“Enough.”
Reinhard then stormed out of the room. The admirals left behind dropped their shoulders, their expressions of relief reflected in each other’s eyes.
“Even someone as tactically sound as Wahlen was deceived,” they groaned.
“No, it’s precisely because he’s so skilled that he was deceived. The same goes for Steinmetz and Lennenkamp on that point.”
They weren’t just making excuses. A more hotheaded man would’ve forgotten the containers altogether and gone after the enemy. In which case, he would certainly not have fallen for Yang’s tricks. Wahlen had tripped himself up by his own reasoning. And yet, Wahlen’s loss didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t reaped at least one stalk of wheat. Just as they were about to be stampeded from all sides, he’d regrouped his fleet, all the while tracking the Yang fleet’s postbattle behaviors, thereby confirming that the Yang fleet, which had emerged from Tassili, had disappeared in the direction of the Lofoten Stellar Region.
Yang Wen-li was changing fleet gathering points and supply bases after each battle, moving from one to another as he fought.
Now that reality had confirmed the genius of Reinhard’s intuition, the empire’s veteran generals were at a momentary loss. This meant that Yang had no central base of operations, instead proceeding nomadically and with tactical confidence.
“This is problematic. That means the whole of alliance territory has effectively become their base,” muttered Fahrenheit, a mixture of disgust and admiration in his light-blue eyes. It was, in other words, a guerilla war being waged by a regular navy, and the Imperial Navy had no choice but to fight an enemy that had no headquarters. The more than ten thousand light-years they’d slogged through to get here didn’t seem so long after all.
In retrospect, Yang had given up Iserlohn Fortress too easily. They’d predicted he wasn’t too attached to it as a hardware base but had vague fears regarding his thoroughness.
Mittermeier kicked the floor with the heel of his shoe.
“It’s just one fleet.”
A profound amount of emotion was folded into this low voice. Admiration and humiliation, astonishment and anger all made for a seething soup.
“With just one fleet, he’s toying with our multiple forces! He can appear anytime, and anywhere, he pleases.”
Although the imperial forces were aware that the alliance had upward of eighty-four supply bases, predicting which one Yang would take next was difficult, and in this instance, knowledge was more a source of confusion than clarity.
“When we were fighting those profligate sons of the high nobility in the Lippstadt War two years ago, we thought there was no one so incompetent as them. But that was a terrible misjudgment on our part. No matter how resourceful Yang Wen-li is, it serves us right for being deceived by a single fleet.”
Fahrenheit responded to Mittermeier’s sigh with a glint in his light-blue eyes.
“I’d just as soon destroy all eighty-four supply bases without occupying them. At least then the Yang fleet would be immobilized by hunger.”
“An empty proposition,” said von Reuentahl bluntly. “Deploying our forces now would leave our military base in the Gandharva star system ripe for the picking. And even if we could gain control of all eighty-four, we’d be foolish to spread our forces so thin. So far, all Yang has done is take us out one by one.”
“Are you suggesting, Admiral von Reuentahl, that we just stand back and watch his mischief unfold?”
Fahrenheit’s tone was pointed. The heterochromatic admiral kept his cool, parrying that sharp tongue.
“Not at all. All I’m trying to point out is that he runs away every time we catch up with him. Moving around aimlessly would only give him more opportunities to toy with us.”
“But it’s not like we have enough resources to lay low for a while.”
“Which is why we must be the ones to lure him out. We’ll set a trap to surround and destroy him. It’s the only way. Now we just need to figure out what kind of bait he’ll respond to.”
“Fail to bring him down this time, and we’ll never win.”
Müller’s sandy eyes were filled with solemn light.
That the concern of the empire’s leaders was aimed more at Yang Wen-li than at the alliance’s capital and government was an undeniable prejudice. As they saw it, an attack by Yang Wen-li posed more of a real threat than anything the alliance government might have done. Whenever a military division operated independently of its own government, the power and authority of opposing conquerors was unsustainable.
