Fate: Zero Eos

by Mr. Sparkles

A story of the Second Pacific War, and a story of the Fourth Holy Grail War. One man's search for meaning and one man's search for his ideals in the midst of the Britannian invasion of Japan. The prequel to Fate/Nightmare Apatheia. Rated T for some violence.

14. Chapter 4: The Battle of Kochi

Author's Preface: Once again, sorry for taking a whole month,

but this chapter is a grand total of 23,000 words. Honestly, I really should have

split it in half and posted the first half, but then the story and footnotes wouldn't

have integrated together. Anyhow, it's really late, I have Organic Chem tomorrow

and I have a Stat pretest to do tonight, so I'll make this short.

Also I finished this at 12:51 AM and didn't bother to proofread it, sorry, I'll get to it.

Soon.

eventually.

possibly.

maybe.

*snore*

-CaptainSparkles

---

Chapter 4 - The Battle of Kochi

---

"War drags human beings from their tasks of building and improving,

and pushes them en masse into the category of destroyers and killers."

-Scott Nearing

---

Saturday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 0438 Hours Tokyo Time

H.M.S. Polaris, off the Japanese coast

"Rise and shine, Knightmare Corps, it's time to earn your pay!"

1st Lieutenant Monica Kruszewski took a look at the breakfast on her plate and decided that she was not hungry.

It seemed like a waste—for once in their lives, the Navy cooks had smiled and nodded politely, and the aroma throughout the mess hall suggested that they had put extra work into today's breakfast. Yet, looking across the mess hall, Monica could see many plates laden with food that remained uneaten, some of which looked barely disturbed.

"I'll take yours if you won't eat them," Dorothea Ernst said as she laid down her platter, laden with potatoes, bacon, and raw carbohydrates. Without waiting for a response, she had already forked a few of Monica's untouched sausages.

Monica smiled. "Nothing ever makes you worry, huh?"

Dorothea paused through half of Monica's meal to glance at her. With an almighty gulp, she shrugged. "Nah, I'm worried. To be exact, I'm scared as shit. But I'm also hungry. Kayeri, though…" With a wry grin, Dorothea pointed across the table to where, watched by a concerned Lloyd, Kayeri was stuffing his face with a plateful of food.

"that's definitely a coping mechanism."

"He's going to regret that later," Kotori sighed as she sat down with her platter, which only held a few lonely potato wedges and a cup of what looked like crude oil and smelled like coffee. She smiled to Monica and Dorothea as she clasped her hands and closed her eyes for a few moments before starting to eat. Like many Britannians from southern Area 1, Area 3 and Area 6 (Author's note: Southern USA, Mexico and South America), Kotori was rigidly Catholic.

Despite almost a century of Britannian efforts, the inhabitants of what had once been the pan-South American Republic of Gran Colombia held jealously to their native past, Spanish dialects and catholic faith. With the exception of Kotori's Hopi and the other tribes that inhabited Alta California, the vast majority of Area 6 and parts of Area 3 had refused entry into the Iroquois Confederacy, which they saw as being dominated by the Northerners.

For the Britannian government in Pendragon, which opposed anything outside of Britannian English and the Church of St. Darwin, the 238 million Britannian Latin-speaking Catholics were a (at least temporarily) necessary evil—the last attempt to remove Britannian Latin as the functional language had almost led to open rebellion in Areas 6 and 8.

Monica sighed. Maybe it was faith that kept Kotori calm. Sometimes she felt a little unprotected when she saw Kotori and Lloyd's Sunday rituals. Reina and Janusz Kruszewski, who were respectively Jewish and Roman Catholic on paper but neither in practice, had never made a real effort to make Monica confirm to anything.

Perhaps it was the placebo effect, for she herself never saw any logical reason to pick a religion out of nowhere—but sometimes she wondered.

Dorothea glanced at Kotori through mouthfuls of food.

"Guess this is it, huh?"

Kotori nodded. "Yep."

Dorothea stood up. "Well, I have to join my own unit." With a grin, she put a hand on Monica's head, tousling it despite Monica's resistance.

"Take care of this kid for me while I'm gone."

"I can take care of myself—" Monica protested, but Kotori nodded solemnly.

"Of course."

"For that matter, don't die yourself."

Kotori gave a wry grin. "I know I don't have to worry about you, so I'm not going to say anything."

As she left, Dorothea raised a hand in a semi-salute before walking off.

Kotori sighed as she sat down. "You can't faze that woman."

Monica, though, smiled as she looked at Dorothea's plate, where a few morsels remained uneaten.

"No…she's just better at hiding her fear than everyone else", she said as she took a bite out of Dorothea's leftovers.

---

Saturday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 05:59 AM Tokyo Time

Kochi Province, southern Shikoku

"We're on air in 3…

2…

1…Go."

Matou Kariya made one last attempt to subdue his rebellious hair before smiling before the camera.

"Good morning, Japan, I'm Matou Kariya and this is Newsline, reporting live in a special broadcast from southern Shikoku."

Next to the camera, Uemura, the portly production assistant, gave a thumbs-up. No slip-ups yet.

"We've attached ourselves to the 14th Brigade of the Japanese Self-Defense Army to cover the brewing military situation here on the Japanese coast. Military authorities have prohibited us from reporting our exact location and numbers, but we've seen JSDF forces set up emplacements along the shikoku coast for what reports suggest will be a full-scale invasion of Japan by the Holy Empire of Britannia.

Yesterday's report by Japanese Self-Defense Navy Fleet Admiral Nozu Hirobumi has generated widespread panic, despite the assurances of Prime Minister Genbu Kururugi."

With a sigh, Kariya relaxed as Uemura made an "okay" sign with his fingers as Newsline began to broadcast a section of yesterday's Diet meeting.

For Kariya, it was a welcome break. English was not an easy language to speak fluently for a native Japanese speaker.[1]

On a side screen, the video of the meeting played.

Genbu Kururugi raised his tiny fist as he yelled, seemingly defying the sea breeze that threatened to overwhelm his tinny voice.

"Europe and China stand with us—but, more importantly, justice stands on our side.

I have complete faith that our armed forces will be the divine wind that drove the mongols off our shores[2].

Today I vow to the Japanese people, on my honor as prime minister that not a single Britannian aggressor will step on Japanese soil."

Uemura glanced at Kariya. The recorded broadcast was ending soon, and Kariya would be back on air in a few seconds. Nodding, Kariya returned to his previous pose and turned back to the camera.

"Authorities have ordered all civilians living in Shikoku to evacuate into Honshu and all civilians to move inland as a precaution. If you are currently living in Shikoku or the Provinces of Kii, Awaji, Izumi, Settsu, Harima, Bizen, Bitchu, Bingo (Author's note: I am not making these up), Aki, Suo, or Ise, it is advised that you report to your local evacuation center. We at Newsline and the NHK will provide you with updates as soon as we receive them.

In the meantime, I have with me Major General Matsu Kirigaya, currently in command of the 14th Brigade."

Kariya turned as the camera panned out to show Kirigaya, a rather short man with a scruffy beard and a face that seemed a little too genially chubby for a military man. His smile, too, seemed just a little too genuine as he shook Kariya's hand. The man's hand felt coarse, like sandpaper.

"General, what are your predictions about the war?"

Kirigaya smiled cryptically. "This war, for me, smells more political than tactical. The Britannias incited the Sakuradite affair in the wake of the economic downturn associated with the aftereffects of the Indochina war and then initiated this war with Japan despite resistance from both the Federation and the Europeans.

To me, this is a war that is not aimed at either Japan, Europe or China, but Britannia itself, a war in which Britannia can raise a banner of nationalism that Britannians can rally around."

"…So you believe this war will be resolved peacefully?"

Kirigaya shook his head. "It's too late for that. Britannian, Chinese and Japanese lives have already been lost in the Coral Sea—the Britannians will need to justify the loss of life with a battle. But I believe it will be a minor battle, a skirmish to inflict casualties and show the Britannian people that they have drawn blood, that the sacrifices of their countrymen were not in vain."

"So this political ploy will end there?"

Kirigaya laughed. "No…if Britannia manages to make significant gains, their goals will change. But it is the job of our military to make sure they don't make those gains, and I believe my men will do it."

"Thank you, General." Kariya looked once more at the camera. "As you can see, the Japanese military are now hunkering down for a decisive engagement. Meanwhile, diplomatic efforts in Britannia, Japan and the EU continuing, with reports of high level talks between Tokyo, Paris, Luoyang and Pendragon.

We now bring you to a special report from the Diet in Tokyo."

With a sigh, Kariya relaxed as Uemura flashed him a final thumbs-up.

"You could be an English teacher with those skills," Kirigaya said from the sidelines with a grin. "Are you sure you're not spying for Britannia?"

Kariya smiled back. "Isn't that what we reporters are supposed to do?"

"Fair enough," Kirigaya grunted. "They might underestimate us with your report anyway."

Underestimate? Since the concept of records had begun, the art of falsifying them had flourished. Victorious (and defeated) generals exaggerated the enemy killed and underreported their own causalties; when you were defeated, you made a tactical withdrawal while inflicting heavy losses; one of your country's workers could mine over 100 tons of coal in less than five hours[3].

Rather, it was almost expected that Kirigaya had falsified something in his interview.

"General, off the record…"

"Oh I'm not falling for that one," Kirigaya replied. In the modern world of sensational stories and paparazzi, the term "off the record," once used to signify something that would never make it into the news, had long since lost its meaning. The press and those that they investigated did not trust each other, the press itching to grab onto whatever scoop they could obtain and their targets doing their best to keep them at arms length.

Kariya sighed as he turned to the camera. "Inoue, Uemura."

Uemura sighed regretfully as he turned off the TV camera and stepped away with Inoue, the camerawoman.

"General, what do you really think about the situation?"

For a moment, Kirigaya simply stared out at the rough coastline. Finally, he turned, his overgenuine smile replaced by a contemplative expression. "To be honest, we're all a little shocked. To think the Britannians would do a land invasion…"

Kariya said nothing as Kirigaya continued musing.

"if they wanted a show of force, the defeat they handed us at the Coral sea was enough—the Chinese won't participate in the blockade after their navy—not to mention ours—got whipped."

"Maybe they got overconfident?"

"Overconfident to the point of trying to land in Japan? They can't have forgotten the toll they paid in Tokyo bay on D-Day. A land war against Japan, China and the E.U.? Even for Britannia, it's suicidal, especially with half their armed forces tied up in Annam."

Kirigaya turned back towards the coastline, to where countless Britannian craft were waiting.

"Whatever the Britannians are attacking with, they have something that we don't know about."

---

0604 Hours

Hokkaido Coast

"Mongoose here, some marine just lit up a Bunker, 400 meters, firing TOWs on us."

"Visual?"

"Negative, too much smoke. The heat signatures are there on thermal."

"Solid copy, engaging with white phosphorous."

"War Pig here, they got a M-kill on us[4]. We're not moving for a while."

"Not again…copy, War Pig, mechanics are on their way. Good shot there Honey Badger."

"I don't care."

"You heard him, Honey Badger don't care—Oh shit, I think that was a HEAT round! Possible visual on enemy tank on your two, Mongoose."

"This is the shittiest call sign I've ever been stuck with…yep…wait, that's not one of the Japanese models. I think that's a EU Panzer!"

"All call signs be advised, enemy is using Panzer-Wulf. Those things eat M-33s for breakfast. Proceed with Caution—"

"It's flying Japanese colors, so I'm firing! Sabot, round ready!"

"Firing!"

"Fuck you, Jackson, you missed!"

"Reloading!"

"Mongoose, you're too far ahead of the line! Move back!"

"Mongoose, firi—"

"Shit! Was that a hit?"

"Jesus Christ, Mongoose is burning."

"Unit Lost," a serene (or uninterested) electronic voice chirped, just as Major Andreas Darlton glared at the driver.

"Turn that shit off," he barked. "We'll hear enough of it when we land."

Underneath him, the floor of his M-33 Clinton, callsign Bowflex Extreme, trembled slightly. With the radio silenced, the sound of waves seemed to overwhelm the suddenly-silent Tank compartment.

This Landing Craft Air Cushion (LCAC) hovercraft carried Bowflex Extreme, two M-1s, and thirty Britannian marines towards the front lines.

Darlton cracked open the hatch and popped his head out—just in time to be hit in the face by a burst of salty foam. The whine of a TOW that narrowly missed the LCAC caused Darlton to cringe.

65 years ago, Britannian forces had landed in Tokyo Bay in an attempt to put a swift end to the Pacific War.

This landing, though, was under different circumstances.

In the last war, the portions of the Japanese government had folded, handing over the Emperor as soon as it became clear that the Britannians were going to take Tokyo, an action that saved hundreds of thousands of Britannian (and Japanese) lives. With a hardliner such as Genbu Kururugi at the head of the government, the Japanese were not likely to surrender. Moreover, on D-day the Japanese had been spent, exhausted from a thousand defeats in the Pacific. This Japan, flush with money and international fight, was spoiling for a fight.

And yet in other ways war stayed the same. There were new ways to kill people and new ways to avoid getting killed, but the essence was the same. In the words of Mark Twain, "All war must be just the killing of strangers against whom you feel no personal animosity; strangers whom, in other circumstances, you would help if you found them in trouble, and who would help you if you needed it."

Of course, Andreas Darlton was not an unconditional pacifist. He had read about what had happened in Armenia during the first great European War, and what the E.U. had allowed to happen in Rwanda sixteen years ago[5]. He had seen what rogue Britannian and Chinese troops could do to civilians in Indochina. Some things are worth fighting for.

Darlton didn't know if this was a war worth fighting for. Andreas Darlton was a simple man, not given to extravagances. He still drove his petroleum Ford not because he hated the Japanese Sakuradite models or because he supported the Fords (the Purest of the Purists), but simply because it still worked.

He had nothing to gain from subjugating Japan, and he didn't believe in the new Britannia's policy of imperialism.

If Andreas Darlton was in charge of Britannia, he was not sure he would have declared this war.

Darlton ducked back under the tank, looking around the cramped compartment.

Inside the M-33, his crew looked back at him expectantly.

He had never asked them about it, but Darlton had seen glimpses of the lives of each of the three other men inside. He knew Kevin, the Driver, had a son, Alfred at home, the product of a failed marriage from long ago. Nicholas, the gunner enjoyed surprisingly feminine songs, and Joseph, the loader, spent most of his free time writing to his girlfriend, some aspiring country singer.

Andreas Darlton didn't fight because he believed there was something wrong with the Japanese, nor did he do it because he agreed with Britannia.

He fought because he was responsible of the three men inside this tank.

And he would rather fight all of the Nation of Japan than compromise the lives of the three men in this small, enclosed world.

"Approaching the beachhead," Kevin reported nervously, his sweaty fingers spread over the broad LCD cockpit that enveloped the Driver's seat, one of the amenities granted by the M-33 Clinton.

The Japanese-made display seemed to show no qualms about betraying its makers.

"Turn the radio back on," Darlton ordered.

Kevin nodded as he flipped a few switches around him.

"Yessir. Bowflex Extreme, ready to roll."

The Two M-1s that accompanied Bowflex Extreme immediately reported their readiness.

"Copy . Gremlin, clear to launch. Bowflex, remind me why you have that callsign?"

"Orange Star here, are we late to the party?"

With several bumps, the LCAC ground onto the rocky Hokkaido beach.

"Nope, Orange, you're just in time," Darlton growled. "Let's go."

With the patient groan of 1800 horse's worth of power, Bowflex Extreme rolled off the LCAC as Andreas Darlton took his first step into Japanese territory.

---

0610 Hours

H.M.S. Polaris, off Shikoku

Landing Deck

It seemed as if the whole crew of the Polaris was on the flight deck. Junior seamen scrubbed the deck, leaving a slightly soapy shine in their wake. Senior seamen watched or helped move the giant crates that came out of the deck elevator under the careful supervision of the flight crew.

For most of the seamen, it was a blessing. Most had spent most of the voyage under the decks, operating the complex machinery that propped up the small city that was an aircraft carrier.

The sun seemed to have a noticeable effect on the seamen, many of which smiled in spite of the tense circumstances. Somewhere a few senior crewmen had set up a music player, and some stereotypically four-chord pop song[6] added a festive mood to everyone on board.

"Any more musical and we'll be on broadway," Rebecca E. Lee remarked drily from the bridge. Her XO, Vasquez, grinned. "It's the first time they've seen the sun for a while. Let them do what they want."

Rebecca frowned. "I realize, but they're sending men to their deaths."

"All the more reason to let them enjoy it."

---

Monica Kruszewski nervously adjusted her Knightmare Corps uniform as she stepped out into the hangar. After a week of wearing the rather loose Army Engineering Corps uniform, the rather form-fitting pilot's suit she wore under her uniform felt slightly oppressive.

She was alone in her room—Dorothea had already left with K troop, and Kotori had already went ahead.

Perhaps it was the fluorescent lighting, but the girl Monica saw in the mirror looked like she was about to vomit.

Looks about right.

For a moment, Monica considered applying a bit more of the makeup she had brought aboard. Then she realized how stupid the idea seemed. Who wears makeup while killing people?

