Author's Preface:
To begin with, I'm really sorry for taking this long. I realize that I am three days late...
but, in consolation, I did manage to finish all of the prologues.
I'm in finals season, so this next two weeks will be busy, but I'll do my best to contribute new updates.
Whatever the case, here are the final two Prologues, and look forwards to the start of the story in the coming chapters!
-Thanks and Sorry, CaptainSparkles
P.S. I made some character sketches of the characters in this one that can be found here (remove spaces:)
ht tp : / / thejimmierustler . deviantart . co m / art / F-ZE-Kotori-Talasi-Lloyd-Harkins-298024633 ? q = gallery % 3 Athejimmierustler & qo = 2
ht tp : / / thejimmierustler . deviantart . com / art / F-ZE-Kayeri-Brant-Monica-Kruszewski-298024295 ? q = gallery % 3 Athejimmierustler & qo = 3
Do forgive the disappointing Quality, I'm no great shakes at sketching!
-Towards the Breach-
"Fellow Britannians,
Yesterday I reported to the Britannian people that warships of the Japanese Navy have launched a deliberate and aggressive attack on a sovereign ship of the Holy Empire of Britannia, the H.M.S. Raleigh, while it was engaged in a legitimate patrol exercise. In self defense, the H.M.S. Raleigh returned fire. Fourteen Britannian Citizens were killed as a result.
The Japanese Government has responded by denying all responsibility and insinuating that the Raleigh fired first.
This action is a clear provocation on the part of the Japanese government, one of a series of provocations that have offended the Britannian people.
These include but are not limited to the imposition of an embargo against the Holy Empire of Britannia and the imposition of a military blockade on Britannian ports around the world, an action that has brought much economic hardship to our citizens overseas.
This last injustice, wrought upon Britannian lives, is hardly the first, but it will be the last that Britannia will bear.
In the past, the Japanese have tried to impose their tyrannical, archaic rule on its neighbors through force of arms. Japan's rampage in the Sino-Japanese war alone led to the deaths of 16 million Chinese, and it's designs extended to Britannia itself, with its attack on our forces at Pearl Harbor.
Today, Japan has changed its name, but it has neither changed its goal nor learned its lesson.
Today, the Nation of Japan hopes to bend the knee of our Great Britannia, not through the force of arms, but the weight of money.
But Britannia will not bend its knee.
We will prove that we, Britannians are the ones destined to inherit the earth, the ones selected by Destiny to rule the world.
And, for that reason, I have asked the Imperial Senate and the House of Lords for a declaration of war against the Nation of Japan.
Both Houses have granted my request.
After Pearl Harbor, we rebuilt, we rearmed, we reconquered. We rolled back that empire of hate, to the very gates of their Emperor's palace.
We will do so again, if we must.
If Europe or China will stand in our way, we will sweep them aside as well.
We will make sure, for once and for all, that this nation can no longer launch its attacks on our great nation.
We will make sure that none will debate our lineage.
We will make sure that none will question our destiny.
We will make sure that none will doubt our justice.
All Hail Britannia!"
-Emperor Charles Zi Britannia, Address to the Britannian People
-January 22nd, 2010 ATB
January 23rd, 2010 ATB
Oahu, Hawaii, Area 7, Holy Empire of Britannia
"Honolulu, huh?"
"Yep."
"80 degrees, clear skies, a nice breeze…the mood is perfect."
"mmmmhm…"
"Only one thing I feel is off, though."
"What about it?"
Kayeri Joseph Brant III sighed wistfully. "Where are all the women?"
The streets of Honolulu were filled with men in uniforms—military police uniforms, dress uniforms and even BDUs.
The boy next to Kayeri shrugged nonchalantly as he fanned himself with the cheap seashell plastic fan he had bought from a nearby vendor.
"It's not like they rented out the city for us," Lloyd Harkins noted gently as he stood aside for a group of Marines.
Blonde, soft-spoken and several years older than he looked, Lloyd looked far too gentle for the military uniform he wore. Then again, Kayeri conceded, the contemplative Virginian didn't look like the southern baptist, fervently anti-big government supporter of gun rights that he was either.
"I don't see hula girls anywhere, though."
"Maybe they have other things to worry about, like maybe the war that just got declared yesterday."
