Chapter 18
BalerionTheDrake
Pacta sunt servanda
Chapter 18
The Red Baron Appears!
~~~
U.C. 0094.3.5 1455 EOST
Endra-class Lindra, Space around Palau, Lagrange 4
~~~
"So this is the famous hideout of the Delaz Fleet, the Garden of Thorns. An impressive structure despite the locale." I comment to Hill Dawson as we overlooked the video feed projecting the greatest kitbash mankind had ever created. Delaz had fused a small asteroid to the bottom half a destroyed colony, and had dragged semi intact ancillary systems, the agricultural and water systems from the industrial ring that O'neill type colonies had and solar arrays of every kind, to be repaired into a type of broken wheel that allowed the base to exist independently. It's manufacturing capabilities where nothing to sniff at either, it had allowed Delaz to maintain but the Garden of Thorns would be elevated to a true center of industry, as the fleet's six Arango-class freightes had, by virtue of overclocking their reactors for more engine power, dragged the salvaged Axis shipyard into the Loum Debris Field and to the Garden.
That movement had cost me more gold, used to pay Anaheim to have them turn watching eyes away from the South Pole of the Moon for a few hours, but the movement of a giant rock would be easy to trace if it's passage had been noticed. The crews, upon arrival at the Garden, had repaired what needed to be repaired and started up the life support systems before leaving the Debris Field with a skeleton crew to continue the activation process. Those six ships had made it back to Palau, where they had started to take on members of the Neo Zeon Marine Corps -the name of which I still didn't like and was probably going to be changed in the future- who would be heading up the Diyu assault. Major Silk had been given combat command of that endeavor with Zinnerman heading up operational command from the Garen, our very own Ark in this endeavor.
"There will be space enough to hold the fleet sir. Though I do wonder at how much space there will be to run practice maneuvers for the fleet and mobile suits" Dawson commented, looking at the image with a critical eye.
"Issues like that will be easily dealt with Commodore Dawson." I replied. "But any issues with our new locale can be dealt with when we've actually arrived there."
"Very well. I have the status update you requested on the fleet sir." Dawson handed me the relevant papers. "To summarize sir, we are on track to depart Palau in four hours and will reach the Moon's space just past midnight, upon reaching lunar space, advance units commence deployment followed by the fleet dispersing to operational zones. Operation Left Hook is scheduled to commence at roughly 0200 Earth Orbital Standard Time, on your order sir."
I turned to face Dawson, taking in the sight of the man dressed in his full command regalia, overcoat and peaked cap included. I had been dressed up to the same degree, my more comfortable white pants and boots exchanged for pressed grey dress pants and black dress shoes. The more extravagant red jacket, with the tail coats and high collar. The gold filigree never left any of my uniforms, though I never minded, I made the color work and who doesn't like to dress like a hussar?
I'd managed to repel attempts to put a cape or heavy jacket on me, so I'd be the only member of high command without a second layer during the upcoming meeting.
"Thank you Commodore." The two of us exchanged salutes. "We'll regroup at the bridge before departure so I can address the fleet. Please have your technicians make the necessary adjustments to the Lindra's communication array."
With that, we parted ways. I made my way to the Lindra's mobile suit bay and entered on the upper level of the bay, giving me a birds eye view of the six Geara Dogas it held. Four of the suits had had their maintenance completed as they holding beds had been placed upright, which would allow the suits to be rapidly fed into the two launch catapults. The two other Geara Dogs, aside from being laid flat on the hangar floor, had various parts of their armor stripped away so that the mechanics and engineers could get into the internals to turn or fix whatever was causing errors.
My own red Geara Doga had passed muster, as it was one of the four positioned upright. It looked good, any damage from the quick battle last year had been repaired long ago. Two missile pods, loaded with anti-MS missiles, had been attached to the hips of the suit's armored waist. The shield had been loaded with unguided Sturm Faust weapons, and someone had dug up a commander variant beam machine gun to serve as my main weapon. It smacked of favoritism a bit, but we were as weapon stretched as we had been during the days following my awakening.
I took a closer look at my Geara Doga, squinting at the head. It didn't look so...shiny when I last saw it. Feeling confused, I pushed off the balcony and floated across the hangar, spinning to get a frontal view of my mobile suit.
Now I might be prone to forgetting things now and again, but I definitely did not order the visor above the monoeye to be decorated with twisting gold and silver filigree designs. Combined with the black and silver cuff and chest piece designs, my Geara Doga looked fit for a noble. Only one person could have been responsible for this, I reasoned.
"Oshikawa!" I called down to the elderly chief engineer of the Lindra and signaled for him to move up to my level. He had the gall to look amused by my directions.
"Yes sir?" He asked as he floated up to my level.
"I thought I had ordered that my suit not be given any extra attention than what was necessary Oshikawa." I lectured and pointed at the golden visor. "That looks a lot like extra attention to me."
"Ah that." He said, managing to sound like it was the first time he had ever seen the new visor. "Well if you don't mind me offering you a piece of advice sir, I've found in my career that pilots like their leaders to play into certain themes that they've established when building their reputation. The Red Comet flew red suits, for example. And the Red Baron.."
"Has to look the part of the nobility." I finished for Oshikawa and sighed. "Does it interfere with anything?"
Oshikawa gave up the game and answered straightforwardly. "I double checked everything, it's purely cosmetic and does not affect armor integrity in the slightest. Trust me sir, I used to work on the Dozle Zabi Royal Guard's Zakus and they never had any issues with their decorations. And their joints had gold on them. Hehehe"
"Very well Chief Engineer, dismissed." I waved him back down. I turned back to examining my Geara Doga and after a few more minutes, arrived at a conclusion: at the very least, nobody would mistake me for Char Aznable. He wouldn't have been caught dead in a mobile suit with this many decorative elements.
In the back of my mind, the Will gave off a faint sense of agreement. Guess fashion tastes hadn't been something from Char that the Will got to keep.
~~~
The meeting of the captains had been concise in its material and over in the span of minutes. Munitions had been accounted for, sailors and pilots and marines had reported to duty posts, fuel had been pumped into storage tanks and ship reactors had been brought back to life.
Good news was that everyone was biting at the bit to bite into Feddie flesh. Materially, we'd been stretched thin by creating M-particle missiles and by producing other varieties of munition shells and missiles but, we weren't scraping the barrel when the dust had settled.
The bad news ended up being that we'd drastically overestimated how long our fuel supplies would last us. Once Left Hook had concluded, it would need to be addressed immediately and I got the sinking feeling that, once I had hemmed and hawed over the problem for a while, it would end with another visit to Anaheim.
Another problem for future me it seemed, but present me had an address to give.
I was in a circular room, stripped of interior paneling and full of hastily fitted cameras, onboard the Lindra. A microphone was placed before me by a press ganged crewman who was part of the group acting as the interim media crew for the moment.
"Ready to go live?" I asked the room, taking up my speaking stance: shoulders squared, chin raised and arms clasped behind my back.
"On your signal Supreme Commander." Came the reply. "Cameras are ready to go live on your mark."
"Very well then." I gave the interim cameramen the nod to go ahead.
"Right then, going live in three, two, one… live!" Red lights started to flash on the various cameras and text began to crawl up a repurposed flatscreen. It was time to cap off the prelude.
"Soldiers of ZEON!" I roared out. "My Soldiers! It has been a long year, a hard year. We were defeated at the Battle of Axis and it must have seemed to our enemies that, finally, Neo Zeon had been defeated for good."
A beat of silence.
"I LAUGH at such thoughts. Our cause is not one that can be crushed through defeat, no matter the number! Why? Because our cause, the cause of ZEON, will never die! Our cause is righteous, our cause is the cause of all spacenoids, and our fight will be the struggle that sets all of the people of space free from the tyrants of gravity!"
"Those same tyrants of the Earth have fallen back asleep following Axis. They, who have been the oppressors for generations, assume once again that we are finished! That we have been defeated once and for all! That we are GONE!"
"We've given them a reminder before but now it is time to give them A WAKE UP CALL! So we are going on the attack my soldiers. We are going to swat their ships from the lunar airspace. And we are going to begin the fight to liberate our brothers and sisters on the Moon from the tyranny of Earth! So that one day, they and all other spacenoids who believe in our revolution will one day be able to proudly stand side by side with us on the field of battle!"
"Right here, right now, Neo Zeon goes on the offensive and we will not stop until every last Federation ship has been destroyed, until every spacenoid can exercise their innate rights of self determination, until our beloved homeland is free from the blight that grips it. WE WILL NOT STOP FIGHTING UNTIL OUR REVOLUTION IS VICTORIOUS!"
"SIEG ZEON MY SOLDIERS, VICTORY AWAITS!"
The lights on the cameras turned off and the spotlights that had been isolating the area I was standing in shut off. I used a cloth handed to me to wipe makeup off my face. Despite all the advancements in the realm of filmography, it seems that I still needed some makeup to not end up pulling a Nixon debate. Annoying stuff, I could almost feel my pores getting angry at me for subjecting them to this. At least the sweat of battle would clear them out soon.
"Status of the broadcast and recording?" I asked the room, tossing the dirty cloth into a handily placed bucket near the door.
"Broadcast went off without a hitch, the fleet and Palau received it with full clarity. The recording is beginning encryption and compression."
"Good, have the recording transmitted via laser burst to our media comrades on the Moon once we reach the area of operations." I made my way out of the room, people moving out of my way.
