Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. I hope you guys are ready for what's coming here. ;) And trust me, there's a lot more that's going on behind the scenes. ;3
- operation meteor: Well, I did do my best on it. :) And I still intend to do better. :) And Duo would get mad for sure! XD
- Spiceracksergeant001: Oh, you have no idea. This was only the first stage of the siege. So keep your eyes peeled for the next segment~! XD
- CT7567Rules: Well, to begin with, there is only one Windam Reaper, and that is the unit piloted by the commander of Ghoul Squadron. All others are just painted to mimic the color scheme to add to the terror their enemies feel. The GM and NEMO are both derived from the Strike Dagger, so they were built after its implementation. And you'll see her soon, along with Rob. ;3 As for Lord Djibril's efforts... they won't get to even carry out many mass executions. The resistance is too clever for that to happen. ;3 There is a reason they earned the moniker 'Ghosts' to begin with, after all... ;3
- 1800009trumbullps . net: Thanks. :3
(The screen shows only blackness before a small light is shown in the center, growing larger until a fire ignites, panning around to show the Strike Dagger S equipped with the Phoenix Striker flying through space, a tattered American flag shown flapping on a flagpole in a huge colony)
START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO
(The camera pans in towards the colony where it shows several members of the resistance gathered: President Eisenhower, Steven Krane, Mackenzie Samantha Allen, Turbine Martinez, Keith Martinez, Marcus Wolcott and his squadron, Warren Thompson, Robert "Rob" Jackson, Kyle Eisen, and Turbine's squad mates)
Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The group is standing before the Redemption in the background, a shadowing mobile suit above them and below the ship)
Pass the orbit beyond the sky (The camera pivots away from them and out to show a map of the Atlantian Reich split into two colors: blue showing the resistance and purple showing the Reich)
I can't hold back this rushing speed (The camera zooms in on Denver as Eisenhower is shown standing atop a tank, waving her hand as she barks an order into a headset she's wearing)
A familiar town becomes a diorama (The screen is flooded with dust as a tank speeds by, showing a single pinprick of light as a shuttle is launched into orbit from Orb)
Burst through the unclear skies (The camera pivots away to show another explosion as a Murasame blasts past, bearing the emblem of Sicario)
Blow away your worries and discontent (The camera zooms in on the wolf head emblem before it starts to flutter as a flag, panning down to show the leader of Sicario, Arnold Franken, on the screen)
Who needs a journey that's by the book? (The commander of the mercenaries waves his hand and three mobile suits blast overhead, their pilots shown with their emblems behind them)
Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (The mobile suits fly overhead, panning down to show Sicario's Pacific Fleet, each heading towards Orb, the shadow of Djibril over it, his hands cupping around the island)
Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The image is suddenly shattered as a huge gun shell slams into it before the camera pans to the left to show two ships in shadow, both bearing the flag of the United States Navy)
I'll watch the unknown horizon with you (The camera pans away to show the captain of the Archangel and Heero standing beside one another, their hands entwining)
Now be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The two look at one another before a mobile suit flies past, panning up to show the Strike Dagger clashing with a shadowy mobile suit)
Use the sun that lights tomorrow as a guide (A sinister dark aura surges out from the mobile suit, twin eyes glaring at the assembled warriors, the image of Durandal shown off to the side)
Fly off to the glorious world of freedom! (The image shows the resistance ship and their allies facing down the dark shadow, Djibril's face behind it as he looms over them)
GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING
Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall
- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane
CHAPTER XXXV: Seaborne Fury Rising I
SS United States
Pacific Ocean
En Route to Orb
December 21st, CE 0073
"So it's begun?"
The voice of Captain Rebekah Stimson reached the radio operator aboard the ship.
The man turned to look back at her and nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he reported. "The riots have reached full on rebellion. The President is scheduled to give a global broadcast sometime this evening."
The rebel captain nodded. "Good. Anything else?"
The man clasped a hand to his headset as he closed his eyes and listened to the next set of instructions.
He opened his eyes a few minutes later. "The Terminal ships and the EF vessel assigned to them have been moving towards Orb. The Pacific assets of Sicario are also moving to intercept and meet up with them as well."
Captain Stimson gave a nod. "Excellent." She turned to look out the window at the single ship following them closely behind.
The SS United States had finally finished her full refit and was now ready to take on her role as command ship of the assault force. The paintjob of the Nordic Balance had been sandblasted off to expose the gray metal of her underside before it was painted over with a lighter shade of gray to better blend in as harsh winter weather was bound to strike the Orb Islands sometime that week. The funnels still retained their distinctive blue and white tops, but the rest had been painted the same gray color as the hull and superstructure. The four guns that had been placed in the holds were now being pulled out using the cranes and were being installed even as they surged along at twenty-eight knots, far short of her true speed, but still fast enough to allow their companion vessel to keep pace.
The old Iowa-class battleship had finally been reactivated for one last war. Despite the guns and electrical components being well out-of-date, if there was one thing that could be said for her, it was that her sheer destructive potential at sea was something that not even ZAFT or the Atlantian Reich could match. No other country had kept their old battleships in semi-operational condition for as long as the United States, and even after the rise of the Atlantian Reich, they were still kept semi-operational under an obscure law that no one bothered to look into. And that very law was what kept the ships ready for when they were needed. The parts for some things had to be salvaged or cannibalized from older vessels, but the ship itself was still in good fighting shape.
And the USS Missouri was ready to kick Atlantian Nazi ass.
The huge sixteen inch guns gleamed dangerously in the fading light, a mark of what was to come much later on.
The captain took the chance to study the new guns the Big U had been outfitted with, as well as a chance to study the entire layout of the communications suite she had been outfitted with.
