Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. I hope you guys are ready for what's coming here. ;) Here comes the home front now. ;3

- operation meteor: Glad ya liked it! :) I took lessons from the Vietnam War and the fact methane is explosive at five to fifteen percent concentrations for that. :) And decaying matter does release methane, so... why not combine the two? XD And the weapons did prove to be effective. ;)

- 1800009trumbullps . net: Glad ya liked. :) As for my other fics, I'll be working on them as well. :)

- CT7567Rules: Glad ya like it. :) I aim to please my readers~! ;3

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

START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO

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

Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The group is standing before the Redemption in the background, a shadowing mobile suit above them and below the ship)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (The mobile suits fly overhead, panning down to show Sicario's Pacific Fleet, each heading towards Orb, the shadow of Djibril over it, his hands cupping around the island)

Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The image is suddenly shattered as a huge gun shell slams into it before the camera pans to the left to show two ships in shadow, both bearing the flag of the United States Navy)

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 clashing with a shadowy mobile suit)

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

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

GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING

Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall

- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane

CHAPTER XXXIX: Home Front Uprising

DECEMBER 19th, 0073 CE

The entire country was close to breaking point.

Across the lands of the Atlantian Reich, the riots were almost to the point of full-on rebellion.

In Canada, the rebels were proving to be even harder to pick out due to the forests and tundra. No one even thought about looking in the tundra for their bases. Or more specifically, underground for them. Due to the fact that the forests were so dense, and due to the number of trees, it was perfect for a large number of bases to be built, and concealed by camouflage. And when linked via an underground network of tunnels to the tundra bases, it was a veritable network that would soon expand into a full-on urbanized environment aboveground.

These bases were considered the cream of the crop when it came to camouflage, as by building only as high as the trees, they were able to evade detection. It also helped that some of the structures had literal trees planted atop their roofs for added coverage. It was at one of these bases that investigations into Project Iron Legion were underway, and at that base, a critical turn in the war was going to take place.

At Ottawa-1, the central command for the Canadian resistance, General Issac Louise stood before his central tactical display, his eyes narrowed as he observed the scenes over in Scotland.

A former Atlantic Federation officer, he had served in the space forces all throughout the course of the years before the war up to the sudden attack on the United Nations, and after his appeal to conduct an investigation into the bombing had fallen through, he left the armed services and started to delve into his investigation all on his own. It helped his father had been a private detective and worked for the Toronto Police Department, so he knew a lot of the tricks of the trade. It was during this time that his efforts had been stymied by the Atlantian High Command and the political establishment as well, which was very unusual. It was only after his daughter was raped and the man responsible had been let out of custody not even two days later that he decided to cut off the investigation and go underground with his family.

It was there that he had met one of the resistance fighters and was informed of just what was going on. Startled, horrified and angered, he pledged himself to their cause, offering insights and knowledge that was immediately put to use. That was what earned him the nickname of "The Red Canadian Moose" in addition to his stubbornness and his immense bulk. It was close to impossible to move the man when it came to physical confrontations or when it came to his decisions as a whole. While he may have been by the book, he did appreciate out-of-the-box thinking, which was something he often encouraged in his troops and forces. But if there was one flaw in his personality, it was that he was incredibly rigid when it came to planning. If it was his idea, then there could be no changes.

General Louise was a huge man, standing at an imposing seven feet, just six inches taller than the overall resistance commander, but even with his height and bulk, he knew better than to tangle with her, as she was one of the few women in the whole resistance who had bested him in a hand-to-hand combat match. His hair was a deep red color, and his eyes were as cold as the arctic ice itself, with a thick red beard that covered his lower jaw and chin for added warmth when he went out into the cold of the Canadian wilderness. Right now, he had his uniform exposed; his winter jacket hung around his shoulders like a makeshift cape. His arms were folded across his chest as he observed the current situation over in Scotland.

"Sir, we're getting live feedback from the base at Loch Dulosh," a woman manning the communications relay station said, looking back over her shoulder.

"On screen," the general ordered.

The woman nodded and turned in her chair to face her monitor. Her fingers flew over the keyboard and she pressed the enter key.

The screen showing the base as a dot on the map vanished to show the developing situation on the ground.

Built on an island located at the confluence of three lochs in Scotland, the old castle of Eilean Donan was perfect as a rebel base, as it was located just across from a large cliff face covered in trees and rocks atop its surface. The whole place was downright scenic as of this moment, with fresh snow landing on the trees and cliffs, with ice slowly creeping across the lochs and adding to a surreal scene of winter splendor in the midst of war. The castle itself resembled something out of an old fairy tale, but it was far from fantasy.

The building was indeed real, as were the personnel within.

The image displayed the entire castle, and from the looks of things, there was someone standing atop the roof of the keep, if the camera was any indication. The person slowly inched across the icy roof, using a makeshift railing of rope and wire to keep their footing. They made their way to the edge of the roof and grasped the chimney to their left before gazing across the lochs to the large cliffside.

"Here we are," the person, clearly a woman by the voice, remarked over the base's speakers. "I'm atop the castle now. It's not really ideal conditions, but we're making do with what we got."

"You getting video of the area across the lochs?" another voice, male with a heavy Scottish accent, said.

"Yeah. I'm getting it, Scotty," the woman remarked. "Zooming in now."

The camera then zoomed in, and the general could now see that her camera was clearly a military-grade one. The lens had some of the best zoom capabilities he had seen, and part of him wondered if it was because the lens was from that of a sniper rifle.

