Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ An Ancient War Renewed ❯ Chapter 7 and 8 ( Chapter 4 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: the Humble Scribe 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Classic | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.03.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.9K | Visits: 128 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Classic | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.03.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.9K | Visits: 128 | Status: Completed
7
Upon the dunes, Quatre took but another moment to contemplate what he knew and where he should go. His thought was broken, however, by a Maganac armor coming from the city, “Prince, the Emir has need of your presence.” Quatre gave a quizzical look, “He did not request it, commander, but he needs it anyway. It seems that a minor disturbance has afflicted the capital.”
“Father would never want a show of force, in the capital of all places.”
“His pacification is not going well, prince.”
“Alright. May Father forgive me for this as well.”
The battle of Chai’dou was shaping up to be a bloody mess, to say the least. Every ship that could float was loaded with culverins, demiculverins, harquebus, or bows as it could hold. Fishing fleets were now field re-supply ships, every ship that was the approximate size of a corvette was armed like one, even row boats and rafts were prepared as gun platforms. Children donated toy boats to be packed with explosives and used as miniature mines or slow guided bombs. Seamstresses from all over the city supplied every inch of cotton they possessed, as well as every waking moment in preparing the ships. Every free able body endured martial drills, as well as basic bow study or javelin art as the threat of an unfathomable Westland invasion loomed over the city like a shadow.
Director Duo himself hurried beyond human endurance, sprinted from one makeshift weapons factory to another cobbled militia force, giving encouragement and any possible assistance. With each hour, he made his rounds with more energy, slowly losing the ability to keep the panic from his voice. The people seemed to mirror his condition, and every hour of the day bore its toll in their etched faces. No one knew when the fight would come, or who would start the assault, but the city determined as one man to be ready and give the fight every last drop of blood.
The fight came in the second night after the declaration, with Westland starting the attack. The ships came in one horde, organized in row after flawless row: corvettes before men-o-war, each of those tugging a platform fitted with one elongated field gun that was of sufficient caliber to blast a man-o-war to splinters, or a building to rubble. Behind them were the transports bearing the invasion force of marine Leos armed with cork under- carriages in addition to their usual armament, as well as the Pisces and Cancers not yet able to disembark into the already crowded waters around them. True to intelligence, the new Aries launched skyward from the transports, held aloft by the thermal currents these suits summoned through boot vents. To command this regal horde of the Westland Alliance’s latest juggernaut, the Wagnerian caricature appeared with a herald flag of the black, gold, and silver. Aries, Pisces, and Cancers formed to him and the assault began.
The Chai’dou Free Navy flung every ship at the enemy’s ships, while blatantly ignoring the armors, hoping to bypass them. This effort served nothing, as the commander ordered detachments to blunt the advance. Pisces and Cancers, now armed with phosphoric-tube rockets, launched the new torpedoes at will. The corvettes could only manically attempt to dodge the streaks of white erupting from the depths. Most of the rockets found their marks, and the eruptions worked upon the nerves of the survivors. Even as the rockets began, red-white froth fizzled on the surface, and several Pisces floated up in pieces.
Deathscythe had its work to do, but the water was not friendly to the occupant. With the trapped air, Duo could only spend fifteen minutes in the water, while his enemy could last for three hours due to their ballast chambers. But, as Duo quickly learned, he only needed ten of those minutes. Bounding from one Pisces to another, the neon flash of the blade danced upon its victims, releasing explosions of scarlet within the depths. Even if the Pisces were made for aquatic battles, the soldiers’ eyes were not, lending the already stealthy killer that much greater advantage. Another Pisces lost an arm, another was disemboweled, another taken from larynx to pelvis…the frenzy of violence overwhelmed the hapless remnant, mostly Cancers, beyond their collective ability to digest. Those not yet caught in the whirring green wisp attempted to flee, but these too fell victim. Another head sent from its body, another leg shorn, another gurgled plea for mercy, but the CFN could not see the carnage from the surface. Only after the pieces floated up within the scarlet maelstrom did anyone on the surface begin to conceive the nightmare that the sea was covering.
The scarlet froth and floating corpses attracted the attention of Zechs, who had searched for the upstart Director and his armor since the battle began. The best lead he had was that very spot of scarlet. He wheeled about, unsheathed the sword, then plunged into the eye of the scarlet storm. Casting the mutilated about, he hunted for his enemy with no assistance to his otherwise acute senses. Deathscythe was finishing the assault when the opponent coursed through the blood plume. The two met, eye to eye, cradled in the blood of the many killed. After a moment spent in study, the two rose sharply to the surface and locked eyes again.
“You killed my men. All of them. Why did you not seek me out at first? Instead, you participated in needless slaughter.”
