These words set the boy’s eyes aglitter with deep emotion. Emil went red in the face and vowed to do his best for this young, elegant dictator who was the object of his admiration.
The doctor came in with Captain Kissling and, after again giving his unoriginal opinion that the fever was fatigue related, used an atomizing injector to treat him with a fever-reducing medicine. To the topaz-eyed Captain Kissling standing nearby, he seemed to be making a show of his loyalty to the master. Of course, if the doctor made any suspicious movements, Kissling was ready to kill him then and there.
Reinhard slept again, dreaming intermittently. First, his sister Annerose, as she was before being imprisoned in the emperor’s rear court, stepped into the garden of his dreams. Wearing modest yet immaculate clothes, she was baking him an onion pie. That fragrant scent disappeared, and on the starry backdrop of the screen, a redheaded Siegfried Kircheis smiled at him. With that nostalgia came an idle complaint.
“If only you were alive, then I wouldn’t have to deal with these troubles. You could’ve led my expeditionary force commands while I concentrated on domestic affairs in the imperial capital …”
Even as he uttered these self-indulgences, he was ejected from the land of sleep. As he blinked awake, babbling incoherently, a figure moved in silhouette beyond the thin curtain. He remembered that the boy Emil had been there all along. The young blond dictator assured him he was okay, but when he noticed that his forehead and neck were covered in sweat, he had Emil wipe it away for him. After politely carrying out his duty, the boy hesitantly wished him success in battle.
“Don’t worry about me, Emil. When the abilities of both sides are the same, the outcome can go either way. Besides my own luck, I also get luck from my friend, who gave me his life and his future.”
Reinhard momentarily closed his eyes at the behest of something formless.
“I carry on my shoulders the luck of two people, and so I’ll never lose to Yang Wen-li. Worry not.”
Reinhard was responsible for not only himself, but also the twenty million members of his expeditionary forces, as well as the twenty-five billion citizens of the empire. But at this moment, the sense of security given to him by this single boy was most precious to Reinhard for reasons he himself didn’t comprehend.
I
The “tyranny of distance” was a phrase used to indicate just how difficult unified rule of a human society that had grown by a third would be through military force alone. The one who’d pushed this policy was Münzer, who’d worked as Emperor Maximillian Josef II’s chief justice. Maximillian Josef accepted his loyalty, discarded his plans of invading the Free Planets Alliance, and over two decades of peaceful rule never once mounted a foreign campaign.
But it was Kim Hua Nguyen who coined the term “tyranny of distance” when he was chosen to be the Free Planets Alliance’s first ruler, an honor he staunchly refused due to his old age and blindness. He was a close friend of founding father Ahle Heinessen, who died en route during the Long March of 10,000 Light-Years. After establishing the nation, he didn’t take public office, assuming instead the role of honorary president of the Heinessen Anniversary Foundation. When asked by governmental leaders about future defense policies, he answered:
“The distance between the imperial mainland and our commonwealth will become our greatest protective barrier. And while someone possessed of enormous ambition and genius will likely break through this barrier in due time, we won’t have to worry about that for a century or more.”
Nguyen had died in SE 538, 238 years before Reinhard was born.
“In short, distance militarily controls transportation, supply, communication, and command networks. These difficulties exist in proportion to the magnitude of that distance.”
These conditions were common knowledge within the military, and in making light of them, both the empire and the alliance had experienced painful and shameful defeats.
In SE 799, year 490 of the imperial calendar, Reinhard von Lohengramm came along with enormous ambition and genius, forcing everyone to yield to his own tyranny of distance, and had seemingly broken through that protective barrier as Nguyen predicted. But when he considered supplies and communications with the imperial homeworld for a navy twenty million strong, he couldn’t be happy winning only one battle. And while it was a fact that they were in an overwhelmingly advantageous position, history was filled with examples of mighty expeditionary forces losing to weak defensive ones.
