"Area 5 – How Britannia restored her greatness.
Before 1972, Area 5 was mostly known for natural resources and for enormous criminal activity, causing the region to stagnate. Under the guise of terrorist cells, foreign agents were sabotaging imperial security and stability. Some regional elites strayed away from founding principles of Britannia.
It was believed that Charles zi Britannia was taking an impossible task of pacifying the Area, that without prolonged decade-long campaign Britannia would lose the Area completely. Yet, by fire and sword, His Majesty had proven that Britannia was a player that should never be underestimated. His 8-year rule brought back the principles of our forefathers, and returned order to South America, guiding all the Numbers into civilized society.
In conclusion, events in Area 5 defined future of Britannia as a whole by solidifying power in the hands of strong and worthy and by being the beginning of the end for Emblem of Blood."
From Britannia`s Modern History schoolbook, designed for the Academy students, 2004. Is considered to be a "propagandistic piece of literature" by E.U. and Thomas Paine Foundation.
Chapter VI
Inferno
09:00, 18th of August 1972,
Somewhere in Northern Amazonas, Area 5
Reichard and Jeanne were sitting in their ambush. Jeanne glanced at her watch. Strangely, her gut was for the first time in a few years, telling her of imminent danger. 'Must be because of the scale of operation,' she tried to calm herself, 'after all, there won`t be any Britannian flags here after we win.'
Reichard took his binoculars and faced the West. "I see enemy convoy. Right on time" He dropped his binoculars, them still hanging on his neck, and took his Bazooka. His orders were to destroy first and last vehicles in the column, and then continue to harass incoming Britannians with intense machinegun fire.
"Understood. All of our men are also in position." She sighed, gathering her courage together. Not wishing to prolong this any further and possibly losing her advantage, she finally decided to take her radio.
"To all of Area 5: The sky over Bogota is clear! I repeat: the sky over Bogota is clear!"
Reichard quickly rose up, and shot the first missile. The battle for Area 5 had begun.
08:59, 18th of August 1972,
On the way to Suriname, Area 5
"Lord Waldstein, in the next 5 minutes all of our regiments will cross the river." Lieutenant Dietrich from the rearguard`s 47th Mechanized Division radioed the commander.
"Good," he responded, his eyes focused on the jungle nearby. Terrorists had a lot of information about their movement, so if he calculated correctly, they will be attacked from that direction in a few minutes' worth. "Be ready to inform His Highness when attack starts. Order our air force to prepare for launch."
"Understood, Sir."
Otto looked on his forces in the vanguard. He specifically ordered local forces to remain on defensive in key points around the area, as well as in the rear, while his mobile squadron would be on spearhead of the assault. Most of his forces were in the center of the formation, with orders to quickly reinforce his right flank. Left flank was guarded mainly by green units, who saw relatively no combat and weren`t as prepared as others.
The road was wide enough to accommodate two lines of vehicles, yet he decided only on one line, not wishing to lose more man in chaos than needed. The road itself was slightly lower than the hills on right flank.
"Thank God for our Military-Industrial Complex," he looked at his column, comprising of relatively modern vehicles, "For a few combat tests, we got our hands on a few dozens of those Moor`s"
"Are they really that good, Colonel?" His subordinate, Lieutenant Roland Hopton radioed him from a Moor behind him. "I mean, they do look nice, and they`re somewhat better than those pre-war Harrington trucks, but we in Area 5 never had them."
Waldstein smiled. "No, Lieutenant, these new APC`s are really nice. They have enough armor to withstand small arms fire. The only reason for halting their implementation was need to bribe other nobles. They only can be pierced by tanks or by a few AT-missiles. Harringtons have no armor, so they aren`t that good for these conditions."
Radio started cracking, more powerful transmission getting through on an open channel.
"The sky over Bogota is clear! I repe…"
Immediately, an AT-missile flew past his vehicle from the right, missing only by a meter. Intensive machinegun fire tried to eliminate his APC`s. Enemy mortars shelling the convoy. 'So, it had finally started!' he smirked.
"Boys, you know what to do. Crush the enemy swiftly, break through their positions!"
"Yes, my Lord!" chorus of voices responded, his elite forces, assigned to the right flank doing an immediate 50 degrees turn to the right and beginning to fire their roof-mounted Braunings. They moved diagonally, cutting through enemies' line of attack. Regular units followed through with turning right on 30 degrees, reaching colonel. They began rapidly dismounting their infantry and providing fire cover for friendly units.
In theory, his units were at disadvantage, as they had to fight uphill battle. Yet, as it soon became clear, rebels underestimated armor levels of Britannian mechanized units and the quantity of them. While a few older APC`s formed a small rearguard on the left of the road, on the right Britannian Moor`s were cutting rebel positions like a hot knife through butter. Light, fast and with enough armor to withstand enemy machinegun fire, they quickly rushed deeper into the woods, shooting and burning everything on their way.
Infantry went second, clearing out encircled holdouts. Some of them continued to fire for a few minutes, yet they were silenced with grenades and flamethrowers. Three separate holdouts, seeing the fate of their comrades, decided to surrender, raising a white flag. Resistance was still present deeper into the jungles, fighting there becoming fiercer and fiercer, as there was more AT weaponry. "It`s Lieutenant Wainwright, commander of the right flank. Requesting tank support to continue the assault on enemy heavily entrenched positions."
Otto glanced at his current force disposition. At the moment, at least 40% were engaged in eliminating terrorist forces in the hills, 10% were guarding their rear on the left flank and another half of the units was yet to arrive on the battlefield. "It`s Colonel Waldstein. Four tanks are coming to help you. Continue to apply pressure on terrorists."
"Understood!"
Enemy, who has by now lost 1/3 of his forces, wasn`t willing to retreat. Colonel felt something was amiss. Why would they even try this ambush? Where are their mobile units? Why didn`t they retreat if the ambush failed this spectacularly? He glanced at his officer, who was speaking to somebody on the line. "Sir!" He called out, "Our air support will arrive in 20 minutes!"
