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Above the temperate climate of Algeria, six Dopps continued on their routine patrols that seemed to span over a seeming endless amount of hours, maintaining an asymmetrical V formation. The clear noon sky offered an unparalleled clarity for the Zeon pilots, and they would soon lay their eyes on a single set of faint, dissipating contrails that seemed to originate from the Mediterranean Sea. It didn't take long for the squadron commander to realize that it could have been made by only one of a very few aircraft. Contacting the Alexandria base, the pilot transmitted, "Alexandria base, this is Gold leader. We have confirmed high altitude contrails near our position. Over." "Solid copy Gold leader," replied the command center. Continuing, he asked, "Command, do you have any reports of a single Luggun flight path in our vicinity? Interrogative, over." The Dopp's radio went dead for a few seconds before coming back to life, "Negative, gold leader. We did not have a Luggun flight in your area." After receiving permission to stray from the flight path and follow the contrails in land, the six Dopps made a sharp turn and began following the white plume that streaked across the blue sky. "Is there any reason why we're in the rear, Ms. Nova?" inquired the crew of the Depp Rog. Quite some time went by before the mobile suit team leader replied, "Because you're high up in the air, and ground based radar will pick you up far more easily than us." Again, a few seconds ticked away, followed by the Depp Rog's hypothetical question, "What if we're attacked by aircraft?" Ion Bossa-Nova merely smiled and let the question sink into oblivion, preferring to maintain radio silence rather than satiate the whims of her bomber crew's imaginations. Her GM Ground Sniper was followed by a regular GM, with her Type 74 hover tank acting as lead scout well in front of the team. Reports from the Type 74 all came back clean of possible enemy activity, so her hopes of slipping into Zeon territory undetected were high. The silence was all too quickly broken, however, when the navigator of the Depp Rog posed not another asinine comment or question, but rather one of worry. "We're tracking six bogeys on our radar, and they're coming in fast from our six. No IFF," said the crew member. Immediately, Ion ordered the team to stop and for the Type 74 to set up a listening position using its subterranean sonar. In the mean time, she had swung her long range beam rifle around a full one hundred and eighty degrees until she was facing the direction of the perceived threat. The lack of a transmitting IFF could mean many things, but she wasn't going to take chances, so she started to scan the sky through her magnified view until she could make out six distinct dots in the sky, but the unknown aircraft were still too far away to be visually identified or shot at. She instructed the Depp Rog to gain as much altitude as possible and turn to face the incoming units in anticipation of a skirmish. After all, it would be the logical explanation for the six bogeys to be Zeon aircraft, given the fact that Ion and her team were well inside known Zeon held territory. "Paint them," she ordered to the Depp Rog crew. The bomber pilot began to turn dials and activate toggle switches until six visible green chevrons were visible on the bomber's heads up display, each of them flying in their random paths across the heads up display. It didn't take them long to lock each of the six long range air to air missiles to a different target, and the cessation of movement on the HUD implied that each missile acquired its very own destination. In a comparable amount of time, the six dots broke out of their formation and began spanning a greater space in the sky. The pilot took this as a cue to launch the anti air ordinance, and a split second later there were six supersonic missiles screaming through the air leaving plumes of smoke that seemed to blossom out like a flower. By the time the missiles reached the Dopps, three of the three of the six had already gone awry due to Minovsky interference, and a series of evasive maneuvers and the dispersal of chaff caused the remaining three missiles to prematurely detonate harmlessly in the open skies. The feeling of accomplishment for the Zeon pilots was terminated just a short while later when a single pink beam shot out from the ground below and vaporized the left wing of one of the Dopps. A triumphant cry filled the GM Ground Sniper's cockpit and a feeling of relief washed over her when she witnessed an activated parachute falling towards the earth. Her next