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: Glad you liked it. :) Yeah, I had to include Aeolia Schenberg. :) Given his intellect and planning capabilities, I figured why not? :) After all, in Gundam 00 he had planned for everything TWO CENTURIES ahead of his time. And given that ability... well, the resistance commander didn't just study tactics and strategy alone, after all. ;3
- CT7567Rules: Well, the Sovereign is more like a giant airplane. And the resistance does have their own asset to bring it down. ;3 One hint: think After War Gundam X. ;3
- 1800009trumbullps . net: I did, and I will work on it soon. :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, 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 L: Message of Defiance
JANUARY 2ND/3RD, 0074 CE
EN ROUTE TO UNKNOWN DESTINATION
The entire slaughter was enough to make everyone stare in shock and horror.
Eisenhower's eyes were narrowed as she tented her fingers in front of her mouth as she observed with a callous expression. Despite the apparent disinterest in the suffering of her fellow humans, she was focused on the massive vessel as it continued to slowly move over the helpless city. Already her keen mind was racing, and she was intent on somehow getting a message out to the suffering citizens of the once-great metropolis.
"Any ideas?" she asked, catching a few of her aides and some of the technicians off guard.
"Any ideas as to what?" one of the techies asked.
"Any ideas on how we can get a message out to the people of Paris," Eisenhower stated, her eyes hard.
"There's no way we can hack into their speakers," an aide replied, her eyes shimmering with tears. "We just don't have anyone aboard that thing..."
Eisenhower knew she was right. Without an asset aboard that beast, there was no way to truly hack into the speakers.
"People are going to be mad if we don't do something," she mused. "And that would set us back by a full decade... we need the world united behind us if we're going to see Project: Rebirth become reality."
"That's true..." another technician replied. "But... what can we do right now? We're unable to even hack into their speakers... and it's not like we can replicate what we did with ZAFT..."
Suddenly, someone perked up. "Wait... Ma'am, we got an incoming transmission! It's from Judgment Station!"
At once the President became all business. "Patch it through!" she barked.
"Yes, ma'am!" the man nodded. He turned his attention back to the communications console and the main monitor suddenly split in two, showing the carnage above and the transmission below. The image of Judgment Station appeared before dissolving into static, showing the man in charge.
"Ah. Corporal le Grange. What's the situation?" Eisenhower asked.
"It's not so much what our situation is, but that on the ground," the corporal responded. "I've been watching it, and it's just sick how that man thinks."
"Believe me, it's the same way," the President responded, narrowing her eyes. "We've been observing it in real time, and it's not pretty at all."
"And that brings me to why I've contacted you," Maxus explained. "Some of our guys and gals up here had an interesting, if not crazy, idea."
"An idea on how to reach the city's populace?" Eisenhower asked.
The corporal nodded. "Yes. That would be correct, ma'am."
"Lay it on us," the rebel commander ordered. "We could use all the ideas we can get."
Maxus quickly explained the idea, and for what it was worth, it did make a surprising amount of sense to the President. But it was also fraught with risk. Risks that could have immense repercussions if not done correctly. But then again, what other choice did they have?
She closed her eyes as she pondered this. "I see... It's a very good idea. I will admit that. But if we do manage to do this, we need to get our message out as soon as possible... and we'll need everyone to be on the same page with this." She opened her eyes. "And that means we'd have to put our trust in one another..." Already her eyes were widening as she began to grasp the implications of this. Trusting in one another, rebuilding something LOGOs had destroyed... This was...
This was it...! The answer to how they could bring this thing down!
"Yes. It would require that," Maxus explained. "And it has to be done within the next thirty minutes. If we hesitate even one second longer, we may not be able to get the full message out."
The rebel commander pursed her lips as she nodded. "Right. I'll get on the line with my old friend. You get the message down to the TCIC people."
The corporal gave a nod before saluting. The bottom half of the screen then shut down and the annihilation of Paris moved back into full view.
The President turned to her aides. "You guys get busy as well! Start contacting as many people as you can within the supercomputer locations, telling them to get to work on trying to hack through the encryption and to figure out which frequency Nazara is using to broadcast to the city! The sooner we get started on this, the better a chance we'll have!"
The three men and two women nodded as they scurried off to do their duty.
As they did so, Eisenhower's gaze drifted towards the city as it burned. Her eyes were locked onto that huge warship, and she could already hear Nazara's sadistic screeching over the communications arrays that remained functional.
"There will be no salvation for any of you tonight, my dear Parisians!" he screamed to the accompanying horrors before them. "LOGOS has cast its judgment upon you, and I have found you wanting! Your treachery defiles our blue and pure world, and it will be purged through cleansing fire!"
"How wrong you are, Nazara...!" she hissed. "All you've done is brought about the flames of Hell... and it will be you who will be purged by cleansing fire!" Her eyes hardened as she said those words. "The cleansing fire of Heaven itself!"
