AN: 3 sleepless nights and close to 11.5K words later, we are at chapter two. The next chapter will be the end of the Introductory Arc and hopefully propel the story forward. WOOHOO! - 10-24-2013
DISCLAIMER: In case you missed it in Chapter 1, I still do not own Code Geass.
Arc I: Prepare to Play
Part 2: Placing the Pieces
Britannian Military Training:
Basic Army Training: 70 Days
Day 01: Orientation and Organization
Day 02: Military Drill and Discipline
Day 07: Weapon Familiarization and Maintenance
Day 15: Transportation and Team Exercises
Day 21: Squad Based Combat Simulations
Day 35: Orienteering and Navigation
Day 43: Bivouac (Camping)
Day 45: Basic Survival and First Aid
Day 52: Unarmed Combat
Day 60: Final Physical Test
Day 61: Knightmare Simulation and Preparation for Graduation
Day 65: Knightmare Combat Simulation
Day 70: Graduation
Officer Training: 35 Days
Day 01: Orientation and Organization
Day 02: Britannian Army Doctrine
Day 06: Information Gathering and Analysis
Day 12: Leadership
Day 18: Military Tactics and Strategy
Day 25: Platoon Based Combat Simulations
Day 30: Company Based Combat Simulations
Day 35: Graduation
Daily Schedule:
0530: First Call
0600: Physical Training (PT)
0630: Breakfast
0700: Training
1200: Lunch
1230: Training
1730: Dinner
1800: Drill Sergeant Time
1830: Personal Time
2100: Lights Out
-excerpt from: Britannian Army Training, 19th Ed.
Lelouch stood atop of the rolling staircase dressed in his uniform, his bag slung behind him. He paid the crowd that had gathered below little attention. It was a scene eerily similar to his departure from Japan. The crowd, however, now had a far greater percentage of school girls than nobles and was noticeably smaller than the party yesterday.
"You really are a workaholic." Euphemia said playfully. "You've been in Pendragon for less than a day, and now you're going away again." She pouted. "Are you sure you can't stay a little longer?" She asked, grabbing a handful of his shirt possessively.
Lelouch chuckled. "If I delay any longer, I'll miss out completely from school. I've already missed the first three weeks of Basic Training already. Even that's pushing it for a member of the Royal Family."
"To hell with Basic!" She swore uncharacteristically, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. "It's still 2 AM." She gestured at the sky, where the moon was just beginning its descent. "Even Cornelia called you insane for waking up at this ungodly hour to go to Military School of all places, and she's the soldier of the family."
Lelouch wagged his finger at her. "Language, dear Euphie." Smirking cheekily, he continued. "Swearing is unbecoming of a princess."
Euphemia stuck her tongue out. "Take care, Lelouch. Clovis sends his regards." She pulled him into an embrace as a sudden flash light blinded Lelouch. The press had arrived, which signalled it was time for him to get going. Reporters were some of the most relentless people on Earth. No doubt within the hour, news of his departure for Montreal would be all over the news.
"I will." Lelouch promised solemnly, extracting himself from his favourite half sibling in the family. He stepped onto the plane that, less than twenty four hours ago, had brought him to the Imperial Capital, and reacquainted himself with his seat. He dropped his bag on the floor and leaned back to relax. It was rather ironic that he had spent more time on Clovis' private jet than he had in the Imperial Capital.
He pressed the intercom to activate it once again. "Prince Lelouch, welcome aboard. Please strap yourself in as we will be taking off in two minutes."
Lelouch tugged on the seatbelt to his side and secured himself with a click. "Roger that Captain. And do hurry up; I'd hate to be late for my first day in school."
"Not a problem, Your Highness. We'll be in Montreal by 4 AM, sir."
"Very good, Captain." Lelouch replied, barely keeping himself from yawning. "I'm going to get some shut eye before we arrive."
"Yes, Your Highness. Shall I send someone to wake you before we arrive?"
"I'd appreciate that."
"Very good, sir. Enjoy your rest."
"Thank you, Captain." With that, he released his finger from the intercom button to cut off the line. Within seconds, his thoughts drifted towards more pleasant times. He dreamed of a day when he would be reunited with his sister.
Sayoko shot a sideward glance at her crippled ward to ensure she was still sound asleep, before refocusing her attention on the road. There were very few vehicles on the road at this time of day, allowing them to travel at over a hundred miles per hour without a problem. They had departed from the school just past midnight and the city of Hiroshima was now in sight.
"Sayoko, where are we going?" A curious Nunnally asked suddenly.
Her years of training prevented any sign of surprise from showing or even affecting her performance. "To the Ashford Vacation House, Mistress."
From the corner of her eye, she could see Nunnally's lips twitch downwards. "Why?"
"Master Lelouch requested us to be there." Sayoko replied, directing the car to exit the highway and enter the city proper.
Nunnally paused, before speaking up again. "Big brother…he was caught wasn't he? By the Britannian military?" She more stated than asked.
Once again, Sayoko was impressed by the quick and accurate conclusion of the younger vi Britannia. Analysis was a remarkable trait that the siblings shared. Despite being blind and kept in the dark, both figuratively and literally, Nunnally was still able to read the situation with ease. "Yes, Nunnally. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's not your fault he was caught. Big brother always was too reckless for his own good." Nunnally said. "Has there been any news about him?"
"He left for Pendragon yesterday afternoon after he was proclaimed alive on national television." Sayoko reported dutifully. "He last called last night, just before we left. Apparently, he's been welcomed back to the Imperial Court by the Emperor. He should be on a plane right now headed to Montreal where he will begin his Basic Training with the Military."
"He joined the Military?" Nunnally asked disbelievingly. "But he hates exercise! Still, I suppose he's aiming for an officer position." The girl mused loudly. "In that case, he'll be alright. Big brother can't be bested on the field." She stated confidently. Her unquestionable faith in her brother's ability was encouraging, and it brought a slight smile to Sayoko.
"You should get some more rest, Nunnally. It'll be another hour until we get to the house." Sayoko said.
Nunnally yawned. "I suppose you're right. Good night, Sayoko. Do get some rest once we've settled down." She said before returning to her dreams. She dreamed of the day when she would be reunited with her brother.
To her side, her protector remained ever vigilant in her role.
The sun still hadn't deigned to appear by the time Lelouch was back on the ground. The prince reached for the sky to stretch his arms and get his blood flowing again. Before he stood from his seat, he activated the intercom one last time. "Thanks for the ride, Captain. Have a safe flight back to Area Eleven." Lelouch greeted warmly.
"Thank you, Your Highness. It was a pleasure to serve you." The Captain replied genuinely. Very few people spent time to talk with the Captain during flights. Almost none of the royal family did.
Lelouch grabbed his bag and headed for the door, nodding in thanks to the stewardess that unlatched the door for him. At the base of the stairs was a black Range Rover, a pair of guards waiting to escort him to the military academy. Lelouch frowned. He didn't remember asking for a pair of guards to accompany him. Then again, it was probably protocol for him to have guards everywhere as a member of the Royal Family. He shrugged off their appearance and ignored their perfunctory greeting. He strode to the SUV casually and took his seat, taking care not to dishevel his newly donned army fatigue.
