The mechanical bodies are still children. We're still needed, more so now than ever. They are our responsibilities. And I couldn't abandon Henrietta even if I wanted or needed to.

I won't.


Life Goes On


Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl, Noir, Full Metal Panic! The Second Raid and Metal Slug are owned by their respective owners. The CRG is owned by Colonel Marksman. I 'own' my original characters Giuseppe, Elena and Rolito.


Revamped Chronology: This story happens past Volume Six of Gunslinger Girl manga, several years after Noir, and sometime after Full Metal Panic! The Second Raid.


Twelve

Notizie (News)


"Breaking news: terrorists have hijacked the oil tanker Mirasol while the latter was anchored off Trieste this 11:32 PM…"


"There were maybe a dozen, two dozen of them," one dazed crewman breathily told reporters. "They came out of the night. They were all dressed in black and armed with automatics save for this one guy with a sword. Can you believe that? The guy had a sword! Of all things! What was it called again? A samurai sword, right. And there was a kid with them, too. Must have been a child soldier or something…"


"The terrorists who seized the Mirasol have identified themselves as the Covenant Reformation Group, a quasi-religious terrorist organization proposing…"


The ski-masked figure glared at the camera. "We are the Covenant Reformation Group. Our demands are simple and known to the government and the Vatican. If they are not complied with in three days, we will destroy the Mirasol here."


"The administration condemns the Covenant Reformation Group's actions," the spokesman for the Prime Minister stated. "We reiterate our position of no negotiations with terrorists, but we assure the public that we are working to secure a quick resolution to this crisis…"


"…The Mirasol crisis may end up as the most massive ecological disaster in Europe … the tanker is still loaded with 200,000 barrels of oil… an oil spill would ruin the Adriatic and Ionian Seas and perhaps the Mediterranean as well…


"If the Mirasol explodes, it would destroy or severely damage up to a quarter of Trieste's port facilities… the destruction of such a high-profile vessel at an important port in the region, so close to Greece and the volatile Balkan region, could open up a whole can of worms…"


"In the light of the danger posed by the possible destruction of the Mirasol, Trieste is being evacuated. The docks have been cleared of civilians… military and police personnel have cordoned the area… Vehicular traffic has ground to a halt as panicked locals flee on whatever transportation is available…"


"We are currently flying closer to the tanker in order to get a better view of the situation– what's that? Oh, my G-!"

"Maria? Come in! What happened? Maria? Maria!"


"MANPADS, short for MAN Portable Air Defense System, is a highly effective short range mobile anti-aircraft missile system in service with the US Army and NATO... It is rumored that many such weapons have ended up in the black market, through which the Covenant Reformation Group may have acquired several units such as the one used to shoot down our news helicopter earlier this morning…"


"…the military has declared the airspace for fifty miles around the Mirasol to be closed to civilian traffic. They have also shut down our on-scene camera teams, perhaps preparing for an assault on the Mirasol…"


"We have unconfirmed reports that a commando team is attempting to retake the Mirasol at this very moment…"


"We have exclusive coverage of the terrorist leader's latest announcement. Viewers are warned that the next scenes are not suitable for a young audience…"


"This is the Covenant Reformation Group. The administration has failed our expectations. They have not acceded to our demands. Instead, they sent in their hired dogs to kill the faithful sons of the Church. But we are patient men. We give the administration another chance to consider its follies. We also return the bodies of the brave soldiers, and promise to do the same for any other who try to attack us..."


"Protest rallies demanding the resignation of the current administration due its inability to resolve the so-called Mirasol crisis effectively, especially in the light of the failed commando assault, are gathering in the streets of Rome…"


"The Mirasol crisis enters its second turbulent night…"


"It's a trap."

And a fiasco for everyone involved. The Mayor of Trieste had already resigned. More resignations and even a few suicides would follow. The Army lost twenty commandos and its confidence. The current administration neared political collapse. People were taking to the streets, demanding action now, calling for impeachment and new elections.

The news outside the country wasn't any better. Italy's Balkan neighbors, as well as Greece and Cyprus, had mobilized their own armed forces– ostensibly to protect themselves, but also to exploit the situation. Disputes flared up over the slightest accusations, inevitably followed by border clashes and major troop call-ups. In just two days, the Mediterranean was now a hotter powder keg than the Middle East.

But relative calm reigned at the Social Welfare Service's headquarters, calm enforced by discipline and Jean's leadership.


"Shortly before midnight, a group of fifteen men hijacked the national oil tanker Mirasol while it was docked off Trieste. The crew were rounded up and released shortly afterwards. The terrorists identified themselves as members of the Covenant Reformation Group and demanded, among other things, that the Pope step down, with a deadline of three days for compliance.

