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Mobile Suit Gundam: The One Year War

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Sushi said:
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?"
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"Yeah, sounds good. I'm pretty sure I'm driving, and Rhea's gonna handle the guns." Mack gave an odd, wide eyed look at the weapon he had been handed. "But, what did ya mean about the zeeks getting up in our faces? I thought we were going to be inside a tank?" Mack wasn't really sure which part of the simulator training on handling a Type-61 had covered that sort of thing, or if it had even been covered at all.
 
Sushi said:
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_____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?"
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Seeing Dusty come about carrying the recoilless rifle and all of their gear, Rhea just says, "Man, do they drip feed steroids while you sleep? That's a load and a half for a jeep let alone one person, it's a wonder your spine hasn't turned into bad origami!" She says eagerly taking the gear their commander offered, mostly to take the weight off of her poor back. Looking over everything, Smokey comments, "I will agree with the carbines and spare ammo, though from what I gather from other tankers is to keep the meat as light as possible. Not just from overheating but to keep moving about in the tight space of the tank without getting caught. But if you insist, get us an extra roll of duct tape to keep everything strapped down."

Sorting out the gear while handing it out, Rhea just nods to Hale, "Yea, it does. But we gotta follow her lead since they're taking point on this stealth mission while we just provide the big booms when things get nasty."

Turning to Mack she gives a slight smile, "That is for when the enemy infantry tries to swarm the tank. One of the main reasons we need to keep moving is to not provide a readily target for them, because we always have to be wary of some guy opening a hatch and tossing a grenade into the tank. So you'll want to keep at least a side arm ready to shoot any infantry that gets close." Giving a slight shrug, Rhea says, "Though it doesn't seem Zeon focuses too much on foot soldiers, there are always going to be a few dozen running about any battlefield. I prefer to keep an eye out rather than be turned into chunky salsa, you get me?"
 
Sushi said:
"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 compartment 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.
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Achilleia eased herself into the tight confines of the Zudah's cockpit.

"No," she said. "There's no stopping me."

Her hands ran over controls she now knew by touch alone. She'd worked with the software guys, made sure every last gauge she really needed in combat was represented in the display so she never needed to look aside for data. That wasn't much; she flew mostly by feel. If you couldn't tell in your gut when your ride was about to shake itself to pieces, you had no business getting into combat.

By that metric, most of the Federation military had no business getting into combat.

By that metric, most of STS-7 had no business getting into combat.

But you did what you could with what you had.

The cockpit hatch slid shut with a hollow thud, not unlike the sealing of a coffin. She sat in darkness for a moment.

"Not till every last Zeke is dust."
 
Sushi said:
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_____"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!"
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O'Brien grunted as he passed by the technician that had called him over. Machines were machines. Fault for their underperformance lay in either their misconstruction, lack of maintenance, or poor orders. If the prior two had been eliminated that just left...

The Irishman sucked air as he consoled into the Mobile Suit's BIOS. He froze the boot and pulled up a copy of the OS he'd gotten saved on his device for just such occasions.

#copy tftp-server startup

Once the download had finished he reset the thing to boot up new. He waited to make sure the problem was actually solved and then growled at the technicians who were still staring. "Well? Clean this shit up so that it can get going! And if the problem shows up after this mission, check what the hell the pilot did to make changes... And make sure they don't again!"
 
Sushi said:
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@Alectai @Yana @AbZHz101 @Zeitgeist Blue_____"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."

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_____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."

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If it wasn't the middle of March Fumio might have thought it was Christmas, feeling as giddy as he did then. He had a spring in his step as he followed the technician and he took in all he could with his eyes. It was like a teenager receiving his first car, specially customized, except this car weighed a few hundred tons more and a hundred plus million dollars.

There was a bit of warm pride in there that Fumio would never admit out loud. For a moment he could close his eyes and imagine that he got here and was picked to fly this entirely through his own merits and not, as he suspected, because of his father's persistent meddling.

Was that weird? Fumio decided it wasn't looking up at his mobile suit.

"It looks great," he said beaming, but his voice small as if he were afraid he would squee if he wasn't careful. "I can't think of anyone doing anything better."

His thoughts drifted to the members of STS-7. Maybe they were more of a mess than this suit, but if so he hasn't seen anything that would be fatal or problematic. Scary, yes. Too serious, too driven to be in the thick of things, but not dysfunctional.
Sushi said:
_"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."
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"I... hope I won't." Fumio's face fell, his shoulders slumping. He saw the technician looking and averted his eyes, embarrassed by the technician's sentiment because she was probably right. He didn't deserve this. He didn't earn this.

He wanted to say that but thought that would only make him look even more like the kid he was. So instead, he waved his hand in small circles, finding the right thing to say. He settled on one and took a deep breath. "You don't really need to, I-- maybe. You could funnel all this to Commander Revelle or Lieutenant Anemos. They'll probably do loads better with all of that than I could."

