Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road to Alexandria

Chapter 2
October 27th, UC 0079

Samuel Holliday stood outside of the command center tent, uncomfortable in his uniform. The officers of C Company did not have the traditional Zeon working dress uniform that Major Moore was wearing. Instead, they had field dress, which consisted of a high-necked tunic that bore their rank insignia, over which went a five-button green field blouse that bore a general Zeon officer's insignia. Holliday opted to keep his web belt on, but the 1st Lieutenants, King and Hill, had worn black leather belts that matched the boots all the men were now wearing.

The temperature had gone up since the Major's arrival, and the sun was now hanging high above them. Holliday wanted nothing more than to rip the field blouse off his back and go find his comfortable tropical shirt. He would have liked to at least been wearing his hat to keep the sun off his face. It was no time of day for a man to be standing out in the sun without the proper protection.

Moore had brought a small number of NCOs with him, personal aides who apparently were not quite as personal as Miss Kamaras was. Holliday held no illusions about her, as attractive as she was. Call her a personal secretary or what you will, it was a polite way of referring to the woman who was most likely the Major's mistress. Holliday knew that several officers in the Earth Attack Force had them, trading the perks that went with their position for companionship. On war-ravaged Earth, it was a means to a better life for some women.

One of the NCOs emerged from the command tent. Snapping to attention before the assembled officers and mobile suit pilots, the Sergeant saluted and announced, Major Moore will see you now.

Holliday returned the salute and walked past the Sergeant, who was trying his best not to look uncomfortable in his own work dress. Sweat was already beading along his brow, under the helmet he wore, and dark stains were beginning to spread on his uniform. These men were going to have a hell of a time adjusting to the climate, Holliday thought, and it seems Major Moore isn't making it easy for them.

It was still hot inside the spacious command tent, but there was at least a breeze blowing from a large, round fan mounted on a pole in the corner of the tent. On one wall, above a table laden with maps, was a large Zeon war ensign, the 5th Division's banner hung next to it. Near the map table was a Corporal sitting behind a large radio unit, keeping in coordination with the communications tent. Major Moore himself stood in the center near his desk, talking to another NCO who saluted him and left. Holliday wondered just how the man managed to look so impeccable after a ride through the desert.

"C Company senior staff reporting as ordered, sir," Holliday announced, coming to attention and saluting the Major. C Company was usually pretty informal, but the Major seemed to put a lot of stock in saluting.

"At ease, men." Moore walked up and down in front of the assembled men, looking them over. "In my tour of the base," he addressed them, "I have come to several conclusions. First of all, hydrocarbon production must be increased by a full 25% if we are to meet the demands that Side 3 has placed upon us. Lieutenant Hill, you and your men will see to it. This base will be known for its contribution to Zeon's materiel needs."

"Secondly, I have noticed a lack of formality and discipline in this Company that is unbecoming of Zeon soldiers. That will change. From this moment on, the men will start dressing in work dress uniforms. Side 3 natives or not, they will present the proper image of what a soldier of the Principality should be. Foot patrols are also to resume around both the camp and the fields, as well as tank and mobile suit patrols around the perimeter."

Pausing, Moore took a drink from the glass of water that sat on the corner of his desk. The condensation that had gathered on the outside of it nearly made him drop it, but he recovered it with a dark glare to head off any un-military snickering that the incident might cause. "Furthermore, this company has been complacent. Other units throughout the world are providing valiant contributions to the glory of Zeon; I intend to see that this one contributes its fair share of accomplishments. Captain Holliday."

"Sir!" Holliday snapped to attention thinking that if he didn't, Moore was going to ream him out for not being proper and respectful.

"You are to start practicing maneuvers with your platoons. When my personal mobile suit has been optimized for the climate, I will be taking command. I expect the unit to be prepared for our first operation by next week at the latest. That is all, gentlemen." Moore turned away, then thought of something, and turned back. "Senior officers are to meet in my tent at 2000 hours for dinner. Please inform the mess crew and have them arrange for it. That is all; dismissed."

The assembled men saluted and walked out of the tent into the stifling heat. Holliday frowned, but kept his thoughts to himself for the moment. He marched off toward his own tent, with Pappas and Cusik trailing after him. Pappas looked concerned; Cusik, well, Cusik's expression was the one he always wore.

