JULY 28, CE 75

Kira wasn't quite sure what drew him to the viewing deck so early in the morning. It was never a particularly well-trafficked place on a ship crewed by those who'd spent most of their lives in space. It would be a different story, perhaps, if they ended up on Earth, but that didn't particularly concern him at the moment. No, his concern was an abiding insomnia. Despite the rational part of his mind screaming at him to rest, that it was 3:30 in the morning and he'd hate himself when it came time for his duty shift, some other part of him prevented no more than fifteen minutes of fruitless tossing and turning. He'd been wandering the ship for a while now, mostly sticking to quiet areas and corridors, avoiding the crew quarters and rec areas where there still might be off-shift crew members awake. Needless to say he also avoided the active areas of the ship, figuring his presence would only get in the way of whatever business was being conducted there. So he'd ended up, by accident, on the viewing deck, perhaps hoping that its tranquility might help him figure out whatever was bothering him. But he was surprised to find someone in the room, since the only people awake at this hour would be at their stations, not spending time looking out at a view that was not drastically different than that of home.

It was Lacus, no longer in her artistically fashionable dress she had worn to the meeting but was instead clad only in a simple black knee-length dress with long pink sleeves, matte grey leggings and sandals. Her hair was unbound, unadorned, and unkempt, like she had been running her hands through it nervously. She seemed in a meditative mood and was startled by Kira's arrival, taking a sharp breath before turning to face him. Upon seeing him, her expression softened and she returned to stargazing as he moved to join her at the window.

"Kira," she said, then sighed, as if she was trying to work up the nerve to reprimand him but gave up halfway through. "What are you still doing up? You really ought to be getting some rest." That was Lacus, more concerned for others than for herself, almost to a fault. It was one of the many things she and Kira shared.

"I tried," he said in reply. "It wasn't working for me." He decided to change the subject. "How did the council meeting go?"

She gave an exasperated shrug. "Same old story. They weren't exactly happy to trust another nation, but after some cajoling on my part they got over it. They'll support us as long as we get results, I suppose."

"You sound bitter."

"I know. I'm just tired. Perhaps I was overly optimistic when I agreed to take the job, but I really thought we'd have made more progress towards a stable peace than this. All this political back-and-forth is just… wearing on me."

"I know the feeling." He put a comforting arm around her waist. She responded by leaning her head against his shoulder, relaxing her shoulders. He knew Lacus seldom had the opportunity to unburden herself like this. In many ways, she was under more pressure than he was, being held accountable for and by each and every PLANT civilian. So, in situations like this, he did what he could to ease her burden. It wasn't really a substitute for a real relationship, but they had chosen this. Sometimes he missed the relatively-carefree days they had spent together between the wars and regretted their passing. But they both had an unwavering devotion to duty that precluded that sort of thing. Maybe they'd get a happy-ever-after sometime in the future, and for now that would have to be enough. They both closed their eyes, no longer bothering to take in the starscape, taking solace in each other's company.

Neither was quite sure how long they stayed like that. As the Diana was in a geostationary orbit around the moon and the artificial environment of the ship did not change, it might have been hours. The viewing deck might have been its own little world, where the troubles of outside would not intrude. But it couldn't last. Kira eventually, reluctantly broke the comfortable silence.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, not bothering to elaborate since there was really only one thing he would be talking about.

It took her a long time to answer. "To be honest? No. I'm not." She seemed to have surprised herself with the admission. "I mean, I figured something like this would happen eventually, either some crazy fan in a crowd or a terror scare during a speech or… or… something. I don't know. I mean, I thought I could handle it, especially after Durandal's hit squad came after me that night… but I'm not handling it. Not really. I can't sleep, just thinking how close it was, this close…" Her voice was strained, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "My hands are shaking…" She clung to Kira a little tighter. "I hate it. Knowing that there's nothing I could have done to protect myself if you hadn't been there… it's the worst feeling in the world, to feel so helpless." She felt a little better after getting that out and wiped her eyes. Kira folded her into a full embrace.

"It scared the hell out of me," he said. "If I hadn't managed to push you away in time, I don't know what I would have done with myself. I don't even know how I managed it. I'm not sure, but I think that scares me more. I don't want to rely on luck and hunches when it comes to your safety."

"You really don't know how you pulled it off?"

"I just… knew something bad was going to happen. I can't explain it."

She shushed him with a finger to his lips. "Then don't, and be thankful."