"After they shot down a civilian news helicopter, the Army went in with twenty commandos. Not one soldier got back alive. The deadline remains. We have less than twenty four hours left before the terrorists fulfill their threat to destroy the Mirasol.

"Except," Jean pointed out, "The Covenant Reformation Group has never attacked any economic targets before. An attack on a national oil tanker is out of their league. We are left with only one suspect: the mysterious organization that fields mechanical bodies."

He already had a name. Amalgam. An infamous criminal organization that marketed advanced weapons systems, mainly Arm Slaves, to the highest bidders. Though its name was well-known, information on Amalgam itself was scarce. Jean planned to remedy that one day.

"They know we exist. They know of our capabilities. Their attack on Section One was meant as a message to us. And now this." He gestured contemptuously at footage of the dead Army commandos. "Those soldiers were killed with bladed weapons. Just like Section One's First Platoon. They let us have the bodies back to advertise themselves. They even let the crew go. They don't want hostages. They want us.

"They're practically inviting us in. They want us to come to them, to fight them in a place of their choosing. And the Mirasol is perhaps the best place in Italy to fight us. Our guns are next to useless there. The tanker is loaded with nearly a quarter of a million barrels of oil. One wrong bullet, and the entire ship and most of Trieste's docks will go up in flames, and the resulting oil spill will render the Adriatic lifeless for years to come.

"Then there are political ramifications. Damage to Italian political and economic prestige. Loss of public confidence in the government. Possibly war in the Mediterranean and Balkans. It's come to the point that higher up wants us to use only rubber bullets in the assault rather than risk accidentally blowing up the tanker."

And rubber bullets, everyone knew, wouldn't even bruise mechanical bodies. Still, they had to go in, even though there seemed no way to win. It was a nightmare scenario with no happy ending in sight.

"No matter what we do," grumbled Amadeo, "we've got a bum draw. Any way, we lose."

"Then let's reshuffle our hand some." Mireille explained.


"NATO Special Forces Command."

"I need to speak with Sergeant Major Germi."

"May I know who is calling, please?"

"Jean. From the Social Welfare Service."


"Fermi here."

"Pietro! It's Mireille."

"Ah, Mireille! It's good to hear from you! How is my godchild?"

"She's doing quite well. Our mutual acquaintance wants to ask if you can send the boys over to play with our kids."

"Oh? Does it have to do with the new kids on the block?"

"Yes, they're definitely old friends of ours."

"Then it's all I can do to hold my boys back. They'll be there."


The next morning saw an impressive gathering. Not only was all the available strength of Section Two's Fratello teams present, but also the remainder of Section One's commandos with their newly-appointed leader, burly ex-Army captain Gabriele Leopardi, plus Master Sergeant Fiolina Germi and the elite multinational "Sparrows".

Jean presided over the myriad operatives. "Our primary mission is to retake the tanker Mirasol and prevent it from being destroyed. Our secondary objective is to engage and destroy any enemy mechanical bodies. Maps of the Mirasol will be provided to the handlers and team leaders.

"On the disposition of our forces: Rico and Second Platoon's sharpshooters are on sniping detail. Henrietta, Triela, Claes, for the bow assault force, with Mireille and Altheus for support. Beatrice and Liesel on the stern assault force, to be supported by the Sparrows and the rest of Second Platoon.

"We will attack at night. The snipers will clear the tanker's upper deck of enemy missileers and sentries. Once the top is clear, the assault elements will move in. The stern assault teams, using scuba gear, will attack first. The Sparrows and Beatrice will capture the bridge while Second Platoon and Liesel take the engineering room.

"At the same time, the bow assault team will be inserted via Zodiac." The Zodiac was a high-speed inflatable rubber boat, perfect for commando ops. "The mechanical bodies will clear the ship while their support team looks for bombs.

"Our opposition is a dozen to twenty terrorists, all armed with automatic weaponry, and at least one enemy mechanical body. There is also the possibility of bombs on the Mirasol. This makes capturing live terrorists imperative. We need to know the location of any bombs. Any prisoners are to be interrogated on the spot. Once a bomb has been located, the Sparrows will move in and defuse it. Liesel will cover you. If the bow assault team is the one who finds it, Altheus will handle it.

"Once the ship is cleared of bombs, all Fratello teams will fan out, seek enemy mechanical bodies, engage them and destroy them. If by any chance the conventional teams encounter them, leave them to your partner Fratello. Do not directly engage.

"Remember, we are fighting on very dangerous ground. One wrong move, one badly placed bullet, and the Mirasol will explode, killing everyone on board, us included. The enemy has most assuredly laid traps, and they have mechanical bodies lying in wait. I want everyone to be careful and to stick to the plan.

"Finally, I need not remind any of you about the importance of our mission. If these terrorists destroy the Mirasol, there will be severe national and international repercussions. The fate of Italy truly rests in our hands. Questions?"

