Gundam Wing: The Phoenix Rising

by Titanic X

A tie-in novel to Gundam Wing: Destiny's Call. The American front in the war is unknown and unheard of. But as the world is embroiled in another war, the Resistance sends a mole to take command of a mighty battle group. This is the story of the Phoenix, and of how the Resistance began their fight to liberate America's citizens from their brainwashing. This is... Phoenix Rising!

54. PHASE LIII: Commander's Breaking

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 going to cover the buildup to the final assault on Sovereign, as well as its aftermath. ;3

- operation meteor: Hey, I wanted to do that. :) And glad ya liked those celebration scenes. :3 As for Murrue's father, well... the resistance leader is gonna try and break him out of Blue Cosmos' brainwashing and to remember how he was around his wife and daughter prior to the wars. It won't be easy, and it may fail. Who knows? Now as for the Mars colony, you may be surprised. They did implement something akin to it, but the concept is the same. And the very jobs that people are chosen or engineered for have to be noted so they can get a better idea of what Durandal's scheme entails. And as for Turbine, well... His pride is indeed going to come back to bite him, but it's a slow buildup! XD Right now, he doesn't even know about pride yet! XD And yes, Mihaly is still going to be around. ;)

- 1800009trumbullps . net: Thanks. :3

- CT7567Rules: Just glad you like it. BTW, CT7567Rules, feel free to guess what series the new AI I introduced last chapter for the resistance comes from~! X3

---

(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 LIII: Commander's Breaking

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

JANUARY 3RD/4TH, 0074 CE

The train pulled into the station outside the small town the resistance had finished constructing two months earlier.

President Eisenhower was already in motion as she left the main command car and exited the vehicle. Already a number of personnel had assembled to greet her, but she didn't react to them. She did acknowledge their presence with a mere nod every now and then, but she for the most part was focused on the mission ahead.

She knew from her intelligence network that the new Lord High Admiral Richard West was going to be examining the bases on the Eastern Seaboard, no doubt to see if any of them were under rebel command. With the loss of Norfolk, the resistance had a major chance to keep Eurasia in the fight, and to do that, they needed to break the commandant's brainwashing.

But that was only secondary to the real objective: to bring down the High Command's top officer. Without him, there could be no High Command. The other three would be limited in what they could do, and their initiative would be limited due to their training and conditioning. It was akin to what Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia did in the Second World War, and she wasn't above taking advantage of that.

She approached a parked Jeep and the driver was already sliding out. "Ma'am," he said, saluting.

"You know the destination?" she asked as she slid into the front seat, buckling up.

The man nodded as he got back into the car.

He started the Jeep and within mere minutes, the vehicle was bounding out of the train station's parking lot, heading up a winding dirt road into the mountains. The safehouse in question was very well isolated, and with the defenses it had established around it, there was going to be hell for the Atlantians when they came for the missing commandant. Her eyes spotted the building's main entrance coming up, and already the two tanks that had been assigned to this position were moving their guns aside as the driver flashed a small American flag outside the window.

One of the snipers hidden in the trees was quick to send a coded message, and the man responded with the flash of his headlights.

Their identities confirmed, the two rebels headed onto the grounds as the tanks returned their guns to the main road. Across the perimeter, snipers were in positions to open fire on any possible attackers, and each one was also equipped with an M16X machine gun, the newest model of the M16 line. The resistance had been quick to reinstate the old M16 machine guns due to their rate of fire and power, but due to the need to upgrade them, the machine guns had been outfitted with laser sights and the ability to fire around corners by allowing the gun's configuration to be movable. Part of the main structure was mounted to a hinge, allowing it to swivel and fire around the corner, thereby ensuring the resistance could fire at targets without sacrificing cover. The only downside was that they had to be sure their target was there before they did that, so a small camera was also mounted to the gun's underside, allowing them to see around the corner before firing.

It was a clever trick, and the Atlantians didn't even bother to study such technology drawn from the late twenty-first century, seeing as how it had been lost due to the Reconstruction War.

What they didn't know was that the resistance had long since found some plans to the guns in question hidden within remains of a military manufacturer's main factory during a mission into Eurasia months ago. And now, they were going to use the new M16X machine gun to take the Atlantians by surprise if they ever came.

Eisenhower suspected they would, and therefore she wanted to be ready.

The Jeep pulled up to the front of the safehouse, which was designed to look like a log cabin in the woods. The President got out and approached the front door, which was flanked by four heavily armed and powerfully built Marines, two men and two women. The female Marines stood closest to the door while the male Marines were to cover the entryway. She nodded to them as one looked over.

"How's the situation?" she asked her.

"The prisoner is safely locked inside," the Marine replied. "Thankfully he was sedated before he was taken off the base."

One of the men scoffed. "If he hadn't been, I'd've decked him a new one," he muttered as he rubbed his fist. "I'm not above giving one of those misogynists a taste of their own medicine if they try to abuse women."

"We don't know if he's actually like that or not, Ken," the third Marine said as he adjusted his rifle. He looked up and eyed the President. "But it is a good precaution because he could've also given out the location of the safehouse had he been awake."

"I take it he was stripped of any possible communications devices, concealed and non?" Eisenhower asked, bringing their attention back to her.

"Yes, ma'am," the fourth Marine replied. "We searched him thoroughly. We did find his phone as well as a smart watch, and he was also bugged. We removed all the devices and as an added precaution we threw up a jamming field."

President Eisenhower could feel the slight tingle of electricity that came with the field and she nodded. "Excellent work. This way, if there were any bugs you missed, he'd be unable to be picked up."

"We also have him watched by camera, so if he tries to escape, we're ahead by miles," the first Marine stated.

"Good. We need to make sure he doesn't try anything," Eisenhower noted. Then her eyes hardened. "Is he awake yet?"

"He should be waking up within the next fifteen minutes," Ken replied as he eyed the door warily. "But... are you sure about this?"

The resistance leader didn't even answer. She merely narrowed her eyes as she looked to the door.

"Then good luck, ma'am," he said. "You'll need it..."

Eisenhower strode towards the door and grasped the door handle. She opened it, and the door swung open, allowing her entry.

She stepped through, her coat billowing out behind her before the darkness engulfed her, the safehouse door slowly closing shut behind her.

. . .

Commander Jarred Ramius groaned, his entire head pounding as he clawed his way back from the depths of oblivion.

He slowly opened his eyes, trying to get a sense of what was happening. His military instincts had warned him of the danger, and yet, he had not seen fit to be wary as he could've been. Had being on the base all that time softened his instincts?

The very thought that someone had managed to knock him out so brutally was enough to make him reconsider his position at the base.

But how had they managed to get the jump on him? He had been sure his men were of the utmost loyalty to him, and they had been trained to be the best. Hell, even Djibril had helped in their conditioning! So what had happened?

The only answer he could conclude was that someone on his staff had turned traitor.

However, due to the throbbing in his brain, he couldn't for the life of him get his thoughts in order at the moment. It was a miracle he was able to even think as coherently as he was due to the hit he had received.

He struggled to clear his blurry vision, blinking rapidly before the fuzziness faded.

And his eyes widened as he saw he was not in the base's hospital, but in a secluded country house.

Commander Ramius sat up slowly, looking around in shock.

The country house's living room in which he lay was nicely decorated, with fine oak wood floors and wood paneling on the bottom half of the walls. A large picture window opened to a wonderful view of the woods below, and he could see in the distance the city of Norfolk. The floor had on it a nice floor rug, and it clearly looked to be expensive. The table and other furniture was of a somewhat outdoorsy design, and off to the side was a fireplace with a pair of bookshelves flanking it. A door off to the right led into a kitchen, and the door on the back wall led into the dining room while a staircase led up to the second floor, from which a loft extended out.

The commander got to his feet, his hand flying to his head, rubbing the bump he had received.

A scowl crossed his face as he looked around. Apparently whomever had kidnapped him was either wealthy or had connections if they were to bring him here.

He had no idea that this was a safe house built by the resistance and maintained by them.

Commander Ramius narrowed his eyes as he scanned his surroundings critically, looking for any sign that the place had been bugged.

However, he needn't have worried on that. The place was bug free. At least at first glance.

The rebels had bugged it, using small listening devices hidden in nooks and crannies no one bothered to think about. And it was just as well.

Jarred turned to face the window and walked over to it, looking out to try and get an idea of what his situation was.

Below he could see a pathway that was carved out of the trees themselves, and in front stood two tanks, their guns aimed at the roadway and a number of snipers carved out a perimeter to ensure that no one got close. Whomever had captured him was clearly high in the military department, possessing knowledge of how to prevent escapes - the snipers' cover fire crossed into the paths of the others. A sound strategy to ensure that he had no means of escape.

It was clear to him that someone wanted him out of the war.

Or barring that, killed.

But if that were the case, then why would they go to all the trouble to bring him here and keep him alive?

Jarred frowned as he turned away from the window.

"Like it?"

The sound of the woman's voice caught his attention and he whirled around, his hand flying for his pistol...

Only to find it missing from his person. His eyes went wide as he glanced down, only to see his holster was missing from his belt.