“Your men were attacking my people. Welcome to war, pal.”
“Hmm. I’ll give you that, true armor. But you will find me more troublesome, and more dangerous to your people.”
“Fine. Time to go down.”
“Let us see if the Tallgeese can match you, great armor.”
As the battle joined, Duo’s mind flashed to the name “Tallgeese.” This name was given to a legendary “Father of the Gods,” or the prototype of the five existing true armors. That particular armor supposedly was lost thousands of years ago, but legends whispered that it survived intact, while the pilot did not. But if this is it, why would they put anyone in it? “I’ll think it over…your dead body,” Duo cried out even as sword fell upon raised scythe. The clang reverberated through Duo, causing his teeth to clack and his body to quiver. The strength of that blow concerned Duo, as nothing else has ever even come close to that kind of concentrated strength. He wheeled about, disengaging the scythe from the sword in a play to his gut. The sword, released from the scythe, returned to lock the scythe before Zechs’ flank could be hit. Just the force of the parry was enough to give Duo another shock. Blood came from his mouth as his tongue attested to his teeth’s force, and the Deathscythe backpedaled in an attempt to gain some distance from the heavier Tallgeese. This produced no distance, instead giving the Tallgeese a chance to charge him down with blinding speed. The sword struck the armor directly, but could not cut through; however, grave damage was done to the person inside. Duo was sent airborne with that strike, blood trickling from the cracks of his armor. He could tell that two ribs were cracked, internal bleeding was evident, and his body was racked by pain.
“But a Gundam armor-bearer can fight on,” Duo howled within himself as he righted his body and charged the Tallgeese with the ferocity of a wounded tiger. Zechs braced for direct impact, but the Deathscythe careened below the guard and cleaved the hilt of the sword, taking the blade from the hand. Zechs instinctively backed away and cleared a good distance from Duo, then leveled his ballista arm and fired. Rockets struck the Deathscythe, but the armor coursed forward, the warrior within determined to finish the battle now. Zechs felt the panic shimmer over his body, but the training of a Westland Elite kept him from wilting. More rockets slammed the Deathscythe, and the trickles of blood erupted into spray, and the armor’s occupant finally let out an audible scream of pain. Zechs’ fear subsided as the scream was gurgled, the obvious sign his enemy was dying, and he once again backed a hundred yards in a breath. Duo could fight no longer, and the Deathscythe bowed its head and fainted into the water.
“Mission accepted.”
Zechs only saw a glimpse of his next opponent, but his reflex sprint spared him from the blast from the harquebus. Above the scarred Tallgeese, the winged warrior appeared with harquebus and energy sword bared. Zechs knew that, with his rockets few and his sword broken, this opponent would take him down easily. The Tallgeese flew across the battlefield with Wing flying over his prey. Another shot, and Tallgeese lost its right bracer, but no injury was sustained by the person. Another shot, and the Tallgeese lost its left bracer, and Zechs pushed Tallgeese to its limit to escape.
The limit of the Tallgeese was greater than its occupant. The speed of the armor was incalculable compared to any other armor, but the forces sustained to keep that speed punished Zechs beyond his ability to bear. He passed out twenty seconds before slapping upon a man-o-war’s deck, only the final slowdown saving the ship from being sunk itself. Heero followed the streak to the ship, lining up his shot upon the prone Tallgeese. The ship veered hard to protect the commander, while Aries scrambled to counter the new threat. Heero gave up on shooting the Tallgeese, opting to charge upon it with his sword. Two Aries squared in front of him, but both were cleaved in two before either could raise his harquebus. Three Aries appeared on the deck and fired upon the Wing. Three hits, but no reaction, and Heero gored the middle Aries. The others fell into shock, and they were both beheaded by one overhead cleave. Heero got his chance to take Tallgeese down with no one able to delay him any longer, but the Tallgeese stirred and reflexively rolled away from the slash. The deck was splintered and charred, but the Tallgeese was still active. Wing slashed again, but the Tallgeese could use its vent-jets to again dodge the killing blow. Another slash, another dodge, and the deck collapsed due to the strikes. Tallgeese fell to the hull beams, while Wing floated aloft, gauging the next strike. Heero barreled down, confident that the Tallgeese could not roll anymore. Instead, Zechs curled at the last moment, and Heero pierced the hull and crashed through, leaving him in the ocean. The Tallgeese jetted up and sped to the rear of the armada line, finally shaking off the winged predator.