The uncomfortable, heavy, green jacket weighed heavily on him, not just physically but metaphorically. He tugged at it distastefully, straightening out the folds. Just the very act of wearing it was a stain on his conscience. To a Britannian, the uniform was a symbol solidarity and might. To the subjugated citizens of the Empire, it was a symbol of tyranny and prejudice.
A group of men, dressed in the same garbs as he was wearing now, lined up civilians with their back to the wall. Men, women, children and the elderly were shot simply for being Japanese – there were no exceptions to the cruelty of the military. From his concealed position on the roof of an apartment, Lelouch watched as the soldiers engaged in all manners of depravity, while clamping a whimpering Suzaku's mouth shut to prevent him from drawing any attention to themselves. It sickened him to remember the atrocities committed all those years ago.
Lelouch swore he would never become like these monsters. That he would never stoop so low as to become like his enemies. He might have made a pact with the devil, but he hadn't sold his soul away yet. He would try to keep his humanity. Nunnally would never forgive him otherwise.
The thought of his sister's condemnation steeled his resolve even further.
At the heart of the Britannian war machine commonly referred to as the army was a system as broken and as corrupt as the nobility. For all the stirring rhetoric the Emperor spouted about being a Meritocracy, the Empire, and by extent, the Army was nothing more than an Autocracy. People were not judged based on their actions, but by their birth and status in society. The incompetent son of a Britannian baron could easily attain the rank of Captain, while the most brilliant Number would be hard pressed to attain the same. It was a distasteful concept that he held in contempt, and one that Lelouch would have to live by for the next few years. No doubt he would be a general by the end of his second year, at the latest. Despite his father's insistence that he would have to earn his rank, in practice, that was an impossible notion. His superiors would grant him promotions at every possible interval in the hopes of gaining favor and political clout. Still, he wasn't about to reject their "kindness" and earn the enmity of the brass.
They travelled to the Military Academy in silence, and Lelouch took the opportunity to observe what had been dubbed as the Cultural Capital of Area 2. While discrimination against the Numbers still existed, and, in general, Number culture was frowned upon, Area 2 was one of the few good places to live in outside of Britannia itself. Discrimination and suppression were at a minimum and the entire populace lived under the Honorary Britannian system. The region was a crown colony of the Empire – a shining example of what every area could and ought to be. In exchange, all the natives had to do was bow their heads and prostate themselves completely to the whims of the Empire.
It was no wonder most areas decided to enter into armed rebellion at one point or another. But for all its faults, the Britannian military was strong and it was capable. The Holy Britannian Empire did not become master of a third of the world by asking people to surrender their freedom and throwing money at politicians alone - though it did help.
The car slowed to a crawl before stopping completely in front of the Military Academy of Montreal, affectionately referred to by the rank and file as "MAM". Lelouch got out of the car and stared at the building in front of him uncertainly. It was a sensation not unlike returning to the Imperial Family alone. Only this time, the people around him would well and truly be strangers.
Choosing not to dwell on such matters, he straightened his back as much as he could and walked into the building to get himself admitted. The soldier manning the reception desk was dressed in a formal military uniform with three stacked, upward pointing arrows embroidered into the man's epaulettes – the insignia of a sergeant. The man scowled and eyed Lelouch up and down, before finally recognizing who was standing in front of him. He stood abruptly, sending his chair into the floor with a "thud", and brought his arm up in a salute.
"Your Highness!" The soldier barked gruffly in surprise.
Lelouch shot the man an easy smile and gestured for him to be at ease. "I've made arrangements to enlist here."
"Sir?" The man questioned, uncertain if he was being tricked and unsure how to proceed. Admitting a member of the Royal Family wasn't an everyday occurrence, and therefore, had no standard operating procedure. To treat him like any other cadet would have been unwise, especially since it involved cussing at him. "This isn't a Royal Military Academy." He stated matter-of-factly.
"I am aware of that." Lelouch replied. "I believe a Major Cromwell was briefed about me."
"I'll call him right away, sir." The sergeant replied, picking up the phone on his desk and punching in a number. The phone call was followed by a minute of awkward silence and waiting as the sergeant stood at attention before the prince.
Thankfully, it wasn't long before the major arrived on scene. His hair was akin to that of ash, with slivers of golden yellow interspersed amongst the graying hair. He had a clean shaven face and sported a military cut that would no doubt be imposed on Lelouch soon enough. Most noticeable were the dark bags beneath the major's eyes. "At ease, Wilson." He said, permitting the sergeant to relax. He turned to return Lelouch's poorly executed salute with his own. "Private vi Britannia, if you'll follow me to my office."
His office, it turned out, was a very short walk from the reception desk. It was a sparsely furnished room with a desk and two chairs being the center of attraction. The wall nearest to the desk was host to three filing cabinets stacked on top of each other. The Major took a seat behind the desk and gestured for Lelouch to take a seat on one of the chairs, before sliding a manila folder towards the prince.
Lelouch opened the folder, and began filling out the application, while the grim major observed him like some caged zoo animal. "May I be open with you, Your Highness?" Cromwell requested.
"Go ahead." Lelouch answered without sparing the man a glance. "And call me Lelouch, or Private vi Britannia. No need to address me so formally."
"Why Basic Training? Our academy has an officer's program, and you would be more than qualified to enroll there now."
"May I be open with you, Major Cromwell?" It was not a request, but a question of trust.
"Of course, Your...Of course, Private." The major corrected himself. "Nothing you say here will ever leave this room." The major assured him.
Lelouch finished filling up the first page of his application, before setting his pen aside. "Your officer's program begins in two weeks time."
"That is correct." Cromwell confirmed.
"I needed an excuse to get out of Pendragon now - not in two weeks." Lelouch grabbed the pen and continued working on his application.
Cromwell frowned at him. "Why?"
Lelouch toyed with the thought of explaining his plan to the major in detail, before discarding the idea promptly. "Those reasons are personal, sir. I hope you understand if I don't say anymore about the matter?" Though phrased as a request, the tone used said otherwise.
"Very well, Private. But, if given the chance, would you be open to shifting to the officer's program early… hypothetically speaking, of course." The major asked with a sly grin.
Lelouch tilted his head ever so slightly, studying the man's features. "I would jump at the opportunity." He finished the second page with an elegant flourish of the pen, affixing his name on the bottom of the paper. "Are you saying it's possible, sir?"
"It can be arranged." The major answered, looking quite pleased with himself. "The officer's program that will start in two weeks is open to those individuals showing an exceptional grasp on tactics and strategy in Basic. You would not be the first to get into such an accelerated program."
Lelouch weighed the offer in his mind. It certainly was a tempting choice. "How many get into the program per batch?"
"Around 1 in every 100 soldiers is accepted which means we are expecting…" the major's eyes rolled up as he made some quick mental calculations, "20 people to get in."
Lelouch nodded to himself. It seemed an easy enough task to accomplish. "I'd like to try getting into the program based on my own merits first, sir."
"Are you certain? You're already at a distinct disadvantage given the fact that you arrived late for Basic. That will count heavily against you in the selection process."
"I understand your concerns, sir." Lelouch began. "And I would appreciate it if you helped even things out so that I'd start on equal footing with everyone else. However, I ask that you do not tip the scales in my favor too much, or it would be apparent to everyone that this was a politically motivated decision. That would reflect badly on my record, sir."