shots were unfortunately much more difficult to achieve, and she used up most of her over sized E-PAC unsuccessfully shooting at the remaining Dopps. Realizing a very important fact, she immediately ordered the Depp Rog to lose altitude so that the rest of the team's conventional weaponry could be brought to bear against the fast moving Zeon fighters. The behemoth of an aircraft pitched its nose down and began to lose altitude rapidly while gaining airspeed, but it just couldn't quite make it in time for the GM and GM Ground Sniper to provide defense against the now close Dopps. Ion watched in horror as one of the Dopps launched six missiles at the Depp Rog, even as the latter attempted to deploy chaff and flares while conducting evasive turns. The missiles proved to be ill phased by the countermeasures, and their wire guided guidance systems saw to it that they all connected with the Federation bomber. Large explosions rippled throughout the hull of the plane, and only a split second later the cockpit of the Depp Rog spewed forth a fiery flame that instantly incinerated its occupants. The Federation pilot had little time to mourn, as the Dopps were now inadvertently within range of her 100mm machine gun and the GM's 90mm machine gun. Shell casings gushed out of the ejection ports of the two weapons as both mobile suit pilots attempted to stitch the sky with shells and hopefully hit one of the nimble Dopps. A slow turn on the part of one the Dopps allowed a single 90mm round to connect to its underbelly, causing the plane to explode from within and leave behind a large fireball in the air. The two mobile suits continued to fire at the now fast approaching fighters, and Ion successfully hit a Dopp with her 100mm machine gun, but at the expense of leaving herself and her team mate wide open for two Dopps to come in from each flank and let loose their entire missile supply. The GM pilot instinctively planted his shield down into the ground to soak up the majority of the explosions, but one missile managed to steer itself in from the side and completely shatter the GM's right foot. At the same time, lacking a shield of her own, Ion initiated a booster-assisted jump with the hopes of evading the incoming ordinance, however the basic move did not help much to shed the suit of the attacks, and a handful of the flying explosives detonated against the rather sturdy skin of the GM Ground Sniper. The shock wrestled a shriek out of Bossa-Nova, and before she could regain her composure, a second jolt occurred when the suit impacted into the ground. The anticipated finishing blow would not arrive, fortunately, for the Dopps were now in danger of running out of fuel. Egressing south towards a nearby resource mine, they found a lone Type 74 in the open, but a sustained 20mm burst from the hovertank drove them away. Further back north, Ion Bossa-Nova sat in her cockpit staring into the front monitor that displayed the various burning wreckage of the Depp Rog and Dopps, seemingly in a trance that only managed to be broken when the GM pilot proposed a suggestion. "I think it's in our best interests to leave this area as soon as possible. The Zeon is probably going to send a search party for that downed pilot soon, and we don't seem to be in a position to be tangled up in another fight right now." Unable to articulate but a few words at the moment, Ion agreed, "Yea, let's go." The sniper suit reattached the fallen E-PAC on its pack and picked up the lengthy LRBR off the ground. It's head turned to look at the GM pick up its half missing shield and seemingly limp its way towards their destination further south to rendezvous up with the Type 74. Ion Bossa-Nova: 8 VP gained, 2 days damage. She was still getting somewhat used to her mobile suit. After being deposited in East Asia by Auclar and the crew of the 996, Jennifer Morales had quickly been given a mobile suit of her own, the MS-07 B3 Gouf Custom, straight from the testing facility at California. As much as she didn't really enjoy admitting it, the black uniform, as well as her rank, paid off dearly. However, used to a ground war, Morales was still getting the hang of piloting, annoyed that the lack of personnel forced her to enter a position she wasn't properly trained for. Anything to serve the sons and daughters of Zeon. She and Fallschrimjager 2nd class Kalila Derwesh were in the rice paddies of Eastern India, and had been for some time now, watching a GM Ground Type as it moved it seemed towards the middle east. Derwesh had been tracking the target for a good hour now, and Morales was waiting ahead. This part of India was an excellent