Sahna let out a contented sigh, the lime soda's bubbly taste giving her a refreshing respite from her long and hard day. The tasty drink reminded her of bygone summers with her family visiting the beach. And now, she was as far from a beach as she had ever been.

After almost two weeks of seemingly nonstop studying and training, this felt like their first break since Beta Squadron arrived at Gibraltar.

The ten of them were sat around one of the tables in Gibralter's Deep Black officer's club, one reserved specifically for personnel in the restricted part of the Fortress they were billeted in. Despite that, the club was hardly empty. Just from where she sat she could see special forces, intelligence officers, and personnel from the CSF, Marines, and Lunar Army. There was plenty of intermingling so their little group didn't stand out as much as it might otherwise, except for two things.

Almost the second they entered, Callie and Marie attracted wide-eyed stares and gobsmacked faces. In fact, several of their posters were pinned on the walls, making it impossible for them to go unrecognized. It wasn't much of a surprise but Sahna might have expected a little more decorum on the part of fellow officers, all of whom were older than her.

Marie quietly apologized to Captain Rancher for all the attention but she dismissed it immediately.

"I think we're getting used to it. At least we can avoid it most of the time, unlike in East Orica."

During their previous campaign, Callie and Marie had been able to partially disguise themselves from those outside the 13th by changing their colours and how they wore their tentacles, but that sort of thing was frowned upon in a highly secure facility like Gibraltar or Black Butte. Besides, the whole unit had gotten a lot of attention from the regular Army units anyway, being the first mobile suit unit and how effective they had been.

"And don't even think of leaving," the captain added. "We all need some time to unwind after how hard we've been working. Taking the time to bond as a unit is important."

"She's just shy," Callie said, gently cupping her strawberry daiquiri. She was savouring the drink, one Sahna wouldn't have thought possible to get at Gibraltar given the wartime shortages. Even things as simple as strawberries were a luxury. But having watched the bartender when he made the drink, she supposed if you were pretty enough, almost anything was possible.

"Not shy," Marie insisted, taking a sip of her own apple cider. "I just don't like causing trouble for everyone. We came here to relax, not be the centre of attention."

"Pretty pointless, I think." Lieutenant Wanderer leaned forward; he was smiling but his eyes were serious. "Any time we go out onto the battlefield we're going to be the centre of attention no matter what we do, at least until there are plenty of other mobile suits for the enemy to worry about."

Sahna suppressed a grimace. That had certainly been true. The Collective had launched a major assault against Federation lines seemingly for the express purpose of wiping out their unit. They'd very nearly succeeded.

"I say, wait to worry about that when we have to," Second-Lieutenant Stopper said. "We've got enough to worry about before we ever get there."

Second-Lieutenant Shackler grinned. "There's a stage over there. You could always give 'em a little show to shut 'em up. Peel the bandage off."

Marie gave him a black look but he just flashed a bright violet, casually brushing it aside.

"I wouldn't mind some more music," Second Lieutenant Kelper sighed. Aside from Dirk, she was the only Lunar Army officer in their unit. "I miss dancing. Met my last boyfriend at a club in Zalorda City." Her bright eyes glazed with reminiscence.

Callie asked, "what happened to him?"

Kelper's mantle darkened then pulsed blue. "War started after we'd been a couple for about a month. He said he'd write me and never did. Probably wrote me off." She pulsed grey and drank from her tumbler. "Whatever, it's a bad idea to have a romance in the middle of a war like this." She pointed a finger at Sahna and Hypori. "Let that be a lesson to you two. If you get with some fellas, it's only for fun. Don't take it seriously."

Sahna flashed a polite acknowledgement; although, she'd never really felt the urge to get romantic with anyone. She'd never even had any childhood crushes. Hypori's expression was a little too coy for Sahna to believe she was taking their fellow officer's advice seriously.

Kelper then turned her finger to Dirk. "And Tog, that goes double for you. You've still got a girl at home you have to stay loyal to."

Dirk winced ever so slightly and flashed green. Sahna suppressed a grin for her comrade's benefit; though, Hypori didn't bother.

The members of Blue Team had started calling Dirk "Tog" almost since they'd arrived at Gibraltar after noticing he was the only guy in Red Team, hence the acronym which had since become his call sign.

Hypori threw back the last dregs of her soda and stood. "I need to use the bathroom."

