Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 7

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  Were he to second-guess himself, he might have thought it better to simply arrest that troublemaker who fancied himself an artist of the tongue. Still, he didn’t for a moment think that a traveling orator unable to change his own mind would have any hope of swaying Kaiser Reinhard. There was also the fact that he had no business obstructing someone who wished to take his case directly to the kaiser. Once before, immediately following the Lippstadt War, an assassin had plotted to take Reinhard’s life, but as a result had stolen the life of Siegfried Kircheis instead. This time, however, such a danger was hard to imagine. Still, just to be on the safe side, Mittermeier had a message relayed to imperial HQ, warning them about who to be careful of.

  While Senior Admiral Wittenfeld was en route to Heinessen, barreling along at top speed through a region of Free Planets space now emptied of military forces, Senior Admiral Karl Robert Steinmetz was on full combat alert in the Gandharva Stellar Region—a territory under the direct control of the Galactic Empire—waiting for allied forces to arrive.

  Using the forces the kaiser had given him, it would have been possible for Steinmetz to stage a direct attack on Heinessen right away—however, there were a number of conditions requiring he act with caution. First of all, the whereabouts of Yang Wen-li’s party were unknown, and although the odds of a sneak attack were scant, the Gandharva system was to become a base of operations for the imperial military, so he dared not leave it undefended. While work on its facilities had progressed since the signing of the Baalat Treaty, its stage of completion was still a far cry from that of a permanent fortress like Iserlohn, and in order to defend both its status as a military stronghold and its stockpile of supplies, it was essential to keep the fleet’s main force stationed there.

  Furthermore, over ten thousand civilian and military officers formerly assigned to the late high commissioner Lennenkamp were stationed on the Free Planets’ capital of Heinessen, and there was a need to ensure their safety. Naturally, a warning had been sent out already to the Free Planets’ government, and not even the alliance was likely to kill or maim people who had the potential to become valuable hostages.

  Actually, Steinmetz had at one point been on the verge of heading off to Heinessen by himself in order to demand some accountability of the Free Planets’ government; at that time, his vice commander, Admiral Glusenstern, had blanched and opposed this vociferously.

  “Going to Heinessen now with only a handful of attendants would be tantamount to suicide. Have you forgotten the unfortunate precedent set by High Commissioner Lennenkamp?

  “If it comes to that, just blow Heinessen out of the sky, and me along with it,” Steinmetz had replied as though that were a trifling matter. “That would wipe out most of the long-standing chaos with a single stroke.”

  Accompanied by staff officers including Vice Admiral Bohlen (chief of staff), Rear Admiral Markgraf (deputy chief of staff), Rear Admiral Ritschel (Command HQ general secretary), Commander Serbel (Steinmetz’s aide-de-camp), and Commander Lump (captain of the escort fleet), Steinmetz had just left Admiral Glusenstern, his vice commander, behind and set out for the Free Planets’ capital. Ultimately, however, the meeting had never come to pass; at the outer edge of the Gandharva system, Steinmetz had turned around and headed back to Planet Urvashi. Steinmetz had been the very first captain of Reinhard’s flagship Brünhilde, and since that time had performed many acts of valor, primarily on the frontier. Now, like a tautly drawn bow, he waited as the days passed by.

  Galactic Empire Launches Second Large-Scale Invasion!

  That report had understandably sent shudders racing all across Heinessen, the capital of the Free Planets Alliance. Some self-deprecatingly mocked the situation, saying, “Wow, never dreamed we’d get to see imperial fleets twice in the same year!” while others shouted that the resistance must continue until the whole planet was reduced to scorched earth. Others argued that resistance was no longer feasible, so “we should tell them clearly that we wish to make an unconditional surrender.” Some advocated evacuating the cities and fleeing to the mountains—when the empire had suddenly invaded prior to the Baalat Treaty’s signing, there hadn’t even been time to panic; this time, however, the rising tide of destruction was slowly soaking its way up the legs of the people’s spirits. A false feeling, as of being prisoners set for execution, took hold of people, and a sense of helplessness closed in on them from all sides. When those feelings reached the saturation point, riots erupted. Citizens clashed with security police in front of the gates of closed spaceports, and fatalities rose to the thousands.

