Code Geass - A Brave New World

by nightbringer24

(Pretty heavily inspired by Ripped Away) What happens when a young man from our world is transported into the world of Code Geass? Watch as our unfortunate hero is thrust into situations he doesn't fully understand, but tries to make the most of it. R1 Arc in progress.

28. Chapter 28

Soldiers know tactics but not strategies, while politicians know strategies but not tactics.

That was one of the oldest military axioms that ever existed. Soldiers on the ground knew the bare-bones picture of how the combat was going, but the politicians only knew the so-called 'big' picture of how the war was going.

Luckily, however, Darlton's rank allowed him to be in the middle ground. He could command men, to hear the reports of the soldiers of the ground and to get information that only a few people could receive and even fewer were able to use.

The flip-side to his rank, however, was that he had to attend these sorts of meetings. Meetings where men who had never been in combat, never lifted a gun or even actually talked to a soldier before tell people like Darlton or even Princess Cornelia how to fight a war.

Currently sitting in one of the meeting rooms in the Viceroy's Palace, the general shared one side of a large horseshoe shaped table with Euphemia and Guilford, while Cornelia sat at the curve of the horseshoe with a half dozen government ministers sat to her right.

"Princess Cornelia," A thin man, probably in his late forties, with very rat like eyes under wire-frame glasses spoke in a very nasal tone. "Because of your Narita operation, the Japanese Liberation Front was nearly wiped out. However, the Provisional Council is concerned that you have not taken the necessary steps to weed out the remnants of the group. Why have you not taken these steps?"

"Would you prefer the simple answer, Minister," The Princess asked in return, her voice level and devoid of emotion. "Or would you like the more complicated answer?"

"Princess Cornelia, we merely-"

The purple-haired woman cut him off. "I'll give you both then. The simple answer is manpower, and the longer answer is that we did not have enough manpower. Does this satisfy you, sir?"

Turning to look at the minister who spoke, the scarred general was surprised to see that man was still stood, or sat, firm in his seat.

"I am aware that our military forces are currently undermanned, Your Highness," Rat-Eyes said, sounding far too much like he was talking to a petulant child. "But, as being the Lord General for all of Britannia's armed forces, you should have known to place the request for more armed forces to be sent to Area 11."

"Minister Fitzwilliam!" Guilford barked, nearly surging up from his seat. "How dare you address the Second Princess in that manner?"

Fitzwilliam put a hand up to silence the Knight, an apologetic look on his face. "I know what I said was rude, Lord Guilford. But it must be stated that the Viceroy is not doing enough to curb these insurgent threats, especially since your military and police forces have sat idle for a full week."

This made Darlton's eyes narrow. "As compared to what you have been doing, Minister." He growled out. "Which is bugger all."

The minister turned to look at the general and attempted to shoot him a scowl, which was very ineffective on a man with eyes like his.

"General Darlton is correct." Cornelia said, turning the focus back on to her. "In comparison to the efforts that I and my staff have undertaken to curb this insurgency, the efforts of the Provisional Council have been ridiculous."

"B-but, Your Highness," A minister that Darlton recognized as Lord Ratzinger stammered out, "Y-your brother, Prince Clovis, forbade us from doing anything to fill in the subway tunnels. He-he spent a great deal of the budget on building the infrastructure of the Settlement. And even when we approached him on the topic, he told us not to interfere with them. He said that any action would simply fuel any insurgencies."

The general let out a weary sigh at the minister's words. He was never one to speak ill of the Royal Family, but it really seemed that all the problems in Area 11 could be traced back to Clovis. It seemed that Cornelia had the same thought too.

"I am aware of my brother's policy," The Second Princess said, "But my brother is not the viceroy. I am. And things will be changing here. I am putting in to place my own measures to stop this insurgency."

Glancing to his side, Darlton couldn't help but share a smirk with Guilford as the room fell silent, the noblemen across from them obviously taking in what she was saying.

"And... what will those measures be, Your Highness?" Minister Fitzwilliam asked, sounding very put-off by Cornelia's words.

"I'll show you soon, Minister Fitzwilliam." The Second Princess said with a small smile. "I'm just waiting for one of my officers to finally join us."

Fitzwilliam opened his mouth to make another snide comment, but thankfully the door opened, revealing to everyone in the room the form of Captain Forsyth and Lieutenant Fick and Villetta, all still dressed in their woodland uniforms, although now all three were wearing the dark blue berets of the battalion.

Taking a single step through the door, the young man bowed in the direction of the princess. "My apologies for being late, Your Highness. We were a bit delayed."

Cornelia inclined her head in a gesture of understanding. "It's all right, captain. You and your officers are here, that's the main thing. Please take a seat."

Darlton couldn't help but smile at the attention that the Second Princess was giving the young Briton. It was a well-known fact in her Royal Guard, and possibly Britannia at large, that Cornelia absolutely detested low level politicians, so her treating the newest and youngest member of her staff in such a carefree manner was her way of putting the bureaucrats in their place.

The young man moved to his seat, sitting down besides the scarred general, with Fick and Villetta on his right side. As he was sitting down, Ciaran glanced up and locked eyes with Lord Ratzinger. A smile formed on his face.

"Ah, Lord Ratzinger. Good to see you again. Keeping well, I hope?"

The heavy-set nobleman was taken aback by the attention he was given, sweat forming on his forehead as he clearly remembered what happened during the last meeting that had him and the captain in the same room. "Ah-ah. Y-yes, my good captain. I-I have been... been well. Yourself?"

Ciaran shrugged. "Half and half."

"May we please get this meeting under way, gentlemen?" Cornelia asked sharply, drawing an apology from the two men before she continued speaking. "To all of those who have not met, this is Captain Ciaran Forsyth, captain of my Royal Guard and commanding officer of the newly formed 332 Light Infantry Battalion. This, my lords, is just one of the measures I have planned."

The news earned a scoff of derision from a man near the end of the minister's side of the table, making everyone present turned with two contrasting expressions on their faces: on Cornelia's right, looks of fearful surprise, and from the Second Princess herself and her attendants, looks of confusion and annoyance in equal measure as they all looked at the speaker.

The speaker, a man in his late fifties with a round face and too much forehead, the top of his head covered in greying and thinning hair while a handlebar moustache sat underneath his nose, looked incredulously at the Briton. He was dressed in the dark blue uniform of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, and was not looking very pleased with the turn of events.

"Is something the matter, Lord Commissioner Broderib?" Guilford asked testily, fixing the man with a hard stare.

"The matter, My Lord," Broderib replied with equal testiness, "Is that Her Highness is trusting the fate of His Majesty's own Area in the fate of... of a... of a child!"

"He is a not a 'child'," Darlton cut in testily. "And need I remind you that the Second Princess herself was the same age as the good captain when she was taking Areas for the glory of the Empire?"

The head police officer made a small attempt to look subdued by the question but he did not relent in his words.

"I am aware of the Second Princess' illustrious history in the Britannian military, but that does bring me to my second point, which I planned to raise later but now seems the right time as any: you are using military forces for an action that is purely a police matter."

"Purely? 'Purely a police matter'?" Cornelia repeated questioningly, a look of angry incredulity on her face. "Is that why the police have done absolutely nothing to stop the Black Knights or the other insurgent groups in Area 11 and have instead been taking kick-backs from drug runners?"

The force of Broderib's hand slamming down on to the table shook the furniture slightly, a look of anger on his face as he surged to his feet. "Your Highness, that is an insult and you know it!" He said angrily. "That was an incident that we were investigating ourselves and you had no right to take matters in to your own hands."

"When the actions of a group or an individual threaten the protection of the Empire's subjects, I will act." Cornelia hissed back. "And when those that are explicitly tasked with the protection of the Empire's subjects fail in that task, then I will act! Is that clear, commissioner?"

Darlton couldn't help but grimace at the Princess' words. In the Britannian system of government, while an Area was governed by a parliamentary system like the House of Lords in the Homeland but it was also true that, due to the near absolute power of the Britannian Royalty, a member of the Imperial family could step in when he or she felt that the government wasn't doing its job properly. Or just when they felt like stepping in.

Broderib nodded his head once, very much subdued by the Princess' outburst as he sat back down. "Understood, Your Highness."

Leaning forward in her seat, Cornelia steepled her finger together as she took a breath to calm herself down.

"The measures that we have taken to bring this insurgency to heel have been laughable at best and downright pitiful at worst," She said steadily. "I know that you are a good man, Lord Commissioner Broderib, but I sorry to say that your previous efforts were... worthless."

Looking at the man sitting at him across from on the other side of the table, Darlton saw him let out a sigh.

"I know, My Lady. Your brother, rest his soul... his orders stymied us more than I thought possible." The Lord Commissioner said, this time sounding duly chastised. "But, you have to believe me when I say that I was truly trying my best to investigate the officers that were committing these acts."

Turning his head, Darlton, along with all the others in the room, watched the Second Princess as she lowered her head in thought. A few seconds ticked by before she brought up her head to speak, turning to look at the Lord Commissioner, a sorry look on her face.

"I do believe you, My Lord, and I do value your experience. But you also have to believe me when I say that I value results more above all else."

Broderib nodded his head in reply, looking very sullen over the admission as Cornelia continued.

"The fact of the matter is that the police in Area 11 have been unsuccessful in persecuting the insurgent elements on this island, while it has been the military that has gained the most success." The Princess said with a touch of finality. "It is why I shall say this now, that it is the military who will be taking charge of the situation in Area 11."

A smile played at Darlton's face at the news, and from the nod that came from Guilford, he saw that he wasn't alone in agreeing with assessment.

"But Your Highness!" Lord Ratzinger said aghast, looking shocked at the idea. "T-to declare martial law, you need the support of parliament, both here and in the Homeland."

From his seat, the scarred general rolled his eyes at the presumption from the nobleman. Always so easy to jump at anything that might threaten their powerbase. He was once again so glad that his father sent him in to the military instead of politics.

To his right, Guilford looked ready to speak out but a voice on his left cut the knight off.

"Lord Ratzinger, Princess Cornelia is not suggesting that martial law be implemented in Area 11." Ciaran said, sitting straight chair and not seeming to be reacting greatly to the older man's suggestion. "If anything else, putting this place under martial law would do nothing but help our enemies. Am I right, Princess?"

The purple-haired royal nodded her head. "Correct. If martial law were put in to place, the insurgent forces would simply go further underground, forcing us to waste time and manpower searching for them. And it is in that regards, that Captain Forsyth and his entourage are present at this meeting."

"Entourage?" The young Briton asked to Darlton in confusion, to which the general replied with a simple shrug as Cornelia continued speaking.

"The captain has developed a doctrine that will allow us to track and fight the insurgent forces in this area. I am aware that not everyone here is that well versed in military practices, so I will allow Captain Forsyth to give us a run-down of his doctrine. Captain, if you please?"