He pushed her hand away and kissed her. "I am, believe me," he said, then paused a moment. "Despite everything, I'm glad we're here right now. I missed you."

"I missed you too," she said, and kissed him back.

Cagalli was too restless to sleep. Her mind was running at a million miles an hour, trying to bludgeon the few facts they had into some sort of sensible theory. Athrun surmised this by watching her pace endlessly around the Archangel's officer's lounge, muttering to herself. If she wanted to talk, she'd talk. But it seemed she hadn't quite reached that stage yet. They'd been here for the better part of three hours and Cagalli seemed keen to take every opportunity she could to avoid rest. She truly had a remarkable drive, one of the things he admired about her. But at the moment it was starting to drive him up the wall.

He leaned back in his chair. "Solve it yet?" he asked lazily, knowing the question would irritate her but also that it would bring her back to reality. It worked like a charm.

"Does it look like I solved it?" she asked, giving him a moderate intensity glare. The full-intensity glares were reserved for when she was truly angry or staring down an obstinate member of parliament. But now her rhythm had been broken and she realized how long she'd been carrying on.

"I'm sorry," she said, dropping into a seat and letting out a heavy sigh. "We just don't have enough to go on."

"Counterterror operations tend to last a long time. It's natural to feel frustrated, though a day is probably pushing it," he said, raising a sly eyebrow.

She snorted. "How long do they usually take, then?"

"Depends on the size of the network and how well buried they are, but anywhere from a few months to the better part of a decade."

"I hate waiting around for something to happen."

"Don't we all."

Cagalli distracted herself making coffee. She hadn't had much of a taste for it before ending up on the Archangel during the Second Bloody Valentine, when she'd received a few lessons from the master of the art, Andrew Waltfeld. Athrun watched as she worked, appreciating the practiced ease with which she used the grinder and the press. Clearly, she would not be satisfied with the swill they brewed down in the kitchens.

She returned to the table with two steaming cups, setting one down before him and then taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. Athrun mutely nodded his thanks and sipped at it slowly. No sense draining it and then having nothing to do with his hands.

"It's hard to believe we're doing this again," she said after a while.

"Doing what?"

"All of this," she said, gesturing all around her. "Preparing for a fight where we have no idea of the outcome, muddling our way through the politics of it all… it's not even been a year since the last war ended. And here we are, gearing up to fight again."

"It might not come to a fight. If gearing up is enough to discourage a threat, I'd gladly do it."

"I know, but all the same I feel bad asking you and Kira and the others to risk your lives again. You've fought enough battles."

Athrun looked down into the dark, reflective surface of his coffee. There was a phantom twinge of pain from his shoulder, remembering old wounds. "We're some of the best pilots out there. It comes in the job description."

"Look, you don't –" began Cagalli, but Athrun put his hand up to interrupt her.

"I've – we've – got the ability. So why not put it to good use?"

She smiled. "I know where I've heard that before."

"And he's right. We're the best people for the job and that's that."

"Then we'd better go on a damn good vacation once this is over."

"I will take you on an excellent vacation. Maybe skiing. In the Alps."

Cagalli stood up, coffee finished. She held a finger in the air, as if swearing an oath. "I'm going to take great pleasure holding you to that."

"Of course you will. You're the best person I know at holding grudges."

She flashed a frown at him before clearing up the cups and saucers. "Careful, now, smart-ass. I am technically your boss and can have you thrown in the brig for insubordination."

Athrun held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Primary target located. It's right where they said it would be." The sensor officer's voice was young and a little reedy. A fresh recruit.

"Good. How far out?" The way the captain slouched in his seat reminded his subordinates of a Roman emperor. The resemblance was aided by patrician grey hair and an imperious command style.

"119 kilometers, sir. Right on the edge of detection."

"Can we get any closer without being detected?"

"There's no debris to screen our approach, sir. Any engine output enough to get us moving would be enough to get us spotted."

"What about the catapults?"

"The catapults, sir?

"Can we use those without triggering anything?"

"Uh… yes, sir, but any mobile suit we'd launch would be unable to use its engines lest it be detected."

"Good enough." The captain turned to his combat operator. "Send out the black teams. Restrict them to inertial flight until they have a clean shot."

"Aye, captain."

