Date: May 18, 2013
Time: 08:30 AM
Location: Bridge of Lelouch's Personnel Royal Special G-1 Base
The elevator doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing the imposing command bridge of the G-1 Base unchanged since the last time Lelouch and his group had stood within its walls. Polished metal flooring gleamed under the overhead lights, and massive high-resolution tactical displays lined the curved walls, each humming with real-time data. Consoles flickered to life as personnel acknowledged the presence of their Supreme Commander.
Lelouch was wheeled in atop a reinforced hospital stretcher one that had seamlessly transitioned into a mobility frame as his injuries began to heal. With practiced ease and gentle coordination from Euphemia and Villetta, Lelouch was transferred from the stretcher into the command chair. The metal arms of the chair adjusted automatically to his posture, locking in comfortably.
"This never stops feeling like a throne," Lelouch muttered under his breath, the corner of his mouth curling up just slightly.
Cornelia, arms crossed, gave a half-smile. "Fitting, considering your ambitions, brother."
Kallen leaned beside the command seat. "You're not sitting here because of a title, Lelouch. You've earned this."
At the front of the command platform, Milly Ashford stood waiting, a familiar spark in her eyes, this time tempered with the gravity of their mission. She stepped forward holding a rugged military-grade laptop cradled in her arms. "Alright, everyone. Pay attention. I've pulled the G-1's full systems data, prioritized with all intelligence regarding Al Dhafra Airbase, the Britannian 2nd Carrier Group, and tactical reports on the 3rd Field Army."
She set the laptop down on the console extension connected to Lelouch's chair. The screen came alive with the Britannian insignia before unlocking with a retinal scan from Lelouch's gaze. Milly tapped a key. "This is the Emergency Override Panel E.O.P. a hidden system built into the core of the G-1 Base's command structure. It's essentially a digital key to take direct, manual control over every subsystem: internal defenses, hangars, supply deployment, and even combat Knightmare sorties."
Lelouch studied the screen, eyes narrowing as the data flowed like a river beneath his fingers. "It's a centralized control interface… for war."
"Exactly," Milly confirmed. "The laptop it runs on is a Panasonic Toughbook, military-grade with sixteen gigs of memory, custom-built shielding, and integrated field encryption. From this point on, Lelouch, it's yours. Fully authorized, hardwired into your command protocols."
Kagari blinked. "Wait, so he can just override the entire base in seconds?"
Milly grinned. "Not just this base. If we configure the uplinks properly, and Lelouch gets clearance, he could override any system linked to the Britannian Strategic Defense Network."
Shirley leaned forward, brows furrowed. "So it's not just for emergencies… it's a king's scepter."
Lelouch turned slowly in the chair, addressing the gathered group with a sharp, thoughtful gleam in his eye. "With this, I can issue direct commands across all units once we're deployed. Resupply the 5th Regiment. Launch night ops against the 3rd Field Army. Redirect air support from the 2nd Carrier Group. All without needing to wait for authorizations from command tiers above."
Nina, tapping her fingers against her datapad, nodded. "It's a force multiplier. Decentralized command systems usually cause delays. You'll cut that out entirely."
Guinevere stepped forward, her tone thoughtful. "It's like you were meant to have this power. As if the G-1 was built with your hands in mind."
Lelouch exhaled, the weight of it all settling in on his shoulders. "It's a tool. One I will wield with precision."
The main bridge screens now displayed the Al Dhafra region in sharp detail: the airbase highlighted in green, surrounded by contested zones where the M.E.F. 's 3rd Field Army had spread thin. Offshore, the 2nd Carrier Group sat like a sleeping beast, its combat wings on standby. Lelouch tapped a few keys on the Toughbook, pulling up a prioritized action queue.
"I won't wait," Lelouch said. "We'll send coded messages to the 5th Regiment's remnants today. Begin prepping aerial resupply runs using the night cycle. We'll have food, water, armor upgrades, and sabotage-resistant munitions airdropped. If we buy them just three more months "
"Then we arrive with the Carrier Battle Group and end this from the inside," Naomi finished with a grin.
Euphemia reached for Lelouch's hand. "We'll bring them hope, Lelouch. That's what this base was meant for."
Charles' voice came from the rear of the bridge, calm and rumbling like distant thunder. "The future of the war may well begin here. So take command, my son. All paths converge at Al Dhafra."
Lelouch looked up at the map, fingers hovering over the keys of his new laptop his new weapon. And with that, the next chapter of their war began to take form.
Date: May 18, 2013
Time: 09:00 AM (0900 Hours)
Location: Bridge of Lelouch's Personnel Royal Special G-1 Base
The humming power of the bridge surged around them like a quiet storm, as the tension in the air began to shift no longer heavy with fear or uncertainty, but charged with the weight of opportunity. Lelouch sat in the command chair, centered on the elevated platform like the conductor of a great orchestra. In his lap rested the rugged Panasonic Toughbook, the Emergency Override Panel active, its screen mirrored on the 70-inch general screen at the head of the bridge for all to see.
