AN: Chapter 3! About the title: In chess tournaments, officials usually balance the clocks before a match starts to make sure both players have equal time.
This Chapter ends my first arc of the story! Woohoooooo! Enjoy everyone :)
For those of you who want a map of North Africa, check out:
nationsonline oneworld / map / algeria_map
(just remove the spaces)
Disclaimer: I don't own Code Geass, the site above, or the information provided by said site. This is purely non-profit.
Arc I: Prepare to Play
Part 3: Balancing the Clocks
"The Knightmare Frame Corps, hereunder referred to as the KMFC or KMF Corps, shall be organized into following groupings:
1) A KMFC Squad shall be the most basic independent group that members of the KMFC may operate in. It shall be composed of six (6) KMFC pilots, and headed by a Captain.
2) A KMFC Lance shall be composed of four (4) Squads and one (1) Commander for a total of 25 KMFC pilots. The Commander must hold the rank of Major or higher.
3) A KMFC Century shall be composed of four (4) Lances and one (1) Commander for a total of 101 KMFC pilots. The Commander must hold the rank of Colonel or higher.
4) A KMFC Brigade shall be composed of at least three (3) Centuries and its Command Staff. The Commander must hold the rank of Brigadier General or higher.
5) A KMFC Command shall be composed at least two (2) KMFC Brigades and its Command Staff. The Commander must hold the rank of Major General or higher.
The KMF Corps shall be under the nominal authority of the Army and all Commanders of the KMFC are to be treated as part of the chain of command. The KMFC shall not include Knightmares which exist in service of other branches, such as the KMF Marines and the KMF Paratroopers."
-excerpt from: Britannian Military Directive 3010 (aka KMFC Directive) by Britannian Supreme Command
"All warfare is based on deception, and all stratagems are based on information." - Lance Sawyer
August 25, 2017 (Officers' Training Day 1)
Lelouch officially hated his life.
Aside from the already demanding schedule of Basic Training, they had been required to wake up at four in the morning. Four! And that was just for their morning, five kilometer jog.
Objective speaking, two weeks of military life had done Lelouch's body good. There was a noticeable improvement in his performance, since he was only lagging behind the group by a few meters now, as compared to the hundred meter gap during his first day. Or perhaps he had just gotten used to the pain. Lelouch couldn't tell, and, frankly, he didn't care.
Subjectively speaking, he still felt like shit after their pushups. It certainly didn't help that he was drenched in sweat and that he was in Canada which meant he was freezing his ass off the moment they finished a run through the obstacle course.
And this was all taking place during the summer. He dreaded to think what life was like here during the fall - never mind the winter.
Hot showers, Lelouch had decided as he relished in the sensation of heated water purging his body of dirt and grime, were a gift from God. The only upside to his current situation, as he certainly didn't expect the officer program to be even more physically taxing than Basic, was that the barracks was empty of his fellow privates. Apparently, Sergeant Thompson had gotten tired of shouting for them to get ready for hell on earth - his own term of endearment for PT - and had sent Lelouch to do it for him. He had, of course, gladly complied as it gave him an excuse to be able to shower in peace.
"Hey Britannia," Well, relatively in peace. "have you heard about Area 17?"
The resident royal didn't need sneak a peek to figure out who was bothering his intimate moment with the shower. There was, after all, only two other people who had gotten into the program from his barracks, and only one of them referred to him by his surname - despite his objections.
"You talking 'bout the NAL uprising, Haywood?"
"Right in one, Britannia." Then again, it was Haywood. It was likely he always referred to him by his family name because of his objections rather than in spite of it. Although they certainly weren't trying to actively kill each other on a daily basis, he never forgot the SQUABCOMS incident. "You think we'll get sent there after all this is over?"
"It's a possibility." Lelouch paused, trying to recall any news about the matter. "The 2nd Quebec lost a lot of good men last week while breaking out of Tunis."
"I heard that their Regiment's down to half strength." This time, it was Wood who spoke up.
"Already?" Lelouch asked, opening his eyes in surprise. "At this rate, they might be wiped out before we finish training." A tone of disappointment laced his voice, which was not lost on his companions.
"You sound like you actually want to get sent to that dead end regiment." Haywood remarked. "It's a numbers regiment, Britannia. Hardly fitting for a man of your...station."
"A soldier goes where he's told, Haywood." Wood retorted sharply.
"Of course you'd say that, Wood." Haywood said, the smirk on his face evident just from the tone he used. "You're a fraction, aren't you?"
Fraction. 1) A numerical representation indicating the quotient of two numbers; 2) One of several portions separable by fractionation; 3) bit, little; 4) A derogatory term referring to the illegitimate child of a Britannian Noble with a Number.
"Shut your mouth, purist." Wood hissed venomously.
"Why don't you make me, fraction." Haywood taunted, his voice infused with a singsong tone.
"Why don't you both shut up." Lelouch said, more than a little pissed that they had ruined his shower with their bickering. He turned a knob abruptly to cut off the supply of water, before grabbing his towel and wiping himself dry.
To be frank, Lelouch had been expecting this sort of prejudice to be prevalent among the officers of the Britannian military, which was unified in name only. In practice, there were about a dozen different military factions which clambered for dominance over one another, acting much like siblings in a family with the way they fought. They'd never actually try to kill each other directly, although they certainly wouldn't pass off a chance to bring down their reputations or show off their own might.
It was all very political and along with the Regimental System, served to keep the Military divided. That was probably why there had never been a single coup d'état in the entire history of Britannia. No group, much less an individual, would ever be able to amass enough influence and support to launch one with even a remote chance of success.
It was efficient to keep the army in line, but inefficient for fighting their enemies.
Lelouch relished in the silence following his outburst, allowing himself a moment to ponder on a solution. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God. "Gentlemen, I propose a wager to settle this issue once and for all."
"I'm listening." Wood answered, unveiling the flimsy curtain, which was all that separated the showers, and stepping out to get dressed.
"If he's in, I'm in." Haywood said just as quickly, not one to be bested by a half-breed, of all people. Though it wouldn't be seen, Lelouch could not help but raise a brow at that. "Aren't you going to wait for the terms first?"
"There's nothing he can do that I can't do better." Haywood answered smugly, stepping out to join them as well.
"I've been informed that the COBCOMS," the Company Based Combat Simulations were a large scale version of the SQUABCOMS, "will be a virtual exercise. That means all factors will be equal and the better tactician will surely win." Lelouch finished buttoning up his new officer's uniform, before pointing to them with his index and middle finger. "You two go up against each other, and we'll see who's better."
