Zechs walked before Treize, showing him the workings of the now fully-operational mobile suit factory. Treize had arrived shortly before to "inspect" the facilities. By all appearances, he was eyeing everything carefully and listening attentively.

Zechs knew Treize better than anyone, and he could see the man was impatient. Little things—the way his smile trembled if you watched it long enough, or brief tenses in his forehead. Only Zechs was with Treize long enough to add it all together, but Zechs could see it clearly.

He finished the tour early.

A short while later they stood in his office. Treize, remarkably, showed a touch more of his humanity; for once he looked tired. The differences in his mannerisms and voice were slight, but present. Zechs almost got himself thinking that Treize was showing them on purpose.

"The time has come, Zechs," Treize said without warning. "The conflicts in Asia are intensifying. It's an unspoken fact that some regional governors are supporting the insurgents. The rebels aren't just peasant villagers any longer. When you look at it over time, you can see the number of attacks has actually decreased, but their intensity has increased. What does that mean to you, Zechs?"

"Central planning," was all Zechs had to say.

Treize nodded. "That's right. The rebels are coming together—probably uniting behind a local hero or central authority. Tighter organization means they can be more ambitious."

Zechs frowned in concentration. "But it also means the most aggressive people are disconnecting from the villages," he said. "They'll have fewer reinforcements and they'll find it harder to hide. Worse, they'll start to suffer from the problems all armies face, such as logistics."

Another nod. "Mao Tse-Tung learned the hard way that it's best to keep guerilla forces as diffuse as possible for as long as possible. He was the last man to lead a successful peasant revolt," he added for Zechs' benefit. "Whenever he tried to fight the national army head-on, his forces were smashed. He finally learned not to confront them, but to annoy them. He called it 'death by a thousand cuts'. Make the enemy's war effort as inefficient as possible, grind down their morale, their numbers, their will to fight, and their supply situation. Then, when the enemy had lost the ability to make war well, Mao overwhelmed them with massive numbers and drove them from the country."

Zechs shook free of the history lesson. "As it is," he said, "the rebels are grouping up. If we destroy them now, we can end the revolt before they relearn Mao's lessons. OZ isn't made for grinding."

Treize smiled grimly. "No, it's not. Our type of warfare destroys centers of power. In a guerilla war, it's inefficient at best. No, we must end this swiftly. This conflict has already gone on for too long, costing too many lives."

As Treize spoke again, Zechs was sure he was sorrow on his friend's face. "I disliked letting this conflict spiral as it has. I could ignore the rising casualties because I could hide behind excuses—that the conflict was good for OZ, and that we didn't have the right tools to counter it. No more. It's time to finish it before it gets any bloodier. There's no point to this fighting. Zechs, my knight, stop this."

"Yes sir," said Zechs.

The moment passed; the penetrating, far-sighted Treize resurfaced. "You can take advantage of your unique position," he said. "We're due to turn this factory over to the Alliance proper. Gather your men and take the next shipment of Leos. Go to the combat zone and join the Alliance forces there. Go directly into battle; join them in the area of engagement and keep your unit intact. You can route through the Alliance's supply base on the Indus River."

"Yes, sir," Zechs repeated, absorbing the details.

"By tomorrow I'll have a full intelligence report on your desk," Treize went on, walking for the door. "Lady Une is working on it now. You'll leave the day after." He paused, not leaving yet. "Zechs… I'm asking this as a friend," he said. "There's no reason OZ should involve itself with this—OZ might be better off if it goes on… But I want it stopped. It isn't war there, it's a series of murders. There's no vindication, no truth, no honor or glory there. That's why I need you to end it."

Zechs spoke. "I'll do it, my friend."

Treize smiled at the words, then departed.

Somehow, Zechs felt worse than before.

Zechs hesitated as he dialed for Noin. He felt it was… wrong, somehow, to drag her into his problems. A voice in his head—that sounded like hers—said, "But that's what she wants. She wants to be the person you bother when you need help. She wants to be the one you go to for comfort."

But it would be an abuse of our relationship to use her like that. I don't want her place in my life to be my emotion-sink.

The Noin-voice said no more, but he could feel it looking at him with a smirk on its… no, that was too esoteric for Zechs. He felt guilty all the same.

He was actually relieved when the face that appeared on the monitor was not Noin's, but the base operator's. "I'm calling for Instructor Noin," he said.

"Instructor Noin is out supervising an exercise," the operator replied. Zechs breathed a sigh of relief, but felt ashamed at the same time. Of course. As if Noin wasn't busy enough herself! How can I expect her to be available every time I start feeling sorry for myself?