She reexamined her reflection—and then sighed. Why would I worry about how I look now? What would be the point of looking pretty when you kill people?

Or maybe it's the other way around.

It's important to look good at your funeral.

For some reason, Monica remembered walking across the casket of her grandmother at her funeral. She remembered how beautiful her grandmother had been even in death, dressed in her best dress, her formaldehyde-treated lips brightly colored.

In death her grandmother had looked the same way she had always looked before taking Monica to the Synagogue.

As if, at any moment, she would wake up from her nap and welcome Monica with her usual crinkled smile.

When Monica died, she wanted to look like that.

And yet a thousand images flashed through Monica's head.

What if my Knightmare goes down and I fail to eject? Monica saw herself slumped over a ruined cockpit, chest distended by a jagged shard of metal as she tried to gather her own intestines.

What if I'm forced to eject? She saw herself twitching on the ground from multiple bullet wounds, like the soldiers she had seen in videos from the Annam campaign.

What if the VTOL failed? She saw herself in the wreckage of her knightmare, a single mangled arm she could just barely recognize as her own extending out from a mess of red flesh.

What if the engine explodes? She saw herself as a smouldering, human-shaped pile of ash and charred bone, still feebly trying to crawl out of the remains of her cockpit[7].

What if I hit a land mine? What I get captured? What if the VTOL fails and I drown? What if a Japanese fighter intercepts the VTOL? What if the cockpit collapses? What if—

"Monica!"

With a burst of fear shock, Monica reacted instantly, leaping back as she drew her survival knife—

"It's alright, Monica, it's just me," Kotori said reassuringly, both palms out. Monica was surprised to see a cut across her cheek.

"Kotori, who—"

For a moment, Monica stared in confusion—and then she noticed that the knife gripped tightly in her hands was slightly wet. With an unreasonably loud clatter, the knife dropped out of her hands onto the ground.

"Kotori—sorry—I—"

Monica's tongue seemed to have failed her, even as her mind raced.

I just assaulted a fellow soldier. I'm going to get a court martial. They're going to discharge me in front of everyone. Monica could almost see the heartbroken expression on her grandfather's face—the face that she had only seen once, at her grandmother's funeral. She could see the shame in her father's eyes, the disappointment. And yet, somehow, she felt relief.

Maybe this way, I won't have to die like that. I can run away. Shesimlutaneously felt hope and repulsion—hope that it could be true, repulsion that she could possibly think that way.

And then Monica shuddered as she felt something warm collide with her.

Monica blinked as she felt Kotori's arm around her. For some reason, the feeling seemed to have sapped all the strength in her body, and she fell forwards onto Kotori, who propped her up.

"Don't worry. You'll be fine."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't worry about it. We're all scared too. You'll be fine."

"I—"

"You'll be fine, Monica. We'll all be fine."

"…"

"I promise you," Kotori's voice said, firmly, hugging Monica closer than ever.

"…Thanks, Kotori."

Putting both hands on Monica's shoulders and leaning back, Kotori examined Monica's face with a look of concern.

"You alright now?"

"Yeah."

Kotori smiled.

"Excellent. Now go wash your face. I'll wait for you."

---

"Kruszewski, Talasi, it's about time."

"As if you have any right to lecture me about punctuality, Old man," Kotori retorted airily.

"Touché," Captain Owen King chuckled self-depreciatively. He was sober today, unusually.

Kayeri, Captain King and Lloyd Harkins were waiting at the mess hall. The vacated chairs and tables suggested that, as usual, 3rd Squadron's D troop would once again be the last ones to arrive on the flight deck.

"We were supposed to be up three minutes ago," Lloyd remarked with a slight sigh of irritation.

"Kayeri, your tie is crooked," Kotori snapped with a "tch" of irritation as she strode over to Kayeri and grabbed his tie, which was indeed crooked.

"We're going to a battlefield, why does my tie matter," Kayeri groaned.

"Kayeri, you represent the Iroquois Confeder—"

"Alright, alright," Kayeri sighed as he put a finger on the cut on Kotori's cheek, examining the slightly-pasty blood on his finger. "What happened to your cheek—?"

Monica suddenly felt herself turn red.

"Shaving accident, my moustache is getting out of control" Kotori replied briskly, yanking Kayeri's tie with unnecessary force. Monica wasn't sure if it was just her, but she felt as if Kotori's ears seemed a little redder than usual.

Kayeri gave Kotori a long stare, as if searching for one or two moustache hairs that could have escaped the blade. "Seriously?"

"What the hell do you think?!"

Kotori's expression looked slightly dangerous, so Kayeri shut up.

The insides of the Polaris seemed deserted as D troop walked through the walkways and halls that led up to the hangar.

Kayeri glanced around suspiciously. "Is this meant to be some kind of surprise party?"

"No," Lloyd sighed, "they're waiting for us on the flight deck."

"So it IS a surprise party."

"Without the 'surprise' part. Or, for that matter, the 'party' part."

"Good god, sunlight! Beautiful!" Kayeri grinned broadly, ignoring Lloyd's irritated response as they stepped into the hangar (or, as the Air force pilots preferred to call it, The Basement). The sunlight shot through the cavernous gaps that were the deck elevator entrances, filling the hangar with a soft sunlight that seemed so much warmer than the harsh fluorescent light of the ship's interior.

Several seamen and landing crew were waiting at the elevator. Up above, the sounds of voices and music did indeed make it sound like a party.

"You guys ready?"

Captain King grinned as they stepped onto the deck elevator. "Beam us up."

The seamen grinned. "Good Luck. Give 'em hell for us."

With the careful precision required to lift a fighter jet a full story, the deck elevator went up.

Monica looked at her teammates.

Kayeri grinned a grin that seemed more sick than excited, a complete contrast to Kotori, who had closed her eyes and was murmuring something to the rosary she wore around her neck. Lloyd, too, seemed halfway through some kind of prayer. Captain King, on the other hand, had taken out flask of what everyone knew was alcohol. Uncapping it quietly, he took a sip and took a grin at Monica. "You'll do fine, Kruszewski."

"Thanks, sir."

King sighed. "Why are you and Lloyd the only people who call me that?"

There was a deep breath of anticipation as the ground crew and seamen waited on the edges of the deck elevator. The last of the Knightmare Corps would finally arrive. It was in near-reverent silence that the elevator finally reached the top.

In silence, the five members of 3rd Squadron D troop walked through the ranks of waiting airmen and flight crew.

In solemn silence, they walked off the elevator towards the humanoid mechas that awaited them.

Even the other Knightmare pilots, halfway boarding, stared as they walked, seemingly in perfect unison—

And then Kayeri doubled over.

"Guys, I'm thinking that maybe all that bacon in the morning was a bad idea…"

For a moment, everyone simply stared—and then, soundlessly, Kotori walked over to Kayeri and punched him in the stomach.

---

Monica settled down and strapped herself down inside her Glasgow, D-04, a unit she had nicknamed Mirele after her sister.

"Kayeri, you can't read the mood for shit," Kotori growled from her knightmare, D-02, nicknamed Awatovi,

"Ahhh…it's nice to be back," Kayeri winced as he settled in the seat of his Knightmare, D-03, affectionally nicknamed Ugly.

"It has been a while," Lloyd note as he checked the equipment of his Knightmare, D-05, named D-05 after its registration number.

Captain Owen King glanced up at his Glasgow, D-01, Alicia. "I'm back, Alicia," Owen sighed. He could almost smell the Rosemary she had always wore—

"Oy, old man!"

King sighed as he turned to face the black woman who ran over. "You know, Ernst, I do have a name."

Dorothea Ernst shrugged. "This conversation isn't about you, you know. It's about Monica."

"Ah, Kruszewski. The almost-britannia—"

Dorothea suddenly leaned in, her hands mysteriously already at Owen's collar. "Don't give me that purist crap right now, Owen. I'm just warning you now. If you let anyone lay a hand on Monica…well, you'll regret that day."

Owen shrugged. "Of course." Dorothea, incensed by the nonchalant attitude, opened her mouth—and then stared at the hands that had, a second ago, held Owen King's collar.

"You know, Captain, you still have a long way to go if that's how you think war works," Owen remarked lightly as he walked past Dorothea towards his knightmare—and though his tone was light, Dorothea suddenly felt a nervous shiver travel down her back.

"I wish I still thought that way. I'll protect Kruszewski as best as I can. But, Ernst, even if I were to fail…well, I have enough regrets that one more wouldn't hurt."

Dorothea watched the slightly portly man scramble aboard his Glasgow.

"Something wrong, Captain?"

Sighing, Dorothea turned around to her 1st Lieutenant. "Nothing, Tseng. Get onboard and prep for launch."

"Yes, sir."

---

Kochi Province, Shikoku

"Inoue, get down!"

Inoue Naomi opened her eyes, her ears ringing.

All around her, shapes were running back forth, shouting. Somebody shook her.

"Inoue, are you alright?!"

Inoue closed her eyes and slowly opened them again. Her vision focused as she found herself staring at the concerned but grim face of Matou Kariya.

"Everything in one piece?"

Inoue propped herself up and looked around. All around her, the rest of the news crew were already up on their feet, running to and fro as they inspected and reset their equipment.

Grabbing her senpai's outstretched hand, Inoue pulled herself up with one hand while dusting off her blue bulletproof vest with another.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" she yelled over the ringing of her ears.

Kariya smiled. "Good! Keep the camera rolling!"

"That blast as a little close," Uemura yelled as he ran over. "Reminds me when we were in Palestine."

Kariya winced. "Except there both the Palestinians and those Israeli insurgents were trying to kill us. Here it just happened to miss us."

The casual nonchalance with which the rest of the NHK news crew could chat in the middle of a battle seemed insane to Inoue.

She had, of course, seen war footage. She remembered seeing old clips from the Indochina war or the Second pacific war. She had seen videos of the battles in Palestine, the riots in India.

But real life…real life was different.

It was louder. Messier. So much more…real.

"Firing!"

With a deafening roar that almost knocked Inoue off her feet, the JSDF artillery gun near them returned the insult with a tongue of flame.

Scrambling on the ground, she caught sight of her camera, dusty but seemingly still functional. Reaching out, she grabbed the Camera, slowly standing up—just as another explosion threatened to knock her over once more.

At that moment, a JSDF soldiers stumbled in front of them. Kariya ran over.

"You alright?!"

"We're doing alright! Holding them back at least! You guys Civvies?"

"Press corps!"

"Move back! General Kirigaya ordered me to tell you guys to move back! The Britannians have landed Armor and Artillery! You guys are in range!"

Uemura wasn't convinced. "And lose out on exclusive footage?! We'll be fine!"

"We've been in worse," Kariya grinned—and then, for a moment, everyone ducked as a wave of dust washed over them, the aftermath of a stray artillery shell.

The soldier glanced at the news crew and then his comrade and then shrugged.

"Up to you!" With a shrug, the JSDF soldier turned around, crouching as he ran back in the direction of the front.

Kariya turned to Inoue. "How you feeling?"

"Fine, senpai," Inoue yelled.

"You're taking this a lot better than I did," Kariya remarked as a TOW shot over them.

"Yeah, Kariya pissed himself at Hebron," Uemura added loudly.

"That I did," Kariya confirmed with a self-depreciating smile.

"Nobody would blame you if you did too," Uemura yelled over the ringing of another explosion. "It takes a certain amount of courage to go onto a battlefield with a weapon to kill someone. Takes even more to go onto a battlefield without one."

Inoue, though, simply grinned as she brushed a strand of her darkish blue hair out of her face.

Yes, she was scared—but more than that, she was excited.

This was why she had chosen to be a journalist.

She was not watching a war clip. She was not watching the "live" explosions, or listening to the sound of battle, rehashed through a television.

She was living it.

---

Kayeri Brant leaned backwards as he slouched in Ugly's piloting chair.

Mindlessly, he twirled the service pistol in his hand as he hummed a tune to himself.

He glanced at the four video windows of his teammates at the corner of the Glasgow's display.

To each of them, he probably looked and sounded completely relaxed, like he always did.

If only he believed it.

Catching the pistol by the handle, Kayeri slid it into his side holster as he gazed at the sea and sky in front of him, their natural beauty not-quite-perfectly imitated on the Glasgow's Plasma display.

In another situation it would have been perfect weather.

It was a surprisingly clear morning on this crisp February day, though inside the temperature-regulated cockpit it was a warm 65 degrees. Above Kayeri and Ugly, the vast batlike shape of the Knightmare Transport VTOL acted as an unintentional sunshade.

Attached and piloted via multiple umbilicals and the Knightmare Frame's own Slash Harkens, the Sakuradite-powered VTOL provided a compact vehicle with which the Glasgows would be deployed.

Yet, for all their low cost and simple piloting, they were neither particularly fast nor well-armed.

A well-placed missile or a stray Japanese fighter…Kayeri gulped as he looked down at the sea. It was a long drop.

Idly, Kayeri brought up and scrolled through the pre-deployment briefing.

For several hours now, Britannian Marines and Army divisions had been pushing into the Japanese coast, carving out a landing zone for the deployment of the Glasgow.

The Japanese had not been particularly happy about the Britannians parked on their coast, and the fighting had been heavy on both sides.

The Britannian M-33, vaunted for its technological superiority, had found its match in the German Panzer-Wulf, a new design only completed a year ago, and the armored advance had been halted. Confined to a narrow stretch of land in Shikoku the Britannian forces were fighting for their lives.

Without a forwards base, the Britannians would have to withdraw.

It would be the Kayeri's job to carve that forward base for them.

And, to be honest, Kayeri Brant wasn't sure he would be able to do it.

This would be the Glasgow's first battlefield deployment. There was no guarantee that everything would work out, that Kayeri wouldn't come out of it in a body bag.

Kayeri wondered how his family would react if a Britannian Military officer showed up at the door.

He remembered his father's expression when he had failed to make it into Stanford Law.

It wasn't anger, or disillusionment, or shame, or even disappointment that showed on Joseph Brant III's face. It was just acceptance, as if he had expected nothing else.

Kayeri Joseph Brant was never a good student, though he was never a bad one. He was not Brilliant like his sister, though he was certainly smarter than average. For most of his life, he had simply cruised, relying on his own wits, a little cheating here and there, to cruise through high school.

Perhaps if he had really invested himself from the beginning, he could have made it.

But by the time he had truly started trying, it had been too late.

It was hardly a surprise that Kayeri had failed to make it into one of the most prestigious law schools in Britannia, but Kayeri had expected his father to at least show some shame, some irritation, some disappointment.

The fact that his father hadn't even reacted confirmed to Kayeri what he had long since figured out—that Joseph Brant III had never harbored any expectations of his son, Kayeri Brant.

After all, it was Mika, Kayeri's sister, that would likely replace Joseph as Sachem.

It even seemed that his father had made plans for his failure. The next day, Joseph Brant had handed him the acceptance letter to the Britannian Air Force Academy he had not applied for. Literally a week later the official announcement was made that he and Kotori Claveria Talasi of the Hopi, his (Far more accomplished) childhood friend, would be wed.

If Kayeri died on the fields of Japan, he suspect his father would mourn him. He didn't doubt that his father loved him. But it would only be what his father expected to happen to the son who would never take his seat as Grand Sachem[8].

And, for some reason, that irritated Kayeri.

An insistent beeping from the dashboard brought Kayeri back to the present. On the radar screen superimposed onto the side, a group of triangles were flying towards them, marked Friendly by High Command.

And then, with a delay and then a roar, five shapes shot over the VTOLs.

"Hawkeye Squadron, here to roll out the carpet for you folks."

With a grin, Captain King flashed a thumbs up that only the other Knightmare Pilots could see. "Thanks, Hawkeyes! Wish I were on one of those birds with you. You all spooled up?"

For a moment, there was silence from Hawkeye 1. "King? Is that you, Owen?"

And, suddenly, Captain King burst out into a joyful laugh. "Adrian? By god, I thought you sounded familiar! And a Wing Commander now!"

Hawkeye 1's serious voice suddenly seemed so much more mirthful. "Owen, you flathatting bastard! I haven't seen you since Rio Branco! I didn't know they posted you with the Autobots."

Owen laughed an embarrassed smile. "They couldn't figure out any other place to put me. How's Marilyn doing? How old are Kewell and Marika now?"

"Too old. The old body can't pick 'em up anymore," Hawkeye 1 replied. "And how is Macke—" his voice trailed off.

A few awkward second hung about before Hawkeye 1 finally spoke up. "Well, we're not far from the coast now, and you know how dangerous these Blue-water ops are. Take care of yourself, Owen!"

"You too, bubba," Captain King replied in a voice that seemed way too upbeat.

"Thanks. Hawkeye 1, out."

Captain King seemed almost a little sad as he turned back to the screen.

Lloyd took the chance to break the silence. "Sir, who was that?"

Captain King smiled. "Adrian Soresi. We went to the Air Force Academy together. We used to be rivals…now he's a Wing Commander while I'm just a Captain."

"I wonder what went wrong," Kayeri muttered. If Captain King heard him, he ignored it.

