Gundam 0083: False Dawn
by Black Knight » Mon Sep 27, 2010 10:40 am
Mobile Suit Gundam 0083: False Dawn
9 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
EFS Swiftsure
11:47 Hours
Commander Igor Makarov frowned at his communications panel. "Very well, Commdore Keram," he said to the man on the screen, "our orders are received and acknowledged." Swiftsure's commanding officer gave the man on the other end of the communication link a salute, and killed the circuit.
"New orders, sir?" Lieutenant Commander Alec Marshall-Tombrine, executive officer of the ship, asked.
"Yes, Commander," Makarov said without looking up. The Commander was not a tall man, about 172 centimeters, but disproportionately thick, and with a sickly, pale complexion that was not at all helped by his high, sloped forehead, large nose, or the thin, dull, pale yellow mess which was his hair. "But I can't decide whether to scream in frustration or jump for joy." He sighed. "We've been ordered to the perimeter, to guard against possible incursions by this Delaz character."
"Sounds good enough to me, sir," the exec said with a confused look. Marshall-Tombrine, though better looking than his superior, was also not the type of person who made women swoon. He was a dozen centimeters taller than Makarov, but too thin. He looked delicate and fragile next to his thickset commander. His face, in keeping with the rest of his body, was also too thin, and though his face had a bit more color, his hair had the same dull yellow sheen as the Skipper's and looked good only in comparison to Makarov's. The XO's eyes were blue, but too small, and set too close together. "What's the frustrating part?"
"The problem, Commander, is that Wyatt is still going on with his foolish Naval Review," Makarov said in his raspy voice.
"Well, of course, sir. After all, we've not had one since '79, and it'll be good for morale."
"Oh, shut up, Commander," Makarov grumbled. "If you can't see the dangers of gathering the vast majority of your forces where anyone with a nuclear warhead can blow them up, I'm not going to bother explaining them to you. Call the mobile suit pilots."
"Nuclear warhead?" Marshall-Tombrine laughed. "Sir, we're the only people with nukes these days, and, besides, using them would violate the Granada Peace Accords."
Makarov looked up. "Commander, I know you were here last week. You were standing right by the helm when that diehard Delaz gave his pretty little madman's speech. You saw the mobile suit behind him, and heard that it had been built to use a nuclear warhead."
"Oh, yes, I heard him, sir," the junior officer said dismissively. "But that was pure propaganda, sir, no one in the Federation would be stupid enough to build a mobile suit armed with nuclear weapons. What would be the point of such a machine? Delaz merely made that up to make us look bad, sir, anyone can see that. Besides, if he really wanted to cause the Federation damage, and had a nuke, why would he waste it on the military forces? Hitting, say, Jaburo, or the new HQ at Dakar would be far more effective, don't you think?"
"No, Commander, I don't." Makarov rubbed his temples. "Unfortunately for me, however, the Flags back at Jaburo subscribe to your thinking. I think that this man is a soldier. And soldiers generally focus on killing other soldiers, not political leaders. I think he'd like nothing better than to use that nuke -- which I, at least, am quite sure he has, Commander -- on the biggest military target he can find. If he wanted to hit Jaburo or Dakar with it, why would he have bothered to bring that machine to space? The report I got about the Torrington incident leads me to believe that if they had planned to hit Headquarters, the submarine which took that Gundam away from Australia would have gone straight there and not bothered to drop it off in Africa. It's not like Jaburo's location is secret any more."
Marshall-Tombrine shrugged. "Perhaps, sir. But that doesn't matter, since all this talk about a nuke is just that, sir, talk. No one in the EFF would really arm a mobile suit with a nuke."
Makarov glared at his subordinate for a moment, then looked down, closed his eyes, and went back to massaging his temples. "Whatever, Commander. Now get me the mobile suit pilots."
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Chief Reactor Technician Simon Mullet – as was normal at all times other than when he was flying, preparing his mobile suit, or eating – was sleeping in the mobile suit pilots' stateroom. Well, closet might be a more appropriate name for the compartment, as it was barely large enough for the three personnel who lived there to float in it at once. The Swiftsure was roughly 33% larger than the pre-war Salamis type, which was the only reason it had mobile suits to begin with, but even at nearly twice the size of the more recent post-war Salamis variants, there wasn't a lot of room for the personnel. And given that most of the volume that had been gained from the expansion had been filled with new power and weapon systems and the mobile suit area, there was very little room to berth the extra crewmembers the additional equipment required.
Indeed, most of the crew was forced to 'hotbunk', with multiple people assigned to a single bed. It was only by virtue of their near-godlike status as mobile suit pilots that Mullet, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Melanie Doherty, and Giles Hampton had three beds between them, rather than merely two. Of course, normally, enlisted persons weren't berthed in the same compartments as officers, but space was quite tight, and Mullet was one of the few non-commissioned officer pilots in the Federation Forces, and The Book didn't bother taking into account minorities such as he. He'd been sleeping in that room since Swiftsure had been commissioned during the war against Zeon, and back then all of its mobile suit pilots had been NCOs; neither he nor Makarov saw any reason to move him elsewhere.
Mullet's immediate superior, Lieutenant Doherty, didn't exactly like his penchant for ignoring any work not directly connected with mobile suits, but she was too afraid of her quiet, cynical, and ruthless subordinate to force him to attend to other duties. He had seen far more combat than she, and though she felt his actions often undercut her authority, she was too much in awe of, and afraid of, his combat prowess to force him to comply with her wishes.
But if someone else wanted him, she'd be only too happy to wake him up and put him to work.
That was the case today when Doherty heard that the skipper wanted the pilots on the bridge. When the message reached her, she and Hampton had been overseeing the maintenance on their personal mobile suits in preparation for the next day's naval review. Mullet had finished early, as always. Doherty had sent Hampton up to the bridge to inform the skipper that they were coming, and then headed forward to interrupt the Chief's nap.
Upon opening the door, Doherty found exactly what she expected: Simon Mullet tied down in his bunk, snoring softly. He wasn't a large man, nor quite a small one. He was medium sized, and quite plain, if taken on looks alone. He kept his brown hair cut short so that it wouldn't interfere with his eyes in zero-gravity, and though his eyes were large, and of a rich, warm, brown color by nature, the chief habitually kept them ice-cold. On the rare occasions when he smiled in mirth, rather than as a mocking sneer, he seemed a nice enough person. But Lieutenant Doherty, in the nine months she had been attached to Swiftsure, had judged him to be a cynical bastard, with little to no respect for officers, particularly junior officers who lacked much combat experience.
The Lieutenant pulled off her normal suit's helmet, and tossed it at her subordinate's stomach; it hit precisely on target, and the gentle rhythm of Mullet's breathing abruptly ceased, replaced by a sharp expulsion of air. The enlisted man opened an eye and immediately fastened it upon his commander.
"I see all that noise they make about officers being gentlemen and ladies is just talk," Mullet said darkly. "You got something for me to do? Other than becoming the newest target for you to miss no matter how close you get, that is."
Doherty's hand flashed out, backhanding Mullet before either of them realized what was happening.
Mullet glared at his superior. "If you don't need me for anything ‘cept target practice, I'm trying to get some sleep. Why don't you go lord your commission over someone who actually thinks it counts for something."
The officer's face turned beet red in anger, and she nearly smacked him again. "No, I don't need you, Chief," Doherty said with all the sarcasm she could muster. "But the Skipper might be a bit put out if I tell him that you were too busy sleeping to come when he calls you to the bridge!"
"Oh, so that's it," Mullet grumbled. "You could have saved yourself some embarrassment if you'd simply said so in the beginning, ma'am," he made the final word more an insult than an honor. "Then you wouldn't have had to suffer a mere spacenoid being insubordinate to you."
When Doherty's hand flew this time the Chief was prepared and dodged before the blow connected.
"What's this?" Mullet asked in mock surprise. "Now you can't even hit a poor noncom? I thought the class on how to strike subordinates was mandatory back at the Academy," he said sarcastically. "Did your Earthnoid family buy off the instructors? Or," he continued, looking her up and down, "did you do it yourself? You're all the same," he sneered, not even bothering to try to hide the contempt in his voice. "You think that because you're born down there you can come up here and rule the people you exiled before; think you can do whatever you want to them because, after all, they're just spacenoids . . . just scum." He stared at Doherty. "You say the Skipper wants me? Fine, I'll go. Unlike you, the Skipper knows how to lead people." Mullet turned to his locker, pulled out a uniform, and climbed into it, ignoring the seething form of his superior.
Neither one spoke during the trip to the bridge, either. Upon entering, they found Hampton lounging against one wall, the exec fussing over the helm, and Commander Makarov deep in thought.
"What gives, sir?" Mullet asked without preamble. "You interrupted a nice dream: I was killing a bunch of generals."
Makarov snorted in amusement. "Well, Chief, I'm sorry to inconvenience you," he said dryly, "but we've just been ordered out to picket duty."
Mullet frowned. "We're a bit big and powerful to waste as a sentry, aren't we, Skipper? And with our speed, wouldn't we be better left in reserve until such a time as it becomes apparent where an enemy attack will be made?"
"That's what I think, Chief," Makarov said with a sigh. "But as Deathgod might put it, ours is not to reason why . . . Personally, I think Wyatt just wants us out because we'd show everyone how small his toy cruisers really are. His Birmingham and the Albion just arrived, reporting increased Zeon Remnant activity in the area. Seems they killed the Albion's mobile suit commander."
"Poor bastard. Shoulda just let the Zeeks off Wyatt. Woulda done us all a favor."
"Chief!" Doherty warned.
The enlisted man ignored her. "Did that tea-drinking bastard pass any other good news along, sir?"
The skipper shook his head. "No, Chief, but Albion's skipper sent over what information he had on these particular Zeeks. Based on the insignia on the mobile suits, Birmingham was attacked by members of the old Zeon Marines."
A look of dangerous fury sprang into being on Mullet's face. "In that case, I hope this bastard Dellesse has the balls to attack us here; I'll enjoy shoving a beam saber up his ass."
The Skipper smiled grimly. "I hope you get the chance, Chief. That's all." The pilots drifted to the door. "Oh, Lieutenant Doherty, could I have a word with you?"
She looked back. "Of course, sir."
When the other two pilots had moved out of earshot, Makarov spoke again. "I see you hit Chief Mullet again."
"Yes, sir," she agreed matter-of-factly. "He was insubordinate, sir."
"Of course he was, Lieutenant," Makarov replied, taking care to keep any hint of censure from his voice. "Do you have any idea why he is constantly insubordinate to you?"
"Because he has a problem with authority, sir," Doherty answered promptly, "stemming from a lack of discipline."
"Almost, Lieutenant. His lack of respect comes from a dearth of officers he feels are worthy of his respect. Such as ones who must constantly hide behind their rank," he continued blandly, "or ones who can't handle their own jobs." He held up a hand, silencing Doherty before she could object. "I'm not saying you are a person like that, I happen to think you'll be a damn good mobile suit commander in a few years. But that's not the way you appear to him, Lieutenant. To him you're just another Earthnoid and Academy grad, come out into space so you can boss around all lowlife and generally boost your ego."
