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:
- Spiceracksargent001: Glad ya liked, and yes, Eisenhower is trying to extend their reach out politically. ;) As for the investigation into Copernicus, that will happen as the war drags on. ;)
- raw666: Oh, I will~! ;3 As for how on the other hand... well, just keep reading and see for yourself~! ;)
- operation meteor: Glad ya liked that! XD I wanted to do something along those lines. ;3 And yep, the Big U indeed was stretching her legs! XD And yeah, I like the idea of the Kingdom of Scandinavia being fleshed out more. ;)
(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 XIX: Mercenary Contact
Resistance Headquarters
Denver, Colorado
December 5th, CE 0073
The President looked up. "Hm?"
"What if we hired our own merc team?"
That caught Eisenhower off guard. "Wait, WHAT!?" She stood up. "You want us to do what?!"
Jacques raised his hands in surrender. "It's not what you think, ma'am."
"Then explain why we should hire a bunch of thugs who only fight for money!" Eisenhower spat.
The DNI nodded as he lowered his hands. "If you look further in the folder, you'll see something that may just change your mind."
Eisenhower's eyes narrowed as she sifted through the papers, only to come face-to-face with a report. "Hm?"
She took it out and scanned it over, her eyes narrowing.
The logo on the right hand side of the report was indicative that it was a client's report. The emblem resembled a wolf's head, but with part of it hidden in shadow. Two red eyes reminiscent of those on a Gundam stood out, and above the eyes were two small red dots. The name below the emblem made her arch an eyebrow.
"Sicario?" she read.
"Yes, ma'am. I've done my research on these guys, and... well, if you read the report, you'll find out why I even suggested this to begin with," Jacques said.
The President frowned as she read the report, and her eyes widened.
The report detailed a mission in which pirates had launched numerous attacks upon shipping, prompting many to hire mercenary companies as a means to protect their shipping. A large number of them had often been removed from the equation either to incompetence or just trying to prove themselves. She knew very well some of them were also surprisingly competent, but never really thought much beyond the next contract or their next paycheck.
But these guys, Sicario Security Services, were far from the usual mercenaries.
The report explained about their competence, as well as something very surprising: a strict ethics code that prevented them from taking contracts from genocidal governments. The client went on to describe their capabilities, which really caught Eisenhower's attention. They also told of how the company was perhaps the only one that had enough manpower to basically rival a small country's army. A whistle escaped her as she looked up.
"Now I get why these guys caught your eye," she remarked. "A strict ethics code and a top training program based on that of the United States military pre-Reconstruction War. And their numbers alone..." She shook her head.
"Yes," Jacques replied. "But given how the Atlantians have been using them, it makes sense how you'd dislike the idea."
"You're right on that," Eisenhower noted. "But then again, there has to be another reason, am I right?" Her eyes narrowed at him briefly.
The DNI nodded. "That would be correct, ma'am," he told her. "The other reason I suggested this is to throw LOGOs for a loop... as well as bolster our forces once we begin the revolution."
Eisenhower's eyes widened. She had been thinking about the losses they would sustain and of how to prevent them. But this... this suggestion was something that she hadn't even considered. She closed her eyes and tented her fingers in front of her mouth as she bowed her head, running through the possible scenarios. She could see that he was right. They would need their forces bolstered, if not enhanced, by these guys. With the size of a small army, they'd be able to make up the losses, and perhaps even train their next generation of pilots, soldiers, and so on in the proper way to do warfare.
She opened her eyes.
"I want you to find as much as you can about this Sicario group," she said. "Particularly their leadership. Find out just what makes them tick. And then..." Her eyes narrowed. "Try and make contact."
"That'll be easier said than done," Jacques said. "They vet their clients extremely thoroughly, which means no one can really contact them unless they are approached by someone who used their services."
"Then find someone who has!" the President ordered.
Jacques gave a crisp salute before he turned and walked off, leaving the President to look down at the report and the information on the Master Goose Militia.
She slid the report regarding Sicario to the side and examined the information on the Master Goose Militia.
The PMC was one of the fiercest rivals of the Sicario Group, and was also fierce rivals with Desperado Enforcement. With the former now out of the game with the loss of their top pilots, the latter was now in line to become their next PMC to throw at the Terminal and Eurasian forces. The rivalry between the two was somewhat more of a friendly rivalry in comparison to the hatred they had for Sicario, who they felt were not fit to be mercenaries due to their ethics code and training that prioritized getting the objective done with lack of collateral damage and civilian losses.
And in actuality, it made sense to her. But that also was a hindrance to the PMC, seeing as how it limited them only to anti-piracy operations and any other such missions.
The two PMCs could also not have been any more different in terms of their composition and organization.
The Master Goose Militia was composed of only men, and out of those men, only those who had blonde hair and blue eyes were considered the superior physical specimens and they were also their top pilots. At best she could guess that about half were blonde and had blue eyes or some mix of the two. It was a complete throwback to the SS of Nazi Germany, she mused. Back then, the SS had only accepted those of superior physical conditioning and genetics; in other words, they had blonde hair and blue eyes as their defining characteristics.
And as such, the militia saw themselves as the new breed of the Master Race.
That was enough to make her grit her teeth as she closed her eyes. "Dammit...! How much longer until we can finally end Nazism at its roots!?" she muttered.
She opened her eyes again as she looked to the photos of the leadership.
One thing she was quick to note was that many of them possessed Germanic names, stemming from the Nazi era.
The first man she examined in detail was named Hans Hess, and he had thick blonde hair that swept down across his shoulders, framing his square jaw and blue eyes handsomely. He was tall and broad, and he clearly looked the part of a peak specimen of the human race. She guessed he was about six foot three, and he had a single scar crossing his face.
The second-in-command was known as Reinhart Himmler, and his hair was short and messy. He had glacier blue eyes and his face held no emotion. He was lean and thin compared to Hans, and he had an eye patch on his right eye. He had a small goatee, and he wore on his hip a sword. A monocle was over his left eye, adding an air of sophistication to his appearance.
