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"What do you mean surrender?!" Vladimir Antonov's face was purple with rage, and his ham-sized hands were gripping the edges of his desk dangerously. "It's our only option, at this point, commander," Tony Knight said, unflinchingly. He knew of Antonov's reputation for flattening young officers who displeased him with a thrown desk, but he had learned a little of fear during his time as an officer in Zeon's ground forces, and more of courage. "To do otherwise would endanger the lives of hundreds of Zeon soldiers who honestly wish to stop fighting - " Antonov's hands tightened around the edge of the desk, and Tony thought he saw it rise a centimeter or two off the floor. " those cowards!" he hastily added, then continued. "In any case, Akira Sasaki and Alex Irusk should be able to sneak away in the Avalon, if we prolong the surrender enough. They're packing as many spare munitions, supplies and mobile suits as they can into the thing, and we just need to create enough red tape for the Federation, that they're too tied up to notice. "Hmph," Vladimir grunted noncommittally. "I suppose I can agree to that, though I'd much rather shake hands with the Federation using a grenade, than with an open palm. In any case, tell them that if they want their surrender signed, they'll have to come to my office to get it. I have been injured in the recent bombardment, and cannot be troubled to journey out into the icy environs we call home. It was bullshit, Tony knew, but it was good bullshit - the kind that the Federation commanders would be forced to believe and accept, even. And it appeared that Vladimir was going to make things believable. Grunting impressively, he rose to his feet, hefting his large desk over his head in one smooth motion. Tossing it a couple feet into the air, he quickly lay down again before it could hit the ground, taking the mahogany furniture-piece full in the chest. "Oh, and send a medic," he managed, before falling unconscious. "And that's the last of it," Alec said, watching the last few crates of supplies being loaded into the Avalon. The ship had served them well during the war, and it would continue serving them well out of it. With any luck, the Federation would again grow fat and lazy, now that there was no official Principality of Zeon, nor official presence on Earth. Enlistment would drop off precipitously, patrols would settle into their routines, and Zeon's faithful on the Avalon would bide their time, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Zeon had been forced to abandon its people, and its ideals had been squeezed from it almost entirely during the war in space. But the Federation could not force people to give up their ideas, and as long as Alec carried breath with him, he would continue the fight for what was right. He would not forget the Federation victories at Constantinople and Odessa, where the Federation had rolled over the world's priceless treasures in their war machine, and called it collateral. And to think that Zeon was being handed the tab for the war! It was madness. Of course, it was madness to continue fighting, too, but he planned to. There would be others, of course, who wouldn't give up their ideas merely because a few pieces of paper had been signed. He and Akira would find them, and they'd organize something. Alec had never operated outside the structure of the Terrestrial Assault force, but he was confident that his cool demeanor and finely-honed mobile suit skills, paired with Akira's undeniable skills in a mobile suit and her notoriety as a SS officer, taken together with their vision for the future, would have to have some sort of impact on the world to come. "Let's dive," Akira said, motioning for Alec to follow her on board. The two walked onto the sub together, taking one last look at the frozen confines of the Vladivostok docking facility. [i]Men will fight, once they realize that someone else has raised the banner, and that there is still something worth fighting for.[/i] "You can have my surrender when you pry it from my cold, dead hands!" Vladimir roared, towering over the normal-sized Federation General they'd brought before him. Aaron McCaskey stared in horror as the veins on the bloodied Zeon leader's face started to bulge, and he made as if to rise from his chair. "Just kidding, of course! Just kidding!" Antonov added, coughs interrupting his laughter. His self-inflicted internal injuries were slowing him down, but he'd be damned if he was going to let anyone else know. "Och! I've dropped my pen!" he shouted, tossing it into a corner of the room. "I can't sign the surrender orders without my special commander-pen! You!" He said, pointing to Edmund Blackadder, "Would you mind getting that for me? I would have one of my officers do it, but you were clear on the fact that you wanted to meet me alone, and as I'm sure you know, I can't get out of this chair on my hands and knees to go get it myself!" "..." Edmund started toward the pen at a nod from his commanding officer. The whole surrender process sucked. It took ages, and shells and bullets were much easier to direct than words, in his opinion. The Avalon was halfway to its destination by the time the surrender had been completed, which was far, far away from Vladivostok. Zakus and GMs intermingled, safely behind the Federation lines, and the mess hall was full of ex-Zeon and Federation troops intermingled. Most of them were segregated into discrete groups, but a few of the braver ones had sought seats among their former aggressors. Only time would heal the divide that the war had built between these men, and most of them would come to