Mobile Suit Gundam 0079: Shimmers on the Savannah

[Nowhere Man]

Prologue

October 1, U.C. 0079.

21:00

Somewhere in eastern Ethiopia...

The three Zakus moved slowly, in triangle formation, wading through the small clump of trees. Abruptly, they stopped at the edge of a large field. The bright lights from their eyes left ghostly trails in the darkness as they shifted from the left to the right, scanning about the pitch-black. The white monkey crest that adorned the forehead of each Zaku seemed to glow a soft pink, only adding to the eerie feeling of the now-quiet night.

"Are you sure this where intel said they would be?" the first pilot asked.

"Yeah... According to the info we got, we should be standing right at edge of the enemy's test site for the new weapons," the second answered.

"Lets give up another round-of-applause for our 'oh-so-intellegent' Intel officers. How are we supposed to go and do our thing if we get unreliable information?" replied the third.

"Silence! No more chatter, got that? We're here on a recon mission, here. We don't know that they're gone... yet. Minovsky Particle jamming is too high to use our sensors or contact base through the radio... I'll use visual to scope things out. Amos, Jericho, if we find trouble, book it back to base."

The two other pilots responded with the familiar "Yessir!" in chorus.

The hatch of the first Zaku hissed as it opened. Its pilot leaned out, holding holding a pair of nightvision binoculars, scanning the end of the field to his right.
"There's a couple of small huts down at the back of the field, there. I can't tell what they're for, though. There don't seem to be any light in them. There doesn't seem to be anything else over there..."
The pilot shifted his position, searching out the end of the field to his right.
"Doesn't seem to be anything over there, eith- WHAT THE **** IS THAT!?"

He never had a chance to find out. The first round blasted right through his stomach into the cockpit. The second and third hit the right side of the Zaku's chest, sending it into a spin. The fourth hit the now-exposed left side. The other two pilots were stunned for a second, but when the realization hit, they were terrified. Suddenly, there were no orders.

"Machine Gun fire!? From where!? What can hit us without us seeing it!?"

"Oh God, oh God!!"
The two Zakus raised their own Machine Guns, sending a seemingly endless stream of fire towards the direction of the first shots.
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October 2

05:00

The red sunrise peeked above the Savannah, giving the yellow grass a slightly-pinkish hue. This pink spread out, and glinted off of the green armor of the three, felled giants. It is October 2nd, U.C. 0079, and these Zakus mark the beginning of the end for Zeon-controlled Africa.

[Nowhere Man]

Chapter 1: Welcome to Africa

October 3, U.C. 0079

11:00

Western Uganda

Petty Officer Eric Von Brandt stared out the window of the jeep at the rolling landscape before him. He wasn't sure if he was totally awake, or half asleep, as the supply convoy had been on the road since 4:00 that morning. Catching shut-eye was out of the question, as the rough trail (for it could hardly be called a road) jostled the jeeps around constantly... and his driver seemed Hell-bent on keeping him awake if the terrain wasn't doing its job.

"Heh. I've been drivin' ya fa ova six hours now, and I still haven't told ya m' name. How rude o' m'. PrFC Darren Charles."

Eric wasn't sure which was more annoying, the man's demeanor or his accent. "PO Eric Vo-"

"'ell I already know ya name, silly. Where ya from? Ya haven't told m' that, either."

Nor would I under any other circumstances, thought Eric. "Side 3," he said distractedly. He was starting to regret this reassignement, and this new feature called "gravity" was taking a toll on his stomach.

"Heh. The 'mother land', eh? Most o' us are from every which way. I'm from Side 1, myself."

"You mean you all aren't from Side 3?"

"Yep. Sure, we 'ave some mixed in 'ere and there, but there's more than one reason we're the 'Foreign Legion'. Don't worry, nobody really cares where you're from out here. Anyway, that wasn't exactly what I was sayin'. What branch ya from?"

With that accent, I doubt anyone can understand what you're saying. Eric found himself wondering if any of the other transfers in the jeeps in front of him had the same problems.

"Eh? Still waitin'..."

Eric let out a long sigh. "Lady Kycilia's Mobile Assualt Force. Musai-class carrier Milestone." The response to such a question was automatic, as it should be with all soldiers. Eric wondered if the remark would spark warning bells, but apparently, it didn't. Damn it, man. Be careful who you say that to. Someone will eventually get wise. I don't care how dumb it may sound. I've got to be careful or I could get hurt in this game.

