Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road To Alexandria

Chapter 3
November 3, UC 0079

"The Operation," Moore began, "will be called Scorpion, after those beastly little things with the stingers. Because that is what we are going to do. We will sting the Federation when they least expect it, and retreat back into the sand."

"Why not just call it Market-Garden and get it over with," Holliday muttered to himself. He didn't think that this mission would be as disastrous as that ancient operation, but the time factor that the Major was pushing for reminded him of the deadlines imposed on the British XXX Corps.

"Do you have something to add, Captain Holliday," Moore asked, pointing at him with the riding crop he'd taken to carrying.

"Just concerned about the time factor, Major," Holliday answered honestly. "We are pushing the MS over 600 kilometers in a period of two days with little to no support. Even with desert-optimized units, that's still going to be rough on the equipment."

"I understand your concerns, Captain," but speed is paramount, Moore stated, slapping his baton into the palm of his hand for emphasis. "I want to get in and cause as much damage as possible before the Feddies can send reinforcements."

"From where?" Pappas mouthed to Holliday when Moore turned his attention back toward the map that had been set up on a display board at the end of the command tent. The Captain shrugged, and turned his attention back toward the Major.

"We leave this afternoon at 1700 hours. I know it's one of the hottest times of the day, but this will allow us to press on through the night. Any questions? No? Very well, you are dismissed. Rest up for the next few hours, but I want everyone in the hangars by 1600 hours to make certain your mobile suits are ready to go."

The assembled pilots stood and saluted, then left the command tent and the Major, who continued to examine the plans he had drawn up. As he walked, Holliday noticed that Pappas and Cusik had walked up behind him. "What do you two knuckleheads want?" he asked good-naturedly.

"Me and Cusik are going to get something to eat, Captain, want to join?" the bearded Sergeant told him, jerking his thumb in the direction of the mess tent.

"No, I think I'll let the Feds kill me, not the food," Holliday replied dryly. "I just want to rest up before we head out. It's going to be a long night. I'll see you two later." Waving, Holliday split off from his men and made his way to his tent. It was only somewhat stifling inside, as opposed to the full-blown heat that ravaged the outside. He tossed his cap on the table and sat down on his camp bed to remove his boots.

A soft knock came from outside, and Holliday looked up to see Maria poking her head into the tent. "I wanted to catch up with you before you left. It's going to be so boring around here without you."

"Oh, I thought it was boring around here in general." Holliday grinned. "I wasn't aware that I made things more interesting."

"Well, you don't really, but at least you're someone to talk to, when I can get away from Franklin for a bit; don't worry, he's off making sure everything is done right for this mission you're going on. Oh, and I brought you some lunch." She entered the tent, carrying a small basket. "These are some things we brought with us from Odessa, I'm afraid they'll go to waste if someone doesn't eat them. Besides, you deserve something better than the usual mess fare and Franklin will never know this is gone."

"Well, if you insist." Holliday smiled and stood up, moving toward the table. Maria removed the items from the basket, mostly dried fruits, some bread and cheese, and some tinned ham.

"The cheese," she told him, "is Fetta and very good. Just like I was able to get in Athens, before the war."

"I'll take your word for it, I don't think I've ever had it before." Indeed, it was as good as Maria had promised. As he ate, Holliday watched as Maria observed him patiently. Finally, he broke his silence and asked, "You have to be the most patient person I've met in a long time. It must be terribly boring around here for you; what do you do all day when not attending to his highness?"

With a laugh, Maria said, "I do get terribly bored. I try to read as much as I can. I'm even thinking of starting my memoirs. 'Tales of a Zeon Mistress,' maybe." They both laughed at this. Any diversion is welcome. "I suppose that's why I enjoy these little conversations we have, even if this is only the second. You are so much more, well, personable than Franklin. The poor man is an awful bore."

"Let's not talk about him," Holliday said as he peeled the lid off the tin of ham. It was pink and moist, unlike the last batch the mess had managed to acquire. "What about you? What do you want to do when the war is over?"

"I would like to go to space. I've never been there, and want to see it for myself. I've always looked up at it from Earth, but I want to be surrounded by it, feel the weight of gravity lifted from my soul."

