Chapter Fourteen
Chalcedon Palace, St Darwin Boulevard, August 10 2010 ATB
Alexander blinked, and rubbed his eyes.
He looked around. He was in the library, seated on one of the window seats. He vaguely remembered taking a seat upon it, and the warmth of the sun through the glass. But now the sun was gone, the light fading.
Had he fallen asleep?
A sudden panic drove the lethargy from his mind. He had fallen asleep! What if Lady Marianne needed him for something! What if….!
Then it faded as he remembered where he was, and what had happened. He wasn't the Empress Marianne's page any more, nor was he living in Aries Villa. He was the Queen-Consort Victoria's guest, and this was Chalcedon Palace.
And Lady Marianne was dead. And her children were in exile.
A deep, dark shadow settled over him, as the unhappy memories fell into place. He had thought he had gotten over those dreadful events, so many months ago; or at least had managed to adapt to the ways in which his life had changed. He had not expected to keep forgetting like that, to keep waking up wondering what Lelouch and Nunnally might like to do today, or seeing something and thinking about how Lady Marianne might like to hear about it.
But he kept on forgetting; forgetting that Lady Marianne was gone forever, and that Lelouch and Nunnally were half a world away. He would never see her smile again, or how her eyes sparkled when she did. All the portraits and photographs just couldn't capture it. He would never know that warm feeling when she spoke kindly to him, or paid him a compliment, or thanked him for a job well done.
He shook his head, driving the dark thoughts away. She was gone, but Lelouch and Nunnally still lived. He still had them to carry on for, to live for. Surely, one day, they would be reunited, and he could take care of them as Lady Marianne would have wished.
He looked out of the window. The sun was setting, bathing the gardens in red light. He must have been asleep for a few hours at least. But if someone was looking for him, and it was urgent, they would have sent a servant to look for him. Even so, he should probably head back to his room, and begin dressing for dinner. The Queen-Consort was very particular about such things.
He stepped away from the window seat, and realised that he wasn't quite sure where he was. The library was quite large, and he must have wandered quite far in. He also realised, with some embarrassment, that he couldn't remember what he had gone in there for.
Then he paused, as he heard a strange mumbling sound.
He hesitated, torn between investigating it and leaving it alone. Was someone else in there?
Curiosity got the better of him, and he began to follow the sound; walking lightly so as to hear more easily. As he moved between the bookcases, chaise-longues, and statues that decorated the library, the sound grew clearer. It was someone talking, he was sure of it.
He reached another bookcase and paused, listening hard. There were several of them, just on the other side. They were having a meeting of some kind.
"…transferred to Luzon…"
"…any day now…"
Alexander crept along the bookcase, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Why were they talking about Luzon?
"We have no choice. We must act immediately if we are to save them."
Alexander's heart leapt into his mouth. It was Princess Cornelia! What was she doing there?
"We are all with you, your highness." It was Gilbert Guilford. "But this will be difficult. The Prime Minister's residence is at a native shrine in Yamanashi Prefecture, close to Mount Fuji. He also has a vacation home in Izu, in Shizuoka Prefecture. They could be at either location."
"Intel shows a strong military presence in the region," added Andreas Darlton; whose gravelly voice Alexander would know anywhere. "It includes the mining areas around Mount Fuji, right out to the Tokyo district, and around to Yokohama; where most of the sakuradite gets shipped."
"Nevertheless, I am determined to try," said Cornelia. "Lelouch and Nunnally are in there, and I cannot assume that the Japanese will keep their word."
Alexander tried, too late, to stop himself from gasping. Lelouch and Nunnally! What did she mean?
He paused, forcing down his hammering heart, listening hard for what was to come next. But nothing came.
"Whoever that is, come out this instant," ordered Cornelia. "Don't make us come looking."
Alexander's blood ran cold. She had heard him!
Gulping hard, he forced himself to walk around the bookcase, and into the light.
There was a long table, with a half-dozen people seated around it. Two of them he already knew well; Andreas Darlton and Sir Gilbert Guilford; whom Cornelia had dubbed a Knight-of-Honour after the battle at the military academy. As he glanced nervously around the table, he saw the face of Jeremiah Gottwald; but now his uniform was blue, rather than the pale grey of the Imperial Guard.
At the head of the table stood Cornelia, regarding him with an expression he found hard to read.
Alexander," she said. "I thought it was a little strange that you went missing like that. Euphie has been looking all over for you."
"I…fell asleep, your highness," Alexander replied awkwardly. "I…it was not my intention to intrude."
"Well, you're here now," said Cornelia, softening a little. "You might as well come stand here, and make yourself useful."
Some of those around the table glanced at each other.
"Your highness, is this wise?" asked Gottwald. "He's only a boy."
"This boy fought alongside me at Caerleon, as well you know," retorted Cornelia. "He was also Empress Marianne's page, and is the last member of her household. As such, he has a right to be involved."
She looked expectantly at Alexander. Realising her meaning, Alexander strode towards the table, standing at the corner nearest to her; close enough to be at hand, yet not so close as to be presumptuous. There was a map spread on the table, and it took Alexander a moment to recognize it as showing central Japan; with the enormous mass of Mount Fuji in the centre. He could make out various icons for cities and towns, road and railway routes, as well as military formations of various kinds.
"First things first," Cornelia began, falling back into her speaking manner. "Alexander what is the latest you have heard regarding the Japan situation?"
Alexander paused a moment, feeling their eyes upon him. They would not tolerate diffidence, or childishness, or whimsy. He cleared his throat.
