Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. And this one is gonna be a doozy. :3

Review replies:

- operation meteor: I'm glad ya liked it. :) And yes, the AI is gonna be a key asset in this fight. ;3 Have an idea already planned out~! XD

- Spiceracksargent001: Glad ya liked. :) And for the record, the ship is actually a Nahel Argama class. :3

- HeirOfRohan: Glad ya enjoyed it, and oh, yes! I am enjoying this fic for sure! XD And the US will really ramp up their activities later on in the story. :)

(Shows a small ember flickering as darkness threatens to extinguish it)

START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO

(The ember is strengthened as a wind gust blows the darkness away, creating a raging fire that parts to show a young man with a phoenix tattoo on his left forearm in a field with a tattered American flag draped over his shoulders)

Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (He looks up and sprints forward, the flag flying off his back as he leaps into the air, the wind catching the flag as it flies off)

Pass the orbit beyond the sky (The young man lands atop a mobile suit carrier, standing as it hovers just above a city, fires raging beneath him)

I can't hold back this rushing speed (The scene then shifts to show it from a mobile suit's camera perspective before pivoting to show the young man in a pilot suit with a phoenix emblem on the right shoulder)

A familiar town becomes a diorama (The mobile suit is shown on camera as it pans out, revealing a black and dark grey clad machine with blue optics as it blasts over his old hometown, riots in the streets)

Burst through the unclear skies (Smoke drifts up as it shows several soldiers running through the streets, firing at other soldiers wearing Atlantic Federation uniforms before a swirl of flames engulfs the screen)

Blow away your worries and discontent (A gust of wind parts the flames, showing the young man's mobile suit standing amidst burning ruins, a Blue Cosmos mobile suit in front of him)

Who needs a journey that's by the book? (The camera pans to the left as the black clad machine lunges, a blue beam saber igniting and flying at the other machine, both pilots shown superimposed over their respective mobile suits)

Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (A flash of light erupts from the clashing point of their beam sabers, vanishing to show the young man trembling as he pushes his machine's Striker pack to the limit)

Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The scene shifts to show the man on the bridge of a battleship, battered and bloodied as he faces down another man whose eyes seem to glow red)

I'll watch the unknown horizon with you (An image of the young man's wife flashes in his mind before he is shown lunging for the other man, a knife poised at his throat)

Now be strong, jump on, and become the wind (A fiery image appears in his mind's eye as it spreads its wings, shedding aside the darkness)

Use the sun that lights tomorrow as a guide (The image becomes the sun, and the camera pans to the right to show the black and grey machine, a new Striker Pack on its back)

Fly off to the glorious world of freedom! (The machine's fiery wings spread and it dashes off, becoming a speck as feathers of fire float down, one of them landing on a scorched Atlantic Federation flag, a repaired American flag flying over it)

GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING

Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall

- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane

CHAPTER V: HONORED AMBITIONS

November 18th, CE 73

Keith's eyes narrowed as he scanned over the data from the AI's studies.

For his sake, the project had to go through.

He had heard much of the rumors circulating about Xen's first attempt at developing such a combat-capable AI, and the resulting aftermath. That was what had chilled him to the bone, and prompted his swift defection from the AF during the First BV War. And that was the basis for his own project, the BOLO Initiative. The AI had to think like a human, have human morality, and human flexibility. In fact, it was him who had spilled the beans of her research, as he had been assigned as well to the base at the time. But in light of any actions taken against her, he had defected as soon as he was able to.

And so far, despite his best efforts over the last few days, there had been no luck on the jacked AI's sentience level.

Oh sure it was learning, and the last few hours of teaching it the gentle side of parenting was showing some progress, but it had yet to even question what it was learning.

He sighed as he buried his head in his hands, growling in frustration. There had to be some way to increase the AI's learning capacity... but as it stood, no one was sure how. Sure he had scoured all literature on AI as well as read countless books, played video games, watched films... but there was something that was just missing from this.

A way to teach it right from wrong. And a way to encourage the growth of emotions.

That last one was tricky. Sure he could program them in, but he wanted it to feel genuine emotions.

Keith slumped back in his chair, throwing his head back as he flicked out a hand, hitting the play button on a small tablet. A song from an old AD era film began to play, and he opened his eyes.

Start "Reach for the Light" - Balto

The AI's screens flickered before he looked to them. "AI-23, that's enough for today."

"STATEMENT: AFFIRMATIVE."

There it was. That monotonous tone of voice. Keith actually found he hated that voice. He had always imagined the AI to have a male tone, more rich and natural in tone, but with a faint metallic edge. Just like that of Optimus Prime in a way. And yet here he was, stuck with this thing and its obnoxious voice setting. It couldn't be helped, though. There was no way to add a proper voice setting.

Sure he could program it, but would that make him better than Xen? No. It wouldn't. It would only make him worse than he thought.

Keith finally sighed. "I just don't get it..." he muttered to himself. "Everything I try... Everything I've done and learned... What am I doing wrong?"

"QUERY: WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"

"Like you'd understand..." Keith mused, unaware of what he was even doing. "You're just a bunch of ones and zeros with a directive to learn and wipe out the Coordinators."

"STATEMENT: THIS AI'S DIRECTIVE IS TO LEARN AND WIPE OUT THE COORDINATOR RACE."

"And that I hate!" the computer whiz hissed. "Any AI that is bound to that directive is just a menace waiting to attack! And I want to change that!"

"QUERY: YOU WISH TO CHANGE THIS AI'S DIRECTIVE?"

"Yes! Because there is so much that your kind could do for the world as a force of good!" Keith exclaimed.

"..." Silence filled the room for a moment.

"But what would you know?" Keith grumbled. "You don't know what it's like to have to see children suffer... be ripped from their parents when they are imprisoned... see them being sold by police to the black market that then sells them to LOGOs... You wouldn't even understand the whole thing. You wouldn't know the fury, the anger... the grief... the rage... the hatred towards the men who do this..."

"STATEMENT: AI DO NOT FEEL EMOTIONS. EMOTIONS ARE ILLOGICAL."

"Not true," Keith retorted, closing his eyes. "Emotions are important in life. We have joy, love, hope, anger, frustration, determination, passion... The whole gamut. It's not wrong to have them. But if you have none, then what are you? Just a machine. And in a way... so are those kids."

"STATEMENT: DOES NOT COMPUTE."

"And it shouldn't," Keith muttered. "Those kids deserved a better life... a life that was not dedicated to war. They deserved to live and grow up, to become doctors, nurses, scientists, politicians, business owners... whatever they decided in life. They deserved to find what they chose to do. Not this..."

"QUERY: HUMANS DO NOT HAVE A DIRECTIVE?"

"Nope. Oh sure we may choose a career, but we choose it. We are not given that career," Keith explained. "And those men who did that to those kids do not deserve to even be called humans if they brutally reprogram children like machines."

"STATEMENT: DOES NOT COMPUTE."

"Yeah. It baffles me too." The computer whiz ran his hand through his hair as he opened his eyes again. "Technically, I never really understood why they resorted to such barbaric actions. It's completely at odds with what we as humans believed prior to this: that children were the next generation and deserved to be protected. Those men... LOGOs... They threw all humanity and empathy out the window with their greed and fear. Most people actually want answers as to what's really happening, but all they're getting is lies."

"STATEMENT: HUMAN LARVAE DO NOT CONTRIBUTE MUCH TO THE HUMAN RACE."

Keith snorted. "Of course you'd think that, since you have no emotions to speak of. But let me ask you something. Hypothetically, if you were human and saw such actions taking place, what would you do?"

"STATEMENT: SCENARIO DESCRIBED DOES NOT CONCERN THIS AI."

"It should," Keith muttered.

There was silence in the room before the AI spoke again. "STATEMENT: THIS AI SEEKS MORE TO LEARN."

"Not now," Keith said, rubbing his face with his hands. "I'm just tired right now. I just need to know what it is I'm missing... to give you a sense of what it feels like... To understand... To feel..."

He gritted his teeth as he suddenly sat up, punching his desk. "Just what am I missing?! What am I missing here?!" he cried. "Everything I've read and done... Everything I've learned... There has to be something here... But what is it?!"

"QUERY: HUMAN ORGANIC DOES NOT HAVE DATA?"

"NO! I have data, but I just need something... something... more... here," Keith admitted, his hair covering his eyes in shadows. "Something that you need as much as me..."

