Mobile Suit: Gundam Uc 0079

“I’m dead in the water!” he shouted. “Finish the depot! Aris, you’re in charge! Get Milos out!”

She was a pilot now. Not of a sleek, powerful Gundam, but of the Federation’s workhorse coffin: the RB-79 Ball.

“Maggot Six, maintain formation,” Lieutenant JG Darius Croft’s voice crackled over the encrypted channel. Darius was a former cargo hauler, a man with the patience of a saint and the tactical brilliance of a desperate cornered rat. He was their leader, not because he was brave, but because he was the only one who had survived three previous Ball sorties.

“Now,” Darius said.

Aris woke up in a Federation field hospital aboard the carrier Troy Horse . A nurse told her she had three cracked ribs, a concussion, and mild frostbite on her fingers. She also told her that Lieutenant Croft had survived—his Ball had crash-landed, but he’d been pulled out by a recovery team.

“Contact! Contact!” Milos screamed.

She fired her attitude thrusters, spinning the Ball like a discus thrower, and released the boulder. mobile suit gundam uc 0079

He handed her a datapad. On it was the casualty list for the operation. Eleven Ball pilots had gone out. Three came back. Pavel, Taggart, and five others were dead.

Ensign Aris Thorne had never seen Earth. She was born on Side 2, the "Hatakaze" colony, a lush O’Neill cylinder of rolling hills and artificial rain. By the time she turned nineteen, Side 2 was a graveyard. The Principality of Zeon, in their desperate blitzkrieg, had gassed the entire habitat. Aris survived only because she had been on a supply shuttle, delivering munitions to the fragile Federation fleet.

“Three left,” Aris whispered. “Three left, three left…” “I’m dead in the water

But Aris Thorne, hiding in her cold, dead Ball behind a wrecked supply container, watched his every move. She had no weapons. But she had the claws. And she had the hatred of a girl who had watched her entire home turn to vacuum.

“Holy… shit,” Milos breathed.

“Copy, Lead,” Aris replied, her hands sweating inside her standard-issue suit. She toggled her scope. The lunar regolith was a pale, blinding white. And there, nestled in the shadow of a collapsed crater wall, was the target: a Zeon resupply depot. It was small, lightly guarded, but vital. The Federation couldn’t win a stand-up fight. They had to bleed Zeon drop by drop. Get Milos out