Mobilization
Page 1
Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Vol. 5, Mobilization
GINGA EIYU DENSETSU Vol.5
© 1985 by Yoshiki TANAKA
Cover Illustration © 2007 Yukinobu Hoshino
All rights reserved.
English translation © 2017 VIZ Media, LLC
Cover and interior design by Fawn Lau and Alice Lewis
HAIKASORU
Published by VIZ Media, LLC
P.O. Box 77010
San Francisco, CA 94107
www.haikasoru.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Tanaka, Yoshiki, 1952- author. | Huddleston, Daniel, translator.
Title: Legend of the galactic heroes / written by Yoshiki Tanaka ; translated by Daniel Huddleston and Tyran Grillo
Other titles: Ginga eiyu densetsu
Description: San Francisco : Haikasoru, [2016]
Identifiers: LCCN 2015044444| ISBN 9781421584942 (v. 1 : paperback) | ISBN 9781421584959 (v. 2 : paperback) | ISBN 9781421584966(v. 3 paperback) | ISBN 9781421584973 (v.4: paperback) | 9781421584980 (v. 5: paperback) v. 1. Dawn -- v. 2. Ambition -- v. 3. Endurance – v. 4 Stratagem — v.5 Mobilization
Subjects: LCSH: Science fiction. | War stories. | BISAC: FICTION / Science Fiction / Space Opera. | FICTION / Science Fiction / Military. | FICTION / Science Fiction / Adventure.
Classification: LCC PL862.A5343 G5513 2016 | DDC 895.63/5--dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015044444
Printed in the U.S.A.
First Printing, November 2017
Haikasoru eBook edition
ISBN: 978-1-9747-0092-9
Galactic Empire
REINHARD VON LOHENGRAMM
Commander in chief of the imperial military. Imperial prime minister. Duke.
PAUL VON OBERSTEIN
Chief of staff of the Imperial Space Armada. Acting secretary-general of Imperial Military Command Headquarters. Senior admiral.
WOLFGANG MITTERMEIER
Fleet commander. Senior admiral. Known as the “Gale Wolf.”
OSKAR VON REUENTAHL
Fleet commander. Senior admiral. Has heterochromatic eyes.
FRITZ JOSEF WITTENFELD
Commander of the Schwarz Lanzenreiter fleet. Admiral.
ERNEST MECKLINGER
Deputy manager of Imperial Armed Forces Supreme Command Headquarters. Admiral. Known as the “Artist-Admiral.”
ULRICH KESSLER
Commissioner of military police and commander of capital defenses. Admiral.
AUGUST SAMUEL WAHLEN
Fleet commander. Admiral.
KORNELIAS LUTZ
Fleet commander. Admiral.
NEIDHART MÜLLER
Fleet commander. Admiral.
HELMUT LENNENKAMP
Fleet commander. Admiral.
ADALBERT FAHRENHEIT
Fleet commander. Admiral.
ARTHUR VON STREIT
Reinhard’s chief aide. Rear admiral.
HILDEGARD VON MARIENDORF
Chief secretary to the imperial prime minister. Often called “Hilda.”
HEINRICH VON KÜMMEL
Hilda’s cousin. Baron.
ANNEROSE VON GRÜNEWALD
Reinhard’s elder sister. Countess von Grünewald.
ERWIN JOSEF II
37th emperor of the Galactic Empire. Dethroned.
KATHARIN KÄTCHEN I
38th sovereign of the Galactic Empire. Empress.
RUDOLF VON GOLDENBAUM
Founder of the Galactic Empire’s Goldenbaum Dynasty.
DECEASED
SIEGFRIED KIRCHEIS
Died living up to the faith Annerose placed in him.
Free Planets Alliance
YANG WEN-LI
Commander of Iserlohn Fortress. Commander of Iserlohn Patrol Fleet. Admiral.
JULIAN MINTZ
Yang’s ward. Ensign.
FREDERICA GREENHILL
Yang’s aide. Lieutenant.
ALEX CASELNES
Administrative director of Iserlohn Fortress. Rear admiral.
