Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. And this one is going to detail some really interesting tidbits for you. :3
Review replies:
- operation meteor: Oh, I intend to explore it as the series progresses. ;) Let's just say that the L4 Coalition and the resistance will form strong diplomatic ties that grows into a strong alliance after the war ends, especially with the reformation of the United Nations. ;)
- Spiceracksargent001: Oh, yes! XD They are. And the Blue Masque will indeed be a threat, as like Eisenhower, she is not to be underestimated. ;) The two will indeed be the worst opponents to face. :) As for Durandal, he doesn't understand just who he is up against! XD He's quick to assumptions, and I wanted to show that while he is brilliant, he is still human. And the assumption that the resistance leader is a man is one such thing. ;)
- StellarLupine: Durandal will get some help! XD But as for the AV system, no, Tekkadan doesn't have it in this fic, as they are all former Extended experiments. And Tekkadan will be involved, once the revolution commences, of course! XD So I'm still trying to build up to it. ;3
- 4dv1ct0r14m2017: Yep. :) But the AV system is not involved in this part. It's strictly the Destiny Plan.
- RisingGundam2006: I am so happy you enjoy our works! :) And as for your question, you'll have to see. ;3
(A pair of optics flashes online before lights flare on to show the Strike Dagger S in its hangar bay, Spray standing atop its shoulder with an American flag held in one hand, his trench coat draped across his shoulders like a cape)
START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO
(The pilot tosses the American flag off to the side as he leaps off his machine's shoulder, the camera following the flag as it flutters down to the hangar floor)
Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The camera moves up to show the Strike Dagger S engaged with the Perfect Sword Strike, both pilots superimposed over their machines as their blades clash)
Pass the orbit beyond the sky (The two break off before flying towards one another again, Spray shown with Earth in the background, his eyes in SEED Mode as he grits his teeth)
I can't hold back this rushing speed (Dennis Krantz is shown with a large, shadowy shape in the background as he charges in, his eyes wide in his fury)
A familiar town becomes a diorama (The camera follows both pilots as they clash in a flash of light, the camera panning down to show the Resistance base in Mexico, Dr. Keith Martinez and Commander Ibara standing before it)
Burst through the unclear skies (The skies are shown to be covered in clouds as the camera pans up and over, coming down to show Rear Admiral Dorana Xen as she stands in a land battleship, arms crossed, a large army of AI-controlled suits before her)
Blow away your worries and discontent (The rear admiral sneers as she watches the resistance fighting bravely, but unable to do much to stop her, only for a flash of a beam saber to cut across the screen)
Who needs a journey that's by the book? (The camera pans to the right to show a gray-colored mobile suit as it spins around, glowing blue optics locking onto Xen's eyes)
Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (The machine climbs up, becoming a small speck in the sky, only for a second machine to come down, showing it to be the Demolition Dagger as it lands in front of Paris, looking up as the camera shows Kyle behind it)
Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The Demolition Dagger attacks the closest Atlantian Daggers before the camera is blinded by thick black smoke, only to fade to show Wing Zero stand up in the middle of a damaged naval base)
I'll watch the unknown horizon with you (The camera is engulfed in flames before they blow apart to show Eisenhower standing atop the warehouse, three other figures standing behind her as the sun sets before her)
Now be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The camera moves to the right as it shows Eisenhower leaping off the building, a pair of mechanical phoenix wings sprouting from her back)
Use the sun that lights tomorrow as a guide (Above her is shown Spray Krane in his own machine, reaching out for the light of the sun as it shines above a new, futuristic city)
Fly off to the glorious world of freedom! (The scene freezes with all the major players flying towards a shining world, stars around all of them)
GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING
Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall
- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane
CHAPTER XVIII: Historical Legacies
Washington, D.C.
December 5th, CE 0073
The snow falling gently around the buildings was a deception.
A deception that concealed the worst of humanity's leaders.
Charlene Durbin narrowed her eyes as she sat in the limousine, her hands clenched in her lap.
Beside her sat the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, his eyes closed and his arms folded.
He finally opened his eyes. "I see. You seek the truth of what happened on Copernicus those three years ago," he mused.
The woman nodded. "Yes."
"Such a thing is paramount to treason," he cautioned her. "Given that the government has conducted an investigation, but turned up nothing of note."
"Anything but those lies they spread," Charlene stated, her eyes hardening. "I'm well aware of the risks."
The director gave a smirk as he leaned back in his seat. "I'll admit, your theory does have a lot of plausibility." Then he became serious. "But until we find that evidence... it's only a theory."
"Yes, I know," the Secretary of State remarked. "But that's why I'm asking you to help me find that data."
"You're basically asking us to blow our cover and start investigating the LOGOs nobility," Bill stated. "We have to remain hidden until the time is right."
"Can't you do some investigating under the cover of another mission?" the Secretary of State asked.
Director Gerro frowned as he considered this. He did see her determination to find out information about the truth behind the Copernicus Tragedy. And in truth, he himself wanted to know what really happened up there. The whole idea of not knowing just who did the attack was enough to rankle his investigator's instincts. As a federal law enforcement officer, and head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the fact that the so-called 'investigation' never even uncovered the terrorist's or terrorists' names, genders, home countries, etc. was nothing but a mockery of what should have been done in the first place.
So he could understand where she was coming from.
"I can understand where you're coming from, Madame Secretary, but I'm thinking in the long term here. We get exposed too early, we become a liability and collateral. You need us, and you know it," he told her.
Durbin nodded as she clenched her fists in her lap. "I agree. But..."
"However..." The director's voice cut her off and she looked to him. "...that doesn't mean I'm not open to conducting an... off the books... investigation," he said with a smirk.
"As long as you get me that information, I could care less about how it's done," the Secretary of State remarked.
The FBI director nodded. "Consider it done, ma'am. I'll get you the information as soon as I am able."
Charlene nodded before she sighed. "Just what are they trying to hide...?" she muttered to herself.
The limo pulled up to the large building between 9th and 10th Streets, coming to a stop at the curbside. The driver put the car into idle and got out, walking over to where Director Gerro sat and opened the door. "We've arrived, sir," he said.
"Thanks. I'll be going now." He nodded to his companion who nodded back. Gerro got out and the driver closed the door, leaving the man to walk up to the Headquarters for the FBI in the snow. The swirling blizzard was enough to make him shiver against his will, but he brushed it aside as he walked up to the main entrance.
It did not take long for him to go through the security protocols. Once he was through, he made his way over to the elevator that would take him to his office. The entire building was close to silent at this time of night, but it was just as well, seeing as how he had a... shadow... investigation to commence.