Staying silent for a few seconds, as if he was collecting his thoughts, Ciaran leaned forward in his seat before he began speaking.

"Imagine this doctrine like an exploratory surgery," The young man began. "We, the military I mean, as the surgeon know what the problem is but we can't find it. So, we go searching around in the body for the source of infection before we remove it.

Looking around the room quickly, Darlton suppressed the groan that formed in his throat at the sight of so many sceptical or confused looks from the ministers. From the look on Ciaran's face, the annoyance was shared, but the young man didn't let it deter him.

"Now, I can see that I have already lost some of you gentlemen. So, I'll take the more direct approach." He said, managing to keep his exasperation under control. "The basic premise of this doctrine is that we send out small, four-man scouting units in to the more rural parts of the countryside, places that are further away from the eyes of the police and the military, track them down and then, when any enemy forces are found, they call in the main battalion who will then assault the enemy with aerial gunships, resulting in the enemy's destruction. Simple as that."

That really was a simple explanation, Darlton mused. But as the way the world went, no matter how good an explanation for something was, there was always at least someone who either didn't understand it, or refused to understand it.

"Your Highness, I fail to understand-" Fitzwilliam began, although he was immediately cut short from a collective groan from the tall general and the three officers in green. And from the looks of it, Cornelia shared their annoyance too.

"Minister Fitzwilliam," She said icily. "Captain Forsyth has been gracious enough to share the basics of his plan, twice now. I fail to see what is tripping you up."

"Your Highness, the intricacies of the plan are not what I oppose here." The rat-eyed man said, acting in that condescending manner Darlton knew all politicians instinctively knew how to act. "I am not debating the merits of the plan. I do not believe that I have the necessary knowledge to do so. What I am struggling to understand is, why are we putting so much faith in a plan created by a… by a Briton?"

For a few seconds, the scarred general was taken aback before he remembered that hardly any of these men had spent any time around the young man. He knew the general Britannian attitude towards people from the British Isles; cowardly people, not fit to be even considered on the same level as Britannians, even though they all practically shared the same heritage.

Looking to his side, Darlton saw Ciaran's jaw while his face remained impassive, which impressed the older man. Although what impressed the older man more was the reaction from Lady Villetta on the others side of the young man.

"How dare you?" She said, surging to her feet, a look of anger plain on her face. "All of the captain's actions have been done with nothing but the interest of Britannia's position here at their heart. What gives you the right to-"

"Villetta, calm down." Ciaran said, reaching up to put a hand on to her shoulder, stopping her in the middle of her tirade. As soon as she'd stopped talking, Villetta realised how quiet the room had fallen from her outburst and how everyone was looking at her; Princess Euphemia had her hands over her mouth in shock, while Guilford and Fick just stared at her in wide eyed surprise. Sinking slowly, she sat back down in her chair, look quite embarrassed.

"My apologies, Your Highness." She said as she turned her head to look at the Princess. "That was uncalled for."

Turning his head, Darlton looked at the Second Princess, expecting to see her directing her trademark glare at the tawny-skinned woman, but instead he saw her giving the other woman a sympathetic smile.

"It's all right, Lady Villetta," Cornelia said earnestly, literally waving off the comment with her left hand. "I would have ended up saying the same thing." Turning slightly, the princess moved her head to look at the minsters on the other side of the table.

"Minister Fitzwilliam, Captain Forsyth is a Briton, yes. But that Briton has saved my life once before and has worked tirelessly to help safeguard Britannia's position in Area 11. To insult this young man when he has worked as hard as he has is to insult every single member of my staff. Is that clear, Minister?"

All eyes turned to look at the man in question. For a few seconds, Fitzwilliam looked resolute, or as resolute as he could with his wide eyes, before he dropped his head in resignation.

"I understand, Your Highness."

"Good," Cornelia said, nodding her head as she continued. "Now, Captain Forsyth's plan relies heavily on his battalion acting with almost complete autonomy, since the patrols will be ranging far and wide through Area 11 to find the enemy. I trust that no-one has any problems with this?"

A polite cough came from Broderib at the end of the table again.

"A question for the young captain, if I may, Your Majesty?" The man with the handlebar moustache asked, holding a hand up politely for the Princess.

"By all means, Commissioner." Cornelia said, sounding intrigued by the possibility of what the man would say.

"Thank you." Broderib said nodding his head respectfully before he turned to look at the young man. "Captain, what would you say would be the expected outcome of casualties from these sorts of operations?"

With all eyes on him, Ciaran made a point to mentally do the calculations in his head before he spoke. "I'd say between eighty percent and ninety percent killed in action."

The older man's eyes shot open in shock at the number. "That' excessively high."

In response, the Briton just shrugged his shoulder. "Just a bit. Why did you ask?"

"If insurgents are ever captured alive, or relatively alive, I trust that you were planning on turning them over to the police. Correct?"

Sitting bolt upright in his chair, Darlton shifted his eyes to look to the sides: that was NOT something that had been discussed, and from the look of mute shock on Ciaran's face and the slightly widened eyes on Cornelia's, he knew that they knew it too.

"I'm only asking since," Broderib said, ignoring, or not even noticing, the looks from the military officers. "under the law, prosecuting these rebels is a matter for the police to handle, not a military matter."

Moving his hand underneath the table, Darlton clenched his fist in annoyance. It was true that, since the Black Knights had not technically given a declaration of war against Britannia, they counted as armed civilians not soldiers, meaning that they fell under police jurisdiction. But that also meant that the suspects would be given the absolute worst possible time. Britannia did not look kindly on insurgents and rebels. The number of people that would be jailed on trumped-up charges, or even 'accidentally' killed in custody, was far too high for the man's liking.

"Only if they are uninjured." Darlton said quickly as he turned his head to look at the other man.

"Pardon, general?" The commissioner asked in surprise.

"If, after the Fireforce doctrine is complete and we do capture any prisoners, there are uninjured among them, we will immediately hand them over to the police." Darlton said resolutely, not taking his eyes off Broderib. "If they are injured however, then they will be placed under military custody to render them aid, during which time, we will question them."

A look of confusion came to the commissioner's face as he turned to look the Second Princess. "Your Highness, the law is clear on the matter. Any rebels caught are to be-"

"Are to be turned over to the police." Cornelia finished. "I am aware of the law. But as I said before, it is the military who will be taking charge of controlling this rebellion. So, I fully agree with General Darlton's proposal. Does anyone else agree?"

Euphemia, having been intently scrutinising the situation in the room, spoke up almost immediately. "I second that motion."

Guilford followed. "Aye."

As expected, the three junior officers added their own 'ayes' to the agreement, not to anyone's surprise, especially since it was the captain's plan being put in to action.

Turning his head, Darlton cast his gaze over the members of the Provisional Council to see their reactions. He knew what the outcome would be: the council would give no votes in favour, instead choosing to follow the doctrine they were already using, which would force the Princess to overrule the vote, further putting the politicians at odds once again with Cornelia, thus forcing the state of Area 11 to be pushed further back from-

"A-aye." A hesitant voice spoke up from the end of the Council's side of the table, making all heads turn in shock to look at Lord Ratzinger, looking very uncomfortable in his seat and his hand raised slightly.

"Alfred!" One of the ministers, a man with what was obviously a wig on his head, said in shock. "What on Earth are you doing?"

"It was the captain who got Hasselbach arrested for his part in the Refrain ring when none of us saw it," Lord Ratzinger said steadfastly as he lowered his hand down. "so, he's the best man for the job. And to be honest? The sooner I can get off this island, the better. I don't want to spend the rest of my term in this damn Area."

Darlton, along with almost everyone else in the room, just stopped and blinked their eyes on confusion at the overweight minister. He knew that being self-serving was one of the basic tenants for being a politician in Britannia, but… this was definitely an odd form of it.

True to form, the Second Princess took the announcement in stride before she continued speaking. "Well, so that puts seven votes for General Darlton's plan. The votes against?"

After a few second of hesitation, the five remaining councilmen raised their hands in dissent of the plan. But basic mathematics won out.

"The 'ayes' have it. Any prisoners taken alive during Captain Forsyth's operations will be placed under military jurisdiction." Cornelia said simply, like the matter was nothing trivial, which to her, it probably was. "Let us continue with other business."

For the next few hours, the meeting went as how many other meetings with the Provisional Council went: reports of industrial output coupled with tax income from both the Britannian and Eleven populations, the disturbing reminder that drug trafficking was on the upsurge again, finding ways to keep the Elevens compliant and various other facets of colonial government. At the end of the meeting, the council members left the room, leaving Cornelia's entourage in the room alone.

When the last person had left the room, Darlton leaned back in his chair in lethargy as he let out a sigh.

"I hate politicians."

"As do we all, Darlton." Cornelia said as she slouched in her chair, raising a hand up to rest against her forehead before she turned to look at the young captain. "Ciaran, why wasn't capturing prisoners in your essay on the Fireforce?"

To the side of him, the scarred general turned his head slightly to look at the young man in question for the answer. For a few seconds, Ciaran was silent as he thought over the answer before he just simply shrugged.

"Never came to mind, sad to say." He said earnestly. "I… I was a bit too focused on the combat side of the whole thing."

Darlton nodded his head at the explanation. "We did kind of instruct him to focus purely on the actual combat itself, Cornelia. So, we can't really blame him for it."

In her seat, the Second Princess nodded her head in agreement before she sat more upright.

"All right, Ciaran. Status report on the battalion."

"We're all ready." The young man replied earnestly. "The battalion is all settled in around the main hangar as per instructions, with the gunship crews and soldiers sharing accommodations. All the gunships are set up in the hangar ready to sortie. All we need is the word."

"And when will the word come in?" Cornelia asked in a teasing manner, smirking softly.

Fick answered this time. "Griffin Two-One Alpha, Sergeant Reyes' stick, are ready to be inserted in to a position where they should, hypothetically, cover a good portion of the Yamanashi province"

"And the gunships themselves?" The lavender-haired princess asked, shifting her gaze to look at Lieutenant Villetta. Arcing an eyebrow slightly, Darlton was certain that Cornelia's eyes were a little less… stern as she looked at the other woman.

"They're all ready and primed, My Lady." Villetta replied with a nod of her head. "All of them have their tanks filled to max operational capacity and all the ammunition is ready to be loaded and switched out on demand."

Once more, the Second Princess leaned back in her chair as a happy smirk came to her lips. "So, my Warhounds are braying to be let off their leash, eh?"

The room fell silent for a few seconds, as no-one was sure how to properly bring up the fact that Cornelia had said a blatantly cheesy line before unilaterally deciding against it.

"Yes, we are, Your Highness." Ciaran said, nodding his head with a straight face.

"Good." The Princess replied with a nod of her own, before she stood up from her chair. "Ciaran, I shall leave you and your subordinates to join your men so you're all ready for the call to sortie."

