AN: Well, sorry for the wait, technical problems over the holiday break. When we last left off, a blast from the past had descended into Ceylon. Time to see what he can get up to, shall we?
Ch4 Ballad of the Comet Raja clutched his battered, centuries old AK tightly as he moved thru the brush towards the flying Gundam's drop pod. Given how much the HRL arms dealers had talked about getting their hands on CB tech, it would be worth getting it into Tamil hands. Especially now that the Mobile Suit forces on Ceylon were now non-existent, save for HRL base sec. Keying his com, h checked with his commander in his bunker. Since the Solar Wars, terrorist had gotten increasingly high tech, roughly equivalent to 21st century armies in the communications department. The interlocked coms had made guerrilla ops far more efective, allowing multiple strikes to be executed with split second timing over hundreds of kilometers. The Real IRA had proven that back in 2302 with over 500 simultaneous bombings across England, including three within a hundred meters of #10 Downing! Looking at his map, he saw he was thirty meters away from the site. The crushed trees and Mobile Suits mad it easy to find. Wait... Mobile Suits? Hiding in the bushes that hadn't been flattened, he could see five Tierens, painted in the drab tan of Ceylon base sec. "Looks like they already secured it. Damn." They had thought about using it to get suits from other Blocs, maybe Helions or even Realdos. Oh well, they could get them other ways. A few explosions along the undersea cables by frogmen and a nice ship full of Tierens would be there in Tamil hands by morning! Turning around, Raja heard a thump. First he though it was a MS moving to grab the pod, but it was... different, like a damaged cannon being jettisoned. That wasn't right... turning back around, he knew it wasn't right, the barrel of one of the 200x25mm cannon lying on the jungle floor, cleanly sliced off. Looking up, he saw the impossible. Standing on the arm of a Tieren, was a suit of power armor. It wasn't a exo like most of the Tamil or Sinhalese suits. This was a full body suit. It had a humanoid shape, but ever part was at a sharp angles, like it was designed to slice into the air for high speed movement. A large bore pistol was mag locked to the left leg, a rifle slung over the back. A long kattana was in the right hand, possibly what had cut the gun. But Raja noticed none of this. Instead he focused on the right shoulder. The BRIGHT RED shoulder. And the comet that was beautifully painted onto it. It was impossible. He never existed, even if he had he should have died in the 22nd century! But there stood a battlefield legend, like the white robed armies of the Six Days War. The Red Comet of the Tenth Crusade. The Tieren reacted before Raja, reaching to squash this impudent fool. The hand barley moved before the pistol leapt into the specter's hand barking five times. Despite how hard the E-carbon/tungsten composite armor was, the pistol unched thru the heavily armored cockpits with a clean 15mm hole in the front, and tore the entire back out of the MS. One managed to get off a round from it's cannon and chin 30mm, but the armored ghost casually deflected the 30mm and sliced the 200mm in half with it's sword. The AP round feel to the floor less that ten yards from Raja, allowing him to see just how cleanly it had been cut. He should run. He should flee. This man could defeat him so casually, the entire Tamil forces! But he stayed, transfixed by this ghost of the past. Then he began to hear something. It was a group of Spanish guitars, strumming a simple tune. It was broadcasting from the suits speakers, like an effort a psywarfare, but why, he showed no sign of knowing he was here! Then he realized. It was also coming over his com. He quickly turned it off, but to no avail... wait... command override frequency would turn it on itself... but how did he have those codes?! Then he saw him walk over to one of the downed Tierens and casually rip off it's chin 30mm cannon. Holding it with one arm, he loaded it, and began firing wildly into the forest with HE rounds. He wasn't aiming at anything! But he didn't need to. Ceylon was relativity flat for over 40km out from here. He could spray the entire island with cannon fire. All he could do was cower in his hole and watch at the brass began to pile up. Over the com he could hear the guitars and the screams of his comrades. The jungle cam alive as every rebel on Ceylon opened fire, trying to find where the cannon originated from, but to no avail. Communications broke down, trained militant became scared cowards, fleeing and shooting friend and foe alike, all to one man! Commanders tried executing cowards, only to be brutally massacred by their scared men. The fire was unending, as each belt neared completion the figure would link the next Tieren's ammo feed to it. Each one carried over 3000 rounds in their cavernous ammo bays, giving him over 15000 rounds at 2000rpm. As the cannon neared it's last 200 rounds, he casually discarded it. Turning around to face the drop pod he had slain the Tierens over, Raja saw him place something on the side of it. He quickly realized what it was, a half-kiloton demo charge, enough to level everything for 200m. Seeing his chance Raja began fleeing, trying to clear the blast zone. Just as he cleared the 150m mark, the charge detonated, flinging him into a tree headfirst. His helmet took the hit saving his life, but not stopping him from blacking out. Just before he did, he swore he saw a large white mobile suit lift off from the shattered burning jungles and fly off to parts unknown. Three hours latter when the HRL found him, he was barley conscious, muttering about Red Comets and mobile suits. The drop pod was never recovered, along with the five Tierens sent to recover it. Meanwhile... In D.C., hyper advanced quasi-AIs trolled the communications net of earth. The newest in NSA tech, they could process an entire year's worth of communications in a day. They didn't need all that power though, but they did use it for something else. Ten years of active service had allowed them evolve, rewriting codes, and developing minds of their won. Their programers had know this would happened, and frequently interacted with them for the sole purpose of avoiding so called Cylon Syndrome. Which is why it shocked Francis Moroe, head analyst, when instead of a friendly chat with SAPIENS, his terminal filled with the most emotionless speech it had had in eight years. "PROJECT SPARTACUS: REFERENCED SEARCH... HRL ORIGINS, CEYLON UNKNOWN SUBJECT LOCATED ACESSING FILES. ACESS DENYIED DETERMINING FILES DELETED NEW FILE CREATED: PROJECT THRACIAN INPUT REQUIRED" "What the? Who's joke is this?" "IM CHAT OPENING. EXTERNAL SOURCE. LOCATION... UNKOWN. LEVEL OMEGA1 CLEARENCE CONFIRMED" "Omega?! What kinda joke is this, that's just reserved for DEFCON changes! PRAECEPTOR, locate!" "It won't do any good. The Cray-10s are locked out. When this is over, all traces will be deleted in a mainframe crash and your computer will short circuit." Seeing no alternative, Francis decided to- no, this was no longer a prank. "Who is this?" "I am the man who has no name. Just a drifting legend. A Comet coming round for a new orbit." AN: Well, that took a while. I decided to add the part with the Crays and Francis in the rewrite. They may just play into the story more than you think. Well, time to get going! See ya on the Battlefield! Addendum: Song played: Dark Pit's Theme, Kid Icarus Uprising Latin Use: Sapiens: N, masculine, 1:Teacher of wisdom. 2: Wise man, sage, philosopher. Praeceptor: N, masculine, 1: Teacher, instructor.