Zechs's life began to become routine. A wake up call at "O-dark-early", then some self-maintenance, followed by preparatory work for the class's activities. Then, for twelve hours minus breaks and meals, he drilled, instructed, and corrected his students and himself. Another three hours, minimum, went to evaluating the day's performances, though this activity often expanded to fill the time given. From there he would then go to Treize's office, and the two would talk and talk and talk. Whenever Zechs managed to get away, he would return to his quarters and steal maybe four hours of sleep—usually less. Then it was back to the grind. On the weekends, he indulged in six hours of sleep per night; he spent the rest of his time preparing for the following week and filing his paperwork. That last task, at least, was mitigated by Treize's able secretaries, but anything that dealt directly with the performance of individual pilots he had to do himself.
His nightly discussions with Treize covered a whole range of topics. Treize usually began by asking for Zechs' impressions and decisions regarding his class. The first night, Zechs had pointed out that he did send formal reports to Treize every day, but Treize dismissed that out of hand. "I want to hear from your mouth, my friend," was his whole explanation.
After that, Treize would tell him about certain incidents or specific policies the Alliance had, or about problems that had come up somewhere, or about current events. The two would then batter ideas back and forth, hacking through the information to find the meaning, choosing courses of action or rules of engagement, and generally deciding how to run OZ now and in the future.
Whenever the two of them decided on anything, however, Treize would give Zechs no ideas or clues as to how it would be implemented. Usually he simply said something like "Let me handle that" or "You shouldn't worry about such things." Zechs voiced to Treize how this bothered him.
Treize had smiled. "I do need your help, but yours is the most important job in OZ, and I want your focus on it. If you get bogged down in the details of the outside world, who will teach Lady Une and her class?"
"It seems to me," Zechs had answered, "that I'm not as much an advisor as a sort of secrets-keeper. At first I was confused, because most of the time we spend doing this is you explaining situations, and the solutions we derive are almost totally your input."
"Don't be so modest, Zechs," Treize had said.
"My point," said Zechs, plowing on, "is that my true function is as the person whom you can talk to. With everyone else, you are too busy being the commander, being the person of absolute certainty and confidence. But in these sessions, you voice doubts and fears it would be unsafe to speak elsewhere."
"I told you that I needed a friend," said Treize. "This is hard work. However, I'm quite happy I have you as a—how did you put it? A secrets-keeper."
Treize had then shifted the subject back to the implications of the Alliance's no-communications policy amongst the colonies.
The first pilots of OZ were disturbingly fanatical in their studies. They had some bad habits from their Alliance days, as Zechs had expected, and at first all he could do with them were basic maneuvering skills. However, they never talked back to him, never showed any sign of rebellion—apart from Major Une's ongoing demand for explanations, of course—and all of them, Major Une included, poured all of their effort into learning everything Zechs had to teach them. This only increased the pressure on Zechs to stay two steps ahead of them.
Zechs mentioned their determination to Treize during one of their discussions.
"You speak almost as if you disapprove," Treize said. "It's easier on you this way, isn't it?"
"As opposed to teaching unmotivated students, yes," Zechs said, "but it isn't representative. No future class will be so willing, and my instruction time will necessarily suffer since I'll have to give some of their time over to indoctrination into OZ."
Treize nodded sympathetically. "And you fear not having enough time with your students."
"Since we are, after all, training them for war," Zechs said, "insufficient training leads directly to unnecessary casualties."
Treize had grown more solemn than usual at the thought. He remained silent for several seconds. "I appreciate what you're saying, Zechs," he said at last. "Still, there are only a few ways for us to compensate for that fact."
"Harder work on my part is one, no doubt," said Zechs wryly.
"Work much harder and you won't last," said Treize. "I've noticed how much time you've had to spend correcting bad habits the pilots have learned from their original teachers."
"Yes, sir."
"We need a way to get to soldiers before those bad habits are first taught to them. Specials needs to expand—we need to get to prospective pilots in the original stages of their training."
Zechs glanced down, then looked back at Treize. "The military academies, you mean."
"Exactly."
"If we had to choose one, I would say Lake Victoria," said Zechs.
Treize smiled. "Some pride in your alma mater, Zechs?"
"It's not that," said Zechs, unsurprised that Treize knew of his background. "I selected Lake Victoria because I knew its reputation. It's the premier academy for soldiers wishing to become mobile suit pilots, and a lot of mobile suit training is done there. It's a primary training ground, and also a place for advanced studies in mobile suit combat. Further, it's a favorite of the European nobility."
