Well, this took a bloody while. No excuses, just been dealing with a bunch of stuff on my end. As always, let me know what you guys think, and tell me where I've screwed up.
Hope you guys enjoy!
EDIT: Also, quick aside, I literally just checked the Code Geass wiki, and it lists Sakuradite as one of the only two fuel sources in the Geass universe. You have no idea the *PHEW* that went through me when I read that, ha ha.
I do not own Code Geass.
…...
Chartres, Occupied France, April 2018
"Aaand, we're out," Milly Ashford said as the car came to a shuddering halt. The Sakuradite finger was well below 'E'. "Will say, we got further than I thought we would." Her ration pass as a reporter was a little bit higher than others, but not enough for a full tank.
"Yeah, but it didn't get us back to the station," Rivalz Cardemonde, her cameraman and boyfriend said. He rubbed a hand through his short blue hair, his friendly gray eyes peeved. "Guess you'll have to push us, Milly."
Milly snickered. "Oh, Rivalz," she said, stretching her blue blouse so that her large breasts bulged past her seatbelt, "you do say the funniest things."
He laughed. "Yeah, guess I do sometimes." He put the car in neutral and pulled on the parking brake. "You take over at the wheel. I'll get us to a service station."
"Roger wilco!"
The golden-haired beauty slipped into the driver's seat as Rivalz crawled out, and clicked the seatbelt into place. She checked the rearview mirror, her dark blue eyes flashing for just a moment before she caught sight of her man setting up at the back of the car. They were on flat ground, which was a good thing since they were at least a mile away from the nearest Sakuradite station.
"Go ahead and release the parking brake!" Rivalz called.
"OK!"
Milly did as told. A moment later, the view outside began to change ever so slightly.
Milly smirked. "Rivalz, don't go so fast!" she called. "You'll get us a ticket!"
"Hah hah, Mils," Rivalz called back.
She watched him via the rearview mirror. He'd taken off the light blue coat he had been wearing before, and beneath the warmth of the sun, his skin had started to gleam with sweat. She could see the scar lines along his arms, the evidence of injuries he'd sustained saving her life during the Black Rebellion, flexing wetly against his skin. She bit her lip, a burning blush creeping onto her cheeks.
The car began to tip.
"Oh shit!" Milly cursed, jerking the car back onto the road. They just barely missed going off of the shoulder, and it would have been a monumental pain in the ass to have to get back on the road.
"Everything OK up there?" Rivalz asked.
"Just fine, darling!" Milly glared at him, licking her lips. "Where do you get off being so good looking," she grumbled. She checked the time on her watch. "We are so going to be late."
They'd conducted an interview that morning with the heads of regional command, their Highness' Castor and Pollux rui Britannia. The gallant twin princes had been the commanders of the Liberation of Paris, and it had been under their command that the city's most precious treasures were rescued from the inferno caused by the Eleven Rebellion that spiraled out of the internment camps. They had even done her a personal solid, hinting off the record that some major operation was coming up, and offering her a front row seat to the show.
Milly had become a household name for her exclusive reporting live from the front line as the campaign began, and graciously accepted the Brothers Rui offer, contingent on her Producer's permission, of course.
A harsh flash of rage burned in her heart. Murdering bast-
She bit her cheek, frustrated. I still can't believe that footage got corrupted.
Milly and Rivalz had become separated from the detachment they had glommed onto, but she hadn't complained at the time. They found hundreds of stories of individual courage under fire, and the beauty of everyday kindness. Her favorite image that Rivalz took was still the one of the Britannian trooper pulling a crying French girl out of a home that had been bombed by the Elevens. He'd given her a candy bar afterward, then delivered her into the arms of her weeping parents.
And we couldn't use any of it! Milly tapped her finger testily on the steering wheel. I'd have the anchor desk right now if it weren't for that!
Not that she would have left her field job, of course. She far preferred being in the field with her boyfriend, covering, or creating, the news as it happened. She would have just liked to be able to refuse the offer is all.
About an hour of time and effort was saved when a passing gendarme noticed their plight and came in behind them, kindly pushing the car the rest of the way to the service station.
It was a four pump station, small, and they'd have to wait probably twenty minutes for a space to clear out. Chartres was a mid-sized city that suffered minimal damage during the operation, though much of its population had fled east toward Germany as Britannian Knightmares nipped at their rear. Milly was almost glad; if the prewar population were still around, they'd probably be waiting for a pump even longer.
"Mercie! Mercie!" Milly called out with kisses as the French cop left.
"Careful, Milly, he might want those kisses," Rivalz joked, covered in sweat. "The Frenchies are way too open with their affection."
"And I love them for it!"
Rivalz laughed. "I'll go in and pay. You want something to eat?"
"No, I'm fine. Thanks, though."
Rivalz nodded. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an unmarked envelope. Inside were ration cards. Some were bought by a guy Rivalz knew, how Milly couldn't hazard, but some of the others she was pretty sure were counterfeit. There was a thriving black market for Sakuradite ration cards.
No wonder why, she thought, staring up at the sign overhead. Eight pounds sterling for a liter, Jesus!
Everything was going up in price: food, fuel, clothing. Milly hoped the war ended soon.
Her and Rivalz's wallets couldn't take much more of this.
…
Budapest Center Hotel, Budapest, Social Republic of Hungary
"W-One, this W-Four, come in, over."
"W-Four, this is W-One, receiving."
"Target has entered killzone."
"Copy. Weapons free."
"Affirmative."
Leila Malcal opened up with her Knightmare's machine gun. The anti-armor rounds shredded the cockpit of the lead Knightmare, a purple-black Sutherland that crumpled forward in a heap. The Knightmare squadron immediately fanned out in an attempt to find cover, but a fusilade of machine gunfire showered upon them from the surrounding buildings. Three of the eight enemy Sutherlands were down before the first RPG whooshed in and struck the rear of the patrol dead center, igniting the Knightmare's Yggsdrasil Drive and swallowing it in a pink-red explosion.
The remaining four Knightmares attempted to beat a hasty retreat, only to have their escape vector severed with the sudden arrival of a pair of Alexanders, the lithe, spider-like advanced Knightmares that were the main weapons platform of the elite W-Zero unit. The lead Alexander lashed out with a blade attached to its wrist, cutting the first Sutherland neatly in half, then unleashed a hail of point-blank fire into the factsphere of the second. The Alexander's companion launched itself forward and with its blades proceeded to slice into the cockpits of the surviving Britannian units, sending them both cartwheeling to the ground.
"Negative contacts, W-One."
"Acknowledged," Leila said. "Begin sweep and retrieval, then withdraw along route Gamma Five-Zero to rally point Delta."
A wave of "Copy"s responded.
Colonel Leila Malcal was a beautiful woman by any objective standard. Long blonde hair, pulled into a tight bun, was set above her large blue eyes and shrouded her ivory skin. Her large, round breasts and wide hips conformed naturally to the lithe, muscular physique that military life had carved into her flesh. Her skintight flightsuit left little to the imagination, and was lined with red trim lines and red pauldrons at the shoulders. There were dark circles under her eyes because she hadn't slept in four days.
"W-One, this is Theresa Base," her comm unit squaked. "W-One, this is Theresa Base."
"W-One to Theresa Base, receiving."
"Have completed necessary sweep and clear. You are free to disengage."
"Copy. Beginning withdrawal."
Theresa Base was the codename for the Hungarian Parliament Building. The Hungarian government had fled the capital in the face of the Imperial vanguard, but in so doing had left behind valuable documents that needed to either be retrieved or destroyed. Leila's unit had been assigned as a screening force, and coordinated on the ground with local commanders to nab as many enemy Frames as possible.