“There must be a pattern to Yang’s movements,” said the hot-blooded and ambitious Vice Admiral Thurneisen.
If only they would analyze the patterns, they might just figure out to which base he was headed.
“What are you, an idiot?” said Wittenfeld. “Who knows how many years that would take? Are we to wait until he has exhausted every one of his supply bases?”
Paying no attention to Thurneisen, now red in the face from anger, the commander of the Schwarz Lanzenreiter turned back to Mittermeier and the rest.
“While Yang Wen-li is prowling around like some cat in heat, I say we ignore him and attack the enemy capital directly,” Wittenfeld declared.
His opinion wasn’t entirely off the mark, despite the vulgarity with which he expressed it.
“And as our men withdraw to the empire, an unharmed Yang Wen-li will emerge from his current supply base, recapture the capital, and rebuild the alliance. Which means we’d have to go Odin knows where to defeat him.”
Mittermeier’s tone, although restrained, rather provoked Wittenfeld.
“You’re all as afraid of Yang Wen-li as a lamb is of a wolf. How do you intend to prevent future generations from mocking us?”
Mittermeier kept calm against these harsh words. “What I’m afraid of isn’t Yang Wen-li himself, but the distance we’re putting between the war front and our homeland. If you can’t understand that much, then we have nothing to talk about.”
Wittenfeld was silent, because there was indeed nothing more to say. And while communications were completely stable between the empire and Phezzan for the time being, the supply situation was erratic at best. None in Reinhard’s faction was so foolish as to think a war could be waged without supplies.
Before a conclusion presented itself, an order came from Reinhard.
“Calling all admirals. I’ve decided on our strategy.”
Chief of Staff von Oberstein was curious about the details of Reinhard’s plan, but the blond-haired youth gave only cryptic assurance.
“One month from now, Yang Wen-li’s fleet will be wiped from outer space. I’m looking forward to it.”
Von Oberstein took his leave, unsure of what had so dramatically restored his master’s confidence.
V
The hall in which the admirals had assembled was utterly bare of decoration. Had their supply fleet not been vanquished by Yang, a little more concern for interior design might’ve been given, but for now the only elegance in the room stood before them in the form of a young dictator, even if the words that came from his lips were acrimonious.
“I ask you, why did we brave this long march of ten thousand light-years?! Was it to draw a line under Yang Wen-li’s name? No, it was to draw a line through it! Did your military pride sprout wings and fly off somewhere?”
Several admirals, as if hearing the cry of thunder very near them, went rigid at the sight of Reinhard clad in his elegant black-and-silver uniform. On hearing the words “draw a line under Yang Wen-li’s name,” Admirals Wahlen, Steinmetz, and Lennenkamp cast their gazes downward, as if some invisible hand were pushing the backs of their heads. Only Wahlen lifted his head back up determinedly, looking his young master in the eye.
“We have harmed Your Excellency’s inviolable name, and the depth of my remorse for failing you k
nows no bounds. Despite, no, because of this, I offer myself in whatever capacity you may need me. I hope you will allow me to make up for my transgressions with a fresh victory.”
“I expect nothing less. But it’s time I came to the fore and settled this once and for all.”
Reinhard’s eyes were drawn to another admiral.
“Von Reuentahl!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will take your fleet to the Rio Verde Stellar Region, where you will attack the local supply base and secure the area.”
As von Reuentahl swallowed his answer and looked back at Reinhard, the young dictator smiled slightly.
“Do you see? It’s all a ruse. The rest of you will take your respective fleets and go off on your own. And when Yang Wen-li sees that I’ve been left alone, he will come out of his cave into the open. That’s when we’ll nab him.”
The admirals exchanged glances.
“Then Your Excellency will become a decoy, taking on Yang Wen-li’s attack with your fleet alone?” asked Neidhart Müller, speaking for all present.
The glint in their young master’s eyes was answer enough.
Müller suddenly raised his voice.
“That’s far too risky. Please, let me at least stay behind as your vanguard.”
Reinhard smiled.