"Let's hope that Zinnerman chose a DJ who is calm under pressure." I muttered to myself. The speech would be sent out to pockets of Zeon and AUEG supporters on the Moon, who would further disseminate it with Radio AEUG itself also transmitting into the Earth so that the Remnants down there could tune in. If this part of the plan went off without a hitch, the entire lunar population, billions of people, would know that Neo Zeon was back and ready for another throw down with the Earth Federation.
First we had to perform a clean sweep of the Federation's Lunar Patrol Fleets. Eagerness started to flow through me, now this would be a challenge.
~~~
At precisely 1801 hours, Earth Orbital Standard Time, the naval element of Neo Zeon, under the command of Full Frontal, its new supreme commander. Blue contrails emerged as the collective fleet engines ignited and began the journey across space to the sole satellite of the planet Earth: the Moon. The fleet, under the command of Full Frontal for the time being, used the well known commercial space lanes to approach the Moon, lowering their speed and reactor output to give out false Minovsky signatures to blend in with the malaise of Minovsky particles that lit the space age highways of the Earth Sphere. This way they seemed to be nothing more than a collection of merchant vessels to any sensors or inquisitive eye that could be directed at them.
The fleet would travel as a united whole until they reached the outermost extent of the lunar gravity field, time of arrival marked as 0003 EOST, then the fleet, having previously been at sixty degrees south near the lunar South Pole on the far side of the Moon, split. The splinter group, consisting of six Arango-class ships and one modified Columbus-class carrier, under the command of Captain Suberoa Zinnerman commanding from the Arango-class Garencieres, arced under the south pole and, after lowering reactor power to minimum, crept towards their target: the maximum security prison of Diyu.
The main fleet oriented themselves northward, and descended into the Moon's gravitational field. Their destination was the lunar equator, specifically the region termed the Granada Triangle. As the hub of the lunar industrial manufacturing business, it is a natural place for the EFF to assign more than a single patrol fleet to patrol. Yet the elements of the fleet capable of reconnoitering the Triangle had been detached for the Diyu assault, and mobile suits and warships would be easily detected if sent forward in a scouting mission.
Yet all of this had been accounted for in the planning of Operation Left Hook. When the main fleet had ascended to thirty-five degrees south, the scouts were deployed. In the lead up to the Operation, a number of cargo containers had been modified to be able to store and deploy a single mobile suit. These cargo containers, attached to the space equivalent of the hard working eighteen wheeler tractor trailer of the late twentieth century, merged into the Granada shipping lane. It took hours for the hidden mobile suits to slowly creep north shadowed by the main fleet, which sailed out of sight of the shipping lanes, but as the clocked ticked into the early hours of the day, hidden Neo Zeon forces where dispersed around the Granada Triangle region, reporting to their masters the scope of their foe on this day.
One patrol fleet hung directly over New Antwerp, overseeing traffic. A second fleet was sighted between Granada and the city of Epsylon near the Moscoviense Mare. From here the infiltrators split up. Ten mobile suits of the Dreissen model remained in the Triangle, where the first strike would land. The remaining ten scouts, piloting Zaku IIIs, headed west along the equator, hunting for targets to strike at. These scouts would sight a third patrol fleet docked at the Neo Cartagena Base while a fourth is sighted heading over into the near side of the moon, possibly towards Von Braun. The second scout group divides into two groups of five. One heads towards the populous agricultural and power collection/distribution center of Saint Joseph, where they will picket the border between the two sides of the moon. The other group of five reduces thrust and moves out of the shipping lanes north of the Neo Cartagena base, hugging the lunar surface; they skulk towards the docked patrol fleet.
The scout's findings are transmitted to the main fleet via laser burst communications relayed between the squad leaders in order to account for the vast distance. Despite the technical difficulties, the main fleet now had a clear(ish) view of what they would be up against. The first target remained the same however: clear the Granada Triangle of EFSF ships and mobile suits.
The flagship of the main fleet(also referred to as the Dawson Fleet on account of the commanding naval officer), the Lindra, would dispatch three transmissions before signaling the operation's start. One to the near side of the Moon, commanding the Zinnerman Fleet to start the final countdown to operation start time. Now the two fleets would start their opening attacks at the same time. The second transmission was sent back along the ad hoc scout communication relay, putting the scouts on the same countdown clock as the fleets. The third transmission was directed into the lower levels of Granada City, alerting the staff of Radio AEUG that the highly promoted offensive was about to begin. Radio AEUG would move into a state of high alert, directing hidden cameras to point into the void of space and stirring up their attentive audience.
The move to contact AEUG members in Granada had been the riskiest component of the pre-battle operation, the move most likely to trip EFF sensors of some kind. Yet after a minute of nail biting anticipation, the federal patrol fleet that would have reacted first if they had been made aware of the Neo Zeon presence remained completely unaware of their impending deaths.
The time was 0156 EOST, and the synchronized timers spread across dozens of ships and mobile suits informed that five minutes remained.
Ships transitioned to their combat bridges, any hands that had strayed from their combat stations rushed this way and that to report at their station. Mobile suits made their final journey into the dark launch catapults, the metal giants bristling with weapons, both ranged and melee.
Four minutes.
The scouts held their fingers breathlessly over the button that would eject the walls of their metal coffins outward, freeing them to begin their deadly game of cat and mouse with Federation ships and suits. Dreissens and Zaku IIIs chambered their bazookas, of which the primary model was the 360mm Giant Bazooka, chambering their single M-particle shell. These shells would silence the comms of the patrol fleets temporarily, preventing any unified front from immediately forming.
Three minutes.
The two fleet's automated loading systems shuttled the first magazine of missiles into their launch tubes. The fleetwide volley would detonate high in the Moon's orbit and the dispersal of Minovsky particles would plunge the Terran satellite into a communication blackout that would last for tens of hours, in a case of extreme success a full standard day.
Two minutes.
Final attitude adjustments are made to the positions of the ships, they had skulked and clung in the shadows of lunar craters for long enough. Now when the engines were pushed to full throttle they would rise from the gray dust below like the sea leviathans of ancient stories.
One minute.
In the midst of it, the seemingly still forms of Salamis-Kai cruisers continued to hang above the gray metal and fluorescent lights of the lunar cities outer shells. The men and women of these ships walked around their normal, everyday, tan duty uniforms. No guns were manned with particular vigilance, nor any sensors given more time of day than needed. The night shifts spent more time thinking about what the canteens would be serving for breakfast, or idly thinking about their bunks. The attitude of the EFSF units on the Moon could only be called easy going. It was no surprise, the war of last year was over and another period of peace was ushering itself in, under the auspices of the Earth Federation of course.
The synchronized clocks ticked down to zero and on 0201 EOST, war came once more to the Earth Sphere.
~~~
"Port side launch tube is clear, starboard launch tube you have priority, go go go." The fast paced voice of the launch catapult control blared into my helmet. This announcement coincided with the red lights of the launch catapult and tube switching to green and the doors at the far end of the tube opening to reveal the black horizon of space.
"Full Frontal, AMS-119 Geara Doga. Launching" I mimicked the controllers fast pace, rattling off my identifiers before engaging the main thrusters on the Geara Doga. I moved forward briefly, then jerked to a halt as the connector hose pulled taunt. Momentum built and built before the latches fixing the hose to my Doga's backpack disconnected, allowing me to rocket out of the Lindra at the top speed for my mobile suit.
I plunged upwards, the panoramic cockpit allowing me to see the dark grey land of the Moon below me, the dagger shapes of the Neo Zeon fleet flying up at full thrust, the back thrust kicking up a mighty dust storm on the surface below the fleet. I was at the front of the surging mobile suit wave. Above the forms of the Federal patrol fleet appeared giant orbs of swirling purple and yellow light: the detonation of the M-particle barrage. From these utterly fascinating orbs, and their smaller cousins that could be detected on the edge of my sensors, would emerge a barrage of tightly woven Minovsky particles that was the modern bane of communication. Judging by the spread of the initial barrage, I calculated that the entire dark side of the Moon had just lost any and all devices that operated on the electromagnetic frequency. The Feddies, and us, would still have comms up for a while longer due to our hardware being hardened against M-particles, but it would eventually become only possible to communicate with other ships and suits either in very close proximity or with a direct link.
The benefits of planning would come into full effect once space was buzzing with M-particles, and I'd put good money on the Feddies not having a single plan that concerned itself with a Neo Zeon invasion of the Moon.
"First Wing fall in behind me, form up on squad leaders and move forward in attack pattern echo. Second Wing, split to the side and overwhelm the flanks of the fleet above Grenada. We're going to support our advance units in removing the Feddies above Granada City." I sent out my orders over the Neo Zeon command frequencies. "Sieg Zeon!" I punctuated my orders with a shout of our rallying cry.
"Sieg Zeon!" cried out my fellow pilots using open frequencies as the mobile suits gathered into five suit units, forming several arrowhead formations. My wingman, Savoir, didn't concern himself with joining a squad, he was assigned solely to me today. Through the gaps in my wing's formation, a barrage of solid green mega particle beams raced, flying as true as arrows to blast against the armor of the feddies Salamis-Kais. A smattering of explosions that bloomed from the federal ships gave testament to the aiming abilities of the seasoned gunners in the fleet.
As polished as my gunners were, there would be no more supporting fire now, else friendly fire would be unavoidable. Now was the hour of the mobile suit, the hour of the beam rifle, beam sword and close range missiles.
"Squad leaders, choose your targets and hit them hard, leave the mobile suits to me and Squad Four." I order Squad Four to guard left and right of the charging wing then toggle my squad frequency. "Savoir, break upwards. Let's get ourselves some prime steak for dinner."