She had to admit, the King was not one to mess around. The first set of consoles was devoted entirely to electronic countermeasures. These were able to trick and deceive radar, a key component to what she had suspected he guessed they would do. The ECM suite was truly state of the art, as it showed in a few test runs they were able to disguise their radar signature as just a pair of fishing boats making their way to a nearby fishing ground before going dark. The Atlantian fleet that had been sent to try and find the missing Missouri had been effectively fooled by it.
The second set of consoles further back was meant for radio jamming and communications interception. These were able to not only jam enemy radio communications, but could also, with the right equipment, hack into their frequencies and by using voice modulation technology, were able to allow the men and women manning these consoles to issue phony orders or mislead the enemy forces. When coupled with the ECM suite, it was possible to in theory mess with the entire battle, fooling the Atlantians into believing the Big U was one of their ships or even mess with other targeting systems into believing the Terminal, EF, and American ships were friendlies.
The only downside was that visual sensors could counter that.
The third set of consoles was devoted solely towards communications, allowing them to communicate with all forces on the battlefield. This one was essential, as it was necessary to coordinate with all ships of the liberating task force. (In fact, Stimson had been ordered to tell the ships once they met that the unit was to be called Task Force Orb. An ironic name, but she didn't care.) This was to ensure that all forces would be on the same page when it came to combat so as to avoid friendly fire.
And there was another surprise that she hadn't been expecting either.
An entire brig.
The brig had been installed just below the foredeck of the ship, with a number of rooms stripped of all contents and cell doors replacing the standard stateroom doors to ensure a greater measure of security. In addition, cameras had been installed above these doors at key intervals and a guard's stateroom had been furnished and outfitted with a CCTV system meant to monitor the prisoners or possible mutineers held in those cells. While meant to hold prisoners, the cells had been furnished with some decent living conditions, a stark contrast to the prison ships of the Atlantian Reich in which nothing like beds or toilets were even heard of or present.
Stimson had actually protested this, but when the King had insisted that such a prison setup would showcase how much things were different between them and the resistance, it sparked several thoughts that made her wonder if treating them humanely was the right thing to do. She spent a few days on the voyage pondering his words, and it was when they arrived at Pearl Harbor that she finally decided it was best to prove they were better by giving them decent, not humane, treatment, as a reminder that the Americans, Canadians, Mexicans, British, and Irish were better than the Atlantian Reich's nobility and police forces.
This was the first step towards a whole new culture when it came to policing and prisons.
Now, as the ship sped down towards Orb, trailed behind by the Missouri, she could only wonder what lay ahead for them.
The old ocean liner was clearly eager for a fight, as she could sense the very way the ship shuddered with unreleased energy. All of her engines were racing at only sixty percent power, but it was still quite fast for an ocean liner her age. Twenty eight knots was nothing compared to what she could really do, but even the Missouri was still slow compared to the "Queen of Speed."
Stimson tore her gaze from the view outside as she heard her second-in-command, a young Scandinavian named Jami Koskinen, come in through the bridge entrance.
Jami was not just her second-in-command. He was also the liaison appointed by the King to work with Terminal.
Coming from one of the major noble Houses, he therefore had significant connections, an asset that was sure to be useful. House Koskinen was known across the world for producing extraordinary diplomats and ambassadors, making him a prime choice to be the liaison to Terminal. Having been born the second of four sons, he was initially destined to be the heir, but when his eldest brother died in combat during the First Bloody Valentine War, he was passed over and his youngest brother was picked to be the heir while he was assigned to be the ambassador to the Eurasian Federation.
After the Big U's arrival though, that all changed. Jami was recalled and his younger sibling was assigned to his former role as ambassador while he was assigned to act as liaison to Terminal. With years of experience in working with the political elite and leadership of the Eurasian Federation and several other organizations like the Junk Guild, the nobleman was the right man for the job.
Jami was in his late forties, with a shock of platinum white hair and startling purple eyes, a trait of his genetic enhancements as a Coordinator. He had aristocratic features, with high cheek bones and a nicely sculpted jawline, but nothing outrageous like some other nobles. He was well-built and wore a nicely trimmed dark blue suit with a gray shirt and a pair of nice black shoes. But in an ironic twist, he had been permitted to carry a sidearm, preferring the newer Glock-28C, a derivative of the old Austrian-made Glock-18C. And it made sense, as his mother was in the military police and he had been trained in some of their tactics and weapons had he chosen to go into that career path.
He came to a stop just beside her, hands clasped behind his back.
"Ah. I see we're under way then?" he asked.
"Yeah. I was about to come get you," Stimson remarked.
"It was a good thing I decided to stop by then," Jami stated. "There has been recent reports of Terminal's actions, yes?"
She nodded once.
"They've begun their intervention in Orb," she explained. "Or rather, the restoration of Cagalli to power."
Jami gave a smirk as he unclasped his hands and placed them on the bridge window. "Good. That means then that Unato will be removed from power."
"Yes, but there's still the matter of the mercenaries that Djibril hired," Stimson said seriously. "They've set up positions around the outer islands, which will make it difficult to approach the main islands." Her eyes narrowed. "And that means trouble for us."
"But not for the battleship," Jami stated, looking at the mighty vessel trailing just behind.
"Not really," Stimson admitted. "But we're hoping to use those sixteen inchers to deliver some massive firepower inland as far as they can go."
"Ah. Shore bombardment then," the nobleman remarked.
Captain Stimson gave a nod. "Yes."
"And your ship?" he inquired.
"We'll be circling around the islands to approach just as the battle is about to commence," Rebekah said. She turned to face the helmsman as he looked back. "You have the course set?"
"Aye," the man said. "I can put her into a turn anytime. Just give the signal."
"Okay." Rebekah nodded as she turned and walked over to the intercom. She pressed the button and all across the ship, her voice reached out to everyone.
"All vital crew members are to report to the bridge at once!" she barked. "We are about to enter a battle zone, and I need all possible hands on the bridge to go over our plan of attack!"
