Count von Remscheid was silent. He felt ashamed of himself for not making mention of the child emperor.
When Merkatz left the prime minister’s office, Bernhard von Schneider welcomed his superior with a salute. A group of tired men in military uniform accompanied him. Von Schneider smiled bitterly and turned back to his men.
“This is all that’s left of the legitimate imperial government forces. They’re prepared to join Your Excellency for the long haul.”
Merkatz looked around at the faces of these “government soldiers.” Of different ages and builds, the youngest was a boy not yet twenty, who was clearly uncomfortable in a baggy old uniform he’d probably inherited from his father. The oldest looked to be of Merkatz’s generation. The one thing they did have in common was their countenance, in which he detected a fragile combination of loyalty, bravery, and self-satisfaction. Merkatz gave up on trying to dissuade them. It was obvious they were going to follow their determination no matter what. Thus, seven divisions were added to Yang’s fleet.
Merkatz wasn’t the only one who would be joining this band of irregulars. Admirals Morton and Carlsen, both of whom had tangled with Reinhard and had been forced into defeat, had regrouped their severely depleted soldiers and piggybacked on the Yang fleet, but the fact that they’d done this without waiting for the Ministry of Defense or Joint Operational Headquarters to approve their petitions was proof that military order existed in name only.
It was under these circumstances that the character of the alliance’s volunteer soldiers on the eve of a “final decisive battle” came to be debated, but the so-called volunteer soldiers, despite being possessed of fighting spirit and bravery, were thought to be a “disorderly mob” when it came to supplies and communications. And while the partisans could potentially become valuable assets beyond their abilities, it was difficult to imagine that they’d be able to effectively muster enough power in a decisive head-to-head between such giant fleets. Even during the civil war of the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic, the number of hot-blooded volunteers had been staggering. With so much confusion going on in the background, Morton and Carlsen’s command abilities were exactly what Yang desired.
He also discovered the existence of a few irregulars around him. The man accompanying Julian Mintz, his enormous frame looming behind Yang’s ward, was Ensign Louis Machungo.
When Lieutenant Commander Frederica Greenhill brought over the latest data on the Imperial Navy’s movements, Yang widened his eyes at the enormous man.
“Who the hell is that?”
“What do you mean, ‘Who the hell is that?’ That’s Ensign Louis Machungo.”
“I know that. What’s he doing on my ship?”
“He’s here for Julian, of course. A most splendid bodyguard.”
In putting it so simply, Frederica silenced Yang, who’d been grumbling about separating the public from the personal. Machungo had secured his seat.
Reading over the data brought to him by Frederica in his private room, Yang sighed as he felt the sun setting over the horizon of his soul. All data suggested that Reinhard von Lohengramm’s main fleet, followed by the fleets of his veteran generals, had left the Gandharva Stellar Region. Yang felt compelled then and there to aim for total control of Gandharva.
“What a despicable man,” Yang muttered on the inside.
Yang felt those words turning into a slow drip of cold fear, percolating through every cell of his body.
Either the scope of Reinhard von Lohengramm’s conceptual abilities or the elaborateness of his planning would’ve been difficult for any ordinary person to handle, but the young blond dictator had taken both to extremes.
While Reinhard dispatched his admirals far away, feigning isolation of his main fleet, the fact that he was trying to lure the alliance into an enormous trap was well within the realm of Yang’s foresight. But he had never imagined Reinhard would leave the Gandharva Stellar Region. When Reinhard’s admirals were as far as possible from the main fleet, Yang was already planning to seize the opportunity to gain victory in a short yet decisive battle before they could swing back around and engage him. But Reinhard had moved his main fleet. Yang’s computer predicted, by the velocity and angle of Reinhard’s movements, that when his admirals were farthest from the main fleet and had reached the threshold of a return maneuver, Reinhard would be in the Bharat star system, where Heinessen would be visible with his naked eye. To prevent Reinhard’s penetration of the Bharat star system, and the sectors surrounding the capital from turning into a battlespace, Yang would need to fight Reinhard earlier than he’d anticipated. Likewise, Mittermeier and von Reuentahl were sure to turn back sooner and closer than planned to the prospective battlespace. With Reinhard before him and von Reuentahl and Mittermeier at his rear, Yang wasn’t deluded enough to think he could win. His plans for victory had been deduced by the empire, and because supreme commander Reinhard would necessarily be his main target, for the first time he could put his finger on the fifty-yard line.
