Just a quick intro- this fic is set in the first weeks of January, UC 0079, and deals largely with the events surrounding the One Week War(in particular, it focuses on the Ruum/Loum battle). Some familiar faces may appear in this story, but they aren't going to be the main focus. In fact, come to think of it, this is my first standalone piece, and I do wonder what people will think of it ^_^.

New readers can check out http://side7.gundam.com/rgz/info/loum/loum.html for info about the early days of the One Year War. A fairly detailed write up concerning Zinegata's own Ruum numbers theory may follow sometime in the (hopefully) less busy future. ^_^.

Mobile Suit Gundam 0079: A Day to Remember

January 14, UC 0079

Lhasa, Tibet. Federal Refugee Camp.

"Give me 20 cc's of morphine, now!" Doctor Philip Harrington demanded as his patient began tossing violently, panicked at the sight of an arterial fountain draining all blood from his body. An equally panicked nurse was the only one to respond.

"We're all out!" she screamed, carrying with her another pile of rags that they now used as bandages, "Just hit him over the head! We don't even have anesthesia left for surgery!"

'Great...' Harrington thought to himself as he struggled to tie off the offending artery, his task made difficult by his patient's violent movements. Suddenly, those movements stopped, and Harrington realized that a monk was now standing right beside him.

"He is now at peace," the frail looking man promised, his robed hand already on the patient's forehead, "Just go about your work."

"Thanks," Harrington said quietly in reply, relieved that the monk's actions had calmed the patient down. Working quickly, he was able to tie a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, an improvised, but nonetheless effective solution for this particular case. Then, seeing that the patient was now out of danger, the monk merely smiled and nodded once, before moving on to another who was suffering.

'Thank God for them...' Harrington thought to himself as he watched another monk pass by, this one carrying what little food they had left from their monastery. They'd been working non-stop since this whole damn war started, helping refugees that had to flee the devastation wrought by Zeon's Colony Drop, often with no regard for their own well being. Harrington was an old school Catholic, but he'd be damned if these people weren't allowed into Heaven just because they were of a different faith.

"We've got more coming..." an exhausted Sergeant, one that Harrington had come to know as Fred Chan, announced as he stumbled into the room. Like the monks, he had been working non-stop, and Harrington was almost sure he would collapse soon from exhaustion.

"Where from Sarge?" Harrington asked as he helped prop up the tired Sergeant, who now had difficulty remaining standing, "Are we getting any more from Shanghai?"

"No, these ones are from Sumatra. Tidal wave victims," Fred explained, finally allowing himself to sit on a nearby chair, "But we've got a bigger problem. How soon can you move all of your patients?"

"What?!" Harrington answered, not quite believing what he was hearing, "Are you serious?! We can't move all these people! Some of them would never survive the trip!"

"I know that doc," Fred replied, before sighinng out loud, "But we just got word from the fleet. The Zeeks are going to try another drop."

---------------

January 14, UC 0079

EFSF Battleship Iron Duke. The Combined Fleet Staging Area.

Commodore Oliver Doorman stared out of the bridge of his flagship Iron Duke, trying to remain impassive as his crew went about their duties. A career military officer, he had spent more than half of his life in the service of the Earth Federation. He thought he'd seen it all, having been part of the Federal space fleet since its inception. He now realized he just had a very poor imagination.

Outside, row after row of ships -missile boats, destroyers, cruisers, even battleships- had begun lining up, all about to head for Side 5. It was rapidly becoming the single, most awesome gathering of naval power Doorman had ever seen, exceeding even the naval review he had attended last November. On that occasion, the navy had decided to showcase only their best and newest ships, a show of power to deter Zeon from making any moves. That show had failed, and this time, it was clear that the navy was going to pull out ALL the stops to foil the Zeeks from trying another Colony Drop. Literally every available ship was being brought up and readied for battle, even ones still licking wounds from earlier fighting; even older ones still armed with shell-firing cannon in an age where the destructive power of the Minovsky particle was king.

But instead of feeling confident, all Doorman could do was worry. Despite their catastrophic losses -both military and civilian- in the first days of the war, the Federal Admiralty, along with most of the navy, was still confident of victory. After all, the Zeon fleet was, at best, still only a third their size, and technologically speaking, their ships were roughly even in terms of capability. True, the Federation had yet to win a battle, at least a major one, but up till now Zeon had faced mainly unprepared, disorganized troops, not a trim, fighting navy. There WERE some disturbing reports concerning the next generation of Zeon space fighters, but again, their success had been mixed at best, and they were still completely outnumbered by the Federal fighter force, which was even now being bolstered by even more squadrons, some being trucked all the way up from Earth itself.

"But if they were really that confident, why in the world is the brass taking all of these extra measures anyway?" Doorman finally muttered out loud, unable to resist his nagging doubts any longer. Why were they taking more fighters from Earth, when the squadrons based in Side 5 alone already had overwhelming numerical superiority over the Zeon forces? Why were they risking those old and damaged battleships, when there were already three modern, fully operational Federal warships for every Zeon one? He'd heard from some that the effects of another Drop were simply too calamitous to contemplate, but this seemed to go far beyond simple caution. In fact, _desperation_ seemed a better word to describe the whole situation.

Doorman's worries were interrupted by the arrival of two more ships that had joined the line, each taking a place on either side of the Iron Duke. Together, the three ships formed the 4th Battle Squadron of the 3rd Fleet, the entirety of his command. The ship on the left of the Iron Duke, under Lt. Colonel Hotchkins, was the battleship Canopus. Much older than her sisters, the Canopus was one of the few Magellan class battleships that had yet to replace all of its shell-firing cannons with beam ones, and Doorman considered it a liability to have this ship in his squadron. The other ship, on the other hand, was much newer, and her skipper was also one that Doorman truly enjoyed working with.

"This is the battleship Dante, reporting as ordered, sir!" a voice declared over the radio, followed by the image of a man in his mid thirties appearing on the view screen. Unlike Doorman, this man was confident about the coming battle, and Doorman could already feel some of it rubbing off him already. Then, smiling, the man asked, "So, do you have anything else for me to do, Commodore, sir?"

"Not at the moment, Armando," Doorman greeted with a nod, happy to see his old friend. Colonel Armando De Leon had been Doorman's XO a few years back, before he was promoted and given command of the Dante. They had maintained their friendship since then, despite a rather fierce rivalry that had developed between the crews of both their ships, "What's your status? I hope your gunners aren't drunk again, as usual."

"They are not sir, though I hear YOUR engineers are drunk again, as usual," Armando replied with a laugh, playing off a little of their rivalry, "But, seriously, the ship is ready in all respects, and the morale of the crew is very high. They can't wait to get some payback from those Zeeks."

"It's good to hear that," Doorman noted, until he noticed something odd about the Dante's "A" turret. The forward most top turret of the ship, he noticed that some words had been emblazoned just above its twin gun barrels, contrasting with the ship's dull blue color scheme, "However, Armando, I don't think you should let your crew paint unauthorized graffiti on the hull of your ship, especially on a turret."

"Oh, so you've noticed our little quotation on A Turret, eh sir?" Armando replied, "Don't worry about it sir. It's just something we'd like those Zeeks to read when they enter the firing arc of our beam weapons."

"And what quote would that be?" Doorman asked, not really approving the move, but thinking that it really wouldn't do all that much harm, "'Have a nice day?'"

"Nah, too 20th Century American. It's actually a quote from Dante's The Divine Comedy, Dante being my ship's namesake, after all," Armando explained, then allowed himself a dark grin, "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate." All hope abandon, ye who enter in.

---------------

A tomb. That was the only word that Colonel Argyll Puterbaugh could use to describe what he saw. On the surface, it looked just like the interior of any colony, with its myriad collection of civilian buildings that supported daily life. Until you saw the bodies that is. Millions of bodies contorted in agonized poses, most of them still seemingly gasping for air; air now laced with nerve gas. Nerve gas that HE had pumped into the colony's air system. Nerve gas that he knew would indiscriminately kill every last man, woman and child in the colony...

And then, to his horror, he realized that he wasn't wearing a normal suit, and he was breathing the very same air that he had poisoned. As he gasped for air, his eyes went wide as corpses around him began to rise, all calling for his name...

