Pressure of a Blade

___________________________

Upon arriving back at the warehouse, Trowa discarded the box, unpacked the tablet and began sketching out the specifics of Heavyarms weaponry. Several modifications would need to be sorted out, but the main components would remain relatively unchanged.

Heero sat quietly watching; he knew the weapon’s array due to his duel with Zech using Heavyarms, but the specifics that only one who maintained the suit were unknown to him. Trowa let him sit for about five minutes before the weight of the time demand pressed down on him. “Why not infiltrate, plant explosives and blow the base?”

“That was the original intention, but this group is better prepared than OZ ever was. They have multiple bases, all sufficiently armed to try an offensive, blow any one base and the others will retaliate. The equipment used is much more sophisticated, thermal sensors cue cameras with facial recognition software. If anyone not registered as part of the faction is caught on the cameras, the bases go on lockdown simultaneously. They are not impenetrable, but its too much of a risk for the upper ranks in the Preventers to approve of that method.”

That was one of the main reasons Trowa missed being a terrorist, political red tape. “How do you know this?”

“Infiltration was tried first. The first contact alerted us to the security. The agent was lost shortly thereafter. We can only assume security was increased afterwards.” Heero replied automatically.

Silence hung for a moment as Trowa finished the schematics at his fingertips before he commented on the situation again. “We are intending to shoot down experienced pilots with stationary weapons.” Despite the blank face and even tone, it was easy to taste his disapproval of the idea.

Heero nodded stiffly. “We follow the orders passed down to us.”

“And sacrifice the Earth.” Trowa didn’t bother waiting for a response, knowing he wouldn’t receive one. “I’m not with the Preventers; I don’t have to follow their orders.”

“I’m counting on that.”

Green eyes masked the relief Trowa felt. He wasn’t currently living on Earth, but he didn’t particularly want another attempted coupe, let alone a successful one. That was just bad news all around.

“Before Maxwell left, I received a copy of his stealth mechanisms.” Heero offered.

Trowa could only imagine the fight Duo put up. He wasn’t one to give up his secrets easily, Trowa almost wished he had been present for the ordeal. Then again, maybe not.

“It will help, but the trajectory can be traced without a visible target.”

“If the firing mechanism is stationary.” Heero qualified the statement. Instantaneously negating for Trowa the orders he was required to follow.

“Do we get to use ships?” His mind was searching for plausible solutions to this dim situation.

“Earthbound only.” But the restrictions posted by the Preventers hierarchy was not helping at all.

“We can’t guarantee an attack from any one direction.” He was thinking out loud, not expecting or surprised by any comment the Japanese boy may or may not speak.

“Affirmative.”

“So the weapons systems must be able to cover distance quickly and configure for maximum destruction.”

“Affirmative.”

“No mobile suits involved on our side.” Trowa probed.

“Tactic too aggressive, request denied.” Heero quoted from whatever bureaucratic committee that damned the Earth.

“Coordinated counteractive measures…I assume that’s why you’re fitting the old cockpit with newer systems.”

Heero nodded.

“What’s the range of transmission?”

“Its meant to power a suit which is no longer present, and with the increase in efficiency its been given, it can give commands to equipment in the L2 sector.”

Trowa nodded. Maybe this could work after all, he continued his musings. “Many smaller weapons would be more difficult to combat but wouldn’t do as much damage as quickly.” Trowa stated aloud for his own benefit as he started hammering out the idea with his pencil.

“The longer the enemy’s focus is diverted, the less damage Earth is likely to take.”

“But the coupe will most likely be centered over populated cities.”

Heero’s grim nod showed he understood the situation perfectly. Trowa continued with the schematics of the intended weapons, one model fitted with Heavyarms guns and rocket launchers another with his missles. As he sketched, he spoke, trying to solve the problem of citizen casualties. “Is there a way to time the stealth capabilities? Program random appearances and disappearances?”

Heero reached across the table to pick up a file and started scanning as he clarified Trowa’s thoughts. “Guerilla fighting? Distract with one weapon while dealing damage with another.”

“If we could control what was seen at what time and over which location, we could drastically reduce citizen casualties.”

“Affirmative, if the timeframe is sufficient.”

Trowa nodded then turned the sketchpad to Heero. He grunted. “Annoy the enemy into retreating.” Heero must have noted the dimensions.

It was true, Trowa’s systems were only about 3m x 5m x 6m, but it would be much easier to construct enough in the timeframe than what Heero probably intended. Trowa nodded to himself, “those are my guns, they’ll rip through a suit easily. It’s the aiming that we’ll need to put some work into.” He got quiet and Heero knew more was coming. “Can you find and program some NARCs?”

