Gundam Wing: The Phoenix Rising

by Titanic X

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

30. PHASE XXIX: Worldwide Perceptions

Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. I hope you guys are ready for what's coming next here. ;) This time, we explore how the world's perceptions of the so-called Nazi America are altered by the rebels' first overt move. And some of them are rather unexpected... ;3

Review replies:

- CT7567Rules: Oh, you'll have to see what happens next. ;3

- operation meteor: Glad ya liked it. :) And you really should delve into his head more. :) I am happy you also liked Mackenzie. :) She'll be playing a big role once the resistance gets into space, of course. ;3

- Spiceracksergeant001: Heh. :) Well, Eisenhower is an expert in deception. ;) I also wanted to show that Durandal is just a man. :) Once the resistance gets into orbit, ooh, he's gonna be surprised! XD

- 1800009trumbullps . net: Well, I'm working on GrimmFall as well. :P But glad ya liked this story as well. :)

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(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 XXIX: Worldwide Perceptions

L4 Coalition

December 12th, CE 0073

The interior of the room was dark, barely lit up by the computer terminal on the desk before her.

The Blue Masque was currently seated at said desk, her eyes narrowed beneath her blue helm as she clasped her hands in front of her mouth.

The news feed currently playing out before her was a stark contrast to what many had been mentioning in the Coalition Council over the past two years, and it showed a new side to the whole resistance building strength.

For her, to see how much reach the resistance had was a huge relief.

It showed just how determined many of the people were to reclaim their homeland.

And she had to suppress a smirk as she watched the huge fireball erupting at Devonport.

'To even conceive and carry out such a potent operation... and all without LOGOs being aware...' she thought to herself. 'President Eisenhower has shown an uncanny skill for battle and guerrilla tactics that many cannot even begin to match, least of all fathom. If I didn't know any better, I would have to say she is truly a master of the art of guerrilla warfare.'

But it just wasn't that she was impressed at.

It was the implications this had for everyone across the world.

Already she was hearing rumors about how the war was not so clear cut as the Atlantians had made it out to be. The fact that Devonport was taken out by the resistance was a key testament to how little Djibril could grasp about the implications at home and abroad. His crash programming courses in brainwashing the populace had utterly failed, and he was not even aware of it, least of all how long it actually took to brainwash an entire population.

The harsh reality was that it would take at least three generations to brainwash completely... or one hundred and fifty years at the least.

And since the program designed for brainwashing had been implemented for only five years, it was an utter failure in every way possible. And that alone was enough to show just how things were really playing out.

From the looks of things, it was already starting to have an effect across the world.

Particularly the impact on the invasion of Eurasia.

The Blue Masque leaned back in her seat as she cut the news feed and turned, getting up and making her way to the door. She did have a meeting with the Coalition Council later this evening, anyway. And this was a good thing to bring up at the meeting.

Especially since they had to make their stance clear as well.

She paused for a moment before she grabbed her tablet from her desk and exited her room.

The leader of the L4 Coalition had wisely chosen to make her room in an old hotel they had established as a housing facility for governmental workers in the intervening years of peace... or as close to peace as they could get.

The L4 Coalition had, in the aftermath of the First Bloody Valentine War, retreated to the old colonies of L4 where they took over several of the less damaged and intact colonies, most of them of the old O'Neil cylinder design. The holes had long been patched using glass from the other colony remains, and a few had even been refitted to act as agricultural facilities, albeit not on the same scale as the PLANTs of Junius City. In fact, there were recent discussions about possibly building an even bigger O'Neil cylinder, but due to tensions and the fact that a war was raging, that was off the table for the moment.

The Blue Masque could see the inherent asset that such a colony could provide, but as she had made her position clear, the Council had to abide by it.

The former ZAFT officer made her way down the hall, walking towards the center of the complex that the Council had established for themselves.

The old governmental center was not that impressive when compared to the PLANT capital city, but it was still a work of art in its own right, combining aspects of the old US Capitol Building with a more futuristic architecture. The pillars were not fluted, nor were they Greco-Roman in their design. Instead, they were more of an angular design, but with patterns inscribed onto them to add a sort of classical flare to the building's entrance. The roof was still curved, but it was laced with hexagonal patterns across its surface, and the top of the dome had an antenna mounted to it, allowing for communications to be received from the colony's local intranet, as well as satellite transmissions from the planet and other sources of note.

The hotel was located right next door to it, and therefore offered a quick walking distance to her place of work.

Already she could see a number of other members of the Coalition Council making their way into the building.

One of them glanced to her. "Ah. Anastasia." He gave a nod and she returned it.

"Darren."

Councilor Darren White fell into step beside her, his gray eyes narrowed. "You ready for the meeting?" he asked.

"Yes. And I hope you are as well," the Blue Masque remarked.

The former ZAFT officer nodded. "Yeah. But really... who'd have thought that someone even had that kind of reach?" he muttered.

"That we shall discuss once we commence the meeting," the Blue Masque stated seriously. "We cannot discuss it out here."

"Right. You never know if Durandal has spies here," he whispered.

The woman gave a nod as they made their way inside and over to the metal detectors.

The two Councilors passed through them, with the Blue Masque only delayed by her removal of the signature mask she wore for it to be examined by the guards. After she was cleared, she rejoined her friend and the two headed into the elevator that would take them to the assembly hall where the Council held its meetings.

The trip was rather quiet, but it didn't matter to the Blue Masque. That gave her time to prepare her speech mentally and rehearse it a few times to memorize it. She rarely wrote down a speech, relying instead on her excellent memory for keeping it in her head.

The elevator jolted a little, startling her out of her thoughts as the doors slid open. The Blue Masque was as calm as ever on the surface, but beneath it she was determined to make sure her nation was prepared to deal with the coming storm. She exited the elevator with Councilor White beside her. The woman's hair billowed out behind her as she approached the Council Chamber where everyone was awaiting her arrival.

A pair of guards nodded as they lowered their weapons, allowing the leader of the L4 Coalition and her companion to enter.

The doors slid open and already she could see the chamber was filled with the Council.

Her gaze landed on the furthest seat and she made her way towards the table, taking her own seat as Councilor White approached his own seat.

At the farthest end of the table, sat her opposite.

Councilor Jochen Whitmore gave a nod. "Ah. We are all here then. The meeting can commence."

At once the first council member stood up. "Just what in the hell is going on down on Earth?" he demanded, slamming his hands down on the table. "First we hear the Atlantic Federation is against Coordinators, and now this resistance pops up not even two years later after the near extinction of the human race?!"

"Calm down, Councilor Brach," the Blue Masque said, her hands tented in front of her mouth. "I know it's hard to accept, and frankly, for what it's worth, I was shocked too, when I first found out."

"So then why didn't you inform us to begin with?" Fred Brach asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Because I wanted to get more information before I revealed them to you," she said, looking up. Beneath her mask, her eyes narrowed. "And now that I do, I can inform all of you of the real situation down on Earth."

"And what would that be?" Councilor Besler Hankerson asked seriously.

"That the Atlantian Reich, as the resistance calls them, is not in full sway of the local populace," the Blue Masque stated. "The truth is that, psychologically speaking, it is impossible to brainwash an entire nation's population to a certain political ideology in just a few short years." She looked around at her fellow Councilors, a serious expression on her angelic features. "Now, as you are all aware from our own sources and from the resistance liaison I appointed some time back, Blue Cosmos attained power back in the CE 50s. But... what we did not know was that the dehumanizing and extremist propaganda did not begin until two years before hostilities broke out. There was some anti-Coordinator propaganda for close to two decades, but it was nowhere near as bad as this."

"So then the real bad stuff didn't start until about 0068 CE, right?" Councilor Susanne Willington mused.

"That would be correct, Councilor Willington," the Blue Masque confirmed. "During the last twenty years, the indoctrination has been gradual and slow, a far cry from what the head of LOGOs wanted. He wanted it to be abrupt and concise, but that is just not possible unless it is repeated over twenty four hours for close to a year. And no one was willing to stoop to such a ridiculous idea from the outset." She shifted her gaze to the military attaché for the resistance who stepped forward. "And as you are all aware, the resistance has appointed a military attaché to keep us informed of military and political movements pertaining to space in relation to our borders."

The woman gave a crisp salute. "Melanie Yates at your service!" she exclaimed.

A few council members glared at her, but she refused to be cowed. Instead she stepped back, gave a small bow, and resumed her place off to the side.

"I still feel we need more information on this resistance before we can make any such political decisions," Councilor Will Basters remarked. "The fact you took such an action undermines the trust we placed in you when we elected you to be our leader."

"And you shall be informed accordingly," the Blue Masque said. "And I apologize for doing this without consulting the Council. But it was paramount in order to secure a guarantee of our safety."

"And why would you say that?" Basters wondered.

Here Melanie cleared her throat. "I can explain," she said.

She stepped forward, holding a tablet in her hands. She pressed the tablet and the monitor in the back of the room lit up, drawing attention to it. The screen flashed on, displaying the current location of the L4 Coalition, the resistance borders, the EA's positions, and even the location of the PLANTs. "This is the current situation as it stands. The L4 Coalition is located within the old debris of L4 colonies, as is the resistance. Now that makes for a perfect spot to avoid detection. But... there is always the possibility of either the EA or PLANTs finding out about you... as well as us."

The EA's positioned flashed a dark purple, more akin to pure darkness, instead of the usual red used to denote enemies. "The Earth Alliance, or rather, the Atlantian Reich, has been starting to probe out from their current positions, trying to establish a perimeter around the L2 shipyards. We're not sure as to why, but we think it might have something to do with a top secret project called Project: Reaper. We've gotten a rough idea as to what it may be, but we're still trying to figure out what it really is. And as for how that ties into you, well... they're starting to reach out towards this very colony cluster to salvage any possible material for use."

