Thanks; sorry it took me so long to put it up.
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Milo smiled, nodding to McKnight. He sympathized with Joshua, and he also saw Laytn's point; he would have loved to bring out his own Mobile Suit again for the occasion, and indeed, it belatedly struck him as risky to put so many high-ranking officers on one recon mission. Be that as it may, he was genuinely curious to see what might be causing the string of flats, and indeed, he was going a bit stir-crazy himself. Hover bikes made sense, and they were certainly better than nothing.
He gestured over toward the Wappas.
"I'll go get us a field sonar pack and some water." He told the rest of the group. "We can do a recce of the road ahead for a few clicks, and see if we can't spot what's causing all this. I'll also pick up a few laser line relays; we'll plant them to keep us in contact with the convoy."
Sonar detection and optical communication were the only two such technologies which could be counted on to work reliably in Minovsky Particle saturation zones; one of Zeon's early advantages over the Federation, besides the use of Mobile Suits, was the full recognition of that fact. Though the Feddies early in the war - hell, even at this late date - tended to try and bull through Minovsky interference with super-powerful transmitters and ultra-sensitive receivers, Zeon communication specialists had become wizards in the use of low-frequency sonic transmissions and laser-based communications and detection; though these methods didn't have the same range or versatility as radio waves, they were more reliable than the former under modern combat conditions.
Milo set off toward one of the supply trucks, excited. It would be good to do something - anything - other than sitting around.
And if they made contact with their former adversaries, so much the better.
Meanwhile, just east of the Jaghbub Oasis:
Corporal Flint Hobten manipulated his GM's controls, causing the plodding Mobile Suit to stop and hold up its hand, indicating for the other units in the team to come to a stop.
Behind him, another set of heavy, plodding footsteps came to a stop, as did the clatter of tracks and the whine of hover fans. Glancing up at the screen for his rear-view camera, the young pilot watched with gratification as an RGC-80 "GM Cannon" and an RX-75 production-model Guntank halted behind him. Behind them, a Type 74 hover truck settled on its engines.
"Alright, team, this is as good a spot as any. Dennis, why don't you get the sonar set up, the rest of us will form an over-watch. Don't bother with the camo netting or anything; if the... well, what used to be the enemy is out there, we sort of want them to see us."
The last order felt odd to Flint; after months of trying to avoid notice of Zeke units, he felt naked without some form of concealment. He tried to remind himself that the war was over; theoretically, all Zeon forces had been instructed to surrender. Flint himself remembered one occasion, two days before, when he had run across an entire Zeon armored platoon while out on patrol. Rather than overwhelming the far smaller Mobile Suit force, a dozen Magella Attack tanks had pointed their gun barrels at the sand, their crews poking themselves out of hatches with their hands up.
Flint recalled that, when he had brought the unit back to camp, Colonel Renfield had not seemed very happy about it.
The old Butcher can't stand the fact that he didn't have the right to shoot them all...
"All set, sir! If anything passes within 20 clicks, we'll know."
"Private Felsh here; optical sweep is set up."
Flint glanced back at the Type 74; it had deployed a sonar spike, and Superior Private Dennis Wells was poking out of a hatch, one hand on his headset while the other was raised to give Flint a thumbs up. Flint manipulated his controls to have the GM flash back the same gesture. He also nodded his Suit's head to Private Felsh, the commander of the unit's Guntank, from the backpack of which was raised a telescoping mast with a suite of cameras and laser detection systems at the top.
Ground-penetrating sonar was one of the early concessions the Federation had made to the age of Minovsky warfare. Initially used in support of tank battalions and infantry units, command trucks equipped with sensitive audio detection systems had become an indispensable part of ground-side Mobile Suit operations. Able to track the movements of ground vehicles from far beyond reliable visual range, they worked under Minovsky conditions, which was more than could be said for similar radar systems.
Besides that, the Guntank's enhanced visual pickup systems covered a wide area around the team. Such equipment packages were still not common, but Private Felsh's machine had been outfitted with it after some wrangling on Flint's part with the supply officers. He was glad to have it; though the sonar could pick up most vehicles, flying and some lighter hovering machines, such as the Dopp atmospheric fighter or the Wappa hover bike, were beyond it. That was where visual scanning came in.
