Gundam Wing: The Phoenix Rising

by Titanic X

A tie-in novel to Gundam Wing: Destiny's Call. The American front in the war is unknown and unheard of. But as the world is embroiled in another war, the Resistance sends a mole to take command of a mighty battle group. This is the story of the Phoenix, and of how the Resistance began their fight to liberate America's citizens from their brainwashing. This is... Phoenix Rising!

27. PHASE XXVI: Arthurian Legends

Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. Now, things are about to heat up! :) The operation, Operation: Merlin, is about to kick off! :) So get ready for some action, peeps~! ;3

Review replies:

- Spiceracksargent001: Glad ya liked. ;) And they will... come the revolution. ;) And let's just say Eisenhower has a serious plan to disrupt their war effort even further! XD As well as scare LOGOs' new nobility shitless! XD

- operation meteor: Thanks! I really wanted to do something that would explain his behavior and that does seem plausible. :) The Big U is only being armed for self defense. She's going to mostly rely on her legendary speed and endurance to stay away from the Spenglers. ;3

- CT7567Rules: Oh, he will engage in a shootout alongside the resistance once Commandand Ramius is captured. ;)

- KentLinuxStadfelt: Well, you'll have to see. Merlin involves only attacking England. But that doesn't mean that Kyle and Price aren't busy in France... ;3

---

(A small light is shown flickering before it flares across the screen, fading to show the Strike Dagger S, Spray sitting on its shoulder, his trench coat fluttering in the breeze)

START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO

(The camera pivots to show the mobile suit outside the main base of the resistance on Earth in Denver, the door open to show the interior of the warehouse with several shapes before the cylinders)

Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The camera zooms in on them to show President Eisenhower, Dr. Keith Martinez, Dr. Klaus Brand, Warren Thompson, and Marcus Wolcott with Turbine behind the warehouse itself)

Pass the orbit beyond the sky (The camera pivots away from them and out to show the resistance forces mobilizing to attack a camp in the desert, guards arming their rifles)

I can't hold back this rushing speed (The leading machine speeds in front, showing a NEMO armed with a clay bazooka, its pilot being shown to be a woman, her hazel eyes hard as she aims the gun and fires at a Destroy)

A familiar town becomes a diorama (The Destroy is hit by the explosive round, the flames engulfing the camera before it fades to show the camp in ruins)

Burst through the unclear skies (The camera pivots away to show another explosion as a Murasame blasts past, bearing an unfamiliar emblem)

Blow away your worries and discontent (The camera zooms in on the wolf head emblem before it starts to flutter as a flag, panning down to show the leader of Sicario, Arnold Franken, on the screen)

Who needs a journey that's by the book? (The commander of the mercenaries waves his hand and three mobile suits blast overhead, their pilots shown with their emblems behind them)

Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (The three engage a number of shadowy mobile suits before a beam engulfs the camera before fading to show Stella being held by Shinn in her agony)

Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The boy is glaring as images of the Extended march past him, his eyes hidden in shadow before he looks up, his eyes in SEED Mode)

I'll watch the unknown horizon with you (The camera pans away to show the captain of the Archangel and Heero standing beside one another, their hands entwining)

Now be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The two look at one another before a mobile suit flies past, panning up to show the Strike Dagger with a new Striker Pack resembling phoenix wings)

Use the sun that lights tomorrow as a guide (A dark shadow looms behind the machine, its hand grasping for the image of the Earth as a ship is shown flying away, its name glinting in the light)

Fly off to the glorious world of freedom! (The image shows the resistance ship and their allies facing down the dark shadow, Djibril's face behind it as he looms over them)

GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING

Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall

- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane

---

CHAPTER XXVI: Arthurian Legends

December 12th, CE 0073

Coast of Plymouth, Great Britain

The next twelve hours were filled with frenzied activity from all three sides. And it showed as the resistance ramped up their own efforts.

The first ship to arrive was the Halifax, carrying aboard her a large load of explosives and ammunition for the invasion force in Europe. The vessel was berthed close to a large oil tanker appropriately called the Funka. During that time, the resistance sent their mole aboard to scout out where the explosives were.

Butch did know his way around the large vessel.

And it showed as he ducked into a nearby room to examine the contents.

"Hm. High explosive ammunition, tank," he noted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sliver of C4 and stuck it on one of the crates.

Once that was done, he moved on to the next section of ship. He peered around a corner and continued on, assuming the walk of one who was there to get something done, as if he had been ordered to inspect the supplies. He marched past an Atlantian guard who shot him a bored glance before returning to his book.

'All the better,' Butch thought. 'The more ignorant they are, the higher our chances of success.'

The resistance fighter slipped down another hallway, checking the area for any more Atlantians. Upon seeing none, he pulled out the C4 and, after spotting a fuel line snaking its way across the ceiling, molded some of the explosive to the line before pocketing it and continuing on his way.

He proceeded to do this a few more times before he came upon the cargo hold for the explosive ammunition.

Butch ducked inside and closed the door behind him. Once inside, he made his way down the service ladder until he reached the floor of the hold. He checked the explosive to see how much he had left, and a sneer crossed his face. He had more than enough to rig up the ammo to detonate. He started running around the hold, pulling off small slivers and slapping it on the crates at vital points for maximum explosive force and impact to the other crates. This whole process took about two hours, not counting the time he had to duck out to use the restroom and avoid a few guards.

When he was finished, he hid behind a nearby bulkhead and settled down for the signal to bail.

It was also during this time that things were starting to happen outside the ship.

He could hear engines as what he guessed to be mobile suits rocketed overhead. He could only surmise at this point that the von Schweppe Team had arrived.

And that meant trouble.

He could only hope that help was coming soon.

From his position within the Halifax,, Butch had no idea that he was right.

Jorge von Schweppe and his team had arrived mere minutes ago. And already they were conducting aerial patrols.

Unlike Sicario, who had a variety of vehicles and mobile suits to call upon, von Schweppe and his team had at their disposal a number of the new Windams, a formidable mobile suit when in the right hands. While it had been touted as the latest top of the line model upon its debut, the recent fighting in the war had led many to see it as a glorified coffin. And that was something von Schweppe wanted to correct. He wanted to prove to the world how dangerous it could really be.

That was why his was heavily outfitted for overwhelming firepower, alongside those of his teammates.

His machine bore a lethal loadout, possessing the Multi-Striker Pack on its back. But unlike the first time it had been deployed when it carried nuclear missiles, this time it carried multiple rockets inside launchers within. This weapon gave the Windam Schwartz the ability to rain down fire from above, striking targets with impunity, something Jorge reveled in. He loved to see people scrambling for shelter under the cover of rockets striking down anyone or anything in his path. His Windam also was equipped with a new model of beam rifle, the M9413L Beam Rifle, an upgraded version of the Windam's original rifle. It allowed for a more powerful beam to be fired, but at the cost of a shorter usage time. In addition, the thrusters on the back of the Multi Striker had been modified to allow for a small amount of flight time without compromising the weapon's integrity.

The huge man sneered as he blasted over the Halifax, his eyes scanning the screens and radar for any sign of Sicario's units, or any of the resistance's fighters. He knew they had to be here. Hans always seemed to know if they were close by, the lucky man. He could only see the tanker Funka beside the Halifax, offloading its fuel to be transported to Clyde and Portsmouth to be transferred to France.

He was already eagerly awaiting the inevitable confrontation.

But just because he was eager for blood didn't mean he wasn't smart.

He took the time to look at his other squad mates, each of whom had basically the same loadout as he did.

Except for his second-in-command.

Detrich Luddison.

Luddison was one of their newest recruits, and a really devout believer in Blue Cosmos and their cause. But with his own blonde hair and blue eyes, coupled with his muscular build and physique, he was more suited to be one of the new Ayran Gods instead of a mere Blue Cosmos pawn. So Hans had offered the lad a more suitable job with greater pay and a chance to eliminate his weaker-willed brother. It had taken Hans mere days to sway the boy to their greater cause, and Jorge had to admit he had proven himself to be a valuable second-in-command.

Especially as he possessed the Anti-Air Striker Pack. Armed with a modified version of the old American Phalanx CIWS, this machine was a beast to aircraft and airborne mobile suits. The guns had been designed to fit on support pylons affixed to the thruster pack of the Striker Pack, giving it a limited thrust output, but making it an ideal AA platform. And when equipped with the same beam rifle as Jorge, then it was a surefire threat to any machine in its firing range. Detrich was also a skilled user with his beam sabers, which was the only means of defense his mobile suit had. A shield was out of the question due to the already heavy weight of the Anti-Air Striker Pack.

He smirked.

There was no way anyone was getting close to these ships.

Airborne or otherwise.

A beeping on his COMM reached his hearing and he grunted as he tore his gaze away from the sight before him and back to his controls.

He flicked a switch and the communications screen flared to life, showing the face of his superior.

"Ah. Jorge. I assume you have arrived?" he asked.

"Ja, mein comrade," Jorge said, saluting smartly. "Und ve have undertaken patrols as ordered."

"Good. Ve cannot have zose traitors making moves against our new employer," Hans growled.

Jorge could understand where his boss was coming from. After all, there were rumors of an impending attack from their source in the Eurasian Federation's high command. But they could not prove it due to how they had even gotten the information to begin with. Overhearing things could lend some useful tidbits, but without direct access, covert or otherwise, to the systems for communications, it was impossible to tell for certain if this was true or not.

