A man walked slowly through the gigantic hangar at the main British Royal Air Force base, located on the Falkland Islands in the Atlantic. The structure was large enough to make it impossible to see from one end to the other, in addition to its colossal 40-meter height. Mechanics and engineers moved at a rapid pace, some on the ground, others on platforms a few meters above it. The man, uniformed in a navy-blue overcoat with the letters R.A.F. stamped on his right arm, stopped to observe what was truly impressive about the place, more so than the hangar's architecture and dimensions.
Standing 19.5 meters tall, the M.M.U. Camelot Series 003, codename: Gawain, remained as impressive as the first time Thomas Moncrief had seen it, still a rookie recruit for his parents' air force. The unit was a brilliant white, with blue details that gave the war machine a beauty contrasting with its ferocity.
The Manned Mobile Unit (M.M.U.), developed by the British manufacturer Merseyside, was the jewel of the Royal Air Force, second to none of the M.M.U.s from the other armies forming the terrestrial sphere. Though it still fell short of the technological excellence of the true enemy's machines. Now, 14 years later, and with a few more white hairs, the Captain of the R.A.F.'s third assault squadron rested his right hand on one of the gigantic machine's legs.
"Let's find a way to get home one more time, old friend."
After greeting his gigantic metal companion, Thomas prepared to leave the hangar; he needed to rest, one way or another. The next day's mission would be the most important of his more than decade-long career. The R.A.F. members still in the hangar saluted the captain every time he passed them. Thomas returned their salutes with the respect those brave men and women, who worked behind the scenes, deserved.
Near the hangar exit, he noticed a man in the building's last M.M.U. bay. A small smile spread across the captain's well-defined features.
A few meters away, Lieutenant Gabriel Sirghi repeated the gesture Thomas had made minutes earlier, resting his hand on the feet of his M.M.U. Gawain, perhaps uttering the same words, perhaps with a different goal than just returning home. It didn't matter, however; Thomas approached the boy, as he used to call him, though he was now a man, a few centimeters taller than himself.
"Lieutenant Sirghi."
Gabriel Sirghi merely raised his head upon hearing his name called by a voice he would never forget, the voice of his hero and savior. He turned, making the gesture his captain must have received dozens of times that day. Thomas, still smiling, returned Gabriel's salute.
"At ease, Lieutenant Sirghi."
"Captain Moncrief." The young lieutenant focused on his captain; the kind face of the man who had saved him as a child was still there. Despite knowing full well Thomas's deadly capabilities on the battlefield, he would never cease to associate his savior and adoptive brother with kindness. He had been his role model and inspiration for the past decade.
The reason Gabriel had enlisted in the R.A.F., despite Thomas's protests, and consequently, through his hard work, had become one of the youngest decorated lieutenants in the air force. He had even copied his appearance as a teenager; despite the considerable current difference, comparisons of the adoptive brothers' mannerisms were often made by their colleagues, superiors, and especially at home. Where his sister-in-law, Samantha, and his niece, Julie, never missed a chance to joke about the similarity between the two.
"Walk with me, Lieutenant."
Gabriel nodded and followed Thomas out of the hangar. The cold autumn night of the Falkland Islands embraced them both with a chilly breeze. Gabriel looked up to observe the starry sky with its few clouds, and then his eyes searched for what would be his main objective in the upcoming mission. He didn't know exactly when the moon had become a symbol of terror and death for humans on Earth; it was long before he was born. But he shared this fear, was raised with it, and was one of the few survivors of its terrible destructive power. That would end tomorrow; that was why they were risking their lives, after all.
Thomas watched his brother and subordinate as he was distracted by the beauty of the moon and stars. The boy, now a man, was 24 years old. His black hair, in an almost bluish tone, reached his ears. His well-defined features were one of the reasons comparisons between them were common, even though they didn't share the same blood. He was somewhat taller than Thomas now, but Thomas didn't think he had surpassed 1.90 meters.
