Chapter Sixteen
Area Eleven, July 2017 ATB
The shots landed, the mountainside erupting in clouds of dust.
Ensign Sir Alexander Bismark Waldstein watched as closely as he dared, keeping his knightmare on course as he watched the clouds dissipate. A whole swathe of mountainside, including the small opening from which a jury-rigged gun turret had been firing a moment earlier, was now mere craters and rubble.
A good volley. The gun crews were getting the hang of it. With the gun turrets finally being silenced, it was time for the main event.
He looked ahead. Princess Cornelia's Gloucester was there, leading from the front, cape billowing in the wind as she sped up the mountainside. He felt that familiar thrill, that joy at knowing she was there, and that today he would fight by her side.
All the more so, since there was only him that day. Andreas Darlton was back at the MCV, handling overall command, while Gilbert Guildford and the rest of her knights were spread out around the mountain, ready to catch anyone who managed to break through.
Fifty thousand troops were out there, surrounding the mountain in which a band of Japanese rebels had built their hideout. A whole battalion of Caliburn assault guns had spent an hour battering away at the mountain, knocking out the improvised gun turrets and sealing their tunnels, trapping the defenders inside.
But not all tunnels. Just enough to stop their heavy weapons shooting at the cordon, and to allow Princess Cornelia and Sir Alexander Waldstein to advance without being shot to pieces.
The objective was up ahead. Alexander could see it clearly now. A tunnel entrance, partly hidden by a copse of ragged-looking trees. He could see the turret rolling into view, a pair of 80mm linear cannons slowly depressing, readying to fire.
"I've got it!" came Cornelia's voice over the comm. "Cover me!"
"Yes, your highness!"
Alexander levelled his assault rifle, squeezing off a burst to get the turret's attention. The bullets ricocheted off the green armour, and the turret swivelled towards him. The guns fired, and Alexander jinked hard, the shots flashing past.
Cornelia had her opening. Her slash harkens flashed out, finding purchase in the rocks above. She leapt, her slash harkens shrieking as they retracted, pulling her around and towards the turret in a wide arc. She fired, and the turret blew apart, wreckage clattering around them.
She landed on the track where the turret had stood, cape billowing. Alexander looked up, and saw a flicker of movement behind her. His heart clenched as he saw yet another turret, swivelling slowly towards her.
With barely a thought he levelled his rifle, and fired off a missile. He saw the little projectile fly, and then with a flash and crump, the turret was gone.
"Nicely done, Sir Alexander," Cornelia declared, making Alexander's heart flutter just a little. "Darlton, report."
"Lord Crane reports an enemy thrust in the north east, but he's got it contained," replied the voice of Andreas Darlton over the comm. He was back at the MCV, handling overall command so that Cornelia could take to the battlefield herself. "Nothing else so far."
"Hmm, very well. How about this tunnel?"
"It's as good as any other, your highness. Do you need reinforcements?"
"Not against this level of resistance. Sir Alexander is quite enough."
Alexander felt his heart flutter again. Cornelia did not make compliments lightly, and she knew when and how to make them. Had she learned that in war, Alexander wondered, or from her mother?
Or Lady Marianne?
Cornelia stepped onto the track, her landspinners dropping and rotating to fit. With a metallic screech she raced away down the tunnel. Alexander hurried to follow, the tunnel mouth rising to swallow him, surrounding him in darkness. He could just see Cornelia up ahead, and ahead of her the light of a distant tunnel mouth.
He began to count the minutes. This was a long tunnel indeed, longer than he had expected. He wondered if this had been part of the original mine workings, or if the rebels had excavated the whole thing themselves. If so, they were either better engineers than they were soldiers, or their JLF allies had put considerable effort into developing this place.
Much good it had done them.
All at once he saw the exit, Cornelia's Gloucester silhouetted in the light. He slowed down, and as he crossed the threshold he broke right, taking up position behind and to the right of her.
He was in a great, round chamber. In the centre stood a turntable, with tracks radiating away from it like the spokes of a wheel, each leading to a tunnel. Stacks of crates and boxes ringed the turntable, and Alexander could see the defenders crouching behind them.
A scruffy lot, or so they seemed; clad in dirty civilian clothes or work overalls, clutching black market SMGs. But their eyes were bright, with a light he had seen before.
"Surrender, you feeble-minded elevens!" bellowed Cornelia over her loudspeaker.
Their response was a battlecry, with words Alexander did not understand. As one they rose, unleashing a storm of fire upon the two knightmares. Alexander could hear the plink-plink of bullets as they bounced off his armour, but no real damage was being done.
"Pathetic," grumbled Cornelia, as she levelled her rifle. Alexander paused a moment as she fired, methodically picking off the defenders with short bursts. It felt wrong, somehow, almost like bullying. There was no way they could pose a threat, not with small arms.
But they were fighting all the same, and Cornelia followed the old custom. Anyone found carrying a weapon or offering violence was fair game, whether they were remotely capable or not. Besides, a fighting spirit deserved a soldier's death.
Alexander levelled his rifle, and opened fire.
(X)
It was over.
On the edge of the base camp, Alexander stood on a rocky ridge, allowing the cool breeze to sweep over him, driving away the heat and weariness. His Gloucester was stowed abroad the MCV, his tasks for the moment complete. He could afford to stand and stare, at least for a few minutes.
He scanned his eyes over the terrain, taking in the mountains and the forests, and the gleaming threads of rivers. Closest was the enemy fortress, silent now, its ancient face scorched and blackened where artillery rounds had struck it. The only activity now was a few infantry hunting through the tunnels and caverns, seeking out any last survivors, or anything of interest. Once they were done, the combat engineers would rig the tunnels with explosive charges, and bring the whole lot crashing down. Even if the rebels returned, they would find nothing that they could use. Just the nameless mountain, standing as it always had, ancient and uncaring, heedless of the lives that played out in and around it.
There were many such mountains across Area 11, once called Japan. The gods had made Japan beautiful, but they had not blessed it with raw materials, save the precious sakuradite. For over a century since their belated entry to the modern world, the Japanese had dug deep and desperately, hacking out every last scrap of sakuradite, or anything else of the slightest use. What remained were a bevy of hollowed-out mountains, riddled with so many tunnels they might as well have been giant termite mounds.
For both the former Japanese military, and the rebels who inherited their cause, they had proven useful indeed. Many had been fortified to defend Japan, and had been taken only at great cost. Others had become the home of rebel bands, the crumbling tunnels reinforced and revamped, the old mining railways converted to carry troops and supplies from chamber to chamber, and to allow wheeled gun turrets to be moved from opening to opening.
Quite clever, in its own way, but not clever enough. Alexander had seen the frustration in his Princess' eyes and manner, as they hunted down these fortresses. He could not bring himself to despise them as she clearly did, but he did not think much of them either. They were brave, but sloppy, ignorant. The tunnel mouths had been too obvious, the turrets too lightly armed and armoured, set to tasks for which they were not suited. They were not like the troops, or the defences, his father had overcome seven years ago.
And yet they were still here! Why had the garrison not cleared them out? What had Prince Clovis been thinking?
