Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. I hope you guys are ready for what's coming next here. ;) Now here comes the part a lot of you were expecting~! ;3

- operation meteor: Glad ya liked it. :) I wanted to showcase how the world saw this whole thing. :)

- Spiceracksergeant001: You have no idea how right you are. :) And let's just say that in this one, there's a lot more going on that will leave the nobles of the Atlantian Reich panicked more than ever now. ;3

- CT7567Rules: Heh. :) I'm happy you enjoyed this. :) And Rob has just made his debut in the Defender in this one. :)

- 1800009trumbullps . net: I'll do GrimmFall as well. :) Was planning on it, anyway. :) Happy you're enjoying this fic though. :)

(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 XXXIII: LOGOs, you're OUT!

December 17th, CE 0073

UNKNOWN LOCATION

NEW YORK CITY

The entire room was silent as the leadership of the true rulers of the Atlantian Reich watched the news reports playing out on their TV screens.

Djibril was fuming as he observed the fighting, and his eyes were narrowed into mere slits as he frowned.

"What the hell is going on here?!" he growled, clenching his fists on his chair's armrests.

Adam's eyes were locked onto the screen thoughtfully as he looked to his superior. "From what I can see, it appears that fear is no longer sufficient enough to keep the peasants in check," he mused. "The very idea that their children were held in a camp was enough to drive them to rage."

"Someone found out about it, then?" Bruno asked critically. "Because we worked extremely hard to make it hard to find."

"I can only assume it was this resistance we've been hearing about," Graham rumbled. "There's been a lot of rebellion over the last few weeks."

"Not to mention the sabotage to the shipyards," Celestine pointed out. "There's been an enormous setback on ship production because of it."

"Can't Anaheim provide the necessary components?!" Djibril snapped.

"It's not as simple as that," Celestine noted. "Anaheim's stocks have taken a hit, and they claim that due to the unrest, many people won't go into work out of fear for their own safety. And that means that a lot of the parts we need cannot be shipped directly to us, despite our best efforts to convince them."

"They must be holding them back for themselves!" Djibril insisted. "They were always weak!"

"Hardly," the heavy industry leader stated. "They're our only competitor left. And by buying from them, we stay in business. But... without their parts, we cannot repair the yards, which means we cannot ship our forces abroad or bring them home."

Djibril's eyes narrowed even more, only to widen as he saw what was going on here.

"You mean to tell me... that the resistance has agents in every single industry?!" he roared, realization dawning.

Celestine nodded. "I can only conclude that from what I've seen."

"HOW in the world did they do it?!" Djibril screamed, earning a few startled look from the maids and security staff gathered around them.

"I can only think of one answer," Lucs mused. "And it's not a good one."

"Tell me!" Djibril snapped.

Lucs' eyes narrowed and hardened. "The intelligence agencies have become strangely quiet over the last few months, and the Headhunters have dropped off the map. I can only conclude from that that the intelligence agencies are not thoroughly staffed with our people as we thought."

Djibril's eyes widened in shock and his mouth fell open, making him look like an idiot.

All that time and effort... all the money spent on them... every vetting process tweaked to put die-hards into power there... everything done to twist the ambitions of their purposes and directing all personnel to rooting out Coordinators and keeping the dissidents in check...

Where had he gone wrong? Where had Azrael gone wrong?

Their carefully calculated plans... their well thought out strategy...

What had happened?

The only saving grace was that the SEC was the only organization still on their side. Or was it?

"I want to know if the SEC is still on our side!" Djibril suddenly snapped. "We cannot have our bribes or buying off of senators and representatives be found out!"

"With the ending of the Congress, it is redundant," Lally pointed out. "The SEC is no longer of any use to us as we are now the ones making the calls, do you not remember?"

"Of course I do!" Djibril spat. "I just want to make sure that our activities are not found out!"

"Too late for that!" Alwin blurted. "Look!"

Djibril got to his feet and made his way over to the window, shoving the other nobleman aside, and his eyes widened as he just about dropped a brown brick in his pants.

He could see hundreds of people, a lot of them armed with weapons stolen from his soldiers and police and a number of them armed with old American firearms, swarming across the river, making their way to the ferry docks and other boat docks. His eyes roved over them, and much to his fear and terror and outrage, he could also see a number of mobile suits joining them.

And it wasn't just mobile suits for his forces.

There were a number of models he didn't recognize there as well. One had a build similar to that of the old Strike Dagger, but more robust, one was slimmer and carried only a basic armaments package, and some new model of tanks were moving along in the middle of the throngs. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. A slew of helicopters were flying above, and some of the Windams his forces were using were also in the group.

"The hell are these peasants doing?!" Djibril cried. "We're nobles! They are our slaves!"

He had no idea that the resistance had already started to make their move.

He stood up. "We have to stop them!"

"NO!" Bruno shouted, making him look back.

"Why not?!" Djibril snapped, whirling to face his advisor.

"Because if we did now, we'd be inviting a civil war," Bruno pointed out. "This is what our enemy would take full advantage of. And we cannot allow that to happen."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" the Lord of Earth growled.

"Simple." Bruno looked over at each of the men who ran Earth, and he closed his eyes. "We leave this place."

"Leave this place to those peasants?!" Djibril screeched. "We cannot do that! THIS IS MY DAMN HOME! THIS IS MY DAMN THRONE ROOM!"

He was the Lord of Earth, dammit, and he was not about to let some peasants ruin his plans for global conquest. He glanced out at the sight of the peasants armed to the teeth coming towards them.

Duncan's eyes were narrowed as he observed this. "It seems as though we have no choice," he said seriously. "If we do not flee, then we shall not be able to complete our objective."

Djibril's eyes darkened. "No. I refuse to leave!"

