AN: Here it is folks. Bon appetite!
Disclaimer: Let me see...nope still don't own Code Geass. Sorry.
Arc II: The Fast Game
Part 1: Opening Moves
"His hatred for bureaucrats was second only to his hatred for the enemy." - Simon Haywood (on General Obadiah Ryze)
"To the commanders on both sides, it was clear that controlling the major ports along the coast would be key to victory. From east to west, these were Port Said, Suez, Alexandria, Marsah Matruh, Tobruk, Benghazi, Sidra, Tripoli, Tunis, Algiers, Oran, Al Hoceima, Tangier and Rabat. Victory, in both war and chess, was not decided by total strength, but effective strength. How quickly and how many of our forces could be brought onto the field would decide the war." -Lelouch vi Britannia
September 30, 2017
From the moment he walked into the briefing room, Lelouch realized something was very, very wrong.
Even with the combined officers of the newly formed 2nd and 3rd Battalion, the 88th Armored Regiment and Icarus Lance present, there were still less than fifty men waiting inside. "Where is everyone else?" He asked, almost afraid of the answer he'd get.
"We're all here, sir." Haywood answered.
Lelouch's distressed eyes swept the room to be certain, grudgingly accepting the reality of the situation.
Britannia had the men, but not the officers to wage its wars. He knew that the situation was bad, hence the ridiculously accelerated program he had undergone, but for them to reach this point…
It was pitiful.
By all rights, there should have been at least a Lieutenant Colonel, half a dozen Majors and scores of Captains present. Instead, he had an assembly of 2nd Lieutenants fresh from training, all looking equally unsure of how to proceed. In fact, there seemed to be, at first glance at least, no veterans in the group.
It was as if the congregation of green officers had been brought together specifically to fail in the task at hand. Lelouch considered if it was a deliberate act of sabotage from his enemies, and found that the more he dwelled on it, the more likely it seemed to be. This would have been an opportune time for them to strike, for if he failed in his first mission, then no force on earth could save him from his father's wrath. If he succeeded, it would be no great victory for him as the mission seemed simple enough.
In hindsight, Lelouch realized it probably wasn't that strange he had been assigned as commanding officer of the motley crew, if one accepted that there were no senior officers at all.
"Is there anyone here who's actually been on the field?" He asked hopefully, and was not surprised when the men began sharing hesitant looks. Great, they really were fresh graduates.
With a long sigh, he carried on. Their silence was answer enough for him. "I am 2nd Lieutenant and Brevet Lieutenant Colonel Lelouch vi Britannia, acting CO of our task force until we rendezvous with Colonel Ryze and the 2nd Quebec." Some of the men, presumably those from the other units, stood a little straighter at the mention of his name. "Haywood, bring us up to date."
"Sir, the 2nd and 3rd Battalion stands at 2,000 active personnel, organized into 8 rifle companies of 200 men each, and 4 support companies of 100 men each, sir." Haywood replied crisply, never pausing during his report.
"What of Icarus Lance?" Lelouch asked, turning his expectant gaze towards the unfamiliar faces gathered to his left.
One of the chaps cleared his throat, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. He began to fidget in place as he became acutely aware of the sudden focus on his person. "Your Highness-"
"None of that 'Your Highness' crap here." Lelouch interrupted gruffly, causing some eyes to widen at his unexpected brusqueness. "'Sir' will suffice, or you may use my rank, if you feel the need for formality."
"R-right," his eyes fleetingly met Lelouch's purple ones before he cast them downwards subserviently. "Sir, I'm 2nd Lieutenant Andrew Simmons of Icarus Lance. We…uh, we have 25 Knightmares and…9 Atlas Transports to, uh, carry…stuff, sir." Simmons stuttered lamely.
Lelouch 's brow shot up at his rather lacking response. "What of your support personnel, Lieutenant Simmons?"
"We have four engineers with us, sir." He managed more steadily this time.
"88th Armored?"
"Sir!" Another boy barked sharply, causing his neighbors to wince at the volume he employed. Lelouch half expected him to break out into a salute any moment now. "2nd Lieutenant Tiberius Hopkins of the 88th Armored, sir! We are currently at full strength with 74 Main Battle Tanks plus the attached support units and the M-4 Command Cruiser, sir!"
"Thank you, Lieutenant Hopkins." Lelouch said, acknowledging him with a slight incline of his head.
He took a step to the side, revealing a white screen behind him and, seconds later, a detailed map of Algeria appeared. "Our mission, gentlemen, is to reach 2nd Quebec's position in Algiers." A small red circle was projected by the laser pointer in Lelouch's hand. "At 0800 tomorrow, a fleet of planes will be arriving at the Montreal Airbase to bring us here," he moved the pointer so that it was now highlighting another black dot, "Sidi Bel Abbes, approximately 450 kilometers away. Given the importance of the port of Algiers, we have been given priority over other units for transportation. It is imperative that we reach the port before it falls into enemy hands."
"How much time do we have, sir?" Wood asked.
"Intelligence indicates that they can hold out for another two weeks." The officers, if anything, looked distressed by the assessment. "We will reach them in four days." He pronounced boldly, a not so subtle smirk tugging on his lips.
Total silence.
"Any questions?"
"Sir, just how exactly do you plan to move 2,000 men across the desert?" Haywood cocked an eyebrow. "In four days, no less!"
"Simple, Lieutenant Haywood. Stationed a few kilometers from Sidi Bel Abbes is the 16th Imperial Regiment under Colonel Altair Britannia. They've established a field base, which from what I've gathered, is to be one of three staging areas for the renewed counteroffensive. That places a significant amount of material and, more importantly, transport vehicles under his command."
Hopkins was the first to realize what he was suggesting, nearly jumping to answer. "You plan on turning us into a mechanized regiment, sir?"
"Only temporarily, Lieutenant Hopkins," Lelouch answered, giving him an approving smile. "The Colonel has a surplus of J-19 carrier which we can…borrow. With these, mobility won't be an issue."
