Corvos gave the new commander's question a moment of thought. "Well my training was initally through the Saber pipeline before they moved me into mobile suits so this suggestion might be from being intel before that but I'd suggest putting recon out front - I mean we have all these special forces types around after all." Corvos gestured around the base. "Figure out where the enemy is then we can positon ourselves to best effect - such as allowing Smokes here." Corvos pointed up at the tank at its commander. "To show the Zeon that big guns still solve a great many sins."
Corvos gave the new commander's question a moment of thought. "Well my training was initally through the Saber pipeline before they moved me into mobile suits so this suggestion might be from being intel before that but I'd suggest putting recon out front - I mean we have all these special forces types around after all." Corvos gestured around the base. "Figure out where the enemy is then we can positon ourselves to best effect - such as allowing Smokes here." Corvos pointed up at the tank at its commander. "To show the Zeon that big guns still solve a great many sins."
Fumio beamed, something of an understanding dawning within his mind's eye. It was simple and simple was always best when planning these things. They had the mobile suits and the tanks. They were deploying aircraft as well, but he knew how to use those. Generally. He had little idea of the capabilities of Maoin's aircraft.
"And that one," he said, pointing sideways at the FF-x5. His voice hitched a little higher in excitement. He had been flying planes for his whole, admittedly short, career and thought himself a flyer of fighter jets just as much as a pilot of mobile suits. A new model, never before seen, was like a new toy at Christmas for a child. Shiny and exciting."Do you know how we could use that? I've never seen something like that before. Is it experimental?"
@Sushi
After talking with Corvos, Fumio turned to Revelle, waiting for an opening to insert himself.
"Excuse me, Commander." The young commander hesitated for a split second before lightly tapping the professionally gruff XO on her shoulder. "I think Lieutenant Remagen and I are on to something with our approach. Maybe you could help us tune it more; make it better?"
Isabella looked down at the pale girl "Enjoying the sun's ray and fresh air whilst we still can" The Spaceborn said with a crooked smile. "You're an Earther right newbie?"
"I am, Lieutenant." Ellie confirmed. She hopped up and down, her boots clacking on the plating of the floor. "There's just something different from the pull of the Earth from the pull of Artificial Gravity or a Colony, you know? Not to mention that as Pilots, we have to adjust for additional factors."
She paused, thinking about the upcoming battle. The girl glanced at her medical watch, then up at the commanding officer, rubbing an arm as she did. "Anyway, I'll help out as much as I can."
Rhea was still going over various bits of the tank, mainly trying to figure out where to mount some poles on the turret and where she could find enough feathers. She was almost taken aback by Corvos pointing her out, "Huh? Oh yea, I'm a pretty good shot in this thing. Granted I mostly rolled around in it for photoshoots, impressing a boy, or special occasions like my Sweet 16th Birthday... Still did it pretty well, so we shouldn't have any problems there."
Looking over at the other aircraft she just says, "Well at this moment, aircraft would be used best as either scout craft or close air support. Both are rather risky propositions, we'd need some high speed cameras for the first and some really tight radio control for the second. Or else the enemy is going to see us coming from a mile away to put them on alert. Would prefer some motorcyle or lighter aircraft, but those are the breaks."
Leaning down to talk to her wing man, "It's alright if you drive this thing? Seems like I've already been promoted to running this thing. Besides it's not that hard to drive these things, just like a remote controlled car. Only you're in it. And it weighs 10 tons. And it has a couple of huge guns.... But other than that, really easy."
_____A bespectacled ensign bristled at Commander Taurus. "That would be Hervic's own FF-x5," she said. "A high-performance fighter capable of operating in any conditions, anywhere. We can launch one from a patch of dirt or the wing of a transport. I'm certain you're familiar with the concept, judging from your supply fleet insignia." She said with a slight frown. "... I suppose it is a bit worrying. Ensign Delage has been assigned to be the test pilot, but without many spare parts or combat data, it almost seems like a waste of resources."
_____She opened her mouth to weigh further on the issue, but one look from the Commander stifled anything further.
_____"You hear, lieutenant? One of Isabella's mechanics gave the pilot a gentle nudge in the side. "They think it might be Kennedy or Cape Canaveral. Imagine that. Fighting those damn Zeon while up to our eyeballs in rocket fuel."
_____"Better?" Revelle lingered on the word. "Better in a military sense is usually a matter of logistics. More bombs, more beans, more brave souls. A good plan only means so much." She glanced at the prototype stub fighter undergoing maintenance just a few paces away. "I'm concerned with our air cover. That's really our only ace in the hole, and the Zeon know that. It doesn't help that the Space Center's anti-air defenses are considerable. Assuming they captured most of it intact, they'll have more than enough air cover to swat every fighter we have right out of the air."
_____Rev drummed her fingers on her tablet. "And Lieutenant Remagen is correct. The special forces could insert for an amphibious reconaissance in advance of the main force and target major anti-air facilities, but that's assuming they agree to it." The squadron XO turned an even gaze to their new commander, tone ever so slightly sharpened. "Commander Taurus, keep in mind there is no such thing as a probing action in a situation like this. The Zeon assume that the EFF has little need for a gateway to orbit, the very moment they are proven wrong, I am certain they will have reserves on the way to squash our intrusion. Losing momentum would mean losing the battle.
