I do not own Code Geass.
…...
Langon, Sovereign Republic of France, February 2018
Jeremiah's division followed in his wake, the roar of motors and landspinners reverberating through the air. The hulks of armored personnel carriers, tanks, and armored cars lined the road to Langon, burned out and abandoned. Most of them had been destroyed in the initial aerial assault carried out in the prelude to the attack, but more than a few were the victims of Jeremiah himself. He kept his gaze ahead.
Langon was a commune, a slightly larger city than the towns Jeremiah had already driven through, with modern brutalist architecture mixed in with classical and Renaissance era churches set on clean swept streets. No buildings stood above three stories, especially not after the stunning heavy bombardment that had struck the town. The businesses, shops, and homes on main street were hollowed out from artillery and bombs.
Jeremiah could see machine gun nests, infantry, even a few armored cars, but no mechanized cavalry; no Knightmares. Therein would be the deciding factor of this battle.
"We strike hard and fast," Jeremiah said. "Brondello, take twenty Sutherlands and hit them on the right. From there, fan out westward and northward, and take the eastern half of the city. Our objectve is the bridge over the Garone river. That bridge doesn't crumble!"
"Yes, My Lord!" his men responded.
They smashed through the outer perimeter's defenses with contemptuous ease, bullets rattling off their armor. Automatic computers onboard tracked incoming rocket fire, enabling Jeremiah dodge much of it, and block what he couldn't with his Blaze Luminous. His men were not so equipped; several 'LOST' signals winked to life then flashed away.
Jeremiah clicked his tongue. Orders had come down that they were to hit the ground as soon as deployed. There seemed to be some power consumption issues with the retrofitted Knightmares that had been ironed out in the new models.
Yet none of my men are reporting any issues.
Jeremiah had chosen to go ground side with them. He wasn't going to leave these men to die on the surface while he floated above them all like some uncaring god.
He fired a shot from his rifle into the flank of an APC. It exploded in an orange-red fireball, molten steel falling like rain on the defenders surrounding it. Squeezes of the trigger brought down two more of its like, while another shot split an armored car in half. Its inhabitants burned in their seats, arms flailing as they tried vainly to smother the flames. He put another shot into it as a mercy.
A building to his left collapsed in on itself, sending fleeing soldiers into the street that he mowed down with his wrist mounted machine gun, their bodies popping like cherries. He double checked his digital map, nodding when he saw Swordmaster Brondello coming up on the right. The man had been assigned as his second for the battle, a welcome addition given the man's aptitude as an adjutant.
They reached the side of the town, where the last survivors were fleeing across the bridge. Sustained antipersonnel weapons fire brought them down.
"Is the town secure?" Jeremiah demanded.
"We took some potshots from the houses, but otherwise yes," Brondello confirmed.
"Lock the locations on your map and transmit them to the rear," Jeremiah ordered. "We'll let the infantry root them out, but we need to keep moving." He waved his mechanical hand through the air. "All units, on me! We're moving out!"
"Yes, My Lord!"
Next stop, Bergerac.
…
Perpignan, Franco-Spanish Border
"This is Milly Ashford, reporting live from Princess Talia's Fifth Mounted Corps," Milly said, holding a hand to the mic in her ear. The APC was rocking back and forth, side to side. Twice she had lost the earpiece already. "We have crossed the Franco-Spanish border at Perpignan. If the camera wavers, it is because we have rolled right over the enemy's trenchlines, and have penetrated deep into EU territory."
"JUST WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Gerry shouted in her ear. "WHO THE HELL AUTHORIZED YOU TO DO ANYTHING?"
"We appear to have missed the heaviest fighting," Milly continued, ignoring him, "but our gracious host, Captain Michael Phelps, assures us that we are entering the belly of the beast."
"GET HIM ON THE PHONE! GET THAT BLUE HAIRED JACKASS ON THE PHONE! I WON'T STAND FOR THIS!"
"The rattle of machine gun fire is loud, even through the thick walls of our caravan. Even now, this reporter can hear the pinging of bullets bouncing off the hull."
"THE HELL DO YOU MEAN 'HE'S NOT ANSWERING'? I'LL HAVE HIS ASS!"
"Captain Phelps," Milly said, "what's the first priority for you and your men?"
"You mean besides staying alive?" the officer asked dryly.
"I'm sorry, Captain," Milly said sweetly, a menacing glare daring him to keep going, "I'm afraid the folks at home didn't catch that."
Despite himself, Phelps gulped. Milly held the microphone out to him, allowing him to speak. "Our first priority is to rendezvous with our comrades at Narbonne," he began. "We've received word that we've taken the city. From there we'll move on Toulouse, which remains in the hands of the enemy."
"Do you anticipate a hard battle?"
Phelps nodded. "The French are among some of the best troops the Euros have to offer." He gave a sudden feral grin. "It'll be an honor to grind them to dust."
"WHAT? OUR RATINGS ARE WHAT? STAY ON HER, STAY ON HER YOU MORONS! GET ME MORE, ASHFORD, GET ME MORE!"
The camera swung back to Milly, who smiled cheerfully. "This has been Milly Ashford, reporting live from the battlefront, where history is being made!"
…..
The Skies Above France
"Base to L-1, Base to L-1. Come in, over."
"L-1 to Base, read you loud and clear," Suzaku said. He and his surviving craft were patrolling the skies above the mountains, protecting the ground units from aerial reprisal.
"Landings at Marseille bogged down by entrenched enemy defenses. Aerial and naval bombardment ineffective. Air support requested, over."
"Copy, Base, proceeding to target."
"Copy, transmitting gun coordinates."
"Received, Base."
"Happy hunting, out."
Suzaku transmitted the coordinates across his flight. "Designating targets for destruction," he said. "Eliminate all targets with extreme prejudice."
Once the flight responded in the affirmative, they zipped off, approaching a V formation. As they passed over the blackened landscape, the smoke rising from a half a hundred fires, Suzaku glanced down at the flashes of small arms fire lighting up the ground below. Mountains transformed into grass, then into sandy beaches. The beaches had little black dots spread all across them, each one representing Imperial infantrymen, though whether they were dead or not was anyone's guess.