"20 minutes?! By this time our forward units would be able to push terrorists to their base and start cleaning operation!" Waldstein was surprised. Didn`t terrorists had at least 15K man in the North? Why only enemy rearguard had enough AT weaponry and was holding this steadfastly?
It dawned at him. He glanced from his window to the left of the hill. It didn`t matter that he had upper ground on the left because his units were too much spread out!
"Left flank, immediately turn 180 degrees! Reserve units – reinforce the lef…"
He wasn`t able to continue with his order. A lone missile found his APC, blasting its side and throwing it away. Seconds later, another 20 were fired at his forces. Fire and chaos engulfed once green units.
Waldstein flew out of his APC, causing him to violently fall on gravel and metal. One friendly Moor rushed straight towards him, Lieutenant Hopton jumping out to him. "Sir! Are you alive?"
"Right…flank…halt the advance…redirect…reserves…left" Otto mumbled. He tried to keep his eyes open, but eyelids were becoming heavier and heavier. "Keep our boys in fight, Hopton."
"Understood, sir!" Lieutenant then took his radio from his Moor, his soldiers dragging the Colonel out of enemy sight. Waldstein focused his eyes on his destroyed APC, observing soldiers taking cover behind it, while responding to enemy assault. He heard Hopton issuing orders to protect the left flank from encirclement. "Damn these Toyota`s! Who the hell thought that a civilian vehicle with machineguns and bazookas were this effective?"
"The main fight is now on the left flank! Keep the defense perimeter at all costs! T-1, T-2 groups – prevent the perimeter from encirclement!"
In a minute, up to 12 Moors rushed from the rear, helping out their comrades. Rebels were still quite successful, taking the perimeter in half-siege and continuously harassing defenders.
"Terrorists are gathering for a full-on assault! Air force reports that they will arrive in 15 minutes!" officer exclaimed to Lt. Hopton, sounds of continuous fire and explosions sometimes silencing him.
"Too damn long! What of the forces on second stage of the assault?"
"They will be here in three minutes!"
With Reichard and Jeanne
9:10
"Fuck this intelligence! I swear, even under Canaris there were more true information!" Reichard swore, throwing away his empty bazooka. He already fired thrice, but Britannians got enough forces here to actually overwhelm a few minor countries at once. "Why they have here armored units? Our men can`t even pierce them!"
"This is Pedro`s unit." Radio cracked, voice on the line being tired panicked. "We are going short on ammo, we can`t keep any longer!"
Rebels tried to assault Britannian column from both sides of the road, Jeanne positioning herself and Reichard on high hill above the road. As the battle started, Britannians surprisingly quickly reorganized their defense and went on the offensive.
"This is Jose, our platoon has lost half of the men! We`re retreating!"
Jeanne sighed, her hand cleaning the sweat from her forehead. Her trusted MG-43 kept to fire non-stop on Britannians, yet they were hiding behind their Moor`s and she couldn`t get them.
"From the bright side, Reichard, I was correct in this attack not being a feint. If this is where their main force located, our boys near Orinoco will completely annihilate Britannians there, and with Dunkan securing major Settlements, we could starve these bastards out."
"Save me this analysis, Jeanne!" Reichard got to his post again, now trying to fire his rifle at Moor`s top-gunners. "We are losing this battle, and Brit`s are yet to suffer first major losses here. And we`re on the last breath!"
Jeanne threw away her empty ammo box, taking another one and reloading her MG-43. "It doesn`t matter, we held them here enough." After firing a few another bursts, Jeanne took away her MG-43, and reached out to the radio. "All forces – retreat to Amazona`s Base. Keep your ammo, you will need it for fighting retreat."
Reichard wanted to stop her, but he looked back at the battlefield. He saw rising black smoke all over the jungles, as well as approaching several Huey-Cobra`s.
Many Moor`s were fired upon, yet they managed to properly damage only one, destroying his transmission with a mortar shell. Trucks from behind the column swept through the jungle, clearing out dozens of his comrade.
His heart was filled with sorrow. 'We fight for a noble cause. We want to liberate people from tyranny, for them to live better, and we get this defeat? Did our broken men deserved to be so violently crushed for this?' He didn`t need his binoculars to see how ruthlessly Britannians cleared out the jungles from his comrades.
He stood on the hill, slightly rising above the hiding spot he and Jeanne made for better cover, as well making them almost invisible to attackers. He saw one small clearance in never-ending jungle, where was his friend`s machinegun nest. His friend, Jose, was encircled there, and had no chance to leave. From his trench he flew a white flag, as he and his three comrades threw away their machinegun and rifles, raising their hands.
'Jose…When we win, brother, I will rescue you from prison, I promise.'
Reichard was relieved when he saw him being alive. Even as POW`s, it was better than KIA. His happiness was short lived, as he saw Britannians rushing to Jose`s trench with a flamethrower.
'No…no…no…NO!'
He was far enough to not hear his friend`s screams, yet even without it, he knew that Jose was now dead. They kept on firing there for what felt like a minute, but was only 10 seconds. He couldn`t turn his head away, he couldn`t betray him in his last seconds.
He could run, he could flee from this battle, but Reichard promised to himself, that he`d avenge him. If not today – then tomorrow.
Jeanne glanced back, spotting her friend in this stupor. "Come on, get out of here, they will get us if we won`t retreat."
Reichard didn`t turn his head. "Of course. We will continue our fight and avenge our brothers later."
He followed her lead back, to their base deeper into the jungles. He heard her issuing detailed orders to her men, telling them to keep separated and avoid confrontation with Britannians, but he was still in his thoughts, moving only on his reflexes.
With Dunkan
9:10
Lieutenant Dunkan, or rather, recently-appointed commandant of Bogota Settlement William Dunkan, was making his way deeper and deeper into the government administration, together with his banded rebels, all in the gas masks. They used agents to spread colorless sleeping gas inside the building, disabling most of the guard inside. So far, their way into the Administration was with no opposition.
The only rooms unaffected by the gas were storage rooms and the Viceroy`s suite. Only the latter was his end goal, and the most guarded room in the building. He didn`t have to prioritize arresting some jennies when he had a bigger goal to reach.