He was about to disconnect when the operator spoke again. "Actually, it looks like the exercise has ended prematurely. If you'll wait a few moments, I can patch you through to the instructor's Leo."

"Please do," he said. He shook his head at himself. This can't go on. I have to distance myself from her emotionally. It's the only way to maintain our friendship. I can't forever hover between friendship and…

His own worries fled when Noin's harried face appeared on-screen, her hair askew and her face twisted. "Zechs," she rasped, "I'm happy to see you."

Zechs felt the pain her forced cheerfulness couldn't hide. "What happened?" he asked.

She looked down. "There was an accident. A training accident. We were out using the Leos, and one of the pilots strayed. I don't… it's not clear just what happened, but… somehow, one of the other students knocked Simon forward. He opened the cockpit for some reason, and… his Leo landed on a rock. He died three minutes later, from trauma and blood loss."

Silence filled the comm. waves. She'd managed to keep her voice steady throughout her explanation, willing herself to show little emotion. Zechs cursed inwardly. "I'm sorry for calling at such a bad time," he said.

"No," she responded, "I think it was best. I… needed to talk to a friend."

Zechs relaxed a little and felt bad for doing so. "How are the other students taking it?"

"They're shaken up, as you'd expect," she said, more sharply than she meant to. "Alex and Mueller were closest by when it happened. They seem to think they're responsible."

"But you think it's your fault."

"It is my fault," she bit. "I was the supervisor of the exercise. I was the instructor. I don't understand how or why he thought to bail out, but I failed to give him what he needed. I couldn't train him well enough to keep him alive. Good God! If I can't keep trainees alive, how will the soldiers I've trained survive combat?"

"We're not certain about all that," Zechs said. "It could have been a mechanical failure. Maybe it just blew."

"Zechs, even if it's true, it doesn't change how I feel," she said dejectedly. "I failed Simon. No one else, just me. My heart knows it's true."

"Then learn from this," said Zechs. "Become a better instructor for it."

"Thanks for trying to cheer me up," Noin said. "At the same time, go to Hell. Do you think I've been slacking or something? Do you think I wasn't giving my all to these pilots?"

"No, Noin, I know you always do your best. What I'm saying is—"

"That my best isn't good enough?" she snapped.

Zechs paused a moment before continuing. "Yes," he said at last. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather have train those pilots. Still, sometimes things are out of our control. Even Treize can't manage everything. One of the first rules of warfare is that something always goes wrong. Dozens of little problems add together to make every task difficult. War's just like that."

"I hate war," Noin said. "I always have."

"But that's also something outside our control," said Zechs. "There will be war, and there will be death. All that we can do, as soldiers, is minimize how much war and death take place. We do that by being the best soldiers we can."

She looked back up at the screen. "Soldiers feel pain, but fight on. They suffer, but don't break. They die, but regret only that they left their job undone." She smiled wryly. "'Definition of Duty in the Present Day', page fourteen, I believe."

"I… didn't realize," he said.

"You've changed a lot," she said, looking at him differently, "but some things haven't changed at all. I wish I could explain better."

"As do I," said Zechs. "I wish I knew what to say to you."

She smiled. "It's enough that you're you… Milliardo Peacecraft. It's enough that you're my friend." She slipped her piloting goggles off of her forehead. "You know that I can't count this towards my timer. It's been four months and four days. When are you going to come see me?"

"I can't tell," said Zechs. "I'm shipping to a new combat zone in two days. Perhaps after that."

She nodded. "Well, I'll see you sooner or later."

"But you will see me," he said. "I promise you that."

"Good." With that, she disconnected.

A part of Zechs went numb.

Two carriers passed over Iran on their way to Pakistan. The Indus supply base was their destination. The first carrier held a dozen Leos and six crack pilots, including Zechs. They were to deliver the Leos to the Indus base for distribution to the Alliance offensive in Asia. (Zechs had requested the transport division allow him to handle the operation. The transport divisions' new general had readily agreed.)

The second carrier was an escort carrier, bearing three Aires and three more of Zechs' best pilots. This transport operation would not be caught defenseless.

Zechs stood in the tightly packed cargo area, looking at his Leo. It was fully loaded for battle, bearing a dober gun, beam saber, and rifle, the last in a makeshift harness across the Leo's lower back. He'd practiced with this configuration and was ready for the weight.

When you think about it, a mobile suit is harmless. It's the man—me—who makes anything dangerous. You can kill someone with shoelaces. And yet… when I look at the Leo, my thoughts become bloody.

Being able to do something makes you want to do that thing.