Wood thought on it for a moment, before nodding in agreement. Lelouch looked at Haywood expectantly. Haywood flashed him a confident smirk, before answering. "Do you even need to ask?"
"Good." Lelouch said curtly, giving himself the once over in the mirror. "I'm sure we can all put this behind us until then." He glanced at his watch, and saw that the shorthand was nearing four, while the longhand was at six. "I'll see you men in the dining hall." He said with a sharp nod, before heading out for breakfast.
There would be no line at the canteen at this time. Thank God for small favors.
Cornelia li Britannia, Commander of the Middle Eastern Theater, strode into the room, graceful but imposing; her purple velvet cape with gold trimmings billowing behind her, as if trying to catch up with the ever impatient princess. Behind her, Darlton, a general in his own right, was actually trying to catch up while Gilbert Guilford, knight of Cornelia, easily matched the determined woman's gait. Two Colonels draped in silk capes that had noticeably more intricate designs flanked the group. There was a sound of feet standing as the assembled men greeted their superior respectfully. Cornelia acknowledged their gesture with a curt nod, before beckoning them to sit with a wave of her hand.
"Eleven days," Cornelia began, taking a moment to survey the room, "it has been eleven days since the NAL began their offensive. Eleven days since we lost Tunis and what have we to show for it?"
"Field Marshall, the 2nd Quebec has been forced to engage in a fighting retreat and is now a little over half-strength. Colonel Stone informs me that the Regiment is near Constantine, where they shall attempt to check the enemy's advance." A general sporting a thick moustache and two gleaming, silver stars reported.
"Is he insane?" Another officer, this one a lieutenant general, exclaimed. "His regiment is the only force we have between Tunis and Algiers ever since the 5th Auckland and the 2nd Rio were wiped out last week!"
"I agree with General Haywood." Andreas Darlton said. "We simply cannot afford to lose the port of Algiers at this point. If we do, then we forfeit everything between Oran and Benghazi to the rebels. That will give them a large pool of resources and manpower to wage a protracted war with."
"To keep ceding ground like this, however, is little better."
"We can trade space for time!"
"Every inch we give is every inch we'll have to take. It will be a long, bloody war if we just let them run free."
"And if the Regiment falls here then it will be an even longer war."
"Enough." interrupted Cornelia, her voice firm and authoritative, smoothly cutting through the debate. The room quieted down in an instant, and Guilford couldn't help but smirk at how easily the group of military generals were controlled by his princess. "General Darlton is correct. The 2nd Quebec cannot hope to stem the tides now. Even if they were to beat back the first of their enemies, would they be able to hold out against a second or third assault? They cannot for it is impossible without further equipment and manpower. The best they can hope to do at this point is to bunker down in Algiers, which we shall use as a staging area against the NAL later on."
"Yes, Field Marshall." The assembled officers answered in chorus, realizing their commander had made her decision.
"Good." Cornelia said. "Admiral Hughes, can the Gibraltar Fleet spare any ships to convoy materials to Algiers?"
The Admiral, whose face was on screen as he could not leave his fleet, nodded. "I could send half my fleet and it wouldn't matter. The straights cannot be taken from us by those damn rebels or by the EU." He answered boisterously.
"Air Marshall Crawford, the 78th Air Group will continue providing air support for the Regiment. The rest of your forces will step up their preparations in the attack against the MEF. Admiral Giles, the Mediterranean Fleet is to extend its blockade to include the Suez Canal. We'll starve the rebels of their precious supplies." Cornelia said, a sneer marring her usually graceful facial features. "Finally, the 12th and 16th Imperial Regiments will move to Oujda," her index finger slid along the map until it reached the only point of intersection between the two largest highways into the region of Morocco, "and cut off any further incursions into our lands."
The two colonels, who had remained silent the entire time, snapped to attention. "Thank you, Sister Cornelia." The generals, if they were shocked at the revelation of two more royals, did not show any signs of it.
"Orion, Altair, I am counting on you two to hold the line until we can gather our strength. Our counteroffensive will begin there."
"Yes, Sister Cornelia." They replied, albeit with a touch of informality that was out of place in the military setting. Cornelia took a step back, reviewing her plan and the map on the table, before nodding and turning on her heel with a distinct "snap". Guilford followed suit and matched her steps from a respectful distance.
"Sister, where are you going?" Orion asked, stunned by the abrupt action.
"This meeting is over." Cornelia announced in her "no nonsense" voice, not bothering to even slow down. "I'm headed back to the field."
"But-"
"Don't bother." General Haywood interrupted him. "Her Highness considers herself a soldier first and foremost."
"But generals aren't required to serve on the field." Altair blurted out. "She's unduly risking her own life!"
"If the king doesn't lead, how can he expect the subordinates to follow?" This time it was Darlton who replied. "It is the age old rhetoric of the Prime Minister Schneizel el Britannia, and your sister has made it into her own philosophy as well."
"Officer Candidates, take seat." The twenty, newly accepted officer candidates obeyed, depositing themselves on the uncomfortable, wooden armchairs. The man swept the room with his eyes, taking a moment to observe each of them carefully, before speaking again. "My name is Captain Lance Sawyer. For the next 35 days, I will be your instructor in the officer program. Make no mistake, gentlemen. Getting in was the easy part."
Sawyer pointed to Lelouch. "Sir, Officer Candidate vi Britannia, sir!" Lelouch shouted automatically.
The captain leafed through the folders on his table, before plucking one out and opening it up. "Private vi Britannia shows an exceptional grasp of tactics, being able to circumvent any challenge that comes his way. However, he has a keen disregard for the chain of command and has, on two occasions, committed perfidy to achieve victory. He has lost none of his combat exercises, to date." Sawyer read calmly, radically opposite the constant shouting they had been subjected to by the drill sergeants. "Is this true, vi Britannia?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
"I see." Sawyer said, nodding. "Drop and give me sixty."
Though his entire body was protesting, Lelouch stood, stepped to the side and assumed a push up position. His already sore arms were shaking violently from each show of exertion, but the captain paid him no further heed, instead pointing to another.
"Sir, Officer Candidate Baldwin, sir!"
"Private Baldwin exhibits officer potential, demonstrating an understanding of fundamental tactics and prioritization of objectives. He has lost thrice of his combat simulations. However, he-vi Britannia, keep moving." Sawyer interrupted himself, noticing that the prince had stopped lowering his body altogether in favor of keeping elbows locked.
