What is the foundation of international relations between nations?
It does not rely on morality, nor on humanity, and certainly not on so-called civilization!
Whether in the past, present, or even the distant future.
Power is an eternal, unchanging truth!
The East Asian Alliance, which has experienced both glory and decline.
Now, the massive fleet advancing majestically through space toward a new battlefield serves as proof that this truth remains everlasting.
At the sight of these battleships, representatives of various nations in the Allied Forces headquarters groveled and competed to curry favor.
At the sight of these battleships, the Coordinators on PLANT were terrified out of their wits, even before the East Asian Army's fleet officially launched an attack on Boaz Fortress.
They had not even threatened the homeland of the satellite colonies.
Those who once shamelessly claimed to be the future of humanity, proudly wearing the title of Newtype.
As Coordinators who sought to distinguish themselves from their Earth Sphere counterparts.
They now revealed their true colors, gathering their families and children in disarray.
Swarming chaotically toward the spaceports on various satellites.
All for the sake of securing a ticket to leave the PLANT satellite cluster!
To obtain this once insignificant and lightweight ticket, the Coordinators resorted to fists to speak for themselves.
Curses, fights, and mutual hostility ensued.
Those who managed to grab a ticket were overjoyed, but their elation was short-lived.
Soon, one or more fists would strike them down from the side.
The ticket would then be torn to shreds.
If I can't have it, then no one will!
"Chairman Patrick, this is the situation outside."
While those at the bottom could flee, how could those at the top escape?
They had long been registered, one by one, in the relevant departments of various nations.
Those who couldn't escape from the ZAFT Forces headquarters had no choice but to grit their teeth and continue with their work.
Moreover, compared to the less informed masses, these individuals still held onto a glimmer of hope.
A less-than-ideal fallback plan.
"I understand."
Gone was the vigor he had when first elected as chairman. Repeated setbacks had aged Patrick considerably.
Coordinator genes typically ensured elegance even in old age.
Yet, at this moment, Patrick resembled the Naturals in the Gravity Well whom he had always looked down upon.
He appeared aged and feeble, devoid of the so-called dignity of a Coordinator.
"Spread the word and ask the citizens: where can they go if they leave PLANT?"
When Patrick witnessed the Goddess of Love detonating over the homeland of the satellite colonies, he had anticipated the citizens' panic.
So, he wasn't particularly flustered now.
When there are enough bad news, they cease to be bad news.
Nothing else—just numbness.
"Any news about Lacus Clyne?"
Quickly changing the subject, Patrick hoped his subordinates would bring him good news about that damned woman.
Back then, he and Ezalia had argued fiercely over the matter of Yzak.
That cunning pink-haired girl managed to slip away again in the chaos.
You running away would have been one thing - I could have let it slide out of respect for the late Clyne.
I, your Uncle Patrick, wouldn't have bothered with you, but you crossed the line when you teamed up with that traitor Balthلد.
And you actually took an entire ZAFT Forces fleet division with you!
Lacus Clyne, do you not realize what time we're living in?
We're already stretched thin militarily, trying to make one fleet do the work of two.
Now you've stolen our forces - aren't you afraid the East Asian Army will reach PLANT's homeland?
That they'll shoot down what Naturals call the ominous funnel in the sky?
"Ahem."
Hearing this question, the attendant standing before Patrick quickly flipped through his notebook.
Fortunately, ZAFT Forces' intelligence agency was somewhat useful in space. While there was no confirmed information,
there were some rumors and reports.
"According to reliable sources, Lacus and her group who defected from the Satellite Colonies homeland
are using the abducted fleet division as their core, recruiting forces throughout space.
They've been pulling in junk dealers, space mercenaries, and various scattered factions.
As for their future movements, intelligence is continuing to monitor the situation."
"Hmm."
Could this be considered good news?
Nodding while pretending to be profound, Patrick could only cling to the slim hope that,
for the sake of PLANT being the Coordinators' final Homeland,
perhaps when the final battle with the Naturals begins, that wretched woman Lacus might bring those ragtag forces to help.
She must have some ambition to seize power, right?
What else could she be planning?
Should we dispatch more troops from our limited forces to suppress them?
ZAFT simply has no more available troops!
His mind completely occupied with how to deal with the East Asian Federation's advancing armies,
Patrick pondered for a long time as minutes ticked by.
When he looked up again, he suddenly noticed the attendant still standing before him.
"Is there something else?"
