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Mobile Suit Gundam: Harpoon

Reader mode
- Port Security Team -
- Guardhouse -

Ibrahim was, by this point, holding one side of the control console's bulky headphones to his left ear as he worked, his helmet being too large to wear the headphones properly. It hadn't taken long for him to slip into the Zeon networks; the Space Attack Force and Mobile Assault Force networks he'd had to work against in space had gradually reinforced their security protocols over the course of the war, but clearly they hadn't been sharing their best practices with the younger Earth Attack Force. Inter-branch rivalry was just fine in Ibrahim's book, when it was inflicted on the enemy.

Having accessed their network, Ibrahim was able to work out the rotation schedule for the Zakus guarding the heavy transport hangar. He knew how to put out status reports that looked very convincing, so he proceeded to compose some with the intention of putting the current guard Zaku, and its scheduled replacement, on conflicting timetables. The reports would indicate timetable changes that would have the current guard retire earlier than originally scheduled, while its replacement would move out later, hopefully creating a window of time in which there'd be no mobile suits guarding the hangar.

Turning his head to indicate that he was addressing Gabrielle, Ibrahim said, "I've tampered with their rotation timetable. I will convince that Zaku to step away when we're ready."

The team just needed Maion and Cania to get the armored vehicle prepared.

@Sushi @Hoshino Yumemi @Carol
 
_____Cania waved to acknowledge the order: it was a faint, quick motion. One could almost say it was half-hearted.

_____In the overall hierarchy of things, cars were below that of planes. The four-wheel vehicle just didn't have the gravity defying quality she wanted. But it sure as hell beat crawling out to subdue a heavily armed patrol.

_____"Let's hope this vic is a bit above usual government work," she said. "I'd hate for it to be some kind of surplus monster."
 
Maion smiled, regarding their prospective ride with the kind of expression one might give uncolored lineart. There was something there, it just needed filling in. It wasn't like this was going to be his first dalliance with a runway and a set of wheels. To him, a redline wasn't a warning, it was a goal. Hell, he made his checks before the war by pushing envelopes, and if he had his way, he'd keep earning them that way during this war. He said as much, serving his opinions with a dash of romance and a dollop of optimistic realism.

"One mustn't judge a hot rod by the mongrel she was before her transformation," he said, looking over the armored car with the persnickety eye of a concourse judge. "She may still bear the bruises, be marked by her years, sure..." Maion found bits and pieces here and there and put his hands all over the machine, grabbing and tugging all over its many handles, handholds and racks to see if anything gave way, came off, rattled or squeaked. "...but underneath, even if all she gets is a little attention in the right spots..." He raised his fist and banged on the plating, listening for any clanks or clangs he didn't like. Signs of loose fitment, damage, any of those marks of a hard life he was waxing poetic about. "...the years will melt away."

He swung open the nearest door and clambered inside, to see what needed buttoning down on the interior in addition to whatever he picked on with the exterior.
 
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_____Even a silenced gunshot was still loud, loud enough that the two Zeon sentries knew almost right away they were being attacked from behind. The bullet sailed into their campfire and sent hot ash and flame scattering around - and in a simple human reflex, the two men raised their arms to protect themselves from burning embers, their weapons held awkwardly to the side.

_____Kat and Achilleia squeezed off slow, controlled shots that slammed into one of the men, high in the back. It was something else than what they would typically see in a movie; just a slight turn of the head before the guard seemed to loose all life entirely, his face drooping with a final exhalation before he crumpled backwards where he was sitting.

_____The second did not go out as quietly, kicking and scraping at the dirt like a wild animal as Leto choked him out of his precious air. His hands scrambled for a weapon, but each desperate grab became slower and more sluggish. Callista held down his legs as the man's last ebbs of resistance left his body, and he sagged against his captors.

_____Their marine escort watched with a wordless nod of the head. He pointed to his left, then his right, and the Fed troopers scattered out to secure the perimeter. One of them paused to turn and send an additional round into the head of the slain Zeon sentry.