Our two Geara Dogas broke off our diagonal approach to the patrol fleets, firing our leg thrusters to fly directly upwards, bringing us level with the patrol fleets. I'd like to say that what I did next was part of a grander plan but it wasn't. I just wanted to fight already.
I toggled over to the mess of the open comm frequencies, those channels that anyone could access, and, like the knight my mobile suit was styled on, issued a challenge.
"Attention dogs of the Earth before me. I am Full Frontal, leader of Neo Zeon. I am the orchestrator of all you see before you. And I am here, waiting for you. Fight me if you dare or run away like the cowards you all are, it matters not. The day is already ours." I poured every ounce of contempt I felt for this moribund government into this challenge
Blips appeared on my radar, and I manipulated my main camera to zoom in on the Federation fleet. Good, the Federation pilots were moving in, operating RGM-86 GM IIIs from the look of it. Then the only problem would be numbers.
"I think they got your message sir." Savoir cautiously stated, bringing his Geara Doga over from the left to my unshielded right side.
"Just as planned, wingman." My voice lacked any of the caution Savoir had, rather mine overflowed with anticipation. "Now for the next part."
"Which is?"
"Attack!" The pair of us blasted forwards, Savoir a second or two behind me. The kilometers between us and the oncoming federals rapidly disappeared. Below me the advancing MS wings flew under the charging federal squads -the cameras had identified a full squad and then three fourths of another- and a rough estimate by the computer predicted that they would meet eighty seconds after we engaged. The EFSF picket had spread themselves out wide, seeking to put their cannon's firing line away from where their own mobile suits were engaging. Then the federals could pour mega particle beams into the flanks of our fleet, which was still climbing in a tight formation.
Hopefully the Dreissen squads would turn themselves around and plunge into the back of the patrol fleet before they could make that adjustment. Or they'd be busy delaying the patrol fleet to the northwest.
The console beeped to alert me that we had gotten within a kilometer of the approaching feddies. I flicked the safeties off of my weapons, giving me full control of the suit's arsenal. A manipulation of the left control stick armed the sturm fausts attached to my shield and cause the rectangular shield to rotate ninety degrees, pointing the red colored warheads at the oncoming suits. Savoir mirrored my movements.
In a matter of seconds I'd be able to see the GM IIIs with my bare eyes. "Give a full spread Savoir, we're driving them into a corridor." I ordered my wingman. He would fire his four sturm fausts wide, I'd fire mine high. Hopefully the feddies would hold their unguided missiles until they had a closer shot.
"Firing." Savoir said, his shield releasing the first two, then flipping over endwise to let loose the second pair. I mirrored his movement, sending mine above and below. Our shields spun one last time, locking back in a horizontal position. Large orange spheres, the signal that the sturm fausts had a comparatively low explosive power compared to other munitions, of light came into existence. Seven humanoid forms were silhouetted in black by the explosions, which had already faded in intensity microseconds after they first emerged.
"Looks like they took the opening Savoir." I informed my wingman. "Follow my lead, braking in three, two, one." It was a risky maneuver to come to full stop when two mobile suit units were charging each other, but by doing so we'd be able to have our targeting computers draw more accurate targeting solutions. Just don't let the other side run behind you and get a clean shot at your back while doing so.
My roommate slid into focus in my mind. "Feddies like to lead with their shield." The sudden deceleration jolted me as the harness dug into my shoulders even through the pilot suit. The red shields the GM IIIs bore could be seen clearly now. Sure enough, said shields had been extended and the beam rifles had been positioned so that they were sheltered by the inside of the shield. The imagery brought to mind how hoplites strode into battle in ancient days.
I brought my beam machine gun to bear, and depressed on the main firing stud, angling the gun upwards. Streams of green beam pellets issued from the mouth of my machine gun as I fired in horizontal bursts, raking into the head and shoulders of the GMs, causing the pilots to move their shields into a more central position. Savoir mirrored my firing arcs, and a few GMs were knocked off course from their approach, glancing hits disrupting their forward trajectory. But the feddies stayed the course, and return beam fire, the color of cotton candy, zipped by the pair of us.
"Break wide and engage at will, Savoir!" I called out, pressing hard on the left verniers, swinging my Geara Doga to present the feddies with my shielded left side, followed by bringing the reactor to its maximum output. Time to put some pep in my thrusters step.
I bolted to the right side of the charging feddies, matador like, then threw myself into a sharp, almost acute, turn. Now the unshielded flanks of the GMs were nice and open. Targeting solutions were rapidly acquired, and three second bursts of beam fire perforated the left sides and backpacks of the two GM IIIs now in front of me. The rear GM III buckled under the fire, armor warping and shattering as gouts of hot flame poured out of the newly created holes before the mobile suit flew apart at the seams, upper and lower parts flying there separate ways with enough destruction in the torso to signal that survival wasn't a possibility for the pilot. The other GM III that I had targeted fared better than its college, he had juked downwards, meaning that the burst of beam fire had only been able to perforate one of the upper thrusters on the GM's Gundam Mk-II style backpack.
On the opposite side of the engagement zone, Savoir had also scattered the line of the formation he had swung around to face, preferring to use the grenade launcher attached to his beam machine gun to strike at the GM IIIs before opening fire. In his short attack run Savoir rendered the shield arm inoperable of one foe and pushed the other GM he faced backwards into the formation, red shield now heavily scarred with black blast marks as the anti-beam coating was rapidly worn away. Feddies on the inside of the formation performed about faces, bringing beam rifles and missile pods to bear on the two of us. If we stayed at range and tried to win the shooting battle we'd lose the war. Only way to victory was forward.
I dove into the fray, using short bursts from my machine gun to force my enemies to focus on defense, flying down in a parabolic curve so that I came level with the Feddies and by the time any of them had a real clear bead on me, I was among them. The screen of my cockpit became dominated by the visored visage of a GM III, sporting missile pods on its shoulders. My sudden appearance made the pilot freeze for the briefest of moments, but I capitalized with vicious enthusiasm. My beam machine gun was thrust forward up against the sternum of the GM, putting a dent in the convex armor, before jamming my index finger on the firing stud. The cockpit of the GM III was reduced to melted slag and the mobile suit abruptly powered down, emergency sub routines in the remaining computers activating to prevent a reactor meltdown.
The motion sensors blared alarms at me, I was being charged from the back: an enterprising GM III had drawn its beam saber and was flying forward, aiming to skewer me clean through!
I shut off the main back and leg thrusters on the left side, and flicked the front vernier thrusters into full power. Then I pulled back on the left controller while pushing forward with the right controller, and raised my suit's left arm so that the shield's edge was presented to the charging mobile suit. The edges of my vision faded to black, that was how great the G forces the maneuver generated where even my physically enhanced body was strained by it. Then the corner of my shield impacted the charging GM's head and tore it clean off. I could feel that all the way in the cockpit.
My beam machine gun maneuvered under my suit's left arm and fired, marking my third confirmed kill of the operation. An immense feeling of satisfaction settled over me and I was gladdened by the absolute truth that I would emerge victorious here, in this little brawl. The Federation pilots weren't greenhorns but they hadn't reached the ability of aces, myself and Savoir had. My internal point was proven again when I was able to fly backwards away from my kill, then ascend upwards to shoulder check a GM that had sought to snipe me away from the melee. The presumptive sniper was torn apart by a brace of anti-MS missiles I loosed from the missile pod mounted on the left side of the Geara Doga's armored skirt.
A quick enhanced zoom with the monoeye showed that Savoir had gained another kill during my own combat action but the remaining two survivors of the two feddie squads had rallied together, and were penning Savoir in with their beam sabers. One of the feddies was the GM III that survived my initial flanking attack, he received my beam axe through his chest. The easing of the pressure on him allowed Savoir to turn the duel in his favor, and the melee came to an end as abruptly as it started: with Savoir's beam sword dicing the GM III into chunks.
"I appreciate the assistance sir." Savoir extended his thanks, his voice now tinged with exertion caused by the strain of combat. Still he managed to be his usual unfailing polite self when addressing me.
"As long as you properly credit me when you're designing your latest kill tally deco, don't mention it." Was my glib reply. Savoir of course didn't make kill tallies. "Now we have some ships to sink, let's go."
Off we flew, towards the Salamis Kais with their golden defensive halos of AA fire, leaving only the floating scraps of our foes to mark our passing.
~~~
"Squad 14! Rally to me!" I shouted over the comms. "We're pushing those federal bastards out of that wreckage and sinking that final ship!" I glared at the stubborn feddie pilots who clung to the still burning rear half of a newly destroyed Salamis Kai from my position a few hundred meters away. The pilots weren't just letting me observe them unhindered. Pink beam rifle fire flew around me in a storm of destruction that, had a single shot landed and thrown my maneuvering off, would have been the end for me. The instinctive and erratic dodging that I had commenced with kept the Jims from ever landing that decisive shot and it was their focus on me that gave Squad 14 their chance to come swooping in. A withering hail of green beam fire forced the feddies to abandon the wreck after losing a mobile suit.
I took advantage of the cessation of the beam fire to race to and over the broken Salamis Kai wreckage, placing my beam machine gun on its holster rack and taking up my beam sword-axe, in axe configuration. Then I was back up to the close and personal portion of mobile suit combat, setting about to the chopping of titanium ceramic composite armor with glee. Robotic arms flew away from the unlucky GM IIIs who had rushed at me to engage in melee. The whole action of fighting with an axe was satisfying on a primal level. Squad 14 broke off the 'zoom' portion of their 'boom and zoom' attack run, swinging up and down to fall into the final remnants of the first patrol fleet's mobile suit contingent with sword and rifle.