Duo awoke with a start and turned himself over to catch a breath. Even after a minute of gurgling saltwater and blood, he could still move enough to seize a corvette’s anchor chain and pull himself up. The waiting crew was, thankfully, officers of the CFN and not Westland. Duo took off his helmet, letting the blood and brine drain from it while the crew checked him for injuries. Pressure to the upper ribcage elicited a twinge, and the left side caused a subdued protest. “Director, we need to get you back to Chai’dou for treatment.”
“How’s the battle going?”
“Better than we thought, sir. Whoever got that tall white armor to bolt did us a favor. The armor was minus his sword, I bet you got him, sir.”
“I got his sword, but he was still holding his ground when I passed out.”
“Yeah, we thought something was odd, sir. Did you get a true armor mercenary for us?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“Because some true armor is still chasing that white one around. The enemy’s command has been nonexistent for that reason. But if you did not hire it, sir, then why is it helping us out? He a friend of yours?”
“No, I don’t know any other true armored. But I guess he’s a friend now.”
Wing searched systematically for Tallgeese, slashing through ships and Leos with total abandon. The constant assault drew more and more armors upon the shifting epicenter, and the CFN suddenly found its counterattack much easier than before. Without the Cancers and Pisces, the men-o-war were massive targets for the eager corvettes. Many of the smaller vessels continued past the line without response from the enemy, giving them free reign to attack the artillery platforms. Many of the enemy crews died fighting or surrendered, so the CFN received a line of artillery platforms that could be useful against the impending Jinghuan invasion. Duo, refusing treatment, stood upon the command vessel and surveyed the situation quickly going his way. But his jubilation turned to desperation as he received the warning sign from the shore. The flashing of the lanterns meant that the Jinghuan had come and the land invasion was progressing. He put his helmet back on and headed for the shore to counter the attack there.
Although the sun would not rise for another two hours, the Jinghuan commander ordered the assault to begin against the orders of the Council, which planned for the assault to happen at first light. He had noticed the flashings of light on the shore, and rationalized correctly that the Westland navy was attempting the invasion. If he struck now, he could crush the Chai’dou and meet a severely weakened Westland invasion force. A double victory would be the surest path to promotion. He ordered the assault, Leos charging through the main street while unarmored soldiers filed through the side streets and took housings to create a forward command center. The Chai’dou Free Army (CFA) met the unarmored soldiers at those houses, creating a series of street brawls and house-to-house assaults that slowed the Jinghuan invasion considerably. The Leos were halted as well by the shadows and the fighter they concealed.
The “God of Death” struck hard and fast, a flash of green was all that heralded his work before the lead two soldiers crumpled in pools of their own blood. Leos bared their hatchets and swords, but a prepared stance is of little use against the unseen enemy. He struck from behind, and a Leo was torn as if paper with the blood and gore spurting forth. The remainder, twenty-two in all, formed in schiltron and prepared for the worst. As if simply beyond all forms of pity or compassion, the shadow appeared within the circle and bounded from one Leo’s back to the next, heads and torsos flying about at his whim. The twenty-two were reduced to eighteen before the Leos formed upon the Deathscythe and fired their bolts.
The bolts hit nothing but dirt and stone, and two more Leos gurgled their cries for help. The group turned, and another was shorn of his arm and leg. Another turn, another death. The remnant fell into panic, bolts flying and hatchets swinging. A slash, scream, and death. More panic, more wild shots. Two more dropped. The survivors screamed and shouted curses into the darkness. Within a tense two minutes, the final Leo fumbled his way through the street and mumbled something about a “God of Death” before his head flew from his shoulders and his spine split in a flash of green and a pulse of blood.
As the sun rose, Chai’dou still stood proudly, albeit shakily, with the Director standing in the town square surveying his worn but steady troops. A third of the CFA died pushing back the Jighuan and a fourth of the CFN crews were dead fighting the Westland Alliance. But the city was still a free zone, and the Jinghuan were not capable of mounting further attacks. But the Westland could, Duo reasoned, but not by sea. He still had the probability that the Westland Alliance could find another way to strike Chai’dou, but would they risk an air assault?
Chapter 8
“Commanding General Zechs Marquis failed to take Chai’dou, then?”
“Yes, my lord. Shall his ‘dismissal’ be processed?”
“Hmm…no. I will decide the matter personally.”
“As you will it, my lord.”
Supreme Commander Treize Krushrenada processed the turn of events with little concern. Jinghuan was not stretched thin as originally planned, but what of it? The Jinghuan Kingdom still lost many soldiers, and the Westland Alliance Armed Forces were barely inconvenienced by its own defeats. His own superiors, the Combined Senate, considered these little mishaps, obviously caused by an underestimation of the enemy. This underestimation of the true armors’ power would not happen again, and the Westland Alliance would find a way to create one of their own. Once that happened…Treize belied a smile, “When that day comes, the dream of Oz will be reality once more.”