He had seen the truth for himself, in the days since they had arrived, and Princess Cornelia had formally taken up the post of Vicereine. Days had been spent picking through the detritus of Clovis' administration, trying to make sense of it all, to figure out which hanger-on did what job, when they could be bothered, and how many legal or semi-legal perquisites it involved. And they hadn't even started on the outright corruption.
Alexander did not like to think about it, but the facts were clear. Clovis, for all his high birth, education, sophistication, and even his good nature, had been utterly incompetent. Alexander had wondered why on earth he had been granted such a post; a post for which he was at best not ready, at worst inherently ill-suited. The machinery of government had just been too big, too complicated, maybe too cruel, for him to handle.
And then one day he had lost his head, ordering an entire ghetto butchered for reasons no one seemed able to explain. And then, amidst the carnage, he had been shot through the head on the command deck of his own MCV; after having ordered all his officers and staff to leave the vehicle, leaving him totally unattended.
Had he gone mad, in the end? Had the strain unhinged him? Was the whole wretched affair some kind of suicide attempt? And what of the man who had claimed to have killed him? The man who had made a fool of Jeremiah Gottwald, and whom Cornelia had vowed to hunt to the ends of the earth?
Who, or what, was Zero?
So lost was he in though, in trying to process all these matters, that he did not hear the footsteps approaching him from behind.
"A fine view, Lieutenant."
It was all Alexander could do not to jump.
"General Darlton, sir." He snapped to attention as Andreas Darlton stepped up beside him, that familiar grin on his face. "I...I was just..."
He trailed off, cursing himself for stammering like a greenhorn. He had been wasting time taking in the scenery, and Darlton had caught him in the act. There was nothing more to be said.
"Calm down lieutenant." There was that twinkle in his eyes, the twinkle that marked his grin at genuine. "A moment's peace is nothing to ask, not after a good days work."
He stood in silence for a while, taking in the scenery.
"Such fine country," he mused. "A shame we have to fight over it."
"Yes sir."
He wasn't sure what else to say. He thought of Darlton as a friend, perhaps a mentor, but the older man had always been cautious with his opinions, his true feelings. It was hard to know what he meant by such words.
"Do you regret having to fight for it, Sir Alexander?"
Those eyes were on him, as was the question. Alexander cleared his throat.
"Yes sir, I do."
"Oh you do, do you?" One bushy eyebrow rose, with just the tiniest hint of threat. "You regret fighting for your Emperor? You regret claiming this land for Britannia?"
Alexander felt a shiver of fear, followed by a flash of anger. He was in no mood for jokes, and even less mood to have his loyalty questioned, even by this man.
"This land is indeed beautiful," he replied. "If it were my homeland, I would tear my own heart out to save it. These rebels were inept, but they did no less."
Darlton did not reply right away. He regarded Alexander for a while, and seemed to be weighing him up, by some measure Alexander did not know.
"It's not wrong to feel that way," he said. "Up to a point, her highness feels that way too. It's the burden we have to bear, as soldiers. We are condemned to fight and kill our brothers and sisters, those with hearts like ours, strength like ours."
Something in his countenance hardened suddenly.
"Nevertheless, we must defeat them, and we must make this land our own. You do understand why, don't you?"
Alexander knew the reasons. He remembered what the instructors at the academy had said. They had said that war and conquest were fundamental aspects of human interaction; that nations that did not fight, and conquer, were doomed to be conquered themselves, or else to stagnate and die. The moment an organism ceased to grow, they said, was the moment it began to die. So it was with nations, and empires.
"Because we are at war," he said. "And this land has seventy per cent of the world's known sakuradite reserves. Without that sakuradite, we have no hope of victory."
For a few moments more, Darlton regarded him.
"That's what it comes down to," he said, seeming to relax a little. "That's all you need, Sir Alexander, not the nonsense they spout on TV. We need this land, or we lose this war. And if we lose this war, Britannia will be destroyed utterly. That's what it's come to. That's the truth of all this."
Alexander knew he was right. And to hear it was curiously comforting.
"So keep that in mind, when you start to feel sorry for them," Darlton added. "We wrecked their country because we had no choice. If they refuse our charity, that's their problem. If they attack us, they must die. That's all there is to it."
Alexander wanted to accept it, to leave it at that. But he wasn't entirely sure that he could.
Nevertheless...
"I serve at Princess Cornelia's command," he replied. "Her will is my will. For her, my sword arm, my true heart, and my blood. For me, that is all there is."
It felt good to say it. And better still, when he saw Darlton's smirk return.
"There are worse ways to live, Sir Alexander."
(X)
Tokyo Settlement, Area 11
The heavy doors clunked open, and Alexander strode into the office. Cornelia sat at the enormous desk, her eyes fixed on a dossier. Sir Gilbert Guilford stood at her right shoulder, his face its usual mask.
"Ah, Ensign Waldstein," Cornelia said, as he snapped to attention before the desk. "I trust the supply matter has been settled?"
"The first shipment left just under an hour ago, your highness," Alexander replied. "The Quartermaster assures me that no further mistakes of that kind will be made."
"And they had better not." Cornelia sighed, settling down in her high-backed chair. "My foolish brother has left us a terrible mess, and I regret inflicting it on you, Sir Alexander. I trust there were no problems?"
Alexander decided not to mention the look on Major Carstairs' face when Alexander had reiterated Cornelia's instructions. Being told how to do his job by a mere lieutenant, even if he happened to be one of the vicereine's personal knights, had to have been galling. He did not want to seem like he was complaining, not to Cornelia or to Guilford.
That said...
"Your highness, I fear I have caused you some trouble."
"Really?" One purple eyebrow rose. "And what would that be?"
Alexander cleared his throat.
"To send the shipment on time, it was necessary to commandeer an existing train," he said. "As a result, a shipment of liquor belonging to a certain Lord Sforza was delayed. His factor was most off-hand, and implied that there would be an official complaint."
He fell silent, waiting for Cornelia's response. She was bound to be annoyed with him for inflicting such an annoyance, but there was nothing else he could have done.
"Oh really," Cornelia drawled. "So, Lord Sforza thinks his liquor shipments are more important than the knightmares the Osaka garrison has been waiting two months for?"
"His factor was most insistent, your highness."
"Well he's just going to have to wait his turn like everyone else," retorted Cornelia. "My orders stand. No more military or official transport shall be sent on the rail network except for operational purposes. If he can't wait in line, he can sent his master's property by Elevenrail and take his chances. I'm sure the rebels could use a drink."
"Yes, your highness."
It wasn't even the most egregious of the late Prince Clovis' failures, but it was one Cornelia was determined to correct. By all rights, military and official transport had priority on the expensive intercity monorail network. But Clovis had allowed his hangers-on and various others to use it as they pleased, to the point where vital military supplies were being sent on the older railway network, and often without property security precautions.
As a result, an unguarded shipment of Sutherland knightmares intended for the Osaka garrison had been stopped as it passed through Shinjuku ghetto. That was bad enough, but the knightmares had been armed, charged, and fully combat ready; a serious breach of transport regulations. The said knightmares had been used by rebel fighters to humiliate Prince Clovis' troops.
Those same rebels had been commanded by a mysterious voice on the phone, identifying himself only as Zero. The farce had ended with the triumphant rebels escaping, and Prince Clovis dying at Zero's hand.