The commander looked up, only to come face-to-face with a woman standing beside the fireplace, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes hard. But what really caught him by surprise was this woman's sheer height, along with her muscular build and scarred features. Her hair was pure white, and she clearly looked the part of a soldier. Her eyes held a keen intellect that made him shiver, and he wondered, much against his will and indoctrination, how smart she was. Her gaze also held in it a ruthlessness that made a lesser man or woman wet themselves.

It also didn't help much this woman was armed with a heavy machine gun for her primary weapon.

"Who are you? And what am I doing here?" Jarred demanded.

"Ah, that's classified," the woman stated calmly. "As for your second question, it's simple." Her eyes narrowed a bit. "To awaken you."

"Awaken me?" Jarred scoffed. "I don't need to be awakened to the danger of the space monsters up in orbit!"

The woman shook her head. "No. You misunderstand me. I said to awaken you. And by that..." She stood up and made her way over. Jarred stood up straight, glowering at her with all the anger he could muster. But she didn't even flinch or recoil when he raised his hand to backhand her. Instead, she raised her own hand... and slammed him across the cheek with enough force to send him sprawling.

The man landed on his side, his hand flying for his bruised jawbone. He was surprised by her strength. Most women didn't even have that much physical strength... and yet she had slapped him hard enough to send him sprawling. But what she said next sent a shiver down his spine.

"And that was a mere slap," she said. "Imagine what I could do if I punched you with my full strength." She rubbed her hand briefly. "I've spent years working on my strength, and I'm not afraid to use it."

The mere thought of someone with enough strength like that was enough to make him scowl. "So what?" he remarked. "And what did you mean by awaken, you b-" He was cut off as she shot him a glare, her hand reaching for the gun on her back. He fell silent, seeing her fingers just inches from it. "You wouldn't!" he growled.

"Try me..." she muttered, her voice barely rising above an even tone.

Jarred had to struggle to maintain his composure, but he managed.

The mere idea that this woman was the one who was intimidating him was something he did not like.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he clenched his fists.

"What I meant by awaken is simple." The woman's eyes were hard as ice as she removed her hand from her gun. "To awaken you to your emotions."

His eyes widened before he broke into laughter. "Really?! Awaken me to my emotions? I have always been awakened to them!" he cackled.

"Even those that pertain to your daughter?!" the woman asked harshly, startling him with the icy coldness in her gaze and tone.

"You dare to mention that little whore in my presence?!" Jarred bellowed.

The woman moved surprisingly fast, lunging for him like a viper, her fist flying out and slugging him in the gut. Her eyes were dead and emotionless as the commandant staggered back, gasping as his eyes widened. Her face held no emotion on it as the man collapsed, clutching at his stomach with both hands. He landed on the floor, gasping for breath.

"That was for calling your daughter a whore," she growled, her voice as calm as a lifeless ocean. "You are the womanizing bastard for calling her such, and for following Djibril's orders like a lovesick little girl."

She knelt down and her hand grabbed his head, making him look into her eyes. The icy chill in them caused a shudder to run down his spine.

"Your emotions are nothing but rage and hatred and lust," the woman said. "And therefore your true nature as a human has been removed. You are a bloodthirsty Nazi thug, unable to accept other emotions as human and seeing them as weak and feminine." Her eyes narrowed into mere slits. "It makes me sick!"

She pulled back and let go of his head as she stepped back. "Just look at you. You're no man. You're a lovesick little puppy dog. You're following around a viper who will kill you as soon as you even make a misstep. You are doomed if you stick close to that vermin," she said darkly. "So... we're going to start your awakening earlier than expected. Now, if you'll follow me..."

Her hand lashed out and grabbed him by his shirt, hauling the man to his feet and dragging him across the room and into the hallway. "This is your first step!" she growled, shoving him before her. He whirled around, his fist drawn back and she reacted with that uncanny speed, ducking beneath his blow and slamming her fist into his face, knocking him back against the wall.

A searing pain resounded in the back of his head as he cried out, feeling a glass picture cracking with the impact. He collapsed, one hand flying to the back of his head and feeling blood there. His eyes widened as he felt it. He pulled his hand back, staring in shock at the red on his fingers and palm. His eyes were dilated as he stared at it for what seemed to be forever.

Then, a memory came forward from the depths of his mind. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what this was.

It was a memory of his daughter.

He tried to ruthlessly suppress it, but there was no stopping it.

---

"Daddy!" Little eight-year-old Murrue was crying as she ran up to him, her face covered in blood.

"Murrue! What happened?" he blurted, getting down on his knees and scooping up his daughter in his arms.

"I...I was pushed by that mean girl!" Murrue blubbered, burying her face in his chest. "She pushed me... and hurt me!"

Jarred grimaced as he held her close. He looked down at her and his face softened. "Hey. It'll be okay..." he said gently. "I'll talk to her parents about her behavior and then we'll get that looked at. Okay?"

The girl blinked. "You... You will?" she whimpered.

Jarred nodded. "Yes. I will." He smiled gently at her and she managed to smile back in response.

---

The man staggered back, gripping at his head in his hands. "What... is happening to me?!" he cried.

"Just from one memory? You collapse because of one memory? Whatever it was, it must've been very intimate for you to suffer this close to a breakdown," the woman mocked. His gaze snapped up, sweat already beading on his forehead.

"You... did something...!" he hissed. "What did you give me?!"

"No drugs were inserted into your system while you were unconscious," the woman said seriously. "You can claim I'm a liar all you want, but the truth is there. You were never drugged. You only think you were because of what you saw, right?" Her icy eyes narrowed dangerously at that.

"You don't know a damn thing about me!" Jarred shouted.

"I know more than you think," the woman growled. "I've broken many men who thought they were tough stuff. You are no different than they were."

The commandant didn't even hesitate to lunge for her, his rage growing as he punched her. Or at least, he tried to. But she moved so fluidly it was like she was made of water. Her arm lashed out to block the punch before she retaliated with a punch of her own. Unlike most other women who could not punch with enough force to throw someone back, her clenched fist made direct contact with his cheek and he went flying back a good few feet before he landed on his back. She stood up straight and rubbed her fist. Jarred groaned as he pushed himself to a sitting position, rubbing his cheek with one hand. His eyes were wide as he noticed how calloused her knuckled were; not a drop of blood came from them. She slowly uncurled her hand and grabbed him by the front of his uniform.

She grabbed his head in her free hand, and he could feel how rough it was; it was like that of a farmer's hand. Thick and calloused from years of working outdoors, or in this case from years of training and combat.

"Now..." Her eyes hardened into miniature icebergs, and he swore he could see his own face in them. "Let's get down to business... shall we...?"

. . .

JANUARY 3RD, 0074 CE

APRILIUS ONE

CHAIRMAN'S OFFICE

"You have got to be kidding me!" Durandal exclaimed, slamming his hands down on the desk in his office.

"I'm not," the SIB agent admitted. He handed Durandal a sheaf of photographs. "If you look at these, you'll see why we made the estimates we have."

The Chairman took the photos and sifted through them. His eyes narrowed as he picked one out of the pile.

"What is this?" he asked.

"That, Chairman," the agent began, "is a satellite photo of just how that dreadnought went down so easily. Or at least one of the sources that brought it down."

The image in the photo was that of a ship, but unlike anything he had seen the Atlantic Federation using. It appeared to be a hybrid of the Archangel-class and one other, but the type eluded him.

Whereas the battleships were more tapered at the bow and concealed their hangars, this ship had numerous hangars. In fact, it had the most out of any ship in the world. Having taken the basic idea of the Archangel-class and its successors, the resistance had instead chosen to up the number of hangars to five, increasing the number of mobile suits it could carry. This necessitated the installation of five catapults and a recovery deck. The catapults were laid out in the front of the ship like legs, and on the underside of the port and starboard catapults there was another catapult. The hangars were positioned behind these catapults, allowing for rapid deployment of mobile suits stored aboard her. The last catapult at the rear was where the recovery deck was located, although in a pinch the deck could also double as a last resort catapult, he guessed. The body of the ship itself was boxy, and kind of blocky compared to the Girty Lue-class, making it seem more durable and robust. The bridge, in a copy of the Archangel to an extent, was on an extended 'neck' that stuck up from close to the middle of the ship. Just a ways behind it, though, the ship also possessed a pair of large 'wings' like those found on an airplane. The ship, it was said, resembled a horse at rest.

And that was made all the more formidable by its arsenal.

The ship possessed a vastly superior firepower suite when compared to the Girty Lue and her sister ships. Forward and aft of her bridge, as well as underneath the hull, were four turrets each containing two beam cannons. These guns possessed a wide range of movement and degree of fire, which was essential given the ship's large mass and weight. For frontal attacks, the ship was equipped with a single barrel beam cannon located on the outermost corner of the starboard and port catapults. This was mostly used to deter enemies from attacking the catapults. But that was only the beginning. The surprise of the ship lay in its mega particle cannons hidden within the sides of the vessel. When they were deployed, it looked as if they could provide coverage in a complete circle. But as a downside, they could not elevate to meet enemies coming from much larger angles. The ship was also outfitted with a vertical launch system, possessing three twenty-four tube systems, two atop the starboard and port hangars, and one located behind the bridge. For defense, the ship was equipped with twenty-eight two barrel defensive guns. These weapons were incredibly fast at firing, but as a result the ship's fire control radar could not keep up with the fast rate, limiting the accuracy of the guns. Underneath the main catapult was a single satellite dish.