"But my lord, we have no choice!" Adam pleaded. "Look at them! And look at us! We have nothing left we can use against a mob of that size! If we don't flee now, then how can we fight to reclaim our country from those rebels?"

The Lord of Earth paused, looking down thoughtfully. He knew that Adam did have a point. And maybe, using their resources in other countries, they could have a chance to reclaim the Atlantic Federation from those race traitors and rebel scum once and for all. But in order to do that, they had to stay alive.

Oh, how little they understood of their enemies' next operational phase...

. . .

December 18th, CE 0073

JFK Airport

The early morning was dead silent.

Or as silent as it could be, given the circumstances.

The airport had been secured just this morning, with the elite Atlantian special forces guarding it and any approaches.

Alwin's own Praetorian Guard had been called in to protect the place, which was going to be their downfall, but it would allow for him and his fellows to escape.

Of course, there was no way that they even knew that there were rebels within the staff at JFK Airport.

And one of the rebels was already observing the incoming caravan of vehicles. He raised the binoculars to his eyes and narrowed them.

His hand went for the headset in his ear and he pressed it.

"Falcon One to Mother Nest. We have chicks inbound. I repeat, we have chicks inbound now."

"Excellent, Falcon One!" the voice of the President said. "Initiate Operation: Strikeout Phase 4!"

"Affirmative!" the man said. He toggled the switch to turn to his team's tactical frequency. "Falcon Team, we have permission to engage!" he ordered. "As soon as target moves into range, begin seizure at once!"

"Yes, sir!" came the reply.

As the vehicles moved into range of the airport, Adam Vermilyea scowled. He could not believe that he and his fellow nobles had been forced into this position. With the revelation of their secret cabal and their infiltration into every facet of society in their Atlantic Federation puppet exposed, it was not a wise choice to remain in their former country any longer. But with Lord Djibril, this was an obsession that drove him to the brink of madness. He didn't want to leave, seeing this place as his home and his Reich. And that was enough to piss him off.

He glanced to his wife, who was looking at him with concern in her lovely sage-green eyes. "My dear, what is going to happen to us now?" she asked.

"Maribelle, I hate to say it, but our lord, Lord Djibril, has approached the brink of madness. I can see it in his eyes," Adam told her somberly. "He does not wish to leave his domain until the scourge in orbit has been purged from our realms."

The woman's hands flew to her mouth in shock.

"I am loathe to admit it, but as of this moment, I do not doubt that he would throw us aside like a ragged dog," he said softly. His blue eyes burned with hatred at the thought of being abandoned after everything he had done to attain his power and prestige. His whole life had seen him surrounded by luxury and privilege that most others would give their lives for. He had been educated at the best schools, gone to the most prestigious universities, and even did a stint as a communications specialist in the military before being handed the reins to his family's communications conglomerate.

But to be tossed aside, after everything he had done to secure power for LOGOs?

That was the utmost insulting thing he could think of.

Especially as both he and Djibril shared the same passionate goals for humanity as a whole.

He glanced out the window at his private jet which was being guarded by security forces from one of the PMCs that LOGOs typically hired. The men in charge of this one were not qualified as mobile suit pilots, but their ground forces made up for it in their quality training.

His eyes narrowed as the vehicle pulled up beside the jet.

The car pulled up alongside the aircraft and came to a stop. One of the security guards came over and grabbed the door, opening it and allowing Adam and his wife to step out, followed by their two daughters and three sons. The seven of them started to make their way on board, just as civilians armed with rifles and shotguns, pistols and even rocket launchers, came swarming towards the perimeter of the airport. Already guns were blazing as Alwin's guards kept them back, but with how many there were, it was only a matter of time before the former SEALs were overcome by sheer numbers alone.

"C'mon! We have to move, sir!" one of the guards said, waving with his hands.

Adam nodded as he grasped his wife's tender hand and gently gazed to her. "Just relax, my dear," he told her soothingly. "We shall be soon away from these rabble and safe in our home abroad."

She gave him an uneasy smile as she walked up the boarding staircase, followed by their five children.

Adam glanced back as he scowled, wondering what was going to happen next.

He heard the guard at the top of the staircase calling down to him and he turned, making his way on board as the door closed shut and the staircase was pulled away by the security forces. He sat down in one of the seats as the pilot went through the preflight checklist.

"Papa?" Adam turned to look at one of his sons.

"Ah, Jacques..." Adam gently scooped up the five year old and held him in his lap. "What troubles you, my son?"

"What...What's going to happen to us?" he whimpered, tears pricking at his big green eyes.

"..." Adam was silent as he pondered his son's question.

He didn't want to upset the boy, but then again, he didn't like how things were going. He sighed heavily. "I... I do not know..." he said honestly. "I cannot answer that question, my son. I am sorry."

The boy sniffled as he buried his face in his father's chest, sobbing quietly.

And Adam could understand how he felt.

He felt like sobbing, too. But... unfortunately, such thoughts were seen as weak.

He had to try and remain strong for his kin.

He had to.

. . .

Down on the ground, the fighting was getting more intense. Alwin's guards were slowly being ground down to dust. Already five had been killed, and two more were close to dying due to heavy blood loss. One of the security personnel glanced up and gave a sneer as he turned and opened fire on his own comrades. Being a rebel in a PMC did have its perks, he mused.

As he fired on his fellow PMC soldiers and the guards of Alwin, he held up a hand and gave a good old American military salute to the leader of the rebel cell leading this group of civilians. The guard was then mowed down by his own companions, and he died with a sneer on his face. The PMC had no idea that this man was one of those who had been involved in switching the crew schedules to allow resistance pilots to commandeer Adam's plane for the next phase of their operation.

