The Musai-class Iron Serpent drifted low above the thick cloud cover, its hull shrouded in mist as it crossed into Southeast Asia's contested skies. Tanya stood in the cramped command deck, arms folded behind her back, eyes fixed on the holographic map displaying the patchwork of rivers, jungles, and Federation encampments below. This was no ordinary deployment. Dozle Zabi himself had ordered her GED Vanguard to spearhead operations in the region—an area where Federation resistance was tenacious, and where Zeon sought to lock down mineral resources and supply lines critical for sustaining the Earth campaign. To Tanya, the order was both a burden and an opportunity. Dozle's trust meant scrutiny, and scrutiny meant she could not afford failure.
Her Zaku II waited in the hangar, olive green and scarred from previous sorties—proof of combat survival, not vanity. Tanya had refused the idea of customizing it in the flamboyant crimson styles others favored. "Paint doesn't win battles," she had once remarked dryly, "discipline does." That discipline was what she demanded now from her GED unit.
"Listen up," Tanya said, her sharp voice cutting through the briefing room hum. Mila leaned over the table, eyes flicking between her commander and the shifting tactical map. Colt sat back with arms crossed, his usual grin tempered into something harder. Tanya tapped the holographic terrain, zooming in on the serpentine rivers cutting through the forests. "Federation patrols have been sighted moving supplies through these channels. Our task is to disrupt, seize, and establish presence. Fail, and Zeon loses its claim to this theater. Succeed, and we choke their logistics before they can consolidate."
Colt leaned forward, smirking despite himself. "So, in short: break their toys, grab their lunch, and keep the playground. Got it."
Mila shot him a glare, adjusting her headset. "This isn't a joke. Federation signals are all over this sector. They'll know we're here before we touch dirt."
Tanya let the exchange hang before answering, her tone iron-flat. "Which is why we stay invisible until we strike. Recon first, then engagement. Mila, you're our eyes and ears. Keep us ahead of their comm chatter. Colt, you're on heavy suppression. Don't fire unless I give the order. Clear?"
Both pilots snapped their nods. Even Colt dropped his grin under Tanya's stare.
The hangar deck vibrated faintly as the Musai adjusted altitude, the rumble echoing through steel bulkheads. Tanya closed her eyes briefly, centering herself. This assignment wasn't about glory or even survival. It was about proving that her GED Vanguard could execute precision warfare where others faltered. Southeast Asia was a chessboard of dense terrain, shifting allegiances, and Federation stubbornness. And Dozle Zabi had gambled that Tanya von Zehrtfeld was the one piece that could turn it.
She opened her eyes, looking at Mila and Colt with a cold, measured confidence. "Remember—Zeon isn't paying us to fight fair. They're paying us to win. The Federation doesn't leave this jungle stronger than they entered it."
The silence that followed was taut but resolute. The GED Vanguard knew their commander well enough to understand what her words meant. This was not a mission of survival—it was a mission of dominance. And under Tanya's command, hesitation was not permitted.
The dense jungle canopy broke into a clearing as Tanya's Musai-class cruiser, Iron Serpent, completed its orbital drop run. Three Zakus descended by sub-orbital transport, thrusters burning faint blue against the humid night sky. Tanya's machine landed first, its mono-eye sweeping as her voice cut into the squad channel: "Spread formation. Sensors active. Federation supply point should be three klicks east. Minimal noise—our advantage is surprise."
Colt's Zaku stomped through the underbrush, its cannon slung across the shoulder. "Understood. Heavy ordnance ready." His tone carried eagerness, but Tanya knew it was her role to keep that eagerness in check. Mila, lighter and faster in configuration, responded from the flank: "Picking up faint signals ahead. Heat signatures—looks like vehicles running idle. Possibly tanks."
They moved in silence, Zakus blending into the shadows as much as towering war machines could. Tanya kept her machine low, her mind already dissecting the map of the area. The supply base was tucked into a natural clearing, guarded by Federation armor and the latest mobile suits—the GM, barely weeks old in deployment. Her lips tightened. "So they've started fielding the GMs here… interesting." Her mono-eye flared as she zoomed in.