The twin hangar bay doors below them opened, disgorging the first two of many gunmetal green and matte black Windams. Soon enough two dozen mobile suits had been launched, aligned in two parallel rows. The rear four machines carried heavy artillery: beam bazookas. Six machines, scattered throughout the formation, had white trim where the standard had teal pieces: the cockpit hatch, thrust nozzles, chest vents, as well as the trim piece on the shoulder pauldrons.

The lead pilot checked his watch. Eight minutes to station. He communicated this to the other elements of his flight on a low-band frequency, hoping its slow transmission speed would shield them from the high-powered sensor suite of their target. It seemed to work, as the ship gave no indication of being aware to their presence.

After that, the mobile suits passed in silence, each individual pilot preparing for what they were about to do. God knew it wouldn't be easy. But then again, they weren't called on for easy missions. All twenty-four pilots had been bloodied in combat. Some more than others. He cast a wary eye at his rear-view screens, currently being filled by the lead white-trimmed Windam. Certainly that one and the others like him had more than enough kills to their credit. Though they were nominally on the same side, that didn't stop them giving him the creeps whenever he had to interact with them.

Six minutes passed in silence, the distance readouts in their HUDs decreasing steadily. Then the readout started increasing.

"Shit." He brought up the Command Overview on one of his multifunction displays. Sure enough, the target was on the move. Soon enough, it'd be out of range entirely without a course correction on the part of the mobile suits. He cursed again. Any course correction would light them up, clear as day, on the target's thermal scanners. They could just pass by, hopefully remain undetected, and wait to get picked up after the target moved off. But that would leave them in a MS cockpit for far too long. And he really didn't like leaving the initiative to the enemy. He bit his lip, hesitating, just as any sane man might do before initiating combat. Then he accessed the low-band frequency he used earlier.

"All units, course correction on my mark."

It was Miriallia's shift again on the bridge. So far, it wasn't particularly difficult. In fact, her duties mostly seemed to entail staying out of her officers' way so they could make sure everything was running smoothly, and they were all experienced enough that they didn't need much direction from her anyway. Since the task force hadn't decided on their next move yet, there weren't many orders she could give. As far as she could tell, she was there just in case something went wrong. So she spent her time familiarizing herself with command protocols, the orders she was allowed to give, ship systems she had not been exposed to in the CIC but thought she ought to be familiar with as a commander, contingency plans for combat or isolation from friendly forces, and other things. It was a daunting list and she rather wished she had more time to prepare for her new duties, but she supposed she was lucky to have Captain Ramius, Ensign Neumann, and the other experienced crew members to use as a resource. There were worse ways to learn, after all. The flight from Heliopolis had been bad in the lower decks. She couldn't imagine having to do it as a first command, on an unfamiliar ship, by trial and error. If Murrue could do that, Mir could learn on the job. If necessary.

A thought occurred to her. "Neumann, how far off are we from the Diana?"

"Just a moment," he said in his raspy voice, pulling up a readout of the surrounding area on a screen so she could see it. "We're a fair distance off." A marker for the friendly ship appeared, its coordinates labeled just under it.

"What's the Diana's effective weapons range?"

"Here," said the weapons officer, who pushed the data to the screen. It was represented graphically as several overlapping circles around the Diana, the nearest of which was a few kilometers away from the Archangel.

"Alright, let's get inside that range, so that Diana can provide cover for us, and us for them, if necessary."

"Aye, ma'am," said Neumann, who gently worked the thrusters so that the ship began accelerating at low speed towards the Diana. They weren't anywhere near the ship's maximum speed, but there was no need to tax the engines or the reactor when things were calm. Satisfied that she had done something tactically relevant, Mir leaned back into the command chair and returned to her studies, only to be interrupted by the sensor officer.

The man frowned. "Ma'am, I'm getting some contacts on the passive LADAR…" By using multiple beams of light at frequencies just outside the visible spectrum rather than the lower frequency radio waves used in the ship's traditional radar, LADAR provided more responsive and clearer imaging than radar at the expense of increased refraction and scattering due to particulates in the atmosphere such as dust, water vapor, or even just the molecules that made up the very air. While this did not represent an improvement on standard radar while on Earth, the array came into its own in the much emptier expanses of space. It had just recently been fitted to the Archangel's sensor arrays (in fact, only a few days prior to departing for the trip they were currently on), essentially tripling her passive sensor range.

"How many? And what heading?" asked Mir.

"Somewhere between sixteen and twenty-four. They're small, so the array is having trouble differentiating between individual contacts at this extreme range. But they're arranged in two parallel lines and are headed right for our previous position."