A single login prompt glowed in the center. Lelouch exhaled deeply and typed without hesitation, fingers steady;
Royal ID Code Authorization: Prince Lelouch vi Britannia – Tactical Class-3 Override Access
Royal Override Code: "TANTALUS-REIGN-EXODIA-50421"
There was a heartbeat of silence. Then, with a sharp digital chime, the Britannian Strategic Defense Network unlocked before him.
Panels and submenus lit up in waves air, land, sea, and logistics spreading across the interface. The entire manifest of the Britannian 2nd Carrier Group, stationed off the coast near Al Dhafra Airbase, came to life. The details spilled across the screen like firelight on oil, and every pair of eyes in the room locked on as the raw scale of Britannia's might was revealed.
"I knew it…" Lelouch murmured, his voice low, full of restrained awe and grim resolve. "They were waiting for someone to take the leash off."
The logistics manifest was staggering. There were enough pre-packaged military rations, water tanks, and sterilized medical kits onboard to sustain an active force of ground troops for over four months far more than needed to keep the surviving G.G.D.C.F. 5th Regiment operational. Among the cargo were mobile surgical units, decontamination tents, and a battlefield medical detachment, fully equipped and ready for rapid deployment.
But what drew gasps from the group were the vehicles.
A full armored battalion was stored in the holds of several ships. The listed armor included RPI-11 Glasgows, M60A3 Patton Main Battle Tanks, M1A1HC Abrams Main Battle Tanks, and a line of FV4030/4 Challenger 1 Mk.3 MBTs, each in combat-ready condition. Anti-air and support vehicles were also accounted for, LAV-ADs, M6 Linebackers, and ZSU-23-4 Shilka Systems had been modified for desert operations. Infantry support was reinforced with FV510 Warrior IFVs, M2A3 Bradleys, M113A3 APCs, and logistical support variants, including mobile command trucks and recovery vehicles.
"We have an entire armored company," Cornelia whispered, stepping forward. "And an air defense net that can lock down that region until reinforcements arrive."
Milly, standing behind Lelouch, added quickly, "And here's the ships carrying them. Every vessel in the 2nd Carrier Group, confirmed by satellite imaging and combat manifest, is real. They're just waiting."
The ships displayed on screen were instantly recognizable: BRN Queen Elizabeth (R08) Queen Elizabeth-class aircraft carrier, flagship of the group. BRN Prince of Wales (R09) her sister carrier, acting as mobile HQ for airborne command. BRN Illustrious (L10) amphibious assault ship and marine deployment platform. BRN The Sullivans (DDG-68) Arleigh Burke-class (Flight I) Aegis destroyer for fleet air defense. BRN Dragon (D35) Type 45 Destroyer, state-of-the-art air warfare platform. BRN Fort Victoria (A387) Fort-class replenishment ship, loaded with fuel and munitions. BRN Mounts Bay (L3008) Bay-class auxiliary landing ship, outfitted for emergency beach landings. BRN Ocean (L12) Ocean-class helicopter carrier and troop deployment center. BRN St. Albans (F83) Duke-class (Type 23) frigate for anti-submarine warfare. And BRN Bulwark (L15) Albion-class amphibious transport dock for heavy vehicle deployment.
"And the aircraft onboard," Lelouch muttered as he scrolled, "are a blend of American and British fighters and support craft. We've got F/A-18E Super Hornets, AV-8B Harriers, E-2D Hawkeye early-warning aircraft, CH-47F Chinook heavy-lift helicopters, AH-64D Apache Longbows, and even Merlin HM2s for fleet protection and rescue."
Villetta stepped closer, her eyes wide. "This force could land at Al Dhafra by nightfall if ordered. With the M.E.F.'s limited night vision and AA coverage...this could be the turning point."
"And the Britannian 5th Regiment," Shirley asked softly, "They'll get these supplies?"
Lelouch nodded. "We drop what we can coordinated air resupply every third night. Precision drops, only under full moon or cloud cover. We give them strength to endure until our group arrives with the Carrier Battlegroup."
Clovis, who had entered during the briefing, clapped a hand on Lelouch's shoulder, eyes bright. "You are truly your mother's son. This is what it means to command not with sheer power, but with conviction."
Euphemia looked at Lelouch, her voice full of emotion. "They won't be alone. We're going to them. Not as nobles. Not as pawns. But as soldiers."
Lelouch, seated like a monarch amid stars and steel, looked across the faces of his lovers, his family, his command. "Then let history record this day. This moment. We do not march into war for glory. We do it because no one else would."
Date: May 18, 2013
Time: 10:30 AM (1030 Hours)
Location: Bridge of Lelouch's Personnel Royal Special G-1 Base
The bridge's atmosphere had changed. Gone was the undercurrent of reactive urgency. In its place stood something sharper focused, methodical, like the sharpening of a blade before battle. The screen still displayed the glowing manifests of the Britannian 2nd Carrier Group and the outline of Al Dhafra Airbase. But now, layered across it, were tactical grids, topographical scans, and three-dimensional terrain overlays of the abandoned outskirts of Abu Dhabi and the coastline surrounding it.