And that made Jorge's eyes narrow.

"You are sure of our source, zen?" he wondered.

Hans gave a nod. "Yes."

The big man scowled. "I do not like it," he remarked. "Zat man has no idea if his information is accurate or not."

"I agree. But ve have to act as if it is true," Hans pointed out. He then tapped his head. "After all, I can sense zeir ace, remember?"

Jorge could not refute his superior's words at that. He knew that Hans had an uncanny ability to pick up on the top pilot of Sicario, code-named Monarch. How he was able to, Jorge would never know. But however he did, it meant that he alone could fight Monarch to a standstill and escape alive. But Monarch always seemed to live, which meant the man had either uncanny luck or he was just plain stubborn.

He knew he was no slouch himself, that was for sure. But Monarch was much deadlier in his personal Murasame, the Hitman Ace Custom. And it didn't help much that Monarch always targeted people with a silence that some said made him a robot. Some even had speculated that he was a robot commanded by Sicario's leader. But the fact that he had fought Arnold when Monarch was out and about clearly disproved that theory.

Still, it did little to dispel the aura of machinelike ruthlessness the man possessed.

And that was why, he vowed, he'd bring Monarch down personally.

He adjusted the angle of his mobile suit and landed before using the thrusters of his MSP to launch himself into the air once more, this time flying over the large building that served as the command center for the Devonport Naval Base, unaware of the trap in motion.

. . .

The ships were gathered.

The three vessels of Sicario had just arrived in the late afternoon hours of December 12th, pulling up to meet together for a final conference to confirm their plans and adjust their battle strategy should the need arise.

The fog and snow was just what they needed to evade detection from the von Schweppe team's own ship, the Gunther. It was a strange name, Arnold had to admit, but the team based aboard it was anything but strange. They were one of the best units possible for the Master Goose Militia. The radar range of the Gunther was not as good as some of the other ships he had seen, and it clearly showed with how close Dominic had gotten in his Galaxy Murasame Custom.

The mercenary retreated as soon as he was within spotting distance though, fleeing using the cover of the snow.

Arnold stood atop his ship's bridge, gazing through binoculars at the sight of the massive complex sprawling before them. His eyes narrowed as he saw the large ammo ship tied up alongside the dock, workers starting to offload the ammo. And he could also see a large oil tanker beside the docks.

"So this is it..." he mused. "We need to just wait for the signal now."

Off to his side, Dominic nodded, dressed in his flight suit. The suit was a far cry from the pilot suits used by the Atlantians and the other factions. For one thing, it was more form fitting, with a darker colored interior and lighter colored exterior. In his case, his suit was dark red on the interior and red on the exterior, a maroon line separating the two colors. The chest section had light grey armor on it, covering his pecs and a small air pack on the back. His boots looked to have light gray on the bottom of the feet and on the left chest segment of armor was Sicario's emblem. "Yep. Speaking of, Gunther's mobile suits are prepping for launch from what I could see."

"All the more reason for our forces to get airborne as well," Arnold remarked. He lowered the binoculars. "I want you and the others in the air in no less than ten. Is that clear?"

Dominic gave a salute with his trademark cheeky grin. "Ya got it, boss!" he said before turning and sauntering back towards his machine which was parked in mobile fighter form on the deck. He gave a whistle to one of the techs working on refueling. "We looking good?" he called.

"Fuel is good to go," the woman remarked. "The weapons have been checked out and they're all green."

"Even better," Dominic said as he slipped one foot onto the ladder before vaulting over it and into the cockpit seat. He slipped his helmet on and locked it into place. Unlike those used by the Atlantian and ZAFT forces, this helmet was sleeker and looked to be more futuristic. A green diamond was situated in the center of the helmet, right above the glass faceplate, with a few green lines snaking away from it.

He buckled himself into the Galaxy Murasame Custom and adjusted his seat a bit to make sure he was comfortable before he looked up out to the horizon.

And it was just as well.

The radio in his mobile suit crackled with static and Dominic's hand went to it, flicking the device on as he heard a voice come over the speakers.

"All units, this is Command. We've just gotten the signal from Home Base One! I repeat! We have just received the signal from Home Base One! Operation: Merlin is a go! I repeat! Operation: Merlin is a go! All units are to get airborne! I repeat! All units are to launch at once!" the voice of Sophia Angstrom ordered.

Dominic keyed the radio. "Command, this is Galaxy-1! Ready to launch at your command!"

"I read you loud and clear, Galaxy-1! You have the green light to launch!" Sophia radioed.

The mercenary nodded as he removed his hand from the radio and settled back in his seat, gripping the throttles as he powered up his machine. The very frame of the mobile suit shuddered as energy raced through it, bringing all systems online for combat. He could feel the engines rumbling as he maneuvered his machine out onto the runway of the Tarawa.

As he waited for the signal to turn green, he shot a glance over to the deck of the Trinity not too far off. He could see Assassin Team preparing to launch as well, and he eyed Felicia's Murasame, which was clad in a dark grey scheme to blend in better with the fog and snow. A perfect way to get the jump on the Atlantians they were to harass, he knew. He gripped the control throttles as he saw the light turn green.

"Galaxy-1! Launching!" he cried.

He pressed the throttles forward and the Murasame leapt forward down the runway in mobile fighter form. The thrust of the engines settled in a pressure in his chest as he gritted his teeth, trying to stay conscious from the force of the acceleration. His eyes narrowed as he saw the end of the runway coming up and he pulled back on the controls, the thrust of the engines propelling him into the air as quickly as a flash of lightning. He saw the carrier spiraling out of sight as he put his machine into a corkscrew motion before flying up and flipping around so he was right side up, his eyes locking onto the city of Plymouth off in the distance.

He could already see the other machines flying through the air, each of them circling as they assembled into their formation.

"Galaxy-1 reporting in!" he called. "I'm airborne and will start scouting operations at once!"

"Affirmative, Galaxy! You are cleared for scouting within the area of operations," Command replied.

The Murasamue maneuvered away from the three carriers and off towards where the Gunther was lurking just out of sight.

He could already see that the five machines of von Schweppes' unit were missing from the deck. He narrowed his eyes and called up to the command center of the Tarawa. "Command, this is Galaxy-1. It looks like the hunters have departed the nest. They're not on board."

"Understood, Galaxy. I'll inform Hitman Team at once."

"Roger that." Dominic's eyes narrowed beneath his visor as he studied the readouts of his radome. "And be advised. We have other contacts in the area. Atlantian ships, from the looks of things."

"Understood. Keep us updated on their whereabouts," Command ordered.

"Aff on that one." Dominic cut the line and adjusted his flight path, relying on his machine's dark gray armor to avoid being seen.

He started to scan around the area with his keen eyes, as well as using his machine's sensors and radar. He could see the shapes of the Atlantian vessels beneath him, and he could pick up on a few other Spengler-class in the area. He narrowed his eyes as he descended a bit, picking out the black-clad mobile suits on their decks. His mind already was racing as he tried to piece together the new machines.

'That's a new model. I don't think I've seen it before...' he mused silently. 'Let's see what we got on these babies...'

He flew down until he was just skimming the waves, generating enough wake to make it seem like he was a smaller vessel from one of the ships. His radome would have been a standout, if not for some jammers installed to make it seem like his machine wasn't that much bigger than a zodiac boat. They probably would assume he was some driver transferring personnel.

That was just what he needed to get in closer. It wasn't much closer, but it was enough for him to see the machines up in greater detail using his Murasame's cameras.

'Oh, yeah... Definitely a new model,' he thought.

The new mobile suits were at the same height as a Windam in height, at twenty-eight meters. But that was where the similarities ended. The mobile suits were clad in armor as black as night, which only added to the eerie sensation Dominic was getting. Its optical visor was a blood red color, and beneath it were three optical cameras. The center one seemed to be a bit larger than the other two, and it had an adjusting lens; Dominic wondered what the purpose of the lens was, but he ignored it and continued to study the new machines. In terms of armament, they were well equipped.

On the right forearm was what appeared to be a large cannon of sorts, and Dominic didn't like the way that thing looked. It looked as if it could generate a very powerful beam to incinerate just about anything. He figured it had to have an immense drawback with that kind of power, such as needing a lot of battery power. A pair of large beam cannons was mounted to either side of its torso, and from what he could see, it had point defense weapons like the CIWS found in most mobile suits. The only advantage this thing had, it seemed, was overwhelming firepower in terms of beam weapons. On its back was an Aile Striker pack, heavily modded for atmospheric flight.

But the chassis was also another matter. It looked like it didn't have Phase Shift Armor. Instead, it looked like it was made out of solid metal.

"The hell are these things?" Dominic muttered. He quickly clicked the radio. "Command, this is Galaxy-1. I have eyes on a Spengler-class carrier inbound. This one appears to be equipped with a new model mobile suit. Relaying video feed now."

The second-in-command of Sicario dialed in his feed to the transmission frequency and linked it directly to the Tarawa's bridge. A second later, a gasp came from Command. "You have got to be kidding me...!" she rasped. "They actually got some of those things up and running?!"

"Take it there's a tale there," Dominic noted. "But spare me the details. What are we looking at here?"

