That said, there were naturally differences in their personalities. Von Knapfstein had been Lennenkamp’s loyal and able student, possessed of utterly orthodox tactical skills and a personality that had just a hint of puritanical earnestness. On the other hand, Grillparzer’s reputation as a soldier was one that belied his tender age, and in addition, he had made a name for himself as an explorer, and was listed as a member of the Imperial Association of Geography and Natural History. Joining that association required a member’s recommendation and a scholarly review of a scientific paper, and he had qualified with a dissertation with the long-winded name of An Examination of the Distribution of Polar Plant Life on the Second Planet of the Armento-Phoubel System, Demonstrating the Mutual Relationship Between Its Orogeny and Continental Drift.
He’d received word of his application’s acceptance just as he was about to sit down for the funeral of the late Karl Gustav Kempf, and although he was finely attired in his best formal wear, he had run straight into a toilet stall thus arrayed. After releasing an explosion of joy alone in that private space, he had put on a somber face and gone back out to face the ceremony. Because of his personal history and tastes, one might think that he would hold Senior Admiral Mecklinger, the “artist of the admiralty” in higher regard than he did Lennenkampf, but that of course was no obstacle to his passion for revenge. The competitive spirit that existed between Grillparzer and von Knapfstein was likely raising the temperature of that passion as well.
Forming a line to the aft of them were fleets commanded by Admiral Grotewohl, Admiral Waagenseil, Vice Admiral Kurlich, Vice Admiral Meifocher, and others. Even so influential a figure as Senior Admiral Ernst von Eisenach was making an appearance.
Von Eisenach was relatively fond of alcohol, and even en route to battle a whiskey bottle was never far from his side. Nevertheless, he hadn’t had a drop since departing Phezzan. There was a bit of a reason for this. As he was admiralty, it followed that a student from Imperial Military Children’s Academy would come with him as an attendant; however, his reputation for being “exceedingly quiet, stern, and difficult to please” clung even to his shadow, and the student had frozen up from the very first moment he had received instructions from von Eisenach’s deputy.
“If the admiral snaps his fingers once, you bring him coffee. Make absolutely certain you take no longer than four minutes. If he snaps his fingers twice, that means whiskey. Take care not to get them confused.”
The student from Imperial Military Children’s Academy had tried desperately to remember his instructions, and given his natural powers of memory, that should have been easy enough for him to do. However, the psychological pressure seemed to have warped the young man’s memory circuits just slightly, and after setting out from Phezzan, von Eisenach had one day snapped his fingers twice, only to have two cups of coffee delivered to him three minutes and fifty seconds later.
The “exceedingly quiet, stern, and difficult to please” admiral had taken a quick glance at the boy, and seen him standing there completely rigid. Without saying a word, he had drunk both cups of coffee. Tension had drained from the entire body of the Imperial Military Children’s Academy student, and he had breathed out a sigh of relief. In this manner, Ernst von Eisenach had never lacked for single or double cups of coffee on this campaign.
The specks of light trailing off to the aft of von Eisenach made up the fleet commanded by the aquamarine-eyed senior admiral Adalbert Fahrenheit. Fahrenheit had been given the vital task of connecting the fleets arrayed out in front with the fleets making up the rear, which were under the direct command of Reinhard. It was safe to say that the whole operation’s smooth and organic execution was resting on his shoulders.
Afterward came Kaiser Reinhard’s personal fleet. The top staff officer advising Reinhard was the secretary-general of Imperial Military Command Headquarters, Imperial Marshal Oskar von Reuentahl, and under him was Admiral Hans Eduard Bergengrün, who was responsible for managing fleet operations. The kaiser’s chief aide, Vice Admiral Arthur von Streit, was also on the flagship, along with Lieutenant Commander Theodor von Rücke (his deputy assistant) and Hildegard von Mariendorf (his chief secretary).
