Zechs sighed and shook his head. "Note to self: tell Treize that we need a better simulation system," he groaned.
When working with Leos in simulation, showing that a Leo had been defeated was easy: the Leo simply powered down, usually falling over in the process but with no damage either way. However, such a system was very impractical with Aires suits that operated in flight. So Zechs had his pilots fly away from the engagement after they were defeated. But that wouldn't work for everyone, and not everyone could tell that they had lost. They'd need a new system before mass-training with the Aires could begin.
Normally Zechs participated in these exercises, but this time he chose not to. He was sitting in his own Aires near the unit's carrier plane, scrutinizing the action from afar. He always needed to have different perspectives in order to understand everything about a mobile suit.
So, for this reason, he wasn't fighting when the call came in.
"Lieutenant Zechs, sir."
Zechs glanced to his comm. panel. It was the carrier's communications technician. "Sir, call-in for you."
"It can wait," said Zechs, eying the battle again, trying not to miss anything.
"It's… His Excellency, sir."
In OZ, only one person merits that title. "Put him through," Zechs said instantly.
Treize's face appeared on Zechs' monitor. "Zechs, we have a crisis."
"Abort exercise," Zechs barked over the all-hands circuit. "All personnel, return to the carrier. Make it quick. Carrier, prep for take-off." He turned back to Treize. "I'm listening, sir."
"Two hours ago, we received reports of an attack against an Alliance base in northwest India. We don't know when the attack occurred; communications was the first place they hit. Half an hour ago, the Alliance locked on to a convoy of trucks, tanks, and other vehicles headed for the Himalayas. It's exactly what you would expect in this situation: attack quickly, then retreat into the mountains. The Alliance is currently in the process of assembling a task force to hunt them down."
Zechs frowned. "There must be more to it," he said. "For the Alliance base to not report the attack, the communications must have been down before the attack commenced."
"Sabotage," said Treize, his voice affirming Zechs' suspicion. "No official reports on it, but Lady Une and I came to the same conclusion. We also concluded that something didn't add up—the force reported doesn't seem like it could tackle that base by itself. That base had a sizable garrison of mobile suits, but when the relief force got there, they couldn't account for all the Leos."
Treize took a deep breath. "Ten minutes ago, OZ-controlled satellites detected a second convoy of mobile-suit trucks and tanks headed south."
"Damn," swore Zechs. "Pokhran."
Treize nodded solemnly. "The nuclear weapons facility at Pokhran is most likely their target. We need you to get there. Now."
"Security at Pokhran must be tight," said Zechs. "Can we count on them to hold out?"
"I wouldn't, Zechs," said Treize. "Consider. A sizeable number of military assets were exposed for this mission. Sabotage can't be ruled out and is, in fact, probable. They hit the northern base in order to steal the base's Leos. This isn't the work of some random group of bandits; it's too well-planned and coordinated. A government is behind this. Pokhran is vulnerable—another wave of sabotage is possible, and the attackers have mobile suits. We can't risk the Alliance sitting on this new intelligence. We need you to intercept the convoy before it gets to Pokhran."
"What are the closest OZ mobile suits?" Zechs asked, booting up a map and doing quick math in his head.
"There are a number of OZ-sympathetic troops in the Tenth Royal Guard at New Delhi," said Treize, "but it's unlikely you could requisition them without exposing their true loyalties. The closest troops you could rely upon are at Bombay. It would take them six hours to mobilize and get to your position."
"That's way too long," Zechs said, fighting to keep panic out of his voice. "Pokhran will be under attack inside of four." Suddenly he stopped thinking, looked around himself, and smiled. "Sir," he said carefully, "where are the nearest Aires munitions?"
"What?" asked Treize.
"I have seven mobile suits here with me, sir," he said. "Plus we have a carrier. We could get to Pokhran in roughly three hours—soon enough to intercept the enemy. But we only have training munitions on hand. We can get there, but we'll need live ammo to meet us."
"Lady Une?" said Treize, turning his head.