Lelouch gritted his teeth, and bent his elbows, wincing as he pushed himself back up. He did another repetition bringing his count to ten. "Lower, vi Britannia, or do you want me to do it for you?" The stern captain asked, before continuing to read. "However, he has a tendency to show no quarter, having taken no prisoners in any of his exercises." Sawyer shut the folder sharply, and piled it on top of Lelouch's. "Baldwin, give my eighty."
Baldwin silently made his way beside Lelouch, before dropping on all fours to commence. The entire ritual lasted half an hour as their new instructor read their profiles aloud, one by one, before giving each of them a number of push ups to do as punishment for their transgressions that ranged from showing no quarter to being stupid enough to fall victim to perfidy. "Just because you follow the rules, doesn't mean the other son of a bitch does too. Be prepared!" Occasionally, his readings would be interspersed with spoken - never shouted - commands such as "Lower" and "Keep your ass down".
By the end of it all, the entire class had arrived at an unspoken consensus that they would gladly face a drill sergeant over Captain Sawyer any day.
"We expect a higher standard from Britannian Officers. Unlike the grunts out there," Sawyer pointed at the privates running through an obstacle course outside the window, "obeying orders simply doesn't cut it anymore. You are the conscience and guide of your men; the anchor which they shall depend on to weather the fiercest of storms. You are to be stronger, faster and smarter than them." The captain crossed his arms in front of his chest. "The Britannian Military might not punish you for it – hell, they might even actively encourage it - but while under my instruction, you will adhere to the rules of war. Am I understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
"You are expected to maintain this schedule from here on out." Sawyer began ticking the points with his fingers. "You are expected to learn everything the privates are learning. You are expected to think for yourselves." He curled his right hand back into a fist, absorbing the three fingers into a tight ball of flesh. "That ends the orientation for today. Any questions?"
No one dared to raise a hand, keenly aware of the throbbing pain in their arms that had yet to subside.
"Let's proceed then." Sawyer pulled out a whiteboard marker from the drawer of the desk, twirling it around his fingers casually. "What is the most important weapon the army has?" He pointed to the man closest to him with the end of the marker.
"Sir, Knightmares sir." was the reply.
"And why is that, Cameron?" Captain Sawyer asked, writing down his answer on the board in a simple, but easily readable, print.
"Knightmares are the deciding factors on the field, sir. Whichever side has the best Knightmare force will emerge victorious in any conflict, sir."
Sawyer's brow arched up questioningly. "Is that right?" He recapped his marker to prevent it from drying, his eyes never breaking contact with Cameron. "Then I suppose the rest of us in the army are obsolete? We're little better than cannon fodder or cheerleaders now?" He jeered.
Cameron wisely stayed quiet.
"Do you know how easy it is to destroy a Sutherland without a Knightmare? A single shot from an anti-tank missile aimed at the knee, shoulder or joints can knock it out of a fight. Hell, a single AP round from a tank aimed at the chest is enough to kill the pilot." Sawyer seemed to relish at the stunned looks he elicited.
"But sir," Haywood said, almost protested really, "if Knightmares are so easy to destroy, why bother with them? They are easily five times more expensive that a state-of-the-art main battle tank."
"Because they move fast, hit faster and hit harder in the proper conditions. The tank, at least the ones we have now, were built to be all terrain artillery, but the Knightmare was designed, first and foremost, to be a rapid reaction unit, especially in urban conditions. Drop a single frame in the middle of a tank squadron, and it'll crush them without breaking a sweat, no doubt. But ask the KMF Corps to charge at a fortified position, and you'll have a slaughter to rival the Charge of the Light Brigade. The public has this misguided notion that it takes a Knightmare to beat a Knightmare, but if that were true, then all of you being here would be pointless, wouldn't it?" His statement left the score dazed, their long held faith in the invincibility of the Knightmare Corps weakened, if not shattered completely. "Back to the question at hand, Wood, your thoughts?"
Wood bit his lip hesitantly, unsure what he should reply. "Its commanders, sir?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?" Sawyer sounded annoyed by the answer posing as a question.
"Its commanders, sir." Wood said, this time with a little more conviction.
Sawyer nodded, satisfied by his answer and Wood let out a sigh of relief. "That is correct. There is no weapon more powerful than the human mind. Name any physical weapon be it a Knightmare, a tank, a plane, a missile and all of these, I assure you, can be countered by a competent commander. That," his gaze swept the room, a decidedly more critical light in his eyes, "is why you are here."
Lelouch was no longer listening to the lecture by this point. His mind was whirling at the implications of what he had just heard. Dozens of new plans flittered into his thoughts, and, just as quickly, were discarded until he decided on his next course of action.
First, though, he'd need to verify his information.
"It's true then." Lelouch said, leaning into the increasingly familiar chair in front of Major Cromwell's desk.
"KMF plating is hardly a state secret." Cromwell replied, trying a sip of his tea, before dumping two cubes of sugar into the steaming beverage. "It is well known that the chest armor is particularly vulnerable to kinetic weaponry, despite our attempts to improve on them."
"Surely the Empire, with no limit to the resources and minds it commands, can come up with a better design for our Knightmares?" Lelouch pressed, unable to assuage his doubts.
"The Sutherland is one of the few mass-produced KMFs in the world. Do you know how difficult it would be to alter the designs all of a sudden? It would require redesigning the whole thing, a cost that the brass isn't quite willing to shoulder. More plating would mean a larger chest component, larger legs for stability, stronger slash harkens to deal with the increased weight and those are just the things at the top of my head!" The major exclaimed, a migraine slowly taking root in his brain from the relentless questioning. "The boys in engineering described the process as a veritable nightmare, no pun intended."
"Well what about newer frames?"
"What do you think the ASEEC has been doing all this time?" The Advanced Special Envoy Engineering Corp was, in simpler terms, the R&D Division for all things Knightmare related. It encompassed several think tanks, projects and teams that were, in general, considered the finest minds of the Empire.
"This is popular knowledge among the officers and no one uses it to their advantage." Lelouch mused loudly, finally accepting the fact.
"For the most part, yes, although I wouldn't buy into Captain Sawyer's personal beliefs completely. KMFs are really, really fast moving tank that can change directions in," he snapped his finger, "an instant." Cromwell explained, his patience wearing thin, though he managed to keep his voice calm. "A Sutherland can withstand a dozen glancing shots from a tank before it even needs repairs. There exists a very small percentage of officers that believe a KMF isn't worth the pounds it takes to build one."
