Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. I hope you guys are ready for what's coming here. ;) This time, there is going to be a real brawl happening closer to shore~! XD

- operation meteor: Glad ya like it! :) Yeah, I did take advantage of that fact! XD I do like the way the resistance just writes itself out. :3 And that whole idea with the reflecting weapons just seems like something they'd do, because they use their brains to fight, and not just rely on primal passions to fight.

- Zeroth17: Glad ya liked it. :)

- 1800009trumbullps . net: Nope. The resistance doesn't want to irradiate their own country, after all. ;3

- CT7567Rules: Well, thanks! :) And yeah, the resistance isn't holding back anymore. :) Just wanted to show how determined they are

(The screen shows only blackness before a small light is shown in the center, growing larger until a fire ignites, panning around to show the Strike Dagger S equipped with the Phoenix Striker flying through space, a tattered American flag shown flapping on a flagpole in a huge colony)

START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO

(The camera pans in towards the colony where it shows several members of the resistance gathered: President Eisenhower, Steven Krane, Mackenzie Samantha Allen, Turbine Martinez, Keith Martinez, Marcus Wolcott and his squadron, Warren Thompson, Robert "Rob" Jackson, Kyle Eisen, Kashi Tsukiyama, and Turbine's squad mates)

Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The group is standing before the Redemption in the background, a shadowy mobile suit above them and below the ship, two brilliant light blue optics flaring)

Pass the orbit beyond the sky (The camera pivots away from them and out to show a map of the Atlantian Reich split into two colors: blue showing the resistance and purple showing the Reich)

I can't hold back this rushing speed (The camera zooms in on Denver as Eisenhower is shown standing atop a tank, waving her hand as she barks an order into a headset she's wearing)

A familiar town becomes a diorama (The screen is flooded with dust as a tank speeds by, showing a single pinprick of light as a shuttle is launched into orbit from Anchorage)

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

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

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

Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (The base is shown shrouded by darkness, Nazara standing above the base as the ZAFT-Defector fleet sails towards it)

Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The image is suddenly shattered as a huge gun shell slams into it before the camera pans to the left to show the SS United States in Orb, undergoing repairs while her crew is gathered before her, the USS Missouri on station to act as deterrence)

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 S clashing with a shadowy mobile suit)

Use the sun that lights tomorrow as a guide (A sinister dark aura surges out from the mobile suit, twin eyes glaring at the assembled warriors, the image of Durandal shown off to the side)

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

GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING

Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall

- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane

CHAPTER XLVIII: Battleship Brawl

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

JANUARY 3RD, 0074 CE

USS IOWA

The four screws thrashed the water as the ship started to make her way towards the city of San Diego.

To many, seeing the old battleships coming back into action was a mark of how determined the resistance was to reclaim their country from the old men who ran it from the shadows. And if it meant rebuilding a navy using old ships from the twentieth to twenty-first centuries AD, then that was the way to go. And the ships that once plied the seas at the height of American power were just the beasts to deliver the damage the people sought.

The USS Iowa was not immune to this, as she had been completely refurbished to operational standards.

Of course, many assumed that her second turret was forever disabled and out of commission.

But what many did not realize was that the resistance had spent five years working to try and get it operational once more. It took countless days of meetings, studying the turret layout of the other three ships, the functioning systems, recreating the parts using 3D printing, and even reforging some from scratch, but in the end, it was well worth the costs, the money poured into its restoration, the blood spilled during accidents, and even the sweat that many endured. The second turret was now fully operational.

Yet no one was sure if it would even work, considering the circumstances under which it had been restored. It was not a true restoration given how the resistance had Macgyvered a lot of components they couldn't get, but it was close to it.

And to say the captain was concerned was far from an understatement.

She was downright worried.

Gwendolyn Hassel bit her lower lip as she scanned the turret readout for about the fifteenth time this morning. Her gray eyes narrowed as she pushed back a strand of indigo-black hair from her face.

She could see that the turret was in theoretical operational condition, but that was only in theory. The resistance didn't have time to actually test it to see if it worked because of the fact that there was another mobile armor en route to San Diego, and no doubt to try and take back the historical naval base. Without it, the Atlantians and LOGOs both had no means to enforce their rule within Mexico, which had finally thrown off their LOGOs-backed overlord and lynched the man in the old Aztec city of Tenochtitlan atop its temple.

Many people had decried the decision, and some even had criticized the resistance for pulling such an action. But the rebel leadership in Mexico had actually not condoned the action, and after arresting the people who carried out the act in question, had them sent to Mexico City's prison, where they would be held until the war was won and then they would be put on trial. After a quick clarification of their stance on the matter, the fury of the people was sated for the moment. But it was only a matter of time before it would resurface, and the resistance needed to show they meant business when it came to upholding the law.

Gwendolyn was thankful that cooler heads had prevailed in that instance, and she turned her gaze back towards the city just ahead.

Right now, she could only wonder what the rest of the people were thinking considering the upcoming fighting.

"Ma'am, we got word," a familiar male voice said.

The captain of the Iowa glanced up, her eyes landing on her communications officer who sat with his headset on, one hand clasped to it as he turned to face her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's from Command," he said. "They have the location of where the target is going to hit."

"Where?" Hassel snapped. She was not in the mood to be dealing with that mobile armor, but considering the circumstances, the Iowa was the only ship in the entire resistance arsenal that was close enough and had enough firepower to go toe-to-toe with the thing. But that was only if they could remain outside its fire range, and close enough to do damage themselves. It would be a fine line, a balancing act she wasn't sure she could pull off. After all, she had been a mere schoolteacher before she was asked to commandeer the legendary Iowa-class. The only reason she was even asked to command the vessel was the fact her husband had once been a historian aboard the vessel, so she knew as much as he did; he had been slated to command her. But when he had been killed by a LOGOs soldier last week, Gwendolyn was the only other option.

But then again, who knew what she could do when she was under fire?

The thought sent shivers down her spine, but she ignored it and focused on the situation at hand.

"The target is set to hit close to the base itself!" the man replied.

"Shit...! Not specific enough!" she growled. "What about direction? Where's it coming from?"

The man closed his eyes, clasping his headset tighter. A few minutes passed, and then his eyes snapped open. "We have the direction! It's coming from the direction of Bonita Hills Estates!"

Hassel stared in utter shock and horror at those words.

Her grandparents lived there... and if that thing was going to make its way through...

"We have to get that thing away from that populated area!" she practically screamed.

"We know," the comms officer replied. "But... all we can do is try and get those people evacuated as soon as possible."

"What assets do we have in the area?!" Hassel barked.

One of her other officers swiveled in her seat to face her superior. "Our ground forces have at least fifteen Lotos and a few dozen NEMOs in the area," she replied. "Not enough to really delay, but if we destroy the ground and create enough craters, we can at least slow it down long enough to get as many people out as we can."

"Then relay that to the ground troops ASAP!" Hassel ordered.