Blue eyes widened before covering his surprise. “The technology is ancient, but could be effective in this instance.”

“With your pinpoint aim as a target lock, it would be less work to program in active targets than to program these with recognition of enemy targets.”

“It would save time, but we need to establish a contingency plan in case the NARCs fail.” The soldier in him forced the Japanese boy to agree only if there was a backup plan.

Trowa nodded taking the statement as Heero’s approval.

NARCs were an old guided system used for missiles around the time heat-seeking missiles became popular. The NARC system used a tracer round to mark a target, and all successive missiles targeted that round until the target was destroyed. The tracer round was not meant to pierce armor but would imbed itself into a suit, guiding the subsequent rounds until it was destroyed.

Granted such a one target, one kill system would not work on such a massive scale unless there were multiple tracers on multiple systems with certain weapons queuing into one frequency and others into another frequency on several wavelengths.

“Estimated time until the cockpit is completed.”

“Twelve hours until completion.”

“What parts do I have to work with?”

Heero stood, and Trowa followed to an entire second bay full of scrapped mobile suits with a few shuttle hulls and engines mixed in for a good array of resources.

The green-eyed pilot smirked. “Thank Maxwell for me.”

Shaking his head, Heero replied. “No need, he’ll most likely take payment from the enemy if your toys work.”

After scanning the bay, Trowa turned to his companion. “Tools.”

Heero nodded to a cabinet across from them. “Everything you will need.”

The Heavyarms pilot got to work harvesting the parts needed with Heero’s help much to Trowa’s surprise.
After finding the needed parts, Heero returned to the cockpit he had been working on, leaving Trowa to work out the kinks of the weapon he had drawn. Hours passed unnoticed while he configured the most efficient design. It had to be small enough to retain the capabilities of high velocity but large enough to accommodate sufficient ammunition. Smaller weapons would be harder to hit and easier to build, that was the best option. The alignment of the thrusters had to be offset with the barrels and launchers; it was a delicate process, but he finally got it.

He crawled out from behind his creation and went to get the lift; Trowa didn’t want to risk trying it until Heero hooked it to an emergency kill command on his laptop. The acrobat hadn’t unpacked his yet, and it seemed redundant to do so. All these weapons would have to be turned to one system, most likely to cockpit Heero’s laptop was programming, so why waste the time synching it with his when it would need to be re-synched with Heero’s? He could skip a step and synch his system with Heero’s, and for some unknown reason, that felt a little too intimate to open his computer to another. Weird, but that’s how it was.

The lift was on the opposite side of the cargo bay Heero was using. As he entered the large double doors, his eyes found his companion. To Trowa’s surprise, Heero was sprawled over the top of the consol, asleep, instruments still clutched in each hand.

A critically dangerous situation; any animal handler knows that you don’t sneak up on a sleeping predator, or any animal really, but especially the ones that can potentially kill or maim you without a second thought.

Trowa let his normally silent footfalls become heavy and loud while he was still well across the room. The tools fell to the ground, echoing across the concrete walls, and Trowa was looking down the barrel of Heero’s beretta. But the former clown had clasped his hands behind his head like a prisoner well before the noise startled the sleeping terrorist.

Blue eyes blinked twice before comprehension dawned on him; but he didn’t lower the gun. “You’d come quietly?” The slight rise of one eyebrow was the only hint that the statement was actually a question.

Trowa couldn’t help but wonder if Heero was aware of the double entendre; he let it go, not wanting to let his mind go in that direction. “Not normally, but I’ll make this the exception.”

Heero smirked and Trowa had half an idea that maybe he did know another way to take his previous statement and that the joke was on him instead.

Its not that Heero wasn’t attractive, on the contrary, Trowa had to consciously remind himself not to stare, not to give any indication of just how to attractive he found the Wing pilot. Trowa was definitely a top in bed, but he’d bend over for Heero in a heartbeat if it was just a lust issue, but there was so much more to it.

They were friends. That didn’t happen often, not with their kind. They were soldiers to the very core; there would always be an armed fortress between them and any other living person. There are people you come to trust, such as the other pilots, but when it came down to bare facts, Heero and Trowa were the same, they cared for nothing enough to allow it to become a liability, they had fought for every second of their life, and they followed every letter of every order. Soldiers had no other choice.

The others…they were reliable, but they were fighters, not soldiers. There’s a vast difference.

