Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. I hope you guys are ready for what's coming here. ;) This chapter is all about the attack on Paris... from the governmental side. :3
- operation meteor: Well, glad ya liked it. :) Of course the resistance does go with a microwave weapon that functions as a directed energy weapon, like it should have been. In their eyes, that is a lot more merciful when compared to the sinister Cyclops system. With the Judgment Satellite System, if used on a ship, death is instantaneous compared to the agonizing buildup caused by the Cyclops. To the Atlantic Federation, seeing the agonizing screams on the victims' faces justifies the results... even if it is their own people.
- CT7567Rules: Glad ya liked that part with the sixteen inchers~! XD Also, yes, it is quite stupid. That's why Dr. Martinez's BOLO Initiative was enacted. It's a program designed to create AIs that will support human soldiers, not replace them. And that's why Turbine is even around. :3 To have AIs that can support soldiers is one thing LOGOs doesn't want. It would show them that Coordinators, Naturals, Enhanced, and AI alike can stand against them and their endgame goals.
- 1800009trumbullps . net: Glad ya loved it. :)
(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, Kashi Tsukiyama, 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 shadowy mobile suit above them and below the ship, two brilliant light blue optics flaring)
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 Anchorage)
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 before panning away to show Heaven's Base)
Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (The base is shown shrouded by darkness, Nazara standing above the base as the ZAFT-Defector fleet sails towards it)
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 the SS United States in Orb, undergoing repairs while her crew is gathered before her, the USS Missouri on station to act as deterrence)
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 S 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 XLIX: Emergency Evacuation
JANUARY 2ND, 0074 CE
SOUTHERN REDOUBT
EURASIAN FEDERATION
The entire city was in a panic.
People trying to evacuate by any means necessary.
Looters stealing objects from stores.
Rioters breaking out into the streets.
And all the while, the Atlantians were keeping them trapped like rats in a cage.
To Brigadier General Mathieu Neuville, this was close to Armageddon.
Seeing this on live TV was enough to make him growl in anger. "Those Atlantians... how dare they!" he grumbled.
Bruce placed a hand on his mouth, feeling a bit sick at seeing a few children hauled away from an exit point in the barricade by the Atlantians and sent back into the city. "How could they do this...?" he whispered.
The old general had no answer.
Instead, he glanced to his field phone and raised it before dialing a certain number.
The phone rang a few times before a familiar female voice answered. "Brigadier General!" came the voice of Amable Perrault.
"At ease, Captain," the general replied. "How goes ze evacuation?"
"So far so good, sir. We've gotten most of ze government officials into ze entrance of ze catacombs. But it's going to be a hassle to get zem through ze tunnels," the captain admitted.
"As long as zey are out of ze city limits by ze time that dreadnought makes its way to ze city!" the brigadier general snapped. "We cannot afford to have ze government collapse!"
"Oui. I am fully aware, sir," the cataphile responded. "With ze way things are going, we should be able to get zem out of ze city limits sometime tonight at ze maximum."
"Not enough time... zat thing will be here soon..." Neuville muttered darkly.
"As long as the major government officials get out, they can always rebuild the government," Bruce pointed out.
"That may be ze case, but even so, zere still will be essential people who will die," the brigadier general admitted. "And I'm not sure ze catacombs can withstand that zing's firepower for long."
"As long as it holds for ze moment," Perrault stated. "That's all we need for now."
"How long until it arrives then?" someone else asked.
Brigadier General Neuville pursed his lips as he looked to Bruce. His old friend held up a tablet, this one depicting the dreadnought's advance across Europe. The ship's hulking shape was visible from Earth orbit, and it was being tracked by the satellites hijacked by the resistance, in addition to their secret space station, Judgment Station or whatever it was called.
The very fact the resistance had its own space station was enough to make him wonder just how in the world they had managed to build it without LOGOs being the wiser. Sure maybe they could have transported enough people and supplies, but to construct it entirely without LOGOs getting wind of it was a miracle in its own right; it was almost like someone was watching out for them in a sense.
But he ignored that and focused back on the evacuation of the government. "I assume then that things are set for demolition?" he asked the captain.
Bruce paused as he glanced to the cataphile's nunber displayed on his phone. "I... am afraid zat is not an option," she admitted grimly. "Zere was no time to set up ze demolitions. Ze enemy has made sure of that."
The brigadier general's stomach plummeted to the ground as he stared in shock. "What...did you say?" he whispered.
"I said zat demolitions are not possible. We had to devote a large number of our supplies for defense of ze city..." Amable said darkly. "Just as zey wanted us to do."
"We should have refused that!" someone blurted. "We should have surrendered some parts of ze southern or northern suburbs!"
"Don't zink I know that?!" Brigadier General Neuville roared, startling everyone. "I honestly was expecting us to have more breathing room to set up stuff for demolition. But... I guess not." His eyes hardened. "We played right into zeir hands with this."
