|
The jungle of the Amazon river basin, a place crawling with creatures, life and activity on the surface. There is still some activity at this time of night, with the sun well below the horizon and a small sliver of a moon casting barely any light at all. But beneath the surface of the river itself, a sensor operator sends three Zeon submarine crews into a flurry of activity. "Ma'am, we've detected several large aircraft approaching from the south. They appear to be Federation Medea class with a small escort." "Good. Scramble those new Dopps and have them in the air to force them down to our altitude. Have the Mobile suit teams on standby." Marina ordered calmly. "That includes you two as well." She said without turning to Alec Irusk and Gilgamos Uruk who were standing behind her. As they walked toward the hangar, Gilgamos 'reminisced.' "This'll be just like that other time we... uh... did something?" He continued to fumble with his words and his memories a few more times before finally giving up and finishing with "yeah, just like that..." Alec only sighed at the other pilot's occasional ineptitude with memories. Unable to think of anything polite to say about the subject, he chose the next best thing. "Come on, let's get ready for when those Feddie aircraft get here. Wouldn't want to miss my chance at a few free kills. I mean... Those guys have to come down eventually, right?" High in the dark skies, the captain of the EFGF 1st Resupply Fleet also received warnings from his sensor operators. "Sir, we've detected enemy activity in the river below. Would you like us to descend to a combat altitude?" "Descend? What are you, retarded? No! Climb! Climb as high as we can get this rusty bucket of bolts. And then stay there," The captain ordered, turning away from the sensor operator, muttering something about 'Suicidal morons' under his breath. "Sorry Sir, I just thought that-" "We don't pay you to think, now do we?" The captain snapped. "Now get back to looking at the ground like you're supposed to and make sure they stay down on the ground where we like them." The captain ordered the tin cods to be alert in case the Zeon sent something up to get them and as an afterthought yelled, "And somebody call us a refueling tanker or three to meet us halfway. No way in hell we're going to land while there's Zeek's within 100 miles of here!" A short time later, Alec and Gilgamos had launched in their respective marine type mobile suits and sat waiting near the water's surface for the Medea's to descend to an effective combat altitude. The five Dopps that the fleet had recently acquired all took off in formation and within short order a few small lights appeared, signaling the start of the air battle. A Grabro silently pulled to a stop next to the two marine mobile suits. "They aren't- hic- coming down." Gil Krundle said while taking a swig of something from a flask in his hand. Emptied of its contents, he threw it on the floor where it clanged against 3 or 4 other similar flasks before coming to a stop. "What do you mean?" Alec asked with somewhat heated suspicion. He was looking for a good battle. "Well,- hic- I figure that just like- hic- when we get in trouble- hic- We dive, They'll just- hic- keep climbing." The trio just continued to stare upward into the night sky, Alec and Gilgamos trying to decipher what Gil had actually said between hiccups. Occasionally the sky would ignite with the explosion of some aircraft or another. They couldn't really tell which side was winning from here. Finally Gilgamos broke the silence. "Where have you been all this time anyway, Gil?" "-hic- Nowhere..." After several more explosions the tin cods finally reported that they had 'routed' the enemy and were rejoining the formation. Only nine of the original thirteen were still intact, and the Obama and Samuel were sporting several new 'windows' from which a few crew members were trying out several rude in-flight gestures directed at unknown dark splotches on the ground. "Captain, Jaburo wants to know if you'll be needing to land anytime soon. Apparently some moron pilot trainee got too impatient to be on the ground again and made a mess of the runway." "You can tell Jaburo that we are quite happy up here and have no intention to come down anytime soon. If they still need their supplies, we can simply drop them out the back for them." The captain replied settling himself into his chair for a long, hopefully uneventful night in the sky. Alec Irusk: 1 VP gained, No Additional Damage Gilgamos Uruk: 1 VP gained, No Damage Gil Krundel: 1 VP gained, No Damage Alexandria, once one of the centers of the ancient world, built by Alexander the Great, was now a Zeon base. Twelve formidible AA cannons, and half as many SAM and cannon emplacements towered into the sky, but not as formidably as the famed lighthouse, Pharos, one of the world's seven wonders, had once stood. Gigabytes of data flowed through the communications chatter, HQ, and the listening post - important words, no doubt, but dwarfed in significance by the knowledge that had once filled its ancient library, the largest of