They couldn't get enough of them. With the Rhine Front having fallen into a stalemate, and the Britannians being kept out of the North Sea by a dogged defense by the Air Force and Navy, the Empire had turned to strategic bombing. With their new Flight Enabled Knightmare Frames, the Empire was able to advance its bomber squadrons deep into EU territory and release their payloads on the factories producing Europe's own Knightmare Frames. They were paying a heavy price for their bombing campaign, but the fact was that it was paying dividends. The EU was running out of armor.
"All units," Leila ordered, "advance to Theresa Base, and cross the Danube at Madame Margit. Rendezvous at predesignated coordinates."
"Copy," the other pilots responded.
Madame Margit referred to the Margit Hid, one of several bridges across the Danube that flowed vertically through Budapest. The bridge had sustained significant damage since the beginning of the Imperial offensive, but it was very clear the Britannians had no interest in actually causing its collapse.
Too bad for them, Leila thought with a snide smile. Explosives had been placed at key points along the bridge. Orders were to blow it the second they left the city.
They traveled quickly down the street, dodging past or jumping over the empty cars that littered the once bustling metropolis. When the Britannians came, they had sent Serbian shock troops in first, likely counting on the lingering hostility felt by the Serbs from the First German Rebellion. They were not disappointed. Shopfronts up and down the avenue were shattered, blackened, and still on fire. Corpses lined the sidewalk, individually or in groups, most of them not wearing uniforms. One of every three cars that Leila passed had cadavers inside, their tongues lolled out, eyes vacant, or burned black.
Budapest, with its anachronistic mix of Classical, Baroque, and Gothic Revival architecture, was dead, as were its people. A thousand years of civilization had been extinguished in the space of a month.
The Margit Hid came into sight. The three way bridge connected the twin sides of the city, Buda and Pest, with that of Margaret Island, which sat squarely in the middle of the Danube. At least, at one point it had. The bridge connecting Margaret Island to the rest of the city had been destroyed by aerial bombardment. Rescue operations had been nixed after several gunships were downed by Serbian fighters.
There was a checkpoint at the lead of the bridge that Leila and her comrades leapt clear over. They darted and weaved around the military traffic that was, even now, conducting an orderly withdrawal from the city.
"Jeez, would you look at that," the awestruck voice of Ryo Sayama said. Ryo was a member of her unit, a Japanese teen just a little younger than her, and effectively acted as squad leader for the other two youngest members, Ayano Kousaka and Yukiya Naruse.
Leila darted a look to her left. She squinted.
The Hungarian Parliament building was ablaze. Its white walls and red roofs, constructed in the sharp arches of the Neo-Gothic movement, were black with flame and soot. Its towers had collapsed. There were dark dots on the ground that she was sure were people.
Or their bodies at any rate.
"Keep it moving, W-OH," Leila ordered. "We're out of here in five."
Focus on what you're doing, she ordered silently. You're all I have left.
…
Versailles, Paris, Occupied France
Knight, of Seven. Knight, of Rounds.
Sir Suzaku Kururugi strode down the hallway at a brisk pace. He cut quite the dashing figure: his messy brown hair fell over cold green eyes, his skin bearing a tanned complexion. He was garbed in a white tailcoat clasped together with twin gold chains, a black tunic with golden designs stitched into the material, black leather jackboots that clicked on the tile floor, and a blue cape bedecked in gold ornamentation, also clasped with a golden chain. A black mask lined with gold trimming covered his face below the nose, save for a gold-lined hole cut out for his mouth.
It was the uniform of the most elite unit of warriors in the Holy Empire of Britannia; the corps of Knights who answered only to the Emperor himself.
Knight, of Seven. Knight, of Rounds.
Just behind Suzaku on either flank marched his aides-de-camp, Sirs Shnee Hecksen and Ledo Offen. Schnee was a handsome youth, though short, with slicked back blonde hair and determined blue eyes. Sir Ledo was a dark-skinned man of similar age to Schnee, whose light black hair tumbled freely down his back around kind red eyes. They wore matching gray uniforms, from half-coat to white tunic to gray vest that resembled a halfway point to the uniform of the Rounds, and blue half capes clasped with golden chains on their right shoulder.
The two men were all that Suzaku had left of a twenty-four man squadron that had taken down the mountain fortresses preventing Britannia's accession to the wider European continent for nearly a year. The rest had either been killed or crippled in the assault, and in the resultant battle on the last bridge over the Rhine. It was at that battle that Suzaku had won his Knighthood, and his ascension to the halls of power.
"What do you think this meeting is all about?" Schnee asked.
"Whatever it is, it must be important," Ledo replied. "They wouldn't have pulled us out of Rouen otherwise."
"If they hadn't pulled us out, we'd have the rebel leaders by now," Schnee groused. "We were this close, this damn close, to having the Lafayette Patriot's Front! A few more days!"
"We'd been hunting them for the better part of a month," Ledo said with a shrug. "It was only a matter of time before they pulled us off the hunt."
"Bah! What are the spooks in the ISB even doing?"
Ledo chuckled. "Probably upskirt shots of Marseille's beaches. Have you seen the women down there?"
Schnee snorted. "What do we need with them? The Major's plenty-"
"And that will be all, Schnee," Suzaku interrupted.
Ledo slapped Schnee's arm. "Careful, Schnee. You don't want to make His Lordship jealous. No offense meant of course, My Lord."
"Yeah, what he said, My Lord," Schnee agreed.
'My Lord.' That's something I still haven't gotten used to.
Not even a year ago, Suzaku had been nothing more than a corporal in the Area Eleven Occupational Force, assigned to the Honorary Britannian Division. Expecting little more than to be a faceless grunt in the Imperial war machine, his world was flipped upside down upon reunion with his best friend, Lelouch, and an injury he sustained during the Shinjuku Ghetto Massacre. During the battle, the very first battle in fact that the Empire would fight against the Dark Lord Zero, Suzaku had been allowed to pilot the Seventh Generation prototype Knightmare Frame, Code Name Lancelot.
The Frame had been impossible to master by the average Britannian pilot, but in Suzaku's hands it became the greatest weapon the Occupational Forces had in its ultimately doomed campaign against Zero and his allies. He had risen in rank, first to Warrant Officer, then to Captain, and along the way spilled enough blood to fill a sea. The guilty and the innocent alike had fallen at his hands, and the naive idealism he clung to matured and hardened against the cold wall of reality.
But because of that idealism, I have risen higher than any Number would have ever dreamed.
His story was an inspiration to the masses of people that had bowed beneath the Union Jack. In him was represented the hopes and wishes of millions who yearned for a better life. They were dreams he could not fail, no matter how many bodies he must leave in his wake.
No one, not the Euros, not the Elevens, not the Chinese, and most assuredly not Zero, would stand in his way.
You killed my friends. I will never forgive that. The blood of Lelouch and Nunnally cries out for justice!
Lelouch and Nunnally, his two most important people in the world, had been slain during Zero's rampage in the days leading up to the Black Rebellion, when the terrorist succeeded in overthrowing the Imperial Colony.
For their sake, he would make a world worthy of the millions of innocents who had perished.
They arrived at a pair of oak double doors that dwarfed the size of the three men combined. Golden gryphen door handles glared at them menacingly. The white walls, lined with portraits of the Rounds that had gone before, stared at them reprovingly, as if demanding to know why they were there. A pair of soldiers armored in steel plate guarded the door with crossed halberds.
"Who comes before the Knights of the Rounds? Who dares trod where mortals are forbidden?" the guards demanded in unison.
"I, Suzaku Kururugi," Suzaku replied, "Knight, of Seven. Knight, of Rounds."
"You may enter," the guards intoned, raising their halberds, the doors swinging open on their own.
Suzaku raised a hand to his friends. "Wait for me here." He heard their assent just before the doors shut.
