BFSH-035 Diesever's Story

PROLOGUE: HAVEN

Year xx57, Aftermath Era.

The sun shined high above the vast, nigh endless stretch of the Gobi desert. The millennia-old, deep tan sand seemed fluid and soft, like an unmoving, all-encompassing ocean. Scraps of metal littered the dune surfaces, some small as a babe, others large as a battleship. But all were wrinkled, grey, and rusted.

Hundreds of baby blue tents stood in the middle of the desert, a temporary settlement, housing those who had come long and far to find a semblance of hope in a hopeless world. Men, women, and child alike waited anxiously under the scorching heat. Thousands formed lines, queuing in front of a red tent, where the Black Fang organization promised to provide food and supplies.

After hours of shuffling and feeling every corner of his body nearly combusting, a tall youth in a featureless black shirt and dusty tan pants stepped forward, his weary black eyes glancing to the large woman in front of him, clad in a pink apron and face mask and standing besides a large iron tin filled with gallons of pale yellow soup. To a normal man, the sight and scent would be nothing special. To the starving refugees, it was like a blessing from God.

The youth held up a small white bowl, which the woman quickly filled. He grimaced at the contents of the bowl for a few seconds. After so many dull hours, the soup felt like a pittance. Still, the young man nodded his thanks, then turned to leave.

"Nice hairdo," the woman remarked in a deadpan tone.

"Thanks," the youth replied just as flatly. He wondered if she was sincere. Probably not. The colossal mass of steel-grey spikes he called his hair could hardly be called 'fashionable'. But he liked it that way.

Out of the red tent, and back into the desert. The young man slowly looked up and squinted.

Before him, stood a gigantic landship. A mobile fortress of iron and steel, ten times the size of the temporary settlement, its rust red body shielding everyone from much of the unforgiving sun. Massive treads supported the vehicle, its rubbers new and almost free of dust and sand. Fifty cannons, each the size of five adult men, were mounted on both port and starboard sides of the mobile fortress.

Even after a week since he first arrived at this settlement, the spiky-haired youth could not stop marveling at the fortress.

An awe inspiring beacon of hope.

A refuge for the survivors of the unrelenting MASS onslaught.

"Haven".
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Hissing steam.

Rhythmic beating of metal.

All too familiar to those who took part in the construction of Mobile Fortress Haven. Nearly a year had passed since Black Fang's Arch Commander sent out his order. The workers, clad in their dirty blue overalls and oversized yellow helmets tolled through day and night to make sure the Mobile Fortress would be a stalwart place of refuge for the surviving humans of Eurasia.

"I need an english key, quick!"

"You got it!"

Orders shouted, tools exchanged. The workers moved swiftly as they delivered the finishing touches, sprinting upside down across the ceiling through magnetic boots, rolling through the interior with the aid of wheeled ladders...

Surveying the construction were two figures in Black Fang uniforms. The first, a tall, dark haired middle aged man with a gold-trimmed olive coat hanging loosely from his shoulder like a cloak. The second, a shorter young woman with bright orange hair and glassy green eyes, a neat and proper vermilion uniform on her person.

The two walked side by side, with the man, with one hand in his pocket, and another carrying a stainless steel flask, a casual smile gracing his face. The woman, in contrast, held a clipboard and pen in each hand, using the latter to tick away at several checkboxes.

"Commander Neuf, Section A and B are complete. The rooftops at Section C still need reinforcing, but it should be done by tonight," the young woman reported, maintaining a clear and formal tone.

The man, Base Commander Dix Neuf, gave a lax smile in response. "Good job, Tsubaki, send an alert to the Black Fang pilots. I want them to meet up with me at my office-"

"-Already done, sir," the young woman, Operator Tsubaki Horizon, quickly replied, the edge of her lips curving slightly into a proud smile.

Dix Neuf raised one brow in surprise, then smirked. "Working hard as always, eh, Tsubaki?"

Tsubaki raised a fist to her chin, and chuckled slightly. "Someone has to, Commander."

