Echoes of the Bombard Gun

"Then let him find us."

Four hours after Lin Yuan said those words, Andrew Waltfeld's Reconnaissance Baku came knocking.

May 13, C.E. 71, 5:40 p.m.

The desert light had begun to turn copper-red. The ground temperature had dropped from fifty-three degrees to forty-six, but the heat stored in the rocks and sand still rose endlessly from the earth.

Han Zheng was the first to spot the signal on Jiachen's passive sensors.

Bearing one hundred sixty-two degrees, distance two thousand eight hundred meters.

A single Baku had broken away from the main formation's route, arced around from the south, and was approaching the rocky hill.

"Deputy Officer Sheng, we have a visitor. One Baku, reconnaissance configuration. No missile racks, only a beam rifle and a head-mounted sensor package."

Sheng Lan's voice came from the communications vehicle, her speech a beat faster than usual.

"Confirmed reconnaissance unit?"

"Confirmed. Its movement pattern differs from a combat formation. It stops every three hundred meters and rotates its sensor head three hundred sixty degrees for a scan. Standard search movement."

Ye Qingluan's voice followed from inside the communications vehicle.

"I intercepted a fragment of ZAFT communications. The Reconnaissance Baku reported an anomalous heat source to the rear. Its bearing matches our encampment."

Han Zheng's hand was already resting on the control stick.

"Deputy Officer Sheng, it's still closing. Two thousand three hundred meters."

Sheng Lan switched the terminal to an encrypted channel.

"Director, the Reconnaissance Baku has entered the two-thousand-three-hundred-meter range. If it keeps approaching, it will confirm our position."

Lin Yuan's voice came from eight thousand kilometers away, without the slightest pause of hesitation.

"Ye Qingluan, hail it on the neutral merchant convoy frequency. Tell it this is a civilian escort team registered with the East Asian Republic and order it to leave."

Ye Qingluan set the frequency and pressed the communications key.

A bilingual announcement in Arabic and English broadcast from the vehicle's rooftop speakers, simultaneously feeding into ZAFT's general contact channel.

The other side did not respond.

The Baku continued forward. One thousand eight hundred meters.

Tian Mu gritted his teeth inside Unit Two.

"It's ignoring us."

Ye Qingluan broadcast again, speaking more slowly and using more formal wording.

The Baku opposite them paused. Its sensor head turned toward the rocky hill and remained there for five seconds.

Then it kept moving.

One thousand four hundred meters.

On Han Zheng's panoramic screen, the Baku's quadrupedal silhouette was already clearly visible. Its dark green paint was coated in dust, and the optical sensors in its head reflected a cold gleam in the sunset's afterglow.

"Deputy Officer Sheng, one thousand two hundred meters. If we don't deal with it now, it'll enter visual identification range."

Sheng Lan gripped the microphone, her knuckles taut and white.

"Director?"

Lin Yuan's reply was only one word.

"Block it."

Han Zheng rose from the rocky hill's shadow.

Black Iron Unit One's plasma-assisted power surged from minimum output to cruising power in an instant. Its joint actuators hummed as they extended, and the nineteen-meter dark gray body rose from behind the dune, blocking the Baku's path head-on.

The Baku opposite them stopped.

All four leg joints locked simultaneously. Its body lowered, and the beam rifle sprang from the rack on its back into a forward firing position.

Han Zheng did not raise his Bombard Gun. The muzzle pointed at the ground, while the Ceramic Steel chest armor faced the other side directly.

A standard ZAFT query signal appeared on the communications channel, its automatic translation layered over his earpiece.

"Unknown armed unit, state your identity and affiliation number."

Ye Qingluan replied again through the neutral channel.

"Civilian escort formation of the East Asian Republic, conducting an evacuation mission. Please have your forces withdraw beyond contact range."

The other side was silent for seven seconds.

The Baku's sensor head swept across Han Zheng's machine from head to toe, lingering longest on the external Ceramic Steel plates.

Jiachen intercepted a new communication signal.

"Rear command, this unit is not in the known database. Bipedal configuration, heavy armor, no visible beam weapon hardpoints. Armament type unknown. Requesting instructions."

The response came quickly. Its voiceprint matched the Andrew Waltfeld command traffic intercepted earlier by eighty-six percent.

"Distance?"

"One thousand one hundred meters."

"Is its weapon aimed at you?"