Suzaku sighted at least a half dozen pillboxes littering the summit of the beaches, along with artillery, missile platforms, and other targets of interest. He designated who would be targeting what, and went to work.
Great gouts of flame exploded from the pillboxes as they struck them. The missile platforms, SAM batteries, and artillery went up in a red inferno, their ammo cooking off with them, adding yet more fuel to the blaze. Tanks, armored cars, and personnel carriers became mini suns beneath the bombardment.
As they ascended back into the clouds, Suzaku reported, "L-1 to Base, L-1 to Base. Mission Accomplished."
"Base to L-1, copy. Receiving air support requests from Monaco. Repeat, air support requests received from Monaco. Transmitting target coordinates."
"Copy, on our way."
Suzaku glanced at the sky around them, surprised by the lack of opposition. I know the Rounds drew them off a while ago, he considered, but I didn't think it would be this clear.
The skies around them were a clear blue, the sun shone gold in the sky.
It's a nice day for killing.
"Captain," Ledo reported, "picking up moving bogies on the ground. Looks like an enemy column."
Suzaku checked his camera feed. Sure enough, there was the column, rolling northward it looked like, away from the beach.
"Looks like they're finished contesting the landings," Suzaku mused aloud.
"Orders?" Ledo asked.
"Descend to one thousand feet," he replied. "I'm not letting them impede our guys on the ground. Wipe them out."
They fell upon them like Valkyries out of some German opera, their rifles razing the ground. The column attempted to scatter, machine guns firing into the air, but it mattered little. The results were the same here as before. They left the flaming wrecks behind.
This seems almost rote right now, Suzaku thought.
The excitement, if such it could be called, of just a few hours ago was gone. It had fled, along with the sense of omnipresent death that had haunted them, chasing at their tails. As they lit fire to Monaco, burning away her defenses with hardly any opposition and moved on to Montpellier, he gradually realized why that was.
No one can stop us.
…
Downtown Toulouse
The APC shuddered from a series of sudden impacts, ground to a halt.
"Everybody out!" Phelps shouted. "Our war starts here!"
Milly and Rivalz waited for the soldiers to storm by them, then swiveled around and followed close behind. When they came out of the APC, a soldier dropped, his eye turned into a ragged red hole in his face that stared at Milly relentlessly. She started, then tripped over a pile of rubble, only to realize it was another dead man, his body ripped in half. She turned to her right and vomited.
There's my eggs and tea.
She was rocked when a helmet was suddenly planted onto her head, the latch secured beneath her chin.
"Put these on!" Rivalz shouted. He was holding a flak vest, spattered with blood that Milly studiously ignored while he helped her put it on. He grabbed the helmet and vest from the man she tripped over and put those on, too. He grabbed his camera. "You ready?"
She nodded shakily, not trusting herself to speak. While he set up the live shot, she chose a wall next to a shattered building. She glanced around the corner of the building, up the street, where troopers were falling left and right. Blood flowed down the street like water through an aqueduct. It pooled together around cadavers garbed in blue livery and gray uniforms that somehow looked far too similar in the haze of smoke and flame.
She jumped when Rivalz patted her on the shoulder. He gave her a quick countdown, then pointed right at her.
"This is Milly Ashford reporting live from the battlefront at Toulouse," she said. "Gallant Imperial troops have pushed through the southern outskirts of the city, following in the wake of those brave knights in their Sutherlands and Gloucesters that descended on our foes from the skies. The fighting is heavy and intense, as cowardly European troops hide inside family homes and businesses, forcing our brave warriors to engage in vicious house-to-house fighting."
She pointed around the corner to one of the buildings, careful to push the bottom of Rivalz's camera up so that he wouldn't catch the rats feeding on the corpses in the streets.
"You can see the flashes of gunfire, the shattering of windows, our brave soldiers, dying where they stand, their-"
"MOMMA! MOMMA! OH GOD, MOMMA! MOMMA!"
"-their motherland on their lips," she continued without missing a beat. "Holy Britannia is here, now, in this land of Revolution." She directed Rivalz past a man split in half, his intestines spilled all over the street, still alive, holding his guts in his red red hands, to an almost serene body laying facedown on the ground. "Sacred blood has been shed to restore us our birthright." She intentionally obscured a decapitated woman in a blue dress, a huge red splotch of brains and bone behind her, with her microphone. "This is our land, stolen from our forefathers, and brave soldiers today have begun the arduous work of reclaiming it."
Milly's eyes stung. "This is Milly Ashford, reporting live from the battlefront at Toulouse."
When he lowered the camera, she broke down into his chest, her shoulders heaving. He wrapped her up tightly, pulled her back safely into cover.
"I gotcha, babe, I gotcha," he said.
"Oh, God," she sobbed. "Oh, God."
…
Bergerac
The city of Bergerac was ablaze when Jeremiah arrived. Not just Bergerac, in fact; the once green hills around it were burning as well. Atop a blackened mound sat the Knights of St. Gabriel, du Villon in his Vincent at the head.
The knight let out a boisterous laugh. "Weep, you dogs! Weep!" he crowed. "Let the flames cleanse you! Let the fire rise!" He belted out another laugh.
"Grandmaster du Villon!" Jeremiah called out. "You are well met!"
The Grandmaster's factsphere swiveled to him. "Ah, Margrave," he said, his tone decidedly frosty. "It seems you finally arrived."
Jeremiah's hope died again. He worked his thumb over the trigger on his yoke. "I see Bergerac is still standing," he said.
"Not for long," du Villon replied. "I was just about to launch the assault. You're welcome to bear witness to how a true knight does battle."
Jeremiah's jaw worked. "By all means, My Lord," he said. "Truly, show me how a true knight sits on his hands and waits for the cavalry to show up."
"What was that you said?" The Vincent swung around, somehow taller and imposing despite being the same size as Jeremiah's.
"You heard me," Jeremiah said coldly. "I did not fight my way through France just so you could insult me while you sat on your ass and waited for help."
"I NEED NO HELP FROM YOU!" the knight roared back.
"Nor I from you. In fact, to Hell with you." Jeremiah sped past him. "I'll eliminate this shithole by myself!"