He frowned as he observed the camera's slow panning, trying to make out anything in the distance that could indicate a hidden base in the lochs' cliffside. There seemed to be nothing at first glance, and some of his staff began to turn their attention away from the footage as it played, focusing on other tasks at hand. However, General Louise knew the value of patience, and so remained standing, studying the scenery intently.

His patience was eventually rewarded as he spotted it.

It was very faint, but it was there.

The camera paused for a brief moment, and he barked out an order. "Pause it!"

The communications officer nodded and pressed a few buttons on her keyboard. It flashed once and the scene paused, leaving it frozen right at the location he had seen the faint glimmer of glass. "See if you can enhance this image," the general ordered.

She nodded again and turned back to her station, fingers flying as she enhanced the image, turning up the sharpness and reducing the brightness while making sure the area where the glass was seen briefly was marked by a red square. As she worked, General Louise could see the image sharpening and becoming clearer. His eyes narrowed in response. 'So... looks like I was right after all,' he mused to himself. 'There is something there. But what?'

It took a few more minutes, but when the enhancements were done, the Canadian resistance commander found himself staring at a well-concealed base, with trees barely covering the glass windows that lay hidden underneath the grass and shrubs. He frowned. "So... that's their base in Scotland, eh?" he noted.

"Yes, sir," the woman said as she pivoted in her chair to face him. "The commander of Eilean Donan reported it to us a few days ago, but there was no way we could find it until now."

"Hm... Did he say what they were doing there?" the general asked.

"No, sir," the woman said with a shake of her head. "They couldn't get a scout close enough at the time because of how many mobile suits were patrolling the area. A small boat would've been spotted. But now with the unrest brewing, he wants to make another attempt at it."

"Using the chaos to take advantage of the fact that there would be few mobile suits guarding it," General Louise mused as he unfolded his arms. He stepped closer to the table and looked down at it, placing his hands on the edges. "A very shrewd move."

"And all the more reason to try and find out what is going on there," another soldier remarked as he looked up from his lunch. "I seem to recall that a special team was sent out just after the attack on Berlin for some reason. And then things just went dark over there, according to a friend who works in London."

That alone was enough to make the huge Natural frown to himself. Something was going on over there, and he wanted to find out what it was. He turned to the communications officer. "Sarah, send out a transmission to Eilean Donan. Tell the commander he has permission to launch his scouting op. And to also send any data he finds on what they're doing in that base directly to me."

"Yes, sir!" the woman said, giving a crisp salute as she did so. She then spun around in her chair to face her communications station. She donned her headset and her eyes narrowed as she started to type with one hand, the other clasping her headset tightly.

"Ottawa-1 to Eilean Donan. Do you copy?"

Static filled the command center as the signal was routed through the speakers mounted across the room. General Louise was silent as he narrowed his eyes.

"Ottawa-1 to Eilean Donan. Do you copy?"

The second attempt was greeted with static again, and already concern was beginning to filter into the general's mind. Had the castle been discovered to be a rebel stronghold? This was the worst case scenario he could think of, but at the same time, the more rational aspect of him reminded him that there was still a chance they had evaded detection. It was possible there was something wrong with the communications equipment or something of that nature. After all, the N-Jammers were really messing up communications at times.

Then, he heard it.

Faint, but the static was starting to give way as words began to filter through it. They were garbled at first, but as seconds passed, they were able to finally hear the words they were hoping to hear.

"Ottawa-1, this is Eilean Donan. We copy, over."

The screen fizzled with static for a moment before in the lower right hand corner of the screen, the image of the base commander in Scotland appeared. His thick brown hair was partially covered with his hat, and his steely gray eyes reflected the intelligence and experience of a former commander who had to retire due to a lack of what the Atlantians were starting to refer to as "spiritual stock" needed for war.

The commander, James Donovan, looked the general dead in the eye. "We weren't sure if you were getting our signal," the man said.

"Frankly, I was concerned the Atlantians found out you were based there," General Louise remarked.

"Rest assured, it would be a hell of a task to even get into the castle," Commander Donovan said with a grim smile. Then it faded as he folded his arms. "I assume you got the feed?"

"Yes, we did," the general said. "And it looks like the Atlantians do have a base across from you guys."

"That's correct," the former commander said seriously. "And I was going to ask your permission to carry out a new scouting op, given how our last one went down the shitter."

"And you do have my permission," the general agreed. "Just make sure you have a method of getting in this time."

The commander of Eilean Donan nodded grimly. "I will. We have been mapping the guards' patrol routes, so we have an idea of when they change shifts and how long it usually takes."

"Good." General Louise nodded in acknowledgement. "How long until you can carry it out?"

"We can begin as soon as we have finished mapping the patrols," James said with a serious look in his eyes. "It should take no more than one more day at the latest."

. . .

Former Atlantic Federation Commander James Donovan stared at his superior directly. "Trust me, we'll get that intel on what's going on in there," he said.

"You'd better," the general remarked. "Because everything hinges on us learning more about the secret projects the Atlantian Reich has been up to, especially Project: Iron Legion."

James nodded. "Right."

General Louise saluted and James returned it before the screen fizzled and went dark.

With that, he turned to face one of his top scouting commanders. "Harry, I need an intel on the status of any guard patrol routes."

Harry Arnold ran a hand through his thick gray hair and looked directly at his superior. "We're already gathering that data, sir."

. . .

"Good. Because if what I think is going on in there is happening..."