"No. Muzzle pointed at the ground."

"Interesting. Don't move. I'm coming."

Ye Qingluan translated the intercepted content for Sheng Lan in real time. Sheng Lan's pen stopped over her memo pad.

"Andrew Waltfeld is coming himself."

Han Zheng heard it.

"Deputy Officer Sheng, so I do nothing now?"

"Do nothing. Keep the muzzle pointed at the ground. If they cross the eight-hundred-meter warning line, fire one shot at the sand thirty meters in front of him. One shot only."

"Received."

The wait lasted six minutes.

Fresh dust rose along the southern horizon, and a machine with a different paint scheme from the Reconnaissance Baku came into view.

Dark red stripes. A commander's custom paint job.

Two standard Bakus followed behind it.

The three machines stopped beside the Reconnaissance Baku, forming a loose half-arc.

Han Zheng now faced four Bakus.

On Jiachen's tactical display, the ballistic coverage zone and the enemy's firing arcs overlapped, forming a dense tangle of red and yellow lines.

The Command Baku with dark red stripes took one step forward.

Nine hundred meters.

Eight hundred fifty meters.

Eight hundred meters.

"Han Zheng." Sheng Lan's voice.

Han Zheng raised the Bombard Gun.

The muzzle aimed at the sand thirty meters in front of the Command Baku, and he pulled the trigger.

The bombard round left the barrel.

The rocket-assisted exhaust was especially glaring in the dusk desert. Four-tenths of a second later, the projectile struck the target area.

The implosion chamber detonated.

A twelve-meter-wide crater exploded open before the Command Baku. A pillar of sand shot twenty meters into the air, while shattered rock and scorching grains of sand hammered against the Baku's armor like a torrential downpour.

The shockwave surged forward with a blast of heat, shoving the Command Baku's four legs two meters backward.

The dust settled.

The Command Baku stood at the crater's edge, its four-legged stance stable and grounded. It did not return fire.

Han Zheng lowered his gun again.

There was no sound on the communications channel.

Fifteen seconds later, an unencrypted broadcast signal came from the Command Baku.

The voice carried a hoarse laugh, its English accent mixed with the soft tongue sounds of the Mediterranean Sea coast.

"Friends from East Asia, your live ammunition is quite powerful. But if you really wanted to hit me, you wouldn't have aimed at the ground."

Han Zheng did not reply.

Ye Qingluan answered through the neutral channel.

"Commander Waltfeld, the East Asian escort formation has no intention of engaging ZAFT. We advise your forces to withdraw beyond contact range."

That hoarse voice laughed again.

"All right. Tell your commander that his iron lump is very interesting. If we meet again somewhere other than a battlefield, I'll buy him coffee."

The Command Baku backed up three steps, turned around, and its four legs broke into a run, reaching top speed within five seconds.

The three accompanying Bakus withdrew with it, quickly vanishing into the dust to the south.

Han Zheng slowly returned the Bombard Gun to standby position and let out a breath.

Sheng Lan's voice sounded over the channel.

"Director, Waltfeld has withdrawn. But he saw Black Iron's appearance and the Bombard Gun's power."

Lin Yuan's voice came through the channel, as steady as if he were discussing the weather.

"He'll adjust his deployment."

"How?"

"He now knows there's another unknown force north of the Archangel, with considerable firepower, but it fired only one warning shot and did not pursue. He'll divert some of his attention here, but he won't attack immediately. Andrew Waltfeld isn't a fool. He'll probe us first."

Sheng Lan turned to a fresh page in her memo pad.

"What about the Archangel?"

"It's being squeezed toward us by Andrew Waltfeld's encirclement. In six hours, it'll enter Han Zheng's visual range."

Outside the communications vehicle, the desert sky had gone completely dark.

Ye Qingluan turned off the interception antenna, walked to the vehicle door, and lit a cigarette. Its ember flickered in the night wind.

"Deputy Officer Sheng."

"Go ahead."

"If the Archangel comes this way, we'll be between it and Andrew Waltfeld. The odds of a three-way encounter are rising."

Sheng Lan pulled the vehicle door shut.

"The director said we aren't withdrawing."

Ye Qingluan exhaled a stream of smoke.

"What will the people on the Archangel think when they see us?"

Sheng Lan did not answer.

On the distant horizon, a faint blue-white glow was slowly moving from the southeast.

The Archangel's engine exhaust.