  Standing in for the old and infirm Alexandor Bucock, Chung Wu-cheng was making rapid preparations for intercepting the Galactic Imperial Navy; lately, however, he was also being pressed into the job of listening to High Council chairman João Lebello’s griping and complaining, a role he was getting sick of. Even the secretaries were avoiding the chairman lately. One day in his office, Lebello posed a depressing question to Chung:

  “Are you telling me that Marshal Bucock refuses to fight against Yang Wen-li, but when the opponent is Kaiser Reinhard, he will fight?”

  “I don’t see what’s so surprising about that,” Chung Wu-cheng replied in a terribly gentle voice. “Please, think about this: you and Marshal Bucock have been on good terms for many long years now. So why is it that he won’t meet with you? Don’t you think it might be because he remembers too well what you were like in the days before he was made a marshal?”

  “Are you trying to say that I’ve changed?”

  “Marshal Bucock hasn’t changed. Surely you can acknowledge that.”

  Lebello turned his lifeless gaze toward Chung Wu-cheng, but it was plain to see he was looking through him, staring at something beyond him that only he could see. His mouth opened and closed slightly, spinning out a low, dry voice. Chung Wu-cheng strained his auditory nerves to their breaking points. Lebello was reciting the criminal charges against the fugitive Yang Wen-li.

  “I realize this is impertinent of me to say, Your Excellency, but Yang Wen-li could have killed you, or spirited you off to the edge of the galaxy. The reason he didn’t was…”

  But Chung Wu-cheng didn’t finish his sentence. It was obvious Lebello wasn’t listening. The space armada’s general chief of staff let out a sigh and rose to his feet. His expression was that of one worrying about the future of a financially troubled bakery. When Chung Wu-cheng left Lebello’s office, he started to say something to the chief of the security office, but stopped. He couldn’t shake the feeling that spiritually, the chairman had committed suicide already.

  Back at Space Armada Command HQ, Chung Wu-cheng was informed in the atrium that he had visitors. After first stopping by his own office, he opened the door to the visitor reception room that had been indicated.

  There his three visitors turned to look at the “Baker’s Son” who was general chief of staff. They all rose from the sofa, and saluted him with stiff movements and expressions.

  Vice Admiral Fischer, who had been vice commander of the Iserlohn Patrol Fleet, Vice Admiral Murai, who had been its chief of staff, and Rear Admiral Patrichev, who had been its deputy chief of staff: those were their names.

  When Yang had retired from the military following the signing of the Baalat Treaty, what had been commonly known as the “Yang Fleet” had been dissolved, and each member of this trio had been reassigned to different military bases across various frontier sectors that lay in entirely different directions from one another. Up until just six months ago, they had been leaders in the most powerful armed force in the Free Planets Alliance, but now, after many battles in many sectors, many victories, and many labors, they had clearly come to be viewed as obstacles and interlopers, and had thus been driven from the capital. From a political standpoint, this treatment had not been mistaken. The possibility of the most powerful regiment acting autonomously and transforming itself into a military political faction was one that
the central government naturally feared, so it made sense for them to promote the Yang Fleet’s dissolution—especially when there was no further value in using it.

  Although these three leaders had felt not exactly uneasy in their new posts, they had been unable to feel entirely comfortable either. Out on the frontier, they were separated from their comrades, and everything they knew of the situation in the capital consisted of official announcements and uncertain rumors that came trickling down the information pipelines like flat, tasteless water from a stagnant reservoir. They didn’t know whether Yang Wen-li—the former commander with whom they had faced life-and-death battles during the three years since the founding of the Thirteenth Fleet—had escaped or been purged. All they knew for sure was that either way, he had been driven out of the ideal life he had dreamed of.

  “You all must be exhausted after such a long trip. Please, have a seat.”