He sent another messenger back with orders to Commander Marquis, “Return to me. Report on the performance of the Tallgeese. That is all.” When the messenger left, Krushrenada had a chance to review the reports from Lady Une, the top spy inside the Jinghuan Senate. The reports were satisfactory, with the corruption of the Assembly all but complete, as well as the Jinghuan effort to reorganize for defense plagued with paralyzing levels of bureaucratic mistakes. But he noted with concern that one Councilor was able to call the defense through a bypassing of the bureaucracy altogether, therefore allowing inordinate levels of resistance to be present inside the capital. Furthermore, the army as a whole seemed to remain loyal to the Republic, which had not been assumed in this stage of the plan. Lady Une assured the Supreme Commander that this too would be solved through her recent push for the conscript impress laws. Such a conscript method would surely erode the popular faith in the government as well as dilute the zealots in a sea of apathetic cowards.
The other concern, which startled Treize, was the appearance of the true armors. Five out of six armors had appeared, and they all seemed loyal to a faction in the eastern theater, save one that just seemed to enjoy attacking the Westland Alliance. Noting that the sixth would yet be made, the fact that all the others would be standing against the Westland Alliance threw his planning into a state of preparation more akin to overkill. If the Combined Senate knew of the power of even one of these armors, however, “overkill” would not be a concern. Because of the threat of a rumored true armor likely to appear in the Emirate capital in time to stop the takeover, the “rebels” would now be supported by overwhelming force. Hopefully, this measure would insure not only the fall of the pacifist Emirate, but the capture of a true armor to assist the designers working toward their own.
Quatre returned to Bah’rain upon the sands of the desert. He noted, as he was taught to do by Rashid, that the winds of the desert held a howl of pain. He braced himself for the worst, steadfast in the belief that the desert speaks its observances to those who listen. His fear was realized as he looked into the sky and beheld the shadow of a Westland sky-base, coursing toward Bah’rain with the shrill siren whirring of driven engines. The rebellion had to be quelled quickly, even against his father’s wishes.
Bah’rain, normally a quiet and picturesque Arabian cityscape, erupted in sporadic fires as Quatre marched through the city. The rebels looted and pillaged, unencumbered by what little resistance the police could provide. Quatre continued past the destruction to the city square and stood in its center, analyzing his options. But, even before he moved to apprehend the rebels, the word of his arrival sent a chill throughout the city. The true armor, nicknamed “Sandrock,” had come, intent on restoring order. After a few wild rumors reached Quatre’s ears of his exploits against the Jinghuan Kingdom, the rebellion seemed to stop with an enforced immediacy. The rebels shook with fear as they approached the city square; reaching Quatre on their knees and in tears.
“Please don’t kill us, great armor. We will cease and return to our homes.”
“You must report to the magistrates. Please proceed there immediately.”
Even as he spoke, Quatre saw the glint of the knife intended for his side. Reflexively striking, he took the would-be assassin’s head from his shoulders. He dodged another knife, then cleaved the thrusting arm from its shoulder. Before he knew what was happening, the horde of crying rebels had formed into a trained special operations group before his eyes. But, even their training could not give them the edge, and the whole rebel force was dispatched within a few moments. Their lives were given to Quatre, in front of the palace, in full view of the entire city. Amid shouts of approval a cry of horror resounded. Quatre heard that cry and locked eyes with his father, the Emir al-Winner, with the tears of a peaceful man beholding a grievous murder.
“Why, Quatre? In the city streets?!”
Quatre returned not a reply, only a shamed silence.
“Did that solve anything? Did it, Quatre?”
No reply, no movement.
“Answer me, son. Did that solve the problem?”
Another answered for Quatre, “Emir, these men all have weapons. Military issue knives.”
“I am asking my son the questions.”
“And I will answer for him,” Rashid stepped forward, in Maganac armor. “These are not rebels. These men were Westland special operations units carrying out a disruption mission.”
“Rashid, that is not the point. The point is…”
“With all due respect, Emir, we are under attack at this moment! Bah’rain must be defended.”
“Why must we defend it by running the cycle of violence over and over? Why is the thought of diplomacy without war beyond you all?”
“Father,” Quatre finally said with the gravity of a man, “sky bases do not hold diplomats.”
The Emir finally saw the black square of the floating fortress, flaring with the hue of magenta indicating its turbines. He fell to his knees in horror, beside himself in grief. How could all the years of peace between the Westland Alliance and the Emirate end like this? He almost collapsed within himself, stricken with the pain of betrayal, as he finally was compelled to acquiesce or commit to an act he could not bear. With one phrase, the pacifist Emirate was gone.
