Ambition

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  At the end of July, an old-fashioned challenge to duel was sent from Reinhard to the nobles at Gaiesburg Fortress.

  The challenge was replayed before the aristocratic forces’ top men on the VTR, and its message was more than enough to fuel their rage.

  “Witless and cowardly noblemen,” Reinhard said to them. “Had you even the courage found in the tip of a rat’s tail, you would leave the comfort of your fortress and fight gloriously. And if you lack even that much courage, you would do well to abandon your baseless pride and surrender. It’s the only way to save your lives. I’ll not only allow you to live, I’ll even let you keep enough of your fortunes to feed those blithering mouths of yours. Marquis von Littenheim died a miserable death the other day, as a man of his cowardly nature surely deserved. Should you not wish to meet the same fate, even your feeble minds can figure out the better path to choose at this juncture …”

  “How dare that brat speak to us like that?”

  The young nobles went nearly insane with anger. That was exactly what Reinhard wanted. When one’s opponents lost their reason so easily, an obvious challenge like that was more than sufficient—that Merkatz begrudgingly acknowledged. Among the young nobles, there was even one who blew off steam by beating his soldiers with an electric whip. That youth had been amusing himself since childhood by whipping the serfs on his father’s lands.

  Soon thereafter, Mittermeier’s fleet, the vanguard of Reinhard’s forces, began haunting the region surrounding Gaiesburg Fortress. These were clear provocations. They would parade themselves just out of range of their cannons, drawing in closer and then pulling away, pulling away and then drawing in closer.

  Merkatz explicitly forbade a sortie of any kind. There was surely some terrifying trick lurking behind Mittermeier’s seemingly childish game. Though he explained this to the noblemen, they simply wouldn’t listen.

  On the third day, they finally snapped. A group of young aristocrats disobeyed the prohibition order and launched an attack on Mittermeier’s fleet.

  Mittermeier’s forces were seemingly caught off guard and easily fell into disarray. Mittermeier managed to escape, abandoning a considerable amount of armaments in the process. At least, that’s how it seemed in the eyes of the young nobles.

  “He’s a quick one to blow away. Really puts the ‘gale’ in ‘Gale Wolf,’ doesn’t he?”

  “You call that a trap? There was nothing to it. Admiral Merkatz is too cautious for his own good.”

  Having secured military vessels and supplies in massive quantities, the young nobles made a triumphant return, their chests puffed out with pride. A harshly worded notice, however, awaited them on their return.

  “You’ve all gone against the commander’s forbiddance, engaging the enemy when you knew you shouldn’t. A grave transgression, indeed. You’ll be judged in full accordance with military law. I’ll need you to hand over your insignias and your sidearms. Prepare to be court-martialed.”

  It was only natural that Merkatz should adhere to protocol. Though they had emerged victorious, ignoring a commander’s order might prove detrimental in the future.

  The young nobles were naturally filled with discontent. They had already inhaled the fumes of victory and carried themselves like heroes. Baron Flegel, who held the rank of rear admiral, tore off his insignia and threw it to the floor, shrieking like the lead in some classical tragedy.

  “We’re not afraid to die. It’s one thing to do battle with the enemy and to fall on the battlefield, but to be judged by a commander who possesses neither bravery nor pride is more than I can stand. Spare me your court-martial. Let me kill myself right here, right now!”

  “Rear Admiral Flegel speaks for all of us!” chorused the young aristocrats. “We mustn’t let him die alone. Let us all kill ourselves so that posterity may know the pride of the imperial nobles!”

  It was narcissism to the extreme. Duke von Braunschweig did not rebuke them for it.

  “As this is not a matter of battle, it is ultimately my right and my duty, as leader, to pass judgment.”

  Since learning of Marquis von Littenheim’s death, almost all he had done was stick his nose into Merkatz’s decision making. He stood before these excited young men, speaking in his booming voice.

