This was how the “Liberation Corridor” extending from the El Facil star system all the way to Iserlohn Fortress was completed. It was, however, a thing rapidly established by astrographical advantage and the moral power to unite, and those directly involved knew far better than the onlookers that it would need to experience no small amount of wind and rain before it could lay down roots in the soil of history and grow a thick canopy of leaves. Still, these people who were directly involved had come under a common bad influence, in that the more critical the situation became, the more cheerful they would appear on the surface. For one thing, this was because regardless of what they might say aloud, they retained the utmost faith in their undefeated commander. As Julian Mintz would one day reminisce: “We relied on Yang Wen-li for everything. We took it for granted that he was invincible and even believed he was immortal.”
Eventually, they would learn that this was certainly not the case, but for now wine and hummed melodies could still be their companions.
However, close on the heels of the good news that the plan to retake Iserlohn Fortress had succeeded, Yang Wen-li had to face news of a tragedy that instantly turned his elation to ice.
It was the news that Marshal Alexandor Bucock had died in battle.
I
REINHARD’S OWN INVASION of Free Planets space was taking place virtually in parallel with Yang’s operation to recapture Iserlohn. This had created an opening in Kornelias Lutz’s judgment and actions that Yang had taken advantage of; from the standpoint of Reinhard, the imperial military, and imperial headquarters, however, Lutz’s absence from their ranks, while a cause for displeasure, was hardly a crippling blow. Their advance had been brazen to the point of arrogance, scattering the Alliance Armed Forces—or more accurately, their dregs—and annihilating their military facilities in every quarter.
The Schwarz Lanzenreiter fleet was commanded by Senior Admiral Wittenfeld, who was standing in the vanguard. They had advanced rapidly, blowing away several weak pockets of resistance en route, but the guerilla activities of the Alliance Armed Forces’ Commodore Beaufort had temporarily cut their supply line, and while awaiting its restoration, they had, among other things, pursued Beaufort and destroyed his base of operations, incurring a bit of a loss timewise. Beaufort had escaped with little more than his own skin, and though the loss of that prize was frustrating to Wittenfeld, it was more than made up for by the intelligence he obtained from the prisoners they took.
“It would appear that Admiral Wilibard Joachim Merkatz is somehow alive and well, and serving under Yang Wen-li.”
Murmurs of “Oh?” rose from the admiralty like bubbles popping as they received this news, signifying not so much shocked surprise as the satisfaction of achieving closure. In the end, the late Helmut Lennenkamp had arrived through his prejudice at the correct answer. It was also confirmed that Yang Wen-li had thrown in his lot with El Facil’s autonomous revolutionary government. However:
“A general without an army is like a star with no planets. Its light and heat shine but vainly into the darkness.”
This optimistic line of reasoning surprisingly received the lion’s share of support among the imperial military’s leadership. The Free Planets’ military strength and Yang Wen-li’s genius had been split apart—just because one powerless frontier world had obtained the latter, that didn’t make it worthy of fear, did it? At the very least, no one presently believed that the empire’s overwhelmingly advantageous military and political posture was in any danger of being overturned.
“As a tactician, Yang Wen-li’s talents and achievements are unparalleled. That, however, offers no guarantee of his success as a politician. With his fame and reputation, it’s possible that he’ll be able to rally the anti-empire forces to his side; the question, though, is can he keep them there?”
That was the question of Reinhard’s advisors, and their answer was that it wouldn’t be easy. There were a number of reasons for thinking so. Did El Facil have enough real and potential agricultural and industrial production capacity to nourish a large military? Would other planets that fell behind El Facil accept their lot gracefully? And what of the qualities of Yang himself?
In the Vermillion War, Yang Wen-li had obeyed his government’s orders even with victory dangling before his eyes, retracting his cannons with neither condition nor demand. This in spite of actually having Reinhard’s flagship Brünhild almost within firing range. Had he ignored that order, he could have been free of all governmental restraint, and might well have himself conquered the universe.
That decision, while morally praiseworthy, had at the same time exposed Yang’s limits as a political activist. If he were still steadfast in his reverence for the form of democratic republican politics, then going forward he would still be unable to act outside that framework. Also, even if his values evolved later, it was unlikely the goddess of luck would cast her sultry gaze a second time at someone who had already let the greatest of opportunities pass him by. Even if Yang Wen-li, political strategist, had what it took in terms of ability, he would be lacking personalitywise. Yang Wen-li’s resistance to the Free Planets’ government and his flight from Heinessen had been measures taken during an emergency evacuation, not the fruit of some carefully crafted political plan. He put far too many restraints on himself to stand in the number one position, but with talent and fame too great to content himself with the number two position, he drew stares of jealousy and suspicion from those above him…
Even if he had heard such biting appraisals of himself, Yang could not have argued. And even supposing that the analysis of the staff officers at imperial headquarters—Fräulein Hildegard von Mariendorf’s, in particular—did not reproduce the facts to perfection, it was infinitely approaching them like a curve to its asymptote. One could say that the intellect’s activity had cloned the facts. He wanted to be number two or lower, but had never been blessed with any quality number ones to follow. His powers of endurance and tolerance extended only so far as his activities as a soldier; in his mind, the possibility of him living as a politician existed only far beyond the sea’s horizon. While it wasn’t as if Hilda had a perfect understanding of this nature of Yang’s, a number of phenomena representative of it had become apparent during the Vermillion War, and thanks to these, she had been able to grasp his limits with almost perfect precision.