"The Hell you will!"
The two men sped down the hill, barking orders that they were not to be followed as they raced for the town. Machine gun and rocket fire soared at them, which they nimbly dodged.
Green energy fire from their rifles planted seeds wherever they were aimed; the ground proved fertile, blooming into red-orange flowers. Soldiers ran screaming from shops, homes, some on fire, waving their arms, rolling on the ground. Jeremiah, an attentive gardner, sprayed the weeds with his weed killer.
He scanned the area around them. "Enemy armor incoming, 3'o clock!" he reported.
He followed words with action, the emerald rounds scoring direct hits on enemy tanks and APCs,
"Target their rear!" du Villon ordered. "Trap them in between the burning wrecks!"
"Copy!"
Flames burst at the rear of the line where they fired. The action seemed to spook the enemy column because they started rolling rapidly in reverse, their cannon turrets still firing.
du Villon was laughing, boisterous and cheerful. "Vengeance!" he crowed. "Sweet vengeance!"
The right arm of his Vincent was sheared away, along with the armor along the torso. The leg collapsed in on itself, sending him to the ground.
"S-Sir du Villon!" Jeremiah shouted, moving to assist.
"It's alright! I'm alright!" the knight assured him, laughing. "Got a little too carried away, eh?"
"You should withdraw to the rear," Jeremiah advised, firing his rifle as he spoke. "Your armor's too damaged to continue."
"Bah! I'll be fine!" du Villon declared.
Jeremiah cocked an eyebrow. "Sir, your leg has been torn off."
"I have another. I'll still fight!"
Despite his spirit, the Knightmare could only hobble to its feet, its gait slow and staggered. Bullets started pinging off the armor as the Euros refocused on him. Through it all, the knight laughed, his rifle spouting green death into dugouts, homes, shops.
Jeremiah wondered for a moment whether the civilian population had managed to evacuate.
"Die! All of you! For the glory of Britannia!" du Villon shouted.
Jeremiah narrowed his eyes. He keyed his comm suite. "Brondello, bring up the men," he ordered. "du Villon has lost it. I'm going to subdue him before he destroys something important."
"Yes, My Lord!"
Jeremiah was about to rush in there and drag the man out, kicking and screaming, when a thought occurred to him.
Does du Villon need to live?
He was the enemy of His Highness. The death of Manfredi had turned him into an implacable foe. His death would be a strategic victory for His Highness.
Jeremiah toyed with the thought even as du Villon continued fighting. A rocket deflected off the shoulder pauldron. The left hand was violently detached in an instant. Part of the head was blown away, leaving just enough of the factsphere for du Villon to see.
He's going to die.
An uncomfortable weight pressed onto Jeremiah's chest.
Will I just stand here and watch?
The knight finally stumbled and fell beneath the weight of the fire.
"Pour it on, you fools!" du Villon laughed. "A death worthy of Britannia!"
Jeremiah clicked his tongue. He hit the pedal on his Vincent, speeding forward as he fired. He grabbed the downed Vincent by its remaining arm and pulled, hauling the man away.
"What the Hell are you doing!" du Villon shouted.
"Ending this farce," Jeremiah shot back, blasting over his shoulder at the enemy positions.
"Let me down, damn you! It's a noble end, and honorable end!"
Jeremiah snarled. "Do you have any conception of how many of our brothers and sisters are dying while you engage in this game?" he demanded. "Do you?"
"It's war, Gottwald," du Villon retorted. "Soldiers die! It's the natural way of things! The most we can hope for is an end of our choosing!"
"Maybe you, but not them!"
Allied units streamed into the city. Jeremiah dropped du Villon with his men.
"Do something with him," he ordered. "We've got a war to win."
….
W-0 Unit Headquarters, Paris
"Work, you goddamn son of a bitch, work!" Leila cursed.
She lay on her back, the bottom of her computer panel torn out, the wiry guts of her Alexander in hand. Wires were torn apart, or plugged into different sockets. With whatever computer virus that had locked her out of her Knightmare still functioning, Leila and the others had ripped open the wires and circuitry with the intention of bypassing the main computer and forcing a hard reset. The idea was to reset the machine back to the factory default, then download the necessary programs to get the hunk of metal back on its feet.
The problem was, they were working blind. Just about every IT technician they had was working on trying to get the system as a whole working again. Leila wasn't a member of the ground crew; she had next to no idea what she was doing. Three times she'd had to jerk a plug out because it instantly started smoking.
Above her, beyond the hangar, she could hear the battle rage; the clashing sounds of distant bangs, sonic booms, machine gun fire. The ground shuddered with the impact of missiles and smart bombs.
Sweat stung her eyes. She dashed it away, cursing. She grabbed her walkie.
"Dammit, Anna, when the Hell will you have the net back up?" she demanded.
"We're doing the best we can, Major!" her friend retorted. "Those Imp bastards fried us!"
"Your best isn't good enough!" Leila said. "I need this hunk of junk operational now!"
"You and a hundred thousand others! You can't rush it!"
Leila clicked her tongue. She went back to scrounging around in the wiring, using her combat knife to cut off the rubber.
"It's working! It's working!" she heard someone call out. "I got it working!"
"Get the OS downloaded back onto it!" Leila reminded him. "And come show us how to do it!"
"Yes ma'am!"
A roar of steel drowned everything out as the ceiling was suddenly ripped open. Leila had brief glance of a flaming jet cockpit just before it struck. She pulled the hatch shut on the Alexander just before a wave of heat threatened to engulf her.
She opened it back up a few moments later. The east side of the hangar was a roaring inferno. Men and women staggered to and fro, some merely dazed, others waving their burning bodies frantically as the Sakuradite fuel cooked them alive.
"Jesus Christ," Leila murmured.
She jerked her pistol from her holster, targeted those who couldn't be saved, and started firing. When the last blazing body had toppled to the ground, she snatched up her walkie.
She turned it to the emergency frequency. "Mayday! Mayday! We have an out of control fire in Hangar 12! Repeat, we have an out of control fire in Hangar 12! Send a fire bus now!" She tuned it back to Anna. "Call in some more techs! Get civilians if you have to, but get the goddamn net back online!"