"How parallel?"

"Perfectly."

"That's not natural. Meteoroids wouldn't follow that sort of path…" The new contacts were now marked on the display. The rear marks were fuzzy. Suddenly, they flared brightly and solidified.

"Contacts are now giving off engine signatures and have changed course. Now bound directly for us." The sensor officer relayed this calmly, businesslike. "Matching… that's odd. The signatures appear to be… masked?"

The bridge was silent as the man frantically worked his station, adjusting filters and frequencies to try to isolate the base emission. Then he went pale. When he spoke again, his voice was carefully controlled.

"Ma'am, using the new sensor gear I've managed to cut through the distortion." He swallowed. "Those engines are consistent with twenty-four GAT-04 Windams. And judging from the masking, these are probably modified special operations models. They'll be in weapons range in just about a minute and a half."

The bridge crew looked to her expectantly, old hands and new. They needed orders. Mir was feeling the adrenaline rush now and took a deep breath. There was no good reason for twenty-four stealth Windams to be approaching the ship. If she was wrong, it'd turn into one hell of an international incident. But there were more important thing to worry about now. She was not about to risk the safety of her crew, and make no mistake, they were her crew now, on the remote possibility that some sort of twisted drill was being run in their area.

"Contacts to be treated as hostile," she declared. "Sound the alarm. All crew to Level-1 Battle Stations. All pilots to their machines. Rouse the captain. Get the Diana on the line and have them back us up. Deploy all weapons. Load missile tubes with Sledgehammers and spool up the CIWS. Charge Gottfrieds and the Lohengrins. Neumann, prepare for evasive maneuvers and get us up to maximum combat speed. We need to buy time to launch the Justice and Akatsuki and for the Diana's back-up to arrive. Whoever these pilots are, they're going to be sorry they messed with us." Her voice had a ring of authority she hadn't realized she was capable of.

"Aye, ma'am!" It was a chorus. The bridge was suddenly a flurry of activity as all the officers set about their tasks. The klaxon began to blare, roughly waking anyone sleeping, veterans jerking awake in an instant, green crewman blearily coming around. The lights dimmed. The ship was entering combat.

Sleep had not come to Athrun. Coffee at half past three in the morning was probably not the best way to wind down. It didn't stop him from trying, he'd tossed and turned fruitlessly for a few minutes before giving up and turning to training reports to keep himself occupied. That wasn't working either. Normally, such things would knock him right out. Cagalli was no better, but that was to be expected. She just seemed to need less sleep than most people, and the little they had gotten apparently did not bother her. It would have bothered him had he not known Kira to work through the night on occasion, not realizing the new day had dawned until it was already halfway over. He may have been genetically modified before birth, but they were still related. He idly wondered how Lacus dealt with it. He'd have to ask her someday.

The alarm interrupted his chain of thought. He was a bit slow in reacting, as he hadn't been prepared to scramble, hadn't considered the possibility they'd be attacked while aboard the Archangel. On the ground, sure, but attacking a warship? Then training took over and he was nearly out the door, but stopped. He turned. Cagalli was watching him.

"Go," she said. "Be safe."

He kissed her briefly, really only a peck, just in case. Then he was out the door. It wasn't a goodbye, he didn't want to say goodbye, but he wouldn't forgive himself if something happened. There was the slightest increase in background noise, a distant mechanical rumble, along with a small vibration as the ship's engines were brought up to power. The burble of voices, the sound of the rotating railings lining the corridors as crewmen moved as fast as they could through the limited gravity to their assigned stations. It was familiar, he'd experienced it on every ship he'd ever served on. Mu came up behind him, silent, grim-faced, and they entered the ready room together.

This, too, was a familiar moment. More than a hundred sorties made changing into his flight suit second nature, easily sliding into the black and maroon and white and gold uniform, running through the safety checks almost by rote. No rips or tears, vacuum seals undamaged, oxygen equipment green. Helmet integrity uncompromised. Good to go. Behind him, Mu had finished as well, his suit identical in design, the only difference being in color, purple instead of maroon, silver instead of gold. They sealed their helmets, linking them to the oxygen recyclers on their backs. There was no time to speak, only time to move and move with maximum economy, not a motion to be wasted. They would decide their strategy from the cockpit.