He took the chance to stop when he saw one of his agents making their way over. The woman's eyes were narrowed as she saw him. She nodded and he returned it, holding out a small feather from an owl. She returned it with a small 'hoo-hoo' and then waved for him to follow her.
The two walked down the hall and began speaking, their voices low.
"Sir, we've got two more Headhunters down," she reported.
"Good." Gerro gave a soft nod. "Are the bodies being taken care of?"
"By the disposal squads sent by the CIA's supremacist faction," the woman replied. "They don't want the public to know who the Headhunters are."
"Too bad, because we're hitting them harder than they can dispose of them," Gerro remarked with a smirk. Then he became serious. "Speaking of, are any of our agents free? The leadership is seeking something big to be done."
"We do have a number of our agents free," the woman replied. "Why?"
"The brass wants an investigation done." Gerro's eyes narrowed a bit. "They want to look into just what happened in regard to the Copernicus bombing in 0070."
"Huh?" The woman looked to her superior in confusion. "But why? It's common knowledge that-"
She was cut off as he waved his hand. "They don't want the fake facts. They want the real facts," he stated. "They want to know just who did it, who financed the terrorist, if there was more than one terrorist, their motives, what kind of bomb was used, etc. They don't want the bare minimum that LOGOs spewed. They want the public to be given justice on this one."
The woman stared for a moment as she came to a stop. "That means... we'd be going against the government before we're ready!" she hissed, her eyes wide in terror.
"Not if we do this right," Gerro whispered. "We've got other... avenues... of contact, don't we?"
The woman knew what he was referring to with that.
The underground police syndicates, of which there were a fair number.
With their connections in the underworld, it would be very simple for them to root out information and to send it back to them.
She frowned, but nodded. "Well, yes, but... it's still risky..."
"I know." Gerro was dead serious on the matter, however. "But the brass wants this done. And honestly, I do too." He clenched his fists as he stopped walking just ahead of her. "The fact no one was given true information and that a true investigation never took place never sat right with me. Plus, I know you had family up there, didn't you?"
The woman's face darkened as she nodded. "Yes. I did..."
"All the more reason we should get this rolling," Gerro told her. "So this way we can get them... and the others who died up there... the justice they deserve."
The woman gave a nod. "Yes, sir."
The two resumed their walk. "I'll need you to get in contact with the League of the Batmen in New York. If anyone can start to sniff out information, it's them. Also, we need the help of the Chicago Police Union to get some intel on the missing kids. And contact the Seattle Spooks. They can see if there's anything pertaining to the bombing in the lord's manor there."
She nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Then get to it." Gerro wasn't wasting any time on this. "The sooner we get this started, the better."
The agent gave a smart salute before heading off, leaving Gerro to his thoughts as he watched her leave.
As she walked down the hallway, her hand ducked into her pocket and she pulled out her phone.
Special Agent Ellen Dupre didn't even hesitate to bring the device online and activate the encrypted communications app.
She held the phone up as the app dialed into the encrypted network as the code input came up. She quickly put in the code before it flickered and brought up a list of her contacts.
The woman proceeded to select one of them before she put the phone to her ear.
The ringing went on for a few moments before a female voice echoed over the speaker.
"This is Barb," the voice said.
Agent Dupre nodded. "It's been a while," she said.
"Ellen?! Why are you contacting me now?" Barbara Grayson asked.
"Let's just say we got a new lead. And it has to do with what happened three years ago at Copernicus." Her eyes narrowed. "This one comes from SecState herself. She wants us to find out the truth of what really happened up there and to get the public to know this."
Barbara was silent for a moment. "And you need us to sniff out information, am I correct?" she asked.
The agent gave a nod, although Barbara couldn't see it. "Yes. Given your extensive network of underworld contacts, it makes sense you'd be the ones to sniff it out. What we need is the identity and motives of the terrorist, if there was more than one, and who financed them, as well as the equipment they used."
Barbara whistled over the phone. "That's some high-level stuff you're asking for, Ellen," she remarked. "Not sure if we can get that kind of stuff. But, given the reasoning behind this request, I can see what we can dig up."
"Anything would be appreciated, Barbara," Ellen said to her friend. "There was only a cursory investigation done into the bombing, which doesn't sit right with the director."
"Oh. So that's it. Both the Great Owl and the SecState want this, then?" Barbara asked.
Ellen nodded. "Yes." Then her eyes narrowed. "Can you do it?"
"Oh boy... that's some real high-end stuff. But as I said, we'll see what we can dig up. Any information I get I'll relay to you via courier. The rest of our phones aren't encrypted like mine," Barbara warned her.
"I'll expect it as soon as it gets here," Ellen stated.
"All right. I'll get back to you as soon as I can." The phone beeped as Barbara hung up and Ellen pocketed the phone as she made her way to the restroom. After all, once there, she could really get into the more... less regarded... assets in the criminal underworld.
Her mind drifted back to her friend Barbara.
She knew that Barbara Grayson had been the daughter of a former police commissioner who was killed sometime before the First Bloody Valentine War broke out. After her father had been killed in the line of duty, a new commissioner had been appointed, only to start a complete purge of competent people who had upheld the law to the best of their abilities. Among those purged were a fair number of women; only a few women now remained, acting as secretaries for the new commissioner after the purge.
Barbara had been one of those purged. Though she put up a fight and was able to get the mayor of New York on her side, there was nothing the man could do seeing as how many of his officials were all in the pocket of Blue Cosmos/LOGOs. That was the only downside. However, it did give her a mole inside the government of what could only be considered the new medieval capital of the Atlantians.
After the purge of all competent members of the NYPD, a whole new slew of men had been brought in, and as a result, the competency and ability of the department to respond to crime dropped significantly, leading to a shocking rise in rapes, robberies, murders, drug dealings, overdoses, etc. across the city. Police stopped responding to the incidents, leading to a number of civilians seeking to start up their own vigilante groups to try and curb the crimes. However, whenever a criminal was brought into jail, they were suddenly released, leading some to theorize that the former police department was not interested in curtailing the rise in crimes. That led to a number of other people who had been forced into crime to devote more resources into forming into larger groups.
These gangs were supposedly acting in their own self-interest. That's how it often worked in the criminal underworld. But what was really happening beneath the surface was an interesting twist.
