AN: Right, so keep in mind this is un-betaed, which should explain why it seems unpolished. Since my beta is going to be busy 'til end of April, I thought I'd publish this unrefined piece as I've been promising an update for close to two months now without actually, you know, updating.
Arc III: The Positional Game
Part 7: Back-Rank Mate
"Back-rank Mate: is a checkmate delivered by the rook or queen along a back rank (that is, the row on which non-pawn pieces stand at the start of the game) in which the mated king is unable to move up the board because the king is blocked by friendly pieces (usually pawns) on the second rank." -Great Games of the 21st Century, Glossary of Terms
"The naming of knightmares came about by a play on words, derived from "knight's mare" and "nightmare". It was every infantryman's worst fear to face a KMF, as few things in their arsenal could even dent the frame. It was also perfectly apt to call it a "knight's mare". During Medieval times, cavalry was the most mobile force on the field, a role that the KMFs inherited. In many ways, how cavalry and knightmares were employed in battle were similar, both being shock and awe weapons that were absolutely devastating in the right conditions, but easily dispatched without proper support." – General Andreas Darlton
Command Bunker, Viceroy's Palace, Area 11
The Bunker was spartanly furnished relative to the rest of the mega-complex, but its status as a military facility had not spared it from the Viceroy's lavish tastes. The imperious face of Clovis la Britannia hung above the steel compound's only door – which itself was guarded by empty armor of an age long past. It served as a reminder to the men and women that ensured the Imperial war machine ran smoothly.
"The subtlety of a train wreck," Lelouch commented to Darlton as he studied the portrait, twirling a dark king piece between fingers, "which is saying something considering us military types thrive on direct confrontations."
Darlton was looking well for a man who had survived an assassination attempt two months prior. If not for the orthopedic cast that supported his fractured arm, an observer might have thought he was the picture of health. "I wouldn't say that. At the level of the Joint Chiefs, there's enough politicking going on to match the Emperor's throne room."
"Inevitable, I suppose, with how intertwined the nobility and the military are. You can hardly distinguish one from the other."
"It's been this way for as long as I can remember." Darlton looked as if he had swallowed something appalling. "You're just as likely to be shot by your friends then by your enemies." The casual observer would have missed the split-second when his gaze dropped to the stabilizing blue plaster, without which he would be subject to a great deal of pain.
"As recent example has shown" went unsaid between them. Frankly, it didn't need to be – Darlton was a walking reminder of what Schneizel had tried to pull. Having been Cornelia's military tutor and voice of reason for the longest time, he was one of the few brought into the loop about their suspicions, something neither Guilford nor Gottwald had been trusted with as of yet.
Darlton tilted his head towards the gold-rimmed frame. "Are we certain he wasn't in on it? This conflict could present opportunities for us to…uncomplicate matters."
"Heard about brother's request to take to the field, have you?" Lelouch's surprise didn't show in his arched brow. "Is this Cornelia speaking or you?" Cornelia was vicious when it came to her sister, but would she really go as far as getting rid of her brother?
"Cornelia has never been good at strategy, not in the way you or the Prime Minister are." Lelouch blinked at the non-sequitur and Darlton continued. "Not because her grasp on the subject is subpar, mind you. Her record on the field should be proof enough that she can be clever when needed. No, her problem is not capability, but willingness. See, she detests the idea of a sacrifice, part of the reason her men love her so. What she fails to understand is that some sacrifices are necessary, that we must allow a few to die to save the many.
"In this game you royals love to play, there are no half measures, no negotiations against a committed enemy. To live, you must win and for that, there is no sacrifice I cannot make."
"Your…dedication to the Field Marshal is commendable." He held the chess piece out, between thumb and forefinger. "But the decision is not one we can make lightly. The family hangs at a precarious balance and to disrupt it so without forethought is imprudent."
Darlton awkwardly jerked his head, a consenting grunt escaping his lips. "We have time, don't we?"
"We do." Lelouch said. "Checkmate won't be 'til next week."
The general frowned. "You sound certain. Too certain of this plan which you've told no one of."
Lelouch walked over to a wide-spanning table that held an unfurled geographic map of Asia and set his king where Tokyo should have been. "My pieces are all in play, General, while my opponent continues to block his own pieces. Those pawns which he so eagerly pushed to occupy the center are now unsupported and under threat." His delicate, almost girlishly smooth, fingers tapped on an island to the north. "His king he castled too early, heedless of the knights and bishops waiting for that very move, while the white queen stands at the edge of the board, looking menacingly at my lines without the means to actually do anything."
"You done speaking in bloody chess metaphors? I'm not some doe-eyed lackey to be impressed by vague phrases of 'strategic wisdom'. Tell it to me straight."
Lelouch, far from being angry, actually smiled. "Not a fan of the game, I take it?" he quipped. "The detachment I sent north reported readiness a few hours ago. We can have this Sasaki fellow in custody whenever we please."
"So why haven't you given the order?"
"Because I'm looking at the larger game. Take Sasaki now and what use is it to us? He's essentially a powerless figurehead. Now, what do you think would happen instead if both Sasaki and General Lang were simultaneously removed from the board?"
Darlton, instead of replying, studied the map which Lelouch had slaved over for days more closely, the scribbled notes and numbers and markings beginning to make sense. "You've been tracking them?"
"Them and other persons of interest," Lelouch said.