"So you're trying to inform us so we can be prepared, yes?" Basters asked.

"Partially," Melanie admitted. She ran a hand through her short gray hair, her orange eyes narrowed. "The other reason is the possibility of the PLANTs conducting an investigation into what the Atlantians are salvaging."

The Councilors all stared in silent shock at her words.

"That means you'll be at risk of being found out," she stated. "So, in light of this, the resistance is offering a guarantee of your safety. In exchange, you help us when the situation calls for it. An alliance, if you will."

"What makes you sure that we'll accept? We have no idea as to the scale of your movement, least of all if it is actually legitimate!" Councilor Wendy Franklin growled.

"I can assure you we are one hundred percent legitimate," Melanie insisted. "In fact, if you don't mind, I'll fill you in on everything that has happened thus far down on Earth."

And so she did.

She did not skip over anything, least of all the brutal conditions of the camps in the Atlantian borders. She outlined all the activities that happened over the last five years, ranging from the brutal training to the lessening of safety regulations for the naval ships. Her explanation also covered the discharges of all women from the Atlantian armed forces on the stereotype of women being too emotional and weak whereas men were aggressive and logical. (A number of Councilors, both men and women alike, objected to that stereotype and the Blue Masque had to slam her hands on the table a few times to calm them down.) But when it came to the revelation of Kiddie Kamp, there was absolute outrage. (Melanie had to use a bullhorn to get them to calm down.) The attaché also went into the explanation of the sheer size and scale of the movement, which showed their size was not small at all. The woman also delved into the lower wages, the turning of the TCIC to their side, the acquisition of the intelligence agencies, and even the surprise of a ship they had built themselves, as well as their current operations to date.

By the time she had finished, it was close to four in the afternoon of the next day.

For their part, the Councilors were gob-smacked.

They had not expected this at all.

Melanie had also provided evidence of the stuff she had explained, so for the Council, it was clear that everything she had said was true.

"So then everything you have shown us is true," Councilor Basters mused. "And that means the geopolitical situation is more precarious than we thought..."

"All the more reason for you to form an alliance with us," Melanie stated. Her eyes narrowed. "It's the only way we can guarantee your safety in the aftermath of the war. As well as ensure that you have a say in the post-war world."

"Are you implying that we would be offered a place at the negotiating table?" Councilor Willington surmised.

The attaché nodded, her eyes showing her seriousness on the matter. "As it stands, since you have claimed the L4 debris belt as your home, that means you have the legal right to call these colonies your own. It also means that, legally, the Atlantian Reich is preparing to invade your borders and steal your resources: the old colony remains. By salvage rights, you have ownership of them, which means they are yours," she explained.

"That is a valid point," Councilor Benny Hughes muttered. "But that does not explain why we should have a place at the negotiating table."

"It would ensure that we also have the right to sovereignty," the Blue Masque said, catching their attention, even Melanie's. Her mask glittered as she lifted her gaze. "As of right now, we are merely trying to survive in this place. But if we have a right to be our own country, we can ensure that we have the ability to influence the world's political climate away from extremism. After all, we forged our nation due to a rejection of those ideals that almost led humankind to its ultimate destruction." She paused for a moment, eyeing her fellow Councilors critically. "That is what we vowed, do you not recall?"

The group did recall.

They could clearly recall Lacus Clyne's words, but also the words of the Blue Masque as she led her fleet to L4.

Her words rejecting the ideals of extremism of both sides.

Like Orb, they hoped to be a beacon of peace and prosperity and hope for a better future. But now... That very belief was being threatened by both ZAFT and the EA. And there seemed to be no real third option to secure their sovereignty as a full nation-state, complete with their own laws and culture.

Save for one.

The resistance.

Councilor Willington sighed as she rubbed her head with one hand. "I do recall your words, ma'am, as well as those of Lacus Clyne." She looked up. "But how can we be sure the resistance will honor their promise?"

"Yes. You do make a compelling case, Melanie, but there is no evidence to suggest the resistance will honor their pledge to us," Basters remarked.

"Well, there's always a risk of trust backfiring on someone, no matter what the party is," Melanie stated. Her eyes hardened as she looked over the group. "Right now, I'm taking a big risk in even trusting you with everything that's happened so far. And as it stands, LOGOs has broken trust in many areas of public life, and even shattered the trust of the world in America. And that is something we have to rebuild. Not just internationally, but also publicly." She paused for a moment, then shifted her weight a little.

"To be honest, LOGOs did more than just shatter public trust," she admitted. "They broke trust in medical institutions by having doctors perform brutal experiments on children and giving them drugs. They created an institution that is supposed to be helping children reach their full potential on paper, but in reality it's just a butcher shop to turn children into weapons of war. This program is dubbed the Extended Program, and it goes against everything that is human in everyone across the globe.

"And that indicates hypocrisy in every sense of the word. It shows that people cannot trust their own doctors, least of all those doctors who are supposed to work with children. If we can't trust our own doctors, then who can we trust to help us when we're sick, or even when our kids are sick and need emergency care?" Melanie asked. "Trust is essential in such a line of work, and that means we need to take a risk and trust one another once more!" Her eyes shimmered as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Trust me when I say we will guarantee your sovereignty, and trust us when we say we can protect that sovereignty!"

The Councilors all looked at one another, their eyes showing uncertainty. But at the same time, they did see she had a point.

Trust.

A human emotion and bond, broken by LOGOs.

After all, why had they fled and formed the L4 Coalition in the first place if they couldn't even trust others?

Councilor White ran a hand through his brown hair and sighed heavily. "Well... she does have a point," he admitted. "If we can't even trust our own leader, then what does that say about us as a species? Regardless of genetics?"

He looked up, his eyes hard. "I call for a vote on the matter."

"A vote in favor of trusting the resistance?" Councilor Brach asked.

"Yes." White nodded.

"I say nay," Basters stated.

"I say aye," Franklin said.

"Aye," Hankerson said.

"Aye," White said.

"Nay," said Willington.

"Nay," Brach said.

"Aye," the Blue Masque said.

"Nay," said Hughes.

All eyes looked at Whitmore, who had his eyes closed. He finally opened them, and he stood up. "A tie has been declared," he said. "So it falls to me to make the final vote."

The eight other Councilors held their breath.

"I vote aye."

The Blue Masque stood, her eyes barely visible beneath her mask as she nodded. "The ayes have it. We shall trust the resistance when it comes to the matter of guaranteeing our sovereignty in the post-war world." She finally sat back down and leaned forward.

"I do respect your viewpoints, fellow Councilors. But as it stands, we do have to take this risk. Trust is something that takes years to build, and only a short time to tear down," she remarked. "And thus, it is not a matter of debate any longer. We shall trust them on this matter."

"But we have yet to see such actions!" Councilor Hughes protested.

"If you will trust me, then I have a feeling that they will," the Blue Masque countered, her mask flashing in the light of the Council Chamber.

Hughes paused, his mouth opening to speak, only to think better of it and close his mouth instead. He gave a small nod in acknowledgement instead.

"Good." She sat back down. "Now with that matter resolved, there is another issue at hand."

"And what would that be?" White asked.

"The position of the PLANTs in this war," the Blue Masque stated seriously.

"So? They've been fighting to defend themselves for some time now," Brach stated.

"That may be the case under most circumstances, but the resistance has reason to believe that Durandal may not be fully honest in his statements regarding the war's overall objective," the Blue Masque explained. "The President of the resistance, Marie Lenneth Eisenhower, is not trusting of him or his words. And that extends to the rest of their leadership as well."

"What do they think he's trying to do?" Hankerson wondered.

"The resistance has every reason to think he's got a vision. An ambition that could jeopardize the entire human race as we know it..." She looked up. "...all according to records that were found in Mendel."

She proceeded to outline the entire expedition into Mendel, during which they had uncovered a large amount of drafts pertaining to a plan that relied on humanity finding its genetic destiny, and she even showed the stuff they had gathered for the resistance. The rest of the Council was in shock as she outlined the rough drafts for what Durandal had been planning in its early stages, and even explained about the message that was deciphered.

"Then Durandal is only using this war as a pretext to initiate this... gambit?!" Hughes blurted.

"That's what the resistance leaders suspect," Melanie admitted. "But until we know more about the why behind the plan, then there's only speculation. We know the how, but not the why."

Her eyes then hardened. "Which is why we made contact with Terminal in the first place. If I'm right, then they too did an exploration of Mendel and uncovered something big, but like us, are keeping it close to the chest."

Councilor White frowned as he put a hand to his chin in thought. "If Terminal is keeping this close to the chest, then they must have a very good reason," White mused. His eyes hardened as he looked up. "I suspect it may be because they hope to reveal what Durandal is planning somehow."

"Either that, or they plan to take action against such a radical scheme," Franklin noted. Her eyes narrowed as she folded her arms. "I know I would if I were in such a situation."

"That may be the case," Whitmore rumbled, "but until we know for sure what Terminal plans to do, if they have this information, we must act like the resistance and hold this close to our chests as well."

"A wise man once said that truth is a powerful tool," Brach remarked. "And truth is something this world lacks." He eyed the Blue Masque critically. "So, ma'am, what is your call in relation to this matter?"

The Blue Masque hung her head, and a few could see her eyes were closed through the slats on her mask.

"The only thing we can do, fellow Councilors, is keep this close to our chests, like you have stated, Whitmore," she admitted. "I do not know what Terminal intends to do, but I do know that the resistance plans to inform Terminal once they and we make effective contact with them." She lifted her head, her eyes opening. "That is what they will do. And therefore that should be our goal as well."

"Then it is decided," Whitmore said. "We shall keep this information close, and reveal it alongside our new allies in the resistance."

