….MISS ME? Did ya think my head exploded? That I was sucked into the last episode of the X-Files? Kidnapped by a herd of stampeding rednecks? The answer is yes, but not necessarily in that order…

AN: This installment will take the story up through the first few episodes of the series. I have paraphrased much of the dialogue, using the subbed, dubbed and fan translations as a guide. I have hopefully kept the spirit of what was being said without strictly duplicating it. I will stick to the timeline and established plot but I have chosen to change a few minor details (like clothing choices…some fashion victims need saving). Oh, and there doesn’t seem to be a consensus on Walker’s rank, so I made him a lieutenant. Thanks to Nausicaa for letting me use her name. Hopefully the next update won’t take so long, but if it does…DON’T SHOOT!!!! I promise it will be worth the wait! Thank you to everyone for reviewing the last chapters and for being patient with me while I worked on this installment. You guys are great!

Episode Reference: Set before, during and just after episodes 1-3.

Chapter 11

Convergence

~Corsica Base~

            Lieutenant Elliot Walker strolled along the perimeter of OZ’s Corsica base, taking a much-needed break from recent activities. As he looked around, he found himself wondering how this garbage heap could be converted into a mobile suit manufacturing plant. The base had only been resurrected a few weeks earlier, at the command of His Excellency, and the work involved in refurbishing the equipment and dilapidated buildings was proving more difficult than expected. Fully half of the equipment left at the base had to be replaced, most of the buildings would require major repairs before deemed habitable and the sub-level hydraulic lifts weren’t working, necessitating the use of the emergency ladders just to see what was down there.

            Eight teams of ten soldiers each were sent into different areas of the sub-levels to report on the condition of any remaining equipment. Thankfully, Walker didn’t mind exploring dark places and the discovery of several tons of tools and equipment still in working order made the otherwise tedious chore worthwhile. If the other teams were as successful as his, then they had a chance to meet the deadline. Maybe even in time for Lieutenant Zechs Merquise’s scheduled tour in two months.

            “Lieutenant Walker!”

Walker turned to find Lieutenant Olivia Spenser Scott, more commonly known as Scottie, rushing towards him. “Hey, Scottie,” Walker greeted as his seventeen-year-old comrade skidded to a stop. Walker grinned and noted how the sprint had tousled the short red curls that floated about her head, adding to her already disheveled appearance. Scottie was a rather high-strung girl to begin with, but when excited, she could be positively hyperactive. No one who saw the young lieutenant in her present state would ever have guessed she was the granddaughter of a prince. Scottie leaned forward, hands on knees for support, and tried to speak between gasps.

“You’ll…never…guess…” she panted, gulping in air.

“I’ll never guess what?”

Walker laughed at the breathless girl’s failed attempts to relate her news with gestures. She finally gave up and grabbed Walker’s hand pulling him along as they raced back towards one of the old storage warehouses.  “Jus…c’mon, Elliot…” Walker followed obediently, glancing around to make certain no one overheard the use of his hated first name. Most of his friends called him Walker. Scottie was the only one brave enough—and cute enough—to get away with using his first name and even then only when they were alone.

            Hand in hand, the pair sprinted across the base to the far west end, much the same way they had in their academy days. They first met as second years. Both seemed perpetually five minutes late for everything and often found themselves running side by side to the same classes. Eventually, they found time to learn each other’s names and were soon fast friends. They had many of the same interests, both majoring in engineering before Walker was accepted into the pilot program, and also shared the same devotion to OZ. At five feet ten each, they even stood the same height, though Walker had high hopes of one last growth spurt to push him over the six foot mark.

            The couple finally arrived at their destination, both breathless now as they scurried into the large sheet metal building. A few feet past the scaffolds and Walker could see exactly what had Scottie so excited. He froze in his tracks, clutching his friend’s hand and gaping at the sight. Lieutenant Scott eventually tugged him forward and gestured upwards.

“Now how cool is that, I ask you?”

“Whoa…” Any small scrap of cool Walker still possessed after his wild trek across the compound evaporated when he looked up at the massive machine. It was still partially covered by the protective tarp that had obscured it for twenty years, but Walker could see enough.

“Told you.”

“It’s huge,” Walker breathed in shock, “I…it… it’s huge! This has to be the biggest mobile suit I’ve ever seen!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Specials headquarters, mobile suit division, L2 cluster~

Zechs Merquise awoke with a start and grimaced at the coppery aftertaste in his mouth. Blood. After all of the time that has passed since he was forced to witness his father’s murder, he could still taste the blood in his mouth. The shaken young man took a moment to catch his breath and reorient himself, then angrily threw the sweat soaked sheets off of his tensed body and made way to the bathroom. As the famed Lightning Count of OZ splashed some water on his face, he cursed the damned relentless dreams. The dreams that marred his childhood and tortured his nights. As he grew and the memory of his home country’s downfall began to fade into misty memory, Zechs had thought that the nightmares would lessen and vanish. If anything they had grown worse over the years. Every battle he fought brought back that day with horrifying clarity. Almost thirteen years. He was less than three months from his nineteenth birthday and still the dreams plagued him.

There had been periods in his life when the dreams could be held at bay, the monsters could be contained, but those times were few and far between, usually dependant on a person he had not seen in almost a year. Zechs leaned over the sink and splashed a few more handfuls of water onto his face, washing away the sweat and lingering ill ease. He grabbed a towel off the rack and leaned against the ornately tiled wall of his spacious bathroom. Luxury of rank, perks of being a member of the elite Specials. He had only had this command for ten months, but his quarters were as plush as any ranking officer’s suite on the colony.  Not that he had the chance to enjoy the extravagance of his apartment. His time was generally spent on maneuvers. If he wasn’t leading his men into battle he was supervising drills and war games, always keeping his troops razor sharp and on alert. Truth told, Zechs preferred the cramped darkness of his mobile suit to the colorful opalescence of his quarters.

Zechs walked out into his living area and made his way to the small, but well stocked, liquor cabinet. He bent down over the cabinet and rummaged the contents, bypassing the hard stuff in favor of a mild wine he kept on hand when he was forced to entertain fellow officers. The young man stood swirling the rich red liquid in the delicate goblet and stared out at the night sky. Not a real sky. The illusion of a starlit nightscape was in actuality the lights of the other side of the colony peeking through the artificially produced clouds obscuring his line of vision. The pinpoints of light weren’t stars, simply streetlamps, car lights, porch lights. It was a charming scene, but it could not compare to the exquisitely peaceful view of space. Real stars were alive, he was told once, alive with the wishes and hopes of generations. One can’t make a wish on streetlamp.

Zechs took a breath and allowed himself the rare privilege of thinking of the person who made that comment so long ago. He had successfully moved on, finally putting aside his childish need for that certain young woman’s support and approval. Zechs regained the cold hatred that drove him to seek retribution and avenge his family. He cultivated the cool, calculating side of his nature and honed himself into a strong leader, capable of sending any of number of soldiers to their deaths in order to accomplish the mission. He prepared himself daily for the eventuality of his own death and accepted that achieving his goals might very well mean the end of everything his father held dear. He played the part of the sophisticated young nobleman to the hilt, earning him the adoration of Romefellar and the jealous contempt of the Alliance command. Lieutenant Merquise spent ten months in this pursuit and succeeded with alarming ease.

Yet with all Zechs had accomplished, there was still that small part of him that kept that young woman’s memory alive, the tiny part of his brain that wondered where she was and how she fared. He had heard of her fall from grace and sudden career switch. The details were of course not bandied about, but he could assume all the same. She had refused to give herself up. Refused to do what he himself did so willingly. Lieutenant Lucretzia Noin had refused to become a monster and had paid the price. Exiled now to Lake Victoria, languishing in a teaching position when her rightful place was in the cockpit of a mobile suit, yet Noin still remained in OZ. That had surprised him. Zechs had been certain that once Noin was rotated out of the battle division, her resignation would be forthcoming. It never happened, though, and Zechs could not help but wonder why. True, Noin was most likely involved in the base operations as well as the school, but still. It wasn’t like her to…

Zechs stopped himself mid-thought. How the hell would he know what was and wasn’t like Lucretzia Noin? He had not spoken to her in almost a year. He left her with an argument and a kiss. No explanations or apologies for what would come next, flattering himself that none were necessary. He was a changed person ten months later. How could he assume she wasn’t? Noin had her own life now, completely separate from him and it was as it should be. He had to be single minded in his purpose, but he didn’t want that for her. Zechs finished off his wine and headed back to the bathroom for a shower. It was four o’clock in the morning. Might as well get to work.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~OZ safe house, somewhere near the Russian border~

            “Are you certain? This is much sooner than we planned.”