The pilot operating an AMX-109 Bawoo even saved me from a missile barrage. A favor that I returned by destroying a one-armed GM with a bazooka that had drawn a bead on the Bawoo. The green and silver colored Bawoo offered a robotic salute in thanks before blasting off to rally his squad. I flicked a switch on the center console of the cockpit, arming a pair of the signal flares stored in the launcher atop my Geara Doga's head. A press of a button on the controllers launched the two flares, which flew high above the battle to create swirling spots of gold and purple light. It seemed that these flares created a lull in the fighting, as Neo Zeon and Federation, the scant few that had managed to flee their embankment moments ago, mobile suits paused their duels and shooting matches to interpret the orders I had sent out with the flares.
Not really of course, the battle had just shifted away from this sector as Dawson moved the fleet northwest to engage the patrol fleet that was rushing towards the Triangle to try to save its sister fleet above Grenada, as well as make contact with the Dreissen advance mobile suits wherever they had gotten to. No contact with them had made its way to me so far, which had started to raise concerns. I shook my head, those thoughts had no place in a battle, I had to be concerned with the here and now, and save the rest for later.
Aside from my thoughts, my signaled orders had begun to be obeyed. The rearguard, two Musai-Kais, had broken rank and charged at the sole Salamis Kai left in this sector. They changed course to fly at a forty five degree angle to the side of the Salamis Kai. Then the three twin mega particle guns on each rotated to face the grey-blue and red ship with all the deliberateness of an executioner's axe being raised. The Salami Kai's own mega particle guns moved to track both ships, but it was a futile effort. The Musai Kai's gun fired, and twelve mega particle beams perforated the superstructure of the Salamis Kai in a criss cross pattern. The two hundred meter long light cruiser seemingly hung in space for a moment, looking like despite the impossible odds against it, she might have not taken a killing blow. That illusion was shattered by the crunching of the superstructure inward and fire exploding out of every window and hole in the ship.
I flew over to a nearby Geara Doga and established a direct contact link with its pilot. "Take your wingman and go ensure that there are no survivors in this sector, then regroup with the fleet." I ordered, and I felt nothing at giving that order, just like the other two times I had given it. I wonder if I ever had, or if my condition and convictions had inured me from such things. Was I not determined to bring about my desired reality at any cost?
"Of course, Supreme Commander. I won't let you down." The reply came from a young voice and I realized that I had managed to stumble across Angelo Sauper. I had known he was here obviously, his scores in training had granted him a mobile suit, but what an odd coincidence that he and I would come into direct contact in the middle of a moon-wide offensive.
"I know you won't, Angelo." Maybe I should have given him a longer reply but I had spent too long lagging behind the front. Hopefully Angelo would take the brief comment as encouraging rather than assuming.
~~~
The second patrol fleet had come rushing towards the Triangle from the Mare Moscoviense, valiantly attempting to save the patrol fleet over Granada as it died in billowing fireballs. The second patrol fleet had rushed out its mobile suits, putting them in an arrowhead formation, while the ships behind the vanguard took a line position, minimizing their collective profile so that only the lead ship was at risk of taking direct fire. As it was relayed to me by Dawson, if this second fleet had struck before the first fleet had been broken, then it was very possible that our entire left flank would have been rolled up and we'd be fighting a bloody retreat to the east.
Luckily, the second fleet never managed to reach our lines intact, because just as they crossed the lip of the Mare, the Dreissen advance squads struck. Like the one eyed bulky golems of destruction they sought to be, the ten mobile suits - the squad near the Triangle had been ordered to fallback and regroup following the first strike - ran through the gauntlet of the mobile suit vanguard. Then they were among the ships and Lieutenant Albrecht, and his fellow pilots under him for the Operation, was a man born to shoot a bazooka it seemed. The two advance squads had emptied all of their 360mm bazooka shells into the vulnerable metal of the feddie ships, sinking half of the patrol fleet and putting serious holes in the remainder. They had been forced to burn rubber back to our fleet after that, as an outnumbering horde of GM IIIs had been baying for their blood, but the second fleet was dead in the water. When the lead Musakas and their MS contingents had linked up with the Dreissens, the clean up was apparently 'like fish shooting in a barrel'.
As wonderful as the first engagements turned out to be, we'd hit a roadblock on the journey to victory. As I observed from my position hovering next to the bridge of the Lindra, the fleet based at Neo Cartagena had somehow survived the Zaku III's strikes, and had linked up with the New Joseph patrol fleet to form a united force that had sent Lieutenant Nilsson's command reeling back. When we had arrived in the airspace around Neo Cartagena, we'd been met with a pair of wounded advance squads, and a full battle line of Salamis Kai cruisers. Then the real battle had begun, the two fleets had let fly the mega particle beams with reckless abandon, forgetting volley fire for the simple and deadly tactic of putting as many beams downrange as possible. Missiles and torpedoes had been thrown in for good measure. The greatest fleet battle since the days of the Gryps War as Musakas, Endras, Musai-Kais, Zanzibar-II and Salamis Kais started the drag out slugfest that one could argue they had been designed to fight.
It had created a situation where mobile suits were useless in the direct fight, the no man's land between the fleets were filled with so many beams and AA fire that I doubted even I could thread the needle to reach the other side. The black scorch marks on my shield and armor bore evidence of failed attempts to do just that.
So Dawson and I had conferred briefly for strategy, now that our two realms were one again, and the quick meeting had brought about a simple new tactic. I was taking our mobile suit force on a mass flanking maneuver, threatening to roll up the feddies flank. It would either succeed unopposed, ensuring victory, or, much more likely, the feddies would be forced to respond in kind. Then we'd decide this battle on the mobile suit front.
"Keep them busy Dawson, I'm off." I called over to my Commodore before breaking the direct contact link.
"Savoir! Gather Squads 01, 02, and 04 on me, we're going on the attack." Savoir gave his affirmative then got to work breaking through the Minovsky particle effect to rally the aforementioned squads to the two of us.
I fired a series of signal flares, sending out the message for all mobile suits to mass on the left flank of the stretched out fleet. By the end of that, the summoned squads had reached my position, and I took command and off we went. Flying through the fleet with the initial following that was slowly growing as more squads joined the growing charge, I took stock of my munitions. I was out of sturm fausts, and had a single missile left in the right missile pod. My E-cap magazines were going better, with two of the six I had depleted and recharged, one loaded into the machine gun and the other ones ready to go.
As the charge reached the final ships in our line, I took a deep breath and wished that I had some way to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. I wasn't bone tired enough to warrant combat stims but I was starting to feel the burn. I consoled myself with the knowledge that my uncomforts would disappear when the shooting started.
Speaking of shooting, we'd cleared the fleet entirely and my suit's cameras began to lock onto the target: the massed horde of GM-IIIs and a few other models of EFSF mobile suits charging at us.
"Commander Yoshida, pull your wing back ten seconds from the first wing." I ordered the Geara Doga with a gold colored head. "My wing will stall them and yours will break them.
"Yes sir. Second Wing, fire verniers in a two second burst on my mark" Yoshida began to marshal her wing. I kept focused on the advancing federals.
Then I saw him: mirroring my own position, he was at the lead of the federal charge. And how unique this mobile suit was. It was an entirely separate model from the GM lineage suits around it, presenting a lanky profile, colored marble white with blue-green accents. It even had wing binders! I started to hear my heart beat a staccato beat in my ears. Could this be the one that finally gave me a challenge on the battlefield?
As the kilometers were eaten up by thrusters, the unique mobile suit became more discernible, and the onboard computer was able to identify it: my enemy was a MSA-007 Nero, heavily modified from the baseline going off the image the computer presented.
I knew in my bones that I was destined to fight this mobile suit. I just had to get his attention. So I decided to make myself more visible to the enemy.
Toggling my radio over to the open channels, I rallied the troops.
"Pilots of Neo Zeon, this is our moment! Erase the Federals from existence in the name of our cause! SIEG ZEON!" My final roar was echoed by the mobile suits around me, and the feddies definitely heard that as they responded with their own jeering battlecries as we all raced towards potential death with glee in our hearts.
Then a call came over the channels.
"You in the red mobile suit! You've met your end. I will be your death!" A furious voice raged at me. My lips pulled back in a cheerless smile that felt more like a baring of teeth.
"I am Full Frontal feddie, and I haven't met my match yet! But feel free to become another kill tally!"
The Nero took its free hand and drew its beam saber, raising it backwards while taking aim at me with its beam rifle. The pilot's rage had only grown when hearing my voice, I could feel it. I trained my beam machine gun at the Nero and sheltered the barrel beneath the edge of my shield. I could see every detail of the Nero with stark clarity, and it's pilot could see every detail of my Geara Doga too. Scant meters lay between us as we brought our respective charges home.
The Nero dove at me, battle cry issuing over a channel.
"DIE ZEKE TRASH!"
I threw open all my thrusters, propelling upwards to meet the diving Nero. The drums of battle beating hard and loud in my heart.
"DIE FEDDIE SCUM!"
And then the two of us started our shared business of killing the other.
A/N: and here it is: the chapter that pushes us over the 100k word count and the current largest chapter in the story. Operation Left Hook is in motion but the hardest part is unfolding. And I wonder what Zinnerman and crew are up to on the near side of the Moon? All this and more, next chapter(cue evil cackling). One of the hardest parts(aside from having to write the Federation suits as the same model all the time compared to the large menu of Neo Zeon suits I can use) this time was writing the fight scenes, I feel a bit rusty, or it's been a while since I've written a Gundam-verse fight instead of a Star Wars one. Sorry about the cliff hanger but it felt right to me. Hope you all enjoy the chapter regardless. Comments and such are appreciated as always.