However, even Hilda’s piercing insight didn’t allow her to fully apprehend Yang as a strategist. The ingenious stratagems that he had in seemingly endless supply were worthy of both admiration and fear. That was why Hilda had no choice but to try to convince the kaiser to avoid directly battling Yang in a decisive confrontation.
“In the Free Planets’ military and in the various units that have cut ties with their government, they’re all saying the same thing: ‘Where Yang Wen-li is, there is victory.’ Turn that around, and it means that where Yang is not, there is no victory. So why not multiply your strategic measures in places where Yang is not—exhaust him by creating so many tasks for him to do he’ll be forced to give up on armed resistance?”
The handsome kaiser, brimming with youth and spirit, did not appear pleased upon hearing this advice.
“Fräulein von Mariendorf, you seem set upon keeping me from fighting with Yang Wen-li.”
Reinhard looked at Hilda closely. The contessina could tell that the spirit in his ice-blue eyes was picking up wind speed.
“Even with your incomparable wisdom, Fräulein, it seems that you sometimes see illusions. If I am not defeated by Yang Wen-li, do you think I’ll stay young and live forever?”
Hilda’s cheeks, as well as her spirit, flushed crimson as she lightly stuck out her chin, intent upon raising objections.
“You say such unkind things, Your Majesty.”
“Forgive me.”
Reinhard smiled, but that was merely the result of observing decorum; the next few words he spoke were proof positive t
hat he had no intention of revising what he had willed.
“Fräulein, last year, I fought with Yang Wen-li in the Vermillion Stellar Region. I was defeated splendidly.”
“Highness…”
“I lost that battle.”
Reinhard spoke with a clarity and sternness that would brook no argument.
“At the strategic level, I let myself get drawn out by his provocations. At the tactical level, I was one step away from taking a direct hit from his cannons. I avoided the death of the defeated only because you got von Reuentahl and Mittermeier to take action and attack the enemy’s capital. The credit is yours, Fräulein. I take none whatsoever.”
With the field of red passion over his ivory features, the kaiser’s words and breathing grew stronger.
“I truly beg Your Majesty’s pardon for saying so, but the achievement of a vassal belongs to the lord who appointed him. Your Highness did not lose that battle.”
Reinhard nodded, but his gaze still reflected the powerful winds that were blowing through his heart. After hesitating for an instant, Hilda made up her mind to stand firm in the face of that wind.
“Please, don’t think of taking vengeance on a single individual such as Yang Wen-li. The day is not far off when Your Majesty will hold the entire universe in the palm of your hand. Yang Wen-li cannot prevent that from coming to pass. That is because the final victory will be yours. Who is there who will say your victory was stolen?”
“Yang Wen-li will not. His subordinates, however, are certain to make such claims.”
There was a boyishness—or a childishness, rather—in the way that he said it. Reinhard’s white, supple fingers touched his graceful lips, giving the impression that he was just barely restraining himself from biting his nails. This incomparable youth looked like one whom the gods of war and beauty had staked their honor and passion on in a struggle to possess, and he seemed to fear defeat less than he feared having it said he had been defeated. Hilda was slightly shocked by this, and at the same time felt an ominous breeze blowing through her nerves.
Hilda didn’t go so far as to think Reinhard had a death wish. And yet she did wonder: if given a choice between growing old and feeble during long years of idleness after his enemies had all been vanquished, or being defeated in the prime of his life by an outstanding opponent, would Reinhard not unconditionally choose the latter? The reason she intentionally phrased that thought in the interrogative was that even for Hilda, giving a definitive answer would have placed on her the greatest of psychological burdens. Even as a question, it felt suffocating.
Hilda shook her head slightly, and her dark-blond hair reflected the light of the room’s illumination. It had never suited her, intentionally choosing the dark turns in the labyrinth of her thoughts. It was already three years ago now, but at the time of the Lippstadt War, she and her father had sided with Reinhard because she had seen in him not the beauty of destruction, but his skyward gaze and the strength in his wings.
Five hundred years ago, political ambition and hatred for those who disrupted the order of society had led the iron giant Rudolf von Goldenbaum, then a military man, to do battle against his enemies, the space pirate cartels. That his authority and the privilege of his descendants were sustained by the sacrifices of the weak was a consequence of his brand of justice. Reinhard had denied the justice of Rudolf, and risen up against it.
Why had that been? Because Annerose, his beautiful and kind elder sister, had been unjustly wrenched away from him by those in power, and for this he had sworn to take vengeance. The boyar nobles’ system of rule had endured for five centuries, but from it Reinhard had smelled the stench of decay, and set his heart upon its reform. A private but just fury, and a public and just yearning. Surely these were the wellsprings of that young man’s vitality—or perhaps it was that his vitality required the most magnificent and bitter means of expression. Recently, Hilda had sometimes found herself thinking so. And at such times, she had worried: Isn’t it the brightest flame that burns out most quickly?