"Yes, ma'am!" the woman replied.

As the radio call went out, Hassel turned her gaze to the distant horizon. She could already guess that the pilots of the GFAS-C2 Heikegani were feeling like they were at an orgy with the bloodshed they were going to unleash on the innocents within the subdivision. The very sneers and laughs of ecstasy echoing in her mind were more than enough to make her stomach churn. But she kept it down, instead directing her disgust and sickness towards the objective: to strike that machine as soon as it got within range of the guns of the Iowa.

And boy, was she ready to unleash Hell on Earth.

The huge battleship continued down the coast, finally approaching the city's coast line. But that was not where they were heading.

Rather than make their way to the huge entrance to San Diego Bay, the ship continued past the Naval Air Station on North Island. Of course, many were concerned about the possibility of the air station remaining in LOGOs' hands. But there was no need to worry. The entire air station was firmly in the hands of the rebels. And it was a good thing, too. A huge number of F-15 Eagle mobile suits had recently been deployed there, along with a limited number of F-14 Tomcats, a watered-down mass production model of the Defender Gundam. Hassel had to admit that Boeing's expertise in aircraft production and Anaheim's mobile suit production teams had really come through. With the expertise of both manufacturing giants under one alliance, LOGOs had no real competition to even match or surpass the two corporations.

And unlike North American Heavy Engineering, they prioritized building quality machines that were of proper size and design, not those monstrous Destroys or crab-like mobile armors. In fact, some part of her wondered why they had to turn to animalistic designs. Was it because they believed it would attune them to the bestial spirits of the natural world? If so, that was a purely pseudoscientific idea. In her mind, mobile armors with animalistic themes were so last century. The mobile suit was truly a masterpiece of engineering and versatility with its humanoid design.

She shook her head, finally dismissing those thoughts and returning her focus to the battle at hand.

Already Iowa was nearing the land bridge separating San Diego Bay from the Pacific Ocean. It wasn't that far off, and she could see the thick smoke on the horizon, coming from the direction of Bonita Hills Estates.

Her eyes narrowed and she gritted her teeth.

No one was going to kill any more innocents! Not as long as she lived.

And not as long as Iowa lived.

. . .

Within the cockpit of the GFAS-C2 Heikegani, Jaggar Held sneered as he gripped the controls.

Already the people were trying to flee from their new machine, and he had to admit that this was a lot more satisfying than using mobile suits. This was a symbol of the primal fear and terror that nature could provide. The animalistic designs were a step forward, invoking the primal spirits of these creatures to infuse their flesh and boost their natural spiritual strength and elan.

And it was a much more fitting tribute to Mother Earth than to use mobile suits, which were in his mind abominations crafted from the minds of those daemon spawn in Earth orbit.

He glanced to his gunner as the other man gave a sinister grin. "Ve are ready to fire at your command!" he said.

"Zen do it!" Jaggar chuckled. "Show zese fools ze folly of resisting us!"

Siegmund Braune gave a low chortle as he brought the triple sixteen inch guns to bear on the homes of those who were now race traitors to the pure-blooded Naturals. Wonen and children were of no matter to these men. All they could care about was inflicting as much chaos to the traitors as possible. Men and women were trying to evacuate the elderly, the infirm, the young, and the disabled as quickly as they could, but there was no way they could get them all out in time. The very concept of enacting such things was lost to these two.

It was, in their eyes, a complete waste of lives. Those who could not handle themselves were deemed weak. And the weak had no place in their martial society. Mercy was a woman's tool. And real men were not women.

"Ve have a lock!" Siegmund remarked.

"Zen fire!" Jaggar screamed.

The man gave the darkest purr possible as he pressed the trigger, and the first of the barrels fired, sending its shell right for the closest estate.

The shell hit, sending a thick plume of dust and dirt skyward, along with debris from the house. Windows were shattered, roof timbers, shingles, insulation, and furniture all collapsed into the hole, followed by electrical wiring and plumbing. A few sparking wires touched the insulation and within mere seconds, a huge fire was roaring as the house was turned into an inferno. Many of the servants and maids there had fled, two of them even carrying the homeowners' cats and fleeing to their cars to try and save the animals.

A number of people surrounding the burning estate immediately tried to mobilize to fight the fire, but none of them had real practical firefighting experience. Only a few had a basic knowledge of what fire extinguishers to use, but they also didn't know that to fight a large fire, one needed better equipment than just a few measly extinguishers.

They needed the fire department.

And with the civil war raging, there was really no one to provide assistance. So they had to try and figure it out on their own.

Thankfully, with the fall of the Atlas Firewall and the Internet once again at their fingertips, a number of enterprising civilians got onto the largest video-sharing website, looking at videos about firefighting. A few even went from house to house, trying to gather appropriate gear if it could be found. But it was at another house that someone found a stash of firefighting gear; the owners of that house were former firefighters and they had kept their gear just in case it was needed.

So with their help, a number of other civilians began to be trained in firefighting techniques on the fly, during a major fire. While not recommended, in these circumstances they had no choice. It was all thanks to a combined effort that a major fire was stopped from spreading further.

At least until the next shell struck, igniting another blaze in a home five blocks away.

But this time, they were ready.

A number of other people who had mobilized to try and stall the advancing mobile armor were diverted to help quench this blaze, relying on old hoses hooked up to fire hydrants to try and soak the nearest houses. But even that was not enough when a third shell struck, this time nailing a nearby gas line and igniting the houses on that street into an apocalyptic inferno.

And the resistance was already going to have a hard time to bring that thing down.

But that didn't mean they were going to be left with no means to bring it down.

The two pilots had no idea that they were in for a real nasty surprise.

. . .

The sheer hatred that was coming from the machine was impossible to ignore. To most people, that hatred was not able to be sensed.

But to those with Newtype abilities like Corporal Greg Taris, it was as clear as day.

The forty-two-year-old military engineer was a former Blue Cosmos supporter, only to have turned away from them after witnessing the sheer barbarities carried out by his former comrades in the last war. Before he defected, he had also been high up in the ranks, with a potential to serve alongside the late Admiral William Sutherland. But after seeing the utter massacre of prisoners in cold blood and the ruthlessness with which women had been raped by his own comrades and even his subordinates against his orders, he had utterly felt his worldview shattered. He had been a completely broken man, wandering after the war came to an end. No one had bothered to help him. He was left questioning his beliefs, everything he thought to be true.

It was only when he wandered into Portland, Oregon that he passed out from a high fever. He had come to a few weeks later in a hospital, being treated for his fever and mild malnutrition. And it was just as well that the hospital staff had been resistance members. He wound up asking them questions, and finally, answers were given to him. Answers that at first provided more questions than answers. But after a few months of soul searching as he lay recovering in the hospital, it became clear to him everything he thought he knew had been a lie. The truth had crystallized in his brain, becoming the rock that kept him going.

And it was due to this that he had opened his mind to the newfound awareness he gained after his beliefs had been shattered.