Holliday waited until he was at his tent before he unleashed his outburst. "That pompous fool!" he snarled, kicking over his chair. Swinging around to face his two subordinates, Holliday said, "Does he realize what this climate is going to do to someone in a full work dress uniform? Especially if they're on a foot patrol. Does he have any concept of what it's like in a desert?" In actuality, Holliday was making excuses to complain. The work dress was more impractical than the tropical field uniform, but not necessarily worse for the climate. Still, the tropical uniforms were made out of lighter materials.

"I think this man Moore, he has never been in a real combat unit before," Cusik said in a low, disapproving tone. "Pretty uniform, fancy mobile suit. His hands are soft. He has never experienced combat."

"His plans for the unit made it seem like he's not very experienced," Pappas agreed. "Lieutenant, where exactly are we supposed to attack? This ain't exactly the Southeast Asian front."

"Closest Feddie base is off in Tataouine, that's 600 klicks to the east. But this isn't our MO, we're not the Pink Panthers. Our assignment is to sit here and guard this stupid oil field," Holliday muttered the last. It was a boring assignment, but at least it had been peaceful. Or, rather, had been up until now.

"Captain, you might want to curb your temper for a bit," Pappas told his superior, nodding in a direction behind the Captain. Holliday turned his head and saw the dark-haired form of Miss Kamaras watching them, a mirthful smile on her face. Then, she turned and disappeared into the tent that had been set up between Holliday's and the commander's tents.

Turning back to Pappas and Cusik, Holliday shook his head and told them, "Let me know if anything else is going to f*** up my day. I'll be in my tent until dinner, contemplating suicide."

The wonderful thing about the desert, Holliday thought, is that it gets cold at night. As the sun was dropping below the horizon, the temperature began to do the same. With winter approaching, it was also bound to get even colder at night in the weeks ahead.

Holliday wore his field blouse, closed at the collar. Over it he had on a greatcoat designed to fend off the chill of the desert night. The sun had sunk well below the horizon now, painting the western sky in an array of pastel reds and oranges, overlaid with a sheen of violet. Opposite, to the east, the sky had turned an inky black, studded with stars that mingled with the layer of dust that had been thrown into the Earth's atmosphere some ten months prior.

Straightening the peaked officer's cap he'd dug out of the bottom of his footlocker, Holliday made his way to the commanding officer's tent. It was of the same basic design and material as Holliday's own, but several times larger and with a private latrine and shower set up between it and Miss Kamaras's tent. This was a feature Holliday envied; must be nice not to have to share a latrine and shower facility with ten other junior officers.

Holliday was shown inside the tent by the NCO standing at the door. He found Lieutenant Hill already arrived and waiting to be seated. Moore's tent was spacious and largely undecorated; he still had crates and boxes piled up in one corner. The large camp table had been set up this was a holdover from Major Giannetta's tenure as company commander. Giannetta enjoyed having informal meals with his officers here; not like the formal affair that Moore seemed to have set up for tonight. The table, behind which a large Zeon war ensign had been hung, had been set as one might find it in a banquet hall, not in the middle of the North African theater.

Standing at the near end of the table was Miss Kamaras, wearing a red skirt and white blouse that looked a little to thin for the night air. Still, if she was uncomfortable, she took it in stride. Holliday removed his cap and sketched a little bow. "Good evening, Miss Kamaras," he said to her.

"Good evening, Captain Holliday," she replied in an accent he could not quite place. "And please, call me Maria. Franklin will be along shortly."

"Certainly," Holliday answered, though he wasn't quite sure why. At least he was certain that he was not the only person Miss Kamaras Maria had an effect on. As the only woman in the camp as the only woman some of the men had seen for months Holliday hoped the men were disciplined enough not to do anything stupid. He would hate to see Moore convene a firing squad to take care of anyone who had done anything to his mistress.

Holliday stood conversing with Lieutenant Hill, and Lieutenant King showed up a moment or so later. They talked quietly amongst themselves as Maria went about preparations for the meal. After a few minutes, Major Moore arrived, clad in a heavy leather greatcoat over his uniform, flanked by a Sergeant in a wool greatcoat.

