Within A Baoa Qu's central command chamber, the air was tense but orderly—too orderly for what was about to happen.
Gihren Zabi stood before the panoramic display, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the incoming data streams. Red indicators bloomed across the tactical map like spreading bloodstains.
"The Federation vanguard has entered A Baoa Qu engagement range," an operator reported. "Multiple Salamis-class signatures. Heavy mobile suit presence. Gundam units confirmed."
Gihren's lips curled—not into a smile of warmth, but calculation.
"So," he said calmly, "they have arrived."
He turned slightly toward his adjutant.
"Initiate Minovsky particle dispersion. Full saturation. I want their radar blind, their targeting degraded, and their formations forced into visual-range chaos."
"At once," the adjutant replied.
Across the fortress, Minovsky particle generators came online. Invisible clouds spread outward, swallowing long-range sensors, collapsing clean data into static and guesswork. Federation displays flickered. Precision became instinct.
Gihren continued, voice cold and assured.
"Deploy our own vanguard fleet. I want them to meet the Federation head-on—mirror their advance. No retreat, no hesitation."
A pause, then the decisive addition.
"And execute the Lelouch plan. Exactly as briefed."
The adjutant hesitated for half a second—just long enough to reveal unease—then nodded.
"Yes, Supreme Commander."
On secondary screens, Zeon fleets began to move. Musai-class cruisers surged forward, mobile suit bays opening in rapid sequence. Old Zakus, new Gelgoogs, experimental frames—everything that could fly was being thrown into the forward wall.
Gihren watched it unfold, eyes sharp, breathing steady.
"So he was not merely a theoretician," Gihren murmured to himself. "A man who understands not just war… but people."
A low chuckle escaped him, humorless and dangerous.
"How interesting, Lelouch von Zehrtfeld."
The fortress of A Baoa Qu braced itself as Zeon's vanguard accelerated to intercept.
On the Federation side, the moment came without warning.
Radar screens across the vanguard formations dissolved into noise—ranges collapsing, targeting brackets flickering out as if swallowed by static.
"Minovsky interference confirmed," a CIC officer reported. "Radar is effectively blind."
Inside the mobile suits, reactions varied—but panic was not among them.
Amuro Ray inhaled slowly, hands steady on the controls.
"So they finally turned the lights off," he muttered. "Visual combat it is."
Athrun Zala adjusted his posture, eyes already scanning the darkness beyond the cockpit canopy.
"Expected," he said calmly. "Zeon never fights fair when cornered."
Mikazuki Augus said nothing. His Gundam simply drifted forward, posture relaxed, lethal in its stillness.
Then Hikigaya Hachiman's voice broke into the comms.
"Of course they jam the radar. Of course. Why wouldn't the enemy choose the one tactic that maximizes stress, uncertainty, and the chance of heroic but stupid deaths?"
A brief pause.
"…Yeah. Okay. Complaining won't unjam physics. I'm good."
A few muted acknowledgments followed. The channel settled.
At the front of the formation, Lockon Stratos in the Buster Gundam raised his mobile suit's left arm.
He didn't speak.
Instead, he gave a series of precise hand signals—slow, deliberate, unmistakably clear even through drifting Minovsky haze.
Advance slowly.
Tighten spacing.
Eyes forward.
One by one, the Gundams responded, reducing thrust, sliding into a measured crawl. The formation compressed, disciplined, patient. No one rushed ahead. No one broke rank.
White Base and the escorting Salamis fleet matched the pace behind them, GM units forming layered screens, thrusters pulsing at minimal output.
In the silence of visual-range space, the Federation vanguard moved like a held breath.
Calm. Controlled.
Waiting for Zeon to show its hand.
The darkness ahead began to move.
At first it was only silhouettes—faint shapes emerging from Minovsky fog—but as distance closed, the forms became unmistakable.
Zakus.
Dozens of them.
Zaku II units in mixed configurations, flanked by newer Gelgoogs holding slightly to the rear. Not a wall. Not a fortress. Just… a vanguard.
A thin one.
Visual feeds lit up across Federation cockpits.
"Zeon mobile suits confirmed," a sensor officer reported. "Composition: Zaku II majority, Gelgoog support. Numbers… lower than projected."
In the Duel Gundam, Mikazuki leaned forward, thrusters flaring instinctively.
"Enemies," he said flatly. "I'll take point."