Lelouch sat upright in the command chair, the Panasonic Toughbook balanced across his lap. The lines of his face had hardened more serious, more focused than many in the room had seen before. His right hand rested beside the mousepad, but his left hovered above the keys, poised to act. Behind his gaze wasn't just the mind of a royal prince it was the soul of Zero, strategist, insurgent commander, and tactician without equal.
"All of you," Lelouch said softly, his voice slicing through the quiet, "know me as a prince. Some of you even know me as a classmate, a friend…or more. But I need you to remember this I've fought a war before. And I've won."
Cornelia tilted her head ever so slightly, arms folded. "You're referring to your time as Zero?"
Lelouch didn't flinch. "Yes. Every mistake I made in that past…every triumph, every failure I remember all of it. And I will not let history repeat itself."
Guinevere glanced at Euphemia, who simply nodded with quiet pride. Shirley and Milly stood together by one of the holographic displays, both of them silent now as they watched Lelouch step fully into command.
"We turn Al Dhafra into a fortress," Lelouch continued, his tone shifting from personal to precise. "This will not be another forward operating base destined to fall in a few weeks. It will be a bastion, a shield wall, a command center, and a rally point. And more than that it will be the anvil upon which the 3rd Field Army breaks."
Kallen stepped forward, resting her hand on the side of his chair. "Tell us what needs to be done. We'll make it happen."
The strategy began to unfold. Lelouch used the touchscreen to zoom in on the outer rim of the Al Dhafra base. "We set up a multilayered defense grid using the existing airstrip and hangar structures. Infantry will entrench along these sectors here and here line-of-sight coverage with FV510 Warriors and Bradley IFVs will create interlocking fields of fire. Behind them, M60A3 and Challenger 1 tanks will hold the core."
He tapped a few keys and brought up a second map. "The old service tunnels beneath Abu Dhabi's civilian districts haven't collapsed. We turn them into fallback corridors barricaded, sealed, fortified. If the base is breached, they become our inner sanctum."
Ichijiku blinked as the schematic updated in real time. "This is like what you did with Narita." Lelouch replied with eyes burning, "no this time, no one gets buried. We control the outcome top to bottom." Villetta stepped forward. "Air defense?"
"M6 Linebackers, LAV-ADs, and captured ZSU-23-4s will be placed at layered altitudes some disguised within urban rubble. We integrate mobile AA units with the base's command grid, and I'll set automated firing orders based on thermal and radar triggers."
Nina, now perched at a terminal, added, "We can modify the radar matrix to create false ghost signatures. Their drones won't even know what's real."
Lelouch nodded. "Exactly. And from the 2nd Carrier Group, we request a pair of Merlin HM2s and at least four CH-47Fs with long-range fuel tanks. They'll fly low, drop at night, and resupply our Regiment with mobile pallets."
Naomi stepped forward, her tone heavy with thought. "You're planning to sustain the Regiment indefinitely until we arrive."
"No," Lelouch said, locking eyes with her, "I'm planning for them to hold indefinitely, with the intent that when we arrive… they won't need to run. We'll be the hammer to their anvil."
The bridge grew quiet again as everyone absorbed the scope of Lelouch's plan. Euphemia approached him slowly, her hand resting against his arm. "And you'll lead them into this… when training ends?"
Lelouch looked into her eyes with a gentleness only family could evoke. "Yes. I'll be the first one on the ground. And the last to leave."
Behind them, the massive screen now displayed a new name across the top of the tactical map: Operation Codename: FORTRESS AL DHAFRA
And underneath it, the mission classification: Authorized by Imperial Order Prince Lelouch vi Britannia.
Date: May 18, 2013
Time: 11:00 AM (1100 Hours)
Location: Bridge of Lelouch's Personnel Royal Special G-1 Base
The hum of machinery, quiet and steady, set the tempo for the tension lacing the room. The 70-inch general screen pulsed with shifting encryption layers and high-level data feeds, while Lelouch's fingers moved with unerring precision across the keyboard of his military-grade Toughbook. Around him, the bridge crew stood in respectful silence. This wasn't just an order being issued this was the moment a prince reached across a war zone, not to command, but to promise something sacred: hope.
Lelouch leaned back slightly, his violet eyes focused and unwavering. "Is the signal line confirmed secure?" he asked, his voice low but clear.
"It's locked," Nina responded from her console. "We've triple-bounced the packet through Britannian Intelligence satellites and piggybacked the last burst through the Carrier Group's comm tower. No trace, no bleeding. Only Al Dhafra will see it."
Lelouch gave a single nod and pressed Enter. The message began to transmit. On the main screen, the text scrolled in real time, his voice unspoken but undeniable words typed with conviction rather than flair.