This was only Suzaku's second meeting with his fellow Rounds Knights, but he was not disappointed with the grandeur of the space. The room was round in shape, the center dominated by a literal round table cut from the hull of the HMS Fortitude, the ship that had sailed the Royal Family to safety even as Napoleon stormed Buckingham Palace. Above the mantlepiece of an eternally burning chimney was the visage of His Majesty, Emperor Charles zi Britannia in portrait form, his stern gaze encompassing the whole of the room. There were no windows here. On a lectern beside the mantle was a book filled with the names of all those who had served in the Knights of the Rounds. Suzaku's was the most recent, his signature done in his own hand.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Eleven," a mocking voice called out.
Suzaku narrowed his eyes. "That's Honorary Britannian, My Lord Bradley," he retorted.
"Oho! It speaks!" the Knight of Ten guffawed. The auburn hair, dyed in burgundy spikes from base to crown, of his mullet waved as he he laughed. He sat across from the door, his fingers meshed, elbows resting on the table, his orange cape high around his cheeks. "Why, the last time you were here, you had hardly a word to say."
"Loudmouths have a tendency to suck the air from the room," Suzaku replied.
Bradley glared at him. "Careful, Eleven," he said silkily, the purple pupils of his gray eyes narrowing dangerously. "Air is not the only thing vampires suck on."
"Vampires are pussies," a new feminine voice interjected. A slender, voluptuous woman with green hair and blue eyes sauntered into the chambers, a cool smirk on her red lips. "Throw a little sunlight on them, and they burn all to ash." She winked at Suzaku. "Lord Kururugi."
Suzaku nodded back, much more respectfully. "Lady Enneagram."
The Lady Nonette Enneagram, Knight of Nine, was a welcome sight. She had been instrumental in sending him reinforcements during the Battle of the Rhine, and her praise of him afterward had no doubt born some influence on the Emperor in his ascension to the Rounds.
Bradley scowled at her. "Enneagram. To think that one such as you would willingly accept this mongrel into our midst. It's insulting."
Enneagram cocked an eyebrow at him. "I had no idea you'd assumed the Throne, Lucy," she commented dryly. "The succession must really be in the shit if you're the one picking our members."
Bradley bristled. "I didn't say-"
"-that you know better than our own Emperor?" One hand rested on a wide hip, lifting her purple cape to curl enticingly over her curves. "Of course you didn't, Lucy. You're no fool." She wrinkled her nose. "Just a maniac."
"Cease," a commanding voice rang out.
They all came to stiff attention immediately, and bowed to the man who entered the room.
Sir Bismarck Waldstein, Knight of One, Commander of the Rounds, greatest of the Empire's knights, was a physically imposing man. The man towered over everyone in the room, and most without given he stood at a good seven-and-a-half feet, nearly dwarfing his white cape. His long dark blue hair fell loose to his shoulders, and his goatee emphasized his perpetual scowl. A single blue eye stared out at them, the other sewn shut. Suzaku still didn't know why.
"My Lord of One," the gathered Rounds said together.
"At ease, I'll make this quick. The others aren't coming. Their assignments take all their focus. We'll have a full briefing at a later date." He brought three different folders from beneath his cape.
Suzaku and Enneagram grabbed theirs, while Bradley had to stand and go around the table to retrieve his.
Suzaku opened his. His eyes widened. "I'm to be assigned to the Avalon?"
"Indeed. Your presence was requested by Prince Schneizel himself, so be sure to pay your respects," Bismarck confirmed.
"Of course."
"Is the Camlann one of the new airships?" Enneagram asked, flipping through hers.
"It is. It's taking up position off the coast of Alaska as we speak for training. The same is true for the Cornwall, Lord Bradley."
"Am I allowed free reign, My Lord of One?" Bradley asked.
"The Dragon is still raised over Area Eleven and the Chinese Federation."
'The Dragon' referred to a military command that had existed in Britannia since ancient times. It called for the wholesale slaughter of enemy combatants, regardless of station. No quarter was to be given. It had only been used a handful of times in Britannian history, the most recent being the aforementioned cases in Area Eleven and China.
Bradley smirked. "Good. I can't wait to experiment with the new Hadron Blasters on my Percival."
The Percival was one of the new advanced Frames developed from the Lancelot's production line. A bevy of new Flight Enabled advanced Knightmares would be coming online this month, each earmarked for the Rounds. Without Suzaku's work with the Camelot Project, none of these new models would exist. He took no small amount of pride in that.
"Does this mean the counterattack is happening soon?" Suzaku asked.
"Once we can free up more units for the offensive, yes. Each Round will be commanding one of the new airships. The reclaiming of Area Eleven is essential to our future operations, and to the future prosperity of the Holy Britannian Empire." Bismarck gave Suzaku a challenging look. "I assume we can count on you to do what needs to be done?"
Suzaku drew himself up. "My homeland is being ruled by a terrorist, My Lord," he said. "Area Eleven's natural place is under the protective auspices of our Holy Britannian Empire. Anyone who defies His Majesty deserves to die a traitor's death."
"Well said," Enneagram said.
Bradley guffawed. "Well, I'll give you one thing, Seven. You have a delicious taste for fratricide."
…
Zero's Private Chambers, Palace of Tranquil Longevity, The Forbidden City, Beijing, Chinese Federation
Kallen fingered the edge of her medical discharge papers. Lelouch had officially handed them to her that morning in his office. She had accepted them without protest. She'd known that the end of her Black Knight career was incoming the moment she knew she was pregnant.
She was frustrated, of course. The war wasn't over. She could no longer protect Lelouch as his bodyguard. The closest she would get to combat was the after action reports, and whatever Lelouch shared with her.
On the other hand, she felt no small amount of relief. The mere thought of heading into battle with her child made her nauseous. No matter what happened now, her baby was safe. Besides which, Lelouch wasn't sending her away. When the Britannians came, Japan would be ground zero for their invasion, and Lelouch didn't want her anywhere near the firing line, invalid that she now was.
"Invalid," Kallen said quietly, her smile ironic. She rubbed her hand across the bump on her belly. "I guess I'm not pretending now, am I little one?"
She still wore her Black Knight uniform at Lelouch's request, a bit of visual disinformation that would make the enemy believe the Red Lotus was still at the vanguard of Zero's attack. Urabe had been promoted to flight leader as well as chief of the Zero Squadron. Kallen didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, but with Chiba and her unborn child still Lelouch's hostages it was understood what would happen if he failed.
The door to Lelouch's apartment slid open, revealing C-Two in her Black Knight surcoat. "Come on, Kozuki," the immortal witch said, "you can't sulk in here all day."
Kallen scowled. "I'm not sulking," she retorted. "I'm just-thinking, that's all."
C-Two scoffed. "Thinking isn't your strong suit," she said scathingly.
"Excuse me?"
"You've been holed up in here all day, after having a meeting with Zero," C-Two said. "People are starting to talk. They're wondering why Major Kozuki has been confined to quarters."
"I'm not confined!"
"Then get your ass out here. We have a meeting in fifteen minutes with the other heads of the Co-Prosperity Sphere, and it wouldn't look good if Zero's bodyguard wasn't there."
Kallen stood from the bed. "I'm not a Black Knight anymore, or did Zero tell you that?" she demanded.
"Zero is an idiot," C-Two replied. "Grab your gun, wipe your face, and get out here!"
Kallen was confused. "Wipe my face?"
C-Two rolled her eyes. "Check a mirror, you look awful. That's an order."
Before Kallen could reply, she stepped back out of the apartment.
Kallen stood, pattered into the bathroom, and stared at herself. She gaped. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks an angry red.
She pressed the tips of her fingers to her cheeks. I was...crying? She grabbed the front of her jacket and squeezed. I...I'm not…
Her vision blurred. Her shoulders shuddered. A long, keening moan issued from her mouth.
What am I supposed to…
"Kozuki."
Kallen jumped, startled. C-Two stood in the bathroom doorway, her mien stony.
