Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. I hope you guys are ready for what's coming here. ;) Now here comes the next phase of the Satellite Siege. And trust me, it'll be good. ;3
- operation meteor: Glad I could work on that part. :) I'm happy to make your day with each chapter I put out. :) Feel free to elaborate more in your reviews, too. :)
- 1800009trumbullps . net: Glad ya liked it. :)
- REVANOFSITHLORD: Well, the idea was really just to abbreviate the words Darkness In Orbit. :P
- CT7567Rules: Heh. Thanks. :) As for Rob, after this chapter, his mission will be revealed as well as the outcome. :)
(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 XXXVIII: Satellite Siege II
DECEMBER 24th, 0073 CE
Satellite City, Mexico
The early morning was very quiet.
The half-concealed moon's rays hovered over the darkened desert, with only two dim lights cutting through the cover of blackness that slowly inched across the desert landscape. The lights traversed a very dimly outlined road, the occupants of the Jeep bouncing over some rocks as it approached the closest sign of the entrance to Satellite City.
The guards in the watch towers flanking the side entrance saw the Jeep and flashed the searchlights in them in a coded message before settling in to see what the response was. If it was not answered accordingly, or the message was wrong, then they had permission to open fire with recently constructed MG42 machine guns. Drawing on old blueprints that some resistance gun nuts had procured in the past, Anaheim Electronics was the first to develop a modern version and issue it to the resistance forces underground. A few other smaller companies took over production of the gun so as to allow Anaheim to truly focus on making mobile suits and other related systems.
Due to the gun's resurgence in popularity, it was given a more fitting name to drive fear into the heart of the Reich's soldiers and nobility: Shredder.
The MG42 Shredder was a deadly weapon, and it showed in its first debut during the attack on Dr. Sung's lab.
The Shredders mounted in the watch towers pivoted to aim right for the incoming Jeep, their operators primed for an incorrect response.
But much to their relief, the only thing that came back was the coded response. The gunners swiveled their guns away from the incoming Jeep, but kept them at the ready should the need for their use arise. The Jeep's lights flashed repeatedly before the doors embedded in the rock began to ascend, exposing the side tunnel leading through the mountain.
The vehicle sped through the gap before the doors descended and locked back into position with loud metallic thunks deep within the rock face itself. The guards then resumed their watch, scanning for any sign of Ghoul Squadron's machines or their men.
In the tunnel, the Jeep's engine revved as the driver hunched below the partially shattered windshield. The passenger clutched at her wounded shoulder and behind her lay their spotter, a thick red stain covering his lower torso and part of his leg. He wasn't going to last much longer, he knew. The man's eyes narrowed as he floored the gas, the back tires squealing as he pushed the vehicle into overdrive. He could feel the entire thing rattling with how far he was pushing it. The engine wasn't going to last much longer, either.
The end of the tunnel was just ahead.
The light grew brighter and brighter as he forced his battered body to stay upright in the driver's seat; he himself wasn't that much better than his two companions, but at least he wasn't bleeding out like their last member. He focused solely on the light in the distance, drawing closer and closer with each second. It felt like a lifetime before he finally could see the lights of the city beyond and then they were out. The city streets were close to empty this time of night, but a few pedestrians traversed the streets and sidewalks while only a few cars prowled, mostly police officers looking for offenders or members of the resistance patrolling for any possible spies.
That proved to be a godsend as he finally careened around a corner, spying the bright red cross of the hospital in the distance. He didn't have much time, so he had to get there as fast as he could.
"Hold on, Jackson!" his female passenger shouted. "We're almost there!"
"Dammit...! I can't keep focused!" the driver muttered. "I'm starting to lose it..."
"Keep driving, Jamie!" the woman snapped. "I can't lose him!"
"I know! But..." Jamie Young's vision wavered as he shook his head and pinched one of his wounds, sending pain radiating out and jolting him out of his delirium. He shook his head and regained his bearings. "I'm not much better off, remember, Renee?"
Renee Gustav knew what he meant, but she didn't care. Not since Jackson Wilder had found some key intelligence that could be of use come the next step in the siege. The losses they had suffered were significant, yes, but the fact that they had held their own was something to say the least. It was only a matter of how long they could hold once the next phase began.
And that was why the three had even gone out, to try and find anything that could be of use for that next phase. If they could find a way to use this information, then maybe they could stall long enough to finally get the defense guns up and running. It was a good thing they had salvaged that Destroy, as well as the one they had taken from the lab of Dr. Sung.
Both had been completely stripped and everything was put to use in some way or another for the resistance's base. The guns had been removed from the discs on the backs of those monstrosities and sited all around the city's perimeter to act as AA guns and anti-mobile suit defenses. The missiles had also been removed and installed in hastily erected launchers to further increase their ranged defenses.
But it was a hassle in even getting them set up for use. To rewire them alone was taking longer than anticipated, and the missiles' fire controls were nowhere near ready for the task at hand. Still, they had to try and get them ready for when the attack resumed come dawn.
He shook his head as he tore himself from his musings. He had to get them to the hospital before they all lost too much blood. Thankfully he arrived just in time, careening around the corner into the parking lot. Already medical personnel were swarming out, having received the call from one of the guards in the watch towers of their wounded status. The Jeep came to a screeching halt as people surrounded it and as his vision wavered a second time, Jamie struggled to stay awake as he was loaded onto a stretcher.
He couldn't pass out yet. Not until he was sure Jackson would live.
He grabbed one of the paramedics. "Jackson..." he rasped, his voice starting to become a bit slurred. "Make... sure he lives... Information... vital... to war..."
The woman jolted at his words and then she took on an air of a soldier before nodding. "I'll make sure he lives," she promised.
Jamie gave a small smile before his vision went dark.
Then oblivion came up and took him into its warm embrace.
. . .
In the office of the command center of the city, Keith sat at his desk, eyes no longer blurred from lack of sleep, but still with a face full of stubble as he observed the reports of the scouting patrols.
So far Ghoul Squadron was not making any moves, but that didn't mean they weren't keeping idle. The periodic flashes of light from beam rifles was more than enough to show that they were just training to keep their skills sharp.
And for what it was worth, his forces were also trying to keep their skills sharp. He glanced down at the camera feed from the hangar as well, spying Turbine working with Theo to try and overcome his anxiety. To think that an AI could even experience such a thing was unheard of, but then again, so was the whole concept of an AI with emotions in general. And from what he knew from Turbine after the debriefing, Bruno was one of those who saw AI as merely slaves and tools, only driven by their programming.
But in the case of Turbine, it was much different. He was already learning far more about himself than anyone thought possible. And it was also essential for the next generation of AIs Keith wanted to bring online.
Already he had a number of frame types blueprinted out, sitting in his desk in a binder dedicated to the BOLO Initiative. His eyes were hard as he turned his gaze to the USB that contained the algorithms of Xen's programming. During the first examination of the AI's programming, Keith had taken the chance to copy the algorithms a few times, removing the designation of AI-23 accordingly. He wanted these AI to come up with their own names, so he left them with nothing to start with.
He shifted as he heard the door slide open and he turned just in time to see Jen come in.
"Jen?" Keith sat up and turned to face her.
"Hey, Keith," Jen remarked. "How are things looking?"
Keith sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hands. "Not good," he admitted. "The defenses are far from operational still, but the techs say they can have them online in about an hour or so depending on when the next stage of the siege happens."
Jen nodded. "I heard," she said. "And it's worrisome about that. Who knows when they'll strike next?"
"Now I understand what Commander Ibarra goes through on a constant basis..." Keith muttered. "It's stressful for anyone."
His friend nodded as she approached. "For what it's worth though, at least you have us to help ease the burden. Everyone here in the base."