She pulled her hand back from the intercom button and stepped back.
With that done, she turned her gaze back to the scenery outside.
While it was a crisp winter day on the mainland, the only thing in the water at this point in time were the two ships of the resistance. The Big U was ahead of Mighty Mo by a small margin, and already she could feel the larger vessel starting to slow, letting the old battleship pass them by. Waves lapped at her bow eagerly as she surged on ahead of the converted ocean liner. Her screws churned the water behind her into a frenzy as all four props bit into the water. Her massive guns flashed in the light of the Big U as she moved ahead, becoming the leading ship in their little convoy.
Of course, two ships did not make a convoy.
The Big U settled into a respectable pace behind the older ship, letting her go on ahead.
It was at this point that things suddenly took a turn for the worse...
For the enemy, anyway.
The door to the bridge just slid open and a number of crew members, ranging from engineering to the weapons and to the communications staff, had just entered for a briefing when the alarms suddenly blared, and people scrambled to their stations, following protocol that had been drilled into them during their stay in the Kingdom of Scandinavia. The engineering staff retreated down the hall, vanishing back into the depths of the ship for the engine rooms and the gunners disappeared back to their stations within the depths of the cargo holds to finish installation of the guns aboard the old ocean liner.
Captain Stimson turned her gaze towards the radar operator, whose eyes were narrowed as she studied the screen. "What's going on?" she demanded.
"We've got a few Atlantian ships en route!" the radar operator exclaimed.
Captain Stimson narrowed her eyes at this. 'Crap... This is bad...'
"How many?!" she barked.
"Ah..." The woman examined the readouts before she turned back to look at her superior. "There are five in total. One Spengler, two Arkansas, and a pair of Puffers."
Stimson narrowed her eyes at the lineup. 'The Spengler and the Arkansas we can deal with. It's the Puffers we gotta watch out for,' she thought. She could recall the very submarine in question.
Based off of the old Sea Wolf submarines of the United States Navy, these submarines were much bigger, up to the point that many sailors aboard them called them the Puffers after the pufferfish, which was known to expand its size when threatened. The sheer size of those things meant that they could carry a huge arsenal of torpedoes, making them virtual anti-fleet weapons in their own right. Just one Puffer could sink an entire convoy before moving on to its next target, and have plenty of torpedoes to spare for its next choice of prey. The submarines were not just deadly. They were also very vulnerable to shelling and bombardment if they dared to surface. So the only way to really take them out was to force them to the surface via depth charges before letting loose on their huge silhouette with the appropriate naval weaponry or mobile suits.
Unfortunately, the Big U and Mighty Mo both didn't have depth charges. They were left with only Big U's self-defense five inchers, and the arsenal of the old battleship. A shell from the Iowa would be enough to sink one of the Puffers, but only if they could get them to the surface.
Stimson turned to face the communications station, at which a number of personnel sat, working to ensure that all systems were up and running, even doing tests with the Missouri. The captain made her way over to where one of the technicians was seated and she lightly tapped the man on his shoulder. He turned, one hand clasped to his headset.
"Get in contact with the captain of the Missouri," she ordered. "We got a few Atlantian ships in our view on radar, and two of them are the Puffer class subs."
The man's face paled as he turned and started to work.
Within a few minutes, she could hear the static of the battleship's radio filling the bridge before it gave way and the captain of the battleship spoke.
"Ah. Rebekah. What's going on?" the voice of Captain Sakchai Bunnag asked.
She didn't even need a visual to know what the man looked like, having spent some time getting to know him a few weeks back before the whole Big U escapade happened.
Sakchai was in his late fifties with a shock of pure gray hair and deep red eyes, a mark of his heritage as a Coordinator. He was tall and broad, well-built from a career in the Navy SEALs before he was outed and hunted like an animal after his discharge. He was not one to mess around, possessing a variable arsenal of skills from his time in the SEALs, including serving as a captain of a destroyer back during the first days of the rising tensions between the PLANTs and Earth. He was a no-nonsense sailor, preferring to stick with facts over superstitions that the Atlantians were starting to fall back on. The old man, as he was often called by the younger sailors, seemed to have an uncanny connection to the old battleship he was serving on right now, and many often joked that the two were made for one another.
"Long story short, we got a small fleet," Stimson replied.
"I see..." Sakchai's voice trailed off as she continued.
"And two of them are the Puffers," she added.
A hiss came over the speakers. "Those things? Why would they be sending them after a pair of ships like us?"
"Probably because they see us as a possible symbol of rebellion," Stimson stated. "We've got to take out those subs before they can unleash their torpedoes on us."
"You do remember that they tend to stay submerged longer than any other ship, right?" Bunnag remarked. "That means we can't use the sixteen inchers on them."
Stimson gave a small chuckle. "Oh, I remember. But who said that they have to stay submerged when a tempting target is right in front of them...? Or so they think?"
Sakchai's eyes were no doubt wide, she figured as he spoke once more, shock flooding his voice before he chuckled in kind. "You gotta be kidding...!" he chortled. "You wanna use the ECM to trick them into believing that there is a convoy of ZAFT vessels, don't you?"
"ZAFT and Oceania vessels," Stimson corrected. "You do recall that the Oceania Union is aligned with ZAFT, don't you?"
"I do," he told her. "And that is a risky, but clever move. If they surface, then we can finish them off. But then that leaves the Spengler and Arkansas. How do you plan to deal with them?"
"We give them a tempting target to chase," she admitted. "The Big U is faster than any of those three, and the Puffers are slowpokes compared to even the Mighty Mo."
"A risky gambit..." the old SEAL mused. "And you're sure of this working."
"We got no choice if we want to arrive at Orb in time," she stated. "Any delay on our part can mess things up. We have to do this... and now."