All around her, the entire train car was filled with activity as she fixed her gaze on the purple mobile suit, ID'd by resistance scouts and spies as the Nosferatu Dracul. And in a way, it fit the man behind the controls. Like the old vampire of legend, he could have cared less about those around him. And like the Devil himself, he would not stop until the end of the human race. Eisenhower tented her fingers as she observed critically the scene both on Earth and in orbit.
She could see the shape of the Redemption moving out from Judgment Station, with both Commander Krane and Warren Thompson aboard her, along with her dedicated team and crew of handpicked individuals. The ship was slowly gaining speed, and judging from the trajectory, would be in position within the next half hour. Provided that they had the proper information handed to them.
With the image of the dreadnought under way, there was little to no time to waste.
Eisenhower closed her eyes and tapped her headset.
. . .
In the city of New York, Brian narrowed his eyes as he scanned over the information. His fingers flew over the keyboard as around him, others worked to make sure things were running smoothly. Already the Beast was being pushed to the limit, its powerful processors digging through the encryption codes of the communications systems in use by the Reich.
Darrien chewed on a chicken leg as he dipped a hand into his ever present fried chicken bucket, ready to chow down on the next piece he pulled out.
All around the two men, chatter could be heard as the entire base devoted its manpower and technical expertise to brute forcing their way through the encryption and firewalls.
"Shifting to another frequency..."
"Got the first layer of encryption cracked. Need some help over here for the second layer!"
"Firewalls four to five have been shut down. Frequency of counterattacks increasing..."
"Reroute more power from the city grid to the main processors! We need it yesterday!"
"Server temperature is rising! Open up those damn windows and get some fresh air in there!"
Darrien spat the chicken bone out into a nearby trashcan before he pulled out a wing and started to eat. "How much longer, Brian?" he asked.
"Give us a few more minutes!" the computer engineer insisted. "We're getting there!"
. . .
At the same time, hidden deep underground in the resistance city of Yukon, named after the territory in which it was located, an entire team of cybersecurity experts were working with the supercomputer known as the Guardian.
Famed for its unbreakable firewalls, this machine was designed to guard against any hacking attempts to disrupt the very core of their movement, known only as the Hub. In the main server room, people with laptops sat close to the servers, sweating despite the intense cool air being pumped into the room. But they were not sweating from the heat; they were sweating from stress and intense determination.
One of the key personnel in charge of this operation was a man in his late thirties named Costanzo Accardi, a civilian of Italian descent. With thick brown hair that was usually slicked back, this time it was messy as hell and his brown eyes were as hard as bronze as his fingers darted over the keyboard. Sweat dripped down his face as he reached up and wiped it before it fell into his beard; he would shave it much later and have laser surgery to sear the follicles shut after the war for his future career would take him into far and dangerous war zones.
"We got hackers coming in from the Atlantian Reich, mostly in the former province of Quebec!"
"Send up a few more firewalls!"
"Already on it, but they've just about broken through the last line of defense!"
"Shunt more power to the processors! We gotta keep them from going for the Hub!"
"Overall firewall integrity is at 75%. Dropping down to seventy..."
"Keep it above 65 percent!"
"Working on it! Need some help over here, Brandon!"
With the sheer amount of activity that was going on here, it made a lot of sense that things were tense. And it was then that there came a transmission from the Beast.
. . .
Within the former capital of Mexico City, deep beneath City Hall, the entire team of security personnel and cybersecurity experts were working together to ensure that the Professor, the third supercomputer, was well-defended against any Atlantian cyberattacks.
In charge of this operation was Pablo Diego, a former history teacher who had gone underground when LOGOs framed him for the murder of his own daughter and tried to take his wife's son away from her with their Patriot Youth Act. At sixty-five, he would have been in a retirement home, or even at his own home with his wife and family. With little to no contact with the rest of his extended family, he was pretty much alone, but he was determined to ensure that his son and wife had a future to fight for.
He sat at one of the many computer consoles, constantly checking over the database to make sure that nothing was altered or stolen. It was a dream he had always wanted to live: a historian dedicated to the safeguarding of history's greatest events, people, achievements, and even civilizations. Without history, people were doomed to repeat it, a phrase he had embedded in glass on his office door, as well as tattooed across his broad chest. Currently, he was shirtless as the heat from the servers was enough to cause a few people to take off their tops or wear tank tops.
"We got more attacks coming in!" one of the cybersecurity personnel exclaimed.
"Reroute them!" Pablo shouted. "We need to keep them from finding our location!"
"A lot easier said than done!" someone else exclaimed. "If we had more firewalls, then we wouldn't need to be working overtime here!"
"You'll be paid accordingly!" the ex-teacher exclaimed. "Just don't let them get through!"
"Triple it and get my daughter to a good school, and I'll do it!" the person yelled.
"I'll forward that to the President," Pablo told her.
The woman gave a nod and went back to her work, her bright red hair falling off to the side of her pretty green eyes. She brushed it aside and scowled before her fingers flew over the keyboard.