Alexander knew what Cornelia had in mind for Carstairs' predecessor, after so dire a mistake. It was perhaps for the best that the Purists had gotten to him first.
"So long as that shipment arrives on time, I shall consider it a job well done," Cornelia said, her old humour seeming to have returned. "Incidentally, you'll be interested to hear what Sir Gilbert has been up to."
She nodded at her knight.
"The tribunal has cleared Jeremiah Gottwald of everything but gross negligence and incompetence in command." Guilford's tone was disapproving, but his eyes hinted at suspicion. "As a result, he has been allowed to return to duty, but with a three rank demotion. He and his cronies can shift for themselves."
Alexander felt a twinge of sorrow. Jeremiah's ambition had not ruined his own prospects, but those of his followers too. He had been surprised, and saddened, to see the list of names, for he recognised two of them from his days as Cornelia's servant at the academy. Kewell Soresi, who had rescued him from a bully, and Villetta Nu, who had been the object of Graham Aker's yearnings.
He had not seen them since Cornelia had graduated. The last he heard, Graham was a Captain and fighting on the Syrian front. Soresi and Nu were only lieutenants, but with every prospect of glittering careers ahead of them.
Not now. Not stuck in a shamed unit, with a disgraced commander who was now himself only a lieutenant, with only his noble title and seniority in rank to grant him any status over them. Alexander wondered if Cornelia had done it deliberately, just to twist the knife a little.
"You seem melancholy, Sir Alexander," commented Cornelia.
"I still cannot understand it, your highness," admitted Alexander. "I simply cannot imagine Lord Gottwald behaving in such a manner."
He half-expected Cornelia or Guilford to chide him for his words, but neither did. He saw something in Cornelia's eyes; a pain, or perhaps understanding.
"Whatever he was before, he is no longer that man," she said, just a little sternly. "Do not pain yourself with pitying him, Sir Alexander. Even without that bizarre incident, he was the architect of his own misfortune. If he has any sense he'll resign and start a new life. If not, he'll just have to redeem himself in battle."
The office was silent. They all knew what that would likely involve.
"In the meantime," Cornelia suddenly brightened. "I have a surprise for you, Alexander."
Alexander was taken aback. What could she possibly mean?
"You have more than proven yourself as a devicer, and you have handled your other duties with diligence and professionalism," Cornelia went on. "It may be somewhat early, but I think myself justified in taking this chance."
She nodded to Guilford, who stepped around the table and drew something from his pocket. Alexander froze, hardly daring to believe it, as Guilford removed the rank insignia from his collar and replaced them with a new pair.
"Congratulations, Lieutenant Waldstein." There was a twinkle in Cornelia's eyes.
"I am at your service, now and always, your highness." Alexander snapped to attention. "I will not fail on this charge."
His heart was pounding. Being promoted to ensign had been an honour, a thrill, but it didn't count for half so much as this. Lieutenant!
"I am certain that you won't, Sir Alexander," Cornelia said, smiling now, as Guilford returned to his position. "In the meantime, there is the matter of your first subordinate."
Alexander blinked in surprise. A subordinate? For him? But all her knights were currently assigned. Who was to be his subordinate?
"This is a somewhat unusual case," Cornelia went on. "Lady Enneagram has recruited herself a young fellow, and has been training him with a view to forming a personal squadron of knights; no doubt as a riposte to Lord Bradley and his Valkyries. She has asked me to let him join us on an informal basis, in order to further polish his skills. She seems to think he would do particularly well under your supervision, Sir Alexander."
Alexander was stunned. He remembered Nonette Enneagram, of course. Once a senior cadet at the academy, later a highly decorated devicer, and now Ninth Knight of the Round Table. He had also heard of Luciano Bradley, the Tenth Knight, and his personal squadron; all of whom were apparently young women. He wasn't much surprised that Enneagram would retaliate in kind, but unloading her protege on Cornelia? And asking for him personally?
"As I said, he'll be with us informally," Cornelia continued. "At Lady Enneagram's insistence, he will be attending school at Ashford Academy, here in Tokyo Settlement. I know this is an unusual arrangement, but I trust you to manage it."
Alexander forced himself not to sigh. He was starting to understand the princess found Enneagram so insufferable. A part-time subordinate? And a mere boy at that!
"Don't be too hard on him, Sir Alexander," Cornelia warned. "With Lady Enneagram, I'm sure he has quite enough in his plate."
She reached for the intercom.
"Send Warrant Officer Rai in," she ordered. A few moments later, the doors clunked open, and a youth strode in. He had silver hair, blue eyes, and a look of mild-mannered uncertainty about him. He wore the blue uniform of a subaltern officer.
"Warrant officer Rai, reporting for duty as ordered, your highness," the youth introduced himself, snapping to attention.
"You may stand at ease, Rai," Cornelia replied, her manner easy but with just the right air of command. "How is Lady Enneagram these days?"
"Quite well, your highness." His voice was soft, but clear. "She sends her greetings, and her thanks for your consideration of this matter."
"Curiously respectful of her," mused Cornelia. "This, incidentally, is Lieutenant Sir Alexander Waldstein, our newest Lieutenant, and your superior officer."
Alexander blinked in surprise, as Rai turned to him and snapped his heels together.
"I am at your service, my lord," he said, bowing his head respectfully.
Alexander nodded mutely. He knew he should say something, but he was too confused.
"That will be all for the moment," Cornelia said. "Clovis' memorial begins in one hour, and it seems we're expected to put on a show. Don't be late."
Alexander snapped his heels together and bowed, Rai doing likewise, then turned on his heel and strode out of the office; Rai falling in behind him.
Once out of the office, and a little way along the corridor, he turned to face his new subordinate.
"You said your name was Rai, warrant officer."
"Yes, my lord," replied Rai. His face was expressionless, but for a moment there was pain in his eyes. Pain, and resentment. "I am a foundling, my Lord. I have no other name."
Alexander's heart clenched. He had suspected as much, and held back the question so as not to embarrass him in front of Cornelia. But those eyes condemned him all the same.
In Britannia, names were important; the ultimate marker of heritage, of status, of blood. If a child had no parents to acknowledge him, then he could have no name. And if a child had no name, then he was owed nothing. The nameless existed on the edge of society, exploited and condemned, or else risked harsh penalties for claiming names to which they had no right. Empress Claire had banned the laws that supported such customs, and her son Lothar had cracked down harshly on the customs themselves. But such habits died hard, especially when condemned from on high.
"Forgive me," Alexander said, awkwardly. "I did not mean to trouble you so."
"It is of no consequence, my Lord." To his surprise, Rai sounded like he meant it. "It is not something I can hide."
Alexander decided to drop the matter. He had more pressing concerns.
"Her highness tells me that you are attending school in the settlement," he went on. "Will you not find it difficult to perform your duties?"
"My duties are whatever you see fit to assign, my Lord." The reply was plain, and honest. "Ashford Academy has been made aware of the situation. I am at your disposal, at all times and at all places."
Alexander paused. A nasty little part of him wanted to insist that he leave the school and commit himself to his military duties in the proper manner. But such a thing would be an abuse of authority, not to mention an insult to Lady Enneagram. Besides, there was something about Rai he found quite touching; an air of sincerity that put him at ease.