"Well, gentlemen, get yourselves comfortable I guess."
The team had set up on an overlook near a road which wound down into the bowl of the depression, toward the Jaghbub Oasis. At one point, Flint knew, a modern highway had run near their location, but the firestorm of regional conflicts in the pre-Federation period during the 1990s had reduced much of the region's infrastructure to ruins. From his position, he could see part of a sky-way poking out of a sand-dune.
It was a lonely place.
Ever since the end of the war, Flint's CO, Colonel Renfield, had been sending the 12th out on "advanced sentry" duty for hours at a time. It was, he felt, almost as if the famously ruthless Federation officer resented their presence. Maybe he did, for all Flint knew; despite words to the contrary, Flint could tell he had not been happy when he had brought in the Zeon armored unit, and this might be petty revenge for making the officer face in person the reality that he no longer had a war to fight.
I keep feeling like a lot is being hidden from me. He thought to himself...
He gestured over toward the Wappas.
"I'll go get us a field sonar pack and some water." He told the rest of the group. "We can do a recce of the road ahead for a few clicks, and see if we can't spot what's causing all this. I'll also pick up a few laser line relays; we'll plant them to keep us in contact with the convoy."
Sonar detection and optical communication were the only two such technologies which could be counted on to work reliably in Minovsky Particle saturation zones; one of Zeon's early advantages over the Federation, besides the use of Mobile Suits, was the full recognition of that fact. Though the Feddies early in the war - hell, even at this late date - tended to try and bull through Minovsky interference with super-powerful transmitters and ultra-sensitive receivers, Zeon communication specialists had become wizards in the use of low-frequency sonic transmissions and laser-based communications and detection; though these methods didn't have the same range or versatility as radio waves, they were more reliable than the former under modern combat conditions.
Milo set off toward one of the supply trucks, excited. It would be good to do something - anything - other than sitting around.
And if they made contact with their former adversaries, so much the better.
Meanwhile, just east of the Jaghbub Oasis:
Corporal Flint Hobten manipulated his GM's controls, causing the plodding Mobile Suit to stop and hold up its hand, indicating for the other units in the team to come to a stop.
Behind him, another set of heavy, plodding footsteps came to a stop, as did the clatter of tracks and the whine of hover fans. Glancing up at the screen for his rear-view camera, the young pilot watched with gratification as an RGC-80 "GM Cannon" and an RX-75 production-model Guntank halted behind him. Behind them, a Type 74 hover truck settled on its engines.
"Alright, team, this is as good a spot as any. Dennis, why don't you get the sonar set up, the rest of us will form an over-watch. Don't bother with the camo netting or anything; if the... well, what used to be the enemy is out there, we sort of want them to see us."
The last order felt odd to Flint; after months of trying to avoid notice of Zeke units, he felt naked without some form of concealment. He tried to remind himself that the war was over; theoretically, all Zeon forces had been instructed to surrender. Flint himself remembered one occasion, two days before, when he had run across an entire Zeon armored platoon while out on patrol. Rather than overwhelming the far smaller Mobile Suit force, a dozen Magella Attack tanks had pointed their gun barrels at the sand, their crews poking themselves out of hatches with their hands up.
Flint recalled that, when he had brought the unit back to camp, Colonel Renfield had not seemed very happy about it.
The old Butcher can't stand the fact that he didn't have the right to shoot them all...
"All set, sir! If anything passes within 20 clicks, we'll know."
"Private Felsh here; optical sweep is set up."
Flint glanced back at the Type 74; it had deployed a sonar spike, and Superior Private Dennis Wells was poking out of a hatch, one hand on his headset while the other was raised to give Flint a thumbs up. Flint manipulated his controls to have the GM flash back the same gesture. He also nodded his Suit's head to Private Felsh, the commander of the unit's Guntank, from the backpack of which was raised a telescoping mast with a suite of cameras and laser detection systems at the top.
Ground-penetrating sonar was one of the early concessions the Federation had made to the age of Minovsky warfare. Initially used in support of tank battalions and infantry units, command trucks equipped with sensitive audio detection systems had become an indispensable part of ground-side Mobile Suit operations. Able to track the movements of ground vehicles from far beyond reliable visual range, they worked under Minovsky conditions, which was more than could be said for similar radar systems.
