12-Jun-2004
revised: 05-Oct-2004
Tetractys: Geburah, II
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R, for language and violence.
Warnings: nothing major this chapter.
Pairings: no change since last chapter.
Notes: When we last saw our intrepid heroes, they were spread across the globe. The last chapter will be undergoing some minor revision, mostly in changes in the names of cities and countries to bring everything into line. Here's everyone's itinerary in the past twenty-four hours of the story. The first is the country of origin, five or six cities that were hit (although the full itinerary is closer to nine or ten for each mostly in bombing runs) and the country of final destination.
Trowa: Indonesia [Jakarta, Singapore, Bangkok, Vinh, Hanoi, Kunming] Myanmar
Hilde: Phillipines [Kaohsiung, Taipei, Shanghai, Jinan, Beijing, Gansu] Xinjiang Uygur
Duo: Japan [Nagoya, Vladisvostok, Changchun, Beijing, Handan, Xi'an] China
Relena: Russia [Kostroma, Moscow, Tiktivin, St. Petersburg, Heksinki] Latvia
Heero: Russia [Murom, Moscow, Kaluga, Minsk, Grodno] Lithuania
Cathy: Russia [Voronezh, Donets'k, Mariupol, Sokhumi, Bat'umi, Zonguldak] Bulgaria
Meiran: Iceland [Nuuk, Halifax, Boston, Norfolk, Huntsville, Phoenix] California
Quatre: Iceland [Nuuk, Montreal, Detroit, Chicago, Denver, San Francisco] California
Wufei: Iceland [Nuuk, Iquluit, Thunder Bay, Bismarck, Vancouver, Seattle] Oregon
I'm also using GMT to track what's going on where, and I think I have it right. I'm not sure. If anyone is better versed and sees an error, let me know – the sites I visited for information weren't the clearest.
1800 GMT
Hebrides Islands
The jets came in low, screaming across the evening waters, backlit by the never-setting sun. Marco barely had time to huddle between the rocks, his arms and upper body shielding Zhiyi. Their meal was forgotten as he twisted, blocking Zhiyi but trying to keep the jets in sight. They roared over his head and he instinctively ducked, coming back up to see them heading inland then curving around to the north. In the distance, the jets' engines flared. Suddenly the Hebridean sky was purple and red with flames shooting upwards. Less a real shockwave and more in pure shock, Marco fell backwards against the rocks, stunned. Zhiyi squeaked beside him, her face pale.
Their blanket fell away, into a rockpool. Marco ignored it, scrambling to his feet as he grabbed Zhiyi by the hand. Two miles north along the shore, the underground base was a ball of flames. He hit the ground, rolling to press Zhiyi against the rocks, sheltering her as the bombers came around again. This time they didn't mask their path, arcing upwards into mach one. The sonic boom shook the air, scattering pebbles down on Marco and Zhiyi from the rocks above.
When they were out of sight, heading towards the mainland, Marco got up, and helped Zhiyi to stand. Taking off along the beach, he skirted the footpath with Zhiyi on his tail, heading south, towards the small relay station. The base was a lost cause, and all souls within... He gritted his teeth, and ran faster.
1900 GMT; 2100 local
Red Sea, coast of Saudi Arabia
Trowa rubbed his eyes, yawned, and twisted the throttle. Another hundred miles of ocean, then cut slightly north-west and head inland to Asmara. The last refueling station had given him the landmarks, and promised him the hospitality across the sea couldn't be beaten. Apparently the Mumbai-Asmara rebels were well acquainted. Trowa didn't care about the food, as long as there was a warm bed, pillows included.
"A little further," he told himself, and frowned at the radar screen. It wasn't displaying anything suspicious, although he expected Hil to be somewhere within range, but probably under cloak. Dawn was on their tails, an hour away at most. The sky was deep gray, turning to sapphire behind him.
"Trowa... " The radio crackled into life. "Trowa... "
"Duo?" Trowa nearly smiled, but found himself yawning instead. "What's your location?"
"Heading straight... you... south-south-west."
"Losing you," Trowa said. "Repeat that?"
"South... west... Asmara. Move!"
Trowa blinked, and brought Broadarms around, skimming above the choppy waters by a hundred feet. Five minutes later Deathscythe Hell appeared on his radar for a count of ten heartbeats, and disappeared again. Trowa blinked, and ran through the schematics to intercept the cloaking device, using the embedded 'com as locator.
