused his neck hairs to stand up. "Something is coming," she says in a very worried tone a moment later.
"Oh, great," he could hear a creak of metal against metal, instantly making him wonder if they were about to come face to face with some form of ancient annihilation machine that was keeping this cave evicted of denizens...and were they about to be next? "Regardless of what comes around that ledge, I'm going to Willy-Pete (1) it, give me covering fire if needed."
"Got it," Fuu replies immediately. "Should we try to Thermite (2) the thing?" the creaking grew louder as the object continued to approach. Nicol carried several of each grenade, as well as several standard ones, as did Fuu. Better to be prepared than not, she figured.
The source of the squeaking continued to approach from around a precipice, and as it did, Nicol's arm tensed more and more, ready to pull the pin from the WP grenade and throw it at a moment's notice. If nothing else, he figured he could throw it and then run.
A light source lit off a mere meter from the corner of the precipice, and Fuu immediately tensed up as she brought her Rorynex up on target with the light on to identify the target and hopefully see something she could shoot as a weak point before it tried attacking her. She had learned the hard way that while RPGs considered an enemy typically one damage model, ergo you hit it you get one result regardless of how and where you hit it. Real life definitely was not that simplistic, she had found out the hard way. Her Rorynex had a wildly different effect from her sword, which had a wildly different effect from her summoning a Valefor, which had a wildly different effect from calling fire support on it from the Buster. And each was useful against a different array of targets.
Faugh! Please extinguish that light, you are blinding me! A mental voice not dissimilar to the Tonberries declares.
"Fuu! That's a Tonberry!" Nicol says as he pushes the muzzle of her weapon down to get the aimpoint and thus the light off him.
"No way!" Fuu half-shouts. "I thought we had found them all!" She releases the switch to turn her barrel light off, which reduced the lighting in the area to only the lantern of the Tonberry in question. In the light, they could see this one was a bit different from normal, it was slightly larger, naturally tinted blue-green instead of lime green or forest green, wore a better set of robes, and was wearing a simplistic crown.
What do you speak of? I have encountered no humans in the thousand years of my being here, he declares telepathically. Not even the Espers that used to reside alongside the Humans in this wretched castle are here any longer. And what do you speak of, having 'found' the other Tonberries? What is your purpose here, interlopers?
"What...huh?" Nicol asked, now too stunned to put the WP grenade away, but his finger was out of the pin loop.
"We are here to explore this cave and the rumored ruins at the end. We didn't expect...we thought we had found the eight surviving Tonberries!"
There are nine of us, that is all that have been since the War of the Magi killed off almost all our race. The Tonberry had approached in its usual, creepy slow step, but Nicol noticed it did not have its knife out. That made him feel at more ease than anything else. Why do you seek the Tonberries?
"Two just showed up in our galley and started preparing meals for us, so one of our friends went about and offered the job to the rest. We live on a Warship, the Archangel," Fuu says as she crouches down to look the Tonberry in the eye.
The horrid war must be over, then, the Tonberry declares. I was the King of the Tonberries at one time in my life, but I lost my kingdom to the ravages of the conflict.
"That sucks," Nicol gripes.
Would your rank be willing to accept a failed king in charge of your galley? At least I can be with the others and pay my penance there.
"I don't see why not," Fuu notes, looking to Nicol for confirmation.
"I think you'd have to argue command of the galley with Chief Warrant Officer Ryback, though," Nicol muses. "He's the present CO of the galley."
Then I will keep the Tonberries straight for him. I know at least two of them are lackluster in discipline and procedures. If he could sound more amused, how was lost on Nicol or Fuu.
"That would explain the galley fire a week ago," Nicol says.
I will seek out the Archangel. In which city is it moored?
"Southern continent, the former Imperial Capital of Vector," Nicol says. It disappeared in a small ring of light a moment thereafter. "Good luck, buddy," he wishes to empty air, knowing that there had to be some reason the rank and file Tonberries always said there were only eight. Maybe there was bad blood in there somewhere?
"Shall we continue?" Fuu asks.
"Indeed," Nicol notes as he flicks on his tactical light again. The two resumed their search for the ruins and anything else of interest therein, though as they moved south through the narrows on the east side of the cave entry antechamber they found a narrow passage to a larger cave chamber farther south of the entry chamber. Immediately within the new holding, Fuu and Nicol found themselves on an effective land bridge above an area of random stone formations inside the far larger cave area.
"The majesty of these places...it never grows old," Fuu gasps as they stop halfway south on the land bridge to look around the expanse they were inside.
Nicol chuckles once. "These kinds of things I never thought possible at home, and especially thought were never possible when I was ZAFT." A moment of silence as they looked around with the tactical lights. "Makes you wonder, does it not? What else are people missing in life?"
"Probably too much," Fuu notes. "Way too much."
"I think I know where we go next," Nicol opines as he continues moving south on the land bridge until they reached the end, and a rock bevel that he could slide down to the lower areas. On the lower ground, they began moving east with the intention of going north to another chamber of the caves. They only moved a scant fifty meters East before...
"Nicol, am I seeing this right?"
"I...whoa," Nicol mutters when he realizes what he was looking at. "That's...wow," he gasps a moment later.
"I know," she declares as she begins walking toward it slowly.
"Hold," Nicol orders. "In real life, those few pirates who actually buried treasure also had traps to go with them. Be very careful, check your surroundings. No sense going for the box when you don't live long enough to open it."
"Oh, right," Fuu squeaks, realizing she had 'defaulted' on her old conditioning of being a RPG gamer and forgetting that some of her prior-favorite games had traps to go along with the infrequent treasures. Cautiously, she begins moving her tactical light around to check for signs of a trap, and sees none. "Does it look safe to you?"
"The box? Yes. The ground in front of it? No," and Nicol stomps on a cut in the stone that could be naught but some kind of floor-mounted switch. It sinks through to whatever mechanism that it was supposed to activate, creaks, lets loose some kind of metallic groaning noise, then gives a resounding crash as dust comes up from a series of holes in the ground spaced out in front of the chest. "Here, I'll make sure whatever it is remains broke for good," Nicol and grabs his WP grenade from his tactical vest, pulls the pin, and drops it down one of the more centralized holes in the array. The grenade barely fit as they could hear it rattle down to some kind of hollow space below, then detonate. The holes themselves began shining violet as the sound of rats squealing in abject horror and pain came up to them from below, the lighting casting an eerie glow about the area but not penetrating to the massive ceiling above them. "So much for that trap," Nicol declares, looking down one of the holes and seeing only the glint of iron arrowheads, no trace of the arrow itself or the launching mechanism.
"Should we try the chest now?" Fuu asks.
"Shoot the lock with your Rorynex, that should open the latch easily," Nicol requests before he covers his ears. The Rorynex ammunition was an explosive-tipped cartridge, which was what Nicol was relying on to get into it; Fuu shouldered, sighted up, and let fly a five-round burst into the locking mechanism from a dozen meters, an easy shot for her that produced the desired effect. The lock latch itself was sundered as well as the surrounding frame on the strongbox, causing the whole latch to collapse into the box innards.
Nicol moves aside and toward the box, always careful not to set off another trap, until he is close enough to the strongbox that he can reach out and touch it. Rather than opening it by hand, he disarms the Thompson, unslings it, flips it around so he is holding the stock toward the box, and uses the buttplate to push it open while he remains at range. Again, there was the sound of groaning metal as it passed a certain point, certainly not the sound of the hinges on the lid as they opened, but nothing happened that warranted an actual threat to them. "Maybe the traps are so old they fall apart when activated?" Fuu asks from a respectable distance as he finishes shoving the lid open; as the lid swung down backwards it ripped the hinges clear out of the rest of the strongbox body, causing a hellish resounding clatter in the vaulted cave as it comes to rest on the ground.