  Even as Chung encouraged them to sit, he lowered himself onto the sofa. With an easygoing, relaxed posture, the general chief of staff went over what he knew about his guests in the back of his mind.

  Murai was lacking when it came to creativity, but he had a highly organized mind that excelled at solving bureaucratic problems; he was known as “the rare sensible one in the Yang Fleet.” Fischer was well-known for his skill in managing the operations of large fleets; it was thanks to his flawless control of the Yang Fleet that it had never once failed while executing operations proposed by Yang. Patrichev looked nothing like a staff officer, and while his hulking build alone was enough to make an impression, he had in fact never once allowed the Yang Fleet’s headquarters’ operations to fall into arrears, and there was no doubting his sincere devotion to his duties and his commanding officer. Yang Wen-li, the young man who had hired these talented individuals, led them, and never let them fall out of step, was no ordinary soldier, Chung Wu-cheng thought.

  From a solemn face, a solemn voice spoke.

  “If I might ask the general chief of staff, what sort of purpose do you have in summoning us here all this way from our respective posts?”

  The other two guests remained silent, apparently yielding the floor to Vice Admiral Murai.

  Briefly, yet without sacrificing accuracy, Chung Wu-cheng explained the situation that had led to Yang and his subordinates fleeing from Heinessen. He looked from face to face as those three faces looked at one another, and then took out the documents he had brought.

  “And this brings me to the important thing. I’d like you to find Admiral Yang and hand him this document.”

  “What is it?”

  “A contract of transfer.”

  The three leaders of the former Yang Fleet made three different kinds of suspicious expressions as they stared at the pages. When they looked up, their expressions of surprise and distrust had only grown more severe. Looking a bit tired and reluctant, Chung Wu-cheng crossed his legs and sat up straighter.

  “It’s exactly what it looks like. I’m signing over 5,560 of our armada’s ships to Yang Wen-li. And I’d like you to deliver the paperwork along with the merchandise itself. The statutory procedures are all taken care of, so there’s no need to worry yourselves over that.”

  Murai made a coughing sound.

  “Was there really any need to make this kind of paperwork, though? I have to think even pointless formalities have their limits.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  With innocent eyes, Chung Wu-cheng looked back at the three men. Patrichev tilted his muscular neck, Fischer blinked, and Murai couldn’t even manage that.

  “It’s a joke, of course,” Chung Wu-cheng said, carefully adjusting the angle of his black beret. Murai sat up even straighter. Perhaps he was thinking, So, my commander up until six months ago isn’t the only troublemaker. If he was, it didn’t show in his face. That said, his tone of voice acquired a keener edge, even though he was speaking with a senior officer.

  “A joke, Your Excellency? That’s well and good, but if you’ve whittled your fleet down like this, when the time comes to muster forces, it will be impossible to handle the imperial invasion, don’t you think?”

  “Even if we muster everything we’ve got, we won’t be able to handle them.”

  Chung’s all-too-clear reply left Vice Admiral Murai speechless. With silver-haired Fischer still making no move to break his silence, it was Patrichev who next opened his mouth after the former chief of staff. “So Your Excellency may say, but…you don’t intend to hand the capital over without fighting, do you?”

  “That’s correct—I have no such intention. Commander in Chief Bucock and I are planning to try a bit of vain struggling.”

  “But that’s an act of suicide, isn’t it?” said Patrichev. “What if, instead of that, Your Excellency and Commander in Chief Bucock came with us instead?”

  Vice Admiral Murai shifted his line of sight, looking gently at the giant rear admiral. “Watch what you say. To begin with, we haven’t decided yet if we’re going to go to Yang ourselves.”

  “I intend to,” said Fischer, finally breaking his silence as his silver eyes turned toward the general chief of staff. Chung Wu-cheng crossed his legs again.

  “Could you do that for me, Admiral Fischer?”

  “Gladly, Your Excellency. Vice Admiral Murai, we don’t have time to be tiptoeing around our intentions. Let’s follow the best course, without wasting any time.”

