Chapter 3: Chapter 2

     "So..." A staff member turned to General Robert, "Did you choose him because he is a genius, or something else?"

     A sigh escaped Robert's lips, "That and... The president doesn't like Vincent. Vincent has become too popular, so the president thinks he might usurp him. So, he wants him dead, and there is nothing I can do to prevent that. So, may as well have him die doing something useful..."

     The staff member swallowed, pondering whether or not he should voice his next question. Gathering his courage, he asked the question, hoping his voice didn't crack, "Will he even succeed? Go behind GACU lines and attack their commander. Is there really a way he can do that?"

     "Who knows, but we gotta try regardless."

**************

     "COMPANY! ATTENTION!" 

     Upon hearing the loud yell of the Lieutenant, three hundred men of the 128th armored company snapped to attention. They had gathered outside their tank bay in the bright sun.

     Their commander, Vincent, apparently had an announcement, prompting the soldiers to worry he might have been transferred. 

     Two privates helped Vincent onto a tank they were using as a podium. After a moment of making sure Vincent was stable, they climbed down and rejoined the company.

     Vincent turned to the formation, "Ahem. I'll get right to the point. I have been ordered to lead a mission behind GACU lines, destroy three production plants, and kill their commander. I have chosen all of you to partake in this mission. If you do not want to accompany me on this mission, inform Lieutenant Haggard, and we will find someone else."

     "Chances are, we will all die, so I recommend you take some time off to visit your family and write your wills. But do keep in mind how important this mission is. Whether or not the Federation survives will be determined by this mission, so I expect you all to do your best. You are dismissed!"

     After his brief speech, Vincent left the base. He hoped to see his homeland one last time. He booked a seat on an officers' bus to the nearby Kalsav, the city of ruby. It earned the nickname because it was built near several ruby-rich mines, leading to it becoming a haven for jewelers. 

     The bus ride was uneventful. Every officer on the bus was either injured or young. The injured were probably taking advantage of their mandatory healing stay to go sightseeing, and the young ones were on leave so they could visit their families. Given the war situation, they would likely end up dead before their term expired, so high command always gave them leave to say goodbye before shipping them off to the front.

     Within minutes, Vincent could see the towering glass skyscrapers of Kalsav. 'Those beautiful skyscrapers will be reduced to ash if this mission doesn't succeed.' 

     The bus arrived at the stop, and the officers disembarked. Vincent was allowed to go first as his rank was the highest. The sun was still shining brightly, making the skyscrapers sparkle. The concrete sidewalks were crowded with people from every corner of the Federation. 

     Vincent hobbled along the sidewalk. The people gave him walking space as he was an injured soldier. 

     "Good soldier!" A street peddler with a bunch of papers under his right arm and his left raised in the air walked up to Vincent, "Would you care to purchase the latest copy of the Kalsav Times?"

     'Newspapers still exist?' Suppressing his inner thoughts, Vincent smiled gently, "I would rather not. I'm only on leave briefly, so I don't think I'd get a chance to read it." 

     The peddler nodded and jaunted off to try to sell a newspaper to another passerby.

     'Seriously? Does anyone read newspapers anymore?' Vincent shook the thought from his head and walked onward to the Ernest plaza.

***********     

     Reports flooded Silver Phoenix's HUD. A human would've been overwhelmed by the sheer number, but Phoenix didn't bat an eye. In milliseconds, Phoenix processed and discarded each one, clearing his HUD. 

     He was wired to each and every GACU currently deployed on the battlefield. Every second, they sent him new reports, giving him a relatively good idea of how the situation was progressing. 

     The Federation of Rosia had launched a small offensive in the south. This already poor decision was made poorer by the fact they attacked while Phoenix was surveying the southern front, allowing him to seize control of the situation and push back the enemies with great ease. 

     Something in the corner caught Phoenix's eye. A single, 18-Lion tank had strayed from the rest of the world. 

     'Tsk. Tsk. A lost mouse. Better put it out of its misery.' Phoenix brought his enormous 165 mm cannon to bear upon the tank. Using laster sights, he lined up the perfect shot. Phoenix carefully considered the wind, distance, and the tank's movement to ensure he hit his target.

     With his aim aligned, Phoenix loaded the cannon. He selected to use a HEAT (High-Explosive Anti-Tank) round to eradicate his enemy. His inner mechanisms moved in accordance with his wishes. A loading belt shoved a HEAT round into the firing chamber, completing the final preparations to fire.

     'Firing in three... Two... One!' Phoenix fired. The immense threrpowder charge contained in the back of the HEAT shell casing detonated, launching the round through the air at 5,000 meters per second. 

     The round crossed the battlefield in a heartbeat and collided through the tank's armor. The explosion caused by the HEAT obliterated the tank, leaving a burning wreck. 

     A hatch on Phoenix's belly opened. An empty shell casing fell out, 'Enemy eliminated.' If Phoenix could've smiled, he would've. Combat gave him a rush he couldn't get from anything else. He enjoyed watching explosions destroy his enemies, but his role as commander held him in the backlines, giving him few chances to fight. 

     Rotating his turret to face forward, Phoenix resumed command. Currently, the GACUs were employing a blitzkrieg to defeat the Federation forces. It was proving harder than expected as the enemy was putting up stern resistance at every turn.