It took them three and a half minutes from when the klaxon had first sounded to their arrival on the hangar deck. The Archangel was now fully engaged; she had fired first, a Valiant salvo for each column, forcing the formations to scatter. Now the ship was trying to keep the wheeling enemy mobile suits away with a withering barrage from the CIWS and individually targeted Sledgehammers. The Gottfrieds had fired one salvo each and were charge-cycling, trying to stay at maximum power as much as possible. The Lohengrins had not fired at all, lying in wait for a mothership to show itself. The Diana would soon enter the fray as her crew finished coming to battle stations. This was a game of minutes. By the time Athrun and Mu were on the hangar deck, the Archangel was taking fire. So far it was only cosmetic damage, but it was a sobering reminder of how close things were.

Suddenly Athrun found himself before the Infinite Justice. If at all possible, it looked even more foreboding than usual. It seemed to be leaning forward in anticipation, various fins and control surfaces casting angular shadows across its whole body, giving it, in its current unpowered state, a grey and black patchwork camouflage. Its command spire gleamed. In his peripheral vision he could see the warm glow of the Akatsuki as it seemed to attract all light in the room. He rolled his neck, making sure he was nice and loose before subjecting himself to the strain of combat.

Murdoch approached. "You all right?" he asked in his gruff, raspy voice.

"Fine," said Athrun, reaching for the lift cable to the cockpit hatch. He paused a moment. "Anything I need to know?" he asked.

"Nah," said the chief. "Just try not to break it, all right? You and I both know how much of a pain in the ass it is to fix a Gundam."

Athrun chuckled. He could always rely on Murdoch to try to lighten the mood. "Will do, Chief."

"Good luck out there," said the affable mechanic as Athrun grabbed the lift cable and ascended into the Gundam.

As he settled into his seat and strapped in, he could feel his nervousness start to subside. It always did at this point, as he started to shift into combat mode, but it was more than that. It was a feeling of belonging. He could feel it in his bones as he closed the hatch and brought up all the viewscreens and began to run through his preflight checks. This was the place he was meant to be. Not just in a mobile suit, but his mobile suit, one designed and tuned especially for him, created specifically so that he could fight to the maximum of his ability. He let the combat operator's briefing wash over him, taking it in without allowing it to disrupt his state of mind. Climbing into the Saviour had never felt like this, had always felt somehow off, somehow unstable. Perhaps it was a product of the mobile suit and its frame, but he had never felt at ease in it. But the Justice was another matter entirely. It felt… right. He reached out and touched the control sticks, pressed lightly on the pedals, remembering the play in them. Distantly, on the other catapult, he was aware of Mu.

"Mu La Flaga, Akatsuki. Let's go!" he shouted, and he was hurled from the hangar bay and out into the whirling firefight. He knew Mu would fight with his all, adrenaline having erased any lingering doubts and anxieties that plagued him. Mu did not fear his demons in combat, was as sure of himself as he ever would be. Whatever dark corner Neo Roanoke lurked in was forgotten for the duration of the battle.

Athrun heard the flight control officer give the all-clear. He grabbed the sticks with full strength now and closed his eyes as the three lights above him each changed from red "ABORT" to green, glowing "CLEAR." Eyes still closed, he released the left stick, reached just behind his jaw to the visor release on the helmet, and pressed it. It was ritual, the last thing he did before launching. He opened his eyes, now seeing the world through a polarized visor. He was ready.

"Athrun Zala. Justice launching!"

He pushed the footpedals into the floor, firing his thrusters at full burn. With the hiss of mighty hydraulics, the catapult housing beneath him matched his speed and added to it, accelerating to more than two hundred miles an hour in roughly one hundred meters. The acceleration, as always, forced him back into his seat as the catapult released him into the vacuum. As he cleared the ship he activated his phase shift armor, bringing out the Infinite Justice's striking crimson and white color scheme.

As he left the Archangel, he was immediately set upon by three hostiles, white-trimmed Windams. The plain Windams appeared to be focused on the ship itself as Mu dueled three other white-trimmed assailants. Athrun's enemies seemed reluctant to close with him, perhaps aware of his strength in close combat. Instead they harried him with beam rifle shots and missiles from back-mounted racks. The missiles were simple enough to deal with; he could pull maneuvers that gave their guidance systems fits or simply shoot them down. Not that they could penetrate his phase-shift armor anyway, but these enemies seemed smart enough to realize that, using them as distractions and countermeasures to his charges rather than 'fire-and-forget' tactics that the Earth Alliance had used in the wars. They were also smart enough to cover each other whenever he wormed his way out of target lock and tried to close with both his Fatum-01 flyer and with the Justice itself. Whenever he broke through, one of them had always managed to flank him, forcing him to break off and dodge as a beam cut through the area he would have been if he continued to pursue a single target.