_____"We will be reliant on the special forces doing the job right the first time. They'd be putting out their necks for us. Although..." A faint smile wavered on her features. "They would only be returning the favor. Either way, we'll do what 7 STS does best...
_____"Easy, easy, here we go..." The tankers handed the massive 155mm shell to Smokey and Mack, who had to work together to lever the big armor-piercing pill to the loading door on the turret. These tanks nominally had a crew of three, but they had been assigned mechanics that were pulling double duty as ammunition technicians in the tight confines of the Type 61 tanks. They were busily preparing a full combat load, while not far away a platoon of EFF Army Special Forces inspected Type 61s modified as troop carriers. No formal plan had been drawn between the two Federation units, but it seemed they could feel the pre-battle tension in the air.
_____There were many shells left to load, countless belts of machine gun ammunition, hand-grenades, signal flares, the bulky sets of body armor that Saberfish pilots were spared the burden of having to wear. Their turtle-like figures struck a midieval image among all the high-speed technology bristling in the Niflheim. They dwarfed the special forces, who wore skeletonized body armor and helmets, slender rifles with sound suppressors, a world apart from the ship-breaching teams they had seen during Loum.
_____"We've completed the initial inspection," the technician said. "Chief, it looks like that brief fight didn't bring any excessive wear to the mobile suits, but we're seeing some early deterioration on the joint weatherproofing... if they do plan on submerging these beasts, we're going to have some problems with corrosion. Those are very fine operating surfaces, and the gaskets protecting them are meant for space-dust, not ocean currents. We're already replacing any worn components on the line suits, but I'm not sure how we'd prepare them if the boss wants to go for a little swim..."
_____He sighed. "Anyway, Chief. It looks like ensign Brandt's Zanny has been some trouble. It's real weird. The fire control, I mean. It has this bad habit of getting stuck in 'fire' after a bit of live fire. It's not just the actuator, either. Even though the software's fine... hell, we've reflashed it twice already, and replaced every part in that damned suit's hand. It's like that piece of shit's haunted...
_____"Hell, you know I ain't superstitious, but that thing just puts me off. I'd steer clear of it..."
_____As the briefing was going on, Fumio's hand brushed his pocket. There was a tablet there, one he hadn't been carrying before. Activating it, he found a rudimentary schematic for some kind of rotor-wing aircraft and a brief request: HQ wanted him to evaluate a prototype aircraft in the coming assault. Naturally, they understood the... extrenuating circumstances, and if he were not able to comply they could make do.
_____But accomodating their request, if he wished to do so, would be handsomely rewarded with support. The report concluded that he were to approach Captain Jean to follow through.
_____Callista was away from the group, as usual. Between the hangar access and pilot's lounge, there was a storeroom that didn't have cameras or intercoms. Between the boxes, a mechanic sorted bills into neat pipes, and scrawled some tidy handwriting on a receipt. "Okay! That should be it. I've made sure there's no trails leading to you, and you pocket all the salvage we can get for that old Zeon cyclops. The civilians around here, they pay hard cash to get research materials like we've got. That should keep us comfortable for some time now... anyway, a pleasure, as always!" He shook her hand and sat up from the crate, slipping toward the door.
_____Callista heard a muted gasp as a figure filled up the doorway, the mechanic scurrying aisde after a lightning fast salute.
_____"Warrant Officer Coriolle?" The captain glared balefully at Callista. "At ease. I won't rip your heart out, at least not yet. I've come to talk business, in fact. Off the books business." She grinned like a shark. "It's not often I've risked my career to sate my curiosity. Kind of exciting, come to think of it. Coriolle, I need some hardware. You see... the EFF's top brass has always had it out for us SF types. They don't like us, say we meddle too much. And because of that, we're only allowed to operate these captured Zeonic mobile suits. Even though we ostensibly operate this ship," she snarled. "-we aren't so far as allowed to take a glance within these prototype suits you operate."
_____She straightend out Callista's collar and smoothed out her uniform. "What I need is a cockpit block from a 'Zanny.' Or just the battle recorder. I don't care how you get it, but don't get caught. Don't tell any of your compatriots, either. This is strictly a personal favor, and none of my bosses know about it either." She squeezed Callista's shoulder in an iron grip. "Sound good?"
_A bespectacled ensign bristled at Commander Taurus. "That would be Hervic's own FF-x5," she said. "A high-performance fighter capable of operating in any conditions, anywhere. We can launch one from a patch of dirt or the wing of a transport. I'm certain you're familiar with the concept, judging from your supply fleet insignia." She said with a slight frown. "... I suppose it is a bit worrying. Ensign Delage has been assigned to be the test pilot, but without many spare parts or combat data, it almost seems like a waste of resources."
_____She opened her mouth to weigh further on the issue, but one look from the Commander stifled anything further.
_"Better?" Revelle lingered on the word. "Better in a military sense is usually a matter of logistics. More bombs, more beans, more brave souls. A good plan only means so much." She glanced at the prototype stub fighter undergoing maintenance just a few paces away. "I'm concerned with our air cover. That's really our only ace in the hole, and the Zeon know that. It doesn't help that the Space Center's anti-air defenses are considerable. Assuming they captured most of it intact, they'll have more than enough air cover to swat every fighter we have right out of the air."