The third man in the report was a man who was big and burly, with a huge beard and mustache combination. He was much bigger than Hans, and he looked like he had been a lumberjack before joining the mercenary unit. His hands looked like they could crush her in between them with ease. His hair was thick and bushy, and his eyes were a slate blue color. His name was Jorge von Schweppe, and he was their heavy hitter.
The fourth man wasn't as big as Jorge, but he was just as burly. His blonde hair was more gray at the temples, but it only accented his intense blue eyes. He had a scar across his lower chin, and he also possessed a short mustache. The similarities to the Nazi leader in that regard was enough to make her scowl. He was known as Heinrich Rommel, and his specialty was electronic warfare.
The fifth and final man in the unit was the youngest, but also the most fanatical. She could see it in his eyes. He had bright blonde hair and his eyes were the lightest shade of blue possible, making him the ideal recruiting boy to put on their posters. The man's build was thin, but had potential to fill out more than it already had. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at the name. Joachim Hitler.
She slapped the report photos shut and looked down at the organization of the militia.
"Four squadrons of five pilots," she noted. "Each one based off a Spengler-class carrier. One of them is currently heading to England, so that's a bad thing. That means Operation: Merlin could be jeopardized."
The implications of that were not good. She frowned to herself as she examined the reports. "Much as I hate to admit it... Jacques does have a point..."
Eisenhower looked up. "We need a merc unit of our own... to thwart their plans and to ensure Operation: Merlin succeeds..."
Her eyes narrowed. "Or else this will fail... and so will our own efforts..."
This was the worst case possible to her. In all her life so far, she had never experienced anything like this. With everything on the line, there was only one option to ensure its success. But then again, leaders sometimes needed to make tough calls.
And this was one such time for them all.
"Dammit..." Eisenhower muttered. "This is seriously not good for anyone..."
. . .
Outskirts of Panama
December 6th, CE 0073
Panama City was a busy place as ships came and went through the landmark canal that separated the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.
Of course, with the canal stretching across the entire country, it made sense that a lot of pirates would seek to make the ships there targets.
However, that was recently offset by the fact that their numbers had started to decline.
And for good reason.
The ship offshore did not look like anything special at first glance, being a Spengler-class carrier from a distance. It was only when one got up close that it was actually a heavily modified one, stripping out the old flight deck and rebuilding it more along the lines of the old United States Navy's aircraft carriers. The bridge and superstructure had even been repositioned to be on the left-hand side of the deck, and a pair of hangars lined the sides of the vessel.
The choice for the revamp was simple: to differentiate them from the other companies that used the same ships.
The ship was also named differently, preferring to be referred to as the Tarawa-class. The ship currently off of Panama was also the flagship, named the Tarawa. And it was also the headquarters of the cause of the pirates' decline.
On the bridge jackstaff, a black flag flew, and on it was the outline of a partially revealed wolf's head, with two red Gundam-esque eyes with two dots in the middle of the forehead above the eyes. The flag was the emblem of the Sicario Mercenary Corps, otherwise known as Sicario Security Services. The mercenary company was not only one of the top PMCs in the world, but was also considered the largest in the world due to their sheer number and size.
Unlike most other PMCs who tended to specialize in one area of combat, Sicario was more flexible and adaptive, having not just pilots, but also a number of other units to make them more suited for overall warfare, including special operations missions. This allowed them to perform not just pirate deterrence, but also to take back ships that had been boarded and overtaken by said pirates. It kept their units in good shape, and their abilities at top performance, although some had been complaining about the lack of adequate fighting skill from some of the pirates as of late.
To the commander of Sicario, that was a problem.
Arnold Franken was not too thrilled to have such issues.
It meant that his company's reputation would take a hit and service would start to decline. And they needed the money to be able to maintain and upkeep their ships and mobile suits. It was a hassle, yes, but it was well worth the ability to roam to their destinations and pick the contracts they chose instead of being bound to one that they didn't like. And as the strongest, most well-organized merc company in the world, they had enough clout to allow themselves to back out of a contract if it went against their ethics and values.
Arnold was not a real glory hound. Sure he was a bit of one, but he did not seek to put his name in the history books as a murderer of innocents or even genocide. No. Instead, he wanted to do something different. He wanted to do something that no other mercenary company had done: bring the fight to one of the major powers, and lately there had been some very interesting signs that there would be ample opportunities for such an action. Especially with the recent events within the Atlantic Federation, or as it was now being called by some soldiers he had encountered, the Atlantian Reich.
This made him consider that perhaps the Atlantians were not as united in this so-called crusade as he thought.
And that made him think.
Arnold himself was a former Atlantic Federation citizen who had gotten disillusioned with the leadership had been acting and he had left well before the First Bloody Valentine War broke out. He and a lot of his men and women up and left, bringing with them as many skilled mechanics and technicians as they could gather. They established themselves as a mercenary company within the next five months, using Spengler-class aircraft carriers as makeshift housings for their fighter jets before the war led to the mass production of mobile suits.
Sure their fighter jets were obsolete in some respects, but some of his people felt more at ease in a jet than a humanoid machine. He never really considered turning in his own plane for a mobile suit, so he had access to two fighting machines, his personal fighter jet and his customized Strike Dagger.
From a glance, Arnold didn't seem that imposing. It was only when they got close that they could see how well built he was. Arnold stood at an imposing six foot two, and he had thick black hair with intense green eyes, a combination that drew many a woman to him. But surprisingly, he was not into that, instead being married to his ambitions. His lower face was covered in a mustache and beard combo, which only added to his ruggedness in the eyes of some ladies.
Arnold was also not just a looker, but a damn good fighter and mobile suit pilot. Which is why he and his company were some of the best in the world.