He wandered back towards the cockpit without energy. He was feeling very melancholy. It was obvious to his crew, despite his mask, and he was starting to see he was affecting them. He was the leader; his emotions were contagious. Yet he could not summon the will to change his attitude.

The planes drew within a hundred miles. "Sir!" called Otto from the cockpit. "We're picking up a distress signal."

"On my way," said Zechs. Without any effort of his own, he began ticking off the items stolen by the rebels. Small arms. Armored personnel carriers. Heavy infantry weapons. Tanks. The occasional helicopter. Most frightening of all, rocket artillery systems. Those weapons had great range and could smash even Leo armor.

He entered the cockpit. "Report," he said.

"The distress signal is coming from the North Pakistan forward base," said Otto. "They're under heavy attack. This isn't a raid, they're smashing the place."

"This is it, sir," said Juno. "This is our chance to show them the power of Specials."

"Stop it, Juno," Zechs said. "A soldier never rushes to battle, never relishes battle. Battle means one must kill or be killed, and death may come anyway. Battle is the most unpleasant of necessities. No, a soldier mustn't rush to battle."

"But, sir…" Otto began.

"However," Zechs cut off, "once a soldier has looked at the situation and decided that it's worth it, that he must give battle here and now—once he's decided that, he strikes immediately, with all his might." He grabbed a transmitter. "All mobile suit pilots, to your machines. Carrier pilots, set new course. We're diverting to the North Pakistan forward base. Aires pilots, deploy when we're within fifty miles and escort carrier one into battle. I am lightning one; I'll deploy first. Move."

To his Leo he went, leading his men into battle once more.

Zechs' mind was a busy place. As he ran through his Leo's checklist, voices haunted his skull.

"Reactor powered up," he announced.

"It's merely symbolic, but symbols have their own power."

"We will instruct these pilots in more than just tactics and techniques. We will indoctrinate them politically. We'll induct them into my organization, OZ, and then make them the best pilots in the Earth sphere."

"So if there is anything you need from me, any resource you might require, I will do my utmost to ensure that you receive it."

"Targeting system online."

"You are not normal. Be sure they know that. Actively be their commander, have the presence of a commander, and they will follow you."

"Treize Khushrenada has faith in me. I just need for that to be enough."

"It is hardly fitting for officers in the Alliance to train for battle against the Alliance itself."

"Yes, I told her to test you, to push you, to make this class difficult."

"Some people will sell their loyalty, but those are not the sorts of people whom we would want in OZ."

"Navigation system online."

"Does anyone know the reasons for the engagements just held?" "To boost your ego!"

"Our entire existence is preparation for that moment when we stand at the brink. There, and only there, can we find what is great within ourselves."

"I told you that I needed a friend. This is hard work. However, I'm quite happy I have you as a… secrets-keeper."

"Sir, if I back off, it's the students who will suffer."

"Cameras online."

"You will stay on as junior instructors under your favorite soldier, Zechs Marquise."

"Perfect proficiency is what we must demand of ourselves if we are to serve OZ properly. The fact that you beat me so easily reveals that I am sorely lacking, regardless of what you say. Complimenting me serves only to boost your ego. Stop it!"

"You just vindicated my faith in you. You've just proven, again, why I was right in choosing you as my knight."

"The will to fight is an integral part of our humanity."

"You don't actually believe you'll lose, do you?"

"Sensors online."

"I always liked your true face better."

"You know, Zechs, it's typical for preachers to have conviction in their cause before they go converting others."

"… for us to be anything closer than colleagues is… is…"

"You have no choice but to be a role model, and it's healthy for them to model themselves after you. You're just going to have to live with the adulations of the multitude."

"They will bestow upon you the rank of baron, effectively making you one of them, which means that the pressure on you to act your station will be intense."

"Does he realize that he has no sway amongst those for whom he's conquering the world?"

"Communications online."

"You don't do things 'just because', Zechs, I know that… it bothers me that you don't seem to know for yourself what you're supposed to do."

"I'm becoming the person you wanted me to be."

"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."

"The son of a pacifist… why did you, of all people, dedicate your life to being the perfect soldier?"

"Gyrostabilizers online."

"I said already, I hate the Alliance more than I love OZ. If OZ is no better, I'll have no regrets fighting it."

"The day that I fight as Milliardo Peacecraft, I'll have found a way to bring peace to this world."

"Do you think so little of me that I would love this person you have just described?"

"I admired your strength. And I admired how you had done so much just by deciding what was most important to you. So I decided I wasn't going to be aimless anymore. I decided that you were the most important thing to me. I decided that I would fight for you, because I loved you."

"Servomotors active. All pseudo-muscles check ready."