“Nothing you need to be worried about. Do you think I’d lose to Yang Wen-li with the same number of troops, Müller?”
“No, that’s not what I meant to …”
Seeing that Müller was at a loss for words, Mittermeier stepped forward on his behalf.
“That’s not what worries me. Yang Wen-li may be a renowned general, but at the end of the day, he’s nothing more than a fleet commander. Doesn’t it make sense that Your Excellency should battle him on an even playing field? I beg you to reconsider.”
That voice was also shot down by the young dictator.
“Indeed, your speech has merit, but from what I hear, Yang Wen-li has risen to the rank of marshal. And because I’m a marshal of the empire, I’d say that makes us equals.”
“No one in the universe is your equal,” shouted Thurneisen ardently, but because he proposed nothing concrete, Reinhard only nodded curtly. In the artificial eyes of von Oberstein, and in the mismatched eyes of von Reuentahl, the colors of derision ran high. They both glanced at Thurneisen.
“Brownnoser,” they said, flatly.
Mittermeier cleared his throat.
“Very well. Since Your Excellency has already decided, it’s not our place to interfere. But if you could just let us in a little on your thinking, it would put your humble servants at ease.”
“Then let me wipe away one of your insecurities.”
Reinhard turned his ice-blue eyes to the boy, Emil, waiting in a corner, and asked for some wine. The admirals were surprised to hear him speak so gently, his tone more akin to a request than a command. They noticed that Reinhard had a thick stack of paper on his desk.
Bound by invisible chains of nervousness, Emil brought over a bottle of red wine and a wineglass. He filled the glass with wine and reverently held it out for Reinhard. Perhaps the admirals were more relieved than he was that he didn’t spill a single drop.
As Reinhard waved his hand, which was so finely wrought it seemed for all the work of a sculptor summoning his greatest passion and concentration, he poured the wineglass’s crimson contents as wet light over the stack of paper.
The collective gaze of the admirals focused on the paper, now stained as if with blood. Their gaze was so hot it seemed the paper would burst into flames when their focal points perfectly aligned. Reinhard’s fingers picked up one sheet of paper. Then another sheet, and another, until a wave of understanding swept over Mittermeier and von Reuentahl. When he finally lifted the first clean sheet, the young dictator scanned the room.
“Look closely. The paper is thin, but overlap many sheets of it, and they absorb all the wine. I plan to use this strategy against the brunt of Yang Wen-li’s attack. His forces will never be able to penetrate every layer of my defense.”
Reinhard was only speaking metaphorically, but the long-serving veteran generals clearly grasped the sheer artistry of their master’s plan.
“Once we’ve neutralized his assault, all of you will double back with your fleets and surround him, annihilate his forces, and force his surrender.”
The admirals saluted in silence. Once again, their young master had proven his genius.
Reinhard’s chief secretary, Hildegard von Mariendorf, requested a formal meeting after dinner to propose how they might avoid a head-on attack from Yang. Hilda’s cropped blond hair glistened in the light as she made her case.
“I say we decline to give the Yang fleet the benefit of our attention, take Heinessen, and force the alliance government’s surrender. If we can then make them order Yang Wen-li to stop his futile resistance, we will have achieved your goal of conquest without firing a single shot.”
“But then, from a purely military standpoint, I will have lost the war.”
Hilda was silent.
“No, I cannot do that, fräulein. There’s no way I’m losing to anyone. My popularity and the faith people have in me both stem from the fact that I’m undefeated. It’s not because of my saintly virtue that I gain the support of soldiers and civilians alike.”
Hilda was surprised to see a pall of self-deprecation flicker across Reinhard’s face. She wondered if the sharpness of this young man’s intelligence wasn’t also the seed of his discontent.
“As you wish, then. I will join you aboard the flagship.”
“No, Fräulein von Mariendorf. You weren’t built for war. Nor can I bear to see it bring you even the slightest dishonor. I would rather you stay here on Gandharva and wait for my good news. This war will be nothing like what happened the other day. There’s no room for spectators.”
