Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. Now, things are about to heat up! :) Terminal, Eurasia, Scandinavia, and the Resistance are gonna really let the Atlantians have it this arc. But of course, there's always time needed to build up to it... ;3
Review replies:
- Spiceracksargent001: Wow! Love the detailed review as always. :) You'd be right in that Sicario is mustering forces to deal with the new PMC. :) As for the Blast's flight mode, consider it being involved in the next upcoming arc. ;) And the Phoenix Striker will be useful in space as well. :) As for Eisenhower, well, she is just one person. But she delegates her Cabinet to oversee the vital projects that are underway. But the big one she is personally overseeing is Project: Rebirth... or the restoration of the United Nations. :)
- operation meteor: Thank you for a review! :) And yes, I did intend on that part. ;) As for the colony, well, they are masters at using abandoned structures to their advantage, and that includes being able to disguise it to make it seem old and dilapidated still. ;)
- CT7567Rules: You'd be right. :) And Dr. Sung will be interrogated further for more information later on. ;) As for your OC, he's only doing a security check on Mr. Ramius's security forces. The resistance will handle the removal op. ;)
(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 XXV: Revolutionary Storm II
December 9th, CE 0073
Zoltan, Atlantic Ocean
Coast of Spain
The waves pounded against the bow of the Zoltan as she charged across the sea, making her way up the coast of Spain.
Some of the crew were taking the opportunity to relax and enjoy the sights of the old Spanish cities on the coast, and some were even taking pictures of the area.
But some were not enjoying the moment.
The most prominent of those was the captain of the Zoltan, Ellic Yugo.
As a former mercenary for Desperado, she had elected to quit from the group once they signed up for a contract with the Atlantian government. She was no pilot, that was for certain. But what she did have was command experience, mostly with ground troops. So being a captain of a ship was a whole different field for her. But she learned quickly. And it showed in her ability to run the Zoltan as effectively as she would a contingent of ground troops. She did have to learn the naval terminology and procedure for ship operations, but she memorized it as swiftly as she could and after passing a small exam conceived by Hugh Strange, she was given captaincy of the Sicario aircraft carrier Zoltan.
Ellic was a knockout of a woman, with reddish magenta hair and sharp green eyes that contrasted her hair. She was only twenty-nine, but she was not to be underestimated. She was about five foot ten, with a decent body and a very pretty face. While she was no longer a part of Desperado, she had kept their old uniform to wear, but with the Sicario emblem instead. The old uniform was a reminder of what she had left and the patch was a mark of who she was now: a mercenary dedicated to righting the wrongs of the past.
Her ship was formerly a part of the Atlantian Navy, having been damaged heavily during the Battle of Orb during the First Bloody Valentine War. Arnold had taken the chance to purchase the hulk and then subjected it to a heavy overhaul that left it looking radically different than its original designers had intended. The flight deck and bridge had been completely revamped, with the bridge placed further back towards the stern of the ship and positioned on the left hand side from a frontal view. An angled runway ran down the right-hand side of the vessel's flight deck, making it more reminiscent of an old French built aircraft carrier. The huge ship's mobile suit complement had been also drastically changed. Rather than carry Strike Daggers or Windams or GINNs, the ship now carried a large number of Murasame units for aerial combat, patrol, and anti-mobile suit warfare.
For Gunsel Team, the Zoltan was their base of operations, and it was just as well. Gunsel was the company's conventional warfare unit, and it showed in their machines. This was one of the reasons why they carried Murasame units. The mobile suits' fighter forms were just what they needed for that task. Gunsel was not just their conventional warfare squadron. They were also the largest, with ten active members total. A number of other pilots came and went on a rotational basis, which meant that their real size was at thirty pilots tops. The main ten, however, were the primary unit in the field. But it also offered them flexibility on the battlefield, which was in line with their modus operandi as a flexible mercenary group.
The leader of Gunsel Team stood beside the woman, his arms folded as he observed some of his pilots enjoying the scenery.
"So, we got word, huh?" he asked.
"You know it, Drake," Ellic remarked.
Drake Young nodded as he chewed the tobacco in his cheek.
At age forty, he was the oldest pilot in Gunsel Team, with a shock of graying black hair and deep brown eyes. The gray in his hair only served to attract a few of the female pilots to him, but since he was already married, he ignored their advances. A former pilot in the civilian air industry, he had been discharged from his job when he married a Coordinator man, something that had become frowned upon by the Atlantian leadership as being inhuman. He and his husband had been forced to flee the country after they were nearly killed by a Blue Cosmos fanatic and they escaped to Spain. Drake's husband had been able to secure passage to the Eurasian Federation long before the first war had broken out, so they were safe there until the war came to their shores.
