After ten seconds of dead silence, Yang asked the same question again. His voice and the look on his face were actually kind. Negroponte was visibly embarrassed, but somehow he managed to shore himself up enough to say, “Well, of course I am! You are the commanding officer of the Iserlohn Fortress and Patrol Fleet. You have a duty and responsibility to stop the enemy’s invasion, don’t you?”
“Sadly, however, I’m away from the front lines and under inquiry. On top of that, I’ve got a bad attitude, so I might just end up getting fired. What’s going to happen to this court of inquiry?”
“It’s canceled. Admiral Yang, as Defense Committee chair and as your superior officer, I am ordering you to immediately go to Iserlohn, take charge of its defenses, and counterattack. Understood?”
He had spoken in a ferocious voice, but a tremor in the question “Understood?” exposed the unease that lay hidden in his heart. Legally speaking, he certainly was Yang’s superior officer. However, if Yang were to ignore his orders and Iserlohn fell, then the legal grounds that placed him above Yang would collapse, as would the substance of his authority.
Negroponte had finally realized that they had been playing with fire right next to a gunpowder magazine. He could enjoy authority only because a secure nation was there to back him up. He could enjoy his dominance only because others were willing to obey him. Neither he nor anyone else on the court possessed any power that was simply theirs by nature.
“Yes, sir. I’ll return to Iserlohn right away—”
Negroponte breathed out a deep sigh of relief at Yang’s words.
“—after all, I’ve got subordinates and friends there. You can guarantee my authority to act freely, correct?”
“Of course. You’re free to do as you will.”
“Well, in that case, if you’ll excuse me.”
When Yang rose to his feet, one of the inquisitors called out to him. It was a man from the end of the table, one whose name Yang had forgotten the moment he’d heard it. The shade of flattery in his voice was unmistakable.
“How about it, Admiral—do we have a shot at winning this? Oh, but of course we do. After all, you’re Miracle Yang. I’m sure you’ll meet our expectations.”
“I’ll do everything I can.”
Yang’s tone was offhanded. He had neither the desire nor the intention to string together a bunch of big, impressive-sounding words just to satisfy the members of this court. He could turn out all his pockets and not find a single reason to answer as kindly as he had, but it wasn’t just that; at this point in time, he really didn’t have any clear plan for dealing with this new attack.
It was the members of the court of inquiry, naturally, who ought to be held accountable for letting this situation occur. Still, there was no point in denying that this tactic of the Imperial Navy’s had taken Yang completely by surprise. Call him naive and he wouldn’t argue, but still, there were limits on people’s powers of imagination.
A fortress to fight a fortress. Attaching propulsion devices to it and making it fly. This was actually a variation on the “big ship, big gun” orthodoxy; hardly the shockingly new tactic it appeared to be at first blush. Still, the fact was it had delivered a serious psychological blow to the alliance’s authorities—and in the process done Yang the favor of freeing him from their little farce.
Yang had always figured that if any revolutionary new technology could someday tip the balance of military power between the two nations, it would be the development of a means to warp ultralong distances of 10,000 light-years or more. If something like that became a reality, the Imperial Navy would be able to skip right past the Iserlohn Corridor and send large fleets and all the supplies they needed directly into the heart of alliance territory. One day, the citizens of Heinessen would suddenly look up to see swarms of battleships blotting out the sun. They would stare at them in vacant incomprehension, riveted in place. The authorities would then have no choice but to take an “oath by the castle wall”—the sort of oath you took when you were backed up against it—to surrender unconditionally.
What he would do then was something Yang had never even thought about. Those circumstances would be beyond his ability to deal with. If they tried to make him responsible even in a situation like that, he simply wouldn’t stand for it. Yang’s public-employee spirit would make him think, You don’t pay me enough for this!
Yang put his uniform beret back on, brushed the dust from his clothes with obvious deliberation, and with long strides began walking toward the exit.