"At least we can get ze government out. But as for the Louvre and Notre Dam... we can't save all ze art collections. We did manage to get some down to ze catacombs, but we can't save all of it. Just ze very priceless paintings and sculptures," Amable admitted.
"At least some zings have been saved..." Neuville murmured softly. His eyes hardened. "What about ze time of arrival of zat monstrosity?"
"Sometime this evening, if current predictions hold true," Bruce remarked as his eyes narrowed. "At least according to my comrades in the resistance."
"What time?" the brigadier general asked.
"Unfortunately, we don't have an accurate estimation," Bruce told him, looking up from the tablet. "All I know is that it will be sometime tonight. We'll have to be ready to take action to try and take that thing down."
"And how will we do that?!" a soldier bellowed. "You saw what happened back at Heaven's Base! It took their attacks like zey were nothing!"
Arguments and protests erupted at that exclamation, leading Bruce to try and calm them down. But the older general was not listening.
Neuville wasn't quick to admit defeat until he had exhausted all options. From what he could observe, the shields on that monstrosity were well placed and could take insane amounts of damage. So while conventional weapons were useless, there were other options to try and overcome that thing's defenses. And he knew of one of them.
Heero Yuy... and his infamous Twin Buster Rifle.
Plus the two Archangel-class battleships and those massive cannons they had mounted on their bows.
But considering the damage those things could no doubt cause, it would have to be done over an open area to reduce the possibility of potential collateral damage. And then there was the resistance to consider. From what he had heard his friend mentioning, it seemed like the rebels had their own special weapon in place for something of this magnitude. But as to what it was, well, his old friend either had no knowledge of it, or he did know and was wisely keeping it quiet for their safety.
Whatever the situation his friend was in, he trusted him immensely, and he knew he was not about to break that trust.
"How's it looking on the front of ze resistance?" he asked him.
"Hm?" Bruce glanced over. "Oh, you mean on the home front or up in orbit?"
"Orbit." The brigadier general was serious as he said that one word.
Here Bruce bit his lower lip before he sighed. "I assume you want to know of our assets in space, right?"
"I already know of some. But what other assets do you have?" Neuville asked. The way he emphasized that sentence finally caught his old friend's attention and he knew what he was asking.
The liaison closed his eyes and took in a breath before letting it out. "All right. We do have an asset that we could potentially use to bring that thing down... at least in theory."
"What kind of asset?" Neuville pressed.
"Well... do you remember the disaster at JOSH-A? The one that Heero Yuy stopped?" Bruce asked, startling the older man. Neuville did recall that, and while he was not too thrilled with the outcome, it could have been much worse had Heero not destroyed the Cyclops System.
"Oui. I remember," he said cautiously.
"Well... it just so happens... we have something similar..." Bruce began, "...but in a more... proper... format."
Silence filled the area for a long while, with soldiers looking at one another and a few even glaring at the resistance liaison with hatred in their eyes.
"What... do you mean by... 'proper format'?" a soldier asked.
"I mean what I said," Bruce continued. "Unlike the original Cyclops System, this system is less about causing an agonizing death and is more about turning all that radiation into a directed energy weapon."
"Hold on. You mean to say that ze Cyclops was meant to cause an agonizing death?" another soldier wondered.
The liaison nodded. "In a way. During the Battle of Endymion Crater back during the first part of the First BV War, the Cyclops System at the base there was actually reconfigured to be used as a bomb. Much like during the Reconstruction War to an extent." His eyes narrowed. "The purpose was simple: to use microwaves to heat up fluids in a vehicle and cause them to explode from the expanding gases. But it also had the side effect of causing human bodies to inflate and literally pop like balloons. That side effect was what rendered them as a forbidden weapon of war."
He glanced to the gathered soldiers. "Instead, they were repurposed to be used as mining devices. And it made a lot of sense, seeing as how the microwaves could be used melt lunar ice to let miners get at the ores beneath it. But..." Bruce gritted his teeth. "...when ZAFT was making significant progress during the battle... The Atlantian commander in charge of the base triggered it and set it to go off as a bomb. The blast was enough to wipe out the Mobeius Zero Corps and the ZAFT soldiers attacking the base. In truth, it was part of their gambit to wipe out pilots who had the ability to evolve into a new type of human as well. And I'm not talking about Coordinators. But that's for later."
"So this weapon you have..." a civilian mused. "...what does it do?"
Bruce ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "It's not like the Cyclops System. It doesn't cause the human body to inflate and then pop. Instead... it takes that microwave energy and converts it into a directed energy weapon. It's a lot more potent, and a lot more powerful. Plus, it just incinerates the target. No inflation, no popping, Just complete incineration," he explained. "In short... it's more humane than that insidious system that the Atlantians created..."
"But zat means you'd be mercifully killing them then!" someone else exclaimed.
Bruce shook his head. "No. I said incineration. That is still painful in its own right. But the difference is it doesn't cause them agony. It just gives a flash of pain, and then nothing. Quick, easy, and pragmatic," he countered.
Neuville pursed his lips at that. "I see... Quick and pragmatic, not sadistic."
