Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road to Alexandria

Chapter 4

November 8, 0079

The mood inside the command tent was tense. Major Moore was bent over the table that held the command center's radio, his left hand balled into a fist and resting on the table. In his right hand, he held the radio's microphone, and he was yelling into it.

"What do you mean you've got no contact with Odessa?" he was demanding of the man on the other end of the transmission, a communications officer in the Battalion headquarters in Algiers. "It's only the bloody damn central base for the First Division, and you cannot contact them?"

"Major," we lost communications with them two days ago, along with M'Quve's resources and logistics center, and with the base at Alexandria as well," the put-upon officer informed him. "We don't know what is happening, but there have been rumors of a major Fed troop movement. The Colonel sent out recon flights; we can let you know if you're still interested. But that's all the information I can give you at the moment. Sir."

"Goddamn it!" Moore bellowed, hurling the microphone to the ground. The neck broke away from the base and the pieces bounced once before coming to rest on the planked floor of the tent. He stood there, red-faced and huffing in anger, as the rest of the tent fell silent for several tense seconds.

It was Holliday who broke the silence. He'd just walked into the tent and witnessed the scene, and found he could not resist needling the Major. "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked innocently.

"Yes, there's a problem!" shouted Moore, who was still clad in his normal suit. He'd been so worked up to get his report off in person that he had not even taken the time to change. "Those idiots in Battalion have lost contact with the First Division and won't give me an explanation!"

Holliday did not like the sound of that. The mention of a major Federation troop movement coupled with the fact that the First Division had gone on a massive communications blackout led him to speculate whether or not the Feds had finally given in and attacked Odessa. Also, the news of losing contact with the Alexandria Base the only Zeon stronghold in Egypt, was even more disturbing. Alexandria had been set up as an attempt to break through the Federation-held regions in the Middle East to reach the 1st Division's forces to the north. If the Feds had moved troops through there, they would have had to have kept Alexandria occupied, lest they leave an enemy at their backs.

"Holliday, are you listening?" Moore barked.

Frowning inwardly, Holliday instead replied, "With rapt attention, Major."

"Now I'm unable to send my report to Headquarters."

"Sir, correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't the report go to General Bitter at Kilimanjaro? He is our Divisional commander."

"I'm trying to get this out to people who will care about how well we are doing, Holliday," Moore explained, speaking to the Captain as though he were a small child. "I know people in the 1st Division who can get it to the right people, even up to Her Excellency Kycillia herself. Imagine the accolades that I we would get if our actions were brought to Her Excellency's attention."

I doubt Kycillia Zabi really cares about the actions of one 5th Division company out in the middle of the desert, Holliday thought. "I see, Major. Perhaps the communications lines will be back up within a day or so it could just be the Feddies trying to annoy us by throwing up a communications blackout."

"Hmm, you could be right. Was there something you wanted, Captain?"

"Just reporting that the Company has been locked down, and the maintenance crew has begun servicing the mobile suits. They also report that it's quite possible to repair Robataille's unit; we still have enough spare parts left over from Captain Giannetta's Zaku to fix the coolant systems." Moore had wanted to abandon the damaged Zaku in the middle of the desert, but Holliday had vehemently opposed it. Nothing was wasted in the desert.

"I see," Moore replied, choking back his pride. He had been convinced that Robataille's Zaku was a lost cause. It galled him to learn that Holliday had been right all along. "Anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Very good. You are dismissed, Captain."

"Franklin must be up in arms about something," Maria said to Holliday as they walked. "He's been back four hours and hasn't yet come to see me." She was dressed in tropical shorts and a khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her head protected by her sun hat.

"He's still in the command tent trying to reach the 1st Division. Tell me, Maria, does he often obsess about things?" Holliday asked her, sliding the glare-goggles down over his eyes. They were leaving the shade of the rock outcropping they had been walking beneath and headed back out into the sunlight.

Nodding, Maria told him, "Quite often, Samuel. You've already seen it first hand, with that 'stupid, pointless raid,' I believe you called it. Once he gets an idea in his head, there's no stopping him. He'll likely be in the command center the rest of the day, pouting because he can't get through."