"Take a look, sir," the agent said. He pointed to the satellite dish, which, the Chairman could now see, was firing a thin beam of cyan energy. He flipped through the pictures until it showed the beam ending at a single mobile suit, which was firing a cyan beam of immense power right for the planet below. "That ship we've seen was the source of the beam that struck the dreadnought from above in conjunction with that of Wing Albion. We can only theorize that somehow the resistance was able to match the power of the legendary Twin Buster Rifle, which is supposed to be impossible. Even with our technology and efforts, we cannot match it."

Durandal hummed as he set the photos down, studying the machine that had fired at the dreadnought.

The image was somewhat blurry, but enough clarity remained for him to make out some similarities to the Destiny Gundam, but at the same time it was different. The large cannons from which the beam fired were a difference, as were the design of the wings. It was a little too close... he realized. His eyes narrowed as he wondered who could have nicked the plans for the machine that was supposed to have gone to Shinn Asuka.

But what also intrigued him was the presence of twelve other machines, six of which looked to be an offshoot of the Strike Dagger, and six that looked more for general purpose use. While leaner than the Strike Daggers and Windams, they looked to be more versatile in overall design. His eyes narrowed as he spread the photos out on his desk. "This is quite an unexpected development," he mused.

"Yes, sir. The resistance apparently had this vessel under construction for some time, if what we've gotten from our agents on the ground is any indication," the agent admitted. "We only recently learned of its existence thanks to its strike on the dreadnought from orbit." He sighed heavily. "The amount of secrecy that went into this project is a good indicator that they didn't want anyone to find out about it."

"No doubt to keep their enemies in the dark," Durandal mused as he tented his fingers in front of his mouth, studying the photos intently. "But the fact they were able to build a ship of this caliber, and make a weapon that can match the Twin Buster Rifle... All in a short time frame, I assume?"

"That's what the guys on the ground have reported," the agent informed him. "The man behind it is a renowned nuclear physicist, and it was his idea to use the infamous Cyclops system as the inspiration for it. But other than that, we can't get any more details."

"So they reverse engineered that sinister weapon..." Durandal muttered. "A weapon of insidious purpose, transformed into something of greater power..."

His eyes narrowed.

'It's clear to me that the resistance is not above using whatever they can get their hands on to their advantage. the only difference here is that, unlike the Atlantic Federation, they're smarter. They know of how atrocious that weapon was, and they engineered it to become a more efficient version of itself. By channeling all that power into a single beam, there is nothing that can withstand it... unless it's a shield system of sufficient strength, as the Sovereign showed,' he thought to himself. 'This means that they have a huge advantage here. With a ship and weapon of that caliber...'

Durandal's thoughts trailed off as he glanced to the agent. "What are the chances of the war ending in the favor of LOGOs?" he asked.

"Honestly, sir... the chances are... not good," the man admitted. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "The resistance, with this weapon, has a real shot at doing what no one else thought possible." He gulped. "They have a real shot at taking back their countries from the grip of LOGOs. With everything they've gotten done on the ground, there's also a good chance that the civil war raging there will turn in their favor, given how a number of developments have been happening in other areas."

"Such as?" Durandal pressed.

"For instance, some of our spies have given us... rather disturbing information pertaining to the use of AI on both sides of the conflict," the agent said softly.

"Artificial intelligence on both sides of the conflict?" Durandal pursed his lips. "Explain."

"Data from one of our spies in the territory formerly known as Mexico has indicated that the resistance stronghold there has engaged in AI development," the agent replied tersely. "Their AI development program is unlike anything the Atlantic Federation has in the works. In fact, it's akin to..." He shivered. "Reports have been intercepted that give us a few details. Not enough to accurately explain what is going on, but enough for us to glean the objective of their development program."

"Then fill me in," Durandal said.

The agent nodded. "The objective of their AI development program is actually meant to create AIs that will fight alongside humans as equals, not as adversaries or inferiors. I'm not sure how that's supposed to work, but if the AI that are in use by the Atlantic Federation are any indication, then humans will be easily surpassed by AIs in general." He then gulped. "And further report interceptions have actually shown that their AI program is far more advanced than the Atlantic Federation's."

"How so?" the Chairman inquired. He leaned forward a bit.

"Well... one of their ace pilots, it turns out, is not even human," the agent said softly. "The pilot in question is an AI itself. And recent intelligence that was gleaned from the Atlantic Federation's pilots has revealed that this AI is sentient in every sense of the word. It is, according to the reports, of a male gender and has adopted the name Turbine Martinez. It... or rather he... was one of those who took down that Ghost Squadron during the siege of their stronghold. In fact, he was the one who killed their leader."

"And what of this AI now?" Durandal wondered.

The agent shrugged helplessly. "The AI fell off the radar after the siege ended. Although there is a theory going around that there is more going on than we know down on the surface. A few agents in the Kingdom of Scandinavia have reported back to us that there is a new ship they built themselves, and have launched it into space some time back, with a special guest aboard. Some of us are thinking that it is the AI ace of the resistance."

"So it seems that the resistance leader is far more cunning than I give her credit for," Durandal muttered. "She is clearly reaching out to neutral countries that have never once acted in aggression towards LOGOs, and is uniting them under her banner."

Then he looked to the stack of photos the SIB agent had brought. He took it again and sifted through it before pulling out another photo. This time, the image depicted a battle happening. It was hard to make out at first glance, seeming like a free-for-all of mobile suits, both of resistance make and Atlantic Federation manufacture. But a second lookover revealed a particular mobile suit that made him narrow his eyes.

At first glance it almost looked like the Freedom Gundam which was stolen during the First Bloody Valentine War, but upon closer inspection he noticed that there were key differences, mostly in the design of the shoulders, arms, and legs. The chest and helm, along with the wings, reminded him of the Freedom Gundam. The machine in question also lacked the railguns on the hips, replacing them instead with a pair of beam pistols. But what really made this machine stand out were its optics.

Unlike other machines that were automated or controlled by humans, this one had that distinct light of sentience and intelligence within those cyan optics. And the way it was posed was not like another machine. One arm was outstretched, a beam saber ignited. The legs were spread and the wings were expanded wide open, thruster fire blooming from the thrusters on its back. The second arm was cut off at the elbow, and the machine seemed to be lunging in the manner a person would be for a stab in the back with their sword. In fact, if Durandal used his imagination, he could see the machine reacting in the exact same manner.

It was both uncanny and unnerving. A machine that was truly sentient and intelligent...

And yet...

"What can you tell me about the AI in question?" he asked the agent.

The man just shrugged. "Only what we told you, sir."

"I see..." Durandal trailed off as he looked down at the photo again. "What about on the Atlantic Federation side?" he wondered.

"That's where it gets interesting," the agent reported. "The Atlantic Federation is intending on mobilizing more of those mass-production AI units to clash with the resistance. If what the fight after Paris showed us is anything, then it will take the resistance a lot of time and effort to bring them down."

"Or... perhaps they could try and limit the scope of maneuver for the AIs," Durandal offered. "It seems like that would be something they'd do, if at all."

"We can't be sure how they fight, sir," the agent cautioned. "Just from viewing their actions in recent conflicts with the Atlantic Federation, it seems to me that they're relying on unconventional and unorthodox methods of fighting." He watched as the Chairman pulled out another photo from the stack, only to cock an eyebrow at the trio of machines fighting close to the railways.

One of them clearly looked like it had been modified to transform into a shinkansen bullet train, and the other looked like it was built to resemble the historic Big Boy 4014 steam engine to a degree. And fighting both was that crab-like mobile armor, the Karkinos. But it was held in place by the bigger mobile suit, and the smaller one was using a beam rifle that looked like it was partially based on a train's coupler. "As you can see, sir, the resistance is not above using different vehicles to make mobile suits. Those two train-based machines were the most unorthodox, but they proved to be very vital in keeping the railways linked."

Durandal lifted up another photo, this time showing six mobile suits, each one looking like it could transform into a fighter jet. "They have also managed to somehow construct mobile suits that can transform into actual fighter jets, sir," the agent added.

"I've noticed," Durandal remarked. He lowered the photos and handed them back to the agent. "They've really shown an ingenuity that's impossible to replicate."

"Yes, sir," the agent said. "And they've shown a very... interesting trend." He handed a manila folder off to the Chairman, who took it and opened it. "This report is indicative of an incident that took place back in December, on the 14th and 15th, to be exact."

