Cornelia's ears popped painfully for the third time in the last hour as she lifted her chin from her flak jacket in a groggy haze. For a moment as she struggled to regain full consciousness she'd be grateful for the dim lighting of the massive transport plane's cargo hold as she reached up, barely able to move her arm through all the gear that was strapped to her body, and wipe some drool that had collected under her lip while she'd been asleep. An eight-hour flight from Rhodesia across the Indian Ocean in this droning monstrosity hadn't exactly been the most restful sleep she'd ever gotten. To her left, Nonette had her head tilted all the way back, her helmet dangling behind her seat with the chinstrap on her forehead, and her mouth open wide. Even though the ear-splitting drone of the aircraft's engines made it impossible to hear it, she knew well enough that Nonette was snoring at top volume, and probably had been sleeping soundly the entire flight.
Cornelia was just about to rub her eyes and try to get back to sleep- she knew once they landed she wasn't getting any for a while- when a loud BANG echoed through the cabin and instinctively she saw several of her fellow cadets scramble to cover themselves. Nonette continued to saw logs, of course, and Cornelia knew well enough from the sudden noisy roaring of air underneath them that the noise had been the aircraft's landing gear deploying. The plane shifted from side to side for another few minutes, wings tilting erratically while a few more cadets began to awaken. Cornelia knew she'd probably have to be the one to wake Nonette herself- Lord knows she was used to it by now. The fact that the cargo hold had no windows made it a shock to everyone when they felt the lurch of the plane's wheels touching the ground, and the lurch in the opposite direction of the plane's airfoils and brakes being applied, the roar increasing in volume for several more moments until finally it stopped, giving them a disorienting, spinning feeling, the feeling of suddenly being at rest after moving for a very long time.
The disorientation would pass as they felt the plane taxi down several too-short runways- Cornelia had momentarily wished she'd tried to grab those last few winks of sleep, as she knew what was coming. Once the aircraft's rear hatch broke the seal on the cargo bay with a thunk and a whirr as the door began to lower, she'd spot several of their instructors waiting for them at the base of the exit ramp. The pitch black Cambodian night outside would deprive the cadets of even being able to gawk at the exotic sights outside, or what could be seen of them from the Kampong Cham airstrip.
Elbowing Nonette a few times, prompting a snort that was audible over the plane's engines and a retaliatory smack from the near-comatose blonde, Cornelia would check the straps on her gear one more time in preparation to stand up. Her backpack had been resting in her lap, and as soon as the red light turned yellow and began to flash back and forth, their instructors started to rush up the ramp. "Everybody up, check your gear, check your buddy's gear, do not leave anything on the aircraft. Form up on the yellow line, quickly, quickly, move it!"
As the jungle's heat began to seep into the formerly air-conditioned cargo hold, beads of sweat began to form under Cornelia's helmet liner while she checked Nonette's gear, and the blonde lazily checked over hers, giving her backpack a scarce pat-down before giving her battle-buddy the thumbs up and slinging her rifle over her shoulder. Cornelia took one last look under the seats before doing the same. It didn't take long to shuffle out of the airplane, but Cornelia desperately wanted to set her gear down somewhere- the full set of gear she'd taken aboard the aircraft weighed more than half as much as she did, and her back was already aching.
A pile of bags near a couple of seven-ton trucks seemed to be the place for it, so she and Nonette heaved their baggage onto the pile and shuffled into place in the formation that was rapidly filling up. Two hundred cadets out of a class that had started as five hundred, four years ago. Men and women both - 144 men and 56 women. As the Emperor had said it would be. As Cornelia had steeled herself for, before she knew the true meaning of it. This was it. The final winnowing. Their cadet deployment, where all Academy graduates were tempered in the fires of combat before earning the title of a fully-fledged Imperial warrior - and potentially, for the commoners among them, earning their descendants the title of nobility. The youngest among them, Cornelia included, were barely eighteen. This was where it would all be decided. And the honor graduates would be able to choose their first assignments.