"The left engine is more replacement parts than original ones. Even so, I know it won't fail you, sir. I'll guarantee it."

"You will come out now, or my bullets will come in after you."

"You risked the lives of those governors on a guess?"

"You have an almost diabolical ability to divide people in their opinions of you. There is no disputing that you acted without orders and in violation of the chain of command."

"Should I doubt the skills of your pilots?"

"Thrusters online. Power flows stable."

"You apologize too much."

"Colonel Treize is pleased to report that he has answered your request."

"A friend of Zechs'? That's a high compliment indeed."

"Zechs, though your abilities as a pilot are peerless, you would do well to broaden a bit."

"A commander considers all courses of actions, even the ones he would never undertake."

"All systems are go."

"You, Specials pilot, we surrender to you."

"I reserve shame for my friends, Zechs, not my enemies."

"I respect you as a soldier and a person, and I figured, if there's something that'll make you fight, that'll be enough for me."

"There's no vindication, no truth, no honor or glory there. That's why I need you to end it."

"Thanks for trying to cheer me up. At the same time, go to Hell."

"Lightning one, we're nearing the drop zone. I'm opening the rear hatch now."

"It's enough that you're you."

"Roger. All pilots, prepare to engage."

"He either fears his fate too much

Or his desserts are small

Who dares not put it to the touch

To win or lose it all."

"Drop me."

Zechs and his Leo lost all weight, and sudden sunlight blinded him. There was no noise as the mobile suit hung in the air. There was nothing, no outside world. It was a suspension of being. There was only—

I am Zechs Marquise.

I am a true soldier.

His eyes adjusted, gravity was reinstated, and the sounds of battle filled the air.

One ear listened for a report from the base commander, one eye surveyed the scene to estimate who had what, the other eye focused on landing safely, the other ear estimated ranges from the sounds of weapons fire.

"Major Kusan," said Zechs, "this is Lightning one. I'm here to relieve you."

"Thanks, though I don't know bloody why," answered a put-upon voice. "We can't even figure out how many there are. They keep hitting and fading, we can't guess where they'll come from next. And they keep calling in artillery!"

"Roger," said Zechs, deftly changing frequencies. "Walker, are your Aires on-station?"

"Yes, sir," he answered.

"Otto, Cunha, take your wingmen and spread to my flanks. Juno, with me. Walker, I want your Aires to find the artillery and kill it. Follow the rockets back to the launchers."

The nine mobile suits moved out. The base's radar had been hit, Zechs noted, but all of his men's sensors were active. He quickly grasped the situation. The rebels had split into three groups. Those groups attacked one after another in different locations, creating the illusion of terrific speed.

The groups themselves, however, weren't moving very quickly.

Only a few of them saw Zechs coming. Those began maneuvering immediately. The others were very bunched together, moving in a line towards the next rally point.

Zechs jumped into the air to change the angle of the shot, then fired twice: once to the front of the line, once to the back.

The enemy was concentrated enough that his dober shells had terrible effect. The first landed between the lead vehicles, tearing the treads off of one tank and collapsing the front of the other. The second shot impacted with the trailing tank, detonating with such force that the APC in front was thrown to its side.

The convoy had nowhere to go. Zechs had created a shooting ground for his men. His pilots were definitely in-practice.

Six shots remaining for the dober, Zechs noted, leading his men past the burnt-out rebel vehicles. The few returning shots at Zechs' squad had missed, so the only cost of the engagement was the ammunition use.

"Sir, artillery destroyed," reported Walker.

"How many?" said Zechs.

"Only three," said Walker, "one for each of us."

Zechs made a note of it. Treize's intelligence report had said six such units had been stolen. Treize hadn't been wrong yet.

"Aires, form on me," he commanded.

Apparently, the rebels hadn't noticed the destruction of a third of their forces. The two other elements were consolidating for a final push on the base. The base's remaining defenses engaged them, and both sides entered a slugfest.

The slugfest ended with Zechs' arrival.

Zechs was forced to use most of his remaining dober shots, but the enemy forces scattered before his men. OZ pilots were just too accurate with their heavy weapons, and Zechs had taught them to maneuver well. Only two shots from rebel tanks impacted with Zechs' forces.

"Are you okay, Vin?" said Zechs.

"I'm fine, sir, but Leo isn't cooperating." Zechs could hear the grimace. "My knee's gone stiff. I can shoot, but I can only limp."

"Vin, return to the base in case the rebels come back. We're entering pursuit. Walker, report."

Even as he spoke, he shrugged off the cumbersome dober and set out at a run, chasing down the rebels. "Sir, the rebels are splitting into three groups."