The Red Baron Appears!
~~~
U.C. 0094.3.5 1455 EOST
Endra-class Lindra, Space around Palau, Lagrange 4
~~~
"So this is the famous hideout of the Delaz Fleet, the Garden of Thorns. An impressive structure despite the locale." I comment to Hill Dawson as we overlooked the video feed projecting the greatest kitbash mankind had ever created. Delaz had fused a small asteroid to the bottom half a destroyed colony, and had dragged semi intact ancillary systems, the agricultural and water systems from the industrial ring that O'neill type colonies had and solar arrays of every kind, to be repaired into a type of broken wheel that allowed the base to exist independently. It's manufacturing capabilities where nothing to sniff at either, it had allowed Delaz to maintain but the Garden of Thorns would be elevated to a true center of industry, as the fleet's six Arango-class freightes had, by virtue of overclocking their reactors for more engine power, dragged the salvaged Axis shipyard into the Loum Debris Field and to the Garden.
That movement had cost me more gold, used to pay Anaheim to have them turn watching eyes away from the South Pole of the Moon for a few hours, but the movement of a giant rock would be easy to trace if it's passage had been noticed. The crews, upon arrival at the Garden, had repaired what needed to be repaired and started up the life support systems before leaving the Debris Field with a skeleton crew to continue the activation process. Those six ships had made it back to Palau, where they had started to take on members of the Neo Zeon Marine Corps -the name of which I still didn't like and was probably going to be changed in the future- who would be heading up the Diyu assault. Major Silk had been given combat command of that endeavor with Zinnerman heading up operational command from the Garen, our very own Ark in this endeavor.
"There will be space enough to hold the fleet sir. Though I do wonder at how much space there will be to run practice maneuvers for the fleet and mobile suits" Dawson commented, looking at the image with a critical eye.
"Issues like that will be easily dealt with Commodore Dawson." I replied. "But any issues with our new locale can be dealt with when we've actually arrived there."
"Very well. I have the status update you requested on the fleet sir." Dawson handed me the relevant papers. "To summarize sir, we are on track to depart Palau in four hours and will reach the Moon's space just past midnight, upon reaching lunar space, advance units commence deployment followed by the fleet dispersing to operational zones. Operation Left Hook is scheduled to commence at roughly 0200 Earth Orbital Standard Time, on your order sir."
I turned to face Dawson, taking in the sight of the man dressed in his full command regalia, overcoat and peaked cap included. I had been dressed up to the same degree, my more comfortable white pants and boots exchanged for pressed grey dress pants and black dress shoes. The more extravagant red jacket, with the tail coats and high collar. The gold filigree never left any of my uniforms, though I never minded, I made the color work and who doesn't like to dress like a hussar?
I'd managed to repel attempts to put a cape or heavy jacket on me, so I'd be the only member of high command without a second layer during the upcoming meeting.
"Thank you Commodore." The two of us exchanged salutes. "We'll regroup at the bridge before departure so I can address the fleet. Please have your technicians make the necessary adjustments to the Lindra's communication array."
With that, we parted ways. I made my way to the Lindra's mobile suit bay and entered on the upper level of the bay, giving me a birds eye view of the six Geara Dogas it held. Four of the suits had had their maintenance completed as they holding beds had been placed upright, which would allow the suits to be rapidly fed into the two launch catapults. The two other Geara Dogs, aside from being laid flat on the hangar floor, had various parts of their armor stripped away so that the mechanics and engineers could get into the internals to turn or fix whatever was causing errors.
My own red Geara Doga had passed muster, as it was one of the four positioned upright. It looked good, any damage from the quick battle last year had been repaired long ago. Two missile pods, loaded with anti-MS missiles, had been attached to the hips of the suit's armored waist. The shield had been loaded with unguided Sturm Faust weapons, and someone had dug up a commander variant beam machine gun to serve as my main weapon. It smacked of favoritism a bit, but we were as weapon stretched as we had been during the days following my awakening.
I took a closer look at my Geara Doga, squinting at the head. It didn't look so...shiny when I last saw it. Feeling confused, I pushed off the balcony and floated across the hangar, spinning to get a frontal view of my mobile suit.
Now I might be prone to forgetting things now and again, but I definitely did not order the visor above the monoeye to be decorated with twisting gold and silver filigree designs. Combined with the black and silver cuff and chest piece designs, my Geara Doga looked fit for a noble. Only one person could have been responsible for this, I reasoned.
"Oshikawa!" I called down to the elderly chief engineer of the Lindra and signaled for him to move up to my level. He had the gall to look amused by my directions.
"Yes sir?" He asked as he floated up to my level.
"I thought I had ordered that my suit not be given any extra attention than what was necessary Oshikawa." I lectured and pointed at the golden visor. "That looks a lot like extra attention to me."
"Ah that." He said, managing to sound like it was the first time he had ever seen the new visor. "Well if you don't mind me offering you a piece of advice sir, I've found in my career that pilots like their leaders to play into certain themes that they've established when building their reputation. The Red Comet flew red suits, for example. And the Red Baron.."
"Has to look the part of the nobility." I finished for Oshikawa and sighed. "Does it interfere with anything?"
Oshikawa gave up the game and answered straightforwardly. "I double checked everything, it's purely cosmetic and does not affect armor integrity in the slightest. Trust me sir, I used to work on the Dozle Zabi Royal Guard's Zakus and they never had any issues with their decorations. And their joints had gold on them. Hehehe"
"Very well Chief Engineer, dismissed." I waved him back down. I turned back to examining my Geara Doga and after a few more minutes, arrived at a conclusion: at the very least, nobody would mistake me for Char Aznable. He wouldn't have been caught dead in a mobile suit with this many decorative elements.
In the back of my mind, the Will gave off a faint sense of agreement. Guess fashion tastes hadn't been something from Char that the Will got to keep.
~~~
The meeting of the captains had been concise in its material and over in the span of minutes. Munitions had been accounted for, sailors and pilots and marines had reported to duty posts, fuel had been pumped into storage tanks and ship reactors had been brought back to life.
Good news was that everyone was biting at the bit to bite into Feddie flesh. Materially, we'd been stretched thin by creating M-particle missiles and by producing other varieties of munition shells and missiles but, we weren't scraping the barrel when the dust had settled.
The bad news ended up being that we'd drastically overestimated how long our fuel supplies would last us. Once Left Hook had concluded, it would need to be addressed immediately and I got the sinking feeling that, once I had hemmed and hawed over the problem for a while, it would end with another visit to Anaheim.
Another problem for future me it seemed, but present me had an address to give.
I was in a circular room, stripped of interior paneling and full of hastily fitted cameras, onboard the Lindra. A microphone was placed before me by a press ganged crewman who was part of the group acting as the interim media crew for the moment.
"Ready to go live?" I asked the room, taking up my speaking stance: shoulders squared, chin raised and arms clasped behind my back.
"On your signal Supreme Commander." Came the reply. "Cameras are ready to go live on your mark."
"Very well then." I gave the interim cameramen the nod to go ahead.
"Right then, going live in three, two, one… live!" Red lights started to flash on the various cameras and text began to crawl up a repurposed flatscreen. It was time to cap off the prelude.
"Soldiers of ZEON!" I roared out. "My Soldiers! It has been a long year, a hard year. We were defeated at the Battle of Axis and it must have seemed to our enemies that, finally, Neo Zeon had been defeated for good."
A beat of silence.
"I LAUGH at such thoughts. Our cause is not one that can be crushed through defeat, no matter the number! Why? Because our cause, the cause of ZEON, will never die! Our cause is righteous, our cause is the cause of all spacenoids, and our fight will be the struggle that sets all of the people of space free from the tyrants of gravity!"
"Those same tyrants of the Earth have fallen back asleep following Axis. They, who have been the oppressors for generations, assume once again that we are finished! That we have been defeated once and for all! That we are GONE!"
"We've given them a reminder before but now it is time to give them A WAKE UP CALL! So we are going on the attack my soldiers. We are going to swat their ships from the lunar airspace. And we are going to begin the fight to liberate our brothers and sisters on the Moon from the tyranny of Earth! So that one day, they and all other spacenoids who believe in our revolution will one day be able to proudly stand side by side with us on the field of battle!"
"Right here, right now, Neo Zeon goes on the offensive and we will not stop until every last Federation ship has been destroyed, until every spacenoid can exercise their innate rights of self determination, until our beloved homeland is free from the blight that grips it. WE WILL NOT STOP FIGHTING UNTIL OUR REVOLUTION IS VICTORIOUS!"
"SIEG ZEON MY SOLDIERS, VICTORY AWAITS!"
The lights on the cameras turned off and the spotlights that had been isolating the area I was standing in shut off. I used a cloth handed to me to wipe makeup off my face. Despite all the advancements in the realm of filmography, it seems that I still needed some makeup to not end up pulling a Nixon debate. Annoying stuff, I could almost feel my pores getting angry at me for subjecting them to this. At least the sweat of battle would clear them out soon.
"Status of the broadcast and recording?" I asked the room, tossing the dirty cloth into a handily placed bucket near the door.
"Broadcast went off without a hitch, the fleet and Palau received it with full clarity. The recording is beginning encryption and compression."
"Good, have the recording transmitted via laser burst to our media comrades on the Moon once we reach the area of operations." I made my way out of the room, people moving out of my way.
"Let's hope that Zinnerman chose a DJ who is calm under pressure." I muttered to myself. The speech would be sent out to pockets of Zeon and AUEG supporters on the Moon, who would further disseminate it with Radio AEUG itself also transmitting into the Earth so that the Remnants down there could tune in. If this part of the plan went off without a hitch, the entire lunar population, billions of people, would know that Neo Zeon was back and ready for another throw down with the Earth Federation.