"Let me get this straight." The major leaned forward, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. "You don't want to be discounted out of the process for your tardiness, but you don't want your entry to be a sure thing either?" Lelouch nodded and the major chuckled. "You are a strange one, Prince Lelouch."
"Is it really uncommon for a son of Britannia to rise based on merit instead of social standing?"
"No, but it is uncommon for a son of Britannia not to take full advantage of his social standing." Cromwell said. "Nonetheless, I'll defer to your wishes in this matter. Dismissed, Private vi Britannia."
Lelouch slammed the manila folder shut and slid it back to the major, before standing to execute a crisp salute.
"My name is Kallen Stadtfeld. It's nice to meet all of you." Kallen said through gritted teeth and lips forced upward into a smile. She placed her right foot in front so that her legs were overlapping and - while her hands were clasped behind her - bended her knees. It was a textbook curtsy that had been drilled into her by Mrs. Stadtfeld. This was the second time today she had to subject herself to this Britannian custom.
"Ms. Stadtfeld, why don't you take a seat beside Ms. Ashford?" The teacher instructed.
Kallen inclined her head towards Mr. Hanson slightly in a gesture of respect, before moving to her assigned seat. She vaguely remembered the blonde-haired girl as being both the president of the student council and the granddaughter of the superintendent. In short, a very prominent figure in Area Eleven's most prestigious secondary education academy. She smiled politely at her, which was returned by Ashford immediately, before taking her seat.
"Today, we will be covering 18th century Britannian History in preparation for our exam tomorrow." Kallen rolled her eyes at the synchronized groan that erupted from the students. The exam itself was a walk in the park compared to her "extra-curricular activities." She kept to herself for the most part of the class in order to maintain the persona of a sick girl, speaking up only when she was called by the teacher. This didn't occur very often as she was able to answer his questions exhaustively. Before she knew it, both hands of the clock had aligned at "12", signalling the end of their oh-so-useful review.
As soon as the bell rang, her seatmate turned towards her. The ever perky Milly Ashford, a name which Kallen had committed to memory as soon as it was stated by Mr. Hanson, extended a hand towards her. "Milly Ashford, student council president. You're Kallen Stadtfeld." She began chattily.
"Yes." was Kallen's laconic reply. She grudgingly shook the blonde's hand out of courtesy.
"Have you given any thought as to which club you want to join?" Milly asked.
"Club?" Kallen repeated, obviously confused.
Milly nodded her head fervently. "Oh yes, all students are required to join a club. Is there one in particular that's caught your eye?"
"No." Kallen replied, maintaining the monosyllabic nature of her responses.
"I thought so." Milly said, tapping her chin contemplatively. "You're frequently absent due to your sickness, so I don't think you'd be suited for one of the more physically challenging groups." She mused.
Kallen stopped herself from snorting. She could easily cut it in any of those clubs to be certain. School clubs like the Equestrian Society and the Track and Field Team were a cakewalk compared to urban warfare. Still, she couldn't very well get rid of her perfect excuse to cut school.
Milly snapped her finger, her eye's lighting up. "I've got it! You can join the student council with me." She concluded, placing an arm around Kallen.
"I'm not sure about this…"
"Don't worry about it." Milly reassured her with a conspiratory wink. "It won't take up too much of your time and the other members can cover for you during your sick days. Come on, I'll introduce you to the others over lunch." Milly grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room excitedly.
Kallen allowed herself to be dragged off, not too excited by the prospect, but not entirely against it either. Student Council couldn't be that bad, right?
It was just past 5:30 in the morning when hell on earth began for the Eleventh Prince of the Empire.
"Fall in!"
A flurry of movement occurred in the barracks as privates moved, with almost robotic precision, to the base of their bunks, forming two straight lines facing inwards. Like a deer caught in the headlights, Lelouch looked around stupidly, unsure of where he should be.
The drill sergeant marched up to him in quick order, his face barely centimeters away from Lelouch's. He hastily adopted the pose of his comrades and stood at attention. "Well holy hell! So this is the new recruit! You finally bothered to show up, Princess!" He began derisively, apparently aware of Lelouch's status. "You may have been pampered with your servants and palaces back at Pendragon, but you're in My. Turf. Now." He violently jabbed Lelouch's chest to emphasize his last three words.
To his credit, Lelouch did not move an inch throughout the verbal barrage.
"Welcome to the military, Private vi Britannia!" The assembled privates stiffened at his words. "Drop and give me twenty!"
Wordlessly, Lelouch dropped on all fours and began. The sergeant crossed his arms and watched him do the pushups with a critical gaze, waiting for him to screw up, no doubt. Halfway through the torment, Lelouch felt the sergeant's foot on his back, pushing him down. He gritted his teeth, and endured, refusing to show weakness.
In his appalling physical state, he barely finished the exercise.
The sergeant took off his foot and allowed Lelouch to stand up. "My name's Sergeant Thompson and while you're here, you will treat my word as if it's from the great God Almighty himself! Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" Lelouch replied, matching the magnitude of the sergeant's voice.
"Just because your daddy is the Emperor, doesn't mean you get any special treatment around here, Private!" It was an obvious lie. If Lelouch had been anyone other than the Emperor's son, he would have been scolded and turned away for showing up three weeks late. "You've got a lot of work to make up for!"
"Private Wood!" The man snapped to attention with a stomp of his foot. "Private vi Britannia will be your responsibility!"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant!" Wood, while not too pleased with the assignment, kept his face placid and neutral.
"Thanks to Private vi Britannia here, PT begins in ten minutes! Fall out!" The drill sergeant bellowed, striding out of the room.
More than a few of the privates shot daggers at Lelouch for the extra pain he was about to cause them. "Alright vi Britannia, listen up! Rule number one, you address the drill sergeant as 'drill sergeant', not 'sir'." Wood began, not even sparing him a glance. "Rule number two, when the drill sergeant says he wants us ready in ten minutes, what he really means is he wants us ready in five." He unbuttoned his military fatigue with economic precision, turning to look at Lelouch. "Any questions? No? Well then get moving." He said without pause, giving Lelouch no chance to interrupt.
Lelouch followed suit and began stripping off his military fatigue to reveal a plain white shirt. He held the jacket at one hand and folded it neatly on the spare bed that he had claimed, before following the others out of the barracks. He quickly took his place at the end of one of the lines that had formed. As expected, he was the last one in.
"Move out!" The distinct voice of Sergeant Thompson cracked through the air like a whip. The men began their jog, making Lelouch even more aware of just how bad a state his body was in. It didn't take long for him to begin lagging behind the group and was a good ten minutes behind by the time most had finished the 5 kilometer run around a section of the base.
By the time they had settled into the mess hall for breakfast, Lelouch felt like every inch of his body had been turned to jelly. He shovelled in the gruel into his mouth, silently bearing the pain that the slightest movement caused him. "This seat taken?" Lelouch recognized the source as one of his new squad mates, and motioned for him to go ahead. "No offense meant, but you look like shit, Your Highness."
Despite the situation, Lelouch allowed himself to laugh. "I feel like it too. And please, it's just Lelouch. no need for the formality." He said casually.