"This morning, the Japanese Diet formally rejected the Senate's latest proposal regarding Sakuradite pricing," he said, in his best speaking voice. "The Senate issued a formal warning that it was considering the issue of a final demand."
He remembered it from breakfast that morning, and how he had spent some time trying to explain what had been said to Euphemia and her companions. They were by no means stupid or ignorant children, but even he had found it all rather difficult to decipher.
"That much is correct," Cornelia replied. "Translated into plain English, the senate is getting very annoyed, and is giving Japan one last chance to save face; at least publically. In reality, Japan has been issuing demands of its own; to withdraw from Areas 9 and 10, remove all forces from the Protectorate of Luzon, and begin proceedings to grant Luzon full national independence under Japanese supervision. Failure to comply will result in our sakuradite treaty not being renewed next month."
Alexander was taken aback. All that? Area 10 – recently carved out in Indochina – he could understand. He could also sort-of understand the sakuradite treaty. Over sixty years ago, when Britannian bombers had reduced Japan's cities to rubble, the Japanese government had been forced to buy Britannia off with a fifty-year deal for cheap sakuradite; a deal that had been partially rolled over when it expired. If what he had heard was true, many Japanese regarded both deals as national humiliations.
But Area 9? Area 9 had been the Republic of Angola, which Britannia had attacked and overrun after a border incident; a mere month after Lelouch and Nunnally had been sent away to Japan. Why would Japan make demands regarding an African state most of its own people could not place on a map?
"Surely his Majesty would never accept such terms?" he asked.
"His Majesty will certainly not accept such terms," Cornelia agreed sternly. "He will not accept them, the Senate will not accept them, and the people will not accept them. This is either a highly ill-advised bluff, or Genbu Kururugi actually wants a war."
Alexander barely suppressed a shiver.
"You know what this means, Alexander," Cornelia went on. "The Senate is offering one last chance, because we cannot be seen to unleash what is to come. The reality is that Japan will not back down, and they have already tried to stir the EU and the Chinese Federation up against us. War is inevitable, and could happen at any time within the next month."
"But…the children…"
"That is why we are here." Cornelia gestured around the table. "We intend to rescue Lelouch and Nunnally, or die trying."
Alexander drew a long, low breath, his heart hammering with anticipation.
"Then…please allow me to help in any way I can, your highness."
There was a pause, and for a horrible moment he feared Cornelia would refuse.
"It will be dangerous, Alexander," she said, her tone distinctly grim. "They are the only bargaining chips Kururugi has left. Neither he nor his government will give them up without a fight."
"Even so, your highness!" pleaded Alexander, drawing himself up as tall as he could manage. "It's the least I can do, for Lady Marianne! Please let me help you!"
"You'll do nothing of the kind!"
For an instant, Alexander thought that Cornelia had snapped at him, then saw the look of surprise flash across her face. It wasn't her.
He looked up, just as the six men around the table leapt to their feet and bowed.
Standing opposite them was the Queen-Consort Victoria; an older, more feminine version of Cornelia, clad in the same purple gown he had seen her wearing earlier that afternoon. Her eyes, so much like Cornelia's, fixed her daughter with an icy stare.
"Mother…" Cornelia drew herself up, meeting her mother's stare in kind. "How did you…?"
"How did I know?" Victoria scoffed. "You need to improve your conspiracy skills, my daughter. It wasn't hard to find you here, and even less so to guess your intention."
Cornelia's lip curled. She was no longer a young princess to be ordered around by her mother; but said mother was a Queen-Consort, who outranked her in just every socially meaningful way. If she could not command as a mother, how else might she do it? The thought made Alexander shiver.
"Bad enough that you plot behind my back, in my home," Victoria went on, her tone as stern and cold as anything Cornelia had ever managed. "But getting Alexander involved too?"
"Mother!" Cornelia's eyes flashed. "I will not leave them there! I will not let the Japanese kill them! I will not let anyone kill them! Surely you can respect that!"
There was a very long, very tense pause.
"Do you think I wish them dead, daughter?" There was something cold and terrible in Victoria's eyes. "Do you know how I begged and pleaded with your father to let me have them? If only for Euphie's sake?"
"Then why oppose me, mother?" demanded Cornelia, half-raging, half-pleading. Victoria paused, and for just a moment, Alexander saw a flash of pain.
"Because you are too late, daughter," she replied. "The order has been given, as of an hour ago. The bombers are flying, and the first attacks are likely underway; against Japan and the Kamchatka Peninsula."
"Kamchatka?" Cornelia went deathly pale, and for a moment Alexander thought she would fall. "But the negotiations...Lelouch...Nunnally...!"
"Doubtless the Russians will activate their treaty with the EU within the next few hours," Victoria went on. "It is on, daughter. The inevitable war is upon us, and I wonder if any of us will survive it."
"No…" Cornelia slumped into her chair. "They…he can't…"
"He can, and he must," said Victoria, her tone softening a little. "You know he must."
Alexander looked at his princess, hoping to see something in her, some defiance, some hope that it might not be true.
But all he saw was despair.
Okinawa
"All right boys and girls, look alive!" Captain Russo yelled over the comm.
Brevet-Lieutenant Graham Aker, 51st Regiment, Royal Aerial Infantry, tried to calm himself. This was it. His first real battle. With real bullets, and real death.
His Glasgow's viewscreens were hooked into one of the Albatross transport's forward cameras. He could see the Okinawa shoreline, the once-golden beaches scorched black, cratered, and littered with debris. Just beyond he could see a line of buildings, some of them on fire, others blasted apart; a pall of smoke hanging overhead.
