Soldiers had long joked about “what would happen if you fired Iserlohn’s main guns into Iserlohn’s defense wall,” but it was that very situation that might now be upon them. “Iserlohn,” people said, “has four multilayered coatings of ultrahard steel, crystal fiber, and superceramic. It’s the sturdiest thing in all of space.” After this next battle, however, those words might be spoken in the past tense.
“A duel between fortress cannon and fortress cannon …;?” Caselnes could feel an icy, invisible hand running its fingers up and down his neck and spine. When he imagined the unprecedented clash of those vast energies, he couldn’t help but feel a chill. If you were to witness a firing of Iserlohn’s main cannons with the naked eye, it was said, you would see the afterimage for the rest of your life.
“Just think of the magnificent fireworks we’ll get to see,” von Schönkopf said. His usual good cheer was a bit lacking at that moment, and it was difficult to call his wisecrack successful. What he was imagining was crossing the line of what frontline soldiers could process as a wisecrack.
“We need to get Admiral Yang to come back from the capital ASAP,” said Commodore Patrichev.
No sooner had he spoken those words than a regretful grimace appeared on his face. It was probably a conscious act, done out of consideration for Acting Commander Caselnes. Caselnes, however, showed not the slightest displeasure, and instead signaled positive agreement. He was well aware that he was the peacetime commander, just filling in.
Still, even if Yang came running back the moment the FTL reached Heinessen, the distance from there to Iserlohn was simply too great.
“This is a rough estimate,” Caselnes noted, “but it looks like we’re going to have to hold them off for four weeks. And although that period could grow longer, it’s not going to get any shorter.”
“That’s a fun prediction,” Patrichev said, not managing to sound as upbeat as he’d intended. They were going to have to do battle with a force of unprecedented scale—and do it without their commander. It was no ordinary commander they had been deprived of, either, but the undefeated war hero known as “Yang the Magician” and “Miracle Yang.”
Fearful shivers ran silently through every nerve in Patrichev’s body. He broke out in gooseflesh, and cold sweat dampened his clothing from the inside. It was only natural.
Iserlohn Fortress and its affiliated patrol fleet employed a total of two million soldiers and officers, and even in their present state, with many of the seasoned warriors having been replaced with raw recruits, they still made up the most potent fighting force in the Alliance Armed Forces. That, however, was because they derived their potency from the absolute faith they had in their commander’s invincibility.
“What do you think would happen if we lost Iserlohn Fortress?” Rear Admiral Murai forced out in a low voice. “A gigantic war fleet commanded by Duke von Lohengramm would come pouring out of the corridor and into alliance space. If that happens, then the alliance is—”
There was no need to say the word: “finished.”
In the past, the Alliance Armed Forces had exchanged fire with the Imperial Navy on any number of occasions when they had launched incursions through the corridor.
However, present conditions were not like those of two years ago. Aside from the First Fleet, the forces they currently had on this side of the corridor consisted of untested regiments of new recruits, planetary security forces incapable of long-range deployments, patrol squadrons with inferior armor and firepower, and units still in the process of being organized—it was fair to say that that was all. The alliance’s military security was hinging entirely on Iserlohn Fortress and the Iserlohn Patrol Fleet. This was, in fact, precisely the reason why those serving to the rear of the front lines had time to organize new units and train new recruits.
And yet, at as critical a moment as this one, their frontline commander had been summoned all the way back to Heinessen! And for what? To face a court of inquiry that was neither urgent nor necessary.
Far from the front lines on the capital world of Heinessen, politicos of the Trünicht faction protected nothing but their own hides as they dressed themselves in warm clothing and ate to their hearts’ content. When they had gotten bored of that, they had summoned Yang Wen-li and were now amusing themselves playing Star Chamber. When Caselnes pictured their faces, he could feel an urgent fury burning in his stomach. To protect the authority and privileges of those people, frontline troops regularly had to throw away their lives in battle. It had happened in the coup d’état last year, and it had happened before that as well. Caselnes couldn’t help feeling skeptical about the meaning of the war.
If there was one thing that lifted his spirits, it was that now Yang would be freed from his pointless battle with the court of inquiry on Heinessen. If he had to fight either way, even Yang would choose to match wits with an enemy force on the vast battlefield of outer space. The duty of Caselnes and the others was to hold Iserlohn until his return.
Caselnes considered the worst-case scenario and took several preventive measures. He had the strategic and tactical computers configured so that all of their data could be deleted at any moment, prepared a system by which secret documents could also be incinerated, and had Iserlohn’s civilian population of three million begin preparations for evacuation. The promptness and precision of these measures reflected what Caselnes considered to be his strongest suit.
And so an FTL winged its way from Iserlohn to the rear.
“On April 10, a massive imperial force crossed into the Iserlohn Corridor—furthermore, it is accompanied by a giant mobile fortress. Request immediate reinforcements.”
II
Also on the tenth of April, sparks were flying in a battle without weapons in the capital of the Free Planets Alliance. Admiral Yang Wen-li was facing off against the court of inquiry, and his aide-de-camp Frederica Greenhill seemed to have somehow made enemies of the entire Trünicht administration.