No matter the military training, Trowa could count on one hand the number of true soldiers he had known. It was a bond he felt the second he watched the determination in Heero’s eyes when he gripped the self destruct button. And in that moment, Trowa felt shame for the first time. He had considered himself the ultimate soldier, the only one he knew still alive, then this nameless boy steps out of a possible enemy cockpit, never faltering, never backing down from an order never completely spoken aloud. “We will never surrender the Gundams.” Trowa hadn’t even had the time to decipher the order and unfasten his harness before Heero Yuy had carried out the order Trowa had failed to follow. Shame. Guilt. Regret. Respect. The ultimate respect and the bond of another soldier near him again. Only to die before they had truly met.

He had thought Heero dead; it was the respect he felt for the broken pilot that demanded Heavyarms carry him from the battlefield like a chariot and give him a soldier’s last rites to a decent burial rather than lying in the mud, a nameless casualty of war. Nameless…

He understood that as well. Heero Yuy and Trowa Barton were stolen names from dead men…but name or no name, they both knew exactly who and what they were: soldiers. You can wear any disguise you want, but it always comes back to that. Heero and Trowa were the same…in Trowa’s eyes anyway.

He was unsure how Heero felt, and he doubted he would ever know. But he had observed Heero with the others.

Sharp green eyes saw tension in every muscle whenever he was surrounded by people. Slight tension in his shoulders when the other pilots were around. Constant alert in every situation, except this one.

As Heero lowered the gun trained on Trowa, that tension melted away. The tight lines of his face smoothed despite his haggard appearance, and the circus performer realized that he had been entrusted with Heero’s life.

Heero had trusted Trowa to protect him if he slacked a bit, trusted him to keep them safe when the Perfect Soldier was not at his best. Barton was simultaneously honored, awed, and yet a little fearful. What if he was unworthy? What if he let down the one person he respected above all others? He wouldn’t; he couldn’t, but the fear of loss was still present.

“When was the last time you’ve had more than three hours sleep at one time?”

Heero glanced at his watch and smirked, and Trowa knew the answer before he spoke. “Just now.”

Closing his eyes briefly, he took a breath and tried again. “Prior to now.”

“180 hours with one hour sleep breaks every 72 hours awake.”

Green eyes narrowed. “A week without more than an hour at a time?” His voice was flat; his face was blank, but he was irritated, and a little angry. Right after what he had presumed was a compliment in the Wing pilot letting his guard down enough to sleep, this is a slap. “Why didn’t you call me in sooner?”

Heero’s face was unreadable, only a slight shift in his shoulders revealed his discomfort. “I overruled the others’ suggestion.”

Trowa stalked towards him radiating tension. “Why?”

Yuy’s face went cold, and Trowa knew there was no forthcoming answer.

The Latin felt his eyes go dark, the way they often did when he was dealing death with a flick of a finger. “Fine.” Without a further thought, he turned towards the lift he had come for, and began his exit with a few parting shots. “I’ve got the prototype finished, can you stay awake long enough to program a kill switch and synch it to the cockpit? The cockpit is done, isn’t it?”

Trowa was out of the room before Yuy had the chance to respond. He had been surprised and somewhat betrayed, that’s the only reason he allowed himself to show how hurt he felt by verbally lashing out at the Wing pilot. It wouldn’t happen again. The reinforced gundanium curtain he used to isolate himself from the world would allow none to cross, not even the one man he felt the closest to in the universe.

No, he was here for a reason. He would get the job done with or without help, and then he would never fight again. Screw the wars, screw the earth and whatever colonies were dumb enough to let themselves get captured again. History repeats itself. If this is truly the case, he didn’t care to stop it anymore, someone else can take watch, his shift officially ends after this attempt.

Trowa stopped, surprised at his thoughts. It was true to some extent, he didn’t intend to be earth’s savior anymore, but he was surprised at the vehemence behind the thoughts. Yuy’s attitude made him angry, furiously so. How? No one had been able to get such a strong reaction out of him since childhood. It shouldn’t have bothered him, especially since he didn’t want to come in the first place…but still. It was confusing. With a deep breath, he centered himself, and let the feelings wash away on a drifting tide and focused on what needed to be done.

He shifted the weapon onto the lift, and began to guide it back into the other bay. He had to consciously stuff the errant curiosity of whether Yuy would approve of the tactics behind the design, throttle the tiny hope that he would be glad he broke down and called Trowa in to help.

He was impenetrable stone, impassive, dispassionate to anyone and anything. Life was a meaningless string of events that led to one action or another until life ended.