He scuffed his boot on the floor then caught himself halfway and stopped.
 
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_____The upper half of the Niflheim's forward hangars were abuzz with life. The forward bay doors fell open, runway lights blinking as aircraft taxied onto their catapults. Maoin laid eyes upon his aircraft at the nose of the formation; it was a stubby, dart-like lifting body of radar-absorbent black and anti-flash white. The canopy slid back into the squat, well-armored body, hearkening back to the 'razor-back' propeller aircraft of flight's infancy, while wings just long enough to add another third the FF-x5's width adorned the almost squared-off main body. Internal weapons bays on the flanks were turned over as safeties were removed from internal stores, while external racks carried an assortment of PGMs beneath.

_____The armor was thicker than any aircraft he had seen, the outer skin to each side of the cabin thicker than his forearm. The cabin was just as different as the rest of the FF-x5, slightly roomier than the Saberfish. It was more upright, and the interior was filled with a variety of monitors that acted in a redundant role to the armored canopy. All of the controls seemed slightly... off in some way, like they were too far apart, there were too many redundant buttons.

_____Then there was the reactor interface.

_____The FF-x5 was a nuclear aircraft, apparently.

_____"You done drooling yet? Guardian 3-9 here. We're itching to get out of this crate and into the air."

_____"Jeeze, don't be so hard on him. It is pretty cool, isn't it? Oh, and Guardian 2-4 here. That was some good flying earlier, it's a pleasure!"

_____They were Commander Taurus's wingmates, from the 32nd. There hadn't been much time to get properly acquainted; he knew that 2-4 was Brooklyn, younger and the least seasoned of them behind the stick. 3-9 was Ash, the salty fighter-jock that every unit seemed to have. They were tight with Commander Taurus, and it seemed that much extended to Maoin now that they were working together. The two Tin Cods sat perched behind the blast-shields as a timer materialized on Maoin's main display."

_____"Okay sir, this is the tower. Go ahead and start that bad boy up."

_____"Is that enough explosives, Lieutenant Sanchez?" The tech grinned as they looked up at the olive-green leviathan. "Look at that. Two, no, three bazookas, spare rockets, more spare ammo than you can shake a stick at... it's a good thing you're not deploying from those aircraft, I'd be too worried about all of this falling right off. All you gotta do is purge the waterproof covers off before you fire... and they should hold while you're wading to shore." He stepped back onto the gantry as Isabella had the cockpit to herself, the other flashes on the displays showing her newly-reinforced squadron was standing by.

_____"Ensign Nash, the repairs are complete. You're ready to go!" Now with a slightly off-color, repaired arm and down a few grenades, the older of the Zeon cyclops stood in line just behind Isabella's Zaku II, looking much less laden with machine gun and a handful of close combat weapons. Both were marked with bright orange stripes to denote its captured role; in the dwindling light it wasn't going to be very visible at all.

_____"Both of the prototypes are good to go! No more error in the FCS." There was much back-slapping with the CPO for saving the day, but the joy was short-lived as business took over, and huge spools fed belts of bulky ammunition into Sharon and Gabe's suits. Both were armed with a variety of explosives and machine guns, Ensign Lind using captured Zeon equipment while Brandt was testing a newly-developed belt-fed. They stood directly on the flanks of the commander's own suit, in its off-color paint scheme. Standing beside them, it was all too apparent that Commander Taurus's Zanny had gotten the best of their assets.

_____"Afraid it's too late for that, sir." The tech frowned. "I think we're just about to start operations." As Lieutenant Havilland marched up and completed the landing force with recoiless cannon in hand, lights flickered to life all along Fumio's new mobile suit. The cabin door was left open, a rectangular hatch tucked behind the folded-down armor plate on its chest. As he stood on the scaffolding high above the hangar deck, he felt the salty breeze hit his nostrils, the sounds of ocean louder and louder as the Niflheim partially submerged its lower hangars, the water rushing up and swirling around the knees of their mobile suits.

_____"1-1, tower here. We're ready to crank those reactors to life and start slogging, the order is yours."
 
Sushi said:
"Afraid it's too late for that, sir." The tech frowned. "I think we're just about to start operations." As Lieutenant Havilland marched up and completed the landing force with recoiless cannon in hand, lights flickered to life all along Fumio's new mobile suit. The cabin door was left open, a rectangular hatch tucked behind the folded-down armor plate on its chest. As he stood on the scaffolding high above the hangar deck, he felt the salty breeze hit his nostrils, the sounds of ocean louder and louder as the Niflheim partially submerged its lower hangars, the water rushing up and swirling around the knees of their mobile suits.
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Of course, it was a stupid thought anyway.

Fumio brought a hand up to massage his temples and said, "I'll ask Chief O'Brien later."