"I get it. We'll see what we can do. As for you... you think you can outrun them in time?" Sakchai asked worriedly.
A shudder rumbled throughout the old ocean liner and Stimson had to suppress a sinister chuckle. "Oh, I'm very certain of it..."
. . .
AFSS Zwei
The captain of the Zwei had to admit, this patrol was downright boring.
Captain Arnold Ekkebert was not into the daytime patrols like he used to be, preferring instead to be on night shift because of the possibility of rebel ships escaping by darkness. The fifty-two-year-old Navy veteran was also just more active at night in general, having been a night owl his whole life. His eyes narrowed as he studied the horizon through his grandfather's old binoculars, trying to see if there were any rebel ships in the area.
His radar operator was sitting nearby, scanning the screen with cold intent, trying to pick up telltale signatures of resistance forces. But nothing was present on the horizon, least of all on radar.
"Sir, there's nothing on radar for a number of miles in all directions," the man said, turning to his commanding officer.
Captain Ekkebert scoffed as he lowered the binoculars. "There has to be something," he said. "The rebels were last seen heading this way before they dropped off radar."
"But how can we be sure that it was the rebels?" the younger officer asked. "They had only radar to go off of, and it showed only a pair of fishing boats."
"Do not believe everything that you see on radar alone, son," the captain admonished, in an almost grandfatherly like manner.
The man pursed his lips, but didn't object or protest. Instead, he turned his gaze back towards the radar screen.
And that was when things started to change.
His eyes narrowed as he saw a single ship appear on the screen. "Sir, we have a contact!" he exclaimed.
Ekkebert turned and walked over, looking at the radar screen critically, his sea green eyes narrowing a bit. "Hm..." The specifics of the ship in question came up, and a deadly gleam appeared in his eyes. "Looks like one of Oceania's frigates," he remarked.
"Shall I inform the Spike and the Sperm Whale?" the radarman asked.
Before Ekkebert could respond, a few more contacts lit up, and his eyes widened a bit. "Well. Looks like we have ourselves a convoy," he noted. "Inform the two subs at once. Tell them they have operational freedom to do as they see fit."
"Yes, sir." The radarman gave a salute as the captain turned back to look out at the horizon ahead of him.
A rookie's mistake.
That was what set him up for his defeat in this first skirmish at sea with the rebels.
It took only ten minutes to give the subs the go-ahead for their operation, and as soon as they had vanished from radar and sensors, he could also see something else in the distance.
It was a ship.
A ship that looked like it had seen better days, as the sides were just plain metal gray with a hint of rust starting to form on it. But in a surprising turn of events, the ship was moving much faster than a hulk that size could manage. The funnels were bare metal, but he could see the tops were still festooned with blue and white paint. The very structure of the ship appeared to be indicative of an old ocean liner, a ship type which only the Kingdom of Scandinavia had. But this one was not flying the flag of the Kingdom.
This one was flying a tattered flag with thirteen stripes, six white, seven red, and a blue rectangle dotted with fifty white stars.
The flag of the defunct United States of America.
His eyes narrowed as he raised up his binoculars, and he could now see that the sides of the ship were lined with crew, both men and women, and amongst them were Coordinators, the filthy scum. And in their hands was a single rolled up sheet. He cocked an eyebrow, only for the sheet to unfurl, exposing a very obscene picture of Lord Djibril and Lord Azrael, making his eyes narrow dangerously as rage began to bubble within him.
"Those rats!" he growled, tossing the binoculars down on the floor. "They dare to mock Lords Djibril and Azrael in such a way? Well, they'll pay for it!"
. . .
Captain Stimson had to keep from cackling as she saw the images that some of the crew had drawn out on the sewn together bedsheets.
Jami was not too pleased with it, but he had to struggle to keep a straight face. He turned to look at her, eyes filled with both disgust and humor in one.
"Was that even really necessary to resort to such a vulgar scenario?" he asked around a small chuckle.
"Given the status of Djibril as a bastard child of incest, it makes sense to showcase the two together in such a fashion," the captain said almost casually. "The two men are made for each other, so to speak."
The nobleman wasn't about to admit that, but he did give a sort of neutral grunt. "Speaking of, we have confirmation that the Missouri has been leading the two Puffers away from the sight of our ship and those of the Reich."
Stimson couldn't help it. A sneer crossed her pretty features and she nodded. "Good..." she purred. "All according to plan."
She turned her gaze to the ships pursuing them.
The Spengler was increasing its speed to try and match them, but the swift ocean liner was much faster. Not even an Arkansas class could reach their full speed. The Big U's four mighty propellers thrashed the water behind her, churning the ocean into a frenzy as the salty waves began to spray against her hull with enough force to blast the paint right off. The sheer power of her engines was enough to make the ship shudder as she started to dash away from the three pursuing ships.
The people manning the ECM consoles all had to brace as the ship surged ahead, wind rushing past her superstructure and across her decking. A few pens and cups went flying off their places as the ocean liner's very frame vibrated with the power of her incredible engines. All 248,000 horsepower was being drawn upon, with the double reduction gears working overtime to channel that power into her legendary speed.
"We got Windams launching from the Spengler!" the radar operator exclaimed.
"Shit...!" Stimson narrowed her gaze. "How far out are they from us?"
"Not that far, ma'am," another man said. His fingers darted over the keyboard at his station. "We can't really fool them like we can with subs or ships at a distance!"
"But we can jam their communications, along with their ship and any others in the area!" Stimson remarked.
She turned to look at one of the other crew members manning the communications warfare station. "We can," he said. "But it's going to be risky as we have to keep them within range of the jamming."
"How far can the jamming reach?" Stimson demanded.
Jami cleared his throat and the captain turned to face him.
"The jamming system installed aboard the ship has a range of, at minimum, five nautical miles in all directions," he said. "At maximum range, it can go for forty."