"You sound like a contolist," Holliday said with a grin.

"Is there anything wrong with that?" Maria replied indignantly. "Is there anything wrong with an Earthnoid who is a contolist?"

"Not at all, but it is a little surprising to find an Earthnoid who believes in the philosophy. Most are satisfied to stay here all their lives."

"I've read Zeon Deikun. It was Gregor, my fiancé, who introduced me to his works. We were trying to get emigration status to the new Side 7 colony when the war broke out. If the war ends soon, I would still like to go."

"A noble dream," Holliday said wistfully.

"All right, your turn. What would you like to do after the war is over?" Maria leaned on the table, chin resting on her folded hands.

"Well, I hadn't really given it much thought. I'm a soldier, so I'd assume if our side wins I'll have to stay in the military until my term of enlistment is up. I don't think I can go back home to Side 2; my family effectively disowned me when I defected. Besides, I don't even know if my home colony survived the first weeks of the war. If I could, I would like to stay on Earth for a while. I would love to see some of the important places in mankind's history. So far, all I've seen of the planet is this damned desert."

They continued to converse for a few more minutes before Maria said, "I must go. Franklin always takes his lunch close to this time, and, well, I don't think he would be too happy about me spending time with you."

"I don't doubt that," Holliday agreed sourly.

"I will miss you, though, Samuel. I am getting to enjoy these little conversations." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Holliday was too stunned to say anything. "Take care of yourself." With that, she gathered up her basket and left the tent.

Holliday sat at his camp desk, still staring blankly after her. He hoped it was nothing more than a friendly gesture, because he sure as hell did not need this kind of complication in his life.

The sun had begun to sink into the western sky, but it was still murderously hot when the Asfar Skikkiyn platoons made their final preparations to move out. Holliday, like the others, was wearing his work dress, but had packed his tropical uniform. A few hours in the heat of his Mobile Suit's cockpit might be just the thing to bring Moore around on his formality before functionality issues.

He took a few minutes to examine the preparations the maintenance crews had made for his Zaku. It was armed with a 90mm MMP-80 that had somehow been mistakenly shipped to Ghardaia base along with a rather hefty supply of ammunition the month before. Holliday had neglected to mention this to the quartermaster corps at Algiers, and had promptly lost the forms that had come with it. In the desert, you took whatever equipment you could get.

Most of C Company's Zakus were not equipped in the same manner. They'd started out rather standardized, but in the months that followed, malfunctions and use had led to the loss of certain items, and it was nearly impossible to get replacements, or at least correct replacements. So it came down to a missing missile pod here, a Zaku without the extra armor on its left arm, mismatched weapons. Most of the MS used the standard M120AS 105mm machine gun that was standard issue for the D-type, but some, like Holliday's unit, carried different rifles. One or two bore the standard 120mm Zaku rifle, and Pappas carried a 175mm Magella cannon that had been cannibalized from one of the tanks under Lieutenant King's command that had suffered an irreparable breakdown.

Likewise, the Major's Gouf had been equipped properly for the desert. The intake vents had been screened to keep out the maximum amount of dust and sand possible, and the knee and shoulder actuators had been covered with the same kind of canvas that covered the joints on the Desert Zakus. It was now the same dark yellow and light brown as the Desert Zakus, and some enterprising technician had painted the Asfar Skikkiyn unit symbol on the shield. Holliday wasn't sure if he appreciated his unit's symbol on Moore's mobile suit, but decided he was not in a position to argue. Moore was the Company commander, after all.

Speaking of whom, Holliday was amazed to see that Moore, clad in a green and black normal suit, had not even broken a sweat in the stale, hot air that filled the hangar bay. The rest of the mobile suit pilots had assembled, dressed in their field blouses over their high-collared field tunics, looked hot and uncomfortable. And this was despite the fact that all were desert veterans.

Moore looked them up and down and began, "Men, we are about to embark on Operation Scorpion, our crusade to show those Federation bastards that it is Zeon who rules Northern Africa! From here to the Nile they will come to fear us, as we smash their forces with our righteous indignation. Sieg Zeon!"