_____Rev drummed her fingers on her tablet. "And Lieutenant Remagen is correct. The special forces could insert for an amphibious reconaissance in advance of the main force and target major anti-air facilities, but that's assuming they agree to it." The squadron XO turned an even gaze to their new commander, tone ever so slightly sharpened. "Commander Taurus, keep in mind there is no such thing as a probing action in a situation like this. The Zeon assume that the EFF has little need for a gateway to orbit, the very moment they are proven wrong, I am certain they will have reserves on the way to squash our intrusion. Losing momentum would mean losing the battle.
_____"We will be reliant on the special forces doing the job right the first time. They'd be putting out their necks for us. Although..." A faint smile wavered on her features. "They would only be returning the favor. Either way, we'll do what 7 STS does best...
Fumio found himself nodding his head along what seemed like both an impromptu speech and lecture combined. "Of course, Commander," Fumio stopped nodding and thought, wanting to build onto Rev's plan, to add something of value. "The best we could do would be to receive real-time intelligence: hours of preparation at best, minutes at worst. If the special forces could find their weak spots, blind spots, then... then we break that hard."
It was an academic exercise to think so cleanly, hands not yet bloodied or dirtied on the mission. So there was a certain degree of distance when thinking such things, from the thoughts to reality. It wasn't about killing, not really. It was a puzzle but, there was the question of lives hanging in the air. Some which depended on what he decided were in this hangar right now.
He looked at the FF-x5 warily. He could see it now, the derivations from his own most recent aircraft. But there were problems which could not have been solved right now, with what they had. They would need to find specific items, parts and data, but without an in to the right people or market he had little clue how to begin.
__As the briefing was going on, Fumio's hand brushed his pocket. There was a tablet there, one he hadn't been carrying before. Activating it, he found a rudimentary schematic for some kind of rotor-wing aircraft and a brief request: HQ wanted him to evaluate a prototype aircraft in the coming assault. Naturally, they understood the... extrenuating circumstances, and if he were not able to comply they could make do.
_____But accomodating their request, if he wished to do so, would be handsomely rewarded with support. The report concluded that he were to approach Captain Jean to follow through.
They would reward him with support. The right support, if they had it, could be used by STS-7. There were spare parts and data, things which would make Ensign Delage's time more worthwhile... and her life safer.
He found Captain Jean as she emerged from a side door, which the sign labeled as the entrance to a storage room. Slightly perplexed, Fumio snapped the best salute he was capable of, regardless of whatever confusion he had. Captain Jean seemed like the kind of woman who did not care for bullshit. More pressingly though was this niggling feeling of distaste Fumio thought she harbored for him, as if he was a slightly rotten piece of seaweed on her plate.
"Captain Jean?" He pressed carefully after the exchange of salutes. "Uh, HQ wanted me to fly this on STS-7's next mission. They told me to come to you." He showed her the pocket-sized tablet, the aircraft on the screen.
_____"We've completed the initial inspection," the technician said. "Chief, it looks like that brief fight didn't bring any excessive wear to the mobile suits, but we're seeing some early deterioration on the joint weatherproofing... if they do plan on submerging these beasts, we're going to have some problems with corrosion. Those are very fine operating surfaces, and the gaskets protecting them are meant for space-dust, not ocean currents. We're already replacing any worn components on the line suits, but I'm not sure how we'd prepare them if the boss wants to go for a little swim..."
_____He sighed. "Anyway, Chief. It looks like ensign Brandt's Zanny has been some trouble. It's real weird. The fire control, I mean. It has this bad habit of getting stuck in 'fire' after a bit of live fire. It's not just the actuator, either. Even though the software's fine... hell, we've reflashed it twice already, and replaced every part in that damned suit's hand. It's like that piece of shit's haunted...
_____"Hell, you know I ain't superstitious, but that thing just puts me off. I'd steer clear of it..."
"Christ," the Irishman muttered under his breath. "Of all the... If it's got a problem that's more reason to be focusing on it! Because some crazy bastard is going to figure that these things are the future, some way some how and that shite that's happening now is going to happen again. So we've got to find the problem. Or, if you ain't going near it, I will. Are we sure that the issue isn't in the OS of the Zanny itself? We sure that the code monkeys didn't add something they shouldn't or didn't carry a 3 when it should have been a 2? Or maybe the problem is in a different part of the arm than the actuator itself? Did the damn thing get shot during an engagement and the bullet never got pulled out? Or is there a wire under too much tension?
Obrien growled as he started walking to the indicated machine. "Ghosts ain't supernatural, boyo. But if you don't help me so I swear, it won't be they that haunt your nightmares."
Looking at the behemoth before him he murmured, "Now garbage be ailin' ya?" Machines were simple, if there was a problem it was either in the materials themselves, in the humans that made them, or the way they were being used. Nothing more, nothing less.
For the most part Rhea continues along loading up her T-61 with all sorts of ammunition until their hoppers are full. "Thanks guys. I know being in the back loading these things isn't a glamerous job, but I appreciate it. So which one of you guys are going to to stick with me and Mack through the actual fight?" She asks conversationally.
Looking over at the special forces, Rhea lets out a long whistle, "Well I guess things are getting serious if they're bringing out the Spec-Op guys out to play. We're going to see some serious fireworks in this next battle." She then continues to work on loading the heavy ammunition while singing to herself a very odd song.