"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better," Keith muttered as he sat back down, face still buried in his hands. "In fact, it makes it worse. I... How can everyone here help me ease the burden of command? Every decision I make affects everyone here, from the pilots to the civilians, to even Turbine..."
Jen placed a hand on his shoulder, startling him.
His gaze snapped up and over to her as she smiled. "Keith. I have faith you can do this," she said softly. "We all do. You don't give yourself enough credit. You're a good leader, even if you don't think so."
"But how?" Keith asked her. "I mean... the only reason I held against Xen was because I know her programming tactics... And even then it cost us our main base..." He looked down at his hands. "And a lot of good pilots to boot..."
"Just because you cost us our main base doesn't mean you're a bad leader, Keith," Jen remarked. "True it did cost us our main headquarters here, but if anything it also damaged those two Destroys, which means they can't deploy them until further notice. And those things take time to repair. Time they can't afford."
"True... But that's only because we got lucky that time," Keith mumbled. "Against Ghoul Squadron though... hell, I couldn't do a damn thing... and we lost a hundred of our best pilots because of it..."
"Yes, but, if anything, use that as a learning experience," Jen told him. "You have the experience now to hold on better. Don't be second-guessing yourself, Keith. Just go with what your gut is telling you to do sometimes."
Keith sighed. "I hope you're right... because if I mess up, then we'll lose Turbine... and as much as I know him to be an asset we need... he's more like a son to me than anything. I...I love him like a son... and I don't know what I'd do if I lost him..."
Jen understood where he was coming from. She too saw the young AI as a son, and she wanted him to be protected as well, although she knew he could hold his own and then some. It was mostly due to her maternal instincts kicking in, and she admitted that she was rather fond of the mismatched family the group had formed after Keith rescued him from Kenta's torture. It was weird, she knew, but she wouldn't trade it in for the world.
Hell, technically the resistance was more like a country to her than her own country had been. And that made her wonder just what others felt about it.
Did they feel the same way as she did?
Or no?
After the war, she figured she would ask around, and maybe write a book on it...
Her musings was interrupted when she heard Keith laugh a bit.
"It's kind of ironic, really..." he muttered. "Here we are, fighting the exact same war the Communists did in Russia back during the Russian Civil War. But instead of establishing a communist country, we're establishing a democracy once again."
Jen had to crack a smile at the thought. "Yeah. It is." Then she became serious as he continued.
"It's also kind of ironic in how the racial fascist thoughts of the past have taken hold once more," he admitted. "And of how our movement is more of a country than the Atlantian Reich ever was to the populace."
"Exactly what I was thinking," Jen remarked. "But that's beside the point, Keith."
"How so?" Keith asked, looking at her.
"The point is, we know you can do this," Jen told him. She smiled as she placed her hand on his as it lay on the desk. "Not everyone is suited for command, and those that are are usually the ones who do the best."
The computer whiz looked down. "Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better," he muttered.
His friend sighed as she rubbed her head with one hand. "Okay... Maybe we should try a different tact this time..."
However, before either of them could speak any further, alarms began to blare and the red battle lights flashed on as the standard lights died down.
Keith's eyes snapped to the main monitor of his terminal as it flickered on, showing the commander of the watch tower guards.
"What's going on?!" he demanded.
"It's the enemy, sir," the commander remarked. "They're starting to move towards the city."
Keith's eyes narrowed. "Show me."
The screen fizzled as the guard moved the camera of the laptop he was using and aimed it out at the scenery.
The quality was not that good, but it was sufficient enough for him to make out the mobile suits of Ghoul Squadron making their way towards the city's defensive perimeter. Behind them were a number of smaller units, most likely tanks or armored personnel carriers. A few dust trails accelerated past the others, and Keith was quick to note that they were motorcycles, each equipped with a headlight and sidecar for an additional passenger, no doubt a gunner, he mused.
Already a quick battle plan was forming in his head.
'If I were in charge there, I would no doubt send the motorcycles on ahead, followed by the mobile suits. An unconventional layout, but it will suffice to keep the APCs and tanks safe for the final assault on the city,' he mused.
He scowled at the thought. 'And that's the last thing I want to have happen.'
He turned his gaze back towards the incoming enemy forces.
"Have all heavier units deploy to deter the motorcycles from coming close," Keith ordered. "Also have our ace pilots deploy if the mobile suits get past the heavier vehicles."
"Yes, sir!" the watch guard remarked with a crisp salute.
The founder of the BOLO Initiative folded his arms as he narrowed his eyes. "Oh, and one last thing."
The watch tower commander blinked. "Sir?"
Keith gave a sinister grin, something that was unlike him. "We expose the truth: that the Atlantian homeland has always been defiled by Coordinators... and others they see as inferiors."
The man was utterly confused. "Sir? I'm sorry, but you're confusing me."
Keith closed his eyes, but still maintained that grin. "By that, I mean don't be afraid to expose the Coordinators in our ranks. Not that I have anything against them. It's just a psychological thing. If the Atlantians see that their homeland is not their homeland, then they will not know who to trust. Who is an inferior? Who is a Coordinator? That kind of stuff."
Jen was surprised Keith had come up with something like that, but it was so unlike him... Unless there was a reason for it. He opened his eyes, and they were as hard as bronze. "Look. I know it's not like me to do this, but the truth is, psychological warfare can be a big game changer. Look at what happened during the attack on Dr, Sung's lab we pulled. A lot of Atlantian forces defected once they learned who and what they were guarding. As well as the attack on Kiddie Kamp. That alone sparked riots and finally tipped the scales in favor of full blown rebellion."
The man pursed his lips as he considered this. "True... but wouldn't it also draw more forces to us if we spilled the beans about how many Coordinators are here at the base?"
"That may be a risk, but it's one we can handle, provided we get the defenses up and running," Keith remarked. "That's why I want everyone possible to work on getting those defenses up and running while our forces fight to keep Ghoul Squadron at bay. With the psychological aspect coming into play as well, it could buy us some time to finish setting them up."
Now Jen understood his plan. It was to cause uncertainty and distrust amongst the rank-and-file, and force Ghoul Squadron to focus more on keeping their men in line for the siege instead of trying to breach the defenses. "Now I get it!" she exclaimed. "You're hoping to cause them to focus on keeping things in order amongst the rank-and-file!"
Keith gave a nod of confirmation. "That's exactly the plan," he told her. "The more they focus on that, the less they can focus on us."
It was a good plan, she realized. He had obviously taken lessons from not just prior experience and recent events, but also Dr. Sung's own use of head games. It was a way to divert attention from the overall assault, rendering it unable to complete its objective.
"Well, I will admit I don't really understand the necessity, but if it keeps them at bay, then why complain?" the watch guard remarked.
The computer whiz gave a nod. "I want you to relay this to the other guards on the perimeter. That's an order, soldier!" he barked.
The man gave a salute before the screen went dark, and Keith slumped down in his chair, closing his eyes in relief and resignation.
With that done, he could focus on the slowly looming battle.
. . .
Bruno sneered as he observed the city just beyond the mountaintops.
The tallest skyscraper just barely peeked over the top, but it was enough for them to know where the city was.
He glanced to his squad mates as their faces appeared on his main monitor.
"This is it, gentlemen," he said. "Our second attempt to take this place for our lords and masters."
"Yes, but vhat if zey have expected us?" Fritz inquired.
Bruno's sneer turned into a predatory grin. "Then all the better for us, right?" he chuckled. "This war... it will be ours. This base is becoming something of a notable location to the resistance. So what better way to break them then take their base and destroy their precious AI-23, one bolt at a time?"
The other men of his squad looked at one another briefly before the same grin crossed their own faces.