     Despite their technological and numerical disadvantage, the Federation prevented the GACUs from completely overrunning the country for four years. However, their mighty army was beginning to weaken. Likely due to more and more experienced soldiers dying and being replaced with new recruits. 

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     But, even if they were rookies without experience, they still had something GACUs didn't. Patriotism. A desire to fight and protect their country to the end. Patriotism drove the soldiers to do incredible things, like hold off the GACUs.

     But that would end soon. Phoenix could feel malice surge through his mechanical body, 'Soon... Soon, no amount of patriotism or bravery or skill will save them.'

     A rocket struck Phoenix's side. His armor was over forty cm thick, so it didn't do anything other than leave a small scorch mark on his hull. However, it did enrage Phoenix. He turned toward the rocket's origin. A platoon of soldiers armed with bazookas.

     'Tch. You just had to go and attack me...' Phoenix's topside miniguns emerged from his hull and targeted the infantry. The miniguns, rotating on ball joints, had an unrestricted view, unlike his belly miniguns, which could only shoot forward or backward. 

     Seeing what he was doing, the soldiers lost their nerve and scattered with shouts. 'Just try to escape.' the four miniguns fired in sync. Launching a hail storm 20 mm explosive rounds in all directions.

     The soldiers were caught in the barrage and were torn apart. The explosions caused by the 20 mm rounds ripped gaping holes in the soldiers' fragile bodies. Their screams were a melody akin to the most refined orchestral piece to Phoenix's ears. 

     Having finished the bothersome insects audacious enough to attack him, Phoenix returned to crushing the enemy's advance. 

***********

     A sweet, quiet melody filled the empty hangar. The diligent corporal Michael Wren whistled while cleaning the green camouflage hull of his 18-Lion tank with an old rag. He'd been elected to be sent on what was practically a suicide mission, but he wasn't scared. In fact, he was honored that he was allotted the chance to save his homeland. 

     Michael served as the gunner in Colonel Irving's command tank, but he also performed maintenance. At first, designated crews serviced tanks and artillery, but high command decided to have tank and artillery crews service their weapons and have the maintenance crews become regular soldiers. 

     An overly loud voice filled the hangar, "MICHAEL!" 

     Dropping his rag, Michael shot up, turned to the right, stood at attention, and positioned his hand in a salute, his middle finger grazing the edge of his middle finger and his palm facing behind him.

     Major Elias Alexander, the second-in-command of the 128th armored company, was a stern, forty-three-year-old man with more experience than anyone else in the 128th. But beneath that cold exterior, he was a nice-ish man who cared about his subordinates. "Michael! Why're you here alone?"

     "Maintenance, sir! I want the tank in tip-top shape for the next crew!" the army had given the 128th special tanks for the mission. The two hundred men who didn't go would be folded into a new unit, and the tanks would be given to other armored companies.

     "Son, they can handle it themselves," Elias crossed his arms, "Aren't your parents around? Shouldn't you be visiting them?"

     "You are right that they are still alive, but my parents live in the far north of the country. I insisted they move there so they'd be safe. So I can't visit them as I don't have enough time. However, I did send them a letter, sir." Michael could feel his arm getting tired from continuously saluting.

     Uncrossing his arms, Elias leaned against the tank, "I see... Well, carry on. Actually, I guess I'll give you a hand."

     Michael picked up his rag, pulled another rag from his pocket, and tossed it at Elias, "Pail of soapy water is behind the tank."

     With a swift motion, Elias caught the rag, rounded the tank, dunked the rag in the pail, and set about cleaning.

***********

     In the middle of the busy Ernest plaza stood a bronze statue of president Alexander Rosia, the founder of the Federation. There was no end to the respect people held for him. 

     Beneath the statue, Vincent sat in the shade, his crutches leaning against his right knee, observing people passing by. He did this every now and again, watching people from all walks of life go by. It reminded him he fought the GACUs. His estranged brother fought for this, also. 

     'Speaking of him... I wonder if he survived the recent battle.' Vincent and his younger brother, James, had joined the army for the same reason, but they took different routes. James enlisted while Vincent went to officer's school. They saw each other rarely, and they eventually fell out of contact.

     Grabbing his crutches, Vincent got up and headed back to the bus port. He'd seen enough to strengthen his resolve to succeed in his mission. Besides, he also had to make sure all preparations were complete. Even one seemingly little slip-up could lead to failure. 

***********

     Dozens of mechanical arms pressed metal plates against an uncountable number of steel human-Esque skeletons filled with machinery. They welded the armor onto the frames with inhuman precision. 

     Once the armor was welded on, the frames were clearly Enites, the humanoid robots that formed the backbone of the GACU forces. Mechanical limbs descended from the roof and screwed two azure optical receptors into the Enite's head.

     The conveyor belt moved onward, bringing a new batch of skeletal frames for the mechanical arms to finish constructing. Enites, Onites, Anites, and Onites, were manufactured throughout GACU production plant four. 

     Though, this was the final batch of GACUs. The new orders were for plant four to manufacture ICBMs, but it had to finish the units already in production. 

     Plant four's commander unit shifted. It watched each production line with rapt attention, looking for any error. It stood in a room with an enormous window above the entire plant. 

     The commander constantly surveyed everything that happened within the production plant and outside. A scan spanning five kilometers went out every two minutes. Though the chances of invaders were low, they were not zero, so plant four's defensive systems were operating at one hundred percent capacity. Something Vincent and the 128th would learn soon...

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