Even at vice admiral, however, he was still ranked above Caselnes. If he were to trot out his own rank and demand equivalent authority while Yang was away, it would inevitably throw the organization into confusion. Merkatz, however, was well aware of his standing as “newly arrived guest admiral, not to mention defector,” so he always acted with reserve, never cutting in on conversations or even offering his opinion unless he was asked for it.
To Merkatz’s aide, Bernhard von Schneider, that was not wholly satis-factory. Von Schneider, the young officer who had advised Merkatz to defect to the FPA, had been a lieutenant commander at the time of the defection. At present, he was treated as a lieutenant. Since his CO had been dropped back two ranks, he had told Yang that the same should be done to him, which would have made him a sublieutenant.
“How about this …;” Yang had begun when he had answered the young officer.
Personally, Yang had seen no need to demote von Schneider at all, but out of respect for his fastidiousness—or stubbornness—he had offered to compromise with a one-rank demotion.
For von Schneider’s part, had he not advised Merkatz to defect, he could have led a peaceful, uneventful life; he had done it because he wanted Merkatz doing meaningful work as a military man. You could try being a little more assertive, he sometimes thought of his boss.
Commander Yang, on the other hand, was too soft on the guest admiral and defector, thought Rear Admiral Murai and others in similar positions, harboring doubts as to how well Iserlohn’s group leadership structure could function during Yang’s absence.
“Four weeks,” Caselnes said emphatically in the meeting room. “If we can hold out for four weeks, Yang will be back.” That was all he could say to encourage the soldiers and officers, himself included. While he was regarded highly throughout the organization as a master administrator, his reputation as a combat commander in the face of a crisis was another matter altogether.
When Caselnes spoke in that emphatic tone again, it was to say, “The enemy must not learn Yang is absent.” If that became known to them, their attacks would likely become more aggressive and intense, and in a worst-case scenario they might even surround Yang’s return route and take him captive.
“Our fundamental policy will be to protect Iserlohn until such time as commander Yang returns. Our strategy will be centered on defense and dealing with enemy offensives as needed.”
After he finished speaking, the staff officers looked at one another. While they were not pleased with the lack of creativity and aggressiveness, the fact remained that they had few other options.
“It’s fine to focus on defense,” said the youthful Attenborough, “but don’t you think playing things too passively might invite suspicion from the other side?”
“Passivity in itself might also make them suspect a trap of Commander Yang’s,” von Schönkopf replied.
“And if it doesn’t?”
“When that time comes, Iserlohn Fortress, which we worked so hard to occupy, will simply revert back to imperial control.”
Attenborough looked like he was about to say something more, but then a call came in from the communications officer. He said that the newly arrived imperial fortress was broadcasting a signal. For an instant, Caselnes frowned, but then he gave the order to sync it in and headed for the central command room together with the staff officers.
One of the subscreens was switched to video reception mode, and on it appeared a man wearing the uniform of an Imperial Navy admiral—a powerfully built officer in his prime, projecting a confident, bold demeanor.
“Soldiers of the rebel army—or should I say, of the alliance military—I am Admiral Karl Gustav Kempf, commander in chief of the Galactic Imperial Navy Gaiesburg Fortress Expeditionary Force. I wish to say a word of greeting to you before we do battle. If possible, I would prefer that you surrender, although I know you will not. May fortune smile on you in the coming battle.”
“Old-fashioned,” von Schönkopf murmured at Julian’s side, “but dignified and imposing.”
Julian found Karl Gustav Kempf’s granitelike presence overwhelming. Every inch of the man testified to the admiral’s courage …; of experience gained and feats accomplished over the course of many battles. If Yang were standing next to him, he wouldn’t look like anything more than a newly minted aide, would he? Julian thought. And naturally, he meant no disrespect toward Yang in thinking so.
In times to come, when people would ask Julian about his former guardian Yang Wen-li, he would answer them this way:
“Let’s see, he never really looked like a very important person. Put him in with a large group of distinguished military officers, and he wouldn’t stand out at all. But if he disappeared from that group, you’d know right away that he was missing. That’s the kind of person he was …;”
“No response from Iserlohn.”
Kempf nodded at the comm officer’s report.
“I’m a little disappointed,” he said. “I was hoping to get a look at Yang Wen-li’s face. Soldiers are soldiers, though, so I suppose we should let force of arms serve as greeting.”
No reply had come from Iserlohn because Caselnes and the others didn’t want to reveal that Yang was not present. There was no way Kempf could have guessed that, however.
“Fortress cannons, energize!” Kempf ordered in a voice that rumbled up from the pit of his stomach.
The main cannons of Gaiesburg Fortress were hard X-ray beam cannons. The beams they fired had a wavelength of one hundred angstroms, an output that reached 740 million megawatts, and could vaporize a giant battleship with one shot. The energy readouts changed from white to yellow, then from yellow to orange, and when the gunnery officer shouted, “Charging complete!” Kempf gave the order in a powerful voice:
“Fire!”
As the order was given, many buttons were pressed by many fingers.