"Lloyd, the Soresi live in Virginia, your family might know them—"

Kotori's report suddenly cut through the Captain's sentence. "Approaching the Shikoku coast!"

---

"This is censorship, a violation of the freedom of the press!" Uemura's loud complaints fell on deaf ears as the NHK news crew wandered around the JSDF camp.

"I'm sorry, but you men are also citizens of Japan, and it is our duty as the JSDF to defend our citizens," Major General Matsu Kirigaya said in a gentle but firm tone. Everywhere, JSDF soldiers were setting up sandbags and setting up artillery. The Japanese had slowly been withdrawing towards the city of Kochi as the Britannian forces pressed in, and now the general staff headquarters was now based in the outskirts of the largely-evacuated city.

"You can report on the situation at the General HQ from here," Kirigaya remarked in a conciliatory tone. "Thanks," Matou Kariya replied with a smile as he looked around. Though there was an air of chaos within the camp, there was an order within the disorder—for all their exhausted expressions, the general staff was still functioning well. The news that reinforcements would be arriving from Honshu had helped Japanese spirits, and the JSDF officers were acting with newfound confidence.

"We'll lure them into Kochi and take them down there. Their tanks can't maneuver properly in those streets, and their artillery can't be used to their best extent."

"Set up roadblocks along every major intersection. If they're going to take the city they're going to have to drown us in their blood."

As Uemura followed after General Kirigaya with his protests, Kariya regarded Inoue, who was brushing dust off her vest and a JSDF helmet a considerate soldier had placed on her head. For all her inexperience, she had weathered the battle surprisingly well. Though she bore a few bruises, she looked ready to leap into the battlefield again.

Then again, she had not seen the worst of reporting.

Kariya remembered cases he had once covered—the grisly killings a few months ago at his hometown of Fuyuki—the remnants of a Jewish suicide bombing at a Palestinian government building—the nightclub fire in Osaka—

Kariya shook his head. There was a time for that. Not now.

A sudden bustle at the radar screens caught his attention.

"Inoue!" Calling her over, Kariya walked quietly but purposefully towards the assembled officers.

"What's going on here?"

An officer turned around, seemingly unaware that Kariya was not a military officer. "Reports from the Tokyo and Hokkaido front. They're not making any sense."

"What do you mean?"

"They're reporting something new. Some kind of giant suit of armor."

"…you mean, like a Giant robot?"

"Yes, something of that sort."

---

"Empire, this is D troop. We're landing in 45 seconds. We're not late for the party, I see."

"D troop, this is Empire Actual. Be advised, the LZ is hot, repeat, the LZ is hot. You are Weapons Free on landing. Assume anything not allied is hostile."

"Roger."

"Empire to D troop, how Copy?"

"LZ is hot, weapons free, blab la bla."

"King, stick to protocol! In that case, Empire out. Good hunting."

"Thanks, Empire, D Troop out."

The ground below Monica Kruszewski and D-04, Mirele, looked torn apart. Trees and houses lay broken, crushed by countless tanks or blown apart by constant shells. Units of infantry moved to and fro, while medics and Red Cross officers dressed in white weaved through the battle to carry off the dead and wounded.

Monica gulped as she saw what she fervently hoped wasn't the bottom half of a soldier. She averted her eyes. D troop, normally so talkative, was completely silent as they flew over the conflict. In thirty seconds, they would be entering their first battle, killing people or being killed.

"Landing in 5."

"Let's fucking do this," Kayeri muttered under his breath.

"4."

Kotori touched the rosary beads on her arm as she whispered something in spanish.

"3."

Lloyd closed his eyes in a silent prayer as he thumbed his controls.

"2."

With a frantic twist, Captain King took a big gulp of his whiskey, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"1."

And suddenly, Monica didn't feel scared.

Nor did she feel especially brave.

In fact, she felt nothing at all as she grit her teeth and grasped the control yoke with sweaty hands.

"Deploying."

---

"What the fuck is that," Lieutenant Josui Kusakabe of the JSDF muttered to himself as he watched the robots descend from their mounts.

"The better question," Captain Aoki Sasahara replied drily as he tapped the Zaku sticker on his assault rifle, "is how they came up with giant robots before we did."

---

Suspended on two nearly-invisible umbilicals, the Glasgows descended from the VTOLs like avenging angels, touching down with nary a sound. Silently, the umbilicals detached, snapping back up as the VTOLs turned to return to their carriers.

"Deploying factspheres."

Silently, the domes that dominated each glasgow's head opened up, revealing a smallish, greenish dome that seemed to glow.

In several milliseconds, the supercomputer based in the Glasgow's head analyzed the information the factsphere had gathered.

A second later, the Glasgow's display changed, suddenly registered hostiles, outlined in red, and allies, outlined in green.

The JSDF soldiers hiding behind another ruined tank were identified in infrared.

The Japanese tank hidden in the trees identified by its heat signature and then matched, with 88% accuracy, with the Mitsubishi Type 10.

Finally, a marker in yellow appeared in the distance—the Glasgow's current objective.

With a hiss, the Glasgow's factsphere retracted, covered once more by the piece of armor plate.

Monica Kruszewski's hands tightened on her controls.

"1st Lieutenant Monica Kruszewski, Sortieing," she said in a voice that seemed too calm to possibly be her own.

"Weapons free, weapons free!"

For a fraction of a second, the Glasgow's landspinners ground against the ground—and then suddenly the Glasgows came to life.

"Kayeri, let's go! Pincer!"

Ugly and Mirele suddenly screamed into action, spreading apart and flanking the JSDF as it tank prepared to fire.

"Firing!"

With the sound of the fabric of heaven tearing, Kayeri and Monica opened fire with the assault rifles that their knightmares held.

Aesthetically an upsized version of the Britannian standard Armalite AR-24A assault rifle, the internal mechanism within the Glasgow standard sniper rifle was as novel as the Glasgow itself.

With a roar of flame, the JSDF Type 10 exploded in a burst of heat and flame that obscured the huge casings that fell to the ground.

For the Glasgow, which stood on two spindly, if nimble legs, the standard heavy artillery gun would be sufficient to knock the Glasgow over.

As such, the Glasgow needed something that could provide the same firepower with less recoil. The knightmare assault rifle wouldn't pack the one-hit-kill capacity that a sniper rifle would provide—but that wouldn't matter when you could shoot 700 anti-tank AP rounds in a minute.

"Nice job," Captain King said, his voice suddenly more serious than ever. "Now get a move on. We got a firebase to take."

Kotori's voice sounded grim. "Monica, Kayeri! Enemy reinforcements, twelve o'clock! Type-10s!"

And then, with an explosion of dirt, the ground behind Kayeri's Glasgow shuddered. In the distance, a line of five tanks roared out their defiance.

"Spread out! Break Formation!"

With a roar of the engines, the five knightmares spread apart, moving in jagged zig-zag patterns as they charged towards the tanks. Perhaps surprised by the onslaught, the tanks started moving backwards.

"Monica, cover me!"

"Copy." With skill borne of years of practice, Monica's hands automatically grasped their controls as Mirele sprayed a burst of assault rifle fire at the tanks as Kayeri swerved Ugly behind a mound of dirt. Fired wildly, most of them exploded around the tanks, but a lucky shot exploded right next to the tank's base. Immediately, the tank stopped backing away, though it continued firing—a mobility kill.

The four tanks turned to face Monica's knightmare—just as, with a burst of dirt and the roar of the Yggdrasil drive pushed to its utmost, Kayeri's Glasgow shot over the dirt mound, landing with another spray of dirt behind the tanks. Skidding in the dirt, the Glasgow burst back into motion as Kayeri strafed the hapless type-10s, riddling them with bursts from the assault rifle. Two of the tanks went up in flames, the whine of exploding shells almost sounding like a scream at the unfairness of the fight. Monica almost felt sorry for them.

Almost.

Surprised, the remaining mobile tank turned towards Kayeri—just as Captain King shot past, finishing the tank with a close-range burst of assault rifle fire.

A burst from Monica finished the crippled tank.

"Don't start the battle without me," King smiled grimly.

"You sure you're not too old to keep up?" Kayeri remarked drily.

"Cut the joking," Kotori snapped. "We've just got a different set of orders. One of those German Panzers has been holding back our guys at a checkpoint two miles from here. We're going to have to clear that up.

"Yeah, yeah," Kayeri muttered as the Glasgows shot away in clouds of dust, leaving behind the burning hulks of five tanks and the men who had been in them.

---

"Keep going, men, we've got them on the run," Captain Aoki Sasahara yelled as he fired another burst out of his assault rifle. The main road up to Kochi was now all that stood between the Britannians and the city—and the JSDF had resolved to hold it. With three of the JSDF's precious imported Panzer-wulf and the cover of what had once been a small, quiet town, Aoki and his men had managed to repel four successive waves of Britannian invaders—the hulks of several destroyed M1s and M-33s lay burning. The corpses of the tank crew of an M-1 showed where they had bailed out of the burning tank and tried to make a run for it.

Tried.

At this rate, we might actually hold Kochi, Josui Kusakabe thought to himself.

Here, at least, the JSDF, long ridiculed as an imitation of the Britannians, was holding its own against the largest and technologically advanced nations in the world.

With a metallic clang and a shout of fire, a Panzer-Wulf hurled another shell into the distance.

A lot of this miraculous defense could be chalked up to the Panzer-Wulfs. Their heavy armor and great firepower combined to overwhelm the cheaper and more-nimble M-33s. Only one of the Panzer-wulfs had yielded to the Britannian tanks, while much could be said for the shriveled M-33s and M-1s that littered the ground around them.

Suddenly, the officer of one of the Panzer-wulfs popped out of his tank. "Captain, reports say that some of those giant robots are coming our way!"

"This is going to be difficult," Captain Sasahara remarked drily, as if annoyed by the weather.

"Come on, men, let's go knock down some Gundams."

---

"Enemy in sight," Kayeri reported from his position in the vanguard. With the speed of a race car, D shot down the road, the landspinners tearing up the concrete.

On the sides of the roads, burning hulks and bodies littered the ground, both Japanese and Britannian—the main route up to the city of Kochi had been fought contentiously by both sides.

Monica, from her position behind Captain King, checked her equipment. So far, things were not going too terribly—they had encountered Dorothea's unit en route, and it appeared they had yet to take any casualties.

All they had to do it was keep it that way.

"Halt, friendlies ahead," Kayeri reported, slowing down as the knightmares skidded to a stop around a group of Infantrymen, tanks and APCs, some clearly flying Britannian Blue.

Captain King drew up to an officer who seemed to be in charge. The officer stared incredulously.

"What the hell is that?"

"Captain Owen King, Knightmare Corps. What's the problem, soldier?"

"We can't move forwards, sir. 8th Armored and 22nd Mechanized here, we were trying to take the checkpoint before they fortified it."

Captain King frowned, though the army officers wouldn't be able to tell—the Video Communication system used by the Glasgow had yet to be adopted by the rest of the Britannian army.

"Where's the the armor I called for?"

The officer pointed in the direction of the clearing, where several burning hulks lay.

"Didn't count on those German tanks there. Those things pack more armor than all my division put together. We tried our AT-4s, Javelins, HESH rounds, no good. I'm lucky I bailed out of my M-33 before it blew." The officer looked around. "So where's Armored part of the Armored Division?"

"We're it," Captain King said.

The Army Officer stared. "I wanted tanks, not Megatron and the destructicons."

"Not like I can disobey orders," King replied, almost apologetically.

The officer sighed. "If it were me, I'd return you guys to Toys ' R Us, but feel free to try. If Four battle tanks couldn't beat these guys, I don't see how you and Mazinger Z[9] is going to come out of this alive."

"We won't know until we try," the Captain remarked as he checked his own assault rifle. "Talasi, what info do we have on the Panzer-Wulf?"

Kotori paused as she brought up something on the screen of her Glasgow. As the unit Mechanic and Comms officer, her Glasgow packed a more complex communication and data system than the rest of the unit.

"It's got a new APS[10], swats slower projectiles out of the air. Probably how the Infantry's AT4s and Javelins failed. Some kind of Carbide armor. Let's not talk about firepower. Needless to say, get hit by one of those things and your ejection seat isn't about to save you."

For all its mobility, a Glasgow's armor was only slightly better than that of a top-class APC. A battle tank's HEAT round would be more than enough to tear a hole straight through a knightmare.

"Did anybody else in the Knightmare corps engage those tanks yet?"

"Negative, 2nd Squadron got ambushed by anti-air, so they're having their own problems. First corps is also balls deep in the JSDF main army. We're on our own."

Captain King shrugged. "Well, that's how it should be. Let's have a crack at it. Lloyd, try to get into the trees and get ready to cover me if things go wrong."

"Covering you," Monica started, but King spoke first. "Kruszewski, Talasi, Brant, stay back."

"Old Man," Kayeri protested, "There are better ways to kill yourself than to throw yourself against something we haven't fought before."

"And what, are we going to have to retreat if all of us get killed?"

Kayeri stopped midretort. The Glasgows had not, by any means, been deployed en masse. The eight five-knightmare troops in the 3rd Squadron would be expected to fight against every Japanese military unit from Shikoku to Kyushu. The loss of all of D troop would mean the loss of over 10% of the Southern Expeditionary Corp's knightmare compliment.

"You kiddies are a bit too inexperienced and far too young to throw yourselves at tanks," King remarked with a grin. "Lloyd, assume command if this goes south."

With that, the Captain's Glasgow raised its assault rifle and began rolling towards the clearing.

For a moment, Kayeri seemed surprised, a little undecided as he watched the Captain drive past him.

"Good luck, ol…sir," Kayeri finally managed.

Captain King said nothing as, with a burst of dust, his Glasgow shot into the clearing.

---

"Enemy, in sight!"

"It's the gundam," Captain Sasahara noted with all the irritation of a picnicker caught in the rain. Raising a bent arm, Sasahara beckoned to the troops behind him.

"Cover this area, stay back. Don't want to get hit by the APS."

The Panzer-Wulf's Active Protection System deployed a small barrage of metal pellets to destroy low-velocity explosives such as rockets. They also did a number on human skin.

"Captain, this is Kinoshita, we all clear?"

"Loud and clear. Light 'em up."

"Roger, firing."

---

The pressure hit D-01 Alicia, knocking away and then sucking the head in its wake, the whistling whine hitting only a fraction of a second (and yet 25 times slower) than the actual HEAT round.

Countless assault rifle rounds pinged off the Glasgow's armor as it skidded past the explosion of the tank shell behind him, its two legs spread out to lower its profile.

This was how it should be, Owen King thought to himself.

With the bullets and AT4 rockets howling around him and the wind almost in his face, he almost felt like he was in an F-18 once again, those tanks and infantry just AA.

The ground underneath his feet shook and vibrated wildly through the Glasgow's shock absorbers as, rounding the wreckage of an M-1, Alicia leapt over a shell crater, now almost up in the face of the Panzer-wulfs. With a quick glance, Captain King glanced at his ammunition read-out just in case. With a quick thumb, he flipped off the plastic cover on the targeting yoke.

His fingers lightly kissed the trigger for just enough for the Glasgow to let out three roars with the sound of tearing fabric. The other tank reacted with almost comical slowness, its shells cutting through empty air as the Glasgow gyrated in a sudden 110 degree swerve, kicking a small layer of dust in almost a mocking gesture to the Panzer-Wulfs as it let off several more rounds at the Panzer-wulfs.

Skidding to a temporary halt, Captain King retracted the armor plating on his factspheres to gaze into the cloud of dust and smoke left by the impact.

"Captain, did you get it?"

"Don't know, wait for it…"

And then the dust was blown away by the tank round that narrowly shot past D-01.

"Guess that's a no," King grinned. A normal anti-tank shell would pack enough recoil to knock the Glasgow onto its back, and so the anti-tank ammunition that the Glasgow packed was a smaller, lowered-power version. The hope was that multiple impacts would make up for the weakness of each individual bullet.

Apparently, judging by the dented and dusty but intact Panzer-wulf, this wasn't the case.

"Talasi, tell High Command we might need a bit more dakka. Lloyd, your turn."

"Guess that's my call," Lloyd Harkins muttered, more or less to himself. With a roar, D-05 awoke from standby its lightly droning Yggdrasil drive roaring into action as the Glasgow lowered the large cylinder it held on its shoulder.

Each member of D troop had a role. Kayeri, Monica and Captain King were scouts, armed with an assault rifle and built for maneuverability, built to combat the lesser threats. Kotori, as mechanic and communications officers, carried more electronic equipment.

And Lloyd's duty was demolition.

On his screen, the outline of the two Panzer-wulfs showed up in red through the trees, transmitted via Captain King's factspheres.

While the artillery piece Lloyd carried his shoulder had an official name, most of the Knightmare Corps simply referred to it as a "giant cannon."

They were more or less correct.

"Locking down," Lloyd muttered. With a groan, the Glasgow braced itself, several specially-built spikes anchoring the Glasgow to the ground.

"Targeting."

An ominous crackling filled the air, almost as if the air was electrified.

Assisted by targeting, Lloyd locked the position of his cannon as the crackling intensified.

