Crossing Orb: Newtype Commander

Chapter 110 The Crimson Dawn of the Red Sea

Silence fell again on the communicator. Then, Murrue's voice rang out, tinged with helplessness and heartache. "Kira, you're not a machine. You get tired, you get hurt, you—"

'

"I will die too," Kira replied, his voice still calm. "I know. But before I die, I will protect this ship and the people on board. This is my own choice, not anyone's order."

There was no reply from the communicator. Kira leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and his heartbeat was steady. After awakening his SEED powers, his control over his body had reached a new level.

"Kira." A soft voice came from the communicator; it was Lacus Clyne.

Kira opened his eyes. "Miss Lux?"

"Your body hasn't fully recovered. The medical bay report indicates you need rest." Lux's voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable gentleness. "Return. You need rest. This is a request, not an order."

Kira was silent for a moment, then pushed the control stick, sending the Strike flying towards the Archangel.

Inside the medical bay, Lacus Clyne sat opposite Kira, holding gauze and disinfectant. Her movements were gentle and practiced, like that of a seasoned nurse—though she was PLANT's diva and had never received formal medical training, she had learned so much on this ship that she had "never learned before."

"Miss Lux, you don't have to—" "I don't have to, but I think so." Lux interrupted him, her eyes fixed on him. "Kira, you saved many people on the battlefield. But you didn't save yourself. That's wrong."

Kira lowered his head.

Kira looked at her, his eyes devoid of judgment, only a calm, gentle light. He remembered Char looking at him the same way, in the hangar of Heliopolis, on the bridge of Artemis, in the darkness of the Junius 7 wreckage area. The same gaze, the same conviction, the same "unwillingness to abandon anyone."

"Miss Lux," Kira's voice was hoarse, "why do you trust Commander-in-Chief Athha?"

Lux's fingers paused slightly. She lowered her head and continued bandaging the wound. "Because he showed me another possibility. Not Coordinators defeating Naturals, not Naturals annihilating Coordinators—it's coexistence. It's peace. It's a new possibility." Before him, no one had said that, no one had shown this possible future. After he began, many people started thinking that way.

She looked up and met Kira's eyes.

"Kira, do you know what hope is? It's not something that will definitely come true, but something worth striving for. Commander-in-Chief Asuka made me believe that peace is worth striving for. Even if the war continues, even if hatred continues to spread, even if more people may die tomorrow, as long as there are people striving for peace, hope has not been extinguished."

Kira stared into her eyes, those violet eyes reflecting the white light of the medical bay.

"Kira, you are not alone. You are not the only one fighting for peace. Commander-in-Chief Ashe is fighting in Orb, Father is fighting in PLANT, and everyone on the Archangel is fighting. We are all on the same ship, sailing towards the same destination—peace."

Kira looked down at his left arm, which was wrapped in bandages. The bandages were neatly wrapped, each loop fitting perfectly.

"Miss Lux, thank you."

Lux stood up and picked up the pink Hello. "You're welcome. Get some rest. We have a long way to go tomorrow."

She was gone. Kira sat alone on the hospital bed in the medical pod, staring at the ceiling. Soft white light cast a halo on the ceiling, and the medical pod was filled with the smell of disinfectant.

"Peace," he whispered, "will it really come?"

No one answered. Only the pink Hello chirped softly in the hallway, as if saying "yes."

As the sun set, the Archangel reached a secluded spot.

Located about 40 kilometers from the Red Sea coast, the ship is surrounded by rocky cliffs tens of meters high. Satellites cannot detect the ship's thermal radiation at night.

Murrue stood at the porthole on the bridge, staring at the sky painted golden-red by the setting sun. In her hand, she held an encrypted terminal, the screen displaying Char's last message: "The White Base has returned to Orb. The 'Change' plan is underway. Once the Archangel reaches the Red Sea, the Orb fleet will provide support when appropriate. Survive until then."

"Captain, dinner is ready." Natal's voice came from behind, carrying a rare gentleness. "The mess hall made a stew. It's made with lamb and dates sent by the resistance. It doesn't taste like Orb, but at least it's hot."

Maru's lips curled up slightly. "Captain Buggyuru, you seem unusually gentle today."

Natal's fingers paused slightly. Her face was indistinguishable in the red light of the emergency lights, but her ears—from the tips to the base—had a faint pink hue.

"I'm just doing my duty." Her voice regained its composure. "The crew's morale needs to be maintained. Hot food is the best way."

Maru didn't expose her, but simply nodded. "Let's go. Let's go to the cafeteria together."

In the canteen, steaming stews were portioned out, each bowl containing the same amount and served hot. Children held their bowls, dipping bread in the broth, their faces covered in food but smiling happily. The elderly sat in a corner, slowly chewing on mutton, tears glistening in their eyes—not from the heat, but because they hadn't had hot food in so long.

Kira sat in a canvas chair in the corner, holding a bowl in his hand, but not eating. His gaze was fixed on the darkening sky outside the window, the last rays of the setting sun reflected in his amber eyes.

"Kira, why aren't you eating?" Thor sat down next to him; the stew in his bowl was almost empty.

"Thinking about something."

"What are you thinking about?"