Graham thought back to the briefing. Mibaru, the place was called. Mibaru beach, and a little village or hamlet of some sort right next to it, then a line of trees with some roads running parallel to the shore, then some suburbs, and fields; and Highway 331 running in from the west, and curving up to the north.
That highway was their first objective; that, and the Tamagusuku suburbs that surrounded it. The Japanese would like as not use that very road to counterattack from Nagamo or Chinen; or else from the north via Kakinohana. Once the paratroopers had secured the surrounding buildings, they would be able to push on up the heights and claim the high ground.
Operation Crash, they were calling this show. The Mibaru landings were only one of several similar operations taking place all across Okinawa's southern coast. If they put enough knightmares on the ground in enough places all at once - the high command had reasoned - the Japanese would be run ragged and worn down, forced to retreat north into central Okinawa. Then the main landings could begin.
And once Okinawa was secure, the main event could begin. Operation Setting Sun, the curtain coming down on Japan once and for all.
"All units report in!" barked Russo. Graham scanned his eyes over the dashboard and HUD, running down the mental checklist. Assault rifle, check. Missile Launcher, check. Slash Harkens, check. Systems, all green. Yggdrassil drive, all green. Landspinners, all green. Treadspinners, all green.
He paused a moment, as his eyes fell on the photograph carefully fixed to the dashboard. It was Villetta Nu, just after their graduation parade; her uniform perfect, her smile bright, her eyes full of pride.
Graham smiled. A part of him wished she could be here beside him; not stuck on a transport ship with the Pacific fleet, heading for mainland Japan. But another part was glad she was somewhere else; maybe a little less likely to die. He didn't know which was more likely, and there was little point in dwelling on it.
But he couldn't help himself. He missed her that much.
"Aker, standing by!" he called out.
"Dodge, standing by!" added Daryl Dodge, an old friend whose company he was glad of.
"Mason, standing by!" called in Howard Mason, another old friend.
"Carrow, standing by!" Warrant Officer Sir James Carrow, a new devicer from one of the new Knight academies. Graham did not know him well, not yet anyway.
"Sanders, standing by!" Warrant Officer Sir Mark Sanders, another greenhorn knight.
D Company was ready. At full strength it would have been twenty-one knightmares, in three platoons of seven. But with Lieutenant Steele having been yanked off the mission at the last minute, C Platoon was down to six, and formerly Ensign Aker was now its leader.
He hadn't fought an actual battle since that raid on the academy, and here he was, leading a platoon. This was make or break, both for his career, and all their lives.
"Flares going up!" yelled Russo.
Graham fixed his eyes on the screen. A shape slewed in front of the transport; a gunship, one of the new Raven VTOLs. A dozen of them were flying ahead of the transports, ready to provide fire support, and sacrifice themselves if need be.
The Ravens fired, bright flares rushing in swarms from the rocket pods hanging under their stubby wings. The flares flew across the beach and the hills beyond, brightly-coloured smoke billowing out behind them, and settling all around.
Then came the enemy fire, bright lines of tracer lancing out from the trees. The gunships tried to evade, but Graham saw one of them take a direct hit, his heart clenching as the fuselage blew apart. Another one fell, and another, even as the gunships fired back with their ventral railguns.
Then the gunships rose out of sight as the transport descended, dropping down for its final approach.
"Deploy in ten, nine, eight, seven..."
Graham cut the camera feed and gripped his joysticks, willing his heart to slow. They hadn't had time to practice this properly. Damn brass hats!
"Deploy!"
Graham's heart hammered as he heard the clunking behind him. The hatch was open, and the six knightmares of A Platoon were dropping; first Howard, then Daryl, then him, then Russo, then Sanders and then Carrow. He counted down the seconds...
All at once he was moving, his Glasgow sliding back along the floor of the fuselage. Then he was out, the sky bright blue around him, his Slash Harken cables snapping taught as the anchors caught in the runners. For a second they held him, slowing and steadying him, as his treadspinners touched the emerald waters, sending up great waves to either side.
Then the anchors were released, and Graham was on his own. He gripped the joysticks, willing himself not to topple over as his Glasgow surfed over the shallows and onto the sands.
He turned and came to a stop, looking around. Daryl and Howard were approaching; their treadspinners carrying them easily over the soft sand. Russo was down safely, and then Sanders and Carrow. As the transport finished its pass, it let loose with its flank guns, pouring fire into the hillside.
They had made it.
"All right!" Graham called into his comm. "C Platoon! Advance!"
"Yes, my lord!"
Graham felt a twinge of discomfort at their response, made worse by the faintest hint of resentment he detected in one or two of the voices. He was neither knight nor noble, and his rank was only a brevet promotion; letting him fill in for Lieutenant Steele. He didn't know why Steele had been yanked off the line at the last minute, but he had heard the sniggered rumours.
Well, nothing to be done for it. If those prissy young knights didn't want to take orders from a common-born officer, they could take it up with his fist later. There was a battle to win.
On his scanner screen, he saw A and B platoons moving up the hill in a loose skirmish line. His heart clenched as one of the icons turned into a LOST marker, then another. The Japanese were still on the hill, and they were putting up a fight. Time to get stuck in.
He accelerated, forcing his Glasgow up the hill. Even with the treadspinners, the going was heavy; the mud churning and grumbling beneath his knightmare's heavy feet. He fixed his eyes on the trees ahead of him, searching for a sign.
The God of War responded with a hail of tracer fire. Graham gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to panic. It was just machine gun fire, from infantry who had hastily dug themselves in along the crest of the hill. He could just make them out in the distance, crouched low against the broken ground.