"Sir!" she interjected, all righteous indignation.
"Shut up and listen, Lieutenant," Makarov said sternly. "I'm trying to give you a bit of advice. He's not going to respect you until he sees how you handle a fight. That's how veterans look at new officers, because new officers are an unknown, and unknowns can get a person killed."
Makarov paused, fixing his subordinate in his gaze. "Oh, sure, you saw a little action, too, fending off the occasional raid at Luna II. The Chief and I waltzed into Side 3 itself. Four times. There's a reason he has that spiffy GM, and it's the same reason I've got this badass cruiser. We paid for them.
"Yes, he's got a problem with authority. But then, what have those with authority ever done for him? He fought through the whole war, and only performed the job he was trained to do for the first two weeks of it. After that, he got tossed around from one unit to the next, none of which were happy to see him. By the time September rolled around, he was finally sent back into orbit. What did he find? Another group of people who didn't want him, and another job for which he hadn't been trained. To make matters worse, he was also expected to penetrate Side 3 and disrupt the Zeon military/industrial machine.
"He did all of that, and did it damned well; that's why this ship still exists and I'm still alive."
"Sir," Doherty began.
“I'm not finished, Lieutenant!" Makarov barked. “Have you ever tried to place yourself in his boots? You've had enough time to learn that it's impossible to force him to respect you, but there are ways to earn it. Respect is a two-way street, as you know," he continued, “you might try respecting him instead of assaulting him.
"There's an old saying, Lieutenant: before you criticize someone, walk a klick in their shoes. If you can't understand why he's turned into a cynical bastard, then let me know, and I'll get you a transfer; keeping you in charge of a man you can't understand hurts everyone's performance."
Makarov paused, and turned thoughtful for a moment. “You might consider the Chief to be a leadership challenge, Lieutenant; there are a lot of hardcases in the world, and Mullet's a prime example. But he's not as close-minded as you think; if you can change, so can he. The two of you have the potential to be an effective team, but you've spent so much time being at loggerheads with each other that you can't focus on what's important. Fix that. Quickly.
"Any questions?"
"No, sir," Lieutenant Doherty said, very quietly.
Makarov looked into her eyes, and saw the unspoken truth behind her statement. "Get the hell out of here."
When she was gone, the Skipper waved Major Marshall-Tombrine over.
"Yes, sir?" the exec asked, a frown on his face.
Makarov didn't meet his eyes. "I want an undated transfer order for Lieutenant Doherty awaiting my signature by noon tomorrow."
"Sir?" Marshall-Tombrine asked, confusion evident across his face.
-----------------------------------------
9 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
13:39 Hours
"Sir, we've reached our assigned patrol area," one of the bridge operators reported.
"Very well, put us on the planned flight path," Makarov answered, then picked up his phone. "Launch the suits," he said into it.
Behind and below him, the three GMs deactivated the electromagnets on their feet and used thrusters to gently nudge themselves away from their mothership. Doherty's GM Kai took station above and in front of Swiftsure, Hampton's identical machine moved into position below and to the ship's right, while Mullet's RGM-79SC GM Interceptor Custom stayed level with the cruiser, but off to the left.
Doherty was fuming inside her cockpit. The Commander's dressing down had been bad enough, but just before they had left the Swiftsure, she had pulled Mullet aside.
"Look, Chief," she had begun, trying to sound friendly, "I know you've got problems with me, but I'm still your superior officer, and you will obey me."
Mullet had managed to look bored, annoyed, and disdainful all at once. "All right, Lieutenant," he had said, turning her rank into an insult, as he always did. "I'll obey every order I receive from superior officers."
She had nodded, grateful that, for once, he seemed to behave reasonably. She had then started floating off towards the MS hanger just forward of the aft main guns.
"If I'm feeling good," he then called at her receding form, "I may even obey intelligent orders from people who aren't my superiors, but merely possess a higher rank than me. Assuming I receive any good orders from such a person."
The Lieutenant halted her movement, and then kicked off the bulkhead back towards Mullet. She slammed into his torso, throwing both of them into the opposite bulkhead. After untangling herself, Doherty slapped the Chief, the motion propelling her slowly away from her subordinate.
Mullet glared at his commander, a dangerous light appearing in his eyes.
Then Doherty had realized that there were no other people in this part of the ship, remembered stories of officers killed by their own subordinates during the war and grew very, very afraid. "If you touch me," she said, fear clearly evident in her voice, "I'll have you court-martialed and put in the brig for the rest of your life! The Skipper won't be able to protect you there!"
The noncom had shaken his head in disgust. "You just don't have a ****in' clue, do you? f***ing officers," he spat. Without another word, he had kicked off the bulkhead, down the corridor to the mobile suit hanger, leaving Doherty to herself and her questions.
Now, twenty minutes later, she was no closer to understanding why Mullet had left her alone then when his normal suit had disappeared around the corner. She knew he had a reputation for violence, and was honest enough with herself to realize that she had provoked him beyond all justification. Why didn't he respond to that provocation….
"Ma'am," Hampton called over the radio, "Ma'am, I think I've spotted something, but I'm not certain what it is."
"What's its position, Ensign?" Doherty asked, turning her mobile suit so that its best sensors were pointed at Hampton's patrol zone.
Before he could answer, a fireball blossomed across the starry background.
"It just blew up, ma'am!" Hampton said loudly over the communications system.
"What the hell is going on here," Doherty wondered.
"Mullet to Swiftsure," the chief's disgruntled voice said over the radio, "I've just destroyed an MS-06F2 inside the Restricted Zone. Target was presumed to be hostile. No survivors, no friendly casualties. Mullet out."
Doherty swore bitterly, and keyed her radio. "Mullet! If you fire without orders again, I'm going to ki-"
"Shut up, Lieutenant," the chief interrupted, disgusted. "If there are any other Zeek bastards out here, they might pick up the radio transmissions."
The shock of needing to be reminded of such elementary truths of combat jarred Doherty into pensive silence.
An uneventful hour later, a message came in from Swiftsure asking for one of the mobile suits to return to ship to be refueled.
"Hampton, you return to base," Doherty commanded. "When you have been resupplied either the chief or I shall go back. It looks like the Skipper wants to keep at least two of us out here as long as possible, so we'll probably be on a constant rotation from now on."
"Yes, ma'am," Giles Hampton replied. "Returning to Swiftsure. Watch yourself, Lieutenant."
It took a few minutes for Doherty to realize that he might not have been referring solely to danger from Zeon mobile suits.
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
02:12 Hours
Doherty tried to stifle a yawn as she floated into Swiftsure's bridge; the three mobile suit pilots had been flying two out of three hours since the ship arrived on it's patrol station, and she had started feeling the effects of fatigue several hours before. She found herself envying the crewmembers still on the ship; everyone save Cavour's mechanics was on watch-and-watch, four hours on duty and four hours off.
The Skipper, however, was not allowing himself that luxury, and Doherty knew it would be useless to ask for the pilots to be given a period of rest. As long as he was working, Makarov rarely saw a reason other people couldn't continue to perform.
Swiftsure's mobile suit commander floated towards the command chair, latching the magnetized soles of her normal suit's boots to the deck on one side of the chair.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Doherty asked tiredly.
Makarov looked up from the readout he had been studying and looked his senior mobile suit pilot over, taking in such details as the strain in her voice, the traces of red which were starting to appear in the whites of her eyes, and the dirty, crumpled look of her outfit.
"Yes, Lieutenant, I did," the Commander replied, his voice sounding very normal, but somewhat distant to Doherty's tired brain. "I've a few things to discuss with you. First, I want to congratulate you on the job your team has been doing."
Doherty merely nodded acknowledgement at this compliment as she was too exhausted for anything more polite.
"Second, I wanted to let you know that I've requested reinforcements from Konpeitoh, and I expect them to arrive in less than four hours. So if your pilots can hold out that much longer, I'll be able to bring all of you in for a few hours rest."
"That would be . . . most appreciated, sir," the pilot managed to say.
Swiftsure's commanding officer smiled, a gesture that only served to enhance the less visually stimulating aspects of his face. "I'm sure it would, Lieutenant. I also wanted to let you know that Ensign Hampton and Chief Mullet sighted a Musai-class cruiser a few minutes ago, and we are moving in to intercept and destroy it."
"Sir?" the young woman asked, somewhat confused. "A Musai out here?"
"Indeed, Lieutenant. Sergeant-Major Cavour is prepping your mobile suit as we speak. I anticipate entering firing range of the cruiser in less than thirty minutes."
Adrenaline began to flood Doherty's system, helping to negate the mental slowdown her fatigue had caused. "I assume Mullet isn't mistaking an old wreck from the war for an active ship, sir?"
"No, Lieutenant, he is not," Makarov replied calmly. "This particular Musai, though hiding in the battle debris from the war, is unmistakably moving under its own power. It's also got a trio of Gattle fighters and a Jicco assault boat as escorts."
"I see, sir. Is there any information about how many mobile suits it is carrying, sir?"
Makarov shook his head. "Nope, there's not, Lieutenant. Figure that any mobile suits it's carrying are waiting safely in the hangar until needed."
"Very well, Commander. I'll make my plans under the assumption that it carries a full compliment, sir," Doherty said determinedly.
The older officer nodded.
Doherty came to attention, saluted, and left the bridge, trying to decide if she should plan on fighting Rick Doms or Zakus.
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
02:39 Hours
Doherty watched as the Musai and its attending small craft floated past the lifeless remains of a '79 Salamis-class cruiser, admiring the skill the various helmsmen and astrogators obviously possessed; she had been watching the small squadron for several minutes, and had yet to see the telltale flicker of engines being fired.
However, in another couple minutes the Zeon warships would enter the range of Swiftsure's main armament. The Federation ship was just ahead of the Zeon craft, and Doherty hoped that the Musai's spotters would mistake it for another victim of the war.
Hampton and Mullet's GMs, as well as her own, were perched behind debris from the old 2nd Combined Fleet's final assault upon the asteroid now known as Konpeitoh, letting only the heads of their machines look at the enemy.
"Almost there," Doherty said to herself within her cockpit. "Just a litt-Damn!" she yelled as one of the Gattle fighters ignited its engines and zoomed ahead of the other ships. She queried her mobile suit's computer for the projected course of the obsolete fighter and swore as it confirmed what her brain already suspected; the frail little craft was moving to take a closer look at Swiftsure.
Doherty toggled her radio, inhaled . . . and stopped, surprised when she noticed something move from the corner of her eye. It was Mullet's mobile suit, launching itself away from the bits of metal cover it had been behind, moving directly towards the hostile warships.