"Insane...I am not seeing this right," Nicol gasps in awe as he stands up to look down into the box itself. Fuu's light was enough for him to see the contents of the box, and almost all of it glittered in what little light was filtering into it.
"Oh, someone stashed their treasure in this box," Fuu says almost nonchalantly. "Makes me wonder, why do role-playing games have treasures in large boxes easily visible to the players?"
"It has to be stored somewhere," Nicol opines, thinking of but one possible among many. "Here, this is the trap inside the box," And he indicates a blade that was designed to scythe out when the lid was released, but the box had rusted and seized up so badly that the blade itself would not have moved without a pair of pliers to aid it. "This stuff is ancient...gems, finished jewelry, gold, silver, platinum, easily a mid-size fortune here. Absolutely absurd that someone would have left this around in otherwise plain sight, but the box is so old whoever it belongs to must have died a long time ago."
"You would think Sir Locke would have found it and seen to the contents by now," Fuu was referring to King Edgar's shadow assistant, Locke Cole, who was now a Knight of Figaro and retainer to the King for 'Special and Hazardous Operations,' as the Figaro Court called him. Even with the new-found importance, though, he was still the much infamous Treasure Hunter that captured the imagination and hearts of people the world over. What and why he hunted, though, was open to speculation.
"We win this one; a treasure pile like this would serve immense help as hard currency for the Archangel," Nicol says with an 'interested' tone to voice. "Think we can teleport it to the ship from here?"
"Sure, let me borrow your assistance," Fuu says. Without even time to protest, she had closed up on him but did not actually touch; the nearer she was to other spellcasters, the more effective their magic was found to be. "The auras of time and space shall warp to Teleport Other Object unto Nicol's quarters on board the Archangel," she chants as she focuses the sight of his quarters in her mind's eye just prior to their departure earlier in the day. With a touch to the frame of the strongbox, the box vanished in a small, almost dim flash of light and was gone.
"That will make someone happy when we tell the Captain what we found," Nicol says sardonically.
-x-
The ruins at the end of the cave area were exposed in a small valley deeper into the mountains north of Zozo. Much as had been told in legend, there was little left standing that the Espers did not take their vengeance upon, and that included the castle proper. Getting past the promenade, the walls, and actually to the castle proper was itself an exercise in climbing over piles upon piles of ancient debris that not even a millennia of varying weather had eradicated.
"This castle would have been beautiful if not for being smashed by the wars long ago," Nicol notes as they stood outside the main entry to the keep.
"I can only wonder what the occupants would have been like," Fuu says by way of reply.
"After you," and Nicol opens one of the doors for her. Lacking further ado, Fuu entered the hallowed halls shortly before Nicol did the same.
The inside of the castle was not untouched by time and weather, but even still it was as majestic as Figaro or Doma. The decorative armor to either side of the entryway and grand hallway was something of its own charm—and Nicol could sense it was magicked armor at that. Most of the carpet leading further into the castle was intact, and Nicol could have sworn that parts of it gave off the appearance of a faint magic glow. "Is everything in this building magicked?" Fuu asks, quite astonished at what she was seeing.
"It may be," Nicol replies cautiously. Despite growing apprehension and belief that something quite powerfully magical was ahead, they continue forward and up toward the next chamber. Through the vaulted doors was the main audience chamber of the king and queen, a basic throne room with multiple tiers of floor level leading up to the highest point in the room for the thrones.
What they were seeing, the empty hallway with a statue on the tier just below the thrones, flickered and wavered for a moment, before it settled down with something far different than just a statue and an empty hall. "Is this—an illusion?" Fuu asks aloud, directed to nobody.
You are seeing the past, the memories of the castle's living will, Windam tells her telepathically. Observe, and you shall see how this dynasty ended.
From around them, theoretically through the doors behind Nicol and Fuu, surged forward a squad of soldiers like no other that Fuu or Nicol had ever read about. The diamond shields and military forks as a standard weapon, with only a long stiletto dagger for backup and no armor but a helmet caused them to be a clash of various pre-gunpowder military types that Nicol could not define where they would have originated from, much less from anywhere on this world. With forks set to charge they surged forward to challenge the non-statue Raiden standing on the tier below the thrones. Before they could begin spreading out to surround him, Raiden charged their two columns down, his swordwork fast and merciless, cutting no less than heads off and more often than not completely chopping apart bodies. With the bodies of the foes spoiled and sundered, he returned to his guard position still riding his horse without a hint of hesitation or arrogance in his demeanor.
"That one is excellent, one of the best," Fuu says, having seen the Raiden in action against the various monsters frequenting the southern continent.
"No, Fuu, he was one of the best," Nicol corrects.
"What?"
"That is where the statue is in our reality." To make the matter clear, the next illusion to pass them was a large guy in armor, though rather than the expected large sword he carried a staff. At the end of the column of his deceased comrades, a wave of the staff caused them all to combust rapidly, removing any trace of their existence in the room. After the flames disappeared, the wizard moved forward and challenged Raiden himself with the set of his staff.
The thundering charge of the Esper shook the ground even as they saw it through illusion; he charged the wizard down for all it was worth, but never struck; a well-timed defensive barrier stopped the Esper and deflected his whole transit to the left, never scoring a strike against the interloper. The horse Raiden rode took a few moments to stand up, but again the Esper charged after he was reset from the near-collapse. In the same fashion, Raiden charged him down, and again his attack befell a defensive barrier that this time deflected and shocked him back toward the thrones. In the stun the wizard advanced and struck the horse in the chest with the glowing end of his staff, never saying a word as he backed off.
"No! You will not turn me to Magicite! I will not give you the pleasure, wizard!" Raiden's voice boomed throughout the hall and rather than disintegrating in death, the Esper turned to stone.
The Wizard turned to face the two from the Archangel, shaking his head as the last of Raiden solidified into stone. Without a word he moved three tiers down, to a step about ten meters forward of the queen's throne and stomped on yet another switch in the floor. This caused a resounding impact echo toward the east of the castle. Without a glance at the Esper he walked into the Queen's chambers.
"We follow," Nicol orders as he moves toward the door. They followed the wizard essentially close, as he first scoped out the room, then took the stairs in the south wall that would have been recessed behind a hidden wall. The wizard was out of sight downstairs prior to Nicol and Fuu descending to below to a large storage room that was somewhat filled with boxes.
The Wizard continued north in this room until he came to the far wall and the Queen standing near it, looking away from them; Fuu could sense she was crying.
"It has come to this only by your own folly, Queen Kallis," the wizard notes calmly.
A quick nod in response, before she turns to face her assailant. "We were the first ones to see, we were the last ones to bleed." Even her sigh of resignation was measured, dignified. "Do what you will."
"Petrify," the Wizardsays, completing a pre-chanted spell, his staff pointing to her heart. With a bright flash and a radiant light, the Queen was turned to stone in a matter of seconds.
The scene visually wavered, thereafter they could tell they were looking at the here-and-now of the petrified Queen.
"Even in death, she held her grace," Fuu mutters sadly, stepping forward to reach out and touch the statue. Nothing happened as she touched it, but Fuu could sense her feelings for the Raiden that had died to stave the enemy for just that much more.