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Haven's hangar. A gunmetal grey chamber, accented by yellow lights to break up the monotony. The whirring and clicking of machinery echoed throughout this interior, located upon Haven's bow. The hangar was the third largest chamber in the mobile fortress, and the first to be completed.

Seven intricate catapult mechanisms were built on the hangar's ground, each connected to six giant clamps carved on the walls. Upon several of the clamps, surrounded by dozens of vertical, diagonal, and horizontal ladders alike, were five of Haven's Silhouettes. Or rather, four silhouettes, one hover tank, and one mundane fighter jet, the latter two of which were secured on the catapult deck itself, and not the clamp.

Haven's mechanics stood on the many ladders surrounding the Silhouettes, performing regular maintenances and check ups.

One of said mechanics was a short and petite girl, with large brown eyes and pink hair fashioned into two giant drill-like ringlets. The girl pouted, with furrowed brows, as she inspected each Silhouette one by one. Two humanoids, two walkers. She looked between the machines and a clipboard in her hand, matching each one with their model numbers.

"Huuuuuuuuu...," the girl's eyes narrowed as she whined to herself.

"Most of these models are downright ancient!," she mumbled, eyeing the fighter jet 'Corvidae', and the hover tank 'DK-13' in particular. "Are we a Silhouette defense force, or a walking war museum?"

Even their newest model, the absolutely gigantic 'Paladin', seemed rather simple and primitive. Though she had to admit, whoever had the bright idea to include a chainsaw sword among its armaments was an absolute genius.

"These babies better have top tier pilots," she thought aloud and nodded.

Minerva was surprised to hear that the commander had only called them here to see just how many wanted the position of leadership, before jokingly calling out the team's two male pilots on taking no action while the women did so. Yes, perhaps their capability for leadership would be best seen on the battlefield itself. It didn't sound like standard procedure to her, but then Dix Neuf was hardly one for convention. The bathtub still sitting in the office was proof enough of that.

The briefing proceeded to a formal introduction to their operator, Tsubaki Horizon, who gave them a quick refresher as to the nature and capabilities of the MASS. Having sat through so many similar briefings, Minerva practically knew it all by heart. Take down a MASS by destroying its core, but try to extract it if possible to help fuel Haven. It was all a matter of weighing the risks against the rewards.

When the meeting was adjourned, Minerva watched some of the pilots file out of the room before departing herself. So they would have a few hours of free time before they were needed. The veteran pilot decided to check up on how her Silhouette was doing in its hangar bay. During her years of service she was no stranger to being transferred to a new base, but those had all been stationary installations. She was quite curious as to what facilities a mobile base such as this had to offer.

Haven's hangar was already loaded with the team's Silhouettes and their support vehicles, with adequate staffing to repair and maintain them. Minerva briefly caught the sight of Raiza speaking with Genna, the latter's bright pink hair making her stand out like a beacon despite her lack of height. Deciding not to intrude upon their discussion, Minerva pressed on towards the familiar blue shape of her own Silhouette, the Sarissa...

...and right next to it happened to be the Diesever. With a sigh, she averted her gaze from the retooled and repainted machine in favour of taking a closer look at her own to see if the mechanics were giving it proper treatment.

Haven's hangar. The one area in this ship that never slept. The incessant banging of heavy machinery and hissing of steam would drive lesser men insane. But of course, Black Fang's engineers, like the Silhouettes they maintain, were made of sterner stuff. Genna sat upon a crate as she took a break, her bright pink hair bouncing as she observed a book in her hand.

As she heard Raiza's approaching steps, the pink haired engineer sprung up, then immediately hit the suspicious book behind her back. "A-AH!" She squeaked out, eyes large and round as a hamster's. "I-I wasn't looking at pictures of-"

She immediately stopped herself as the variable pilot made her request. Her quivering lips turned into a cheeky grin as her ears picked up on Raiza's technical terms.