A number of smaller gangs had teamed up into a much larger group. By consolidating their meager resources and territory, the group had effectively claimed a much larger range of area than the other gangs in the city. But much to the popular belief, the safety in this sector of the city was much better than in some of the others. The city sections where they did not have any control were often in the worst shape criminal wise, and that caught Barbara's attention. She went to investigate and was surprised to see a number of men and women subduing criminals from other sectors of the city and putting them in makeshift jails.
The former officer was also brought in, but mostly to meet with the commander of the largest gang in the city. While he was an imposing man, he was also very shrewd and cared for the welfare of his officers and men. He never sought to engage in criminal enterprises himself, instead relying on underworld contacts to sniff out the more violent members of society and arresting them. With the way he acted more like a law enforcement officer than a criminal, Barbara was interested. So she asked him what he was even doing, and a conversation started.
She learned about his intentions to try and bring order back to the city from the shadows rather than let lawlessness run rampant. She told him a bit about herself as well, telling him she used to be an officer in the NYPD, and of how she could train his officers to be more like real police instead of stealthy low-time thugs. He accepted her proposal and even offered her a place at his side, which she accepted.
With the combined skills of both stealthy takedowns and actual law enforcement training, the head of the underground law enforcement agency was able to further consolidate his hold on a few lesser territories in the city itself. The former officer had also proposed an actual name to go with the new training and policies, which he had considered to be a good throwback to the old days of comic books.
The League of the Batmen was, in effect, an underground police syndicate, acting as a means to keep much more dangerous criminals in check and putting them behind bars to be tried at a later date. And they were one of the, if not the, largest underground police department in the country. As a result, they were able to find a lot about what was happening in the criminal world and act on it accordingly.
She blinked and quickly shook her head, returning to the present day. She could reminisce about the past later.
Right now, she had an important mission to carry out.
. . .
New York City, New York
December 5th, CE 0073
The underbelly of the city was as dark as ever.
Very few people would even be out in this kind of situation.
The snow blew brisky over the area, making the alleyways as cold as space, or even colder with the intense wind whistling between the buildings.
Cars' headlights could barely reach into some of the darkened maze, which was perfect for some of those who worked the criminal element.
A pair of blue eyes flashed as a figure ran past one of the intersections and ducked down one of the alleys, a thick woolen cap hiding the majority of bright red hair. A coat covered the figure's lean body, and snow boots covered their feet. A scarf covered their lower face, making it hard to identify them.
The figure continued down the alleyway before coming to a door that was partially rusted and covered in ice. A gloved hand reached out and knocked on the door five times before pulling back under the coat. A slot in the door opened and a pair of green eyes narrowed.
"Password?" the man inside asked.
A woman's voice filtered out from under the scarf. "Leagues of Shadows, Vigilantes of Wings."
The slot closed before a heavy thunking was heard and the door creaked open. The woman hurried inside as the door was swung shut and locked behind her. She reached up and removed the thick cap and scarf, revealing her fair features and thick red hair as it spilled down her back to the middle of her shoulders. She had it tied back in a ponytail for ease of maintenance, and she had a thin, small scar crossing her left cheek.
Barbara Grayson shook her hair out as she looked to the man who had let her in.
"Is Stephan around, Boreson?" she asked.
Boreson Novelle nodded. "Yes. He is in the back room." The huge man turned and waved a massive hand for her to follow.
Barbara followed him closely, her gaze sweeping over the interior of the room.
The old building made a perfect hideout for the League of the Batmen, which was the largest underground police syndicate in the entire Atlantian Reich. In the different floors were a number of rooms dedicated to police work and observation, while in the basement and on the main floor were training facilities. The main floor held the obstacle courses and hand-to-hand combat, as well as practical police procedurals. She could see a number of men and women going through training as she walked past. Some of them were also acting as instructors for the police officers of the League.
She turned her gaze away from them as Boreson stopped not too far from the back room which had two guards armed with assault rifles before it. They stood at attention, holding the guns at the ready, barrels barring the way. One of the men looked to the two newcomers and narrowed his eyes. "That her?" he asked.
Boreson nodded. "Yes. She knew the password."
The man grunted, then turned to his female companion who nodded. They both lowered their gun barrels and stepped aside. Boreson walked up to the door and gave a knock on the metal.
"Sir? She's here," he said.
"Ah. Good. Send her in," the voice of her friend said through the door.
A buzzer sounded and the door unlocked, sliding up to reveal the interior of the back room. Boreson stepped aside and she walked in.
The room inside was rather spacious, with a large metal desk in front of the door. A plush chair was behind it, the back turned to face her. A slew of monitors lined the sides of the desk and one even rested to the side a bit, allowing the occupant to see his guest. A small potted plant was in one corner of the room as was a couch and some bookshelves filled with all kinds of novels and historical tomes. On the left side of the room was a large insignia which marked them as the League of the Batmen: a large black bat inscribed with four words: to serve and protect above and below it.
The door slid shut behind her and locked once more. Barbara could hardly blame the commissioner for being paranoid.
The chair turned around, and she smirked. "Been a while, Tim," she remarked.
Tim Drake gave a wry grin as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded fingers. His hair was mostly black, but on the top it was starting to turn gray, adding a sort of dignified appearance to his grizzled stature and features. A neatly trimmed beard and mustache covered his lower face, making him seem more like an aristocrat than an underground police commissioner. He wore a black coat with an old, but gleaming NYPD badge on it and a holster hung below his left arm. He wore a pair of dark blue jeans and boots on his feet, and he was well built with a bit of a paunch.
Tim was a former police commissioner, having been fired a few years before the purge and reformation. But unlike most other officers who drifted into criminal behavior, he chose instead to direct his efforts into rebuilding the police department, but underground so as to curtail the more violent gangs and more dangerous thugs. His efforts had paid off immensely in the ensuing purges and firings, allowing the League of the Batmen to become an underground police syndicate.
However, as he saw the look in her eyes, his grin faded. "Something's up, isn't it?" he asked.
The former officer nodded. "Yes, Tim. And this one comes straight from the top."
She proceeded to outline the request that the Secretary of State had insisted on, and Tim's eyes went wide. He slowly lowered his hands and parted them as he sat back in his seat, disbelief flooding his features.
"You gotta be shitting me..." he whispered. "The SecState wants us to do that?!"
"I know it's hard to believe, but given how we're in the heart of the beast here, it makes senses we'd be in a prime position to investigate. Especially how we can connect via our criminal contacts to people working for those bastards," Barbara pointed out.
Tim bowed his head in thought. "Hmm..."