"Why does Captain Sawyer dislike KMFs, anyway?" Lelouch couldn't help but ask, his curiosity regarding the strange officer piqued.
"From what I've read, his unit was ambushed while on patrol by the EU. Only survivor of the assault, from what I've gathered, and he was declared unfit to continue serving on the front lines by his physician." Cromwell answered, no longer able to keep his voice free from the annoyance he felt. "Do you have any more questions or can you leave me to my work in peace?" He groaned as he glanced at the mountain of paperwork, waiting to be completed, on his desk.
Lelouch smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes that thoroughly unnerved the major. "Just one, can I borrow your laptop?"
"If it means you'll keep quiet," he grabbed the offending piece of technology from his drawer and shoved it into the waiting hands, "then take it." Cromwell sighed, feeling much older all of a sudden. He entertained the notion of pulling rank to kick the prince out before deciding against it. It would have been such a waste to throw away what good will he had earned for the temporary reprieve it would grant him. The major was anything but shortsighted.
To: Lelouch Lamperouge (irockchess.a11)
Fr: Jeremiah Gottwald (jeremiah_gottwald .mil)
Re: Orders
Your Highness, I have done as you instructed and have familiarized myself with this "world wide web" as well as having acquired a working knowledge of email, which the Britannian military was kind enough to set up for me.
I await further orders.
Your eternal servant,
Jeremiah Gottwald
The technician quaked in fear as the tall, imposing figure of Jeremiah Gottwald towered over him. "You there!" The Margrave bellowed, pointing to him as if accusing him of some crime.
"S-s-sir?" The technician stuttered, barely managing to even get that one word out clearly.
"I am in need of your services." He demanded, refusing to take no for an answer. The Knight grabbed the technician by the front of his uniform, and lifted him effortlessly into the air.
Margrave Gottwald was known to be a touchy individual, and, on occasion, would personally confront those who had slighted him in some way. The technician gulped, mentally calculating how much of his hospital bills would be covered by his insurance and cursing his misfortune, when he suddenly found himself seated in front of a computer on a rather comfy swivel chair. He looked at the prominent military commander, more confused than frightened now.
"Teach me," Jeremiah gestured towards the screen dramatically, "of this internet."
The technician blinked owlishly. This was…unexpected, to say the least. Still, it was better than getting pummeled into tomorrow.
With nearly infinitesimal patience, he began the long and arduous task of turning the sadly outdated man into a technologically literate being.
It wasn't as if he had much of a choice.
It was 7:00 AM in Tokyo when Ruben Ashford decided to assume his role as superintendent of Ashford Academy. He greeted his secretary perfunctorily, and gratefully accepted the hot cup of black coffee she offered him. At exactly 7:02 AM, he had settled himself comfortably into his Italian leather chair, and savored his drink while his computer booted up.
At 7:03 AM, he nearly introduced his monitor to his favorite black liquid.
Immediately popping up into his monitor, after the start up programs had run their course, was a chat request from him. To say that it was unexpected was an understatement. Without another moment's delay, he clicked on the button which read "accept" and watched as another box popped up to replace the previous one.
"Lelouch?" He typed in, just to be certain it wasn't some sort of mistake.
"Who else?" was the almost instantaneous reply. Though separated by a few thousand kilometers, Ruben could feel the boy smirking at him. "How is she faring without me?" Even without mentioning any names, both men knew who was being spoken of.
"Her guardian informs me that she misses you greatly." Ruben typed quickly, displaying a familiarity with the keyboard that was uncommon among those his age. "I hear Miyazaki is lovely this time of year." It was a code phrase among those in the know, one of several hundred that had been developed by the Britannian prodigy. This one, in particular, meant that Nunnally had been moved there from the Ashford house in Hiroshima.
"I miss her too." There was a significant lull in the conversation, before another message appeared. "I wanted to talk to you about something else though."
Ruben was fairly surprised for the second time that hour. He could not think of anything so important that would merit a direct communication from the prince. Anything important he was involved in - which was depressingly little since the Ashfords fled to Japan - anyway. "Pray tell."
"You used to develop Knightmare Frames."
Those six words left Ruben feeling positively giddy. In his earlier days, he took great pride in his work as an inventor and a businessman. The Ganymede, which was arguably the first true Knightmare in existence, was like a child to him. It had been piloted by Marianne, who was still a Lamperouge then. That much was common knowledge, at least within the aristocratic circles.
What most didn't know, though probably suspected, were the several other Frames being developed by his corporation. "Those days are long past." He replied, the taunting words a painful mirror of his own state of mind. Ruben certainly missed the old days where he was given carte blanche to do as he pleased. It didn't do to dwell on the past. If he had wanted that, he would have overdosed on Refrain a long time ago.
"I am in need of your skills." The former noble waited with bated breath, allowing a sliver of hope to gather in him. It was too much to wish for, too much to ask for…but could it be possible? "I no longer consider the Sutherland as an adequate, mass-produced combat frame that can serve my purposes. It's time to diversify our arsenal."
"How?" It was a question Ruben already knew the answer to, but he wanted to see it for himself. He wanted to know he was needed.
"You once told me that the Ganymede was just a prototype of things to come." He was practically bouncing in his seat by now, barely containing his excitement. "The Glasgow was one of your own designs, before the Foundation was disbanded, was it not? Are you telling me that there weren't others?"
"There were…5th generation frames in the works. Schematics and proposals I had drawn up, but never actually got around to building."
Another brief pause broke the flow of their messaging, and Ruben took the opportunity to open his personal vault, where the flash drive rested. It contained the remnants of his work, the precious few scraps of data he managed to salvage. Reverently, he lifted it out of the vault, as if carrying some sacred artifact, and plugged it into his computer.
Another reply was already waiting for him. One he had been waiting to hear – or see as the case may be - for years. "Can you build me a few?"
Ruben smirked, confidently inputting his answer. "Of course, when do you need them?"
"In a month, will that be a problem?"
The elder Ashford frowned. It was far sooner than he was comfortable with, but still manageable. Most of the work, which was theoretical in nature, was nearly completed. What remained was to acquire and assemble the pieces, which was significantly more difficult. It would be hard to justify why he needed military grade technology. "No, but getting the parts and the money might be."
"I have friends in high places." Ruben read with a smile. "They'll be in contact with you soon. Code will be 'Flash Point'."
"Acknowledged." The chat box abruptly disappeared, signalling that the connection had been severed. Any trace of their conversation, which had been conducted over a secure line it seemed, would have been deleted.
