Gundam Fire Still

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The tremendous thrust of the impulse engines of the wave-riding body craft felt more like a rocket launch than a jet engine to the human body than a takeoff from an airplane. The powerful G-force pressed Mu firmly into the seat, the anti-G mechanism of the pilot's suit inflating the air pockets around his legs, compressing the blood to stay in his head rather than concentrating in his legs under inertia, but his vision was still blackening from lack of blood, and the pressure and severe blackvision was more than he had ever been able to do in any other aircraft he had ever flown.

He could see the aircraft on the panoramic screen as it passed through the clouds in a split second, and couldn't even see the movement of those clouds being pushed away, only the air around him glowing slightly red from the frictional high heat, while at the same time the altitude and speed of the aircraft was projected on his helmet. It would take a little longer to climb to 60,000 meters, even for a vehicle that was traveling at more than 10 times the speed of sound.

It could technically fly faster, but there wasn't that kind of need, as the size of the Earth was finite. A red beating countdown appeared in the corner of the screen, translucent words and symbols floating above the vast pale blue color projected by the panoramic screen that couldn't tell if it was clouds or earth, followed by a map and the curves that stretched across it, while above the view, the screen overhead showed the deep blue that gradually changed towards the black that belonged to the universe.

Just as planned, as the countdown came to an end, he pressed the pedal once more, pulling on the joystick at the same time. The computer modulated his lever pull and acceleration into a series of discontinuous processes, as too much acceleration or climbing G-force was enough to cause the man under heavy protection to faint. The impulse engines could only intermittently spew ion tail flames to propel the body upward in a leap, the thin air in the upper atmosphere creating a red halo of friction that spread across the panoramic screen, and the data on his helmet was telling him that the surface temperature of his body was rising, but it was still within tolerable limits.

With an altitude of 60,000 meters, the course reached a point where a new countdown popped up, along with the green symbol for data reception, and low orbiting navigational satellites began transmitting a series of data, most importantly time as well as coordinates, to the friendly unit that had so rarely come within its data transmission range. Because of the relativistic effects of high-speed flight, the plane's chronographs were already in tiny, but impossible to ignore, error with the ground. The blackness belonging to the universe could already be seen above his head, he had only a few seconds to take it all in, the green dot on the map representing the native aircraft flashed, the signal for the completion of the data update had been communicated, he reduced the interceptor brake on the engines and then slowly but firmly pushed down on the joystick to turn the fuselage into a descent. The fuselage began a blunt, heavy downward pressure on the nose, and the air pockets in the helmet began to compress the entire head, but his eyes still began to fill with blood. Whether because of the congestion or because of the hot flames of friction, the clouds that the aircraft plunged headlong downward also blazed in his eyes.

A flight path no one on the surface could see started off from the coast of the Arctic Ocean, sliced south across the entire North American continent, then curved an arc over the tropical Caribbean Sea, all the way to the end of its northward course straight into the North Atlantic.

Beneath 10,000 meters of altitude

Paradise Island base, command center.

Rhodes. Gypril took a small sip from his cup, then lifted his head and squinted up at the stupid-looking Union officer who was opening and closing his lips, and the small group of ships on the screen that the radar man had instructed him to.

He didn't like being pushed out to deal with idiots from the Atlantic Federation by old things hiding in the basement, something that should have been left to the young Ezral, but now it was just his father, the old Ezral waiting in the shelter below, and the blond kid who was supposed to be the spokesman, the leader of the Blue Universe organization, hiding somewhere.

But on the other hand, this feeling that he was in control of everything wasn't so bad, and a smile graced his purple lipsticked lips.

"Don't worry," he said to the seemingly anxious, waiting soldier by the comm system, then slowly stood up and went to the microphone.

"They're talking about reserving the option to fire if they don't return the base, it's laughable, do those guys in Washington or somewhere else really understand who they're dealing with?" Not in response to the previous communication, but opened to the internal broadcast to the base he said so.

"Let them know what we're all about right here and now!"

The base had the most advanced weapons of the Atlantic Federation at the moment, there was no doubt about that fact, most of the Federation's newfangled technology had been developed from here, not to mention the new generation of weapons that had yet to be listed and mass produced, so he was confident enough that the base would be adequate against anything the combined forces out there might use.

"If you're done preparing, let's just get started."

The Coalition fleet monitoring from afar soon picked up on the movement, and a large number of radar scans and laser measurements from the forward base were detected on the electronic countermeasures system. Then the observation post and the radar crew sent out a simultaneous "Missiles approaching!" The shout.

"They... They actually did it first?" The commander of the fleet's flagship, the amphibious assault ship Wasp, looked stunned, which was not one of the reactions he had expected by any means. Even though they had missiles with superior range, just hitting them straight out like that was really not comprehensible to a professional soldier.

"Hurry up and intercept it!"

"No offense, they just have to move." Behind the fleet commander, a certain figure from the CIA said without a care in the world, "How's the distance keeping the fleet at bay?"