_____Callista was away from the group, as usual. Between the hangar access and pilot's lounge, there was a storeroom that didn't have cameras or intercoms. Between the boxes, a mechanic sorted bills into neat pipes, and scrawled some tidy handwriting on a receipt. "Okay! That should be it. I've made sure there's no trails leading to you, and you pocket all the salvage we can get for that old Zeon cyclops. The civilians around here, they pay hard cash to get research materials like we've got. That should keep us comfortable for some time now... anyway, a pleasure, as always!" He shook her hand and sat up from the crate, slipping toward the door.
_____Callista heard a muted gasp as a figure filled up the doorway, the mechanic scurrying aisde after a lightning fast salute.
_____"Warrant Officer Coriolle?" The captain glared balefully at Callista. "At ease. I won't rip your heart out, at least not yet. I've come to talk business, in fact. Off the books business." She grinned like a shark. "It's not often I've risked my career to sate my curiosity. Kind of exciting, come to think of it. Coriolle, I need some hardware. You see... the EFF's top brass has always had it out for us SF types. They don't like us, say we meddle too much. And because of that, we're only allowed to operate these captured Zeonic mobile suits. Even though we ostensibly operate this ship," she snarled. "-we aren't so far as allowed to take a glance within these prototype suits you operate."
_____She straightend out Callista's collar and smoothed out her uniform. "What I need is a cockpit block from a 'Zanny.' Or just the battle recorder. I don't care how you get it, but don't get caught. Don't tell any of your compatriots, either. This is strictly a personal favor, and none of my bosses know about it either." She squeezed Callista's shoulder in an iron grip. "Sound good?"
Dealing in illegal scrap trade is always a tricky business. The brass doesn't like it when 'questionable elements' come snooping around their stuff, and they especially don't like it when said elements eye their hardware.
Fortunately for Callista, bureaucracy is always their fatal flaw. With just a bit of 'donation' to certain individuals, a bit of wordplay here and and some contacts there, most are non-the-wiser or have more brass-y things to do.
Keyword being 'most'.
Callista should've known. The new captain looked and acted like a real hardass, so no surprise that her nose was up to this sort of business. Still, it didn't look like she was going to be put in the slammer (yet), but she was made an enticing offer. An offer that Callista naturally couldn't refuse, that sly old Captain. What an ass.
Callista cringed at the iron grip on her shoulder, but she still raised her hand. "Deal."
"It's alright if you drive this thing? Seems like I've already been promoted to running this thing. Besides it's not that hard to drive these things, just like a remote controlled car. Only you're in it. And it weighs 10 tons. And it has a couple of huge guns.... But other than that, really easy."
"It's no problem, Rhea. I drove in sims same as you up in Luna Deuce." Mack still visibly swayed as he helped load supplies onto the T-61. His Earth legs weren't quite there yet. "Though I'll be the first to admit I haven't driven an actual ground vehicle since 'bout eight years back when I visited my gramps in Side One. My family was into the spirit of the Texas Colony, so we rode everywhere. But still, I'm pretty sure I can handle this metal beaut as least as well as the next random tech." Mack gave a light chuckle.
His stomach was aching, but his appetite had yet to return after the landing. He had shoved down a rations bar to keep himself going and good ol' Fumio's chocolate helped keep his blood sugar up. But his stomach wasn't quite ready for a real meal under full Earth gravity yet. After this battle, a nap, and a good long shower to get rid of the remaining reek of stomach juices on his skin, Mack would force himself to eat, damn what his gut said. Mack's mind wandered to Lind. He'd seen that girl taking meds a few minutes ago. Did she have something to help with the adjustment. Mack felt like kicking himself for not asking, but then another thought occurred to him.
"They've got us into an awkward spot being the 'control' don't they? Now, I'm not the most scientifically inclined, but doesn't that mean we're representing the regular Fed forces in this exercise? And if the things I've been hearing about how things have been going down here, don't that mean there a good chance we're gonna get blown sky high or crushed like a nightcrawler under a big metal boot? But on the flipside, if we survive do well, aren't we making everyone else whose piloting a Mobile Suit look bad? Not that I'd mind that. Lord knows I wouldn't mind going the rest of the war piloting a tank or a fighter or even one of them cute Ball things."
_____Captain Jean extended her hand to grasp the WO's own, but cocked her head. If she had been a bloodhound, an ear would have been perked on her head. "Of course. I'll be hearing from you shortly." Her tones were soft an hushed as the captain gave Callista a quick nudge down a connecting hallway, turning on her heel just before the footsteps approached and Fumio made himself known. She wrinkled her nose at the dilapitated state of the storeroom and presented herself to the young lieutenant commander.
_____"You're punctual. Good. I wish I could say the same for our supply fleets." She frowned. "It's pitiful in here. One stolen Zeon freighter against an entire invasion force. Regardless, we have a mission. You've been tasked with combat trials of the CB-P5, or 'Perry' medium lift aircraft." It was the very same aircraft outlined on the small tablet, mostly a large container with large rear-mount engines and variable angle fans. It was something she glanced at with scorn.
_____"I won't sugarcoat it; this thing is a civilian transport with armor plating and big fat engines slapped on it. I don't think highly of it. Someone above me does. And here we are." With a wave of her hand, the tablet downloaded another packet of mission data. "Close in and deliver PGMs in support of the main mission. If you have any questions, the real people who can answer them probably aren't here. Improvise," she said, and that was that.