Across the lochs, huddled within the base of the Atlantian Reich's military, a single figure sat off to the side of a large computer screen. The man was in a wheelchair, having been rescued several weeks back after the debacle that was the Battle of Berlin. While he was no longer able to fight on the front lines, it was his unique experiences in piloting the prototype Wyvern that led to his rescue and rehabilitation as best could be done given his limited mobility now. His face possessed a minor burn on the right cheek and his arms were limited in mobility due to the casts on them. He could still use his fingers, at least.

But it didn't help much that his burns and broken bones were not being treated with anesthetic for the pain. He had no such means to keep it from flaring up, and he hated it. His masters had finally trapped him, and he was at their mercy. For as long as he lived now, he was their guilded pheasant, at least until his usefulness had run out.

Mihaly Reyne was no longer a soldier. He himself had become a hostage.

And he was now forced to work alongside his team to complete the dreaded thing he had warned Heero Yuy about.

Project: Iron Legion.

His remaining eye narrowed as he looked over at the machine's core, frowning to himself.

'Why...?' he thought. 'Why is this being done...? Atlantian soldiers... Always trying to think with their... equipment... rather than their brains.'

In some way, he could understand their motives, but at the same time, it was not what he had been hoping to do. While he was alive, he was now disabled and unable to move on his own.

A throb of pain raced through one of his arms and he winced. He heard one of the guards come over to his computer and frown. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Stalling on us, old man?"

"No. Just trying to think of what else I should do," he said, lying straight through his teeth. "Although some morphine might help me focus a bit better. This throbbing is getting to my thoughts on this matter."

The guard scoffed and walked over to where a medical cabinet was located. He pulled out a pair of syringes of morphine and locked it tight before he walked back over to him. Mihaly's arms were exposed underneath his T-shirt and the guard, somewhat roughly, jabbed the first syringe into his arm and the old ace didn't even flinch. The man then did the same with the other arm before pulling them out and tossing them aside carelessly. "There. Now you can get back to work."

As he left, the intense throbbing that had been building began to die down to a dull ache, leaving him with immense relief. He sighed audibly, and Professor Marius Morozov made his way over, worry on his face. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, picking up the syringes. "If only I had been a bit firmer in my persuasion of your treatment..."

"No matter," Mihaly grunted. "I'll make do for now."

Chloe Dubois was concerned as well. "Is there anything we can do to make you a bit more comfortable?" she asked.

"Perhaps," the former pilot admitted. "I would like to at least get some proper medical treatment before we continue."

"If we can show some good progress, I'll make your case," the professor said. "But for that, we need you to focus until this wears off."

"But their expectations are too high," Chloe protested in a whisper. "We can't have this thing ready by their deadline!"

"Maybe not," Mihaly admitted, but his eye, once clouded with pain, was now focused and alight with an energy that the two recognized. He was planning something. "But... maybe we can make some progress by putting the data into the program and then tweaking it instead of merely typing in the code by hand."

"That's what I was trying to argue as well," Chloe said. "But they wanted it typed in by hand in a short time frame."

"Marius, can you copy as much of it as you can by hand into the program itself?" Mihaly asked, his eye hardening. "And Chloe, copy and paste as much as you can into the program as well. This way we can still make it seem like the typing is going accordingly. I'll work on the flight controls myself."

The two stared for a moment, and then Marius grinned. "I'll get to work right away."

It was not a perfect plan, but it would suffice to at least secure him better medical treatment so this way he could then get some much needed respite from the pain, and then they could complete the program in a good amount of time, because right now they were way behind schedule. The mere thought of what would happen if they failed loomed overhead for all of them, but not as much as the dread and guilt that was starting to gnaw at him. If they did complete this, then they would be responsible for having unleashed a monster into the world. An AI that was only a killing machine.

One that would, if current rumors held true, would turn on them if it ever became sentient.

And he couldn't even bear to think about that particular scenario.

Right now, all he wanted to do was get enough of this done so he could get some proper medical treatment.

He sighed as he looked at the computer before him. All he could do now was hope... and pray.

. . .

Outside the base on the main road, a pair of mountain bikes came to a stop. One of them was driven by the scout assigned to the infiltration mission and the other was one of the guards who worked at the base. The man in question looked to his companion, who slid off his own bike and looked with narrowed eyes at the entrance. Already two of the guards had begun to exchange for their shift with another pair. Of course, it was not going to happen according to their plan though.

The two men dismounted their bikes and slid the vehicles into the brush before following suit and beginning to approach the base by foot.

The first man was the son of a former British air force officer and her husband, having joined the resistance after his sister was found to be a Coordinator and executed by the newly formed secret police two years ago. It was his decision to go underground and provide a lot of key intelligence to the rebels back in Denver that allowed his father and mother to be retrieved from their home and ushered into safety at Eilean Donan, where they worked alongside the other rebels in Scotland to keep their superiors informed of what was happening in the former country.

Harold Mackenzie lowered his hood to expose a boyish face with a bit of stubble on his chin and cheeks, and his eyes were a beautiful hazel color, a contrast to his pure black hair that stuck up every which way. His body was mostly lean, but he did have some muscle on him, mostly to show he was a runner. While he did tend to run quite frequently, it was his ability to vanish into the wilderness to lose pursuers that earned him a role as one of the resistance's premier scouts. It also helped he was a bit of a biking junkie, using his mountain bike to climb up over some of the toughest terrain in Scotland.