"The name's Victor Wolfe, but everyone just calls me Vic. It's good to have you with us, Lelouch. We were scheduled to start SQUABCOMS today with a man short. With you here, we'll finally be on even footing with the others."
"SQUABCOMS?"
"Squad Based Combat Simulations." Victor explained patiently.
"I'm not sure of how much use I'll be to you guys." Lelouch said with a frown. "I've never even fired a gun before." The prince admitted.
"Even so, it helps even things out a bit. It's one more target that the others will have to take note of. If all else fails, we could always use you as a meat shield. I'm certain most of the guys around here would hesitate before shooting you." Victor joked. "And if it really bothers you, we can go to the shooting range now and pop a few rounds." He offered.
Lelouch stuffed the last of his mean into his mouth, before standing up. "Alright, let's go."
It felt odd to be holding a weapon that had been used less than a few days ago to coerce him. The Eisenheim-Krum 68 Assault Rifle was the primary firearm for most members of the infantry. Lelouch wasn't sure whether the gun was really heavier than it looked, or if it was just the fatigue that made it seem that way.
"The most important thing about shooting a single target is to hold in your breath before pulling the trigger. Otherwise, the bullet goes way off target." Victor said, peering through the scope of his rifle, before calmly pulling the trigger. The gun's roar sounded like thunder and sent a single bullet into the dead center of a target a twenty meters away.
"What if I'm facing more than one person?" Lelouch asked, taking aim at a target, before firing.
"Spray and pray." Victor shifted from a firing position to a standing one. "Running for cover also helps, on occasion." He watched as Lelouch let loose another round. "Try loosening your grip a little." He suggested. The next shot went straight through the red dot of the target and Lelouch nodded in thanks.
"So are we actually going to use real guns in the simulation?" He asked, switching his gun to semi-automatic. "It seems counter-intuitive for us to kill each other off halfway through Basic." A series of bullets erupted from his gun and mercilessly shredded the piece of paper he had been aiming at. He nodded in satisfaction as most of the bullets had landed within the inner ring.
"Nah, I hear we're going to be issued rifle simulators." Victor answered. "We should head back now. Sergeant Thompson will have both of our asses if we're even a second late." Lelouch had to agree. The Drill Sergeant was probably looking for an excuse to make his life harder. They arrived in the assembly area moments before the Sergeant ordered them to fall in. A series of abandoned buildings stood not far from their position in what was probably a simulation of street-to-street combat.
"Alright ladies, welcome to the first of many SQUABCOMS! This particular set up right here is for urban warfare. For those of you knuckleheads that are lacking a few brain cells, it means city fighting. I suggest you take this exercise seriously." The Sergeant looked down at the clipboard he was holding, tapping his pen on the base. "Ho, ho, looks like Wood's squad is up first against Haywood's."
His squad mates collectively swore. Lelouch wondered briefly if being in the military had the side effect of making people swear in unison. "Haywood's squad has been at the top of board for the last ten days now." Victor whispered. "Their captain holds the company record in marksmanship."
Lelouch scoffed. "So what if he can shoot a gun? Doesn't mean he knows anything about tactics."
"Alright team, huddle up." Wood called out, drawing them into a circle to discuss their strategy. "Haywood's team is going to wipe the floor with us out in the open. They've got us beat in marksmanship, so we'll need to take advantage of the cover. Vi Britannia, I hope you know how to shoot a gun by now?"
"Victor and I worked on it earlier."
Wood looked surprised and genuinely happy to hear that. "If we rush the building at the heart of the town, we'll gain a dominant position that will let us control the tempo of the fight."
Lelouch glanced at the building in question, studying it meticulously, then frowned. "That doesn't seem like a sound strategy." He stated before the group dispersed.
Wood glared at him angrily, the goodwill he'd gained from his voluntary marksmanship practice dissipating. "Explain." He said coldly.
"While it's true that the central building is the only one that's two stories tall, it's also a vulnerable position. We'd be stretched thin trying to cover all the entry points, while the other team would be free to concentrate their strength on one flank. We'd be at a distinct disadvantage trying to outshoot them that way."
Wood listened to his explanation patiently. "Well then, do you have a better idea?"
"I'd suggest we infiltrate a two man team into the central house then pull back everyone else to draw them in. We'll surround them from the outside then rush in, while the inside team wreaks havoc among the defenders."
"That's a risky move." Wood pointed out.
"All wars are won through risks." Lelouch countered without missing a beat. The rest of the squad shifted their gaze between the two, witnessing a silent battle of wills. The tension in the air was palpable.
"Squads into position!" Thompson bellowed, breaking the standoff.
"We stick to the original plan." Wood declared with a note of finality. "Let's move." Lelouch grudgingly accepted the decision. Wood was still the squad leader, and the military was nothing without the chain of command.
The opposing squads stepped forward to grab their simulation gear. Aside from the fake gun, they also had to strap on several components of armor. It seemed to have a plethora of sensors covering it, allowing it to "detect" the fake bullets and mimic the damage it would cause on the battlefield, by sending out a small electrical shock that would stun the affected part.
The two squads stood at opposite ends of the "town" and waited for the signal to begin the training exercise. Thompson withdrew the pistol holstered at his waist and raised it overhead. The twenty privates tensed in anticipation of the shot, and Lelouch lowered to a crouching position akin to that of a marathon runner.
Bang!
Ignoring his still throbbing thighs, Lelouch dashed forward towards the house, making a commendable effort of keeping up with his squad, but still ultimately falling behind. Up ahead, he saw Wood and three others of his squad storm the house. A few seconds later, the first shots had been fired. "Man down!" He heard one of his comrade's yell, the panic in his voice apparent.
"Keep firing! Let the bastards bleed for every inch of ground they take!" Wood replied in an equally loud voice. The amount of gunfire nearly doubled after that.
By the time Lelouch had reached his firing position, two others had already been taken out of action and another one had been injured. He could see the silhouette of their enemies moving from window to window in the other houses. As far as he could see, only one of them had been hit. "There are only eight of them." Lelouch said to no one in particular. "Where are the other two?"
As if to answer his question, the sound of gunfire erupted from the behind them followed by screams as he another three of his teammates bit the dust. Reacting purely on instinct, he spun around and began firing wildly, a lucky shot hitting one of the flankers in the chest and sending the other scrambling for cover. "We're being flanked!" Lelouch shouted.
"Tell us something we don't know!" Wood answered back, before he emptied his clip, and reached for another to reload his weapon. "Flankers eliminated!"
"The rest are moving in on us!" Victor cried out.
Lelouch made his way to Wood's position, crouching down beside him. "We're not going to win like this." He hissed to his leader, switching his gun to automatic and firing in an attempt to suppress the breaching party.
"I'm open to any suggestions at this point." Wood grunted, managing to take down another soldier. "We're down to four soldiers and they've still got six."
Victor barged into the room, panting heavily. "They got Stevens. We're the only ones left." He said grimly, shutting the door behind him.
Lelouch took out his clip and handed it to Wood. With narrowed eyes, Wood stared at the article, as if offended by the gesture. "What the hell are you doing?"
"We're not going to win like this." He repeated. "You two head to the second floor windows while I draw them out in the open."
Wood hesitantly accepted the clip. "And just how are you going to do that."