"Never is a war pretty, but some are more despicable than others," Nicol says, looking around the now-empty storage room. It showed signs of having been looted more than a few times after the battle that brought the nation down, but nothing recent.
"What shall we do?" Fuu asks.
"Shall we reside here for a few days? There are more caves and much of the castle remains unexplored. The King will be interested in what we find here. And I would relish the chance to record what we have seen thus far."
"I would love to," Fuu says in more of a cheery mood. The prospect of exploration always made her happy.
-x-x-x-
(6 February 988)
(Ship's Log, Commander Badgiruel)
Much has changed since our arrival on this world almost two years past. We began and completed a war, brought an empire to its knees, introduced some of the higher technology weapons to the locals for fending off the bizarre and frightening wildlife, we have even built the first real republic of the world in the southern continent. All in all, we have earned our keep.
We have bled, bled long and hard, for our actions here. Several of the ship's crew died in the altercations with the Imperial Air Force, and on the ground, during the siege of Vector, we paid dearly in mechanized forces as the Ryoken was knocked completely out of usability, the Warhawk and Timber Wolf severely damaged, and the Mad Dog decapitated with the loss of its exceptional pilot, Kristen Redmond. I can only hope that God, or Existence, or whatever is out there has seen to her for her actions in trying to bring down the cruel regime at Vector. We now have only one Skygrasper in our hangar, and only three Gundams to compliment the Warhawk, Mad Dog, and Timber Wolf. Were a serious attack to come at this time, from anything other than woefully under-equipped enemies, the ship itself would suffer serious trauma and more losses.
Thankfully, in the two years we have been here, we have mostly prepared a way to get the ship home—hopefully. The pilots have re-engineered the Imperial Teleporter system to move between dimensions instead of locations on the planet, which, in all totality, appears to be how this madness has happened to us. Same planet, different history. The modifications are presently 89% complete, with an estimated end date and initial test of early June, though the project manager says that may still be optimistic. The whole project has been tested bit by bit, and some larger system tests have been conducted, but the fact remains that the whole assembly has not thus been tested in concert changes the equation to a large unknown for the ship. With it untested, it is still a wish, not a hard possibility that we may get home.
Not all that has changed has been technical. Murdoch and his madmen have proven themselves amazing drill instructors and 'sea daddies' to use the old United States Navy expression. Finding people who want to join the Archangel was not a tough task, especially in Vector and Figaro. Training them was not especially difficult, either. Making sure they knew that this was a one-way trip for them was the real challenge; every now and again, I found that some of the 'greenhorns' still thought there would be a way back, which there shall not be. Once we leave, the only direction is forward. They all understand this and welcome it; for most, this world holds nothing but bad memories or a lack of challenge to their spirit, and they relish the chance to go forward.
Terra, the Magitek Knight we rescued quite a while back, has turned out to be an excellent addition to the crew as well as an absolutely intrinsic wizard. Her spellcraft grows in power practically by the day and there are few tasks she hasn't mastered in spellcraft. She remained silent and mostly unobtrusive during the war, as she was deathly afraid of the Empire somehow being able to take latent control of her and use her against the Archangel, but that threat is now known past. Now she works closely with those around the crew learning magic. The fact that she can destroy a hundred targets in less than three minutes with her spellcraft has definitely earned her respect, and her capabilities go the opposite direction just as far. She has demonstrated the ability to completely heal someone who was paralyzed quadriplegic by a falling autocannon using just two spells and an hour's time. Prior a soldier of a corrupt Empire, she has found her new home here on the Archangel, and the crew has unanimously welcomed her.
The ship sits at the ready, awaiting the day that the teleporters become our way home. Cleaned, repainted, and waxed to a high gloss, the modified Archangel today looks even more majestic than it did in dry dock at Orb or Heliopolis. This is not to withhold mention of the competency of the crew and the arsenal of the ship are significantly greater than those years and battles past. I have little doubt that were Le Creuset to attack this ship without the support of his Gundams, the results would not be a draw battle in his favor. If the ZAFT pilots that yet remain with us were to side with the Archangel, Creuset would not stand against us for more than three minutes in a protracted battle. Such is the pace of advancement we have seen among ourselves.
I cannot hazard a guess at what the future holds today. Given the past as a gauge for the future, there is no real telling if we shall be home next or if we shall find ourselves in some strange, new location with God-doesn't-even-know-what challenges to face down in our quest to return home. I can only hope that the road is not as bloody as it was for us to begin with.
-x-x-x-
(30 March 988)
"What do you think, Celes?" Leo asks after a moment of silence, looking out the window at his residence into the raining mid-day sky.
"Will she take it, you mean?" Celes counters, not entirely unsure what Leo meant, but figuring that was the likely question.
"Indeed," Leo replies.
"It is not a lost cause, and you have to admit she is more than competent," the slightly smaller but no less respected General of the Republic of Vector replies to her host.
"I would have to agree," Leo concludes after a moment. "And—" An explosion nearby rocks the house, even knocking over a vase in the room. "Oh shit, was that—" Another explosion rocks the building, though Celes could tell the missile in question landed farther east than the last.
"That was a Magitek missile, was it not?" Celes asks, a bit shocked to hear one after this long but not scared of it.
"Oh, indeed," Leo declares coldly. "Guess who is back?"
Celes simply stands up and moves to the jacket rack where she had propped a Thompson and magazine pouch against the wall next to her raincoat along with her old Runic sword. Normally, she only carried the sword in town, but there had been a rash of otherwise inexplicable violent crimes around town so she was not taking chances. To highlight the situation, as she linked the sword sheath onto her belt another explosion in town shook the building, and a third as she hooked the magazine pouch on her belt.
"Shall we be off?" Leo asks. Celes looked to him, then—
"That's one of the new sniper-pattern Enfield rifles, isn't it?"
"It is," Leo replies as he flips up the dust covers from the scope lenses. "If they attack a city wantonly, I shall not give them a fair fight," he clarifies after a moment.
The door swings open, admitting Leo's Adjutant, Major Garset. "Sir, ma'am, Imperial remnants from the southwest, supported by a hodgepodge of Magitek units," he informs them. Also armed for battle, the Major was possessed of his personal choice of armament as the newest Figaro production line, the AKM assault rifle that combined the stomping power of a full heavy rifle with the ease of carry and ammunition capacity of a sub-machinegun.
"Anything in the air?" Celes asks; taking down Air Armor or Spitfires would be incredibly difficult with no more firepower than could be carried by a trooper.
"No, milady, only ground and possibly one or two Tunnel Armor," he informs them as the three move out of Leo's residence and into the streets of Vector.
"No, there is air cover, on our side," Leo comments as the Skygrasper streaks overhead at a mere hundred yards altitude, diving down slightly and unleashing a hellish barrage of machine gun and machine cannon on some targets in the distance.
"A fortuitous short-sight on the Empire's part," Celes says as the Tek Laser return fire does not even reach his altitude as he pulled sharply up and away from the target. "The ground units cannot target an air assailant easily."
"Major Garset, what's the response time for the infantry barracks?" Leo asks, mostly disregarding Celes's comment since it didn't apply to him.
"They should be moving up right now; I called them before I came for you, sir," the Major replies.