This tyranny of distance, so far as human resources were concerned, had made a lasting impression. Purveyors of insurrection and sabotage found their spirits dampened by homesickness and war-weariness.
To those conquerors who vowed to extend their power “to the ends of the world,” soldiers turned a blind eye.
“If you want to go so badly,” they said, “why not go yourself? We’d rather go back to our hometowns and die among loved ones.”
In ancient times, illnesses brought about by changes in physical terrain left their marks on the body, although no one could say that wasn’t still true today. Being confronted with constellations different from the night sky they were used to was difficult for soldiers to reconcile. To Reinhard, traveling fifteen thousand light-years away from the capital of Odin was a flash in the cosmic pan. Then again, his soldiers’ hearts had never flown so far as his. With Odin as his base of operations, and once the alliance expedition was completed during his subsequent reign, this tyranny of distance would follow him wherever he went.
“I’d just as soon make Phezzan the capital of the new empire.”
Reinhard was given to this opinion recently. Once he’d conquered the alliance, his territory would be effectively doubled. To rule efficiently while maintaining a high sense of uniformity, the present capital of Odin was too far from the new territory. Relocating the capital to Phezzan would situate it at a nodal point between the old and new territories, sufficient for centralized rule as a hub of materials and information. If he could build bases like Iserlohn Fortress on either side of the Phezzan Corridor, it’d be impregnable. Originally, Odin had been the base for the Goldenbaum Dynasty, but that didn’t mean that Reinhard had reason to inherit it uncritically. A new dynasty entailed a new capital. A simple capital that did away with the ostentatiousness of the old dynasty …
In the meantime, however, Reinhard had to concentrate on developing his base on the planet Urvashi, which would not be his future capital.
Yang Wen-li’s first strike inflicted damage on a group of transport ships heading for Urvashi by way of Iserlohn. This was to have been the initial step toward making a permanent base of Urvashi. Two hundred and forty giant spherical containers, fully loaded with enough food and fuel, greenhouses and armory plants, all kinds of raw materials, and liquid hydrogen for twenty million people for a year, all guarded by eight hundred cruisers and escort ships.
The spherical containers had been made by boring tunnels through nickel meteorite, filling them with ice, and then sealing them at both ends before heating them up using sun reflectors. The moment the heat penetrated the center, the meteorite’s large volume of ice turned into steam and expanded tremendously, leaving behind a giant hollow sphere with a thick nickel coating. Stuffed with cargo and outfitted with propulsion units, the spherical containers were complete. With no way for the containers to defend themselves, the convoy was a necessary measure.
In charge of this operation was a young rear admiral by the name of Sombart, who had personally requested to be assigned this duty. No matter how simple the task, he wanted to be known for something.
The young soldier had his mind set narrowly on war and tended to downplay the importance of supplies. Despite his youth, he was older than his master, but when Reinhard considered that the alliance forces were far from destroyed, he encouraged him to be on constant lookout, always maintaining communication with the main force, and to request reinforcements t
he moment he sensed any danger. Sombart puffed up his chest with pride.
“If I should fail, I will offer my unworthy life to Your Excellency, that I might confirm the justice of our entire fleet. You can count on me.”
His boasting made veterans Mittermeier and von Reuentahl lift their eyebrows higher even than Reinhard’s. Mittermeier offered to go, but Reinhard shook his golden locks. However important the supplies were, it seemed a waste of human resources to invest generals of von Reuentahl and Mittermeier’s caliber in such an operation.
“Seeing as you’ve spoken so highly of yourself, I’ll let you put your money where your mouth is,” he said, and sent Sombart away.
Contrary to Reinhard’s expectations, Sombart left brimming with confidence and in high spirits. Not that he wasn’t without genius, but he wasn’t exactly built to thrive under pressure. At the very least, he had the right amount of self-esteem and accuracy. He’d sharpened his nerves and his fangs, but it wasn’t enough to rival the Yang fleet, which was lying in wait for its chance. When Vice Admiral Thurneisen’s fleet came rushing out to meet the transport ships on imperial orders, Reinhard foresaw a crisis when communications grew intermittent. The containers were destroyed, precious cargo and all, and the escort ships were reduced to thirty, wandering around the battlespace in a daze like dogs who’d lost sight of their masters.