"Those machines are part of a new program called Black Knight," Command relayed. "I don't know much about the details, but the mobile suits resulting from it are supposed to be heavy hitters and pack enough beam weaponry to destroy a single ship."

Dominic grunted. "I see. What kind of weapons we talking?"

"That mean cannon on its right arm is a PPC, or Particle Projector Cannon. It's an energy hog, which means that the machines equipped to it have a large array of batteries nestled within the chassis. The Mark I beam cannons on the sides of the torso are not as energy intensive, but they make up for it with their concentrated heat. The point defense weapons are its only means for close range," Command replied.

"Model number?" the mercenary requested.

"Project model is BL-6-KNT. That's where the name comes from," she reported.

"All right. Relay this to Hitman, Assassin, and Gunsel Teams," Dominic ordered. "I want these things to be dealt with by Gunsel Team. Assassin is to harass other units in the area. Hitman knows what their mission is."

"Yes, sir." Command closed down the line and Dominic turned as he watched the first of the newly identified Black Knights lift off from the Spengler.

'Black Knight... fitting name...' he mused. 'But that makes them all the more dangerous... Especially if they go for Eurasia's attacking fleet. We have to hold them here... no matter what it takes!'

'No matter what!'

He gripped his controls as he pivoted his machine, flying up as one of the Black Knights hovered past him, its larger optic adjusting its lens to try and see through the thick fog and snow. Dominic pursed his lips as he watched the machine with wariness in his eyes. 'Damn thing's gonna find me if I stick around,' he thought. 'Gonna have to get some altitude.'

He pulled back on the stick and his Murasame began to climb.

Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy.

The head of one of the other Black Knights pivoted around... and locked onto his location.

Dominic felt his heart leap into his throat at this and he gulped. 'Crap! I've been spotted!' he thought.

He kicked on the thrusters as the pilot aimed their weapon at his location, the lock-on alert screeching in his ears. Dominic gritted his teeth against the sound and reached over to kill the alert. "Dammit...! Can't have that interrupting me!" he muttered as he swerved his machine around, eyeing the red visor of the Black Knight as it fired, sending a brilliant green beam of energy right for his location.

Dominic twisted his Murasame to the right, the beam just barely missing his radome. Gritting his teeth, he didn't even hesitate to flip the trigger for the M2M5D 12.5mm Automatic CIWS in the wings. The targeting site came up on his screen in front of him and he watched as the Black Knight that had fired on him lifted off, its optics flaring bright red - all three of them. The Coordinator gripped his controls and steadied his shaking hands. 'Those things are not just for accurate targeting or shooting,' he noted. 'They're also for intimidation.'

The machine in front aimed its PPC once more, firing again, and this time Dominic didn't even hesitate to fire a slew of bullets for the Black Knight's optics. The pilot seemed to sense this and adjusted the position of their mobile suit's left arm, bringing it up to block the rounds from hitting the optical cameras. But that was just a distraction. Dominic, using the movement to shield the optics as a cover, had swept his mobile suit back around and was flying away as fast as he could, the thrusters of his machine glowing brilliant blue as he pushed its engines to the limit.

He shot a glance back at the rear of the cockpit; he didn't need to be a Newtype like Monarch or rely on his alerts to let him know he was being followed. Instinct alone told him as much. Gritting his teeth, he slowly pushed the stick forward, adjusting his machine for descent.

"Galaxy-1, this is Command. Why have you deviated from the mission?" Command radioed.

"Long story short, I got me a bogey on my tail!" Galaxy-1 shot back. "I'm going to need backup!" He suddenly felt his machine shudder as a slew of beams hit the frame, rattling him in the cockpit. If not for his restraints, he'd have been bounced around like a pinball, and possibly sustained injuries as a result. An image of his machine's flight form appeared on the console and he frowned as he saw some of the damages.

'Not too bad,' he mused. 'But not good, either. Gotta get some backup from the others and soon!'

"Black Knights on your tail!" came the call from another pilot as they flew overhead, firing one of their machine's Type 66A "Hayate" air-to-air missiles. The projectile rocketed towards the Black Knight, forcing the pilot to aim their PPC and fire it, shredding the missile upon contact with it.

A crackle of static reached their hearing and Dominic perked up as a low, gravelly voice hit his hearing. "So, you're the rats that Master Goose told us about," the pilot said.

"What of it?" Dominic hissed.

"All the more reason for us to let them do their work," the pilot retorted. "And show all of you race traitors how wrong you are to fight against the will of Lord Djibril!"

"Says the Nazi!" the Coordinator spat.

The Atlantian didn't even respond. He just brought his machine into a steady flight, and Dominic glanced out to the right to see a few more pilots from Gunsel Team forming up alongside him.

"Galaxy-1, this is Gunsel Lead," Drake's voice radioed. "We're here to provide support!"

"About damn time!" Dominic said as he watched the Black Knights finally finish lifting off of their carriers.

He did a quick tally of the numbers.

'Gunsel Team and Assassin Team plus myself... that's thirty-four, thirty-five if Arnold gets into the fray, pilots against thirty. The odds are slim, but they are in our favor. The only thing going against us is the fact that all these Black Knights are heavily armed and can bring us down if we're not careful,' he thought to himself. 'And on top of that, they have other destroyers out there that could target us as well. That's bad news so we'll have to be extra careful to stay out of their firing range.'

The second-in-command shot a glance to the left and saw the other dark gray units of Gunsel Team forming up to his left, along with the dark green and brown colors of Assassin Team's own Murasames.

For what it was worth, Dominic was glad to have the Murasames as their mainstay mobile suit.

Especially given how close they had come to accepting a contract from Orb prior to their alignment with the American resistance force. One of the noble families of Orb, the Sahakus - or more specifically Rondo Mina Sahaku - had put out calls for a possible contract with a mercenary group. Of course, given her brother's demise, it made sense she'd want to do what she could to protect Orb's civilians and refugees that took shelter at their family's station. Arnold had been invited to her home so they could go over the terms of the contract, and the mercenary was impressed by her conviction. She did feel like there had to be something done, so she was willing to hand over at least one hundred surplus Murasames for the company to use should they accept the contract.

The secret meeting hadn't gone unnoticed by the new crop of nobles, though. The Seirans, in particular, had always been ambitious and sought to use Orb to control the Earth Sphere, if not outright align with LOGOs to wipe out all Coordinators and instate a new feudal world order. The head of the family, Unato Ema Seiran, had been more or less pissed off with Mina, but she didn't back down, earning his ire. He overrode her decision and told her to not think of such actions again, lest he reveal her... secret... to LOGOs. That was enough for her to back down, and to Arnold, seeing the brave woman be reduced to a meek human was enough to drive him to almost slugging the nobleman. However, he wisely refrained.

When Unato had left, she confessed her secret to Arnold, that she and her brother were Coordinators. Then she told him that they could keep the Murasames as reparations for their nulled contract. The mercenary commander accepted the deal, and left, but not before he told her that standing her ground was the right thing to do, even if she was scared.

After that, the company went on their way, taking a new contract instead for anti-piracy ops, which allowed them to get the hang of their new steeds.

He tore himself from the memories of the past and returned his gaze to the present.

He had a mission to complete.

And by damn, they would do it!

. . .

Tarawa, Atlantic Ocean

Devonport, Plymouth, Great Britain

Start FINAL MISSION~QUANTUM BURST - Mobile Suit Gundam 00 the Movie: Awakening of the Trailblazer OST - by Kenji Kawai

Evelyn shifted in her seat as she eyed the horizon.

Already she could see that the furball was beginning to expand.

The three mobile suits of Hitman Team were already on the deck of the Tarawa, each armed and ready to fight. David had his helmet in his lap, eyes closed as he went through a mental checklist. Peter sat with his visor up, chewing on a stick of gum that he then pulled out and slapped onto the side of his Murasame's cockpit. She herself fiddled with her restraint straps before she reached into her pocket and pulled out a tube of lip gloss. She undid it and swiped it across the front of her machine's shield/nose. She put the lip gloss away and got back in her seat, buckling up as she did so.

David opened his eyes and put his helmet on before closing up the cockpit. Evelyn and Peter followed suit.

"Hitman Team, this is Command. You have clearance to launch!" Command radioed.

Evelyn keyed her own radio in response. "Command, this is Hitman-2. Standing by for signal!"

"Hitman-3 here! Standing by!" Peter responded.

There was a brief crackle of static, and then the deep, calm voice of David echoed over the speakers. "Hitman-1. Ready."

The three pilots waited as the counter ticked down.

A flash of green, and then a siren blared. "Hitman-2! Outta here!" Peter cried as his Murasame rocketed down the flight deck.

"Hitman-3! Going hot!" Evelyn yelled as she pressed forward on the throttles. The Murasame lunged forward, its engines roaring as she felt the pressure on her chest. She grunted a little, but she managed to stay conscious due to her prior experience as a fighter pilot.

She didn't even look back to know that David was right behind her.

The three mobile suits were airborne in no time, their dark gray colors only adding to the image of specters from the past come forth to the present. She glanced down at the ocean below, and she could already see both Gunsel Team and Assassin Team harassing the Atlantian forces and their new machines, dubbed Black Knights. And they seemed to add to the mood, she mused grimly.