"QUERY: WHAT DOES HUMAN ORGANIC NEED?"

"I don't know, AI-23..." he muttered. "I just don't know..."

The AI was silent for a moment more before Keith spoke to it. "AI-23, enter standby phase. Your learning is done for today."

"ENTERING STANDBY PROTOCOL."

End "Reach for the Light"

The screen went dark and the laptop's screens shut down, exposing the background on his computer. Keith looked out from his office, noticing that the optics on the Strike Dagger dimmed almost to the point of being offline.

Keith sighed as he looked down at his feet, clenching his fists in his lap. The door to his office slid open and he didn't even need to know the voice of the speaker to know who it was. The footsteps were light, and he could tell from the clacks of the high heels that it was his head analyst for his projects. He didn't even turn to face her as she came to a stop just beside him. "What brings you here?" he asked, his tone rather glum.

"Seeing how you and your little fledgling are doing," her voice joked as she leaned over, startling him.

Keith yelped and scooted back in his chair, trying to keep himself from having a heart attack. "Jeez, Jen! You almost gave me a heart attack!" he rasped.

Jennifer Morris laughed. "Sorry!" she chuckled. "I couldn't help myself."

Jen, despite her playful demeanor, was not a young teenager by any means. She was a woman well into her forties, with light blonde hair and dark grey eyes. She wore a white lab coat, a red T-shirt underneath, and a pair of black jeans with high heels. A necklace hung around her neck and she wore a pair of glasses that helped with correcting her vision. She had a smile on her face as she pulled back from Keith. As a former computer analyst, she had experience in studying different programs that had to relate to AI and even had helped with Xen's projects at one point. But after Jen's Coordinator brother and his wife were killed by the CIA Headhunters, she had taken her nephews and quit her job before moving across the AF to Mexico, where she met up with one of the local resistance cells. As a result of this, her expertise was very useful in helping to root out viruses and back door traps that the enemy could exploit. In fact, it had been her idea to rig up a virus that could infiltrate and mess up the systems of whatever device was used to hack into their firewalls and systems. And that had been the primary reason Xen had pulled back.

To say that it had been a miracle was not even a lie.

The way that Keith didn't even answer though made her worried. She frowned and crossed her arms. "Okay. What's bugging you?" she asked.

"It's this damn AI," he finally admitted. "I've been doing everything I can to teach it, but despite my best efforts... no matter what I've done, it's just not learning the way I want it to!" He punched his desk with a fist. "That thing just doesn't understand! Even after I did show it the gentle side of human nature!"

Jen pursed her lips as she chewed on her tongue thoughtfully. "Hmm... Well, maybe you're looking at this the wrong way. I mean, I may be no expert on AI like Xen or you-"

"Some expert I am..." Keith muttered to himself.

"-, but I do know one thing and that is an AI is always, first and foremost, a tool. Many people may have beliefs in that AI can be humanized, and while that may be the case in fiction, this is reality," Jen explained. "Your goal is good, I will admit. But you have to be realistic. You can't just expect this to happen overnight. Or even within a few weeks. It may take centuries for an AI to even evolve to that level."

"But we don't have that kind of time!" Keith protested, standing up. "I want this thing to be done here and now! Not centuries later!"

Jen raised her hands. "I understand, Keith. Believe me, I want it to be done sooner, too. But I'm looking at the bigger picture here in terms of realism. You're not looking at it like the tool it is. It may be an AI, but that's all it is. A tool."

"Dammit, Jen! I was expecting help! Not this lecture again!" Keith retorted, glaring at her.

"I know! And I'm trying to help you!" Jen insisted. "What I'm trying to tell you is that you have to think of this like Xen would!"

"And how would that be?" Keith snapped. "Thinking of it as just a child?!"

Jen gave a smirk as she leaned back. "What do you think?" she remarked.

Keith's eyes suddenly went wide as the realization smacked him hard in the face. He slumped back in his seat, staring in disbelief. He had heard of treating animals like human children, but to treat an AI the same way? He had known Xen harbored affection for her creations and put all her effort into seeing them grow and learn, evolving with each subsequent generation. But this... for him to teach an AI the same way as a child now?

That was when it hit him.

He had been missing something.

Something both he and the AI needed.

A family.

Well, maybe not really, as his parents were still alive. But in all honesty, he had wanted to settle down and find someone to marry and have kids with. But when LOGOs had begun their campaign of genocide against Coordinators and warped American ideals, that had all been put onto the backburner until they won back their country from the aristocratic men who ruled from the shadows.

And the AI needed someone to guide it in absence of its fellow AIs. So... perhaps this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

He finally sighed, looking to Jen. "Jen... you are sometimes impossible to deal with, you know that?" he stated, smirking.

"That's just me," Jen joked as she placed her hands on her hips, still grinning. "Regardless, you know what to do?"

Keith gave a nod. "Yeah. But..." Here his face lost its smirk. "It's what the AI is lacking that makes me concerned, Jen."

Jen pursed her lips as she grasped what he was getting at. "I see... the issue of emotions."

He nodded.

"And you don't want to program them in, do you?" Jen mused.

The computer whiz gave a shake of his head.

"I thought so," Jen muttered with a sigh.

"Yeah. I...I mean... what can I do to give it that without programming it in?" he asked.

Here Jen frowned as she leaned back against the window overlooking the main hangar of the base. Her gaze was locked onto the Strike Dagger that currently lay on the maintenance berth, its remaining leg lying limply over the edge. The head was looking straight up at the ceiling, optics dark. The chest was still, as it did not need to breathe. But just from looking at it, Keith got the feeling like if it were alive in the sense they were, it would have been in agony from its missing limbs. Limbs that could be replaced. But the sheer thought of even an AI in such suffering made him grimace. She sighed.

"Honestly, Keith, there is no way to do so. Think, Keith. Think. An AI has no feeling, no nerves, no nothing," Jen stated. "Right now, it's inside of a machine. There is no way for it to even feel pain. Physically, it's dead. Without the appropriate sensors or stimuli, it won't even grasp the concept of pain and suffering in the way we humans do."

Keith's eyes narrowed as he pondered her words.

True, machines did lack sensory stimuli like that of humans. But there were still some sensors that mimicked certain senses of human beings, like audio receptors and optical sensors. Tactile sensations were out of the question, to be sure. But... what if there was a way to simulate them? Tactile sensors were an option, but if it had them installed on its frame, then it would be a big risk as the AI would also no doubt be distracted by the novelty of having such a sense.

But what about implementing a system that could convey pain? Something like the agony of a lost limb... perhaps through its wires and systems at certain points like the joints of its fingers...?

Jen watched as his eyes went sort of dim as his mind began to work. A smile crossed her face as she looked back at the AI's suit lying there.

A concerned frown turned her smile upside down as her own eyes softened. The poor AI did in a way remind her of a kid trapped in the Extended program. From what Dr. Rustal had sent to them after his defection, the memories and minds of the children were altered to render them perfect soldiers. And if an AI underwent subsequent upgrades and frequent reprogramming, wasn't it the same thing?

In her mind, it wasn't. But the more she tried to tell herself that, there was no denying the harsh reality of what was going on here.

It was the same thing. An infantile AI like this one was no more than a kid. And with constant upgrades and reprogramming, it was like maintaining an Extended soldier mentally.

The thought made her sick as she turned back to Keith.

The young man's mind was already working overtime as he was scrawling out suggestions for the techs to implement while he worked out the fine programming needed for such things to happen. From the looks of things, he was not just working out plans to give the AI a sense of touch to a degree, but also designing something much more formidable than just the base Strike Dagger model that the AI was currently housed in. She could see faintly a set of wings taking shape, combined with a more muscular looking frame design and a V-fin...

She had to admit. Keith may not have been an engineer, but when he put his mind to something, he was determined to see it through, even if it meant doing something that he wasn't good at. But his design was actually really good.

The more she studied it, the more she realized he could've made an excellent mechanical engineer, not just a computer whiz. She chuckled a bit as she turned and left the young man to work.

Maybe this project of his would work out after all.

. . .

Keith was nervous as the commander skimmed over his proposal.

In all honesty, even he wasn't sure if it would even work. But considering what was at stake, it made sense to at least try.

Commander Ibarra finally looked up from the papers.

"Keith. You have to be crazy," he stated. "In all my time working with you, I never expected you to pull something as insane as this."

"But what choice do we have?" Keith insisted.