“Allah be merciful to the conquerors and the conquered. Submit our call to surrender.”
Upon the dunes, Quatre took but another moment to contemplate what he knew and where he should go. His thought was broken, however, by a Maganac armor coming from the city, “Prince, the Emir has need of your presence.” Quatre gave a quizzical look, “He did not request it, commander, but he needs it anyway. It seems that a minor disturbance has afflicted the capital.”
“Father would never want a show of force, in the capital of all places.”
“His pacification is not going well, prince.”
“Alright. May Father forgive me for this as well.”
The battle of Chai’dou was shaping up to be a bloody mess, to say the least. Every ship that could float was loaded with culverins, demiculverins, harquebus, or bows as it could hold. Fishing fleets were now field re-supply ships, every ship that was the approximate size of a corvette was armed like one, even row boats and rafts were prepared as gun platforms. Children donated toy boats to be packed with explosives and used as miniature mines or slow guided bombs. Seamstresses from all over the city supplied every inch of cotton they possessed, as well as every waking moment in preparing the ships. Every free able body endured martial drills, as well as basic bow study or javelin art as the threat of an unfathomable Westland invasion loomed over the city like a shadow.
Director Duo himself hurried beyond human endurance, sprinted from one makeshift weapons factory to another cobbled militia force, giving encouragement and any possible assistance. With each hour, he made his rounds with more energy, slowly losing the ability to keep the panic from his voice. The people seemed to mirror his condition, and every hour of the day bore its toll in their etched faces. No one knew when the fight would come, or who would start the assault, but the city determined as one man to be ready and give the fight every last drop of blood.
The fight came in the second night after the declaration, with Westland starting the attack. The ships came in one horde, organized in row after flawless row: corvettes before men-o-war, each of those tugging a platform fitted with one elongated field gun that was of sufficient caliber to blast a man-o-war to splinters, or a building to rubble. Behind them were the transports bearing the invasion force of marine Leos armed with cork under- carriages in addition to their usual armament, as well as the Pisces and Cancers not yet able to disembark into the already crowded waters around them. True to intelligence, the new Aries launched skyward from the transports, held aloft by the thermal currents these suits summoned through boot vents. To command this regal horde of the Westland Alliance’s latest juggernaut, the Wagnerian caricature appeared with a herald flag of the black, gold, and silver. Aries, Pisces, and Cancers formed to him and the assault began.
The Chai’dou Free Navy flung every ship at the enemy’s ships, while blatantly ignoring the armors, hoping to bypass them. This effort served nothing, as the commander ordered detachments to blunt the advance. Pisces and Cancers, now armed with phosphoric-tube rockets, launched the new torpedoes at will. The corvettes could only manically attempt to dodge the streaks of white erupting from the depths. Most of the rockets found their marks, and the eruptions worked upon the nerves of the survivors. Even as the rockets began, red-white froth fizzled on the surface, and several Pisces floated up in pieces.
Deathscythe had its work to do, but the water was not friendly to the occupant. With the trapped air, Duo could only spend fifteen minutes in the water, while his enemy could last for three hours due to their ballast chambers. But, as Duo quickly learned, he only needed ten of those minutes. Bounding from one Pisces to another, the neon flash of the blade danced upon its victims, releasing explosions of scarlet within the depths. Even if the Pisces were made for aquatic battles, the soldiers’ eyes were not, lending the already stealthy killer that much greater advantage. Another Pisces lost an arm, another was disemboweled, another taken from larynx to pelvis…the frenzy of violence overwhelmed the hapless remnant, mostly Cancers, beyond their collective ability to digest. Those not yet caught in the whirring green wisp attempted to flee, but these too fell victim. Another head sent from its body, another leg shorn, another gurgled plea for mercy, but the CFN could not see the carnage from the surface. Only after the pieces floated up within the scarlet maelstrom did anyone on the surface begin to conceive the nightmare that the sea was covering.
The scarlet froth and floating corpses attracted the attention of Zechs, who had searched for the upstart Director and his armor since the battle began. The best lead he had was that very spot of scarlet. He wheeled about, unsheathed the sword, then plunged into the eye of the scarlet storm. Casting the mutilated about, he hunted for his enemy with no assistance to his otherwise acute senses. Deathscythe was finishing the assault when the opponent coursed through the blood plume. The two met, eye to eye, cradled in the blood of the many killed. After a moment spent in study, the two rose sharply to the surface and locked eyes again.
“You killed my men. All of them. Why did you not seek me out at first? Instead, you participated in needless slaughter.”
“Your men were attacking my people. Welcome to war, pal.”
