Silent Requiem, a fanfic by Nightmaresama, chapter 4

While awaiting the incoming transfer troops, a group of Federation officers had congregated at a bar within shouting distance from the shuttle gates. These were some of the more grisled and cynical MS jockies, for they had seen action on a variety of the most dangerous terrestrial fronts. Vets from Operation Odessa were some of the most boisterous, each loudly trying to out boast the other about his or her own accomplishments in the battle that seemed to have turned the tide of the war.

Fewer in number, and much more reserved were the Veterans of the SEAF (SouthEast Asian Front). These individuals had undergone a much less protracted battle than those from Odessa, but the odds had been much more heavily stacked against them. In addition to having to face down the renownd Zeek ace Norris Packard and his nigh- unbeatable Gouf custom, and the horrifying atmospheric Mobile Armour Apsulas, the Federation soldiers of the SEAF had been under serious scrutiny for harbouring a double agent. Ensign Shiro Amada of the Kojima Battalion's 08th MS Team was actually brought before a tribunal for charges of passing on secrets to the Zeeks through a liason with the test pilot of the Apaulas. To make matters worse, the commander of Federation Operations in the SEAF had issued a direct order to Amada's subordinates for his execution, should his judgement prove compromised.

"Ain't this a bitch?" Karen Joshua, former Chief Petty Officer of the Eighth Team, asked blandly as she took a long sip from her beer. "The Brass doesn't give a shit about that whole issue with the Apsualas or about Shiro. The cover it all up and ship us off to space. It's like it never happened at all."

"Did you really think they were going to release that information?" Terry Sanders, who had also been a member of the Eighth, questioned her. "Do you have any idea what that would do to morale among our soldiers if they knew the enemy could turn out something like that? Besides, after what you did to Shiro, it's a wonder you care about what happened to him at all."

"Fuck you, Sanders. What I did was my choice and what I deemed best for the survival of the team." She finished with a long glup from the bottle.

"It was best for the team that you try and kill our Commander? No, not just a commander, our friend?"

Karen protested, "You don't understand! The General was going to have us all executed if I let him get away with deserting."

"Okay, well, we'll let it rest at that-for now. What's your roster look like?" It as the first time either of them had been assigned to command a whole unit and after undergoing a short but harsh officer's training programme, they were ready to finally meet and train their subordinates. The "kids" were scheduled to arrive on the shuttle in about a half an hour.

"I've got a former commander, one ensign, and a chief petty officer. All of them have been transferred from New England."

"That's basically what I've got, except for one of mine is certified as a sniper."

"Hope the `curse' doesn't get `em," she laughed at her own joke, while he fumed and shot her a harsh look.

She stopped laughing at once. Though she'd never told anyone, ever since leaving the Earth, Karen had occasionally suffered from violent bouts of the disorder. They were especially harsh when she was fighting in the vacuum; the lack of gravity and queasiness only accelerated the problem.

"So," Karen began again, having cooled her temper with another beer, "have you heard anything from Eledore or Michel?"

"They both filed for discharge right after the final battle. From what I've been told, Michel and Kiki are supposed to be searching for the Commander and his Zeon `friend'." He emptied his shot glass. Normally he'd have asked for another, but since he and Karen were going Dutch on the bill, and besides, the Powers that Be frowned on officers to drink anyway.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. They saw what happened; nobody could've survived that explosion-not even the Commander. Plus, we even went down into the crater and saw with our own eyes that nothing was there. What're they wasting their time for?"

"You know, your cynicism is really gonna piss somebody off one of these days." He replied nonchalantly. "Besides which, you're a terrible liar."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She challenged, banging her fist on the table. Karen was hardly anyone's damsel in distress and was prone to such fits of unbridled anger. With a muscular frame to compliment her towering stature of six-five, anyone else, save the implacable Terry Sanders would have flinched in alarm.

As usual, he responded to her raging emotions with an air of stoic indifference. "It means that you need to stop pretending," he said calmly taking a pull at his own beer. "Nobody is going to think you're less of a soldier if you hope the Commander is still alive; least of all me and the rest of the Eighth Team."

Karen had no clever retort for what he had said because all of it was true. Though she'd rather die than admit it, she had wanted them to find Shiro just as badly as everyone else. He was the first person in a long time to make her shed some of the harshness and cynicism of being a soldier and made her feel almost human again.

"Up yours. I can't talk to you at all. I'm gonna go and wait by the gate." She left and, in so doing, forced him to pay the check.

"Soldiers of the MacArthur Battalion of the New England Front! Atten-chunn!" The orderly shouted out as the troops departed the shuttle.