It was quite clear that Mu was having just as much luck as he was, still engaged in a looping multi-angle dogfight as he tried to gain the advantage with his DRAGOONs. They were using much different tactics against the Akatsuki, constantly harrying it, forcing it to move and dodge rapidly to avoid sword swipes. Clearly, they were aware that the golden mobile suit and its pilot simply weren't as strong up close. Mu was forced to use the drones as much defensively as offensively in order to prevent himself being attacked from behind while another enemy was attacking simultaneously from the front.

While the Infinite Justice did not have quite so many ranged options as the Akatsuki or the Strike Freedom, it was no slouch in that department either. After warding off another attacker with the Fatum's Hyper Fortis cannons, he detached both beam boomerangs from his shoulders and sent them winging off towards the other two opponents. Next he drew his rifle, exchanging blasts with the returning first hostile. Using the extra thrust afforded him by the Fatum, Athrun rocketed straight up, quickly escaping his pursuer and banking to come around behind one of the other enemy suits as the boomerang, dodged on its first pass, began to return. To distract his target he charged, weaving between its return fire, engaging it with both his rifle and CIWS. But in an incredible display of reflexes the Windam dodged first a green bolt from the Justice, then barely managed to throw itself out of the way of the boomerang, escaping with only a gouge on the ankle instead of being cut in half.

Athrun scowled. There was simply no way a Natural had that kind of reflexes. He pulled a backwards loop to bring himself down in front of the other boomerang-targeted enemy, which had dodged the returning weapon without damage. Coming down, he ignited the heavy saber built into his shield, bringing it down in a crushing blow, his opponent barely managing to interpose his shield before Athrun split him into two vertical pieces. Unfortunately for the Windam, this wrecked the shield and Athrun had more blades. He activated one of the leg-mounted Griffon sabers and, with a lightning fast kick, severed the enemy's weapon arm before its allies could push him away. Then he was forced to retreat as the other Windams had managed to get a target lock again.

This was taking far too long. "Archangel, what's the ETA for reinforcements from Diana?" he asked, breaking his concentration for only a second before returning his full awareness to the fight in front of him. How long had it been? Two minutes? Three? The Archangel was tough, but against eighteen heavily armed and highly skilled hostiles… the ship could only survive for a few minutes without taking a critical hit. Things would only snowball from there.

"They're on their way, Admiral, on station in eighty seconds," replied the comms officer. Athrun risked a glance at the ship. Captain Ramius, Mir, and the gun crews were certainly giving the Windams a lot of trouble, jinking away from the artillery blasts and careful to prevent the lighter-armed but faster hostiles from hitting any section of ablative armor faster than it could radiate the heat. Really, Neumann deserved a medal. The man was a prodigy. As he watched, the Archangel nimbly performed a barrel roll over another cannon shot, destroying the offender's weapon with a 110cm round from the port Valiant. The Windam itself escaped with minor damage, but one of the enemy's heavy weapons was out of play.

He surveyed his own situation. One enemy missing an arm, one whole, and one with a damaged ankle joint, which would only be a problem as it came into land. Athrun was managing to hold his own without having to resort to what Kira referred to as 'berserker mode' despite not technically fitting the definition of berserker. But he didn't know a better name for it, and he still had three highly motivated hostiles to deal with. He re-engaged, drawing two beam sabers and combining them into a double ended weapon, keeping his shield's saber active as well. The hostiles scattered, trying to catch him in a crossfire, but he simply switched his shield to instead output a lightwave barrier, deflecting two rounds while dodging the third, continuing on his approach to the one-armed Windam, still firing coolly and precisely, no panic at all. These pilots were certainly well trained.

Now Athrun was in his element, close combat, and extended the wings on the Fatum, activating their integrated Griffon beam sabers. He rushed his opponent, dropping his wing angle so that the blade would tear through the enemy suit's knee joints, but the Windam drew a saber in its remaining hand and parried the attack, though the Justice's greater momentum knocked the other suit away, spinning head over heels. Athrun quickly changed direction, feeling the inertial tug on his body, ignored it, and rocketed back towards his unset enemy before its allies could stop him. The enemy Windam barely blocked the initial strike from the Justice's double ended saber but fell prey to a backhanded strike that destroyed its right leg, cutting straight through the appendage just below the hip joint. It pushed its thrusters full reverse, trying to escape, as the other two, apparently having given up on trying to blast the crimson mobile suit away from their fellow, instead charged, sabers drawn. This forced Athrun to turn his attention away from the heavily damaged Windam, which proceeded to whirl around and open its throttle, escaping the battlefield.