"Why would the colonel give them to us, sir?" Haywood questioned yet again. "He would be loath to part with such important logistical equipment even for a brief period of time."
"Leave that to me." He said instead of answering. "I'm sure he can be convinced to see things our way." The conceited grin now on Lelouch's face only served to reinforce his image of utmost confidence. "Now for your assignments…"
"I don't care if they're Britannian or not, just make absolutely certain they're volunteer."
Those words ringed in Jeremiah Gottwald's ears. It was the first verbal instruction he had received from his prince and he caught himself having doubts about it. A feeling of shame swept over him as he realized he could not even bring himself to obey a single instruction without question, but Number pilots…it was a completely alien concept to him.
The KMF Corps was a coveted assignment precisely because the pilots were handpicked, cream of the crop troops. There were several stringent requirements that had to be met before someone was accepted in.
First, and foremost, was skill. All pilots had to score at least 80 percent in the simulated tests, which was in itself a feat already. Very few military personnel actually managed to obtain the necessary scores to be considered, making pilots a commodity as rare as the liquid superconductor necessary to power the Knightmare Frames.
Second, a pilot had to gain the recommendation of a KMFC officer and his immediate superior. This was considerably easier to secure for those with the right connections as it was a measure of political clout, not military prowess.
On paper, these were the only factors to be considered.
If only life were that simple. Britannian prejudice meant that all KMFC pilots had to be Britannians with exceedingly few exceptions accepted from Honorary Britannian ranks. Even then, these were always from satellite areas that held extreme loyalty to the Empire. Accepting an Honorary Britannian from a developing area of questionable allegiance? Unorthodox was putting things mildly.
Understandably, many Britannian KMF pilots had refused his offer. Asking them to leave their comfortable posts to pilot experimental frames – most of which were dangerous to being with - in a warzone with the highest mortality rate was a bit much, despite the very real likelihood of promotion if they survived. To be honest, Gottwald doubted he would have taken up the deal had it come from anyone else. Only one other Britannian had accepted the transfer; a young, adventurous soul by the name of Maximillan.
Hence, Jeremiah's current predicament.
He now had to ask for volunteers from Numbers of all people. This was simply downright demeaning. He was a member of nobility for God's sake! He never had to ask these wretches to do anything. If need be, he'd just order them to do it and if they refused, have them summarily executed for insubordination.
Jeremiah surveyed the 128 Honorary Britannians in front of him. They were those who actually qualified for acceptance into the KMFC, if not for their heritage. He grimaced, bitterly swallowing his pride, before opening his mouth to speak. "By request of his Highness, Lelouch vi Britannia," Gottwald repeated the message for their benefit and the exact conditions that they would find themselves in if they accepted.
He had barely finished when someone stepped forward without the slightest hint of hesitation. "Private Suzaku Kururugi volunteers, sir." He spoke assertively, though he did not seem terribly enthused with the idea. In fact, Kururugi looked downright annoyed, as if he were performing some necessary duty rather than actually volunteering, something that Gottwald found strange.
A few seconds passed and another person stepped forward with the same certainty Suzaku had shown. "Private Kenji Yamashina volunteers, sir." In contrast with Kururugi's calm, leveled tone, his was passionate but uneven. There was a fire beneath his eyes; a mix of determination and ambition seeking to be released upon the world.
The margrave paused to consider them who would soon be his subordinates. Yamashina was eager, anxious even, to please. Kururgi, on the other hand, remained deferential but not submissive.
He looked at Jeremiah as an equal, and it grated on the margrave's nerves.
"The rest of you are dismissed." Jeremiah ordered, replying to their perfunctory salute with his own. He waited for the rest of the men to clear out before addressing the two. "Private Kururugi, Private Yamashina, you are hereby transferred to my command. Report to my office tomorrow at 0500 sharp."
The command deck of newly christened HMAS Avalon was a hive of activity. Officers rushed to and fro, spewing orders and monitoring their posts vigorously. Technicians fretted over their monitors like a mother would dote over her child. In the background, the vibrant, rhythmic hum of the ship's twin engines could be heard clearly.
The excitement in the air was palatable. And who could blame them? There was a certain novelty to running the world's first air cruiser, after all.
At the heart of the room Prince Schneizel el Britannia who observed the proceedings with eyes made of ice. The captain of the Avalon, Admiral Zacharias Shaw, dutifully stood on one side and Kanon Maldini, the Prince's aide, on the other.
Abruptly, all sounds died as those present held their breath. This was the culmination of their collective efforts. This was the apotheosis of technological advancement and human brilliance.
This was their moment.
The engines let out its roar that rose in gradual crescendo. The cruiser's titanium hull creaked loudly from the strain. For a while, nothing happened.
Then it began. Slowly at first, but surely, the ship began to rise into the air, its nose pointed at an upward angle as if longing to take its rightful place among the clouds. The engines continued to whir, louder and louder, its sound blocking out all others as it struggled against the oppressive weight of gravity.
Then, as quickly as it started, the deck leveled out. The engines quieted down, content once again to emit its familiar and considerably less conspicuous purr.
Admiral Shaw peered at the prince through his peripherals, and saw that his face was set in an unreadable expression. "Your Highness?" He did not have to say any more for his question to be understood.
"Go ahead, Captain."
Shaw two steps forward, taking control of the command deck. "Status report!" He barked, and the room surged to life once more.
"Engines are operating at optimal efficiency!"
"Main guns ready! Manual targeting is online!"
"Shields calibrated and capacitors are fully charged!"
And so it continued, with each officer reporting on a specific part of the ship. Schneizel remained impassive, staring into the main screen blankly.
When the last of the reports had been delivered, the captain clicked his heels and brought his hand to his temple in salute. "Your Highness, HMAS Avalon reports all systems are green."
In that instant, the melancholic spell over the prince was broken and he smiled a genuine smile. "Excellent," he dismissed the salute with a wave of his hand, "set sail for Nevada, Captain."
"Aye, Your Highness."
