|
It was good to be on the ground again. The fleet of Medeas known as the 42nd Brigade have finally touched down in North Africa. Their big break into Zeon territory didn't go without event however. The Pink Panthers and a Dopp Patrol were about to beat them out of Africa again when the most unsuspecting thing happen. The Blue Destiny unit went renegade in such a way that the Zeon defenders retreated. Cray Vermillion in his Type-61 would have been dead if it was not for Thorvald Siggurdson's quick actions in deactivating the Blue Destiny. Hasty repairs are still underway as the 42nd Brigade prepares for combat. Despite most of their ground force undergoing repairs, First Lieutenant Nigel Ferdinand insists on an air attack on a Zeon target. Planes will suffice for now. Not to mention it'll keep him in the air where it is reasonably safer. But the 1st lieutenant is in the triage tent, which is where Sergeant Cray Vermillion found him. On one of the other beds lay Corporal Jay Tessa. The skinny-as-a-stick girl had her GM Ground Type's parachute cut from a Dopp's vulcan guns. The poor girl barely survived impact and is lucky to be alive. Further down the row of beds, Private Jack Verse didn't have it much easier. He landed his GMPGT safely but bore the brunt of the Pink Panther's attack. The Zaku II Desert Types took him down so fast that it shames his family's military history. Private Thorvald Siggurdson, however, was both a savior and a victim. Something has possessed his mobile suit, the Blue Destiny, to the point that it brought about a rage that Siggurdson thought only insisted in his Lutheran faith. Not that everyone actually believes he's part of that religion. The Test Pilot had offered the metal war machine liquor and meat; a peace offering of sorts. Nothing came out of it so far, and Siggurdson spends his time lying in a medical bed now musing about it. The Type-61 gunner walks up to the nearest medic, his dogtags jingling with every stride. "Excuse me," he says," but do you have any spare seat cushions?" "Um, what?" stammers the medic," why would you need seat cushions?" Vermillion sighs. "They're for my driver. The Type-61's driver's seat can only go up so high." Back outside, the uninjured swarm around their rides. Past the beat-up Type-61 lies the GM S-type. Private Jane Sheppard was there next to Jack Verse when the Pink Panthers hit them. She got a few shots in but was decapitated shortly afterwards. Sheppard counts herself lucky though. At least she's not in the infirmary. Sergeant Jim Irwin is arguing with a flight mechanic. His Tin Cod saw the most combat on their journey into Africa, namely because mobile suits can't fly. Well, yet that is. Irwin's state of humor has deteriorated since the war began leaving only sarcastic remarks and a punch of cynicism. The doors to the triage swung open and Vermillion walks out with an armful of seat cushions. Even though the 42nd Brigade has been bloodied, it can still fight and in about four hours it will bring the fight to the Zeon. A trickle of air bubbles float from the dark depths to the surface. A massive shape glides through the water. Even in these murky depths, the golden crest of Zeon is still visible on the submarine's bow. On board the Jukon-class U-99, Unterscharfuhrer Ritter Novosad of the Schutzstaffel stood near the Jukon's radio operator. The SS Panzergrenadier leader ponders his history on Earth thus far. He had landed only to participate in a training exercise that was child's play. Then on his first venture against the Earth Federal Forces he was derailed by Federal aircraft. Well, that's about to change. Novosad looks down at the radio operator who scribbles something on memo paper and hands it to him. "So it is confirmed," concludes the SS officer," the Federal fleet that the Pink Panthers ran into sought refuge in Tunisia. Lucky for us that they stayed so close to the sea." The previous day, all Zeon units in the vicinity of North Africa were notified that a fleet of Medeas have penetrated Zeon airspace. Stopping them have become high priority. "Is everything ready?" asks Novosad to the bridge crew. "Yes, Unterscharfuhrer. Missile batteries are ready to fire. Vertical tubes are flooded and outer doors are open." "Launch them." They didn't hear it coming. Only the fact that the long range attack wasn't coordinated by a forward observer prevented mass casualties in the first missile wave. Cray Vermillion was blown off his feat, the seat cushions he commandeered flying out of his arms. Jane Sheppard was thrown off-balance from the shockwave of a near miss. She tumbles backwards into the GM S-type's cockpit, landing on her pilot's seat. On instinct, she slams her fist on the door control panel. The cockpit closed around her as she rides out the artillery barrage in the safety of her GM's reactive armor. Irwin wasn't so lucky. His Tin Cod is in the middle of a dirt pile they call an air strip. Surrounded by aviation fuel tanks and munitions lockers, the missile attack sets off a raging inferno. One missile detonates near the Medea Type B Chicken Little while it was being refueled. Several trucks exploded, dousing the plane with fiery debris. Cursing vows of violence under his breath, Irwin made a dash for cover. He came across the battered Type-61, seeing the olive-colored skin of Cray Vermillion diving into the gunner's hatch. Irwin saw his chance and manages to squeeze in before Vermillion closed the hatch on him. Together they rode out the artillery attack with the tiny Ion Bossa-Nova inside the Type-61. The triage was in an uproar. The sounds of missiles exploding and flying ordinance sent the medics in a frenzy. There was no time to walk the wounded into shelters so the doctors and medics ran to each bed, lowered the patients onto the floor then flip the mattresses over them. It wasn't much but it's all they could do to get the wounded under cover. Soldiers and pilots alike swore as they landed on bruises and wounds. But their voices are muffled out by the sounds of explosions. The few minutes of missile attack felt like forever. When it was finally over, an eery silence has fallen over the 42nd Brigade. Slowly, people came out and began surveying the damage. A lot of dirt was thrown up, piling around equipment. The hatch of the Type-61 pops open and Irwin was surprised to see the tank buried in a hull-down position. "Aw, damnit!" cries Vermillion," they shredded the seat cushions I took!" The final event of the day was another missile strike an hour later. Despite the mayhem and confusion it brought, no real damage was done to any of the equipment. But the 42nd Brigade had to abandon its attack for now. Ritter Novosad - 1 CP gained, No Damage Cray Vermillion - 6/2 VP gained, No Additional Damage Jane Sheppard - 6/2 CP gained, No Additional Damage Jim Irwin - 6/2 VP gained, No Additional Damage Nigel Ferdinand - 1 VP gained, No Additional Damage Jay Tessa - 1 VP gained, No Additional Damage Jack Verse - 1 VP gained, No Additional Damage Thorvald Siggurdson - 6/2 VP gained, No Additional Damage |