Inside the cockpit, the hum of the Yggdrasil drive drowned everything as it intensified, threatening to burst through Lloyd's eardrums and shatter the Glasgow—

"Firing."

In a single moment, all the power accumulated by the Yggdrasil Drive released itself in the fraction of a second.

Like a bolt from Olympus, the Giant Cannon discharged in a single crack of electrostatic thunder.

As if struck by some invisible fist, the trees seemed to shatter instantaneously shattered either by the shell or the shockwave it left in its wake.

The Panzer-wulf collapsed like a cereal box for a moment—and then erupted as its ammunition combusted.

---

Josui Kusakabe picked himself up with shaking hands. He could hear nothing save for a piercing ring that did nothing to help his raging headache.

One moment, the lead tank had been firing at the mecha cross the field.

The next, Kusakabe was on the floor, and, crumpled like a soda can, was the burnt out hulk of the first of the Panzer-Wulfs.

He could almost hear Captain Sasahara as he made a hand motion that Kusakabe could vaguely remember as being to go prone.

Kusakabe didn't mind—he was already on the ground.

The second tank drew back, its turret rotating to face the new threat.

One second, the tank was there, the crew's voices shouting over the radio.

And then, another blinding flash, a crash of lightning.

And then it wasn't.

The crispy scent of ozone lingered in the air, with a few crackles of residual electricity.

For 500 years, munitions were driven by gunpowder. For five hundred years, humanity had refined the art of combustion—perfected it, specialized it, strengthened it so it shot faster, made less smoke, hit faster, hit harder. [11]

But it had reached its limit.

No matter how much one streamlined the bullet or increased the power of the propellant, it would be impossible to accelerate a projectile faster than 1.5 km/s or greater than 80 km.

As tank armor and defenses constantly improved, the military would need weapons that could pierce them.

Powered by the Glasgow's Yggdrasil drive, G-01's rail cannon released its its round at five times that velocity with the power of 35 Gigajoules, the equivalent of more than half ton of TNT detonating.

There were rumors about a handheld version of the Giant Cannon that would replace the Army's aging Armalite Carbines.

Lloyd, as a former member of the Armored Division, shivered as the railcannon's targeting visor withdrew from his right eye.

The day that the Britannian Army adopted railguns for small-arms would be the day that armor no longer became relevant.

Yet now was not the time to worry about that kind of thing.

Now, there was a war to win.

---

With a shrug, the Glasgow unlocked from its firing position as it shouldered its giant cannon.

"8th Armor and Mechanized, the bad guys are down, you're clear to move ahead."

"Moving up, moving up," Kayeri reported as he drove up to Captain King's position, Monica and Kotori behind him.

"Watch out, they've got RPGs," the Captain ordered as he squeezed off another burst with his assault rifle. With a trail of smoke, a malfunctioning RPG spiraled past before exploding harmlessly in the air.

The Infantry that had been escorting the tanks was still putting up a feeble defense. However, several had already been wounded in the previous battles, and they seemed to be on the verge of retreat.

Raising his own assault rifle to his shoulder, Kayeri squeezed off a burst. Several of the Japanese soldiers crumpled to the ground, and the others turned tail and ran, a few still shooting wildly.

"That should drive them off," Kayeri murmured as he looked down at the display. Reacting automatically, the factspheres deployed. Individuals zoomed in on the bodies on individual soldiers—and Kayeri instinctively clenched his teeth. The sight was not pretty. Even in the age of tiny bullet wounds and shrapnel, death was still as visceral as it had been for soldiers centuries past. Having detected no life from the bodies, the factsphere adjusted the targeting computer, and their red outlines faded away, marking them as no different from the dirt they lay in.

After all, a human without life is just an aggregation of the same elements that could be found in the dirt. It was heartless, but it was certainly true.

And yet, something at the corner of the screen caught Kayeri's eye.

From the burnt out ruins of the first tank, one red outline still remained.

With a gulp that imbibed equal measures of fear and hope, Kayeri motioned to zoom in.

In the blackened ruins of the tank, almost indistinguishable from the charred armor, a figure outlined in red struggled.

Kayeri's mind was suspiciously blank.

It must be a mistake.

That…that thing can't still be alive.

Even now, a few flickering flames crawled down the length of that…thing that was once a human's blackened arm before dying out.

Kayeri knew his Glasgow's air filtration system was perfectly functional, and yet he swore he could smell the sickeningly sweet smell of charring flesh.

Kayeri felt an unpleasant feeling, as if his stomach was rebelling against him.

It had to be a mistake. Any moment now, the factsphere would update and would show that charred figure as nothing but a pile of ash, no different from the intact dead bodies around him, those who could still be recognized as remotely human.

Any minute now.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but he could almost see that blackened and yet vaguely human form extend a hand towards him as its very fingers crumbled away—

"Kayeri!"

Behind him, Lloyd rolled into view, cannon at the ready, his voice and face conveying his concern.

"Are you alright?!"

"Good kill, Lloyd," Kayeri managed with what he hoped was a smile.

And then Lloyd's expression of relief was immediately replaced with a grim expression. "Kayeri, what are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

For a moment, Lloyd opened his mouth, as if to say something—and then closed it again as D-05 raised its rail cannon.

"Switching to White Phosphorous," Lloyd muttered as his target appeared on Kayeri's screen—the red outlines of the retreating JSDF soldiers.

"Wait, they're already in retreat—" Kayeri started.

"Under the Geneva Convention, they're enemy combatants until they surrender," Lloyd said, his voice emotionless.

"Look, their will is already broken."

Lloyd's voice seemed even, as if unaware that he was talking about killing human beings. "Kayeri, if we let them go here, they may come to kill another Britannian soldier in the future."

"Lloyd—damn it! You guys, don't you have anything to say about it?!"

And then Kayeri was struck by something. With the exception of him and Lloyd, who was currently chambering a new round into his cannon, Kotori, Monica and Captain King had their Assault Rifles in firing position.

With a sinking feeling, Kayeri realized he was the only one who had not fired at those retreating figures.

Logically, what Lloyd said made sense.

And yet, having seen that figure in the tank…

"Round ready!" Reloaded, Lloyd's Glasgow crouched as it adopted firing position.

Kayeri's eyes widened as he realized what Lloyd was about to do. "Lloyd, wait—!"

"Firing!"

With another thundercrack, the giant cannon discharged—and instantly, the retreating soldiers were engulfed in a cloud of white smoke—and, seemingly on their own, Kayeri's hands toggled the Zoom-in function as he watched the faraway figures struggle in the mist.

White Phosphorus had entered the scene of combat ninety years ago, when Sons of Liberty Anarchists deployed White Phosphorus in a series of coordinated attacks on Government Buildings across Britannia. Since then, countless armies, from the Entente of France, Russia and the Republic of England to Imperial Germany to Britannia's very own armies had deployed White Phosphorus, WP shells, as both a smokescreen and an antipersonnel weapon. A WP shell scatters countless incendiary particles of white phosphorus on the target area, coating both the ground and the flesh of those exposed to it.

In many ways White Phosphorous is far more effective a weapon than a flamethrower.

White Phosphorous is sticky and reactive, often bonding to the skin and burning flesh straight to the bone, burning until either there is no more oxygen or the phosphorous itself is consumed.

Moreover, the phosphorus that enters the body through these burns is toxic for the body, leading to liver, heart and kidney damage, or even Multiple Organ failure.

During the Second Great European War, the forces of the early E.U. had used WP with great effect against Soviet infantry.

The Geneva Convention, of course, bans the use of all chemical weapons, whether for toxic or incendiary purposes.

But WP shells are also extraordinarily effective as smokescreens, and under that guise, Britannian forces had been using WP shells for decades. Occasionally, images of the horrific burns inflicted upon Chinese, Vietnamese and even Britannian soldiers by Britannian WP shells surfaced for a short time on the web, only to disappear within hours. It was common knowledge in the military that all three of the great powers used White Phosphorous, among other things, in an unspoken agreement to not blab about each other's human rights violations.

Kayeri had seen some of these pictures—but they seemed almost photoshopped, as some Britannian critics claimed, compared to what he was seeing firsthand.

Through the smoke, figures stumbled here and there, desperately tearing at their bodies in some kind of macabre dance.

Though the WP shell's wall of thick smoke shielded the Knightmare corps from the worst of the shell's effects, the image was still enough to arouse a feeling that disgusted Kayeri.

The image in front of them was as much mesmerizing as it was haunting.

It was like a puppet show performed by somebody with no training in puppetry. In the smoke, the figures of several dozen marionettes jerking to a silent tune.

One by one, they fell to the ground, some of them still twitching.

Kayeri tore his eyes away from the scene to look at the video feed.

Kotori was looking away from the screen, seemingly inspecting something elsewhere, though the way she shivered slightly every time the factsphere deregistered a dead enemy suggested that she was still paying attention. Monica, on the other hand, seemed to still be staring at the screen, her face set and drawn, though she seemed to be doing her best to hold her expression. Captain King seemed to be sweating an awful lot.

Yet, looking at Lloyd…something about the way Lloyd hardly seemed perturbed caused Kayeri to shake slightly.

It wasn't that Lloyd Harkins was expressionless—he looked focused, his brows furrowed. The same expression he had when he met a hard question in a test or was at the shooting range.

The fact that there were human beings in his crosshairs didn't seem to matter to him.

"Target down," Lloyd's voice echoed calmly as his Glasgow unlocked.

And then, before he knew what was doing, Kayeri found himself centering the crosshairs of his assault rifle on Lloyd and D-05.

For a moment, there was silence.

Kotori broke it first. "Kayeri, what are you doing?"

"They were retreating," Kayeri growled at Lloyd.

Lloyd's expression remained unchanged. "They were enemy combatants."

"Brant, stand down," Captain King said slowly.

"They were already in a rout. It wasn't necessary to shoot them."

"Under the Geneva Conven—"

"Under the Geneva Convention, it's illegal to use White Phosphorus as a weapon, Lloyd."

"Lieutenant Brant, Stand Down," Captain King yelled, but neither Lloyd nor Kayeri noticed.

"I was deploying a smokescreen—"

"Don't give me that crap right now," Kayeri heard himself snarling. "You were deploying a White Phosphorous smoke shell in the middle of a group of retreating infantrymen—"

"And you would have me let them go? Let them pick up another gun and then shoot us?"

"They were—"

"Yes, they were retreating. They were afraid. But what happens when they return to their headquarters? Leave with another Panzer-Wulf, one with better aim? If one of them returned with an AT4 and killed Kotori? Or Monica? Or the Captain? Would I forgive myself for not pulling the trigger? Would YOU forgive me?"

"But—" Kayeri started—even as he knew Lloyd was right.

"I understand that they were retreating," Lloyd said levelly, "but I'd much rather kill them than run the chance that my mercy allows one of them to kill you."

With that, Lloyd shouldered his cannon as he revved his engine.

"Monica, lead on."

"O-of course," Monica replied. For a moment, she took a look at Kayeri before driving ahead.

Kotori glanced at Lloyd, and then at Kayeri. Her expression was complicated. Kayeri could understood why. By pointing a weapon at his comrade, he had essentially earned a court-martial. It was certainly an offense that could lead to a dishonorable discharge, and disgrace for Kayeri's family.

"Captain King, Lieutenant Brant may be under some stress right now. I believe it might be necessary that he return to base—"

"—That would be my decision," Captain King replied. "Go on ahead, Talasi."

For a moment, Kotori seemed on the border of disagreeing, but finally she revved Awatovi into action and drove off, leaving Kayeri and Captain King in the clearing.

"…Brant, do you want to return to the beachhead? I will say that were suffering from nausea."

"…I'll be fine," Kayeri said quietly.

"That was…quite something, wasn't it," the Captain remarked with a delicate tone.

Kayeri said nothing. It was hard to refer to what he had seen as "quite something."

"As you know," Captain King sighed, "I used to be Air Force. I never got to see what was happening on the ground. For us Fighter Jocks, the only thing mattered was the blue sky and the people who were trying to shoot us in that blue sky.

When we fought them, we shot them down and tried not to think about how they bought the farm (Author's note: Died).

By the time we got down, the ground pounders either moved forwards or they didn't.

That…that was my first time seeing something like that too."

On the spot, Captain King shuddered.

"But, Brant, that's how it is. Back when we were all civvies, it was the military that did the dirty work. When I was in the Air Force, it was the Army. 'Those who abjure violence can only do so because others are committing violence on their behalf' (Author's Note: George Orwell. The quote you're probably thinking of is a misquotation).

People have always been getting their hands bloody.

It's just that this time we are the ones who are doing it. It's not an easy job, nor is it one that's noble, no matter what anyone says. But it's necessary.

We have do the dirty work so that those we know won't have to."

Captain King sighed. "I won't bring up this incident to higher command. But I do not want to see this happen again. Are we clear?"

"…Yes, sir," Kayeri replied emotionlessly.

"Good. Do you need some time before catching up with us?"

"…It's fine. Let's go."

---

The first thing that Josui Kusakabe felt as he regained consciousness was the tightness in his chest. Coughing raspily, Kusakabe caught a whiff of what smelled like garlic (Author's note: White Phosphorus smells like Garlic).

The second was the silence.

He opened his eyes—and instantly blinked to get the ears out of them. Above him, the blue sky was marred by columns of black, white and gray smoke, imparting a sooty, dirty quality onto the pure blue sky.

A few flashes of what had happened came back to him. One of the shots from those robots' oversized assault rifles had knocked him into the trees.

But the silence meant the battle was over.

Had they won? Had they lost?

With another cough, Kusakabe propped himself up.

The smell of smoke now mixed itself to the smell of garlic. The sudden change in stance caused a wave of nausea to wash over Kusakabe.

As his vision started to return, Kusakabe noticed the dark shapes all around him, obscured by fumes of white smoke that seemed to arise from the very earth.

With an effort he started to crawl out of the trees—and then suddenly snapped his hand back with a yelp of pain as he touched something. Holding up his palm, he looked at what looked like a small piece of white chalk that seemed to smolder in the air. With an effort, he ripped off his gloves and threw them aside.

As he looked around, he realized that much of the smoke came from similar particles.

Blinking through the smoke, he crawled towards the next human shape.

A JSDF BDU. That was reassuring. Crawling over, he grabbed the other soldier's shoulder.

"Soldier, are you alright?"

And then he immediately let go as the body turned over, revealing the face of the other soldier.

What had been a face.

The face was a sickly, mottled white, spotted by a few bits of darkened skin. One eye seemed to stare madly, its clarity so much more striking compared to the black-and-white wreck that occupied the other socket. The scalp was dotted by tufts of darkened, burnt hair and scalp, pieces of darkened skin peeling slightly, like old wallpaper.

Recoiling in horror, Kusakabe scrambled back, to his feet—and then stared.

All around him, some still smoking, were other bodies. All in what remained of Japanese BDUs.

Slowly, Kusakabe stood up.

He was not in a battlefield.

He was in a crematorium.

Kusakabe clenched his shaking fist—the one that had been burned by the Phosphorus. It hurt, but he didn't care. In fact, it made him feel stronger. Britannia would pay for this.

For every one of his comrades, Kusakabe would make Britannia pay four times over.

Raising his fist towards the sky, Kusakabe silently made his vow before starting the slow trek back to headquarters.

---

The other three pilots were waiting for them as they left the clearing and continued along the road.

Captain King broke the slightly awkward silence first. "Talasi, anything happen?"

"Nothing so far. It seems like somebody in 2nd Squadron's C troop got hit with an anti-tank weapon, but they're still functional. We're just awaiting orders now—"

At that moment, the radio came to life.

"Attention Knightmare Corps, this is Empire Actual. All Knightmares are hereby ordered to continue the assault towards Kochi. Be advised, enemy reinforcements are on their way towards Shikoku. It is imperative that we take Kochi as a landing point. All pilots, please confirm."

"D troop, confirmed," Captain King reported as he glanced at the other team members. "You heard the man, D-troop. We're moving in."

"Leading," Kayeri said as he rolled past the Captain and the others.

Lloyd opened his mouth—and then closed it, and then finally opened it again. "Kayeri, I'm sorry for what I said earlier. That was irresponsible of me—"

"Nah," Kayeri replied with a grin that took the rest of the team by surprise, "you were right. I wasn't thinking of the team when I did that."

Lloyd opened his mouth to interject. "Kayeri—"

"I'm fine, mom," Kayeri remarked with a smile. "We have a job, don't we?"

Lloyd still looked inclined to object as he returned to his controls.

Kayeri relaxed himself as Lloyd turned his attention to the controls.

They would be riding out again. To fight more battles. To kill more people.

I just need to finish this battle, right?

He and the rest of the unit were still, after all, on a battlefield.

He would have time to worry when this battle was over.

Clenching his teeth, Kayeri Joseph Brant gunned the engine of his Glasgow as he charged towards the outskirts of the coastal city of Kochi.

---

Hokkaido

"Imperator to Bowflex Extreme, maintain forward advance to approximately point 4-2, eyes open."

"Solid copy, Imperator, advancing to 4-2 with infantry. Out."