"Damn you, Mullet," she roared into her radio pickup even as she ordered her own mobile suit to approach the Zeon machines. "Can't you wait for orders at least once?" She didn't bother waiting for a reply, going on to shout for Hampton to break cover and follow them.
The Zeon craft fired their own engines and began to spread out. The two fighters remaining to the squadron and the Jicco assault boat moved in front of the Musai, providing it some measure of protection against any attack from the Swiftsure. The third Gattle wildly launched its missiles at the Federal cruiser and exploded, hit by Lieutenant Turner's light weapons.
"All right, people," Doherty called over the radio after regaining her composure, "the plan remains unchanged; we're to distract the larger ships as much as possible so Swiftsure can hit them, and destroy any mobile suits that Musai carries. But if you get a shot at one of those Gattles, feel free to kill it."
In front of her GM, Mullet's machine aimed its beam rifle and fired a single pinkish-white mega particle blast. Doherty glanced at the line of mega particles and was astonished to see them connect with the Jicco, hitting one of the large spherical fuel tanks. The resulting explosive decompression spun the small warship off course in a series of large spirals.
"Is it okay to shoot the bigger fish, too?" Mullet inquired.
"Wha . . ? No! Concentrate on the--"
"Mobile suits launching!" Hampton interjected. "I count two, no, three!"
"I see them, Giles," Doherty responded, trying to remain calm as more adrenalin coursed through her veins. "All Zakus," she said, her voice exhibiting just a touch of relief, “they shouldn't cause us too much trouble."
"Fourth mobile suit launching from the KoMusai," Mullet calmly reported. "I can't quite make it--" His voice suddenly died. There was a pause. "SHIP KILLER!" he bellowed just when Doherty was going to ask him for more information. "Swiftsure, one of these mobile suits is a cannon-toting bastard from A Baoa Qu!"
Doherty tried to locate the mobile suit in question, but couldn't see anything but the plume of its exhaust with her standard GM's sensors. "What is it, Mullet? I don't know what you mean."
"It's one of those Kelgoos, the last suit the Zeeks deployed in large numbers," Mullet said while changing his mobile suit's course to intercept the new arrival. "Only this one is nastier than most because it packs an anti-ship cannon in addition to the standard rifle. The only time I went EV because of damage during the war was after encountering a dozen of those bastards before Star One; wiped out more than a dozen of our suits, and several ships, too. I was lucky, my suit was merely turned into scrap. There was only one other survivor from that group."
"Acknowledged, Mullet," the voice of Swiftsure's communications tech said over the radio. "We'd appreciate it if that machine doesn't get within firing range of us, Lieutenant Doherty."
"All right. Chief, you get that mobile suit. Giles and I will keep the Zakus and fighters from interfering."
"Roger, ma'am," Mullet replied, changing his mobile suit's course to intercept the advanced Zeon model, which was flying at the Federal cruiser as quickly as its thrusters would take it, easily outstripping the Zakus and other craft.
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
02:43 Hours
Makarov watched the tactical display and visuals as his mobile suits began engaging their targets, hoping that his face still remembered how to look calm in even the most stressful moments.
Mullet was first, as both his own mobile suit and that of his quarry outperformed those of the other pilots. The Zeon pilot apparently opened fire from extreme range, because Mullet's mobile suit suddenly began performing minor twists, turns, and jinks. The short Commander quietly exhaled a breath he barely remembered holding; apparently the advanced Zeon mobile suit wasn't equipped with the beam rifle other machines of its type had carried during the war. The chief held his own fire.
Probably concentrating solely on getting close without getting shot, Makarov thought with approval. "Don't you have a firing solution yet, Lieutenant?" he growled at the attractive woman manning the fire control console.
For a moment it looked as if she hadn't heard him. "Firing now, Skipper," Turner said at last, pressing a single button on her board. Five brilliant pink lines leapt from Swiftsure's forward turrets.
Makarov turned his attention to the telescopic view of his ship's second target of the day and watched as three of the mega particle beams penetrated the previously damaged Jicco-class assault boat. The ship quickly disappeared in the fireball common to a machine that has had its Minovsky reactor hit by mega particle weapons.
"Switch targets to the Musai, Lieutenant." Makarov ordered, returning his attention to the mobile suit conflict; he was confident of Turner's ability to out-shoot any Musai ever launched; he found himself wishing he had the same confidence in his mobile suit team.
-----------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
02:44 Hours
Hampton was drifting slightly away from Doherty's GM, hoping to divide the approaching Zeon forces. Even if all the enemy machines concentrated upon one GM, the other pilot would be able to attack without too much concern for enemy fire. At least, this had been Doherty's reasoning when she had ordered her wingman to get more distance between their machines. Now she wasn't sure if that had been a wise decision or not, as all three Zakus turned towards her, the two Gattle space fighters changing their vectors to close with Hampton's mobile suit.
Gritting her teeth, and quite conscious of the fact that what little combat experience she had was nearly four years in the past, under much more favorable circumstances, Doherty armed her weapons, grateful that she had sortied with both a 90mm sub-machinegun and an old Beam Spray Gun Sergeant-Major Cavour had mysteriously produced, and even more amazingly assured her would work with her GM Kai.
"I hate waiting," she said quietly as the distance between her and the Zeon mobile suits decreased. Making one last check of her monitors before devoting all her time to the enemy in front of her, she watched the small lights denoting Mullet and his quarry, and wondered why neither one appeared to be firing.
A beep sounded in her cockpit, and Doherty redirected her attention to the three Zakus bearing down upon her. All three appeared to have the powerful 90mm machinegun deployed by the Zeon forces near the end of the war. They were in a loose triangle formation and none of the enemy machines was significantly closer to her than any of the others.
Just before she entered firing range with her 90mm, flashes appeared on all three Zeon machines, and Doherty instinctively maneuvered her shield in front of her mobile suit, cursing herself for failing to remember that the enemy weapon had a longer effective range than her GM's less powerful 90mm.
Through the small rectangular vision aperture in her shield Swiftsure's mobile suit leader watched the three Zeon mobile suits stagger their firing so that at least two were always shooting while the third reloaded or fired its thrusters. It appeared that whoever was in charge of those mobile suits intended to have Doherty's GM pass through the center of the triangle, and thus be caught in a three-way crossfire which wouldn't run the risk of friendly fire.
Doherty had to change that.
Slowly she fired her verniers until her mobile suit was angled in a way which would give one Zaku a shot at little more than her machine's feet when it passed, while the other two Zeon mobile suits would be firing at opposite shoulders.
Just before they passed, all three Zakus stopped shooting, and that was when Doherty acted. She rolled her shield between her machine and one of the Zakus 'above' her GM's head while bringing the Beam Spray Gun in her right hand to bear upon the other machine, hoping that the narrow end-on profile she presented to the Zaku at her feet would protect her for a few moments. She fired three shots from the BSG, two of which impaled her surprised target. The second and third Zakus fired, but one could hit only her shield and the other could not lock upon the small cross section Doherty's GM presented from that angle.
The distance increased once again between the mobile suits, but Doherty, hiding again behind her doughty shield, fired her thrusters in an attempt to reverse her course and come upon the two remaining Zakus from behind.
Once again she had a little time in which to survey the space around her, and the progress of the other units in her squad. Mullet's mobile suit was invisible; apparently he was no longer firing his thrusters. Hampton was just reaching his closest point of approach with the two Gattle fighters, and as Doherty watched one of them exploded.
Her shout of joy died before it escaped her lips as the second Gattle fired three missiles at Hampton's mobile suit; the first one missed, the second battered his shield out of position and the third one scored a direct hit upon the GM's torso.
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
02:48 Hours
"Firing now, sir!" Lieutenant Turner announced without looking at Makarov.
The Commander was caught by surprise; he had been concentrating upon the running duel between Mullet and the cannon-toting Zeon mobile suit as they moved ever closer to his ship. Glancing at the targeting screen, Makarov was grateful to learn that Turner was shooting at the enemy Musai. He grinned, a disturbing expression on his ugly face. Swiftsure's forward flank turrets had originally been built for a Magellan-class battleship, and therefore both outranged the weapons upon the Musai and packed a more powerful punch.
"A hit, sir," the petty officer at the observation station announced. "Two beams have holed the target's bow."
"Carry on," Makarov said, returning his view to the two closest mobile suits. "How close is that Gelgoog?" he asked, remembering the type's proper name, something he knew Mullet never bothered with.
"Nearly within its estimated firing range, Skipper," the operator whose job was to watch for enemy mobile suits replied. "Intel claims it won't be able to shoot for another minute or two."
"How long until we can shoot at it?"
There was a short pause. "Hundred eighty-seven seconds, sir."
Makarov only nodded in reply.
A few moments later, Mullet opened fire with his beam rifle, the pink-white beam easily visible against the stars.
"Firing main battery," Turner said again.
Makarov's eyes flickered to the targeting display again, but no hits were scored upon the Musai this salvo.
"Gelgoog is within estimated firing range. GM Interceptor still in pursuit," the operator noted, using the informal name for Mullet's Sniper Custom.
A yellow-white line, its origin invisible, intersected with Swiftsure's forward hull; one of the twin main gun turrets disappeared, obscured by a small fireball. Atmospheric gases rushed out from the hole in the cruiser's bow, slightly turning the ship until automatic counterbalance thrusters kicked into action.
"Get me a damage report," Makarov calmly ordered, not even bothering to take his eyes from his magnified display of the two advanced mobile suits coming closer to Swiftsure.
One of Mullet's beams struck the backpack on the Gelgoog, which immediately ejected the damaged apparatus, thus saving the pilot's life as the backpack exploded, but, Makarov knew, it also deprived the mobile suit of its main anti-ship weaponry, and a good deal of its thrust.
Makarov breathed a sigh of relief as reports came in from his damage control teams. The main mobile suit threat to his crew had been averted.
"Continue firing upon the Musai with the remaining twin turret, Lieutenant," Makarov said distantly, still watching the mobile suits. The Gelgoog had just turned 180 degrees and was now moving directly back towards Mullet's GM.
As he watched, the Interceptor's thrusters cut off, and Mullet's machine coasted towards the Zeon mobile suit. The Commander punched a question into his console, and the answer was displayed on a small screen built into his chair. They're on a collision course. This'll be decided with sabres. Mullet's making it easy for the Gelgoog, he's given his machine the same up-down orientation as the Zeon.
Practically on cue, a blue-white line extended itself from one of the Gelgoog's hands. The GM pointed its feet at the Gelgoog and fired its thrusters. Shortly before the two war machines collided a red-white line extended from Mullet's right hand, but it was held low and behind the GM while the Gelgoog had lifted its beam naginata above its head and slashed down, attempting to open the GM from shoulder to opposite hip.
The Interceptor raised the inverted shield upon its left arm in an instinctive, if foolish, block which should not have hindered the Gelgoog's beam weapon in the slightest. As the naginata sliced towards the GM, a red glow bathed the left shoulder and head of Mullet's mobile suit, and the descending Zeon weapon stopped just after encountering the shield.
