G Gundam Fan Fiction ❯ Rise, Crusade Gundam! ❯ Vs Neo-America's Texas Gundam. ( Chapter 7 )

“Right, we'll get a drink here, Mark.”

 

Graham pushed the door open, and he and Mark entered the bar. It was relatively quiet, featuring the usual pool table and other associated paraphernalia. The only people inside save themselves were the bartender, and a man in his forties who was having a quiet drink.

 

“Evenin', gents. What'll it be?” The bartender had a thick, Texan accent, which made sense considering that fact that they were in Texas, preparing to challenge Neo-America's fighter, the Texas Gundam.

 

“Two beers, thanks,” Graham responded. Mark noticed the difference in accents, and expected all sorts of idiotic comments. However, that was unlikely. As the bartender went to get the drinks, Mark took a seat next to the stranger. He looked fairly muscular, but his blue jacket made it hard to tell. In addition, his face was obscured by a pair of sunglasses, large and black, making it impossible to see his eyes. His hair was blue, and slicked back.

 

“Say kid,” he asked, with a decidedly different accent from that of the barkeeper, “you look familiar. Have we met before?”

 

“Uh, no,” Mark responded, “don't think so.” The man smiled slightly.

 

“Ah, I recognise you now. You're the Gundam Fighter for Neo-England, aren't ya? I heard all about you!” Mark rubbed the back of his neck, unused to getting such fame.

 

“Hey Mark, who's this you're talking to?” Graham arrived with the beers, and sat down.

 

“Don't worry about my name. So, you guys are here to fight the Texas Gundam? “He took a swig of his beer.” Kick his butt for me.” Mark was surprised to hear this.

 

“But, aren't you a Neo-American yourself?”

 

“I'm a native of New York. But this guy's a jerk, plain and simple. “Pure hate seemed to exude from his words. “He's not Neo-America's pride. The only reason he's fighting is to make a name for himself...he's got no dream, he just wants money...” He took another sip of his beer, and realised it was empty. “Hey Barkeep, it's the damn Sahara out here! Another beer!” Mark and Graham looked at each other nervously. The bartender brought him another beer, and returned to his cleaning. “Anyway...I should be up there...I was the champ once...a big shot! I had my dream, and the US of A loved me for it...but now look at me...” He felt a tear well up in his eye. “Now...I'm just a bum...my dreams in ruins...” Mark and Graham got up, having finished their drinks. Mark called over to the barkeep, and laid down some money.

 

“Here...don't let him drink any more.”

 

“For that much...I won't drink any more.” The barkeep pocketed the money, and Mark sat down again. The door opened once again, and in strode a familiar face.

 

“Hey, if it ain't the little twerp from Neo-England!”

 

“Oh great, the idiot from Neo-Cuba. What are you doing here?” Mark shook his head, and knew full well he'd have to watch his step, lest fights break out, and needless property damage ensues. Of course, the Neo-England and Neo-Cuban governments would pay, but that was beside the point.

 

“I'm sticking around to see that Neo-American guy, Jack McFarlane. His Texas Gundam's somethin' else!” He stroked his bushy beard, and lit up a cigar. The smoke cloud wafted towards Mark.

 

“You know, this is a non-smoking bar,” he remarked, “so put it out.”

 

“Or what, kid? You gonna make me?” He leered at Mark, and grabbed him with a free hand. “Come to think of it, we never did finish what we started in Neo-Vatican, did we?” The stranger got up, and saw Mark struggling as he was lifted from the ground. He grabbed the Neo-Cuban's arm, and looked at him over his sunglasses.

 

“Put him down.” When he realised he was being ignored, action had to take place. He clenched his fists, and knocked Mark's assailant back with a wicked haymaker. As the Neo-Cuban rubbed his now sore head, he helped Mark up.

 

“What are you, an idiot, kid? If you're a Gundam Fighter, you oughtta be able to handle that at least!”

 

“Don't lecture me, champ. I can handle myself.” Graham sniggered as he heard that.

 

“Didn't the pope rescue you from him last time?”

 

“Ah, shut up.” During this bickering, though, the Neo-Cuban picked up a chair, and ran towards them.