"Maintain position, Gremlin, keep in position and keep your eyes open."

"Yes, mother, we copy."

Silently—or, as silently as the 1800-hp M33 Clinton could manage, callsign Bowflex Extreme rumbled through the forest. Atop the turret, Major Andreas Darlton leaned on the .50 nearby. Though the M33 had an air circulation system, it was far more comfortable—if far more dangerous—up top.

"Anything on visual?"

"Nothing."

From a few hundred meters off, Gremlin was also searching for remnants of the JSDF's Northern Army. Most of them had apparently withdrawn, but with most of the army's Drones brought down, it was up to the army to manually clear out the forest.

It was, at least, relaxing work. They had met little resistance so far, though here and there were signs of the retreat—a few dropped weapons and ordinance and the odd bootprints.

"Exciting," remarked Kevin, the driver, sardonically.

"All quiet on the western front," muttered Joseph, the loader.

"The Silence of the Lambs," said Nick, the gunner.

"Shut up down there," snapped Darlton.

After a long period of silence, Kevin spoke up again. "But shiiiit…talk about crazy."

"What?"

"Those robots."

"They're called Knightmares," Joe corrected.

"Never seen anything like it," Nick stated as he leaned back.

Darlton said nothing. After all, he was the only one of the unit who had seen those things, three years ago in Nevada. They had not witness two of them devastate two units of M-1s and M-33s. Since that day, Darlton had known, waited for the day where he and the armored corps would suddenly find itself obsolete.

The moment he had seen those bat-shaped landers fly overhead this morning, he had already known that the day had come.

---

"Target destroyed."

Major Gilbert G.P. Guilford's Glasgow ground to a halt as the last of the Japanese tanks burst into flame, its debris cutting darkened scars into the snowy ground.

With this roadblock down, the Britannian Northern Expeditionary Force had a clear beachhead. While Honshu, Shikoku and Kyushu were currently enjoying an unusually warm spring thaw, Hokkaido was suffering from a cold front that had left its barren, somewhat rocky coastline covered in a thick layer of snow.

The fighting had been fierce—one of Guilford A-troop glasgows had been struck by a stray anti-materiel rifle, and had been forced to return to the beachhead, and the infantry and tank corps had their share of casualties. However, the mobility of the Knightmare Corps and the neutralization of the Japanese Air Force by the Sakuradite disturbers had eventually prevailed, and the first wave was now solidifying its hold on the landing zone.

"Imperator, this is A troop, landing zone secure."

"A troop, this is Imperator Actual. Good job, stand by. Wait for the Army and Engineering to dig in."

"Copy, thanks for the break."

"Imperator, out."

As Imperator terminated the connection, Guilford glanced at the video feeds of the remaining three pilots in his unit.

"You heard the man. We're on break until the Engineers are here to set up a roadblock."

"About time," Lieutenant Ericsson grunted as he set down his rail cannon. For all his lanky, greasy looks and sullen expression, he was quite skilled with the cannon.

With a hiss, one of Team A's glasgows opened its cockpit with a hydraulic hiss. With a casual toss of his overly long and unnecessarily luscious hair, Lieutenant Lynch, the communications officer and Mechanic, stretched himself with an indulgent smile.

"Sooo, Major, what happens now?"

"The second wave is clear to deploy," 1st Lieutenant Cornelia li Britannia replied.

"I wasn't asking you, your highness," Lynch snapped with a hint of annoyance.

"The Lieutenant is right," Guilford cut in, "Once this area is secured, second wave deploys with us. We want to try to block all access to the Seikan tunnel before retreating Japs or their reinforcement can use it."

"Oh, I see. Thanks a bunch, Major," Lynch replied with a bright smile. Something about Lieutenant Aiden Lynch's strikingly handsome and effeminate features and the way he seemed constantly annoyed by Cornelia, the only female in A troop, unnerved Guilford, but not enough for him to do anything about it. After all, Lynch's skill with the Machine Pistol and technical skill said far more to Guilford than a few pings on his gaydar.

At that moment, a new blip caused Lynch to turn his eyes to his own readout. "Oh, here comes second wave," he announced cheerfully.

"2nd Squadron G-troop, here to wipe your baby asses clean," Captain and Lord Richard Clifton proclaimed loudly the moment his radio connected.

"Well, he IS an asswipe," Lieutenant Ericsson mused on the unit's private channel.

"I see you men made a mess of this landing," Captain Clifton noted as he glanced down at the wreckage.

Guilford sighed. If there was one knightmare troop that he didn't want with him, it was Captain Clifton's. The eldest son of a long line of military men-turned-nobles, Lord Richard Clifton had all his ancestor's combat skill and none of their political tact. The man seemed to have become convinced that his G troop was the saving grace of the 2nd Squadron.

"Captain, I'm having Lieutenant Lynch send you your landing coordinates. The enemy is retreating, Imperator has orders for us to stay put until the landing zone is fortified."

Captain Clifton seemed to be going through the readout of his orders. "We're not going to pursue them?"

"We risk overextending before we've secured our own territory," Guilford explained. "If the Japanese were to launch a counteroffensive, our lines may break as they are."

Clifton, though, frowned. "But our goal is the Seikan tunnel. If we delay, the enemy may be able to consolidate their hold on the bridge."

Guilford shook his head. "You may be correct, but until we land sufficient armor, supplies, troops and artillery, we will not be able to hold that area with knightmares alone. Our Glasgows are not well-suited for defense."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Clifton replied with a grin.

Guilford tried to hide his anger. "…you are disregarding direct orders?"

"Ad Meritum Justificatus," Clifton remarked—as Guilford expected. The Britannian Military is a meritocracy—those who perform great deeds or show exemplary performance are rapidly recognized and then funneled into fast-tracks to command roles. By most extents, it was a good system that employed each individual soldier to the best of his or her ability.

Yet the most troublesome result of this system of Meritocracy was Ad Meritum Justificatus, justification by merit.

Throughout history, individuals have turned defeats into victories through disobeying orders made by misinformed or unintelligent commanders. Soldiers on the ground often are far more aware of the realities on the ground, and are most capable of resisting sudden changes.

In the interest of promoting personal initiative and encouraging bravery, the Britannian policy of Ad Meritum Justificatus dictates that a soldier who would normally be court-martialled for insubordination may be vindicated (or even rewarded) if their actions helped prevent disaster or helped achieve strategic goals.

On the bright side, it encouraged personal initiative and helped identify potential officer material in the regular ranks when the results were positives.

On the other hand, it also led individuals who overestimated their abilities to disobey orders and damage discipline.

Like right now.

"I assume my orders not to will do nothing to change your decision?"

"Afraid not," Clifton grinned.

"…Then I wish you success." As Guilford terminated the communication, he brought up the rest of his unit. "All units, stay alert, be prepared to move on my orders."

All the members of his unit seemed surprised. Cornelia spoke first.

"Sir, are we going to assist Captain Clifton?"

"If he requires it, your majest—lieutenant."

Cornelia's expression didn't alter. "In my opinion, sir, the concept of Ad Meritum Justificatus implies the willingness to take responsibility for your actions should they be unsuccessful. I believe it would be better to allow them to die to strengthen discipline."

Guilford shivered slightly. For all her dedication, skill and good conduct, Cornelia could be merciless.

"That may be, but the loss of five Glasgows and five skilled pilots to the enemy would be too risky for the army as a whole." For all of Lord Richard Clifton's flaws, he had survived the knightmare corp's stringent training process, and the fact that he was a Captain demonstrated that he was a man who was, at the very least, a little more than competent.

"I'm glad I'm in your squad, Major," Lynch noted. "Captain Clifton might have his charms, but he's just not my type."

And I am? Grimacing, Guilford looked up the sky. In front of them, the five Knightmare VTOLs of Captain Clifton and G troop hovered, a little too close to the trees for safety. On the tactical map, they were reaching the limits of the Army's advance. Following the Knightmare Corp's assault, the Army and its tanks had gone ahead in order to clear the forests of infantry.

On the tactical map, it seemed that the five triangles that represented the Knightmares had now flown past the perimeter of Britannian mechanized and armor that was slowly combing the woods.

"They're going directly for the road," Cornelia noted. It made sense—forests went a long way in reducing a knightmare's maneuverability—knightmare deployment was optimal on open roads or fields. If they could get to the highway across the woods.

With a blip, a new circle expanded from one of G-troop's knightmares, G-02, belonging to 1st Lieutenant DuBois, the communications officer, indicating the activation of a factsphere.

Shapes appeared and disappeared in the extra area as the factsphere registered potential enemies or deregistered objects it no longer saw as a threat.

And then, suddenly, a red blip.

"Shit," Lynch breathed.

Almost immediately, a white contrail shot through the sky with a hiss—the spiral of an anti-tank rocket.

And then, with the whine of chainsaws, the air was filled with tracers.

"That's anti-air," Lynch shouted in panic. Guilford grimaced. Lynch could be forgiven for his worry. The Knightmare VTOL lacked the speed of a fighter and the armor of a bomber. For an anti-aircraft gun designed to track fighter and bring down bombers, it was the perfect meal.

G Troop, it seemed, was in a panic. Dubois, the Communications officer, and another pilot designated as G-04, 2nd Lieutenant Vicks, seemed to be retreating, even as Captain Clifton seemed to be moving forwards.

"Lynch, connect me with G troop's channel," Guilford snapped. The moment the radio connected, the cockpit was filled with panicked voices.

"DuBois, get back here, you coward!"

"Captain, get back! The LZ is way too hot!"

"Not you too, Vicks," Captain Clifton roared. "Land with me and we'll smoke that AA!"

Guilord scanned the map with dismay. To land there would be to descend in the middle of the woods—possibly the worst terrain for a knightmare.

"Captain Clifton, this is Major Guilford. Withdraw to the safe zone with your men! That's an order!"

Clifton's voice carried more than a hint of fear as he retorted. "I'll face a court-martial if I return now—"

"You'll face an even bigger one if you lose your Knightmare too," Guilford almost shouted into the screen. It was a wonder that none of the VTOLs had been brought down yet.

"I…" the uncertainty and fear in Captain Clifton's face was palpable, the fear of the gambler watching his winnings drain away before his eyes.

"I will not court-martial you if you retreat now," Guilford declared.

That reassurance seemed to do the trick. Clifton stared regretfully once more before turning to the radio. "All units, turn around! Fall Back!"

Not that he needed to say it. With the exception of G-03, the rest of the unit was already falling back, Lieutenant DuBois' VTOL smoking.

Guilford turned to Lynch. "Do you still have the location of the Anti-air?"

"I have the approximate location from Dubois' earlier scan, Sir," Lynch replied as he checked his screen.

"Alright, we need to get rid of the Anti air," Guilford began. However, his orders were interrupted by a gout of dirty flame that erupted in the sky. With a plume of smoke, one of the VTOLs started to drop.

The radio was suddenly filled with G troop's voices.

"Blake, pull up!"

"Can't do," a female voice replied with barely concealed panic, "engines are down. Losing altitude."

"Can you eject?!" Guilford grimaced. That would be essentially giving up on the knightmare and handing it over to the enemy.

"Lieutenant, Blake, deploy your Glasgow," Guilford barked as he watched the descending. The Glasgow's legs were built to withstand a huge amount of stress—and, even if it didn't, it would cushion the crash's impact on the cockpit.

"Acknowledged, deploying…losing altitude fast, guys."

With a groan, the wounded VTOL painfully came to life as it began loosening the umbilical wires that connected the Glasgow with its frame.

And then, abruptly, another, smaller explosion blossomed from the VTOL.

"Going down," Blake reported grimly. That last explosion seemed to have been too much for the transport craft, and, with a slow whine, the VTOL descended to the ground, its engines still valiantly trying to keep its charge aloft.

Guilford glared at the screen as, with a burst of dust, Blake and her Glasgow disappeared into the trees.

No "signal Lost" or "ejected" readout appeared a minor consolation. That meant that the Glasgow had not been destroyed in the crash. But now it had descended in hostile terrain in enemy territory—G-03s troubles were not over yet.

"Lieutenant Blake, respond!"

Static.

Guilford turned to Lieutenant Lynch. "Status report on G-03, Lynch!"

Typing furiously into his screen, Lynch checked the readout as his knightmare sent an electronic inquiry to G-03.

"Damage Report: some damage to the legs, but not much else. G-03 should still be operational.

Guilford tried one more time. "2nd Lieutenant Annabel Blake, respond!"

Nothing.

"Maybe her radio is down," Ericsson suggested.

"Then she would be able to shoot a flare or signal otherwise," Guilford responded as he took a quick glance of the state of his Glasgow. Except for a few rounds from a sniper that had dented the armor in an attempt to take a crack at the pilot, A-01 was functioning well.

Flipping open the plastic cap that covered the aiming yoke, Guilford disengaged the safety on his assault rifle.

Ericsson blinked. "Sir, you're going out?"

"Damn right," Guilford responded coolly as he checked the ammunition in his rifle. He had enough. "We have to get rid of that AA before it takes out the rest of G troops, and we have to bring back Lieutenant Blake."

"…But we were ordered to hold this area," Lynch interrupted uncomfortably.

"Ad Meritum Justificatus," Guilford responded as he readied his knightmare, not without a shred of irony. "If we stay put we might lose the rest of G-troop." He turned to Cornelia and the others. "You men stay put and move out as soon as the Engineers get here."

Without waiting for a confirmation, A-01 drove towards the forest.

---

"Do we have a visual on the AA?"

"Negative. Gremlin is also on the way."

"Oy, Major, take a look at this," Kevin the driver remarked as he pointed at the M-33's screen, to where the face of a bespectacled man in a strange uniform and cockpit filled the screen.

"To all call-signs in the vicinity. This is Major Gilbert G.P. Guilford of the 2nd Squadron of the Knightmare Corps. Does anyone copy?"

Andreas Darlton leaned over. "Patch me in," he murmured. "Major, this is Major Andreas Darlton of the 2nd Armored Division, Call sign Bowflex Extreme. What can we do?"

The relief on Major Guilford's face was palpable. "Major Darlton, one of my men has gone down near your position."

Darlton blinked. "One of your…erm, Knightmares?"

"Afraid so, Major. Are you in a position to assist?"

Andreas nodded. "We're ready for battle, but the Anti-air…"

"We'll deal with the anti-air," Guilford reassured. "Can you do it?"

Darlton turned towards his crew, all three of whom were staring at him.

"Why not," Nick shrugged.

"I don't mind," Joe remarked.

"Could be worse," Kevin sighed.

"We'll do it," Darlton said. "Send us the coordinates."

---

With quick swerves and skids, the two Glasgow weaved a path through the trees, snapping leaves and branches as they went.

"I thought I told you to stay and wait for the engineers with the others," Major Guilford remarked as he glanced at Lieutenant Cornelia li Britannia's Glasgow next to him.

"Ad Meritum Justificatus," Cornelia replied curtly. Guilford scowled. That term was getting way too much mileage today.

In front of them, a red cursor appeared in the distance, a marking for the last known location of the anti-air emplacement.

Guilford chewed his lip contemplatively.

The presence of the AA was worrying. No general worth his salt would risk placing an anti-air emplacement in the middle of nowhere. There would probably be either armored or infantry support present.

Not that it made sense to put Anti-aircraft guns and infantry support in the middle of a forest. Meaning—

"Major, heads up!"

In the nick of time, Guilford slammed the control yoke as, with a rush of wind, the invisible but perceptible shockwave of an artillery shell shot past his head.

Immediately, Guilford's Glasgow grabbed a cylindrical object on his knightmare's side. Typing a quick activation command, he hurled it at the air.

Instantly glowing, the prototype Chaos Mine activated, a string of chemical reactions rushing through the air burst grenade's cylindrical frame before expelling itself as a focused blast of shrapnel at the ground, driving up a cloud of dust and smoke.

Immediately spreading his glasgow's stance, Guilford swerved to the side as he toggled the glasgow's factsphere.

Hidden in the prototype's smoke, Guilford relaxed slightly as his Factsphere glared through the smoke at the enemies on the other side.

That had been way too close. It seemed like the enemy had been waiting for them, to be able to accurately place a shot on a moving knightmare.

As the factsphere processed the data it had gathered, red silhouettes registered and appeared over the screen—the outlines of infantrymen, tanks and APCs.

It seemed that the Japanese had been ready.

Luring us into the forest…it was certainly a good plan.

The Glasgows would not be able to maneuver to the best of their ability in the forest.

"Tanks ahead," Guilford warned as Cornelia drew close.

Cornelia glanced at Guilford. "Orders, Sir?" The Chaos Mine continued to spray shrapnel, but its load was almost completely exhausted. Once it was out, the knightmares would be once again facing multiple tanks and infantrymen.

Guilford glanced to the left or the right. The right tactical decision would be to withdraw right now—he and Cornelia would be facing multiple enemies in unfriendly terrain.

Yet, looking at the sky, the Anti-air was still booming its defiance.

Ultimately, they would have to take down that anti-air gun eventually.

Yet how would they move? Left? Right? Back? Stand still?

"Why not forwards?"

Guilford looked up.

"Your Highness?"