Off to his side stood his companion and fellow rebel, Christian Harrison. Christian did actually work for the Atlantians, but he was also a mole for the resistance, using his position as a security guard at the Scottish Atlantian base to provide intel on the patrol routes so as to sneak Harold inside. He glanced to the rebel and waved his hand, saying 'follow me' with one gesture. Harold nodded and both men broke into a run, emerging near the security guardhouse and coming to a halt under the window through which another guard was observing.

Christian held up two fingers before he pointed to the window. 'Two guards.'

Harold nodded before plastering himself to the side of the guardhouse. The rebel mole first inched along, prying open one side of the gate and slipping inside. He stood up and adjusted his uniform before pressing a button on a small jammer to send out a minor EMP to jam the security cameras inside the gate. He shot a discreet glance at them and then waved a hand in a childish manner.

The guard inside the guardhouse didn't respond.

He then turned back to face Harold and waved a hand.

The rebel nodded and, keeping low to the ground, inched inside through the gap in the gate before Christian closed it.

Now that both were inside, it was easy to avoid detection as lots of vehicles were parked around the exterior of the base. The entryway was visible in the side of the hill, its cover open to reveal the metal shutters that acted as the doors. The two men finally came to a stop outside the doors behind a truck.

"You know the plan, right, Harold?" Christian asked.

Harold nodded. "Yeah. Get in and find out what is going on inside."

"Right. But there is another matter too. That expedition that came back from France? Find out what they brought back and inform us at once," the mole stated.

"I can do that," Harold confirmed.

"Good. Now get in there, and be careful," Christian cautioned.

The scout saluted before standing up and running for the doors.

Christian stood up and exited his hiding place, taking up his patrol route and joining one of his comrades as they emerged from another exit of the base, completely missing the rebel scout as he slid inside undetected. The mole pressed the jammer button once more and the cameras came back online. He quickly pocketed the device and resumed his role as a superior species of man in public.

But that was not even the truth.

And he knew it as well as anyone else did.

. . .

DECEMBER 25th, CE 0073

Resistance Warehouse Headquarters

Denver, Colorado

"I see..." President Eisenhower's eyes were narrowed as Keith finished giving the report. "It's going to be harder from here on out, it sounds like."

"More than that, ma'am," Keith admitted. "Ghoul Squadron just sent us an ultimatum, ordering us to give up and die or face annihilation. But you know what will happen if we do. And we can't afford that."

"I'm not saying you have to follow through with it. But..." Her eyes hardened into shards of icy gemstone as she leveled her gaze at him critically. "...it is disturbing he wants you to pick one of two no-win scenarios."

"I know that," Keith told her. His own eyes narrowed on the monitor. "I think he just wants us to panic and not fight back so he can murder us all. But we're not going to let him get away with it."

"So you're going to fight anyway," Eisenhower mused, closing her eyes. "That's a good thing then." Her eyes opened again. "I pray for your success."

Keith nodded and the screen went dark, leaving her alone in her makeshift office.

While not a true office, it did suffice for her because she was always keeping tabs on things across the country. And now that the rebellion was starting to heat up, her five monitors showed different scenes of events happening on the ground.

The leftmost one was showing the fighting raging in New York City, right around the symbol of America's resilience, One World Trade Center. The building was already heavily damaged, with two sets of gaping holes across its structure, two near the bottom and two up higher. The building, however, refused to go down. Despite flames raging in some sectors of the tower, the concrete core and heavy reengineering was enough to keep it standing firm, tall, and proud. Already a number of resistance fighters had occupied the tower, using the holes as a means to shoot at any Windams that came their way with bazookas or rocket launchers. Down on the ground, trucks and armored vehicles were being used to blockade all streets, keeping the Atlantians from destroying a sacred symbol. Aerial attacks were therefore their best bet. And due to the location of the holes, the rebels were able to shoot Windams down in the streets leading to the new World Trade Center complex.

The second monitor to the left showed a different scene happening in LA. Already the entire city was shut down and the dockyards were in shambles from the fighting raging there. Downtown LA was left in downright ruins as the enemy tried to invade and attack its once thriving film industry, only to be beaten back by a contingent of resistance fighters equipped with mobile suits shipped from Mexico in containers to the port. Assembled in the aftermath of the invasion of Eurasia, the machines had been held in storage until the time was right. And now they were being put to good use, mostly being NEMOs and Lotos, but with a few GMs mixed in there. She could also see the docks were being held firmly by her forces, and she had to keep from smirking at that. There was no way the Atlantians were going to get to the docks as long as ships commandeered by the resistance held the shoreline.

The rightmost monitor depicted the situation up in Quebec, showing the exterior walls being manned by the residents of the overcrowded slums. A number of people were positioned just atop some of the buildings too, using sniper rifles to take down the guards as they roved the streets, poking into each and every structure they came across, trying to find the children or women to rape. She watched as one guard went down with a bullet lodged in his spine and one get hit to the groin, taking off his reproductive organs. Over two hundred people were coming in from a side street, each armed with bats, shovels, or whatever they could get their hands on. The guards were pounced upon, and Eisenhower watched the attack with an impassive gaze. She didn't blame the people for being pissed. And in truth, she was too, what with how few were given even higher education beyond the second grade.

The second monitor to the right showed the Scottish and English fronts, with two shown on one screen. The right side of the screen showed London going into lockdown as rebels took command of the great metropolis and seized control of the docks. People were swarming across them, planting British flags on each and every dock they came across. A British national waved his own flag as he clung to the top of Big Ben, having scaled the side of the old clock tower using his own hands and feet. The left side of the screen showed the Scottish capital of Edinburg, along with the old Edinburg castle. Now a stronghold for the resistance, the ancient edifice was not being surrendered as it showed Atlantian tanks firing at it from afar, only for mobile suits to stand guard close to it, taking the shots before returning fire with their beam rifles.