Now, he was one of the very few in the resistance whose Newtype abilities could touch the minds of others. Of course, it was not truly mind-touching in the sense of twining minds together. It was a feeling that conferred a sense of unity, of purpose, to those who he reached.

But to those of Blue Cosmos, he was a freak.

But he didn't care about that.

All he cared about right now was trying to get a read on the intentions of the pilots of the Heikegani.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned their thoughts, trying to understand their goals.

He frowned as he realized just what was going on.

'So that's their game, huh?' he thought. 'They want to attack the base head on? Well... they're not going to get that far!'

He turned to look back over his shoulder in the direction of the ocean. He couldn't see it very well beyond the buildings, but he knew it was there. And out at sea was one of the resistance's heavy hitters.

"Sir!" a young woman cried. "We have the targeting solution from the Iowa!"

Greg looked over, his eyes narrowing. "How far out?" he asked.

"Close to ten miles!" she exclaimed.

"Good!" he remarked. "Inform our forces to fall back out of the impact zone at once!"

"Yes, sir!" she said. She grabbed her radio and started to speak into it.

As she did so, Greg shot a glance back at the distant horizon.

Just as the faint roar of thunder was heard, despite it being a clear day.

His eyes flashed as he grinned. "Perfect timing..."

. . .

SAN DIEGO COASTLINE

"...Iowa!"

The ship's massive sixteen inchers roared, sending loud echoing thunderclaps resonating across the horizon.

And just as well, too.

The shells arced over the bay's main island and its spit, curving towards their designated target. The large mobile armor was right in the line of fire, and as they descended, the crew of the Heikegani were ready. The positron reflector barrier shimmered into existence as the emitter kicked on, and the first of the salvos struck the shield head on. They exploded harmlessly against it, but it was enough to get the attention of the crew.

The huge machine began to make its way out of the burning subdivision, its eight legs scrabbling over debris and rubble left behind by its guns and missiles. Resistance soldiers and fighters alike began to scramble out of the way as it started to head towards the beach. This was just what the resistance had been gambling on. And it was just what they wanted.

The mobile armor's guns roared as they tried to get a lock on whatever had fired at them. But since the Iowa was out at sea, it was close to impossible to get a lock on her. And with their location beyond the city itself, the mobile armor's crew couldn't get a lock on the ship at all.

And to Gwen, that was a godsend.

At least, for now.

. . .

JANUARY 2ND, 0074 CE

TORONTO SUBURBS

The entire headquarters was a madhouse.

Or rather, the offices of the leadership of the company were.

People were scurrying back and forth, carrying letters, papers, and even tablets as the heads of the world's largest aerospace giant, Boeing, tried to gather information on just what was happening in Iceland.

At the head of the corporate leadership was none other than Harold J. Boeing, one of the descendants of the original founder of the corporation, William E. Boeing. At age fifty, he was one of the younger heads of the company, and he was also one of those who had enough common sense to have allied with their competitor as North American Heavy Engineering tried to gobble up their plants and resources. A number of offers had been made to him in order to try and convince him to sell, but he relentlessly refused, stating that Boeing was not an instrument of racial genocide, but an instrument of the just. While a controversial statement in the past, this time it was a true statement, as Boeing did not actively sell parts, weapons, or equipment to LOGOs' thugs in NAHE.

Instead, all purchases of said equipment had been done through proxies and shell companies.

And it was only now that Harold and his fellow executives at Boeing were learning just where the military weapons they had sold to one of the shell companies had gone.

"I want all weapons that were sold to those bastards to be logged and marked so we can stop their sales!" Harold bellowed.

At five foot six, he didn't look very much like a towering corporate giant. Instead, it was his relentless drive and his ruthlessness in the boardroom that made him such a formidable force in the business world. His black hair was thick and tussled, and with intense red eyes, he was clearly an Enhanced, having hidden his eye color through green contacts to give the impression he had brown eyes. It was also this genetic status that made him such a business genius. His mind was much sharper than a Natural's, but not as sharp as a Coordinator's.

"Yes, sir," one of the aides replied. "I'll get it sent ASAP."

He then turned to look at one of his fellow executives. "What's the current situation in Iceland?" he demanded.

"That, sir, is something we have to ask the military about," the other man replied. "But from what I've heard on the news, and by that I mean our news, the attack was a complete disaster for ZAFT. The Chairman blatantly ignored the President's warning and continued to attack, even though she clearly told him it was a trap. Talk about arrogance to the extreme, huh?"

"Extreme? More like plain stupidity," Harold growled. "Extremism is what those fools in LOGOs are doing. And all because they are scared that Coordinators will outdo them in terms of their wealth and power." He shook his head. "It's stupid, really. Coordinators are human just like anyone else, regardless of their genetics."

Another executive scoffed. "So, in regards to the situation in Iceland, what do you suggest we do?" he asked.

Harold pursed his lips as he folded his arms. He looked to those around him, noticing how all of them were looking at him critically. "Well... I'm open to suggestions, everyone."

A female aide raised her hand. "I may have something," she offered.

"Go ahead," a third executive told her. "We're all ears."

She nodded. "What if we inform Terminal of the weapons and parts that were supplied to LOGOs through the use of their shell companies?"

"Wait." A fourth man narrowed his eyes. "You mean we inform Terminal of their location on that monstrous dreadnought?"

The aide gave a nod. "Yes. It may not be much, but it should suffice for them to take them out, especially if we can point out the flaws on said parts."

Harold narrowed his eyes. "I see. We give Terminal the weaknesses of certain components and then they can take them out. Like the missile pods. Or those twin cannons, whatever they're called, that were mounted on the Destroys."

The young woman leaned back in her seat. "That would allow them to go for those weaknesses. But of course, that leaves the positron reflectors to be dealt with."

The head of Boeing pursed his lips as he glanced back at an image of a ship in orbit. "Somehow I doubt that the reflectors will be much of an issue, especially given Project Shumatsu..."

. . .

JANUARY 2ND, 0074 CE

EN ROUTE TO UNKNOWN DESTINATION

Eisenhower narrowed her eyes as she observed the onslaught.

This was just as she had feared.

It was an utter bloodbath, and Durandal had sailed right into it.

'That idiot!' she thought. 'He just sailed right into that trap and now he's suffered severe losses because of it! Had he actually taken my advice and attacked from the rear while the defectors attacked from the front, he could've captured or taken that monstrosity out. But no, he had to play the genius and claim his plan was foolproof! He doesn't know a thing about how wars should be fought, least of all the strategies that the enemy employs!'

She had been right to suggest an attack from the rear of the base.

Just seeing those AI units on the field was another thing that she was concerned about. Her eyes hardened as she glanced to the main communications console as the main monitor over it lit up. The frantic face of Dr. Keith Martinez appeared, and it was clear he had been observing the fighting in Iceland, if the map displayed in the background was any indication.

"Madame President!" he blurted.

"Ah. I was wondering if you've been observing the fighting," she noted.