If only he could manage to arrest the boy and overthrow local government – Area would be completely freed, no matter the result of the battles out there.
Finally, he reached the doors into Charles` cabinet. He tried to turn the handle, but the doors were locked.
"Jenkins, come here with the ram." He asked his subordinate who had only pistol as a weapon due to the ram`s weight. "Sure thing, boss."
Rebels set up on the sides of the doorframe, their weapons at the ready. "3…2…1…GO!"
Jenkins tore the doors wide open, locks buckling under the pressure of the ram. Immediately, Dunkan`s soldiers quickly rushed inside, with their firearms on the ready. William followed suite, approaching the Viceroy`s chair, overlooking the Bogota Settlement. He turned the rotating chair. "Now, it`s time to finish our fight, Charles."
What surprised him was that chair was completely empty, only with a bottle of empty bottle of "Ben Franklin" cognac standing on it. "WHAT?!" Dunkan quickly turned around and realized his mistake.
Building was stormed by waves of special forces, some coming from the unchecked storage rooms, some storming right through windows. When he pointed his pistol at the door, his eyes had barely spotted a flash grenade flying inside, alongside the colorful gas grenade. He was able to take cover, but they detonated immediately before he could warn others.
His ears were painfully ringing, while his eyes were too much blinded, yet he could hear a fire exchange happening…somewhere. He sat there for a few seconds, trying to recover. Completely disorientated, he rose up, trying to take his battle stance once again, he felt someone`s knee striking him right in his spine.
When he regained his sight, first thing he saw was Jenkin`s head, with three bullet holes in his face. His other subordinates were lucky – their hands were tied and Britannians had their guns aimed at them constantly.
"…One terrorist jumped out of the building? Bring him to our vehicle" Dunkan heard a man above him say. He turned his head to look at him, yet the bright light was hiding his facial features: side effect of getting a flash grenade up into his face. "You`re awake, Lieutenant. Or, should I say, traitor against the Crown William Dunkan?"
He tried to recall the voice. "Y…you! How are you here? Our report said you were…"
"Where I was meant to be, traitor. His Highness made sure your reports were as far from the truth as possible." Chief of Police Eric Smith stood above him, pointing his service pistol at him.
"This is only…a delay of inevitable…" Dunkan tried to spill out his words, but he was too much out of breath. "Britannia will fall one day. Our boys in the jungles will make sure that Area 5 will be the stepping stone of…" he felt somebody`s leg kicked him in the kidneys, forcing an immeasurable pain.
"Your words couldn`t`ve been any more wrong, traitor. I really wished for a trial against you, but seeing what vermin you really are, I`m beginning to falter in this wish. You betrayed your Fatherland! The same one that gave you everything!" Smith smirked, taking the empty cognac bottle from Viceroy`s chair and placing it on the end of the table, close enough for Dunkan to see it. "Oh, Ben Franklin – famous turncoat, who helped to build modern Britannia. I admit, Britannia nowadays is not something we should be happy with, but we can change it without destroying! May I hate nobles, may I dislike some decisions of the Royal Family, but I value Britannia more than anything!" He then kicked him in the head, beating out the last consciousness the former Lt. Dunkan had. "You must be happy that His Highness wished to speak with you alive."
"Where…is…Charle…" he lost his consciousness, as he lost any of his remaining powers.
"Destroying your friends, traitor."
Atlantic Ocean, Sector G-3
With Charles
Charles sneezed, tugging his coat closer to himself. "Not used to sea breeze, Your Highness?" Admiral Hancock guided the prince inside of the bridge.
"Slightly, but I never felt this when I usually was on the high seas." Charles responded. He was sure it was like someone was mentioning him, and not of the weather.
"5th Atlantic Fleet taskforce is for you to command, Your Highness. Our forces are comprising of 15 destroyers, 4 light cruisers and 1 battleship 'Guinevere', that we`re currently residing on." Admiral Edward Hancock stood on Charles` right. "Your invasion forces are prepared and properly escorted. Guinevere will give preliminary bombardment, while light cruisers will give fire support when 34th mechanized battalion will land in terrorists` rear."
"Good to know, Admiral."
Prince sat in the battlecruiser`s bridge. He was in head of the table, which was covered by a detailed map of river Orinoco delta. His staff-officers were busy relaying information to ground forces and to the Airforce.
"23rd Infantry battalion is suffering heavy losses!"
"Send out Jones` unit to their help!"
"Defensive line is stabilizing! No threat of encirclement as of now"
Charles rose up from his throne. "Have all invading units to high alert – we will commence landing in 3 minutes. Get the ship starboard – we will enter the fray with full throttle."
With Waldstein
Lt. Hopton was growing tired. He never expected that he would have entire column to command, and here he was – guiding reserves, commanding half-encircled force and trying to have it survive the fight.
His sleeves were torn apart by several small explosions. His once black hair now being gray from intense fire and rising around him ash. Only in these moments he was glad for his medium build, for his height being not as high as of Colonel Waldstein, who was slightly above 6`8 (2m) high.
"Doc, please inspect the Colonel. He was silent for the last 2 minutes. Inspect any blood loss and concussions."
Field medic inspected Waldstein. He had difficulties with raising from the ground due to patient`s build, that could be described only as titanic. Lieutenant remembered, how many of his brothers-in-arms were joking about how massive would Colonel`s children grow to be.
He remembered then Charles – Prince, who came from nowhere and lead them into this hellhole. He met him only once, but was slightly impressed. Tall, well-developed blonde man with violet eyes, he could one day rival Colonel himself for being the strongest man in the Area 5.
…But, he couldn`t now allow himself to be distracted from the battle.
"Wainwright, continue the assault on the right. Be careful – we aren`t able to spare any reinforcements right now." He ordered. His reserves managed to stabilize the left flank, with more and more on the way from the Orinoco River.
Seeing the gap in Britannian forces, terrorists threw their active reserves to exploit it. "Lieutenant, our forces are now in close combat with them! Our flank is crumbling!"
Just as Hopton wanted to call in more infantry to close the gap, radio transmission was interrupted by a new signal. A new, long-awaited signal.
