"One last thing, your majesty. About next week…"
"Several of us have discussed the matter beforehand. After this incident, and considering the weather forecast, we believe the prudent thing is to cancel the public event."
"I've already considered the matter. Given the preparations and attention already placed on the ceremony, and our now heightened awareness, there is little cause for concern that we will be caught unaware. Until I learn of some reason to believe otherwise, we will continue as normal next week."
"Yes, your majesty."
The room was lit by the dull light of the early morning sun having just peaked its head out from under the covers of night. Spotty clouds drift across its path as if to remind that the night that was once so clear had been filled with the blotting of smoke. All across the city those who had gone to bed unaware and were never stirred awake of the night's events found their nostrils filled with the scent of ash and char from some place close enough to be concerned, yet far enough to not be directly seen.
As the stuffy politicos of the royal counsel departed the room, an exhausted Nunnally slouched in her chair. For so many years she'd been unable to see a sunrise even if she wanted to. She lived most of her life as a blind girl unable to walk. When her eyesight returned, she spent many mornings waking up especially early just to make sure she could sit and watch the sunrise.
This morning, she found herself somewhat disgusted by the rising sun. For some reason it felt almost as if it were meant to mock her. "Are you telling me to go see for myself how I let my home burn once again? Or are you here to finish what was started?" she badgered to herself.
In part she was hoping that it had all been a dream. If she woke up in a dark room, in a comfortable bed, she could at least think for a little while that everything was just a nightmare soon to vanish like the morning dew. But to see the sunlight creep in through covered windows refuted that hopeless desire. With the ceremony only a week away, she had considered that her own nerves about this inauspicious time of year had merely stirred her unconscious mind to think of terrible things. But that wasn't the case.
"My home is gone." She softly lamented, her heart as heavy as her eyes. "I'm sorry, Lelouch. I couldn't protect it. The precious things you gave to me, I've let someone take them from me."
She'd have cried out in anguish and frustration if it were the old her. A flood of tears would have doused the world and put out every fire. But she knew she couldn't do that now. As difficult as it was, she felt the weight of her responsibility to be brave in the face of doubt and fear.
When she took over the leadership of Britannia, there was quite a lot of consternation. Is she strong enough? Will she be able to manage it all? Will she become a tyrant, a murderer, like her brother and father?
Everything she had done since then had been to assuage the possibility of a repeat of the tragedy caused by her family. It was a monumental task to be sure. Creating the Senior Counsel, a group of commoners with expertise in their given fields, was part of it. the creation of the democratically elected Senate was part of it too.
The hardest thing she'd come to learn to deal with was managing the criticisms of her detractors. When they weren't ranting about her being a danger of regression to the era of her two predecessors, they were regarding her a paper tiger for taking a backseat in so many international issues over the last several years. Understanding she'd never win everyone's hearts and minds was a difficult thing to swallow, given her hopes after having the crown forced atop her head.
"They won't like this speech either," she mulled in a muttered voice, sleep addled eyes unperceptively glaring at the ceiling. "I can't blame them for that. I am a paper tiger; getting burnt so easily."
"Kindness doesn't make you weak," she remembered someone telling her after losing her brother. It echoed back in her head just now as she felt herself drifting towards sleep. "It's the weak who mistake that kindness who are usually the first to die."
"I miss her too…" she whispered as she nodded off.
The press gathered for the imperial address at about 7:30 that morning. The empress was scheduled to speak at 8, but any reporter with a day's experience in the business knew that things like this almost never started on time. You arrived early only to make sure you could have your crew save your spot as close to the front as you could get. Then you ran off to see if you could speak with some official or staffer or the like to find out what was going on behind the scenes. The five-minute warning was the starter's gun firing, the reporters dashing back to their seats to be ready to record or broadcast as needed.
Sara Gridley was not so lucky. She found herself wondering sometimes why she even got herself involved in this line of work.
"Ms. Gridley, what do you think's taking so long?" her assistant asked as the clock ticked closer to nine.
"Hmm? Well, it's not that surprising really. I mean, what would you be doing if your house burnt to ashes with dozens of folks inside? Despite everything, royals are stull just humans after all. Add that to all her responsibilities, and that fact she was out and about all day yesterday… I'm not stupid enough to think she's perfectly fine. Chances are she fell right to sleep the moment a bit of stress was relieved, and they let her oversleep a little. I bet they'll probably cancel all her public events for the next few days too."
"Oh, well, yeah, guess that makes sense. If that's the case, why even have her make the address? Why not leave it to a minister or something?"
"Regardless of the words she actually uses here, you're still essentially talking about the Empress of Britannia declaring war on someone."
"War?"
"What? Did you think Britannia would take this lying down? Someone firebombs the imperial castle, attacks a Black Knights base in the capital, there's nothing else to really call it but an act of war. I'm sure she'll measure her words carefully, but there's little real doubt that's what's about to happen."