“Oh, wait, I almost forgot something important,” he said, stopping just in front of the door. He turned and addressed the court with a respectfulness bordering on insubordination. “I’m looking forward to eventually hearing an explanation of who’s responsible for choosing the exact moment of the empire’s invasion to call me away from Iserlohn. That’s assuming Iserlohn doesn’t fall, of course. Now if you’ll excuse me …;”
Yang turned on his heel and left the room where he had been forced to endure those miserable and meaningless days. He would have really liked to have observed the inquisitors closely and seen how the flow of blood to their faces changed at his parting remark, but that would have meant remaining in that oppressive space even longer than he had already, a thing Yang had zero intention of doing.
The door swung open, then closed again, leaving nine sets of eyes glaring at it. Defeat was on one face, unease on another; another still was white with rage. Someone growled in a low voice, “Who does that impudent greenhorn think he is?”
The paint had peeled away, exposing the meanness of quality that lay underneath.
“If I recall correctly, he’s the hero who saved our country,” Huang Rui answered in a tone brimming with sarcasm. “If not for that ‘impudent greenhorn,’ we would have surrendered to the empire by now, or at best be rotting in cells as political prisoners. We certainly wouldn’t have had the luxury of whiling away the hours playing courtroom in a place like this. He’s a benefactor to us all. What kind of gratitude have we shown, bullying him here for days on end?”
“But don’t you think it’s disrespectful—that attitude of his toward his betters?”
“Betters? Are politicians really such impressive creatures? It’s not like we contribute a thing to society’s output. We’re entrusted with the duty of fairly collecting and efficiently utilizing the taxes paid by citizens; that’s what we do, that’s what we get paid for. And that’s all we are, really. At best we’re nothing but parasites living off the machinery of society. If we look impressive, it’s only a mirage created by advertising. Anyway, instead of arguing over this—” (here the light brimming in Huang’s eyes grew a shade more ironic still) “—we’ve got another fire to put out that’s a little bit closer to home, so how about we deal with that now? As Admiral Yang said, who is going to take responsibility for pulling him off the front lines right before the empire went on the offensive? One letter of resignation is going to be necessary. Not Admiral Yang’s, of course.”
Multiple gazes converged on Negroponte. The Defense Committee chair’s thick jowls quivered. The idea of summoning Yang to the capital hadn’t been his. Not originally. He had been following the wishes of another. Although not passively, to be sure.
In the minds of the men who surrounded him, the word “former” had already been appended to his title.
V
When Yang stepped outside into a silent, rich shower of sunlight, he stretched out both his arms wide and breathed deeply, driving the damp, dirty air from his lungs.
“Admiral Yang!”
A slightly trembling voice struck his eardrums and passed straight through them to the bottom of his heart. He turned, looking for the owner of that voice. Frederica Greenhill’s slender form was standing there in the sunlight. At her side were Admiral Bucock and Warrant Officer Machungo.
“Lieutenant Greenhill …;”
I’m finally back in a human crowd, Yang thought. Although there might have been times when he had felt otherwise, there most certainly was a place where he belonged in this world.
“I’m sorry to have put you to all this trouble,” Yang said, making a heartfelt bow toward Bucock.
“If you’ve got something to say,” said Bucock, “say it to Lieutenant Greenhill. All I did was lend her a hand.”
Yang turned toward her.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I don’t what to—I mean, um, there’s no way I can thank you enough.”
Frederica, holding back a different impulse, gave him a little smile in response. “As your aide-de-camp, I only did what was natural, Excellency. But I’m happy to be of service.”
The old admiral’s lower jaw made some slight movements. Perhaps he had muttered something along the lines of, They’re both of ’em awkward as middle schoolers, but no one was close enough to hear. When he spoke up, it was to say this:
“Well now, you may be about to head back to Iserlohn, but we can’t send you away empty-handed. I know there’re a lot of preparations that have to be made, but first let’s all have lunch together. Surely Iserlohn can hold out till we’re finished eating.”