its kind, in its time. The Catacombs of Kom el Shoqafa, once one of the seven wonders of the Middle Ages, were largely collapsed, their dead long-forgotten, the blood in the earth long-dried. But there were some parts of the city that hadn't changed, despite the passing of time. Alexandria still stood in a strategic position, allowing easy overland passage between the Mediterranean and Red Seas. The presence of the Principality military had put a bit of a damper on the thriving trade that usually went on there, but there were still plenty of enterprising men and women, buying and selling from and to whoever was willing to enter the militarized metropolis. And the earth was still thirsty for blood. The Earth Federation camp was full of the usual mix of pre-battle celebration, preparation, and anticipation. The abnormally-temperate weather had everyone in high spirits, and a few of the Federation pilots had gathered around a large bonfire to reminisce, discuss the coming battle, and enjoy each other's company - and the beer that some unnamed soul had somehow procured. "We'll crush 'em. No notable Zeeks have been stationed here in ages - least, that's what intel says." As always, Thierry Mersault was confident of victory. The victories at Odessa and Jaburo, however slim, however dearly paid-for, only increased his confidence that the EF was winning the battle on the ground. He took a long drag from his cigarette, and reached for another one of his creatively-procured beers. A local shipkeeper had profited greatly by their purchase, and if Thierry had his way, the spirits of the EF would profit too. Edmund Blackadder, however, was not so certain of victory. "Both sides are shit,' he offered, in a manner as intellectual as he could manage. "But we're probably less shitty, it's true." Both sides were incompetent, and God only knew if anyone knew what he was fighting for anymore. Still, he had started riding the Federation wave what seemed like ages ago, and he had little choice but to keep on surfing, till it broke upon the rocks of Zeon's resistance, or landed on the shore of victory, and peace. He just intended to have as much fun as he could along the way. Charles Gano chimed in, "We took New York; we can take Alexandria!" He intended to be at his best for this offensive, but it never hurt to spend time with your fellow soldiers. They all had to lean on each other sometime or another, after all. He was about to cut in with a chatty description of the EF's luck with New York, when he was interrupted by the old flying ace, Jim Irwin. "Just hope there are fewer mobile suits this time - hope, mind you, not expect." He'd been fighting in this war too long to be naive about the enemy's mobile suit presence. The damn things were everywhere now. But, there were always Dopps, and he always killed them. He flicked a few sticks into the fire and watched them burn. The war had lasted longer than anyone had expected, and definitely longer than everyone wanted; with any luck, he and his old fighter would outlast it. With lots of luck. "There won't be fewer. There are plenty. Just leave them to us. We're not afraid of them." Archer had seen things that would curdle a man's blood. He'd killed his brother. War was not the time for speculation, however idle or joking. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a part of him wanted to enjoy the camaraderie around the fire, but his efficiency and hardness kept it in like a shell. Archer was ruthless with his emotions, and he would be just as ruthless with his enemies, if it came to that. And it almost certainly would with a Zeon base the size of Alexandria. He tossed aside the rest of his beer without finishing it; the mission came first, and he could not risk going into battle with his mind even a bit clouded. "Alright boys, time to hit the hay - well, for those of you not on watch duty, at least. Bonfire's over!" McCaskey was as loud, rambunctious and fun-loving as the next guy, but the words of his father still rang in the head of the young Federation officer: To be a good commander, you have to be willing to destroy what you love. McCaskey loved parties, and he had let this one continue long enough. Morale had been built, and the men were relaxed - that was good - but if he left them to their devices much longer, they'd have a few hangovers to deal with in the morning, and McCaskey knew that a night of fun was not worth the risk of lost lives. He turned to the side as he took out his mustache brush for a quick brush-up, before making sure that the men took to their bunks, or to their posts. In the distance, the sound of a lone motorcycle buzzed into the night air. McCaskey wondered if it was Zeon's. If it was, the scouts would pick it up. It was not Zeon's. Aisha Vemunio sat poised on the seat of her "smaller machine," the bigger being her mobile suit. But when she had something serious to think about, the mobile suit just wasn't the same as her old motorcycle. The feel of the wind in her hair and the road giving way beneath her wheels just eased her mind, and made the upcoming assault of Alexandria a