Gundam Fire Still

20km away.

Beneath the two high speed slices of the Aerial Overlord's wings, what they were searching for soon appeared, the huge grey and yellow hull, even with its desert paint job, still seemed obvious enough from the perspective from the air. Mu tried to contact the Archangel, but the comm channel was busy with only neutron interference.

"Hell, dive with me, and be sure to avoid anti-air fire, beam cannons free fire." Mu said to his wingman, then two blue-white silhouettes skidded sideways down from mid-air, bringing the ship, which had begun to spew lines of fire into the air, into the view of the scope.

The onboard computer quickly found a match from the latest database, Resepus, Zaft's large land battleship, of which there was currently only one confirmed, that is, rightfully so, the seat ship of the Desert Tiger. A dense line of anti-air fire was coming in, and Mu Jean's rotatable beam cannon was aimed directly in front of the ship just above the MS outlet, pulling the trigger as he wrestled the joystick and let the hull pass through the rain of bullets. Several bright green particle beams opened several melted holes in the deck of the ship, then the starboard main gun turret was hit by his wingman as well, presumably the penetrating particle beams induced a detonation of the ammunition in it, and the entire turret, which had been punched out several small holes, exploded violently from its roots and the barrel was flung into the air. The wingman's jubilant "I got him!" was heard over the comm channel. The shout, but in the very next instant it became, "Hell, I'm hit.

"Retreat now, can you still fly?"

"Fuel level is dropping, probably leaking, engine thrust is down, but it's maintaining flight." The wingman's voice was strained and raspy.

"Yes, I can see you smoking, the enemy ships are starting to retreat, and we're retreating." It wasn't clear if it was because of the damage to the main guns that the other side was retreating, but Mu was certain of one thing, whether the commander known as the Desert Tiger was sitting in it or not, at least the quality of the anti-aircraft gunners under his command was quite good.

A few seconds ago, 20km away, near the battlefield

"Retreat!"

Balteferrut said so, and his adjutant, Dakusta, nodded silently, showing a sight similar to the one he often saw in his nightmares - and with that It often came in sleep, reenacting the same nightmare as when his own squad had been ambushed a few weeks ago: flames leaping from the twisted metal transformed by his own familiar body; it was not a dream, but an actual reality. He shivered, half from the chill of the desert wind through the camouflage nets and military uniforms, and half from the remembered fear.

"-The purpose of this battle has been achieved. Assemble the remaining troops."

Baltfelut said, walking towards the command vehicle, also covered in camouflage netting, knowing that it wasn't safe here, and if the guerrillas familiar with the local terrain took a glance with their binoculars towards it, this hidden observation point would surely be exposed. The command vehicle headed quietly in the direction of his ship's retreat, "Either way, it looks like an opponent I haven't met in a long time and worth fighting. Your Highness the Archangel - and...", with a whistling sound that cut through the air, the white silhouette swept across the sky, Antrius . Baltefelut, Zaft's desert tiger, cast his final glance at his adversary a few dunes later in the direction the plane was flying.

================= The following are the author's dividers=========================

I'm not sure how much I'd like to spend on this, but I'm sure I'd like to spend on this.

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5. meeting (above)

As the last of the smoking helicopters fell headfirst into the top of the dunes in a rain of joyous 45mm chain gun and 75mm rapid fire shells, the intense coalition air-to-air fire began to thin out until it stopped.

"Enemy shadow gone!" The relieved-like report from the Radar Officer seemed to loosen the taut atmosphere throughout the bridge for a moment, and the sounds of sighing and drinking water began to be heard around the ship. On the main screen of the battleship, the desert that had once been a battlefield ahead was not quieted, the occasional crackle of residual ammunition exploding from several piles of burning wreckage, followed by the sound of blunt heavy footsteps and the ear-splitting crunch that followed, and Ginn, who had shrugged off a large chunk of debris behind him, was walking towards the aft hatch of the battleship, emitting a tooth-rattling sound as he did so.

"M01, please report the situation."

"This is M01, hull left shoulder center breach, left thruster major breach, other parts normal, this noise? I'm not sure what's going on." Carl was secretly glad that the Ginn was a lot sturdier than he'd expected, and the lack of an escape pod or ejector seat was a major failing of the Zaft designers'

But fortunately, its airbags still work, so you didn't break your neck or meet any more tragic end.

"The maintenance crew is on standby."

"Very well, the jet fuel reading in the cockpit is zero, but please still be prepared to put out the fire."