 

“You coulda just left it, old timer, but now you've gone and ticked me off!” He raised the chair, and hurled it towards them, but the stranger simply blocked it with the flat of his arm.

 

“Champ, am I, kid? I like that.” He snickered. “Well, now I'll show you how a real Gundam Fighter deals with scum like him!” He took a couple of steps, and then leapt forward, fist first, at his antagonist. Before he could even respond, he was laid low by a series of high power punches. Mark and Graham looked at each other, awe-struck.

 

“That...was something.” Graham raised an eyebrow. “Hey, champ, how come you're not the Fighter for Neo-America?”

 

“That's none of your business.” He sat down, and put another beer to his lips.

 

“It's 'cause he's a washed up loser, that's why.” A silhouetted figure stood in the doorway. His figure was apparent, even in shadowed form. His outline showed a cowboy hat, and a toned, muscular body. He strode in, and he became visible for all to see. His boots were large and brown, spurred at the sides. His leather jacket as thick and dark, while his trousers were resplendent in their 'cow skin' colour scheme. At his hips were holstered pistols, and his face wore a leering expression, one which expressed his feelings of superiority to all others.

 

“Well, if it isn't my good friend,” the champ sniggered, “come for another poke at this ol' has-been, huh?”

 

“Nah. Yer breath does that for you. " He responded, and strode majestically to a stool. Mark glanced at him, and felt nothing but disgust. This was an unusual feeling for him, considering his previous opponents. He found Vlad to be a man of dignity, and courage. Jean-Luc, determination and pride for his nation. And Simon Peter, devout and merciful. But upon looking at McFarlane, he could see nothing but a man so wrapped in his own self-superiority other people were below his notice. He grit his teeth, and whispered to Graham.

 

“I'm challenging him.”

 

“What? Are you crazy? I haven't had a chance to study his previous fights! You'd be going in blind!”

 

“So? Pretty much every other Gundam Fighter does the same. Heck, I've heard stories about how Domon Kashuu, back in the thirteenth Gundam Fight, helped Sai Saici regain his stolen Dragon Gundam, without realising who he was aiding!”

 

“But you're not Domon Kashuu! Mark, you listen to me, you've gotta wait! If you run in like that, and get your butt handed to you, you're gonna disappoint everyone back home! And, to be honest, you're gonna disappoint me!” Mark knew the logic in what Graham was saying, and secretly thanked him for it. But...Graham wasn't a Gundam Fighter. He didn't understand the desire to fight. Granted, he was in the military, but those people never wanted to actually fight, their job was 'keeping the peace'. Mark shook his head, and continued drinking. The loud and overbearing voice of Jack ruined the pleasant atmosphere of the bar. Thankfully, the Neo-Cuban fighter had scurried off during the commotion involving their new friend. Who is he, Mark wondered. He didn't quite understand how a man with that much alcohol in him could fight to such a level. He certainly didn't look like any previous Neo-American Fighters, and even if that was the case, why wasn't he fighting for Neo-America? Surely this Jack guy wasn't stronger than him? These questions stewed over in Mark's mind, and the depressive effects of alcohol soon began to set in.

 

“Hey, you! Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, man!” Jack's strong Texan accent cut like a knife into Mark's dozy mind, startling him.

 

“Huh? What do you want?” He slurred.

 

“Hey, that's a Neo-England accent! What's a guy from Neo-England doin' here?”

 

“Having a drink. What does it look like?”

 

“Now, that ain't very nice! I'm trying to be all friendly like, and you're bein' all...sarcastic, yeah, that's the word. What're you trying to do, make me dislike you?” Graham put a hand on Mark's shoulder, and pulled him back.

 

“`scuse me.” Graham turned Mark to face him, and shot him a look that could freeze a man dead in his tracks. “And what do you think you're doing now? Are you TRYING to piss off this guy?”

 

“Well, at least then I'll have a reason to fight him, other than waiting until you tell me to.”

 

“Hey, forgive me for interruptin' your conversation there, but since you're all Neo-English, have you seen the fighter anywhere? I heard he was hanging about here somewhere, and I was thinkin' you guys might know him.”

 

“Yes, because ALL people from Neo-England know each other...” Mark muttered. “Graham, should I?”