"Second hacking wave incoming!"
"Rerouting to the sewer pumps of the city!"
"Water treatment plants shut down as a result, but we can get them up within a few hours!"
"Incoming transmission from Yukon City! They have it!" someone suddenly shouted, glancing back.
"Good! Send it on!" Pablo shouted.
. . .
Deep within the tunnel network below the ancient edifice of Edinburg Castle, the people in charge of the supercomputer known as Doctor Who was working overtime, trying to pinpoint the source of the transmissions being sent by the crazed Colonel Nazara.
Or at least what they hoped was the source.
Secured behind a gate in a section of tunnel that was connected to the entire underground ventilation system installed for the day the tunnels would be used again, the massive server room was flooded with personnel as they worked to try and trace the Colonel's transmissions. One of the men in charge of this, Corporal Raibeart MacLeòid, was intent on getting the results he wanted.
A former Army soldier, he had been forced to go underground after his sons were almost taken away by men who were bringing them to be indoctrinated. With his wife now divorced for her own protection, his sons were under the care of their grandparents, who were high-ranked government officials in the Scottish government. This was just as well, because now their old home was being used as a rebel base, and the kids were moved yet again to keep them safe, this time to the castle of Edinburg, due to its strategic location and good defensive position.
And it was a good thing he had been a communications officer at the time, specializing in diagnosing problems with computer networks that had been set up prior to and during conflicts. It was this very skill that had earned him a top spot at this key location, and ensured that his sons were well protected here.
"We have a few networks starting to overload; hackers are at work!" someone shouted.
"Focus on those that are of greater importance to us!" Raibeart bellowed. "We can afford to let a few go, depending on which ones!"
"Mostly air traffic control, but they can probably jury rig something to offset that," another woman told him. "Port controllers are also on the attack."
"Let the hackers get them," the corporal said. "The sooner we can focus on the main networks, the better chances we'll have of getting this message to Central to confirm it!"
"Central is already on the line, sir! They're ready for it!" a man exclaimed.
"Good! Pass it on!" the ex-army officer ordered.
. . .
Locked within the underground of Ireland, the major base for the resistance, known as Windsor Town for the former royal family, the fifth and final supercomputer, known only as Central, was already at work trying to lock onto the communications frequency for Colonel Nazara's transmissions.
The woman in command, Lola Young, studied the main screen intently as her eyes hardened. A former sociologist, she had been driven from her practice after she started to sway enough people away from the primal passions LOGOs drew out. She had gone underground a few months after an attempted assasination that left her husband with a limp in his left leg and a mangled right arm that made his job as a construction worker impossible. As a result, Lola had to take up a new job as a nurse's aide, which was one of the only jobs left in the medical field open to women. Blessed with a photographic memory and quick learning skills, she became skilled in her new career and earned a top position in Windsor Town as a medical administrator while her son was a communications engineer, having been in college working to get his degree in such a field. By the time the rebellion had begun, Lola had changed careers to help handle the organization of communications records between the various cells and divisions of the resistance.
Now, her son was in charge of maintaining the systems while she put her skills of organization to use in keeping it running like a well-oiled machine.
And it was here that things were finally going to change.
"Ma'am, we got word from Edinburg! New York managed to break the encryption!" someone exclaimed.
"Hell yeah!" a young man shouted, punching the air with his fist. His eyes hardened as he sneered, his fingers returning to the keyboard. "Let's see just what their comm frequency is..."
Lola had to suppress a sinister smirk as she folded her arms, leaning back in her chair as she did so.
"Ooooh la la~! What do we have here~?" someone sang, looking back. She had a smirk as she held up a sheet of paper.
Another man snatched it out of her hand and studied it. Then he sneered. "Oh... this is good!" he purred. He held it up and handed it to Lola.
She took it and her eyes widened. The frequency was written right there.
66.6
. . .
"Ma'am! We got it!" someone back on the train shouted. "It's from Winsdor Town! They have the frequency!"
Eisenhower's eyes went wide. "Really?!" she blurted.
He nodded, looking back over his shoulder. "Yes. The frequency is 66.6!"
The rebel commander growled. "Fitting number then... given how they're acting like demons from Hell," she muttered. Her eyes hardened. "Tell them that they have permission to hijack the comm frequency!"
"Yes, ma'am!" the man said. He turned back and relayed the message. As he did so, Eisenhower made her way to the main communications console in the center of the train car. She sat down and grabbed her headset before putting it on. Once she had it on, she opened her eyes and she grabbed a cable that was meant for this very moment. "Here we go..." she muttered.
. . .
"Sir, we got a problem!" one of the crew aboard the Sovereign suddenly exclaimed.
"What is it?" Nazara asked, a scowl crossing his face. "If it has to do with the engines..."
"Not that!" the man practically screamed. "It's the communications frequency! Our systems can't keep it encrypted! Someone has breached our encryption measures!"