When Sara was in high school, she had no real idea what she wanted to do in life. Being a Britannian but not of any royal house, there wasn't a lot of exciting prospects to dream about. It all seemed to be just dull. The only thing she had any wisp of a passion for was photography. Unfortunately, that was a job that paid next to thing, even if you managed to reach the upper echelons. Despite being a Britannian, that only really placed you a couple steps closer to the front of the crowd to watch those with all the power and wealth enjoy their lives. Sure, you at least had the opportunity to reach for the top, unlike honorary Britannians or even Numbers, but that only meant you had a stick to fight with rather than going in unarmed. You still had to fight and claw your way to a decent life.
That was the reality Sara lived with until the fall of Charles zi Britannia. When Lelouch emerged from the depths of obscurity, or hell as it were, he had thrown the lives of folks like Sara into a tizzy. Suddenly the path before them opened up so much more. That glass cage that let them glimpse the prospects of a better life and real power was broken open… but most had no idea what to do with that opportunity. They had choice and opportunity but no clue what to do with it all now that they had it.
For some like Sara, it awakened a curiosity in them; what was it like for those who had not even that glass to peer through? For people like the Numbers whose view was not that glass cage but a stone room with one small, barred, window, what was the attribution of real opportunity like?
For Sara, the outlet of that curiosity was taking photographs. She graduated high school shortly after Nunnally was coronated the 100th Empress of the Holy Britannia Empire. She spent a few months just travelling, taking photos of former numbers and populating a blog she was running. She would occasionally attach small stories to the photos she took showing people making sense of the new reality around them. An editor for a news organization caught wind of her. Impressed by her skill, he offered her a job doing more of that.
Now, a few years later, she was the top reporter for a medium sized outfit. That meant her days of wandering, taking photos of whatever struck her fancy, were over. That in turn made her just a bit bitter. Nothing outrageous, just… a persistent sense of loss. It was as though she'd had a beautiful dream she could only remember scant parts of when waking up in the morning.
"What kind of idiot would start a war with Britannia right now? It makes no sense."
Sara was only twenty-eight. But she felt almost twice that when she was working with Chris. Really, they were only nine years apart, but to her he was just such a dumb kid sometimes she was exasperated to be his mentor. She didn't hate him. It was just that his youthful naivete was grating. Or maybe less his naivete and more his habit of voicing his complete ignorance as though it were sage wisdom?
"You sound like an old lady," one of her friends laughed at her over drinks one night shortly after Sara became Chris' mentor. "We're all the same at that age – we know everything, and nothing makes sense. If that weren't the case, we wouldn't need mentors, huh?"
"That experience from a teacher?"
"There's a reason I teach elementary and not high school; they're at least smart enough to know they don't know anything," her friend laughed.
Even though she grumbled about him all the time, she did like how earnest Chris was. He came off as a clueless kid stuck in a roll he didn't want or care for. Yet, he always had that sparkle of inquisitiveness, a seemingly real interest in what it took to become a reporter. She had to admire that much at least, since she herself only stumbled into this line of work. It made it hard for her not to start doting on him once in a while.
"Look, do you think this is a pacifist nation?" Sara asked Chris, doing her best impression of a teacher.
"No, I don't think that at all."
"Exactly. Even with the kind of empress we have now, even with how quiet this nation's been for the last few years, it's still considered a dangerous beast. There's no shortage of people out there who see her as just a monster dozing lazily for the moment. They're afraid that beast will wake up and start to devour the world all over again. So, like any frightened human, they decided to attack the beast while it was sleeping, before it could wake up and attack them.
"Well, at least that's how the story'll go."
"Oh, I get it; you're saying that whoever did this is going to try and call it a preemptive strike or something like that?"
"Well, you're learning a little it seems," Sara said with a smirk.
The first row of seats in front of the podium began to fill in, signaling that the empress was moments from making her appearance. Sara would never be too forthcoming to admit so, but she always found delight in seeing the face of the empress.
"She's so photogenic. If I could spend my whole life just taking her picture, it would be amazing," she swooned in her head.
It was seeing Nunnally that really spurred Sara on this track. She wasn't ashamed to talk about it, or to talk people's ears off about it. But she couldn't explain it well either. Whenever she saw Nunnally, it stirred something in her. It wasn't as though to say Nunnally was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen, or there was enthrall with her being nobility. She didn't have much opinion one way or another over Nunnally from a personal standpoint, or regarding her political frame. Like taking a picture of a gorgeous sunset or getting that perfect timing on an animal in the wild, that was what it was like for Sara any time she was in position to take Nunnally's photo.
"She really was asleep," Sara whispered. It was just loud enough that Chris could hear her.