Deathscythe Hell was heading straight for him.
The mecha angled off at the last minute, arcing around to come up as Trowa's wingman. Trowa frowned, seeing a thin stream of smoke coming from Deathscythe Hell's lower vernier. Duo's visuals were off.
"Duo, report. You took a blow? What the hell did--"
"I walked into a greeting party in Dhubayy, is what I did!" Duo cussed fluently in several languages, and Deathscythe Hell dropped twenty feet before pulling up again. "My buddy's running on three, and we need to get to land. Refueling in Al Khasab wasn't enough. They were low, but they gave me--" Deathscythe Hell dropped in velocity again, its nose dipping before Duo managed to pull it up. "Damn it all to hell!"
"Injuries?"
"Nothing fatal," Duo growled. "But I'm down to crucial systems only until I get more fuel."
"Hold on," Trowa instructed. Towing Duo would mean his own fuel would run out faster from the lag, but if Duo was down to crucial systems, he wasn't going to make it the hundred miles inland to Asmara. Trowa ran through a systems check, entering the destination and letting the computer determine most efficient use. Undoing the grappling claw on Broadarms' landing gear, he pulled up and lowered himself over Deathscythe Hell. There was a crunch and a shriek of metal as the two mecha collided. "Hold him steady, Duo."
"I'm trying," Duo whispered. "Ready when you are... "
Trowa lowered Broadarms again, and the hook caught Deathscythe Hell by the proverbial scruff of the neck. "Got you," Trowa assured Duo.
"Great." Duo sighed. "Can I pass out now?"
"Yeah." Trowa had to smile, to cover his worry. A second later there was a thump, and he did smile then. Duo's head had just hit the forward view screen, and soon his quiet snores filled the 'com.
1900 GMT
Hebrides Islands
"This is Marco, calling from point nine-zero-charlie-delta, repeat, nine-zero-charlie-delta, come in Landsdowne." Marco hit the side of the radio with an exasperated fist. Someone was always supposed to be listening on the short-wave emergency station. "Come in, damn it, you slackers! Stop fucking around over there! We have a situation!"
"Whoa, whoa, sorry, was in the can," came back a deep voice. "What's your damage?"
"Look out your fucking window is my goddamn damage! You should be able to see it from--"
"Holy shite," the voice said, a bit distant from the microphone. It was back in a heartbeat. "What's the casualty--"
"All hands," Marco replied, sinking into the chair by the desk. The little house was empty but for he and Zhiyi, its resident fisherman out on the water with his kin. The girl was sitting quietly at the kitchen table, her hands in her lap as she waited. The croft was dull and lifeless in the afternoon light, and Marco felt burned, crisp, as though he'd walked through the flames engulfing the base. "Everyone... "
"The last Fate?"
"No... she left last night," Marco managed to choke out.
"Thank God," the voice said. "I'm gonna send Frankie over to get you, and we'll relay ahead to the last Fate and let her know. Sit tight, man, we're coming."
"Thanks." Marco hung up, stared at the radio, and then out the window. Black smoke was filling the sky, and he sighed.
So this is really war, he thought. Welcome back, old friend.
"It just looks like daylight," Zhiyi whispered. "But it's not, is it."
2000 GMT; 2200 local
Asmara, Eritrea
Hil found them an hour later, in the valley range north of Asmara. The mountains were dusty and deep-shadowed in the early dawn, miles upon miles of forsaken territory that could easily hide an entire city let alone two Gundams. She'd tracked Duo's cloaking signature for nearly an hour, radioing in on short-band to let them know she was coming, but the mountains still refused to give up their secrets without a struggle.
Trowa stood by Broadarms, shielding his face as Deathscythe unfolded from bird-mode and landed, feet-first, by the two other mecha. A minute later the hatch popped open, and Hil slid down the gear, wobbling a little when she hit the ground. She leaned a hand against Deathscythe's foot and gave Trowa a crooked grin. The dust was thick, and she coughed a few times, waiting for it to settle.
"We're fucked," she said, "but at least they gave me breakfast to go when I stopped in Shiraz. Where's Duo?"
"Up there," Trowa said, thumbing in the direction of a natural cave, a hundred feet up the slope. "This isn't the best shelter," he added, surveying the mountains with a skeptical eye.