The central monitor displayed an entire map of the Atlantian Reich, with Mexico outlined in black-purple, Canada in a lighter shade, Britain, Ireland, and Scotland all displayed as varying shades of gray-purple, and the United States as a sinister midnight-purple color. Amongst this though, it showed splotches of light cyan blue, each starting to creep out from central locations. Within the central US though, there was a pulsing, golden-white light: the resistance headquarters. She leaned back in her seat and placed her hands in front of her mouth as she placed her arms on the armrests. 'So far so good...' she mused to herself. 'However, knowing Djibril, he'll try and order those forces who have remained behind to take out our major bases of operations. He doesn't want his precious Reich to fall to the likes of us race traitors and weaklings.' She had to scoff at that. 'As if I'm weak and emotional like he thinks. I'm far more ruthless than even his little grunts in the Ghost Squadrons, that's for sure.'

Her musings were interrupted as she heard the door slide open behind her.

"Madame President!" came the voice of one soldier she had wanted to see. "Pilot Mackenzie Samantha Allen reporting as ordered!"

The resistance commander-in-chief turned to face the woman in question.

Behind her, still dressed in her flight suit, saluting crisply, helmet held in her hand under her left arm, was the very pilot who had made ace by Destroy.

"I see you made it," she noted. "Good."

"Yes, ma'am," Allen said.

"At ease, soldier." The President stood up from her seat. Allen dropped the salute.

"Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I called you back here, am I right?" the President asked.

"Not really, but I am going to admit that part of me has been curious," the pilot said frankly, but maintaining the respect and discipline of a political leader. Eisenhower was quick to note that.

"The reason you were called back here was because of your efforts in helping to liberate Kiddie Kamp," Eisenhower stated as she clasped her arms behind her back.

"So? I just did what I had to do," Allen remarked. "But truthfully, I was not expecting the Destroy to be taken out because of the Gelatinous Immobilization Round to the shield emitter on its back, or that said round was actually explosive when exposed to high temperatures."

"None of us were expecting that property," Eisenhower admitted. "And actually, a lot of others have started to take the initiative and therefore, are now exploiting, said property. So you did us a favor by exposing it." Then her eyes narrowed. "But... the reason why you are here is because you performed a feat that only aces have attained. You destroyed one of those monstrosities, and held your own against an EX-C to boot. So, when combined with your already acclaimed record, I can safely say that you have earned a promotion."

Allen's eyes went wide as she heard the news. "A promotion?"

The resistance leader nodded. "Yes. To a full general. In addition, you will be given a new machine that has been custom-built for you. It took us a few days, but taking the data from your NEMO allowed us to refit an already existing Strike Dagger frame that we had captured. We even replaced the helm with a complete rebuild of the original Strike's."

"What's my new machine?" the newly promoted general asked.

Eisenhower turned back to her monitors and reached out to tap the keyboard. The central monitor went dark for a moment before it flashed and up came the main screen before the Amazonian woman brought up a classified document. She entered a code on the password box and within seconds the screen was filled with data and blueprints. She turned to the pilot and waved a hand.

Allen approached and peered over the other woman's arm. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the new machine displayed on the screen.

"The NAS-0777 Strike Liberty Gundam."

Eisenhower gave the general a grin.

That's when the realization of her new rank hit her. "Wait... what?! I'm being promoted to a full general!?" Allen practically blurted.

The President nodded as Allen stepped back from the computer. "Okay. I can understand giving me a new machine, but promoting me to a general right after a major battle?! I... I thought it would be up a couple of ranks, not this!"

"Well, too bad. You're promoted to a general, and that's an order," Eisenhower said, folding her arms as she gazed at the other woman.

"I'm sorry, but I am going to have to respectfully decline," Allen said, trying to use her political persuasion to get through to her superior. "I am not really cut out for such a high rank."

The President merely folded her arms as she continued to stare at the pilot. She arched an eyebrow, as if to say 'really?'.

Allen was silent for a moment, trying to figure a way out of this. She knew she had taken down a Destroy, but was that the only reason for her promotion?

Eisenhower was also silent, watching her carefully. Allen finally swallowed and faced the resistance leader.

"Was... my taking down the Destroy the only reason?" she asked slowly.

Eisenhower shook her head. "No. That was part of the reason, I will admit, but the main reason was that by taking it out of commission, you allowed Operation: Kindergarten to succeed beyond our expectations. Almost all of the kids held in that camp survived because of your effort. Plus, you held your own against an EX-C, and the best of them all, to boot. If you can do that, then you're qualified to be made a general in my eyes."

"But I had no idea that I would do that!" Allen protested. "I can't be a general if I don't know what the effects of an operation are going to be!"

"And therein lies your greatest strength," Eisenhower stated, raising a finger. "Your greatest strength is not just in politics. You have the ability to know, whether you know it or not, the biggest asset of any enemy and to take it down. You knew that the Destroy was a target and needed to be taken out of the game for Kindergarten to succeed. But in doing so, you also showed that we mean business, and that we have the means to strike their greatest weapons where it hurts the most."

She lowered her finger and unfolded her arms. "That very talent of yours, to see the political picture, even if you don't know it at first, is why I'm promoting you. I could use that, in all honesty, seeing as how I'm not that experienced in political matters in certain areas."