He lowered his hand and faced the technician. She was the same height as he was and right now he felt her presence. So close, not reassuring but overbearing now. He forced a small smile for her, realizing she wouldn't see it behind his mask then quickly looked back to his mobile suit. "Means I'll have to not die first."

"Yeaahh." She drew out the word. "Easier now with everything we put in it, sir."

She was right but it didn't cheer him up as it should have. He nodded and gripped the railing with one hand, the other held his helmet to the crook of his elbow.

"I've-- I've got to think a bit. Alone. Please."

She gave him a quizzical look and shrugged, but a second later Fumio heard her footsteps receeding even in the cacophony of a hangar preparing for mission take-off. He lowered his head to look at his hand. It was shaking.

Pre-combat jitters he realized.

He was entering combat for the second time in his career. It was the first time he was aware he was walking down the road to a combat engagement. People were going to die. Maybe him. Bullets and explosions. His cockpit oddly quiet as planes entered death spirals and flew around another desperately trying to kill and not be killed.

He knew he shouldn't dwell on it, especially now, but he did not know how to stop. He didn't think he wanted to.

The Niflheim began to submerge and the wind on his face, the ocean smell, woke him up from his fugue. He could see the marshalls moving up to the runway, one coming his way, neon sticks faintly glowing in the sunlight.

He squeezed his free hand against his armpit and climbed aboard his cockpit.
Sushi said:
__"1-1, tower here. We're ready to crank those reactors to life and start slogging, the order is yours."
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"Tower, 1-1. Ready to begin."

Mask on, helmet on, he flipped switches on in quick succession. As if in response, his cockpit flared with light and a growl reverberated behind him. A screen winked to life. Sensors on. Video feeds transmitting. Audio working as normal.

Calming. This felt right.

He saw the stretch of ocean before him, blue until the horizon then a light blue after that. His mobile suit had the lead position in the hangar and he could only see the very tip of Brandt and Lind's mobile suits' chestplates if he craned his head to the sides. Besides those, he could imagine that he was alone in this world, not even the promise of land to break it apart.

"All callsigns, this is 1-1," he said, smiling more easily now. "Report ready status."

He waited until the roll call was finished then took a moment to breathe in deeply. He exhaled.

"Tower, we're ready for take-off."

Then he took his first step into the ocean.
 
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Sushi said:
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_____The upper half of the Niflheim's forward hangars were abuzz with life. The forward bay doors fell open, runway lights blinking as aircraft taxied onto their catapults. Maoin laid eyes upon his aircraft at the nose of the formation; it was a stubby, dart-like lifting body of radar-absorbent black and anti-flash white. The canopy slid back into the squat, well-armored body, hearkening back to the 'razor-back' propeller aircraft of flight's infancy, while wings just long enough to add another third the FF-x5's width adorned the almost squared-off main body. Internal weapons bays on the flanks were turned over as safeties were removed from internal stores, while external racks carried an assortment of PGMs beneath.

_____The armor was thicker than any aircraft he had seen, the outer skin to each side of the cabin thicker than his forearm. The cabin was just as different as the rest of the FF-x5, slightly roomier than the Saberfish. It was more upright, and the interior was filled with a variety of monitors that acted in a redundant role to the armored canopy. All of the controls seemed slightly... off in some way, like they were too far apart, there were too many redundant buttons.

_____Then there was the reactor interface.

_____The FF-x5 was a nuclear aircraft, apparently.

_____"You done drooling yet? Guardian 3-9 here. We're itching to get out of this crate and into the air."

_____"Jeeze, don't be so hard on him. It is pretty cool, isn't it? Oh, and Guardian 2-4 here. That was some good flying earlier, it's a pleasure!"

_____They were Commander Taurus's wingmates, from the 32nd. There hadn't been much time to get properly acquainted; he knew that 2-4 was Brooklyn, younger and the least seasoned of them behind the stick. 3-9 was Ash, the salty fighter-jock that every unit seemed to have. They were tight with Commander Taurus, and it seemed that much extended to Maoin now that they were working together. The two Tin Cods sat perched behind the blast-shields as a timer materialized on Maoin's main display."
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"Completely new concept."

"Groundbreaking."

"Unlike anything ever seen before."

They were well-worn phrases and pure marketingese to Maion, things he'd heard said of everything from cars to electric razors to esoteric music.

And then he actually got his hands on the new wonder plane that was supposed to save his employers. Everything about it was bizarre, dare he say, wrong. Wrong, or at least strange in ways he couldn't quite bring words to. The gifted test pilot-cum-combat aviator found himself biting his tongue as he took a few moments to recall the startup sequence, going from button to switch and hearing everything tick over as best as he could through all the armor. He was insulated so heavily he imagined he'd be launching into the depths of space; it sure seemed that way from the nuclear reactor he was riding with. The upright seating position and all that insulation reminded him uncharitably of the Ball. He thought halfheartedly that if anyone needed him to scream all the way to orbit from this little strike, he could certainly do it.