"Now for the real fun." Schneizel muttered to himself. Behind him, Kanon smirked knowingly. "Kanon?"
The aide discretely handed him a folder with the "Joint Chiefs of Staff" label on it. "The 2nd, 4th and 6th Armies are undergoing renewed training in Greenland in preparation for the invasion of Russia." Kanon began as Schneizel skimmed through the folder's contents. "The 3rd and 5th Armies continue the war against the NAL and the MEF under Field Marshall Cornelia. They should be in Jerusalem within days. Meanwhile, 8th and 12th Armies, in conjunction with the 2nd Pacific Fleet, continue to crack down on insurgencies in Areas 11, 12, 14 and 15. General Calares requests that the 15th Army be allowed to reinforce these operations."
A flicker of annoyance passed through the Prime Minister's face. "That's the second time he's asked this week."
"Shall I send him a letter, sir?" Kanon asked with a singsong tone, rubbing his gloved hands together gleefully.
"Yes, do so." Schneizel said without hesitation. "On second thoughts, make that a strongly worded letter." He turned his head sharply to face his aide. "This is the last I want to hear of this, understood?"
Kanon grinned maniacally, a sight that would have made even the toughest of veterans shiver. "Perfectly, sir."
"What news from Camelot?" Schneizel turned his head towards the main screen once more, making sure that the pilot was keeping them on track.
"Earl Asplund has yet to find a suitable devicer for the Lancelot, unfortunately. He requests that one of the Knights of the Round be made available to him."
Schneizel pressed his lips into a thin line. "Out of the question, tell him to keep looking." He answered dismissively. "Anything about Lelouch?"
"SIS agents have put together a brief of his recent activities. Interestingly, he's been in contact with the Ashfords and several other figures of Area 11. Our best bet is tha-"
Schneizel interrupted with his hand and withdrew his vibrating phone with the other. Kanon looked at him questioningly. It was unlike the Prince to answer his phone during their briefings.
"Who is this?" Schneizel demanded. There were very few people who had his number. With him, it was usually a "don't call me, I'll call you" stance. The fact that an unknown had managed to secure his number was disturbing, to say the least.
"Why brother dearest, don't you recognize my voice?"
"Lelouch?" Schneizel asked incredulously. "How did you get my number?"
On the other end, Schneizel could practically hear his smug grin. "I swiped it from Clovis' phone when he wasn't looking. I thought it might be useful. Turns out I was right."
"What do you want?" Schneizel asked, annoyed, yet secretly pleased if the faint smile on his face was anything to go by.
"Plenty of things." Lelouch answered vaguely. "But for now, battlefield data for my newest toys will suffice."
"Ah yes," Schneizel gestured to Kanon for the SIS report and skimmed through it, "your pet project. You do realize that I have several groups actually producing a 7th Gen Frame? What you are offering is little more than a 5th Gen one, if the specs are anything to go by."
"4th Gen, actually." Lelouch corrected with a chiding tone. "But I've found a little gap in our methods, a chink in the armor, if you will."
"Pray tell, dear brother, of your momentous discovery." Schneizel said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He gave Kanon back the brief and nodded in thanks to his assistant.
"The Sutherland and the Gloucester are diverse models, capable of close and ranged combat. You'd be hard pressed to find a design as well rounded. However, I don't plan to beat the Sutherland at everything, just at something."
"Specialization?" Schneizel's brow arched upwards.
"Correct. It's all very preliminary, I should say, but the prototype has remarkable defensive capabilities. It might rank as a 4th Gen overall, but in its field it could easily be 6th Gen tech."
"What purpose would this serve though? My experimental frame would render yours obsolete." The Prime Minister insisted.
"Would this be the one under Camelot group? Don't bother, I know all about it. I've got people on the inside too, you know." There was a slight pause. "Will there be any MPs showing up for me tomorrow?" Lelouch jokingly asked.
"I'm surprised you know about that." Schneizel remarked genuinely. "And no, there won't be any MPs."
"To answer your question then, Britannian Army Doctrine, up until this point, has always placed significant focus on creating highly versatile Knightmares. We've standardized things so that a single model is thought to be able to handle any situation perfectly. But therein lies the contradiction! If it is to be a jack of all trades, it is then the master of none. Everything has a cost as they say." Lelouch explained. "As for your prototype, how many hundreds of millions did it cost to build the Lancelot? How many billions? We could far more easily and cheaply make breakthroughs in individual fields rather than forcing the entire thing to advance at the same time. My frame is proof of that."
Schneizel's interest had been piqued. "How much did it cost you?"
"Twenty million to build four of them."
He let out a whistle. "That's impressive." complimented Schneizel. "Very economical of you. The authorization for battlefield testing I'll have to run by Cornelia first, however." He said, almost regretfully.
"Right," Lelouch snorted, "as if that's going to be that big of an obstacle for you."
"For an ally, this would be no problem. Are we allies, Lelouch?"
"Of course." Lelouch answered smoothly. "We've said as much in Pendragon, haven't we?"
"Then what is your price?"
Lelouch hesitated. "My…price?" What was his price? Did he have one, or was this all merely to spite the Emperor? Was he motivated purely be petty vengeance?
No. A thousand times no. The very thought was repulsive to him. Why did he go through all this then? All it would take was a single bullet through the temple to end his captivity.
"Nunnally…" he whispered softly into the phone. "I want a world that she would have lived peacefully in."
"Specifically?" Schneizel pressed, demanding a more solid answer.
"The removal of Social Darwinism from Imperial Doctrine, promotion of Equality and Human Rights for all, Numbers included, and the abolition of the Aristocracy."
"Done." replied Schneizel, a little too quickly. "Help me secure the Throne, and your wishes will be granted."
Lelouch found himself surprised by the speed of his reply. What he was asking for were neither easy feats nor popular decisions for a future emperor to make. "Out of curiosity, what exactly were you prepared to offer me?"
"A fourth of the Empire, if need be." Lelouch balked. How badly did he want to become Emperor that he'd allow secession? "You're someone I'd loathe to fight."
