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Mobile Suit Gundam: Harpoon

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Sushi

Sushi

#fuckcancer
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_____Off the coast of California, a faint circle of light wormed its way through the rough seas. The dark shape of a Federation warship slipped through the waters, a single dim red light standing above the waves. The storm rattled its hull as the ship pulled along side another shadow, longer and sitting lower in the water. Federal sailors with their heads bowed against the pelting rain threw lines to the ship alongside.

_____A small group of pilots had gathered in the command center, and air within was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of vintage whiskeys. Each Federal pilot bore the marks of several conflicts past — little scars and reminders of hardships they had endured, and the numerous patches and commendations of prior battles on their weathered pilot's jackets. There was a sharp knock before the door swung open, and the 7th Space Test Squadron's commanding officer stepped in. She was tall and calloused, and her gaze was not quite unkind, but she had the air of death about her. The lieutenant's pips pinned to the officer's collar were dull and tarnished.

_____Lieutenant Revelle spoke softly. "It's official. The base commander gave the order to surrender an hour ago. The test facilities and experimental weapon storage — all of it is going to be in Zeon hands. Our job — slip in take everything we can before they lock everything down." As she spoke, the deck beneath their feet shuddered, and the vessel hummed with the sounds of their underway resupply. There was another knock at the door.

_____"Come in."

_____Revelle let the three pilots file in before continuing. "I'd like you all to meet the new blood. Lieutenant junior-grade Ibrahim Oseni from 4th Reconnaissance Squadron, ensign Leto Lanzetta, EFF Air Force, Side 2 Defense Fleet, and ensign Cania Lin from the 3rd Space Patrol Fleet. Welcome to 7-STS."

 
The coward. The utter coward.
Mack still had that floating image of Texas Colony- his home, everything he'd known before joining the Fed- scarred into his mind. How could some look at the people who'd done things like that. Things like British, things like the gassings, and willing hand over weapons like whatever they were developing. It made Mack feel sick (though that may have been his perpetual seasickness) and... empty. Empty like everything was already over.

No, he couldn't think that. There was new blood present today, and he had to make a good first impression. He turned to the three, and gave a curt nod. "Glad to have you at the seven ess-tee-ess, folks. Hope we'll make a good team."
 
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_____Paraded before the 7-STS, Cania Lin was a woman of average height. The description only grew worse as she stared at the floor. Her legs were unsteady in the warship. The sea's constant movement wreaked havoc with her stability. Obviously Cania's time in space was long in the tooth. If she wore sunglasses, as was typical for spacenoids adjusting to Earth, she would have completed the unflattering picture.

_____She dusted her freshly minted jacket. The action itself was reflexive: she was still used to the old one. And unlike that particular jacket, the new garment failed to completely cover the sharp-looking tattoo that peaked out from her neck down. It was not up to regulations, but no one outside of HQ cared too much. There were bigger concerns at play.

_____Cania's grin contrasted with the rest of her body. As she cocked her head toward the group, there was an ease to it. Mischief emanated from it side to side. Most of it was harmless. Most, of course, but not all. Lively brown eyes squinted to drink up each of their features.

_____Then she said: "Cania's enough for me, Lt. Same for the rest of you sirs and ma'ams."
 
Maion looked the three new additions up and down. His fellow Loum veterans surrounding him, he felt his mind slip into known patterns and his body obediently followed. Everything was tied to flight with him, and everywhere that didn't remind him of a cockpit reminded him of a hangar, or an airfield, or a spaceport, or maybe just the sky - blue or black. It was with these instincts that he regarded the three, subtly sizing them up like a preflight check, gauging their attentiveness, their poise, their quantities of "right stuff" that pilots very often treated like a supernatural je ne sais quoi that separated a good pilot from a great one, and truth be told, even he couldn't quite dissect or quantify.

On a first glance, he saw beats he recognized: a sort of solidity in Ibrahim, definitely the vibe of an experienced man, certainly in the right place, a sort of unnameable something in Cania - it certainly was different to that "right stuff" he was hoping to waft across his nose, and her wobble...well, it was good this wasn't actually a fighter he was giving a preflight check, but she had to be here for a good reason. The smile made him hope he'd see what was what soon; confidence was good. Then there was a very nameable something in Leto. Fellow fighter jockey, fellow addict to flight, fellow soldier who had to get very uncomfortable to be here with all four limbs and all five senses. Very well, he could work with that. He would work with that.