"Here comes friendlies," Celes notes as the unmistakable sound of a military support car approaches. The production vehicle was patterned on the old United States HMMVW, of which the design plans had been in the Archangel's old records for some strange reason. The only difference was the engine was rebuilt to use Bomb Juice, not for the diesel or gasoline motor originally called for (Gasoline would still burn in it, yet at a lower power than bomb juice).
"Generals, fancy seeing you out here," Kojiro Murdoch remarks after bringing his HMMVW to a dead stop.
"Fancy that," Celes replies with an evil smile before climbing up into the open-cage rear end, where Arnold Newman was standing with his monster sniper rifle. Leo was not far behind in climbing in, though he took the back seat of the vehicle so he could use the radios to coordinate plans and tactics with his unit subcommanders.
"What do we know?" Leo asks as the HMMVW begins moving again, headed in the general direction of the 22nd Street Barracks.
"About a battalion of them with organic armor," Murdoch half-shouts over the sound of the engine's roar. "Coming through the Southwest district at a brisk pace, we think they got the best of the boys down in the 86th Street Barracks."
"Is the Archangel putting anything else on the ground or in the air?" Leo asks a moment thereafter, looking out the window as the Skygrasper takes another pass at the enemy units. This time he also used beams as well as machine guns, causing quite a bit more havoc in the enemy ranks as he targeted the enemy Magitek remnants.
"Yeah, Commander La Flaga and Athrun Zala should be out here already," Murdoch declares.
"Command, this is 3rd Battalion, Command, come in damnit!" Leo finally hears as he gets the radio in the vehicle tuned to the right frequency. "Command, come in for the love of the Gods!"
"Third, General Leo, go ahead," Leo replies immediately.
"Thank god, General! I thought these bastards had snaked you!" The relief in his voice was clearly evident.
"Not a chance in hell, what is your situation Third? I need a full sit-rep!"
"We're holed up in the barracks on 86 Street, we've got a whole gods-damned pisspot of Imperial pukes marching by, at least battalion strength. Nasty fuckers who have been killing civilians as they come across 'em. We need help, sir, we're marooned and if we act right now we're surrounded on three sides!"
"Stand by, Third, we're working on a plan now. Fifth Battalion, Command, come in," he orders on the same frequency.
"General Leo, Major Wilcox. We roger the report from Third, what do you want us to do?"
"If the enemy is marching up 86 toward Vector, they're walking into a deathtrap between you, the Third and the Sixth. Sixth, Leo, you on line Lieutenant Colonel?"
"Roger that, Herr General," Lieutenant Colonel Helvitz declares. "I have recon personnel out forward of my main position. Their farthest point of advance is a column of Proto Armors just barely past Market Square. In five minutes I can slam the right flank of their advance for ten blocks in every direction."
"Roger that, Sixth. Third, Leo, in seven minutes I want you to deploy out on 85 street, spread into the structures and use them as cover to hose their whole left flank. Sixth, in five minutes I want you to attack the right flank of their assault as you suggested. Fifth Battalion, I am approaching your staging right now and will be going tactical at that time," Leo orders as the barracks for the Fifth comes into clear sight. "In seven minutes, we move against their rear right. Acknowledge orders."
"Third, seven minutes and we hose their left."
"Fifth, seven minutes and we hit the right rear."
"Sixth, in five I hit the enemy forward right. Moving out now, updates to follow."
"Leo from Commander La Flaga, come back," a new voice requests on the radio channel.
"Go for Leo," General Leo says as the HMMVW comes to a full stop at the barracks of the Fifth. He simply pulled the radio in question right out of the charging rack, which also meant it was mobile now.
"Aegis and Timber Wolf are in the theater, where do you want us?" Leo hears as the Skygrasper makes its fifth pass at the enemy formation, this time using a missile in addition to the machine cannons; Leo could only hope the missile's blast did not cause too much collateral casualty.
"Timber Wolf and Aegis are to prioritize enemy armor units, render assistance to the Sixth since that is the likely weight of the enemy armor."
"Copy your last," Mu replies. Leo, Celes, Newman and Murdoch had entered the barracks facility to the presence of saluting guards and Major Wilcox dishing out orders rapidly while still managing a puff on his cigar every few seconds. The Major was quite a bit older than General Leo, but certainly not afraid to say that Leo could beat him like a red-headed step-child both in personal combat and formation battle.
"Major, ready to go?" General Celes asks, having heard the gist of the plan on the trip, all the while keeping an eye out for stray Imperials.
"Damn straight I am, ma'am," the Major replies. "Get this; Sergeant, repeat to Leo what you just told me," he orders of a sergeant who also carried one of the sniper-pattern Enfield rifles.
"Sir, my unit was out forward until a minute ago, watching the enemy for signs of coming this way, when I saw an old familiar face: Colonel Abliz and his command section, all intact and laughing over a dead teenager's body."
"The Colonel of Shock and Guffaw. I heard he survived the invasion but I didn't think he had the brains to try this," General Celes practically sneers, referring to what most of the professional military officers called Abliz in homage to his complete incompetence and the fact that he thought everything was a joke.
"Yeah, the one Colonel under Lord Kefka I would not trust to lead a straight march to a whorehouse," General Leo replies acidly. "Meaning no offense to the whorehouses around here, of course," he nods to one of the more (in)famous such ladies that was also speaking to the Major. Besides her primary (and busy) trade, she was also known to cooperate with the police personnel and the military on matters of criminals and their whereabouts, since she often had better intelligence than official parties.
"Two of my ladies saw him as well, good sir, they confirm it is Abliz," the harlot declares. "And, funny thing, they don't seem to be guarding the alleys like the Espers did when they invaded," she drops in, thinking it strange and noteworthy.
"And that's our victory," Leo replies with an almost-savage smile. "He uses 'blitzkrieg' but without flank security, a huge blunder." The premise of the term was nothing new to Leo, but the strange term he picked up from the Archangel's crew was entirely new to him. The meaning of the term in question he relished: 'Lightning War' it definitely was, when used right.
"Dead men walking," Major Wilcox declares. "All right, people, move out! You know the plan!" The weapon the Major hefted from his command vehicle was the—
"Whoa, holy shit, son, how did you get your hands on an M60?" Murdoch asks the major. "The factory just turned out the first finished one a week ago!" Not to mention, Murdoch had personally filed the receiving paperwork on the first eight shipped to the Archangel, and they had been serial numbers 000002 to 000009.
"A cousin of mine is dating the foreman of the Kolts Valley Factory where these are being made," the Major replies unevenly as his adjutant closes up with several boxes of belt-fed ammunition for the monster weapon. The arch of his eyebrow told the remainder of the tale very adroitly.
"More's the better," Murdoch replies with his own evil smile. In comparison, the AKM that he was carrying appeared to be a third of the size of the M60 and looked wholly inappropriate compared to the belt-fed monstrosity that the much-older Major was carrying.
The rest of the Fifth Battalion had surged forward of the officers, their collection of AKM, Thompson, some of the older standard-issue Enfield rifles, and even the occasional M2 Heavy MG team visible in the slackening midday rain. The approach march was silent but speedy, as they had three blocks to cross to get to where they needed to be to hit the rear of the enemy formation. Thankfully, Vector's city streets were not themselves straight, they were circular with axial bisectors that were straight (like the 86 Street that the Imperials were on), making it difficult or impossible for them to be seen as they approached right up until the last half-block distance. By the time the Generals, Major and the rest had closed up to the front, the side of the Imperial column was becoming clearly visible to the Republic's troops.
