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Lilienthal surveyed the battlefield from the Ostwind, his damaged Dobday. Despite his best efforts to preserve it, the civilian city of Baikonour had been decimated by the war. So many lives, ruined. he shook his head as he thought of the reinforcements that he could used. The Federation's forces were on their last leg, which is probably why they had opted to bombard with their Big Trays today, instead of making another move to capture what was left of the base. Both sides were tired; he was exhausted. He watched as the night sky, hazy from the smoke that rose constantly from the city's remains, glowed orange. The fires were still finding fuel out there, away from the bombs that now struck the fortress. The units under his command had holed up inside as best as they could, but there were not safe places for everyone. Actually, come to think of it, there weren't many safe places at all. They had already lost the Joti, whe the large Gallop had tried to move out of deep cover to return fire. It was an ill-advised move, and he would have almost killed the commanding officer who authorized it, if he was still alive. Discipline wasn't what it used to be. His men were jaded, and there were whispers in the ranks that the focus of the war had turned once again to space. Earth was no longer a point of assault for Zeon; it was a point of defense. Mexico City had recently fallen under siege as well, and Lilienthal regretted that he could not send aid to the men there. Or to California base. The Federation's factories were pushing out GMs faster than their Goufs and Doms could chew through them, and their retreating supply line from space would make reinforcements difficult at best. They would lose valuable resources during the bombardment today. Worse, they'd lose good men. Zeon could afford to lose neither. Not here, on the Earth. Lilienthal stared defiantly out into the smoke in the direction of the bombardment. The ground shook, and he shook his fist at his opponents. had they dreamed anything half as elegant as he had? As Zeon had? Surely they did not deserve this small victory! Surely his men did not deserve to die! He lowered his hand grimly, as he remembered: War was rarely about just desserts. They had played a good game, and they would continue to play. It was just that they didn't have nearly as many pieces as they once did. The Sir Francis Drake, once Revil's flagship, rumbled along the desert landscape, while the Tin Cods of the Desert Eagles screamed overhead. They were not trying to be sneaky in their approach to Zeon's installation in Mexico City; they expected that they didn't need to be. They had pulled through Odessa with nary a scratch, after all; they had seen tough battles before, and would not shrink from another. The crew of the Big Tray missed their old commander, but the knowledge that they had served under one of the Federation's finest had left their hearts bursting from their chests. Morale was high in the Star One Ground Force Alpha, and they didn't expect to find anything that could stand in their way for long. The 3 GM pilots joked with the GM Sniper marching alongside them, asking him if he knew what a real battle was like, since he'd always been so far behind friendly lines. The pilot just laughed; the GM pilots were far greener than he was, and he knew that even the back lines were a lively place in battle. His companions would find out soon enough, especially if the scouting report on Mexico City was correct: Zeon had a considerable ground force stationed at the base. In the sky, the Blue and Lager puttered behind the main front at a safe distance, carrying their small complements of aircraft and mobile suits. The pilot of the Blue was explaining paradrop operations to the Lager pilot, who hadn't seen much combat, and he marveled at the flexibility of the rather-fragile aircraft. Getting your troops where they needed to be was an important part of war, and their Medeas excelled at it. Everyone stopped as they came just out of range of the Zeon fortress' artillery. Emotions ranged from grim determination to eager excitement. The siege would begin today, but there would be no attack. There was plenty of time to plan, and there would be battle enough to satisfy everyone, green or not, when the assault began. The main push from the Federation had failed to take Pezun, despite their considerable number of ships. Nigel Ferdinand crunched the numbers again, mentally tabulating what they had left, what they had lost, and what they could afford to risk. Today, they would risk little to gain a little: A bombardment of the enemy was a surefire way to weaken their forces, their resolve, and their defenses. And he had a lot of ships to bombard with. Aurem and Kyle shook with rare laughter at Karol's spirited retelling of an old joke. The three had been hanging out a lot recently, and if they hadn't exactly become friends, they were comforted knowing that others shared similar concerns and similar hopes. Thorvald's latest fishing antics had almost everyone laughing - or at least everyone almost laughing - despite the tense atmosphere. In space, they could not feel the powerful barrage that was being maintained outside by the missiles of the Salamis-class ships. Even the Magellans were contributing what missiles they could to the near-constant bombardment of Pezun. Peering out the window, way off into the distance, Kyle wondered how many mobile suits were exploding, and how many of them held half of an engaged couple. Aurem seemed blind to the fact that not everyone on the side of Zeon was a Zabi, but Kyle wasn't going to bring something like that up to Aurem - not now, of all times, when they needed to keep their focus in battle. He would allow Aurem's rage to fuel his action in the Heavy Gundam; they needed a talented man like him in tip-top shape if they were to stand a chance of taking Pezun. Karol understood, but he fought because he wanted to see the war come to an end, and there was no way to do that without removing those who stood in their way - at least no easy way. Thorvald was staring out the window, wondering if there actually were fish in space, what they looked like, and how big they were. Sure, conventional science said that there couldn't be anything living in space, but conventional science would have sputtered at his mobile suit fairy, only a few years back. He was certain that fishing in space would present unique challenges, and unique opportunities. But fishing wasn't the only thing on Thorvald's mind. His relationship with the newest addition to his mobile suit team had become a source of strength for him. It felt good being able to mentor someone. The war seemed to be drawing to a close, and he wondered what that meant for him and his fairy, and for him and his MS team member. Relationships were complicated business, and deserved as much thought, if not more, than fishing. Life certainly was a complicated business. Outside, hundreds of missiles thundered against the fortified forces of Pezun. Several mobile suits were hit, unable to find cover from the extensive bombardment, but the fortress itself held strong, protected from the brunt of the blow. The asteroid fortress still stood, slightly-remodeled from the many explosions, but still a formidable target. Killing was pleased, and he could not wait to order his men out of the trenches into the thick of the fight. They would make the Feddies pay for every inch of space. Nigel Ferdinand: 1 VP Gained, No Damage Thorvald Siggurdson: 1 VP Gained, No Damage Aurem Senaiha: 1 VP Gained, No Damage Kyle Slater: 1 VP Gained, No Damage |