Kiyone and the rest of the squad clicked their heels together and stood stiffly. The smoke from a fresh cigarette drifted up past her face.

"Nani? This is a fresh one, and these things are hard to come by." Supply lines for tobacco were limited enough on Earth; it seemed unlikely that they would be any easier to come by in space.

At that time, they were dismissed to their separate units. Kiyone gave a heartfelt good-bye to Sam and Trowa, and then walked over to meet up with the rest of her new squad.

As she made it over, she saw that Alex and Duo were already standing at attention, waiting for their new commander. She fell in line, and waited with them.

"Fuck `fine,' man! I'm anxious as hell to get out there and do some zero-G training!" Duo said.

Alex shook his head, but Duo, garrulous as always, spoke up. "Yeah, I know a little about her. My cousin was in her unit in the SEAF for the past couple of months. That team's been broken up apparently, and since then she's made officer. My cousin says she's a hard-ass, at first, but after a little bit of time, she's pretty nice."

Karen Joshua, their new commander looked every bit as tough as Duo had said, with her muscular frame and the loose green tank-top she wore instead of a regular uniform shirt. The scowl on her face really didn't make her appear to be `nice' at all. She clicked her polished boots together and made it clear that she wanted them at attention.

They followed her motion, but she only shook her head in dismay. "What a disgrace." Karen said shaking her head. "This is the unit I've been assigned? This mutherfuckin' rag-tag bunch of kids? I wonder how poorly my conduct has been to deserve to be punished like this." She spat on the linoleum floor.

Duo was fighting to keep from laughing. As when he had been chewed out by MacArthur back in New England, he still thought it hilarious when people were yelling at him.

Karen apparently noticed his actions and stormed over to face him. "The hell do you think is so funny, shit-sack? Do I look like a motherfuckin' comedian to you? Are my jokes making you laugh?"

"Well, you know what? I've got a really funny joke for you now. Have you ever heard the one about the stupid-ass soldier who thought it was funny when his CO was giving him a lecture? Yeah, the one where the commander gets really pissed and yells at the stupid soldier to `drop and give me fifty'?"

"Oh, it's hilarious. Here, I'll tell it to you; Drop and give me fifty you useless puke!" she yelled at him.

Karen then turned her icy glare upon Alex. "And what the fuck's your malfunction soldier? You mute?"

"Mm-hmm. Just quiet then, is that right?" she continued, sounding deceptively pensive. "You've got a funny accent too."

"Well, that's what everyone says" he relaxed from protocol for a split-second, but then remembered to add "ma'am."

Karen erupted. "Bull shit! Get your sorry mute ass on the floor and give me forty-five! I ain't got time to waste with dickless, quiet limeys that aren't gonna be able to respond to orders with conviction! Now!"

Her eyes narrowed coldly and she spoke with venom. "Are you deaf as well as mute, you empty-headed limey sonofabitch? Do I fucking look like I'm kidding to you? Kiss the floor, now!"

"Hmph, so far, that's a comedian and a deaf-mute Brit. This is really shaping up to be even more pathetic than I first thought. I doubt you fools will even make it out of two weeks of Basic. I-" as she turned slowly away from the struggling rookies, her eyes found Kiyone standing there, smoke slowly rising from the cigarette between her pursed lips.

"What in the name of God do you think you're doing?" she demanded, sharply taken aback.

Kiyone glanced innocently around to see if she might have been talking to someone else.

"I mean you! Where the hell do you get off smoking in here?" she snatched the smouldering stick from her mouth and stamped it out.

"`Hey' nothing! Drop and give me seventy-five! I want fucking perfection too, none of those damn, half-assed 'girl-push-ups'. You start to get bad form, and I'll start your ass all over again. As long as you are under my command, there will be no more of this, ever! Do you know how bad that shit is for your system?"

"Bull shit! Of course your stupid, dumbass self doesn't. How can I expect any of you empty-headed pukes to know anything other than what I have to tell you myself? All the way down!" she put a boot on Duo's back and forced him to the ground.

She walked back out in front of them all again. She began talking very loudly and very slowly as if she were addressing a group of children. "Well, isn't this a nice way to be introduced? Just so you miserable pieces of shit know, I am Karen Joshua, your commander. Do not tell me your names, as I do not care. From now until you die, get transferred, or this war ends, your sorry asses belong to me. I fucking own you. If any of you sorry puke-ass motherfuckers don't like that, than get the hell out of my unit; I'm not paid to babysit, and I'm sure the Zeeks will love having one more easy target to pick off, when you try to take a civilian shuttle back home.

"I do not expect you to like me-as a matter of fact, I don't want you to like me-but you sure as hell better respect and fear me. I'm a hardass, but I am also fair; I pride myself on that.