Makarov smiled again, anticipating the end of the Zeon mobile suit as the beam sabre in Mullet's right hand thrust up, the point piercing the Gelgoog's skin directly upon the circular cockpit hatch.
Mullet's GM brought the right hand down, the blade having been extinguished before the hilt was removed from the Gelgoog, and kicked the derelict machine away.
"H-how did he do that?" one of the sensor techs asked, astonished.
"There's a beam sabre rack built into the left forearm," Makarov stated, "with the blade-forming aperture pointed away from the hand. Chief Mullet disabled the circuits preventing it from being activated while in the storage rack shortly after he received the machine, having just such a situation as this in mind. It's a useful gimmick, if a bit rough on shields."
-------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
02:49 Hours
Doherty cut off her thrusters to conserve fuel after gaining enough velocity to slowly close the distance between her and the remaining Zakus. She was more cautious about engaging them closely; the readouts on her GM having belatedly informed her that she had not, in fact, escaped her first brush unscathed. Three 90mm rounds had amputated one of her GM's feet; a fact the computer realized only when the thrusters mounted there failed to ignite.
She had seen the beam cannon shot which damaged Swiftsure but was too distant from Mullet's mobile suit to see the destruction of the Gelgoog; it didn't matter, she was too far away to help. Instead, she concentrated on locating the Gattle fighter that had killed Hampton; she had lost track of it when the damage lights flickered within her cockpit, informing her of her missing limb.
Eventually she discovered its location; it was heading directly for Swiftsure.
"Well," she told her cockpit, "the ship ought to be able to handle a single stray fighter; but I'd really like to kill that bastard myself!"
--------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
02:51 Hours
"Entering range of remaining main battery weapons now, Commander," Turner reported.
"Very well, Lieutenant. Helm, execute ninety-degree yaw to starboard. Turner, fire main battery at your discretion."
When Swiftsure completed the turn to show its broad side to the enemy cruiser in order to bring more of its main weapons to bear Lieutenant Turner fired, sending five new mega particle beams in search of the damaged Musai. Four found the target and turned it into a collection of derelict scrap, losing oxygen and without power.
"Nicely done, Kelly," Makarov said before burying himself in damage reports.
-------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
02:53 Hours
"Yes!" Doherty yelled when she saw the Zeon Musai get hit. "Good job, Lieutenant Turner!"
She was almost too busy celebrating to notice the two Zakus begin decelerating towards her.
"Oh sh**!"
In the few moments she had before the two mobile suits entered effective firing range Doherty checked her weapons systems. The Beam Spray Gun still had most of its energy charge, and the 90mm machinegun in her left hand had a full magazine. After that was finished, Doherty maneuvered her mobile suit to hide behind its shield again.
She winced as the Zakus' 90mm shells impacted her mobile suit's shield, and wondered how she would survive this encounter, since the enemy pilots would doubtless be expecting a maneuver similar to the one she had pulled before.
"Doherty, move your ass!" Mullet's voice roared over her communication systems.
Startled, the Lieutenant rolled and fired her thrusters, abruptly taking her out of the Zakus' lines of fire. As she was attempting to reorient herself upon the enemy mobile suits one of them was touched by a pink line and erupted into an enormous fireball.
Seizing the moment, Doherty pulled the targeting sight from behind her seat, aimed, and fired both hand weapons as well as her head vulcans at the remaining Zeon machine. It quickly succumbed to the blizzard of projectiles and stopped moving, but it wasn't until she exhausted the last of her ammunition that Doherty stopped firing.
"Not bad, Lieutenant," Mullet radioed, a hint of approval in his voice. "But you might want to think about moving more and hiding behind your shield less. The best way to keep from getting killed out here is to not get hit; hiding behind a shield only protects you from one direction; there are others."
Doherty barely heard him, and nothing he said registered in her mind. She was looking at the motionless Zaku, but not seeing it. "Ha-Hampton's dead," she forced herself to say. Then she broke down.
Mullet's mobile suit matched velocities with her GM, closed, and wrapped its arms around Doherty's mobile suit. "C'mon, Lieutenant, time for us to go back to the ship."
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
03:27 Hours
Makarov looked up when Chief Mullet floated into the bridge. "Where's Doherty?"
"Cavour had someone put her to bed, she was at the end of her endurance. This wasn't quite the same as the other skirmishes she fought."
The Commander nodded in understanding. "Get some rest, yourself, Chief. Cavour's preliminary estimate says he'll need at least four hours to effect repairs. I've sent in contact reports and a request for reinforcements to Squadron and Fleet, so as long as none of our dear flags gets a stick up their ass we'll have some help soon."
Mullet raised an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"
A snort provided the answer.
"S'what I thought. We ain't had an admiral with an ounce of brains since Tianem got toasted, and there are limits to what Keram is allowed to do."
"Get out of here and get some rest, Chief," Makarov said, trying to stifle a yawn. "There isn't much else for you to do at the moment."
"Sure thing, Skipper," Mullet replied before coiling to launch himself towards the exit.
"Chief?"
Mullet paused, looking up. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
Turner smiled at him. "Thanks for taking care of that ship-killer; I'd have never gotten a clean lock on it."
He smiled back. "Any time, ma'am. I like the ship to stay in one piece as much as you do."
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
08:19 Hours
When Doherty woke up it took her a few moments to figure out where she was; it felt like fog had engulfed her mind, and a severe headache did not help. Wearily she unfastened the straps keeping her in her bed and began looking for something to wear. Eventually she floated crazily out of the pilot's closet in a pilot suit that she hadn't been able to seal properly, with the gloves and helmet trailing behind her.
It took her some time, and a lot of unplanned bumps with bulkheads, to arrive at the hangar. She attempted to move to her mobile suit, but misjudged the jump and ended up floating aimlessly across the room. One of the mechanics caught her before she smacked into anything.
"Th-thank you," she mumbled to the crewman.
"sh**, ma'am, what are you doing here?" The young mechanic flagged down Sergeant-Major Cavour and handed the lieutenant over to him.
"C'mon, Lieutenant, this isn't the place for you," the head mechanic said softly as he pulled Doherty out of the hangar. "You weren't supposed to be up for another couple hours."
"St-status?" she mumbled.
"Don't you worry about that, ma'am, everything's just fine. The Chief is out patrolling again and I'll have your machine fixed up within the next couple hours."
"Hampton?"
Cavour didn't answer at first, causing Doherty to ask again.
"He's dead, ma'am; there's nothing you can do for him now."
The mechanic pulled the dazed mobile suit pilot into the wardroom, where he found Lieutenant Turner and one of her assistant gunners going over data from the engagement.
"'S'cuse me, 'Tenant Turner," Cavour began, "but could you look after Miss Doherty, here?"
Kelly Turner looked up from her work. "Why, certainly, Sergeant Major."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said as he strapped Doherty into one of the seats. "I found her wandering around the hangar, but she's not even supposed to be awake yet. Still isn't, really. Only partly awake."
"We'll watch her," Turner said graciously, “you're doubtless needed back in the hangar. Thank you for taking care of her."
"Indeed, ma'am; it was no trouble; he'd kick my ass if she got hurt in the hangar."
Doherty stayed where Cavour left her; she was too weak from fatigue to even try to free herself for now.
Turner went to her side carrying a drink, sticking the straw end into the other Lieutenant's mouth.
"Drink up, Lieutenant; it's coffee, it'll help you wake up," she gently said, looking the younger officer over. "You're a mess," Turner sighed, "I hope you know that. Here, I'll at least make you look somewhat presentable," she said, letting the drink float around Doherty's head as she straightened the pilot's outfit. When everything was sealed properly and in the correct place Turner maneuvered herself into a chair beside Doherty's.
"Ma'am?" the other officer in the wardroom asked.
"Hmm? Oh, go get some rest, Lee, we can go over the rest of that stuff later," Turner said, her composure momentarily cracking, revealing her own enervation.
"As ordered, ma'am," the man said before he left.
Eventually the caffeine from the coffee got into Doherty's system and her mind began to clear. She spent a few minutes figuring out where she was this time, and wondering what day it was. Slowly memories of the previous day returned to her. She was on Swiftsure, they'd had a battle, and one of her subordinates was gone.
Doherty looked around, finally noticing a dozing Turner in the next seat. The pilot freed herself from her chair's restraints and moved to the food dispensers along one of the walls.
"Oh, I see you're awake now," Turner said groggily from behind her.
"I think so," Doherty replied tiredly, "but I wish I wasn't. I've one hell of a headache."
"Stop by the dispensary; I'm sure the corpsman can give you something for that."
"I hope so," Doherty replied. "Do you know our current status?"
Turner yawned. "Last I heard the damage was under control, we'd asked for reinforcements, and both suits were under repair. But that's several hours old."
Doherty nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."
"My name's Kelly, you know," Turner said, stifling another yawn.
Doherty blinked. "Ah, yes, ma'am, I did know that."
Turner smiled through her weariness. "Oh? You don't use it. You should."
"I'll, ah, take that under advisement, ma'am," the pilot replied, somewhat flustered.
"You did well out there, Lieutenant."
"I lost one of my pilots, ma'am," Doherty said quietly.
"And I lost one of my turrets and several of my gunners," Turner replied seriously. "People die in a fight. It's not easy to deal with, and no one likes it. But that's what the job is all about. We risk our lives out here where the slightest mistake can kill us all so that all the silly fools back home can live their lives however they want. Sometimes we lose people, mobile suit pilots more often than anyone else. We went through six pilots during the last two weeks of the war."
"How did the team leader deal with that?"
The older officer looked away. "The first one went crazy, lost his cool in a fight and got killed." Turner looked back. "But the second one we had could accept the casualties, because the people died for a purpose. Just like Ensign Hampton and my gunners."
Doherty didn't say anything for a while. As she moved toward the exit she said, "Thank you, Kelly."
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
10:10 Hours
Makarov floated into the hangar, located Doherty near her newly repaired GM and went up to her.
"How are you, Lieutenant?" he asked.
Doherty turned around and saluted. "Fine, sir. I'm ready to begin my patrol."
In the few moments before he replied Makarov looked her over. "Excellent; Chief Mullet has been out for more than two hours; it's past time for him to refuel."
"I'll be relieving him shortly, sir."
"Are you certain you're up to this, Lieutenant? You haven't had much rest. Mullet can take your mobile suit out while his is being refueled."
"I've had more sleep than the chief has, sir," Doherty pointed out, somewhat heatedly. "I can handle a simple little patrol, sir, and the chief needs to take some time away from a cockpit."
Makarov shook his head. "Mullet is used to this, Doherty; you're not."
"I can do this, Commander," Doherty said stiffly. "I have to do this."
Swiftsure's commanding officer scowled. "Then get going, Lieutenant," he said. Then he launched himself across the hangar to the exit that would take him towards the bridge.