There was, inevitably, a sense of excitement in the air. Apprehensive salarymen, excited children, angry activists, enthusiastic soldiers and grizzled old veterans who told everyone who passed them about exactly where they had been when "those squinty-eyed rats hit us in '41" intermingled on the streets.
The warships docked nearby in Pearl Harbor, Kayeri surmised, only added to the excitement.
Troopships, Destroyers, Cruisers, submarines, a few battlecruisers and even Aircraft Carriers filled Pearl Harbor as they resupplied and prepared for the journey across the Pacific.
The war had been on days before it had been declared.
Now, the air of wariness had been replaced with an air of hurry. Trucks filled with soldiers drove through the main road and aides ran to and fro, carrying electronic notepads, laptops, and sheaves of documents.
Kayeri felt hurried too. Hurried to enjoy as much of Honolulu as he could.
Catching sight of an Irish pub ("The Leitrim Pub – Beer at half price after 2 AM"), Kayeri made a beeline-only to stop short at the sight of two unhappy-looking Military Policemen.
Lloyd gave a bemused smile. "Did you really think that you were the first of ten thousand soldiers to try it?"
"Maybe I was the first one to come to this one."
"On main street?"
"Well, maybe I can get around them if you distract the—"
"Don't consider it."
Kayeri and Lloyd grinned at each other. The military chaplain's son didn't seem particularly disappointed by Kayeri's failure—in fact, he seemed a little happy.
"Come on, Lloyd, be a little supportive here…
"Are you saying that I should support a destructive habit because I'm your friend?" Somehow, Lloyd's near-angelic smile seemed a little dangerous.
"No, no, but you know, drinking age is kind of an arbitrary number, you know, in biblical times even children drank—"
"My family used to own slaves, do you think that it excuses slavery?"
"No but—"
Kayeri could almost hear the stirring of the lovecraftian creature that hid behind Lloyd's smile and decided to change the subject.
"By the way, any idea where Captain King is?"
Lloyd shrugged as they walked down the thoroughfare. "Either at the officer's club or at the Leitrim pub?"
Organized in an uncomfortable mix of Cavalry and Air Force hierarchies, the Knightmare Corps was organized into 40-knightmare Squadrons, further divided into five-man Troops led by an officer, accompanied by maintenance and ground crews. Lloyd and Kayeri, both members of D troop of the 3rd Squadron, were commanded by Captain Owen King, a man who seemed to be perpetually in a state of DUI.
"Not like he would want to see me anyway," Kayeri muttered with a wry grin. The old man was a member of the Purists. Remnants of the old nobility that had fled the British Isles following its fall to French and Irish forces, the Purists considered anyone who was not one of the original colonists or British Expatriates as second-class citizens. Somehow, the bill included America's first inhabitants. Though the captain was generally too drunk to voice his distaste, it was common knowledge that the Canadian didn't think much of anyone in D troop save for Lloyd, whose plantation-owner pedigree exceeded Captain King's in length.
A burst of shouting caught their attention, and the two pilots waded through a crowd of servicemen as they hurried towards the scene.
Kayeri smiled resignedly and Lloyd shook his head as they came upon a scene they had seen many times before.
A tall black woman and a large, white man both in uniform were circling each other, faking jabs as they shouted at each other.
Behind the black woman, a shy-looking woman with nearly eye-length blonde bangs did her best to hold her back.
"Say that again, Cracker? Why don't you to say that again, in my face?"
"I say what I want, when I want, Ni—"
The black woman sprung forwards with a shout that drowned out the rest of the man's sentence, held back only through the strenuous efforts of the girl behind her.
Kayeri grinned. This was clearly going to come to blows. The worried expression of Lloyd next to him suggested that he had reached the same conclusion.
"Let's go break it up," sighed Lloyd as he stepped forwards.
"Hang on, Lloyd, let's wait a bit. I haven't seen Dorothea this mad for a while."
"Someone's going to get hurt, Kayeri."
"Dorothea can hold her own, you know that," Kayeri laughed dismissively.
"As if you were ever concerned for anyone's personal safety."
"Well, that and it's fun—"
"It'll be when the Military Police show up," Lloyd replied dryly.