Arnold happened to be in the area looking for recruits and by sheer coincidence the two men had literally bumped into one another. Arnold apologized to Drake, who then struck up a conversation with him. The two men talked about their families and soon, Arnold proposed the idea of him and his husband joining Sicario, which after a few days, they accepted the invitation. A month later and they were on board fully.
"Should I get everyone in?" he wondered.
Ellic gave a nod. "Yes. They need to be informed."
Drake turned and headed down to the deck to gather up his pilots.
For her part, Ellic turned and steadily made her way down to the briefing room.
The trip didn't take long.
By the time she arrived, the squadron was already filing in.
The majority of the members were present, with all ten active members sitting in the front of the room and twelve others gathered in the rear. The remaining eight were either on other ships or were on shore duty. Once all were in, the door slid shut and she turned to face the group.
Ellic cast her gaze over the assembled pilots and nodded. "Very good. I see almost everyone is here." Her eyes landed on the remaining empty seats. "But I'm right to guess that you'll fill in our remaining members of the situation?"
Drake nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good." The woman pulled out a laser pointer and pressed a button on the wall. The lights went dark as a monitor slid down from the ceiling. The screen lit up and a map of England appeared. She pressed a switch on the pointer and a thin laser shot out as she aimed it at the coast. "Here's where our new employer's intended target is."
"Hold on. That's Devonport," someone pointed out.
"Yes." Ellic nodded. "Now, for a bit of background." She paused for a moment. "How many of you are aware of what's been happening back in the Atlantian Reich?"
The question spurred a spate of murmurs as the pilots all looked at one another in confusion.
"What exactly do you mean, Atlantian Reich?" another pilot questioned.
"Exactly what I said, Harrison!" Ellic retorted.
Thomas Harrison blinked in surprise before she continued.
"It's exactly as I said." Here she proceeded to explain about what was really happening, and everyone was floored. The captain minced no words, delving into the details of the reality behind the formation of the Atlantian Reich, of the laws already in place, of the low wages, of the new nobility, the camp in the desert, and even the formation of the Kingdom of Gilead, only for it to be walked back. She did not leave anything out. Even the resistance was mentioned in as great a detail as she could recall. The sheer size of the movement, the scale to which they had infiltrated the entire economy of LOGOs, and the alliance with Terminal and the EF.
When she was finished, everyone stared in utter shock, disgust, and downright revulsion as she stood there, her arms folded across her chest.
"How could anyone in their right mind sleep at night after all that?!" someone blurted.
"Believe me, I wish I knew as well," Ellic responded. "But the real issue here is not the fact that this is happening. The real issue here is that we are now aligned with the resistance movement within the Reich as of this moment."
"So they want us to help them carry out this operation, eh?" a fourth pilot remarked.
The captain gave a firm nod. "Yes. The goal is to prevent Master Goose Militia from getting reinforcements." She held up her pointer and moved it around Devonport. "They will be attempting to thwart Merlin. So our goal is to prevent them from doing that."
"Master Goose? Those nutcases?" a pilot rumbled. "Not too big on this new contract, but I don't like those Militia guys one bit."
A few other members of the group nodded in agreement.
"Trust me, I feel the same way about them." Ellic walked in front of the monitor. "But, as per the resistance's reports, they have aligned themselves with the new nobility of the Reich, and are aiming to take down anyone who strives to interrupt their vision of a blue and pure world." She turned and pressed the monitor with a finger, enlarging the city of Plymouth. "Here is where Devonport is located." She moved her hand around it. "It's got a good location for reinforcements to come in. So our main objective is going to be harassing any possible reinforcements while Hitman Team deals with the von Schweppe team."
A few pilots hissed at the name. And Ellic couldn't blame them. She also hated von Schweppe, and the rest of his fellow mercs in the Atlantian PMC.
"And Assassin?" a hulking pilot asked.
"They'll be assisting us in our harassment of the Atlantian naval forces," Ellic responded.
"What about Terminal?" someone else wondered.
"They will be hitting Clyde and Portsmouth naval bases," the captain explained. "The operation is timed to coincide with those attacks."
"What kind of forces are we expecting?" another person queried.
"Forces that are equipped with some new model machine. As for what that is, we don't know," Ellic stated. "But what we do know is that we have to be on high alert for that. Our best bet is to use our numbers and skill to our advantage. The only order I have for you now is... stay alive. We're now in this war for real. And Arnold wants all of us to live to tell the tale. I don't know how many times he's said that to us, but it's something I'm keen on doing. And I want all of you to be the same way. Stay alive, and remain alive until we win! Is that clear?"
"Yes, ma'am!" the pilots all declared as one. They stood and snapped to a proper salute. Ellic gave a wry grin and nodded.
"Very good. You're now dismissed."