It was a mantra he had to use when he was younger. The fact that he was forced to use it now told him how off center the Wing pilot had him. That imbalance would end now… He was impenetrable stone, impassive, dispassionate to anyone and anything. Life was a meaningless string of events that led to one action or another until life ended. He was impenetrable stone…

Trowa brought the weapon into what he was beginning to think of as Yuy’s cargo bay. He looked up as Trowa came near, blue eyes scanning his features. The long range pilot almost thought he saw hesitance in that face. Yuy opened his mouth to speak, but Trowa cut him off.

“Program a kill switch and control of basic maneuvers to the cockpit. We’ll test it, if it works, I’ll create a similar design for missiles and begin production of as many as possible.” Trowa spoke as he took a screw driver and popped open the circuit panel, no longer looking at his companion.

“Trowa, I think you should know…I mean, I-” He was stumbling over words, which was completely unlike him.

He didn’t know what Yuy was trying to say, but he didn’t want to know. If it was an apology, he could shove it, if it was an explanation, he didn’t care, if it was an excuse, Trowa would probably punch him, so he ignored the fact that 01 had spoken.

“As I’m building the second prototype, you are sleeping. We can’t afford any timely errors because of lack of sleep; just show me your security set up. I’ll eventually need ammunition. What sources are specified by Preventer protocol?”

As Trowa spoke, he watched Yuy’s face settle back into his blank mask. Comfortable ground for both of them, back to normal.

Almost.

Trowa still couldn’t seem to shake the knowledge that Yuy didn’t want him here. Did he not trust him? Then how could he have fallen asleep? Soldier’s can’t sleep that soundly when in the company of those you don’t trust. But he had been awake for a week, maybe exhaustion overtook him without warning. Not trusting Trowa would explain why he didn’t ask Trowa to take over while he replenished his mental and physical strength. That burned across his consciousness like the coldest ice, raw, cutting, numbing.

“If this thing works, I’ll get you a list.” It seems they would both be receiving verbal barbs today. Apparently, Trowa had cut deep. So be it, a competitive atmosphere would help them work faster and more efficiently.

Yuy, spurred on by Trowa’s earlier comments, programmed the system in four minutes; the taller pilot barely had time to sketch out the schematics of the first weapon to fit rocket launchers and missiles for the second prototype before Yuy called him back into the first cargo bay.

The sight that greeted his entrance was his creation floating over six feet off the ground, the bottom edge even with his head and one of its guns trained at his face.

Barton walked by it, scanning the machine, completely unflustered by the harmless weapon. Well, harmless if you steered clear of the thrusters and until he got a hold of some ammo. “I assume you programmed control of the guns as well.”

He nodded; punching in a command, the small defensive weapon spun and realigned one of its guns with Trowa’s head again.

His creation was only a 6.5 m x 5 m x 6 m box with four paired rapid-fire, alternating guns set up on a turret-like pivot that allow the first two guns to shift from the top of the box to the front and down to the bottom. The second set of guns started on the left side and followed line of site across the back and ended on the right face. Set with enough thrusters to send it around the globe in ten minutes, it was a design that was uncomplicated and relatively quick to build. The hardest part was ascertaining that the thrusters could individually redirect its movement, but collectively accelerate to the needed speeds.

Now Trowa just wondered if the design was compatible with Maxwell’s stealth capabilities. There was no armor on this design, so one hit and its out of the fight; Barton was counting on that stealth capability when he created the design. The ammo needed would fit between the guns, and it accounted for the majority of the size of the box.

The missile launchers would have to be bigger with more or larger thrusters to account for the mass increase. Yuy’s voice broke through his thoughts of alterations for the next prototype.

“What’s the range of the guns?”

“Approximately 500 km”

“Short”

He nodded. “With the stealth settings, I’m hoping to cause enough confusion to make the troops believe its friendly fire.”

“See how many they’ll take out of their own ranks before the fight truly begins.”

Trowa nodded.

“The design is sound.” It was the closest thing to an apology 03 would ever hear from Yuy. The Heavyarms pilot nodded again, accepting the comment as it was meant and turned to get started on the second design.

“What will you call it?”

Trowa stopped, thought for a split second before replying. “BoxI.”

“Creative.”

“It’ll serve the purpose. I’ll set my laptop up with the security feeds and keep watch. You should rest while I’m working on the next model.”

Trowa was almost out of the room when his ears picked up a quiet, “Thanks” that he was never meant to hear. His steps faltered before he continued out of the bay, curious as to the underlying conversation he had just completely missed.
______________________