Stratagem

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  Bucock’s observation surprised the high officials in attendance, but the deep impression it made worked against him. Opposition filled with derision and cynicism erupted.

  “Commander in Chief Bucock’s concerns are uniquely his own. I can’t think that Phezzan would be so willing to resign its political neutrality, and more than a century’s worth of tradition, in conspiracy with the empire. To begin with, if the empire were to get any stronger because of this, Phezzan’s survival would be compromised. Surely they’ve taken that into consideration.”

  “Phezzan continues to reap major profits by investing generous amounts of capital in our alliance. Were the alliance to be subsumed into the empire, all our efforts would come to naught. Would they do something so counterproductive?”

  The old admiral was unfazed by this concentrated fire.

  “Indeed, Phezzan is investing in the alliance, but all of that goes into mines, lands, and enterprises of the alliance’s respective planets, not into the alliance government itself. If the capital invested in Phezzan was secure, I doubt they’d lose much sleep over destruction of the alliance’s national infrastructure, which for them would be little more than a ceiling collapse.”

  After inflicting this rebuke, Bucock went in for the kill.

  “Or maybe it’s also true that Phezzan is investing in the alliance government.”

  “Admiral, you’d do well to be more discreet,” said Defense Committee Chair Islands in a high-handed tone, reining in the old admiral’s censure.

  Bucock’s remarks pointed out the possibility that high government officials had been secretly taking bribes in the form of kickbacks from Phezzan. Some of those same officials would have pledged on their own conscience that nothing of the sort had taken place. Although it would have been unthinkable among founding fathers like Ahle Heinessen for high officials to imitate the worst parts of the Phezzanese spirit and exchange power and duty for money, for the past century no one had ever worried about their successors. Moreover, mass media collusion with the political sphere assured that nothing beyond political strife between factions had ever surfaced in the public imagination as a subject of concern.

  Bucock’s remarks were dismissed as pure speculation, and the assembly opted to strengthen vigilance in Iserlohn and to prepare for the eventuality of transporting munitions once an appeal went out. With that, all members of the assembly, save one, adjourned to their satisfaction.

  II

  Commander Nilson was captain of Ulysses, a warship belonging to the alliance’s Iserlohn-garrisoned fleet. The past few days had been miserable ones. Since he breathed not a word of it to anyone, his subordinates exercised their freedom—that is, their freedom to speak when their superior wasn’t around—to fill in the blanks. Perhaps he’d been passed up for a promotion or lost a fight with his wife? One of the men heard he’d been crushed at poker by Lieutenant Commander Poplin. Another said he had lost at poker, but against Rear Admiral von Schönkopf. Among these voices of speculation was that of Sublieutenant Fields, who claimed first prize when it came to rumors.

  “Actually, the captain is in love with Julian Mintz. But, as everyone knows, he’s gone to Phezzan to become a military attaché. Losing his unrequited love has pushed him into the depths of despair. Let’s go easy on the poor captain.”

  His audience laughed themselves into convulsions, but Commander Nilson was a tough old man, and everyone knew full well he didn’t have a pedophiliac bone in his body. Still, laughter always helped to pass the time. The real reason for Commander Nilson’s depression was that, after passing forty, suddenly an old wisdom tooth had been giving him trouble. None could have been the wiser.

  Nearly all the surveillance satellites that Yang had set up in the corridor had been destroyed in a raid by Kempf’s fleet earlier that year. His inability to replace them because of budget cuts had been a considerable blow to his ability to track the enemy. Yang had repeatedly requested a supplementary budget from the National Defense Committee, but the accounting department had yet to finish the required auditing, and so, in keeping with regulation, it had never been given.

  This wasn’t a deliberate harassment directed at Yang on the council’s part, but simply the side effect of a lackluster national bureaucracy. The situation was looking more dire by the moment.

  There was no way they were going to suspend surveillance until a supplementary budget was granted, and so a manned patrol was conducted among the fleets. And now it was November 20, two days since Ulysses had gone out on patrol.

  Captain Nilson kept rubbing his right cheek in discomfort, and when he received word of enemy signs from his navigations operator, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. Although far from a timid man, the pain was draining him, and any spare emotional energy he had was beset with dread and fear.

  “It’s an unbelievable number of ships—impossible to count them all.”

  The operator had experienced this kind of situation many times before, but this time made him shudder just as much as the first.

  “What should we do? Fight?”

  The captain called him an idiot. Iserlohn’s garrisoned fleet was undefeated and had stayed that way because it never once engaged an enemy it had no chance of defeating. There was no place in Yang’s fleet for the foolishness of fighting against a sure victor.

  “Can’t you retreat any faster?! What are you waiting for?!”

  Von Reuentahl’s fleet detected the alliance’s battleship as it manically cast off its fighting spirit and fled.

  When asked if they should pursue, the heterochromatic admiral ordered them to hold off for the time being.

  He would rather Nilson went back to Iserlohn Fortress and spread the word about the Imperial Navy’s approach. Like his comrade Mittermeier, he wasn’t the type who took pleasure in going after small fish. His sole opponent was Yang Wen-li, the most resourceful general of the Alliance Armed Forces. Should he not be focusing on gathering his courage to fight the greater enemy?