The COMMs shut down a moment later, leaving Bruno with a clear screen as he reached for his eye patch and removed it, tossing it aside before he grasped the controls and hunched forward, his mismatched eyes flashing eagerly. "Now... let's go!" he chortled.
From an outsider's perspective, the Atlantian force marching on Satellite City was huge, possessing upwards of five thousand vehicles and eleven mobile suits, with close to seven thousand soldiers total. It was the largest force ever mobilized to attack a resistance enclave. But even so, the rebel pilots mobilized were no slouches either. It was only a matter of numbers, and despite the rebels having more men and women and machines, it was close to impossible to determine who was going to win, especially as how there were a number of tanks armed with AP shells in the Atlantian force.
That alone was a big issue for the resistance's mobile suits, as it meant their machines' joints could be hit by said rounds, or even have their metal armor penetrated, unlike those that had Phase Shift armor. While the resistance did in theory have access to the same materials to produce said armor, it was a lot trickier to actually make the Phase Shift armor and then transport it to the nearest resistance factory. That meant that only a select number of units even had the PS Armor to begin with, and most of them were up in the northern territories of Canada due to the lack of much human settlement up there.
The forests of Canada were perfect to hide a large number of resistance fighters and bases, including factories cleverly disguised as part of the terrain from satellite imagery. And that was where most of the Phase Shift armor they made was produced and shipped from.
As the enemy forces drew closer, the guards on the watch towers scrambled to their battle stations and manned their guns. The MG42 Shredder was loaded and locked onto the incoming motorcycles and gunners. The guards crouched over their weapons and a few others had RPG-7s, each one armed and ready to fire directly at the mobile suits. The doors covering the entrance tunnel to the city were nothing to sneeze at, possessing three layers of pure steel mixed with carbon, making it incredibly strong. But that didn't mean it was invulnerable. Enough hits would weaken it, and intense heat was sure to melt the metal to the ground.
But there was another layer that lay before it.
A series of platforms suddenly dropped away, flapping against the slick trench with spikes at the bottom. Not a very pretty way to go, since all those spikes were dripping with fecal matter; the city's sewage system ran right into the trench, creating a potent defense and even explosive situation.
The commander of the watch tower garrison turned and held up his radio. "All forces, stand by!" he barked.
As he spoke, across the perimeter, guards scrambled to their positions for battle, some slamming ammo home into their guns and a few laying prone with sniper rifles in case the enemy tried to attack from another angle. The second round was about to commence.
And this time, they were not going for a pyrrhic victory like last time.
Bruno marched his Windam Reaper past his squad mates and hefted his scythe, scanning with his cybernetic eye for any sign of possible enemy units.
He didn't even know that there was a trap right before him.
The last thing he expected was to see the large number of motorcycles he had sent on ahead coming to a stop before a large trench, their drivers clasping at their noses and mouths to keep something no doubt vile at bay. One of the men staggered back and actually threw up on the desert sands, his face a green color in his illness.
Bruno frowned to himself and keyed the external speakers.
"What's going on!?" he demanded. "Why have you stopped?!"
The commander of the reconnaissance unit looked back at him, his eyes tearing from the vile stench that bordered them. "Sir... they... the rebels..." he coughed. "...they set up a trap... trench... filled with spikes... punji stakes..."
Bruno's eyes widened before he gritted his teeth. 'Punji stakes from the Vietnam War in the 1960s AD...' he thought. 'Very clever. No doubt the stronghold's sewage system, if they even have one, runs right into it. And with the methane buildup from the decomposing organic matter, it makes for a very volatile bomb. They're smart. This way we can't get past the trench. At least not without setting off a huge explosion and not without compromising our advantage in numbers. That means that only me and my squad can get past.'
He glanced to the rebel stronghold, the guards in their watch towers eyeing them through their binoculars or scopes.
One of the women commanding the towers held up a hand and flipped them the bird before she returned to aiming her rifle.
He scowled, but didn't do much else as he shifted his gaze back towards the large trench in front of him. He cautiously knelt his machine down and looked into the pit. Sure enough, lining the bottom of the trench, were countless stakes of metal, each tipped with various forms of fecal matter, along with other... sewage. A readout from his machine's sensors indicated a fifteen percent concentration of methane in the air, and he scowled.
'I was right...' he mused. 'They must've kept the trench shut in preparation for this day.'
He looked back at the recon unit commander. "Commander Jarvis. You are to find a way across this trench," he ordered.
The commander looked over, his eyes still teary from the stench of methane and fecal excrement.
"Yes, sir..." he rasped, saluting.
Bruno shut down the external speakers, but he could still hear through the audio receptors on his machine. He watched as the unit began to split up, seeking a way around that damned trench. It was a good size, too, he could see. About twenty-five meters in length, he mused. Easy enough for a mobile suit to vault over, but a hell of an issue for motorcycles to cross over. But it wasn't going to be as easy as that.
He settled back and decided to wait for a few minutes until his scouts reported back.
. . .
Keith's eyes were narrowed as he observed the motorcyclists and their gunners making their way around the perimeter of the city's defensive trench.
He had to admit the idea had been sound when it was first proposed, and it had taken them months to get the trench set up. The only downside was that when it was in use, the entire city was cut off from the satellite bases and vice versa. Interior doors had been installed to seal off the sections of tunnel in question and to keep methane from seeping into the corridors and risking the lives of those in the tunnel network.
Each trench was installed in front of a tunnel, circling around practically the entire city, but there were weak spots to the nearly three-sixty degree defenses. And it was these spots that had another nasty surprise in place.
His gaze flicked down to the device held in his hand; a small detonator, but not for explosives.
Oh, no.
This was for something a lot more potent.
The whole time he waited it was tense. Hundreds of hours, dozens of days had been expended on these trenches, along with countless amounts of blood, sweat, and tears. The amount of time and effort put into them was going to be worth it, he knew. And he was not about to let them get close.
Despite the reassurances he received from the security patrols and the engineers who made the trenches that they would work, there was always a little bit of doubt from him on the viability of them. Would they work as advertised, or would it be an utter failure? Would the methane gas be enough to release the fires within? Would there be casualties? Would there be an explosion that tore the city's protective mountain coverage to shreds? Or would the mountains hold? Would this buy enough time to rig the defenses as well?
All these questions and more filled his mind as he watched the timer ticking down to the point of no return.
Then, he saw them spotting the bridges left intact.
The first motorcyclists began to cross over the bridges, and he closed his eyes.
This was it.
He pressed the trigger.
. . .
Commander Gregor Jarvis smirked as he watched the first of his motorcycle units cross over the bridge he had spotted.
There was no way the rebels would be able to keep them back now.
But he was wrong.
He watched as some of his men came to a stop and two got off their bikes, making their way over to the edge of the bridge and peering over.
He opened his mouth and was about to speak when he suddenly heard something igniting...
And then a huge geyser of flames erupted from beneath the bridge, throwing him back with the sheer heat and force of the shockwave. Cries of agony and terror came from his men on the bridge and he watched in utter horror as he sat up, seeing them charred to nothing but bones and even then the bones burned into nothing but ashes. The shockwave had done more than just knock him back.
A number of his other men had been knocked off their bikes and some were even dead by their own hands as they had gotten too close for comfort. His own hair was scorched away, his moustache - of which he had ben very proud - was nothing but wisps of hair and his eyebrows were gone. His uniform was fused to his body from the sheer heat, and he was in shock. He didn't even know he was badly burnt. He was close to dying. Hell, he was dying.
All he could see was the charred corpses of his men as he collapsed, his heart giving out as he fell to his chest, seeing nothing but growing oblivion.