The plane was already in motion as the civilians tried to fire on it. But due to their lack of proper training, it meant that a number of their rounds went off course while the guns fired by the rebels actually missed on purpose, only adding to the illusion of ill-trained personnel. And that was just what they were counting on.

The aircraft began to taxi down the runway, getting clearance from air traffic control for takeoff. The engines began to rev, and not even a minute later, the plane moved down the runway, gaining speed. Within seconds, the pilot had enough thrust and lift to pull the nose up and begin its ascent. As it climbed into the atmosphere, the rebel leader in charge of the attack held up a hand to his headset and pressed it.

"Falcon One to Mother Nest. Chick is inbound now. I repeat, chick is inbound now."

As he said this, the aircraft began to bank around, as if heading off towards Adam's estate in North Dakota.

But that was not its destination.

Its real destination: San Diego.

. . .

RESISTANCE WAREHOUSE HEADQUARTERS

DENVER, COLORADO

December 18th, CE 0073

"Excellent!" United States Army Lieutenant Gregory Tchaikovsky exclaimed, his hand on his own headset.

"The plane is en route to San Diego now," Falcon One replied.

"Good. You keep me updated," the lieutenant remarked.

"Yes, sir!" the man said.

The man hung up and he turned to face the President as she looked up from a map on her desk. "Madam President, we have word. One of the targets is en route to San Diego now," he relayed.

"Which one?" Eisenhower asked as she stood up.

"It came from Falcon Team," he replied.

"Falcon Team..." Eisenhower's sea blue eyes narrowed as she glanced at the screen showing the plane. "Hmm... That jet... It belongs to Adam Vermilyea, right?"

"It does," Gregory admitted.

Eisenhower smirked. "He'll be in for a big surprise when he gets to San Diego and then Alcatraz."

"Speaking of," Gregory looked to her. "What's the condition of the prison?"

"The prison is in decent shape, but there are some things that are currently being repaired," the President stated. "The survey team was already working with the restoration team to make it somewhat habitable for the incoming prisoners."

The Russian-born Coordinator nodded. "Right."

She turned her gaze back to the map displaying the city of San Francisco and the prison in its bay. The map was the most up-to-date version they had made, and it was a mix of both satellite footage and real-time photographs taken from the air. Her eyes narrowed as she looked to a number of photos showing the prison in its current state.

She knew that the old prison was not suitable as it stood for long term habitation of human prisoners, but it would suffice until the war was over when it would be converted back to a prison for full-time use of LOGOs members and terrorists. In fact, a number of people were even proposing an expansion of the place to allow for more prisoners to be held there. And actually, it did make a lot of sense, but the downside was that the island was solid rock, and any expansion would have to be done under the construction of an artificial island out of sand. And with the currents and water flow in the bay, the expansion would be swept away in no time. The other option was to build an extension that was driven into the bottom of the bay with large concrete or metal pylons. It was not an ideal situation either, but it would hold up better than the artificial island, anyway.

Engineers for the resistance were already even looking into such things, which was a good thing in her eyes. It showed that people were taking this seriously. And that made her smirk before it faded.

"Ma'am?"

Eisenhower didn't even need to look up to know it was one of the other staffers in the underground portion of the warehouse. "What?" she asked.

"It's about the prison," the woman said as she glanced back out of the corner of her eye at her.

"Go ahead," the President said.

"Well... how can we make sure that the prisoners aren't going to escape once we get them onto the island?" the woman asked.

Here, Eisenhower could see why she would be concerned. But to be frank, with the way the place was manned at the moment, there was no way that the incoming prisoners would be able to escape without tipping off the survey and restoration teams.

"To be honest, it would be close to impossible to escape without tipping off the survey and restoration teams currently working on the island," Eisenhower admitted. "But I do see your concerns as being valid."

The woman gave a nod.

Eisenhower's gaze drifted towards the map once more. "Speaking of..."

"We got more intel!" someone else blurted. "They have a second target en route to San Diego!"

"Which one?" the President snapped, her eyes landing on the man who had spoken.

"Celestine Groht," the man relayed. "His jet was seized by rebels and is now flying after Adam's."

The rebel commander had to refrain from a predatory grin crossing her face. She had heard rumors of the man's mistresses, and now was the right chance to confirm if they were true or not. "How long before both land in San Diego?" she asked.

"Shouldn't be later than four hours at this rate," the man said as he turned back to his computer terminal. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he eyed the radar screen displayed on the second monitor at his station. "But that's only if we can command the airspace for a while longer. LOGOs is not holding back now that the riots have spread." He narrowed his eyes. "They're sending in Jet Windams to try and delay any aircraft."

"All the more reason for us to get our own planes in the air," Eisenhower said. "And by that... I mean our latest weapon."

"Hold on!" The man spun around in his seat, eyes widening. "You mean...?!"

. . .

NORFOLK NAVAL BASE

December 18th, 0073 CE

"I do," her voice said as the scene shifted to show Norfolk.

Already the entire city and naval base was on strict lockdown imposed by the mayor and the commandant both.

But not everyone was following the curfew.

"That machine has been ready for some time now. And its pilot is about to get his first baptism by fire," her voice stated.

Robert "Rob" Jackson sat in his Jeep, observing the riots outside the shipyards. His binoculars were plastered to his eyes as he stared at the retinue of the commandant as he was ushered out by them.

He scowled as he raised the radio he had been given to his lips. "Owl One, this is Spider. I have the commandant in sight!"

"Excellent!" his superior exclaimed. "How many guards?"

Rob kept the binoculars up at his eyes, scanning the guards with him. "About fifteen," he counted. "They're all armed and are ready to defend him to the death."

"Thanks, kid," another soldier remarked. "We'll take it from here."

