MOBILE SUIT GUNDAM SEED MSV BATTLEFIELD RECORD
FIELD 01: EL ALAMEIN

The battlefield of the first episode of SEED MSV Battlefield Record is set in the barren wilderness of North Africa, roughly 100km west of the Nile River, in the renowned El Alamein. After a long passage of time, this land, once stained with the tumults of war, is again thrust into conflict. It serves as the backdrop for a face-off between the “Moonlight Mad Dog” and the “Desert Tiger.” Featured in the June 2004 issue of Hobby Japan magazine.

“In this world, there exist only two kinds of people. Those born to ride tanks and those who aren’t. Unfortunately, the latter greatly outnumber the former. But fret not, for today, from this very moment, you all will be reborn.”

Such were the words first imparted to the young tank soldiers assigned under Chevalier. And they would soon come to recognize the living hell on Earth, personified not just by the wardens but by Chevalier himself.

However, in due time, they would come to realize.

Realize that the very warden Chevalier was, in truth, a guardian angel of steel. There was no description more apt for Lieutenant Morgan Chevalier of the Eurasian Federation Forces of the Earth Alliance, a man not born from a mother’s womb but from the bowels of a tank.

Late at night, May 30, C.E. 70.

The tank division under Chevalier’s command, part of the Earth Alliance’s large tank corps, lay hidden in the deserts of North Africa.

The readings indicating the effect of the Neutron Jammer were still alarmingly high. As expected, all communications were jammed, and infrared emissions from various power sources were kept to a minimum. Soon, the enemy would make landfall from the Mediterranean. The corps’ mission was to intercept and annihilate them. The ensuing battle would be beyond the realm of conventional military standards.

To Chevalier, fear was alien. On the battlefield, ensconced in the womb of his tank, Chevalier’s spirit soared. He prepared and waited. Yet, he was unaware. Unaware that this battle would mark the last day for the natural-born tank rider, known as the “Moonlight Mad Dog,” Morgan Chevalier.

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The debate over whether to use legs or caterpillar tracks for the beach landing divided the ZuOOT pilots. No one had proposed modifying the precious natural environment within the PLANTs to recreate deserts or coastlines just for the sake of conducting operational tests for this hybrid machine of heavy tank and mobile suit. The decision not to was clearly an error. Soldiers could only truly entrust their lives to weapons that had proven their performance in actual combat. But the top brass of ZAFT failed to understand this, proving that even Coordinators, as intellectually gifted as they are, don’t always get it right.

In the end, the ZuOOT squad, to which Martin DaCosta belonged, chose caterpillar tracks. Whether their decision was correct would soon be evident.

“…!”

An alarm sounded. Tension surged throughout the cabin.

The so-called “dark flares” – flares that emitted only infrared rays, imperceptible to the naked eye, had exploded overhead. These were developed for the passive IR sensors, especially effective under the Neutron Jammer environment.

“Advance!”

On giving the command through the intercom, DaCosta moved the ZuOOT forward. His throat felt parched. Even a lousy cup of coffee would do right now, he couldn’t help but think.

And then, the battle began.

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“Hit.”

The combat display emotionlessly reported the results.

The new heat-seeking missile developed by FUJIYAMA seemed to find the ZuOOT with uncanny accuracy. Chevalier masterfully controlled his tank squadron as if they were extensions of his own limbs, completely outmaneuvering the ZuOOT. Distracted by the missiles, the moment it paused, a bombardment dealt the final blow. Coordinated attacks from multiple tanks cornered each ZuOOT. The scenario reminded Chevalier of a pack of wolves hunting down a mammoth. The desert was never a desirable battlefield for tanks. However, under the same harsh conditions, the enemy’s monstrous, ungainly heavy tanks were too sluggish, standing out conspicuously. Chevalier started feeling pity for the enemy. They might possess formidable firepower, but they couldn’t hope to win against the mock mobile suits that were significantly handicapped in mobility over uneven terrain.

Wireless comms were virtually non-operational. Moreover, the terrain, despite being a desert, was rich in undulations, offering numerous blind spots. Even communications using lasers and infrared were rendered ineffective, thanks to the scattering chaff and flare decoys.

Yet, Chevalier’s tanks pressed the advantage. The combat proficiency of the tank soldiers, having withstood Chevalier’s hellish training regimens, was beyond any Coordinator’s imagination. The reason he rigorously trained his subordinates was singular: to win battles and cultivate soldiers who would survive. The elite-bred Coordinators, no matter their intellectual prowess, couldn’t replicate what Chevalier’s team could do based on mere simulations and imaginations. For Chevalier and his crew, communication was redundant. Just a glance at the infrared combat map was enough; they could instinctively understand their comrades’ intentions and needs.

However, this advantage was fleeting.

Coordinators, too, were rapidly adapting, learning the intricacies of warfare.

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“What the hell… what is this?”

A voice slips out before DaCosta even realizes it. He’s utterly shaken by the catastrophic losses of their allied forces. More than half of the ZAFT units that had landed together with him on their way to El Alamein were already rendered combat ineffective. Artillery shells rain down like a storm, missiles persistently tailing behind. Swarms of combat helicopters dive from the gaps in the sky. Even the ground beneath is laden with landmines.

And those fortunate enough to evade these dangers are met with the relentless firing of the tanks lying in ambush, leading to their destruction. It felt like they were lambs led to slaughter.