Stimson's eyes narrowed as she considered. 'Forty nautical miles at max range... that gives us plenty of opportunity to maneuver while outrunning them. If they can't get out messages, all the better. And the ECM can make their signals vanish too. So...'
"I want half the ECM team dedicated to blinding their radar signatures from the subs," she ordered. "And the jamming team to work on preventing the signals from reaching Pearl or even the Reich's puppets in Orb once we get close!"
"Yes, ma'am!" the crew replied in one voice.
. . .
AFSS Spike
To the untrained eye, the radar screen would be loaded with ships in convoy.
But to an experienced observer, it was easy to pick out the fake signals from the rest.
Too bad the Reich did not have many such individuals aboard their ships or submarines.
The captain of the Spike was not one to rely on experienced personnel to do mundane things like keep an eye on radar. In fact, he was one who preferred aggressive personnel, those who were more martial than the rest were. It was a way of living that he had sought to bring back, an ideal of racial superiority over those whose genes were tainted by the scourge of Coordinators in space or on their beloved blue Earth. The men who crewed this sub were those who ascribed to such pseudo-scientific beliefs, especially when it came to those of blonde hair and blue eyes being superior to everyone else.
It was the very belief that had led to the demise of the Nazis in World War II, along with a deep preference for martial combat compared to the real work of war: manufacturing, logistics, and supplies.
In contrast, the Americans were not all about martial glory, but instead were keen on using mechanized warfare and their industrial base to wage war. This was something the Atlantians did not grasp. To them, the leader of Nazi Germany was their founding father. He was their deity, and their superior. He was the one who saw the right way to live: survival of the fittest.
So Captain Henrich Dietz, all he saw were targets. Targets that the Coordinator menace had appropriated and were going to use against them. But since there were so many, that meant that the Spike and Sperm Whale had to surface to use their full complement of torpedo tubes.
It was a flaw that the Puffers were known for. In order to use their full arsenal, they had to surface. It was something the designers had been trying to work out for months, but there had been no luck. Not even the most experienced engineer could do such a thing, which pissed him off to no end. If they couldn't use their full arsenal underwater, then they were sitting ducks on the surface.
He looked to his radar operator. "How many targets?" he asked in his thick Southern accent.
"At least fifteen, and climbing," the man replied. "At most, there could be about five hundred, from how many returns we're getting."
Dietz had to refrain from giving a slasher smile at that. That was more than enough for both submarines since both carried three hundred torpedoes each, and sometimes convoy ships needed two or more to bring them down. The man gave a dark chuckle. "All the more we get this started..." he purred almost lustfully at the thought. He was already getting a sensation of ecstasy from the very idea of sinking all those juicy, helpless ships like a shark going after a helpless whale.
Had he even been of a sane mind, he would have wondered how there could be that many ships. There was no way the Oceania Union even had that many vessels for convoy duty. And with shipping back home held up by the resistance which by now was making some surprising gains, it was very unusual in the eyes of sensible, sane people that the Oceania Union could even have relations with a despotic racially oriented nation like the Atlantian Reich. But the captain was not one of those sane people, so he was easily fooled by the trick that the United States resistance was pulling on him.
It also didn't help much that the Puffers didn't have windows so they could see outside on the surface.
"Prepare to blow ballast!" Dietz ordered with a cackle. "We'll show these fools who they're dealing with!"
The crew went to work, and he could already taste the promotion to Field Marshal.
Yes... This was going to be his best day ever...
. . .
USS Missouri
"Sir, we've got signal returns!" one of the bridge crew remarked as she looked back, the old style headset she wore draped around her neck right then. "The two subs are blowing ballast!"
The captain gave a grin. "Good. Are they both coming?"
"Yes, sir. The first one is going to surface not too far from our location, just beyond the horizon. We can use our guns to strike them then," she replied.
"Good. As soon as the subs surface, fire all guns broadside," Sakchai said seriously. "We can't allow them to sink any of Terminal's ships... or Sicario's, least of all ours."
The woman nodded. "Yes, sir." She replaced the headset on her head and clasped one hand to it.
Off to the side, someone was looking at the radar screen for the old AN/SPS-67 surface-search radar. His eyes were hard as he looked at it. "We got the subs coming up," he said. "They're surfacing just ten miles off to the port!"
Sakchai turned to the bridge windows and, grabbing a pair of binoculars, walked over to look out at the sea. His eyes narrowed as he raised the binoculars to them, and he could already see the huge conning tower just behind the horizon. The Puffers had indeed breached the surface.
"One contact off to the port, ten miles. Second contact, two miles behind it," he reported. "Relay that information to the gunners."
Another crew member nodded and got on the horn.
Within the hull, gunnery crews scurried around, grabbing ammo and sending it to the guns. Instructions were relayed as well, muscle memory from running these drills after leaving Pearl Harbor working in tandem with increasing precision. The sound of ammo being loaded resonated as gunner instructions reached those controlling the guns from within the control rooms. The barrels began to raise in perfect sync, detailed information being relayed to the controllers and propellent bags were loaded into the guns behind the shells.
Within minutes, all the guns were loaded and prepared to fire.
The captain had a walkie-talkie held to his mouth, the other hand holding his binoculars to his eyes.
He then gave the one word that would end the Puffers and the gigantomania that had long overtaken any reasonable sense of weapons development.
"FIRE!"
. . .
To an observer aboard any other ship in the area, the sixteen inch guns of the USS Missouri didn't just fire.
They roared.
The huge guns gave off a thunderous explosion, all nine sixteen inch barrels flashing at the exact same time.
One of the huge turrets had locked onto one of the Puffer submarines, and the rear one was fixed onto the second one. The massive shells, each possessing the size of an oil drum, were hurled across the air, their trajectory locking onto the stationary submarines. The captains had no idea they had just wandered right into a trap set up by the resistance.