"Lloyd, you have no sense of humor," Kayeri groaned with exasperation as they shoved their way through the crowd, most of which were putting out bets for their perceived victor. Each holding one of the black woman's arms, Kayeri and Lloyd hauled her away, ignoring her protests and those of the disappointed crowd.
"Alright, white knights, you can let go now," Captain Dorothea Ernst grumbled..
"You can't keep on getting into fights like that," Lloyd explained as he handed her a bottle of water.
"I can kick his ass. I didn't need you guys to help me there," Dorothea muttered.
Kayeri blinked in mock surprise. "Help you? Heavens, no, Dorothea, we were trying to save the other guy. You can't just bully people just because you're taller than them." Even Lloyd chuckled—there weren't many men who happened to be taller than Captain Dorothea Ernst, leader of 2nd Squadron's B troop, and even fewer that could take the Detroit native in a fight.
"They were making a pass on Monica," Dorothea explained.
The blonde girl finally spoke up. "I would have been fine," 2nd Lieutenant Monica Kruszewski, Lloyd and Kayeri's troopmate, said in her usual quiet voice.
"I don't think he would have heard you standing up for yourself," Dorothea remarked with a grin as she put an arm around Monica's shoulder. Unlike Kayeri, who had been drafted into the Knightmare Corps from naval aviation, and Lloyd, who had been recruited from the Army's armored corps, Monica and Dorothea had been friends before they were recruited, having attended the same Air Force Academy. In a way, Dorothea looked more at home with D troop (who had long since stopped referring to her as "ma'am", as was expected for a superior ranking officer) than with the B troop she led.
"Well, congratulations on taking out the only fun I would have had on this trip," Dorothea griped as she chugged out of Lloyd's water bottle, water dribbling out the side of her mouth onto her uniform as she talked.
Lloyd blinked. "You know that's really disgusting, right?"
"Dorothea's right, though," Kayeri cut in. "This has got to be the most boring trip to Hawaii ever. No beaches, no alcohol, no women…"
Dorothea pointed at herself and then Monica. "What are we, backpacks?"
"Let me clarify," Kayeri sighed, "No women that aren't capable of snapping my neck—"
"Careful," Lloyd said warningly, "you're a married man."
Kayeri grimaced. "I prefer the term civil union—"
"Semantics don't forgive adultery—"
"—Domestic partnership—"
"—there you are, Kayeri."
Instinctively, Kayeri froze as he heard the voice behind him. He ignored Dorothea's smirk as he slowly turned around.
Kotori Claveria Talasi's beauty was slightly marred by the expression of annoyance on her bespectacled face. Darker than Kayeri but lighter than Dorothea, the Arizona native wore a wampum like Kayeri's, though the azure and white of the Iroquois was replaced by the blue, white and yellow of the Hopi tribe.
In their childhood, the two had always been raised together.
As the daughter of the chief of the Hopi tribe, she had already distinguished herself in receiving admissions to the Colchester Institute.
Since then, she had been drafted by the knightmare corps as a pilot and technician, the last member of D troop.
She was also Kayeri's fiancé.
"Queen Ka'iulani II was holding a luncheon with the viceroy today. I went as your representative, but it's your job as the representative of the five nations to go."
"Yes, yes," Kayeri responded with what he hoped sounded like nonchalance. "Well, you see, I had other engagements—"
"Like?"
"Erm…"
Lloyd and Monica winced as Kayeri's inability to come up with an excuse was rewarded with what would probably be a very long lecture.
Dorothea leaned over with a smirk. "Kotori's really good at keeping her wife on a leash, isn't she?"
Monica smiled awkwardly. "That's a little harsh, you know…"
While the marriage between Kayeri and Kotori is largely political, it doesn't follow the idea of a woman being married off for influence and power.
The Iroquois and Hopi tribes are matrilinear—children and ancestry are tracked by their mothers, and there is an element of matriarchy—even male tribal chiefs must answer to the clan mothers.
In marrying Kayeri, Kotori wasn't marrying into the Mohawk tribe of the Iroquois Confederacy—rather, it was Kayeri who was marrying into the Hopi tribe, Kayeri who would be leaving his family and his family name.
In that respect, Kayeri was closer to the wife than the husband.
And as Monica watched Kayeri desperately try to allay his fiance's anger, she was pretty sure that, in this respect, Kayeri Brant was the wife as well.