"All units advance by pair! Pin them down and move!"
Graham scrambled up the hill, forcing himself to ignore the fire. It could not hurt his Glasgow, not much anyway. He turned his assault rifle on the Japanese foxholes, firing short bursts every time he saw tracer. The enemy fire began to slacken, and to his left he saw Howard aim the heavy cannon slung under his Glasgow's forearm. He fired, and Graham saw the shot tear into the ground around the summit. The hillside erupted, and he saw what looked like human bodies flying through the air, veiled by dust and debris.
He slammed down the pedals, driving his knightmare up the hill as fast as it could go. A little fire came his way, but nowhere near enough to stop him. He fired back, and saw green-clad figures scrambling out of foxholes and dashing up the hill, struggling to get away. The defences had collapsed.
"Defensive positions on the summit!" he ordered. "Watch for enemy units! The paras are due any minute!"
As he reached the crest of the hill, he could see the objective clearly. The suburb before him was a simple enough place; a few small to medium-sized buildings, and what looked like small farming plots. Just beyond the fields, and just before a slight rise and tree line, he could just make out the highway.
When the next wave of transports arrived, the paratroopers would want to come down over that very spot. A good spot for a paradrop, but also the perfect place for an ambush. If the enemy had troops hiding in those buildings...
"You're doing well, Lieutenant Aker." Captain Russo's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Let's push on and..."
But Graham did not hear him. His eyes fixed on a flicker of movement in the distance, near the highway to his right. He knew what it was, and he tried to cry a warning, but no sound seemed to come from his throat. It was as if the world had gone completely silent, and time had slowed down.
He saw the tiny flicker of movement in the air, and saw it slam straight into Captain Russo's knightmare. The Glasgow exploded.
"Take cover!" Graham screamed. Something inside him took over, and he darted behind a white building.
"What was that?" demanded Howard, sliding in beside him.
"Enemy armour!" Graham snarled back. "By that tower block! Range...three, four hundred metres!"
"I see him!" It was Daryl. "Japanese Type 98!"
Graham cursed. Plenty of firepower, plenty of armour. This was going to be tough.
"Your call, Lieutenant," said Daryl, his tone grim. Graham cleared his throat. The whole platoon was watching him.
"We need to take that thing out before more of them get here!" he said. "C Platoon! Take cover and wait for my order! Dodge, Mason, Sanders, Carrow, on me! We'll rush it!"
"Yes sir!"
Graham keyed to release his treadspinners, waiting a moment to let the heavy treads fall off. This done, he pressed down on the pedals, his landspinners screeching as they drove him around the house and down a narrow road. He dodged right, slewing into a nearby field, just in time to avoid another shot from the enemy tank. The shot slammed into the house behind him, blasting it to matchwood.
Graham fixed his eyes on the tower block ahead and to his left, partially concealed by the scorched and blasted tree line. He could just make out the shape of the tank, its turret rotating towards him.
He jammed the pedals down as far as they would go, bouncing over the undulating ground. He glanced back at the tank, at the gun settling into place, ready to blow him away. He jinked, this time to the left. In the corner of his eye he saw the flash, and almost felt the slipstream as the shell shot past.
Carrow's icon turned to LOST.
He was getting closer. He could see the tower block, and another white house next to it. The tank drew back, vanishing behind the house. Graham cursed, but for all that, there was a chance.
"C Platoon! Advance now!"
Not waiting for his platoon's reply, Graham turned left onto a narrow road, leading to the scorched shell of a large, industrial-looking building. Within moments he had reached the building, racing through the car park, and rounded the corner to head north.
And there was another tank. It was all he could do to jink, throwing himself to the left as the tank fired. On reflex he raised his rifle and fired, sending a stream of tracer straight into the tank. The rounds bounced off the armour, but he kept on firing, a high-pitched scream ringing in his ears.
The fire stopped. The clip was empty. Graham froze, half-expecting to die.
Then he saw the smoke rising from under the turret ring. And realised that the scream he had heard was his own.
"Lieutenant!" It was Daryl. "You all right?"
"I'm good!" Graham shook his head, trying to calm himself.
Bullets spanged off his armour. Graham looked up, and saw flashes of gunfire from the upper floors of the tower block. Had the enemy hidden a command post up there?
"Come on!"
He drove on up a ramp, leading up to a car park right next to the tower block. The others followed, firing up at the tower block as they went. He reached the top of the ramp, and found himself looking down a curving road; at the end of which lay a two-lane highway. An APC, in the same green paint job as the tank, was rolling up the road towards him.
Graham jinked as the APC opened fire, and put a missile straight into its flank. The APC blew apart, and Graham slewed around it. Green-clad infantrymen dashed for cover, and down on the highway another tank was turning to face him. In the corner of his eye, partly covered by the tower block, Graham could see the rear of yet another tank.
How many were they? Had he actually managed to outflank them? Had they...somehow not expected this?
Howard was quicker on the uptake, firing his cannon at the rotating tank. The shot hit, and the tank exploded, the turret flying off. Graham's teeth clenched as it crashed into the concrete wall behind and bounded up the street, hitting one of the fleeing soldiers.
There were more coming, just coming into view past a line of trees parallel to the highway. Another APC, and a half-dozen soldiers flanking it. He could see them as they threw themselves onto the concrete, opening fire with their rifles. A futile gesture, one that for a moment took him aback.
Then he saw their faces, each one a mask of rage. And he understood.
He squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. And he cursed himself as he realised he had forgotten to change his 20mm clip.
"Get a grip Graham!"