But Rob wasn't having it. Something was stirring, as if he was receiving a warning...

"No," he said. "Something's wrong here..."

"What could be wrong?" the soldier asked. "He's got only fifteen guards. That's easy enough for us to-"

The soldier had nothing more to say as he was cut off suddenly. Rob's stomach fell to the ground as he suddenly dropped the binoculars and looked up, only to stare in shock at where the rebel command post had been only mere seconds ago, thick smoke curling skyward as fire raged in the old abandoned warehouse district. "Oh... shit...!" he whispered.

Thankfully, there was never one cell alone in cities like this.

The secondary cell knew what had happened as soon as the main command post dropped off the air. The commander of the secondary command post got on the radio shortly after. "Spider, this is Hawk One! Your goal now is to try and take out whatever finished the main command post!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Rob replied. He saluted before dumping the radio in his Jeep's passenger seat and started the engine, revving it as he shifted the Jeep into reverse, spinning the wheel as he did so. His Jeep did a complete 180 on the ground before he sped back the way he had come, heading for the hidden hangar.

This was going to be the big debut of his new machine.

And his first effort to try and stop Blue Cosmos once and for all.

"The Defender Gundam. Our first true weapon against LOGOs' Windams. And they have no clue as to what it truly is..." President Eisenhower's voice said as it showed Rob bringing his Jeep to a skidding halt as he vaulted out, running for the hill that concealed the mobile suit launch bay for the resistance in this section of the country. One of the guards saw him and waved him into what appeared to be a cabin, but was not.

The door slid shut and Rob Jackson disappeared.

Within the hangar bay a shadowy plane sat, its wings folded back as if for takeoff...

. . .

FOUR HOURS LATER...

EN ROUTE TO SAN DIEGO

Celestine Groht sat in his chair, eyes narrowed as he watched the city of San Diego coming into view.

Normally he was not one to consider such a place for refuge as his estate was in the southern portion of what was once Mexico. But considering the circumstances that led to the battles in the desert down there, it made sense to have a backup plan.

It also didn't help matters that the entire shipbuilding industry had been brought to its knees by sabotage from the rebels. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it showed just how little he truly knew about managing people. He had expected everyone to be on the same page as him and his kind. He hadn't expected any of the workers to even do what they did.

It was a big blow to his prestige.

As the owner of the heavy industries branch of the conglomerate of North American Heavy Engineering, he had been in charge of running the heavy industry field for fifteen years. He had long since seen how American industry could be turned to the cause of cleansing the blue Earth of Coordinators and enslaving them, so he took the chance to start buying up the heaviest industrial manufacturing companies he could get. And it was during one such meeting of an acquisition that he discovered his fondness for young Coordinator girls. And in his eyes, the younger, the better.

However, there were a number of companies that had eluded him, one of which was the massive aerospace giant known as Boeing. He had wanted to get his claws into their assets and resources and manpower, but they were not having it, and thus had entered into an alliance with their competing company, Anaheim Electronics. Together the two dwarfed his own corporate division. And it didn't help matters that Lockheed-Martin, one of the largest weapons manufacturers, had also joined the two in an alliance. And with Sikorski having been acquired two years ago, there was no way he could get them as well.

It also explained the sudden quality increase in mobile suit operating systems used by the rebels. A little research had shown that a small company known as Pyronix Systems had been purchased by Boeing two months ago, and now their OS was being put into resistance mobile suits, increasing their capabilities and allowing Naturals to fight on par with Coordinators and vice versa.

With those five companies arrayed against the conglomerate, it made sense that they'd be able to outlast them. Boeing alone accounted for at least a third of their combined assets. And each of these five had proven to be a stark contrast to LOGOs' own companies.

Boeing, it was recently discovered, provided pensions to their workers. They were paid decently, given livable wages, and even had actual health coverage, something his companies did not do. It was a blow to his own company, which had started losing workers via resignations in mass due to unsafe conditions. Boeing also refused to sell them any components on the basis of theft of their plans and designs, although they had little sway in the courts.

Anaheim Electronics was the only corporation to refuse using child labor outright, instead using robotics and automation to handle detail work that most children did in LOGOs' companies. The adults were also highly trained in such work, which made them more appealing to women and men with young children in grade school and younger.

Lockheed-Martin, on the other hand, blatantly defied all LOGOs criteria for business funding and hired those space monsters to help in assisting with their work. It was a boon to the company, he had to admit, but the fact they were treated as humans and paid decent wages, along with health care and coverage for insurance, completely tainted them in his eyes. He saw them as being contaminated, and if they won this war, the entire company would be dismantled and rebuilt in LOGOs' image.

Sikorski, on the other hand, was known for quality machines. The only difference here was that they refused to subject their workers to inhumane conditions and even went above and beyond to ensure that their workers' families were kept safe by building a company town and hiring mercenaries that were not motivated by greed to guard the place. That alone made it close to difficult to attack the town. It was more like a fortress, really.

Pyronix Systems was far from a big company, but their creation of a variable OS was something that made them a threat. It was just as well, too, he mused, that they had been acquired by one of the big four companies. And yet, it was also a danger because it showed that with few resources, a Natural-use OS had been developed, and without the need for a Coordinator child to alter a basic OS.

Those five companies each had a reason to be seen as enemies in his eyes.

Celestine grunted as he turned to the back room of his jet, hearing the screams of his two mistresses. He walked over and slammed his hand on the door. "Shut up!" he rumbled. "You will not be escaping me now, or ever!"

The two Coordinator girls whimpered pitifully in response to his threat.

The man turned away from the prisoners and looked to his security detail. "Do not let them escape," he ordered. "I'm going to the restroom."

