Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Code of Honor ❯ Part 1 ( Chapter 1 )

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Code of Honor

"Live if you can, die if you must, but always fight with honor!"

- Native American aphorism -

Part 1

"Colonel Khushrenada!"
Treize's eyes snapped open, and he went from deeply asleep to wide awake in an instant. "Yes?"
"You wanted me to wake you when Major Zechs returned, my Lord. He and his men are just about to ride into the camp."
"I'll be there in a moment." Treize braced his left side, right below his ribs, and moaned as he sat up gingerly. He pulled on his boots and reached for the sword-belt that was laying an arms length away, next to his makeshift bed.

Six soldiers, led by a tall, blond knight on a white steed, were riding into the camp just as the colonel left his tent. Treize frowned as he noticed that something; someone, was lying across the horse in front of the major. Zechs brought his mount to a halt, and dumped the bundle out of the saddle, rather unceremoniously. Treize winced as the bound figure hit the ground face-first with a thump. "What's that?" he asked.
"A prisoner. We caught him alone, about half way between the river and our camp. Perhaps he was sent to spy on us." Zechs dismounted, walked over to the captive and pulled him roughly to his feet by the back of his leather vest. "Stand up!" he growled.

The young man - he barely looked old enough to be called that - gave his captor a cold glare. If looks could kill, the major would have dropped dead on the spot.
"I'm Colonel Treize Khushrenada." Treize informed the prisoner. "What's your rank and name?"
When he didn't answer, Zechs tightened his grip on the young man's vest, and shook him hard enough to make his teeth shudder. "If you are asked a question, you will answer. Is that clear?"

"Stop that, Major!" Treize snapped. He slowly let his gaze wander over the figure in front of him, studying him thoroughly.
He looked so young. There was a mixture of pride and defiance in his eyes, and just the slightest hint of fear. His face was dirty, and a small trickle of blood was running from his nose. The colonel frowned as he noticed more blood crusting the young man's golden-blond hair. He was injured. The knight turned to one of his soldiers.
"Take him to the healer." he ordered. "After he is treated, confine him for the night. I will talk to him in the morning."

"I'll see to it myself." Zechs replied. "I want to make sure that he is locked up securely. And I don't want anybody to underestimate him. He is not as innocent as he looks. He killed one of my men and injured a second one before we were able to capture him."
That explained the major's less than cordial attitude toward his prisoner. Zechs was known to be rather protective (Note to Anne: can you think of a better word to use here) of his men.

Treize nodded in acknowledgement, then ordered: "See me in my tent afterward, Major."
"Yes, my Lord."

*****

While the colonel waited for Zechs, he studied the large map that was spread out on his table.

To the right stretched Ghent, the kingdom he served. It was a proud and wealthy country. To the left lay Iteria, a kingdom no less powerful, and just as large and rich as Ghent. And then there was what was commonly known as "The Western Domain". On and off, for more than two centuries, Ghent and Iteria had been raging war over that land; both kingdoms claiming the territory to be rightfully theirs. It was ironic, because neither kingdom really needed the land. The Western Domain was no more than some mountain chains and a large stretch of desert, surrounded by a few green valleys and some forests. No, this war wasn't truly about land; it was about power.

Treize and his men, a group of two hundred swordsmen and archers on horseback, had been heading west to meet up with Ghent's main forces, when they had come under attack. They were forced to retreat into this canyon, which turned out - as they realized too late- to be a dead end. Surrounded on three sides by mountains, too steep for any horse or human to climb, the only way out was through a small river valley. But there the Iterian troops were waiting for them.
Eventually, he knew they would have to try to break through, but for now they rested, treated their wounded, and simply waited.

Treize didn't have to turn his head when he heard the heavy canvas sheet at the entrance move, to know that it was Zechs who entered his tent. The major walked around the table and into the knight's line of view.

"Zechs, I hope you are bringing good news." Treize said. There was no need for formalities between the two men when they were in private. "We really could use them."
"Sorry, but I'm afraid I don't." Zechs replied seriously as he settled down in one of the canvas chairs. "From what I could see they set up camp as well. It doesn't look as though they are planning on going soon. It seems like they are waiting for us to make the next move."

Treize had expected as much. Although he would rather have the Iterians come to him. It was much easier to defend a camp than to try overrunning your enemy.

"Let them wait for a while." He reached for a bottle of brandy and filled his glass about half way with the amber colored liquid. He gestured at a second glass and gave Zechs a questioning look.
The pale-blond knight shook his head. "No, thanks."