"No, but we've hidden here before, about six, seven years ago," Hil said. "Took them five days to comb this region, and by then, we were gone. Something in the mountains – some kind of deposit, or ore – throws off the Gundamian readings."
"Convenient."
Hil nodded, and the moonlight lit the side of her face into an eerie blue glow. It highlighted the lines of exhaustion, and the droop of her shoulders. "Come on, then, I'll get the food and we'll figure out what to do next. That was some seriously fucked-up timing in Asmara."
2100 GMT; 2200 local
Liepaja, Latvia
Lena took off from the base, kicking Talon into bird-mode and settling quickly into a medium speed, a hundred feet up. The northern sun was low in the sky, casting the beginning of the long day into an deep sapphire. It wasn't full darkness, but this close to the Artic Circle, it was rarely completely dark until wintertime – and then, it was dark for months on end. She just had to hope no one looked up.
She took another bite of the spicy sausage and stretched her legs, but there wasn't enough room. Never was, but that didn't stop her from trying. Thirty minutes on the ground after waking hadn't been enough time to eat, pee, and work out the kinks from a night of hard flying. A few successful bombing runs between along the coast from Latvia to Germany would work better than any cup of coffee to wake her ass up. Soon she'd be blasting the Hague into dust before heading south for France.
"01, calling 01, this is Echo Five." It was a woman, accent thick with the lilting cadence of Scandinavia. "Relaying from Uppsala, repeat this is--"
"What the hell," Lena muttered, flipping the switch to speak. She hit a series of keys on the side panel, and scanned the frequency. It was jumping from a base in Sweden, through Denmark, and being broadcast from Holland, but it was genuine. "Copy, Echo Five. What's up?"
"Reroute, repeat, reroute, don't go to the Hague. We think it's clear if you touch down--"
"I don't need to touch down, I just touched up," Lena replied, a bit irritably. "What's going on? I've got--"
"We just got word. There's a dozen Long waiting in the Hague for you," the woman said, urgently. "And the base in Delft was bombed this afternoon. The group waiting at Rotterdam Zestienhoven was massacred, along with all civilians in the vicinity. Get out, head towards Belgium, the base in--"
The voice broke off, and Lena waited, impatiently. She checked her bearings, and dropped below radar range, wishing she'd had a chance to test out Maxwell's cloaking system.
"01, cancel that," the woman said.
"Head to the Hague, you mean?"
"No. Don't head to Belgium. The base there... "
"What?" Lena considered pounding on the radio panel if it'd help.
"It's gone... I'm sorry, I don't know where else you can go."
"Fuck," Lena said, and took a deep breath. "What do you mean, it's gone?"
"The contact in Antwerp... says the main hangar was bombed. Ten minutes ago."
"Bombed," Lena repeated. She ran the list of European resistance locations through her head. Next closest was western Belgium, on the shore, but it was a tiny village, with only one radio, rarely manned. They probably didn't have the means to hide a Gundam. Lena swore under her breath, and realized the woman was still waiting. "Okay, thanks, Echo Five."
"What are you going to do?" The woman sounded worried. "The largest resistance areas--"
"I'm gonna find a smaller one," Lena snapped. "And in the meantime, I'm going to keep pounding the shit out of every Foundation asshole I find!" She hit the radio, shutting down the transmission, and kicked out with her feet. A solid yank on the hand throttles and Talon screamed forward, blasting past mach one.
Yeah, you felt that one, damn it, Lena thought, knowing she probably just shattered a few windows in the houses below. But she still had six hours until dawn, and the coastline was in sight.
All down the coast, your ships are fuckin' history, she thought, and grinned. For every man, woman and child who died in those bases, the Foundation's gonna pay.
2200 GMT; 2300 local
Asmara, Eritrea
"Duo, drink," Trowa coaxed. The head injury had stopped bleeding, but Duo was still a little woozy from the concussion. "You need to drink it." He nodded to Hil, who crept forward on her knees. Trowa raised Duo up, and leaned him down against Hil's chest. "Come on... " A few drops, and Duo licked his lips. His eyes were glazed.
"Head fuckin' hurts like I'd just done a six-month look-see for Treize," Duo croaked. "Where the fuck are we?"
"North of Asmara," Trowa said. "In the mountains."
"Shit," Duo said, struggling to sit up. "Get this blanket offa me. We've got--"
"Between lack of fuel and damage? Not going anywhere right now," Trowa told him, pushing Duo back down. "You rest, and I'm going to go check on Deathscythe Hell."