Would he become just another footnote in the tumultuous history of El Alamein, a place he only knew of from history textbooks?

His mind, half-numbed with tension and terror, drifts to these grim thoughts.

(If only we had some DINNs here…)

However, this new type of flight-capable mobile suit was only deployed in Carpentaria.

A fierce jolt shakes the cockpit.

He’d been hit.

A quick glance at the console and a curse slips from DaCosta’s lips. The crucial drive wheel for the locomotion system was damaged!

He attempts to swiftly switch to legged mode, but the damage warning indicates it’s futile.

“Move, dammit!”

Cursing, DaCosta fights to regain control. Right now, his ZuOOT was nothing more than a sitting duck, a perfect target for the approaching enemy tanks whose heated signatures seemed to fill the entire display screen.

Is this the end?

Beneath the boiling terror, a razor-sharp rationality was trying to accept the inevitable.

(It’s too soon to give up, DaCosta.)

Just then, a reassuring voice bursts through the comms.

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“Unknown contact!” The subordinate’s voice caught Chevalier off guard.

Several enemy units, showing unfamiliar heat signature patterns, appeared on the display.

“New models? But this–“

What Chevalier saw was nearly beyond belief. The data indicated that the enemy had penetrated the supposedly impassable southern Qattara Depression, an area deemed impervious to any kind of ground warfare weapon.

It wasn’t that they had been careless. But military resources have their limits, so only a minimal contingent had been stationed at the Qattara Depression.

But now, reality hit hard as the enemy broke through the gaps in the Alliance Forces formation.

“Enemy units unidentified! No matches in our database.”

Chevalier scrutinized the reconstructed data of the enemy units on the display. The design was unlike anything he had seen: a four-legged walker, its silhouette ambiguously canine or lupine. Its bristling armaments made it appear like a ferocious quadruped armored for war.

Could this be another type of mobile suit? As the thought crossed Chevalier’s mind, the enemy vanished from view.

“What?!”

“They jumped!” a subordinate shouted.

Stunned, Chevalier realized that the enemy was moving with animal-like agility, propelling off the ground.

“That’s a machine’s movement?”

The swarm of enemy machines was bounding down the sand dunes, leaping as they came.

“Open fire!”

At Chevalier’s command, they unleashed all their firepower on the unknown enemy. Yet, every shot missed or was evaded. Despite their large frames, these units displayed terrifying maneuverability. Later known as the “BuCUE,” this mobile suit was evidently specialized for ground combat. The BuCUEs rampaged like a tiger scattering a pack of pups, decimating the tank squadron Chevalier had painstakingly trained. For a moment, Chevalier was so entranced by the BuCUE’s movements that he almost forgot they were the enemy.

Then it hit him.

The forces they had been preparing to ambush from the sea were already here.

They thought they were laying a trap, only to find themselves ensnared.

This was an ambush.

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From the beginning, he knew he had drawn the short straw. The TFA-2 ZuOOT was already considered outdated while still in development. Consequently, it was set to serve as bait in this strategy. Clumsy, yet packed with firepower and armor, the ZuOOT was relegated to the role of a decoy in this operation.

Enemies and allies were thrown into disarray, and even now, vehicles that had been hit were engulfed in flames.

But in the smoke-obscured eastern horizon, faint glimmers of dawn were finally emerging. As DaCosta disembarked from his immobilized ZuOOT, he couldn’t help but feel lucky.

“I thought we’d run out of time, Commander Waltfeld.”

The tall man addressed as the commander, Andrew Waltfeld, gave DaCosta a sly grin. This was the very man who would later terrorize the Alliance Forces under the moniker “Desert Tiger.”

“My apologies. We had some issues with the Lesseps’ scale motor on our way through Qattara. Clearly, it still needs adjustments…”

He said without a hint of shame as if plotting some mischief. DaCosta thought this man always had a twinkle in his eye, suggesting he was up to something.

“Thanks to you all, Suez is nearly ours. As a reward, I think I’ll treat everyone to my new special coffee blend. Look forward to it.”

“Uh… Yes, sir.”

Waltfeld’s love for coffee was well-known. And the blend he personally concocted was, more often than not, an exceptionally strong coffee that combined an unimaginable flavor with an extraordinary bitterness, far from the ordinary.

DaCosta couldn’t help but feel slightly less fortunate. But at that moment, he didn’t yet recognize the deeper significance. By being under Andrew Waltfeld’s command, he had found a purpose amidst the hellish warfare, allowing him to persevere. It would take some time before DaCosta truly understood this.

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For Chevalier, the retreat was nothing short of humiliating.

Once a proud battalion of tanks, they were now reduced to mere scraps scattered across the field. However, while the tank damage was substantial, surprisingly, the casualties among the soldiers and officers were minimal. It wasn’t until after the surviving soldiers spread tales of the fearsome power of the mobile suit TMF/A-802 BuCUE throughout the Alliance Forces that Chevalier realized this had been Waltfeld’s intention all along.

“The Desert Tiger is truly formidable.”

At that moment, Chevalier understood that he had been bested not once but twice. After all, a dog can never triumph over a tiger.

He spoke with a sense of finality, “The age of the mobile suit is upon us.”

This battle would mark Chevalier’s transition from traditional warfare to becoming a mobile suit pilot.

In later years, reflecting on that pivotal day, Chevalier would say, “It was the day I came into my own.”