Part 1, Chapter Nine – Amritsar

Legend of Galactic Heroes, Part 1 – Dawn

Chapter Nine       Amritsar

            I

            The star, Amritsar, continued to roar in silence.

            Among the ultra-high-heat nuclear fusion, countless atoms collided with one another, splitting and recombining. The insatiable repetition caused enormous energy to disperse in the void. The variety of elements gave off a variety of colored flames, pulsating in units of 10,000 kilometers. The red, yellow, or even purple, dyed the field-of-view of the observers.
          
             “For some reason, I do not like them.”

            Through the communication panel, Vice Admiral Bewcock knotted his eyebrows. Yang nodded in agreement.

            “These are certainly ominous colors.”

            “It is not just the colors, but the name of the star too. I do not like it.”

            “You mean...Amritsar?”

            “The first letter is 'A,' same as Astarte. I think for our fleet, that is like a gateway to hell.”

            “I do not feel that way.”

            He could not bring himself to mock the sickly worry of the old admiral. After spending half a century in the abyss of the universe, spacemen tend to gain special sensibilities and their own rule-of-thumbs. Compared to the General Headquarters' decision to specify Amritsar as the battlefield, Yang was more inclined to think that the superstitious old admiral's words made more sense.

            Yang's mood had not improved. Even though he put up a good fight, he still lost ten-percent of the fleet under his command, and his counterattack measure was blocked during his retreat. He felt a sense of futility. While his fleet was replenishing supplies at Iserlohn, evacuating the wounded, and restructuring the fleet, he slept in the tank bed (タンク・ベッド), but his spirit was not refreshed at all.

            'Things cannot go on like this,' he thought. Tenth Fleet, which lost its commander and over half of its spacemen, was now placed under Yang's command. It is as if the General Headquarters only recognized his talent in processing loss and residual forces. However, the added responsibilities were not welcomed. Both talent and sense of responsibility have limits. However much you expect from him or force onto him, what was impossible would remain impossible. He was not “Yūsuf the complainer (ぼやきのユースフら),” but why must he take on this kind of hardship?

            “In any case, I wish the guys at the General Headquarters will come to the front line. They will probably be able to somewhat appreciate the hardship the officers and men experienced.”

            This was what Bewcock said before the communication was cut off. They were originally talking about adjusting the placement of the fleets, but half way through, the topic somehow turned to criticizing the General Headquarters.

            Yang did not think that the topic derailed, and he also felt the same exasperation as Bewcock.

            “Please take your meal, Sir.”
            

            He turned around after the video feed disappeared from the communication panel, and saw Sub-Lieutenant Frederica Greenhill standing there holding a tray. On the tray, there was a wheat protein (gluten) roast stuffed with sausages and vegetables, winged bean soup, calcium-fortified rye bread, fruit salad with yogurt, and royal jelly flavored alkaline beverage...

            “Thank you, but I have no appetite. I would rather have a glass of brandy.”

            His adjutant rejected his request with her eyes, and Yang stared back at her in protest.

            “Why not?”

            “Did Julian not say you drink too much?”

            “What? You guys are ganging up on me!”

            “We are just worried about your health.”

            “But you don't have a reason to worry. Even if you say I am drinking more now, the amount I drink is still about average. It will take at least another one-thousand years for the alcohol to damage my body.”

            Just as Frederica was about to respond, the alarm sounded.

            “Enemy approaching! Enemy approaching! Enemy approaching!”

            Yang gently waved his hand at his adjutant.

            “Sub-lieutenant, you heard that. If we survive, I will commit the rest of my life to eating nutritiously.”

            The Alliance Fleet forces were halved already. Particularly, the death of the famous valiant tactician, Vice Admiral Ulanhu, was a significant blow to their morale. Their esprit de corps was not high. How could they fight against the Imperial Fleet that was fully prepared, elated with success, and attacking with a frontal assault?

            The valiant Imperial admirals, Reuenthal, Mittermeyer, Kempff, Bittenfeld, et al., lined up the bows of their warships and charged in with a close order formation. Although the Imperial Fleet was seemingly utilizing brute force attack and ignoring finer tactics, in actuality, Kircheis was leading a detached fleet and detouring to the back of the Alliance Fleet. In order to mask their intent for a pincer attack, they must vigorously attack the Alliance Fleet to capture the Alliance Fleet's attention.

            “Alright, all ships, maximum speed.”