"So, does that mean we won't be seeing you for dinner then?" Euphemia asked despondently, earning an apologetic shrug from the Briton.

"Afraid so, Princess."

"You'll get used to it, Euphemia." The Viceroy said as she moved away from her chair and headed towards the exit. "I'm going to take a bath. These meetings always make me feel so dirty."

The young princess couldn't help but grimace at the phrase as her older sister left the room, bringing a laugh from the others, leaving them in the room.

"So, any word on when we'll get those reinforcements, General Darlton?" Ciaran asked, turning his chair to look at the scarred senior officer.

A shrug came in reply. "Probably the better part of the week, I'd say. The conflict with the European Union is drawing high-command's attention and a lot of the veteran regiments are being sent to North Africa and Euro-Britannia. Although that doesn't mean that we'll be getting fully new regiments, but we won't be getting regiments like the Black Watch or the Grenadier Guards I'm afraid."

"Even though the Second Princess is here, were still considered of having such low importance." The female lieutenant commented dryly, earning a sympathetic nod from the General.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Darlton said with a sad nod before he perked back up. "Still, at least that means that 332 Battalion get some much-needed practice in."

This earned a soft chuckle from the three officers

"Lady Villetta," Guilford asked, leaning to the side to rest more comfortably in his chair. "May I ask you a question?"

The question stumped the tawny-skinned woman, her golden eyes opening wide. "Umm… of course, Lord Guilford."

"Well, it's not a question really but more of an observation, My Lady: less than two months ago, I could not imagine you jumping to defend someone like Ciaran from insults. In fact, you'd have probably been the one to let the insults fly. So… why the change in attitude?"

This startled Villetta again, which was further enhanced by the Briton in question turning his seat to look at her and hear her answer.

"… Because he's defended me." She said after a few quiet seconds of nervous thought. "The fact that he let me be his second-in-command shows that. Plus, he also came to my aid when we were attacked in Sacramento. I think that rebuking any insults thrown at him is the least I can do for him at this point."

A soft smile came to Darlton's lips at the loyalty in Villetta's voice. The young man had really rubbed off on her, it seemed. To his side, the same smile was repeated on Ciaran's lips as he looked at the noblewoman.

"Looks like I made the right choice for my second, then." He said genially, which brought a smile to Villetta's face.

Leaning back in his chair again, the scarred general crossed his hands over his stomach as he took in the scene. This was good for the Briton. He knew that having Dorothea leave so early in her relationship with him would be quite tough on him and someone like Villetta, a friend and a trusted colleague, would hopefully keep him focused on the job.

"So, what's the timetable for Sergeant Reyes' patrol?" He asked, deciding to keep the focus of the conversation on military affairs.

"They'll leave to night, sir." Lieutenant Fick replied. "They'll be taken to a pre-planned drop-off point in a civilian vehicle at twenty-one-hundred hours, with three-day window to find the enemy."

"Yamanashi province is a big place." Guilford noted, sounding a little bit worried. "Are you sure that they'll find anything there?"

"If I'm right about the way the insurgents are operating, My Lord," Ciaran said, the smile still on his face. "Then they'll be in an area that'll let them get to the Settlement quickly but also to slip away quickly too. Yamanashi is where I would go if I was in the insurgent's place."

Both Guilford and Darlton nodded their heads in understanding before the scarred general spoke up.

"Well, I suggest that you three get back to your battalion. Be ready for action."

The three officers nodded their heads in agreement as they stood up from their seats before respectively nodding their heads and bidding their farewells before leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind them, leaving the trio alone.

Looking to his side, Darlton looked at the form of Princess Euphemia who was looking intently at a small monitor in front of her.

"Penny for your thoughts, Highness?" He asked warmly, inadvertently snapping the young woman from her reverie.

"What? Oh, sorry, Darlton. I was… I was just thinking."

"About what, Princess?" Guilford asked, sounding a little bit concerned at the girl's words, which prompted a shrug from Euphemia.

"It's just… Cornelia told me that she believes that we're getting close to stopping Zero and the Black Knights." She said simply.

"And she will, Euphemia." Guilford said earnestly. "You of all people should know that when your sister says she's going to do something, she'll stick to it."

The scarred general nodded his head. He knew that the Second Princess would not let anything stop her from stopping the rebels as best as she could. Although from looking at the forlorn expression on Euphemia's face, Darlton had an inkling that wasn't what she was getting at.

"Are you worried about what's going to happen when you take over as Viceroy?"

Again, another nod.

"Your sister has prepared for that too, Princess." Darlton responded, taking on a more paternal tone now. "Your safety is her main concern, so you know that she will only hand over the title to you when she is absolutely sure that the situation here has fully stabilised. And even then, Cornelia will have made sure that you are protected."

Euphemia nodded her head in understanding as the older man continued talking, his voice dropping in to a somewhat conspiratorial tone.

"Plus, and I very much shouldn't be telling you this, but Cornelia has made it clear that she'll be keeping the units and officers here she thoroughly believes to be the best ones suited to help you when you become Viceroy."

At this, both Euphemia's and Guilford's ears perked up, as they turned to look at the general in surprise.

"And how would you know this, General Darlton?" Guilford asked in surprise.

"Because… she has selected me to be the head of Euphemia's new Royal Guard." Darlton said a with a smile. "Although, of course, the particulars of the rest of her Royal Guard are up to the Princess."

At the news, a smile crossed Euphemia's face, her eyes opening wide in delight before she clapped her hands together. "Oh, that's wonderful news. Although are you sure that sister won't mind?"

Darlton waved off the comment like it was a fly. "Of course, not. She's a skilled general in her own right, and has Gil to support her, so I think she can manage without me."

"And I get to choose the units and officers who will remain behind?" Euphemia asked, looking at the general with hopeful optimism. When he nodded, her eyes opened wider than Darlton thought possible. "Oh, brilliant! When can I start the list?"

"As soon as you can," Darlton said with a shrug, before he pointed a finger at the young woman. "But it's best to take your time with it. I think she's still a bit angry about the last time you knew something she didn't."

Euphemia opened her mouth to protest but she timidly nodded her head in agreement before she stood up from her chair.

"Well, gentlemen, if you will excuse me. I shall help my sister with her bath."

Both men nodded their heads before the pink princess moved past them and exited the room. When the door slid shut, leaving the two men alone.

Leaning back in his chair, followed by putting his feet up on to the table's surface, Guilford let his eyes move to look at the ceiling.

"I see that you didn't tell Euphemia about the fact that, if our young friend's unit preforms well here, then there is a very good chance that they will be transferred out from Cornelia's control."

"There's a good chance he won't." Darlton pointed out.

"But there is an equal chance that he will." Guilford responded, tilting his head to the side, a blank look on his face.

The general's black eyes locked with blue before he sighed in resignation.

"But he can't not perform to the best of his abilities," Darlton noted in annoyance. "He's put too much time and effort in to this, we all have."

Cornelia's Knight nodded his head in understanding. "But if he performs too well, he'll just be swallowed up by the bureaucracy of the Imperial military."

A sigh filtered from the scarred general's mouth in agreement.

"I guess we'll have to see how it goes then."

---

They had been in the field for a day and a half now. The four soldiers that made up the stick of Griffin Two-One Alpha moved through the Japanese brush carefully in the manner that they were trained do. Attention was paid to where their feet were placed to keep themselves from stepping on any undergrowth, while their weapons were held at the ready, their eyes scanned the immediate vicinity and the ground around them for anything out of the usual.

For Sergeant Reyes, this was what he was trained for: moving through the field, hunting for the enemy then relaying the information back to command, who would then send in the cavalry to hit the enemy.

A smile cracked his face, moving the reapplied camouflage cream on his cheeks. This was real Pathfinders work.

Granted, it did have its downside: the nutritional value of the food he and the others had to eat was garbage, the sweat was playing hell with his underclothes, the straps from his pack were rubbing against his shoulders along with the straps of his combat webbing and whenever he had to take a shit, he had to do it in a plastic bag which he would then carry in his pack, but he considered those nothing as he lead his fireteam – no, he reminded himself, his stick, through the woods of Area 11.

And to be honest, these woods weren't the worst places he'd been sent to. The late July weather made the place hot, yes, but it wasn't as bad as the Central Arabic deserts. Although the humidity was something awful, but he could not deny that the scenery was fucking lovely.

Even if said scenery had the potential to hide an insurgent force in it. But that just made it fun.

Griffin Two-One Alpha had been inserted in to the Yamanashi province of Area 11 two nights ago, in an unassuming civilian camper van which had been driven by a well-paid civilian volunteer before they slipped away in to the brush. Their orders had been clear: They had a three-day window. Search the area and find any sign of the enemy.

The captain had been quite loose with the mission objective.

"If you find a base, of any size, being used by the enemy," Captain Forsyth had said. "That's fucking perfect. If you find any base that has been used by the enemy recently; that's still good. I'll only consider this mission a failure if we find nothing."

Normally, reconnaissance missions had a lot more stringent goals, but this one really let the Pathfinders basically do what they wanted, in a sense: they were the ones who could plan the patrol routes, what gear they could bring and how they could prepare. Although as Pathfinders, they were anything but unprofessional. Each man carried the standard fifty kilograms of equipment, mostly stored in the large pack on their back, while seven extra magazines sat in the pouches of his loadbearing harness along with the various other equipment they would need on the tab while their SLRs were held ready in their hands.

Moving his hand slightly, Reyes looked at his watch.

13:43

"Two minutes to the next chance over." He said quietly to the rest of the stick through his radio.

Confirmations came through in his ears, the recce team under orders to maintain silence unless fully necessary. Looking to his side, Reyes saw the men spread out around him in a sort-of V-shape, each man spread out at roughly fifty yards behind and to his sides.

The last thirty-six hours of searching had brought up hardly anything of note, and that was annoying the men. If they didn't find anything, they would consider the search a failure.

Practically all the men were veterans, minus one or two newbies, with numerous years of pathfinding and reconnaissance missions under their belt, so they knew that failing a recce mission was just a likely to happen as succeeding, but they weren't in the Pathfinders anymore: they were soldiers of 332 Battalion. They were Warhounds. Ciaran's Warhounds. Cornelia's Warhounds. If they didn't complete this mission, then what would that mean for all of them?

"Okay, guys." He said aloud, turning around to the man on his left. "Brunmeier, you're on point."

The lance corporal in question nodded his head as he moved to take over Reye's position as lead scout, the sergeant taking over his position on the left flank, both men exchanging a high-five between the other as they passed the other.

For a few short seconds, the men took a short break, drinking from their hydration packs or taking out small food bars to eat and recharge their energy for a few short moments before they began their search again.

