From here, Earth, the moon, and the space colonies were nothing more than a particularly bright white dot in the endless black canvas of space. It was a cold, lonely void, and the Earth Federation Forces Pegasus-class carrier Shadowfax had hiked the long journey over the weeks from the Earth Sphere with precious little company beyond here Salamis-class escorts.
The gleaming lights of Ceres ahead were a welcome sight for all aboard the three vessels of the flotilla as a result. They meant more people, and a chance to see something other than the inside of their ships. Even if it meant that their real mission, the search-and-destroy of a new and ultra-militaristic Zeon faction was about to begin in earnest.

Aboard the Shadowfax, Task Force Anthem's primary mobile suit squadron had been given the order to stand by for launch. The weeks of flight from the Earth Sphere to the asteroid belt had given them time to get to know one another well enough, and to practice working together, but this was their first true operation: Escorting and acting as guard for the shuttle that woudl be taking over the task forces' commanding officer and other important persons in order to liase with and meet the head of the Asteroid Miners government. The task forces' ships would also take on supplies after their journey following that, and maintaining a tight security cordon was important during the operation.

Captain Callie Suthorn propelled herself across the zero-G environment of the carriers' mobile suit bay, catching onto and swinging around the railing of the work platform in front of her S-Gundam's cockpit and exchanging a fist bump with the smiling engineer.
"All good to go, Captain!"
"Thanks, Paul. I'll be eager to get out there knowing you've worked on my suit. And I promise I'll try to bring it back in one piece".
"You'd better! Good luck out there!"
She gave him a thumbs up as she pulled her normal suit helmet on and fastened it at the collar before climbing into the suits' cockpit. A few moments and she was strapped into the seat and running through the sleek, powerful Mobile Suits' startup routine. As soon as her comms came on-line she checked in with the rest of her squad.
"Black Thorn to all units, are we all ready to go? I'm standing by and ready to launch".
As she spoke, the hangar door folded down, leaving the launch catapult clear for her, and the launch 'shoes' fastened around the S-Gundams' feet. The diminutive - comparatively - shape of the transport shuttle was ahead and just off the starboard side of the Pegasus-class ships' bows, waiting for its' escort.
The lights at the bay entrance flicked to green, and with a rush of movement and force, the S-Gundam was thrown forward, rocketing off the catapult and into space on flaring blue thrusters. Keeping a steady course, she joined on the wing of the shuttle, waiting for the rest of the unit to form up on her. A scan of the area was encouraging; minimal Minovsky Particle interference and nothing that seemed overly suspicious, but that didn't mean any of them could let their guard down for the meantime.
"All right, team. Stay formed up on the shuttle, and keep your eyes peeled. There's a lot of traffic back and forth from Ceres' bays and ports. It'd be a strong show of force for our enemy to attack us as soon as we arrive, and use it as an excuse to cause damage, or turn the miners against us. Stand by, they could be disguised out there".
Callie's words weren't without a ring of truth. There were flocks of civilian ships of various shapes and sizes clustered around the open mouths of docking bays and attacked to scaffold-like docking ports that jutted from the planetoids' surface, loading or unloading cargoes of materiels and supplies. Many of them were big enough to hide mobile suits or other vehicles and weapon systems, and while all looked sound and secure, the task force were here for a reason.

As the Shadowfax dwindled behind them and Ceres loomed large enough to fill up the entirety of their view ahead, the shuttle was well on course for one of the yawning docking bays. Callie shuddered momentarily, a creeping sensation up her spine, and tightened her gloved hands on her mobile suits' controls, casting a look all around the 360 cockpit display. She grimaced and murmured wordlessly to herself; she didn't think she was a Newtype, but a funny feeling and a hunch in a bad situation was, experience had taught her, something worth paying attention to.
"Eyes peeled everyone," she said with a short, sharp tone as the shadow of the bay began to fall over them. "I have a bad feeling that we're not in the clear just yet..."