Cornelia knew exactly what assignment she wanted. The Imperial Guard. By Lady Marianne's side. It had been her driving motivation ever since her decision. The decision to be the best damn one out here.
As they were forming up, a cadet still carrying one of his bags crossed paths with Nonette, and out of Cornelia's peripheral vision, something happened between the two of them that resulted in that unfortunate cadet flying face-first down into the mud. Right at Cornelia's feet. She shot Nonette a glare, but crouched down to grasp the cadet's hand. Crunch. Something broke underfoot. She didn't pay it any mind, until she saw the cadet's mud-stained face and squinting eyes, a faint outline of mud where a pair of glasses had once been.
Years later, this would be a perennial favorite of Nonette's. The story of the time she 'introduced' Cornelia to Guilford. It was never clear whether Nonette pushed him, as Cornelia insisted, or whether he tripped, as Nonette insisted to the contrary. Guilford was unconcerned with either, and at the time, his main concern had been getting into his gear to find his spare pair of glasses. He didn't even realize until he was fully on his feet just who had helped him up. Just whom he was staring at.
"… Y- your Highness! I-" The color rapidly began to drain from his face.
"It's cadet. Cadet Stuart. Are you all right… Guilford?" She had to look at his nametape.
"Yes, I'm fine." Covered in mud and humiliated in front of the only cadet he cared about impressing, but fine.
"Do you have an extra pair?"
"Yes, somewhere."
"Find them. Quickly."
"Yes, your Highness."
"It's cadet."
As he trudged out of formation to unzip his bag, Nonette grunted to herself, scratching her side. "Turd needs to watch where he's walking. What a sad sack, eh, Nellie? Odds on him being the first to bite it?"
"Not in a gambling mood, Nonette. I think the commander's about to say something, shut up."
Before the formation, a dour-faced and slightly stubbled man stood, arms clasped behind his back, overlooking the formation until the final headcount was complete, and the back of the aircraft buttoned up. One of his aides-de-camp murmured something into his ear, and he nodded, then slammed his heels together, hands at his side. Some of the cadets instinctively moved to the position of attention too early. Cornelia knew better.
"COMPANY, ATTENTION!" the man bellowed, and at that final syllable, Cornelia's heels met and her fists came to her sides. Nonette was slightly slower on the uptake, but she managed. Still half-asleep, still shaking her helmet into the proper position.
"Welcome to the battlefield, cadets. This is the front line of next week's major offensive against the Khmer Daoy. They call themselves the Free Khmer, and they are sworn enemies of his Majesty and everyone wearing Britannia's uniform. You may think you're here as the final stage of your training. Let me assure you that the enemy does not see it that way. My name is Colonel Andreas Darlton, and it is not my job to keep any of you alive. That job is yours and that of the men and women standing beside you. That said, I want winners watching my back when this is all said and done, but I also have no intention of sending you to die pointless deaths, either. I am here to give you a taste of what has made Britannia great. We do not need your sacrifice, this war will go on with or without you. If anyone's not prepared to fight and kill in the service of His Majesty, let me know. I'll have you sent to the rear and processed for discharge tonight. Form up in the back."
No one moved at first, but when a whistling mortar shell thumped into a grove nearby, and visibly knocked down a few trees - Cornelia still somewhat suspected they'd staged that, to this day - two hundred became a hundred and forty-four.
Nothing that came after was staged, though. They would be certain of that later.
"All right, get the washouts on the trucks. They're sleeping comfortably tonight. The rest of you are not sleeping at all." As the instructors escorted the washouts to the trucks that were also holding their bags of gear, Cornelia realized - and so did quite a few of the other cadets - that their instructors were leaving. That they were now alone with Darlton. Were there even any other troops at this outpost…?
"That mortar that just hit should serve to explain my next point." Darlton began, pacing before the ranks. "There's an enemy listening post out here, and we believe it to be atop that hill five clicks west-southwest. It's too close for comfort. Before those mortars start dropping on our tents, we need it taken out, and HQ has volunteered your company for the task. Who's in command?"
Nonette was just standing there. Cornelia was shocked she wasn't rushing to the front. Murmurs went around the company. No one had discussed this. No one had even assumed this would be part of the training.