Subject: ROYAL DIRECTIVE — Operation Fortress Al Dhafra
-)TO: Surviving Command, Britannian Military G.G.D.C.F. 5th Regiment, Al Dhafra Theater
-)FROM: Prince Lelouch vi Britannia – Supreme Commander, G-1 Royal Strategic Force
-)ENCRYPTION: ROYAL ORDER 3-ALPHA–CARRIER-TIER LINK – "Operation Fortress Al Dhafra"
To all surviving officers and soldiers of the 5th Regiment;
Your endurance has not gone unnoticed. Your resolve is etched into Britannia's record of honor. I am Prince Lelouch vi Britannia, and from this hour forward, you are no longer abandoned. A full combat resupply schedule has been authorized. Beginning May 20, nightly airdrops will deliver rations, ammunition, upgraded armor components, medical units, and defensive emplacements. This operation will continue without fail for the next three months and one week. You are to fortify and hold Al Dhafra. A Carrier Battlegroup and full reinforcement force will join you after our training is complete. You will not be left behind. Endure. We are coming.
Lelouch vi Britannia, G-1 Command (Royal Directive Confirmed)
The message pulsed once more and vanished into encrypted compression. All that remained was a soft beep. The silence in the bridge was almost suffocating. "Transmission complete," Shirley confirmed, her voice nearly a whisper. They waited. Thirty seconds. A full minute. Two. Until…"Signal ping inbound," Milly called out suddenly. "They're responding." Lelouch leaned forward in his seat. No one spoke. The return message unfolded slowly, older encryption protocols, manual coding. Clearly patched through damaged systems. But the message came through all the same.
TO: Royal Command – G-1 Base / Prince Lelouch vi Britannia
FROM: Acting Field Commander, Staff Sergeant Michael Williams, 5th Regiment
We… we received you. Permission to speak freely, sir? We buried our CO three weeks ago with the flag he swore to. Half of us stopped believing we'd see Britannian command again. The last radio operator is a mechanic who rewired the dish with tank comm gear. Most of us sleep in foxholes beneath hangar floors. But then your message came. Sir, we'll hold. We'll damn well die before we let that airbase fall now. Our boys were about to vote on whether to surrender and sabotage the vehicles on our own terms. Now we're welding armor back onto the Pattons. Prince Lelouch this means more than you'll ever know. We're alive again. We'll hold until the stars fall if that's what it takes. Just don't be late. With gratitude and fire, – Williams, 5th Regiment
When the final word faded off the screen, the only sound on the bridge was Kallen's soft exhale, the trembling quiet of a single breath after weeks of war-drawn silence. Cornelia's jaw clenched. "They were about to surrender. They were that far gone…"
Villetta looked away for a moment, as if holding back something sharp in her chest. "They were holding onto nothing but dirt and steel… and still ready to die for it." Euphemia knelt beside Lelouch, her hand wrapping around his. "They needed a reason, Lelouch. You gave it to them."
Guinevere added, her voice barely more than a whisper, "You just reignited an entire Regiment's will to fight with one message." Lelouch stared at the words still hanging in the air, that last line like a knife in his chest Just don't be late. "I won't be," Lelouch said finally. "We won't be."
And everyone on that bridge knew then with absolute certainty that the next chapter of the war had already begun. Not on the battlefield. But in the hearts of those who refused to give up.
Date: May 19, 2013
Time: 22:41 Hours (10:41 PM)
Location: Al Dhafra Airbase, Former Abu Dhabi Region, G.G.D.C.F. 5th Regiment AO
The storm rolled in over the dead city with a growl thunder cracking like the voices of gods across the black horizon. Desert winds howled through ruined structures and swept across the battered perimeter of Al Dhafra Airbase. The soldiers stationed there, the last remnants of the Britannian G.G.D.C.F. 5th Regiment, looked up with weariness drawn into their bones, their boots soaked in weeks-old sand and sweat. For months, they had prayed for relief, for a miracle. What they got instead was something entirely different something alive.
The first sound that broke through the storm was not the rumble of engines or the scream of aircraft it was music.
"March along, sing our song, with the Army of the free!
Count the brave, count the true, who have fought to victory!"
Every speaker in the base came alive at once. The voice of an old American anthem, The Army Goes Rolling Along, roared through the comm towers, hangars, and speakers still operational. Eyes widened. Helmets turned. Soldiers froze as the music carried through the base with unmistakable authority. It was not an enemy trick, nor a broadcast mistake. It was a declaration.
"For where'er we go, you will always know,
That the Army goes rolling along!"
Moments later, the clouds split with the flashing descent of parachute-borne crates, vehicles tethered to repulsor-guided drop systems, and flares streaking red across the sky. Above the storm, amidst the shadow of clouds, the thunder now mixed with the roar of jet engines and the streak of rotor blades. A squadron of ten heavy-lift helicopters thundered in behind the airdrop, accompanied by naval gunfire and missile support from the Britannian 2nd Carrier Group off the coast.
