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  That’s an old trick rulers use to distract the people from their own bad governance, Yang thought. How the founding father Heinessen would have been grieved to know about this! His wish had never been to have a statue fifty meters tall erected in his honor; surely his hope had been for the construction of a governmental system that posed no danger to its people, where the rights and freedoms of citizens would not be infringed upon by the arbitrary whims of rulers.

  But just as humans must eventually grow old and infirm, perhaps so, too, their nations must eventually grow corrupt and decadent. Even so, the notion of sending thirty million troops to the battlefield in order to win an election and retain power for another four years transcended Yang’s comprehension. Thirty million human beings, thirty million lives, thirty million destinies, thirty million possibilities, thirty million joys and furies and sorrows and pleasures—by sending them into the jaws of death, by swelling the ranks of the sacrificed with them, those in safe places monopolized all the profit.

  Though the ages turned, this outrageous correlation between those who made war and those who were made to make war had not improved in the slightest since the dawn of civilization. If anything, the kings and champions of the ancient world may have been slightly better—if only on the point of having stood themselves at the heads of their armies, exposing their own skins to the threat of physical harm. It could also be argued that the ethics of those forced to wage wars had only degenerated as well …

  “I believe this campaign is the most daring feat attempted since the founding of our alliance. There is no greater honor for me as a soldier than to be able to participate in it as a staff officer.”

  Those were the first words that were spoken.

  The flat, monotonous voice, like that of someone reading off a script, belonged to Rear Admiral Andrew Fork.

  He was only twenty-six, but he looked a good deal older than that, and next to him it was Yang who seemed boyish. The flesh on his pallid cheeks was too thin, although he was not bad looking around the eyes and brows. However, his way of looking down at people and then sweeping his gaze upward conspired with the crook of his mouth to give him a rather gloomy impression. Though of course Yang—to whose experience the word “honor student” was nil—was perhaps given to regarding genius through lenses of prejudice.

  The next to speak after Fork’s long, flowery trumpeting of the military’s grand design—that is to say, the operation he had drafted himself—was Vice Admiral Uranff, commander of the Tenth Fleet.

  Uranff was a well-built man in the prime of his life, descended from a nomadic tribe said to have once conquered half the world of ancient Earth. He had a dark complexion and eyes that glinted with a sharp light. His courageous leadership made him stand out even among the admirals of the alliance and had brought him popularity among the citizenry.

  “We’re soldiers and as such will go anywhere if ordered. If that means striking the very seat of the Goldenbaum Dynasty’s tyranny, we will go, and gladly. However, it should go without saying that there’s a difference between a daring plan and a reckless one. Thorough preparation is essential, but first I’d like to ask what the strategic goal of this campaign is. Do we plunge into imperial territory, fight one battle, and then call it a day? Are we to occupy a part of the empire’s territory militarily, and if so will the occupation be temporary or permanent? And if the answer is ‘permanent,’ will the occupied territory be turned into a military stronghold? Or are we to deal a destructive blow to the imperial military and not turn back until we’ve made the emperor swear an oath of peace? And before all that, is this operation itself considered short-term or long-term? It’s a long-winded list of questions, but I’d like to hear the answers.”

  Uranff sat down, and Marshals Sitolet and Lobos both directed their gazes toward Rear Admiral Fork, prompting him to reply.

  “We will penetrate deep into the empire’s territory with a large force. That alone will be enough to strike terror into the hearts of the imperials.”

  That was Fork’s answer.

  “So, we withdraw without fighting?”

  “I’m thinking we should maintain a high level of flexibility and deal with each situation as it comes our way.”

  Uranff’s brows drew together, showing his dissatisfaction. “Can you not give us a few more specifics? This is far too abstract.”

  “What he means is, we just bumble around haphazardly, correct?”

  The crook in Fork’s lip grew more pronounced at that sarcasm-spiced comment. Vice Admiral Bucock, commander of the Fifth Fleet, was the one who had spoken it. He was a true veteran of the Alliance Armed Forces, several notches more so than Marshal Sitolet, Marshal Lobos, Senior Admiral Greenhill, and the like. He was not a graduate of Officers’ Academy but had instead worked his way up from a raw recruit, and so although he was lower than they were in terms of rank, he exceeded them in age and experience. As a tactician, his reputation placed him in the bounds of “proficient.”

  Fork didn’t reply; although he naturally felt some reserve toward the man, there was also the fact that Bucock had not been formally recognized to speak. On those grounds, Fork had apparently decided to politely ignore him.

  “Does anyone else have anything … ?” he said somewhat forcedly.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Yang asked to be recognized.

  “I’d like to hear the reason the invasion has been set for this point in time.”

  Of course Fork wasn’t going to say, “Because of the election.” But how would he answer?

  “For every battle, there exists something called the moment of opportunity,” said Rear Admiral Fork, haughtily beginning an explanation of the matter to Yang. “Letting it pass, ultimately, would be to stand in defiance of destiny itself. Someday we might regretfully look back and say, ‘If only we’d taken action then!’ But by then it will be too late.”