---------------------------
9 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
EFS Swiftsure
11:47 Hours
Commander Igor Makarov frowned at his communications panel. "Very well, Commdore Keram," he said to the man on the screen, "our orders are received and acknowledged." Swiftsure's commanding officer gave the man on the other end of the communication link a salute, and killed the circuit.
"New orders, sir?" Lieutenant Commander Alec Marshall-Tombrine, executive officer of the ship, asked.
"Yes, Commander," Makarov said without looking up. The Commander was not a tall man, about 172 centimeters, but disproportionately thick, and with a sickly, pale complexion that was not at all helped by his high, sloped forehead, large nose, or the thin, dull, pale yellow mess which was his hair. "But I can't decide whether to scream in frustration or jump for joy." He sighed. "We've been ordered to the perimeter, to guard against possible incursions by this Delaz character."
"Sounds good enough to me, sir," the exec said with a confused look. Marshall-Tombrine, though better looking than his superior, was also not the type of person who made women swoon. He was a dozen centimeters taller than Makarov, but too thin. He looked delicate and fragile next to his thickset commander. His face, in keeping with the rest of his body, was also too thin, and though his face had a bit more color, his hair had the same dull yellow sheen as the Skipper's and looked good only in comparison to Makarov's. The XO's eyes were blue, but too small, and set too close together. "What's the frustrating part?"
"The problem, Commander, is that Wyatt is still going on with his foolish Naval Review," Makarov said in his raspy voice.
"Well, of course, sir. After all, we've not had one since '79, and it'll be good for morale."
"Oh, shut up, Commander," Makarov grumbled. "If you can't see the dangers of gathering the vast majority of your forces where anyone with a nuclear warhead can blow them up, I'm not going to bother explaining them to you. Call the mobile suit pilots."
"Nuclear warhead?" Marshall-Tombrine laughed. "Sir, we're the only people with nukes these days, and, besides, using them would violate the Granada Peace Accords."
Makarov looked up. "Commander, I know you were here last week. You were standing right by the helm when that diehard Delaz gave his pretty little madman's speech. You saw the mobile suit behind him, and heard that it had been built to use a nuclear warhead."
"Oh, yes, I heard him, sir," the junior officer said dismissively. "But that was pure propaganda, sir, no one in the Federation would be stupid enough to build a mobile suit armed with nuclear weapons. What would be the point of such a machine? Delaz merely made that up to make us look bad, sir, anyone can see that. Besides, if he really wanted to cause the Federation damage, and had a nuke, why would he waste it on the military forces? Hitting, say, Jaburo, or the new HQ at Dakar would be far more effective, don't you think?"
"No, Commander, I don't." Makarov rubbed his temples. "Unfortunately for me, however, the Flags back at Jaburo subscribe to your thinking. I think that this man is a soldier. And soldiers generally focus on killing other soldiers, not political leaders. I think he'd like nothing better than to use that nuke -- which I, at least, am quite sure he has, Commander -- on the biggest military target he can find. If he wanted to hit Jaburo or Dakar with it, why would he have bothered to bring that machine to space? The report I got about the Torrington incident leads me to believe that if they had planned to hit Headquarters, the submarine which took that Gundam away from Australia would have gone straight there and not bothered to drop it off in Africa. It's not like Jaburo's location is secret any more."
Marshall-Tombrine shrugged. "Perhaps, sir. But that doesn't matter, since all this talk about a nuke is just that, sir, talk. No one in the EFF would really arm a mobile suit with a nuke."
Makarov glared at his subordinate for a moment, then looked down, closed his eyes, and went back to massaging his temples. "Whatever, Commander. Now get me the mobile suit pilots."
-------
Chief Reactor Technician Simon Mullet – as was normal at all times other than when he was flying, preparing his mobile suit, or eating – was sleeping in the mobile suit pilots' stateroom. Well, closet might be a more appropriate name for the compartment, as it was barely large enough for the three personnel who lived there to float in it at once. The Swiftsure was roughly 33% larger than the pre-war Salamis type, which was the only reason it had mobile suits to begin with, but even at nearly twice the size of the more recent post-war Salamis variants, there wasn't a lot of room for the personnel. And given that most of the volume that had been gained from the expansion had been filled with new power and weapon systems and the mobile suit area, there was very little room to berth the extra crewmembers the additional equipment required.
Indeed, most of the crew was forced to 'hotbunk', with multiple people assigned to a single bed. It was only by virtue of their near-godlike status as mobile suit pilots that Mullet, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Melanie Doherty, and Giles Hampton had three beds between them, rather than merely two. Of course, normally, enlisted persons weren't berthed in the same compartments as officers, but space was quite tight, and Mullet was one of the few non-commissioned officer pilots in the Federation Forces, and The Book didn't bother taking into account minorities such as he. He'd been sleeping in that room since Swiftsure had been commissioned during the war against Zeon, and back then all of its mobile suit pilots had been NCOs; neither he nor Makarov saw any reason to move him elsewhere.
Mullet's immediate superior, Lieutenant Doherty, didn't exactly like his penchant for ignoring any work not directly connected with mobile suits, but she was too afraid of her quiet, cynical, and ruthless subordinate to force him to attend to other duties. He had seen far more combat than she, and though she felt his actions often undercut her authority, she was too much in awe of, and afraid of, his combat prowess to force him to comply with her wishes.
But if someone else wanted him, she'd be only too happy to wake him up and put him to work.
That was the case today when Doherty heard that the skipper wanted the pilots on the bridge. When the message reached her, she and Hampton had been overseeing the maintenance on their personal mobile suits in preparation for the next day's naval review. Mullet had finished early, as always. Doherty had sent Hampton up to the bridge to inform the skipper that they were coming, and then headed forward to interrupt the Chief's nap.
Upon opening the door, Doherty found exactly what she expected: Simon Mullet tied down in his bunk, snoring softly. He wasn't a large man, nor quite a small one. He was medium sized, and quite plain, if taken on looks alone. He kept his brown hair cut short so that it wouldn't interfere with his eyes in zero-gravity, and though his eyes were large, and of a rich, warm, brown color by nature, the chief habitually kept them ice-cold. On the rare occasions when he smiled in mirth, rather than as a mocking sneer, he seemed a nice enough person. But Lieutenant Doherty, in the nine months she had been attached to Swiftsure, had judged him to be a cynical bastard, with little to no respect for officers, particularly junior officers who lacked much combat experience.
The Lieutenant pulled off her normal suit's helmet, and tossed it at her subordinate's stomach; it hit precisely on target, and the gentle rhythm of Mullet's breathing abruptly ceased, replaced by a sharp expulsion of air. The enlisted man opened an eye and immediately fastened it upon his commander.
"I see all that noise they make about officers being gentlemen and ladies is just talk," Mullet said darkly. "You got something for me to do? Other than becoming the newest target for you to miss no matter how close you get, that is."
Doherty's hand flashed out, backhanding Mullet before either of them realized what was happening.
Mullet glared at his superior. "If you don't need me for anything ‘cept target practice, I'm trying to get some sleep. Why don't you go lord your commission over someone who actually thinks it counts for something."
The officer's face turned beet red in anger, and she nearly smacked him again. "No, I don't need you, Chief," Doherty said with all the sarcasm she could muster. "But the Skipper might be a bit put out if I tell him that you were too busy sleeping to come when he calls you to the bridge!"
"Oh, so that's it," Mullet grumbled. "You could have saved yourself some embarrassment if you'd simply said so in the beginning, ma'am," he made the final word more an insult than an honor. "Then you wouldn't have had to suffer a mere spacenoid being insubordinate to you."
When Doherty's hand flew this time the Chief was prepared and dodged before the blow connected.
"What's this?" Mullet asked in mock surprise. "Now you can't even hit a poor noncom? I thought the class on how to strike subordinates was mandatory back at the Academy," he said sarcastically. "Did your Earthnoid family buy off the instructors? Or," he continued, looking her up and down, "did you do it yourself? You're all the same," he sneered, not even bothering to try to hide the contempt in his voice. "You think that because you're born down there you can come up here and rule the people you exiled before; think you can do whatever you want to them because, after all, they're just spacenoids . . . just scum." He stared at Doherty. "You say the Skipper wants me? Fine, I'll go. Unlike you, the Skipper knows how to lead people." Mullet turned to his locker, pulled out a uniform, and climbed into it, ignoring the seething form of his superior.
Neither one spoke during the trip to the bridge, either. Upon entering, they found Hampton lounging against one wall, the exec fussing over the helm, and Commander Makarov deep in thought.
"What gives, sir?" Mullet asked without preamble. "You interrupted a nice dream: I was killing a bunch of generals."
Makarov snorted in amusement. "Well, Chief, I'm sorry to inconvenience you," he said dryly, "but we've just been ordered out to picket duty."
Mullet frowned. "We're a bit big and powerful to waste as a sentry, aren't we, Skipper? And with our speed, wouldn't we be better left in reserve until such a time as it becomes apparent where an enemy attack will be made?"
"That's what I think, Chief," Makarov said with a sigh. "But as Deathgod might put it, ours is not to reason why . . . Personally, I think Wyatt just wants us out because we'd show everyone how small his toy cruisers really are. His Birmingham and the Albion just arrived, reporting increased Zeon Remnant activity in the area. Seems they killed the Albion's mobile suit commander."
"Poor bastard. Shoulda just let the Zeeks off Wyatt. Woulda done us all a favor."
"Chief!" Doherty warned.
The enlisted man ignored her. "Did that tea-drinking bastard pass any other good news along, sir?"
The skipper shook his head. "No, Chief, but Albion's skipper sent over what information he had on these particular Zeeks. Based on the insignia on the mobile suits, Birmingham was attacked by members of the old Zeon Marines."
A look of dangerous fury sprang into being on Mullet's face. "In that case, I hope this bastard Dellesse has the balls to attack us here; I'll enjoy shoving a beam saber up his ass."
The Skipper smiled grimly. "I hope you get the chance, Chief. That's all." The pilots drifted to the door. "Oh, Lieutenant Doherty, could I have a word with you?"
She looked back. "Of course, sir."
When the other two pilots had moved out of earshot, Makarov spoke again. "I see you hit Chief Mullet again."
"Yes, sir," she agreed matter-of-factly. "He was insubordinate, sir."
"Of course he was, Lieutenant," Makarov replied, taking care to keep any hint of censure from his voice. "Do you have any idea why he is constantly insubordinate to you?"
"Because he has a problem with authority, sir," Doherty answered promptly, "stemming from a lack of discipline."
"Almost, Lieutenant. His lack of respect comes from a dearth of officers he feels are worthy of his respect. Such as ones who must constantly hide behind their rank," he continued blandly, "or ones who can't handle their own jobs." He held up a hand, silencing Doherty before she could object. "I'm not saying you are a person like that, I happen to think you'll be a damn good mobile suit commander in a few years. But that's not the way you appear to him, Lieutenant. To him you're just another Earthnoid and Academy grad, come out into space so you can boss around all lowlife and generally boost your ego."