Although Rear Admiral Sombart had managed to escape death, he would only live for a few days longer. He returned in shame to an unforgiving Reinhard.
“It’s only natural that the enemy should aim for our supply channels. Although I made it a point to stress that, and despite your arrogance, there’s no excuse for damage coming to that precious cargo through negligence. You be your own judge.”
Rear Admiral Sombart was ordered to kill himself by poison. The admirals said nothing. The reason Mittermeier and the others did not defend him was that martial law made no distinctions. It was heartless, but there was nothing to be done.
Even if it had the psychological effect of serving as an example to others, Reinhard convened his highest leaders to pronounce his verdict.
“I’m partially to blame for not formulating any concrete plans so far, but if we’re going to achieve total domination, not just temporary invasion and capture, then we need to be more careful. I think it’s time we eliminated the enemy’s systematic forces once and for all.”
The Yang fleet hadn’t yet returned to the capital of Heinessen and was passing through the Bharat star system in search of other collection and supply bases. Reinhard’s genius allowed him to see through to what was at the root of that basic strategy of changing collection and supply bases with each battle, but he also understood the difficulty of capturing and destroying the enemy even with that understanding of alliance tactics. In any case, he had to track down Yang’s whereabouts. And when he did, he would mobilize all forces.
Reinhard nominated Admiral Steinmetz for the job. Admiral Steinmetz, taking his fleet, made immediate headway for Urvashi.
II
The ruination of the Imperial Navy’s supply ships was a great success on the part of Yang’s fleet. But it was just the first step toward the grander, more agonizing battle ahead. To lure out Reinhard von Lohengramm and face him head-on, he had to continue fighting and winning. By that prospect alone, his troubles were just getting started. The more he won, the more formidable enemies would stand in his way. It all bore a deformed resemblance to accruing interest on a debt, and by now Yang felt the situation was getting out of hand. Seeing him like this, Julian smiled.
“Every day, you’re becoming more and more like Griping Yusuf II.”
Julian stood by Yang’s side as if it were the most natural thing in the world, when in fact, despite his promotion to sublieutenant, no order of job reassignment had been given, and so nominally he was still a military attaché on Phezzan and not Yang’s subordinate. Yang only noticed it after starting for Heinessen. Julian had, of course, known all along but kept silent about it. Lieutenant Commander Frederica Greenhill deftly handled the situation, claiming that sublieutenant Julian Mintz was responsible for supplying the information he’d gathered on Phezzan to aid Admiral Yang’s tactical decisions, and that was enough to secure Julian’s position on board. Julian was grateful for it, too. Yang mumbled about it for a while but voiced no objection and eventually dropped the subject.
On March 1, Steinmetz discovered the Yang fleet much sooner than he’d expected. This was, unbeknownst to Steinmetz, because Yang had wanted to be noticed. But the location of his discovery was problematic. Midway between the Raighar and Tripura star systems, it was far removed from any known shipping routes. The reason for this was obvious from the data captured on Phezzan.
“We’ve confirmed the existence of a black hole. Its Schwarzschild radius is about nine kilometers, but its mass is sixty quadrillion tons to the ten billionth power, and the danger-zone radius is estimated to be, at most, 3,200 light-seconds, or 960,000,000 kilometers.”
“Then I’m assuming we shouldn’t get any closer than one billion kilometers?”
According to the operator, Yang’s fleet was precisely toeing that one billion–kilometer line. Moreover, it had assumed a convex formation with the black hole at its rear.
“What could they be planning?”
As Steinmetz inclined his head slightly to one side, chief of staff Vice Admiral Neisebach dispelled his commander’s doubts.