The men and women of Gunsel Team stood and began to file out of the room.
As she watched them leave, she could only wonder what was coming next for the mercenary group.
She knew that Arnold wouldn't be doing this unless there was a good reason. The man had always wanted to bring the fight to one of the major powers in this war, she recalled. But the strict ethics code of Sicario prevented them from hiring out their services to either of the genocidal powers during the First BV War. And matters during the so-called 'peace' between the two wars hadn't helped matters much, either. And with Orb under the control of House Seiran instead of House Athha, there was no way they could offer their services to Orb like they had originally intended.
And to be frank, the idea of a resistance movement on the sheer scale she had been informed of just seemed too far fetched in some respects. But at the same time, it did prove one thing to her, and she felt an immense sense of relief at her theory being proven right: Not everyone in the country was against Coordinators.
The very idea that all of them could be united in such a ridiculous crusade was something she had felt to be impossible. The only way, she understood, for that to happen was to have over a century of brainwashing done. But since that had not happened, then that very idea was proven impossible. She had to fight back a sneer as she turned and left the briefing room as well.
A few people noticed her as she walked, but they stayed away from her as she was intent on reaching the bridge, and judging by her stride, she was in a slight hurry.
She reached the bridge within a half hour.
The door slid open and she stepped inside, closing the door behind her as she made her way to her seat and sat down, glancing out the windows as she did so.
Already she could see the first inklings of snow falling around the ship.
The first mark of winter.
She crossed her legs as her gaze drifted towards the picture placed on the main console, showing her husband and their son. The boy had dark blue hair, and gray eyes, and he had a smile on his face as his father held him up in the air, laughing. She could recall the day they adopted young Zoltan, and it was him for whom her carrier was named. A reminder of why she was even fighting to begin with. Her son and husband had been ripped from her a few days after her resignation from Desperado, and now the boy was being held in that damned camp in the American desert.
And she was glad things were starting to look up for the kids held there.
The resistance had, according to reports from their forces relayed to the company commander, an operation planned that was supposed to take place a few days after Merlin was carried out.
And that was just what they needed.
She could only hope that their operation succeeded... and that she could see her son again.
The last thing she expected was to hear the COMM beeping.
Ellic jerked out of her memories and blinked before shaking her head and addressing the soldier at the station. "Report!" she ordered.
"It's from Command, ma'am," he replied.
"Patch it through," Ellic commanded.
The officer nodded and typed in the command before it flickered and up came Arnold's face.
The commander of Sicario looked a bit worn, but his eyes were hard as he gazed at her. "How are you holding up, Ellic?" he asked with concern in his voice.
"I'm doing fine, all things considered," Ellic murmured, looking at the picture again.
"I know it's hard..." he admitted. "...but the resistance will do what they can for your son... if he's even still alive, the poor kid."
Ellic nodded somberly as she closed her eyes. "Why they did this to him is beyond me," she muttered. "Taking him from his mother... killing his father in cold blood without so much as a wince... and actually enjoying giving the boy a scar across both eyes..."
Arnold's seriousness melted away as he gazed at her softly. "I know. But they will pay dearly for that," he told her. "At least, from what we were informed of, anyway."
"I know I shouldn't trust a resistance movement right off the bat, but after what happened with Moscow, and the upcoming operation, Merlin... I just can't help but feel like we can trust them..." Ellic admitted. "It's just... why? Why do I feel like we can trust them?"
"Because they have the same morals as us," Arnold remarked. "They want to win, and they want nothing more than for sanity to be restored to this world. And I have to admit it's well worth the investment. Given what they promised us and are giving us in exchange for our services, I think it's a fair trade."
"Anything that can allow us to get those monsters in power out..." Ellic growled.
"Trust me, I feel the same way," Arnold admitted. His eyes narrowed a bit. "And this operation will be the resistance's first overt move against the Atlantian Reich."
"I just hope they're not stupid enough to get caught after this," Ellic stated.
"I highly doubt they'll be stupid," the mercenary commander rumbled as he leaned back in his seat. "President Eisenhower strikes me as someone who knows what she's doing. And I highly suspect she's got experience in this kind of warfare. So don't be quick to dismiss her or her colleagues just yet."
"I'm not dismissing them. I'm just saying I hope they don't get caught," the captain of the Zoltan countered.
The man nodded. "I understand. I'm just stating the facts here. But seriously, Ellic. You look like shit. Get some rest. I want all my people prepared and rested for this mission. And that includes you."
Ellic gave a salute. "Yes, sir."
Arnold nodded as he closed down the COMMs and she turned to look at her room off to the side of the bridge.
Maybe some rest would do her some good, she figured...
. . .
Idaho Falls, Idaho
December 10th, CE 0073
The town of Idaho Falls was nothing special in the grand scheme of things.