_____"We're secure," the squad leader said. "What next?"



Port Security
@Hoshino Yumemi @Carol​
_____As Maion pulled on the armored door, he was hit by the taste of something smelling of copper. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, and see the muddled colors of a Federation uniform as a man laid slumped against the machine-gun in the roof. His head hung at an unnatural angle, exposing the single bullet wound in his neck, and there was a spray of blood across the gun-shield. From the roof-line down, the rest of the vehicle seemed hardly used, as if had rolled off the assembly line not so long ago.

_____The main monitor sent a dull green glow across the interior, adding a ghoulish tinge to the puddle of blood beneath the dead man's boots.

_____"Thank you, lieutenant." Revelle turned her gaze from the monitors to the weary Fed guard once more. "What can you tell me about those hangars?"

_____There was a moment of hesitation from the blood and sweat-stained man, who looked to the fires burning in the distance before simply shrugging. "They tell us not to look toward the coast too much. Mind our business in the port, right? But you don't hardly have to look. When they're rolling around those prototype weapons - you can feel the engines humming, they shake the walls here. Mostly tanks, and things like tanks - they don't look much like a Zeon Zaku, but they're bigger than a Type 61, with some big fucking cannons and rocket launchers on 'em. When they got here, I heard Jaburo gave strict orders not to deploy them. The base commander had his own thoughts - he wasn't so confident about our defenses. Not after Loum.

_____"I think they were planning on driving those tanks out of here with trucks. Then the first bombardment came in and... never really ended. Non-stop shelling for weeks, cruise missiles, beam cannons, sometimes just those fucking Zakus shooting shots off into the darkness so we don't get too comfortable. They locked up those hangars tight. Haven't seen anything from them since. All I can tell you."

_____Revelle shook her head with a sad sort of half-smile. "Send a squadron of naval aviators to steal a bunch of tanks. That sounds like Jaburo." She turned to Oseni. "Ever driven a tank, lieutenant?"
 
@Carol

Maion's hair stood on end at the first whiff. Then he took in the ghastly shock of the corpse not cleaned out of the armored car. His trained eyes drank it all in, analyzing what went wrong with the same checkbox-ticking efficiency as analyzing a crash or a gutted plane. The single bullet either meant snipers, or someone got just lucky enough to land a hit, and was proof the Zeeks really weren't messing around. Either way, it was an informative, if unwanted, preview of what they could expect if they screwed this up. More impetus not to, at any rate.

He turned to Cania, peering back out of the car through the door he climbed in through. "Help me," he said, a certain hollow edge to his voice. "Before we get to work, we had better relieve this man of his post." He kept it down, like he didn't want to disturb the dead, or fail to dignify them with too much volume. Once that could be done, he could get to the hard work of tying everything down and giving their improvised FAV a clean bill of health.
 
_____Maion's inaudible shock informed Cania before the smell did. Perhaps it was the odors of space—the musky tide that came with living aboard a tin can—that dulled her nose to the bloody encounter. She peaked past the shoulders of Maion to see the dead man's slumped figure. Her response to the corpse was less measured than the mechanic's.

_____"Not his fucking day at all."

_____Cania spat on the ground. The coppery tinge lashed her tongue. Some of the spittle clung to her bottom lip. Wiping her mouth occupied her mind before Maion's head came back out of the vehicle.

_____"No getting out of this the easy way," she said, psyching herself. "I take the guy by the boots."

_____She set up to receive the body.​
 
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Maion realized he'd have to do this in steps. He climbed out and then atop the armored car before carefully hefting the body by the shoulders and pushing him so his mass would lower just like if he was dropping himself through. He tried to lay the fallen down as gently as he could, but he still could hear the body land with a considerable thud, given a muffled, metallic tone from where he fell. Then came the next part, as Maion lowered himself back down, carefully avoiding the body with his feet as he did so, and then picked him up by the shoulders again and slid him to Cania.

Once he was certain she could do the rest, he could get to work on his own contribution. Physically, there was barely anything to do with the inside of the armored car. "Barely used" was definitely the term; he only had to make sure the boxes containing spare belts for the machine gun were all closed and locked, and that was about it. The racks and netting were all taut, every strap was still cinched. If he didn't know any better he'd say this was the first fight this car was ever in.