That was a sound proposal.
João Lebello was waiting at the restaurant called The White Hart. As he was a politician outside the mainstream, he had avoided entering the military facility where Yang had been held. Yang thanked him for his assistance, but after Lebello congratulated him, he grew very serious and began to speak.
“Right now, we’re at a point where the people are losing their faith in politics, while at the same time we have a high-ranking military commander who is both highly capable and widely popular. I’m speaking of you, Admiral Yang. These are extremely dangerous conditions for our democratic system. You could even call them greenhouse conditions for the sprouts of dictatorship.”
“Does that mean you’re calling me a greenhouse flower, Your Excellency?”
Yang had spoken with humorous intent, but it seemed Lebello was in no mood to play along.
“If worse came to worst, Admiral Yang, one could even posit a future history that remembers you as a second Rudolf von Goldenbaum.”
“Now …; now hold on just a minute, please,” Yang said, flustered. He had been called plenty of things he didn’t care for in his time, but this had to be the crown jewel of them all. “Your Excellency, I have no desire to become a ruler. If I had wanted to do that, I had the biggest chance I could have ever hoped for during the coup d’état last year.”
“That’s what I believe, too. That’s what I want to believe. But …;” Lebello broke off into a gloomy silence and turned a dismal gaze toward the young, black-haired admiral. “… but people change. Five hundred years ago, did Rudolf the Great really have ambitions of becoming a dictator from the very beginning? I have my doubts. Aside from a streak of self-righteousness, he may well have been nothing more than a reformer passionate about his beliefs and ideals—at least, until he got his hands on some real power. Then power changed him overnight, and he went straight from utter self-certainty to self-apotheosis.”
“So you’re thinking that if I were to get hold of some power, it would change me too?” Yang asked.
“I don’t know. All I can do is pray. Pray that the day never comes when you’re forced to go down Rudolf’s path in order to defend yourself.”
Yang was silent for a moment. He felt like asking Lebello to whom he would pray, but he knew he would get no satisfactory answer. It was exactly because Yang respected Lebello as a conscientious politician that it made him so uncomfortable to hear these doubts coming from him. When Lebello left early without eating, Yang inwardly murmured, Oh well. Frederica and Bucock felt the same. Grateful as they naturally were toward him, a pessimist like Lebello was out of place at this gathering.
After a main course of roast venison had been finished and he had knocked back some melon sherbet as well, Yang was feeling satisfied and full, but on the way out of the restaurant, he met with a most unexpected individual. It was Negroponte, the very man whom he’d been locking horns with in the court of inquiry until just a little while ago.
“Admiral Yang, as a public figure, you’re in a position to protect the honor of the state. As such, you won’t be making any statements to outsiders that would harm the government’s image, will you?”
Yang stared at the man seriously. If he had ever wondered just how brazen a human being could be, the answer was standing right in front of him—dressed in a suit, no less.
“By saying that, you’re admitting yourself that that little kaffeeklatsch you threw for me was the sort of thing that could harm the state’s image if outsiders knew about it. Correct?”
Negroponte visibly recoiled from this counterattack, although somehow he managed to hold his ground. His job here was to shut Yang’s mouth in order to protect Chairman Trünicht’s image, so he had come here, enduring the shame.
“I was doing my duty as a public official. That’s all. And in spite of that—no, because of that, I’m quite confident I have the right to ask you to do your duty as a fellow public official as well.”
“The committee chair is free to be confident of whatever he likes,” Yang said. “As for me, I don’t even want to remember that court of inquiry, and I have to think about how to win the upcoming battle before anything else.”
Saying nothing more, Yang started walking. Such a nice meal, and now it felt like it was about to start fermenting in his gut. Planet Heinessen had had such riches of natural beauty, but the day the humans who now occupied its surface had showed up—! Thinking about winning the battle truly was far better than thinking about those people.