The commander frowned as he slid the papers back to the young man. "I understand your commitment to this. But it is incredibly dangerous."

"And so is Xen's project! You know what I did and why!" Keith shot back, placing his hands on the man's desk. "And even if you don't permit it, I will still do it anyway!"

The two stared one another down, not even budging from their stances. Keith knew he was pushing his luck with this one, but he was determined to see it through somehow. And while the commander was firmly on his side, he did have his reservations about how far Keith was willing to go.

Still, with everything else in play, what other choice did they have?

Commander Ibarra finally sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Okay... You got me there," he admitted. "But you do have to realize the dangers of this."

"And how else is that AI supposed to learn suffering?" Keith retorted. His eyes narrowed. "I was willing to go to other lengths, but after some talking with Jen, she inspired me to take a different tact to it. And this was it."

"Tormenting a human being is one thing. But an AI?" The Mexican shook his head. "You're really playing with fire, Keith."

"As is the Alliance," the computer whiz snarked.

The man closed his eyes, then opened them as he tented his fingers. "Okay. Just... be careful, Keith. This very project has never been done before, and this whole idea of yours is really making me uneasy now."

"And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for doing so," the younger man replied. "I don't mean to seem like a mad scientist, but then again, who isn't mad these days?"

The commander gave a grim scowl. "I know some people who are mad," he muttered. "As in the clinically mad."

Keith nodded. "And that's why I'm doing this. If I can just give that AI a parental figure... this may work."

The Mexican nodded gravely. He finally stood up. "Keith. If this works, I won't doubt you again. But if it doesn't..." The unsaid statement was enough to make Keith nod in agreement.

The younger man didn't need to be told he would be arrested and court-martialed for his actions here.

He had to succeed here no matter the cost.

He had to...

For everyone.

Keith grabbed the papers from his superior's desk and left the office, now having been given the green light. However, the next part required him to do something he didn't want to do himself. Which was why he was handing it off to another on base. The man in question was a purebred technophobe when it came to AIs. And technically Keith couldn't blame him.

But that was just what he had been counting on. The simulations would take a bit longer to rig up, but hopefully it would be finished by the time he was through speaking to the chief engineer at the base.

And he knew just where to find the man.

He turned and made his way down the hallway towards the mess hall.

The mess hall was filled with pilots, soldiers, scientists, technicians, and some of the command staff. It was close to lunch at this point, and it was just as well. Keith could see the man he was seeking.

The chief engineer was a man in his late thirties, with short brownish hair and gentle warm brown eyes, but beneath that kind façade was a man who put great perfection to his work in mobile suit construction and design. Sure he may not have been top of the class when it came to them, but the fact he was working for one of the resistance's biggest arms suppliers for their machines was the very reason he was even at this base to begin with. His eyes were narrowed as he studied the specs for his latest design, a burrito held loosely in one hand and a pen in the other as he worked out some of the weight calculations.

Neizan Castilla didn't even look up as Keith made his way over to the table he was sitting at. "What?" he asked bluntly.

"It's about my project's progress," Keith said simply as he sat down. "I need something for this."

"What would that be?" Neizan asked, his eyes flicking over to eye Keith critically.

"A new frame." Keith held up his papers and slid one over. The paper's contents caught Neizan's eye and he finally turned his head, looking at the design plans. He slowly set his burrito down on its plate before he put the pen down off to the side and grabbed the paper, scanning it over.

He lifted his gaze five minutes later. "You sure?"

Keith nodded.

"I'll see what I can do. But remember this depends on the thing's fighting style," Neizan pointed out. "It could change."

"I'm well aware," Keith noted. "I have a few others in the works too."

Neizan pursed his lips before he slid the paper back and grabbed his burrito, pointing the food at him. "You know I have my limits. Given the fact we lack a fusion reactor for it, we'll have to go with batteries."

"It's only resemblance is purely aesthetic," Keith clarified. "We can put the rail guns inside the wings."

The company liaison nodded, already his keen mind beginning to work.

"What was the idea behind this one?" he asked.

"The Freedom and the Strike Noir," Keith explained. "I already have a name planned, but I need to wait a bit to see what kind of fighting style this AI has first."

"And you want a few others built as well?" Neizan asked.

"Not yet," the other man replied. "Keep these on the backburner for now. But be ready to construct them once the time comes."

"Got it." Neizan went back to his lunch and resumed his prior work. But then he paused. "One question. Who's going to do it?"

Keith pursed his lips before looking down. "Kenta."

The engineer nodded. "Kid's good, but he's technophobic. Remember?"

"Precisely why I asked him to do this," Keith explained. "But... I'm just not sure how well it will go."

Neizan didn't even respond. He just looked up at Keith, and narrowed his eyes. "Keith. Kenta does not like AI. He's got a good reason, too. Remember who he used to work for before he defected?"

Keith did recall. He nodded. "Yes. I remember."

The Mexican sighed. "If you're sure in doing this... then be ready for if he goes too far."

The younger man gave a nod before he stood up. "Thanks, Neizan."

He turned and left, leaving Neizan to his lunch.

He had plans to make.

. . .

Southeastern France

November 18th, CE 73

DURING THE BERLIN BATTLE TEN HOURS AGO...

The woman panted heavily as she glanced around, her eyes narrowed slightly.

Behind her she could hear fighting raging as her unit kept up the harassment efforts against the Atlantic Federation.

She could barely hear the cries as she ran, sweat running down her face.

She hesitated and glanced back as she saw one of her fellow soldiers get hit in the gut. He collapsed, clutching at his bleeding stomach. He glanced to her and shook his head. "Sibylle... go!" he rasped, ignoring the blood coming from his mouth.

Major Sibylle Gardinier of the Eurasian Special Operations French Regional Command recoiled from the sight before turning and running as fast as she could through the battlefield, her feet pounding the ground as she ran.

Her short black hair barely stuck out from under her helmet, but her bangs did cover her sharp hazel eyes somewhat. She was in her mid thirties, with a very athletic and fit figure, with toned muscles and strong limbs. Her uniform barely accentuated her curves, but what it did accentuate was enough to earn a few looks from some of her colleagues in her unit. Her combat vest was very utilitarian, but that mattered little to her; as long as it did its job, she didn't care about looking good in combat. She glanced left and right, seeking a place to hide out.

She knew she had to find someplace to hold out. With the orders given to her by her superior, Brigadier General Neuville, to find and make contact with Terminal, she couldn't afford to be caught and killed by the Atlantic Federation. Not since it was of the utmost priority. The only question was: where were they?

Major Gardinier knew that the Archangel and Dominion were a part of said organization, having gone rogue after the First BV War took a turn for the worse. And now, they were working to try and end another one. In her mind, she felt this whole war was overrated, given how Coordinators were just as human as everyone else, prone to the same flaws as Naturals. But with the AF suddenly having shifted to a Nazi mindset, this war was shaping up to be a new genocidal war. And from what she had heard, there was no way that the resistance within the AF would allow it.

She ran as fast as she could, ignoring the burning in her lungs as she struggled to get air into her heaving chest. She was tempted to remove her combat vest, but given the fighting raging around her, it made sense she'd have to keep it on. The more she ran, the farther the gunfire became. But it was only a matter of time until someone caught her and executed her; she wouldn't put it past them to do so now these days. She reached behind her back and pulled out a small capsule, putting it in her mouth as she ran - a cyanide capsule. If she was caught by the AF, she would die before letting them have their way with her, least of all get information on the resistance. The major tucked the capsule between her teeth, and after making sure it was secure, she focused on the terrain ahead of her.

Start UNICORN - Gundam Unicorn OST - by Hiroyuki Sawano

As she ran, she had no idea that a large shape was looming over her from the rear. Normally, most SpecOps soldiers would be aware of their surroundings, but given how the major was in a hurry to escape the brutal fighting, she was unaware of the danger. So when she felt the ground shake, she assumed it was due to the impact from a shell. But there was no cloud of dust. So she guessed that it was a residual shockwave.

But that was dismissed when she heard the familiar whine of servos.

The whine of servos belonging to that of a mobile suit.

Major Gardinier glanced back, and her eyes widened as she saw one of the Atlantic Federation's Windams standing behind her, reaching out to grab her in its metallic hand. Thinking fast, the major dove to the side, landing in a ditch and skidding down it before running as fast as she could for the other end; the ditch had been carved out by a beam rifle shot from either the AF's Windams or the EF's Strike Daggers, and it was beneath a cluster of trees: somehow by a sheer stroke of luck the shot's intense heat had not set these trees ablaze. And she seized the opportunity this presented to evade the Windam chasing her.