_____Two hours, two dozen teardowns and about two hundred reflashes later, and the situation with ensign Brandt's machine hadn't changed one bit. Work was slowly getting done on the other RRf-06s, and they could be reasonably sure that the waterproofing was a good deal better than before. Given what happened in a mobile suit battle, that only meant so much. At least they were reasonably sure which parts would fail when they did. It was a long day in the repair workshops, but every orange-clad member of the hangar deck knew the plan once the fighting was underway.
_____"Chief O'Brien?" One of the senior techs presented a report to the NCO. "New orders. They want these tilt-rotor transports armed with cruise missiles before the main force launches. Given what we've already done... pretty trivial stuff, we'll just have to dip into the reloads for the deck launchers." He moved to the next document with a shrug.
_____"Oh, and the special forces have uh... commandered one of the OPs as a landing craft. The captain said it's up to you to configure the other three. As usual." He tucked away the orders. "We'll get on it right away. Good luck to you, chief."
_____"Put it that way," Rev said. "And we aren't a very good control at all, are we? Far too good for that. As for you: stop counting the eggs, keep your chickens from getting their heads shot off first." It went without saying that Mack pulled his weight no matter what he was using.
_____"Hey-o." An armored helmet bobbed between Smokey and Mack, buzzed blue hair poking out beneath the brim. "Corporal Hale, EFF Army. I'll be your ammunition specialist," she said merrily. "Been working in the Type 61 for eighteen months, two months in theater. I know it like the back of my hand by now."
_____"Damage control on standby. Tin Cod has touched down on recovery deck. Good landing. We're twenty klicks from target shore, now streaming live intel..." Wheels screamed for grip on the deck as arresting cables hummed taut, deck crew taking a knee as the stubby fighter lurched under the weight of a half load of fuel and undropped ordnance. The pilot swung down the ladder. When he unlatched his helmet, a cloud of steam escaped. The tropical breeze that did make it through the open rear bay was hot and humid.
_____The map showed an overhead view of the coastal mass driver and its connecting roads. To the south the coast was dotted with trenches and dugouts for Zakus, while existing Federation artillery emplacements and missile batteries bristled from the high points. A second line of defenses protected the mass driver facility, while further inland a dozen Dopp fighters laid in a neat row on a landing strip, undergoing maintenance under the blazing sun. There was open beach and coast to the Southeast, while a sort of delta on the Southwest side fed into a river that ran along the coast, deep enough to swallow up a mobile suit.
_____"Looks like most of the coastal defenses were captured intact." Rev said. "Those parked Dopps are big fat targets for some cluster munitions, but I'm sure Zeke has anti-air all over their asses. Possible we could skim the waves in a landing craft, or one of those new tilt-rotor transports, but it would have to be at night." The lieutenant commander stepped back from the planning table with a small shrug of her shoulders. "I imagine we'll have to lean on the SF for neutralizing their anti-air. Your thoughts, everyone?"
Achilleia made her signature grunt. STS-7 didn't get the easy jobs.
"I can take a team and insert further up the coast to the east, hook back in through the woods and infiltrate up to sector... A3, then B6," she said. "SF scouting for us would help but if there's somebody being big and noisy elsewhere we could manage it ourselves. That'd put us in reach of the Dopps, which will pull their QRF off the line. From B6 I can snipe reinforcements coming in from C6 or C3, or even the Zekes from the beach if they try to flank from that direction. We do as much damage as we can, suck in some of their forces, then exfil to A2 and carry on a running fight."
She shrugged. "A three-suit team'll do. Too many and we'd get easy to spot. Enough to do our country loss."
"Believe me, down here the public transit system is absolutely remedial compared to the colonies," Smokey confides. "There's a lot of ground to cover, and if you aren't going from one of the most popular spots in the city to another, it'll take you a good hour to move 10 miles."
Once getting things sorted out with Hale, Rhea heads into the briefing room to look over things. "Well that narrows things down a bit... Likely will have to move through F2 to properly land. It looks like a single line of trenches for the Zakus to hide behind and taking out that artillery is just too good to pass up. Me and any other ground forces that's coming on the landing force can do some damage. My Type 61 can quickly lay down some fire to breach that battery park before swinging around to D2 to take out the biggest threat to our carriers and our mobile suits. The D3 Zaku's might make it difficult, but hopefully we'll be able to deal with the artillery at range before we get into their line of fire. "
"After that we just will have to worry about not getting surrounded and stomped by the cyclopses," Rhea says almost too cherry. "Then we can join up with Achilleia's team and move in to take the compound."
Mack whistled. "The brass sure gave us a tough nut to crack." He strummed his fingers on the nearest surface, trying not to think about just how dangerous this was going to be.
"Believe me, down here the public transit system is absolutely remedial compared to the colonies," Smokey confides. "There's a lot of ground to cover, and if you aren't going from one of the most popular spots in the city to another, it'll take you a good hour to move 10 miles."
Once getting things sorted out with Hale, Rhea heads into the briefing room to look over things. "Well that narrows things down a bit... Likely will have to move through F2 to properly land. It looks like a single line of trenches for the Zakus to hide behind and taking out that artillery is just too good to pass up. Me and any other ground forces that's coming on the landing force can do some damage. My Type 61 can quickly lay down some fire to breach that battery park before swinging around to D2 to take out the biggest threat to our carriers and our mobile suits. The D3 Zaku's might make it difficult, but hopefully we'll be able to deal with the artillery at range before we get into their line of fire. "
"After that we just will have to worry about not getting surrounded and stomped by the cyclopses," Rhea says almost too cherry. "Then we can join up with Achilleia's team and move in to take the compound."