Another voice came over the comm. channel. "Sir," said the carrier comm. technician, "You excepted, we're loaded and ready to ship out."
"I'm on my way," he said. Even as he spoke, he walked his Aires towards the carrier. "Take off as soon as I'm aboard. We're headed for Pokhran, India."
"Zechs," said Treize, bringing Zechs back to his conversation. "There is an emergency airfield in the area, called North Pokhran Field. Your carrier can land there. Waiting for you will be a transport plane with live Aires ammunition. However, we also calculate that if you leave now and fly at maximum speed, you'll get there with less than ten minutes to prepare your mobile suits before the convoy arrives at that location."
"It'll be enough," said Zechs. He kneeled his machine and the carrier's crew swarmed over it, latching and locking it secure. It took less than thirty seconds.
"Lightning one, carrier. We're taking off now."
"Roger, carrier," Zechs responded. "Our destination is the North Pokhran Field in India."
"Yes, sir, we're on our way."
The carrier lurched into motion.
"Zechs," said Treize, "tell your troops to be careful. This will be the first live-fire combat trial of the Aires. Stay alert."
"Yes, sir," Zechs responded. "Do you have any more information? Do we know how many suits the enemy stole?"
"It's uncertain," said Treize, "but we're thinking maybe a dozen. Perhaps more."
A dozen? This would be difficult, then. None of his pilots had quite mastered the Aires yet, and everything was going to be under live fire—even just getting ammunition.
"Godspeed, Lieutenant," said Treize.
"Thank you, sir," said Zechs.
I'll need all the help I can get.
Zechs switched over to the all-hands circuit. "Everyone, this is Lightning one. I know it's sooner than we expected, but we're going into combat. Real combat. This one's hot and we don't have much time. In roughly three hours, we're landing at the North Pokhran Field. The enemy will be close by from the moment we land. They're after the nuclear weapons at Pokhran, and we're the only forces available to stop them."
He paused momentarily, but discipline showed. Though he knew this was a shock to everyone, they restrained themselves from chattering at any level above a murmur.
"It's all on us. There's no telling what these people might do with nuclear weapons. We have serious reason to doubt the integrity of Pokhran's defenses, so we have to stop the enemy before they get there.
"Ammunition will be waiting for us there, but the enemy may be onto us. If so, I'll distract them while everyone else procures live ammo. You are not to engage the enemy until you have active ammunition, that is a direct order. We'll be up against commandeered Leos and tanks, number unknown but more than us for certain. Use the things we've learned the past few weeks. Stay mobile, work together, keep suppressing fire on your enemies and then finish them quickly. Keep alert for enemy reinforcements, and keep double alert for anyone who tries to get past us and break for Pokhran. Any questions?"
"Sir, Otto. Are you sure this is going to be so hard? Our enemies aren't regularly mobile suit troops. You said they commandeered the Leos; that means they aren't in practice."
"Neither are you, with the Aires at least," Zechs said in return. "But I have a strong suspicion that we're not dealing with amateurs here. The operation to this point has been very competent and very comprehensive. It's most likely a state-run enterprise. Whoever is behind it, they've risked a tremendous deal at this point. I can't imagine them pinning all their hopes on inexperienced pilots. If they're anything less than upper-tier pilots, I'll be shocked."
Zechs gave everyone a moment to think about things. "Thus far, this attack has surprised a lot of people. Don't let it surprise you. This is the combat debut of the Specials. Make it a good one."
Major Une looked at Treize. "Just how reliable are the defenses at Pokhran?"
"I can't say," said Treize, "but we cannot afford to bet that they're solid. And from what we've seen so far, we have to assume they're compromised."
"And no other forces are within range? Even with Zechs' distraction?"
Treize shook his head. "Forces from Bombay are en route, but they won't arrive in time. The Aires is built for offense; it can't do a fighting retreat. Even if it could, Zechs wouldn't be able to hold them for three hours, and that's the time difference between when he arrives and the Bombay troops arrive."
Une harrumphed. "So we're relying entirely on him," she said.