"Sieg Zeon!" the rallying cry was echoed around the hangar as soldiers and mechanics shook their fists in the air. Holliday noticed Maria standing by Moore's side was not taking part in this. Rather she looked pensive. This faded after a moment and the smile of the loyal mistress had returned as Moore turned to her. She wished him luck and kissed him deeply; at this, Holliday felt an unwanted bout of jealousy surge up inside of him. Frowning, he turned away and began issuing orders to the rest of the pilots.

"Okay, let's mount up and get under way! We've got a schedule to keep! Dammit, Cusik, I told you to get that damned rocket launcher secured!" Holliday began stalking off toward his own mobile suit, but threw one last glance over his shoulder. He caught Maria's eyes, and saw the apologetic look in her eyes. I know, he thought, that's the way it is. With that, he focused his attention on the task at hand and climbed aboard the lift platform. By the time he turned around to activate the controls, Maria had already vanished. That was for the best, he thought.

Holliday climbed into the Zaku's cockpit and sealed up the hatch. Flipping several switches with both hands, he initiated the mobile suit's startup sequence and the monitor screens came to life around him. Around him, the Zaku shook and vibrated as the generator spooled up.

"Control, this is Holliday. I'm moving out," he said into the headset microphone, holding it up to his mouth.

"We copy, Captain," replied the Sergeant in the control booth as Holliday pulled on his cap and fitted the headset over it. "You're cleared to leave the hangar. Disengaging locking clamps now. Good luck, sir."

The Zaku shuddered as the clamps popped open, allowing it to maneuver freely. Holliday walked it down off the maintenance platform and headed for the ramp that lead out of the hangar. The Zaku's footsteps echoed in the cavernous facility as it made its way up the ramp and outside. Once there, Holliday moved the Zaku over to a staging area to wait for the rest of the Company.

"Major, we're ready for you to give the order to move out," Holliday told Moore as the Gouf arrived in the staging area.

"Hmm, oh, yes. Men, this mission begins now!" Moore declared. "Move out! Captain, if you would handle the arrangements?"

"Certainly, sir," Holliday replied courteously, thinking that the Major did not know a thing about mobile suit tactics. "Alright, everyone. As we move out, form up into teams. Robataille, Mercer, you're with the Major. Sir, these men were part of Major Giannetta's team before his accident, they'll be able to provide the support you'll need. I want fifty-meter dispersal patterns between mobile suits, I want hundred meter dispersal between teams. Pappas, Cusik, you're with me. We're taking the point position."

Holliday walked the Zaku forward, moving it into the lead position of the group. Hefting his machine gun, he walked off into the open desert.

Maria watched as the column of Zakus marched off toward the wastes. She stood atop the hill the communications tent was situated on, gripping the flagpole in nervous anticipation. She was conflicted inside, wanting the mission to go smoothly, but at the same time wanting some to come back and others not to. It would simplify things so much.

She closed her eyes, then turned away. Whatever happened was out of her hands, now. All she could do was pray for the safe return of the only man of late who had treated her with kindness and not asked for anything in return.

November 4, 0079
100 Kilometers from the Algeria Tunisia border…

Sunlight was breaking over the battlements of the fortress that the Asfar Skikkiyn company had occupied for the day. Holliday stood atop the sand-weathered wall of the abandoned, somewhat crumbling building, scanning the desert before him with a pair of high-powered binoculars. He wondered what exactly it was that had drawn men out here in the first place. There was nothing worth fighting for in this godforsaken stretch of desert.

The fort was old, that much they could tell from its condition, but Holliday was able to place it as having been abandoned since the Second World War. The centuries-old artillery pieces they'd found in the courtyard the Zakus now occupied were a prime indicator of that.

Something of a human history buff, Holliday reasonably assumed that this fortress had once belonged to the French Foreign Legion. It felt somewhat fitting that the Zeon Foreign Legion was now using it, even if just for one day. Holliday felt a certain kinship with the men of that ancient fighting force, men who had given up their past to fight for another nation. He was certain that if the rest of the men knew anything about the French Foreign Legion, they would feel the same as he did.