Trying to do the same to him, one could read the parts he allowed through like an open book. It was easy to get the measure of him from his alert posture, attentive gaze, and the way he gently brushed the odd errant lock of straight, long red hair back behind his shoulder, casual as anything else he did. Then came the warm smile, the look of a man - and indeed, the nod and motions he made when straightening up showed the long-haired fashion drawing of a human being in front of them did indeed have an Adam's apple on his neck - who would stay calm and optimistic about his chances flying anything, in any state, in any conditions.

"Very well, Cania," he said, answering her before adding, "I look forward to seeing you in action." His eyes drifted across the group, to address everyone as he spoke. Then his smile faltered a bit, still easy but dented just a bit by the news as he considered what it meant. Sizable chance that the Zeeks would get their hands on those precious prototypes and research projects, after the Federation was already sprinting to catch up in this latest arms race? It would be hard for anybody to keep smiling, much as he labored to keep from showing his back.
 
"Won't question someone trying to not waste their men." Katharine, or Kat commented as she leaned against the bulkhead toward the back of the command center. Her nose wrinkled at the smells in the air - someone in the command center had shit taste in cigars. "Though I'm wondering why no one, ya know, demo'd all the secret shit." The warrant officer shrugged. "Nothing to help it though."

She glanced over the pilots, new and old alike. The newcomers looked as grizzled as the old timers, which was only a positive for her. Beach landings were not the the place to work in greenhorns.
 
Stepping into the command center behind the lieutenant, Leto's nose wrinkled as the offensive stench of cigarette smoke filled her nostrils. She raised a hand to fan the air in front of her in a futile attempt to disperse the odour to no avail.

"Shit, I'm surprised you all haven't suffocated yet. The air in here is a little bit rank." Leto joked weakly, one side of her mouth raising in a half-hearted attempt at a smirk and her hand moved to perform an informal two-fingered salute to the room. "Good to meet you too. The el-tee's only had good things to say about you all."

Despite the bravado that Leto displayed, there was a slight slouch to her shoulders as if an invisible weight were pressing down. The fatigue, everpresent in every soldier, sailor and airman here, wasn't surprising in the slightest despite how early in the conflict it was. The sheer violence, cruelty and destruction of the war had far surpassed the expectations of everyone, a blazing wildfire— a conflagration— that was already beginning to burn out of control.

Leto's eye swept across the room, quickly taking in the members of the squadron she was to join, and noted quietly that it had already left marks on everyone present.

Including herself.

The white medical eyepatch over her right eye stood out starkly on her face and the beginnings of scar tissue were barely visible as they peeked out from underneath the eyepatch. A parting gift from those damned fucking Zekes during the initial stages of the conflict, now forever etched onto her face.

Leto let out a small huff as her single eye met Maion's, raising her only eyebrow before acknowledging her fellow airman with a small nod and a crooked grin. He was tall but not so tall that he couldn't fit in the cockpit of a Saberfish... and not to mention pretty easy on the eyes. Maybe not quite her type but she could appreciate a good looker every once in awhile.

The other redhead in the room though... she had a noticeable feeling about her. One that Leto realised was very similar to what some of her fellow pilots exuded after that week, an intensity that bordered on aggressive and focus that was honed to a razor sharp edge. Those were the kind of people that thrived and excelled in the heat of battle and Leto found herself relieved to know that someone like that was on this squadron.

The man who initially greeted them as they walked in was young, noticeably younger than all present. He must've been in what... his early twenties? And yet, there was an air of exhaustion about him that immediately struck out at Leto, even heavier than the usual fatigue that plagued the Earth Federation forces. However, he was here among them and rallied himself to give them a pleasant greeting. There was a resolve there that Leto could respect.

And the last... a blonde woman that Leto instinctively found herself disliking and yet, someone who Leto felt was a kindred spirit in a sense. It was confusing and she found that she didn't like that feeling so she grabbed that feeling, stuffed it into a box and immediately shelved it somewhere in the darkest recesses of her mind where she could unpack and examine later. It was an experience that she unfortunately had gotten much use of recently.

It was a small ragtag group. But Leto found that she didn't exactly dislike the vibe of it. No. Not at all.
 
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Achilleia knocked back her shot of whiskey and poured herself another, her eyes flicking back and forth between the new arrivals.