"To-morrow morning, we will begin the two worst weeks of your miserable lives: Basic Training. Space is one of the harshest environments imaginable, but if you follow my orders and don't do anything stupid-as I know your bound to do anyway-you might just survive.

"You pukes are to report to Dock 31 tomorrow at 0500 sharp. If you show up at 0501, do not expect to find me there-but do expect to do one thousand push-ups and to lose mess privileges for the next day. Now all of you are dismissed. Get out of my sight." She turned on her heel and walked off.

"Sure, Duo," Kiyone gasped as she sat up wheezing from the strenuous exercise, "She's `pretty nice' all right."

Kiyone was sort of skinny, but looked athletic enough to handle seventy-five push-ups. `Maybe it was good that she quit smoking after all,' Duo thought.

She gave several rounds of hacking coughs. "Yeech. I'm not lookin' forward to working with somebody like that. I think I'll toss my cancer-sticks now too."

"What the fuck?" Gene D'ark shouted nigh-hysterically up at the woods. "How the fuck is it possible that we got left behind on Earth while everybody else is up in space?"

"Shut up already!" Leon shouted back at him. "Look, we're in this miserable situation because you were the dumb-ass trying to play hero and impress that broad. I could've easily left your sorry ass down here and left with my unit, but much to your good fortune and my chagrin, both of us are stuck!"

The two of them were trudging through the snow on a high mountain pass looking for another Federation base that was rumoured to be about sixty miles upstate. The Truck had broken down just before the blizzard set in, about seven miles back, and rather than waste time trying to fix it in the bitter cold, they had abandoned it to the elements. Now, between the their egos clashing and the freezing snow, it was more than likely going to be a very long trip.

After a brief stint of silence, Gene spoke up again. "Hey, Leon, do you think anybody else who didn't get out on the shuttle survived?"

"I don't know," he replied. "It's possible, but you know how effective those Zeeks are at wiping out resistance."

"Yeah, but after the battle, I thought I saw another shuttle taking off. What if they were trying to beat a retreat too?"

"Then all I can say is good riddance to bad rubbish. One less wasp's nest for us to root out once we win this fucking war."

As they continued walking, the snowfall gradually decreased in intensity and the wind started dying down. Within a half an hour, the clouds themselves were starting to pull away.

"Might want to pull out your goggles before too long," Leon cautioned. I can see open tundra ahead and you don't want to get snow blindness."

They continued marching through the snow. After the impact of the Colony drop the past January, seasons on Earth had been changed dramatically. The global climate had dropped precipitously and once moderately cold regions like Southern Canada and the Northern United States region had totally frozen over.

After another hour of walking in silence, Leon tried to start another conversation. "Okay Gene, I really need to know, why the hell were you trying to impress that girl Hilde so bad? Didn't you realise we were in the middle of a battle?"

He thought he wasn't going to get an answer, but Gene surprised him. "It wasn't that I was trying to show off-well, I take it back, maybe I was-but, I've had it bad for Hilde since we were both stationed together back in August. Sometimes, I get to thinking that it's hopeless, especially now with Duo around, but…I was thinking if I could just pull some of that chivalry bull shit in the heat of battle, that maybe she'd take notice, you know?"

"I sort of follow you; but why stay hung up on one girl, much less risk your life to impress her when it's obvious she isn't interested?"

"You know who probably would be a bit more receptive, you should've started talking to Kiyone. She was a looker, no two ways about it, and she was unattached. You should've made a move, man!"

"Yeah, well, that does me a whole lot of good now," Gene remarked bitterly. "Besides, I don't want anybody else! I…I…aw fuck it, it doesn't matter anymore anyway. I'm down here On Planet and she's getting ready to take on the offensive in space."

`Damn,' Leon though, `this poor bastard really does have it bad.' "Well, maybe this was fate," he said aloud. "Maybe yours is to meet somebody better down here?"

"Look, I'm just trying to help you keep your morale up, that's all!" Leon returned sourly. "Bastard; see if I care what happens to you now."

"Oh, okay then, you don't need any help at all then, do you? Maybe I'll take the map and leave you to freeze out here?" Leon started to stalk off in the opposite direction.

"The fuck you will, you bastard!" Gene cried and struggled to chase after him in the waist deep snow. "Get back here with that map!"

Gene was panting now. It was difficult enough to walk with his snow gear on, but to try and run threatened to leave him exhausted. "I…I never said I didn't want help, dumbass!" he called out. "I just said that I didn't want sympathy! There's a big difference!"

"You're still calling me names? Now I'm definitely leaving your punk-ass out here. How can you expect someone to help you if you do nothing but shout at them? Is your pride too great to let you try apologising?"