The Councilors all affirmed their decision and the Blue Masque gave a nod. "Then I can safely say our business here is concluded, ladies and gentlemen. I do appreciate the differing viewpoints that make this whole Council and Coalition possible. It is refreshing to see the head of reason and debate compared to the passion of vengeance and anger that now governs the world as a whole. I hope to continue to see this in the future." She stood up, pushing her chair back and the rest of the Council did the same. They all saluted her as she returned it, giving a nod in perfect sync.

"This meeting is now adjourned."

. . .

Stockholm, Kingdom of Scandinavia

December 13th, CE 0073

King Halle Isaksen narrowed his eyes as he observed the battles raging on the screen before him.

He had his fingers tented in front of his mouth, and he was leaning forward as around him stood his ministers and nobles.

The scene shifted from showing the attack on Clyde to the utter devastation of Devonport, the hulks of the two vessels that initiated the explosion looming out of the water as twisted metal sculptures, fire still licking at their remains. He had to admit, the resistance was ballsy to pull off such an attack, least of all rendering an entire naval base as just leveled ruins and remnants.

He could see that only a few shells of buildings remained standing, windows broken and shattered as cars littered what were once busy streets and sidewalks. Vehicles indicative of rescue efforts were already sprawling out across the remains, shifting through debris and rubble not even two hours into the next morn. A number of people had already been pulled out of the rubble, along with a fair amount of bodies, each one being carried under the cover of a simple white sheet, as no one was thinking of themselves as Atlantians, but as human beings.

A small, grim smile crossed his lips as he watched the monitor flicker before going dark.

"I see..." he mused. "It seems like the Atlantians had no idea of what was to come in that fight."

"Yes, sir," the woman in front of him remarked. "But there is more to it than just the attack." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "This attack has really caused ripples amongst the political leadership of the globe as a whole."

"Explain, Sandra," the king ordered.

"Gladly." Sandra Johnson pressed a button on her remote and the monitor lit up once more, this time showing the global theaters of war, along with all the belligerent nations and neutral countries marked in differing shades of red, the Atlantian Reich marked in deep burgundy.

"This is the geopolitical climate a few months before the attack." She moved the remote, which emitted a laser pointer from the tip. "As you can see, the Atlantian Reich was seen in a very unfavorable light by the majority of the world given its recent actions and its prior attempts to conquer the globe under a new Nazi regime. Many countries previously showed that they wanted to eliminate the very continent on which they reside, which means total and utter devastation of the populace, save for a few that would be enslaved by the victors for many generations until they were deemed worthy of the title 'human being' once again."

King Isaksen's eyes darkened. "I see..." he growled. "So they'd be going down the same path."

"Yes." Sandra nodded. "But..." She pressed a button on the remote again and the screen shifted, showing a startling contrast to what he had been shown prior.

"After the resistance started to show themselves, as well as the recent events showing what was really happening in the Reich's borders, there has been a subtle, but profound shift in the perception of the Atlantian Reich's populace," she stated. The screen did indeed show that things were changing. A lot of the globe, the Eurasians in particular, was now varying shades of blue. The Eurasian Federation was shown in a brilliant cyan blue, along with his country and a few others in lighter or darker shades of blue. "This image shows that the people of the world are starting to see that not everyone is ideologically committed to genocide of Coordinators."

"How is it you were able to obtain this data?" the king asked. "We didn't have time to put out polls on the matter, least of all across the world."

"That's where Task Force Narrative comes into play," Sandra admitted, looking a bit sheepish. "They were already on the ground in several other nations and had carried out polls themselves. This data was provided by them."

One of his ministers hummed as he folded his arms. "That's a smart move on the part of the resistance," he conceded. "However, that does not explain the sudden shift in perception of the Atlantian Reich's people."

"The fact that a battle broke out in Mexico is just one part of that," Sandra stated. Her eyes hardened a bit. "As well as the riots all across the country and the sudden outbreak of a rebellion in the Quebec Slums, as many have called the reservation up in that part of what was once the sovereign state of Canada."

King Isaksen was silent for a moment. "And that battle in Mexico also shattered perceptions," he mused, looking up.

"That would be correct, Your Majesty," Sandra said. "As it already stands, the attack on the Atlantian bases in Britain further shattered that perception. People across the world are starting to take note, and are, as the resistance leader noted, starting to ask questions about the ideology of the country's populace."

"All the more reason for us to start to make our own moves," the Minister of Defense, Henriikka Laitinen, remarked. "This is a good opportunity to take a harsher stance, given how the battle's diversionary aspect took place close to our waters."

"Yes." King Isaksen nodded sagely. "For what it is worth, we should start to act accordingly." His eyes were dark as he looked up. "The first issue on the table is what kind of a stance should we be going for. As it stands, we do not know what kind of forces they still have at Britain, least of all in Eurasia. And we do not know whether or not any of those forces can invade our borders."

"We must assume, in light of these attacks, that their forces have been depleted significantly," Sandra stated. "But we must also assume that they have some of their elite mobile suit pilots on standby in Britain as well."

"Your Majesty, I propose we at least make a statement that says we condemn this war," the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs, Heidi Niemi, suggested.

"A statement is one thing," the king mused, "but action is another." He closed his eyes, pondering his nation's next moves. "Hmm..."

The meeting room in the palace was silent as he thought, and people there swore they could hear his brain working.

Then he opened his eyes. "What options do we have on the table?" he asked.

"Your Highness, there are a few options we have when it comes to defense of the homeland," Henriikka said. "But none of them can really hold for long against the Atlantian hordes along with their mobile suits."

"What are they?" the king repeated.

"Our most prominent and effective defense would be our own mobile armors, but they can only last for so long, and we only have so many of them," the Minister of Defense stated grimly. "Our other methods, aircraft and tanks and warships, will only slow them down." Her eyes darkened. "And we lack any other mobile suits..." She paused for a moment. "...except for our own prototypes."

King Isaksen knew what she was referring to. His eyes hardened as he recalled the project he had ordered undertaken after the First Bloody Valentine War had begun over two years ago. The project, codenamed ODIN after the Norse god himself, was a program devised to develop mobile suits for the Kingdom of Scandinavia to have at their disposal. But due to the fact that it was supposed to be top secret, only a few varied machines had been built, each named after one of the Norse Gods to show their nation of origin. And out of all of them, only one bore the name of the project itself.

The Odin Gundam.

His eyes hardened. "I see. So... what of our other asset?" he asked.

"The ship for the machines is still under construction, but with any luck, it should be operational within two to three days, not barring your other project," Henriikka admitted, scowling a bit.

"Yes, I am well aware of it," the king admitted.

His eyes closed as he recalled the prototype spacecraft they had in the works as well. And unlike other craft that needed a mass driver to launch, the Kingdom of Scandinavia's ship was capable of exiting the atmosphere under its own power, an ability that many would kill for their ships to have. The ship itself was built a lot like the Archangel, but due to lacking the completed plans of the ship in question, the Kingdom had to make do with just speculation and guesswork. So the ship was a lot different interior wise than the White Legend itself. The only commonality it had with the two ships of the same class was the bridge location. Other than that, it was a totally different layout.

The ship in question was known as the Asgard, an homage to the dwelling place of the old Norse Gods in Norse mythology.

And the very name seemed to fit.

His eyes snapped open. "I want a statement prepared within two hours. And..." He paused for a moment. "I want it to be directed at the Atlantian rulers."

"You're not serious!" someone blurted. "We can't just declare war!"

"I'm not saying that," King Isaksen said seriously. "I want the statement to be as firm as possible, but to not mention we are considering taking action. For the moment, I want all fleets around our borders to be on high alert for any Atlantian activity. If they wish to cross our waters, they must abide by the laws of warfare, and abide by the Kindgom's own laws. In other words, they refuse to follow the civilized world's rules, they are prime targets for attack." His eyes narrowed as he said those last words. "We will not attack them unless they make a hostile move towards us or our forces."

The nobles and ministers all glanced at one another, surprised at his firm words. With that declaration, the world's most populous neutral country was about to take action and declare their side chosen, even if it was in a covert manner.

His Foreign Minister, Valtteri Lindemann, nodded. "I shall have it done, Your Highness."

Valtteri was not just his Foreign Minister. He was also a former soldier who had served in the Kingdom's army for fifteen years before an injury in United Nations employ left him with a profound limp in his left leg and a blinded right eye that he covered with an eye patch. Upon his honorable discharge, the king himself had appointed him as Foreign Minister, a position he used to great effect in trying to keep the war from spiraling out of control, but to no avail. Even his famed Lindemann Plan hadn't stopped the war from starting. And for what it was worth, his hopes at the Atlantian leadership having been shocked to their senses hadn't been fulfilled. Instead, it had only been made worse by his plan and proposal to begin with.

But now things seemed to be changing.

His eye hardened. "Also, should I send a message to the resistance?"

King Isaksen nodded. "Yes. And use their encrypted network. The less the Atlantians know of our activities, the better."

The Foreign Minister nodded and saluted before he turned and hobbled off in the direction of his office.

. . .

"This day and age has been marked by one tragedy after another.

"The Cosmic Era was supposed to represent hope and a chance to strive for the future.

"Many of us still hold onto that hope.

"But...

"There are those who do not see the future the same way as the rest of us.

"Those who do not... are blinded.

"And they want to blind the rest of us as well.

"But who would blind us? And why? Well... that, my friends, is simple. Across the Atlantic Ocean, hidden from prying eyes, and locked away in the shadows of deceit and deception, ruling through proxies and trying to stifle all possible evolution in the human race, whether done through genes or cybernetics, are those who seek to only keep us bound to a past that is no longer viable."

Across the country, and even reaching the Atlantian Reich, a message was being broadcast from the Kingdom of Scandinavia.

"This past is one that we should have forgotten and left to rust in the annals of time. But what past do I speak of? Well, it's one that stifled us for many centuries before the American Revolution sparked a change in the way countries were governed, inspired by a document several hundred years earlier. The entire world was changed from one country's revolt, and it ushered in a new age of promise and prosperity. And as times changed, so did the way that people were seen as humans.