Having left his old squadron behind for the moment Captain Carter West felt himself introspecting on how bizarre this mission was. These units with him...both advanced, and antiques what kind of situation was this? The Republic of Zeon had folded...and yet they still couldn't pull out better machines for some of these pilots? It just seemed odd. Throughout his twenty or so years of experience in the battlefield he thought the days of Zeon were finally over but if they were pulling the captain of Round Bear from his duty of rounding up political dissidents, and traitor hunting what the hell was this situation about? How big was it really? He felt his Re-GZ Custom humming underneath him. Lieutenant Amuro Ray had piloted something like this back during the Char's Rebellion. It had served him well. It was a powerful machine, and it did its job well not too many units had the sheer amount of stopping power that this thing did, that couldn't call itself a gundam, or a mobile armor.

He breathed in and out carefully considering all the factors at hand. The S-Gundam though...where the hell did they even get that thing from? And why did that girl get to pilot it? Was she one of those newtypes? Whatever he had a job to do, and he'd get it done. "Captain Carter West. Launching Re-GZ Custom, making it happen." Carter said as he waited for his turn to clear launch. Once he was given it the suit in its waverider mode launched. He felt the usual kickback of the launch sequence, something to him at this point was barely worth noting, and he launched. "Carter reporting. Launch cleared forming on the shuttle." Carter stated. He hoped Black Thorn didn't intend to bark orders at him throughout this mission. By far he was one of the highest ranking space soldiers on this unit. To his knowledge no one here was a Commodore. "I don't know what brass is expecting but if it needs this big an escort than keep an eye out like she said. This better not be just an exercise that'd mean this is way to excessive." Carter said as he kept his machine at a reasonable speed neither going full in, or too slow simply keeping it at a casual pace. He kept his breath calm, and he made sure to be looking at his radar. He wasn't one of those fancy ass newtypes he had to keep his eyes on the ball.

Putnam balanced himself along the railing overlooking the mobile suit bay, whistling quietly behind the polarized glass of his normal suit's helmet. His hands white-knuckled the railing, he glanced over the gathered suits, among them his Jesta. Sure, it'd been nearly three years since his last combat sortie, but he'd kept in practice, live fires and all with this new monster of an escort suit. Yet, was this anxiety he was feeling? His expression hardened as he flung himself over, his momentum carrying him towards his suit. Digging in his hard-sole boots on the exterior, he grabbed at the hand-holds on the extended canopy door, staring in towards the MS electronics tech (MET) and Putnam's chosen suit chief, Petty Officer Arstrand, strapped down in the seat, tablet jacked into the instruments console.

"We all good here, Mads?"
"Yeah, you shouldn't have a problem with that APU switch sticking now. All yours, Titch." The MET spoke up with a thick Dutch accent, pushing off the seat and passing by Putnam with a graceful slide.
"Good shit. That's why you're my fuckin' SC, eh?" He grinned to the tech as he floated off.
"You know it."

Slipping into the cockpit, Putnam made for the seat. One strap down, another strap down, locked in the three-point clip centered on his sternum. His fingers went to the respective switch consoles on either side of his seat's cushion, a complex startup procedure which ended with the 360-degree monitors flaring to life. Lastly, with a fidget of a dial, Black Thorn's call came in.

"Yeah, this is Titch. Final checks showing everything green, taking third in catapult pattern, boss."

And as he called, his suit's locks disengaged. A clear from the air boss and his cold-gas vernier thrusters carried him to a standstill. He listened in to the comms. Suit one away. Two is on the catapult, suit two is away. His turn. Pressing the appropriate stick forward, his suit stepped up to the catapult shuttle. Two mechanical arms on each side offered the weapons of choice, the Jesta's high-powered beam rifle, matched with an anti-beam treated shield for the opposing arm. The two main thrusters on the Jesta's back flared with blue flame, at full power.

"Titch, launching."

All at once, Putnam was pressed into the back of his seat with great force. His hands stayed glued to the seat-mounted handholds as his suit was flung clear by the catapult. One hundred meters out, two hundred meters out, now three hundred, and his hands drifted down to the controls. He performed a wide angle clearing turn, coming up on the lead suit's left, and eventually then on the left side of their objective, the shuttle.

