I always get up early, and today isn't an exception. I yawn loudly and rub my hand over my sore back. After three years of serving in the Alliance, a person should've gotten used to hard field beds by now. I grin. Things have changed.
It's freezing cold with only my underwear on and I hurry to my duffle bag. I have the privilege of having a tent to myself, thank God. I'm the only woman in this group. I smile wryly, yank the bag open and search for my clothes. With my arms full I turn around to face the rickety three-legged table with my washbowl.
There's still some water left, fresh and cold from the nearest creek. My days of having a private bathroom, a cupboard and running water are over. I wash my face, neck and hands with a faded cloth. The bar of soap vaguely smells like roses-- I bought it at a market on my day off-- it's not the usual Alliance mass-produced soap. Having a personnel-only mall close to the base where I was stationed last has spoiled me rotten.
When I left... there, I didn't have time to pack more than what would fit in the duffle bag, but I've never been a girl for crèmes and make-up anyway. I rub my face hard with the towel and drop it on the table. I pick up a small mirror with a crack in the right corner. It shows my face reddened from the hard rubbing, and my slightly slanted blue eyes, hinting at my Chinese heritage. I'm home again, for the first time in a long time. It hasn't really sunk in yet. So much has happened. So much has changed.
The small mirror came out of a wooden box that I brought with me. I can't believe I took the precious minutes I had left to grab it. Somehow... I can't part with it, not now.
My fingers lift the lid. In the box are my insignia for my rank-- major. I was a rising star in the Alliance and damn, I certainly was proud to have the "shows excellent progression and much promise" marked in my files, not to mention the straight A's I got in my medical education. Things have changed.
I quickly dress myself in green pants, green shirt and a green vest. Camouflage has become second nature for me. I comb and divide my hair into two braids, tying each with a small elastic tie. One snaps when I start to wrap it around my hair.
"Damn!"
I only have two ties left. I don't know where, when, or how I can get new ones. It's probably the only disadvantage living with mainly men-- I'll embarrass them if I ask them to bring tampons the next time they go hunting for supplies. Another luxury I left behind. Are you feeling sorry for yourself or what?
"No," I say out loud, "I'm not feeling sorry for myself." I made a choice and I will stick by it. There's a lot of work to be done here. This land will only feel like home again when Bundt is no longer in control. When the Alliance isn't in control. When OZ isn't in control.
Operation Daybreak. All of the sudden, Treize Khushrenada made a move to gain control, plunging the Alliance as well as the Earth into chaos, announcing a new reign. But does it really matter? With or without Khushrenada, I would've left the Alliance anyway. If it wasn't for their so-called 'cleansing' of the colonies, or for their audacity to sacrifice their own men and facilities just to attain their goal, no matter what, it would be for their... lack of humanity. I cringe at the thought.
It's time to see if there's anything left for breakfast. Just when I'm about to leave my tent, I see the papers again. I put them in the box and shove it under the table, out of sight. They're detailed mission plans, scheduled for execution this afternoon. I don't need to go over them again. Our target is a mobile suit factory we're going to blow up. It has taken us enough painstaking time to acquire the plans-- detailed layouts of the factory, an overview of the shifts and employees. Sighing, I wonder why I don't feel any anxiety anymore. As if destruction has become my second nature.
This area is mountainous, and we use it to hide ourselves. We've set up camp using the natural cover of the wood and hills. I greet several of my fellow comrades. Out of habit, I walk up to the ones with bandages and check their injuries. They grudgingly allow me to do my work and I prod until I'm satisfied. This is what I want to do-- cure people, heal people.
Maybe that's the thing that stings me most. I've given up my medical career the moment I left the Alliance. It has taken me some time to look past their infamous 'in the name of justice and peace' politics, but when I did, I couldn't answer to an organization that believed in suppression and tyrannical control to maintain their rule. I became disappointed with the Alliance, and disappointed in my homeland to find it under strict Alliance control when I returned. It had taken me so much trouble to get here, only to learn that a Colonel Bundt had murdered our peace-promoting leader. I clench my teeth. I'll pursue my education when the war is over, and I'll be damned if I pursue any education in an organization I don't agree with. There won't be much to study if things go on like this.
I eat two slices of bread for breakfast and take a large mug of tea with me on my trip back to my tent. The guys respect my solitude before a mission. People are going to die this afternoon, either on our side in the heat of the mission, or on the other side, preventing us from blowing the factory up. Why is all this necessary? Why did I come here to fight?
Do I loathe the Alliance with the same passion I once used to defend them? I had no idea how the colonies were treated, but it was bad enough for them to send the Gundams to Earth.
Gundams. My thoughts go back to the first time I saw them, at the New Edwards Base. I met one of the pilots earlier-- before I had ever heard of the Gundams, before I ever realized he was a pilot. He was only a young boy, strapped down on a table, brought in from the Marina Base. He had a coded disk with him that was impossible to crack, even for the computers of the Alliance. Of course my stupid colleague proposed using drugs on him. For a boy his age-- he couldn't have been more than fifteen, sixteen tops-- it would've been poisonous.
I learned his name from the daughter of the vice foreign minister, Relena Darlian. Heero Yuy. She pretended she was his best friend, but I recognize a crush when I see one. I smile. She's a good girl, and she certainly was surprised, just like me, when we heard the explosion and saw two young boys jump off the fiftieth floor of the building to their freedom.