---------------

January 14, UC 0079

Zeon Cruiser Admiral Hipper. Enroute to Side 5.

"Jesus!" Colonel Puterbaugh shouted as he jumped out of his bunk, sweating. It took him a moment to realize that he just had another nightmare. Another damn nightmare since that hellish battle in Side 2. He then groaned out loud as he realized that his phone was ringing.

"Yes?" Puterbaugh said irritably as switched on the videophone, revealing the face of his worried Executive Officer. She also looked tired as hell, but at least she wasn't having as many guilty nightmares as he was. Thank God for that.

"I'm really sorry Colonel," the XO apologized, looking genuinely sorry that she had disturbed him, "But we've just received the replacement pilots Admiral Dozul promised us. They're waiting for you in the hangar."

"Great," Puterbaugh replied, but nevertheless starting to button his uniform, "Tell them I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. And have somebody get me a cup of coffee. Black and no sugar."

"Yes sir," the XO answered, her eyes downcast, before finally asking, "But, sir... are... are you sure you're going to be...?"

"Anne, please, don't worry about me," Puterbaugh replied with a sigh, before deciding to give her a weak, yet reassuring smile, "People may begin to suspect. Besides, you probably need more rest than I do."

"I do not, sir," she protested, her cheeks momentarily turning red in the process, "I... I'm just looking out for the well being of the ship, sir."

"Aren't you always?" he retorted, giving her another smile. Anne bit her lip for a moment, unsure how she should react, but in the end decided to just smile back. Regardless of the madness now spreading throughout the world, this was one moment that the universe could not take away from them, and they just stared at each other, content in what passed for each other's presence.

"If we survive all this, I promise you, we'll go out again," Argyll decided, before continuing to button his uniform, "And this time, maybe we won't have to worry about damn military protocol when another nosy officer passes by."

For a brief instant, all fatigue disappeared from Anne's face, and her smile momentarily turned as bright as sunshine. Regaining her composure, she quietly added, "Thank you, Argyll."

---------------

Twenty minutes and two coffee cups later, Colonel Puterbaugh found himself standing in front of six young men, all of them so fresh from the Academy that he could almost swear that he could smell some mint. Behind them, six brand new MS-06 Zaku II Cs lined the hangar deck, replacements for the squadron he had lost at Side 2. He wondered how long this squadron would last under fire. Every man in the original squadron had been killed within twenty minutes of launching for their very first sortie.

"So, you're the replacements?" Puterbaugh asked off handedly.

"Yes sir!" the six proudly said in unison, all of them looking as though they were itching for a fight. The last group had done almost exactly the same thing when he had briefed them about the coming battle, and the result was six dead men. He didn't want it to happen again.

"Drop the attitude," the Colonel ordered, "From now on, consider yourselves dead men. We all already are."

---------------

January 15, UC 0079. 0900 hours.

EFSF Battleship Iron Duke. Enroute to Side 5.

"...And ladies and gentlemen, let me remind you again," the grim-faced speaker concluded, his voice and image being beamed to every ship in the fleet, "We have crossed the nuclear threshold. Arm your nukes beforehand and have absolutely no qualms about using them. It's total war now."

Doorman grimaced at that last statement, which was now part of their general marching orders. He and the rest of the fleet had expected Revil to give those orders, perhaps throwing in another morale boosting speech on the side, but instead a surviving Colonel from the 7th Fleet had delivered them, and the look on his face told everyone that he did not expect the coming battle to be easy. The Federal Fleet may be assured of victory, but the cost was definitely going to be high.

"Commodore, your orders?" Armando asked over the radio, sounding a little more subdued than usual, "I'm getting the signal from the Ananke. We should start moving."

"I know that, old friend," Doorman replied with a nod, before taking a long sigh out loud. Around him, the bridge crew was going about their duties, some looking eager, others looking uneasy. Either way, he realized, he couldn't let his own doubts get in the way now. The battle had come, and for his crew to perform, they had to think that they had a better chance of surviving than he did. He picked up the microphone and ordered his radioman to set it to the proper frequency. His men listened carefully as he spoke.

"Men, you've heard our marching orders. Attend to your duties and do your best. We're finally going to meet the Zeeks in a fair fight, so let's make the most out of it." He then paused for a moment, seemingly at a lost for words, but in the end he resolved to remind everyone just what they were about to fight, and most likely die for. For some, it became the decisive difference. "And men, remember, five billion lives are counting on us. We can't let them down. Good luck!"

Turning to his helmsman, Doorman then gave the order, "Set course for the Ruum. All ahead full."

---------------

"You know we may very well lose this battle, don't you sir?" Colonel Alexander Dolvich asked quietly to the man standing beside him, his throat still a little sore after his rather long address to the entire Combined Fleet. The man nodded once before speaking.

"Truth be told, I don't know what's going to happen," the man answered, his old, wrinkled features growing darker, "What I do know however, is that we're the only hope the Earth has left, and we can't afford to run."

Suddenly, an aide burst into a room, carrying yet another of a seemingly endless stream of messages, "General Revil sir, our pickets have arrived in Side 5. They're beginning to patrol the area."

"Very well," the older man replied, before turning to Colonel Dolvich, "You should return to the Amerigo now, Colonel. The Ananke will be very busy soon."

"I know that sir, I'll be going," Dolvich replied to his Commander-in-Chief, but decided to raise one last nagging concern, "But sir, about the civilians in Side 5. Do they even know this battle is coming?"

Revil's face bore no emotion while he answered the question, "No. God help them all."

---------------

January 15, UC 0079. 1100 hours.

Side 5 Bunch 1 Colony. "Ruum".

"Why can't you come?!" That was a question that he had probably heard for well over a hundred times now, but it was still a question he could not, would not, answer. His daughter was simply too young to understand. To young to understand things like duty and commitment, things like...

"WHY?!" his daughter repeated, still unable to grasp the idea that she may never see daddy again. He turned to his wife, whose hands were still clutching their child tightly, lest she run away. She merely nodded once in agreement, despite the tears streaming down her eyes. When and if the time came, she would be the one to explain, and she would make sure that their daughter grew up to become someone they could both be proud of, and for that he was eternally grateful.

"Take care of yourselves," he finally said as the shuttle began closing its doors, the very last ride anyone could take to get out of Side 5. Just before the door shut, he managed to add, "I love you both."

And then the doors locked themselves shut, and he watched as the shuttle flew off the dock and into the darkness of space. Other ships were there too, most of them fleeing to the safety of either the Moon or Side 6. Despite what the Federation or Zeon thought, the people of Side 5 were not complete fools. Savage fighting had already destroyed three of their neighbors. There was little doubt they would be next.

---------------

January 15, UC 0079. 1110 hours.

EFSF Destroyer Jutland. Side 5.

"Good luck to them..." the skipper of the Jutland muttered as a final batch of civilian shuttles passed by, all packed with refugees heading for neutral territory. He envied them. At least they had some chance of surviving. He almost had none.

The Jutland was actually a very old ship, having been developed during the 60s Armament Reinforcement Plan along with monstrosities like the Type 61 Tank, and had thus been relegated to the role of an expendable patrol ship. As a result, she and a few of her sisters were now patrolling the space around Side 5, ready to warn Revil of the arrival of the Zeon Fleet. The problem was, his ship was in no shape for a serious fight, and the Zeeks were probably going to get to Side 5 first.

"Sir, we're getting a message from the Leyte Gulf," his chief radioman reported, "****. They're picking up ships. MANY ships."

"Signal the rest of the squadron and move to the Leyte Gulf's position," the skipper ordered, now wondering how history will choose to record his death, "And get ready to send a message to Revil. It may very well be the last thing we ever do."

--------------

January 15, UC 0079. 1120 hours.

Zeon Cruiser Admiral Hipper. Side 5.

Puterbaugh's heart sank as Side 5 came to view. He had hoped, almost prayed really, that he didn't have to do it again, but again Fate had left him no choice. Beside him, his Exec was also shifting uncomfortably. She had hated the mass killings at Side 2 too.

"We've sighted two ships sir!" a lookout reported, "Two old Federal destroyers. They don't seem to be fleeing."

'Of course they won't. This is their HOME that we are talking about,' Puterbaugh thought but did not say out loud, annoyed that even some of his crew were believing their own propaganda, "Very well. Arm the main guns and target the port destroyer, we will..."

"Belay that order," a stern voice ordered over the radio, "It is a waste to use powerful beam weapons against these dregs. Send in your Mobile Suits instead."

'Oh great, the damn zampolit again,' Puterbaugh groaned as he recognized his CO's voice, an absolute moron by the name of Wavell. Other than being a political ally of Giren Zabi, the man shouldn't be involved at all in military matters, and Puterbaugh detested having him in command, "Sir, those could be forward pickets. We should take them out now before they can transmit."

"Have you even read our intelligence reports, COLONEL?" General Wavell admonished, "The Federal Fleet no longer dares to face us after the beating we gave them during Operation British, and these antiques are the only opposition we have to face. They are not worthy enough targets to waste our guns on."

"Very well, SIR," Puterbaugh replied resentfully, motioning his Exec to issue the appropriate orders to their Mobile Suit complement, "Anything else, SIR?"

"Yes..." the General replied, an almost sadist pleasure creeping into his voice, "Get ready to break out the G3 gas. We have more collaborators to exterminate."

--------------

January 15, UC 0079. 1120 hours.

EFSF Destroyer Jutland. Side 5.

"Here they come!" a lookout screamed as a set of white smoke trails started heading towards them, while another set went after the Leyte Gulf, "****! How can they move so fast?!"

"Radar, you have a count of the enemy fleet yet?!" the skipper demanded, sweat now dripping down his forehead.

"I'm trying, but they're jamming us sir!" the radarman shouted back, "I can't get a count!"

"****!" the skipper swore, before turning to his radioman, "Have you sent the word yet? Did you get an answer from the fleet?!"

"Yes sir, just got one now!" the radioman reported, pressing the headphone against his ears, the static now becoming overwhelming, "They're saying good work and we should get the hell out of dodge!"

"Good..." the skipper managed to reply, but knew that the order to withdraw had come too little, too late. He simply watched as the white exhaust trails came closer and closer...

Minutes later, the Jutland and the Leyte Gulf became the first casualties of what would be known to history as the Battle of the Ruum. Future historians would not fail to notice the irony of the event.

The time was 1120 hours. The day was January 15, UC 0079.

It would be a day to remember.

---------------

January 15, UC 0079. 2150 hours.

EFSF Battleship Iron Duke. Side 5.

"Any further word from the pickets?!" Doorman demanded as the fleet slowly gathered itself just outside of Side 5, the space around them now filled with hundreds of Sabrefish fighters. Within the Side itself, they could see bright fireballs as the Zeeks used nuclear weapons, either against the remnants of the Combined Fleet's picket force, or against the colonies themselves. Those who realized the latter began to seethe in anger in their seats.

"Sir, I tried again but we just can't get through to them. Those damn Zeeks must be jamming their signal!" a techie apologized, "We also can't pick up the enemy fleet on radar. Everything's being jammed!"

"Commodore, the fleet's dispositions are almost complete," Armando added over the radio, "It's almost time for us to move out. Take care of yourself out there."

"Take care of yourself too," Doorman replied, then switched on another channel. The airwaves were now filled with voices, all exulting their men to do their best. Then, one by one, various fleet commanders began to speak.

"Remember! The 1st Fleet will lead the way!"

"This is for the Zahn! This is for the Hatte! This is for Sydney!"

"Fight to bring your loads to bear, shoot only when your aim is true, and if you're still alive by then, fight to live another day!"

"Our Father thou art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..."

It took a while for them all to finish, but in the end all of the voices fell silent, and all waited for the voice of the man who led them. Just as a glittering shiver passed through the Federal lines, the hundreds of Sabrefish fighters now igniting their engines, Revil finally spoke.

"The Earth's fate rests with this battle. I'm counting on you all. Good luck, and good hunting!"

---------------

Colonel Bernard Moore grimaced as his Sabrefish fighter passed by a colony, whose inhabitants now seemed to be in a state of utter panic now that the Zeeks had arrived. He'd seen this all before, in his home of Side 2 leading a ragtag militia wing in a futile effort to stop the Zeon advance. This time, he swore it was going to be different.

"Zeon fleet in sight sir," a quiet Lieutenant, this one also a survivor from Side 2, reported as his sharp eyes picked up the familiar form of Musai class cruisers, "I'm not picking them up on radar. They may also start jamming our communications soon."

"Roger that, Harper," Colonel Moore answered, wishing for a moment this particular kid had stayed with his girl instead of risking his life again. He'd lost too much already, and he was being blinded to the fact that he could very well lose more... "Alright! Listen up boys, buckle up and remember what I've taught you. This one's for real now, and we can't afford to screw up!"

---------------

"Another ****ing intelligence screw up!" Colonel Puterbaugh swore as he got the reports from his lookouts. They had just spotted Feddie fighters, hundreds of them, all screaming towards the Zeon lines. It could only mean that the Federal Fleet _had_ come out to fight, and they were coming in overwhelming numbers. His Exec then gave him news that made the whole situation worse.

"****! I don't believe this!" Anne swore out loud, surprising Puterbaugh, "We just got word from Wavell. We are to stay put and continue with the Colony Drop!"

"That's suicide!" Puterbaugh shouted, turning momentarily to the massive engine a team of engineers were now installing on the selected colony, "We can't move while they install that damn thing, and if we don't maneuver, those damn Feds are just going to pelt us with nuclear missiles till we're nothing but space debris! We have to move out and engage their main fleet NOW!"

"I'm sorry sir, but those are our orders, and they come straight from the top," the Exec replied acidly, "General Wavell, however, is expressing his full confidence in our crews and our pilots, sir."

"Those crews and pilots will be dead soon," Putebrbaugh replied resentfully, "And not necessarily in that order."

---------------

"God!" a Zaku pilot screamed as he saw dozens of incoming Federal fighters. He'd been taught to fly well in the Academy, but today all of that training was suddenly of no use. Seconds later, his Zaku exploded, slamming into a veritable _WALL_ of missiles and bullets that now filled the air. No amount of maneuvering could have saved him, so dense was the fire, and dozens of others quickly followed him. Dozens of others were now too shocked by the carnage to even react.

"Bad move, ***hole!" Colonel Moore declared jubilantly as he homed in on one of the distracted Zakus, who was only beginning to arm his machine gun. Moore quickly fired burst of his 30mm cannon, exploding the Zaku's head and chopping off its weapon arm. As he pulled around to finish the crippled Zaku off, another Sabrefish fighter entered the fray, sending two fatal missiles into the Zaku's torso.

"Aim for the ships boys, get the heavies!" Moore ordered, hoping that his men could hear him despite the jamming. A number of the pilots however, already had the sense to that on their own, and several squadrons were already beginning their attack run on the lead elements of the Zeon fleet.

And that was when things began to become more difficult. The first squadron of three ran into a waiting Zaku, who used his nuclear bazooka to wipe out the trio. A pair of fighters took revenge for their comrades by destroying the aggressor, though one of them was damaged in the process. Another two fighters however, made it through the melee unscathed, and both managed to launch their nuclear-tipped torpedoes before a squadron of Gattle fighters forced them both to break off.

Only then did the Zeon ships come alive, realizing the danger that was now approaching them. Most simply maneuvered, having not been equipped with point defense weaponry, while the rest opened up, putting up a wall of fire. One of the torpedoes was hit and broke apart, but the other struck true, hitting a Jicco missile frigate. The Jicco quickly disappeared in the ensuing explosion, while two others were caught in the blast and disintegrated. Moore wished that his pilots had hit plumier targets.

But then, a wave of beams sliced through the stem of a Musai, which lingered only for a moment before exploding. Other ships were quickly hit and left burning. Moore turned around and confirmed what he already knew. The main Federal Fleet had arrived, and their heavies were already shooting.

---------------

"Well done!" Doorman praised as he received reports from his lookouts. Every target his squadron had aimed at had been hit, and all had suffered significant damage. At least one Musai had been destroyed, a victim of another Magellan and her Salamis escorts. It seemed to be a good start.

Just a second later however, the horizon turned yellow as the Zeon ships retaliated, quickly giving as much, if not more damage than they had received. Explosions dotted the cruisers in front of the Iron Duke, most visibly one that destroyed the bridge of the Warrior, flagship of the 9th Squadron. Doorman was then knocked off his feet as one of the rounds found the Iron Duke.

"We're hit sir!" the XO reported, stating the obvious, "Port AA batteries have been destroyed! No survivors from the gun crews sir!"

"Damn..." Doorman muttered in reply, getting back to his seat and putting his seat belt on. He was now certain this was going to be a tough fight, "Very well, how long till we get the main guns recharged?"

"Two more minutes sir," the XO reported, "The Dante's reporting her guns will also be ready soon. But sir, the Canopus is signaling that one of her shell firing guns are jammed. They're down to six turrets."

"****... I knew that ship was going to be trouble..." Doorman groaned, but deciding to ignore it for the moment, "Alright, just signal the Dante then. Let's coordinate our fire and hit 'em where it'll hurt!"

---------------

"How long till the main guns are recharged?!" demanded the skipper of the Zeon cruiser Kaiser, his face now marred by bits and pieces of shrapnel now embedded on his face, "If we don't shoot, we're ****ing dead!"

"Five more seconds sir!" the gunnery officer reported, "Battle turn is also almost complete. We've almost unmasked our rear guns!"

"Too late..." the skipper managed to say as the horizon flashed red yet again. A total of fifteen beams suddenly struck his unfortunate Chibe class cruiser, and most of his crew never knew what hit them before they died. The skipper was more fortunate. He lived for a few seconds more before the reactor cooked off, just enough time to stare at one of the battleships that had sunk his ship. Just before he died, he suddenly couldn't shake the feeling he had seen the event horizon of a black hole...

---------------

"Jesus!" Puterbaugh managed to say as the Kaiser disappeared in a blinding flash, becoming the center of a massive, expanding fireball that quickly vaporized five surrounding Zakus and yet another Jicco missiles boat. Other ships around her also suffered, and yet another Musai succumbed as a follow on volley ripped its already battered hull to shreds.

"Sir, we've got more fighters coming in!" came the Exec's excited voice, "They're heading straight for us!"

"To hell with the ****ing Drop and tell everyone who'll listen to start maneuvering!" Puterbaugh answered, survival now coming to the top of his agenda, "And arm our nuclear torpedoes! Prepare to fire a spread!"

"Sir, the Federal Fleet is still out of range!" the Exec reminded, "They won't do any good against their ships!"

"We aren't aiming for their ships," Puterbaugh replied quietly, just as a Sabrefish fighter strafed a Musai beside them, which exploded as the fighter sent a pair of missiles into its bridge, "We're going to aim for that melee. We're going to wipe out their fighters." The Exec's face then turned pale in horror as she realized what he implied.

"But sir, our Zakus..." she started, "They're still..."

"I know," Puterbaugh replied quietly, knowing full well he was condemning many of his own men to their deaths. In the back of his mind, a voice finally asked him whether or not he had gone mad.

---------------

The colony had gone mad. That was the only way he could describe the state of panic that had now swept the colony. The docks were empty now, and those who realized they were trapped went on a rampage, their instinct to survive clouding whatever judgment they once had. And that only made his job more difficult.

Outside, dozens of explosions now filled the air, many coming close enough to damage the colony one way or another. He and his crews had been the ones hard at work patching up the damage, keeping the battered colony relatively intact despite carnage now going on around them. So far though, he felt that they had been pretty lucky. Battle-related casualties had been light, and the medical services had been able to keep up well, despite the many casualties caused by the riots still raging in the streets. Perhaps the news about the other Sides had been exaggerated after all...

And then, everything went white.

---------------

"God Almighty!" Colonel Moore shouted out loud as he dodged the balls of fire now surrounding him, each of which had indiscriminately vaporized Federal, Zeon, and civilian units alike. By the time it was over, entire squadrons on both sides had been wiped out, though the more numerous Federal troops had suffered the greater loss. Moore's eyes then went wide as he realized that other Zeon ships had followed suit, and another batch of nuclear death was coming their way.

"Break off! Break off!" Moore ordered, though knowing his words would reach his men too late. One by one, the missiles exploded, wiping out dozens of space fighters on both sides and slaughtering the cream of their Pilot Corps. But to Moore, the worse sight had to be the destruction of colonies, dozens of them, which had been caught in the nuclear bombardment. Some were vaporized almost instantly, resulting in a painful, but mercifully quick death for its inhabitants. Too many simply snapped in half, emptying their screaming, human contents into the cold, deadly embrace of space.

"We're being ****ing wiped out!" an officer screamed over the radio, the panic in his voice so evident despite the almost overwhelming Minovsky interference, "We have to get the hell out of here! If this keeps up nothing will be left of us!"

"Belay that order!" Moore countered, his face now seething in anger as bodies filled the space around him, "Look around you! If we don't win today, there won't be ANYTHING left at all!"

---------------

'Argyll... what have you done?!' the Colonel thought to himself as the bombardment finally subsided, revealing the slaughterhouse Side 5 had become. Dozens of colonies had been destroyed, and the charred remnants of dozens of Federal and Zeon fighters now littered the no man's land between the opposing fleets. Before, the battle had been relatively benign, but after had had launched his first salvo of nukes...

"Sir, we can't help what just happened," the Exec told him, knowing full well what he must be feeling, "But..."

"Sir!" a lookout suddenly screamed, "The Feddie Fleet's firing again! More beams coming in!"

Argyll merely nodded once, and then immediately issued his next orders, "Move the damn ship! Use whatever we can for cover!" Despite what his conscience was screaming at him now, Anne was right. The battle was still on, and the only thing he could afford to think of was survival.

----------------

"Signal the fleet! Press forward!" ordered General Revil as he watched the Zeon Fleet begin to scatter, putting whatever they could between them and the murderous volleys of the Federal Fleet. The better-trained Zeon gunners had the advantage in this kind of hide and seek game, but that was not what worried the commanding General...

"Sir, with all due respect that's reckless!" the Ananke's Captain protested, "If we move any closer, we'll move within range of their nuclear weapons!"

Revil was just about to answer when a surviving Zaku finally managed to break through the dense point defense fire now surrounding the Federal ships, much of their fighter cover having already been destroyed. As Revil's command staff watched in disbelief, the Zaku sent a single, nuclear-tipped round into the torpedo room of the battleship Queen Mary. Seconds later, the great ship disappeared in a blinding flash.

"Captain, issue the orders," Revil ordered calmly, beam fire from the Ananke finally destroying the attacking Zaku, "As you can see, we're already well within range of their nuclear weapons."

---------------

"Alright! You heard the man, move forward!" Doorman ordered as the word reached the Iron Duke, her engines coming to life as the battleship moved forward. The Dante and the Canopus were quick to follow, as were their escorting cruisers, but the tiny L114 missile frigates stayed behind, ordered to remain in reserve. Doorman felt that it was a mistake, but orders were orders, and his squadron blindly charged towards the enemy line.

And that was when the Zeon ships opened up. Beam fire quickly knocked out several Federal cruisers, and one ship escorting Doorman's group, the Hawke, exploded, illuminating his squadron to the waiting Zeon torpedo crews. The next thing Doorman knew, ten nuclear-tipped fish were heading his way, and his gunners had yet to set their sights.

But then the Federal numerical superiority once again began to tell, and thousands of bullets filled the space around them as panicked gunners opened up on the incoming torpedoes. Though most of the rounds were poorly aimed, there were simply too many, and nine of the torpedoes were destroyed before they reached the Federal ships. The one surviving torpedo however, landed in the midst of the 8th Cruiser squadron, destroying a pair of Salamis class cruisers and crippling the flagship, which quickly attempted to withdraw. Before it could go far however, a volley of beams from a Gwajin class battleship vaporized the fleeing cruiser.

"Concentrate your fire men!" Doorman ordered angrily, turning his attention to the Gwajin, which had unwisely remained in the open, "Get that big red ******* up front!"

Responding quickly, his crews sent a volley towards the super-dreadnought, scoring a few hits that merely scratched the paint off its thick hide. However, soon enough other Federal ships joined in, until almost a third of the entire Federal fleet was concentrating their fire on this one Zeon warship. No amount of protection could have withstood that much firepower, and within minutes all of her armament had been destroyed, her crew butchered, and the bridge left nothing more than an airless shamble. By the time the Gwajin's reactors finally cooked off, there was almost nothing left of the ship.

The Combined Fleet had just sunk a Gwajin class battleship, the largest warship yet seen in the Earth Sphere. It had taken them less than five minutes to accomplish that fact. The cheers that followed were almost deafening.

Meanwhile, on the Zeon side, countless jaws lay agape, shocked at the destruction of one of their proudest ships. Admiral Dozul however, had little time for shock. He was too busy shouting into the radio, demanding Giren to finally let him abandon the Drop.

---------------

"Snap out of it!" Puterbaugh ordered angrily as too many of his bridge crew just stood in their place, all too shocked to react. Puterbaugh was almost shocked out of his wits too, but unlike the others, he already knew he probably wouldn't survive this battle. Most of his men had only come to grips with that reality when they saw the destruction of the Gwajin.

"Sir, more beams are coming!" the Exec reported, being the only other person on the bridge who still had their senses, "I think they're going to..."

Suddenly, a series of explosions rocked the Chibe class cruiser, destroying her rear turret and killing twenty men. As more beams started coming in, most of the crew finally realized they were still in a fight.

"Evasive maneuvers! Head for cover" Puterbaugh ordered, and the now responsive helmsman was quick to comply. Still, it was too late, and another volley struck the Admiral Hipper before it could reach safety, destroying the Mobile Suit deck and killing all of the engineers working inside.

"Sir, we can't take much more of this..." the Exec noted as the Hipper nestled itself behind a shattered colony cylinder, which took the brunt of the fire meant for them. Suddenly, a beam pierced right through their cover and nearly struck the forward torpedo room. Surprised, she turned to the Colonel and said, "****! What do we do now?!"

"Signal the other ships in the squadron!" Puterbaugh answered, now looking warily at the solid mass protecting them, "What is their status?!"

"Most can still fight, but they've been shot all to hell!" the signalman replied, "Stragglers from the 2nd squadron are also asking for instructions. Their flagship just blew up!"

"Tell them to scrape together all of our surviving Mobile Suits and prepare for a counter-attack!" Puterbaugh ordered, surprising some on the bridge, "And get ready to give'm some covering fire! We can't let them go in alone!"

"Sir... are you sure that's wise?" the Exec reminded, "We don't have a lot of Zakus left, and we've never..."

"I know that, XO," Puterbaugh cut-off, "But you know as well as I do that we don't have anything left."

And with that, Anne merely felt silent, knowing that this time, Argyll was right. Like it or not, Zeon's only hope for victory now lay with the untried machine known as the Mobile Suit.

---------------

"Alright, break's over! Here they come!" a lookout shouted as he spotted Zeon fighters darting towards their lines, followed by flashes from the heavy Zeon guns, "****! Incoming!"

"Very well, begin evasive maneuvers!" Doorman ordered calmly, now feeling confident despite the many explosions still dotting the Federal Fleet, "And take down those fighters first! Get the ones carrying nukes!"

"Aye sir!" responded an equally elated gunnery officer, whose first two shots blew apart one of the approaching humanoid type machines. Other ships quickly followed suit, but the enemy fighters proved surprisingly agile, and many of their shots missed. In particular, he noticed that the Canopus was having difficulty using her shell-firing cannon against the advancing enemy force.

"****! We're getting leakers!" the lookout reported as one of the enemy fighters got close enough to use its nuclear bazooka, firing a pair of shots that destroyed one of Doorman's escorting cruisers. The Dante responded by turning slightly, unmasking her point defense guns, and firing a stream of shells that punched a hole through the fighter's torso. But two other Zakus made it through the fire unscathed, and both immediately headed for the weakest ship in the squadron: The Canopus.

"****, signal them now!" Doorman ordered as he realized that the Canopus had not yet realized the coming danger, "Tell'm to open up with everything they've got!"

---------------

"C Turret! How are those repairs coming along?!" demanded the skipper of the Canopus, irate that one of his turrets had been silent for the entire battle. Its gun chief was very quick to respond.

"Sir, the guns are still ****ing jammed!" he answered over the intercom, "If we try to shoot, the whole turret will blow up!"

"Very well, ju..." the Captain started, before the transmission was suddenly cut-off mid word. Moments later, explosions rocked the whole ship.

"****! What the hell just hit us?!" the crew chief asked as he tried to get up, only to hear the deafening sound of metal crashing into metal. When he regained his senses and looked up, he saw to his horror that the imprint of a giant robotic foot now marred the ceiling, meaning only that one of those Zeon humanoid fighters was now standing right on top of his turret. More explosions also told him that the enemy pilot was busy destroying his ship.

"Seal the hatches!" the gun chief ordered, closing the main one by himself, "And arm the guns! Prepare to fire!"

"But sir! The guns are still jammed!" one of the crewmen started, not realizing what he was implying, "If we do that we'll..."

"I know!" the crew chief shot back, just as he reached for the trigger. A distant part of him suddenly asked why he was doing this. As he pushed the button, he remembered why.

"Remember, five billion lives are counting us. We can't let them down."

---------------

"My God!" Doorman exclaimed in awe at the sight before him. At first, he thought the Canopus was doomed, an enemy humanoid type standing on top of its disabled turret, laying waste to its superstructure unmolested. The next thing he knew, the turret, the Zaku, and all of their crews were all blown apart in a single, spectacular moment of self-sacrifice. Doorman could not imagine how anybody could choose to do something like that. Neither could he imagine that he was the reason why they made that choice.

The same thoughts were also crossing the mind of the second Zaku pilot, who had watched as his wingman was blown apart. He never got the chance to ponder about it however, as a shot from one of the Canopus' surviving turrets found its mark. Her six remaining gun crews were now well aware of the sacrifice made by one of their number. Now, each shot they fired was made in fury.

---------------

In the center of the Federal line however, one ship had yet to understand the full fury of this battle. This was the Federal cruiser Charbydis, whose skipper had staunchly refused to arm his nuclear weapons despite the demands of his superiors. As it turned out, it proved to be his undoing.

Because in front of the Charbydis lay a pair of Musai class cruisers, their torpedo tubes already trained out. Using a nuclear torpedo was the only conceivable method of destroying them both before they fired, but the skipper shrank from it. He even shrank from using his beam weapons in fear of damaging one of the colonies that now surrounded his ship. The Zeon officers he faced however, had no such reservations, and his jaw could only drop as the enemy ships launched twenty fish in his direction.

Half a minute later, the Charbydis became ground zero of a massive nuclear fireball. The Charbydis, four other Federal cruisers, and an errant Zaku were all destroyed in that blast. A total of 50 million people also died as five surrounding colony cylinders were destroyed. But to the two warring factions, the casualties were no longer of importance. What was important was the fact that there was now a five-mile gap in the Federal lines.

---------------

"Deploy the reserves! Plug that hole in the line!" Revil ordered as he saw the gap left by the Charbydis' destruction, cursing its skipper for not having the balls to take down the enemy cruisers when he had the chance. Before a reserve squadron could arrive however, a pack of jubilant Zakus quickly penetrated the fleet's formation.

And that was when all hell broke loose. Some of the Zakus began firing indiscriminately, damaging the massed Federal warships as they struggled to retaliate with their anti-aircraft guns. A few Zakus went down, but so did several Federal cruisers, along with a battleship that had been attacked by a red-colored Zaku. No matter how you looked at it, trading cruisers and battleships for space fighters was a losing proposition.

"Sir, we're suffering heavy losses!" the Ananke's Captain reported, another cruiser exploding off the horizon, "The colony engine is in sight!"

"Is it within range of our torpedoes?!" Revil demanded, now spotting the massive engine on his own.

"No sir," the Captain replied, "But we do have our beam weapons, and..."

"Too slow," Revil cut-off, then gave the signal to one of his officers. A red flare exploded over the Ananke, which was immediately spotted by the waiting L114 frigates. As one, a total of 114 frigates ignited their engines, and all began a wild charge towards the Zeon lines...

---------------

"Oh ****! Here they come!" screamed a lookout onboard the Admiral Hipper, "Missile frigates! Dozens of them!"

"Torpedo attack imminent! Brace yourselves!" Puterbaugh replied as he got the word, "Commence firing!"

Outside, the Hipper's sole surviving turret opened fire, destroying one of the lead frigates now advancing on the Zeon line. Other frigates were also hit and destroyed, some by the Zakus still in the midst of the enemy fleet. As the frigates got closer, their losses would only mount, but the survivors pressed dodgedly on, determined to deliver their fish no matter the cost.

"****! We've got five of the *******s heading straight for our area!" the lookout warned, just before the Hipper fired again and destroyed another one of the attackers, "Alright! Got one more!"

Before he could speak again however, two of the frigates managed to launch their loads, firing a quartet of nuclear torpedoes seconds before they were vaporized by a Zaku's nuclear bazooka. Their deaths would not be in vain though, as their targets, a pair of Musai class cruisers, panicked and left cover, managing to dodge the nuclear missiles but falling victim to the waiting guns of Federal battleships.

The third frigate was not so fortunate. A Zaku managed to intercept the frigate as it tried to close on the colony engine, though it would cost the Mobile Suit pilot his life. Just before the tiny ship exploded from a hail of 120mm bullets, it sent a nuclear missile right into the Zaku's torso.

Puterbaugh grimaced at that last sight, but decided that, overall, they had weathered this particular storm well. Most of the frigates were being intercepted before they could get close, and explosions now dotted the space in front of the Zeon lines, a testament to their futile effort.

Puterbaugh's blood then chilled as he suddenly remembered one salient fact: There had been four frigates heading for the Hipper. He had only seen the destruction of three.

---------------

"Move! Move!" screamed the skipper of the Zeon cruiser Brandenburg, two torpedoes now heading towards his ship. The skipper wanted to fire at the attacking L114, but it was too close to the Hipper, and he would not risk their lives to improve his own chances of survival.

As it turned out, it wasn't needed, as the two missiles passed harmlessly between the engine struts of his Musai class cruiser. To his surprise however, the two missiles continued on to the ship behind him, the Blitz, and its skipper never saw what was coming. Seconds later, a shockwave hit the Brandenburg as the Blitz met a fiery end.

The skipper of the Brandenburg cursed out loud as he got up, hoping to destroy the frigate before it could flee. But as he looked out the window, he realized that this brave little ship had one last weapon up its sleeves...

Moments later, the L114 frigate rammed the cruiser Brandenburg, and both ships exploded in the ensuing conflagration. Out of the 114 missile frigates to take part in this gallant, but ultimately futile charge, few would do better than the crew of this one little ship. Few others had been able to bring their loads to bear. Fewer still had aim as true. Not one lived to fight another day.

But unbeknownst to the Zeon Fleet, they had not managed to tally a perfect score. Though they had destroyed all of the 114 frigates to charge towards their lines, this was actually four less than the total missile frigate strength of the Federal Combined Fleet.

As it turned out, this tiny oversight would make all the difference. Because those four ships had now reached their optimal firing positions, right _behind_ the main Zeon line.

---------------

"Eat **** and die," spoke the skipper of the frigate L027, her torpedo tubes now trained out at what was now the single, most important target in all of the Earth Sphere. The skipper had watched as their brethren died, all to allow his section of four to sneak past the enemy lines unmolested. He wished that wherever they were, they would all be able to see this. He wanted them all to know that none of them had died in vain.

As one, all four surviving frigates launched their loads. A total of eight nuclear missiles sped towards their destinies, each carrying a multi-megaton payload meant for the unsuspecting Zeon ships. The frigates did not linger to see the effects of their handiwork however. All four were already certain that their aim would be true.

It would take sixty seconds before the missiles would reach their final destinations.

In the space of a minute, the Earth's fate was about to be decided.

---------------

"Holy Mary, Mother of God..." Puterbaugh managed to say out loud before the shockwave struck the Admiral Hipper, sending him and dozens of other crewmen flying into nearby walls. In one moment, he had been staring at the colony engine, wondering when they would finally be allowed to abandon it...

...The next thing he knew, it was gone, the focal point of eight massive nuclear explosions that consumed everything around it. He watched, stunned, as dozens of Mobile Suits melted before his eyes, many of them carrying Zeon's finest pilots. Ship after ship also exploded, spreading even more destruction to the now broken force the Zeon Fleet has become.

And for the first time in the entire battle, Admiral Dozul fell silent, retaining his composure but also struck with awe by the devastation. On the horizon he could see the tattered remains of another Gwajin, its paint blackened by nuclear fire, its crew incinerated by the heat. Angrily, he finally broke contact with High Command and began shouting orders, urging his men to attack. Giren's genocidal plans had cost them all too much already. It was time for fighting men to decide the outcome of this battle.

The battle for Earth's survival had just ended. The battle for the Combined Fleet's survival was about to begin.

---------------

"Alright! Clear the way for them boys!" Doorman ordered as the four surviving frigates passed by the Iron Duke, to the cheers of the entire Federal Fleet. Zeon fighters were pursuing them, but the Iron Duke and her escorts quickly put up such a fierce wall of fire that they were all forced to break off. These four would live to fight another day, the Combined Fleet would make sure of that.

Unfortunately however, the same could not be said of the cruiser Natal. Two of the Zakus that broke off pursuit switched their attention to the hapless cruiser, peppering her superstructure with 120mm shells. The bridge soon exploded, as did a pair of turrets, but these pilots were visibly less skilled than their earlier companions, and the Canopus managed to destroy both of them in a single volley. However, again, the Zeon ships opened fire, and the Natal was picked off before she could flee to the safety of the rear.

"****... Looks like the Zeeks aren't about to give up yet!" Doorman swore, until he realized that their own losses were mounting, as the Natal was already the ninth cruiser to be lost in his group alone. Turning to the XO, he asked, "What's the status of the rest of the Fleet? Do we still have enough reserves to press on the attack?!"

"I'm not sure sir!" the XO replied, looking visibly distressed, "We just lost contact with the Ananke, and the Nereid is signaling that enemy fighters have infiltrated their lines. We're still trying to..."

"Oh ****! The Zeeks are making a push!" warned a lookout, cutting off the XO, "Fighters coming in! Looks like they're sending everything they've got left!"

"Damn, gunnery, you know what to do!" Doorman ordered as he turned his attention back to the battle, in time to see the first wave of enemy fighters, this one consisting entirely of Gattles, get decimated by anti-aircraft fire. Behind them however, were more of those agile humanoid type machines, and his gunners did not have time to set their sights before they fired. Two more cruisers went down as a result, and Doorman gritted his teeth as he realized what the Zeeks were up to.

"Ignore those Gattles!" Doorman ordered, knowing they were being sent in as cannon fodder to cover the more powerful humanoid type fighters behind them, "Concentrate your fire on the nuke carriers! Don't let them get close to our ships!"

---------------

"There's too many of them!" screamed a Salamis skipper as a trio of purple Zakus surrounded his cruiser. Seconds later, three point-blank shots blew his ship to bits.

"Bring up the reserves!" Revil ordered as more enemy fighters came to view, all heading for the Federal lines. They were suffering horrendous losses at the hands of Federal gunners and torpedo men, but the few who made it through were inflicting terrible damage themselves. Already half of the ships in his group had been damaged or sunk, and many of his senior commanders were now urging him to retreat.

"Sir, we can't take much more of this!" the Ananke's Captain warned as a white-colored Zaku broke through the fire, firing three quick shots that sank a Magellan class battleship, "Our ammunition is running low, and our fighters have been almost wiped out! We're little more than sitting ducks to these *******s!"

Revil never got to reply. Instead came the excited voice of a lookout. He had just spotted the three purple Zakus. They were all heading for the Ananke.

---------------

"My God, the Ananke has been sunk!" shouted the shocked signalman as he received the report, momentarily ceasing all activity on the Iron Duke's bridge. All of them had trusted Revil, trusted him to lead them to victory after a week of disastrous losses. Now, without his leadership, the signalman asked the one question running through everyone's mind, "What the hell do we do now?!"

"Contact the Nereid! Get me Admiral Kinnugan!" Doorman ordered, referring to the fleet's 2nd in command, "What the hell is happening to the fleet?!"

"Getting its *** kicked!" Colonel De Leon answered over the radio, his voice barely audible because of the Minovsky interference between the Iron Duke and the Dante, "We just got word from the Nereid. Over half of Revil's ships are down. He's ordering a retreat!"

"Very well," Doorman replied as he gritted his teeth, wishing he could avenge Revil's death, but knowing that a withdrawal was the correct course of action. The losses were still somewhat even at this point, and it was time to deny the Zeeks a chance to get the upper hand, "Armando, you'll be the first to withdraw. The Iron Duke and the Canopus will cover your retreat."

"And for once, I won't mind being the first leave," Armando agreed as the Dante began to turn, her guns still firing furiously at the charging enemy fighters. Before she could complete her turn however, a pair of Zakus managed to close in on the squadron, and both decided to attack the Dante.

"****! Armando, watch your left flank!" Doorman warned as both Zakus approached the Dante. Her skipper was quick to respond however, and within moments her port AA batteries had shot down one of the attackers. The second Zaku, this one more experienced than the first, was quick to evade the point defense fire, but failed to realize that he had entered the firing arc of one of the Dante's main turrets...

But he did not die. Before the "A" Turret could fire and end the Zaku pilot's life, a volley of beams struck the battleship, and one shot sliced the turret clean off its mount. Doorman shouted a warning just as his own ship fired at the attacker, but by then it was too late. A nuclear bazooka round was already heading for the Dante.

What followed next was the most catastrophic sight Doorman has ever seen in his entire life. The shell struck the engines, close to the reactor area, and a pair of nuclear fireballs literally melted the ship into oblivion. But what horrified Doorman the most was the sight of the bridge, completely enveloped by flames, with human forms still moving inside. Those forms were still moving when a blinding explosion finally consumed what remained of the Dante.

"S... sir..." the XO started, still numbed by the destruction of the Dante, "Wha... What do we...?"

"Continue the withdrawal!" Doorman ordered, determination now creeping into his voice, the image of his friend being burned alive still fresh in his mind, "Signal all ships in our area! Tell them all to turn around now!"

"Sir, with all due respect, are you sure?!" the XO countered, "If we all try to fall back, nobody will be left to..."

"The Iron Duke and the Iron Duke alone will stay behind and cover them," Doorman replied, his eyes now meeting those of his crew, "Any objections?"

Some looked back at Doorman, a look of fear in their eyes. Others merely bit their lip, and then nodded. All of them knew what he was asking of them. All of them knew they were going to die. Yet not one said a word.

"Very well then," Doorman answered with a nod, his final tribute to the men and women of the Iron Duke, "I'm sorry it had to come to this, but I want you all to know that I'm proud to have served with each and everyone of you. You all deserve better."

Doorman then turned to his helmsman. It was time to give the final order.

"Ramming speed."

---------------

"What the hell is he thinking?!" Colonel Moore exclaimed as he spotted the Iron Duke, advancing alone while the rest of the fleet attempted to withdraw. It was a brave decision, but with those damn enemy fighters coming in, one battleship couldn't possibly...

But she did. As a wave of enemy fighters tried to intercept her, the Iron Duke suddenly launched a spread of torpedoes at point blank range, much closer than any sane Zaku pilot would have thought safe. The Iron Duke melted away her own bow in the process, but the cost was well worth it: The entire attack wave had been wiped out by the nuclear blasts.

It was then that the Iron Duke began firing her own guns, scoring hits that damaged a number of enemy cruisers. Almost immediately, the Zeon ships retaliated, knocking out one of her turrets and chewing up her superstructure. But the Iron Duke pressed on, determined to reach the Zeon lines and deliver a telling blow to the enemy.

The Iron Duke would soon leave an image that would be burned into the minds of many Federal soldiers. It was the image of a single ship, defying the might of the entire Zeon Fleet.

---------------

"Run her down!" General Wavell ordered angrily as the enemy battleship continued her advance, enraged that his gunners had been unable to destroy the ship, "Destroy that battleship, and annihilate the rest of their cowardly fleet! Show them the true power of Zeon!"

Responding to his command, ships in his squadron opened fire, concentrating their efforts on the Iron Duke. The battleship began to stagger from all the hits, but incredibly, she survived yet another volley delivered by her enemies. Then, she fired back, her lone surviving turret destroying the bridge of an onrushing Musai.

"Worthless insect..." Wavell said contemptously as he signalled for his reserve Mobile Suits to advance, which soon surrounded the Magellan class ship. The Iron Duke desperately struggled to fight back, but her only surviving gun was quickly knocked out by the attacking Zakus, who proceeded to apply the coup d' grace to the crippled battleship. Firing a delug of 120mm shells, they knocked out all four of the Iron Duke's engines, finally bringing her shattered, lifeless form to a halt. The Iron Duke had only gotten within 300 yards of the enemy fleet.

Wavell was just about to celebrate his "victory" when a wounded voice suddenly spoke over the "Guards" channel. The voice only said three words, but for many, it would be the last words they would ever hear.

"Abandon all hope."

---------------

"My God..." Colonel Moore said out loud as the Iron Duke finally met her end. As one, she detonated all of her remaining nuclear weapons, turning herself into ground zero of one final nuclear fireball that caught unwary forward elements of the Zeon fleet. Three Musais broke apart and exploded, along with another squadron of Zakus, while half a dozen other ships were crippled by the blast. In particular, he could see that the bridge of one of the flagships had been destroyed, spreading confusion to the remaining Zeon ships.

"Sir, we're getting the signal," came the quiet voice of Lt. Harper, his Sabrefish fighter pulling up right beside Moore's, "The battle is lost. We have to withdraw."

"Roger that Harper," Moore replied, but his eyes were still fixed solidly on the Zeon Fleet. Around him were reminders of what must be done, and what he'd sworn himself to do, "Lieutenant, can you promise me one thing?"

"Sir?"

"Remember... Remember what happened here this day." And with that, Moore set off. He had chosen his target.

---------------

"Status report!" Colonel Puterbaugh demanded as he got back to his seat, amazed that they were all still alive. The Hipper had been damaged by the Iron Duke's final gambit, but the damage was relatively minor compared to the beating she was recieving earlier. Another Chibe however, was burning right beside the Hipper, and Puterbaugh almost wished that its skipper had indeed been killed during the attack.

"This is General Wavell," came his CO's wounded voice, sinking his earlier hopes, "I have been wounded, and most of the command staff has also been killed. Colonel Puterbaugh, take over!"

"So much for that..." Puterbaugh groaned, his conscience lodging another protest as he was once again reminded of the slaughter that had occured around him. He wished for a moment that this day would finally end, that more people wouldn't have to...

He never finished the thought. Instead, there came a scream, and the world turned black.

---------------

'There is only darkness now...' Colonel Alexander Dolvich thought to himself as he looked out into the horizon, trying his best to control his own feelings. One of his crew, communications officer Sylvie Gressiere, had already broken down at the sight now before them, and she sobbed even as she gave her next report.

"Tha.... that's the last batch sir..." she managed to splutter out, just as the battleship Canopus and her few surviving cruiser escorts came to view. Out of every five Federal ships to have entered the Ruum, now only one remained, and all she could do was lament the enormity of their loss, "Th... there's nothing left... there's nothing left..."

"My God... what happened to the fleet?" the XO lamented, tears in his eyes, "How... how can this happen?!"

"Don't mourn for the fleet..." Dolvich said quietly, his eyes still fixed at what was once Side 5. Before, you could see its lights from hundreds of miles away, seemingly a galaxy of its own that housed two billion souls. Today, not one light remained, "...Mourn instead for humanity."

---------------

"What's happening?" Doctor Harrington asked as a procession of devastated faces piled out the radio room, most with tears still streaming down their cheeks. He feared the worse when he finally met a grief-stricken Fred Chan.

"The battle's over doc," Fred managed to say out loud, just before he collapsed into a nearby chair, finally allowing his fatigue to get the better of him, "The... the fleet did it. There won't be a Drop today."

"Is... isn't that good news?" Harrington asked, just before he realized the night sky was now becoming filled with shooting stars. His jaw dropped as he realized why they were there.

"That's all that's left of the fleet doc," Fred managed to say, just before tears finally burst from his eyes, "And... And Side 5's gone. Two billion people doc... Less than a day... How can we let this happen?"

Harrington could not answer. He knew of no one who could. In the distance, he could see the monks praying quietly, having now received the news. As he blinked his tears away, Harrington found himself doing the same.

---------------

"Anne, please, for God's sake hold on!" pleaded Argyll as he wrapped his arms around her, his uniform now red with her blood, "Damn it, you shouldn't have..."

"P... pushed you out of the way sir?" she answered weakly, trying her best to smile, "I was just... looking out... for the well-being of the ship, sir..."

"Damn it, aren't you always?" Puterbaugh replied as he stifled a sob. Despite what he was telling her, he knew that she wouldn't make it, and the only woman he'd ever loved...

"Argyll... promise me something..." she asked as she felt her own life draining away, wishing that it wouldn't, but knowing it would, "Please?"

"Anything Anne..." he started, "Just don't..."

"Don't hate yourself..." she begged, her voice slowly fading, "D... don't hate yourself for what they made you do... D... don't hate yourself... because of me..."

Argyll never got the chance to answer, for those were her last words. For her at least, it was all finally over.

The time of her death was 0500 hours, January 16, UC 0079. A scant hour later, Admiral Dozul declared that all combat within the Ruum had finally been ended.

---------------

January 21, UC 0079.

Federal Asteroid Base, Luna II.

"This is the end..." Major Sean Patterson said as he walked down Luna II's vast dock area, countless berths now laying empty, each a casualty of the Ruum. Patterson was a fighting man, but the sight of losing so many ships and men was almost impossible to bear. Even the admiralty, those who survived anyway, no longer felt confident that they could go on, and life under Zeon tyranny now seemed to be a very real eventuality.

"Major, it's not yet over," Colonel Alexander Dolvich said as he joined his subordinate, his face bearing none of the emotions he was feeling. His sons were dead, as were so many of his crew, but he knew it was his duty to stand firm even against such overwhelming loss, "My people... the Russians, we lost over three million men fighting the Germans in the first months of the Great Patriotic War. But we did not surrender, and in the end, it was we who triumphed. I have no doubt that we too will overcome this crisis."

"Sir, with all due respect, this is a different situation," Patterson replied with a sigh, "Back then, Russians had overwhelming numerical superiority. We don't have that. Not anymore."

"Major, we did not win simply because there were more of us," Dolvich admonished, "We won because of what we chose to fight for. They are fighting for ideals. We are fighting for our homes. We are fighting for mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. We are fighting for our very right to survive."

Dolvich then paused, and pointed out the window. Of the five Sides once visible from this vantage point, now only one remained, "And Major, never forget all of those who died. Their souls are crying for vengeance. Don't tell me that doesn't amount to anything."

---------------

January 21, UC 0079.

Zeon Asteroid Base, Solomon.

Colonel Argyll Puterbaugh drained one last glass of whiskey, trying to work up the courage to do what he wished himself to do. Outside, the Admiral Hipper, the remnants of a charred Sabrefish fighter still sticking out of its bridge, was now under the command of another officer, one whom Wavell had appointed himself to replace the "disloyal, unprofessional" officer that had failed to destroy the fleeing remnants of the Federal Fleet. He didn't care about any of this anymore. All he cared about now was the pistol now pointed to the side of his head.

Anne would not approve of this, but without her, his life simply had no meaning. All he was now was a murderer of millions, and he knew he could not go on with that kind of weight on his shoulders. Perhaps with this one act, humanity would be able to forgive him for what he had done. There was almost no hesitation. He pulled the trigger.

Before his death, Puterbaugh had sent one final letter to his friend and classmate, Colonel Arnold Jefferson. It read, "Arnold, whatever they say, this war is nothing more than a brutal slaughter. Don't follow your orders blindly. You may be a soldier, but you're also a human being, and human beings can make a choice between right and wrong. I made my choice. It was the wrong one."

---------------

Sylvie Gressiere simply didn't care anymore. All she cared about now was her packed bags, her letter of resignation, and the shuttle waiting to take her home. She didn't care if people called her a traitor or a coward. All she cared about now was just locking her miserable self away in some quiet, far off corner of the Earth Sphere until she finally withered away and died.

And that was why she was really getting annoyed with her companion.

"Really, I can't say I blame you," continued the shuttle pilot, a young man about her age, "Hell, in fact, I kinda envy you. At least you're going home early."

"And will you just shut up?!" Sylvie groaned in reply, knowing that he was just rubbing it in that she was nothing more than a useless, cry-baby *****, "I'm just not cut out for this kind of life, ALRIGHT?! Signing up was the biggest mistake I've ever made in my entire life!"

"Why, because you met him?" the pilot shrugged, pointing to Lieutenant Harper, who was dozing quietly in the dock area. Sylvie Gressiere's face turned beet red in anger before she replied.

"Have you been even paying attention to what's been happening around you?!" Sylvie shot back, ignoring his accusation, "An ENTIRE Side has been DESTROYED. The fleet is GONE. Almost all of my friends are DEAD. A person can be allowed to break down and grieve, can't she?!"

"Never said you didn't have the right to grieve," the pilot replied matter-of-factly, but again motioned to Lt. Harper, "But there are times when we have to put aside our grief. We all still have a job to do, and only when it's done can we start grieve again."

"And I thought you said you didn't blame me for quitting?!" Sylvie fumed, "But then again, you all know I'm a worthless human being anyway, so why the hell should I bother justifying myself to YOU?!"

Her companion visibly sighed out loud, seemingly in disbelief. Finally, he just asked, "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Enlighten me," she countered, confident this young punk would have nothing of value to say to her. She was wrong.

"Miss, why do you think all those men died anyway? Why do you think they blindly gave their lives away for a government they probably didn't even like?" he started quietly, taking his time to let his words sink in, "I'll tell you why- because they thought people like you and me were _worth_ it."

For a moment, Sylvie found herself at a lost for words, but her pained heart simply couldn't accept what he was telling her. Eyes downcast, she answered, "Are you so sure about that?"

"I'm sure, because _everybody_ is worth it," he reminded, "Because even when we lose everything, we still have something, and that one thing makes all the difference."

"And what is that?" Sylvie continued, her eyes still downcast, her voice filled with cynicism. The pilot found himself smiling sadly at the sight. He could tell she already had it, but she just didn't realize what it was.

"You'll find out soon enough," he promised, just as the announce speakers came to life, summoning him to the ward room, "And I hope you'll figure it out by the time I get back."

---------------

"Pilot Richardson, reporting as ordered," the shuttle pilot announced crisply as he entered the ward room. He was surprised when he saw who else was inside.

"Good morning, Mr. Richardson," greeted a Federal officer, a patch on his shoulder denoting that he was from naval intelligence. Smiling, he added, "Or perhaps I should say Agent Erwin? We are still in Luna II, after all."

"Let's just stick to aliases sir," the "pilot" answered with a frown, wishing he had a different handler than this particular nut. He was good, but his tactics were... a little unsavory for his tastes, "Any further word from Agent Shoemaker?"

"Yes actually, that is why I summoned you," the officer replied as he passed him a roll of microfilm, "Hook up with Miss Sterling in Von Braun and get to Granada ASAP. Hopefully, we can get him back before the brass decides to sell Earth to those Zeons."

"It won't be easy sir," he reminded.

"In our business, is there anything that's ever easy?"

---------------

Sitting alone in the shuttle, Sylvie Gressiere was now angry at herself. She... she simply couldn't understand why she let that damn pilot's words get to her. After all, there was really nothing left for her. Everything was gone. Even Max. Everything that she's ever wanted to do with him, everything that they'd both...

Her thoughts stopped midword as it finally came over her, a sudden realization of what she had been missing. Of what she still had despite all of the loss, despite all of the walls now between them. She still had that, and while she did, she couldn't just leave him alone, could she?

Hesistantly, she found herself standing up, bag in hand. She decided she needed another talk with Colonel Dolvich.

---------------

January 21, UC 0079.

Side 5 Shoal Zone.

The shattered hulk that was the "A" Turret was now all that remained of the Dante. Of the words once emblazoned on it, only one still remained.

The word was Speranza. Its meaning, was Hope.

----------------

To those who have fought and died, to make dates like June 6, 1944, November 9, 1989, and April 9, 2003, into long overdue realities.

For those who once had no hope, they were days to remember.

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Notice: This fic and all its contents are copyrighted by Thomas E. "Zinegata" Ting. No part of this work may be taken by any other person without permission from the author. Gundam and all related trademarks are owned by Bandai and their respective companies.