“Hmm. I’ll give you that, true armor. But you will find me more troublesome, and more dangerous to your people.”
“Fine. Time to go down.”
“Let us see if the Tallgeese can match you, great armor.”
As the battle joined, Duo’s mind flashed to the name “Tallgeese.” This name was given to a legendary “Father of the Gods,” or the prototype of the five existing true armors. That particular armor supposedly was lost thousands of years ago, but legends whispered that it survived intact, while the pilot did not. But if this is it, why would they put anyone in it? “I’ll think it over…your dead body,” Duo cried out even as sword fell upon raised scythe. The clang reverberated through Duo, causing his teeth to clack and his body to quiver. The strength of that blow concerned Duo, as nothing else has ever even come close to that kind of concentrated strength. He wheeled about, disengaging the scythe from the sword in a play to his gut. The sword, released from the scythe, returned to lock the scythe before Zechs’ flank could be hit. Just the force of the parry was enough to give Duo another shock. Blood came from his mouth as his tongue attested to his teeth’s force, and the Deathscythe backpedaled in an attempt to gain some distance from the heavier Tallgeese. This produced no distance, instead giving the Tallgeese a chance to charge him down with blinding speed. The sword struck the armor directly, but could not cut through; however, grave damage was done to the person inside. Duo was sent airborne with that strike, blood trickling from the cracks of his armor. He could tell that two ribs were cracked, internal bleeding was evident, and his body was racked by pain.
“But a Gundam armor-bearer can fight on,” Duo howled within himself as he righted his body and charged the Tallgeese with the ferocity of a wounded tiger. Zechs braced for direct impact, but the Deathscythe careened below the guard and cleaved the hilt of the sword, taking the blade from the hand. Zechs instinctively backed away and cleared a good distance from Duo, then leveled his ballista arm and fired. Rockets struck the Deathscythe, but the armor coursed forward, the warrior within determined to finish the battle now. Zechs felt the panic shimmer over his body, but the training of a Westland Elite kept him from wilting. More rockets slammed the Deathscythe, and the trickles of blood erupted into spray, and the armor’s occupant finally let out an audible scream of pain. Zechs’ fear subsided as the scream was gurgled, the obvious sign his enemy was dying, and he once again backed a hundred yards in a breath. Duo could fight no longer, and the Deathscythe bowed its head and fainted into the water.
“Mission accepted.”
Zechs only saw a glimpse of his next opponent, but his reflex sprint spared him from the blast from the harquebus. Above the scarred Tallgeese, the winged warrior appeared with harquebus and energy sword bared. Zechs knew that, with his rockets few and his sword broken, this opponent would take him down easily. The Tallgeese flew across the battlefield with Wing flying over his prey. Another shot, and Tallgeese lost its right bracer, but no injury was sustained by the person. Another shot, and the Tallgeese lost its left bracer, and Zechs pushed Tallgeese to its limit to escape.
The limit of the Tallgeese was greater than its occupant. The speed of the armor was incalculable compared to any other armor, but the forces sustained to keep that speed punished Zechs beyond his ability to bear. He passed out twenty seconds before slapping upon a man-o-war’s deck, only the final slowdown saving the ship from being sunk itself. Heero followed the streak to the ship, lining up his shot upon the prone Tallgeese. The ship veered hard to protect the commander, while Aries scrambled to counter the new threat. Heero gave up on shooting the Tallgeese, opting to charge upon it with his sword. Two Aries squared in front of him, but both were cleaved in two before either could raise his harquebus. Three Aries appeared on the deck and fired upon the Wing. Three hits, but no reaction, and Heero gored the middle Aries. The others fell into shock, and they were both beheaded by one overhead cleave. Heero got his chance to take Tallgeese down with no one able to delay him any longer, but the Tallgeese stirred and reflexively rolled away from the slash. The deck was splintered and charred, but the Tallgeese was still active. Wing slashed again, but the Tallgeese could use its vent-jets to again dodge the killing blow. Another slash, another dodge, and the deck collapsed due to the strikes. Tallgeese fell to the hull beams, while Wing floated aloft, gauging the next strike. Heero barreled down, confident that the Tallgeese could not roll anymore. Instead, Zechs curled at the last moment, and Heero pierced the hull and crashed through, leaving him in the ocean. The Tallgeese jetted up and sped to the rear of the armada line, finally shaking off the winged predator.
Duo awoke with a start and turned himself over to catch a breath. Even after a minute of gurgling saltwater and blood, he could still move enough to seize a corvette’s anchor chain and pull himself up. The waiting crew was, thankfully, officers of the CFN and not Westland. Duo took off his helmet, letting the blood and brine drain from it while the crew checked him for injuries. Pressure to the upper ribcage elicited a twinge, and the left side caused a subdued protest. “Director, we need to get you back to Chai’dou for treatment.”