But not Moore. To him, they'd just be another bunch of foreign mercenaries fighting for someone else's cause and country. Holliday hated that, hated the way Moore treated them all with contempt because they weren't true Zeons. Moore couldn't possibly understand what it was like for Holliday and his comrades, having given up everything they had to join Zeon, considered traitors by their homelands and families. He wasn't even sure if Moore truly believed in the cause they were fighting for; the Major seemed more interested in his own personal gain than any higher calling.

"Something bothering you, Captain?" Pappas asked, walking up beside Holliday. His hands were deep in the pockets of his brown greatcoat, and he slumped casually.

"No, not really. Just reflecting on history," Holliday said nonchalantly.

"Come on, sir," the bearded Sergeant said. "I know you too well to know when you're lying to me."

"Fine, I'm still annoyed with the Major. He's leading us off on some stupid raid through the desert and can't even be bothered to set up his own tent. How can we be expected to respect or be lead by a man who barely even thinks of us as human?"

"Well, he hasn't screwed anything up yet despite his attitude and his complete lack of practicality," Pappas pointed out. "Perhaps, given a little bit more time, he'll start to realize the error of his ways and loosen up. The desert has ways of changing a man."

"Thank you, O Source of Wisdom," Holliday said dryly. "Hey, would you look at that."

Pappas turned his attention toward the open desert, where the dew that had fallen had not yet evaporated. As the sun crept above the horizon, its rays reflected off the droplets, causing a scintillating pattern across the desert. Neither Holliday nor Pappas, who had since become accustomed to dawn since their arrival on Earth, had ever seen this phenomenon before. Without a further word, they stood and watched.

November 5, 0079
Outside of Tataouine, Tunisia

The endless dunes of the Grand Erg Oriental behind them, the Zakus of the Asfar Skikkiyn now hid in the mesas of the Tunisian plateau. The Federation's security was lax in this area, allowing them to come within a few miles of the base, really just a garrison set up on the crossroads to show that the Federation really did have an interest in this portion of North Africa. To Holliday's knowledge, it served no other function than to thumb its nose at the Zeons.

Holliday sat cross-legged atop a mesa overlooking the base, scanning it over with the IR function of his binoculars. The base itself was a collection of squat, stone buildings that had been bleached white by the sun. He saw what he thought was the top of an underground fuel tank, but couldn't be certain since his observation was interrupted by Moore, who was crouched beside him.

"Have you located their main defenses, yet?" Moore demanded.

"Part of them, Major," Holliday replied tersely. "I've found what I think is the building where they're storing their tanks, it's a long, flat building that's partially under ground. Clever, really. Similar to our own setup. Keeps equipment out of the heat during the day."

"Yes, yes, very fascinating, Captain. Now what about their defenses?"

"Getting to that, Major. All I can see are a couple of pillboxes, looks like they're armed with 30mm cannon. Not enough to hurt us, but enough to slow us down until their tanks are mobilized. Still, I suspect there's something else down there but I can't see it."

"Whatever it is, it can't be too important. What we must do is get past those defenses before they can mobilize their tanks," Moore declared, a fact that Holliday was already well aware of. "The longer we delay here, the more night we waste to cover our attack."

"I'm aware of that, Major," Holliday snapped as he got to his feet. "But whether or not we have to fight in daylight is a moot point compared to what defenses they can throw at us. If there's something there that delays us long enough for those tanks to mobilize, we could be in serious trouble. If you're not going to take that into consideration, then I'm just going to have to!"

Taken aback, Moore stepped away from the glaring Holliday. "I'll remind you not to speak to me in that manner, Captain," he managed to get out.

"Apologies, sir!" Holliday sneered as he stormed past the stunned Major back toward the Zakus. He didn't speak until he was sealed into his cockpit, whereupon he flung his cap at the main monitor and proceeded to unleash a stream of obscenity-laced adjectives related to Moore. How could the man be so impatient that he would discount the advice of a combat experienced officer that might keep everyone alive? Was he that eager for a fight against this stupid, purposeless outpost in the middle of the Tunisian plateau?