"I…" Kallen choked. "I don't know what-what...what to do! I can't-can't just sit back and-and-and do nothing!"
C-Two clenched her fist, and Kallen was sure the girl wanted to punch her. She grabbed a rag, soaked it in the sink, and rubbed it forcefully across Kallen's face.
"We don't have time for your existential crisis, Kozuki," she said. "You made this bed, and you laid in it. Repeatedly. Now come on!"
C-Two dragged Kallen out after her.
…
Royal Suite, Hotel Victoria, Los Angeles, Archduchy of California, Holy Empire of Britannia
Princess Euphemia li Britannia massaged her temples. Her skull ached terribly. She lay in the middle of her four poster bed, lavender sheets wrapped around her lithe form. Her long, lustrous pink hair was a messy tangle, and her blue eyes felt watery. She pressed a hand to her plump breasts, her teeth worrying at her pink lips.
It was the third such day she lay there, confined to little more than her apartment at the Hotel Victoria since landing.
A lance of pain shot through her head. She ground her teeth against it.
"Oh, forget it," she groaned.
She sat up, squinting heavily against the pain, and climbed out of bed. She slipped on a pair of silk slippers and drew her dark red nightgown about herself. She staggered over to a lacquered coffee table on the far side of her opulently decorated room, sat in one of the three high backed chairs that surrounded it, and rang a metal bell resting on the table.
Her door opened to admit a brown-haired maid named Patricia. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"Have an herbal tea prepared for me," Euphemia directed. "Medicated. And have Jeanette bring me my itinerary for the next week."
The maid bowed. "At once, My Lady."
The girl was replaced at the door by a blonde haired man wearing a red double-breasted coat with gray bordering, white dress pants, and knee high jackboots, with a rapier hanging from his hip. He was Sir Alfred Darlton, formerly of the Glaston Knights, and Euphemia's sworn knight.
"Feeling better, Your Highness?" he asked.
Euphemia shook her head, immediately regretted it. "Not in the slightest, Alfie," she said, nursing her forehead. "But there's work to be done, and I can't stay abed forever."
"Your Highness," a voice called out, followed swiftly by a woman with dark blue hair cut into a short bob and a mole on her chin. She presented to Euphemia a black leather folder with the Union Jack insignia on it. "Your itinerary."
"Thank you, Jeanette," Euphemia said, dismissing the maid with a nod.
Jeanette stepped around Patricia on her way out. Patricia brought Euphemia a silver tray bearing a steaming teapot and tea cups of floral design. The tray was set on the table with a light clatter that made the Princess wince, and the water was quickly poured into the nearest cup, at the bottom of which rested a packet of tea leaves. The bitter aroma of the herbal brew filled the air. The cup was distributed to Euphemia on a saucer, and she gingerly took a sip, scrunching her nose up at the hard taste.
"Thank you, Patty," she said. "That will be all."
Patricia bowed to her and departed.
"You have been going nonstop almost since you began," Alfred pointed out when the maid was gone. "I daresay there are few that would gainsay you a few days recovery."
"People are dying, Alfie," Euphemia reminded him gently. "By the tens of the thousands. If a common private can endure the horrors of the European War, then I can certainly tolerate the discomfort of a migraine."
Alfred bowed his head. "As you say, Your Highness."
Euphemia was the head and chief spokeswoman of the Cornelia li Britannia Peace Conference, an organization devoted to bringing an honorable end to the expeditionary wars Britannia was currently engaged in. The group was named after her elder sister, the aforementioned Princess Cornelia li Britannia, who had been tragically killed in the climax of the Black Rebellion by no less than the Dark Lord Zero himself. Despite its title, and Euphemia's own command position, the group, and its mission, were not her own idea. Rather, it was the brainchild of Sir Ruben Ashford, patriarch of the Ashford family of Knightmare Frame developers, who had approached her with a petition with signatures numbering in the thousands from noble families across Britannia begging for an end to the fighting. Most of them had lost all their sons and daughters, whether direct or indirect, in the crossfire of the wars, and they were desperate to see their surviving family and friends return home.
Euphemia had accepted the burden of this great task, and devoted herself fully to bringing an end to the conflict.
She groaned as she flipped through the pages. "I've already missed twenty assignations," she lamented, rubbing her hand across her cheek. "Twenty opportunities to win more to our cause, gone." She closed her eyes tightly against the pain in her head. "I'm so weak."
Alfred took her hand gently in his. "Would that I had some of your weakness, Euphie, that I might be strong," he said. "I know of no other, man or woman, who could accomplish what you have."
"I appreciate your kind words, Alfie," Euphemia said, "but I haven't accomplished anything yet." She sighed. She rang her bell, wincing as she did.
Patricia reentered the room with a bow. "My Lady?"
"Inform Sir Ruben that I will be attending this Friday's speaking engagement at Rockerford Hall," Euphemia said. "I have lazed about enough. It is time to return to work."
…..
Conference Room, Palace of Tranquil Longevity, Forbidden City, Beijing, Chinese Federation
"It's going to take at least three months to bring China's manufacturing base back online," Zero said. "Even then, we're only talking about maybe a third of the level of production capacity as before the War."
"The problem is skilled labor," Xingke agreed. "Between the destruction wrought by the Desolation and the conventional attrition of the Civil War, we're looking at a loss of thirty-five percent of the country's experienced machinists and maintenance technicians."
The Tianzi clenched her wrists inside her robes. Desolation…
The name given for the firing of the FLEIJA rockets on the three great fortress cities. Within seconds, citadels that had halted the advance of Federation forces for months had been turned into craters several kilometers deep. Tens of millions of people were dead as a result.
We had no choice, the Tianzi told herself, a mantra she repeated every night she awoke in a cold sweat, the silent screams of the damned howling across the black void. We turned the tide of the war that day. We reunified the Middle Kingdom with a single blow.
Well, not all of China, necessarily. India had gained its nominal independence in the last pair of months, a necessity given the number of frontlines the Federation had been split between.
But they will be dealt with, in time. Heaven will be made whole.
"We can have equipment flown in from beyond the Urals," Krustchev said. "The railroad networks, too, but congestion will be a nightmare."
The Russian Federal Republic only had two rail lines that ran through its eastern provinces, and only one of them actually connected to the Chinese rail line. Additionally, both Russian rail lines connected to a single railway junction on China's northern border, furthering their congestion problem. The logistics network that doomed Heidler in the West was exacerbated by the thousands of kilometers that would have to be crossed from the East.
"It will mean effectively surrendering the ability to send reinforcements to Europe for at least the next six months," Zero remarked thoughtfully, a hand to his helm's chin. "Could you move your troops to reinforce Eastern Europe around the rebel fronts?"
Krustchev was shaking his head before Zero had even finished. "They won't let us through the border checkpoints," he explained. "Secretary Smilas was in negotiation with them for months before the Sacking of Paris, and they still refuse to change their minds. You'd think they didn't trust us or something."
The Tianzi was polite enough not to remind the Russian President of Jugashivilli's ransacking of eastern Poland or the forced starvation in Ukraine.
"Convene a conference of the major Eastern Euro powers, Premier," Zero ordered. "I'll negotiate with them personally."
Krustchev chuckled. "This I will have to see."
"Which would be more important, Lord Zero?" the Tianzi asked aloud. "Skilled labor in the East, or reinforcements in the West?"
Zero pondered the question. "Sakuradite will be Britannia's goal," he said after a moment. "The fields in Europe are not sufficient to fuel their war machine across the planet. The Empire is on borrowed time and knows it. It must retake Japan before it can consolidate its conquests." He tapped his finger on the map laid out before them. "Let's focus on bringing the factories back online, and focus our production on aerial Knightmare Frames. The Fall of France and our own Northern Expedition proves they will be the decisive weapon platforms."
Krustchev nodded. "We can have skilled machine operators and technicians inside the country within ten days," he said.