"If I may ask, why did Lady Enneagram insist on you finishing your education?" he asked. There seemed little harm in asking. "I entered the academy at the age of sixteen."
"My lord, I enlisted at the Knight School at Fort Raeder, one year ago" Rai replied. "Lady Enneagram recruited me from there and enrolled me in her household. It was her expressed opinion that I should complete my civilian education before beginning as a soldier. I understand this is irregular, my Lord. But I serve at her pleasure, and offer no excuse."
Alexander decided that he needed none. As a Knight of the Round Table, Nonette Enneagram had the authority to do exactly what he had described. Luciano Bradley had done the exact same thing, plucking female cadets from the Knight Schools and enrolling them as his personal squadron.
Besides, who was he to criticise a young man in his situation?
"We will have to make do," he said. "Nevertheless, you must consider yourself liable for duty outside of school hours, and during school hours if the situation should warrant it. I will do my utmost to give you reasonable warning, but you must consider yourself on call at all times, unless I say otherwise."
He paused a moment, gathering his words, remembering what others had said to him.
"You have been given a great honour, and I expect you to be worthy of it," he went on. "You will conduct yourself as a soldier and a knight at all times and in all places. I will hold you entirely responsible for your appearance, conduct, and the state of your equipment."
He quickly looked Rai up and down. The uniform was perfectly arranged, the boots polished to the same mirror sheen as his own. At least that wouldn't be a problem.
"Do you understand me, warrant officer?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Good. In the meantime, have you been assigned a knightmare?"
"No, my lord."
"Then we'll do that now. It'll have to be a Sutherland, but..."
"Alexander!"
Alexander froze, as Princess Euphemia swept down the corridor towards them.
"Your highness!" Alexander barely stopped himself from spluttering as he snapped his heels together and bowed. Rai stepped to his side with one smooth movement, and then did likewise.
"I wanted to catch Cornelia before the memorial," Euphemia said, halting just in front of them. She was wearing a pink and white gown, the one she had first worn at her sixteenth birthday soirée, and which had since become her trademark. Her pink hair hung down her back, with elaborate coils behind her ears. Her style was simple, but all the more elegant for it.
"You did remember about the memorial, didn't you?" she asked, with feigned sternness.
"Indeed, your highness."
Alexander could not help but feel warm inside, especially when her eyes twinkled like that. Since their arrival, she had been kept busy putting Clovis' estate in order, while he had been run ragged attending to his own duties, including the countless tasks Cornelia seemed to keep finding for him. While he dared presume nothing of the princess' feelings, it was good to see her again.
"I'm glad. It'll be so much better with you there."
She let out a little sigh, and he knew what it meant. The memorial was bound to be a grim affair, especially on light of the reports from St Darwin Boulevard. The Queen Consort Gabriella la Britannia had not been seen outside her residence since news of her son's death had arrived. Officially she had gone into seclusion to mourn him, but Alexander had heard the real reports, as presented to Cornelia and Euphemia. They spoke of a woman who had lost her mind, who behaved as if Clovis were still alive, and became violent if anyone tried to persuade her otherwise. Those who dared to go near her described her reliving old events, including occasions they themselves remembered.
Alexander shivered at the thought of it. For all the talk of madness and grief, he already knew the truth.
Refrain.
It was not the usual sort of narcotic. It's original purpose had been therapeutic, allowing its users to unlock repressed memories and confront past traumas. But if the drug itself was not addictive, the effect all too often was. After a while the drug had been restricted, but as had happened so many times before, a sufficiently different version had found its way onto the black market; under the name of Refrain. It allowed its users to relieve happier times, to free themselves from the present and take refuge in their fondest memories. It was the opium of the bereft, the deprived, the mourning, the lost.
For a Queen-Consort to use it would have been scandalous, unacceptable. Had she engaged someone to acquire it for her? Or had the Imperial surgeon prescribed it out of pity?
Alexander found he could not feel any satisfaction or triumph. Gabriella had been a cruel and spiteful woman at times, endlessly picking fights with Lady Marianne, persecuting her children, and letting her courtiers mistreat others for her amusement. Because of her, he had been sent away from Aries Villa, just as he was starting to think of it as home. But the thought of her reduced to such a state, to such utter desolation, silenced any hint of pleasure at her fate. A sad end to a long and painful enmity.
"Oh, but who's your friend?" Euphemia suddenly asked, turning her attention to Rai. The youth inclined his head in deference, but Alexander saw the blush flash across his pale cheeks.
He couldn't blame Rai for that. She was beautiful, in soul as well as form. Only their past friendship, and the duty he owed Cornelia, preserved him from such feelings.
"Warrant Officer Rai, your highness," he introduced himself. "On secondment from the household of Lady Enneagram. At your service."
"From Nonette?" Euphemia looked momentarily bewildered, and then brightened. "Oh yes, Cornelia mentioned it this morning. I trust that you're settling in well?"
"Very well, your highness," replied Rai, with appropriate dignity. Nonette had clearly trained him well for such affairs as this.
"Princess Cornelia has assigned Rai to my command," Alexander cut in. "Apparently it was at Lady Enneagram's request."
"I see." Euphemia beamed. "I'm sure you'll get along well."
(X)
Pendragon, Holy Empire of Britannia
The chamber was full, almost to bursting.
Subaltern officers, clad in their blue uniforms, lined the floor in serried ranks, gazing up at the wide podium. At the back, upon a line of high-backed thrones, sat representatives of the Imperial family; Princes, Princesses, and Queen Consorts.
Behind them rose a display of white roses running from wall to wall, and rising from it a vast, almost monolithic portrait; bearing the face of the lost Prince Clovis. Along the walls, at the very back and hanging from the ceiling, remote-controlled cameras shifted and twitched, as the camera crews worked to get the shot just right.
All at once, the low rumble was drowned out by four crashing chords. From the loudspeakers strategically positioned along the upper walls, a thousand voices erupted in song.
Truth and hope in our fatherland
And death to every foe!
Our past inspires noble deeds
We vow our loyalty!
And with that, the memorial service for Prince Clovis la Britannia had begun.
"His Imperial Majesty, Charles zi Britannia, 98th Emperor of the Holy Empire of Britannia, Tsar of all the Russias, Protector of Hawaii, Luzon, and New Zealand, will give the memorial address!"
As the anthem continued, the Emperor stepped up to the podium. He was an impressive sight, few could deny, the great of a man he had once been still visible despite the years. Tall and broad-shouldered, his lion's mane turned white, and arranged into magisterial rolls, his face regally expressionless, his eyes dark and brooding; as to those who knew him they had always been.
He halted, gripping the podium with white-gloved hands. Across the empire, hundreds of millions of eyes stared, hundreds of millions of mouths clamped shut, letting no sound disturb his speech.
"All men are not created equal!" His voice was deep and clear, ringing out over the chamber, carried by perfectly-calibrated speakers. "They are born swift and slow, strong and weak, rich and poor, healthy and sickly! Both in birth and upbringing, in scope of ability, every human is inherently different!"
A brief pause for effect.
"Yes, that is why people discriminate against one another! That is why there is struggle, competition, and the unhesitating march of progress! Inequality is not evil! Equality is!"