Durandal was quick to spot the photos, along with the report. He took it out and began to read as his agent continued to speak. "The resistance had discovered a concentration camp for children in the desert. The conditions within were horrid, and they were not about to let this go unpunished. So the resistance was quick to deploy an entire army corps to the camp in question. Recent reports at this time indicated that the resistance had hired a company of competent mercenaries, Sicario Security Services, to help them bolster their ranks and allow them to have an actual navy again, along with an air force. Doing so allowed them to augment the attacking force with air drops to take the camp from within," he explained. "The interesting thing was that the resistance was not dependent on mobile suits alone. They were quick to support the mobile suits with tanks, infantry, armored personnel carriers, helicopters, and air drops. So it was a combined arms operation. It really threw LOGOs for a loop, and kept them off balance as the aerial assault was covered by the helicopters and the tanks proved to be too agile to hit with standard mobile suit weapons."

"It seems to me the resistance has more than just brawn," Durandal mused. "They're doing something that our enemies have never done: combining mobile suits with conventional arms to give them more flexibility on the battlefield."

"Yes, sir," the agent said. "And it's worked in their favor, heavily I might add. There has been a huge boost to morale upon discovering this, and the resistance, due to these developments..." He gulped. "... it's estimated that if things progress as they are... they have a real shot at reclaiming their countries and installing a new government within the next few months... if not sooner."

Durandal's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I see..." he muttered. He kept himself as calm as possible as he sat up straight and handed the folder back to the SIB agent. "Very good work. I'd like to be kept informed of further developments down on the ground."

"As you wish, sir," the agent said. The man turned and left the Chairman's office, closing the door behind him.

Now that he was alone, Durandal fumed. "President Eisenhower..." he muttered. "You've really proven to be an unpredictable factor. Just what are you planning, my dear enemy...?"

The resistance had really thrown a wrench in his plans. And with the estimate of his SIB agents for their time frame... it really meant he had to step up his plans.

But first, the inquiry was in the middle of being called to order.

First things first, he mused as he stood up. First came the inquiry. Then he could make plans for the resistance...

. . .

JANUARY 4TH, 0074 CE

SATELLITE CITY

MEXICO

The room was silent as Keith studied the plans before him.

Off to the side, stood Frederik Hans and Natasha Killington. In front of Keith's desk, the little AI known as Stalemate sat in a booster chair, optics fixed on the plans on the desk.

"I see..." Stalemate muttered in a voice that sent shivers down Keith's back. Unlike most other AIs that were coming online for the resistance, this one's voice was more like that of a high-powered political figure, or even an attorney. It offered a sense of deception, which only aided the little AI as he moved one finger digit on the map. The little AI was proving to be highly intelligent for sure, if studying the military strategies of the enemy was any indication. Already there were several hundred sets of plans and strategies being compiled by him, and this was the latest set he was analyzing.

It just wasn't the battle plans, either. It was everything pertaining to how battles could and should be fought. Everything from logistics to the men and machines under his command was scrutinized and studied to the letter. Counterstrategies and tactics were proposed, and Keith had to admit it was terrifying how fast the little AI's intelligence had shown itself. When combined with the data he had siphoned from the Pentagon, it was close to surreal how far he had come in so short a time span. Less than twelve hours old, and he was showing a vast intellect that was on par with the command-class that Xen had created.

Whether Stalemate's intellect would surpass that AI was unknown. But if things were going the way they were, it wouldn't be much longer before he could in theory match it.

And that brought him back to the AI's growth in other aspects.

Much to the dismay of many, Stalemate had shown a disdain for humans. But, strangely, his disdain was more or less directed at... their physical aspects, such as the need for fluids like snot and whatnot. The disdain did not mean he wanted them wiped out. More or less, it was complete disgust with the way human internals functioned. It was a bit surprising, but when questioned about that, the AI simply replied that while humans and AI did share a lot of similarities, it was the internals that he despised. Regardless, Stalemate proved he still cared about human lives, even if he couldn't show it very well.

That was all Keith needed to know to feel relieved.

"That's a definite failure right there," Stalemate was saying as Keith was drawn back from his thoughts. His finger digit was pointing at the left flank of the Atlantian formation he was studying. "If they even bothered to use their intelligence, they'd find that exposing their flanks is a great way to be overwhelmed by attacking enemy troops!"

"Well, that's the thing, Stalemate," Frederik explained. "The Atlantians don't think. They just resort to sheer numbers and weight of force."

Here Stalemate scoffed, rolling his optics as best he could within the tiny chassis. "So I noticed," he drawled. Then his optics fixed right at Keith. "But you... you're no better in some regards, but you are better than the enemy in others."

Keith felt goosebumps race down his skin. "And how are we better?" he asked.

"For one thing, you resistance fighters actually use your brains. You try to consider the enemy, and you act on the intelligence you gather. But sometimes you tend to let your lack of self-preservation get the better of you," Stalemate stated.

"Well, that's humans for you," Keith remarked. "But you are right. We do our best to try and anticipate their moves, which... I might add, is actually very easy once you get their thinking down."

Stalemate actually laughed. "Maybe so," he chortled, "but this at least shows your group is more competent than others I've heard about!"

"If you mean the overt resistance movements that sprang up after LOGOs took power? They weren't that good to begin with," Natasha said, making the little chassis look at her directly. "It's the smarter ones who went underground and grew into what they are today."

The optics of Stalemate's chassis flickered, and Keith couldn't help but wonder what the little AI would think of the powerful frame they were going to build. And actually... his eyes drifted to the notebook as he clenched his hands on it. Normally, he wouldn't even think of doing this, but considering the AI in question... he was much more aware of his abilities than even Turbine. So... perhaps... it was worth taking the risk...?

Frederik glanced to Keith, noticing his contemplative look. "Uh, Dr. Martinez?"

"Hm? What?" Keith asked, looking up from his notebook.

The fifty-five year old software engineer and his fiancée were both looking at him directly. "What are you thinking?" Natasha asked, her eyes fixed on the AI expert.

Here Keith sighed before running his hand through his hair. "Well... given the nature of the AI you're in charge of raising... I was wondering if I should do something risky..." He squared his shoulders. "And I'm asking you if you think I should do it, too."

"Does it have to do with what you were sketching in that notebook?" Natasha asked.

Keith nodded. As a former police officer, she was sharp-eyed, so it made sense she'd pick it up quickly. "It has everything to do with it." He held it out and she took the book, flipping open to the page he had marked.

Her eyes went wide as she stared at the rough sketch. "You're joking...!" she whispered.

Frederik leaned over her shoulder and whistled in amazement. "Wow. Never thought you had it in you to develop something like this, Doc!"

Natasha turned to him. "Are you sure, Doctor?" she asked.

The AI expert nodded. "Yes."

He then turned his gaze to Stalemate, who was looking at them intently. Had he been human, he was sure that the AI would be scowling at being kept out of the loop. He sighed heavily, easily dreading what was going to come next.

"Stalemate... we want to show you something..."

. . .

Stalemate, despite being just over two days old, had already developed far beyond what his creator had intended. And it was showing in his ability to perceive the coming fights. His initial design had been for a minor role, but his intelligence had quickly evolved over the course of those two days, developing into something far more than just a simple program. The design of the simulation chamber incorporated a NWCOMM device within it, enhancing the realism of the simulations, as well as giving each AI a soul upon removal from the chamber.

He was just the latest one to have been removed from the chamber, and already he was being shown what his future frame would look like.

And by the Creators, he would've been lying if he said he wasn't impressed.

The very scale of it, the broad shoulders, massive verniers and powerful limbs...

Already he was looking forward to inhabiting that frame.

And it was not just the fact it looked impressive.

He felt... drawn to it, somehow. Like he was meant to be in that frame. The more he studied it, the more he felt like it was him.

"Is... that me...?" he whispered.

Keith nodded. "It's one of a rough design," he admitted. "I've been considering this design for some time, but..."

Stalemate grabbed the notebook and looked at the sketch. It was bare of any intricate detail, but he could already see where there could be some future improvements down the line. He handed the notebook back to the AI expert. "Well, to begin with, the design is not bad," he admitted. "I can already see where there can be some future improvements made down the line, however."

"I've been thinking that as well," Dr. Martinez stated. "But those improvements will have to wait. We just don't have the time or tech to get them done."

"Considering there is a war raging, I can see why you'd be hesitant," Stalemate admitted as he crossed his arms over his little chassis' chest.

"Yeah. So... we'll get into the overall improvements down the line. But, what kind would you suggest?" Keith wondered.

The little AI smirked with a flash of his optics; the glow was a piercing pink, which was an odd color, but he was not complaining. "Well... what if you were to do something akin to the Twin Buster Rifle a second time...? But this time... split into three?"

Keith was surprised as Stalemate laid out the design scheme, and for once, he was awed. Despite not knowing how the TBR worked, he had offered a realistic proposal that would grant them something akin to it, but at less output. It was... brilliant... and downright scary.

But for once, Keith was happy that such things were being considered. Realistic, and downright viable, even with their limited technology. And the best part? They had enough of the materials in stock. And with the fusion reactors starting to be researched again, it was only a matter of time. But for now, all they could do was equip the coming frame with battery cores.

Yet, in the eyes of everyone in the room, it was the best chance they had to get the frame ready as soon as possible.

The name for this new frame...

NAMF-X04 Sazabi.

. . .

JANUARY 4TH, 0074 CE

JUDGMENT STATION

MAIN DOCK

"Okay, steady, steady...! Watch the cranes!"