He hadn't had this much fun since conspiring with Marianne to assassinate the enemies of Charles zi Britannia.
August 30, 2017
It was during times like these when Ryze's patience wore thin. Ever since the eventful day at Tunis where he had forcibly evacuated the Viceroy, he had been nagged incessantly by the pathetic excuse for a man. His concerns ranged from the dull taste of the MRE rations to the deplorable conditions of military life. These were what he bothered to complain about while they were in the middle of a warzone, fighting for their lives as the NAL pursued relentlessly.
It was hard to believe that such a petty man existed.
"Viceroy," Ryze began, resisting the urge to shoot the noble before him, "in case you haven't noticed, I have far more pressing concerns than your breakfast for tomorrow."
"Such as?" The Viceroy asked, either stupid or merely pretending to be.
He resisted the urge to smack himself in the face. More importantly, he resisted the urge to smack the Viceroy in the face. "Such as," Ryze drawled out, placing as much emphasis as his voice allowed, "preparing for what will surely be an inevitable assault on the city."
The Viceroy scoffed, as if the matter was somehow beneath him. "The city will be fine without you. I have complete faith in the abilities of Colonel Stone to deal with anything those rebels might throw at us."
As much as the Lt. Col. wished to believe that as well, he could not help but doubt. The Colonel and himself were the last of the regimental command still alive, the rest having been killed during the numerous battles fought while the regiment retreated further towards Algiers. It had been a miracle in and of itself that they even made it to the city at all with the blustering bureaucrat in tow.
Thankfully, he was spared from the inane and utterly asinine chatter by the sounds of a Y-3 bomber passing overhead. It was likely going out to patrol the surrounding areas and harass the enemy camp. More importantly for Ryze, though, was the fact that it had come from the north, which was the same as saying it came from the Mediterranean. The only logical conclusion he could arrive at was that elements of the Gibraltar fleet had finally reached them.
"Viceroy, I believe I have a solution to your problems." Ryze smiled smugly. "The Gibraltar fleet has docked into port. I'm sure you could hitch a ride with them back to Imperial controlled areas, where, of course, your completely valid concerns will be addressed by those more capable than myself." The commander said diplomatically, employing an uncanny amount of vocabulary that, it appeared, was enough to appease the politician.
The Viceroy mulled over his words, as if the decision was a difficult one for him to make. It was an act, of course, which fooled nobody present. "I suppose you are right, Commander. It pains me to have to abandon my men like this, but it is likely the Administration requires my services to keep the public calm!"
Ryze nodded gleefully, happy that he would soon be rid of the pest more than any actual feeling of agreement. He turned to address the squad assigned to his protection. "Sergeant, escort the Viceroy to the docks and see to his safety. Make absolutely certain that he gets onto a ship." He took a step closer and said the next bit in a hushed tone. "It is absolutely imperative that he leaves the city by today. Understood?"
"Perfectly, sir." The sergeant replied, a conspiratory grin plastered on his face. It was no secret that the Lt. Col., who was now technically the second in command of the regiment, disliked those in public office and considered them a waste of time. "Follow me, Viceroy."
Ryze sighed happily as the party left the premises.
Peace at last. "This is Lt. Col. Ryze, I want bombers to hit the following sectors..."
To: Milly Ashford (prez4lyf.a11)
Fr: Lelouch Lamperouge (irockchess.a11)
Re: Nothing Much
Dear Milly,
It kills me to have to be away like this, y'know? How is everyone coping so far? I hope they didn't take my abrupt departure too badly.
Things at the military are terrible. Imagine PE class on steroids. Now multiply that by a hundred, and that's what I feel I'm being put through. Our Drill Sergeant has it out for us. It's his life mission to make every waking moment as painful as possible, apparently. Great news though, I got into Officer Training so it's bye bye Drill Sergeant. Bad news? I got stuck with someone who hates me even more. As we speak, I can barely lift my arms and it is taking a herculean amount of effort just to compose this letter. You should feel honored I'm writing to you. JK.
Life as a royal is surprisingly quiet, which is probably the only good thing I can say about it so far. Everyone around me is either brown nosing or being utter assholes. I've got tons of associates now, but I only see one of them as a friend. His name's Victor Wolfe, a nice enough chap who's attitude reminds me of Rivalz. He's friendly, and he listens to orders well - just your kinda guy, eh?
Give everyone my love.
Lelouch
Victor Wolfe, new leader of Lelouch's former Squad since its two most capable strategists were promoted, entered the mess hall to a bizarre sight. Nineteen officer candidates were rushing to and fro, accosting random people. He watched them, intrigued by their strange behavior, as he grabbed a tray and filled it with all sorts of slop that was to be passed off as "food".
"Victor!" He saw his squad mates waving at him, almost a little too eagerly, and found his way to their table. Only then did he realize why they were excited.
Lelouch vi Britannia was sitting among them, one leg crossed over the other and an easy smile that would break down most people's resistance. "Good day, Vic."
The private gently placed his tray on the table, taking up a seat across the prince, and sat down. "What's all this," he gestured to the pandemonium around him, "about?"
"Officer Training, apparently." Lelouch answered. "Captain Sawyer said, and I quote, 'you are required to find you're own men for the upcoming PLABCOMS. If you can't bother with that, then don't bother showing up.' Suffice to say," Lelouch took a sip of water, "we're taking it to heart."
Victor eyed him up and down suspiciously. "You don't look like it."
"Oh, I'm panicking inside." Lelouch said, although appearing as calm as a Zen master. "I just choose not to show it."
"Right," Victor rolled his eyes disbelievingly.
"Anyway, back to the matter at hand." He leaned forward, and unfolded his foot to sit up straight, a decidedly more solemn demeanor showing. "Victor, I want you on my Platoon. I need a second in command I can trust completely."
"Are you sure?" Wolfe asked questioningly. "There are only eight of us left in the squad."
Lelouch furrowed his brows disapprovingly. "Haven't I taught you by now that numbers aren't everything?'
"If you're sure," Victor continued, "then there's no need to even ask."
"I just thought that with Wood being your former leader..." He left the sentence unfinished.
Victor snorted. "Wood was a great squad leader, but he never had quite the tactical brilliance you did." The others nodded their head fervently in agreement. "I don't think anyone here is going to fight me when I say we'd rather be under you. Now who else are you planning to invite to the team?"
"Higgins, Rawlins and O'Connor have worked with me. They know how I operate." Lelouch provided. "Suggestions for the last squad? We need five in total."