"We're already doing that! Everyone is here!"
Not everyone. "Yuki!" she barked. "Get your ass to the mainframe, now!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
…
Angers
"We've got a machine gun nest suppressing our units at grid thirteen," Gino reported.
"Then let's go take care of it," Nonette replied.
The three Rounds Knights swooped down from the heavens, locked on, laced the target area with beam fire. The attack tore great furrows in the green-gray hill upon which the nest was dug, setting it briefly ablaze. Nonette glanced down to make sure the infantry was on the move. She was satisfied to see that they were.
The skies were more or less under control, the bulk of the enemy's air power having fallen back north and east with their retreating ground forces. Enemy opposition was melting away all along the front. In eight hours of fighting, they had already taken over a third of France.
Her comm suite beeped. "Knight Leader, this is Base-1, acknowledge."
"Knight Leader to Base-1, acknowledged," Nonette chirped.
"Enemy warships en route to block the English Channel," Base-1 informed. "Move to intercept. Push the enemy back, but do not destroy. Maximum allowable damage to be limited at one-fifth of the fleet."
Nonette narrowed her eyes, confused. "Base-1, clarify. We aren't allowed to destroy the enemy fleet?"
"Affirmative," Base-1 confirmed. "Force the enemy into retreat with acceptable losses limited at one-fifth the quantity deployed."
She felt a hint of annoyance. "Must be one of Schneizel's schemes," she murmured. "Copy," she said aloud. "Moving to intercept. Knight Leader out." She swung her Knightmare around. "You heard 'em, kids. We're off to play tag."
"Hope they don't mind if we get a little rough," Gino said. "I always got in trouble for roughhousing."
"I'll be on my best behavior," Anya said. "I don't want to get a timeout."
"If they didn't want to get hurt, they shouldn't have come to play," Nonette replied, smirking.
The three of them swung around to the north and hit the pedal. As they flew, she glanced down at the ground. France was a red sea of flames, dark smoke rising above at least a dozen cities and villages that she could see with naked eye alone. She scanned the roiling maelstrom, picking out targets with her camera, then transmitted them to her cohort. They cleared out little islands of resistance with quick shots from their energy rifles, drowning them beneath the waves of Imperial troops sweeping across the country.
They approached the coastline at a rapid clip. The sky above the Channel was choked with enemy fighters putting up a manful defense of the English coast. A dozen destroyers and myriad smaller ships were scattered in tight formation, blocking access both to southern England and the North Sea. Their gun turrets flashed, rockets leaped into the sky.
Nonette painted four of the destroyers closer to the formation's center. "Remember, kids," she called out, "we're on babysitter duty. We're just here to give the little ones a bath. No need to punch all their tickets."
"Copy," her friends responded.
"We're getting up close and personal," she continued, now entirely professional. "Let them see exactly what they're dealing with."
They descended at breakneck speed, so fast the enemy didn't seem to have the time to acknowledge them as a threat. Green light surfeited the lead ship, splitting it completely in half, sending its entire compliment to the bottom of the Channel in less than a minute. Two ships down, its compatriot capsized when its starboard side vanished in green light and red-orange flame. The final two popped like corks, giant black mushrooms sprouting up above them, the burning wrecks still floating upon the waves.
"Break contact and ascend," Nonette ordered.
They slipped back up to the heights of the battle space. Nonette smirked.
"Perfect, they're pulling back!" she declared. She keyed her comm to Base-1. "Knight Leader to Base-1, Knight Leader to Base-1."
"We read you, Knight Leader."
"Mission accomplished. The Channel is yours."
"Copy."
A few minutes later, Nonette grinned ferociously as hundreds of V-TOL's and thousands of Marine barges crossed the blue waves, and began to land.
…
A Suburb in Toulouse
Milly couldn't stop staring at Phelps' head. It was split in half, the helmet surrounding it in broken shards dyed red-pink with bone and brain. The left eye was shredded pulp lying next to him, but the right stared at her, the baby blue iris glaring from a red pool. He lay crucified on the pavement, his gray pants dark and stinking of piss.
They were just outside of a residential neighborhood populated with townhomes. Most of them had gaping holes from one bombardment or another, it was hard to tell. Corpses were strewn across the street, laying in stately repose near the burning wrecks of their cars. The rest of Phelps' unit, plus Milly and Rivalz, were taking cover behind two of them, conveniently positioned to provide them a fighting screen.
"You got that sniper, Mason?" Strenger asked. The lieutenant had taken command in the aftermath of Phelps' demise. His cool tone and calm demeanor was the only thing keeping Milly from screaming.
"Yeah," Mason confirmed. "Third story, second window from the right."
"Light him up."
Milly expected some sort of distraction by the squad, maybe somebody running out to draw the sniper's attention. She'd seen that in some war flick she and Rivalz had watched for date night. What the squad actually did was stand and open up as a single unit, unleashing a lethal barrage on the six story building the sniper was in.
"They got him!" Rivalz shouted to her. Her ears were ringing, probably his too. "I can see him dropping! Burn in Hell you son of a bitch!"
"Let's move!" Strenger called out. "Time to clear these houses!"
The squad fanned out around the cars, guns at the ready. Milly and Rivalz followed behind, Rivalz waving the camera left and right to capture the scenery as they moved to their first target. It was a two story number, the paint white and roof gray, the windows shattered, a dead dog on the porch.
"Pop a gren!" Strenger shouted.
One of the troopers sprinted forward, his grenade pinging as the safety pin was jettisoned. He chucked it through the window, then slammed his back against the wall. A moment later, the explosion reverberated through Milly's bones, throwing wood, glass, and flame.
As the squad moved to the door, several large holes drilled through the door, lifting a trooper off his feet and sending him hurtling to the ground.
"Nelson!"
Three men opened fire together, shredding the door to splinters. A trooper with a shotgun rushed forward, barreling through the remains of the door. Two men followed him inside, where the sounds of gunshots were impossibly loud. Another two grabbed Nelson about the shoulders and dragged him back.
Milly saw his pale face, his tongue lolled out, eyes rolled up in his head. Blood dripped beneath his perforated armor.