"All things which make it the perfect recruiting ground," said Treize.
Zechs nodded. "If we could get some people in there." He tried not to face Treize. "I… sir, this is one mission which I wish very much to participate in."
"Is that so?" said Treize. "Very well. Since we won't have you available for this mission until this class is done… yes, I know the perfect way to handle this."
"Sir?"
"Zechs, we will discuss this at another time. Rest assured, you will participate."
And a bewildered Zechs left the room.
"Come on, take your time!"
Zechs shook his head. "Assault squad, the enemy isn't going anywhere! Manage your attack carefully, you have all the time you need."
Another day, another set of training exercises. In this one, a squad of five "assault" Leos was attempting to "destroy" an objective guarded by four "defense" Leos. Zechs wasn't participating in this exercise—it would've been too unfair—so he was, instead, observing. Of course, his frustrated comments went unheard by his students; his communicator was off. To lecture them in the midst of a battle was to look over their shoulders too much. They'd only grow dependent upon him that way, and independent operations was one of the things he was trying to teach.
Still, it was maddening sometimes…
As he watched, the attackers split off two of their number to flanking positions on the left, then another two to flanking positions on the right. Both flanks then closed to just within weapons range and opened up. The defenders had to take cover.
Now the remaining attacker dashed forward, trying to make it to the objective before the defenders realized what was going on. Zechs watched as the defenders gathered three of their Leos and attacked one of the flanking outposts, catching the attackers at a temporary disadvantage. Even as that firefight resolved, though, the lone enemy attacker walked into the base, surprised and outfought the lone defending Leo, and destroyed the objective.
Zechs shook his head. Another victory for the attackers. Since attacking was what he was training these pilots to do, there was some gratification to that, but could they really not apply what they'd learned to defense as well?
"We've repeated this exercise many times today," Zechs said during a mass de-brief. "The attackers won seven engagements, with two victories for the defenders and one fluke draw." There were some chuckles at this statement; in that "fluke draw", the sole surviving attacker and the sole surviving defender had defeated each other simultaneously, leaving no functional mobile suits on either side. Although the attackers hadn't destroyed their objective, neither could the defenders any longer claim it to be defended, and Zechs had declared the exercise a draw.
"Yet those defensive victories were due not to any great tactics," said Zechs sternly, quieting the chuckles, "but rather due to superior piloting and teamwork. Although such things are necessary and commendable, there remains a fundamental problem with the way in which you approached this exercise from the defensive point of view."
He scanned the room, checking the reactions of his pilots. There was Major Une, staring intensely at the board as if she was trying to merge with it and so understand the lesson better. There was Otto, the Alliance pilot Zechs had personally brought into OZ. His gaze flickered back and forth between the board and Zechs, like he wasn't sure which was more important.
"The problem lies with the philosophy at work," said Zechs. "An attacker who is willing to sacrifice can temporarily penetrate almost any defense. Since this is a destruction mission as opposed to a take-and-hold, this gives the attacker a natural advantage. The attacker only needs to penetrate the defense for a moment, and victory is his.
"Defense under these circumstances is very problematic—an impenetrable point defense is virtually impossible to maintain."
He paused again, waiting for someone to suggest a solution. Seconds passed without a pilot making a move. Of course, if they knew what the solution was, we wouldn't be having this discussion.
"You're piloting MOBILE suits," Zechs said. "If you're going to use your Leo for static defense, you might as well get a turret for a quarter of the cost. A mobile suit is a weapon of attack, and it should be used as such.
"In this instance, the proper course for the defender would be to strike the attacker before the attacker can bring his force to bear upon the objective."
Major Une's hand shot into the air. And here I was thinking you'd approve of such aggressive tactics, Zechs thought wryly.
"Lieutenant," she said, enunciating as sharply as ever, "the defender is at a numerical disadvantage in this scenario. If the defender abandons his defense of the objective, he will be faced with a 5-4 battle which he will lose, with the attacker then proceeding to destroy the objective. So why do you advocate such losing tactics?"
"They are losing tactics only when misused," said Zechs, holding his voice steady in the face of her attack. "The reason is that, just as the defender is obligated to defend his objective, the attacker is obligated to destroy it. When the defender seizes the initiative, he forces upon the attacker the dilemma he had to deal with—that is, a split in concentration between completing his mission and destroying the enemy. At some point, the attacker must go for his objective and render himself vulnerable to the enemy's attack. When that happens, the defender has total advantage, and must be prepared to press it home. He can then destroy the enemy and save the objective without it ever coming under fire."
