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October 26th, Universal Century 0079 The jungles of the Amazon were trembling. Roaring with the weight of titanium pressing against the continents soft soil. Battleships rumbled along, the dust of their passing a storm cloud, rising with their wake and moving to the heavens. The air was fogged, the light of understanding having gone out from this world. Elsewhere, on the shores of Eastern Ukraine, trucks piled in from all corners of Eurasia, gathering everything they could. The stripmining of an entire planet was nearly complete, and the Heavy Lift Vehicles were stacked, row by row, neatly awaiting their final order to move to a new country in the sky. Aboard the Sir Francis Drake, an old man, weathered by captivity and the loss of billions of lives, sat in silence. It had come to this, his final gambit. Win or lose, he had pushed the resources of an entire generation onto this single action. There could be no victory that would be worth the price he would have to pay. In a neatly furnished office in central Odessa, a grey haired and long faced man watched a vase, admiring its perfection. He mused over his position, and wondered what would become of himself in the weeks to come. He cared not for his men, but would make sure that no matter happen, his own livelihood would remain. As the sun rose over San Francisco, a young man and woman embrace, the flaxen haired girl releasing her hold on her lover, and watching him climb inside of the purple behemoth he would ride into hell. She cried, wondering whether or not she would lose him this time. The youngest Zabi vowed that, after stopping the Federation at Odessa, he would return to his lover, and never be parted of her. In the Atlantic Ocean, a young man fixed his eyes on a small photograph, red ink trailing across its base. He thought of the atrocities that had been commited by his enemy, in the name of racism and greed. He thought of the genocide of the third reich, and how the current dictatorship emulated those beliefs. For his country, for his mother, and most of all for himself, he would use his Gundam to defeat those who would kill and destroy. An older man looked at a picture of his daughter, his room devoid of almost all other concerns. He had reached his breaking point, he had found rock bottom, and he had clawed his way deeper, revenge soley on his mind. He thought of the missions to come, and wondered how many more lives it would take to make things right. He did not care. He would kill them all. Inside the colonies of Side 3, a family was in mourning. Mrs. Gerard accepted the flag that was offered to her, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her son had fought hard, and he had died honorably, and he was a good boy. A good son. She would be spared the details, and perhaps if she knew them, she may have thought differently about a great many things. But now was not the time. Regardless of the circumstances, Donny was dead, and he deserved her tears. At the bottom of a mountain west of Lhasa, a young woman cried as well. The news had just come to her, three small photographs delivered by her older brother. She cried and cried, wondering why war had to be so cruel. She wanted to blame someone, but she did not understand anymore, she did not care anymore. She eyed the gun at her side, wondering if she should take her own life, in order to be with Shiro at last. On opposite ends of the Earth, two siblings sat deep in thought, wondering if they would ever see each other again, wondering why their fateful meeting had taken place on Green Oasis. The sister sprawled out on her bed, wondering what had driven her brother to such lows, wondering what he must have been thinking. The brother wondered how he could achieve his vendetta without harming his sister, and wondered when the day would come when he could finally remove his mask. Aboard a Medea, a changed man watched the horizon of western Europe come into view. He had been through a lot, from two plane crashes to his own wife being taken as a prisoner of war. His country was under the grips of oppression and his people needed him. Two months ago he was a coward, a petulant wuss, being saved by a good friend who had died so he could live. Now he was standing on his own, but before he could return to his people he had a lot of work to do. He would not return until people looked at him with the same respect they gave to Joe Dzurik. From a Zanzibar in Side 3, a young golden haired man watched, his newest mobile suit floating into the hangar bay. The first of its kind, the pinnacle of Zeon engineering stared back at him, beam rifle and twin heat sword prepared to decimate the Duchies enemies. He had always lived in Aznables shadow, but in this operation he would prove himself. He would protect the assets of Odessa, and do his beloved Kycillia proud. A young girl moved quickly to her next assignment, sensing the emotions around her but keeping quiet. She had been brought up in an isolated world, but the world begins to creep into any cage, and so it had freed this girls heart. Unknown to her, a long lost brother sat in a much more literal prison, confined in the bowels of Constantinople. He wondered if he would ever see his little sister again, after losing her so long ago. Deep in the bowels of the Black Sea, a young girl gave fierce orders to her crew. They would stop them. She would stop them, she would do as her fuhrer and her nearly adoptive father had commanded her. In the back of the room, a tall man leaned on a wall, drinking a martini and wearing a suit. The ease with which he moved was astonishing, given the warzone that he was about to be thrust in, with nothing but his wits and a few tricks up his sleeve. All in the name of Fuhrer and Country. In Marseille, a young couple sat on the foot of a GM, quietly discussing their troubles. They didn't talk much, their love a picture of awkwardness and mistakes. But it was there, beneath all the games, and that was enough to keep them going. The two snipers enjoyed some of the last idle moments they would have for weeks to come, before they would be forced to watch hundreds of good men fight and die in front of their lookouts. Aboard a Himalaya leaving the Azores, an old and wiry man signed a letter and handed it to an aide. The aide moved quickly, boarding his Dragonfly on a faked recon mission in the eastern sea. What the man was doing was deplorable, and would cost thousands of lives no matter the outcome. But in the end, a man had to look out for himself, and playing both sides was the only way he could assure that he would win his own personal war. On two different continents, a pair of completely different men looked at the same girl. Her wings brightened the night sky, and her luminescent fingers floated through the cockpit walls. The girl was beginning a wonderful relationship with one of the men, and was abused by the other, feeling violated every time she was used to do his bidding. However, their goals were all the same, and on some distant day and some distant battlefield, each of them would most assuredly get their wish. While on a boat in the Atlantic, a pair of women watched as their new mobile suits were lowered by crane onto the small ships deck. Gundams, a veritable icon of strength and solidarity, a beacon of hope for the African people. Their methods were horrifying, but their cause was just, and once they had achieved their independence, the ends would justify the means. In southern Europe, two pilots rumbled towards each other, about to engage in battle. One Federation test pilot, one Zeon, strange circumstances had seperated this couple, driven them onto either side of an ever escalating war. They didn't know how they would survive, how they would be with each other again, but they would find a way. The Hildolfr and GM S Type both kicked up dust, their pilots marching off to war. A huge metallic horse hovered over a small island in the Pacific, watching the scene below. A Gundam and a Zaku watched the sunset, the smoking wreckage of an enemy rising out of the water. Children played on the shore, and the waves splashed along the beach. If things were different, they could all be friends, every one of them. It would not take very much of a change. Even in a short time, it was possible to make friends with your enemies, for the good of the younger generation. But that was just a dream now. Doan had found his peace, but for Amuro there was no such luck. New orders had come in from Jaburo, and now the ragtag crew of refugees would be thrust into a bigger conflict than any of them had ever experienced. Operation Odessa had begun. |