The dock workers scurried to and fro as the Redemption finished unloading her mobile suits. While none of them had deployed their weapons or engaged any Atlantian or ZAFT forces, it was still a good idea to check over the machines for possible updates or tweaks to their systems and software. The biggest one that had to be checked over though was the Phoenix Gundam X.

The Gundam had already been unloaded three hours ago and was now situated within a specially designed cradle for examination and possible recalibration. The wings were expanded behind it and the twin satellite cannons were extended to allow for the technicians to check them over to see how they had held up. A few armor plates had also been removed to examine the connectors for the firing systems, so those were lying off to the side.

Warren Thompson was busy examining the firing data from the Judgment Satellite System with a critical gaze, looking over it with the eyes of a professional.

'So far everything was well within the tolerances of the Lunar Titanium's stress limits. The firing of the system did not do any structural damages, and the recoil was within the ranges that the computers predicted. The scientists and engineers proved themselves competent, I must say,' he thought as a smirk crossed his lips. The Coordinator ran a hand through his hair before he gripped the table and sat down, pulling himself closer to the terminal and starting to type.

"Doctor Thompson?"

The man glanced back as he saw Maxus approaching. "I assume you came for the report?" he asked.

Maxus nodded. "The President wants a report on the machine's status."

The mobile suit engineer looked over the screen showing the systems and structure of the Phoenix Gundam X. "There were no issues. The system worked well within the tolerances of the Lunar Titanium. There was no structural damage from either the firing of the system or the recoil prevention," he noted. "I have to admit that the engineers and scientists who developed the material really proved their competence, which is saying something given the nature of our enemy and their own... scientists." The way Warren spat out the word indicated how little he thought of the Atlantian Reich's own scientists and engineers.

"Believe me, I'm not too fond of them, either, Doctor," Maxus confessed.

The Coordinator liaison nodded. "At least we are in agreement on that, sir," he stated.

"Speaking of, how did the system itself work?" the station commander wondered.

"The system did work as intended," Dr. Thompson said. His eyes narrowed as he glanced to the monitor before he brought up a second screen, this time showing the firing system for the Judgment Satellite System. There were two yellow lines running the length of the vessel, flashing brightly. "The firing mechanisms were knocked out of alignment as predicted, and the repair crews have begun realigning them less than fifteen minutes ago." He pointed to them and Maxus nodded.

"And it's going accordingly?" Maxus inquired.

The builder of the Judgment Satellite System nodded. "Yes. The system's firing mechanisms have been designed for such, remember?" He glanced back at him out of the corner of his eye. "So with the projected time of two hours, it will be finished by noon today."

"I'm surprised they didn't start the realignment process until today," Maxus mused.

"The crews needed to finish their training," Warren stated. "As they get better at realigning the systems, it will become more efficient and they will become more experienced. Then we can train more crew to help with it if we build more such ships in the future."

"If we choose to," Maxus said seriously. "We have one to start, and we need to be careful about using it, considering the heat output from the weapon itself."

Warren could agree with him on that. "An unfortunate side effect of the weapon itself, but one that must be dealt with."

The station commander nodded as he turned his gaze back to the ship in question. All along its sides, vents were open and he could see that the air was heated, judging from the way it waved and shimmered. Large air pumps were plugged into the sides of the vessel, further facilitating its cooldown procedure. He could only wonder how long it would take.

The L4 liaison seemed to sense his unasked question and he snorted. "It will take less than an hour and a half to expunge the remaining excess heat," he remarked. "The worst of it was vented out as the ship headed back here."

"Wait. Wouldn't that have left a trail?" Maxus asked, suddenly getting concerned.

"Not as bad as one would think," the mobile suit engineer stated. "If they follow the standard shipping lines, then they can be mistaken as one of the larger cargo vessels. That is how much heat it puts out when in motion." His eyes narrowed a bit. "But I will admit in times of hiding, when it comes to stealth, that pretty much negates all advantages the Mirage Colloid gives it."

Maxus knew what he was talking about.

The Mirage Colloid cloaking, it had been discovered, was vulnerable to heat. And if the Redemption used its main weapon, then the Mirage Colloid could not be reactivated until the heat was effectively dispersed from the vessel itself. The heat would cause distortions in the particle cloak, making it easier for them to be picked up. And that was only the first of the problems. The particles could not adhere to the magnetic field of the ship if it was extremely hot, or covered in the excess heat from the Judgment Satellite Cannon.

Plus, it also dispersed the particles a lot quicker than usual.

So that was a flaw that needed to be rectified in the future.

But for now, they had to make do.

Maxus ran a hand through his hair as he sighed, spotting the imposing shape of the Freedom Retribution Gundam lurking close by. "Well, it's just as well that the ship came back to get resupplied and the machines checked over."

"If you're referring to the AI known as Turbine, then I concur. His presence will be beneficial once the Redemption relaunches," Warren conceded. "Especially given how ZAFT may start to investigate once we commence our own operations up here in orbit."

Turbine shifted as he heard the comments, looking in the direction of the two men. "I'm not too surprised, really," he admitted.

Warren and Maxus both jolted and spun around to face him. "Oh. I didn't think you'd overhear us," Maxus remarked.

"It's not too hard when you're sitting close by," the AI retorted. He then looked back at the huge shape of the Redemption. "Although I will admit that being reassigned to the Redemption is a bit intimidating, honestly."

"You? Intimidated?" Warren arched an eyebrow. "I'm kind of surprised by that."

"Well, given how it was the ship that helped bring down the Sovereign, I can't blame you," Maxus stated. "I'd be intimidated too."

Turbine chuckled a bit. "Yeah? Guess I'm not the only one then!" He cast his gaze at the satellite dish beneath the ship, and his entire frame shuddered a bit. "But seriously... developing something akin to the TBR? And basing it on the engineering behind the Cyclops System? How the hell did you even get those plans to begin with?!"

"That... was a stroke of luck," Maxus admitted. He shivered a bit himself. "The Cyclops System, as you know, was originally meant to be a substitute for a nuclear weapon, meant to destroy enemy vehicles. But... it wound up costing many people their lives... since it caused them to pop like overripe tomatoes. And therefore it was banned from use as a weapon. So it was modified to be used for mining instead. However... during the Battle of Endymion, it was recalibrated to function once more as a weapon... and LOGOs got wind of it. One of the engineers who developed the device became so disgusted that he defected from the Atlantian Reich just days after Endymion. He was so angry he swore he would not let his weapon fall into enemy hands again. That night, he handed the plans over to us... and committed suicide," he explained. "It was enough for us to get our hands on the technology and we started trying to figure out its weaknesses, which were many, and well... we refined it up here at Judgment Station."

"Which actually makes sense in the grand scheme of things," Warren chimed. "Given the radius and damage of the weapon, it made sense since up in orbit, there was no risk of causing harm to humans. And it could be triggered remotely."

"So... what kind of weaknesses does that insidious device have?" Turbine wondered.

"First off, it requires an insane amount of power," Maxus replied. He held up a finger. "That's why it needs so many power cells. With power cells of the caliber they had, it was easy to power it up and then set it off. But we didn't have that, so we had to resort to solar power. And while not as effective, we were able to correlate the damages incurred to the amount of power needed." A second finger went up. "Second, it was unfocused. That's what led to such high death rates for those caught in its wide blast radius. And the width of the blast radius was what weakened its power. That's why so many people died in agony before they popped. The slow boiling of the blood and fluids within them is what caused them their pain; their bodies couldn't handle the steam building within them." A third finger went up. "And finally, it was meant to be a weapon. There was no way to increase the power output to make their deaths less agonizing. The Atlantians devised it to truly be a hellish, sadistic weapon of war."

Maxus lowered his fingers. "So we did what they didn't want us to do, and refined it to be a true directed energy weapon."

"Most directed energy weapons are not derived from such an insidious device," Warren lectured. "But in this case, it was well worth the risk. What was done was the radiation was focused through a series of energy relays, which, when combined with a magnetic field generated just before firing, kept it from expanding outwards in all directions. Every bit of that radiation is therefore contained, and it can further be focused through the receiver on the Phoenix Gundam X. That amount of power is what makes the beam cyan in color. And such power is not to be trifled with. If it hits a ship, that beam can literally turn the ship and all aboard it into atoms... if it lacks sufficient shielding."

The AI couldn't help but shiver visibly at the implications. "Geez...! You guys really turned it around...!" he whispered.

"A necessity in times of war," Warren stated. His eyes narrowed a bit. "And for the record, while I do despise that device, it's all in how it is used. And you have proven to be worthy of using such power wisely."

Maxus was a bit surprised at the comment, but he did acknowledge what the Coordinator engineer was saying. "Wait. What exactly do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean what I said, sir," Warren remarked. His eyes flicked over to the Redemption. "The power Heero Yuy wields is tremendous. Only a person with the moral character he has can use such power responsibly. No human being should be able to casually use the power to destroy an entire colony in battle. And yet... he does. And now... so do you and your movement."