"This is Admiral Hancock speaking! Relay to Colonel Waldstein to order his troops back from the lowlands!"
"Admiral, this is Lt. Hopton! Colonel was wounded in battle, I`m temporarily in charge. Our units had already been forced out only to positions on the right side of the road!"
He heard some discussion on the other end of the line. At some point he was certain he heard His Highness being surprised at the news. "How is Colonel? Will he be able to survive?"
Hopton glanced at the doc, who nodded to him. He turned back to the radio. "Colonel will survive. What are our orders now, Admiral?"
He could swear the Admiral was grinning when he spoke back. "Now, Lieutenant, prepare for aerial bombardment!"
"ALL UNITS – TAKE COVER!"
…
Small silence ringed on the battlefield, as the rebels themselves turned back and looked at the ocean behind them. A big armada of ships turned starboard was looming on the horizon. In front of them, up to 30 fast landing ships were approaching the shore on full speed.
One man, who Hopton thought to be enemy commander, took the radio and began frantically issuing orders for his men. Terrorists abandoned their attempt at breaching the gap and tried to hide from incoming attack.
In the next 10 seconds, entire the left flank felt the weight incoming half a ton each shells destroying forests and terrorists' vehicles. In the orchestra of explosions, most of Britannians covered their ears not to get their eardrums destroyed.
'So this is how Britannia fights when nobles do not sabotage things,' Lt. Hopton thought to himself, his patriotic sentiment growing higher and higher. 'Incredible.'
What seemed to be endless period of time, was only 5 minutes long bombardment. "While it`s not nearly as much as needed in amphibious operations in our military doctrine, the fact that terrorists were on open ground allows us to neglect this little nuance. Now, all forces, go on the offensive! Encircle traitors of our Fatherland!"
'How?! Our forces aren`t that much strong right now!' Hopton almost wanted to order against it, but he decided take a look at the battlefield. Entire mechanized regiment, invading from the sea, had already ripped through enemies' rear, and was rapidly advancing to their positions through weakened and heavily damaged entrenchments.
"Have you heard the Admiral? Attack!" Horton screamed, himself taking an assault rifle to cover his forces.
At once, tens of Moors, covered in ash, blood, destroyed metal and with their wheels in dirt by a meter, started up again, their engines roaring and their gunners beginning their powerful heavy machinegun chatter anew.
Rebels were trying to concentrate in one area in last ditch defense, but many were cut off by speeding Moors and tanks eliminating shell-shocked rebels in their dugouts. Infantry with their grenades and assault rifles continued to make their way deeper and deeper into the jungle, finally meeting up with friendly invasion units.
Seeing no way out, a Spanish commander of rebel forces finally rose his white flag, urging his soldiers to surrender as well.
"Did you see this, men?! Today, we celebrate final establishment of Area 5! For once and for all, this Area won`t ever be torn away from our Fatherland!" Lt. Hopton spoke on the radio, every soldier on the ground listening to him not bothering to hide their excitement.
"All Hail Britannia!"
"All Hail Britannia!"
"All Hail Britannia!"
With Jose, South of Area 5
11:56
'Why, why, why did everything go so badly?'
Jose Bolivar tried to breathe, every gulp of fresh air causing immense pain for his burned-out lungs. He decided to get himself out of his trench, but his hands failed him several times. 'No wonder I can`t get out – the entire woodwork is now reduced to hot ashes.'
Only after several minutes of trying, he got out of his dugout.
Wherever he looked – everything was reminding him of Dante`s Inferno. The roads were filled with empty rounds, with burned out ground. Once filled with his comrades, allied trenches were bullet-ridden, with enormous ., his comrades' uniforms or their weapons. Like a hell itself reached the Earth, turning once beautiful countryside into ashes.
His hand caught himself, as his legs failed him, preventing him from falling back into the trench. It was only then when he looked at himself. His uniform was gone, reduced to a few pieces of fabric, clinging to his naked body. Hands looked as if he fell into a muddy field, but when he tried to remove it from his left hand with his right – a striking pain shook his entire nerve system.
He wasn`t a medic, his friend Reichard could tell much more in the field, yet he remembered what his friend was teaching him about first aid. His eyes scanned his body, even while it wasn`t necessary – he had burns of different degrees everywhere. His chest certainly had a third-degree burn, while his hands had been even less lucky, as he hid from the flamethrower with them. His back suffered little, probably only second-degree burn. His feet hurt immensely from the rubber boots, that were extremely heated before he somehow dropped them.
Jose stood above the former battlefield, Britannians already moving far away, and different units being yet to arrive to clean up. "Jonathan, Pedro, Hryhir, Francis…" his eyes were locked on his friends, who were a lot less lucky than him. From some only their skulls remained, some having only their Mosin rifles remaining as a sign they ever been here.
"…I will survive, and I will avenge all they did to you, to us!"
With Reichard and Jeanne,
10:12
"How long should we even go until the base? I`m getting tired to drag your MG-43 around!" Reichard nagged, sweat dripping from his uniform.
"It`s not mine, its ours, of our cell, Reichard," she retorted, while keeping a low profile sneaking further into the woods.
"But then why are you the only one firing it and I`m the one dragging it?"
"Because you can`t operate it the way I do. I can name how many hundreds of Brits I gunned down with it, and how much less than that had you eliminated, Reichard." Before he could speak, she shushed him. "Hide, that`s a Huey above us!"
Laying low with their MG-43 behind a fallen log, they waited for it to fly away. Finally, in 2 minutes it moved away to a different sector. "Why the hell are they here?" Reichard mumbled, "we were hiding our base quite well."
"Yes, but not from the air recon. Though I`m wondering why are they still here." Jeanne wondered, taking her binoculars to take a better look. "Especially if they`re unarmed and with a camera operator sitting in it. But if they do see the base now, they must see the number of civilians here."
Roads were flooded with civilians from different nearby villages, trying to flee the combat among their friends, who stayed with the resistance. Cultural bonds brought them together, and neither really wished to break them.
"So, what do we do now?"