"Pride? Is that what this is about? Wasn't it pride that made you leave your comrades to go back and pick up your wedding ring?" Gene's caustic jab stopped Leon right in his tracks.

"What the fuck do you think you know about that?" Leon demanded bitterly. "That ring is a symbol of the love I have for my wife you, tactless prick! It had nothing to do with pride. I went back for it because it stands for a real, lasting bond; not some trite, selfish act of trying to win the heart of someone who doesn't even care that you exist."

Gene didn't know what exactly made him swing his fist at Leon, and hit him in the gut, but after his companion doubled-over in pain, he realised that it was raw, unadulterated rage.

"The fuck did you do that for?" Leon wheezed. The blow had apparently knocked the wind from him. "Can't handle the truth, eh?" He rose quickly and uppercutted Gene in his chin, sending him flying back into the snow.

Staggering to his feet, Gene charged with a cry of bitter, primal fury. The two battled back and forth for several minutes with no clear victor evident. The scuffle was almost comical for inertia of moving through the snow and the stiffness of their winter gear, made it seem to take place in slow motion. Eventually they both collapsed, almost as much from sheer muscle fatigue as from the pain that either had inflicted on the other.

"For a scrawny, prideful sonofabitch, you can actually fight pretty well," Leon sneered.

"Well, now that both of our asses are soundly whipped, I belive we should continue on to Toronto." Leon said, as he struggled to his feet and knocked the snow from the knees of his pants.

Gene muttered, "You rat bastard," as he slowly stood also. "Don't ever talk to me like I don't love Hilde again, motherfucker, or I'll beat you down even worse, next time," he said aloud as they both started trudging through the snow again.

"All right people," Sanders addressed his team. "Today, we begin basic training. It's designed to get you all acclimated to fighting in Zero-G.

"You all probably think that just because you can pilot an MS on the ground, you're automatically gonna master these things. I'm gonna tell you right off that you're wrong if you think that. In space, you're gonna be relying heavily on your thrusters and mass-balancers to keep you upright as compared to everyone else (there is no real `up' and `down' in space; it's all relative).

"We're gonna start out by getting in your designated mobile suits. These are impressive feats of engineering and also very expensive; you will treat them as if they were your own children. If one of your kids is misbehaving, then the fault returns to you as a `parent'. Now everybody into the cockpits."

"Now, be sure that your helmets are on and the hatch over your cockpit is secure; we're going into the vacuum to perform some drills," Sanders said over the radio.

"No, not like that, stupid! You gotta initialise the balancer and then hit the thrusters! Christ, you all are incompetent!" Karen shouted at Duo.

"Hey, it's not exactly as if you're doing a good job of explaining stuff `commander'!" Duo shouted back.

"Kiyo-chan," Alex began on the private channel between the two of them, "'ave you noticed out of all the teams out here, we're the farthest behind?"

"That's because Duo's still on his fucking power trip. If he'd just lighten up and realise that Karen's the commander now, and not him we'd actually start moving along."

"Do you think you're getting the hang of Zero-G combat?" Alex asked as Karen and Duo continued to argue.

Kiyone shrugged in her cockpit. "Sorta. It really is as different from ground combat as they tell you it is; the controls are still the same, it's just that you use `em differently."

"Dammit, Duo!" Karen erupted over the broadband frequency, cutting off their side chatter, "If you aren't going to listen to orders, then get your ass back inside the hangar."

"Fine! I will!" his GM turned and returned to the bay doors on Luna II's surface. Shortly thereafter, he was inside.

"Stupid fucking commander," Duo muttered to himself as he tore of his helmet. He flung it to the floor in a rage. "She thinks she's so damn smart huh? I'll bet she's never had to face a fucking Zeon ace in battle before."

He knew he was sounding petulant and that the camera mounted in the corner above the lockers was recording everything he was saying, but he didn't care. Perhaps spending those months as a commander really had dampened his ability to follow orders.

He sat down on the bench in the middle of the locker-room and rested his head in the palms of his hands, letting the sweat run down into his eyes. Damn war; regiment and routine wore thin after a short time, and especially for him as someone who wasn't a career soldier.

Looking back on it like that made him wonder why he'd ever signed up for the ROTC in the first place. On second thought though, the reason for that wasn't too complicated: he never figured there was going to be a war. Duo remembered wanting to stay in shape after High School (he been a championship caliber track star) and he had assumed that the Reserve Officer Training Corps would be a good way to help him stay fit. There was also the side benefit of being grouped in a squad that had a bevy of very fit women in it too. He'd been too busy chasing skirts and perfecting his 400m dash to be worrying about the changing political climate.