A city of roughly 75,000 people, the location was isolated enough from the rest of the country and no one ever dared to go to the city because of the fact that old nuclear reactors had been built there in the past, and the fact that they had been contaminated for all this time helped. Only cleanup crews even dared to venture near those things these days.
And for Elein Djibril, it was perfect.
A perfect place to escape to in order to avoid the shame she had brought into the world.
As the sister to Lazarus Djibril, she was a part of the wealthy elite of the new Atlantian nobility, and she was also one to bear the shame of an act so vile it was considered taboo amongst the civilized world. That was why she had discarded her old life entirely, selling her luxury estate in what was once California, along with all her assets and even divorced her husband, leaving him in charge of the entire estate and their kids. She even changed her name when she bought the small farmhouse out here before taking only a limited amount of money and moving to the farmland.
Her decision paid off, as her brother was unable to find her and track her down. She now worked as a teacher in the local grade school, trying to make ends meet. And she found it rewarding to be doing things on her own instead of relying on her family line's immense wealth. It showed she was much more capable than her grandfather thought. After all, she did have a brain and could use it to great effect.
Elein turned her gaze from the window to the small study she was working in.
It wasn't very large, but then again, her entire house wasn't very big. But that suited her just fine as she was living on her own. And with the security system she had set up, there was no way anyone could sneak up on her.
Her fingers shook and she glanced down at them before looking to the screen on which she was writing her memoirs. In some way, she didn't think anyone would believe her, but it made sense to write them down in case anything happened to her and evidence was needed to prove her... treachery... to the civilized world. She couldn't write a single word at the moment, however, for the deed she had done all those years ago still tore at her mentally and emotionally.
The feelings of passion aroused in her...
The lust for him she had felt...
The sensuous make-out session that followed...
And then the dreaded climaxing.
That alone was enough to make her sick to her stomach as she tore herself away from the computer, getting to her feet and starting to pace.
Pacing often helped the sensation of nausea that often surfaced at the thought of that night.
Focusing on her body let her ignore that gut wrenching guilt she felt. But although Elein was able to ignore it, she knew she would be needing help for it sooner or later. And without any licensed practicing psychologists or psychiatrists in the area, mostly due to them being driven from their respective fields by LOGOs, it was going to be an uphill battle to find someone. It was by sheer luck she hadn't snapped at this point.
And yet, she felt like she had to tell of that night.
The night she had brought a shame into the family name... and a threat to the world.
She finally stopped pacing and turned back to her computer.
It was damn time to get this out. So no matter how sick she felt, it would have to come out so people would know what happened.
She sat back down and began to write.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard as finally decades of guilt began to pour out onto the pages before her.
Her eyes misted as she wrote, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her gut as she typed. She began to sob, tears starting to come down her cheeks. It all finally broke her down. The guilt got to her and she couldn't even finish. She pushed away from the computer a second time and spun around in her chair, getting to her feet and running to the restroom to vomit up her lunch.
It was just too much.
She couldn't bear this any longer.
The teaching, which she loved, had been a mere distraction to overcome her trauma at her actions with him that day. She did love her job, that much was true. But it was only a mask to hide the scared, shamed woman beneath.
Elein threw up, unaware of someone next door hearing the sobs from inside the bathroom.
That someone happened to be one of the resistance's moles who was currently working from home as an accountant for a real estate firm. The man glanced up, a concerned look crossing his face.
He got up and made his way to the window, looking out and seeing his neighbor throwing up in the bathroom through her own window; she had obviously forgotten to close the blinds after cleaning. He didn't like the look on her face though, and he wasn't about to let her suffer through whatever misery she was going through alone. He had seen his own mother in a similar state before she got the help she needed.
The man told his colleagues he was going on lunch break before he closed out of the meeting and made his way to her house.
He knocked on the door.
"Mrs. D? You okay?" he called.
Mrs. D didn't answer.
Now concerned, the man rapped harder. "Mrs. D, open up! I just want to talk!" he called again.
"J-Just... go away!" the woman shouted through the door. "I don't want to talk to anyone!"
"Mrs. D, it's me! Ty!" the man yelled. "Ty Dennington!"
The woman didn't answer.
Ty was now really worried. He didn't want to have to do this, but she left him no choice. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key a fellow mole had made for him: a skeleton key. The key had been specifically made to allow the resistance members to enter any houses with the type of lock they were designed for on the doors. This was not a real good idea in most countries, but in the Reich, it made sense for the resistance to have easy access to most homes of Atlantian nobility or relatives so as to allow for quicker hunting of vital information pertaining to their current projects.
And in some cases, to even save lives.
This was one such moment as Ty finally opened the door and pocketed the key before opening it and running into the structure.