There was a pregnant pause before Lelouch replied. "I was thinking I'd give myself up." His two companions stared at him incredulously as he headed for the door. "Once I've got them occupied, you'll have a window to take out Haywood and whoever else is with him. You'll get one shot each before they start shooting back." His last instructions were barely audible as he closed the door, but to Wood, it was as loud as a megaphone. "Make it count." The three words echoed in his brain.
Victor turned to the squad leader. "Is he crazy?" He asked, still unable to fully comprehend what had just happened.
"The thing about crazy people," Wood began, as he placed the clip inside one of his pouches, "is that they're God damn geniuses if they win." He crept towards the door, silent as a mouse. "Follow me." He signalled with his hands.
Déjà vu was the phenomenon of having the strong sensation that an event or experience currently being experienced has been experienced in the past. It was a phenomenon Lelouch had become increasingly familiar with as he heard six EK-68 rifles pointed at him. He dropped his rifle and raised his hands in the air to show his surrender, hoping that they'd keep him as a POW rather than turn him into a KIA.
"I surrender." He said, a sheepish grin plastered onto his face. "The others retreated to the other side of town to make their last stand."
"And why didn't you join them?" Haywood stepped forward, sneering at the Prince.
Lelouch shrugged. "Why waste more lives on a lost battle? We'd achieve nothing with prolonged resistance." He answered pragmatically. "Are you just going to stand here and let them fortify their position? If you move now, you can cut them off."
Haywood didn't bother to hide the veil of disgust on his face. With a nod of his head, two of his companions surged forward to pursue the others. "You call yourself a Britannian?" He asked scornfully, lifting his gun to Lelouch's head. "We have no place for cowardi-."
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Haywood and one of his companions crumpled to the floor, their armour paralyzing them completely to simulate a kill. It was a downright shame that one of the bullets had missed.
Nonetheless, Lelouch wasted no time springing into action. He rolled to the floor and grabbed Haywood's discarded rifle in one fluid motion - wincing as his muscles shrieked at him to stop - and firing the gun as soon as his enemies were in sight. He managed to take down the other two, before he felt several tiny pellets collide with his back, inducing a full body paralysis. Apparently, the two who had been sent ahead returned as soon as they head the gunshots.
Wrong move. From their overhead position, it didn't take long for Wood and Wolfe to take out the last of their adversaries.
Lelouch felt the armor power down as the simulation ended, releasing him from his full body bind. His squad was being congratulated by members of the other groups when Sergeant Thompson ordered them back into formation.
"Private Wood, Private Wolfe, Private vi Britannia report!" He shouted angrily. What was it now? They had won the match, despite the underhanded tactic, hadn't they? It was still a valid tactic, honor be damned. "Can you explain to the company what just what happened exactly?" The venom in his voice was unmistakable.
"Private vi Britannia used himself as a bait to draw out the enemy unit, while Private Wolfe and myself remained from our concealed position to give him covering fire, Drill Sergeant!" Wood answered. From the corner of his eye, Lelouch could see Haywood glaring at him.
"And what was the result of your actions?"
"Victory, Drill Sergeant!" Lelouch could not help but admire his courage for answering back to the obviously vexed man.
"And?"
Wood paused. "I don't know, Drill Sergeant!" He answered, confused. The rest of the company murmured among themselves with the same tone.
"You let a member of the Royal Family get killed in action!" Thompson shouted. "Your squad's complete and utter incompetence led to the death of a Prince of Britannia! Does that SOUND like a victory to you, Private?"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant!" The silence that fell upon the company was deafening. It took Wood a moment to realize that the response had not come from him. It had come from Lelouch.
"Explain yourself, Private vi Britannia." The drill sergeant asked in a measured voice. He seemed calm and vaguely happy about the answer - ecstatic even.
"The objective was to achieve victory by annihilating the enemy squad! All other factors are secondary to this. A soldier must be willing to lay down his life for his country and his brothers! Despite being a prince, I am not exempt from this rule, Drill Sergeant. The situation demanded that I was an acceptable collateral for victory."
"And in a real combat situation, do you think the Emperor would be pleased to hear one of his sons had achieved victory at the cost of his own life?"
"If victory could not be gained through other means, then yes, Drill Sergeant! The good of the many outweighs the good of the few, Drill Sergeant!"
"Are you some sort of fucking philosopher, vi Britannia?" Thompson asked condescendingly.
"No, Drill Sergeant!"
"What are you then?"
"I am a soldier, Drill Sergeant!"
Thompson nodded at his answered approvingly. "Nevertheless, Private vi Britannia is correct. The completion of the mission must be our primary concern in battle. All others factors are secondary to victory." He glanced downward at his clipboard, before continuing. "Rogers and Warwick, you're next!"
The three soldiers took a step back and rejoined the rank, pleased by the outcome of the match. And if one looked closely enough, they would have seen the Eleventh Prince's lips formed into a slight smirk.
The climate in Tunis had been described as being a Mediterranean one, with temperatures ranging between 7° to 24° Celsius most of the year. What the generals had failed to mention was its scorching summer during August, where the temperature had hit 33° Celsius and rising. It wasn't even midday yet.
A few brave souls had dared to wander out and toil underneath the morning sun, away from the air-conditioned havens. The overwhelming majority of citizens residing in the capital of Area 17, however, preferred to stay indoors where they were safe from the sun's oppressive gaze.
Among those who had taken refuge from Mother Nature's wrath was Lieutenant Colonel Obadiah Ryze of the 2nd Quebec Imperial Regiment, which was the only Britannian military presence in Tunis and its surrounding areas. "I wonder how the poor sods manage it." He muttered to himself, as he watched the ant-sized humans move about below from the comfort of his chair. He turned his attention back to his work, which was essentially a supervisory role over the various technicians and specialists in the Tunis Imperial Command Center.
It was little better than the army's version of babysitting.
He propped his head up with his arm, slouching in his seat as he stared absentmindedly into the giant monitor in front of him. It showed the position of all military vehicles and knightmares relative to their own by way of the IFF system. He glanced at his watch and groaned silently. He had another two hours of supervisory duty to fulfill before he would be relieved and allowed back into the field where he belonged.
Upon his order of "Status report", the personnel in the room – his so called "assistants" – began typing furiously, every inch of air in the room filled with the sound of finger hitting keyboards, not unlike the buzzing of a bee. Images of different areas around the city popped up in his monitor, drowning out what had been on his screen but a few moments ago.
"TOI 1, green!" The lieutenant colonel snorted. That much was obvious, of course. TOI, or target of importance, was the auxiliary tactical system used to ensure the safety of certain things, as opposed to the Sector system which was primarily focused on dividing the city up according to geography and tactical significance. TOI 1 was the designation reserved for the headquarters of the military or, failing that, the largest military installation in any given area. If there had been trouble, then there were only two logical alternatives; either it would be dealt with quickly, or they were in deep shit.
"TOI 2, green!" That had been reserved for the administrative center of the Empire and was arguably even better protected than TOI 1 in some areas, especially area capitals, as it doubled as the viceroy's residence.
"TOI 3, green!" This was residence of most of Britannia's nobility, more often than not encircling the viceroy's palace; the heart of the political arena.