WALTER VON SCHÖNKOPF
Commander of fortress defenses at Iserlohn Fortress. Rear admiral.
EDWIN FISCHER
Vice commander of Iserlohn Patrol Fleet. Master of fleet operations.
MURAI
Chief of staff. Rear admiral.
FYODOR PATRICHEV
Deputy chief of staff. Commodore.
DUSTY ATTENBOROUGH
Division commander within the Iserlohn Patrol Fleet. Yang’s underclassman. Rear admiral.
OLIVIER POPLIN
Captain of the First Fortress Spaceborne Division at Iserlohn Fortress. Lieutenant commander.
ALEXANDOR BUCOCK
Commander in chief of the Alliance Armed Forces Space Armada. Admiral.
LOUIS MACHUNGO
Yang’s security guard. Warrant officer.
WALTER ISLANDS
Chairman of the Defense Committee.
CHUNG WU-CHENG
Chief of staff.
JOB TRÜNICHT
Head of state. Chairman of the High Council.
WILIABARD JOACHIM MERKATZ
Secretary of defense of the “legitimate imperial galactic government.”
BERNHARD VON SCHNEIDER
Merkatz’s aide.
PHEZZAN DOMINION
ADRIAN RUBINSKY
The fifth landesherr. Known as the “Black Fox of Phezzan.”
NICOLAS BOLTEC
Imperial resident commissioner. Former aide to Rubinsky.
ALFRED VON LANSBERG
Count who defected to Phezzan.
LEOPOLD SCHUMACHER
Former captain in the Imperial Navy. Defected to Phezzan.
BORIS KONEV
Independent merchant. Old acquaintance of Yang’s. Working in the office of the Phezzan commissioner on Heinessen.
MARINESK
Administrative officer on board the Beryozka.
DEGSBY
Bishop dispatched from Earth to keep an eye on Rubinsky.
GRAND BISHOP
Ruler in Rubinsky’s shadow.
DECEASED
RUPERT KESSELRING
Rubinsky’s son. Died in a failed attempt to kill his father.
*Titles and ranks correspond to each
character’s status at the end of Stratagem
or their first appearance in Mobilization.
I
In the first moments of SE 799, year 490 of the imperial calendar, Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm looked up at the countless constellations dancing wildly against an indigo sky. The ice-blue eyes of the young conqueror, who would be turning twenty-three in the new year, shot frozen arrows through the hard glass ceiling in silent declaration: All those distant stars exist only so that I might conquer them. Reinhard swung his luxurious golden hair, his back to the imperial naval commanders gathered in his grand reception hall. Bells pumped in through wall-mounted speakers announced the demise of the old calendar. Reinhard walked over to his table, raising a crystal glass of champagne. The commanders raised theirs in kind, filling the room with waves of reflected light.
“Prosit!”
“Prosit! Here’s to the new year!”
“Prosit! Here’s to our victory!”
Another cheer peaked above the rest.
“Prosit! Here’s to the end of the Free Planets Alliance!”
The speaker held his gaze on Reinhard, raising his glass high. Everything about him screamed pride and arrogance. Reinhard flashed an elegant smile and relifted his glass to renewed cheers and applause, bringing a blush to the speaker’s cheeks.
The voice in question belonged to Isaak Fernand Thurneisen, an imperial vice admiral.
He was young to be among Reinhard’s troops, the same age as his lord. In grade school, he had been in the same honor roll as his class head, Reinhard, and then had made a name for himself at IAF Academy before quitting school midway to join the front lines, racking up medals as both a combat commander and tactical officer. Contrary to Reinhard’s other classmates—many of whom had devoted themselves, mind and body, to the Lippstadt League in the civil war of IC 488, to their peril—he had demonstrated sound judgment and veracity by siding with Reinhard and through his great achievements under the late Karl Gustav Kempf. After the war, he’d left Kempf to serve directly under Reinhard, narrowly avoiding Kempf’s fate of falling at the hands of Admiral Yang Wen-li. This was enough to convince Thurneisen, and those around him, that a guardian angel had granted him mysterious favor. Obliged to meet the expectations of one so chosen, he excelled in all things. Whether in battlespace or elsewhere, Thurneisen strove to be the brightest star.