A dozen shafts of white-hot light leapt from Gaiesburg toward Iserlohn. There was such a sense of texture to them that they looked like solid objects, and in the space of two seconds, they covered a distance of six hundred thousand kilometers and gouged into the wall of the FPA forces’ fortress. Energy-neutralization fields were powerless to stop them. The mirror-coated ultrahard steel, crystal fibers, and superceramic that made up its four layers of armor resisted for a few seconds and then gave way. The beams pierced the outer walls of the fortress, reached the interior and, in a handful picoseconds, incinerated the surrounding space itself.
Explosions broke out.
The tremors and rumbling shook all of Iserlohn from the inside. All hands in the central command room rose to their feet, though there were some who lost their balance and fell over. Alarms blared out shrill warnings of emergency conditions.
“Block RU77 is damaged!” an operator cried out. Even his voice seemed to have lost its color.
“Get me a damage report!” Caselnes ordered, still standing. “And send rescue teams to get the wounded out of there. Hurry!”
“Life signs negative inside the block. They’re all dead. There were as many as four thousand troops over there, concentrated in turrets and armories …;” With the back of his hand, the operator wiped away sweat that had broken out on his forehead. “Repair of the outer wall …; impossible at present. All we can do with the damaged block is abandon it …;”
“There’s no choice, then. Seal off Block RU77. Then order all combat personnel to don their space suits. Also, forbid all noncombatants entry into blocks facing the outer wall. See to it quickly.”
Von Schönkopf stepped quickly over to Casselnes’s side. “Acting commander! What about the counterattack?”
“Counterattack?”
“We have no choice. We can’t just sit here and wait for the second fusillade.”
“But …; you saw what just happened!”
Caselnes was no wilting lily himself, but even his face
had gone pale. “If both of us open up with our main cannons, we both go down together!”
“Exactly! If both fortresses keep firing away at each other like this, we’ll both be destroyed. So if we can instill the terror of that in the enemy, they’ll probably stop firing their main guns so recklessly. If both sides are in a deadlock, that means we can buy time. Now is not the time to show weakness.”
“I see. You’re right.” Caselnes turned toward the gunnery officer. “Power up Thor’s Hammer!”
Tension raced through the command room at the speed of light.
“Thor’s Hammer” was the collective name for the main cannons of Iserlohn Fortress, and their 924 million megawatt output exceeded that of Gaiesburg. Back when this fortress was in imperial hands, the Alliance Armed Forces had launched as many as six major offensives to try to dislodge them, and every time had suffered massive losses of personnel and ships, allowing the imperial military to boast that “the Iserlohn Corridor is paved with the corpses of rebel soldiers.”
“Charging complete! Target locked!”
Caselnes swallowed and raised one hand.
“Fire!”
This time, a gigantic pillar of light rose up from Iserlohn and leapt toward Gaiesburg. It ripped through energy-neutralization fields and multilayer armor plating as though it were paper and caused a massive explosion inside the fortress. On their screens, those inside Iserlohn were able to make out a little white bubble of light that was spilling out of Gaiesburg. That bubble of light was a swell of energy equivalent to several dozen warships exploding at once, and in that instant, several thousand lives were lost inside Gaiesburg as well.
II
This unspeakably fierce exchange of fire between the two main cannons was the first act in this drama. Both sides suffered severe damage, and even more severe psychological shock, and afterward both recoiled from using their main cannons again. If one fired, one would be fired upon. Both would fall together. Because the mutual objective of both sides was to win—not to fulfill a suicide pact—it would be necessary to find another way.
“I wonder what they’re going to try next?” Caselnes said, looking around at the staff officers with an exhausted expression.
Rear Admiral Murai replied: “First of all, they have the option of mobilizing their fleet and challenging us to fight them ship to ship, but I don’t think the likelihood of that is all that high. If they do bring their fleet out, it will just make easy pickings for our main cannon.”
“So then, what?”
“At present, the surrounding region of space is filled with electromagnetic waves and jamming signals. Communications are out, of course, but it also follows that we have only optical means for sighting the enemy. I can imagine them taking this opportunity to slip in close with small vessels and deliver ground troops who would conduct infiltration or sabotage operations.”
“Hmm. What does the commander of fortress defenses think?”
Von Schönkopf twirled his empty coffee cup around and around with his fingertips. “I think the chief of staff’s opinion is absolutely right. If I could add one thing, however—there’s no reason why we should be just waiting for the enemy to come to us. We can do the same thing to them.”
“… Admiral Merkatz, what do you think?”
At Caselnes’s words, Lieutenant von Schneider’s eyes lit up even brighter than those of Merkatz himself. Just at that moment, however, a chime sounded indicating an emergency communiqué. Caselnes picked up the receiver and, after a brief back-and-forth, turned to look at the commander of fortress defenses.
“It’s from Turret 24. Enemy ground troops are beginning to land on the outer wall near that turret. The angle at which they’re descending keeps them in a blind spot where we can’t pick them off. We’re going to have to mobilize ground forces, as well. Admiral von Schönkopf, can you see to it?”
