Prelude <> Chapter VII

The sudden chirp of a digital chronometer gave Decard's senses a quick jolt, which was quickly piled up with the rest of the irritation he felt. The numerical display told him that he was into his sixth agonizing hour of his militant vigil, a prospect that caused him to squirm in his seat. Around him, the cockpit of his mobile suit continued to produce its continuous low hum, which was barely audible in most situations. However, as display panels flickered with status reports on his ten ton war machine, a humanoid giant that towered just over sixteen meters in height, they were as thunderous to Decard as the mightiest explosion. He tried ignoring them, knowing that there was little cause for attention. As an experienced cadet soldier of the Torquemada Warrior House, he knew many of the systems' stress levels by heart. Six hours submerged beneath the tempered waters that ran through the Sheridan River Valley would not cause anything of concern.

Cadet soldier. The rank designation began hanging in Decard's mind, draping over the irritation, fitting so firm that it compounded the sentiment. He had long considered himself a professional, and knew he was already better than many of House's more seasoned pilots. At the same time, he was careful to restrain his views, both outwardly and inwardly, lest they grow into damaging egotism. Arrogance was unbecoming of a Torquemada soldier, and more often lead to dishonor than glory. Besides, society imposed great scrutiny on those who possessed arms, and the skills to use them. It was best to keep his presentation good.

After countless decades of blood-soaked strife, humanity finally felt that its to had dawned upon an age of prosperity and civility. Much of this was owed to science, whose advances in behaviorial control had ushered in the great "Purity." The AVN code stood at the forefront of the new era, forming its corner stone. Nearly every child born, as far back as Decard could remember, was subjected to it: a prenatal treatment that influenced their growth before they left the womb. In the forth month of their pregnancies, mothers had the option of exposing themselves to a series of harmonic waves, specifically tuned to influence the brainwaves of the new life that they carried. The code's effects were meant to modify neurological growth, dulling the biological and genetic factors that scientists had correlated with aggression, and other destructive tendencies. It was a filter, meant to breakdown the murderous cycle of warfare that had cursed humanity during the Dark Ages, and to ensure that utopia would thrive and perpetuate.

Generally, those who refused the pulse were immediately stigmatized, as were the "impure" children they brought into the world. Denied the rank and stature of "pure" human beings, the natural born mongrels were seen as primative reminders of the past. They were hated and pitied, forced to serve in the lowest levels of the caste culture with the Earth Sphere. Of course, there were exceptions. Decard had once been told that, among the distant space colonies beyond the solar system, the AVN code was viewed as an abomination. As such, it was never implemented, allowing order to continue as it had since the Dark Age. For that, the people of the Earth Sphere regarded their distant cousins as vain and decadent beings who stood against progress.

The only acceptable natural borns in the Earth Sphere were those who pledged themselves to one of the realm's Warrior Houses. Having realized that they could the leave cradle of the new humanity unprotected, both from threats within and without, the creators of the new order organized the Houses from the remains of surviving military cadres. As the only groups allowed to continue any martial pursuits, they were kept socially separate from the rest of humanity as possible, lest they contaminate their enlightened brethern. This isolation lead several of the Houses to develop their own social orders, with distinct practises, laws, and traditions. Today, these self-contained cultures were made up primarily of their founders' descendents, though most were open to allowing other family bloodlines to join.

Though the Houses employed a wide variety of different personal arsenals and vehicles, the centerpiece of their strength had always lay in their stock of mobile weapons; salvaged machines that had once ruled the battlefields of the Dark Age. From the diminutive power armor, to the towering mobile suit, to the truly titanic mobile armor, these powerful mechanoids came in an infinite variety of shapes and sizes. Warrior Houses worked hard, laboring through several tons of planetary rock, through endless expanses of spaceborne ruins, to recover and restore these machines. Constructing one from scratch was impossible; the factory complexes and assembly satellites that had once churned them out by the hundreds were now a distant memory, as if they had been meticulously wiped from the face of the Earth Sphere. Even those technical wizards who knew how to repair such hardware were rare, and therefore in high demand, often to point where the Houses would share or ransom them so they could all maintain their fighting strength.

Once repaired, a mobile weapon became a closely-guarded treasure of its House, bestowed to honored warrior families whose members had proven themselves through rigorous testing. They became heirlooms, passed from parent to child for generations. Their maintence was treated with an almost sacred sense of fanaticism, as few Houses had extra mobile weapons to replace those that were lost. Decard's present vehicle, however, was an uncommon spares. A tall, blocky machine with rounded limbs and a single, square sensor eye, it had been found by the Torquemadas several years prior. Performance trials had discovered that it was a simple, well-balanced machine that aspired neither to total greatness nor obscurity. This had motivated the House elders to turn it over to their training corps, to help wean new warriors in the field. It was a stepping stone for the cadres of the House's competitive training program, giving them a tempting sample of what piloting their inherited mobile weapon would be like.