He did see she had a point. But there was also the risk that someone could find out about their investigation and possibly blow it wide open to LOGOs. But considering the stakes, it was also a good possibility to spill the beans as to what really happened. Not only would it discredit LOGOs even more, but it would put evidence out as to their treason to the world as a whole. And it would also show how despicable they had become after all these years.
He closed his eyes as he sighed.
"This whole thing... what are they calling it?" he wondered.
"Artemis. Project Artemis," Barbara answered. "Which fits, given the moon was where it took place."
He opened his eyes. "And if we don't do it, what then?"
His old friend closed her eyes. "Then it's over... and no one will get justice."
Tim could see she was driven. And he respected her drive.
He finally nodded. "All right. I'll see what I can have dug up. But it's going to take time. I can't guarantee anything before the eighteenth at best."
The woman opened her eyes as he spoke. She looked him directly in the eyes and she frowned. "How long do you think it will take?" she wondered.
"No less than two weeks at best," Tim told her. "This kind of stuff takes time, and given how it's high-level stuff, it could take longer."
"As long as it gets sent to SecState, that's all that matters," Barbara retorted.
Tim gave a grim smirk. "Right."
He reached for the phone on his desk before picking it up.
He had some calls to make.
. . .
December 6th, CE 0073
En route to the Kingdom of Scandinavia
The waves crashed over her bow, and around them the wind rushed by her sides.
The very sensations rushing through the vessel were enough to make a few of the crewmen and women aboard her revel in the sheer impossibility now before them.
For far too long she had been dormant.
And for far too long she had been regarded as a mere historical curiosity.
After the Reconstruction War came to an end, she had been salvaged and turned into a fully functional ocean liner once again.
Or so many had thought.
In reality, she had been converted into a mobile museum ship. While not a glamorous lifestyle like she had once enjoyed as the pride of the American maritime engineering industry or as the Queen of the Seas, it had been a somewhat humble existence, and tolerable for people aboard her. She at least had been granted power and mobility once again, so she was not about to take that for granted again.
But it was not what she was made to do. It was not what she had been designed for.
To some of the more superstitious people, certain objects seemed to possess their own spirits, and ships were no exception to the rule.
It was only more recently that people had begun to see that she had a soul, like so many others had once had.
But that particular soul was not defined by conformity or elegance.
It was defined by the strange activities that encompassed some of LOGOs' efforts to use her for propaganda films or TV shows.
The most recent efforts had taken place not even two years ago, with the rise of an all-male military in the Atlantian Reich. The High Command had elected to use the former flagship in an effort to spur more men to join the military. They successfully leased her from the United States Historical Preservation Society and brought a crew on board to get her up and running. But much to their surprise, the engines just wouldn't start. That led to some of the crew who maintained her being called in to get them started manually. And while they had succeeded, the anchors just wouldn't be raised. Three hours later, the High Command had given up and left the vessel alone, instead choosing another one to star in their propaganda shorts.
The second time she had been leased, she was brought out of her dock on the Delaware River by tugboats. But like before, her engines refused to start, and for some reason, the ship's bottom got wedged on a muddy hill in the mouth of the river, leaving her grounded, but not damaged. It took them a few days to get her dislodged and back in dock, thus frustrating another attempt to star her in a propaganda film.
The third time was also the final time that LOGOs tried to use her. After managing to get her out to sea, the vessel's engines wouldn't start a third time, and when tugboats tried to take her under tow to make it look like she was steaming under her own power, the tow ropes broke. Not just once or twice, but at least five times before the High Command gave up and just let her be. Some people as a result of these incidents often whispered that the ship had a soul, but one that stood firm against the government.
But now...
Now things were much different.
In the wake of the Bell Riots, as the riots were now being called, after her escape out into the ocean, the once proud vessel was finally free.
Free from being used as a mere museum.
Free from being used as a propaganda tool.
Free to roam the seas once more.
Free to be who she was meant to be.
The sheer power that rushed through her structure was a mark of the man who had built her.
Her knife-like bow slashed through the waves as her mighty engines rumbled deep within her lean hull, granting her full use of her full horsepower for the first time in over one hundred years. Despite the age she felt in her metal bones, she was still able to go as fast as she did in her heyday. The aches of age and rust were sure to take their toll, but she was not about to go down without a fight.
Her very presence reveled in this feeling.
The feeling of freedom to fly across the sea like the thoroughbred she had been built to be all those years ago.
The old ship, for all she had been put through, was not a mere weakling like so many others were in this day and age. She had been built tough, built to military specifications, and built with the purpose of transporting troops in mind. She had survived the age of ocean liners, survived the years afterwards in obscurity. She lived through the wars and turmoil of the twenty-first century. She endured the Reconstruction War and escaped it with minor damage. She was rebuilt into a museum ship with full mobility. She had outlasted even the old USS Constitution, now nothing more than wood scraps in some mogul's home somewhere.
As the former flagship of the now defunct United States, she only survived through periodic leases by LOGOs members for parties and orgies that the staff of the museum that ran her had to clean up. Had she been human, it would have made her sick to her stomach to even consider what they were doing in her staterooms and other areas.
But now, she didn't have to worry about that anymore.
Now, she was free.
As she raced through the ocean, her sides shuddered as the wind buffeted her old hull plates. But as befitting her structural engineering, she held on. She didn't mind it. In fact, it felt good to feel the breeze on her metal skin. Even the aching as paint was peeled away from her hull at the water line was something she had missed.
Her very being was made for this, to race across the ocean, ferrying people and goods from one side of the ocean to another.
And yet there was something more, too. The drive to serve her country.
And she was being given that chance.
For the first time in her long existence, the SS United States was going to war...
And it was against the modern-day Nazis calling themselves LOGOs and Blue Cosmos.
. . .
Kingdom of Scandinavia
Trondheim
The snow blew intensely around the area, blinding many a worker as they worked hard to try and repair the damage to the Trans-Scandinavian Lines' newest ocean liner Nordic Balance caused by the recent Atlantian incursions around the edges of the territorial waters of the Kingdom.
Founded in 0025 CE, the Trans-Scandinavian Lines started out as a company dedicated to showing off the Kingdom's beauty and natural splendor via cruise ship. Of course, while it did work to draw in people from across the world, there were those in the Scandinavian elite and nobility that wanted to do more than just see the natural beauty of their homelands. Given the location of the Kingdom, it made sense that many would want to travel to other, more tropical, locations to escape the cold regions.