He glanced around his office before he sighed, rubbing his head with his fingers.
"Another day, and another lousy run of pirate deterrence," he muttered.
He stood up and stretched, arching his arms over his head before he lowered them and turned, walking to the window and looking out at the sea reaching out to the horizon to the right and the city of Panama to his left. The sun was already starting to set, and he could see stars starting to poke out from behind a bit of cloud cover. The moon was shrouded in shadow, which only added to the very picturesque scene before him.
The reality of this new form of racism was something he couldn't bring himself to accept. Hell, his company had amongst them a fair number of Coordinators, which he didn't even care about. As long as they did their jobs, then he could care less about their genetic typing. It was so petty and ridiculous it was enough to make him snort.
But now, with the fracturing of the Atlantic Federation, this was perhaps an opportunity to strike out and make a mark on the world.
His mark.
That was his greatest ambition.
Not just to show that he was a big-time merc, but also one of those who brought down a mighty reincarnated Nazi Empire.
That was his dream.
And why he was working so hard to train his forces for battle.
The door to his office opened and he turned just as his second-in-command came in, making him frown slightly.
"What is it?"
The man who entered was almost as tall as Arnold, if not a bit shorter by one inch. Dominic Zaitsev was a bit older than Arnold was, and his thick black hair was rather curly despite being cut short. He had a thick beard on his chin, and he had dark brown skin, a sign of his African American heritage. He was also a Coordinator, having been genetically modified before birth because of his parents' wealth and clout. He had been born and raised in the Eurasian Federation, heir to a prominent defense contractor, Zaitsev Industries.
However, despite this, his real passion lay in radio, and he started up his own radio show sometime after getting his certification in radio engineering. However, after his efforts to expose the CKP in the First Bloody Valentine War, he was shut down by them and went on the run, only to be plucked off the streets by Arnold during a stopover in Spain. A competent radio operator, he oftentimes was a bit more outspoken and rather loud and carefree, but he never deviated from a mission or even broke protocol during such times.
He was also one of their top pilots, often times using his machine's enhanced communications suite to relay information and intelligence about enemy units and movements back to them to allow them to stay one step ahead of the enemy.
"Sir, I got some news," he reported, his normally expressive features rather serious as he stood beside the door, arms folded across his chest.
"What?" Arnold asked, feeling a bit of impatience forming.
Dominic straightened up and walked over to the desk. "It's the entire fiasco down in Mexico," he remarked.
"Hm?" Arnold arched an eyebrow. "What about it?"
"Some of the radio jockeys I've been in contact with have given me some very interesting accounts of it," the Coordinator said. "And let me tell you, some of them are out of this world, almost literally in a few cases."
"Just tell me, Dominic," Arnold ordered. "What happened?"
Dominic sat down in one of the chairs in front of his superior's desk. He draped his legs over the arm rest and laced his hands behind his head. "Well, from what i heard, there was a real Charlie Foxtrot down in Mexico. Apparently some rear admiral attacked what appeared to be a mountain, but was in reality an entire base loaded to the brim with rebels," he explained. "The fight, according to the reports I listened in on, was a real nasty one. The rebels were actually able to not only defend the base long enough to enable a full-on evac, but were able to salvage all their equipment as well. The real surprise though came at the end of the fight when the rebels blew their own base and damaged two Destroys so heavily they'll be wasting resources and manpower to repair those beasts."
Arnold frowned as he clenched his hands behind his back. "I see... What did you hear about these rebels?"
The Coordinator shrugged. "Not much," he admitted. "Either it was a one time deal, or maybe there is something serious going on in the Atlantic Federation." His eyes narrowed as he sat up straight, putting his feet on the floor. "I'd bet ya five grand there's somethin' brewing beneath the surface," he added.
"Five grand for something like that, huh?" Arnold cracked a grin at his second. "That's just like you, Dominic."
Dominic smirked as he folded his arms. "True, but that's what I'm gonna wager." His eyes then narrowed as his smirk faded. "Something big like that being reported on? Usually those guys don't report the facts. They tend to rely on pseudo-scientific propaganda and lies to try and justify their genocide against the Coordinators."
"Of which you are one," Arnold pointed out. His second merely waved a hand.
"Forget me," he remarked. "I'm only one man. We could care less about genes, remember?"
The commander grinned back as he nodded. "And that is one of our tenets."
The two men chuckled before Dominic sighed. "I'm not sure as to why this is happening now, but it is rather interesting," he admitted. "Something like this? It could derail the plans of the government, whatever they are."
"What about the sudden remarks of them being an Atlantian Reich?" Arnold asked his subordinate.
Dominic chewed his lip thoughtfully before he whistled. "Oh, boy, boss... there is a lot of speculation swirling around that one. There have been reports and rumors circulating on the airwaves that the government is not really what it appears, and that apparently a cabal of businessmen calling themselves LOGOs runs the country." He snorted. "Really? That sounds like something out of a sci-fi or dystopian novel."
"I don't know, Dominic. I just don't know..." Arnold mused as he turned back to the window. "Everything just seems to be out of control now in this war... and some things just don't seem to add up. Like why the sudden change in the number of members of Congress? And that declaration of the formation of the Kingdom of Gilead? And then it suddenly being walked back after a large number of riots? Not to mention the escape of some museum ship?" His eyes narrowed. "I'm not entirely sure if the rumors are just that: rumors."
"So?" Dominic asked. "Whatcha want me to do?"
He turned to face the Coordinator. "I want you to scan the radio bands and find anything that pertains to this so-called group of businessmen. Anything at all, I want you to report to me as soon as possible," he ordered. "You got that?"
Here his subordinate gave a cheeky grin as he saluted. "I got it, bossman!"
Arnold kept himself in check long enough for Dominic to swagger out of the room, the door hissing shut behind him.
