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Post by aleksei on Jan 12, 2010 0:27:08 GMT -5
Rio de Janeiro. From defending the Federation's prized White Base to salvaging his MS team, these past few days did not give Hirsch much time to reflect on the nature of things. He clenched the pen wrapped around his fingers as he got ready to write the final release forms for the pilots of the Guncannon HDT and Aqua GM, but then something occurred to him: this was the first time he had been delightfully alone in a long time. Even with the hustle and bustle required to keep a base operation, nighttime usually brought this tropical base to a still with soldiers on leave in the city. These were simple pleasures for someone who had undoubtedly transformed into a very complicated and busy man.
"I don't wanna do this," he said to himself.
Hirsch then stopped fiddling with the pen, figuring work could wait until tomorrow morning. Not even the blood thirsty mosquitoes buzzing around his ears could spoil this evening.
"Life was so much easier up there," Hirsch started to repeat out load.
He reminisced about his exploration on the Jovian moon not long ago, a time unlike now in which no one expected him to do much but make sure he recorded data of a place few particularly care for. Everything changed after multiple successes at sea, and certainly upon issuing the Gundam. After all, Hirsch inherited the Federation's secret weapon; the weight of victory was now on his shoulders. He changed dramatically since those lonely days on Europa as a scientist, let alone his new responsibilities as corporal and leader of the Krakens. And while that monotone, lackluster lifestyle still had its appeal in the face of piles of paperwork, Hirsch welcomed the Gundam's job title: Marine Knight.
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Post by aleksei on Jan 17, 2010 20:15:08 GMT -5
Northeast Brazil. Somewhere off the Atlantic coastline three tankers ripped through the ocean with mobile suits in their cargo-hold as they made their way to Salvador. Once the former stop for slave ships coming from Africa, Hirsch ordered all ships to dock at this port as the pitstop before they reached the Panama Canal that would evade patrols and take them into the Pacific.
"Sir, will we be here long, corporal?" asked one of the ship captains.
"A few hours, need to see someone before we head off," replied Hirsch.
"But we are wasting time, Command won't like this one bit," argued the captain.
"Patience, captain. Night time will give us the cover we need," assured Hirsch as he jumped in a jeep and set off by his lone self.
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Post by aleksei on Jan 17, 2010 20:19:54 GMT -5
Dishes were piled high in the kitchen, but Eliza was intent on making sure the house was perfect to receive her son. Two days earlier she received word of his quick visit to the countryhouse. Dressed in an apron, she soaked, scrubbed and dried until everything was in the cupboard. It was obvious that her sense of satisfaction stemmed from not only trying to please her son, but from the simple fact that she had to keep busy. Eliza would be damned if she died from boredom, a usual cause of death for people her age.
A knock on the door suddenly disturbed the silence that ensued after mopping the kitchen floor, "He's here!"
Eliza hung the apron, then raced to the living room mirror to check on her make-up and comb her gray hair. She dabbed a bit of her favorite lipstick - just in case - before hiding it in a pocket and greeting Hirsch at the door.
"Hirschie, my boy, give ya motha' a hug," Eliza said as she wrapped her massive arms around his skinny body. She kissed him on the cheek, leaving a vermilion imprint that she erased with her saliva and thumb.
"Mother, how great to see you," Hirsch mustered to say in the midst of his mother's attacks of joy.
"Oh, dear me, I messed your pretty uniform," she realized, but managed to put all the military trinkets back in their place.
Staring at them lined up along his chest, Eliza could not help but smile at the medals indicative of his bravery. Her gaze confused Hirsch who could not tell whether she was proud as any mother would be of a successful son or a formal military general for the Israeli militia who praised the valor of soldiers on the front line. It was the age that made it dubious. Although she still had her wits together for such an old lady, Eliza had the habit of letting her emotions overwhelm her sense of judgment. Death was upon the horizon, so perhaps her eyes conveyed a deeper desire to continue her legacy in Hirsch.
"You have much to tell me," Eliza said as she lead Hirsch inside and closed the door behind him.
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Post by aleksei on Jan 19, 2010 8:51:56 GMT -5
"It is too hot for us to be sitting inside," said Eliza as she bought out a tray full of treats from the kitchen to the patio. "No one deserves this heat," she continued to complain.
Hirsch was tense. He couldn't get let the image of his mother haunting his dreams escape. She taunted him to kill and expected nothing less, which in the eyes of his superiors translated to achieving victory. As she held a bagel in her hand and cut it in half with a knife, Hirsch caught eye of her nimble fingers and remembered an old photograph of those same fingers wrapped around an assault rifle. It certainly seemed like her ragged body was a shell that protected the world from a demon that not long ago conducted vicious raids on Palestine's Arab population. But until death set her cruel heart free, she would continue to bake muffins and knit sweaters for her grandchildren to be.
"What's with that face? You hungry? I can make something else to eat, booby." Eliza asked Hirsch, sensing his unease.
He said in response, "Nothing, mama, it's just so good to be..."
"Home? Well, it's gonna have to due until you finish your job and take back our little o' town of New York," she said joyfully.
Perhaps he let his imagination get the best of him. Eliza was, after all, the same mother he always knew who walked him to and from school, and made sure jelly sandwiches filled his lunchbox every day. She was a genuinely nice person who at times expected too much from her children, but which Jewish mother doesn't? While curious about the specific events that marked his mother's military career, he did not ask. Maybe duty to her country never allowed her to choose between right or wrong much like Hirsch now. He then wondered if he ever got to choose anything.
The stream of consciousness upset him, so he focused on telling her about the new occurrences in his life - the battles, promotions and even the experimental Gundam.
"Don't they make you swear to death not to tell anyone about that kind of stuff?" she joked.
Eliza listened and puffed on several cigarettes. Occasionally she squinted her eyes when something was not clear, but did not say another word. Otherwise she appeared quite pleased.
When he finished telling his story, Hirsch veered his head and asked, "You happy here, mama?"
"I mean, this is a long way from Manhattan, but I got my health and a roof over my head. Then again, I just wish these locals could speak English and the weather weren't so damn unpredictable. One minute the sun is shining on my way to the market, and the next minutes a thundershower creeps over my head. I suppose that's the nature of things these days, nothing is for certain. Luckily for me, I did my part long ago and saved our people from the terrorists. Imagine me, a little old lady running around in one of those mobile suits," she chuckled toward the end.
Hirsch looked at his watch, "Mama, I should get going. The boys are waiting for me at the port."
"Oh no you don't, you are eating that bagel first. You're too skinny, you gotta eat," she whined.
Despite all his reservations, Hirsch could not see the Israeli butcher as nothing more than Mama Munchek.
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