“How’s the battle going?”
“Better than we thought, sir. Whoever got that tall white armor to bolt did us a favor. The armor was minus his sword, I bet you got him, sir.”
“I got his sword, but he was still holding his ground when I passed out.”
“Yeah, we thought something was odd, sir. Did you get a true armor mercenary for us?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“Because some true armor is still chasing that white one around. The enemy’s command has been nonexistent for that reason. But if you did not hire it, sir, then why is it helping us out? He a friend of yours?”
“No, I don’t know any other true armored. But I guess he’s a friend now.”
Wing searched systematically for Tallgeese, slashing through ships and Leos with total abandon. The constant assault drew more and more armors upon the shifting epicenter, and the CFN suddenly found its counterattack much easier than before. Without the Cancers and Pisces, the men-o-war were massive targets for the eager corvettes. Many of the smaller vessels continued past the line without response from the enemy, giving them free reign to attack the artillery platforms. Many of the enemy crews died fighting or surrendered, so the CFN received a line of artillery platforms that could be useful against the impending Jinghuan invasion. Duo, refusing treatment, stood upon the command vessel and surveyed the situation quickly going his way. But his jubilation turned to desperation as he received the warning sign from the shore. The flashing of the lanterns meant that the Jinghuan had come and the land invasion was progressing. He put his helmet back on and headed for the shore to counter the attack there.
Although the sun would not rise for another two hours, the Jinghuan commander ordered the assault to begin against the orders of the Council, which planned for the assault to happen at first light. He had noticed the flashings of light on the shore, and rationalized correctly that the Westland navy was attempting the invasion. If he struck now, he could crush the Chai’dou and meet a severely weakened Westland invasion force. A double victory would be the surest path to promotion. He ordered the assault, Leos charging through the main street while unarmored soldiers filed through the side streets and took housings to create a forward command center. The Chai’dou Free Army (CFA) met the unarmored soldiers at those houses, creating a series of street brawls and house-to-house assaults that slowed the Jinghuan invasion considerably. The Leos were halted as well by the shadows and the fighter they concealed.
The “God of Death” struck hard and fast, a flash of green was all that heralded his work before the lead two soldiers crumpled in pools of their own blood. Leos bared their hatchets and swords, but a prepared stance is of little use against the unseen enemy. He struck from behind, and a Leo was torn as if paper with the blood and gore spurting forth. The remainder, twenty-two in all, formed in schiltron and prepared for the worst. As if simply beyond all forms of pity or compassion, the shadow appeared within the circle and bounded from one Leo’s back to the next, heads and torsos flying about at his whim. The twenty-two were reduced to eighteen before the Leos formed upon the Deathscythe and fired their bolts.
The bolts hit nothing but dirt and stone, and two more Leos gurgled their cries for help. The group turned, and another was shorn of his arm and leg. Another turn, another death. The remnant fell into panic, bolts flying and hatchets swinging. A slash, scream, and death. More panic, more wild shots. Two more dropped. The survivors screamed and shouted curses into the darkness. Within a tense two minutes, the final Leo fumbled his way through the street and mumbled something about a “God of Death” before his head flew from his shoulders and his spine split in a flash of green and a pulse of blood.
As the sun rose, Chai’dou still stood proudly, albeit shakily, with the Director standing in the town square surveying his worn but steady troops. A third of the CFA died pushing back the Jighuan and a fourth of the CFN crews were dead fighting the Westland Alliance. But the city was still a free zone, and the Jinghuan were not capable of mounting further attacks. But the Westland could, Duo reasoned, but not by sea. He still had the probability that the Westland Alliance could find another way to strike Chai’dou, but would they risk an air assault?
Chapter 8
“Commanding General Zechs Marquis failed to take Chai’dou, then?”
“Yes, my lord. Shall his ‘dismissal’ be processed?”
“Hmm…no. I will decide the matter personally.”
“As you will it, my lord.”
Supreme Commander Treize Krushrenada processed the turn of events with little concern. Jinghuan was not stretched thin as originally planned, but what of it? The Jinghuan Kingdom still lost many soldiers, and the Westland Alliance Armed Forces were barely inconvenienced by its own defeats. His own superiors, the Combined Senate, considered these little mishaps, obviously caused by an underestimation of the enemy. This underestimation of the true armors’ power would not happen again, and the Westland Alliance would find a way to create one of their own. Once that happened…Treize belied a smile, “When that day comes, the dream of Oz will be reality once more.”