"TOI 4, green!" Britannian commoners chose to congregate, instead, around TOI 1 for the added protection proximity offered. They were not as prioritized as nobles in cases of mass violence, and, thus, mitigated this disadvantage by being located closer to help.
"TOI 5, green!" Public transportation hubs, like train stations, airports, naval harbors and bus terminals which were always terrorist favorites for sowing mass pandemonium.
"TOI 6, green!" The electrical grids and generators which powered the city, almost as essential to the city's survival as the military itself.
"TOI 7, green!" The water treatment facilities, hydroelectric dams and any other area that terrorists might be able to taint the water supply of the metropolis.
"TOI 8, green!" The walls and gates which marked the city proper's perimeter, designed to keep intruders out as much as it was designed to keep Honorary Britannians in.
"TOI 9, status yellow!" The ghettos and slums just outside the walls where extremists and terrorists hid, interspersed among the crowd of numbers. They were a cancer to society, a threat which, if left unchecked, would kill the organism it leeched off of. The genocidal response, however, of some Britannian commanders was hardly the most efficient way to deal with it. It was a short sighted approach, more of a quick fix than an actual long term plan.
While it was true that the method instilled fear, it also instilled hatred. And from hatred sprung the most ardent of their adversaries. Ryze could not count the number of times he had the urge to slam his head into the nearest wall for the sheer ineptitude of Britannian viceroys in general. Ethnic purging was the easiest and worst solution to the terrorist problem as the end result was, undoubtedly, the elimination of a large percentage of the native population; and with them, their cheap workforce.
The cry of status yellow was expected. The ghettos existed in an almost perpetual state of status yellow, indicating that the target could quickly become a hotbed of military activity. Given their living conditions, it wasn't difficult to see why.
Ryze nodded in acknowledgement before giving out his next command. "Relay rotation order to the 5th and 6th company." Due to the intense heat during the month of April, it had been necessary for them to change the guards every six hours. The last time they tried employing the standard eight hour shifts had resulted in a noticeable increase of heat strokes among the rank and file. Suffice to say, the medics weren't pleased with command.
"Incoming Knightmares from the southeast travelling along Trans-African Highway 1, sir!" A map of the entire area suddenly appeared on the monitor, covering the other images completely. "IFFs show them to be NAL, numbering approximately 75 units. They'll hit our lines in fifteen minutes." The same number of red dots showed up on screen to signify the North African League forces.
"Belay the rotation order and sound the alarm. Have all Knightmares prep for combat. Get the 1st, 2nd and 3rd Companies to reinforce the walls." Ryze ordered without hesitation. "4th Company will reinforce the city garrison and local enforcement units to maintain order on the streets." He added as an afterthought.
"Sir, more Knightmares closing in fast from the west! ETA is ten minutes." Another officer cried out.
"We've got a heavy armor division arriving from the south and southwest as well! Close to 300 main battle tanks supporting a mechanized infantry brigade!"
"Fuck." Ryze swore, verbalizing the thoughts of everyone in the room. "How many are coming from the west?"
"Only 35 units, sir!" That made up a total of 110 enemy Knightmares on the field, vastly outnumbering their own garrison of 40 Knightmares. "Sir, what are your orders?"
"Have our Sutherlands concentrate on the west wall first. Send 8th Company to the Viceroy's Palace." He stood from his seat uneasily and walked towards the window. The alarm's crescendo was now audible within the sound-proofed room, shrieking ominously as a warning of what was to come next. "Set up a conference with the Viceroy, the rest of the regimental command, the Air Force and the Admiralty."
"Sir, uprisings in Sectors 3, 4, 6 and 8 have been reported. The numbers are up in arms! Our soldiers stationed in the ghetto have been captured or killed."
"They timed this pretty damn well." Ryze muttered, gaining a grudging respect for the enemy commander.
"Conference is ready, sir."
"Thank you, captain." The lieutenant colonel returned to his seat and faced the screen. The screen had been divided into several grids, with a different face in each box.
"What's this about, Lieutenant Colonel Ryze?" The viceroy began, dabbing his kerchief at a trail of sweat streaking down his right cheek.
"Viceroy, as of three minutes ago, a large NAL force surrounded Tunis and is moving in to engage us. ETA of the first wave is in two minutes. We are outnumbered 3-to-1 in KMFs and 10-to-1 in armor. We have but a single battalion to face an entire brigade. To make things even worse, the city is rising up against us."
"Wh-where did they all come from? H-how did they get that much equipment?" The viceroy stuttered. "The front against the NAL is at least a thousand kilometers away!" To be precise, it was 1,750 kilometers away, not that far from the city of Benghazi.
"I suspect that the NAL rebels are being sent aid by the EU and the Middle Eastern Faction. They have been increasingly wary of Britannia's presence in the area." Admiral Giles of the Mediterranean Fleet mused. "As for how they got here, I suspect a few ships might have managed to slip past my fleet. The armor and infantry seem to have crossed the Sahara though."
"With all due respect, sir, we can speculate about that later." Ryze interrupted. "The question that needs to be answered is what we will be doing in response."
"All battalions on patrol have been recalled." Colonel Stone, Ryze's immediate superior, informed them. "The 2nd battalion will reach your position in twenty minutes. The 1st and 4th battalion will take at least an hour though. Can you hold out for that long?"
Ryze shook his head. "Without air, naval or artillery support, it is impossible. My battalion doesn't have anything to level the playing field against their KMFs."
"I'll work on diverting a few of my bomber wings your way." Air Marshall Crawford offered. "But it will be half an hour before they can be of any use to you."
"I'm afraid my hands are tied as well." Giles said apologetically. "My fleet has orders not to let a single ship enter the port of Cairo. None of my captains are in a position to reach you in time."
"Then I request permission to be allowed to make a tactical withdrawal, if the situation becomes untenable."
"And abandon Tunis to the NAL?" The viceroy spluttered indignantly. "We'll be the laughing stock of the Empire if we cede this city to them."
"And we'll be dead if we don't." Ryze snapped back, his patience for the viceroy already at its limit. "Colonel Stone, requesting permission to attempt a breakout to the west."
"Granted." The colonel responded. "Godspeed, Lieutenant Colonel."
"Barracks B, Military Academy of Montreal, Quebec, Area 2.
August 15, 2017
To His Highness, Lelouch vi Britannia:
Your Highness, my name is Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald of the House of Gottwald. I am currently the head of the Purist Faction in Area 11 and am acting as one of Prince Clovis' military adviser. What positions I hold now, however, is not as important as who I am, and that is a loyal guardsman of the late Empress Marianne vi Britannia. I had made a vow to your mother that I would law down my life in the service of her and her line.
Please, do not misread my intentions here as seeking to be released from my vows or to ask for forgiveness – for I do not deserve nor desire either. What I would like, however, is for a chance to atone.
I had failed in my solemn duty all those years ago when the Empress Marianne was slain. I had failed again when I learned that Princess Nunnally was killed during the subjugation of Area 11. As a Knight of vi Britannia, it was my responsibility to protect your line from its enemies and twice now has a member died under my watch. By all rights, my life should be forfeit to you.
I realize that my history does not make me out to be a competent Knight. Nevertheless, it would be unpardonable if I chose to abandon the last of Empress Marianne's line. Let your enemies be my enemies and your will be my will. Use me a shield against those who would harm you and as a sword against those you would harm. Make use of me as you see fit, and discard of me as you please. To you and your line, I swear my sole, eternal and unwavering allegiance.