Lots of threes today, Zechs noticed absently. "That's lucky, we have three Aires," he said. "I want each of you pilots to trail an enemy formation. Don't engage them, I just want them followed. We are going to pursue the rebels to their bases and annihilate them."

"Yes, sir," said Walker. He began splitting up his men.

Zechs reported the situation to Major Kusan. "You're not going to defend the base?" said the major, incredulous.

"I am defending the base," said Zechs, still moving his Leo forward. "I'm destroying threats to the base before they materialize."

"Well, you're one bloodthirsty lieutenant, but you just saved my rear, so go ahead. I owe you the chance."

You're giving me the chance to do my job? How gracious. Fool. No wonder he was outfought.

The hours flew by as the Leos chased down the smaller rebel vehicles. Zechs wouldn't let his men overtake the rebels, though; they were relying on the rebels to guide them to their bases.

"Lightning one, Aires two," came the call. "My group has stopped at a small depot. Looks like just an ammo dump. Minimal defenses."

"It's not a priority then," said Zechs. "Stay on top of it. We'll kill it when we have the chance. If anyone leaves, engage them, but stay away otherwise."

"Yes, sir."

"Aires three. Found something big."

"Same here," said Walker. "I think this is the main base, sir, there're defenses all over the place."

Zechs checked his map and overlaid it onto his radar screen. Walker was circling above a small bowl-type canyon, and was reporting defenses around the rim of the bowl. But that won't stop an aggressor, he thought. The area is too spread out, there's too much ground to cover. But if you only need to delay the enemy, it'd work.

Delay them for…

"Walker, that's our prime target," he said. "Cunha, take your wingman and investigate Aires three. Juno, Otto, with me."

He doubled checked his fuel gauge. Still about a third of a tank left. They'd need some help getting back to base, but Zechs was not about to let his prey escape now.

"Lightning one, you're closing in on the base now," said Walker. "Another two kilometers and you'll hit the perimeter defenses."

Zechs shifted himself back to maximum alertness. He scanned his view for any sign of weaponry, any threat. He had no desire to discover the lance with his stomach.

Walker struck first. Zechs didn't see the outer defenses until they blossomed into flame.

"Walker, too soon!" he said, accelerating to attack speed. "They're onto you, Walker!"

Only now did Zechs draw in range. He swiftly set about targeting every threat he could see. It was too late to help Walker. Several of the larger guns swept bullets towards him, and some of them connected.

"Get out of there, Walker!" screamed Zechs. He'd lost pilots already. He didn't want to lose any more. To prove it, he pushed himself still harder, diving forwards towards the valley and the enemy base. He destroyed enemies as fast as he targeted them, and targeted them as he destroyed them.

They were through the outer defenses; the vehicles they'd chased for so long now turned to engage them. A dozen tanks and APCs engaged Zechs' three Leos.

The battle lasted about six seconds.

"Walker, are you clear?" said Zechs.

"Yes, sir. I'm shot up, though, I won't be able to make it back to base."

"Find a safe location and set down. We'll be back for you."

"Yes sir."

Zechs tuned Walker out, focusing ever more tightly upon those who stood against him.

There! Stationary gun. Short lateral burst, sweep fire across. Some shells connect. Next target.

There! Tank trio. Short jump to change elevations, fire down, let recoil scatter the shells. Next target.

There!

There!
There!

His radar screamed at him. As he'd expected, the rocket artillery was opening up. He'd been counting on Walker to remove those when they exposed themselves, but it wasn't…

Those rockets were too strong to ignore. Zechs pulled up, releasing his target, and aimed for the rockets.

"Juno! Otto! Go for the artillery!" he shouted. "Fight your way in!"

As he spoke, he started shooting the rockets.

Three launchers, each with plentiful supplies, sitting at three different angles. Zechs' rifle screamed as he unleashed himself. The rockets were fired individually, with a minimal delay between each rocket. Zechs had to hit each one before they impacted.

His rifle drowned out all other noises, but he'd closed off his sense of hearing. He was working purely on sight and touch.

He hit the rockets.

The first three he hit at considerable distance. The next three came closer. The next three… three more… fifteen… eighteen… twenty-one… twenty-four… twenty-seven… thirty…

Sweat poured down the edges of his mask. His targeting computer buzzed at him, but he let it languish. He was moving and shooting too fast to use it. He was firing faster than the computer could give him solutions, doing it all instantly, instinctively.

Forty-five… forty-eight… fifty-one… and still no cracks in his defense!