Yang was not being questioned every day. All of the inquisitors had other work they had to attend to, not least among them Defense Committee Chair Negroponte, who was the chairman of the court of inquiry. Since they couldn’t focus all their energies on bullying Yang, the court of inquiry was meeting every two or three days, which meant it was dragging out interminably. Yang’s nerves had taken quite a beating, and if he’d had a short temper, he would have exploded long ago. At this point, all Yang could think was that the goal of this court was not to question him and reach some sort of conclusion; it was simply to keep the process of questioning him going.
How do they plan on ending this? Yang wondered. Suppose the goal of the inquiry was to determine whether or not the presence of Yang Wen-li was harmful for the alliance. If the conclusion that was that he was harmless, they would have to let him go. If it was that he was harmful, they would need to take some sort of decisive measure—but since the military threat from the empire was very real, they could not, at present, afford to lose Yang. That said, they couldn’t just keep the inquiry going forever either. When Yang considered these circumstances, the whole thing seemed both disgusting and ridiculous, and he also took a slight amount of mean-spirited amusement from it as well. Whatever they decided, they would have to let him go eventually, and Yang was by this time of a mind to just wait them out and look forward to seeing what sort of excuse they would come up with to keep up appearances.
He had his letter of resignation in his pocket. If needed, he could whip it out at any moment and shove it up the nose of the Defense Committee chair. He had written it on the first night of the inquiry, and on the following day—when he’d intended to slam it down on the chairman’s desk—the court had not convened, and a demoralized Yang had stuck it in his pocket instead. It wasn’t as if there had been no chance to tender it since then, but just knowing that it was there and could be used at a moment’s notice helped calm him down a little—and also brought out his nas
tier side: Let’s wait until things get a little more dramatic and then let ’em have it!
Whenever the court was to convene, Yang would, in his own way, get excited. What was harder on him were the days he had to spend under house arrest in his assigned accommodations. Aside from eating his meals, there was nothing to do there. From the window, there was nothing to see but the courtyard. He didn’t even have access to a solivision, and when he tried asking for some books to read—knowing it was a wasted effort—the request was met with the expected hemming and hawing, followed by refusal in the end. When he thought, Well in that case, let’s do a little more writing, it turned out that he had a pen but not any paper—he had blown through a couple dozen sheets while writing his letter of resignation, using up all that he had. When he fell into bed, he tried imagining himself torturing each member of the court in turn, but he soon grew bored of that.
While all three meals were excellent every day, they were as devoid of individuality as the furniture in this room, and it was no use hoping for something different each time. Breakfast in particular had been exactly the same for days on end: rye bread, butter, plain yogurt, coffee, vegetable juice, bacon and eggs, french potatoes, and salad with onions, peppers, and lettuce. The flavor certainly wasn’t bad, and it had to be very nutritious, but if asked, Yang would have described it as “lacking both sincerity and originality.” Most unforgivable was their assumption that meals were followed by coffee.
If Julian were here, he would have brewed red tea from fragrant Shillong leaves, and even if eggs were on the menu every day, he would have changed them up, making omelets one day and scrambled eggs the next. And his technique for making rice gratin and rice porridge from the previous night’s leftovers had, in Yang’s estimation, no equal under heaven. It would be so much better for culture and society if he chose to train formally as a cook and got a license to do that, instead of pursuing a crummy military job that would contribute nothing to civilization or humanity. If he would just do that, Yang could even use his retirement allowance to open up a restaurant for him …; Of course, it was true that the job of “cook” probably didn’t stimulate the boy’s youthful romanticism the way “space battleship captain” did.
In this way, meaningless days rolled by for Yang on Heinessen. But it was fair to say that even his circumstances were preferable by far to the hard work that Frederica was doing. Frederica’s struggle was one that was literally without sleep or rest.
After receiving that callous response from Rear Admiral Bay, Frederica and Machungo had headed straight to Space Armada Command. The front-desk officer had been a bureaucratic type, wielding regulations, enumerated powers, and organizational mechanisms like a sorcerer’s staff. He had wasted a lot of Frederica’s time, but at last she had been noticed by a young lieutenant commander named Edmond Messersmith, who had been on his way out the door to head home. He had stopped and tried to help her out. Messersmith had been a student of her father’s back when Dwight Greenhill was serving as vice president at Officers’ Academy, and for a time her father had apparently had his eye on Messersmith as a prospective groom for Frederica. Frederica had thanked him, and Messersmith had responded with a pleasant little smile.
“Glad to be of service. If you need any help, I’ll make myself useful however I can. Say hello to your mother for me. All these years, and you’re still just as lovely as ever, Frederica.”
Frederica had thanked him, but by the time she was opening the door to the office of Admiral Bucock, commander in chief of the space armada, Messersmith had already been driven from her mind.
“Lieutenant, what in the world are you doing here?”