"Why not forwards?" Cornelia repeated. "Isn't that what the Empress did on that day?"

Guilford blinked. That day seemed so long ago—that day when, a young cadet of the Army's Armored Division, he had watched the Flash weave destruction among the M-33s he had dreamed would be the future of warfare.

On that day, the two Glasgow had come out unscathed, the tanks smeared with the paint that indicated a hit home.

But on that day there had been no live ammunition, no chance of death.

To do this now…

As if sensing his hesitation, Cornelia frowned. "Sir, are you afraid?"

Ignoring the near-insubordination of the question, Guilford sighed.

"I would rather not take a subordinate with me to my death."

"What about an equal?"

"Just as bad."

Cornelia sighed. "What about your superior, Sir? Would you trust your superior?"

Guilford grimaced, slightly irritated. Time was running out. Guilford turned towards the tactical map.

"Depends on the superior."

"I, Cornelia li Britannia, 2nd Princess of the Holy Empire of Britannia, hereby dub you, Gilbert G. P. Guilford, as my knight and retainer."

Guilford's head snapped around. As always, there was not a trace of hesitation or confusion on the Princess-turned-soldier(and now soldier-turned-Princess)'s face.

"May you bear my banner and arms in my name. May you fight with Honor and serve with humility."

Guilford stared in disbelief. Legally, every member of the Imperial Family had the right to appoint a Knight of Honor as their personal protector and representative. The policy itself was a nod to Sir Richard Hector and Duke Ricardo von Britannia, the first of the Britannia Line of Emperors that followed the forced abdication of Queen Elizabeth III by Scottish Revolutionaries in what the EU call the "English Revolution" and what the Britannians know as the "Humiliation of Edinburgh".

Following Ricardo I's ascension as the Emperor of Britannia, he had named Sir Hector the Knight of One, his personal knight—and since then, every imperial son and daughter was entitled to a knight.

Yet in reality the system was fraught with unspoken rules, a system of interviews, bureaucracy (and, at times, bribery and nepotism)—the power accorded to a personal knight meant that the position was frequently used as political currency. At the end of the day, the choice came down to one or two handpicked candidates carefully evaluated through a system of political favors, interviews, questionnaires and practice fights.

It was almost unheard for a princess to spontaneously announce a candidate.

"Rise, as Sir Guilford."

"Your Highness—" Guilford choked.

Cornelia almost looked as if she were pleased with herself.

"Can you trust this superior with your life, Sir Guilford?"

Guilford opened and closed his mouth silently like a puppeteer that never learned ventriloquism.

He recanted on what he had said about her in comparison to the other Nobles.

Cornelia li Britannia was no less capricious or presumptuous than the other spoiled princes and princesses of the realm.

She was just presumptuous at the very worst times.

And, somehow, Guilford realized, he didn't mind.

"Yes, your highness," Gilbert G.P. Guilford said slowly.

Cornelia looked a little surprised, and yet a little pleased.

"In that case, I order you, my knight, to destroy the enemies before us."

The Chaos Mine had almost exhausted itself, just in time. Crouching for the charge, Guilford made a short salute, putting his fist towards his shoulder as he smiled.

"Yes, your highness!"

---

"100 meters to target," the voice of callsign Gremlin's commander, Mark Karius, said calmly.

Andreas Darlton checked the screen of Bowflex Extreme's "cockpit," monitoring the triangle in front of them diagnosed as M-1 Gremlin. "Any visual?"

"I think I see something ahead. Yeah, it looks like the…what do you call it, Knightmare. No activity."

Darlton checked the tactical map. Some distance away, two other different-colored triangles designated A-01 and A-02 were flashing red, along with what looked like the indicator of enemy units. It seemed like Major Guilford had ran into problems. It seemed the Anti-air had been adequately defended.

"Gremlin, do you guys see anything suspicious?"

"Apart from the giant robot and a burning robot plane? No, nothing."

Darlton's eyed narrowed. The protection around the AA suggested it had not been haphazardly left behind in the JSDF's retreat—more that it had been strategically placed there.

Meaning there could be more units in the forest.

"Hang back, Karius. Keep us covered."

"As you wish, Darlton."

"Move up," Darlton ordered Kevin. While Karius' M-1 was still a formidable weapon, the M-33 was a straight upgrade. If anyone came under attack, better it be Bowflex Extreme than Gremlin.

Grinding the snow underneath, the M-33 drove into a clearing—or, rather, a clearing that had been made by the Knightmare VTOL's crash landing.

The crash landing VTOL seemed to have carved a blackened scar through the forest, leaving shattered and splintered poplars and apricot trees in its wake. Some kind of liquid was dripping out of several holes in the module of the smoking VTOL, staining the snow around it.

And, crouched in a pose of exhaustion that seemed almost human, was the robot that Andreas Darlton had last seen in Nevada.

Even now, slumped in exhaustion, the Knightmare Frame looked magnificent, like a lion caught in slumber.

Darlton looked around. The sensor on the M-33 didn't detect anything out of the ordinary. Satisfied, Darlton grabbed the FN P90 that hung on the walls of the M-33 as he put a headset on his head. "Watch the house while I'm gone, kids."

"You going out?"

"What, scared of being home alone?"

"Don't get yourself killed," Joe retorted as Darlton fiddled with the hatch.

The crisp winter air caused Darlton to involuntarily shiver as he landed in the snow. After all that sitting and crouching, Darlton's knees and back ached in a welcoming way. Though the soft crackling of the fires on the VTOL and the distant sound of artillery and small arms fire hung in the background, the only thing Darlton really heard was the crunching of the snow underneath him as he slowly walked towards the Knightmare.

Darlton tapped his headset. "Kevin, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Major," Kevin's voice returned.

"Alright, patch me through to Major Guilford."

"Yessir."

A moment later, the distant sound of gunfire filled the headset.

"Major Darlton?"

"Major, we've found your Knightmare. How are things goings on your end?"

"Could be better," Guilford responded. "But nevermind that, do you see any visible damage on the Knightmare?"

"It looks a little tired, but it'll be fine," Darlton replied as he put a hand on the Glasgow. Though a few streaked suggested damage from small-arms fire, the Glasgow's armor seemed almost like an actual knight's armor.

Guilford sounded slightly exasperated. "What is 'a little tired' supposed to mean?"

"It's crouched and unmoving," Darlton clarified.

On the other line, Guilford seemed to be yelling something to someone else in the background. A few moments later, Guilford spoke again.

"my apologies, Major, how is it?"

"It's crouched and unmoving."

"Are its feet still on the ground?"

Darlton glanced at the Knightmare Frame. Both of its wheeled feet seemed to be in contact with the ground. "Looks like it," he responded.

"…Then it should be able to deploy," Darlton heard Guilford mutter. "Major, I'm going to try to activate the remote ejection system. Please climb in and see if she is alright."

With an electronic beep, something moved inside the Knightmare frame. A second later, its back seemed to open up, the back shooting backwards to reveal a seat—and a prone figure slumped on it. Sighing, Darlton grabbed onto a piece of the Knightmare Frame's and started pulling himself up.

Kevin's voice suddenly intruded. "Commander."

"Kind of busy," Darlton grunted as he slowly yanked himself farther up the Knightmare Frame's leg.

"Sensor's picking something up in the woods. We need you back on the tank."

"As soon as I'm done with this," Darlton growled as, with a huff, he swung himself onto the shoulder of the Knightmare Frame.

"Commander…"

"Shut up, Kevin," Darlton snapped as he surveyed the pilot's seat.

Slumped on the seat was a young, rather mousy-haired woman. Her uniform covered what looked like a rather tight wetsuit, and one of her arms seemed twisted in an abnormal angle. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted in a pained expression.

What caught Darlton's eye, though, was the blood that slowly dripped from a jagged gash on the woman's forehead. Leaning over, Darlton quickly grabbed the woman's brewrist. He was slightly relieved to feel the light, systematic throbbing of a heartbeat.

"Major, the pilot is wounded, but alive," Darlton reported into his headpiece.

Darlton caught what seemed like a trace of relief in Major Guilford's voice. "Alright, can you activate the video communications? It should be on your lower right. Don't click anything else."

Darlton took a look inside the cockpit. Unlike the (still somewhat well-lighted) cockpit of the M-33, the inside of the Knightmare Frame may as well have been in the open. Multiple projection screens showed various figures, schematics, and maps, with the front dominated by a full-sized view of the area ahead.

Finding the appropriate key, Darlton clicked it—and, instantly, a window opened on the edges of the screen. In it, Major Guilford looked pleased.

"Well done, Major. We are heading for your location shortly. Hold your position until we arrive. Don't touch anything."

"Of course," Darlton replied. "ETA?"

"Should be a few minutes. We'll see you soon. Guilford, out."

As the video screen folded itself out of existence, Darlton took another look around the cockpit. On closer inspection, the cockpit of the knightmare didn't seem all that different from the M-33's futuristic cockpit—the display itself, while advanced, seemed to be of similar build to the M-33's smaller cockpit version.

"Commander…"

"I'll be down in a second," Darlton snapped as he examined the viewscreen.

The screen, too, seemed very similar, if also more advanced. Onscreen, Darlton's M-33 had already been identified and marked as a friendly with a green outline, a separate information line denoting Bowflex Extreme as its callsign. Behind it, Gremlin had also been identified. And, in the forest, outlined in red—

"Commander, Hostiles! One o'clock!"

Instinctively, Darlton ducked—just as he heard the whine of a bullet.

Snapping the safety off his P90, Darlton leaned around the cockpit cavity to squeeze a burst of gunfire at the sniper—and then snapped it back as he was answered by a hail of bullets. Reaching out, he dragged the unconscious Knightmare Corps pilot into the cockpit as he glanced at the kngihtmare frame's viewscreen.

"Multiple hostiles, small arms, and vehicles," Kevin reported.

"Weapons free, fire at will," Darlton replied as he took a quick peek out of the cockpit before he looked around the console.

With a thunderous roar, Bowflex Extreme fired its cannon, sending an explosion into the woods and sending a few red figures flying. Just as suddenly, a blast of flame popped into existence near the M-33's armor.

"RPG intercepted," Kevin reported with a sigh of relief. In the background, he could hear "Main gun, ready!" from Joe.

"Gremlin, engaging," Karius' voice added as the M-1joined the battle with a blast of its own main gun.

"Target down! Seems to be just infantry," Karius reported. "Moving up!"

Just then, a new red blip appeared that caused Darlton to turn white.

"STOP," He nearly yelled—just as, with a roar, the Japanese Mitsubishi Type-10 opened fire with its main gun.

With the scream of twisting metal, Gremlin contorted as if struck by a piledriver.

---

"Damn," Major-turned Knight Gilbert G.P. Guilford muttered as he glanced at the tactical map. It seemed that Major Darlton's armored forces were now under attack.

"Another advance force?"

With a contemptuous kick, Lieutenant-turned Princess Cornelia li Britannia kicked away a crumpled piece of metal that was all that remained of a JSDF Type 87 self-propelled anti-aircraft gun's turret.

The fight had been difficult, but Cornelia and Guilford had gotten through it more or less unscathed. The same couldn't be said of the JSDF forces that had tried to stop them.

"…maybe," Guilford muttered. "We need to assist them. We put two tanks up against an unknown force."

Cornelia nodded. "Fair enough. Let's move—"

And then the trees around her simply exploded.

Or at least it looked like it. Shards of wood chips bounced off Guilford's factspheres, causing the screen to flicker dangerously. With its armor plating retracted, the factsphere could be exponentially more sensitive—but also exposed it to damage.

"Hostile, ten o'clock," Guilford yelled as he raised his assault rifle to his shoulder and fired a burst of anti-tank ammunition.

Yet, the bulky shape that rolled through the smoke seemed unperturbed by that ammunition.

On the screen, the factspheres quickly made a comparison and then identified the vehicle.

Krupp Ironworks Panzer-Wulf, JSDF Model.

The European Union's newest heavy tank, said to be more than a match even for the M-33, Britannia's heavy tank.

"Major?"

Guilford blinked as a new voice filled his ear—a voice he recognized (with a bit of irritation) as that of Lieutenant Lynch.

"I'm kind of busy right now, Lynch."

"I'd suggest you withdraw now. According to reports from the 3rd Squadron, those things aren't affected by our assault rifles."

"So what kills it?"

A moment later, Lynch sighed resignedly.

"It annoys me to say this…but we don't know yet."

Guilford gritted his teeth.

When it rains, it pours.

---

"Bailing out! Bailing Out!"

With a panicked leap, the Gremlin's crew landed awkwardly on the ground. "We're going to blow! Move back! Move back," Lieutenant Mark Karius yelled as he leapt down, firing wildly with his own P90.

On the screen, Gremlin's crew were running towards the cover of Bowflex Extreme, which itself was desperately trying to intercept the countless anti-tank weapon that were now streaming its way.

In silent horror, Andreas Darlton could only stare as one of the crew crumpled, struck by the hail of gunfire that, somewhat miraculously, missed the rest of the crew.

A second crewman turned around.

Karius' voice filled the radio. "Walker!"

"No, leave him," Darlton yelled—but a moment too late, as Walker fell to the ground, his limbs jerking like a broken puppet.

Andreas Darlton was not a crude man—but, with a curse, he punched the wall in frustration. Stuck in the cockpit of a machine he had been forbidden to pilot, Darlton had never before felt so powerless.

With a punch to the console, Darlton glared at Guilford's video feed.

"Major Guilford, ETA?"

Unfortunately, Guilford, too, seemed distraught. "We are on our way! We've been held up—"

"My men are dying here," Darlton breathed, trying his best to hold his temper. Glancing at the screen, Darlton could see Karius' men shooting from around Bowflex Extreme, which appeared to have sustained some damage to its mobility. Red figures were slowly inching around them, opening fire with their own rifle fire. At this rate, Bowflex and Gremlin's crew would be overrun—

"We are under fire too," Guilford responded helplessly. Pausing, he yelled something at another screen. "Your highness, watch out—"

Turning back to the screen, Guilford looked desperate. "Major Darlton, please hold until we arrive."

"…No promises," Darlton replied as he glanced at the controls of the cockpit.

Maybe…

No, that was a bad idea. He had never had any experience piloting this machine. It could well be completely different from the piloting of the M-33.

It's the only way.

Darlton reached for what he thought was the control yoke—and then stopped.

Could he do this?

Was it right to this? He would be breaking orders and likely regulations doing this.

He took one more glance at Bowflex Extreme.

Inside were his men—Joseph, with his country singer girlfriend, Kevin, with his young son—Nicholas, with his shitt—feminine music.

And, outside, were Karius and his men—certainly, he didn't know any of them except Karius very well—but they were good men.

When it came down to it—

Andreas Darlton's hands tightened on the control yoke as he depressed the hatch button. Instantly, the cockpit snapped in, the seat almost knocking Darlton's feet out from under him.

If it came down to the lives of his men, Andreas Darlton decided, he would disobey any order.

He checked the viewscreen. It seemed like the enemy tanks had not noticed him yet.

As he tightened his grip on the yoke, he felt the Knightmare Frame come to life, its Yggdrasil drive grinding into activation.

Just like the Sakuradite engine on the M-33.

The only difference was that this tank was human shaped and Bowflex Extreme was…well, tank shaped.

With a deep breath, Darlton yanked the yoke. Instantly, with the whine of countless different motors that imitated the actions of the human leg, the Knightmare Frame stood up—and, looking underneath him, Darlton suddenly was aware of exactly how tall the Knightmare Frame was.

Suddenly, a beep. Darlton turned towards its source—and noticed the that one of the Japanese Type-10s had noticed him and was aimed at him.

Amazing, Darlton thought to himself. This machine could even sense that the enemy was aiming at it.

Instinctively tilting the yoke, Darlton felt his stomach lurch as, with a sudden dash, the Knightmare Frame rolled out of the way of the Japanese Tank's cannon with a speed that most certainly would not have been possible for Bowflex Extreme. Darlton felt a rush of exhilaration, one he had never felt before.

Someone famous in the past had once said "Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result[13]." Darlton certainly agreed. He looked down to his lower right side. It seemed like the giant oversized assault rifle in the Knightmare's arms was certainly functional—and fully loaded.

Still swerving, Darlton reached for the other control stick—the aiming yoke. Centering the crosshairs onto the Japanese tank, he took a deep breath—and then depressed the trigger[14].

The impact was less than he thought, though it was enough to cause the Glasgow to rumble threateningly.

Almost instantly, the Type-10 shuddered—and then crumpled.

On the radio, only Kevin could manage a sentence. "Holy shit…"

Finally, Karius spoke as well, in a voice filled with wonder. "…Darlton…is that you?"

In his M-33 with his men, Darlton felt powerful, secure. He felt like he was protecting his men from harm.

Now, in this Knightmare…Andreas Darlton felt invincible.

---

"Well this has been less than successful," Cornelia muttered as her Glasgow skidded to a stop.

That, Gilbert G.P. Guilford decided, had to be the understatement of the year.

Armed only with their Assault Rifles, Cornelia and Guilford's attacks had been unsuccessful against the Panzer-Wulf. Though they could easily outmaneuver it, that hardly made a difference if you couldn't damage it.