"You would still win." Lelouch pointed out. "On your worst day, you would, at the very least, get a stalemate."
"After half the Empire had been burned to the ground between us?" Schneizel shot back rhetorically. "A quarter is a fair enough price, I should say. Authorization for battlefield deployment has been granted. Code is Alpha-One-Eight-Golf-Two-Five-Lima."
"Copy that."
Schneizel looked conflicted, a mix between worry and calm fighting for dominance. "Be careful in North Africa, Lelouch." He whispered, so soft it was barely heard. "You have enemies in the military."
"Thank you for your concern, but I'm well aware of that. It would be better if you called off the SIS agent tailing me." said Lelouch in an accusatory tone.
"You overestimate my reach." Schneizel retorted, his haste giving him away more than his words.
"You underestimate my intelligence." Lelouch countered just as quickly and the line went dead with a monotone beep.
To: Milly Ashford (prez4lyf.a11)
Fr: Lelouch Lamperouge (irockchess.a11)
Re: Nothing Much
Milly,
2nd Lieutenant and Brevet Lieutenant Colonel vi Britannia reporting.
Yes, that means I've graduated. Not so lame now, huh?
I'm getting shipped off to Area 17 soon to help clean up the mess they've made. Two of my brothers are going to be there. It's going to be such a treat meeting with them again. Maybe after the fighting's done, we'll get together 'round a campfire to dance and sing songs. Yipee!
Sigh…I'll confess. I have a thing for French chicks. The way she looks at me just drives my hormones crazy! It's only genetics I suppose, considering daddy dearest fell for a Frenchie as well…I'm afraid I won't be able to return to the Academy. I can't stand to be away from my love. Don't worry though, I have complete and utter faith in Rivalz ability to play girl bait. Objectively speaking, he is kinda cute, wouldn't you agree?
This Kallen Stadtfeld sounds like an interesting one. Better keep an eye on her.
Lelouch
P.S. Oh, and send the Coach my love. I'll be sure to bring back dates for him once I finish quelling the rebels.
To: Lelouch Lamperouge (irockchess.a11)
Fr: Milly Ashford (prez4lyf.a11)
Re: Nothing Much
Lulu,
Nope, still lame. According to Google, Brevet rank is only a temporary measure. Which means sooner or later, it's back to 2nd Lieutenant for you. Thought you could pull a fast one over me, eh?
Congrats on graduating, btw. It was on the news the other day. You looked quite dashing in your uniform. I think Shirley fell in love all over again. Can't say I blame her…it's like a dream come true having the mysterious schoolboy crush turn into Prince Charming complete with a sword! I swear you two are like a cheap rip-off of a fairy tale.
Cheer up! I'm sure your brothers won't be so bad…whoever they are. You really have to be more specific about that since you have about a hundred of them, don't you? Nothing like a good gladiator fight to bond over. Especially if you are trying to kill each other.
My, my, Lulu. So the rumors were true after all. How scandalous of you! Shirley will be heartbroken to learn of your infidelity. I'm sure she'll be content with being 1st consort though. Why are you suddenly interested in Kallen? Planning for your 2nd consort already? Aren't we an early bird…not even Emperor and already planning out the harem!
Rivalz is too friendly. He'd never be able to play the aloof card properly. That's what made girls ape-shit crazy about you.
Be safe out there,
Milly
P.S. Coach said and I quote, "Make sure those dates are fresh, Britannia! Otherwise it's fifty laps around the gym for you." I'm pretty sure he'll make good on that promise, royalty be damned.
October 1, 2017 (Z Day)
Sidi Bel Abbes was a ruin.
There was barely a single building standing that wasn't structurally questionable. Giant craters were left where slabs of concrete should have been, giving the roads a striking resemblance with the moon's surface. Occasionally, a burning car would be spotted parked along the sideways, casting a gloomy light on the bullet-ridden bodies that littered the streets. The pyrrhic flames illuminated the broken city under the night sky for miles around. Half the houses didn't have roofs. The other half had been demolished, whether by the fires or the battle, Lelouch did not know. It was a testament of what lengths the army had gone to take back the city, if it could still be called that.
With the exception of the sand, it was a scene eerily reminiscent of Tokyo seven years ago. Lelouch clenched his fists involuntarily at the mere thought.
Only the airbase, from which he had just landed, was kept in working condition.
Wood straightened his back, spitting at the ground futilely to get rid of the taste of vomit. "Dear God…" He muttered in disgust, his face still a little green. "What did they do to this place?"
"What was necessary." Haywood replied coolly, entirely unaffected by the grim scenery. "These rebels need to face the consequences of their actions. For those who rise against the Empire, there is only one end, annihilation."
"These were citizens!" Wood protested. "We cannot generalize them all for the actions of a few."
"Why did you join the army?" Lelouch asked, turning to face him. He was equally unperturbed by the environment.
"To protect the Empire, of course." He answered proudly, but weakly, still feeling faint from losing his dinner prematurely.
"If that is the case, I suggest you steel yourself for what's to come." Lelouch advised. "Because you'll have to do the same thing here one day." He offered a sarcastic smile. "For the Empire, of course."
"These civilians are as much a part of the Empire as I am!" Wood fumed, a righteous fire burning in his chest.
Lelouch let out a bitter laugh, and Wood winced, as if his tone had stung. "If you truly believe that then you are a fool!" He bellowed. "There is a very big difference between the Empire and its slaves."
A jeep skidded to a halt in front of them. "Sir!" One of their scouts dismounted, offering a respectful salute. "We've made contact with the 16th Imperial." He informed them.
Lelouch ignored him momentarily. "Haywood, what's our status?"
"Sir, 1st and 2nd companies are ready to move in fifteen. 1st support is setting up with their equipment."
"Any armor on the ground yet?"
"The 3rd troop of 1st squadron is ready for action. The squadron will be prepared within the hour, but the rest of the armored regiment will take half a day to finish mobilizing."