            Yang ordered.

            The 13th Fleet started to mobilize.

            The clash of the two fleets had started. A myriad of beams and missiles flew about, and the explosive lights lit up the darkness. The torn hulls rode on the energy winds and danced a bizarre dance while flying. In the midst of the vortex, the 13th Fleet insolently cut across and attacked the enemy in front of them. They were running on a deceleration and acceleration schedule Fisher meticulously calculated by Yang's command. The 13th Fleet fiercely leaped out of the shadows of the magnificent flames of the star Amritsar. Due to the centrifugal force, it resembled a corona that was torn away from the sun.

            The Imperial Fleet commander who had to endure this speedy attack from this unexpected direction was Mittermeyer. As brave as he was, he could not deny that he was caught by surprise. The initiative was lost to the enemy.

            For the Mittermeyer Fleet, this very first attack from the 13th Fleet was literally a staggering blow.

            It was an overcrowded concentration of firepower. One warship's hull was hit by half a dozen laser hydrogen missiles. How could one possibly defend against that?

            Mittermeyer's flagship was besieged from all sides by groups of fireballs. It received port-side damage, and was forced to retreat. While retreating, he kept the formation flexible to minimize the degree of damage and take advantage of the opportunities for counterattack, giving a glimpse to the extraordinary tactician that he was.

            As for Yang, he was satisfied with the degree of damage he caused Mittermeyer, and needed to avoid chasing too far into the enemy camp. Even so, he marveled at the many talents that were under Count Lohengramm's command. Looking back at the Alliance, if Borodin or Ulanhu were still alive, then they at least would be able to stand their ground and put up a fight...

                

            At that time, the Bittenfeld Fleet charged at a high speed into the space-zone between the 13th Fleet and the 8th Fleet – the area that had been conveniently designated as space-zone D4. It was difficult to say whether this move was reckless or bold.

            “Sir, a new enemy appeared at the two-o'clock direction.”

            Yang's reply could not be said to be entirely proper.

            “Ah, that is serious.”

            However, Yang and Reinhard shared the same strength, so he quickly recovered his senses and issued a command.

            He lined up the large, heavy-armored warships longitudinally, and used them as a wall against the enemy's firepower. Through the gaps, the gunboats and the missile boats that were thinly armored but rich with firepower and agility poured out their attacks relentlessly.

            One after another, gaps started to form all over the Bittenfeld Fleet. However, their speed did not decrease. Instead, they vehemently counterattacked, and a portion of the wall-of-large-warships collapsed, narrowly missing Yang's ship.

            While the 13th Fleet did not receive any serious damage, the 8th Fleet was greatly wounded. They could not respond to the speed and the momentum of the Bittenfeld Fleet, and the sides of their rows of ships were scraped away. They were losing their ability to resist the physical energy.

            Battleship Ulysses was damaged by the Imperial Fleet's bombardment. The damage was considered to be “minor but serious.” The microorganism waste water treatment facility was damaged, causing the ship crew to have to continue the battle with their feet immersed in sewage backflow. This would become a funny story if they were to survive the battle, but it would also be a wretched disgrace if they were to die in this state.

            Yang saw his allies melt into the abyss of the universe with his own eyes. The 8th Fleet was akin to a flock of sheep, and the Bittenfeld Fleet was like a pack of wolves. The allied vessels wandered and fled as they were destroyed by Bittenfeld's sharp, ferocious attacks.

            Should I save the 8th Fleet ––

            Yang hesitated. If he attempted to save them, then from the looks of the enemy's momentum, the battle would most likely become a melee, and there would be no obvious ways to systematically command the fleet. That would be the equivalent of a suicide. Ultimately, he had no choice but to order a dense bombardment.

            “Forward! Forward! The goddess of victory is flashing her underwear at you guys!”

            Bittenfeld's words could not be described as elegant, but they certainly did increase his subordinates' morale. The Black Lancers ignored the gunfire from their sides, and took complete control of the D4 space-zone. The Alliance seemed to be divided.

            “It looks like I won.”

            Reinhard looked back to Oberstein; his voice faintly trembling.

            “It looks like I lost.”

            Around that same time, that was what Yang thought, but he was not able to vocalize it.

            Since ancient times, the words of commanders seemed to have the magical power of embodying ideas. If a commander uttered the word, “lost,” then they almost always lose. Examples with the alternative outcome were rare.

