Incidentally, we did actually see ballute-type systems used for mobile doll carriers in AC. Mars reentry is relatively easy comparatively, so scaling down the gear shouldn't be too hard. I actually suspect that most non-Leo space-use suits could survive Mars reentry unaided; that short stop at the bottom would be a bigger problem. (Also, being the pilot would probably suck. Without a dedicated heatshield or heatsink the cockpit temperature will be a problem.)

Jink High 2

Noin jerked her suit up and away again, with a frustrated groan. The Outer Colonies frigates were proving to be a problem. They never got quite close enough to Athena to allow the larger warship a good shot, but they harassed the mobile suit forces constantly, and their gun systems were too effective to allow small groups of mobile suits to retaliate. The one she'd seen before had mauled another of the MCM Fire Teams when they tried to attack it.

"These things are a cast-iron bitch," Amada observed, his tone coldly furious. He'd had friends in Gamma and Omega teams. They'd damaged one; Amada's own team and its railgun sniper had knocked out a few turrets at extreme range. But it had been an unpleasant surprise to discover the Outer Colonies frigates usually managed to defeat even moderately large missiles volleys and their turrets could track and engage hard rounds: not too successfully, but often enough to severely reduce the effectiveness of long-range sniping.

Li and Konev from Three Flight had managed to get close to another one, but only done armor damage before it had reoriented to bring enough guns to bear to drive them away. Placing accurate fire against one while evading even in its weaker arcs was simply beyond most pilots, and the Martian Super Leos weren't fast enough. Noin grimaced. Focht was dead. Dyer was somewhere else, if he was still alive. Duo had to withdraw from combat. She was the only pilot she had right now who was really, truly good enough to stop one of those frigates.

Noin closed her eyes. "Hilde. I'm about to do something stupid. Don't follow me. Lightning, suppressing fire on Frigate Two. Don't push your luck." She opened her eyes, inverted her Taurus, and went to fighter mode.

Later Noin would wonder; was this what it had been like, for pilots making attack runs on warships of another age? She had no bomb or torpedo, only a heavy beam cannon. Still, as the beams flashed past her, as her Taurus violently hit the RCS bouncing around and rolling, zooming at the frigate as if it intended to crash into it...

At the last moment she hit the switch for transformation and the Taurus went to mobile suit mode, altering course so it would fly by at a distance of a hundred meters, and she raised the heavy beam-

-they hadn't moved the bridge deck, but it had a formidable number of guns around it now-

-fire, once, twice-

A beam tore one of the Taurus' shoulder projections clean off, lighting up her caution board and spinning the suit out of control, requiring three seconds of her undivided attention to stabilize the Taurus. The frigate had tumbled out of control when she looked up again, something in its computers having gotten fuzed and causing its orientation control motors to go mad. It kept firing, but it was out of the fight as an offensive weapon. Then, for no reason Noin could determine, it abruptly blew apart.

"Ropke is going to use a lot of paint adding that to your kills, One!" Hilde exulted. "Warship kill, first since One Nine Five!"

Noin still wasn't sure how that had happened. Surely they hadn't just left an armor gap behind the bridge structure? It would be hard to retrofit armor in there like they had elsewhere, but leaving a second obvious vulnerability behind the first...that was higher-order idiocy. Aggravated stupidity. Perhaps a hatch open at the wrong moment?

"All mobile suits, recall to the ships. You have ten minutes or we leave you behind."

Dyer was already on the flight deck, to her surprise, when she landed; he was hanging onto the Strike Taurus, conferring with a vacsuited member of the repair crews it looked like. Next to the Strike Taurus, in the rack her own suit normally occupied, was a Martian-red Tallgeese clone. Only the one, though. Specials Flight hadn't come back as a whole.

"Two, what happened?"

"It broke down. Specials Flight, Lingshen, saved my ass. Colonel Nagano ordered her to get me clear and stay aboard Athena. Said she was too young for a suicide mission." There was a pause that might have been Dyer shaking his head slightly; it wasn't possible to tell in the suit. "You're wanted on the bridge."

