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: Heh. Well, I did want to show how things were progressing. ;) And hope you like the Strike Liberty Gundam. :) It will come into play at some point. ;)
- 1800009trumbullps . net: Glad ya liked. :) I do intend to keep amping things up. :)
- KentLinuxStadfelt: You'll see~! ;3
- CT7567Rules: Yep! XD The MG42 was an infamous gun in WWII, and I wanted the resistance to use it against their Reich enemies, because after all, they are a modern Nazi Germany possessing America. And as for the Strike Liberty, well... you'll see next time. ;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 XL: Home Front Rebellion
DECEMBER 19th, 0073 CE
'Ah... fuck...'
That was the first thought Harold had as he spotted the two guards.
He pulled back, ducking behind the corner and grasped his radio. He extended the antenna and raised it to his lips after dialing in to the base at Eilean Donan.
"Spyglass One to base," he whispered. "Do you read me?"
He was quick to glance back at the guards before he hurried into another room and closed the door behind him.
And just in time, too. Static filled the room before he heard a familiar voice.
"Spyglass One, this is Eilean Donan. Report."
Harold pressed the button on the side of the device. "I'm here in the depths of the enemy base," he replied. "And well... let's just say we have something big..."
He quickly laid out the situation, and he swore he heard a gasp from the female voice at the other end of the line. "Are you absolutely sure?" she asked.
"Yes," he said seriously. "I'm going to try and get inside and see if this is true or not though."
"Then good luck. Something tells me you'll need it..."
Harold gave a nod and closed down the line before he looked out, his eyes narrowed.
"Okay... now how to get in..."
The man glanced to the guards, noticing that their ranks were higher than his, and he scowled. He could go back to acting as a brigadier general, but that was off the table right away. He pulled back into the room and closed the door before lifting up his Tac-Charge and flicking it on.
The beam penetrated the darkness easily, and he could see right away that he was in a janitor's closet. A cleaning uniform lay draped over a bucket and a cart, and a mop lay off to the side. Already he was beginning to wonder if someone was playing him for a fool, what with how conveniently these items were placed out. But then again, maybe the janitor here had taken some time off, and they had left their uniform behind.
That did seem plausible than his other, crazy theory.
He shrugged and placed the Tac-Charge against the wall on a shelf, and he swiftly changed out of his stolen guard uniform and into the janitor's uniform. He slipped the hat on over his head, and after checking to make sure that his eyes and face were hidden partially from any possible security cameras, he grabbed the cart and opened the door, exiting the closet.
He made his way down the hall towards the guards, and one of the men looked at him with a glare of disgust.
"What is your business here?" he snorted.
Harold cleared his throat and held up a lanyard that had several keys on it. "Here to do some cleaning, boss," he said, adopting a Southern New York accent.
The guard glanced to him before looking to his compatriot. The two men shrugged.
"Just stay out of the consultant's way," the first guard said as he entered the keycode. Harold was quick to memorize the numbers before he nodded. The door slid open and Harold walked in, pushing the cart in front of him.
The door slid shut behind him and Harold adjusted his cap before continuing on. Already his eyes were scanning for any sign of the old Eurasian ace, but from the looks of things, the man was nowhere to be seen in the immediate area of the lab he was in. The entire floorspace here was filled with machines, each hooked up to what appeared to be circular nodes of sorts, and some of the people working looked as if they had been deprived of sleep for several nights. That was an issue, and he frowned.
'If Mihaly is here, I don't think he'll be in very good shape...' he thought worriedly.
The resistance mole observed one of the techies approaching another, and he took the time to stop, briefly pulling out a cleaning bottle and spritzing a rag from the cart before making a show of cleaning up a spill. He leaned a bit towards the pair, trying to listen in.
"...adjusting the next lines of code," one of them was saying.
"Yeah. The AI have to be perfect, according to the rear admiral," the second techie responded. "So far we've gotten a few models done, but none of them are perfect. They're way too weak."
"Don't remind me. Last simulation, most of them were wiped out by their opposite numbers," the first man admitted.
"This next batch should be better though, given how the major's flight data has been worked in. In fact, I think one of them is going to exceed beyond the others." The second man shuddered. "It's all too uncanny how that one is adapting and learning."
Harold had heard enough. He stood up and, after placing down a wet floor sign, left the area, still pushing the cleaning cart.
His eyes were hard as he finally exited the room he was in, and already he was in another hallway. This one was not guarded, which made him suspect that this was probably the place where the old ace was being held. He pushed the cleaning cart to the side and began to walk, grabbing his Tac-Charge and flicking it on.
The light was easily noticeable if there were any guards around, which made him suspect that they were either on a smoke break or were off doing training. Or perhaps Christian managed to lure them away somehow. He didn't know, but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. The resistance agent slipped down the corridor, only to come to a halt as he saw two more guards, this time looking around for anything unusual. The first guard glanced in his direction, and Harold felt his heart leap into his throat. He gulped softly before schooling his features into a poker face.