"The past that I speak of is none other than the medieval ages, bound by strict code and law to keep certain people from attaining power, and when individual groups of people were seen as inferior or superior. That, in a way, is not much different than now, only this time it is differed in genetics. Coordinators are superior. Naturals are inferior. Naturals are superior. Coordinators are...unholy demons that must be cleansed from our pure and blue world.

"Those are the two ideologies that define our world today, and both are rooted in the past of medieval ages."

The Foreign Minister's face could be seen on multiple screens as he spoke, viewed across the world's populous nations. His eye was hard as he gritted his teeth and clenched one hand into a fist.

"The very idea of genoism is going to tear us apart. Hell, it already has.

"You can already see the way that the Atlantian Reich continues to wage its war of genocide, and with complete disregard for the very laws of civilization that were laid down over the course of humanity's evolution. They seek only to destroy, and to do nothing but conquer.

"Back during the First Bloody Valentine War, they did just that. They conquered the whole globe... and in a hypocrisy, cared little for the environment as they drew on our precious resources to turn all Coordinators into either slaves or ashes. They purged all traces of humanity from their campaign and cared little for those that were also injured in the way they were churning out so many weapons of mass destruction.

"And it only got worse. The Battle of Armageddon was what almost wiped out humanity, but a brave select few rose up and said with one word: NO!

"NO to extinction.

"NO to genocide.

"NO to genoism.

"And NO! to hatred."

The rest of the world watched as Foreign Minister Lindemann continued speaking.

"LOGOs. They are the ones behind everything that has happened thus far, and will continue to be behind future events unless they are held accountable. Make no mistake. This is not a declaration of war. This is a statement condemning their actions and their activities to stifle human progress. We will not take action against them unless they provoke us into doing so. Our terms are simple: you pass through our waters, you will abide by our laws and the laws of civil society. If not... Well, then you can connect the dots. It is up to them whether or not they choose the path of civility or the path of barbarism."

. . .

Djibril's Estate

December 12th, CE 0073

Djibril was pissed.

Not just by the fact that the invasion had been thwarted in its tracks, but also by the statement made by the Kingdom's Foreign Minister.

"That race traitor!" he hissed, clenching his hands into fists.

The entire plan was going down the drain.

And it was all due to Terminal.

"Those traitors...! And those vermin...!" he growled. "They will all pay for this!"

His eyes hardened as he reached for his computer and activated it, unaware of the small device that lay inside, blinking, ready to send data to his enemies lurking underground.

He had to get in contact with his puppets in Orb.

Especially since he knew Terminal would be headed there to try and reclaim their territory.

He sat back in his seat and schooled his face into one of utmost clarity, with no emotions shown whatsoever. His eyes narrowed as he saw the screen flicker a few times before the emblem of House Seiran appeared on the screen. The emblem then faded and up came Unato Seiran, his eyes locked onto those of Djibril. He looked like he had seen better days, he noted.

But that was not the purpose of this meeting.

"Ah! Lord Djibril. To what do I owe you this call?" Unato asked.

"I have no time for pleasantries," Lord Djibril stated, his eyes narrowing. "There are matters that must be attended to."

"If you mean that broadcast by Foreign Minister Lindemann, then I do agree that they must be addressed," Unato stated.

"Yes, but the Kingdom of Scandinavia can wait. There is a more pressing matter closer to home for you," Djibril hissed, his eyes flashing. "And you know what I mean when I say that."

"I do," Unato admitted. "Ever since that woman escaped thanks to her attack dogs, we've been struggling to maintain order and control. It hasn't been easy, and the Coordinator scourge has been rather tense here as well. I've had to try and maintain things, but it wasn't easy."

"What of the... assets... I sent your way?" Djibril asked.

"They are performing well," Unato stated, a smirk on his face, although the sweat gathering on his brow was an indicator of his worry and anxiety. Then his smirk faded. "Although I am a bit concerned. I have more than ample wealth to finance them, but you choose to instead, my lord. Why?"

"Because they are the ones that I handpicked," Djibril growled. "And I expect you to keep that in mind. Also, Master Goose Militia is going to be reinforcing you as well."

"But they suffered a loss at the hands of Sicario, didn't they?" Unato asked. "I heard about that one through my sources."

"Your sources may be good, but they will not be for much longer if you spy on me!" Djibril snapped, making the nobleman recoil in horror. "And I will deal with those that hired those mercs myself!"

Djibril was now certain that there was something happening within his borders.

Something that did not fit in line with his hopes.

There had been glaring signs this whole time, and he just refused to accept them because he didn't believe it was possible. But now, they were unmistakable.

The sabotage of the Destroy in Moscow. The battles down in Mexico. The capture of Dr. Sung's lab. The attack on the British Isles. And the knowledge that LOGOs existed becoming global. All these were the result of one thing, and one thing only.

Rebellion.

There was more than just a small group of rebels on the loose.

All of this marked the presence of a vast resistance network that crossed not just the mainland, but even into the British Isles.

His country was not at all unified.

It was divided.

And that was something he could not have happen.

"Yes, my lord," Unato said with a hurried bow.

"Now, I want you to be prepared. They will be coming your way, and you need to be ready to stop them at any rate," Djibril ordered. "We cannot allow those race traitors and vermin to succeed in taking back the advantage in this crusade. And if you do succeed in taking down those ships..." A sneer crossed his face. "I may assign you to a new rank in our nobility."

Unato was already a proud nobleman, but to be assigned an even higher rank in a global nobility would put his family back in the highest echelons of society across the world. It had been his ambition from Orb's founding to assure their supremacy in the global community, and to show that Natural humans were the true species of humanity, not the Coordinators. But that was only the beginning of their secrets.

"I shall do my utmost to defeat them, my lord," Unato replied, bowing elegantly.

The Lord of Earth gave a nod and the communications closed down, his eyes narrowed as he looked back at his puppet's location in Washington, D.C., unaware of his communications having been recorded and transmitted directly to someone underground...

. . .

Kingdom of Scandinavia

Underground Dock

December 12th, CE 0073

The work was progressing smoothly, with the ship undergoing her refit.

In fact, it was close to complete at this rate.

The entire structure had been stripped of her icy covering and the paint clinging to her hull and superstructure. The funnels were sandblasted clean and at once the process of repainting her had begun. The bridge had been overhauled to modern military standards and the staterooms refitted to military specs. As part of her overhaul though, there had been a fierce debate between the King of Scandinavia and the captain when it came to her defense; the captain wanted to arm the ship for self-defense while King Isaksen had refused, stating it was against his country's law to arm other ships for war.

But when she refused to budge on the issue, a compromise was reached: the Kingdom would provide the armaments, but the crew would have to install them themselves when the time came. So the guns chosen were inserted into her cargo holds to be brought out via her cranes and mounted on the deck when they were needed. The crew underwent training drills for such a scenario, and although they were not very good, it was their best bet to get some experience.

And so far things were going good, or at least as best as they could given the circumstances.

The only thing left was to finish the painting of the old ocean liner.

The name had been altered to that of Nordic Balance, the same name as the damaged ocean liner undergoing repairs in the underground docks closer to Trondheim's borders. (The idea of underground docks had been the brainchild of Lord Uzumi himself before his death, and the Kingdom had been quick to adapt it to their own needs. With three such docks under their coasts, it was easier for them to conceal projects such as ODIN and the refitting of the Big U as well.) The ship's paint scheme was reminiscent of the Balance, which allowed her to blend in perfectly. The only real downside was her length, but it was only a mere foot, so one would make assumptions that she was the Scandinavian liner at a quick glance, even at a closer inspection.

It would only be if the two were side by side that the ruse would be discovered.

The last of the paint was being applied right at this moment, and the overseer of the refit had to admit it was a clever idea.

Chief Engineer Enok Johnsen folded his arms as he smirked to himself.

"I have to admit, this is a very smart idea," he muttered. "After all, the ships are so close in size it'll be hard to tell them apart unless they are side by side and studied closely."

"That may be true, sir, but there are other factors we have to take into consideration," another dockworker remarked. "Such as possibly being sniffed out if the Balance is sent out while the United States is in disguise."

That was an issue, Johnsen mused as he scowled.

And it was one needing addressing.

He shifted his gaze from the refitted ocean liner to those around him, taking note of the people working overtime to try and get her finished.

He could already see that the last of the painters was leaving the catwalks around the ship's funnels, allowing them to slide back and expose the completed ship.

Her disguise was similar to her old paint job, but the funnels had been painted a different color scheme, consisting of the colors of the Kingdom of Scandinavia with the Trans-Scandinavian Lines' emblem on the side of the front funnel. The name was covered with a magnetically attached plate that read Nordic Balance and same with the letters on her stern. The SS United States was now outfitted for her first trip across the oceans in over a hundred years.

A crew of dedicated people, consisting of both resistance members and Scandinavian sailors of the Royal Scandinavian Navy, was already picked and set to man her for her voyage.

The overseer gave a firm nod as he turned to face the captain, Rebecca Stimson, as she approached, her hair falling about her face from where it came out of her ponytail. Her eyes were fixed on the ship as she smiled. "Looks good, sir," she remarked.

"Not as much as she will once this war ends," the chief engineer stated. "You do know the risks, right?"

"Yes." Captain Stimson's smile faded. "I do know. And for what it's worth, I can't thank you enough for what you've done here."

"I still think it's a bad idea, given how we're about done with the real Nordic Balance's repairs at this point," Johnsen muttered darkly.

"I understand, but it's the only way for us to slip through the Panama Canal undetected, given how we dumped a lot of stuff overboard to make them think we were sunk," the captain admitted.

Johnsen leaned on the railing as he gazed at the ship, now fully refitted for her new role.