Getting to the bridge took nearly twenty minutes in the ship's battle-ready condition. Gravity, one and a half gees, kicked in halfway through the trip. The drives were lit. "Colonel Bright."

"Commander. I regret to inform you you're the leader of the MCM now." So Ami was dead. Zechs had killed her. Noin felt the emptiness, the cold, in her gut, but she couldn't dwell on it.

Then there was a brief flash from the central screen that left Noin seeing stars and afterimages. "What was that?"

"Detecting hard radiation flash." One of the other crew, whose nametag said "Mirai", replied tonelessly. "Luminosity and hard radiation consistent with nu-det."

"Confirm that!" Bright snapped. "Where the hell did they get nukes?"

"Confirming. Minerva was hit with a nuclear weapon. It looked like a contact fuze."

Minerva was badly damaged, but not destroyed outright. Her massively thick armor, the seventy centimeters of solid Gundanium plate that rendered her all but immune to the weapons of Outer Colonies ships and mobile suits, had saved her from total destruction. The drives were dead and the engineering areas open to space; a massive chunk had been torn out of the midsection of the 250-meter spike-shaped ship by the nuclear strike. Any rational observer would have assumed that Minerva was no longer a threat; a ship so badly damaged couldn't continue the fight.

They would have been wrong. The MMWS Minerva kept fighting, her weapons screaming the defiance of her crew. What was left of the VLS battery emptied itself at a squadron of frigates, turreted autocannons and beams fired in all directions at the enemy fleet. The gunners ignored proper firing procedure, blazing away at maximum rate heedless of the risk of burning the barrels out. There was no chance the ship would outlive the weapons now. Return fire tore chunks from the armor and silenced some of the guns. An Outer Colonies cruiser, a flat wedge-shaped thing with massive batteries of heavy mobile suit-use railguns like the Alliance had withdrawn from service in 193, savaged the damaged midsection and snapped Minerva in half.

Impossibly, Minerva kept fighting through being bisected. Highly compartmented, multiply redundant power sources, individual weapons on vibration isolation rafts; the lessons from the easy crippling of Libra two years ago had been thoroughly applied to the Mars Colonial Militia's warships. Minerva's remaining crew had known they would die going in; they stood to their posts and kept firing as their ship died around them. A second nuclear strike destroyed the drive section and its few remaining working weapons outright. Enemy fire pounded the forward part of the ship endlessly. It started to break up. Two of the forward turrets continued to fire to the end, after the ship broke up, until one ran out of rounds in the feed. The other, a beam weapon emplacement with a self-contained power system, had to be destroyed to stop it firing.

"Mark that moment in the log." Bright said softly on Athena's bridge. "Are any of the stay-behind force still active?"

"I have ten beacons, but two of them don't seem to be under power." Mirai said softly. "The others are on a reentry course and deploying their ballutes."

Bright closed his eyes a moment, then turned to another officer. "Nearest Outer Colonies unit?"

"Ten thousand kilometers. Range is opening quickly. They are not attempting to follow." The ship was at 1.5 Gs of acceleration. You could tell just by looking around, by how carefully and slowly everyone was working; the extra gravity made movements awkward, especially for the MCM crewers who were adapted to Mars-level rather than Earth-level gravity.

That will be a problem later. Noin thought. She would have to start making some discrete inquiries.

"If that's what Tallgeese is like to fly, then...I may not like him, but goddamn do I suddenly respect Merquise." Dyer winced as Larishminova prodded at his bare chest, which was badly bruised by the seat restraints. Shame, Noin thought idly. Pilots pulling gees had to be in pretty good shape, though it was more 'fit' than 'buff'. Regardless, male pilots tended to look good with their shirts off if you liked that sort of thing, and Noin did have some appreciation for the male form. "I told you I broke ribs, Doc," Dyer continued. "If you're trying to get them to puncture a lung or something and remove a troublesome patient, I have witnesses."