"Heavy weapons module, phoenix missiles. Got it! No problem!" Genna stood on her heels to seem taller, then gave Raiza a salute."Consider it done~!"

The pink haired engineer, deciding that her break was over, walked over to the side to pick up her equipment. A set of wrenches, heavy duty pliers, keys for the hangar cranes... She relayed Raiza's request to her senior officer, and together, the mechanics worked together to fulfill it.

After half an hour of working, Genna shouted aloud to her mechanic team."Hold on! I need to go take a pee!", before jumping off the Polaris' right wing and bouncing away. The sweat and grease all over her clashed quite jarringly against Genna's saturated pink hair.

As she ran halfway through the hangar, Genna suddenly stopped at the sight of the DK-13. The machine's lack of treads had always caught her eyes.

"A hover tank, huh?"

Against her better judgement, the engineer hopped onto the tank's hull, observing its every detail. Simple. Light. Sleek, very much like most of the Silhouettes, and totally unlike the heavy, blocky, and clumsy support tanks. Her eyes then wandered to its pilot, dozing off with her earphones on. She couldn't help but grin.

"Ufufufu... she seem so peaceful. I guess I shouldn't bother her,"

And with that, Genna leapt off the tank, and continued on her merry way to the restroom.
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Nearby, the mechanics conducted routine maintenance upon Minerva's Sarissa. Neither conversation nor eye contact were shared between them and the icy pilot, and the silence further emphasized the mechanical ambience in the background.

"All sensors in working condition," one mechanic said aloud.

"On-board ammunition at maximum stock," another reported.

Amidst the noise, Minerva's sharp ears could make out someone approaching. Straight at her. Slow, but deliberate.

It was him. Renzam Aubrey. The Diesever's new pilot, wearing a purple uniform which matched him as much as the lavender matched the Diesever. He stared at her from behind, one hand in his pocket.

"...."

A moment of silence passed.

"......."

A long moment of silence.

Renzam tilted his head slightly.

"You knew my brother," he suddenly blurted out.

Renzam turned slightly, and looked up to his Diesever. A fresh coat of lavender and dark purple paint over its chassis. A brand new pair of arms, with a humanoid Silhouette's trademark articulated five-fingered hands open and relaxed. Most of the Silhouette's upper body had been replaced after its previous pilot's grisly death, though aside from the paint and thigh-mounted giant sheathes made to house the Silhouette's knives, its lower body was mostly untouched.

"What was he like?"

Minerva spent some time watching the team of mechanics refuel and rearm the Sarissa, so focused with their work that they paid her no mind. It was a small comfort that the team's Silhouettes would be entrusted to such a capable repair crew between battles, to bring the fighting machines back up to full working order as soon as possible should they get damaged in the line of duty.

And so focused was the stoic pilot in watching them work that she nearly jumped at the sound of footsteps approaching her. She turned her head, and her eye narrowed when she saw who it was. Just her luck. The newly refitted Diesever's pilot was now here too.

For the longest time, the two merely exchanged stares. Minerva found this to be... awkward, to say the least. She was about to consider making an excuse to leave, but Renzam was the first to break the silence between them, asking what his brother was like.

His brother...

Minerva found herself thinking long and hard about what Renzam meant with his question. Of course people knew of Adzam. His reputation as an ace Silhouette pilot preceded him. But that would be too obvious an answer.

"He was... a very brave and charismatic person," she said at last. "He was more than just a brilliant pilot and tactician. To the rest of his team, he always knew what to say to keep them in high spirits. When he said that he believed in you... you could tell that he really meant it..." Minerva looked away, clearly unwilling to say much more than that, especially having said so much already. There was, however, one thing that caught the attention of her curiosity.

"What about you? When I spoke with him, I got the impression that the two of you did not get along."

Genna took a step back and stared, a mildly startled look in her brown, round eyes. She did not audibly object when the older pilot felt up her pink curls, her mouth hanging open as she struggled to find the proper words.