less formidable prospect, somehow. She breathed deeply of the salt-scented air, and nearly choked as a large gadfly flew into her throat. Gagging, she pulled the bike over as she retched the unfortunate insect from her airway. She knew how to speak several different languages, and now was the perfect time for an international string of curses. Hopefully, that would be the only projectile flying into her face during Alexandria. She was wary of her new companion. Malak's motives were unclear, and the man had an air about him that worried her. But the AU was short-handed, and she felt like she had little choice but to hire the man and his mobile suit. The war had left her with few options, and as it continued, she felt her only option was to continue fighting - her way. In the distance, she saw a group of men dispersing from a large bonfire - probably Federation, judging by their uniforms. She could do for a fireside social. It would help morale, and ease everyone's mind, including her own. She hopped back on her bike, and drove back to the ragtag cluster of trucks and mobile suits that comprised the African Union. The fires that night - kindled both of wood and in men's hearts - would not compare to the fires that would rage the next few days. Things always changed, and Alexandria was about to change once more. Charles Gano: 1 VP Gained, No Additional Damage Cray Vermillion: 1 VP Gained, No Additional Damage Edmund Blackadder: 1 VP Gained, No Additional Damage Jim Irwin: 1 VP Gained, No Additional Damage Aaron McCaskey: 1 VP Gained, No Damage Scott Archer: 1 VP Gained, No Damage Thierry Mersault: 1 VP Gained, No Additional Damage Aisha Vemunio: 1 VP Gained, No Damage Malak Lazarevich: 1 VP Gained, No Additional Damage The bridge of Orange Base was strangely quiet, given the impending engagement, but it was all Nigel Ferdinand could do to keep from bursting into quiet laughter. His plan was genius. Never mind that most of the crew was calling it Operation Blow-up Dolls. Never mind that nothing like it had ever been attempted before, in the history of the EFSF. Never mind that his hangars were full to bursting with filled balloons, which had required a considerable amount of atmosphere and manpower to inflate. The Prince of Orange had concocted a plan that was half-mad, half-genius, and he was ready to harvest the fruits of his labors. "Bring Orange Base into position! Tell the Columbus-class vessels to clear the area! Deploy the marines!" He smiled. "And the balloons!" The region of space outside Orange Base quickly filled with rubber balloons, floating quietly toward the gigantic Musais of the Dren fleet. The Prince's personal guard, the Rangers, were among them, along with a couple squads of real marines. Their orders were to remain motionless, just like the balloons, make their way aboard Dren's Musai, capture him, and return. It was a crazy plan, but it just might work. The marines sweated in silence as they drifted through the void. It was peaceful, but not comfortable. Most of them fingered the controls on their thrusters eagerly, but they knew that to activate their thrusters would give away their real positions. The Musais had been silent thusfar, but their complements of mobile suits and large AA machine-guns would surely mean death if they were spotted using their thrusters. So, they drifted, hoping that they would arrive safely on the other side, like toys in a claw machine, hoping they would not be picked up. Unfortunately, their enemy had a lot of quarters. Dren raised his eyebrows quizzically as marines began filling the space between his ship. Were they bombs? Marines? It was impossible! No ship would hold that many marines, would it? And if it did, why would they launch all at once, before the mobile suits? "Send out a squad of Zakus to deal with the marines. Tell them to be cautious." Dren had been fighting battles for years, but he had never seen something like this. Confidence had served him well, but carefully-applied caution had kept him alive. "The marines - they're... balloons, sir!" The Zaku pilot reported in, confused. Marines were still pouring from the curiously-colored Grey Phantom, but Dren's caution was giving way to confidence. "Send out the rest of the Zakus. Pop them." For the couple minutes, space would have sounded like an eager child with a roll of bubble wrap, if sound traveled in space. The few real marines who gave their lives as part of the onslaught were not even noticed by the eager Zaku pilots and their blazing machineguns. Several hundred rounds per minute, per machinegun, poured into the space between the two fleets. There were thousands of marines, but there were plenty more bullets. "Damn it! How am I supposed to fight when I can't even get out of the hanger!" Aurem rarely cursed, but given his new wife's condition, and the occasion, he thought it completely appropriate. Marine-balloons were still pouring out of the hangar, and he couldn't maneuver his mobile suit through the bouncy cloud until it thinned a bit more. He had served part of his vengeance on earth, to Garma, and he would continue in