The guard stepped over, his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Just doing some routine cleaning, man," Harold said. "Was gonna check in this room to see if there were any spills, ya know?"
The guard frowned. "There was no scheduled cleaning, but... given the circumstances, I guess it can't be helped. Sometimes the consultant's assistants can be quite clumsy." He shrugged. "Sure. Go on."
"Ah would also recommend ya take a bit of a break, man," Harold suggested. He waved his hand in front of his face, as if smelling something disgusting. "Ya could use a shower."
The guards blinked before one of them sniffed his underarms and grimaced. "He's got a point, Franz," he said. "We've both been on shift for hours. We're due for one anyway."
Franz just snorted, but nodded. "Yeah, okay. Let's go."
As the two guards walked off, Harold grinned to himself. Now that they were out of the way, he could get to his mission.
He waited until they rounded the corner before he pulled out a small flash drive and camera. The camera was easily the smallest device the resistance had built, being no larger than a small stack of sticky notes. He plugged in the drive into its designated port and slipped the device under his uniform's forearm, the strap holding it on his actual arm. The small lens whirred and he clenched his hand before nodding.
The man grabbed the door handle and turned it, opening the door into the new lab.
And his eyes widened at the sight before him.
. . .
DECEMBER 25th, 0073 CE
RESISTANCE WAREHOUSE HEADQUARTERS
DENVER, COLORADO
The snow blew gently around the outside of the resistance headquarters.
To President Eisenhower, this was supposed to be a mark of celebration.
But right now... this day was marked by bloodshed, chaos... and war.
She stood outside the warehouse, her trench coat billowing behind her muscular form, her braid and hair blending in with the pure white of the powder as it dusted the cityscape. Her sea-blue eyes were akin to a pair of blue lights in this weather, as if she were winter itself taking on human form. Her eyes narrowed as she observed the people going about their daily lives.
It was almost surreal, as the rest of the country was in chaos and revolt. But in Denver, the city was going about its normal life. There was no sign of any fighting, least of all a single Blue Cosmos or LOGOs member setting foot in the city perimeter. Already she could see a few Christmas trees being set up in some of the homes closer to the city suburbs, and she briefly felt a pang of envy for them.
While she was indeed a soldier and dedicated to her mission, that didn't mean she didn't have her own wants and needs. But as it stood, until LOGOs was purged from power, there was no way she could let herself become trapped by nostalgia. She had a duty to her country, and an oath to fulfill. As well as a promise to her father and grandfather.
The sound of footsteps on snow caught her attention and the woman turned to face John and Jacques as they approached her. Both men were clad in winter coats and boots, but Jacques had something hidden inside his coat.
"John. Jacques." Her eyes narrowed as she studied their faces. "You have something to say?"
Jacques nodded. "Yes, ma'am. You wished to be appraised of the situation in Orb, remember?"
Eisenhower did recall that very request. "I did. And what's happening down there?" she asked.
Here her DNI gave a grin. He reached into his coat and pulled out a folder. Eisenhower took it and opened it, her eyes widening. She looked up, her face asking the question more effectively than words ever could.
"As you've seen, ma'am, the reports are all in the affirmative," Jacques began. "The triple attack on Uingu Shima was a resounding success, and the Missouri really gave the mercs of Rogue Coyote a surprise. Her guns and missiles did the job in eliminating the shore defenses and allowed Terminal and Eurasian units to move in and finish them off. The attacks on the other islands carried out by Sicario led to a number of prisoners and the elimination of a number of mercs, one of which was a squadron of Master Goose Militia. The SS United States also surprisingly scored a kill, taking out the commander of another merc company known as Night Lords Security Company or something along those lines."
Eisenhower's eyes flicked to the images of the men and women being held in the brig of the Big U, each of them with mug shots and held in the cells. "Already a number of them have revealed priceless intel, mostly pertaining to other mercs on the ground in other areas. It will make things a lot easier for us in terms of rounding them up."
"And what of Lady Cagalli?" she asked. "Is she okay?"
Jacques nodded. "Yes. She is alive and safe, and House Seiran has been deposed."
"How did that happen?" Eisenhower wondered. "Last I heard, Unato and Yuna Seiran were still kicking."
"Ah... Well, it turns out Yuna was on board Orb's only major carrier when it was attacked by Heero some time back," Jacques clarified. "Heero destroyed it utterly, and as for Lord Seiran himself, well... let's just say he was not left alive when Heero finished him." He reached into a pocket and pulled out an image, handing it over. Eisenhower took it, and she didn't even flinch.
She merely pursed her lips. Most women would have purged their stomachs or screamed or fainted. Even some men would have done the same. But not her. As a former covert operative and a former Marine, she had an exceptionally strong stomach. She had done much killing during her career and was therefore unfazed by the sight of a man's head blown off.
"At least we've made some significant progress then," she admitted as she closed up the folder and handed both it and the picture back.
VP Harris gave a mod. "Yeah. And there are other aspects that have been of benefit to us as well," he told her.
"Such as?" Eisenhower's eyes narrowed.
