Kate and Sawyer are of course shamelessly stolen from Lost.
Tenth Chapter – Offensive
Headquarters of Army Group South of the Imperial Armed Forces, Militarised Area Three, Holy Britannian Empire
1st of November 2033 a.t.b.
The front might rest, but it never slept.
At any time there was something going on in the various bases and of course the front-line fortifications themselves: patrols came and left, sentries observed the no man's land's muddy moonscape with eagle's eyes and infrared binoculars, the standby watched a film in mess.
This night however was an exception, for the largest military area of the Realm buzzed in excitement as the elite units of Her Majesty's armed forces equipped for battle: the southern detachment of the Imperial Knightmare Corps.
Princess Cornelia would have preferred to join the Knights and Dames, mount her customised Parceval and once again rout her foes as the "Witch of Britannia" used to – but beside the obvious amenities it certainly brought some difficulties commanding the greatest offensive of military history since the Five Emperors' War and the French campaign in Austria. And thus she was not with her Knightmare, but by the "chess board", the large map table inside the CIC – the Combat Information Centre.
As she had noticed earlier during similar operations, there were exactly two kinds of people around her: for one there were the young, excited freshmen in the staff. Those came fresh from the academy and had never been fielded or commanded a unit before. They would run around excitedly, talk nonsense and burst into tears at the first shot – or, rarely, turn out as members of the second group to which Cornelia beside herself counted Guilfords, the Generals Warwick and Darlton and the three Knights Weinberg, Fisher and Fitzgerald.
Displeased Cornelia frowned. Here she had three Knights of the Round under her command – and could only employ one of them because the other two were under heavy suspicion of being guilty of the worst of felonies: high treason.
Months after the attempt for Nunnally's life she had only been able to exclude Gottwald himself, Alstreim and Weinberg from the suspicion. By now she knew the many thousand pages of reports about every single other Knight in her sleep, but nowhere she found even the slightest evidence that her suspicion was justified: that the Knights of the Round collaborated with the enemy.
Guilford had proposed to ask Weinberg – who was doubtlessly innocent – for his assistance as he was the one spending most time with the other Knights. It was no bad idea – but Cornelia did not want the suspects to suspect her of knowing and then defect to the South with invaluable information, Knightmares and skills. She doubted the silly blond Knight's ability to keep a secret.
She broke away from such thoughts and once again looked at the chess board. It showed a detailed map of southern Central and northern South America, with three windows depicting in a larger scale the coasts of Guyana and Ecuador, the respective invasion fleets and of course the fortifications at the front.
"General Warwick," Cornelia eventually said, "What's our status?"
The elderly General looked at his PDA's display. "Everything's clear so far. All pilots excepting Your Highness's guard and Lords Fisher and Fitzgerald have mounted; infantry and armour ready. No unusual events in the south – here's the last satellite image of their entrenchments."
Cornelia took the sheet from his hands. The photo was black and white, but edited in order to emphasise the structures on the ground. The hostile lines consisted of a vast system of trenches, sniper positions, camouflaged pillboxes, MG nest and particularly strategically placed turrets and the artillery batteries behind the front-lines. A single shot from one of those 25cm cannons could easily tear a Knightmare apart. Add to that the various bases, some of which seemingly contained a hundred Knightmares or complete conventional divisions. Sadly those bases were completely resistant to all weapons in her armoury – artillery grenades and modern flight bombs alike found them incredibly hard nuts to crack. The only way to seize them probably was a concentrated attack and determined elimination of all units inside.
"Thank you," she told Warwick, then turned to Admiral Marlborough, with whom she was working for the first time now. "What about the XIII and XXV armies? Ready for action?"
Marlborough cleared his throat. "Indeed, Your Highness. The SBS were already landed in Calais and Harfleur: from our current position we'd send in the marines in five and eight minutes respectively to secure the ports. Once we've seized both harbours we can unship the XIII in Calais and the XXV in Harfleur with their equipment within a few hours."
"Good. Keep me up-to-date. Your men received their orders?"
"Of course, ma'am."
"Then we shall begin the barrage. Ten minutes and not a second more, is that clear? Guilford, please have the men move."
"Yes, my lady."
Cornelia denied herself a loving smile. How many times had she asked her Knight to call her "Cornelia"? Even when alone he still insisted on "my lady", "ma'am" or at best the suggestive "princess". It had been hard when Euphie had died – hard to see her light vanish from life. Guilford had been the one giving her the strength to make it and, drowning, she had clung to him – until she had learned of Geass and without informing him left the hospital to wipe out the order herself. Of course it had been a mistake to go without him – she had thought it to be a personal matter. Well, now she knew better: Guilford's loyalty and fidelity and love were with her, not her father's corrupt regime. Her personal matters were his.