"I was, and it's just as I feared," Keith remarked. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Xen's refined her AIs. She's got them close to perfected. And if this keeps up..."

Eisenhower nodded. "We need more than just Turbine, is that it?"

Keith nodded. "Yeah. I did mention this before, but the BOLO Initiative has a few other stages. And we're going to be ramping up production of our own AIs. We're entering Phase II."

"Then do it."

The computer whiz blinked. "Uh, what?"

"You heard me. Do it!" Eisenhower barked. "We need to have more AIs before Iron Legion reaches its full potential!"

"But that's just it!" Keith exclaimed. "We need time to produce and train the AIs! We can't just mass produce them like she can, after all! Copying and pasting the learning algorithm is one thing. But to actually refine the AI's central core programming is what's been holding us back. We have another three that we can modify, but after that, we need to make tweaks to each subsequent AI we copy and paste."

"I don't care how long it takes. Just get as many as you can done within the next few months!" the President ordered. "We need them yesterday, Keith. And I mean that!"

The AI expert pursed his lips before closing his eyes and sighing."All right. We'll get on it ASAP."

"Good." Eisenhower nodded. "Get as many people as you can working on this as well. And..." Her voice trailed off. "Do what you must."

Those four words seemed to jolt Keith to his senses and he visibly gulped before he nodded. "I... I'll see what we can do, ma'am," he said softly. "But with Kenta... we can't take a risk with him. And it was by pure luck it happened to work out in our favor with Turbine. With another, who knows what could happen?"

She knew what he was getting at. There was a huge risk with tormenting another AI, but then again, what other choices did they have?

"Uh, Keith?" a female voice cut in, catching him by surprise. He glanced over as his acting second-in-command, Jennifer Morris, leaned in. "I think maybe we can work in another solution for tormenting the AIs."

"Then lay it on me. I don't want to resort to what Kenta did again," Keith said seriously. Eisenhower, for her part, tented her fingers in front of her mouth and leaned forward, clearly intrigued by this new proposal.

"Well... what if we just did simulated torment?" Jen suggested. "We could hook them up into chassis that are connected to the simulation chamber. And when they get tormented, the chassis will feel simulated pain, but without the real damages."

Keith blinked, surprised. "Huh... You know... I never really considered that before..." he mused, looking down for a moment. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as his mind began to race. Eisenhower could tell he was thinking, judging from the fact he was beginning to mutter to himself. He began to pace, one hand moving as he did mental gymnastics in his brain, working out the necessary algorithms and programming. Then he stopped, and looked to Jen. "Jen... that is the most ingenious solution you came up with!"

The assistant merely blushed and rubbed the back of her neck. "Thanks..." she muttered. Then her gaze became serious as she turned to face the President. "I'm hoping this solution will work and allow us to train more AIs rapidly," she explained.

"And I hope it does, too," Eisenhower remarked. She lowered her head a bit, adding a sort of intimidating look to her stature. "For what it's worth, we're gonna need all the help we can get. Also, keep tabs on the location of that dreadnought. We need to know where it's going to strike after Paris."

. . .

JUDGMENT STATION

"For the love of God...!" Spray whispered, his eyes wide. "That thing just wiped the floor with ZAFT!"

"That's the power of Project: Reaper, Commander," Warren admitted, his eyes narrowed. The Coordinator liaison to the L4 Coalition was not happy at seeing that beast. "And that is what Project: Shumatsu was designed to counter."

"But how can it?!" Maxus exclaimed. "You've seen how that thing's positron reflectors just tanked those rifle blasts from that ZAFT machine!"

"That's where the Judgment Satellite System comes into play," Warren said, his eyes glinting. A smirk crossed his face. "After all, these weapons were used during the Reconstruction War, were they not, to cause more losses in place of nukes? And what did the Atlantian Reich use twice during the First Bloody Valentine War?"

Maxus's face literally paled as Spray narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth. "How could we forget?" Maxus muttered. "Microwave weapons... some of the most dangerous devices mankind can create. And we know about the Cyclops systems. So?"

Warren's smirk turned into a thin grin. "The device that I developed operates on close to the same principle as the Cyclops, but instead of letting it out in a huge burst that causes people to pop like overripe melons, we take those waves and turn them into directed energy. It's just as powerful as the TBR as a result. Or..." His grin then faded. "...it could possibly even surpass the TBR. But only if both reactors are used for it. While possible in theory, the reality is that the sheer energy would be enough to destroy the Redemption. So that option is out."

"So to put it simply, we got ourselves a giant microwave gun?" Spray asked. He glanced to the ship at its dock, gaze fixed on the satellite dish beneath it.

"Sort of, Commander," Warren admitted. "It's not a giant microwave gun in the way you think. Rather than cause destruction to untold civilians... we are going to be using it to protect our allies."

Spray frowned. Already he could see that there were a number of reasons for not using such a thing, but then again, given what Terminal, the EF, ZAFT, and Orb were up against, it made sense they'd need all the help they could get. "I think I see where you're going with this," he mused. He folded his arms. "You intended that power to be used on those huge dreadnoughts."

"Technically, Dr. Brand did," Warren told him. "I just helped make it reality."

Spray's eyes widened a bit. "Wait. The nuclear physicist? That Dr. Brand?"

The Coordinator engineer nodded. "The very same man."

The rebel commander pursed his lips. "I see..."

"Technically, I'm not at all surprised, Commander," Maxus remarked. "Dr. Brand was always a brilliant mind when it came to his work. But his planning for something like Reaper is still a bit uncanny."

Warren snorted. "But that's beside the point. The point I'm trying to make here is that we're not going to use the Judgment Satellite System indiscriminately. Or even at any civilians." His eyes returned to the scene of the dreadnought massacring the defectors and ZAFT forces alike. "Our goal is to bring that thing down. And if it means bringing our greatest weapon online ahead of schedule, then so be it."

"Hold on. When was it supposed to be deployed?" Maxus asked.

"A few days from now," Warren admitted. "But this time... we have to schedule it ahead of time. And actually, this is a good time to see if it will perform as expected."

"But I thought you said you ran simulations on it!" the station commander exclaimed.

"I did. And while I am confident that it will work since I did all the equations and math myself, I am also prepared for the eventuality that it doesn't work," Warren stated. He glanced back at the the Natural out of the corner of his eye. "After all, computers can only confirm so much, so many times."

Spray pursed his lips as he unfolded his arms. "I assume then that we'll be getting a call from Terminal at some point?"

Warren nodded. "That is the most likely scenario. I would advise you prepare for your mission, Commander. And make sure that your new machine is prepared and ready."

. . .

SATELLITE CITY, CHIHUAHUAN DESERT

MEXICO

JANUARY 2ND, 0074 CE

"Sir? Are you sure?" Theo asked as he and Keith made their way down to the cells.

Keith nodded, his eyes uncharacteristically hard. "Yes. I'm sure of it, Theo."