"Eliminating Lang and Sasaki wouldn't make much difference," he said in a cautious, measured voice. "It would be a matter of hours before someone from the mainland with sufficient authority appointed a new overall commander."
"Normally, you'd be correct. However, these two aren't the end, merely the beginning of the end. How much do you know of the Federation's internal politics?"
"Next to nothing," he admitted.
Lelouch nodded expectantly, anticipating the answer. "Not surprising given how you've been fighting against the EU for most of your career. Allow me to educate you on the subject then. Within the Federation, there are two major factions competing for control. We have the High Eunuchs, the traditional advisors of the Imperial Family."
Darlton snorted. "And given her age, no doubt they've taken this opportunity to amass their influence."
Lelouch nodded. "Collectively, they're several degrees more powerful than the Empress herself."
"Leeches, the lot of them." Darlton muttered. "And she hasn't been deposed because of this other faction, I reckon?"
"Correct. According to Britannian intelligence, the latest attacks the Federation is launching are an excuse to send the Loyalists far away from the capital and waste their strength on Britannia and the EU, likely in preparation for a putsch. Area 11 is a special case though. The force which we face here is a combination of the Eunuchs' and the Empress' men, both vying for control over the sakuradite veins even as they fight us. Both sides are engaged in a race to capture as many mines and refineries for their own people."
Darlton's eyes became alight with understanding. "That's why they've been ignoring entire areas of unguarded land! That's how you knew which paths they'd take, where to place our troops."
Lelouch shrugged without a hint of repentance. "Guilty as charged." He pointed again to the map, continuing his lecture. "Sapporo is the Eunuch's and Lang's powerbase. Any order coming from them will pass through there."
"So we take out Lang and occupy Sapporo to cut the men off from orders?" Darlton rubbed his hands together with a manic grin. "They'll be like meek lambs at an abattoir! That just leaves this other group, the one hitting us here, to take care of."
"No. They'll run."
"Why?"
Lelouch looked at him pointedly. "They aren't stupid. They'll know the Empire is mustering as many armies as it can to come to our aid. Without Lang's army, they wouldn't have enough men to hold the Area, much less quickly pacify what Britannian units are here to begin with. Losing an entire army will weaken the Eunuchs, no point returning things to the status quo by throwing away their own men as well."
"All the better than. A foe on the run is much easier to put down."
"You're forbidden from giving chase."
The grizzled general watched him through narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. "Why?"
August 21, 2018
My birthdays are cursed. It is a statistical improbability for misfortune and death to be so concentrated on a specific day of the year, even more so for said day to coincide with my own birthday, but it remains nonetheless true.
My birthdays have always been cursed.
On my fifth, my mother died – a victim of cancer, though I wasn't aware at the time. On my eighth, my father died from "grief", or so the doctors say. My uncle, who had never liked my father even in the days of their youth, became the head of the Ashfords.
In those days, the Imperial Family numbered in the hundreds. On average, one died every month from grief. Sad that family would turn on family for the sake of power, but I cannot judge. I am as guilty as the worst of them. Yes, even as guilty as the Emperor himself.
At the start of my eleventh year, I became ill. Something in my food didn't agree with me. I was with fever for ten days and ten nights, sweating, shivering. My bones ached from inaction, my muscles groaned from the slightest exertion. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. Instead, I lived.
My uncle was furious for weeks.
Aunt Jennifer, a rarity among nobles, was a kindly woman with not a bone of malice in her body. She took me in and I lived with her and her children, Francis and Josephine. It was a quiet life, but a good one. On my fifteenth birthday, Aunt Jennifer passed away in her sleep. I was inconsolable for days. I swore I would never celebrate my birthday again.
By the time I was nearing my eighteenth, I remained alive and my uncle was slowly slipping into senility. Everyone could sense it. Naturally, he wanted his son Levi to inherit. Levi was his father without the brains. If Levi was to become the next head, I would have to die.
What followed was a decade of subterfuge and infighting as my family tore itself apart. At the end of it, I stood on the graves of more than a dozen relatives. I was a true egalitarian. Young or old, man or woman, religious or not, I killed them all. Or rather, ordered them all killed, as my friends in the legal field would say. There's a difference, subtle but important.
Looking back, I wonder if it was an omen of things to come. Looking back, Charles and I weren't all that different.
By my twenty eighth birthday, the Ashford civil war was over, only for the parents of Charles zi Britannia to be killed. It was the catalyst for the Baptism of Blood, many years later. What wealth and holdings my family had were squandered as rival houses took advantage of our strife. We were on the brink of bankruptcy.
Yet I was alive, and those that remained sided with me, few as we were. Survival has a powerful, unifying effect on people. Unity would be our greatest strength.
We continued to survive, through careful deliberation and prudent countermeasures. Not even a fraction as powerful as we were in the years of my father, but we remained where other, more powerful lines were extinguished from infighting.
On my fifty fifth birthday, I met Marianne, a commoner with some French blood intermixed. Raven hair as smooth as silk, violet eyes that sparkled with mischief and lips red like strawberries. She was beautiful. She was deadly.
Without Marianne, I am certain the Knightmare program would have failed, for it was her natural talent that caught the eye of the investors, including the then Prince Charles zi Britannia. The Ganymede pushed through, with the Marianne the Flash as its pilot. Then, they baptized Pendragon in blood.
