I do not own Code Geass.
…...
Nantan, Kyoto Province, United States of Japan, December 2017
Zero watched C-Two with a feverish hunger deep in his violet eye, his hand resting on his mouth. Her body had been cleaned of the blood and dirt that covered it, her hair freed of the dead branches that had been tangled in her hair. Bandages were wrapped around her head where the gunshot wound had been, though Zero suspected the hole would be gone if he pulled the bandage away. His coat rested over her sleeping form, adding what little warmth it could beneath the thin sheets on the bed.
There was a knock on the door. "Colonel?" Kallen called.
"Enter," he said.
Kallen stepped inside. "Is she...?"
"Not yet. But she will." I hope.
"The troops are ready to move. We have to leave."
She had been down for the entire day, possibly a consequence of the state her body was in when the guard shot her. That was a Hell of a conversation he was going to have to have, but it would wait.
"I know," he said, but he did not get up.
"Colonel, we're burning fuel out here-"
"I heard you, Kallen," he said. "We'll go when she wakes up."
"But if we don't get moving, we-"
"Check our ammo reserves," Zero ordered, not looking at her. "Make sure they're ready."
"But-"
"Now, Kallen. That's an order."
After a beat, Kallen said, "Understood, My Lord."
Zero's head snapped up. "Wait, I-"
The door shut before he could say anything.
He ran his hand through his hair, angry with himself. "Damn it," he mumbled. "I have to apologize. She didn't deserve that." He glanced at C-Two one final time, went for his hat, and stopped. He whirled back around.
C-Two's amber eyes glared up at him from the bed, her expression carved in stone.
"C-Two," he whispered.
A wild, exhilarating joy banished his exhaustion and guilt. He stepped over to the side of the bed, grasping her cold hand in his.
"I'm glad you're back," he said, a grin on his face. "You have no idea how long I've been searching for you."
C-Two didn't respond.
"Where did he take you?" Lelouch asked. "Where is he now? What did that bastard do?"
Her eyes were wary, cautious, as if she were analyzing a potential threat.
Something was wrong, what he wasn't sure. "C-Two," Lelouch said, bending down next to her, "please, talk to me."
"Who are you?"
Lelouch blinked. He pulled back, staring at her. He looked at her, really looked at her, and realized that he didn't see even the faintest hint of recognition.
She glared up at him. "Who are you?" she asked again.
He shook his head, a near hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. "You have got to be kidding me," he said disbelievingly. He looked up at the ceiling. "Damn," he whispered. "Just...damn."
It wasn't just the question she asked that floored him.
It was that she asked it in French.
…
Grand Ballroom, Pendragon, Grand Duchy of Arizona, Holy Empire of Britannia
Princess Euphemia li Britannia wore black to her sister Marrybel's farewell ball. It covered every inch of her skin, save where the upper hem promised the top swell of her full breasts and long, white throat, the fabric tapering elegantly over her slender waist and wide hips. It was embroidered with little flowers, and a wide sash tied into a bow a the back ran around her midriff. She wore a thick black shawl around her shoulders, a pair of black gloves, and a black choker with an onyx stone that contrasted against her white throat.
She had been wearing black since Cornelia's funeral a month ago, at which their father was conspicuously absent. There had not been many in attendance; a few subordinates from the war, Lady Enneagram and Lord Weinberg, the Glaston Knights, and her half-siblings Schneizel and Marrybel. The word had been given as soon as Cornelia's death was confirmed: the li Britannia's were now pariahs. It was whispered that only Schneizel's influence had prevented her disinheritance and exile from the family.
Euphemia had done away with the twin buns she had worn, instead allowing her long pink hair to flow over her shoulders in the same way Cornelia's had, framing her lovely oval face and blue eyes. She stood in a secluded section of the room, her hands clasped at her waist just below her full breasts, her expression as still and composed as a ceramic doll. Whatever was said about her and her sister, and much had been said, none should be able to claim that she shamed her family this night.
The Grand Ballroom was huge, able to fit a thousand people with room to spare. Diamond crusted glass chandeliers hung from the high vaulted ceiling, and the floor was marble. Diamonds were set into the floor all across the ballroom, arranged so that, when looked at from above, they depicted the Union Jack that was the banner of the Holy Britannian Empire.
Euphemia had chosen a little corner on the far side of the room, her sworn knight Sir Alfred Darlton by her side. No one had yet approached her, and she wasn't sure whether she was hurt or relieved. The ball had been arranged to celebrate Marrybel's new command: the newly formed anti-terror unit Glinda Knights, whose area of operations was to be the Mediterranean.
"Sister Euphemia!" Euphemia moved only her eyes. Her half-sister, Carine ne Britannia, was walking toward her. She was younger than Euphemia's seventeen years, with orange-red hair pinned into a pair of pigtails by huge golden hoops, and big blue eyes. Her pink and white dress was free from blemish, and she held a glass of cider in her hand. The smile on her face did not reach her eyes, which bore in them a cruel glint. "I was not aware you would be here! It is so good to see you again!"
Euphemia gave her a curtsy that Carine shallowly returned. "It is good to see you as well, dear sister," she said. "It has been quite some time since I saw you last." Nearby heads began to turn in their direction.
"Yes, far too long. Not since before the Black Rebellion, I should think." Carine placed her hand before her mouth, her eyes widening. "Oh, how insensitive of me! Please forgive me. I did not wish to remind you of your sister's passing."
"It is quite alright, dear sister. You cannot cause me more pain than I have suffered," Euphemia replied.
Carine's eyebrow twitched. "You are so very strong, dearest Euphemia," she said. "I am not sure how I could show my face in public. After such a tragedy, of course."
"Of course. It is difficult. You take each day at a time. One foot in front of the other, as it were. Like a babe, I should say. Or, perhaps, a small child." Euphemia looked her sister up and down. "I learned much from the widows and orphans of Zero's rampage when I was Sub-Viceroy."
Carine frowned deeply. "Still, though Cornelia's death is lamentable, we should be ever so thankful, yes?"