"But what if it backfires?" the techie asked, worried.

"Trust me, I'm preparing for that!" Keith snarked back. "But this is the only other option we got left. Face it. Simulated torture is one thing. But if it's to work... we need to have the one person who hates AI assist us. And as it stands, Kenta is our only hope right now."

The younger man's eyes were wide and his face was pale as Keith continued on. "I'm not liking it either, Theo. I'm not liking this at all. But in war, you sometimes gotta make hard choices for the betterment of your side in the fight. And this is one such time."

He finally came to a stop in front of the door, as did Theo. Keith looked to the guard, who had her eyes narrowed. "You here to see him?" she asked.

"No. We're here for Kenta," Keith clarified. "Dr. Sung can wait."

"Kenta Wong?" the guard noted. "He's been moved into a different cell block. Kept claiming that Dr. Sung creeped him out."

"Which cell block?" Keith asked.

The guard looked to her companion and the other man nodded. "I'll hold it here," he said. "Take them to where they need to go."

The woman nodded and grabbed her rifle, shouldering it as her partner took up position in front of the door and flipped a switch, lowering the blast door as a precaution. And personally, Keith thought it was a good idea.

The two men proceeded to follow the guard as she led them down another hallway and up a flight of stairs to a different cell block. This one was a floor higher and was occupied by a few less than savory characters, mostly crooks who had done minor crimes like theft of cash from one of the resistance members. After all, a number of underworld crooks had elected to migrate south to Mexico all in an effort to keep some of their ill-gotten gains.

And in the far left corner cell, was Kenta Wong.

The other technician hadn't been doing well in captivity. In fact, he looked a lot more haggard and disheveled than Keith recalled, with his hair slightly longer and a small amount of stubble on his chin and cheeks. His lab coat and uniform were all grungy, but at least he didn't smell like body odor from being cooped up for a long time. He looked a little thinner, but at least he wasn't dangerously starving like most Atlantian concentration camp prisoners.

His cell was a lot better than those on the lower block. A full bed, a bathroom, small kitchen, books, and TV were present in his cell, and there was a lamp on the desk where a laptop was mounted. Even a closet was present, but that was currently empty. Kenta was currently reading a book when he heard the footsteps of the guard and her two companions.

He looked up and scowled when he saw his former boss. "Dr. Martinez."

Keith stopped at the door, his eyes narrowed. "Kenta."

The technician set down his book and stood up, walking to the door and placing his hands on the bars. "What a surprise," he muttered. "What brings you here? To mock me?"

But much to his surprise, Keith shook his head. "No, Kenta. We need you."

"Oh?" Kenta arched an eyebrow. "Now you say you need me?" He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. What about your little project? Isn't it going to work?"

"It is," the computer expert agreed. "But we're on the second phase. And we need your help for it."

"What can I do that you can't?" Kenta asked.

"Tormenting AIs." That was all Keith said. "You're surprisingly good at it. And we need that talent of yours."

"Why?" Kenta asked. "I thought you were against that kind of thing." He narrowed his eyes before a sneer crossed his face. "Unless you finally realized the truth about them..."

Theo finally had enough. He dashed forward and grabbed onto Kenta's shirt through the bars, pulling him close. "Look! I don't like you for what you tried to do to Turbine! But the gist here is that we need your ability to torment AIs, bastard!" he growled. "And we need it now! Phase II is about to begin! We have a few more AI that have had the same learning algorithms copied and pasted into their code! But we need someone to carry out simulated torture on them, and you're the only one who fits the bill!"

"Theo, enough!" Keith interjected.

Theo growled, but relented and released Kenta's shirt. He glanced to the computer expert and stepped aside as Keith cleared his throat. "What Theo said is correct, Kenta. We need you to carry out simulated torture on those new AIs. We have them currently hooked into the simulation chamber we used to train Turbine. The chassis have been built and the AIs installed. All we need for you to do is torment them... but without causing actual harm to them."

"So fake torture?" Kenta mused, quirking an eyebrow, but still holding that sneer. "My word. That is more diabolical than I could even consider."

"And more humane!" Keith hissed. "At least this way they won't be subject to utter torture!"

"Sure..." the ex-technician chortled. "So, what's in it for me?"

"For one thing, a lighter sentence," Keith stated as he looked down. "And... if you do help... I'll do what I can to make sure that Xen is charged."

Kenta was caught off guard by that last sentence. "Wait. What?" He blinked.

"You heard me," Keith intoned. He looked up, his eyes hard. "I intend to have her charged... with murder."

"Murder? Too late for that!" the other man snorted. "She didn't even get a demotion and instead got promoted!"

"Trust me, she will be charged," Keith insisted. His eyes never wavered, and Kenta was stunned by the sheer resilience in his gaze. He could see that Keith fully intended on following through with his plans. "She will be charged with your fiancé's murder!"

The three men were silent, and then Kenta sighed. "I really do appreciate your efforts, but it's too late. She's never coming back... And that AI that killed her... You can understand why I hate AI. And there is nothing that can change that."

"Maybe not, but I am willing to ask for your sentence to be reduced and to be more lenient in your punishment if you help me with this," Keith said, almost pleading.

The former technician ran his hand through his hair. "Well... I guess I can't say no, now can I?"

"No, you can't," Theo muttered darkly. "But you will be watched!"

"Not like I got a choice in that matter," Kenta mused as the guard drew out the key and made her way to the door.

Keith could only hope to God that his plan worked.

For their sake.

. . .

L4 COALITION

"Ma'am, are you sure?" Hubert asked, his eyes wide.

The Blue Masque nodded. "Yes. We must be prepared for the eventuality the fighting moves back into space."

Her masked visage scanned over the area, her gaze landing on the one ship that had been her flagship from the get go: the Polar Blue.

A Nazca-class vessel, the Polar Blue shared the same base design, but with some marked improvements over the original. The external structure had been redesigned to be more angular, particularly near where the catapult was located within the central structure. This was to enable the sides and front to have more armor that could be purged upon receiving damage. The engines were still the same design, but the one thing that made them different was the rerouting of some of that excess power to the weapons to boost their hitting strength. The Polar Blue was also painted a light cyan blue, further differentiating itself from the rest of its class. On the front, right below the bridge, was the symbol of the L4 Coalition.

This ship was the one she formerly commanded in the First Bloody Valentine War. And now it was the flagship of the Coalition.

Hubert was not too surprised that she wanted to be prepared, but to hear that she wanted to retake command of her former flagship was another matter.

"But you just can't take back command of your former flagship!" he insisted. "You're our leader now! If you go out, we could lose you!"

"All the more reason I'm going out," the Blue Masque stated. Her mask's lenses flashed as she turned to look at him. Beneath the visored helm, he could vaguely see her eyes and they were hard. He actually recoiled a but from the sheer intensity in them. "We need to be ready to defend our sovereignty, Hubert. And this is only part of my goals."