The monitor kept drawing his attention, and he finally could pay it some. Luckily for him the armored car had more than a passing resemblance to the aircraft he flew in the ethos he'd come to expect: MFDs and a need to control information in an effort to head off overload.

Not only that, but there were other similarities. Long ago someone decided these ground vehicles needed to run on the same fuel the aircraft did, and the ethos of there being no engineering like over-engineering had also bled from the sky to the ground. Outsiders claimed grift and conspiracies, all examples of confirmation bias by people who had shockingly undercooked politics or thought war should have never evolved to the jet engine and radar - they probably were all smiling when Minovsky interference became a variable on the battlefield. But he knew the truth: war machines were bloated with systems to handle edge cases and provide contingencies, and war was nothing but edge cases and deviations from the standard model. You worked up to a base, then added technology to deal with the dreaded "all else." To that end someone had decided this model of armored car needed adjustable suspension fed by a hydraulic system which could be adjusted from the MFDs. It seemed like unnecessary flexing, but it was one model that could be expected to serve anywhere the EFF needed them, which was to say, anywhere on the entire planet. If that same car could be tall and floppy for serving in the middle of nowhere, or low and stiff for work in a major city, then why not? It was a worthwhile measure.

The adjustment for the all-important runway sprint was a simple process of doing a few common sense changes in the settings, or at least common sense to anyone who knew cars. He started with the car's highway travel settings and then manually enhanced them: he dropped the ride height further so the armored car squatted less like an off-roader and more like a road car, then raised the stiffness, putting in a bias to the front in case he had to stab the brakes or make any sudden turns. Instead of the nose nodding or diving, it'd stay up and he'd stay in control. It was like installing a track setting, as insane as that sounded. Then again, these sorts of monsters used to hurtle across Dakar, so who was he to judge?
 
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_____Stacking bodies was one thing, but actually stacking a body was quite another. Cania got a better look at the corpse. It didn't improve her initial assessment. But she knew she could handle it. Her own body was built with hard work in mind. Even the capricious whims of reduced gravity did not deprive her of an earthnoid's strength.

_____She quickly realized it was a one-woman job. The mechanic had already turned his attention elsewhere. "Oh, sure, just leave me with the husk. I love being a conscripted gravedigger." Her complaints fell on deaf ears.

_____Scooping the nape of the corpse on one hand and his legs on the other, Cania carried the dead man outside. She walked to a discrete location—somewhere that would cover him both practically and provide some amount of dignity—and left the soldier there.

_____"My one good deed for the day," she said, careful to check the uniform for any trinkets. "And my payment for it."
 
Sushi said:
Port Security
[...]
_____Revelle shook her head with a sad sort of half-smile. "Send a squadron of naval aviators to steal a bunch of tanks. That sounds like Jaburo." She turned to Oseni. "Ever driven a tank, lieutenant?"
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- Port Security Team -
- Guardhouse -

As the infantry NCO spoke to Gabrielle about what little he knew of the prototype machines, Ibrahim had turned back to monitoring the array control console, giving no outward indication that he was listening to the weary soldier with his free ear. He nevertheless didn't miss a beat when his commanding officer asked him about experience driving tanks.

"I trained on tanks in military school, ma'am, before I had taken the aviation track. The fundamentals are like riding a bicycle," Ibrahim's gaze had remained on the console up to this point, but now he turned again to face Gabrielle fully, albeit with his left hand still holding the console's bulky headphone to his ear, "If we need to shoot our way out in an oversized tank, then I can see to it."

There was no mischievous gleam in his eye, no spark of rebellious anticipation, no roguish smirk from someone like Ibrahim; just a flat, matter-of-fact declaration that saw no excitement nor adrenaline from their current predicament, but a series of problems that needed tackling.
 
_____To Mack's sharp eyes, the tarps shrouding the Federation heavy transports could only mask so much from sight. The first trailer bore cargo that was long and low slung, and the way it draped over two distinct rises with a dip in the middle, it had to have been a pair of vehicles. The heavy duty straps and locks used to hold down the cargo attested to as much. The second vehicle, though, had a larger cargo with a less distinct shape, more rounded, and it sagged low on the suspension - as much as whatever two vehicles had been strapped down to the first.