He smiled. "You are correct in assessing that this doesn't always work—but the same is true of every tactic. In this case, however, you're improving your chances dramatically by taking the initiative and denying the enemy the chance to coordinate the devastating and efficient attacks we saw all day today. At the very least, you'll probably inflict more casualties this way.
"Finally, not all objectives are static. Some can be moved. You reduce the risk to your objective when you keep the enemy far away from it. Even if you are defeated in the process, the time you buy may yet save your objective—VIPs can be evacuated, computers can be moved, and so forth. But that can only happen when the objective is not in the line of fire. By attacking, you keep the objective completely safe for a longer duration, thus giving them a fighting chance to save themselves."
He looked directly at Major Une. "Does that satisfy you, Major?"
"Quite, Lieutenant," she said icily.
I wonder… do you actually learn from these provocations you make? Well, I know who to put in charge of the defenders next time we do a drill like this. We'll see yet if you're smart enough to learn even while you make my life difficult.
"Remember that there are tactical situations that we can't prepare you for. Circumstance and chance, terrain and your opponents… the number of variables possible in any given confrontation are impossible for us to teach you comprehensively. Our primary goal is to teach you sound, fundamental principles that you can then apply to any battle. And the bedrock rule of mobile suit combat is this: to use mobility and concentrated firepower to bring overwhelming strength against a single point in the enemy's force. Hit hard, keep hitting, keep moving. Be aggressive and relentless. If you abandon these principles, you are failing to use your machines to their full potential. Now," he said, changing the images on the screen, "in this next mission…"
"Zechs, is something wrong?"
Zechs abruptly pulled his hand down from his face, his posture stiffening. "No, sir."
"Please be honest with me, Zechs," said Treize, his voice with just a tinge of disapproval.
"It's nothing, sir," Zechs said, "I'm just tired, and I have another night exercise soon."
As tiring as Zechs' schedule had been, things had only gotten worse since he'd begun shifting training missions to the nighttime. Even though these took the place of the normal daily exercises, he still had classes to teach them during the day. The net result was that his average sleep per weeknight had dropped still further.
"Zechs," said Treize firmly, "I've monitored your habits. Three hours of sleep per night works for short periods of intense activity, but you need more—your activities are very intense, and will cover an extended period of time."
Zechs felt as if his mask was compressing his skull. "Sir, if I back off, it's the students who will suffer."
Treize stood. "Tell me the specifics of the mission for tonight."
Zechs did as best he could, considering his sorry mental state.
"Very well. Go to bed."
"Sir, but…"
"I must admit that after hearing so much about your students, I'm immensely interested in seeing their abilities firsthand. Please, allow me the pleasure—the privilege—of drilling your students tonight."
Zechs sighed helplessly. He knows exactly how to prevent me from saying no. In any event, of course, he could simply order me, as he is my commander. But he doesn't need to do that—that's what he's telling me.
"Of course," said Zechs. "A fuller description of the mission is the top paper on my desk."
"Thank you. Now please, go to sleep."
"Yes, sir."
He obeyed faithfully.
From that point, Treize ran the unit's night missions at least once per week. Zechs privately wondered just how much sleep Treize himself was getting, but his superior was as opaque as ever. Zechs kept Treize very well informed, per his policy, but Treize gave Zechs no idea of his own schedule or activities. If not for their nightly discussions, Zechs might have begun to doubt that his superior actually existed.
Yet Treize was obviously doing something, because every night there was always something new and important for the two of them to analyze.
Each day was an eternity for Zechs, yet at the same time the days and nights blurred into each other, until he realized with a shock that his time was all but up.
"Sir," said Zechs during the last week, "it turns out I won't have time to teach them about melee combat. Even so, I want them to realize the possible effectiveness of close combat so that they'll be motivated to learn and practice it themselves. So… I was wondering if you would mind helping me give them an exhibition."
"You mean a battle between the two of us, using beam sabers?"
"Yes, sir, that's it exactly."
Treize laughed lightly. "I think you'll be disappointed."
"Is that so, sir?" Zechs said, disappointed already.
"Don't take it the wrong way, Zechs. What I mean is, you've spent the past two months intensely concentrating on mobile suit piloting, you've run constant exercises and you've honed your techniques. You've also gotten ever better at channeling your passion into your battles." Treize spread his hands wide. "I'm afraid I won't be much competition for you."
"Even so, sir," said Zechs, "I would appreciate it very much."
Treize stood. "Alright," he said, "but I get a handicap on you."
"I'm sure you'll explain yourself, sir."
"Of course. Here is what we'll do…"