Once he was alone again, Arnold grasped at his face with one hand, rubbing his cheek with exasperation. He sat back down at his desk and resumed his paperwork. "That man... He's a good pilot and a competent operator, but his attitude he needs to work on somewhat..."
He turned to focus his attention on the next paycheck that was coming in from their current client.
The door chimed and he growled. "Dominic, not now!"
"Sir, it's me." A woman's voice caught his attention and he swiveled around in his chair, coming face-to-face with another member of Sicario, and a close friend of his top pilot.
"Ah. Robin. What can I do for you?" he asked.
Robin Kuo was one of the top pilots in Sicario, but while she was an excellent mobile suit pilot, she was an abysmal fighter pilot. It was a stark contrast to the others who were skilled in both fighter jet and mobile suit flying. But while she was a good pilot, out of concern for her safety and those around her, Arnold had her assigned to his top pilot as WSO, or weapons systems officer. It had been decided to only deploy Prez, as she was known, as a last resort pilot due to her questionable flying skills.
Robin was around five foot eight with short brownish-red hair and deep blue eyes, almost like those of the ocean. She had tanned skin and she was very fit, with a curvy but toned figure that her flight suit did little to hide.
A former member of the Republic of East Asia, she had defected after the disastrous Battle of Nova, fleeing her country and joining the Eurasian Federation some time later as a fighter pilot, only to be paired with her closest friend after a flight crash that left her injured for a few months while her legs healed. She recovered and went on to become the WSO to her friend and rumor amongst the company indicated that the two were probably closer than friends at this point. Of course, she never denied or confirmed it, leading to continued speculation.
Arnold was the only one who could get a confirmed guess. He had spotted the two kissing one night, but out of their privacy he didn't mention it to anyone else.
Robin snapped off a smart salute as he nodded curtly.
"Sir, I have some information to report!" Robin remarked.
"Go ahead." Arnold gave a nod. "What is it?"
. . .
Resistance Headquarters
Denver, Colorado
Eisenhower was half asleep by the time the information she requested came into her possession.
Her phone blared loudly, startling her out of her half-asleep state. She was up and out of bed in a flash, adrenaline surging through her as she grabbed her phone and activated it.
"Go," she barked.
"Ma'am, it's Jacques," the voice of her DNI replied. "I was able to get the data you requested."
"Already?" Eisenhower blinked in shock "How did you manage that?!"
"I got in contact with some people who were in the shipping field, and someone did relay information on Sicario directly to me. Their boss had actually used them prior, so..." His voice trailed off as she heard clicking in the background. "It's on its way."
Her phone's mail alert chimed and she brought up the email. She opened it a few seconds later, and her eyes narrowed as she read it over.
"I'll expect your answer soon, I hope," he told her.
"Give me some time to read through this and consider it," Eisenhower told her DNI. "I'll get back to you soon."
Jacques hung up and she sat down on her bed, reading over the email.
According to the email, the last client of Sicario had forged a good working relationship with the mercenary group due to the reputation of providing excellent services and top of the line security. Their anti-piracy operations had not only made them a premiere company to contract, but they also were perhaps the most unorthodox.
Now she could see just how they were different from other merc groups.
For one thing, Sicario was made up of men and women, both Natural and Coordinator alike. And in addition to three mainline units, they also had numerous supporting squadrons. But what really threw her for a loop were the other units to support their forces. The mere thought of a mercenary company possessing its own special operations group was enough to make her wonder just what kind of clients Sicario was taking on. But it also stated that they had a number of paratroopers as well as a small contingent of tanks.
This meant that Sicario Security Services was outfitted to deal with any kind of mission that required their capabilities.
Her eyes narrowed as she shifted her attention to the leadership.
"Arnold Franken. A former pilot in the Atlantian Air Force. Defected around 0068 CE and went on to form Sicario. Born in New Mexico, age fifty-two. Still flies fighter jets and is a capable mobile suit pilot. An effective and charismatic commander. Seeks to make a mark on history." She looked at the image of Arnold, and he did look the part of a fighter pilot.
Her gaze then shifted to the second-in-command. "Dominic Zaitsev. A former Eurasian citizen who was chased out by the CKP during the First Bloody Valentine War. Recruited by Arnold sometime down the line and became a key player in communicating with their pilots. An outgoing, laid back kind of guy, but can be serious when the mission calls for it." His image showed he was a kind, gentle man at first glance. But she knew looks could be deceiving.
She closed down the email and closed her eyes, leaning forward as she tented her hands in front of her mouth.
Already she could see the implications of this.
And each one was possibly in their favor.
She slowly opened her eyes.
She had made her decision.
. . .
"I see." Jacques nodded. "So you decided then."
"Yes. I did. I want you to find the contact information and send it to me," Eisenhower ordered. "The sooner we do this, the better."
The DNI smirked as he saluted. "Yes, ma'am!"
He closed down the line and leaned back, looking up at the starry sky. The moon was partially visible, and he couldn't help but frown as he gazed at it. "Copernicus..." he muttered.
With the President's decision having been made, now he could focus on Project: Artemis.
He grasped his phone and dialed up the FBI director.
"Hello?"
"It's me," he said. "How is the project going?"
"Oh! Jacques. I just got into contact with the League of the Batmen. They'll look into it," Director Gerro remarked. "They'll send me the data as this progresses."
"Excellent," Jacques said.
"Also, I'm going to get in touch with the Seattle Spooks later tomorrow," he admitted.
"Good. The more people we have on this the better." Jacques nodded. "Keep me in the loop."
"I will, sir," the director of the FBI remarked.
The line closed down and Jacques turned his gaze back towards the next item on the list: the intel on LOGOs' leadership.
So far he had compiled all the data pertaining to the majority of their leadership, save for Djibril. His eyes narrowed as he remembered the President's words to him.
GWPRGWPRGWPR - FLASHBACK - GWPRGWPRGWPR
"Your mission is to try and find any data on Djibril," she ordered him.