The younger man nodded. "Exactly. It's meant to show that we are above that kind of thing. The Reich is all about sadism, toxic masculinity, and enjoyment of pain. They could care less about their people. They care even less about their allies. And they care even less about the collateral. To them, the more people killed equals more pay, more glory, more medals." He grimaced. "Why do you think they sent that Destroy after Berlin and literally torched the city? All because they could. All because they wanted to. To show the world how little they care, all in an attempt to drive fear into the populace."
"But it did not," Neuville deduced. "Instead, it united ze world. Under ze banner of the United States and zeir allies."
Bruce gave a sinister smirk. "Precisely. And they show their true colors regarding their homeland as well. This in effect gives us more legitimacy in contrast to the Government. Our government is far different than theirs. Theirs is for themselves, of themselves, and by themselves. Ours is a government of the people, for the people, by the people. It shows that we care about the people, and not our own petty ambitions."
Neuville had to keep from shuddering at seeing the smirk on his friend's face. He turned his gaze back to the direction of Paris, and already he could see the smoke curling skyward. "Zat is good and all, but what about your superweapon? Can it be ready soon?" he asked.
Bruce's eyes widened as his smirk faded and he turned to look back at the city's location. "Crap...! They've made it?!" he exclaimed.
"It seems zat way..." Neuville muttered darkly. "I can only hope zat the government escapes..."
His friend nodded. "Same here, old friend. Same here..."
. . .
CATACOMBS OF PARIS
"C'mon! Move it, people!" someone shouted.
Already the evacuation was under way.
A number of people lined the route the French regional government was using to escape, being guided by the First Cataphile Reconnaissance Team. Many had lights, a few had ropes tied to certain sections of the tunnels, and some even had waders on hand to give to the government officials as they were led to safety.
The entire recon unit had been a wise investment on the brigadier general's part. Utilizing their accumulated knowledge of the catacombs and quarries that ran beneath the city, they were able to establish a route for evacuation out to the city's main suburbs, well beyond the ring of enemy troops encircling it. This was the only way to bypass the total encirclement. While not ideal as it was taking close to three days to get everyone out, it was an effective way to avoid detection as well, since many in the Atlantian forces back in the American capitol wanted to kill the French government officials and turn the City of Lights into the City of Vice.
French regional President Jacques Macron glanced back at the narrow tunnel he was in, and already he could see the ceiling dislodging fine dust particles. He wore a gas mask to filter them out; it had been handed to him a few days prior to entering the catacombs via the sewers. And right now, it was coming in handy. Ahead of him he could barely see two other government officials. One of the cataphiles held up her light and waved it. "Down this corridor!" she called.
As President Macron made his way down the corridor, the entire structure shook, sending dust cascading down onto the people within. A rush of panic began to fill the air, but one of the cataphiles behind raised a hand. "Everyone, calm down! Keep moving, and stay calm! The supports are still holding!" he exclaimed.
The panic did die down, but an uneasiness filled the air of the tunnel as the government officials kept moving forward. A few held up their own smartphones to act as lights, but they were kept as low as possible so as to not give away their location once they emerged from the underground. The trip through the catacombs was something he had not been expecting, but in hindsight it made a lot of sense given how deep they ran and of how thick the ground was up above. Off to another side he spotted a cluster of red crosses marching down another corridor, indicating that it was a hospital of sorts. He even glimpsed a lot of cords running down the corridors, some heading up a staircase to a nearby electrical line underground; no doubt they had rigged generators for this place he mused as they headed past it.
One of the cataphiles on the right held up a hand and gestured. "Keep moving this way! The corridor to the left is blocked!" The line continued to move, slowly and deliberately.
Someone ducked under an overhang and Macron followed suit. "How much longer until we reach the surface?" he asked.
"That's not for us to say," another man muttered as he checked the time on his phone; no signals got down this far, so no one knew what was happening up on the surface. In fact, no one knew anything at all. Sure reports did filter down, but none of the government officials were told so as to keep the panic down. All had one goal in mind right now, and that was to keep on moving to stay alive.
A few children broke down crying as the corridor shuddered again, a large rumbling echoing high above. Macron began to fear the worst as small pebbles cascaded down from the ceiling. "Keep calm! And keep moving!" one of the cataphiles yelled. "Don't panic! We got this covered!"
Already two more cataphiles were moving in with a support beam and, working together, they managed to wedge it in between the floor and ceiling, shoring it up for as long as they could. A few women reassured their children while some of them reassured their husbands in a surprising twist. This was a mark of how different things were from the Atlantian Reich, and to be fair, Macron found the whole idea of a small minority cabal in power using the former American nation as a host body very believable in comparison to some of the other theories that had been spewed by ZAFT soldiers he had come across. And with the testimony backed up by the resistance forces in the parasitical country, it made a lot more sense than he thought possible.
'It's just so hard to believe...' he thought. 'But it is true. Zere was no way it could have been otherwise.'
A grim smirk crossed his face as he felt someone nudge him down another corridor.