"Hitman Team, your mission is simple," Arnold's voice told them over their radios as they banked north towards Devonport. "Take out the von Schweppe team at all costs. I know you can hold your own against them, but this time it's different. They have to be taken out to ensure that Merlin succeeds. You three are the best we have. And I have faith you can do it. So Godspeed and good luck."

"Yeah. We'll be needing it," Peter remarked.

Arnold had no answer for that. He just ignored it and continued. "Also, the resistance's agent, Excalibur, will be informing us of the incoming explosion. Once that ship goes off, you three bug out as soon as possible."

"Will do!" Evelyn responded as the three pilots flew towards their target.

"And one last thing." Arnold was silent for a moment. "We may be getting some help if things go south."

"From who?" Peter asked.

"Our employer didn't say. Just that we should be on the lookout for anything that could really give a Spengler a real headache, whatever that meant," the Sicario commander replied.

Evelyn was tempted to ask, but she refrained from doing so; they were close to their target.

"We're within target range," she reported.

"Good timing. I wish you only luck." Arnold cut the COMM and she turned the radio to her team's frequency.

"All right, guys! Any sign of them?" she asked.

"I got bogeys incoming!" Peter radioed back. "Five Windams, each equipped with heavy artillery. And we know who they are."

Evelyn nodded, her face becoming dead serious as she maneuvered her Murasame into preparation for combat.

David, on the other hand, was silent as he narrowed his eyes beneath his visor. Already he was getting that pressure in his brain, the one that marked him as a Newtype. He closed his eyes briefly, expanding his awareness out and reaching to touch the hearts of the men in front of him. He could already sense the auras of fear and dread they brought, but it was their hate that made them stand out. Their hatred was what made them tick, and using its toxic power, they were very powerful foes.

His eyes snapped open as he let his thoughts go wide, reaching to his teammates.

Mental communication was another gift he had recently discovered, allowing him to communicate with them without radios, which only contributed to their closeness. They trusted him enough to allow him to reach their thoughts, and he treated that trust as something precious. He never used his abilities for anything personal, keeping himself limited to only communications, just hovering on the outskirts of their minds.

And right now, that ability was going to be their ace against these guys.

'Evelyn, Peter. Can you hear me?' he thought.

The tingling presence of his two wingmen reached his brain and he smirked.

'We hear you, David,' Evelyn replied mentally.

'Still can't get used to this...' Peter remarked.

The two other members of Hitman Team laughed at the comment. It was all in good jesting, he knew.

'So who gets who?' Evelyn inquired.

'I'll get Jorge and their new recruit,' David replied. 'I'm the best one suited for the task.'

'Then that leaves me with Windams 4 and 5,' Evelyn mused.

'Guess I get 3 then,' Peter offered.

'Unless you have any objections,' Evelyn joked.

Peter scoffed in his head. 'Nope. I'm really itching to get back at this guy after he trashed my GINN.'

'All right. We have our targets. Good luck, and be careful,' David relayed.

The other two responded in the affirmative before flying off to engage.

. . .

Evelyn knew what her targets were.

She could see them right before her.

The targeting computer on her machine had designated them as Windams 4 and 5 respectively. And with the way they were moving, it was clear they were going to try and deny any of Sicario's units mastery of the air.

But she was not about to let that happen.

Not today.

Her eyes narrowed as she plunged into the fray, hitting the switch for her machine's transformation sequence. She could feel the cockpit shaking and shuddering as it reoriented itself into a more conventional configuration for a mobile suit, and she could already feel the way her machine handled differently. She grasped the Type 72 Kai "Ikazuchi" Beam Rifle and pulled it loose from its side skirt armor, aiming it before firing a single shot for one of the Windams.

The heavy artillery unit reacted with surprising speed, the pillot hitting his thrusters and jumping over the shot before its arm snapped out and fired its own beam rifle in response to the shot. But Evelyn was faster and weaved to the right, only to fly right into a trap set up by his companion. A few shots from his own beam rifle flew her way, making her grit her teeth. She pushed down on the controls and her mobile suit dove down swiftly, two shots missing her. She put her machine into a twist, barely dodging another shot before she flipped over the last beam.

"So, ze fraulien has some skills," one of the pilots remarked.

"Says you, a-hole!" Evelyn hissed, bringing her machine to a hover and looking at Windam 4. She decided to be a bit bold and slowly manipulated the controls to bring up her machine's left hand and curled the digits in, save for the middle one.

Windam 4 recoiled in shock as she sneered. "What? Don't like it when someone flips you off?" she mocked.

"Damn you, bitch! You vill pay for zat!" the man growled. "I vill make you squeal like ze sow you are!"

"Bring it, baby!" Evelyn cackled as she brought her machine's arm back, grabbing the beam saber stored on its left skirt armor. She pulled it free and held it out as she ignited it. "I'll show you what real skill is!"

The two Windams charged at her, and she grinned as she gunned the throttles to full. Blue fire burst from her machine's back and she was pushed back by the acceleration. The female Coordinator could already feel herself starting to slip into the zone, where she was at her best. And she knew just how to throw these two for a loop even further. She didn't even need to close her eyes as she could already see in her mind the image of a dark green crystalline seed falling towards a flat surface of water. The seed bounced once and shattered, her eyes changing as soon as the light faded. Her pupils dilated and her irises became slightly bigger, indicating she had entered SEED Mode.

Now she had an advantage against these two clowns.

"I'll show you two clown boys why my TAC is Comic!" she cried.

The two mobile suits charged at her, forcing her to weave and dance around them with grace and precision. She could already see that they were going to gang up on her in a pincer move. But she wasn't about to let that happen. Holding her machine's beam rifle in one hand and the beam saber in the other, she flew as fast as she could towards them before giving a burst from her thrusters, putting her machine into a violent twisting motion that would've made anyone else sick. Her eyes narrowed as her enhanced senses went into overdrive, calculating and running through numbers swiftly. Her motions were so perfectly timed that when she spun around, she managed to cut off one of the Windams' arms and hit the other one in a leg with a shot from her rifle.

That was enough to force the two to back off, but they weren't about to let her get away with it.

Evelyn sneered. "What? Can't catch a small bird, assholes?!" she mocked.

One of the enemy pilots shouted back to her. "You vill pay, Coordinator scum!" he howled.

"Oh, please! Natural this, Coordinator that... we're all humans, bub!" Evelyn cackled.

"Zat is not true! You are ze inhuman ones!" the second pilot growled.

"Then how come we bleed red blood like you do, you sicko?" Evelyn shot back with a cocky grin.

"Zat is somezing only for ze pure humans!" the first pilot hissed.

"Then you don't know a thing about humans as a whole!" Evelyn retorted as she fired her beam rifle a few more times.

The first pilot maneuvered his machine to the left as the second pilot cut his engines and dropped a few meters before kicking them back on and coming to a hover.

"You're about to get a lesson in true human biology!" the Coordinator sneered. She replaced her beam rifle and hefted her shield in front of her machine's chest before flaring the wings and shoving the controls forward. She grunted as she was literally slammed back into her seat by the force of the acceleration, but she didn't lose her grin, nor did she black out. She reveled in this.

The ability to mock her opponents for something so trivial was one thing she enjoyed doing, especially since it was pathetic. Genes didn't make a person superior. It was their character that mattered. And these guys were as inferior to her as an ant to a cat.

"It's the character that counts!" she spat, coming in towards one of the machines at full speed, swinging her weapon in a direct diagonal cut. The Windam's Multi-Striker Pack opened, revealing a cluster of holes, and Evelyn arched an eyebrow. "What...? Are those rocket launchers?"

Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when a slew of rockets were fired from said holes, letting loose a huge barrage as they did so. The immense number of rockets made her wonder just how many were in those things, but then she realized what was going on and she growled. "Oh... a saturation barrage, huh?" Her eyes narrowed. "That's not gonna work, ya creep!" she growled.

She proceeded to put her beam saber away and, with a click on her controls, shifted her machine back into its flight form. She gave a burst of fire from the thrusters and she started to weave and dodge, relying on the slimmer profile to give herself less of a radar contact. The Windam's optics flashed as it kept firing its rockets, hitting other buildings in the base as she led them higher and higher. The Windams gave chase before she broke off, vanishing into the thick clouds of snow starting to turn midnight gray.

The blue and white colors of the Windams stood out in contrast to her Murasame's dark gray armor. That was just what she needed in order to take them out.

With a cry, she shifted her machine back into mobile suit form and she drew her beam saber, but didn't ignite it yet. She wanted to wait until she was just right on top of them. She cut her engines and, not even a moment later, she could see the two below her, scanning for her; the first Windam was out of rockets. She grinned. "Oh, boys..." she called, almost seductively.

They looked around, trying to spot her, and she took the chance to speak once more. "Above you!" she screamed.

They both looked up...

Only for her to flash her machine's optics brightly.

That was all that they saw as she pounced.

Evelyn drove her beam saber into the fifth machine's head, piercing it right down to the battery packs and giving a battle cry, she swung that beam saber as hard as she could, carving right through the unit's torso and up into one of the fully loaded rocket launchers. The explosive ammunition started to blow, and she pulled out her beam saber before placing her Murasame's feet on the sparking torso of the Windam and springing off, flipping as the unit exploded in midair.