(X)
Sicily, European Union
The crowded officer's club had fallen silent, as all eyes fixed on the screen.
"What of the EU, which declared all humans equal under the law? Rabble politics by a popularity contest! What of the Chinese federation, which declared all equal under heaven? A nation of lazy dullards, mired in superstition!"
"Filthy tyrant!" snapped Louise Halevy, glaring at the screen.
"Louise, it's okay," pleaded Saji Tsuji, the pain in his eyes belying his stoicism.
"No it isn't!" Louise snarled, clutching his arm. "He's a beast, and I can't stand him!"
Seated at the same table, Neil Dylandy sighed. The officers gathered around them were fresh from hard fighting, and in no mood for cross-cultural understanding. The barman was going to regret leaving the TV on that channel.
"You lousy murderer!" someone yelled.
"Haven't you got enough wives you lech?"
"Get out of my country!"
"Blueblood!"
"Inbred!"
Their shouts blended into an angry cacophony. An ashtray bounced off the screen.
"There will never be peace," he thought, sadly. "Not while this goes on. Not while people like him are in charge."
(X)
Saitama Ghetto, Area 11
"But not our beloved Britannia! Britannia competes, Britannia fights, Britannia conquers! That is why we alone progress!"
The words thundered from the screen, the eyes seeming to glare down at the streets below.
Reverend Allelujah Haptism looked up at the screen, for a moment marvelling at the incongruity of it all.
Around him stretched the Saitama ghetto, the once gleaming buildings blasted, scorched, and worn down by the wind; the once-lively streets filled with rubble and mud, brightened only by weeds, and patches of graffiti on sullen grey walls.
His little soup kitchen was well-attended, as usual. The vats were manned by a half-dozen monks of the Order of Saint Jared, an order he knew well. The locals, turned out as best as they could, queued quietly for a single bowl, which they received with bowed heads and quiet words of thanks, before slinking away to sit or squat nearby.
The bowls were always returned.
But the line was still, all eyes turned up at the screen, set into one of the shining towers of Tokyo Settlement; some distance away, but so large as to be clearly visible, and audible, even in the ghetto.
"Why we alone advance into the future, while all the world wallows in stagnation and weakness!"
"Why does his majesty say such things?"
Allelujah glanced to his side. It was Brother Paul, gazing up at the screen with sad eyes.
He glanced around at the unfortunates. Their eyes were sad too, but a very different sadness. Brother Paul's eyes were bright, full of anguish, full of bewilderment at how the world could be so cruel. Their eyes were downtrodden, despairing, drained of life and hope, looking up at that screen as if the face upon it was just another reminder of how far they had fallen.
He pitied them, as he pitied Brother Paul. Their world had been destroyed, and Brother Paul had to face up to it. God had called him to serve, to do good in a world that seemed utterly devoid of it.
And the Emperor's wars only made it worse.
He shivered, and silently asked forgiveness. The Emperor was his master under God, and it was blasphemy to think so of him. But for all that, Allelujah could not ignore what was happening, how the Emperor's words and deeds had grown ever darker, ever colder, ever more distant, over the past eight years.
"Why, your Majesty?" he wondered, as he sought some answer on this distant, narrow eyes. "What is this darkness that has taken root in your soul? Is there anything in all the world that can lift it?"
(X)
Ashford Academy Tokyo Settlement, Area Eleven
"Even the death of my own son, Clovis, is proof of our unswerving commitment!"
Milly Ashford did her best to keep a straight face, as Charles zi Britannia ranted and raved on the big screen before her. Around her, her fellow students stood in serried ranks, watching the farce.
"He could have said something nice at his son's funeral," she thought sourly.
She allowed her eyes to stray, to wander up and down the lines of students; the boys in their black, high-collared tunics and pants, the girls in their yellow jackets and short black skirts. She could see Rivalz Cardemonde, her student council lackey, regarding the screen with a tolerant smile. He tended to treat life as a big joke, and she supposed there was something to be said for it.
And there was Shirley Fenette, darling of the girls swimming team, and fairest flower - after herself - of the student council. And there too was Nina Einstein, the council's webmaster and resident wallflower. The two girls got on well, but could not be more different. Shirley was bright and cheerful, and blossoming into womanhood. Nina was mousy and nervous, burying herself in her studies and her private projects, and never speaking to anyone if she could at all avoid it.
Neither of them were enjoying the display. Shirley gazed up at the screen with unhappy eyes, while Nina stood with her shoulders slumped and head lowered; whether in reverence or in misery, Milly could not quite tell.
A much better sight was Suzaku Kururugi, the council's newest member, and easily its most controversial. He stood there, his pleasant face suitably expressionless, as the man who had destroyed his homeland and reduced him to a mere Eleven justified himself. Milly was not inclined to say so aloud, but she rather liked Suzaku. He was easy on the eyes, but also friendly, helpful, and always in the mood for fun.
Unlike the other one.
There was no missing Lelouch Lamperouge, or that look of bitter, soul-scarring hatred he was only barely managing to contain. She was one of a handful of people in the academy who knew the reason behind it. Indeed, she knew the reason quite well, and counted her as a friend.
She allowed herself the smallest of smirks. She was just going to have to make a greater effort at the next event; the better to counter all this pious posturing and morbidity.
And Lelouch would be the star attraction.
(X)
The Government Bureau, Area 11
"We shall fight on! We shall conquer, and plunder, and dominate! And in the end, the future shall be ours!"
Standing amid his fellow knights, Alexander stared at the screen, silently willing the event to end. It had been mercifully short, but he found the whole thing quite unbearable. The theatricality of it, the excess, the utter lack of dignity or stateliness.
What had his Majesty been thinking? Whose idea was this wretched display?
Standing beside the twin thrones that dominated the audience hall, Alexander had seen the two princesses in the corner of his eye. Princess Cornelia had seemed happy enough, as if she found the whole thing amusing. But Princess Euphemia had looked positively miserable, enough so to make his heart ache. Was she embarrassed by it all? Or did her father's words cut at her soul?
As his speech reached its climax, the Emperor thrust a clenched fist into the air.
"All hail Britannia!"
The Princesses sat on the thrones, stock-still. But those present, knowing what was assembled of them, imitated their Emperor. It was all Alexander could do to force out the words.
It all seemed so wrong.
(X)
Saitama Ghetto, Area 11
The G-1 mobile command vehicle growled and grumbled as it rolled through the ghetto.
It was a large vehicle by any standard; sixty metres long and thirty metres tall, its profile that of a crouching lion, armoured in blue. It crunched along, grinding the debris-strewn streets under its tracks, heedless of anything or anyone in its path.
Standing on the rear observation deck, Alexander started out over the ghetto. It was a depressing sight at the best of times; a great sea of ruins that had once been a mighty metropolis. It reminded him of that terrible day seven years earlier, when he had accompanied Princess Cornelia on her mission to Japan, the nation soon to be known as Area 11. He remembered the ruins he had seen, how strangely sad it had all seemed, with all the little reminders of the people who had once lived there, and the society of which they had been a part.
This was worse. Far worse. This time there were people, thousands of them, trying to scratch a living amid what for many of them had once been their homes. He had seen them, the children gathering junk to sell, the weary-looking men and women trudging home from night shift, watching the passing cavalcade with blank faces and sour eyes.