            “Yes, but I’m afraid Dekim has forced our hand. If we don’t proceed now, he will.”

            The Commander pondered this for a few seconds, staring at the flickering image of his colony contact on L1, an elderly man with mechanical eyes and a prosthetic arm. The Commander sat in a darkened room in an OZ post, secreted away from his fellow Romefellar members. He sat hunched over a rigged comlink, hardwired into the communications relay. Most of their conversations took place in similar rooms, always with an eye on the time for fear the piggybacked transmission would run a second too long and be detected. Twenty years of careful planning was about to come to fruition, but it was too soon, in his opinion, and that would materially damage the mission’s chance for success. The doctor was correct, however. If they did not take action, Dekim Barton and his loathsome brother would proceed as planned…at the cost of millions more lives.

            “Very well. I’ll send the target information as soon as possible…just remember what we agreed.”

            “Lake Victoria is not to be targeted. Yes, I know,” the old man croaked, a note of exasperation in his voice. “Although I’m still not satisfied as to your reasons, Commander.”

            “You don’t have to be satisfied, doctor, you just have to agree.” The Commander leaned forward, speaking with uncharacteristic menace. “Because if you don’t, I will not hesitate to bring this whole operation toppling down.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Specials headquarters, mobile suit division, L2 cluster~

            Zechs Merquise sat in the open cockpit of his Leo, the mobile suit design used in surface battle, and stared down at a knot of Specials officers. He had been making minor adjustments to his suit’s controls, nothing significant, just a few modifications that would aid in his reaction time. The young pilot happened to glance out and spied another lieutenant loading ammunition onto the Aries across the catwalk. Zechs narrowed his eyes and focused all of his attention on that dark haired officer. Lieutenant Otto Weir was the man’s name and by all accounts he was a fine, upstanding member of the Specials. Lieutenant Merquise’s own observations revealed an efficient and highly capable soldier. Otto followed orders, offered correct opinions and useful suggestions. Despite it all, Zechs didn’t trust the older man one bit, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason for his apprehension.

            The first day he met Otto, Zechs requested the man’s service record and personnel file. Age: twenty-eight. Service: Alliance, four years; Specials, twelve years. Service, promotions, commendations. Everything was in order. Not perfect, but in order. Otto had been in the Alliance regulars until recruited by the Specials. Not unusual. His disciplinary record was less than shining. That turned out to be in his favor. Around the age 16 or so, Otto suddenly became something of a discipline problem, talking back to superiors as well as getting drunk and fighting. Typically this was exactly the type of behavior Specials recruiters looked for. Unhappy, disillusioned with the brutality of the Alliance. Otto seemed the perfect candidate for the Specials, but something about the man disturbed Zechs deeply and now, staring down from his exalted position, he suddenly knew why.

            As Otto oversaw the ammunition being loaded into the Aries, a young soldier accidentally elbowed the lieutenant in the ribs, causing Otto to double over for a moment. In a flash, Zechs knew what disturbed him about the lieutenant. Unconsciously he gripped the controls as an unwelcome memory invaded his thoughts. Almost thirteen years ago. His sixth birthday…

*

“Some of your people made it out that way.”

The soldier pointed towards the thick brush just beyond the garden. Milli looked back up. The soldier was still pale from retching. He was shaking, tears in his eyes, his nose running…he looked frightened. Milli never expected to see monsters who could be frightened. Feeling a tug on his hand, the young prince redirected his gaze to the wide-eyed toddler by his side. Without further thought, Milli led Relena into the woods towards freedom…

*

            Otto. The Alliance soldier. He was the young soldier who allowed Milliardo to escape with Relena. The lieutenant felt his stomach tighten and churn as new possibilities tumbled through his mind, each more dangerous than the last. The idea that Otto was a spy for the Alliance was not a new one, but there were other, more disturbing possibilities. One being his eventual discovery or that he had indeed already been recognized as the deposed prince of a dead kingdom. Zechs readjusted his mask, grateful once again for the anonymity it afforded him. The former prince leaned back further into the darkness of his mobile suit, mind working wildly. Coincidence? One hell of a coincidence, if that was the case. Besides, he did not believe in coincidence. Zechs abruptly leapt out of his Leo and walked up to speak with Lieutenant Otto. It wasn’t a particularly animated conversation. Those around likely only saw two officers commenting on the specifications of the Aries verses Leo. Otto himself was completely oblivious to what was actually taking place, or seemed to be. Zechs couldn’t be certain and that disturbed him. He excused himself mildly and left, making a beeline for his office.

            He grabbed Otto’s file from its semi-permanent resting place in his top drawer and poured back over the information for what seemed like the hundredth time. Nothing. Still nothing to lead Zechs to believe that Ottto was anything more than a disillusioned Alliance soldier turned born again OZ officer. Was his uneasiness simply a replay of the old childhood fears born out of the holocaust he was forced to witness? Or were his soldiers instincts warning him of danger? Zechs balled his hands into fists, gritting his teeth to quell the rising need to throw something. He couldn’t tell. He needed another opinion. Zechs reached over and tapped the comlink to the outer office and summoned his assistant.

At his command, in bound a perky blonde officer wearing the familiar green uniform of the Specials. She stood at attention and executed a firm salute, waiting for further instructions. Zechs returned the gesture and waved the young woman into an at ease posture. Officer Nausicaa Van Deuzen was one of those naturally enthusiastic people who made even the most formal gesture seem casual and friendly. Over the past six months that the sixteen-year-old Academy graduate had served as personal assistant to the Lightning Count, Zechs had come to appreciate the girl’s eagerness. She was a talkative person, quick to express her opinions, but also very observant and possessing an uncanny knack for getting people to talk to her about their lives. She joked that five minutes was all she needed to find out anything about anyone and her ‘victim’ would never know the difference. It was a skill that Zechs had come to rely on over the past few months and intended to make use of now.

“You wanted to see me sir?”

“Yes, Officer Van Deuzen, I have a favor to ask.”

“Shoot, sir.”

“Understand, officer, this is a request. If you chose to refuse, it won’t be a problem.”

“Well, sir, if you’re asking, it must be important.”

Zechs handed over Otto’s file. “I need to find out about this man. I need to know what can’t be found in his service records.”

Nausicaa perused the file, lingering over the photograph clipped to the front page and arching an eyebrow. “He’s not bad…not bad at all…” She looked up, grinning mischievously, “Permission to flirt with him sir?”

“He is a little too old for you, Van Deuzen. I think the little sister routine should suffice.”

The younger officer looked a bit disappointed by this, but agreed. “Oh all right. I’ll ambush him in the mess hall at lunch.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“This suit is going to kick ass,” Walker mumbled to himself as he completed the computer hookups. “Navigational programs are go,” he shouted to his partner, Olivia Scott, as he jumped down. Landing on the catwalk with a loud clang. Seeing his companion eating, he trotted over. “A-ha! Food.” Walker grabbed Scottie’s hand and took an impossibly large bite of the sandwich she held, mumbling his approval through bulging cheeks. Scottie looked from her half-gone lunch to her friend chewing happily.

“Uh…thanks for leaving my fingers, Walker.”

“Uhm hngry,” was the muffled reply, punctuated by an innocent shrug.

“It’s a good thing I like you, Elliot or sometimes I could really just…” The girl waved a fist menacingly as she took a more delicate bite.

They shared the rest of the sandwich as well as a can of soda Scottie pulled from her tool box and sat staring up at the massive mobile suit. It was twice as large as any other mobile suit either officer had ever worked on, yet the old system codes indicated this model was at least twenty years old. They agreed that the machine was a prototype and speculated that it had never been powered up. Half of the computer programs had never been installed and there was no indication that the navigational relays were ever brought online. It was pristine, inside and out, thanks to the diligence of Walker and his partner. Another few weeks and the suit would be battle ready. Hopefully they could finish by the time Lieutenant Merquise arrived to tour the Corsica base.

“I can’t wait to show this to Lieutenant Zechs.”

Scottie leaned forward, kicking her feet over the edge of the scaffolding. “He means a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” Walker nodded, speaking in between chews and swallows. “He helped me whenever I asked. Fencing, homework, hand-to-hand…what ever. I would have washed out my first year at Lake Victoria if it hadn’t been for Lieutenant Zechs.”

Scottie smiled softly, tilting her head to peer at her friend. “Then I guess we both owe him our thanks.”