"NO! Johan!" the pilot screamed. His machine turned to fire on her with its beam rifle, but Evelyn sneered as she dove into the clouds, vanishing from his radar as she did so.

She grabbed the beam rifle and pulled it loose from the side skirt armor before aiming it and firing, forcing the pilot to weave and dodge.

He may have been out of rockets, but he wasn't totally unarmed. One hand flew for the side skirt armor and a slot opened up. Evelyn could see he was trying to go for a throwing weapon of sorts, so she grabbed her beam saber and hefted it, holding it in front of her machine's chest before igniting the blade. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the pilot draw out what she recognized as a throwing knife. It was the Mk315 "Stiletto" Rocket-Propelled Anti-Armor Penetrator.

The pilot threw the knife with his machine's remaining arm, and the thruster on the back kicked in, propelling the projectile right for her machine. Evelyn's eyes hardened as she tightened her grip on the controls. This was going to be tricky...

The knife came in fast...

She let out a breath...

And swung the beam saber...

Only to miss.

Her eyes widened as she reacted as quickly as she could, bringing up the shield as the device penetrated the armored metal. The next thing she knew, she was thrown back by the explosion as the device detonated. She cried out as she was jostled, held in place only by her restraints. She almost lost her focus, but she gritted her teeth and remained in SEED Mode, although one eye was squinted shut as she fought to regain control of her mobile suit. She also somehow managed to retain a firm grip on her shield, which would have normally gone flying from the sheer force of the explosion.

Evelyn felt glad she managed to keep the defensive equipment; the Windam was opening fire on her again. She moved her damaged shield in front of her machine's chest, and she began to be pushed back under the onslaught of beams.

. . .

Peter was not having it any easier.

In fact, he was having a much more difficult time because of the fact the pilot he was duking it out against seemed to be able to read his mind.

Or at least was a good anticipator of his movements.

But that was the farthest thing from his mind as he kept his eyes locked onto the Windam before him.

The heavy artillery unit wasn't holding back on its rocket barrage, he mused.

It was taking all of his skill just to be able to dodge each rocket as it came his way. The projectiles were not being fired all at once, so that was a good thing, he figured. Unless his opponent was toying with him, which seemed highly likely. But that also gave Peter a much needed edge.

He was savvy enough to pick up on the fact that his opponent was an arrogant SOB. And he was about to take advantage of it.

His eyes hardened as he gripped his beam rifle and fired a single shot that nailed another rocket fired at him. The explosion gave him some cover and he used it to his advantage, flying into the surrounding clouds. He shifted his Murasame into its flight form and he flipped his bird around, diving down and firing the CIWS mounted in the wings. The Windam he was attacking was caught off guard by the maneuver and it spun around, firing its own CIWS in response. The bullets barely missed his armor as he juked and weaved with the years of experience he had built up.

"You are as good as your file says, Diplomat," the pilot remarked.

"Yeah? Why even try to make conversation when I know why you're here?" Peter asked.

"I may be an enemy, but I still have standards, ja?" the man stated.

"Such as?" Peter's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he banked past his enemy.

"I do not just attack indiscriminately like ze rest of my comrades," the pilot replied. "But, as it is, I am still one of ze Master Race. Und zerefore I vill defeat you like ze rest of your compatriots."

"So you still buy that Nazi bullshit, even if you have standards!" Peter growled.

"It is an unfortunate truth, I am afraid. But zis vill show zat not all of us are like ze fools in power," the pilot admitted.

"Then why not join us?!" Peter asked.

"Because I made a blood oath. Und one does not break a blood oath." That was all the pilot said as he drew his beam saber and charged at Peter. The mercenary was forced to turn back to mobile suit mode and draw his own beam saber, bringing the blade up to block just in the nick of time. His eyes narrowed as he gunned his thrusters, relying on their greater output to push back against the Multi-Striker Pack's own thrusters. Both machines were matched, however, and Peter knew it.

So he decided to play dirty.

As he pushed back against the enemy Windam, he fired off his unit's head-mounted CIWS, peppering the head of the Windam and forcing the shield to be raised, but not before half of the camera visor was shattered and one optic sensor was rendered useless by the assault. He grunted as he pulled back, his Windam's hand going for the head and touching it. "Zat vas a dirty trick!" the pilot spat.

Peter didn't even reply. He just gripped his beam saber and held it out to the side. He kept himself focused on his opponent.

Normally he wouldn't be one to have such focus on his adversary. He tended to panic and lash out if things went downhill. But this time, he was not about to let his temper, fear or anger get the better of him. He had a drive to accomplish his task, and he was going to help the resistance achieve their objective here for Merlin. He tensed, readying himself.

The Windam he was dueling against came at him, beam saber ready to penetrate the chest of his Murasame.

But Peter was not about to let this guy win. His eyes hardened as he shifted his machine's stance, flaring the wings wide open and bringing up the shield to block the beam saber as he retaliated with a slash of his own weapon, cutting off the right arm of the Windam at the elbow. The Windam's pilot retreated as he fired a few more rockets from their launchers, forcing the mercenary into an intricate dance of life and death. Each missile was close to hitting him; only his years of experience were saving him. And even then it was like the other mercenary was mocking him.

And Peter was not into mocking an enemy like that.

It was against Sicario's MO to mock an enemy using superior technology and firepower. And this guy had firepower in spades above his own. But that only meant that he had to use his greater experience to fight on an even footing, and that was hard as it was in the middle of the furball erupting around and below him.

He kept his gaze on the Windam as it hovered in the air, releasing more rockets in his direction.

Peter narrowed his eyes as he holstered his Murasame's beam saber and transformed into flight mode, engaging the thrusters and flying right for the enemy machine. His hands gripped the controls as he jinked and juked, barely avoiding the incoming rockets by the skin of his teeth. He could also see the way the enemy seemed to be measuring his attack run. Peter knew the only pilot capable of this was Monarch, and he highly suspected that this pilot was close to the same league, but only in some respects.

"Zis is vhy most of you have been deemed race traitors," the pilot responded, as if sensing Diplomat's thoughts.

But he didn't even respond. He kept quiet, putting his focus on solely defeating his opponent; mock dogfights against David really had helped build up his focus and mental defenses. A trick he had learned was to keep the enemy in sight, and in mind.

Peter's eyes remained calm and hard as he armed the Type 66A "Hayate" air-to-air missile. The front of his machine's front skirt armor opened, revealing the four warheads. He gripped his controls and adjusted the targeting reticle as it danced across his cockpit monitor. He narrowed his eyes a bit, watching as the green icon wiggled left and right as he was forced into dodging another slew of rockets.

Judging from the way the pilot was trying to back up, he was running low on missiles, Peter noted. He smirked.

'Good!' he thought.

The enemy unit kept retreating a bit before it was forced to release all its remaining missiles.

That was just what Peter had been hoping for.

By forcing his opponent to expend all his munitions, he was finally able to go all out. He swerved around the rockets as they came at him, using every trick he had picked up over the course of his career as a mercenary and fighter pilot. But he did not let his enemy out of his sight or mind.

"Vait! STOP!" the pilot screamed. "Don't do it! Are you mad?!"

"Not mad," Peter responded. "Just driven."

And he let loose his payload.

The four "Hayate" missiles streaked out of their holders, flying right for the enemy Windam. The pilot drew his beam saber and rifle in an attempt to shoot them down and cut them out of the air, but Peter sneered. "Not gonna happen, bub!" he retorted.

The enemy pilot had no way of knowing Peter had set these missiles to detonate further out to cause shrapnel damage and render the Windam's electronics and systems useless. The warheads drew closer, and then...

They blew.

The warheads' shrapnel, propelled by the detonation of the warhead itself, lodged into the seams and joints of the Windam, causing electricity to spark over the entire frame of the unit. The pilot screamed as his Multi-Striker Pack's thrusters shorted out and he plummeted to the gray cover of the sea beneath him.

Peter circled for a few minutes, scanning for any sign of the downed pilot. But nothing popped to the surface on his sensors. He let out a sigh of relief.

'One down... four to go...' he thought.

. . .

David was in his zone.

His eyes were hard as he gripped his Murasame's controls, pivoting and dodging around his enemy's incoming barrages of rockets.

Jorge was not holding back.

But that was also compounded by the Windam with the large anti-aircraft turrets on its back.

That was the one he knew.

The one that was the hinge of von Schweppe Team's tactics.

But getting in close was hard due to Jorge's efforts to keep him at bay.

The Master Goose Militiaman was just as cunning as he was brutal and strong.

But he was nowhere near as strong a Newtype as David was.

And David was putting that talent to good use.

A feeling like a needle in his brain alerted him to Jorge's latest move and he countered by transforming into mobile suit form and drawing his beam saber before he had even finished transforming. The move caught Jorge unawares as his own beam blade met that of David's custom Murasame The two machines pushed hard, their joints groaning amidst the explosions and beam rifle fire around them.

Jorge didn't even hesitate to open fire with the beam rifle at close range, forcing David to back off and shield his machine's chest and head from the onslaught with its shield. The mercenary ace narrowed his eyes as he started to move, relying on his Newtype abilities to stay one step ahead. He could already sense Jorge's intent to try and use his machine's clavicle CIWS to blind his machine. He ducked under the rounds as they fire, and he lashed out with his Murasame's shield to bash them aside. The other ace grunted.