"Is it ZAFT!?" the colonel snarled.
"Not even close," the man whispered, his voice now holding horror. "It... It's... the resistance...! The resistance has done it!"
Nazara was shocked. "IMPOSSIBLE!" he roared. "How could they have done this?!"
But it was only the beginning of his troubles. Especially when, against all the odds, the speakers on the Sovereign, meant to project his voice out for the world to hear his declarations, began to emit a different voice...
. . .
"To the people of Paris... Do not be alarmed! This is the North American Resistance! Currently we have hijacked the communications signals of the Atlantian Reich to give you a message. A message that shows we are not going to stand by and let this atrocity go unpunished.
"Right now I cannot express how much anger and sadness I'm feeling right now...
"What you all experienced was a war crime in the utmost sense of the word. And that is something we of the North American Resistance absolutely condemn with every fiber of our beings! To outrightly murder the brave emergency and medical personnel who were just trying to save your goddamn lives... Who in their right mind would carry out such a wanton act of deliberate negligence?! When I say negligence, I mean negligence of the highest order: the denial of the right to live.
"The man in the purple mobile suit, Colonel Nazara, who is in actuality a clone of the late Murata Azrael, was the one who carried it out. And let me tell you... brave people of Paris... you did not deserve to suffer this fate.
"What I am about to tell you is important. This wanton act of aggression, of outright cruelty and barbarism, will not go unpunished. Now, I know many of you are going to be wondering how we, a supposedly mere resistance cell, make such outright claims. Many of you may even be wondering if this is true or fake. And some of you may call it a conspiracy.
"Well, this is where things get hard to believe, but they are true.
"Unlike what you can assume, if you have been paying attention to the news, then you would see that there is a civil war raging within the Atlantian Reich fatherland. And that civil war is between us - the United States and her allies - and the Atlantian Reich - the country parasite of LOGOs. People across our countries are sick of the lies, the outright fabrications and the denial of deaths that have occurred in this senseless war, a war over genetics of all things! The Atlantian Reich, personified by the Devil in human flesh incarnate Colonel Nazara, has become the utmost vile entity in human history.
"With this wanton act of barbarism, we have begun to mobilize our forces to the utmost of our ability, and rest assured, we will bring this entity to justice. We have in place a key asset that can strike down that monstrosity of a ship, and together, alongside Terminal, Orb, ZAFT, and the Eurasian Federation, we will slay that Devil Ship and bring Heaven's Judgment down upon Nazara!
"I am going to be honest. Not a lot of people even accepted the true scale of our movement. And even now, some may not. But the reality is, we do have the strength needed to wage mechanized warfare against LOGOs... and win! That very strength is backed by financial institutions that we have gathered behind LOGOs' back, and with the major manufacturing corporations that have aligned with us, we have the industrial capital to carry it out. And that is why we are going to win!"
Colonel Nazara stared in utter shock at the message he was hearing.
He had not expected the resistance to have this capability, which made him wonder just how much he had underestimated them. He gritted his teeth and toggled the radio. If they were communicating using his frequency over the speakers of the Sovereign, then it made sense he could do the same to them.
"You fools don't understand!" Nazara screeched. "THIS IS THE END OF THE OLD WORLD ORDER!"
"Says the man who slaughtered innocents whose only crime was to call out these atrocities!" the voice of the rebel commander hissed.
"This is the relic of an old world that does not deserve to exist! The new Natural race will rise, and we shall end the ambitions of those space daemons who clad themselves in our sacred flesh!" the colonel rebutted.
"I fail to see how that is even really significant, Lucifer," the woman said, startling him.
"You...!" Nazara's eyes went wide at the word.
"You claim to be a man, but you are not. You are the Devil himself, clad in human flesh, who seeks to destroy mankind," the woman said, her voice eerily calm.
And then it happened.
One of his monitors lit up, and up came the image of the last expected person to be in charge of such a vast, competent, and dangerous movement.
Standing before him was a woman, but not any woman.
This woman was an absolute Amazon in height and build, thick and muscular with broad shoulders and powerful arms and legs. Her tank top practically strained against her muscular physique, and across her shoulders she wore her military top like a cape, the medals she had earned glinting in the light of her office. She had pure snow white hair, long and tied back in a thick braid going down to the middle of her back. Her pants barely shaped to her long, powerful legs and her big feet were clad in what appeared to be size fourteen combat boots. Her eyes were an intense ice-green color, reminiscent of the Arctic Sea, and her skin was tanned, covered in scars no doubt from years of combat. He guessed her height to be at least six feet, if not a bit more, from the way she was standing.
But what really made him stare was the sheer coldness in her eyes. This was not passionate hatred like most women would have exhibited.
This was ice-cold fury. She was not prone to flashes of hot anger like most others were. She was in full control of herself and her emotions.
"And that means we are the angels who will strike you down, Colonel," she said, her eyes hard as ice.