Sahna drank the last of her own drink then stood with her. "I'll go with you."

"Aww gonna, wipe my funnel for me too?"

Sahna scowled. "Don't make it disgusting. Why do you have to always do that?"

"Because it makes you uncomfortable." Hypori laughed and led the way to the bathrooms which had their own separate corridor in the club. The walls were adorned with photographs showing various high marks of the past few decades and beyond, mostly test pilots and prototypes, but also a few special forces units shown drinking or playing games.

They didn't take long to do their business. Whatever else annoyed Sahna about Hypori, she wasn't the type of girl to take forever in the bathroom.

They were walking back down the corridor when two officers, who had been looking at the photos, suddenly blocked their path. Sahna instinctively took half a step back and brought up her hands to defend.

They were both male and wearing pilot suits, but their name tags were missing. Their epaulettes showed the silver ring of CSF junior lieutenants, a rank higher than herself and Hypori. What did they want?

"Hey, where are you two girls headed?" The blue officer asked. "If you're lookin' for a couple of empty seats, our squadron has a couple of spaces we could make for you."

Sahna tried not to glare. They were technically superior officers. She had to be careful. Such concerns never seemed to pass through Hypori's mind, however, as she just laughed.

"Would those seats just happen to be on your laps?" She tilted her head towards Sahna. "She's from Terra so I'm not sure you could take the weight and her ass isn't big enough for both of you."

The green officer replied with a laugh of his own. "She could lay on the table. We wouldn't mind." He wiggled his eyebrows and Sahna resisted the urge to head back to the bathroom and vomit.

Restraining her anger and disgust, she said, "Marines lay out other people, not the other way around."

Blue said, "you're free to lay me out anytime, sweetheart, just name the time and place. I'll bring candles."

Sahna couldn't help but get a little flustered. She'd never been counted among the "pretty" girls in school and nobody had ever made advances towards her.

Hypori laughed again. "You're the romantic one, huh? Unfortunately, we've just been told that romance is against unit policy."

"Don't have to worry about romance," Green replied. "Just hanging out and getting to know each other. We're part of an elite unit, ya know. Ever hear of the Fell Stingers?"

Both officers turned to show the unit patches on their arms, displaying a cartoon image of a hornet with an angry, red stinger thrust forward. The number identified them as the 176th Fighter Squadron, which Sahna hadn't heard of either.

Hypori shrugged. "Sorry, we're kinda' new around here."

"Makes sense. We're part of a top secret program, but we'd be more than happy to give you girls some juicy details."

Sahna stiffened. Could these two be part of a unit from one of the competing programs? As annoying as they were and as much as Sahna didn't want to go with them, this could be an opportunity to get priceless intel on their competition. Was that really an opportunity they could turn down? She glanced at Hypori and her now tense expression indicated she was probably thinking along similar lines.

Suddenly, Green's arm was yanked back and he yelped in pain as it was crossed behind his back. Dirk held the Green officer's arm firmly and kept him pinned in place.

The blue officer whirled on him, turned red and glared. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Dirk regarded the superior officer blandly. "They aren't interested. Leave."

Blue brought his hands up as if to fight him but Dirk elicited another yelp from his struggling comrade, and he relented.

Dirk shoved his capture down the corridor and the two snarled at him as they left, displaying rude patterns from their mantles.

Sahna exhaled in relief. Despite the lost opportunity she actually felt glad having the choice taken away from her. "Thanks but we could've handled 'em ourselves."

Dirk looked at them and said, "needed to reaffirm masculinity."

Hypori giggled. "Yes yes, you were very brave, our knight in shining armour, big tough guy. Let's hurry up and get back before Mom and Dad worry."

Though Sahna was likewise by Dirk's answer amused, it couldn't be easy being the only male in their team. The ones in Blue Team probably teased him about it too.

The three of them returned to the main room. They spotted the two officers returning to their own table as if nothing had happened. There were other pilots there, probably from their unit.

Callie grinned at the three of them as they returned. "Aren't you two lucky you have a big brother to take care of you."

Sahna's mantle rippled with burgundy. "We were handling it."

"I was handling it, you mean," Hypori countered. "Anyway, those guys are from a squadron called the Fell Stingers, the 176th. They might be from one of the competing programs." That caught the attention of everyone at the table and they all leaned closer.

Captain Rancher asked, "You're sure?"