 

“I'm sorry? A few seconds ago you were having a go at me for watching out for you, now you're begging for my help?” Graham shook his head. “Do as you want, I'm going.” Graham got up, and pushed some money onto the counter. Mark sighed, and clenched a fist.

 

“Yeah, I'm the Neo-England Fighter, Mark Anderson.” Jack stroked his chin, and snickered.

 

“Well, how about that?” He grabbed Mark's right arm, and squeezed a bicep. “Not much here, is there? How'd a runt like you get picked?” Mark swiftly raised his arm, and grimaced.

 

“None of your business. So, now we've gotten the formalities out of the way, I'm challenging you.”

 

“I like your style, kid. You've got guts.” Jack smirked. “I accept. Let's do it.”

 

Graham, having returned to the Neo-England embassy, felt ashamed. His anger had gotten the better of him. He couldn't understand why. Mark had every reason to be upset. He knew he'd feel the same way, were their positions reversed. But, at the same time, he didn't understand why Mark had gotten so uppity all of a sudden. It's as if those three wins had gotten to his head. Perhaps his info wasn't good enough? Graham could only think of one time when his info had actually proven useful, and that was against the Rose Mirage Gundam, which had been made up of two Fighters from two decades ago. Everybody knew how they fought.

 

However, now was not the time for introspection. It was time to admit failure to Kitchener. He didn't particularly relish this task. He knocked on Kitchener's office door, slightly harder than he intended to. He heard a muffled 'come in', and slowly stepped in.

 

“Graham! Good to see you. Tell me, where's Mark?”

 

“Mark...” Graham bit his lip, and hesitated. “Mark has...gone on his own path. He's probably challenged Neo-America's fighter, and he has no info to back him up.” Kitchener, rather than spit up his coffee, merely twirled his moustache.

 

“I see. That's quite the problem. Well, it's hardly your fault; he has gotten too big for his boots lately. Perhaps a defeat will set him straight.”

 

“Sir, it's likely he'll be disqualified during this fight. Jack McFarlane doesn't seem the type to let people go.” Kitchener put his cup down, and sighed.

 

“Right. We'd better be off then.” He got up, grabbed a jacket, and marched out of the room. Graham ran out, following.

 

“I must say, sir, you're taking this pretty well.”

 

“Well, you're not to blame. It's Mark's fault.” Upon hearing this, Graham felt his stomach churn slightly.

 

The sunset was always brilliant in the Texas Wilderness, which is where the arena was located. There was little terrain, save the odd tree, making any tactics involving cover useless. The Texas Gundam was a striking combination of red and white, and looked almost the spitting image of Jack, except obviously a mecha. Mark's Crusade Gundam looked positively antiquated in comparison. He was armed with the 'traditional' weapon set, armed with the lance and small shield. As per usual, the arena was packed to the brim with wild supporters. Mark saw the Neo-American flag being carried by multitudes of supporters, and became slightly concerned that he never saw the Neo-England fans do anything similar. Mark also picked out the drunk from the bar, standing slightly outside the barrier. He had a small olive branch in his mouth, and he watched him chew it slightly. Mark wondered what on earth he was doing, but chose to simply ignore it, and focus on the match.

 

“Well, kid, you ready to rumble?”

 

“You know it, Jack. GUNDAM FIGHT!”

 

“READY!”

 

“GOOOOOO!” The two mighty machines hurtled forward with such force, that massive winds were kicked up by their eventual collision. Mark could feel his feet buckle slightly under the pressure Jack was mounting upon him. He knew physical strength wouldn't win the match, so he quickly tugged at his opponent's arms, and threw him to the ground. Hoping for a quick, clean victory, he withdrew the lance, and pointed it at Texas Gundam's neck.

 

“Not much of a match, huh? Surrender, Jack, or face disqualification.”