He bolted for the bathroom just down the hall to the right. He grabbed the door knob and with one jerk, swung the door open as he spotted Mrs. D. as she was about to down a number of sleeping pills.
"WAIT!" he cried, lunging.
The woman turned and she yelped as he tackled her to the ground, grabbing the pills and tearing them from her grasp before dumping them into the toilet and flushing the contents. He closed the lid and looked to her in shock. "What are you even thinking?!" he blurted.
"You... You wouldn't understand..." she rasped, looking a lot worse for the wear.
She shook as she tried to breathe, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Ty knelt down beside her and placed a hand around her shoulder, only for her to tear herself away from him. "NO!" she screeched.
"Mrs. D., what in the name of God is going on with you?!" he exclaimed, concerned. "I just want to help you!"
"Like you could help me!" she spat. "I've had this guilt my entire life since that day!"
"Wait. Guilt?" Ty was confused as he sat back on the floor, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. "Guilt about what?"
"I..." Mrs. D. glanced at him, and he could sense her staring at him critically. He sat further back, keeping himself calm and composed, trying to present a friendly presence that she could confide in. But judging from her reactions, it was clear that she was not about to confide in just anyone.
"Mrs. D." Ty was reassuring as he slowly raised his hands. "Just calm down. Take in a breath and let it out. Then start from the beginning. What guilt are you referring to?"
"It's..." For her part, Mrs. D. wasn't sure why, but just staring at this man was somewhat reassuring.
The way he wasn't accosting her like so many of the media had been was one thing. But it was his eyes that told a different story. They were not suspicious or wary of her. All she saw in them was concern, not for the one behind the deed, but concern for their neighbor and for the person she was.
It gave her a sliver of hope, just the tiniest amount, but it was enough.
Enough to turn the tide when it was really needed the most.
"It's... a long story..." she muttered. "But... it does have to be told... and maybe then I can get some closure when that shame I brought into the world is left for dead..."
Ty said nothing. He just waited for her to speak.
And she did.
. . .
It took a full fifteen hours before she finally finished the story.
When she was done, Ty helped her get to bed and she finally fell asleep.
The resistance mole left her home and made his way back to his own place. His wife was informed of what took place, and while she did pity the woman for what she had gone through, she didn't like that her husband had gone to help a known LOGOs noble's relative. But after informing her of the situation with the Kingdom of Scandinavia, it became clear just what was at stake.
So it was close to midnight when Ty finally logged onto the TORN.
The information was big, and he was determined to get it to the President as soon as possible.
Eisenhower was fast asleep or busy with another project, but it was just as good when the Vice President got on the line.
"Ah. Ty. What seems to be the issue? You rarely contact us from out there in Idaho," he noted.
"I know, sir. But this is very important. I just finally learned a lot about Djibril's past!" Ty reported.
The Vice President's eyes went wide. "You did?!" he blurted.
Ty gave a nod. "Yes, sir! And it's just what those newsies claimed in that conspiracy mag."
"Tell me everything," Vice President Harris ordered.
"Right." Ty sat up straight in his chair. "Well, to put it simply, there was a lot of background detail on the family, so I'll just summarize that part." He cleared his throat.
"It turns out that the Djibril line has a sort of strange tradition that goes back to the founding of the family name. To put it simply, the firstborn son of each generation has to intercourse with a close family relative, mostly a female of prime childbearing age, to ensure that one of them is always a purebred Djibril. The tradition has continued for all these generations, at least until it began to be rumored amongst the common people. They quickly put that discussion to bed by pretending to marry outside of family lines while still carrying out the tradition in secret," he began. "That was accomplished by marrying other people whom they deemed fit to carry the Djibril name."
"I see... so a traditional incestuous coupling," Harris mused, his eyes narrowing.
Ty gave a nod. "That's right." Then his eyes hardened. "But it goes even further than that. Rumors amongst the newsies have stated that they were committing the ultimate betrayal of civilized people by doing this."
"And it seems they were right." Harris's eyes became enflamed with rage as Ty continued.
"But it was only the firstborn son who always did it, and usually with a female cousin of childbearing age, usually in their twenties," he clarified.
"Then what makes this time so special?" Harris wondered.
"Because it was not done between cousins... but instead between brother and sister!" Ty hissed.
That got Harris. His eyes went wide as his eyebrows flew into his hair. "Say what?!" he blurted.
"It's true," Ty explained. "It turns out that Djibril's grandfather, Balthazar, fathered two siblings: fraternal twins. A boy and a girl. And that right there was prime material to give a pureblooded Djibril of the highest caliber. But the two were never interested in such a tradition. They were to marry other people of their choosing, they declared. But Balthazar didn't want that to happen without the two copulating and presenting him with a pureblooded heir to the family name and fortune. So he tried for years to get them to intercourse.