"But... that's close to impossible!" Jacques protested. "There is no way to find it!"
"Maybe, but if the Kingdom of Scandinavia is to get involved, we need to get them this data," Eisenhower stated, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "And there is always a way to get the data. It's just a matter of how."
Jacques knew she had a point, but to ask for the data on Djibril's past was something he wasn't sure they could even get a tidbit on. It was just too hard to find.
But the way her eyes locked onto his indicated she was not about to back down. A scowl crossed his features as he folded his arms. "Man... You want to do this, don't you?"
Eisenhower gave a nod. "Yes. After all, it's all a part of my overall ambition. And you know what that is." The way she kept her gaze on him was a sign she wanted him to answer. He just gave a nod.
"Yes, ma'am. I do," he said. "Project: Rebirth."
Project: Rebirth was the name of her goal, and it was not just for the rebirth of America. What it implied was something better, and what it meant for everyone as a whole.
"I'll do as you asked," he told her. "I'll get my best guys and girls on it, as well as a few in the technical communications field. Maybe there is something there we can use to help us."
"A good move," Eisenhower noted. "After all, with everything we've done, it makes sense we'd be able to utilize them."
Jacques nodded as he turned in his chair. "I'm just uncertain if this will even be enough..."
"I share your concern," she said. "But we have a mission, and we will succeed." Here her eyes became mere slits. "No matter what it takes..."
GWPRGWPRGWPR - END FLASHBACK - GWPRGWPRGWPR
He sighed.
This part was going to take a bit longer than he had anticipated.
Whoever had hidden the data on Djibril's past was excellent at technical matters. And he knew just how hard it was to sniff out old data...
But it wasn't impossible, he knew.
It just relied a lot on the right people, the right skills, the right circumstances...
And a whole lotta sheer dumb luck in this case.
Now, it was all up to the team assembled for this.
Thankfully, though, on other fronts, things were moving a lot smoother...
. . .
December 7th, CE 0073
Tarawa, Panama Coast
Arnold looked up from his paperwork as he heard the chime of the terminal at his desk.
He turned his gaze to it and brought up the caller's number...
Only to blink at the secure transmission icon beeping. His eyes narrowed as he brought up the decryption software he often used to decrypt reports from his soldiers and pilots out in the field.
The software went to work, and although their encryption and therefore their decryption was designed to be state-of-the-art, this time it took a full two minutes to decrypt the caller's frequency. And his eyes went wide as he saw just what was coming through.
The line had the image of the old US presidential seal on it. A small phone rang beneath it before the seal fizzled and gave way to just a blank screen for a moment.
Some part of him wondered if this was some kind of joke, but years of work as a mercenary had given him a sense into who was calling and who was not. The fact that this person was taking extreme measures to avoid being sniffed out by someone indicated that they had something to hide... or were about to offer then something that he despised doing.
But he was not about to turn down a potential contract given that their current one was almost complete. He needed to start finding a new one and soon.
And anti-piracy missions were getting a bit too mundane, he figured.
The only question was... would this unknown caller be someone they could respect, or would they be the same cut as the Atlantians?
The blank screen then fizzled as a female voice reached out from the speakers.
"Hello? Is this Arnold Franken?"
The commander blinked at the tone.
Sure it was a woman, but the way she spoke...
It was not demure, and nor did it hold any hesitation. The woman's voice was confident, cool, and collected. Plus, she sounded more like a soldier instead of a civilian. But something about her tone made a chill creep down his spine. He couldn't put a finger on it, but something about her tone just screamed DANGER! to him.
He slowly spoke. "Yes... this is Arnold Franken..."
"Ah. Good. I wasn't sure if we'd be able to reach you, given how difficult it is to contact you to begin with," she said as the static began to clear.
"Yes. And there is a good reason for that," Arnold stated. "We are not heartless thugs like some others we have encountered as rivals in the past."
The screen finally cleared of static, and Arnold had to keep his jaw from dropping as he stared at the woman before him on the screen.
Tall, broad, and well muscled, she looked more like an Amazonian warrior princess than a normal soldier or even a civilian. Her hair was pure white and she had icy-green eyes that held in them the ruthlessness he could only describe as belonging to an insurgent. She had scars crossing her body and face, and she wore military fatigues and a black cloak like a cape. Her fingers were tented in front of her mouth and she was staring right at him.
This woman... just who the hell was she?!
"I can see why then," the woman stated. "Your reputation is something that I'm kind of intrigued by, as is the way your company is structured. Out of curiosity, how many people do you have under your employ, Commander?"
Arnold paused, frowning at this. "First off, you know me, but I don't know you, miss. Care to introduce yourself first, before we begin any negotiations or talk?"
The woman was silent for a moment before she nodded. "It is only right to introduce oneself. So my name is Marie Lenneth Eisenhower..." She paused before her lips twitched upwards in a sneer that made Arnold quirk an eyebrow.
"And I am the President of the United States of America!" she added.
Arnold was keen to catch on quick that there was a reason she had styled herself that. He knew his history, having been educated in the Atlantic Federation. He frowned as he tented his fingers. "I assume that there is a reason you chose to call yourself that, especially considering how the United States of America has been defunct for almost three quarters of a century," he noted.
"Quick to catch on," Eisenhower remarked, her sneer fading. "Yes, there is a reason for it. So, let me give you a rundown on what's really been happening inside the Atlantian Nazi Empire."
She proceeded to launch into an explanation about what was happening. From the children of political dissidents and moderates being held in a desert camp with little food and water, to the silencing of any opposing moderate voices through assassinations, ranging from the theft of wages to ensure people lived on a decent income to the doing away of Congress to allow a new nobility to make decisions instead, she left nothing out. She even detailed the recruitment of the head of all LOGOs' media corporations to their side, which made him whistle in amazement.
The woman also told him about the sheer scale of the movement, and he had to admit, he was impressed at how she had managed it in just three years, especially with the help of the FBI.