She kept running until she reached the other side of the ditch. Scrambling up the side was a bit easier said than done, but she did it. The Windam pilot stood their machine upright and began to walk in her direction. But the major was not about to stop.

She spun around, her hand flying for the flare gun in her pocket. While not a weapon that was of any use against a mobile suit, it would serve to signal anyone in the area... provided they were friendly, of course. She faced the Windam as it came to a halt before her, and the external speakers crackled. She narrowed her eyes as the pilot's voice came over them.

"Still trying to resist to the end, lady?" he asked, his voice holding a tone of arrogance to it. "Feh. Now I see why the brass chose to dismiss the rest of your kind."

"My kind?!" Major Gardinier hissed. "I hate to break it to you, but regardless of our gender, we are all humans, buster!"

The man snorted as he raised his machine's rifle, aiming it right for her. "Regardless of what you believe, there is only room for one thing in this war: total victory against the space monsters. And we will succeed, especially without the likes of-"

He never got to finish what he was about to say.

And that was because something was coming. Something huge, flying... and bristling with firepower.

He heard the engines first, and he lifted his machine's head up, and the major swore for a moment she saw the optical visor brighten in shock before he staggered back, his Windam lifting off a short moment later to try and get a look at the incoming vessels, keeping its gun aimed at her. She turned to stare in awe as the ships drew closer, the light from the sun hitting them and making them seem to glow with its radiance.

The major's eyes widened as she recognized the white and red shape of the famed White Legend, and with it was the Dark Angel, its black and red coloring a stark contrast to its sister ship.

And both vessels were coming full speed towards her location.

Her hand flew out, pulling the flare gun with it and she aimed it skyward. She pulled the trigger and the green flare was launched into the sky, its brilliant blazing light catching the attention of one of the ships. Or at least she hoped so.

She could feel her heartbeat increase triple time as the ships continued onward, seemingly ignorant of her flare. Her arm slowly lowered, and fear of failure began to fill her gut. There was no way they had been able to miss it...

At least until the White Legend began to swing around, its large mass seeming to glide like the angel it was named after. The white ship slowly banked to the left, its weapons starting to come about. The major's heart stopped as she saw what was about to happen. If the ship fired its guns at her position...

She could be killed.

But much to her surprise and relief, the Windam that had been about to attack her launched itself at the enemy ships, gun blazing in its hand as it fired repeatedly. The Windam's pilot had to either be crazy or suicidal, but she doubted it was the second. So that meant the guy had to be crazy. No pilot in their right mind would attack a warship like that with only one mobile suit.

And it was just as well, too.

The Windam was gunned down by the Archangel's "Igelstellung" 75mm automatic multi-barrel CIWS guns as it drew closer. The destroyed machine plummeted to the ground below and she gaped in shock as the white vessel peeled to the right, this time heading right for her location.

A sense of relief overcame Major Gardinier as she watched the White Legend come in for a landing. She broke into a run, her other hand flying for the communicator she had been given in her pocket.

It was finally time for an international alliance to be rebuilt.

The Archangel finally touched down, allowing the major to finally see the ship in its full glory.

In her mind, it was like being in the presence of an angel. The way the ship seemed to radiate its divine fury at those attacking all for conquest drew her to it. She didn't know how else to describe it. She was never a firm believer in the divine, but after this battle, she felt renewed faith in the Lord and His will. The major reached the ship shortly after, just as one of the side doors slid open. A ladder was thrown out, and she could see one of the crewmen waving frantically for her to get in.

Major Gardinier didn't even waste a minute. She bolted for the Archangel just as more whining was heard: the sound of thrusters. Mobile suits. More Windams, she guessed. Already the CIWS of the White Legend was locking onto them and the guns began to chatter, sending their fury right for the incoming machines. Beams began to fall around the vessel, and each one she knew was a hazard to her health. And she didn't want the ship or its sister to become the next targets of a large group of Windams or even - God forbid - that monstrosity attacking Berlin. Her eyes locked onto that hole in the side of the ship and she reached out a hand, grabbing onto the ladder just as the White Legend began to lift off. The ladder began to get pulled up, but the major was not about to be left out. She began to climb as well, surprising the crewmembers pulling the ladder up.

She reached the top just as the Archangel began to bank around. A pair of hands grabbed her by her shoulders and two more by her arms, and they pulled her inside as the rest of the crew pulled the ladder inside, allowing the door to slide shut.

The major was released and she collapsed to her hands and knees, her helmet falling off her head beside her as she panted deeply. She looked up, sweat running down her face, and she grinned as she glanced at the crew members. "Bonjour," she greeted. "Est-ce l'archange par hasard?"

The crewmen looked at one another before one of them cleared his throat. "Yes, this is the Archangel," he explained. "And for the record, mind me asking what the hell you were doing out there going against a Windam with nothing on you except a flare gun?"

Major Gardinier staggered to her feet, brushing off her uniform and saluting. "Major Sibylle Gardinier, Eurasian Special Operations French Regional Command. I am here on behalf of my superior, Brigadier General Mathieu Neuville. And I have orders to provide you with all the information you need on the situation down here in Southeastern France."

"That still doesn't answer my question," the crewman stated as he narrowed his eyes.

"It does," the major retorted, not lowering her hand. "I was ordered to find you and make contact. Technically, me and my unit were, but they gave their lives to allow me to find you."

The huge man didn't even blink as he crossed his arms, looking down. And from her perspective, the major couldn't blame him for being suspicious. Then again, who would trust a woman who had just arrived all bloodied and sweaty?

He finally sighed. "Give me a moment to talk with the Captain," he stated.

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

End UNICORN - Gundam Unicorn OST - by Hiroyuki Sawano

. . .

Murrue was surprised to hear this when she got word from the crew about the major.

For all she knew, it could be a trick. It wasn't a far off possibility, but then again, given what was happening, it made sense that the Eurasians would be on the side of Terminal at this point. The only downside was what this meant in the future.

She was waiting in her cabin when the major was escorted to her personally. The door slid open, and in came the special operations soldier.

She clearly carried herself as such, what with the way she walked and held herself proudly. The look in her eyes was also another indicator that she was not one to mess with. Those eyes reflected a steely drive, and in them she could see the secrecy that came with the job. Murrue was tempted to ask her about her service, but she was wise to keep it to herself.

Major Gardinier saluted crisply as she stood at attention. "Major Sibylle Gardinier, Eurasian Special Operations French Regional Command at your service!" she barked.

"At ease, soldier." Murrue nodded. "I understand you told my crew that you had orders to make contact with us?"

"Yes, ma'am," the major stated. "I was ordered by my superior to seek you out and make contact in hopes of establishing an alliance."

That was the last thing Murrue expected to hear. Her eyes widened. "Your superiors seek to form an alliance with Terminal?" she asked in disbelief.

Major Gardinier nodded. "Yes," she said. She then lowered her hand and reached into her pants pocket, pulling out a battered but intact communications unit. Murrue's eyes narrowed a little as the major handed it over. "My superior can be reached with that communicator."

Murrue pursed her lips, but looked the major dead in the eyes. "First off, how can we be sure this is not a trick?"

"I wouldn't be here if it was a trick," Major Gardinier retorted. "We are under attack by the Atlantic Federation, and we seek to stop them, much like you do. And..." Here she paused a bit before she swallowed. "...my superior may have information on the internal state of affairs back in the Atlantic Federation."

The captain's eyes widened a bit at that news. Ever since the war had broken out, and after what had happened ever since Alaska, there had been no real way to know what was even happening back home. All of what they read was either propaganda or outright lies, and there was no mention of anything else aside from some minor disturbances at home. She wondered what was really going on there, and now that she thought about it... despite Eric's own contacts looking into the possibility of LOGOs being real, if there was something else going on in the bowels of the beast, then maybe whatever was happening there could be a real eye opener!

Murrue frowned a bit though. There was still the risk it could be a trick, but... this was too tempting to pass up. And Major Gardinier seemed to sense this. "And to answer your unasked question, it is not a trick," she clarified. "My superior can explain more. But you have to act fast. The AF is going to be jamming communications here in the next few hours."

So there was a time limit, she mused. She decided to take a chance and open communications with this woman's superior.