That was the first thing the seventy-two-year-old admiral said to her. As Frederica had expected, the number two man in uniform had no idea that Yang had been summoned to the capital. It became crystal clear from that question alone just how secretive this court of inquiry actually was.
Frederica gave him a concise summary of what had happened, and by the end of it, Bucock’s white eyebrows were quivering, although he held his peace for a long moment afterward. He was not so much surprised as shocked.
“To be honest,” she said, “I was very unsure whether I should bring this to Your Excellency’s attention or not. Although I would be grateful for any help you can give me in extricating Admiral Yang from his predicament, this could turn into a standoff between the military and the government if things take a turn for the worse …;”
“That’s certainly a valid concern. But at the same time, that’s no longer something we need to worry about.”
It was an odd thing the old admiral had said. The bitter, even dark tone in which he had spoken it sounded so unlike the usually affable Bucock.
“What I mean, Lieutenant, is that it’s no longer possible for the whole military to come together in opposition to the government.”
“By which you mean that the military has an internal split, with two competing factions?”
“Two! There are two factions, no doubt. At least if you can set an overwhelming majority next to the minority and call that two. Naturally, I’m in the minority. Not that that’s anything to brag about.”
Frederica breathed in softly. She hesitated to say her next words, but she couldn’t just stand there and not ask him: “How on earth did such a thing ever happen?”
For some reason, the old admiral seemed as hesitant to answer that question as she had been to ask it. But just as Frederica had been unable to keep herself from asking it, Bucock couldn’t stop himself from answering.
“This isn’t an easy thing to say, but if I have to point to a reason, it’s because of the Military Congress’s coup last year. Confidence in the military has plummeted because of that. We have less of a say in things, and the politicians—they’ve used the opportunity to infiltrate the military with their own people. By manipulating military personnel assignments however they see fit, they’ve managed to pack the central hub of our leadership with their plants. Neither I nor Director Cubresly was able to do anything during the coup last year, so even when we objected, our opinions were just laughed away.”
My face must be white as a sheet, thought Frederica. Once again, her father, Dwight Greenhill, the face of the coup d’état, had appeared before her, standing in her way. It wasn’t possible for her to dislike her father. However, if this kind of thing continued to happen, she might well come to hate him.
“For that reason, both myself and Admiral Cubresly are isolated rocks in a wide sea at present. While it’s unclear what fundamental motive the politicians had for summoning Admiral Yang to the capital, they’re no doubt thinking that, up to a point, they can do as they like without anyone objecting—and anyone who does object, they can simply crush.”
“I don’t know what to say …; I wasn’t aware I was putting you in such a difficult position.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not in any particularly hard spot myself. I’m just disgusted, is all. All their obnoxious sneaking around’s driving me crazy. Actually, this very room might well be bugged. I’d say the likelihood’s over 90 percent.”
On hearing that, the hulking Warrant Officer Machungo jumped a full ten centimeters into the air. The old admiral laughed himself into a fit of coughing. He stopped laughing, though, when he met Frederica’s eyes.
“The reason I’m having this conversation in spite of that,” he said, “is that it’s already too late to fool anybody about whose colors I’m flying and because any recordings they made with an eavesdropping device would be legally inadmissible as evidence. I, on the other hand, could sue them for infringing on my human rights with their eavesdropping. Assuming the government feels like obeying the Charter of the Alliance, that is.”
“The government can’t publically trample on its facade of democracy. When the time comes, I think we can use that as a weapon.”
“I’m pleased to hear the lieutenant speakin
g with such wisdom and insight. By the way, to bring this back to Admiral Yang’s situation, now that I know what’s going on, I’ll do everything I can. You most certainly have my cooperation.”
“It isn’t a problem for you?” Frederica asked.
This time, the old admiral smiled cheerfully.
“You’ve come here and asked, so it’s too late to be worrying about that now. I think a lot of that young man. Oh, but don’t tell him I said that. After all, young ’uns can get a big head awfully fast.”
“I’m truly grateful for this. And since I know you’re a nice person who won’t mind my saying so, I think a lot of you too, Your Excellency.”
“I’d love to have the missus hear you say that. By the way, there’s one other thing …;” Here the old admiral’s face grew more serious. “No one followed you on your way here, did they?”
A look of shock ran through Frederica’s hazel eyes, and she looked over at Machungo. She had been thinking only of the situation with Yang and had given no thought to the possibility of a tail. That had been careless.
Machungo straightened up and answered in a rich bass voice. “I don’t have any proof, but I saw more than one landcar that struck me as suspicious. If we were being tailed, I think they were swapping out cars along the way.”
“As I thought. It’s the sort of thing a weasel like Bay would probably do.”
Bucock clucked his tongue loudly, possibly intending for Bay to hear it through his unseen bugs. Bucock was a daring old man.
“Lieutenant, this is the state that the home base of our democracy is in. The rain hasn’t started yet, but it’s going to be a dreadful sight once these clouds have thickened. We’re on an acceleration curve headed from bad to worse, and getting back to clear weather is not going to be easy.”
“Sir, we came here prepared for that.”
“Very well.”
Endurance Page 17