Most of them were Honourary Britannians. It had surprised Alexander when one of the garrison officers had told him, but it was true. Elevens, those who continued to reject Britannian rule, stayed well away from the settlements; while the Honourary Britannians flocked to the settlements in search of work. Of those, few could afford even a single-room apartment in the settlement, forcing them to take their chances in the ghettoes until they had saved enough money, or their luck changed.
It was...uncomfortable to look at; a reminder of what Britannia had done, and the price that so many people across the world had paid. Alexander pitied them, but there was little he could do for them. He could only hope that, in time, there would be more jobs and more housing for them; at least a taste of what the Pax Britannica could offer.
Princess Cornelia would not be the one to do it. She had no desire to rule, only to lead troops into battle. Once the rebels had been crushed, and peace restored, then a new Viceroy or Vicereine would be appointed; one who, hopefully, would advance the work of rebuilding.
He hoped. He could only hope.
His comm earpiece beeped. It was time. Alexander stepped away from the handrail and headed back inside. A short walk down the corridor took him into the upper command deck, located in the mcv's upper structure directly behind the control room.
It was a remarkably large room; with all the decorations suitable for a member of the Imperial family. In the middle of the floor was a map table, and at the rear was a throne set on a low dais.
A few weeks ago, Prince Clovis had sat on that very throne. Now it was be Cornelia's seat, though for the moment it was vacant.
Alexander allowed himself a sigh of relief. Clearly she was still in the control centre, or maybe down in the knightmare hangar. He wasn't late.
A handful of Cornelia's staff officers were already there, coordinating the movements of the mobile corps as they surrounded the ghetto. One of them spotted him, and acknowledged him with a salute. Alexander did not return the gesture, for unlike the staff officer he wasn't wearing a hat, but instead acknowledged him with a curt nod; deep enough to be noticeable, but not so deep as to be condescending.
General Darlton was standing at the front, by what looked at first glance to be a large, wide window showing the ghetto in front of the mcv. Alexander knew that it was actually a screen, showing footage from one of the mcv's forward cameras. Indeed, all the supposed windows that lined the command centre's walls were actually similar screens. The only actual windows on the whole vehicle were at the very front, so that the drivers could see where they were going; and even those had blast shields in case any actual combat should occur nearby.
Darlton nodded with a smirk as he saw Alexander. Alexander nodded in return, and was about to approach him when he saw something in the corner of his eye; a smudge of grey where there was supposed to be red.
Off to one side stood three men in dark grey greatcoats and flat caps. They were warrant officers, part of a middle caste between enlisted men and officers, whose skills and efforts kept the Imperial army functioning. Their red cap bands and short capes marked them as staff officers in the service of the Imperial family.
Alexander knew who they were, and why they were there. He did not much envy them.
A moment later the forward doors opened, and more of Cornelia's officers came striding in. A chorus of nods and terse greetings followed, before finally Cornelia herself came sweeping in, and took her place upon the throne, Gilbert Guilford at her side.
"Now that we're here, we can get on with things," she said. "Darlton, what's the situation?"
Darlton nodded at one of the staff officers, and the screen shimmered, replacing the camera footage with a tactical map; aligned so that Cornelia could see it easily from her throne.
"We have Saitama ghetto completely surrounded," he said. "The Yamato Alliance is known to be operating out of here. If they follow the usual practice, they'll be maintaining a series of bunkers and hideouts across the ghetto, most likely connected by underground tunnels. Around half the population is cooperating with them, and the NAC administrators are at the very least turning a blind eye."
Alexander was only mildly surprised. As they were technically not formal Britannian territory, the ghettoes were the responsibility of the National Administrative Council based in Kyoto. From what Alexander had heard, they were the worst kind of snivelling, money-grubbing toadies; doing Britannia's bidding while enriching themselves from the sakuradite trade, and doing little or nothing to help the Elevens in their care. If some rumours were to be believed, they presided over a hive of corruption that ran right to the top of the viceregal administration.
If what Darlton said was true, then at the very least their local minions were cooperating with the rebels, or had been suborned by them in some way. All very embarrassing for the NAC, and potentially quite dangerous.
"What will be the effect on production?" Cornelia asked.
"Primary sector output should decrease by 0.2 per cent."
"Within expectations then. All right."
Cornelia turned cold eyes upon the three staff officers, who had the sense to keep their heads lowered.
"All of you were present at the Shinjuku disaster, is that correct?"
"Yes your highness," one of them replied. "We are indebted to you for your mercy."
"That's not what I'm asking!" Cornelia retorted, barely allowing him to finish. "Do you find the conditions to be similar to Shinjuku?"
Her hard-set lips shifted into a smirk that Alexander found a little unsettling.
"Yes, your highness," replied the staff officer. "The conditions are quite similar."
"The stage is set for today's drama," Cornelia said, raising her voice so that all could hear her. "Zero is a criminal with a flair for the dramatic. I have recreated the conditions of Shinjuku so as to draw him out. If he's the overconfident type, I predict he'll come here to try and kill me."
Alexander felt a surge of pride in his princess. How like her to come up with such a plan. Officially, when they set out that morning, they had been going to the outer ghettoes for a training exercise; it had even been mentioned in the papers. Only an hour ago, as the columns began to converge on Saitama, would the Yamato Alliance have begun to realise the truth, and far too late.
And now, he knew, the truth of today's operation was being revealed on the morning news. If Zero was half of what he pretended to be, he would not be able to resist it.
"Your highness!" protested one of the three. "You mean to risk your own life?"
"War is a struggle between pride and life," replied Cornelia. "I have my pride, and so does he. If he is to be lured out, then the prize has to be worth the risk. Besides, I am more certain in my companions than my brother was."
Alexander saw the looks on their faces and felt pity for them.
Staff officers were not highly valued in the Britannian armed forces. Emperor Lothar had established a professional staff along German lines, but he had run up against Britannian tradition, which scorned such work as the work of minions. As a result, staff officers tended to be mere warrant officers of common birth, and treated like mere flunkies by high-born officers who regarded only combat assignments as remotely worthy of their efforts.
Cornelia was an exception in that regard. Understanding the importance of a good staff, she had created one of her own. Their members wore uniforms similar to those of her knights, but in a darker shade, and with black hats reminiscent of the kepi worn in the empire's early days. Between her mighty reputation, and a great deal of effort, she had managed to assemble and create a staff as professional and effective as any in the world. It was one of the secrets of her success, and with it she had set Britannia back on the path to victory.
But those three were of the old breed, and after having allowed Prince Clovis to die on their watch, they were unlikely ever to be anything else. They were probably grateful not to have been cashiered, or worse.
"In the meantime, we must make our preparations," Cornelia said, turning her attention back to the room. "We are set to begin in less than two hours; and it wouldn't do to look dilatory while we're on camera."
She paused a moment, letting the chuckles pass.
"Our first goal for today is to capture the NAC administrators, and to secure their workplaces. They are valuable prisoners, and must be removed immediately, while their offices must be secured for forensic analysis later. Once this is done, our encircling units will be able to attack. Their objective is to destroy the Yamato Alliance presence in this ghetto, whether by killing or capturing its members, and securing their facilities and supplies. In accordance with tradition, any person found carrying a weapon or offering violence is fair game."