With his attention back on the hangar, now a few meters away, the captain thought about the next mission, and the responsibilities and hopes placed on Gabriel Sirghi's capabilities, his rifle, and his M.M.U. The impression everyone had after the mission briefing was singular: the century-long war was about to change. He observed his brother once more and continued.
"It's curious, don't you think?"
Gabriel paid attention to Thomas, who went on.
"For seventy years, terrestrial forces tried to capture the U.S.C.'s base and research center on the Moon, and now, the objective has changed from capture to destruction."
"You're right, and that could have a few reasons." Gabriel agreed with his brother, speculating on the reason for the change in directive. "Maybe they no longer need what they were doing there, or perhaps the U.S.C.'s research is complete, and destruction is our only option."
"Look, I'll tell you, the first option is infinitely more attractive!"
Thomas's good humor in any situation was one of the few things Gabriel felt he had missed out on learning. The captain placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder, signaling for them to return to the barracks.
"So, how are things with Theresa?"
His expression of disbelief must have been a feast for Thomas, who laughed. Only he would bring up such a topic at that moment.
"You want to talk about this NOW?"
"Precisely because it's now that we should talk about it."
Gabriel noticed his brother's kind expression take on a serious tone. And he closed his eyes to admit Thomas was right, as usually happened. Their tomorrow was not guaranteed, far from it.
"I'm going to ask for her hand in marriage. I think I've spent too much time being a coward."
"That's the spirit, kid! Make sure old Vazquez comes back safe and sound too. I'd wager keeping her father alive will increase your chances!"
The Captain's loud laughter spread through the night. Unbelievable—that was the adjective he associated with his brother, and once again, he was indeed being unbelievable. Before he could protest, Thomas raised his hand to a certain height so Gabriel could see it. His jokes, his laughter, were to hide what he truly felt. His brother's trembling hand made Gabriel pay attention to his own. They shared the same sensation; it was far from the R.A.F. pilots' first mission, but the dread and fears would always be the same. Thomas closed his hand to show it would stop trembling that way, and Gabriel repeated the gesture. They were both already in front of the Mount Pleasant airbase barracks when the captain decided to use the phrase that had so often been the fuel for Gabriel Sirghi to keep going.
"Lift your head, Gabriel. The path ahead can only be seen that way."
Thomas's salute came combined with the smile Gabriel so admired. He repeated his brother's gesture, and without saying goodnight, the men disappeared through the automatic doors of their rooms.
Gabriel Sirghi and Thomas Moncrief had no idea that the mission they were about to undertake would be the spark for what would become known as the Year of Death. Where billions of lives would cease to exist.
<>
"M.M.U. 0003-Gawain, activation sequence initiated."
Even in the total darkness surrounding him, Gabriel could clearly hear the voice of his mission flight controller, initiating the startup of his colossal machine. The darkness began to be overcome by a blue dot that lit up in the center of the cockpit. From it, lights spread, powering up the M.M.U.'s various instruments, and though still dim, the glow was enough to reveal the true form of the machine's cockpit. The golden R.A.F. symbol appeared on the main monitor, indicating the sequence was complete.
Gabriel placed his hands on Gawain's controls, then raised his right arm to check the one piece of equipment that differentiated his M.M.U. from the others: the optical sight, which he would use when extreme precision was needed. Precision that had earned him a nickname he hated: The Sniper of Chisinau. The city of Chisinau in Moldova, his homeland, was devastated in the war against U.S.C. forces, who used Eastern Europe as a testing ground to demonstrate their strength to the still-resisting terrestrial armies. Saved by R.A.F. forces, the young man grew up and now dedicated himself to the war that had led to the death of his loved ones and his nation.
The monitors and external cameras were now all online, and Gabriel observed the other 12 Gawain units occupying the hangar of the ship transporting them for the mission. The starship Avalon, also manufactured by Merseyside, was one of the only ones of its class under terrestrial forces' control, and its existence had been kept secret until the mission date. A general broadcast signal appeared on one of the M.M.U.'s monitors.