Walker, still trying to process his mouthful of food, smiled as best he could and hoped he wasn’t blushing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Specials headquarters, mobile suit division, L2 cluster~

            Lunch was quite an experience. Zechs hovered just outside the door to watch as his assistant ambushed her target. Zechs rarely took his meals in the mess hall for the simple reason that it reminded him too much of Lake Victoria’s cafeteria, more specifically the food. Instead, he preferred to eat at his desk while shuffling the obligatory paperwork or to have a sandwich in the mobile suit hanger while running diagnostics, but that day he couldn’t resist the chance to see Officer Nausicaa in action. He watched as she subtly struck up a conversation with Otto, managing to wrangle an invitation to join him for lunch. A few moments and a few expertly timed hair tosses later, and the pair were laughing and talking like old friends. Zechs shook his head in amusement. Otto didn’t stand a chance.

            Zechs looked on for a little while longer then retired to his office to wait for Nausicaa’s report. On his desk he found a new memo indicating that Otto had been assigned to Zechs’ transport for the trip back to Earth. With the memo was the official transfer document awaiting his signature. He shook his head. Yet another coincidence to worry over. An hour later his assistant returned with a look of triumph on her face.

“Well?”

Officer Van Deuzen shrugged, “He seems legit sir. He almost deserted before a Specials officer tagged him for the mobile suit division.”

“What prompted him to desert?”

“He didn’t want to talk about specifics, but I got the idea that he saw something pretty horrible when he was with the Alliance regulars.”

“You couldn’t get specifics.”

“I’m as shocked as you are sir. Usually guys as easy going as Otto open right up, but he was really uncomfortable with the idea of talking about what happened…I haven’t had this much trouble getting information out of a guy since…well, you lieutenant.”

Zechs simply looked at the bubbly young officer, causing her to smile a little and shrug in apology. 

“I, uh, didn’t mean anything by that sir.”

            “That’s all right. Continue.”

“If you want my personal opinion sir?” Zechs nodded. “He’s okay. Whatever happened was pretty bad, yes, but he’s loyal to His Excellency for different reasons.”

“True believer, not just revenge.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zechs let out a slow breath and looked down at the transfer order. Maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, for Otto to recognize him, he would have to see Zechs without the mask and that was highly unlikely. The mask did not leave the lieutenant’s head unless he was about to step into the shower. No one had seen him without that mask since he left Earth, not even His Excellency. He signed the document with a quick flourish and handed it over to Van Duezen before he had the chance to talk himself back into a state of suspicion. He would give Lieutenant Otto Weir a chance, but only one. Any hint of duplicity on Otto’s part and Zechs would personally see to it the man ceased to exist. If Otto ever recognized Zechs as the little boy he allowed to escape all those years ago, then he would remember the little girl who had accompanied the small boy and that put Relena at risk. Zechs wouldn’t risk that. He couldn’t. But for now…

“Inform Lieutenant Otto of his current status and give him our departure information.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the young officer left, Zechs sat back in his chair and stared out the window, allowing his thoughts to turn to Earth. So different from the artificial and controlled lifestyle of the colonies. Even the weather was controlled. It could only rain when the program called for it. No threats from nature, no beautifully unexpected spring showers. No serene darkness of a midnight sky. Noin had been right. Space was quiet and calm. Despite the skirmishes he fought and the rebellions he violently put down, space was still peaceful. The airless vacuum absorbed the noise of battle and extinguished the fire of destruction, leaving nothing but silence. But Earth…Earth was brutal, chaotic, overcrowded and underfed. It was home. No matter where he went or how long he was away, Earth would always be his home. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Romefellar headquarters, Saint Petersburg, Russia~

The Commander once again sat in front of a communications link, this time not hidden in the shadows of some dank basement, but in his office at the Romefellar Foundation’s main office building. His communiqué would not be restricted by the need for secrecy, nor would it be made with cryptic references, but in many ways, this call was much more difficult. Mainly due to the person on the receiving end of his call.

“Greta, please.” He sighed, trying not to loose his temper in front of the elderly woman on the screen. “I called to speak to…”

“You disappear for three months, not a word, not even a note to say you are all right and you expect me just to let you talk to my granddaughter as though nothing is wrong.”

“She may be your granddaughter, but she is my daughter and I want to speak to her, now.”

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me,” Greta snapped, “I think you have disrupted the girl’s life quite enough! I wish to God her mother was alive…”

“So do I, Greta,” The Commander interrupted wearily. “I wish that with all my heart.”

The older woman’s face softened visibly. Whether it was the quiet sincerity in the Commander’s voice or simply the old woman’s sentimentality, Greta seemed to relent and called back over her shoulder for her granddaughter.

“What is it Gram?”

The Commander smiled unconsciously at the lilting sound of his daughter’s voice and waited patiently for the girl to come to the comlink. Finally, the image of a petite teenager appeared before him. His child. The surprise of his life, born fifteen years ago that day. He had not expected such a blessing so late in his life and had been reluctant to accept the idea given his past, but all it took was one look into those big blue eyes for the Commander to see what a blessing that baby girl really was. When his daughter was born, the Commander had hoped she would grow up to look like her mother, but aside from Astrid’s round eyes, the girl turned out to be the spitting image of her father. Rather, she was the spitting image of how the Commander looked twenty years ago, before he met Astrid, before all of the surgeries, before hate and revenge turned him from a pacifist into a double agent. Or was that a triple agent? It was so hard to keep score anymore.

“Hi sweetheart.”

“Hey Dad.”

After a few awkward questions, the pair eventually eased into a warmer conversation. The Commander listened with interest as his daughter spoke to him of school, her friends, complained of her grandmother’s rigidity when it came to the question of dating and all of the generally normal things parents discussed with their children. Only the Commander and his daughter were far from a normal parent and child.

“Sweetie, I…”

“Let me guess, Dad,” the girl interrupted with some annoyance, “you’re going away for a while and I might not hear from you for a long time.”

“I’m sorry, but this is important.”

“It’s always important.”

The Commander refrained from making a comment. She had a right to be angry, but this was not the time and he certainly couldn’t explain to her that what he did today would ensure her safe future. Not that she was inclined to believe him at such a late date. Her childhood had been filled with lies and absences. One day, when everything was finished, she would understand. At least that was what he told himself every night.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

The girl glanced away briefly, then looked back, catching the Commander’s eyes with her own. She ventured a smile. “I know Daddy. I know.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Personal mobile suit carrier of Zechs Merquise, entering Earth’s atmosphere~

            “Lieutenant Zechs, a report just came in from Le Grange point AX regarding some space debris in the atmosphere.”

Zechs glanced at the printout and scowled, “The crews on the observation satellite must be blind...or stupid. This isn’t debris from a deteriorating space station. These objects are following a defined trajectory.”

“You mean…”

“Yes. Operation M has begun…rebel groups among the colonies have finally decided to act against the Alliance’s imposition of martial law.” Lieutenant Merquise studied the report for a moment, amused by stupidity of his counterparts at Le Grange point. They thought they were sending the great Lightning Count on a garbage run. If they knew what was truly happening, he would have been the last called, simply out of spite for his fame. No Alliance officer would have willingly given the ambitious officer a chance to further bolster his reputation by discovering Operation M.  Turning back to his flight crew, Zechs asked, “How many of the objects can we reach?”

“Just one…headed for Eastern Eurasia.”

“I suppose that will have to do for now…set course to intercept.”

“Approaching target, sir.” Otto switched on the cabin monitor.

“Just as I thought,” Zechs said, mostly to himself, “So…this is their new battle-seed, all ready to sprout a new war. There’s a commercial shuttle in front of it, though. He will be forced to slow down. Track its progress.”

“Aren’t you worried it will shoot the shuttle down?”

“The pilot knows we are here and I doubt he would shoot it down right in front of us. It would attract too much unwanted attention. This is supposed to be a secret mission, after all.”

“He’s entered the atmosphere.”

“Follow him.”

Otto made the necessary adjustments to the ship’s course and carefully monitored the hull’s exterior temperature. Changing course once a ship entered Earth’s atmosphere was a risky task. The smallest mistake and the ship could suffer major damage.

 “Sir! The fighter has changed its course!”

Changed course? Zechs frowned. The man was going to get himself killed. “That's suicidal.”

“Perhaps he is trying to burn himself up to conceal his mission.”

“Possibly.”

“But the object is accelerating,” Otto interjected, taking a quick reading, “I think it's trying to get away from us.”

“Impossible,” scoffed his young co-pilot, “No spacecraft could endure the heat of re-entry at that speed.”
            “Yes, it could,” Zechs corrected. Remembering the recent reports he had received about the new gundanium alloys being smuggled around the colonies, he added, “It looks like our enemy possesses some advanced technology.”