Treize emptied his glass in one gulp. The brandy was cheap; not of the top quality he was used to, and it burned on the way down. Nevertheless, the colonel reached for the bottle to refill his glass. Or, at least that was he was about to do when Zechs caught his wrist in mid-motion.

"Alcohol can only do so much against pain. Perhaps you should go and see the healer."

Treize looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?"

The blond knight snorted. "Don't pretend to be surprised, Treize. I know you are injured. You might be able to hide it from the others but you can't fool me."
No, Treize thought. You are too smart to let anybody fool you. I learned that a long time ago. But aloud he said, "I don't need a healer. It's just a flesh wound."

"Where?"

The colonel pointed at his left side, somewhere below the ribs.

"Even if it is only a flesh wound, it is bothering you, isn't it?" It was a statement rather than a question, and Zechs was right.

It hurt more than Treize would care to admit, but he had his reasons for not wanting anybody to know about his injury. So he repeated stubbornly, "I do not need a healer." He reached for the brandy bottle again, and this time the major didn't stop him. Instead he rose from his chair and left the tent with the words that he would be back shortly.

When he returned, Zechs was carrying a small basket full of small jugs and jars, and some clean cloth to be used for bandages. The colonel looked at the basket, and then at him, question and a hint of disapproval in his eyes.
"Don't worry." Zechs assured him. "Nobody knows that you are wounded. I told the healer that Aramus hurt his leg."

"Your horse?!"

"What? He and I have been through a lot of battles together. I happen to care about him." The knight set the basket down on the table. "Take your shirt off and lie down on the bed," he told Treize.
"Major!" the colonel exclaimed in feign surprise. "I'm shocked. Have you forgotten that you are a married man? Noin would kill both of us if she was to find out."

Zechs snorted. "Will you stop jesting around? Now get that shirt off or do I have to undress you myself?"

"Now there is a tempting thought." Treize laughed as he unbuckled his sword-belt and put it aside. He couldn't stop a small moan from escaping him when he eased his tunic over his head, and Zechs gave him a concerned look.
As the colonel stretched out on his bedstead Zechs' eyes fell upon the bandages wrapped around the older man's torso. He knelt down next to the bed and started to remove the strips. "What happened?" he asked as he took off the last piece of cloth, and eyed the round, coin-sized injury. It was not very deep; only a flesh wound, just like the colonel had said. "This looks like a wound made by an arrow?"

Treize nodded.
The blond knight frowned. "How? Didn't you wear your armor?"
"I did. And that's the only reason I'm still alive. It went right through my breastplate and got stuck in the chain mail."

Zechs head jerked up and his jaw dropped. Treize's and his armors and chain mails had been specially forged by the finest weapon's smith in all of Ghent. He didn't think that any weapon could pierce them. Of course, he had heard that the Iterians supposedly had some kind of metal that was stronger any other, but he had never believed those rumors.

"Do you understand now why I don't want anybody to know? Moral is low enough as it is, without word getting around that the enemy has armor piercing arrows."
"At least you could have told me and let me treat you," the major chided. "What good would it do if you died of an infection?"

He rose to retrieve one of the small vials from the basket. Zechs opened it and drenched a small piece of cloth with the odd smelling liquid. When he carefully dabbed the wound with it Treize hissed in pain.

"This will hurt a little."
"Now you tell me," the colonel pressed through his teeth.
'That's what you get for not confiding in me earlier." Zechs joked in an attempt to mask his concern with sarcasm. He continued to clean the wound carefully, spread a generous amount of a salve that was supposed to prevent infection around it, and covered it with fresh bandages.
"Did you, by any chance, keep that arrow?" he wanted to know, as he put the jar with the salve back into the basket.
"Somewhere on the table." Treize sat up and reached for his tunic.

The major searched the table and found the broken off arrow beneath some papers. He frowned as he studied the pointed metal tip. It didn't look much different from other arrow head he had seen; perhaps a little darker in color though. "What are you planning on doing with the prisoner?" he suddenly changed the subject, as he turned to face the other knight.
The colonel shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. Truthfully, we don't have the means to keep any prisoners. There is no saying how long we will be trapped here. Any food that we have we should be saving for our own soldiers, but I refuse to let him starve even if he is an enemy."
"Nobody is suggesting that you should." Zechs propped himself against the table, still playing with the broken arrow. "But I think that we should at least question him."

"And learn what?" Treize snorted in dark sarcasm. "That we are trapped in this canyon? That the only way out is blocked by Iterian soldiers? That our own troops would never make it here in time even if a messenger would be able to slip through the enemy line? And not to mention that they seem to have weapons superior to our own. I believe we know all of that already." The knight pinched the back of his nose. He looked very tired all of a sudden.