Thoughts raced in his head as his eyes traced the instruments panel, looking for any sort of Minovsky particle disruption of his sensors. Nothing.

"This is Titch, in holding pattern off the port side of objective vessel. Nothing sighted, keeping eyes peeled."

U.C. 0089 - Ten years prior

Left foot forward, three second pause, right foot forward. Left, one, two, three, right. The land convoy formation march of the EFSF had been drilled into the unit's brain for months, and even now Ensign Hepner found himself reciting the mantra mentally, but whether it was to keep his cool or concentration was unknown even to him. The Mobile Suit he found himself in the cockpit of was a salvaged and heavily-modified RGM-79R GM II, captured by the Neo Zeon and refurbished with an assortment of Earth Federation and Zeon technology. Hepner had been given orders to lead a token force of similar suits in a last-ditch ambush operation to attempt to cripple a crucial EFSF supply point. It was painted as the 'second wind' that would save the Zeon forces from defeat and turn the tide, but the ensign knew it was merely the dying gasp of a failing resistance movement.

Perhaps this is why he had arranged for what he did. The unit he led was expecting their arrival point to be a lightly-defended setup, essentially a glorified munitions dump. What they would get was a fully-armed compliment of elite Earth Federation mobile suits expecting their arrival. The goal was for Hepner and the EF officials to order the surrender and disarmament of his unit, just as his Earth Federation Intelligence handlers had directed him, but Hepner knew these men and women well enough that they would sooner see every single one of them killed. And he was right. The command for the false flag unit to surrender was utterly disregarded, and a brutal firefight ensued. Ensign Dren Hepner was the only Zeon survivor of a day that would haunt him every time he sat within the cockpit of a mobile suit.

---

U.C. 0099 - Present Day

"Black Thorn to all units, are we all ready to go? I'm standing by and ready to launch".

The voice over the comms unit shook Hepner from his introspection inside the cockpit of his mobile suit. Shaking his head and blinking his eyes a bit, he responded with a simple "Dren Hepner confirms, doing final systems checks now." Running visual confirmation over his suits instruments, another mantra from his years of mobile suit piloting came to the forefront of his mind. Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. All systems nominal. Everything appeared clear, Dren gripped the controls, and the mobile suit catapult set him into the cold void of space once more. Making a careful sweep with his suit's rifle before taking up a position on the starboard side of the objective, his eyes carefully scanned both the sensors and the camera-displayed void of space for any signs of hostile activity.

Although this was a populated, Federation-tangent portion of space, that meant nothing when it came to the Zeon insurgents that had been plaguing the Federation for the last twenty years. Dren was all too familiar with the vicious tactics his kinsmen were more than willing to use against their hated foe, and his eyes, ears, and sensors were peeled for any resemblance to the tactics he was familiar with and had trained in. The attack could come from any angle, any direction, and take the form of anything spaceworthy. Even cargo ships had been used as ramming vehicles in the most desperate days of the Zeon rebellions. The thought of these crimes, one he himself had committed, made him sick to his stomach. This mission would be the first step to wiping that mistake from the annals of history.

The suspicion of Callie and the rest of the pilots was well-founded, and their vigilance paid off. As the shuttle was on the verge of entering the bay, the situation took an abrupt twist. A bulk freighter exiting one of the other bays and chugging along, minding its' own business erupted into a brief globe of flame and debris, followed by another at one of the other docking umbilicals. Immediately the communications channels were filled with flash emergency reports as other ships were forced to change course, and emergency responders mobilised. The task force were sternly ordered to 'stand by'.
Within only moments of that message, the situation took a hostile turn. Another bulk ore carrier ignited its' engines for a burn, changing it's access and building momentum, diving on its' relative axis toward the open bay, and the approaching task force mobile suits and shuttle. A few moments after changing its' direction and accelerating, the huge bulk containers attached to the skeletal framework of the ship blew away with the help of explosive bolts, before their outer shells fragmented through the same means. From the clouds of expanding metal debris, the glow of thrusters and mono-eye lights preceded the lancing blasts of beam rifles and gunfire as a sextet of Gelgoog Marine-types, laded down and strapped with additional weapon systems emerged. Immediately they started opening fire, driving toward the bay entrance in a hail of weapons-fire. Additional fire and distress reports started to come in from other areas, further from the bay entrance and the docking areas.