At the tail end was the fleet commanded by Senior Admiral Neidhart Müller, also known as the “Iron Wall.” Müller was not merely acting as rear guard; in the event of some disturbance back toward Phezzan, he would have to reverse course and subjugate the enemy as the spearhead of the entire imperial armada. Securing their rear supply lines was also among his duties.
And so, boasting this deep formation, the Imperial Navy’s second invasion grew into an angry wave of energy and supplies that seemed ready to engulf all the lands of the Free Planets Alliance. Unlike this gigantic mobilization, however, a quiet but important mission was about to be executed in another tiny corner of space.
Yang Wen-li was beginning the operation to take back Iserlohn Fortress.
I
THE ABANDONMENT OF Iserlohn Fortress in SE 799 and its daring recapture the following year have been referred to as the ultimate realization of Yang Wen-li’s theory of “space control” strategy, made possible by tactical skill raised to the level of an art form. This means not fixating on tactical victories achieved through dueling with other fleets, but rather securing the necessary positions at the necessary times to achieve one’s military objectives.
“Yang Wen-li was a master of fleet-to-fleet combat, but his true greatness lay in the fact that he still had a good understanding of his limits, so he never let his own strengths drown him.”
So said one historian, who lavished unreserved praise on Yang, though on that point, Yang’s rival Reinhard von Lohengramm was no different, and both of them viewed fleet battles as nothing more than localized displays of technical skill within the execution of their broader strategies. Prepare a stronger force than your enemy’s, run a flawless supply operation, gather lots of information, analyze it accurately, appoint trustworthy frontline commanders, secure astrographically advantageous positions, and choose the time to begin the battle. Do these things, and one or two tactical defeats will not be worthy of criticism. The commander in chief actually just had one duty: to tell his entire force, “Don’t get careless.”
This second Operation Ragnarok found Reinhard von Lohengramm in a position from which he could have done only that. Nevertheless, going to the front line in person was what made Reinhard the “Golden Lion.” It was an act related to his character rather than his ability.
Yang Wen-li, on the other hand, had to find his way out of a difficult situation under extremely unfavorable strategic conditions. It was something Alex Caselnes said that ultimately propelled him toward the decision he made. In a cabin on board the flagship Ulysses, Yang’s senior from Officers’ Academy opened his mouth to amusedly say, “Hey, we’re broke, y’know? Make up your mind what were gonna do.”
Among the Yang Fleet’s personnel, Caselnes was practically the only one who could understand finance and economics on the scale of nations. Yang’s long-term plan to rebuild the FPA military had ended as a phantasm, but in it Yang himself had inserted a bullet point regarding financing, proving he was no ideologue for the supremacy of military power. Still, his thoughts did concern mostly military matters, a fact he had to admit even if he didn’t like it. Call it a revolution or call it a war, it cost money to run it either way, and for the time being Yang had no magic lamp in hand.
When Caselnes suggested making use of Yang’s friend Boris Konev’s connections to borrow funds from Phezzanese merchants, Yang had gotten worried. Borrowed money had to be returned, and at present there was no way to come up with a plan to repay it. First of all, providing money for Yang’s wandering Irregulars was a foolish enough bet that it warranted the term “speculation,” and he didn’t think any Phezzanese would be willing to take him up on it.
“What are you talking about? Once we borrow it, it’s ours,” Caselnes said. R
uffling his black hair, Yang sank into thought. Caselnes continued: “Phezzanese have a sharp eye for their own interests. If they think we have a chance of bringing down Kaiser Reinhard, they will absolutely invest in their future.”
Yang said nothing.
“And once they start investing, they’ll have to keep investing, so they won’t have spent their money for nothing. The initial investment itself will be the first drop toward broadening and strengthening the connection between both sides.”
“I get that, but can we really wheedle money out of business-savvy Phezzanese with nothing but maybes?”
“The success of a badger game is up to the woman’s charms.”
“The woman’s charms…?”