Before he could accelerate, Lockon Stratos' Buster Gundam raised its arm again.
This time, the signal was simple.
Stop.
Mikazuki froze mid-thrust, engines cutting back without argument. He didn't question it. He just held position, Gundam drifting like a restrained blade.
"…Copy," he said after a moment.
Gary Lin, in the Strike Gundam, frowned as he studied the Zeon formation.
"That's it?" he muttered on open comms. "This is their vanguard?"
No one answered immediately, but the unease spread.
Athrun narrowed his eyes.
"This doesn't make sense."
Amuro felt it too—a pressure at the back of his mind, wrong in a way he couldn't quantify yet.
"They're not forming a defensive line," he said. "And they're not charging either."
Gary continued, voice lower now, more analytical.
"If Zeon wanted to hold A Baoa Qu, they'd layer defenses. Funnel us. Bleed us with attrition. Even with Gundams, a stubborn line here could cost us."
He paused, then added quietly,
"So why send a thin screen like this? Why throw Zakus into a firing line against us?"
The implication hung heavy.
Bait.
Around them, GM pilots tightened formation instinctively, rifles tracking but fingers off triggers. Even the less experienced pilots could feel it—this wasn't a desperate stand. It was a gesture.
A wasteful one.
Mikazuki didn't share the concern.
"They're in front of us," he said simply. "That's enough."
Several GM pilots murmured agreement—nervous, eager, adrenaline pushing against restraint.
But discipline held.
Lockon lowered his arm and kept the formation slow, methodical. No shots fired. No reckless charge.
The Federation vanguard advanced at a crawl, weapons trained, eyes sharp.
Whatever Zeon was planning, it wasn't a fair fight.
And that made it dangerous.
On the bridge of White Base, Bright Noa stood rigid, eyes fixed on the tactical display.
The Zeon vanguard was still there. Still thin. Still wrong.
What are you hiding? he thought.
New mobile suits?
A concealed fleet waiting to flank the rear?
Or something worse—some asymmetric weapon Zeon had kept buried until now?
On salamis ship, Shirogane Miyuki mirrored the same unease aboard his flagship. His fingers rested calmly on the command rail, but his gaze was sharp, calculating angles, distances, probabilities.while speak to bright noa via communication.
"This deployment is inefficient," Miyuki said at last over the secure line. "It violates every defensive doctrine Zeon ever used."
Bright exhaled slowly. "Which means it's deliberate."
A silence followed.
Then a voice cut through the command channel—calm, almost bored.
"Stop thinking about what they have," Oreki Houtarou said.
Both commanders turned toward the auxiliary console where Oreki had been standing quietly since sortie, half in shadow, half ignored.
Bright frowned. "Oreki? What are you—"
"Think about who they're protecting," Oreki interrupted. His eyes were half-lidded, but focused in a way that made the room go still. "Zeon isn't stalling for reinforcements. They're buying time."
Shirogane's eyes narrowed. "For what target?"
Oreki answered without hesitation.
"Their commander."
A beat.
Then he continued, voice steady.
"This battle isn't about territory. It's a race. Whoever kills the enemy command first wins. Zeon knows they can't win a prolonged engagement against this many Gundams."
Bright's jaw tightened. "You're saying they're sacrificing the vanguard to keep us busy."
"Yes," Oreki replied simply. "And if we hesitate, they succeed."
Shirogane folded his arms. "You're proposing a direct assault."
Oreki shrugged. "I'm proposing we stop playing their opening move."
Bright looked back at the display—Zaku units drifting in disciplined formation, waiting to die.
"…Is this okay?" Bright asked quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
Oreki met his gaze. "If we don't move now, more people die later."
For a moment, the bridge was silent.
Then Bright straightened.
"All units," he said, voice firm as steel. "Engage Zeon vanguard immediately. Full suppression. Break their line and push through."
Shirogane nodded once. "Salamis fleet, advance. GM units—tight formation, priority targets are Gelgoogs and command ships."
Orders cascaded through Federation channels.
On the battlefield, engines roared to life.
Gundams surged forward—Strike, Duel, Aegis, Buster, Alex—followed by a wall of GM units and supporting fire from the Salamis-class cruisers.
The quiet tension shattered.
Beams lanced through space.
The Zeon vanguard was no longer bait.
It was the first sacrifice.