"But of course, they refused. No matter what he did, they always refused and rebuffed his advances. He even tried to set them up on blind dates with one another, thinking that by playing into their primal desires they would fall for one another and want to be wed. But it was due to this fear that they refused and kept finding ways out. When they finally did fall in love with two people they enjoyed, that was the last straw. Balthazar wanted them to copulate, and with no one else. So he decided to resort to a very sinister method to do so."
Here, Ty's eyes turned into bronze shards.
"He turned to drugs."
He gripped his chair's armrests and dug his fingers into the soft leather.
"When Lazarus and Elein were going out to celebrate her engagement to another man, Balthazar had a few men trail them. He had them followed to a bar called the Green Isle and it was here that the incident took place. One of the men slipped inside and spotted the two sharing a drink like siblings do sometimes. But it wasn't enough. So another of the men slid a laxative into her drink to make her leave so they could drip a cocktail into her new drink. The laxative did its work and she left, during which her brother dumped it out and ordered a new one. Then he went to go get himself another refill.
"And that was when the cocktail was slipped into her new drink. It was tasteless and odorless, so she had no idea that she was drugged with enough chemicals to get her hormones riled. When they both returned to their table, nothing appeared amiss. They had their drinks and chatted, and then it happened."
His eyes narrowed as he glanced down at his lap. "According to my neighbor... Mrs. D., as she likes to be called, laid eyes on her brother... And she fell madly in love with him at first sight."
He proceeded to outline the details she had described to him. How she wanted to hold his broad, chiseled shoulders, bury her face in his thick lush hair, run a hand down his hard, smooth chest, and trace her hand sensuously along his rock hard abs... He spared no detail of the intercourse that followed, and the whole time, Harris's eyes were wide.
Ty for his part was also grossed out by the very detail she could still recall. Whatever drug cocktail she had been given, had left an impression so profound it was a miracle she was even sane at this point. "When it was over, the first thing they realized was what happened. And it was so profoundly terrifying they refused to even mention it. Her fiancé, however, was firmly understanding of her shame and fear and said that they would not raise the infant and instead put it up for adoption."
"And the infant?" Harris asked, his voice low and dark.
"Adopted by her own brother," Ty reported. "Among other things, he married a woman who was honored to be Djibril's stepmother. But of course, the two siblings bribed medical records to hide the truth and all relevant records were altered and doctored to make it seem like the incest never even happened."
"That explains a lot," the Vice President mused.
"Yes," Ty admitted. "But even so, some records, according to Mrs. D., were kept in separate servers for record keeping alone. These files though were put under such strong firewalls I doubt even the Beast can break them."
"I'm not sure," the man remarked. "Last I heard, New York Base was cracking that wall, even though it is considered difficult."
"I see. Well, I wish them the best of luck," Ty said as he looked up.
"So, what did they do to hide this fact even further?" Harris questioned, bringing them back on track.
"After the birth of the shame she brought into the world, she outright retreated from high society, stating that there had been nothing of note between her and her brother," Ty continued. "The two siblings maintained contact for a while longer until Elein dropped off the face of the earth for some time. She resurfaced two decades ago, and she finally cut herself off from the family name and fortune, vanishing for good this time. However, her husband still maintained contact and she finally decided, along with him, to divorce. She told him her last known address, which was out here in Idaho Falls, and he still sends money sometimes. But it's not as often as it once was due to her now working as a teacher at the local grade school."
"I see. Ty, that is a huge boon right there for us. The fact we have trailed her down to Idaho Falls and you got that information is a huge surprise. I was going to get a flight down here for one Abigale Lincoln, but I don't think that will be needed now," Harris admitted.
"I'm not sure if we should just trust her on this," Ty admitted. "We may need her down here anyway. I would prefer it if she met the woman herself. Plus, she needs help."
Harris went silent on the thought. He closed his eyes before he slowly opened them a moment later. "You may be right. All right. Once the President gets back, we'll be sure to let her know."
Ty nodded and gave a salute.
Within seconds, the screen shut down and he logged out of the TORN.
Now, it was up to President Eisenhower to speak to the woman directly.
. . .
Hidden Dry Dock
Kingdom of Scandinavia
December 11th, CE 0073
The dry dock was a busy place.
Five days had passed since the arrival of the SS United States in the Kingdom of Scandinavia.
And now, the once proud flagship of the United States was undergoing a refit that would transform her into a vessel suited for war against LOGOs. Already she had had her older electronics stripped and replaced with newer versions, along with the complete refurbishment of the upper decks into something resembling a command center. The rest of her staterooms were stripped and removed to allow for the carrying of troops and additional supplies should the need arise.