In his mind he was thoroughly cussing out commander Joshua again and telling her exactly what she could do with the mass-balancer and thrusters, when Alex and Kiyone walked into the locker-room, dripping in sweat.

"Damn! Training in Zero-G sure is tiring!" Kiyone wheezed as she sat down on the bench next to him. "Good thing I remembered these babies!" she said, reverently as she pulled a pack of smokes from her pocket. "Just what the Doctor ordered!"

"You know, Kiyo-chan, if you smoke those things in 'ere, the commander is going to be able to smell them on you," Alex said, the sole voice of sanity.

Duo cracked a smile. It was good that they hadn't come in talking about the fight he and Karen had just had. He hoped they'd forgotten, but odds were that they were just being considerate.

As if to spite Alex's warning, Kiyone boldly removed one of the small white and orange sticks and upon lighting it, blew a smoke ring at his face.

Coughing, he replied, "Do what you want, but they're your push ups. `Sides, I thought you said you were quitting yesterday?"

"And I did quit yesterday. This is today though; I didn't say anything about quitting for today," she smiled and blew smoke from her nostrils.

`Oh, well,' Duo thought, giving up on staying mad. Then aloud he said, "That's right Kiyo-chan, you didn't." Then he started laughing. "Having Karen yell at you sure beats the hell out of having her yelling at me!"

Cirrus sat morosely looking out one of the port-holes in the Tivvay-class cruiser, the Graf Zeppelin's hull. Even after arriving in Side Six and transferring from the Santa Fe to the new carrier, she was still bitter over the losses the unit had suffered pulling out of New England, especially Max. What the hell was the Brass thinking, sending them into battle like that? They had never stood a chance against the Fed defences, and the attempt had resulted in the heavy casualties she had predicted it would.

Fortunately, in spite of the high death toll the Zeon forces had taken, her squad had been able to remain more or less intact. They'd even managed to pick up a new recruit in the form of that Gato kid. It was astounding the number of kills he'd scored in that one battle; he'd slain no less than three Feddie suits. As a result, he'd received a promotion and now, outranked everyone in the squad except her.

Also, he didn't have the common sense Max had had. He was impetuous, stubborn, and often executed risky manoeuvres that even she would have shied away from.

Still, that didn't change the fact that he was on the squad and Max was dead. Sometimes, in war, common sense didn't matter all that much at all. Sometimes it just boiled down to pure dumb luck.

She shifted uncomfortably on the bench and moved to lie supine to look up at the ceiling rather than the stars. Something about those stars brought back a flood of memories she'd rather have left dormant.

On an emotional level, Cirrus didn't know how exactly to react to Max's death. The pain was definitely there, but it was like her heart wasn't able to respond to it. Had the war been going on so long that she'd become naturalised to death? That was a scary thought, but she doubted its veracity. Certainly she'd lost more than her share of friends-hell, she'd lost her lover-to the flames of this war, but rather than becoming naturalised to it, Cirrus thought that her heart had just, sort of, stopped functioning that way. It was almost as if she was already dead to the world around her. Really, when was the last time she'd actually had an honest-to-God conversation with someone about something not related to a battle or tactics?

How long had she been this way? Why was she just starting to notice it now? Why wasn't there anyone she could hold on to?

Then, instantly the answer came to her, and rage replaced the fear and sadness that had been coursing in her system. She was dead because that back-stabbing bastard Vincent had killed her in the same instant he had killed Brian! The instant she saw the core fighter erupt in flames after being hit by the mega-particle beam, it had been like a bullet cutting her down where she stood. Brian had been everything to her, so obviously, when he died, he took all of her good feelings, all of her hopes, all of her life with him. Now she no longer lived, she merely existed; an empty vessel in the vastness of space.

Cirrus didn't want to cry. She had vowed not to cry anymore until she had atoned for Vince's transgression by taking his life, but…things were just so hard these days.

Vows often proved hard to keep too. As another tear streaked down her pale face, she was reminded of all the good times she and Vince had had before he allowed his jealousy and covetousness to drive him to murder. She remembered every movie the two of them and Brian had seen together, and every trip to the karaoke bar, and every joke they had shared, and she could not, for the life of her, understand what had gone wrong.

Vince certainly had had every chance to propose to her first. In fact, after just meeting him, Cirrus had found his cultured European mannerisms much more attractive than Brian's coarse American pick-up lines and lewd jokes. If he had just noticed sooner! Instead, Brian had won her over, beating Vince to the punch, and proving that, when he put his mind to it, he actually was fairly civilised for an Amerika-jin.