"Right now, we can either observe or leave to our other base in Suriname. This may be a long road, but we can certainly find some transport to there. Or do you think we will be able to help them out much, especially with one MG and one ammo box to it? Let them be here."
A wind of fresh air blew into them. Reichard suddenly jumped out of his improvised seat on a log. "Look! There is something approaching in the sky!"
"Where?"
"Over the mountains!"
True to his words, Jeanne quickly spotted a wing of Phantoms flying above the mountain ridge. They soon begun to lower the altitude and formed themselves in attack formation. She looked worried, but continued to stare at the base in the valley. Her expression begun to change from worry to horror as she realized what they had brought with themselves.
"Reichard"
"Yes?"
"It seems that it was a bad decision not to ask the E.U. for Strela-2`s"
Phantom`s then locked on target, each dropping a few barrel-like munitions from afar, and then rapidly begun to gain altitude. Rebels on the base tried to shoot them down with small arms fire, not surprisingly finding no success in the matter.
By the time Phantoms left the valley, munitions finally begun to explode, revealing an extreme amount of fire on explosion. Reichard stood gaped at the sight of another hell arriving into their land.
"Th…the-y…used...t-t-this h-h-here?!"
"Yes. Fuck, we should`ve prepared for them to use Napalm here!" She was fighting her rising insanity at the sight, fighting the urge to fall on her knees and cry. Reichard stood shell-shocked, but mostly blank-faced.
"You know…Jeanne…"
"What?"
"Can we really continue to fight here?" Reichard asked incredulously. She would`ve spoken against it, but what if her comrades suffered the same fate?
Just as he asked, another wing of now 4-engined heavy airframes flew into the area, dropping now casket-like munitions from much higher altitude. Recognizing it immediately, he tugged Jeanne out of the site. "Move, move, move out now! These are cluster bombs!"
Her eyes went wide, but something was stopping from running. "And what of our men here?"
"What of them?" he retorted, throwing her aback slightly. "You said yourself, we don`t even have MANPADS to fight! If we stay here, we may be killed with them!" He stopped, while she tried to come back from her stupor. "There is a high chance that there will be a cleanup soon afterwards, and we won`t be able to save them."
She tried to say something against it. She wanted to disagree. Yet, she knew he was right – there was nothing they could do aside from keeping the fight for them.
"I-I-I see…" She finally spoke up again. "Reichard, could you find me a good clearance for the radio transmission?"
He stood dumbfounded. "But you ordered us not to radio other groups before the next day! Won`t it reveal too much information on us?"
"Do we even have any info so vital we could accidentally reveal?" Her voice was monotonous, as if the life from it was drained. "The least we can do is to order our other groups to withdraw, saving both lives, equipment and our powers to keep our fight for a later day."
Reichard silently nodded, guiding her onto a small field among the trees. She quickly got to work with her radio, trying to get to the private line with her comrades.
"This is the Commander. All units, if your objectives are impossible to achieve – use plan Delta to escape from annihilation. Meet up in the Tan point." Plan Delta – a nice way of saying 'fight for your lives and escape with everything you have into wild Amazonas'. Yet, the options weren't too good. "Lazlo, how is the situation in Suriname?"
Voice on the line responded, belonging to an old resistance fighter. "As bad as it was possible. We`re planning to flee as soon as possible. Old Spaniard wasn`t able to even decimate incoming Brits, not even speaking about stopping. They`re now rushing towards us, and their airforce have been harassing us for a good hour."
"Leave now, immediately!" Jeanne spoke loudly into the radio, "They are probably sending another wing with napalm against you! Order civilians to flee and rendezvous with us later!"
"Understo…" Lazlo replied, but he suddenly was interrupted with explosions happening in the background. "Maybe they`re already here. We will get to you no matter what, Commander. Good luck, we won`t reach out on the radio again."
"Good luck, friend." Jeanne muttered, her eyes becoming watery from all of it happening.
"Now, how is situation on your end, Dunkan? ... Dunkan?!"
With Charles, Amazonas,
18:21
Emperor-from-the-future was strolling around what once was a terrorists forward-operating base. His legs crushing burnt wood and fabric under him. Truly, this operation cleared the Area from the last vermin, and now he could go further in his plan of going faster for the throne, and then to meet up Marianne. No matter whether she was his Marianne or a different one due to Butterfly effect, he would never miss the chance to meet her again.
He stopped, delving into his thoughts. 'Gabrielle la Britannia was honestly a bad consort, like literally anybody else. Maybe it would be wise to keep everything to how it was in the previous timeline with them? But these teenage instincts are quite distracting in the matter.'
True, his somewhat lame body built in his last timeline, which he begun to improve later in his twenties, was the thing he already begun to fix from the early age. But the women? Why would he even bother with them, when all of them aren't Marianne? 'Yes, political marriages, societal, whatever. Yes, I know they`re needed and I would and probably will end up in more than one. But why had I tried to rush things with Gabrielle? She has neither the looks or the intellect of Marianne?' Charles even stiffed a laugh, 'V.V., I do understand why you were behaving like a jealous little boy some time. These appearances don`t go well for a man. Growing out of them is somewhat nice, I must say. Sad you weren`t able to before.'
He continued to stroll through this gigantic pile of ash, burned metal, wood and bones. Yet, it didn`t disturb him in the slightest. His stroll was stopped when he saw a face he was expecting to see through the entire deal.
D.S.
He felt as if time stopped, which it actually did. Soldiers stood not making any motion, even water stopped flowing freely from the tap.
"What`s the matter, D.S.? The last time I remember, you didn`t care for anybody aside Lelouch." He ironically asked her, with a grin on his face.
"I`m no mortal, I know no emotions and I`m not a subject to them. Only to appearance of having one" She spoke, circling around him. "I do not care for them, but I must say, Charles – this is a step in the wrong direction. This is not a perfect world anybody wished to experience aside from psychopaths like Luciano Bradley."
"And yet," he was tapping to his suit, glaring her in the eyes, his face not showing any emotion, "you cared enough to speak with me. What is it that you truly want, D.S.?"