His weathered eyes filled with deep exhaustion, Patrick asked weakly.
"Yes, it's like this."
Seeing that the Chairman before him lacked his usual aggressive authority, the attendant gathered courage to make a small request.
"The next support supply convoy to Mars is about to depart. Some members of my family want to contribute to accelerating Mars' development,
so they intend to volunteer to go there and offer their services."
"Hmm?"
His instantly sharp eyes contrasted with the confused scrambling of those below.
While he could use their lack of alternatives to threaten lower-level personnel into standing united with ZAFT Forces in a do-or-die effort,
when mid-to-high-level people started eyeing opportunities on Mars - talking pretty but really just wanting to escape -
how should he handle that?
Approve or disapprove!
Waving his hand, Patrick didn't give a direct answer.
He simply dismissed his attendant first, waiting until the hesitant servant who clearly wanted a definite answer had left.
"When people's hearts scatter, the team becomes hard to lead."
In the dim office, Patrick let out a long, drawn-out sigh.
On the PLANT satellite cluster, scenes of utter devastation unfolded as if doomsday were imminent.
Yet within the East Asian Alliance space force advancing toward the ZAFT Forces' frontline fortress Boaz, a festive atmosphere reminiscent of New Year celebrations prevailed.
After all, anyone aboard this massive fleet would never entertain the thought that they might fail.
Especially as they drew closer to the battlefield, when the political officers began boosting morale in the uniquely East Asian way.
No soldier could possibly believe defeat belonged to the East Asian Alliance!
"She gave birth to one after another."
"All carried away by the bugle's call."
"What lies beyond the mountains?"
"The heroic spirits of martyrs."
"The new East Asia they defended with their lives."
"What lies beyond the river?"
"Endless flames of war."
"She gazed into the distance, tears falling drop by drop."
"Peace arrived."
"They departed."
"They will never return again!"
Times were progressing, but some traditions remained unforgotten. Singing during marches was an excellent method to maintain morale.
Keeping pace with the times, the political officers didn't cling to conventions. They deliberately abandoned some old songs and selected one that could still be considered a classic.
When this song titled "Grandma" began resonating through all battleship cabins, the soldiers initially listened in silence. Then their eyes began reddening - no matter how steel-willed one usually was.
Even warriors who could undergo surgery without anesthesia gradually shed tears from their eyes.
Then one voice joined in, then another. Perhaps tone-deaf, perhaps just following others' lyrics.
But soon, unified singing with all types of voices resounded through space.
"Brother Wang Hu, are you crying?"Growing up in a different environment, Kira didn't fully grasp the lyrics' meaning amidst the surrounding singing." Just as he intended to ask his companion Wang Hu, he startlingly discovered that the man he'd always seen as unbreakable was now shedding tears like broken strings of pearls.
Not only was Wang Hu crying - his voice also contributed to this grand chorus.
"I..."
Muttering to himself as Wang Hu remained oblivious to his question, Kira hesitated before attempting to join the singing. But after several failed attempts due to incoherent pronunciation, he finally closed his mouth.
Gradually, while intently listening to the singing, Kira was shocked to feel cold moisture on his own face.
They say people have borders but music doesn't. When singers pour their entire emotions into the performance, even if the words remain incomprehensible, listeners will still feel the performers' sentiments.
"Why am I crying?"
Continuously trying to wipe the tears from his face, Kira couldn't understand his own reaction.
Fortunately, the entire fleet soon approached its destination. The political officers certainly wouldn't play this song until the final moment before combat, as that might provoke excessive aggression from the emotionally charged soldiers.
Thus the music faded, ending the soldiers' chorus.
But because of this unconventional pre-battle mobilization:
"See you at the martyrs' cemetery."
Tears in their eyes, smiles on their faces.
Acquaintances and strangers alike.
The soldiers patted each other on the shoulder before quickly heading to their respective posts.
"Martyrs' Cemetery?"
Kira grew even more puzzled, turning to look at Wang Hu who had wiped his eyes and regained his usual composed expression.
"The Martyrs' Cemetery. If I ever get the chance to rest there someday, I'll be able to watch children playing around me every Qingming Festival with a smile."
With his arm around Kira's shoulder guiding him toward the hangar, Wang Hu began recounting the unique romance of the East Asian people.
"We once fought a war that lasted twenty-eight years, paid for by twenty million sacrifices, just to raise that patch of red."
"That's no ordinary piece of colored cloth."
(End of Chapter)