All of this unfolded in mere seconds, a cascade of events that toppled like an avalanche. As the space around them that had been previously peaceful, if busy, was now a canopy of explosions and disintegrating spacecraft and infrastructure.
"Holy shit," muttered Callie as she grimaced, setting her jaw. "Time to get our game on," she said to herself, before calling out to the rest of the unit, even as the message came from the command shuttle to do the same thing:
"Spread out, engage the hostile mobile suits and make sure the shuttle gets to safety. Protect the civilian ships as much as possible. If we can capture one of the pilots, so much the better!"

"Rodger that. I'm going to engage in waverrider mode." Carter states as he pulled his mobile suit around to face the disturbances looking out for anything that can be seen as they likely are using M. Particles to screw with standard systems. "Watch out for funnels fucking space pirates love those shitty salvaged Zeon tech." grumbled Cater further as he looked for the enemies. "Gelgoog Marines? What the hell is this the one year war? Couldn't get their hands on some Dogas? Scrubs..." Carter growled as he sped up to attack using his missile pods first then unleash a hail of fire from his mounted gun.

As the situation ignited both figuratively and literally, the wanton destruction which erupted left Putnam in shock. His jaw dropped and eyes widened, his hands tensing on the controls, idly easing out of his heading as to not cause him to push back into his seat violently. Blinking rapidly, he traced the seam lines of his 360 monitor with his bright blues. A bright blinding light of pink-red sailed off to his right, rattling the cockpit with its force, marking out his target.

"Titch to all, acquired one times bogey, breaking off to run interference." He called his target as if he'd done it a thousand times before, but his voice twinged as he pulled the yoke, breaking off from the formation.

His other hand drifted to the digital display screens set front and to the left and right of the stick. Glancing down, and with two button presses, the display lit up with the code 'IR-MSL - 4/4'. Gripping at the second stick now, Putnam jinked the frame of his Jesta around to throw off incoming fire, with another beam shot going wide, this time off his left. The shoulder shield mounted on the suit's left shoulder broke loose on one end with some movement of the leftmost stick, and exposed the missile pods buried within.

Aligning the shield, a reticle of green formed on the front of the 360 monitor, and an idle beeping tone filled Putnam's ears, the reticle drifting, settling, shrinking. The tone screamed now, a solid yell inside the cockpit.

"I've got a tone! Fox two!" Titch cried, depressing the trigger on the stick, releasing two missiles.

The infinite black void of space stretching out. The utter weightlessness. Despite the fact that he was hurtling through space at thousands of miles per hour, he was, nonetheless... Still. Floating here... Even though he knew that, no matter where he went, Earths Gravity acted on him, he still felt free of it. He looked around. "Munch, get back to work!" He heard through his suits comms as he turned back to his job, running his painting strip along the large letters that was Shadowfax's nameplate. As he continued to buff up the plate, he began to feel a little less easy with the situation. Suddenly, he got another message through the channel. "Munch, get to your Mobile Suit. We've got movement." As he turned to go inside, he could have swore he saw a flash out the corner of his eye.