Already he could see a few lights up ahead, and as they progressed through the catacombs, a shiver raced down his spine. They were coming to a narrow corridor, so narrow one could only wriggle through walking sideways. It was a surefire death trap. And yet with the green lights overhead, it lent a sort of eerie feel like crawling through a plant's roots in comparison to the arterial feel of some of the other walkways and corridors. It gave a sort of a sense of serenity and calm, not the claustrophobic feel of moving through veins.
Macron watched as two women wriggled through first, holding onto a rope that was tied around their waists. A cataphile stood by holding a long length of rope to tie around the waist of the next person in the line. Macron inched forward and she swiftly wrapped it around his waist before nodding for him to go on ahead. The French regional President slipped into the crevice, and the rope tightened as he began to move. Behind him he could sense another man slip in sideways before the rope went slack briefly. The cataphile had tied off the last of the rope and was now unrolling another one, from what he could see before he curved around a bend and was left in the green semi-darkness of the tunnel. He had one hand in front, the other one in back, and slowly the human chain continued to move.
Macron could feel his heartrate soar as he kept himself plastered to that wall. There was no telling how long they had been on the move, least of all any means to know what time it even was. The entire chain of refugees suddenly stopped as screams of panic echoed up and down the line. The entire crevice shuddered from another rumble somewhere up above in the city, and he began to fear that there was no way they'd make it out of this maze of tunnels and corridors. This tunnel in particular was one he was not keen on getting trapped in, so he gave a firm nudge to the woman in front of him. She grunted, but resumed moving as the line started up again.
It seemed to drag on forever as the human train made its way out of the narrow corridor. Slowly, one by one, inch by inch, the train continued, led by the person in front. Macron's eyes slipped closed as he kept himself moving. Inch, inch, inch... Over and over, repetitive motions keeping him going... rumblings, stopping when dust drifted down from the ceiling...
It was gut wrenching and utterly horrifying.
But finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, he spotted a brighter light up ahead around another bend. It grew closer until he finally inched around it between the woman in front and the man behind. His eyes widened as he realized with some astonishment that they had reached a mineshaft that had been in operation for only a few months before the war came to their shores.
Beside the corridor stood five cataphiles, each removing the rope from the person who emerged and to offer food and water for any of the refugees who were thirsty or hungry. Macron was the second-to-last to emerge, and he watched as the man beside him cut the rope and gestured for him to move on. The President scurried away from the hole, feeling immense relief and happiness at having escaped certain death.
The mineshaft suddenly shook violently, and everyone was thrown to the ground, screams and cries echoing in the large tunnel. One of the cataphiles stood up, her miner's helmet shining brightly in the dim corridor. "Everyone, keep moving towards the surface!" she shouted. "Keep going straight! The neon light will guide you there!"
Macron glanced to the ceiling and was surprised to see bright blue neon light strips running along the shaft's supports. He shot a glance down the corridor the opposite way; no neon strips. He turned and started to follow the other government officials as they made their way out of the mine.
. . .
JUDGMENT STATION
EARTH ORBIT
"Crap...!" Spray's eyes were wide as he stared at the devastation on the main monitor. "How could anyone do such a thing?!"
Maxus scowled. "That bastard has no concern for anything," he growled.
Off to the side, Warren frowned. "All the more reason to stand up to such madness," he admitted.
Both men looked to the Coordinator scientist. "He's reacting too much on his anger," Warren explained. "He's a perfect example of why we should not let our hatred reign over our common sense."
"The big question though is... why do this?" Spray asked, gesturing to the carnage on screen. "He's obliterating everything! Especially the medical and emergency services! That right there is a war crime!"
Maxus pursed his lips as he crossed his arms. "Bastard wants them to only feel pain... to not have any hope. He's attacking the very idea of hope itself, stripping it from the people."
Spray gritted his teeth as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "That... maniac...!" he hissed. "What I wouldn't give to slug him across the face and rip his testicles off!"
Maxus just about gagged at the image while Warren merely quirked an eyebrow. Then the L4 liaison turned his gaze back to the onslaught of destruction. He scanned it thoroughly before he picked up something. His eyes narrowed as he examined the brief image of the news reporter peering out from one of the catacomb entrances, her camera fixed on the dreadnought.
"Hn..."
The man stepped closer to the screen and touched it, freezing the image. The feed was being broadcast from what few video cameras remained intact, and when coupled with the satellite feed being routed directly to the disguised station, it offered a very profound view of the carnage. With the attack being so brutal and barbaric, the scientist was also feeling sick to his stomach; he just hid it a lot better than the others. After all, he had seen a lot of failed mobile suit tests that led to something similar.
"By the way... did either of you notice this?" he asked, zooming the image in.
Maxus frowned. "So? It's a news reporter trying to get footage of that monstrosity."
Spray, however, was quick to catch on. His brown eyes widened in realization at the implications. "Shit...! That's right! By slaughtering the news reporters... he can prevent our allies from determining its weaknesses!" he breathed. "But.." His gaze narrowed as he lowered his head, running things through his mind.