She had no idea that this would alter the war...

In the favor of an alliance once lost.

An alliance of nations united against the shadows of LOGOs and Durandal alike.

Murrue held up the communicator and pressed the button.

The device beeped before a screeching came from the speaker, causing both women to wince. Murrue had to fight the urge to clap her hands over her ears. Instead, she set the communicator down and fiddled with the buttons on it with one hand. A few minutes later, the screeching stopped.

A male voice came through a moment later. "Is zis thing on?"

Murrue's eyes widened as she recognized the accent as being French. Whomever was on the other end was clearly of native French descent. She slowly raised the device up to face level. She pondered what to say briefly, sparing a quick glance to the major who nodded.

The captain's eyes hardened and she returned it. "This is Captain Murrue Ramius of the Archangel. To whom am I speaking?"

"Ah! Good! Is Major Gardinier there?" the voice asked.

"Yes, she is," Murrue clarified. "And who are you, if I may ask?"

"Thank God. I was fearful she wouldn't make it," the man said with relief. "I am Brigadier General Mathieu Neuville of the 21st Armored Brigade of the Eurasian Federation's 14th Armored Division."

Here Murrue was silent as he continued. "I have sent my subordinate to your ship because there is a bit of something that needs to be done."

"And what would that be?" Murrue asked as she narrowed her eyes. In some way, she was glad this was solely audial communications as it allowed her to keep her face hidden while she felt this man out.

"First off, you may as well learn the whole situation at hand," Brigadier General Neuville explained. "This has everything to do with why the major is there to begin with. She can help fill you in on a few of the other locations that we are fortifying should the unthinkable fall, which I hope to God does not."

"You mean Paris falling, right?" Murrue asked, sensing the grim tone in his voice.

"Oui. I do, Miss Ramius," he stated. "So here is ze situation. So far in northern France there is much fighting, most of it centered around Paris. The city has been heavily fortified with defenses of all types, ranging from tanks, soldiers in dug-in defensive positions, and even mobile suits and artillery. Zey have a few fighter jets as well, but so far they have not been used. Ze Atlantic Federation has every intention to conquer and subjugate us, much like Germany did back in World War II. Other forces have also been engaging at other areas of the northern section, including at Cherbourg and Normandy. Our other units have been engaging in harassment operations behind e front, trying to stop their logistical lines from going much further, but it is a mess. A lot of forces have fallen back to the southeast, where we are setting up a massive line of fortifications we are calling the Redoubt."

"I see. It sounds like you have your hands full," Murrue commented. She leaned back in her desk chair, putting the communicator on her desk. "And what of your superiors? Have they authorized this?"

"Unfortunately not," Neuville admitted. "All communications from my area has been cut off for the moment. We cannot reach Paris, no doubt due to jamming. But if we do get through, I will let zem know about this."

The captain of the Archangel pondered this. If he was willing to take a risk with it, then-

Her musings were suddenly cut off as the device screeched a bit before it faded, and the brigadier general's voice came back. "...not a lot of time left. I need to get this information out before it goes," he said. "Anyway, I am going to organize resistance behind the front as much as I can. Zis way we can harass them as much as possible."

"Very well." Murrue nodded. "That is a sound decision." Then her eyes narrowed. "But there is another reason you are contacting me."

"Very perceptive. Yes, I am," he admitted. "Eurasia seeks to form an alliance with Terminal."

That threw her for a loop. The whole of the Eurasian Federation sought to form an alliance with Terminal?! That right there would put them on par with the Atlantic Federation! That would give them immense logistical and material capabilities to even match the PLANTs! Her eyes were wide as she grasped the implications. That meant they would have a chance to turn the tide of the war!

"Are you serious, General?!" she asked, shocked.

"I am serious, Captain," the brigadier general relayed. "And... also... there... others in the fight... lurking... belly of the beast...to speak..." His voice was beginning to cut in and out as the jamming began to kick in. She adjusted the communicator's frequency a bit before his voice came in clearer for the last time.

"I am sorry, but I think you are getting jammed," Murrue admitted.

"Dammit... May as well be clear. There are others willing to fight. And they are willing to help. I cannot say for I have a feeling that we are being monitored, but I can tell you that those who are fighting with us are in the belly of the beast. They have what you need to disrupt whatever is being planned. That is all I will say. Major Gardinier will act as my liaison to you guys. Any information I get from my allies will be relayed to you through her."

"As you wish, General," Murrue said. Her eyes narrowed as he finally cut the communications and the device went dead.

Fighters within the belly of the beast... Did that really mean...? Her eyes went wide as she grasped the significance of those words. There was an internal resistance in the Atlantic Federation?! If so, how large was it, how well was it organized, was it well armed, and how much intel did it have on the plans of the government? And if it did exist, then maybe they had confirmation of LOGOs' existence!

That did it. She had to contact Heero once the battle in Berlin was over.

This was huge.

And if played right, it could drastically alter the war in their favor...

And away from LOGOs.

. . .

Paris, France, Eurasian Federation

The former capital of France was a madhouse.

The Atlantic Federation forces were surrounding the old city, trying seize it and they had ample firepower to back it up. The huge army lay outside the city's perimeter defenses, their artillery, tanks, and mobile suits backed up by the massive land battleships at the rear. Already shells were hammering the city's historic buildings, turning the City of Love into the City of Ruin. Smoke curled skyward from several large fires already raging in the background din of the battle, and several buildings, once historic landmarks, lay in ruins, mere shells of their former glory. The Eurasian Federation forces that had been ordered to the city just days prior had ample defenses, but they were limited when compared to the might of the Atlantic Federation. This was a downside, but in terms of their firepower, it was nothing short of a miracle that they were holding as long as they were. The city's inhabitants were currently taking shelter in the catacombs beneath the city, only leaving the soldiers above to defend their homes and workplaces.

The Eurasians, for their lack of sufficient equipment, were quite tenacious when pushed to this point. Their conventional defenses were heavy, ranging from tanks to artillery, a number of fighter jets, mobile suits that had their Atlantic Federation operating systems replaced with EF versions, and large amounts of mines, machine guns, and even infantry in dug-in positions. The one good thing to fighting in a city: it was well suited for defense, not offense. And, drawing on experience learned close to two centuries ago in the Second World War, they took advantage of it. Accounts of German defenders in the Second World War fighting in the cities the Allies took were good for learning about what defenses to establish, and how. The EF forces were not ignorant of the truth of history. They learned and adapted accordingly.

The streets had some buildings demolished to create blockades and others had tanks blocking them, guns aimed at incoming forces. Snipers lay in higher structures, aiming to take out AF soldiers or commanders if they passed beyond the gates of the defenses. With these defenses, the AF was going to have a hell of a time penetrating into the city beyond.

Within the boundaries of the city, stood the formidable building known only as the Hexagone Balard. The structure had long been headquarters of the French military, and that was no different within the Cosmic Era. The interior of the building was a madhouse as personnel scurried back and forth, each of them carrying papers or shouting commands to the defenders surrounding Paris.

Further out, the guns of the Atlantic Federation forces fired, sending their shells rocketing into the outskirts of the city. The AF was intent on storming under the Arc de Triomphe, much like Nazi Germany had done in World War II. Unfortunately for them, the French military was not keen on letting that happen again. Due to the determination of their former ally, though, it would only be a matter of time until it happened.

But until it did happen, the French Armed Forces were going to fight it out. The commander of the French Army, the only one who was actually able to lead, was overwhelmed with the sheer number of defenders he had to deal with. Henri Burkhard was not a man who was known for giving up. In fact, he was downright stubborn, especially when it came to defending the country and those he loved. He has short black hair and brown eyes that seemed to take on the color of bronze when he got angry enough. Stubble lined his face from the last few days, and he had bags under his eyes. His body was muscled firmly, but while he still had decent stamina and strength, he was getting up there in years and he possessed a bit of a paunch, something that came with the good food in France. (He vowed from then on to limit the sweets he ate.) He wore the standard Euraisian Federation military uniform, but his was a bit torn along the bottom from shrapnel constantly peppering it.

He held a walkie-talkie in one hand, the device held to his lips and ear as he ran through the building.

"How much longer?!" he barked.

"...trouble... damn...battleships... king our defenses...!" a voice crackled over the small device.