He sent another messenger back with orders to Commander Marquis, “Return to me. Report on the performance of the Tallgeese. That is all.” When the messenger left, Krushrenada had a chance to review the reports from Lady Une, the top spy inside the Jinghuan Senate. The reports were satisfactory, with the corruption of the Assembly all but complete, as well as the Jinghuan effort to reorganize for defense plagued with paralyzing levels of bureaucratic mistakes. But he noted with concern that one Councilor was able to call the defense through a bypassing of the bureaucracy altogether, therefore allowing inordinate levels of resistance to be present inside the capital. Furthermore, the army as a whole seemed to remain loyal to the Republic, which had not been assumed in this stage of the plan. Lady Une assured the Supreme Commander that this too would be solved through her recent push for the conscript impress laws. Such a conscript method would surely erode the popular faith in the government as well as dilute the zealots in a sea of apathetic cowards.
The other concern, which startled Treize, was the appearance of the true armors. Five out of six armors had appeared, and they all seemed loyal to a faction in the eastern theater, save one that just seemed to enjoy attacking the Westland Alliance. Noting that the sixth would yet be made, the fact that all the others would be standing against the Westland Alliance threw his planning into a state of preparation more akin to overkill. If the Combined Senate knew of the power of even one of these armors, however, “overkill” would not be a concern. Because of the threat of a rumored true armor likely to appear in the Emirate capital in time to stop the takeover, the “rebels” would now be supported by overwhelming force. Hopefully, this measure would insure not only the fall of the pacifist Emirate, but the capture of a true armor to assist the designers working toward their own.
Quatre returned to Bah’rain upon the sands of the desert. He noted, as he was taught to do by Rashid, that the winds of the desert held a howl of pain. He braced himself for the worst, steadfast in the belief that the desert speaks its observances to those who listen. His fear was realized as he looked into the sky and beheld the shadow of a Westland sky-base, coursing toward Bah’rain with the shrill siren whirring of driven engines. The rebellion had to be quelled quickly, even against his father’s wishes.
Bah’rain, normally a quiet and picturesque Arabian cityscape, erupted in sporadic fires as Quatre marched through the city. The rebels looted and pillaged, unencumbered by what little resistance the police could provide. Quatre continued past the destruction to the city square and stood in its center, analyzing his options. But, even before he moved to apprehend the rebels, the word of his arrival sent a chill throughout the city. The true armor, nicknamed “Sandrock,” had come, intent on restoring order. After a few wild rumors reached Quatre’s ears of his exploits against the Jinghuan Kingdom, the rebellion seemed to stop with an enforced immediacy. The rebels shook with fear as they approached the city square; reaching Quatre on their knees and in tears.
“Please don’t kill us, great armor. We will cease and return to our homes.”
“You must report to the magistrates. Please proceed there immediately.”
Even as he spoke, Quatre saw the glint of the knife intended for his side. Reflexively striking, he took the would-be assassin’s head from his shoulders. He dodged another knife, then cleaved the thrusting arm from its shoulder. Before he knew what was happening, the horde of crying rebels had formed into a trained special operations group before his eyes. But, even their training could not give them the edge, and the whole rebel force was dispatched within a few moments. Their lives were given to Quatre, in front of the palace, in full view of the entire city. Amid shouts of approval a cry of horror resounded. Quatre heard that cry and locked eyes with his father, the Emir al-Winner, with the tears of a peaceful man beholding a grievous murder.
“Why, Quatre? In the city streets?!”
Quatre returned not a reply, only a shamed silence.
“Did that solve anything? Did it, Quatre?”
No reply, no movement.
“Answer me, son. Did that solve the problem?”
Another answered for Quatre, “Emir, these men all have weapons. Military issue knives.”
“I am asking my son the questions.”
“And I will answer for him,” Rashid stepped forward, in Maganac armor. “These are not rebels. These men were Westland special operations units carrying out a disruption mission.”
“Rashid, that is not the point. The point is…”
“With all due respect, Emir, we are under attack at this moment! Bah’rain must be defended.”
“Why must we defend it by running the cycle of violence over and over? Why is the thought of diplomacy without war beyond you all?”
“Father,” Quatre finally said with the gravity of a man, “sky bases do not hold diplomats.”
The Emir finally saw the black square of the floating fortress, flaring with the hue of magenta indicating its turbines. He fell to his knees in horror, beside himself in grief. How could all the years of peace between the Westland Alliance and the Emirate end like this? He almost collapsed within himself, stricken with the pain of betrayal, as he finally was compelled to acquiesce or commit to an act he could not bear. With one phrase, the pacifist Emirate was gone.
“Allah be merciful to the conquerors and the conquered. Submit our call to surrender.”