Even as they spoke, the enemy craft shed its re-entry capsule and emerged. To the surprise of everyone in the OZ transport, what appeared to be a smuggler’s ship was in fact a new fighter design. Zechs quickly ordered a full sensor scan to determine the fighter’s capabilities.

“So this is the secret weapon of the colonies,” Otto commented as he studied the readout. “It looks like a bird.” He sounded a bit awed. Zechs could hardly blame the man for his attitude. The ship was brilliantly designed. The moment the outer hull was sloughed off, the fighter disappeared from radar. If not for the fact that his ship was within range to maintain visual contact, the pilot would have slipped away undetected.
            “We're reaching aerodynamic cruising altitude. We can attack the fighter now.”  

Otto nodded to his younger co-pilot, “Fire a warning shot.”
            Zechs stood and leaned over the pilot’s seat to countermand the order. “No, it won't listen to any warnings. Just shoot it down.”

“Lieutenant Zechs?”

            “At first I thought this ship was smuggling a weapon onto earth but now we know it to be the secret weapon itself. We can’t allow that pilot to escape.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Otto quickly reoriented the firing range and prepared to shoot, aiming for what he believed to be the weakest points on the fighter. In the space of a few seconds, the fighter spun around, accelerating as it rocketed towards the OZ craft.  By the time Otto acknowledged the change in direction, Zechs was at the door to the cockpit, heading for the mobile suit launch bay. 

“Lt. Zechs, the enemy fighter reversed its course and is coming this way!

“Otto, standby to open the cargo bay doors. I’m taking my Leo out to meet the enemy.”

“Yes sir. I’ll have two Aries prepared to back you up.”

The younger co-pilot seemed unnerved by Zechs’ choice of weapons. “Sir? If you are going to destroy that fighter with a mobile suit, isn't Aries more suitable than Leo? Aries is much faster and it is made for air battle. The Leo is a land suit.”

“My Leo is fast enough. Besides, I should pay some respect to our brave enemy.” Noticing the puzzled expression on the younger soldier’s face, Zechs explained. “The Leo is much more maneuverable and is better armed. If I’m going to fight, I should give it my all, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir!”
            Two minutes later, Zechs was strapped in and ready to go. As the cargo bay doors slid open, Zechs could feel the familiar rush of adrenaline, the almost painful prick of his fighter’s instincts as his body and mind went to full alert.

“Lieutenant Zechs, as soon as the Aries' are ready, we'll dispatch them to join you.”

“Roger.”

With that, Zechs released the grappling hooks and sent his Leo on a controlled freefall into through the upper atmosphere. Out of nowhere, the enemy fighter streaked overhead. It took Zechs only a moment to respond, his well-honed fighting reflexes kicking in immediately. The Leo was designed for land battle, its systems designed to provide powerful bursts of speed and maneuverability. In its present situation, falling through the atmosphere at top speed, some of the power was lost, but Zechs compensated with expert maneuvering techniques. He spun the suit just as the enemy fighter sped overhead and mentally followed the craft’s path, firing even before he regained visual contact. A burst of fire and smoke told the lieutenant that his shot hit its mark. The fighter veered sharply and dropped towards Earth.

“That was great shot, Lieutenant Zechs.”

Zechs didn’t bother to acknowledge the congratulations from his men as they joined him in their Aries air battle suits. He was too preoccupied with disappointment and apprehension. The battle was over far too quickly for his liking. One shot and it was all over? Perhaps the enemy was not as strong as Zechs initially gave him credit for. His soldier’s instincts told him otherwise. “No. That can’t be all. That was too easy.”

“Sir, should we take you in, or should we chase that fighter in our Aries?”

“Let it go down. We'll investigate on the ground. It'll be a great opportunity for us to learn more of Operation M.”

“Sir,” Otto’s voice broke in from the transport, “Don't you think that pilot will blow himself up?

“After coming so close to his objective? No. I don’t think so. At least, not yet…what the hell?” 

Zechs and his two Aries pilots looked on in stunned wonder as the seemingly disabled fighter plane suddenly began to transform. Its wings rotated backwards as the cockpit slid down into what became the torso of an impossibly large mobile suit. The transformation took only a scant few moments and suddenly the enemy was speeding back towards the trio of Specials suits and the carrier. Otto was the first to break the stunned silence.
            “Lieutenant Zechs, do you know what type of Mobile Suit that is?”

“No...” Zechs responded absently. Obviously this wasn’t simply stolen OZ or Alliance technology. This was a unique design, well armored and more maneuverable than any suit currently in the Alliance arsenal. His mind reeled with the possibility. With a few quick adjustments, he had his suit repositioned and awaited a second attack from the new suit. Part of him was gratified by the unexpected turn of events. It would seem his enemy was worthy after all. 

“Lieutenant Zechs. The Alliance commander at Tokyo Bay is asking about our delay. They want to know if they should send an escort.”

“Damn…” Zechs muttered. The last thing he wanted was a group of Alliance pilots with chips on their shoulders escorting him to base.

“Sir, let us take care of it.”

Zechs cringed at the young Aries pilot’s suggestion, wanting nothing more than to test the endurance of the enemy suit himself, but there was no time. He had a shipfull of mobile suits in his keeping and risking those to satisfy his own curiosity was too reckless, so he agreed, “Do it. Otto, contact the base and inform them we will be arriving within the hour and prepare for boarding.” He powered down and released the Leo’s parachutes. Watching with interest as the other two suits moved to intercept the Gundam.

As Zechs’ suit slowed, he fired the navigational thrusters to maneuver himself towards the carrier. He was disappointed, to say the least, in being forced to leave the new suit to his underlings, but such was the burden of command. After  all…

The lieutenant’s line of thought was violently interrupted by the sudden destruction of the two Aries. Both completely destroyed by one shot from the enemy suit. The pilots in question were far from the best, but well trained and experienced all the same. Having destroyed those two obstacles so quickly, the enemy was certain to turn his attention to the carrier. Zechs immediately released the parachute and advanced to meet the new suit half way. His dobergun no longer of use, the lieutenant instead pulled the beam saber and brought it down in a swift stroke. As quick as he was, it was not quick enough as the enemy mobile suit caught the Leo’s arm. Zech seized the opportunity to position his suit over the enemy, locking both suits in a death struggle reminiscent of the ancient gladiators of Rome. He set the control mechanisms to hold, successfully preventing the enemy suit from being able to wrench free. With the added weight of the Leo bearing down upon it, the enemy was helpless to use it’s flight capability. Both suits now continued a freefall through the atmosphere, plummeting towards the ocean thousands of miles below.

            Zechs made a quick call to Otto to relay his plan, strapped on his parachute and ejected.  It was a huge chance, he knew, but there was little choice. Otto would try his best to track Zechs’ descent and hopefully pinpoint where his superior entered the ocean. If he was lucky, there would be some sort of vessel nearby that could pluck him from the sea.  A fifteen minute drift and Zechs finally plunged into the rough waves, struggling with the straps and cables of his chute before breaking the surface. He gasped for air, flowing platinum hair wrapping about his body in wet ropes that hindered movement. The red wool uniform coat, so admired by the fashion conscious Romefellar elite, now added weight to his struggle. Polished patent knee-boots that lent such an air of cavalier charm, now threatened to fill with water and drag him back into the murky depths. Even his mask, which had miraculously stayed put throughout his fall, now obscured his vision with tiny rivers of water meandering across the eye lenses. Well, this wasn’t going to be any fun at all. The OZ lieutenant prepared himself for a long evening of treading water, but to his great relief was rescued by a Japanese fishing vessel only three hours later. Immediately upon reaching port, Zechs made his way to the local authorities to call Otto, who, as it turned out, had managed to locate and contact the fishing boat to request their assistance.

“Lieutenant Zechs, are you all right? That was a dangerous maneuver.”

“I’m fine. I did what I had to. How soon can you pick me up?”

“ETA, fifteen minutes sir. They have a very small airstrip west of the port.”

“I’ll have one of the officers here drive me there. Did you deliver the suits?”

“As you ordered sir. I refueled and took off again just before you called.”

“Good work, Otto.” Zechs nodded at the older man in appreciation. The day had certainly been one of trials and Otto had met every one calmly and with professionalism. Zechs was beginning to become impressed with the officer. Otto was turning out to be something of an asset to the young count. He could respect the man if not fully trust him just yet.

“Sir, I have been analyzing the data from the skirmish. Considering the strength of the outer armor, that suit has to be made of Gundanium alloy.”