Night had fallen by the time D-troop had (with the help of several Military Police officers) found Captain King and half-carried him back to Hickam-Pearl Harbor Joint Headquarters.
A few military police officers stopped them and then waved them through into one of the bases' many buildings as they showed their identifications—the officer's rank and slightly higher security clearance was a small perk that came with being in the Knightmare Corps.
Predictably, they were the last to arrive, as Monica and Lloyd dumped their captain onto a chair (who seemed to have come to the conclusion that he was a carrot) and found their seats in the classroom.
Finally, a man with only one open eye and the immaculate white uniform of a knight walked to the front. The rest of the corps immediately stood up and saluted.
Bismark Waldstein, Knight of One, personal commander of the 1st Squadron and head of the knightmare corps returned the salute, motioning for them to sit down.
As one, a hundred and twenty officers and pilots sat down. From an initial pool of three hundred drawn from every branch of the military, these were the ones that had been selected to pilot Britannia's newest weapon, the Knightmare Frame.
"As you probably already know, gentlemen, the Imperial Senate and the House of Lords voted yesterday to declare war against the Nation of Japan."
There was an audible intake of breath—of course, everybody in the military knew that war had been declared—but that didn't make it any less nerve wracking.
The lights darkened as a projector on the ceiling activated, beaming a map of Japan onto the screen at the front of the room.
"We fought Japan in 1941—and we well nearly lost. The Japanese got almost as far as occupying Hawaii. They crushed the Chinese, they crushed us in the Philippines and they crushed the EU in Indochina. If they had fought in Japan as they had in the Pacific instead of surrounding, we would have lost millions of men."
The slides transitioned with a loud, artificial ring, now showing a graph of numbers.
"Thanks to the Sakuradite boom, the Japanese are flush with cash. They've been purchasing German Armor, aircraft carriers from Russia, and French planes. Their air force, army and navy is thoroughly modernized and organized on modern guidelines. According to studies taken by the ministry of war last year, the invasion of Japan would cost the lives of 15,000 men in the naval war and on the beaches alone. The subjugation of the rest of japan could cost anywhere up to half a million men, if not more."
Bismark turned to the assembled pilots.
"And this is where we come in."
There was a noticeable chill in the room that had nothing to do with the air conditioning as Bismark continued.
"We are Britannia's ace in the hole. The Japanese—or, for that matter, any army—has never seen the likes of the knightmare frame. We tower over tanks, and we outmaneuver and outpace them. When we hit the battlefield, we will have a psychological advantage.
But the Japanese do not lack intelligence, nor do they lack bravery. If we fail to exploit our strength, the Japanese will, regroup, and reorganize.
And that's why we have to make the most of our advantage.
We have to forge our psychological edge into a blade of fear. We have to make all the enemy's fears into a reality. We need to strike with swift and deadly force, to separate and isolate the enemy so our infantry and armor can mop things up.
We don't have the armor of our friends in the armored divisions, nor do we have the firepower of the artillery. All we have going is speed.
We need to go fast (Author's Note: the Green Hills Zone in 8bit is not playing manually in your head) and strike faster.
Our targets will be supply dumps, communications, command centers. When the nerves are cut, the limbs will fail. If their nervous system is down, all we have left is their corpse."
Pausing, Bismark looked around the room.
"By the way, is anyone camera-shy?"
Huh? The thought that simultaneously went through everybody's minds was almost audible.
"Don't be," Bismark said deadpan. "Don't hide from the Japanese or foreign news cameras. Make sure they see you, and make sure to blow up as much as possible when the camera's on you. We want the Japanese to know us, to recognize us, to fear us."
One of the Captains from the 2nd Squadron stood up. "Sir, wouldn't we be revealing details of our knightmares to the enemy?"
Bismark nodded. "Yes, Major Guilford, probably. They'll probably get some good footage too—but in the globalized world, we won't be able to hold the element of surprise again—and the psychological damage we can deal far outweighs giving a few details to the Japanese.
Remember, Gentlemen, we're here to fight a quick war. If the Japanese are still around to analyze and develop countermeasures for our Glasgows, then the war has already gone on for too long. There is no situation where a country has benefited from protracted warfare.
Are there any questions?"
There were none.