space. There would be peace, and Aurem would make it by killing any Zeeks who stood in his way. "Och! I've ne'er seen so many balloons, not even on the day when they gave a parade for my old grandfather. He was a hero, you know - in the old sense, you understand." Thorvald was enjoying the off-kilter situation more than any of the other pilots, and he stared wonderingly out the window as they continued to float past. "Would you just look at them, girly? Aren't they a sight?" "There are quite a lot of balloons," Marion agreed. Kyle, Karol and Kelly - The Beam Team - shared Aurem's frustration. "Surely Lt. Ferdinand wouldn't mind if we pushed our way past a few of them?" Kelly ventured uncertainly. "We can't. The live marines are mixed up with them, and we can't risk injuring our own men." Kyle sighed as the last few balloons made their way out of the hangar, and he saw the Zakus flashing in the distance. There was no sign of the carriers that he and his team were supposed to kill - only Zakus, marines and Musais. It was going to be harder than they thought. "Alright! Beam Team, launch!" The 3 mobile suits formed a triangle, with Kyle leading the pointed assault. They skirted wide around the cloud of marines, and set upon the Zakus from their right flank. "For Gerard!" Karol yelled, as he sliced through a Zaku's chest with his beam gun. "For Gerard!" Kelly echoed, as she tossed a grenade into a cluster of unsuspecting Zakus, sending them scattering in all directions. "For the Federation, and all who've died to protect what they've loved!" Kyle added, feeling very much caught up in the moment. Memories of Madelaine and Tybalt, even Tack and Flack - flooded into his mind. He felt ready for anything. But he wasn't - not quite. A Zaku's heat hawk came slicing toward his suit's mid-section, and he barely had time to jump backward, before it cut him in half. Except he was in space, and there was no jumping, which left him with even less time to thrust backward away from the slash. The heat hawk left a deep gash in the Ez8's chest, and sparks showered him in the cockpit. Fortunately, he still had control over most of his major systems, and he thanked his lucky stars, his Luna Titanium armor, and Thorvald, who had dispatched the Zaku that had come so close to killing him. "Follow me!" he yelled, as he rushed toward the next group of Zakus. "You know, Zakus in space aren't much different from Zakus on the ground," Thorvald observed, as he and Marion carved a wide swathe through a squad of Zakus. Arms, legs, and burnt-out husks littered the battlefield behind him, and he felt every inch the mad Scotsman he was. It was a positively highlander-like experience, and he was glad that Marion was there to share it with him. The two had been together for quite a while now, and though Thorvald still didn't quite understand his mobile suit faerie, he was glad that she was helping him. For his part, Aurem was enjoying the relative flexibility that the Heavy Gundam gave him in combat. He cleaved through a Zaku with his beam saber, as the machine gun rounds pinged harmlessly off his thick Luna Titanium armor. No more sitting on ships, sniping unsuspecting Gaws. slice! No more sitting in cover while his teammates were put in danger! boom! His cannon thundered in the silence of space, and in the Zaku pilot's ears in the milliseconds before his body was vaporized in the ensuing explosion. No more Arieta fighting with me! The thought was simultaneously infuriating and disheartening. They will pay. Aurem moved toward the nearest Musai. Back aboard the bridge of Orange Base, Nigel's eager anticipation had morphed into concerned efficiency. The Musais had brought their main guns to bear on the Grey Phantom-class vessel, and Nigel was doing everything he could to make sure his mobile suits, marines and pilots would have a ship to come back to. "Take evasive action! Bring the ship around to fire! Concentrate your fire on the Musai off the starboard bow! Push them back! We need to give our mobile suits and marines time to advance!" Nigel refused to calculate how many marines were still alive. The balloon cloud had thinned considerably, and though many of the Zakus were now engaged with his crack mobile suit pilots, some were still being hit with stray machine gun fire from the Zakus, and the persistent AA fire from the 3 Musais. "And tell Aurem that he needs to use that giant railgun we gave him!" "We'll try, sir, but the Minovsky particle interference is significant," said the comm officer, whose name escaped Nigel at the moment. He'd have to review his personnel list again later. He tried not to think about the marines that were still out there - if they were still out there. No. I am their commander. I will believe in them, and I will do everything possible to bring them home. He wasn't experienced in space combat, but he would certainly do everything in his power to ensure the survival of his men. "We're going after the Musais." "Which one, Lieutenant?" "All of them. Split fire from our MPCs between the 3 cruisers. Hopefully, we can draw their attention enough to give our mobile