"You're serious, aren't you?" Commander Roth asked, anxiety and annoyance mixing in his expression.
"Yes, sir. I wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise," I said.
"How sure are you?"
I took a second to think. It would be a huge win if I could convince Roth that Operation British would fail, but this was a battle I was willing to lose. There would be one more offensive, and then I would cede the field.
"100%," I said, my voice filled with bone-deep certainty.
"Well, I'm not," Commander Roth said, and I could see as he forced any expressions of doubt from his face. "Let's move on to your debriefing. Oh, yeah, and I'm ordering both of you to keep your mouths shut about Dogwood's little opinion."
"Yes, sir," I said, mentally cycling to my next task. Next up, I would need to survive the Battle of Loum and figure out how to kill General Revil before he could rally the Earth Federation.
With a smirk, Roth said, "I noticed your squadron doesn't yet have a designation, so I took the liberty of giving it one. You will henceforth go by Oracle Squad due to your squad leader's prescience."
As far as joke names went, Oracle Squad wasn't the worse one to get. It was a bit more feminine than I would like, but I could make it work.
"Very funny, sir," I said in the most genuine voice I could manage.
"Thank you, Dogwood," Commander Roth said sarcastically before moving on to the next topic. "Regarding the debriefing, I've already read the reports from your mobile suits. You completed your mission objectives diligently and returned to the Nordhausen within the allotted time frame. I saw that Ensign Felix Hotchkiss was KIA during the mission. My condolences. His death will be noted as the result of an unavoidable ambush by enemy forces."
Unavoidable my ass. If I had been paying attention, I wouldn't have let the Zakus stand still for so long in range of enemy cannons. On any other day, Hotchkiss would have survived that mission, but I was too busy adjusting to my new reality to command my squad. The fact that Roth didn't mention that my inattentiveness led to Hotchkiss's death spoke of a profound lack of accountability in the Principality of Zeon.
Of course, I didn't mention any of that. I didn't want to give my jackass commanding officer any more ammunition that could be used against me. Instead, I said, "Thank you, sir."
"In summary, I can find no fault in Oracle Squad's activity during the mission. The only imperfection is your insistence upon your campaign of doubt, Lieutenant Dogwood!" Commander Roth shouted.
"I apologize, sir."
After taking a few breaths, Roth calmed down and asked, "Is there anything else?"
"Yes, sir. As soon as Hotchkiss's Zaku is recovered, I request that a new pilot be assigned to Oracle Squad immediately."
"Of course, of course," Roth said, gesturing lazily. "A pilot from reserve has already been shifted up to active status."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now go to the med-bay and get that toilet paper off your head. It's unbecoming of an officer," Commander Roth muttered, gesturing us away. As an afterthought, he raised one fist into the air and said, "Sieg Zeon."
Vultee returned the salute, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Sieg Zeon!"
Unsettled by the volume of Vultee's voice, I gave a lame excuse for a salute and muttered, "Sie… uh… Sieg Zeon."
As Vultee and I left the briefing room, Roth made a call with a small electronic device built into the podium. The only words I heard before my swift retreat put me out of earshot was, "Call Lieutenant Commander Caldwell to the Pilot Briefing Room, please."
Officer Vultee led me to the med-bay. All the doctors were busy with real patients, so I pilfered a drawer filled with medical supplies. I sprayed antiseptic on my head wound before wrapping it with gauze. The effect on my injury was exactly the same, but now it looked like I was actually injured and not just dressed up for Halloween.
Somehow, we ended up in a small smoking room that was packed with smoking soldiers. Even with the heavy ventilation fan built at the top of the room, the smell was heavy and unmistakable. The familiar urge of addiction drew me to the smoking room, and Vultee followed me.
"What happened to your head?" one of the soldiers asked as I took a seat in the smoking room (I say seat, but it was more like a cubby where I could comfortably hold my body still for a long period of time).
One of the other soldiers kicked the first man in the shin, saying, "Don't you see the emblem? He's a lieutenant! Show some respect!"
"Sorry. What happened to your head, sir!?" the first man said, giving me a standard military salute.
Returning the salute in the most half-assed way possible, I said, "I'll tell you if I can get a smoke."
A cigarette floated over to me, and I used the burner in the center of the smoking room to light up the cigarette. Naturally, personal lighters were banned on space ships.
"Don't you have your own cigarettes, Lieutenant?" Vultee asked.
I placed the lit cigarette in my mouth as I searched through my pockets. There, in my breast pocket, was a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. My favorite brand, another coincidence.
"I just wanted to tell the story," I said, smiling wolfishly around the cigarette.
"So what happened, uh, Lieutenant?" the first man asked.
"I was shot by one of the Feds. Don't worry, though, I paid them back tenfold."
"Hell yeah, Lieutenant!"
Honestly, it was fun pretending to just be one of the guys. Despite the heinous tragedies committed by the Principality of Zeon, it was still composed of people. The moment passed, however, and I had to move on to information gathering.
Casually, I asked, "By the way, what's gonna happen to the colonists living in Island Iffish? Did the brass ever say?"
"Yeah," the first man said. "They're being evacuated right now unless my timing is right. You guys released the knockout gas, right?"
"It's called G3 Gas," Vultee corrected. "And, yes, we released it."
"Then that's what's happening," the first man confirmed. "Lucky bastards will wake up in their state-funded homes in a week while we're still fighting the Feds."
Yeah, and his childhood dog is still in a farm upstate. I was tempted to push them in the direction of the truth that we were presently engaged in a genocide, but there was no point. I now knew that none of the low-level soldiers had any idea what was going on, and that was all I came there to learn.
"Well, it's been fun," I said, tossing my half-smoke cigarette into a small hole built into the center console, and the cigarette was pulled in by a current of sucking air.
Vultee and I left the smoking room as my subordinate quietly complained about something out of my earshot. When we were out of earshot of everyone else, Vultee said, "Those things will kill you, you know?"
Grim laughter escaped through my clenched teeth.