That alone was enough to make Bruno bust out cackling. There was no way the resistance fools could have survived such an explosion, no matter how advanced and how thick the mountains surrounding it were. All that effort, and for what? In the end, what did it matter though, because now the rebel scum were dead here and-
A sudden shrieking caught him mid-laugh, and his eyes flew wide as he stared in utter shock and disbelief as a single missile came flying out of the flames, arrowing right for his mobile suit! Bruno's soldier instincts saved him; he jerked on the controls and with some quick movements, he sprawled his Windam out on the ground as the missile flew overhead and exploded against one of the leading tanks. The missile struck the turret and within mere seconds, a secondary explosion rocked the area, the turret's ammo going off in a fiery ball of flames and heat, sending the turret end over end before it slammed into the earth, leaving a crater imprinted in the desert.
Bruno was stunned.
How had that...?
He slowly turned his machine's head back to face the fierce wall of flames, only to finally notice that it was just that: a wall of flames.
Like those from a flamethrower...!
His eyes narrowed as he realized he had been tricked. Growling, he pushed his machine to its feet, gripping his scythe in his Windam's hands tightly. His red eye flashed as he crouched and scanned for an opening.
Then he saw it.
Faint and thin, but it was there. A gap in the jets of flames.
"All units, this is Commander Bruno Zabiarov! We've been tricked! Their base still stands! Those flames are being put out by flamethrowers! They have only a limited amount of fuel left, so look for any gaps and go for those!" he barked into his radio.
Sure enough, he could already see a few more flamethrowers going dark in front of him. A sneer crossed his face.
This was going to be the end of the rebels, once and for all!
. . .
"Sir, the flamethrowers are running out of fuel!" the woman in charge of the trench defenses exclaimed. "At most, they'll last another five minutes!"
"That's good enough," Keith said. "They weren't meant to deter the enemy any way. They were only to stall for time before we really let loose."
By that, he meant using the missile launchers hidden within the façade of the mountain. Those had been the first things installed once the first structure within Satellite City had been built. The missiles were, like the flamethrowers, meant to stall for time until the real defenses came online.
'Speaking of which...' Keith mused as he turned to look at the blueprint of the city's defense network.
The entire city was shown on the monitor of his terminal, with certain areas blinking as engineers and technicians alike worked to get the defenses up and running. Already he could see that a little more than half the defenses were online, with only forty-eight percent left to go. And that needed them to stall for as long as possible.
He only hoped that the guards would take up his advice and cause chaos in the ranks of the regular Atlantian troops sent to reinforce Ghoul Squadron.
His hopes weren't left unforgotten.
The speakers mounted to his terminal began to sputter as faint static could be heard from them. His eyes narrowed as he heard one of the technicians in charge of the speakers bring them online and within mere minutes he could hear the voice of one of the guards. He sat back and listened in.
"...sure that none of you weren't sick?" a woman's voice asked.
"I'm telling you, none of us weren't sick!" a man bellowed back. The two were clearly in an argument, and Keith had a good idea as to what it was about, from the sound of things. "We've been sick at some point in our lives, sometimes even more than that! So why would you be so insistent that some of us are those space monsters?!"
Keith had to chuckle at this.
"The reason I say that is because of this," the woman stated calmly. "There has never been a pure race living on this soil in all the time it has been inhabited by humans."
"You dare to say such treasonous things?!" the man shouted.
"Yes, and for good reason. Never once in American history has there ever been a pure race of blonde, blue-eyed humans living here. It's always been filled with mongrels, people of dark skin, light skin, red skin, yellow skin... the list is endless. Men, women, indigenous, foreigners, Naturals, Coordinators... We are a mixture of people from all over the world. And we take pride in that fact," the woman remarked. "So your lies are nothing but propaganda to try and make us believe otherwise."
"You are fools! The Nazis were in the right, and you know it!" the man insisted.
"Then ask yourself this. How come there are Coordinators and inferiors in your ranks then?" the woman asked, taking on a sneering tone.
The man's voice stuttered as he tried to come up with an answer, and Keith had to resist getting on the line. He wanted to, but would it really be worth it?
"How dare you! We have no such things amongst our genetically pure ranks!" the man snapped.
"Is that so?" the woman mused. "Then I dare you to explain the Coordinator beside you secretly sending a message to the PLANTs."
Keith couldn't help but clap a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound of his laughter. It was just too brilliant! He knew that there were no such people in the reinforcements, mostly due to to the fact that genetic testing done always rooted out Coordinators. But since all of them were humans like Naturals, save for their weird hair colors (which could be explained as hair dye), it was close to impossible to sniff them out visually.
The man's voice snarled before he gave a nod to the technician and the woman cut the line before the group burst out laughing.
"Man... That's good!" he chortled.
"Yeah," the techie remarked. She brushed some of her hair out of her face as she turned back to look out the window somberly. "The only issue now is how long this can go on for."
Keith nodded grimly as he narrowed his eyes dangerously.
There was no telling how long they could keep the enemy at bay. For all their efforts, they were only human. And human beings had their limits. But, even so, they were willing to push beyond those limits and become stronger. And for that, they needed all their strength.
Now Keith was counting on said strength to get those defenses up and running.
Only for a loud explosion to catch their attention. Keith's gaze shot to the southern side of the city, only to see thick smoke billowing up from beyond the mountain stronghold. "Oh... shit...!" he breathed.
He knew what that meant.
The second stage of the siege had begun.
. . .
Turbine's engines hummed as he slowly made his way towards the launch catapult, his friends and wingmen beside him.
He could feel that distinct uneasiness he had come to associate with anxiety building within his chest and he had to clench his servos to avoid that twitching he detested so much.
All he could think about right now was the next phase.
He could recall Bruno's sadistic nature and he felt a shiver run down his chassis at the thought. It was enough to make him whimper just the tiniest bit, but he shook his helm aggressively, driving those thoughts back from his mind. He couldn't lose himself to terror now.
Not since those he cared about were on the line, and perhaps in danger.
His servos clenched into fists as he looked up, determination filling his optics despite the terror that was inching into his very thoughts at that moment. If there was one thing that people said about him, it was that he was loyal to those who raised him. Maybe not in the sense of following like a puppy dog, but in the sense that he would fight his hardest to ensure they were safe.
He had been raised by them, and they cared for him. That alone was enough to ensure he didn't break at this crucial moment in time.
The AI stepped onto the catapult and the clamps latched on over his pedes. He knelt down as the launch control for the city came on his COMM line.
"Turbine, this is Control. Stand by for launch."
"Roger that, Control!" Turbine announced.
A few minutes later and he could see the large doors sliding open to expose the exterior of the city's mountainous façade. Beneath the mountain's launch center, he could see the Windams of Ghoul Squadron making their advance, and he clenched his servos tighter. He felt his metal fingertips digging into his palms with how hard he was clenching them. A low growl escaped his vocalizer as he looked to his left, noticing that Diane's Blast was beside him. He looked to the right, and he saw George in a Blast as well this time. He gave a nod to both and they returned it.
"Turbine, this is Control. You have clearance to launch. Launch controls have been transferred. Over."
"Roger that, Control!" Turbine said. "Ready for launch!"
"Launch sequence commencing!" Control relayed.
"Turbine Martinez, Freedom Retribution, launching!" the AI cried.
"George Fritz, Blast, launching!" George declared.
"Diane Hawkins, Blast, launching!" Diane exclaimed.
All three catapults lit green, and then the platforms were sent hurtling down the catapults, their pilots pushed back into their seats while Turbine felt the pressure on his very frame. The end of the catapult drew nearer and then he was airborne, unfolding his wings and kicking on his thruster pack. Once he was airborne, he angled himself to align beside his wingmen and waited for Strider Squadron to launch as well.