Cornelia felt needles prickling the back of her neck as she realized that, in between the murmuring, half of the men and women began to look in her direction. And so did Darlton. Especially when Nonette shoved her forward. Son of a bitch, Nonette…
"Cadet Stuart, it seems the company's already answered my question for me. Come take a look at our map." Cornelia was convinced she'd be rooted to the spot, but for some reason, she found her boots trudging forward through the sopping mud, and approaching the command table with her head held high. She didn't even move to salute the colonel. She knew better than that.
"The rest of you will notice that Cadet Stuart did not salute me when she approached. The rest of you will follow her example. Every one of you needs to realize, from here on in, that you may be in the crosshairs of an enemy sniper, and act accordingly. Fall out, but remain in the area and prepare to mobilize for an offensive on Stuart's command."
"Holy shit, we just got here! This is unbelievable!" One of the cadet's voices carried a bit too far, but expressed the general sentiment of the group as they began to fall out of formation and cluster together in their own small groups. Nonette wasn't dozing off anymore. She was staring straight at Cornelia, hand on her hip, a wry smile curling her lip. Was that amusement?
"Stuart, do you have a battle buddy?" Darlton addressed Cornelia, and immediately she answered before she even realized she was being spoken to.
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Is she tougher than you? Smarter than you? Do you trust her with your life?"
"… Yes." The hesitation had only been because she was embarrassed to admit it. But there was no hesitation at the truth of what she said.
"She's your XO. Call her over."
"Enneagram." Cornelia barked, in a tone she didn't realize she possessed until now. And Nonette trudged over, with a responsiveness Cornelia was certain she'd never known Nonette possessed, either.
"Ma'am." Enneagram replied. Yes, it was definitely amusement. Considering she'd been calling Nonette that until last year…
"You're my XO, I guess."
"Commanders don't guess, Stuart." Darlton glanced at them both. "Did I mix the two of you up?"
"No. She's the boss, boss." Nonette spoke firmly, confidently. She wasn't speaking in jest anymore. She was being as honest as she could.
"Enneagram, you're my XO. I need you to help me plan this offensive. What do we know?" Cornelia asked, making room at the map board for Nonette to nudge in beside her.
"Our scouts suggest several scattered platoons. You're a company-sized unit, which means you have them outnumbered, but they're defending, they know the terrain, and frankly, you're all rookies. I would assume you're at a disadvantage from the start." Darlton gestured to the topographic map, outlining the terrain, and Cornelia, despite her earlier conviction that she was in no way ready to lead anything, already began to see the arrows she'd put there if she had a marker. Possibilities for maneuvers. Also possibilities the enemy was going to anticipate. Which one was the least likely to face resistance…? How large a force should she send down each route…?
"And the listening post, you believe, is here?" She put a finger on the crest of a hill. "Why?"
"Recon took considerably more fire when they approached it than anywhere else. The angles and range of their mortar fire suggests it's coming from there or somewhere very nearby as well. As I said, this area is a part of next week's planned offensive, so you lot are going to have one significant advantage: the enemy thinks the real fighting is elsewhere. They don't know yet that someone's going to be knocking down their door."
"Hey, COMMANDER, where are our Knightmares?" one of the cadets bellowed out, and Cornelia turned to face him, before glancing briefly back at Darlton, as clueless as he.
Darlton merely shook his head, stepping out from under the command tent and addressing the company again. "I'm glad you asked. We have twenty-four Glasgows. Obviously, not all of you are getting one."
"Twenty-four, what the FUCK!" More dismayed shouts went up amongst the group, before Cornelia, once again, found herself surprisingly stepping into the role of command.
"Cadet Thoreau," Cornelia spoke, addressing the one who had been the most vocal, "I will be assigning Knightmares to where they are most needed based on who are the most skilled pilots among you. We've been training for this all along. We will need to dismount from time to time anyway. I have no intention of sending anyone in without Knightmare support, and if you think I'm going to button myself up in one, you're wrong." Cornelia crossed her arms, leveling her gaze directly at the epicenter of mutiny. Thoreau blinked, then glanced beside him at his fellows. Commoners, both. A trio who had most certainly had expected something else coming out of the mouth of the royal princess standing before them.