suits a chance to strike, and our marines a chance to board. Or survive. He let the thought go unsaid as he turned to face the forward monitor. Aurem couldn't remember how many Zakus he'd destroyed. Aurem shot guns. Some things died. Mystery damage. It had all been a blur - one extended moment of rage, despair, and fighting. The thrusters on his mobile suit's left leg weren't working properly, he realized. He thought he remembered a heat hawk, and some AA fire from the Musais, but he wasn't certain. No matter. He had to be creative with the controls to get him mobile suit to raise the railgun that had been slapped onto one of his suit's magnetic hardpoints. The Musai's bridge loomed in front of him. He could almost see the face of the captain. Almost. The Zeon commander. Like Garma. Deserved death. The kickback from the railgun threw Aurem's suit through space, as his damaged thrusters failed to compensate for the huge force from the weapon. The Musai, already damaged from the MPC fire from Orange Base, exploded, knocking Aurem even farther back, the Luna Titanium armor screaming against the force of the nearby concussion. Suddenly, he realized that he felt tired. Very tired - and that blood was running down the side of his head. The broken glass in the cockpit surprised him. Hadn't he and Arieta already taken care of that? And they'd met Kyle - funny young corporal, that Kyle, but a good guy. Arieta - Where is she? His last thoughts, as he slipped into unconsciousness, were of her. Thorvald saw the Musai explode out of the corner of his eye as he grappled with a Zaku with his bare hands - er, his suit's bare hands. Battle instinct had gotten the best of him. A roundhouse punch knocked the Zaku's head off its body, and a kick sent the disabled Zaku hurtling into space. What now? Orange Base was struggling against the concentrated fire of the two Musais, one of which he recognized as Dren's Camel. He was just about to draw his beam saber to cut a hole in the beast - putting the Thor in Thorvald, sort of, he thought with a grin - when Marion cut in. "Aurem's mobile suit has been disabled. It appears he is in need of assistance." "He's a good lad, and strong. Let's do what we can!" "...orvald. ...ctical retreat. ...turn to Orange Base immedi..." The transmission came crackling through the interference. Thorvald didn't understand Minovsky particle interference - it probably had something to do with faeries - but he understood the order to retreat. There were considerably fewer Zakus now then when they had begun, and most of those had retreated back to cover the Musais. Thorvald didn't waste any time; he jetted directly to Aurem, heaved the broken mobile suit onto his back, and made his way back to the beleaguered Orange Base. He hoped it would stick around long enough to take them away from the battle. Elsewhere, The Beam Team had come to the conclusion that attacking the carriers was now completely out of the question. They had battled their way through Zakus toward the Musais, but just barely. The two GM Commands and Ez8 were in no shape to zip through another watchful line of Zakus and persistent AA fire - even if the battle had gone more in the Federation's favor. "We're retreating. Beam Team, back to Orange Base!" The 3 mobile suits made their way away from the battle, steering wide of the lines of MPC fire directed at the Prince of Orange and his ship. "We can't take much more of this!" The officer looked up at Lt. Ferdinand. There was a little fear in his eyes, Nigel noticed, but it was mixed with commitment. He would follow orders. All his men would. Well, except for Thorvald. he admitted to himself. "We stay until I receive word that Thorvald, Aurem and the Beam Team return." "Yes, sir!" "Any word from our marine squads?" "Negative, sir!" Nigel was not looking forward to writing those letters, but it was his duty. He issued the commands, he dealt with the consequences. That was what it meant to lead. "We have received our mobile suit teams, sir. What our your orders?" "Direct all power to engines. We are getting the hell out of here. Good work, men." He stared out the window at the Musais as Orange Base turned; they were damaged, but standing proudly in the space that they had won. Nigel just continued gazing forward. There would be time enough to look back later. The bridge of the Camel was strangely quiet, given the recent engagement, but it was all Dren could do to keep from bursting into quiet laughter. He eyed the captured Federation Ranger, who had somehow made it to the bridge of his ship, alone - the lone survivor of God knew how many marines. The man was tough, even in defeat. Dren admired him, his comrades, and his commander's crazy plan - to a certain extent, anyway. As he ordered his men to take the Ranger to the brig, he allowed himself a smile. He would give the Feddie space forces this: They certainly didn't take their commanders from any sort of mold. Nigel Ferdinand: 3VP Gained, No Damage Kyle Slater: 4VP Gained, Repairing 3 Thorvald Siggurdson: 3VP Gained, Repairing 3 Aurem Senaiha: 3VP Gained, Repairing 3, Injured 1 |