The popularity of the prowar faction plummeted, which meant that the antiwar faction entered the limelight to a similar degree. The three councilmen who had cast their votes against the invasion were lauded for their insight, and Defense Committee chairman Trünicht was named interim head of the ruling administration and would occupy that seat until the following year’s elections.
In the study at his home, Trünicht raised a glass in celebration of his own foresight. He wouldn’t have much longer to wait before the word “interim” vanished from his title.
In the military, Marshal Sitolet, director of Joint Operational Headquarters, and Marshal Lobos, commander in chief of the space armada, resigned together. Scuttlebutt had it that Lobos had, through his own failures, ruined his rival Sitolet.
Vice Admiral Urannf and Vice Admiral Borodin, the two fleet commanders who had died courageously on the battlefield, received special double promotions and were posthumously granted ranks of marshal. In the alliance military, there was no rank of senior admiral, and marshal was next in the hierarchy above full admiral.
Admiral Greenhill was shuffled off to the Defense Committee secretariat-general, where as director of field investigations he was removed from the front lines of the effort to counter the empire’s military activities.
Rear Admiral Caselnes was transferred as well and departed the capital of Heinessen to become commander of Supply Base 14, located inside the alliance’s territory. Somebody had to take responsibility for the failure of the supply effort in the Battle of Amritsar. Leaving his family behind in the capital, he departed for a frontier land five hundred light-years distant. His wife took their two young daughters and moved back in with her parents.
After recuperating, Rear Admiral Fork was ordered to join the reserve, and there it seemed his ambition had met its end.
All of this caused an alarming shortage of human resources in the leadership of the Alliance Armed Forces. Who was there who could fill those seats?
Assuming the seat of director at Joint Operational Headquarters—and in the process being promoted from vice admiral to full admiral—was Cubresly, who had served until that time as the First Fleet’s commander.
As he had not participated in the battles at Astarte or Amritsar, he accordingly bore no responsibility for the defeats there. He had built a sound record of solid results in providing security for the capital and defending public order domestically, as well as in his traditional role of suppressing the space pirate cartels and maintaining the safety of the shipping lanes. He had graduated with excellent marks from Officers’ Academy, where it had been viewed as a given that he would one day rise to the highest pinnacle of the military. That prediction had now come true with a speed that the man himself had never dreamed of.
Replacing Cubresly as commander of the First Fleet was Vice Admiral Paetta, who had been recuperating from his wounds in the Battle of Astarte.
Bucock was installed as commander in chief of the space armada and, naturally, promoted to full admiral in the process. This seasoned admiral had at last taken up a post worthy of his experience, and his appointment was highly praised both inside and outside the military. No matter how famous Bucock might have been, he had worked his way up from an ordinary soldier, and without circumstances being what they were, he likely never would have made commander in chief of the space armada. In that sense, something ironically positive had come out of the misfortune of their miserable defeat.
How Yang Wen-li was to be rewarded was not decided upon right away.
He had brought over 70 percent of those in the Thirteenth Fleet back home alive—a survival rate vastly higher than that of any other regiment in the expeditionary force. No one had been able to accuse him of having hidden elsewhere in safety. The Thirteenth Fleet had been right in the midst of intense combat all along and had stayed on the battlefield to the very last, giving its all so that allies could escape.
Cubresly was hoping to make Yang his staff commissioner at Joint Operational Headquarters. Bucock had told Yang directly and with certainty that he would ready the seat of general chief of staff of the space armada for him.
On the other hand, the crew of the ships in the Thirteenth Fleet could no longer imagine having any commander but Yang over them. As von Schönkopf aptly put it, “Soldiers want a commander who comes with both ability and luck. To them, that’s the best way to survive.”
While things were still up in the air about his next assignment, Yang took a long vacation and went to the planet Mithra. Things were now such that if he stayed at his official residence in Heinessen, he wouldn’t be able to set foot outside his door without being thronged by civilians and journalists wanting to meet the undefeated hero, and with his visiphone constantly ringing as well, it was impossible to get any rest.
His text transmitter began spitting out letters that came only seconds apart. One of these was a brief note from the headquarters of the Patriotic Knight Corps—“We extend our praises to a great admiral of our beloved homeland”—at which Yang burst out laughing, while one from the mother of a Thirteenth Fleet soldier who had been killed in action—”You’re just a friend and ally of murderers, too”—left him deeply discouraged. It really was just six of one and half a dozen of the other. Honor and glory were things built only atop the piled corpses of unknown soldiers …
Julian had proposed the vacation getaway because he felt like he had to do something. In addition to feeling depressed, Yang had increased his drinking dramatically. Yang wasn’t the type to get drunk and do bad things, like disturbing the peace or getting in fights, but he wasn’t drinking for enjoyment either, and there was no way his level of consumption could be good for his health.
Yang, perhaps with some degree of self-awareness about this, meekly accepted Julian’s suggestion. Yang spent three weeks surrounded by lush, green natural beauty, lost his interest in alcohol, and returned to the capital to find his letter of appointment waiting.
Iserlohn Fortress Commander / Iserlohn Patrol Fleet Commander / Alliance Armed Forces Supreme Staff Council Councilman.