"My buddy," Duo groaned, but reluctantly let Trowa push him back onto the one emergency blanket. "Those bastard Ma, eight of them. If I'd had the--"
"I know," Trowa assured him. "Just get some rest. I'll be back shortly." He glanced at Hil, who nodded seriously and wrapped her arms tight around Duo. He sighed, then settled down, resting his head against her stomach and slipping back into sleep. Trowa rocked back on his heels and came to his feet in a single move, looking down at the two.
He tried not to think about the fact that Hil was running her fingers through Duo's hair, or about the fact that Duo was smiling in his sleep. He had a Gundam to repair. Then they could send one out of the mountain range far enough to broadcast on the emergency frequency, and see what the hell was going on.
0100 GMT; 0200 local
Nancy, France
The Go swung its rifle, and several blasts made Heavyarms stumble to the side. Smoke drifted into the cabin, and Cat swore under her breath. Heavyarms aimed, firing off a series of quick rounds. The Go fell backwards in flames, but four more stepped up. Heavyarms raised the machine cannon, and two blasts took out the forward Go.
"03," the ground contact called on the encrypted frequency. "We're clear! Get out, now!"
"Almost," Cat said through gritted teeth. Another blast slammed into Heavyarms' chest, rocking the Gundam on its feet. Dropping the Vulcan gun, Heavyarms lunged, slicing through the two Go with the large knife. The sound of shrieking metal filled the cockpit.
"Three Long on the way," the man called. "Evacuate!"
One last shot at the final Go, and Heavyarms grabbed the gun and leapt into the air. Jets screamed at the force of life-off, transforming into bird-mode. Cat brought the Gundam around, checking the ground forces. Five people were running for cover, surrounded by the flaming shells of mobile suits.
"Fuck," she said, pounding the readouts with a fist. Enough fuel to make it to the next base – assuming it hadn't been blasted out of the earth, as well.
Fifteen minutes later she was speeding across the French countryside, keeping low over the tops of the trees. As far as she could tell, she'd evaded the Long. One more base to hit, and then she'd take cover for the rest of the night and figure out what to do.
"03," a male voice said, faintly recognizable. "Report."
"Identify," Cat snapped.
The screen came live, and Cat looked over to see Heero's exhausted face staring at her. There were circles under his eyes, and his face was lined and worried. "Hey," he said, and she was startled by the informality.
"You look like shit," she told him, shocked.
He even chuckled, dryly. "Thanks. I'm running parallel to you, two clicks. You're heading for Lyon?"
"Yeah. The base there--"
"--Has been destroyed."
"Thought you were doing Kaiserslautern," she said, checking the map's coordinates. She wasn't sure if he meant he'd tackled Lyon already, or if he meant something else. Sometimes the elliptical manners of the five male pilots only confused her. It was as though half their words were left out, and she had to struggle to read between the few they actually uttered.
"Ran into two Long and a squad of Yang waiting," he told her, elaborating wearily when she flashed him a scowl and waved her hand, indicating she wanted more. "Did what I could to get the resistance forces out, and had to leave them to deal with the Yang. Got news as I crossed the border that the resistance in Lyon has already done a preemptive strike without our backup."
"What possessed them--"
"It's a done deal," Heero said, in an exhausted tone. "They went in as suicide bombers."
"No... " Cat gripped the hand throttles, unintentionally jerking them with the force of her shock. Heavyarms jumped forward, the jets flaring momentarily. "Fuck... "
"The Foundation has locations on most of our major bases," Heero observed. "Everywhere we go, they're ahead of us. The contact in Kaiserslautern said he was pretty sure their meeting location was infiltrated during the day. It was empty, then, but the explosions didn't start until--"
"But it was--"
"The place exploded as I approached," Heero replied. He looked away from the in-cockpit camera, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And you?"
"Yeah," Cat replied, remembering the base east of Paris, and the unexpected flames off in the distance just as she'd touched down. "I thought--"
"Not a coincidence." Heero stared down at his screens, his brow furrowed, before glancing at her. "Since you know the itineraries, any idea of Lena's location?"
"She should've been at De Gaulle base with me," Cat admitted. "I haven't heard anything."
Heero nodded. "Where's a small base, then? Minor encampment, safe place... "
"I know one near Macon," Cat told him. "Vineyard. The town's unfriendly, but the owner... we can stay there maybe a day before we need to boost again."