The Prince became an Emperor, the Commoner became an Empress. The Ashford name, almost overnight, became one of the most feared names in the Empire. Our role in the Baptism was no secret. How could it be? Our sigil was painted on the very device which crushed the ex-Crown Prince's pregnant wife.
Yet, I did not let this get to my head. The Emperor's favor was fickle. It could swing wildly, like a wind vane in a storm.
I was proven right when on my sixty fifth, for Marianne was assassinated. Without our Imperial benefactor, we were forced to flee from the Capital as the horde of enemies we had accumulated over the years bayed for blood.
I turn seventy two a few days from now. I wonder what malfeasance awaits.
-excerpt from the Diaries of Ruben K. Ashford
Sasaya Pass
"Observe the ground, gentlemen, for it shall be our battlefield today." – Lelouch vi Britannia
"Pedroname Padre por que he pecado."
Alejandra grinned playfully at Vera. "Sticking to our Catholic roots? How un-Britannian of you."
"Britannia does not enforce a state religion." Vera pocketed the silver crucifix she had brought out.
"And even if they did, I think they'd give you a free pass after what you did here." she gestured to the burning wreckage of a Federation knightmare. "They didn't stand a chance!" Alejandra said happily.
Sasaya Pass wasn't the only roadway that traversed the mountainous area west of Sendai and Natori, but it was the only one that led behind Britannian lines and would allow the Federation to flank them. The paths itself weren't all that wide, having never been considered a priority project by the Area Authority on Roads and Highways (fittingly abbreviated to "AARH", the sound common to those who had to deal with the bureaucratic body).
It was Thermopylae for the now decimated Federation tank divisions. Vera's regiment, with help from the torrential downpour that transformed dirt to slush, kept them bottled while Hailstorm VTOL craft and Tempest fighter-bombers, the latest toys of the Britannian Air Force, let loose their arsenal again and again and again.
The result was both great and terrible. Lang's Third Division was beyond salvaging, with order having broken completely in the aftermath of the three day battle. A Wing Commander had boasted that they could not find a group larger than ten men still together. Her tank squadrons, on the other hand, complained that not a kilometer stretch of road was without craters.
"Ma'am!" One of her staffers saluted. "A message from Prince Lelouch!"
Vera accepted the flimsy chit that threatened to run wild with every hint of passing wind. It was a short message, a single sentence.
The members of her staff positioned themselves at an acceptable distance; near enough to hear if she yelled, but far enough to give the two a modicum of privacy. She pointed to one. "Get me the engineers!" Then to another, "Tell the Second Battalion and the 72nd Armored Regiment to mobilize!" And to a third, "Find out which companies are the most depleted."
"What are our orders?" Alejandra asked.
Vera turned to her friend, lips taut and grim.
Nishitaga Hospital, Sendai
In the early hours of a stormy August day, the doctors and nurses of the Nishitaga Hospital who had successfully argued their way out of the Britannian evacuations found their efforts for naught as they were forcefully evicted by Lang's men anyway. The structure which had long been in the business of saving lives was now one which ordered the taking of lives. There was a certain irony to it.
Nishitaga was an obvious choice though. Medical facilities were hard to come by and expensive to build, so these were for the most part untouched by both sides. Currently, the hospital was one of the tallest remaining structures in the city, with a commanding view of several kilometers around it. It was also close enough to the Natori River, the latest obstacle to the relentless advance of the Federation.
Nearly half of their army was now on the other side. Lang glanced at his watch, his expression matching the weather outside. It was taking too long.
"Hah! The Britannian cowards run!" one of his officers, a major, said. "I bet they rush back to Tokyo to defend their precious princes."
"Won't do them much good," another answered. "All they could hope to achieve is numerical parity. That's how horribly outnumbered they are."
"The Britannian Air Force will be grounded if this weather gets any worse." Lang said, and the entire room quieted. "It will be the perfect opportunity to advance without harassment."
The officers exchanged worried looks. "Sir, the men are exhausted from the forced marching," a particularly brave Lieutenant Colonel said. "Marching them through a typhoon...there will be complaints."
"What would they prefer to fall on them, rain or bombs?" Lang asked rhetorically. "It must be done quickly. If it rains any harder, the river will overflow. See to it, Lt. Col. Zhou."
"Yes, General." Zhou said with a resigned salute that the general didn't acknowledge. Lang's attentions had already returned to the river crossing.
"Is the Air Force even operating in this area?" one of the men whispered to another.
"Don't know. Haven't seen them for days now. I thought they might have been called back to Tokyo."
"Sir!" A soldier burst in with a miserable countenance, eyes shifting to and fro. His uniform was several shades darker than usual and rivulets of water flowed freely, pooling where he stood. "Britannian troops sighted!" he more announced to the room than said to Lang.
Lang frowned "Where?" He had been keeping a close eye on the front and there had been no indications so far of resistance.
The soldier faced him. "At Osato, sir!"
Lang wracked his brain, but found he had no idea where this "Osato" was.
"The rear, sir," added the soldier.
"The rear?" he repeated. How had Britannia managed to get their soldiers behind them? If anything, it should have been his Third Division flanking the Britannians by now!
Ah. The Third Division.
"When did Kwai last report in?" Kwai was the commander in charge of the Third Division.
"About five days ago, sir. He was at Yamagata then, about to head into the Sasaya Pass."
"And nothing since then?" Lang asked. The intelligence officer that answered shook his head.