As he flew, he looked ahead and expanded his sensors and scanners, picking up the forces ahead of them just below the mountains.
A loud rumbling reached his audios and Turbine briefly turned his helm, glancing over his shoulder at the explosion dying down against the rocky face of the mountain. Thick smoke curled upwards and he could only gulp as he realized what that meant.
The second stage had begun.
The AI turned his attention back to the fight beginning to erupt before them.
Already the Windams were on the move, making their way towards the trenches and their now depleted flamethrowers. A lot of Atlantian ground forces were moving closer to the gaps in the earth, trying to find ways to get over them, but to no avail. What bridges remained intact were heavily guarded by the watch towers, and their converging fields of fire were perfect killing zones. Already he could see a number of soldiers being mowed down, with those wounded falling into the punji traps and being impaled by the excrement-covered spikes.
Turbine had to admit it was a pretty nasty way to go. But what other choice did they have? The very idea of genociding innocents was enough to make him feel angry at those who were in power at the moment, although very few could say they were in charge. As it stood, only two remained in hiding within the borders of America, with one fleeing to Canada. The AI felt no pity for those few men, and in fact, he felt glad the resistance had castrated one of the men in their custody.
The word had reached Mexico some time ago, and while Theo had not been told to keep this information secret, it had been requested to try and keep Turbine in the dark, but some innocent questioning had led to the revelation, and he didn't feel a bit of sympathy for men like that. In fact, he felt it was justified, given how Groht's mistresses had been aged ten.
The large number of forces approaching was enough to make Turbine tense. This time, he was not about to let anyone get past those lines.
No matter what!
He grabbed his ES04 beam saber and drew it swiftly, igniting the blade in a flash of blue energy. He swung the beam saber before he dove down, wings flared wide open. Beside him, Diane and George also drew their beam sabers, the two violet blades clashing with the blue of his own. Without as much as a sound, the trio drew close together before they dove down as one, branching off as each targeted one of the Ghoul Squadron members.
And that opened up Strider Squadron for their own attack.
. . .
Bruno was caught off guard when he saw the AI coming at him, clashing its beam saber with his scythe as he brought the blade up to bear.
"Well... seems like you prioritized me instead," he noted to himself. A sneer crossed his lips. "All the more reason for me to not hold back!"
As he said this, his eyes widened and his cybernetic eye flashed red, a sense of dread seeming to ooze out from his machine and making AI-23 draw back in simulated horror.
That gave him the chance he needed to strike.
Bruno spun his machine's scythe around before swinging it and bringing it down on the AI's head. Already he could see the sparking remnants of its frame as it collapsed on the ground, the head landing not too far off, the optics going dark and leaving the rebels demoralized. He could practically taste the promotion to Field Marshal because of it.
He closed his eyes, smiling as if he could actually taste the medal on his tongue.
"Sir! LOOK OUT!" one of his subordinates cried.
Bruno's eyes snapped open as his alert blared at the same time and he gasped in shock as he realized the AI hadn't been killed, but instead had actually ducked under his scythe and was bringing its beam pistol to bear on his machine's chest. Bruno reacted by boosting his Windam Reaper back, but only just as the pistol barked, sending a single shot right for him. He pulled to the right and began to circle around to the AI's rear, only for AI-23 to suddenly pivot on its right foot and whip its left foot out in a surprisingly nasty roundhouse kick that struck his machine's side and rattled him around in his restraints.
He shook his head to regain his bearings and he glanced up, his eyes narrowing at the AI. "That does it...!" he hissed. "This thing is going down!"
As he charged at AI-23 once more, he scanned around him briefly enough to see that the rest of his forces were trying to breach the trenches and get to the gates beyond. So far there had been no luck, as the guards were mowing down his forces as they drew close. A number of them had already fallen into the punji pits, and the fact that they didn't have any bridging vehicles was enough to make him growl to himself. He really was tempted to ask the commander of the reinforcements if he even had any such vehicles, but something told him that was not the case. This was a siege, not an invasion force, dammit!
"Dammit... I never thought we'd have to resort to an invasion just to breach their trenches!" he growled.
The whole concept of sieging an enemy fortress or city was something that had been done in ancient times, up through the twentieth century, with the last known instances of wartime sieges on such a grand scale taking place in World War II, with both sides of the Axis and Allies attempting and enacting such actions. The Allies had pulled one on the Empire of the Rising Sun with devastating consequences, and the Nazis had attempted to strangle the British Empire's Home Islands only to fail. The sieges of Leningrad/St. Petersburg and Stalingrad had ended in failures as well, only helped by the infamous Russian winters in allowing supplies to be transported to the cities in question.
The sheer insidiousness of sieges was worth more than the lives lost to carry them out on the part of the attackers, as the losses of those within the city or even the besieged islands would more than make the tactic viable.
Bruno shook his head to return to the present and he spun his mobile suit around as the AI made to attack from the rear, bringing up his scythe and catching the beam saber on the red blade of his weapon. The AI - 'Turbine' as it called itself - pushed harder against the Windam Reaper, and Bruno's eyes narrowed as he gritted his teeth. The two machines strained, joints and hydraulics straining to try and overpower the other. The AI's cyan optics flared as the wings on the back suddenly snapped open and the thrusters burned with power, allowing it to push back the scythe's blade from its chest. Bruno couldn't help but grunt as he shifted more power to his own unit's thrusters, trying to even the odds.
The Dual Sword Striker pack's thrusters were strong, but they were in no way as strong as the thrusters on the Gundam-type he was dueling. In fact, he was still being pushed back from their greater power output. But Bruno was nothing if not resourceful. He drew back his machine's free hand and curled it into a fist before lashing out and slugging the Gundam-type on the face, making it back off. He then followed up by jabbing the right knee of his Windam into the gut of the AI's machine, making it double over and collapse to its knees, the wind knocked from its intakes. That allowed Bruno to draw back his scythe, the pointed end of the shaft held above the AI's helm.
But AI-23 reacted in a sudden fashion that made him blink in utter disbelief.
The AI's helm snapped up and the last thing his main cameras detected was the sudden narrowing of the gap between the two machines. The cameras fizzled and went dark as he staggered back from the headbutt. His machine's hands flew to the head, and he could already tell from the way the fingers moved over the smashed faceplate that his machine's head was totaled from the sudden headbutt. He looked up, bringing the backup cameras online. The resolution was not that great, although it was better than in the previous war, but it was still not recommended to fight at such low resolution levels.
He did a quick link to one of his subordinates.
"Erich, I need a status report on my machine!" he barked.
"Yes, sir," came the man's reply. The Windam in question briefly broke off from the scuffle with one of the resistance's aerial machines and relayed his report. "It seems your machine's lost its main cameras," he reported. "The entire faceplate and optics have been smashed in by sufficient force. It seems that AI was responsible."
"Shit...!" Bruno muttered. With his machine's sensors disabled, he couldn't fight as good as he would have hoped.
He was very tempted to withdraw, but the more he gazed at the headquarters of the resistance in Mexico, the more he refused to back down yet. He gritted his teeth and looked to the AI, which hovered there with a look of triumph in its optics. It holstered the beam saber and folded its arms across its chest, wings splayed wide open.
"So, what's your move now, Bruno?" it asked him smugly.
The Ghoul Squadron commander toggled the external speakers. "Oh, I'm not through yet!" he hissed.
"Actually, from where I'm standing, it looks like you are," the AI taunted. "You can't even fight properly with limited resolution."