"I'm still unsure if this is the right thing for us to do," he admitted. "But, given the circumstances... we have no choice but to make a statement in some way."

"And it is the right thing to do," Stimson said with a grateful smile as she turned to face him. "The United States, Canada, Mexico, Great Britain, and Ireland are all in your debt for this."

"To free the world from the shackles of hatred and fear..." Johnsen chuckled a bit. "Your leader is an idealist at heart."

"That may be, but she's more ruthless and pragmatic than some would expect," Stimson remarked. "And it's through that very way of thinking she plans to remake the world into what it once was."

"A visionary, then?" the chief engineer asked.

"Hardly!" Rebecca snorted. "She's no visionary."

"Then what is she?" he asked, frowning. "Visionaries want to change the world, do they not?"

"Yes, but not in a good way," Stimson noted, frowning as well. "Her vision of the world is as it once was prior to the Reconstruction War and George Glenn's revelation of the Coordinator process." Her eyes narrowed. "She's not a visionary in the sense she wants to alter the world to her perceptions. She wants to restore civility and tolerance and respect."

"So then she's... what?" Johnsen repeated.

Here the captain turned her gaze to the ship once more. "She... is a dreamer. And dreamers can shape the world through their will to change." Her eyes hardened. "That's what she is, Johnsen. A dreamer. And she won't stop or even fucking die until she sees this irrational hatred and fear of change disappear."

To Johnsen, the fact that this woman, the leader of an entire resistance nation, was willing to resort to ruthless and pragmatic measures to change the world for the better indicated more than just a dreamer at work. She knew the reality of the geopolitical state of the world and was willing to use underhanded methods to get through to people to show them the truth behind the war's outbreak and the real reason as to why the hatred towards Coordinators suddenly expanded to unheard of proportions during the First Bloody Valentine War.

It showed that she was a realist first and foremost.

So while she did have the ideals of a dreamer at heart, she had the worldview of a realist and the will to make it happen.

To him, that was the mark of someone who was a real force for change in the world.

"No." He shook his head. "She's not a dreamer. I can tell."

"Then what do you think she is?" Stimson wondered, narrowing her eyes.

"A realist." That was all he said as he turned his gaze to the tattered United States flag as it was lowered and folded neatly. "A dreamer is one thing. But to have the will and worldview to make it happen... she's someone who is a true force for change."

The captain of the old ocean liner had to suppress a grin at that. "Maybe," she mused, "but the world was already needing a wakeup call. And she just took the chance to make it happen."

The door to the underground dock suddenly began to slide open and he turned his gaze to her. "You'd better get on board. You're about to move out," he told her.

"I will." Stimson turned and started to walk towards the staircase leading down to the gantry leading aboard the vessel. "Tell the King that this will never be forgotten!" she called as she ran.

"I shall!" Johnsen shouted back. As the captain descended, he looked back at the ocean liner as the flooding waters raced in and swirled around her hull.

The ship seemed to visibly shudder at the sensation, and he had to smile.

It was finally time at last.

. . .

Judgment Station

December 12th/13th, CE 0073

The colony was bustling with activity as the resistance forces up in Earth orbit continued their preparations for the docking of their new arrival. But for what it was worth, the real issue to many was the fact that they had finally made an actual overt move in the war.

And judging from the reactions around the world, the view of the Atlantian Reich was changing significantly, and the resistance was now becoming known of.

For Spray, this was both a good and bad thing.

He may not have been a political expert, but he did see that things were falling out of the Atlantians' favor.

He stood in front of the window of his temporary quarters, his gaze fixed on the scene of the colony's glass façade exposing the vastness of space beyond, the stars glinting faintly in the distance. His hands were clenched behind his back as he narrowed his eyes a bit.

On the terminal behind him, the video image of his wife flickered a bit. "So that's what's happening," she said, finishing her report on what was happening Earthside.

"Yeah. I figured," he mused, looking down briefly. "Still, the mere fact that we've finally attained a level of strength now to make our moves..."

"It's still hard to accept, right?" his wife asked, her eyes softening a bit.

"Yeah. You got it, Wingma," Spray admitted.

Willma "Wingma" Nelson-Krane was a former pilot for the air force, having been discharged just after she got her wings to fly a Skygrasper after the First Bloody Valentine War. She was close to the same age as Spray, being in her mid-thirties, with light brown hair cut short for ease of maintenance and sharp green eyes. She was five foot seven with a lean yet muscular build and her face was reminiscent of a model's with high cheekbones and a lovely set of lips, but nothing too standout. She and Spray had married in CE 0070 after years of being best friends and then seven months of being in love together. So it was natural that both, having the same beliefs in the future, went underground and were recruited at just about the same time, but by different cells.

Now as a mobile suit pilot, Wingma was reliant on her Strike Dagger's Jet Striker to allow for full flight capabilities. She did not seek to use the Aile Striker, which was limiting in its flight capability. She was also a skilled fighter, relying on not just her Jet Dagger's weapons, but also the limbs of her unit to catch opponents off guard. Right now she was on station within the Earth Sphere, hidden away in Canada's northern tundra to help secure the site of the mass driver that had launched their vessel into orbit during Operation: Merlin.

And it was just as well, too.

Given the cover story, the ramshackle mass driver they had set up was supposedly built to test if a ship could be launched from North America, and while it had proven possible, the ship, it was claimed, was destroyed as well as the mass driver itself. Debris from the supposed destruction of the resistance vessel was to be scattered around the vicinity, and a few bodies of Atlantian prisoners who had taken cyanide were to be placed around as well, adding to the illusion. Resistance operatives were to form a committee and conduct an investigation into the explosion, and it was already underway.

So for protection, a number of resistance pilots had been dispatched to provide security for the team in case the Atlantians got any ideas of trying to smother the investigation. Wingma was one of them, and while he knew she was capable in both a jet and a mobile suit, he couldn't help but worry for her safety at times.

"So, how are things looking on the political front?" he asked.

"Well, for one thing, the Kingdom of Scandinavia is working on trying to provide some intel for us on any remaining Atlantian forces in Europe. And remember that they're refitting the Big U for war," Wingma replied.

Spray nodded. "Did you find out what kind of weapons they're outfitting her with?"

"Not so much weapons for combat as weapons for self-defense," she replied. "The king refused to install the weapons, but he did compromise on having them placed in the ship's cargo holds. What he did install though was a set of speakers meant for disrupting crowds. LRADs, basically."

Spray blinked. "Long Range Acoustic Devices?"

Wingma nodded. "Yes. Specifically, seven of them. Two at the stern, two at the front, one between the funnels, and one each on the starboard and port sides respectively."

The rebel pilot pursed his lips at that. "I see..."

He knew that LRAD was a very effective measure to disrupt crowds, and if used in a means to cause possible pain to any adversaries, it was a surprisingly devastating non-lethal weapon. The fact that such devices were being equipped to the SS United States meant that they intended to use it for defense.

The idea was enough to make him scowl a bit. "They do know that ocean liners don't have a history of actually surviving through war intact, right? The RMS Olympic and RMS Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth were exceptions to the rule."

"True," Wingma admitted, "but that's still something when compared to today's ships."

Spray had to admit she had a point there. The three ships she had mentioned were indeed exceptions to the rule, mostly because they each had qualities that made them exceptional.

The Olympic had outlasted her two other sisters and, while serving as a troopship in World War I, had actually rammed and sunk a German U-boat. The reason she had survived was due to her weight and speed, using sheer force to knock the U-boat under and gashing it with her propellers. It also helped she was made of solid steel at the time.

Queen Elizabeth and Queen Mary, on the other hand, had no such record to their names, but they had been the fastest of all the ocean liners back in World War II, relying solely on their speed to avoid being sunk. Since no other ship could even match them, they tended to run solo, earning the reputation as solo runners for no convoys could keep pace with them. The Queen Mary even earned the nickname the 'Grey Ghost' for her speed and battleship gray color scheme.

But now... now there was about to be another to attain the nickname that became something of a legend in of itself.

Ships said to possess that name often had storied careers, and only a select number had it.

"I will admit you do have a point," he conceded. "But I'm still concerned for her safety, despite her speed. She's over two hundred years old, after all."

The pilot hummed as she shifted her stance on the screen. "True on that."

"But there's something else, right?" Spray asked, noting her concern.

"Yeah." Wingma gave a nod as she looked up. "The real issue is the political situation starting to brew now."

"Well, I'm no political expert, but surely things have turned in our favor, right?" he asked.

"At least on Earth..." The way his wife said those words made him ponder something. His eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on the glittering shape of the PLANTs not too far off.

"You're referring to ZAFT, right?" he mused.

Wingma nodded. "Specifically the Chairman. I don't know why, but... I'm getting a feeling like he's someone to watch out for."

"You're not the only one," Spray muttered, his eyes narrowing. "I just can't bring myself to trust him... especially since he didn't even lift a finger to help Vienna or Moscow during the failed operation of LOGOs to conquer Eurasia."

"Also, there's been some worry about Africa's stance on the war, regardless of our efforts and changing political views of the populace of the countries," Wingma noted.

"Africa?" Spray frowned. "Why there?"

"Think about what the Atlantian Reich did in the First Bloody Valentine War," Wingma reminded her husband. "They forcefully united the world under their banner through conquest. And Africa bore the brunt of the fighting during that time. So... it only makes sense they'd be wary of both ZAFT and the Reich because of it. Mostly they have hatred towards us because of what the Reich did to them."

"Ah. I see..." Spray muttered softly.

His eyes narrowed he said those words.

This alone was a real hassle, as with the fury of Africa directed at the Atlantian Reich and by extension the Earth Alliance, that meant that the entire continent was going to be preparing for an eventual confrontation unless something was done to mitigate the damage caused by the Reich. And so far it seemed like no one was about to take such a chance.