"What happened?" Noin asked. There was time for detail now.

"If you mean the suit, backflow problem I'd guess. Ropke could tell you for sure. If you mean me, I spent three minutes riding the edge of blackout and then I heard a pop, felt some pain, and realized one of my ribs had let go. I thought I was in good shape, but Merquise was obviously not dealing with blackout effects like I was."

"He has a better flight suit." Noin said, softly. It wasn't exactly betraying Zechs' secrets but it was still not a widely known fact. "Specially made, costs about three times what ours do. His tolerance with that on is fifteen, sixteen gravities worth of acceleration."

"God." Dyer ran his hands through his hair, which caused Larishminova to make a scolding noise. "Let's buy some. That's going on my report as a recommendation for taking this suit into service."

"You didn't break a rib." Larishminova scowled at him. "You've got the deepest bruising I've seen outside of somebody with a heavy wrench or a bat whacking people, but your ribs are all intact."

Dyer gave her an incredulous look. "Doc, I heard something."

"Probably one of your seat restraints broke. Prototypes can have any damn thing go wrong." Larishminova shook her head. "You're grounded for now. Usual schedule of drugs to speed up healing. Now stop taking up this bed so I can see to Lingshen."

Dyer stood and tugged his undershirt back down, and grabbed the top half of his flight suit but didn't try to put it on. "Skipper. What do you need me doing?"

"Walk with me." Noin said, gesturing to the hatch. The ship was at only 1G acceleration now. Dyer nodded and did so. Once they were in the corridor, Noin spoke again. "I've had news from Earth, from my father." Dyer nodded, but was mercifully silent. "Uncle Amadeo...my father has been confirmed as King. The legislature is a disaster, and most of the representatives to the United Nation are dead as well. He is very much the only authority figure. My mother...my mother was in Rome, with Aunt Carolina. She hasn't been found, but there is little hope left."

"For what little it means now, I offer my sympathies." Proper title was on the tip of his tongue but unspoken. Dyer, Noin thought, was the sort of man who would consider it important to use the proper form of address for a princess of the House of Savoy at least once. Not because the formality itself or the title was important to him, he was an American after all. Rather because it would demonstrate he was aware of such things; that he was not an uncultured barbarian.

Noin supposed that she was really getting to know her pilots, to think such things. "Thank you." She paused. "And thank you for volunteering. Are you...well?" She wasn't asking about his physical condition. She knew about his physical condition.

Dyer paused before answering, seeming to need to collect his thoughts or to decide if he wanted to answer truthfully. "I will be." He bit his lip a moment, surprising Noin. "Merquise is just a man. And men make mistakes. Anyone can be killed. He's not the first thing I thought would probably kill me, and he's not the first I was dubious about having a chance to kill back. Playing for the other side's screwups is uncomfortable but it's a game I've played before." Left unspoken, but understood, was that Noin herself hadn't been ready to confront Zechs that closely. Nor had she been prepared to order someone to their likely death doing so in her stead, so instead he had volunteered to try and absolve her of that. "Skipper...we're at war, and it's not going to get easier. This little Mars trip went better than it should have, really. Enjoy the moment."

Noin looked at him incredulously. "You're serious."

A shrug was her answer. "I had times where there was a fifty-percent pilot attrition rate per mission, Skipper. The mobile dolls were not forgiving opponents. Focht would be amazed we've done so well. He was the only one who came back from his first mission."

"And you were going to sound out Searcy." Noin didn't want to follow his train of thought. Things would be different, she swore.

"Yes ma'am. He won't take a decoration. Tried to talk him into it, but we only got as far as a commendation for the first bomb, no reference to the second." That...was about what she had expected. Dyer continued: "I didn't push him, though. He wouldn't be the only one who thought it was for Focht, that's a big cross to bear, and... Well, Zechs Merquise is not actually dead. That said, I am minded to write him up for a Distinguished Flying Medal, with your recommendation. The flight manual's suggested response to losing the fly-by-wire systems is to bail out. He brought back a suit that literally should not have been able to fly. That deserves recognition."