"There! Fan out and hit them hard!" Major Wilcox shouts as he moves to a lamp-post and braces his light machine gun against it, shouldering into the behemoth weapon and bracing before letting off the first burst. The sound came as much of a surprise to Celes and Leo as it had been to the Imperials on the march, though the sight of two of them going down, one dead and the other screaming, made the shock worth it. Celes braced and rattled off several bursts of Thompson at them, though her efforts were less than nominally effective and she only got one kill for a magazine's effort.
The follow-up from the other soldiers was immense compared to the opening shots of the Generals. Leo's first and second shots from behind a fruit stand were drowned out in the torrent of AKM and Thompson headed downrange into their sides, and he even had to admit his second shot only made the body of his chosen target just one more bullet hole farther past unrecognizable after all was said and done. Leo, following in his soldier's instincts from long ago, jumped up and joined the surge of troops headed west into the left flank of the enemy as more even continued coming on, determined to continue reinforcing the column headed north into town.
The first real fright of the day came to Leo as he sighted something he hoped he would never have to see, the sight of looking down his telescopic sight at an enemy looking down the sights of an Enfield at him. The enemy fired first, a bare moment before Leo did, but the enemy round never struck him, it hit a soldier behind and to the left of the general, taking him down after blowing through his head and tearing the helmet clear off. Leo ran the bolt and swept the enemy ranks again to target another Enfield rifle, and this time he shot first, downing the enemy with little problem.
"Oh, fuck! Leo, enemy Ma Deuce dead ahead!" Murdoch shouldered into the General and crashed down on him, though pointlessly in the end: the team with the Ma Deuce and every soldier for ten meters to the east or west was killed by 30mm HEAP and 20mm API shells; the effect was repeated for a hundred meters southbound before the Skygrasper screamed barely meters over the rooftops in the area, banking sharply up and pirouetting west to come in for another pass.
"By the Gods, and to think the Skygrasper is a new take on outdated technology from your world," Leo declares as he stands up and rejoined the movement forward, led by Major Wilcox and his stuttering M60.
The advance had moved well into the middle of 86 Street, the fifth now fanning out to the north and south, having cut off the enemy advance and now proceeding to crush the enemy inside the town against the other two Battalions. The south flank of Leo's advance now moved to drive the remainder of the Imperials out of town. Leo and Celes joined in with relish, not wanting to see the Empire rebuilt after having perpetuated its crimes themselves. Celes found her mark with the Thompson after a few more mags, where each burst she laid down at least wounded someone, and she got five bursts on average per magazine. Leo's sniper rifle work was far more precise, bordering on one shot one kill. He used it to take down those who held the now-civilian Enfield Rifles or the occasional Thompson, as the other Infantry used their weight of firepower to keep the enemy blade infantry from closing up properly on them.
It was as Leo first sighted the ministrations of the Timber Wolf that he also recognized the enemy commander, Colonel Abliz. He still wore the maroon Templar's armor that he had worn as an Imperial officer, but rather than the halberd, he carried an Enfield Rifle himself and seemed to have sighted Leo as well. The target's first shot went high, missing any Republic soldier completely, as Leo dropped his first shot into the heavy armor he wore. The steel plate apparently had slowed the round to where it made it hard for him to walk, but had not killed outright, so both ran their bolts and resighted. This time Abliz struck closer to home, and Leo's second shot missed completely as a soldier fell onto his back and caused him to lose aim wildly. Speedily Leo reloaded and sighted again, though once more Abliz took first shot and Leo heard a high-pitch scream from his left, a lady's scream; he shrugged it off and fired his round, which struck Abliz in the armored collar and punched clear through. The damage only became worse as his collapsing body slammed down on its knees, whereby it was struck in the chest first by a heavy 50-caliber slug fired by Newman, and as the body began collapsing backwards the Major hammered his body with over a dozen rounds of .308-caliber machine gun from his M60, to aid in its descent.
"Celes!" Leo shouts, looking to his side to see what happened.
"I'll live, I'll live," she grumps. "The wounds of battle shall be healed by the natural energies of Curaga," she chants, applying her hand to the wound against her side. As she glowed and sparkled green for a moment, the tension in her face eased and the blood stopped flowing altogether; ten seconds later she was standing and cleaning the excess blood off her right hand. She then reclaimed her Thompson and replaced the magazine.
"We got the bastards!" Major Wilcox shouts. "The rest of these scumdogs are surrendering, Generals!"
"About bloody time," Murdoch complains. In the distance, the Timber Wolf and Aegis stood silent, looking over the enemy ranks as they surrendered and stood there, awaiting their final disposition.
"Round them up and haul them off to the brig," Leo orders. One thing his new military procedures made clear, taking prisoners was a requirement if they surrendered.
"The courts will turn them into hamburger soon enough," Newman declares, not lowering his rifle at all.
-x-x-x-
(4 May 988, 2230 hrs)
(Figaro Castle)
"Locke, well come, well come," Edgar says as the Treasure Hunter-turned-Knight of Figaro entered the King's study.
"How goes, Edgar?" Locke asks as he approaches and takes the offered seat. "Chancellor," he says by way of greeting to Edgar's adjutant.
"Extremely well, extremely well," Edgar continues smoothly. Locke knew the King better than average, and he could sense something was going on. "Before your suspicions go too high too fast, my friend, I don't need your services for any special or hazardous operations. This is simply a 'comparing notes' session, maybe a little brainstorming. Nothing major."
"Gotcha," Locke replies. "What's the big deal de rigeur?"
"First off, the Imperial Remnant. Have you found anything on where they are getting their arms?"
"Yes sir, the M60 picked up three weeks ago was a dead giveaway. I rolled one of the auditors at the Kolts Valley factory, she gave up everything on an arms smuggling ring. The Archangel's Commando Team did the takedown completely under the table, they didn't even leave brass behind at the location, they're that good."
"No chance in hell of us ever taking that ship, if it ever came to that," the Chancellor declares coldly. "What happened to the smuggler's cache of weapons they had?"
"Who knows? All I know is they weren't at the scene, the Commandos may have taken them back with them," Locke replies. "The Imperial Remnant tried getting a second ring going, no luck there after word spread what happened to the first one. Plausibly deniable, one hundred percent."
"And more efficient at deterring a repeat offense than if the courts had done it," the Chancellor concludes. "Street crime took a dive after that incident, as well. Law of Unintended Consequences, I guess."
Edgar snickers at the thought. "That's a good sign, I guess, even though officially I am supposed to deplore the use of such force. And that brings us to our favorite white floating Warship, I've heard some rumors that they are stocking up big-time, what have you heard?"
"Weps, ammo, material, fuels, a couple Hummers, long-term foodstuffs, medical supplies, potions and tinctures, uniforms, yeah, they are stocking up all right. No doubt they are preparing for departing toward their home," Locke concludes.
"Damn, guess it's approaching time they complete the Teleporter, then, if they are collecting provisions they must know their engineers approach being through re-engineering the system," the Chancellor grumps. "And I was beginning to enjoy having someone as straightforward and rational as Commander Badgiruel around..."
Both Locke and Edgar gave the Chancellor a strange look, but said nothing. "Anyways, can those teleporters still be used for teleportation, in addition to what they are to use them for?"
"Oh, yes," Locke replies. "They have not been able to use them because the system has been in one state of disassembly or another for over a year, but it can be done," Locke says.
"Excellent," Edgar replies. "Between the teleporter system and Doma's rail lines, the world will soon be open to free and easy trade for us all," he says almost with pride to voice. Rail lines were now being laid to Narshe, to better facilitate feeding the hungry industries of Figaro and Doma.