"Okay." Heero angled Wing towards Cat, and she watched in the radar as he came closer, falling into line at her starboard side. "How did they find out the location of all the bases?"
She didn't have an answer.
0200 GMT
French-English Channel
"Commander," the pilot said, glancing over his shoulder. "I think you should belt in."
"Excuse me?" Une looked up from the papers she'd been studying, reviewing the maps for the various flight patterns. They'd gotten word about the attack in the Hebrides, and she'd been hustled from the Galway base a half-hour before it was hit, too.
"And burn those while you're at it," the man said, tension making his voice sharp. "Ma'am."
Une took the lighter he offered over his shoulder, and lit the edge of the paper. She had it memorized, regardless. The helicopter swooped low over the water, and Une popped the window open. The papers fluttered and caught, burning brightly before dropping to the gray waters below.
Then she looked up, and caught her breath in a gasp. Three jets were heading towards them, low over the waters.
"Roger that," the pilot said into the intercom, and sighed. "Ma'am, we have an escort. I'm sorry."
"An escort," Une repeated, and lifted her chin. "Very well."
0230 GMT; 0330 local
Macon, France
Heero waited while Cat discussed the situation with the vineyard owner in rapid lilting French. There seemed to be points where the two didn't understand each other, but he noted Cat's French was more choppy, with rapid bursts and short pauses, while the owner – a Mr. Thepot – spoke with a soft, musical accent. He was a tall man with sleepy eyes, dressed in a dark bathrobe in the kitchen of his small house. When he finished speaking, he got up, leaving them alone with their large cups of coffee, cut with milk in the French style.
"He's gone to get the radio," Cat explained. She ran a hand through her coppery curls, tugging at a few tangles. "The Gundams can stay for a day, but more than that and his workers will wonder why the third cellar is off-limits."
Heero nodded, and had another sip of coffee. When the owner returned, Heero studied the short-wave radio while Cat flipped through the channels, listening in on the resistance frequencies. Her face darkened, the earphones settled on her head, and she sighed, a long-drawn breath.
"Une's been captured," Cat said, in English. The owner frowned, and she repeated it in French, then proceeded to switch back and forth while repeating the rest of the news. "The 02s and 03 hit their targets, but before dawn ran into trouble in Asmara... " The coded messages were recordings, repeated at intervals with added news as it came in through encrypted channels. "Resistance towns and locations have been hit throughout Europe and Western South-Asia... I can't even catch all the names. But we've had ones in nearly every region, for a long time now," she explained to Heero.
"Moving west," Heero said, frowning. "They're following the same course we did, and striking when we arrive. Does that radio broadcast?"
Cat shrugged. "Yeah, but it's not a secure channel."
"Bring it with you. I saw a lake down in the vineyard. Hopefully it'll be big enough."
"For what?"
Heero gathered up the rest of the radio's equipment, and nodded to the owner, who stepped away to let him pass. Cat followed silently, and the two made their way from the house down to the vineyard in the early morning light. The sky was tipped with sapphire, and their shadows were long against the wet grass.
At the edge of the lake, Heero set up the radio, angling the small sending dish so it pointed downwards. He stared at the device, and smiled tightly as he recalled a song Duo had written for Trowa, for their missions. There was a big chance it'd be ignored in this world, but with any hope, the resistance forces still listening would be curious enough to mention it to the Gundam pilots. Or, if he got really lucky, one of his teammates might be listening. He checked his watch. If they'd made it to the western coast of the Americas, the sun was just going down. He flipped the switch, picked a resistance frequency, and cleared his throat.
"Drifting on the blackest night, not a star to see by - wind is roaring, gale rising, a flash of light illumines raging seas... " He took a breath, angled the amplifier more towards the water, and changed to another channel, continuing the song. "Rain pours down, a voice calls, cries a warning. Storm is nigh, thunder rolls and threatens... So keep watch!"
It was medium-tempo, with a repetition that Duo had insisted was like old sea chantys, more spoken than sung. It had fit Trowa's tenor as well as Duo's baritone. Beside him, Cat was humming, learning the rolling melody easily.
"A cry in the night, the warning echoes. A signal, a storm at hand." The cadence picked up, the notes steady and thrumming like rain pounding midnight waters. "Watch out, and be ready to ride it out, and pray: storm warning, storm rising, storm coming... "
He took a deep breath, and switched channels again. "Hell breaks loose. Let it come, let it fall – stay on course, stay alert. The echoes call – keep on fighting through it all – storm warning, storm rising, storm breaking... "
Heero paused, and adjusted the amplifier a third time. Cat shifted beside him.