He shifted his stance a bit. "What did the first men who dropped the atomic bomb think? What did President Truman think when he issued the order to drop them on Japan? What did the scientists who ushered in the age of mobile suits consider? What did the first people who developed the Coordinators think? All these, and more, questions have intrigued people for centuries. With each technological and scientific advancement, there were those who considered the next stages of development to be the ultimate achievement. And yet now... now humans have the ability to utterly destroy entire space colonies. Such power cannot be underestimated, lest it fall into the wrong hands. Those who misuse such power would become the greatest threats in world history," he continued. "And as such, if people like Djibril get their hands on it, it would mean the end of everything we have achieved thus far."

Turbine, for his naivety at times, could understand the implications of the power the resistance wielded. He glanced down to the Coordinator liaison.

"So because we know the risks of the power we have at our disposal, you feel we are responsible enough to handle it," he summarized.

Warren gave a single nod. "Yes. And with that power, you can effectively alter the balance of this war even further."

"We already have," Maxus remarked. He glanced at the ship and mobile suit as the systems were checked and the firing mechanisms realigned. "We showed the world our power, as well as our capabilities. Nazara has every reason to fear us now. And not just because we outmatched him and Djibril in every sense of the word when it comes to warfare." A smirk crossed his face. "It's because of what we did, and used, against him."

"Ah. But there may be more coming down the line," Warren cautioned. "The fact that you have shown you have a real chance at defeating the Atlantians down on the ground and reclaiming your countries also has geopolitical implications."

Maxus arched an eyebrow as Turbine hummed in confusion.

The engineer smiled thinly. "Durandal may be forced to consider the possibility that his bloc in power may not last forever. And, think about what this may mean down the line for you."

Turbine's optics flickered a bit as he lowered his helm. "So... what you're saying is that this may play in our favor?" he asked.

"If Durandal doesn't take some kind of drastic action, then we could end this war without further bloodshed," Warren said. But the way his smile was thin indicated that there was a distinct worry in his expression. "But I somehow doubt it will be that easy..."

. . .

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

JANUARY 4TH, 0074 CE

"...especially as the man is far more cunning than many realize. And I am going to be brutally honest here. It will take a political expert to discern the best path to victory... and President Eisenhower, for all her skills, is far from politically inclined. I just hope you have someone on your side who can read the geopolitical situation far more keenly than Durandal does..." Warren's voice stated.

General Mackenzie Allen shifted in her machine as she glanced at the fighting raging before and around her.

So far the Atlantians were making ground, but their advances were being checked by the resistance fortifications that had been constructed during lulls in the fighting. It also helped that the resistance had gotten some air support from the Equatorial Union's own naval surface assets. A pair of escort carriers were on station, each one armed with old Skygrasper fighter jets the resistance had donated in leu of acquiring transformable aerial mobile suits. And when combined with the experience of the Equatorial aces, it was a lot easier to hold back the tide of Atlantian forces.

The two army corps that had been sent to attack the city were dwindling in their manpower, and it was only a matter of time before their numbers were depleted sufficiently for surrender. But of course, there was no way they were going to even consider surrender as an option. The resistance always offered them a chance before each attack was repelled, but the more they offered, the harder the Atlantians fought. It was still worth the attempts, she figured, because it showed to any possible soldiers who had been conscripted that there was a third option other than fight to the death for a cabal of businessmen who could have cared less for the lives of their soldiers.

Allen's eyes hardened as she gripped the controls, pushing them forward as the Strike Liberty Gundam lunged towards the enemy unit she was facing.

The single Windam was far from a perfect form of mobile suit technology. Unlike its original counterparts, it had been hurriedly repaired with some old Strike Dagger components, making it less of a threat and more of a hindrance to the pilot. The two generations of parts were incompatible, but some hurried revisions to the OS had allowed for combat functionality, but not perfect combat functionality. But even so, the pilot was still a formidable adversary. He brought his machine's beam saber up to block her own blade, and Allen stomped down on the foot pedal, bringing up the Strike Liberty's left leg and kicking the Dagger/Windam hybrid in the chest. The enemy unit staggered back and she got into a fighting stance as she narrowed her eyes.

"So... you dare to hold ze line, frauline?" the pilot hissed.

"Says the Nazi!" she spat.

That was a known trigger for any Atlantian diehard the resistance often faced. It was a guarantee to set them off. And it showed itself to be true as the man lunged, a roar coming over her cockpit speakers.

A smirk crossed her face as she lowered her beam saber and put it away before slipping to the side as his red blade missed. She clenched her machine's fist and drew back the right arm before shoving the throttles forward. The clenched servo lashed out and collided with the metal cheek of her adversary's machine. The Windam hybrid staggered back before he managed to regain his balance. Not even bothering to draw his rifle, he gripped the beam saber in both hands and charged at her again. But Allen was smarter and she boosted back just as he held the blade over his machine's head and brought it down in a brutal axe slash.

Allen's eyes glinted as she grabbed her Clay Bazooka and drew it free from her back. She aimed it and crouched, the red light flashing on. She knew that there was a Gelatinous Immobilization Round in the chamber because of that light, and she was not about to let this madman get past her. She narrowed her eyes and waited for a split second before she pulled the trigger. The round blasted out of the barrel, arcing right for the Windam's hands. The pilot cackled as he boosted to the left, but the round splattered on the ground and his left leg got caught in the sticky goop.

The enemy pilot yelped as he tried to pull his leg loose, but Allen smirked as she tossed aside her bazooka and removed her beam saber from her side skirt armor once more. She gunned her machine's thrusters and ignited the blue blade as she pushed off the ground. The wings on the sides of the Strike Liberty's thrusters snapped open to full, and the general roared as she drew back her saber in one swift movement. She swung as hard as she could as she dashed past, cleaving the arms of the Windam/Dagger mix off before she whipped around and stole the beam rifle from his back. He cried out in surprise as she backhanded his Windam in the head, sending it crashing to the ground. She spun around and aimed the beam rifle before firing the last few shots in its magazine directly at the incoming linear tanks.

The tanks were struck directly in the turrets before exploding, sending shrapnel and debris everywhere. General Allen maneuvered her machine into a standing position, panting heavily as she glanced around at the battlefield with a critical gaze.

While she was a decent soldier when it came to ground operations, it was President Eisenhower's strength. From the looks of things, this whole operation was still going according to her plans. And with the lack of Atlantian air power, it was only a matter of time before the enemy got wise and surrendered.

She finally turned her gaze to the infantry and other units as they made their way forward, firing on the resistance positions. The commander of Seattle's resistance garrison, General Yui La, a forty-three-year-old Chinese-descended Coordinator, was already on the city's speaker system as she broadcast yet another appeal for surrender.

"Attention all Atlantian soldiers! This is General Yui La of the Seattle 45th Resistance Garrison! We are offering you a chance to surrender! This fighting is not worth it! Look at your positions! Consider your situation! You have been sent on a doomed mission to retake a city that has been heavily fortified by us, and we have been whittling down your forces with each passing day, with every hour! Your very lives aren't worth anything in the eyes of your superiors!" she shouted.

"Why do you think we're doing this!? We know that!" a soldier shouted.

"Then why continue to fight if that's the case?!" General La cried.

"Because we have no choices left!" the man exclaimed.

"There are always other choices!" General La stated. "We can help you, but only if you surrender!"

"You just don't get it!" the soldier yelled. "We have no choices left to us! Either we fight and die, or we retreat and die! And we'd rather fight and die than get executed for cowardice!"

General Allen narrowed her eyes at this as she glanced to the soldiers as they attacked yet again, this time heading for the machine gun nests. 'Just what can we do to convince them to stop this senseless attack?!' she thought to herself in anger.

To have all those soldiers, who she now was sure were conscripted, were just attacking because it was all they had left... it reminded her all too much of the combat data from the Strike-Avenger machines piloted by the Extended children in the final battle of the First Genocide War. The data had shown just how helpless the children had been, and their inability to do anything to escape made her angry at those who had carried out such a program. It was all too similar, just in a different form. Her eyes hardened as she gripped the controls of her mobile suit tightly, looking at those helpless men with anger in her hazel eyes.

"No more..." she muttered. "There will be no more of this!"

She grasped her controls as she turned her machine to face the last of the army corps that were attacking. She scanned the formations as they advanced, and she had a vague idea on what to look for. Her sensors and scanners were calibrated quickly as she looked at the main screen, her hazel eyes hardening into bronze shards.

Then she saw it.

The last of the original Windam design, this machine was painted in pure gray, and with the emblem of the Atlantian Reich on its shoulders, the computers in her machine identified this as the Imperial Windam S. A special type of mobile suit for formation commanders, it was heavily modified from the base design's internal specifications, allowing it to surpass the base unit. Like the Windam, it had bulky shoulder guards, and these were sculpted to resemble those of an ancient knight, and on its back was the Jet Striker Pack. In one hand it held a beam lance, and it held a shield in the other. Its visor was tinted a reddish violet, and its feet had been modified to have talons on the front for added grip.

"So... that's the commander, huh?" she muttered.

Allen was quick to toggle the radio, flipping through frequencies until she found the one she was looking for.

It wasn't a commonly used one for combat operations, but it was still in use. She turned up the volume.