Fortunately Daryl was ready, opening up on the infantry with his own rifle. Graham targetted the APC, and fired another missile. The APC exploded, showering its dead compatriots with wreckage.
Graham checked his loadout as he reloaded his rifle. Three more missiles. Time to make them count.
"Cover me!" he roared, as he sped out onto the highway. He turned right, and there as he suspected were two tanks; one just a few metres away, the other further along the road, right by the white house. Graham fired, sending a missile straight into the nearest tank, even as the turret rotated towards him. The tank blew apart, and Graham slewed past, lining up a shot on the last remaining tank. He fired, and the tank erupted in flame.
He had done it. Somehow, he had done it.
He looked around. Howard and Sanders were covering the highway, using the wrecked APC as cover. Daryl was at his side.
"I think we got them all!" Daryl gasped. He sounded as pumped up as Graham felt. "No movement on the tower!"
Graham tried to centre himself. No time to mess around.
"C platoon! Report!"
"This is Ward!" replied Ensign Ward, his icon showing him to be about half a kilometre to the east. "We've secured the highway junction at the east end! There's enemy infantry to the north of us but they're not moving!"
"Okay! Take cover and be alert! The paras will need cover 'til their down!"
"Yes, my lord!"
Graham glanced at his sensor screen, looking for A and B platoons. From what he could see, they were moving quickly up through Hyakuna to the east.
"This is Lieutenant Aker!" he called into the comm. "Request sitrep!"
"This is Correa!" replied Lieutenant Correa, of A platoon. "We've secured the highway by the shrine, but there's enemy armour approaching from the north-east! Where's Captain Russo?"
"Captain Russo's dead!" Graham felt a cold knife twist in his gut as he remembered. It had only been a few moments ago, but it seemed like an eternity. "
"Understood! What's your situation?"
"We've secured the highway at the west end! No sign of enemy activity!"
"Understood! Cover the paras till they land, then proceed to next objective!"
"Yes, my lord!"
As if on cue, Graham heard the rumbling of engines overhead. He looked up, and saw a formation of six Albatross transports passing overhead. Their rear hatches were open, and tiny black shapes were leaping out, white parachutes blossoming above them; like a great cloud of dandelion seeds.
He stared out over the ruined suburb, vigilant for any sign of movement, as the paratroopers descended to the earth.
Izu Pensinsula, Shizuoka Prefecture, Japan
Alexander did his best to not look outside.
But he couldn't help himself. It was like looking at a trainwreck. He couldn't keep his eyes from it.
Ruins. As far as the eye could see. The town through which the convoy rumbled had taken a lot of damage. Buildings were blasted and scorched, some so badly that he could not tell what they had been before. Had they been homes? Shops? Businesses? Others were more intact, their style reminding him painfully of San Clemente.
Such was all he had seen, since their party had arrived at Yokohama a few hours earlier. The once-bustling port had been reduced to rubble; but for the prefabs set up by the Britannian forces. Whatever fate awaited it in the future, Yokohama was for now a military base, a staging area for the thousands of Britannian troops arriving every day, whether to join the battle or to form the garrison of what would soon be Area 11.
Looking up, Alexander could see a gunship, one of the new Raven VTOLs, hovering over the ruins; like a raptor waiting for prey.
Surely there was nothing to find. Surely anyone with any sense had fled this place of death.
"Please be okay," he muttered under his breath, unable to stop himself. The thought of his prince and princess having to survive amid this devastation made his heart ache.
The convoy slowed down, as the Morddure APC up front began to turn a corner. Alexander found himself looking at the nearest ruins, the white walls still covered with cheerful, child-like images; all big eyes, happy smiles, and bright colours, surrounded with script he could not read. It all seemed so sad, like this; their smiles and cheerfulness faded, drained, doused in dust and ash, pocked with bullet holes.
His eyes fixed on something lying by the wall. It was a doll, staring vacantly up at an empty, uncaring sky.
Mercifully, the convoy was moving, the LAV in which he rode pulling away and rounding the corner. He did not want to have to look at that unhappy scene.
The road down which they now travelled was a coastal highway; the sea gleaming in the light of the setting sun. It seemed curiously peaceful.
"You all right?" asked Andreas Darlton, seated by his side. Most of the others - Guilford and Gottwald included - were riding up ahead with Cornelia, but the older man had agreed to travel with him in the rear. Alexander was glad of it. It made him feel less of a tagalong.
"I'm fine." Alexander took a deep breath. "I hear the war is going well."
"For the most part," Darlton mused, relaxing in his seat. "Operation Setting Sun was a complete success, and when the Japanese fleet came sailing out like that, the rest should have been easy. But this place put up quite a fight; this place, and Itsukushima."
He scoffed, smirking as if remembering an old joke.
"Poor Arthur Goodman," he went on. "First chance in command, and he botched it."
"My father told me about Itsukushima," Alexander spoke up, glad of the distraction. "He said that someone called Tohdoh was in charge. A...Kyoshiroh Tohdoh."
"He's been keeping you up to date?"
"Yes. Father was sent in after General Goodman retreated. When he arrived, the Japanese had fled. But there was a lot of comm chatter about a...Kiseki no Tohdoh."
He had been trying to learn Japanese, at Lelouch's suggestion. But he had only a smattering at best, and the pronunciation still gave him trouble at times.
"Tohdoh of Miracles," Darlton translated for him, smirking. "And how like a miracle; here today, gone tomorrow. One man can make all the difference, even if all he can give is hope."
"Is that why my father went in?" Alexander asked.