"Sir!" she interjected, all righteous indignation.
"Shut up and listen, Lieutenant," Makarov said sternly. "I'm trying to give you a bit of advice. He's not going to respect you until he sees how you handle a fight. That's how veterans look at new officers, because new officers are an unknown, and unknowns can get a person killed."
Makarov paused, fixing his subordinate in his gaze. "Oh, sure, you saw a little action, too, fending off the occasional raid at Luna II. The Chief and I waltzed into Side 3 itself. Four times. There's a reason he has that spiffy GM, and it's the same reason I've got this badass cruiser. We paid for them.
"Yes, he's got a problem with authority. But then, what have those with authority ever done for him? He fought through the whole war, and only performed the job he was trained to do for the first two weeks of it. After that, he got tossed around from one unit to the next, none of which were happy to see him. By the time September rolled around, he was finally sent back into orbit. What did he find? Another group of people who didn't want him, and another job for which he hadn't been trained. To make matters worse, he was also expected to penetrate Side 3 and disrupt the Zeon military/industrial machine.
"He did all of that, and did it damned well; that's why this ship still exists and I'm still alive."
"Sir," Doherty began.
“I'm not finished, Lieutenant!" Makarov barked. “Have you ever tried to place yourself in his boots? You've had enough time to learn that it's impossible to force him to respect you, but there are ways to earn it. Respect is a two-way street, as you know," he continued, “you might try respecting him instead of assaulting him.
"There's an old saying, Lieutenant: before you criticize someone, walk a klick in their shoes. If you can't understand why he's turned into a cynical bastard, then let me know, and I'll get you a transfer; keeping you in charge of a man you can't understand hurts everyone's performance."
Makarov paused, and turned thoughtful for a moment. “You might consider the Chief to be a leadership challenge, Lieutenant; there are a lot of hardcases in the world, and Mullet's a prime example. But he's not as close-minded as you think; if you can change, so can he. The two of you have the potential to be an effective team, but you've spent so much time being at loggerheads with each other that you can't focus on what's important. Fix that. Quickly.
"Any questions?"
"No, sir," Lieutenant Doherty said, very quietly.
Makarov looked into her eyes, and saw the unspoken truth behind her statement. "Get the hell out of here."
When she was gone, the Skipper waved Major Marshall-Tombrine over.
"Yes, sir?" the exec asked, a frown on his face.
Makarov didn't meet his eyes. "I want an undated transfer order for Lieutenant Doherty awaiting my signature by noon tomorrow."
"Sir?" Marshall-Tombrine asked, confusion evident across his face.
-----------------------------------------
9 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
13:39 Hours
"Sir, we've reached our assigned patrol area," one of the bridge operators reported.
"Very well, put us on the planned flight path," Makarov answered, then picked up his phone. "Launch the suits," he said into it.
Behind and below him, the three GMs deactivated the electromagnets on their feet and used thrusters to gently nudge themselves away from their mothership. Doherty's GM Kai took station above and in front of Swiftsure, Hampton's identical machine moved into position below and to the ship's right, while Mullet's RGM-79SC GM Interceptor Custom stayed level with the cruiser, but off to the left.
Doherty was fuming inside her cockpit. The Commander's dressing down had been bad enough, but just before they had left the Swiftsure, she had pulled Mullet aside.
"Look, Chief," she had begun, trying to sound friendly, "I know you've got problems with me, but I'm still your superior officer, and you will obey me."
Mullet had managed to look bored, annoyed, and disdainful all at once. "All right, Lieutenant," he had said, turning her rank into an insult, as he always did. "I'll obey every order I receive from superior officers."
She had nodded, grateful that, for once, he seemed to behave reasonably. She had then started floating off towards the MS hanger just forward of the aft main guns.
"If I'm feeling good," he then called at her receding form, "I may even obey intelligent orders from people who aren't my superiors, but merely possess a higher rank than me. Assuming I receive any good orders from such a person."
The Lieutenant halted her movement, and then kicked off the bulkhead back towards Mullet. She slammed into his torso, throwing both of them into the opposite bulkhead. After untangling herself, Doherty slapped the Chief, the motion propelling her slowly away from her subordinate.
Mullet glared at his commander, a dangerous light appearing in his eyes.
Then Doherty had realized that there were no other people in this part of the ship, remembered stories of officers killed by their own subordinates during the war and grew very, very afraid. "If you touch me," she said, fear clearly evident in her voice, "I'll have you court-martialed and put in the brig for the rest of your life! The Skipper won't be able to protect you there!"
The noncom had shaken his head in disgust. "You just don't have a ****in' clue, do you? f***ing officers," he spat. Without another word, he had kicked off the bulkhead, down the corridor to the mobile suit hanger, leaving Doherty to herself and her questions.
Now, twenty minutes later, she was no closer to understanding why Mullet had left her alone then when his normal suit had disappeared around the corner. She knew he had a reputation for violence, and was honest enough with herself to realize that she had provoked him beyond all justification. Why didn't he respond to that provocation….
"Ma'am," Hampton called over the radio, "Ma'am, I think I've spotted something, but I'm not certain what it is."
"What's its position, Ensign?" Doherty asked, turning her mobile suit so that its best sensors were pointed at Hampton's patrol zone.
Before he could answer, a fireball blossomed across the starry background.
"It just blew up, ma'am!" Hampton said loudly over the communications system.
"What the hell is going on here," Doherty wondered.
"Mullet to Swiftsure," the chief's disgruntled voice said over the radio, "I've just destroyed an MS-06F2 inside the Restricted Zone. Target was presumed to be hostile. No survivors, no friendly casualties. Mullet out."
Doherty swore bitterly, and keyed her radio. "Mullet! If you fire without orders again, I'm going to ki-"
"Shut up, Lieutenant," the chief interrupted, disgusted. "If there are any other Zeek bastards out here, they might pick up the radio transmissions."
The shock of needing to be reminded of such elementary truths of combat jarred Doherty into pensive silence.
An uneventful hour later, a message came in from Swiftsure asking for one of the mobile suits to return to ship to be refueled.
"Hampton, you return to base," Doherty commanded. "When you have been resupplied either the chief or I shall go back. It looks like the Skipper wants to keep at least two of us out here as long as possible, so we'll probably be on a constant rotation from now on."
"Yes, ma'am," Giles Hampton replied. "Returning to Swiftsure. Watch yourself, Lieutenant."
It took a few minutes for Doherty to realize that he might not have been referring solely to danger from Zeon mobile suits.
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
02:12 Hours
Doherty tried to stifle a yawn as she floated into Swiftsure's bridge; the three mobile suit pilots had been flying two out of three hours since the ship arrived on it's patrol station, and she had started feeling the effects of fatigue several hours before. She found herself envying the crewmembers still on the ship; everyone save Cavour's mechanics was on watch-and-watch, four hours on duty and four hours off.
The Skipper, however, was not allowing himself that luxury, and Doherty knew it would be useless to ask for the pilots to be given a period of rest. As long as he was working, Makarov rarely saw a reason other people couldn't continue to perform.
Swiftsure's mobile suit commander floated towards the command chair, latching the magnetized soles of her normal suit's boots to the deck on one side of the chair.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Doherty asked tiredly.
Makarov looked up from the readout he had been studying and looked his senior mobile suit pilot over, taking in such details as the strain in her voice, the traces of red which were starting to appear in the whites of her eyes, and the dirty, crumpled look of her outfit.
"Yes, Lieutenant, I did," the Commander replied, his voice sounding very normal, but somewhat distant to Doherty's tired brain. "I've a few things to discuss with you. First, I want to congratulate you on the job your team has been doing."
Doherty merely nodded acknowledgement at this compliment as she was too exhausted for anything more polite.
"Second, I wanted to let you know that I've requested reinforcements from Konpeitoh, and I expect them to arrive in less than four hours. So if your pilots can hold out that much longer, I'll be able to bring all of you in for a few hours rest."
"That would be . . . most appreciated, sir," the pilot managed to say.
Swiftsure's commanding officer smiled, a gesture that only served to enhance the less visually stimulating aspects of his face. "I'm sure it would, Lieutenant. I also wanted to let you know that Ensign Hampton and Chief Mullet sighted a Musai-class cruiser a few minutes ago, and we are moving in to intercept and destroy it."
"Sir?" the young woman asked, somewhat confused. "A Musai out here?"
"Indeed, Lieutenant. Sergeant-Major Cavour is prepping your mobile suit as we speak. I anticipate entering firing range of the cruiser in less than thirty minutes."
Adrenaline began to flood Doherty's system, helping to negate the mental slowdown her fatigue had caused. "I assume Mullet isn't mistaking an old wreck from the war for an active ship, sir?"
"No, Lieutenant, he is not," Makarov replied calmly. "This particular Musai, though hiding in the battle debris from the war, is unmistakably moving under its own power. It's also got a trio of Gattle fighters and a Jicco assault boat as escorts."
"I see, sir. Is there any information about how many mobile suits it is carrying, sir?"
Makarov shook his head. "Nope, there's not, Lieutenant. Figure that any mobile suits it's carrying are waiting safely in the hangar until needed."
"Very well, Commander. I'll make my plans under the assumption that it carries a full compliment, sir," Doherty said determinedly.
The older officer nodded.
Doherty came to attention, saluted, and left the bridge, trying to decide if she should plan on fighting Rick Doms or Zakus.
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
02:39 Hours
Doherty watched as the Musai and its attending small craft floated past the lifeless remains of a '79 Salamis-class cruiser, admiring the skill the various helmsmen and astrogators obviously possessed; she had been watching the small squadron for several minutes, and had yet to see the telltale flicker of engines being fired.
However, in another couple minutes the Zeon warships would enter the range of Swiftsure's main armament. The Federation ship was just ahead of the Zeon craft, and Doherty hoped that the Musai's spotters would mistake it for another victim of the war.
Hampton and Mullet's GMs, as well as her own, were perched behind debris from the old 2nd Combined Fleet's final assault upon the asteroid now known as Konpeitoh, letting only the heads of their machines look at the enemy.
"Almost there," Doherty said to herself within her cockpit. "Just a litt-Damn!" she yelled as one of the Gattle fighters ignited its engines and zoomed ahead of the other ships. She queried her mobile suit's computer for the projected course of the obsolete fighter and swore as it confirmed what her brain already suspected; the frail little craft was moving to take a closer look at Swiftsure.
Doherty toggled her radio, inhaled . . . and stopped, surprised when she noticed something move from the corner of her eye. It was Mullet's mobile suit, launching itself away from the bits of metal cover it had been behind, moving directly towards the hostile warships.
"Damn you, Mullet," she roared into her radio pickup even as she ordered her own mobile suit to approach the Zeon machines. "Can't you wait for orders at least once?" She didn't bother waiting for a reply, going on to shout for Hampton to break cover and follow them.