Besides that, the Guntank's enhanced visual pickup systems covered a wide area around the team. Such equipment packages were still not common, but Private Felsh's machine had been outfitted with it after some wrangling on Flint's part with the supply officers. He was glad to have it; though the sonar could pick up most vehicles, flying and some lighter hovering machines, such as the Dopp atmospheric fighter or the Wappa hover bike, were beyond it. That was where visual scanning came in.
"Well, gentlemen, get yourselves comfortable I guess."
The team had set up on an overlook near a road which wound down into the bowl of the depression, toward the Jaghbub Oasis. At one point, Flint knew, a modern highway had run near their location, but the firestorm of regional conflicts in the pre-Federation period during the 1990s had reduced much of the region's infrastructure to ruins. From his position, he could see part of a sky-way poking out of a sand-dune.
It was a lonely place.
Ever since the end of the war, Flint's CO, Colonel Renfield, had been sending the 12th out on "advanced sentry" duty for hours at a time. It was, he felt, almost as if the famously ruthless Federation officer resented their presence. Maybe he did, for all Flint knew; despite words to the contrary, Flint could tell he had not been happy when he had brought in the Zeon armored unit, and this might be petty revenge for making the officer face in person the reality that he no longer had a war to fight.
I keep feeling like a lot is being hidden from me. He thought to himself...
Any time now.
...I literally could not breathe.
"Ask your doctor if Gundarium is right for you."
Patience, folks, we'll get to strap into our giant mechanical masculinity enhancers soon enough.
Milo shaded his eyes once more, and after a moment of listening and nodding to McKnight's suggestion, fished a small pair of binoculars out of an inside pocket of his uniform. He scanned the horizon, looking at the terrain.
"Three flat tires in one day is enough to give me a healthy paranoia, sir." The young supply officer replied. "I'm inclined to think it's just coincidence myself; unless some Feddie partisans are out there who didn't get the message that the war is over. Either way, it would be a good idea to go looking ahead, even if just along the main road, to see if anything specific is causing it."
He turned to Aarom, putting away his field glasses.
"Wouldn't make much sense to take Mobile Suits; not only would it be a hassle to get them raised off the trailers, most of ours can't cover ground nearly as fast as a few Wappas scouting ahead. They're useful little machines; I heard about an infantry unit once that almost took down the White Devil with a few well planned passes and some magnetic charges!"
He looked back at the where the convoy's Wappas - having been flown as escorts during transit - were parked.
"Something you guys should know; we entered into a Minovsky zone a few miles back, so our long-range radio and sat-nav aren't working. We don't really know where we are, but I suspect there might be an oasis and even a village at the bottom of this depression we've been descending into. Even if we don't find anything related to the tires, I think it would be a good idea to scout ahead and spot for places we could make camp."
He turned back to McKnight.
"Sound good to you, sir?"
"Three flat tires in one day is enough to give me a healthy paranoia, sir." The young supply officer replied. "I'm inclined to think it's just coincidence myself; unless some Feddie partisans are out there who didn't get the message that the war is over. Either way, it would be a good idea to go looking ahead, even if just along the main road, to see if anything specific is causing it."
He turned to Aarom, putting away his field glasses.
"Wouldn't make much sense to take Mobile Suits; not only would it be a hassle to get them raised off the trailers, most of ours can't cover ground nearly as fast as a few Wappas scouting ahead. They're useful little machines; I heard about an infantry unit once that almost took down the White Devil with a few well planned passes and some magnetic charges!"
He looked back at the where the convoy's Wappas - having been flown as escorts during transit - were parked.
"Something you guys should know; we entered into a Minovsky zone a few miles back, so our long-range radio and sat-nav aren't working. We don't really know where we are, but I suspect there might be an oasis and even a village at the bottom of this depression we've been descending into. Even if we don't find anything related to the tires, I think it would be a good idea to scout ahead and spot for places we could make camp."
He turned back to McKnight.
"Sound good to you, sir?"
I'm doin' okay! How're you?