"It certainly is. Tohdoh's little miracle gave the Japanese hope, and they fight all the harder. The only counter for hope is hope itself, on your own side that is. We've got plenty of great knights, but few like your father."
"That's true." Alexander nodded. "I have much to learn if I want to be like him."
"Like Father like son. Sometimes it's scary how alike you are."
Darlton shrugged, smiling wryly before his grin faded, turning to stone.
"We're here."
The convoy had reached a wide open space right next to a lake. Gravel crunched under wheels as the APCs and LAVs drove off the road and came to a halt; the APCs forming a protective perimeter; the grey-armoured soldiers piling out and taking up position; ever watchful for danger.
Cornelia stepped out of one of the LAVs, her white cape fluttering in the slight breeze. Alexander clambered out of the LAV, and resisted the urge to run to her side; instead walking calmly beside Darlton.
"Not much of an excursion, that," mused Cornelia as they arrived. Her face was grim, but her eyes softened a little as they met Alexander's own. He felt a little better for it.
The feeling faded as he looked around. There wasn't much in that desolate place. Just an open area of gravel – possibly a parking area - on the landward side of the main road, with a path leading away into a forest of pine trees. On the other side of the road was a concrete promenade, presumably to protect the road from the sea. Upon the gravel there was little more to see; just a pile of debris and a cluster of people sitting on the ground, surrounded by Britannian soldiers.
There was a hint of burnt meat in the air.
With the soldiers was a blue-uniformed subaltern officer, who hurried towards them.
"Lieutenant Tallis, your highness." The subaltern snapped to attention and saluted. "It is...an honour."
"Save the pleasantries lieutnant," replied Cornelia sternly. "We are here in search of Prime Minister Kururugi, and the hostages Prince Lelouch and Princess Nunnally. What have you found here?"
"We were sweeping the area for enemy leftovers when we came upon this place," Tallis began, gesturing at the scene. "The path leads up to Prime Minister Kururugi's vacation home. It's completely deserted, but we found bloodstains and signs of a struggle in one of the rooms. When we arrived, the only thing here was that pyre over there."
He pointed at the pile of debris, and Alexander saw that it was a heap of ash, with what looked like half-burned logs sticking out. It was smouldering slightly.
"There were no vehicles here when we arrived," Tallis went on. "But the tyre tracks indicate at the very least a heavy truck, a car, and a motorcycle. These people," he gestured at the prisoners, "were either hiding in the woods nearby or hanging around the estate."
He noticed Alexander, and glanced questioningly at Cornelia.
"This the Lord Alexander Waldstein," Cornelia introduced him. "He stands as a representative of the late Empress Marianne's household."
"My lord." Tallis saluted him. Alexander bowed in response.
"I would see the prisoners," Cornelia said.
Tallis nodded, and led the way towards the group. They sat on the ground; a huddle of men, women, and children. The clothes they wore were not that much different to those of Britannia; but many of them were dirty, damp, and torn. They were filthy, bedraggled, wretched-looking creatures; people who had lost everything but their lives.
Alexander shivered at the sight of them. He had seen faces like theirs, eyes like theirs, another lifetime ago in Krugis. Eyes full of fear, or empty with despair.
Some of them were looking at him. He could not read what was in their eyes. What did they want from him? Were they just curious; wondering what a young boy was doing there? Or were they hoping for something? For some mercy, or gracious intercession?
He didn't even have any food to give them.
Others gazed up at Cornelia; their fear plain on their faces. Cornelia looked over them with cold, calculating eyes.
"Who is their leader?" she asked.
"That one." Tallis pointed at a balding, middle-aged man in a dust-caked suit. "The local mayor, apparently, or some sort of local official."
Cornelia nodded, and two of the soldiers stepped forward and grabbed the man. The man put up no resistance, but the woman next to him cried out and grabbed at him, shying away when another soldier levelled his rifle. A young boy - her son? - clung to the woman, wailing piteously.
"Ask him what was going on here," Cornelia ordered, when the soldiers had deposited the man in front of her. Lieutenant Guttman, the translator they'd picked up in Yokohama, spoke to the man in Japanese. The man babbled a reply.
"He says that they are from the town of Heda," Guttman said. "When the bombing started, they fled into the nearby hills in search of shelter. When they saw the army vehicles here, they came in the hope of protection, but the guards drove them away."
"Who were the guards?" Cornelia asked. "Tell him that the more he tells us, the more likely they are to survive."
Guttman translated. The man paused a moment, as if reluctant, and then replied.
"He says they were the Prime Minister's security detail. That's why they came, hoping he would protect them."
"And where is he?"
More Japanese. Alexander did his best to follow, but could only make out the odd word. Guttman paused, his eyes grave.
"He thinks the Prime Minister was the one on the pyre," he said. "He couldn't really see anything from that distance. Once the pyre was going, they packed up and cleared out."
Alexander glanced towards the pyre. He remembered Lelouch mentioning Genbu Kururugi in his letters; though rarely with any affection or respect. Was this his final resting place? Had he been killed in his own vacation home? Or had he perhaps killed himself, choosing death over dishonour?
He found himself stalking towards the pyre, unable to draw his eyes from it. A strange, morbid fascination drew him ever closer, along with a horrible, cold notion looming at the dark edge of his mind.
No. It could not be. It could not be…
He looked down at the pyre as he reached it. At first all he saw was ashes and scorched wood, the stench of charcoal and burned meat making his stomach turn. Then he shuddered as his eye fell on something thin and black, too smooth to be wood, its shape too curved, rounded.
It was a bone. A human bone. Someone had been burned on this pyre.