"The Equatorial Union has just reached out to us," Harris remarked. "They've offered to support us in the Pacific as we start to deal with the Reich's Pacific Fleet remnants."
"That is good news," the President noted.
Harris nodded. "Yes. That is a huge benefit right there, as the Prime Minister told us that there may be a way for Coordinators to have their motility issues dealt with."
"Oh?" Eisenhower arched an eyebrow. "Well, that's something new."
"Yes. The Prime Minister informed us that their premier health company, Equatorial Health Care, has a secret that they've kept hidden all this time." Here he paused before continuing. "The company is actually a renamed Genetitech Labs, a company that was originally based at Mendel to try and find a cure to the sterility issues of Coordinators. However, due to the attack on Mendel close to twenty years ago, they retreated to Earth where they set up shop and continued their research as a secondary job compared to what it was back on Mendel."
Eisenhower's eyes narrowed as she considered the ramifications of this.
She knew about the research that had been found on Mendel pertaining to it, and with the revelations that were being uncovered with it, and the subsequent research conducted in secret, then there was a very high possibility for Coordinators to be able to have kids from the third generation on, all without being born from an artificial womb. The Ultimate Coordinator Project she knew about from the searches carried out by the L4 Coalition and subsequent searches done by a small team from Judgment Station, and she knew of what it really was: an effort to create a Perfect Being, right down to entirely synthesized DNA.
But as records had shown, it was not possible to create DNA from nothing.
Still, she couldn't help but worry about that possibility being considered real. After all, if some were willing to try and go that far, then who's to say that they wouldn't succeed one day?
"I see," she mused. "Then that means we can nip this in the bud. No artificial wombs and no manufactured life."
John nodded grimly.
"Anything else?" she asked the two men.
Jacques cleared his throat. "There has also been a recent development considering the recent activities abroad in Scotland," he told her. "As well as a bit of a development in the Kingdom."
"Go on," she remarked, leaning back against a tree, trying to avoid dislodging the snow atop its branches.
. . .
KINGDOM OF SCANDINAVIA
Deep within the depths of the country's underground docks, a new ship was undergoing replenishment.
"The Kingdom has been within the last few years developing its own mobile suits and spacecraft to transport some of them into orbit," his voice explained.
The entire ship was the exact same size as the Archangel, at 420 meters in length and possessing the same base design. However, unlike the original, the internal layout was entirely different. The two 'legs' held mobile suit catapults instead, and the central hangar bay was converted into a dual-barreled Lohengrin cannon. The two 'legs' were entirely capable of extending out to the sides further so as to allow the twin barrels to fire without damaging the armor of the ship. The engines were also of an entirely different type.
"So? We've done the same," Eisenhower's voice remarked.
The ship's paint scheme was also different, possessing a light blue for its secondary scheme and a cloudy gray for the primary. Only the golden accents remained the same. The crew was currently undergoing adjustment to the vessel, running through checklists and primary systems completion tests.
"Yes, but this one is vastly different," Jacques's voice stated.
"How so?" Eisenhower's voice questioned.
"The ship's interior is a completely different design, according to the King. He was not able to give details about the mobile suits it carries, but he did tell us about the ship itself. And the biggest thing is that its engines allow it to escape Earth's atmosphere and gravity under its own power."
"WHAT!?" The President's voice was filled with shock at this.
"It's true. The ship's engines of are a type that was used on the legendary SR-71 Blackbird. Scramjets. And these jets, when combined with our current technology levels, are supposed to allow the vessel to escape planetary gravity and the atmosphere," Jacques's voice replied. These jets are part of a system called the Bifrost System. By using these jets and the added power of our current reactors, the ship is able to eschew the use of expensive boosters and mass drivers. It's a technology that we need as well, which would allow our ships to do the same thing."
The ship's engines were shown undergoing maintenance, one of the techies looking one over and giving a single nod.
"Scramjets, huh? That sure would be useful..." Eisenhower mused.
"It is. The King said that such technology must not fall into the wrong hands," Jacques's voice stated. "So once the ship gets into orbit, it is to head right to Judgment Station where they will be removed and its original engines reinstalled."
"So a technology exchange," the President noted.
"Not quite."
The ship's mobile suit pilots began to file into the vessel, each man and woman assembled from the best of the best pilots the Kingdom had at its disposal.
"The technology they're handing over to us because they know we'll make better use of it."
. . .
"Good." Eisenhower folded her arms and smirked.
"Then there is the matter of the other nations," John continued.
"Go on." The President nodded to him.
"The United States of South America has begun to send supplies through the Panama Canal directly to our base down in New Orleans," he told her. "They have a pair of their best pilots on escort duty, and they've been very effective against the forces the Atlantians have been sending to try and take them down. But that's when they've been put with other pilots. Initially, both Jane Houston and Edward Harrelson declined such support, but after a convoy they were escorting was jumped and nearly taken by the Atlantians, they agreed to having backup."