She stood silent, observing him with a calculating look on her face. From nowhere, a small TV appeared before him, showing the firebombing a Rebel base. A base, that also was a last resort for fleeing from war innocents. Only flames, Phantoms, bombs blowing up among the fires in rubble. Not even screams, only silhouettes fleeing the scene – the camera viewpoint was higher than the hills above the base but could freely move, showing light on what happened. "For one point, Lelouch was correct in his theory that if the end goal is noble, then any suffered losses are acceptable. But he never saw that he and his sister were subjectable to this theory as well, not even speaking about mistakes or blunders he made."
D.S. kept on glaring daggers at him. "The big part of it is you. How you made the world for him to live in defined his fate – quite literally". Charles gestured with his hand. "But the Ragnarok was a way do make the best world for both him and Nunnally! If Lelouch`s doctrine was correct, then why Ragnarok wasn`t? Why then my new actions aren't?"
"The answer to both of your questions is almost identical – you misunderstood the world, and misunderstood even more the 'Lelouch`s doctrine'," She took out of nowhere an enormous at least 1000-pages long leather-covered book, effortlessly throwing it his way. He caught it, and opened it in the middle. What he saw was a detailed list of names and the story of people behind them. Who they were, where they were born and what they`ve been doing in their lives. "Every man, every woman, every child behind these names had died due to your campaign. Many of them would survive if you really accounted for civilian`s."
"But you didn`t!" She exclaimed, the book disappearing without a trace in his hands. "The Ragnarok isn`t nearly the same as what Lelouch believed in his 'theory'. Why is it? Because your goal wasn`t noble back then, and isn`t such right now. It was childish, impure and only self-centered. If it wasn`t such – many would survive, many lives would be improved, and many-many more would see the world slightly better, if even saw it at all!"
"This is debatable, D.S." He glanced at the black burned skull beneath his boot. "Does the life of one really matter that much on a road to the better world? Does the deaths of so many that it becomes only a statistic matter too much? I believe, that it doesn`t." He took his boot off the skull, instead taking the skull into his hand. "This man could`ve been a terrorist. This man could`ve been radicalized into being one. Or he could support them by betraying others, dropping to terrorists information on how to kill his neighbor. Is it really that bad that he perished?"
"Or, with the same chance, he could`ve been Lelouch, Nunnally, or even Marianne." He flinched at her comment, "But you made no precautions for it. No – you encouraged tactics from Pacific War of firebombing entire cities, levelling them to the ground in mere seconds. Your OSI back then and your loyal subordinates now operate on a level more gruesome than any Kempeitai or armed radical militias. You knew and know now that this was never the way. I won't teach you that." She turned her back on him, her body beginning to disappearing into a thin air, "What I will tell you – be more considerate in your goals and implementations of them, but be more decisive in matters that require it. Surely, Lelouch would appreciate if you had not maimed your daughter if you wished to save her or if you cracked down on V.V. before he tried to kill Marianne. Just a food for thought."
She was gone. Time resumed, water begun to run yet again, soldiers continued to do their tasks, yet Charles stood there, not moving an inch. 'Why do you have to make everything more difficult, D.S.?'
His thoughts on the matter were interrupted shortly. "Your Highness!" soldier approached him, "Colonel Smith is here with a prisoner!"
"Good. Lead the way"
With Dunkan,
18:25
Dunkan was strolling through the beautiful green fields. He bowed, his hands reaching the bright white and yellow flowers peacefully growing, undisturbed by war, by politics, by disasters. No, they simply rose and bloomed for that was the only thing they wished to do.
"Dunkan!" he heard the gentle feminine voice, accompanied by a weak boy`s parroting one. William recognized his wife, with whom he lived for the last ten years
"Dunkan! What are you doing? Get back, we are having a picnic, not a walk!"
He stiffed a laugh, slowly going to his family. They were sitting on spread out red sheet, with a light-brown wooden casket, from which a few sandwiches were standing out.
"So, how is Orinoco for you, dear?"
"As beautiful as it always was." He replied, glancing into the horizon.
"As beautiful as me?"
He hugged her lightly, "No-no, not even close."
Her happy tone changed into a more worried voice. "I can`t imagine something this land turning into a warzone. Oh, William, what should we do?"
"I will fight against Britannia, at all costs."
She didn`t respond at first, her eyes locked on the horizon. He wanted to change the topic, but she spoke up first. "But is it truly the way, Dunkan?"
He jumped out of surprise. "Why do you ask? When we win, this Area will be much better, especially with no parasites from the Pendragon sucking this land dry."
"And if the terrorists won`t win? What will be with you, with me, with us?"
'What?'
"What will happen next, Dunkan?!" Her voice was slowly changing into much stricter tone, appearing more and more manly.
"Where the terrorists would hide, where would their bases be placed? How many are collaborating with you among the nobility?! Answer me, Dunkan!"
"I..I…What?!"
His short slumber was interrupted with a punch to his gut. His half-closed eyes weren`t able to identify the man, but from the uniform he could say he was a middle-lank police offices.
"Dunkan! Answer the damn questions! Or I swear you won`t meet your family ever again!" Police officer punched the fallen officer with his fist yet again, now striking his face, afterwards rising up again and taking a rubber baton.
He wasn`t sure how long it would`ve lasted, but his torturer was suddenly interrupted by a new voice. Both his and policeman`s eyes went wide at hearing the voice, recognizing it as new Viceroy`s. "Stop. I need to speak with the prisoner alone."
Officer glanced between the two. He hanged the baton back on the handle "Of course, Your Highness."
Charles stood motionlessly, until the officer left the interrogations room. His eyes locked on the floor the entire time. Dunkan would`ve thought that the young prince was simply unexperienced with torture, yet something in his behavior was telling that the boy knew far too much in this matter than even the man before, simply staying in his thoughts.
