My name is Emma Kasumi. To the world before the fires of U.C. 0079, I was an Oldtype born into the sterile luxury of Kobe's elite—a face on billboards and the covers of glossy magazines as a Gravure model. My parents, business moguls who viewed the world through the lens of profit, didn't see a daughter; they saw an asset. They were strict, not just about our lifestyle, but about the ethics of business and the weight of a person's word.
When the One Year War ignited, they didn't send me to the military out of patriotism. They pressured me to join the Earth Federation Forces to establish "connections" with high-ranking brass. I was an Ensign, a glorified mascot in a Federation uniform, working as a communications operator because my "marketable figure" looked good in propaganda shoots.
Then the sky fell. The news of the Sydney colony drop turned my world of high-society profit margins into a nightmare of ash. When the Zeon Duchy made landfall, we were helpless. I watched the feeds in the comms room: brave men in Type-61 tanks and Saberfish jets being vaporized by walking steel giants. We had nothing but the M-101A3 Regina missiles; it was like throwing pebbles at gods.
The transfer to Naha Base in Okinawa was supposed to be a death sentence or a hiding hole. My parents framed it as "broadening my horizons" and escaping the Kobe "bubble," though the Commander in Kobe guaranteed their safety due to their status. I knew the truth: Naha was a meat grinder that had lost too many people and desperately needed personnel.
The ramp of the Medea transport hissed open, releasing a wave of oppressive tropical heat and the smell of salt and diesel. Stepping onto the tarmac, I felt the weight of my Kobe-tailored uniform.
"Are you Ensign Emma Kasumi?" A young girl approached me. Her eyes were far older than her face. This was Kisaki Shinomiya.
"Yes. Ensign Emma Kasumi, transferring from Kobe," I replied, trying to maintain the poise my mother had beaten into me.
"Good. Commander Emiya is waiting," she said shortly, turning on her heel to lead me through the facilities. I was surprised to see someone so young, but the war had forced everyone's hand. As she led me, I felt the eyes. Naha was a base of ghosts and desperate men. I was the "model" they'd heard about.
Commander Emiya welcomed me warmly, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He was happy to have another woman on base solely because the morale of his dying soldiers was in the gutter. I was a shiny new toy to keep them from deserting. At that time, there were only two other women: Kisaki and the "prima donna" of Naha, Ohara Shiranui.
That was the day I met Isao Ittou and Koga Zenjubo. They didn't arrive in Federation trucks; they arrived in thunder. Two stolen Zeon suits—a Zaku I and a Zaku II—stomped into the base, scarred and covered in Tomishiro city dust. Isao climbed out of the Zaku I like a demon crawling out of hell. He was a delinquent, wild and foul-mouthed, a Lieutenant who treated the war like a street brawl. Koga followed, calmer but just as dangerous.
Two weeks later, four Medeas brought the future from Jaburo: the RGM-79 GM and the RGC-80 GM Cannon. They also brought simulator pods for aquatic and space combat. I remember the first time I climbed into that cockpit. The smell of ozone and recycled air was a far cry from the perfume of Kobe.
I wasn't a natural like Isao or Koga, who took to the controls easily after their time in the Zakus. I spent nights shivering over manuals, my hands cramping as I practiced the simulator pods. I had to be better; I couldn't just be the "model" anymore. Eventually, I mastered the bullpup machine gun, vulcans, and beam saber, even taking down a Zaku and a Magellan-attack tank.
The transition from the ground to the water was where the horror truly began. Two months into my service, Zeon Amphibious units struck Okinawa. Our GMs were like bricks in the water, unable to keep up with aquatic models. I took a medium injury when a Z'Gok's claw raked my fuselage, the scream of metal echoing in my teeth.
Two months later, Zeon amphibious units attacked Okinawa. We were overwhelmed; our standard GMs couldn't keep up with the aquatic models. I sustained moderate injuries during the defense. Fortunately, reinforcements arrived: the RAG-79 Aqua GM and the RAG-79-G1 Marine Type Gundam. This was also when I first met Kyosuke Benimaru.