"That guy is really unlucky." Galen. Marcel whispered to his pilot, it had to be considered bad luck that the only MS on his side had come up empty-handed in a pretty good victory - and had taken a loss.

"To take a hit like that and still get away with it, I'd rather think he's lucky." Apparently his pilot didn't get his point.

"No, no, man, he helped us draw a lot of fire, plus managed to hold the other movement in check, and if that Zaft reckless guy hadn't hit him head on, that hit count would have been his, not a cheap shot for the guerrillas carrying the RPGs." Galen explained as he turned the muzzle of his machine gun towards the ridge where the pickups had appeared ----. ---the muzzle of the main gun not facing them was good enough, while the muzzle of the machine gun showed that it wasn't an unsuspecting fool. "Wait, this is?" On one side of the screen, there was an additional dot marked as a friendly force, in addition to the lone ship on the map on the original data link and a few dots around it.

The same problem appeared on the bridge of the Archangel, and the CIC immediately noticed the unidentified friendly force, "A joint Eurasian force? How did it come to be here?" Ensign Bucky Lulu looked confused.

"Initiate contact and have them identify themselves." Hoffman looked at the electronic map with interest, which was also expected of him, though before descending, the Cosmic Army staff had considered the possibility of running into the remnants of the United Eurasians and local guerrillas.

"The other side claims to be United Eurasia No.

The remnants of the 16th Division of the 4th Army Group. Our Intelligence Consolidation staff should be able to identify them, but... Wait...." The communications officer turned an incredulous look on his face, "They claim they intercepted a high-powered encrypted communications message from Zaft a few minutes ago, with the sending point just a few kilometers away."

"There's an observation post of theirs nearby? No wonder it can conduct missile strikes and artillery fire from beyond guidance distance." Marius was in awe, then nodded under his breath, "Lookout, anything?" The answer is no.

"It's definitely withdrawn now." Colonel Hoffman shook his head, "The intercepted message must have been a failure of action or retreat or something like that, seeing that the battlefield was in bad shape and retreating immediately after the report, there should have been an officer of some rank sitting there," Hoffman rhythmically tapped the armrest by his hand, this was typical of the radical and aggressive Zaft commander's style. "Get those two guys from the Intelligence Fusion to liaise with friendly forces, and remember to ask them about the guerrillas." On the side screen, the side view of the wheeled reconnaissance vehicle with its desert camouflage was already visible at the top of the dunes, and near the horizon, some sort of black dot appeared in the sky again.

"Major Frada calling, two Air Tyrants are about to return to the ship, one of them is hit and needs repairs."

"Get the maintenance squad ready, what is the outcome of the claim?"

"Enemy ship confirmed to be Resepps, Desert Tiger's mount, confirmed damage to one main gun, the kid took a few anti-aircraft shots fighting his hull, the other side has abandoned the attack and retreated." Behind Mu's spilled voice, there was the background sound of the wingman pilot sighing alas. As the white silhouette circled low, trailing a cloud of black smoke, the Air Tyrant landed steadily on the Archangel's outstretched landing deck.

A short time later, there was still time until sunrise

It was the last stretch of time in the desert suitable for human movement before the desert sun rose. While those in the middle of the massive steel hull didn't have much to worry about in terms of heat and intense sunlight, the laws of nature needed to be followed for those in the open-topped jeeps. So what was necessary had to be done before then, Seb put down his radio, patted the sand from his robes and stood proudly in front of the steel gates, the smell of fuel and oil mingling as the gates opened.

Although sunrise was still about an hour away, it was still a desert night, the cold wind whipped in through the slowly opening gates without fear, Roy realized for the first time that he should probably have worn more, then the sight was focused on the silhouettes that were gradually appearing in front of him, the counterparts from the Eurasian Union left soon after providing some information, it seemed they had others to contact, but at least Roy would have a chance to confirm that the observations of his counterparts from the Eurasian Union about these guerrillas were accurate.

"Thank you all very much for your assistance in the battle," Roy kept his gaze level while observing the groups of people staring ahead of him with alert eyes, ranging in age from middle-aged to teenagers, and even the presence of women, "We are affiliated with the 8th Fleet of the United Earth Cosmic Force, 8th 2 Special Service Detachment, this is Roy. Gale, Captain, and I'm not at liberty to disclose anything else."