At least a dozen names were mentioned in an instant, none of which Lelouch understood in the garbled frenzy. "Alright, you boys talk it over for now. I'm going to get my three on board first."
He left them to their discussion, as they debated who would get the honor of being part of the winning platoon.
To: Lelouch Lamperouge (irockchess.a11)
Fr: Milly Ashford (prez4lyf.a11)
Re: Nothing Much
Lulu,
You suck. Like a lot. You chose NOW of all times to get caught? Really? Do you know how much extra slack I had to pick up since my trusted VP left me? Where's the loyalty? The friendship? I thought I meant something to you...
Ok, I'm done ranting now.
How is everyone taking things? Well enough, I suppose. Shirley only cried for a week. We found her half-drunk from some gin Rivalz smuggled in, mumbling about her "precious Lulu." An optimistic girl, wouldn't you say? Rivalz is doing much better, though he misses the extra dough from the good 'ol days more than anything else. His grades have improved now that he isn't sneaking out of school as often. I told you you were a bad influence on him. Now that we've pried him from your manipulative, criminal fingers, he's back on track to being a decent member of society. Nina's business as usual. I swear, that girl is a machine. We also inducted a new girl into the council. Her name's Kallen Stadtfeld. She's a shy one, but very intelligent. Kinda like you.
Oh, and Coach Anderson has a message for you. "That's what you get for cutting my class all the time. Nobody escapes Karma." I couldn't type in the rest of his message, but he did his evil laugh for about five minutes.
I'm happy that you got into Officer Training! Does that mean you get to be a major or something important once you're done? Wait, don't answer, I'll search it...waiting for the page to load...and your prize is to be a 2nd Lieutenant? Lame. They couldn't even bother to make you a 1st Lieutenant? That's just downright disgraceful. You should just march right out of there and come back to the Academy where your skills are put to much better use. We're hard pressed to find a suitable incentive for the females.
As for being quiet...you really don't have that much free time do you? There are at least fifty different articles on the web about you! The latest news is that you're in a torrid affair with the EU Prime Minister's 2nd daughter. Lelouch, you naughty, naughty boy. I didn't know you had it in for the French. Is that why you never bothered with any of the Ashford girls?
Anyway, regarding everyone else, they seem to be acting pretty normal. I'd be more concerned if they weren't acting that way.
Take care, soldier boy.
Milly
P.S. I do NOT like Rivalz.
"Sir," the intercom buzzed to life with a crackle, "Margrave Gottwald is here for you."
Ruben smiled knowingly to himself. The boy had certainly come through for him. "Send him in." He ordered, and not a moment later, his polished, reddish-brown cherry door creaked open. The boot was the first thing he noticed. It was all black with a lace ricocheting among the holes to secure it, and was gleaming, free from the mud that often caked the footwear of military men. Gottwald was dressed in the standard navy blue befitting a member of army, and occasional gold trimmings broke the monotony of the uniform. White gloves adorned his hands, pronouncing him as a KMF pilot to the world, and a plain robe draped around his shoulder pronouncing him as a Knight or a Noble. A decorative sword which remained sheathed at his hip completed his outfit.
"Greetings, Superintendent Ashford." The margrave said. "My name is Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald." He paused to gather his thoughts, thinking of how best to phrase his next sentence. "I believe a...mutual acquaintance of ours warned told you of me?"
Ruben peered at him curiously through his spectacles as he struggled to express himself.
"You must forgive me for intruding on your school, but I was sent to check on the security of your fine establishment." Jeremiah continued. "With the country as volatile as it is right now, I-"
"Just say what you need to, Margrave." The aged aristocrat said, vaguely amused by his long winded attempt to seamlessly weave in their code phrase into an actual conversation. "Time is a commodity I'd rather not spend on mincing pointless words."
Gottwald flushed. "Flash Point, sir."
Ruben nodded. "Tell me, what's your rank?"
"Like I said sir, I'm a margrave."
"I mean your military rank."
"Oh, a Major, sir." Jeremiah supplied hastily. "Of Valiant Lance." He added as an afterthought.
"And how, Margrave Gottwald," Ruben said slowly, "can you get me what I need?"
Jeremiah retrieved an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to Ruben. "This should solve the first of it. Twenty million Britannian pounds total, split into five checks and drawn from a total of nine different accounts to ensure it is untraceable."
"Where did he get the other five million from?" Ruben asked, intrigued. A Britannian royal was usually granted a stipend of fifteen million Britannian pounds as their yearly allowance.
Jeremiah shrugged nonchalantly. "His Highness has his own means which I am not privy to."
Ruben snorted. That probably meant Lelouch had earned it from his extracurricular activities. "And the parts?"
"It might take some time to procure certain items, but it will be delivered, when needed." The military man assured him. "Will you really be able to complete this order on time? No disrespect intended, but thirty days...that's not a lot of time to assemble a group of Knightmare variants."
"It will be sufficient." The Ashford Head replied with a dismissive wave, as if time were a trifle factor altogether. "The Prince is not especially picky about aesthetics, which makes the job infinitely easier. As long as it delivers results on the fields, then it will be enough for him."
September 23, 2017 (Officers' Training Day 29)
"This is it." Lelouch began, turning to face his platoon. "The day we've all been waiting for. The final PLABCOM challenge. I don't know about you lads, but I certainly don't plan to start losing now!" A growl of approval rose from the 47 soldiers under him.
"What's the plan, sir?" It was Higgins, the infiltrator from his final SQUABCOMS Challenge, who asked.
"Today's battle is a simple elimination. No special conditions for us to take advantage of." Lelouch gestured to the soon-to-be battleground. "Observe the ground, gentlemen, for it shall be our battlefield today. What do you see?"
"A single ridge dominates the landscape." O'Connor stated matter-of-factly. "Control of it will be key to victory."
"It slopes gently to the sides, but it is a steep climb from from our and the enemy's approach. The sides will be the entrance." Rawlins answered next.
Hawthorne, the man who had been agreed upon after an hour of debate, was next. "Two rivers cut through the sides. These will be strategic points to check an advance of either side."
"These rivers are shallow, and can be crossed easily though." Higgins observed. "It will be easy to stretch out the defenders into a long line, than smash through a single point to create an opening."
"Attacking the ridge head on would be suicidal of us." Wolfe replied, gaining him incredulous looks. "It will turn this battle into one of attrition, something we are not sure of winning. Strategy will decide this, not brute force."