Naval artillery lit the southern ridges with cleansing fire, timed to mask the drop. Type 45 Destroyers and Arleigh Burke-class Aegis ships unleashed synchronized strikes on M.E.F. patrols moving too close to the drop zone. Air superiority fighters screamed overhead, letting loose gun runs and precision-guided munitions against sand-buried M.E.F. batteries. Rockets and bombs created shockwaves that sent plumes of dust and flame into the air as Britannian Naval Aviation provided close support, watching the landing zone from above.
And then… the storm brought rain. Not water. Not dust. But salvation.
A tide of hope fell from the sky: Class A hot rations, enough for three full meals a day per person for months. Sealed water tanks, filtered and reinforced for desert deployment. Medical crates, field trauma kits, sterilized instruments, and high-supply morphine and antibiotics. Encrypted communication kits, reinforced satellite uplinks, and digital scrambler units. Upgraded combat optics, thermal vision, and integrated helmet-mounted displays. New uniforms, desert-adapted armor, and tactical boots, all standard issue. Five large ammo crates, containing varied calibers for small arms, heavy weapons, and tanks. Three RPI-11 Glasgows, reinforced and refurbished for long-term sand operation. Five FV510 Warrior IFVs, Five M2A3 Bradleys, Five M113A3 APCs. Five M6 Linebackers, Five M60A3 Pattons Main Battle Tanks, Five M1A1HC Abrams Main Battle Tanks, and Five FV4030/4 Challenger 1 Mk.3 Main Battle Tanks. One mobile command truck, outfitted with a roof-mounted antenna array and full tactical suite. A battlefield medical detachment, complete with surgical staff, field medics, and a triage officer. Combat engineers, comm specialists, tank crews, infantrymen, and more a total of 650 personnel from the Britannian 2nd Carrier Group, handpicked and briefed for reinforcement ops.
The surviving men and women of the G.G.D.C.F. 5th Regiment stood speechless, many with rifles slung low and dirt on their cheeks, blinking as the first true combat rations in months were distributed sirloin steaks, fried eggs over-medium, hash browns, baked potatoes with melted butter, and brewed coffee. The scent alone broke several to tears.
Staff Sergeant Michael Williams stood at the base of the newly deployed command truck, watching the dropship doors open and new troops disembark. One of the officers, a grizzled man with a Naval collar tab and a clipped accent, handed Williams a sealed black folder.
"By order of Prince Lelouch vi Britannia," the officer said, offering a salute, "you've been promoted. Your men voted to give you the burden. Congratulations, Captain Williams."
The veteran's hand shook slightly as he opened the file and saw the official seal, the ink still fresh. He looked around at his regiment clothes torn, eyes sunken, weapons scratched and patched with duct tape and then to the clean armor, humming tanks, and the resounding anthem still echoing faintly from the hangars.
"Lelouch," he whispered under his breath, voice cracking. "You crazy royal bastard. You actually did it…"
The officers and enlisted from the Carrier Group, hardened naval and marine veterans, moved with crisp precision as they coordinated the deployment of vehicles and resupply gear. Many of them paused to look around at the defenders of Al Dhafra, and several offered sincere salutes, murmuring to one another.
"This is what command with heart looks like." "Been a long time since I saw leadership like this." "Damn shame he's still in training. I'd follow that prince anywhere."
And somewhere in the battered airbase, as warm meals were devoured, wounds rebandaged, and tears swallowed with steaming coffee, a broken regiment began to believe again.
The storm passed quietly over the base, but in its wake, it left more than just steel and smoke. It left a promise fulfilled and a future worth holding onto.
Date: May 20, 2013
Time: 08:15 AM (0815 Hours)
Location: Bridge of Lelouch's Personnel Royal Special G-1 Base
Time Left in Training: 2 Months, 3 Weeks, and 5 Days
The bridge had taken on an almost sacred stillness. The large 70-inch command screen pulsed with the blue glow of the satellite feed, tuned and ready. A wide-angle camera mounted discreetly above Lelouch's primary console flickered online. Microphones calibrated. Transmission encryption sequences locked. This was not a moment for orders nor operational assessments. This was something deeper. Something that couldn't be issued through files or voice-only commands.
This was a prince stepping forward as a leader.
Lelouch sat upright in his command chair, his dress uniform perfectly pressed, the Britannian crest embroidered on his chest glinting faintly beneath the overhead lights. The weight of what he was about to say lingered on his shoulders, but there was no hesitation in his eyes only clarity. Around him stood Clovis, Cornelia, Euphemia, and Guinevere, each bearing the look of family not bound by title, but by shared belief. Nunnally sat beside him, holding a small tablet as she monitored the feed's stability. The rest of the command team watched from the upper bridge tiers, silent and still.
Nina gave the final confirmation from her terminal. "Transmission link to Al Dhafra Base confirmed. Receiving unit is active. Audio and video are clean."
Lelouch glanced once toward Nunnally, who nodded with a warm, steady smile. That was enough.