"I'll have Diethard set up a recruiting program here and in Japan," Zero said.
"Speaking of which," Xingke said, "how long until the Mount Fuji reserves are back online?"
"We'll be back at sixty percent capacity in the next three weeks. Reconstruction efforts are working three shifts, and we've started repair work on the roads in the south and in Tokyo." Zero looked up at Krustchev. "If you could send some of those factory personnel our way, it would be greatly appreciated."
"Consider it done."
Zero stood up straight. "As a gesture of cooperation," he said, gesturing behind him, "I've also brought along Rakshata Chawla, Director of R&D for the USJ's military division. In tandem with Chinese scientists and Britannian defectors, she's been working on an aerial platform similar in design to the Empire's Avalon. Director, if you would?"
At his prompting, a buxom Indian beauty with blonde hair, green eyes, and a large purple bindi on her forehead stepped forward. Her white labcoat was the only indication to her profession; underneath it she wore a loose pink camisole that exposed her full bosom down to her purple bra, and ended just above her belly button, and a pair of purple-brown slacks. Smoke trailed lazily from a cigarette on an extender dangling between her fingers.
"Just before the conclusion of hostilities in China, we began work on an armored airship with weaponry based on the design of the Knightmare Fortress Gawain," she began. "The principal blueprints were completed two weeks ago and preliminary construction has begun, but we lack the necessary infrastructure for mass production."
"This is crucial," Zero added. "My spies in Britannia report that the Empire is already knee deep in the construction of an aerial fleet that will act as a replacement for seaborne naval assets. We must have a fleet built within the next several months, be it Knightmare or airship."
"Why not just mass produce your doomsday weapon, Zero?" Krustchev asked.
"Because it's destructive power is too enormous," Zero replied. "Depending on where we hit the Imperial Fleet, we could destroy islands and atolls necessary for the invasion of the Mainland. The Empire's long range aerial defense is too strong for a simple rocket attack, and there are methods for neutralizing the implosive effect of the FLEIJA."
"Besides which," Xingke said, "Sakuradite acts as the primary fuel source. We don't have enough of it right now to just blow it up willy nilly. We can set some aside for demolition purposes, but not in enough quantity to get around their AA."
"Lord Zero," the Tianzi said, "would it not be sufficient to simply defeat Britannia in the Old World? Once cut off from access to the resources of Eurasia and Africa, they would have to sue for peace."
"Only in the short term, Your Majesty," Zero said. "Charles could very well be overthrown, and I have a mind for who would take his place, but Britannia would simply bide its time until it was strong enough for another go. We would have to embargo their Sakuradite trade. Such a move would also convince them to search for alternative fuel sources that may prove successful, neutralizing the advantage we currently have. Britannia must surrender, and terms must be dictated in Pendragon itself."
"Must an embargo be enacted?" the Tianzi asked. "Could a peace not be negotiated? Millions of our people have already died. How many more must be lost before the butcher's toll is paid in full?"
Zero shuffled uncomfortably, but it was Xingke who answered. "No one on our side will accept a negotiated peace, Your Majesty," he told her gently. "Too much blood has been spilled. Too many lives have been destroyed. This is no longer a defensive struggle, or even a conflict over resources. The people demand vengeance."
"Britannia has sown the wind," Zero said, the hollowness of his voice sending shivers down the Tianzi's spine. "Now it shall reap the whirlwind."
"Then the Brits must be bogged down in Europe as long as possible," Krustchev said. He laughed. "I do hope your negotiation skills can bear fruit in Europe, Zero."
"No need to worry about that, Nikita. I can be very persuasive."
…..
Ponitrie Nature Reserve, Republic of Slovakia
Leila sat wearily on an empty Sakuradite drum. The EU Army had been in a fighting retreat for most of the day, a fight that the W-Zero unit had had a major part in. She had lost count of the number of Sutherlands and Panzer-Hummels she'd personally taken down, let alone what her unit as a whole had achieved.
She buried her face in her hand.
It wasn't enough.
They had retreated north into Slovakia, bogging the enemy down in heavy forest fighting, but the lack of Sakuradite was beginning to tell. Twenty Panzer-Hummels on their own side were being cannibalized for parts, their pilots being shipped back to Vienna to act as trainers. There was little more that could be done with them. Their trucks, APC's, and tanks were being weeded out as well.
Britannia had similar problems, but Hungary's small Sakuradite fields were giving them a local fuel source with which to fuel their Balkan operations, and their armor factories were out of reach. Romania seemed to be holding them off in the east, but how much longer that would last was anyone's guess. With their offensive blunted in the east, the Britannians and their allies were turning north. Leila didn't know how much longer they could hold them.
"Colonel!"
Leila looked up to see a young junior officer heading her way. "The Secretary General is on the line!"
"I'm on my way." Leila snapped to her feet, banished her weariness, and strode quickly to the comms tent.
It wasn't big; four posters beneath a green camo screen housed a single radio station and telegraphy set, at which sat a single radio operator with a pair of headphones on. He gave the nod to Leila and handed her a second set. She held it to her ear.
"Nest One, this is W-One, reporting in," Leila announced.
"W-One, report back to Nest One, A-S-A-P," the scratchy voice of Secretary General Gene Smilas ordered.
Leila felt alarmed. "Copy that. Reason for urgency?"
"Too sensitive for over the wave transmission," Smilas said.
"Understood. We'll move out at first light. W-One out."
Leila handed the receiver back to the comms tech and left the tent. She found her friends not far away, gathered round on their own empty Sakuradite barrels. They all look exhausted as she, their flight suits open and askew, drinking cheap cold coffee brewed the previous morning.
The eldest of the three, redheaded Ryo, saw her coming their way with a weary look.
"They got something new for us, Leila?" he asked.
"Afraid so," Leila confirmed. "We're returning to Berlin."
Ayano, a busty brunette with pink eyes, perked up. "Great," she said. "We can visit Hyuga while we're there. They owe us for how long we've been in this shithole."
"Language, Ayano," Leila said, holding out her hand.
Ayano groaned, pulled a wad of cash from her cleavage, and handed it to Leila. "Fu-Freaking swear jar."
"Thank you," Leila said, sliding it just under her collar, far too self-conscious to do what Ayano had. "And yes, we'll see him again one we've been debriefed. Promise."
The 'Hyuga' being referred to was Major Akito Hyuga, Leila's second in the field, and her paramour. Akito was easily the squadron's best pilot, and his absence in the field was keenly felt by all. During the Battle of the Rhine, he had been grievously injured by the now Knight of Seven, Suzaku Kururugi, resulting in the loss of an eye and extended convalescence. The young man had promised to return to the field as soon as he was able, but a part of Leila was glad he was as far from the fighting as this.
Yukiya, a youth with light brown hair and green eyes, stood. Leila could hear his bones popping as he did. "I'll go ahead and run the warfare suites on our Frames," he said. "Make sure we can head out soon as we wake up."
"Thanks," Leila said.
Yukiya was as close to an electronics warfare specialist as the squadron had, and he'd brought his laptop for the campaign out here. Leila was certain the only reason they were still alive was his hacking of Britannian satellites that allowed them to better detect enemy patrols.
"The rest of you, get something to eat and some rest," Leila ordered. "We're gonna floor it all the way back to Berlin."
…
Major Cecile Croomy's Trailer, Dosches, Occupied France
"A posting aboard the Avalon is quite the achievement, Suzaku," Cecile Croomy said. "I'm so proud of you."
Suzaku sucked the rest of his yakisoba noodle into his mouth. "Thanks, I appreciate it."