Freedom? What freedom was there to jump to for a boy named after the assassinated leader of the colonies? Vice Foreign Minister Darlian dead, Marshall Noventa dead. I sip at my tea and sit down on the stool. I saw Heero again at the New Edwards base.
I had figured out the connection between him and the Gundams, as well as the connection between the Alliance and their cruel practices. It all fell into place when the missiles were activated. I thought I was going to die. My heart jumped at seeing Heero and his Gundam, and I was surprised and warmed when I saw there were more Gundams. I saw them-- a black one with a scythe and another one, mostly white, with strange, curved weapons, slicing through mobile suits like butter. Heero was not alone. Even though he was in shock after Noventa's death, he managed to stop the countdown of the missiles and save us all.
"Sally? Are you here?"
I'm startled out of my thoughts. I put down my mug.
"Yeah, what is it?"
The tent flap opens and bright morning light shines in.
"Eh, good morning, Sally." The man mumbles, sounding nervous. "I'm sorry for dropping in all of a sudden."
"It's all right," I answer, turning around to face him. He looks disheveled. "Is there something I can do for you?"
It pains me that his name escapes me. There are so many who have joined our forces, known and unknown. Somehow they appointed me as one of their leaders. I work closely with three others to keep up our resistance, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem compared to a large organization such as the Alliance or OZ.
"Is there something I can do for you?" I repeat when he doesn't answer.
"I'm sorry, Sally," he says again, "I-- I just can't take it any more."
I don't have to ask to what he's referring to. I don't have to ask for his reasons for coming to see me about it, either. I'll leave that to him.
"I'm leaving soon. I have some distant relatives-- family living in Sanc."
"Sanc Kingdom? But that's..." an ocean away from here. "Why?"
He fidgets with his sleeve. "It's the last stronghold of total pacifism, Sally. I think-- I think we can do better there. My family, you see. My wife-- and kids." His voice dies away.
"It's so far away," I say.
"Maybe we can find us a house there. Something stable. Something to start over, you know?" He's suddenly alive, rattling on. "Maybe we can get the kids in school. We heard... we heard that a Peacecraft has taken up the throne again."
"Are you sure?" I cock my head. News travels slowly, and I haven't heard about this one. King Peacecraft is long dead. I don't know about any living relatives.
"I'm going to try to cross the border tonight. We'll make our way out of here. We won't take the car with us. If we go by foot, they won't notice us."
It's strange to see a fully-grown and mature man fidgeting with his sleeve, almost ripping the button from the cloth.
"Bundt... Bundt is patrolling at the border." I don't want to crush his hopes. How do you think you're going to make it?
"I came to tell you this, Sally," he says, suddenly with vehemence in his voice, "because you deserve to know. I don't want to leave anybody hanging. You've been such an inspiration to us. I just came to tell you that we're leaving. This doesn't have anything to do with you."
"I've been an inspiration?" I'm baffled, but he interrupts me.
"You've showed me that everybody has a choice. I know you've given up your medical education. You've chosen to follow your instincts and you've come back to us, talking about the Gundams with such fierce conviction. I think that's very brave."
"Anybody can make a..." I start, but he interrupts me again.
"Please, Sally, respect my choice. I'm not brave. I-- I can only choose to go away. I'm afraid to face the problems head on and my wife, the kids-- well, you know. I just can't take it any longer."
I suddenly recall who he is-- the man who does most of the supply gathering for us. His name still escapes me, but at least I know what he does.
"I'll always respect your choice." I'm a bit confused, but put on my most cheerful face. "I hope everything will work out fine."
He's one of the few who actually comes to tell me he's leaving. It wouldn't be the first time that we're missing someone when we do a head count.
He wouldn't be the first to be stopped and killed by Bundt and his patrols, either.
"Think about it, Sally. Peace!"
Before I can wish him good luck, he disappears out of the tent.
"Sally, are you coming?"
"Yeah!" I shout back, my thoughts still focused on the conversation. Respect his choice. It's his choice to endanger his life and the lives of his family to get across the border, to a country an ocean away to find peace. Would there really be any peace? Would I choose to go there too, if there was even a slight chance of peace? Why wouldn't his choice to cross the border to pursue a vague notion of peace in a faraway country be any braver than my choice of leaving the Alliance? I shake my head. Not at the moment. I doubt if only one person sitting on a throne could evocate peace-- but it's a beginning. It begins with only one person. One person who decides that it's been long enough and starts to retaliate. One person has sent down at least one Gundam. One person has sent down Heero. I don't know the other pilots yet, and I wish to have a Gundam myself, if only to kick Bundt out of here.
"Sally!"
"Yeah!" I answer again, now with much more force. These machines of war- these Gundams, are a symbol of peace. I made a choice to leave the Alliance and to return to my homeland. I made a choice to stall my medical education to fight for peace and freedom. Now I'm going to make a choice to follow the Gundams. Sure, I'll respect anyone's choices. I'll have to learn to respect mine, too.
I doubt if my name will appear in the history books next to them, the Gundam pilots. I also fight for freedom, but not on as large a scale as the Gundams. This is the choice I've made. I may be one person-- but even one person can make a difference in a day's choice.
My name... is Sally Po.