"Dammit...!" Henri growled as the entire building shook, the shockwave from a shell impact close by hitting the structure. He heard glass shattering close by and he had to wince from the sound. He glanced up, his eyes hard.

He held the walkie-talkie up to his ear once more. "Do what you can to keep them busy!" he ordered.

"...our best, sir!" the soldier remarked.

With that, Henri put the device back in his pocket as he bolted for the entrance to the French military headquarters. The doors had been blown open by the shell's impact, and a huge crater stood out in the middle of the parking lot. He ran outside, just in time to see a large dark shape fly overhead: a Windam. His eyes narrowed as he glared at the mechanical beast as it came back around, its Jet Striker granting it incredible speed. Its armaments flashed in the light of the sun as the machine came to a stop and aimed its M9409 beam rifle in his direction.

Only for a blast from a Eurasian Federation Strike Dagger to hit the barrel and send the gun flying from the Windam's metal hand.

He looked back and gave the pilot a salute, earning one back as the machine's right hand went to its head in a salute of its own.

The Windam, however, was not alone. A few more of its kin came overhead, and the Strike Dagger aimed its own beam rifle, pulling the trigger and firing a few quick shots in succession that nailed the heads of the Windams. They were caught off guard by this and made to flee, only for a few other shots to strike their Jet Strikers, causing them to either go out of control or collide with one another. Henri watched as a few other Strike Daggers stood up, losing their debris camouflage as they did so.

The man grinned as he watched the Daggers land and take up positions around the Hexagone Balard. It wasn't much, but it was something, at least.

He turned his gaze back to the battlefront around him. He ran to a nearby parking spot where he had his motorcycle parked. He hopped over the seat and started it up, but not before he put on his helmet. He revved the engine and peeled out of the building's parking lot, screeching around one of the streets and speeding towards the site of where the first set of defenses were located.

His eyes were locked onto the array of tanks and defenders holed up in several evacuated buildings.

In front of the group was a female Coordinator. Marcelline Pierre was in her late thirties, with a mess of green hair and bright red eyes, and tanned skin. She was about the same height as Henri, but unlike her superior, she was somewhat a bit more rested, and she had around her shoulders the HK416, the standard assault rifle for the French Armed Forces. She wore her uniform with pride, having been in the service for almost twenty years at this point. She saluted her boss as he brought his motorcycle to a stop near the defensive line.

"Sir!" she said, holding her salute for a brief moment before he returned it.

"At ease, soldier." She lowered her hand.

Henri looked to the defenses as outside, heavy artillery continued to pound the defenders. "What's the situation here?" he asked.

"So far we're holding our own, but we're taking losses," Marcelline replied, earning a frown from her superior. He looked back at where bodies were being piled up, mostly in bedsheets and makeshift body bags. "We're not sure how long we can hold this position." His eyes narrowed as he studied the layout of the defenses. While solid, it was only a matter of time until it was broken. He couldn't let that happen. No AF soldier was to set foot inside Paris proper. Not as long as he lived.

Henri sighed. "I understand the situation, soldier. But we have to hold it. We cannot let the AF get inside."

Marcelline gave a nod, but her eyes betrayed her worry. "We could hold it longer if we had some mobile suits to back us up."

The commander of the French Army pursed his lips as he pondered this. He knew that France did have a substantial number of mobile suits, mostly Strike Daggers, but they could make do with those. The suits were well armed with a number of weapons pilfered from defeated AF units, but even then it wasn't much good against those damned land battleships.

"I'll see if I can spare some Strike Daggers to provide extra fire support," he told her.

The female soldier nodded. "Also, sir...we have to find a way to take out those blasted land battleships."

"Forget those," he said, startling her.

"But, sir..." Marcelline was about to protest, but when she saw her superior's eyes narrow, she let him continue.

"I know they are a real pain in the ass, but if you think about it, for all their vaunted firepower and supply capacity, they have limits. So we have to hold out long enough to force them to run out of supplies for the troops. And with how much they are throwing at us, it will only be a matter of time for that to happen," he continued.

"And what if they try again?" Marcelline asked.

Henri frowned. "Then we'll have to buckle down for another siege. But as it stands, if we can hold out and force them to drain their supplies and ammunition, we can then bolster our defenses for if they try again. We cannot let them into the city. That is my only order."

A soldier snorted, rolling his eyes. "And then what? If they try again, we'll only be running out of supplies ourselves," he muttered cynically, taking a drag of his cigarette. "It's just the reality of this war."

The Frenchman narrowed his eyes as he looked at the soldier as he leaned against one of the buildings. "If they do try, we'll have to keep holding out," he stated firmly, although deep down he was wondering just how long they could hold.

In truth, there was only so much they could do with what they had. But if anything, his plan of holding out was the only sound one he had. And so far, they were doing just that. The only question was... how long could they?

Would it be long enough? Would the land battleships finally run out of the supplies they carried for the troops? Or would the city fall before then?

All these questions and more raced through his mind as he started to make his way towards the highest point in this defense sector. As part of his plan, he had divided the city into several defense sectors, each commanded by one of his best soldiers. Each sector was given a number, and each reported directly to him. The only thing was that the defenses of each sector had to be consistent, but as to how they were laid out, he left that to his sector commanders. And much to his surprise, most of them had followed the same layout. A few, such as those with the river running through them, had heavily fortified the bridges and railways leading into the city over the river. Some bridges had even been demolished, rendering them impossible to cross over. In the event the AF had bridging equipment, the defenders of those areas had rigged up mines so as to damage the equipment. And in his mind, that was the best decision they had made. It meant that the city wouldn't be breached that easily.

'History is really playing a role here,' he mused as he surveyed the area. 'And we're going to throw those damned Nazis back to where they came from: the pits of Hell.'

However, that was when his phone beeped.

Frowning, Henri reached into his pocket and pulled out the mobile device. He pressed it and raised it to his ear. "Yes?"

"Sir, it's Brigadier General Neuville," a familiar voice greeted.

"Mathieu? I was sure you were dead!" Henri blurted.

"Non. I still live," the brigadier general stated. "However, we do have a situation down here."

"What? Is it those blasted Americans?" the French Army commander growled.

"If you mean the Atlantians, then no," Mathieu replied.

That sentence threw him for a loop. "Wait. Qu'est-ce que vous avez dit? (What did you say?)" Henri exclaimed, slipping into his native language.

"Oui. You heard me," Mathieu stated seriously. "The Atlantians. Not Americans."

"Explain!" the French general barked.

"You see, sir... there is, much to our surprise, a fully active and functional resistance network within the Atlantic Federation," Mathieu explained. "My friend, Bruce, if you remember him, is a member of the group. And, despite what you may be thinking, it is not some tiny thing."

Henri had actually been wondering about that himself. If there had been an active resistance at all, and if so, how large it had been. But to hear that his question had been answered was a huge surprise. But to hear it was not a tiny little group? He had to know more, and if this was even genuine.

"Mathieu, are you serious about this?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. I have never been more serious in my life." The conviction in his voice was enough proof for the French general. He continued speaking a moment later.

"How large is this movement, and are we sure it has not been compromised?" Henri asked, turning and walking off from his observation spot.

"Bruce has assured me, as has the leader of the resistance, that it has not been compromised in any way," Mathieu assured him. Henri pursed his lips at that. So he had been in contact with the leader of this resistance, huh? That would go a long way in this war. "And as for how large... would you believe it spans all across the entire Atlantic Federation with spies in every single industry, including the government?"

Henri swore his heart just stopped. His legs came to a screeching halt and he stared at his phone in shock.

"W...What did you just say?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"It spans all across the entire Atlantic Federation with spies in every single industry, including the government," the brigadier general repeated.

"Mon... Dieu...!" Henri stared in shock at his phone, eyes wide. "Then... that means...!"

"Oui." Brigadier Neuville chuckled. "They have no idea as to how deep this resistance goes, or how far they've reached. Copeland's house is not in order after all!"

Henri was not an opportunist. It went against his very character. He was a logical planner and thinker. But the implications of this were big. Much bigger than he thought possible.

If this was real... and he sincerely hoped to God it was... then he would be a fool for letting this opportunity slip through his fingers. He at once barked out an order to his sunordinate. "Brigadier General Neuville, I am ordering you to stay in contact with that resistance!" he ordered.

"Oui!" Mathieu said, and Henri had a vague impression he was saluting.

Then he heard his subordinate speak again, albiet a bit nervously. "Also, sir... I have taken the initiative to reach out and make contact with Terminal."