Marlborough's oily voice interrupted her tender thoughts. "Ma'am, the first stage of Operation Syracus was an utter success. Team Hermes secured the harbour of Harfleur, we'll send in the MEF now. Operation Ostia however seems to have come to a halt – Pluto reports contact and our intel about the enemy's HIMS Duke of Wellington not being in port has been incorrect. Shall we still bring in the marines?"
Cornelia frowned. The perfect success of a mission was seldom, almost utopian, especially when one trusted in fifty soldiers of the SBS to seize a major port.
But still it was an inexcusable mistake, it was unacceptable and catastrophic that the teams had not managed to seize or destroy the South's single frigate lying off Calais. Still – now she could only march forth, never back. "Disable the Wellington at all costs. We can not permit her shooting down our transports in the harbour."
"Yes, ma'am. The Invincible has already opened fire."
On the screen on the wall before them Guilford's face appeared. He apparently was seated in a Knighmare.
"My lady, the advance party has made contact. Sir Peter Raleigh reports his assault troop managed to clean the first trench on a hundred metres' width and has now opened fire against the other positions from a captured turret – but he mentions the enemy's surprising strength, they already lost roughly a hundred men in the first attack. Your orders?"
"Tell Raleigh he will get a peerage and an Elizabeth Cross if he manages to hold his position," Cornelia drily said. Then she added: "Join him with the 15th Air Cavalry and make sure we get the entire trench."
"Yes, my lady," her Knight promised.
"Oh, and Guilford?," she added just before his face disappeared from the screen. "Come back when you're done."
The Knight smiled. "Your wish is my command … princess."
Port *********, code named Calais, Grand Duchy of Ecuador, Holy Britannian Empire (South)
At the same time
Serjeant Thomas MacArthur of the SBS cursed, drew his knife out of the dead body and wiped some sweat from his forehead. Sawyer and Kate reloaded their submachine guns, then used their night vision gear to look around the dark warehouse they had just freed of its last guard. It was neither ammunition nor weapons, as he had expected upon receiving his orders, but apparently corn sacks – Thomas shrugged. Food was of strategic importance as well, after all.
Once again he looked at the young, spotty soldier he had just killed, then he pressed the button at the side of his helmet that connected him to mission control aboard the HIMS Invincible. "Team Caligula: secured target. No losses," he laconically reported.
"Understood," the answer came immediately. "Awfully sorry you got to do overtime, but we've got something else for you: the local chief of police is one of the few remaining objects still a threat to our occupation. Go to his house and eliminate him, take his family hostage if he's not there. Do you read?"
On their helmet's marvellous visors a photo of the target and the city's map with his house marked appeared. It was only a stone's throw, explaining why they had gotten the command.
"Yes, sir," he confirmed. "Caligula out."
"That's our fifth task tonight," Kate joked, "you think we'll get a medal?"
"You might, freckles," Sawyer immediately shot back, "We two ain't pretty enough for the SBS to boast with us."
Thomas rolled his eyes as he quickly checked his weapon. "Can't you guys stay quiet for a few minutes?" – and left the warehouse. His comrades followed him without another word.
Still they heard gunfire from the harbour, where a soldier apparently had managed to wake up the Duke of Wellington's crew, once in a while the hallow rumble of a shot from the Invincible's artillery. But around them it was ghastly quiet: the few people living around the harbour were either dead or locked up somewhere at the point of a gun and those dwelling in the suburbs tried to stay as quiet as possible, afraid to have the hostile "army" notice them.
It was only a stone's throw indeed to the chief of police's stately villa. Soon the three figures in dark body armour stood in front of the wrought-iron gate – there was not a single sign of life in the house and the gardens.
"Someone's got a deep sleep," Sawyer observed, raised his gun and fired a short volley into the lock.
Carefully they entered the garden, moving towards the house – Thomas suppressed a curse, if there was a back entrance they were done for good – and then broke open the door. A burglar alarm was beeping, but no one bothered trying out a code as Kate quickly placed three bullets in the small box. After that the engine gave no sign of life.
They stood in a spacious hall with noble parquet. On the walls were portraits, a broad staircase led up to the second story. "Kate," Thomas whispered, "you take ground floor? Let no one escape." – "Roger that." – "Sawyer, you go with me." – "Oh, but I'd rather go with freckles …" – "Stupid jerk."
Thomas sighed, then dealt Sawyer a light blow to the back of his head.
"Ouch," made his partner. "Just what did I do wrong that I got to work with the two of you?"
Sawyer laughed quietly. Kate left, gun levelled, to an adjacent room and immediately came out again.