"William Dunkan, one of the senior lieutenants of Britannian Army in Area 5. Well-distinguished in battles on Guadalcanal, 1944`s Iwo Jima campaign, earning a lot of ribbons and medals for his performance in these battles, one time clearing in the cover of the night three Japanese trenches, all alone, in order to save encircled Marine platoon and earning the Distinguished Service Cross of St. Michael later in the day." Charles didn`t have any files with him, so lieutenant was slightly surprised the boy knew his biography. "One of the staunchest loyalists in the Area, with fantastic prospects for the future." Charles pressed him, his voice becoming rougher, and his eyes keeping to drill him. "All of this makes your treason even stranger. Say, what drove you to jumping off this cliff?"
Dunkan was unsure how to respond. He hated him, he hated what he represented – the Old Britannia, that needed to be burned down. But he couldn`t sit silent. He wanted to speak out, to tell his story even if it was the last thing he could do.
"My family"
Charles quirked his brow. "Your family? That is all it took to go against the Crown?
Dunkan raised his head. "I could hide behind my achievements, live a quiet, peaceful, rich old life. When Britannia cared only about getting pockets of her nobility only bigger, when the common man is betrayed on all levels by his Homeland, should he ignore it? I think not! I despise what we, Britannians, did, and I hope to atone for what blood was spilt for interests of such kind as you.
I was born in New Orleans, but I fell in love with this land when I came here. Freer, more prosperous, more natural. Could I really betray this newfound respect for people here?"
Uneasy silence followed his answer. Prince could only stiff a laugh at it. "Childish. And because of all of it, you ignored who would benefit the most of your rebellion? On some level, Britannia is as bad and corrupted as you said. But, the power Britannia wields is enormous." Charles looked him in the eyes, "Imagine, you won. By some miracle, Britannia failed to save the Area from collapse. Now, who`d rule over what was left? E.U., perhaps? A failed super-state, which swings from one radical worldview to another, it`s policies being too fickle to effectively guide its people to the future. Or the Chinese Federation? Cheap copy of Britannia, lacking it`s hierarchy and its biggest strongpoint – initiative and determination. Spreading out wealth among all people? Heh! What a waste of resources, that could`ve been better used anyways!"
"But we could fight off Britannia, we could change how the world would work…!"
He immediately stopped under Charles` harsh look. "You`re not the revolutionary the world needs, and not the one who will actually change anything. Just a footnote in history with no future, who would meet his end in defeat – by my hand, or by any other`s."
Charles looked at the broken man – he was no Lelouch. He lacked ideas, he lacked understanding. Maybe, he was a simple tool that didn`t even understood what he would do.
"Dunkan," He closed in to the traitor, "even in your betrayal, in your actions, you did remind me of somebody, whom I respected. Sadly for you, you`re not even close to him. But I still see use in you." His eyes flickered red, an unfamiliar red sigil flying out of it.
"You will live a new life, devoid of rebellion, of past actions, with new purpose"
Dunkan felt himself somehow affected, yet he wasn`t sure what was happening? His eyes? He couldn`t break contact with them.
And suddenly, the world went black.
Atlanta, Homeland
August 4th, 1995, 20:00
Atlanta was rich for a lot of things. Corrupted nobles, nice parks, entertainment places and a good weather. Aside from the latter – typical city in the Homeland. But the interest of today`s gathering involved none of that, though one may call it entertainment.
An old man was sitting on the top of the amphitheater, looking down from the balcony. His old distinguishes already were worn off, looking not as shiny as decades ago. Only one remained much clearer and in better condition than the others: "Ribbon for participation in pacifying the Area 5". He glanced at his military pocket watch. He heard a sound behind him, causing to turn around. Seeing a friendly face, his expression relaxed.
"Reuben! Good to see you again, youngster!" he hugged him tightly, and the poor fellow felt as if his ribs were close to break apart. Realising he may`ve been too harsh with him, he let him take a breath, "Sorry `bout that, used to greet that way for a long time."
"Billy, I`m 35 already, not a youngster. Or will you keep on calling me this way until either of us goes to St. Darwin?" The two shared a laugh, before Reuben interrupted him. "Now, back to the topic." He gestured to the arena. "We talked about how I would have some use for the people from your Academy. Their fighting prowess makes them perfect people for the project I`m currently having."
'Old Bill' stiffed a laugh. "Still hopin` to get that robot working?"
"I said it a lot of times, Bill: Knightmare Frame, not a robot. This thing will be revolutionary for the world and to the war itself!"
"And you need my best man to test it, yeah?"
Reuben smiled. "While engineering matters, it`s up to a human to make a miracle out of a piece of machinery, no matter how brilliant it may be. Without a human inside – it`s as good as a scrap."
"And yet you came only to the last match. Are you really having these low expectations about my other fighters?" Bill faked a disappointed sigh.
"We both read their files, Old Bill. Hell, you had even been training them, of course they aren`t even that good compared to these two!" Reuben slightly pushed him in his shoulder. "Now, give me a fight I want to see!"
"Yeah, I`ve got you, friend!" Bill tugged Reuben Ashford`s shoulder, before turning around to the scene. He then looked at his son John standing on the arena, motioning him to begin. "Now, young Reuben, take a seat, the show is about to begin."
"Greetings, people! Are you ready for a final match of the day in the 'Dunk-Field'?!" a young voice belonging to Bill`s son spoke in the mic. Cheers from the audience were so loud, that he didn`t even need to ask them again.
"I see you do." He laughed, gesturing to the box office "The bets are already made, and there is no way to take your money back until the end of the match! So now, enjoy the best fight you might ever see!"
The curtains rose on both sides of Arena. From one side, rose one of the biggest man Ashford ever even saw in his life. "Meet the Hercules! – the victor of countless fights, who can guess where you strike and how to break your legs in 10 different ways even before you make a first step out of your box!"
The audience roared, as a good portion of them had been betting a lot of their money on him for the last 3 years and were yet to lose a cent. He was a bald tall Greek man from the Area 8, half of his body decorated with scars. He wore nothing but black cargo pants and tall military boots.
The most interesting detail about him was his crazy glee on his face. Reuben saw the anti-terrorist operations during his voyage around the Empire, and even some terrorists in deathtraps were much more normal than him.
Yet, the biggest surprise for him was his opponent. "On another side, meet the French Devil herself!"