If the Britannians were taking them from the rear in force, it could only mean that the Third Division was gone. That might be where the Britannian Air Force had been these past few days. It also meant that the Britannians had not abandoned this city yet; otherwise they wouldn't have bothered with a flanking attack.
"Halt the advance at once! Tell the men to sweep the city carefully for hidden Britannian units!" Lang said to his officers, before turning to the courier. "Tell the rearguard to hold the line. Reinforcements will be coming soon."
"Sir!" The courier said, though he edged away from the door.
"Get movi-" The power died, taking his words with them. Lang scowled. As if the day couldn't get any worse. "Doesn't this damn building have generators? Get the electricity back!"
"The door is jammed!" One of the men said, the frustration evident from his tone alone as he shook the knob violently. A few others moved to help him with it.
The door exploded inwards, bathing the room in unbearable warmth and accelerating fragments of wood to dangerous speeds. On instinct, Lang shielded his face with his arms. He blinked blearily at the ceiling, spots of color clouding his vision. A few meters to his left, a door shard had found its home in a man's soft throat.
Lang tried to sit up and was instead rewarded with a foot pushing down on his chest, squeezing the air slowly out of his lungs.
"Thank you for confirming your identity, General," the person to whom the foot was attached said in flawless Mandarin. "You've been causing my boss all sorts of trouble." Lang sluggishly pounded at the leg, a futile effort to get it off. "Now, just relax. It's best to spend one's last moments in the physical world at peace."
The familiar sensation of sharpened steel pushing lightly at his throat made him stop struggling as he looked up at the assassin – the soldier which had brought news about Osato.
A quick jab and it was done.
Otomo thrust his chokuto one more time, aimed at the heart, just to make sure. "No survivors," he said to his two companions similarly dressed in Federation fashion. The order was redundant; today wasn't a day of mercy.
Otomo pulled out the blade and wiped it clean, then looked down at Lang's frozen expression. "That's a nice watch you got there, General. I don't suppose you'd mind if I took it off your hands?" The assassin knelt down. "10:36", it read.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. He pocketed the pilfered object with a satisfied smile.
"Four minutes then."
Gottwald stared at his silver pocket watch obsessively. Minutes which before had passed in the blink of an eye were now adopting a limper's pace.
10:40.
"Begin operations!" he barked, sending the room into organized chaos. Officers screamed out orders, which were relayed by their underlings through their headsets, which in turn were executed by their men on the field. The blue dots representing the Britannian Army struck the Federation red like predators sensing weakened prey.
Jeremiah paid none of these units heed, opting to keep focused on the key to His Highness' plan – the Kamafusa Dam. The Natori River flowed from the ocean, between the cities of Sendai and Natori, and ended at the Kamafusa Lake, it's now full reservoir thanks to the typhoon season Japan was experiencing.
"Stormbringers," the captain tasked with directly overseeing the mission said, "begin attack run." A green light lit up, indicating the three pilots of the Tempest Section were complying with orders. The Kamafusa Dam was too far that they couldn't actually hear it being hit by carefully aimed payloads. Neither could they hear the upwards of forty five million cubic meters of water suddenly unleashed.
In another part of the room, the second piece of the plan was activated. Starfalls, the Britannian standard mobile artillery piece, erupted into an explosive symphony of wanton devastation, setting alight everything on their side of the river. The other side wasn't spared from punishment either as streaks of smoke and fire and metal came from every alley and window the Tokyo Regiment, mixed in with the civilians that had been left behind days prior, could find.
"Colonel Salvador reports they've broken through the rearguard units and are making for the bridges with all haste!" The third piece was now in play.
And for the grand finale…
Every pair of eyes turned to watch the large screen which had been tracking the accelerating water and debris. It hit the first bridge, located far to the west that was lightly contested. The tidal wave slammed into steel and the water had no patience for its stubborn nature today. It continued onwards, assimilating the broken parts into its deadly concoction and hit another crossing, this one proving no more of a challenge than the cars along the now underwater riverbanks. It continued on and on and on, sweeping aside everything in its path, including a few overeager Britannian units that had ignored the prescribed safe zone in their assault.
The toll on the Federation was far more onerous in comparison. A few thousand men must have been killed, at least, along with several dozen tanks and knightmares. The survivors, Jeremiah imagined, were rendered mute by the instantaneous devastation which proved to be the breaking point.
Reports started coming in from all across the board of units surrendering en masse. Facing a surprise attack from Britannians on both sides of the river, from armed "civilians", from the very force of Mother Nature herself, without any centralized leadership left to keep things together, no one could blame them.
Under those circumstances, Jeremiah might have surrendered himself.
"Send word to the Prince. Sendai is his."
Capturing a city was laughably easy compared to assimilating one. In the aftermath of a takeover, a slew of logistical and administrative problems replaced the conqueror's military ones. Things had to be kept running, after all. The needs of the people did not magically disappear with the changing of flags. It was a process which required time and patience as the old government was replaced by a new one.
Sapporo was no exception to the rule, so Minister Sasaki did what Britannia didn't when they invaded Japan – he kept the people in charge in place. A few diehards had to be removed, but civil servants were largely indifferent about who they worked for. A steady job outweighed ideological beliefs and abstract loyalties during uncertain times. Oh, he could have gone with the alternative and tried to replace the entire government in one go. The results would have been nothing short of disastrous, as Britannia's colonization process had proven time and again.