The first of the sixteen inch shells slammed headlong into the bow of the Spike, penetrating through its metal hull and breaching the ammo room for the torpedoes. A few went up, causing others to go up as well. And when coupled with the exploding electronics and gas seeping in, it was bound to cause the sub to flood. A second shell struck the back end of the conning tower, opening a gaping wound through which flew the third and final shell, causing it to explode upon hitting the engine room.
The Spike didn't even stand a chance when it went up in a tremendous ball of flame and metal, scorching all who were aboard her.
The Sperm Whale was the most unlucky one.
With six shells coming her way, she was the one that would not survive. Of course, the three rounds of the other turret were to keep her from escaping. The first shell impacted alongside one of the ballast tanks at an angle, damaging it, but not penetrating its armor. A second shell rammed into the propeller of the Sperm Whale, damaging it and rendering her helpless. The third shell glanced off the conning tower's top, wedging the primary hatch shut. The last three shells... were all on target, smashing into her side and causing water to flood in.
The Sperm Whale was sunk with all hands.
As the subs descended beneath the sea, the captain gave a savage grin. "That's how we do it, boys and girls!" he cackled.
Everyone aboard the Missouri broke out into cheers as the old battleship surged on past the remains of the two Atlantian vessels, leaving them to descend into Davy Jones' locker, never to surface again.
The Missouri's nine sixteen inch guns swung back around to face forward, and the resistance battleship sped on ahead, her new destination clear: the Orb Archipelago.
The captain of the ship gazed at the map that was laid out on a table that had been set up on the bridge. He could see the entirety of the Archipelago, with several outer islands circled in deep purple marker, akin to darkness. One of them had a large red X on it, indicating it was the one to be targeted by the combined forces of Terminal, the EF, and the resistance alike. The others all had little wolf's head emblems by them, indicating Sicario's positions.
"So this is the plan then?" someone else asked.
"For the most part, yes. We, along with Terminal and the EF, are going to be hitting the first of the major outer islands, Uingu Shima," Sakcahi explained. "To allow for us to coordinate with them, the Big U has gone on ahead and is going to outrun the two Arkansas and the Spengler before circling around and coming up off to the left of the island." He pointed to the map, moving his finger in the planned route. "She's not very well armed for offense, but her ECM and jamming capabilities could wreak havoc on the enemy ships and mobile suits. That alone is what's going to give her an advantage."
"I take it she'll be circling the island in question?" the helmsman asked.
Sakchai nodded. "Yes. This way, she can make sure that no one is caught outside communications range. She'll be able to intercept all COMMs chatter and relay it to our forces, allowing us to deal with them hard."
"Just who's lurking on the island?" one of the other bridge crew members asked.
"The PMC known as Rogue Coyote," the captain stated. "They're good, but not as skilled as Sicario, nor are they open-minded about letting Coordinators into their ranks to the extent of our mercs. They have a few women in their forces, but not enough to offset the discrepancy in gender ratio. The only reason I'm bringing that up is because of one key fact: A lot of those men are against women in combat."
"Such outdated ideals," an older man in his late eighties snorted. "I'm in my eighties and I don't go about spouting that kind of bullshit!"
"Since you were born before the Cosmic Era, it makes sense, Gregory," Sakchai admitted. "Plus you've seen Coordinators rise, so you see them as just humans."
"And let me tell ya, before those BC bastards took power, the world was on a better path towards civility and equality. Blue Cosmos tore that dream to shreds," Gregory Asminov remarked.
A descendant of the famous science fiction writer Issac Asimov, Gregory was not a writer by any means. He was more in line with the military, electing to put his life on the line to defend the world from Blue Cosmos and LOGOs alike. In fact, he had been one of the first to offer his services and his family's vast wealth to the cause of the rebellion beginning to brew back in 0068 CE. He was also eighty-seven, going on eighty-eight this year. But despite his advanced age, he was as fit as he had been in his forties. His mind was also still incredibly sharp, unlike most others who were in their eighties as well.
Gregory had a thick head of pure silver hair, and his eyes were a piercing brown color, and his build was still lean and firm, with a ramrod straight posture in comparison to the old, stocky build most men in their eighties possessed. A lifetime of vigorous activity both in civilian life and military career made sure of that. He had his hands clasped behind his back as he walked towards the bridge windows, looking out at the sea as the battleship charged ahead towards their target.
"And that dream is something I intend to see rebuilt," he added, his eyes narrowed dangerously.
"All the more reason for us to continue with the debriefing," Sakchai stated, drawing all gazes to him.
"Right. As you were, sir," Gregory relented.
The captain nodded before he returned hid focus to the map. "Now, as for the plan, we're going to be covering one of the two Terminal vessels as they move in. We also received word that the Eurasians are deploying a new type of submarine to augment our forces."
"I think I've heard of it," came another voice from the back of the group. "It's supposed to be a conventional missile sub, but it packs a lot of missiles, at least according to what intel we were given."
Sakchai nodded. "Right. So, we're going to be coming around the island from the east. The rising sun will give us a bit of cover, and if we use this right, we can really show who we are."
His plan, while risky, did carry a significant advantage. The only problem? This had never been done with a ship before. Usually aircraft would use the sun to their advantage, diving out of it to catch their enemies by surprise. But this time, a fragging battleship was about to pull the same tactic.
The question now was... would it work... or fail?
. . .
Camelot
The waves tore past the bow of the second of three aircraft carriers belonging to Sicario's Pacific Fleet Operations Group.
The Camelot was the carrier from which Cariburn Squadron, one of Sicario's premier anti-mobile suit units, deployed.