"In the meantime," she turned to Darlton, who bowed. "Darlton, you may reveal our plan."
(X)
Alexander shivered.
It had all started out so well. The first units had captured and removed the NAC administrators without incident, storming their offices and bundling them into waiting APCs. Only as they were leaving did the first sporadic resistance start; a few yahoos with black market assault rifles and pipe bombs taking a crack at the hated Britannians. Not that it made much difference, for soon the other mechanised infantry companies were on the move, sweeping through the ghetto to secure the roads, slicing the ruins into ever-smaller chunks. The numbers needed were considerable, but it was effective.
It had taken the better part of an hour for something to happen. Some of the garrison knightmares, patrolling in two-man hunting teams, had come under attack; by enemies who seemed to know exactly where they were, and where they would be going. And now they were pulling back, abandoning their positions and fleeing back to the inner perimeter.
Was Cornelia giving up just like that? Or did she have something else in mind?
His reverie was disturbed when his comm screen started beeping. He pressed to open the channel, and saw that it was Sir Gilbert Guilford.
"Reporting, my Lord."
In front of him, three Gloucesters pulled up, lances gleaming and capes billowing.
"Sir Alexander, we have our orders. IFF signals have been detected inside the ghetto, contrary to Princess Cornelia's orders. We are to seek and destroy."
For a moment Alexander was confused. Then he remembered the Shinjuku reports.
"Yes Sir Alexander," Guilford conformed, his tone lightening a little. "All units had orders to switch off their IFFs if they got into difficulties. Any active IFF is to be considered hostile."
"Yes, my Lord." Yes, Cornelia had thought that far ahead.
"Lieutenant Waldstein!" a new voice cut in. It was Flandre, whom Alexander saw on his sensor screen was accompanying Guilford. "What is that monstrosity next to you?"
Alexander blinked, then glanced at the machine next to him. It was Rai's Sutherland, it's head, pauldrons, and forearms painted purple to show its allegiance; as well as to distinguish it from the Purists; still stuck in reserve by the river.
"It is Warrant Officer Rai's machine," Alexander replied, deadpan.
"Ah, the illusory Adonis," mused Flandre, his tone hinting at the laugh he was trying to contain. "Well get him a better one soon, and a decent uniform while you're at it!"
"I shall do so."
"Don't mess this up, Sir Alexander," added Endover, also with Guilford. "Or you'll be an ensign again before dinner!"
"That will do, gentlemen," insisted Guilford, and the two icons vanished from the comm screen. They knew better to annoy him.
"He is right, Sir Alexander," Guilford went on sternly. "Princess Cornelia has taken a chance in promoting you so soon. You must prove that you can lead in battle, and show that her confidence was not misplaced."
Alexander willed his pounding heart to slow. He had suspected that this was the case, but to hear it spoken out loud...
"Was that why the Princess chose me to accompany her at the mountain?" he asked, unable to stop himself.
"Yes, it was," replied Guilford, after a brief pause. "Take it as proof of her highness' expectations of you."
"I cannot do otherwise, my Lord."
"Good. I will go in front with Endover and Flandre. Clift will flank on my right, and you will flank on my left. Good luck, Sir Alexander."
"And you also, my Lord."
Guilford disconnected, and the three knightmares pulled away, rolling along the rubble-strewn street towards the ghetto. Alexander fell in behind him, and saw with satisfaction that Rai had done likewise. He keyed the comm.
"Did you hear all that, Rai?"
"Yes, my Lord. I am ready."
Alexander sighed. He wasn't sure whether to say anything or not. It might give Rai some comfort, or just make the problem worse.
"Don't let them get under your skin, Rai," he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "They were the same with me, and still are. You need only prove yourself."
"I am used to it, my Lord. It is of no consequence."
Alexander could believe the former, but wasn't so sure about the latter. Something in Rai's manner told him that he was indeed used to loneliness, to scorn. To have been taken from his fellow cadets in order to serve a Knight of the Round Table was by standard a great honour, but such honours invariably attracted resentment. On top of that was his appearance, with that delicate face, soft grey hair, and slim figure. Illusory Adonis wouldn't have been the half of it.
In that moment, he understood why Lady Enneagram had sent Rai there. He understood what Rai needed, and what he himself had to do; what they both had to prove.
"Stay close to me, and keep watch," he said. "I will strike, and you will guard. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my Lord."
He was taking a chance with a novice wingman. But Rai had been well taught, and he needed this.
All at once they reached a stretch of open road. Guilford and his companions accelerated, cloaks billowing as they raced away. Alexander broke left, speeding away down a side street, Rai close at his flank. A quick glance at the map, and he turned right, cruising easily between two tall buildings, and along a well-worn path amid the rubble, parallel to Guilford. The blasted, broken structures loomed all around them, casting strange shadows in the morning light.
"Can you see anything?" Alexander asked. The tension was getting to him.
"No my Lord. They must be keeping their heads down."
"Keep an eye out. Watch for infantry especially."
Rai's reply was drowned out by a crump in the near distance. An instant later his comm beeped.
"The enemy is using captured Sutherlands after all," said Guilford's voice over the comm. "We've just downed one of them. "
Alexander glanced down at his screen, and saw that another IFF signal had appeared, not far from his location."
"I have a contact to my left, five hundred metres," he said.
"Engage, and good hunting."
Alexander felt the familiar thrill as he accelerated towards the target. The hunter's thrill as he sighted his prey, and stirred himself to the chase. He knew better than to give in to it, but the temptation was always there.
They rounded a corner, and there it was. A single Sutherland, standing in a gap between the buildings. It seemed curiously undamaged.
"Wait, I'm on your side!" pleaded the knightmare, in badly accented English. "I...ikenai!"
The noise stopped. The poor fool had left his loudspeaker on.
Alexander accelerated towards it, lowering his Shot Lancer. The Sutherland raised its rifle and fired, but the shots flew wide. The lance struck home, the tip spearing through the Sutherland's plastron and into the cockpit. Alexander jinked, slewing around it and pulling way, drawing out his lance as the Sutherland toppled over.
"My Lord! Infantry!"
Rai raised his rifle, sending a burst of tracer into one of the buildings. Alexander turned to look, just in time to an explosion erupt from one of the windows. He saw dark shapes flying away into the ruins, hurled by the blast.
"They have anti-armour weapons!" Alexander keyed for the 20mm machine pistol holstered on his knightmare's left hip; one of a pair that had arrived early that morning. His fellow knights had given him funny looks over it, but he had brought them regardless. Now was the time to see if they worked.
He glanced back and forth. There, sure enough, was a flicker of movement on an upper floor. He levelled the pistol and fired, a tight stream of finger-sized rounds ripping into the window frame. Splinters flew in all directions, and he thought he saw a dark shape fall backwards. He jinked quickly away, glancing there and back, seeking more attackers. Beside him Rai was firing in short, quick bursts; at one target, then another.
Another flicker, in the corner of his eye. Alexander turned, but too late, as the flicker resolved into a human shape, a weapon at its shoulder. He fired, but still the missile flew, blazing through the air towards him. He leapt to the right, and the missile flew past; striking the nearest wall and exploding.