Japan was one of the world's strongest economies before it was invaded and it took half a decade for them to put themselves together even with their sakuradite. The Japanese cities, what was now called the Ghettoes, weren't bombed to oblivion (at least, not all of them) – they were allowed to fall into a state of such disrepair that building anew was considered a less expensive proposition. Nearly half of the Britannian units involved saw no active combat, and were instead relegated to quelling the anarchy that was inevitable once central authority was disbanded without replacement.
So Sasaki let the government workers keep their jobs and maintain the city while he called the shots from his lofty dais. But like any method, this one had its own pitfalls. Most of the commoners in office, while not willing to uproot their lives, welcomed the idea of living under the Britannian flag once more. The department in charge of sewer maintenance was particularly sympathetic, oddly enough.
It made sneaking into the city nothing to write about, and this had been the highlight of their excursion so far. The entire experience, so far, was actually rather underwhelming.
"Why are you so bloody happy about this?" Diethard grumbled to Rawlins as he whistled a jaunty tune.
"It's the waiting that's the worst," Rawlins said, nodding to himself knowingly. "In the heat of the moment, in the midst of battle, killing's easy. Just one small twitch," he made a show of pulling an imaginary trigger, "is all it takes. When everything settles down, you get all anxious and guilty about what you've done, about what you're about to do again."
"And the fact that we're so horribly outnumbered doesn't bother you?"
"Used to it by now, I suppose," the sniper said as the group came to a stop beneath a manhole. "Fighting under Lelouch has always been about having the odds stacked against you, and coming out on top anyway."
"We're heading up," Wolfe said from up ahead. Over a dozen multipurpose adjustable rifle units (MARUs) – the weapon of choice for the Special Forces - had their safetys clicked off. "Boomer, you're on point with me." The massive Russian grunted, his MARU in shotgun form slung behind his head and resting on his left shoulder.
Their group left the subterranean world without incident, finding themselves now in an abandoned back alley two streets away from their target – Minister Sasaki's office which had been the former mayor's. "Huh, that intel was good for something after all." Diethard heard Captain Wolfe mutter to himself.
"It looks lightly guarded." Diethard commented. And it was, with only two bored looking sentries at the gate.
"There might be more inside." Wolfe answered. He placed a hand on Diethard's shoulder. "Listen Ried, Lelouch asked me to personally make sure you got out of this alive-"
"I'm touched he cares."
"-so I'm asking you to hang back and let my troops do their thing."
The request went directly against Diethard's training as a media man. If he wasn't up front when things went down, how was he supposed to do his job? Except he wasn't here in his capacity as a reporter, but as the Prince's Special Dispatch. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't ecstatic about the odds against them, which only meant the Prince had one hell of an ace up his sleeve. An ace he might be missing by agreeing to stay in the rear.
"If you think that's best, Captain," Diethard said after a moment's pause.
Wolfe grinned at him. "Don't you worry, Ried," he said, as if reading his thoughts. "You'll be seeing plenty from where you are. Status?" The last part, Diethard knew, was directed at the other units the Captain was no doubt in contact with.
They gave, Diethard assumed, positive responses, because the Captain ordered the assault to begin a moment later.
Two well placed shots dropped the guards. Despite the attached suppressors, the sound of gunfire still made Diethard wince. No firearm could be made completely silent, but the suppressor did reduce its volume to the point where it didn't sound like gunfire. In an urban environment where cacophony was the norm, guns were indistinguishable. Not that it mattered, of course. The civilians loitering nearby panicked the moment a contingent of armed men burst out of the shadows.
Wolfe's team was by the entrance in an instant and had entered the building in the next. Muzzles flashed through the windows, spreading from the entrance like rippling water, then it stilled. One of Wolfe's, a woman, appeared by the door, gesturing for the team guarding Diethard to enter.
"Seishin, what do you see up there?"
"Ground floor looks clear, Wolfe-san. There are twelve guards on the second floor and eight on the third. Kage-san and Shi have finished securing the Minister, as well as any guards that were on the fourth floor."
Wolfe returned his focus to the five captains. The entire task force, minus their shadowy "friends", had the lobby of the first floor occupied. "Obsidian will take the main stairs. Azure, the elevator. Indigo, the side stairs. Flash and clear. We've got Britannians in the building, so I don't want any loose triggers today." The captains of Azure and Indigo saluted snappily. "The rest of you will guard the first floor. Cover the front doors, the parking lot, the sewers…anything we used to get in."
They nodded staunchly. "You can count on us sir."
Wolfe jogged over to where his team waited. "Five minutes before the Federation reacts."
Walls placed a hand on her hip, grinning at him toothily. "Plenty of time."
Diethard sat next to a trembling woman, his bag toppling over on the floor. "What's your name?"
She glanced at him, stiff shoulders and sweaty palms making her anxiety easy to read.
"Relax," he said, showing his empty hands in a placating gesture, "I'm unarmed."
"You're on the evening news," she blurted out.
"Used to be."
"What are you doing here then?" she asked, giving the armed soldiers a look. "Involved in all this?"
Diethard shrugged. "I was asked to serve, so here I am."
She frowned at him. "Did you piss off a duke or something?"
"It was a Prince, actually." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "He needed someone of my expertise on the mission. So I guess I should feel honored?"
"Do you?"
"Not particularly. Seemed like a suicide mission to me." Shouts in Chinese could be heard from outside as well as the sound of heavy, treaded wheels hit pavement. "Still does." The cracks of gunfire erupted from the Britannians in greeting.