First we had to perform a clean sweep of the Federation's Lunar Patrol Fleets. Eagerness started to flow through me, now this would be a challenge.
~~~
At precisely 1801 hours, Earth Orbital Standard Time, the naval element of Neo Zeon, under the command of Full Frontal, its new supreme commander. Blue contrails emerged as the collective fleet engines ignited and began the journey across space to the sole satellite of the planet Earth: the Moon. The fleet, under the command of Full Frontal for the time being, used the well known commercial space lanes to approach the Moon, lowering their speed and reactor output to give out false Minovsky signatures to blend in with the malaise of Minovsky particles that lit the space age highways of the Earth Sphere. This way they seemed to be nothing more than a collection of merchant vessels to any sensors or inquisitive eye that could be directed at them.
The fleet would travel as a united whole until they reached the outermost extent of the lunar gravity field, time of arrival marked as 0003 EOST, then the fleet, having previously been at sixty degrees south near the lunar South Pole on the far side of the Moon, split. The splinter group, consisting of six Arango-class ships and one modified Columbus-class carrier, under the command of Captain Suberoa Zinnerman commanding from the Arango-class Garencieres, arced under the south pole and, after lowering reactor power to minimum, crept towards their target: the maximum security prison of Diyu.
The main fleet oriented themselves northward, and descended into the Moon's gravitational field. Their destination was the lunar equator, specifically the region termed the Granada Triangle. As the hub of the lunar industrial manufacturing business, it is a natural place for the EFF to assign more than a single patrol fleet to patrol. Yet the elements of the fleet capable of reconnoitering the Triangle had been detached for the Diyu assault, and mobile suits and warships would be easily detected if sent forward in a scouting mission.
Yet all of this had been accounted for in the planning of Operation Left Hook. When the main fleet had ascended to thirty-five degrees south, the scouts were deployed. In the lead up to the Operation, a number of cargo containers had been modified to be able to store and deploy a single mobile suit. These cargo containers, attached to the space equivalent of the hard working eighteen wheeler tractor trailer of the late twentieth century, merged into the Granada shipping lane. It took hours for the hidden mobile suits to slowly creep north shadowed by the main fleet, which sailed out of sight of the shipping lanes, but as the clocked ticked into the early hours of the day, hidden Neo Zeon forces where dispersed around the Granada Triangle region, reporting to their masters the scope of their foe on this day.
One patrol fleet hung directly over New Antwerp, overseeing traffic. A second fleet was sighted between Granada and the city of Epsylon near the Moscoviense Mare. From here the infiltrators split up. Ten mobile suits of the Dreissen model remained in the Triangle, where the first strike would land. The remaining ten scouts, piloting Zaku IIIs, headed west along the equator, hunting for targets to strike at. These scouts would sight a third patrol fleet docked at the Neo Cartagena Base while a fourth is sighted heading over into the near side of the moon, possibly towards Von Braun. The second scout group divides into two groups of five. One heads towards the populous agricultural and power collection/distribution center of Saint Joseph, where they will picket the border between the two sides of the moon. The other group of five reduces thrust and moves out of the shipping lanes north of the Neo Cartagena base, hugging the lunar surface; they skulk towards the docked patrol fleet.
The scout's findings are transmitted to the main fleet via laser burst communications relayed between the squad leaders in order to account for the vast distance. Despite the technical difficulties, the main fleet now had a clear(ish) view of what they would be up against. The first target remained the same however: clear the Granada Triangle of EFSF ships and mobile suits.
The flagship of the main fleet(also referred to as the Dawson Fleet on account of the commanding naval officer), the Lindra, would dispatch three transmissions before signaling the operation's start. One to the near side of the Moon, commanding the Zinnerman Fleet to start the final countdown to operation start time. Now the two fleets would start their opening attacks at the same time. The second transmission was sent back along the ad hoc scout communication relay, putting the scouts on the same countdown clock as the fleets. The third transmission was directed into the lower levels of Granada City, alerting the staff of Radio AEUG that the highly promoted offensive was about to begin. Radio AEUG would move into a state of high alert, directing hidden cameras to point into the void of space and stirring up their attentive audience.
The move to contact AEUG members in Granada had been the riskiest component of the pre-battle operation, the move most likely to trip EFF sensors of some kind. Yet after a minute of nail biting anticipation, the federal patrol fleet that would have reacted first if they had been made aware of the Neo Zeon presence remained completely unaware of their impending deaths.
The time was 0156 EOST, and the synchronized timers spread across dozens of ships and mobile suits informed that five minutes remained.
Ships transitioned to their combat bridges, any hands that had strayed from their combat stations rushed this way and that to report at their station. Mobile suits made their final journey into the dark launch catapults, the metal giants bristling with weapons, both ranged and melee.
Four minutes.
The scouts held their fingers breathlessly over the button that would eject the walls of their metal coffins outward, freeing them to begin their deadly game of cat and mouse with Federation ships and suits. Dreissens and Zaku IIIs chambered their bazookas, of which the primary model was the 360mm Giant Bazooka, chambering their single M-particle shell. These shells would silence the comms of the patrol fleets temporarily, preventing any unified front from immediately forming.
Three minutes.
The two fleet's automated loading systems shuttled the first magazine of missiles into their launch tubes. The fleetwide volley would detonate high in the Moon's orbit and the dispersal of Minovsky particles would plunge the Terran satellite into a communication blackout that would last for tens of hours, in a case of extreme success a full standard day.
Two minutes.
Final attitude adjustments are made to the positions of the ships, they had skulked and clung in the shadows of lunar craters for long enough. Now when the engines were pushed to full throttle they would rise from the gray dust below like the sea leviathans of ancient stories.
One minute.
In the midst of it, the seemingly still forms of Salamis-Kai cruisers continued to hang above the gray metal and fluorescent lights of the lunar cities outer shells. The men and women of these ships walked around their normal, everyday, tan duty uniforms. No guns were manned with particular vigilance, nor any sensors given more time of day than needed. The night shifts spent more time thinking about what the canteens would be serving for breakfast, or idly thinking about their bunks. The attitude of the EFSF units on the Moon could only be called easy going. It was no surprise, the war of last year was over and another period of peace was ushering itself in, under the auspices of the Earth Federation of course.
The synchronized clocks ticked down to zero and on 0201 EOST, war came once more to the Earth Sphere.
~~~
"Port side launch tube is clear, starboard launch tube you have priority, go go go." The fast paced voice of the launch catapult control blared into my helmet. This announcement coincided with the red lights of the launch catapult and tube switching to green and the doors at the far end of the tube opening to reveal the black horizon of space.
"Full Frontal, AMS-119 Geara Doga. Launching" I mimicked the controllers fast pace, rattling off my identifiers before engaging the main thrusters on the Geara Doga. I moved forward briefly, then jerked to a halt as the connector hose pulled taunt. Momentum built and built before the latches fixing the hose to my Doga's backpack disconnected, allowing me to rocket out of the Lindra at the top speed for my mobile suit.
I plunged upwards, the panoramic cockpit allowing me to see the dark grey land of the Moon below me, the dagger shapes of the Neo Zeon fleet flying up at full thrust, the back thrust kicking up a mighty dust storm on the surface below the fleet. I was at the front of the surging mobile suit wave. Above the forms of the Federal patrol fleet appeared giant orbs of swirling purple and yellow light: the detonation of the M-particle barrage. From these utterly fascinating orbs, and their smaller cousins that could be detected on the edge of my sensors, would emerge a barrage of tightly woven Minovsky particles that was the modern bane of communication. Judging by the spread of the initial barrage, I calculated that the entire dark side of the Moon had just lost any and all devices that operated on the electromagnetic frequency. The Feddies, and us, would still have comms up for a while longer due to our hardware being hardened against M-particles, but it would eventually become only possible to communicate with other ships and suits either in very close proximity or with a direct link.
The benefits of planning would come into full effect once space was buzzing with M-particles, and I'd put good money on the Feddies not having a single plan that concerned itself with a Neo Zeon invasion of the Moon.
"First Wing fall in behind me, form up on squad leaders and move forward in attack pattern echo. Second Wing, split to the side and overwhelm the flanks of the fleet above Grenada. We're going to support our advance units in removing the Feddies above Granada City." I sent out my orders over the Neo Zeon command frequencies. "Sieg Zeon!" I punctuated my orders with a shout of our rallying cry.
"Sieg Zeon!" cried out my fellow pilots using open frequencies as the mobile suits gathered into five suit units, forming several arrowhead formations. My wingman, Savoir, didn't concern himself with joining a squad, he was assigned solely to me today. Through the gaps in my wing's formation, a barrage of solid green mega particle beams raced, flying as true as arrows to blast against the armor of the feddies Salamis-Kais. A smattering of explosions that bloomed from the federal ships gave testament to the aiming abilities of the seasoned gunners in the fleet.
As polished as my gunners were, there would be no more supporting fire now, else friendly fire would be unavoidable. Now was the hour of the mobile suit, the hour of the beam rifle, beam sword and close range missiles.
"Squad leaders, choose your targets and hit them hard, leave the mobile suits to me and Squad Four." I order Squad Four to guard left and right of the charging wing then toggle my squad frequency. "Savoir, break upwards. Let's get ourselves some prime steak for dinner."
Our two Geara Dogas broke off our diagonal approach to the patrol fleets, firing our leg thrusters to fly directly upwards, bringing us level with the patrol fleets. I'd like to say that what I did next was part of a grander plan but it wasn't. I just wanted to fight already.