"Sir, it would be wise to wait," one of his guards said. "The plane is about to descend."

The industrialist nodded and headed back to his seat, eyeing the large airport just ahead.

He sat down and buckled up, his eyes narrowed as he wondered what was going to happen next.

He had no idea as to where he was really headed...

. . .

December 18th/19th, 0073 CE

ALCATRAZ ISLAND

The old prison fort was bustling with activity.

But these were not tourists.

These were resistance survey and restoration experts.

Already the place was looking a lot better than it had been in recent months. Old walls and windows were replaced or repaired with sturdy materials to keep out the cold and wind. The interior of the prison's old power station had been completely refurbished, with new generators being installed and with new, algae-derived fuel being sent to the prison to provide power for it. An underwater pipeline was even being considered to ship said fuel directly to the island in leu of ferrying the fuel to the island directly. But right now, the pipeline project was shelved until the end of the war due to considerations of the front.

One of the survey workers at the island had his eyes locked onto the horizon, scanning for any sign of the boat bringing the prisoners.

It was just as well, too, seeing as how it would take four and a half hours to get to the island.

He held the binoculars in his hand as he scanned the ocean beyond the Golden Gate Bridge, and his eyes narrowed a bit as he spotted something coming just off the horizon.

His radio crackled and he pressed the button as he raised it to his ear. "Go."

"Sir, it's Sue," the woman in the lighthouse lookout tower radioed. "We have a boat inbound to the island."

"Did they say who it was for?" the man asked.

"It's the Duane Halberton," the woman replied.

The man knew what ship that was. A recently activated destroyer from the old Arleigh Burke museum ship formerly named after the lead of the class. It was just as well, too, seeing as how Halberton had been one of their key assets in informing them of the people in power who worked for LOGOs. The vessel itself was old, but it would soon be phased out and a new Arleigh Burke class would be built in place of the old Arkansas-class vessels.

The resistance naval vessel was slowly approaching the island, and he could already see one of the men aboard her waving a flag. He pressed the transmit button on his radio. "Sue, flash the light. Let them know we're ready."

He lowered his binoculars and turned to face the old lighthouse as the light flared into activation in over close to two hundred years. The light was bright, and to him, it was like a beacon. A beacon to let LOGOs know that there was no escaping justice.

The destroyer pulled up close to the island's perimeter and shortly after, several figures were seen being herded out of the ship towards a rigid hull inflatible boat for transport to the island. The small craft pulled away from the destroyer and began heading towards the old pier, and already guards and personnel that had been ferried to the island under cover of night swarmed out, clad in cold weather gear and armed with semiautomatic machine guns. Three mobile suits that had flown over from the harbor emerged from behind the old prison itself and aimed their beam rifles at the incoming craft.

The RHIB came alongside the dock and already the guards were moving in, and within minutes the three men the rebels had captured were ushered out.

The captain of the guards looked at the prisoners.

Adam Vermilyea.

Celestine Groht.

And Graham Nelleis.

Three members of LOGOs were now in their custody. And two of them had records.

The man placed his radio back on his belt and grabbed his sniper rifle before slipping it over his back and walking out to meet the prisoners.

He could see that Adam was anything but pleased, and if the stunned expressions of Groht and Nelleis were to be believed, they had not expected to be transported to the most notorious prison in the entire country.

"Well... it's good to see you here, prisoners," the captain said as he glared at them, especially Groht.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Adam demanded.

"It's justice," another guard said as she lifted up her helmet to reveal a Coordinator in her late twenties. "Justice for all those you falsely imprisoned!"

"Stand down, Sandy," the captain said.

The woman scowled, but relented as she stepped back a bit, but she didn't lower her weapon.

"Now, let's get down to business..." the captain said, gripping his rifle's sling. "And let me tell you, two of you will not be welcome anywhere else but here due to your actions..."

. . .

RESISTANCE HEADQUARTERS WAREHOUSE

DENVER, COLORADO

December 19th, 0073 CE

"I see..." Eisenhower's eyes narrowed as she considered what she had just been told.

To hear that Groht had indeed had two Coordinator girls for mistresses was enough to get the man sentenced to an isolation chamber for a full month without any means to express his sexual fantasies for such children. In fact, it was at the suggestion of Adam Vermilyea of all people to have him strapped up with a shock collar to discourage such thoughts and actions.

She had honestly not expected Adam to actively turn against Djibril after having seen how mad the leader of Blue Cosmos turned out to be at the thought of fleeing. But she also figured it had to do with some sort of self-preservation, and she understood how he felt on the matter. There was also the fact that he had not even really done anything illegal like Groht or Nelleis had done, so she decided to accept a plea deal from him.

He would spill everything he knew about Djibril's aims to the resistance in exchange for a life sentence in a less notorious prison rather than the harshness of Alcatraz.

It wasn't something she really liked doing, but it did make sense in her eyes. After all, any information on Djibril would be useful for Terminal and the rest of the alliance she was currently building.

"It's not really what we like, either, but it does make sense in the long run," the captain of the guards admitted.

"Yes. Well, that's precisely why we should do it," Eisenhower stated. "Since Adam has done nothing really against the basic human nature like his kin did, we can let him off with a life sentence in a mainland prison." Her eyes narrowed. "But for now, he will be put in a cell separate from the other two."

"We can do that," the captain said. "We have a few cells already lined up for them. One for Adam on the other side of the prison, the other two will be locked up in the haunted section."

A sinister grin crossed the President's face at that. "Perfect. Make them fearful of what lurks at the prison and they'll be squealing in no time."

The captain blanched, but cleared his throat.

"Maybe at some point..." he remarked. "I just hope it won't come down to it."

. . .

