The command deck of the Federation flagship was a haze of static and red light. Admiral Revil leaned over the tactical holomap, his brows drawn tight as the digital readouts flickered between friendly and hostile signals. The Delaz Fleet's defense line pulsed like a living wound — fractured but not collapsing. Reports screamed through the comms, each one contradicting the last.
"Strike units losing cohesion," a comm officer shouted. "White Base has linked with Shirogane Miyuki's task group, but GED forces are engaging on their flank!"
Revil's fingers dug into the edge of the console. The entire operation had been intended as a clean breakthrough — a unification strike to crush the remnants of Zeon resistance. Now it was devolving into a labyrinth of mixed IFFs, stray fire, and unsynchronized commands.
Behind him, Oreki Houtarou, Federation analyst and reluctant strategist, watched in silence. His gaze wasn't on the chaos; it was on the pattern emerging beneath it. The man's eyes, lazy yet razor-edged, followed the oscillating movements of both friendly and enemy signatures.
He finally spoke, voice calm amidst the storm.
"Admiral, this isn't disorganization," he said. "It's entrapment. Delaz's formation is deliberately pulling us inward. The more we press, the more we lose orientation. They're bleeding us through exhaustion."
Revil frowned. "Are you suggesting retreat?"
Oreki shook his head, slow and deliberate. "Not retreat. Regroup. Pull the spearhead back to reestablish command lines. I suggest sending one assault carrier — minimal risk — to retrieve forward units. A detachment of two GM teams and one Ball squad will be enough to hold them while we pull back."
Revil's jaw tightened. The suggestion was tactically sound but politically ugly. Withdrawal meant losing face — and momentum. Yet, as the map flickered again, showing blips of downed mobile suits where Strike and Aegis had gone silent for moments, reality overrode pride.
"…You're certain this will buy us time?"
Oreki nodded once. "It's the only way to minimize casualties before Delaz finishes tightening the noose. Their Great Zeongs are moving into long-range positions. Once they start sweeping, we'll have no field of rescue left."
The admiral studied him for a long moment, then sighed and turned to the comm officer.
"Order as he said. Send Assault Carrier Valiant forward with two GM units and one Ball team. Prioritize retrieval of frontliners — Gundam teams first. Everyone else forms a defensive ring."
The command relayed through the comm lines like a lifeline. Federation channels flared with acknowledgment signals, faint but desperate.
Oreki exhaled softly and adjusted his glasses. "We'll still take losses," he said, almost to himself. "But better a scar than a graveyard."
Revil gave him a sidelong look. "You speak as if you've seen this before."
"I have," well in previous many historical event do this strategy. Oreki thought, while his eyes never leaving the screen. "It's called pattern failure. The moment everyone fights their own war inside the same one."
Outside, space itself shuddered with the thunder of the retreat order beginning. Shirogane Miyuki's fleet realigned, White Base rolled to intercept enemy fire, and the GM detachment launched like sparks from the hull — the first movement of a forced regroup.
Revil watched the flashing icons retreat, his voice low and weary.
"If this doesn't hold…"
Oreki finished for him. "Then we lose everything before we understand who we're fighting."
Officers shouted, radar screens blinked red, and the endless static of broken transmissions drowned any sense of order. General Revil stood firm amid the confusion, his brow furrowed, hands clasped behind his back as he tried to process what was happening.
"What is this madness?" he demanded. "I gave clear orders for a coordinated strike! Why is friendly fire happen and who give order like that?"
His tactical officers exchanged nervous glances. None could answer. The data feeds were scrambled, reports came in incomplete, and the status of the Gundam units was unclear.
Only one voice cut through the confusion—calm, detached, analytical. Oreki Houtarou.
"Sir," Oreki said from the side console, eyes narrowed as he pieced through fragmented data and battle footage. "The enemy's not fighting like before. Their pattern is too clean, too structured. It's not chaos—it's a trap that's been waiting for us."
Revil turned to him sharply. "A trap? Elaborate."
Oreki exhaled, his voice quiet but firm. "They're herding our assault groups into isolated pockets using their new mobile armors. The Elmeth and those Zeongs are forcing our pilots into predictable escape routes. If we continue pushing forward, the entire vanguard will be annihilated."
The general's frown deepened. "What do you suggest?"
Oreki turned his screen toward him, pointing at a shifting grid. "Withdraw the second assault carrier line. Have one carrier with two GM squads and a Ball escort remain behind to create a retreat corridor. If we can give the front units a clean vector out, we can reduce casualties by at least thirty percent."
Revil hesitated only a moment. "You're sure?"
"I am," Oreki said simply. "We don't have time for another plan."
Revil studied him in silence, then nodded once, decisively. "Permission granted. Make it happen."
Oreki saluted, immediately relaying orders. "Assault Carrier Stellar Wing, hold position and deploy your GM and Ball units as a withdrawal screen. All other ships prepare to fall back under White Base's protection."
Amid the wreckage and fire of the frontline, Amuro Ray finally managed to cut through interference. He caught fragments of the command—withdrawal, regroup, cover fire. His hands tightened around the Alex Gundam's controls.
"Withdraw? Now?" he growled. "When we're this close?"
He was still reeling when a blinding crimson beam shot across his view. The Great Zeong loomed ahead—massive, terrifying, piloted by none other than Char Aznable.