"2-5, roger. Commencing startup sequence, stand by. Beginning checks."

A thought nagged at the back of his head as he tried to figure out what all the other evidently redundant or possibly entirely nonessential switches and buttons were even meant for as the little plane gave him a clean bill of health. Something about a pre-space movie that someone at Hervic had dug up from some archive and showed him. It was about this guy, a veteran fighter pilot, who had to bring an airliner in to land in a storm after the whole crew had been incapacitated from food poisoning. That seemed normal enough,except everything was aggressively surreal and silly, and there was this shot of the hero looking at the console with its many gauges and readouts, and it kept scrolling and scrolling and scrolling and scrolling...

He remembered laughing at just about all the flying, especially that unbelievably hairy landing. It really did what it set out to as a comedy. He hoped he wouldn't be acting all of it out from here.
 
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_____"Both of the prototypes are good to go! No more error in the FCS." There was much back-slapping with the CPO for saving the day, but the joy was short-lived as business took over, and huge spools fed belts of bulky ammunition into Sharon and Gabe's suits. Both were armed with a variety of explosives and machine guns, Ensign Lind using captured Zeon equipment while Brandt was testing a newly-developed belt-fed. They stood directly on the flanks of the commander's own suit, in its off-color paint scheme. Standing beside them, it was all too apparent that Commander Taurus's Zanny had gotten the best of their assets.
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And here everything went, again.

All things considered, Sharon wasn't expecting the most gentle of introductions to this whole 'Move around giant machines of war and fire unpleasant messages in fire at a bunch of unpleasant people', but there was just so little time to just curl up and take a good nap. Though it didn't stop her from trying to catch up on her rest when she got a chance.

It was probably the actual gravity in hindsight, that was making her so sleepy. Centrifugal force was good enough as a stopgap up home, but it all just made her feel so gloomy all the time, a bit more than normal--best thing to do in that case is take a nap.

And fortunately, the powers that be got her machine up and running again! Of course, there were some changes here and there, what with the new rifle--and was that an exorcism ward on one corner?

Huh, weird.

Probably just engineer superstitions or something, it certainly wouldn't hurt at least. Maybe she should take some time to spruce her spot up? There wasn't much room, but there was no reason you couldn't enjoy your spot when you're out going pew pew.

Then again, it'd be hard to find some nice stuff that wouldn't rock around too much, a potted plant would likely just get in the way.

... She probably needed to socialize more if these were where her thoughts went in idle times.
 
Sushi said:
____"Is that enough explosives, Lieutenant Sanchez?" The tech grinned as they looked up at the olive-green leviathan. "Look at that. Two, no, three bazookas, spare rockets, more spare ammo than you can shake a stick at... it's a good thing you're not deploying from those aircraft, I'd be too worried about all of this falling right off. All you gotta do is purge the waterproof covers off before you fire... and they should hold while you're wading to shore." He stepped back onto the gantry as Isabella had the cockpit to herself, the other flashes on the displays showing her newly-
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"What do you mean have you seen what we are going up against? We're meant to be busting some bunkers out there. Never enough explosives for that!" Isabella grinned at the tech.

As the hatch closed she exhaled a long pent up breath. It was just the ocean, hardly that different from void combat. Yet even with her brief stint in California, the ocean was both amazing yet terrifying thought foe someone born in space.

"Lieutenant Sanchez ready to go" She breathed as she completed the start up sequence.
 
Lieutenant Sadaf Saidi loved the feeling of an impending mission.

You could feel it in the very air around you—a certain anticipation, a tension, like a bowstring pulled taut and waiting with bated breath to be released. Things were in motion—things were happening. And Saidi, who'd had very little to do since Loum (she shuddered—best not to remind herself of that disaster) and did not suffer idleness very well, thought it was about time. One could only run around the ship asking each and every officer if there was anything that needed doing, any task however menial, so much before one was left with nothing to do but sit and wait.

The ensign helping her oversee the Type 61 preparations didn't appear to share this enthusiasm. "You're looking oddly blithe for somebody who's getting sent straight into the belly of an enemy base, ma'am," he observed, voice and expression equally stoic.

No such stoicism was to be seen in Saidi, who turned her gaze from the soldiers loading up the tanks to her subordinate with a warm smile. "I'm looking forward to whipping those Zekes and sending them right back to space with their tails tucked between their legs," she shot back, words dogged by a hint of an accent. And then, in a kindlier voice, she said, "Are you nervous about the operation, ensign?"

He snorted. "Special forces don't get nervous, ma'am." They watched the preparations continue in silence for a few seconds, and then, quietly, he added, "That being said, I've never encountered those mobile suits of theirs before, and I'm not relishing the prospect."

"You weren't at Loum?" Saidi asked.