Yang cocked his head, then tossed his black beret up in the air as he burst out laughing. He knew exactly what Caselnes was getting at now.
The Phezzanese spirit had always been one of independence and self-determination. It was true they had yielded before Reinhard von Lohengramm’s grand, audacious strategy and the military power supporting it. It was true they had been forced into biding their time until clearer skies returned. But Phezzan’s merchants in particular had been singing the praises of economic freedom for generations, so naturally they were especially opposed to the present state of affairs. If it was possible, they would surely want to overthrow the rule of Kaiser Reinhard. They just lacked the military power to do so.
That was why the Phezzanese were likely displaying a false obedience while seeking forces that could make up for what they lacked. They could coexist and cooperate with Yang’s group. At the same time, though, they were not philanthropists; they would never waste good money on a weak force that didn’t have a prayer of winning. For that reason, a powerful drug would be needed to anesthetize their instinct for self-protection.
If Yang could win a massive tactical victory—if he could show them that someone other than Kaiser Reinhard might just seize the reins of the future—then Phezzan’s scale should tip far in his direction.
“A beautiful woman, to captivate and bewilder the Phezzanese,” Caselnes said.
In other words, Iserlohn Fortress. They would retake Iserlohn, show off the power of the anti-empire forces, and get those investors to loosen their purse strings.
“So, that’s also a reason to take back Iserlohn, is it?”
That was how recapturing Iserlohn became the supreme proposition for Yang and his followers. This went beyond a mere military objective. They were also doing this for the political effects and for their economic survival. Yang, combining essential elements from every magic trick known in history, had to successfully return to Iserlohn, then secure the exit point of the Iserlohn Corridor—El Facil—then prepare for the next battle, employing Phezzan’s power to organize people and gather intelligence.
That said, this would all be for nothing if their Phezzanese sponsors were permitted to interfere and manipulate acts of revolution for the benefit of speculators. That was where they had their work cut out for them.
From Reinhard’s standpoint, however, Iserlohn Fortress was ultimately no more than a pebble in the hinterlands. This wasn’t just because Reinhard’s indomitable temperament had led him to underestimate that pebble’s importance; because he had seized control of the Phezzan Corridor and moved his imperial headquarters to Planet Phezzan, it only followed that the Iserlohn Corridor had lost much of its strategic value. He had left Marshal von Oberstein, minister of military affairs, behind on Phezzan and stationed a powerful military force there, while he had sent Lutz’s forces to Iserlohn but emptied out the corridor—as a result proving Yang’s hunch to be correct.
Naturally, some historians would later claim that it was arrogance that had made Reinhard pay too little attention to the Iserlohn Corridor, but his contemporary, Yang Wen-li, had a different opinion.
“The hawk and the sparrow have different points of view. One gold coin isn’t worth picking up to a billionaire, but to a poor person it can mean the difference between life and death.”
Reinhard, as the Galactic Empire’s autocratic monarch, already ruled the greater part of inhabited space, and was attempting to conquer what little remained. Yang was trying to lead a wandering band of runaways without so much as a stronghold to call their own, to keep alive the democratic and republican forms of government, and with a lot of luck, lure the goddess of history—now smiling so seductively at the Lohengramm Dynasty—over into their camp. Any way he looked at it, Yang was the one attempting to do something outrageous, and worse, he had to go digging around in the pockets of generous tycoons in order to make it happen.
And so it was that on December 9, SE 799, Yang’s Irregulars revealed themselves in the El Facil star system.
Actually, it wasn’t Yang’s proactive intent to rendezvous with El Facil’s independent revolutionary government. Yang felt that what El Facil had done had erupted out of intense passions, and was more akin to rampage than revolution. However, as a first step toward unifying anti-empire republicans, a handshake between the political pioneers and the militarily powerful had become a necessity.