"We saw their unit patches," Sahna said. "They told us they were part of an elite unit working on a secret project. Not sure how seriously to take it, but the demonstrations are about to happen and we haven't seen them around before. If they aren't our competitors then it's a pretty big coincidence."

"Too big," Marie agreed. "I wonder if –." She stopped, her eyes fixated on the club entrance, and her whole body went rigid. Sahna's eyes followed and she spotted two CSF officers, both in flight suits: one a CSF lieutenant, the other a full commander. He looked familiar.

Callie suddenly rose and faced him. "Commander Barr."

Whether it was Callie's voice or movement, the senior officer stopped and looked at her. That was when Sahna finally remembered who he was.

Commander Arling Barr was the CSF's leading fighter ace with at least fifteen mobile suit kills to his name and three times that many damaged. In a war where fighters were badly outmatched by mobile suits to the point an entire squadron might struggle to kill just one, that was no small feat.

Commander Barr's naturally dark skin made him look healthier than most space-hatched inklings to Sahna's own Terran-hatched eyes, and handsome. He was young for his rank too, no older than his mid-thirties when most commanders were closer to their mid-forties. But then, long wars tended to breed young officers.

Barr recognized Callie as well. Although his mantle remained neutral the cool gaze he gave her as he slowly folded his hands behind his back was a clear indicator it wasn't through Callie's entertainment career.

"Cuttlefish," he said in a formal tone. "Surprised to see you here."

"Likewise, Sir. Are you here to give your opinions on the demonstrations coming up?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Something like that."

Sahna found herself staring down at her empty glass, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the building tension, especially as the lieutenant standing next to Barr speared Callie with a baleful glare.

"I'm sure you heard already," Barr continued, "but we're part of the Heavy Fighter Program."

Sahna gripped her glass tightly and the tension around the table rose. She glanced at the commander again but she had the wrong angle to see his unit patch. His lieutenant though, had the same patch as the two officers they'd met earlier.

"Oh really?" Callie asked casually. "No, I hadn't heard."

"The heavy fighter is a better way forward. Mobile suits are too expensive for too little benefit and with the heavy fighter the whole fleet won't have to be altered to accommodate them, and they're less expensive." He lifted his chin slightly. "How many resources has the mobile suit program wasted already?"

Sahna's insides knotted. He knew they were part of the mobile suit program? How good was their intel? How had they found out?

Callie slowly rubbed her thumbs against her fingers before she answered him. "I respectfully disagree, Sir. The mobile suit is a versatile weapons platform that can be easily equipped for a variety of different roles and situations without significant modification."

"Well the Heavy Fighter is designed for one role, Lieutenant, and that's killing mobile suits. That's what's most important and they're very good at it. In fact, my entire squadron has gotten very good at killing mobile suits. You might have too, if you'd stayed and fought like the rest of us instead slapping your face on posters."

Acid rose in the back of Sahna's throat. She wanted to bawl out and tell the arrogant prick that Callie had been working her funnel off, that she'd been doing her part, and that she probably had nearly as many kills as he did when it came to mobile suits. But she couldn't, because she'd accused her and Marie of exactly the same thing. The memory caused her mantle to turn white with blotches of shameful pink. She couldn't see what the reactions of the others were.

After a few moments Callie said, "I was doing my part, Sir."

At that, Barr's lieutenant spoke up, her words as cutting as her glare. "You were doing your part before. A transfer is one thing but you chose to go and left the rest of us to face the enemy one short."

In her peripheral vision, Sahna saw Rancher's mantle change. Unfortunately, with Callie between them she couldn't see well enough to know what her display had fully entailed, but she knew Rancher wouldn't take such blatant accusations of cowardice against one of her officer's casually.

Barr raised his hand to silence his lieutenant and addressed Callie again. "It's probably best we don't converse, Lieutenant, since we're technically competing. It was nice seeing you again."

"Likewise, Sir."

Barr continued on his way, heading for the table where his squadron waited. They had been watching the exchange in silence. His lieutenant gave Callie a parting scowl as she followed him.

Callie slowly sat back down, with the blankest expression Sahna had ever seen on her. Callie's default countenance had a bright, kindly smile and she always seemed cheerful, even when she was thrashing them in training. Now, she looked like a part of her soul had left her.

Marie placed her hand on hers and Callie's fingers curled beneath it. She let out a breath and slowly, life seemed to return to that lovely face. She gave Marie a reassuring smile and displayed green throughout her normally dark mantle to reassure everyone else.