"HUMANITY MUST BE PURGED OF WEAKNESS!" Nazara screamed. "IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO DEFEAT THOSE SPACE DAEMONS!"
But the woman shook her head calmly. "No. Humanity needs its strength and weakness if we are to survive. No one is superior to another. Natural. Coordinator. We are all human. Labels like that only divide us. And you take it to an extreme, Nazara," she said. The colonel felt the hair on the back of his neck rising.
There was no way he should be feeling terror from this woman. He was superior to her, not the other way around!
"The truth here is that you only wanted to engage in such actions because people have the courage to throw your false ideology and religion under the bus. You want to cause fear. You want to cause them to fear what could happen if they don't conform to your ideology and false religion," she continued, keeping her gaze fixed on him. "And those who dare to stand up do not deserve to live in your eyes. And to deny the people of Paris any semblance of hope is a war crime of the highest caliber. As such, I have one thing to say to the people of Paris."
Here, Nazara was shocked. She was addressing him as well as the people of Paris?!
"Here me, people of Paris! This man... this devil in human flesh... will not destroy you! Your city may be gone, but rest assured! You are not dead! You are not dead! Right now, you yourselves have become the City of Light! Buildings can be repaired! Vehicles can be replaced! Monuments can be rebuilt! But lives cannot be replaced! Lives cannot be repaired! Lives cannot be rebuilt! YOU are now the city itself! As long as you live, as long as you continue to exist, as long as you continue to THRIVE, despite the overwhelming odds, YOU WILL SURVIVE! You can, and will, survive! For you... You are not dead!
"PARIS IS NOT DEAD! Paris will rise again! PARIS WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN!
"Paris is not gone! Paris will survive! So to all of you out there, remember... Remember...! REMEMBER! REMEMBER THE CITY OF LIGHT!"
. . .
As the Sovereign began to move out of Paris' range, the message that had been broadcast started to resonate.
People took the chance to look over the damaged city, taking in the destruction, seeing everything that Nazara had done. The woman who had spoken to them was right. While the city had been destroyed, the people still lived. Even with the deaths of countless innocents, with the fires raging, with the blood and bodies pooling in the streets, with water mains destroyed and with little to no medical services, the people were still alive, despite all the odds.
The people still lived.
Paris still lived.
Nazara had failed to kill the city's people. So long as they lived, the city would rise once more.
Better and stronger than ever.
And best of all, the civil government had escaped.
Nazara had failed to kill them. He had failed to exterminate the government officials who had fled. With a good majority of them having evacuated through the catacombs, there was still a government in place.
His destruction of Paris was incomplete.
Already people were pissed. Rage began to simmer beneath their faces, and already people were scrambling to find loved ones or pets. But with the amount of carnage and destruction, finding those lost would take years, if not decades. Many people started to swarm towards the main center of the city, trying to get an idea of the total amount of death and destruction Nazara had unleashed.
With the insanity of the war now clear, it was paramount to set up a new unit to help in the fighting. So, upon the suggestion of one remaining government official in the city, a new military brigade was formed, comprised entirely of former civilians of Paris. This new unit would help lead the way to the liberation of Great Britain from LOGOs' forces, and reestablish connections with the mainland United States resistance forces.
The Paris Brigade was born.
. . .
Aboard the train, Eisenhower sighed with relief as she slumped back in her chair.
"Sovereign is moving out of range for Paris," someone reported. Then she looked back at the commander-in-chief for the whole movement. "They'll be out of communications range within five minutes."
"That's fine. I got my point across," the President mused as she opened her eyes. She then sat up. "Speaking of, I wonder how Djibril will react to that speech. Him and Copeland..."
"Something tells me that Djibril is not going to be thrilled with Copeland being unable to prevent the hacking of their communications frequencies," another aide replied, taking a puff of his cigar. He turned his head and blew it out the open window; the train had taken a brief detour to pull onto an abandoned stretch of rail track because of a battle raging fifty miles away. So they had taken the time to relax and stretch their legs a bit as well as make sure the train was properly refueled and resupplied from the local base close to their location. "Any idea as to how he'll react, ma'am?"
The woman pursed her lips and tented her fingers in front of her mouth as she thought. "Hmm..."
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. She finally opened her eyes after a few minutes. "Based on what I know, he'll try to make sure that he doesn't let this happen again. But as to how he does that... I'm not entirely sure. I have a few theories, but I hope they aren't going to happen because I want to have Copeland arrested and held for trial. Anything less than that and the people won't get the justice they deserve."
"That's fine and all, but you gotta remember what he implemented," another aide replied. She crossed her arms. "I mean, c'mon! Concentration camps?! What are we, the Third Reich?!"
"A trial would satisfy some of us, but a lot of people want the guy dead for passing all those laws and for refusing to stand up to them," a techie muttered.
Eisenhower fully understood where they were coming from, but she was one to try and show that the North Atlantic Security Alliance - which was what the collective five countries, including Scotland, were calling themselves now - was better than the Atlantian Reich. And to do that, they needed to capture the man behind the passage of said laws and hold him until a trial could be carried out.