"...going to see your precious brats again until you take ze fuckin' city!" a Germanic accented voice shouted into her cockpit. "Zat is ze only vay!"

"But sir... we keep getting killed, Commander Brach!" someone protested.

Much to her dismay and shock, Allen could only watch as the Imperial Windam S lifted its foot and literally stomped down on the ground, squishing the poor soldier like a fly. Her eyes were wide in horror and dread as she realized what was going on here.

The pilot of the Windam was just throwing men at them in hopes of using human waves to breach their borders, and those who protested were just squashed out like insects. They were nothing to him. They were literal fodder, and he was their master.

That was enough to make her mad.

And sacrificing lives needlessly for a goal was completely against her beliefs.

She gritted her teeth before she spoke.

"HEY!" she barked.

The Imperial Windam S snapped its helm in her direction, and she swore she could see the pilot's expression in the optical visor. "Vhat is zis? A frauline? Hah! You can't stop us!" the pilot crowed.

"Says the Nazi who cares only for their sick ideology!" she hissed. "You're just throwing helpless soldiers at a fortified city, using their children as hostages?! How sick can you be?!"

"Hah! Zose brats are only insurance! Ve do not need zem in ze long run, bitch!" the pilot chortled.

Allen's eyes narrowed as she spread the wings of her Liberty Pack before springing forward, her engines roaring. She screamed as she punched it, her eyes wide as she drew on the feeling of fury within herself. In her mind's eye, a hazel seed-like jewel spun around before exploding with a red ring around it. Her eyes dilated and glazed over, her irises growing and pupils shrinking as her body and mind went into overdrive. She had just entered SEED Mode.

The commander's voice registered little in her ears as she gripped a beam saber and not just unsheathed it, but drew it back once it was ignited, and twisting her mobile suit's torso, she chucked the beam saber, throwing it like a bladed frisbee of pure cyan. The beam saber flew at him, forcing Brach to bring up his beam lance to block it. That was all Allen needed as she charged in, her eyes wide as she reared back a fist and thrust it forward. The clenched servo of her mobile suit collided with the helm of the Imperial Windam S, and she slugged him again, this time in the gut. Brach's machine doubled over, as if he were feeling the pain instead.

Allen took the chance to snap the Strike Liberty's leg out to the right in a brutal roundhouse that rattled the Imperial Windam S as its pilot tried to get his machine to its feet. The entire unit shuddered as she lashed out again, this time with a left roundhouse that collided with the side of his machine. Allen's eyes narrowed as she pulled her machine's foot back before getting into a crouch and lunging, thruster fire blooming from her mobile suit's flight pack. She held her stolen beam rifle in one hand as she adjusted the Strike Liberty Gundam so that way it would shoulder tackle the other unit. The blow was enough to rattle her, but she had braced for the impact, unlike the enemy pilot who was not expecting it.

Not only was Brach not expecting her to deliver a brutal shoulder tackle, but her ability to use her mobile suit's limbs in combat as well was another aspect that made the resistance so dangerous. The fact their machines could be used in physical combat as well was enough to deter many pilots from getting in close, lest they be rattled around by the impacts of said blows.

And that was what Allen was counting on.

As her opponent staggered to his feet, she cast her gaze to the men who were being forced into attacking. Already a number of them were staring at the fight between her and their commanding officer, or more like their master in this case. And she was not about to let this man get away with his actions again.

A loud scream escaped Commander Brach as he lunged, lance held out in front in anticipation of goring her through the chest of her machine. But Allen's SEED-dilated eyes narrowed dangerously. She dropped the beam rifle and, tensing her body and relaxing her grip on the controls, reacted with surprising speed. Her hands snapped the controls forward and adjusted the buttons on them, allowing her mobile suit to grab onto the beam lance with both servos, keeping the beam emitters away from the digits and palms while holding it at bay. She planted both her machine's feet on the ground and, grunting, wrenched her machine's torso to the right, literally snapped the beam lance in half!

The Imperial Windam S's pilot bellowed in rage as he tossed aside the remnants of his lance and whipped out his remaining beam saber. Allen didn't even hesitate to retaliate with a punch to his mobile suit's gut once more. He grunted from the impact before he lifted his machine's helm, and Allen was quick to lower the Strike Liberty's helm and she punched it, literally slamming her machine's head into the chest of the Imperial Windam S. The blow was enough to disorient the man and she took the chance to grapple his mobile suit with her own.

The general was quick to wrap her machine's arms around his mobile suit, and he grunted as she pressed on the throttles, using every ounce of force her machine had to try and restrain him. The man put more power into his machine's limbs, trying to break free. But the general was not relenting. She kept her grip firm, and with sheer will, shifted her stance before she slid one leg behind his machine's and jerked it, tripping him up and causing his Windam to collapse onto its back. He grunted from the impact and Allen delivered a nasty elbow drop to his left shoulder joint, causing it to crack and snap at the connector port. Sparks flew from the limb as she managed to wrench his right arm behind before she stomped on the elbow with her mobile suit's left foot.

Without any arms, Commander Brach was powerless to escape her as she hefted his machine up, this time igniting her remaining beam saber as she drew it.

"This ends now!" she growled. "Say goodbye, bitch!"

Then she shoved her beam saber forward, piercing the Imperial Windam S through the chest.

Brach's last sound was a mere gasp, and then nothing.

Allen held the machine aloft for a few moments more before she dropped it, and then she turned to the battlefield.

"Atlantian forces, stand down now!" she barked. "Your master has been slain! You are no longer bound to his whim! Surrender, and we swear, we honestly swear, we will do our damned best to find and free your children from whatever prisons they are held in, prison camp or otherwise!"

This time, there was no continued assault. The men the Atlantians had sent their way hesitated, and Allen was quick to capitalize on this. "Look around you! You have no support from your so-called 'government' in this fight! All they are doing is sending you to your deaths needlessly! What would your parents, your wives, sons, daughters, nieces, nephews, cousins, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, and grandparents have to say about this?! There is no need to fight for a doomed cause, let alone one that will mean the extinction of humanity as we know it!" she exclaimed. "What you don't know is that LOGOs has geared their campaign of terror to last long term, and that includes making new Coordinators of their own, just to keep humankind in the thrall of war, all so that when Earth's resources run out, humanity will die! There will be no long term space colonization plans in the aftermath of this war, or the next, or the next one! It will be a never-ending cycle of death and destruction! How many of you want to live in that life?!"

The soldiers all glanced to one another, horror and disbelief crossing their faces. There was some hesitancy to accept the words of the general, but some were already asking questions, and Allen noticed this. That was a good sign, as the resistance had ample evidence, all stolen from Murata Azrael's mansion, to back up her words. And a few soldiers even had tablets loaded with the data.

Her eyes were narrowed as General La finally spoke over the city's loudspeakers, reaching out one last time to secure their victory.

"What we have to say is true. LOGOs has indeed planned for humanity to go extinct. You can see the data for yourselves, but you have to surrender if you want proof of our words," she said. "It is the only way to secure a better life for you and your families. To LOGOs, you are expendable pawns. But to us... you are valued members of the human race! LOGOs is far from human. They are demonic parasites who have warped our beliefs and values to suit their needs! And they will continue to thrive as long as they are within the halls of power! To defeat them is to ensure your own survival as well! Only by combining your might with ours can we win! Together, we can become stronger than they are! And we can and will restore America, Canada, Great Britain, Ireland, and Mexico to their former greatness!"

She paused before continuing. "You saw the news. You saw how we, Terminal, Eurasia, Orb, and ZAFT all brought down that dreadnought! THAT is what LOGOs fears! A truly united race... the human race! Not differing tribes based on outdated genetic ideologies, but one world that fights for its future! That can only be possible with your help! So... what choice will you make?"

That was all that was needed.

Slowly, one by one, the conscripted soldiers raised their hands and dropped their weapons, formally surrendering to the resistance garrison in Seattle.

. . .

TWO HOURS LATER

The scars of war marred the landscape around Seattle as the structures stood tall, the old Columbia Center standing against the sunset.

Already many first aid and sleeping tents had been erected to allow the fighters on both sides to regain their strength and recover from their wounds. A number of body hunters had gone out to look for the bodies of those who had been crushed by the Imperial Windam S, but it was not going so well; nothing really remained after a mobile suit stepped on a small human. What little was found were usually identification tags and small bits of DNA that could be recovered.

After the war ended, it would take months to finally get the total tally of the deceased.

But for right now, it was all they could do to try and find any scrap of those bodies so their families would at least have something to bury.

General Allen shifted on the cot she sat on, her gaze locked onto the ground beneath her feet. She wasn't focused on the aftermath of the battle though. Instead, her mind was running through what she had just learned a half hour ago about the possibilities of the PLANT political leadership's stance on the war, at least from intercepts the resistance and L4 Coalition had gleaned.

It wasn't much, but already her keen political intellect was coming up with scenarios, and not all of them were good ones.

The biggest threat, she knew, came from the Chairman himself. There was so much she didn't quite know about his real stance on things, but from what she did know, it seemed like the very presence of the resistance had thrown his plans for the world, whatever they were, out of whack. And that was enough to make her concerned for the future of the PLANTs as a whole.