"But you're holding this entire movement together already," Allen pointed out. "So why say you are not talented?"

"I mean my skills lie elsewhere in this kind of matter," Eisenhower explained. "I'm more skilled in intelligence and planning, deception and misinformation, truth and revelations. I'm not as skilled as some others in the finer details of geopolitical maneuvering and games." She then sighed. "And in all honesty, a lot of my moves with geopolitics has all been gambles."

"And yet they've worked," Allen stated. "So why say otherwise?"

"Because they could've backfired at any time," Eisenhower admitted as she looked up. "And I'm not about to allow that to happen. You're a good soldier and pilot, but an even better politician. And I can definitely use that."

Allen wasn't sure on how to respond to this.

So she opted to remain silent and just nodded.

. . .

DECEMBER 19th, CE 0073

The snow blew around the old castle of Eilean Donan.

Or rather, around the central command for Scottish resistance.

The old castle had become something of an oddity in the final years of the AD era, and the beginnings of the Cosmic Era. Where it had once been an actual castle, it was turned into a tourist attraction after the Reconstruction War, only to flop miserably once the tourist trade died off and the place was sold back to its original owners. They then turned it into a bed-and-breakfast that offered recreations of the past. That was enough to draw in curious tourists rather than the old historical script that most castles went through. The original idea of an interactive bed-and-breakfast offered a lot more money as income, which went right back into the castle's upgrades and maintenance throughout the years.

Of course, this didn't mean that other forces were wanting to seize control of the place. Some of those forces belonged to Blue Cosmos or LOGOs and were looking to turn the castle into a fortification to protect their bases. However, the owners willingly sold the place to the Scottish resistance through the use of a shell company, offering to maintain it for free if they used it to regain their country from the likes of Djibril and his ilk. The deal was struck and the resistance stationed some of their best observers and scouts at the castle, using it to keep an eye on Atlantian activities across the lochs.

It was also a godsend in that their position also allowed for clear communications with their infiltrator.

His eyes hardened as he slipped the final touches of his stolen uniform on and placed the cap on his head. Holding his head up high, he schooled his features into a face of arrogance and pride, walking with a slight swagger to his hips. His hand clenched on the stick he carried with him, and in his pockets were his forged identity papers, a must if they were to get to the depths of this particular base.

After all, it wasn't often that a base related to Project: Iron Legion was established close to a rebel base. The only reason they had found out it was tied to the black project was due to an informant in the town spilling the beans during a drunken tirade. While the man had been drunk, the commander had issued a team to tap one of the lines to the base and it had quickly yielded the results they were looking for.

Private Harold Mackenzie of the 12th Scottish Infiltration Squad rolled his shoulders as he forced the debriefing back to the depths of his mind.

Deep here in enemy territory, it was essential to play up the role as much as possible without losing yourself. It helped he had taken several acting courses in college before going underground to protect his newborn niece who was a Coordinator. After all, they had always said practice made perfect. His practice was now going to be put to the test, and it was something he was dreading.

He made his way down the hall, his eyes scanning left and right discreetly. Already he could see a few people inching back from him; the uniform he had stolen to use for disguise was one of a brigadier general. It was also a good disguise as it meant he could get into the higher-security parts of the base. At least until he was found out.

The rebel infiltrator walked amongst the Atlantian soldiers with ease, his head held high and shoulders back. A few soldiers saluted him, and he returned it.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted a guard walking past, carrying some papers. A quick glance caught his attention.

They were medical reports.

Medical reports pertaining to a man named Major Mihaly Reyne.

The name prickled at his memory, and he frowned momentarily before recognition drove home the name of the man in question.

He had been one of those at the Berlin attack. And he had been taken down by Heero Yuy according to Terminal's intel. But to find out he was still alive? And here in the base?

Already the implications were big.

If Mihaly was unwillingly involved in the creation of Project: Iron Legion, then it stood they would have to rescue him. Along with any other possible hostages. This was something that had to be called in. But first he had to confirm if Mihaly was indeed here or not. He turned and strode after the guard, his hand moving and clapping down on the man's shoulder. The guard startled and almost dropped the reports before he turned. "Oh! Sir!" he cried, saluting.

Harold merely scoffed. "At ease," he said. The soldier straightened up. "What are those reports for?" he asked, playing like he was ignorant.

"Oh, this? This is for our... consultant," he admitted, using the word to describe the hostage in a different term. Harold kept his face impassive, but he couldn't help feel a pang of sympathy for the former Eurasian ace. "He suffered some very significant injuries after an accident."

"I see." Harold nodded as if in affirmation. "I hope he is receiving the proper medical care?" He narrowed his eyes as he said this, and the guard actually paled. He glanced around furtively, and Harold began to get the feeling like these guys were not giving the old ace the care he needed. "If he is not, then I will... ensure... that the boss finds out, and trust me, that would be bad for you."

He let the threat hang in the air, as if he really could carry it out.

The man's face literally went as white as a sheet and he gulped. "N-n-no, sir!" he squeaked. "I...I-I'll make sure he gets the care he needs!"

The rebel nodded. "Good. And actually, can you inform me exactly what consulting work he does?"

"He is one of our top consultants for Project: Iron Legion," the man admitted, looking a bit scared now. "After all, he did pilot a machine that was critical for its development. But... that damned Yuy shot him down. Still, the rear admiral did want his data to be put into the next generation of AI."

A chill raced down Harold's spine at the implications.

Everything was pointing to the worst.

His eyes narrowed as he looked away briefly. Then he returned his gaze to the quaking man before him. "I would like to speak to him in person," he said.