In an attempt to shake off the awkwardness, the pink haired girl giggled. "Tee..heehee! Heehee!" Then, with a polite smile, she replied to her offer, "I'd have to take a rain check on that! I'm going to be really busy for a while. Heehe, these machines can't maintain themselves, you know!""

As if just suddenly remembering, Genna held one finger up and said, "Oh! That reminds me! I still have to help my team with Raiza's machine!" The girl turned around, kept an upbeat smile on her face, and sprinted out of the restroom while waving at Anna. "See you later, Anna! Excited to see your tank in action~"

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"Officer Lane, this is Command. Thank you for the heads up, I'll alert Commander Neuf and all relevant personnel!"

With a sigh, Tsubaki leaned back in her chair, her eyes darting to the myriad screens around her. "Looks like we won't have five hours in the end...," Tsubaki thought aloud within Raiza's earshot. The operator glanced to the variable pilot and continued, a serious expression in her face. "It might be best if you and your fellow pilots get ready to sortie."

Without waiting for a response, Tsubaki spun in her chair and began typing away.

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Tsubaki's commanding voice soon traveled throughout Haven and its surroundings, aided by the many speakers on board the mobile fortress.

"Attention to all Haven personnel! We have received word of heavy winds from the north. Mechanics and auxiliaries, please retreat behind the fortress' walls! Combatants, put on your pilot suits and prepare to sortie!"

In an instant, the previously, relatively calm hangar livened up with the rush of a thousand footsteps. Construction workers in yellow hardhats finished what they could, slid down their ladders, then headed deeper into the fortress, followed by engineers, custodians, and other non-combatants.

Renzam watched the scene unfold before him, catching sight of Camille's distinctive blue hair chatting with Rhys not too far away. The silver-haired pilot turned to Minerva. "So, our first combat operation together is going to take place in a sandstorm. Should be fun." His tone was deadpan, his expression unenthusiastic, or at least sedated.

Around the hangar, Renzam saw the pilots of more conventional fighter jets and crews of simple tanks strap into their skintight, yet padded pilot suits. Some could be seen complaining.

"Why do we have to wear this shit in the desert?!"

"Are you stupid? These suits shield us from the MASS' contamination! The black liquid they spew will rot your insides!"

"Isn't that why we're riding inside tanks and silhouettes in the first place?"

"Well, of course! But what if our fancy vehicles get busted? We can't survive out there without a suit for more than two hours, you know! The MASS really messed up our atmosphere...."

Renzam glanced to Minerva one more time, then nodded, encouraging her, "Good luck." before departing to change into his suit.

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Lit by the blazing sun, the Eurasian refugees began their docking of Haven. Their final refuge, their last hope. Twenty thousand men, women, and children marched through eight entry points, two each on Haven's four sides, supervised by Black Fang soldiers both on foot and inside tanks.

With a megaphone in hand, a Black Fang soldier, clad in standard issue black pilot suits, barked through a loudspeaker, "Come on people! Let's march in an orderly fashion! There's room for everyone, no need to push!"

Amongst the crowd, a family of three huddled together. A middle-aged father with a toothbrush mustache, his pregnant wife, and their tiny daughter, clutching a teddy bear. The parents guided their daughter, holding her shoulders protectively with one arm each.

"Don't be scared, darling. Everything's going to be alright, now...," the mother encouraged her youngling with a smile.

"Black Fang will keep us safe," the father added, turning his attention to the organization's logo, painted proudly upon the mobile fortress' starboard. An ivory fang, upon a grey and blue shield, with pitch black blood dripping from its tip. The blood of humanity's sworn enemies, the MASS.

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With a hiss and a click, Renzam sat himself upon the Diesever's cockpit. A narrow, boxy chamber, with large screens at his front and by his sides. The silver-haired pilot took a deep breath, sniffing the fresh coat of purple paint on the cold metal. his pilot suit, a magenta version of the standard Black Fang suits had been polished to match the clean colors of his cockpit.