Decard had spent the last two weeks living nearly every moment inside of this mecha, named Durmid by the cadet corps, and enduring the most extreme environmental conditions. It was part of an exaggerated final exam that threw him into the midst of billowing blizzards, searing deserts, and rolling highland forests, all venues that made the present locale seem rather tame. Given the absense of environmental challenges, Decard had first guessed that there had some sort of tactical linchpin to this scenario. Sure enough, his instructor revealed that this was a test of his command skills and innovation.

Decard had been given a simple goal; protect a civilian supply depot at the southern mouth of the valley from a group of encroaching attackers who were bearing down from the north. To accomplish this, he had been provided with a squadron command that included his own OZ-MS06 mobile suit, four Hussar-class medium weight tanks, and a team of field engineers. What made this winning this scenario especially motivating was that the aggressors were very real. The task itself had been requested of the Warrior House by the region's local government, who were under siege from an opposing House team that had been brought in by their neighbor.

It was not uncommon for House Warriors to confront one another on the battlefield. Though they had all been officially charged with the same task, protecting the Earth Sphere, politics and semantics painted a different reality. The Houses responded to the requests of any government in need, rushing in to shield them from any military threat. It was not uncommon for a country to suddenly believe its neighbor was just such a menance, a sentiment that was often returned promptly in kind. Both sides would petition different Houses to come to their defense, at which point a series of battles were quick to follow. Litte evidence was needed to bring in House soliders; a threat may be genuine, or merely implied. In some cases, it was even non-existant, born purely of paranoia and a hint of ambition.

The hypocracy buried within this reality was not lost on Decard. That the AVN treated rulers of a country had no qualms about sending men and women to their deaths, most likely over nothing at all, did not settle well with him either. It was a view shared by most Warrior House soldiers, and often a cause for debate over the superioty between natural borns and the AVN "Pure Ones." Besides, bringing the Houses into a situation was not always the best recourse. As there had been no one threat for them to all face since the Purity, many of them looked inward for foes to fight. The Houses enjoyed competing against one another, testing each others warriors to see who had reared the best. As far as Decard knew, no House had ever resolved a conflict through diplomacy of politics; it just wasn't done.

The present situation was a perfect example. The Torquemada warriors were lying in wait for a team from the Sun-Zhen Warrior House. When the idenities of their foes had first been confirmed, Decard had marveled at how it had sent an elaborate chain of events into motion. It was like watching a dance, each step of the mission given with such elegance that it made the warriors' craft an artform. Before they had even landed, Decard's training officer had informed the Sun-Zhen commander that he faced a cadet unit, a deliberate move made to breed both ire and overconfidence in the enemy. The Sun-Zhen leader then replied with a rundown of his unit's illustrious history and battlefield victories, meant to provoke similar emotions. When the banter was done, Decard was sent out with his troops, with no words of encouragment, but instead a reminder that he was being graded on his performance.

And so here he sat.

Decard had not wanted to rush the Sun-Zhen warriors, even when he had discovered that they lacked the benefit of a mobile suit. He knew that their experience would make up for that, so he couldn't gamble on the success of a straight-out fight. Instead, he wanted to put them into a situation that he controlled, where his people had an overwhelming advantage. An ambush had seemed best, so he went with it. Placing all of his units deep within the river valley, he hoped to lure the Sun-Zhens' in with a false sense of security. While they advanced, and joked about the cadets who must have lost themselves on their way to the battle, Decard had placed his team in hidden positions along the Sheridan River's eastern bank. Well, a portion of his team, that is.

Fostering a little innovation, Decard had opened the exercise with a call to his field engineers, ordering them to make some unusual modifications to his tank team. Built for speed on open terrain, a Hussar bore a closer resemblence to a heavily looking car than a conventional armored vehicle. He knew that its main weapon, a beam cannon rising out of the aft section, was much easier to remove than the traditional heavy turrets found on most tanks. With this in mind, Decard had his technicians pull out the large guns from two of his units, and then prop them upright on the bank. Stripping down a beam sabre donated from Durmid's arsenal, they jury-rigged an impromptu battery for the weapons, allowing each enough power for one or two shots apiece. They would have to be good.

The other two tank crews were instructed to each take their vehicles up the north and down the south length of the river respectively, and power down their systems so the enemy would be blind to them. The unarmed pair, on the other hand, were sent out into the valley's thick forests, to act as decoys that would encourage the Sun-Zhen soldiers to move in on Decard's location. He really didn't care how they did it, so long as they managed to herd their enemies down the valley slope and right to the Sheridan's western edge.