“Putting the danger zone at their rear limits our trajectories of attack. There’s no way we can go around them. That must be their aim.”
Steinmetz nodded. Neisebach’s opinion was sound in its persuasiveness. Steinmetz ordered a concave formation. Both sides were forced to engage head-on.
At 2100 hours that same day, they were in range. First, Yang’s fleet hurled sheaves of light at the enemy. The imperial forces returned fire, sending forth a dazzling cascade into pitch-black space. Slowly yet surely Steinmetz pressed forward, pushing the alliance into apparent disadvantage. The alliance began to retreat. Steinmetz steadied his racing heart, quietly spreading out both wings of his concave formation into a half encirclement.
A turning point in the battle came when, at 0530 on March 2, the alliance, cornered by the empire’s half-circle formation, suddenly charged with fierce gunfire. Moments later, Yang’s ships had breached the center of the Steinmetz fleet, spreading out on either side behind the enemy and driving them toward the black hole.
It was the perfect execution of a “breach and spread” strategy. Steinmetz’s formation had completely backfired. He’d have done better to hold his advantage and charge the Yang fleet in kind. A more reckless commander would’ve done just that. But Steinmetz was top-notch and so had taken the safer way out, much to his chagrin. He’d been blind to the fact that Yang hadn’t gone on the defensive precisely so that he could carry out this bold attack.
The Yang fleet had surrounded the imperial forces in a semicircle, concentrating consistent fire on a single point, thereby pushing the Steinmetz fleet into the black hole’s gravitational field. The imperial forces surged like a stampede into a deadly event horizon—an abyss with a gravitational field reaching six hundred trillion times normal density. The Yang fleet’s firepower came on strong and severe, and one imperial ship after another exploded into particles of light.
The operators of Yang’s flagship Hyperion cheered with excitement. This only incited their commander’s caution.
“Enemy at the rear! I fear a pincer attack.”
The receiver of this report didn’t show one-tenth of the excitement as the one giving it. Yang took off his black beret, ruffling his unruly black hair.
“When you say at the rear, how far are we talking? Time distance is fine.”
The operator flew to the control panel, crunched some numbers, and estimated three hours, give or take.
Yang nodded once, put the beret back on his he
ad, and crammed his disheveled hair under it.
“Then we defeat the enemy in two hours and use the third to make our getaway. Sound good?”
With a nonchalant tone that one might’ve used to suggest dinner after a movie, Miracle Yang ordered his entire fleet to intensify its fire.
Like a herd of cattle being chased off a cliff, the Steinmetz fleet fell prey to the black hole’s gravitational field, which his ships were powerless to resist.
“Help, we’re being pulled in!”
Such cries congested the Imperial Navy’s communication channels before going silent. As the black hole’s inescapable gravity sucked in the Steinmetz fleet, the central ships were pulled in in a straight line, while the surrounding warships were twisted and ripped apart like paper dolls by a fierce tidal force. Riding giant gravitational waves, they rushed through space against their will. Vanishing into the event horizon, they were nothing more than clumps of metal and nonmetal. Those within the ships who resisted the black hole’s pull with all their might died of ruptured organs and broken bones before turning into balls of flame when the nuclear-power reactors exploded, all the while hurtling through a dark tunnel of extinction. It was a wondrous sight, like watching a group of fireflies dancing in the face of death, their light sucked in like the physical substance that it was. The victors became slaves to a strange feeling of unreality as each ball of fire went out, one by one.
Half of the Steinmetz fleet sank forever beyond the event horizon. Of the remaining half, many ships had been destroyed by gunfire, while those that managed to escape both the gravity well and the alliance attack and return to their comrades constituted no more than 20 percent of the entire fleet. This 20 percent, barraged by Yang’s coordinated attack, barely made it to the Schwarzschild radius line and, riding its hyperbolic orbit, gained enough velocity to get out of range. Although the commanders had succeeded in breaking away, their faces were white, like those of the dead.
Mobilization Page 14