"Good. At 0700, we will be departing for the Japan. The 1st Squadron will be with me will join the Pacific Fleet's 3rd Battle Group, headed for Tokyo. 2nd Squadron under Major Guilford will be going with the 2nd Battlegroup to Hokkaido. 3rd Squadron under Major Winters will move with the Pacific Fleet's Oriental Fleet for Kyushu and Southern Honshu.
The politicians have done their job; let's do ours.
All Hail Britannia!"
As one, one hundred twenty knightmare pilots responded.
"All Hail Britannia!"
January 23rd, 2010 ATB
Itsukushima Imperial Japanese Army Academy
Itsukushima, Nation of Japan
The sound of bamboo cracking against itself resounded in the Itsukushima Imperial Army Academy's dojo.
Shogo Asahina mopped his sweating brow as he sat down. His shoulder still ached from the blow that he had taken in his own match.
In the center, two men struggled back and forth, alternating strikes with all the fervor of a real battle.
The art of Kendo, of course, is not an actual simulation of Japanese warfare. The Japanese Katana did not gain any prominence as a weapon until well into the Edo period where real combat was rare, and Kendo itself is a facsimile of the use of a katana[1].
But for the old guard, Kendo is a symbol of pride.
For them, it is one of the many traditions that were abandoned with the betrayal of the civilian government.
In the officer's academy, it was expected that every cadet had at least basic training, a decision that ironically had only been instated after the end of the first pacific war.
For Shogo Asahina, one of the "seven samurai," the expectations were even higher.
"Men!" With a grunt, the blue-haired man dropped his shinai with a clatter. Like the others in the class, he was dressed only in a hakama—instructor Tohdoh was not a great fan of protective equipment. With an expressionless face, he bowed to his opponent before turning around and walking to where Asahina knelt. The moment his face turned away, he winced painfully.
"Shit, man, you can't beat Tohdoh."
Asahina grinned wryly as he rubbed his sore shoulder.
"Urabe, I can't tell if he's teaching us what to do in kendo or how to feel when we're shot."
Gripping his shoulder, Urabe leaned against the dojo wall. Even after years in military school, Kosetsu Urabe's delinquent background was all too obvious in his spiked hair and rough accent.
"No offense to the Instructor, but you know, I'd like to win sometimes too..."
"Being able to be personally instructed by the Instructor himself is a privilege, Urabe. You're free to leave. And stop leaning against the wall, it's disrespectful (Author's note: It is in a Kendo dojo)"
Urabe's eyes narrowed as he grinned wryly at the short-haired woman who sat cross-legged on the wooden floor.
"Don't get your jimmies all rustled, Nagisa, I wasn't trying to insult your crush."
Nagisa Chiba, a young woman with shoulder-length grey hair, gave no obvious signs of provocation. Asahina, though, noted that her ears seemed slightly redder.
"It has nothing to do with that. We simply have to live up to the expectations put up to us by the rest of the student body."
It was the collective student body of the Imperial Officer's Academy that bequeathed the moniker of the "Seven Samurai[2]" to the seven most outstanding cadets in the academy. Handpicked by Headmaster Senba, these seven stood head over heels over the already-stringent officer selection process of the Old Guard.
"You have to admit, though, Tohdoh is consistent," a tall but chubby boy groaned as he gripped his shoulder as Asahina and Urabe had done. The fact that 115-kilo (about 240 pounds?) Honda Nagayoshi managed to outrun Asahina (along with most of the other seven swords) was a secret shame, but "Gian[3]", as his friends preferred to call him, was by no means out of shape.
At the center of the ring, Kyoshiro Tohdoh calmly sidestepped a bespectacled girl's sweaty strike and dealt her a blow to the stomach.
Asahina grinned as the bespectacled girl doubled over, clutching her stomach.
"Combo breaker," Urabe grinned.
Asahina winced in sympathy for the bespectacled girl's plight.. "Only because he didn't want to break Hikida's glasses."
"I'm no good at this, am I?" Kiri Hikida gasped as she limped over.
"No, not at all," Urabe replied.
"Very inspiring, Urabe," Kiri muttered as she sat down next to a quiet-looking young woman with midlength hair and a somewhat unnoticeable presence next to her. Since day one, Kiri Hikida and Sayaka Shinozaki had been best of friends, and they remained so, sighing in unison as the last member of the Seven Samurai was knocked to the ground.