Lelouch nodded at their answers appraisingly. "All of you are correct. The enemy expects us to contest the higher ground, so we will do the exact opposite." He pointed to the two bluish lines snaking through the grounds. "The rivers will be key here. They will create a trap which will be a gilded cage for our foes."
A gun erupted in the distance, communicating that the exercise had begun. The men snapped to attention, ready to receive their orders. "Rawlins, Higgins, you will take the right flank. Wolfe and Hawthorne will handle the left. Move out." The four sub-commanders ran to their respective squads and began relaying instructions. Like a well-oiled machine, they cranked to life, marching into position with deliberate step.
"What of us, sir?" O'Connor asked, curious what his role would be.
"We're going to bait the enemy, O'Connor." Lelouch answered with a feral grin. "Let's get a little closer to the action."
On the central ridge of the field, Simon Haywood watched the movement with abject curiosity. This was not the first time he had faced Lelouch vi Britannia, and had learned his lesson from before. Shoot to kill.
"Two squads closing in from each wing." His aide pointed out.
"I can see that." Haywood answered. "How intriguing."
"Sir?"
"He's left himself open to attack." The noble said. "If we moved down this ridge right now, we could overwhelm his guards. Cut off the head of the snake, so to speak." He weighed the choice in his head. If he maintained his position, their flanks would soon be exposed. "Have the 2nd and 3rd squad fall back behind the 1st river. They'll keep the threat of a flanking maneuver on the four squads. I will take the 1st and 4th squad to charge the enemy center. 5th squad, under you, will hold this position." He decided.
The two squads began surging down in a wave, hoping to end the battle quickly by taking out Lelouch from the fight. At that exact same moment, two squads, one on either side, began to storm the ridge, outnumbering and outmaneuvering the defenders left behind.
"Just as planned." Lelouch muttered. "O'Connor, contain the enemy advance. Keep them bottled on the ridge."
"Yes, sir." O'Connor readied his rifle with an ominous "click". "Come on men! Let's show them why we're the best!"
A war cry loosed from their lips and they charged forward. It was a short, but bloody, skirmish. A straight forward slug fest that resulted in heavy casualties on both sides. The damage, however, was done. Though having lost more men in the engagement, Lelouch had gained the time necessary for the final phase of his plan.
He was smiling manically as the remnants of Haywood's assault force, a total of fifteen men, surrounded him. It was an act that did not escape attention. "I've already won this one, Haywood." He said boldly. "Look at the ridge, it is held by my men." Simon spared a glance and saw it was true.
"With you gone, your men will fall apart." He said.
Lelouch raised a brow at him questioningly. "I have more faith in my subordinates than that. I didn't spend these past few days training them for no reason. The chain of command will carry on, even if you take me out now."
"We'll have to agree to disagree." He cocked his pistol and the world turned black.
"...and the winner is Lelouch vi Britannia!"
A barrage of light and noise met Lelouch as he regained his senses. The first thing he recognized was the grinning face of Victor staring down at him. "Welcome back, sir." He offered his hand to him.
Lelouch took it, and pulled himself up. "Did things go according to plan?"
"After we crushed the defenders of the ridge, we pressed the attack against those across the river and wiped them out. We outnumbered Haywood 2-to-1 at that point and had the higher ground. It was only a matter of closing in on him." Victor reported dutifully.
"Well done, Victor." Lelouch patted him on the back. "If you hadn't kept the men together after I was gone, this plan would've failed."
Victor beamed with pleasure and puffed his chest out as if showing off some medal. "Thank you, s-"
"Britannia."
Lelouch had become familiar with that voice, having been exposed to it constantly by now. "Haywood, what a pleasure." He turned around to face him.
"Congratulations on the win. You were the better strategist, it turned out." He commended in a modest tone.
Lelouch found himself genuinely surprised, and his hand moved on its own accord to shake the outstretched one of his adversary. "Just how did you know your men would continue to fight without you?" He asked. "You are the platoon, after all. They wouldn't be able to accomplish anything without you."
"Because I trained them to follow orders, not just from me, but those of my direct subordinates." Lelouch answered. "As officers, we aren't going to be able to micromanage every single detail, Haywood. You need to learn to delegate tasks to people you can trust. If you don't, you'll be making your men weaker because of it."
"I think I understand what you're trying to say. Congratulations again...Lelouch."
The Company Based Combat Simulations was markedly different from the other combat simulations. For one thing, the officers would be dealing with it through a computer program instead of using actual men. For another, they would be gaining access to vehicles for the first time. Knightmares were the common choice, although Lelouch personally preferred using tanks as he could get a squadron of them, around 18 in total, to face a squad of KMFs, which numbered only 6.
In fact, he had just finished demolishing another of his classmate's virtual forces.
Lelouch took off his helmet to exit from the simulation, and offered his comrade, Cameron, a cursory handshake in a show of sportsmanship. The proffered hand was, of course, accepted. "Close match, Cameron.'
Cameron snorted loudly. "Spare me the pleasantries, Lelouch. Even a blind man could see it wasn't remotely close. At the rate you're steamrolling these exercises, I think it's only a matter of time before the Captain challenges you himself."
"I doubt he'd bother." Lelouch replied. "Say, who do you think is going to win?" He nudged his head to the side.
Cameron peered at the screen, recognizing it as the battle between Haywood and Wood, whose rivalry was nearing legendary proportions. "Haywood's the better tactician, but Wood's defense, as of late, is a headache to deal with. Why does it matter?"
"They made a bet to settle their issues. Whoever wins here gets to claim gloating rights for a lifetime."
Cameron frowned. "You really think that will work?"
"No," Lelouch shook his head, "but it was worth a try."
They watched the computer generated battle a while longer. "Those two are pretty scary when they're like this." Cameron noted.
"If they worked together, imagine what they could accomplish." Lelouch said wistfully, before groaning. "Looks like a draw. Damn it! I was hoping this would settle the issue."
"We better bust out the earmuffs again or we'll never get a moment's peace." Cameron said. Lelouch nodded sadly.
"We can't keep hiding like this." Kallen said, crossing her arms.
Inoue frowned at her. "The Glasgow is still banged up since Shinjuku. We don't have the funds or the parts to fix it."
"We don't need the Glasgow." She replied heatedly. "We've managed without it before."
"And we paid the price for that dearly." It was Ohgi who spoke up this time. "Naoto might still be with us if we had the Glasgow then."
Kallen glared at him defiantly, but backed down nevertheless.
"Frankly, I'm getting worried about the poison gas." Yoshida said. "It's back in Prince Clovis's hands, which can only mean trouble for us."