No use in pondering "what-if's" now, though, Cirrus realised, sitting up and dabbing her eyes with her grease rag. Vince had proven to be too susceptible to his own inner demons and had killed her husband. He had crossed the border of forgiveness, and now, her integrity dictated that she had to punish him.

"You guys are doing really well." Sanders complemented his unit in a similar locker-room down the hall. "Now that you've got the basics down, we're gonna spend the rest of today and the rest of the week working on combat simulation."

"Occasionally, but for the most part we're gonna be in the VR simulators. Paint rounds are a little more expensive than the Federation is willing to accommodate in large amounts."

"Now, if you all will follow me…" They walked into a large room with multiple simulators stacked on top of one another. It was easily large enough to accommodate several platoons.

"Start simulation oh-seven-five-niner!" Sanders called out to the technician who was working the simulators.

All of the pilots climbed into the cockpits of their simulators and strapped themselves in. As the hatch closed, Sam felt as if he were swallowed up by darkness. Moments later, the screens in front and beside him flickered to life and he was in the cockpit of an RGM-79 GM.

As soon as he laid his hands upon the controls machinegun fire erupted from behind him, catching him in his upper back. He spun around and returned with fire from his vulcans, but the Zaku had dodged and had joined up with two of its comrades. There was something about the colour scheme of the Zakus and the way that the three of them moved, that made him begin to suspect…

"Correct," their commander agreed. "The point of this exercise is to test timing and formation skills. The battle data comes from the Battle of Loum, so it's slightly dated, but the movements and synchronisation of these Zeeks is still second to none and so it serves as a great trainer.

The phantom Zakus burst out from their central point and tore across the vacuum at unbelievable speed. Each one began firing simultaneously at Trowa, who fortunately was able to do a controlled thrust out of the way.

As the Tri-Stars broke formation to try and chase him down, Sanders and Sam leapt forward in pursuit of them.

'Shit…' Hilde was sweating profusely as she tried to line up a shot. The massive shoulder-mounted cannons that gave the Guncannon its name fired equally massive shells, any shot had to be timed perfectly and the target had to be led by just enough…

Her concentration snapped as she found herself face-to-face with the muzzel of a Zaku I's bazooka.

"Oh, hell no!" Trowa said as he banked hard to come to her aid. As he did so, the Tri-Stars broke off their chase and turned on Sam and Sanders, machine guns blazing.

Trowa gunned his suit well beyond red-line as he approached his cornered friend. Then, in one smooth motion, he flipped over, drew the beam sabre and hacked the offending suit in two. The explosion was dragged behind in his wake.

"No problem, babe!" He returned as he swung back around to aid in the fight against the Tri-Stars.

Sam fired round after round, but nothing was connecting. "They're too damn fast, sir!" he shouted at his CO.

"No shit," Sanders grunted in reply. He did a simultaneous attack from both his vulcans and his rifle, but he still couldn't score a hit.

Then, from out of nowhere, a regular Zaku II broke in and sliced the arm off Sam's GM. In frustration, he turned and landed a blast from his beam spray gun on the suit's back. It exploded in a silent burst.

In the glare of the explosion one of the Tri-Stars charged forth, heat-tomahawk drawn, and took another swipe at Sam. Fortunately he was able to parry the strike with his beam sabre, and then take a slash at his assailant. He scored a hit on its torso, but it pulled back before he could hit it again.

Yet while his back was turned one of the other aces took another pot shot at his back. "Bastards!" he raged and began firing blindly with the beam gun.

The Zaku dodged each of his blasts with ease, but was unable to dodge the vertical slash from Trowa's GM the split it in half. His comrade then unleashed a few rounds at the two halves before they both erupted into flames.

"Yeah, you fuckin' like that shit, huh?" he sounded very proud of the move with which he'd dispatched one of the Zeon's greatest aces, "Trowa's Special I'll call it!"

Trowa looked to his left a second too late. The explosive round caught him right in the side and sent his suit reeling. It exploded seconds later.

"That'll teach you to keep your mind on the task at hand, Barton," Sanders chided him, while he himself dodged another explosive shell.

"Why the hell did you put these damn drones on here anyway?" Hilde asked irately as she fired a blast from he beam rifle to take out one of the regular Zakus. "I thought we were supposed to be training on fighting the Tri-Stars!"

"And so we are," Sanders spoke calmly. "That doesn't mean there won't be other enemies on the battlefield though. Trowa got distracted and so he got wasted. Keep your eyes on the objective and then worry about the regulars."

"Someone's been reading The Art of War," Sam grumbled, annoyed that his commander would need to state such an obvious fact to them.