Making his way through the ship, he quickly got to the changing room to change from a Normal Suit into a Flight Suit, far less bulky, but offered less protection against space debris. Finally, he made his way to the launch pad, looking at the suits stomping around was always a surreal moment, as the hangar was depreassurized. As he stood, he could feel the rumbling rythmically pulsating through the superstructure with every step the metal gods before him made their way to the catapult. But, he couldn't hear them. He could only hear the people cattering through the comms to each other. He then spotted it at the back of the room. His Dijeh. Created by Karaba in their war with the Federation, they had been refitted for use in Space during the Laplus incident, when the Federation needed every suit they had to get into space and find the box. Now, it was just used for patrolling. He did take comfort in the fact that the mobile suits chief test-pilot and designer was the great Amuro Ray. As he booted up the cockpit, he got a good view of everything around him, just in time to see Dren board the Catapult and get launched into space. He pressed his foot into the peddle, bringing the mighty foot forward and the other followed soon after. Stepping onto the catapult, he pressed his comm. "Gregory Munchhausen, Ready for Sortie." He said, before the suit was launched into the black void. Following after the others, just in time for them to see all hell breaking loose around them. He listened to the orders being handed down.

"Gelgoogs, what the hell do they think those Antique's are going to do?" He laughed. He was in the equivalent question of "What if Amuro had designed the Gelgoog" There was no way he was about to lose to them. "Roger, Youngster, moving to engage." He registered. As the agile Dijeh launched towards the interlopers, it's own Mono-eye glowing a bright emerald. Getting close, he saw the Vulcan rounds hit and bounce off of one of the Gelgoogs, wildly richochetting. "Oh, Armour improvements." He said, before the Beam-Rifle folded up it's it's holding position on the shoulder and he drew the Naginata, igniting both ends, he brought it for a slash, but the Marine was was also quick with it's own, igniting it and parrying, before forcing Greg into taking a few carefully planned thrusts backwards with the engines. "Oh, some improvements?" He asked, before forcing himself fowards, slashing a few more times, again, opening with the Vulcans to try and force him to protect that sensitive eye on his head.

Despite Carter and Munch's objections that they were outdated technology, the Gelgoog's weapons-fire wasn't listening, and it struck home on the targets shot at. The bullets, rockets and beams didn't seem to care how outdated they were or not, and the damage they caused was unfortunately very up to date as infrastructure and ships took hits.
Fortunately, the Anthem mobile suit team were more-than up to the task of fighting back, and that's where their edge in technology counted. The Gelgoog pilots were good, not at all amateurs, and despite the age of their mobile suits they were wringing the best out of them and piloting them as competitively as possible - a good pilot in an old suit wasn't one to be taken lightly, and the Sleeves and their allies in the Zeon remnants had proved that short years ago. Plus it was a point; if they'd survive as long as they had, they had to be good in the first place.
Nonetheless, matched up against suits that were a grab-bag of advanced technologies, they were in for a struggle.
Carter's missile attack did the job of breaking up the formation of green-and-grey enemy machines. They - wisely - split up at the barrage of incoming missiles, but the assault was enough to wing one and outright kill a second, the Zeon-built suit exploding into a sphere of short-lived flame and trailing debris. The one winged lost a right arm, spinning in AMBAC motions to regain orientation and counter the impact - which made it a target for the mounted gun on the Re-Gz. It exploded in a violent, albeit short-lived, fireball, limbs spiralling off on their own trajectories.

Meanwhile, as the rest had scattered, they had been engaged by the rest of the unit. One singled in toward Putnam and his Jesta, opening fire as it powered toward him. The shots fired missed, but the counter-fire of missiles caught the Zeon pilot off guard. They spiralled to avoid the incoming fire, one missile catching the Gelgoog Marine's beam rifle and destroying it in a purplish explosion. The green-and-grey adversary managed to shoot down the second missile with a burst of fire from forearm machine-guns, somersaulting past the projectile as they did so, and then boosting into close range combat with a beam saber drawn, and knuckle-shield over the left forearm. It swung the saber in a vicious slice as it closed in range with the dark-coloured mobile suit, mono-eye glowing a threatening red.

Munch and his Dijeh had intercepted the most forward-running of the Gelgoogs. As his opponent fell back to avoid the melee, the Dijeh's vulcan blast played across the mobile suits' neck and lower head. The hose-like cables at the base of the Gelgoog's head were torn apart, and the mono-eye visor shattered, the special-operations mobile suit flipping end over end as the pilot tried to get a better picture of their surroundings from what little back-up sensors the Zeon suit had, leaving it vulnerable and open to attack.