"How's things going down in Vector?" the Chancellor asks of Locke.
"Honestly? People are worried that when the Archangel pulls out, we are going to undercut everything Captain Ramius and Commander Badgiruel have done to clean the place up," Locke says. "Which is bullshit and we all know it, but try telling that to a people who got stomped by the combined armies of Figaro, Doma, and the Espers."
"Treaties notwithstanding, of course," Edgar replies grimly. In the age of the Empire, Figaro's independence and standing with the Imperial Government at Vector had been so thin and insulting that Edgar was more than willing to use the documents the treaties were printed on as toilet paper. In turn, Vector's citizenry would expect the same courtesy from the North due to the depredations of the past. "They forget, though, the Espers are also in the equation; and in this case the Espers would be in on the side of Vector since they do a lot of trade."
"Where the hell does all that material and manufacture go to? I thought the Espers were somewhat thin in numbers since the war of the Magi," the Chancellor asks in frustration.
"I figured someone should ask, so I did," Locke begins, then hesitates; whatever he had to say had to be monumental. "The Espers have made contact with their original brethren, the ones that the three Gods sealed away where few can ever find them but can be summoned, and they opened extensive trade with them. For everything they buy from us, Vector or Doma, five times that they make on their own and send to their malnourished cousins in those other Summoned Realms, or whatever they call it. Major business potential there, guys, I suggest you take advantage of it."
"Figures," Edgar notes with a crooked smile. "They sealed the Summoned Lands, it is no wonder the Gods left themselves an easy back door into those locations."
"Is it just me, or is the Summon that Murrue works with all the time, that Seraphim, is she hot or not?" the Chancellor asks.
"And people call me a lecher," Edgar notes with more than a hint of disgust.
"Sorry to say it, Edgar, but the Chancellor just beat you at your own game by at least three-to-one," Locke declares as the Chancellor's face becomes more and more reddened.
The Chancellor clears his throat. "Shall that be all, my liege?" he asks as request to depart now that he had thoroughly embarrassed himself on something they were all thinking but none should have said. Edgar simply passed his conduct off to consumption of more than his fair share of fine brandy this evening.
"Yes, thank you, Chancellor. Locke, I have one last thing I need to request of you before I retire for the day."
"What is it, old friend?" Locke asks after the door closed with the Chancellor on the far side.
"Without a doubt, in your travels and tribulations as a thief—erm, treasure hunter," Edgar corrects himself before Locke's usual admonition that he was not a thief but the latter, "You have undoubtedly come across a wide variety of gemstones, have you not?"
"A few, here and there," Locke lets fly, with a clear tone that it was many multiples of 'a few'. Or, more likely 'a few tons' in Edgar's estimate.
"I was wondering if I may be able to purchase some of the more suitable of those off you for an upcoming project I have to see to," Edgar offers.
"Oh, really?" Locke asks in counter. He knew nothing of a project that Edgar was planning that required gemstones, all that was on his King's docket was the usual ration in the usual fashion, and that did not require such finery. "Might I inquire as to what this project is, to better aid his Highness in selecting the right assortment?"
"Oh, yes, my concept is thus," and Edgar went about describing his intentions and timeframe. After five minutes, the roundabout explanation was over.
For his part, Locke wasn't sure if he wanted to toast his liege or laugh at the King for something that almost sounded hair-brained insane. "Well, sir, you've been dancing around the issue for going on two years now, it's try or die time. I'll see what I can scrounge up for the purpose; tell you what, if it works I won't charge for it, either."
"On the provision that if I try and end up dying for it, you will charge my estate? Extremely friendly of you, Sir Locke," Edgar replies drolly.
-x-x-x-
(17 June 986)
(Regimental Teleporter Facility 3, Republic Of Vector Northern Military Outpost)
Yzak twitched his fingers on the throttle of the Duel nervously. It was all fine and cool and dandy when he was doing the math in abstract in the bowels of Vector. It was something entirely different when he was about to get put through the cosmic wringer on the slight hopes that his beer math had been spot-on. Set up a variable wrong in this line of work, and you could turn a science experiment into a black hole, an outcome Yzak really did not want to see in his lifetime.
On the other hand, no guts no way home, Yzak berates himself for hesitating in the line of duty. "You ready?" he asks the controllers.
"Let's go over this one last time, make sure I got it right," Kira begins. "You jump up to the centroid of the gate, we activate it, you get sucked into home—hopefully. We wait sixty seconds, then activate it at ten times size to ensure you get drawn back in home. If I fail to draw you in, I will try every sixty seconds thereafter until I do draw you in or have evidence you won't be coming back. Did I get it right?"
"Roger that, Strike," Yzak replies. "Whenever you are ready, give me a count of five and I'll jump when appropriate."
" 'Kay," Kira replies simply.
"You sure you don't want to hit the can before we begin, Yzak?" Athrun asks plaintively.
"Piss off, Zala," Yzak replies with what he hoped was a nonchalant turn of tone. He had made sure to avail himself the restroom before strapping into his Gundam for this test.
"In five, in four," Yzak jumps from the ground, headed for a predetermined point in the sky that would take three seconds to get to. "In three, two, one, NOW!" he shouts as he slams the activation button.
For Yzak, it was unsettling in the extreme. One moment he was jetting up into clear sky, the next he was in the black hell of space. It took him a moment to kill off his inertia compared to where he had started, but in the end he was still relatively close to where he had arrived, and that is what he needed.
Then came the realization: the equations bloody worked. The years of modding the systems worked. The dozen Imperial teleporter techs that swore it could not be done would have to eat their Archangel-issued ration of crow in short order. The whole setup had worked flawlessly, instantaneously, with not even the bright white flash that Emeraude had used to transport them.
"It fucking works! HELL YES HOME BOYS! WHO DA MAN? HUH? WHO DA MAN?!?" He shouts to his front screen, easily recognizing the twisted southern continent of Junius Seven, drifting through the remnants of space wreckage and dead ships and industrial waste left in the Debris Belt. To further the reference, part of a Moebius Mobile Armor passed by his Gundam, followed by the upper half of a GINN with a Cattus recoilless rifle; it was close enough that he reached out to it and pulled it close, removing the recoilless rifle for evidence that it worked.
The sixty second timer lapsed, and since he was still nearby the centroid of where the second equation would have taken effect, he was drawn immediately back into the skies of the planet. His orientation was slightly off, which he corrected with a pitch adjustment before firing his main jump jets and landing safely.
"Damn," Athrun was heard to say on the radio. "And I was kinda hoping I wouldn't have to listen to your foul mouth any more," he notes. Despite his wording, it was obvious from Athrun's tone he was relieved Yzak had come home alive and well.
"You could not get that lucky, Zala," Yzak replies smugly.
"True," Athrun replies. "I see you brought back a souvenir. Cattus recoilless rifle."
"You got it. Even had a good look at Junius Seven while I was there," Yzak replies, still smug about it. "C'mon, it's fucking Miller Time, gents! Drinks are on me!"
"Shouldn't we have to review the footage of the arrival site first?" Kira asks.
"Nah, we can do that later," Athrun replies calmly. "If Yzak said he saw Junius Seven, that means he probably got everything right since I don't think most of Existence hinges on that colony being killed."
"Yeah, you're right, not all life is that cruel," Kira confirms.