Major Cecile Croomy was a ranking member of the Camelot Program that had developed the Lancelot and birthed the next generation of Knightmare Frames, as well as his former superior. Her neck length indigo hair framed her lovely blue eyes elegantly, accentuating the mature, motherly atmosphere she naturally exuded. Her body was slim but voluptuous, a tantalizing mixture of firm muscle and supple ivory skin that Suzaku had become intimately familiar with over the past month. At twenty-five, she was eight years his senior, and nearly matched him in height. Today being her off day, she wore a white blouse open at the chest and a pair of blue jean cutoffs she'd fished out somewhere in her trailer.
A traditional Japanese tea set sat between them, the minty scent tickling Suzaku's nose.
"Bismarck told us to go over the specs on our Knightmares," Suzaku said, "but…"
Cecile smiled. "But you've already mastered yours," she finished for him.
Suzaku grinned. "Which means I have the next few days to myself, more or less."
Cecile rested her cheek on an open palm, smiling flirtatiously at him while she played with her chopsticks. "And what did you have in mind, My Lord?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.
Suzaku's pants grew tight, but he matched her smile with his own. "I was thinking of hitting the beaches at Marseilles," he said, winding his noodles around his chopsticks. "You know. Run. Swim." He eyed her down to her breasts where a low flush was creeping towards her throat. "Maybe add some tan lines to that virginal skin."
"'Virginal skin?'" Cecile asked, resting her chin on her knuckles. "Why, I hope it's not virginal. Else, what have I been doing for the past few days? Or…" She brought her elbows in, squeezing her bosom so it was even more plump than before. "Who with?"
Suzaku had a hard time raising his eyes. "Me," he meant to say a lot more forcefully, but it came out hoarse.
Cecile wagged her finger back and forth. "Uh-uh, Sir Kururugi. Such wicked thoughts. How naughty. And me, just an innocent maiden." She scooped a wad of noodles into her mouth, sucking a lone one between her lips until it disappeared into that little dark hole, and she swallowed heavily. A slim trail of juice lingered on her chin, wiped away with a dexterous index finger and sucked into her mouth.
Screw the beach, Suzaku thought. I could stay in here the next few days and not miss a thing.
Internally, Suzaku shook the thought off. He picked up his tea cup. "You're right," he said. "As a Knight, I must protect your virtue. As such," he kept his voice deliberately casual, swirling the tea in his hand, "I believe separate hotel rooms to be in order. After all, what would people think of an unmarried man and woman spending the night in the same room?"
The look of sheer panic on Cecile's face almost made him laugh. She curled a finger in her hair, strangely bashful. "We could, um, that is, we could go under other identities," she said. "I'm certain no one would be opposed to...well...that is…"
Suzaku raised a victorious eyebrow, waiting. "To what?" he asked.
Cecile blushed deeply. "Well, to-"
The door on the trailer smacked open, causing Cecile to yelp and Suzaku to go for a pistol not on his hip.
"Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds," the airy voice of Earl Lloyd Asplund said, "but we've got a bit of a situation on our hands."
"Jesus Christ, Lloyd!" Suzaku snapped. "Have you heard of knocking!"
The Earl snorted. "Like you two would have heard," he said. "Besides, it's not as if you two were going at it like rabbits like you have the past month."
"L-Lloyd!" Cecile spluttered.
Suzaku pinched the bridge of his nose. Lloyd Asplund was the director of the Camelot Project, the primary designer of the Lancelot, and the most amusingly infuriating man Suzaku had ever met. His short lavender hair was stylishly ruffled, and his blue eyes gleamed mischievously behind a pair of spectacles. He wore a white labcoat buttoned together that extended past his knees.
"Lloyd," Suzaku grumbled, "we were just planning a trip down to the beach in Marseilles. Could you maybe come back at a better time?"
"Afraid you're going to have to put that on hold, Suzaku old boy," Lloyd said. "We just got word of a Peace Mark operation about to go down."
Suzaku stood immediately. "When and where?" he asked, already throwing on his coat.
"Sometime over the next week. Intel thinks it might go down in Nancy. There's a major Sakuradite depot out that way."
Cecile stood up. "I'll be ready in five," she said. She hurried past Suzaku, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and rushed off to her room.
"Better get ready too, Suzaku," Lloyd said. "If we hurry this up, we might still be able to get one day on the beach."
Suzaku nodded. "Yeah, you're right, I-" He blinked. "Hey. Wait. 'We?'"
Lloyd lightly smacked him on the head. "Well, of course we, Suzaku! I can't let my devicer head into enemy territory without supervision! I'll be right there to prevent any and all assassination attempts on the Lancelot's most integral part!"
…..
Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany
Berlin, Capitol of the German Federal Republic, and now de facto capitol of the EU, had seen better days. The city had been largely rebuilt in the aftermath of the Second German Rebellion with cheap, Brutalist buildings that resembled giant concrete squares with the artistic flair of a brain damaged chihuahua.
How I miss them, Leila thought.
The city was in ashes. There wasn't a single square block of the city that hadn't at some point been bombed. Great craters pockmarked the city streets. Bombed out shops and stores sat vacant and smoking under the afternoon sun. German police and rescue personnel picked over the rubble of collapsed skyscrapers in their search for survivors.
Tent cities had sprung up almost overnight, the French survivors who had escaped the Sack fenced in behind barbed wire that kept them segregated from the rest of the population. Similar camps were popping up all throughout Central Europe to deal with the refugee crisis. As Leila and the W-0 unit rode a beat up old truck down the rubble strewn road, they passed by a column of the sad wretches as they plodded eastward, their few possessions either rucked in backpacks or sitting on hand-pulled wagons.
We were an industrialized people, once. Our technology was the envy of the world. Leila stared with hollow eyes at the hopeless masses evacuating to the dubious safety of the East.
In the skies above, she could make out the flash of flak and missile fire, and the green lances of the Empire's mechanized monstrosities. A flash of green energy, perhaps having missed it target, perhaps right on course, burned a green hole into the top of hospital some thirty minutes away.
She didn't try to get hold of the driver, didn't try to divert their course to go help. They would only be in the way.
Maybe the body count will be low this time.
The truck came to a stop beside an open subway staircase that had miraculously been missed by Britannia's bombing campaign. The W-0 unit jumped out of the truck quickly and proceeded down the stairs.
There were more refugees down here, and the newly homeless as well. People looked up at her with hopeless eyes, or didn't look up at all. Small fires in metal barrel and empty trash cans burned, providing scant illumination for the dark underground. The bulbs above were weak, dim. The power plant had been hit two weeks ago, plunging the city into darkness at night. What little was powered ran on auxiliary or emergency generators. Troops on patrol marched past her.
After half an hour of walking, they entered a service tunnel that branched off into a maintenance room. It was here they found what remained of the EU High Command.
In the month since the Sack, the Britannians had picked off the senior staff one by one, be it via bombings or assassinations. Leila didn't know how they were getting their intel, but the result had been they were literally forced underground, the remains of the High Command scattered across Germany to prevent their loss. The only one still in Berlin, to Leila's knowledge, was the man standing before her right now.
Secretary General Gene Smilas had been a ruggedly handsome man, once. His grayish-green hair, ruffled into a boyish coif, extended by sideburns into a full, bushy beard. His gray eyes were fierce, though they'd always been gentle when the beheld Leila. His barrel chest and brawny arms once strained against the fabric of his pristine uniform.
Now he was thin, sallow looking, and his hair was shot full of gray. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes. His filthy uniform hung loosely on his gaunt hulk. He stooped in front of a map of Europe, on which were pinned numerous flags depicting the current situation. Wearily, he waved a thin arm to a uniformed woman on a step ladder who removed the EU pin from Hungary and firmly replaced it with the Union Jack.
Smilas shrunk just a little bit before Leila's eyes.
Coordinating Europe's last stand was killing him.
Leila came to crisp attention. "Colonel Leila Malcal, reporting as ordered, Sir!"
Smilas nodded. "Good to see you again, Colonel," he said. "Hope you didn't get too soft vacationing with the Hungarians."
"Ready as ever, Sir."