"Sounds like a good plan to me, Rhea." Mack concurred. "Long as we don't make too much noise, we shouldn't too draw much heat. Let me put it this way, if a buncha thugs we're closing in on you real meaning like, you probably would notice a mean looking rat sneaking around your feet."
Achilleia made her signature grunt. STS-7 didn't get the easy jobs.
"I can take a team and insert further up the coast to the east, hook back in through the woods and infiltrate up to sector... A3, then B6," she said. "SF scouting for us would help but if there's somebody being big and noisy elsewhere we could manage it ourselves. That'd put us in reach of the Dopps, which will pull their QRF off the line. From B6 I can snipe reinforcements coming in from C6 or C3, or even the Zekes from the beach if they try to flank from that direction. We do as much damage as we can, suck in some of their forces, then exfil to A2 and carry on a running fight."
She shrugged. "A three-suit team'll do. Too many and we'd get easy to spot. Enough to do our country loss."
"We still have our Zakus, right?" Callista piped up from behind, her hands occupied by the readouts of the stores she had on the ship.
"Sure they're orange Zaku Is and their OS are kind of fucked right now, but we could conduct a false flag operation around..." Callista traced her finger on the holographic map, before tapping on her designated region,"E1, in tandem with the LT's squad. The Zaku I squad can function as the diversion while LT Achilleia's squad infilitrates and flank the security line. Rev, we got any other support from SF?"
"You're punctual. Good. I wish I could say the same for our supply fleets." She frowned. "It's pitiful in here. One stolen Zeon freighter against an entire invasion force. Regardless, we have a mission. You've been tasked with combat trials of the CB-P5, or 'Perry' medium lift aircraft." It was the very same aircraft outlined on the small tablet, mostly a large container with large rear-mount engines and variable angle fans. It was something she glanced at with scorn.
_____"I won't sugarcoat it; this thing is a civilian transport with armor plating and big fat engines slapped on it. I don't think highly of it. Someone above me does. And here we are." With a wave of her hand, the tablet downloaded another packet of mission data. "Close in and deliver PGMs in support of the main mission. If you have any questions, the real people who can answer them probably aren't here. Improvise," she said, and that was that.
Fumio teetered on the balls of his feet as the Captain walked away, leaving him alone in the hallway with the small tablet on his hand. He felt light-headed and wished there was somewhere to seat, but the hall was bare of any furniture and the young commander opted to lean his shoulder against the wall instead. He stared at the image on his tablet for long seconds then tore his eyes away.
_____"Damage control on standby. Tin Cod has touched down on recovery deck. Good landing. We're twenty klicks from target shore, now streaming live intel..." Wheels screamed for grip on the deck as arresting cables hummed taut, deck crew taking a knee as the stubby fighter lurched under the weight of a half load of fuel and undropped ordnance. The pilot swung down the ladder. When he unlatched his helmet, a cloud of steam escaped. The tropical breeze that did make it through the open rear bay was hot and humid.
_____The map showed an overhead view of the coastal mass driver and its connecting roads. To the south the coast was dotted with trenches and dugouts for Zakus, while existing Federation artillery emplacements and missile batteries bristled from the high points. A second line of defenses protected the mass driver facility, while further inland a dozen Dopp fighters laid in a neat row on a landing strip, undergoing maintenance under the blazing sun. There was open beach and coast to the Southeast, while a sort of delta on the Southwest side fed into a river that ran along the coast, deep enough to swallow up a mobile suit.
_____"Looks like most of the coastal defenses were captured intact." Rev said. "Those parked Dopps are big fat targets for some cluster munitions, but I'm sure Zeke has anti-air all over their asses. Possible we could skim the waves in a landing craft, or one of those new tilt-rotor transports, but it would have to be at night." The lieutenant commander stepped back from the planning table with a small shrug of her shoulders. "I imagine we'll have to lean on the SF for neutralizing their anti-air. Your thoughts, everyone?"
Like Rev, Fumio kept silent by the edge of the table, arms hugging his sides, as the members of STS-7 suggested their roles and made plans. They were, for all intents and purposes, more experienced than him and understood more than he did. But more than that, he was still an outsider looking in, no matter his rank. Each individual fit like fingers on a hand, limbs on a body, acting individually to make something of the greater whole.
So he watched and as they told him, they needed to push the initial offensive with overwhelming force before the Zeon forces could receive reinforcements. The Special Forces' work would prove invaluable in making that plan a reality. With the AA positions neutralized, with the Dopps groundside, STS-7 controlled the skies. At least for those crucial first few minutes until the Zeon could muster a proper response.
_____Around that time Lieutenant Remagen returned with a green-clad Federation soldier in tow, an armored helmet adorned with night-vision goggles upon their head, shaggy blond protruding below. A suppressed rifle protruded over one shoulder as they squared up to the map table. "Dusty is the callsign," she grumbled. Her uniform was caked with enough crap to speak of many hours trudging along the Earth. "The lieutenant said we would be working together. So, yeah. We'll work together." The SF operator rummaged through ammunition and tools, removing a grenade from her body armor before tossing some old-fashioned paper documentation onto the planning table. "We've been spitballing about what the fuck the Zeon want here when the Cape is more of a museum than anything else."