That was the new status that Yang Wen-li had been given. He was also promoted to full admiral. There were a number of past examples of people who had made full admiral in their twenties, but this was the first time anyone had been promoted through three ranks of the admiralty in the space of one year.
Because the Iserlohn Patrol Fleet had been created by combining the old Tenth and Thirteenth fleets, the commonplace term for it, “the Yang Fleet,” came to be recognized officially.
It was fair to say that the Alliance Armed Forces had displayed its utmost affection for the young national hero. However, every last bit of it was the opposite of what Yang really wanted. He had been hoping for retirement rather than promotions, and a peaceful life as a civilian rather than honor as a warrior.
And yet Yang departed for Iserlohn, where he took full command of his homeland’s front line of defense.
Naturally, this put an end to his life on Heinessen, and the question of what to do with young Julian gave Yang a lot to think about. He even thought about getting Mrs. Caselnes’s family to take him in, but Julian had absolutely no intention of leaving Yang’s side.
From the very start, Julian had made up his mind to accompany his guardian. Yang saw him getting ready, and despite some hesitation, ultimately decided to take him along. Eventually, an orderly would be assigned to Yang to look after his personal needs, and if that was the case, then leaving that job to Julian felt somehow more comfortable. Although he didn’t want to make the boy walk the same path that he did, Yang didn’t want to part with Julian either. Julian was made a civilian worker for the military and treated as the equivalent of a lance corporal. He was paid a salary as well.
Naturally, however, it wasn’t just Julian who followed Yang to Iserlohn.
His personal aide was Frederica Greenhill. Vice commander of the Iserlohn
Patrol Fleet was Fischer. And von Schönkopf was there as well, as commander of fortress defenses. Murai and Patrichev came with him as staff officers, as did Lao, who had assisted Yang at the battle of Astarte. The captain of the First Fortress Spaceborne Division was Poplin. In addition, staff officers from the old Tenth Fleet came with him. The lineup of the Yang Fleet was steadily taking shape.
Now if I can just get Caselnes to take over the clerical duties, Yang thought, deciding to call him on over as soon as he was able.
What bothered him, though, were the movements of the Imperial Navy. Count Reinhard von Lohengramm aside, there were other admirals—scions of great noble houses—who had been inspired by his military exploits; might they not be plotting incursions even now, aiming to strike at a time when the Alliance Armed Forces’ ability to fight back was weakened?
Fortunately, however, that unease never manifested in reality, for a pressing situation had arisen within the Galactic Empire which left them with no leeway for launching distant campaigns.
Emperor Friedrich IV had died suddenly.
II
Having won a spectacular victory at Amritsar, Reinhard returned to the imperial capital of Odin to find its surface practically buried under forests of mourning flags.
The passing of the emperor!
The cause of death was said to be acute heart disease. Not only had the emperor’s body been weakened by debauchery and neglect for his health, the bloodline of the von Goldenbaum imperial family itself had grown dark and muddy, and he had died all too suddenly, as if to demonstrate what weak and inferior life-forms the family had become.
Friedrich is dead? Reinhard murmured in his heart, with as stunned an expression as might be expected as he stared at the assembled admirals under his command. Heart disease … a natural death? Wasted on that man. If he could have lived another five—no—two years longer, then I would have showed him a death befitting his many sins.
He turned his gaze toward Kircheis and met eyes filled with similar emotions—not as intense as Reinhard’s, but running possibly even deeper. The man who ten years ago had robbed them of their kind and beautiful Annerose was dead. Viewed through the light of recollection, all those years that had gone by shone dazzlingly bright and seemed to be dancing wildly all around them …
“Excellency,” said an exceedingly cold voice that yanked Reinhard up onto reality’s shore. There was no need to confirm it was von Oberstein. “Friedrich is dead and there is no successor named.”
All of the admirals save Reinhard and Kircheis drew in their breaths for an instant, shocked at how brazenly he had just dropped His Highness’s titles.
“Why so shocked?” the staff officer said as he looked around at all of them, artificial eyes flashing with inorganic light. “The only man to whom I swear loyalty is His Excellency, Imperial Marshal von Lohengramm. Emperor though he may have been, Friedrich wasn’t worthy of flowery titles.”
After this declaration, von Oberstein turned to face Reinhard.
“Excellency, Friedrich has died without naming his successor. Clearly, a struggle for succession will erupt among his three grandchildren. Whatever is decided in the short term will only be temporary. It may come early or it may come late, but this is not going to be settled without blood.”
“You have the right of it,” Reinhard said after a moment.
The young imperial marshal nodded toward him with the look of a fierce and intelligent schemer. “And my fate as well will be determined by which of the three I support. So tell me, then, which of those men who lurk behind the three grandchildren will come forward and extend his hand to me?”
“Marquis Lichtenlade, most likely. The other two have military forces of their own, but the marquis does not. He must be craving Your Excellency’s forces most earnestly.”
“I see.” Reinhard’s attractive features seemed to glow as he flashed a different kind of smile from the one reserved for Kircheis. “In that case, let’s see just how much we can lease them for.”