"Brave knights of the Royal Air Force, I am Major Gianluca Pellegrini, Chief of Operations for the Aegis Foundation. And I have the honor of your participation in this mission that will change the future of humanity."
The Aegis organization was founded with the aim of managing Earth's various armies, fragmented by political divisions. Seeking unity to better combat the planet's mutual enemy.
"Together with the forces of the American Navy and the Japan Self-Defense Forces, we will initiate an attack on the U.S.C.'s Nitocris lunar base. Our objective is clear: Destroy any and all structures on the moon, permanently removing any possibility of enemy attack originating from it."
Gabriel gripped his M.M.U.'s controls tighter; memories of his destroyed city, the rubble, and the corpses of the people he loved in front of him, returned.
"Without further ado, good luck, ladies and gentlemen, and good hunting."
As soon as the message ended, Gabriel observed a commotion at the feet of his M.M.U. through the camera.
"To all authorized and unauthorized personnel: for safety reasons, please remain behind the demarcated lines. Repeating..." The voice repeated its warning, which was immediately heeded.
After a slight impact, the movement of the launch platform, moving the colossal machines to the launch line in the center of the ship's hangar, was the signal that the time had come. Beside the M.M.U.s, compartments in the starship's walls opened, and the units, raising their enormous arms, retrieved their respective armaments.
Gabriel repeated the gesture; however, his weapon was different from those used by his comrades. Nicknamed simply "EX," the high-density rifle Lieutenant Gawain's M.M.U. now held was a prototype from a series of research and development initiatives by the Aegis organization, in partnership with M.M.U. manufacturers worldwide. More prototypes of similar technology were being used in the mission, in the hands of the other armies.
The lieutenant observed the monitors once more. The metallic wings of the M.M.U. Gawain in front of his, adorned with shimmering blue parts, were the main feature differentiating Merseyside's creations from other terrestrial M.M.U.s. The technology combined thrusters, which most machines used, with maglev wings—a creation of the British manufacturer—giving the R.A.F. machines less travel speed but unparalleled stability.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
The voice of the Captain of the third assault squadron echoed throughout the hangar; cameras showing the 13 cockpits of the mission pilots filled the M.M.U.'s monitors.
"Our mission is simple: we will attack the base directly while buying time for Lieutenant Sirghi to gather the necessary energy for the EX rifle shot."
Gabriel raised his head once more, looking at the large optical sight on his cockpit's ceiling.
"I don't know how you feel about this war, but if we have a chance to bring it to an end more quickly, we'll seize it with all our might."
The launch countdown appeared on Gabriel's monitor.
"Good luck, and good hunting."
The 13 R.A.F. pilots saluted simultaneously, the monitor turned off, and the countdown reached zero. The giant hangar door of the ship opened; the time had finally come. Gabriel sighed as each unit in front of him took off. And then...
"Gabriel Sirghi, M.M.U. Gawain, initiating mission!"
<>
The first explosion, a few meters from where Thomas's squadron was located, was the first real indication they were on a battlefield. The sterile surface of the moon, and the U.S.C. constructions that had occupied the planet's natural satellite for nearly a century, would be the setting for one of the most terrible M.M.U. battles in the war between the colonies and Earth.
"American forces are attacking the base's west wing."
Gabriel, using his sensors—more capable than those of the other Gawains due to his role—provided details of the allies' positioning in the operation.
"Japanese forces are doing the same on the east wing."
"Very well. Vazquez, Enfield, provide cover and protection for Sirghi until his shot is ready. The rest of us will attack the center with all our might so we can deploy Sirghi's attack enhancers. Let's make it so they have no option but to defend!"
The "Understood" echoed by the group was the signal for the units to proceed at high speed towards the colonial forces' research center and base. Gabriel looked at his large rifle's exclusive interface; the energy was close to 50%. The power feed, supplied indirectly by the starship Avalon, was slow but essential for the attack's surprise element.
"How long until fully charged, young man?"