In his hands was a magenta helmet to go with his suit. A headgear fashioned from the remains of Adzam Aubrey's own. The young man closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead against said helmet. When the Diesever was pulverized, the salvage crew deemed its cockpit far beyond restoration. This helmet, somehow, miraculously survived, remaining perfectly still, albeit heavily damaged, on his brother's mangled and bloody corpse.

"Hoy. Brother."

A long sigh. Renzam wondered why he said that. Out loud, at that. He was never religious. He did not believe in ghosts, or the afterlife, or whatever.

"...Nevermind."

Renzam stood straight, slid the helmet into his head, and twisted the Diesever's ignition. A low hum accompanied various green lights flickering to life around the cockpit, displaying tons of technical information on the black screens around him. Renzam quickly glanced around to scan it all. Silhouette parts integrity, ammunition stock, fuel supplies. The works.

His black gloved hands wrapped around one of the machine's levers. With the press of a button, the spiky-haired pilot alerted command. [magenta]"This is Caestus, on the Diesever. All systems go. Launching![/magenta]

A jagged line formed upon his silhouette's black visor. The hum emanating from its engines intensified. The machine's servos whirred and clicked, as it raised a foot, then stepped forward. A 15-meter titan of purple and lavender steel, with a swiveling bazooka mounted on its back left shoulder. Every step it took sent vibrations across the hangar, its movements rigid, heavy, precise.

The hangar gate at the bow slowly opened, bringing the bright sun into the dark hangar. The Diesever's boxy feet departed the cold steel floors and arrived upon the hot, coarse sand, standing tall and proud as one of Haven's prime vanguards.

The Gobi Desert. 1400 hours. Haven's defense force mobilized around the massive mobile fortress. The Diesever, the Sarissa, the DK-13, and four tanks watched over the starboard entry, while the Paladin, the Stinger, and five tanks stayed vigil by the port side, both entryways pivotal for the masses of refugees which came. The nine tanks which accompanied the five silhouettes were considerably more primitive compared to the DK-13, built for suppressing and defensive fire instead of direct MASS combat.

"Heyyyy, Babe... hic... sweet... tanks ya got there....," a drunken tank driver called out to Anna, his slurry voice providing static through the intercomm.

"Marcus?! Have you been drinking AGAIN?" another tank driver reprimanded him.

From his cockpit, Renzam watched as thousands marched upon the ramp. Fathers. Mothers. Children. Merchants. Tradesmen. People of various shapes, sizes, color, and origin, yet of one destination. The Diesever's iron fingers wrapped around its bazooka's handle as the massive weapon rested on its shoulder. "This will take a while...," the spiky haired pilot thought aloud, transmitting his voice through the intercom. "Thank heavens this monkey suit has built-in air conditioning...."

Black Fang ground troops stood in front of the Silhouettes and the tanks, deployed to maintain peace and order, and, like the tanks, not to fight the MASS. One of the younger troopers looked up, gazing at the Stinger and the Paladin's huge and mighty forms, and whined, "Why can't I get one of those?", prompting an older trooper to bark at him, "Hey! Kid! Focus!"

"Scorpion has deployed the Stinger's scanner drones. Analyzing data...," Tsubaki's voice reported across each of the defense force's cockpit communicators. The operator's eyes and fingers moved about rapidly in the navigation tower as she shared a live feed from the drones' perspective. A steady, rhythmic beat. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"This is Black Fang's outrider force, we'll scout from ground level," a hoarse voice remarked. Heavy engines roared across the dune sea as Black Fang soldiers rode atop rusted, yet agile jeeps. What the Stinger's scanner drones couldn't pick up from a certain distance, the outrider force would catch with their eyes. Until the sandstorm comes, that is.

While Scorpion's drones and the Outriders kept an eye on the ground, the Polaris and the Corvidae took to the skies, soaring across the blue expanse and followed by five less advanced, non-Silhouette worthy fighter jets, each bearing the Black Fang sigil upon their left wing, each following the lead of the two Silhouette pilots.

"Let's do our best, Madams!" one of the fighter pilots encouraged them.