That was a worrisome thing, which meant that once this war ended, there could very well be another war.

And that was something they had to stop, lest it get to the point of genocide all over again.

"The real issue here is how we go about it," Spray mused. "There is just so much we have to do, and yet... it's not enough to ignore the outside world. We're already stretched thin as it is, even with the network that the President has set up."

"Maybe, but the FBI is willing to tap into what few agents the CIA has in place within Africa at the moment," Wingma stated.

"Yeah, but it's not enough," Spray told her. "I remember from the briefing when we joined that the CIA lacks little to no manpower in regards to international operations." His eyes hardened as he continued. "And that is a danger to us abroad. Using human intelligence resources to hunt down Coordinators abroad is disgusting and dangerous as it leaves us blind!"

"I know," Wingma said softly. "And for what it's worth, the CIA and FBI have been starting to work together now that we gained them on our side. They're trying to offset that discrepancy and it's actually starting to pay off. They managed to find all the old agents who used to work in that field and are training new agents to act in that capacity. It'll take some time to really get the gist of what Africa is doing, but it's a start."

The rebel pilot nodded. "Yeah. For now, anyway."

He didn't even need to say the part that was on everyone's minds now that they had started to make their own moves against LOGOs. The very efforts they were making would be all for nothing if they lost the revolution.

"Anyway, last I heard the ship was en route to your location. Any idea as to when she'll show?" Wingma asked.

Spray pursed his lips as he glanced back out the window, looking in the direction of Earth. "Unfortunately no," he admitted. "Surface Command was clear that I had to be on alert, but they kept the exact date of arrival a secret. No doubt for security reasons."

In truth, he didn't like the idea of not knowing the arrival of the resistance's ship, but it was better than nothing to know that she was en route. All he could do now was wait. And with the fleet now properly crewed, the 1776th was about to become a more powerful force, especially with the new ship integrated with them.

"Seems like you're on standby for now then," Wingma noted.

"Yeah. Speaking of, what about the rest of the guys?" he asked.

Wingma pursed her lips as she ran a hand through her hair. "Well, Radar is still doing duty in Britain. And Horah is busy down in Mexico. My brother is still in the safehouse, so that's good. And as for Kashi, well... he's busy in California at San Diego, trying to create a new mobile suit."

"Did he say what it was?" Spray asked.

His wife shook her head. "No. But he did say he got inspiration from the footage of the Impulse and an old anime series he saw as a kid."

Spray frowned a bit as he recalled his friends and fellow rebels.

Bradley "Radar" Harrison was one the oldest in the group at forty-two years old. He was a huge man, standing at six-foot-three and was broadly built, but he was in no way a brute. His real passion lay in surveying, a job he had done for a construction firm before he signed up for the resistance a few years ago. He was also an amateur radio jock, so he was selected to act as an AWACS operator for the resistance, being stationed aboard an old E-3 Sentry aircraft that had been refurbished by the resistance a few months back. As a result, he was able to survey the area for any possible intruders and then alert friendly fliers to the incoming threat, a dream job he had always wanted to do as a kid.

Kashi Tsukiyama was a Japanese-descended Coordinator, having immigrated from the Republic of East Asia to the Atlantian mainland long before tensions rose to the point of outright hatred. He was able to blend in to a degree, but his shocking white hair and startling green eyes was a dead giveaway. He could always pass his eyes off as having neon contact lenses in, but his hair he always had to dye a black color to avoid being picked out. As the son of a shinkansen driver and his wife, the young man was interested in trains as well as mobile suits. He was a skilled pilot, having been picked for the resistance mobile suit corps. It was also rumored that he was a Newtype, but so far he hadn't displayed any real abilities as such.

Horah Emaji, an Indian-descended immigrant, was the last of the group that was in active resistance duty, acting as a test pilot for a new resistance model mobile suit. The man was the same height as Radar, and he was pretty bulky, too. But that in no way slowed him down. He had surprising reflexes for his size, and he made good use of them, especially in the air. His timing for adjusting thrusters was impeccable, but even that was no match for Spray's own reflexes. His immense strength also was a good asset, as that meant he could restrain much stronger opponents than him, even if they were Coordinators or even Extended. The only downside was that he was a gentle giant at heart. Although unlike Terminal's Kira Yamato, he was willing to kill in battle, even if he didn't like it.

The only person that the rebel had to be concerned about was Wingma's younger brother, Zachary "Zippy" Nelson. Unlike his older sister, he was a Coordinator, and he had been disabled after a car accident left him paralyzed from the neck down. As a result, he was often targeted for abuse and neglect because he couldn't defend himself. That was why his wife's parents had taken him underground, so the resistance could protect him from such things in public. And he was very grateful for the resistance for keeping him safe. Spray had to keep from gritting his teeth as he clenched his fists, feeling the anger stirring within him. But like always, he was in control of it, not the other way around.

He glanced to his wife as she looked down. "I just hope we can keep people from going down the same path as Azrael was forcing us..." she whispered.

Not for the first time since they were separated, Spray wished he could hold her close and never let her go. He was always looking out for his friends and family, often putting them before his own safety. He was not a selfish brat. He hadn't been raised as such.

"I know..." he murmured. "I hope for the same thing..."

For a moment silence filled the air between the two pilots. Then Wingma finally spoke again.

"How's the new Striker Pack working out?" she asked.

"The Phoenix Striker is working out great," Spray said, turning back to face her. "It's a bit hard to handle, but nothing I can't manage."

Wingma smiled. "If anyone can handle it, it's you, Spray."

The man chuckled as he nodded. "Yeah, but it's a beast to ride. I will admit that."

He was right, too.

The last few days had been spent trying to master the Phoenix Striker, which was actually a lot harder than it seemed. The sheer speed it provided, even if only for a few minutes, was way more than even the Aile Striker EX had been capable of at full burn. He had just about torn his machine to shreds after the first few times using it, much to the displeasure of Wendy and her crew. The only one who had been impressed was Warren, and all he ever asked was how it handled and then made some tweaks to it before having him put it through its paces another time.

Spray had to wonder what the man was planning, but he ignored it as he focused on the matter at hand.

"That aside, all we can do now is wait for the ship to show up, and then we can get things under way..." he murmured.

. . .

666th Devil's Brigade

December 13th, CE 0073

"...before we lose our chance to strike!" his voice finished as the screen shifted to show another battle fleet further out.

The battle fleet in question, like all the others, consisted of five ships: a command ship, a mobile suit vessel, an Extended maintenance vessel, a troopship, and an escort ship.

But unlike the 1776th, this unit's ships were all named differently.

The first ship was named the Darkseid, and it showed in the vessel's color scheme. It was painted mostly a dark gray with black accents and its bridge windows were replaced with tinted red glass so as to add an air of intimidation to the overall appearance. As an Agamemnon-class, it was one of the bigger vessels in the Atlantian Reich's arsenal, with only the Archangel, Dominion, and the resistance's own ship, the Redemption, surpassing it in size.

Right now, on board that ship, a heated meeting was taking place.

And the participants of that meeting were very angry indeed.

"So you mean to tell me that our most skilled commander was in reality a resistance mole, and that this man managed to take over our most powerful battle group?" the commander in charge of the space forces, Rear-Admiral Jonas Hilbad, asked, his eyes narrowed.

Dennis Krantz nodded, kneeling before his superior officer. Off to his side, stood the captain and commander of the 666th Devil's Brigade battle group, Dietrich Hildebrand. His intense blue eyes burned with hatred as he observed this, and his slicked back blonde hair glimmered in the light of his office.

"That would be correct, sir," Krantz admitted. "Had I known, I would have executed him on the spot!"

"And you very well should have!" Rear-Admiral Hilbad roared, making Krantz wince. "As it stands, without our spearhead, we cannot attack those hourglasses and render all who live inside ashes! You are a disgrace to the cause and must be punished accordingly!"

Krantz winced at the thought of the possible punishments laying in store for him. But he was saved from that by Commander Hildebrand.

"Ah, sir, I must recommend that we do not rashly punish the man who brought us such vital intelligence," he said in a thick German accent.

"And why must we refrain from such actions, Commander?" their superior asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Had he not, we might not have known about this and let those tainted fools and the rebel escape," Hildebrand pointed out. "And he knows how that rat fights, does he not, as well as those aboard the now tainted vessels. So, we can use that to our advantage, not to mention he now seeks vengeance on the man who betrayed out cause."

Krantz looked up, his eyes burning in hatred and determination. "Yes, sir. I seek to repent for my actions and take back my pride as a soldier in our crusade against those beasts in orbit!" he stated. His eyes narrowed as he felt that twinge he had come to associate with others approaching him. "I will not stop until I have slain that man with my own two hands!"

Hilbad pursed his lips as he closed his eyes, pondering for a moment. Then he opened them again.

"Dennis Krantz, you have made a compelling case, and your determination and hatred knows no boundaries," he said darkly. "You seek to atone, and you seek to personally slay the rat with your own two hands. So be it." He stood up. "You will be promoted, Dennis Krantz, to be the commander of the 666th Devil's Brigade, with Commander Hildebrand in charge of all ship operations. You will also be equipped with a new machine, given how your Perfect Sword Strike was trashed in the battle."

Krantz blinked in shock before he bowed. "I cannot thank you enough, sir!" he proclaimed. "I will not fail you!"

"See to it that you don't," their superior muttered darkly.

With that, the screen went dark and Krantz stood up, his face now filled with the same grim determination that Spray always held in his eyes. He reached for a nearby marker and grabbed it, pulling it close to his face as he took off the cap.

Commander Hildebrand arched an eyebrow as he watched the new commander place the marker's tip under his left eye before drawing a mark down to his chin before repeating the same thing with his right. Once he replaced the cap, he tossed it aside and turned to face his new subordinate. "Commander, I want all ship crews to assemble in their hangar bays for a debriefing. I will announce my leadership of this unit, and we shall hunt down those traitors who dare to call themselves human beings!"