Callie had not sat idle either. As soon as she'd given the attack order, she'd joined her team-mates in the charge. The S-Gundam's mighty thrusters blasting it toward the closing enemy suits. As they'd scattered to evade Carter's missile barrage, she had unlimbered the S-Gundam's beam smart-gun. As her fellow pilots closed in or opened fire respectively, she identified her own target, zeroing in through visual sensors and the radome mounted on the gun and let rip with a blast, even as the Gelgoog Marine she'd targeted unleashed a barrage of machine-gun fire toward her. Flipping and spiralling aside, she dodged or evaded the majority of the burst, as her own attack tore the Gelgoogs' left arm from its' torso, leaving molten alloy in its' wake. The pilot was a bold and brave, as well as skilled one, changing course with a series of impressive boosted manoeuvers to make his course random. He attempted to weave and bob, unleashing another blast at Callie from the machine gun from a relative upside down position, which she countered by taking some of the hits before flaring backward in space, and using the backpack-mounted beam cannons to blast the unfortunate Gelgoog to pieces.

The surviving Gelgoog had managed to get closer to the docking bay entrance, using cover from the destroyed ships and darting and lurking among civilian shipping as shields. The Ceres defensive GM-II's opened fire as it darted in, but were picked off with precise, rapid beam rifle fire, and the Gelgoog raced into the bay.
The S-Gundam turned to follow, and Callie's radio came to life with a laser transmission in the same instant.
"Captain Suthorn, the Ceres defensive militia are calling for reinforcements. The habitat inside the asteroid has been engulfed in fighting as well. This attack looks like it was a feint to draw attention and create chaos, while the real target slipped away. Nonetheless, there's fighting inside the asteroid as well, with more former Zeon mobile suits that had been hidden or smuggled aboard. You and your team are requested to enter the habitat and destroy them"
"Roger, will engage as ordered, sir".
Cursing softly, she turned her attention to the rest of her unit, engaged in battle or on the field. Youngster and Titch were still engaged, Mad Dog was doing just fine (not that she'd expected any less), and she hadn't heard from Hepner since they launched.
"Mad Dog," she called over the radio, getting a good contact with the Re-Gz Custom, "No surprise you're doing fine; good shooting. Looks like there's more trouble inside Ceres. Let's support Youngster and Titch, and then sweep into the habitat to assist, over!"

"Fine I'm swapping to mobile suit form. I'll cover what I can but I prefer point." Carter said as he watched the Zekes die just as they had by the dozens in the previous wars. They picked poor suits for the wrong situations a dozen gaza C's could barely hold their own against a competent squad let alone a gundam. As the units pushed inward Carter's Re-GZ Custom swapped out of its waver rider form as Carter felt the machine respond, and push forward he made sure the people he was covering were into the next zone of combat before turning backward, and making sure no one tried to get a sneaky shot back in onto the group. He held his beam assault rifle ready to unleash it on any unexpected enemies. "I don't understand these pirates...what's the point? I don't see any real reason to kill these people." complained Carter as he turned around once he was sure the machines weren't going to ambush them. "Even the fucking dumb ass Zeons who still think their cause has a point need to understand they're throwing their lives away at this point."

Putnam blasted forward as his saw a missile connect, searching hard for a confirmed kill as his infrared sensors overloaded. A mono-eye beaming through the carnage put his hopes to rest as it closed, pulling forth a beam saber. Backing off with a jet of blinding blue, he jerked the stick left, his other hand mashing the ejector on the beam saber stored in the Jesta's left forearm.

"I'm in close!" He called over net.

Grasping at the saber with the suit's right hand, he swerved his shield around via the manipulator on his pack, glancing off the Gelgoog's initial blow at the cost of the lower tip of his shield, which was reduced to cherry red slag. It did, however, give him an opening, with Putnam bringing down his own ignited saber diagonally towards the Gelgoog's unguarded left pauldron.