"What do you mean? She looks pretty normal to me."
"No, they've put a little more makeup on her than normal to cover up the bags under her eyes. She's too young for bags under the eyes, so it can only be from lack of sleep. They must want to make sure she shows a strong front. Her eyes are pretty heavy still too, so you know it wasn't much of a rest. But, if they have a good photographer, they can use that to make her seem a bit more upset and sterner. That'll play well for this sort of thing."
"You really do sound more like her PR rep than a reporter you know?"
"I'd love to be her press secretary. But, me wishing it and it being a thing aren't the same. Milly Ashford would sooner have the chance than some nobody like me."
"Hehe… don't think you're totally wrong. Not that it probably matters much though. I hear she hardly takes much advice from her press folks. I heard a rumor she usually isolates them and ignores what they say most of the time."
"Well, that probably goes for more than just her press secretary. I brought up Milly not because she's a reporter, but because she's probably the only person who used to be close to her that hasn't shown up in any rumors as being an advisor. Those old guys sitting up there behind her, her Senior Council; everyone knows they're just window dressing she put in place because the world was afraid of her becoming like her family. Her sister Cornelia, her friend Nina, and the man who saved her from her brother's guillotine, Zero, are the only voices who really have her ear."
"Oh yeah, I heard earlier that Princess Cornelia is on her way to the capital. So is Prince Schneizel."
"Schneizel, huh? I'm not terribly surprised, but I wouldn't say I expected it either. He's been pretty much silent since leaving about four years ago. That just goes to show you how big this is that even the prince is coming back here. But, I doubt he'll get much say in how things go. He barely managed to keep his head, what with his manipulation of his sisters in the war, and his role in those disasters."
"Think there'll be protests?"
"Probably. He's pretty well hated. But, I doubt there's much appetite for that sort of thing when Britannia's been attacked like this. Say what you will, but Nunnally's been able to keep Britannia's nose fairly clean. She won't shoulder much blame."
"But that changes if she's seen as being too aggressive," he said, a spark of knowing that came with a youngster feeling particularly smart for jumping ahead on the breadcrumbs laid out for them.
"That's right. He is her brother, the last one she's got out of the dozens she once did. They won't be too critical upfront if he's just back to console and support his little sister. But, if they start seeing Britannia expand its counterattack against the ones behind this attack, it won't work out well."
"You keep saying "they" as if we aren't the ones that are supposed to write stories like that."
"I'm not interested in spinning a stupid story like that. If I'm forced to write news stories, then at least let me write something based in fact, not some twisted concoction just to make headlines."
"Yeah… you really don't sound like a reporter most of the time."
"Thanks," she lightly scoffed.
She really didn't need her apprentice reminding her so often of the fact that she had about as little interest in the news aspect of her job as one probably could while still being a reporter. Still, she had a job to do, and she would have to do it if she wanted to keep getting her coveted chances to photograph her muse.
"… and that is why we must stand firm in the face of this evil. Britannia will not accept such cruel and despicable acts that trample over all that we have strived to overcome these precious few years gone by. We will defend ourselves against these cowardly aggressors without allowing ourselves to fall into the depraved state of naked aggression towards our neighbors all over the world. We will look to our neighbors to help us identify these threats and put a stop to them so that no more innocent people have to die in a meaningless conflict again."
In the hours following her speech, Nunnally received near universal praise. It in part came from a severe lack of expectation. Most expected only the worst of Britannia, regardless of the spectrum of views on Nunnally herself. Those who expected her to end up just like her siblings and father were certain this incident was the precondition for a declaration of a new world war. They thought she would use this incident as the excuse she needed to launch into an endless cycle of destruction, tearing through one country after the next in pursuit of a nondescript enemy to her vision of so-called peace.
Then there were those who thought that she was too meek and gutless to make any bold proclamations of fighting anyone. They expected her speech would be filled with soft-spoken, shallow, assertions of ideals of pacifism or pure moral fastidiousness. It made the expectations of Nunnally in many cases comical.
Still, regardless the impression of the bar she was to meet, she had met it and exceeded it. for Britannia to go forward in this murky situation, that was important. No matter how meager a step it was, failure would mean an isolated Britannia fighting for recognition and support while also fighting whatever enemy had just attacked them. Demonstrating strength and solidarity was important.
And yet, in a mere couple of days that image of strength was beginning to crumble.
"Hey guys, what's the word?" A man of probably no more than his mid-thirties entered the room in his officer's uniform. He removed his cap and set it down atop a console as he peered out at the runway from this control tower.
There had been a slight change to the uniforms of the imperial military a couple years after Nunnally's ascension. For a while there had been stories about her wanting to shed any vestiges of the past by doing this, but the reality was the redesign had been in effect since some time ago; a result of a whim by princess Guinevere after she was made to attend a military parade she found to be overly drab for her tastes. It mattered little and less now, but this man, Major Frank Kearse, took part in that particular project.