Though he had hardly done any physical work, Guilford felt exhausted. Piloting a knightmare in battle was a demanding job that pushed one's reflexes to the limit—and, Guilford realized, he was reaching his after several hours of constant battle. Though Cornelia seemed to be trying to hide it, he could see that she, too, was flagging.

Though they had brought down several of the Mitsubishi Type-10s that accompanied the Panzer-Wulf, there were still more than enough to prevent them from shooting at the Panzer-wulf with impunity.

"Any suggestions, your Highness?"

"Can't say I do," Cornelia responded dryly. The Panzer-wulf was turning its turret around—hardly fast enough to catch up with the Glasgow, but enough to make a difference if they didn't move. "You think melee might work?"

Guilford shrugged. "Doubt it." The Glasgow was armed with two internal Tonfas that could be used in melee combat—against who, the engineers didn't say. Not like tanks would take well to being punched.

Cornelia sighed. "At this point, we may as well try."

"…get clear," a voice said in the speaker.

Guilford blinked. "…Ericsson?"

And then what looked like a beam of light connected with the Panzer-Wulf—and then, a moment later, the tank erupted with a blast of light and the sound of a thundercrack.

"Target down," Lieutenant Ericsson grunted, wiping the fragment of incinerated and superheated wood chips off the hull of his knightmare.

"Apparently, some of the guys in Shikoku brought down the Panzer-Wulfs this way," Lieutenant Aiden Lynch sighed as he skidded onto the scene, his machine pistol ready.

Guilford stared. "What about the zone—"

"The Engineers have dug in. Head on ahead. We'll take over."

Guilford stared. "But the tanks here—we?"

With the roar of assault rifles, the line of Japanese tanks shuddered as Captain Richard Clifton and the rest of G troop opened fire with their weapons.

For once, Captain Clifton was not wearing his brash grin. "Weren't you going to save my subordinate, Major?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Then go. It was our job to take over for you, correct?"

Guilford glanced at G-troops knightmare. Lieutenant DuBois' knightmare seemed to be limping, and all of the others seemed to have taken some damage. Would they be sufficient?

"…Come on," Captain Clifton sighed with a hint of his usual pride, "do you think my men won't be enough to take care of these small-fry?"

"…Thank you, Captain," Guilford managed.

"Just don't court martial me," Clifton replied with a hint of desperation. "My father will kill me."

---

"Combat ahead," Cornelia muttered as she and Guilford drove towards the crash site.

Guilford prayed that they would arrive in time.

One of the two tanks, callsign Gremlin, appeared to be destroyed, and the Extreme, Major Darlton's tank, was also disabled.

Bowflex Extreme's video feed seemed to have been destroyed, and so Guilford connected to Darlton's radio headpiece.

"Major Darlton, are you alright?"

"We're fine, Major Guilford" Darlton's voice responded, with more calm that seemed normal from somebody in a combat situation.

"We'll be here very soon! Keep holding out—"

Guilford's sentence died in his throat as he skidded to a stop. Somehow, as he stared at the upright Knightmare that stood over the remnants of a Japanese tank, he had failed to notice that unit G-03 was being registered as active.

"…Lieutenant Blake?"

With a hiss, the cockpit opened as Major Andreas Darlton stepped out, Lieutenant Blake's unconscious body in his arms.

Guilford stared at the remnants of the Japanese force, and then Darlton in the cockpit of a knightmare he had probably never seen before.

"Did you…what…"

"Sorry, Major, I took your tank out for a drive," Darlton said nonchalantly.

---

JSDF 14th Brigade Headquarters

Kochi Outskirts

Shikoku, Nation of Japan

"We've just lost Miyashita's unit!"

"Roadblock 5 is down!"

"No response from forward Armor units!"

"8th Company requesting to fall back—"

"Load up the trucks!"

The air of controlled chaos that had prevailed only a few hours ago at JSDF 14th Brigade Command had now degenerated into just chaos. Soldiers, Officers and Pages ran everywhere, yelling out a garbled mess of reports, orders and requests.

Inside all of this, Major General Matsu Kirigaya struggled to restore order.

He cursed to himself. How had it come to this?

His plan had been unexceptional but well-laid out—he had established checkpoints and roadblocks all over Kocih in an attempt to slow down the advance of the Britannian army.

And yet, with amazing speed, Britannia's new weapon seemed to be carving swathes through the Japanese lines.

Those robots moved with a speed that made Tanks look like sandbags, and the Japanese armored forces were helpless to resist.

If it had just been M-33s, Kirigaya was sure he would have managed to slow them down. And yet…

He turned to an adjutant. "Have all the civilians evacuated?"

"Yes, sir. There should be no more civilians within 30 miles of Kochi."

Kirigaya closed his eyes. "Then prepare to fall back."

The Adjutant blinked. "Retreat?"

"Yes, Sergeant Nakamura, retreat," Kirigaya snapped. "We need to slow the Britannians down until reinforcements arrive from the Eastern and Central Armies. We can't do it with our forces in a panic."

The Adjutant seemed a little shocked. Kirigaya understood it. The admission of defeat was painful to anyone. In a way, he felt like he had a duty to fight on as well. But the admission of defeat was the first step on the road to vengeance. You can't avenge anything if you have too much pride to admit you were wrong.

"Get those journalists and the Red Cross out of here first. We'll try to protect them."

"Yes, sir."

As the Adjutant turned away, Kirigaya walked over to the tactical map. The irony of it was that most of the roadblocks were in place. The vast majority of the Japanese 14th army was still ready for a fight. The Knightmares had only pierced a few of these roadblocks—and yet they had did it with unbelievable speed, isolating the roadblocks that remained so that they could be destroyed by the main Britannian army.

Yet, unless he moved fast, he would lose that majority as well.

---

"Behind you, Tseng!"

Charging forwards, Captain Dorothea Ernst skidded into position, her knightmare simultaneously locking down as she opened fire with her Railcannon.

The impact was more than enough to send the barrier of sandbags flying in a mess of burning burlap, sand, and molten metal.

If anything, urban fighting was treacherous. If you slowed down, the enemy, who knew the land, would surround you. If you moved too fast, you would overstretch your force.

"The enemy defense is hardening," 1st Lieutenant Raymond Tseng noted. The Chinese-Britannian acted as Ernst's second command, and his cool head had saved K troop several times, though his piloting skills were unexceptional, if competent.

"That's good. We're nearing the center."

"At this rate, though, we're going to be bogged down," Tseng replied with a note of concern. Knightmare Frames were not made for battles of attrition.

Ernst smiled. "That's fine…we're not here to kill them just yet."

"…What do you mean?"

"You got to close the net before you reel in the fish, right?"

---

"I don't have time for this."

"Major, the Japanese people have a duty to know."

"…fine."

From next to Inoue Naomi, Uemura raised five fingers. "We're on air in 5…4…3…2…1…go."

Through to the camera's lenses, Matou Kariya broke into a pleasant smile, as if there were not a war going on around him.

"Good Evening, Japan, I'm Matou Kariya, bringing you a special report of Newsline from southern Shikoku."

A moment later, Kariya's smile was replaced by a serious expression.

"For the last few hours, the 14th Brigade of the JSDF Central Army has been engaged in fighting against the forces of the Holy Empire of Britannia. We've received reports from both the Southern Front and Northern Front of a mysterious new weapon used by the Britannians. Rumors abound on whether this is a new type of jet fighter or something else entirely, and that the Japanese army is in full retreat.

To address these concerns, I am here again with Major General Kirigaya of the 14th army."

Even through the camera lens, Inoue could see that this Major General Kirigaya was a completely different person from the General who they had been with a few hours ago.

This General Kirigaya looked twenty years older—his hair seemed grayer, his eyes seemed haunted, and his gaze looked haggard—and yet, with an effort, he made a smile that seemed to cut his fatigue in half.

Kariya handed the microphone to the General gently, the complete opposite of the celebrity paparazzi who, almost literally, stuffed their microphones in the faces of their charges.

"General, what are your opinions on the rumors that the Japanese army has been defeated?"

"Matou-san, I would have to say that they are completely untrue." Kirigaya smiled. "The 14th Brigade's duty was to escort and evacuate civilians north to refugee camps and move them out of harm's way—and in that respect this operation has been a complete success."

Next to Inoue, Uemura leaned over and whispered to her. "Inoue, that there is spin. You take bad news and change it around to make it sound like good news."

Kariya, meanwhile, smiled pleasantly, as if proud of a victorious Japan.

"So we are not losing?"

"No, not at all," Kirigaya responded lightly. "We have been fighting hard, and so have they, but we plan to be able to isolate them in Shikoku. The Central and Eastern Armies are already on their way to put an end to this attack."

Inoue turned to Uemura, who adjusted his glasses as he gave a thumbs up to Kariya. "Isn't this cheating the people?"

Uemura sighed. "It is…and it isn't. Technically, nothing he said is wrong…but at the same time, Kariya and the General are putting things in the best possible light.

But Kariya's doing it because Japan needs it."

Uemura pointed at the soldiers running to and fro in the camp and the tank that stood behind Kirigaya and Kariya. "How do you think our troops would react if they knew that they were almost wiped out in the first battle? We have to put things in the best possible light, so that our soldiers don't give up.

And think about how our enemies, who will be watching Kariya speak, will think? If they hear that Britannian soldiers are dying…well, it's a long shot, but they might want to pursue peace."

The sound of yelling behind them seemed to have intensified, and Uemura turned in irritation.

"So damn noisy."

Kariya, meanwhile, seemed to be wrapping up the interview. "And, finally, General, what do you think about the rumors of this new weapon that we've heard about?"

For a moment, Kirigaya looked a little uncomfortable, before he spoke. A crash from the headquarters, though, obscured his voice. Kariya leaned closer. "Excuse me, General?"

Kirigaya finally managed a smile. "Matou-san, I have also heard these rumors and seen these weapons—these 'knightmare frames,' in battle. And I can confirm that they exist."

Uemura clicked his tongue. "This one's going to be a tough one."

"However, I believe their contribution to the Britannian military effort is, at best, limited, and I am sure that the valor of our soldiers will be able to overcome—"

And then, with a crash that caused Inoue to jam her eye into the eyepiece, the ground shook as some…thing skidded onto the scene. Despite all her training, Inoue could not stop herself from shaking as she swerved the camera upwards at the huge metal figure that had, with a blast of dust, slid into the scene. Turning back with watering eyes, Inoue could see several shapes inside the camp. The JSDF tank was the first to respond, raising its barrel—and then screaming in a blast of twisted metal as the metal robot fired several shots into its hull point-blank. The shockwave was enough to blast Inoue off her feet. Her ears ringing, she looked up—just as the robot pointed its oversize gun at Kirigaya and Kariya. Inoue closed her eyes—but no gunshot ensued. Instead, with a crackle, a loud, amplified voice spoke out.

"Enemy Soldiers, I am 1st Lieutenant Monica Kruszewski of the Britannian Knightmare Corps. You are now my prisoners. Lay down your arms, and you will be afforded all the rights of a captured enemy combatant under the Geneva Convention. Repeat, Lay down your arms, and you will be given all the rights of an enemy combatant under the Geneva Convention."

"We surrender," Uemura immediately said, throwing down his notepad, as did Kariya. Inoue stared at Kariya.

Are we just going to surrender like this?! She tried to convey through her yet-unknown psychic powers.

Yet, Kariya's expression didn't change. With his eyes, he pointed at her hands.

Helplessly, Inoue raised her hands.

General Kirigaya, meanwhile, looked dumbstruck. Slowly, his hands strayed towards his sidearm…

"Put your hands up, and I guarantee the lives of your men," The Britannian Lieutenant said slowly.

For a moment, Kirigaya looked ready to pull out the gun and shoot anyway—and then, finally, with an expression of shame, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

---

1900 Hours

FOB Triumph

Shikoku, Occupied Japan

Night had fallen by the time D-troop arrived at Forward Operating Base Triumph, on the outskirts of Kochi. Nobody had spoken for most of the trip—not even Captain King of Kayeri.

As they soundlessly removed their activation keys and leapt to the slushy ground, they were greeted by the technicians, who awaited them cheerily with Hot Chocolate and coffee.

It was a testament to their exhaustion that they could only soundlessly take their drinks and ignore their congratulations.

With shuffling feet, they stumbled into the small barracks that had been built for the Knightmare Corps.

The barracks was a five star hotel by military standards, with single rooms and a single common room lit by a homely lamp—but nobody at this moment could care enough to be thankful.

It seemed, to Monica's relief, that they were the first to return. She wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.

"Well," Captain King started in an attempt at good cheer—and then faltered as he looked at the four pairs of haggard eyes that stared at him.

"Well…I understand we're all tired. We'll just hold the debriefing now, and then I'll let you guys go."

Kayeri, though, raised his hand with a smile. "I'm sorry, Old Man…but can I sit this one out? I'm a little tired?"

Kotori opened her mouth to speak, but Captain King nodded. "Permission granted. Get some sleep."

"Thanks, Cap," Kayeri said, stretching cheerfully. "Man, I'm so tired…"

Lloyd, Kotori, Monica and Captain King watched as Kayeri disappeared, seemingly humming to himself.

Kotori stared at Kayeri's receding back—and then at Captain King, and then at Kayeri's back, and then back to Captain King.

"…Go ahead," Captain King murmured with a nod to Kotori.

For a moment, Kotori looked surprised, almost confused, before standing up and making a quick bow. "Thank you, Captain."

---

"Man, today was so tiring," Kayeri remarked cheerfully as he walked down the corridor, finding the room with his name. With a whistle, he opened the door with his activation key. The barracks room was small—but the fact that it was a single was already an amenity that most soldiers would not get.

The room was dark, with the only light being whatever streamed from the small window across from him.

"Heh…I guess I really need my beauty sleep," Kayeri murmured as he closed the door behind him, leaning back on the door.

"Hahah…heh…"

He looked around. He was alone, as he hoped.

It's fine to not pretend anymore…

"Hehe…" he let the laugh die in his throat as he slowly slid down, his back to the closed door.

He held his hand in front of him in the near-darkness.

Concentrate, imagine a little, and it could be the hand of that burning, crumbling ash-man that he had seen in that tank…or those men, dancing their lives away to the sizzling tune of White Phosphorous.

Unbidden, the images of those dying man danced in front of his eyes in the darkness, and he felt that tingling that had to be disgust.

You or someone you know could have suffered the same fate under different circumstances, Kayeri realized. He looked at the hand that had pulled the trigger that had done this—and felt the same tingling disgust that he had before. He imagined those faces were of people he knew—his sister; his parents; Monica; Captain King; Lloyd; Kotori, all stretching the blackened fingers that fell off in front of their smoking eyes, their skin slowly peeling off like a cicada molting leaving behind raw flesh not bloody flesh but cooked flesh seared shut like a thanksgiving turkey ears noses burnt off hair scorched fragments of skull from peeling skin faces burning smoking peeling fusing melting off so only white skull remains—

"Kayeri!"

Kayeri's eye widened—and then calmed down as he heard the voice across the door he recognized as Kotori's.

"Oy, Kotori," he said in what he hoped was a cheerful voice.

"Open the door," Kotori said, her voice decipherable.

"I'm not too good at this, am I?" sighed Kayeri, smiling. That would be the Kotori he knew. "

You're going to tell me how badly I screwed this up, aren't you?

You're going to tell me how I should have done better, being a representative of the Iroquois people, right?

That I was committing political suicide pointing a weapon at my friend and comrade, right?

That I'm going to be court martialed and get off on a dishonorable discharge, right?"

In a way, Kayeri wished it would happen. To just go back home—to just forget everything he had seen—to just be able to rest, and pretend he had never seen the men that he had killed. In a way, he dearly prayed it would happen.

"…Kayeri, I'm not going to say any of those things," Kotori said, her voice slightly muffled by the door. "Open the door."

Kayeri laughed. "Who are you, and what did you do with Kotori? The Kotori I know would never—"

"…It's fine, Kayeri. You don't have to pretend to me."

Kayeri's laugh slowly trailed off—and then picked up again.

"You noticed?"

"…I'm supposed to marry you, how could I not?"

Kayeri closed his eyes. "I'm not too good at this business, am I?"

"You're not, Kayeri, you never have. So can you tell me what's wrong?"

Kayeri looked at the window. He really wanted to open the door. He really wanted to open the door and explain to Kotori what he had seen, how and why he had shrank away. He really wanted her to see how he really felt.

But, at the same time, he couldn't.

"…someday I will. But tonight…please leave me alone. I'll be fine by tomorrow morning."

"Kayeri…"

"…I promise."

For a few moments—perhaps a few minutes—perhaps a few hours—Kotori simply stood there—and then, finally, she turned away and walked off.

Kayeri waited until her footsteps vanished.

Why did I say no?

He knew that he had really want to tell her everything…but at the same time, he was something else.

Maybe afraid.

Afraid that, when Kotori looked inside Kayeri Joseph Brant III, she would just find a coward.

And that, more than being burnt to death or being shot or being stabbed, scared Kayeri more than anything.

