The Atlantic Federation's Miscalculation

"Jiachen, what exactly are you thinking?"

On the same day Zhou Boyuan left the analysis room with that unanswered question, eight thousand kilometers away, William Sykes was flipping through a paper briefing in Conference Room Three of the Atlantic Federation Ministry of Defense.

The cover bore the words "Week Seven Situation Summary for the North Africa Theater," with the blue rubber stamp of the United Army Intelligence Bureau in the upper right corner.

As Sykes turned to page six, his fingers paused for half a beat over a blurry satellite photograph.

The photo showed the silhouettes of three dark gray mobile suits standing in the desert. The resolution was too poor to make out the details, but their proportions matched none of the United Army's known models.

"Bradley."

The deputy director of the Intelligence Bureau looked up from across the conference table.

"These are the so-called new mobile suits East Asia deployed in North Africa?"

Bradley flipped his own briefing to the same page.

"Yes. They were photographed during a satellite pass. Only three units. Andrew Waltfeld's battle report confirmed that he engaged them, and his custom unit's propulsion system was damaged."

Sykes's brows lowered slightly.

"Andrew Waltfeld's custom unit was damaged by three unidentified machines?"

"More accurately, he was forced to retreat." Bradley pulled up an attachment. "ZAFT communications intercepts show that after retreating, Waltfeld said one sentence over an unencrypted channel. The original words were: East Asia's iron lumps are tougher than expected."

Sykes set down the briefing and traced a circle on the tabletop with one finger.

"Iron lumps. That summed it up in three words?"

"Waltfeld mentioned something else as well." Bradley turned to the next page of intercept records. "In his internal debriefing after returning to base, he stated that East Asian units showed no phase shift reaction after sustained Beam Rifle fire. His exact words were: That isn't Phase Shift Armor, but it's tougher to crack than PS."

Sykes leaned back in his chair. The conference room's air conditioner hummed. The curtains were half drawn, and sunlight sliced through the gap, illuminating dust floating above the folders on his desk.

"What did the General Technology Evaluation Office say?"

A technical consultant seated in the corner opened his laptop and flipped through two pages.

"Based on satellite image estimates, the proportions of these East Asian units lean toward a heavy design. Their leg cross-sections are more than thirty percent thicker than those of a standard Baku. Combined with Waltfeld's assessment of their armor, our preliminary conclusion is that they are heavy experimental units."

"Experimental units?"

"Yes. We speculate that East Asia is using North Africa as a temporary testing ground, deploying a small number of prototypes for combat trials. Given that Waltfeld repeatedly exploited their turning speed as a weakness, the model's practical value remains questionable."

Sykes scraped his thumbnail across the tabletop.

"How questionable?"

"The original wording of the Technology Evaluation Office report is: The unit's mobility in complex terrain is insufficient to counter guerrilla tactics employed by highly skilled pilots. It will be difficult to mass-produce as a mainline unit. Continued observation is recommended, but there is no need to raise its priority level."

Sykes closed the briefing.

"Bradley, what weapons were those three East Asian units using?"

Bradley's mouth twitched.

"That... Waltfeld's report mentioned a kind of rocket-assisted munition that detonated inside the armor after impact, but there was little description of its specific effects. ZAFT satellites were limited by their observation window during the engagement and did not capture the weapon firing."

Sykes stared at Bradley for three seconds.

"You're saying that aside from Waltfeld's line about iron lumps being tougher than expected, we know virtually nothing about the armament parameters of these East Asian units?"

Bradley nodded once.

"That is the situation for now."

Sykes pushed the folder aside and folded his hands on the table.

"Reinforcing Alaska's defenses and tracking the G Weapons are our top priorities. If East Asia's heavy experimental units make no further moves, classify them under Level Two surveillance for now. We can deal with them once they begin mass production."

As Bradley put the briefing into its document bag, his fingers paused on the seal for a second. But he said nothing.

That same afternoon, in the analysis room of the 811 Institute.

Ye Qingluan pushed an information package disguised in the format of a ZAFT battle report onto the terminal on Lin Yuan's desk.

"Director, the information has been released through our third-party channel in North Africa. It contains a technical summary of joint overheating and ammunition belt delay issues suffered by the Black Iron units during desert combat. The data has been sanitized, and the fault parameters were exaggerated by forty percent to make the problems appear more severe than they actually are."

Lin Yuan skimmed the final page of the package.

"Through which channel will the Atlantic Federation intercept it?"

"ZAFT's low- to mid-security communications bands. The United Army Intelligence Bureau continuously monitors those frequencies. What I released will be obtained as internal ZAFT intelligence, making it three times more credible than information released directly by East Asia."

Sheng Lan stood beside the terminal, her memorandum open to the latest communications summary from the East Asian Parliament.

"Director, Luo Qiming has started talking again on the Parliament side. At yesterday's closed-door meeting, he argued that supply costs in North Africa have already exceeded eight percent of the Special Equipment Bureau's annual budget. His exact words were: We're spending this much money running experiments in the desert, yet we haven't even captured one enemy unit intact."

"Do the Baku wrecks not count?"

"He said the wrecks were incomplete. The transmission assemblies and optical sensor heads are insufficient to justify the investment."

Lin Yuan shut down the terminal and glanced at Sheng Lan.

"What about my father?"

"Chairman Lin left you a message last night." Sheng Lan turned to the second-to-last page of the memorandum. "The original reads: A technical victory does not equal a political victory. Those people in the Parliament don't watch battlefield footage; they only look at budget sheets. If you don't produce results that can shut them up soon, even I won't be able to hold them back."

Lin Yuan turned his chair halfway around to face the tactical display.

East Asia's sphere of influence was marked in dark gray, the Atlantic Federation around it in blue, and the PLANT direction in red. Orange markers were scattered through the blank zones between the three colors—nodes in Ye Qingluan's intelligence network.

"Ye Qingluan, did Chen Linhai's most recent orbital reconnaissance report mention anything unusual near the Julius 7 ruins?"

Ye Qingluan looked up from beside the terminal.

"Yes. A patrol record from two weeks ago marked a faint electromagnetic signal from an abandoned facility on the outer edge of the debris field. At the time, it was judged to be an automatic broadcast from surviving equipment, so it wasn't followed up on."

"Pull it up."

It took Ye Qingluan thirty seconds to locate the record and place it before Lin Yuan.

"Director, what's special about this signal?"

Lin Yuan stared at the faint electromagnetic signal marker on the screen, his fingers resting against the edge of the desk for three seconds.

"Luo Qiming wants to see results. The Atlantic Federation thinks all we can do is build iron lumps. Both PLANT factions are busy fighting among themselves. Put those three things together, and they've given me an opening."

Sheng Lan's pen tip rested on the paper.

"What opening?"

"A humanitarian rescue mission."