Once again, a wasted month, and no real progress to show for it. I mean for that to change this time around. Not only will there be two updates this month to make up for last month's mistake, but I really do mean to take time to properly write. I've gotten quite a few reviews, as well as several notices of readers listing this story in their alerts and favorite lists, all of which have added more urgency to this fic. Quite simply, I haven't been fulfilling my obligations lately. I will do my best to change that in the near future.

Pointless Disclaimer: I've been told that I can have Gundam when I beat Char in a Zaku race. I'm not holding my breath.

/**/

The news that the White Base was participating in crewmember exchanges with the former Zeon ships had not been taken well amongst most of the ship's crew, but to Jenna, it was a rare instance of good news. She had feared her upcoming transfer to the Zanzibar as an exile from everything that was familiar, and was more than relieved to learn that she would soon have company to ease her situation. Of course, 'soon' in this case was a relative notion, as none of the commanders had a real timetable in which to send their crewmembers. This was a problem for Jenna, since her own transfer had been rushed through almost as soon as the commanders had left their conference; Lieutenant Ramcha, the officer that had insisted on training her, had accosted both Commander Bright and Captain Char on the hangar deck before the former and his pilots could board their launch, and had come away with an agreement between the two commanders that ensured Jenna's place on board the Zanzibar by the end of the next day.

In other words, Jenna would be serving with the former Zeon pilots for days, if not weeks, before the first transfers began.

It was therefore with a certain amount of reluctance that the pilot floated into the open cockpit of her GM, strapping herself into the seat as the hatch closed in front of her. Jenna opened her helmet visor and sighed as she began the startup sequence. As the hatch to the hangar opened to the vacuum of space, Fraw Bow's voice broke the silence: "Course clear. RGM-79, you are clear to launch."

Jenna took the hint and maneuvered her GM into the White Base's catapult. "RGM-79, Heidfeld," she announced. "Launching."

It was, she remembered all too late, the first time she had ever used a catapult; neither the Dublin nor the Rio Grande had been fitted with a proper hangar deck, and their mobile suit contingents had been strapped to their hulls during transport. In fact, there had been no need to use the catapult now, either, but the crew had decided to use it to save the propellant that the GM would have otherwise required to reach cruising speed. It was, then, for the sake of fuel that Jenna was thrown backward against her seat, unprepared for the physical strain of her mobile suit's sudden acceleration as it was propelled out of the hangar and into space. It took her almost five full seconds before she could finally stop her head's spinning, at which point she realized that her disorientation had caused her to deviate slightly from the path to the Zanzibar. She fiddled with the controls, and managed to bring the GM back onto its proper course without using a single gram of propellant, but she knew that her deviation would be noted on both the Zanzibar and the White Base. The woman gritted her teeth as she realized that she had embarrassed herself within two minutes of strapping into her mobile suit.

'That could have gone much—'

Jenna couldn't even finish her thought before her proximity alarms were blaring at her. Jerking on the controls, the woman managed to waste all of the propellant that she had labored to save and then some, and still failed to evade the incoming Rick Dom that had surprised her from behind. Crashing into her GM, the Rick Dom wrapped its opponent into a bear hug, sending them both careening away from the Zanzibar. Jenna's panicked brain couldn't process the fact that the enemy suit was unarmed until its pilot used the suits' direct contact to laugh in her face and finish her earlier thought:

"That could have gone much better, don't you think?"

Jenna's face paled in mortification. "Lieutenant Gruder," she muttered. "I should have known."

/**/

It was ironic, Bright thought, that Captain Hazen had insisted so much on the need to hide in Side 5. Neither Colonel M'Quve nor any of his commanders had agreed to his demand, and yet, by agreeing to go along with Char's hijacking plan, they found themselves forced to take up residence in the devastated Side. For the sake of constructing a functioning base, however temporary, Colonel M'Quve had assigned Captain Orson's Limel, Captain Serak's Good Hope, and Captain Hazen's Argos to the task of clearing debris and finding appropriate materials in the scrap heap that the colony cluster had become. Although the group had no means of actually using the material, it was hoped that Char's proposed operation would eventually change that.

So it was that the White Base, the Hummel, the Drumel, the Zumel, and of course the Zanzibar were parked just out of visual range of Von Braun, the oldest and most prestigious lunar city. Through the efforts of their mobile suits, the group had observed the traffic of the city for the past two days, and found to Char's satisfaction that every shuttle that left Von Braun immediately began to orbit the moon to reach either Side 3 or the lunar cities of the moon's far side—most likely, Granada—while all incoming shuttles came from that same orbit. It was clear, then, that Von Braun had no business with anyone other than Zeon, which meant that there was no risk of stealing a shuttle that would not be going where Char wanted it to go.