“And what of the other fifty … ?”
For once, Yang wasn’t in the best of tactical positions. He had to win, but until his admirals came rushing back to the battlespace, Reinhard would need to hold the war front. Considering Reinhard’s character, he surely valued “winning” over “not losing,” but such assertiveness and proactivity went hand in hand with his bottomless ingenuity. He was no mere bullfighter running wildly around the arena. Yang had to find a way to win over this most heroic of opponents.
“I have no other choice, do I?”
Yang smiled bitterly to himself. He’d never been fond of this “must do” attitude. Although not everything his heart desired came true, he wanted to stay on the path of independence and spontaneity as much as possible. In the footprints of his life, the dust of regret was already accumulating.
“If only someone else could do this for me.”
Of course, there was no such person. Others had always forced upon him ingredients he was hopeless to cook, after which he was made to stand in the kitchen until he managed a meal.
Noticing a reserved knock, Yang opened the remotely controlled door to reveal a flaxen-haired boy with a nervous expression on his face.
“May I come in, Marshal?”
“My door’s always open for you. Come in.”
The boy, who had risen to the rank of sublieutenant four years earlier than his guardian, saluted and entered the room. He combed back the flaxen bangs that fell annoyingly over his shapely face. He took a seat and Yang asked what was the matter.
Julian bent forward.
“What do you think of Duke von Lohengramm dispersing his fleets?”
“What do I think, indeed.”
“Then if you don’t mind me airing my thoughts, it’s obviously a setup. He’s sending us an invitation: Come and attack me, now that I’ve openly sent my admirals in different directions and left my base empty. If we go after him, we’ll be falling right into his trap.”
“What kind of trap?”
A mist hung over Yang expression, but the hot sharpness of Julian’s gaze dispelled it. Without looking away from Yang, he spun his words in one breath.
“When our fleet approaches their stronghold, the enemy will be timing our every move. Every fleet will turn around, corner us in their giant net, and annihilate us. That kind of trap.”
Yang took off his black beret with its white five-pointed star and fanned his face. At such times, he didn’t know how to praise the accuracy of the boy’s insights.
“You’ve known all along, I take it? Even I can see it. And yet you’re purposefully taking the bait.”
Yang ruffled his black hair in silence. Julian leaned in closer. Yang was unable to share the boy’s zeal.
“Man, usually it’s the younger ones who insist on going all out while the older ones try to hold them back, but here it’s t
he opposite. You think I’m going to lose to Duke von Lohengramm?”
“Don’t think you can shut me up with that kind of talk. It’s unfair.”
After a moment of silence, Yang admitted he was wrong and hung his head.
“Sorry about that. You’re right. That was an unfair way of putting it.”
“No, I was out of line. I’m sorry.”
Yang uncrossed his legs and righted himself.
“Listen, Julian. My motto has always been never to fight when there’s no chance of winning. I’m not about to go against that logic this time around.”
“So there’s no chance of winning?”
“Honestly speaking, not really.”
Yang returned the beret to his head and stuffed his disheveled hair under it. He wanted others to understand the facts of the situation, but only on a need-to-know basis.
“Still, we only get one shot at this. Given that Duke von Lohengramm has accurately divined my aims, he is sending me an invitation. If he was purely self-interested, he’d forget about me altogether and strike Heinessen. Maybe that would be more efficient, but he’ll never do it, because he has accepted my rude challenge.”