The Federation outpost came into view, tucked in the dense greenery like a wound hidden beneath foliage. Supply trucks lined the clearing, with mobile artillery dug into shallow pits and the unmistakable silhouettes of a few new GM units guarding the perimeter. A G-Fighter squatted like a hawk among them, its engines half-idling, while a lone Core Fighter sat fueled, ready to scramble. Tanya narrowed her eyes, her Zaku's mono-eye flickering with cold light. "Targets confirmed. Mila, jam their comms. Colt, you're on overwatch. I'll handle the core."
The words were clinical, stripped of emotion. Her squad responded instantly—trained, disciplined, and trusting in her ruthlessness. Mila's calm voice crackled through the channel: "Signal interference in place. They won't be calling for reinforcements." Colt's laugh was grim, as his Zaku Cannon hefted its weapon. "Got your back, Tanya. Give the word."
Tanya advanced with predatory grace, her Zaku moving like a blade through the jungle. She fired in short bursts, not wasting a single round. A Federation tank erupted, its turret spinning uselessly into the air. Another shell from Colt carved through an ammo dump, igniting a chain of explosions that rolled across the clearing like a storm. Tanya's voice cut through the chaos: "No survivors. Leave nothing usable."
As the Federation scrambled, a GM tried to raise its shield and charge. Tanya's mono-eye flared. She shifted her thrusters, sliding to its flank, and drove her heat hawk clean into its cockpit. Metal screamed, and the machine's torso belched fire. She didn't even watch it collapse—already moving on to the next target. Cold efficiency, learned through lifetimes, demanded no wasted motion.
Her mind slipped—three lives, one endless battlefield. In her first, she had been a nameless salaryman, strangled by corporate indifference and the worship of efficiency. Numbers, quotas, reports—every decision about profit margins, never about lives. In death, he had thought his life meaningless. Now he saw its imprint: the same brutal calculus, but with shells and blood instead of spreadsheets.
The second life—Tanya Degurechaff. A child soldier in a world of mud, blood, and magic, cursed by the existence of God. She had fought tooth and nail, climbing ranks through merit, intellect, and sheer ruthlessness. She remembered screaming artillery, the acrid taste of cordite, the way her tiny body had been pushed to the breaking point. In that life, efficiency meant survival. No room for hesitation, no room for mercy.
And now, Tanya von Zehrtfeld. A commander of Zeon's GED unit, wielding mobile suits like extensions of her own will. She reflected with bitter amusement: "Three lives, and all of them wasted on war. Being X must be laughing still." Yet the battlefield was her element. Here, she could strip the mask of civility and reveal the pure, merciless logic of survival.
A Core Fighter screamed into the air, its thrusters blazing. Tanya's targeting systems locked in a heartbeat. Her Zaku raised its machine gun, and with clinical precision, she tore through its fuselage. The fighter spiraled, wings shredding, before bursting into a burning comet that lit the canopy. "Another fly swatted. Keep pressing."
The G-Fighter attempted to engage, its beam cannons roaring across the jungle. Tanya ducked low, feeling the heat as the blast tore trees into ash. She launched upward, thrusters roaring, and slammed down on it with her heat hawk. The blade bit deep, splitting cockpit glass, and the pilot's final scream was cut short by fire. Tanya yanked the weapon free, letting the ruined craft erupt behind her like a funeral pyre.
Her squad's voices were steady, professional. Colt reported targets down. Mila confirmed the comms jam held. Tanya looked over the burning wreckage, the twisted bodies of Federation machines. To her, they weren't people—they were obstacles. Just like paperwork, just like Being X's pawns, just like every rival she had ever faced. Destroy, advance, repeat. That was the truth of existence.
She spoke coldly over the comms: "Mission accomplished. This base is no more. Gather data, salvage what you can, then we move." Her Zaku's mono-eye swept over the carnage. Three lifetimes, and she had never escaped this reality: efficiency is brutality, and mercy is a luxury of fools.
Inside the cockpit, Tanya smirked faintly, though her voice remained sharp: "If this is hell, then I've long since made peace with being its warden."