"Sounds to me like the South Americans have taken things seriously if they've got a military in the works now," Eisenhower noted with a smile. "That means they've seen common sense. And that's something that's going against Djibril's plans."
Jacques gave another nod. "Yes," he remarked, taking over for the VP. "And then there is Africa."
Here Eisenhower's eyes hardened. "I should've known you'd bring it up," she remarked, rubbing one hand on her face. "So, what's the deal there?"
Here John reached into his own coat and pulled out a small sheaf of photos. "See for yourself."
The President took the photos and scanned them, her eyes narrowing. "I see... Looks like they've unified against us," she muttered. "They've been ramping up arms production and the black market has become something of a legitimate business to boost their new economy."
This was worrisome. With pretty much all of Africa united under one banner, it was only a matter of time until they had the necessary manpower and firepower to match the former Atlantian Reich colonies. The only saving grace was that the northern part of the country - with its vital Suez Canal and Strait of Gibraltar - were in the camp of aiding the resistance. But even so, it was still a measure of concern with the unity that Africa was displaying.
"This is very bad," Jacques explained. "At this rate, once they complete their military buildup, it could very well lead to another war."
"And we'll have to fight in self-defense," Eisenhower noted. Already her keen intellect was racing, trying to figure out a solution, but the only one she could see was trying to refrain from killing any of the soldiers they would inevitably fight against. And that was even more difficult than it seemed. But if they did kill anyone on accident, they would be sure to give the deceased proper burials, unlike the Atlantians who just left them to rot in the harsh desert sun without even giving letters of condolences to those who died by their hands. In fact, she could recall a number of horror stories carried out by those very same invaders in which some dead civilians were either cannibalized or just used for bayonet practice. Even stories of civilians not getting necessary care for their wounds, or having their injuries exacerbated by the enemy until the point of infection and oozing pus and sepsis was enough to mark those soldiers eligible for war crimes trials.
"Why those bastards had to resort to such barbaric measures is beyond me," John grumbled. "We should shoot those men in the knees and leave them to suffer for life."
"While that would be karmic justice, the best thing we can do is render them homeless," Eisenhower stated, her eyes glacier hard. "And in my own defense, I want to have some of them lose their teeth for what they did. But that makes us little better than them. As much as I hate to admit it, we have to stay on the high road here."
"Still, you can't deny you want some of them to suffer, too," Jacques pointed out.
Eisenhower closed her eyes and sighed. "Yeah. You're right on that," she admitted. "But..." She opened her eyes, those intense glacier blue orbs flashing. "...as I said, we have to be better than them. And that means doing what is right, not what we think is right, Jacques."
Both men understood where she was coming from. And they had to admit she did have a point. To do what was right was to follow the law, and show that the law and reason was prevalent over their primal passions and dark urges.
She turned away from the two men and faced the city skyline, observing it critically. "With Africa arming up, we need to show that we are not like the barbarians who have infested our halls of power. But in order to do that, we have to act swifter." Her eyes narrowed. "And that means getting more ships for our navy. And I mean real ships, not those Spenglers or other Atlantian vessels built."
"But we don't have the means to build a proper blue water fleet yet," Jacques protested.
Eisenhower gave a grim smirk. "Actually... we may not need to for the moment. Because there are a number of old US ships in museums..."
. . .
WEST COAST
The entire Western coastline was littered with different museum ships, each coming from a time in American, Mexican, or Canadian history. A number of them were old Arleigh Burke-class destroyers, along with two Ohio-class subs that had not been fully decommissioned. Both subs had had their ICBMS removed long ago, but they could still launch torpedoes. A number of corvettes and cruisers in Canadian maritime museums were also requisitioned by the resistance through front companies or fictitious groups looking to preserve them. A number of older Mexican ships had been retrieved a few months earlier and were finishing up a modernization program in the areas closer to Panama, which only added to their growing power.
Two of the older destroyers were finishing a refitting under the cover of darkness, and within hours they were mobilizing and heading out to sea to help in defeating the remainder of the Atlantian Pacific Fleet.
"...and we're going to take full advantage of that. Already we're getting a number out to sea, mostly old Arleighs and two of the old Ohios that remain in seaworthy condition."
. . .
EAST COAST
At the same time on the Eastern seaboard, a number of other ships had been removed from the museums and refurbished for war. One of these was the old WWII aircraft carrier, the USS Intrepid. At 872 feet long, she was only ten feet shorter than the Titanic, and weighed slightly less than her at 36,960 tons at full load. She was capable of 33 knots, having had her engines reinstalled secretly, although her status as a museum ship should have disqualified her from current service.
However, the Fighting I, as she was nicknamed, was not about to go down without one last fight. All the museum exhibits had been removed by the resistance and stored in a warehouse on the outskirts of New York City, and several mobile suits had been secretly assembled and placed aboard her, mostly Murasames or even old Skygraspers. But there was one other mobile suit that was going to give LOGOs hell aboard her as well.
And it was soon to make its debut in the coming fights.
"And let's just say LOGOs will not expect some of them to come back from the dead..."
. . .