“Then you’ll engage him in grand-scale battle?”
Yang thought it over with some difficulty.
“No, I’m not that much of a romantic. All I’m wondering now is how I might use Duke von Lohengramm’s own prideful romanticism against him. Honestly, I wish there was an easier way out of this.”
Julian opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. It was never in his interest to make Yang uncomfortable. But Julian wondered if there truly wasn’t an easier way. Why else would he have felt so compelled to ask about it?
“In any case, don’t go overboard.”
Yang nodded, seemingly satisfied.
“I’ll be fine. It’s not my habit to do more than what’s required of me. I appreciate your concern.”
II
On April 11, the day before leaving the base, Yang gave his officers and men half a day’s reprieve. It was a custom to do this before any war, and Yang adhered to it strictly.
“This is a message from your commander. As of today, you are free to do as you wish until 2400 hours. Here’s to having no regrets.”
This message, communicated by Vice Admiral Murai, prompted hopeful yet somehow empty cheers. Ludmila, now serving as their base of operations, was a small planet of barren rock, and without even meager recreational facilities to keep them entertained, having freedom of time didn’t mean having many choices in how to spend it. Olivier Poplin took one look at his friend Ivan Konev and shrugged his shoulders.
“Heinessen and Iserlohn weren’t so bad, but what sort of freedom can we possibly exercise in a place like this? Oh well, guess I’ll go find someone to share a night of passion with. What about you?”
“I’ll be sleeping in my room.”
“You’re brave for saying something so idiotic out loud.”
“Idiotic?”
“Assuming you were joking, yes. More so if you meant it.”
“You do like your jokes, that’s for sure.”
Being on the receiving end of Konev’s nonchalance, Poplin puffed his chest out a little.
“One cannot live on jokes alone, but I’d never want to live without them, either.”
“Your very existence is a joke.”
“I think you’ve stepped outside the bounds of sarcasm there, Mr. Konev.”
“Not really. That’s just the jealousy of an unpopular man talking. Please think nothing of it, Mr. Poplin.”
The two ace pilots exchanged cynical smiles and went their separate ways.
When Yang Wen-li invited her to his private room, Lieutenant Commander Frederica Greenhill knew exactly how she was going to spend her “Cinderella liberty.” As she touched up her light makeup and walked in, Yang turned to the reinforced glass table, unsure of how to react, and welcomed her. He politely offered her a seat.
With one finger, Yang Wen-li was capable of mobilizing a giant fleet of tens of thousands of ships in battlespaces all across the universe. And yet, this young man, who had originally aspired to be a historian, wasn’t the main actor in every scene of this drama called life. In some, he was the ham actor who couldn’t wrap a tongue around his lines to save his life. In this instance, he managed, by no small effort, to get the engine of his mouth running, and called his guest’s name: first as “Lieutenant” before correcting it to “Lieutenant Commander” and then to “Miss Greenhill.” Each time he provoked a response in his beautiful aide but made no effort to continue. Not out of spite, but cowardice. It took him more nerve than it did to fight enemies ten times his size. He called her a fourth time.
“Frederica.”
This time, the young hazel-eyed woman gave no immediate reply. It was practically groundbreaking for him to call her by her first name. She widened her eyes, at last answering with a yes, by which she regained her own faculty to speak.
“It feels like we’ve gone eleven years back in time.”
Frederica smiled tenderly.
“The marshal hasn’t called me by my first name since you saved my life on El Facil. Do you remember?”
Yang Wen-li felt embarrassed and shook his head like some cheap automaton.