As far as she knew, Chairman Durandal seemed to be a legitimate leader who wanted the best for his people and for the people of Earth. But his flowery words held a sharp mind and tongue behind them. She was getting the feeling he didn't want the resistance to win, like something hinged on the overlords of LOGOs being in power. Now, normally she wouldn't just trust her gut; she was a rational woman who relied on the changing battlefield to make decisions based on what remained and what was out of commission/unobtainable. But in this instance, she was more driven to trust her gut, and that seemed to be coinciding with the changing political field, both at home and abroad.

While the people off Earth were seeing how the rest of the United States felt about the whole war, and the idea of being ruled by some crummy old men who were all too well past their prime, General Allen wasn't sure if Chairman Durandal saw that as a good thing. If he did, he would have contacted President Eisenhower by now, with offers of peace talks.

General Allen clenched her fists. It seemed Chairman Durandal didn't want to have the resistance reclaim their country, nor pull out of the war. Based on what she knew, which was very limited, it seemed the people off Earth were starting to realize the United States was just as much a victim of LOGOs as the rest of the world. That meant it was possible for Earth's nations to once more rebuild an alliance with the United States. But that left the PLANTs as a wildcard. Yes, the United States had tried to wipe out the PLANTs and Coordinators as a whole, but the nation was also a victim of LOGOs, which showed the people of the PLANTs the American people were actually against LOGOs and the idea of genocide. It also showed that Coordinators actually could live within the United States itself if there were Coordinators in the resistance.

General Allen scowled as she considered what that meant. It meant to the people of the PLANTs that there was hope that they could be accepted by Naturals. It meant a possible path to peace and ending the war without going nuclear. But not once had Chairman Durandal reached out to President Eisenhower, even though the other leader had freaking warned him about the failure of the assault on Heaven's Base. The Chairman hadn't even thanked her, just dismissing her warning.

'That alone is concerning. He just brushed her off, ignoring the signs in front of him and his forces. I'm sure his commanders noticed it too, but probably never brought it up to him for one reason or another. That right there is a sign of narcissism. He assumes he is always right just because he is the Supreme Chairman. Or is it because he is a warmonger? Is he needing the war to be waged for some other, bigger reason? The last one is looking more and more troubling...' General Allen thought as she looked at one of her hands.

'The resistance, our very existence, has thrown his plans out of whack, brought the world to the realization not all Americans are for the genocide of Coordinators.' Allen continued to think to herself. 'There is a good chance Chairman Durandal will not allow us to pull out of the war. If that is the case, then we would have to fight him, and just after coming out of a freaking Civil War no less! If we are forced to fight him, we would essentially be pushing our economy into overdrive. Long term, we would be at a disadvantage. We need to pull out of the war and go neutral. This way we can at least start recovering from the Civil War. If we can do that, then our long term economic and political outlook is much better. Still not great, but we wouldn't be in debt so far we could never recover. Besides, even if we do go neutral, we at least have some forces up in space that can... provide assistance, without us going into a full-blown conflict right after we settle the Civil War matter.'

General Allen was pretty sure she had a good plan on how to handle things, but that was only if she could get into contact with President Eisenhower and her staff. After that, it all hinged on whether or not the president would accept it.

And to be fair, she hadn't even heard from her superior in hours. She could only wonder what she was up to at that moment.

. . .

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

RESISTANCE SAFE HOUSE

SOUTH CAROLINA

The commandant was by now panting heavily as he sat in the chair, trussed up heavily. The resistance commander stood before him, her fists clenched as she gazed at him.

He was doubled over, his hair streaked with sweat and blood dribbling from his mouth. The sheer determination of this woman to break him was nothing short of astonishing. She had never once given in to his demands for release, and she kept digging away at his resistance and resolve. So far he had experienced numerous memories of happy moments with his wife and daughter, and it was really gnawing away at his loyalty.

Something was wrong here. He knew it.

Despite his insistence that she had drugged him, there was no evidence to prove that. In the moments he had been given food and drink, she had not once slipped a drop of truth serum or any other drugs into his water or soup. She had even prepared salmon right in front of him, showing him all the ingredients she used. It was a stark contrast to what he had been told before the attack on Eurasia had begun: that any resistance fighters they encountered would drug them and make them think things that were not true.

But some part of him began to wonder just who was really telling the truth. Was it the resistance, with their evidence and proof of atrocities carried out by his superiors, or was it his superiors, with their so-called truths about the resistance and Coordinators? His mind was becoming muddled, and he hated it. He was always focused on the fight, loyal to his career, and giving his all to serve his country, no matter what.

And yet now... Now he was beginning to wonder what was really going on behind the scenes.

He shook his head to try and organize his thoughts, but there was no way he could focus on them, not with the pounding headache he was feeling right now. Jarred's entire brain was aching, like it had been scrambled and then shoved back into his skull. This woman, this commander, was clearly someone who knew how to fight, and her abilities to inflict pain without going overboard were something to fear.

He managed to look up, one eye closed, the other open and glaring at her.

Her own eyes were hard as ice as she stared at him impassively. There was no emotion in her eyes, least of all on her face. It was like her features were sculpted not out of marble, but out of pure steel. Her resolve was ironclad, and he could see it in her posture. She was not a weakling. If she were to be tortured, he was certain that she would never break. She was just too strong-willed.

"So... you feeling it yet?" she asked in that even tone.

"What... do you mean...?" he rasped.

"I mean, do you feel any sense of love towards Murrue yet!" the resistance commander hissed, her eyes finally flashing in rage.

"I...I won't break...!" Jarred growled.

"I figured you'd say that..." the woman muttered darkly. "I wanted to avoid doing this, but... it seems you've left me with no choice." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small syringe, and at once his heartrate began to soar. He could see the glinting of liquid within it, and he began to struggle against his bindings.

"I KNEW IT!" he screamed. "I WON'T LET YOU BRAINWASH ME!"

"Not going to happen," the woman said as she walked forward. She held up the syringe as she grabbed his head and twisted it away to expose his neck, more specifically an artery. She drew back the needle and thrust it down.

The prick was all he needed to know as she pressed the plunger down. The commandant cried out as he tried to fight back against the sedative, but to no avail. His vision swam and she watched him as he collapsed.

He could see her swimming form as she approached him and grabbed him by the bindings. She hauled him over her shoulder effortlessly and carried him down to the cellar, where a pair of resistance soldiers stood guard. One of them was positioned beside a projector, and fear shot through his body as he realized what she intended on doing. She dumped him near the soldiers and nodded, but the motion made him nauseous. He just about puked, but somehow managed to hold it in as he was hefted upright.

He could barely hear her speaking, he was so out of it. But some part of him began to fear that whatever she had planned would shatter his worldviews.

He had no idea how right he was.

. . .

Eisenhower nodded to the two Marines.

"You know what to do?" she asked.

The first Marine nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We got the footage all set for him to see," he said with a salute.

The second Marine gave a stern glare to the sedated commandant. "If this doesn't work, then we're all screwed," she muttered.

"It will work," Eisenhower said seriously. Her eyes were hard as ice as she turned and started to walk off, her trench coat billowing out behind her. "After all, those who have seen the atrocities displayed by their Government never hold true to them for long. It may some time, but eventually he will see the error of his ways."

The two Marines glanced to one another, concern flitting across their features.

They weren't too sure if her plan to break his thinking would work, seeing as how despite her efforts, he had not once yielded under her pressure. She was stubborn, yes, but sometimes that stubbornness which had helped her hold the entire movement together through sheer force of will would lead her to make questionable decisions, even sometimes pursuing a project that was sure to be a dead end. Such as with the interrogation and subsequent attempted turning of Commandant Jarred Ramius.

But if anything, they were going to follow their orders. But before they could, one of the Marines spoke up.

"Ma'am... you do realize this could be a dead end project..." she cautioned.

President Eisenhower stopped just before the stairs and placed a hand on the railing. She paused, turning to look over her shoulder. She gazed at the Marine with a serious look in her icy blue eyes before she sighed. "I'm aware it could be a dead end..." she muttered. "But I still have to try. Murrue lost her father to LOGOs... and I owe it to her to at least attempt to bring him back from the brink."

The Marines were shocked. The President, they knew, had started the movement well before Murrue's defection from the Atlantic Federation. But it was only after she defected that they started to ramp up their efforts to fight back. And it was all because the Archangel's captain had refused to stand by and become a scapegoat and bait for ZAFT so the Atlantian Reich could trigger the Cyclops System and destroy everything at JOSH-A. It was due to that very action that the President had started to expand her intelligence network so vastly, right up to where she could now predict LOGOs' movements with unbelievable accuracy.

But to hear that she was trying to pursue this dead end because Murrue had inspired her?

Well, they were not about to turn down this chance to help Murrue get her father back somehow.

The first Marine gave a nod. "Right. We'll do what we can, ma'am. But I doubt it will be of any success."

"As long as you try your damned best. That's all that really matters to me," Eisenhower said.

Then she turned and headed upstairs, her mind focused on the coming fights.