I toggled over to the mess of the open comm frequencies, those channels that anyone could access, and, like the knight my mobile suit was styled on, issued a challenge.
"Attention dogs of the Earth before me. I am Full Frontal, leader of Neo Zeon. I am the orchestrator of all you see before you. And I am here, waiting for you. Fight me if you dare or run away like the cowards you all are, it matters not. The day is already ours." I poured every ounce of contempt I felt for this moribund government into this challenge
Blips appeared on my radar, and I manipulated my main camera to zoom in on the Federation fleet. Good, the Federation pilots were moving in, operating RGM-86 GM IIIs from the look of it. Then the only problem would be numbers.
"I think they got your message sir." Savoir cautiously stated, bringing his Geara Doga over from the left to my unshielded right side.
"Just as planned, wingman." My voice lacked any of the caution Savoir had, rather mine overflowed with anticipation. "Now for the next part."
"Which is?"
"Attack!" The pair of us blasted forwards, Savoir a second or two behind me. The kilometers between us and the oncoming federals rapidly disappeared. Below me the advancing MS wings flew under the charging federal squads -the cameras had identified a full squad and then three fourths of another- and a rough estimate by the computer predicted that they would meet eighty seconds after we engaged. The EFSF picket had spread themselves out wide, seeking to put their cannon's firing line away from where their own mobile suits were engaging. Then the federals could pour mega particle beams into the flanks of our fleet, which was still climbing in a tight formation.
Hopefully the Dreissen squads would turn themselves around and plunge into the back of the patrol fleet before they could make that adjustment. Or they'd be busy delaying the patrol fleet to the northwest.
The console beeped to alert me that we had gotten within a kilometer of the approaching feddies. I flicked the safeties off of my weapons, giving me full control of the suit's arsenal. A manipulation of the left control stick armed the sturm fausts attached to my shield and cause the rectangular shield to rotate ninety degrees, pointing the red colored warheads at the oncoming suits. Savoir mirrored my movements.
In a matter of seconds I'd be able to see the GM IIIs with my bare eyes. "Give a full spread Savoir, we're driving them into a corridor." I ordered my wingman. He would fire his four sturm fausts wide, I'd fire mine high. Hopefully the feddies would hold their unguided missiles until they had a closer shot.
"Firing." Savoir said, his shield releasing the first two, then flipping over endwise to let loose the second pair. I mirrored his movement, sending mine above and below. Our shields spun one last time, locking back in a horizontal position. Large orange spheres, the signal that the sturm fausts had a comparatively low explosive power compared to other munitions, of light came into existence. Seven humanoid forms were silhouetted in black by the explosions, which had already faded in intensity microseconds after they first emerged.
"Looks like they took the opening Savoir." I informed my wingman. "Follow my lead, braking in three, two, one." It was a risky maneuver to come to full stop when two mobile suit units were charging each other, but by doing so we'd be able to have our targeting computers draw more accurate targeting solutions. Just don't let the other side run behind you and get a clean shot at your back while doing so.
My roommate slid into focus in my mind. "Feddies like to lead with their shield." The sudden deceleration jolted me as the harness dug into my shoulders even through the pilot suit. The red shields the GM IIIs bore could be seen clearly now. Sure enough, said shields had been extended and the beam rifles had been positioned so that they were sheltered by the inside of the shield. The imagery brought to mind how hoplites strode into battle in ancient days.
I brought my beam machine gun to bear, and depressed on the main firing stud, angling the gun upwards. Streams of green beam pellets issued from the mouth of my machine gun as I fired in horizontal bursts, raking into the head and shoulders of the GMs, causing the pilots to move their shields into a more central position. Savoir mirrored my firing arcs, and a few GMs were knocked off course from their approach, glancing hits disrupting their forward trajectory. But the feddies stayed the course, and return beam fire, the color of cotton candy, zipped by the pair of us.
"Break wide and engage at will, Savoir!" I called out, pressing hard on the left verniers, swinging my Geara Doga to present the feddies with my shielded left side, followed by bringing the reactor to its maximum output. Time to put some pep in my thrusters step.
I bolted to the right side of the charging feddies, matador like, then threw myself into a sharp, almost acute, turn. Now the unshielded flanks of the GMs were nice and open. Targeting solutions were rapidly acquired, and three second bursts of beam fire perforated the left sides and backpacks of the two GM IIIs now in front of me. The rear GM III buckled under the fire, armor warping and shattering as gouts of hot flame poured out of the newly created holes before the mobile suit flew apart at the seams, upper and lower parts flying there separate ways with enough destruction in the torso to signal that survival wasn't a possibility for the pilot. The other GM III that I had targeted fared better than its college, he had juked downwards, meaning that the burst of beam fire had only been able to perforate one of the upper thrusters on the GM's Gundam Mk-II style backpack.
On the opposite side of the engagement zone, Savoir had also scattered the line of the formation he had swung around to face, preferring to use the grenade launcher attached to his beam machine gun to strike at the GM IIIs before opening fire. In his short attack run Savoir rendered the shield arm inoperable of one foe and pushed the other GM he faced backwards into the formation, red shield now heavily scarred with black blast marks as the anti-beam coating was rapidly worn away. Feddies on the inside of the formation performed about faces, bringing beam rifles and missile pods to bear on the two of us. If we stayed at range and tried to win the shooting battle we'd lose the war. Only way to victory was forward.
I dove into the fray, using short bursts from my machine gun to force my enemies to focus on defense, flying down in a parabolic curve so that I came level with the Feddies and by the time any of them had a real clear bead on me, I was among them. The screen of my cockpit became dominated by the visored visage of a GM III, sporting missile pods on its shoulders. My sudden appearance made the pilot freeze for the briefest of moments, but I capitalized with vicious enthusiasm. My beam machine gun was thrust forward up against the sternum of the GM, putting a dent in the convex armor, before jamming my index finger on the firing stud. The cockpit of the GM III was reduced to melted slag and the mobile suit abruptly powered down, emergency sub routines in the remaining computers activating to prevent a reactor meltdown.
The motion sensors blared alarms at me, I was being charged from the back: an enterprising GM III had drawn its beam saber and was flying forward, aiming to skewer me clean through!
I shut off the main back and leg thrusters on the left side, and flicked the front vernier thrusters into full power. Then I pulled back on the left controller while pushing forward with the right controller, and raised my suit's left arm so that the shield's edge was presented to the charging mobile suit. The edges of my vision faded to black, that was how great the G forces the maneuver generated where even my physically enhanced body was strained by it. Then the corner of my shield impacted the charging GM's head and tore it clean off. I could feel that all the way in the cockpit.
My beam machine gun maneuvered under my suit's left arm and fired, marking my third confirmed kill of the operation. An immense feeling of satisfaction settled over me and I was gladdened by the absolute truth that I would emerge victorious here, in this little brawl. The Federation pilots weren't greenhorns but they hadn't reached the ability of aces, myself and Savoir had. My internal point was proven again when I was able to fly backwards away from my kill, then ascend upwards to shoulder check a GM that had sought to snipe me away from the melee. The presumptive sniper was torn apart by a brace of anti-MS missiles I loosed from the missile pod mounted on the left side of the Geara Doga's armored skirt.
A quick enhanced zoom with the monoeye showed that Savoir had gained another kill during my own combat action but the remaining two survivors of the two feddie squads had rallied together, and were penning Savoir in with their beam sabers. One of the feddies was the GM III that survived my initial flanking attack, he received my beam axe through his chest. The easing of the pressure on him allowed Savoir to turn the duel in his favor, and the melee came to an end as abruptly as it started: with Savoir's beam sword dicing the GM III into chunks.
"I appreciate the assistance sir." Savoir extended his thanks, his voice now tinged with exertion caused by the strain of combat. Still he managed to be his usual unfailing polite self when addressing me.
"As long as you properly credit me when you're designing your latest kill tally deco, don't mention it." Was my glib reply. Savoir of course didn't make kill tallies. "Now we have some ships to sink, let's go."
Off we flew, towards the Salamis Kais with their golden defensive halos of AA fire, leaving only the floating scraps of our foes to mark our passing.
~~~
"Squad 14! Rally to me!" I shouted over the comms. "We're pushing those federal bastards out of that wreckage and sinking that final ship!" I glared at the stubborn feddie pilots who clung to the still burning rear half of a newly destroyed Salamis Kai from my position a few hundred meters away. The pilots weren't just letting me observe them unhindered. Pink beam rifle fire flew around me in a storm of destruction that, had a single shot landed and thrown my maneuvering off, would have been the end for me. The instinctive and erratic dodging that I had commenced with kept the Jims from ever landing that decisive shot and it was their focus on me that gave Squad 14 their chance to come swooping in. A withering hail of green beam fire forced the feddies to abandon the wreck after losing a mobile suit.
I took advantage of the cessation of the beam fire to race to and over the broken Salamis Kai wreckage, placing my beam machine gun on its holster rack and taking up my beam sword-axe, in axe configuration. Then I was back up to the close and personal portion of mobile suit combat, setting about to the chopping of titanium ceramic composite armor with glee. Robotic arms flew away from the unlucky GM IIIs who had rushed at me to engage in melee. The whole action of fighting with an axe was satisfying on a primal level. Squad 14 broke off the 'zoom' portion of their 'boom and zoom' attack run, swinging up and down to fall into the final remnants of the first patrol fleet's mobile suit contingent with sword and rifle.