“Then it is one of the new rebel weapons. We should try to salvage it as soon as possible.”

“Don’t you think the pilot could have escaped?”

“Even if the Mobile Suit survives the impact of hitting the water, the pilot inside could not.”

A faint beep from Otto’s comlink interrupted the conversation temporarily. The older lieutenant frowned then turned back to the screen. “Sir, an aircraft carrier from the Alliance Marine down there is asking us if it should go ahead and start searching for the downed Mobile Suit.”

Zechs smirked to himself, equally disgusted and amused by the thought of Alliance fleet commanders scrambling to see who could claim the prize first.  “Let them do as they wish. Tell them the treasure sunk around point J-A-P in East Asia.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zechs cut the communication and stood to find an officer willing to play chauffer for a few minutes. Word of the new suit spread more quickly than he would have liked. Not only through OZ, but to the Alliance as well. He would have liked the chance to retrieve the suit himself, perhaps tested it when repairs were made, but the Alliance would swarm the splash down site with all manner of surface vessels, each commanding officer vying to take credit for the squashed rebellion. They were like rabid dogs fighting over scraps. They no longer had any sense of decorum or finesse, if indeed they ever possessed any. They could not see beyond the day’s prize, that hour’s orders. The big picture was lost to them and it was this narrowness of vision that would be the death of the Alliance.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Royal Opera House, Brussels, Belgium, Earth~

“You lost three Mobile Suits?”

“Yes, Excellency.”

His Excellency, Treize Kushrenada watched his subordinate nervously flinch as he made his report. It wasn’t an obvious reaction. Only one well acquainted with Lieutenant Merquise would have picked up on the subtle movement. It was a difficult admission for the younger man to make. His Excellency knew that Zechs was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to battle and his miscalculation weighed upon him heavily. The young count’s status as Treize’s most trusted senior officer did nothing to ease his burdens. Indeed, many Alliance officers found fault with Lieutenant Merquise for this fact alone.  Still, knowing this did nothing to alleviate Treize’s disappointment in a poor performance.

“It’s not like you to be so careless. It will be quite an effort to pacify the Alliance big shots.”

“The enemy turned out to be a Mobile Suit made of Gundanium alloy.”

It was Treize’s turn to react, although with equal subtlety. To the casual observer, His Excellency looked no more perturbed than he ad a moment before, save the raised eyebrow, inching steadily towards his hairline.

“You’re joking.”

“It’s true. It transformed from a standard flight configuration into a mobile suit.”

“A rebel mobile suit made of gundanium…. Alliance surveillance is far from sufficient for something so advanced.”

“If it was actually built on a colony...”

“This could be a problem. I applaud the colonies’ efforts, but it could not be more ill timed. They endanger our own plans.” Treize leaned back into the velvet upholstery of his chair and rubbed his chin in contemplation. He sighed quietly. These problems were not of his making, but his responsibility nonetheless. Quite frankly, he was weary of dealing with the mistakes of his predecessors. “If you and I had been with OZ from the beginning I'm sure such a mess could never have happened.”

“The Alliance Marine is trying to recover the downed Mobile Suit.”

“I'll tell them we'll take care of it. I'll also send you a special under-sea unit with the new pieces and cancer suits. Take command of the submarine, but defer to the Alliance surface fleet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As you know, this is an important time for OZ. Be careful not to do anything to anger the Alliance.”

“Understood.”

Treize severed the connection and made a valiant attempt to return his attention to the fine performance taking place below.  It was an obscure opera, but his favorite. The plot was a simple one, love triumphing over hate, good over evil. Simplistic perhaps, but it was a welcome change to the increasing complexities of his own well plotted drama. He had planned for every eventuality, even the possibility of a full-scale rebellion in the colonies, but even Treize’s treacherous mind could not have predicted the existence of rebel mobile suits of such advanced design. Made of gundanium, no less. Possession of that rare material by anyone outside of the research division of the Alliance was a severe crime, considered treason. To be caught smuggling the precious metal meant instant death. The colonists had indeed been pushed beyond their limits. His Excellency knew that was bound to be the case at some point, but he admitted to being surprised at the timing.

            Unable to keep his mind on the performance any longer, the duke left the opera house and returned to his mansion.  He paid a cursory visit to his office, receiving a hasty update from his personal assistant and retired for the evening. Sleep was all but impossible, the new threat was a troublesome one, even more so than His Excellency would admit to his most trusted ally. Should Zechs’ effort to locate the new type mobile suit prove impossible, then the enemy would indeed have an advantage. The only suit that could compare to the specifications was the Epyon and that suit was determined to be at least twenty years old. If the creators of that abomination were still living and in possession of the proper resources, then there was no telling how many more of these new so-called Gundams would materialized in the coming months. The thought of a fleet of craft of Epyon’s capability sent a chill through his spine. Even Treize would not dream of such a devastating army.

The next morning, Treize sauntered into the elaborately appointed conference room with an air of confidence he did not feel. He just spent three hours pouring over the latest information on the new threat. The potential damage to his organization was devastating. Any trepidation he felt was kept carefully hidden from his superiors in Romefellar and more importantly, carefully hidden from the Alliance generals who seemed to perpetually bite at his heels.

“I'm sorry I'm late.

General Venty immediately spoke to the matter at hand. “Colonel Treize, is it true that one of your men lost three mobile suits when his freighter re-entered the atmosphere?”

“Yes, sir. Your point being?” Treize responded placidly, but with just enough arrogant bravado to annoy some of the token Alliance officers present. General Septem being the spokesman for the less tactful members of the group. “Idiot! You wasted three of our precious Mobile Suits for just one spy?!”

“Yes, General, but in the process we successfully prevented a full assault.”

Treize’s reasonable comment only served to anger Septum all the more. Which was exactly the reaction Treize was hoping for. Every moment of irrational anger, each time the insipid little man’s fist jarred the oak conference table only to be met by Treize’s serene logic, was another point in OZ’s favor. Let the man bark.

“I'm not talking about the results, boy! You’re wasting the military’s valuable combat resources.”

“Valuable resources?” His Excellency replied, his tone betraying none of the contempt and anger he felt.  “Excuse me, but do these 'resources' you're talking about include military personnel as well or do they simply refer to Mobile Suits?”

”Damn you! You dare ridicule me?”

General Venty evidently had enough of the conversation himself and chose to interrupt before things got out of hand. “Now, now...there’s nothing to be done about it. Colonel Treize, next time, be more careful.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, let's move to today’s agenda: How to prevent the colonies from forming an organized resistance.”

Treize only paid cursory attention to the ensuing speech. He knew very well how to prevent the colonies from forming a united front. One day the colonies would be consolidated under one leader, the very same leader destined to guide the Earth to a new Era of peace. Treize glanced around the huge table, his eyes pausing briefly on every Alliance officer. Each and every man had devoted his life to strengthening the Alliance and expanding its influence, but at the same time they were getting too complacent. Years of unchallenged domination had weakened their resolve. It was exactly what he had been waiting for his entire career. Just a little while longer, a few more months to prepare and the time would be right.

“The future will be determined by OZ,” Treize thought smugly, “It will be determined by me…”

When the meeting was finally adjourned Treize retreated to his shooting range. He dismissed the staff, preferring to load and tend his own weapons, and spent the next few hours firing at the red and white targets. Each plunk and ping sounding after a successful hit—and they were all successful hits—gave him another brief moment of satisfaction. This was the duke’s preferred mode of stress relief in times of doubt. Perfection in this was as satisfying to Treize as the execution of a perfect battle plan.

His Excellency’s collection of antique fire arms included weapons from the seventeenth century up to the beginning of the present era, but Treize preferred armaments from the nineteenth century. There was something infinitely more distinguished in a weapon from that time period. The hand crafted details, the elaborately engraved fittings. These were deadly weapons made for duels of honor, battles of principle, men of purpose.

            His Excellency selected a serviceable rifle used prior to the so-called Great War fought in the first decades of the twentieth century. The rifle was graceful in its simplicity, yet accurate and deadly. Treize admitted a particular distaste for the Great War. It marked a turning point in human history. Warfare changed in that conflict. No longer were battle fought in the old manner, man meeting man on the battlefield. Instead, chemicals were employed and new machines replaced the soldiers so intent on victory. This idea had progressed over the ensuing century, finally culminating in the theory that soldiers were not needed at all. There were stirrings already among the Romefellar engineers. They insisted their research into automated mobile suits would change the face of war for ever. They were correct, of course, but where they saw improvement, Treize saw a dangerous and sickening mistake. There could be little honor in battle fought from control rooms miles away from the devastation. Wars were fought and won by soldiers. To eliminate this most basic element was to eliminate the human face of such battles. No lesson could be learned by a machine, no mercy fostered, only destruction. Such a battle could have no other point.