If you should wish that I be at your side, then I will come with all haste. If you wish that I remain in my place here, then I shall stand fast until you summon me. Where you send me, I will go. What you ask of me, I will do.
Your eternal servant,
Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald
P.S. Please forgive the lateness of this letter, but I only recently discovered your location from the news.
31 Fukushima Road, Sector 1, Tokyo, Area 11
To Margrave Gottwald,
I, Lelouch vi Britannia, Eleventh Prince of the Empire, do hereby accept your pledge of allegiance to me and my line. So mote it be.
Your eternal master,
Lelouch vi Britannia
P.S. Your first task is to learn how to use the internet and e-mail. Once you have accomplished this, contact me at irockchess.a11"
Jeremiah stared at the letter in his hands, reading the contents for the umpteenth time that hour. He turned it over and over, looking at it from different angles as if that might give him some new insight on the matter.
"Jeremiah, you've been staring at His Highness's letter for the past hour." Villeta remarked. "You don't have to take his rejection so badly."
"On the contrary, he accepted my vow."
"Then what's the problem? You should be out celebrating, not cooped up here reading through his letter like it's the Bible. You're not going to gain any profound insights from it, no matter how hard you try."
"See for yourself." Jeremiah said, handing her the letter.
"It's very short." Villetta noted. "What exactly did you say in your letter? That might help us figure out why he put that in his post script."
Jeremiah recited for her, word for word, his vow. "That's all?" The Margrave nodded. "You're absolutely sure? There's not a single word missing from what you just told me?"
"Well, I also added an apology for taking so long to write the letter."
"You were that nervous?"
Jeremiah stared at her oddly. "Of course not. The news simply didn't make any mention of his location so I couldn't figure out where to send the letter to."
Villetta slapped her forehead. "His location had been on the internet for days before the news mentioned it." Jeremiah's mouth widened into an "O".
"Left, face!"
The privates turned their heads first, then followed with their bodies and ending the action with a stomp of their right foot; perfectly synchronized in their motion.
"Forward, march!"
The trainees began with their left foot, surging forward while never breaking the square of their formation. Each man was an arm's length away from his comrades to the sides, front and back. The roar of thunder; the scream of a mortar that had been just launched into the air; the sound of two thousand men marching as one – it was all the same to Major Cromwell.
"Squad, halt!" The drill sergeant bellowed through his megaphone, his amplified voice being carried across the field by the wind. With a last, glorious crackle, the thundering footsteps subsided almost immediately as it began.
"Present, arms!"
Two thousand arms swept up; two thousand hands touching two thousand brows in a show of respect. Cromwell felt his chest surge with pride as he returned the gesture.
"Ready, front!" was the command and the arms dropped without so much as a peep of sound.
"Parade, rest!" Both arms were placed behind them, the left hand grasping the wrist of the clenched right. The soldiers stood completely still, as stiff as statues.
Cromwell glanced to his side, where a panel of officers stood. They would be the judges today as to who would be accepted into the accelerated officer's program based on the performances. In all honesty, the major was only concerned about one particular person's acceptance into the program – Lelouch vi Britannia.
At first, his interest had been stimulated by his desire to advance himself and get a foot though the door so he could rub shoulders with the elitists, tycoons and politicians. However, this selfish desire had slowly been transformed in the course of two weeks. Initial assessment reports called him an average soldier; capable but lacking in discipline. In many factors, such as discipline, chain of command, and physical fitness, he had consistently been awarded low grades for his efforts.
But under tactics, he always managed to plan properly with, apparently, "little effort." He had attributed it to the biased findings of one man and had sent others to view the SQUABCOMS. Everyone reported the same thing. The prince was a natural, having been born for the burden of command and his voice naturally carrying a certain authority behind it that, for no reason, compelled others to follow. Even this, at first, he'd been skeptical to accept at face value for there were many who would lie if they thought they could benefit from such a misdeed. But the consistency and frequency of the praise that bordered on raving, coming from even those he held in his personal confidence, had been enough to make him genuinely curious if it was true.
Was the Prince really a tactical genius? He would find out today.
The final SQUABCOMS challenge was a way to weed out the true strategists from the merely lucky. The candidates would be placed in rigged games where they were greatly disadvantaged to determine if they were mentally capable.
In order to test their leadership, they would be teamed up with a mix-match of soldiers from different squads. An officer was expected to be able to command respect even from those he had no actual authority over.
After the first few candidates finished their challenges, which ranged from faulty maps to seizing the high ground, it was finally his turn. Cromwell drew a folded piece of paper from the fishbowl that would determine who got what task, and became giddy when he read it out loud for the judges to hear.
"A 3-to-1 numerical disadvantage in timed capture the flag." The major said, feeling genuinely excited for the first time in years.
"A 3-to-1 numerical disadvantage in timed capture the flag?" A private repeated incredulously, a sour frown plastered onto his face. "How the fuck are we supposed to win against those odds?"
"With tactics and careful planning, a 3-to-1 disadvantage is nothing more than a minor nuisance." Lelouch answered dismissively, grabbing the entire squad's attention with his bold statement. "Now here's what we're going to do..."
"I don't know about this." Another private, Higgins, said after the plan had been explained to them. "It seems like a pretty big gamble and I don't like betting myself."
Lelouch grinned. "Then you've obviously never bet on me before."
The challenge had been set across a river with but one shallow point where crossing was possible along the entirety of the river. For this exercise alone, each person had been allowed to pick one item, instead of everyone being issued the same EK-68 replica. Interestingly enough, Lelouch chose a flare gun, which, in itself, could not actually cause the elimination of another person. All it could do, in fact, was send out a colored flare. Other things that the squad had pilfered from the pile of military hardware were 4 heavy machine guns, 3 EK-68s, 1 sniper rifle and a grappling hook.
"R Group, set up our HMGs at the edge of the forest at intervals of ten meters." Lelouch ordered, pointing to the trees in the distance. The four gunners complied, trudging along the dirt trail with their rapid fire weaponry. "Rawlins, I want you on the trees to lookout for any flanking actions. Don't waste ammo on the grunts. Take down enemy sharpshooters first, and officers second." The sniper gave a mock salute, before sauntering off to do as instructed. "K Group," all of whom were equipped with rifles, "take the grappling hook upstream and flank the enemy. Remember, do not move until you see the flare."
"What about me, sir?" Higgins, who had been robbed of his grappling hook, asked.
Lelouch's grin turned feral. "You'll be getting the most important job of all." He gestured for the other man to come closer, as if he was about to divulge some state secret. "You'll be stealing the flag for us before the timer hits zero."
Once the game had begun, it didn't take long for first of the enemies to begin crossing the river. There were twenty in this group, who probably thought that being twice their enemies' size would be enough to ensure victory. That was their first mistake.
One of the gunners tensed in anticipation, his index finger moving unconsciously towards the trigger. Lelouch placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn his head questioningly. "Not yet," The prince mouthed silently. There was no need to reveal themselves yet while the trees kept them out of sight.