"I agree with Yoshida. We can't allow that weapon to remain in Britannian hands." Sugiyama joined in.
Minami snorted at their bravado. "They've moved it to an even more secure facility this time. Charging in guns ablaze will get us all killed for nothing."
"There must be something we can do!" Tamaki insisted, slamming his fist on the table theatrically. "Maybe the other groups-"
Ohgi interrupted him. "The other groups don't give a shit." The core members turned deathly quiet at his announcement. "Whether we like it or not, we're on our own here. If we want to be of any use to Japan, we'll need to be patient. Rash action will get us all killed."
"If that bomb blows, thousands of Japanese are going to die!" Kallen growled, standing up. "I'm not sitting around here waiting for that to happen."
"Are you so eager to join Naoto in the next world?" Minami snapped angrily.
A resounding smack left a palm sized imprint on his cheek. "Fuck you guys. I'm done." Kallen turned on her heel and walked out, ignoring Ohgi's voice calling out to her.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Minami? There goes our best pilot!" Tamaki shouted.
"That was uncalled for!"
"She shouldn't even be here! She's a child, for goodness's sake!"
"That child is as dedicated as any one of us!"
"Hey Kallen, wait up!"
Ohgi closed his eyes softly as pandemonium broke out. His group was falling apart. A single tear streaked down his face. "I'm sorry, Naoto. I've failed you." He whispered softly and morosely, mourning the loss of his friend.
September 29, 2017 (Officers' Training Day 35)
"It gives me great pleasure to introduce General Michele Manfredi, Grand Master of the Knights of St. Michael." Fervent applause met Major Cromwell's announcement.
It wasn't everyday that a Grand Master of one of the four Knight Orders of Britannia showed up. The black haired man, donned in his imposing Knight of St Michael uniform, was practically a celebrity in the military. Lelouch had a faint idea why the Euro-Britannian, which were former nobles of the now Democratic Europe that had fled to Britannia, was here.
"Good Morning, Class of September 2017. It is an honor for me to speak before you today. There is no finer profession in the world than that of a soldier. There is no greater service than the defense of the Empire!" The men clapped approvingly. "In the past 70 days, you have all shown your mettle. You surpassed...nay, you conquered the trials we placed before you! Today, you may call yourself the true sons of Britannia! I commend you all." The applause now turned into cheers, and the general waited for it to die down before continuing.
"It is my pleasure to welcome the newest officers of the army."
And so it began, as all twenty of the graduates stepped forward in their turn to accept the commission, polite clapping offered to some, zealous shouts to others. When the last of them had stepped back into place, the general turned to the enlisted once again.
"The Holy Empire of Britannia has many enemies. Enemies which would seek to unravel all that we have done. We, the Military, are the bulwark against chaos. We are the Sword and Shield of the Empire, we who would lay down our lives so that others might live. It is the Imperial Duty of every soldier to maintain order against those who seek to disrupt the natural order. From this day forth, you shall serve as part of the 2nd Quebec Imperial Regiment station in Area 17. Second Lieutenant Lelouch vi Britannia, step forward!"
For the second time that day, Lelouch marched towards the Italian general. "Throughout your training, you have show exemplary skill and strategic foresight. In the hundreds of simulations which you took part in, you have never lost a single one!" Manfredi sounded somewhat impressed by his feat. "It is for this reason that you have been made acting CO of the 2nd and 3rd Battalions of the 2nd Quebec!"
The men roared encouragingly at the announcement. "Report to Major Cromwell's office after the ceremony, Your Highness." Manfredi whispered.
Lelouch rapped his knuckles on the familiar door thrice.
"Enter."
Major Cromwell and General Michele were waiting for him. "Welcome, Your Highness." Manfredi said, grinning widely.
"It's an honor, sir." Lelouch replied dutifully. "What are my orders?"
"You are to lead the 2nd and 3rd Battalions to reinforce Colonel Obadiah Ryze, who is holding out with the 2nd Quebec in Algiers."
"Colonel Ryze?" Lelouch repeated questioningly. From what news he had heard, the man was still a Lieutenant Colonel.
"Yes, Colonel Ryze." Manfredi confirmed. "Colonel Stone was killed in action last week." He explained.
"Understood sir. What transport will we be taking?"
"Given the timely nature of your assignment, a fleet of planes has been arranged to bring your men to the newly captured city of Sidi Bel Abbes, the closest airport we have to the front. Colonel Orion rui Britannia and Altair nu Britannia are heading the assault there."
Lelouch stiffened at the mention of his two siblings. "Am I to aid in their advance?"
"No, your objective is to reach Colonel Ryze as soon as you can. These are orders from Field Marshall Cornelia herself. Major Cromwell, the equipment?"
"The 88th Armored Regiment and Icarus Lance will be joining you as well." Cromwell said, handing him a folder.
Manfredi took a step towards him. "You leave in two days. God speed, Your Highness. Time is running out for the 2nd Quebec."
"...If one studies the inner complexities of the Britannian military, one realizes how truly confusing it is. So quickly did the military service expand during the reign of the 98th Emperor, Charles zi Britannia, that there was a severe failure to properly indoctrinate many of the members, especially those from satellite Areas (i.e. Area 1, 2, 7, 9 and 10). This resulted, not surprisingly, into a situation where there was no true standard Britannian Army Doctrine. Officers that were exceptional were often given much leeway to teach however they wished, a mistake which almost fractured the Army's unity..."
-excerpt from: "Military, Doctrine and Unity, a case study" by Albert Mount
"To gather information, but cannot analyze it, is pointless. To analyze information that is wrong is worthless." - Lelouch vi Britannia
AN: Ok, I'm one of those people who think that Mechas aren't all that sound as an idea. Still, I'm not going to say Knightmares are completely useless. Like the story shows, I believe they do have uses in urban combat, but aren't as useful as tanks in open warfare. Physics, back me up here!
Second, this story does not have a pairing yet. It will be some time before romance will even be a part of this story. If you want a particular pairing, give me reasons why this Lelouch would be better off with so and so, aside from your personal preference.
C.C. and Geass WILL be part of this story eventually. The story is really starting to diverge now. Many events may or may not happen as in canon.
Finally, I'm looking for beta readers. If anyone wants to volunteer, please leave me a PM. I want somebody I can bounce ideas off of and to double check my errors. They'll probably get to see my notes as well. :P
More reviews = happier author = faster updates ^^ leave your thoughts, whether good or bad, in the box below and click send! It's as easy as that.