NORFOLK NAVAL BASE

December 19th, 0073 CE

Start UNICORN - Gundam Unicorn OST - by Hiroyuki Sawano

The naval base was in chaos.

Commandant Jerrod Ramius narrowed his eyes as he was ushered out of the burning complex, taking in the sights around him.

This was not what he had been expecting.

Especially as how close the fighting was getting to the commander's offices.

One of his guards suddenly grabbed him and shoved him forward. "Move, sir!" he barked.

The commandant didn't even hesitate as he moved, heading for the closest Jeep. He and his retinue got into the vehicles as he sat down, buckling up as the driver started it. He glanced back as he saw a pair of mobile suits getting into a beam saber fight, the Strike Dagger knockoff dueling with the Windam opposite its position. The beam sabers flashed as both fought, and his eyes hardened as he tore his gaze away from them. A squadron of Windams came in to flank him as he headed out.

Only for a sudden hail of bullets to slam into the ground and stitch a path towards him and his escort.

The commandant gasped as he felt the Jeep swerve, and one of the Windams shuddered under the onslaught of bullets before one broke through the Trans-Phase Shift armor and detonated the battery packs within. The mobile suit exploded, rocking the vehicles and sending people tumbling out, Ramius amongst them. He flopped onto the ground before rolling and coming to a stop on his back, panting heavily.

He sat up, blood running down his face from a forehead wound as he stared in shock. He could hear something heavy landing beyond the flames of the burning Windam as the other four landed around him. Their pilots brandished their beam sabers as they waited for the attacker to come out.

Footsteps reached his hearing and he glanced up, only to see something coming through the smoke.

A pair of brilliant blue optics flashed before a beam saber ignited, its cyan blade cutting through the flames. The unknown mobile suit - it could only be called that - held its sword up before its chest and then with a wave of the arm, cut the flames aside.

It was an unknown make, that much he could see. But it appeared to be derived from the Windam. Its only difference was that it had the exact same feet as the original Strike and its shoulders were more streamlined. The arms were more robust in their angular construction and on its chest was a cockpit that resembled a fighter jet's. On the back was a pair of wings that were folded down and a single, golden V-fin dominated its forehead, branching out from a central red pentagon. The faceplate was pure white and its armor was a unique blend of blue and white, with white running down the outer arms and legs while the wings had a blue edge to them.

This was no ordinary machine, he could see.

It was a new unit.

Within the cockpit of this new machine, Robert Jackson narrowed his eyes as he gripped the controls. One of the Windams was already down, and four were left.

He shot a glance at one of the monitors, seeing the resistance was coming to capture their target.

He turned his gaze back to face his opponents.

He knew what he had to do.

And he was going to do it.

For America's rebirth.

He gripped the controls before he closed his eyes and took in breath before letting it out.

He could sense the presence of his ancestors and he thanked them for guiding him during this time.

Rob's eyes snapped open as he scanned over the weapons of his machine.

The GAT-X501 Defender Gundam.

Developed as a sixth prototype for the Atlantic Federation's G Project, it was never really considered viable as the transformation mechanism had been seen as tricky to create and refine. The closest possibility that they had ever gotten to was the Aegis, which was actually not a true transformation in the sense of the word. So the machine had been shelved until further notice.

But when the resistance had been alerted about the project courtesy of Halberton, they had seized it right off the bat, using a fictitious scrapping company to acquire the mobile suit and purchase it for themselves. The purchase was completed and the mobile suit was shipped out to a supposed scrap yard where it was then taken underground to a rebel stronghold. The rebels then went to work on refining and fine-tuning the mechanism needed to transform the machine, and it was finally completed before the Second Bloody Valentine War broke out.

The resistance took the chance to outfit it with the same OS as the Resistance Blast, which meant it was also a test bed for the new OS. And like the Blast, this one was developed for use by both Coordinator and Natural pilots.

As such, since it was now being used for defense of America and human sanity, the proto-Gundam was now named the Defender Gundam.

Rob's eyes hardened as he watched one of the Windams lunge at him, its beam saber flying out as the pilot made to try and stab him in the chest. He shifted to the right, his fist clenching on the controls as he shoved the throttle forward, the right arm of his machine pistoning out and colliding with the left cheek of the Windam's faceplate. The mobile suit staggered back before its pilot looked up through the camera lenses and snarled.

"You insolent little...!" he hissed. "Who are you?!"

Rob triggered the communications system, but shut down the visual aspect to avoid giving away his identity.

"You can call me Rob!" he snapped. "And this is where it ends for you freaks!"

"You call me a freak?" the pilot growled. "What about you? Do you even know why we fight?! It's for the preservation of our blue and pure world!"

Rob suddenly jolted, his eyes widening as he heard those words.

Memories of his sister's attempted execution and the aftermath came rushing back to him and he could no longer see what was before him. He could only see the girl's terror and the sadistic glee on the men's faces as they attempted to shoot her in the forehead between the eyes. All he could see was her fear, her terror, and the death of his father and mother.

The very fury he felt that day of his sister's attempted murder came rushing full force into him and he could feel only a burning anger that surfaced within him. An anger that he never wanted to experience again. But he couldn't help it. He cared deeply for his only remaining family and he didn't want to lose her again.

His eyes darkened as he gripped his beam sabers and crouched his machine. "You... will not spew any more of that vile hatred around here!" he growled.

As he said those words, he could feel the dark side of him surging out and he wanted nothing more than to kill these men like they had done his father and mother.

No mercy was to be spared.

. . .

RESISTANCE WAREHOUSE HEADQUARTERS

DENVER, COLORADO

December 19th, CE 0073

Eisenhower looked over the information requests she had received from the Major and her superiors.

She looked to the team working on the data and she nodded as someone flashed her the thumbs up.