Kira was silent for a moment. "I was thinking about Butterfield's words. He said that fighting protects nothing. War only creates more war, hatred only creates more hatred. I was thinking—what else can we do if we don't fight?"

"Lay down your weapons, step out of the Archangel, and tell ZAFT we don't want to fight anymore"—what will they do? They'll kill us. They'll take the Lacrimosa, dismantle the Strike, and sink the Archangel. Then they'll continue fighting, continue killing, continue creating hatred. Not fighting means death. Fighting also means death. The only difference is that while fighting, we can still protect something.

Thor put down his bowl and looked at Kira's profile. "Then you shall continue to fight. But not to kill, but to protect."

"That's what you said yourself."

Kira's lips curled into a slight smile. "You remember very well."

"Because you're absolutely right." Thor stood up, patted Kira on the shoulder, and said, "Eat early and get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

Kira lowered his head, scooped up a spoonful of stew, and put it in his mouth. The salty taste of the lamb and the sweetness of the dates melted on his tongue, making him wince slightly from the heat, but he didn't stop. One bite, two bites, three bites—until the bowl was empty.

"Thor," he put down his bowl, his voice soft, "thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?"

Thank you for being there for me.

Thor paused for a moment, then smiled. The smile seemed especially warm in the red glow of the emergency lights. "Of course. We're friends. Shouldn't friends be together? Whether in the classroom in Heliopolis or in this desert."

Kira looked at his smile, and something flickered in his eyes—not tears, but something harder.

"Um.

""

At 4:00 AM, the Archangel took off from its hiding place and flew towards the Red Sea.

The desert at night is more dangerous than during the day. The temperature plummeted below zero, and a thin layer of frost formed on the sand, shimmering silvery-white in the moonlight. The Archangel flew low, its thruster flames particularly conspicuous in the darkness, but ZAFT's radar did not react—because Butterfield's orders were still in effect, because ZAFT's soldiers did not want to crawl out of their warm beds in the dead of night to intercept a ship that "would not attack."

Kira sat in the cockpit of the Strike, his eyes fixed on the radar screen, his heart beating steadily.

"Kira, coastline spotted 10 kilometers ahead." Natal's voice came through the communicator, steady but with an undisguised excitement. "We've reached the Red Sea."

Kira's lips curled into a slight smile. He pushed the control stick, and the Strike flew out of the Archangel's hangar, heading straight for the coastline. Under the moonlight, the surface of the Red Sea resembled a giant mirror, reflecting a silvery-white light. The waves crashed against the shore, creating a rhythmic roar—the sound of the ocean, the sound of life, the sound of "being alive."

"The Red Sea—" Kira whispered, "We've arrived."

Cheers erupted through the communicator—Thor's voice, Mirialia's voice, Sai's voice, and the voices of others he didn't recognize. More than eight hundred people cheered at the same time, cheering for the same thing: to reach the shore alive, to see the ocean alive, to walk towards Orb alive.

But the cheers were quickly interrupted by the sound of alarms.

"There's a reaction on the radar!" Natal's voice suddenly tightened. "A ZAFT surface fleet on the sea! Two escort ships, four missile boats, and mobile suits! ZAFT's underwater mobile suits!"

Kira's pupils contracted. He stared at the approaching dots of light on the radar screen, his fingers tightening on the joystick.

"Kira, don't attack." Murrue's voice came through the communicator, calm and firm. "This is the sea, not the desert. The Strike's wing-type air combat backpack is not suitable for combat on water. We need a new plan."

"What plan?"

Murrue was silent for three seconds. "Notify Commander-in-Chief Asuka. Orb's fleet—it's time to act."

Kira pushed the control stick, turning the Strike towards the Archangel. His gaze swept across the radar screen, landing on the sea outside the window. In the moonlight, the outlines of the ZAFT fleet were faintly visible on the horizon, like a group of sharks lurking in the darkness.

"Commander-in-Chief Asuka," Kira whispered, "will you come?"

On February 28, CE71, the Archangel arrived at the Red Sea coast. ZAFT's surface fleet awaited them on the sea. A new crisis was rising on the horizon.

Meanwhile, in Orb, at the Dawn Society's underground command center, Char Langlad Ascha stood before a VEDA terminal, his crimson eyes fixed on the Archangel's trajectory on the holographic screen. In his hand, he held an encrypted terminal, its screen displaying a distress signal from Murrue.

"VEDA," his voice was calm, "how long will it be before the White Base can launch another attack?"

"Resupply is underway and is expected to take 24 hours."

"It's been too long." Xia shut down the terminal, turned around, and looked at the starry sky outside the window. "Notify Mina, the Izumo is to prepare for sortie. The White Base is too late, but the Izumo can. The Archangel can't wait 24 hours."

"Instruction recorded."

Char walked out of the command center, through the corridor, and into the hangar. The GN Drive stood silently on the maintenance rack, its silver armor reflecting a cold gleam in the red light of the emergency lights. The pale green glow of the GN Drive flickered in the darkness, like the heartbeat of some slumbering creature.

"Goddess of Justice," Char whispered, "we're setting off again."

No one answered. Only the low hum of the GN Drive echoed through the hangar.