The ensign shook his head. "I may be the only damn person in the EFF who wasn't. I've heard enough to count myself lucky, though." His face fell—perhaps remembering friends and confederates who had gone into the fray at Loum and never returned—and Saidi clapped a comradely hand on his shoulder.

"Well, don't fret over it. Those bastards can have their flashy toys and gimmicks—when you get down to it, what really counts is guts and grit, and we've got more of that in one company than the Zekes could scrounge up in a hundred years."

"Sure, but it'd be nice if we had guts, grits, and twenty meter tall death robots," the ensign parried, earning him a lively laugh from the older officer.

"This 'mobile suit' business is a fad, ensign, mark my words. I give it a year—two years tops—before it's out of fashion."

"That why we've been snagging the enemy's every chance we get? I saw the ones we're dropping in with earlier-- I can't say I fancy the thought of those things coming at me on the battlefield."

"Then thank your lucky stars we've scavenged some of our own to draw their attention while we do the real work." She flashed the young ensign an infectiously confident grin, and added, "Just you wait, ensign. We'll show both Zeon and Federation that Spec Ops is still the toughest bunch of bastards around."

Her certainty remained undiminished as the hour of the operation approached. She was a blur of activity, helping to load the tanks onto the landing crafts, conferring with superiors, checking in with subordinates, always busy with something, anything, right up to the final moments before the launch.
 
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_____"OP 01 this is tower. You are clear to start the assault. This will be the first evaluation of the portable OP in an underwater configuration." The deck receeded, the tide crashing into the bay, frothing white around the blocky body of the portable outpost. The tank was lashed to the deck, beside the cramped personnel carriers packed in with supplies and weapons. Displays all around the inside of the vessel showed the rising water level, and soon enough they were disconnected from the rocking and bobbing of the ship, driving forward into the waves with the lights of the hangar soon fading behind them. They sunk lower against the tide, the hull faintly creaking as only the bubble-like bridge poked out from the sea.

_____"OP 01 away. Severing umbilical. Good luck out there." The OP sunk beneath the waves, a froth of luminiescent algae giving it a ghostly trail.

_____"Man, this is creepy," Corporal Hale said. "We're gonna pop out of the waves like zombies and shoot them in the ass? I can't see two inches in front of my face when it's this dark out!"

_____As they talked and the shore loomed, they could see the fuzzy pink of a Zeon mobile suit's monoeye swiveling left and right, blind to the heavily-loaded transport powering under it. Two kilometers. One kilometer. Half a klick. They were almost running aground when the top hatches opened and the special forces begun to clamber out, bringing semi-rigid rafts as night-vision sets swung down over their eyes. The second wave sat in their personnel carriers. They vanished into the dark, and the waiting begun.

​
_____The low hum of the Perry filled the air as turbines spun up to full power, the turbulence whipping at hair and clothing, clearing a circle under the tilt-rotor bird as it pulled up, heavily laden with a deadly payload of mobile suits. The screen showed the Niflheim receding below as they soared into the night sky, the engines whining for power before settling into a whisper-quiet cruise. They took a slow bank left, holding some distance from the advance team, visible below in the wake of white foam on the ocean.

_____The catapult shot Maoin off the deck in a familiar sucker-punch. As the pilot firewalled throttle, the sensation of acceleration kept climbing, far past where a Saberfish would have thrown in the towel. It was a cork fired from a nuclear chapagne bottle, and the night sky soared past as the agile FF-x5 screamed skyward in an almost vertical climb, the Tin cods following floundering for air in their pursuit.

_____"2-5(@Hoshino Yumemi)​, Niflheim control here. We have your laser signal. Maintain holding pattern with the Perry transports and wait for the ground team's attack. Good luck out there."
 
Heidt sighed to himself, then promptly grimaced and regretted doing so. The bruise and headache from being ingloriously knocked out from his previous fight reared their ugly heads again, further reminding him of his rather embarrassing blunder. "Tch. Guess I should count myself lucky that worse didn't happen..." He muttered to himself. He didn't have much memory of the incident, recalling only attempting to scatter the initial group of mobile suits then being met with a rather hard counter attack. The machine gun fire was one thing, he wasn't piloting a thinly armored fighter anymore after all, but he briefly saw RPG and putting up some kind of guard before blacking out. The missing arm with shield and all probably meant that it worked to some degree, but he couldn't help but feel that a larger shield probably would have been better than this... Boxing glove. Heidt's grip tightened on the Zaku's controls. "...I'm getting too agitated."

He exhaled and leveled his breating before his attention was pulled to his headset. "Understood." He replied curtly, reexamining his own loadout. The last thing he needed was to forget something at home before yet another mission. Again he had two shields, he was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of joke.
 
Waiting on the copola of the Type 61, Rhea waits for the them to hit ground while figetting with her night vision goggles to get ready to go aground. At the talk going around, she says, "Well hopefully there won't be any guys on shore to see it. Or else it will be a short battle..."