  “Gentlemen, your courage and pride have shown everyone the true essence of imperial nobility. You have dealt a crushing blow to those conceited commoners. We have no need to fear Mittermeier, or even that golden-haired brat assuming the titles of marquis and imperial marshal. We will be victorious. And by winning, we will show them that justice is on our side. Long live the empire!”

  “Long live the empire!” came the young noblemen’s enthusiastic cheers.

  Merkatz had nothing more to say. Perhaps that was the moment his disappointment turned into despair.

  “Any minute now, von Oberstein,” said Reinhard.

  Indeed, nodded the chief advisor with the artificial eyes.

  After gathering in the flagship Brünhild, the admirals were given precise instructions for leading their fleets into their respective theaters of war.

  V

  It was August 15 when news of Mittermeier’s rapid approach reached Gaiesburg Fortress. Unlike before, today Mittermeier would be actively attacking with long-range hydrogen missiles.

  “The defeated general has come yet again for another shameless loss. Mark my words: no matter how many times he fights, one who loses only begets more loss.”

  They had already come to disregard Merkatz’s commands and rules. They boarded their warships and, not waiting for the space controller’s instructions, scrambled to be the first to attack.

  True to form, Mittermeier was unable to keep himself from sneering.

  “If only those idiotic sons of the aristocracy had stayed in their hole, they could have lived longer. Did they come out only to turn into so much space dust?”

  Though he was of the same generation as “those idiotic sons of the aristocracy,” his combat experience and accolades were far greater than those of any of them.

  Fighting against a gang who couldn’t even see through the ruse of his previous mock retreat bordered on the absurd.

  However, that day they had had it confirmed that Duke von Braunschweig was also heading their way. Mittermeier’s responsibility was therefore enormous. He would have to endure two or three more such farces before the enemy caught on.

  Both fleets clashed.

  Innumerable cannons unleashed innumerable striations of light. These directional energies knocked out ships on both sides, crushing them, and rays of light from bursting explosions were rent asunder by new lights as well.

  It was a short-lived battle, however, as Mittermeier’s army commenced its gradual retreat, choosing not to fight back against the all-out attack from the aristocratic forces.

  “Such a disgrace. They’ve run away so many times it’s not even a point of shame for them anymore. Let’s finish the fools with one blow. Let’s seize the golden brat and hang him from the rafters.”

  The noblemen let out a cheer, eagerly rushing to their warships.

  There was, however, one man who harbored suspicions about Mittermeier’s flaccidity. Vice Admiral Fahrenheit, a formidable officer who had shared the battlefield with Reinhard and Merkatz, maintained an equal distance between Duke von Braunschweig and Merkatz, and bade caution to his young, hot-blooded allies.

  “Keep your distance—it may be a trap.”

  Which was fully possible. They had to be prepared.

  Sure enough, when the aristocratic forces held off on their pursuit, Mittermeier came at them with a sudden counterattack. The aristocrats responded in kind, continuing to fight as Mittermeier retreated—thus urging the aristocrats forward. They repeated this dance numerous times. Mittermeier’s timing was nothing short of exquisite.

  In this manner, the confederated forc
es were lured deeper and deeper into the heart of the formation that Reinhard and von Oberstein had carefully laid out for them. The front lines were stretched to their limits, and once the enemy’s communications were likewise adversely affected, Mittermeier again laid into them.

  This again? When the overconfident aristocrats, watching idly, attempted a counterstrike, Mittermeier’s forces closed in on them with unbelievable speed and power, pulverizing their lead group with the first blow.

  Many noblemen were reduced to plumes of fire along with their warships without ever knowing what had happened to them. By the time operators of those ships that had survived the first attack cried out that the situation had changed, their surroundings had already become a panorama of destruction and slaughter. Fragments of warships blown up by direct beam attacks glittered like shards of stained glass as their fleets were buffeted by waves of nuclear blasts.

  “Do you see now, you foolish children? This is how we fight. Remember that for as long as you can in those primitive brains of yours.”