_____The third vehicle was piled with what looked like loosely covered supplies - long tubes that he recognized from Loum, the type of missiles that ground crews had loaded onto their Saberfish before the battle, and smaller ones that looked like smaller weapons a person could carry.

_____As Callistia stood up from their sneak-attack and inspected the site, she found that the two men had been oriented to keep their eyes mostly oriented toward the fourth truck. It was smaller than the others, instead of being a heavy mover for large vehicles, it seemed smaller, one of the myriad vehicles that kept Federation logistics running all across earth sphere. The bed was filled with a large metal container that had been bolted down and held with straps, and a door with a heavy lock barred entry.

Port Security
@Mr. Belpit​
_____"I would rather be in a fighter or a stolen mobile suit, but if tanks are what we have, we'll use them." Revelle looked to the guard next. "Are you coming with us?"

_____There was a moment of pause as the man shook another cigarette into his hand from a half-crumpled pack. "Yeah, I think I'm fine staying here. Love the company, you know?" He waved to the numerous bloodstains around the place with a grimace. "This is the biggest base installation in North America, where exactly are you going to run to? Going to fight the entire Zeon landing force with your stolen equipment? It's not happening. I'll wait for the first prisoner exchange before I get shot to shit by a Zaku, thanks."

_____Revelle looked plainly to Oseni. "We're ready. Kick off the diversion and we'll leave immediately."

_____"You'll have better luck searching an officer," a voice said from behind Cania. Lieutenant Revelle had emerged from the battered guardhouse. Through the open door the guard could be seen still seated at his post, staring straight out of a window. If he saw Cania, he didn't seem to react. "The enlisted like to spend money as soon as they get it," she said. She tossed a bag of equipment into the back before turning to Maoin next.

_____"Looks like it runs. Lieutenant Oseni's arranged for a diversion - there should be a change in guard at the airstrip. When that happens... don't stop for anything," she said simply.
 
Maion nodded at Rev's words, nothing he hadn't already figured from what he knew of the plan. "Sir," he said, climbing back into the armored car and getting himself situated, sitting in the driver's seat and doing a ritual he'd done a thousand times before. Check the location of everything, the gauges, the controls, the displays, and settle in the seat. He checked for play in the wheel, at the pedals, all before the engine had turned over, like dry-firing a gun and racking it without ammo to check its handling. His smile became faint, barely a hint on his lips, and his eyes started darting around his field of vision, reading his path ahead and looking out for anything amiss, whatever might call off or even just impede his flight. Maion the poster boy was out to lunch, and Maion the test pilot had just clocked in.
 
_____"Never hurts to check," responded Cania. The night partly covered her head as she craned back. "Not all draftees are so carefree with their money."

_____She stood saying, "Just this one."

_____Cania kicked the dirt. A thin layer of it rested on the body. One last all-expenses-paid service from the pallbearer moving back to her jury-rigged hearse.

_____"Hope your hands are steady. Got a single shot here."
 
Sushi said:
_____Even a silenced gunshot was still loud, loud enough that the two Zeon sentries knew almost right away they were being attacked from behind. The bullet sailed into their campfire and sent hot ash and flame scattering around - and in a simple human reflex, the two men raised their arms to protect themselves from burning embers, their weapons held awkwardly to the side.

_____Kat and Achilleia squeezed off slow, controlled shots that slammed into one of the men, high in the back. It was something else than what they would typically see in a movie; just a slight turn of the head before the guard seemed to loose all life entirely, his face drooping with a final exhalation before he crumpled backwards where he was sitting.

_____The second did not go out as quietly, kicking and scraping at the dirt like a wild animal as Leto choked him out of his precious air. His hands scrambled for a weapon, but each desperate grab became slower and more sluggish. Callista held down his legs as the man's last ebbs of resistance left his body, and he sagged against his captors.

_____Their marine escort watched with a wordless nod of the head. He pointed to his left, then his right, and the Fed troopers scattered out to secure the perimeter. One of them paused to turn and send an additional round into the head of the slain Zeon sentry.

_____"We're secure," the squad leader said. "What next?"
Click to expand...
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"Well, least we didn't screw up our entrance, so that's a plus," Callista quipped.