"You should try to get some sleep."
"I slept while you were on patrol."

"Sleep some more," Zechs told him. It sounded more like an order than a suggestion. "If anything comes up I'll take care of it."
Treize nodded. "Thank you, Zechs."

*****

Wufei couldn't find sleep, and he decided, rather that tossing and turning for the rest of the night, he would get up and check on his guards. About half way through the round, the young knight noticed a figure, sitting alone on a fallen tree trunk, near the edge of the encampment. As he stepped closer Wufei recognized the young man as his second in command.
"Trowa, why aren't you in your tent, sleeping?"
"I'm waiting for Quatre to return." The slender, brunet soldier didn't turn his head, but continued to stare into the dark.
Wufei frowned. "He hasn't come back yet?"

Trowa shook his head.
"Maybe he came in from the other site and is waiting for you in your tent?"

"No, I checked the tent just a while ago, and I told the guards to let me know as soon as he returns."

Damn it! I should have never allowed him to leave by himself. Wufei thought.
During the last battle his troops had taken considerable losses, and many of his men had been wounded. The healer had been doing his best but now he was running low on herbs and ointments to treat the injured. Quatre had mentioned that he knew of a spot near the river where they could find some of the herbs they needed. He insisted that it was safer and less suspicious if he went there alone.

"You couldn't have stopped him," the captain said, as though he was reading Wufei's mind. "We both know that Quatre can be as stubborn as an ox if he puts his mind to something."

The raven-haired knight looked up into the sky. It was still hours until daylight. "If he hasn't come back by morn, I'll send somebody to look for him."

"If he hasn't come back by morn, I will be out there looking for him." Trowa replied, resolutely. He glanced at his commander and friend from the side. "Now that you know why I am sitting out here, tell me why you aren't in bed either."

Wufei shrugged as he sat down next to Trowa. "I can't sleep. It is too quiet. They are planning something, I know it. Eventually there will be another battle, but that doesn't scare me. It's the waiting that drives me insane. Why don't they just attack?"

"Maybe they are waiting for us to come to them?" Trowa mused. "They might think that if they wait long enough, we will become impatient, cross the river and attack them inside the canyon."

"Right!" Wufei snorted. He was about to add something when some noises and commotion, coming from the other side of the camp, caught their attention.
"Commander Chang."

Both knights turned their heads to see one of their soldiers running toward them.
"What is it?" Wufei asked alarmed, his right fist closing instinctively around his sword.
"Lieutenant Winner, my Lord…His horse…it just returned alone, without its rider."

"What?" Trowa jumped to his feed and stormed off, the commander only a few steps behind him.

At the south end of the camp, another soldier was holding Quatre's large, dun stallion. As the captain came closer he noticed some dark, rust-colored spots on the animal's flanks. Blood!
"It's not his blood," the soldier spoke. "There are no wounds. I already checked."

Trowa's heart skipped a beat and he swallowed. If the horse wasn't injured, that meant the blood came most likely from its rider.
Quatre!

Wufei frowned as Trowa took the stallion's reins and jumped into the saddle. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm going to find Quatre," the young knight replied.

"Not on your own, you aren't. I can't risk losing you too."
"I don't have time to wait. Quatre is lying out there somewhere, injured, perhaps dying. I need to find him."

Trowa looked down at the commander, waiting, pleading silently, for his approval.

Wufei pressed his lips together as he gave one curt nod, and watched the young knight spur the mount and gallop off. He could imagine how Trowa felt. After all, Quatre was his friend too. The three of them had grown up together since they were knee high to grasshoppers. He still remembered that day when his father had brought the two orphaned boys into his keep. Somehow Wufei had the feeling that the general had seen more in them than just playmates for his son. Perhaps he had sensed Quatre's special abilities before anybody else. Quatre not only had some healing powers, but he could also sense the feelings and emotions of people around him. And Trowa, he was one of the best - or perhaps the best - archers in all of Iteria. They often joked that he could shoot a fly off a branch without scratching the tree.

Both of them had been extremely loyal, and Wufei valued their friendship highly. Especially after his father's death, two years ago, Trowa and Quatre had been always there for him when he needed a shoulder to lean on. And when he had decided to follow in his father's footsteps and become a soldier, they had followed him without hesitation.

As they had gotten older, Trowa and Quatre had grown even closer. They had never kept it a secret that they were more than just friends. Although Wufei would never admit it to anyone but himself, he envied them sometimes for what they had.

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T.B.C.

Author's Note:

Feedback is greatly appreciated, constructive criticism is welcome :-)