"I see..." he mused when she was finished. "So, your objective is to undermine LOGOs and reveal just who is truly in charge, while showcasing that the real people are against this bloodshed." His eyes narrowed. "I still don't see where we'll come in, though. You sound like you've got enough manpower to handle this once it gets underway."
"While we may have the manpower, we're still lacking in critical areas of warfare, primarily the lack of an organized air force," Eisenhower explained. "We need to build that up, and as it stands, we'll be vulnerable until then. Plus, with the sheer brutality and sadism that the Atlantian elite have foisted onto the soldiers and airmen, they will need a strict reconditioning through a newly modified boot camp. And that can't take place until we drive the new nobility and royal family out of our country..." Her eyes hardened and they took on the icy coldness of space. "...for good!"
"..." Arnold pursed his lips as he considered this.
He could see where she was going with this. As a mercenary, he had to be keen to understand the geopolitical order. And with the resistance slowly gaining strength as quickly as it was, it was only a matter of time before they had the capacity to overthrow the Atlantian government from within. But that also opened up a whole new can of worms. With the Atlantians removed from the war, it would allow others to take control and try to claim power in their place. But no doubt this woman had already considered that, or at least had an advisor that had informed her of it.
She did seem like she would have someone like that.
"You do realize the geopolitical implications of this, don't you?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.
"I am aware of them," Eisenhower retorted. "But that is beside the point. The point here is, we need your help. As much as I hate to admit it, by the way."
"Ah. So you don't like the idea of using mercs, but you're willing to accept it," Arnold noted. He closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his forehead with both hands. "Well, I can respect that... especially given how some other merc companies are not as ethical as we are. Those kinds of people give us mercs a bad rap. And the old Wagner Group, despite being defunct for close to one hundred years now, hasn't helped matters in that regard."
"That's exactly why I'm hesitant to accept your help, despite needing it," Eisenhower admitted. "How do I even know you're as good and skilled as you say? And how do I know that you really do adhere to the ethics your company claims to uphold?" Her eyes narrowed as she asked this.
"Well, for one thing, my boys and girls all come from a variety of countries, mostly from the Atlantian Reich, as you'd call it. And most of us actually could give a rat's ass about what genetics we have," Arnold remarked. He opened his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. "Unlike most other mercs, and unlike the Master Goose Militia, we actually condemn the genetic and racial superiority of both Naturals and Coordinators."
"So you say," Eisenhower muttered, narrowing her eyes a bit more.
The commander could sense her distrust was building. And he knew how to cut it off.
"I understand, and it is hard to trust someone on their word alone," he admitted.
That caught her attention. Her eyes widened just the slightest amount. "You admit that I'm right?"
He nodded. "Yes. So, let's cut to the chase. You need help, am I right?"
She nodded, relieved to be getting back to the meeting. "Yes, we do. And for a good reason. The Master Goose Militia is sending one of their units to England. We have an operation timed to coincide with an attack Terminal is pulling on two of their major naval bases. Our operation, code named Merlin, is going to take out Devonport. However, if the Master Goose Militia squadron being sent there interferes, it could throw things off considerably. We need to act to keep that from happening." her eyes narrowed. "And unfortunately, we can't mobilize assets to help them abroad. You on the other hand, might be able to."
Arnold knew what she was getting at. With the amount of ships and squadrons at his command, he could have a unit anywhere in the world within a number of days or weeks, depending on how far they were from the operational theater. "You would be correct," he told her. "We do have a few ships that are close by, one of which is the one I'm on currently."
"How many ships do you have?" Eisenhower inquired.
"We have two ships in the Atlantic Ocean, one down by Panama," he explained, holding up a hand. "Three are in the Pacific and one is off the coast of Africa. So we have a total of seven ships."
"How about other assets?" the President asked.
"We do have a plane that can transport our spec ops unit to any area of the globe within hours. And on top of that, we can deploy our paratroops as well from that same plane. And we have a number of amphibious vehicles we can use to transport our tanks," Arnold reported.
"Tanks as well?!" Eisenhower blurted. "You guys are like an entire army unto yourselves...!" Her eyes suddenly went wide as she realized the implications of this.
"That we could be considered, but we're just mercs when you get down to it," Arnold clarified.
"Okay. Still, that could be useful," the woman mused.
"So, back to the reason for this. You want us to interfere in the Master Goose Militia's operation, am I right?" Arnold asked.
Eisenhower gave a nod. "Yes. We would be glad if you could do that." Then her eyes narrowed a bit. "But... if there is any collateral damage on your part..." The way her voice trailed off gave Arnold an idea on what she was going to say next.
"Okay. How about we cut a deal?" he offered. "We help you on this mission for free. After all, Master Goose Militia are basically our enemies at this point. If we exceed your expectations, then we can hash out a much better contract."
"Hmm..." Eisenhower closed her eyes as she considered her options.
She sat like that for a full two minutes before she opened those glacier orbs. "You said they were your enemies. And they work for our enemies..."
Arnold nodded. "Yes. Here's the thing about mercenaries. There are two types of contracts we can enter under most circumstances." He held up a finger. "The first type is considered the normal contract. It's conducted like any normal business contract. We meet the client, hash out a deal and payment, we do the contract, they get their results, and we accept our pay before moving onto the next one." He held up a second finger. "The second type of contract is called the binding contract."
"Binding contract? First time I heard of it," Eisenhower mused.
"A binding contract is basically what it says. It binds the merc to their client until the client doesn't need them anymore. Only then can they be released from it. Consider it like a legal slavery, in a sense," Arnold lectured. "Most companies prefer to do the normal contract, but on occasion, a client can initiate a binding contract that traps the merc in their service until subsequent notice." He lowered his hand and leaned forward, resting his chin on one wrist. "But it sounds like Master Goose has entered into a mutual contract instead."
"A mutual contract? What's that?" the President asked.