As much as he hated to admit it, the AI did have a point. The last time anyone had fought with limited resolution on their machine, it had been by pure blind luck, and often ended with the unfortunate pilot's demise. He gritted his teeth as he established a communications line to Fritz. "Fritz, you're in command. I'm falling back for repairs. The damn AI smashed my machine's helm in."
"Very vell," Fritz remarked. "I shall finish zis battle zen for you, sir."
"Do so," Bruno ordered. "And make that AI pay as well."
"I vill." Fritz gave a bloodthirsty grin. "For Lord Azrael."
"And for our blue and pure world." Bruno nodded.
. . .
Turbine watched as the commander of Ghoul Squadron flew off towards their rear and their headquarters, no doubt to get his machine repaired.
As much as he wanted to give pursuit and kill that man, he didn't even break off and follow. Not when everyone he cared about was under siege.
He pivoted in midair and dashed right for another incoming member of Ghoul Squadron. He didn't know any of their names, nor did he know of the pilots individually. All he knew was that they were attacking his home, and he was not about to let it go on.
This particular unit though established a direct link to his COMM line, and Turbine hummed curiously before a visual image of the pilot came up. His shaggy blonde hair clashed with his sea-green eyes, and he looked as if he were growing a neatly trimmed goatee. "So, you must be ze AI zat attacked the commander," he mused.
"What's it to ya?!" Turbine hissed, bringing up his beam saber once more as he closed in on the Windam.
"I am Jerald Fritz, also known as Ghoul-2," he introduced.
"So? Why should I care?" Turbine retorted. "After what you shits pulled in Europe, why should I extend courtesy to your kind?"
"Ah. I see you are in no mode for talking, zen," Fritz remarked. "Zen zat is fine. Zis is a duel to ze death!"
With that, he cut the line and grabbed his own ES04 beam saber, igniting the brilliant red blade and bringing it up to slash against Turbine's. The AI returned the favor with his other saber, both machines pressing against the intersecting point of the three sabers. Turbine moved to the right in an attempt to gain more leverage and push the other machine's beam sabers aside, while also drawing a Shorty beam rifle from his side skirt armor and aiming it at the Windam's head. The Ghoul pilot pulled back as he fired, the shot just barely missing the armor and causing the Phase Shift to flicker briefly.
The AI was quick to exploit that and pulled his sword servo back before thrusting his clenched servo forward, slugging the impacted point on the enemy's helm. The Phase Shift armor flickered before going down, and Turbine retreated, holstering his beam saber again and holding the beam rifle in both hands like a standard handgun.
The Windam prepared to charge in, but Turbine fired a few shots from his rifle, striking the Windam on its shield as it brought the defensive equipment to bear. The shots peppered it, and Turbine noted with some mild surprise that the shield hadn't sustained much damage. This made him wonder if it was covered with some kind of anti-beam coating. Fritz pulled back his shield before he flared his Windam's thrusters and charged once more. Turbine was quick to note that Fritz was more of a close-quarters fighter, which meant he had to play to his strengths and fight at long and mid-range.
He boosted back with his own thrusters, keeping to the air and peppering Fritz with beam rifle shots. While not what he preferred, he was still able to inflict some losses on the energy levels of the Phase Shift armor of his opponent.
The enemy pilot was far from willing to back down. He kept trying to charge at Turbine, but the AI was not about to let him get close.
He was already trying to come up with a plan, but the last thing he expected was to be jumped by a second Windam, this one using a heavy machine gun custom-made for his mobile suit. The AI was forced to dive as Fritz charged in with his beam saber held at the ready.
"Shit!" Turbine swore as he was forced to ascend. Now he could see what these two were up to.
They were trying to box him in, one from above and one from below. The Windam firing at him from above would keep him contained within his comrade's close-range capabilities. This was not good in any way. Without the ability to maneuver, he was outclassed and outmatched.
At least, that would be the case if he were merely a human.
The AI's learning algorithms were kicking into overdrive as he weaved and dodged, relying on his uncanny reflexes and his quick processing power to stay ahead of the combined attacks. Already he could see several flaws in this fighting style, primarily in regards to the fuel usage for the two Windams. His own fuel consumption was something to take into consideration, but seeing as how his fuel reserves were only slightly larger than those of the Windams, it made sense that he'd outlast them, but only if he was careful about his maneuvering.
It was clear they were trying to force him to use up most of his fuel with dodging.
But Turbine was not deterred. In fact, if anything, he was even more determined to win now.
He shot a brief glance at the fuel gauge in the upper left hand corner of his HUD, and he noted that it was still at three-quarters capacity, but that was going to change if he didn't do something soon. His optics flickered as a few plans came to his processor and, after a few dodges and twirls to avoid being impaled by Fritz's beam sabers, he had picked the best one possible.
He abruptly came to a halt...
And simply cut his thrusters, allowing himself to plummet below Fritz's next slashes.
Fritz was caught off guard by this tactic, only for a big surprise to happen as the AI raised his right arm and the launcher for the grappler extended up. He hesitated a brief moment before he fired it, the grappler streaking out, trailing the cable behind it. Fritz readied a beam saber to try and cut the cable, but the next thing he knew, the claw had opened and latched onto his Windam's left foot.
Turbine came to an abrupt halt as he locked the cable and dangled there, seemingly helpless. But he was not.
His lock-on alerts beeped and he could tell that the second Windam was coming in for a kill.
. . .
Marcus grunted as he jinked his Blast to the right, just barely missing getting struck by one of Ghoul Squadron's Windams. The one he was clashing with right now was anything but easy to take out, as it had both beam sabers deployed and was swinging almost wildly at him, trying to gore him or cut him in half. As it stood, it was taking all of his skill and experience, coupled with his uncanny talent for piloting alongside his SEED Mode, to avoid being hit by this guy.
'Dammit...! What's with this man?!' he thought. 'He's acting more like a berserker than a rational human being!'
His SEED-dilated eyes narrowed as he juked to the left, coming to a brief halt to allow himself a precious second or two of breathing room. His Blast was already sustaining damage to its frame, and the defense rods were scuffed from blocking the countless swings. His own beam saber was held in his machine's left hand while he had his signature rifle on his back. There was no way this man was even letting him get the needed space to draw it.
The rebel ace brought his beam saber up to block two more violet strikes that were aimed at his torso, deftly angling them away from his machine's chest and cockpit with only millimeters to spare. He adjusted his machine's position in the air before he counterattacked with a nasty horizontal slash that could gore another mobile suit in half. The Windam blocked with its two beam sabers before pouncing and forcing the rebel ace on the defensive once again. His eyes flicked to his readouts, noting with concern the structural integrity of his defense rods wasn't going to last much longer. A few more hits and they'd shatter, leaving him with only one beam saber and that wasn't going to be enough.
In fact, if he didn't get some kind of an edge soon, he'd be done for!
"SIR!" a familiar female voice cried.
Marcus's eyes widened as he saw a flash of dark colors, and then Alicia was in the Windam's face, delivering a brutal cross slash that just about took the Windam's left forearm off. Only by a quick deviation to defense did the Windam retain its arm, and even then it was with only milliseconds to spare. His eyes were wide in relief. "Alicia!"
"You okay?" she called.
"Yeah. Thanks. Any more hits and my defense rods would've shattered!" Strider-1 remarked.
"Good thing I was in the area then," she said. Her face appeared on his monitor, and already he could see the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. She was really pushing herself, he knew. Then again, they all were, considering the situation at hand.
"Speaking of, how are the others holding up?" Marcus inquired.
"Everyone else is dealing with one Windam at a time, except I took one out by disabling its Jet Striker," she reported, making Marcus scan the battlefield once more. Sure enough, he could see one Windam limping off, clutching at an empty arm socket and the Jet Striker smoldering behind it on the ground. "So that means we're dealing with this guy together."