His blood ran cold. What if It was not just Genbu Kururugi whose burned remnants lay amid those ashes? What if it was…?
Then he saw it again; a glint of metal amid the debris. Alexander shoved his hands into the hot ashes, pushing them aside and pulling it out.
It was a ring, a signet ring, of a kind he had seen many times before. There was no mistaking the emblem on it.
"No..."
He rubbed at it, trying to get the grime off it, to make it shine again; the way it had upon Lady Marianne's finger. But it wouldn't shine, not any more.
He slumped to his knees, as his heart slumped into a pit of despair.
"It...it's your ring...Lady Marianne..." His words came out as a whimper, his eyes brimming with tears as the horrible truth rose to overwhelm him. "Your ring...you left to Lelouch..."
Lady Marianne's signet ring. The one Lelouch had inherited, and had taken with him in spite of his banishment. The ring he would rather have cut from his finger than give up.
"What is it?" Darlton asked, looking down over his shoulder. "What have you...found?"
The older man trailed off. Alexander heard a gasp behind him, one that must have come from Jeremiah Gottwald.
"Forgive me..." he whimpered, the tears running down his face. "Please forgive me, Lady Marianne. I failed you...I failed them."
He let out of sob, and began shivering as his heart sank into the darkness.
"I would have given anything!" he wailed. "I would have given my life for them!"
They were gone. His prince and princess, whom he had loved as if they were his own little brother and sister. Lelouch and Nunnally, who had trusted him, and missed him.
Dead. Just bones and ashes in a heap. Nothing remaining but a half-melted ring. Their bright eyes and smiles, now dimmed and gone. Their cheerful hearts stilled forever.
"It's all right, Alexander." Darlton laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "It's all right. Don't vex yourself."
Alexander managed to look up. Darlton looked down at him, his eyes full of fatherly pain. Behind him was Jeremiah Gottwald, who looked as if the bottom had fallen out of his world.
"They have done this..." Gottwald growled, a strange, terrible light in his eyes. "This...evil nation."
Alexander heard footsteps. He stood up, and saw Cornelia walking slowly back towards the mayor, still sitting on the ground. He looked terrified. They all did.
"They are dead." Cornelia's voice was as cold as ice. "My brother and sister are dead. Dead at the hands of your Prime Minister."
Guttman translated. The mayor went pale, and some of the prisoners cried out in horror or denial. The mayor babbled at her in panic.
"He swears he did not know," translated Guttman, his eyes lifeless. "He swears he had no part in it."
"Then who did?" Cornelia drew her gunblade; the weapon Marianne had given her to celebrate her graduation. "Who may I hold accountable? Your dead Prime Minister?"
Alexander felt sick. This wasn't his princess, his friend, his benefactress, his friend. That coldness, that hate, had not been there before. What had happened? What had happened to his princess?
The mayor whimpered, and tried to back away. But one of the soldiers kicked him, knocking him forward. His wife cried out and lunged towards him, but another soldier drove his rifle butt into her head, knocking her to the ground. Her son began to wail.
"He asks for mercy," Guttman said.
"Mercy!?" Cornelia shrieked. "Mercy for you? For this nation? My grandfather should have exterminated the lot of you! How many have died for your greed? How many more will die for your stupid pride?"
The mayor crumpled. He let out a shriek, and began beating at the ground, crying and yelling over and over again, bemoaning his fate. Behind him, his wife and son sobbed helplessly, and their neighbours looked in utter hopelessness.
Inside Alexander, something snapped.
"Princess!"
Cornelia's face became a snarl, as she raised her gunblade high. The mayor let out one last wail, and his wife's cries became a shriek.
"Princess!"
And then she froze, as Alexander grabbed her hand. She looked down, eyes full of fury for whomsoever would dare touch her.
And the fury vanished, as she saw him.
"Alexander..." She sounded confused, as if she had never seen him before.
"Please!" whimpered Alexander. "Don't do it! Please don't, your highness!"
All was silent. All eyes were upon them. But Alexander did not notice, or care.
"Alexander..." Her voice was hoarse. "Let go. I must do this."
"Please!" Alexander wailed. "I beg of you. Don't kill him. He...he looks so sad."
It was a pathetic, childish thing to say. But Alexander had nothing else, no other argument he could make. His princess would not do such a thing. She would not kill a defenceless, broken man, who had already lost everything. She wasn't capable of that, not his kind, noble Princess Cornelia.
He stared up into her eyes, begging with every tear, begging his Princess to come back, to not become what she was about to become.
Cornelia lowered her gunblade, and let out a long, soul-weary sigh.
"Get them out of here," she said.
"Where, your highness?" Tallis asked, bewildered.
"Anywhere! Just send them away!" snapped Cornelia.
The soldiers did not wait for Tallis. They started shouting at the Japanese, ordering them to their feet, driving them away towards the road. The mayor sat where he was, looking hopelessly confused, as his wife and son flung themselves upon him, crying with relief.
Alexander stood where he was, his heart empty. He didn't understand, couldn't quite believe, what had happened.
"Alexander."
He looked up, and saw Cornelia staring towards the pyre. She looked as if she was at war with herself.
"Your highness?"
"Get in that LAV, over there," she pointed at one of the LAVs nearby. "You're going home."
Alexander's heart sank. She was angry with him. He had offended her, embarrassed her. And now she was sending him away.
"Your highness, I..."
"Do it!"
Alexander scrambled towards the LAV, fighting back a new wave of tears. He couldn't remember the last time she had snapped at him, or that he had offended her so much!