He’d been a twenty-one-year-old sublieutenant when he’d evacuated the many civilians of El Facil, then completely surrounded by the Imperial Navy. Even as he was helplessly scratching his head over it, what he did next opened the first page of “Yang’s Miracle.” When Frederica brought him his lunch, the young sublieutenant sincerely said, “Thank you, Miss Greenhill,” to the fourteen-year-old girl, who smiled reflexively and told the young officer, more like a scholar in the making than a military man, to call her Frederica. The “Rescue of El Facil” sparked their friendship. The destination of that friendship was still beyond the scope of their vision. Yang was now standing at a crossroads, and it wasn’t easy for him to break out of this stalemate.
“Frederica, when this war is over …”
Yang had organized his thoughts this far but failed to coordinate his emotions and intentions, so the words came out incoherent and disjointed.
“I’m seven years older than you and, how should I put this, well, I’m not the easiest person to live with, and I’ve got many faults besides. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’m qualified to be asking you this. I even considered pulling my rank somehow. It’s probably untoward of me to be asking you this on the eve of battle …”
Frederica held her breath. Without letting her confusion show, she understood where Yang was going with this. She felt her pulse getting faster.
“But I’d rather regret saying it that regret not saying it. Ah, this is so embarrassing. I’ve been talking about myself the whole time. My point … my point is, I’d like for us to get married.”
Yang had broken through, emptying his lungs in one go. It required no small amount of stamina to shrug off his indecisiveness. Frederica felt wings spreading and taking vigorous flight in her heart. She thought for what seemed like forever over her answer to this proposal.
“If we combine our yearly pensions, we wouldn’t have to worry about feeding ourselves, even when we’re old. And …”
Frederica was searching for the right thing to say, but her superior memory betrayed its owner. Her words had gone somewhere on vacation.
“My parents were eight years apart in age. Perhaps I should’ve mentioned that earlier.”
Frederica was beside herself, thinking that if she didn’t say something, Yang might mistake her silence for some definitive statement. Looking at Yang, she could see he didn’t share her joy. For all the fame that being the youngest marshal in the history of the Alliance Armed Forces had brought him, this young military man who didn’t look the part even in uniform was unsettled beneat
h the bangs sticking out from his beret.
“Um, what is it?”
Yang struggled to express what he was feeling. His was the face of an academy student being given an oral exam. Such seriousness was most unbecoming of him. He took off his beret and spoke with discomfort.
“You haven’t given me your answer. Will you marry me?”
“Eh?!”
Frederica opened her hazel eyes wide and blushed at her own carelessness. All he’d wanted was a yes or no. Everything she’d said had indiscriminately bypassed that hurdle. After reining in her ecstatic heart, Frederica gave her answer.
“It’s yes, Your Excellency,” she said. “It’s yes, Your Excellency,” she repeated, prompted by the absurd doubt that only she had heard her own voice and that Yang hadn’t. “Yes, I’d be honored …”
Yang nodded awkwardly, again struggling to put words together into a coherent sentence.
“Thank you. What I mean is … how should I put it … I, uh …”
In the end, Yang said nothing.
Julian Mintz entered Vice Admiral Alex Caselnes’s private room as if by gravitational pull. Caselnes was suspicious and smiled once he knew the reason. He mixed a thinly watered-down drink and offered it to the boy.
“I see. Yang finally bit the bullet, eh?”
Julian nodded and drank vigorously, choking as it went down. The ice cubes in his glass clinked together. Caselnes grinned and filled his own glass in kind.
“It’s basically an auspicious occasion. Shall we drink to it?”
Julian eyed his glass and went red in the face, and not just from the alcohol. He apologized for having so rudely drunk before sharing a toast. Caselnes dropped some ice into Julian’s glass, pouring him a drink that was slightly darker in color than the first. After making their toast, Julian asked:
“You said it’s basically an auspicious occasion. What did you mean by that?”
“Auspicious for Yang, because he actually found someone to be his bride. And a first-class one at that. And while I might question Lieutenant Commander Greenhill’s tastes, she’s marrying someone she loves, which is truly something to celebrate. You can have a funeral by yourself, but it takes two for a wedding.”
Mobilization Page 17