Treize turned fully to Une. "Lady Une," he said. "Your suspicions are, at least in part, well-founded. Zechs does not believe in OZ's cause."
"And yet you'd entrust him with such a vital mission?" she said, incredulous.
"I would trust him with anything," said Treize firmly. "He is a perfect soldier. Even though he doesn't share our beliefs, he's willing to do everything he can to advance them. He and I have an understanding."
She frowned. "'An understanding' doesn't sound like a very solid relationship."
At that point he broke decorum. He reached out, took her hand, and enclosed it between his. Holding her hand between their faces, he said in measured tones, "He is my friend, Lady. I trust him completely. Can you not trust him just for that reason? Isn't my faith in him enough for you? Or do you feel that I am so misguided?"
Une inhaled sharply, then stepped backwards, pulling free from Treize's hands. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, bowing her head deeply. "I do not trust him, but if you do, I should have at least a portion of your faith. I apologize for not believing in you more."
"That's not the problem," said Treize. "In fact, I think that the reason you mistrust Zechs so much is because you believe in me so much—you want to watch over me."
"That is my duty," she said.
He smiled, though with her head still down she didn't see it. "Continue to do that, my lady," he said, "and let me worry about my other retainers."
"Yes, sir."
"Sir!" called the carrier pilot. "Targeting radars have us totally lit up! If we stay this close to the enemy, they will fire upon us! I can't land here!"
"You can," said Zechs, "and you will. If you don't, we can't get ammo. If we don't get ammo, Pokhran falls. We're landing."
"Yes, sir," said the pilot, though his voice was trembling.
Zechs smiled to himself. The carrier pilot community isn't known for risk-taking. Technically, in this situation, he ranks me. He could have decided not to land here. If we live, he'll have a story to tell his comrades the rest of his years.
Zechs watched as his altimeter dropped, felt the sudden drag as the carrier touched down. The plane decelerated in short order. The moment it was motionless, the technicians freed the restraints on his Aires. He stood it up and carefully walked out of the carrier bay.
He was assessing the situation the moment he was out. He found the ammunition plane—and laughed out loud. Zechs' pilot had landed his carrier north of the ammo plane and oriented it so that the body of the carrier was squarely between the enemy and the ammunition. He had effectively made his precious carrier a giant bunker.
Perhaps that pilot deserves more than a story. I'll do my best to ensure that your charge is unharmed, my friend.
Next Zechs checked his radar. The enemy was very close. They'd stopped for a moment. No doubt in order to deploy the mobile suits from their trucks. "All pilots," said Zechs, "the enemy is close by. I will divert their attention while you get ammunition. Don't join me without live weapons." Without brooking argument or looking back, Zechs lifted his Aires from the ground and flew towards the enemy.
If I'm to hold them long enough, I'll need some ground to work with. I have to engage them before they have a chance to organize, or they'll shoot me down before my pilots get their ammunition.
There! A rank of tanks was in front, the vanguard of the mobile suit trucks. The Leos weren't up yet, but the tanks were ready. Several of them fired. Zechs put his Aires into a steep ascent. Soon, he was at such a high angle that the tanks couldn't elevate their guns to target him.
At that point, Zechs transitioned to a dive. The first Leo was off his carrier and reaching for his rifle. Zechs fired first, spraying blank bullets into the ground around the Leo's feet. The mobile suit hopped backwards, away from its weapon, as Zechs swooped past.
I can't actually hit them, Zechs thought. If I make contact, they'll see I'm firing blanks and ignore me.
Zechs angled himself for an attack up the entire line of carrier-trucks. He threw his Aires forward at top speed and low altitude. Tank shells zipped by him. Everywhere he went, he blasted blanks at the enemy carriers, trying his best to keep the enemy maneuvering and not shooting. Several of the Leos weren't even online yet, and their technicians scrambled as Zechs buzzed overhead.
Score another for Treize's intelligence—there's a full dozen Leos here.