  “So in other words, our best chance to go on offense against the empire is right now. Is that what you want to say, Commodore?”

  Yang had a feeling it was ridiculous to ask for confirmation, but he asked anyway.

  “On major offense,” Fork corrected.

  He sure does like his adjectives, Yang thought.

  “The imperial military is in a panic over the loss of Iserlohn—they have no idea what to do. At this precise moment in history, what but victory could lie ahead for an alliance force of unprecedented magnitude, formed up into long, stately columns, forging ahead with the flag of freedom and justice raised high?”

  There was a shade of self-intoxication in his voice as he spoke, pointing at the 3-D display.

  “But this operation takes us too deep into the enemy camp. Our formation will get too long, and there’ll be difficulties with resupply and communications. Also, by striking us on those long, thin flanks, the enemy will be able to divide our forces easily.”

  Yang’s voice grew heated as he argued, though this was not necessarily in sync with what he was really thinking. After all, how much did the details of execution-level issues matter when the tactical plan itself wasn’t even sound? Yet still he couldn’t bear to not try telling him.

  “Why is it just the danger of being divided that you’re emphasizing? An enemy that plowed into the center of our fleet would be caught fore and aft in a pincer attack, and would no doubt be soundly defeated. The risk is insignificant.”

  Fork’s optimistic arguments exhausted Yang. Fighting back the desire to say, “Go ahead, then—do whatever you want,” Yang continued to counter him.

  “The commander of the imperial force is most likely going to be Count von Lohengramm. There’s something about his military expertise that’s beyond imagining. Don’t you think you should take that into account and come up with a plan that’s just a little more cautious?”

  After he finished speaking, Senior Admiral Greenhill answered before Fork was able to.

>   “Vice Admiral, I’m aware you have a high opinion of Count von Lohengramm. He’s still young, however, and even he must make errors and mistakes.”

  Senior Admiral Greenhill’s words didn’t make much of an impression on Yang.

  “That’s true. However, the factors that result in victory and defeat are ultimately relative to one another … so if we make a bigger mistake than he does, it only stands to reason that he’ll win and we’ll lose.”

  And the main point, Yang wanted to say, is that the plan itself is wrongheaded.

  “In any case, that’s nothing more than a prediction,” Fork concluded. “Overestimating the enemy, fearing him more than necessary … that’s the most shameful thing of all for a warrior. Considering how that saps our troops’ morale and how their decision making and their actions can be dulled by it, the result is ultimately beneficial to the enemy, regardless of your intent. I do hope you’ll be more cautious about that.”

  There was a loud noise from the surface of the meeting room table. Vice Admiral Bucock had struck it with the palm of his hand.

  “Rear Admiral Fork, don’t you think what you said just now was disrespectful?”

  “How so?” As the elderly admiral skewered him with a sharp glare, Fork puffed out his chest.

  “Just because he didn’t agree with you and advised caution, you think it’s acceptable to go around saying he’s abetting the enemy?”

  “I was merely making a general statement. I find it highly irritating to have that interpreted as the defamation of an individual.”

  The thin flesh on Fork’s cheeks was twitching. Yang could see it clearly. He didn’t even feel like getting upset.

  “From the beginning, the purpose of this campaign is to realize our grand and noble purpose of liberating the twenty-five billion people in the Galactic Empire who are suffering under the crushing weight of despotism. And I have to say that anyone who opposes that is effectively taking the side of the empire. Am I mistaken?”

  Those in their seats were growing quieter in inverse proportion to his increasingly shrill voice. It wasn’t that they had been moved by his words; rather, the mood had been thoroughly spoiled.

  “Even if the enemy had the geographical advantage, the greater troop strength, or even new weapons of unimaginable power, we could not use that as an excuse for being daunted. If we act based on our great mission—as a liberation force, as a force that’s there to defend the people—then the people of the empire will greet us with cheers and cooperate willingly …”

  As Fork’s speech dragged on and on, Yang sank into silent reflection.

  “New weapons of unimaginable power” were basically nonexistent. Weapons invented and put to practical use by one of two opposing camps had almost always been at least conceptually realized in the other camp as well. Tanks, submarines, nuclear-fission weapons, beam weapons, and so on had all entered the battlefield in this fashion, and the feeling of defeat experienced by the side that had lagged behind was verbalized not so much in the form of “How can this be?” as “I was afraid that might happen.” Between individuals, there were great inequalities in human powers of imagination, but those gaps shrunk markedly when viewed as totals within groups. In particular, new weapons were only made possible through the accumulation of technological and economic power, which was why there had been no air raids during the Paleolithic.

  Also, looking at history, new weapons had almost never been the deciding factor in war—the exception being the Spanish invasion of the Incan empire, but even that had been colored deeply by their having fraudulently exploited an ancient Incan legend. Archimedes, who had lived in the ancient Greek city-state of Siracusa, had devised all sorts of scientific weapons, but they hadn’t been able to stop the Roman invasion.