Milo was shaken from his contemplation of the rolling dunes by a familiar voice. Happy to have his rather bleak train of thought derailed, he smiled over at Lieutenant Aarom, staggering slightly when the bigger man clapped him on the shoulder, but chuckling.
"I suppose I could be worse." He replied to Laytn, straitening his large glasses. "Just trying to focus on the idea that we'll all be going back into space soon, I hope." He spread his arms to indicate his anemic frame. "Gravity never agreed with me all that much, know what I mean?"
Hearing an ill-used voice behind him, the young supply officer turned around to see Lieutenant Joshua Gordon and, a little ways behind him, Lt. Cmdr. Greg McKnight coming toward him. He smiled at them, shrugging at Joshua's question.
"Bigger they are, the more shade they cast, and in this heat I'll take what I can get!" Milo called, saluting his superior before thrusting his hands in his pockets. "And this has been a blast, yeah! I mean look at this exciting, varied landscape!"
The Lieutenant gestured out at the rocky expanse of the depression slope, stretching off into the distance to where the hazy, golden shapes of sand dunes could be seen rolling along the horizon. He supposed it was majestic, but after three months of seeing pretty much the same terrain day in and day out, Milo was fairly desensitized to it.
He glanced toward where a pack of mechanics were clustered around the disabled No.5 Samson, moving aside to allow one of the convoy's Zaku Tanks to lift the heavy truck off the sand, expediting the removal of the tire, which had been gashed open by something sharp in the road which no-one had yet been able to find. Hanging off the back of the truck was a similarly punctured tire, and on No.4 ahead of it hung another; Zeon forces were very conscientious about collecting their trash on Earth.
But this would make the third blown tire today. Even if Zeon tires weren't as good as the Federation's, this had to be some kind of record on sandy terrain.
Maybe there's a lot of jagged flint around here. He mused.
Milo shook his head and turned away from the repairs.
"I gotta say, though." He continued, turning back to his friends. "I almost have to think the Earth itself wants us to stop and look at the scenery! What's this, the third flat today?"
"I suppose I could be worse." He replied to Laytn, straitening his large glasses. "Just trying to focus on the idea that we'll all be going back into space soon, I hope." He spread his arms to indicate his anemic frame. "Gravity never agreed with me all that much, know what I mean?"
Hearing an ill-used voice behind him, the young supply officer turned around to see Lieutenant Joshua Gordon and, a little ways behind him, Lt. Cmdr. Greg McKnight coming toward him. He smiled at them, shrugging at Joshua's question.
"Bigger they are, the more shade they cast, and in this heat I'll take what I can get!" Milo called, saluting his superior before thrusting his hands in his pockets. "And this has been a blast, yeah! I mean look at this exciting, varied landscape!"
The Lieutenant gestured out at the rocky expanse of the depression slope, stretching off into the distance to where the hazy, golden shapes of sand dunes could be seen rolling along the horizon. He supposed it was majestic, but after three months of seeing pretty much the same terrain day in and day out, Milo was fairly desensitized to it.
He glanced toward where a pack of mechanics were clustered around the disabled No.5 Samson, moving aside to allow one of the convoy's Zaku Tanks to lift the heavy truck off the sand, expediting the removal of the tire, which had been gashed open by something sharp in the road which no-one had yet been able to find. Hanging off the back of the truck was a similarly punctured tire, and on No.4 ahead of it hung another; Zeon forces were very conscientious about collecting their trash on Earth.
But this would make the third blown tire today. Even if Zeon tires weren't as good as the Federation's, this had to be some kind of record on sandy terrain.
Maybe there's a lot of jagged flint around here. He mused.
Milo shook his head and turned away from the repairs.
"I gotta say, though." He continued, turning back to his friends. "I almost have to think the Earth itself wants us to stop and look at the scenery! What's this, the third flat today?"
Correct, one per Samson. Also, as for numbers, I'd say the convoy has about 12 Samsons, plus 18 Zebus, 6 Magellas, 4 Sauropelta, 2 Weasels, 8 Wappas, and several motor bikes. One of the Samsons is also carrying a gunship and a pair of Dopps.
There's also a Green Macaque and a normal Zaku Tank traveling under their own power.
There's also a Green Macaque and a normal Zaku Tank traveling under their own power.
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