As Zechs got to the end of the line, he heard the heavy percussion of a Leo rifle. He turned hard with the Aires, arcing up behind the convoy, and then changed the angle of his engines' thrust. He used the hover mode to keep his altitude, while his momentum kept him moving parallel to the convoy, allowing him to "slide" behind it. He quickly identified the Leo who'd shot at him. More bullets whizzed by. Zechs countered with his own fire—though knowing, by means of the pit in his stomach, that his gambit was running out of time.
Luckily, Zechs was still the only one in the area who knew that his weapon was fake; the enemy Leo evaded strongly, pulling his rifle way out of line. Zechs changed targets, firing in a way he hoped was convincing.
Despite his best efforts, a second, then a third Leo retrieved their weapons. All of Zechs' firepower was going to keep them from shooting him; now the rest of the Leos could get their weapons. Zechs fired a hard burst from his engines and pulled away from the convoy, needing to reorient and try again.
He turned around to face the enemy. To his dismay, five of the enemy were now focused on him, but the other seven were ignoring him and heading for Pokhran, while the tanks stayed with the carriers. Exactly as I would have done. Unfortunately. Zechs fired at the running Leos, but could only keep it up for a few seconds. The air around him was thick with ordinance. He began evasive maneuvers, but a bit late. His warning came with a loud screech.
I'm hit!
He hit maximum forward thrust on his Aires, carrying him over the heads of the Leos shooting at him. With a spare microsecond, he checked the damage. He sighed heavily with relief—it was just a glancing blow, nothing serious. As he flew behind the running Leos, he fired wildly at them, but to no avail—only one of them started dodging.
They probably don't know I've got blanks—they must have faith in my inaccuracy. Time for a different tack.
Again Zechs pulled up for an attack run. The five Leos targeting him were to his left; the running Leos were in a line in front of him. Zechs took a hard jog to the right, taking him out of sight of the five Leos, and swooped down. The first Leo in line saw him coming and froze, like a deer in headlights, as Zechs zoomed straight at him. Then the pilot panicked and jumped backwards with all the Leo's might.
Zechs corrected to the right a touch and skimmed by the entire line, clearing each by ever-smaller margins; he must have missed the last by centimeters. But it was worth it. All seven Leos were recovering from their panicked evasion, all in the interests of avoiding a collision.
Zechs allowed himself a tight smile. The good news was that now all twelve Leos were now focusing entirely upon him. The bad news was that now all twelve Leos were focusing entirely upon him. And he still had no way to effectively return fire.
The enemy lit up the sky around Zechs. He pulled out every evasive maneuver he knew with the Aires, pushing the mobile suit as much as he could. It wasn't enough; the enemy's skill and numbers were showing.
With a crunch and a jolt, Zechs took a solid hit. His suit skewed out of balance, jerking him away from some of his enemy's fire but shaking Zechs and changing his maneuvers. Evasion was taking almost all his attention, but he had enough spared to glance at his damage report. His right leg from the thigh was gone, throwing off his suit's gyrostabilizers. His balance would be wretched now and evasion would be complicated.
But it was then, at that glorious moment, that his reinforcements arrived.
Three Aires with live ammunition dove upon the enemy Leos, killing four of them in a blink.
Four explosions shook everyone around.
Zechs gritted his teeth as he forced his machine about. There's no way to simulate that! He though angrily.
And with a sudden jolt, he realized what this was.
This was real combat. Not a training exercise. Real.
He'd been doing well purely on training and instinct. Those had been so good he hadn't really thought about the fact that he could actually die.
It never even entered his mind until those four Leos went up in fireballs, snuffing out four human lives.
It's not so different, really, our training exercises and combat. Except that if you get hit too often here, you shut down for good.
Surprisingly, he didn't feel paralysis or fear with this sudden reminder of his mortality. It didn't really change anything, and he didn't have time to contemplate it. He nodded to himself a few times, and then the thoughts slipped from his mind.
He charged in again.
His first three comrades had split in three different directions following their attack run, and the eight remaining Leos had split into groups attacking them. Zechs picked the nearest group and rained shells upon it. As he did, he began directing traffic.
"Otto! You're clear, turn around and engage. Vin! They're tracking left. Down-right, then in again."