environment for hiding a mobile suit, miles upon miles of rice paddies, with small clumps of farmhouses surrounded by trees. The farmhouses kept thick overgrowth close to them to keep out the hot South Asian weather, making for a perfect hiding place for a mobile suit amidst an area of virtually no cover. Earth could be very handy for these things, Morales mused, but the sooner Zeon could win the war the sooner she could be home. Hector Lagrama's GM Ground Type, running quickly along the road, had finally caught sight of Derwesh. The blue Gouf ran behind it, using its leg thrusters to pick up speed, skimming for a few seconds along the paved road as Hector's GM got dangerously close to Morales position. Hector spun his GM around, letting off a quick burst with his 100mm machinegun at the hip. Derwesh blocked with her shield and then leapt into the air, coming down and slamming her heat sword against Hector's GM's beam rifle. The force of the impact made the GM step backwards as the two melee weapons locked, the beam saber slowly eating through the heat sword. The material of Zeon melee weapons could block a beam saber, but the surface of the mega particles was still a little too hot, slowly eating away at the heat weapon. Kalila pushed her mobile suit against the GM for another second, but then broke off, dashing left. Hector's GM turned, facing its back towards Morales position, and Morales picked that moment to fire. A frightening hail of 75mm gatling shells flew out of the small wood, tearing into the back of Hector's GM Ground Type. However, despite a number of small explosions as his back thrusters became useless, the GM Ground was relatively unharmed. Stumbling a little, Hector let off another barrage with his 100mm, tearing into one of Kalila's suits legs. Kalila whipped her Gouf around, sending her suits right arm in a wide arc as the heat rod slinked out of it, becoming red hot. The long tentacle weapon flew around in a wide circle, slicing off the top of Hector's GM's head while Morales' electric whip connected with Hector's mobile suit, sending out a current and completely frying its systems as the Gouf Custom walked out from the brush. But as it did, a number of heavy smoothbore shells struck into Jennifer's Gouf, a handful of Type 61's on patrol moving quickly towards them over the Indian rice fields. "Time to go Derwesh, we're worth more alive than dead." said the SS officer, turning and letting off a volley of cover fire as the two Goufs used their impressive thruster away to boost away. It was unfortunate that they couldn't finish off that Federal pilot, but he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while, and their Goufs were too valuable to the war effort to waste lightly. Hector Lagrama - 6 VP gained, 4 days damage, 2 days injury, movement to North Africa halted by patrols Jennifer Morales - 8 VP gained, 2 days damage Kalila Derwesh - 8 VP gained, 2 days damage "Why is nothing happening?" Rear Admiral Jamitov Heiman, the commander of the research base at Green Oasis and the military overseer of Side 7 sat in his chair, a glass of wine in one hand and a phone in the other. This project had spent a long time in research, and they were just starting to see the results. After more than a month of searching for the right candidate in a pilot, and even longer preparing the system, they were ready to load the psycommu system, stolen out of the Baldur Bey colony of Side 6, onto a mobile suit. The observation deck in the testing area was very dark, illuminated mostly by dull green computer monitors and a pair of unlit red lights above the one-way view observational window. A team of research scientists were watching outflow, changing switches and dials, adjusting knobs. One rather old scientist stood next to Jamitov, speaking to the pilot in the testing room across the glass. He looked a little aggravated at the results, having just sworn to Jamitov that this candidate would be able to successfully operate it. You could tell just by looking at him that his job was on the line. "Up the sensor output another ten percent. Switch feedback patterns to active." the scientist said, looking at a moderately annoyed Jamitov and then back at the window. He bent over the table in front of him and started speaking into a comm unit at the pilot below. The man, rather young for a soldier, was sitting in a pilots seat inside the small room in a normal suit, wearing a special helmet that incorporated many wires that hung from the back wall. "How are you feeling petty officer? Any response?" The scientist said, almost shaking a little. His hands were tightly pressing against the