"A-are you men here to kill us?" she asked with a tremor in her voice. The punishment for collusion with the enemy varied, depending on who caught you in the act.
Diethard scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Who'd run the city for us if we decided to execute you lot?"
A soldier marched up to Diethard, odd considering they were under siege. "The Captain needs you upstairs."
"Well, duty calls." Diethard stood up, grabbing his backpack in a loose grip. "It was a pleasure, Miss." He tipped an imaginary hat towards her in the style of nobility.
When he got to the room where Minister Sasaki was being held, he wasn't sure what to expect. Certainly not a corpse.
"The point was to keep him alive for interrogation!" Diethard said irritably.
"Told you he'd be pissed," Walls whispered to Wolfe.
Diethard ignored them and turned to Kage, stalking forward menacingly. "Who did this?"
Kage tilted her head. "That's the thing, we don't know."
"You…don't know." he repeated in a tone that suggested he strongly believed they were bullshitting him. "Did you all suddenly go blind?"
"No," Kage conceded with a slight bow of her head, "but there appears to be a thirty second window in my memory that is missing. Checking the camera records showed the footage deleted as well."
"This is just great. What are we to do now with him dead? Can't get the information can we?"
With slow, deliberated movement, Kage undid the bindings that held her mask in place like second skin.
Red.
Diethard's feet were forced back, an instinctive response born from a thousand years of human self-preservation. Kage's eyes glowed with crimson light, lasting for a mere instance, but what Diethard saw was unmistakable. What he saw was unnatural.
The effects even more so.
What once was woman was now man. What once was dead was now living.
"I had hoped that there would be no need to resort to this," she…he…it said. He wasn't sure what to classify her as. "Now this is what we shall do…"
Diethard gave it his fullest attention. Not simply because the plan was their best hope of grasping success from the jaws of failure, but also because he was witnessing a clone of the Minister speaking to them, while the original lay on the floor with a bullet through his throat.
"Cloak." Gold clasps gleamed as they were attached over his shoulder, the alpaca robe and its silk trimmings flowing down to mid-calf.
"Shoes." A pair of servants kneeled, tightening the laces of his polished, white combat boots with nimble fingers.
"Ring." A third servant marched forward as the two finished on his shoes and backed away, reverently offering a velvet box with its lid open. The prince took a moment to contemplate the ring, a simple band of gold, pure and malleable, with no features to speak of but the flowing script engraved on the inside.
With crossed arms, Lelouch watched his brother's superfluous preparations. "Is he quite done?" Lelouch muttered to Kewell Soresi, fingers tapping on his upper arm.
"As soon as he puts on the ring, Prince Lelouch." Kewell answered with a weary expression born from constant battle and sleep deprivation. "May I be frank with you, Your Highness?"
"Go ahead." A touch of irritation, not meant for the military man, crept into his voice.
"Letting the Viceroy enter battle seems...unduly risky. Wouldn't it be wiser to postpone his involvement for when conditions are favorable?"
Lelouch snorted. "You seem to be under the impression I can tell a viceroy what to do in his own area."
"You're his brother-"
"Half brother."
Kewell ignored the correction. "-and his senior military advisor. If he will listen to anyone, it's you."
"I've tried to reason with him, but Clovis has filled his head with the romanticized idea of the warrior-prince taking to the field and delivering his people from the 'invaders'. The cause, I suspect, is this book he's been reading lately." Lelouch snapped his fingers repeatedly, growing more irritable by the moment as he struggled to bring the words out. "Avalon something or another."
"The Highprince of Avalon?" Kewell offered.
"That's the one." Lelouch nodded to him thankfully. "How do you know of it? The book doesn't seem to particularly suit you."
"It isn't, but I've overheard a few of the Purists - female Purists," he clarified, "speak of it from time to time. It made a lasting impression on them."
"In any case, while I object to the Clovis' deployment, I cannot ignore that allowing him to fight has some advantages. It'll do the men's morale some good to see their prince fighting alongside them. After all, if a king doesn't lead, how can his subjects follow?"
"Ah! The age old rhetoric of our dearest Prime Minister!" exclaimed Clovis, joining them at last.
"He stole that from me actually."
"Really?" Clovis shrugged. "Well, no matter, his point stands." He nodded to Kewell. "Now, my good man, the glory of battle awaits us!"
"Try to keep your head on your shoulders." Lelouch called out, nothing but good humor in his tone.
"Ye of little faith, brother. I shall return when these barbarians are routed from our most glorious city!"
Kewell shot Lelouch a despairing glance over slumped shoulders as he trailed after the blonde.
Lelouch heard footsteps approaching from his six and preempted the conversation. "I know what you're going to ask. The answer is no still, to both." He could practically hear Darlton's scowl.
"Why?"
"Walk with me," he said and Darlton fell into step besides him." "Clovis knows things, things which reside in no file and is written on no paper." The prince turned his head slightly to face the general. "It's the sort of information too secret, too dangerous that only certain men know of it. Such information is often the hardest to obtain, for the secrecy of those who know of it is a hard veil to see through."
"And of the other question?"
"It's a simple matter of denial." Lelouch answered. "Schneizel wishes for this civil war in the Federation to last as long as possible. Divided and weak, he can take them apart piecemeal, as is his favored negotiating tactic. Failing that, his preferred alternative is to have the Eunuchs in control. They are the sort of political animal he can deal with, the backstabbing, treacherous kind. Thus, to deny him his objectives we are left with his least desired outcome – victory for the Empress, hence focusing on the Eunuchs forces."
