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  Yang was left speechless. The Patriotic Knights had used a grenade launcher to fire the sort of powder-free bomb that military engineers used to flatten small-scale buildings when there was a fire hazard.

  That there had been as little damage as there was meant it had been set to its lowest level of destructive power. Otherwise, everything in the room would have been reduced to heaps of wreckage. All that aside, what were civilians doing with that kind of military-grade equipment?

  An idea occurred to Yang, and he snapped his fingers, though it didn’t make a very good sound.

  “Julian, which one is the switch for the sprinkler system?”

  “It’s 2-A-4. Are you fighting back?”

  “I need to teach them a thing or two about manners.”

  “Catch!”

  “How about it! Ready to talk to us now? If you don’t answer, we’ll send another—”

  The increasingly forceful voice from outside suddenly turned into a shriek. The sprinklers, with their water pressure set to maximum, struck the white-masked men with thick lashes of water. Soaking wet, as though caught in an unexpected downpour, they ran to and fro through the curtains of water in all directions.

  “Starting to see now why it’s a scary thing to get a gentleman pissed at you? You’re just relying on numbers, you hoodlums!”

  As Yang grumbled to himself, the distinctive siren of the security police grew audible in the distance. Residents in the other officers’ houses had called it in, most likely.

  Even so, the fact that the authorities had not mobilized until now might well mean that those self-styled, self-righteous Patriotic Knights were an unexpectedly powerful group. If Trünicht was indeed behind them, it would not be hard to imagine why.

  The Patriotic Knights hurriedly dispersed. They probably wouldn’t be in the mood to sing any songs of victory tonight. The police officers, who finally arrived in their blue combination suits, afterward described the Patriotic Knights as a group of people with an ardent love for their country, to which Yang took offense.

  “If they’re like you say they are, then why don’t they volunteer for military service? Is surrounding a house with a minor inside at night and raising a huge ruckus something patriots do? And besides all that, if what they’re doing is on the up-and-up, doesn’t hiding their faces in itself go against common sense?”

  While Yang was refuting the police officers, Julian had cut off the sprinklers and was starting to clean up the terrible mess inside.

  “I’ll help, too,” said Yang, after he had ushered the useless policemen out.

  Julian shooed him away with his hand. “No, you’ll just get in the way. I know—sit on top of that table, please.”

  “On top of the table?”

  “I’ll be finished in no time.”

  “What should I do on the table?”

  “Well, I’m going to put on some tea, so please just drink it.”

  Yang, grumbling to himself, climbed up on the table, crossed his legs, and sat—but soon grew indignant when he saw Julian pick up a ceramic potsherd.

  “That’s red Wanli porcelain. The only piece in my dad’s things that was real.”

  When Caselnes called on the visiphone at 2200, Julian was mostly finished with cleaning up the room.

  “Hey there, kid, can you put that guardian of yours on for me?”

  “He’s over there.”

  Julian pointed at the table, where the head of the Yang household was sitting cross-legged, sipping his tea. Caselnes stared at this scene for about five seconds, then slowly asked, “Sitting on tabletops was a custom in your house, wasn’t it?”

  “Only on certain days of the week,” Yang answered from the top of the table, making Caselnes grimace.

  “Well, whatever. A pressing matter’s come up—I’d like you to come over to Joint Operational Headquarters right away. A landcar’s been sent to pick you up. It should be there any minute.”

  “Right now?”

  “The order comes straight from Director Sitolet.”

  When Yang returned his teacup to its saucer, the clink was just a little louder than usual. Julian was frozen to the spot for a moment, but then he came to himself and hurried off to fetch Yang’s uniform.

  “What’s the director want with me?”

  “All I know is that it’s urgent. I’ll see you soon at headquarters.”

  Caselnes ended the call. Yang crossed his arms and sank into thought for a short while. When he turned around, Julian was standing there holding Yang’s dress uniform in both hands. While he was changing, the official car from HQ arrived. Yang couldn’t help thinking that this was a busy night in several respects.

  As he was about to leave the foyer, Yang glanced back at Julian. “I’m probably gonna be pretty late. Don’t wait up.”

  “Yes, sir, Commodore,” replied Julian, though Yang somehow got the feeling that the boy wasn’t going to do as he was told.

  “Julian, what happened tonight is probably going to be something we laugh about eventually. But in the short term, maybe not. Little by little, it looks like we’re heading into some pretty bad times.”

  Yang himself didn’t consciously understand why he had said such a thing so suddenly. Julian looked straight back at the young admiral.

  “Commodore, I … I say a lot of things that may be uncalled for, but please don’t worry about things like that. I want you to walk the path you think is right. I believe, more than anyone else, that you’re right.”

  Yang stared at the young boy, and though he wanted to say something, in the end he just silently tousled the boy’s flaxen hair. Then he turned his back and set off walking toward the landcar. Julian didn’t move from the porch until the vehicle’s tail lamps had melted into the womb of night.

  IV

  Marshal Sidney Sitolet, director of the Free Planets Alliance Military Joint Operational Headquarters, was a middle-aged black man who was nearly two meters tall. Though he was not the type whose talents were immediately evident, he was reliably capable both as a manager of military organizations and as a strategist, and people trusted in his plain but dignified character. While not wildly popular, he enjoyed wide support.