Older model guns were currently being placed within her cargo holds for the possibility of needing to be equipped for combat while the mountings were installed on the decks. It was hoped that such things wouldn't be needed, seeing as how she had her legendary speed on her side to outrun most other vessels on the sea.
King Isaksen studied the refit with keen eyes, noting how it was progressing. The ship, he recalled, had been meant to be converted in a swift time frame, but they were taking a lot longer that the normal time frame for one reason.
She was going to be undercover.
The ship in question she was impersonating was none other than the Nordic Balance.
The resistance had kept him informed of the coming fights and he had to admit it was shrewd of them to have such a plan in place.
And considering the location, the name seemed to fit.
Operation: Merlin.
All he needed to make his decision now was the last and final bit of information: Djibril's past.
He was so busy thinking about what was happening that he failed to hear the COMM he had been given by Captain Rebecca Stimson beeping.
At least until it started to vibrate as well.
He glanced down to his pocket and pulled it out before triggering it.
The screen showing the symbol of the Presidency flickered before it faded to show the code input box. He typed in the code he had gotten a few days ago and it flashed before disappearing and showing the face of the President instead.
Her eyes were hard as she spoke. "King Isaksen. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," she said.
"No, Madame President, you're not," he told her. "However, I do have to question why you're contacting me right now."
"We have something you requested," Eisenhower replied.
"Did you get what I asked for?" King Isaksen asked, recalling his request to her.
Eisenhower nodded. "We did," she said. "I have to admit it was a bit more challenging than we expected to get it, but we did it."
"So what can you tell me about his past?" the king asked, his eyes narrowing.
"First off, Lord Djibril is not even his real name," Eisenhower explained. "His real name is Lawrence Djibril, and he is the son of Lazarus and Hilda Djibril. He is the first and only heir to the Djibril Conglomerate that is at the helm of North American Heavy Engineering."
"So? We know that much at least," King Isaksen noted.
"At least at first glance it looks that way," Eisenhower noted, surprising him.
"Huh?" King Isaksen narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"At first glance, it looks like he's the son of a legitimate couple," the woman stated. "But in reality, Hilda is not his biological mother at all." She narrowed her eyes. "It took a lot of digging, but we were able to find the hospital where he was born. And it turns out that the nurses there did a DNA test to prove a fear according to records from Lazarus's last testament." She scowled as she leaned forward a bit. "It turns out that Djibril is actually a product of an incestuous birth. Between Lazarus and his own twin sister."
The king gaped as he slumped back in his seat.
Incestuous births were severely frowned upon in Scandinavian legal circles and culture.
The very idea was enough to cause scandal in many elite families, and more than one noble family had been brought down by such a thing. Many in the Kingdom saw it as a taboo that merited more than just social shaming. It was a taboo that demanded they be sentenced to strict psychological counseling to figure out the reason for such things, and to prevent it from happening again.
But it was worse than that. The act of inbreeding inside one's own family was enough to cause a lot of health complications as the generations passed, such as with the Hapsburgs back in the AD era. But now... to hear that Djibril was the product of one such birth?
That right there was a serious scandal in of itself.
For not only would it damage his credibility amongst LOGOs' ruling elite, but it would also show how far his bloodline went when it came to maintaining so-called genetic purity. The king closed his eyes as he pondered the ramifications of this globally.
He opened his eyes as he looked at her seriously. "Care to explain how that came about?" he asked.
Eisenhower nodded and proceeded to delve into what she had learned, not just from her VP, but also from meeting the woman in person.
The whole time, King Isaksen stared with an impassive face, not even asking or making any comment. His eyes narrowed as he learned of the tradition within the Djibril family line, and he had to admit it made a sort of sick sense. But when she got to how the birth in question had happened, he had to stop her right there.
"Hold on! His grandfather wanted the two to copulate?!" he blurted, disgust and anger flooding his features.
Eisenhower nodded. "Yes. And for a good reason. It provided him with the perfect heir to his bloodline and wealth. Otherwise it wouldn't have been enough. According to Elein, her father saw brother-sister incest as the best bet to produce a pureblooded heir. So he drugged her and forced them to copulate in order to produce said heir. Then he foisted the boy on his son to educate him in the finer aspects of society. So in effect, they were practicing eugenics, which is not much different than modifying Natural infants into Coordinators," she explained. "Except without the familial sexual relations."
The King scowled. "So what happened next?"
She proceeded to outline the story further, delving into how the siblings had bribed the hospitals to keep the records secret. And with the records finally cracked and stolen from the servers on which they had been hidden for all this time, there was enough evidence, both official and spoken, to disprove his so-called noble birth.
Incest was the worst possible thing to have committed.
And the King had a very good idea on what he wanted to do next.