The rebel ace felt a surge of relief as he smiled. "The more help I get, the better," he told her. "Especially as this guy doesn't plan on letting me get space to draw my rifle."
"Then we deal with him the old-fashioned way!" Alicia stated, a predatory grin on her own face.
Her commander nodded and both pilots turned to face the Windam as it charged at them again, swinging both beam sabers with reckless abandon. Marcus and Alicia gripped their swords as one and braced for the fight.
The Windam brought both blades back, intent on lopping off their heads and disabling the cameras of their mobile suits. But the two brought their beam sabers up and blocked at the exact same time. The Windam's pilot pulled back before pouncing at the two swiftly But this time, the two reacted in sync once more and Alicia went for the high blows while Marcus went for the low blows. Marcus's eyes narrowed as he kept an eye out for the beam saber strikes that went low, using his beam saber to parry and deflect the majority while delivering strikes of his own. Alicia, meanwhile, acted like a vulture, swerving and pecking at the Windam's upper torso and body, picking apart vital systems and armor with a clean slash each time. She relied more on maneuvering to avoid the beam saber that came her way, blocking only every so often in contrast to Marcus.
It was an elegant dance, one of grace and precision, relying on prescience that bordered on superhuman. Marcus was an elite ace, and Alicia a former psychiatrist. Both had such an awareness, one honed through battle, one through studying human behavior. And it was this awareness that allowed both to clash with one of Ghoul Squadron's best swordsmen.
It would also be what led to his downfall.
Marcus didn't know how he knew.
He just did.
And it all came down to one crucial moment...
...that was fast approaching.
. . .
Keith watched with increasing trepidation as the fighting continued to rage around the city's defensive perimeter.
His eyes flicked worriedly to the screen showing the status of the defenses for the city, and he noted with both despair and relief that things were moving along. Despair in seeing the enemy forces trying to bridge over the trenches...
And relief at seeing how far the ranged defenses had come for coming online. Already three quarters were already up and running. But the rest had to be brought online and soon.
There was only so much fighting his ace pilots could take, and he wasn't about to push them any further than they could already handle. His hands clenched tightly on the desk, and he swore the wood was bending under his tight grip. Things weren't looking too good, and already he was getting worried.
A loud cry from over the speakers caught his attention and his SEED-dilated eyes snapped towards the main monitor as it flickered to show the scene below on the ground. Already he could see a number of Atlantian forces moving towards the bridges and his eyes narrowed. "Seize the bridges!" a man shouted, ordering his soldiers forward like a medieval king. He waved his hand and the men ran forward, guns held out in front of them like lances.
"Shit...!" Keith muttered.
His gaze darted towards the monitor with the defenses on it. "Please... we need to win this...!"
"All units, this is Security Chief Hoshikawa Naguya! Stand firm and do not let them pass!" came the cry of the security chief.
Unlike the guards-for-hire the Atlantians utilized to handle their bases, the security chief and his forces were trained military, having defected after the bloodbath of Alaska when all the Coordinators who had been a part of the landing force were murdered in cold blood. In fact, what no one knew was that there had been a rebellion of a quarter of the soldiers there, and unlike the rest of the Atlantian Reich's forces, they had used brains and strategy to break away and retreat into the Canadian wilderness where they laid low until they headed south under cover of a mining company to Mexico where they set up shop.
And as a result of their training and survival skills, they were some of the worst possible forces to face, especially when it came to the cold nights.
Keith was grateful that the security forces were actually trained personnel instead of just guards-for-hire. And it showed in the way they fought at that moment, using high ground and converging fields of fire to keep the enemy back. But it was only a matter of time before the rebel guards ran out of ammo.
His eyes flicked back towards the enemy, and he scowled.
Things had just gotten worse for the Mexican resistance.
The ground forces were advancing.
. . .
Turbine waited...
And was rewarded for his patience.
Fritz's Windam suddenly accelerated, pulling him along abruptly, causing him to yelp as it did so.
The acceleration was enough to catch him off guard and he felt a strange sensation rushing through him, and he felt an unexplainable urge to... gag? A strangled sound escaped his vocalizer, and his vision swayed with the feeling. He shut off his optics and tried to recenter his stabilizing gyros. He focused on his position in the air, and he felt the strange feeling began to fade. He finally brought his optics back online and he was greeted with the sight of the ground far below him. He cast his gaze upward and stared at the Windam of Fritz as it flew, trying to force the grappling hook to slide off his machine's foot.
However, the claws were firmly lodged in and Turbine had to resist a chuckle.
Fritz, meanwhile, whipped his machine around a second time, but Turbine wasn't about to let him cause him to feel sick again. His optics flashed as he suddenly gripped the cable with both servos and, as he came around, he extended the other launcher and fired its grappling line as well, tagging the second Windam as it dashed by. With both Windams now caught, Turbine enacted the next part of his plan.
He ignited his own engines and snapped his wings wide open. Flaring them to full width, the AI accelerated straight up, pulling both cables taught and whipping both machines upside down. Fritz's swearing echoed over the COMM lines, but Turbine didn't even react to it. He stayed focused and gunned his engines to full. The AI began to slowly spin, drawing the cables in as he did so. He began to accelerate the spinning as he came to a stop just above the city. The cables jerked taut and the two Atlantian machines began to slowly move away from one another, Turbine now seeming like his namesake as he continued to accelerate.
A few mobile suit pilots below were stunned as they watched Turbine's tactic, and Marcus was gobsmacked as he watched the AI in action.
"What is he doing?!" he whispered in shock before he was forced to block a saber strike from the Windam he and Alicia were facing.
The AI was now rotating at maximum speed, a cry escaping him as he suddenly released both cables, sending the two Windams flying in different directions. One of them went sailing right into another mountain and exploded, killing the pilot inside. The Windam piloted by Fritz, on the other hand, flared its engines and struggled to right itself as it careened through the air out of control. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his machine's thrusters to the limit and finally managed to regain control. He drove both his machine's feet into the ground and skidded, the joints of the legs giving out and causing them to collapse and buckle. His Windam landed on its back, coming to a rest well over five miles from the base. He slowly unbuckled his restraints and popped the cockpit hatch before getting out and looking to where the battle was raging.
Turbine finally halted his spinning and turned, looking down at the battle raging below. He folded his wings and dove down, beam sabers in servo.
This time, they were going to win!
And he meant it, too.
"HAAAAH!" The AI's Exceed Phase Shift Armor was struck by a few stray shots, the gray color shifting over to its black and white color scheme as he descended, like a phantom coming at the Atlantian soldiers.
Behind him, he could hear the sirens of the city beginning to wail as the enemy forces continued to advance towards the bridges and the entryways to the city. His optics flashed as he felt the telltale surge of data that was his SEED Mode activating, along with the dulling of his emotions. He grasped his beam sabers tightly before he ignited their cyan blades. A loud battle cry escaped his vocalizer as he sped towards the bridges, landing on one and driving both blades into the metal structure and swinging them to either side, cutting clean through the supports and plating. The AI sprang off as the metal began to groan under the weight of the linear tanks that were starting to cross in an effort to up the pressure on the city defenders.
Both sides collapsed, the metal finally giving way and falling into the punji pit beneath the city. As it stood, the methane gas in the pit had already started to dissipate, but enough remained to suffocate the men inside the pit as they clambered out of their damaged tanks. Their bodies collapsed on their vehicles and Turbine felt no pity for them. Why should he when they had murdered countless civilians and children all in an effort to create super soldiers to wipe out the Coordinators in an out-of-control temper tantrum?
The AI's thoughts were interrupted when he heard an explosion and his helm snapped in the direction of another battle not far off.