"Assemble the rest of the men and whatever armor we've got outside the city and keep them in line." Lelouch instructed. "Split the men into groups of 25 and be prepared to move out in an instant."
"Yes sir."
Lelouch turned towards the scout and stepped into the vehicle. "Lead the way, Corporal."
It became clear that the base had more vehicles than they had originally estimated as they passed several rows worth of transports and Sutherlands, the crews either resting or eating. In the distance, it was apparent that there were more guarding the perimeter from attack.
It didn't take long for them to reach the base's centerpiece, Colonel Altair Britannia's G-1 MCV. The guards had been expecting them. "Keep the engine warm." He told them. "I won't be long."
He left his pair of escorts in the jeep and proceeded alone. There were considerably fewer officers and personnel during the night shift, with most resting for tomorrow's activities. "So you've joined us at last." Altair said, looking unaffected by his arrival. "Congratulations on making Brevet Lieutenant Colonel." The emphasis was subtle, but the message was clear enough. Altair was still his superior according to military hierarchy.
"Yes sir, of the 2nd Quebec Regiment." Lelouch replied, highlighting the difference in their regiments. By a technicality, he was still the CO of an independent force not answerable to Altair. "Have you been made aware of my mission, sir?"
Altair indicated that he had. "I'm curious how you plan to reinforce Algiers. The road going there is mined and the enemy is heavily entrenched in several positions. My analysts say that only by combining our forces can we break through in the mission's time frame. I would, of course, be happy to assists you." What he really meant was that he'd be happy to have Lelouch indebted to him.
Lelouch, much to his chagrin, smirked. "I'm glad you said that, but we're not joining forces." He gestured towards the map with his hand. "You're losing to Orion, aren't you?"
Altair furrowed his brows. "How did you-"
"It doesn't matter how I know." Lelouch interjected. "What matters is that it's happening. His regiment has made camp along the coast near Arzew, while his allies in the 9th Bolivar Regiment are securing Oran. If he beats you to Relizane, you'll be left grasping at the straws." His smirk, if possible grew even wider as he prepared to put the final nail in the coffin. "Face it brother, you need me to help you. So let's cut the bullshit, yeah?"
Altair snorted. "Diplomatic, as always. Fine, what's your plan?"
"Strike hard, strike fast and send them running." Lelouch began. "Directly to your east is Mascara, and south of that is Saida, both with moderate garrisons, but nothing like the forces facing us here. Give me enough trucks to transport my men, and I'll blitz my way to Saida."
Altair stared at the map critically, mulling it over in his mind. "In the meantime, I leave a garrison here and move east on Mascara." His eyes lit up as he realized what the plan was.
Lelouch nodded. "Correct. If Saida falls, the contingent at Mascara and those blocking you on the Trans-African will fall back to avoid getting cut off. Your men here can then push forward, allowing you to easily overtake Orion."
"I'll have the advantage of time. It would take his men a day to realize that the rebels have abandoned their positions." He said happily. He looked as if he could have kissed his brother. Lelouch dearly hoped he wouldn't. To be on the safe side, he took a few steps back from his now enthused sibling. "How many carriers do you need?"
"Eighty for my men, twenty for my supplies." Lelouch answered without pause, having already calculated what he'd need the previous day. "Not necessarily all at once as most of my men haven't landed, but I'll need sixteen working carriers within the hour. My advance guard will clear the way tonight. By tomorrow, the walls of Saida will fall." He promised.
Altair's eyebrow rose in surprise. "You plan to move tonight? That's pretty extreme, even for Cornelia. Not that I'm complaining." He added hastily.
"My men are my concern, not yours." Lelouch said, dismissing his concerns. "Do we have a deal? Your trucks for my help and we'll call it even."
"Agreed."
Unknown to most people, beneath the Ashford Academy was one of the Ashford Foundation's many decommissioned labs. The past few years had seen it as nothing more than storage for Marianne Britannia's very own Ganymede, the ancestor of the modern Knightmare.
More recently though, it was the home to four never before seen contraptions. In the words of Eric Maximillan, they were "the ugliest pieces of shit he'd ever had the misfortune to pilot."
It was hard not to agree with him. The AFK-158 "Argyl" was, in a word, functional. Aesthetics was one of the first things that had been sacrificed to complete it on time. Anything that wasn't necessary was stripped away or ignored in favor of getting the machines to work on the field.
Its right arm had been stripped down to the elbow, where two parallel steel rods were grafted on. On its left, a heavily modified Knight Police riot shield was present. It was made of several plates of steel spaced a distance apart, while the second layer of steel that was its interior was at a slope. Treaded wheels were used to in place of land spinners, making the thing far slower but more stable. Three factspheres were employed, one on each shoulder and one on the box-shaped forehead.
The four pilots quickly reached a consensus on it. The Argyl would likely give the MEF's Bamides a run for their money for the "worst looking Knightmare" award.
"I'm not entirely sure about this, sir." Gottwald confided. "These machines you've built…they don't look the part."
Ruben frowned at his companion. "They're built for war not a fashion contest." He crossed his arms defensively. "Give it a spin first before judging it. You know what they say about book covers."
"Fine." Jeremiah grumbled. "Kururugi, you're up first!"
"Yes, sir!" The Japanese teen ran up to his unit, a "04" neatly painted on its chest and back for easy identification.
"Coward," Ruben chuckled mirthfully, placing the com link on his ear.
"Survivor," corrected Gottwald with a grin.
Ruben rolled his eyes. "Private Kururugi, do you read me?"
"I copy sir."
"Begin mobility test."
"Roger that. A04 online." was the curt answer, slightly muffled by static. Concurrently, the Knightmare woke up, taking a few steps forward, before engaging its treads to gain speed. It shot across the room, sliding across the floor like a figure skater and completing a figure-of-eight before coming to a stop. "Mobility test completed. All functions in order."
"Prepare for weapon testing." Ruben instructed.
"Won't this disturb the classes?" Gottwald asked.