"What do you know, command didn't saddle us with a bunch of rookies this go round," she said, taking a drag on a particularly foul-smelling cigarillo and pointedly blowing the smoke in Leto's direction. She knew it wasn't the new guy's fault that her eyepatch reminded her too painfully of Bella. But it hurt still and Achilleia knew only one way of dealing with hurt.

Make someone else hurt worse.

She brought herself back to reality with her signature grunt, and turned her attention back to Rev. "So we go in quiet and we come out loud, grab everything we can and blow the rest. Sounds right up Coriolle's alley."

"When do we leave?"
 
Callista leaned into her seat in the corner of the room, eyes dancing between the freshies. They didn't seem very impressive, but everyone said that about her too. Looks are deceiving in her line of work.

Returning from her thoughts, Callista pointedly gazed at the trio of recruits, mirthfully eyeing at them.

"Fresh on the boat and the newbies' first mission is already stealing shit?" She snorted, "This squad gets all the fun missions."

DB_Explorer said:
"Though I'm wondering why no one, ya know, demo'd all the secret shit." The warrant officer shrugged. "Nothing to help it though."
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"Their loss, our gain," Callista said, waving off the WO's concerns, "I'm sure we can put whatever stuff's in there to better use than the Zekes."
 
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_____"They say there's no such thing as a rookie pilot after Loum," the lieutenant said. Revelle cracked a slight, almost imperceptible smile when the mere act of Leia speaking had the whole room sitting up and turning their heads to listen. The team's killer had a presence, that was for sure. Then Kat voiced a thought the others had been doubtlessly sharing. "I don't disagree with that thought. They should have burned it all. But we could stand to benefit from this. We don't have enough parts to keep our captured mobile suits running. . . even if we did have enough material to get a Zaku operational, there's too many eyes in that port to let us slip one through.

_____"Which is to say we'll be going in on foot. That's our best chance of making it to the airstrip undetected and flying out with the material we need."
 
"Come in."

At the sound of Lieutenant Gabrielle Revelle's voice, Lieutenant JG Ibrahim Oseni, so recently hustled in from Jaburo, led the way into the vessel's command center along with Ensigns Leto Lanzetta and Cania Lin.

Ibrahim was immediately struck by the extent to which the smells and odors on a surface naval vessel were little different from those aboard a well-worn spacy warship. Leto made a comment about the smell, however, leading Ibrahim to silently wonder if the EFAF had a very different internal culture from the spacy. He had, however, expected some trace of the smells of the sea outside - which had been truly alien to a Spacenoid like him - but apparently the ship's interior was well insulated against that. Really, if it weren't for the slight sensation of movement below his feet, not to mention the consistent gravity at all times, he would hardly have felt any different than when he was aboard a space cruiser.

Ibrahim got in line with his fellow newcomers and stood with his arms behind his back, his back perfectly straight. An untrained eye might mistake his rigid, textbook posture as the sign of a greenhorn right out of the officer's academy, but those who knew better would recognize that look in the eye, that dark hardness in the face, of a man who had been passed through the thresher and had somehow avoided the blades.

After Gabrielle's introduction, plus greetings and comments from the current members of STS-7 (Ibrahim thought he heard a Loum accent from the young ensign seated near the front and... a Zeon accent? That was a Zeon accent, from that rude ensign in the corner, no doubt. The rest sounded like Earthnoids.), Ibrahim, as the ranking member of the newcomers, opened his mouth to speak first... only for Cania and Leto to get their words in first. It was only a slight twitching of the right eye, but that was probably more than enough to betray Ibrahim's annoyance that his juniors were speaking out of turn.

Nevertheless, he collected himself, brushing off not only their speaking out of order but the ensign in the corner (he would come to learn that her name was Callista Dresari) insinuating that he was a rookie, to introduce himself.

"JG Ibrahim Oseni. I know time is of the essence, so I will get to the point. I specialize in electronic and information warfare, reconnaissance, and ambush warfare. 4th Recon 'Lamplighters' from '75, and I was there for that first week. Orbital patrols from then until MS training in Jaburo. I'm ready to put my skills and experience at STS-7's disposal to ensure operational success."
 
"Now, this here's a situation where it'd pay to have some horses on hand," Mack commented on the plan. "We used to ride 'em on the Texas colony, and believe me, a few of the good ones could close the distance without..." he trailed off. He had been stupid bringing up home like that. Now it hurt again. That damned memory of the colony just floating there. Empty of the people that had made it a place instead of just a big dumb object. After half a second, it occurred to him how odd just stopping midsentence looked to everyone else, and Mack hastily resumed, "being that easy to spot. At least quite a bit easier than an big ol' Armored Pee cee would be."
 