"How much longer will you keep this up? And how will you know they heard?" She stared at the radio, then over her shoulder at the rising sun.
"As long as I have to," he muttered, and flipped the radio to the encrypted channel. They listened for several minutes, but the recorded code hadn't changed. "They'd send me a message back, somehow."
Cat nodded, and he took another breath, flipping to a third broadcast frequency. "Take care, this is a warning – look out, it's getting rough. Lightning strikes, shadows flicker in a crash of sound... "
A warning, pass the message: here it comes!
0300 GMT; 1700 local
Tacoma, Washington
Wufei wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and stepped out of the cockpit. His pre-flight systems check was complete, revealing no issues after the crews had worked on Shenlong while he'd slept. He still had to make sure, though; satisfied, he climbed down from the supine Gundam and landed cat-soft on the warehouse floor.
A group of the technicians were huddled over the radio, and Wufei frowned, heading towards them with long strides. Their body language bespoke fear, worry, and confusion.
"What's going on?"
Two of the technicians started guiltily. "We're not really sure. Europe's... all our forces... " He swallowed hard, and the other technician, a Hispanic kid not much older than a teenager, spoke up.
"Belgium, Finland, England, France, Turkey, Hungary... all gone," the kid said. "And a bunch of places in Russia and India that I don't recognize. Pakistan, I caught that one."
"And the Sudan," another man agreed.
Wufei frowned. That leak in the Resistance dam had just gotten bigger, hitting flood-levels. The attempt on Lena's life, Zhiyi's kidnapping, and the bombing runs on three of the largest resistance bases... and now the European resistance headquarters... his thoughts were interrupted as one of the men exclaimed something, and turned the radio up.
"There it is again!"
Wufei stepped forward, listening intently with the other men as the scratchy sound faded in and out. It took a line or two before he recognized it. A female voice was singing, hoarse and throaty. His blood went cold.
"Rain pouring, wind lashing – lightning flash, thunder crashing – hold on, keep your head up: we're going through--"
"Holy fuck," Wufei breathed, then burst into action. "Send a message! Send a message on all encrypted lines, you've got to let them--"
"Send what?" The Hispanic kid shook his head. "What do we say? The Foundation lines are listening to the song, too--"
"Say... " Wufei stopped, halfway to the office door, and thought, then smiled. "Sing this, just this, over and over until that song stops." He sang the line, and the kid nodded, nervous. Wufei smiled, grim. "I'm heading out now."
"But sunset's not for another hour," another man protested.
"Yeah, so I suggest you clear the area, too. And let everyone down the coast know that when the sun goes down, they'd better be undercover. I'm canceling all attacks for this night."
"You can't--"
"I just did," Wufei barked. "Send the damn message!"
The men nodded, and the Hispanic kid bent to the radio, twiddling the dials before transmitting on several different frequencies at once. His soft voice followed Wufei out to where Shenlong waited. Inside the Gundam, Wufei opened the lines, and the repeating words of the chorus filled the cockpit.
Darkness everywhere, and I cannot see, but I call my horse, and he comes to me... On the banks of the river, run...
0330 GMT; 1830 local
Amarillo, Texas
Quatre walked out of the shower, toweling his hair roughly. Meiran looked up, hopping a little as she slipped into her jeans and buttoned them. Her tank top was damp, and she grinned at the towel slung low on his hips. When he bent over to grab his jeans, she snagged the towel and snapped him in the ass.
"I'll get you for that," he growled, and pulled his jeans on quickly. Picking up his shirt, he got her thighs with it, and she yelped. Quatre chuckled wickedly, moving closer. "Don't mess with--"
The explosion rocked the building, sending Meiran flying sideways. Quatre fell into the dresser, grunting as it slammed into his kidneys. Plaster and paint rained down on them. He was up in a second, pulling the shirt over his head and shoving his feet into his boots.
"What the--" Meiran's startled cry was cut off by another explosion. She scrambled across the floor, grabbing her own boots and jacket. "Quatre?"
"I'm okay," he yelled, catching her by the wrist. "Move it."