Without the looming threat of guards breathing down their necks for the time being, Callista could finally discern the spoils before her.

Whoever was last here must've been busy. Trucks already laden with cargo were neatly parked in an orderly linear fashion, the contents on their flatbeds hidden by thick tarps that betray nothing but the size of their cargo. Two of them have their tarps sagged low, but their outlines did describe an appreciative amount of supplies. Trailing her good eye to the next truck, she nodded appreciatively at the crates stacked within, the tarp struggling to keep them contained like an early birthday present tantalizingly bursting at the seams. Callista could only do so much to hold her herself from smacking her lips like food before hunger, forcing herself to tear her gaze away towards the final truck
and-

"Oho, what's this?"

Callista's whims was immediately centered onto a new piece of attention; this time, the tarp only betrayed a smaller container beneath, paltry on the surface, but military don't give a crate an entire flatbed to itself without reason, which meant something important. Or expensive.

With a skip to her step, Callista approached the lone container by the fourth truck, her mind and eyes absently checking for any traps, the tarp furiously struggling to resist before it finally came down with her hands.

Before hand stands the lone container as she suspected, its contents sealed by a lock. Callista pulled on the lock. Tough, thick and completely analog, just like the hardened crate itself. How completely Feddie of it. Callista turned her head on a swivel, her eyes darting around and focusing on anything resembling a coat or a key of sorts. Nadda.

Oh well, time for the skeleton key.

Callista dropped the bag on her and dug her hand into one of the many pockets lining it and quickly finding purchase with a block, its texture firm yet malleable. The bandit promptly grabbed it and slapped the adhesive side against the lock.

"Oi, boys, gonna blow this lock with a bit of plastic. Stand clear."
 
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Sushi said:
To Mack's sharp eyes, the tarps shrouding the Federation heavy transports could only mask so much from sight. The first trailer bore cargo that was long and low slung, and the way it draped over two distinct rises with a dip in the middle, it had to have been a pair of vehicles. The heavy duty straps and locks used to hold down the cargo attested to as much.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Mack was instantly drawn to the first truck. "Now, what do we have here?" He approached the vehicles. "We haven't even reached the hangar yet, and we're already gettin' goodies." He begin working his way under the tarp.
 
_____Most of the airstrip ahead was plunged into darkness. The naked eye could see little but the faint red glow of emergency lights dotting the runways. The footfalls of the lone Zaku patrolling was something they could feel in their boots, the very ground shaking with each thump that echoed into the night. There was a faint pop in the distance, but neither Federation or Zeon soldier seemed to notice.

_____The small bundle of plastic explosive detonated with a sharp pop just louder than a gunshot, leaving a smoking hole where the deadbolt had been. The sheet steel had peeled away from the charge, leaving a gaping hole as the door gently swing back and forth.

_____Dim, artificial light poured from within the container. Callista heard coughing as the acrid smoke filtered past her face. The stale air tasted of blood and sweat. There were at least twenty of them, each individually shackled to the walls, the gold Federation insignia on their tan uniforms gleaming under the beam of Callista's flashlight. Their heads were covered with black bags, and some wore clothes stained with dried blood.

_____"Don't shoot! Please, we're just researchers!" One said softly.

_____There was a lot of tarp piled onto the transport, and a few thick tie-down straps that Mack's knife made short work of. Standing this close to the transport, the young pilot could smell the hydraulic fluid and fuel thick in the air. He had only wrested the covers halfway off when the low-slung hulls of a pair of Federal battle tanks became apparent, their sloped shapes topped with angular turrets arms with a pair of large-caliber cannons each. Mack could feel the heat of the engines, which had to have been run only recently, against his skin.

_____With the sheer size of the machines loaded onto the bed of the transport, it was striking that the second truck seemed to have a cargo even larger than the two tanks.
 
Mack whistled as he ran his hands along the side of one tank. He'd always thought there was something noble about that tank model, more like something you rode than piloted. "Look at you beauties." He turned back to the others and yelled.