Captain Leopardi posed a good one. "The last time, the bastards jammed First Platoon's communications. What's to stop them from doing the same to us?"

"We've got that covered, Captain," Fio assured him. "My electronics warfare team is on standby. We'll keep our airwaves clean and give them a taste of their own medicine. We've also provided secure communications gear for everyone."

"And weapons?"

"That's the big problem," Jean admitted. "I'm afraid all the assault rifles are to be loaded with rubber-tipped bullets. It was all we could do to persuade the higher-ups to allow us to use live bullets for the handguns–" Fio's sigh of relief was audible "–and submachine guns. No grenades, either, not even tear gas."

"Well," Leopardi rumbled, "Plastic bullets or not, headshots are still headshots." Second Platoon prided itself on its marksmanship. He turned to Mireille. "Though I really want a crack at that cyborg bastard who killed Forelli, we'll leave them to your people. Make the son of a bitch pay."

A reasonable Section One man? The Section Two people were pleasantly surprised. Not so Mireille. Fermi gave her a heads up when she called. Leopardi was a good man, open-minded and professional.

"You can count on us, Captain," she said.

"Any other questions?" There were none. Jean nodded. "Then let's get going."


Triela savagely stuffed the bayonet into her M1897 Trench Shotgun. If she didn't know any better, she'd suspect the terrorists to be consorting with dark powers or Jean a sadistic bastard. The mission just had to happen on my period. It always has to. All the talk about rubber bullets only worsened her already sorely-tried temper.

At least not all their weapons were nullified. Handguns and submachine guns were deemed mostly safe to use inside the tanker– just so the shooter paid attention and took care. Same with Triela's M1897, the hollowpoint rounds in her H&K P7M8 pistol, and her trusty low-tech bayonet.

Of course, shooting a mechanical body with any bullet smaller than 7.62mm armor piercing was just a little more effective than pelting it with rocks. A shotgun blast would be roughly equal to showering it with prickly gravel. And a bayonet would do little more than tickle.

Unless you put it right through an eye. That is, she grimly appended, if they don't have the armored eyelid yet, like with Petrushka.

Hilshire was not helping. Her handler wanted to join the bow assault team. He'd only slow the mechanical bodies down, couldn't even swim if his life depended on it, but he still wanted to come along. He finally abided by Jean's decision. That did not stop him from grumbling. And mostly within Triela hearing, too.

What the heck is wrong with him? Does he have a death wish or something? What is it with men and their obsession with keeping a macho image? Not that Hilshire isn't ma– she stomped the thought dead.

Why am I so negative today? Oh, right, because I'm bleeding between my legs and can't do a thing about it. At least I am good at hand to hand, Triela allowing herself a small, mental pat on the back, as Pinocchio found out too late, the bastard. But, hell, rubber bullets, my ass. I'll go with cold steel whenever I c– OWW!

She had nicked her thumb on the bayonet. Nursing the offending finger in her mouth, Triela silently cursed herself, Hilshire, the terrorists, Hilshire, her period, Hilshire, Hilshire again... "Maybe I should have signed up for Krav Maga lessons when I could."

Catching sight of Rico made her nip her tongue in self-reprimand, which in turn was cause for another pained grimace.

But her fellow blonde only smiled at the twin-tailed girl's antics. Rico caressed the simple metal ring on her left forefinger, remembered the promise it reinforced, and thought of the boy who made her world go round.


"I'll come back for you."

"I'll wait for you."


Muttering insensible sounds while Rico lost herself in romantic reverie, Triela then realized something. Hey, I seem to have exchanged roommates…


"Let us say," Claes dictated most professorially, "that you have a rifle and a bear– or the enemy mechanical body– is charging straight for you. What bullet would be more effective to knock–" she emphasized the word "–it down with? A normal bullet or a rubber one?"

"The real bullet, of course," instantly answered Henrietta.

"Wrong. The rubber bullet has a better chance of knocking the bear down."

"What? Really? How?"

"It's simple physics involving elasticity and momentum." Claes explained at length, drawing on several diagrams from a Physics textbook. "Do you understand?"

"I think so." She didn't, but the question was rhetorical.

"Good. Of course, you'd better be ready to run once the bear or mechanical body gets back on its feet."

"But you're not going to let it stand up," Henrietta finished. The redhead was now over her disenchantment with her F2000 assault rifle's load of rubber-tipped bullets. Besides, she still had her Kahr, and .40 ACP was a pretty good caliber for most anything.

Claes was equipped differently. While the hitting power of her VP-70M pistol and MP-7 submachine gun (her usual MP-5K temporarily sidelined as next to useless in this mission) were decidedly anemic against mechanical bodies, the dark-haired girl chose real bullets. She would deliver the coup de grace to any enemy Henrietta knocked down.