Such zeal was by no means unwelcome to Reinhard, but it reminded him even more of a man who had never flaunted his abilities, a man now dead. Siegfried Kircheis, that redheaded friend who had saved Reinhard’s life at the expense of his own, would never have tolerated such swagger. Although Reinhard knew better than to compare the two, by force of inner determination he felt compelled to do just that.
More than the splendor of this lavish party, seeing everyone clad in uniform, ready for dispatch at a moment’s notice, filled Reinhard with pride. Indeed, some in attendance would be heading into battlespace as soon as the party ended. These were Senior Admiral Wolfgang Mittermeier, commander of the expeditionary force’s vanguard, and second division commander Neidhart Müller.
Sandy-haired Müller, the Imperial Navy’s youngest admiral, would be twenty-nine this year. His drooping left shoulder was all he had to show for the many wounds he’d suffered over a military career unusually long for his age. Otherwise, he seemed every bit the meek staff officer who held passionately to ideals of virile offense and tenacious defense.
Next to him were Mittermeier, who was known as the “Gale Wolf,” and Senior Admiral Oskar von Reuentahl, now tasked with capturing Iserlohn Fortress, who together were known as the “Twin Ramparts” of the Imperial Navy. Mittermeier had the small yet well-proportioned body of a gymnast. He was eight years older than Reinhard and two years older than Müller—by society’s standards still a novice in life. None of which prevented Mittermeier from speaking as a man of experience.
“It’s encouraging to see so much enthusiasm in the younger generation.”
He was the most decorated of the admirals to be passing through the Phezzan Corridor on this occasion, with a record of close calls to show for it. Nevertheless, to him the bravado of younger admirals also revealed an immature subsurface.
“I may be young, too, but I don’t have that level of energy.”
Müller’s voice rang with unbefitting cynicism. Among younger soldiers, impatience was sometimes the norm. The most ambitious people preferred change to stability, troubled times to peace, knowing it would accelerate their rise to the top. A living illustration of this phenomenon stood before Mittermeier and Müller’s eyes.
Now that Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm’s supremacy was nearing fruition, chances for advancement among his men were fading fast. If anything, their narrow vision, restricted by barriers of pretension, effectively slammed the door to fame in their faces. Thus, even as colleagues and mentors alike played each other like rivals, they were becoming equal comrades in life and death. And because Müller had yet to attain the renown of a Mittermeier or a von Reuentahl, he continued to be outspoken about his desires.
“Anyway, I wager the armada’s commander in chief will take charge over alliance forces.”
“You mean Admiral Alexandor Bucock?”
“He’s a real veteran. Even if you combined our military records, along with von Reuentahl and Wittenfeld’s, we’d barely scratch the surface of what that old man has accomplished. He’s a walking military museum.”
Mittermeier gave credit where it was due. Ever since Müller had known this comrade two years his senior, he’d consciously tried to emulate his virtues, though he knew he’d never attain Mittermeier’s expressive prowess.
“Quite the lively conversation you’re having there.”
The two admirals turned in the direction of the voice, then bowed to their young lord, who stood with crystal glass in hand.
After exchanging a few words, Reinhard posed a question to the Gale Wolf.
“There’s nothing I can say about a peerless tactician such as yourself, but the Alliance Armed Forces are sure to retaliate once we have them cornered. I’d like to know how you plan on dealing with that.”
The empty glass splashed its rainbow refractions across the eyes of the empire’s highest commander.
“If the alliance has enough firepower, and they don’t mind sustaining some collateral damage, it’s safe to assume they’ll go head-to-head with us to block entry into the Phezzan Corridor. We’ll have no choice but to reciprocate, but it’ll cost us heavy losses and, above all, time. In which case, the chances of our rear forces moving into Phezzan would be slim, and without a dedicated core we’d be at a severe disadvantage.”
Mittermeier’s analysis was accurate, his presentation of it clear. His audience nodded in agreement.