And Amos' voice, "Otto, they're onto you."
And now everyone joined in, helping each other out as they'd been trained to do.
"Lieutenant, from the right!"
"Got him! Another killed!"
"Amos, duck!"
"Vin, get back here!"
"Scratch one!"
It was a whirlwind of bullets and steel and blood and voices and sweat and blanks and terror and adrenaline and violence.
Then…
"Aaaaaaagh!"
Zechs' Aires shuddered as a shockwave hit it. Zechs looked at his display.
Amos' Aires had been destroyed.
Amos, one of Zechs' favorites—chosen for this evaluation because of his superb gunnery skills. He would never again end a practice session with his little flourishes or distinctive gun-fakes. He was dead.
In the heat of the moment, Zechs felt all the emotions of loss at once. But then it was too late, there was no time; Zechs had to jerk hard to get out of his enemy's firing lanes. The emotions had washed out of him before he turned to engage. He fired back—too accurately.
Blank bullets pounded into one of the enemy Leos. The Leo began to fire back, then turned and ignored Zechs. The fire against Zechs' living comrades increased again.
"No!" Zechs shouted. "Look at me!" He recklessly opened the throttle, screaming towards the enemy formation. He got their attention once more—once more, the remaining six Leos focused exclusively on Zechs. At very close range.
They scattered as he blew through their formation, which effectively kept them from firing at Zechs' comrades. But too late; Zechs hadn't gotten off free this time.
Secondary explosions bucked Zechs' Aires; shrapnel plinked off of his mask. The left side of his cockpit was deformed and broken. Zechs did a quick check of the damage. By some miracle, the shells that had torn through his Aires had missed the fuel lines; otherwise Zechs would have joined Amos earlier than he'd planned. Still, his left engine was shot out. The Aires' left arm, bereft of support, hung limply by its side.
Zechs had less than half his speed, and the enemy knew his gun was worthless.
"Sir!" cried Otto. "Get out of here!"
Zechs despaired; he brought his Aires about in a broad arc, smoke trailing from his engines. He could see the six remaining Leos firing at Zechs' two wingmen, their tracer rounds coming ever closer to the desperate Aires. That's my limit. That's all I can do for them.
No! I'm not done yet! I can still do more! Come on, Aires, stay with me yet!
It cannot end like this!
And as he thought that, the other three Aires arrived.
The carrier had brought a total of seven Aires with it: Zechs, three, and another three.
The final three joined the fight at the most opportune of times.
They caught the immobile enemies unawares, firing into their exposed backs. They rained bullets from their rifles, piercing Leo armor in multiple locations.
Three seconds was all the time they had before they passed overhead, but that was enough. Four enemy Leos exploded outright, and another slumped to the ground, dead.
That left one—one Leo with a golden chance to avenge its comrades.
No more! You won't harm them! You're mine!
Zechs had been flying towards the enemy. Now he tossed himself towards the Leo, coming at it from an angle. With his one good arm, he fired his rifle directly at his target's camera. The gambit worked; although the enemy ignored Zechs, the impact of blank bullets temporarily blinded the enemy.
Temporarily—just long enough.
Zechs tossed aside his rifle, swung his Aires in front of the Leo, and rammed it.
More of the Aires' armor and superstructure gave way; Zechs absently noted that his cockpit was smaller now. But he was too focused to care; he was busy.
Despite the lesser mass of the crippled Aires, it had enough velocity to topple the Leo over onto its back. Now the Aires was lying on top of the Leo. In hand combat, the Aires didn't have the strength or armor to compete with the Leo.
Unless I am precise and ruthless. And I, Zechs Marquise, am both!
The Aires is too weak to beat through the Leo's armor, except in the one spot where the armor is thin.
Zechs pushed his Aires further down on his foe's body, balled his right arm into a fist, and punched into the enemy's abdomen. The weak point in the Leo's armor was the place where the body opened up to allow the pilot in and out.
Zechs' fist landed in his enemy's cockpit.