@Kensai @DB_Explorer @NephyrisX @AlphaD
"Looks like we managed to find some horses after all" He began climbing on top of one, checking to see if he could get it's hatch open. "Now, anyone up for a ride to the hangar?"
 
Sushi said:
_____The small bundle of plastic explosive detonated with a sharp pop just louder than a gunshot, leaving a smoking hole where the deadbolt had been. The sheet steel had peeled away from the charge, leaving a gaping hole as the door gently swing back and forth.

_____Dim, artificial light poured from within the container. Callista heard coughing as the acrid smoke filtered past her face. The stale air tasted of blood and sweat. There were at least twenty of them, each individually shackled to the walls, the gold Federation insignia on their tan uniforms gleaming under the beam of Callista's flashlight. Their heads were covered with black bags, and some wore clothes stained with dried blood.

_____"Don't shoot! Please, we're just researchers!" One said softly.
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Achilleia's permanent frown deepened a little, the lines on the side of her mouth pulling taut.

"We're friendlies," she said in a calm, level, almost gentle voice. "Federation forces, STS-7 at your service."

She turned to Callista and spoke in a much more familiar growl. @NephyrisX

"Coriolle. Get these people freed up. Grab a couple of the Marines to help you."

She gave them a couple of minutes to get started, then addressed herself to the prisoner who had spoken up.

"We're going to get you out of here, but tell me now - what were you researching and where?"

This time there was just the slightest edge of steel in her voice.
 
- Port Security Team -
- Guardhouse -

"I would rather be in a fighter or a stolen mobile suit, but if tanks are what we have, we'll use them."

Ibrahim nodded once, deeply, in agreement at Gabrielle's comment.

After the guard demurred from joining STS-7's caper, Gabrielle issued her order before heading outside: "We're ready. Kick off the diversion and we'll leave immediately."

"Ma'am," Ibrahim reported sharply as he swiveled back to the console and began punching in commands. The phony, conflicting status reports were inserted into different streams of the Zeonic comms network. Once he'd confirmed their transmission, Ibrahim cut off the array's connection to the network, then put the headset back on its rest and stood from the seat in the same motion, then hustled out the guardhouse a few seconds after Gabrielle had left. He gave a curt nod to the NCO in charge of the guardhouse on the way out, but otherwise Ibrahim was focused solely on the next task at hand.

- Outside -

As he came out of the guardhouse, Ibrahim acknowledged Cania's interactions with the soldier's corpse with only a brief, inscrutable expression, but didn't break stride on his way to the vehicle. It didn't take a brilliant detective to work out the relationship between the damaged windshield of the armored car and the dead man being laid to rest nearby.

Ibrahim saw that Maion was in the driver's seat, going through the final steps of a pre-drive routine. Leaving the front passenger seat for their commander to take, Ibrahim circled around behind the armored car and grabbed one of the handholds on its exterior to pull himself up to the rear passenger-side door, then heaved himself into the seat there. He shifted his gun around in front of him so he could aim and shoot out the window in a pinch.

"I put the diversion through less than a minute ago. Shouldn't be hard to tell when it's taken its effect." Ibrahim then busied himself with keeping tabs on the view to the car's right, while also familiarizing himself with the vehicle's interior space: if he did have to draw and fire his weapon, he hardly wanted to have it snag or catch unexpectedly on some part of the car's structure or interior furniture.

Ibrahim had only met Maion earlier that same day, but implicitly trusted that he was fit to take the wheel for this task. Why would he be in a team like this otherwise?

@Hoshino Yumemi @Sushi @Carol
 
Truck Depot
@Kensai @NephyrisX​
_____"The 7th? I've heard a lot about you, but..." The researcher listened intently, staring at Achilleia with blood-shot eyes. "Weapons development. Mobile weapons, specifically - we were supposed to be deploying new models to the base, but the shelling started and we got separated in the fighting."

_____One of the marines turned off a portable torch and looked to the pilot with a grimace. "No good. It's high end stuff, our cutters don't do shit. We'd need a few hours to cut them out."

_____The researcher closed his eyes and groaned.

_____The Type 61's engine shuddered beneath Mack, the monitors flickering and coming to life after their long slumber. A marine had squeezed themselves into the driver's position, leaving the turret up to the young pilot. The monitors showed an enhanced view of the area surrounding them, turning what was murky dark into a facsimile of broad daylight. A light blinked as the twin main guns indexed HEAT ammunition.