Holliday sat fuming for several more minutes until Moore's voice crackled over the radio. "We will begin our attack shortly. My team will lead the assault, we're going to go in over the mesa and strike deep into the Fed base. Teams three and four will flank the enemy, destroying as many gun emplacements as they can. Captain Holliday, your team will act as rear guard and heavy support. Any questions?"

It wasn't so much a question as rather a derogatory comment that crossed Holliday's mind, but he did not voice his opinion. This just proved that Moore was a petty bastard, assigning him to rear guard. That was when Pappas's voice sounded over the cockpit speakers, "This gives us a chance to cover them for whatever you think is still out there, sir."

Not surprised that Pappas could read his mood, Holliday asked instead, "How'd you know that concern?" He looked to the side monitor where he could see the hand of Pappas's Zaku resting on the shoulder of his own.

Chuckling, Pappas told him, "Cusik's been playing with a directional mike he 'borrowed' from the communications section. Got shipped to them by mistake and they had no use for it, so-"

"Pappas?"

"Sir?"

"Stow it. I should put you knuckleheads on report for listening in on a private conversation, but that would put you at Moore's mercy. Look sharp, we're starting."

Franklin Moore moved his Gouf into ready position and hit his jet boosters. The dun-colored MS rocketed up into the air, coming down into a crouching position at the top of the mesa. He'd show that smart-ass Holliday he had what it took to command this backwards outfit. He'd show Kelanie he had what it took to get results. Maybe in a month's time, he could submit a transfer request to the 5th Division's commander, General Bitter, and leave this backwards continent.

Maybe he could go back to space, perhaps resume his work on Kycillia's staff. After a tour on Earth he would certainly have the prestige to get a plum assignment with the Mobile Assault Force again.

Glancing at the two Zakus that flanked him- what were the pilots' names again? Mercer and Roba-something, sounded French he said, "Launch our assault into the center of their compound on my mark. Mark!"

The Gouf shot into the air, dust kicked up from the leg-mounted jet thrusters. A half second later, the jets mounted in the legs and the rear skirts of the two Zakus whined to life and sent them hurtling after their commander.

Private First Class David Goldstein hated his job. He hated his post, and he thoroughly hated the desert. Although an Earthnoid, he has been born and raised in New York City, a damn site more comfortable than this beastly desert, where it couldn't decide if it wanted to cook him or freeze him. David loved New York, and felt it was a damn shame those Zeek bastards had occupied it.

He wanted nothing more than to be transferred to a posting where he could actually make a difference in the war. Or at least feel like he was making a difference in front line operations. He'd heard that a force was gathering at the Belfast base for some big operation that was supposed to really hurt the Zeeks. Oh, to be a part of it.

As it was, he was stuck out here in a sentry tower in the desert. Leaning his rifle on the railing, he fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his heavy coat and stuck one in his mouth. As he raised his lighter to light the end, he saw something moving in the darkness above him. A second later it had resolved itself into a giant, fast-moving shape topped off with the unmistakable pink monoeye of a Zeon mobile suit.

"Holy s***!" he exclaimed, falling backwards off the tower as the mobile suit crashed to the ground a dozen meters away. It was enormous to his eyes, with great, curved horns on its shoulders. The monoeye flashed hot pink for a second, then the mobile suit raised its left arm and began wrecking havoc on the base.

Goldstein scrambled for the nearest bunker, yelling, "The Zeeks are attacking! The f***ing Zeeks are attacking us!"

It took only a few more seconds for the bunker crew to sound the alarm.

Moore smiled as he strafed the Federation base with the finger cannons in his Gouf's left hand. Guard towers and supply depots went up in columns of flame, ammunition touched off by the fire he was laying down. There was some resistance from the reinforced pillboxes and gun bunkers, but they were mostly on the outer edge of the base, being handled by the other teams.

"Head for the tank bunker," he instructed his escorts. "Leave nothing intact. If you can find any fuel dumps, destroy them. The fire should spread and burn the rest of the base."

My, but this was easy, Moore thought as he marched forward, leaving smashed buildings in his wake. Resistance was paltry; they'd never get those tanks out before the bunker was destroyed. That Holliday was a raging paranoid, Moore decided.