"Ah..." The guard fidgeted with the papers briefly. "I... I cannot allow that, sir. The commandant is insistent that he complete his work..."

"Then it's a good thing I'm friends with him," Harold bluffed. The man blanched and just about wet himself. "So, I would prefer if you followed my orders, soldier."

The guard glanced around before he gulped. "He is in the lab two floors down, sir," he whispered. He hurriedly stripped off a small piece of one of the reports and grabbed a pen from his pocket, writing down something before handing it to Harold. The rebel spy took it and put it in his own pocket before walking off in the direction of the elevators. "Carry on, soldier."

. . .

The lab was quiet as he inched through the corridors, unbothered by the scientists who worked diligently in their cubicles.

There was not as much light as upstairs, which made it easier for him to blend in with the shadows. Some part of him wondered just what was going through the minds of the higher-ups here when it came to lighting. Did they really think that people could live like moles for the rest of their lives this way? He scoffed to himself in his thoughts as he gripped his M1911 Colt in one hand, a flashlight in the other.

While it was a smaller flashlight than those of the guards, it was much sturdier and heavier as a result of being built as a tactical flashlight. The very idea of using such a device as a weapon was an old one, but one that was taken to its logical conclusion by the resistance. The handheld versions were durable, capable of sustaining much damage and could inflict as much as they took upon repeated impacts with a person or other object. The light was also capable of being adjusted to either blind someone or just illuminate the area. Non-lethal as well as lethal in one. This was the newly developed Tac-Charge flashlight.

Harold's eyes flashed as he narrowed them.

Already he wasn't sure as to which room the old ace was being held in, but he was determined to get to him before it was too late.

The rebel was forced to duck behind a nearby wall as a guard's footsteps echoed further down the hall. The man's flashlight swept across the area, and Harold felt his breath hitch inside his chest at that. The man's heart was now pounding against his ribs as he gripped his pistol and Tac-Charge in one hand. He glanced at the light, and for a moment he wondered if he could incapacitate the guard. The footsteps were growing closer and he huddled closer to the wall, holstering his pistol and gripping the light like a club.

The guard's head was about to poke around the corner when Harold pounced.

A swift movement and a loud crack of tough material meeting a skull later, and the guard was lying on the ground, a knot the size of a coconut growing on the side of his head. Harold knelt and pulled the guard into the shadows before swiftly removing his uniform and the guard's. He dressed the guard in his stolen uniform and donned the guard's uniform before using the belt to tie his arms together behind his back. To make sure he didn't escape, the rebel stole the guard's knife and pistol, slipping both into his extra pockets and shutting off the large flashlight before removing the batteries.

Once that was finished, Harold emerged from his hiding place, having assumed the persona of the guard he had just knocked out cold.

This would allow him to get closer to the old pilot and any other hostages, he mused as he checked the note he had gotten from the first guard.

The small map was enough to guide him, and the number of the room was scribbled on the side.

He glanced up and his eyes widened as he saw the number.

275

And just outside, were two more guards.

'Ah... fuck...'

. . .

DECEMBER 25th, CE 0073

GREENWELL BUNKER

COLORADO

The helicopter touched down just outside the bunker, its rotors slowly coming to a halt as the door slid open.

Newly promoted General Mackenzie Allen leapt out of the aircraft and lifted her gaze to stare at the two lines of soldiers assembled. The men and women stationed at the base saluted her and she returned it before beginning to walk. As she did so, she could see two men coming up to flank her. She guessed they were additional security in case if something went down.

The door to the bunker's entrance was heavily concealed by the foliage and surrounding trees, and Allen was quick to assume that this was the main entryway, aside from the hangar bay doors which were covered in actual rocks and trees. The resistance was not taking any chances in finding their main mobile suit base.

One of the guards escorting her ran on ahead and tapped the door with his fist before it slid open and the general entered. The door closed behind her and she blinked, shaking her head to try and reduce the brightness of the lights around her. Once her eyes had adjusted, she could now see she was indeed in the main hallway. An engineer was approaching, she could see.

The man looked haggard and flustered, but his eyes were clear and focused; clearly he had been up since early in the morning trying to finish something or he was just exhausted. It was hard to tell sometimes.

"Ma'am, welcome to the Greenwell Bunker," the man said, holding out his hand.

Allen extended her own hand. "Nice to be here..." She paused, trying to recall his name.

"Charles. Charles Rustal," the engineer said, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm in charge of R&D for some of the newer mobile suit systems," he admitted.

"The man behind the NWCOMM?" Allen asked, her mind finally bringing recognition to her face as information about him leapt out at her from the depths of her memory.

"The one and only," Charles said, looking down. "And frankly, the data I've been receiving from it is truly fascinating."

"Sounds to me like it's not just that," Allen surmised.

"You'd be right," Charles remarked as he pulled his hand away from hers. "The whole reason I developed it to begin with was to prevent such atrocities from being carried out..."

"An anti-Extended measure then?" the general asked.

Charles only grimaced and nodded. "Yeah... It's because of those very Extended that I developed it. But... when I came to my senses, I could only see bad coming from the likes of LOGOs learning about it. So... well... you know what happened to me next."

Allen narrowed her green eyes as she studied the man before her.

She did know of his past from reading up on his files, and she could sympathize with him for his actions. But also, there was something else that was driving him. And she could tell. But as to what that was, she wouldn't pry, feeling it was impolite and insensitive.

"So, I understand you had a new machine made for me?" she asked.