"No problem, nothing close to the red line you've drawn."

"Good." The secret service officer who wasn't a soldier looked at his watch, "It's now."

At 30,000 meters, the red countdown on the panoramic screen floating above the cloud image also jumped to zero in an instant.

Mu pulled the trigger and cast something under the belly of the black triangle slicing through the altitude, he could feel the weight of the airframe slump, then he pulled the joystick and turned the airframe in the direction the next waypoint was pointing.

His mission was accomplished; the next step was nothing more than a return voyage.

Thirty thousand meters below him, Gipril remained at ease; if it had been on another world line, he would have been sitting comfortably here years later, preempting the order to fire on the approaching PLAnt-led anti-LoGos fleet, but on this one, the event was not only ahead of schedule, but he was facing an Earth Army with an IQ on the line.

He watched the lines of fire and mid-air explosions of his opponent's intercept on the sea ahead of him, and then the poignant air-raid siren sounded through the base.

"Target sighted! Batch one, number one, altitude......." The Radar Soldier looked incredulously at the height and speed the target was exhibiting.

"What are you still floundering for? Knock it down!" Gypril reacted like a textbook, the anti-aircraft missile's firing button pressed by the soldier on standby. The curved canopy, hidden in the snowy plain, opened and extended upward in two arcing lines of jet smoke.

"It's no use, it won't hit." The hindsighted air defense commander whispered to himself, but it was also clear to him that he couldn't stop the consortium's representative, he could read the altitude and speed displayed on the screen, there was still a chance of hitting it if it was intercepted, and now that the target had begun to disengage, speeds above Mach 10 weren't something the pursuing missiles could catch up with before they ran out of fuel.

As sudden as lightning the aircraft had likewise gone as negligently as the lightning, but it seemed that something was left on the radar screen.

EMP was not a new concept or a new technological weapon, in fact several of Earth's major nations had taken an interest in it during the last war, and indeed the last war, it had exploded on the Indo-Pakistani border in West Asia and near the Panama Canal in South America, but it wasn't until the battle of Alaska a few weeks ago that the fledgling Earth United had realized just how big and effective EMP could be made to be. One of the things to be thankful for is that this time the Zaft didn't come up with anything they didn't recognize at all.

So there was little reason why this couldn't be exploited, and a captured EMP weapon was quickly dismantled and analyzed in the locale where it had been captured. With the help of wartime overtime work, and grants from Washington, a scaled-down version of the replica was quickly made in Anchorage, and while those grants were originally intended for base rebuilding and facility repair, it didn't matter to the Federation, or to some program that was secretly being pushed forward. What mattered was what was happening in Alaska before its intended first target noticed it.

A bulky-looking bomb was descending over Paradise Island; it was big enough so that radar below could see it, but it wasn't big enough so that the people staring down at the radar screen below needed a little time to discern what it was. There might have been a technician or two who could have helped them analyze what it was, but the reserved seats in the command room were now filled with representatives from the Consortium, and it was clear that they couldn't be of much help in the matter.

In a way, an EMP weapon could be compared to a nuclear weapon, after all, powerful electromagnetic radiation was one of the capabilities of a nuclear weapon, and it was equally indiscriminate, mass destruction. The obvious advantage of an EMP is that it only kills equipment, not people - if you don't count the casualties caused by uncontrolled aircraft and vehicles. But killing equipment is a staggering loss in and of itself, and there's no such thing as a weapon that doesn't have electronics in it, so no one wants an EMP to go off on their head.

However, those who made the plan knew that as a research and development base, Paradise Island's best-protected data center was underground, with excellent electromagnetic shielding; meanwhile, its command system was housed in a traditional above-ground command post, and lacked a complete underground command center. According to the Military Intelligence investigation, a large number of new underground facilities built in the name of experimental sites on Paradise Island are in fact shelters. And what was obvious was that those shelters were now waiting for their masters, where the rich and powerful LoGos were gathering.

The bomb's built-in altimeter reached its set height, and electrical signals began to be transmitted to the detonator a few centimeters away, now just outside the envelope of the anti-aircraft missile, and not yet in the best range of the ground's flak. The built-in mini-bomb was detonated and a low muffled thunder sounded over the base, releasing electromagnetic waves into the air in a flash as high frequency vibrations were performed in the coils.

The miniaturized emP bombs were far from the massive reach of those used by Zaft, but Paradise Island itself was nothing more than a small island that couldn't be found on a world map. The base, which had gone into combat mode in order to fire missiles at the fleet and intercept looming planes, was unprepared for the unseen threat; the radar that powered up the planes, the missile and artillery positions that opened the overheads that might have served as some shielding, the ms that exited the hangar all lost their on-screen signals at the same instant; the large screen in the base command center went black for a moment, and then someone heard faint thunder from above.

The next time the distant Union fleet realised that something had happened, the radar scans from the front disappeared at the same time.