But she had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be that easy.
Her keen instincts were already warning her of what was to come.
. . .
WASHINGTON, D.C.
ATLANTIAN REICH
JANUARY 3RD, 0074 CE
Copeland was shocked.
Despite seeing the slaughter of Paris live on TV, what he hadn't expected was to hear a message being broadcast from the massive airship itself. His eyes were wide as he realized just what was happening now.
His entire country... no, Djibril's entire country... was now in open revolt. A civil war was raging across all five nations, and there was little that he could do to stop it.
It was now he understood just how powerless he truly was. All his efforts to appease his master had been in vain. The whole office he had been gifted was just that: a gift, a gilded cage. A prison of sorts, only to be used by a puppet master to try and wipe out Coordinators. His real views on them were related to the moderates, but over time he had begun to accept some of Djibril's beliefs as his own. But now to hear that there were Coordinators within his home country?!
It was clear to him that his country was not at all racially or genetically pure like he had believed.
But that wasn't the real issue here.
The real issue was Djibril's reaction.
Already the Lord of Earth was calling in to find out how the attack on his former vassal was coming along. And to hear the report just as he had dialed in was enough to make him seem like a child throwing a temper tantrum. His lips were curled back in a snarl, like an ancient vampire, and his eyes were just about red with rage. All that he needed were fangs and deathly pale skin to add to the image.
"You mean to tell me... that somehow, those dregs in the resistance managed to hijack our communications signals, sent by Colonel Nazara, and transmitted a message of defiance and HOPE to them?!" he growled.
Copeland nodded, fear visible on his face for the first time. "Yes, sir," he replied meekly. "I'm not sure as to how, but they were able to break all encryptions and find the frequency needed, it seems. But rest assured, it won't happen again."
Djibril merely scowled as he looked to his pawn. "Somehow I doubt that will be the case, seeing as how they could do it once to ZAFT and now us..." His eyes narrowed dangerously and the puppet President gulped. "So I have decided to take matters into my own hands. You've done well to inform me of this though."
The man merely nodded.
"Speaking of, the civil war has begun, sir," Copeland reported. "The resistance has been making headway against us, and surprisingly, their movement has grown even more."
"Explain," Djibril ordered.
Copeland gulped before speaking. "With the debut of the mobile dolls, it's really caused a lot of our dedicated pilots to turn to revolution as they feel they will be replaced. Which is natural given the state of things. Machines are more expendable than humans, and without human pilots, we can really push the envelope of what we can do. But this has put us into a quandary that the resistance has taken full advantage of," he explained.
Djibril narrowed his eyes a bit more as Copeland continued. "And by that, I mean they have recruited our former pilots to their side, pointing out the need for humans instead of machines. And with the jacking of one of Xen's AIs, I can only fear that they themselves have developed a series of AIs as well, but from the reports I've received down in the southern part of our country, there is already an AI that is working with the cell down there. That one has taken out Ghoul Squadron... and has already sent the AI into space. But..." Here he shuddered. "...I fear they may already be building new AIs using that one as a template..."
Djibril's eyes hardened. "You mean to tell me that they now have their own form of AI as well?" he asked coldly.
Copeland nodded nervously. "Yes, my lord."
The Lord of Earth leaned forward and tapped one arm of his chair. "I see... that is most displeasing, Copeland," he mused. "Most displeasing indeed... Although you have given me crucial information on what is happening, the point here is that you have failed me at this point in time. You... and your entire Cabinet. Everything we have done... was all undone by the commoners who dared to rise up in rebellion. They dare to think they can reclaim my country while I am away."
The puppet was silent as his master studied him critically. "While I am disappointed in your failure, the main thing is that you are still useful to me. So, consider your life spared. But do not consider this a favor. This is only because I still need a pawn to run my forces down in the fatherland."
"Yes, my lord," Copeland said, bowing meekly.
"However..." Djibril glanced to the door, and the "President" turned to face it, only for three men in black suits to come in. All three wore black hats and sunglasses, and their faces were almost exactly alike in features and tone and shape. The first two men marched over and grabbed Copeland, pinning him to his seat while the last man walked up, drawing a pistol.
Copeland's eyes went wide as he began to panic. "W-Wait! What are you-?!" He was cut off by a single gunshot to his left shoulder, making him cry out. He tried to writhe away, but the two big men weren't letting him go. The third man merely holstered his pistol as the other two let him go. Copeland's hand flew to his shoulder, or at least tried to, if not for the gaze of his master pinning him to his seat. He merely whimpered as the pain lanced through his arm before Djibril nodded. "Consider that a warning, Copeland. Make no mistake. You will command my forces on the home front to try and take care of those rebels. You will do your utmost to succeed. Or barring that... you will retreat to the Moon where we will establish our true government and take back the homeland. Is that clear, Mr. President?"