The Zeon craft fired their own engines and began to spread out. The two fighters remaining to the squadron and the Jicco assault boat moved in front of the Musai, providing it some measure of protection against any attack from the Swiftsure. The third Gattle wildly launched its missiles at the Federal cruiser and exploded, hit by Lieutenant Turner's light weapons.
"All right, people," Doherty called over the radio after regaining her composure, "the plan remains unchanged; we're to distract the larger ships as much as possible so Swiftsure can hit them, and destroy any mobile suits that Musai carries. But if you get a shot at one of those Gattles, feel free to kill it."
In front of her GM, Mullet's machine aimed its beam rifle and fired a single pinkish-white mega particle blast. Doherty glanced at the line of mega particles and was astonished to see them connect with the Jicco, hitting one of the large spherical fuel tanks. The resulting explosive decompression spun the small warship off course in a series of large spirals.
"Is it okay to shoot the bigger fish, too?" Mullet inquired.
"Wha . . ? No! Concentrate on the--"
"Mobile suits launching!" Hampton interjected. "I count two, no, three!"
"I see them, Giles," Doherty responded, trying to remain calm as more adrenalin coursed through her veins. "All Zakus," she said, her voice exhibiting just a touch of relief, “they shouldn't cause us too much trouble."
"Fourth mobile suit launching from the KoMusai," Mullet calmly reported. "I can't quite make it--" His voice suddenly died. There was a pause. "SHIP KILLER!" he bellowed just when Doherty was going to ask him for more information. "Swiftsure, one of these mobile suits is a cannon-toting bastard from A Baoa Qu!"
Doherty tried to locate the mobile suit in question, but couldn't see anything but the plume of its exhaust with her standard GM's sensors. "What is it, Mullet? I don't know what you mean."
"It's one of those Kelgoos, the last suit the Zeeks deployed in large numbers," Mullet said while changing his mobile suit's course to intercept the new arrival. "Only this one is nastier than most because it packs an anti-ship cannon in addition to the standard rifle. The only time I went EV because of damage during the war was after encountering a dozen of those bastards before Star One; wiped out more than a dozen of our suits, and several ships, too. I was lucky, my suit was merely turned into scrap. There was only one other survivor from that group."
"Acknowledged, Mullet," the voice of Swiftsure's communications tech said over the radio. "We'd appreciate it if that machine doesn't get within firing range of us, Lieutenant Doherty."
"All right. Chief, you get that mobile suit. Giles and I will keep the Zakus and fighters from interfering."
"Roger, ma'am," Mullet replied, changing his mobile suit's course to intercept the advanced Zeon model, which was flying at the Federal cruiser as quickly as its thrusters would take it, easily outstripping the Zakus and other craft.
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
02:43 Hours
Makarov watched the tactical display and visuals as his mobile suits began engaging their targets, hoping that his face still remembered how to look calm in even the most stressful moments.
Mullet was first, as both his own mobile suit and that of his quarry outperformed those of the other pilots. The Zeon pilot apparently opened fire from extreme range, because Mullet's mobile suit suddenly began performing minor twists, turns, and jinks. The short Commander quietly exhaled a breath he barely remembered holding; apparently the advanced Zeon mobile suit wasn't equipped with the beam rifle other machines of its type had carried during the war. The chief held his own fire.
Probably concentrating solely on getting close without getting shot, Makarov thought with approval. "Don't you have a firing solution yet, Lieutenant?" he growled at the attractive woman manning the fire control console.
For a moment it looked as if she hadn't heard him. "Firing now, Skipper," Turner said at last, pressing a single button on her board. Five brilliant pink lines leapt from Swiftsure's forward turrets.
Makarov turned his attention to the telescopic view of his ship's second target of the day and watched as three of the mega particle beams penetrated the previously damaged Jicco-class assault boat. The ship quickly disappeared in the fireball common to a machine that has had its Minovsky reactor hit by mega particle weapons.
"Switch targets to the Musai, Lieutenant." Makarov ordered, returning his attention to the mobile suit conflict; he was confident of Turner's ability to out-shoot any Musai ever launched; he found himself wishing he had the same confidence in his mobile suit team.
-----------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
02:44 Hours
Hampton was drifting slightly away from Doherty's GM, hoping to divide the approaching Zeon forces. Even if all the enemy machines concentrated upon one GM, the other pilot would be able to attack without too much concern for enemy fire. At least, this had been Doherty's reasoning when she had ordered her wingman to get more distance between their machines. Now she wasn't sure if that had been a wise decision or not, as all three Zakus turned towards her, the two Gattle space fighters changing their vectors to close with Hampton's mobile suit.
Gritting her teeth, and quite conscious of the fact that what little combat experience she had was nearly four years in the past, under much more favorable circumstances, Doherty armed her weapons, grateful that she had sortied with both a 90mm sub-machinegun and an old Beam Spray Gun Sergeant-Major Cavour had mysteriously produced, and even more amazingly assured her would work with her GM Kai.
"I hate waiting," she said quietly as the distance between her and the Zeon mobile suits decreased. Making one last check of her monitors before devoting all her time to the enemy in front of her, she watched the small lights denoting Mullet and his quarry, and wondered why neither one appeared to be firing.
A beep sounded in her cockpit, and Doherty redirected her attention to the three Zakus bearing down upon her. All three appeared to have the powerful 90mm machinegun deployed by the Zeon forces near the end of the war. They were in a loose triangle formation and none of the enemy machines was significantly closer to her than any of the others.
Just before she entered firing range with her 90mm, flashes appeared on all three Zeon machines, and Doherty instinctively maneuvered her shield in front of her mobile suit, cursing herself for failing to remember that the enemy weapon had a longer effective range than her GM's less powerful 90mm.
Through the small rectangular vision aperture in her shield Swiftsure's mobile suit leader watched the three Zeon mobile suits stagger their firing so that at least two were always shooting while the third reloaded or fired its thrusters. It appeared that whoever was in charge of those mobile suits intended to have Doherty's GM pass through the center of the triangle, and thus be caught in a three-way crossfire which wouldn't run the risk of friendly fire.
Doherty had to change that.
Slowly she fired her verniers until her mobile suit was angled in a way which would give one Zaku a shot at little more than her machine's feet when it passed, while the other two Zeon mobile suits would be firing at opposite shoulders.
Just before they passed, all three Zakus stopped shooting, and that was when Doherty acted. She rolled her shield between her machine and one of the Zakus 'above' her GM's head while bringing the Beam Spray Gun in her right hand to bear upon the other machine, hoping that the narrow end-on profile she presented to the Zaku at her feet would protect her for a few moments. She fired three shots from the BSG, two of which impaled her surprised target. The second and third Zakus fired, but one could hit only her shield and the other could not lock upon the small cross section Doherty's GM presented from that angle.
The distance increased once again between the mobile suits, but Doherty, hiding again behind her doughty shield, fired her thrusters in an attempt to reverse her course and come upon the two remaining Zakus from behind.
Once again she had a little time in which to survey the space around her, and the progress of the other units in her squad. Mullet's mobile suit was invisible; apparently he was no longer firing his thrusters. Hampton was just reaching his closest point of approach with the two Gattle fighters, and as Doherty watched one of them exploded.
Her shout of joy died before it escaped her lips as the second Gattle fired three missiles at Hampton's mobile suit; the first one missed, the second battered his shield out of position and the third one scored a direct hit upon the GM's torso.
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
02:48 Hours
"Firing now, sir!" Lieutenant Turner announced without looking at Makarov.
The Commander was caught by surprise; he had been concentrating upon the running duel between Mullet and the cannon-toting Zeon mobile suit as they moved ever closer to his ship. Glancing at the targeting screen, Makarov was grateful to learn that Turner was shooting at the enemy Musai. He grinned, a disturbing expression on his ugly face. Swiftsure's forward flank turrets had originally been built for a Magellan-class battleship, and therefore both outranged the weapons upon the Musai and packed a more powerful punch.
"A hit, sir," the petty officer at the observation station announced. "Two beams have holed the target's bow."
"Carry on," Makarov said, returning his view to the two closest mobile suits. "How close is that Gelgoog?" he asked, remembering the type's proper name, something he knew Mullet never bothered with.
"Nearly within its estimated firing range, Skipper," the operator whose job was to watch for enemy mobile suits replied. "Intel claims it won't be able to shoot for another minute or two."
"How long until we can shoot at it?"
There was a short pause. "Hundred eighty-seven seconds, sir."
Makarov only nodded in reply.
A few moments later, Mullet opened fire with his beam rifle, the pink-white beam easily visible against the stars.
"Firing main battery," Turner said again.
Makarov's eyes flickered to the targeting display again, but no hits were scored upon the Musai this salvo.
"Gelgoog is within estimated firing range. GM Interceptor still in pursuit," the operator noted, using the informal name for Mullet's Sniper Custom.
A yellow-white line, its origin invisible, intersected with Swiftsure's forward hull; one of the twin main gun turrets disappeared, obscured by a small fireball. Atmospheric gases rushed out from the hole in the cruiser's bow, slightly turning the ship until automatic counterbalance thrusters kicked into action.
"Get me a damage report," Makarov calmly ordered, not even bothering to take his eyes from his magnified display of the two advanced mobile suits coming closer to Swiftsure.
One of Mullet's beams struck the backpack on the Gelgoog, which immediately ejected the damaged apparatus, thus saving the pilot's life as the backpack exploded, but, Makarov knew, it also deprived the mobile suit of its main anti-ship weaponry, and a good deal of its thrust.
Makarov breathed a sigh of relief as reports came in from his damage control teams. The main mobile suit threat to his crew had been averted.
"Continue firing upon the Musai with the remaining twin turret, Lieutenant," Makarov said distantly, still watching the mobile suits. The Gelgoog had just turned 180 degrees and was now moving directly back towards Mullet's GM.
As he watched, the Interceptor's thrusters cut off, and Mullet's machine coasted towards the Zeon mobile suit. The Commander punched a question into his console, and the answer was displayed on a small screen built into his chair. They're on a collision course. This'll be decided with sabres. Mullet's making it easy for the Gelgoog, he's given his machine the same up-down orientation as the Zeon.
Practically on cue, a blue-white line extended itself from one of the Gelgoog's hands. The GM pointed its feet at the Gelgoog and fired its thrusters. Shortly before the two war machines collided a red-white line extended from Mullet's right hand, but it was held low and behind the GM while the Gelgoog had lifted its beam naginata above its head and slashed down, attempting to open the GM from shoulder to opposite hip.
The Interceptor raised the inverted shield upon its left arm in an instinctive, if foolish, block which should not have hindered the Gelgoog's beam weapon in the slightest. As the naginata sliced towards the GM, a red glow bathed the left shoulder and head of Mullet's mobile suit, and the descending Zeon weapon stopped just after encountering the shield.