realize that they much more in common than they'd ever realized. Most of them, but not all of them. Edmund Blackadder - 1 VP Gained, No Damage Aaron McCaskey - 1 VP Gained, No Damage Thierry Mersault - 1 VP Gained, No Damage Alec Irusk - 1 VP Gained, No Damage Gilgamos Uruk - 1 VP Gained, No Damage Tony Knight - 1 VP Gained, No Damage Akira Sasaki - 1 VP Gained, No Damage A few months ago, the ground forces of the Earth Federal Forces stampeded at full speed to rally together. From there, they struck at the Zeon defenses as a concentrated force in a series of rapid attacks. Speed is the key and the EFGF exploited it to the maximum. Today is no different. As elements of the EFGF converge on the few Zeon bases left, they once again collide with resisting Zeon forces and patrols. Despite a few small delays against fanatical defenders, the EFGF continue to rumble onwards. As the rest of the Zeon military is surrendering, that same futile resistance continue. The region of South Africa is still Zeon territory. Zeon is barely holding onto South Africa, but they control it nevertheless. A dedicated deployment of patrols still guard South Africa against Federal intruders. Two of those patrols came across the Federal Big Tray-class Perry as it steamed down the Nile River deeper into Africa. On board the Perry, a junior officer took a message slip and walked up to Kojima. "Sir! Survelliance reports two groups of inbound." Kojima took the message slip and read the report summary. "Get the aircraft into the air. We can intercept them before they get within range of the ship." In a matter of minutes, both the Congo and Ukrainian Guard can spot the Perry on the edge of their Lugunn's sensor range. For the flying Goufs of the Congo Guard however, they quickly became more concerned about the swarm of Jet Core Boosters and Tin Cods headed their way. As the uneven aerial dogfight began, crewmen of the Ukrainian Guard looked around from the hatches of their Magella Attack tanks. They can spot the single GMPGT from the Perry headed towards them. The Ukrainian Guard may not have mobile suits, but they are confident that their tanks with their infantry support can bring down the GMPGT. So long as the Congo Guard kept the Federal aircraft off their back. But it is not to be. The Perry's Fly Mantas soon swoop in from behind them. The air to ground support craft strafed the armored vehicles, destroying what organization they had. Soon the GMPGT open fire on the Congo Guard. What was once a coherent mechanized force is now a splatter of burning wreckage across the land. After barely fifteen minutes of combat and travel, the Federal forces return to the Perry. The Big Tray and Kojima is now in South Africa. Night on Mars was similar to night on Earth. While the colors of the day marked stark differences, hues and patterns of landscape completely unlike those on the blue planet, the night on the red was strangely the same. Devoid of color, things returned to their primordial form. The stars shown somewhat brighter through Mars' thin atmosphere. The sky was lucid, clouds sparse and disparate. Both of Mars moons were easily visible. Indeed, they were even visible during the day. Deimos and Phobos were both much closer to the surface, and seemed much larger, although neither was even close to as big as Luna, the satellite of Earth. Scientists had predicted that in a few thousand years, Deimos was going to strike the planet. But that catastrophe was far off, for even to the hard working, simple minded Martian people, there were pressing matters at hand. At the low hillsides of Olympus Mons, beneath the cover of nights sweet darkened cloak, figures silently shuffled into an open cave. Hundreds upon hundreds of men, the most stalwart of the Martian Independence Organization. They were farmers, miners, husbands, fathers, brothers, men from all over the planet. You could count a head from every single town on the red planet. Their absence was being hushed up. Relatives were putting in their hours on the store, some were called in sick or even dead with the authorities. A full third of them were not even on official census records. The sheer number of men filing secretly into Amador was eclipsed only by the magnitude of populist support it had taken to conceal them. Not all of these men were sneaking into the city, under dead of night. Close to the tunnel entrance, three humongous all terrain vehicles sat. They had been custom built by engineers on New Carson City, in the very heart of Kellers movement. These trucks were atmospherically sealed, and each had five large sections, independantly stabilized. They looked almost like gigantic worms, hundreds of small treads pulling the things along, as slow as one could imagine. It had taken nearly two weeks for them to reach Amador, but they sported enough carbon dioxide filtration, and enough smuggled stores of supplies, to make the journey. Traveling across country like that without using the registered highways, without a passport and the authorities permission, had been but one of Kellers many feats. A fifth of the men were staying behind, clustered around MIA's Liberation Fleet. These would be the advance force, knocking on the Tories front door like messengers of the coming Jihad. But the real attack would come from within Amador's own trusted halls. For every man who shuffled into the darkened tunnels that night, there was another waiting to greet him. A miner, a father, a brother, waiting to join the cause. Jonas Keller: 1 CP Gained, No Damage Jacobin Conroy: 1 CP Gained, No Damage Hudson Kyle: 1 CP Gained, No Damage Matt McEvoy: 1 CP Gained, No Damage Samson Ellison: 1 CP Gained, No Damage |