"Lucky for us, I suppose." Holliday kicked absently at a stone as they walked, stirring dust into the air. "Bored while we were gone?"

"Quite, and looking forward to a moment like this. It is nice to have someone to talk to who isn't completely wrapped up in themselves or in their career. Someone who is interesting." She looked pointedly over her sunglasses at Holliday.

"Oho, so I'm interesting, eh?"

November 21, 0079

The weeks following the Asfar Skikkiyn raid on Tataouine had been much calmer than the week preceding it. Major Moore had spent the two days following the return to camp fretting over the 1st Division's communications blackout. It hadn't been until the tenth that radio communications had been established with the Alexandria Base, home of Roy Greenwood's Karakal Unit. Holliday had gone through Terrestrial Combat Training school with Greenwood and spoke to him directly. The story Greenwood had to tell was that in the early morning of the 6th, a Federation commando unit had raided Alexandria and knocked out all communications lines. By the time they'd fought them off, Karakal had also lost contact with the 1st Division in Odessa. Greenwood also passed along reports of massive Fed troops movements up the Red Sea toward the Mediterranean, possibly what the raid had been meant to drawn their attention from.

What Holliday and Lieutenant King, the company's resident conspiracy theorist, had been able to piece together from that and other bits of information was that the Federation had indeed attacked Odessa, and by all indications, had been successful.

Moore had gone ballistic at that, accusing Holliday and King of spreading sedition. The two officers had borne his abuse stoically, and then watched as he stormed out. Within a day or so he had grudgingly come to accept that Odessa had fallen, but had not offered an apology to either man.

The Major had spent more and more time on his own, or with the small cadre of NCOs he had brought with him from Odessa. This had come to the relief of most of C Company, who found themselves back under the day to day command of Captain Holliday. It had also seen the dress uniform order rescinded, after a remark by Moore had been interpreted as him not caring about it any more. Pappas and Cusik had made noises about burning their work dress, but so far had not acted upon that threat.

Surprisingly, Moore had not been spending much time with Maria, which gave Holliday a chance to fill in when he wasn't trying to single-handedly keep the base from falling apart around them. Holliday, ever the curious scholar, became fascinated by the stories Maria would relate to him about the myths and legends her Grandfather had told her about. Maria, in turn, learned from Holliday what life was like in space, and they both discovered they shared a love of classical music.

Holliday had to admit he was falling hard for Maria, but would not admit it to anyone else. It was partly the way she innocently flirted with him, but more to it, Holliday found her to be open and inquisitive, and sensitive at the same time, despite the reality of her situation. It disgusted him that she was nothing more than property to Moore, a trophy to be displayed in public. It didn't do anything to improve his opinion of the Major.

Moore had emerged from his conferences with a new plan, which he detailed to the Company's officers in a hastily summoned staff meeting. It involved a series of retaliatory strikes on other Federation bases in North Africa, one at Casablanca on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean to the west, and the one at Tobruk on the coast of the Mediterranean to the east.

It had been, much to Holliday's relief, Lieutenant King who had shot down those plans when he had pointed out that, first of all, there was no way the entire company's armored corps was going to make it all the way to those locations and back without support units namely Gaws and/or Gallop transports. He had also told the Major that those bases fell within the sphere of operation of the Pink Panther unit and the Karakal units, respectively. Not only would Major Moore have to get the permission of both unit commanders to operate in their spheres, but also from 5th Division HQ. Moore had seemed dispirited after that, and Holliday noticed him drinking a lot more at the twice-weekly officers' dinners.

This evening, Holliday was once more sitting out in front of his tent, Vivaldi softly playing from within. It was getting colder during the day now, only 30 degrees Centigrade as opposed to 35, and the nights were getting even colder than that as winter approached. Holliday was clad in his field blouse, slouched in his canvas-backed chair, just watching the sunset in the distance.

The serenity was not to last.

From the direction of the Major's tent, there was a horrible crash and the sound of shattering glass jolted Holliday out of his daze. Leaning forward, he could hear the sound of raised voices, terrible, slanderous threats were coming from the voice that Holliday identified as Moore's, followed by the sharp sound of an impact on flesh. At this, Holliday bolted out of his chair, ready to investigate.