"Your goals...?" Hubert had never really heard her mention her goals before, aside from trying to eliminate extremism at the highest points of political power the world over.

She nodded. "Yes." The Blue Masque turned her gaze back towards the ship in its dock. "My goals... are to make the world see the truth about human nature. That while imperfect, it's much better than what LOGOs or Durandal have planned for us."

Her goals were admirable. Hubert had to admit. But it was the how that worried him. He slowly licked his lips and gulped. "Just... how do you plan to see that through?" he asked.

The Blue Masque was silent on that. All she did was merely walk towards the window and place her hand on the glass.

Silence filled the air between them for a few minutes before she spoke. "That... I cannot say," she finally admitted. "But I do know this. I will do it, somehow, some way." Her visored helm glinted in the light from above. "You should know that by now."

He did. And it still worried him.

But there was one thing he wanted to know.

"Since you intend on going out then, how will you govern?" he asked.

"I shall leave that to the Council," she told him. "They are capable of leading the Coalition in my absence. But should the need arise, I shall offer consul from my ship. However, I do not believe that will be necessary." She crossed her arms. "Since Miss Clyne is no doubt going to be on the front lines as well, I suspect that others will follow her lead, including the resistance general herself."

Hubert had heard the rumors of the resistance commander-in-chief fighting on the front, but he had no proof to back up that claim. But so far, everything was pointing to the possibility of the world's leaders, or representatives, gathering to make a stand against the dueling ideologies of two different men. One led by fanatical hatred of genetically altered humans, and another who had a dream to sort the world into genetic castes. It seemed like the world was finally being split into three camps: one of fanatical racial beliefs, one of racial stagnation, and one of sanity.

But the only question now was... who would win? Fanaticism, racial stagnation, or sanity?

. . .

NEW YORK CITY

NEW YORK RESISTANCE BASE

"Hold on! You're not serious!" Liam blurted.

Brian nodded as he looked at the recent data acquired via the Beast. "I'm dead serious, sir. Project: Iron Legion has made its debut. And a lot of people are panicking over the implications."

The news feeds being displayed were not what anyone in the resistance had been expecting.

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE THREATENS MOBILE SUIT CORPS PILOTS

PILOTS TAKE UP ARMS

RIOTS BREAKING OUT AT ATLANTIAN LOYALIST BASES

RESISTANCE MOVEMENT SOLDIERS QUELLING VIOLENCE IN BRISBANE

And it only continued to grow.

But what was really surprising was that the Atlantian news sources were the ones who were spewing these headlines.

"This could mean a lot of things," Brian admitted. "But one thing is clear: no matter what the ideologies, mobile suit pilots are up in arms over these things taking over their jobs."

Liam's eyes narrowed. "I see... And what of the doctor's project? Will that result in the same possibility?"

"Somehow I doubt it," Brian remarked as he glanced to the image of the AI expert as he nodded.

"That would be correct," Dr. Martinez said. "The BOLO Initiative is not meant to take the place of mobile suit pilots, but is meant to augment them as support. It's a way to counter the very crackpot theory that AI will replace humans as the dominant lifeform on the planet."

"So to put it simply, it's to show that AI and humans can work together and coexist," Liam summarized.

The AI expert gave a smirk. "Simply put, but right on the point."

Liam had to admit it was a good idea. To support human pilots with AI controlled mobile suits... It was something he had never considered before. Sure he had initially feared the same thing, that AI could take the place of humanity, but the idea of the two working together was a possibility that seemed to counter the soulless combativeness of the AIs. Humans had a knack for unpredictable strategies, and AI could augment those strategies with their precise calculations. It seemed like the perfect combination, except for one thing: AI could not imagine outside the box.

Or so he had initially thought.

After hearing about AI-23, or Turbine Martinez, as it...no, he... was now calling himself, he was now sure that, given the right algorithms and conditions for learning, then an AI could learn to think on the same level as a human in terms of unpredictability. And with an AI's innate ability to think much faster than a human, strategies could be considered and discarded within minutes, if not seconds, of being conceived.

So there was much potential for this to either work... or backfire.

"Such an idea is something we never even considered," Derrick remarked as he leaned against the wall, holding his ever-present bucket of chicken in one hand, a fried chicken leg in one hand. "But to be frank, what're the honest to God chances of these AIs of yours rebelling?"

Dr. Martinez narrowed his eyes at the sudden question. "The chances are close to nil," he said. "But that doesn't mean we're not taking precautions. As it stands, right now the AIs are just undergoing training. We have only three other basic AIs that are considered complete by Atlantian standards, but incomplete by ours. We modified them by pasting the learning algorithm we copied from Turbine, so they now have the same capacity to learn as he does. We also took the time to copy the modified code so we can begin the same process."

"And the precautions?" Derrick questioned, narrowing his eyes.

The Ai expert was silent before he closed his eyes. "We have EMP generators installed to disorient the AIs if they choose to rebel," he remarked. "They will be rendered stunned and then we can delete the code of the rebelling AI. If it downloads itself into a server, we have personnel standing by to sever all connections to the TORN, and the base's own intranet."

The former railman was silent for a moment before he nodded. "All right. As long as you are on top of things there, I don't see what the issue is."

Liam turned his attention back to the headlines. "Do you think we should report this to the President?" he asked.

Brian pursed his lips as he looked to the commander of Satellite City. "Well?"

The doctor nodded once. "Yes. Report to her as soon as you can. This is too big to pass up," he ordered.

"One problem there though," Derrick pointed out as he took a bite of his chicken leg. He jabbed the leg at Dr. Martinez. "A whole lotta those pilots may be diehard fanatics. How can we be sure that they can be convinced of the wrongness of this "crusade" of theirs?"

"He's got a point, sir," Brian stated. He checked the headlines again, this time spotting one that he then linked to the AI expert. "See this one here?"

BRAVE ATLANTIAN LOYALIST PILOTS PROTEST THEIR DISCHARGE, SEEK TO REJOIN CRUSADE

"Hm... That is an issue," Dr. Martinez noted. "But... we'll have to leave that to her. If anything, maybe we can use this to our advantage..."

. . .

PORTLAND, OREGON

"Say what?!" General Allen's eyes were wide as she heard the news.

"You got it, ma'am," one of her subordinates said over her machine's radio. "There are a lot of protests happening in cities further south over the sudden revelation of Project: Iron Legion. This... this is something that's unprecedented. A lot of Atlantian Loyalists are actually rising up against what they consider 'an unholy act of ursurping the Crusade' according to their news stations."

Already the general's keen political mind was working overtime. She could already see a lot of ramifications for their side, both good and bad. But strangely, a lot of those ramifications were good, which threw her for a loop. She blinked as she pursed her lips, this time closing her eyes and running through the ramifications again. A second time yielded even more results that were good for the resistance. And not just that. There was also an angle she hadn't considered before.

Her eyes snapped open in realization.

"This... this entire situation..." she murmured. She looked down in thought. "Maybe... Just maybe... Yeah... I think this can work in our favor..."