Out the cheap motel room, down the hallway, past other occupants stumbling out, confused. Quatre threw himself across Meiran as a third explosion hit closer. Flames were coating one end of the building. He spun them around, aiming back towards the motel room.
"What--wait--" Meiran complained. "Stairs--"
"Fire escape," Quatre yelled. The door had locked behind them, but Meiran – a step ahead of him – kicked it open. The door flew back on its hinges. The two were across the room when a fourth explosion shock waved through the building. Quatre smashed the window with a jacket-covered arm, and shoved Meiran out.
She was down the steps and moving fast, and he pounded down the metal grate behind her. The descending ladder went halfway and stopped. Meiran jumped the last ten feet. Quatre landed beside her, wincing as his ankle turned. He limped a step, and Meiran put her shoulder under his arm.
"Nataku," she mouthed. The building behind them was in flames, and two across the street were destroyed, burning crisply in the late dusk.
"This way," Quatre said, angling them away from the center of the destruction. People were running in the streets, screaming. Shouts in three different languages fought with breaking glass and car horns, random gunfire. People rammed into them, panicked, fleeing or running to help. Quatre turned his body, taking the blows with his shoulder, pushing through the crowd. The barrio fire was spreading, leaping from low-rent motel to small shops to boarding houses. The summertime dryness fed the crackling flames into a frenzy over their heads.
The building beside them exploded. Meiran reacted immediately, shoving Quatre away and throwing herself over him. Bricks and flaming wood rained down. Quatre rolled over, ducking his head and covering Meiran with his body, smothering any flames on her clothes. She whimpered, and he lifted himself up. Her eyes opened, then closed. He bent down, lifting her in his arms.
"Nataku," she whispered, and was silent.
Right, he thought, ignoring the sharp pain in his ankle. Blood was trickling down his arm. He shifted Meiran until her hips were on his shoulder, and ran. He'd deal with injuries later, once he could get to the Gundams. First he had to get out of the center of destruction. His blond hair and Meiran's Chinese heritage only made them stand out in a sea of dark faces and darker hair.
"Hold on, Mei," he muttered.
A car was parked at the curb, its door open and engine running. The driver must have fled on foot when the attack started. Quatre dumped Meiran in the driver's seat. He pushed her lax body across the seat, climbing in after her. Slamming the door, he shoved on the gas and took off down the narrow streets.
In the rearview mirror, the flames engulfing the barrio looked like hell on earth.
0400 GMT; 0500 local
Macon, France
Heero's fingers froze over the radio, listening, his head cocked to the side. The refrain repeated. He gasped, sinking down to his haunches.
"What?" Cat knelt down beside him. "Yuy--"
"They got the message," he said, his fingers digging into the knees of his jeans. "They got the message. But I don't know if they got it in time."
Cat stood, fiddling with the dials, the headphones pressed to her ears to hear more clearly. The vineyard workers were arriving, and they'd need to get undercover soon. The truck engines coming up through the valley were the right pitch to make the radio's sounds muddy in comparison. She listened for several minutes, and took a deep breath.
"San Diego's been hit. Seattle, Oregon, and Reno," she reported. "Come on, Yuy, we've got to get inside."
"Yeah." He blinked, and stood, gathering up the radio equipment sitting on the grass. Together, they hurried through the vineyard rows, heading back to the owner's house.
0600 GMT; 0800 local
Asmara, Eritrea
"I don't know Arabic," Hilde whispered to Duo, watching the boy dressed in long white robes waving his arms about as he chattered with Trowa at the edge of the cave.
"It's not Arabic," Duo replied, and finished buckling his boots. He stood up, watching Trowa carefully. Trowa's head was tilted to the side as he listened, and then he'd reply in a slow tone, but already picking up the kid's accent. Duo offered Hilde a hand up. "It's Bedawiye."
Hilde's blue eyes were wide. "How do you know?"
"Wild guess," Duo said, and grinned. "Kid's dressed like a Beja, and since I can't understand him, I'd say he's not speaking Arabic. And the Beja speak Bedawiye."
"You know Arabic?" Hilde grabbed the emergency blanket, shook it out, and began folding it. Duo caught one end, and helped.
"A little," Duo said. "Not my best. Can't get the 'h' sound to save my life." He jerked his head towards Trowa, who was bowing politely to the boy. "Trowa's a natural mimic, though. Never seen him stumped, yet."