Sahna looked away, still feeling shameful. She'd come to respect Callie so much as a superior and mentor that she'd forgotten how she used to feel about her, forgotten that she used to think Callie and Marie were nothing more than a couple of bimbos in slutty caricatures of real uniforms. She'd been so very wrong and she was feeling the weight of her earlier prejudices now, like a rocks being piled on top of her; thus, she found it hard to hate Commander Barr for what he said. It would have been hypocritical.

She felt a hand on her head and lifted it slightly. Glancing to her left she saw Callie smiling at her. A figurative boulder fell on her and her mantle turned pure white in apology and submission but Callie only displayed reassurances; she forgave her. That made Sahna feel better and her mantle returned to its natural forest green, but it also filled her with new purpose: to see Callie's honour restored, and that of the rest of their unit.

Nobody could call one of the White Devil's a coward.

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"Want to tell me what that was about?"

Marie looked across the small room at Callie who was staring at one of the computer displays, showing the view outside Gibraltar towards the nearby colony cluster, little more than spots at this distance.

Callie sighed. "It's not a big deal, really; it's just a misunderstanding."

Marie scowled. "They insulted you to your face in front of your subordinates and superiors then ran before you had a chance to explain. That's more than just a misunderstanding; they genuinely hate you."

"They feels like I betrayed them." Callie faced her cousin and sat in one of the private lounge's old but reasonably plush chairs.

"I was part of the first batch of replacement pilots after they lost half the squadron at Alexandria and Barr became squadron commander. You know what it was like then, just trying in vain to shoot things we either couldn't hit or couldn't hurt even when we did. Our squadron was the first to start using dumbfire HEAT rockets and that helped but those only worked if you were close and lucky, and this was back when most of the enemy 'suits were the Zaku Is. With the deuces, it was even harder, but we were doing better than most.

"After a few weeks though, we were back to just half an operational squadron. We just couldn't get new pilots fast enough to replace the losses and we were going to have to start using wartime recruits, which nobody was a fan of. Right about that time is when I got asked to leave the squadron."

Marie's mantle turned fully green. "I get it now. That was the Stealth Bombers."

"Right. I didn't know that at the time, but I knew it had you in it and by law you need consent to put family members in the same unit."

"I had wondered about that. You obviously transferred out though."

"I did. I knew that it was important and just felt I needed to go. That's what I told him. He wasn't happy about me leaving but thought I was doing what I thought was best for the CSF."

"Only for the next time he saw you to be on a poster or on TV."

"Yeah. I couldn't tell him where I was transferring – I didn't know myself, and I haven't seen him since."

Marie showed understanding through her mantle but it was swiftly replaced with contempt. "Even so, he should not have said those things to you in front of everyone, especially your subordinates – that was disrespectful and unprofessional. Captain Rancher looked like she might rip his head off."

Waves of violet casually travelled along Callie's tentacles, dismissing Marie's concerns. "I'm sure he knows that more than anyone. He's a good officer and I respect him. I wish I could prove him wrong but Team Red isn't part of the demonstrations and I'm not about to challenge him to a duel, even if it was allowed. I'm not going to be petty about this."

Marie grunted, not entirely agreeing but letting the issue fall for now. "Fine, let's just make sure it doesn't affect everyone else, especially not the rookies. We can't afford any loss of confidence right now. We need to makes sure to watch them and make sure they don't take matters into their own hands. Right now, the only other thing the five of us can do is hope the demonstration goes well."

Callie giggled. "Whatever you say, Dad."

Marie just glared at her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Varmos stepped out of the lift into an enormous room covered in electronic displays and crowded with people. The largest group of people was a myriad of uniforms and civilian suits. They were facing a wall of large displays that were showing a live view of some asteroids and what he guessed was one of the test ranges.

Amidst that group, Varmos managed to spot Admiral Blackhill and approached him.

"Ah, Captain Varmos, glad you could make it. Traffic is terrible, isn't it?"

"It is, Sir," Varmos replied wryly. He eyed the civilians. "Investors?"

"Of a sort. There are the members of the committee, obviously, but there are also those with industrial interests in the programs. A lot of them overlap so they might not care who wins, but some are hoping for a particular outcome. The traditional spacecraft manufacturers are going to lose a lot of business if we stop building fighters and bombers then replace them with mobile suits – eventually, anyway."