It took four punches to batter through. But on the fourth punch, the armor gave way. The Aires slumped forward as its balance went; Zechs heard the popping of his gyros shorting out.
And then… silence.
He checked his radar. All twelve enemy Leos destroyed.
With his voice strangely composed, he said to his remaining pilots, "Hunt down the tanks and truck-carriers. I want prisoners, but your lives come first. Kill as many as you need to and round up the rest."
To his continued amazement, his voice was perfectly even as he spoke. He felt so little now that the battle was over—no sorrow, regret, terror, nothing. Even the adrenaline in his veins had vanished quickly as it'd come. It was almost as if he was viewing himself through another person.
I am… I am Zechs Marquise. Ruthless, precise, efficient, detached… the perfect soldier. I did my duty. I killed, and one of my men died, and I accomplished my mission. This is what soldiers do.
It's strange, but it feels… not right, but… natural. This is what I've worked so hard to become. This is my occupation, and this is what I am.
I am Zechs Marquise.
And now that I've been baptized by fire, have killed, I feel… relieved. I know I won't fall apart in real combat, I know I can handle it now. That's not the big thing, though. For the first time since I donned my mask, I feel…
Complete.
He shuddered, and slowly released his straps. He carefully lowered the ramp out of the Aires and stepped directly onto the dead Leo. He looked at it dispassionately, and began walking towards his Aires' arm.
I don't even regret killing this man. I regret that he had to die, that we had to fight each other, but I would kill him again without hesitation. The fact that I was the agent of his demise doesn't affect me. It's as if he was dead the moment the battle began. Am I… supposed to feel this way? Is this how a soldier feels?
He peered down into the mess that had been the Leo's cockpit. The Aires' arm blocked most of the view, but Zechs could see a few of the familiar read-outs and controls.
Also, red splatters and pools—all that was left of the pilot. Titanium had fought flesh, and titanium had won. Juiced the enemy pilot like an overripe tomato.
Strange analogy… dehumanizing in a way. He was a soldier, and I am a soldier, and between us you couldn't make a whole human being.
He smiled wryly at himself. That's too much self-pity. You killed him because you chose to do so of your own free will, not because it's in your nature to do so. My nature is that of a soldier, but that's because I chose to be the soldier.
So why? Why this lack of guilt, of any kind of emotion? Am I just some kind of killer who can slaughter without remorse? No; I chose to be a killer, and I'm choosing not to feel remorse.
Zechs gasped as he finally realized it.
Today was not the day I became a killer. I became a killer years ago—the day I put on this mask. That's why I feel complete. I've finally become what I set out to be.
Milliardo took off his mask.
He cried. Not for the pilot he'd killed, but he cried nonetheless.
The mask was back on before Zechs' pilots returned to him. The tears were nowhere to be found.
"Mission complete, sir," said Zechs. He was standing by the carrier's communications technician.
"Excellent," said Treize. "Losses?"
"Amos, sir," said Zechs. "Dead."
"I see." Treize bowed his head, frowning deeply. "He died well? Fighting?"
"Yes, sir."
"I see." Sorrow blinked across Treize's face, but just for a moment; before Zechs could make sure it was there, Treize was looking up at him again. "Return to my side, Zechs. The battle is over, but the true conflicts are just beginning."
"Yes, sir." Zechs turned to the pilot. "Pilot, please take us back to Victoria." Then he turned back to Treize. "What conflicts do you mean, sir?"
"According to my information," Treize said, "a number of saboteurs were caught red-handed at Pokhran, apparently waiting for orders to sabotage the defenses and hangars. I think we can safely say they were anticipating the arrival of the forces you intercepted, Zechs."
"Makes sense," said Zechs. "It's what you predicted."
Treize nodded. "Now the Alliance is wondering what's going on. The forces going after the enemy in the Himalayas are still on their way, but the high command is demanding I explain what's going on at Pokhran and why you're there. It's going to be a tribunal. I need something to say to them."
Zechs nodded. "I'll tell you. And I've got prisoners on board. They'll make good props for your hearing."
Treize smiled. "Let's hope so."