"Commander!"
The steel door to the command center burst open, scraping against the floor and pulling my attention from the mountain of paper work on my desk. Jean, my trusted aide, stood in the frame, her chest heaving slightly—a rare sign of agitation.
"What is it?" I asked, leaning back in my chair, the scent of stale coffee and burnt electronics heavy in the air. I kept my voice calm, the anchor in any storm.
Jean snapped to attention. "We have reports of our first casualty, Commander."
A cold calm settled over me. "The Mobile Suit has it been captured?" That was the true disaster scenario, a fully intact machine falling into the hands of the UN or the Japanese Self-Defense Forces.
"No, Commander," she stated, a tremor of pride in her voice. "The pilot initiated a full self-destruct. The report indicates they took out several enemy armored vehicles and at least one TSF in the process."
I allowed a faint, satisfied smile to cross my face. "Good. This pilot's sacrifice won't be in vain. In war, Jean, casualties are never avoidable. They are simply the price of victory." I gestured for her to continue.
"The squad—Mobile Suit Team Six—is requesting permission to deploy the G3 gas on the target city," she reported, her eyes flicking up to gauge my reaction.
"Hmph… Very well." The smile widened, turning into a sharp, predatory grin. It was time to introduce the enemy to true terror.
"M-ma'am!" Jean said, clearly stunned by the casual cruelty of the order. She closed the door far more gently on her exit.
Alone again, I stared at the ceiling, my mind already drifting to the next problem. Will the G3 gas even work on the Betas? The alien lifeforms were our true enemy, but their physiology was still a puzzle.
"Well, my scientists will work on it," I muttered, grabbing the next stack of paper. "I have a war to manage first."
Location: Kyushu Prefecture – Mobile Suit Team Six
"Captain, High Command has authorized the use of the G3 gas on the city," the voice of a Zudah pilot crackled over the comms.
May, the squad captain, didn't hesitate.
"Bazooka Team, you know the drill. Maximum range, maximum elevation. We want those payloads high enough for maximum dispersal."
"Copy that, Captain!"
The four designated Zudahs, armed with massive, anti-ship-class Bazookas, moved into position. They were kilometers from the outskirts of the target city, ensuring they were well out of the contamination zone. With a practiced motion, they aimed their weapons skyward.
"Fire!" May ordered.
WHOOM! WHOOM!
The massive, rocket-propelled shells arced through the pale sky, silent messengers of death, and slammed into the densely populated districts of the city.
"Look out!" A soldier of the defending UN garrison screamed, instinctively diving behind a ruined sedan as the first projectile hit the pavement nearby.
CLANG!
It didn't explode. The soldier peeked out. "Huh? Is it defective?"
Before he could finish the thought, the shell's nose cone snapped open, releasing a dense, yellowish-green cloud that billowed outward, spreading on the gentle breeze. The soldier took a deep breath to yell a warning.
"What the—!?"
The air caught in his throat. His lungs seized. His eyes bulged as the world swam and his motor control vanished. He collapsed, clutching his neck, his last moments spent in a silent, suffocating terror.
"Gas! G... Gas!" Another soldier tried to warn his comrades, but the warning was already too late. The invisible, odorless reaper had passed over them all.
"Captain, the city is a dead zone. No life signs detected," a Zudah pilot reported flatly.
"Good," May replied, her voice devoid of emotion. "They deserve this much for standing against us." She checked the chronometer in her cockpit display.
[ 40 minutes ]
"Alright, Team. Forty minutes left on the clock before the main force arrives. We stick together and head toward the Wall." May pivoted her Zudah, its mono-eye sweeping the horizon, and the rest of the squad followed in a tight formation.
Location: Main Force Staging Area
"Captain, forty minutes to the assault window," a nervous-looking soldier reported to the lead field officer.
"Good. Prepare the men. Get the Dodai II and the Dodai YS support craft combat-ready." The Captain, a grizzled veteran, barked his orders with practiced ease.
"Sir, yes, sir!"
I approached the Captain as he was directing his men. "Is everything ready, Captain?" I asked.
He spun around, snapping a perfect salute. "Everything is ready, Commander. We are just waiting for the clock to hit zero."