He noticed subconsciously that the angles of the rockets were changing. His conscious mind deduced that the artillery was shooting at Juno and Otto as they moved forward. So Zechs moved forward, too—further decreasing the time the rockets spent in the air. He compensated by increasing the pace with which he shot them.

Seventy-two… seventy-five… seventy-eight… no exceptions!

He moved forward again, defying the rockets to beat him. The barrel of his rifle was reaching its melting point, but he couldn't stop now.

Ninety… ninety-three… ninety-six… perfect!

The pace of his firing increased again! The limiting factor on his accuracy and lethality was no longer his skill level. He was being held back by the Leo. It could not answer his call; his demands on it were more than it could handle.

One-eleven… one-fourteen… one-seventeen…

And suddenly zero—no rockets anywhere.

Zechs inhaled.

He could do no more than breathe for several seconds. The barrel of his rifle burned; he tossed it away.

Otto and Juno had finally destroyed the enemy artillery, along with everything between them and their goal. No one would ever ask who the best pilot was.

Zechs wiped his face as he forced himself to breathe. He observed as Otto and Juno did their jobs, destroying the enemy mobile units first. With what strength he still possessed, Zechs pulled his beam saber out and assisted in their work. He had it harder, because he had only the saber. On the other hand, he was the Lightning Baron.

None escaped, though some surrendered.

There was no hearing this time.

There was a victory celebration.

Zechs and his eight lieutenants enjoyed the hospitality of his original base, the Specials Advanced Mobile Suit School. Some of the students he'd taught personally gathered for the occasion, as well as the current instructors, some of whom had met him but none of whom knew him.

The conversations were loud and animated, often accompanied by gestures and hand-diagrams. The subject of most conversations was the only one of interest to pilots: piloting. Whether they'd seen combat or only training exercises, everyone had a story to tell.

None of them tried to impress Zechs. The master's identity was known.

Zechs did his share of listening in. He was working on being less awkward at social occasions, something he might have excelled at if his mask hadn't made such things complicated. Then again, he was a quick study.

All noise ceased.

Zechs looked over towards the door. Treize had just entered the room, and all eyes were upon him. His ever-present satisfied expression seemed a trifle broader today.

"Gentlemen," he opened, "I have good news. The Alliance has gone over our records and come to the following conclusions. Specials has, in five battles, protected Alliance interests at minimal cost with maximum effectiveness, while acting completely outside the normal chain of command.

"Therefore, to make the most of our unique abilities, the Alliance has decided to grant Specials a new honor. We now have free reign to intervene at any time, at any battle, without any input from the normal Alliance command structure."

Even OZ's awe for Treize couldn't keep everyone in the room from expressing their opinion at the news. Only Zechs didn't speak, dumbstruck at the Alliance's colossal stupidity.

"Don't misunderstand," said Treize, voice severe but face smiling. "You must still work within OZ's command structure. Do you know why those who hate us let this be? They hope to give us rope enough to hang ourselves. What they don't realize is that they've given us rope enough to hang them."

Treize walked to the punch bowl; soldiers parted before him like the Red Sea. "I declare a toast," he announced. "To Specials, the finest unit in the Alliance by far, ("Hear! Hear!") and to OZ, harbingers of the new world, ("HEAR! HEAR!") and most of all to Lieutenant Zechs, the Lightning Baron, who has made this all possible."

To that, the cries were loudest of all.

Zechs tried to wave the crowd down, but someone (aided by the punch) misinterpreted this gesture. Soon shouts of "Speech! Speech!" resounded through the hall.

Can't very well disappoint them, he thought. So, reluctantly, he stepped into the void where Treize had been and poured himself some punch.

"Even the best soldier can only affect the battlefield he's on," Zechs said. "For his efforts to have meaning, he has to be put in the right place and guided by the right thinking. So, provided it's not impolite to toast your superiors," he looked over to Treize, who shook his head, smiling, "I'd like to toast His Excellency, Lieutenant Colonel Treize Khushrenada. You give meaning to the fighting, sir, and for that, we soldiers owe you everything."

The crowd continued to watch him expectantly, so he raised the cup of punch in the air, then raised it to his lips. The crowd roared, then drank.

Zechs, when he felt the crowd was distracted enough, spat the punch back into the cup.

Now Otto bulled his way towards the punch bowl. He filled his cup and began to speak, the crowd punctuating his blessing with laughter. "Sir," he said, "some of these men had heard legends of your modesty. But you really outdid yourself there. You think you only affect the battlefield you're on? Why, sir, you should know better, that you are no normal soldier! You are it," he said, staggering slightly. "You talk like a martyr, you stand apart wherever you go, and you draw attention to yourself just by existing. You get less credit than you deserve just 'cause you don't want it, and your purity annoys the hell out of everyone you meet. And for all that," said Otto, sloshing his punch with a sweep of his arm, "we need more of you. Gentlemen! Another toast to Lieutenant Zechs!"