He faced forward, the camera's red light flicking to solid. He began.
"To the soldiers of the 5th Regiment...
I am Lelouch vi Britannia, Prince of the Empire by blood, by burden, and by oath.
Last night, you bore witness to what I hope was more than a mission. More than a strategic resupply. I want it to be a message. That you are not forgotten. That you are not expendable. And that we those who wear the name Britannia will not leave our own to die in the dark."
He paused, the silence hitting hard through the comms.
"War has long been used as an excuse by those too afraid to confront its cost. To them, you were just a delay tactic. A bump in the desert. But not to me.
You are the forge upon which a new chain is being made a chain that binds loyalty not to thrones or noble blood, but to each other.
I will not promise peace. I will not lie to you with the illusion of easy victory. But I do promise you this: when the final stone is laid atop Fortress Al Dhafra, you will be remembered not as men who held the line, but as the ones who built it.
And when my command arrives when we meet you in the fire you will not be alone."
He exhaled slowly, letting the final words settle before speaking the last line. His voice was quiet, yet unshakable.
"I swear it to you... as your commander."
With a final look of resolve, Lelouch gave the hand signal to cut the feed. The bridge remained silent as the red light blinked out.
Across the miles, beneath the shattered hangars and makeshift bunkers of Al Dhafra, hundreds of soldiers stood frozen in front of the makeshift display screen inside the now-refitted mobile command truck. Some held mess trays with half-finished steak. Some had mud or ash across their faces. Many stood shoulder to shoulder, not moving a muscle until the transmission ended.
Captain Michael Williams didn't speak immediately. He swallowed once, then looked to the men and women around him, many of whom had stopped believing in orders, or in Britannia, or in anything at all. Now, they looked as if the desert heat had been washed away by the rain of words.
"Well, hell," he muttered hoarsely. "Looks like we finally found our chain of command."
Applause didn't erupt. It didn't have to. What came instead was something heavier soldiers clapping each other on the back, officers wiping eyes, engineers rolling their sleeves and going back to work with a different rhythm to their steps.
And just as the energy began to build again within the base, the comm operator's voice cracked through the portable headset.
"Captain! We just picked up a low-band, analog ping off the old south highway. It's... it's not military. It's a civilian beacon." Williams blinked. "A civilian camp? Out here?"
The tech nodded. "Coordinates are less than two miles out. Looks like they've been running off portable solar power and ration recycling. Might've been stranded when the M.E.F. swept through. At least... that's what it was trying to say."
Williams looked toward the flickering light on the map. His jaw tightened. "Get that to the prince. If there are civilians out there, stranded in this hellhole... then we've got a new mission."
Date: May 20, 2013
Time: 15:45 Hours (3:45 PM)
Location: G-1 Base Command Room, Twentynine Palms Marine Corps Base, California
Time Left in Training: 2 Months, 3 Weeks, and 5 Days
The command room of the G-1 Base buzzed with quiet tension. Euphemia stood at the center of the polished, sunlit room, dressed in her humanitarian combat utility uniform white medical armband prominent on her sleeve. She held a tablet close to her chest, eyes locked on the mission feed ahead, where six multi-angle screens displayed synchronized drone footage, helmet cams, and command visuals from Al Dhafra Airbase, all relaying the first joint humanitarian deployment of its kind under Lelouch's authorization.
The room had fallen silent as the footage began.
From the MQ-9A Reaper drone circling high above the arid outskirts of Abu Dhabi, the shattered desert plain rolled out below vast and empty, save for the flicker of movement among the rusted ruins of an old truck depot and sand-covered overpass. Thermal signatures confirmed the presence of both civilians and armed individuals, though their behavior didn't match M.E.F. protocol. No hostilities. No encirclement. No execution formations.
Euphemia stepped closer to the comms table, fingers moving quickly to patch in to the field team.
"All Britannian personnel, maintain Rules of Engagement level green. Confirm status of civilians and identify any commanding officer among the armed elements. Repeat non-hostile protocol until confirmed threat."
Across the desert floor, a slow convoy of eight Britannian M113A3 APCs, three mobile command jeeps, and two CH-47F Chinooks had come to a halt just beyond the camp's boundary. Soldiers advanced with shields, medics following behind with triage packs. Helmet cameras showed everything: UAE civilians many barefoot, gaunt, some with bandages made from torn clothing looked up in fear at the sudden arrival of armored columns.
But it wasn't fear of the newcomers…It was fear of being seen…And then something unexpected happened. From behind the sheltering wrecks of former supply trucks, rows of M.E.F. armored vehicles emerged not in combat formation, but in surrender. Ten BMP-3Ms, ten BMP-2M "Berezhok" IFVs, ten BTR-82 APCs, ten T-72A, and ten T-72B3 Main Battle Tanks (2013 upgrades), all rolled forward and powered down. Soldiers exited with hands raised or weapons held muzzle-down. Most were dust-covered and bleeding from minor wounds. There were no insignias on their arms, only torn fabric and stripped patches.