"This entire lab is Knightmare proof." The superintendent replied self-assuredly. "A battle could be going on here and none would be the wiser. Kururugi, you are weapons free."
"Copy that." The right arm leveled itself against the target, a meter tall steel mannequin. "Firing." Electricity crackled, dancing between the two rods violently, before electromagnetically propelling a piece of steel to a speed of 16,000 meters per second. The ball went straight through the mannequin and embedded itself into the titanium reinforced wall behind it.
Jeremiah whistled appreciatively, walking up to the hole for a closer look. "That's one nasty gun you've managed to get us." He poked his pinky into the hole to measure how deep the bullet had gone. "A few inches on top of the mannequin. Not bad, not bad at all."
The Argyl 04 lowered its arms as the machine powered down. "This is Kururugi. Ashford rail gun test completed."
Connecting the cities of Saida and Sidi Bel Abbes was a long stretch of asphalt that weaved itself through surprisingly well-vegetated land. There was but one village in the vast expanse, a quaint little place by the name of Youb which had been easily secured by rebels. Not that it was much of a challenge to begin with.
There were 16 regiments that had initially composed the 5th Army's II Corps charged with occupying Britannian controlled Area 17. Ten of these had been stationed along the coast, which was where most of the major cities and populations were located. The other six had the unenviable task of patrolling the expansive land to the south. They had to stretch their forces far wider to maintain order, and were easily sent running during the NAL counterattack. Without their oppressors, the rural folk had eagerly taken up arms and joined the insurgents. It had meant a minimal garrison for the town, levied from the townsfolk themselves.
On the outskirts of Youb stood a single man keeping watch over the horizon vigilantly, the outdated AK-47 slung across his shoulder. A chilling breeze blew past him, and he shivered, being dressed in nothing but his white, linen robe. "Come join me, Samir." His companion called from his seat, letting out a ring of smoke blissfully.
"We should be keeping watch for enemies, Zahir." replied Samir, giving his friend an irate glance.
"Please," Zahir rolled his eyes. "We haven't seen a single Britannian since they ran away last month! Nobody's going to come for us now." He took another puff of smoke, sighing at the feeling of euphoria it brought him. "Take a cigarette or some coffee even," he gestured to the steaming mug on the table enticingly, "it would be pointless for you to freeze while on watch."
Samir looked conflicted for a moment as a sense of duty and the tempting aroma battled it out in his head, before nodding. "I suppose a cup of coffee wouldn't hurt." He walked to the table, dropping his rifle on it before taking a sip from the glass cup. "How's the wife?" He asked conversationally.
Zahir winced at his question, reminded of a recent and painful ordeal. "Very angry," he leaned in a little closer to whisper something, "I think it's that time of the month."
"Ah," Samir sympathetically patted his arm, "that explains the-"
BOOM!
The table between them exploded, sending both men to the ground, choking from the pieces of shrapnel that were jutting out of their bodies. It did not take long for the light in Samir's eyes to pass.
Zahir reached out to his friend helplessly, his eyes wide with horror. He feebly cried out, but could only get a garbled sound out of his mangled throat
"2nd Company, secure the village! Remember our orders!"
And his soul left its mortal coil.
The Britannian command vehicle, "the Sovereign", was an odd-looking tank. It did not have a main gun that most tanks did and its roof was higher and looked more like a bunker on wheels than anything else. Its main task on the battlefield was to coordinate an armored squadron, and thus housed quite a bit of technology instead of weaponry.
It was one such vehicle that rolled into the central plaza of Youb, which was little more than a large patch of dirt walled in by houses. Lelouch stepped out of the vehicle, and took in the frigid air that washed over him. His eyes swept the plaza with slow, deliberate movements. A crowd had been ushered in by his men, on occasion prodding them with their guns to hurry them up.
"Sir!" Cameron barked, saluting to his CO sharply. "We've gathered all the civilians as ordered."
"Any casualties?" He asked with a tinge of concern.
"No deaths but three injured. Eight rebels killed, twenty two captured."
Lelouch nodded approvingly. "Anything else to report?"
"Well…" Cameron faltered. "sir, we had an incident."
"One of the men disobeyed my explicit orders." He stated, not asked. "Very well, line up the rebels as well as the offender. Prepare a firing squad."
"Sir?" Cameron asked, shocked by the unusual behavior rather than the order itself.
"Were my orders unclear, Lieutenant?" Lelouch raised a questioning brow at him.
"No sir." Cameron answered hastily, still frowning. "Third squad, line up all the prisoners!"
Women screamed in anguish, begging for their husband's lives, while children sobbed quietly. A few of the soldiers waved their guns threateningly in their faces to shut them up, which worked spectacularly well in that regard.
Lelouch drew his pistol and, with barely concealed contempt, marched up to the kneeling captives. The sole Britannian stood out in his disheveled fatigue, his face paling with each step his officer took forward. The rebels watched with morbid curiosity, eager to see if the Britannian would be killed by fellow Britannian.
Lelouch raised the gun to his forehead and placed his finger on the trigger. "The only ones who should kill are those who are prepared to be killed." His words cut through the silence like a knife. Both natives and soldiers gawked, waiting anxiously for the resolution.
The soldier shamefully lowered his head, tears rolling down his eyes as he made peace with his deity. He heard a distinct "click" and prepared for the world around him to fade.
The bullet never came.
Tentatively, and almost too afraid to look, he stole a peek. "It seems my gun has jammed." Lelouch frowned at the gun. In one smooth motion, he spun it around his index finger and grabbed it by the barrel while swinging his arm back – a move which could have been taken for a Wild West film - before slamming the handle of his gun into the man's cheek, knocking him down from the force of impact.
Lelouch turned around to gaze at his audience, soldiers and citizens alike. "The next man who disobeys my orders won't be as lucky." He promised coldly. "As for you rebels," spat Lelouch, "I'll have every last one of you crucified if you even think about making trouble. We are here to restore the rule of law, and anyone who tries to test us will find themselves very dead, very soon." Lelouch told the civilians, who were still looking at him in mixed parts of distrust and disbelief.