_____Dusty glanced at Corvos. "We're pretty sure the top brass was planning on evacuating some prototypes into space when the landing happened. As we know, that never happened, so they didn't make it. There's some storage facilities underground that would have made a helluva alamo for a last stand here. Meaning the Zeon are probably gonna shift some of their guards underground to kick the door in when it's dark out, and they're gonna be stretched to put up a good defense. Plus, I hear those space-type Zakus don't like the swamp air and heat here very much. Their operational status is not gonna be one-hundred percent."
_____"My boss is planning to hit the Western shore with the landing craft. The thing is, there's still enough space on that crate for an entire tank to fit inside, and it'd be a helluva lot easier to slip by a cyclops than a big fuckin' mobile suit with a nuclear reactor in. So if it's all the same to you, we'd like to borrow your tank." She gave Rhea's shoulder a bump with her fist and a shit-eating grin that soon faded into the same hard-set look as before. "We'll go first. There's supposed to be some underground access by the main road, if we can get in there we can swing around behind their main forces and hopefully rescue some of our own people that have been trapped down there since the Zeon landed."
_____"Yeah, this plan sucks balls but it's what we've got. We're gonna lose people going in, but everyone knew that when they dropped a fucking colony on us."
H-Hour -1
5 km off Cape Canaveral
March, U.C. 0079
_____An hour later, and preparations were busily underway. The planning table was a mess of maps and hand-scrawled notes, pistol magazines and grenades strewn careless across it as paperweights. Mobile suits hummed and marched around the Niflheim's hangars, both Zeon and Federation designs lining up for their turn on the main catapults. Rev swung down the boom mic on her helmet. "Alright, I've had a talk with your new boss. This is the plan."
_____"Grid E1. Minosky interference in this level is high, so they won't be able to use radar. Smokey(@Aliexster) and Mack(@tankdrop24) will accompany the special forces landing in the Type 61 under smoke cover. Punch in the shore defenses and take them in a hurry. Neutralize any anti-aircraft artillery and clear the skies for us." The lieutenant commander looked pointedly to Maoin(@Hoshino Yumemi). "Fighters will lead the attack, and clear the way for modified Perry-class transports will carry out the strike mission from outside their anti-air range with cruise missiles."
_____"Once that anti-air is down, we'll insert Achilleia, Callista, and Corvos from the other tilt-rotor birds in the same grid. They'll give some punch to the special forces incursion and dull any counter-attacks. It's 50/50 if false flag tactics will work between the Zaku and Zudah, but i'm not making any bets on it. If necessary, Lieutenant Remagen will act as a forward observer for fires from Niflheim.(@AbZHz101)"
_____"The rest of 7-STS will be making a show, conducting a conventional amphibious assault to draw the Zeon's attention, and any quick-response force they may have. We'll be reinforced with elements of the 32nd." Rev sighed. "As for me... I'll be coordinating the drops from one of the transportsm unfortunately. Commander Taurus has full control of 7-STS during this operation, and he will determine when to shift elements between these two fronts. Trust him, and he'll take care of you."
_____"Get suited up. Cold reactors for the aerial insertion— I don't want heat signatures giving us away prematurely."
Standing pretty much stock still at the playful jab, Rhea gives just a slight smile at the leader of the special forces division. "Well I would prefer a lot more armor between me and the cyclopses. Though not being seen is just as good. Though I wouldn't think I'd see the day where 35 tons of armor and guns would be called 'stealthy'. " Turning to look at one of the marching Zaku II's, "Though compared to that, I guess it would be." She says with a slightly sarcastic smile.
As they start to run down the plan Smokey says, "So ride along behind Dusty to sneak in, set charges, and do what ever they do. When things go loud, we're there to respond in kind and finish up what ever is still kicking? I can get behind that. Simple, effective."
Maion attentively listened to the briefing, getting an idea for what he could expect to see in the air. "Slice in and shred them while they're still on the ground, then finish off whatever limps to its feet. You can count on me there."
He was already picturing what would be asked of him, imagining how to deal with worst-case scenarios. He didn't fancy being mobbed in the air by Dopps while doing anything else; he'd have enough of a time beating up on those Zakus if he couldn't put them down quickly enough. His eyes betrayed his concerns as they darted to the top of the map, then to the sides, then to E1.
_____"God damn it!" The access panel went clattering across the ground, skidding in a spray of sparks. Sharon's mobile suit was disemboweled, cables spilling down, tangled with fuel lines and ground maintenance personnel crawling over every part that could possibly have interfered with fire control. "Chief, there's no way this piece of shit Zeon suit is gonna be ready in an hour. We've replaced everything short of the reactor on it— and that's hand-goddamn-fitting for most of those parts!"
_____The technician guiding Commander Taurus grinned. "Life as usual in 7-STS. Put every crack-pipe prototype in the Earth system on one ship, and this is whatcha get: an absolute fucking mess. Like all of you. Oh, and your stupidass Zaku-Zanny monstrosity, too." They marched over to the machine stored at the very front of the starboard hangar. It was one of the RRf-06 prototypes, although instead of chalk-white and bright red, it was painted in a color closer to sand, with orange highlights. They completed a short walk-around of his new mobile suit, going down a long pre-flight checklist. On the way over, they passed mobile-suit sized machine guns and rocket launchers suspended from racks. One was a bulky rectangular affair with a wire-like folding stock and a flush bottom-mount magazine, the opening on the stubby barrel looking like a drainage pipe as they went by. "One-hundred milimeter machine gun, hot off the press. It's got more punch than a Zaku has, but the range on it isn't so great, and you don't have a lot of ammo to waste in that thing. Looks like you'll also have a grenade launcher and a stolen bazooka to bust some bunkers open."