table in front of him. The test subject in the room's body wavered back and forth a little bit as he responded, he didn't totally understand what was going on, and he seemed visibly fatigued. "Ghh... My head hurts... I can't feel anything like you said professor..." The professor shook his head and then looked over to his staff. "Up the sensor output another ten percent." The men nodded, moving a handful of dials and switches. Suddenly a scream came from the test pilot, his body lurching forward and his hands gripping the sides of his chair. "I can hear it now. It hurts professor." The pilot responded, shaking his head. His body started to sweat, wet droplets forming inside the light blue normal suit, making it appear darker where the water collected. The professor was about to respond, when all of a sudden one of the red lights above the observation window burst to life, doing its part to illuminate the dark room. Jamitov smiled, setting his wine glass down at the arm of his chair, and leaned forward. The second light came on a few seconds later, and the professor looked up at the pilot, somewhat relieved. "That's good, we're reading it. Try to move them now." A screen next to the lights started beeping out outflow next, a pair of lines moving across the screen on a graph, darting up and down as they became more or less active. Both Jamitov and the professor seemed very pleased with this, but it only lasted a few seconds. But then a harsh scream was heard from the observation deck, Danyan Jhouti tearing the helmet away from his face and falling out of the chair, nearly unconscious. "You ready Danyan?" Thierry asked over the radio. His nose still hurt a little. The two test suits had flown a suitable distance away from Green Oasis, and were being supervised by the Antioch. The brass had gotten wind of the two pilots idea to duel, and had not only officially approved it, they wanted the fight done under real M particle conditions for some odd reason. Both the GM Juggler and RX-78-1 had had their beam weaponry reduced in output, so that accidental hits to a cockpit wouldn't prove fatal. "Yeah. I think I am actually." Dani responded, two mobile pod sized accessories detaching from his mobile suits backpack. The inside of the GM Jugglers cockpit didn't look much like that of a normal mobile suit. The usual throttle and stick were there, but there were a number of extra displays, as well as a specialized helmet that was actually wired into the back of the cockpit. Dani hadn't brought the added armor plating for his mobile suit, it being just as useless against a beam rifle as a machinegun would be against the Gundam. Thierry watched the two orange pods detach from the suit and start aimlessly floating in space. He didn't really understand what the things were, he wasn't privy to the technical specs on another test pilots unit. But it didn't matter. Not much did. Deciding that actions spoke louder than words, Thierry turned the Gundams face to the bridge of the Antioch, mocking a salute with the suits hand. In response the minovski particle density started to rise steadily, a small counter at a corner of Thierry's display reading the number rising rapidly. Within 30 seconds it was up to 40%, a level at which radar and radio contact became impossible. Much higher and the two duellists wouldn't even be able to recieve laser transmissions from the Antioch's flight operator. A red flare shot straight up from the Magellans bridge, and the two mobile suits sprang to life. Thierry took the assault, firing a pair of shots and boosting forward, Danyan pulling his suit back, rolling it into a spin to dodge the shots. Returning fire with a pair of his own rounds, the Prototype Gundam dodged left, Thierry a little too used to gravity to spin in circles to dodge oncoming fire. However, the Gundam was much faster than Danyans suit, and its beam rifle carried nearly twice the charge of the GM Jugglers. Letting off another three rounds as cover, Thierry caught up to the GM quickly, trying to press the attack and get into a range where he wouldn't miss. The Juggler tipped backwards, going horizontal to escape the oncoming fire, pointing its beam gun between its legs and returning a shot. Thierry blocked with the Gundams shield, tossing it away as the Luna Titanium bubbled and spattered. A full power shot probably would have taken the Gundams forearm as well, but Thierry figured if the beams were weakened he may as well use it to his advantage. All's fair in war, after all. Coming straight up next to Dani's GM, Thierry aimed his rifle as quickly as he could but was met with shraphnel from the GM's vulcans. Almost instinctively Mersault pulled the Gundam back, despite the fact that the 60mm shells did little to nothing to his mobile suits overly impressive armor. Dani boosted away from the Gundam again, gaining some distance and keeping it with some cover fire. His beam gun had a preciously small charge and wasting shots wasn't ideal, but at the moment all he was doing was forcing Thierry's suit into the proper position. For a second the two mobile suits floated slowly, watching each other, the pilots focused on each others actions. They couldn't speak to each other, but for a moment Thierry felt like he heard Dani again. He couldn't tell what, but for some reason it immediately pushed him into action. Pressing his throttle forward, the Gundam shot upwards into a tight spin, flipping in a circle as four beams of mega particles shot through its formar position from behind the suit. Snapped back into reality, Thierry turned his suit around and looked for where the fire was coming from, but as he did his damage lights came on as Danyans beam gun ripped a hole in the Gundams left leg. Swearing, Thierry swung his mobile suit around, taking a blind shot at Danyan as the GM Juggler lined up its second shot. Both hit their mark, Danyans GM taking a hit in the lower torso as his own shot tore into the Gundams right shoulder. Now unable to move his beam rifle arm, Thierry gave the signal to surrender, slightly annoyed both at his own carelessness, and at Dani's foul play. Inside the cockpit of the GM Juggler, Dani Jhouty quickly removed his suits helmet, his head throbbing with pain. Dani Jhouti - 10 VP gained, 2-1 days damage, 1 day injury, +1 NT Thierry Mersault - 9 VP gained, 4-1 days damage. A noble profile shattered the roiling complexity of the ever-burning stars. With his melancholy air and drooping white moustache, Jonas Keller would not have been out of place as a lawman in the wild pre-Federation days, before space travel had been even a dream. His lanky back would have settled into the natural curve of the horseman, and a weather-beaten, brown, wide-brimmed hat would not have looked out of place on his head. The steel deep inside of his spine would’ve been evident in one glance, and outlaws would've hated and feared his unrelenting justice. But Jonas Keller was not a lawman riding some vast and dusty plain. His was a law that was upheld by no government, signed into effect by no polished and manicured hand. His steed was alloy and atom. His iron weighed in the tons. And yet he still bore resemblance to those heroes of myth, in his eyes and in his looks. And in a yet deeper resemblance, his justice being that of the gun and honor. A kindred spirit rode the breadth of new frontiers, one blood red and choked with dust. And one quiet as death. Seen in profile before the console screens of his Zaku II, Jonas' thoughts were lost in his recent attempts to give the Mars government legitimacy. He was unsure of his direction, not quite knowing if he was doing all that he could, and kept his uncertainty in tight control. It was only here in the isolation of his suit that he could contemplate such matters and give in, just a little, to the idea that he would not see the liberation of Mars in his lifetime. He threw off his doubts. They could not be entertained. He was a man with a destiny. His fate and that of Mars were inseparable. Failure was a choice to be made, and he refused to choose that path. One of the lights on his console blinked. A long finger reached out to depress it. "Jonas! Let's get this party rolling already." Hudson Kyle ran a hand through the rugged black curls crowning his skull. Although the tall man was fairly cramped in the restrictive cockpit, he felt at home. He grinned as his Rick Dom began to power up, feeling that confidence that only superior technology can bring. He was excited. Although he had his doubts as to their ultimate methods, a little competition with friends could cheer him up easily. The munitions were all paintballs, so there was nothing at risk here. And when there was no risk, battle suddenly became a game. Hudson glanced up from his equipment, gauging the two Zakus that drifted within arm's length and the ship which hung as a backdrop behind them. Without friction, the suits' momentum kept them even with the Lunatic's Dream, the engines on Jonas' ship silent as the four fragile metal shells sped through the emptiness of the void. Hudson thought that was neat. There were things about space that you never really thought about until you were there. Jonas' suit was fully online, he saw. The custom Zaku II bulged at the shoulder with a bulky chain mine, an advanced weapon the origin of Hudson was not sure he wanted to know. He noticed the Zaku to his left beginning to activate as well. This one was smaller and not as well-armored, but the commander's spike on the forehead lent it a menacing profile. John Seak sat, comfortable in his custom cockpit. It had been rewired so that everything was accessible with his hands, and it fit him - forgive the expression, he thought - like a glove. The Briton's mind raced across possibilities, synapses lighting up as the former detective calculated his odds. He thought they were about as good as could be expected. None of them were green, so it should be a good competition. His lit up the thrusters on his suit. With that move, the three combatants spun into action. Whirling about each other in an expanding triangle, the three suits of Zeonic origin but decidedly unaffiliated control began their faux battle. Jonas brought his machinegun to bear, the monoeye on his Zaku flaring red as he spun around to face Hudson's Dom. Paintballs began to lance from his weapon, soaring out into the black. The Zaku I did the same thing, focusing his machinegun's fire on the swifter, newer mobile weapon. Hudson had expected this. He used his suit's mobility to great advantage, twisting like some grotesque ballerina in a dance of survival. His leg thrusters flared as the large suit spun with strange grace between the incoming streams of paintballs. With the Dom's bazooka gripped firmly in one metallic hand and the shotgun in the other, he roared directly between his two opponents. Neither Jonas nor John bothered to stop firing. This was a free-for-all, and they too were opponents despite the temporary confluence of targeting. Jonas felt a tickle in the back of his mind but reacted too slowly, throwing his suit into a failed somersault that caught him some damage to the torso. John got off little better. His green leg was splattered a glowing orange, and he shut it down to simulate damage. Jonas' instruments told him the paint had struck non-vital areas. Fair was fair. Hudson had not been idle during this exchange, and as the two Zaku pilots reevaluated the situation, he struck. A warhead roared from the large bazooka, its payload only harmless paint. The shotgun barked out its expanding blast of paint pellets. Each had chosen a target. John was struck full on by the shotgun blast, but Jonas reacted to his lightning warning just in time and managed to jet out of the way of the warhead. With calm movements, John shut his Zaku down. He had taken only minimal damage from the paint barrage, easily repaired, and he sat back to watch the rest of the fight. It promised to be interesting. Kyle had the training and the technology, but Jonas had his uncanny reactions and a burning will. The two exchanged fire constantly, whipping around each other in a display of excellent piloting ability. The machinegun ran dry and Jonas threw it away as he pulled the bazooka off the backpack rack and hoped its five rounds would be enough to finish this. Hudson launched his own last rocket-propelled paintball, only to watch Jonas throw his suit into another one of those Z-axis somersaults. He cursed. His friend and comrade in arms was good at this. Left with only his shotgun, he urged his Dom to greater heights of agility as it roared into close range. He would need a good hit to take out the Zaku II, and he could only get it right in Jonas' face. However, the older man was too fast. A bazooka round struck the Rick Dom in the leg and it shut down, practically drenched in orange paint. Hudson fired at point-blank range, but he knew it was too late. A few pellets splattered glowing streaks into Jonas' armor, but the Zaku spun around the disabled Dom and avoided the main blast. A metallic green hand grasped the handle of the chain mine on its shoulder, and with a quick unfurling motion wrapped it around the helpless Rick Dom. "Oh, come on." Hudson groaned. The chain mine exploded in a massive burst of paint, changing the color scheme of the Rick Dom to that glaring, disgusting shade of orange. A voice crackled over the radio. "Good show, gentlemen. And a great finale, Mr. Jonas." Captain Geoffry's wry tones came through loud and clear. "Although that paint better come off. I think you got some on my ship." Jonas Keller: 7 VP gained, 0+1 days damage John Seak: 6 VP gained, 1+1 days damage Hudson Kyle: 6 VP gained, 1+1 days damage Touya Shigetsu piloted his GM Sniper Custom over the dull dunes of the Sahara. Although the desert was rock in many places, from the direction Touya had arrived it was nothing but a sea of sand. He was hot and weary, and the company wasn't that great either. "Hey! I told you to wipe your feet before you got in here, idiot! There's sand all over!" Touya sighed. The tendency of the Type 74's corporal to leave his direct-line communication channel to his suit open was the icing on the cake. Even the Warrant Officer's legendary patience was being tested. He was wondering if there was any wisdom in shutting the line off when he heard it go suddenly silent. "Sir, we've picked up approaching bogeys." The corporal's voice was all professionalism now, quiet and calm. "Four of them. They're fast. Profiles suggest desert modified Zakus and a single Dom. At twelve o'clock and coming in hard." "Get behind the dune at six." Touya ordered, his mind racing. One of the patrols must've picked him up. He could only hope to reach the top of the dune and use his superior range to take them down. If they were a green squad he could hopefully make them panic... The incoming suits crested the top of the hill and Touya felt his heart sink into his stomach. The Karakals. He had the damn luck to be caught by the Karakals. Their distinctive camo pattern and four-leaf clover were unmistakable. Maybe he still had a chance, though. He had almost reached the top of the dune. He didn't. The lead Dom took a quick, long range shot at his suit and the Warrant Officer learned why they were considered aces. The bazooka round sheared his mobile suit in two at the legs, the explosion sending him high into the air, and as his GM's torso thumped to the ground Touya knew despair. The four suits quickly skated up the chosen dune, the Zakus opening fire as soon as they came within range and riddling the upper torso of the GM until the munitions in its weapon exploded handsomely. The Dom's bazooka spat smoke again and a second rocket incinerated the Type 74. Touya felt sorry for the corporal, so newly commissioned, but consoled himself with the thought that he would probably soon be joining him. But it was not to be. Satisfied that the ammo explosion had killed the pilot, the Dom and three Zakus sped off down the dune and were soon out of sight. Touya Shigetsu: 4 VP gained, 6 days damage "The sun has left us on time once again," Andrew thought to himself. He made to shut the cover on his wristwatch, stopping only to observe his reflection shaking in the dry heat. There was something unnatural about it. Something was kicking up dust behind him. And just about anything unnatural this far out meant trouble. As he turned around, a gunfire crack silenced all that might have spoken. A white-hot tank round poured out of the dusk like molten metal. It sailed high, followed by several more. He nodded to his wingmen, and dashed toward his mobile suit, kicking over cooking supplies and toiletries. The ground shook as one of the unoccupied Zaku II D's fell apart under apart under the barrage. "We need to get moving NOW," Andrew screamed over the echoes of the steady, reverberating gunfire. It took only a second for him to shimmy the rope-ladder into his cockpit. He severed the rope and pushed himself back. A few button presses, and the hatch creaked shut. Urged to life, his Zaku II-a desert variant-hummed contentedly. A hurried surveillance showed at least six federal tanks in firing positions along a nearby Acacia grove. An unknown number of aircraft painted the sky overhead. Andrew pushed his Zaku into communication position and quickly ordered his Zaku II K pilot to cover an advance to the grove. Andrew pushed his mobile suit forward towards combat, beckoning his squad mates to follow. What might have taken minutes for any other fighter took only seconds. The smooth African grass provided little friction for his skis. The jets above peppered his line of attack with gunfire, but the tanks were unable to keep up with his pace. A few seconds more and the two Zaku II D's were upon them. The tanks fired madly, cowering before what meant death to any tank crew: close range combat with a mobile suit. Applying his heat hawk as he might a can opener, Andrew sliced several tanks open. The rest were mopped up by bazooka fire, until only one remained. It fled into the open plains, firing blind. Its crew praying that the aircraft might protect them. As they retreated out of range, Andrew gave chase. One round found him, and then another. The third pushed his Zaku off balance and left a frightening dent which shattered the forward cockpit monitors. Among the cockpit debris, Andrew found his prudence. He let off a flare signaling retreat, ejected the skies from his mobile suit and moved towards the shelter of the grove. Andrew Vinsko: 7 VP gained, 3 days damage |