"Hey Stone Face, time to wake up." The feminine voice startled Decard, snapping his senses back into their sharpened, battle-ready state. A chuckle followed the greeting, which had already been bit too cheerful and relaxed for the situation. Then again, it also fit the perpetual mood of Cadet Leah Styles, whose optimism was so strong that it was often considered infectious.

"Acknowledged," Decard's low, emotionally neutral tone responded. Styles couldn't have seen his face, but she somehow knew that she had given him a jolt. His cadet classmate took great pleasure in putting cracks in his professionalism, far more than he did in making subtle, but scathing, remarks about her place as a lowly tank pilot. In truth, Decard help a silent respect for her. Mobile suits could race over a battlefield with the full agility and grace of a human being, making even the most manouverable tank seem like a sluggish, vunerable deathtrap. It took courage to strap yourself into something that had the prowess of a cinderblock.

"Lure 1, what's your ETA?" Decard continued into the comm line. Another sudden blast of static answered, before Styles' voice came through. She was in one of the unarmed decoy tanks, another reason to respect her a little more.

"Give me two, maybe three minutes, tops," she replied. "Enemy's on my tail with... two Tigers and a Drakon." Decard flinched. Those were all heavy armor units, the likes of which were rarely seen. Even with an ambush in place, this wouldn't be easy.

"Roger Lure 1," he said, keeping his apprehension buried. "Get to the water's edge and dive in for cover. We'll fish you out after the fireworks are over. Stone Face out." Decard winced inwardly, but kept his voice level. Maintaining Leah's joking callsign name would lift a few spirits in his team, and lighten an otherwise dismal mood. Every little bit of confidence helped, so the sacrifice to his dignity would be worth it.

"Cannon 1 and 2, we have incoming targets," he continued, switching comm channels. "We've got the first two minutes to ourselves before they arrive, so let's make sure we're ready for them." Above him, on the shoreline, the twin tank guns began to power up. The beam sabre generator they shared, tangled in a mass of conduit and wiring, began to spark and spasm as its unfamiliar modifications syphoned off its internal batteries.

Decard brought his Durmid out of its crouch, sending up a flurry of sediment that had caked the suit's armor since he had taken up position underwater. Looking upward, at the blurred and wavering vision of the surface world, he began to count down the last remaining seconds until the Sun-Zhens' arrival.

His voice was a low whisper once again, edging out over every number slowly, hesitating before moving to the next. "Four, three, two..." Above, the scene through the water was thrown into abrupt chaos as Styles drove her tank right over the shoreline and into the river. That was it! Jamming down on the pedals at his feet, Decard gave the machine the command to jump. With split second response time, Durmid's myomer leg muscled tensed, and then catapulted the mobile suit into a leap off the river bed. Simulatenously, its engine core vented hot plasma out through a series of vernier ports along the mobile suit's feet, turning the tables on physics to push it onward.

On the surface, two of the Sun Zhen tanks came to a halt at the river's edge, about to search for their prey. The surprise of Styles' escape was suddenly overshadowed as, without warning, the traquil surface of the Sheridan River was shattered by the rising hulk of Decard's mobile suit. The drab green Durmid drenched the pair of vehicles as it rose through the water, and allowed neither of them time to recover.

"Open fire!" Decard's shout over the comm was unnecessary, but the situation seemed to demand it. As Durmid continued to rise, its right arm swung into line with the hapless duo of Tiger heavy tanks. Nestled firmly in the mobile suit's hand was a long-barreled rifle, a 100 mm autocannon that looked like an oversized version of an infantryman's weapon. The weapon's report was harsh and grating as it spat two bursts of explosive shells at the left-hand tank. The ammunition tore through the Tiger's armor as if it were paper, riddling out at all four of the tiny turrets that spanned its body. Smoke pillars began rising from the gaping holes across the tank, merging into a dark cloud that hovered over it.

Just as Durmid reached the apex of its jump, twin pillars of ruby light streaked beneath its feet, colliding with the right-hand Tiger. Decard couldn't help but smile as shots from his team's hidden turrets sizzled off the enemy tank's frontal armor, melting whatever they didn't vaporize outright into useless slag. Still, he could not let the confidence of scoring first blood get to him; both Sun-Zhen vehicles were still very much intact. He had no doubt that they would at least try to maul the Torquemadas as much as they could, softening them up for their big brother, the Drakon tank.

Decard's team had to move fast, to deny them that chance. As Durmid began to fall from mid-air, he carefully timed two bursts of its verniers to guide his descent to the west shoreline. His mobile suit would mix it up directly with the wounded Tigers, buying the rest of his people some time to get the turret placements ready for another volley.