Now the Diana's mobile suits had arrived, escorted by a volley from the ship's 'Isolde' heavy turret. The massive shells streaked over the Archangel, scattering the attackers once more. The Diana's contingent was led by Kira in the Strike Freedom, who immediately deployed his DRAGOONs and engaged the heavy Windams. He was followed by Luna's old red ZAKU Gunner, two Blaze ZAKU Phantoms (one black and one royal blue, belonging to Dearka and Shiho, respectively), and a silver GOUF Ignited with red streaks. The two heavies, Luna and Dearka, immediately took up positions protecting the Archangel's flanks while Shiho and who Athrun assumed to be Shinn engaged the attackers up close. The Diana was moving into position to bring her 'Tristan' Gottfried turrets to bear and in the meantime launched a volley of missiles to give the enemy pilots something else to think about. The engagement was rapidly turning against the aggressors, who began to pull back, covering each other's retreat as they did so.

Athrun had caused minor damage to both of his remaining opponents: the ankle he had damaged earlier and now he had carved off a chunk of the other's shoulder armor. The joint itself was undamaged, but very vulnerable now even to low-caliber weapons. Every dodge they were making now brought them further and further away from the ships. He realized they were also attempting to retreat. He pursued, but found himself the target of a storm of gunfire from the main body of the regrouping Windams, a few of whom had also suffered hits, but none totally disabled.

"Athrun." Dearka's voice came over the comm. "Fall back and let the big guns handle this."

"Roger that," he replied, and pulled back on the throttle, making sure to provide plenty of room between himself and the mass of hostiles. "I'm clear. Take your shot."

"Lohengrins One and Two… firing," announced Miriallia.

"Really shouldn't have messed with us…" murmured the weapons officer quietly, but still over the comm.

Two huge cannons from the lower part of the Archangel's legs spewed forth oscillating blue-and-red beams of pure destruction, aimed perfectly at the center of the retreating group of Windams. The salvo impacted something, causing a massive bloom of light and heat that overwhelmed any nearby sensors. By the time their eyes and scopes had cleared, the Windam formation had vanished.

"Did we get them?" asked Mu cautiously.

"Even if we didn't," said Dearka, "they're probably not too eager to come back."

"Heh. Amen to that," said Mu.

"Did anyone get a ping on the mothership?" asked Athrun. "Those guys had to come from somewhere."

"Not a peep," said Murrue. "It's still hiding out there."

Then Athrun saw something floating in the middle distance, and maneuvered over to it. It was the arm he'd severed from the first Windam. "Got some debris here. I'll bring it in for Murdoch and his boys to look at. See if they notice anything interesting."

"Roger that, Athrun. He'll be waiting."

"Thanks for the assist there, Diana," said Mu, also on his way back to the Archangel.

"Don't mention it," replied Kira. "We've got your back. And Captain Ramius, permission to land in the hangar?"

"Of course."

"Diana, I'll be back in two or three hours."

"Understood," replied Dearka. "Have fun." He pinged the other three Diana pilots and they broke off and returned to their ship.

Kira landed behind Mu on the port catapult deck as Athrun took the starboard, walking in with the Windam's arm as the Akatsuki returned to its gantry and the Strike Freedom returned to its old berth, which was unoccupied since the Archangel's hangar was nowhere near filled to capacity. The mechanics brought around a trolley, normally used to transport spare parts or munitions, and Athrun gently laid down the recovered debris on it, and returned to his own gantry, powering down on the way and letting out a deep breath, allowing himself to relax. He brought up various mechanical readouts and scanned them quickly, just to make sure nothing was wrong with his MS, brought the machine down to standby, then cracked open the cockpit hatch and lowered himself with the lift cable, unsealing his helmet as he did so. He removed it entirely once he'd gotten both feet on the hangar deck, allowing the tension to fall away from his neck and shoulders. He was back.

You might be wondering where the stolen Gundams are. I will only say they are waiting in the wings, intending to strike when they may do the most damage… this ride is only going to get wilder.