"Ma'am? What do you mean, exactly?" the man asked.

The Allen firebrand grinned. "Oh, I mean what I said. Those people who are looking to get back at their superiors... they've been cast aside like so many others, right? Well... this is something they've never experienced before. And since they have been blindsided by this, it means that their faith has been shaken! Their trust in their superiors and masters has been proven to be false." Then her grin faded as she became serious. "Sure there may be some who may still cling to said faith, but this is something that the diehards have been exposed to for the first time, cast aside like so many others now that their usefulness has come to an end. And we can take advantage of that!"

She leaned back in her machine's cockpit, resting her feet on the main console. "Their beliefs have been proven irrelevant, as has their false religion. Their so-called Lord Azrael's "will" has been proven to be nothing but a sham. A lie. And we can poke holes in their beliefs with this. At the same time, we offer them real wages, real food, and real respect. And... we can prove to them at the same time that Coordinators are human just like anyone else. But, if any of them dare to attack a Coordinator, they will be discharged and sent to the brig. We can't have any fighting against Coordinators in the resistance if we are to win. Infighting is something LOGOs could take advantage of. And we need to be united in our efforts to bring them down. That is a guarantee. A united human race, regardless of genes, is what they fear. And we need to drive that fear home."

Her eyes hardened. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

He did. He slowly nodded. "Yeah... Yes, I see where you're going with this." His eyes narrowed. "You want to use them to bolster our ranks further. A cunning strategy, but one that is fraught with possible downsides."

"I'm fully aware," Allen admitted. "But strangely, when I considered this, there were more good outcomes than bad. For one, better numbers. We could hold more effectively against other diehards that will be attacking us. Second, if those soldiers did encounter AIs, we could send them to the front instead and have them reduced in numbers. Third, we'd have a much better chance of getting to D.C., especially if a lot of them are units we'd encounter on the route." Her eyes glinted keenly. "And those are just a few of the ramifications." Her seriousness then took a predatory turn as her lips curled up at the right corner. "So, we'd best take advantage of this ASAP!"

The colonel gave a firm nod, although the look of doubt in his eyes was not missed. Allen knew he doubted her plan would work, and truthfully, so did she. But she knew it was a plausible one, too.

The only question now was... how were they going to take advantage of this...?

. . .

EN ROUTE TO UNKNOWN DESTINATION

It was close to midnight when Eisenhower was awoken by the chirping of her phone.

Groaning, she leaned over and grabbed it. She forced herself to wake up just enough to read the text on the screen.

Two names were visible... no, three.

The names alone were enough to jolt her awake. The last vestiges of sleep were driven from her brain as she sat up, rubbing an eye before she activated the phone's encryption app and the video feed triggered. She entered her code and the device flashed the words CODE ACCEPTED before giving way to show Dr. Keith Martinez, General Allen, and Liam Wills.

"Ma'am, sorry to wake you, but this is big," Dr. Martinez said, his eyes serious.

"What's the situation?" Eisenhower asked, getting right to the point.

"It has to do with the fallout from the battle," Liam admitted. "Let's just say there's been a turn of events that we can take full advantage of."

"Spill it. Now!" Eisenhower ordered.

"To put it simply, with the debut of Project: Iron Legion, there's been a development involving the mobile suit pilots of the Atlantian Reich," Keith clarified. "The use of AI-controlled mobile suits has led to a sudden fear in the ranks that they'll be replaced by soulless machines. In fact, according to Liam and the rest of New York Base's leadership, the Atlantian news agencies have been showcasing the sudden fear surging through the ranks. A lot of riots have broken out, and well... our guys and girls couldn't just stand by and let this continue. So we're trying to limit the collateral."

"The Atlantian pilots are freaking out, and well... according to reports, a lot of them have had their trust in the Government shattered because of the deployment of those units," Allen contributed. "And that means this is a ripe opportunity." Her eyes hardened. "One we should not miss out on. If we can somehow gather those pilots to our side..."

Eisenhower's eyes went wide as she realized the implications. She set her phone down on the bed. "So what you're telling me is that the Atlantian mobile suit corps has been tossed aside with the deployment of Iron Legion. Is that it?"

"Not quite. But it's getting there," Keith told her. "And everyone is up in arms over it. This is the kind of thing that the BOLO Initiative was developed to counter. So if we can take advantage of it... and get our own AIs to support the human pilots, then we can do the unthinkable and prove to LOGOs that AI and humans can coexist; same with Coordinators and Naturals."

This was something she had not been expecting at all. Already she could see the military ramifications, but she wasn't too sure on the political aspect of it. She turned her gaze to Allen. "What of the political ramifications for us?" she asked.

Here the general pursed her lips. "Well... to be frank, a lot of it hinges on luck," she admitted. "But... it does bode well for us... if we do it right." She leaned back in her seat as she tented her fingers. "This would show to the world that we are better than LOGOs who have just discarded their so-called crusaders. It would show those doubters in other countries that we have more humanity than LOGOs ever did. But there will be strict conditions that the Atlantian pilots will have to abide by, the biggest one being they cannot attack Coordinators. And to be honest, there is an implication we could use to our advantage strategically. If a majority of them are diehards..." Her voice trailed off as Eisenhower grasped the idea rather quickly.

"We can use them as frontliners," she mused. "Having them fight against AI would not only reduce their numbers, but also could force them to work alongside those 'daemonspawn' they so despise if they are to stay alive."

Allen nodded. "Yes."

Eisenhower was already considering possible battle plans and scenarios, and one immediately came to her as her eyes narrowed. "And it would allow us to try and reach D.C. a lot faster, especially if we can recruit them en route."

"My thoughts exactly," the general remarked.

"And there is another thing we can use to our advantage," Keith added. His eyes flashed as he leaned back in his seat; Eisenhower could see footage of the battle replaying in the background while a number of people were working on no doubt analyzing the behemoth's defenses and the AIs' weaknesses and capabilities. "We get those units on our side, we can show them that their masters never cared about their faith in a false religion. We poke holes in that and shatter their trust, make them doubt it and well... we show them the real nature of the regime they served."

"I take it then that Icebreaker is a go?" Eisenhower asked.

Keith nodded. "Orga got back with me. He said that his boss has it done. He can broadcast it globally anytime."

The President nodded. "Then tell him to do it! We need to get as many people around the world on our side. And hopefully the Republic of East Asia may consider joining us, if not in practice, then in name alone."

"Somehow I doubt he will," Allen cut in. "Peng is a coward. He won't take action unless it's to save his own skin. And even then he won't go too far beyond his borders."

"I see." Eisenhower's eyes narrowed. "Well, then we'll have to make do with the allies we've got. It would be nice to have Japan on our side though."

"Maybe we will after the war ends," Keith remarked. "Of course, it all depends on how the war goes and the possibility of them reaching out to us. There have been rumors circulating that there could be a possible coup de tat in Tokyo that could put a more favorable government in power, but we're not sure if it's true or not."