II
The leader of El Facil’s self-governing body was a forty-year-old man named Francesicu Romsky who had originally been a doctor. Since ancient times, the doctors, teachers, lawyers, and students had been important sources of revolutionaries, so he, too, could be said to be carrying on the old tradition.
Eleven years before, at the time of the so-called El Facil Escape, he had been one of the civilians cooperating with Sublieutenant Yang Wen-li, the officer in charge of the evacuation, though for Yang any memory of his name or face had sunk into the depths of oblivion, and would not so much as peek above the water’s surface for him. In any case, he had even forgotten his present-day wife Frederica until she had reminded him who she was, so there was no way on earth he was going to remember some other bit player.
Frederica, whose powers of memory were vastly more ordered than those of her husband, hadn’t forgotten Romsky. He had treated her sickly mother on more than one occasion, and she had treated him to coffee and sandwiches. Romsky also remembered that blond-haired girl with the striking hazel eyes. Smiling from ear to ear, the doctor-turned-revolutionary gripped the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Yang. Yang Wen-li inwardly recoiled; the press corps surrounding Romsky had their cameras lined up like a battery of cannons. On the next day, December 10, El Facil’s electronic newspapers were buried in exactly the kind of headlines that Yang had foreseen.
“Yang Wen-li Returns! The Miracle of El Facil Repeats Itself!”
“Here it is,” Yang said. “This is why I didn’t want to do that.”
Yang held his head in his hands, but ultimately had no choice but to play the role of the projected image that his own actions and successes had established. He’d gone from being the hero of a democratic nation to the hero of a democratic revolution—and his reputation as a brilliant, invincible admiral was only going to become even more widely publicized.
As for the revolutionary government of El Facil, having Yang’s party join their ranks didn’t just mean a quantum leap in the power of their military forces, it meant that they were the ones that the greatest leader of the Free Planets Alliance had acknowledged as a legitimate administration, striving for the tried-and-true politics of republican democracy. Concurrent with their delight, they wanted to use that for all it was worth.
It was obvious why Romsky intended to maintain a close relationship with the journalists, from the standpoint of both the ideals of republican democracy and the revolution’s intelligence strategy. Yang, of course, couldn’t make public his inner disgust. Public access was a pillar of republican democracy. If it were secrecy and nondisclosure he preferred, he would have been better off siding with the totalitarians; instead, Yang had to wrestle his personal feelings to the ground and smile for the cameras.
That notwithstanding, at the magnificent we
lcoming ceremony that was held in his honor, Yang managed to finish his address in a scant two seconds: “I’m Yang Wen-li. Nice to meet you.”
This disappointed the ten thousand attendees who seemed to have been expecting a moving, passionate speech, but if he produced results, that would eventually make up for such disappointments. When Yang sat back down, Romsky said to him in a low voice, “Admiral Yang, I think our new government needs a name…”
“Yeah, of course…”
“I’d like to announce this formally tomorrow, but what do you think of the ‘legitimate government of the free planets alliance’?”
This was followed by a long silence—Yang’s psychological equivalent of stumbling for about three paces. He wanted to think that Romsky was joking, but it was obvious he was not. When Yang didn’t answer right away, Romsky looked at him again, somewhat uneasily.
“You don’t like it?”
“It isn’t that. It’s just, do you really think it’s necessary to quibble over national legitimacy? I think you should emphasize the fact that you’re starting out fresh…”
Yang made his case as reservedly as he could. He didn’t want it thought that he was forcing his own opinion on Romsky with armed forces in the background.
“That’s right,” said Dusty Attenborough, who had guessed Yang’s state of mind and come to provide reinforcement. “First off, calling yourselves the ‘legitimate government’ is just bad luck. Remember the recent example of the ‘legitimate imperial galactic government’?”
Attenborough, it seemed, had managed to attune himself to Dr. Romsky’s psychological wavelength. The revolutionary nodded and said that it certainly was inauspicious, and he would try to come up with something else. Even so, he looked a little disappointed.
Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 7 Page 11