---

By the time Kotori returned to the lounge, Captain King was the only person at the center table, apparently writing something onto a piece of paper and drinking from his omnipresent flask.

"Ah, Talasi," King said as he looked up from his writing and extended the flask. "A drink?"

"…I'm underage," Kotori said slowly.

"You're old enough to die for your country, you should be old enough to drink for it," King replied with a grin.

Sighing, Kotori extended a hand—and then stopped. Instead, she saluted.

"Sir, I have a request."

King raised his eyebrows. "Well, if you call me Sir for it, it's clearly something big. Let's hear it."

"I'd like to request that you overlook 2nd Lieutenant Brant's acts of insubordination today. It was not in character, and he will not do it again."

Captain King blinked, but Kotori continued before he could say anything.

"I'll whip him into shape. I'll make sure he's willing to pull the trigger on anyone. I'll do anything, Captain. I—" Abruptly, she stopped as Captain King raised a hand with an unreadable expression.

"Lieutenant, have you heard of what a Natural-Born Killer is?"

"Natural-born killer?"

"In Annam, the shrinks started figuring out and understanding PTSD and the reasoning behind it[15]. As you know, a large portion of the Britannian Army troops that served there came back with PTSD. They did a survey during the 2nd Pacific War, and apparently only 15-25% of the army and marine saps actually fired their weapon in battle. Soldiers were less likely to hit human-shaped targets in practice. Do you know why?"

Captain King sighed as he leaned back.

"Obviously, because human beings are not conditioned to kill another. We've been raised since we're young that Thou Shalt Not Kill, the golden rule.

Most of the time, we as soldiers get by through getting rid of our ability to see the enemy as human beings, and shutting off our emotions.

But that doesn't mean that you won't get PTSD later.

And so, even when we are fighting to defend our loved ones, when we fight for a good cause…it's traumatizing for most men to kill others.

Most.

But there are people who don't have that problem.

There are people who aren't psychopaths—they have morals, morality, but they simply do not suffer the same psychological recoil of such an action. It's partly genetic, partly in upbringing…but these are what we call Natural Killers. The Army tries to find those people. Those are people who, if ordered, would shoot a prisoner or a fleeing enemy, without a second thought.

They are useful, but they are dangerous in the wrong hands.

Now, I'm not a shrink, but maybe Lloyd has aspects of that. But am I going to punish Brant because he is a moral human being?

No, I won't."

Captain King sighed as he took a swig of his flask.

"I will let it go this time—but keep in mind that what he does affects our survivals. If he pussies off again, things might be worse. Britannian people may be hurt because of it. And that's why I won't let him off again after this.

So I'm relying on you, Talasi. Make sure your future wife is willing to pull the trigger like the rest of us next time," King said.

For a moment, Talasi looked dumbstruck—and then, finally, she broke into a slightly watery smile.

"Thank you, Sir!"

"No problem," King replied. "Now, I have some stuff to write, and you're tired. Go and get some sleep. The battle continues tomorrow."

---

"You're way too lax with your men," a voice said as Kotori left.

Captain Owen King looked up as a Brown-haired man with a thin moustache and a severe expression walked in with a grin.

Adrian Soresi of the Britannian Air Force sat down next to King with two cans of cheap liquor.

"You're way too lax with me," King sighed as he cracked open a can.

"You're my friend. My men are my underlings," Adrian replied.

King waved his hand absentmindedly "No, I mean as a Purist. After all, I banged a number—"

"—and bore us a great heir," Adrian shot back. "Now I wish you had banged a pureblooded Britannian—but women of the same quality as Alicia are hard to find. Though that Lieutenant there sure looked the part…women from Area 6…well, I can't blame you."

Captain King noticed the blush on Adrian Soresi's cheeks. He always forgot that Adrian was very bad with Alcohol. "She's from Area 1, and she's taken."

"Oh, that's a pity," Adrian sighed. "We're getting too old for bang-and-bolts, aren't we? You've got Mackenzie and I've got Kewell and Marika…when the wife will let me see them," he spat with more vitriol was necessary.

"Alright, alright, if one of the Purists heard any of this you'd be in the same position as me."

"And I'd be fucking happy about it," Adrian growled. "I agree with their views—Britannians will always be Britannians and Numbers will always be Numbers. But all their shit about marrying who they tell you to marry, raise your kids how they want you to be raised…I barely even get to see my kids anymore."

"I know that feel," King sighed. "I never get to see Mackenzie now. Those guys up there won't let me."

"Yeah. Fuck those guys," Adrian mumbled as he took another drink and pointed at King's sheet of paper. "Woss' Dat?"

King wasn't sure if he ought to answer Adrian, given he wouldn't remember anyway.

"Letter."

"Tuwoo?"

"Mackenzie."

"Duz she e'er rite bak?"

"Nah…I don't think the Purists would let her."

"Yaarr…fuk…dose…guys…" Adrian managed before collapsing on the table in a drunken stupor.

Owen King sighed. One of the problems of drinking so much was that you never had anyone who could drink anywhere as much as you.

---

2000 Hours

Camp Victory

Hokkaido

"Cute kid," growled Major Andreas Darlton as he passed the picture of the blonde-haired boy back to Kevin, Callsign Bowflex Extreme's driver.

"I wish I could be home more, though…he's never really had a father, what with that woman never taking anything seriously," Kevin replied darkly. "When I get back, I'm going to go to court again for custody."

"I'm sure he'll grow to be a fine man like you," Darlton noted with a smile.

Kevin grinned back. "Thanks, Major. Well, I'm turning in for the night…see you."

"Yup," Darlton nodded as Kevin stood up and walked off. Now was indeed a good time to sleep. He turned to go—just as a new voice caused him to turn.

"Major Darlton." With a curt bow, Major Gilbert G.P. Guilford smiled. "Thank you for your assistance today."

"It's nothing," Darlton growled. "Is your pilot already?"

Guilford sighed. "She'll live, and likely recover to full health. But not for a while. What I wanted to ask you about was your short 'test drive' with the Glasgow"

Darlton nodded. "Go on. Am I in trouble?"

Guilford, though, smiled. "Actually, I just transferred a member of my squad to G troop."

Darlton shrugged. "Get to the point."

"Would you be interested in being transferred from the Armored Corps to the Knightmare Corps? You will be temporarily demoted to Lieutenant, but…"

"Sir, I accept," Darlton responded with the same attitude but unusual quickness.

"Then it's decided then," Guilford nodded. "Welcome to His Majesty's Imperial Knightmare Corps."

---

"I hope Lieutenant Darlton won't be taking my position," Cornelia li Britannia remarked dryly as Guilford walked off.

"He is quite the natural, Your Highness, but he will take over from Ericsson's position as Heavy Weapons." Ericcson had been transferred to Captain Clifton's G-troop as 1st Lieutenant—ostensibly as the second-in-command—but under the threat of notifying Lord Clifton of his son's transgression, Captain Clifton had generously allowed Ericcson to command with everything short of the actual rank of captain, an arrangement that benefited both sides.

"Well, that's good. I look forwards to working with him, Sir."

Guilford nodded—and then stopped.

"Sir, milady?"

Cornelia blinked for a moment—and then burst into laughter. "Good lord, Sir, did you think I was being serious? It was just a joke. You will always be my superior."

"Ahh…of course," Guilford responded. It was, after all, a good thing. Integrating a princess and a knight into the leadership of the Knightmare Corps would have been a logistical, legal and tactical nightmare.

And yet, Guilford wondered as he continued walking, why did he feel so disappointed?

---

14 Hours ago

Haneda Airport

Tokyo, Nation of Japan

"Maiya, what's the situation?"

"Target transport will be touching down at runway 8 in 40 minutes."

"Good."

With a clank, Kiritsugu chambered a round into his Walther WA 2000.

It was time for the Holy Grail War to Begin.

---

Chapter Notes and References

---

[1] Newsline in English: Broadcasted on the NHK, Newsline, a 10-30 minute news broadcast, is presented in English.

[2] The Divine Wind / Kamikaze – The mongol Empire (at the time stretching from China to Anatolia) attempted two invasions of Japan, backed by Korean and Chinese marines and sailors. During the first, Mongol forces overwhelmed the Japanese, but returned to their fleets during the night. A typhoon, the first "divine wind", destroyed much of the fleet, leaving the Mongols empty-handed. In 1281, the Mongols attempted a second invasion, this time with 140,000 men and over 4,500 ships. However, the Japanese had erected defenses all over the coast, and after failing to find a landing point, a typhoon devastated the Mongol fleet, killing 130,500 immediately. Part of this reason was that Kublai Khan had ordered a whole fleet within a year. Song Chinese navy ships, while sturdy, were expensive and slow to build, so Korean and Chinese shipbuilders built traditional flat-bottomed river boats, which do not fare well in open seas. As a result, the ships easily capsized in the second divine wind. Divine Wind is also the inspiration of, of course, the Kamikaze suicide dive bombers of World War II (the first Pacific War in this timeline)

[3] Soviet Propaganda – seriously, who else would get away with that kind of thing? A bit later, another mine worker claimed to mine 240 tons of coal in the same amount of time. ( www . cracked article_19337_the-7-most-unintentionally-hilarious-propaganda-campaigns_p2 . ht ml)

[4] Mobility Kill – Tank "kills" come in three forms: Mobility Kills, where the vehicle may be able to fight but has lost all propulsion; Firepower Kills where the vehicle may be able to move but has lost its weapons; or a Catastrophic Kill, which, as the name suggests, is when the tank is no longer capable of battle, whether through complete destruction or the loss of all capacity to move or fire.

[5] Armenia and Rwanda – Both Armenia and Rwanda are sites of genocide, though there are people who will argue that neither are genocides. During World War I (in this case the Great European War), the Ottoman Empire, was part of the central powers (Austria-Hungary and Germany) had suspected that the Armenians would assist the Entente (England, France, Italy and later the US) against the Ottomans (This is also the site of the little-known Gallipoli campaign. British and French forces attempted to land in Turkey and overthrow the Ottomans, but they were nearly annihilated by the Turks under the man who would come to lead Turkey and westernize/Secularize it), and so engaged in mass deportations. While the Turkish and Armenian accounts differ (the Turks believe that many Armenians WERE complicit and fought back, while the Armenians claim this was ethnic cleansing), what is clear is that anywhere from 600,000 to 180,000 Armenians died as a result. The international community enjoys pissing Turkey off by recognizing the Armenian Genocide. The situation in Rwanda in 1994 is much, much more complex, but I'll simplify it by saying that after they gained independence from Belgium, Rwanda fell into a civil war. In the process, the social (NOT Ethnic for many reasons) group favored by the Belgians, the Tutsis, were scapegoated and attacked by the Hutu, another social group, and 500,000-1,000,000 Tutsis (1 out of 5 Rwandans) are believed to have died. The UN was powerless to intervene, and the genocide only ended after Tutsi rebels drove the Hutu military groups and the Hutu militia, the Interhamwe, out of Rwanda

[6] Four Chords – scientists have actually researched this, and in the past 55 years, music has become louder and louder, and it has become ever more limited in scope ( www . reuters article / 2012 / 07 / 26 / us-science-music-idUSBRE86P0R820120726 – remove the spaces). Anyone who has a good grasp of guitar or piano playing knows that you can play many of the hits of the past half a century with the chords of D A B(minor) and G as long as you change the key ( www . listenonrepeat watch / ? v=oOlDewpCfZQ). Not that I care, I'm listening to One Direction right now and I'm a 19 year old guy.

[7]Napalm – Napalm is a nasty weapon. Here is a picture of an Iraqi tank soldier whose tank was hit by Napalm. WARNING: GRAPHIC. ( iconicphotos . 2010 / 06 / charred-iraqi-soldier-600-pix . jpg % 3Fw % 3D700)

[8] Sachem – a representative in the Iroquois Confederacy, a Chief. They are subordinate to the Clan Mother but represent the tribe in political decision-making.

[9] Mazinger Z – a very, very old anime, one of the first of the mecha anime, predating the very first Gundam Series. There are actually older ones as far back as the 50s.

[10] APS: Active Protection System. This can vary from simply better armor to systems that actively sense rockets and projectiles and destroys them with other projectiles. They're not fool-proof, but they've been around since the Soviet Union. For example, Israel's system, Trophy, senses an incoming projectile, determines the vector and then fires a shotgun-like blast of small pellets to destroy the rocket. APS is far from invulnerable—it is ineffective against traditional HEAT or HESH shells (which require armor), and some of the projectiles they are meant to intercept such as anti-tank rockets are also constantly being improved.

[11] NOT Railguns: I understand that I am literally directly contradicting Code Geass Canon, which dictates that railguns were developed in the 1500s and took hold instead of gunpowder. And as a fan both of history and alternate history, this is one thing I really cannot accept. For one, even if the Europeans had come up with railguns, the high cost would mean that the vast majority of the world that had come up with traditional gunpower weapons (Persia, india, China, the Ottomans) would have stuck to muskets just because they're a lot cheaper to manufacture. For another, the development of electromagnetism and railgun technology would have completely altered the history of the world from there, much more than what happens in code geass. This would affect the development of much of the technology we take for granted, and how we get it. We'd have battery or an economy-sized power generation in the 1500's. It simply isn't feasible, either technologically or historically, kind of trying to reach nuclear technology without electricity. It might explain the retardation of Nuclear development in this history, but not nearly enough.

[12] White Phosphorus Burns: this is one of the worst ones, but… scrapetv News / News%20Pages / Everyone%20Else / images-2 / White-Phosphorus-victim . j pg

[13] I like not being shot and shooting people – Churchill. The guy loved fighting, having fought at Gallipolli and I think at Africa at some point. He wanted the US and Britain to take the surrendered Nazis as soldiers and then fight a war with the USSR as soon as the second world war as Over. The british people decided that this was a bad idea and voted him out just before the war was over.

[14] Easy Pilot Knightmares –keep in mind that both Lelouch and Euphemia were capable of piloting the Glasgow / Burai with no previous experience, and that Lelouch was even a competent, if unexceptional, pilot. Therefore, my guess is that the Glasgow piloting system is actually fairly simple or at the very least intuitive in order for this to occur.

[15] NK theory – this is actually a theory that's out there. Here is an article on it: don't mind the shitty formatting, it came from a military journal. notes . utk . e du / bio / Greenberg . nsf / a80806fbebea8dd285257015006e 1943 / 09613ff986b2a868852575990015 05c1 ? Ope nDocument

---

Author's Postface and responses to Reviewers:

Well, with this done, I can spend a few weeks not worrying about Writing-

which is good, because midterm season is once again rolling in. Actually,

I hoped to finish this chapter by 8 PM today. It's 12:50 in the morning, so,

as you can tell, I was completely unsuccessful. Anyhow, I'm going to respond to

the reviews quickly and then go. Sorry if I don't go too much into depth:

Angry Santo - Sorry I didn't get back to you until right now, but I actually only really check the reviews on the days I update new chapters. I'd love for you to Beta for me, and I will definitely send you my next chapter when I'm done. It should be a fairly long one, though I pray it's not nearly as long as this one-I really punctuated the action in this one and it still kinda got a bit too long. But yeah, generally there's at least one or two references to another anime/game/event/thing in every single chapter, and Laura really fit, what with her appearance. I'll be writing a chapter for HeavyValor (whose academic troubles are even larger than mine), so expect to see another IS character crop up a little!

Atrile - I was in Hong Kong for all of August. I thought I'd have time to write an essay, but it turns out that it wasn't the case. I did, however, get a lot of great anime stuff that I burnst several year's worth of pocket money on. Capitalism's a bitch.

EVA-Saiyajin - I can't believe I did actually write that, though being a very haphazard spell-checker I wouldn't put it above me. Thanks for pointing it out, and I'll fix it when I don't have a test to do very, very soon, as tonight was a really bad time to write.

Frostyvale - thanks! I didn't realize that AU were actually really rare, because, looking at the other Code Geass fanfictions (heavyValors, Sephiroth's) the stories of those seemed to be AU. Until Kyugan's came out I didn't realize that it was much easier, if also a bit strange, to just to character transplants. Anyhow, I actually have a lot planned out for the AU, so I do hope you keep reading!

HeavyValor - I talk to you every other day, we can discuss this another time i'm like dying from sleep deprivation here. I really shouldn't have slept at 3 last night.

MM Browsing - I can tell you for sure that the Holy Grail War by its normal rules can only last up to 2 weeks, and that the Second Pacific War took less than a Month, so my fanfic will not be longer than that, but I hope that you'll keep reading it! For the actual Code Geass plot, you should refer to HeavyValor's Fate/Nightmare Apatheia, which is the sequel (well to be exact this is the prequel) to this fic.

Tikigod784 - if there's anything that makes me enthusiastic about writing things it would be about stuff blowing up, so I assure you there will be many things of that nature. I do understand why you wouldn't want a prequel, especially of two of the most depressing events that lead up to Fate/Stay Night and Code Geass, though, I stayed away from reading Fate/Zero for some time because of it...but idk, even Fate/Zero does bring a few "good" endings (at least for Waver and...well, Waver)