  The first shot of Operation Ragnarök had been fired. It was also the first bar of a requiem for the Free Planets Alliance.

  After receiving word that the battleship Ulysses had wisely retreated, Yang gathered his staff officers in the fortress conference room.

  Caselnes rubbed his stomach in discomfort, remembering the hardships of the first half of the year.

  “Admiral Kempf had great military strength, too, when he raided us this past spring, but this time will be even worse.”

  Frederica shook her head.

  “I’m assuming this is all part of Duke von Lohengramm’s grand scheme?”

  Yang nodded. This was merely a local manifestation of the strategic epic that had begun with Emperor Erwin Josef II’s escape. If Reinhard was the type to imitate futile actions of the Alliance Armed Forces, Yang had nothing to fear.

  Chief of Staff Murai crossed his arms.

  “From now on, we should refrain from sending Ulysses on further patrols. Every time it goes out, it brings the enemy back with it.”

  Yang shot his chief of staff a sidelong glance, unsure whether he was joking or being serious. He hoped it was the former, but Murai’s expression proved otherwise.

  “Well, let’s keep it in the back of our minds. We could just up our alert level by one anytime we send Ulysses out on patrol.”

  Yang ordered defense commander von Schönkopf and Iserlohn’s administrative director Caselnes to make all the necessary preparations as protocol demanded.

  The allies behind him, four thousand light-years away in the capital, were more cause for headache than the enemies before him. For now, fire was limited to the Iserlohn Corridor, and the elite officials of the capital were relieved to know they could count on Iserlohn Fortress’s impregnability and Yang’s tactical experience. But when the Imperial Navy disturbed their respite by barging through the immaterial door by which the Phezzan Corrido
r was sealed, it would plunge them into certain panic. And if they were ordered to ignore the situation at Iserlohn Fortress and rush to the capital’s rescue?

  They would have no choice but to help. He knew that. As Julian had said, soldiers followed orders. Choices weren’t up to them. The renowned heterochromatic admiral, von Reuentahl, who, along with Mittermeier, was one of the Twin Ramparts of the Imperial Navy, had once again piqued Yang’s direst imaginings. With von Reuentahl in the way, it would be difficult for Yang, despite his intentions of rescuing the capital, to follow through.

  In the worst-case scenario, Iserlohn Fortress would be recaptured—it had originally been the empire’s property—and they would end up being overtaken from behind, as good as defeated. Securing Iserlohn and dispatching a fleet to rescue the capital from crisis, all while facing an imperial strike, would be nothing short of a miracle. If they made demands, would the high government officials feel satisfied? To make matters worse, he had too much integrity to think that he would be treated amiably.

  Yang’s plan to defend the fortress was as follows. Before the enemy’s arrival, he would dispatch a fleet from the fortress to lay ambush in the corridor, rush in on the enemy from the rear while it attacked the fortress, and crush them with the fortress’s aid in a pincer attack. Although this was generally an effective tactic, the Imperial Navy’s actions were rapid and systematic, and Yang would have no opportunity to scoff at their clever scheme. How many plans and ideas in this world were over and done with before they even began?

  Yang sent word of the raid to Heinessenpolis. In addition, he was of the mind that this was no isolated attack, but one link in Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm’s grander tactical chain, which, when completed, would lead to an assault via the Phezzan Corridor. Yang told them to concentrate on fortifying their defenses on the Phezzan side.

  Though they knew it was probably futile, it was all they could do. Commander in Chief Bucock was likely fighting alone in the National Defense Committee, and at the very least needed the support.

  III

  Von Reuentahl spread out the fleet under his command in front of Iserlohn Fortress, making sure to be out of range of Thor’s Hammer, the fortress’s main gun.

  Yang couldn’t help but be impressed by the magnitude of von Reuentahl’s formation. The clusters of luminous points reflected on his screen were systematic, overwhelming Iserlohn with their thickness and depth.

  Which meant the enemy wasn’t cutting any corners, even in their diversions. Yang had no doubt that, at the first opportunity, they would gain control of the corridor with their colossal military force, hail their friendly troops invading from Phezzan, and close in from both sides. In which case it would become eminently difficult for Yang to make a move. Von Reuentahl was likely waiting for him to do just that. If only there were a way to use that against them…

  With his heterochromatic eyes, von Reuentahl peered at the silver globe reflected on his screen. His subordinates, their number equal to the population of a large city, waited tensely for the command to bombard it. At last, it came.

  “Fire!”

  More than three hundred thousand gunports hurled their spears of light at once. The fortress’s outer walls, made from a four-fold composite of superhardened steel, crystalline fiber, and superceramic interlaced with mirror coating, emitted a white incandescence from a showering of reflected beams. The fortress sparkled like some giant gemstone in the darkness of space, outshining the stars behind it and sending a silent signal light-years away.

  Although a considerable number of gun batteries and emplacements were destroyed by this grand fusillade, the fortress itself withstood the raging billows of energy, hanging almost proudly in space.

  “It won’t budge.”

  Chief of Staff Vice Admiral Bergengrün was impressed by what he saw on the screen.