The Aqua GMs were supposed to give us an advantage, but the mission at Kudaka Island was a nightmare. I was on standby in my GM, escorting the Medea piloted by Kyosuke. Koga and Ohara were absent. From his cockpit, Isao watched in horror as our Marine Types were torn apart by Zeon's aquatic superiority. We heard the screams of our comrades over the comms as they were slaughtered. The comms were a nightmare of static and wet, gurgling death cries as cockpits breached under high pressure. I watched Isao's GM, battered and leaking, take down a Zogok and a Juaggu with nothing but a beam saber and pure, unadulterated rage. He was the sole survivor of his squad. When he walked back into the hangar, he looked like a man who had left his soul at the bottom of the ocean.
After the falls of Odessa and California Base, the war shifted to the stars. We boarded the Gray Phantom, a Pegasus-class carrier, chasing the shadow of the White Base. Isao was finally given his dream: the FA-78-1 Full Armor Gundam. Before launching from Cape Zanpa, I called my parents one last time. They told me not to "jeopardize the investment". Not "I love you," just "Don't fail".
Space was a dizzying, terrifying vacuum where death came at 3×108 meters per second. We met the MA-05 Bigro, a green streak of nightmare. It moved so fast my sensors couldn't lock, turning 180 degrees in 1.3 seconds.
"Emma! Move!"
A fellow pilot threw his GM between us. The Bigro's mega-particle cannon didn't just kill him; it erased him. My hands froze on the controls. Suddenly, Isao slammed into the Bigro, severing its claw and forcing it to flee.
Back on the Gray Phantom, I couldn't stop shaking. I took off my helmet in the hallway, gasping for air. Ohara approached me and handed me a drink.
"You look terrified, Emma. Are you okay?" she asked.
"That thing... I've never felt fear like that," I whispered. "Someone died for me."
"It's fast," Ohara admitted, leaning against the wall. "I couldn't even get a lock with my beam rifle."
On December 24th, U.C. 0079, we participated in Operation Cemballo. The Federation used the Solar System—a massive mirror array—to incinerate Solomon's defenses. It was a blinding, terrifying display of power. By December 31st, we were at A Baoa Qu. The fighting was desperate. Zeon deployed the Gelgoog and the massive Dolos-class carriers. But by January 1st, 0080, it was over. The Granada Treaty was signed.
We returned to Naha Base in October 0080. I visited my family, thankful to be alive. I could have gone back to modeling, but I chose to stay with my friends in Okinawa. Isao's Gundam was repaired and redesignated as the RX-78-1.
In November, the base was supposed to receive a second unit—the white RX-78-2—for Captain Koga. It was a high-spec model with dual antennae instead of a V-fin. But that midnight, the alarms screamed.
"CODE RED! ZEON INTRUSION! ALL PILOTS TO HANGARS!"
A remnant force led by a man named Zuckerberg in a red Gouf Custom tore through our defenses. Koga, rushing from the dorms in his school clothes rather than a pilot suit, reached the hangar just as Zuckerberg abandoned his Gouf to hijack the new Gundam. Zuckerberg shot Koga dead on the hangar floor before escaping in our own machine.
Isao went into a blind, grief-stricken rage. He tried to stop him, but Zuckerberg used the Gundam's superior specs to beat Isao down. We buried Koga at Shikina-en. Standing before the grave, Isao's tears were replaced by a cold, hard promise.
"Koga... I swear... I will kill that motherfucker for good," he rasped.
A month later, reinforcements arrived from North America: Lieutenant Lydia Mercer and Barry Abbot. We also received the RGM-79C GM Type C and several captured MS-06F-2 Zaku II F2s. Commander Emiya assigned Lydia and me to pilot the Zakus for the Aggressor squadron.
"A Zeon suit in Federation colors... how strange," Lydia remarked.
"First time seeing one?" I asked.
"In person? Yes," she replied. "Let's see what the enemy was feeling inside these cockpits."
By January 9th, 0081, things felt almost normal. Aaron Smith transferred in from Chicago, leading to a tearful, romantic reunion with Lydia. I even caught them kissing under the moonlight by the sea.
But today, my mind is on Isao. He visited Koga's grave again. We all know it's about more than revenge now. Koga died without ever telling Ohara how he felt. I told Kisaki to keep quiet. We have to let Isao handle this his way. He'll tell Ohara the truth when the time is right—after Zuckerberg is dead.
Until then, I'll keep my eyes on the horizon, waiting for the Zuckerberg to show its face one last time. The war didn't end at A Baoa Qu. It just got personal.
To be continued.