BRITISH ISLES
Across the pond, naval museums were being brought out of stasis and back online. A number of old ships from the early 21st century AD were finished being revitalized and they were slowly steaming out to sea, ready to give LOGOs hell for making loyal British subjects the new Nazis. And one of these was the old Queen Elizabeth II aircraft carrier.
Named after the longest reigning monarch in British history, the vessel was going to uphold her legacy and fight to bring reason back to the world as a whole, just like her namesake did back during WWII. And she was going to show how a real royal did stuff.
Already a number of people were cheering as the vessel departed her museum dock, fully loaded and armed with aircraft from some other museums, including an old Spitfire and Mosquito plane from WWII. This was an eclectic mixture of planes that would earn the carrier the nickname "The Museum" in her future fights.
"...including those that fought to save the world from the Axis two centuries ago."
. . .
DECEMBER 19th, CE 0073
Harold's eyes roved over the lab in shock.
Sitting in one corner of the lab was a woman and another man, and off to their left was yet another male, but with severe injuries to his body. His entire lower body looked to be paralyzed, and his arms were covered in makeshift casts, with only his fingers poking through. His entire right side of his face was burned, and his eye was missing, if the eyelid drooping down was any indication. His hair was partially missing, revealing the scarred flesh of his scalp. His beard and mustache were singed by heat, he guessed, but it was his remaining eye that caught his attention.
It was sharp and clear.
His eye narrowed as he observed the new intruder critically.
Harold was quick to pull out a small launcher and raised it at the camera facing the trio and then he pressed the button. A small device shot out and latched onto the camera, scrambling its signal as well as with the other cameras. At the same time a prerecorded loop was established, showing the trio at work instead of staring at this man who had just barged in.
The resistance mole lowered the launcher and turned to look at the threesome in the corner.
"Who are you?" the older man asked, his eye narrowed. "You're not with the Americans."
"Actually..." Harold cleared his throat. "You mean I'm not with the Atlantians."
"Huh?" The trio blinked in confusion.
"Atlantians? What are you talking about?" the old ace asked.
"I mean what I said," Harold began. "I am with the Americans, yes, but not the ones you assume to be Americans. What I mean is that I am with a group that is actively fighting against the Atlantians who have taken control of our countries and reneged on everything that made our countries great. In short, the Atlantians are parasites who took control of a once-great country and turned it into a new Nazi Germany."
The woman blinked before she shook her head. "Okay. We need an explanation here," she remarked. "I'm very confused."
The other two men nodded as well.
Harold sighed. "All right. I'll explain everything that's been happening since the beginning."
He proceeded to do so, delving into detail about everything that had happened up to this point. He did not hold back in describing the conditions for the workers, the lack of higher education in the Quebec slums, the low wages given to the TCIC, the sudden resurgence of racial beliefs from Nazi Germany, the gigantism in military weapons, the discharge of women from the armed forces and subsequent rollbacks of key laws to make lives better, the attempted recreation of the Hitler Youth, and even the horror of the Extended Program.
He also told them about the resistance and its history, about their operations and even their recruitment of Sicario. He informed them of the five major corporations that had allied with Anaheim Electronics, as well as of their financial assets acquired through this business alliance. He also told them about the Headhunters and the recruitment of the three massive intelligence agencies to the side of the resistance.
When he was finished, it was close to evening, and the trio were just stunned.
The woman was the first to speak. "How... How could anyone even think of treating children so horribly?!" she practically wailed. It was only due to her shock that she didn't get too loud.
"Believe me, I wish I knew too," Harold admitted. "But the truth of the matter is, it's happened and we vowed to stop it."
The old ace, Mihaly, narrowed his eye a bit. "So you've basically engaged in open civil war," he deduced.
"Close, but not quite yet," Harold remarked. "It's almost to that point, but it needs just a bit more push."
"Why are you here?" the second man asked.
"To put it simply, we found out about you through bugging the landlines to this base," Harold explained. "We also learned of Project: Iron Legion, and Project: Reaper through spies in the ranks of LOGOs."
Mihaly frowned. "I see. Then I assume you know what it is?"
Harold nodded. "Yes. Project: Iron Legion is a project to create AI controlled mobile suits." He paused, then sighed. "Actually, we have an initiative of our own that draws on the same concept, but for a different reason..."
. . .
DECEMBER 25th, CE 0073
LOS ALAMOS, NEW MEXICO
The entire city was now a madhouse.
The resistance had already seized full control of the former laboratory where the atomic bombs had been developed in the Second World War, and already LOGOs was struggling to reclaim them, as it was now where Extended research was being carried out.
The commander of said forces, Adolf Schwinn, narrowed his eyes as he observed the intense fighting raging outside the complex through his binoculars. With the seizure of the last buildings, it was only a matter of time before the facility was no longer producing Extended. He glanced back to his forces, numbering at least ten thousand men at arms. A fifth of them were mobile suit pilots and the rest were all infantry. He nodded as he looked to the complex below once more.