What the Major didn't know was that in addition to the main force of Type 61 tanks being prepped in the main bunker, a secondary force has already prepared for combat. One of the buildings, disguised to look like an infantry barracks, had been fitted with a false wall that dropped away, revealing the unit of five tanks. Engines roaring, the twin-gunned vehicles pulled out of the bunker and started toward the marauding Zeons.

"I knew it!" Holliday crowed as he watched the Type 61s emerge from their hiding place. The creeping feeling that the Feddies had an ace up their sleeve had been borne out. Holliday swung the camera toward Moore's team, who were doing a thoroughly good job of trashing the base, but were oblivious to the tanks snaking up behind them. Not even the other teams, working on the defenses around the base's flanks had noticed them.

Tempting as it was to let them deliver what Moore had coming to him, Holliday could not abandon the other troops, men he'd served with for months. "Pappas, Cusik! Tank platoon at 2 o'clock!" Holliday shouted. "Pappas, cover us with the 175'er, Cusik and I will engage them at close range. Ready? Go!"

Jamming his feet down on the thruster pedals, Holliday sent his Zaku hurtling into the air. It landed just behind the tanks, jolting Holliday against his restraints. Only taking a second to recover, he opened fire on the tank nearest to him with the MMP-80. The 90mm shells ripped through the thinner top armor of the tank, turning the interior into a shredded mess. The fuel tanks exploded, and the machine was tossed up into the air a dozen feet, flipping over before it crashed to the ground.

A flash shot between Holliday and Cusik's Zakus, now about twenty meters apart. Pappas was cutting it close with the tank cannon, but Holliday trusted in his Sergeant's aim. The shell had blown the turret off another tank, sending it careering into the wall of a building.

"Captain, a pair are making a break!" came Cusik's warning.

Holliday saw two of the tanks trying to use the confusion to make a break toward the main bunker. He had to hand it to these Feddie tank crews; they didn't crack under fire. Holliday ran through the base, machine gun in hand and blazing away at the Federal units. He wasn't having much of an effect on them, running around like this wasn't making the Zaku a very stable firing platform. But as he closed, Holliday pulled his Zaku's massive heat hawk from its mount, the giant battleaxe heating up to a deep, cherry red as he activated it.

To his left a fuel tank exploded under Pappas's carefully aimed fire, but Holliday didn't let that distract him. As the two Type 61s moved for a clear field of fire on Moore's unit, he hit the jets in the Zakus legs and skirt again, propelling the Zaku forward. With a mighty swing, he slammed the heat hawk down through the turret of the closest tank. The superheated blade cut deep into the gray tank, cleaving it almost in half.

Pulling the heat hawk out of the tank, Holliday rolled the Zaku away, crushing a nearby jeep as the tank exploded. Shrapnel pelted off the Zaku's shoulder-mounted shield as he brought the giant machine to a kneeling position, training his 90mm on the last tank. Expression neutral, Holliday pulled the trigger.

And was rewarded with a series of dry clicks from the machine gun. Oh hell! he shouted, scrambling to strip a new magazine from the pack mounted on the Zaku's skirt. He wasn't going to make it, the Type 61 was already lining those twin cannons up on the platoon. Thumbing his radio transmitter on, Holliday yelled, "Major, tank at five o'clock! Look out!"

Moore's Gouf whirled out of the way as the tank fired; one of the shells still skipped off the shield mounted to the Gouf's left arm. The other one continued on unimpeded and struck Robataille's Zaku in mid turn right in the radiator backpack. The impact blew half of the pack clean off and spun the Zaku around. It collapsed to the ground, crushing the remains of a demolished tank.

"Robataille, are you all right?" Holliday called as he finished reloading. With cold detachment, he squeezed off a quick burst into the tank and brought the Zaku to its feet.

"I'm a little shaken but the bastard did a number on my Zaku," was Robataille's reply. "The cooling system is decimated and I've got warning indicators screaming at me from everywhere. I can get it moving again, but it's not going to make it back to the base."