'This is good news then. If some news reporters survived... that means they will have footage for us to get! And when we combine that with what information we ourselves have observed from the fighting in Iceland and here... That gives us a big advantage! The satellite images combined with real-time data that we have seen will go a long way in trying to take that beast down!' he thought. 'The only question is, how can we get a message out to Terminal and Eurasia both, without giving away our current location in orbit...? We can't exactly hack into that monstrosity's communications systems from up here... nor can we...'
His eyes widened as he jerked his head up. 'Wait... From what I recall, the VEDA Network was able to hack into ZAFT's communications systems just before the battle began. But it took two whole weeks to breach their encryption... So... what if...?'
The rebel ace pursed his lips. 'It is possible... but... will anyone get the same idea I had...?'
Warren cleared his throat and Spray glanced up. "What?" he asked.
The scientist gave a small smirk. "You were thinking. And I can tell you were probably thinking the same thing as me, weren't you?"
Spray blinked. "You mean you were...?"
Warren gave a nod. "Yes. I was."
"Hold on!" Maxus exclaimed. "If you two are thinking what I think you're thinking, then it's crazy! What if he backtraces the hacking to our bases in the US?!"
"He can't exactly get there," Warren stated. "From what I've seen during the attack, it seems like the dreadnought was suffering from engine trouble. Almost like it was not put through its shakedown cruise or trials yet. That alone held it back, but it also makes it a lot more dangerous since it can destroy more of Paris. So, even if the colonel did find a way to trace the signal back to the US mainland, it would be very difficult to get back there in time before the message could be sent. So, the longer it hovers over Paris, the better chance we have to breach their communications and send a message of hope to them."
"What message?" Maxus snarled.
"A message that condemns this," Warren explained. "And a message that defies them. A sort of... trolling gesture, would it be called?"
Spray couldn't help but chuckle. "Trolling them via using their own communications to send a message of hope? I didn't think you'd have it in you, Dr. Thompson!" he chortled.
The scientist gave a small smirk. "Even I can be a troll sometimes," he remarked. Then he became serious. "But we only have a limited window of time to do so."
"Any ideas then, Doctor?" Maxus asked.
The scientist pursed his lips as he pondered. He glanced to the main communications station, which was currently manned by two of the resistance's best communications officers. "We need to get in touch with your commander-in-chief. Then we can begin our plan."
. . .
EN ROUTE TO UNKNOWN DESTINATION
JANUARY 2ND/3RD, 0074 CE
The President was wide awake as she observed the carnage of Paris.
To even see the great city falling to such barbarism was enough to make her sick.
But she wasn't even fazed by it, having done and seen much worse during her time in the Marines and as a counter-rebel operative.
She had her hands tented in front of her face, and her eyes were harder and colder than the most frigid of ice. The way they were narrowed only gave them a more intimidating glare, and the fire burning on the screen added an eerily demonic glint to them. But she was more focused on studying the massive dreadnought as it unleashed its firepower upon the helpless city. Her entire body was loose and relaxed, but the way she gazed at the screen was enough to reveal the anger burning beneath her calm facade.
Unlike most others who would erupt into hot, passionate anger and fury, Marie Eisenhower was calm. And that was the worst kind of anger to encounter. She was in full control of herself and her reasoning. Coupled with her keen strategic and tactical mind, mixed with her experience and intelligence, she was the worst kind of person to encounter at this moment in time.
The train car was as silent as it could be, only filled with the slightly muted screams of the dead and dying, with the huge rumbles of collapsing buildings and landmarks. This was worse than the Burning of Paris so many centuries ago.
This was utter barbarism. And to Eisenhower, she was not about to let this go. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to one of her aides. "Savannah. I need you to be ready to receive contact from the major. Heero will no doubt be coming to us to ask if we have assets in space to help bring that beast down."
"Y-Yes, ma'am," Savannah Hollister said. She saluted and made her way to the communications console and sat down. She placed the headset on and dialed into the encrypted frequency that had been shared between the two parties.
The woman's eyes widened as soon as she heard the message. "Ma'am, you were right! The major called in, asking if we have any assets!"
The rebel commander gave a grim smirk. "I knew it." Then she became serious. "Send the major everything we have about our newest asset in space. From the details to its full capabilities. They need to know just what we have that can do the damage they seek."
The aide nodded and started to speak.
As she did that, the President glanced back to the monitors before her. All kinds of news feeds were being displayed, and she could see that some was even coming from the ground in Paris. For what it was worth, it was downright horrifying, and already the President was coming up with a speech to denounce this. One thing really stuck out to her though. With the utter devastation and crippling of all emergency and medical services, it was close to letting people die for their utter folly in betraying their Nazi masters. This was like World War II all over again, only amplified with the brutality of barbarians.
And now, she could understand what Aeolia Schenberg had said those five years ago.