So it was that M'Quve decided to bring the operation to a head on the third day of observations. The location for the ambush had been left to the mobile suit teams taking part, so long as it was not within visual range of Von Braun or any other shuttle that was not being targeted, and as long as the shuttle was within an hour's journey of the vessels' location at the point of hijack. Since Char was personally leading the pilots in the attack, there was little doubt that success was inevitable.

So when the signal came from the Hummel to launch the suits, Bright did not hesitate to carry out the order. "Open the hangars! Kai, Hayato, launch!" There was no reason to send Amuro or Sayla on this mission, and the suits he did send were probably extraneous too; the Zanzibar alone could have fulfilled this mission in terms of weaponry, considering that passenger shuttles were only rarely armed. Most of M'Quve's ships were only present for the sake of taking the new prisoners aboard and replacing the prisoners with their crewmembers. Still, Bright had chosen to take part in the operation in order to show his support for Char's plan. Despite the fact that the captain had caused most of the White Base's troubles during the past months, Bright had a deep feeling that, if he had to choose a side in the rivalry between the Zeon commanders, a vote for Char would serve him much better than a vote for M'Quve.

As the Guncannons sped off of their catapults, the commander glanced through the bridge windows on his right, where the Zumel's contingent of Rick Doms accelerated by, and shook his head. "Does anyone else think it's strange to see Zeon suits flying by us in the same direction that ours are going?" he asked no one in particular. No one in particular answered, too, but Bright didn't need a response. The tense atmosphere in the bridge was enough to tell him that the crew was still trying to adjust to their situation as much as he was.

It was a comforting feeling, knowing that he was not alone in his disorientation.

/**/

Char brought his Gelgoog into the lead, scouting ahead as the rest of the mobile suits—nine in all, including himself—fanned out behind him, guarding the Komusai capsule that would be the group's decoy. The group did not anticipate trouble, and were certainly not prepared for any, but Char wanted to make as deep an impression as possible on whatever shuttle he targeted. Nine mobile suits would have been enough to attack a battleship, had their pilots been properly trained to act as a unit; no shuttle would resist upon seeing this amount of firepower, the man was sure.

It was therefore with a great degree of confidence that Char continued on, flanked by the two Rick Doms from the Drumel. Only minutes ahead of him was the orbit by which Von Braun's traffic made its way to or from the far side of the moon, and as Char approached, he began to maneuver the Gelgoog's limbs to slow his pace, as well as turn away from his perpendicular approach. He wanted to be well out of range of Von Braun by the time he reached the orbital traffic, and to that end he led his team along a parallel path to that traffic until he judged himself to be far enough from the city to keep any Minovsky-clouded cry for help from reaching unnecessary ears. Then, finally, Char motioned for the rest of the team to stop their advance and wait, while the Komusai was allowed to turn toward the necessary orbit and pass them by.

Char sighed as he watched the capsule disappear into the backdrop of the moon. "I probably should have had hidden a mobile suit in there," he said to himself in hindsight. "Then again, who knows how trigger-happy some of these pilots are? M'Quve is as short on experienced pilots as A Baoa Qu, after all."

One of the Rick Doms from the Drumel floated over to the captain's Gelgoog and rested its hand on the red suit's shoulder. "Captain," the pilot began, "I know that we've discussed this already, but I don't know if we ever determined what to do if there are witnesses to this operation."

"You mean if there are other shuttles nearby," Char said. "We can't have witnesses, but at the same time, destroying a single shuttle will bring suspicion on every other shuttle that goes through the same sector, including the one we want to plant our spies on. If there are witnesses, we'll have to capture both shuttles."

"We don't have enough men to replace two shuttles' worth of passengers, sir."

"True," answered Char, "but with two shuttles, we can choose which one contains more useful identities for our people to use, and we can move the shuttle we choose not to use to a more remote location before we destroy it, so that its wreckage is not discovered in the path that the more important shuttle was using."

The pilot seemed to mull this over. "So if we encounter any witnesses, capture them. Will we save the crews, sir?"

Char shrugged. "That depends on Colonel M'Quve, really. If he doesn't want the extra mouths to feed, we might end up blowing up the shuttle with the passengers still inside. It's possible that the first crew won't live, either, but I suggested this mission with imprisoning the crew in mind, and any decision to kill people out of hand will likely lead to conflict with our former Federation friends. That Captain Hazen is itching to trade shots with the colonel, I'm sure."

"Yes, sir—I see the signal!"

