The hangar of Odessa roared with life — fuel lines hissed, sparks flew from welding torches, and mechanics shouted over the din as they worked to repair Zeon's battered mobile suits. Tanya von Zehrtfeld stood on the catwalk, her hands gripping the railing as she stared down at the scene below. Her Zakus had been stripped open, patched, repainted so many times they almost looked like different machines. The month-long retreat from Southeast Asia had left everything scarred — machines, soldiers, and even Tanya herself.
Her surviving squad — Mila, Zhou Wei, and Richter — stood nearby. They were weary but sharp, battle-hardened from weeks of fighting and marching. Mila was the first to speak, her voice low but firm.
"No sign of the Federation yet. You think they're just letting us rest, commander?"
Zhou Wei frowned, checking over the diagnostic clipboard he carried. "More likely they're building up for something big. They wouldn't just ignore us."
Richter leaned against a support beam, helmet tucked under one arm. "Whatever they're planning, they'll find us ready. We've survived worse."
Tanya's mouth curved into a small, grim smile. "Good. Keep that fire. If the Feds think we're weak, we'll show them we can still bite back."
Their conversation was cut short by the distinct sound of polished boots striking metal. M'quve entered the hangar with his usual calm poise, immaculate as ever despite the chaos around him. He looked more suited for a ballroom than a battlefield, yet his presence commanded attention.
"Ah, Tanya von Zehrtfeld," he said smoothly, his gloved hands clasped behind his back. "I had to see the infamous survivor of Southeast Asia with my own eyes."
"If you came to congratulate me, save your breath," Tanya replied coolly. "I didn't live through that because of luck."
M'quve chuckled softly, as though amused by her bluntness. "No, I rather think you lived because of skill — and perhaps because fate still has a use for you. Dozle Zabi agrees, in fact."
At his signal, a massive curtain in the hangar was pulled aside, revealing a gleaming Zudah standing proudly on the lift platform. Its blue armor shone under the floodlights, freshly tuned, its thrusters gleaming like polished steel.
"This machine," M'quve continued, "was considered a failure once. The Zabi family nearly consigned it to the scrap heap. But after your victories, Dozle personally ordered that this unit be transferred to you. Consider it a reward for your… remarkable survival."
Tanya stepped forward, looking the Zudah over with a critical eye. "I don't care about rewards. I care if it can kill the Strike Gundam."
"That," M'quve said with a sly smile, "is precisely why it was given to you."
The Black Tri-Stars arrived not long after, their presence filling the hangar with even more swagger and noise. Gaia grinned like a predator spotting fresh prey.
"So you're the one who went head-to-head with this so-called Strike Gundam," he said. "Tell us everything. We need to know what we're dealing with."
Tanya didn't hesitate. She laid out the battle in clear detail — the way the Strike moved, the way its Phase Shift Armor deflected conventional fire, its uncanny adaptability in combat. Ortega and Mash exchanged dark looks, clearly taking her words seriously.
"That thing sounds like trouble," Ortega muttered.
"It is trouble," Tanya replied. "And if the Federation is building more like it, we're in for a rough fight."
Far away, in a pristine Federation war room, General Revil stood in front of a row of towering machines — the Duel Gundam, the Buster Gundam, the Blitz Gundam, and the Aegis Gundam — each one a fresh weapon gleaming under the lights.
The Federation war room was tense, a different kind of battle already raging within its walls. Generals and staff officers crowded around a massive holographic map of the Eurasian theater, glowing with blue and red markers. Odessa was the lynchpin of Zeon's Earth operations — taking it would mean cutting off their fuel supply lines and forcing their retreat from the surface. But not everyone agreed on the timing.
General Revil stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, expression calm but stern. "If we strike now, we take Odessa and shatter Zeon's grip on Earth. This is our chance to end their presence here."
One of his senior aides frowned. "Sir, with respect — committing to Odessa now leaves our forces vulnerable in orbit. Zeon could counterattack in space, sever our resupply route, and we'd be trapped on the ground. Perhaps a space offensive should take priority."
Another officer slammed a fist on the table. "No. If we leave Odessa alone, Zeon will fortify and drag this war out for months. Every day we wait, they grow stronger."
Arguments broke out around the room, voices overlapping, the map flickering with potential attack vectors and counterattacks. Some officers argued for a fast strike with the new Gundams leading the charge, others warned that rushing would lead to disaster if Zeon had hidden reserves.
Gary Lin stood in the corner, arms folded, silently watching the debate. His Gundams were ready, he knew that much — but the question was whether the Federation was ready.
Revil finally raised a hand, silencing the room. "Enough. We will weigh all options. A decision will be made before the end of the day."
The tension hung in the air like a blade. The officers exchanged grim looks, knowing that whatever choice they made, the coming battle would decide the fate of Earth — and perhaps the war itself.
Back at Odessa, Tanya stood with M'quve and the Black Tri-Stars, unaware of the debate raging in Jaburo. Her Zudah gleamed behind her, fully armed and freshly tuned. She looked up at the gray sky and let out a slow breath.
"They're coming," she said softly.
Mila glanced at her. "You think so?"
Tanya's smile was thin, almost cruel. "I know so. And when they do, we'll be ready."