  Mittermeier was going to savor his revenge to the fullest. Compared to the finger painting of the young nobles, his command of battle was a work of art.

  The aristocrats’ confederated forces fell in column after column of ships, their chain of command having fallen apart well before that. In the face of Mittermeier’s ingenious tactics, they were doomed to be picked off one by one.

  Resistance was, of course, not a viable option as one ship, and then another, was added to the festival of carnage.

  “Retreat, retreat! Forget about the others—get out while you can!”

  Fahrenheit, seeing the unfavorable turn of events, ordered a swift retreat, and the noblemen were eager to follow suit.

  Waves of brilliant gunfire, however, assailed the remaining forces from either side, fired simultaneously by Admiral Kempf from the left and Admiral Mecklinger from the right.

  The confederate forces disintegrated further with every passing second, their glorious columns of ships gradually losing density.

  The nobles took flight. When at last they thought they were safe from Kempf’s onslaught, Wittenfeld and Müller’s fleets closed in on either side. In an instant, the panicking aristocrats were transformed, ships and all, into masses of wreckage drifting in space.

  On the bridge of the flagship Brünhild, Reinhard wore a smile of satisfaction. Foreseeing the enemy’s escape route, he had laid an ambush. In this case, because said route was the same taken during the initial advance, the prediction had been an easy one to make. They would forgo intercepting their path of escape so as to stave off any last-ditch counterattack. Letting the enemy vanguard go past, they had attacked from the front and the rear. This not only gave them a positional advantage but also allowed them to psychologically overwhelm their enemies more effectively with them on the run compared to a pitched battle.

  “Dead or alive,” said Reinhard, “I want Duke von Braunschweig brought before me. Whoever succeeds in doing this, even if a mere cadet, will be made an admiral and rewarded handsomely. Seize your chance!”

  Their fighting spirit was now enhanced by greed. The noble confederates, who had lost their will to fight and run away, were now nothing more than game for hunters. With nowhere left to go, they were captured and destroyed at the end of each short, desperate counterattack.

  When Duke von Braunschweig came to himself, there was not a single allied vessel in the vicinity of his flagship, and the innumerable points of light that were Mittermeier’s and von Reuentahl’s fleets were approaching from behind. A violent impact rocked his ship as a single rail-cannon shell blew off his rear gun turret completely. The lance of an energy beam grazed the body of his ship, shaving off an outer wall and sending up billows of metal dust. The gargantuan, invisible hand of death had taken hold of his vessel.

  Just then, an enormous wall of light appeared ahead of him. Merkatz, concealed in the rear guard, showered the pursuing enemy with close-range volleys. Mittermeier and von Reuentahl hurriedly gave orders to pull back, but the intensity of their charge and the mentality of their officers, whose will to fight far outweighed their calm, meant that the command went partially unheeded.

  Seeing his enemy’s sudden confusion, Merkatz gave orders to his fleet, which was in perfect formation to attack. With no bigger warships at his disposal, his force of destroyers, torpedo boats, and single-seat walküren was most suited for close combat.

  These tore into Reinhard’s confused forces, destroying with utmost precision ships that had been forced into a tight formation. Now it was Reinhard’s vanguard forces that had ships bursting apart in balls of flame. It was all they could do to defend themselves, and pursuit was now out of the question.

  Von Reuentahl and Mittermeier ground their teeth both in frustration at having lost Duke von Braunschweig after cornering him so well and in anger at the pitiful state of their own formations. Even so, they knew the foolishness of surrendering to emotion in the heat of battle. Shouting blistering words of reprimand all the while, they shored up their vulnerable rows of ships, calling for simultaneous retreat and regrouping. For mediocre commanders, it would have been an impossible task.

  Had Merkatz possessed sufficient force strength, he might well have driven both of these great admirals to utter defeat. His soldiers were few, however, and he himself harbored no such illusions. He would obey Duke von Braunschweig and withdraw as instructed.