So the company began to expand its operations, purchasing newer ships that had longer range from the shipbuilders in Trondheim. Aker, the foremost shipbuilder in the entire country, happened to be the one that got the contract. Going off of historical models and designs, the company proceeded to build a new class of ocean liners, the first in over one hundred years, to carry the elite of the Kingdom and commoners alike to tropical regions to escape the cold during the winter months. The class in question, the Nordic-class, happened to be also the most successful, having five ships that traveled the world over, along with a pair of smaller ships for Mediterranean destinations.
However, in recent years, the company happened to be bought by Winslet World Concern, one of the largest companies in the entire country, mostly due to the fact that oil was beginning to become more expensive due to the Bloody Valentine Wars. With the merger complete, the Trans-Scandinavian Lines became a subsidiary that earned a maritime profit and secured the WWK's reputation as the largest company in the Kingdom.
As the Nordic-class ocean liners were some of the largest in the country, the shipyards at several major cities had to be enlarged or new ones built. One such location was in Trondheim, known the world over for its long, rich history.
Thanks to the snow whipping about, there was no way anyone could see the ship as it slowly glided towards the old city. The thick blizzard was hard to see through, and as it were, only due to the cars on the roads could people even see what was in front of them. Some people walking in the streets had flashlights out, and even then it was hard to see through the intense whiteout.
The docks were even worse, covered in snow and ice trying to block the passage of ships into the terminals for offloading their goods and passengers. The docks of Trondheim were a mess, especially the cruise terminal located at the docks.
This one had been in operation for close to a century, transporting people and goods across the ocean and the elite of the Kingdom to their tropical destinations. It also happened to be the terminal with the largest dock in the entire country, housing ships up to a thousand feet long at best. The dock was blustery as a few workers stood in the tower overlooking the ocean, scanning with their binoculars for anything that indicated a ship was coming to dock in this intense weather.
One of the workers in question happened to be friends with the royal family of the Kingdom of Scandinavia, a young man named Pontus Ljunggren. A Coordinator born in the Kingdom's nobility, he wasn't one to just sit back at his family estate and live the good life. He was more or less one to get out and mingle with the commoners, and he chose to do so by working in the docks to try and understand the nitty-gritty of how a country was run at the logistical level. As his father was Minister of Economics, it made sense in his eyes.
He had a shock of blonde hair and red eyes that reflected his friendly nature and his intellect, and he was very muscularly built, a trait attributed to his work on the docks for a good majority of the year, even in the winter months. Despite being inside the tower/lighthouse, he was clad in a thick winter coat and snow pants, a pair of heavy winter boots covering his feet. Only his hands were covered in a thinner material, allowing him use of the binoculars he had around his neck. He scowled as he scanned the horizon.
His eyes narrowed a bit, and then...
He shifted a bit and leaned in, adjusting the distance on his binoculars.
"Hey, Pontus?"
The man turned to face one of his companions, a woman in her late forties named Linnea Berge. She had pinkish red hair and a pair of startling violet eyes, and she was one of his closest friends in the workforce at the docks of Trondheim.
"You see something out there?" she asked.
He gave a nod. "Yes." He turned his gaze back to the window, sweeping his binoculars for any sign of the object he had seen beforehand. "I thought I saw a light of some kind."
"A light? As in a ship's light?" Linnea was surprised.
"Yes." Pontus pressed his binoculars as close to his eyes as he could. "You know as well as I that ships sometimes make port here in this kind of weather."
"But which ones? There are none scheduled for docking today," the woman pointed out.
Pontus was surprised. He turned to look at her. "Then... did I see something or not?" he asked before returning his gaze to the outdoors.
Linnea raised her own binoculars to her eyes and gazed out at the sea in the same direction as the nobleman.
And it was there she saw it.
It looked a lot like a ghost, emerging from the thick snow.
It was a huge shape, bulky in its design, but at the same time it seemed to be lean in its length. Being dockworkers, they were well-versed in the different ships that came and went from the port city. And one of those ship types was that of the ocean liner, a near-extinct breed of ship that was only starting to make a comeback. This ocean liner, if it was one, though, looked to be of a different style, echoing the ancient liners of the twentieth-century AD. The ship slowly started to emerge in more detail, and shivers ran down the spines of both dockworkers.
The entire upper structure was coated in a thick layer of frost, or as thick as it could get. The funnels, and yes, there were two, stood tall and proud, their paint covered in the same icy frost. Icy drips clung to her hull, adding to her appearance the air of a wraith. The ship was more ghostly than corporeal, but as it drew closer, one could see the glinting of lights beyond the frost, the windshield wipers working their hardest to allow the helmsman to see in this thick snow. And somehow, clinging to her rear jackstaff, a rather tattered flag flew. But it was not a flag that they expected to see, least of all expected to even still exist.
The ends were tattered and ragged, but the colors still stood out, even in this snowy wasteland.
Fifty white stars.
A blue background on which those stars rested.
Thirteen stripes.
Six white, seven red.
Those stripes that represented a former country once deceased, now resurgent.
Pontus stared in shock at the flag as he lowered his binoculars. The ship was now coming closer to dock, and his hand slowly inched closer to the radio he carried on his belt. He had to radio this in to the lighthouse manager so they could get this ship to dock... if she was even real.
But as she came even closer, the name on the bow plates caught his eye, and he pressed both lenses to his eyes.
The name on the bow read United States, barely visible in the swirling snow.
Memories from his late grandfather came back to his mind's eye. Memories of stories told throughout his family's lineage, stories of a ship that was once the fastest in the world, now turned into a museum. He recognized her as a result of those stories and images, but to see her here? Flying the old United States flag? What was going on here?!
He needed answers.
He tossed his binoculars aside and turned, running for the door leading to the outside. "Wait! Pontus!" Linnea called, but her call fell on deaf ears.
Pontus threw on his scarf and hat, slipping his hood up after and zipping his coat shut. Now securely warmed against the bitter cold of winter, he threw open the door and staggered out into the blizzard.
The door slammed shut behind him as he started to make his way to the docks. He hefted a heavy flashlight secured to his left leg and unclipped it from his belt, holding it up and flashing it on, the pale yellow beam visible in the heavy snow.
While not a lighthouse, it would do for now.
. . .
Stockholm, Kingdom of Scandinavia
Stockholm Royal Palace
December 6th, CE 0073
The royal palace of the Kingdom of Scandinavia was as dark as it could be as the royal family was sound asleep. Only a few lights shone in the structure, and outside the guards patrolled the grounds, keeping an eye out for any possible terrorists or intruders.