Another shape, and then another. Alexander dropped his shot lancer and drew his other pistol, firing them at one target, then another.
"HQ, this is Waldstein. We are under infantry attack. Situation under control."
"Copy that," replied one of Cornelia's staff officers; he couldn't quite make out which one. "Call in if they give you trouble,"
"Understood."
Alexander disconnected the comm. He had reported his situation as he was supposed to; keeping the HQ informed of what was going on.
Then he realised that the shooting had stopped.
Alexander looked around, pistols at the ready, watching for any sign of movement. But none came. It was over.
He saw Rai reloading his rifle. Alexander did likewise, changing one clip, and then the other. Reasoning that he should contact Guilford, he reached for the comm panel.
And then froze, as he saw something nearby. He focussed, and saw that it was a cloud of dust hovering over one of the lower buildings.
A billowing cloud of dust.
"Rai! Incoming!" he cried, snapping his pistols up. Rai brought up his rifle, and just in time, as a pair of Sutherlands came racing around the corner, rifles at the ready. They fired, forcing Rai to jink, and Alexander's sensors beeped a warning as two more emerged from the opposite direction, spreading out as they entered the open area.
A trap. A crude but effective trap. They had sacrificed those fighters to keep himself and Rai occupied. Ruthless, but not unexpected,.
Alexander moved, driving straight at the nearest pair. He fired, pouring tight bursts into the closest Sutherland, even as it turned to face him. The bullets tore into its waist, and the Sutherland blew apart, so violently that its companion was sent staggering, buffeted by flying wreckage.
Alexander's momentum took him through the dust cloud, so fast that he almost rammed into the second Sutherland. The Sutherland swiped at him, but he evaded easily, shoving his left pistol into the stolen knightmare's faceplate. The shot blew the head apart, and Alexander kicked it in the back, sending it staggering away. Alexander sent one last shot into the cockpit, then spun around to check on the other two.
But there was only one. Rai had already downed one of the pair, and was exchanging fire with the other. Alexander thought to help him, then decided against it. Instead he stood, watching as Rai dodged a wild spray from the stolen Sutherland, and then fired a quick, tight burst straight into its cockpit. The machine staggered, and then blew apart.
"Well done, Warrant Officer Rai," Alexander said, drawing up beside him. "A good kill."
"Thank you my Lord," replied Rai. There was something in his tone that had not been there before, a touch of awkwardness, of feeling. "And...thank you for not stealing it, my Lord."
Alexander was about to say more, before his sensors beeped again. He looked down, and saw a sensor radiation reading. Someone was using active scanners nearby, and clearly didn't know how to do so safely.
"There's more coming, Rai," he said, readying himself.
"Yes, my Lord."
Two more Sutherlands rounded the corner, and then two more. Rai fired off a missile, catching one of them just as it reached the street exit. It blew apart, the others scrambling to avoid it in the narrow space, spilling out in a chaotic file.
Alexander understood. He charged, pistols aimed at the lead Sutherland. As he drew close he fired, his shots tearing into the plastron and head. The machine hurled itself at him, and it was all Alexander could do to avoid being tackled. He grabbed at it and spun, hurling it away and firing into its back. The Sutherland exploded, the force of the blast sending him staggering back.
He looked up, and saw the other two heading straight for Rai. His protege was firing, the two Sutherlands jinking to dodge it, their movements crude and almost drunken, but worryingly effective. One of them managed to activate its Stun Tonfa, and lunged at Rai.
But Rai was moving, his own Stun Tonfa swinging into place. His Sutherland moved like water, gracefully evading the clumsy swing, grabbing the outstretched arm in his gun-arm, then driving his Stun Tonfa into his enemy's plastron. Alexander watched, amazed, as he spun on one foot, hurling the stricken Sutherland away, then sending one last burst into its side. It crumpled, but it's companion remained, levelling its rifle to fire.
Alexander's bullets tore away its head, and Rai's burst punctured its cockpit. It slumped, and lay still.
"You saved me, my Lord," said Rai. He sounded breathless.
"Lady Enneagram has taught you well, Rai," he said. "Did she teach you that move?"
"Yes, my Lord. She said she learned it at the academy."
Alexander could not help but smile at the reminder of happier days. He had seen that move done when he was Cornelia's page, and he had used it himself during his time.
Then the comm beeped, ruining the moment.
"Sir Alexander, what's your situation?" It was Guilford. "Air support told me you were under attack."
"We were attacked by infantry and knightmares, my Lord. All threats neutralized."
"Well done. Now return to the MCV. We're done here."
"Yes, my Lord."
And with that, he started back the way he had come, Rai in tow. It did not take them long to reach the main road, where they paused to let a line of Morddure APCs rumble past. Evidently Guilford and the others had cleared out the stolen knightmares, and the infantry would handle the rest.
It felt...curiously anticlimactic.
After a short run up the main road, they reached the base camp from which they had started; and saw the most peculiar sight. The garrison Sutherlands were lined up in near ranks, the pilots opening their hatches and standing up. Guilford's Gloucester was rolling up and down the ranks, it's green eyes fixed on the pilots as they stood to attention.
Were they looking for Zero? Could he possibly be there, in one of those machines?
All at once Guilford stopped, and Alexander saw that the machine had not opened its cockpit.
"Open your cockpit!" Guilford ordered over his loudspeaker. "It's your turn!"
"My hatch was damaged sir!" replied the pilot.
Alexander was momentarily mystified. Such a thing could happen, but apart from some of the ever present dust, the machine looked undamaged.
"I see," said Guilford, sounding unimpressed. He clearly had the pilot down as a blithering incompetent. "Turn around, we'll open it for you."
The Sutherland did not move. Alexander tensed, and he saw the line of troopers opposite the Sutherlands bring up their weapons. Something was wrong.
"Well, come on!" commanded Guilford. He sounded like he was getting annoyed. "Turn around!"
"Yes sir, right away." The voice sounded tense, and Alexander's heart leapt as he understood the meaning of the strange ritual. The pilot was one of the rebels! Perhaps even Zero!
"Zero has been sighted!"
Alexander almost jumped out of his skin. After a moment's bewilderment he turned, and saw a cluster of troopers on the ground staring up at one of the nearby buildings. He followed their line of sight, up through the blasted skeleton of the building.
And there it was. That shape, silhouetted against the morning sun. The cape billowing in the breeze, that strange, yet unmistakeable mask.
Zero.
"Capture him!" ordered Guilford. "Spread out and encircle the building! Platoons three and five, move in!"
The pilots dropped back into their cockpits, and the Sutherlands began to move, spreading out around the ruined building. The infantry rushed in, clambering over the rubble in their eagerness to reach Zero. Alexander fixed his eyes on that strange figure, heart hammering in his chest. They had found him. They had found him at last! They had...
And then, in one smooth movement, Zero toppled over backwards. Alexander gaped in horrified disbelief as Zero plummeted down behind the building, vanishing from sight.
Alexander could only stare at the spot where he had stood, wondering what had happened.
(X)
And there it is, at last. I can only apologise for the long delay. Lockdown has been tough, though it's been far tougher on others. By way of an apology I made this chapter a big one, and hopefully a good one.
Next time, Alexander has the shock of his life, and meets someone very special. In the meantime, I hope everyone is holding up well.