            His Excellency’s solitary reverie was interrupted by a servant carrying a portable comlink. The duke had the communications device set up on his tea table and continued his shooting practice, only pausing enough to offer appropriate greetings to his most trusted subordinate, Lieutenant Zechs Merquise. Unfortunately, the pleasure Treize took in a call from his old friend was tainted by the new the younger man bore. Aggravated by the turn of events, Treize decided to take out his frustrations on the paper targets, pausing occasionally to reply to Zechs.

 “So, we have been forced into a stalemate?”
            A moment of static caused the image of Lieutenant Merquise to falter. He paused, waiting for the disruption to clear and continued. “There wasn’t much that could be done considering we still don’t have a clear understanding of their objectives. But if we must act, I suggest the Corsica base.”
            “Where all the Leo-types are now being built. It’s only a few weeks into full operation.”

            “Yes, which makes it the next logical place for an attack.”

            “Hm.” Treize nodded slightly, but maintained his position. He stood in perfect shooting stance, sighted through the rifle’s scope and waited patiently for the proper moment. The targets changed, rotated, moving more quickly with each passing moment, and yet the man remained perfectly still. Waiting.  “I'm sure the Alliance military is doing everything to find the enemy. But maybe it's time for us to give them some help.”

            “Sending the Middle East Aries Unit to the area is one option. However, considering the obvious difference in the Mobile Suit's performances, it will be difficult for us to operate with the Alliance Forces.”
            Treize glanced at the vidscreen and took note of the speed with which Zechs spoke, tossing out viable possibilities with a lively interest. The younger OZ officer continuously clenched and unclenched one hand as he spoke, now and then rubbing his chin as he thought over the situation. Zechs was excited over the prospect of fighting these Gundams. Treize couldn’t help but be pleased by his protégé’s reaction. It had been a very long time since he had seen his young friend express such interest. He did nothing to hide the smirk that developed on his fine features as he casually asked, “So, do you want to go?

            “Sir?”

            “It’s written all over your face, my friend.” Glancing back at the masked young man on the vid screen, Treize smiled and added, “So to speak.” As if on cue, a pheasant flew from behind the targets, attempting to escape the flurry of shots that had sent the creature into hiding, but His Excellency was too quick. Treize fired without warning, his bullet piercing the bird’s flesh precisely. He had been waiting for just that moment, carefully maintaining aim on the false targets while his true prey cowered behind. A careful ruse to achieve his goal. It was a philosophy he adhered to his entire life.

The world saw only what Treize Kushrenada wished to show, nothing more, nothing less. He was adored and respected. If they knew his true intent perhaps they too would cower out of sight, frightened. But few people truly understood him or why he laid out such a path for himself. There had been precious few people who ever understood Duke Treize and the most important were dead. Dead by the hands of the very people Treize pretended to serve. Ten years he had worked for this. Ten years of aiming at false targets, waiting for the precise moment in which to destroy the true enemy, and now it was all being threatened by five reckless rebels from the stars. That would simply not do.

“Shoot them down for me, Zechs.”

            “Yes, Excellency.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Personal transport of Zechs Merquise, airspace above salvage site, thirty miles east of the Japanese coast~

“Shoot them down for me, Zechs.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

Easier said than done. Zechs sat in his customary seat aboard his personal transport and considered all that had transpired in the past few hours. The search for the downed gundanium  suit, naturally, was usurped by the Alliance fleet, a certain Admiral Hansen in particular. Zechs had fought an uphill battle simply to be allowed to join the search with the Nike, OZ’s largest submarine. Simply by virtue of the fact that he was an officer of OZ, a trusted representative of His Excellency, the elder Alliance officer had rejected any overture of assistance from Lieutenant Merquise. Eventually Zechs had managed to cajole his way in, but the effort left him drained and irritated. Brown-nosing with Alliance officers was not an endeavor he aspired to and it invariably caused more frustration, but there was little choice if he was to see anything of the mysterious gundanium mobile suit.

In the end, it all came to nothing. Despite his repeated warnings and even the use of OZ’s newest underwater suits, Cancer and Pieces, the salvage operation failed. They had in fact found the suit, were on the verge of recovery when all hell broke loose. Zechs’ submarine was not within visual range of the operation and could only surmise what happened from the brief radio transmissions that were picked up before all communications suddenly ceased. Three destroyers, two smaller Alliance subs, the Cancer and the Pieces, all gone. From the massive amount of casualties, one would assume the fleet had encountered a swarm of enemy vessels, but the OZ craft’s superior radar detected only one large unidentified object. A second Gundam. Bad news in itself, but what he discovered in the next two hours created a permanent knot in the young man’s stomach.

Five. Five Gundams. So far every one else who had encountered a Gundam was dead or very nearly so. Only the quick thinking of several intelligence officers made the two images he held in his hand possible. All targets figured greatly in some aspect of mobile suit manufacture or transport. Dover, Maui, Morocco, Tokyo bay…space ports, manufacturing bases, transport vessels. They were out to cripple production of the Alliance’s most valuable weaponry. No one who laid eyes upon one of these enemy suits had lived, with the exception of Zechs and his flight crew. It seemed as though there were a jinx attached to those “Gundams.” As Zechs studied all available information on the four other suits, he caught a few snippets of the conversation between his pilot, Lieutenant Otto and co-pilot, Officer Palmer. The latter officer seemed frustrated by the fact that the transport was being forced into a holding pattern above another Alliance aircraft carrier sent to continue the search for the first Gundam. As Palmer’s annoyance increased, Zechs felt the need to cut in. He certainly didn’t need a high-strung pilot adding to his worries.

 “Don’t get so flustered, Palmer” he admonished, “That Gundam is not going anywhere. Here,” Zechs said as he offered the most recent surveillance photos to placate the young pilot, “what do you make of these?”

Palmer’s eyes grew wide as saucers, “More of them sir?”

“Five confirmed.”

At this Otto spoke up, “Only five sir? Surely there will be more.”

“Possibly, but five will be more than enough to keep us busy. Cancer and Pieces are both state-of-the-art Mobile Suits, and still they were no match for this second Gundam.”
“So you believe the first retrieval operation was definitely destroyed by another Gundam?”

“I don’t see any other reasonable explanation.”

“Do you think five are really so dangerous?
“I've lost a dozen trained men, these suits have individually destroyed five separate bases. The loss is too significant. The worst mistake we could make right now would be to underestimate these Gundams and their pilots.”

“Then, lieutenant, what should we do?

“We are going after every one of those Gundams and determine once and for all what their objectives truly are. Let the Alliance Navy take over the sea search. I doubt they’ll find anything. Set course for Corsica and arrange for a mid-air refueling.”
            “Yes, sir.”

            Throughout the flight, new information regarding the other Gundams was constantly coming in over the communications relay. The fourth of the remaining Gundams was spotted in China and seemed to be headed for a particular Alliance base located along the Yangtze River.

“This one moves as though he is aware of our observations.”

Zechs agreed. “Yes and it's moving slowly. It may be a type without flying capability.

“You believe they don’t all possess the same capabilities”

“I think each has its own unique characteristics. Cleaver really if you think about it. Even if we capture one, it won’t necessarily give us accurate information on the others. Hopefully we will encounter one at the Corsica Base but it won’t be this one. He seems to be heading straight to the Alliance’s doorstep. It's all right as long as it's still visible.”

“Then its next target will most likely be the Indus Supplement Base.”

“Let's hope they can hold their own. That's all we can do for now.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~The Corsica base~

“How’s it going, Scottie?”

“Almost…there. Done.”

“Great. If we keep on schedule, Tallgeese should be fully functional in another month.”

Scottie shook her head and snorted, “Tallgeese…I still don’t get where that name came from.”

Walker shrugged. “I don’t know…it just looks like it should be called Tallgeese…”

“You’re nothing if not articulate, Walker.”

“I would think you, of all people, would understand how a machine can speak to you, Scottie. I know you hate flying, but how can you work on this magnificent machine and not feel its soul?”

Scottie looked at Walker with a mixture of understanding and amusement, “Waxing a little too poetic, there, aren’t you buddy?”

Walker snorted and threw a rag in the general vicinity of his friend. “Oh never mind…I have to go get cleaned up anyway.”

“That’s right. When will Lieutenant Zechs arrive?”

“About thirty minutes.”

Seeing Walker’s change in mood, Scottie asked, “What’s going on? Did you meet with Captain Bonaparte about the new mobile suits Lieutenant Merquise told you about?”

