Then, even if it was only one shot, even if it cost him his life and this mobile suit, he would send a beam into that man's cockpit. He would make that face—always calmly smiling from behind its mask—take a solid hit, so it could never again wear that nauseatingly superior expression.
Even at low power, the Strike Gundam's engine roared in response to its pilot's will, and the wings on its back spread once more to their widest angle.
Mu locked onto that damned point of light again through the fire-control targeting screen. He decisively raised the Beam Rifle, which had only a few shots left, and pulled the trigger without hesitation, turning all his suppressed fury into a stream of particles fired at the constantly moving Gates.
The flames of the thrusters traced deadly paths through the vacuum, yet no explosions could be heard. Only the shrill warnings inside the cockpit echoed like a death knell.
Nicol sat in the Strike Gundam's cockpit, both hands tightly gripping the controls.
Sweat had long since soaked through his gloves, but he could not feel the slightest warmth. Only an icy chill climbed up his spine.
With a light pull of the trigger, the already locked-on target would become dust in space.
The Strike Gundam's fire-control system faithfully placed the two distant mobile suits in its sights, red lock-on frames flashing sharply with the enemy units' maneuvers.
That was the Duel Gundam. That was the Buster Gundam.
That was Yzak. That was Dearka.
"I had already prepared myself..."
Nicol clenched his teeth, his gaze shifting back and forth between the data streaming across the screen and those familiar figures.
When he had decided to board this ship, when he had bowed his head before the vision shown by that Mr. Xia