He didn't have to. A second later, Maria came charging out of Moore's tent in tears, hand clasped to her cheek. She made straight for Holliday's tent, and threw her arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Maria," what Holliday began, but stopped abruptly when he saw the fresh bruise raising on her cheek. Without a word he hustled her into his tent and sat her down on the edge of his bed. "What happened?" he asked her when she'd had a moment to compose her self.

"F-f-f-franklin. I d-d-dropped the last bottle of his favorite wine and he-"

"He struck you over a Goddamned bottle of wine?" Holliday said hotly. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and he untangled himself from Maria's arms and stood up. He walked across the tent, Maria still sobbing but puzzled by his actions.

"Samuel, w-what are you doing?" she asked, a note of fear creeping into her voice as she watched him remove his pistol from the holster slung across his table chair.

"I'm going to show that bastard what happens to men who beat women because of accidents," Holliday replied, working the pistol's action. He turned to face the tent's entrance, and was about to walk out when Maria threw herself at him again.

"Don't!" she begged him. "Please, don't kill Franklin!"

"You're defending that monster?" Holliday was incredulous.

"No, I don't want you to kill him for my sake! I don't want you to become a murderer because of me. Think of what they'll do to you for killing him."

"The Company wouldn't do anything," Holliday muttered under his breath. "Okay, I won't kill him. Now. If he does this to you again well, let's not dwell on that right now. Is there anything I can- do for you right now?"

"Just stay with me, for tonight," she asked.

"Certainly, my lady," Holliday replied as he guided her back to the bed.

Dawn came too quickly for Holliday, despite the fact that he had not slept at all. Maria lay in his arms, sleeping soundly, the pain of last night forgotten. Forgotten, save for the bruise that marred her otherwise beautiful face. Holliday was no expert, but it did not look overly serious to him, and he thought it would fade in a few days.

The events of last night had served to draw them ever closer together. Holliday swore that he would let no more harm come to Maria, no matter what the consequences for himself might be. The only bright spot in his life, he was damned if he'd let anything happen to her.

Maria began to stir, and looked to into Holliday's face. She graced him with a contented smile. "Good morning," she said quietly.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"Better, safer. Thank you for staying with me."

"It was the least I could do." Holliday paused. "Has this happened before?"

"Franklin has a temper, but he's never resorted to physical violence. I think the pressure and disappointment of the last few weeks have been taking a toll on him. You've seen how he is, and he's been drinking a great deal of late."

"Don't make excuses for his actions," Holliday told her. "The man's incorrigible. Even if he didn't hit you, he still treats you like property. How can you stand being with a man like that?"

"It's a lot better than life was before I met him," Maria countered a little harshly. "Living on the streets of Odessa, wondering where my next meal was going to come from. I wish I'd died with my fiancé in the invasion, but fate spared me. As inconsiderate and insensitive as Franklin is, he's all I have."

"Not any more. You have me now. I'll do anything for you. I've already spared his life because you wanted me to."

Maria's expression softened as she sat up. "And I thank you for that, Samuel. But what was it you had said about your decision to join Zeon? Now it is my turn to lie in the bed that I have made." She glanced toward the tent flap, where the light of the sun was just beginning to creep through. "I must return to my own tent. If Franklin finds out that I've been with you all night, I'm afraid his wrath will extend past me."

She started to leave, but Holliday caught her arm. "I understand, but know that I meant what I said. I'll not let harm come to you again."

Maria gave him a sweet smile, and kissed him on the lips. She lingered there for a few seconds before she broke away and vanished from the tent. Holliday remained there, motionless, still feeling her presence in the tent. The air still smelled of her fragrance, the bed was still warm with the heat from her body.

Without a further word, Holliday grabbed his pistol belt and hat and stormed out of his tent. He went right past a somewhat startled Moore, and it took every once of the younger man's self-control not to shoot the Major there on the spot.

"Where are you going?" Moore demanded as Holliday stomped past him.

"Patrol, sir!" the Lieutenant replied without even looking back. He marched straight off to the motor pool and jumped in a jeep, much to the consternation of the Sergeant on duty. Ignoring the man's protests, Holliday gunned the engine and put it in gear. The jeep tore out of the compound and into the desert.