Built on the same design of the old Admiral Kuznetsnov class aircraft carrier from the old Russian Navy, the ship was an impressive 1000 feet, eight inches long, with a beam of 236 feet, three inches and a draft of 36 feet, one inch. The ship shared everything structurally from its ancestor, but it was heavily updated and modified to be able to support a wing of up to thirty to fifty aircraft or mobile suits in aircraft form. The ship's basic structure included a full flight deck with a ski jump angles to twelve degrees, allowing for short takeoffs. It also possessed an angled flight deck for arresting incoming aircraft upon landing using the arrestor cables. The ship had two aircraft elevators to bring aircraft up to the flight deck, both on the starboard side fore and aft of the island.
Unlike the ship she was based off of, the Camelot was driven by nuclear power, fitted with an N-Jammer Canceller right on the reactor itself and hardened for EMP protection so as to not have the ship rendered helpless. This also gave her exceptional range, allowing for ease of transport to different operations across the globe. And this also gave her the same speed as the legendary ocean liner now traversing the seas once more.
A key asset in any confrontation with other mercs.
The captain of the ship, Alekos Argyris, stood on the bridge, his eyes narrowed as he observed the islands on which the operation depended. He could see that a number of the PMCs hired by their employer's adversaries were well equipped with mobile suits and heavy artillery. A number of these units were heavy firepower units, Windams equipped with the Multi Striker pack, and a few even with artiillery packs. He lowered the binoculars and set them down on the console next to his command chair.
Alekos was in his late thirties, a Coordinator of Greek heritage who had joined the mercenary company a few years prior to the First BV War breaking out. He had a shock of pure green hair, almost neon in color, and bright yellow eyes, making a lot of his crew wonder if he was blind in the daytime. But that was far from the case. His eyesight was as clear as ever in daylight. He stood at five foot ten, with a slightly stocky build from years of training and working out as a boxer and wrestler. He could've gone pro, but his desire to serve his country overruled that and he enlisted in the Eurasian Navy after he was out of college, rising through the ranks before choosing to go merc before the war even began.
As a man who was blunt and straight to the point, he never told his troops things they wanted to hear. He told them what they needed to hear, and that, although not really a good idea, had earned him the loyalty of his troops and sailors. It was only five years after he enlisted that he had been pushed to the breaking point by a subordinate who was a Blue Cosmos supporter and he was forced to resign after he beat the man to within an inch of his life after he attempted to rape a Coordinator woman. The military tribunal found him not guilty, but he was forced to leave to avoid a scandal.
As a result, he had nowhere else to go to serve his country. That was when he met Arnold and was offered a job after the two chatted over some booze.
When he was hired, he didn't expect to be put into command of a ship that was under construction at the time. After Arnold managed to get the ship for a bargain deal, he assumed command and was assigned to the callsign Cariburn-One. Caliburn Team proved to be the best at anti-mobile suit warfare, using their own machines to great effect in taking down enemy machines and even going for their support vessels, earning them the nickname of "Excalibur Team."
With twenty-five Murasames at their disposal, the unit was second-largest in Sicario in terms of mobile suit numbers. In terms of fighter aircraft, they were the first, using a mix of Su-63Ks and old F-7Ds to allow for greater flexibility. While fighters were considered sitting ducks against mobile suits, that was why the Murasames were assigned to fight alongside them: to act as defense for the fighters while they attacked the enemy mobile suit support ships.
It was the perfect blend of old and new tactics that made Cariburn Team one of the more deadly units.
"Sir?"
A female voice reached his hearing and Alekos turned in his seat to greet his second-in-command. "Ah. Ismini. I assume you're here to talk?"
Ismini Papadimitriou was named appropriately, as her name meant "knowledge" in Greek. As befitting her name, she was highly knowledgeable about many things, such as tactics and geography, which was a pastime of hers. She loved to study the geography of different nations, countries, continents, cities, etc. And she often put that knowledge to good use in the missions with Sicario.
As a Natural, she was not supposed to have such a keen intellect to the degree of a Coordinator. But many have often joked that she was a secret Coordinator due to how smart she was. But genetic testing had proven them wrong, and many had said that she could live in the PLANTs if she so chose. But she decided to remain on Earth and live in Athens with her husband and daughter, along with her daughter's girlfriend.
"Yes," she said. "You know where we're headed to?"
The captain gave a nod. "Yes. Outsui Island. One of the outer islands."
His SiC nodded. "That's correct."
"I assume you studied the geography then?" Alekos asked, becoming serious.
"Yes." Ismini walked up to the command chair. "If you would?"
The captain knew what she was asking and proceeded to put in the command to bring up the main map. Everyone present all looked up, knowing what that meant.
Ismini proceeded to walk to the front of the bridge and turned to face the group of bridge crew and officers. "I am glad that everyone is here, seeing as how this is going to be our first battle to assist Orb's rightful ruler returning to power."
"Here here!" a few crew members cheered. A glare from Alekos silence them as his SIC continued speaking.
"Now, here is where we are currently headed," she said, bringing up the islands around the main archipelago. "There are at least five different outer islands, one of which Terminal, the resistance, and EF are attacking as one unit. Our goal, alongside the Poseidon and the Hurricane, is to take out the rest of the islands. Our first target is Outsui Island, the one right in front of us." As she spoke, several images of ships appeared, three of which were marked with the Sicario emblem. "However, the Poseidon and Hurricane are not going to be assisting us. They will be tackling two of the remaining three islands, one of which is Jutsui and the last one is Sadeyori."
"Sadeyori... I was there on vacation as a kid once," someone recalled.
"Yes... well, that aside, those three islands are our targets for the moment," Ismini stated. She cleared her throat. "Now, here's the deal. Those three islands are being held by three mercenary companies that we have encountered in the past. The first one, on Outsui Island, is the Goofy Gophers. How many can say that they can goof off, but be serious in battle?"
"Oh, don't get me started on them!" a man remarked. "They're the worst when it comes to battling. They don't pull any punches."