_____"I'm bringing us off the ramp," said the marine in the front seat, the Federation tank rumbling as it tipped off the front of the truck and nosed onto the dirt.

_____"Look what we have here." The heavy tarps came free as the troops slashed away cargo straps, and the ugly green shape of a battle-damaged Zeon Zaku became visible. Its left arm had been sheared away, the remaining shoulder dotted with numerous pockmarks and scorches. The marine squad leader quietly sized the machine up before looking to the test pilots. "I'm guessing one of you can pilot this thing?"


Port Security > Airstrip
@Hoshino Yumemi @Carol @Mr. Belpit​
_____The interior of the armored car was quiet. The tension was agonizing as the heavy footfalls of the Zeon machine thudded across the runway. After a few moments, the patroling giant stopped, and true to Ibrahim's claim, it turned and marched toward the trees, leaving the airstrip with a few thudding footfalls.

_____"Go," Revelle urged softly, and they begun to lurch into the night, the dull lights of the airstrip racing toward them. With their lights shut off, the night was murky, and it was hard to discern the distant shapes on the horizon as friend or foe.
 
@Sushi @Mr. Belpit @Carol

Maion nodded and put his foot down, trying to read how straight he was tracking by nothing but the airstrip lights. Even those were a bit of a guess - it was less like driving at night and more like trying to land or take off at night, under weather, no less. The response of the armored car being sharpened somewhat by his adjustments was something, but it was still a far cry from a truly nimble tarmac-tuned machine. At the very least it still had pickup, bucking under acceleration and quickly settling, the stiffer front setup doing its job settling once the rear did its job keeping the car level-ish.

He was still teaching himself to talk to the thing as they proceeded. He was picking up on its tics: there was a sort of "ah-hem" pause when he put his foot down, and he assumed the thing would nod when the time would come to brake hard. He just hoped it wouldn't lag then, too. Testing how physical he could get in this machine could wait for when it was necessary. There was work to do.
 
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Act I: Escape from California Base
  • Threadmarks
    • California Base
    Main Runway
    _____A giant's single, red eye glared above the fog. Its body was masked behind the mist, but the booming echo of each footfall made it obvious the the giant was standing close by. Several-meter thick tarmac crackled and warped in the wake of its steps. When it did finally turn from the runway, stepping into the trees, a charged silence hung in the air for some time.

    _____A soldier in a Zeon-green uniform shivered. The air was cold, and, unlike his home colony, uncomfortably wet. The moisture in the air clung to his lungs and made every breath feel… slimy. The soldier shook a cigarette from a cylindrical case and placed it in his mouth. The disposable plastic cigarette lighter that had seen him through so much of the war finally struggled to light a cigarette.

    _____When it finally did light, the soldier was expecting the night-and-day difference the old timers in his unit kept talking about. "Nothing else like a smoke on earth," they said. Better to give it another try when the entire California base wasn't on fire, he mused.


    @Hoshino Yumemi @Carol
    _____Maion's hands gripped the steering wheel as they lurched through the fog. The armored car rattled over every bump, every pockmark left by impacting shells, and swayed from side to side, boxes of ammunition sliding across the floor. The thudding footfalls of the retreating Zaku faded from the tarmac, and Maion's foot stabbed harder at the accelerator, sending them lurching blindly forward.

    _____The tip of a cigarette flared in the fog, then went flying by their left side, the lone sentry coughing in their wake.

    _____From the mist emerged a yellow-painted wingtip, and the engine dangling beneath it. The massive rectangular container slung beneath the body of the aircraft was unmistakable – it was a Medea, one of the few Federation transports with enough cargo capacity to haul some stolen Zakus. The landing lights were on, and the rear ramp was deployed. A pair of Zeon soldiers stopped at the foot of the ramp and turned in a shock.


    @Kensai @tankdrop24 @NephyrisX @AlphaD
    Main Hangar
    _____The soldiers had spent several fuel canisters trying to burn through the locks of the containment cell. The walls were thick enough to stop a bomb. It had been an impossible task – up until their ace pilot had climbed into the seat of the captured Zaku, and simply pried open the door like so much tinfoil.