The man merely groaned in acknowledgement.
"Good. Now, medical personnel will be by to treat your wound. But this is the only merciful thing I will do for you. Got that?" Djibril sneered.
Copeland gave a hurried nod as the three Men in Black left the room and medical personnel rushed in to treat his wound.
However, that gunshot had not gone unnoticed...
. . .
Sasha Livingston narrowed her eyes as she pulled back from where she had been observing.
Disguised as a mere maid, she was the perfect agent to infiltrate and monitor the situation inside the White House. She wore a black and white maid uniform, complete with poofy sleeves and a dainty little maid hat to complete the disguise.
But she was not in the middle of cleaning.
Oh, no. She was in fact more interested in those three Men in Black.
She proceeded to reach up and strip off her maid hat and the fake, poofy hair that went with it. She then grasped her maid top and stripped it off, revealing a tank top underneath. Underneath her maid dress she wore a pair of rolled up combat fatigues that were unrolled. The high heeled shoes were discarded, much to her relief, and she slipped on her combat boots quickly. Once she was in her proper clothing, she reached into the bucket and pulled out a belt with a holster on it. She slid the belt around her waist and clasped it shut before she stood and peeked around the corner.
She could already see the Men in Black exiting the Oval Office's hallway in mechanical fashion. The way they marched was all too stereotypical of a villain's henchmen, and she scoffed as she pulled out her own Desert Eagle.
Holding her gun at the ready, she took in a breath and let it out before running out from around the corner.
"Freeze!" she barked.
The three men all stopped at the same time and glanced back over their shoulders as one. There was a dead silence that filled the hallway before the three men turned and faced her directly. Sasha held her gun calmly, not even flinching under the gaze of these three Men in Black. Her green eyes narrowed as she felt a bit of sweat building on her forehead.
The three black-clad men reached for their pistols and pulled them out, revealing them to be antique Smith and Wessons. Her eyes hardened as the three men then spoke.
"You..." the first man said.
"Will..." the second man stated.
"Not..." the third man added.
"Get past us!" they bellowed as one.
"What did you do in there?!" Sasha barked, aiming her Desert Eagle right for the first man's chest, right at his heart.
"That..." he said, only for one of his cohorts to finish his sentence.
"...is none of your business!" the second man said.
All three then pulled the triggers as one. The guns barked, sending three bullets her way. Sasha gritted her teeth and dove to the ground, performing a shoulder roll and coming into a kneeling position before firing the gun.
The three men didn't even split up. They stayed where they were as the bullet from her Desert Eagle struck the first man in the chest, just an inch off to the right of his heart. She scowled, realizing that dodging had spoiled her aim. But she was not about to let these guys live. The first man collapsed, clutching at his chest as he gasped, trying to stem the bleeding.
But it was going to be too late. There was no way he was going to survive that wound.
The other two men looked at their dying comrade before they turned their gazes back to Sasha. The resistance mole was already on the move however, relying on the three seconds she had been given to get somewhat of an advantage. Every second counted in combat, and this time was no exception. The first of the duo still standing aimed his gun at her chest, but Sasha was moving to the left to avoid the incoming round. She whipped her hand out as she lunged forward, driving her fist into the man's gut and making him gasp as he staggered back. She brought her left foot up and spun around, lashing out with a nasty roundhouse that smacked the man upside the cheek, causing his hand to fly for his face as he fell.
The second man turned and ran at her, a fist drawn back as he prepared to slug her in the chest. But Sasha's eyes narrowed and she ducked under the blow, shoulder-slamming him in the chest. She shifted her grip on her Desert Eagle and brought the gun up to aim at the man's head. She jammed the barrel to his temple, and he actually froze as his glasses, dislodged by her hit, fell off, exposing his brown eyes wide in terror. His chin wiggled as he struggled to keep from gasping in terror. Sasha's green eyes were hard like gemstones as she kept her gun aimed at his head. His companion, on the other hand, regained his senses and was about to charge, but she was quick to whip her body around, wrapping her free arm around the man's neck and making sure her gun was visibly aimed at his comrade's temple.
"You take another step... he doesn't live," she said, her voice eerily calm.
The first man stared before he raised his hands.
"Both of you, drop your weapons," she ordered.
The clatter of two revolvers on the floor confirmed what she wanted to hear. Both men raised their hands, but she didn't dare to lower her gun or her guard. "Now, what the hell were you two doing in there?!" the woman hissed.
The first man swallowed audibly, and she saw his Adam's apple bob with the motion. "We... we were ordered to... show the President the consequences of failure..." he said haltingly.
"Did you kill him?!" Sasha growled.
"No..." the second man said. "He lives... but he knows the price of failure..."
"What exactly did you do?!" the woman hissed, pushing her pistol closer to the first man's temple, earning a wince as a result.
"We shot... him in the shoulder..." he whimpered.