"Which is to say we'll be going in on foot," Lt. Gabrielle thankfully turned the discussion back to the mission at hand, "That's our best chance of making it to the airstrip undetected and flying out with the material we need."

The young ensign (Ibrahim would eventually learn his name was Mack Robbins) added his own comments about using horses, and confirmed his Loum origins.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, Ensign," Ibrahim said to his superior and junior in turn, "I agree we should focus on preparing for the recovery operation at hand. Does this Squadron have access to horses? If so, I am not unfamiliar with riding one. More importantly, ma'am," here Ibrahim made sure he was addressing Gabrielle directly, "My expertise in electronics and information warfare could be of use here, if I could have access to an appropriate suite for it. I have had success in the past cracking into Zeonic communication channels to cause misdirection, confusion, or comms jamming, all of which would have obvious utility in an operation like this."
 
_____A chip in Cania's smile took place. The details of the operation filtered through her ears. She cast an inquisitive gaze at Revelle, and her mental scales shifted. "You're asking a lot, aren't you, ma'am?" she said rhetorically. "I thought this squadron was for flying. Now, it seems to me, we're some sort of on the ground special forces."

_____"Dunno about Oseni or Lanzetta," she said, thumbing her lips, "but I have no background with infiltration."
 
Maion tapped his chin, thoughtfully considering options. His hand migrated from his face to a glass of whiskey that was empty save for a thin ring of deep brown spirits at the very bottom, running his index finger around the rim like he was expecting the glass to sing. "I suppose it depends," he said. "I might be a pilot too, but some things do translate nicely. I spent a little time as an aggressor in Hervic's employ, so I know the principle of...not presenting as you," he said. "I suppose what I'm trying to say here is that I vote for the refined approach. Electronic noise - something that sounds like the chatter of the Earthnoid running in all directions ought to be a fine distraction," he said, sarcasm lacing his speech as he took on the tone of an ancient propaganda newsreel. He permitted himself a little laugh, then sat back in his seat. "Alright, maybe it's not nearly as refined an approach as I said."
 
"There's another thing I'm wonderin' about." Mack said, "What exactly are we gonna be findin' in the base when we actually get there? Are the Zeeks going to be in charge. Will it still be in the hands of the surrendering unit, or are we liking we going find the enemy still in the process of slammin' the cuffs on the local Feds?"
 
"Horses wouldn't be an good for infiltration, especially with us needing get ashore through surf.." Kat said as she glanced around the group of people that were decidedly not trained for the work of a foot solider, let alone infiltration work. "Reason we kept the marine regiments around." Said explained as she left her spot leaning against the wall to get a better look at the various maps the command room showed, a maneuver that brought her closer to the rest of the pilots. Her army uniform subtlety different from the space force uniforms around her, the sewn on qualification insignia for a mobile suit pilot sitting next to the crossed rifles of the infantry.

"The Ensign is right." She said nodding toward Cania. "None of us has much training with something like this. Suspect we'll be able to manage once we get to the mobile suits - but we got to get to them first. So we're gonna have to play it safe I think - getting into a fire fight with proper infantry will just get us killed." Kat said as she eyed the map. "Lucky for us the Zeke's are in our base - home field advantage."
 
Carol said:
_____"Dunno about Oseni or Lanzetta," she said, thumbing her lips, "but I have no background with infiltration."
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"I'm not black ops but I know a few tricks about keeping a low profile." Leto said, glancing pointedly at the redheaded ace(?) as she waved away another cloud of foul smelling smoke. "But they're exactly that though, just tricks. Nothing really to be proud about."

Leto folded her arms and began to lean against the doorframe, chewing her lip in thought. "If the base is still in the process of surrendering, the Zekes have already got their hands full with the logistics of this whole shitshow. Hell, we might even be able to walk up to the hangars depending on how busy they are with trying to keep everything in order."

The one-eyed woman shrugged. "Not all of us need to make it to the airstrip at once either. If at least a few of us could make it to the prototypes and get those damn things running, I'm sure that'll draw enough attention that anyone else could just waltz right in. Or at the very least, anyone piloting those things could at least cover the rest of the squad while they tried to make a dash for it."

Maybe they could try their hand at obtaining a few Zeke uniforms...?