For what felt like an eternity, he waited, sitting in the back of the empty LAV. Then, finally, he heard the driver climb in. Thanks to an armoured partition, he could not see who it was. And then someone else clambered in beside him, pulling the door shut.
He gaped when he saw that it was Cornelia herself.
"Your...your highness...I..."
And then he trailed off, as Cornelia flung her arms around him and pressed his face into her shoulder. It was all he could do not to start crying again.
Cornelia drew back, looking Alexander in his red, teary eyes. She wasn't used to seeing him like this; not little Alexander, who had always been so bright and full of life.
That it was her fault made it all the worse.
"Your highness," Alexander whimpered, the sound making her heart clench. "Please forgive me...I..."
"No Alexander," she said. "There's nothing to forgive."
She paused, fighting down her shame, her sickness. She didn't want to have to say it, to admit to what she had almost done, and what he had saved her from. But he needed to know. He needed to understand.
"You were right, Alexander," she said. "It was not right to kill him, or any of them. To stain my hands, and the sword Lady Marianne gave me..."
She trailed off, and looked away, unable to meet his gaze; those bright, pure eyes.
"And yet I wanted to, Alexander," she admitted. "I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill all of them. I wanted to destroy this whole country for what that man did. That...wretched, evil man."
She sighed, feeling better for having said it.
"I was afraid, your highness," Alexander said, awkwardly. "There was something in your eyes, something that frightened me. And that man...I felt sorry for him."
He lowered his head, ashamed of his weakness, his sentimentality. Cornelia put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed it a little.
"You were not wrong, Alexander," she said. "There's nothing wrong with pity, or mercy. It means your heart is greater than others, greater than mine."
"No, your highness!" Alexander pleaded, clearly shocked. "You have the greatest heart of all! Much greater than mine!"
Cornelia felt something warm wrap itself around her heart. She had been drowned in flattery - most of it insincere - her whole life. Such words should have meant nothing, but coming from him, they meant all the world.
"If I have a great heart, Alexander, then you have made it greater," she said, smiling. "There's something good in you, Alexander. You awaken something in others, something better."
She trailed off. The time had come to say what had to be said, however much it might hurt.
"Alexander...what do you truly desire? What is your chosen path?"
Alexander looked up at her, surprised.
"To be a knight," he said, with little hesitation. "I want to be brave and noble, like my father, and like you."
"You are already brave and noble," Cornelia said, smiling at his earnestness. "But you must also be strong. You must find a strength within you; a strength that will let you fight, and kill, that you may protect those you love, and do as your heart commands. But it must not be a strength that leads you to darkness, to bloodlust, to cruelty. You must not do what I almost did."
She paused.
"In a few weeks, you will go away to Colchester," she said, dreading what was to come. "It will test you, in many ways."
"Father told me it was hard, at times," replied Alexander cautiously.
"It is a terrible place," she went on. "We all like to laugh and pretend we had fun there, but none of us did, not really. It's a ruthless place, where others will seek to hurt you, or use you, or corrupt you."
She shuddered as she remembered her own time at Colchester. It had been a lonely four years, without anyone she could call a friend, treated with cold deference by her classmates. At least she hadn't been bullied, not physically anyway. Being thrown out of a second-floor window was not much fun; as the first and last person to try had discovered.
No one would bully Alexander, not like that. But standing up for yourself was a lonely business. Could Alexander bear it?
"It will be hard for you, Alexander." She turned to face him, clasping his shoulders. "You will be alone there, more alone than you have ever known. But I beg of you Alexander, not to lose yourself. Do not let that light within you go out. Do not let yourself be corrupted, and lose it forever."
Alexander looked confused, and hurt. Cornelia wondered if she could truly make him understand.
"I will forgive you if you fail," she said gently. "I will still care for you stumble, or fall, or lose your way. But if you can keep the light inside you, even at Colchester, and at the academy, then I will choose you, Alexander. I will choose you for my knights, for there will be no one more worthy."
She saw the light in his eyes, that old fire she had so admired.
"I...Alexander Waldstein...do accept this quest," Alexander managed to say, his voice quavering with emotion.
"Thank you, Alexander."
She hugged him tight, and they sat quietly for a while, until they reached the Yokohama air base. She took a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes, before emerging from the LAV. Before them stood an Albatross transport, ready to head back to Britannia with a load of empty cargo containers. Its captain had agreed to give Alexander a ride home.
"I'll see you in time, Alexander," she said, knowing it could be a long time. "Do please take care of Euphie for me. I'll tell mother what's happened before you arrive, but she'll need you."
"I will, your highness."
Alexander bowed, and headed for the plane. Cornelia stood a while, watching as the plane sealed its hatches, rolled down the tarmac to the runway, and finally took off.
"Hurry and grow up, Alexander," she thought, as the plane vanished into the clouds. "I need you by my side. Or else, I don't know what I'll become."
And there it is, at long last. This chapter marks the closing of a chapter in Alexander's life; the ending of the first 'book', if you will, of this story.
This took a lot of doing, and there was one tricky bit; namely where abouts Suzaku used to live in Japan when Lelouch and Nunnally were with him. All I could get from the anime was that it was within sight of Mount Fuji, which doesn't help much. That said, if some of the info I found floating around the web is correct, the Kururugis also had a holiday home in Izu, which Zaru and I eventually selected as the venue for the final act of Genbu Kururugi's life, and the tragic scene that followed from it.
The next chapter will follow a timeskip of seven years to 2017, where we will see a grown-up Alexander fighting alongside Cornelia and her other knights. Depending on how things turn out, there may be some more side chapters in the meantime. I really hope you all liked this chapter, and are looking forward to the next one.