Durmid moved as quickly as any human trooper would, pivoting from its position to face down the two Tigers. Two more bursts of fire rattled out of his large rifle, sending uranium-tipped slugs into the lefty's tank. The shots peeled off more armor, gouging into the machine's treds and grinding apart its heavy cannon mount. This time, though, the Sun-Zhen soldiers were ready with a reply, letting loose streams of light machine gun fire. The weapons were largely ineffective against a mobile suit, and did little to Durmid's titanium hide. However, Decard knew that the Tiger crews were just buying time, waiting for their own heavy beam cannons to come online.

He wasn't going to give them the chance.

Decard jolted his mobile suit into another leap, jumping higher this time, at the risk of burning out his verniers. As the machine rose up, he rolled its body around, flipping it over so that its feet were in the air and its torso aimed at the ground. The left fist clenched as the right tightened over the autocannon, raining down a prolonged stream of fire. The bullets pounded through the left tank, tearing right down into its canopy, and finishing off the crew just before touching off a case of stored ammunition. The unused machine gun shells detonated inside their housing, tearing apart the remains of their owner with a single, brutal gout of flame. The Tiger spasmed once as it died, and then continued to burn without hesitation.

As well as that attack went, it was replied for in kind. This time, the other Tiger gave Durmid a dose of its beam cannon, tilting the weapon upward to send a blue-white column of energy right into Decard's path. Gritting his teeth, he threw the mobile suit's legs forward to bring his verniers back into play. The thrusters responded quickly, but came short of granting a complete dodge. The tank's beam was able to rake its up Durmid's torso before the machine made it clear, scoring a clean hit that melted a scar over the humanoid giant's chest.

Durmid's landing sent it skidding across the ground, but Decard managed to keep his machine upright as it tore through soil and kicked up dust clouds. Keeping in continuous motion, he whipped the suit's right arm around to fall in line with the lone Tiger. A split second before his computer locked on targer, another ruby beam lanced through the Sun-Zhen's armor, torching through the main cannon turret to cut a smouldering path right to the other side. A few shafts of crimson light leaked out of the tank's aft section, setting nearby forest growth ablaze. Durmid lowered its rifle, relaxing into an uprighting standing position.

Raising his mobile suit's left arm, opening the palm for a wave, Decard breathed a sigh of relief. As he was opening the comm channel again, however, two faint whistles squeeled through his cockpit. He stopped in mid-cringe as the implications sunk in. "All units, we've got...."

It was too late. As Durmid turned towards the pair of disembodied turrets, twin thuds signalled their destruction. The shear force of the blast threw the mobile suit back into the brush, sending its cartwheeling into several trees before Decard regained control. Metal and fire seemed to erupt out of the two guns' positions spontaneously, consuming them, devouring all trace of their existence, and leaving no hint as to what kind of weapon was used. In the corner of his eye, Decard could have sworn he saw the air shimmer on his right-hand monitor. The terrible possibilities began running through his mind.

An active cloak! There was an enemy mobile suit out here, using a stealth system to cover its readings. Worse, it had one of the more sophisiticated dampening devices, the kind that rendered it invisible to sensor readings and the naked eye. Forcing aside the grief he felt for his lost comrades, Decard turned his mobile suit's gaze over the surrounding area, looking for any hints to the mystery unit's location.

The air in front of him started to ripple faintly, as if a stone had skipped over a traquil pool. Decard's eyes narrowed at the sight, while his mobile suit responded with another burst from its cannon. The shells peppered the transparent mass, cutting through the cloak's energy layer to damage the machine beneath it. Like rips in cloth, small tears opened up around the wounded patches of armor. They seemed to hang in mid-air, very real but without a victim, until the cloak adjusted its field to compensate for them. Then, Decard's stalker had vanished completely again.

Decard knew that the other mobile suit could not attack him while cloaked without revealing itself. Still, the energy field provided the Sun-Zhen pilot with a very good advanage. Firing into the forest growth again to test the area, he found no one about this time. Resisting the urge to punch his control panel, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and focus his thoughts. No foe was invincible, and while the opposing mobile suit had the advantage in stealth, Decard still had two able allies lying in wait. And he would need them; there was still the missing Drakon tank to worry about, not to mention the exact capabilities of this unknown machine.

"No plan survives the enemy," Decard mused, tightening his grip on Durmid's controls. His ambush had half-worked, leaving him with a tattered squad and a faceless opponent. A textbook situation was threating to blow up in his face, unless he could find a way to defuse it. Giving his mobile suit's rifle a quick shake, Decard unloaded the empty ammunition clip, sending it to the forest floor. Replacing it with a second magazine that was stowed beneath the cannon's barrel, he snaped it into place with practised ease. He had to be ready for anything. This mission was no longer just about a routine final exam, nor the honor of two duelling Warrior Houses, but something far more important.

Survival.