Makarov smiled again, anticipating the end of the Zeon mobile suit as the beam sabre in Mullet's right hand thrust up, the point piercing the Gelgoog's skin directly upon the circular cockpit hatch.
Mullet's GM brought the right hand down, the blade having been extinguished before the hilt was removed from the Gelgoog, and kicked the derelict machine away.
"H-how did he do that?" one of the sensor techs asked, astonished.
"There's a beam sabre rack built into the left forearm," Makarov stated, "with the blade-forming aperture pointed away from the hand. Chief Mullet disabled the circuits preventing it from being activated while in the storage rack shortly after he received the machine, having just such a situation as this in mind. It's a useful gimmick, if a bit rough on shields."
-------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
02:49 Hours
Doherty cut off her thrusters to conserve fuel after gaining enough velocity to slowly close the distance between her and the remaining Zakus. She was more cautious about engaging them closely; the readouts on her GM having belatedly informed her that she had not, in fact, escaped her first brush unscathed. Three 90mm rounds had amputated one of her GM's feet; a fact the computer realized only when the thrusters mounted there failed to ignite.
She had seen the beam cannon shot which damaged Swiftsure but was too distant from Mullet's mobile suit to see the destruction of the Gelgoog; it didn't matter, she was too far away to help. Instead, she concentrated on locating the Gattle fighter that had killed Hampton; she had lost track of it when the damage lights flickered within her cockpit, informing her of her missing limb.
Eventually she discovered its location; it was heading directly for Swiftsure.
"Well," she told her cockpit, "the ship ought to be able to handle a single stray fighter; but I'd really like to kill that bastard myself!"
--------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
02:51 Hours
"Entering range of remaining main battery weapons now, Commander," Turner reported.
"Very well, Lieutenant. Helm, execute ninety-degree yaw to starboard. Turner, fire main battery at your discretion."
When Swiftsure completed the turn to show its broad side to the enemy cruiser in order to bring more of its main weapons to bear Lieutenant Turner fired, sending five new mega particle beams in search of the damaged Musai. Four found the target and turned it into a collection of derelict scrap, losing oxygen and without power.
"Nicely done, Kelly," Makarov said before burying himself in damage reports.
-------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
02:53 Hours
"Yes!" Doherty yelled when she saw the Zeon Musai get hit. "Good job, Lieutenant Turner!"
She was almost too busy celebrating to notice the two Zakus begin decelerating towards her.
"Oh sh**!"
In the few moments she had before the two mobile suits entered effective firing range Doherty checked her weapons systems. The Beam Spray Gun still had most of its energy charge, and the 90mm machinegun in her left hand had a full magazine. After that was finished, Doherty maneuvered her mobile suit to hide behind its shield again.
She winced as the Zakus' 90mm shells impacted her mobile suit's shield, and wondered how she would survive this encounter, since the enemy pilots would doubtless be expecting a maneuver similar to the one she had pulled before.
"Doherty, move your ass!" Mullet's voice roared over her communication systems.
Startled, the Lieutenant rolled and fired her thrusters, abruptly taking her out of the Zakus' lines of fire. As she was attempting to reorient herself upon the enemy mobile suits one of them was touched by a pink line and erupted into an enormous fireball.
Seizing the moment, Doherty pulled the targeting sight from behind her seat, aimed, and fired both hand weapons as well as her head vulcans at the remaining Zeon machine. It quickly succumbed to the blizzard of projectiles and stopped moving, but it wasn't until she exhausted the last of her ammunition that Doherty stopped firing.
"Not bad, Lieutenant," Mullet radioed, a hint of approval in his voice. "But you might want to think about moving more and hiding behind your shield less. The best way to keep from getting killed out here is to not get hit; hiding behind a shield only protects you from one direction; there are others."
Doherty barely heard him, and nothing he said registered in her mind. She was looking at the motionless Zaku, but not seeing it. "Ha-Hampton's dead," she forced herself to say. Then she broke down.
Mullet's mobile suit matched velocities with her GM, closed, and wrapped its arms around Doherty's mobile suit. "C'mon, Lieutenant, time for us to go back to the ship."
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
03:27 Hours
Makarov looked up when Chief Mullet floated into the bridge. "Where's Doherty?"
"Cavour had someone put her to bed, she was at the end of her endurance. This wasn't quite the same as the other skirmishes she fought."
The Commander nodded in understanding. "Get some rest, yourself, Chief. Cavour's preliminary estimate says he'll need at least four hours to effect repairs. I've sent in contact reports and a request for reinforcements to Squadron and Fleet, so as long as none of our dear flags gets a stick up their ass we'll have some help soon."
Mullet raised an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"
A snort provided the answer.
"S'what I thought. We ain't had an admiral with an ounce of brains since Tianem got toasted, and there are limits to what Keram is allowed to do."
"Get out of here and get some rest, Chief," Makarov said, trying to stifle a yawn. "There isn't much else for you to do at the moment."
"Sure thing, Skipper," Mullet replied before coiling to launch himself towards the exit.
"Chief?"
Mullet paused, looking up. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
Turner smiled at him. "Thanks for taking care of that ship-killer; I'd have never gotten a clean lock on it."
He smiled back. "Any time, ma'am. I like the ship to stay in one piece as much as you do."
---------------------------
10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
08:19 Hours
When Doherty woke up it took her a few moments to figure out where she was; it felt like fog had engulfed her mind, and a severe headache did not help. Wearily she unfastened the straps keeping her in her bed and began looking for something to wear. Eventually she floated crazily out of the pilot's closet in a pilot suit that she hadn't been able to seal properly, with the gloves and helmet trailing behind her.
It took her some time, and a lot of unplanned bumps with bulkheads, to arrive at the hangar. She attempted to move to her mobile suit, but misjudged the jump and ended up floating aimlessly across the room. One of the mechanics caught her before she smacked into anything.
"Th-thank you," she mumbled to the crewman.
"sh**, ma'am, what are you doing here?" The young mechanic flagged down Sergeant-Major Cavour and handed the lieutenant over to him.
"C'mon, Lieutenant, this isn't the place for you," the head mechanic said softly as he pulled Doherty out of the hangar. "You weren't supposed to be up for another couple hours."
"St-status?" she mumbled.
"Don't you worry about that, ma'am, everything's just fine. The Chief is out patrolling again and I'll have your machine fixed up within the next couple hours."
"Hampton?"
Cavour didn't answer at first, causing Doherty to ask again.
"He's dead, ma'am; there's nothing you can do for him now."
The mechanic pulled the dazed mobile suit pilot into the wardroom, where he found Lieutenant Turner and one of her assistant gunners going over data from the engagement.
"'S'cuse me, 'Tenant Turner," Cavour began, "but could you look after Miss Doherty, here?"
Kelly Turner looked up from her work. "Why, certainly, Sergeant Major."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said as he strapped Doherty into one of the seats. "I found her wandering around the hangar, but she's not even supposed to be awake yet. Still isn't, really. Only partly awake."
"We'll watch her," Turner said graciously, “you're doubtless needed back in the hangar. Thank you for taking care of her."
"Indeed, ma'am; it was no trouble; he'd kick my ass if she got hurt in the hangar."
Doherty stayed where Cavour left her; she was too weak from fatigue to even try to free herself for now.
Turner went to her side carrying a drink, sticking the straw end into the other Lieutenant's mouth.
"Drink up, Lieutenant; it's coffee, it'll help you wake up," she gently said, looking the younger officer over. "You're a mess," Turner sighed, "I hope you know that. Here, I'll at least make you look somewhat presentable," she said, letting the drink float around Doherty's head as she straightened the pilot's outfit. When everything was sealed properly and in the correct place Turner maneuvered herself into a chair beside Doherty's.
"Ma'am?" the other officer in the wardroom asked.
"Hmm? Oh, go get some rest, Lee, we can go over the rest of that stuff later," Turner said, her composure momentarily cracking, revealing her own enervation.
"As ordered, ma'am," the man said before he left.
Eventually the caffeine from the coffee got into Doherty's system and her mind began to clear. She spent a few minutes figuring out where she was this time, and wondering what day it was. Slowly memories of the previous day returned to her. She was on Swiftsure, they'd had a battle, and one of her subordinates was gone.
Doherty looked around, finally noticing a dozing Turner in the next seat. The pilot freed herself from her chair's restraints and moved to the food dispensers along one of the walls.
"Oh, I see you're awake now," Turner said groggily from behind her.
"I think so," Doherty replied tiredly, "but I wish I wasn't. I've one hell of a headache."
"Stop by the dispensary; I'm sure the corpsman can give you something for that."
"I hope so," Doherty replied. "Do you know our current status?"
Turner yawned. "Last I heard the damage was under control, we'd asked for reinforcements, and both suits were under repair. But that's several hours old."
Doherty nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."
"My name's Kelly, you know," Turner said, stifling another yawn.
Doherty blinked. "Ah, yes, ma'am, I did know that."
Turner smiled through her weariness. "Oh? You don't use it. You should."
"I'll, ah, take that under advisement, ma'am," the pilot replied, somewhat flustered.
"You did well out there, Lieutenant."
"I lost one of my pilots, ma'am," Doherty said quietly.
"And I lost one of my turrets and several of my gunners," Turner replied seriously. "People die in a fight. It's not easy to deal with, and no one likes it. But that's what the job is all about. We risk our lives out here where the slightest mistake can kill us all so that all the silly fools back home can live their lives however they want. Sometimes we lose people, mobile suit pilots more often than anyone else. We went through six pilots during the last two weeks of the war."
"How did the team leader deal with that?"
The older officer looked away. "The first one went crazy, lost his cool in a fight and got killed." Turner looked back. "But the second one we had could accept the casualties, because the people died for a purpose. Just like Ensign Hampton and my gunners."
Doherty didn't say anything for a while. As she moved toward the exit she said, "Thank you, Kelly."
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10 November UC 0083
Konpeitoh, L5
A-3 Sector, Restricted Zone
EFS Swiftsure
10:10 Hours
Makarov floated into the hangar, located Doherty near her newly repaired GM and went up to her.
"How are you, Lieutenant?" he asked.
Doherty turned around and saluted. "Fine, sir. I'm ready to begin my patrol."
In the few moments before he replied Makarov looked her over. "Excellent; Chief Mullet has been out for more than two hours; it's past time for him to refuel."
"I'll be relieving him shortly, sir."
"Are you certain you're up to this, Lieutenant? You haven't had much rest. Mullet can take your mobile suit out while his is being refueled."
"I've had more sleep than the chief has, sir," Doherty pointed out, somewhat heatedly. "I can handle a simple little patrol, sir, and the chief needs to take some time away from a cockpit."
Makarov shook his head. "Mullet is used to this, Doherty; you're not."
"I can do this, Commander," Doherty said stiffly. "I have to do this."
Swiftsure's commanding officer scowled. "Then get going, Lieutenant," he said. Then he launched himself across the hangar to the exit that would take him towards the bridge.
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- Black Knight
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