"Legs, Chief. Spread the word."
The guy with the crass joke was Lieutenant Paul Ulster. He and Kearse were war buddies, deployed together in the EU theater near the end of Charles' reign. His claim to fame was briefly being mentioned as a lover of Princess Guinevere. Every now and then you could hear him grumble about his wish that he had been so lucky. But, while the part about him being part of the princess' security team for a time was true, he had never been so fortunate as to even say more than a hello to her once in the two-week stint as a lower level potential bullet cushion.
"How's the captain doing?" the third guy in the room asked. He was Lieutenant Shepard Sykes. He'd met Kearse and Ulster when they were all transferred over to this base a year and a half ago. They naturally became buddies after winding up on the same shifts.
"Worried," Kearse answered. The "captain" was Captain Tanner Hicks. He was the base commander, and Major Kearse was his deputy, in charge while the captain was away. It wasn't a perfectly normal chain of command, but with an out-of-the-way base like this, a minimalistic structure was all you needed.
"Worried?" Sykes asked with a scoff. Worry was a five-letter word that didn't hold much meaning since they were posted on this base far from the capital.
"He said it was top level classified, so he couldn't talk about it over the phone. But I haven't heard him like that since the war."
"I keep telling you folks," Ulster started up, waving his hand dismissively. "She might not be a pacifist, but that empress of ours ain't a vampire either. Especially with some dirty rat terrorists in the middle of a dirt mound overseas. She'll use the Black Knights, take advantage of the fact they got messed up too, and let them and the UFN take care of wiping out the bastards. No way we're seeing any action anytime soon. They probably got the captain worked up over nothing."
"Yeah, well, whatever the case I just received orders to be on the lookout. Rollins Base just said they spotted suspicious air traffic. They couldn't get a good fix on it, but it was heading our way."
"Suspicious air traffic? Like what exactly? I mean, do they realize where we are? There's gotta be at least a half dozen other military and civilian facilities that'd spot something "suspicious" before we would." Ulster laughed boisterously.
Their small base was nothing so special as to be a clear target; nothing like the imperial castle or the capital base for the Order of the Black Knights. Even if wanting to assume some strategic purpose, one could hardly imagine choosing this place to occupy, surrounded on virtually all sides – if you extend your sight out about 75 miles in every direction – by bigger, more well-equipped bases. Even if you could take this base, you'd be descended on by a fairly overwhelming force in a little over an hour.
"If it's Rollins Base, then the fastest any craft would get here would be about an hour. I wouldn't expect that timing though. They've gotta know they were spotted, right? If it is an attack, they'll circle somewhere else for a little to throw off the timing. And if it's just a civilian craft, then Rollins' air defense fleet will likely catch up to it way before it can get anywhere near here.
"But," Sykes sighed as he lazily pulled himself up and walked to the window. "I guess we don't have much choice but to do our jobs."
"That's right," Kearse said, picking up his cap and giving it a wave on his way back out the door. "The only ones who'll look dumber than Rollins for letting a target slip by so easily will be use for doing the same damn thing."
"Roger that, sir." Ulster sighed. "Well, there certainly ain't anything on radar right now," he grumbled to Sykes. "Should we bump things up to radio scans now?"
"Not sure I'm in the mood to scanning static. I'll give 'em a call and see if they've can update us on what happened. Who knows, maybe they got spooked too and it'll turn out they never saw anything to begin with."
"Alright. Maybe we should contact Deen River too. They might pick up on a bogey drifting into their airspace."
"I'll be…"
Sykes was reaching for the phone when the base's air raid siren began to bleat out its whining alarm. He mouthed out a "what the hell" in disbelief. The only way the air raid alarm could be going off, if he and Ulster as the two on-duty air control tower officers hadn't done it, was if the on-ground control officers spotted something visually. What that was, he didn't know. Ulster just said a moment ago the radar was clear. And it would take quite the level of stupidity for anyone on the base to mistakenly activate the air raid siren rather than the general alarm for a ground-based attack.
His very brief shock over, Sykes grabbed his binoculars and started to the window. A full 360-degrees of vision for miles around, it should have been possible to spot any approaching aircraft from miles away. The radar systems in the room should have picked up something far earlier than that. And the ground observation crew, which was meant to serve more as a redundancy, had a fraction less of the tower's vision, as they had to deal with the obstructions of buildings and trees. In a "perfect" world the ground crew would have cut down every tree clear to the next town.
Down on the ground there was screaming and shouting. Someone down there was clearly already taking command and directing the soldiers. Sykes scanned intently, trying to pick up what it was that spooked the ground crew.
"Holy s…" he heard Ulster shout from the other side of the room.