"Oh?"
"'The weak shall be culled for the sake of the strong.' Our Holy Britannian Empire's greatest virtue. So, though we must mourn our fallen sister, we can take comfort in the fact that our shared gene pool shall not be tainted by her failure."
There were gasps around them. Euphemia bit down on the inside of her cheek. The taste of copper filled her mouth. Carine smirked cruelly at her.
"Princess Carine!" Sir Alfred choked. "Such words are-"
"-Such words are what, Sir Alfred?" Carine asked, her eyes gleaming wickedly. "I wonder what words are to a failed knight from a failed family. Was it not your clan that swore fealty to the li Britannia's?"
"I.. that is, we… we..."
"All the martial prowess of the Darlton clan, and you couldn't even beat one terrorist!" Carine smirked, her eyes shimmering.
"My, such weighty words coming from so slight a girl."
Carine showed her teeth as their sister, Marrybel mel Britannia, approached. Marrybel was a year older than Euphemia, with dark pink hair pulled into a ponytail, large round breasts that swelled pleasingly above her black and red dress and pink slip, and a smile that cut sharper than any words Carine might say.
Her blue eyes were filled with danger.
"Yet, my dear sister," Marrybel continued, "I have yet to see you on the battlefield, though you do boast of your love for combat."
Carine bristled. "You know fully well that I am too young to pilot a Knightmare, Marrybel," she said sourly.
"Lady Anya Alstreim is younger than you, and she is the Knight of Six," Marrybel countered. "I do not hear her complain of her age when she is called to service."
Carine clenched her fists. "Do you accuse me of cowardice, sister?"
"I accuse you of nothing, Carine. I simply made an observation. Make of it what you will." Marrybel's eyes narrowed. "I came to tell you Guinevere desires your presence. Perhaps you should join her posthaste."
Carine made to speak again, but Marrybel glared at her, and Carine would not wish to invite her retribution. Scowling, blushing red with anger, she stormed off.
Marrybel took Euphemia's hand. "Come, Euphie," she implored her, her eyes gentle. "Let us speak."
Marrybel led Euphemia outside, where the moon shone down upon them, its white light casting an almost ethereal glow on the palace garden. Bushes of a variety of flowers, red, green, silver, blue, ringed a green bush maze, at the center of which was a gazebo done in the Roman style.
Marrybel led her through the maze with a practiced stride, each row, dead end, and turn memorized through years of exploring and play. Euphemia was grateful for her guiding hand. Her eyes were filled with tears, spilling over her cheeks, and she could hardly see. By the time they made it to the gazebo, she was openly weeping.
"Here," Marrybel said, handing Euphemia a handkerchief. "It is quite alright now."
Euphemia took the handkerchief from her and wiped her eyes. "I-I'm sorry," she said with a choked voice. "Th-Th-This is your b-b-b-ball. I shou-shouldn't be ruining it."
"You haven't ruined anything," Marrybel assured her, rubbing her back comfortingly. "I invited you, after all. I'm sorry I wasn't able to get to you sooner. I only just finished with the well wishers."
Euphemia sniffed. "It's a-alright. I ex-expected s-something like this ha-happening."
Marrybel frowned. "You shouldn't have to expect it. This family..." she trailed off, shaking her head disgustedly. She looked up to Sir Alfred. "Please forgive my half-sister, Sir Alfred."
"It is..." Alfred took a moment to compose himself. "It is quite alright, Your Highness."
Marrybel went to say something else, but was interrupted.
"My Lady!" a voice called out. They all turned.
A slender young woman stood uncertainly on the edge of the gazebo. Her honey blonde hair was pulled into a pair of ponytails falling down to her shoulders, and her green eyes were punctuated with a beauty mark on her right cheek. She wore a red beret with what appeared to be an anchor stitched on it, a compact white blouse beneath a red and black corset that emphasized the modest size of her bust, and red arm sleeves topped at the shoulder with gold banded epaulets, a golden filigree chain that wrapped around her right shoulder, with patches on the left sleeve bearing the same insignia as her cap in colors of a gold rimmed shield, a white field, and a red anchor.
"Your Highnesses," the young woman said, bowing.
"Dame Zevon?" Marrybel said. "What is it?"
The woman, Dame Oldrin Zevon, Marrybel's best friend and personal knight, did not raise her head. "There are still well wishers asking after you," she said. "Duke Calares among them."
Marrybel scowled. "Can they not see I am trying to help my sister?" she asked.
Oldrin didn't answer, but she did look guilty for having to deliver the message.
Marrybel sighed. "Tell them I'll be with them shortly," she said, defeated.
"At once, My Lady." Oldrin spun around on her heels and left.
Marrybel turned to Euphemia. "Do you want me to lead you back?" she asked.
Euphemia shook her head. "No, that's fine," she said. She looked around the gazebo. "I think I shall stay here for a while. I...I always liked this place." She ran her hand over one of the marble pillars. "I used to get lost in here every time I came to one of these balls. It was so exciting, so mysterious." She smiled sadly. "Nunnally came with me once. We went down a wrong turn, and when it became clear we were lost, she started to cry. 'No, don't cry, Nunnally,' I told her. 'Don't cry. Lelouch will find us."
"Did he?" Marrybel asked.
Euphemia nodded. "He did." She giggled. "With Cornelia's help. He was red in the face from all the running. He never liked to exercise. She had to carry him here, over her shoulder like a stack of potatoes." She laughed out loud. "He kept yelling about how undignified it was. Cornelia looked so exasperated."
Marrybel smiled. "That's how we should remember them. All of them. All of the ones we've lost."
A lost look came into Marrybel's eyes, and Euphemia knew she was thinking of her own family. Her mother, murdered in a terrorist attack.
How many people are we going to lose before all is said and done? And not just our family, but the families of those fighting for the Empire? And the innocents targeted by those who would oppose it?
Marrybel came out of her own haze, giving Euphemia a concerned look. "Will you be alright once I'm gone?" she asked.