Sure enough, when Holliday looked over the damage, he saw the shredded remains of the cooling system mounted in the radiator backpack, exposed by the enormous hole the enemy tank had blasted into it. The right-side transfer cable hung loosely from its waist mount, and the entire right side of the Zaku was blackened and pitted from the explosion.

"We'll get it back as far as we can," Holliday declared. "I'm not leaving this equipment here for the Feds to salvage. Major. Major!"

"Yes, Captain?" Moore sounded startled by Holliday trying to get his attention.

"Sir, we've still got that main tank bunker to take out. Suggest we stop standing about and kill it as soon as we can."

"Oh, yes, I suppose you're right. We still have to get that bunker, men. Let's move out!" Truth to tell, Moore was still a little stunned by the sudden attack from behind. Sluggishly, he spurred his mobile suit into motion as Holliday helped Robataille's Zaku to its feet. Pappas and Cusik had moved in close behind him, their weapons sweeping across the base as they searched for signs of resistance.

Cusik took a moment to steal a glance at Moore's Gouf, about a dozen meters to his left. Stupid man, can't accept an idea if it isn't his own, he thought. I hope he realizes that he owes the Captain his life. Be a blessing if he died right now, I could even get away with doing it. But that was as far as that idea would get. Cusik would have happily pulled the trigger on Moore, but knew that despite Holliday's dislike for Moore, he would never approve outright fragging the Major. Cusik didn't put much faith in officers part of the reason he'd been booted from the Federal Forces but he would follow Holliday to the ends of the Earth and beyond. Back in April, it had been Holliday who had risked his life to pull Cusik from his burning J-type.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and Cusik swung the Zaku's head toward it. "Tank, bearing at eleven o'clock," he called. "Pappas, can you hit it?"

"I've acquired him."

"Shoot!"

Pappas's big 175mm boomed once, dropping a shell neatly on the top of the turret. The tank exploded, and Pappas stated nonchalantly, Got him.

"Good work, Pappas," Holliday commended him. "Okay, everyone concentrate fire on the main bunker; use your grenades and rockets. Major, unless you have any other specific targets in mind, I suggest we blow up their tanks and get the hell out of here before they can get organized and call in air support. It's a bloody long way back to the base from here."

"Hmm? Yes, men, this is our main target. Once it's destroyed, we can begin withdrawal," Moore parroted, twisting Holliday's ideas into his own once more. "Captain, you may commence firing."

Holliday moved forward, raising the Zaku's left arm. He centered the bunker in his target reticule and fired the first of the missiles from the three-chambered launcher mounted on the arm's buckler shield. The rocket struck a structural support near the entrance, and part of the bunker collapsed in a cloud of concrete dust.

Within moments the entire bunker had been reduced to rubble. Holliday turned to find Moore raking the fleeing infantry with fire from the Gouf's finger cannons. The Captain frowned in his displeasure, but held his tongue about it. "Major, we've finished the main objective."

"Very good, Captain. Begin withdrawal now. I think we can write this mission off as a success."

Chapter 3 Notes:

See, I promised you some combat in this one. Zaku on tank violence, oh yeah!

Market Garden: Montgomery's operation designed to end WWII by Christmas, 1944. It combined the largest airborne operation ever with an ambitious ground thrust to capture a number of key bridges in Holland. It's also one of the biggest disasters for the Allies, who didn't count on a couple of SS Panzer divisions being parked in Arnhem, the final and most important bridge, among other things.

Anyway, Holliday, being both an amateur historian and a pessimist, brings up Market-Garden precisely because of the demands placed on XXX Corps that were rather unrealistic for them to meet, namely pushing up to Arnhem from the Belgian border in two days. I bring it up because I've been spending a lot of time with my DVD copy of A Bridge Too Far. I highly recommend it, it's a war movie where most of the characters are real people, most of them just as colorful as they're portrayed in the film. Don't believe me? Read the book by Cornelius Ryan that the film is based on (the film does take some dramatic liberties, but is still pretty faithful to real events). Ryan's research was thorough and very in-depth, drawn from interviews from participants on both sides. Here's a web reference to check out: .

The French Foreign Legion: Algeria was one of their main theaters of operation. Kind of fitting to link them with the Zeon Foreign Legion.