GWPRGWPRGWPR - FLASHBACK - GWPRGWPRGWPR
FEBRUARY 14TH, 0069 CE
DENVER, COLORADO
"Hold on. What are you getting at?" Eisenhower asked, confusion in her voice.
Her companion scowled as he folded his arms behind his back, glancing at the church glass before them.
Aeolia Schenberg was, at first glance, a rather unimpressive man, with a thatch of somewhat thin brown hair and a small brown goatee on his chin. He had dull, rather disinterested gray eyes at a brief glimpse, but when one looked closer they could see that those gray eyes held a quick, keen intellect that went well beyond his skills in computer and electrical engineering. His genius was what made him so renowned in the resistance, having single-handedly built each of the five supercomputers they used, with little more than a theory and some quick study of quantum computing from ZAFT's best engineers, all in the space of merely five months. That same genius let him also make uncanny predictions about the geopolitical stage around them, which was more often right than not.
This led to some theorizing he had a special gift that let him see the bigger picture, but the truth was more mundane. His brilliant intellect let him connect the dots much easier than normal people. And it was this intellect that led him to discover just how much things were going to change for the worse. So that was why he had called his friend and protege, Marie Lenneth Eisenhower, down to the church he went to every so often to chat.
And right now, Schenberg wanted to deliver an important message to his friend before he retreated to continue his work on their latest project.
"What I am getting at, Marie, is that the coming conflicts will get a lot worse than they already are," he told her. He turned to look at her critically. "The Earth Alliance will start to see this as more of a religious crusade than anything. They will start to behave as if they themselves are the darkness, the scourge that soured the heavens above before the fall of the instigator. And it is them who will bring the dark passions of our species to light."
"The dark passions of our species?" Eisenhower was confused.
"Yes." Schenberg turned his gaze back to the stained glass image above, and she turned to look at it as well.
Depicted on the glass was an image from the War in Ukraine back in 2022 A.D., the Virgin Mary holding in her arms the St. Javelin missile launcher, aiming it at a demonic image of Vladimir Putin looming above a small flock of sheep. "The war that is coming is going to be of the utmost brutality. Already you can see signs of it brewing. With the missing children, the sudden surge in beliefs of male supremacy, and the utter disregard for the Enhanced within our borders... Pretty soon it will escalate to levels that even the Second World War could not surpass," he remarked.
"But you never said what those dark passions of our species were," Eisenhower stated.
Schenberg nodded. "Yes. I didn't. Because you will know what they are when you see them."
He turned to look at her directly once more. The resistance commander did the same thing. "The truth is, with the way that the cabal is acting, it's only a matter of time before the depths of Hell will come crawling to the surface, taking many shapes, the worst of them being the one who led the revolt in the heavens above in the shape of a man. He will bring down chaos and destruction unlike any other man in history, and it will be he who must be killed by Heaven's Judgment," Schenberg told her. "And the utter destruction this man will bring cannot be allowed to continue."
Eisenhower was not religious by any means, but the fact that her friend and mentor was even equating a possible war to such things was enough to make her concerned. She pursed her lips. "Aeolia, just what are you getting at here? What are these dark passions of our species?" she pressed.
But Schenberg refused to speak of them. He merely looked to her, his gray eyes hard like stone.
"Imagine World War II," he began. "But imaging the atrocities carried out in that war... amplified by the rising genetic hatreds. Imagine a world torn asunder by men who have no consideration for those beneath their station. Imagine a world where businesses rule from the shadows, eagerly generating new profits from conflicts they manipulate and enemies they create from nothing. Imagine all that... and more. Imagine a world where primal hatreds reign supreme. And imagine a world where all reason has been tossed to the wayside. Now combine that with the fervor of a Crusade... and even then it will only pale in comparison to what could be unleashed."
The resistance commander was horrified. "That... that bad?!" she whispered, her eyes wide in shock.
The engineer nodded. "Yes. I cannot say for certain how bad it will truly be, but you can grasp the implications of the possibilities. You need to be prepared... and bring Heaven's Judgment down upon those beasts from Hell."
GWPRGWPRGWPR - END FLASHBACK - GWPRGWPRGWPR
Now she could grasp what he had been telling her.
Seeing it play out before her in real time was enough to confirm his words to her.
"The dark passions of our species..." she mused, eyeing the utter carnage and brutal attacks on the people just trying to help those in need. "So this is what he meant..."
His words were now clear to her.
The wily engineer had been correct in his prediction after all.
This war was now like a war between Heaven and Hell, with the Atlantian Reich taking the role of the hordes of demons and other creatures from the underworld. Nazara himself was like the fallen one, and the way he gleeefully slaughtered ambulance drivers and fire engines with their brave crews was proof enough. He wanted to destroy everything, much like Lucifer himself.
And to show that no one was deserving of living, all because of their failure to conform to their racist beliefs.
Her eyes hardened as she glanced to the image of the Albion Gundam, and she couldn't help but feel the image of an angel it evoked was fitting. A guardian angel to all who saw it. But even an angel would have trouble with that monstrosity. Heero, for all his skill and experience, was only human. And even Turbine would be hard pressed to beat that thing.