The R&D chief perked up, but he still held that pained look in his eyes. However, he was at least not moping anymore. "Yes, I did," he said, gesturing for her to follow. "Follow me."

The two began to make their way through the bunker's maze of hallways, stepping around other soldiers, engineers, scientists, mechanics, and technicians as they did so. The R&D chief made sure to keep in front of her, and she made sure to keep him in her sights. The corridors of the bunker twisted and wove them through the mass of humanity until they reached the massive hangar bay.

The interior was filled with activity, men and women moving parts for mobile suits and other vehicles around, forklifts whirring as they transported heavy equipment and large cranes that worked in the cavernous ceiling maneuvered completed limbs to go over their assigned machines to be installed. Welder's torches emitted sparks as the mechanics worked to rig up the mobile suits in question with weapons and chatter could be heard over squawking radios as information was exchanged between overseers in charge of the outfitting of machines and those doing the outfitting.

Off to the left of the hangar bay, in one of the cradles for the mobile suits, stood a new unit.

Allen's eyes widened as she stared at it.

Standing at 17.7 meters in height, the machine was close to the same design as the original Strike Gundam. The machine in question, however, had different shoulder guards and the gray parts on the knees were a light cyan blue color. On its forearms were two small sensors to allow for greater targeting and on its back was a brilliant blue flight pack. Allen's keen eyes were quick to pick out the small rudders and additional winglets behind which rested the main wings, folded neatly in a downward position. A pair of beam cannons was attached to the flight pack, but she was already thinking of what it really was.

"That's a fighter craft, isn't it?" she asked.

Charles chuckled. "Close, but not quite," he admitted. "That is the Liberty Package. It's a flight pack that can detach in the event your machine is close to being destroyed. It's a last ditch method of escape, and aside from its beam cannons, it's largely unarmed. So you won't be going toe-to-toe with other enemy machines in that thing. It's strictly for escape."

Allen hummed as she studied the machine itself now.

The V-crest was a brilliant gold color, with two additional antennae extending upward from the center of the V-fin. Its optics were a startling green color, close to emerald, and it possessed a red and blue chest. Its shoulder guards were more streamlined and extended out a bit, providing additional protection to the joints. The majority of the shoulder guards was white, but there were red and gold accents on them, complementing the red on the chest and feet and the gold of its V-fin. The joints were entirely dark gray and the majority of its armor was pure white. A pair of beam sabers was mounted to the side skirt armor and in its left hand it held a beam pistol that could, from the looks of things, be added on to in order to form a more powerful weapon. On its right arm was a red shield with white and gold accents.

"This... is the NAS-0777 Strike Liberty Gundam," Dr. Rustal said.

Allen's eyes narrowed a bit as he continued speaking.

"A newly developed, state-of-the-art mobile suit that puts a heavy emphasis on mobility and pilot survival," he explained. "Unlike others that we've developed, we were able to use what combat data the Atlantians had regarding the Strike when it was in their possession for a limited time. And the one thing we did notice was that the pilot had no way to escape."

"So you developed the Liberty Package as a result," Allen mused.

Rustal gave a nod. "Yes."

The general hummed thoughtfully as she scanned the machine once more. "Anything else you can tell me about it?"

"The beam gun that it possesses can be used like a normal handgun, but there are parts that can be equipped to turn it into a beam rifle," Rustal told her. "And it has a Chobham shield, which is comprised of the same kind of armor that was used in the design of the original M1 Abrams main battle tank of the United States Armed Forces. It can take a serious pounding, but it will shatter if it takes too much damage from beams."

"A very effective machine then," Allen mused.

"Well, it's done well in simulations, but it has not been field-tested yet," Rustal admitted. "And it's been finally tuned to your fighting style as well."

"As long as I can use it, that's all that matters," the general said.

The engineer nodded. "Also, one last thing."

"Hm?" Allen arched an eyebrow.

"The unit was supposed to be fitted with a NWCOMM, but in light of recent events, we chose instead to outfit it with a weapon you'll be familiar with." Rustal gestured to a nearby crate, atop which lay a weapon she did know well.

A Clay Bazooka. But unlike the one for the NEMO, this one was customized to be used by a Gundam-type. It had a gray color to it, which made Allen's eyes widened as she realized it had Phase Shift Armor on it. When she looked to Rustal in a confused manner, the engineer chuckled.

"I see you spotted it has Phase Shift Armor," he chortled.

"Mind me asking why it has that?" Allen asked, narrowing her eyes.

Here, Charles ran a hand through his hair. "The reason it has Phase Shift Armor is simple: to ensure it does not get destroyed, especially given how it's been designed to fire higher-caliber explosive rounds than the original."

"So to ensure it takes the blast wave," Allen remarked.

Rustal nodded as he turned to face her directly. "Yes. Knowing you, you'll be in the thick of the fighting, so you'll need all the assets you can get. And that includes your original machine's weapons."

She pursed her lips at that. She did have to admit the chief engineer for the resistance's mobile suit research and development program did have a point. Her tendency to get into the thick of it was one thing that made her popular with the soldiers and the common people alike. It was not normal for anyone who was in politics to even consider going into the fighting, but then again, the Allen family line had always been either military or political, going back to even before the heyday of the United States of America, when the country was at their peak of power and capabilities.

It was only thanks to their political savviness that the Allen family had escaped being slandered and slammed with made-up scandals.

The woman nodded a few minutes later. "I see. Well, I'd like to get a feel for my new unit. Are the simulators open any chance this afternoon?"