  Director of Joint Operational Headquarters was the highest peak to which men and women in uniform could aspire, and in wartime the individual who held this position was also given the title of deputy commander in chief of Alliance Armed Forces. The commander in chief was the chair of the High Council, who was the head of state. Under him, the chair of the Defense Committee was in charge of military administration, and the director of Joint Operational Headquarters oversaw military command.

  Unfortunately, in the Free Planets Alliance these two were not necessarily on good terms. The head of military administration and the head of military command had to cooperate with one another. Unless they did so, it was impossible to make the wheels of the military turn smoothly. Even so, their personalities clashed, and with nothing to be done about the fact that they just didn’t like each other, the relationship between Trünicht and Sitolet was often described as one of armed neutrality.

  When Yang stepped into his office, Marshal Sitolet greeted him with a nostalgic smile. Back when Yang was a student at Officers’ Academy, the marshal had been headmaster.

  “Have a seat, Rear Admiral Yang.”

  Yang did as Sitolet said without reservation. The marshal delved straight into the matter at hand. “I had you come in because there’s something I need to inform you of. Your letter of appointment will be formally issued tomorrow, but you’re about to be promoted to rear admiral. This is not an unofficial offer—it’s already decided. You know the reason you’re being promoted, I take it?”

  “Because I lost?”

  Yang’s answer made the middle-aged marshal crack a pained smile. “Well, you haven’t changed a bit since old times. A mild express
ion and a sharp tongue. You were like that when you were at Officers’ Academy, too.”

  “But that’s a fact, though, isn’t it, Headmas—I mean, Director?”

  “I wonder why you think so?”

  “There’s an ancient military treatise that says showering someone with rewards is proof that you’re in dire straits. Apparently because there’s a need to divert the people’s eyes from defeat.”

  Yang spoke without a hint of apology and made the marshal grimace again. He crossed his arms and looked intently at his former student.

  “In a sense, you are correct. We have suffered a huge defeat, as has not been seen in recent years, and military and civilians alike are very upset. In order to soothe them, a hero is necessary. In other words, you, Rear Admiral Yang.”

  Yang gave a little smile, but he didn’t look at all pleased.

  “You probably don’t like it, becoming an artificial hero. But for a soldier, this is also a sort of mission. Besides that, your achievements really do make you suitable for promotion. If in spite of that we didn’t promote you, it would call into question whether Joint Operational HQ and the Defense Committee really do reward success and punish failure.”

  “About the Defense Committee, what are Chairman Trünicht’s wishes?”

  “His wishes as an individual, in this case, present no problem. Even if he is the committee chairman, he has his position as a public figure to think about.”

  That was likely true regarding his public face. But it looked to Yang like Trünicht’s personal side had encouraged the Patriotic Knights to mobilize against him.

  “By the way, on a different subject, that operations plan you submitted to Vice Admiral Paetta before the start of combat … I wonder, do you think our forces could have won if it’d been executed?”

  “Yeah, probably.” Yang answered as modestly as he could.

  Marshal Sitolet pinched his chin as though deep in thought. “But it’s possible, isn’t it, that we can use that plan on another occasion. And when that time comes, we can get back at Count von Lohengramm.”

  “That would be up to Count von Lohengramm. If his successes this time were to make him cocky, if he couldn’t resist the temptation of trying to beat a large force with a small one again, then that plan could probably be revived. However …”

  “However?”

  “However, I don’t think anything like that is going to happen. Defeating a large force with a small one, at first glance, certainly looks spectacular, but it’s out of step with tactical orthodoxy and really more in the realm of magic tricks than military strategy. I find it hard to believe Count von Lohengramm doesn’t know that. The next time he comes to attack, he’ll probably be leading an overwhelmingly large force.”

  “That’s true—putting together a larger force than your enemy’s is the foundation of military tactics. Amateurs, however, are more welcoming of what you call magic tricks—they’ll think you’re incompetent if you can’t destroy a large force with a small one. So when you’ve lost big to an enemy half your size …”

  Yang could perceive anguish in the marshal’s dark features. Regardless of how Yang himself might be perceived, it was only natural that the government and the citizenry were taking a dim view of the military as a whole right now.

  “Rear Admiral Yang, if you think about it, our forces made no mistake in terms of the tactical fundamentals. We sent double the enemy’s force strength to the battlefield. Why did we lose so disastrously in spite of that?”

  “Because we screwed up the application of that force strength.” Yang’s answer was simple and to the point. “In spite of preparing superior numbers, we failed to make the most of that advantage. We probably felt secure in the size of the force.”

  “And?”

  “Excluding the age of so-called push-button warfare and that period of freakish development in radar electronics, there have always been two fixed principles for the use of troops on the battlefield: concentrate your force, and move it quickly. Both of these. To sum it up in one sentence, ‘Never create an unnecessary force.’ Count von Lohengramm practiced that to perfection.”