He's gone.
Gradually, the gunshots inside died away. A couple of minutes later, the three who had entered came back out, their faces smeared black and red.
"Clear!" the man with the shotgun shouted.
"Good. Let's get moving," Strenger said.
Milly coughed. "We're, uh..." she trailed off when the large man looked at her, looked through her, looked somewhere very far away. "We're...we're going to get some footage inside," she said lamely. "Show the folks at home, all that."
Strenger shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said. "We'll be up the street when you catch up."
Milly nodded. As they moved out, she gestured to Rivalz. He brought the camera up again.
"Live shot?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, no, we'll record this one. You got all that from before, right?"
"Yeah. All on here," he confirmed, patting the camera.
"Good," she said, nodded. "Good, then we'll, uh, we-we'll..."
Rivalz lowered the camera and was beside her in an instant, wrapping her up in his arms. She shivered violently, held him tightly, bit her lip till it bled.
"Let's find somewhere to sit," he said.
Without waiting for an answer, he led her inside. To her surprise, there were no corpses in the living room, nor in the kitchen.
"L-Looks like that gr-gr-enade was-was-was a t-t-t-total waste," she stammered.
He didn't say a word. In the kitchen, a medium sized one with an L-shaped island in the center, a stool had been knocked over. He set it up and sat her down on it.
"Jesus Ch-Christ, did you see Phe-Phe- Goddammit! Phelp's freaking head!" She laughed hysterically. "It was like-like- Shit! Like a goddamn pulped pineapple!" She laughed again.
Rivalz cupped her cheeks. He brought their foreheads together.
"That Nelson kid is screwed, man!" she went on. "Just-Just screwed! There was so, so, so much blood! And I think he shit himself!" Laughter bubbled up. "You know, they're, they're gonna, they're freaking gonna send some letter to his parents, some dumb assholes that probably sent their son into this. 'Join the army, son. You gotta fight for the Fatherland!'" The laugh came out more like a sob. "And, and they're gonna say 'Oh, he died so bravely, for the glory of the Fatherland,' or some stupid nonsensical shit like that. Not that he got his ass blown away through a door!" Her vision blurred. "A door! A goddamn door! Who'da thought that, huh?"
Rivalz traced his fingers through her hair.
"I-I'm not boring you, am I?" Milly asked, looking up at him fearfully. "I do-don't wanna do that, or, or, or anything, I love you, I love you, and I-"
"Let it all out, babe," he whispered. "Let it all out."
"I love you," she babbled. "I love, I love you, I wanna marry you, I wanna have lots of babies, and get out of this GODFORSAKEN SHITHOLE!"
She broke down in his chest, her body shuddering with each racking sob.
"Oh, God, Rivalz, what are we doing here? What the Hell are we doing here? What was the point of all this? How many people are dead because some noble asshole like my parents couldn't live without a couple of acres of real estate?"
She pulled away, looked up at him, and kissed him deeply on the lips. If he was surprised, it didn't come through when his mouth closed on hers. She gripped his hair tightly, painfully she was sure. His hands moved down to her backside, squeezing her so hard it hurt, but it was a good hurt, a kind hurt, the kind that made her forget she was making out with her boyfriend in a stranger's home strewn with dead men.
When they pulled away from each other, she rubbed her wet eyes. "S-Sorry," she mumbled. "I did-didn't mean to-"
"It's alright, love," he reassured her. "It's alright. Let's find out wherever the Hell the camp is and upload what we got."
She nodded. "Yeah, yeah let's go. We-"
She heard a sniffle. From the look on Rivalz's face, he clearly heard it, too. He brought her behind him, then pulled his revolver from the holster on his pants.
The sound had come from behind a closet door in the hallway. The door was pristine but for a few holes that Milly guessed was from shrapnel. Rivalz grabbed the doorknob, took a deep breath, jerked the door open.
A family of three was hiding inside. The father was trying to stanch the blood flow from a wound in his shoulder, while the mother held their child, a boy of about five, her hand over his mouth. They looked up at them. Rivalz and Milly stared back.
Rivalz glanced to Milly. She nodded. He closed the door back, led Milly out of the house. The dead dog stared up at them with sad eyes.
"Let's get the Hell outta here," Rivalz said.
Milly agreed.
…
W-0 Unit Headquarters, Paris
The thunderclaps of artillery fire were getting louder. If Leila wasn't mistaken, she could hear the echos of cannon fire starting to come down on Paris itself.
"Dammit dammit dammit dammit, work you bastard work!" she shouted.
Her walkie crackled on her hip. "This is Third Corps, pulling out of Limoges," the man on it reported. "We are the last unit in Limoges. Enemy forces are moving at rapid speed in the direction of Angers. Repeat, enemy-" His voice ended in a sudden scream and a wave of static.
Leila winced. She mouthed a quick prayer for the man, her mind working the whole time.
Angers is only a couple of hours outside Paris, she thought. If they continue at this pace, they'll be all up in our asses while we're jerking off. Is this really the difference made by Knightmare Frames?
No wonder the Japanese had been annihilated so swiftly.
We held them off for years, and it all falls apart like this? Our Republic is being devoured in just a day!
She twisted a pair of copper wires together. Nothing happened. She punched the console, angry tears running down her cheeks.
We're going to die without even putting up a fight!
The console screen lit up, showering Leila in white light.
"Leila! Leila, come in!" Anna called out. "Leila, do you read me?"
Leila scrambled back into her seat. "Anna, I'm here," she said, a happy grin on her face. "Man, am I glad to hear you!"
"Don't get your hopes up just yet," she heard Yukiya say. "We've only got comms back. The Imps raped the shit out of our computer network."
"Language, Yuki."
"Seriously? I'm saving your fine ass, and you're getting onto me about my language?"
"Are you complimenting another woman's ass in front of your girlfriend?"
"Well, nothin' personal Major, but hers is better."
"A-Anyway," Anna cut in, "give us time and we should have weapons and navigation back online."
Outside the hangar door, a three-story building erupted into flames. People ran screaming, burning.
Leila swallowed the bile in her throat.
"We don't have time."