Once the landing door comes down, Rhea moves down to shout into the tank, "Alright, time to move out! Just keep behind them, I'll tell you if something on the side sees us..." She says bringing the nightvision goggles up to look about the shore as they make their way to the shore. Any light or movement that wasn't the other troops will get her to drop down into the tank with the hatch close and locked behind her.
 
​
E1​
_____"Usually we'd have a dedicated tank commander," Corporal Hale said. "But I guess we're short... just do your best up there. Give us an 'on the way' when you pull the trigger so I don't lose my arm, pretty please?" There was a chirp from below, and a clunk as the autoloader rammed a massive 155mm round home. "HEAT, up!" It was cool and murky black out. Infrared headlights on the Type 61's nose cut a brightly lit swathe through the tinted view through the night-vision optics, creating shadows so inky black they looked like pitfalls and trenches. A squatting soldier waved sharply for them to advance as the tread-high tide lapped against their armor. Rhea heard the muted whine of the next tank behind them.

_____"We've got your back, new kid. Request callsign, over." The turret swung over right, the barrels staying steady on the shore. Tracks clattered across the ground until the next tank was right on theirs, slightly submerged in the tide crashing into the landing craft.

_____"I can't see shit, switch to thermals. See anything on your primary sight?"

_____Dusty rose from the beach, steaming rising off her uniform in the sauna-like tropic heat. "We're in." She took a knee, gazing over the muzzle of her rifle as other EFF soldiers started to clip apart concertina wire on the beach and twist the fuzes from a number of hastily-buried antipersonnel mines. She glanced at an old-fashioned battery-powered watch on her wrist. "Landing plus two mikes. We've cleared a lane for the infantry, proceeding while the engines root out anti-tank." She paused by Saidi's side and gave her fellow operator a quick pat on the shoulder. "I'm moving up, stick close."

_____They moved inches at a time, boots soundlessly sinking in the muddy beach, bodies clinging to any bit of cover on the approach. It took the better part of ten minutes to get to the base of a small incline leading up to the first Zeon outpost. There was the orange flare of a cigarette hanging from a Zeon soldier's lips. He stared sightlessly out at the horizon, the coal-skuttle shape of his helmet backlit by the bit of light spilling from the tent behind him.

_____"Saidi. Two guards. Stick a fork in one and I'll take the other." Dusty lowered her rifle on its sling and reached for her belt, removing a well-worn combat knife from its scabbard.

F1​
​
_____The Perry's intercoms activated within the cabins of their carried mobile suits, echoing alongside the broadcasts in each of their helmets. "This is your captain speaking. Our landing might be delayed by a fast-moving Zeon anti-air missile coming from the West, we are currently maintaining a holding pattern at fifty AGL. Some ocean spray is normal at this time. Thank you for flying with the EFF Army." The secondary displays within the cockpits of the mobile suits synchronised to the swiveling main camera on the lead Perry's nose, a scattering of obling, off-white smear son the black landscape marking patches of heat against the wind-worn coast. "To our north, you may see some sketchy signatures on the thermals, about one klick inland."

_____Rev keyed her comms. "Too big for people or tanks. Not white-hot like nuclear, either. Might be shut-down mobile suits."

G3​
_____Ensign Nash was the last mobile suit to join the squad departing Niflheim. As they stepped off the catapult deck, the mobile suits plunged up to their visors in the murky water, their boots coming down on the coral in a flurry of pulverized particulate.

_____"And that's a splash. We have five clear signals from the shore team. Stick to the coral reef and you shouldn't sink too deep. Good luck out there." They begun to wade through the inky shallows, surrounded by the strange, not-quite-soundless mass of the ocean swallowing up their armored beasts, each massive footfall upon the ancient coral sounding like the booming of a cannon. From time to time their advance stirred hidden bioluminesence below, flooding their ankles in splashes of off-green light.

_____Commander Taurus lead the formation, with Ensigns Lind and Brandt close behind. Lieutenant Havilland carried one of the recoiless cannons they had recently been delivered for evaluation, a healthy load of ammunition making her RRf-06 ride low in the tide. Ensign Nash brought up the rear of the formation, the paint visibly mis-matched on the shoulder of his MS-05 where the rocket had left its mark.

_____A kilometer into their march, Fumio noticed white foam frothing the sea around Zeya's zann. emanating from the knee joint. "Uh oh. Got a leaky leg. The controls aren't responding for the right side." As Havilland lowered her prototype machine into the coral, the head vanished into the water entirely, leaving the unit commander with the clouded view of his main camera to see. "I don't think it wants to cooperate with me."
 
Achilleia's grunt was almost amused. The Perry pilot's humour might be sophomoric but if it helped him stay frosty she would endure it the way she endured stomach-churning g-forces or having to piss through a catheter on a ferry flight.

She turned her attention to the secondary display, slaved to the Perry's camera.