  “Hmm …”

  “On the other hand, look at our forces,” Yang continued. “While the Fourth Fleet was being crushed by the enemy, the other two were wasting time sticking to the initial plan. Reconnaissance of the enemy’s movements and the analysis of that intelligence were also insufficient. All three fleets had to fight the enemy alone and without reinforcement. That’s what happens when you forget the principles of force concentration and rapid mobilization.”

  Yang shut his mouth. For him to become so talkative was, lately, a rarity. Was it because he was feeling a little bit jittery?

  “I see. And I see your powers of discernment.” The marshal nodded repeatedly. “However, there’s one other thing, and this one is not decided—it’s an offer. Some organizational changes are going to be made in parts of the military. New forces will be added to the remnants of the Fourth and Sixth Fleets to create the Thirteenth Fleet. And you are to be appointed as its first fleet commander.”

  Yang cocked his head to one side. “Don’t appointments to fleet commander come with vice admiralships?”

  “The new fleet is about half the size of a normal one. Around 6,400 vessels and seven hundred thousand personnel. And the first mission of the Thirteenth Fleet is the capture of Iserlohn Fortress.”

  The director’s tone of voice was utterly casual.

  After a moment, Yang slowly opened his mouth to confirm what he’d just heard. “With half a fleet, you’re telling me to go take Iserlohn?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you believe that’s possible?”

  “I believe that if you can’t do it, it’s impossible for anyone else.”

  “I believe in you.” “You can do it.” The old traditional clinchers, thought Yang. There was no telling how many people had had their egos tickled by that sweet whisper and ended up ruining their lives attempting the impossible. The ones who did the sweet-talking were never held responsible, either.

  Yang remained silent.

  “You’re not feeling confident, I take it?”

  When the director said that, Yang was all the more unable to answer. If he were lacking confidence, he would have said so right away. But Yang had both confidence and a hope of success. If he had been in command of the assaults on Iserlohn, the Alliance Armed Forces would surely not have borne the dishonor of being beaten back six times in the past and of losing so many men. The reason that he couldn’t answer in spite of that was that he didn’t like being played by Marshal Sitolet.

  “If you were to achieve the outstanding feat of leading the new fleet and capturing Iserlohn Fortress,” Director Sitolet said, looking intently, almost suggestively, at Yang’s face, “then regardless of what he may think of you personally, even Defense Committee Chairman Trünicht will have no choice but to acknowledge your ability to get things done.”

  Which meant that Director Sitolet’s position would be strengthened with respect to the chairman. What was going on was evidently more within the realm of political than military strategy. He was a crafty fox, the director!

  “I’ll do what little I can,” Yang replied after quite a long pause.

  “Really? You’ll do it?” Director Sitolet nodded, looking satisfied. “Well, then, give orders to Caselnes to hurry up and get the new fleet organized and equipped. If there are supplies that you need, requisition them from him, whatever they are. I’ll help you out as much as I possibly can.”

  When do we leave for the battlefield, I wonder, thought Yang. The director must have another seventy days or so left in his term. And being that he’s aiming for reappointment, that means the operation to take Iserlohn will have to be completed before then. If we assume thirty days needed for the operation itself, then it looks like we’ll be leavi
ng Heinessen in forty days at the latest.

  Trünicht was unlikely to oppose these personnel decisions for the operation. This was because surely there was no way to take Iserlohn with only half a fleet, and when the mission ended in failure, he would be able to dispose of both Sitolet and Yang publicly. He might even raise a toast, saying that Yang and the others had dug their own graves.

  Once again, Yang was going to be unable to drink tea brewed by Julian for a while. For him, that was a bit of a shame.

  I

  Iserlohn.

  That was the name given to this vital stronghold of the Galactic Empire. Located 6,250 light-years from the imperial capital of Odin was Artena, a star in the prime of its life, originally a solitary sun with no planets of its own. It was its astrographical importance that had led the Galactic Empire to construct in its orbit an artificial world sixty kilometers in diameter for use as a base of operations.

  When the galaxy was viewed from directly “above,” Iserlohn appeared situated near the tip of a triangular region where the Galactic Empire’s influence was reaching out toward the Free Planets Alliance. This entire swath of territory, a difficult region for astrogation, was the interstellar graveyard known as “Sargasso Space,” where the founders of the Free Planets Alliance had once lost many of their comrades. Later, this bit of history, which imperial VIPs found most satisfactory, had even played a role in strengthening their resolve to build a military stronghold in this region from which to threaten the alliance.

  Variable stars, red giants, irregular gravitational fields … through dense concentrations of these, there ran a narrow thread of safety, and Iserlohn was sitting right in the middle of it. To travel from the alliance to the empire without passing through this area meant using a route that went through the Phezzan Land Dominion, and use of that route for military operations was problematic to be sure.

  The Iserlohn Corridor and the Phezzan Corridor. Statesmen and tacticians of the alliance alike had taken pains to find out whether a third route connecting the alliance and the empire could be discovered, but defects in their star charts and interference both seen and unseen from the empire and Phezzan had long frustrated those intentions. From Phezzan’s perspective, the very worth of its existence as a middleman trading post was at stake, and the discovery of a “third corridor” was not something they were going to stand idly by and let happen.