"Typical bully tactic!" Sasha spat. She drew back her gun and clubbed the man over the head with it, sending him to the ground with a bloody gash across his temple. The second man staggered to his feet, but the resistance agent was not keen on letting him escape. She aimed her gun at his right knee and pulled the trigger.
The sheer, agonizing scream echoed throughout the building, and soon it escalated in pitch as a second gunshot left the man writhing on the ground from two shattered kneecaps. As he lay there, Sasha stood up and holstered her gun before turning and walking off. She wasn't about to take a risk of being found out. She grabbed her maid uniform and dumped it into the trash as she left, taking care to look at the security cameras as she did so. She raised up her left hand and extended the middle finger before dropping it and leaving.
She had succeeded in gaining intel on what Copeland's situation was.
Now, all she had to do was get it to the President herself.
. . .
EN ROUTE TO UNKNOWN DESTINATION
The thundering of the trains wheels rattled through the car's entire framework. And Eisenhower was far from asleep as she sat in the main command chair in the middle of the car.
Her hands were tented in front of her face as she finished receiving the report.
"I see... seems like Djibril's patience is wearing thin with his pawn," she noted. "And speaking of, you said you took down those three Men in Black, correct?"
Sasha's image nodded. "Yes, ma'am. In fact, the medics that came to take them away were ordered to bring them to the hospital we have set up underground. We've been doing some genetic tests on them, and we were surprised to see they all shared their DNA with one another. Which leads me to only one conclusion."
Eisenhower's eyes narrowed dangerously at that. Already her mind had come to the same conclusion. "Clones," she muttered. "A trio of clones."
"That's what we figured as well, ma'am," Sasha replied. "As for who they are clones of, we're running the DNA through our databases to see if we can get a match. It's kind of difficult since we lack access to LOGOs' DNA banks, but we'll pull through."
"I don't doubt it," the President remarked. "We've pulled off some impossible feats of intelligence gathering and disruption of their plans." Then her eyes hardened. "But the fact that Djibril had a trio of clones under his command indicates that he wanted three assassins at his beck and call."
"Assassins that wore black suits," Sasha muttered with a grimace. "That idea is so not reality."
The President had to resist snorting in disbelief. Instead, she rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat. "I assume that his master had him treated then," she said, phrasing her question as a statement.
The White House mole nodded. "He did. I saw medics entering the room after the Men in Black left. I think this is the only time he's going to be merciful to the man. And actually, I am wondering something..."
President Eisenhower's eyes flickered a bit as she hummed. "If it's what I think you're thinking, then I'm sure we can at least attempt to capture him," she mused. "But I don't think it will be that easy. So we'll need to have a contingency in place for that."
"What kind, though?" Sasha asked.
She gave a grim smirk. "I highly suspect he'll be heading to the moon," she noted. "There has been a lot of activity over there in the last few years. Spy satellite images from the satellites we hacked showed large carrier vessels and transports heading there in caravans. This means that LOGOs is up to something on the far side of the moon. And..." Her smirk faded as she narrowed her eyes dangerously. "...I'm not too sure if even the Redemption can face down whatever it is they are building there."
"As it stands, we don't even know if the ship can even take down that monster of a dreadnought!" Sasha protested. "So why make such an assumption until the mission is complete?!"
"I'm trying to plan ahead for this!" Eisenhower shot back as she lowered her hands. "I'm not about to let this war go in the favor of either LOGOs or Durandal! So we have to be prepared for just about anything!"
Sasha sighed heavily. "All right... but I'm still not sure if your prediction of him heading to the moon will be correct."
"It'll be within Lawrence's MO. He's known for trying to keep pawns close by," Eisenhower explained as she leaned back in her seat. "For now, keep a close eye on Copeland and let me know if he's about to be moved. I want you to strike with a team of your choosing when that happens. If he does escape, don't worry about failure. That will only confirm my theory."
"Okay. Sasha out." Sasha closed down the COMM line and Eisenhower tented her fingers in front of her mouth.
'So far it looks like everything is going according to plan,' she mused. 'Schenberg was right to mentor me in the art of planning ahead. But even with my abilities, there's no way I can match his intellect or skills in such a thing. Still, I've managed to outmatch Djibril in manipulation and his best generals in terms of strategy and tactics. I've built a network of spies and informants that puts his so-called Legion network to shame. And I've managed to hold the movement together through sheer willpower. But... even I can't keep it together forever. I'm nearing my limits. So I need someone who can help with that... And Allen is the best candidate I found.'
Her mouth twitched into a frown. 'Even so, with the way things are going, it's only a matter of time before my plans go awry. So we need to solidify our hold on the world's minds and hearts. And the best way to do that... is to bring that monstrosity down. I've gotten most of the world on my side... but those in Africa... they're the ones that we've got to worry about after this war ends.'
She shifted her gaze towards the main monitor showing the fighting raging and the repeated destruction of Paris.
'But right now, we've got a Devil Ship to slay. And a city to avenge...'