Varmos had been wondering when or if he would get a confirmation about mobile suit development other than rumours. It seemed natural that the Federation would start developing their own mobile suits after seeing how effective the enemy's were.

"And the shipyards don't want to reduce the number of ships we'd be purchasing either," Varmos added.

"Yes; though, again, that's not a concern as long as the war goes on. It's after the war that everyone's worried about. Fortunately, the Admiralty's main focus now is the present, and they don't have the… relationships many of its previous members had with the various industrial concerns."

Varmos understood. In other words, the reason so many of representatives of the Federation's military industrial complex were there was because they wouldn't be able to graft their way through the military's evaluation and they were nervous about it.

"Seems the Admiralty aren't the only one's here either." He eyed the Army and Marine officers mingling in their own small knot, including a few generals.

"If the CSF backs out of the Mobile Suit Program," Blackhill explained, "the Army will have to take all the funding and further development on their own back. The Marines went with an entirely different mobile suit design for their own needs."

"But the Marines still have an interest in this because it could threaten people's faith in their own mobile suits."

Blackhill nodded. "That and they feel the CSF should have tried to develop mobile suits a long time ago. The fact that we've gone from the start of development to working prototypes in little more than a year is nothing short of astonishing."

An announcement over the loudspeakers declared the start of the first demonstration and the crowd's conversations hushed to soft whispers as they all focused on the displays.

As the cameras reoriented themselves, Varmos recognized what he was seeing as Testing Course Seven, also known as "the Racecourse." Every pilot in the CSF pilot training program had to complete the course within a set time in order to graduate. There was an unofficial leaderboard of times even though racing through the course was technically prohibited and many people had lost their lives racing the course. Despite the dangers, the tradition still carried on up to now. Varmos himself had raced it, albeit many years ago, and it was still a fond if somewhat terrifying memory.

A quintet of humanoid machines was making its way to the start of the course, which was the easiest portion, with wide sweeping turns until the course tightened up quickly, and that was the spot people tended to mess up the most.

The mobile suits themselves weren't as sturdy-looking as the Zaku but that was typical of comparisons between Octarian and Federation designs. Inklings in general preferred sleekness, and these were probably prototypes anyway.

They showed impressive early speed as they went through the first part of the course but they struggled more as they went through the later stages, their large size compared to the average fighter hindering them in the tight confines of the course until they broke out at the exit where a number of target drones awaited them.

The drones were piloted and tried dodging and avoiding the mobile suits, much like the ones that had attacked Audacity during its own exercise, but the mobile suits took them out with ease. Varmos noted that some shots seemed to come from the head, something he wasn't aware any Octarian mobile suit could do. He wondered what the purpose of that was but could come up with a few possibilities on the current battlefield.

"Thoughts?" Blackhill asked.

Varmos crossed his arms. "They have good speed but they're too unwieldy in the tighter sections of the course, and while they took out those targeting drones pretty convincingly, they aren't exactly a substitute for mobile suits." He shook his head. "Honestly, Sir, I'm not particularly impressed. Our existing fighters could have done that and done it in about the same amount of time."

"All good points," the Admiral agreed. "Though, in fairness, they weren't the ones to come up with the demonstration parameters. Still, not exactly a grand showing."

Varmos wondered if they were holding back some. Although the pace through the asteroids was slow, the machines didn't look like they'd been pushing themselves and even in the portions they had been struggling more in, they flew almost timidly, as if afraid of scratching the paint. The speed in which they had taken out the target drones, he had to remind himself, was in a minovsky particle environment, not in one with precision guided weapons, so those pilots clearly knew their stuff. So why did they hold back?

The course and range were cleared and the next demonstration began, this being the Heavy Fighter Program.

The heavy fighters were twenty arrow-headed craft all flying one behind the other as they flew towards the course. By comparing the size of the craft to the nearby buoys he saw that they were much larger than conventional fighters and clearly well armed with missiles and large calibre weapons. Varmos was eager to see how they would perform.

The fighters surged forward the second they touched the starting line, taking even the open early sections of the course at a high rate of speed and drifting around the wide bends. Even in the narrow sections, their large size hardly seemed a hindrance, so light and agile they were, with their thrusters quite capable of countering their momentum, but what was really impressive was what waited for them at the end of the course.