Char smiled as the Komusai's distress flare burst in the distance. "Well, they've found a target, and now the bait is set. Pass on the word to advance using the AMBAC alone; we don't need anyone to see the lights from our booster nozzles until they absolutely have to."

"Yes, sir."

/**/

The shuttle Envy was only three hours away from docking at Von Braun when a Zeon distress flare appeared off the port bow, drawing a startled reaction from the shuttle's skipper and his copilot. The Zeon lieutenant that sat behind them leaned forward as he gazed at the flare. "Are we within communications range of Von Braun?" he asked.

The skipper shook his head. "The Minovsky field is too dense. Perhaps if we were another hour closer, we might get a signal through, but with the warships docking in Von Braun so often, it will be impossible to contact them."

The lieutenant frowned. "Well, then, we'll have to recover them ourselves. I have to hope for all of our sakes that the military isn't doing anything secret here."

The copilot swallowed anxiously. "There's no other reason for them to be here without being on the schedule, though, is there?"

"Probably not," admitted the officer, his frown deepening. "Still, it would be bad form to just leave them behind. Alter course; if it's something small, we'll pick it up, and if not, we'll at least have enough information to tell the people who can actually do something about it."

"You got it, sir," replied the skipper, making the necessary course corrections while the lieutenant reminded himself for the hundred and eighth time why he had not wanted to work with civilians. Although high command had wanted military supervisors on board every shuttle arriving at or leaving from sensitive locations—especially the lunar cities, the closest 'foreign' territories to Zeon, situated on a satellite that the Principality had never fully controlled—the supervisors chosen for the job were having a hard time adjusting to the laid-back atmosphere. For Lieutenant Othran, his irritation had been building since the moment he had first stepped on board the Envy the week before; now, three flights later, he was beginning to get over it, but he still longed for a more formal posting in his future.

For that reason alone, he found himself anticipating their arrival at the site of the stranded military craft. It was small, that was certain; considering the distance of the flare, he would have been able to see it—even as a dot—if it were anything comparable to a Musai. The fact that he could not was a blessing: It meant that the craft would not be carrying many people, allowing the Envy to take them in. The detour itself wasn't going to make the shuttle any more than seven minutes late, but connecting to the stranded vessel and taking on its crew and cargo, if there was any, would take a great deal more time. Real problems would arise if the stranded vessel was itself important, as there was little chance that the Envy could tow anything more than half its weight to port. Othran sighed as he considered the possibility, before discarding the thought. His worrying would not change the situation that awaited him, so it would be better for him simply to let the situation come to him before he gave it much more thought.

Perhaps, he mused idly, that was not the best theory for a military man who had been trained to consider all possibilities, but he knew also that the Envy could only do so much, and thinking about the possibilities not covered by those capabilities was an exercise in futility.

Finally, as the shuttle approached the dying flare, the outline of the stricken craft could be seen through the cockpit windows. The lieutenant smiled in relief. 'It's a Komusai,' he thought to himself. 'Nothing important about it at all. We won't have to tow it.'

Aloud he said, "Orient the shuttle to match the Komusai's alignment. Put our hatch as near to theirs as possible."

"I'm on it, sir," the skipper replied, furrowing his brow in concentration as he activated the shuttle's verniers to match the Komusai's orientation. "Almost there…"

Then, suddenly, the Komusai launched another flare and, incredibly, boosted away as though there was nothing wrong with it at all. The crew of the Envy stared at the retreating lights of the capsule's boosters as the second flare bathed their shuttle with light; then, suddenly, the light was cut off.

Lieutenant Othran, who had stood up from his seat to stare at the retreating Komusai, fell back with a cry as the shadow of a mobile suit suddenly fell on the Envy's cockpit. The mono-eye camera marked it as a Zeon design, but it was a moment before Othran's eyes adjusted enough to make out the outline of the Rick Dom that floated in front of him, aiming its bazooka directly into the cockpit. The skipper swore violently as he fired his verniers again, using the rest of their propellant to avoid the bazooka's barrel. However, it quickly became apparent that the skipper's efforts were wasted, as another mobile suit immediately appeared in front of them, wielding a beam rifle that was infinitely more deadly than the weapon the shuttle had just avoided.

The lieutenant voided his bladder.

Luckily for Othran, the other two men were distracted from his embarrassment by a sudden jerk of the shuttle that indicated that something of reasonable mass had made contact with it. The voice emanating from the shuttle's communications systems confirmed contact with a mobile suit: "Do not attempt to escape. I am Captain Char Aznable of Lady Kycilia Zabi's 300th Independent Corps. My men and I are taking control of this vessel. I repeat: Do not attempt to escape."