Smilas waved his hand. "At ease. We'll get right to the point."
He pulled out a wand and pointed to a space in France under Imperial occupation. "Yesterday, our contacts in Peace Mark were able to provide us with information on a major Sakuradite depot out of Nancy," he said.
"How times have changed," Leila noted. "A few months ago, we couldn't get the Council on board with allying Zero and Japan. Now, we use a Britannian terror network as reliable intelligence."
Peace Mark was an anti-Britannian terror organization that operated across the Imperial Domain. As a terrorist organization, the United Council had refused to associate with it, sternly refusing to deal with terrorists. With Smilas having taken dictatorial control of what remained of the EU, their opinion no longer mattered.
"Quite," Smilas said with a thin smile. "Peace Mark is going to hit the depot, but they want a team that will be familiar with the area. I've guaranteed them a unit of irregulars who can drop in at a moment's notice."
"That would be us," Leila guessed.
"Yes," Smilas confirmed. "Insert under the cover of dark, and rendezvous with the Peace Mark cell. The details are in that folder on the table." He gestured to a small metal table and the envelope on top. "We need a win here, Leila."
Leila nodded. "I won't let you down."
…
Auditorium, St. Berkley's University, Archduchy of California, Holy Empire of Britannia
"In the time since the Liberation of Paris, we have seen some eighty-five thousand casualties," Euphemia said, her voice magnified by the microphone attached to the lectern in front of her. "Of that number, a third or more are dead, and of those who remain, fully half will never recover from the injuries they sustained." Her words reverberated over the crowd, fully ten thousand in attendance, packed together in the massive auditorium.
"There are some who would call this a worthy sacrifice," Euphemia continued. "A blow struck against the decadent democracies, yet more of our once brethren brought under the safe auspices of our Holy Britannian Empire."
There were a few cheers in the crowd, to which Euphemia bowed her head. "My sister was a warrior. She died a warrior. I know the pride she would feel at these conquests."
There was a ripple of surprise throughout the crowd. Euphemia could not blame them; she hadn't dropped the hammer yet.
"I wonder how pleased she would have been if she'd known that every bit of territory liberated by our martyred warriors," she near shouted into the microphone, "was HANDED BACK OVER TO THE PREVIOUS OWNERS?" she finished in a scream.
Shouts of incredulity sounded from the audience. Whispers and murmurs surrounded her.
"The city of Limoges, where we lost twelve hundred men?" Euphemia said. "In the hands of Mayor Louis Petain, former captain of the Third French Armored Division."
Shouts of outrage reached her.
"Nantes, where we lost eight thousand men taking the city center? Overseen by Occupational Governor Francois Milard."
"WHAT THE HELL DID MY SON DIE FOR!"one of the audience members shouted.
"The combined Rhine Front," Euphemia continued, her eyes blazing, "forty-five thousand men?" She held her breath for a moment, sensing the crowd was on the edge of their seats. "Governed by Field Marshall Gamelin, who masterminded the defense!"
"NO! NO!" she heard a man scream. "MY BROTHER DIED THERE! MY BROTHER!"
"MY BABIES WILL GROW UP WITHOUT A FATHER!" a woman shrieked. "FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT?"
"How much longer can we continue?" Euphemia demanded. "How much longer must we send our fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters to a foreign land, a backwards land, to die in mud and blood? How many more of our loved ones must be sacrificed on the altar of a defense contractor's bottom line? How many more lives must be destroyed so European plutocrats can use Britannian steel, Britannian money, and Britannian lives to prop up their rule?"
There was so much shouting from the audience now that Euphemia could not tell one word from the other.
"And end to this bloodletting!" Euphemia said. "That's what we want! An end to the fighting! Justice for our loved ones! Justice for Princess Cornelia! Justice for our Holy Britannian Empire!"
She left the stage not so much to thunderous applause as to just thunder in general. I may have overdid it, she thought. But those were my honest thoughts.
She entered the backstage area at a quick clip, her entourage falling in around her.
"An excellent speech, Your Highness," said Alicia Lohmeyer, a bespectacled brunette with severe blue eyes and a mole next to her mouth. She was Euphemia's Chief of Staff, and was the primary organizer of her itinerary.
"Yeah, not a bad job Euphie!" said Clara Lanfranc, the head of her volunteer division, a skinny blue-eyed girl with hair the same shade of pink as Euphemia's.
"We are in public, Lanfranc!" Alicia scolded. "You will refer to her by her proper title!"
"Ahhh, but that's boring! Besides there's no one else here but us! Right, Ruby?"
"Indeed, Miss Lanfranc," Reuben Ashford, the gray-haired genius behind this entire project agreed. "But Miss Lohmeyer is correct. You never know when we might run into reporters."
"Like your granddaughter, Sir Reuben?" Euphemia asked lightly.
Reuben chuckled. "My Milly will at least warn me before she ambushes you, Your Highness," he said.
"A reporter with a sense of chivalry," Sir Alfred joked. "Will wonders never cease?"
"Alicia, where to next?" Euphemia asked.
"You have an appointment at the Little Sisters' House For The Poor," Alicia rattled from memory. "Then after that, a visit to the Army Hospital for a photo op with the troops."
"I should also remind you that you have a dinner meeting tonight with Sir Weinberg," Sir Alfred added.
Euphemia nodded. "Thank you, Sir Alfred."
Sir Weinberg was a former Rounds Knight, and the source of the information that she had just dispensed to the angry mob. Dinner that night was going to determine whether or not they'd be able to bring him on full time. A former Rounds would lend untold levels of legitimacy to their cause.
"I cannot begin to stress how important it is that we get Sir Weinberg as a permanent member," Alicia said.
"Don't worry about it, Alice! Euphie's got this, don'tcha?" Clara said, wrapping an arm around Euphemia's waist. That hand strayed a little high, towards Euphemia's breast, but didn't rise so high as to break propriety.
Euphemia felt a tingling sensation. An overwhelming part of her wanted to shove Clara's hand away in disgust, but she felt compelled to let it linger, even to have it come higher.
"Thank you for your confidence in me," she said in a small voice into the sudden silence that descended on the group.
"You're welcome, Princess," Clara said, her voice silky, thick, as if coming from a great distance.
Euphemia's head hurt.
…..
Aboard the Russian President's Plane, Above Siberia, Russian Federation
"Are you sure you're alright?" Lelouch asked as he tried to help Kallen to a seat.
Kallen rolled her eyes at him. "Lelouch, I'm fine." She rubbed her stomach. "Maybe a little hungry, but-"
"I'll get some food brought in here," Lelouch said. He hit a mic on his desk. "Fried rice and a shrimp sushi to my quarters, and a bottle of Dr. Lightning."
"At once, First Consul."
"Lelouch, what-rice and sushi, are you serious?" Kallen demanded, flabbergasted.
I'm an idiot. "You're right, stupid!" He hit the button. "Cancel that sushi, make it a fried salmon." Can't believe I forgot raw food is bad for pregnancy!
"Of course, First Consul. Anything else?"
"I could do with a supreme pizza," C-Two said idly from where she lay sprawled on a chair. "Extra onions, extra olives."
"You heard that, right?"
"Yes, First Consul. They'll be ready in fifteen minutes."
"Lel-Zero," Kallen said, her fists clenched. "What the Hell are you doing?"
"Yes, what are you doing, Zero?" C-Two asked lazily, playing with a Cheese-kun plushy. "Certain passengers can't have carbonated drinks."
GODDAMMIT! "Right, right." Lelouch hit the button a third time. "Cancel the Lightning, bring-"
"No, don't cancel it," C-Two interrupted. "I can drink it, after all."
"Right, apologies. Send a glass of-" Dammit, what's something else she can have?
"Milk, My Lord," C-Two said. "Milk is good."
Lelouch snapped his fingers and pointed to her. "Thanks. Yes, a glass of milk as well."