“Yeah, we talked. I tried to reason with him about the potential threat. He insisted the lieutenant didn’t know what he was talking about and it kind of went down hill from there.”

“Meaning you called him an idiot again?”

“A fool actually.”

Scottie sighed, shaking her head. “One day he’s gonna haul off an toss you in the brig for insubordination, you know that don’t you?”

“Maybe,” Walker conceded, then grinned, “but not today. He’s too caught up in trying to snub Lieutenant Merquise.” Walker’s light mood suddenly darkened into anger. “Do you know he actually accused His Excellency and Lieutenant Merquise of treating this like a game? That they are stirring things up on purpose just to make themselves look better?”

Pausing to look up at the massive mobile suit he and Scottie had spent so much time repairing, Walker frowned. Bonaparte was a fool. The Gundams would target this base. They had a chance to defeat those monsters once and for all if the foolish man would just let go of his hatred for the aristocratic Specials officers long enough to see the plain truth. Whatever else happened, at least Lieutenant Zechs would be able to take Tallgeese. Suddenly realizing how messy the area was, he turned back to his comrade for another favor.

“Hey Scottie, can you…”

“I’ll have this finished and the area cleaned up by the time he arrives, don’t worry.” Scottie grinned and shooed Walker towards the door. “You just go get ready and try not to be too nervous.”

“Not be nervous? It’s Lieutenant Zechs!”

“Yes and you are Lieutenant Walker.” The young woman smiled more warmly and gave her friend an affectionate shove. “And Lieutenant Walker is a skilled soldier, an excellent engineer, and a great guy.”

Some of the tension seemed to seep away at her words. Scottie was always like that. Just when he thought he was so wound up he would snap at any moment, in stepped Olivia Scott with a witty remark, a kind word or a pretty smile. Today, he was favored with all three. “Thanks, Olivia.”

“You’re welcome, Elliot…now beat it.”

With a parting grin, Elliot Walker dashed off to his quarters, showered, changed and took off on his motorcycle to meet his mentor. When he arrived at the base’s perimeter, the young lieutenant was horrified to learn that Zechs was being denied entrance on Bonaparte’s orders. As furious as Walker was with the situation, embarrassment superceded his anger and he found himself profusely apologizing to the lieutenant rather than reaming the stupid Alliance guards. To Walker’s relief, Zechs did not seem offended by his bad treatment.

“Don't concern yourself with the captains’s behavior, Walker. I can hardly blame such a seasoned officer for holding someone like me in contempt.”

“I would think such a seasoned officer, as you say, would be capable of putting aside petty jealousies for the greater good.”

“I can assume then that he refuses to implement your security suggestions.”

“Yes sir, but I have ordered the Specials troops stationed here to be on full alert until further notice.”

“Good job, Walker. You’ve done quite well for yourself, I see.”

“I had a good example to live up to sir.”

“I lost my Leo in the first battle with one of these Gundams. Do you have a suit that I can use?”

“Yes, lieutenant…actually, I'd like you to see something first.”

            Walker ordered a car for Lieutenant Merquise and took the lead on his own motorcycle. The small convoy sped across the base to the far landing strips. Zechs was obviously curious, but refrained from asking any questions. Pleased with this show of trust, Walker guided the lieutenant through the maze of catwalks and half-repaired mobile suits until they reached Tallgeese.

“It's huge.” Lieutenant Merquise remarked, his deep voice colored with a hint of awe. Walker smiled, gratified that the lieutenant was as impressed with the suit as he had been. Walker gave the lieutenant a few moments to look the suit over in silence. While waiting, he spotted a very rumpled looking Scottie tiptoeing toward the door. He caught her eye and was about to call her over but the look on her face stopped him. In the next few moments a conversation took place between the two young officers, but not a word was spoken. Anyone who chanced to see them would have witnessed only a series of raised eyebrows, questioning head-tilts, and sternly narrowed eyes. Translated, the dialogue went something like this:

Walker raised a hand, (Scottie…)

Lieutenant Scott responded with a hasty wave down. (Shhh!!)

Walker shrugged in confusion and waved vaguely to Lieutenant Zechs, who mercifully had his back turned. (What? I just want to introduce you to…)

Scottie held her hands out in front of her dirty coveralls, gesturing harshly up and down. (I don’t want to meet him with grease all over me. I’ll meet him another time.)

Walker frowned and shook his head. (You look fine to me.)

Scottie grinned, flicked her hands at him and shook her head, then turned around and left. (Elliot, you’re sweet, but I’m a mess. I’ll meet him another time. Now shoo.)

Lieutenant Zechs turned back just as Lieutenant Scott slipped through the door and escaped further scrutiny. Walker shrugged again at his friend’s silliness and turned his attention back to Tallgeese.

“We believe it is the prototype for all mobile suits. It's larger than Leo in all dimensions, but still very similar. It does, however, posses extended flight capability and more sophisticated navigational systems. It's an old machine, but in many ways more advanced than anything currently in use. When you sent us the data on Gundam, it reminded me of this one, which the local engineers call a historical artifact.”

“You've been personally in charge of this, Walker?”

“I used to be an engineer myself. This machine is the only one having features comparable to those of the Gundam's. I don't know the details of how it was designed. The only thing I know is that, in order to strengthen the structural integrity, the Mobile Suit has to be this large. Engineers in the past decided that there was no need for a stronger body, so they came up with the current standard size of Mobile Suit. We’ve been calling it Tallgeese.”

Zechs nodded in apparent appreciation of the name. “If we can somehow complete this suit, do you think it can compete with Gundam?

“Yes, sir. I think this is the only suit in OZ’s arsenal that could compete with a Gundam.  Please, sir, take it with you. That fool Bonaparte won’t listen to reason.”

“Don’t think too badly of him, Walker. Old school soldiers such as Bonaparte aren’t prepared for this new era of fighting. Are you sure you wish to turn over the prototype?”

“If you don’t take it with you, the enemy will maintain the upperhand.”
            “I wish I could stay and join you in the fight, Walker.”

            “You told me once: Fight for the future soldier. That is my principal now. We will stay behind and fight. Once Tallgeese is finished you will have a weapon worthy of your skill.”

            “You are much braver than I am, Walker.”

The younger lieutenant felt a burst of pride at the praise but at the same time he couldn’t help feeling that Zechs would like nothing better than to take on all of the Gundams himself. One of the drawbacks of command, Walker assumed, was the distance from battle. As prudent as it was to ensure that the leader remained alive and fit to lead, it must be frustrating for a true soldier to sit by and watch as others fought.

“How many were you told to expect, Walker?”

“As you taught me, I'm always prepared for the maximum number of enemies. Our last report indicated that four Gundams had been sighted.”

“Correct. There will be at least four, but there is a fifth that is unaccounted for at present. That's all I know. Sorry, Walker.”

“Don't be, that's good enough. Lt. Zechs...thank you, sir…for everything.”

Zechs smiled and shook the younger man’s hand with genuine amity. “Good luck.”

Lieutenant Merquise excused himself and headed for his transport. Walker made his way to the mobile suit hanger and stared the flight check on his suit. The battle would come soon, he was certain, and regardless of the captain’s stupidity, the base would be ready. As Walker ran the list on his suit and prepared for the upcoming attack, he spied Olivia Scott crossing the tarmac. He smiled fondly as she approached, remembering how far they had come together. Together they had grown from uncertainty and shyness to grace and skill. From gawky, clumsy children into self-assured adults. Practically adults anyway. He was still hoping for that last two inch growth spurt.

“Scottie.” Walker set aside his clipboard and walked forward to meet his friend. “Checking up on me?”

“Of course,” Scottie teased, “don’t want you running out of gas now do we?”

They laughed half-heartedly at the lame joke and fell silent for a few moments before Scottie gathered enough courage to speak.

“So you really believe we’re next?”

“Yeah. Lieutenant Zechs confirmed as much before he left.”

The young woman nodded solemnly. “I was in my first skirmish right out of the Academy, so I learned the hard way that if you don’t say your goodbyes before a battle you might not get the chance.” Scottie took Walker’s hand, grasping it tightly between her own and whispered, “Goodbye, Elliot.”

Walker smiled reassuringly and decided to take her earlier statement to heart. If he didn’t show Olivia Scott how he felt while he had the chance, he might never have the opportunity. Walker leaned forward and kissed the girl gently but soundly, then pulled her into a firm embrace, whispering into her hair, “Goodbye, Olivia.” They remained in each other’s arms for several sweet moments before the commotion around them intruded.