"Seb. Asuman, Resistance, Dawn Desert," accompanied by a terse response, greeted by the apparent leader of them, over half a hundred years old and of sturdy build, his half-new robes showing clear signs of wear at the shoulders, and barely making out the movement of his lips under a thick beard, "Not to assist you, we are simply Just conducting our battles." Such honesty didn't seem to be uncommon for anyone here, Roy thought to himself.

"Cut, just sending a little captain to deal with us?" A young male voice rang out from a group of three or five guerrillas, not loud, but just loud enough to be heard. The male, who called himself Seb, measured over, reached out a hand to make a gesture of stopping, spat out a name not loudly, and then a small figure disappeared into the back of the truck.

Whether this was the young man's personal behavior or a reckless attempt to test the waters, it was always clear that this guerrilla group had the common problem of most guerrilla groups in the world, lacking a sense of discipline and relying only on the leader's authority to maintain order.

"First of all, I think we should confirm one thing: your organization is not hostile to us, right?" Roy decided to open his mouth with the least important question.

"For now, we are up against the desert tigers that have encroached on our lands." Admittedly, it was. Quite a sophisticated answer.

"So you've been playing this game with the 'Desert Tigers'?" A new voice suddenly inserted itself into the conversation, and the male who had been working on something on the fighter in the rear background suddenly turned his face to ask a question.

Seb frowned, confused and turned his attention to the questioner "...I think I've seen you somewhere before?"

"My name is Mu. La. Frada - don't know many friends around here, oh." The pilot with his flight helmet clamped between his legs grinned widely as he stepped forward, and Roy frowned unseen, hoping that the ace pilot, who was always tight-lipped, wouldn't say anything he shouldn't.

"Yo, 'Eagle of Andromion', I didn't expect to see you on this occasion." Seb smiled loftily, and it could be seen that his smile was indeed genuine, as if he was meeting a good RPG shooter or excellent gunsmith of his team.

"Looks like you guys have quite a bit of information on your hands. So, have you heard about us?" The ace pilot asked a surprisingly good question.

"The Earth Army's new special purpose ship, the 'Archangel', right? Chased by the Kruse team, had a big fight in low orbit, and that-" Seb nudged deeper into the hangar, where a blue-and-white Ginn was sitting in a wretched position on the deck undergoing maintenance and inspection, "supposedly in the role of testing MS' Mission, but I didn't expect it to be here."

"Hmm, isn't the new machine X105 here? But that's all." Another clear voice inserted itself into the conversation, in a voice that seemed to be trying to overpower the others.

Roy's mind shuddered so violently that when he heard the first syllable he only thought it was another undisciplined partisan recruit interrupting. But then he heard what the man had said, and it was almost worse than hearing a bomb explode in his ear, the low orbital battle or the collapse of that ORB satellite might have made for well-publicized news, but it could never have been part of the news, and he felt the common sense he'd developed over many years of working as an intelligence officer was screaming desperately in his brain, everything he'd done on his previous missions It seemed to have all been reduced to a pile of fragments; why a top-secret matter for the Combined Forces, a top-secret matter for which he was required to remember the names and faces of everyone authorized to know about it, and a large part of whom were dead, even if Zaft or some other country got hold of it-. ---although this has already happened---. And enough information to be treated as top secret and not casually passed on; it is surprising that right here in the middle of the almost deserted Sahara desert, by a young man who is obviously a novice in a group of guerrillas using recoilless guns and shoulder-fired missiles, casually, as if he had said out loud that he had eaten cheese last night, even down to the exact number, that The number of the only surviving airframe.

As he tried to try to calm his boiling brain, he turned his gaze in the direction of the speaker, a young blonde girl in a bulletproof vest, masculine in posture and manner of speaking, but undoubtedly could be judged as female yes, definitely not a skilled warrior by the way she stood, and it was obvious that she was not a native, the wind and sand from the desert that never ceased to blow had not yet had a chance to blow in her What marks were left on her face, he then heard, and though she spoke the local language, her rather obvious accent in that blast of words gave away where she was coming from.

That's undoubtedly an ORB accent.

======== Here is the author's dividing line ================================

I heard that K-team has been singing lately, but now that PLANT has no more singers, how about having K-team make a guest appearance as a promotional singer for PLANT?

Hey, hey, stop with that serious brain hole.

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6. Meetings (below)

"Oh, it's the Americans, and the Russians," the old man said slowly, as the dim candlelight danced slowly before him, "I, it's been a long time since I've seen such a sight," and he narrowed his eyes, as if remembering something. "It was about 50, no, 51 years ago, dealing with the Americans and the Russians, together."