"Heaven's Judgment..." she murmured, glancing to the monitor showing Judgment Station off to the left. The old colony had just gotten the message, she knew, so she could only hope that the Redemption was ready to launch.
. . .
JANUARY 3RD, 0074 CE
JUDGMENT STATION
"So that's it, huh?" Spray asked, folding his arms. "We're being given the go-ahead to launch?"
Maxus nodded. "Yes. But there is a catch. After this operation, you are to return to the base for resupply, as well as the arrival of a new crew member. Or more specifically, a new mobile suit."
The fact that the station commander had not mentioned a pilot gave away just who was coming aboard the Redemption once the Sovereign was taken down. Spray's eyes narrowed. "You mean that new AI? Turbine?"
The man nodded. "Yes. It's strict orders from Dr. Martinez himself."
The rebel ace pursed his lips as he cupped a hand under his chin in thought. "I see... what can we be sure of regarding his loyalty to the human race?"
"According to Dr. Martinez," Maxus explained, "Turbine has shown no psychological instability that could lead to him revolting against the human race and siding with the other AIs that Rear Admiral Xen has developed. In fact, if anything, recent discussions with the AI have only proven many of the doubters wrong. The three Eurasians that our forces in Scotland rescued have been warming up to him, and he has shown that he is much wiser than we thought."
"Wiser?" Warren arched an eyebrow. "I don't mean to sound so critical, but how can an artificial intelligence be wiser than its own kind?"
"Because, Dr. Thompson," the station commander retorted, "Turbine has shown a willingness to accept that humans are imperfect creatures and to not let a bunch of bad guys sour his perceptions of the human race. Being amongst those who are willing to give him a chance showed that not all humans are bad, and that many of them are good, despite some tendencies that can be perceived as bad."
The liaison to the L4 Coalition frowned as he crossed his arms. "Somehow I doubt this artificial intelligence will fully understand what we are fighting for, but if it can fight against its own kind and win, then who am I to complain?"
For what it was worth, Warren was not doubting the AI. What he was doubting was whether or not it could retain its loyalty to the resistance even in the aftermath of the war. But he was not about to speak those concerns at the moment. For all he knew, it was possible that this AI, Turbine, could retain its loyalty to its collective of humans in the postwar world. And so far, things were looking like it would. But until further notice, he had to keep this kind of thing detached from himself.
"So, Commander, you're to get to your ship and machine," Maxus instructed Spray. The younger man turned to look at his superior and gave a firm salute.
"Yes, sir!" he declared.
The station commander nodded. "Also, your current machine will be on standby aboard as well. Just for when it's needed."
"Somehow I feel I'll be needing it," Spray mused. "Since Krantz escaped, it only makes sense that he'd probably try to come after their former battle group to kill me. So I'm going to need the Phoenix Dagger S for that fight."
Maxus was grim as he gave a curt nod. "Yes. And it's your objective to finish that man before he becomes a real threat with his Newtype abilities."
Spray was silent as he lowered his hand. "Yeah... And I doubt it will get easier as time goes on," he muttered, his eyes darkening. "I'm not going to let him win, but his Newtype abilities could become a problem if he grasps the significance of them."
Warren was thoughtful before he shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. After all, many things cannot be explained in this world. And Newtypes are one such thing," he remarked.
Spray nodded. "Right."
"Now get going," Maxus ordered. "The ship is going to deploy within the next hour, alongside your fleet."
The rebel ace nodded and turned, heading for the hangar bay.
"Also, Warren, you are also going on the ship," Maxus stated, turning to the scientist. "As it stands, since you're the designer of the Judgment Satellite System, your expertise will be required to keep it operational when in the field. You're the only one who knows it better than the conceiver of such a weapon."
The liaison's eyes went wide at this. "Oh? I thought you would want me here."
Maxus shook his head. "No. I need you out there to keep it fully functional. The Blue Masque did order you to follow my directions, did she not?"
Warren's eyes narrowed, but he did recall the assignment. And while he was not thrilled about going out to the field of battle, it did make sense to send him out should he be needed to recalibrate and refine the very system that gave Project: Shumatsu its name. He glanced down briefly before looking up. "I will be on the ship within the hour."
Maxus nodded and gestured. "They're waiting right now."
The former mobile suit designer nodded and followed after Spray.
. . .
The captain's eyes narrowed as she observed the message from the station commander.
"I see..." she mused. "So that's their game then."
At forty-two years old, Hannah Amass was a very stunning woman with sharp grey eyes and long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She was well built and toned, and she wore a dark grey uniform with blue accents. The edges of the sleeves were outlined in blue and the bottom of the coat was lined with blue as well. Unlike the Atlantic Federation captain's uniform, her coat was slightly longer from the waist down, but only along the sides and rear. She wore dark grey pants with black boots and her shoulders had on them the US flag on one side, her rank on the other. She had a nice looking face that was not out of place on a fashion model. But she was not into that kind of work.