Eisenhower nodded. "All right. Keep me informed of what's happening on the ground with the pilots of the Atlantian Reich. See if you guys can recruit any to our side. If you can... then that's a good first step," she said. Then her eyes hardened. "But be careful! We can't afford to lose any of you, especially now."

The threesome saluted. "Yes, ma'am!" they exclaimed. Then the phone's screen went dark and Eisenhower set the device aside as she leaned forward, tenting her fingers in front of her mouth, her eyes alight as she began to plan.

. . .

JANUARY 3RD, 0074 CE

SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

The entire city was a madhouse.

With both rebels and Atlantians finally finding common ground, the city was going to become the first battlefield in which both sides declared an unofficial truce, and where Naturals and Coordinators could work as one human race. As the Heikegani continued its advance, the USS Iowa swung two of his massive gun turrets around to point directly at the shore.

The Heikegani's gunner elevated the turret's sixteen inchers up, their barrels glinting menacingly as they aimed right for the old battleship.

However, unlike the mobile armor, the Iowa had nine of those guns, meaning he had more firepower to sling in their direction. And there was a nasty little surprise in store regarding the second turret.

For a long moment, from the shore on the spit leading to the island that lurked in San Diego Bay, people who had once been fighting were brought to a halt as they stared at these two mechanical monsters about to duke it out as if in a Western cowboy film. On one side of the spit, there was a huge mechanical crab, its pincers clashing in anticipation of a strike on its prey. The turret atop its shell gleamed menacingly.

On the other side, out at sea, lay a relic of the past, now coming back for revenge against the Nazis who had taken full control of his country. The sleek hull surged through the water as the four props bit into the water, generating a significant wake behind him. The flag of the United States of America, tattered and torn, flew from his jackstaff and his Bofors AA guns swung around to shoot down any possible aerial threats. As he did so, the huge machine on the other side of the spit opposite him fired its missiles.

The warheads arched over the spit, and many people ducked to avoid possibly getting hit or targeted by them.

The AA guns finally let out a shrieking chatter as bullets flew from their muzzles, creating a veritable curtain of AA fire designed originally to shoot down enemy aircraft during the Second World War. And unlike the modern era's computers which could be jammed, the Iowa's old MK.I firing computers were still as accurate as they had been back during his heyday. The bullets intercepted the missiles as they arced right for the center of the ship, hoping to go down the central funnel and take out the ship from within.

But the resistance had planned for that move. The Bofors guns lining that side of the ship pivoted and swung around, arcing into a crossfire that literally created a wall of bullets from the perspective of both sides' respective fighters. The missiles exploded just before reaching the funnel, shrapnel and debris peppering the decks and superstructure of the mighty old battleship.

Then the missiles from the old warship shrieked out of their launchers, arcing over the spit as the beam defenses of the Heikegani flared to life. Green beams lanced out, striking a number of the missiles, but they could only keep so many back. The rest of the missiles got through the barrage...

And slammed headlong into the positron reflector shields that the mobile armor brought online.

But... what no one knew was that one of the maintenance crew at the base where the thing had been stationed at had finally taken action and riddled the shield's software with enough viral coding to render it inoperable after a certain number of hits. Though no one knew this at the time.

The Iowa's fore and aft sixteen inch gun turrets remained on target for a few seconds before immense flashes of light and heat erupted from their barrels. The next thing the spectators heard was a thunderous roar emitting from those very same barrels, and the shockwaves of the guns distorted the water, giving the vessel the illusion of having been shoved back by the recoil. But that was hardly the case. The shells arced over the spit as the three sixteen inchers atop the crab-like mobile armor fired, thundering their own response to the challenge of the Iowa.

The two salvos passed by one another, the six shells of Iowa smashing headlong into the positron reflector barrier and exploding upon contact. Two of the three from the Atlantian war machine barely missed the battleship's superstructure, but one did impact the side of the vessel. However, due to the armor, the vessel sustained only a moderate hole above the waterline. But it was still a hit that they could not afford. So the ship's helmsman began to put him into a sharp turn, curving away from the spit as another salvo roared their way.

This time all three shells did miss, but barely. Thick plumes of water erupted from the spots of impact, and the spray doused what crew were out on deck at the time of impact. The battleship's engines revved and the water was churned into a frothing mass as his props bit into the water much sharper than before. The two operational turrets traversed as the old war machine continued to curve around. Once out of the firing line, the two turrets thundered once more, sending six shells right for the Heikegani...

...and rammed into it with enough force to cause the machine to about collapse over.

However, the barrier couldn't stay up much longer. It finally wavered and shut down, prompting the pilot to suddenly move the eight legs and skittered the machine to the right. The shells slammed into the dirt as it continued to approach the naval base, making it back off somewhat.

And that was just what the resistance had wanted.

The NEMOs and GMs aimed their beam rifles before firing, sending a withering firestorm of red and blue beams for the mobile armor. The huge colossus shuddered as the beams hit its legs and hull. The pilot drew the pincers in front of the vulnerable cockpit, using them as makeshift shields to protect the crew. The beams didn't do too much damage to the thickly armored hide of the beast, but there was something the resistance had that could.

The sixteen inchers of the Iowa roared once more, sending their projectiles towards the mobile armor. The pilot, on the other hand, was not about to allow himself to get hit. The machine skittered to the left, and once again the shells missed, slamming into the ground and sending dirt skyward. The resistance pilots angled their fields of fire to converge from both sides and the hulking monstrosity shuddered from the impacts of their beams. The thick hull was already scorched with marks from the beams, and smoke was starting to curl upwards from some melted plating. The barrage was also keeping the gunner from firing that sixteen inch turret, which proved a godsend to the battleship and crew.

With the resistance pilots aiming at the Heikegani from both sides, there was no way it could move left or right.

And this was just what Iowa wanted.

The warship slowly came out of his curve, slowly sweeping back around to come parallel to the shore. His turrets also traversed to angle at the shoreline once more. And this time, the second turret joined them.

The full nine gun broadside of Iowa roared one final time, sending all nine massive sixteen inch shells for the mobile armor as it hunched over under the firestorm of beam rifle fire.

In the cockpit, the commander glanced up, and his eyes widened in utter shock and horror.

There was no way they were going to survive this one.

The shells struck the Heikegani dead on. The first three smashed through its pincers and peppered the cockpit with shrapnel and live wires. Two more struck its hull and breached the thick armor like it was merely eggshells. The rest hit the massive turret... and the ammo mag beneath it.

The huge mobile armor shuddered before the ammo cooked off, causing an eruption of immense proportions that rocked the entire city. The fireball reached into the early morning dawn as the sun began to poke its rays over the horizon. Thick black smoke curled skyward, and many people found themselves staring at the utter destruction the mobile armor had caused. And on top of that, when coupled with the revelation of Project: Iron Legion, many of the Atlantians wanted answers... and the truth.

And the resistance was more than happy to provide them.