  “Unimaginable” was rather a word more likely to be uttered when a sea change took place in tactical thought. Certainly, there were times when these changes were triggered by the invention and introduction of a new weapon. Mass use of firearms, the use of air power to rule the sea, high-speed mobile warfare using combinations of tanks and aircraft—all of them were examples of this. But Hannibal’s envelopment tactics, Napoléon’s mounted charges against enemy infantry, Mao Tse-tung’s guerilla warfare, Genghis Khan’s use of his cavalry units, Sun Tzu’s psychological and informational warfare, Epaminondas’s deep hoplite echelons … all these had been devised and implemented without any relationship to new weaponry.

  Yang was not afraid of any new weapon of the empire. What he did fear was the military genius of Reinhard von Lohengramm and the alliance’s own faulty assumption that the people of the empire were seeking freedom and equality more than they were peace and stability in their lives. That could neither be counted on nor forecast. There was no way that a factor like that should be included in the calculation of battle plans.

  With a hint of gloom, Yang made a prediction: considering how unfathomably irresponsible the motivations behind this campaign were, that irresponsibility was going to extend to its planning and execution as well.

  The distribution of the expeditionary force was decided. On point were Admiral Uranff’s Tenth Fleet, and in the second column, Yang’s Thirteenth.

  General headquarters for the expeditionary force would be set up at Iserlohn Fortress, and for the duration of the operation, the supreme commander of the expeditionary force would also double as commanding officer of Iserlohn.

  IV

  The meeting drew to a close having borne no fruit as far as Yang was concerned. Just as he was about to head back home, though, Yang was stopped by Marshal Sitolet, director of Joint Operational Headquarters, and stayed behind. Without a sound, the dregs of wasted energy drifted like a convection current through the air.

  “So, you must be dying to say I should’ve let you retire,” said Sitolet. His voice had become corroded by a sense of labors come to naught.

  “I was naive, too. I was thinking if we captured Iserlohn, the flames of war would recede afterward. Yet here we are.”

  Yang fell silent, having lost sight of the words he should say. Of course there was little doubt that in Marshal Sitolet’s calculus, the arrival of peace would have secured his position and strengthened his influence, yet compared to the reckless adventurism and political maneuvering of the prowar faction, he was far easier to sympathize with.

  “Ultimately, I guess I got tripped up by my own calculations. If Iserlohn hadn’t fallen, the hawks might not be making a gamble this dangerous. At any rate, you could call this just deserts as far as it concerns me, but for you I’ve made a real mess.”

  “… Are you planning to retire?”

  “Right now, I can’t. Once this campaign is finished, though, I’ll have no choice but to resign. Regardless of whether it fails or succeeds.”

  If the expedition failed, Marshal Sitolet, as the highest-ranking man in uniform, would of course be driven to take responsibility with his resignation. On the other hand, if it succeeded, there was only one higher post with which to reward Marshal Lobos, supreme fleet commander of expeditionary force, for his accomplishment: that of director of Joint Operational Headquarters. The fact that Marshal Sitolet had been against this campaign would also work against him; his expulsion would take the form of a graceful bow out to make way for Marshal Lobos. No matter which way the die rolled, his future was already decided. All that was left for Sitolet was to prepare himself for it gracefully.

  “I’m only telling you this because the circumstances are what they are, but what I am hoping for is that this expedition fails with the smallest possible number of casualties.”

  Yang didn’t say a word.

  “If it’s a rout, there’ll of course be a lot of blood spilt over nothing. But what happens if we win? It’s clear as day the hawks will pounce on the opportunity, and neither reason nor political calculation will be enough to make them accept subservience to civil governance any
longer. Then they will stampede and eventually fall into a gorge. The history books are full of nations that were driven to ultimate defeat because they won a battle when they shouldn’t have. You should know all about that.”

  “Yeah …”

  “The reason I turned down your resignation was because I figured I could count on you to understand if things came to this. It’s not like I foresaw our present circumstances, but as a result of them, your presence in the military has become even more vital.”

  Yang continued to listen in silence.

  “You know a lot about history, and that’s given you a certain contempt for authority and military power. I can’t say I blame you, but no organized nation can exist free of those things. That being the case, political and military power should be placed in the hands of competent and honest people—not those who are the polar opposite—so the state can be reined in by reason and conscience. Being a soldier, I won’t venture to speak of politics, but speaking strictly of his role in the military, Rear Admiral Fork is unfit.”

  The intensity with which he spoke those words surprised Yang.

  For a moment, Sitolet looked like he was struggling to control his own emotions.

  “He carried this operations plan directly to the chairman of the High Council’s secretary by way of a private route. That he sold them on it as a strategy for staying in power is enough to tell me that he’s motivated by a lust for personal advancement. He’s aiming for the top seat in the military, but at present he has a rival who’s just too strong, and he’s chomping at the bit to mark an achievement that will put him ahead of that person. He graduated top of his class from Officers’ Academy and has a funny thing about not losing to regular Joes.”