"1-2. Credits to croissants they're Zakus. Best to flank them and hit them hard while they're trying to orient to the initial assault."
 
Hearing Hale go on Rhea leans down to say, "On the way, got it man. Going to avoid any lost limbs on this trip, at least on this side of the steel." She gives her a thumbs up to him before going back to her watch up top.

Looking at their backup, the infrared headlights causing all sorts of odd shadows over the back of her tank to make it look like something out of a strange early 20th century abstraction movie. Holding the comlink to her ear, "Roger, just call us Skuba." Rhea smiles to herself proud of a proper classical reference there. Zekes aren't the only one that have a monopoly on that!

"Negative, nothing for a few clicks. Got a fairly clear path to shore, but can't see anything there." She says moving back to switch goggles to thermals to see if they can show anything in those shadows.
 
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Achilleia keyed her comms again.

"1-2, I make it two triplets, that's two by three heat signatures, probably Zakus. Can't tell what they're doing but best to assume they're getting ready to roll. If we hit them now we could catch them still unprepared."
 
Sushi said:
G3
@Zeitgeist Blue @Alectai @Yana @Blazewind @DannyboyZero_____Ensign Nash was the last mobile suit to join the squad departing Niflheim. As they stepped off the catapult deck, the mobile suits plunged up to their visors in the murky water, their boots coming down on the coral in a flurry of pulverized particulate.

_____"And that's a splash. We have five clear signals from the shore team. Stick to the coral reef and you shouldn't sink too deep. Good luck out there." They begun to wade through the inky shallows, surrounded by the strange, not-quite-soundless mass of the ocean swallowing up their armored beasts, each massive footfall upon the ancient coral sounding like the booming of a cannon. From time to time their advance stirred hidden bioluminesence below, flooding their ankles in splashes of off-green light.

_____Commander Taurus lead the formation, with Ensigns Lind and Brandt close behind. Lieutenant Havilland carried one of the recoiless cannons they had recently been delivered for evaluation, a healthy load of ammunition making her RRf-06 ride low in the tide. Ensign Nash brought up the rear of the formation, the paint visibly mis-matched on the shoulder of his MS-05 where the rocket had left its mark.

_____A kilometer into their march, Fumio noticed white foam frothing the sea around Zeya's zann. emanating from the knee joint. "Uh oh. Got a leaky leg. The controls aren't responding for the right side." As Havilland lowered her prototype machine into the coral, the head vanished into the water entirely, leaving the unit commander with the clouded view of his main camera to see. "I don't think it wants to cooperate with me."
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Fumio slowly brought his suit around, feet shuffling in the coral and kicking up even more sand in the waters. His eye swiveled stared at Zeya as he moved closer.

A problem now was bad, inconvenient, but not insurmountable. Zeya was experiencing a mechanical problem and so they needed someone with a mechanical bent. As pilots they were supposed to know their machines like the back of their hand. The coos and the burps, when to listen and hold them softly and when to run away really fast. But there were other people who studied that same hand, knew every bone and joint and tendon that made it move.

Fumio bent down and lifted the recoiless cannon from Zeya's shoulders, easing it into his own. He felt the weight push him deeper into the sand. Then he opened the channel for their group and control.

"Uh, control? This is 1-1 and we have a problem. Is Chief O'Brien there?"

A bit stupid to ask. Of course he'd be there, monitoring the machines in his care, but it wouldn't do to start talking when the person they needed wasn't even present. The others could hear the conversation - Nash, Lind, and Brandt - but Fumio gave them a thumbs up sign to signal everything wasn't exploding horribly around them. Yet.

Then, with after a moment's pause, Fumio lowered his head even more, trying to see past his cloudy view to Zeya's problematic knee. If he squinted hard enough he maybe could spot something though he wasn't sure.

"I have the Chief on the line, 1-3," he told Zeya. "Can you walk him through the problem? I'll see if I can spot anything from the outside."

@AbZHz101
 
"Eh?" a very annoyed Brough broke through with a slight crinkle of static. "What be the reason some rocket jockey is call'n me even before you idiots have started shooting at each-oth'r?"
 
Maion found himself more surprised, and in fact, a fair bit happier than he thought he'd be. Nobody told him the Escape Fighter was going to be this fast. It just kept moving, and as he received the order to link up with the Perries, with a quick "Wilco," he found himself sucked towards the transports-turned-strike bombers and having to back off the throttle as he felt himself practically warping towards the formation. He'd totally forgotten the controls' strangeness and the weirdness of his seating position. He was a pilot now, the missing link between the machine and its deadly purpose, the thing that made it all work.

He found himself getting antsy at the mention of the comms. "The more of them we can cut down before they're any help to the Zekes, the better. Consider that a vote for starting there," he mentioned. "But this is your show. Make the call."
 