“Be careful,” Lieutenant Scott ordered as she stepped back and saluted.

“You too, Lieutenant.”

Scottie turned on her heel and returned to her own post in the air traffic control tower. Walker ran all of the necessary checks, then spoke to his fellow Specials officers and waited for the threat to materialize. As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait that long. Without warning, the eastern section of the base complex erupted into flames punctuated by explosions and gunfire. Walker suited up and double-checked his readouts. It was time.

“Specials! Confirming enemy attack. Everyone, come with me!”
One junior officer seemed surprised by the order despite Walker’s earlier briefing. “But there's only one.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Walker barked as his suit started out, “One is enough.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Concealed hanger, south of Corsica Base~

“The transport is all set, lieutenant. Ready to go anytime.”

Zechs stood at the railing, gazing out over the chaos in the distance. They were far enough away that the sounds were muted, but the view was clear. Huge balls of fire erupted in waves around the base followed by thick columns of black smoke. Suit after suit fell to the wrath of the Gundam. It was the third suit, one that seemed incapable of flight, but better armed than any of the others. Machine guns, bazooka’s, beam saber…definitely over kill.

 “Any news on Bonaparte?

“He was reported to have escaped. Lt. Zechs, if you are considering joining the fight, I'll fight with you in the Leo.”

“No.”

“But lieutenant…”

“Stop it, Otto.” Zechs ordered harshly, turning away again he muttered, “You’re just making this more difficult.”

“Sir?”

“I’m about to convince myself to protect Tallgeese and…it’s humiliating, but…” He turned, and for the first time looked at Otto directly, “I need your help.”

Otto sensed the gravity of Zechs’ request and responded simply, “Yes, sir,” and saluted. After one long moment of hesitation, Zechs returned the salute and walked back inside.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Corsica Base~

The battle raged on for more than two hours despite the fact that the enemy consisted of one mobile suit. As Walker knew, however, one was enough. The wreckage around him proved that fact even to the arrogant Captain Bonaparte. Walker shook his head as Lieutenant Scott relayed news that the captain’s dirigible was safely out of firing range. At least Bonaparte finally recognized his error, that provided Walker some amount of satisfaction, he just wished the elder man had realized this before half the base was destroyed.

His commanding officer safely out of harm’s way, Walker turned his attention back to the battle. Two-thirds of the Specials had been eliminated so far and the enemy was still firing. As he fought, the young lieutenant made certain that all available data on the suit’s weaponry and capabilities were transmitted in a constant stream. Their losses were staggering, but if enough information could be gathered about this new threat, perhaps the same scene would not be played out again. Walker was determined that this threat ended right there.

As the remaining OZ troops struggled to hold their own, Walker noticed a sudden change in the enemy’s battle strategy. He was firing less, relying instead on closer confrontations with the suits. He was running out of ammunition. A sudden spike of hope jolted through the young officer and he ordered his men to tighten their formation and prepare for a new assault. He kept them at a cautious distance, knowing that the enemy pilot could very well be setting them up. Another thirty minutes and the battle seemed over, the enemy out of ammunition and surrounded. Just as Walker was about to order more assistance in taking the suit into custody, one of his younger pilots jumped the gun.

“Looks like it's out of bullets! Great! We have a chance! I'll show you what Specials are capable of!”

Walker almost shrieked in frustration as he watched the Specials pilot charge towards the enemy suit. “You fool! Why do you have to make such a mistake now?”

But it was too late. Just as the Specials pilot was about to deliver the death blow, he was ripped apart from behind. The new suit was the same size, but in lieu of a beam saber or machine guns, it wielded two scimitars. It spun, slicing through the Leos one by one as it proceeded to take up where its comrade failed.

“Lieutenant Walker!” Scottie’s voice blared across the comlinks, “Sensors indicate twenty suits surrounding the base…” Before Lieutenant Scott could finish the warning, the sound of gunfire and breaking glass drowned her out. One large crashing noise, a shriek of pain piercing his eardrums, reverberating through his head and muting all other sound. It was over in an instant, but Scottie’s scream echoed in his ears for what seemed like an eternity. She was dead. Walker was suddenly overcome by a violent, burning fury. It was time to end it. All of it.

With a furious howl, Walker flung his suit towards the second suit, firing his bazooka first and then dropping it in favor of his beam saber. It was a mismatched duel at best. At worst a massacre, but Walker didn’t care anymore. Suddenly he found himself trapped between the glinting curved blades of the gundam’s scimitars. He could hear the outer hull cracking, screaming its protest to the pressure, but the Leo’s arms were still free and Walker managed to deliver a few impotent blows to the enemy suit.

“Come on, damn it! I want to see your strength, before I die!”

Walker struggled with his suit’s controls, fighting to the very end as all good soldiers should. He knew it was useless, but he needed to fight. Even as the Leo broke apart, as the cockpit caught fire and he found himself engulfed in the lapping flames, he fought. Just before the machine exploded, Walker thought he heard something, a soft voice on the comlink, whispering…

“I'm sorry.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~A few hours later. Concealed hanger south of Corsica base ~

            Zechs Merquise and Otto Weir stood overlooking the devastation suffered by the Corsica mobile suit factory, both frustrated with their inability to assist their comrades. Beyond this, however, Zechs also felt slightly awed, not an easy emotion to elicit in the experienced officer. He had been baptized in blood early in his life, witnessing such destruction on a regular basis, but this was not a typical skirmish between equally matched military forces. Two Gundams, only two, but backed up by an unknown squad of land suits designed for desert battle. Together they laid waste to a base covering three square miles, employing over five hundred soldiers. The fires still burned brightly, the smoke rising above in ominous pillars, obscuring the carnage. Zechs could never find beauty in such a scene as Treize could, but there was a certain amount of grace to it all, despite the violence. An elegance to the movements of the well crafted suits. 

“The observation post just sent this report sir.”

Zechs scanned the report, noting the casualty number. The Corsica base lay in ruins, no survivors. Walker. “Walker, you won't be forgotten,” Zechs thought solemnly, “We lost this battle, but we will win this war.”

“Sir? Should we try to leave now or wait for the Gundams to leave and hope they don’t discover this hanger?”

“I doubt they would have attacked this area without being fully briefed on the layout. Ready the transport and be ready to leave on my command.”

“Yes, sir.”

            Zechs boarded the transport and ordered a surveillance feed of the Corsica base, hoping for some distraction so that he might take Tallgeese and leave. To his utter shock, the distraction came from the two Gundams. Just as it seemed the two were about to prevail and take complete control of the devastated base, they attacked each other. As the violence escalated, Zechs gave the hasty order to launch. Just as he hoped, the two suits were too caught up in their own struggle to notice his ship slipping away until it was too late.

As his ship climbed to cruising altitude,  Zechs wearily leaned back into his seat and considered his options. He needed time to regroup in a place where the prototype—Tallgeese Walker nicknamed it—could be repaired away from the over-watchful eyes of the Alliance regulars. There was only one place he could work without fear of Alliance scrutiny and only one person he could trust to help. Only one person who would welcome him without need for coercion, bribery or explanations. Directing his attention back to his crew, Zechs ordered the plane to change course, heading south. New destination: Lake Victoria.

“Lieutenant Otto.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Send this message to Lake Victoria Base,” Zechs paused to hand a small leaf of paper to the older pilot, “inform them of our ETA. Send it to the attention of Lieutenant Lucretzia Noin.”

“Yes, Sir.”

            So finally he was on his way to see her. The idea was suddenly disconcerting and he found himself fidgeting in his seat. Over a year. He knew how much he changed in that time, but what of Noin? How well had his plan to distance himself from his childhood confidante worked? Most likely much better than he was comfortable with. He was the Lightning Count, an aristocrat of Romefellar. Hated by the jealous officers of the Alliance who detested his ability to win the undying loyalty of his men and the admiration of the public. Noin was a respected teacher, adored by her students, but ignored by the prejudiced upperclass who frowned upon the idea of a commoner in their high ranks.  In station and circumstance they were as far apart as the Colonies and the Earth. They had little in common now. She would simply be an officer aiding him in the effort to develop a Gundam for OZ. That was all. No need for awkwardness or discomfort. None at all.

            So why the hell was he so nervous?

==================== End Chapter 11 =====================

Oh please. You knew they were going to die.

Next episode: “The Victoria Nightmare.”  Episode 4! Lots of Zechs/Noin yumminess! I hope you like my version of the “tap, tap” scene.

A note from Disclaimer Hell:  I don’t own Gundam Wing. If you try to sue me, I’ll write you into one of my stories so I can kill you off.