"Good. Jean?" I called, and she materialized from the edge of the staging area.
"Yes, Commander?"
"Prepare the aquatic Mobile Suits. Their navy will undoubtedly be a problem when the main push begins."
She nodded, her face grimly determined, and left immediately to transmit the orders.
"Continue your work, Captain," I said before turning away, the heavy air of preparation fueling my anticipation.
Beneath the Waves
Location: Underwater Hangar Bay
"The Commander wants the Gogg and Z'Gok squads prepped and ready in thirty-eight minutes!" Jean's voice echoed in the massive, submerged bay, cutting through the clang of steel and the hiss of hydraulics.
Maintenance crews and pilots scrambled, bolting armor plating and running last-minute diagnostics. Jean stood on the observation deck, a statue of focused intensity, her eyes sweeping over the frantic work below. Every second counted.
Location: Kyushu – MS Team Six
"Almost there. I can see the Wall now," a Zudah pilot reported, his cockpit display showing the charred skeleton of the fortress. Wreckage of numerous enemy TSFs littered the ground, a testament to the brutal fighting that had already taken place. The Wall itself was a mess of fire and smoke.
"Be cautious," May warned, her voice low.
"An ambush could be waiting in all that scrap. Thermal scan the area. Report any movement."
The squad's mono-eyes darted back and forth, trying to pierce the ruined landscape.
"I can't see anything, Captain. The fires are messing with my thermals," one pilot grumbled.
"Yeah, me too."
"Hmph. Stay alert. I don't like this," May murmured, her hand hovering over the boost control as they slowly advanced.
"Wait!" a pilot suddenly shouted, freezing the entire column.
"What is it!?" May snapped, stopping her Zudah mid-stride.
"I'm… hearing something."
"That's it? Man, you had me wo—" he began to complain before May cut him off sharply.
"Be quiet! Continue, Soldier."
The pilot strained to pinpoint the sound. "I can hear movement… like tank tracks."
"Where?" May demanded.
"Wait, let me hear it first."
"There!" he finally yelled, pointing with his Zudah's mechanical hand.
May reacted instantly, raking the area with her Zaku Machine Gun. A burst of 120mm rounds chewed through a section of ruined TSF armor, and a moment later, a plume of fire erupted from beneath the wreck—a hidden tank.
"The tanks are using the TSF bodies as cover! All units prepare for combat!" May screamed into the comms before boosting her Zudah into the air, a steel blur arcing toward the enemy position.
"Crap! They found us!" a panicked tank crewman shouted.
THUD!
The heavy foot of May's Zudah landed directly on the tank's turret. The crewman inside opened his hatch, his eyes widening in terror as the Zudah's single, Cyclopean mono-eye stared down at him. A single, focused burst from the machine gun followed.
The Zudah squad annihilated the surprise ambush, but as the smoke cleared, their sensors lit up with new contacts. Ten more signatures, faster and sleeker than the previous wrecks.
"F-22A Raptors incoming!" a pilot yelled, recognizing the enemy designation. He immediately opened fire, managing to shred two of the enemy TSFs with a desperate volley.
"All Mobile Suits! Prep for close-quarters combat!" May roared, yanking the Heat Hawk from its magnetic rack.
"What are these things? How are they able to locate us!?" an American Raptor pilot screamed over his comms. Before he could process a defense, a spike from a Zudah shield pierced the back of his TSF.
"John! Look out!" another pilot yelled, only to see his wingman's TSF die in a fiery ball, struck by a Sturm Faust rocket.
"Retreat! We need reinforcements!" The five remaining F-22A Raptors broke formation and fled.
"No, don't follow them," May commanded, checking her fuel gauge with a practiced glance. "We're low on fuel and ammo. No need to invite another fight."
"Understood," the pilot replied, and the Zudahs returned to their position by the Wall.
"Captain, I see them!" a pilot on the high ground shouted, his mono-eye spotting the distinctive silhouettes of the incoming Dodai II support craft.
"Alright, let's move it!" May said, glancing at her chronometer one last time.
[ 10 minutes ]
"Goodbye, Jim," she whispered, not to the squad, but to a memory, before turning her Zudah away to meet the Dodai II to pick them up.