The last of the Atlantian scientists had been captured and were now awaiting execution by firing squad. He could see them being housed in cages that were way too small to hold the sheer number of them. It made him wonder what the resistance was thinking. Were they trying to make their scientists suffer for some reason? It didn't seem like they were acting better than his own people. It made him chuckle a bit. "How hypocritical," he muttered. "Zey clam to be better, but here zey are shoving zose scientists into cages too small for the amount zey're holding."
However, what he didn't know was that this was for a purpose.
And he was about to learn what that purpose was.
He lowered his binoculars and turned to look at his unit. "All forces, prepare to mobilize. Our objective is clear: recapture Los Alamos! No prisoners taken! Und no holding back!"
"HEIL!" the men cried, raising their fists, both real and mechanical, over their heads. Adolf tossed the binoculars aside and leapt over his motorcycle, starting the engine and revving it.
The man sneered as he gunned it, both infantry and mobile suits following behind him.
And right into the waiting jaws of the rebels.
His eyes widened as he noticed three large vehicles coming into view, each of them possessing the silhouette of a tank or armored personnel carrier.
What happened next surprised him, and made his bowels run.
As soon as the tanks stopped, they then transformed from tank form to mobile suit mode. The front half of the tank separated, revealing the front was actually the legs of this new machine, and the feet snapped into position. At the same time, lower legs snapped into place as well. The torso moved upwards and snapped the upper half of the mobile suit, which was revealed to be the rear of the tank, into place. The arms, which were equipped with the missile launcher containers on the lower arms in place of standard manipulators, detached from the sides and moved away from the main body before the shoulders slid down and locked into place. The last thing to happen was the head emerged from the chest as a red visor flared to life.
One of the mobile suits aimed its right arm at the incoming infantry and fired a pair of missiles right for them! His eyes widened even more as the other two machines followed suit, but instead of missile launchers, these two had standard manipulators, but with smaller canisters on either side. As soon as two of the canister lids opened, a pair of round cylindrical objects fired from them, bouncing a ways before coming to a stop and making them halt in confusion. A soft beeping reached his hearing and he lunged forward, trying to slam one of the grenades away, only it was too late and the device exploded just as the missiles slammed into his forces.
Five explosions rocked the battlefield, along with the screams of men and exploding ordinance for his mobile suits.
Adolf was thrown right off his bike, smacking the ground hard and rolling before coming to a stop near a small cactus. He sat up, rubbing his head, only to feel the blood drain from his face at the utter carnage, and right in front of him, he could also see the scientists staring in utter horror and fear at what they were witnessing. As they were packed so tightly together, there was no way any one of them could slump down or faint. In fact, a number had passed out standing upright.
The Windams under his command aimed their beam rifles and began to fire, only for the strange resistance mobile suits to fold back into tank mode before retreating under the cover of the fire and smoke. Without clear lines of sight, there was no way they could be fired upon.
But then again, the rebels couldn't fire on them, either, Adolf mused.
He staggered to his feet, grabbing his walkie talkie and hitting the button.
"Can anyone hear me?" he barked.
"Yes, sir. I heard you loud und clear!" the commander of his mobile suit forces, Rudolph Hitler, exclaimed.
"Ah. Good. For a moment, I vas sure you vere killed," Adolf remarked.
"Vell, as you can see, I am not," Rudolph stated. "Now, vhat is ze obejctive, sir?"
"You are to take some of your men und head around ze complex to ze entrance!" Adolf ordered. "Ze rebels cannot have very many machines!"
"Yes, sir!" Rudolph exclaimed. The walkie-talkie went dead and he turned his gaze to where his subordinate was making inroads. Already rebel forces had gathered to try and halt his advance, but as he had two thousand mobile suits, it was going to be an uphill battle for them. A sneer crossed his face, and he chuckled.
There was no way they were going to win this one.
But what he didn't know was that they were ready for him.
Especially as they had their own machines waiting in plain sight where he couldn't see them.
. . .
Sophia Hess gripped her machine's beam rifle, shifting in the seat as she locked onto the closest enemy machine.
Her GM was sprawled out across the closest ridge, having locked onto the enemy's location from higher up. It paid to have the high ground, she noted as she pulled the trigger. The cloak of her machine made it hard to spot her from the air, and even satellites would have a hell of a time trying to track her down.
The idea for coverage for mobile suits was actually a novel one, as no one had considered the idea to even be viable in the Atlantian Reich. The resistance on the other hand was willing to use such coverage to its fullest. It was only one mark of how narrow-minded and limited in thinking the Atlantians were in every sense of the word. And it made her laugh at the sheer absurdity of the whole thing.
With the town of Los Alamos sprawled across four plateaus, it was a perfect place to rain down hell on the enemy. The only reason the rebels had gotten the town to begin with was due to the fact they entered via the back side, through the mountains. It had been a big surprise as well when several resistance cargo planes had landed with mobile suits aboard. Taking the airport hadn't been easy, but by the time they were finished, the only thing taken out was a hangar and two Atlantian military transports.