"Very good. Now let's go see Mireille."

"Yes! Um, Claes? You really know everything, don't you?"

There was a long spate of silence. "Work on your humor, Henrietta. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am."


Mireille didn't know why watching Captain Leopardi and Hilshire argue about which Section was superior amused her. Oh, right. Triela might get envious and wonder what way Hilshire leaned. Well, better he argue with the good Captain than with her. Or maybe not. A woman scorned… "Sergeant Major Germi," she greeted the approaching woman.

"Call me Fio. Miss Bouquet, right?"

"Mireille. We met back in the operation against the CRG arms dealers."

"We did. I've heard a lot of things about you, Mireille. Mostly good things."

"Mostly?"

Fio aimed a rather naughty sideways glance at Jean. Mireille chuckled. "Now who should I thank for that juicy piece of gossip?" Personally she suspected Priscilla.

"Oh, I have my sources."

"I see." It's Priscilla, all right. She did start the entire Hirscher-Triela issue. Well, the next hand-to-hand sparring session… "You looked rather relieved at Jean's announcement."

"I should." Fio fondly patted her wicked matte black S&W revolver. Her assigned assault weapon, an MP-5N, didn't get the same kind of affection. ".44 Magnum. It's been with me since I entered the service. It's both a good luck charm and an old friend. I'd hate to pull its teeth."

"You only have six shots," Mireille pointed out.

"Six has always been enough for me. Maybe you need more than six bullets."

"It's called 'insurance'." Both women laughed. "Any comments on the mission?"

"It's okay, we're cool. My Team's trained up in underwater insertions and shipboard assault. What I'm worried about are your girls."

Following typical police counterterrorist doctrine, Section Two's mechanical bodies were trained and equipped to operate in urban Italy. Operation Iraqi Freedom was their first sojourn outside the country, in a foreign and hostile environment completely different from the homeland they'd known and defended. That they performed admirably was expected; but there was always the nagging doubt about flukes.

In addition, the mechanical bodies were much heavier than normal human children due to their cybernetics. Their dense weight made swimming difficult, though not impossible. Beatrice, for one, liked to swim and did so whenever she could. Not for the first time, mechanical construction became a limiting factor and human drive proved stronger, Beatrice's 'hobby' now worth its weight in gold. And Liesel had been trained in scuba by the ever-prescient Altheus. Both girls constituted the stern assault team's cyborg muscle.

But the other handlers neglected to do the same. Partly it was convenience. Section Two wasn't expected to fight at sea. The rest of the girls didn't know how to swim. Out of the handlers themselves, only Mireille, Altheus and Petrushka's handler, Alessandro, could swim. So only the first two joined the bow assault team, Petrushka and Alessandro currently indisposed on another mission.

Anyway, the handlers' immediate presence wasn't critically required. Iraqi Freedom had proved the mechanical bodies capable of independent operations. Perhaps in the near future, the handler wouldn't be needed anymore in combat operations- or at all.

No, Mireille silently, powerfully countered. The mechanical bodies are still children. They always will be. They can't decide what's right or wrong, only that they have to kill. We're still needed, more so now than ever. We're the closest they have to parents. They are our responsibilities. And I couldn't abandon Henrietta even if I wanted or needed to.

I won't.


"Miss Mireille!" greeted the newly-arrived Henrietta, Claes in tow. "Oh, good evening, Miss Germi."

"'Etta," her handler scolded. "What did I tell you to call me?"

"Oh. Sorry, Mis– ah, Mireille."

"And call me Fio, too, while you're at it," the Special Forces officer added.

"We're friends," Mireille elaborated.

"Definitely." Then, giving in to an overwhelmingly childish compulsion, Fio ruffled the somewhat confused but very cute Henrietta's hair. The girl flinched.

"Um, Miss Fio, please don't do that, you're mussing my hair…"

"But I can't help it! You're so cute! And call me Fio!"

Mireille laughed. "By the way, Henrietta." She picked up the Amati violin case at her feet. "Here. It's yours. Open it."

She did. Stared at what lay within. The weapon was compact black plastic and metal, sleekly boxy, with an ambidextrous bullpup grip and conveniently transparent magazine. It was deadly-looking and also very familiar.

A Fabrique Nationale FN P90. My gun… the gun Giuseppe gave me...

"I thought you should have it back, especially with this entire rubber bullet fiasco," Mireille was saying when Henrietta hugged her.

"Thank you, Mireille. Thank you."


With people like Henrietta and Fio at my side, Mireille thought, how can I ever lose?


Before the plunge into the abyss, one takes a deep breath. Before the bloody battle, a man takes a moment to reminisce on the end of the world. Next on Life Goes On: Rimuginare (Muse).