Vice Captain Marco Vazquez asked in his experienced voice, and Gabriel made a brief estimate before answering.
"300 seconds, sir."
"Too long. 5 minutes in the hands of those sons of bitches is an eternity."
"Sir."
Enfield drew Vazquez's attention, indicating two approaching enemy units on the radar.
"Brilliant," Vazquez grumbled. "Probably returning patrol units!"
Upon noticing the R.A.F. machines' presence, the enemy rifles' immediate fire set the tone for the relationship between the two forces. Dodging the lasers, they already braced for the next ones. The speed of the Aquarius M.M.U.s, used by the colonial forces on the moon, was considerably greater than that of the Gawains. Consequently, the distance between the forces was reduced to a few meters.
The blue and red of the Aquarius units mingled in the aggressive dance their swift attacks had become. Enfield defended Gabriel's Gawain with his shield. The explosion was followed by shots from Vazquez, who managed to create some distance between the units. Gabriel looked at his rifle's energy counter once more; by his calculations, there were still 3 minutes to wait.
The Aquarius units' new assault, now with their laser sabers, was met in the same way by Vazquez and Enfield. The enemy's sequence of blows left less and less room for the Royal Force pilots, who wouldn't hold out much longer. The difference in equipment was too great.
It was then that the two pilots saw their comrade deactivate his M.M.U.'s maglev wings, consequently initiating a slow descent to the lunar surface. Vazquez's concern was interrupted by the aggressive charge of the U.S.C. pilot, who saw an opportunity for an easy kill against a defective enemy unit.
The moment the Aquarius approached, however, Gawain's blue lights flashed on again, and the pilot's desperate attempt to halt his advance was in vain; with a single shot from his secondary weapon, Gabriel blew off the enemy M.M.U.'s head. The next unit, panicking at seeing its comrade killed before it, charged in the same manner but was impaled by Vazquez's saber, falling and exploding alongside its ally.
"Are you trying to give me a heart attack, kid?!"
Vazquez's protests were ignored as a large explosion occurred in one of the lunar complex's wings.
<>
Thomas watched the conflict between his three allies and the two Aquarius units from afar, but he had no time to make any decisions about that battle, as he was in the heart of an even fiercer one. At high speed, he and his squadron were approaching the base's main gate when a barrage of lasers forced them to seek cover.
After some deliberation, he ordered his forces to split up and attack in a pincer formation. It worked, and they quickly overwhelmed and destroyed the units guarding the complex entrance. Now inside the level after blasting the door, the next scene surprised him.
A group of scientists was being escorted to an escape ship, while Aquarius M.M.U.s protected them. Upon noticing the Gawains now inside the hangar, they began firing, causing everyone on the ground to duck in desperation. This would leave a bitter taste in Thomas's mouth, having to kill unarmed innocents, but the mission directive was clear: No survivors.
Coldly, Thomas fired his rifle towards the transport that would take the survivors. Ending the lives of about 30 people, with no time for remorse, he returned to attacking the enemy M.M.U.s, who were desperate and paralyzed. As he was about to finish off the enemy group, the unit beside him, belonging to Andrew McCoy, his wingman in so many battles, exploded without giving the man even a chance to scream. And more powerful shots forced the remaining units to seek cover. From the smoke and debris, an imposing M.M.U. with black armor, red and green details, and large thrusters, entered the hangar.
"This is certainly not an Aquarius," Thomas thought as he studied the enemy unit. His analysis, however, was interrupted when a very rare transmission came from the enemy. Thomas observed the notification on his monitor before clicking to accept it.
"I expected more from a royal knight. Killing innocents, defenseless, in this manner."
The irony of this coming from a soldier of the army responsible for annihilating 1/5 of Earth's life made Thomas laugh sarcastically.
"Innocents? Who's to guarantee that among these men and women isn't the mind that would create your newest way to slaughter us!"
"Sir!"
Thomas turned his attention to one of his subordinates.
"Japanese forces are reporting a large number of escape ships attempting to leave the base!"