"Even while letting those loyal to the Empress ravage the Area capital," Darlton stated dryly.
Lelouch shrugged. "Some sacrificed had to be made. It will make their army look all the better after this too, as having been the closest to achieving victory while the other group floundered ineffectually."
"I still don't understand. This Empress, from everything I've read on her, seems like a pacifist. Wouldn't that be right up the Prime Minister's alley?"
"Ah, but she's also an idealist, one of the true believers in good governance and serving the people. The Empress would never sell her country out for any personal gain. She won't fight, but she won't kneel either and with the expansionist mindset of our nation…"
"…we would be at war soon enough, no matter what treaty was decided on." Darlton concluded.
Lelouch nodded. "And for a military war, Schneizel will need Cornelia and I around longer. It is that very need for our expertise that will stay his executioner's hand, buying us much needed time to prepare."
They stopped in front of the reinforced doors of the Command Bunker. "Now, to end this war." Lelouch said, before stepping inside.
"Your Highness!" the officer left in charge, a major by the looks of it, saluted enthusiastically. The reason, whether things were going well or if he was simply eager to have the burden of command transferred to another, Lelouch could not discern.
"Excellent work, Major," Lelouch said. It was difficult to screw up when all you had to do was sit there and do exactly as scripted. "Anything to report?"
"Prince Clovis has engaged the first of his enemies in battle with little difficulty. His Royal Guard is cleaning up as we speak." Typical Clovis then, charging headfast into a situation before assessing it and letting those more capable finish the job. Still, if there were actually any danger to him, Lelouch wouldn't have relented to letting him lead his "glorious charge".
"Finally, reports are coming in fro-"
"Enemy bombers incoming!"
"Have our reserve fighters intercept!" Darlton ordered immediately. "How did they get past our screen?" It surprised Lelouch too that the inferior air units the Chinese fielded manage to get past their Tempests patrolling the city skies.
"Reserves won't make it in time! The bombs are dropping!" the screen-watcher with dawning horror as his screen flashed red.
"What are they hitting?" Lelouch asked, his stomach going into freefall.
"Sir, it looks like the Ashford factory."
Ruben Ashford watched as the culmination of his life's work was systematically reduced to rubble and ash. He looked skyward, as if accusing the heavens of some transgression. "So this is what you had planned for me," he whispered. "At last, you grant me death."
"Grandfather, we have to get out of here!" Milly screamed, tears flowing as freely as the steel slabs that was once their roof. She tugged at his arm insistently. "Please!"
Ruben continued to stare at the sky. "You grant me death, but I will not let you take another of my kin." He began to walk, dragging Milly with him, but not towards the exit.
"Grandfather, you're going the wrong way!" she cried out.
"It is too late to leave that way," he answered. "If you are to live through this, we must be…creative with our method." They hardly encountered anyone in the halls. For one, the section they were in was strictly high-clearance. On a regular day there wasn't that much traffic to begin with.
Milly was strangely quiet, but then, the threat of death looming over your head could change a person.
At last, they made it to a familiar door and Ruben entered the password to gain them entry. Inside, two of the most brilliant scientists he had ever met continued to work on the Guren, oblivious to the fact that the building would collapse any second now. Ah, the admirable work ethic of geniuses.
"Ah, Ruben! Settle an argument for us would you?" Lloyd Asplund said, even as the building groaned. "Do you think th-"
"This isn't really the time." He glanced at the ceiling, doing a quick estimate in his head. "The facility is under attack. It will fall any second."
"Oh." Lloyd said, as if he hadn't just been told his life was in danger. "Should we leave?"
Ruben resisted the urge to smack his head into something hard, if only because time was a commodity he couldn't waste right now. "Too late for that." Ruben pointed to the sort-of-complete knightmare they were working on. "The Guren's Radiation Wave unit is fixed, isn't it?"
"Yup," Rakshata answered for her non-Indian counterpart. Lloyd shot her an annoyed look out of pure habit.
"Good. If we squeeze, we will fit and its Wave unit might provide ample heat to melt any falling debris."
Rakshata went first, much to Lloyd's chagrin. As the designer and creator, she'd be best suited to piloting it among the three. Lloyd was next, his lanky body making squeezing him in later a difficult prospect. Finally, it was Milly's turn.
There was no space left for Ruben. "W-wait." Milly said, her voice trembling. "W-what about you?"
"Ha! These bones of mine are old, they protest at every exertion. No doubt death would be a more welcome outcome then to exert them in such cramped space."
"Ms. Chawla, Earl Asplund, it has been a pleasure working with you." Not really. Dealing with their constant arguments was a headache he would be glad to be rid of in the afterlife, but he was dying, so there wasn't much point in being rude. His expressions softened as he regarded the last person in the knightmare. "Milly, take care of yourself. I could not be prouder of the woman you've become."
The cockpit started to seal itself shut as the unit powered up.
"Grandfather? Grandfather!"
Ruben looked up one last time in defiant challenge. "Bring me your worse."
He watched in quiet mourning as a surveillance drone captured every second of the factory's dismantling. Lelouch slammed his fist into his armrest and stood.
"New orders." His eyes burned with the fury of a thousand dying suns. The fact that he could continue to speak in a voice of complete calm made even the hardened veteran in Darlton cower. "Transmit to all units, no quarter is to be given. Transmit to the Glastonbury…they are weapons free. Proceed as planned."