"Ah, good evening gentlemen, my dear Maria," he said as the Sergeant helped him out of the coat. "Would anyone care for anything to drink? Otherwise, we can begin dinner." Holliday accepted a glass of scotch whiskey from the Major. It had been brought, he was assured, all the way from Side 3 itself. After Maria had been seated by Moore, the other officers took their places at the table.

It felt a little ridiculous to Holliday to be eating at a candle-lit table with real linen napkins and fine dinner ware that the Major had obviously brought with him. After all, Holliday knew what was coming, and Moore apparently did not. This much was proved when the first course was placed in front of them.

"What the hell is this?" Moore said in a thin voice, looking disapprovingly at his plate. It was filled mostly by beans and rice and a few pickled vegetables. A large chunk of black bread sat on the side of the plate, the most inviting part of the meal to Moore's eyes.

The other officers ignored this and attacked their meals with gusto. Holliday, in particular, had skipped lunch and was feeling ravenous. Pausing in between shoveling forkfuls of rice into his mouth, he looked up and noticed the Major's somewhat dismayed expression as he looked at the food on the plate. "Is something the matter, Major?" Holliday asked innocently.

Cocking an eyebrow, Moore replied, "The cuisine is not quite what I'd expected, Lieutenant. Tell me, is this standard?"

"Absolutely, Major, sir. You'll find precious little fresh food around here; rice and beans are among the few things that don't spoil. Anything else is going to be pickled, tinned, or otherwise preserved. Occasionally we've been able to get our hands on some fresh meat, but that's a rare occurrence. Do try the black bread, though. I'm told it's a very old Russian recipe. Quite good, though I think it would be better with butter than with the olive oil we're issued."

Maria, for her part, was soldiering on better than Moore was regarding the food. She had seen enough hunger to never turn down anything placed before her. As she ate, she saw that Moore was getting that expression again, the one he always wore when things were not going his way. Deciding to be diplomatic, she said, "Franklin, why don't you tell the Captain and the Lieutenants about yourself? I'm sure they would be interested in knowing more about their new commander." She passed a sly wink along to Holliday, who was now regarding her with an expression of frank admiration, recognizing that she was attempting to stem the Major's temper.

Moore puffed up at this. Adjusting the collar of his uniform, the Major cleared his throat. "Well, before the war and for the first few months, I was a staff officer to Her Excellency Kycillia. In early April, I was assigned to the First Terrestrial Mobile Division as commander of a forward observation unit on the Western Front in the Ukraine. We successfully defeated five different Federation-supplied resistance groups, and that is where I met my dear Maria. It was General Kelanie himself who recommended to General Bitter that I be assigned this command; he has high regard for my abilities. And I intend to demonstrate to General Bitter what I proved to General Kelanie in Odessa, that this can be an effective unit in the fight against the Federation."

"I see," Holliday said, trying to sound impressed. He wasn't, though. All he saw was the same sort of nepotism that had run rampant in the Mobile Assault Force during his tenure with it.

"Tell me, Captain Holliday, where are you from originally? I've noticed that most of the men aren't from Side 3," Moore commented, disdain coloring his voice just a bit.

"That is correct, sir. The majority of us are not from Side 3. In fact, you're the first officer I've met in the 5th Division who is. I can't speak for Lieutenants Hill and King, but I'm originally from Side 2. Until about a year ago, I was also a Federal Forces pilot." This seemed to catch Moore somewhat off guard. "That's why we're referred to as the Zeon Foreign Legion; we're men who've given up our countries to fight for the Zeon cause." Holliday paused to dab his mouth with his napkin, then said, "Major, if you would please excuse me, I'm suddenly not feeling up to par and would like to go lie down."

Moore, more than a little perplexed, nodded weakly in acknowledgement. Holliday stood up and collected his greatcoat, snapped off a salute and then left the tent. He headed right back to his own, where he tossed his greatcoat over a chair, stripped off his boots and field blouse and tossed them on the floor. He set a CD in his battered black player and lay back on his bed. That bastard Moore is nothing but a pawn of favoritism politics and now we're stuck with him and his delusions of grandeur. Kelanie probably had him shipped off here so he wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. Somehow, Holliday couldn't see the rather straight-laced Major being a favorite of the rather unconventional General.