Euphemia nodded. She took a deep breath. "I'll be fine," she reassured her. "I'll just stay out here until the party's over. Besides," she gave Sir Alfred a smile and squeezed his hand, "I have Sir Alfred to keep me company.
Marrybel nodded with obvious relief. "Then I will see you again when I can," she said apologetically.
"Thank you."
Marrybel nodded. Just as she was beginning to leave, Euphemia asked, "Mary?" Marrybel turned around expectantly. "You'll be stationed in Spain, yes?"
Marrybel nodded. "Roughly around that area, yes, though I will be all over the place."
Euphemia breathed nervously. "While you're there, could you look into the White Knightmare?"
Marrybel raised a confused eyebrow. "The White Knightmare?" she repeated.
"Yes. There have been stories coming out of Spain about a White Knightmare fighting the EU. I..." Euphemia took another breath. "I want you to find out who the pilot is."
Understanding swept over Marrybel's expression. "It's about him, isn't it?" she asked.
Euphemia nodded silently.
"I'll see what I can do," Marrybel promised. "If I should find him, what do I tell him?"
I...I don't…
Her hands fell down to the sash at her hip. Hidden inside the sash was a broken pocket watch. His pocket watch. She could still see his face, so alight with happiness at having found her, crumble as she rejected him, as she hurled invective at him. He would have been executed for war crimes, and were he anyone else, she might have agreed with it.
Oh, Suzaku, I...
I did it to keep you safe. I did it to keep you from being executed. I.. I still...
"Nothing," Euphemia said, her fist clasped over her breast. "Nothing, just, just make sure if it's him."
"I will," Marrybel said. She gave Euphemia a deep curtsy and returned indoors.
Euphemia twisted her hands. I hope it isn't you out there, Suzaku. Schneizel had promised her he wouldn't be put back on the frontlines. It had been one of the conditions she absolutely refused to budge on for breaking his heart and sending him away.
If her brother had lied to her, if he had broken his promise…
Yes, Euphemia thought, her eyes glinting with determination. I will make him pay.
…
Nantan, Kyoto Province, United States of Japan
Kallen was angry. It took half an hour to do another check on their ammo stores, a half hour they did not have. The only saving grace was that she hadn't had to count each crate individually; instead, she had simply taken the reports that had been previously given.
This is bullshit!
That girl was the reason they were still there, burning precious Sakuradite, wasting precious time needed to take out the rebels in the west. Every second here was another second that her brothers and sisters in the north were dying in icy trenches. Every minute delayed was another son or daughter of Japan dead.
I don't care if you are screwing her, this cannot stand!
She had already decided what she was going to do: march in there, shout in Lelouch's face, and beat the Hell out of him if he still refused to go. He could remove her from her position if he wanted, but her friends and comrades would not die for some green-haired bitch.
Her eyes began to grow wide, however, as she approached the house. The two guards posted on either side of the door looked incredibly uncomfortable, and it wasn't hard to imagine why.
Though Kallen couldn't understand what was being said, she could hear the near shouting match going on inside.
"I take it she woke up?" she asked.
One of the guards nodded sheepishly.
Some lover's quarrel? Kallen wondered bitterly. The guards on either side of the bedroom door offered her awkward salutes. She returned them and walked inside.
"Major Kozuki, reporting as-"
"You may take your Britannian hide and march it to Hell! You will not bed me, you presumptuous cad!"
"I'm not trying to bed you, you madwoman! These are my quarters! Will you just listen to me?"
"There is not one grain of French soil that is yours, Imperial!"
"For the love of- we're not in France!"
"Prussia is not yours either!"
"We're not in Europe, dammit!"
"Speak your lies elsewhere, Britannian!"
Kallen was flummoxed. "Uh, am I missing something here?" she asked.
"Oh, another Britannian," C-Two said disgustedly. She flashed Kallen a loathsome look, prepared to say something else to Lelouch, but her head snapped back to Kallen. "Oh, not just a Britannian! A yellow half breed!"
Kallen snarled. "What the Hell did you just call me?"
"From what part of the Orient did your father buy your whore mother?" C-Two taunted. "Or maybe some proud Britannian lady was despoiled by a Mongoloid barbarian, hmm?"
Kallen took a step toward her, her teeth bared, clenched fist raised threateningly before her. "Say that again, you piss eyed bitch!"
C-Two laughed derisively. "You don't frighten me, slant eyes. I've been to your temples, and trained with the best warriors of the Orient. You people are no threat to me."
Lelouch raised his hands. "Can we all just-"
"Back off!" they both interrupted him.
Lelouch shook his head with a sigh. "Kallen, please," he said, "don't take it personally. She's-"
"You're taking her side?" Kallen snapped incredulously.
"You don't understand-"
"I get she has your dick in a vice, but that doesn't mean-"
"She has amnesia!" Lelouch interjected angrily.
Kallen stopped, her mouth hanging open. "What?"
"She has amnesia," Lelouch repeated. "She thinks-"
"There is nothing wrong with my memory, Britannian," C-Two cut him off furiously. "I remember the whiff of grapeshot, the march through the Alps, the Siege of Manila. I have suffered and triumphed alongside my Republican brothers, and if you think-"
"See what I mean?" Lelouch asked with a hand wave. "Her mind is stuck in the 19th Century."
Kallen's mouth opened and shut silently several times. She shook her head and collected her thoughts. "How did it happen?" she asked.
Lelouch shrugged helplessly. "I don't know," he replied. "The last time this happened-"
"Last time?" Kallen broke. "This has happened before?"
He cursed under his breath, as if he hadn't intended to say that. "Once, yes," he admitted. "A long time ago."
"My memory is fine you Imperial dogs!" C-Two barked.
Kallen ignored her. "How did it happen last time?"
"It's...really complicated," Lelouch replied reluctantly. "Suffice to say, it involved geass."
"How-" Kallen placed her hand against he her forehead. "This has to be the weirdest conversation I've ever had." She finished, "How did you fix it last time?"
"I didn't. Again, geass."
"This magic crap is a catch-all, isn't it?" Kallen asked. "So, what is it we have to do get her memories back?"
"Perhaps you could let me go?" C-Two asked dryly. "I will not be sharing any information, so you'll just have to-"
"What's today's date?" Lelouch asked. Kallen cocked a questioning eyebrow at him.
C-Two blinked. "Ten Frimaire," she answered without thinking.
Kallen watched him do a quick mental calculation. "Bonaparte has abandoned the Pratzen Heights to bait the Russians into attacking his weak right flank," Lelouch said. "His intention is to assault the Heights with sixteen thousand men under the command of Marshal Jean-de-Dieu Soult and strike through the center of the Allied forces, then encircle the Russian army and destroy it. He is counting on Marshal Louis-Nicolas Davout to force march his Third Corps from Vienna and link up with General Legrande on the right flank." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that about the size of it?"
Kallen exploded in laughter as C-Two's mouth gaped open, her eyes bulging with fear and shock. She watched in real time as fear became anger, anger became hate, a different hate, a poisonous, vengeful hate that burns in the belly like a blacksmith's furnace.
"Get out," she hissed.
Lelouch, seeming to have realized his mistake, held his hand up. "Now, wait a minute, I didn't mean to-"
"Get. Out."
There was an ugly look in her eyes, one that caused Kallen to step in front of him. "Lelouch, put your mask on," she ordered him.
Lelouch didn't ask why. He dragged the scarf up and over his face. She ushered him out of the room, and shut the door behind them.
"Keep her under heavy guard," Lelouch told the soldiers outside.
"Yes, sir!" they replied.
He turned to Kallen. "We'll go to your room," he said. "I need a few minutes."
Kallen nodded, allowing him into her room first, then shutting the door after she did the same.
Lelouch took a seat, a child's seat he was far too big for. To her surprise, he took his mask back off, leaned forward, and buried his face in his hand. "Goddammit," he cursed. "It's worse than last time."
"What are we going to have to do to bring her back?" Kallen asked.
Lelouch shook his head. "I don't know," he replied. "I have no earthly idea. There's no means I'm aware of to do so."
"But you said this has happened before, right?" Kallen pointed out. "How was she fixed last time?"
"By means we don't have access to," he answered bitterly. "The method that was used previously is too dangerous to use."
"How dangerous?"
"The fate of Japan's future dangerous." He must have seen the skeptical look on her face because he said, "It would involve contacting the Emperor. For obvious reasons, we can't do that."
Kallen bit her lip. "She has quite the storied past, doesn't she?"
"She does," Lelouch agreed. He clenched his fist, bringing it to his forehead. "God damn this horseshit!"
Kallen reached out a hand. "Lelouch, you-"
There was a knock on the door.
"What now?" Lelouch snarled. "In God's holy name, what now?"
He jerked past her, ripped the door open. "What?" he demanded.
The soldier on the other side of the door paled. "Col-Colonel, sir," he stammered. "Enemy deserters crossed our picket lines a few minutes ago."
Lelouch was out the door before the man finished, his scarf tugged into place, cap pulled down on his head with a furious tug. "Show me!" he barked. Kallen scrambled to follow.
The soldier, a corporal, jogged out in front of them once they were out of the house. They stormed past the still rumbling Knightmares, approaching the outer edge of the town at a fast clip.
Faster than Kallen expected, frankly. Since when are you this athletic?
The deserters were at the edge of town. There were three of them, their hands on their heads. Their clothes were ragged, their expression weary, defeated.
"Colonel!" one of the pickets called out. Kallen recognized him as the man that shot C-Two. He gestured to the man in the middle. "He says he can give us details on-"
Lelouch shot the deserter in the face. Even as the man toppled, he shot the man on the right between the eyes.
The survivor started, slackjawed. "Wha-What the- WAIT!"
His brains sprayed out across the snow.
Kallen gaped at the display of murderous fury.
Lelouch turned to the picket. "Get this mess cleaned up," he ordered. "Were there anymore?"
"N-N-No sir!"
Lelouch glanced back over at the corpses. He shook his head, clenching and unclenching his free hand. "Continue to take prisoners. This was..." He pondered for a moment. "An error in judgment." He motioned his head to Kallen. "We're going."
He started walking, and she fell into step behind him. She stared at his back with wide eyes. "Le-Colonel," she corrected herself, "that, that was..."
"Stupid, I know," he replied. "I'm already regretting it. I hope to Christ that none of their buddies saw that."
"No," she denied. "No that, it was-"
Evil. That was the word she couldn't bring herself to use.
These were her people, and he'd just murdered them.
"They posed no threat!" she exclaimed.
"I know," he replied. "Goddammit, I know."
He shook his head. "We have to move," he said, his tone mechanical. It chilled her more than the icy winds. "We should have moved hours ago, fool that I am. Are the men still ready?"
She swallowed heavily. Now isn't the time. "Ready and waiting," she said.
He nodded. "Good. Very good. We pull out in ten minutes."
"What about C-Two?"
He paused. He took a look past the door, to the room where the amnesiac waited.
"We can't leave her here," he said. "She could escape, and in her present state we'd never find her. She'll have to come with us."
He pulled the door open and stepped outside, Kallen following closely behind. He pointed to one of the guards. "Get eight other men and put her in restraints," he ordered. "Hurt her if you have to. She's not an ally right now."
"Yes, sir!"
"Let's get moving, Q-1," he said, already striding past her out the door. "I've wasted enough time already."
She stopped him, placing her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her questioningly.
"We will talk about what happened later," she stated decisively.
He hesitated, nodded. "Agreed. What happened shouldn't have." He gave her a hard stare. "Later."
She gave him a gentle squeeze. "Later."
…..
South of The Pyrenees, Spanish-French Border
"L-1 to Base. Count three incoming bogies. Acknowledge."
"Base to L-1, acknowledged. You have the green light to engage, over."
"Roger, moving to intercept."
Lieutenant Suzaku Kururugi rolled his Knightmare in midair, vectoring toward the enemy signatures indicated on his digital map. They were flying across the western mountains, from some airfield behind the mountain range. Suzaku decreased his throttle, speeding rapidly across the blue skies, making fine adjustments to his flight course. His computer buzzed shrilly as the enemy fighters achieved missile lock. A trio of rockets soared toward him.
Suzaku dodged them with contemptuous ease. He leveled his VARIS rifle, waiting until he had a perfect lock-on. When the target reticle on his screen buzzed, he opened fire.
Green energy fire erupted from the muzzle of his gun, spitting the first target through the cockpit. Even as it mushroomed into a fireball, Suzaku had already targeted and fired upon the second of the enemy jets, which split apart in green-red fire.
The remaining fighter banked hard, machine guns blazing, but Suzaku leisurely weaved past him, spun around, and fired. The energy beam split the fighter in half. Suzaku was gratified to see a white parachute open up.
It was all over in less than a minute.
"L-1 to base, all targets eliminated. One enemy parachuting."
"Copy, L-1. Eliminate the survivor."
Suzaku swallowed heavily. "Base, he's no longer a threat," he said carefully.
"Operational secrecy must be maintained, L-1. Eliminate the target. This should be simple for you."
Suzaku clenched the steering yoke. "Base, I-" he cut himself off.
GODDAMN YOU ZERO! OPEN FIRE!
Suzaku fired a burst of antipersonnel rounds into a group of children and elderly. Their bodies burst like watermelons.
I only hope that when that day comes, you will not regret your choice.
He took a deep breath. "Understood, Base. It will be done."
It didn't take much effort. He simply swiveled around as he soared away, not even bothering to calculate the trajectory with his computer, and fired. The pilot disentigrated under the green fire.
"Base, target eliminated. No survivors."
"Copy, L-1. Return to base."
"Roger, returning to base."
Suzaku turned off his communications suite, placed his white earpiece on the arm of his flight chair, and slammed his fist into one of the circuit boxes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to dead pilot, to the dead civilians, to everyone whose blood stained his hands. "I'm so sorry." He pushed his sorrow to the back of his mind, his teeth grinding.
The trip back to the Camelot staging area took longer than the battle itself. Suzaku was in no hurry; through the cameras mounted on the factsphere, he observed the scenery below.
Suzaku had never been to Spain, never been outside Area Eleven his whole life. He had seen pictures when he was a child, before Japan's subjugation. In the those pictures, the lands south of the Pyrenees Mountains were green and hilly, populated by small villages and a few farms, windmills tilting lazily in the sun.
"They use them to generate electricity," Lelouch, then ten, had told him. It was a rainy day, the thunder booming like cannon shots, the rain pelting the roof of their home like machine gun bullets. "Since they don't have a lot of Sakuradite, they have to use windmills to meet their power demands."
"Why not just use coal?" Suzaku had asked.
Lelouch shrugged. "Bunch of environmental regulations, I think," he said. "They get fined if they use them."
"Well, do the windmills work?"
Lelouch snickered. "If you want bird stew, yeah," he said. "They only put out a quarter as much power as coal, and a tenth as much as Sakuradite, but they kill birds by the thousands. The stupid things just fly right into them."
"Lelouch," Nunnally squeaked, "the birds will be okay, won't they?"
"Yeah Nanna, they'll be just fine," Lelouch reassured her. "Suzaku and I will go tilting at those windmills when we get big enough."
"You mean like Don Quixote?" Nunnally asked, giggling.
"Yes, just like Don Quixote," Lelouch promised.
"Whose Don Quixote?" Suzaku asked, feeling left out.
Lelouch stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "You don't know what Don Quixote is?" he said incredulously.
"No, I don't. Is he some Britannian knight?"
Lelouch shook his head in mock sadness. "Suzu, I know you're a meathead, but we really need to expand your horizons."
Suzaku smiled sadly at the memory. "I have expanded them, Lelouch," he said, his voice catching. He looked down at the landscape below, his mood darkening. "But they're not very impressive."
There was a certain measure of excitement for the young man about traveling to a foreign land, but the reality had fallen short of his expectations. The green, hilly lands south and west of the Pyrenees Mountains had been transformed into a gray, blackened wasteland. A network of trenches ran east to west and north to south, all the way to the sea. Constant artillery and aerial bombardment had flattened much of the landscape, and fire had burned away the native vegetation. The ruins of villages and windmills were strewn across the countryside. It reminded Suzaku of his lessons about the German Rebellions from when he was a child, when millions of men no older than he were hurled into the meat grinder of trench warfare for six long years.
Suzaku hoped they would not be repeating the experience.
He touched down at the Camelot staging area with a practiced hand, shutting down the Lancelot and pulling up his black mask even as he climbed out. The mask, used to cover the scars of a gunshot wound he had received months ago, had a hole seamlessly cut out for his mouth. He took a water bottle from an approaching technician and gratefully drank from it as he made his way to the command center, a large trailer just a short walk away. He ran a hand through his brown hair, the locks having falling into his kind green eyes.
Inside the trailer was a computer bank, at which eight scientists sat, formulating models, drawing graphs, working out calculations on sheets of paper, and all manner of other things that Suzaku didn't have the brains to understand.
You would have been right at home here, he thought painfully. You and Nina.
It was his best friend's birthday, the birthday he hadn't made it to. Eighteen. You would have been eighteen. He tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. Happy birthday, Lelouch. I hope you and Nunnally are with your mother again.
He clenched his fist, grinding his teeth against the lump in his throat.
"Suzaku!" he heard Major Cecile Croomy call out. His commanding officer, and friend, approached him, her hips swaying with each step, a steaming mug in her hand. She wore a thick brown coat that hid her slender, voluptuous figure. "I'm glad to see you're safe," the dark blue haired woman said, her blue-gray eyes warm and inviting. "I thought you might like this." She offered the steaming mug to him. "Be careful, though, it's really hot-"
Suzaku took the coffee from her and practically inhaled it. She wasn't kidding; the coffee burned like fire in his mouth, scalding it painfully. The lump in his throat disappeared, and all he could think of was the searing hot pain in his mouth. He coughed.
"Suzaku!" Cecile decried.
"S-Sorry," he said, putting on a weak grin. "I didn't think it would be that hot."
"It's just come off the burner," she reproved him. "Stick your tongue out."
"Cecile, really?" he protested.
"Now, Suzaku."
He stuck it out reluctantly. She stepped closer to check, placing one hand on his chest to balance herself, the other holding his chin to steady her look.
"You seem fine," she murmured a moment later, "though its certainly red."
Suzaku retracted his tongue. "It's my tongue, Cecile, it's always red," he retorted playfully.
"Yes, well," she said, making no move to pull away from him, "be careful next time."
Suzaku nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Cecile fingered the black fabric of his mask. "You don't have to wear this," she told him. "There's nothing wrong with it."
"My face has an impact crater, Cecile. There's plenty wrong with it."
Before Cecile could object, the voice of Earl Lloyd Asplund washed over them, "Cecile, please do finish playing doctor and get over here. Bring Suzaku, too."
"Right!" Cecile replied. She jerked her head. Suzaku followed her.
Lloyd sat in a small, cramped office, stuffed with stacks of papers bearing graphs, figures, models, blueprints, design concepts, and all manner of other official looking papers. On Lloyd's desk sat toy models from robot cartoons that Suzaku watched when he was a child.
"It looks like we fixed the power consumption issue," Earl Asplund said, his white hair falling over his bespectacled blued eyes. His thin, wiry body was hunched over the small desk that took up half the room. "You'll be able to stay in the air for about ten hours if you're just flying, approximately seven-and-a-half if you put the Lancelot through its paces." The scientist grinned. "A marked improvement."
He raised his head to them. "Cecile, start working on the necessary formulas to increase the Lancelot's speed," he ordered. "I want the figures on my desk in seventy-two hours. We'll begin implementation afterward."
"Will the Prime Minister okay the required increase in our budget?" Cecile asked.
Lloyd leaned back in his chair. "As long as Suzaku continues to perform our 'field experiments,' I don't see how he can refuse," he answered.
"And what about the models for mass production?"
"Already submitted, pending approval," Lloyd said, bored. "If they want a lesser machine so that the mundane may use it, have at it."
"Suzaku," Cecile said, turning to him, "you had better go get some rest. You earned it. Lloyd and I will take care of the rest here."
Resting was the last thing Suzaku wanted to do, but he knew he'd just be in the way here. He nodded and turned to leave. As he maneuvered his way out of the small room, he felt Cecile's soft hand brush over his. He caught one glimpse of her flushed cheeks as he left.
…
Press Briefing Room, Presidential Palace, Tokyo, United States of Japan
"This is dumb," Naomi Inoue said.
"You already said that," Ohgi retorted.
"Fine. This is really dumb."
"You're being difficult."
"I'm being sensible."
"You just don't like wearing it."
"Of course I don't like wearing it!" Inoue said. Her indigo hair had been pulled into a tight bun, the better so that it would fit under the mask. Her brown eyes were twitching as she held the mask up. "Why would anyone want to wear something so ridiculous!"
Kaname Ohgi, Second Consul of the United States of Japan, shook his head wearily, pressing his fingers to his forehead. His poofy brown hair was mussed, and his gray eyes were being kept open with as many energy drinks as they could find. "It's just for fifteen minutes," he reminded her. "Just one little speech to keep the people calm."
A bread riot had just been put down in Toho. There fortunately had been no deaths, but over twenty people had been injured, and traffic and business had ground to a halt.
Given how little industry they had, this was something they really did not need in this crisis.
"If it's just one little speech, then you wear it," Inoue said. "Damn it Ohgi, I'm the Head of Intelligence, not an actor!"
"You're the only one whose physique matches that of Zero's."
"What? Are you saying I look like a skinny boy?" she demanded irately.
Ohgi choked. He waved his hands in front of him. "No, no, that's not what I mean!" he said. "You're the smallest of all of us, that's all!"
"I am not flat, dammit! It's just this binding on my chest!"
"I didn't say you were!"
Ohgi looked to the other members of the Ministry for help, but they were too busy cracking into laughter. Those that were in attendance here, anyway.
They were:
Toru Yoshida, a man with dark brown hair and turquoise eyes, with a slim muscular build. He had been given the position of Minister of the Interior.
Kento Sugiyama, a man with teal hair and brown eyes. He was lanky, though there was more power in his wiry body than one would expect. He was the Minister of Public Safety, and had direct charge over Tokyo's police force. Every law enforcement officer in the country, at least in theory, answered to him.
Aside from Inoue, who was the Director of the Department of Intelligence, a sub branch of the Ministry of War, headed by none other than Zero himself, was Yoshitaka Minami. Minami's purple hair matched his purple eyes. He had a stockier build than the others, and he used his pinky to readjust his glasses. He was Minister of Foreign Affairs.
The final member of their coterie was Shinichiro Tamaki, who, unbelievably, was the Minister of Public Health. His duties were being overseen by his Deputy Minister, a young woman named Ayame Futaba, who stood nervously with them as if convinced she shouldn't be up there.
Ohgi was half convinced Zero had only given him the position to give him an official title. Why else would he haul Tamaki with him and Kallen out west?
All of them were wearing red bands around their heads, the last vestige of their time in Naoto Kozuki's resistance group, Kallen's older brother and their former leader. He had been killed some time ago, and his passing had, in some sense, paved the way for Zero's transformation of the group into the Black Knights.
Inoue huffed, grumbling as she put on the mask. Once it snapped into place, she said, "There, how's that?" The voice changer inside the mask transformed her soft, womanly voice into the hard, robotic tone of Zero.
Ohgi gave her a thumbs up. "Sounds good," he said. "You're a natural."
Inoue shook her head. "Ugh! Let's just go."
It was a surreal experience to see Zero's hips swaying like that of a woman's. For all of Lelouch's scrawniness, the young man carried himself with a level of poise and command that Inoue simply lacked. Fortunately, she would be speaking behind a podium in the Presidential Palace's press briefing room, a rectangular box about the size of a school classroom. The podium was on a raised stage, and on the wall behind it was the banner of the United States of Japan: a white field with the red Rising Sun in the center, the crane of the Black Knights stitched into it.
There were no reporters in the room, a precaution taken to ensure Inoue wouldn't have to go off script. The last thing they needed was some intrepid reporter asking questions to which they could not answer. Captain Diethard Reid, a Britannian journalist who had been assigned to their Propaganda wing, had offered to filter out the boot lickers from the ankle biters, but Ohgi had refused. He wasn't taking any chances.
Inoue stepped up to the podium, where a light flashed down on her from above. Reid stood off to the side, directing a pair of camera men to either side of the podium. They were positioned at opposing angles, squatting down so as to elevate Inoue, or rather Zero, even further off the ground. A broadcast antennae, one of the first things repaired, would carry the signal to as many TV's as possible in Tokyo, while a second microphone would broadcast over the radio antennae.
Ohgi stood in back and slightly to the side, alongside his fellow Black Knights, the Inner Circle and Zero's Cabinet of Ministers.
"My fellow Japanese..." Inoue began, but Ohgi didn't hear much of the rest, his eyes settling on Inoue's back.
He was tired, more tired than he had ever been before. There was so much work to be done, so many policy proposals that had to be made, so many agencies that had to be put into place. Regulations had to be drawn up, laws had to be drafted. Much of what they were doing was drawn from the Japanese Code of Law from before the war, but added on top of that were anti-discrimination laws that had to be put in place.
Some eleven thousand Britannians had remained in Japan after the Britannian pullout. The Britannians had always been a minority by virtue of the fact it wasn't their country, but now they were a legal minority as well, in a country who's citizens had seven years of pent-up hatred just waiting to explode.
Discrimination, predjudice, even lynchings had all become too common in these days of hardship. The bread riot they were doing this press conference for had started at a Britannian owned bakery; the proprietor had refused to sell his bread at a discount. An hour later, the angry customer returned with a mob. The owner was lucky a police unit had been nearby; he lost his shop in the blaze instead of his life.
Not for the first time, Ohgi was glad Villetta wasn't there.
Villetta Nu, his fiance. A beautiful dark skinned Britannian Major and Knightmare pilot, whose trim waist fit perfectly with her hourglass figure, complimented by a pair ample breasts and round bottom. Her silver hair was like silk in his hands, and her golden eyes held more wealth than all the mines of Mount Fuji.
She was on an island somewhere to the south, Zero had told him that, coordinating supply drops with the Britannian renegades still in the country. Well, attempting to; the Gawain, a flight capable Knightmare frame with the energy endurance of a cheap battery, had proven an effective anti-air gun with its dual Hadron Cannons, particle weapons that fired what were effectively laser beams with great destructive power. They couldn't use it much; the machine consumed far too much Sakuradite and they had no means of quickly replenishing. It was straining their resources as it was to fuel Zero's western assault.
Does she know I'm here? Ohgi wondered. If she did, what would she think?
She wouldn't be happy, that was certain. Villetta had had no idea he was a Black Knight, much less Zero's official second in command.
"Hey, Ohgi! Earth to Ohgi!" Sugiyama said, snapping Ohgi out of his thoughts. He looked around. Diethard and his men had already cleared out, as had Ayame. "Stop ogling Inoue, and come on! Show's over."
Ohgi spluttered, "I-I wasn't-"
"Come on Sugiyama, lay off him," Minami said, though there was a small smile on his face. "Inoue's the only game in town, now that the Brits have cleared out."
"The only game I'm playing is how fast I can get out of this get up," Inoue groused, unbuttoning her coat.
Sugiyama slung an arm over Ohgi's shoulder. "Come on, Inoue, give the man a hand," he pleaded playfully. "See this face?" He pointed at Ohgi's stupefied profile. "This is the face of a man that needs to get laid."
"G-Guys!"
"Lay off him, you two," Yoshida said. "Christ, it's like Tamaki never left."
"Hey!" both Sugiyama and Minami shouted.
Yoshida grabbed them both by the arms. "Come on, let's go get drinks," he said. "We'll put it on Tamaki's tab!"
The promise of free beer at their absent comrade's expense provided more than enough motivation for them to beat a hasty retreat.
Ohgi scratched the back of his head, face flushed with embarrassment.
Inoue, now freed of the coat and mask, patted his shoulder sympathetically. "You okay, Ohgi?" she asked him. "They're just trying to help."
He nodded, cooling down. "I know," he said with a reluctant tilt of his lips.
"If it's any consolation, I hope you two reunite," Inoue said, giving his arm a squeeze. "Though I can't help but think she'll put a bullet in you when you do."
"Yeah," Ohgi agreed. "But it'd be worth it."
…..
…...
Britannian Testing Facility 15, County of Roswell, Archduchy of New Mexico, Holy Britannian Empire
"I have waited long enough, Schneizel," the Emperor said. "I want to see these new wonders you promised me."
Emperor Charles zi Britannia, 98th Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire, was in his early sixties, though one would not have guessed that from looking at him. He was a tall man, towering over just about everyone he met, with long hair curled in the colonial style on the ends, a forked beard that ran across his jaw and into his sideburns, and cold dark purple eyes. He was barrel chested, his entire body trained to its peak. More than one assassin, after having made it past his guards, had met their end at his own hands.
This man ruled over a third of the world. He commanded the greatest army that had ever existed and would ever exist. Entire noble lines rose, fell, and died based on his whims. Nations held their breath whenever he spoke.
He waited for no man.
His son, Prince Schneizel el Britannia, Prime Minister and second in line for the throne, should know all of that. He was in his late twenties, with a mop of stylishly unruly blonde hair and light purple eyes. He wore a white great coat with black borders that rose into a high black collar highlighted with gold, and golden epaulets on his shoulders. Underneath this was a purple dress coat that fell to his knees and a pair of white pants. On his hands he wore white dress gloves.
It was little wonder they called him the "White Prince."
Dame Nonette Enneagram, the Ninth Seated of the Knights of the Rounds, the greatest knights in all the land, knew this as well. She wore the white uniform of her order well, her white coat ending in dagger-like cuts in front and back, a pair of gold chains crossing over her flat belly to hold it in place, her pants stretched tight over her plump buttocks, her purple cape with gold filigree wrapping around her like a shroud as she knelt. Her light green hair was cut into a bob, save for a pair of long locks that framed her face, the left of which was braided and held together with a gold band. Her body was shaped like an hourglass, her ample breasts swelling behind her black tunic, stitched with the same gold designs as on her cape. Her eyebrows were canted, giving visible expression of the determination and willpower that thrummed in her body. Her blue eyes were closed.
"Your Majesty," Prince Schneizel said, "I would not have invited you here were it not important. I assure you, the wonders you are about to witness will not disappoint."
"That remains to be seen," the Emperor replied. "Rise."
Both the Prince and Nonette stood, Nonette staying at crisp attention while Prince Schneizel's stance was more relaxed, if subdued.
Britannian Testing Facility 15 was an active military base just outside the city of Roswell, seat of the county of the same name. The base was just southeast of Groom Lake, in an area surrounded by arid hills and mountains, the vegetation sporadic.
The base itself housed, on the surface, three hangars, a pair of barracks, and a fighter compliment standing at over one hundred.
Beneath the base, accessed by a private elevator in the office of the base commander, was a massive testing area. All around them, technicians, scientists and soldiers were experimenting will all sorts of strange contraptions, from exosuits for infantry, to new models of Knightmare Frames.
"Lead the way," the Emperor commanded.
Prince Schneizel bowed his head.
Nonette fell in line with the coterie of worthies that followed in the Emperor's wake. They wore black robes with purple fringes, their eyes unseen beneath their hoods. Nonette had no idea who they were; only that they were members of some secret religious order that the Emperor was favoring. At their head was Sir Bismark Waldstein, the Knight of One, leader of the Knights of the Rounds, the Emperor's personal bodyguard, and the greatest knight of the Realm. He was a handsome man in his mid-forties, who's dark blue hair fell down to his shoulders, the bangs parted in the middle. He had pale, olive skin, and his right eye was blue. His left eye was, for reasons no one knew, sewn shut. His Rounds uniform was the same as hers, barring the fact that his cape was white. He was of similar stature as the Emperor, and could probably break her in half.
He gave her a friendly nod as they walked, which Nonette returned.
They didn't speak as they moved in a more or less straight line, the various groups of men and women kneeling as they passed. The Emperor was uninterested in whatever spiel the Prime Minister might have given, so he didn't bother. The results, or lack thereof, would speak for themselves.
They cleared the primary testing area a few minutes later, coming to what would have been a large empty space, were it not for the massive airships docked in it.
There were two of them, the first little bigger than the Avalon, the Prime Minister's personal warship and, for all intents and purposes, private yacht. It was shaped almost like a submarine, segmented vertically in two large pieces, the stern and bow painted yellow.
The second craft was much larger, easily five times the wingspan of the smaller ship, and was painted entirely white.
"This," the Prince said, pointing to the smaller of the two ships, "is the first of the Caerleon Class Airship. It sports five machine gun turrets, a dozen rocket launcher platforms, an onboard catapult system, and Blaze Luminous shielding. It can carry a dozen Knightmare Frames and as many as three V-TOL Gunships."
He moved his hand to the larger ship. "This is the Logres Class Airship. It has a dozen mounted machine gun turrets, as many smaller turrets for close-quarters combat, eighteen missile platforms, and its own Blaze Luminous. It can carry ten V-TOL Gunships and three dozen Knightmare Frames.
"Each ship is powered by the very same FLOAT system as powers the Avalon, and can reach a height of thirty thousand feet." She could almost hear the smug smile he had. "This is the future of warfare."
"I am not interested in the future of warfare," the Emperor said. "I am interested in the present. You are taking time out of my busy schedule to show off your latest toys." Nonette almost shivered. "Why?"
"Because, Your Majesty," the Prince said, "this will win us the war."
He clasped his hands behind his back. "We lost too many ships in the Black Rebellion," he said. "The Pacific Fleet is crippled. It will take close to a year before we are back to a third of our naval strength in Asia. We do not have a year. Japan must be reconquered, and it must be reconquered now."
The Prince turned around to the Emperor, a smug smirk on his face. "It takes ten months to build a navy destroyer. It takes five to six years to build an aircraft carrier." He gestured to the two ships. "It only takes two months to build a Caerleon Class Airship, and only four months to build a Logres."
The Emperor raised a hand to his chin, for the first time looking vaguely interested. "Is that if we used standard construction procedure?" he asked.
"Yes," the Prime Minister confirmed. "If we swapped over the construction being done to rebuild the fleet to producing nothing but these ships, we could have an airfleet that could dominate the skies of Asia. An important advantage, given the Elevens have no air force to speak of.
"And," he added, "I have just received a report from my experimental division, Camelot. They have sent in the blueprints for constructing Flight Enabled Knightmare Frames. We can also retrofit our entire fleet of Knightmares in a matter of months. With your permission, we could begin construction on a veritable aerial armada that will ensure that Britannia rules the skies as well as the waves."
Silence reigned as the Emperor digested the information, giving no hint as to his thoughts.
Nonette squeezed her wrist anxiously.
"How long to refit the necessary factories to begin production?" the Emperor asked.
"Three weeks."
"Do it. Congratulations, Prime Minister. You shall have your fleet."