Char's laughter, calm and cold, echoed across the channel. "Still too slow, Amuro."
Before Amuro could react, the Great Zeong's right hand detached, firing a massive beam straight at him. The impact came—only not on his suit. A GM interposed itself, taking the full blast. The machine erupted in light, fragments spinning into nothingness.
Amuro froze. "No…" His vision blurred with rage. "You—!"
The Alex's thrusters flared to maximum. Amuro surged forward, unleashing beam rifle shots in rapid succession. Char met them with sweeping precision, his Great Zeong's arms spiraling beams in elegant arcs that shredded the void.
But even in fury, Amuro caught the flicker of command in his ear: Withdraw. That's an order.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to listen. He exhaled, rage turning to bitter focus. "Understood. Amuro, pulling back."
Just as he turned, the Alex shook violently—another beam grazed the armor. But this time, the source wasn't Char. It was Hikigaya, in the Blitz Gundam, cutting through debris to intercept another Zeong's fire.
"Hey, genius!" Hikigaya shouted, voice raw. "If you're done playing rival-of-the-year, move your ass! I'm not dying because of your drama!"
Amuro blinked, then gave a short laugh despite himself. "Fine. I'm moving."
The Blitz Gundam's black frame shimmered as its Mirage Colloid flickered, fading from sensors. Hikigaya drew the Zeong's fire, moving like a shadow among explosions. Even without a System like Gary Lin, his instincts were sharp—he fought on gut feeling, on sheer willpower.
Meanwhile, Mikazuki Augus in the Duel Gundam was locked in savage combat with two of the Zeongs. His movements were brutal, efficient—he didn't dodge so much as break the attacks apart, forcing beam fire to scatter with his shield armor. One Zeong fell, cleaved in half by his beam saber. The second exploded moments later, struck point-blank.
Only one Zeong remained now. Its pilot screamed vengeance across the comms, unleashing a barrage that tore through the wreckage. Mikazuki barely blocked it, armor sparking, his face expressionless even as alarms filled his cockpit.
Further out, Lockon Stratos and Athrun Zala coordinated their fire against Griveous Elmeth, the monstrous psychic machine that commanded its funnels with mechanical precision.
Lockon's Buster Gundam fired calculated bursts, each beam cutting the path for Athrun's Aegis to dive in close. The Elmeth retaliated with impossible angles of fire, its remote weapons bending trajectories that even Lockon struggled to trace.
"Just keep it busy!" Athrun shouted, his Aegis deploying its beam claws to slice through a wave of funnels.
Lockon grinned, sweat running down his brow. "Oh, I'm keeping it busy alright. Just don't explode before I do."
Behind them, Gary Lin's Strike Gundam fought tooth and nail with Tanya von Zehrtfeld's GED squad. The two forces collided in blinding exchanges of beam and thruster fire, white and crimson streaks weaving through the darkness.
And now, Shirogane Miyuki's fleet had arrived—Federation reinforcements, sleek and disciplined. Miyuki's voice echoed over open channels, crisp and confident.
"All units, push on Delaz's flank. Cover the retreating Gundams. Priority target: Musai-class command ships."
The sky around Solomon burned anew. Miyuki's fleet's arrival gave the Federation a brief surge of momentum. Beam batteries tore through Zeon's second line, several cruisers erupting in bursts of white flame.
But Delaz was no amateur. His counter-orders came swiftly—tight formations, concentrated fire. The GED squad adjusted their tactics, drawing Miyuki's attention away from the fortress. Tanya's unit danced through the storm, striking surgically at the flanks.
"Maintain pressure!" Miyuki commanded. "Don't let them regroup—!"
A violent tremor shook his carrier as a barrage from Solomon's fortress hit home. Consoles exploded. Smoke filled the bridge. The reality was undeniable—they'd dealt heavy damage, but the fortress still stood.
Revil's fleet, following Oreki's analysis, began the slow and painful retreat. Amuro and Hikigaya broke from the frontline, covering the Duel, Aegis, and Buster as they fell back. Lockon's last beam struck Elmeth's hull, forcing it to falter, and Athrun's Aegis grabbed his ally before the funnels could retaliate.
On the command deck, Revil watched the withdrawal in silence. Oreki stood beside him, exhausted but calm. "We saved more lives than we lost," he said quietly.
Revil nodded slowly. "You did well, Oreki. But this battle… we underestimated Zeon again."
As the last ships retreated from the burning field, another mind observed from afar—cold, brilliant, calculating.
Lelouch von Zehrtfeld, from his private command vessel, reviewed the battle data in silence. His eyes tracked the patterns, the timing of orders, the miscommunications.
"Revil fought well," he murmured, "but Tianem… his hesitation cost them formation integrity."
He folded his hands. "If we strike Tianem's logistics and supply flank next, we can cripple the Federation's entire mid-sector fleet before they can regroup."
A slow, confident smile crossed his face. "The game board shifts again."
And beyond the burning remnants of Solomon's orbit, the echoes of battle lingered—Amuro's fury, Hikigaya's defiance, Miyuki's resolve, Tanya's ruthless precision, and Lelouch's quiet calculation—threads of fate tightening toward the next inevitable storm.