I won’t lose to Reinhard von Lohengramm, so I’m certainly not losing to his subordinates …;
Yang smiled wryly as he caught himself thinking that. It sounded more like conceit than self-confidence.
“Any way you look at it,” he was saying to Admiral Bucock shortly afterward, “the government’s got a bad habit of tying both my hands and then sending me off to war. Drives me crazy.”
Yang figured it would be all right to say that much. It had been like this ever since the capture of Iserlohn. Yang was always being forced to fight in conditions where his authority to make strategic choices was severely limited. He wished he could fight with a freer hand. Contradictory as that may have been with the hatred he felt toward war, that wish certainly did exist within him.
“You’re right about that,” said Bucock. “No matter what they might be up to, though, there’s no choice but to go out and fight this time.”
“You said it. After all, ultimately, Iserlohn’s my home.”
Yang wasn’t just exaggerating his own feelings. The place where he was meant to live had never been on the ground.
Although he had been born on Heinessen, he had lost his mother when he was five and come to live in the interstellar trading ship owned by his father, Yang Tai-long, when he was six. Just before turning sixteen, he had lost his father, and although he had entered the dorm at Officers’ Academy, in the ten years leading up to that he had not once lived continuously on the ground for a full month. That was why Alex Caselnes had teased, “That Yang! He just doesn’t have his feet on the ground.”
Julian, of course, was at Iserlohn as well. Most of the people important to him were there.
“All right, Lieutenant, shall we head home, then?”
That was what he asked his beautiful aide.
“April is the cruelest month,” an ancient poet once declared, and for the soldiers and officers of Iserlohn Fortress, April of IC 798 was indeed a month rife with hardship and suffering. With their commanding officer absent, they were forced to fight alone against a massive enemy force, isolated and without reinforcements.
“Everyone was uneasy at the time. After all, Admiral Yang wasn’
t there …;”
That was what Julian would tell Frederica later.
“But by the same token, there was also a feeling that we would be okay if we could just hold out until he returned, and that was a great help to us. That, and …; This may be a little strange to say, but the anger there wasn’t really directed toward the enemy, like, ‘How dare you wait till our commander’s away!’ Instead, way more people were lambasting the government, saying, ‘What’s wrong with you, calling our commander back to the rear at a time like this?’”
Soldiers could curse the government to their hearts’ content, but high-ranking officers didn’t have that luxury. During Yang’s absence, the acting commander had been Rear Admiral Alex Caselnes, and rest of the core leadership had been made up of Rear Admiral von Schönkopf, the commander of fortress defenses; Rear Admiral Murai, the chief of staff; Rear Admiral Fischer, the vice commander of the Iserlohn Patrol Fleet; Rear Admiral Nguyen and Rear Admiral Attenborough, division commanders within the Iserlohn Patrol Fleet; and Commodore Patrichev, the deputy chief of staff. Since many of them held identical ranks, a group-oriented leadership structure had been necessary. Acting Commander Caselnes had been merely the first among equals.
This meant that Commander Yang, a full admiral, represented an extremely high peak in the landscape of Iserlohn’s leadership structure, with the other high-ranking officers forming a surrounding ridgeline two orders of magnitude lower. Since there was no number two, the Galactic Imperial Navy’s chief of staff Paul von Oberstein would likely have opined, “a most impressive organization,” had he but known about it.
One other unusual issue was the presence of the commander’s advisor, Merkatz, who was being referred to as a “guest admiral.” During his time in the Galactic Imperial Navy he had been ranked a senior admiral, but ever since his defeat in the civil war and his defection to the FPA, he had been treated as a vice admiral by the Alliance Armed Forces. That was two ranks below where he had been, but this had been unavoidable. There were presently no marshals in the FPA Armed Forces, and the rank of senior admiral had never existed in it at all. Even Cubresly—director of Joint Operational Headquarters—was still at the rank of full admiral, so obviously the FPA Armed Forces couldn’t give a defector from the other side the same rank as their top man in uniform.
Endurance Page 19