"Lieutenant, ready the men to move out. Leave a platoon stationed here until they are relieved."
Nunnally vi Britannia had acutely developed her other senses over the years.
Being stripped of her sight had forced it, reaching a point where she was able to construct a rough map in her mind just by listening and feeling. For example, the barely audible rustling of a skirt and the soft thud of footsteps told her that Sayoko was approximately seven meters away, probably preparing dinner. The rhythmic ticking coming from her 12 gave away the wall clock's presence, which meant that the television was directly beneath it. Between that and herself would likely be a glass table. A gentle push forward resulted in her shins making light contact with the wooden foot. Cautiously sweeping her arm across the table's surface netted her control of the remote, which she held up into the air victoriously.
By this system of extrapolation, she managed to get by quite well without outside help. She pressed on the remote's power button and was rewarded with the sound of the newsman's voice streaming into the room. Satisfied with the results, she made herself comfortable on her wheelchair, and did what she did best – listening.
"In other news, the war of Area 17 goes well as the II Corps renews its counteroffensive once more. The 2nd Quebec under His Highness, Lelouch vi Britannia, managed to take the city of Saida 18 hours ago, Since then, they have made their way steadily north towards the city of Algiers to relieve the beleaguered defenders. All opposition was easily swept aside including the blockading forces of Algiers, sending rebel elements along the frontlines in a retreat to avoid getting cut off. Capitalizing on this success was Prince Altair nu Britannia, who spearheaded the reclamation of abandoned territories. An estimated 2,700 NAL troops have been captured, surprised by the speed of Britannia's mobilization.
"The High Eunuchs of the Chinese Federation also expressed concern for the natives of Africa and have cited the war's damage on international trading with the blockade of the Suez Canal as reasons for a ceasefire. Prime Minister Schneizel el Britannia appeared before the EU Council of Forty with a promise to begin talks and urged them not to become militarily involved as it would only lead to escalation of violence.
"The EU has yet to give an official statement, though experts believe that armed intervention is only a matter of time. The North African League and Middle Eastern Federation are known affiliated unions that the EU helped to create, alongside the Central African Union and the Asian Alliance. Before Britannia's colonization of the NAL and MEF, all five were undergoing talks of a Mutual Defense P-"
The television was cut off abruptly. "Sayoko…" Nunnally whined, a flicked of irritation crossing her normally gentle features.
"Nunnally…" Sayoko replied, drawing her name out as well. "It's time for dinner. You can listen more about Master Lelouch's exploits after you eat." Nunnally pouted cutely as the maid pushed her towards the dining table.
The black van outside remained unnoticed.
October 2, 2017 (Z Day + 2), 11:00 PM
Colonel Obadiah Ryze was shaking with barely constrained fury and a murderous look on his face, much to the bewilderment of Lelouch and his subordinates. It certainly wasn't the hero's welcome they had expected.
"Do you realize what you've done?" Ryze asked, pacing back and forth the room. If he was waiting for a reply, it wasn't apparent. "You've trapped us here, like rats! The NAL has reinforced their encirclement and now, we'll be force to break out due to a lack of supplies! Had it just been my men, we could have lasted another month or so, plenty of time before the next shipment. Now with two thousand extra mouths to feed, we'll be lucky if supplies last a week!" He ranted, stopping in front of Lelouch and glaring at the former Brevet Lt. Colonel. The fact that he had a deep rooted contempt for politicians in general did nothing to endear the Britannian Prince to him.
"Sir, Lieutenant vi Britannia was merely following orders!" Haywood protested without permission, an appalling breach of military decorum. "We were uninformed of the-"
"Haywood!" Lelouch hissed, cutting him off before he made the situation any worse.
Ryze considered the upstart officer, taking a special interest in the stitched name cloth above his left breast pocket. "Did you learn nothing in the academy, Lieutenant?" He asked rhetorically. "Your father may be a general, but that doesn't excuse your behavior!" He shifted his glance towards Lelouch once more.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Lieutenant vi Britannia?"
Biting back a retort, Lelouch shook his head. "No sir." He had a feeling it wouldn't help his cause anyways.
"Good, because it is apparent to me you are not fit for command. What the MAM saw in you I'll never know." He paused to consider what punishment he'd hand out. "1st Company is hereby reassigned to Lieutenant Wood. You," he jabbed Lelouch's chest hard, "will serve as part of his staff. Do try to learn something while you're there."
The berate ended there with Lelouch's silent acceptance of the demotion.
"Lieutenant Wood, Lieutenant Cameron," the two snapped to attention, standing a little straighter than before, "at 1200 tomorrow, your men will launch a coordinated attack to the west with the 2nd Squadron to assist. Your objective will be the artillery emplacements that have been causing us no end of problems. Perhaps this will teach you men what true war is about."
Minutes later as they walked outside of the command tent, Wood was the first to speak, breaking the uncomfortable awkwardness with Lelouch at their sudden reversal of roles. "You didn't do anything wrong, you know. The Colonel's ire was uncalled for."
It did nothing to wipe the frown off of his friend's face. "Talk like that will earn you a visit from the MPs."
"Doesn't mean it's untrue." Wood pressed, as they stopped in front of their temporary barracks. "You delivered the impossible. You got us here in two days; half the time you promised. The men won't forget that. I may be in command, but you're the power behind the throne…so to speak." He acknowledged humbly, stepping aside deferentially to let Lelouch pass through first.
Lelouch nodded gratefully, entering through the door. Activity in the room was at a standstill as the men snapped to attention. "We have work to do. The enemy's not about to hand over those weapons to us."
"I'll gather the sergeants." Wood volunteered, stepping in line behind him.
"Enemy formation looks tight." Wood noted as he surveyed their defenses through his binoculars. "Those howitzers might be antiques, but they still pack quite a punch."