Some time later Holliday was not exactly certain how much time had passed there came a soft knock on the wood board outside his tent. "Yes?" he answered impatiently. The outer flap was drawn aside to reveal Maria Kamaras, clad in Moore's leather greatcoat and carrying a bottle of wine.

"I wanted to see if you were all right," she said as she came in, not noticing Holliday's rather obvious amazement. "You left rather abruptly, and missed a rather good red that Franklin had brought with us from Odessa. I managed to bring another bottle of it in case you wanted to try some. Would you care for a drink with me?"

By this point, Holliday's brain had finally started working. "Um, okay." He got up and walked over to his camp table, pulling out one of the chairs for Maria to sit down on. "I do apologize for leaving early. Would be lying if I said it was because I felt sick, but-"

"But what?"

"You're probably going to hate me for saying this, but I don't like Major Moore. He reminds me of why I left the Federal Forces in the first place. He's a glory seeking functionary who's gotten to his position by riding on the coattails of others! Holliday paused, and took a breath. There, I've said it."

"Don't worry, I won't tell Franklin," Maria answered him as she uncorked the wine bottle and filled up the two glasses she had brought with her. "He does have a tendency to rub people the wrong way, that's why he's been banished to this post and he's none to happy about it."

"Tell me, why are you with him? You seem sensible enough, not like that pompous git at all."

Maria looked away for a moment, then slowly replied, "Things were tough for the first few months after the war. I was trapped in Odessa, my fiancé had been working there as an engineer. He was killed in the crossfire between the Federal Forces and the Zeons. With Franklin, I've never had to want for anything. When you are desperate, it's easy to trade pride for necessity."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"You couldn't." She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Now that I've told you my story, what is yours, Captain? How does an ex-Federal Forces officer end up out in the middle of the desert fighting for Zeon?"

It was Holliday's turn to laugh bitterly. "It's not a very interesting story," he told her.

"Bound to be more interesting than anything else to do here."

"You have a point. It's partly because I'm an insolent bastard, partly because I got fed up with the system. I was a Federal Forces fighter pilot, had just been assigned to some know-nothing bastard of a commander who'd gotten his position because his brother-in-law or something was a Rear Admiral. I reamed him out over some stupid thing or another I can't even remember what it was now and he threatened to end my career."

Holliday drained the wine from his glass. "I'd become so fed up with the nepotism and corruption I saw strangling the Federal Forces, that I left. Just hopped in my fighter and surrendered to the first Zeon ship I found. At first, I was excited to be in a force that actually had a purpose, and a seemingly noble one at that. And then I saw the destruction at Loum. I was a Gattle space fighter pilot by then, and I just wasn't prepared for the sheer slaughter that happened. Kept me up many nights after that, I can tell you. After that, well, I was sent for training and assigned to the Foreign Legion and sent here. Came with the drop into Arabia and fought my way here, and we've been guarding these damn oil fields since then." Holliday laughed, and said, "And you know what the most ironic thing is? I left to get away from nepotism and ineffectual officers, and here it is, come back to haunt me."

"If you've found what you hated about the Federal Forces here with Zeon, why do you still fight for them?" Maria asked.

"Where else can I go?" Holliday shot back. "I'm a traitor in the eyes of the Federation. The war's torn across the entire planet, it's not like I can find an island somewhere and escape it all. No, I've made my bed and I'll lie in it. It's all I can do now."

With a kind smile, Maria said, "It seems we are alike in some ways. I must head back now, or else Franklin will become upset."

"I understand. Thank you, Maria. For the wine and the company."

"You are welcome, Captain."

"Please, call me Samuel."

"Samuel, then. Good night, Samuel."

"Good night, Maria."

And with that, she was gone. Holliday leaned back in his chair and mulled the night's events over in his head. An interesting turn of events with Maria. At least he knew she wasn't the vapid kind of mistress that he had seen a lot of the 5th Division's officers take. Moore was still an arrogant twit, but if Maria could be convinced to help keep him under control Holliday did not want to take advantage of her like that, but as a last resort, it gave him an option.