The Avalon was all shock and awe, a tool of psychological dominance which was the Prime Minister's business. Its build was uneven and odd to behold, purposefully designed to highlight its futuristic theme and the superiority of Britannia's technology.
The Glastonbury was all steel and fire, a tool of military dominance which was the Black Prince's business. Its build was all disciplined lines and military efficiency, purposefully designed to instill fear and the superiority of Britannia's military.
To the people of Sapporo, it was like an avenging angel had come from the sky, delivering the wrath of God to the Empire's enemies. This wedge-shaped steel construct was roughly 800 by 500 by 200, capable of delivering the legion into the field while its vast armaments warded off any threats.
Armaments such as its Hadron Cannons, gathering malevolent light at its tips in ominous warning to those who had incurred its ire, before unleashing energy beams that carved through all manner of man-made material and etching lines into the very earth. Armaments such as its battle lances, smaller laser units mounted on high-maneuverability turrets that could aim up, down, left and right.
Armaments such as its air-to-air missiles, which were launched in the dozens as enemy aircraft, insignificant specs in contrast to the floating behemoth, desperately tried to close the gap. Armaments such as its complement of Tempest fighter-bombers now moved on their own, freely engaging whatever enemy craft made it through the veritable barrage of exploding flak.
"The Black Prince delivers!" one of the soldiers cheered as a beam of black incinerated the Federation troops outside with pinpoint precision.
The scary thing, in Diethard's opinion, was that one wrong twitch from the controller's hand would have erased the Britannian-held building. Even from behind steel and cements, he could feel the heat. The only mercy this unholy weapon granted was that of a quick death through instant incineration.
He looked around to see the entire assault team, minus their shape-shifting demon-leader, watching with bright eyes. Honestly, they were like children beholding fireworks for the first time, attention so easily held by flashy demonstrations without truly grasping the horrendous act they were witnessing.
"So this is the next generation of warfare," Wolfe said with impassive eyes. "I think I should retire soon."
There was some irony hearing that from the twenty-something year old veteran. "From magic powers like changing your appearance to freaking power beams and airships…this is all starting to sound like one big comic book," Diethard said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Kage's plan to get the comm. codes out of Sasaki's assistant, do you think it'll work?"
"She looks like him and she sounds like him. I don't see how it couldn't."
"Why couldn't we just torture it out of him?" It was better than making a pact with the devil.
Wolfe turned to face him. "A fanatic like that? He'd have never broken. Now, I think the Glastonbury's almost done wiping out the Federation. We best start heading for the evac point."
Suzaku watched his enemies flee dispassionately. His role in this war was far too passive for his liking, limited to simply delaying Tohdoh's elite squad of knightmare fighters from assisting elsewhere. An important role, Lelouch had assured him, but nonetheless dissatisfying. His talents, he felt, were best utilized elsewhere.
The fact that the enemy was retreating was of no surprise. The news had hit him almost the same time it had hit the enemy, except with more insight as to how it all fell into place, with the prince finally explaining his actions. To understand what had transpired, it was important to go about it sequentially.
The first step to winning the war was the neutralization of that damned Tokyo resistance under the Kozuki girl and her cohorts. With them out of the picture, the Chinese and the JLF had no informants in the city, allowing Britannian military elements to move about more freely. Thus, they had absolutely no warning when the Glastonbury appeared behind JLF lines during their first attempt at taking Tokyo, allowing the airship to wreak havoc on their unprepared foes.
The second step was buying time. Lelouch, crafty bastard that he was, studied the Federations' politics to determine their intent. Once he knew what they wanted, the where of the matter was child's play. Using this critical information, he could trade space for time, engaging only at a few critical battles to delay his enemy for as long as possible until certain factors – such as the Kamafusa Dam – were ready to be unleashed.
The third step was to get them to step on the big red 'X' that was the crossings between Sendai and Natori. This was a matter of delaying the enemy at critical junctions, which was why the majority of their forces left Tokyo when it was facing imminent attack. Once they were bottled up right where Lelouch wanted, dismantling their forces wasn't too difficult. As the saying went, "Location was everything."
The fourth step was gaining access to the Federation's communication lines, which was what the Sapporo mission was about. Given time, their politicians would have spun the news so that it would have the least impact. Lelouch wanted the opposite – for it was his largest gamble to play. There was simply no way for the Britannians to hold against a force nearly quintuple their size in men and machine. But victory didn't require killing all their enemies, just breaking their will to fight.
By gaining the communication codes, they broadcasted the defeat of Lang's army to every Chinese radio they could. Sure, they wouldn't be trusted, but once aware, it was easy enough for the rank and file to confirm its veracity. After hearing about that catastrophic failure, their men ran. Without Land or Sasaki there to keep them in line, and the majority of their officers assassinated, there was no hope of restoring order. Without the numbers of the Federation, the JLF had to retreat, albeit in a far more organized matter, but they would be dealt with in time.
"Watching the Prince that day…it was perhaps one of the few times I've seen him show such strong emotions. The death of his friend hit him far harder than he would ever admit. He must have been under a great deal of stress than, having just recovered his sister, wary of enemies and allies alike, in charge of winning what was called an unwinnable war...all at the age of seventeen. Was it really any wonder he authorized the Glastonbury to use the Hadron Cannons?" - Andreas Darlton