_____From a distance, it was nearly identical to the other machines lined up beside it, but the details emerged more and more the closer they got. Extra antennas, spare magazine holders integrated into the armor, grenade racks. There were double gaskets over crucicial mechanical parts, and the joints had sliding armored covers absent on the base model. "Spare ammo isn't gonna be a problem. They threw the friggin kitchen sink at your unit."
_____"See that?" She waggled her hand at the Zanny's torso. "We ripped the chest armor off the new Zaku models you fought down there. The strip of thicker material over the cockpit is a Chobham sandwich: a Type 61 would have to get within half a klick and hit you on the nose with a sabot dart to shove that in; those piddly Zaku machine guns really aren't doing shit to it... not... that I'm really suggesting you get shot in the chest." The tech turned her eyes to the young Commander just long enough to confirm he wasn't seriously considering such a course of action. "Anyway, all that new armor weighs a ton. We had to hand-pick the best spare parts we had to make sure everything was nice and tightly fitted." The tech's brow furrowed.
_____"Between you and me, commander, does this seem particularly fair? Someone over our heads demands you, the new guy, get special treatment and resources we really don't have. Yeah, we pulled it off, but now it's really tense between the crews. We're supposed to be working together, but we're fighting over resources... And, well, you're new, so we don't have any idea if you'll come back alive even with the extra shit. You get what I'm saying, right?
_____"Anyway, sir. Don't die. That would be a waste of resources we don't really have."
_____"Commander," the tech said curtly. "We did our best to acclimate Unit 01 to the ground-side conditions." Achilleia's machine now hung pronated under the massive cargo compartent of the tilt-rotor aircraft. Weapons hung within reach on racks, the long barrel of an anti-ship rifle reaching from the belt of the Zudah to the top of its head. "The OS should be fine, at least, but you don't have the armor to take a real beating, and that thruster has a real problem overheating in this tropical climate. I'd take it lightly and keep your distance, but..." the tech offered a small, wry grin. "There's no stopping you, is there? I heard the Zeon killed a lot of good people on that base. Hit them hard for us," he said, stepping aside as pilots begun to climb into the belly of the modified transport.
_____Alongside Achilleia's unit 01, Corvos found he had been assigned to a new machine: A captured Zaku of some sort addorned with a high-performance optics and a small forest of antennae. It was painted in dark grey, radar-absorbent paint. They were still conducting last-minute fixes on it as it was being hoisted into the belly of the heavily-laden transport. "On the bright side, this thing's got updated Zeon crypto on-board that should make this op a breeze," the ground tech said. "On the flip side, nobody has any idea how to work this piece of shit." They handed the lieutenant a stack of notes as thick as his fist. "Think of it this way: You'll be a pioneer, right?" The tech smiled with a mix of pity and amusement, signing off a few last items on a checklist as the Zaku locked into place with a thud. Rocket launchers and missiles hung alongside it like so many spears, arming wires hanging off the noses like ribbons during a parade.
_____In the second Perry-class, Callista found her hastily-repaired MS-05 locked into the bay alongside a half-dozen cruise missiles. The heavily laden bird was still abuzz with activity from the personnel making final checks on the ordnance and mobile suit alike. It was quiet in her part of the hangar—most of her ground team was too busy welding or bolting to talk with her for long. They hadn't even the time to repaint the construction-orange paintjob decorating her ill-begotten suit. The thruster pack was a tight fit inside the bay with all the weapons crammed in. Some of which, she noted, had been her salvages from the recent "treasure hunting." Captain Jean was nowhere to be seen, but everything was running smoothly.
_____The Type 61 rumble up the ramp, coming to a stop within the bowels of the angular landing craft. Corporal Hale shut down the main power as techs lashed the heavy vehicle to the deck, alongside the elongated troop transports that would be carrying their black-ops types. The OPs could fit four or five mobile suits within them on a good day in very cramped conditions, but with just the ground vehicles there seemed to be an excess of empty space. They double-checked weatherproofing on seals, heat shrouds on engines and lashed down anything that could move. In front of the main hatch, the Niflheim's hangar door laid cracked open, blue sea crashing below a slice of clear sky in front of them.
_____'Dusty' came by with a recoiless rifle propped across her shoulders. "Thirty till we land." She handed a silenced carbine to Rhea and Mack each in turn, glancing at their pilot gear. "I don't care what you normally do, but where we're going you run heavy, body armor, spare mags and grenades. If things get hot, we might not be close enough to bail you out... you'll have to kill any of the Zekes that get up in your face. We shoot on sight—dead men tell no tales." The special forces operator sighed a cloud of cigarette smoke into the frigid air-conditioned hangar. "... heck, if we're really lucky, we can kick in their door and blast a few Zakus before they even start up. You feel me?" Dusty shrugged and moved back for the transport, boots stomping across the ramp before she disappeared amongst a gaggle of other helmeted soldiers.
_____"That cool mysterious shit gets old kinda quick, don't you think?" Corporal Hale said. "Anyway, that ammo's all loaded up. Who's gonna be on the gun again? Do we need to grab a driver?"