"So... your skills are as ze boss stated," he grumbled.

David only kept silent as he shifted to the right as the anti-air unit opened fire with the turrets on its back. He did a few rolls as he did so, earning a growl in response. He knew he had to take down both machines, and since they were covering for each other, that was a lot easier said than done. But he knew he had to do something.

And the best bet was to try and play dirty.

After all, Sicario wasn't just an honorable mercenary group. Sometimes they had to fight dirty. And this was one such time, Monarch mused as he dove his Murasame down towards the ocean.

He plunged his machine into the depths, earning a surprise yelp from the new recruit and a low swear from Jorge.

Monarch carefully holstered his beam saber before slowly standing his unit up slightly until it was in a sort of crouch, wings and tail stabilizer flared to keep its balance. He extended the beam rifle until the barrel was poking out of the water and he synced the sights to his targeting computer. Jorge was pivoting his machine's head left and right, trying to find him.

And David smirked.

He slowly squeezed the trigger...

And fired.

The bright green beam lanced out of seemingly nowhere, striking Jorge's machine in its Multi-Striker Pack's thrusters, causing him to purge the pack and land on the docks, looking around in shock. David siezed his chance and holstered the beam rifle before flaring his machine's engines and dashing out of the water, drawing the beam saber in a flash of bright pink energy. He lunged for Jorge, catching him off guard and making him block before he fired the CIWS in the head at the Murasame's optics. But David moved his machine's head to the left, only getting several small grazes on the helmet and faceplate before he drew his machine's right hand back and slugged the Windam across the cheek. The force knocked the Windam off balance and Jorge had to struggle to regain his footing.

And that was all David needed to lunge at the new recruit's Windam.

The younger man yelped as he tried to bring his machine's turrets to bear, but the Hitman Ace Custom was in his face before he could do anything. David brought his machine's beam saber out and he slashed as hard as he could, cutting both barrels of the turrets clean off before he brandished the beam rifle and aimed it at the chest of the machine, point blank.

Before he could fire, however, a spike in his senses alerted him to Jorge incoming from behind and he reacted with uncanny speed, bringing his machine's shield up to block the rifle shot and he fired at the same time, striking the other Windam in the arm though. The younger man retreated, dodging as he did so. The Anti-Air Pack was purged as a result of the damage to the turrets, freeing his machine for greater agility.

Now that both machines were freed of their heavy arsenals, that was a serious blow, Monarch mused. It was a boon for him, but also a downside as now they had greater agility on their side.

But they were not Newtypes.

He was.

And he was going to milk that advantage for everything it had.

He ducked under both units as they swung their beam sabers and he gritted his teeth, drawing on all his own experience and skill just to stay ahead of them.

. . .

Coast of Great Britain

20 miles offshore

The wind lashed at the hull and armor plating as the old ship struggled to maintain its station.

But it was not as difficult as it appeared to be.

Not for this old ship.

The captain had to admit, it was quite ironic, seeing as how no one had used these old tubs in close to two hundred years.

Kept merely as historical curiosities in the age of the mobile suit, it was clear that these old ships had seen their glory years long ago. But the public still found them to be fascinating subjects of naval history and warfare. And with only four left in existence, they were excellent tourist destinations, with only a rare oceanic traverse to show what life was like aboard such vessels all those years ago.

But now...

Now things were about to take a turn.

A turn for the worst for the Atlantic Federation.

The resistance was not blind to the potential these fearsome warships once held. They were also not blind to the sheer firepower they still possessed. After all, no matter how advanced a mobile suit became, it was always going to be surpassed by even greater strength in terms of weapons. And these four ships possessed the mightiest seaborne arsenal of all.

Seeing as how no other warships at sea possessed those massive guns, it was a good asset to have. No ship built by the Atlantians would even stand up to them.

A few days ago had been quite the ruckus for hip and crew alike. The escape from Camden, New Jersey had been really nerve-wracking, considering the fact they had actually fought against their former homeland's navy. But showing the full power of the battleship had been a real deterrent to the rest of the Atlantian naval ships blockading the river in Philly. In fact, the ships they had fired on had not even stood a chance against the salvo. The shells just barely detonated, only because of the fact they had hit the stronger steel skeleton of the naval ships.

The news crews of the resistance and Atlantians alike had captured this, which meant that this was no mere escape, but an unofficial declaration of war against the Atlantian Nazi Reich. And the captain was a bit nervous about the outcome of this. But then again, he knew what he was getting into, as well as what the results would be of this. His extended family, all of whom were Naturals, would be torn apart by this. Some were against his existence, but the rest were all for him. It was a mark of what this would do, but he was all for it. It was an acceptable loss, because those family members who hated him would go down with the rest of their kin.

But right now he had a mission to focus on as he turned his gaze back to the sight outside the bridge windows.

The decks of the mighty USS New Jersey were laced with ice and snow, and with the windows covered in frost, it was close to impossible to see out the bridge at this point. In fact, the only reason they could even see at all at the moment was due to the GPS system hastily installed to allow for navigation in the thick English fog. And that GPS is why they were able to remain at station twenty miles beyond the sight and radar of the Atlantian ships.

"You guys getting this?" the navigator asked, eyeing the scuffle unfolding twenty miles ahead of them.

"Oh, yeah. Boy, when Command said it was a furball, they meant it," the chief gunnery officer remarked.

The captain kept his lips pursed as he watched with narrowed eyes. "Are we clear to fire yet?" he asked.

"No word from the mercs yet," the communications officer relayed. Her eyes were fixed on the old station, one hand clasped to the old headset she wore. "Then again, I'm still not used to using this old antique."

"Still. Keep me informed if you get anything," the captain ordered.

"Yes, sir," the officer replied.

For what it was worth, the captain, a Coordinator by birth, wanted nothing more than to let loose with those massive guns. Not just to show their fearsome firepower, but also to show the Atlantians that their so-called ideology was nothing more than hypocrisy at its finest. After all, nothing made an impact like seeing nine sixteen inch guns firing a full-on broadside.

But for now, all he could do was wait for the signal from the mercs.

Personally, he didn't see why he had to be subject to their orders. But then again, he could also see the reasoning behind it, seeing as how they had carriers and the resistance did not at the moment. As well as practically an entire navy, which the resistance was trying to build from scratch.

Thankfully, once this war was over and they reclaimed their country, rebuilding the navy into a true force was one of the priorities of the President, as well as the creation of a true air force and army, along with a real space fleet.

And that included stripping the country of those massive monsters called Destroys.

"Just how long until the bomb goes off?" someone asked.

The captain checked the counter displayed on the side of the GPS screen; it was a hasty add-on to the device to show when the ship had to be out of the line of fire of the shockwave-generated mini tsunamis. The ticking blue numbers showed less than an hour. "Less than an hour, fifty minutes tops," he reported.

"Man... why did they have to make it that long?" the person asked.

The captain merely shrugged. "I don't question the orders," he replied. "Just deal with it."

The crew member grumbled, but turned her focus back to her station.

The captain kept his gaze fixed on the explosions in the fog. 'Please... give us the signal...' he thought.

. . .

Tarawa

The commander of Sicario sat in his mobile suit cockpit, eyeing the furball going on around him.

He was not about to go out without giving a certain order though.

The only issue was the timing.

He could see that the Gunther was beginning to move into position to pick up its mobile suits, and that was something they could ill afford at this stage of the game. Especially as the countdown was approaching the signal for the bomb to go off.

He shifted his gaze to the radio and decided it was time to call it in.

Forty-five minutes before the explosion.

He pressed the button and the familiar crackle of static filled the cockpit.

"NJ, this is Kaiser. We got the target," he stated.

"Kaiser, this is NJ. We copy," came the reply.

Arnold smirked as he turned his gaze to the Gunther. "The target: The Militia carrier Gunther." He proceeded to rattle off its coordinates, followed by a repeat in case they didn't get it the first time.

"Copy. We got coordinates marked and locked." The captain was serious about getting payback, he noted by the tone of his voice. "Awaiting your signal."

"I'll leave that to you," Arnold replied. "I've got my own fish to fry."

"Understood." The captain paused a bit before speaking once more. "And thank you."

"Hey. You guys deserve this shot," he said with a predatory grin. "After all, these men twisted your country into a new Nazi Empire. And they completely ignored what was under their noses this whole time."

"A lesson they'll learn to regret!" the captain cackled.

The mercenary cut the channel and tuned it back to his own carrier's channel. "Command, this is Kaiser. I'm requesting permission to launch!"

"Permission granted, Kaiser. You are clear to launch!" Command radioed.

"Thanks. Kaiser out." Arnold cut the COMM and turned his gaze to the flight deck. He gripped the controls as he started up his machine. The unit rumbled around him and he reached up, flipping down his helmet's visor. Once that was done, he grasped the throttle in one hand and the stick in the other. Then he barked out his battle cry.

"Kaiser-1! Engaging the enemy!" he cried.

He pushed the throttle to its stops, and he felt the Murasame practically lunge down the deck. He was pushed back in his seat by the force of the acceleration, but he didn't even flinch. Not even a grunt escaped the ace's throat as he pulled back on the stick, leading his machine into the air by his mere touch. He could already see the Tarawa falling back as he approached his initial target altitude.