    _____A dozen prisoners in dirty, soot-stained Federation uniforms emerged, many of them wearing officer's pips on their collars. Some bled from head wounds, others nursed bandaged arms and legs.

    _____A researcher with white hair and busted lip held up her hand toward the pilot in the Zaku. She wore a different uniform than the others, adorned with the three gold pips denoting an army colonel. She pointed sharply to the ground, a faint scowl on her lips.

    _____The colonel didn't speak a word until the pilots of 7 STS were gathered around. "Thank you for your timely arrival. I'm Colonel Bishop. I headed the research department at California Base. I'll be needing your help evacuating sensitive materials from this facility." She turned sharply to her side and pointed over her shoulder, and shared a nod with several research staff.

    _____The enormous armored bulkheads that had protected the inner half of the hangars shuddered, then started to slide open. The space within was cavernous, large enough for the shape of a Medea heavy transport to fit with space to spare, as well as a slender, helicopter-like transport sitting beside it. There were containers stacked high with humanoid-looking parts, weapons, bare metal cylinders that resembled reactor shells.

    _____"I take it at least one of you can drive a tank?"
     
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    • _____It was a mad plan to rush into the lion's den. Even if the fog was thick and the beast away, a single mistake would see them dead. The armored car rattling as it drove over uneven terrain didn't help matters. The very earth spoke of an earlier battle that hadn't gone the way of the Federation. A bad prognosis.

    _____As a passenger, Cania had the time to think these dark thoughts. But the mental turbulence hit another impulse embedded in her. It was the impulse of a gambler who believed her luck would pull them out of trouble. Delusional or not, she was a sea of chatter: "Those bastards can't see us. Deduct the cyclops and we can make it easy."

    _____Make it they did. The guards failed to account for the dash: their armored car still in one piece after breaking past the entrance. Zeon's übermensch had grown complacent. She picked up the look of shock on the lone sentry, likely a spacenoid yokel far away from some Side 3 hobble.

    _____"Go, go, go!" Cania shouted. "The Medea is just waiting for me to hustle it away."
     
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    Sushi said:
    _____"I take it at least one of you can drive a tank?"
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    Mack saluted.
    "Yes Ma'am. Been ridin' steel beasts since I came to Earth. Whatcha got?" After a pause, he snapped his fingers. "I know! This is an experimental place, right? Is it like, a prototype '61 with a third '155 double M added?" A wide grin appeared on Mack's face. "I've been bugging some people that that would be our best shot against the zeeks. Would be nice to know someone was listening."
     
    Achilleia quirked an eyebrow at the colonel. She didn't mind her perfunctory manner - which was, after all, no less courteous than Achilleia's own - but she did note the haunted look in the colonel's eyes, the hint of a tremor in her steely tone.

    This was a woman who'd come close to breaking, and had been held together by the weight of her responsibilities.

    That also meant the "sensitive materials" had to be actually valuable to the war effort.

    "You're welcome, sir," Achilleia said, barely above a whisper. "Mack here's good in a tank. He'll do. I'll stay in this Zaku and run interference. And unless I've missed my guess badly, those 'sensitive materials' you're talking about run on tracks."

    She grunted. "We'll get it out of this base or blow it to pieces. Either way, the Zekes aren't getting anything out of it."
     
    Maion slightly altered his trajectory, the armored car rocketing straight for the ramp. He judged his entry and started to brake, aiming right for the nearest of the sentries as he slowed down, flashing the lights and letting the car buck forward in a brief flash of terror. Either get out of the way, or get under.

    He'd know in moments what the sentry chose; all he knew for sure was that he'd done his part. Now came the real challenge - well, the first of two real challenges; the first was actually getting to a stop in the Medea, not that much of a challenge, but the real show was flying this big, beautiful bucket to freedom. At last, something with wings!

    "The lady's invited us in!" he shouted as the armored car made for its final parking spot. "It'd be rude not to wipe our feet!" A beat. His line didn't seem to land. "Get on the gun; you never know!"
     
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