Now with the town fully under their control, the resistance was finishing up termination of the Extended Program there, and shutting it down for good. The head scientist had already been captured and left unable to walk due to someone kneecapping him in the ensuing firefight, so now he was in the hospital for his injuries, although she suspected he would get his legs amputated due to the severity of the shrapnel wounds. That alone would be enough to leave him dependent on others for even going to the bathroom, a mark of humiliation for one who saw himself in the prime of his manhood.
She forced herself to ignore her musings and shifted her gaze back to her main screen.
Her target was gone.
Cursing to herself, she maneuvered her mobile suit slightly to the left, spotting the enemy Windam as it started to make its way towards one of the roads leading to Los Alamos. She adjusted her scope and the targeting reticle flashed green before she squeezed the trigger.
A single round flew out from the barrel and struck the Windam dead in the chest; armor-piercing rounds were a lot more effective against their armor than conventional rounds. The Windam exploded and she pulled the barrel of her sniper rifle back as two other Windams started scanning for her. The entire group started to spread out, and she could already see on her screen that a number of Lotos were moving into position to strike down their counterparts.
"Sophia, you getting this?" her wingman asked.
"Yeah, I see it," she radioed back. "Those damn Atlantians have no idea they're walking right into a trap." A smirk crossed her face as she observed the Lotos flanking the edges of the gap between plateaus. That right there was a perfect killing field for them.
The plan was brilliant and simple, but downright ruthless.
The Atlantians were to be led into the gaps between plateaus and then the Lotos were to open fire on them from the edges flanking those gaps. That alone would be devastating for the enemy units, and hopefully would spare the resistance machines from being targeted.
At least, that was the whole idea. Sophia knew just how volatile the situation in war could be, and she was not about to assume that the trap would work as planned. It was best, she knew, to have a backup plan for if something went wrong. And their backup was simple: target the commander of this force. Without him, there was no way they'd maintain cohesion. It was a flaw the resistance had taken note of during the fighting in Mexico and the United States of South America.
She couldn't help but smirk at the very idea of the Atlantians scrambling like ants without a queen.
With that in mind, she resumed the scan for the commander.
Her patience eventually paid off.
The next hour and a half saw the Atlantians trying to advance up the gaps between the plateaus, only to fall into their trap. A good number of mobile suits for the enemy were annihilated, mostly with cluster missiles launched from the Lotos, as well as fire from GMs lurking under camouflage tarps, much like hers. Tanks for the resistance held off the infantry, using their main guns and machine guns to blow the advancing foot soldiers to pieces or wound them.
And during this time, she remained patient, watching, observing...
Waiting.
And then she saw him.
Sitting astride a motorcycle like a horse from the olden days, there was the commander. His helmet had a spike and plume attached to it, and from the ranks on his uniform, he was a commander in the Atlantian thug squad. He held a single revolver in one hand and on his hip was a saber, like those used for dueling. She scowled as she adjusted her machine's position, the targeting reticle flashing green. Her finger was on the trigger.
The man was barking orders, waving his gun around and drawing his saber.
She closed one eye, drowning out all sounds of battle.
She could only hear her breathing and her heartbeat.
All she saw was the target.
She was the machine, and the machine was her.
They were one.
She pulled the trigger.
. . .
To an observer, it was surreal.
Seeing a mobile suit firing its sniper rifle right for a single man was not normal.
But then again, the resistance were not ones to do things the normal way.
Using a mobile suit's sniper rifle to eliminate an enemy officer was a surefire way to break whatever hold they had on the soldiers under their command.
The Atlantian forces attacking heard the round and turned to see where it was going.
Their commander was there one minute, giving orders to continue the siege, and the next there was nothing but blood, gore, and body parts, as well as the shredded remnants of his helmet and plume flying through the air. A large crater marked where he had once been, the debris of his bike scattered everywhere. Many of the men were horrified, and at once panic seemed to break out. A good majority of the soldiers suddenly lost control, staggering back and tumbling down the sides of the plateaus while a number of mobile suits staggered around, their pilots trying to regain control desperately.
Then all hell broke loose as more senior Atlantian officers tried to regain control.
The resistance was quick to take advantage of this, with fighters swarming out of cover atop mountain bikes and within armed Jeeps. The Atlantian officers were quickly dispatched, along with a significant number of remaining forces that tried to resume the attack for their deceased commander.
The Battle for Los Alamos had finally turned in the resistance's favor.
. . .
DECEMBER 19th, 0073 CE
Harold waited to see what Mihaly and his two comrades had to say.
The younger of the two men, whom he had learned was named Marius Morozov, was stunned to say the least. His eyes were wide as he slowly shook his head in disbelief.
"You mean to tell me that this resistance, if it even exists, has managed to jack one of the three command-class AIs for this whole project, and successfully turned it to their side?" He shook his head a bit harder. "There's no way that can be true!"
"Well, it is," Harold confirmed.
"Hold on." Mihaly's eye narrowed. "Something about this doesn't add up. How is it you knew of this initiative, if it's so top secret, and if what you say is true, we would like actual evidence of what you claim is happening."