"I'll see about getting this out to the world somehow," he told her.
"All right. And as of now, Terminal is starting to prepare for Operation: Merlin. What we need from you next is something important." Eisenhower was not skipping around this time.
"Information on the Atlantian Fleets north of Eurasia, correct?" he deduced.
Eisenhower had to chuckle. "Smart deduction. I'm not surprised, seeing as how you're like the late Uzumi Nara Athha in some respects."
"For what it's worth, I wish he hadn't done that stupid move," King Isaksen muttered. "I wish we had his counsel right about now."
"Same here. But if anything, if LOGOs is brought to justice, we'll make them pay for what they forced Orb to do," the woman said seriously.
"I agree. And as for your information, we'll relay it to you as soon as we are able," he told her.
"Good. We need it ASAP," the President said.
The King nodded. "I'll see what we can gather. But we don't have much time in order to do it."
"We can give you access to Atlantian satellites we hacked in the past," Eisenhower said. "That should help you in many respects. Just don't tell where you got it from."
"I see. We can say we have classified assets in orbit then," King Isaksen suggested.
"Excellent. Better to be safe than sorry." Eisenhower nodded in approval. "The frequencies and codes are being transmitted now."
It didn't take long for the codes for access appeared in his inbox. "Very well. We'll have the data within twelve hours minimum."
"Thank you. This will go a long way for our friends in the Eurasian Federation and Terminal," Eisenhower said with relief. A smile crossed her face at this and she seemed to relax.
"Also, what of the Extended program?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"We'll cover that another time," she said, her eyes darkening. "Once Merlin is over, we'll delve into that."
The King nodded as he sat back on the bench he was on. "Good. I hope we can work more together in the future."
Eisenhower gave a salute before the COMM went dark and the King turned his attention back to the Big U as she continued to be refitted for war.
"Soon..." he muttered, more to the ship than anything. "Soon you'll be out there fighting to reclaim your homeland."
The ship's horn let out a very soft whistle, and he smiled softly.
. . .
Devonport, Plymouth, Great Britain
December 11th, CE 0073
The entire base was silent as the huge ship began to move up the river.
For Logan, the wait was agonizing.
The very idea that this was finally beginning was enough to make him tense as he watched the ammo supply ship start to appear beyond the base's borders.
Butch studied it through binoculars as he stood beside the smaller man. His eyes narrowed a bit. "Yep. That's the one," he drawled.
"Which one?" Logan inquired.
Butch handed him the binoculars. "See for yourself."
The Briton peered through them and he spotted the name. "Halifax..." he murmured.
Suddenly, the reasoning behind this operation made sense.
The very idea of a repeat of the worst non-nuclear explosion in history was just downright crazy, but at the same time it made a ton of sense. With the ammo aboard this ship, there was a good chance of causing a lot of damage to the base, and perhaps even further back. His gaze landed on the oil tanker that had arrived some hours back, and he hoped that the thing was empty of fuel at that point.
But judging from the looks of it, the tanker was not finished unloading its flammable cargo yet. And if the fighting was to kick off, there would be some real issues in trying to avoid even setting the thing off. He could only hope that the mercenaries the President had hired were worth the investment.
"Sir?" Logan turned as he heard another resistance mole approaching. "It's from Command."
The British soldier took the orders held in the man's hand and looked them over. His eyes narrowed a bit as he read them.
"Well? What's the deal?" Butch asked.
"The mercs from MGM are inbound now," he said as he lowered the paper.
"And our own mercs?" Butch's eyes were hard as he gazed up at the sky above, as if expecting Master Goose to come in any moment.
"En route as well. They should be arriving minutes after MGM though because of how hard they've been pushing their ships," Logan admitted as he handed the orders back to the courier. "I don't know how many minutes though."
"As long as they can get here before those a-holes deliver some real trouble for us," Butch admitted as he glanced back to the Halifax as a tugboat sailed out to greet it.
"Right." Logan gave a nod.
"Speaking of, you got your message out to the commandant and adjunct?" Butch whispered.
The Brit gave a subtle nod as some other workers strolled past, unaware of what was going on. The three men, from their perspective, seemed like they were huddling around and having a smoke to drive the cold away.
"Good. When they come, it'll be well worth it," the other man said.
The two other moles nodded and they split up a bit to give the illusion they had finished their so-called smoke. One of them waved to the workers who waved back and they went on their way.
Once they were out of their line of sight, Logan took the chance to pull out some C4 from his pocket. "Here. You know where to put this."
Butch took it and hid it in his pants pocket before he waved a hand another time. This time it was the third member of their little group who forked over the detonator. The American took it and slid it into his shirt pocket before nodding. "Thanks."
With that part taken care of, all that was needed now...
Was the final bit.
The two men in charge of the base.