The female population of the traditionally patriarchal officer's academy wasn't large, but it was established opinion among them that Azai Sorin was the most attractive cadet in the academy. From the way he carried himself, it seemed as if he had no idea.
"As unforgiving as usual, Lieutenant," an old voice said from the Dojo.
Immediately, Asahina and the others instantly snapped to a salute.
"At ease," Headmaster Ryoga Senba said briskly as he bowed on entering—within a dojo, rules were rules. "Tohdoh, how are they doing?"
"They're coming along well. They're improving steadily—at this rate, I can see them overtaking me by the end of the year."
Perhaps Tohdoh saw it, but Asahina knew he didn't see it. The Headmaster, though, laughed.
"Tohdoh, I don't think we have until the end of the year."
Tohdoh's expression didn't change. "So it's here, then?"
Senba nodded slowly. "My old contacts in the army said that they're entering a state of military readiness already. The Chinese Beiyang fleet just set sail from Korea to join up with our Navy."
There was a stir among the students that not even the vigorous discipline of the academy could quell. War had been on the horizon for months, but its declaration still held some significance.
It meant that the richest nation in the world and the most powerful would be going to war.
Tohdoh looked up at the evening light that shone through the windows. "What about Landside?"
"Oguchi's ordered mobilization. The Air Force is flying regular sorties now—if anything, the JSDF isn't slow."
"Hm."
"Sir, permission to speak?"
Senba and Tohdoh nodded to Sorin.
"Will we need to be deployed?"
Senba paused for a moment before responding. "To be honest, no, I don't think so. I once served in the JSDF too—and I believe General Nagano gives them less credit than they deserve. My guess is that most of this war, like the Pacific War, will be on the oceans, between carrier-based aircraft."
With a shrug that cracked several bones, Senba swung his arms aggressively—the muscles underneath his uniform were still obvious.
"In the meantime, instructor Tohdoh…how about a match?"
As the other six cadets moved to surround their headmaster and instructor, Asahina couldn't help but feel that he wasn't particularly reassured.
After all, that's how we felt when we attacked Hawaii during the last war, right?
0645 Hours
Hickam Air Field
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Area 7
"Ah, you're the guys from the engineering corps, right?"
The Navy Aviation pilots and navy men who waited at D troop's helicopter waved.
"Yep, that's us," Captain Owen King replied listlessly—he still seemed slightly tipsy, and the grin he gave the navy men seemed to suggest that the alcohol had left him in a good mood.
"Lots of boxes you've made us move today," the navy officer said wryly. "Any chance you could tell us what's in it?"
"Classified information. If I told you I'd have to kill you," Captain King replied with a grin, to which the other navy officer laughed mirthfully to what he assumed was a joke.
But, Monica Krusewski conceded, Captain King was more serious than he currently thought he was.
After all, High Command had taken the effort to have all of the knightmare corps wear the uniform and ranks of the Army Engineering Corps under the guise of transporting base material.
Putting them onto an Aircraft carrier is a pretty big giveaway, though…
Kayeri smirked as he climbed aboard the UH-80 Athena, the mainstay helicopter of most of the Britannian armed forces. "Getting the VIP treatment, huh?" At Pearl Harbor, the Army and Marines were currently embarking onto transports that would take them to the beaches. Transported by helicopter, the knightmare corps essentially had an Aircraft carrier to themselves.
Unlike the Britannian Marines and Army, the Knightmare Corps would be air-dropped on board their Glasgows en masse—the H.M.S. Polaris, an aging aircraft carrier, had been recommisioned and upgraded for this purpose.
"Somebody hold onto Captain King so he doesn't fall out of the helicopter," Kotori said with a meaningful glance to Lloyd.
With a whirr, the helicopter lifted off the ground, rising past the surrounding buildings of the air field. From her seat, Monica could see other helicopters loaded with other Knightmare Corps officers, their lights blinking in predawn gloom.
She looked back at her fellow troop memebers.
Lloyd was dutifully holding onto Captain King, who seemed to have fallen asleep, while Kotori adjusted Kayeri's clothing with the irritation of an older sister.
Monica smiled. If anything, at least her teammates were the same as ever.