Far ahead, across the ocean of sand, the fighter squad could see it. Colorless, formless distortions in the air, creating ripples the size of olden skyscrapers. A low, droning noise emitted from within, as the indescribable distortions swelled and contracted...

"I-is that it? Freaky..." one of the fighter pilots stammered.

Rhys looked across the desert, or more accurately stared at the massive sand wall mere inches in front of his viewport. So much sand, if some crazy person could gather it all they could make a massive city made out of sand. A reassuring thought which kept the buzzing nervousness in the back of his head. Sure, they were in danger of getting killed by some alien which would unnerve most people. But the last thing to do was show any of that, or even hear yourself with panic in your voice. Keeping a brave face would be pretty good for moral. "Alright everyone! Let's do some hard work out here. Let's go kick some mechanical ass and get back home in time for lunch. So, anyone know who our fireteam leader is? It would be a good idea to establish a squad leader to maintain order. You know, one person to give the orders instead of a mosh pit of ideas when things go to hell. Last thing we need are mix-ups." Rhys asked.

Sure, Rhys was no tactical genius or even a soldier. However one thing everyone could agree on was a head figure to keep them organised and running together as one. "Oh, and when we do get back I got cinnamon rolls for all of us. So let's work up an appetite!" Rhys added with confidence. A big grin plastered on his face which no one would see. One thing he learned, if one person is confident then others will be less tense. If he could show everyone that if they work their hardest they can win any battle, and with the weight of the civilians his determination could only grow at this point. "Time to see the enemies hand..." he muttered to himself.

Flying through the sky once more, it reminded Raiza of the older times she had, when everything was peaceful, where she could fly where she wished, how she wished, and had not worried about a MASS of flailing tentacles trying to kill her. With the sun gleaming in through the canopy once more, Raiza took a light breath, reminiscing in the days she so longingly missed. While there was a squad of five fighters, along with Polaris and Corvidae, it was notable that the pilot had not moved like her usual antics, more so flying straight, letting the jet itself fly, while keeping it level. It'd look bad should Raiza, someone whom credits herself with no crashes in any manner, just suddenly plummeted into the sand. Meanwhile, her mind drifted to her life before the MASS, wondering if the little plane she had been working on was still in working shape. Raiza was no engineer when it came to the more up-to-date jets and Silhouettes, but older planes she had some knowledge on, and could do minor repairs, it felt much easier to repair an actual engine, rather than.... Whatever powered the jet, it was lost to the woman as to what it was that caused the jet to fly.

Though said daydream was cut off by the chatter over the radio, mainly a few tank drivers bickering, since one was already drunk, at a mere two in the afternoon, well, it's five'o'clock somewhere.... A light laugh came from Rai, as she listened to the two argue a degree before the Outrider Force chimed in, giving a notice that they were scouting the ground, Raiza opened her radio to them, "You all be careful now." her words sounded that like a mother's, she didn't wish to see anyone else die, having dealt with the MASS for a while, she has seen various members of the Black Fang fall in combat, though several pilots chattered to Camille and herself, as they flew, she made a promise to every one of them, including Camille, and the Silhouette pilots on the ground,

"So you all know, I will do my best to make sure you six get home. Even if it means I push death to reach you, if you're in danger, and need help, I'll be right there. Let this be a promise to all of you." Her words were serious, Raiza wished to remain with the same squadron for as long as she could. Though one of the younger pilots pointed something out, that caught Raiza's attention, distortions, at the distance they were at, the distortions were faint, colorless and nearly invisible, rising as high as what Raiza had remembered were the massive skyscrapers she saw as a child. An instinct kicked in, as her Radio soon was alive once more, as Raiza's throttle increased ever so slightly, as Polaris entered combat speed,

"Distortions detected. Eighteen degrees Northeast, distance Five-hundred (NM). Closing in to engage. Adjusting course by fifteen degrees."

With Polaris speeding forward, Raiza prepares for the fight to ensue.