Twenty target drones, twice what had been waiting for the mobile suits, and these drones were not old fighters, they were full-sized civilian mobile workers, a more primitive and work-like version of the mobile suit.

The fighters arrayed themselves into four seperate formations even as the drones came for them. The drones fired their rudimentary yet powerful weapons but none of them hit. They in turn were torn to pieces, first by large swarms of missiles. Most of the mobile workers were too slow to dodge and those that survived the swarm were overwhelmed by large calibre gunfire, including a dorsal mounted weapon which packed a serious punch. Varmos' best guess was that it was a rail gun of some kind. A gun like that on a fighter would rip through any mobile suit in the Collective inventory.

The audience was clearly impressed, with smiles and handshakes being exchanged among them. The ones looking agitated were probably those from the Mobile Suit Program. Varmos didn't blame them one bit. They'd clearly been set up to look worse.

"Captain Varmos."

Varmos looked back at Admiral Blackhill and found another officer, a junior captain, standing on his left side.

"This is Junior-Captain Strabland. He'll be your Void Wing Commander."

Varmos extended his hand. "Captain Strabland."

Strabland had a firm handshake, something Varmos took as a good sign.

"Captain Varmos. I wish I could have met you earlier but up until yesterday I didn't even know what ship I was going to be assigned to."

"Been there, Captain. I'd be happy to give you a tour later."

"I'd appreciate it."

Admiral Blackhill interjected himself. "So, gentleman, you've seen the demonstration of both craft that might end up in your hangars, so which would you have to pick?"

Varmos stared back at the screens. Most had switched to views of a trio of warships floating in one of Gibraltar's test ranges, waiting for the next demonstration to start.

"If I had to cast my vote, it would probably be the heavy fighters. They're more familiar, could be more easily integrated, and probably do the job of fighters and bombers."

"We wouldn't have to worry about training new techs either," Strabland added. "Mobile suits are a lot more complicated to maintain and operate based on everything I've seen, so training new pilots and maintainers would be kind of a nightmare with how strapped the CSF is for personnel."

"All good points," Admiral Blackhill agreed, "On the other hand, you don't need as many maintainers if only half the ships sent out come back."

Varmos had to wince at that cold, brutal statement. He couldn't refute it though. Every captain in the CSF knew how high the casualty rates were among the fighter and bomber corps, and the admirals were probably even more aware. It did make the shortage of maintainers somewhat moot, but even so.

The final demonstration began. The three warships were demonstrating the new anti-mobile suit weapons that had been developed. Small beam cannons situated where the point defence weapons normally were, lashed out with angry red beams. Another ten mobile worker drones were sent against the warships, dodging about on their thrusters, trying to evade the incoming fire, but as they got closer, they began to struggle, and that was when Varmos realized something.

"How are we able to use remote control with the minovsky effect so prevalent?"

Blackhill replied. "We refitted some old ships as dedicated drone control vessels. They're purposely being kept off camera, but they aren't very far, and they require very powerful transmitters and receivers, all designed to work in a minovsky environment."

"As would the drones themselves," Varmos observed. "And there would be a lot of time lag going both ways, which means their reaction times would be compromised."

"Yes," the Admiral admitted.

"And the mobile suits probably use minovsky reactors," Strabland said thoughtfully. "For that matter, I bet the heavy fighters do too."

"Indeed. So the drones won't perform as well as most people are used to."

Varmos stroked his chin. "And there were four times as many heavy fighters as there were mobile suits. Even regular communications barely work in an environment like that."

"Which means the drones would have been sitting ducks," Strabland finished. "Heck, the manoeuvres they did might have been pre-programmed."

"Very possible," the admiral agreed. "I know the mobile suits have been practising for the demonstrations, sans the drones, for almost a week. The heavy fighters have only been here for three days. I haven't paid as much attention to the mobile suits as perhaps I should have, but even I know they can do better than what we saw."

"So what went wrong?"

"That, Captain, is what I intend to find out. The success and survival of the new carriers depends on the capabilities of what they'll be carrying. We need to be as certain as possible which one is the best."

Author's Notes:

You can imagine the heavy fighters as a kind of predecessor to the mobile armour type weapons seen in the Gundam series.

Yeah, you can imagine the issues being celebrities in the military would be, not to mention what it does to tax earnings.

Dirk feels he's spending too much time surrounded by girls so he needed to reassure himself of his masculinity XD.