"A mutual contract is just what it says: a contract that both parties agree to fulfill. However, unlike the normal contract, the mutual contract can last as long as both sides have the same end goal in mind," the commander replied. "It can therefore last indefinitely if so desired. However, if the goal of both parties begins to diverge, then the contract is rendered null and void. It's essentially an escape clause, so to speak, so as to keep both sides from going down the path of mutual destruction."
Now Eisenhower could see where he was going with this. "So if Master Goose and the Atlantian nobility have entered into such a contract, then their services would be retained until the end of the war," she noted.
Arnold gave a grim smirk. "Yes."
She closed her eyes again, thinking once more. Then she opened them. "What if we were to do the same?"
Arnold blinked. "Oh? That's new. What happened to you distrusting us mercs?"
"Don't get me wrong. I still don't trust you," she admitted. "But... this mission will be the first step in that. I know you're seeking to make a mark on the world, am I right?"
The commander was silent for a moment before he chuckled. "You'd be right on that one. We were actually considering offering our services to Orb, but... this actually seems to be a bit more beneficial." He sat up in his seat. "You're basically offering me a chance to bring the fight to a big power, and a genocidal one at that. You need help to not only bolster your forces, but you also want to bring down LOGOs from within. And we seek to remove Master Goose from the equation. I think we could enter into a mutual contract..."
"Provided you succeed without any collateral damage on your part in the attack on England's naval bases," Eisenhower stated.
"Now hold on. I did say we could do that free of charge," Arnold stated, holding up a hand. "But if this is to work, we need to decide the terms of the mutual contract now. After that, we'll be working for you."
Eisenhower frowned, but nodded, accepting the statement. "Fair enough." She also leaned back. "So, what do you propose for both of us?"
"First off, what do you need most from our services?" Arnold asked.
"Support. And experienced soldiers to help train our next generation in how to be real soldiers, not these goose-stepping thugs!" Eisenhower hissed.
Arnold pursed his lips. "I see. Well... I'll tell you what. We'll support you and train your soldiers in the manner you seek, but in exchange, we are allowed to operate on our own discretion if the situation calls for it." His eyes narrowed. "And we want in on helping to defeat LOGOs."
Eisenhower raised her eyebrows. Then she actually threw back her head and laughed. "Okay! That is something I did not expect from you!" she remarked, actually giving a genuine smile for the first time. "Most other mercs wouldn't ask for that, am I right?"
Arnold grinned. "Nope." Then his grin faded as he leaned forward. "Given what you told us about the kids being held in that desert camp, well... we don't tolerate that at all. So, we want to help be a part of that liberation force."
"Hmm..." Eisenhower looked him right in the eye, and much to his credit, he didn't even flinch. "How good is your spec ops unit?"
"Ma'am, they are some of the best men and women under my command," he said with pride. "All of them are trained to a much greater extent than the spec forces of the Atlantians. Half of them are men, half of them are women, and half are Natural while half are Coordinator. So it's a split down the middle for both."
"Both men and women? And with Naturals and Coordinators as a team?" Eisenhower was impressed. "That's saying something."
"Yes. So..." Arnold leaned back in his seat. "Our contract is as follows thus far: We are to provide you support and experienced instructors for your forces in exchange for us operating on our own discretion if the situation calls for it, and for helping to take down LOGOs directly."
Eisenhower nodded. "Looks good so far."
Arnold closed his eyes as he considered any other things to add. "Also, it takes money to maintain these ships and whatnot," he told her. "So..."
"We'll provide the repairs and supplies to you free of charge for the moment," Eisenhower stated, throwing him for a loop. "And in exchange, you give us the head of the Master Goose Militia commander." Her eyes narrowed. "And I mean that literally."
"What? For a trophy?" Arnold asked in a jesting manner.
"No. As a warning to those who cross us," Eisenhower stated. "We'll use them to make an example of how petty Nazism truly is deep down."
The mercenary had to cackle at that. "You and I really think alike!" he chortled. Then he grinned at her. "So, would you say that we have a mutual contract then, my friend?"
Eisenhower managed to crack a grin. "I think we do, Commander." Then her grin faded. "Barring this first mission, of course."
"Right. If we succeed or go beyond your expectations, the contract is engaged. Until then, it's not active yet." Arnold nodded. "Fair enough."
The rebel leader nodded before she frowned for a moment. "Just out of curiosity, the squadron that's being sent to England for Master Goose is headed by their heavy hitter, Jorge von Schweppe. Have you encountered him before?"
"Oh, I have," Arnold stated. "He's not some dumb brute, despite his hulking appearance. He's actually quite cunning and swift when it comes down to it."
"I take it you know how to counter him then?" the woman queried.
He nodded. "Oh, yeah. My best unit, Hitman Squadron, can tangle with him and his unit toe-to-toe, despite the numbers discrepancy. I've had my best pilot deal with him and his second at the same time." Arnold then arched an eyebrow. "And for the record, you asked because you wanted to know what I have at my disposal, right?"
When his client gave a nod, Arnold leaned back. "Hitman Squadron has an emphasis on getting the mission done and taking it seriously. They have a deep friendship and closeness with one another that lets them stay ahead of Jorge and his pack of goons," he explained. "So I can trust them to deal with the brute."
"Excellent. What ship are they stationed on?" Eisenhower asked.
Here Arnold grinned. "The Tarawa. That's the flagship... and the one I'm on as well."
Eisenhower wasn't too sure about that, but she could see how it would be handy. She just nodded in agreement.
The man sat back in his seat again. "We can be off the coast of England in three days, if not a little more. We just have to wrap up this current contract, and we'll be on our way."
"Very well. I expect to hear of good results, Commander," Eisenhower said. "You can contact me on this frequency from here on out." The screen fizzled and then went dark.
With that done, Arnold had to fight extra hard to suppress a grin. This was it. The biggest contract of the company's career, and of his life.