It was widely expected that the standing of Count Reinhard von Lohengramm would be not a little shaken by the sudden death of the emperor.
However, the outcome turned out to be just the opposite. This was because Erwin Josef, the emperor’s five-year-old grandson, had been made the next emperor by the hand of Minister of State Lichtenlade.
The child was a direct descendent of Friedrich IV, so there was nothing unusual about his succession in and of itself. Even so, he was far too young to rule, and above all had no backing from the powerful highborn nobles. For these reasons, he had been thought to be at a disadvantage.
In a case like this, it would not have been unusual for either Elisabeth, the sixteen-year-old daughter of the Duke and Duchess von Braunschweig, or Sabine, the fourteen-year-old daughter of Marquis and Marchioness von Littenheim, to become empress with the backing of her father’s family and power. There were a number of precedents. Were that to happen, the father of the all-too-young empress would likely assist her as regent.
Duke von Braunschweig and Marquis von Littenheim had both confidence and ambition, and so predicting such a situation initiated unofficial—but very energetic—maneuvers at court intended to make their predictions come true.
In particular, powerful aristocratic families with young unmarried children were courted by these machinations. “If you’ll support my daughter for accession to the throne,” they were saying, “I’ll consider making your son the husband of the new empress.”
If spoken promises were strictly honored, the emperor’s two granddaughters would have both been forced to marry dozens of husbands. Even if the girls had already had boyfriends, their wishes would have doubtless been ignored.
However, it was the Marquis Lichtenlade who administered both the imperial seal and the issuance of imperial decrees, and he had no intention of letting powerful maternal relatives turn the empire into their private property.
Lichtenlade was concerned about where the empire was headed, and more than that, he loved his own position and power. He made up his mind to put forward Erwin Josef, heir of the late emperor Friedrich’s heir, but the thought of the great power wielded by those who would be opposed to his plan left him feeling a pressing need to strengthen his own camp. His guard dog would need to be strong and, moreover, easy to manage.
After giving the matter much thought, Marquis Lichtenlade settled on one man, although it was hard to say this individual would be easy to manage. In fact, he was a rather dangerous man. But in terms of raw strength, he had no room for objection.
That was how Count Reinhard von Lohengramm was advanced to the rank of marquis by Lichtenlade, who himself became a duke. It was also how he came to occupy the seat of commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada. When the accession of Erwin Josef was announced publicly, the highborn nobles—starting with Duke von Braunschweig—were at first aghast, then disappointed, then infuriated.
But the axis of power created by a handshake that had for mutually selfish reasons been exchanged between Duke Lichtenlade and Marquis von Lohengramm turned out to be a surprisingly firm one. This was because the former needed the latter’s military forces and popularity with the commoners, the latter desired the former’s authority in national governance and influence at court, and both of them needed to utilize the new emperor’s authority to its utmost to cement their respective positions and power.
When Erwin Josef II’s coronation ceremony was held, the two representatives of his chief vassals respectfully swore their allegiance to the child emperor, who was held sitting in his nurse’s lap. Representing the civil authorities was Duke Lichtenlade, who took up the job of regent, while the representative for the military authorities was Reinhard. Though it pained them to do so, the assembled aristocrats, bureaucrats, and military officers had no choice but to acknowledge the two of them as twin pillars of this new order.
The highborn n
obles who had been excluded from the new order were quite literally grinding their teeth. Duke von Braunschweig and Marquis von Littenheim were bound together by their shared hatred toward it.
Duke Lichtenlade, they thought, was a worn-out old man who should have ended his role in national affairs and exited the stage with the death of Emperor Friedrich IV. On the other hand, who was this Marquis von Lohengramm? A shining service record he may have, but what was he really but an upstart whelp from a poor family of nobility in name only, who had used the emperor’s favor toward his sister in order to rise to prominence? Should we just stand by and let people like that monopolize our national government? The highborn nobles turned their private outrage into public outrage and longed for the overthrow of this new order.
So long as they shared such powerful, common enemies, the Lichtenlade-Lohengramm axis would likely remain firm as a steel fortress and strong as an iron wall. There was simply no other option.
Reinhard, now Marquis von Lohengramm, immediately promoted Siegfried Kircheis to the rank of senior admiral and named him vice commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada.
Duke Lichtenlade actively supported this appointment as well, still not having given up on the idea of putting Kircheis in his debt.
The one who held misgivings about this was von Oberstein. He had been promoted to vice admiral and now doubled as Imperial Space Armada chief of staff and Lohengramm admiralität chief secretary, and one day he met with Reinhard to give him some candid advice.
“It’s well and good to have a childhood friend, and well and good to have a capable second-in-command. But having both in the same person is dangerous. First of all, there was no need to make him vice commander in chief. Don’t you think you should treat Admiral Kircheis the same as you do the others?”
“Know your place, von Oberstein, I’ve made up my mind already.”
The young commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada put the staff officer with artificial eyes to silence with this single displeased remark. It was von Oberstein’s clever scheming that Reinhard was paying for; he did not regard the man with silver-streaked hair as a friend with whom he could share his heart. It did not put him in a pleasant mood to hear vaguely slanderous words spoken against the one who was his other self.
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