Holliday had no idea where he was going, he just wanted to get as far away from Moore as possible. He needed to get as far away from that whole, twisted relationship that existed between Moore and Maria, which he was inexorably being drawn into. Needed to get away before he was consumed by this growing rage and jealousy.

The sun was steadily rising into the sky by the time Holliday pulled the jeep to a stop out in the middle of the oil fields. Raising his dust-covered goggles, he looked around at the field, lost in thought. This is going to get worse, Holliday decided. This is going to get ugly, and come back and cause something bad to happen.

He leaned back in the jeep's seat, wondering about a course of action.

November 30, 0079

The last week had seen the most tension in the camp since Moore's arrival. Holliday had been downright curt with everyone, including his most loyal subordinates. When he wasn't required to be on duty, he spent his time avoiding everyone else. He had barely seen Maria, and did not really know if he wanted to.

Moore, for his part, was still drinking heavily fueled by his disappointment at not being able to attack anywhere else, coupled with rumors that the Federation had something else big in store for Zeon. The 1st Division had been beaten back past the Urals, now, and it seemed as though Federation attention would be turning to Africa or North America next. Because of this, Moore had the entire Company on full alert, with round the clock mobile suit patrols around the perimeter of the base. Moore himself was conspicuously absent from said patrols.

The weather had also taken a sharp left turn in the last week. Temperatures had been dropping steadily during the daytime as winter approached, the skies had been blotted with steel gray clouds. There had been no rain, but the possibility was there. Many of the soldiers who had been stationed at Ghardaia base found this notion intriguing; they had only experienced the long, hot, dry summer in the desert, and the thought of rain out here seemed impossible to them.

Holliday sat in his tent, having skipped the weekly senior officers' supper in Moore's tent. Of late, these had become a farce and no more than an excuse for the Major to demonstrate to the officers just how disgruntled he was with the whole situation. What had begun as a morale-booster had quickly turned into a depressing farce. Luckily, Holliday had been out on patrol today and was claiming fatigue to get out of it.

The remains of the meal he'd brought from the mess tent sat upon his table, which was also where his boots were planted. Saint-Saens's Samson and Delilah was tonight's musical choice Holliday thought it was appropriate for the desert, for some reason as he read the latest issue of Marching Toward Victory. It was supposed to be the weekly military newspaper for the Zeon forces, but it had degenerated, like much of the war, into a mouthpiece for the Zeon propaganda ministers. There was no mention in it of the recent setbacks in Europe and Asia, as a matter of fact, it claimed that total victory over the Federation was imminent within weeks. Holliday enjoyed reading it to get a laugh every once and a while.

He was still depressed, though. He knew he was acting like a complete bastard to his men, and resolved to stop doing it on the morrow. The last parting with Maria still nagged at him. That she was so willing to casually toss aside the real feelings that had been developing between the two of them to maintain this farce with Moore. But at the same time, he understood that she could not just leave the Major. Where, indeed, would she go?

Fate, he reflected as he tossed the newspaper onto the table, was cruel. Holliday pulled his feet off the table and stood up, ready to go to bed. It had been a long day, and the sun had set some hours ago. As he made for his bunk, the tent flap suddenly opened, and Maria walked through, glancing over her shoulder.

Maria? What

Shh, she hushed him, putting a slim finger over his lips. Franklin is asleep and his staff have retired for the night. I wanted to see you. You've been avoiding me.

I know, I know, he admitted. But after last week If I hadn't stayed away something very bad would have happened. I can't stand to see Moore treat you the way he does. Maria, I've come to care for you a great deal.

I know. That's why I'm here.

Oh? Oh!

Chapter 4 Notes:

Okay, it's short this time, and I took a damn long time getting this out. Sue me. Sometimes we get writers' block. Anyway, if it seems rushed, it is. I have a basic idea of the next chapter in my head and just wanted to get on to it. Next time, it hits the fan in more ways than one.

Samson and Delilah: more specifically Samson and Delilah: Act III: Bacchanale O by Camille Saint-Saens, a French composer. The version I have in mind was performed by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Lorin Maazel. I heard this driving home from work the other day and said, This has got to show up in the story! Yes, it was that cool.