"Ah. From space, are ya? Well, this ain't nothin' like the great ol' vacuum. Welcome to Hell, kid." Eric turned his head just enough to catch Darren Charles spit out the window, then put on a sarcastic smile, oddly accented by his green eyes and brown hair. Eric actually allowed himself smile a little.

"Nothin' like space, this 'ere Africa. Hot as sin, here. But the view's amazin'."

Eric laughed aloud at that. "The view? All I see is grass and dust, as far as the eye can travel."

Darren spit and laughed again. "Exactly. Get used to it, 'cause that's all ya're gonna see 'ile ya're 'ere."

Eric turned his head on his hand so that he actually was looking at the man. For the first time, he studied his driver carefully. His green casual uniform was zipped open from the collar until half-way down his shirt, exposing a sweat-stained undershirt beneath it. His paints were dusty and oil-stained. "Any hard fighting, here?"

"The toughest. The Feddies harass us every once in a while, but what ya really 'ave to watch for are th' militias."

"Militias?"

"Yeah. They can't really be called guerillas, 'cause they're too organized. They're outdated, but organized. They love to give our ground troops hell."

Eric found himself relieved that he was a Mobile Suit pilot and not a GI.

"Anyways, on to more light-'earted stuff. 'ere's some advice: First, don't wear your full dress uniform, out 'ere. Too damn hot. Everybody wears their casuals." Eric nodded, his full attention now on the man he had been shunning just a few moments ago.
"Second: Water's rationed. Every once-in-a-'ile the supply trucks bring along a whole bunch of water, but at the moment, there's not much. We get some rain, but that usually dries up in a coupla' days." Eric nodded again. "Finally: General Bitter doesn't put up with any bull****, so stay on th' right side o' the tracks and ya won't have his thumb up yar ass, which, believe m', ya don't want."

Eric laughed again, but made a mental note of what he'd just been told. He shuddered subconciously. This really does sound like Hell. To get his mind off of everything else, Eric engaged Darren in some small-talk, the last thing he'd expected himself to do.
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2:00

Eastern Kenya

South African Forward Base of Operations

Major General Neuen Bitter poured over the reports and charts on his desk. It just didn't make sense. How could the Feddies have been operating within their territory without them knowing about it? Even more so, how could his recon teams have missed such an installation? And lastly, where had the damned Feddies disappeared to? Whatever was in the huts had been cleared out, and more importantly, the new Federation Mobile Suit had disappeared. Bitter stroked his chin with his right hand, thoughtfully. It was obvious that he had highly under-estimated the suit's capabilities, and sending out such an inexperienced MS team had not been the best course of action. Now he had lost the enemy's new unit and three Zaku IIJs, along with their pilots. Worst yet, the suits had been so badly torn up that no data was salvagable from them. That, at least might have been a small triumph, if they had managed to salvage even a fraction.

With the reports of a ship called "The Trojan Horse" appearing in North America and engagements with prototype MS in Southeast Asia, and an apparent enemy mass-offensive in Europe, things had been increasingly hectic.

Morale was dropping slowly. The men hadn't seen much real action, lately, and were beginning to become irritable. They'll have more than enough action if the Federation decides to launch an offensive from their holds on the eastern seaboard, he concluded. But that was not something to wish for. There was also the possibility of himself launching an attack on some of the Federation foot-holds... but that, in the end, would be unwise. He wasn't sure he had the collected manpower to do such a thing.

Checking his charts, indeed he didn't. There were dozens of small Zeon camps stretched out before his own. Most of these were to quell any guerilla activity, although there had only been a slight drop in activity because of them. At least it had broken up the organization of the attacks. The other camps were advance positions that could tell him of any new Feddie activity. Retrieving those units would mean a new offensive by guerillas and small blind spots, which was something that Bitter's men could not take. He reviewed some of the other reports on his desk. He had the Mobile Suit power currently, but even if he recalled some of his outlying units, his air and infantry power was lacking. He would need to requisition more of each, which would take time and weaken other battle lines. I'll just have to sit and bide my time. If the enemy decides to field this new Mobile Suit of theirs, any offensive we make might be dashed to pieces, anyway. Its always easier to defend a position then to attack it.

His concentration was broken by a call from his aide, Valerie. Valerie was a good girl, and sister to one of his favorite, most trusted soldiers. "Sir, a Petty Officer Eric Von Brandt to see you. He says he has something good for you."
"Tell him to come in. I could use some good news."

(Sorry about the edits. I cleaned up some of the locations, times, and a bit of grammar.)