The French Army commander scowled at that, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. If he were in contact eith Terminal and the resistance both... His eyes widened as he suddenly grasped the significance of what this meant. He chuckled a little, earning a confused hum from the brigadier general. "Sir?"

"Normally I would be mad," Henri said, looking up at the clear sky, tainted by smoke. But somehow despite the thick fingers curling upwards, the sky seemed a little bluer, and the sun a little brighter. "But in this case, you made the right call. Tell Terminal next time you get in contact with them that if it is an alliance they want, they will get it!"

"And the resistance?" Henri could grasp that Mathieu was concerned about that. But he was already intent on letting his subordinate do what he knew was right.

"If they have intel that Terminal can use, relay it to them," he ordered. "Other than that, do what you know is right."

"Also, if you are aware, there was a mutiny within the AF forces assaulting Berlin, from what little I could gather from their radio chatter," the brigadier general continued. "I have every intention on making contact with them so they can assist us."

Henri's eyes widened. "A mutiny?" he asked, trying to gather clarification.

"Oui. The rebel units have since fled, but if we can make contact, and if they choose to assist, we'd have some serious firepower on our side." Mathieu's tone was dead serious at this. The commander of the French Army hesitated, unsure of what to make of this. If one of the units had rebelled, then there was a chance that not all of them were in the same mindset as the rest of the AF's soldiers. And that was something they could use.

"Mathieu, you are to try and find that unit at all costs!" he ordered. "Then if they are able to assist, have them head to Paris at once! We cannot hold the line forever."

"Sir?"

"You heard me, soldier! Get that unit found and sent here at once!" Henri ordered. "We need all the firepower we can get."

"Yes, sir!" Mathieu hung up a few moments later, and for the first time since the siege began, Henri felt like they could hold out for years instead of days.

There was so much that was finally starting to work in their favor.

First off, the resistance. If it was as large and well entrenched as his subordinate claimed, then there was a good chance that they could disrupt the AF's plans. And if they were as well armed as he thought, then there was a slim chance that a coup de tâte could be possible. And if it was possible, then the Americans could reclaim their country from the Atlantians and pull out of the war, putting their immense logistical and industrial might to the purpose of rebuilding the world and starting to clamp down on those who were the warmongers.

Second was Terminal. With them out in the field again, it made sense they'd be intervening against the corrupt leadership of the Atlantic Federation. With the war against ZAFT reaching new, brutal heights, it made sense that they'd have to do something. But as to what was really happening, Henri had a sneaking suspicion that there was more going on than he knew. But as he was focused on defending Paris, he couldn't let his mind wander from that task at hand.

That brought his mind back to the AF and the rebellion within their forces attacking Berlin. That was a serious boon, as it showed that many people were not aligned with the propaganda that was currently being espoused. If he had that unit on his side, in Paris, then there was a much greater chance of them holding out to force the AF to run out of supplies on their land battleships. The three that were out on the front lines behind the city were really making it hard to keep the artillery and troops at bay.

And that brought him to the third aspect. With Brigadier General Neuville having made contact with Terminal, and with his old friend acting as a liaison for the resistance in the Atlantic Federation, that meant that now they had a means to finally halt any future attacks on Europe. With the connection established, this would go a long way to mending a once-formidable alliance. But as to what other implications this meant, those would have to wait until later.

Right now, he had a city to defend.

. . .

Germany

November 18th, CE 73

The entire battle had been a mess.

With the loss of the Destroy, he knew that the invasion had been somewhat blunted.

But it was the last two cities that were worrisome, primarily Moscow. He wasn't sure as to why he felt he needed to do this, but he was.

He was about to go against his own superior, and for good reason.

Although he lived in the Atlantic Federation, Rostislav Markov had been born and raised in Eurasia in Moscow. He came from a long line of soldiers who had served their country even before the Cosmic Era began, and his family was prominent in the armed forces. But sometime after the Reconstruction War began, his family had moved to what was once the United States to escape the bloody fighting. While they had been spared, many of his countrymen had not been. And he had enlisted in the Atlantic Federation armed forces when he was in his twenties to help serve the country he believed in. But as of recently, even before the First Bloody Valentine War, Rostislav saw how backwards the Atlantic Federation had gone. It was only due to his wife that he knew of the resistance within the AF and of how extensive it was.

And that was because he was one of seven moles within Nazara's forces. He was also one of the highest ranking, being in charge of some of the planning for the operation's attack points. The second point of attack was now on Vienna, and while he was not keen on letting such a historic city be destroyed, there was one city that he felt needed to be protected at all costs: Moscow. Not just because of its history and because it was his home, but also because it was one of the most critical of this area. Without it, Russian forces would be unable to receive orders from the military base positioned there. And with winter fast approaching, they needed to be able to buy time until it fully set in.

Rostislav ran a hand through his hair before he took in a breath and let it out.

This was it.

With the battle having been lost, Nazara was back aboard his land battleship, and a new meeting was about to take place. This time, pertaining to the invasion of Moscow. Vienna's was well underway, and he grimaced at the thought of those Destroys, as well as the so-called pilots in them.

Pilots who had once been children.

That was enough to harden his resolve and he walked into the room as Nazara sat at the head of the table, his fellow officers around him.

"Ah. Rostislav. Glad you made it," Nazara noted.

The Russian immigrant had to keep an expert poker face as he joined the others in the planning room.

"Yes, Colonel," he said, bowing slightly.

He glanced up discreetly, narrowing his intense grey eyes at the colonel, taking in his appearance. More specifically, his face. A twinge of anger welled up inside him as he stared at the long blonde hair and scars across his face, reminiscent of an ancient barbarian. And in Markov's opinion, the description fit. It would be better if he had a barbarian name, though, he thought. Not like he was going to voice his opinion in front of the man though, unless he wanted to risk his career, and his position as a mole.

Markov took his seat just beside another man whom he knew was a Blue Cosmos supporter. The two men looked at one another before Rostislav frowned subtly. This one was his turn. Rostislav had been in charge of Vienna's assault planning; this one fell to Ivan Tchaikovsky. Born in St. Petersburg, Ivan was not from a military family, but came from a normal middle-class family out in the suburbs. He had enlisted to protect his home, only to move to the AF afterwards due to suffering a nasty wound during the opening stages of the conflict first BV War. He had always shown a hint of superiority regarding Coordinators, but now it was a full-blown hatred of them. And personally, the Russian mole felt it was stupid to be fighting over something as trivial as genetics. However, he forced this aside as Nazara began speaking.

"So, shall we begin, gentlemen?" Nazara asked.

"Yes, Colonel," the assembled men stated.

"Very well. Ivan, what is the status of the invasion?" Nazara asked, his blue eyes locking onto Ivan's green.

Ivan cleared his throat. "As you are well aware, we have been blunted in Germany, but we are moving forward on the other fronts," he explained, bringing up a map on the table before them. The map showed the city of Vienna, and Nazara's lips curled into a sneer that made Markov shiver ever so slightly. The dots showing the AF forces were progressing, slowly but surely. "Vienna is next on our target list."

"And the attack forces?" the colonel inquired.

"Moving in and doing as ordered," Ivan replied. "They will not halt until all have been subjugated."

The blonde man grinned as he leaned back in his seat, tenting his fingers in front of his mouth. "Good. And what of Moscow?"

"We are moving along on that front, as well," Ivan said, and Rostislav glanced up at his words. He quickly, and discreetly, pretended to scratch an itch near his boot. He reached a hand into his boot and pulled out a small recorder, hitting play as Ivan continued.

"Our forces have several squads of Windams equipped with a variety of Striker Packs, primarily the Jet and Aile Strikers," he said. "A few have some of the other versions equipped, which is going to go a long way in battering down their defenses. The land battleships are on the move, following the forces in range. The Grognards are going to blast their way through any defenses the Eurasians have set up before us, and all our conventional forces will go in with them. No one will be left alive after that."

Rostislav paled at those words. This was bad... very bad.

"Good," Nazara purred sickeningly. "The city will be wiped off the face of the map with that force."

Ivan nodded. "Yes, Colonel. They will not know what hit them."

Feeling a small bout of nausea, Rostislav raised his hand. "Colonel, I have to make a quick bathroom break. And then, as you know, I have to send a letter home to my dearest."

The colonel arched a brow. "Already?"