Even with Brunmeier leading the way, that didn't mean that Reyes was idle. With his weapon still raised, his hazel eyes scanning the environment once again. Not being the point man let his eyes scrutinize the environment in just that little more detail now that he wasn't that focused on leading the men.

The clues for hunting for enemy fighters were subtle so you had to pay close attention to spot them. Some were easy to spot; a discarded sweet wrapper, a used cigarette butt, that sort of thing. Some were harder to spot; the indent in the earth where a rifle butt was rested on the ground from an insurgent patrol taking a breather from a patrol, the way in which a bush had been trampled through. But by general rule of thumb, footprints were the best things to look for.

Brunmeier had been leading the patrol for about almost five minutes before they finally struck pay-dirt with a call from the right flank of the patrol, from Manimal, got the attention.

"Yo! Over here!"

Reyes should have chastised the man for shouting so loudly, but hearing the excitement in his voice, he couldn't help rushing over to come beside him as he saw Manimal crouch down to look at something on the ground.

"What have you got, my man?" Reyes asked as he drew up behind the kneeling corporal's shoulder. But looking at the ground, he didn't need to ask as a smile came to his mouth.

Footprints, about six pairs, walking at in the direction that had intercepted Griffin Two-One Alpha's path clear in the mud.

"About fucking time." Brunmeier said in annoyed relief as he moved closer to observe the discovery, while signalling for the other man to move forward and cover the area.

Unslinging his rifle, Reyes put the gun down on the ground almost parallel with the tracks. The L61A1 was thirty-one inches in length, just a fraction short of a yard, but the sergeant knew his maths. Doing the equations quickly in his head, he measured the length of the feet plus the length of the stride.

"These guys weren't in a hurry. Must have been a routine patrol for them." He said, noting the unhurriedness of the steps.

"And they're fresh too." Manimal pointed out, gesturing to the shape and consistency of the dirt. "But there's military grade boots and civilian trainers too. What do you make of that, Rude?"

Reyes just shrugged in reply. "Can't say for certain. Maybe they're running low on equipment? Who knows? But let's follow them and find out."

Raising himself to his feet, Reyes looked to the men.

"Brunmeier, you're still on point. We'll move in a diamond, following the trail. Manimal; you take the left. I'll take the right, and Chaffin will bring up the rear. Everyone, keep your weapons up and ready. Everyone good to go?"

The three men replied in the positive before they quickly moved in to their ordered positions, their rifles ready for combat. When they were set, Brunmeier ordered the advance, moving out a steady pace.

Moving along the forest, Reyes' eyes flitted from bush to bush, tree to tree, observing everything. The information packet he and the rest of the battalion had been given highlighted their enemies, both the JLF and the Black Knights, in terms of uniforms and equipment. So, his eyes were looking for any flashes of drab green or black fabric. Keeping his right eye focused over the very top of his iron sights, he let his vision sweep over everything that was on his side of the diamond.

After roughly ten minutes of waling, Brunmeier ordered the team to a halt, holding his closed left fist up for the others to see. At the signal, the three other men stopped in their tracks, weapons pressed tight in to their shoulders.

"What do you see, Brunmeier?" Sergeant Reyes asked even as he scanned his immediate sector.

"Possible enemy contact, four hundred metres to our front." The other man said, keeping his voice quiet.

"Spread out in to line!" Reyes hissed suddenly. "Get in to cover, now!"

The men followed his command in a snap, each person moving to the side and dropping down behind something, keeping their bodies low to the ground.

Taking cover behind a sizeable tree, Reyes peered out from around the flora, snapping open one of the pouches on his belt and pulling out a pair of binoculars. Lifting them to his eyes, he adjusted the magnification level until he could see clearly what had gotten Brunmeier's attention.

A sly grin came to Reyes' mouth as he lowered his binoculars.

"Chaffin, hand me the radio."

The private in question nodded his head as he leopard crawled over to the sergeant, reaching back and unhooking the handset from the radio-set on his back as he brought himself up in to a kneel before handing the piece of tech to the other man.

Keying the handset, Reyes waited for the small click that meant the message was being received.

"Griffin Command, this is Griffin Two-One Alpha. How copy? Over."

The radio set crackled for a few seconds before another voice come through on the other end.

"Griffin Two-One Alpha, this is Griffin Command. We read you loud and clear. Send traffic. Over."

"Griffin Command, we have enemy contact at grid five-four-sierra, three-one-two-one-two-zero, three-nine-three-four-nine-four-four. How copy? Over."

"Two-One Alpha has enemy contact at grid five-four-sierra, three-one-two-one-two-zero, three-nine-three-four-nine-four-four. Message received. Standby for further orders. Griffin Command, out."

Handing the handset back to Chaffin and replacing his binoculars in their pouch, Reyes raised his rifle again.

"Sit tight, boys. The cavalry is on its way." He said, earning a few quiet words from the men of his fire team. Turning his attention back to the target location though, he couldn't help but feel a little bit of dread at the sight of the head of a Knightmare Frame staring off in to the distance.

---

The inside of the Viceroy's Palace shook as three blasts of the air-raid siren sounded in rapid succession through the large building. To the members of the Palace's staff, the sound only brought confusion since they had never been briefed about the use of a three-blast siren, so they simply went about their tasks.

For the soldiers of Alpha Platoon, 332 Battalion, the sound was a call to drop whatever they were doing and to spring in to action.

All the soldiers and pilot crews had been stationed on the same level of the hangar, which was where a good number of the barracks were located, an area that was could hold almost three whole regiments of infantry plus support staff. However, after the disaster at Narita, a lot of this space was empty meaning that the battalion had free reign for where to stow their gear and to sleep.

Under normal circumstances, the soldiers and pilots would be able to take advantage of the amenities offered to the soldiers in the palace: a self-service bar (with a small number of alcoholic drinks), a multimedia room with a wide-screen TV for movies, a sizeable gym, mess and sleeping quarters, along with a quartermaster's store and a firing range. These rooms would have normally been filled with the various bodies of the aviators, aircrews and soldiers making use of their free time, cleaning their weapons, running PT or just generally wasting time.

When the siren sounded, for Alpha Platoon, all those activities were dropped. Weapons were quickly and concisely reassembled, drinks and sources of entertainment were left where they were, and exercises were stopped as all military personnel began the task of getting their equipment together. Fatigues were pulled on and body armour was equipped before the soldiers headed to the quartermaster to collect their weapons.

It was in to this organized maelstrom of activity that Ciaran walked in to. Already dressed in his gear, cap fixed on to his head, he headed towards the barred window that led to the quartermaster's store to collect his weapon before he moved to join his squad mates.

"It is fucking on, sir!" A soldier called out to him as he moved past the captain, his weapon in his hands and a happy grin on his face.

"You fucking know it, mate!" The young man replied with a grin of his own, but inside of his head, another thought was going around: "This is taking too long."

"Your gun, captain." The quartermaster, a stout man with the top-heavy physique of a wrestler said as he handed Ciaran his rifle with underslung grenade launcher, beaming broadly as he continued speaking. "Give them one for me, sir."

The Briton nodded his head as he accepted the rifle, a small smile on his face before he turned away, not really wishing to engage with the man any more than he needed to. And looking around, he knew that he was right to do so: the pile up of men behind him was moving too slowly.

Looking around quickly as he moved to the side to let another soldier get his weapon, Ciaran set his mouth in to a grimace as he watched his supposedly elite fighting force collect their weapons at a pace that reminded him far too much of getting lunch at the dining hall back when he was in primary school.

"You know you can give them an order to move faster, sir." A voice behind him said, making the young officer turn around. Behind him, Sergeant-Major Reynolds and Sergeant Colbert were coming up towards him. Both men were dressed in their combat uniform and gear while their own weapons were slung across their chests.

The suggestion made Ciaran's mood sour even more, as his mouth set in to an even harder line as he narrowed his eyes at the taller men.

Neither of them blanched at the display, with Reynolds lightly slapping Colbert on the arm. "Sergeant, get these men moving faster."

"Yes, sergeant-major." The younger NCO said, nodding his head before he began calling out to the soldiers. "Once you have your weapons, move out to the assembly area! Form up in sticks, just like we practised. Let's move!"

That got the men moving quicker, as the ones who were staying around quickly moved out of the area and the line of men waiting to get their weapons moved just a bit faster. Moving forward, Reynolds put a hand on his young commanding officer's shoulder.

"Sir, just relax. We'll get this down right. Don't worry." He said quietly and calmly, trying his best to placate the younger man. But his words fell on deaf ears as Ciaran moved away from his grip and headed towards the assembly area himself, already thinking aloud about how he could fix the problem.

"I need to talk to Cornelia, or maybe Darlton. That was too slow. We can't waste time on having the men get their weapons. It needs to be done quickly. But where can they put their weapons? Surely, they can't have them with them at all times. Or could they? -"

"Captain." Reynolds said simply but sternly, making Ciaran pause before he spun around to look at him, a look of concern in the older man's eyes. "Sir, you're going to burn out before we get in to combat. Calm. Down."

Looking at his subordinate officer, the young Briton took in several breaths as he slowed himself down from the high-speed conversation he was having with himself before he put both of his up to his face, letting out a low groan.

"Goddamnit, you're right." He admitted as he dragged the hands down his face, comically stretching out his lower eyelids before he let his hands fall completely. "But this must be gotten down right the first time, or we'll never get a chance to get it right a second time."

This brought a small smile to the sergeant-major's face. "Sir, I understand. But please: you acting like this really doesn't inspire a lot of confidence in the men."

Okay, now that was a sucker-punch for him. He knew from experience how horrible it was to know that you were good at something, yet to have someone continually staring down your shoulder, doubting your every move. God, it was fucking horrible.

Letting out another sigh, Ciaran looked quite ashamed at what he had done. Reynolds was right: these men were professionals, so they obviously knew what they were doing.

"You're right." He said, nodding his head. "I shouldn't worry too much about this."

"Good choice." Reynolds said, nodding his own head. "All you have to worry about is when the bullet's start flying."

Ciaran couldn't help but chuckle at the sergeant-major's words as he turned to continue walking towards the assembly area again. "Very good point, Reynolds. I'll leave the rest of this to you. Know where Lieutenant Fick is?"

"He's with Lieutenant Villetta, sir." Reynolds pointed over the young captain's shoulder, towards the hangar. "They're waiting for you so they can over the operational plan now."

That bit of information nearly caused the Briton's eyes to bug out of his skull in shock before he slapped his right hand hard in to his forehead. He knew there was something else he was supposed to be doing.

"Fucking hell!" He yelled out as he spun around quickly and ran at a full sprint towards the hangar, leaving Reynolds behind to laugh at his antics before he too moved to join the soldiers forming up to move in to the hangar.

Weaving his way past the soldiers, Ciaran made his way to where he best thought that his two lieutenants would be. Moving in to the hangar, he slowed as he took in the sight before him: the gunships of Butcher squadron, all six standing in a line, were being swarmed over by their crews. Crew served weapons were being fitted in to their housings while engineers went about their tasks of preparing the helicopters for the first mission.

At the very end of the queue of gunships, the young man saw his two subordinate officers standing neck to Butcher 100, both dressed in their own combat uniforms and looking intently at a hand-held electronic map display, while the helicopter's pilot sat in the cockpit, seemingly checking his instruments. Coming closer, Ciaran saw the tawny-skinned noblewoman wasn't wearing the same body armour as Fick. Instead, he saw that she was wearing a simple webbing system, with various pouches attached to it along with a pistol holster. Her flight helmet was already on, leaving only a small sliver of her long silver hair to be exposed from underneath the back of it.

"Villetta, Fick!" The young man called out, as he closed towards them, causing the two to stop talking before they spun around and saluted him as he set his radio-set up, placing the headset over his ear. "What's the sitrep?"

"Sir," Fick responded first. "Griffin Two-One Alpha is still holding position outside of the enemy encampment. The information they gave is a force of two dozen fighters, predominantly infantry with a single heavy weapon."

"What's the weapon?"

"A Burai Knightmare frame, sir." The lieutenant replied.

Ciaran nodded his head. This was good. This was exactly the type of force that they had been training against.

"Let's see the map." He said, holding out his hand to accept the device, which he was given to by Villetta. Looking at the screen, he saw that it was a display of a topographic map of the area that the scout team was in, their position highlight by a blue triangle. In front of them, probably three hundred metres or so, was the position of the enemy encampment, a small cluster of black squares with several red dots among them and a large red square right in the middle. "So, what were you two talking about?"

Villetta replied this time. "I was suggesting that if I swing around from behind where Griffin Two-One Alpha is positioned, then I can get a better lay of the land and spread the forces out properly." She swept a finger over the map accordingly as she spoke. "I've also got my M197 tooled up so the first two dozen rounds are HEAP while the rest are HE. Sound good?"

Ciaran nodded his head. "Yeah, that sounds good. Taking out that Knightmare will be the main worry for us."

"Unless the enemy has any AAMs." Fick said quietly, which was a valid concern, Ciaran knew, but to him it still seemed to be an unnecessary worry.

Giving the device back to the noblewoman, the young man let out a small sigh. "If this all works well, then they won't even have a change to use them."

Although he had to admit to himself, those words didn't really fill him with confidence. The Fireforce doctrine had been implemented when anti-air weaponry was in very short supply to insurgent fighters, leaving them with towed or vehicle mounted AA guns. Plus, the Rhodesians had to worry about their own fragile helicopters when they went in to action, which with the embargoes placed on them, would not have allowed them to create any serious countermeasures.

But, he had to remind himself: they weren't in Rhodesia.

"Well, I'm sure the flares on these babies-" He nodded his head at Butcher 100. "Will be more than up to the task. Plus, I think that Miss Villetta's initial pass will put the fear of God in to the enemy enough for them not to use any weapons like that."

The smile he put on to his face seemed to allay the pair of Britannian's worries as they returned the smile in turn.

"Captain Forsyth." Reynolds' voice sounded from behind him again, making Ciaran turn around to see the sergeant-major walking towards him before stopping short. "All the men are assembled."

Looking past the taller man, the young captain saw that, correctly, the men of Alpha were standing at ease by their sticks, ready for the command to move out. Out of the corner of his eyes, the Briton saw the helicopter crews were standing beside their vehicles, while the rest of the battalion were standing off to one side, ready to hear his words.

Moving past Reynolds and standing in front of the platoon, Ciaran took in a deep breath before he gave one of his first orders to the men under his command.

"Platoon! Atten-shun!"

As one, the soldiers stamped their right foot parallel to their left foot as their hands shot down to their sides as they waited to hear what their commander would say next.

Standing in front of his men, Ciaran really didn't know what to say next. He was good with his words, he knew that, but right now, he couldn't say anything that these men hadn't already heard before or was ripped from a movie or something similar.

"Warhounds!" He called out, trying to stall time. "... You all know your jobs, and you know how to do them. So, let's go give these insurgent bastards hell!"

Okay, so it turned out he did know what to say. And from the nodding heads of Pappy and Colbert, he knew that the words must have struck the right cord with them.

'Let's see if I can keep this going.' He thought to himself as he stepped to the side. "All right then, you horrible lot. What are you waiting for? A personal invitation from the Emperor? Let's get this show on the road! Sergeant-major, move them out!"

Admittedly, that one did lack the same sort of vim he had in the first speech, but it got the job done as the men all gave a cheer in reply as Reynolds followed the order given to him.

"Stick leaders, get your men in to your transports! Remember: first in, last out. Let's go, let's go!"

With a near feral whoop, the platoon surged forward, all of them expertly heading towards their designated vehicle, with each gunship's crew climbing in to them. Turning to his side, Ciaran held up a hand to Villetta who was about to climb in to her Valkyr.

"Sir?"

"Good hunting, Villetta." Ciaran said a with a smile. "And no matter what happens, I want you to know that it's been a pleasure to work with you."

Villetta's golden eyes opened wide at him in shock before she smiled and took his hand, returning the shake. "The same to you, Ciaran. Good hunting."

Retrieving his hand, he then turned to face Fick, to whom he smiled before giving him a reassuring pat on the arm. "Ready to rock?"

The Britannian lieutenant chuckled slightly before he nodded his head. "Ready sir."

With Fick in to, he walked away from Butcher 100, moving down its length before he headed towards his own gunship. From the looks of it, the last man of the assembled fireteam was already embarked, with the side doors of vehicle closed but the rear ramp remained open. As Ciaran climbed in to the troop space, leaving Fick to head to his own vehicle, his ear piece crackled in to life before the distinctive voice of the Second Princess came in to his ear.

"To all the soldiers and pilots of 332 Battalion," Cornelia said sternly as she addressed everyone via the radio. "I wish you good luck in you endeavour. Maybe fortune smile on you fondly. Good hunting."

That brought a small smile to Ciaran's face as he climbed the rest of the way up the ramp and sat down in the seat on the left side of the compartment, the same seat that he had occupied when they had first tested the doctrine, which placed him directly across from Sergeant Colbert again, who had a surprised smile of his own on his face.

"What's up, sergeant?" The young man had to call out, the sound of the Valkyr's engines roaring in to life, propelling the rotors in to moving.

"I've never known the Princess to do that before!" Colbert called out as the noise became tumultuous, with the whirring sound of the rear ramp moving closed adding to the noise.

Leaning back in his seat, Ciaran kept the smile on his face as he listened to the other soldiers converse about what the Princess had said.

"Maybe it's because we're a new unit!" One of them called out to someone. "This is our first mission after all."

"Yeah, but some of us have served under her before you know." Another one countered, sounding quite annoyed. "She's never given any sort of speech like that before."

Turning his head to the side, Ciaran looked the slowly closing gap caused by the ramp as he mulled over what Cornelia had said.

'That had to be for my benefit then.' He mentally told himself as the door closed shut with a hiss, bathing the soldiers inside with the small amount of light that was let in via the small side windows of the helicopter.

---

The engine of Butcher 100 rocked the aircraft's frame as Villetta took in a steadying breath as she waited for the all clear from air traffic control, although the supportive words from Princess Cornelia still rang in her ears.

"Ready, Miss Villetta?" The Cajun accented voice of Boisseau came in to her ears, making Villetta turn her head slightly to look behind her at the pilot of the gunship sat in the rear bubble canopy. Even though his helmet was on fully and the visor was down, the broad smile on his olive-skinned face made his toothy grin seem all the more prominent.

The noblewoman nodded her head once as she returned the smile. "Definitely. It's just a whole different ordeal when you know that the enemy is going to be shooting back."

Boisseau nodded his head and opened his mouth to speak, but his reply was cut off as the radio crackled in to life.

"Control to Butcher Squadron. You are given green light for take-off." The Palace's air traffic controller said. "I repeat: Butcher Squadron, you are given green light for take-off. Happy hunting. Over."

Switching her radio frequency to the control tower, Villetta responded. "Copy that, Control. We are moving out. Over and out." Pulling her reflective visor down over her eyes, she radioed to all the other helicopter pilots. "Butcher One Actual to all Butcher Units; we have green light. I repeat: we have green light. Prepare to move out. Over and out."

Almost immediately, the other pilots replied in the positive, the sound of their own engines starting up adding to the miniature hurricane in the hangar.

Shaking out the tension that had been building in her shoulders and arms, Villetta spoke again to her pilot. "Boisseau, take us out."

"Tout de suite, mon lieutenant." The pilot replied. Seconds later, the helicopter began moving forward slowly on its wheels, it's propellers pushing it in motion. The effect was similar to a Knightmare rolling out, but the added lift of the helicopter gaining height was something different all together.

In less than half a minute, the Valkyr was airborne and steadily climbing upwards in to the early afternoon sky before it banked to the left and in to the west. Even though she had flown in the gunship several times before when they were at Sacramento, Villetta was still amazed at how quickly the machine could fly with its sheer size, even flying at two-hundred and fifty kilometres per hour. Below her, the off-white colour of the buildings in the Tokyo Settlement quickly bled away in to the dead grey of the Sagamihara ghetto before it was replaced by the greens of the woods of the more rural parts of Area 11, inter-cut by the sheer black line of the highway.

Turning her left wrist slightly to see the underside, the tawny-skinned woman looked at the time. Five minutes since take off. By now, the other five gunships would be taking off from the hangar, following in Villetta's flight path, one after the other. Just as they had been trained. That left just a little over twenty minutes until they reached their target.

"Boisseau, I want you to follow the highway until we're past Otsuki, then swing left over the mountain range."

"Copy that." The warrant-officer responded before he shifted the vehicle to follow the line of the highway. Flying as high and as quickly as they were, Villetta had to wonder: did anyone on the ground have any idea what was flying overhead? Probably not.

Opening her comms, she tuned the radio in to the frequency that Stick Bravo Three-Alpha were using for their comms.

"Two-One Alpha, this Butcher Actual. How copy? Over."

A few short seconds of static before Sergeant Reyes' voice came through in to her ears. "Butcher Actual, this Griffin Two-One Alpha. We copy you. Over."

"Two-One Alpha; be advised that Butcher Squadron will be coming up over your six. Interrogative: what is the situation of the enemy? Over."

"Butcher Actual: enemy is still unaware of our presence. Over."

A sly smile came to her lips. Perfect.

"Two-One Alpha. We are eighteen minutes out. Remember your orders: open fire when K-car engages enemy. How copy? Over."

"Butcher Actual: Griffin Two-One Alpha copies all. Out."

At the confirmation, Villetta cut the link, leaving the only sound in her ears to be the sounds of the jet powered rotors thrumming quickly overhead.

She thought over what was happening in the holds of the other gunships. Ciaran and the Pathfinders would be checking that their weapons were ready, racking the slides to reveal the brass jacketed ammunition held inside before letting them snap back in to position. The radios had already been tuned in, a precaution that the young captain was intent on having done correctly. Medical gear had been shared out proportionately between each man in the stick, even though she knew that CMT Bryan and his fellow medic, Peterson, was flying with the platoon.

It was still so amazing to her that someone so young could create something with such a high degree of planning. And it took less than a month to finalize.

No wonder the Briton was in the Viceroy's Royal Guard.

The gentle shifting of the Valkyr to their left made Villetta turn her head to look out of the side of her cockpit. She could see the town of Otsuki quickly receding in to the distance behind and below the gunship.

"All right, this is it." She said to both the other crew-members of the aircraft. "We're in the final stretch. Andrews, ready up."

"Aye, ma'am." The other woman responded. Without having to look back (not that she really could anyway), Villetta knew that the crewman was engaging the side door on the left side of the hull to slide flush against the flank of the gunship before she moved the M197 in to position, gripping the spade-grips tight in preparation for combat.

Keying her radio, the noblewoman broadcast to the entire battalion. "Butch Actual to Alpha Platoon; we are eight minutes out. Prepare for imminent combat."

Ciaran's voice came in quickly. "All right everyone, this is it. Ready up."

Villetta couldn't help but smile at the commanding tone that was in the young man's voice.

Reaching forward, the tawny-skinned woman flipped and pressed a quick series of switches and buttons to activate the targeting system that sat on the nose of the helicopter, the Cyclopean eye opening and 'blinking' as the camera inside the device orientated itself. On the inner side of Villetta's visor, the image she could see changed from the view from her cockpit to the view from the chin mounted camera. While it still did cause a little bit of disorientation when it initiated, the feeling quickly faded as the co-pilot and Fireforce commander took in the world from the new viewpoint.

Turning her head side to side, she checked the movement of the system before using the trigger mechanism on the gun controls to zoom in then out on the terrain as it sped past. The quality of the camera showed everything below in high definition, but the best part of the targeting camera was the ability to make out in proper detail where units, both friendly and non-friendly, were precisely.

As she brought the camera to look directly ahead, Villetta could see four very small green icons that the gunship was rapidly coming closer to, the icons blinking at the very edge of the periphery of a large clearing.

The radio crackled in to life. "Butcher Actual, this is Griffin Two-One Alpha. We can hear you getting closer and so can the enemy. They're getting spooked. Over."

Another smile graced Villetta's lips. This was too good to be true.

"Butcher One copies all. Keep your heads down gentlemen. This is going to be danger-close. Over."

"Griffin Two-One Alpha copies all, ma'am. Over and out. See you when this is over."

The tawny-skinned woman nodded her head, although the gesture was wholly unnecessary. "All right. Boisseau, Andrews: prepare for combat!"

"Oui, madam!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

At the command, the Valkyr turned to the right before it began circling the area, giving Villetta a brilliant view of the combat zone. In the middle of the obviously artificially cleared out area of forest, probably about three hundred metres in size, were built several small prefabricated huts. They were simple things: square in shape, made from what looked like green painted metal sheets, further camouflaged with splotches of paint and what looked like rudimentary camouflage netting to further hide them. A gap of maybe fifty square metres of clear ground lay between them, and in the middle of that, stood the unmistakeable form of a Burai Knightmare frame.

"Gun ready, ma'am!" Andrews' yelled out from her position in the belly of the vehicle as the helicopter orientated itself to fire on the target. Through the chin mounted camera, Villetta saw that the enemy's reaction to the arrival of the helicopter gunship was mixed: some of the people on the ground were still stood in place, awed by the vehicle's arrival, while others ran for cover.

But the immediate concern was the Burai, which was beginning to power up.

"Primary target is enemy Knightmare! Andrews, take it out!" The noblewoman called loudly over the radio.

"Copy that!" Came the reply. "Gun firing... now!"

Several seconds later, the left most edge of Villetta's vision was blurred as the twenty-millimetre gun fired off its first burst, the loud BRRRRRT sound of the rotary cannon firing its lethal payload at the target. Watching the white-hot shells cut through the air, Villetta watched in fascination as the shells pierced through the metal skin of the Burai, making the machine jerk to the side for a split second like it had been punched before the machine ruptured in to flames in an impressive explosion, taking out one of the huts and a couple of enemy fighters with it.

That got the insurgents to decide what to do, although again the choices were mixed: those that had chosen to run and hide as they bolted, or bomb-shelled as Ciaran would say, while the others decided to be more active and chose to fire on Butcher 100.

It was at that moment in time that the other Valkyrs of Butcher Squadron arrived on the scene, three of them following Villetta's aircraft in the left-hand circle while two of them broke away and flew directly over the combat zone, flying low through the cloud of black smoke, frightening the insurgents even more. The sound of Two-One Alpha's rifles firing added an extra element of chaos to the scene.

"Butcher Actual to all Butcher and Griffin units: we are in it now, everyone!" Villetta called out as she switched the camera feed to a small square that sat in the corner of her visor, letting her view the entire scene in its entirety.

It was only then that she truly realised the scope of the source of apprehension that Ciaran had when they learnt that the target area was in a forest: these trees were big, and so close together! Their size had to range from anywhere between twenty and thirty feet in height, with long branches akin to those on deciduous while the others were the firm evergreens.

It was an almost impenetrable sea of alternating shades of green.

As the Fireforce's commander, it was Villetta's job to decide where each G-car would unload their sticks and which ones would provide fire support. She was the one who would use the intelligence gathered to formulate the full battle-plan when she arrived at the combat area. But she had no immediate idea how to work this problem out.

Her fellow pilots were trying to work out the same problem too.

"Butcher Actual, this Butcher One-Two!" Warrant-officer de Pomeroy called out over the radio, sounding very unnerved by the turn of events. "I've got nowhere to offload my sticks. I'm a sitting duck out here."

"Butcher One-Two, just keep flying! You'll be fine." Villetta responded before she switched her radio to a secure channel. "Captain, we've got a problem."

"Yeah, I heard!" Ciaran yelled back, although not out of anger if the loud thumping sounds in the background were any indication. "You're the commander here, Villetta. It's your call!"

"... Copy that." She said in reply before shutting off the radio link and closing her eyes to think, leaving the sound of the helicopter blades cutting the air and the sound of gunfire to fill her ears as she thought to herself. 'Okay, think. Tall trees make a landing impossible. Felling them with gunfire might work, but that would make the landing zone too hazardous for both the Valkyr's and the soldiers and take too long. There might be a way to drop the men in, but that would too... dangerous..."

As soon as the idea clicked in to her head, she switched her radio frequency to the whole battalion.

"Butcher One-Four and One-Five; maintain strafing runs. Keep the enemy hemmed in. Butchers One-One, One-Two and One-Three; form a triangle with One-One at the north-east as the tip, three hundred metres out from the clearing's edge. All Griffin units; prepare for fast-rope insertion!"

"You heard the lady!" The British captain called out over the radio. "All sticks; we're fast-roping in! Sergeant, let's get it ready!"

Under her helmet, Villetta felt the sweat begin to heavily build up under the protective covering as she watched the three gunships move in position, forming the previously mentioned triangle, all of them moving so their weapons faced inwards as their doors opened, ready to disgorge their payload of soldiers.

This had to be the tensest moment of her career.

---

He was sure that he was momentarily deaf, the gust of air was that strong as the rear ramp was opened, letting Ciaran see out over the top of the forests surrounding the enemy encampment. Butcher One-One was hovering a good few feet above the top of the tree-line, the downward force of the twin rotors making the leaves dance and sway beneath him.

Pulling his goggles down over his eyes, the young man took in what was going on. This was fucking nuts!

"Here, sir!" Sergeant Colbert called out, drawing Ciaran's attention. Turning, he saw the sergeant coming towards him with two bundles of thick rope in his hands. "Attach it to the ring above the ramp!"

"Got it!" The young man said as he took the rope, although he was completely unprepared for the weight. "Jesus, this is heavy!"

Reaching up, Colbert easily attached the hook on one end of the rope to a ring dangling from the roof of the helicopter. "Yeah, just a bit."

Shifting the rope in his hand, Ciaran strained his seemingly insignificant five-foot-eight to reach up and managed to grasp the ring above him before attaching the length of rope to the ring, followed by pushing the rope in his hand to let it drop over the side of the ramp. The sergeant did the same.

"You ready, sir?" Colbert yelled out, giving the Briton thumbs up, which was promptly returned.

With the confirmation given, the sergeant grabbed tightly on to the rope, his rifle slung behind. Copying the gesture, Ciaran did the same before the pair, almost in sync, pushed themselves forward, pressing the insides of the boots against the rope.

Then they just dropped.

When he had arrived in Area 11, Darlton had taken the time to inform the young, misplaced man about the basics of military operations, which then shifted on to the more intricate actions when it was revealed that Ciaran already knew a number of the basics. The fast-rope insertion was one of them. There wasn't much to say about the technique really; just treat it like you were sliding down a fireman's pole.

What he did not cover was how quickly a person's hands could heat up when they travelled down the rope. Especially when they were moving underneath a hovering helicopter.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Ciaran swore out loudly as he sped down the rope, Colbert just a few seconds above him. Thank God for the man who created military-issue gloves.

In a few short seconds, the young man's boots hit solid ground. Releasing the rope and raising his rifle, he quickly moved forward away from the rope before dropping to his knee, lifting the rifle up to peer through the sight on top. Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw Colbert doing the same as the rest of the men made their way down the ropes and on to the ground.

In what had to be just a little under twenty seconds, all twelve men that had been carried in Butcher One-One were on the ground, even as the helicopter gunship remained hovering above them, kicking up a swirling mass of fallen leaves and dirt. But so far, all had gone well.

"Butcher One-One; all sticks are on the ground. Moving in to holding pattern." The Valkyr's pilot reported over the radio.

"Butcher One-Two; all sticks are out and on the ground. Moving in to holding pattern now." Came the second.

"Butcher One-Three; last man is out and on the ground. Going in to holding pattern." The third pilot reported before Villetta's voice came through.

"Butcher Actual copies all. Griffin One-One and One-Two will act as sweep units, the rest will provide the stops. Good luck, Griffin Actual. Out."

Nodding his head in thanks before remembering he had a radio, he keyed his mic. "Griffin Actual copies all. Griffin company, let's move out!"

Rising from their feet, Ciaran led the sweep units in to the fray. Leading from the front would have been an insane move for the Briton, and some part of him did realize that, but he had already done it three times before so there was no real point bucking the trend now as he and the other seven Pathfinders quickly tramped through the under-brush, their weapons held high and ready for action.

Moving fluidly past a tree, the young man scanned the area in front of him as he led the others towards the clearing. Keeping the butt of his rifle pressed against his shoulder, Ciaran let his eyes scan left and right as he advanced, the gun ready to snap up and fire at any target.

"Butcher One-Four; prosecuting target." The gunship's pilot stated, seconds before the helicopter in question flew low over the edge of the clearing, looking like some kind of prehistoric beast as it flew past the trees, it's chin mounted chaingun firing away at a target that Ciaran couldn't see.

"Keep your spacing, everyone." He called out to the other soldiers, who were spaced out about four metres from the other. It wasn't the widest of gaps by any margin, and a good shot from a rocket propelled grenade would easily take them out, but the close confines of the wood did not really allow them to spread out any further.

The sound of rapid shots of gunfire from his left side made Ciaran turn his head. Even with the sun still a good way from setting on the horizon, the flashes of gunfire still lit up the insides of the woods, telling him that the left flank had engaged with insurgents trying to run.

"Contact to our front!" One of the soldiers cried out just as bullets snapped and hissed past them.

"Advance by fire and movement, now!" Ciaran called out in response. "Don't stop!"

In response, every odd numbered man in the sweep dropped to a knee and began firing single shots in front of them while every even numbered man quickly advanced forward at a run, Ciaran amongst them. After a short sprint, the soldiers in front dropped to a knee and began firing before the other man leapfrogged past them, enemy rounds singing over their heads all the while.

It was on the second leapfrog that Ciaran got a brief look at the enemy he was fighting. As he dropped to his knee again, he spied a flash of bright colour against the dark woods appearing from behind a bush at least a hundred yards in front of him. Swinging his rifle, he immediately pulled on the trigger twice, two bullets flying out of the barrel in response.

The bullets ripped through the air, but the target had already dropped back down in to cover, making Ciaran swear in response. Shifting his aim, he pointed the barrel of the gun at the middle of the bush and fired off another pair of shots. This time, the rounds got a more favourable result.

A cry of pain came from the concealed side of the bush as a man swung up and pitched backwards, blood arcing bright red in the air before it fell to the earth.

Smiling in a sardonic smile, the Briton keyed his mic. "Griffin Actual to all Griffin units: aim low when shooting at cover. You'll have a better chance at hitting the enemy. Out."

Acknowledgements rang out from the other stick leaders as the other members of the sweep line came up beside him and began adding their own firepower alongside their commanding officer's, the bullets quickly ripping apart the opposing scrub. More screams of pain followed the gunshots before about half a dozen enemy fighters popped up from the brush and bolted in all different directions away from the attacking soldiers.

"Don't let them get away!" Ciaran called out as he sighted his rifle at the back of a fleeing insurgent before firing off another pair of shots, sending the man sprawling in to the dirt. Sure that the man was dead, the Briton rose to his feet and ordered his stick to advance forward in to the combat zone.

Pushing past the ruined remains of the shrub, he paid the bodies no mind, so focused as he was on getting the team in to the clearing. It was only when they had reached the edge of the clearing, their guns raised up did the call from Villetta come in through his earpiece.

"Butcher Actual to Battalion: all units, cease fire. I repeat; cease fire. Enemy personnel in the clearing have been eliminated."

Looking around quickly, the young man saw that the whole clearing was devoid of life, the sounds of the gunships above being the only sound in the air.

"Griffin Actual to Butcher Actual." He said as he keyed his radio. "Interrogative: can you see any enemies outside of the killzone? Over."

"Griffin Actual; wait one." Villetta responded, falling in to silence before she spoke up again. "Griffin Actual, I've got a small force of about…four hostiles trying to escape from the south-eastern edge of the killzone. Over."

"Griffin Actual to all Griffin units: which stick is in the south-east?"

His earpiece crackled in to life as Villetta replied. "Griffin Actual, Griffin Two-Two Alpha is covering the south-east. I'll detach them and Butcher One-Four to engage. Over."

"Copy that, Butcher Actual. Out."

Surveying the area in front of him through the treeline, Ciaran saw that it was right. Except for the Valkyrs flying overhead, there wasn't anything moving in the clearing.

Keying his radio, he spoke to everyone again. "All Griffin Units, move in to the clearing, but keep your eyes open. Butcher Actual, you can bring the G-cars down but keep some flying overhead for a security screen. How copy? Over."

All replies came back in the positive before, seconds later, the twenty-four-man strong platoon filtered out from the trees, their woodland camouflages working brilliantly to made it look like all the men literally melted out from under the boughs of the trees before they advanced in to the clearing, their weapons raised as they scanned the area and checked for any remaining hostiles as they moved closer towards the centre of the area.

Soon, numerous calls of "All clear" came through the radio, prompting the young man to move and lead his own fireteam in to the clearing proper.

"All Butcher units: you are clear to land. Make yourselves comfortable. We're going to be here for a while."

Various confirmations came through in response before the gunships began shifting their paths to move in to clearing before they began moving down to the ground.

Turning to look at Sergeant Colbert, the young captain removed his hat to wipe at some built up sweat from his brow before replacing it.

"Sergeant, I want you to run and get Fick and Reynolds to come over to me. I need to talk to them."

"Why couldn't you just radio them, sir?" Colbert asked in confusion before a small but goofy smile came to the younger man's face.

"Now where's the fun if I don't abuse my rank now and again, eh?" Ciaran said happily before the smile fell from his face as he spoke more sternly. "Jump to it, Sergeant, if you please."

Colbert didn't say anything before he nodded his head and waved the other members of the fireteam to follow him as they left the Briton to watch the helicopters begin their descent down in to the clearing, their pilots turning their bulk to avoid hitting the trees surrounding them or the remaining huts.

Ciaran watched as the helicopter numbered 100 extended its landing gear and landed on the battle-scarred clearing, it's rotor blades gusting up large clouds of dust before they slowed down and eventually stopped as the pilot cut the engine, letting the dust fall and settle on to the ground.

With the last helicopter down on the ground, the forest was quickly enveloped in the more natural sounds of the forest, even if it was for a few short seconds. The sounds of the wind whispering through the trees and the rustle of leaves and grass filled the air before any other sound replaced.

Looking around, Ciaran was stunned by how much destruction they had wrought: almost the entirety of the clearing was pock-marked with the shells from the high-explosive rounds and grenades. Four of the huts were wrecked, either from incoming fire or from the destruction of Knightmare frame.

And then there was the smell too. The sickly-sweet smell of the dead bodies was beginning to mingle with the sour smell of cordite and black smoke which, if he wasn't prepared for it, he'd probably end up vomiting. Even the choice to breathe through either his noise or mouth was occupying his mind, between either smelling it or tasting it as the wind shifted.

The sound of someone letting loose with a fire extinguisher drew Ciaran's attention as he saw a trio of soldiers spraying the burning machine down with foam, while Lieutenant Fick and Sergeant-Major Reynolds walked towards him.

"Fick, Reynolds." The Briton said, nodding his head towards the two men as they came closer to him. "What's the word?"

"Light casualties, sir." The lieutenant responded. "Two men down with light bullet wounds, while one's down with fragmentation injuries."

"Who are the men?" Ciaran asked.

"Private Casters, Corporal Jackson and Private Morrison respectively, sir." Fick replied. "Bryan and Peterson are treating them now, but there's nothing to worry about."

Three men injured. "And how many men did this place have again?"

"About twenty men, sir."

One platoon of infantry, so twenty-four men (not including himself or the lieutenant) against twenty men, at the maximum, with three of his men injured.

Fucking astounding odds.

"So, what's next, sir?" Reynolds asked, interrupting the smile that was about to form on the young man's face.

"Well, first off: we need to try and identify who these people were, if we can." Ciaran answered, quickly regaining his professional composure. "So, push some of the men out in to a perimeter while the rest get started on getting the bodies sorted. We should also collect the weapons."

"Should we try and look for some intel in the huts?" Fick asked, gesturing with his head towards one of the square abodes.

"After we've done all this. We can't be sure if they were booby-trapped or not." The young man replied. "Also, keep an eye open for any spider holes. There could be weapons or equipment caches around."

"Yes, sir!" The soldiers responded before they turned around and left Ciaran to his own thoughts.

Putting his hands on to his hips, the young man watched as the two men went giving the new orders and they went about carrying out those orders. He knew that they would carry them out well, but he felt a bit left out in all the post-action quiet.

Seeing a small group of Pathfinders moving around one of the huts, the captain decided to move forward and join them. As he walked forward, he kept his rifle in his hands while his eyes kept watch on the edge of the forest. He knew that the sentries were more than up to the task for giving a warning of an enemy attack, but it never hurt.

"Friendly coming up on your six." Ciaran said as he approached the trio of soldiers, two of whom were standing while one was kneeling over what looked like a prone body. "What's so interes- oh, that's not pretty."

What had got the soldiers interest was the bloodstained, body of a young Japanese man, dressed in a black uniform. Or at least it was the top half of one. Everything past the dead man's stomach was a horribly burnt mess of spilled guts and blood that seeped out from the jagged stump of his lower torso. From the looks of it, he had been hit by a twenty-millimetre high-explosive shell. But it was funny that, considering how violent the man's death had obviously been, his face was quite serene. If one ignored the blood splatter and cuts.

"Now that's fucking cool." One of the soldiers quipped, sounding genuinely impressed, which prompted Ciaran and the other three soldiers to turn their heads and look at him in shock. "What?"

"That's fucking sick, dog." A dark-skinned sergeant said in disgust, prompting the first soldier to retort.

While this was going on, Ciaran crouched down, bringing him closer to the cadaver. After quickly overcoming the smell of the dead body, he looked intently at the clothes that the body was wearing. It was a black double-breasted jacket, with grey, or possibly dark blue-grey, panels on his shoulders. It looked far too fashionable to be an actual combat uniform, looking more like a dress uniform.

"This guy was a Black Knight." He said with a sudden realization, before he reached forward and snapped open the man's jacket.

"How can you tell, sir?" Asked the sergeant as Ciaran went about opening the dead man's clothing.

"Because," He replied as he peeled off the jacket, the sickly sound of blood slick fabric peeling from flesh hitting his ears and making him grimace. "I've had the pleasure of seeing this sort of uniform up close. And it's hard to forget."

Reaching in to the open jacket, the Briton tried rooting around, trying to find and sort of hidden pocket. Anything that could hold any form of identification or something. But none turned up.

"Well, that was a waste of effort." Ciaran said in annoyance as he let the clothing go from his hands. "Anyone got a camera or something?"

This earned a snicker from the first soldier. "Now who's sick, sergeant?"

"It's so we can take a photo of his face, numb-nuts." The third soldier, who Ciaran finally recognized as Corporal Lilley replied snappily, before turning to look at the captain. "Uh, right, sir?"