And he was looking forward to it in more ways than one.
He had no idea he had just signed the contract that would secure Sicario as not just the premiere mercenary company in the world...
But also of the major rewards that would come in the aftermath of the war.
. . .
December 7th, CE 0073
Trondheim Underground Docks
Kingdom of Scandinavia
The icy wind blew at his exposed skin, but he ignored it and focused on watching the activity unfolding before his eyes.
Already the legendary SS United States was undergoing the first stage of her refit: the removal of all the ice to see just how seaworthy she really was.
A number of marine engineers and mechanical engineers were working to remove the ice using chisels and high-powered water jets, melting any ice clinging to the sides. The water left behind would be easier to remove in comparison to the stuff clinging to the hull already.
King Isaksen watched critically as some of the ice was chipped away, finally exposing her nameplates at last. At the stern, a few more whacks sent ice holding onto the rear railing cascading into the sea. The huge funnels were also being cleaned of ice.
Thankfully one of the docks they were using was currently underground, as it made sense to build their ocean liners under the mountains in the winter months. The dry dock in use was able to hold one of their close to one thousand foot long vessels, which was just what they needed to house the former ocean liner.
The king was currently standing atop an observation platform outside the dry dock, looking in through the outside, and a small frown crossed his face. Once the ice was removed, he'd be doing a complete inspection of the ship from stem to stern, looking over it for any signs of deterioration. That was the first thing: to make sure she was truly seaworthy.
It also helped that she had discarded all Atlantian imagery and propaganda aboard her during her flight from Philadelphia to the Kingdom.
That had been done, according to the captain, to make it seem like she had sunk during a fierce Atlantic storm. Such things were not uncommon, but in this day and age, it was fairly common for a ship to disappear off the radar in a storm, only to never be seen again. And the resistance had seized that opportunity to disguise the Big U and keep her hidden. The Atlantian nobility, he deduced, would no doubt think her sunk and ignore the potential threat to their survival and regime stability.
Such fools, he thought with a wry smirk.
After all, according to the captain, those men feared change more than anything.
He scoffed at the notion of fearing change. Change was what made people stronger, right? So why fear it?
That was something he wouldn't be able to answer, even on his deathbed. He just shoved the thought aside and glanced to the ship as the last chunks of ice were removed.
He turned as he heard the door open behind him.
Pontus stood there, wearing his heavy winter coat as he waved for the monarch to enter.
King Isaksen walked into the dry dock, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.
Now that he was out of the cold, he was quick to remove his coat and heavier underlayers, handing them off to the younger nobleman. Pontus took them and handed them to a nearby woman who took them and walked off to hang them up.
"It seems the ice removal went well," the king noted as he scanned over the ship.
Beneath the frost and ice, he could see that her hull was actually surprisingly firm and steady, its black paint somewhat discolored and chipped, but still gleaming due to the condensation clinging to it. Her funnels were a mess, the red paint faded and very chipped while the white and blue tops were somewhat painted with common household paint. The windows, it seemed, were also a haphazard repair job here and there. That made him frown as he slowly made his way down the catwalks, walking past workers and engineers who were beginning to start the process of checking over her structure for any damage.
King Isaksen was no marine engineer by trade, but his grandfather had been, and as a result, he knew a bit about how to examine a ship for any structural damage. Still, he would let the experts deal with it. He wanted to see how bad she was on the inside.
But when he got to the interior of the ship through the main gangplank, he was absolutely floored.
Despite a somewhat ragged exterior, her interior was immaculate and completely sound.
There was no hint of rust on the inside, least of all any frayed wires from what he could see. He slowly started to make his way throughout the ship, stopping to peer inside a few staterooms and taking note of the way the glass panes from house windows had been bolted to the walls. A very smart move, he knew. That would keep them from being dislodged during heavy seas.
He also was quick to note that every intersection of the ship had cameras.
No doubt to keep tabs on people who were causing trouble aboard her, he thought.
And yet, when he set foot on her, the first thing he caught a sense of was something very profound.
A presence was aboard her.
Memories and words of his grandmother who had been a historian came back to him, particularly of a ship that had an actual soul.
The RMS Mauritania.
This ship... the SS United States...
She too had a soul, he could sense.
And it was eager to serve.
He glanced to one of the cameras, feeling as if he were being watched. He slowly turned to face it directly, his eyes narrowing a bit.
"You... You have a soul..." he noted. "I have heard tell of this, but to sense it from a ship like this..." He shook his head. "If you truly do have such a soul, I would like to hear it. So... if possible, I would like a sign you are here, United States."
The ship was deathly silent for a few minutes. And then, slowly, a shudder briefly raced through the ship.
Then, he heard it.
Loud and strong, clear as crystal, deep throated and elegant in its tone, but possessing more power than the current horns of today's ships.
A low, loud, powerful tone that came from her whistle.
The SS United States had responded.
King Isaksen was in shock as he glanced out the window, seeing the crew of the dry dock glancing at one another with the exact same expressions on their faces. The ship had a soul... a real soul that made its presence known. And it was a soul that wanted change.
It wanted to serve its country.
The SS United States wanted to fight LOGOs and win.
The King of Scandinavia had to keep a chuckle from forming. Instead, he smiled and placed a hand on the ship's wall, running a hand down it. "You will soon, Big U. You will soon," he assured her, feeling a bit foolish as he did so.
But the presence aboard her was enough to convince him.
This time, LOGOs was going to be in for a big surprise, he mused ironically.
He glanced back out the window as he let his hand fall away from the ship's wall. He turned and exited the ship onto the promenade deck and looked out over the crews as they watched him.
He merely nodded. "She is sound," he said.
Crewmen started to scramble into the ship to do a more thorough examination.
And now, the king could sit back and finally wait for the resistance to uphold their end of the bargain.
At least, he hoped they would.
Only time would tell for the resistance and King.