"Why didn't the Colonel just order a counter attack with our own artillery?" Victor Wolfe, newly promoted sergeant of 1st Company's 1st Platoon, asked curiously. "The Starfalls would be more than a match for them."
"A Starfall can't hit them as this range." It was Lelouch who answered. He glanced at his wristwatch. "Commencing operations in five."
"I better get back to the men then." Wolfe said, wiping away a trail of sweat caused by the intense midday heat. "Unlike you lot, I'll actually be fighting on the ground."
"Privilege of command, Victor." Wood answered, giving him a cheeky grin.
"Which means we'll be acting as bait for their guns in the tanks," Lelouch added, moving towards the parked Sovereign command tank nearby.
Wood snorted. "You have it easy in the Sovereign. I'll actually be in one of the Darwins leading the charge." The Darwin was the Britannian main battle tank model, named after the famed scientist and scapegoat for the Empire's expansionist policy – Charles Darwin.
"Given the NAL's propensity towards targeting enemy commanders, I think I'll actually be in the most danger." Lelouch shot back, not at all comforted by the giant target placed on his back by simply stepping into the vehicle.
The door of the bunker-on-treads closed and the engine revved to life.
"All units, forward!"
And like the surging tide, the men marched forward.
"After being on the move for the past two days with little rest, we had arrived at Algiers. I could scarcely believe it myself, thinking it was some sort of mirage, despite the lack of sun in the sky, 'til we passed by the city gates. Corporal Smith brushed his hands pass the cement and assured us that it was no illusion. Just to be sure I wasn't dreaming, I asked him to pinch my arm.
Whatever drowsiness I felt disappeared after that.
It was only later that we wondered why the NAL let us in without a fight. We first thought that news of our blitz had scared them off; confident as we were of our battle prowess from the few skirmishes we had fought so far. The Black Prince – the nickname we had given Prince Lelouch given his inclination towards night combat – had always employed overwhelming force and precision in our assaults, meant to shock the enemy into submission. In his hands, we were like a surgeon's scalpel.
The breakout, though, was different in more ways than one.
First, the Colonel had been displeased with His Highness for entering the city and had him demoted to Lieutenant Wood's staff. By a technicality, he was stripped of command over 1st Company.
In actuality? Nothing could be farther from the truth. We were the Black Prince's men, through and through. Even the Lieutenant acknowledged that and it was a good thing that he did. Otherwise, mutiny might have been a very real danger.
Second, we no longer had overwhelming force. Two rifle companies and a tank squadron was nothing to laugh at, but the force we'd be facing would be the largest so far.
Third, the NAL was well prepared for us. They had spent the previous weeks fortifying their lines, expecting us to try and breach the encirclement at any moment. Trenches marked their territory cleanly, surrounding the city like a moat; HMG nests and gun emplacements lined the perimeter like bastions of a castle. The Bamides, unwieldy pseudo-Knightmares imported from the MEF, stood firm and imposing, like towers. Between us and them was a no man's land 400 meters wide and riddled with craters as both sides pounded the land with all manners of weapons to beat back the occasional trespasser. It was the very definition of overkill.
Sergeant O'Connor likened our attack to the massed infantry charges of World War 1. That was not a comforting thought.
In some ways, we infantry were lucky. The Darwins had quickly become the unenviable focus of the enemy guns. Our situation went to shit very quickly. The tanks were unable to punch a hole through the defenses, bogged down by the firefight that ensued. Our men were pinned down by the HMGs, taking cover wherever they could, behind tanks, sandbags and ditches. Things were looking bleak, and the men were wavering, on the verge of total collapse.
Suddenly, a lone tank lunged forward, breaking rank. It was not just any tank. Every man in the company had become acquainted with this one in particular. It was a Sovereign class command vehicle, the Black Prince's personal carrier; leading the charge like the knights of old.
His indifference towards the chaos was positively inspiring.
The twin .30 cal K4-HMGs mounted on top of it unleashed a storm of death upon our foes as the Sovereign's treads rolled over the trenches, breaking through the first line. Taking heart, we threw ourselves into the breach once more.
'A soldier must be willing to lay down his life for his country and his brothers!' Those were the Black Prince's words. If he was willing to live by them, why shouldn't we as well?
The tanks were the first to reach the Black Prince, forming up around him and roaring defiantly at any man foolish enough to come close.
'The trenches! Get to the trenches!' Corporal Smith yelled before jumping in. I was not long behind with rifle in hand. We took the Algerians by surprise, gunning them down before they could kill anymore of our comrades. All along the front, our lads were jumping into the fray, heedless of the danger. It didn't take long for us to send the enemy running.
The Sovereign pushed forward again, testing our resolve. It proved to be a costly move.
Amidst the battle, rockets began to streak into our lines sending tanks aflame one after the other. With abject horror, we watched, utterly helpless, as a single RPG slammed into the Sovereign, stopping it with a bounce though not quite causing it to explode. The men fell completely silent, realizing what had just transpired.
The Black Prince was dead.
We would mourn for his death later. Right then and there, only a single thought dominated our minds, completely unifying the men…vengeance. We would have it, even if the last of us should fall to the enemy to do so.
A low, guttural sound emerged from our side. Men stampeded forward. Even the faintest among us became lions that day. Not one step back.
What began as a mission to take the enemy's cannons became a full scale offensive. We routed them so utterly, so devastatingly that we pushed them back a total of eleven kilometers, whereupon they scattered to the four winds.
Victory had never tasted so bitter to us. We had won, yet, we had lost."
-excerpt from: BBC Documentary - In Service of the Prince; Private James Wickham, 1st Company, 501st Regiment; "The Black Knights."
"An Armored Regiment at full strength is composed of:
74 Darwin Main Battle Tanks
10 Scourer Light Tanks
8 Starfall Mobile Artillery
6 Porcupine APCs
5 Sovereign Mobile Command Vehicles
5 Nightingale Recovery Vehicles
4 Field Ambulances."
-excerpt from: Britannian Army Training, 19th ed.
AN: Dun dun dun! Cliff hanger. Evil laugh.