So it went, long into the morning. Zechs somehow escaped without getting drunk, which made him unique in yet another way.

Only Zechs noticed that Treize had discreetly exited moments after Zechs' toast.

"You didn't enjoy the party, sir?" Zechs said.

"On the contrary," Treize said, "I watched it from afar. I patched the security cameras into my office. I know, for example, that you had a loaf of toasts in your honor. I also know that Flight Officer Vin cannot hold his liquor."

"He has other merits," Zechs said reflexively. It occurred to him a moment later that he didn't need to defend his pilots on this count.

"I went into the party to tell everyone the news, and to focus the party on you. That's all."

"Is that so?" Zechs said.

Treize turned. "A leader who rules from above must stay above." He briskly shook his head. "But enough of that. What opinions do you have about our new status?"

Zechs gave a soft snort. "What a mistake the Alliance made. If I were the Alliance, I would've noticed a pattern by now. Every time I condone Special's actions, every time they step over the border and I let them, they take another step over the new line. Nothing is enough."

"Well, then, I'm glad you're on my side," said Treize. "Whatever their thought processes, the order is given. We have a great privilege, and I intend to use it."

"Will we have the opportunity? Sir, the Alliance is building up again, beyond what they could have needed. At the same time, rebelliousness is dropping. The Alliance is expanding its operations in the Himalayas. They're calling it a "permanent offensive" running through the Indus base. The Middle East nations are scrambling to apologize for the renegade emirates. The industrialized nations are paralyzed by indecision and spinelessness. The colonies still aren't fighting back. The world is firmly under the Alliance's control, now more than ever. Who are we going to fight?"

"There are always training exercises," Treize said coyly. "It is odd you mentioned the colonies. I have been getting vague reports about some sort of action—from the colonies."

"Is that right?" said Zechs. He tried to set his normal thought processes into motion, but there was a problem—he knew nothing about the colonies. "I don't know what to think," he said.

"It's very low-level for now," said Treize, "but it's consistently there. Some kind of new weapon, according to reports, but that's as detailed as it gets. I'll keep an eye on it, you needn't worry."

"Thank you, sir," said Zechs. He shook his head.

"What is it?" asked Treize.

Zechs looked at his friend. "How does the Alliance do it? There have been some fairly significant rebellions over the past two years, but the greater Alliance seems not to notice. They continue in their stagnate, politicking careerism, they keep to the same policies, everything is static. Did they not notice the attacks on Pokhran and Somalia and North Pakistan?"

"Some noticed, of that I'm sure," Treize answered.

"You know what I mean," Zechs said. "The Alliance had the gall to call AC 193 a 'year of peace' despite Pokhran and Somalia. The Alliance is not a meritocracy. It's not even close to efficient at anything. How does it hang on?

"It's been bad, recently, but it would have been worse without OZ's intervention. What would the Alliance have done without Specials? I don't understand how the Alliance can hold onto power despite its flaws."

"There are a few factors at work," said Treize. "It's a combination of low-level brutality and a redefinition of 'peace'. Firstly, the Alliance considers any attacks against it and without government sanction to be 'incidents'. It doesn't count incidents into its definition of peace."

"What?" said Zechs, shocked. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Look at it from the Alliance perspective," said Treize, holding out his hands. "The Alliance expects a certain amount of violence against itself. As far as they're concerned, it goes with the role of ruling the world. They feel it's unrealistic to expect total peace. Any amount of violence below such-and-so number of casualties goes unnoticed by the High Command. They leave it to regional governors."

Zechs frowned. "So one of the reasons that Specials upsets them is because we're non-territorial. When we act in India or Somalia, we cause a scandal because it's not our turf."

Treize nodded. "That's it. It wasn't just that we didn't consult High Command; it's that we didn't consult High Command before stepping on someone else's toes."

"Scylla is our friend," Zechs said with a wry grin.

Treize acknowledged the joke. "So, those were all 'incidents', and the Alliance doesn't care. The case of the emirates was a close one, because the emirates almost qualify as governments. It's governments that the Alliance really cares about, because governments contribute the troops and money the Alliance needs.

"The reason the Alliance makes the distinction of "incidents" is because, if a government acts, it becomes a war."

"Only governments?" said Zechs.