The helicopter touched down on the H.M.S. Polaris as the last tendrils of sunlight creeped across the deck of the flattop (or, as the navy men called it, the bird farm).
"That wasn't so bad," Kayeri said cheerfully as he leapt onto the deck with a muted clang.
"Easy for you to say," Lloyd responded. Halfway in-flight, Lloyd had shoved Captain King's head over the side so that he wouldn't vomit on Lloyd's shoulder.
On the deck, navy men were still transporting the large metal boxes that held the Glasgow knightmare frames. On the deck, helicopters and one or two jets intermingled as technicians, naval aviation pilots and knightmare pilots intermingled.
From their position of the deck, Monica could see the battlecruiser (And flagship) Francis Drake in front of them and the Pacific Fleet's Aircraft Carrier, the Victoria, welcoming its own knightmare corps pilots. All in all, over 70 ships west sail participate, essentially the vast majority of Britannia's Pacific Fleet.
A navy seaman laughed softly. "Kinda ironic that we're the ones that are making the first strike, innit?"
After all, it was the Japanese attack on the Pacific Fleet in Pearl Harbor that had started the Pacific War.
Now it would be the Pacific Fleet sailing from Pearl Harbor that would start this war.
I guess it's really happening. We're going to war.
Monica felt a shiver go through her spine. For all the practices that she and the rest of the corps had gone through, she felt ominously unprepared for a combat situation.
When it comes down to it—am I ready to pilot the Glasgow?
As the sunlight crept across the flattop's deck, Monica turned back towards Pearl Harbor. The sun crept over Oahu's mountains, lighting the harbor up. For a moment, illuminated in the light, the Britannian flag flying from the memorial of the sunken Maryland[4], a relic from that day that lived in infamy.
It was a Kodak moment, one of those things you put on badly made Youtube music videos that scream Lee Greenwood's "And I'm proud to be a Britannian; where at least I know I'm free" or something like that.
But, at that moment, on board the convoy headed to the land of the rising sun, Monica Kruszewski didn't feel much patriotism—only fear.
Saharan Desert
Mali
With a whistle and then an explosion of dust, an artillery shell burst inside the mountain fortress, sending a few unfortunates plummeting down the sandstone sides.
"Well, this isn't too great…" Mai Mai muttered to himself with a strained grin.
It seemed V.V. hadn't quite given up on finding them.
It probably wasn't just raw luck that Queen's Rangers were helping the Mali and Niger Armies attack this Tuareg insurgency base.
The Tuareg, a nomadic people, had never quite fit into European equations on the division of Africa, and in the days of postcolonialsm, they had struggled against the governments Europe had left behind.
Lacking both the heavy artillery and armor of their enemies and the air support, the Tuaregs had always fought a guerilla campaign.
Once their fortress in the Malian mountains had been found, they wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight.
With a grunt, Mai Mai forced his rifle to his shoulder. An obsolete AR-18 was still better than the Soviet AKs that the other Tuaregs were forced to use. Carefully lining up his sights, he gunned down a Mailan soldier crossing the corner.
I need to get out of here.
His heart went out for the tuaregs who had found and cared for him in the desert—but if V.V. found him, there would be far more lives at stake than just these tuaregs.
He ran around the next corner—and then snapped back. A group of Queen's Rangers were there, advancing in fire groups.
Like their Malian and Nigeri (Author's note: is it really Nigerian, since there's a country of Nigeria too?) army counterparts, the Tuaregs were poorly trained, worse than the directorate guards that had been easily trashed by one of the most elite special forces in Britannia. And though Mai Mai wasn't bad with firearms, his senile body was hardly one to match up with youngsters.
Mai Mai ran down the mountain's tunnels hurriedly. Each blast of artillery shook the walls, sending pebbles and sand down on his turbaned head.
There were a few old Jeeps and ATVs at the bottom of the mountain—if he got there, he could make a run for it.
Around him, the sounds of combat echoed—the rangers had entered through multiple points, and the Malian army continued to pound the mountain with cannonfire.
"I'm…too…old…for this," Mai Mai gasped. He wished his code operated fast enough to remove all the lactic acid from his body. Now that would be great.
Still, for an old man, Mai Mai would have beat a few records with the rate at which he reached the garage.