Leto snorted incredulously at the thought. Secret missions, infiltration, stealing prototypes, disguising themselves... Her life was really just one big spy thriller movie now, wasn't it?
 
_____A rare smile flitted to Revelle's features. "Horses? No, we don't have those, but I'll put in an order for the next time we sneak into California Base." She watched the gathered pilots speak amongst themselves for some time. It was one of the differences she had noticed between being a grunt reservist and a pilot; aviators talked a lot about the mission. She let the discussion continue for a few moments longer before taking the natural pause to continue once more.

_____"You're right about a ground operation not playing to our strengths. Even with a squad of marines with us, I'm not keen to try a stand-up gunfight. The only reason a plan like this is even in consideration is because a few people on the base have the balls to try to sneak us in. There's two points of entry available to us currently: There's a Truck Depot that's been largely overlooked by the Zeon forces, and is protected by little more than a fence. Our other option is through the Port Security Checkpoint, which is still crewed wholly by Federation security forces at the moment.

_____"The port's directly adjacent to the runway." The grainy imagery on the main monitor showed a number of large, yellow aircraft with massive fanblades, their superstructure attached to rectangular cargo containers. "These are an advanced model of transport; I'm told there was an issue finding trained pilots to evacuate them before the base surrendered. I need a small team to get across that airstrip undetected; and they'll need to be our shit-hot pilots — I don't want any accidents with unfamiliar systems," Revelle said, her eyes turning to Delage, and then Lin.

_____"The rest of us, and our escorts, push the truck depot, grab any heavy vehicles with any equipment we might need, and break into the test hangars. We load anything we can take into the aircraft and try not to crash. In other words, the usual in 7 STS.

_____"Any questions?"
 
Kat idlely raises her hand. "I'm not going to take Zeke idiocy for granted, but why would they leave Fed forces in charge of their fancy new checkpoint?" The pilot thought about it for a moment before giving a dismissive wave. "You know what? I'll just take it so long as it could work, more useful question would be if we know what sort of prototypes we're dealing with? Don't want to go in expecting heavy armor and find something with the armor of a tissue box."
 
Still standing at the front of the room with Cania and Leto, Ibrahim listened intently as Gabrielle hashed out more details regarding the mission, then offered to asnwer questions.

A Warrant Officer (Ibrahim would come to know her as Katharine Volkov) was the first with two questions, one that Ibrahim regarded as an indication that the pilot wasn't paying attention, followed by one he thought was unlikely for Gabrielle to have been given much in the way details, but perhaps Intelligence had been more generous than usual. Either way, Ibrahim grudgingly kept his judgement to himself, betrayed only by a sharp, brief glance at Katharine, and said nothing about it.

He did, however, speak to Gabrielle when the chance presented itself. "Lieutenant, my skill set would be of use in either of the teams you've described, but I'm particularly versed in evading enemy detection. Unless you judge me useful elsewhere, I would volunteer to move with the airstrip team."
 
_____Cania was flint-faced, a bit scrapy around the edges, jagged to the unkind. The bits of instructions being exchanged left much to chance. She knew it in her gut. The gray shirts were all poor gamblers—high on risk, low on sense.

_____"The marines are something," she said. Wouldn't want to die alone, she left unsaid. Some sense was left in her head. She'd like to consider herself a smart gambler. Her eyes looked up back from the main monitor to Revelle.

_____"Only one: when are we launching the shindig?"
 
"Zeeks are probably pretty short staffed. They gotta be, trying to take over the whole world with just one Side." Mack remarked. "If we got any room left over on the transports, are we going to be able to try to get evac 'em, if we get the chance?"
 
_____"I'm sure the Zeon can take that checkpoint in a way that makes sense to you Kat, if you wait long enough asking questions..." Revelle said in a tone as dry as a Fed survival ration. "And that's appreciated, Oseni. Your experience sneaking by Zeke patrols is going to be very helpful."

_____The deck gently swayed from side to side as their replenishment concluded. A small light in the briefing room turned red. "That's us. Get your stuff and be topside in five minutes." As Revelle turned for the door, she glanced back to Mack.

_____"We'll take whoever we can. But the sensitive equipment comes first. You know how it is."
 
Achilleia snorted. "Not a member of the Sierra Hotel Club any more, huh?" she said, directing her remark pointedly to no-one in particular. "Guess I'm going to have to look for something to break shit with."

She punched Callista in the arm. "Looks like it's you and me in the hangars again, Coriolle," she said. "Just like old times." @NephyrisX
 
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