"Broom closet?"
"Broom closet."
They went up the staircase.
"You go right," Thomas commanded whispering. For once Sawyer complied without a commentary and they parted.
Gun ready he entered the house's left wing. The first door he opened led to a bathroom, as did the second. Behind the third was a room decorated in bright pink, according to the posters of celebrities he had never heard of on the walls that of a teenager – the bed was empty. Thomas frowned. Had the family already fled? He quickly searched through the girl's dresser, but of course found nothing of interest.
Again he went to the hallway and was more successful with the next door he opened. Despite gunfire and explosions in the harbour the man from the photo and his wife were peacefully sleeping in their bed. Without hesitating, Thomas pressed the mouth of his submachine gun to the man's forehead. The moment he fired and sent him to kingdom come with a muffled sound, the man's eyes opened and confusedly stared at him.
Thomas averted his eyes.
"Who are you?"
He whirled around. In the door stood a little girl of perhaps six years in a nightgown, her cheeks were teary. Involuntarily he went a few steps toward her. She did not move. Then he took off his helmet and knelt down before her. He could see that the camouflage make-up in his face scared her, still she did not tremble nor flinch.
"I'm a very bad man," he said, trying to intimidate her. He really wasn't good with kids … "Listen – there are more bad men in the city. I and my friends will leave now, and then you must very quickly wake up your mummy and your sister …"
"But Claire's at her boyfriend's," the girl interrupted, "In Edwardsville."
Edwardsville was a suburb of Calais, quite a bit outside.
"That's good," he thus said. "Then just wake up your mummy and go there with her. It is important you don't stay here, do you understand that?"
She nodded. "Hm-hmm."
Softly Thomas patted her head. "I'm very sorry I had to hurt your daddy."
Then he rose and left the room.
Sawyer stood in the hallway.
"Please, don't say a word," Thomas asked him.
"I wasn't going to. Why, shall we?"
First front-line trench, Militarised Area Three, Holy Britannian Empire
At the same time
Guilford had left his Knightmare, "parked" the invaluable Parceval within the shelter of the deep trench.
The first thing he had noticed upon examining the area was the mud: tough, sticky, brownish mud like he had never seen before; multiple times Guilford had almost lost his boots in it. It reminded him of the trenches in the Five Emperors' War's Spanish and German campaigns he had seen on photos at the academy.
His second notice had been the smoking, destroyed Knightmare shot down by the camouflaged turrets between the lines. It was a Parceval, one of the most expensive weapons in existence, and the pilot had not managed to eject in time.
Three years of training, Guilford grimly thought, and dies in his first engagement.
The third thing he had noticed, however, had been the corpses. They were lying around everywhere in the trench and in the no man's land, in some places the soldiers had already piled them up to make space – corpses of men and women in full uniform, barely possible to distinct those of the northern and the southern realms.
Guilford turned away, shuddering. Certainly he had seen much suffering in the service of his lady, but never something – this inhuman.
He turned to Sir Peter, who was still standing upright, leant against the trench's wall, as a medic applied a bandage to his arm.
"Report."
Immediately the Knight sprung to attention.
"Yes, Lord Guilford. My unit, the 521st Brigade's 1st Battalion, stormed the trench with five hundred infantrymen and ten Knightmares near point O-815. Most of them we lost in the no man's land – I'd say, about two dozen infantry and Knight-major Sir Victor Newman. The resistance within the trench itself, however, was stronger than expected."
Guilford frowned. "You think they expected us?" He remembered what his lady had told him about the horrible suspicion of the Order concerning the Knights of the Round Table.
"With all due respect, my lord," Raleigh objected, "I can't imagine they did. But look here – this man was fully equipped, assault rifle, grenades, gas mask, knife, just like for an assault troop. Personally I think those bastards planned an attack of their own in a few hours – good we were first."
Guilford nodded grimly. "Thank you, Sir Peter. I want you to know that my lady keeps her word: in a week you shall be Lord Peter Raleigh, 1st Baron Raleigh of Guatemala, EC."
The Knight deeply bowed. "Th...thank you, my lord! But … if I may note this – the fight is nowhere near over. This position is very weak as long as we can't bring in supplies and the surrounding artillery positions are not yet secured. At the moment the men of the 3rd and the 45th division are involved in heavy fighting in the connection trenches … your orders?"
"They shall keep on fighting," Guilford said after shortly thinking about it. "It does us no good if the foe manages to secure his entrenchments again. Take care they take their blood toll – you shall get your support. Now that we have secured the guns in the first trench, we can bring in the Parcevals airborne." He smiled. "If everything goes well, we will be in Bogotá within two weeks."