They had all they needed.

The resistance commander turned to the camera and began her speech. This time, she was going to give Heero a bit more than just a voice.

The man at the computer nodded and he keyed in the command to start recording.

"Heero, I've received your information requests and I'm going to send them over."

The fighting raging at the city of New York was enough to force Benjamin Carson's hand.

Seeing protesters coming his way, along with LOGOs security personnel in his building, it was finally clear that he had to leave in order to stay alive and within LOGOs' ranks as a mole for as long as possible. With Lord Djibril finally starting to crack, he didn't want to remain in his graces any longer than necessary. He just needed a bit more time to get the last data on the Extended program and then his secret weapon, Operation: Icebreaker, could commence.

"But first, I'm sure you heard of the raid down on the camp in Mexico.

"Well, that was the biggest thing. Our sabotage operation was completely ignored due to the camp being leaked to the public. No one knows who did it, and that's just the way we want it. I won't go into too much detail, but with some of the yards, their docks have either been flooded, filled with dead cows, or something along those lines. Machinery was also damaged, and in an interesting twist, one of our major corporate backers, Anaheim Electronics, is refusing to sell the parts needed to North American Heavy Engineering which owns a lot of those yards.

"Some of the yards are on our side, though, as they are either owned by another one of our corporate allies, Lockheed Martin, or are private concerns."

The guards stood in front of the two men as they languished in their cells on Alcatraz. Celestine was handcuffed on both hands and feet, and he was gazing down at his crotch, feeling something missing down there.

After it had been revealed he had two Coordinator mistresses of ten years of age, several of the guards had hauled him down to the medical facility on the island, with him protesting and crying all the way, to have his... junk... removed. The operation had been long and painful, but when it was over, he was without any means to carry on his bloodline, and even his "family jewels" had been stripped from him.

To him, it was the ultimate disgrace and betrayal of his kind.

He was no longer a man.

He was nothing.

"This entire operation was in conjunction with a third phase, known as Dustbowl. The three phases were a part of a major operation known as Strikeout, and for good reason. LOGOs failed to live up to human standards. Strike One: Ideals. Strike Two: People. Strike Three: Govern.

"They failed to live up to their supposed ideals as rulers if they refuse to accept change and try to keep us in ignorance, all in accordance with a long-term plan to kill off the human race through exploiting our natural resources to continue the war with the Coordinators, even if it means creating Coordinators themselves.

"They failed to live up to their supposed ideals if they keep children locked in a concentration camp and turn kids into weapons of war. They also failed to respect women's rights and keep women housebound, even if it means marrying much older men in their nobility.

"They failed to live up to their role as rulers since they can't even respect the basic rights enshrined in our ideals and beliefs as civilized human beings, as shown by their disrespect for children as the next generation.

"It is this utter failure that has convinced a lot of the fence-sitters to join our ranks."

Fires broke out in Philadelphia, with many people breaking into downright fistfights or firefights as the rioters seized control of half the city's vital infrastructure. The old colonial era buildings were avoided to save them the indignity of being damaged by a stray bullet or attacking mobile suit of which there were a few being deployed by the resistance.

In New York City, the iconic Grand Central Station, which had withstood countless years of use, the Reconstruction War, and even an attempted terrorist attack during the CE 50s, was now being held by rebels in high numbers. The World Trade Center, built anew from the ashes of 9/11 in the AD era, had endured the Reconstruction War's attacks on it due to its concrete core, and now it was held on all sides by rebels. The buildings' height allowed for a good vantage point, which made it difficult for any of Blue Cosmos or LOGOs supporters and members to even get close to the structures.

Portland was an entirely different beast as by that point, the rebels had isolated the city and sabotaged the yards and docks there through flooding them with oil. The dockworkers and shipbuilders were ushered out of the yard as it was closed, making that city unable to produce more ships for the genocidal ambitions of petty old men.

"Our ally within LOGOs was the one who leaked the recordings to the press and that was what set off our op.

"But I digress.

"We have another operation in the works as well, and let's just say that, come the attack on Orb, you'll have some serious help. This one is called Operation: Kamikaze, named after the divine wind that saved Japan from a Mongol invasion fleet in the ancient days of the AD era.

"Also... we have another bit of information that you may find useful."

The Nordic Balance sailed through the Panama Canal, passing by other ships and allowing the watchmen manning the locks to see her through. Of course, given the fact they were of USSA citizenship, they were aware to an extent of the fact that this was not the real Nordic Balance. All they knew was that the real ship was back in the Kingdom of Scandinavia undergoing repairs and that this one was a command ship in disguise.

Her passage through the canal didn't take long, and once she was through, the SS United States poured on the speed, vanishing out of sight and making her way towards Pearl Harbor for a quick refuel and change of paint.

"We have in our custody three of LOGOs' top leaders.

"Currently, they are being held on Alcatraz Island within the old federal prison that was built there. The place was falling apart, but some repairs have been made to make it somewhat habitable for them. Personally, I could've done without the repairs, but my goal is to show we are not like LOGOs, so it had to be done.

"The three men we have are Adam Vermilyea, Celestine Groht, and Graham Nelleis. Adam, it turned out, actually volunteered to squeal on Djibril in exchange for a life sentence instead of execution. The other two are going to be tried for criminal acts they pulled during their time as members of the nobility.

"Celestine was found to have two Coordinator mistresses no older than ten. How disgusting is that? As a consequence, his very reproductive capacity was removed in a swift operation, and he is now in a cell without the family jewels.

"Graham was discovered to have falsely marketed gas guzzling cars to the people and outright fabricated all the studies done to fool the populace. That alone counts as a federal charge, so he won't be going back into business and Anaheim is going to seize his assets and liquidate them."