It was a slender girl in her teens, with her black hair formed in a wide tail. He was watching her closely, yet she wasn`t scared at all to fight her three times stronger opponent.
Reuben was surprised to see her dossier this high among all others in the Academy. Currently, most of the test subjects relied on their fencing and physical combat strengths, as well as immense amount of physical force to control the First Gen KMF`s, but the series of Zeus`s had completely failed both performance and utility-wise. Reuben Ashford came up with a new idea – Yggdrasill Drive: more compact and much better in operating all parts of the machine, but the common consensus among not-yet formed field of KMF engineering was to give the Knightmares to the strongest.
'The French Devil' is told to be quick and decisive, while 'Hercules' was strong and extremely enduring, capable of dragging the fight enough to destroy anybody`s will to fight.
"Both opponents are in positions! Are you ready?" Devil and Hercules nodded, not breaking eye contact between each other. "Viewers, are you ready?!" The audience erupted in cheer, some taking their cameras to picture the battle. John pointed his starting pistol high.
"3…2…1…Start!" He fired, and fighters rapidly rushed into each other, closing the distance between them in mere seconds. Hercules immediately tried to knock her out with a strong punch from his left into her face, yet she dodged as soon as his fist left his side. With a swift kick of her right leg into his back, she then avoided another strike of his right arm.
"She`s just like some kind of flash!" Reuben murmured. "How does she move so quickly?"
"I know, right?" Bill leaned towards him. "She never lost a single battle, and all of her fights usually last less than 15 seconds." He turned to look at the audience, "The only reason most of the bets are on her defeat is because they mentally cannot comprehend that there could be a force, able to stop this ogre." Bill stopped, like he was trying to recall something, but quickly dropped it, leaning again to Reuben. "Now, sit and observe. This show won`t be long."
Reuben heard surprised shouts coming from below, and glanced again at the arena. The Devil had been methodically and rapidly cornering the titan, not giving him a pause. He was backing down, step by step under her relentless pressure.
'I swear if she wasn`t this fast, I would withstand it,' Hercules thought to himself. 'Now, let me test a gift from my master, will you be able to fight against me then?' His eyes flared red; a bird-like sigil locked on her. She seemed to stop for a split second, her expression changing from a furious girlish one to a more prepared fighter`s. Hercules expected his mind to be flooded with the purpose of her moves, yet initial mental shock had quickly worn off.
'Wait, does she even place any thoughts in her moves? But she`s moving far too accurately for that!' He stood dumbfounded, a swift punch to his gut breaking him from his surprise. He saw her quickly evading to his right, her left leg immediately going out for the strike. Thinking she`d go for his head, he covered it with his arms. Sadly for him, he understood the goal of her attack the moment his right knee felt incredible pain from behind, causing him to stumble.
"No…I see what you did" he mumbled, his breath long lost and her right fist going now for his face. 'You move too fast so my Geass can`t catch up with it. By the time I would know your intent behind the move, the move is already completed and the next one is to be focused on.' He smirked, "Truly, you`re a Devil, girl."
"Hell yeah I am," she spoke, finally knocking him out with that swift punch into his face. "I saw better opponents than you, the ones you couldn`t ever imagine meeting."
She looked away from him, her eyes at the gaped audience before her. A few seconds went by before they begun to applause. Not a single of the new viewers expected it, while the usual guests even when they saw her a lot of times in combat could still feel surprise at her speed.
"And this is the end! 12 seconds in, and the winner is already decided!" John spoke into the microphone. "I sincerely hope that you were able to make at least one picture or that you prepared your cameras beforehand! Thanks for continuously supporting our work and go away! Don`t forget to take your winnings if your bets paid off!"
The medics swiftly came to the arena, trying to drag Hercules away on the reinforced metal stretchers. 'The Devil' stood silent, something troubling her mind. In the corner of her eyes, she spotted some kind of scientist approaching her, with a handkerchief in his hand. He extended it to her, "Good fight you had, quickly and brilliantly kicking him out. Though I`d recommend you to change your nickname, 'The Devil' doesn`t do you justice."
She raised her head to meet his face. "Sure it was, doc. Though I believe we haven`t met before."
"Sorry for my manners. Sir Reuben K. Ashford, engineering scientist, to your service. And what is your name? You were always regarded only as 'The Devil' wherever I read about you."
She extended her hand to greet, "Marianne, nice to meet you. Now, what did you want to talk about?"
"Straight to the point? Good." He opened his case, giving her two files: one being a document to join his development program with everything on side of Ashford already signed and another having a Imperial Coat of Arms, with technical details of the Knightmare Frame with added picture to it. "Say, what if you were to work for me to test the finest Knightmare Frames Britannia had to offer? Especially with the full benefits of having royal financial support for entire endeavor." He reached to his pocket, revealing a key to his prototype.
"KMF`s? As in those battle robots shown on TV?" She asked, her voice betraying her excitement at the prospect. Her eyes quickly read through the documentation, her smile shining brighter and brighter. Before he could answer, she spoke up again. "I`m in. Now, when will the first test with that piece of walking tank be?"
Reuben smiled. Maybe, with her on board, his Knightmares would be adopted by the military. He didn`t care what changes this meeting would bring to the politics around the world, but he was certain – his Frame would change everything.
"Tomorrow morning. And please," he grinned, giving her a pen to sigh the documents out of his breast pocket, "call it 'Ganymede'."
A/N: He-he-he, chapter "Vi", how could I forget about the person who literally starts line of vi Britannia`s?) I expected this chapter to be a lot shorter, but currently my chapters are only getting longer and longer (like, 9333 words as it was here on the first edit and 9,953 words right now).
On FF this story had reached 40 follows and 4,6K views. For that – I`m grateful to you all.
As before – I expect your reviews, and I thank you for them.
Q/A:
Excubitore – Well, every action has its consequences. Charles knows from Lelouch`s experience how much one bullet can change everything, and how much a continental-wide campaign with different decisions in mind can change if not everything, but enough to make world unrecognizable. He`s afraid of it changing Marianne. I won`t spoil too much, but there will be something to it)