 

“Ha ha, kid, you really think that's it?” Jack sniggered, and swiftly kicked up at the Crusade Gundam's hands. The spurs on the ankles of the Texas Gundam quickly slashed at Crusade Gundam's wrists, forcing Mark to drop the lance, and he stood back, desperately trying to hold back from the searing pain. Texas Gundam, on the other hand, had flipped up onto terra firma once again, and withdrew a pair of pistols. Unleashing a barrage of six-shooter fire, Mark retreated, hiding behind his shield for cover. As he thought quickly about his next move, now having lost a range advantage, out of the corner of his eye, he could see two familiar figures drive up: Graham and Kitchener. He groaned, knowing full well he was going to receive the ire of his 'team-mates', whether he won or lost. He saw his friend from the bar also, shaking his head. Mark closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth. So many people he was disappointing. Too many. His friends, superiors, and even people he'd only known five minutes. However, this spot of thinking was broken by the raucous voice of Jack, clamouring for action.

 

“Hey, kid! Let's see some action! You can't hide behind that puny shield forever!”

 

“Oh, you got it, Jack.” Mark roared, and charged forward, shield first, towards Jack. Absorbing the gunfire, he hurled the shield at the Texas Gundam, and with that momentary distraction, he leapt onto it, knee first, and brought it to the ground. “So. Jack. What are you fighting for?”

 

“What do you care?” Mark felt the strength of the Texas Gundam overpower him slightly. Either he won now, or he'd have to try again.

 

“Tell me, if you want to keep fighting.”

 

“Heh, you stupid kid...shoulda saved this for afterwards!” Jack managed to push Crusade Gundam back, and with his assailant now on the floor, stamped his foot onto its head. “I'm fighting for number one. Me. When I win, I'm gonna be the most famous man in the entire world! Can't get better than that! " Mark grimaced, and grunted as the immense pressure on his neck mounted.

 

“You self-absorbed...” Mark began to move his arms in a now-familiar motion. " You don't care at all about anything other than yourself? “Suddenly, the George's Cross appeared in Mark's hands.” Face the consequences. “He knew it would have to be now or never, as the slightest increase in pressure would tear off his head.” Neo-England's ultimate weapon! George's Cross! “With a single, smooth motion, he sheared off Texas Gundam's right foot. As his opponent fell to the ground due to lack of balance, Mark leapt forward, and exerted all his weight onto the left shoulder of the Texas Gundam.

 

“Now. Give me a good reason to spare you.”

 

“You ain't getting nothing from me, kid!”

 

“Figures.” Mark raised the George's Cross high, and slammed it down onto the Texas Gundam's neck, and cried out in the doing so, releasing all his rage, sorrow, and doubts into one immense blow. The head flew off. Mark got up, and looked around. Unlike his previous matches, there was no cheering. Nobody was sure what to make of the match.

 

Except one.

 

“That was beautiful, kid! You really earned your stripes there! Woo!” The drunk from the bar clapped and cheered wildly. He wasn't too far from where Graham and Kitchener were standing.

 

“Hey, champ! What are you doing here?” Graham inquired.

 

“Inspiration, kid. Inspiration.” He patted Graham on the shoulder. “Your pal there's a real fighter, you know that?” He took off his sunglasses, and revealed a pair of shining green eyes. “This is why we fight! Not for petty ambition, not for the glory...for our dreams! And Mark's gone and done it!” He whipped off his blue jacket, uncovering a red and white vest, and a highly muscular body. “Graham, thank Mark for me. He's put some life back into this old dog.” He ran a hand through his hair, and it spiked up, in a wild, untamed fashion. Graham stepped back, awe-struck. “See you around.” As the stranger walked off, Kitchener leaned close and whispered to Graham.

 

“Is that...”

 

“I think so...Chibodee Crocket...winner of the 15th Gundam Fight...” Graham shook his head. “Mark's gonna kick himself when he hears who he's missed...”

 

“Provided I don't kill him.”

 

It was later in the day when Mark rejoined his crew. Graham avoided making eye contact, instead choosing to hang back, and avoid Mark's wrath. Kitchener walked forward and met him.

 

“So Mark. I trust you've gotten your little outburst out of the way.”

 

“And if I haven't?” Then, with the speed of lightning, Kitchener's hand impacted with Mark's face.

 

“Remember, you are here solely due to the choice of the Prime Minister. However, I am in control of Neo-England's Gundam Fight policies, and as such, I can dismiss you as I please. If this happens again, you are dismissed. Do I make myself clear?” He turned and walked away. Mark stepped back, rubbing his cheek.

 

“Sorry for questioning your wisdom, Solomon.”