AbZHz101 said:
"Eh?" a very annoyed Brough broke through with a slight crinkle of static. "What be the reason some rocket jockey is call'n me even before you idiots have started shooting at each-oth'r?"
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Fumio winced visibly as O'Brien came on, the Chief's annoyance carrying past the static of the radio. But the young commander pushed on. "We have a problem, Chief. Sorry. I think 1-3 is experiencing a Minovsky-charged leak from a power pipe. Her right leg isn't responding. Please advise."
 
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E1​
_____"Two sentries. Plus lookout in the guard tower and a radio op... break, suspected anti-air site dead ahead, one-five-oh meters. Dusty, we need you over here." The soldier in question paused, glancing to Saidi for a moment before rising, sheathing the knife and moving laterally.

_____"You got this," Dusty said. "Rookie, you're up. Watch Saidi's ass and don't get in her way." As her replacement took a knee next to the lieutenant, Saidi saw the helmets bobbing along, barely visible against the horizon as infrared lasers washed around as beams of light only visible on their goggles. A sniper perched among the rocks. Boots were sucked into the mire in places, and sweat dripped down faces in the tropical heat.

​

_____"I see it," she said. "One of ours." It was the angular boxy hull of the Type 74 hover trucks that were so common to the Federation forces. With the engine powered down the vehicle sat flat on the ground, a launcher in its cargo bed carrying two quartets of telephone-pole sized missiles. A cigarette flared from the cabin, while a small crew sat dismounted by a stove at its side. She switched frequencies and keyed her headset. "Perry, be advised, have found one long-range missile battery with radar and escorts. We're going to take it out, be ready to go loud and drop those giants off if things go badly."

_____Dusty shouldered her rifle and took up slack on the trigger, the ghostly beam of the mounted laser glaring off her target's head. It was just below the rim of the coal-skuttle helmet, right where the apricot was sitting. "Pick your targets. I'll lead the fires." Lasers ignited and found their marks on the other bodies. She could hear the ruffling of a deck of cards, the striking of a match when she held the breath in her chest and squeezed.

_____Her rifle thumped and shoved back in her shoulder, spent casing holding the light of the fire. The personnel carrier behind her mark went angry red as his head snapped back and the rest of him toppled limp. The other three in her team fired almost in unison, sounding like clunk-clunk-clunk over her sound-deadening headset. Zeon soldiers spasmed and slumped in their seats. A streak of blood marked the driver's seat and all was still.

_____Dusty let out her breath and flicked on the safety. Saidi, separated by a hundred meters of space, didn't even hear the thump of rifle fire as her marks stood blissfully unaware of the attack.

_____"Command, anti-air site neutralized. Send in the heavy shit."


E11​
​
_____The ground raced past as the pilots brought their cargo as close as possible; the anti-air site below was a fuzzy mass on the main cameras. Rev frowned at the sight, rubbing at skin goosebumped under her sleeve. "5-by-5, Dusty. Keep searching, we'll be dropping in." The lieutenant commander toggled on the intercom, staring at the bright orange mobile suit suspended in the bay behind her. "Perry team, start your reactors. Corvos, get me an initial scan of this area. We're going to be playing sandman tonight." The formation of their escort fighters had arrived, heavy with a full ground-attack load. They were almost close enough to make out the individual pilots in the seats. "2-5 (@Hoshino Yumemi)​, we poked their eyes out. Go sniffing around for those parked Dopps and make sure they don't launch their QRF."

_____Rev marched open to her Zanny on the opposite side of the bay, sticking her head into the cabin and flipping the bank of switches controlling the nuclear fire within. "Start the drop. I'll be right behind you."
 
Achilleia's fingers danced over her controls even as Rev filled in the details and the tactical feed painted data over her screens.

"1-2, wilco," she said as she powered up the reactor. "Tell those SF pukes good job."

The Zudah cradled its massive ASR-78 antiship rifle as it shifted into drop position.

"Achilleia Anemos, Zudah unit 01, launching!"

Time to play.
 
"2-5, wilco," Maion replied, already responding as the Escape Fighter sharply banked and he aimed for an altitude the rest of the aircraft weren't using. As soon as he found one, he throttled up for another dizzying hit of the boxy little wedge's speed.

He felt the kick in his ass, then he doubled back to start sweeping for the Dopps. The upright position only accentuated that all-too-familiar feeling of positive G's as speed and not a tightening turning circle caused them to pile up.

He was watching the air, the ground, his instruments. If those Dopps were parked, he just had to trust in his skill as a pilot to make sure they'd get kissed. He'd done a lot of that recently, the more he thought about it. Clean shots were still the order of the day even in the face of everything under the sun suddenly sprouting limbs, as his admittedly-rare kills attested to. He just had to point his craft in the right direction, visualize the shot, and make this little prophecy come true.

Everything felt right. The Escape Fighter seemed to nod in affirmation under him. Point the plane, make the right step in the dance, pull the trigger.

There were many ways to get the job done, and this was his. No doubt.
 
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