They continued fighting, though, all three of their suits getting more and more mangled. Sam took down the second Tri-Star, but had his unit's head and left leg blown off; Hilde, protected by the Guncannon's thicker armour, was able to dispatch three Zaku I's and a Musai battleship (with some help from Sanders) at minimal damage; their CO took down the final Tri-Star in a spectacular duel of sabre on heat-hawk, ultimately stabbing it right through the cockpit. His suit suffered very few direct hits at all, but was badly burned on the right shoulder and the shield was ruined.

They each popped the hatch of their trainers and walked out to meet each other. Trowa, Hilde, and Sam babbled excitedly, but Sanders remained quietly aloof during their self-praise.

"Did you see that hit I landed on that Zaku?" Hilde said, clapping her hands. "Two high-explosive shells to the chest took that antique out pretty damn quick!"

"Yeah, but the coolest thing was when Trowa came up behind that guy and chopped him in half like he was a piece of firewood!" Sam pointed out.

Trowa slapped him five, but said in a slightly dejected voice, "Right after which, I was blown to bits."

"'Just a game'?" Sanders growled. "This was the first test of your team mechanics and you botched it! It's not a successful mission unless everyone comes back alive!"

"It's okay. I mean you all did a helluva lot better than the other teams who've tried this Sim-especially better than the 107th; all of them were killed-but I know we can do better.

"We're going to be working hard together until this war ends, and we'll probably end up being pretty close friends. Just think about that every time we go into battle, both real and simulated. You've got to be willing to die for the person standing next to you to function well as a team in this war. The only catch is, you have to make sure you don't ever have to. Understand?"

"That's good. Take a breather for now; we're going to try again later on. Maybe next time I'll have us face down the Red Comet, eh?"

Vincent Langley was roused from another night of fitful sleep by the warbling of general quarters sirens.

"Damn," he swore, "there weren't supposed to be any enemies in this shoal zone."

Yagami had been on patrol duty through the wreckage of Side One for the past few weeks; they had not seen any enemy suits the entire time and no one expected they would until the got at least as far as Luna II. That was the reason he had allowed his first mate to take the helm and had gone off to get some sleep.

He supposed he really shouldn't have been so surprised. It was very likely that some of the Zeeks fleeing the Federation Counter-blitz in Odessa might come across his old cruiser and decided to try their luck, especially if it was one of their massive Zanzibar carriers. Unforunately for them, they were about to find out that there was still plenty of fight left in Yagami.

The door to the bridge hissed open before him as he finished buttoning his uniform shirt. "Report, Number One," he barked as he ascended to his chair.

"One Musai, sir, and escort MS contingent," his first mate, an officer by the name of Trent Clarke, gave a brisk reply.

Trent was not the same first mate from the Loum Campaign. Langely had had that insubordinate whelp discharged as soon as Yagami had docked for repairs at Jabrow at the end of January. `That bastard was too close to the truth about…'

Saffron mega particle beams grazed the deck of the cruiser and brought him quickly back to the present. "Helmsman! Take us around front and prepare to `cross the T'!"

"Aye, sir!" Yagami's mighty engines flared as they pushed the mammoth ship forth cutting directly across the Musai's course.

"Crossing the T" was one of the oldest manoeuvres in naval history, dating back to the time of galleons and ships of the line. The objective was to position your ship at full broadside to the enemy vessel and open up with all the side mounted cannons. Thusly, one could bring more guns to bear directly at the target, while the enemy struggled to counter. It was a risky move, to be certain; exposing one's entire flank to any fire was generally not considered a wise notion, and Musai's had their guns mounted at staggered vertical intervals along their bizarre arched superstructure and so could fire all directly foreward with minimal difficulty. Despite the odds, Vince remaind supremely confident in his ship and his crew. They'd pulled it off before, and they sure as hell could do it again.

"Launch core fighter wings to run interferrence and draw their mobile suits and cannons fire!" His lofty Austrian accent reigned over the din of reports and data streams from his bridge officers.

Within seconds, Yagami's entire contingent of fighters had been launched. No more than a dozen of the dated spacefighters leapt from the deck and charged ahead at the enemy. It was a long shot-the life-span of fighters in these days of mobile suit primacy was measured in seconds-but if they could only manage to distract the enemy long enough for the broadside barrage, the day might yet be won.

Langley watched as the fighter squadrons engaged the enemy. Particle blasts and blinding glares of machinegun tracers lit the vacuum in what would have been a dazzling display of pyrotechnics had not each one of the explosions meant that some individual was being forcibly ejected from this mortal plane. In terms of raw power, the Zeek MS clearly had the advantage, but the numerical superiority of the fighters and their smaller size made up for the deficit.