II
In SE 799, or year one of the New Imperial Calendar, Reinhard and the imperial military—unable to set off fusion reactions in any more mental nuclei—departed, and the New Year arrived. New Year’s festivities consisted of nothing more than a small banquet the kaiser held in the auditorium used for ceremonies on board his flagship Brünhild, and the distribution of wine to all soldiers and officers. Speaking via comm screen, the kaiser told them that large-scale celebrations would be held once they had fully occupied the Free Planets’ capital of Heinessen, and the soldiers and officers rattled the bulkheads of every vessel with cheers of “Sieg Kaiser Reinhard!” The soldiers’ faith in the kaiser and their respect for the admiralty were like a blade without nick or chip, and as for morale, there was no unease whatsoever. Communications between the main fleet and Wittenfeld out in front were frequently jammed so that periods of mutual contact tended to be few and far between, and Lutz for some reason was refusing to come out of Iserlohn Fortress. These factors meant that their present situation fell short of perfection, but as long as Wittenfeld, Lutz, and Steinmetz were not being picked off one by one, there was no reason to be disturbed by these developments.
“We’ll likely run into a single organized counterattack. Having resigned themselves to death, they’ll come aiming to make a final show of resistance. Once we’ve crushed it, we will occupy Heinessen, and announce the complete dissolution of the Free Planets Alliance.”
With that understanding, Reinhard and his staff officers had constructed their plans, but when January 8 came around, a fleet of ships numbering more than a thousand showed itself ahead of Mittermeier’s forces. Skillfully maintaining a constant distance, they swam to and fro, as if inviting an attack.
It looked like they would attempt to cut off Wittenfeld’s vanguard from the Imperial Navy’s long train. Kaiser Reinhard, along with his staff officers, considered scattering them right away, but instead avoided combat, viewing them as rather a scouting force or vanguard for the Alliance Armed Forces’ final, all-out show of resistance. Notifying Müller (in the rear guard) that he should secure the safety of their supply route back toward Phezzan was a measure that displayed von Reuentahl’s foresight as secretary-general of Imperial Military Command Headquarters. At the same time, Mittermeier brought his entire force to a full stop, and sent out five hundred destroyers and ten times as many reconnaissance craft, attempting to gather intelligence. During this time, communications with Wittenfeld’s vanguard were almost totally cut off; the intensification of the jamming was silent proof that FPA forces were approaching for an attack. Reinhard had von Eisenach, Müller, and the forces under them gather together.
Even for a genuinely enormous force, it was never wise from the standpoint of unified command to form extremely long ranks running fore and aft. The tension among the officers and soldiers skyrocketed.
“Did these people come out here expecting to win? Or are winning and losing completely beside the point to them? Are they here to follow their democratic republic into death as it falls?”
Those questions were coiling round and round in the hearts of the Imperial Navy’s admirals. If they had been midranking officers or lower, they could have processed this in terms of mind over matter, thinking, Anyway, we just have to do our best. The highest-ranking leaders, however, couldn’t afford to make tactical plans using the words “should” and “intend.”
“Well, they pulled together the numbers, if nothing else. Of course, it’s an open question how many will be left when this is over.”
Sneering, Bruno von Knapfstein made this assessment on January 10, at a meeting of top staff officers on board Brünhild. By general accounts, it was estimated that the Free Planets’ military had prepared a force of somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty thousand ships. This number did indeed exceed the expectations of the Imperial Navy, but there was no way they had very many
battleships or carriers, and their firepower should also be inferior.
“That being the case,” said the young, energetic Karl Eduard Bayerlein, flushing red, “all we need to do is fight them once here, and that will put an end to them. To make the mistake of hesitating—of losing a chance for victory—doesn’t become our forces, who seek to unify the entire universe.”
Alfred Grillparzer also leaned forward to make an impassioned speech. “Yang Wen-li’s forces are presently miserable vagabonds, but if we sit here wasting time for no reason, that may give him time enough to reconstitute his strength. In the Battle of Rantemario last year, it was due to his maneuvering that our forces lost the chance to utterly wipe out those of the Free Planets. Your Majesty, I beg you, please give us the order—the order to fight them.”
Von Reuentahl and Mittermeier, not recalling any past need to incite the kaiser to battle, had remained silent through all of this. The only questions for them were where and how to fight. Even if the FPA had a large force of twenty thousand vessels, it was only a small squadron next to the empire’s force, and because FPA firepower was inferior, it would no doubt employ appropriate tactics to try and make up the difference. At any rate, it seemed their commander was Marshal Alexandor Bucock, a seasoned tactician who had fought well at Rantemario last year. Carelessness was not something they could tolerate. This was because on January 13, a report had come in informing them that Bucock had deployed his forces out in front of them. By this time, Iserlohn had already fallen into Yang’s hands, although the report of that had still not reached Reinhard.
The name of the star was Mar Adetta. It was 6.5 light-years distant from Rantemario, where Bucock had intercepted an imperial fleet last year, and been driven to defeat by the vast size of it.
Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 7 Page 16