"Right." The Briton replied as he pushed himself to his feet, wiping his hands on his sleeves. "If we can get the picture to intelligence, we can figure out who this guy was."

"And then what?" The sergeant asked, earning a shrug.

"Then they'll do what they do, I guess."

"I'll take care of it, sir." Lilley said as he reached in to one of the pouches on the back of his belt, withdrawing a sleek looking silver camera.

Deciding to leave the group to their work, Ciaran moved off without a word, choosing a path that would take him towards Villetta's parked helicopter. This gave him ample time to think about what the body of the black uniformed man meant. If Cornelia's claim about having wiped out the other insurgent groups were true (which this engagement had proven to be a claim only), then Zero must have been trying to recruit this group to his cause.

Looking around at the bodies that the men were moving in to neat ordered rows, he saw that a lot of the bodies were wearing drab green combat uniforms, meaning that the men had to have been remnants of the JLF. That went some way to explaining why they had the Burai, but that didn't explain why there was a good number of bodies dressed in civilian gear.

'This doesn't add up.' Ciaran thought to himself. 'Militarised insurgent groups don't readily accept irregular civilian fighters out of hand. The JLF must be desperate for reinforcements.'

"Something on your mind, Ciaran?" Villetta's question came as a bolt from the blue, making him stop his feet. Looking up in surprise, he saw that he was standing directly beside Butcher 100. It's side door was open, with the three injured men gathered around it; two sitting on the ground while one sat on the floor of the helicopter's open door, with CMT Bryan kneeling beside them and Villetta leaning against the open cockpit door. "What had you so deep in thought?"

Looking back, the young man gave a quick glance over the area behind him before turning back to look at the tawny-skinned lieutenant. "Just... I'll tell you about it later. So, what's the word, Bryan?"

"They're walking wounded, sir." Bryan said, shaking his head. Like the others, he was dressed in the same combination of gear and camouflage, but underneath his helmet, which sat in the hull of the helicopter, he was wearing a woodland camouflage bandanna wrapped around the top of his head. "Corporal Jackson has the worst of it from the wood fragments, but nothing that won't stop him returning to duty quickly."

Ciaran nodded his head as he smiled at the news. "Good to hear. I'll be sure you guys get a case of beer each."

This news earned a small cheer from the three injured men and a happy smile from Villetta.

"Hey! Over here! Medic!"

The cry shocked the two officers and the medic in to action as Ciaran pulled his rifle from behind him in to his hands while Villetta reached in to the cockpit and withdrew a combat submachine gun from a concealed compartment before the trio rushed towards the source of the voice.

As they moved quickly over the battle-scarred field, the Briton saw a group of soldiers, all with their weapons aimed at something on the ground. Although from the presence of CMT Peterson kneeling and working frantically, he could take a guess what was going on.

Forcing his way through the press of bodies, Ciaran saw that he was correct.

Lying on the ground were two injured Japanese men, one wearing the drab green of the JLF and the other in a mix of civilian and military gear. The latter was breathing heavily and loudly through his teeth, his hand holding tightly to his abdomen while the other was breathing shallowly, but from the looks of the bloodstained bandages wrapped around his chest, Ciaran could only take a guess about how bad the injuries were.

"We found these two buried under a hut wall, sir." Pappy said, his own rifle trained on the men as he turned his head to look at the captain. "They weren't armed, but we're not being careless."

Bryan suddenly spoke up. "Captain. Permission to help CMT Peterson, sir."

Even though it was phrased as a question, Ciaran knew that the older man wasn't asking for permission. Turning his head to look at the two injured men however, the young man knew that even he had no intention of denying the request.

"Do it." The Briton said flatly, moving to the side gently as Bryan moved past him before kneeling and getting to work on the wounded enemies. "Talk me through it, you two. How bad are the injuries?"

"Severe secondary injuries caused by laceration from fragmentation and explosive damage." Peterson said clinically. At the raised eyebrow from the captain, the medic reached forward and moved aside some of the bandages on the injured insurgent's chest, revealing the extent of the man's injuries and making practically everyone groan out in disgust.

The skin had been almost literally ripped away on the man's chest, revealing the bright white bone underneath. Even some of the muscle had been torn away, letting everyone see the man's lungs and hearts, all bruised and discoloured, beating slowly trying to keep the man alive.

"Sir, I can't keep him alive here. If we want him to live, we need to casevac him immediately."

Bryan spoke up, adding the diagnoses of his own patient next, making Ciaran turn to look at him. "Same with mine, sir. He's been zipped by seven-point-six-two. I can keep him stable, but I can't remove the bullet here."

Crouching down, Ciaran let out a steady breath as he looked at the two bodies. The man in the mix of civilian and military gear, who was quite a young man now that the Briton got a better look at him, probably only a few years older than he was, let out a loud groan of pain, nearly dislodging his hands from his chest before Bryan quickly put them back on tightly.

That was all he needed to see.

"Bryan, Peterson, stabilise them as best you can. Then put them on Butcher 1-5." Ciaran ordered as he pushed himself to stand upright. "I'm ordering an immediate casevac for these two. Villetta, send a message back to the palace. Tell them to prepare for two priority casualties."

The order was not immediately followed, as the soldiers and the silver-haired noblewoman looked at him in surprise.

"What?"

"Ciaran, do you know what order you just gave?" Villetta asked before she answered her own question. "You ordered us to give two insurgent fighters- two terrorists- to be given medical aid. In the Viceroy's own palace!"

He let out a slow breath before he turned to look at his lieutenant. "You were in the same meeting as I was, weren't you, Miss Villetta?"

The noblewoman blanched slightly at the use of her more official title before she answered. "Of course, I did."

"Then you'll know what General Darlton said about taking in injured enemy combatants after an operation, correct?" His voice was steadily getting harder as he spoke.

"... I... I do."

"THEN PUT THEM. ON. THE. FUCKING. HELICOPTER! NOW!"

The force of Ciaran's voice surprised himself, but the look of fear and shock on Villetta's face really told him how forceful his voice was.

"At once, Captain Forsyth." She said flatly before she turned back and quickly ran towards the gunship in question, leaving him alone with the Pathfinders and medics who looked at him in shock as he fought to get his breathing down to normal.

"I think we'll chalk that down to stress, sir." Bryan said sympathetically from his kneeling position.

After getting his breathing under control, Ciaran turned to look at him. "Aye. Do you need me for anything, Doc?"

The medic shook his head. "No, it's all right. Pappy can help me out."

Ciaran nodded his head before turning to the sergeant. "Carry on, sergeant."

"As you say, captain." Pappy responded, nodding his own head before the Briton moved away and headed back to the helicopters.

As he was walking back, he put a hand up to his forehead to try and get a grip of why he had just done that. He knew that he had only technically snapped at Villetta once and that was at Narita when she was with the Purists, but it was nowhere near on the level as he had just done right now.

It had to be the stress, he told himself. The after-effects of the noise from the high explosive rounds, the SLRs and the helicopters in action, which combined with the confined space of the forest and the shock-heavy nature of the attack had left his nerves slightly frayed.

He knew he had to apologise after all this was done.

Deciding that he would be of little use for the mop-up, Ciaran decided to take a rest on Butcher 100 with the three wounded soldiers, who were chatting amicably. Deciding not to interrupt them, the Briton moved around the back of the helicopter and sat down on the lowered rear ramp.

Resting on the metal surface, making sure that his rifle was at the ready on his lap, the young man took a swig from the plastic hose attached to his body armour, filling his mouth with water as he looked at the scenery around the edge of the clearing. It was amazing how a simple change in perspective could give an area an entirely different look.

The birds that usually lived in the area weren't coming back any time soon, but the carrion birds were beginning to circle the area, hoping for the prospect of an easy meal.

How many more times would Ciaran see that sight, he wondered. The black birds circling overhead while palls of dark smoke reached up in to sky and the smell of cordite and blood filled the air.

A strong gust of wind blew past his ankles before the sounds of a jet rotor coming to life filled the clearing. Moving from his perch, the young man look around the corner to see Butcher One-Five lifting in to the air before turning in the direction of the Settlement and flying off.

Seeing the helicopter in flight brought his mind back to the birds circling above them. He had always liked birds, especially the birds of prey that his mum would point with delight when they travelled around Britain's roads.

But the shape of the gunship flying in to the horizon was eerily similar to that of a bird of prey, especially as it banked to the left which caused its profile to be an almost exact mirror of that of a soaring buzzard or hawk. And it made him shiver.

He could have said something poetic to reflect on the new nature of conflict that he himself had brought to Area 11, the new way in which hundreds of Japanese would die by either his own command or the command of the Britannians and possibly handfuls of his own men would die and be replaced by new faces.

But he didn't have time for any of that, he thought as he pushed himself to stand on his feet. He had a mess to help clean up.

---

AN: And chapter 28 is up! And brought to you from my brand new Lenovo 310 Ideapad! Wahoo! And just before Christmas too. Slightly shorter than the other chapters, but I'm afraid that if I had made it to the same length of the other ones, then it would mean there would be no December release.

*sigh* It really seems that each chapter is presenting new and more challenging problems for me to deal with. This one was trying to get stuff written down when I had to deal with the temptation of playing Empire, Napoleon and Warhammer: Total War, PLUS reading two new mangas and a new anime AND working as well. Still, it's up.

Oh, and also, about the announcement of the third series of Code Geass: That series will have no bearing on the ending of A Brave New World. I had planned this to follow the story line of the original two series, and I will not deviate from that plan. Plus, I really cannot see how they can recover from that (and I freely admit this) pretty shoddy ending (which is what happens when you spend too much money on too short a series. I'm series, if they had made the series' longer than 24 episodes, so many problems could have been fixed).

The bit with the politicians is really to show that Ciaran really might be a bit more out of his depth than he'd had thought, since dealing with prisoners is a whole different kettle of fish to fighting an enemy. Also, by law, during a insurgency in a civilian population, the police does take jurisdiction with prisoners (that's why the Ulster Constabulary had such problems during The Troubles), but if I had just left it at that, then it would kind of make some bits about the Fireforce as it's being used in A Brave New World useless, so I had to technically bend the law. Will that bite Ciaran and co in the arse in the future? Maybe, maybe not.

Also, it will come up in a very near future chapter, but using a battalion formed from a single company for such a high intensity combat mission really is unfeasible. Which is something that the characters will note and try and work around.

Fun fact too: the grid-zone designation? That is for a real place in Japan. c: Although I did have to take some severe liberties with the Japanese geography. Ah well. Different world anyway, so it'll work fine.

Not much else to say on this chapter now. So I hope that all of you have a merry Christmas (or whichever religious holiday you celebrate at this time of year) and a safe and happy New Year.

EDIT 15/04/208: I've been going back and reading my earlier and have noticed: I have made a good number of errors. Like... big errors! So I've decided to go back and fix many of them. This one's first just because it had the easiest errors to fix.