"All the more reason they're taken down first," Alekos said grimly.
"Yes. Now, their machines are basically Jet Windams, nothing too special there. Their heavy firepower is also fairly basic. But it's how they use it that makes them so dangerous," the Natural continued. The image of the emblem of the Goofy Gophers appeared on the island, showing a gopher with a mallet attacking a GINN. The map then zoomed out to show the next island, which lit up with a pair of bloody angel wings. "Next up is Jutsui Island, and that is the home of the Blood Angels Mercenaries."
"I remember them," a woman hissed, her eyes darkening. "They were the ones who killed my family after the Treaty of Junius Seven was signed and they were released from service to the Reich."
Ismini nodded as her eyes narrowed. "They are considered a top merc company this side of the ocean. And their skills are more than enough to back up that claim. They have customized their Jet Windams to have blood red Jet Strikers, and they clearly don't have any qualms about civilians in the line of fire. Their records more than back that up."
"And they're the targets of Typhoon Squadron," a man mused. "Can't say I envy them then."
"No one can say that," Alekos said softly. "Except for Typhoon Squadron themselves."
The rest all knew what he meant by that.
"That leaves Sadeyori Island, which is, surprisingly, held by a group from Master Goose Militia." Ismini's eyes turned to shards of bronze at that. "Although I highly suspect they'll be withdrawn to assist in defending Yalafath Island, the capital."
"All the more reason for us to strike at them first," a second woman remarked.
Alekos held up a hand and the chatter that was building died down. He nodded for Ismini to continue.
"Anyway, the group from Master Goose Militia is their electronic warfare division," she resumed.
"Shit..." someone else muttered. "That's bad news..."
"Yes. And all the more reason for us to take them down ASAP." That was all she said before she tapped a spot on the map and the screen shifted to show the last island. "This is the last one that we have to nail hard. All three ships."
"What island is it?" Alekos asked, tenting his fingers in front of his mouth.
"That, sir, is Kotsu Island, one of their resort islands," Ismini said, her eyes dark. "That one is right before Yalafath, so it makes sense it would be a good spot to set up a barricade. So, we have to take it out after these three islands are nailed." She circled all three on a smaller section on the map. "Kotsu Island is held by a mercenary company called the Night Lords, and this is because they have a penchant for attacking under cover of darkness. During the day, they tend to lurk out of sight. But, if there are three Sicario assets coming, it would make sense they'd want to gun for us, seeing as how they want to take us out of the game."
Alekos knew what she was talking about. The Night Lords Security Contractors were one of the most brutal rivals they had, not counting Master Goose Militia. While the Militia may have been brutal and willing to fight in a war of genocide, the NLSC were known to attack other merc companies they saw as rivals. And Sicario was their biggest.
"So you're hoping we can draw them out and take them out then," he mused.
"That is how they always operate," Ismini stated with a smug grin. Then it faded. "However, I would advise we have a backup plan if it doesn't work."
"Bombardment with aerial bombing runs could work," someone suggested.
"And risk causing collateral to the civilians still there? I think not!" Ismini snapped.
"Hold on. There are civilians there still?!" Alekos blurted, surprised.
"Yes." Ismini nodded as the image zoomed in on the island. "As you can see, there are cars and people going about their lives. The mercs are out of sight, but that only means they're amongst the populace. So our best bet is to lure them out, or barring that, lead them to the norther part of the island, which is completely devoid of any civilization save for old cabins that are rented out for the tourist season."
"And since it's the off season, there are few people there then," someone pointed out.
"Exactly." Ismini zoomed the picture back out to show the four islands in question. "Now, Oustui Island is completely vacant of any human habitation, but it does have a number of forests that would be perfect for mercs to hide in. That means we're going to be using mobile suit mode, not fighter mode."
A few members of the bridge crew nodded at that.
She pointed to Jutsui Island. "Jutsui is mostly plains with a few forested spots, making the Blood Angels more likely to engage us in open conflict. Only a few large settlements are on this island, so we have to watch out for them. The other thing is the coral reefs, which are a tourist attraction. So we have to fight above the island itself, mostly in the plains."
"And finally, we have Sadeyori Island." Her finger circled it. "Not very big human presence, but a lot of wilderness and some jungle. A deadly trap if there ever was one. Our best bet is to lure out the Master Goose Militia group by gunning for the jungle from the get go. That is where their EW squadron like to hide. A perfect trap."
Alekos pursed his lips as he considered the information he had been given. He finally looked up, eyes hard. "Thank you for this," he said. "I'll inform the Terminal team at once what we're up to."
"Good." Ismini nodded. "The more we inform our allies, the better our chances of success in comparison to if we were to do it alone."
The man gave nod before he stood up. He cleared his throat and began to speak to them. Ismini triggered the shipwide COMMs, allowing his voice to reach across the vessel.
"Everyone, I won't give you a pep speech or a rousing talk, or whatever you want to call it. All I'll say is this. We'll be fighting a number of experienced mercs, so there is the possibility of you either dying or getting wounded to be captured. There is even a chance of you going MIA and us being unable to find you. I'm not trying to worry you. I'm just saying like it is. What is clear though is that our goal is to strike these guys hard and fast." His eyes narrowed. "I'm expecting all of you to do your damned best to win this fight. I'm not expecting you to become aces or defeat them instantaneously. I'm only saying to do your best, and to come out alive if possible."
His eyes flicked over the crew present before he continued. "Each of us has a reason why we joined this company, and each of us has a reason to fight now. I expect you to remember that reason, and to use it as motivation. Even if it's something as simple as coming back to the ship for a dinner with that special someone, or to just play poker or drink some booze with the guys. All of us are going to do our best to come back alive. No more, no less. That's all I'm saying. May God watch over you, and may we come through this together!"