And right into the middle of the fight.

He could already see the black and red shapes of the Black Knights duking it out with his ace teams, and they were giving it as good as they got. Although the numbers were slim in their favor, it was the experience that the members of Sicario had that allowed them to hold their own against these new models. The Murasames were also another edge that tilted the battle in their favor, even if by a mere margin.

But what he really was gambling on was the time.

They needed to hold the line as long as possible for the Halifax to be taken out.

And it was there that Hitman Team was doing their thing.

He chanced a brief glance in the direction of the naval base, and he was impressed to see them holding their own against the mercenary squad of Master Goose Militia. From the looks of things, though, it seemed as if there was one missing...

A smirk crossed his face. 'They're good. But they are in no way as skilled as my top aces,' he thought as he saw another Militia machine go dark. He wasn't sure which one, but whichever one it was, it clearly tilted the balance in favor of Hitman Team.

And just as well.

The next thing he knew, his sensors blared and he jerked his head up, spotting the incoming shells well before they hit. He banked to the right as one flew past his wing, barely missing the paint and Arnold had to admit that it had been way too close for comfort. He turned in his seat just in time to see the shells slam into the hull of the Gunther, exploding on impact and tearing holes into the ship's metal hull. He had to suppress a smirk as he watched the ship start to sink in the waterway close to the base.

'Good timing, New Jersey,' he thought.

The old Iowa-class battleship had come through for them.

And it was just as well. A flash of yellow light caught his eye and he turned his gaze to look in the direction of Portsmouth.

That was it.

That was the signal. He slowly reached out a hand and tapped the radio, tuning it to the resistance frequency.

"We got the signal," he reported. "A yellow flash from Portsmouth."

"Excellent. I'll inform Butch!" Logan remarked.

. . .

USS New Jersey

"Direct hit!" someone exclaimed on the bridge.

"Excellent!" the captain remarked. A grin crossed his face as he settled back in his seat. "I want the next carrier targeted!"

"Spengler-1 going down!" the radar operator announced. "It's sinking in the port!"

That was all it took to make the man grin even more. "Good! It's time to show them what we can do!"

"Yes, sir!" everyone cheered.

The old battleship seemed to share their enthusiasm, for the very structure shuddered with the force of the engines pushing him through the water. And the captain had to admit, he felt the same way.

USS New Jersey was keen on getting back at LOGOs for what they had done to America.

And he was pissed off.

His very engines seemed to scream in fury as the nine sixteen-inch guns bellowed once more, sending a second salvo for another ship. Only this time it was backed up by one of the ship's old Tomahawk missiles. The salvo of nine oil-drum-sized shells barely missed a carrier, but the missile did not. It slammed into the side of the vessel and tore open a hole, causing it to start to go down by the stern. The Spengler couldn't stay afloat and it began to groan as it went down.

Crewmen were already scrambling to try and escape.

But in the chaos, they completely ignored one lesson learned since the Titanic went down.

It had to be orderly.

In their haste to create an all-male military and fill the ranks with cannon fodder attack dogs, the Atlantian High Command had neglected safety training and damage control. So their ship crews were not as well trained as they could have been. In fact, only on paper were they well trained. Not in practice. And practice was what made a ship's crew well trained in terms of damage control and safety regulations.

And with the loss of common sense in that regard, the Atlantian navy was doomed from the start.

Crewmembers began to fight over what lifeboats remained.

And the captain hated that.

He tore his gaze away from the sight as he heard his communications officer speak into her radio. "Oops! Sorry! That was a carrier!" she blurted.

He just shook his head. After all, they still had to learn how to use those old guns. The fact they had gotten two hits off already was a miracle in its own right. But at least it was something, right?

. . .

AFS Halifax

Butch waited patiently as he checked his cell phone.

Already the timer was ticking down. He had to time this just right or else it was not going to work.

Footsteps reached his hearing and he stood up from his hiding spot behind a bulkhead. He emerged and peered around the corner.

His heartrate increased as he recognized the two men coming down the hallway.

The base adjunct and the commandant.

Both men were of blonde hair and blue eyes, with broad shoulders and muscular builds, and he suspected they were of differing ages. But the way they carried themselves was one of pride and power. So he knew who they were.

"Sirs!" he said, saluting smartly.

"At ease, soldier," the commandant stated. "I have just received word of a Coordinator insect aboard this ship?"

"Aye. That would be true," Butch replied. "I spotted the beast slipping into the engine room aft. I think it might be trying to blow up the ship!"

"That beast will pay for this!" the adjunct growled.

"I would hurry, if I were you!" Butch remarked. "The sooner you stop that thing, the better for our crusade!"

"Leave it to us. Get out in case there is something afoot," the commandant ordered.

That was an order Butch was happy to comply with. He bolted as fast as he could as he saw the two Atlantian thugs hurry down the corridor to try and stop the so-called Coordinator. He had to keep a smirk from his face as he ducked out the ship's entryway and ran down the gangplank, pressing the button on the detonator as he did so.

Now he had only fifteen minutes to escape.

But that was all the time he needed.

He held up his phone and dialed his comrades' numbers swiftly as he ran. He needed to get a vehicle and fast.

The group text came up and he quickly typed in three words. "Time to blow!"

That was the signal they needed to flee.

He got into a nearby Jeep and pulled out the key from under the seat and slid it into the ignition. Within minutes he was pulling out, and already there were less than five minutes before the bombs exploded, taking the Halifax with them.

At that moment, Dietrich was being led by David into the trap. Of course, the youth failed to realize that. And Monarch was not about to give away his intentions. He was currently dueling the two Windams with his beam saber and rifle, seamlessly switching between them with ease as he danced around them, maneuvering his machine with an uncanny grace that sent shivers down the spines of any observers. His eyes hardened as he swept his beam saber in a cut that was parried by Dietrich's machine before Jorge opened fire, forcing him to do the same and cancel out the beam with one of his own beams. He had to suppress the urge to smirk as he fired his Murasame's thrusters and leapt over the two machines, landing on the other side and turning before pushing his unit to the limit on the ground.

He holstered his beam saber and rifle, instead running towards the Halifax.

"GET BACK HERE!" Jorge roared.

But David didn't answer or stop. Instead, he crouched and flared his Murasame's thrusters, springing into the air as Dietrich gave chase, leaping into the air and over the Murasame's head, coming to a hover, beam rifle drawn...

As deep within the hull of the Halifax, the charges set up by Butch were triggered.

. . .

Deep within the hull of the Halifax, a timer beeped down to zero, followed by a long, lone beep. Then, silence for a moment. Down the halls and corridors of the ship, things seemed peaceful, with no sign of trouble.

Crew went about their daily lives, even moving more explosive cargo into place.

One of the crew members stumbled, dropping a box of live rounds. The slight thud that it should have made was drowned out by the rocking of the entire ship as a loud BOOM echoed throughout the vessel's hull in the cargo hold. It seemed a bit much for a dropped box of ammunition, but that was the least of the crew's concern when more BOOMs began to echo throughout the ship, causing it to vibrate uncontrollably.

In the bridge, the crew on duty there felt the ship rocking with the vibrations of what had to be live ammunition going off. Not even a few minutes after the first, initial explosion, the master warning panel in the bridge lit up, showing there was flooding in the lower sections of the ship, namely in the areas closest to the ammo storage areas. The ammunition stored on the ship was going off at an alarming rate.

Even the ammo on the decks, stored for loading into the cargo hold, was not safe, as the burning ammunition from the cargo holds penetrated through the upper hull, and a few containers were pierced. As soon as the first container was penetrated, the burning round inside it exploded, setting off the rest of the ammunition inside the container.

The container exploded, sending flaming ammunition rounds everywhere. More containers were penetrated, leading to the same result over and over again. More and more containers of ammunition exploded, getting closer and closer to where the larger rounds were stored. The first of those containers was hit by flaming bullets from the other containers, and then those larger rounds began to blow up as well, continuing the chain reaction.

By now, the Halifax was literally a ship of fireworks, except these were not the kind of fireworks used by civilians. With loud explosions rocking the ship so much, it was difficult to tell where the source was coming from. Then, an even louder explosion rocked the area.

It was the ammunition for mobile suits that was going off.

Rockets began to explode in their containers, sending a few flying into the air above the ship. One or two may have even been aflame as they were thrown into the air, and one of those flaming rockets wound up landing...

...on the big one.

Not even a minute after it landed on its new home, the rocket exploded, sending flaming debris down through the metal skin and into one of the large containers that held the black gold that LOGOs so prided itself on. That flaming debris floated on top of the black gold, the fumes slowly beginning to build up. At the same time, the fire was being spread by the oxygen that had penetrated into the hold and the container. While the fire should have been brought under control, and was indeed nearing that point, the second rocket landed on the deck and exploded, causing similar damage to another container deep in the hold, but with a bigger hole.

The flames spread quickly...

. . .

Seen from a distance, there was a flash of light, and then a shockwave erupted out, blowing out windows all over the base, and causing car alarms to start sounding almost immediately all over the city.

. . .

The loudest explosion anyone had ever heard rocked the entire base, with flaming ship pieces flying everywhere. Some even landed on the burning Halifax, setting off even more of its ammunition stores. The Halifax was now a burning ship from Hell, with thick black smoke billowing overhead.