"Right away, First Consul."
"For the love of- Lelouch, I don't need all that!" Kallen said.
"Of course you do, Kozuki, don't be absurd," C-Two said. "Pregnant women have growing needs."
"Would you stay out of this!" Kallen demanded. "Lelouch, I am fine, a jar of olives would be fine to snack on or whatever."
"That doesn't sound very healthy."
"Shut the Hell up!"
Kallen suddenly clenched her stomach. She covered her mouth.
Dammit!
Lelouch grabbed a waste bin, sat it in front of her, and held her hair back as Kallen vomited into it.
He glared back at C-Two. "This is why I said this was a bad idea!"
C-Two had cornered him with Kallen in the hallway on the way to his meeting with Krustchev. Given the secret nature of Kallen's pregnancy, he couldn't simply refuse their presence at the meeting. Afterward, C-Two had volunteered the two of them onboard.
"Kozuki needs to be seen with you, Lelouch, or people are going to talk," C-Two retorted. "You don't need rumors about your bodyguard and top lieutenant at this crucial time. Our friends need to know the Red Lotus is with them."
"And if she becomes ill during the conference?" Lelouch snarled as Kallen coughed the last chunks into the bin.
"I-I can take some anti-nausea medicine," Kallen said. She wiped the last remnants of vomit from her mouth. "I already was before you found out. I'll be fine."
"But-"
Kallen placed a hand to his chest. "I have to do this, Lelouch," she pleaded. "I have to. I can't sit on the sidelines and do nothing. For as long as I can, please, let me be by your side."
The whole point of getting you pregnant was to keep you safe!
A welter of conflicting emotions ran through Lelouch as he stared down into her rich blue eyes. After a moment, he nodded.
"Thank you," Kallen said gently. "I'm going to go clean up. I'll be right back."
Lelouch nodded. After she had left, Lelouch said, "She should be at home. She's no good like this."
"If she was out of sight, you'd just be worried about her," C-Two retorted. "There's nowhere that's safe, we both know that. The Geass Order may be destroyed, but we didn't get all of its agents. There's no telling who or what might be floating about. This may surprise you, but right here is the safest she'll be."
Lelouch didn't agree with her reasoning, but it made sense.
C-Two sat up. She padded over to him and laid a soft hand on his shoulder. "Besides," she said softly, "don't you want to be there when your child kicks for the first time?"
He looked up at her from behind his black bangs. "I...I don't know," he admitted. "I planned for it, but...part of me can't even believe it."
Lelouch was going to be a father. In his previous life, he had never really considered it as a possibility. He had been obsessed with revenge for most of his life. By the time he learned it had been meaningless, it was too late. All he could think to do was atone for the crimes he had committed. The idea of being a father had never even crossed his mind.
"I've been a screw up in both my lives," Lelouch said. "What if I screw up here, too? What kind of father can I be for a child? What child would be happy to call me father?"
C-Two sighed. "I've lived a thousand years, Lelouch," she said. "And I can tell you, honestly, there is no joy in all the world that matches being a parent." She kissed him on the cheek. "And I think you'll make a terrific father."
"Me too."
They both jumped. Kallen stood in the doorway, smiling. Framed in the light of the doorway, she was beautiful.
C-Two backed away as Kallen approached. The redhead slid her arms around him and pressed herself tightly against him.
"Our baby is going to love you," she whispered. "Just like I do."
…
The Tianzi's Private Chambers, Palace of Tranquil Longevity, Forbidden City, Beijing, Chinese Federation
"Zero departed about ten minutes ago," the Tianzi said. She popped a grape jelly bean in her mouth, the sweet tang joyous on her tongue. "I would have thought you would accompany them."
Lady Kaguya shrugged, her smile bright. "Lady C-Two and Lady Kallen are with him," she said, munching on a candied apple. "I trust no two women more to be by our beloved's side."
The Tianzi paused before popping another jelly bean into her mouth. She looked at her friend, confused. "'Our?""
Lady Kaguya giggled. "But of course," she said. "Grown up men have grown up needs, and a man such as Lord Zero would never be satisfied with just one woman."
The Tianzi blinked rapidly. "I-I see. Then, Zero has laid with both?"
Lady Kaguya tilted her head to the side, pondering. "Lady Kallen, assuredly so," she said. "There is a familiarity and confidence in each other's movements that can only be borne by lovers. As for Lady C-Two, however, I do not think so. There is a chill between them at present." She shrugged. "The ice shall thaw between the two shortly. Perhaps even on the flight over."
Jiang, the Tianzi's real name, blushed. She had a fair idea what Lady Kaguya meant.
The two friends sat across from one another, propriety abandoned as they snacked on sweets and snack items brought by some of their Russian friends from the commissary. Jiang had never known what a 'jelly bean' was. She now wondered how she'd ever lived without them.
"S-So, when would you and Lord Zero be wed?" she asked, chewing on a cashew.
"We haven't discussed it."
Jiang spit the cashew clear across the room. "You haven't discussed it?" she asked incredulously.
Lady Kaguya blinked, clearly surprised. "Jiang, we have been rather busy, you know."
"But isn't that something you should at least talk about?"
Kaguya hummed. "You bear a valid point. I shall bring it up when next we meet."
"That is...probably a good idea," Jiang finished lamely.
…..
Chateau-Voue Grand Est, Occupied France
The insert into France was a silent success. Leila signaled to the other members of the W-0 unit, and they fell in behind her.
There were broken trees all around them, burned black and uprooted by rocket and artillery fire. The dirt road they alighted down was a seldom used backroad, likely not on the Britannian maps of the region. Leila and the rest of her team were kitted all in black, silencers attached to their weapons. From where they landed, they didn't have far to go to reach the rendezvous point, and they set themselves up on the side of the road.
Leila pulled out her flashlight and clicked it on and off three times. A bare moment later, she received an answering flash. "That's the signal," she whispered. "Now they come to us."
A few minutes later, they heard the snapping of branches and the cracking of leaves. A figure just a bit taller than Leila exited the woods on the far side of the road.
"Malcal?" a man's loud whisper reached her.
"Copy," she replied. "Peace Mark?"
"Copy."
He stepped onto the road and she joined him.
"Do you have a car nearby?" Leila asked. "We're quite a ways from Nancy."
"We're not hitting the depot," the man responded.
A thrill of alarm went through Leila. "Excuse me?" She touched a hand to her machine pistol. "Then why are we here?"
"There's a spy in our organization," the man replied. "This little op just flushed him out, and it gives us a chance to talk. While the Brits are busy protecting the depot, we can talk without fear of interruption. All around, not a bad plan."
Leila shifted away from him. "Talk about what?" She flipped the safety off on her gun.
"No need to be tense," the Peace Mark agent said, raising a hand. "We're not here for a fight. We have something for you." He reached into his coat.
Leila tensed up, but all he did was pull out a folder. He handed it to her.
Leila flipped through it. Her eyes went wide.
Supply routes. Depots, for weapons and fuel. Troop placements. And arrows. Lots of arrows, all of them flowing through the Ruhr Industrial Region.
"What is this?" Leila asked.
"Britannia's final gamble," the terrorist said. "The Empire is running low on Sakuradite, and there's a whole bunch of civil turmoil at home. They can't afford this war taking much longer. Within the next week, they'll begin massing forces for a grand assault across the Rhine through Essen. They take the industrial region…"
"We won't have anything left after a month," Leila breathed.
Europe would fall.
"They can't be allowed across the Rhine," Peace Mark said.
"Agreed," Leila said with a nod. "I'll make sure the Secretary General sees this. We exfil tomorrow morning."
"Copy that." Peace Mark held out a hand. "Good luck, Malcal."
"You too…" Leila shook his hand. "Actually, I never got your name."
"Lyre," he said.
"Lyre. Good luck."