Graham grunted as he looked at the cuffs on his hands and feet. Unlike Celestine, he was not stripped of his dignity and remained whole. But he did not like the idea of losing his assets.

Despite his best efforts to enter into a plea deal like Adam had done, his guards had refused to accept it. Not even bribery would sway these men and women, he mused. They were clearly cut from a different cloth than the rabble he had surrounded himself with. These were people who were bound by something more than greed or primal passions.

He turned to look at the guard who scowled as she flipped him the finger.

He sighed, looking out the single window in his cell.

"We seized these men as they were attempting to flee. While we were hoping to get Djibril before he fled, we did manage to get three of his cronies. And as such, they are now in our custody. We do, however, have information pertaining to the whereabouts of the others. We'll be including that as well in the data package.

"And that brings me back to the topic I started with. I'm sending you all the data we have on Djibril, Azrael, and Unato Seiran's communications. It wasn't just communications. Djibril and Azrael outright bribed the man by putting financial aid directly into the family's coffers. That alone is illegal under United States law. And as such, that information could be of vital use to you in ousting Unato from Orb's leadership. I've also enclosed all the details on what companies he has stocks in, as well as notes on those who have been bribed by them.

"We also bugged Djibril's estate not too far from D.C., so we have a recorded conversation between the two. That has been included as well. I hope you make use of this, Heero."

The recording cut out and Eisenhower sighed as she leaned back in her chair.

The man looked at her and nodded. "Nicely done."

The President managed a weary grin.

"Now he'll have a face to go with the voice... At least when I'm masked."

The woman reached up and grasped the mask she had worn, removing it and looking it over.

The metal face covering was modeled on the GAT-X105 Strike Gundam's face, complete with the slatted facemask and yellow eye colors that resembled the optics of the once-famous machine. The only difference was that it did not cover her entire head. Only the V-fin extended beyond her forehead and she set it down.

"I take it you'll wear that once you reveal yourself to the world?" the man asked.

She nodded. "Yes. This way, I can keep my identity a secret and not reveal myself entirely."

It also helped the cameraman had adjusted and edited the recording to remove her braid and cut out her upper chest to only show her down to the bottom of her neck.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING

ARC II

THUNDEROUS BREAKDOWN

END

(Shows two people crying as they see a child's body in the cockpit of a mobile suit.)

Wipe those tears off your face

(The couple look up as a figure kneels, holding a handkerchief in their hand)

C'mon give me a smile

(The figure is revealed as clouds part, showing it to be President Eisenhower as she smiles softly)

Send me off

(The kerchief blows over the screen before fading to show several divisions of resistance soldiers marching off towards incoming Atlantian forces)

With one of your usual sarcastic wisecracks

(One of them makes a wisecrack and grins, the others laughing as they walk off)

Now I gotta go

(As they head into the horizon, the snow begins to shimmer as the camera pans around)

And head off towards the dazzling sunrise

(The sun is shown in front of the troops as they head into it, becoming engulfed in its light)

Where Grim Death beckons me to the battlefield of blood

(The light fades to show the riots breaking out across the former Atlantian Reich countries)

I will not hesitate

(The resistance's bases are shown on a map as Eisenhower stands up before the men and women in her command center)

Someone murmurs to me

(The camera pans to the left, showing Brigadier General Neuville as he stands before his desk, eyeing the surrounding terrain critically)

"This is the end of the world"

(A soldier looks down, whispering "This is the end of the world.")

Yeah, right

(The general snorts as he leans back)

Like hell I can accept that kind of bullshit

(The camera pans up to show Durandal in his office, his eyes narrowed as his fingers are tented)

Once the die is thrown into the air

(Behind him are images of the prior battles playing out, all according to his plans)

Only God knows the outcome

(Eisenhower is shown next as the camera shifts to the right, showing her observing Djibril as he sits in his office)

That's right

(Djibril's eyes are narrowed as he sees the news reports of the battles in Europe)

NOBODY KNOWS THE FUTURE!

(Heero and Murrue are shown below the three leaders, standing side by side)

So I want to protect you my love

(The camera moves away to show Spray in the command center of one of the 1776th's ships, eyes narrowed)

Your dreams and your future with my own two hands!

(His eyes close as he recalls America in the past prior to the Reconstruction War, images showing the country's glory going past)

I'll carry on, my way!

(He stands up, the images fading, and he turns to face the camera, his eyes going SEED as his phoenix tattoo lights up)

Even if I have to offer up this life

(The image of the bird engulfs the camera before it fades to show his mobile suit, with the Phoenix Striker, facing down a shadowy mobile suit)

I'll carry on, my way!

(The two machines clash, sparks erupting from the point of contact with their beam sabers)

Without doubt, without fail, I will not forget!

(A flash of light cuts across the screen to show an image of Eisenhower's father and grandfather)

Your tenderness that's softer than snow

(Both men have tender smiles on their faces as Eisenhower closes her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks before she turns and walks off)

I'll carry on, my way!

(Eisenhower is shown before a large compliment of machines and tanks, a squadron of air force jets flying overhead, her braid blowing in the breeze)

So carry on, my world!

(The camera pans around to show Atlantian forces assembled before them)

Within the pit of despair, there's a single ray of hope!

(The shape of a large ship in shadow is shown above the Atlantians as the Redemption is shown above the Americans)

And I'll continue to try to catch it!

(Eisenhower is shown in the middle of blackness, a glimmering ray of light shining as she reaches for it)

Forever!

(She is knocked back, but gets up)

Forever!

(A gust of wind blows her back, but she struggles towards the light)

Forever!

(She is shown reaching for it, defiance on her face as the screen freezes, the title of the series appearing beneath her)

GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING