((So apparently, Wappas are a thing now.))

Milo flashed a thumbs-up to the other two pilots, dipping the throttle with his foot and centering the control stick as the little hover-bike lifted amidst a satisfying billow of sand. Rising to the altitude of the other two vehicles, he circled his hand in the air before pointing to the two positions he wished his wing-men to take.
"Alright, folks, keep an eye out; I may have a lot of equipment on this heap but you know how much that usually counts for out here!

Within a few minutes, the formation was skimming away across the desert sands, following the line of the road as it wound down the rocky slope of the depression. As he flew, Milo kept one eye on the sonar readout, the other one scanning the terrain as he looked for anything out of the ordinary.
"Well this might be a big fat waste of time." The young supply officer admitted sullenly over the laser comm. "Either of you spotting anything?"
In her carrying sling, Zel, Milo's fennec fox, chirped and nosed up at Milo's chin, her way of getting his attention. With a sigh, he reached down to scratch behind one of her ears, but the little creature merely strained and nosed again, wriggling against him for more attention.
Milo glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow.
"Hey, what is it you? You see something?"

Not far away:

"Well I'll be damned!"
Flint unclasped his hands from behind his head, sitting up in his pilot's chair at a TBS radio transmission over his comm unit. It had come from Private Felsh, the team Guntank's commander.
The young commander of the 12th MS Team, Corporal Flint Hobten, clasped a hand on his headset.
"What is it, Private?"
Flint glanced at his side-view monitor, watching as the optical tracking package on the nearby Guntank swiveled on its mount, one of the huge camera lenses focusing in one something a little ways off.
"Movement, sir! Three small vehicles, about three klicks east; thermal interference is blurring the image, but I'd bet anything on Wappas from their speed. Looks like we found one, sir."
Flint raised his eyebrows, bringing up the grainy video feed transmitted by the Guntank. Indeed, three high-speed smudges appeared, the heat rippling from the sandy ground making identification difficult. In the upper right corner of the feed, however, was a CG enhancement, and the outline of three Wappa hover bikes could be seen.
He grinned.
"Man, and I was hoping for some boredom..." Flint replied, tapping the controls to bring his RGM-79 GM out of standby mode. "Dennis! Put up a signal flare, would you? We'll see if we can't get their attention. Stay sharp, though, I don't want anyone to get hurt if it turns out they're holdouts."
Over the past three days, Zeon units all over the Earth had surrendered en masse, obeying their government's order to surrender. For the most part, Federation troops had no trouble dealing with these groups, and things went smoothly.
Every so often, however, this turned out not to be the case.
Especially in remote areas, certain Zeon forces had refused orders, often on the grounds that they had not come from a member of the Zabi family, the regime many die-hard Zeon nationalist had sworn their loyalty to. Thus, they fought on, despite no hope of resupply or reinforcement.
Flint had heard of an HLV base in Australia which had only recently been overrun by Federation forces, and rumor had it that the holdouts based there had been preparing to release a deadly bio-weapon as a final act of retaliation. Many similar stories had filtered in over the past few days.
Even more troubling to Flint, though, were the Zeon units nobody could account for; obviously they had gone into hiding for some reason, which seemed to suggest at least a few of them had a plan...
He was shaken from his thoughts when, overhead, a bright green signal flare detonated.
Hopefully, these three would be reasonable.

Laytn kept his head on a swivel, scanning the monochromatic terrain before him with broad sweeps of his gaze. The rolling hills of sandy earth disappeared into a blurred horizon of wavy heat. To the direct front of the three Zeon officers, the rough road that the convoy had been following stretched outward to the west. Its darker smudge likewise vanishing amidst the haze of the desert, and the lift of the dunes.

“I’ve got nothing so far,” Laytn replied to Milo’s inquiry. “It’s hard to see clearly though with the sun in our faces like it is. You got anything, Commander?”

Squinting, Laytn brought a hand to shield his helmeted eyes from the glare of the descending sun, still yet high in the sky. He knew that they couldn’t be far from Federation lines now, but as of yet Laytn could see no sign of their enemy. That thought made his jaw clench. We’re trying to find them to surrender, the very voicing of it within his mind made him cringe. Never in all my days did I think it would come to this.

A part of his proud, spacenoid psyche, wanted to rebel against the Prime Minister’s call for capitulation. The notion of going out in an honorable blaze of glory inside of Old Crow, taking as many Feddies with him as he could manage, tingled pleasantly within his imagination. Yet, at the same instance, the absolute fool hearted reality of such a stand came into his mind as well. Laytn was a patriot, and a lover of his homeland, but he was no zealot. There was a difference in dying for one’s country, and committing self-righteous suicide.

Laytn was brought back to the moment as his eyes were drawn to the blaze of a green flare rising from beyond a distant dune. It arced through the sky, still very bright, even in the face of the full sun.

“Contact!” Laytn called. “I’ve got a green flare off to the northwest of my position. Probably three or four klicks out. It’s gotta be the Feddies. Can you guys make out any vehicles?”

Milo swiveled his head around to look at what Laytn had seen, watching the bright green flare drifting on a lazy parabolic arc.
"I see it! One moment..."
The young supply officer slowed his small vehicle, fishing a pair of powerful Neiss-Zikon binoculars out of his pocket. Bringing them up to his eyes, he scanned the horizon in the general direction of the flare. While he did this, Zel continued to nose at his chin insistently, tail thumping against his chest in the vulpine approximation of "I told you so".
Milo brought down the field glasses and couldn't help but raise his eyebrows.
"They're out there alright; heat shimmer is making visibility suck, but I count... three Mobile Suits, on a rise to the northwest. Two human types and a tank, possibly with a support truck."
He made a hand signal, and wheeled around his machine in the direction of the Federal position.
"They're not making any effort to hide themselves, and obviously that flare was to get our attention. We should go over and say hello, don't you think?"

Meanwhile, at the Federal position:

Corporal Hobten tapped the zoom controls on his GM, the view of his main monitor taking in the two Wappa hover-bikes skimming toward them. At his range and magnification, he could see a Zeon soldier riding the lead machine waving at him.
He smiled.
"Alright, that's got their attention; they're coming this way, and they look friendly enough. Safeties on! Let's get set to welcome them."
Nearby, the team's GM Cannon and the Guntank retracted their weapons to storage positions, and Flint himself latched the Beam Spray Gun he carried to his Suit's skirt armor. Everything looked like it would go by routine; more than likely, these three were part of a larger force, and after formalities and pleasantries were exchanged by the two small emissary teams, Flint and his ground would likely be in charge of leading the larger group to the Federation encampment at the Jaghbub Oasis.
I do wonder how Colonel Renfield will take that.

Meanwhile, at the Jaghbub Oasis:

"Colonel, this is far enough."
In his command tent, Colonel Dennet Renfield coolly stared down the muzzle of a service pistol, his expression as unconcerned as if someone had been pointing a water gun at him.
"You would kill me over some Zekes, would you?"
Dennet regarded the young man; he was one of his aids, one of the young soldiers who had risen through the ranks far too quickly during the war. He stood, visibly trembling, aiming sidearm at his superior, a look of mixed horror and resolve etched on his features.
"For god's sake, Colonel! The war is over! The enemy has surrendered! These people wish us no harm!
The young man shook his head.
"I don't care what it costs me, sir, but I won't let you do this! This... this is insane, sir!"
Colonel Renfield's expression hardened.
"Insane, is it?!"
The officer rose to his feet, causing the aid to take a step back.
"The only thing that's insane, Corporal, is that our government has decided that the war is won, when it has only just started! The Earth is still infested with spacenoids, who defile its soil and, at best, are only pretending to lay down their arms so that they can stab us in the back later!"
The aid stared at his commanding officer, aghast.
"Sir, you're talking about civil-"
"Collaborators, Corporal!! They supported the Zeon during the war, and they'll share their fate!"
Renfield advanced on the young man, but came up short when the aid reflexively raised his weapon to point at the tip of his nose.
"I t-told you, sir." The aid said, his voice quavering. "I won't let you do this...!"
Renfield gritted his teeth.
"Is that a fact."
The aid never had a chance.
Renfield was a blur of motion, ducking easily under the upraised pistol before the man holding it could register what was going on. With a flick, he withdrew an antique stiletto from a belt holster...
The gun fell from the young man's hand, clattering to the floor, before he sagged, hand raising to clutch at the oozing hole in his chest. The aid's khaki uniform stained red, and he was dead before he even hit the ground.
Renfield looked down at the corps with distaste.
The tent door fluttered, and a uniformed guard entered, saluting the Colonel smartly. If he noticed the dead body, he did not show it.
"Sir, would like to report that we're almost ready. Artillery is already sighted in."
Dennet nodded, going back to his table and wiping his bloody knife off with a rag.
"Excellent. Tell the gun crews to stand ready, and..."
He nudged the dead aid with his foot.
"Get this thing out of my sight, will you?"

Laytn slowed his Wappa as Milo searched in the direction of the flare with his binoculars. When he called over the headset that there were indeed Federation mobile suits downrange, Laytn was simultaneously on edge and relieved. This was it, the moment that the 261st had been moving inexorably towards since the Prime Minister’s call for surrender. It seemed surreal to Laytn, like a dream that had been tormenting his sleep had now somehow blossomed into reality.

“Roger that, Feddie mobile suits downrange,” Laytn said. “Two human types, and a tank type with a possible support vehicle.”

Setting his Wappa into a full hover, Laytn sighed audibly into his helmet’s mouthpiece. “Well, if they wanted to frag us, they certainly had the opportunity. I guess it’s time to go pull our pants down, eh?”

Laytn took a moment to relay back to the convoy there position, the disposition of the Federal force, as well as the fact that he and Milo were about to attempt peaceful contact. He ended his transmission with, “Standby for further information, and stay frosty.”

Signaling to Milo, Laytn coaxed his Wappa forward. As the hovercraft raced over the dunes towards the Federation position, Laytn made sure to keep his movements predictable, and as non-threatening as possible. With each meter of desert that flew beneath him, his heart seemed to pound ever harder within his chest. He had never been this close to Feddie troops without engaging them, and every ounce of his being seemed to cry out against trusting them now.

As the meters ticked away, the mobile suits became clear on the horizon. In short order, Laytn could make out the silhouette of the war machines.

“Check me here, Milo. I got what looks like an RGC-80, an RX-75, and a…yep, an RGM-79 GM,” he said. “Is that what you’re seeing? Their weapons seemed to be stowed.”

Closing to within five-hundred meters of the lead mobile suit, Laytn began to slow his Wappa once more. His eyes affixed to the hulking, distinct features of the GM, at no time wavering from the looming metallic gaze. Never before had he been so close to one, at least not without the deadly beam saber, or beam spray gun of the Federation mobile suit being brought to bear against him. The sound of the blood coursing within his ears was almost deafening now, and time seemed to slow as Laytn at last brought his Wappa to a mere fifty meters of the GM.

With a diminishing whine, Laytn dropped power from the hover fans, bringing the Wappa to rest gently on the loose sand. As the landing feet settled, he switched off the engine, and powered down the other systems. Taking off his helmet, Laytn swung his feet around, and lifted himself from the crash couch of the Wappa. Standing beside the hovercraft, he affixed his cover onto his head, and came to stand at attention facing the Federation mobile suits. Stone faced, his jaw set, Laytn waited for Milo to join him.

The approach to the Feddie position felt strange to Milo; not long ago, he and the other pilots and drivers of the 261st had been fighting for their lives against these people. To approach their position in the open - with an invitation, no less - felt wrong somehow, and certainly tickled his danger sense.
As if sensing this, Zel nosed up at his chin once more, as if to reassure her surrogate parent that everything would be alright. Milo smiled and tickled the little fennec kit with his index finger, upon which she gnawed playfully, squeaking her happiness.
If only humans were so easy to reassure. He thought to himself.
"Confirmed, Laytn; one stock GM, one GM Cannon and a Guntank, probably the mass production type we started seeing in Southeast Asia."
Milo and Laytn hovered to within a few meters of the three giant Federation Mobile Suits, which Milo looked up at in mixed awe and apprehension. The only other time he had seen a GM so close was either from behind the dubious safety of his Zaku's armor, or on foot when his unit encountered wrecked Federation Suits in the desert.
Milo's Wappa slowed, the whine of the hover fans receding as the little craft settled on the sand. Un-slinging Zel's carrying harness, Milo hung the sling up on the pintle of his Wappa, and pointed at the little animal. Zel squeaked, and then plopped down the way she had been trained, tail wagging behind her.
Smiling briefly in satisfaction, the young supply officer dismounted his hover bike with considerably more coordination than would normally be expected of a man his size and build. Joining Laytn, he came to attention, craning his neck up to look at the towering GM, which appeared to be the Suit of the unit commander.
Stiffly, he saluted.
To Milo's surprise, the giant Suit moved. Ponderously, the GM's arm moved, rising to salute back at the two humans. When the hand was fully raised, the machine's sensor faceplate pulsed green, accompanied by a distinctive hum Milo thought similar to a Zaku's mono-eye flash.
The young officer resisted the urge to step back when the Suit began to kneel, its arm sweeping down to hold its hand palm up in front of its cockpit hatch. When the Suit was down on one knee, the hatch swished open, and a figure in a khaki Federation uniform stepped out onto the hand, which lowered him down.
He saluted in return.
Milo lowered his own hand, and stiffened once more.
"Lieutenant Milo Tyranne, Republic of Zeon Earth Attack Force, sir! At this time, I would like to declare that I have been authorized to speak for all personnel of my unit."
He cleared his throat, and tried to blank his mind. The only way he would be able to do this, Milo knew, would be to just get it out before he could think too hard about what he was saying.
"On behalf of the 261st Mobile Supply Corps, and in accordance with the standing orders of Prime Minister Darcia Bakharov, I offer our unconditional surrender to the Earth Federation Ground Forces."
Milo breathed a long sigh of relief.
There. It's out. No taking that back now.
On the hand of his Mobile Suit, the Federation officer saluted.
"Corporal Flint Hobten, Earth Federation Ground Forces. Similarly, I have been authorized by my commanding officer to accept your surrender, in accordance with the Treaty of Granada."
Milo was briefly surprised when the Federation soldier held out a hand, a slightly tense but still friendly smile on his face. Hesitantly, Milo reached out and took it.
The handshake melted the tension.
"So... I take it the 261st isn't just two people, is it?"

With his spine as rigid as steel, Laytn watched as the Mobile Suit before him knelt in the sand. A roil of emotion moved through his veins, and he thought distantly that he was glad Milo was standing beside him. The sheer weight of the moment seemed almost palpable to Laytn, dragging down upon his shoulders like leaden chains. The value of all the death, all the destruction, all those spacenoid men and women broken forever in body and mind, had it amounted to nothing? The precursors of tears welled at the corners of Laytn’s eyes as the Federation pilot, regaled in his khaki uniform, stepped down from the cockpit of the GM.

We’ve been reduced to this? Laytn thought, forcing back his tears. We’ve betrayed every Zeon soul gone before us.

It was all Laytn could do to stand, stoic and resilient, as Milo barked out the formal declaration of surrender. With his blue eyes staring coldly from beneath the bill of his cover, Laytn bore his gaze into the face of the Federation officer who introduced himself as Corporal Flint Hobten. It made him almost flinch when the man brought a smile to his face, and offered Milo his hand. For a long moment, Laytn wondered if his comrade would take it. When he did, the relief on both Milo’s and Corporal Hobten’s features was apparent. Laytn remained tense.

“Maybe just a couple more than two, but sure as hell not as many as a year ago. You Federation boys made sure of that,” Laytn said quietly, his lip snarling at the corporal. His response was automatic, as if the forced barb would somehow makeup for the humiliation of surrendering the 261st.

Hobten’s eyes flashed with surprise as they looked to Laytn, but he said nothing in reply. The man’s decency made Laytn feel all the more ashamed. With a shaky intake of breath, Laytn sighed, and brought his hand up into a salute. Bringing his hand down from the brow of his right eye, he extended it to the corporal.

“My apologies for that. My pride…” Laytn said, trailing off. “…I hope you can understand.”

Hobten nodded, genuine empathy writing itself on the man’s face as he spoke. “No offense taken, Lieutenant…?”

“Aarom. Lieutenant Laytn Aarom.”

Hobten grasped Laytn’s hand, and shook it warmly. “It’s my honor to meet both of you.”