The commissioner from Washington nodded in satisfaction.

"Send a message to Washington, Special Operations 'Enemy Within' previous operation confirmed complete and ready to proceed to the next."

A few minutes later, the comms received a signal from the capital.

"Orders from Federal Naval Command, code name 'Elderberry', please confirm orders."

The fleet commander opened the classified terminal, confirmed the significance of the code name, and nodded.

"Accelerate the entire fleet, get the Marines on the helicopters, landing operations ready."

Tidal Wave - PLANT Chapter

PLAnt Capital, April Municipality

A form that had been stamped with many stamps and accumulated several signatures was spreading diagonally across the tabletop, beneath it was a thick document, and beneath the document were more forms and documents, which were spread out in an untidy fashion on the solid wood tabletop. But the owner of the tabletop wasn't paying attention to any of them for the moment, and in directing his attention to the only corner of the table that wasn't encroached upon by the pile of papers, there was a picture frame, the oldest of its kind, with no electronic equipment attached to it, and inside it was a picture of a smiling girl, her pink hair blowing in the wind.

Siegel. Klein sighed heavily as he forced himself not to think about where his daughter was, then returned his attention to the document. Only when he was no longer Speaker did he feel the actual tedium of the PLAnt civilian politics he had built up, and he set aside the application form that had collected enough signatures and grabbed the document. Seriously, he didn't rule out the possibility that newly appointed Patrick was deliberately trying to keep him from seeing certain things, but the regulations for these applications for access to documents did exist without question, and the officer in charge of accessing them hadn't violated any of them to cause him trouble. The tedium for him who was accustomed to the Speaker's authority was nothing more than an ordinary daily routine for the average member of the council.

But he had to focus on these things for the sake of PLAnt's future, and as one of the founders of this satellite cluster and this Adjuster regime, nothing could stop him from continuing to fight for it, even if he was no longer in the center of power and the future of this satellite cluster was sinking into the fog. His judgement of the future had become even more pessimistic after he had read the reports of the casualties that had resulted from the last battle.

He had before him a report on the source and production of PLAnt's nuclear material, which the satellite constellation could easily enrich and refine, both uranium and plutonium isotopes, but the source of those minerals was Earth. The much-promised asteroid mining does allow PLAnt to access precious and rare metals, but not uranium or plutonium. The moon's surface is rich in helium 3, but the unending tug-of-war has slowed mining, and another reason for the slow mining is that helium 3, which could be used as a clean nuclear energy source, lacks value as a weapon for the time being.

The report at hand was not clearly written, but the fact that could be seen in the various charts was that all the nuclear isotope resources that had been imported from Earth through various channels had been allocated to some classified scientific research project led by Zaft. He had jotted down the number of that project on his terminal, a number that in itself meant nothing, much less that Zaft's people would tell him what it meant, but it was a clue nonetheless.

He knew Patrick had some plans he didn't want him to know about, and worse he also knew Patrick knew he'd still be pursuing them, so he might release him something that would satisfy himself with his own painstaking discoveries, preferably while also judging the rightness of Patrick's choices that way. For example, he'd heard about the progress of the neutron jamming eliminator, which also wasn't information he was supposed to know, but some definitive source had told him that, but he wasn't naive enough to believe that was all that was behind the nuclear program.

Fortunately, the so-called Kleinites still had plenty of manpower, though he himself did not wish to name this group of united compatriots after himself. He also remembered a friend who happened to work in the archives in this satellite city, which, according to the specifications he'd established, would have a backup file stored on a more stable storage medium in addition to the hard drive array that was readily accessible - assuming there was access to the files and reports. For security reasons, he wouldn't do this himself, and he had a friend who could search for that number from the CD-ROM record without attracting attention. No doubt he wouldn't be able to search the program itself, but he could retrieve what supplies had flowed into that number or an adjacent number in the open flow of supplies. He would then have one or two other friends who could deduce what Zaft could have done with those occupied materiel.

The archivist easily searched the data disc for the code he needed to find, though it wasn't clear to him that there was anything of interest in the code. At the same time, he knew he shouldn't send anything from it directly back to the person who had conveyed the assignment to him, instead a copy of it was mixed in with a pile of documents and forms he needed to send to another friend - electronic data transmissions would be monitored at all times, and paper documents would be more secure.

The recipient of this document quickly called another friend of his, a military friend in Zaft, who agreed to an invitation to tonight's party, and then exchanged duty assignments with his fellow officers.

On the evening of the same day, Siegel's mansion had a visitor, or rather two, Antoinette. Antoine Barthélémy and his companion, dressed in civilian clothes and carrying a bottle of wine, showed up at his door. As if it were an informal dinner, the host seated his friends at the table, the smart windows were switched to completely opaque mode, the door was locked, and the mansion's butler scanned the room with an electronic device in hand.

"Yo, still not sure about your own home?"

"Just a precaution, Patrick should have been watching me for a long time."