Lieutenant Othran's fear suddenly coupled with amazement. "The Char Aznable?" he asked aloud, although he didn't expect a response. "What is he doing?"

"I have no idea, but his Komusai is coming back," answered the copilot. "And it looks like the people in it mean business."

Othran glanced out the starboard window at the returning capsule, and paled as he saw the five men in normal suits that were riding the Komusai's exterior. All of them were heavily armed, and were clearly ready to board the Envy. Othran was not the only military personnel on board the shuttle, but neither he nor his two subordinates carried anything more threatening than pistols; none of them were prepared to fight five men armed with submachine guns. "Tell them that we'll do as they say," he hastily told the other two men. "Hurry!"

"I was getting there," growled the skipper, who was quite a bit calmer than his hot-shot supervisor; having been in the shipping business for a while, he was no stranger to hostile takeovers. Pressing a few buttons, the man said, "Captain Char Aznable, this is the shuttle Envy. Call your boys off; we're not going anywhere."

The response was a chuckle. "I'm glad to hear it, but I'm afraid you're going to have to let our men on board anyway. We just want to make sure that there are no surprises when we open the hatch after we arrive."

Lieutenant Othran took his eyes off of the approaching Komusai upon hearing this. "Arrive where?" he demanded. The skipper repeated his question.

Char's response was less than satisfactory. "You'll find out soon enough. Perhaps if you open your hatch before my men are forced to blow it open, they might be in enough of a good mood to tell you before I have to."

The skipper took the hint and opened the outer airlock. Within a few moments, the Komusai retreated once again, and its complement of boarders entered the shuttle.

/**/

Normal suited Zeon officers, handpicked from the crews of M'Quve's six ships, lined the walls of the Zanzibar's hangar as the hatch opened to admit the approaching shuttle. It was no larger than the Elmeth, perhaps a bit smaller even, and there was no apparent difficulty in finding a berth large enough to accommodate it. As the shuttle set down, Captain Char's Gelgoog followed it into the hangar, and the hatch began to close behind the suit. Meanwhile, the airlock on the shuttle began to cycle, and the officers leveled their weapons as it opened to reveal a similarly-armed Zeon soldier with a grin on his face. "Mission success, sirs!"

"Not yet, it's not," came the voice of Char Aznable as he opened the hatch to his mobile suit. "The mission's not over until our officers come back from Von Braun with everything that we need to survive. Get the passengers offloaded as soon as possible; we have absolutely no time to waste here."

"Yes, sir!" the officers chorused as they came forward, while the soldier in the airlock motioned behind him to his comrades still inside the shuttle. Soon thereafter, the soldier stepped out of the hatch to make way for the first of the shuttle's occupants, a Zeon officer whose trousers were evidence of his lack of experience. Soon following were two other Zeon soldiers, and after that came the civilian crew: two pilots, three mechanics, and an attendant to the passengers. This last suffered some leers from the assembled officers, until frightened whimpering from the hatch returned their attention to the shuttle as the first of the passengers came forward.

It was quickly done, for the most part. As civilian shuttle services had yet to fully recover from the effects of the war, there were relatively few passengers on board, almost all of them either wealthy or important to Zeon in some way or another; those that weren't either of those were family or friends of those that were. The officers quickly photographed and interviewed each passenger, asking for names and occupations. Wallets were taken, identities and credit cards confiscated. The officers not involved looked on, unconcerned until an officer came out of the crowd and said to them, "You'd better get out of those normal suits and into civilian clothes. This thing needs to be back on its way to Von Braun within ten minutes."

There was no need to reply; most of the officers were already dressed in their civilian attire underneath their suits, and it was a simple matter of taking off the suits and allowing a nearby ensign to collect them while they came forward for their new identities. A lieutenant commander stood at the shuttle's hatch, sorting through identity cards and wallets; soon he called out, "Male, one meter, three decameters, brown hair, blue eyes." He held out the relevant articles as an officer that somewhat fit that description came forward to claim it. "His name is Martin Cord; Martin Cord, remember that."

"Yes, sir," said the officer as he placed the identification card in the wallet and stepped into the shuttle. The lieutenant commander rifled through the articles in front of him again, called out the information on the next card, and repeated the process again and again until the articles were gone from his hands.

Char, who was looking on from above, was displeased to note that his men were forced to ask for alternate volunteers three times during the sorting in order to better match identifications to physical characteristics. Although Captain Orson had already mentioned it, this was the first time that Char was forced to admit to himself that the plan had a serious flaw; but there was no other way in which the group could obtain materials. It was either this operation, or a full-scale attack against Solomon's shipping with the homeland—and there was no doubt that Gihren would not put up with the latter situation for long.