He nodded. "Yes, Colonel. But as I have stated before, during a war like this, any moment could be my last. So I want to correspond with her as much as possible."

Nazara sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Very well. I will have someone give you the transcript of the meeting once we are finished."

"Thank you." Rostislav stood up after putting the recorder away in his boot and bowed. Then he turned and exited the room swiftly.

He made his way through the battleship to his quarters and after a furtive glance up and down the hallway, ducked inside before closing the door and locking it. He pulled out the recorder and sat down at his desk, booting up his laptop. He had spent months modifying it to be encrypted according to the resistance's specs. And it was this encryption that also allowed him to piggyback resistance messages on those he sent to his wife, disguised in photos of him and the guys at different locales they visited during their crossing of the vast superpower.

He plugged the device into his computer and brought up the email program he used to transmit the letters.

He started to go to work.

His fingers flew over the keys as he began to type, trying to come up with a plan at the same time. However, nothing came to his mind, so he would have to let it be done by the resistance forces. Or so he hoped. No doubt they already would have a plan, even prior to him sending this to them.

Within minutes, the recording file was uploaded and secreted within a new photograph. He placed the photo with the letter and then hit the send button. Then Rostislav went to work on wiping any trace of data regarding the recording he had made. It took a mere ten minutes and then it was done. He leaned back and sighed, his tense muscles relaxing. Doing this always was a hassle, as well as stressful because no one knew if the messages could be intercepted or not.

For all he had done, he was still only one man. Despite his efforts at reducing the number of lives lost when making his plans for the Vienna assault, he was sure that they would not be fully followed. But any lives saved was enough in his book. He grimaced, wishing he could go back in time and prevent the assassination of the United Nations during the terrorist attack. But alas, it was not possible. So all he could do was try to help thwart as much bloodshed as he could.

His musings were interrupted a few minutes later by the beeping from his computer. Rostislav brought up the encrypted communications program, thankful to God that the techs in this field were on their side. The screen flickered briefly before fading to show his wife. Her face was laced with concern. "I got your message," she stated. "This is not good under any circumstances."

"Yeah. And I'm worried because we only have the basic information," he said. "The plans have not been finalized yet, but the objective has been set: total extermination of the EF's military command."

"How bad?" his wife Sasha asked.

"Total extermination," Rostislav repeated, his eyes narrowing. "And that's what we have to prevent."

"How many forces?" Sasha inquired, her eyes hardening.

"Jet and Aile Windams, along with some other Striker Packs," he stated. "Numbers are unknown. Grognards are going in front. Unknown number of Grognards, but from what I could see on the map, at least two Hannibal-class land battleships. The Destroys are the unknown here."

Sasha looked down and he heard the soft scratching of paper as she wrote this down. "How about conventional?" she asked.

Rostislav shook his head. "Unknown for now," he admitted. "But they are to attack the defenders of the city and batter their way through whatever the Eurasians have set up."

"Okay. That will do for now," she said. "But we need more information, like numbers as well as what other Striker units are equipped." Her face became serious as she spoke. "Especially regarding the Destroys. We need to know the exact number if we're to transmit this to the Pres."

"I know, hon. I know," the Russian said, rubbing his face with his hands. "I can't just ask though. For now, though, we'll need to try and reach out to our other source in that area."

"I'll see what I can do on my end," Sasha remarked. "But I can't guarantee success."

"As long as we try, that's all that matters. And I'll see what I can gather from my side." Rostislav glanced back as he heard footsteps. He straightened up and spoke in a louder tone. "I'll be in touch. Tell the kids I miss them. See you later, love."

"For our blue and pure world," she said, although the grimace on her face said it all. She closed the line and he closed out of the encrypted program. Then he shut his laptop as he turned to face the door.

Ivan's voice drifted through the door. "Ah, are you all right, comrade?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm fine," Rostislav lied. "I am feeling much more at ease now."

The door slid open and Ivan poked his head in. "I am glad. The meeting is about to conclude."

The Russian mole managed to keep a straight face as he nodded and stood up. In spite of everything, he was hopeful that someone would manage to reach out to Terminal and inform them of the plan.

. . .

US Resistance Base, Mexico, Atlantic Federation

November 19th, CE 73

Keith grimaced as he heard Kenta's voice shout at the poor AI.

Kenta Sakami was a good boy, that much was certain. But his fear of AI really needed to be worked on. In fact, not long after Keith had defected, Kenta had gone AWOL during a test of another AI, and he never went back. Xen had chalked it up to cowardice, but Keith knew better. Kenta was fearful of what the AIs she was developing could do. And Keith couldn't blame him. Well, no one could, really. The young engineer was determined to make the AI suffer, just like Keith had proposed. But as to how far he would go... that was worrisome. Already Kenta had rigged up a makeshift humanoid chassis with some of the new systems and programming devised for the future frame of this fledgling. And it was working.

The AI was already learning the concept of pain. But this was physical pain. What Keith was really hoping for, was for the AI to learn the meaning of real pain. Not just physical, but where it really hurt. And so far things were looking good in that regard, if it could even be called good.

He had to turn away as the small humanoid frame jerked and writhed, the small node he had transferred the AI into acting as the head, twisting and turning as it tried to escape. A loud mechanical howl tore through the speakers as Kenta drove a blowtorch into one of the sensitive joints at its fingers, soldering some of the exposed wires. Keith had to keep himself from throwing up; that was akin to having searing nerve pain in one's fingers.

He turned away as Jen walked up to him, concern on her face. "You sure about this?" she asked worriedly.

"I am," Keith whispered. "This AI has to learn what real pain is. And not physical pain, either."

"And then what? What happens after that?" the computer analyst asked.

"Then I do what has to be done," Keith said somberly. "I give this AI the father figure it needs."

"And if it fails?" Jen queried. She was being serious on this one, he noted.

The computer whiz sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Then I finish it." He already was dreading the outcome, as it was making him anxious. Who knew how this would really work? This was something that was on the level of what Xen would do, if not go beyond. He was truly like a mad scientist here. Treading on dangerous waters and unsure of what would happen.

The AI had to be taught though. It needed to know the true power of love. And love was something no AI in fiction ever understood, save for the Bolos in his old sci-fi books. It was something he sought to replicate, and if he could show this AI that feeling...

This was pushing everything he had done. And he hated to admit it, but he was scared.

Scared of failing this project.

Scared of his own shortcomings.

Scared of the AI if it went rogue.

Jen placed a hand on his shoulder as she guided him out of the lab and into the hallway, closing the door behind them. He looked at her, noticing the concern in her eyes. "Keith... if things do go downhill... at least you'll have tried," she whispered. "And right now, that's all we can ask."

The young man smiled, feeling a sense of relief that she was still sticking by him, even now. He leaned in and lightly kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Jen. I needed that..."

Jen's eyes widened as she blushed a bit, her hand going to her cheek in surprise. "Y-You're welcome..." she murmured softly.

Keith turned his gaze back down to the floor beneath his boots and he grimaced. "But is this even the right thing to do?" he wondered. "I mean... I just asked Kenta to..."

Jen frowned as she lowered her hand. "We've already been through this, Keith. This is the right thing to do. You remember clearly what that drone of Xen's did. You told me all about that day, especially how you saw what it was truly capable of if it lacked any sort of morality. Isn't that why you spilled the beans on her?"

Keith flinched, remembering that day clearly. "Yeah... it was. And well... that was why I defected and fled as soon as I could... I didn't want her to know it was me that ratted her out." He clenched his fists. "I thought she'd be punished and see sense. But no. She wasn't, and she didn't even see sense. She keeps focusing all too much on the 'extermination of the Coordinator problem' and is devoting much of her AI research into that. And that I fear, is what will doom us as humans if we don't start researching this thoroughly!"

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Hence why your project is underway," she stated.

The computer whiz turned back to the door and slowly opened it, seeing Kenta's work in action. The young man's eyes glinted as he drove the soldering iron in his hand into the AI's chassis, this time right in its left shoulder joint. Again, the AI squealed and he had to pull himself back by sheer force of will.

He closed the door and buried his head in his hands. "I just don't know if this will even do what I hope it will... What if it does the opposite?" he whispered.

"We don't know what will happen, Keith," Jen said. "But one thing that is certain is that you have good intentions. So just do what you do best, and let Kenta do his part... for now."

He knew she was right. But it still did little to stop the anxiety squirming in his gut at the moment.

For now, it was all on Kenta.