"I kind of guessed that would be your response," Harold sighed. Then he looked the old ace right in the eye, making him blink in surprise. "You weren't kept in contact with the outside world after your capture, were you?"
The three shook their heads.
The woman, who had introduced herself as Chloe Dubois, cleared her throat. "Obviously if we're not sure as to what you say is true," she stated.
Harold nodded. "I see. Well..." He reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out his smartphone. "...allow me to show you just what has been happening recently."
He brought the device online and quickly sent a message via the encryption app to the Hub for recent news footage of what was happening outside this dank lab. The techies in charge responded shortly, sending at least five different live feeds to show the trio. He proceeded to hand them the phone and all three gathered around as they took turns scanning the feeds. Each feed was from one of the underground news sources the resistance had under their command, and to say they were shocked was an understatement.
Marius's eyes were horrified as he watched as in the city of Raleigh, North Carolina, a slew of children was being herded towards a large horse trailer, only for a bunch of resistance fighters, both men and women, swarm out of the buildings and open fire on the Atlantian thugs. The resistance soldiers didn't even miss a shot as they fired with deadly accuracy, and one of the women was armed with the MG42 Shredder, using it to great effect to force the Atlantians back as the rebels secured the trailer and herded the children inside before gunning the truck's engine and driving away from the scene of the fighting, all the way towards a safe house located in an abandoned food production plant.
Chloe had to resist vomiting as she stared at the scenes of the riots in Quebec, with a number of women and men alike sweeping machine gun fire up and down the main street, killing guards like lemmings. The blood splattered several of the ramshackle buildings and the open sewers. Horses that had been used for transport there were running all over the place, trampling both rioter and guard alike, leaving them in bloodied messes in the middle of the streets. Alleyways were filled with dead bodies, and already she could see forces from the resistance were swarming towards the place, but the Atlantian forces on the outskirts were making it hell for them to even get close.
Mihaly, on the other hand, was dead silent as he observed the resistance's efforts to secure yet another naval asset, this time being the old battleship USS Iowa. Located in Los Angeles, the vessel was now fully active, despite being down a turret. She had slipped away undercover of the attacks being carried out by the Atlantian forces and resistance fighters. Her remaining six guns fired on the city in her escape route, and he could only conclude she was supposed to harass Atlantian forces in the Pacific, if the fact she was heading out alone was any indication. He shifted his gaze up to see the man who had come to rescue them supposedly staring at the trio critically.
Finally, he handed the phone back to him.
"I see..." he mused. "You were telling the truth."
Harold nodded. "Yes."
Marius shifted as he swallowed nervously.
"Just... Pardon me for doubting you, but... how can you be sure of your movement's security?" he asked. "Given it's size, surely there must be some spies..."
"Professor, when I said we had the means to keep spies out, I mean it," Harold explained. "And truthfully, I can't say the exact methods because they are classified, but I can assure you we have no spies amongst our ranks." Then he smirked. "Unless they're working for us, of course."
That was enough to make the man sigh in relief, closing his eyes.
But Mihaly had one question that was on all their minds. "This initiative. What was the reason for it's development to begin with?" he asked, narrowing his eye. "You didn't mention that part when you explained the details."
The resistance spy nodded. "Right." He cleared his throat and began to speak. "The intent behind the BOLO Initiative is to counter Project: Iron Legion. The AIs that the rear admiral is developing are connected through a hivemind network that she calls the CyberMind, according to our own AI expert. And that is what worries us. If that central AI attains sentience, there is a huge risk that it could turn against us Naturals and wipe us all out."
He shifted a bit. "So to put it bluntly, the BOLO Initiative is designed to allow humans and AI to work together and to break down the fears of AI wiping out humanity. Because in the long run, humans and AI need each other to survive. Humans need AIs to go into more dangerous battlefields and the AIs need us to keep their programming intact. The programming of all AIs is subject to degradation over time, and to keep it from getting degraded to the point of going rogue or insane, humans are needed to look through it and pick out the bad code."
Mihaly frowned. "Somehow I doubt that's even the real reason," he rumbled.
"That's one of the reasons it was developed," Harold stated. "There is a second reason for it, too." His eyes hardened. "The other reason is to show that if a living weapon can be treated as sentient, then hopefully that mindset will startle those bastards in power into rethinking their views on children."
The old ace's eye widened in astonishment. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Harold said, standing up straighter. "The other reason behind the project is to show that their so-called super-soldiers or weapons, which are in reality children, are just that: children! It's meant to show that sentient weapons like them are living beings like anyone else on this planet!"
Mihaly pursed his lips at that.
"So why are you here then?" he asked.
"Simply put, I'm here to break you guys out," Harold said. He then looked down. "Or rather, I'm here to confirm your location and presence in this place."
He then looked up again. "But now that we know you're here, we can begin preparations."
"For what?" Marius asked, daring to even feel a bit of hope.
Here, Harold gave a wide grin to the three. "Operation: Jailbreak."