Hilda started to protest, but Reinhard cut her off.
“On the off chance that anything happened to you, it would fall upon me to apologize to your father, Count von Mariendorf.”
Hilda said nothing more. A sublieutenant by the name of Alois von Liliencron was assigned to lead a convoy of twenty ships for her.
The boy Emil, who came to prepare Reinhard’s bed, blamed Yang Wen-li. All this running away without fighting was pure cowardice. The young blond dictator shook his beautiful head with a smile.
“You’re wrong, Emil. Generals gain their renown only by knowing when and how to run. A wild animal living in constant attack mode is nothing more than a foil for those who hunt it.”
“But Your Excellency has never run away from anything, right?”
“I would if it were necessary. I just haven’t needed to.” His was a quiet, remonstrating tone. “Emil, don’t try to learn from me. No one can do what I do. It would only bring them harm. But if you learn from a man like Yang Wen-li, then at least you won’t be a foolish general. Not that it matters, seeing as you’re going to become a doctor someday. I’m just rambling now.”
Why was Reinhard letting this boy trespass the corridors of his heart? Indeed, why was he making him? Reinhard, in his own way, was finding an answer, but he didn’t know whether it was correct. Maybe it was a form of reparation, but Reinhard himself didn’t want to recognize it as such.
“I can’t live any other way. Maybe that’s not quite true, but I was set upon this path from a very early age nonetheless. I began to walk it so that I might take back everything that was taken from me. But …”
Reinhard went silent. Emil couldn’t even imagine how Reinhard had intended to finish that sentence. Reinhard looked back at the boy with distant eyes.
“Time for bed. A child needs time to dream,” he said instead, echoing words once spoken to him by his elder sister Annerose. With Siegfried Kircheis, who’d come to stay the night, he was rambling on in his narrow bed
, when his sister had called in from the door: “Time for bed. Children need more time to dream than adults.”
As Emil bowed respectfully and made to leave, Reinhard’s heart contracted at the very thought of his archnemesis. He stood by the hard glass window, enjoying a panorama of the night sky, and spoke to himself.
“This is what you’ve always wanted. And now that I’m giving it to you, you’d better show yourself, Miracle Yang.”
Reinhard von Lohengramm shot his ice-blue gaze into the multitude of twinkling stars. They were the eyes of one fighting his way to supremacy. Putting forth his chest, wrapped in black-and-silver cloth, he pressed his palm to the window. Feeling the reverberation of his own pulse on the glass, the blond youth flashed something less than a smile on his elegant face. A feeling of complete exaltation filled his body, causing every cell to throb.
For a moment, he was happy. A year and a half had gone by since losing his greatest ally. And now, he was about to face his greatest enemy.
Reinhard needed that enemy. No matter how many lights glittered in the night sky, there was no reason for any of them to shine without something to reflect them.
On April 4, Wolfgang Mittermeier took his fleet and headed for the Eleuthera Stellar Region. Five days later, von Reuentahl’s fleet attacked Eleuthera and the neighboring Rio Verde Stellar Region.
The young admiral with the mismatched eyes stood on the bridge of his flagship Tristan, staring at the receding planets.
“All fleets will turn back to surround and destroy Yang Wen-li’s fleet. That’s the plan, is it?” He spoke these words only to himself. “A splendid strategy. But what happens if we don’t all turn back?”
I
It isn’t easy to pinpoint when the so-called Vermillion War began. If we take Yang’s successive victories over three imperial fleets as the first act, then it was already under way in February of IC 490. In addition, Reinhard’s operation to treat every Free Planets Alliance sector as a trap, by which he tried to confine the Yang fleet as if in a giant spider’s web, was put into effect on April 4, when the Mittermeier fleet first started for the Eleuthera Stellar Region. Yang knew this but ordered a march to the Gandharva Stellar Region on April 6 and by the tenth had touched base with Wiliabard Joachim Merkatz, who’d been invited as secretary of defense of the legitimate imperial galactic government.”
Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 5 Page 16