And leading them emerging from the lead BMP-3M was a man wearing cracked, weather-worn desert combat armor and a sidearm still holstered. A young Britannian officer stepped forward, raising his weapon instinctively.
But the man stopped and calmly removed his helmet. He was Middle Eastern, dark-eyed and sun-scarred, but carried himself with the firm precision of formal military training. He looked up into the helmet cam of the soldier now broadcasting back to Euphemia.
"My name is Lieutenant Tariq Al-Hassan, formerly of the Middle Eastern Federation's 7th Mechanized Battalion," the man said calmly in accented but fluent Britannian. "I speak for myself and the five hundred soldiers behind me. We are no longer part of the M.E.F. I wish to request formal asylum under the command structure of the Britannian Foreign Legion."
The room inside the G-1 command center was dead silent.
Euphemia's hand trembled slightly as she pressed the comms link. Her voice came out clear, soft but certain. "Lieutenant Al-Hassan, I am Euphemia li Britannia, overseeing this operation from G-1 Command. I need to confirm do your men intend to defect? Have they taken up arms against the M.E.F.?"
The camera turned back to Al-Hassan, who nodded solemnly. "The M.E.F. has slaughtered its own people, violated every rule of engagement, and left our families to starve. We refused to continue. They labeled us traitors. We brought with us as many of the civilians as we could before they found us. The soldiers under my command speak your language. Many of us were educated abroad. We are willing to be absorbed into the Britannian chain of command and swear allegiance to the Britannian crown... if it means our people live."
Tears welled up in Euphemia's eyes. "Then I will make that recommendation immediately to my brother. For now… you are under Britannian protection."
On-screen, the Britannian soldiers lowered their weapons. Combat engineers and MPs moved to secure the surrendered weapons and assess the armor for compatibility. Medical teams rushed in as civilians fell to their knees in exhaustion and sobs. The humanitarian team from Al Dhafra set up triage tents immediately. Field rations were distributed without pause. Children most too young to understand the colors of flags or the names of nations clung to soldiers offering water.
Watching it all unfold, Euphemia pressed a hand to her heart. "We forged a chain yesterday with our soldiers," she whispered. "Today, we extend it to those who had no one left."
Lelouch, watching from his private command screen within the adjacent room, said nothing. But his eyes burned with conviction.
Date: May 21, 2013
Time: 10:00 AM (1000 Hours)
Location: Al Dhafra Airbase, Britannian Military Occupied Zone, Former Abu Dhabi
Time Left in Training: 2 Months, 3 Weeks, and 4 Days
The sun hung high over Al Dhafra, its heat bearing down like a trial by fire. Yet within the compound's perimeter, something new was being born beneath that scorching sky not through conquest or declaration, but through choice. The airbase, once bruised and battered by war, now pulsed with life and energy as makeshift tents, temporary barracks, and refurbished buildings buzzed with activity.
Lieutenant Tariq Al-Hassan stood tall before a column of his men, now stripped of their M.E.F. insignias. The burnished gray of their armor had been scrubbed free of former allegiances, and many bore fresh Britannian armbands red, gold, and black stitched hastily by field seamstresses. Their equipment had been registered and tagged by Britannian quartermasters; every vehicle underwent inspection by mobile engineering units.
"I speak not as a soldier without a country," Tariq declared, his voice steady as his men stood in attention behind him. "But as a man who has chosen honor over silence, life over tyranny, and future over fear."
Across the open square, Captain Michael Williams looked on with folded arms, flanked by Britannian Foreign Legion officers and MP observers. His voice, low and resolute, cut into his comm-link. "Lieutenant Tariq Al-Hassan, per authorization from G-1 Command and royal directive by His Highness Prince Lelouch vi Britannia, you and your soldiers are now accepted into the Britannian Foreign Legion, Special Provisional Detachment Al Dhafra."
A cheer rose not loud, but sincere. For many of these defectors, this moment marked the first time in months that they had heard words not laced with fear or command through terror. For some, it was the first time in years they had chosen to stand freely.
Not far from the ceremony grounds, Euphemia watched from a secured mobile command post via secure live feed. "Their hearts are already with us," she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the proud faces displayed on her screen. "They just needed a place to put them."
Moments later, a new signal overrode all local feeds directed from Twentynine Palms G-1 Command. The 70-inch screen crackled to life as Lelouch vi Britannia appeared on camera his uniform formal, eyes calm but resolute. Behind him stood a Britannian flag draped over a sand-toned backdrop, flanked by two soldiers of the Royal Strategic G-1 Honor Guard.
"To the civilians now under our protection, and to the brave men of Lieutenant Al-Hassan's unit," Lelouch began, "I speak to you not as a prince of conquest, but as one who understands the burden of survival. You do not owe us your gratitude, and you are not beholden to our past. You are here because you chose hope, not submission."