Murmurs, more and more, went up among the company. Nonette's eyebrows raised too. "Stuart, uh, you just said, the most skilled-" It was beyond debate. Cornelia was the ace of the company. Nonette was the only one who could touch her. She was going to give up that advantage, and her safety…? To prove a point?
"Enneagram, I want to have a full field of view of the battlefield. Factspheres won't cut it. I won't be riding in a Knightmare. I'll be riding on one. Yours." Cornelia nodded, and Nonette blinked a few times, before cackling out loud. Darlton couldn't help but begin to smile as well.
He'd found one.
"Well, Nellie, I can't say I'm the craziest one here anymore. What are you gonna do, sit on my shoulder?"
"Platoon commanders! I need two. Step forward. You're doing the same thing." Cornelia waited for two more bodies to move forward from the platoon. There was one. Guilford. Guilford?!
Thoreau, too. "Fine, Stuart. You better knight me for this when we graduate, highness."
Cornelia nodded to the pair, before turning back to the map and gesturing them over. "Your platoons are both getting ten Glasgows each. Enneagram's taking another, along with three more for the recon squad. I'll be commanding them and providing intel."
"A pincer attack, Stuart?" Guilford spoke up, a hand on the table.
"Glad we're already on the same wavelength, Guilford, but I'm not sure why you stepped forward. Trying to impress somebody?"
For some reason, Nonette and Thoreau shared a knowing look.
"N… No, Stuart, I just think it's a solid plan. Let's put it into action." Guilford swallowed and straightened his posture.
"And I, for one, want to get some shut-eye." Thoreau interjected, his cocky grin meeting Nonette's, who nodded in seeming agreement. "My neck's killing me and I need some chow in my belly. The sooner we splat these Tens, the sooner we hit the rack. If this is what I gotta do to make that happen, let's do it."
…
Plans never survive first contact with the enemy.
Most cadets don't, either.
In retrospect, Cornelia was lucky. She only had to bury a few of her friends. The listening post was crushed. All Hail Britannia. An overwhelming victory, with only a dozen casualties and two Knightmares lost.
Yet as soon as Thoreau was in the ground - his knighthood confirmed to dispatch by royal order - Cornelia found somewhere quiet to grab a tree and bawl. Somewhere no one could see her.
You're lying to yourself, and to them. And it got them killed.
She didn't know it, but there was one cadet watching her. But he'd never tell a soul.
…
Six years later, Cornelia reflected on that, as she watched her little brother sign his life away to the Academy. Was she still lying…?
As Lelouch slid the paper back over to her, she checked it. Normally a recruiter would be doing this. Even the highest of Britannia's nobility still had to walk into an office and sign on the dotted line. This was a special exception. This was her special exception, and though she didn't tell Lelouch that, it was because part of her wanted the opportunity to be the last one to decide.
To be the last one to turn him over to the machine. To a place where she was convinced she could keep him safe… But only if he made it past the snarling teeth of the assembly line that converted soft young boys and girls into hardened killers. The Bakersfield Royal Military Academy. Four years of cultivated study and hard training followed by a few months of raw butchery.
"Well, Cornelia? What now?" Lelouch spoke, staring at her as she held onto that rolled-up form, staring at him, but not quite at him, at something just beyond him.
Caskets disappearing into the earth. Her mother's. Thoreau's. Lady Marianne's. It was hungry for more.
"Now we see what you're made of, Lelouch. And now you have to tell your sisters."
He nodded, grimly. He was certain he could face any of the horrors that would come his way. Any of them but this one.
"If I need help…" He started, but the words died in his throat.
"No, Lelouch." Cornelia spoke, her voice cold with finality. "You're not getting my help anymore."
Come back with your shield, or on it. Spartan mothers would demand this hardness of their sons.
Of themselves.
She had to be a Spartan for him now, or he would never survive what was to come.