Lelouch waited for the party to finish crossing, before sweeping his arm up in a smooth motion, and firing the gun in his hand. A shower of green light burst from the tip, ascending into the sky like a rocket, only slowing down as it reached the peak of its climb. The twenty, newly arrived privates gawked at the light, as if mesmerized by the sudden appearance of an imaginary creature.
Without any further prompting, the four heavy machine guns rattled to life, a barrage of pellets viciously assaulting the exposed group. Those standing in the rims fell first, the armor that they wore rendering them incapable of further voluntary motion. Weeks of training kicked in as the rest of the men hugged the dirt, taking cover behind the bodies of the fallen.
Some crawled forward, attempting to get a clear shot of their ambushers. These were quickly discouraged from continuing by the rhythmic fire of the sniper, who chose to target the brave ones first.
Some crawled to the side, hoping to gain better cover. These, also, were dealt with in good order. The spacing between the four MG positions ensured that the gunfire was coming from different angles, yet still having overlapping fields of fire.
Some crawled back to the river, attempting to escape back to the river and away from the suppressive fire that had pinned them down. They made it halfway through the river, still waist deep in water, where they were sitting ducks to the flanking riflemen that had chosen that instant to join the fray.
It did not take long for the survivors to lay down their arms; disorganized, disoriented and surrounded as they were. The massacre lasted all of forty eight seconds and resulted in 13 POWs and 7 KIAs.
"Higgins, execute phase 2." ordered Lelouch. The private ran up to one of their captives and tugged the blue band - tied around his forehead – free. "O'Connor, I'm placing you in charge of R Group. Keep a tight lid on things. If the prisoners so much as move a hair, I want them all taken down. Take no chances."
"Yes, sir." O'Connor replied with a respectful salute, grabbing one of their newly acquisitions rifles and joining his team in watching the prisoners.
Lelouch turned around to see Higgins, now donning the enemies' distinct blue band, Rawlins, still with his beloved sniper rifle, and K Group, armed with the confiscated extra ammo. "We've got ten minutes to go before the exercise ends." He informed them with a smirk. "I promise you we'll be done in five."
Higgins crashed through the trees with about as much grace as falling down the stairs. His face was covered with dirt and his eyes were constantly moving around, a panicked gleam evident in them. "What happened?" The leader of the blue-bands guarding the flag asked. "What's going on out there?"
"We got ambushed at the river crossing!" Higgins exclaimed. "The reds wiped out half our group before we knew what was happened, and pushed the rest of us back." He took a moment to catch his breath, before continuing. "I was sent back here to warn the rest of you. They're making a final push towards us. If we can hold here, we'll be able to force a draw."
"A draw?" The leader repeated, looking as if he had just swallowed something bitter. "That is unacceptable. How many men are still out there? Ours and theirs"
"There were seven of us left when I was sent back here. We only managed to take down one of vi Britannia's men." Higgins lied, a sense of excitement rising in his chest as he furthered the lie. The plan was actually working!
The leader nodded. "Then we'll take the fight to them and drive them all the way back to their flag. Forward, men!" He cried out, leading the charge himself. Higgins lagged behind so that he would be at the rearmost spot.
They had barely walked twenty meters when they came under attack. Three were immobilized in an instant. A half second later, the leader was petrified as well. "They're hitting us from the sides!" Higgins cried out, making a show of firing back. Once the last six were distracted, he leveled his gun at them.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Three more bodies crumpled to the floor before anyone realized what was going on. The moment they turned around to shoot him, K Group broke cover and rushed them, taking another two prisoner and shooting the one that resisted.
With a casual gait that one would use whilst on a stroll, Lelouch sauntered to the flag, its blue cloth waving in the wind. He placed both hands on the pole, before giving a mighty heave to release it from the ground, and raised it high in the air triumphantly.
"Victory!"
His men cheered jubilantly, relishing in the euphoria of what they had just accomplished.
"Le-louch!" The chant started from Higgins, and infected those around him like a virus.
"Le-louch!" The cry grew progressively louder as his men joined in. "Le-louch!" It was only then that he realized it was too loud for it to be only his men.
The entirety of the audience was shouting his name as well. The sound of two thousand strong was enough to wake even the dead.
"Le-louch!"
A cigarette vendor just outside of the base paused, looking around for the source of the noise, before concluding it was coming from the soldiers inside. "Who the fuck is that supposed to be?" He muttered, wandering off in search of clients.
"Congratulations for your impressive win, Private vi Britannia." Major Cromwell said.
"Thank you, sir." Lelouch replied, as he took a seat across the general in a scene reminiscent of two weeks ago. "I assume you wanted to see me about the program, sir?"
"Correct. After the last test, the judges were climbing over each other to tell you personally." The major confided with a subtle grin. "You made quite the impression. I think most of them wouldn't have been able to pull off what you did if they were put in your position." Cromwell confessed, sliding a manila folder across the table's surface.
Lelouch nodded in acknowledgment as he opened it up and affixed his signature in the relevant fields, before returning the folder. "Did you have to pull any strings, sir?"
The major briefly considered lying in order to extract a favour, before ultimately deciding against it. "No. The judges were reluctant to give you a shot, but caved upon my insistence. After your performance, I think they'd have been willing to give you a slot even considering your late arrival."
"Thank you for being honest with me, sir." Lelouch replied. "I...appreciate it." He saluted crisply.
Cromwell dismissed him by returning the act, and watched him leave. "Great things await you, Your Highness."
Truer words had never been spoken.
"The Regiment and the Fief - the intertwined two which represents the power of the nobles. The soldiers are ultimately more loyal to their commander than the Empire, just as those in the fief owe their allegiance to their lord, not the crown. It remains to be Britannia's greatest advantage and its greatest weakness at the same time." - Lelouch vi Britannia
"General Cromwell, you've often been criticized about showing favor towards Prince vi Britannia during his stay at Montreal. Is there any truth to this?"
"Of course, Julie. It's completely true."
"But why? Shouldn't someone rise in the ranks based on merit alone?"
"Getting on a Prince's bad side isn't the best move for career advancement. Or life, in general."
"If that's the case, why did you allow the drill sergeant at the time, one Thompson A. Rockwell, to mistreat him so?"
"The two cases aren't the same. As Base Commander, it was not part of my job description to unnecessarily harass him. A drill sergeant's job is to do precisely that in order to simulate battlefield stress and fatigue."
"And what of the officer acceleration program that you spearheaded? Many other notable military commanders have denounced the system."
"They are entitled to their own opinion. The system has it flaws, I will admit, but one can hardly worry about that during wartime. What needs to be understood is that terrorists were making it a habit to target NCOs and officers on the field. There was a huge demand that couldn't be filled with conventional methods, so I chose an unconventional one. Compared to other proposed solutions, I'd say the program was a success. Did not Prince Lelouch vi Britannia, hailed as one of the greatest strategists of Britannia, come from the program?"
"Thank you for your time, General."
"It was my pleasure, Julie."
-excerpt from: History Channel - How they changed the world: General Cromwell
AN: What did you guys think about it? Please leave your thoughts, good or bad, in the box below.
Q: WHAT? That's not how things go in the military!
A: It's fanfiction. While I do try to base it on real life as much as possible, we are dealing with a world that has different norms and values here. Certain things are subject to change at an author's discretion.