“How did they do that so quickly!” said von Schönkopf, managing to sound both angry and impressed at the same time. He called for Captain Kasper Rinz. Following von Schönkopf’s promotion to the admiralty, Kasper Rinz had become commander of the storied Rosen Ritter regiment. He was a young man of functional build, with blue-green eyes and hair like bleached straw.
“Rinz, get ready for some hand to hand. On the double. I’ll take command personally.”
Von Schönkopf began walking toward the door, still giving orders.
“Wait a minute,” said Caselnes. “There can’t be any need for the commander of fortress defenses to participate in hand-to-hand combat himself. Please, stay in the command room.”
Von Schönkopf merely looked back over his shoulder and said, “Just going out for a little exercise, sir. I’ll be back in no time.”
Compared to a planet, Iserlohn’s gravitational field was a faint thing indeed, but it certainly did have one of its own, extending from its outer surface to a point about ten kilometers overhead. There was regular gravity on the outer wall, however, due to the gravity control technology that the fortress possessed. At the same time, the outer wall was also a world of hard vacuum and near–absolute zero temperatures—an extremely specialized environment for a battlefield.
It had now become the site of a clash between ground units of both sides. The Imperial Army Corps of Engineers’ 849th Battalion and the 97th Regiment of its Armored Grenadier Corps had landed there, with the latter providing security for the former as they got to work rigging a small, laser-triggered hydrogen bomb to the outer wall of Iserlohn Fortress.
The surface area of Iserlohn’s outer wall came to 11,300 square kilometers. While there were many enemy-detection systems, gun batteries, cannon emplacements, and hatches that kept an eye on one another, it could not be said that there were no blind angles. The invaders had taken advantage of one of them.
Wave after wave of imperial soldiers landed on the wall, and around the time their numbers passed a thousand, the alliance counterattack began.
Beams of light flared out from laser rifles, and two imperial soldiers collapsed on the wall, writhing in pain. Alliance forces under the direct command of von Schönkopf charged toward the surprised imperial troops. Leaping out of hatches, jumping from the shadows of gun batteries, they fired their laser rifles indiscriminately. Even while panicking, however, the imperial forces managed to return fire. Depending on their respective angles of attack, laser rifles were not necessarily the most effective of weapons, and if an enemy’s armored suit had mirror coating, even a direct hit would only be reflected off at some random angle. Because of this, the .18- to .24-caliber recoil-free autorifle made a surprisingly powerful weapon in this situation. The straight-line trajectories of their projectiles trailed rainbow-hued light that drew the eyes of the soldiers. When the distance between the two sides closed even further, primitive hand-to-hand combat broke out, as tomahawks made of highly resilient carbon crystals and long, broad combat knives made of superceramic sucked at the enemy’s lifeblood.
Few people could create the illusion that the murderer’s craft as practiced on battlefields was one of the fine arts, but Walter von Schönkopf was one of them. Using both hands, he swung an eighty-five-centimeter tomahawk—one intended for one-handed use—up, down, and side-to-side, constructing around himself literal walls of spraying blood. If it were merely a matter of power and speed, any number of enemy soldiers could have surpassed him, but when it came to the balance of these two and the efficiency with which his attacks delivered mortal wounds, no one could match him. Von Schönkopf almost seemed to glide through the chaotic battle, dodging by hairs the mighty swings of enemy tomahawks only to hammer in mercilessly precise counterstrikes on exposed throats or joints.
For the Imperial Army Armored Grenadier Corps’ 97th Regiment, it was a battle fraught with misfortune and disaster. Had their opponents been anyone but the “Knights of the Rose” of the Rosen Ritter regiment, they could have probably fought back a little more, but
in the end they only underscored their opponents’ reputation, that “foes in equal number cannot defeat the Rosen Ritter.”
The imperial force took heavy casualties, got caught in a semi-encirclement, and was driven into a corner on the surface of the wall when, from the shadows of the landing craft that had brought them there, there emerged several single-seat walküre fighter craft, which entered a steep descent to attack the alliance forces from overhead.
The beams unleashed by the walküren were ineffective against the outer wall itself but were more than enough to pierce the armored suits of the alliance soldiers. In addition, they rained down antipersonnel missiles. A whirlpool of blinding flashes of light erupted all around, and human bodies torn asunder went flying up into the empty space. After they carried out that one-sided slaughter to their hearts’ content, the walküren were attempting a high-speed withdrawal when antispacecraft gun emplacements let loose a soundless roar. Shot through by photon rounds, the walküren started wobbling, lost speed, and at last exploded as they crashed into the outer wall.
Amid all this chaos, von Schönkopf had ordered the firing of a signal flare, and when it unleashed its greenish-white flash of light the Rosen Ritter regiment began to withdraw, disappearing into the fortress through hatches, one after another. An hour and a half had passed already, and they were nearing the limit of how long they could fight while wearing armored suits. This was true for the imperial troops as well, who for a time abandoned their operation, picked up their survivors, and withdrew. The antispacecraft fire, however, continued unabated, ruthlessly inflicting additional casualties all the while.
Endurance Page 20