  “Merkatz certainly has the skill of his years. He’s as strong as ever.”

  So did the young marshal praise the enemy admiral. In any case, the enemy had been driven back into Gaiesburg. There wasn’t the slightest need for panic.

  VI

  “Why didn’t you come to our aid sooner?” bellowed Duke von Braunschweig when he met with Merkatz again. These were the first words out of his mouth.

  The face of the distinguished admiral did not change color. Rather, with an expression that said he’d expected this, he bowed his head in silence, even as the eyes of Lieutenant Commander von Schneider next to him flared with indignation and he took a step forward. Von Schneider’s arm, however, was grabbed by the hand of the senior officer whom he served.

  When they retired to a separate room, Merkatz remonstrated his aide, who was still trembling with anger.

  “Don’t be so upset. Duke von Braunschweig is unwell.”

  “Unwell?”

  “Mentally speaking.”

  As Merkatz saw it, Duke von Braunschweig’s pathology was that of one whose pride was easily wounded. He probably wasn’t even aware of it himself, but he believed that he was a great and infallible presence, which made it impossible for him to feel gratitude toward others. He likewise could not acknowledge the ideas of those who thought differently from him. To him, such people were traitors, and any advice from them he interpreted as nothing less than slander. Consequently, although von Streit and Ferner had made plans on his behalf, not only were their ideas rejected, they had ultimately been forced to leave von Braunschweig’s camp.

  A man of his disposition would never recognize that society thrived on disparate ideas and values.

  “It’s an illness kept alive by a five hundred–year tradition of privilege for the nobility. You might say the duke is a victim. If he’d lived a hundred years ago, that way might have worked. He’s an unfortunate man.”

  Von Schneider, who was still young, was not as tolerant or as resigned as his commander. He took his leave from Merkatz and rode an elevator up to the fortress observation room. The inorganic sparkle of overlapping star clusters shone far beyond the transparent dome.

  “Duke von Braunschweig may well be an unfortunate man. But are not those whose futures lie in his hands all the more so … ?”

  To the young officer’s discouraging question, the stars responded only with silence.

  Within Gaiesburg Fortress, there was a man who had fled inside from the opp
osite direction as Duke von Braunschweig and the men. Baron von Scheidt, Duke von Braunschweig’s nephew, had been assigned to protect and govern the planet of Westerland on his uncle’s behalf.

  Westerland was an arid world lacking in flora and water, but its population of two million was fairly large for such a remote territory. Intensive farming and harvesting of rare earth minerals was carried out at what few oases there were. Had it been a peaceful age, they might have transported a trillion tons of water to places that needed it, and development would have flourished.

  Though Baron von Scheidt was not an entirely incompetent ruler, his youth made him rather obstinate when it came to policy. And because he had every intention of following his uncle’s lead, his exploitation of the populace only intensified.

  Until now, things had held steady in this way. With Reinhard’s sudden rise to power, however, even the populace knew that the nobility’s governing leash had slackened, giving rise to civil war. Shocked and outraged that popular opposition was gaining traction, von Scheidt tried to suppress the resistance, but internal pressures only mounted.

  Following one back-and-forth too many, at last the populace launched a large-scale revolt to repay von Scheidt for his tyrannical rule. What few guards he had were engulfed by the flood of angry citizens. Von Scheidt escaped by himself in a shuttle, but he had been seriously wounded, and he died from his injuries soon after his arrival at Gaiesburg.

  “That insolent rabble … How dare they kill my nephew with their filthy hands.”

  How easily those with privilege denied the existence and individuality of those without it. Not only did Duke von Braunschweig not recognize the people’s right to resist oppressive rule, he didn’t even acknowledge their right to live without the permission of the boyar nobles. He was certain in his mind that those who were sick and elderly, or otherwise unable to serve nobility, were no better than diseased livestock and therefore had no value in living.