Time had run out; destroying the structure wouldn't be enough. They needed Gabriel's shot, now. And like a melody, his brother's voice came over the communication channel.
"Firing conditions met. Clear the perimeter, otherwise I cannot guarantee your safety!"
"You heard the man!" Thomas said with a smile. "All units, evacuate the ba-."
The impact of the black M.M.U.'s attack on Thomas's Gawain was strong enough to send him flying several meters. The assault continued, with him doing his best to defend himself; the clash of lightsabers melted nearby containers. Thomas created space and delivered a kick, enough to gain distance from the enemy. His other comrades charged the colonial, buying him time to think.
Thomas looked at the small photo to the right of his cockpit, and then again at his enemy. The order he was about to give would be the most painful of all. He picked up the photo of his beautiful wife, his beautiful daughter, and his dear brother—who didn't share his blood but had his love—and then changed the communication channel, creating a unique link to Gabriel's M.M.U.
"...Gabriel."
Hearing Thomas call his name—not his surname as he usually did during operations—he immediately realized the transmission was exclusively for him.
"...We won't make it out of the complex in time, and we can't let the scientists escape."
Gabriel remained silent.
"Lieutenant Sirghi, this is an order."
The devastating explosion would give his comrades no chance of survival; it wouldn't just be the R.A.F. forces—allies from other countries would also be caught in it.
"I can't do this, Thomas!"
He couldn't kill his own brother.
"Take care of them for me, okay? That's also an order."
The transmission feed on Gabriel's monitor showed his brother's cockpit, with the smile he loved so much. It wasn't a salute; it was a thumbs-up—the last image he ever had of Thomas.
"To all units."
His captain's message was now for all units, including foreign allies.
"In a few seconds, we will destroy the lunar base. If you are still able, leave the complex as quickly as possible. And for those who will accompany me, I'll see you on the other side. Thank you for the years of sacrifice, for our families."
Enfield and Vazquez immediately looked at Gabriel. His M.M.U. remained motionless for a few seconds, then, activating its blue wings, it rose a few meters from the lunar orbit. With a trembling hand, he lowered his optical sight, readied his rifle, and placed his fingers on the trigger equipped on the sight. His tears blurred the visor—tears Thomas Moncrief had so often helped dry.
The black colonial unit, realizing what was about to happen, tried to leave the complex, but with the remaining strength of his damaged Gawain, Thomas forced it to defend itself.
"You're not going anywhere, soldier!"
"There are five thousand people in this complex! Are you going to kill five thousand innocents?!"
It wasn't just the five thousand innocent lives they would be placing on Gabriel's shoulders; it was also those of their allies, and obviously, his own.
"Gabriel... forgive me." He reached for his family photo once more. "Samantha, Julie, take care of him for me."
He pushed the enemy unit with the strength he had left, clicking the side of his helmet to open it.
"For a future I will not be a part of..."
Gabriel's cry of despair and pain vanished with the subsequent explosion; the high-density particles from his experimental cannon roared in the silence of space. In seconds, the lunar complex was engulfed by a mushroom cloud of destruction; the escape ships that were almost leaving the moon were swallowed by the impact.
The rifle fell from Gabriel's Gawain's hand, and for a long time, he remained motionless. Vazquez watched him, lacking the right words to comfort the boy he had taken as a protégé, and who loved his daughter Theresa so much. Before he could find such words, he was interrupted by a transmission from the Avalon.
"Mission report, Vice Captain Vazquez."
The fact they had contacted him first indicated they knew no one else was left but the three of them.
"The mission was..." No, the mission wasn't a success; it would be too cruel to call that a success.
"The mission is complete, sir."
The explosion on the lunar surface could be seen from various parts of the world. Celebration spread rapidly; there was no longer any need to fear something so beautiful, as the satellite that for years had been a symbol of death from space was finally freed from U.S.C. control.
2238 A.D. The war between the space colonies and Earth's military forces would change for the last time.