It wasn't much of a surprise, seeing as how the King of Scandinavia and his Queen were both prominent supporters of Coordinator rights. In fact, out of all the countries, aside from Orb, they had the largest number of Coordinator citizens, with a whopping forty percent of all their people being genetically engineered before birth. The Atlantic Federation, if they so chose to, would have exterminated them if they invaded.
As it stood, it took immense political will to remain on the sidelines of this war, and the King was rumored to be as shrewd as the late Lord Uzumi had been. He was a former political appointee, given a position as one of the ministers by his own father for some years before going into the military. When his father had passed at the age of seventy due to a heart attack, he took up the throne and established his country as a safe haven against the barbarities that slowly started to surface. He took the liberty of building up their armed forces for a sufficient self-defense, but not for the offensive actions that would be required if the Atlantians chose to attack their borders.
At the age of fifty, King Halle Isaksen was considered middle-aged, but his lifetime of service to his country ensured he was as shrewd and cunning as any political figure in his country's ruling elite. He had short, spiky blond hair and bright blue eyes, with a fit figure and a close cropped beard and mustache combo that gave him a wise, dignified appearance. Currently, he was sound asleep in his room, his wife beside him.
He was not one to be awoken by anything small. He was a heavy sleeper, and it showed as his phone rang beside him. He slowly groaned and rolled over, still in the throes of sleep. He had no idea that an old friend of his was calling to try and wake him, if only to get him up because of a very special arrival in Trondheim earlier that morning.
At least until his phone's alarm went off.
The loud quacking ringtone he had set up was the only thing that could get him up.
He groaned as he slowly sat up, the covers falling off his body as he rubbed his eyes.
He reached over and grabbed the phone, pulling it off the nightstand and shutting off the alarm. He flipped through the missed calls as he usually did and his eyes widened as he saw one marked as urgent.
Halle got out of bed as his wife, Ingebjørg, sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Halle?" she whispered. "What's going on?"
"It's Pontus," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "He sent a voicemail."
He quickly played it and his eyes went wide as he heard the message.
Even his wife was floored.
Ingebjørg was, at age forty five, not that much younger than her husband. But she was just as fit as him, if not a bit more, having served in the military for the majority of her adulthood. She had long black hair and stunning green eyes, a rare combination in this part of the world that made her a standout. It also helped she was a Coordinator, as well. Having served as a combat medic before marrying Halle, she was devoted to helping people, and she took her job as not just the Queen of Scandinavia, but also the Minister of Health seriously. It was her who had helped the Kingdom establish its record of human rights as impeccable, if not slightly below perfect.
No country was perfect, and their own country was no exception to the rule. There had been some prior discrimination of Coordinators, but not to the extent as some other countries, most notably the Atlantic Federation.
In fact, that was what gave them a spotless record in the Cosmic Era.
The King was on his feet in a flash as he made his way to the closet. His wife was out of bed in a moment, rushing to her own closet.
Halle threw on his clothing for the day, which was his uniform and a simple cape across his back. Once he was dressed, he glanced to his wife as she poked her head out. "I'm going down to the docks," he told her. "You can catch up when you're ready."
Ingebjørg nodded. "Okay."
It didn't take him long to get through the palace halls and down to the main entrance where he had called ahead to have a car waiting for him. The car would take him to the airport, and then by plane to Trondheim where he would take a cab directly down to the docks.
All in all, he was looking at a four hour trip. Something he was capable of enduring, but something he did not like doing very much.
Being a minister was one thing. But to be a monarch was another thing, especially due to the power it entailed. After the Reconstruction War, a surprising number of people across all three countries had expressed much support for the return of the monarchy, but this time encompassing all three countries. The very idea had been met with much skepticism, but as the country and the world recovered from the war and the devastation it left behind, the Kingdom of Scandinavia proved to be one of the few countries to rebuild to its pre-war state.
And it also led to an increase in a surprising form of fuel usage.
With the rise of oil once more taking hold, the Kingdom did something truly unprecedented: they shifted away from oil and coal, instead turning to a renewable form of fuel that could be made into oil.
Algae.
New photobioreactors were used to grow large amounts of algae, which were then refined into oil. These reactors were built underground with artificial lighting or in large reinforced buildings with skylights hidden by thick blast doors which were then opened during sunny days. This allowed the Kingdom to become energy independent, and with the ability to sell this oil and fuel source to other countries, it made them a green-energy powerhouse, something that pissed off the oil barons in the Atlantic Federation.
It also ensured they had a steady income, and also gave them reason to build large ships to transport the fuel across the seas.
Shipbuilding became a major part of the Kingdom's economy, along with tourism, which helped ensure they had a thriving industry, something the Atlantians wanted to take advantage of. And that the King was not willing to allow, given their reputation and record on human rights. It was all that he could do to keep the monster at bay, and he was not going to back down.
In that, he had to thank Lord Uzumi for encouraging him to do what needed to be done.
As for the reason why his family had elected to become the new royal family of the Kingdom of Scandinavia, it was simple: to protect their people. While in theory they did have unlimited power, it was due to a system of checks and balances that kept them from exercising the power they could have. It was a remnant from an age where wars were not about glory and power, but were seen as evil that needed to be weeded out from the human population. So while there had been wars, they were seen as necessary evils to try and keep the world at peace.
A stark contrast to today, Halle mused as he stepped out of the car at the airport.
A day and age much like the medieval eras, despite the advancing sciences and technologies.
'How hypocritical,' he thought. 'Back before the Reconstruction War, the world was headed towards a better future. And now look where we are... What happened to cause this?'
He had no idea that the truth was going to come down hard on them.
. . .
Docks of Trondheim
The ship's engines had wound down sometime during the night, allowing the crew aboard her to get some much needed rest.
After docking, the crew had been surprised when they were boarded by a large contingent of security personnel who searched the ship from top to bottom, from bow to stern, looking for any sign of Atlantian forces aboard her. In light of the attacks on Eurasia and in their home waters, it made sense they'd want to be cautious in case of a possible invasion. Despite protesting their innocence, the crew of the vessel had been detained and locked in one of the terminals close by, watched by a number of security personnel and some marines from the Kingdom's armed forces.
It was only after some discussion and a brief conversation with someone higher up in the government that they were released, only to be watched like hawks. Thee crew of the SS United States were provided with winter clothing and hot food and beverages to help stave off the cold as they waited for someone important to arrive. As to whom, no one was allowed to know. Repeated efforts at questioning their guards only failed and they were left with no answers.
At least until a few hours later when a car pulled up close to the docks.
For his part, the King was floored at what he saw before him.