-x-x-x-
(19 June 988)
(Stateroom, Warship Archangel)
Three knocks at the door heralded the commander of the ship coming, which was something Murrue was expecting in the end. It really had come down to the only person Natarle was fooling was herself, certainly not Murrue or Miriallia, much less any of the rest of the bridge staff.
"It's open," Murrue half-shouts at the door, audible on the other side.
"Captain," Natarle greets her as she enters and walks forward to the desk.
"What's going on, Commander?" Murrue asks, leaning back and away from the pile of paperwork she was going over. Mostly reports on the readiness of the ship and supplies brought in, the paperwork was mundane and time-consuming, not something she relished but necessary nonetheless. The Archangel would be leaving for home with a full arsenal and full cargo holds. This time around it had not been modified with any major systems, but the ship's interior had definitely acquired a lot of souvenirs from the years of residence on this planet.
"Captain, it is with regret that I must inform you I am resigning my commission in the Earth Alliance and from this ship," Natarle replies after a moment's hesitation. "Here is the necessary documentation to take to Earth Alliance HQ, should you be inclined to do so when you return." Murrue received the clipboard and looked it over. The forms were all there, filled out in triplicate, signed and dated the day after they had been sucked out of the Pacific Ocean and dropped quite rudely in Cephiro.
"I expected as much. For the record, I need to know your reason, Commander," Murrue replies, gesturing to a chair for her to take a seat.
"I find I have lost heart, Captain," Natarle replies. "I no longer see as does the Earth Alliance. Other than my family, most of whom were killed in the war and the remainder who probably would not survive it regardless, there is nothing for me to go back to. Best I not pretend my heart is in with the ship when I know it is elsewhere and not coming back." The unstated but easily understood quandary to her declaration was that if she continued to pretend she was in it 100%, eventually she would screw up somewhere and cause casualties, or maybe even get the ship destroyed.
"Understood," Murrue replies, clicking off the recorder that was required for such things. "I take it there is more?"
"King Edgar has asked me to head up the final stages of the interim government until elections are conducted later this year. As opinion is in favor of me doing so, and because more than a ration of the people have asked the same, I...I just could not refuse."
Murrue nodded twice. After a moment of contemplating it, she reached down to the drawer that normally held the bottle of whiskey and opened it, withdrawing two glasses and a bottle of some of the finest from the northern continent. "I hate to say this, Natarle, but that is not the only reason why you are jumping ship, and the last one is one for which I can not fault you." Murrue poured both herself and Natarle a stiff one. "The fact that you aren't wearing the ring is not fooling me."
"Oh," Natarle replies, having forgot (temporarily) that Murrue was one of two telepaths on the ship. "A toast, Natarle. To you, to your soon-to-regret-it husband Edgar Figaro, and to the nation you will for now command."
"How do you get 'soon-to-regret-it' out of Edgar? He'll hit on anything female that comes close enough." Natarle did not consider it one of his most endearing traits, but it was something that she tended to overlook at length. Even royalty had to have a hobby.
"And you think that's going to change with married life?" Murrue asks in counter. "Not to mention, if you run Vector and Figaro like you did this ship, things are going to get whipped into shape real hard and real fast."
"There may not be any whipping Edgar into shape," Natarle replies honestly. "I think part of how he is happens to be local custom of royalty—Doma being the roaring exception. And after a fashion I think I will have to live with that. He should mostly calm down in due course, though."
Murrue snorts sarcastically, evidence enough of how likely she thought that was. "I can only say I regret we shall not be here for the wedding," Murrue says almost dejectedly.
"It can't be helped, Captain, you have to get moving soon or Yzak will have to make more modifications to the systems before you can jump for real." Which would entail another several months of delay, something that Murrue was reticent to inflict on the crew.
"I know. The necessity of it only makes being forced to go more obscene," Murrue grouses. "I did want to be there for it, though."
"It can't be avoided, Captain. You have to go now or delay for at least another year. Just go, I certainly will not hold your absence against you, and if nothing else Edgar is understanding on such necessities." Natarle's demeanor was both reassuring and convincing to Murrue, something she realized she had come to expect.
"You really have changed, Commander," Murrue says offhand.
"I know. Long gone are the days of taking orders and commanding with iron resolve," Natarle half-grumps, half-declares. "Long gone," this one was more of dejection. "I guess...years of the impossible combined with years of building a bureaucracy really can twist even the hardened out of their morass."
"It probably won't be the same without you, Natarle. I've come to rely on your judgment to get us out of bad scrapes."
"Most of it was luck, the rest by the book," Natarle offers as consolation. "And the ship has more luck per capita than should be rightfully legal."
Murrue could not disagree with her on that fact. Everything that had technically happened to the ship was on the premise of luck itself, since by all accounts the ship should have been destroyed at least four times, maybe five since it departed Orb airspace.
"I propose a different toast, Captain," Natarle says, finally picking up her shot glass. "To the Archangel, the bizarre adventures that have led us from dimension to dimension to here, and to the ship's return home, even if it did entail a march through Hell the long way."
"Thank you, Natarle," Murrue accepts the toast, and both proceed to slam their whiskey. "You will not be forgotten, Commander. Good luck in your endeavors here, and good luck keeping the King in line."
"Nothing is impossible," Natarle replies. "Safe journey, Captain. I'll see you when I see you," Natarle stands, comes to attention, and salutes. After a moment, Murrue does the same, then offers her hand for a shake.
Murrue and Natarle both knew it would be the last time they crossed paths in their lives, but neither regretted the journey or envied the other their chosen path.
-x-x-x-
(21 June 988, 0210 hours)
(Warship Archangel)
Newman looked to his left, at the secondary helm station, and simply shrugged. Mina had resigned her position on the Archangel so she could live in Vector with her daughter, out of harm's way and somewhere where she could build a new life for herself and her daughter. That left the bridge down to a handful of people, given the (no surprise) resignation of the Commander. Mu was filling in for the commander until Miriallia could be trained up to the necessary standard; Kuzzey was still too hesitant for the job, Chandra disqualified himself on account of being the gun-bunny of the ship, and Newman figured himself not enough of a hard-ass to fly as the Ship's CIC officer.
"Don't think I did not hear that, Newman," Miriallia cautions very sourly.
"I didn't mean you are a hard-ass, Miriallia, I mean I just can't be a CIC Commander and tactical officer, I'm too nice for it."
"Uh, Newman, you're only digging you grave deeper by the sentence," Commander La Flaga interjects. Murrue had a good snigger about it.
"Right, I'll just get back to flying the ship now," Newman replies as a cop-out. He knew he lost that argument, and was not going to push his luck.
"Helm, take us up to 600m AGL, center the ship over the teleporter zone," Murrue orders.
There had been a minor banquet at Vector for the officers of the Archangel, and catering for the crew on the ship as they prepared for the takeoff. The two generals, Leo and Celes, Locke, Cyan, Edgar and his brother Sabin, and the three Gods of the Espers had hosted the command staff for a night in gratitude for the accomplishments the Archangel had brought to an almost-assuredly doomed world. It was also Natarle's last chance to say her peace to the staff she had come to know well, and she had done so. Though expected, Murrue did not expect the words of Doom, the Grim Reaper manifest: 'Know, Captain: a dark wind follows you; beyond the inevitable death at the twilight of your days, you will be haunted by destruction and battle and slaughter for a long time to come. I tell you this not out of cruelty, but of forewarning that no thing is as simple as it seems.' Thankfully, Murrue had not yet imbibed her fair share of alcohol, and had taken his words phlegmatically; had she been drunk, she had no doubt that she would have used the nearest bottle of alcoholic beverage as a weapon with which to smash over the head of said God. There was no telling what Doom's reaction to that would have been.