  After a moment’s silence, Vice Admiral Murai looked up at the ceiling in indignation, although he had probably acknowledged that the older man, Fischer, had the right of it. At last, he saluted and accepted his orders.

  After the three leaders of the old Yang Fleet had left headquarters carrying the contract of transfer, Chung Wu-cheng reported to Bucock what had happened. Thanking him for his hard work, the old admiral suddenly looked off into the distance. “When I got beaten at Rantemario, I should’ve died then and there. You convinced me to live on for another six months, but in the end all you accomplished was moving back the date of my death.”

  “When I look back on that now, maybe I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me.”

  “No, thanks to you I’ve been able to do a few nice things for my wife, but…what about your family, soldier?”

  “There’s no need to worry—I’ve decided to send them to Yang along with Vice Admiral Murai and the others. I’m being selfish in this matter as well, but I do worry about my family.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” the old man said as he closed his eyes. He himself had always left his elderly wife at home. His wife had refused to leave the house where they’d lived since their days as newlyweds. That probably meant that, eventually, she would face the end of both herself and the Bucock family in that house.

  “Yang Wen-li is a man of many faults,” said Chung, “but he does have one point that no one can criticize him on: he sincerely believes in the words we tell the public, that the military of a democratic nation exists to protect the lives of its citizens. And he’s acted on that belief more than once.”

  “Yes,” said Bucock. “That’s very true.”

  On Bucock’s aged face, there appeared a little smile that was like an expanse of fading light.

  “He did so at El Facil. And he did so when he abandoned Iserlohn Fortress. He’s never sacrificed a single civilian.”

  Yang was probably going to go down in history as an artist of warfare rivaling or even surpassing Reinhard von Lohengramm. However, there was something else about him that was even more important to pass on to future generations. Neither Bucock nor Chung Wu-cheng would perform the duty of telling it, though. Everyone had their own job to do.

  “I think I understand what you’re getting at, Chung,” Bucock said at last. “If Yang is defeated, it won’t be by the outstanding genius of Reinhard von Lohengramm.”

  It would be by Yang’s fixation on his own ideals. At Vermillion, h
e should have ignored the government’s cease-fire order. Bucock couldn’t come out and say so, but for Yang’s own good, that was what he should have done.

  III

  After batting aside the visit of Free Planets Special Envoy Odets, Mittermeier fired his first volley of cannon fire at a Free Planets military target. Because it was somewhat removed from the Imperial Navy’s direct course, it had been ignored by Wittenfeld, but strategically speaking, the FPA Armed Forces weapons factory on Planet Lugiarna was not something they could afford to overlook. Given its astrographical position and production capacity, it would only cause trouble down the road if they left it alone.

  Mittermeier’s swift actions cast no shame on his nickname, “Gale Wolf.” On December 2, the military weapons factory on Planet Lugiarna was utterly destroyed by the Imperial Navy’s assault, and its commander, Tech Vice Admiral Bounsgoal, shared the fate of the factory facilities. However, half of its recently completed destroyers and cruisers succeeded in escaping. Under the command of Commodore Desch, they eluded Imperial Navy pursuit and, gathering crew and supplies as they went, finally arrived at El Facil after fifty days, where they threw in their lot with Yang’s Irregulars.

  The long procession of Imperial Navy vessels formed a vast belt of light that stretched onward far past the rear of Mittermeier’s fleet, sweeping across entire sectors of Free Planets space. In contrast to the present strength of the Free Planets Alliance Armed Forces, the Imperial Navy’s excessively large numbers were stretching their resupply capacity to the limit. Directly aft of Mittermeier, Lennenkamp’s former fleet was divided in two, spreading outward in two wings. When Senior Admiral Lennenkamp had been installed as High Commissioner, the fleet he had commanded had been split apart and reorganized under the command of admirals Alfred Grillparzer and Bruno von Knapfstein. Both were young men in their twenties, blessed with abundant spirit and energy. Furthermore, both had made up their minds to avenge their former commander Lennenkamp.