"That's the strict definition of war," said Treize. "War is politics by other means, a method governments use to enforce their will. It only happens between governments. Any other action using force isn't war. It's an 'incident' or a 'rebellion' or 'terrorism'. All the same. How cowardly the rebels are typically defines the label used, with terrorism being the most cowardly and rebellion the least."

"The Alliance only cares about preventing wars? Not incidents or terrorism?"

"It does, but to a lesser extent," said Treize. "The Earth-sphere is large, and violence comes with the territory. So long as it stays below the government level, the High Command doesn't care. They leave it to the regional governors."

Zechs shook his head. "So the regional governors decide how much oppression to apply in any given region."

"Correct," said Treize. "Regional governors squash most problems with oppression at the lowest levels; this intimidates governments enough to keep things in order; everything else is 'incidents.' There are exceptions, of course."

The hairs on Zechs' neck stood up. "Like the Sanc Kingdom?"

Treize frowned slightly. "Yes and no. At that time, there was a general increase in rebelliousness. Those years were troubled ones, with problems cropping up all over. The officer in question proposed that he make an example of the Sanc Kingdom."

"I know his reasoning," Zechs said. "It was bad enough that the Kingdom did oppose the Alliance. But because of the Sanc Kingdom's pacifism, an attack could derive maximum benefit at the minimal cost. The invasion itself would be easy and rapid. Once complete, it would force other nations to think, 'If this is what they did to pacifists, what might they do to us?'"

"And it worked," said Treize. "So a global problem was addressed by local solutions, as is the norm."

Zechs took a deep, calming breath. "Never mind the past. Tell me about the future. What am I to do next?"

"There's nothing more that needs your talents at the moment," said Treize as he stood, "so I have something different in mind. I'm placing you on call."

"What does that mean, sir?"

Treize walked to his desk. "There are a few areas of military study you haven't yet mastered. I want you to spend the next six months refining your skills and expanding what you can do. I want you to review the naval mobile suits, Cancer and Pisces; I want you to develop a competency for space combat; and, in the final month or so, I want an evaluation of this new model of carrier." Treize held up a picture. The carrier was small, capable of holding few suits, but it had armaments and, from the look, limited space-flight capability. Probably an upper-atmosphere skimmer, Zechs thought, mind on autopilot.

Treize handed a manual to Zechs. "The prototype will be your personal carrier for when we begin Operation Daybreak."

Zechs looked up in surprise. "Oper—so soon?"

Treize smiled broadly. "Lady Une finished her calculations yesterday. By our analysis, OZ will have all the men it needs in all the right places by early AC 195."

Zechs put a hand to his mask. "That was far earlier than I expected," he said.

"I know," said Treize, "but delay is not our friend. Don't worry, we left a considerable margin for error. Even so, Lady Une is very astute at this kind of work. Her numbers are good."

Zechs nodded. "So, early AC 195."

"That's right. One more thing." Treize walked to the window. He gazed again through the glass. You're almost there, Treize, thought Zechs. A year and a half ago, your ambition was confined. You controlled a single base in a wasteland. Yesterday, you were told that you're on course to conquer the world. The rest is just waiting.

"I'm being promoted to Colonel," Treize continued. "As a result, and because of Specials' new status, they're assigning me a post on the High Command."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" asked Zechs.

"A good thing, for the most part. But... I fear that I may become more distant from my soldiers. When I'm surrounded by corrupt, scheming derelicts, I fear I may lose sight of my goals and ideals. Zechs, I'll need you to keep my eyes on the truth should I stray."

When Treize turned back to Zechs, there was a smile on his friend's face. "Sir," he said, "I serve as a conduit for your idealism—idealism I don't fully believe myself. Nevertheless, I indoctrinate pilots in it and keep OZ focused on you. And what do you say to me? That I, who lacks idealism, must guide the idealist? Sir, OZ will follow—or not follow—based on what you believe, but OZ can't tell you what you believe. Neither can I. I must refuse."

Treize caught Zechs' smile. "You said 'no' to me. That's very healthy."

"I've been waiting a year and a half to get to say 'no' about something," Zechs answered.

"Honestly, I expected as much," said Treize. "I continue on as I have before, relying on myself for direction and you for execution."

"That's what I do best," said Zechs. "But I wasn't joking. I can't tell you what your perfect world is. That has to come from you."

"I know," said Treize. "And I'll continue to guide by that light, no matter who tries to dampen it." He extended a hand to Zechs. "When we first came to this place, I told you that everyone was being tested. Me, you, your pilots, everyone. The tests are complete. The rehearsals are over. All that's left is to wait for the curtain to rise."

Zechs grasped the offered hand. "I look forward to that day."

"Thank you, friend."