  “No reason it should. But it’s our duty to make a show of things. Let’s give them something to feast their eyes on, shall we?”

  Although the future was uncertain, von Reuentahl was dedicated to the mission at hand, having no intention of being branded as incompetent. For when a man who out of mere self-interest failed to execute the duties allotted to him rose against the supreme ruler, who would follow him? Popularity was cultivated through actual achievements. It may have been a diversion, but if he could carry out this one mission to its fullest, it would net him an actual achievement, and if he toppled the most resourceful admiral of the Alliance Armed Forces and recaptured Iserlohn Fortress, his popularity and renown would know no bounds.

  “Get me Admiral Lutz. Proceed as planned with a semi-enveloping formation.”

  Like Kircheis before them, he relied on both von Reuentahl and Lutz. Although not the most dynamic of men, they followed orders with utmost efficiency. In the Battle of Kifeuser, too, they had carried out orders well, contributing to Kircheis’s grandiose tactics and dramatic victory.

  Eddies of bursting, dancing brilliance filled the Iserlohn Fortress command center’s giant screen.

  As was his habit when issuing battle commands, Yang sat on the commander’s desk, put a knee on his lap, an elbow on that knee, and rested his chin in his hand, looking at the screen. Although Yang didn’t think his pose necessarily had any effect on his mind, it nevertheless calmed his body and, above all, put his subordinates at ease. And yet, seeing him sitting there, his eyes bloodshot from all the excitement, for once brought about a disturbance in his subordinates’ indestructible faith. Their commander sometimes had to put on a show for them, but this time he was truly exhausted.

  “The fleet could launch at any time.”

  It was closer to an appeal than a report, but Yang was having them hold their current position and stay alert. They’d already been forestalled by the enemy’s advance, and Yang wanted a little more time to watch things unfold.

  Incidentally, while considering possible interactions, a section of the imperial fleet cleverly detached itself and adopted a semi-enveloping formation within range of the fortress’s main gun. If they ignored it, the enemy might take advantage of a blind spot in their firing range.

  Yang authorized the launch. But, seeing as he himself was confined to the fortress, he was entrusting Fischer and Attenborough as frontline commanders to inform him of the state of the war. Fischer, uninterestedly, and Attenborough, in high spirits, had been preparing to launch from the main ports, but just then Yang, in a stroke of brilliance, allowed von Reuentahl to take the initiative. The heterochromatic admiral waited for Yang’s go-ahead, responding within seconds.

  His timing couldn’t have been more exquisite. As Yang rose to his feet on the command desk, fleets on both sides fell into a melee within range of the fortress’s cannons. The enemy and allies were jumbled together like chess pieces, and even as they tried to attack the enemy, they detected the figure of a consort ship approaching from behind. It was all they could do to chip away with small-caliber artillery. Many of the ships were no match even for that, and they dispersed in all directions to avoided collision and contact with the enemy.

  Under these circumstances, it was impossible to fire the fortress cannons, which would destroy more friendlies than enemies.

  “Not bad, not bad at all.”

  Yang was impressed. Having witnessed such refined tactical ability, he had no reason to be resentful. He sat himself down again on his desk and thought of how best to make use of this situation. Even as he was convinced von Reuentahl had the upper hand, he wondered if there wasn’t an opportunity of which he might take advantage.

  Meanwhile, von Reuentahl was calmly watching over the battle’s progress.

  If the Alliance Armed Forces attempted to rescue their own, they would be unable to rely on guns and would have to deploy reinforcements from the fortress. And if they grew, von Reuentahl would need to grow his ships in kind.

  If only they could draw the alliance into a war of attr
ition, von Reuentahl would be in an infinitely better position. Then again, in dealing with a man variously called “Miracle Yang” and “Yang the Magician,” he suspected his opponent might yet pull a rabbit out of his hat. Naturally, von Reuentahl was looking forward to it.

  IV

  Yang’s fleet, dispatched from the fortress under Fischer’s navigational control and at Attenborough’s tactical command, narrowly avoided annihilation. At the outer rim of a melee storm, fleets on both sides exchanged fire, and balls of light appeared successively in the darkness of space.

  An incandescent downpour enveloped the imperial warship Schoenberg, and the moment it compromised the ship’s composite armor and energy-neutralizing magnetic field, the Schoenberg itself added to the light. It expanded and became an ephemeral, small-scale fixed star before scattering soundlessly in all directions. No sooner had its pulsing afterglow vanished than a fresh ball of light appeared next to it before being reduced to atoms.

  The alliance sustained damage as well. The battleship Oxiana was surrounded by three nimble destroyers, tossed about by deft, tightly knit teamwork, and bombarded with nuclear shrapnel in the firing hole. The large warship was split from the inside, twisting in the explosion before at last being obliterated. The battleship Ljubljana was struck by two beams from the front, and the ship split in two when their breaches combined. Within a circle made by the joined hands of death and destruction, both fleets danced in combative struggle, spewing fire.

  Into that maelstrom, Yang’s fleet launched fresh forces. On the bridge of von Reuentahl’s flagship, Tristan, the operator widened his eyes when he saw the model and ship’s name on his computer.