And the oil tanker that had exploded?

It was just a burning husk of what it had once been.

Flaming debris from the tanker was thrown onto the docks around the base, and few pieces onto other ships as well. A few of those other ships had smaller explosions rock them and cause severe damage.

The flaming debris that landed on the docks set off any ammo on the docks themselves, or even the fuel sources in the vehicles all around the docks. Those vehicles exploded as well, and buildings nearby wound up getting damaged by flaming debris as the large pieces knocked into walls, creating flaming holes and causing some of those buildings to slowly catch fire.

. . .

Many Atlantian personnel were running around like chickens with their heads cut off so to speak. They had not anticipated an explosive force of this caliber.

While some trained firefighting personnel were heading out to combat the flames, upon arriving on station, they saw the raging inferno that engulfed the base's docks and some of the nearby buildings was too big for them to handle with what equipment they had. And the cause of it all?

In the middle of the base's harbor...

...were the remains of the Halifax Ammunition ship and the oil supply ship that had come with it...

. . .

David had to admit, that explosion had been immensely powerful.

As it stood, he wasn't sure how his Murasame had even survived the initial shockwave and then the heat as well.

The machine was battered, but still able to move. The armor was scorched and burned, but other than that, it was still intact and able to fly. The only downside was he had lost his shield when he blocked the first licks of flame from the explosion.

Still, at least he was alive.

But he couldn't say the same for the new recruit to Master Goose Militia. His machine had been entirely incinerated in the blast; any remnants would be just mere flecks of metal or charred scraps of flesh or clothing.

His musings were interrupted when he felt a sudden spike in his head and he turned, eyes locking onto Jorge's soot-covered Windam as it stood there, staring directly at his own opponent. The beam rifle was aimed, and the beam saber was held off to the side, but he wasn't making a move. David didn't have to use his Newtype abilities to know that Jorge was furious. He could see it in the way his machine was positioned.

The mercenary merely stared in silence as Jorge started to step back, his machine's optics flaring brightly beneath the visor as he flared the back thruster and sprang away, flying towards the remaining Atlantian carrier that was still afloat.

With the loss of the Gunther, von Schweppe Team was out of options.

And David had to refrain from smirking at that. The Master Goose Militia may have been the new top merc company in the eyes of the Atlantian nobility, but they lacked what made Sicario so effective: the ethics and will to refrain from collateral damage.

He took the time to glance over his screens, seeing if he could spot his two wingmen's signals. His eyes landed on the radar, and he noticed two familiar green dots as they rendezvoused with him. He glanced up at the cockpit screens showing the outside world and he zoomed in on their machines using his Murasame's optical cameras.

Evelyn's Murasame was somewhat dented and dinged from the explosive force of the shockwave, but she was still able to fly and she retained her unit's shield, albeit damaged. Peter's own unit was in somewhat better shape as he had been further away, but he still looked like he had taken a beating. He waved his unit's free hand and David had to smile in relief at that. He adjusted his own machine's hand and waved with it. Evelyn made her machine's hand flash the thumbs up in response.

"Monarch! Come in!" came the cry of his panicked WSO, Robin.

David reached over to the radio and tapped it a few times, sending their standard reply to her.

A sigh escaped her in relief. "Oh, thank God! I was so worried..."

For what it was worth, David could hardly blame her for being concerned. After all, it wasn't very common knowledge that the two were in a relationship, and that was fine with him. But it also made her worry a bit unnerving to those who didn't know. And after this war, David figured, it was time to change that. As well as one other change that he had been planning on making for a while now.

His silence.

While he did speak, it was so rare that others often assumed he was mute. But that was not the case, and he was determined to change that soon.

But right now, he had to get his team back to the Tarawa for a debriefing and report.

His gaze drifted up to the burning hulks of the two ships that had utterly devastated the base of Devonport.

He cast his sight out to the city beyond, surprised by the lack of utter carnage beyond. While the city's outermost windows had been devastated, the rest of the structures were all intact; the only damage had been to the base and its own buildings.

Not to mention the fact that a lot of other ships had been damaged and sunk in the waterway leading into the harbor.

With Devonport both devastated and blocked off, there was no way any Atlantian ships could come in to repair the facilities or even man them.

Devonport was knocked out for the remainder of the war.

And that was something he felt was a good hint as to how resolved the resistance truly was.

He crouched his machine and sprang into the air, flying alongside his wingmen back to the carrier.

Their part in Operation: Merlin was a resounding success.

. . .

Arnold had to suppress a predatory grin as he saw the explosion's aftermath.

The utter destruction of the base was beyond absolute.

It was total.

With no survivors out of the leadership, there was no one to command those who had been brainwashed, and already he could hear chatter over the radio calling for aid to help stem the out of control fires.

But with the utter carnage wrecked here, there was no way many could get into the base's interior. And some people were already aware of it.

And he had to admit, seeing the resistance forces coming out to try and help was a bit of a surprise, but he was not about to comment on it. He turned his gaze away and he banked his fighter around, spotting the machines of Gunsel and Assassin Teams continuing to harass the Black Knight units. While the Murasames of Sicario had taken some damage, they were still flying, which was a testament to the skill of the mercenaries he had hired. He didn't skimp on them. He wanted only the best, and he got it.

But that didn't translate to the Black Knight pilots. A number of the units had already been nailed and taken out of the game. But while the pilots that were downed were left to die by their comrades, the lifeboats of the Tarawa, Trinity, and Zoltan were deploying to help the downed mobile suit pilots. It was a stark contrast to the new ethos of the Atlantian military. And he was a bit surprised by the decision of the captains to get those men to safety. But he was not about to reprimand them for such things. It was a mark of their ethics and honor that set them apart from their nemesis merc rivals.

He heard the radio beeping at that point and he turned his gaze to focus on it briefly. He keyed in the frequency Eisenhower had given him.

"Kaiser. This is Home Base One. Status report."

For what it was worth, Kaiser mused, she didn't waste time. So he decided to respond.

"Home Base One, this is Kaiser. Our part in the operation was a resounding success," he reported. "No damage has been sustained to the city outside of the base. Only real property losses closest to the base were shattered windows."

"Any civilian casualties?" the President hissed.

Arnold kept a wry smirk from his voice. "None."

"I would like the combat data to confirm that for myself though," she insisted. "From Hitman Team."

"I'll send it once we get back on the ship," he told her. "But I can assure you it will back up my claim."

Eisenhower cut the COMM and he banked around, coming in behind his top pilots as they began to make their own glide paths confirmed.

. . .

Resistance Headquarters

Denver, Colorado

December 12th, CE 0073

Eisenhower pursed her lips as she observed the combat data from Hitman's machines.

All records had confirmed to her new mercenary's claim.

There had been zero civilian casualties on their part.

The only real losses they had incurred had come from Master Goose Militia's indiscriminate firing.

That right there was enough to make her grin. Sicario had definitely proven themselves in the fight. They were truly mercenaries who had morals.

Arnold's image flickered on her screen as she looked to him directly. "Well, your company really proved itself today," she remarked.

"That's good to hear," he said with a grin. "So I take it the contract is a go?"

The resistance leader had to smile back. And this time it was genuine. "Yes. Our mutual contract is in effect."

Arnold chuckled. "Good. I assume you'll have orders for us then?" he asked.

Eisenhower nodded. "Yes. I have orders indeed." She sat up straight. "Your orders are to provide assistance to Terminal any way you can. Also, I need your spec ops team in the desert to help with Operation: Kindergarten."

"The operation to bust those kids out, right?" he mused.

The resistance commander gave a grim smirk. "That's the one." Her smirk then faded as she became serious. "If you can spare any though for other ops, I would be grateful for that."

"I'll see what I can do," Arnold told her. "Ronin is good. But if you want me to split them, it's going to be harder for you to pull off the operation."

"I got people out there who have been training specifically for this," Eisenhower remarked. Her eyes narrowed. "So that'll be good enough."

"I can understand and accept that," the mercenary commander replied.

The woman closed her eyes briefly, tenting her fingers in front of her face as she pondered her next move. Already she had a good idea as to what needed to be done, something that would not only disrupt the war economy, but also put the Atlantians on the back foot for some time until the war was over. Another angle was also present in her mind and she snapped her eyes open moments later.

It had taken her a mere minute to figure out the best plan for her next operation. "Also, if possible, I'd like a bit of additional help. You modded your Spenglers after you got them, right?"

"Yeah. Why?" Arnold was now confused. But at the same time, his eyes narrowed. "What are you planning?"

"I need to know which yards you used," she answered, "and where they were located." A smirk crossed her face. "Because they're about to be stripped of a key asset... to influence this war how they see fit."

The mercenary's eyes widened a bit before realization dawned. "Oh... Oh man... Lady, you are ballsy!" he chuckled.

The President's eyes glinted as she gained a predatory grin. "So, we have a deal?"

The mercenary's fingers flew over his keyboard on his end and her computer's screen flickered before a list came up. "Yes, we do..." he purred.

She looked back at the image of the video feed showing the large shape as it flew away from a burning hulk below. She had to admit, Merlin had distracted the entire Atlantian leadership from the launch of the ship in question.

And it was also a big sign as to what was coming next.