As his voice reached every corner of the camp, the civilians once too timid to gather in groups now sat or stood quietly around the makeshift viewing stations. Mothers held children close. Old men leaned on walking sticks. Survivors who had known only silence now listened to the weight behind each word.
"From this moment forward," Lelouch continued, "you are recognized as protected peoples of Britannia. Your safety is our obligation. Your dignity is non-negotiable. Your voices, your wounds, your stories they will not be erased in the shadow of war."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Many of the civilians wept quietly. Some clutched the sleeves of nearby soldiers for support.
"But let it be known," Lelouch said, now standing taller, "that this is only the beginning. Lieutenant Al-Hassan has informed us that other M.E.F. units are preparing to defect. Some still bide their time within the M.E.F. structure, waiting for a chance to break away and join us."
He paused, letting the gravity of that statement settle. "To those soldiers… I say: your chains are not eternal. Come to Al Dhafra. Come as you are. Lay down the banners of oppression, and stand with us beneath a new sky."
The screen faded to black. But the echo of his words remained. In the camp square, Lieutenant Al-Hassan looked skyward, murmuring beneath his breath. "We are no longer the lost."
Captain Williams stepped beside him, voice gravelled with emotion. "You're part of something now. Something that fights back."
And beyond the camp's barbed wire fences, far across the dunes and battered roads, radio transmitters sparked to life with encrypted pings coded signals from other units still trapped within the M.E.F. machine, whispering the same thought: We're coming too.
Location: G-1 Command Room, Twentynine Palms Marine Corps Base, California
Time Left in Training: 2 Months, 3 Weeks, and 4 Days
The room was dim, bathed only in the soft blue glow of encrypted data streams pouring across tactical holoscreens. The air inside G-1 Command felt heavier than usual expectant, restrained, as though the entire base had collectively drawn breath and waited for something more than just coordinates or code. Lelouch stood at the central console, the hardened casing of his Toughbook open in front of him. His eyes didn't blink. They remained fixed on the scrolling message that had just pushed through Britannia's triple-layered firewalls. The message was old-school ciphered in Cold War-era military code, almost poetic in its simplicity.
And it came from deep within enemy territory.
The signal bore one name, one signature: Commander Faisal Rafiq, Forward Operations Officer, M.E.F. Southern Theater. A name that Tariq Al-Hassan had personally vouched for a man he once fought beside, bled beside, and nearly died alongside during the early days of the M.E.F. war machine. Now, he was reaching out across the battlefield, not with demands, but with hope.
Lelouch's voice cut through the still air, low but firm. "Read it again. Line by line."
Euphemia, seated beside Nunnally near the front monitors, obliged. "Encrypted code reads: Dust settles where fire once reigned. Old soldiers dream of quieter graves. The Southern Lion bows not to gold, but to the soil beneath his boots. We are caged but not blind. We have 100 lives beneath the outpost. We can wait. But not forever. Coordinates are embedded…location...250 miles southeast of Al Dhafra Airbase."
Naomi raised an eyebrow, arms folded across her tactical jacket. "A poetic way of saying: 'Help us before the M.E.F. digs us out.'"
Villetta's eyes narrowed as she leaned closer. "That last line... 'We can wait. But not forever'... implies he's under heavy pressure. A siege, maybe. But not immediate collapse."
Lelouch slowly turned toward Tariq Al-Hassan, who was present via secure satellite feed from Al Dhafra. The Lieutenant's expression was taut with restrained emotion. "He was always a strategist... quiet, deliberate. He wouldn't reach out unless he truly believed you were coming. That message... it was him laying down his sword before your flag. A friend I thought I'd never see again."
"How many troops does he have?" Lelouch asked, calmly.
"Maybe a hundred, maybe less," Tariq replied. "If he had more, he'd have fought through to reach us. But his real concern is the one hundred civilians. He wouldn't abandon them. And he won't leave that base unless it's on our terms or in a coffin."
The room quieted again as Lelouch processed the full scope of the situation. A lone forward base, housing not just defectors but innocents, holding position deep inside hostile territory too far for immediate reinforcement, too close to ignore.
Guinevere, seated on Lelouch's left, finally broke the silence. "It's a test. Not of strength. But of loyalty. This isn't just strategy anymore. It's the soul of this Legion you're building."
Lelouch nodded slowly, his fingers brushing the keyboard as he pulled up the satellite image linked to the signal. The outpost was built into a dry canyon system, naturally shielded on three sides, with basic AA coverage and camouflaged roof structures. But it was encircled on three sides by M.E.F. patrol paths, and to the east, by a scorched valley wide enough to stage an armored push if discovered.
"They'll last a year, maybe less," Lelouch said aloud, as if speaking to himself. "But I won't make them wait that long. When we break the lines around Al Dhafra, we'll punch through this corridor and take that base as one of our own."
He turned to the comm officer. "Send acknowledgment. Keep it simple. Four words only." The officer hesitated. "Sir?" Lelouch's gaze was unwavering. "Tell them: The Lion Has Heard."