"You sound like a proud papa," Hilde grumbled. "Sorry, just cranky, y'know? Feel like an idiot for bailing out before mission conclusion. Bet everyone else did theirs--"
"We're splitting up," Trowa interrupted. "Three Gundams in one place is too dangerous. Hilde, you stay here with Akuot. His brothers will be here soon, and they'll help you get Deathscythe covered. Duo, head due west about thirty clicks. There's a small group of Beja waiting. I'm not sure, but I think they may be able to procure tools, if not something for you to repair the Gundam, too."
Duo nodded. "You?"
"Going northeast, back to the coast." Trowa pulled his flight jacket up, straightening it on his shoulders. "Less radio interference there. I'll send messengers with any news. Stay put until you hear from me."
"Tro," Duo started, then stopped. With Hilde watching, and the kid's bright eyes darting between the three of them, he just couldn't say it. Then he brightened, and dropped into Japanese. "I don't think splitting up is a good idea."
"You mean you don't want to," Trowa replied, evenly. "Mission comes first, Maxwell," he said in English, and Duo scowled. Trowa shrugged, but his gaze rested on Duo for just a second longer, and a quick smile curved up one corner of his mouth. "It won't be two weeks," he said. Hilde looked bewildered, but Duo nodded sadly. Trowa zipped up his jacket. "We'll get him back before then."
0700 GMT; 1100 local
Pocatello, Idaho
Wufei swore and pushed Shenlong up to redline. The engines screamed, the burst of mach one long behind him as he tore down the narrow canyons of the Snake River. The radio continued its scan, pausing briefly as it picked up country-western, a snippet of news reports, a lone jazz singer backed by a piano and stand-up bass. Wufei slammed his fist down and angled the Gundam east-south-east, cutting through the mountain range, flying solely on instinct.
If Quatre and Meiran had been caught in the attacks, he thought, they'd get out. They had to. They had the instincts of Gundam pilots, and one way or another... he sighed, and remembered the mountains in old Nevada, at the edge of California. There'd been a number of natural caves in that area, where they'd run a mission a few years back. It was a long shot, but short of finding a resistance pocket not yet slammed into submission, he had no idea what else to do.
The radio paused, and a man's baritone came on, singing in a low tone. Wufei blinked, and punched in several keys, freezing the radio on the frequency and beginning a search.
"Hell breaks loose - let it come, let it fall... Stay on course, stay alert – the echoes call--"
"04!" Wufei shouted into the 'com, wincing as his voice came back to him in short-burst delay, through the radio.
"05," Quatre's voice said, relieved. "Nine-oh-two-two-point-eight, take it up to four-four time. Out."
"Copy that." Wufei grinned, running the old code through his head to get the bearings. He brought the Gundam around, heading towards the southern borders of Old America.
An hour later, the radio flickered into life again, and Quatre's voice came on. "Two-three-seven-point-one, seven-eight time with syncopated in sets of six."
"Roger," Wufei replied, grunting as he turned Shenlong to a bearing of south-south-east. Another fifteen minutes, he figured.
"A1 clear, A2 has six, A3 has five," Quatre reported. He grunted, and a burst of gunfire came over the com. "Sets of eight. Don't have a calculator handy, sorry."
"I'll kick your ass for it later," Wufei assured him. "Five?"
"Status three, up on two, out," Quatre said, and the line was silent.
Injured enough to incapacitate, Wufei translated, cursing fluently in several languages, but conscious and able to fight. Well, that was something. He took a deep breath and kept Shenlong aimed for Quatre's last stated position. Up ahead, the midnight desert was lighting with flashes of heat lightening, sparkling silver against the sky. In the midst of it, though, orange bursts crackled between the lightening bolts, and Wufei braced himself for battle. Meiran and Quatre were cornered, with at least nine mobile suits for each of them.
"Keep on fighting through it all," Wufei sung under his breath, the quicker pace of the last verse coming to his lips even as he ran though a last systems check and ammunition count.
Storm warning, storm rising, storm breaking... Hold on tight! We're going through...
End Part 22
lyrics once again thanks to the lovely Kagemihari, who not only poked me for Tet but cheerfully went off and came up with something when I explained what this chapter needed, and the purpose of the song. Ta-dah! You can read the full lyrics here: http://kagemihari.tripod.com/warning.htm.
Again, revised slightly, times and locations straightened out. Refresh your memories, kiddies, you'll be tested on this in the next chapter!
(:./sol/tetra22)