Tied to the pier was a large vessel eerily reminiscent of one of his country's ocean liners. Only this one was completely covered in ice and frost, making her resemble a specter from days long past. A tattered flag hung from her rear jackstaff, and he frowned as he slowly lowered the window to get a better look at it.
And his eyes flew wide as he stared at it.
Tattered and battered, the thirteen stripes still stood out, the red and white barely visible beneath the frost. The blue square in the upper left corner was also visible, as were the fifty stars. While it was somewhat dirty, it was still recognizable.
That flag belonged to the now defunct United States of America.
But what was this ship doing here, and why was it flying the flag of a nonexistent nation?
He glanced to the crowd before the ship, noticing that there were a total of one-hundred and fifty people, each divided into groups of thirty, each one guarded by a number of marines. They each held their guns at the ready, but did not have their hands on the triggers; it was merely a deterrence.
"What the...?" The King glanced to the ship once more, wondering just how old she was. She didn't look very seaworthy...
"Your Majesty!"
Two of the Marines broke off from the group and made their way over, and along with them came Pontus himself. He walked between them as he approached.
The nobleman came to a stop just before his monarch and saluted.
The king nodded before he turned his gaze to the ship. "What is this all about, Pontus?" he asked.
"Your Highness, it is best you hear it from the crew," Pontus replied. "It's like a story almost."
The king frowned as he glanced to the crew, his eyes searching out someone who would fit the mold of a captain. He walked briskly over to the first group, looking at them before speaking. "Who is the captain of this vessel?" he asked, gesturing to the ship.
Much to his surprise, a woman in her mid-thirties stepped forward. She had black hair and brown eyes, and she stood at about five foot ten, give or take an inch. her boots made it hard to accurately judge her height, but the way she moved underneath her winter garments indicated that she was very fit and no doubt a former athlete or soldier. Her hair was tied back in a shorty ponytail, despite the cold weather.
"That would be me, Your Majesty," she said, giving a crisp military salute. "Captain Rebecca Stimson, United States Navy!"
King Isaksen narrowed his eyes. "What is this, Captain?"
The woman was about to step forward out beyond the guards, only to be blocked by the guards lowering their rifles.
"No. Let her pass," the king ordered.
The guards looked at one another before they shrugged and let her pass.
The woman nodded her thanks as she strode over to the king. Her stride was not demure, but confident, and very much that of a naval sailor. She carried herself with experience as well, and the way her eyes held in them a burning fire indicated that she was formerly a soldier before being discharged. That fit with his initial assessment of her.
She came to a stop before King Isaksen. "Your Highness, I know this seems strange, but..."
She was cut off as he held up a hand. "First off, I am very confused on some things. I was told by Pontus that you came from the Atlantic Federation, only that you called it the Atlantian Reich instead. You also mentioned that you were part of a resistance movement that spanned the entire country, including England and Ireland, and that you sought to try and enlist our help." He lowered his hand. His eyes narrowed as he looked directly at her.
Much to her credit, she didn't even flinch. She stood her ground, arms at her sides, standing at attention.
"Sire, you saw that broadcast from the Eurasian Federation, didn't you?" the woman asked.
King Isaksen nodded. "Yes. But I still find it hard to accept. Businessmen running things from the shadows? It seems like a movie plot to me."
"I can assure you, it's one hundred percent real, sire!" the captain(?) stated seriously.
"Hmm..." The king narrowed his eyes.
"I have a feeling that there is more to this than meets the eye," he mused. "I will need to speak to you and your crew to try and get to the bottom of this. Also, do you happen to have a number with which I can make contact with your... leader?"
The sailor nodded as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small data tablet. It wasn't much at first glance, but upon closer inspection, the king was quick to see that it was clearly military grade. It was robust and durable, but it was designed in such a way that it did not resemble any sort of obvious data tablet.
"You can use the encrypted communications to reach out to her," the captain said.
"Her?" King Isaksen arched an eyebrow.
"Yes. President Marie Lennethe Eisenhower," Captain Stimson explained.
'Now that's a new one. From what our spies have told us, there are no women amongst the leadership anymore, mostly due to the high-profile betrayals pulled during the First Bloody Valentine War,' the king thought as he took the tablet.
"Also, you may want to sit down. It will be a long explanation," she added.
. . .
She was right.
The explanation did take a long time. A full five hours to be exact.
His first assumptions of President Eisenhower before meeting her (based on the limited information the captain had given him) had been that she had been a former psychiatrist and soldier husband team. But after meeting her over the communications app virtually, his presumptions had been completely shattered. Not only was she single, but she was an absolute Amazon in her appearance: tall, strong, muscular, and her eyes... they had held the ruthlessness and cunning of a soldier, no, an insurgent.
The rebel commander had also given a full explanation about everything that had happened, and provided irrefutable proof of LOGOs being real, as well as the ones in charge. As well as revealing just how extensive her intelligence network really was. That alone had been enough to floor the king. He had actually collapsed in shock, staring at the ceiling for a full three minutes until his wife - who had arrived shortly after making contact - had snapped him back to his senses.
So now here he sat, staring in shock at what he had just learned.
His eyes narrowed as he considered his next words.
'The fact that LOGOs is real... and have been orchestrating everything from the beginning... that's enough to make me reconsider my kingdom's position in this war. With how close Britain is to our borders and waters, it makes sense to start thinking about reaching out to form a new alliance,' he thought. 'It seems that she has every intention to undermine Djibril in every sense of the word, and what better way than to bring nations together?'
He finally looked up. "Madame President, I am curious. What is your overall vision for the world?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.
"I figured you'd ask that," the President sighed. "I've been getting that a lot every time I try to form a new alliance. But... seeing as why it matters, I'll tell you." She looked up, her icy eyes meeting his.
"My vision for the world is this: Tolerance. Respect. Understanding. Sanity. Truth." She sat back in her seat on the screen. "Tolerance for those not of our genetic typing. Respect for children's rights. Understanding of change. Sanity instead of this barbaric insanity that leads to this new Nazi Empire. And the truth behind the whole war, the Copernicus Tragedy, and including the Junius Seven attack." She narrowed her own eyes. "In short, a world based on the pre-Reconstruction War world. No. That is the world I fight for. A world where this insane petty temper tantrum and irrational fear of change doesn't lead to wars and where men like LOGOs are held accountable, no matter how much power and wealth they have!" The President slammed her fist down on the desk as she said this, and King Isaksen could see in her eyes the conviction that made her strong.
It was what most men in LOGOs feared.
A drive to change the world. A vision of a future much different from their own goals.
And King Isaksen could see it.