With a wheeze, he ran around the corner towards a jeep—just as a man wearing combat goggles and a dark helmet stood up on the other side.
"Shit."
From behind other vehicles, other Queen's rangers raised their weapons in warning.
Well, this is bad…
Mai Mai gritted his teeth. Not like I can die anyway. Flipping his AR-18's mode from Burst to full Auto, he raised his rifle—just as something red and blue landed in front of one of the rangers. Before the man could react, the woman had moved on, and the man fell soundlessly. The way in which his torso contorted suggested that it had been completely dissected.
"Weapons free—" a ranger managed before he fell to the ground. On closer inspection, Mai Mai saw a woman wearing a mix of what seemed like a Red jacket and some kind of long, full-length blue dress.
The last queen's ranger fell, clutching his arm in shock—and no wonder. The speed with which the woman had went through them did not seem human, even to someone who had seen masters of martial arts such as Yunyun or seasoned knife-fighters such as Siri.
The woman stopped and turned towards him. Mai Mai could see nothing in her eyes—no hostility, but no friendliness. Just a pure, empty blue.
It seemed like the girl was wearing a rather unfashionable red jacket with a white frill and some kind of traditional Asian dress underneath it. All very weird things to wear on a battlefield.
"Who—"
And then he was looking down at the knife that was embedded in his chest.
"—What—"
Mai Mai could only manage a gasp as he collapsed.
But he was not panicked—a mere knife wound—
—and then Mai Mai realized he was feeling something new.
It was a feel he did not know (Author's note: Sorry, I couldn't resist), but that most people recognized instantly.
He was dying.
But how?
His code was supposed to grant him immortality.
And yet, he knew this feeling fading from his limbs—the feeling of a person dying.
The last thing he felt was confusion.
The girl looked down at the body. Upstairs, the sound of battle continued, but she had no interest in what would result. Turning around, she walked away, away from the trail of bodies she had left behind on entry. Her duty here was done.
Notes and References
[1] LOL KATANA IS MADE OF FOLDED METAL BEST WEAPON HURR – The techniques in question of hammering folded sheets of metal that people claim give Katana their mythical power were developed by the Scandinavians early in the first millennia, and they went on from it long ago. The Japanese were still using it well into the 1600's, though they did manage to refine the techniques (though they were also limited by their limited resources). It's not like the Samurai didn't know it—in Sengoku era Japan, the main weapon used by Samurai were war spears and Naginata. The Katana, while holding strong significance culturally, is not a battlefield weapon, or not one that was really practical to use unless you lost the rest of your weapons—just like western Swords. When Knights fight, they don't use their sword blades. They grapple (ht tp : / / www . youtube . c om / watch ? v = G4k-vjdeZO4). Swords (and even most polearms) can't cut fully-evolved plate armor, and Japan's development of Plate Armor led the rest of the world (or at least the post-roman world) until the development of coats of plates in the mid middle ages. I'm not saying the Katana is a shit weapon, but its quality is no better or worse than their European equivalents. There are really damn well made katana, but there are really damn well made western weapons too. You won't ever see one sword cutting through another, even if it's a katana or an exceedingly shitty-quality western sword (If you've watched The Sacred Blacksmith you will know what I mean)
[2] Seven Samurai – an action movie from 1954, considered a movie classic inside and outside Japan. I haven't watched it myself.
[3] Gian – A reference to Doraemon. Man, that show was my childhood. Anyway, there is a very large character known for his poor singing nicknamed Gian, actually after the English word for Giant.
[4] Maryland as opposed to Arizona – I do have a reason or two for replacing the USS (or in this case HMS) Arizona with the Maryland. The first is that, given that Mexico was annexed as area 3, probably in the Code Geass equivalent Mexican-American war, it's doubtful that historically that area would have been split into separate states in the fashion that Alta California (As the region is known) was following the Mexican-American War (Where General Winfield Scott, while reaching Mexico City, never annexed Mexico, given it's not one of our states). As such, I would imagine the Ariona – Colorado – New Mexico – California region would all be part of Alta (upper) California, as it was referred to by the Mexicans. Moreover, Maryland was a battleship docked at pearl harbor during the historical attack, and while it was only lightly damaged in that version, the term Maryland would be far more likely to exist as opposed to Arizona.