And it showed in her ability to handle a ship.
Prior to her discharge, she had been a captain in the AF space fleet. And she had put up a hell of an argument when the discharge papers had come in. Despite her best efforts, she had been threatened with arrest if she didn't leave and go find a job appropriate to her sex. That had been the final straw. She packed up and left, heading out towards Denver to find a job that would suit her intelligence, not her gender.
She managed to wrangle a job as a surveyor for a construction firm, one of the only jobs still left open to women. While she managed to make a good living, Hannah felt ridiculed and isolated by her male peers in the military. Her job led her to Denver, and it was there she had made contact with a resistance fighter by sheer chance. She had been surveying the land for a local housing development when she literally bumped into the man. After apologizing, she had asked why he was there, and despite his story of going on a hiking trip being credible, she had known he was also hiding something. When she pointed it out, he dragged her aside and then she had learned who he really worked for.
That proved to be what got her back into the military, albeit under a different flag. And she felt right at home on the bridge of the Redemption.
The huge ship's greatest asset had just been installed, and not without a minute to spare, either.
Her eyes flicked to the scene shown on the Redemption's main monitor, beamed directly from Judgment Station. And she had to admit that the Eurasians had good reason to call on them.
With the newly installed Judgment Satellite System, there was a very good chance they could overcome the positron reflectors to help them bring the beast down. Her eyes narrowed as she considered all the possible angles and variables, but the biggest was the positioning and timing of the strike. The ship could be in the area within two hours, but it was cutting it close. The only way they'd be able to accurately strike and intercept was if they left ahead of time and pushed the ship's engines to their limit.
It was their only chance to bring that monster down.
"Well... looks like it's time for a trial by fire," she mused as she glanced to her bridge crew. "Alert Judgment Station Control that we're heading out."
"Yes, ma'am!" the helmsman replied. He toggled the COMMs and within moments the main monitor lit up on the bridge.
"Judgment Station Control, this is the Redemption. We are requesting clearance to deploy," he said.
"Roger that, Redemption. Traffic in the area is limited, and there are no ships from either the Atlantian Reich or ZAFT around. Pirate activity is down to a bare minimum and L4 Coalition vessels are staying to their side of the field," the launch controller relayed. "You are cleared to depart!"
"Understood, Control," the helmsman radioed back.
"Also heard from the station commander. You sure you guys want to do this?" Control asked.
"We have to," Hannah said seriously. "After all, we didn't abandon our allies in World War II, did we? If we let that beast continue on its rampage, then it will no doubt target Moscow, and we can't have the Eurasian Federation fall! Not after all we've done to help them! And if there's one thing we're gonna do, it's show them that we are not Nazis!"
"..." Control was silent for a moment before her voice echoed over the speakers. "Very well. Just know that we'll be supporting you. Now go give those bastards hell!"
"Understood," Hannah said.
The huge hangar bay began to depressurize as the air was sucked out through vents as the last of the workers finished evacuating. The interior doors were sealed shut, allowing the air to be removed. Once the bay was fully depressurized, the huge doors began to slide open, exposing the hidden dock to the vastness of space. The Redemption's engines lit up and the large vessel began to move, while at the same time, the very structure began to shimmer and distort as the Mirage Colloid was deployed to conceal her. If there was one thing that the resistance had been keen to get their hands on, it was the very system that the AF had first pioneered. And by copying most of the data on the particles from the AF bases where it was being researched, this was just the thing they needed to strike.
The ship's engines ignited to full, and the vessel began to accelerate, vanishing completely save for her engines' exhaust, which many would assume was left over from a passing spacecraft. Of course, during this time, the planning was underway.
Planning for a new battle... and a fight that would give that bastard Nazara something to really fear...
. . .
PARIS, FRANCE
EVACUATION ZONE 1
The entire evacuation zone was chaos.
People were piling into Jeeps, trucks or whatever vehicle that could move to flee the mine's entrance.
Already a number of huge container trucks had been filled with both civilians and governmental workers, most of them from the lower ranks, but a few from the higher positions in the government. Many were already getting on their phones to let their loved ones they were all right. A few did manage to get through, only to learn of the horrific carnage they had left behind. Men and women alike broke down sobbing at witnessing it in live person on their phones, and some even tried to head back to the mine, only to be thwarted and told that it was not the right thing to do.
For what it was worth, most had the common sense to refrain from heading back to the scene of carnage. And in fact, they were sure it was going to be a death sentence. So they continued on, but their eyes were harder than diamond and possessed a keen edge to them that made many of the other evacuees shudder in disbelief and terror.
These men and women were looking for blood.
And blood they would get, for it was their city that had been put to the torch. And it was their city that would be rebuilt better than before.
And it was their city. Not LOGOs' city.
To them, Nazara was a bitch out of hell. And they would stop at nothing to see him die by either their hands, or that of their allies.
The only question was... who would kill him first...?
The resistance, themselves, Orb, Scandinavia...
Or Terminal's deadliest pilot...
Heero Yuy.