He finally leaned back, closing his eyes as he tented his fingers in front of his mouth as he sat on a chair in the cruise terminal. "Hmm..."
There was just so much that needed to be done. Sure there was a lot that they could do, but as to what their role would be was up in the air for the moment. For one thing, the resistance had much information that most did not have, and actually, now that he thought about it, there was something that bothered him.
He opened his eyes and sat upright. "Madame President, I am not doubting your capabilities, I can assure you of that. But with what you have said and shown me, I just don't see how I could be of any assistance to you."
"I kind of guessed that would be the case," the woman said. "But what I am hoping is that come the next few months, you could start to expose more about what's been happening inside the Atlantian Reich and also perhaps expose more about their leadership given the data we provided. As it stands, we can't exactly expose ourselves yet, seeing as how much of the world has the wrong idea of us at the moment. They may lump us in with the Nazis we're fighting against here at home. We're hoping you could use your reputation and vouch for us as being the real deal to other countries, like say, the United States of South America or even the Oceanian Union."
Now the king could see what was going on here.
'Ah. I see now,' he thought. 'She's hoping to use our credibility to show that they are the good guys to those who are uncertain.' And actually, it was a shrewd move on her part. Using a proxy to reveal themselves was one thing, though, and to do it herself was quite another.
"I see your plan, ma'am," he said. "But there is a difference between using us as a proxy and doing it yourselves."
"Yeah. That's what we intend on doing when we launch our revolution," the President stated. "But right now, we need to remain hidden. And by dropping rumors that there is a resistance, we're hoping that people will start to question whether or not all Americans believe that crap they spout and whether or not all Americans are Nazis like they are."
To the king, that was a good point. "Ah... Now I get it. You're intending to get people to dismiss the perception that has been crafted by their actions and to see what is really happening beneath the surface!"
President Eisenhower nodded. "Yes."
The monarch closed his eyes as he thought.
'Her plan is sound, and it does have a lot of merit to it. But there is so much that could go wrong as well. Still, it is better than nothing, I suppose.' He opened his eyes again.
"Madame President, I do applaud your efforts. You are a lot shrewder than I have expected. But..." Here he scowled. "If this is to work, we will need more information on their leadership."
"Give me any one of them and I'll have my agents get to it," she said.
"I wish to know more about this Djibril character. You mentioned he was the leader. But what of his past? Because your data was lacking on that," Halle explained.
Here the President gave a visible sigh. "Hoo boy... that's something that even I'm not sure we can accomplish. We've done a lot of digging to try and find it, but either all the records have been scrubbed or are so encrypted it could take months to crack those firewalls." She looked up, her eyes hardening. "That leads me to suspect there's something someone doesn't want the world to learn about him."
"So you can't do it?" the king asked.
He was half expecting her to admit defeat and just give up. But much to his surprise, and actually causing him to be a bit disturbed, the woman actually gave a predatory grin. "I didn't say that," she purred. "I just said it's something even I'm not sure we can accomplish. But... that makes it all the more intriguing. It's kind of a challenge, and I welcome any challenge LOGOs throws our way!"
"You actually want to risk getting captured and executed?!" the king blurted in disbelief.
President Eisenhower just laughed a bit. "We're not that stupid, Your Highness." Then her grin faded as she lowered her hands from in front of her mouth. "I will be honest here and say that it's too easy to manipulate Djibril in this way. In truth, while it is a challenge to try and stay ahead of him, it's that his objectives are far too easy to guess and work out. So to do something like this is a change of pace for us as a whole."
The king merely narrowed his eyes as he considered her words.
A master strategist and tactician like her? Of course it would be too easy, he knew. But to find about the past of Djibril was another matter, and one that no doubt would test her.
"If you can do this and find out about his past, I shall consider taking a harsher stance against LOGOs, as well as possibly join you in your mission to overthrow them," he said. "And as for the ship... well..." He glanced out at it. "I'm just not sure if it's worth the risk."
"That ship is the fastest thing in the world today," the President said. "It would also be a huge boon to Terminal and us if we had a mobile command ship to use."
"That will require something more from you then," King Halle remarked. "And that would be this: provide us with more data on the leadership of LOGOs. And I mean all of them."
"We can do that," Eisenhower stated. "Give us a few weeks and we'll have it compiled."
"Very well." King Isaksen nodded. "Then I shall give the orders for the refit to begin in earnest."
The President gave a smile as she closed down the line and turned to the captain of the ship.
"Captain Stimson?"
"Yes, Your Majesty?" she asked, saluting.
"I wish to know. Are you acting as a representative of your nation by doing this?" the king asked.
The woman blinked. "Uh... Actually... we just did this because... it seemed like the right thing to do...?"
"So you took the initiative and acted on your own," he mused. A chuckle escaped him. "I like your way of thinking. So... I may ask you if you would like to act as an ambassador of sorts between us and the resistance."
. . .
RESISTANCE HEADQUARTERS
Denver, Colorado
December 7th, CE 0073
"Well..." Eisenhower grinned to herself. "This is gonna be a real challenge indeed..."
Off to her side stood Jacques, his eyes hardened. "Ma'am, are you sure about this?" he asked.
The female President gave a nod. "Yes, Jacques," she stated. "After all, I'm not one to break my word once I give it."
The DNI gave a snort, but he did know she was honest, at least.
"Very well. I'll see what we can dig up on Djibril," he said.
"But remember. Go slow, and act on any possible lead. It may give us a trail that we can follow," she cautioned.
"I'm well aware, ma'am," the ex-CIA agent remarked. "I'll give the order soon. But right now, there is another matter that has to be discussed."
"Oh? What?" Eisenhower arched an eyebrow.
"It's about Operation: Merlin." The DNI's eyes narrowed. "We've just gotten word from our sources inside the military leadership." He held out the folder he had been carrying under his left arm. The President took it and opened it as he continued. "The Atlantians have apparently invested in another merc group."
"Another one? What happened to Desperado?" she asked as she scanned the folder's contents.
"All their top pilots were wiped out during the fighting with the White Legend and the other Gundam pilots," he explained. "But this new merc group... they are considered the worst possible."
"Master Goose Militia..." Eisenhower narrowed her eyes. "I've heard of them. A bunch of loose cannons who have this deluded idea that they are of the new Master Race. And all of them have blonde hair and blue eyes, according to some reports."
"Yes." The DNI nodded. "And given how they are supposed to be their top new merc company, well..." Here his voice trailed off as he gulped. "Well... I was thinking..."
The President looked up. "Hm?"
"What if we hired our own merc team?"