The fleet commander gave a crisp salute. "Aye, sir!"

As he drifted out, Krantz turned to look at his reflection in the window, and he scowled.

'Krane... this time you will not escape me!' he thought, his eyes hardening into shards of ice.

But he couldn't just go around with his name as it currently was.

Ever since his humiliation and loss of his pride, he felt like something had to be done. A new name, a new identity, was needed. But what...? What one would be perfect for him?

His eyes narrowed as he pondered.

It was like the Darkness in Orbit was calling to him...!

Wait... Darkness in Orbit...

DiO... Dio...

A sneer crossed his face as he gazed at the new marks he had made upon his visage. "Yes... Dio... My name is now Dio. And Dennis Krantz has ceased to exist."

Yes. That would be his new name until that traitor was killed by his hand. And it would suit him, he knew. The way he fought was no way like Krane. He was more of a man who preferred to get in and fight with brutality and no restraint. Just like a berserker of old. Just like an ancient Viking warrior.

Dio.

The Viking of Darkness had been born.

. . .

Singapore

Equatorial Union

December 12th, CE 0073

To say that the Equatorial Union was a hotspot of possible confrontation was an understatement.

Surrounded on all sides by not just the Eurasian Federation and the Atlantic Federation, but also the Republic of East Asia, the former African Community, the South African Union, and the Oceania Union, the country was keen to straddle the lines of neutrality, not assisting any of them, but neither denying requests from any one of these possible aggressors.

The most problematic were the Republic of East Asia and the Atlantic Federation, since they were so close to their borders. Only a trade agreement with the Oceania Union kept them from making any aggressive moves to this neutral nation. As the largest neutral country in the world, it was only sensible to maintain an aggressively armed and trained military force to defend themselves against any possible invasion or foreign moves towards occupation or conflict.

It was, in the eyes of the Equatorial Union's leadership, the best bet to stay the course and remain out of the affairs of the other major powers. Sure they could provide some assistance, which, given their own navy, was considerable, but it was mostly in their land forces and air defenses that they had invested a lot of their own defense budget. Even with the lack of a proper space force, the fact that they could at least get to space via the Kaguya mass driver was an advantage. But with Orb now aligned with the genocidal maniacs in power within the former North American superpower, they were planet-bound, and stripped of access to space, they were a prime target to be invaded.

That was why, in the intervening years between the two wars, they had invested in a much-needed modernization program for their own armed forces, taking a rather unique approach to mobile suit warfare and mixing in elements of other forces, such as fighter aircraft alongside second-hand mobile suits outfitted with salvaged Aile or Jet Striker packs or old BuCUEs fielded alongside conventional tanks, or even old Strike Daggers purchased from the Eurasians to be mingled with infantry forces. While still untested, in theory this mixing of mobile suits with conventional military forces would allow for the Union to hold off dedicated mobile suit forces while allowing their conventional forces to deal with the invading support elements.

And there was another reason for this as well.

In the mid CE 50s, after the attack on Mendel had left the majority of the colony's residents either dead or missing, a number of refugees had influxed into the neutral Union, bringing with them tales of Blue Cosmos mercenaries and thugs attacking everyone and anyone in sight, murdering or unleashing a deadly manmade plague to those who hadn't had the misfortune of being killed on sight. The refugees also brought with them something important, something that had the potential to alter the very plight of Coordinators who were starting to suffer from the Sterility Problem as it was being called.

The Prime Minister of the Union had asked for an audience with the leader of these refugees, who arrived on the same day to inform her of the matter at hand. The woman was floored when she learned that the refugees were employees of the former genetic research think tank, Genetitech Labs, who had been forced to flee once Blue Cosmos got wind of the research they were doing. In a desperate attempt to purge the colony of all research related to Coordinators and their health, the terrorist group hired mercs to attack the facility, only for the company's security forces, who were all ex-special forces soldiers, to put up a much tougher fight than they had anticipated, killing all of the mercenaries before succumbing to their wounds.

That alone had let the company's employees and higher ups alike to flee via maintenance tunnels underneath the building, managing to get past the terrorists roaming the colony and out to the ships where they hijacked one of the armored ships the terrorists had used to get to the colony. Once aboard, they fled, heading straight back to Earth.

Hearing this was enough to get the Prime Minister to help the refugees establish themselves as well as set up a new identity for their company, allowing them to take refuge in their borders, as long as they worked on their genetic research as a secondary project instead of their primary. The deal was struck, and the company Equatorial Health Care was forged.

Now, close to twenty years after that day, the Prime Minister stood in her office, her eyes locked onto the vibrant skyline of Singapore, her home city and the capital of the Equatorial Union. It was not just a major hub of economic activity; it was also their governmental center, which was a good thing as it meant its location and purpose kept it under heavy protection by the Equatorial Army and Navy.

Prime Minister Jingyi Liu was not someone to be underestimated. A woman born into a political family, she was always enamored with the idea of being a soldier, so when she came of age, she enlisted in the military, promising her parents that when she got out, she would take up the family tradition of governmental service. Her parents agreed to her promise and she shipped out to boot camp, where she established herself as a proficient soldier in not just command, but also when it came to firearms. She earned a reputation for being a firm, but stern commander who was not afraid to lead from the front if necessary, and she earned the respect of her soldiers for that.

But if there was one flaw that set her apart, it was the fact that she was, despite being an honorable and dedicated soldier, she was prideful. She took great pride in her abilities and reputation, enough to where it almost cost her her career. It was only due to the intervention of her superior's immediate superior that she was spared from demotion and dishonorable discharge from the Army. She took this lesson quite hard, seeing her pride as having nearly cost her a chance at her own political career. She reined in her arrogance and took the meanings of this incident to heart.

When she left the military in CE 50, she went into politics, earning a position amongst the Defense Ministry and making some needed reforms. But her real chance came when she threw her hat into the ring for Prime Minister, seeing it as a chance to bolster the Union's unity and also to set an example for others to look and aspire to. She won by a thin margin, but her subsequent career shot up, allowing her to win the next election with a landslide. She had since run for election a few more times, becoming a key figure in political games in the region and maintaining the nation's stability.

Standing at five foot three, she was rather short, but she made up for it in her presence alone. She had graying black hair and deep brown eyes that reflected a keen intensity that most others found a bit unnerving. She had earned the nickname "the Iron Dragon" for a reason, after all. Her face had some thin lines around her eyes, but she had aged rather gracefully for someone who served in politics for a long time. She wore a black suit with pants and nice black shoes, a white shirt underneath and her glasses framed her eyes rather nicely. If one looked closely, they looked a lot like the eyes on a Gundam in their shape. It was a key psychological effect on her part; knowing the infamy of many Gundams from the First Bloody Valentine War, most notably Wing Zero, she had opted to have her next pair of glasses modeled on the optical sensors. And it did intimidate many of her political opponents, mostly in the Atlantic Federation or the Republic of East Asia.

But now...

Now things seemed to be changing, she noted.

Her eyes narrowed as she heard the door slide open behind her, yet she didn't turn to face the intruder. She knew who it was.

"Ah. Liu Bei," she remarked. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It has indeed," the voice of her Minister of Defense said.

Prime Minister Liu turned to face him at last.

At five foot ten, Liu Bei towered over her, his dark brown hair tied back in its customary spiky ponytail, sticking out every which way and earning him the nickname of "Porcupine" amongst the other ministers. His dark brown, almost obsidian, eyes glinted as he folded his arms across his chest. He wore not a black suit, but a white custom uniform with red accents lining the arms and legs, with only black dress shoes to show it was his formal wear for his job. His build was lean, but strong, a sign of having been a soldier before he was picked to head the Ministry of Defense.

As a Coordinator, he was no stranger to the insults and derogatory thoughts many had of his kind. But what he did not condone was the way that the Atlantic Federation treated them. Nor did he condone the brutal experimentation on children to create a supersoldier. To him, a true supersoldier was not made, but born in the fires of war. He considered himself one such individual, having fought all through the Battle of Nova before an injury sidelined him, only to take to the field again during the fighting in the Southeast Asian seas during the First Bloody Valentine War. He earned a reputation as being incredibly hard to kill, making some wonder if he was really the reincarnation of a legendary figure from China's mythology.

But for all his skill and prowess as a soldier, his mind was incredibly keen when it came to politics as well, making him a key choice to serve as her Minister of Defense.

"So, what do you make of the recent situation?" the Prime Minister asked.

"Oh, if you're referring to the reports, well..." Liu Bei had to keep from smirking. "...then I'll be the first to admit that the Atlantic Federation is not really as solidly built as they claim."

Prime Minister Liu had to keep from smirking as well, but the way her hands clasped behind her back indicated she was tense. "It's not just that," she noted. "It's what this means for us."

Here, her Defense Minister paused. "Oh... right." His eyes hardened as he glanced out the window at the city before them. He walked up beside her, a frown on his face. "The fact that the Atlantic Federation is starting to collapse from within... It could alter the very balance of this war."

"Not just that," Prime Minister Liu mused. "The fact that there is an actual resistance force gaining strength... How do we know they are genuine?" Her eyes narrowed into bronze shards. "And how can we be sure this is not a ruse to get our resources and kill our Coordinator populace?"

"Well, we just have to keep an eye on them," Liu Bei remarked. "That's something we've always done. And this time is no different." He paused for a moment before he then shook his head. "I guess I should be clear, ma'am." He looked up, his eyes reflecting the lights of Singapore. "The resistance we should definitely keep an eye on. But as for the Atlantic Federation... we have to be extra wary of them if they try to bring us into the fold, so to speak."

"As if they could," the Prime Minister remarked dryly. "We're not about to let that happen."