…
Dijon
The APC sprouted a red mushroom as it exploded in a ball of fire. Green VARIS fire struck three more APC's behind it. The three individual fireballs molded together in a black cloud roiling out of the red-orange vortex.
Suzaku casually rubbed some sweat off his forehead. "How many more in the column?" he asked.
"Counting eight more," Offen said. "They're scattering, in full retreat."
"I spotted the black-red-gold tricolor," Hecksen reported. "Looks like German troops are starting to pour into the country."
"Or they were already garrisoned here," Offen suggested.
"After what the Krauts did to the Frogs?" Hecksen snorted. "No way they let a single German garrison on their soil."
"War makes strange allies."
"Not our problem," Suzaku interrupted. "Eliminate the targets. None of them get anywhere near their buddies."
"Copy."
"Copy, boss."
Suzaku glanced around at his surroundings, barely paying attention to the massacre taking place. Black pillars reached into the evening sky. The horizon was red, the dark orange of the sun weeping bloody tears over the land of Gaul. He wondered, for a moment, how many corpses littered the landscape, picked at by carrion crows; looted by fleeing refugees seeking weapons, ammunition, or perhaps just valuables to be traded on the black market.
He decided he didn't care.
All that matters is the people whose lives have been put into my care.
"Perhaps we should start hitting the German border," Offen remarked. "If reinforcements are getting ready to pour into the country, we might want to cut them off at the source."
Suzaku shook his head. "No good, we need to stay our ground units. Our job's air support, and we've received no orders to the contrary." He checked his fuel gauge. "Besides which, it's time for us to head back. I've got thirty-one percent of my fuel rod left. What about you?"
"Twenty-eight percent for me," Offen replied.
"Twenty-six on my end," Hecksen said.
Suzaku nodded. "That's enough for us for now, then. Let's rest, refuel, and rearm."
"Copy."
Suzaku and what remained of his unit swung around, made a beeline for the rear.
He began the day with twenty-four ships.
Less than fifteen of them made the return trip.
…
Vierzon
"This is du Villon, reporting in from Vierzon," the Grandmaster said. "We have taken the town despite fierce resistance, and are ready to begin our pursuit."
"Negative, Grandmaster," the battle manager on the other end said. "You are to hold position at Vierzon and await reinforcements."
"Hold position? When the enemy is on the retreat?" du Villon demanded, incredulous.
"Those are your orders, Grandmaster," the other man confirmed.
"It's outrageous! It's a scandal! To be denied the enemy's hide! To give him time to regroup and entrench! It cannot be allowed!"
"You have your orders, My Lord. I suggest you follow them. Base out."
"Who died and made you God?" du Villon shouted. "How dare you-wait, Gottwald, where the Hell are you going?"
"Chasing down the enemy," Jeremiah drawled. "If we move right now, we should be able to take Orleans before the day is done."
"But our orders!"
"Your orders, Grandmaster," Jeremiah retorted. "Your orders are to sit on your hands. I'm going off to coat myself and my men in yet more glory." He waved the hand of his Vincent. "Let's get moving, gentlemen. We have a democracy to wipe out!"
"Yes, My Lord!"
Jeremiah left the man cursing him roundly, mouth set in a grim slash. Despite the advantages provided by their Knightmare Frames, a full thirty percent of his command was down due to maintenance issues. Of that, ten percent had lost their Knightmares entirely. He had thus far suffered twenty dead and twice that wounded. Remarkably light casualties, all things considered.
The surprise to Jeremiah was the overwhelming advantage of the Knightmare Frame.
The war with Japan seven years ago had been shockingly short, but part of that sweeping victory could be, and was, chalked up to the overwhelming superiority of firepower and manpower that the Empire had brought to bear on the little island nation. Japan commanded only what limited resources as could be found on its archipelago.
The EU, by contrast, had the combined military power of nearly the entire Eurasian landmass.
This was the best they could muster?
The advantage of the Knightmare Frame is terrifying to behold.
"Lord Jeremiah," Brondello reported, "roadblock ahead. Your orders?"
Jeremiah glanced at it. Blown up cars, tanks and APC's, even a streetcar had been set up on the main highway leading into the city. The contrails from rocket fire and the flashes from small arms were already visible.
It was nothing.
"Plow right through them," he ordered.
"Copy."
…
W-0 Unit Headquarters, Paris
"The Net's screwed," Yukiya announced. "I have no clue what the Hell virus they're using, what code's been jacked, nothin'."
Leila's heart leapt into her throat. "Surely there must be something you can do?"
"We've exhausted just about all our options," Anna said. "There's one left, and we're waiting for authorization to do it."
"And that would be?"
"A hard reset," Yukiya answered. "Every single Knightmare Frame connected to the Net gets reset to default factory settings. Then we bring them all back online."
"The catch is," Anna continued, "there's no guarantee all the Knightmares will come back online. There's no guarantee a third of them will. The firmware will have to be reinstalled on every single one. With the Net down, that's going to mean physical discs. Wonder how many units are going to have those lying around?"
"But it will bring them back online?"
"Theoretically yes. We're just waiting on authorization."
"You have it," a new voice, Smilas', cut in. "Some Frames are better than none. They're cutting through us like a hot knife through butter. Major, you have a hard disc for your Alexander, yes?"
Leila nodded. "I do."
"Get it ready. As soon as your Knightmare comes back online, install the firmware manually."
"How long will that take?"
"No more than five minutes," Anna said.
Leila fished in her onboard storage box, pulling out a mini-disc. She flipped it around in her fingers. "Copy. I'm ready."
"Then let's get this thing started," Yukiya prodded.
Leila waited with bated breath. A couple of minutes of silence passed, then the Alexander abruptly shut down. Everything switched off, enveloping her in the pitch-black space of her cockpit.
What if it doesn't work? What if it doesn't even turn back on? What if it connects to the Net and repeats this process all over again? What if-
Leila closed her eyes hard against the panicked thoughts. "Calm down," she ordered herself. "Calm down."
The lights flashed on. The computer panels came alive. Her comm suite emitted an array of static. She hit the Net button on the keypad to prevent it from connecting, then slotted the disc into the port.
The thunder of artillery fire died away, leaving behind an eerie silence.
Are they about to begin their assault?
She tapped the armrest impatiently. The download speed was far too slow for her liking, a white bar
on a black background slowly making its way from one border to the other. Sweat trickled down her over forehead, over her pursed lips, dangled off her chin, then plopped onto her flight suit. The screen flashed.
'Download Complete,' white lettering said. 'Initializing startup.'
"Hurry up, damn you," Leila urged, bouncing in her seat. "We don't have time for this!"
A series of white screens flashed by, pop-ups appearing and disappearing at a rapid clip. Finally, the screen resolved itself to the default menu. The lights inside the cockpit came on. Alexander thrummed with life.
"YES!" Leila cheered, slapping the armrest. "YES! YES! YES!"
The comm suite crackled. "This is Secretary General Smilas," it said, "Repeat, this is Secretary General Smilas. Do you read me?"
Leila flipped a switch. "I read you loud and clear, General," she reported joyfully. "Awaiting orders."
"Assess how many of your command had their Knightmares come back online," he ordered. "Then rendezvous at Sector A-1."
Leila quirked an eyebrow in confusion. "Sector A-1?" she repeated. "That's on the north side of Paris. Why would we rendezvous there?"
"While your Knightmare was sleeping, the Council of Forty announced Paris as an open city," Smilas explained. "We're withdrawing to the Rhine. Defensive fortifications are being put in place as we speak."
Leila's jaw dropped. He-He can't mean! "Are we just surrendering France to the Empire?" she demanded.
"Yes," her mentor replied sourly.
"But-But we can still fight!"
"Paris is a cultural landmark. The Council is unwilling to sacrifice it in what is sure to be a no holds barred fight."
"We're protecting a cultural landmark over the freedoms of all Europe?" she said incredulously. "This is stupid! It's criminal!"
How many people had died defending Europe today? Defending France today? And the Council of Forty was just going to throw all that blood and treasure away?
"It's no good, Leila," Smilas said, exhaustion creeping into his tone. "We answer to a civilian government. Democracy has spoken. Smilas, out."
As the line clicked off, Leila shouted, "To Hell with democracy!"
She smashed her fist into the console. "GODDAMMIT!"
"Leila," Akito spoke up.
Leila snarled. "We're moving out," she announced.
"Leila," Akito repeated, "what about the camps?"
Leila's stomach bottomed out. Oh no.
…
The Albion, Caerleon Class Flying Fortress, Just South of Paris
Nonette was exhausted, but it was the good kind of exhaustion, the kind that says you've had a good day of hard work, the weariness of success. After just twenty hours of fighting, most of France had fallen into Imperial hands. There was still fighting all over the country, of course; this wasn't a clean sweep. There were tens of thousands of infantry units stranded in towns, cities, national parks that Imperial ground forces were already dealing with. It was going to take months to consolidate their rule over France.
We're looking at a very long term insurgency, she mused. And not just in France. Governing all of Europe is going to be damn difficult. What do His Highness and the Emperor have planned?
"Twenty-two confirmed kills," Gino said, drawing her from her stupor. He was bouncing on his heels, waiting impatiently for their Royal Highnesses to arrive. "I wonder if there's such a thing as a Super Ace?"
"I think you just remain an Ace," Anya said distantly.
"That's a shame. There's gotta be some spiffy, special name for what we pulled off."
"There is," Nonette. "It's called a 'massacre.'"
That was the only word to describe it. She had lost county of how many pilots she'd downed over the course of the day; not to mention all the ground troops, armor, and gun emplacements they ravaged, the sort of statistics that don't count among fighter jockeys.
It was a heady thing, to kill so many men, to know firsthand the inherit cheapness of human life. Years of growing, learning, loving, all gone with the push of a button. There was power there, power in every squeeze of the trigger; a rush like no other that ordinary mortals could never understand.
We achieved immortality today.
"How many did you get, Anya?" Gino asked.
"No idea. I pretty much blacked out the whole fight."
"Yunno, you may wanna get that checked out sometime."
"I'll put it on my to-do list."
"What about you, Nonette?" Gino turned to her.
"I lost count at around eleven," she said indifferently. "Somehow it doesn't mean as much when you're piloting a ship no one can stop."
"That's fair," Gino conceded. "What do you say we discuss the specs over dinner?"
Nonette snorted. "What dinner? Our ration packs?"
"I can always find a bottle of wine."
"For what? You're underage."
"Funny. That's not what the recruiter said."
Maybe he should have. Kids shouldn't be fighting adult's wars.
There was a tug on her cape, then a tentative touch of his fingers on hers. Despite herself, she let him entwine them together with her own. She kept careful control over her expression, even as a low flush crept up her throat and burnished her cheeks.
"Announcing His Royal Highness Castor rui Britannia, and His Royal Highness Pollux rui Britannia, the Dukes of Hasard!"
Nonette knelt with the others, her hand separating from Gino's. The click of boot heels on the ships metal floors was loud, ostentatious, as was the squeak of what were clearly new boots.
The twins stopped in front of them. "You may rise," they said as one.
Nonette waited just a moment, then stood in time with the others, coming to full attention.
Castor and Pollux were mirror images of one another: light blue hair, olive skin, and a white-red color scheme to their clothes. The only difference between them was their eyes: Castor's reflected a more gentle version of the Emperor's violet, while Pollux had inherited their mother's mischievous golden eyes.
"You have done well," Castor said, a smile on his face.
"Perhaps too well," Pollux added.
"The French state is once more in the hands of the Monarchy."
"A position the people will soon be reacquainted with."
Nonette bowed. "We hand its stewardship to you." Goddamn, it's always unnerving being around these two!
Castor and Pollux had the uncanny ability to always know what the other was thinking, to the point of completing one another's sentences. It was creepy as Hell.
"Your quick action and decisiveness has brought the EU to its knees," Castor said. "For that, you are to be commended."
"We thank you," Nonette replied.
"But it has deprived us of honor and glory," Pollux continued. "We were not yet in complete command when the order came down."
"It is not your fault, of course," Castor reassured them. "Brother Schneizel does so like to rush."
"But it leaves us bereft of an accomplishment of our own."
Nonette raised an eyebrow. "With respect, Your Highness," she said, "were you both not officially announced as being in command of this mission?"
Pollux made a disdainful sound. "There is no need to patronize us, Dame Enneagram. Everyone knows this war plan is the Prime Minister's."
Well, that was probably true.
"For that reason," Castor added, "an accomplishment of our own must be had. To prove that we have not forgotten."
"And will never forgive."
A trickle of sweat ran down Nonette's back. Oh no. Oh, God, no. What the Hell are you two maniacs planning? "What did you have in mind, Your Highness?"
…
Paris Internment Camp
The fence around the internment camp came down with a mighty crash. The Japanese prisoners cheered as it did and rushed over the firmament into the city proper.
"Everyone!" Leila shouted. "The Britannians are on the way! I repeat, the Britannians are on the way! EU forces are falling back to the Rhine! Get into the MRAPs and cars! We make for the Rhine!"
Leila's was the only Knightmare that came back online. The other Knighmares had been abandoned. In their place, the W-0 unit and their comrades in the regular army had appropriated the armored cars and troop carriers in the motor pool. A third of those had fallen orders and were on their way to the Rhine. The rest had come with Leila on her own rescue mission.
The crowd mobbed around the vehicles, shoving, scraping, punching, scratching, first at the cars, then at each other. Leila fired a round into the air. That calmed them.
"Form orderly lines," she ordered. "Women, children and the infirm first. Men, if there's no room left, climb to the top. We'll assist."
The lines resolved themselves more carefully, and the people began to pile in.
A rocket plowed into the center of the crowd. There was a sudden hot rush of air. Bodies went flying, appendages scattering across the crowd of suddenly screaming people.
"TURN YOUR GUNS TO THE SKIES!" Leila shouted. "INCOMING!"
Rockets began coming down everywhere, smashing into shops, banks, the nearby park, a fountain. Flames spread from every shot, drenching the buildings and the people around them.
Napalm!
Three of the armored vehicles in their convoy exploded in rapid succession, two of them half full of refugees.
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no.
Leila looked out over the crowd. We don't have enough for everyone.
…
The Skies Above Paris
"Base to L-1, acknowledge."
"L-1 to Base, we read you."
"Enemy is attempting to withdraw from Paris. Assume all vehicles fleeing the vicinity to be hostile."
"Copy, Base. Moving to engage. Out."
…
Paris Internment Camp
"Take my baby! Take my baby!"
"My little girl! My little girl!"
"Go honey, go!"
"No! Daddy! I wanna stay with Daddy!"
"Momma! Momma! You gotta come with us Momma!"
"Darling, you have to go!"
"If we die, we die together!"
Leila's shoulders heaved as she wept. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
"Leila," Akito said, subdued. "Leila, we have to go."
Leila nodded. "I know," she croaked. "Convoy, move out. God be with you."
There were people on top of the cars, just as she'd promised. They barely hung on, their panic stricken faces black and grimy from the explosions. All around them, Paris was ablaze. People ran through the streets, the sidewalks, between the buildings and in the alleyways. Many tried to climb onto the cars, but those aboard kicked them down. Some helped them up here and there, where there was room. Others accepted small, wrapped bundles or screaming toddlers.
They entered open highway, and she could see the Britannian warbirds swooping down on the city, rockets descending onto the towers, buildings, and homes below. The City of Lights was aglow with orange-red flame, great gouts of which rose to the black sky.
"SAVAGES!" Leila screamed. "YOU GODDAMN SAVAGES!"
…
Above
"Base, have spotted an enemy convoy fleeing the city. One of those Alexanders is in the lead. Permission to engage?"
"Standby, L-1."
Suzaku tapped on the armrest, rolling his neck to ease some of the tension.
"That's a negative, L-1. Just been informed the convoy has a VIP onboard. Do not engage."
VIP? "Will they require an escort out of the city?"
"Negative, we're sending the word ahead. Return to your mission."
"Copy, Base. L-1 out."
…
Saint-Jean-les-Deux-Jumeaux, Just South of the River Marne
Leila rubbed her tired eyes. It was somewhere around one in the morning. Millions of refugees were packed onto the roads, all in motion as they fled the slaughter behind them. Saint Jean was a small commune with a population of less than a thousand, its small houses built into the treeline surrounding it. The houses were blackened; corpses littered the streets. It was a miracle the Britannians hadn't arrived yet.
Anna and Yukiya were riding in an armored car somewhere up ahead of her, from which Anna relayed the full details of the unfolding disaster.
"Slovenia, Croatia, and Serbia have declared independence," Anna said. "They've opened the borders in northeast Italy, providing a flank around the Alps. The Austrians are reporting Imperial and traitor forces on the road to Budapest.
"Luxembourg, Switzerland, and the Nordic countries are declaring neutrality, and their share of the EU's military have withdrawn to their borders."
"Where they'll sit on their asses, waiting for the Brits to come after them next," Leila said miserably. She sat on the side of the road, completely spent. "The EU is finished. Even if we do manage to kick the Brits out, no one will ever trust each other again."
"Major!" Leila turned to see Shibata jogging toward her. "Major! We're ready to fight! Give us weapons and uniforms, and we'll be ready to go!"
Leila smiled wanly at him. "Thank you, Shibata," she said. "Go to a commissary, they might have something for you." She lowered her eyes. "They can't refuse anyone now."
Shibata saluted and left.
Leila pulled her knees up to her chest. Hard ground crunched next to her, and Akito sat down beside her. He handed her a steaming cup.
"Noodles?" he offered.
She shook her head. "Not hungry."
Akito pulled out a pair of chopsticks. "Not even for ramen?"
Leila looked at him, then at the chopsticks. A warm feeling settled in her chest. "Thanks, Akito," she said. She accepted both of them, then let herself melt when he leaned in and kissed her. It was soft, chaste, and exactly what she needed.
When they pulled apart, he said, "We'll push them back, Leila. We won't let them win."
Leila nodded. She stared at the road, the long winding road toward the French-German border where they would make their stand.
She knew.
All roads led to the Rhine.