Though the ship was travelling at well over two hundred metres a minute, it's massive size and the lack of a staionary horizon to judge distance made it seem to be moving at a snail's pace. The naval commander part of him realised this, but the human side of him-the nervous side of him-made Langley impatient. "How much time before we have reached optimal assault vectors?" he demanded.

"Two hundred seconds, sir!" Clarke called from one of the forward monitoring stations.

"Very good, Number One," he nodded briskly. To the entire ship, he commanded, "bring all starboard guns to bear on the enemy vessel! Prepare to fire on my mark!"

Yagami slid ever closer across the path of the Musai, and despite the fact that the enemy ship was lucky enough to get in a few shots from its mega-particle weaponry, the swarm of fighters proved to be more than its captain could tolerate. The cannons began firing almost at random in the hopes of swatting maybe one or two of the fighters down, and so, Langley's feint had apparently succeeded.

"Shit!" one of the bridge officers swore, "one of those damned suits has landed on our port side!"

"Anything we can do about it?" Langley asked, showing none of the alarm he felt.

"Negative, sir. We've only two cannons on that side, and they can't even get him in their sights," another officer spoke.

"Then do not concern yourself with him at present. Begin full broadside barrage on that Musai!"

"Aye, sir!" the gunnery officer relayed the message to the battlestations, and seconds later, all of Yagami's starboard guns along with her fore and aft cannons spoke with silent fury across the vacuum.

Vince Langley watched intently as the beams tore across space at blew the Musai apart. The explosion was truly magnificent.

An explosion on his own ship brought his attention back to the Zaku that had been foolish enough to try and board. There were reports of minor damage to the port side superstructure, but the emergency doors shut in a timely manner, so no oxygen or crewmembers were sucked out.

By that time though, all of the core fighters had returned to the ship and were assailing the hulking metallic suit like biplanes harrying King Kong in that vintage classic. The Zaku never got another shot off, for it lost its footing and floated free from the ship and seconds later, was ripped apart by a chance shot by one of the fighters that had pierced its armour all the way through to its reactor.

The bridge crew let out a collective cheer in their excitement that was at least as loud as any explosion Langley ever wanted to hear.

He, himself, though, remained stoic as usual, choosing not to take part in the celebratory cheers. It was but one of many more assaults the ship and her crw would have to endure; no use getting worked up about one minor victory.

"Good work today," was all he said as he stood to leave. He was still tired, and only more so now after surviving that ordeal. "Get the fighters in and secure, and have damage control go up and have a look at what that Zeek did to the hull of my ship. After that, your shifts are up; have your seconds come up and relieve you. That is all."

That said, Langley rose from his own station and began back to his quarters. He knew he would be needing his rest for the day ahead. Yet just as the main entrance to the bridge was hissing open to allow him aft, his radio technitian spoke up.

"Bloody hell," Vince swore under his breath, but turned back towards the main monitor. "Patch them through."

"Aye, sir!" the tech worked at the controls of his station for a moment while Langley returned to his chair. Seconds later the rough, weathered face of Rear Admiral Souichirou Lhadatt appeared on the main screen.

Lhadatt was one of the senior-most members on the executive planning committee of Operation Star One. That he had deemed them worthy of a personal call was an honour indeed.

Langley came to stiff attention. "Sir!" he said crisply, "to what do we owe the honour of this personal address?"

The rear admiral returned the salute, but did not answer directly, "Captain Vincent Langely, I believe I am the one who is honoured. One of the few heroes of the horribly unfortunate One Week War, whose efforts were one of the driving forces behind the victory at Loum…It is certainly an honour to meet you face to face."

Vince cast down his eyes. He didn't like being thought of as a hero. Not after he had used the battle as an excuse to murder his best friend. He tried to edge his superior back to more pressing matters than to whom the honour belonged. "What is it you need of my ship, Admiral?" he repeated.

"Right to the point, I see," Lhadatt chuckled. "Very well then. At the request of Commander-in-Chief of the Federation Forces, Admiral Revil, you and your ship are to head for Luna II where Yagami will be overhauled and assigned a mobile suit squad. From there, you are to await further instructions as to the next phase in Operation Star One."

An MS squad? Could that really be done? Retrofitting a cruiser to act as a light carrier? Of course, the practical application was of little concern to Langley; he had his orders, the mechanics at Luna II would be sure that they were carried out.

"Thank you sir," he saluted again. "We will do our best in the coming stages of the War."

"I should hope so," Lhadatt said, nodding. "Very well then, we shall see you at Luna II." The screen went blank as the feed ended.

Vince sat silently in the chair for a moment, letting the events of the night sink in. It was a lot to come to terms with, and all of it had occurred in the space of an hour.

Silent Requiem This fanfic is complete.

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Silent Requiem

Chapter 4: Inter-Bellum I part 1