"Don't worry about it, Captain," Miriallia says. "This is the Archangel we're talking about, and he was referring to. He is right, we're destined to be in the middle of some conflict, just as the Archangels of yore."
"And we'll have to take up some cause when we get home, if for no other reason than to stop the war," Mu adds after a moment of silence.
"Conn, Helm, we are at the appointed zone," Newman declares.
"Kuzzey, do it," Murrue orders without hesitation.
"Teleporter Control, this is Archangel, we are in position and ready for the jump," Kuzzey broadcasts on the radio frequency set aside for the Teleporter systems.
"Archangel, Teleport Control, we are powering up the system now. Fifteen seconds." Fifteen seconds did not last long to some, but seemed as if it took fifteen hours to others. "Archangel, Teleport Control, systems are ready. Good luck and the speed of the Gods to you, saviors from another world. Jump initiated, detonation in three, two, one, n—"
The remainder of his last word was cut off as the pre-dawn darkness of Vector gave way to the star-lit darkness of the space around Terra. Just as Yzak described, there was no major white flash, no hairy feeling as when they came from the Inner Sphere to their latest conquest. Just change to change, followed by the hull of the Archangel creaking under the released pressure from not being in atmosphere any more. She immediately checked the damage board, and nothing had changed from green to yellow or red, meaning the ship suffered no damage in transit.
"Thank you, Yzak, it worked," Murrue gasps.
"Conn, sensors, we're inside the debris belt! Massive object to starboard, closing fast!" Sai half-shouts over the growing cheer of the crew.
"Newman, get us clear!" Murrue orders as she gets a look at the object. "Is that the underside of Junius Seven?" she asks, seeing and immediately recognizing the underside of half of a PLANT colony.
"Roger that," Newman acknowledges as he hammers the throttles to the max to get clear of the approaching continent of a colony. "We're going to make it by a fair margin," Newman declares when he compares the rapidly-building speed of the Archangel to the approaching colony section.
"That is moving way too rapidly to be in orbit," Mu says after running some quick numbers through the computer. "And in the wrong direction."
"Conn, sensors, object is on definite collision path to Earth," Sai says with a quivering voice.
"And there isn't a damned thing we can do about it," Murrue says.
"Captain, that is not Junius Seven!" Miriallia says, watching the half of the PLANT in question fall toward the planet. "Junius Seven is dead ahead of us!" Murrue looked forward and did confirm that Miriallia was right. The half of a PLANT behind the Archangel was not from the same PLANT as the one in front of her.
"Where the hell did we arrive?" Murrue asks nobody in particular.
Author's Chapter Afterword:
And thus finally ends the arc of the Final Fantasy VI. As typical, though, what they did here may come back to haunt them in more ways than one, so it is unlikely that you have seen the last of happenings here. Additionally, since I could not get everything done that I wanted to without making this arc impossibly long, there will be a side-story that picks up some of the missing detail and runs with it...and this including the veiled hint that there was more to the world than I showed.
I need to make clear note of one thing for those who realized what I altered in Nicol's cave exploration: to maintain continuity with other parts of the story, there is no Odin summon. Odin is a God, not a summon. Odin is staying that way. On the other hand, Odin or some of his subordinates may show up from time to time in other parts of the story, and give a demonstration as to how bad-ass Gods really are (as if the Rune Gods were not ample evidence of this already).
And onto the Archangel's arrival. I don't think Yzak made as much of an error as Murrue made it sound. Everything will be explained thoroughly in the upcoming chapter, which will be a One-Shot chapter (only one chapter in this setting). It will be a longer chapter, as I have much ground to cover as well as a partial explanation why this shit keeps happening to them. Stay tuned for the worst.
Next up: the Archangel gets a real indication of where they are and how badly they are screwed. Some stories are meant never to be told, trust me.
Review Replies: Eight reviews, always a pleasure. Right now I am averaging 7.4 reviews per chapter, which is just plain awesome. Keep it coming, people, the more fuel for this nightmare, the more hellish it gets :P
Knives91: MP5 is a nice piece of hardware, but I have a general aversion to 9mm. Sorry about that :P
FraserMage: 1911 and AKM (the better version of the AK-47) are go, but the MG42 I swapped out for the M60 (same effect, though). Hope you like :P
One-Village-Idiot: I'm going with the higher-caliber rifles by and large, trying to avoid .223 weapons (the XM29). Sorry about Natarle, the dice roll for her accepting Edgar's proposal, but keep in mind that I have kept a lot up in the air besides just that. Rest assured, though, Natarle is not through being badass. One thing I don't quite get, though, is how you consider the CE wars pathetic compared to UC wars, since I figure they are both about as violent and vehement as the other.
EtienneOfTheWestWind: Yeah, I'll miss doing Natarle as part of the crew, but she will get her final shot at glory in the side story. I had to set it up slowly, or it would have been too jarring for my normal conduct, though, which meant anyone who reads between the lines could see right through it. Oh well. As to Murrue, I'll leave that one as an open guess for now, especially since there is a lot of possibles on the ship right now, and will be a lot more in time to come. Not that I aim for pairing, but sometimes that is how it happens.
CHM01: Flay, well, good ol' Flay will get some good limelight in the coming side story. I won't spoil how or why she gets that limelight, but she will get some. As with Etienne above, I will leave open who proposes to who until it actually happens (anti-spoiler regs). M-16 is acceptable but not really as rugged as the AKM, the Desert Eagle isn't as hot as people think it is so it's out (my one time firing a DE didn't convince me it was better than my .357 Mag revolver), though the BAR almost ended up on the list of weapons, only narrowly defeated by the M60 light machine gun. Came down to belt fed versus magazine.
NHO: Thanks for clarifying your prior messages, NHO. I do not see the need for such mass destruction in this story (it is all almost tactical scale), but there will be a need for it in the Jokers Wild and in its predecessor, the Multimage Chronicles. Expect much mass destruction there.
Strata-Assassin: Well, this time around, I think I capped 100 corrections you listed in the beta. That is the price of doing it fast, though. If Yzak actually did call Kira by his real name, hell would probably freeze over. Actually, my intent was to finish this arc bfore the summer, the story has an insanely long way to go still. Stay tuned on that account :P
Nim Maj: The Vandread suggestion is an interesting one, if practically 100 percent fanservice. Still and all, I think I can make it interesting, if the dice pick that direction to go. No bets on whether it shall happen or not.
Thank you one and all for the reviews, first-timers and repeat reviewers :P Next chapter is now in the planning stages at this time, and it will contain quite a bit of shock and awe. You have been warned.
The Gripe Sheet:
The gripe sheet is being dealt with by my beta reader for this story, Strata-Assassin. She is an excellent writer of her own right, check out her Weapon's Waltz story, it is OC-centric but certainly better writing than many and quite action-loaded despite the strange (almost serene) title.
Footnotes:
(1): 'Willy Pete' is a common nickname for a White Phosphorous grenade, which was detailed and used in the last chapter.
(2): Thermite is commonly used by soldiers to cause serious or crippling damage to mechanical equipment by pure thermal transfer. Thermite heats up to over 2000 degrees (Farenheit), making it extremely damaging to mechanical components and even the inside of a gun's barrel. I used to know what Thermite was comprised of, but not any more...