"I'll second your recommendation." Noin replied instantly. "Write it up and have it for me tomorrow or the day after. You might not have time later."

Dyer looked a bit confused. "What?

"The press will be after you, this time. They're not allowed to interview Yuy," a gift from his fairy god-Vice Foreign Minister, one that actually extended to all the Gundam pilots, "but they are allowed to interview you about being one of the only living people to fight Zechs Merquise and hold your own." Dyer gave her a look that suggested she'd thrown him out an airlock. "Don't look so betrayed, it's undignified. You won't even see them until we make our stopover, and they would have to be pretty determined to sneak aboard while we're stopping at El Three."

Dyer nodded, carefully, but still looked pained more than he should afterwards; apparently it pulled on some bruised muscles? Noin wasn't sure. "Not sure I'll be fit to fly by then."

"And our earlier disagreement?" Noin asked.

"You made the right calls about risk after it. Everyone needs to be corrected sometimes, if they take it properly that should be the end of it. It never happened, and I am Lightning until I die if you'll have me." Dyer replied. "You'll have to get ready to fight him, though." He wasn't talking about being physically ready to fight Zechs. She'd proved she was that. He meant psychologically; control herself, anger or regret or lingering affection, or all of the above.

Noin smiled sadly. "You've done it for real. I've only ever fought him in simulation. What do you suggest?"

"Purely as a physical and mental challenge, imagine the last kilometer of a marathon, or the way you felt at the end of the longest dogfight you were ever a part of." Dyer shook his head. "Make your peace with the possibility you will die beforehand. There will be moments it feels certain and it is a poor time to panic. And forget your scan. I know that goes against everything any of us were ever taught about survival and situational awareness, but Merquise will take all of your attention. You have to focus." There was a sharp, pained grimace.

"Are you okay?" Noin asked.

"It's not the bruises." Dyer said. "I was just wondering if that's it. Merquise wins because everyone's trained to keep their head on a swivel. Just enough distraction to make him superior. Little things matter a lot at high-gee."

"No. He's genuinely that good." Noin replied, with a shake of her head. "I've watched him at work more times than anyone else alive. Back on Mars, in the atmosphere...he was slow. I think he might have been trying to throw that fight with both of us. Didn't want to live, at least for a couple of minutes."

Dyer closed his eyes and his eyebrows went up in an expression of unwelcome surprise. "But it's all so ingrained in him..." His eyes opened. "Going through the motions, just going through the motions, was enough to keep him alive. You're right. He is that good." Dyer glanced at a hand he'd raised to about eye-level. "Which means that, realistically speaking, I should be dead. Not the first time that's happened." He dropped the hand. "Actually...it really doesn't change anything. I ought to be dead either way."

Noin watched him curiously. "And you're calm about it?"

"I can think about it, analyze, demythologize the monsters by breaking them down into pieces I can manage. That works for me, as a coping mechanism." A shrug. "We all deal with things somehow, Skipper. Compartmentalizing is more popular, I grant."

Wufei Chang entered the room. Noin resisted the urge to bolt, and continued her discussion with the two people who now lead the increasingly misnamed MCM Space Battalion and Land Battalion. He stopped a respectful distance short and waited until the conversation was through before approaching himself. "Commander." Wufei did not offer a salute, but Noin had quietly discouraged the MCM types from saluting her as their nominal commander in working circumstances and Wufei was hopefully playing along in a room half-full of MCM ranks and ratings rather than insulting her.

He had at least offered a respectful nod, so she nodded back. "What may I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"I wish to offer you my condolences, over your mother." Wufei was stiff, formal, unused to doing this. "I will not insult you by asking your forgiveness for the past. It is not something I expect and not something I either desire or truly deserve. But what was private has become public and spread to the members of our units. That cannot continue."

That was surprisingly mature and...Noin struggled for a word for a few moments, but didn't find it. It was the action of a good officer. "You are correct. It cannot. So, a truce. Should we shake hands, or bow, to send a signal?"