“That being said, I don’t see how the alliance has the resources to pull off such a maneuver this time around. They can’t afford to lose, as it would leave their capital defenseless. Their first battle would become their last. They’d have to surrender.”
Mittermeier took a breath and continued.
“Seeing as they can’t sustain a head-on attack, they’re more likely to draw us deep into their territory. Once we reach the limits of our mobilization, they’ll cut off our supply routes and jam our communications, then isolate and pick off our forces, one by one, in a nearly exact reenactment of the Battle of Amritsar three years ago. Were we to maintain long battle formations for our own vanity, we’d be doing exactly what they expected of us. But there is one way we can win.”
Mittermeier paused to look at Reinhard. The young lord’s smile was an exquisite blend of acumen and elegance in recognition of his subordinate’s abilities.
“A double-headed snake, am I right?”
“Precisely.”
Mittermeier again expressed admiration for his lord’s perspicacity.
Reinhard shifted his ice-blue eyes.
“What say you, Admiral Müller?”
The Imperial Navy’s youngest admiral gave a curt bow.
“I’m of the same mind as Admiral Mittermeier. Only, I wonder if the alliance will be able to keep its military operations in order.”
“There will always be those narrow-minded incompetents who take one look at the enemy and equate pacifism with cowardice,” said Reinhard, flashing a derisive smile to an imaginary opponent.
“Which gives us the upper hand. If we can slowly draw them out into a war of attrition without tactical purpose, the goddess of victory will be on our side.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” Reinhard muttered.
His expression might’ve seemed arrogant on any other face. But as a genius who’d once vanquished an enemy twice his size in the Astarte Stellar Region and, in the Amritsar Stellar Region, unprecedentedly annihilated a Free Planets Alliance Navy force thirty million strong, he was entitled to such an attitude. The only thing Reinhard hated more than an incompetent ally was an incompetent opponent.
“I can only hope our enemies will act with some sense of method.”
With this, Reinhard took his leave of the two men and walked over to join another friendly chat.
Reinhard’s private secretary, Countess Hildegard von Mariendorf, was sobering up from all the wine with some chilled apple juice. Vice Admiral Thurneisen put down his empty glass and in good
humor spoke to the countess, known for her beauty and ingenuity.
“Future historians are sure to envy you, fräulein. Won’t you join the party and be a witness to history in the making?”
Vice Admiral Thurneisen, his youthful face brimming with elated conceit, looked at Hilda for approval. Hilda responded affirmatively but could only shrug her shoulders on the inside. She’d never thought of Thurneisen as incompetent, but neither could she suppress her misgivings nor a wry smile over the fact that he was more enamored with Reinhard than was necessary. Reinhard was a genius, to be sure, but geniuses weren’t always the most appropriate objects of emulation. If anything, he’d have done better to aspire to the reliability and tenacity of a Müller or a Wahlen, but Thurneisen was too dazzled by Reinhard’s inimitable radiance to notice.
Two hours into the new year, Senior Admiral Wolfgang Mittermeier put down his wine glass and, with a rhythm in his step, approached the young lord.
“Well, then, Your Excellency, I shall take my leave,” he said, bowing.
Reinhard lifted his hand lightly.
“Here’s praying for your good luck in the battlespace. We’ll meet again on Planet Heinessen.”
The Gale Wolf met Reinhard’s fearless smile with one of his own and bowed once more, then left, carrying his black-and-silver-clad body beyond the brilliance of the chandelier. Generals Droisen, Büro, Bayerlein, and Sinzer followed their brave and honorable commander, making their exit in turn. Next, Neidhart Müller bowed before taking his leave of the banquet hall with his own men in tow.
With a third of the attendees gone, the din of conversation quieted like a wind rustling treetops. After making his rounds with the more important admirals, Reinhard sat himself in a far corner of the room and crossed his legs.
For a moment, arid gusts of emotion swept across the plains of his heart. Despite feeling uplifted by the prospect of an epic battle, his insides decompressed, and the scene reflected therein began to fade.