"Yes, but the main issue here is that if we even make a move to defend ourselves, we could be roped into the conflict," Liu Bei said seriously. "The Republic of East Asia in particular has been making moves to invade if we even dare to deviate from our alliance with them. The Oceania Union is offering us support, but we know that the PLANTs have an alliance with them, so we'd be shackling ourselves to the ZAFT war effort. And we can't afford it. Eurasia has left us alone to our own devices, but who knows how long that will last? And the two African countries have been making aggressive gestures as of late as well, so we can't be sure if we can hold the line down there."

"And the Atlantic Federation has promised to take us by force, regardless of what we do to appease them," Prime Minister Liu muttered darkly.

The two stood in silence for a while before the Defense Minister looked up. "What do you think of this, though?" he asked. "What does it mean?"

"Honestly, until we know more about this resistance, I'm just guessing," the Prime Minister said softly. "But... from the reports we've gotten from our embassies in the Kingdom of Scandinavia and Eurasia, it seems like the resistance is actually a lot stronger than we initially thought." Her eyes narrowed a bit. "The fact they were able to launch an assault in coordination with Terminal indicates that their numbers are not to be underestimated. That shows they're not a minor thing like so many other resistance movements were."

She shifted her weight a bit before continuing. "It also shows that the Atlantic Federation leadership is not all there." She sighed heavily. "And for what it's worth, I should've seen the signs long ago. But... I'm only human."

"We all are," Liu Bei reminded her. "And that's an important thing to recall. For those who forget that are bound to make merciless choices and ignore what is in front of them."

"Much like Nazi Germany did before the Allies ground them into dust," she recalled.

"Yes." Liu Bei nodded grimly.

"As for what this resistance wants..." She paused briefly before sighing once more. "...until we can make contact or until they contact us, we're left in the dark. So we have to assume the worst, but hope for the best."

"As in we hope they don't want to end Coordinators and rid the world of us, and prepare for that very scenario." Liu Bei understood her thoughts clearly on this matter. "I know your thoughts on the matter, ma'am."

For what it was worth, Jingyi was glad he did.

"Yes... But whatever they truly want, we have to see," she said softly. "And hope we can be prepared for whatever comes our way..."

. . .

Buenos Aires, Argentina

United States of South America

December 12th, CE 0073

The front had surprisingly stabilized, which meant a lot for the people of the USSA, particularly their leadership in Buenos Aires.

The fighting in the former state of Mexico, more specifically along their southern border, had ended and now there had been a series of fighting withdrawals back into the jungle cities of the former Aztec and Mayan empires long abandoned and left in ruins. Other, more modern cities had suffered from the ravages of war, leaving them in little better shape than their ancient counterparts.

But it was those very cities that had become the new front lines for the newly formed United South American Army, a recently developed entity that was under the command of the President of the USSA. A hastily thrown together chain of command that mimicked the chain of command from the old United States was still in the process of being streamlined, but it was going much smoother than expected, especially given the friction between the leaders of the former Atlantian units and their own ragtag forces. But thanks to the fact that many of the soldiers and ragtag fighters saw the Atlantians as a common enemy, the integration was progressing smoothly and tensions were being eased over by discussion and commonalities being found between both parties.

It was a good thing, as it also fielded the powerful machines the Atlantian units had been equipped with. While not as strong as those of Terminal, the Eurasians, Orb, or any other nation that fielded mobile suits, they were still strong in the right ways when used correctly. And in a much bigger surprise, a lot of the Atlantians were not just throwing themselves at the hastily erected defenses the USSA's fighters had set up earlier in the war. They had, according to some of them, suddenly seemed to come to their senses with the deaths of a number of their commanding officers and many were left scrambling to get an idea of what was happening. Their sense of cohesion, which had bordered on a hive-mind mentality, had been broken, allowing free thinking to come to the fore for the first time in weeks, or in the cases of a number of them, years.

This led to some of the fighters of the USSA suspecting of a sinister nature at work, but it was quickly dismissed as they started to sort out their priorities and get things under control.

With their defections having been secured, the USSA was now becoming something of a military oddity in their mix of professional soldiers and guerrilla fighters forming a hybrid army of sorts, but allowing for much flexibility in combat should the need arise. With guerrillas fighting in the shadows to undermine enemy morale behind the front lines and professional soldiers at the front to whittle down their conventional forces, it was a hybrid technique that the USSA would become known for in the future, securing their independence and ending their weakness at the hands of their former masters.

It was fitting, really.

After all, given that the resistance in the Atlantian Reich had made their first move, the USSA was going to support them in any way they could.

The leadership by now was gathered in Buenos Aires's main governmental seat, meeting to discuss these latest events and the Premier was the one to head this meeting.

Premiere Jaime Rocha sat at the head of the table, his eyes narrowed as he studied the reports, some of which had come from active members of the resistance that had been embedded within some of the Atlantian units that defected. Off to his sides sat the other members of the government, watching the news feed of the attack on Devonport, staring in shock at the thick black smoke curling skyward.

"...unsure as to what caused the explosion, but so far the investigation has been hampered by the sheer amount of debris and bodies..." the news caster was saying.

"I still can't believe it..." Minister of Defense Esmeralda Diana whispered, her eyes wide.

"I know," the Premiere said softly. "This is just their first move."

Premiere Rocha was in his late forties, with a shock of pure black hair and blazing green eyes that set him apart from the rest of his countrymen. He looked like he had been a football player in his youth before he went into politics, taking up the family career after an injury left him sidelined from the sport. His body was still lean, a mark of regular runs throughout the city's streets to keep in shape, despite a limp in his left leg. But it was his canny skill for both reading the situation in politics and on the game field that earned him a reputation as being able to anticipate what the enemy would do next.

That was why he had run against his opponent, who would have no doubt forced the country to roll over and accept the dominion of genocidal racists. He was not about that. His grandfather had served in the Reconstruction War, which led to a large loss of life and the eventual formation of the USSA saw the man go into politics to keep the newly formed country together. It had been trying, but he managed and when he retired after his term was over, he died peacefully in his sleep, knowing his mission had been completed. That was what inspired Rocha to go into politics in the first place after his career ending injury.

He glanced to his Minister of Defense. "So, personally, Esmeralda, what do you make of this?"

The woman blinked in surprise before she regained herself and cleared her throat. "Well, for one thing, sir, this shows that all Atlantians are not against Coordinators. In fact, it shows that a good majority are against this war in the first place."

She tapped the television with one finger. "The attack on Devonport really shattered the world's perceptions of how they act and think. It in fact showed that Djibril's house is not in order after all. And many could take advantage of that fact, primarily ZAFT if they so chose to."

The Defense Minister leaned back, her eyes narrowing. "But with the war being waged right now... it's only safe to say that they may bide their time before something like that happens. So, despite my not liking it, we may have to send support to the Atlantian Reich... to assist their enemies."

"By that you mean the resistance," the Foreign Minister noted. "Is that right?"

Esmeralda nodded. "That's correct, Xandinho," she said.

Foreign Minister Xandinho Abreu closed his eyes for a moment before opening them. "And that also means we'll have to be prepared if ZAFT starts to make a move, yes?"

Premiere Rocha was silent as he eyed the group critically before looking at his Foreign Minister. "That would have to be the right idea," he said. "After all, with the way the war is going, and with the resistance making their moves now, it's only safe to say that this means the war could turn in any direction. So we need to make sure it goes in the right one."

"But you know that war can change all the time," Esmeralda pointed out. "We can't exactly control its outcome, you know."

"Yes. But we can influence is the direction that it goes by ensuring that our allies up north have a chance with a bit of extra support," Premiere Rocha explained. "Especially as we do have something of theirs."

"You mean once had," Xandinho noted, his eyes narrowing.

But the Premiere smiled thinly. "No. Do have," he said.

"Explain!" another member of the gathered group snapped.

"Gladly." Premiere Rocha stood up. "The Panama Canal, once under our control, is now once again under our grasp. Except this time it was done via our new military units, both irregular and regular. And unlike before... we intend to hold it." He stepped over to the nearby map hanging from the wall closest to him. "The Atlantian units that defected were more than willing to help us reclaim it, and their skills with their machines allowed us to take it without causing much damage to it. It also helped they turned their former country's strategies against their former brothers."

"I still don't see why they had to expel all women from the armed forces," Esmeralda growled. "We're just as capable as men."

"Blame it on shortsightedness and bigotry," Premiere Rocha scowled. "They have no idea of what they are doing. They only see men as the perfect aggressors, not realizing that, if push comes to shove, anyone, man or woman, can be an aggressor." His eyes then hardened. "If the leader of the resistance is any indication."

"Speaking of, what is her next move?" Esmeralda asked.

"Yeah. She should have a plan, right?" someone else asked.

"From what we know, she does have something in the works, but due to operational security measures, our allies can say very little about it," the Premiere stated, his eyes narrowing a bit. "And apparently it's going to really be a shocker to many people, both brainwashed and unaligned."

"That's... kind of..." Xandinho's voice trailed off as he glanced down.

"Yes, it is a bit vague, but if it works, which she is certain it will, then LOGOs will have no means to run," the Premiere said seriously.

"But what else can she do?" another member asked.

"Her options are varied and perhaps limitless, given the vastness of her network and the industries she has agents and moles in," Premiere Rocha remarked. "So, for now, all we can do is wait and see what her next move is... and get supplies across the border to the south."

"I take it you have the first shipment selected?" someone asked.

The Premiere nodded. "Yes. And it's being sent out tonight, under the protection of Jane Houston and Edward Harrelson."

"Those two?!" Esmeralda blurted.

He nodded. "Yes. If anyone can complete this, it's them."

And for what it was worth, he knew it was true, too.

He glanced to his assembled cabinet and ministers. "So, if we have nothing else to say, shall we begin with our next move?" he asked.