That in mind, he shut off the CD, got up from his chair and went to bed.

October 29th, UC 0079

The ground shook as eleven Zaku Desert-types made their way toward the camp. Holliday had taken the two platoons into the desert late yesterday afternoon, the first of the numerous exercises that Major Moore had demanded they start undertaking in preparation for whatever combat mission he had in mind for C Company.

Ground crews began scuttling about, preparing to take the Zakus into the massive hangars half-buried in the ground. These structures were the only major permanent buildings that had been constructed for C Company, needed to service the massive war machines.

Maneuvering his dun and yellow camouflaged Zaku down the ramp into the building, Holliday wiped the sweat from his brow. It was not as hot today as it had been the rest of the week, but the effects of the sun beating down on the metal mobile suit was murderous. On really brutal days, cockpit temperatures could reach well over 40 degrees Centigrade, even with all the cooling equipment that had been crammed into the desert model's pack. Despite Moore's orders to the contrary, Holliday had ditched his work dress and field blouse for his tropical uniform shirt. He'd be damned if he would roast in the cockpit under that twit's orders.

Speaking of whom as Holliday brought his Zaku onto the service platform, he saw the Major below yelling at some hapless mechanic. Looking at his side monitor, Holliday saw the reason why. With a sigh, he powered down the Zaku once it was locked into place and began pulling on his field blouse. Opening the hatch, he climbed out onto the lift platform that had been raised to cockpit level and hit the descend switch.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Holliday asked as he walked up to Moore, giving the poor mechanic a moment's respite.

"Yes, there is a problem," Moore declared. "This twit has begun changing the color of my Mobile Suit!" He pointed up toward the Gouf, which was in the process of having its forest green colors being repainted in colors matching those of the Asfar Skikkiyn Zakus.

"Major, that's part of the optimization process for desert warfare," Holliday informed him, trying to be diplomatic. "Your colors are proper for an environment such as Odessa, but in the desert we pride ourselves in some degree of being able to blend in to our background. Colors as dark as yours are easily spotted by some Fed pilot with sharp eyes, even from high altitude. By repainting your mobile suit to match ours, not only will it make you that much more effective in combat, but it shows that you are truly a part, and not only the commander of this unit."

Moore seemed to puff up at that. Note to self, Holliday thought, stroke Moore's ego. Makes him ever so much easier to work with.

"Well, put like that, Captain, I see the necessity. Carry on, Corporal, but next time, inform me, or I will pursue disciplinary actions."

"I understand, Major!" the mechanic shouted with a salute before running off to oversee completion of the work on the Gouf.

"Now tell me, Captain, how did the overnight exercises go? Well, I hope. I would like to begin planning for our first mission as soon as possible."

"It went well. I'll have a full report for you shortly, Major."

:Very good, very good. Soon, Captain, we'll show those Federation bastards what we can do!"

Too soon for my liking, Holliday thought, but he didn't say it.

Chapter 2 Notes:

Uniforms: I've identified at least 3 kinds of Zeon uniforms and sometimes find it hard to keep them straight myself. Here's a breakdown and some observations.

Work Dress: The standard Zeon officer's uniform, with the rank mantle and nice, high boots. Looks cool, and completely impractical in the desert. What Major Moore wears all the time.

Field Dress: Standard Zeon enlisted uniform, there's also an officer's version of it with rank insignia that differ from the mantle version. There's also a general officer's insignia, like in the picture of 5th Division Ace Roy Greenwood, which was originally shown at (Note: The link, which was here, is defunct by the time of this posting. I leave the mention of it in to honor the memory of the now deceased Gundam Project)

Greenwood's also wearing what's pretty close to:

Tropical Dress: Similar to the standard field dress, but lighter and much more practical for a desert environment than work or field dress. Wolfgang Wahl and crew wear these in 0083, usually light tan and yellow colors, though I picture mine with more pockets, like Greenwood's shirt. There are short-sleeved versions, shorts, and these really nifty leather and canvas desert boots. Kawamoto clearly based these designs off of DAK uniforms, and so am I. There's also a five-button field blouse that can go over it, decked out with the basic Zeon officer marking and rank tabs on the lapels. The blouse is similar to the one that can be found in the DAK website I listed earlier.