He zoomed his optics in on Marcus and Alicia's fight, and he was on the move, his wings splayed wide open as he snapped the railguns within them forward over his shoulders. He replaced his beam sabers on his rear skirt armor before he grasped his Shorty beam rifles and pulled them free from his side skirt armor. Without even hesitating, he fired off a few rounds from his weapons, striking the crazy Windam and its pilot. The unit's armor took the brunt of the shots, but that was enough to draw the pilot's attention to him instead of the two resistance aces.
His optics flashed as he charged in, only to brake right as the Windam's beam sabers came his way. He boosted back and fired his railguns, the two slugs hitting the back of the unit. The Jet Striker's wings were ripped straight off, causing the machine to plummet towards the ground.
The pilot spun his machine around for one last attack and threw a single beam saber in a last ditch effort to hit one of the trio that had nailed him.
Turbine was not expecting what happened next.
"NO!"
. . .
Marcus watched in utter shock and horror as the beam saber came his way.
His eyes were wide and he swore he was going to die today.
After everything he had been through, done and promised to the resistance... he was going to die to a beam saber thrown by a crazy ace?!
He knew instinctively that despite his uncanny piloting skills, there was no way even he could move his machine's defense rods up in time to block it. And firing at it was out of the question as well. Moving was impossible. The beam saber was getting closer...
And then it happened.
A blur of color reached his vision and then his machine was slammed hard, sending him plummeting as he cried out, being jostled by the impact and the sudden loss of height. The next thing he recalled was hearing a loud explosion as his monitors were overwhelmed with light and fire followed by shrapnel as he plunged from the sudden shockwave. Marcus lost focus and his SEED Mode went dormant as he struggled to regain his senses. He shook his head before he pulled back on the controls on sheer instinct, kicking on his Blast's thrusters and coming to a hover. He opened his eyes, seeing the ground below and the sky above. He angled his Blast to face the direction he had come from, and was shocked to see the flaming debris of another Blast plummeting to the earth.
"...no..." he whispered, shock flooding his body.
The remnants of Alicia's Blast fell, crashing in a plume of dust and debris.
Marcus closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he gripped the controls of his machine. He ducked his head, his bangs hiding his eyes in shadow as his shoulders shook. "Dammit... I told you all to stay alive..." he muttered, streaks of tears running down his cheeks.
"Is zat so?" a Germanic-sounding voice mused over the radio. "Zen you share ze same values as us, yes?"
Marcus's eyes snapped open, showing an intense, grim determination unlike anything people had seen. His face was still stained with tear streaks as he triggered the COMMs. The image of the enemy pilot who had addressed him appeared on the monitor and the rebel ace snarled. "No. I don't!" he hissed. "I am not one of you, and never have been! I'm not a ruthless, callous man. I only kill when it really counts, and right now..." His eyes narrowed as he moved his machine's servo to the linear rifle on the back. He grasped it and pulled it loose from its back mounting.
"...is when it counts!" he spat, aiming the gun and firing, sending the 60mm rounds from the twin barrels either side of the main barrel right for the Windam. The pilot reacted swiftly, bringing his machine's shield up to block the rounds, but the sheer explosive force of their combined power was enough to throw him back. He righted his machine, only to gasp as Marcus lunged forward, afterburners burning red-hot as he fired his linear rifle a few more times, a beam saber held in his free servo.
"This is the end for you!" he roared.
"Vhat?!" The enemy ace was caught off guard with the sudden brutality with which Marcus fought. The rebel pilot's eyes were hard like sapphires, and his teeth were bared as he charged in, completely catching the enemy by surprise. The sheer fury with which he attacked was enough to make the pilot fall back desperately, trying to evade destruction at the hands of this enraged fighter.
But it was not as brutal as the sudden scream as something literally body-slammed into the Windam from behind.
Marcus was caught by surprise as he stared at the black and white blur that was Turbine, fists literally wailing on the shield of the Windam as the Ghoul tried to keep the enraged AI from breaking his defenses. Intense metal-on-metal impacts reached his hearing and the sheer whine of his thrusters as he pushed the machine back was enough to indicate Turbine's sheer fury as he attacked relentlessly.
The AI's wings snapped wide open as he placed both feet on the enemy machine and pushed off, shoving it back and allowing him to fire his railguns, only for another Windam to fly in and catch its comrade. As the two enemy machines retreated, the others began to fall back as well, flares firing off in the distance.
Marcus glanced up, and his eyes widened as he stared at the shapes of several planes coming in, each armed to the teeth with bombs. "Oh... shit...!" he whispered as his stomach sank. "That... is not good..."
. . .
"We have Atlantian bombers incoming!" the radar operator practically screamed. "They're headed right for us!"
Keith glanced over, his eyes widening as his stomach dropped. "Crap..." he whispered. He slammed both hands down on the desk. "Are the defenses finally up and running?" he demanded.
"Yes, sir!" she nodded. "They're awaiting your orders!"
"Then tell them to fucking open fire!" he shouted.
She nodded and turned in her seat to address the gunners over the intercom system.
. . .
Across the perimeter of the city, the guns that had been stripped from the Destroy Gundam came online, their barrels pivoting skyward to aim at the incoming bombers. The five bombers were part of the 13th Bomber Group, and they had been called in by Bruno in an effort to try and bring down the city via bombing. After all, he had reasoned, if they couldn't breach the trenches, then the best way was to bomb the place into submission. Not even what measely weapons they had could reach that height.
But he was wrong.
As he stood atop his Windam's shoulder, Bruno was stunned to see a barrage of green laser fire arcing skyward, creating a veritable curtain of AA fire that tore into three of the bombers, shredding their wings and causing them to plummet from the air, smoke trailing from their wounds and fire erupting from their engines in their agony. He slowly turned, watching as one of the wounded planes began to fall, leaving a thick, black, smoky trail behind it as it did so. It fell off to the side, slamming into the ground and causing an eruption of smoke and fire that reached hundreds, if not thousands, of feet into the sky.
Another plane smashed headlong into one of its companions, and both exploded abruptly, having touched off their bomb loads and fuel, sending shrapnel and debris everywhere. He could only stare in horror as the third plane wobbled before slowly plunging from the sky, its right wing gashing through the fifth and final plane, causing both to slam into the mountains ringing the city. It was an utter disaster.
The bombers had been completely demolished by the guns from the Destroy Gundam.
And it was all thanks to those rebels.
A growl escaped him as he turned and slipped back into his Windam's cockpit.
The next time, they would not survive. That, he vowed, would be the last time anyone messed with Ghoul Squadron.
. . .
DECEMBER 25th, CE 0073
Christmas Day.
Normally a day for celebration, this day was one that was somber.
And for good reason.
They had just lost one of their ace pilots.
The entire team of Strider Squadron and Retribution Squadron all stood in the hangar bay, assembled in front of the dock where Alicia's Blast had once stood. A number of personnel had already placed an amount of tributes and mementos to the late Alicia Warden. A photo of her was placed on the catwalk before the spot where the cockpit had been, and a few words had been inscribed on the scaffolding itself.
Turbine was the most distraught as he stood there, his shoulders shaking a bit as choked sobs came from his vocalizer.
And in some way, it made sense. Keith himself was upset, but for Turbine, it was a lot more personal, he knew. He had been close to her as a comrade in arms, and he saw her as like a sister. In fact, the whole major resistance cell down here saw itself as one huge family. So it was always a shock when they lost someone.
The only good news that had come from this battle was that one of Ghoul Squadron had also been killed.
And that itself gave Keith some hope.
Hope, and knowledge, that Ghoul Squadron could and would be beaten.
And this time, he vowed, they would definitely win.
No matter what it took.