The pilot operating an AMX-109 Bawoo even saved me from a missile barrage. A favor that I returned by destroying a one-armed GM with a bazooka that had drawn a bead on the Bawoo. The green and silver colored Bawoo offered a robotic salute in thanks before blasting off to rally his squad. I flicked a switch on the center console of the cockpit, arming a pair of the signal flares stored in the launcher atop my Geara Doga's head. A press of a button on the controllers launched the two flares, which flew high above the battle to create swirling spots of gold and purple light. It seemed that these flares created a lull in the fighting, as Neo Zeon and Federation, the scant few that had managed to flee their embankment moments ago, mobile suits paused their duels and shooting matches to interpret the orders I had sent out with the flares.
Not really of course, the battle had just shifted away from this sector as Dawson moved the fleet northwest to engage the patrol fleet that was rushing towards the Triangle to try to save its sister fleet above Grenada, as well as make contact with the Dreissen advance mobile suits wherever they had gotten to. No contact with them had made its way to me so far, which had started to raise concerns. I shook my head, those thoughts had no place in a battle, I had to be concerned with the here and now, and save the rest for later.
Aside from my thoughts, my signaled orders had begun to be obeyed. The rearguard, two Musai-Kais, had broken rank and charged at the sole Salamis Kai left in this sector. They changed course to fly at a forty five degree angle to the side of the Salamis Kai. Then the three twin mega particle guns on each rotated to face the grey-blue and red ship with all the deliberateness of an executioner's axe being raised. The Salami Kai's own mega particle guns moved to track both ships, but it was a futile effort. The Musai Kai's gun fired, and twelve mega particle beams perforated the superstructure of the Salamis Kai in a criss cross pattern. The two hundred meter long light cruiser seemingly hung in space for a moment, looking like despite the impossible odds against it, she might have not taken a killing blow. That illusion was shattered by the crunching of the superstructure inward and fire exploding out of every window and hole in the ship.
I flew over to a nearby Geara Doga and established a direct contact link with its pilot. "Take your wingman and go ensure that there are no survivors in this sector, then regroup with the fleet." I ordered, and I felt nothing at giving that order, just like the other two times I had given it. I wonder if I ever had, or if my condition and convictions had inured me from such things. Was I not determined to bring about my desired reality at any cost?
"Of course, Supreme Commander. I won't let you down." The reply came from a young voice and I realized that I had managed to stumble across Angelo Sauper. I had known he was here obviously, his scores in training had granted him a mobile suit, but what an odd coincidence that he and I would come into direct contact in the middle of a moon-wide offensive.
"I know you won't, Angelo." Maybe I should have given him a longer reply but I had spent too long lagging behind the front. Hopefully Angelo would take the brief comment as encouraging rather than assuming.
~~~
The second patrol fleet had come rushing towards the Triangle from the Mare Moscoviense, valiantly attempting to save the patrol fleet over Granada as it died in billowing fireballs. The second patrol fleet had rushed out its mobile suits, putting them in an arrowhead formation, while the ships behind the vanguard took a line position, minimizing their collective profile so that only the lead ship was at risk of taking direct fire. As it was relayed to me by Dawson, if this second fleet had struck before the first fleet had been broken, then it was very possible that our entire left flank would have been rolled up and we'd be fighting a bloody retreat to the east.
Luckily, the second fleet never managed to reach our lines intact, because just as they crossed the lip of the Mare, the Dreissen advance squads struck. Like the one eyed bulky golems of destruction they sought to be, the ten mobile suits - the squad near the Triangle had been ordered to fallback and regroup following the first strike - ran through the gauntlet of the mobile suit vanguard. Then they were among the ships and Lieutenant Albrecht, and his fellow pilots under him for the Operation, was a man born to shoot a bazooka it seemed. The two advance squads had emptied all of their 360mm bazooka shells into the vulnerable metal of the feddie ships, sinking half of the patrol fleet and putting serious holes in the remainder. They had been forced to burn rubber back to our fleet after that, as an outnumbering horde of GM IIIs had been baying for their blood, but the second fleet was dead in the water. When the lead Musakas and their MS contingents had linked up with the Dreissens, the clean up was apparently 'like fish shooting in a barrel'.
As wonderful as the first engagements turned out to be, we'd hit a roadblock on the journey to victory. As I observed from my position hovering next to the bridge of the Lindra, the fleet based at Neo Cartagena had somehow survived the Zaku III's strikes, and had linked up with the New Joseph patrol fleet to form a united force that had sent Lieutenant Nilsson's command reeling back. When we had arrived in the airspace around Neo Cartagena, we'd been met with a pair of wounded advance squads, and a full battle line of Salamis Kai cruisers. Then the real battle had begun, the two fleets had let fly the mega particle beams with reckless abandon, forgetting volley fire for the simple and deadly tactic of putting as many beams downrange as possible. Missiles and torpedoes had been thrown in for good measure. The greatest fleet battle since the days of the Gryps War as Musakas, Endras, Musai-Kais, Zanzibar-II and Salamis Kais started the drag out slugfest that one could argue they had been designed to fight.
It had created a situation where mobile suits were useless in the direct fight, the no man's land between the fleets were filled with so many beams and AA fire that I doubted even I could thread the needle to reach the other side. The black scorch marks on my shield and armor bore evidence of failed attempts to do just that.
So Dawson and I had conferred briefly for strategy, now that our two realms were one again, and the quick meeting had brought about a simple new tactic. I was taking our mobile suit force on a mass flanking maneuver, threatening to roll up the feddies flank. It would either succeed unopposed, ensuring victory, or, much more likely, the feddies would be forced to respond in kind. Then we'd decide this battle on the mobile suit front.
"Keep them busy Dawson, I'm off." I called over to my Commodore before breaking the direct contact link.
"Savoir! Gather Squads 01, 02, and 04 on me, we're going on the attack." Savoir gave his affirmative then got to work breaking through the Minovsky particle effect to rally the aforementioned squads to the two of us.
I fired a series of signal flares, sending out the message for all mobile suits to mass on the left flank of the stretched out fleet. By the end of that, the summoned squads had reached my position, and I took command and off we went. Flying through the fleet with the initial following that was slowly growing as more squads joined the growing charge, I took stock of my munitions. I was out of sturm fausts, and had a single missile left in the right missile pod. My E-cap magazines were going better, with two of the six I had depleted and recharged, one loaded into the machine gun and the other ones ready to go.
As the charge reached the final ships in our line, I took a deep breath and wished that I had some way to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. I wasn't bone tired enough to warrant combat stims but I was starting to feel the burn. I consoled myself with the knowledge that my uncomforts would disappear when the shooting started.
Speaking of shooting, we'd cleared the fleet entirely and my suit's cameras began to lock onto the target: the massed horde of GM-IIIs and a few other models of EFSF mobile suits charging at us.
"Commander Yoshida, pull your wing back ten seconds from the first wing." I ordered the Geara Doga with a gold colored head. "My wing will stall them and yours will break them.
"Yes sir. Second Wing, fire verniers in a two second burst on my mark" Yoshida began to marshal her wing. I kept focused on the advancing federals.
Then I saw him: mirroring my own position, he was at the lead of the federal charge. And how unique this mobile suit was. It was an entirely separate model from the GM lineage suits around it, presenting a lanky profile, colored marble white with blue-green accents. It even had wing binders! I started to hear my heart beat a staccato beat in my ears. Could this be the one that finally gave me a challenge on the battlefield?
As the kilometers were eaten up by thrusters, the unique mobile suit became more discernible, and the onboard computer was able to identify it: my enemy was a MSA-007 Nero, heavily modified from the baseline going off the image the computer presented.
I knew in my bones that I was destined to fight this mobile suit. I just had to get his attention. So I decided to make myself more visible to the enemy.
Toggling my radio over to the open channels, I rallied the troops.
"Pilots of Neo Zeon, this is our moment! Erase the Federals from existence in the name of our cause! SIEG ZEON!" My final roar was echoed by the mobile suits around me, and the feddies definitely heard that as they responded with their own jeering battlecries as we all raced towards potential death with glee in our hearts.
Then a call came over the channels.
"You in the red mobile suit! You've met your end. I will be your death!" A furious voice raged at me. My lips pulled back in a cheerless smile that felt more like a baring of teeth.
"I am Full Frontal feddie, and I haven't met my match yet! But feel free to become another kill tally!"
The Nero took its free hand and drew its beam saber, raising it backwards while taking aim at me with its beam rifle. The pilot's rage had only grown when hearing my voice, I could feel it. I trained my beam machine gun at the Nero and sheltered the barrel beneath the edge of my shield. I could see every detail of the Nero with stark clarity, and it's pilot could see every detail of my Geara Doga too. Scant meters lay between us as we brought our respective charges home.
The Nero dove at me, battle cry issuing over a channel.
"DIE ZEKE TRASH!"
I threw open all my thrusters, propelling upwards to meet the diving Nero. The drums of battle beating hard and loud in my heart.
"DIE FEDDIE SCUM!"
And then the two of us started our shared business of killing the other.
A/N: and here it is: the chapter that pushes us over the 100k word count and the current largest chapter in the story. Operation Left Hook is in motion but the hardest part is unfolding. And I wonder what Zinnerman and crew are up to on the near side of the Moon? All this and more, next chapter(cue evil cackling). One of the hardest parts(aside from having to write the Federation suits as the same model all the time compared to the large menu of Neo Zeon suits I can use) this time was writing the fight scenes, I feel a bit rusty, or it's been a while since I've written a Gundam-verse fight instead of a Star Wars one. Sorry about the cliff hanger but it felt right to me. Hope you all enjoy the chapter regardless. Comments and such are appreciated as always.