Wufei let the ghost of a smile appear on his face. "Shake hands. It looks like a concession to you to those who will take comfort in that, and bowing implies a level of respect it would be...unfair to hold us to." He extended a hand, and Noin shook it and watched him leave. It never did pay, she reminded herself, to underestimate a Gundam pilot. Even Wufei could manage to be quite erudite when it suited him.

"He's smarter than he lets on." Duo said near her shoulder. "You know at some point he was apparently the bookish type?"

Noin glanced at the other Gundam pilot. "Chang?"

"Yeah. Even wore glasses. I saw pictures once. Don't tell him, though, he'd flatten me. I snooped." Duo grinned. "Old skills, keeping sharp. Could have gone like Heero, covert ops. But...I guess the mobile suit wouldn't let me go."

Noin closed her eyes a moment. "They can be..." She opened her eyes. "Difficult to give up, can't they? But then, I had wings. Giving up your wings...I get that. I could never walk away from flight, and I know it. But that's not really what you did."

"Pure power." Duo said it simple, straight. No joking, actual seriousness. "Deathsycthe was the world's biggest power trip. I was an orphan, on the streets. I had nothing. I controlled nothing. Deathscythe gave me the ability to control my fate, to change everything. The human condition itself. Maybe not for the better, that usually takes more resources than even a Gundam, but I could." He shrugged. "Little Death," it wasn't in the least surprising that Duo had named his mobile suit to Noin, "comes with less raw power on the surface, but he also comes with something Deathsycthe didn't: the Preventers. You go to some village in West Nowhere and kill a warlord, great, but that doesn't solve anything in the long term. The ESUN's big on the Marshall Plan as a policy model, though, so..."

Noin raised her eyebrows at him. "You know, if you keep describing your background and then talking about government policy with historical examples, people might not believe you."

"I am a person of many talents, Boss." Duo replied, with a theatrical bow.

Noin looked at her wing in askance. They were three days out from L3 and he'd been down in the hanger, helping work on their damaged suits. "You've not been sleeping. Ropke ratted you out."

"As she should." Dyer sighed. "Skipper, I've tried. Bruising hurts too much lying down. I've got a nice set on my back from the seat, too. Need more padding in that thing. Besides, the MCM are busy with their own projects." He gestured to the Martian Tallgeese, which, Noin noticed, was being repainted. In fact...

Every Martian suit on the deck was being repainted, by their pilots or ground crew or both. The MCM had worn OZ colors, purple for their Super Leos, but broken it up with a diagonal rust-red stripe across the torso; the color of Martian dirt. Specials Flight's Tallgeese clones had been painted that color all over. Now they were repainting the rust-red into a brilliant crimson.

"Mars is bleeding." Noin observed softly.

Dyer's eyes snapped back to her from watching Nagano work on repainting her suit. "That's...actually pretty appropriate, Skipper." He seemed surprised, and perhaps a little impressed.

"Go to Larishminova. Tell her I've authorized her to sedate you. You've got to sleep, Lieutenant. You're no use to us if you don't." Noin said.

"Yes ma'am." His reply contained no resentment, which surprised her a little. Besides, Noin wanted her wingman back in action for L3. Preferably the Strike Taurus as well.

Quatre Winner had apparently gotten himself another Gundam; he and Rashid and the others were the only part of the L3 militia that turned out to be loyal to the ESUN. And though they were nominally on the same side, Noin remembered well Wing Zero's rampage. If she had to be in the same area as Quatre, she wanted reliable backup. She paused a moment at that thought. Funny; she'd felt betrayed by him before. But he'd been right, in his way, about being reckless chasing Zechs. She'd needed someone to correct her there.

And that was why Zechs had spiraled out of control again. Nobody was there to correct him. Perhaps she should be guilty, but...she'd never been particularly good at correcting him either. Trieze had been his brake. Perhaps it was impressive that Zechs had managed to last so long without Trieze to hold him back from his less wise impulses, in the end.