            “It looks like I won,” was a thought that Bittenfeld also had. Since the Alliance 8th Fleet had already collapsed, a pincer maneuver was no longer possible.

            “Great! Just one more step. We will put an end to this!”

            With high morale, Bittenfeld considered engaging in a melee fight to deliver the fatal blow to the Alliance 13th Fleet, which had been maintaining considerable strength.

            “All vessels with mothership capabilities, deploy your Walküres. Other vessels shall switch your long-range cannons to short-range cannons. Initiate close-proximity combat.”

            His intent was ambitious, but Yang was already aware of it.

            Instantaneously, Yang realized that the reason the Imperial Fleet’s artillery fire waned temporarily was because they were switching their attack methods. Had it been a different commander, the commander may be able to perceive Bittenfeld’s intent only after he was given enough time. ‘He is too hasty,’ Yang decided to exploit this failure to its fullest extent.

            “The enemy is approaching. All cannons, prepare to fire!”

            After a few minutes, the Imperial Fleet in space-zone D4’s luck reversed, and they were all-of-a-sudden faced with defeat.

            Upon seeing this, Reinhard cried out involuntarily.

            “Bittenfeld has failed. The Walküres were deployed too early. Did they not just become the enemy cannons’ bait?”

            Even Oberstein seemed to have lost his calm.

            His already pale face turned into the color of the light that illuminated the tails of the comets.

            “You were probably hoping to bring about a decisive victory through his hands…”

            The responding voice sounded more like a groan.

            The Alliance Fleet that dragged the Bittenfeld Fleet into a zero distance shooting range were indulging in destruction and slaughter. The rail-cannon shot out reinforced-steel-projectiles that pierced through the battleships’ armors. The nuclear fusion shrapnel and the photon bullets burst, transforming the occupants and their Walküres all into a cloud of fine particles.

            The chromatic and the achromatic flashes overlapped, and suddenly the gateway to the underworld opened, and the spacemen passed through.

            The black of the Black Lancers that Bittenfeld was so proud of became the color of their shroud.

            The communications officer turned to Reinhard and cried:

            “Your Excellency! A message came through from Vice Admiral Bittenfeld. Urgent. Please send reinforcements.”

            “Reinforcements?”

            The young, blond fleet admiral reacted sharply, and the communications officer winced.

            “Yes, Your Excellency, reinforcements. The vice admiral informed us that if the current circumstance continues, then they will be defeated.”

            Reinhard loudly stomped his boots. The movable chair shook.

            “Does he think I have a magic lamp that can gush out fleets at will!?”

            However, after Reinhard yelled, he instantly suppressed his anger. The commander-in-chief must always be calm.

            “Tell Bittenfeld: The headquarters has no surplus fleets. If I move the fleets from other fronts, then the entire frontline will collapse. Defend his post with his existing forces and fulfill his duty as a military man.”

            After a moment of silence, he ordered again:

            “From now on, cut off communication with Bittenfeld. If the enemy intercepts our communication, they will know the plight our fleet is in.”

            The ice blue eyes of Reinhard looked towards the screen again, and Oberstein's eyes followed him.

            The gray haired chief-of-staff thought Reinhard's decision was cold hearted but correct. However, Oberstein wondered, would he be able to treat everyone equally? There shall be no sanctuary in the heart of a ruler...

            “Both sides are doing pretty well.”

            Reinhard muttered while watching the screen.

            Their general headquarters is located far behind them, and the command of their entire fleet is hardly smooth, but the Alliance Fleet is still putting up a good fight. The 13th Fleet's movements are especially stunning. That fleet is commanded by that Yang Wen-li. There is an old saying that there is no weak soldiers under a strong commander. On my journey to conquer, will that man come to confront me?

            Reinhard unwittingly looked towards Oberstein.

            “Did Kircheis come yet?”

            “Not yet.”

            The chief-of-staff answered concisely. Consciously or not, he followed up with a pointed question.

            “Are you worried? Your Excellency.”

            “I am not worried. I just wanted to confirm.”

            After throwing the response out, Reinhard silently glared at the screen.

            Around that time, Kircheis, who was commanding a large military force that was said to be thirty-percent of the entire fleet, was making a large detour around the Amritsar star to go behind the Alliance Fleet.



            “We are a little bit behind schedule. Hurry up.”

           In order to escape being detected by the Alliance Fleet, Kircheis sailed close to the surface of the star. However, the navigation system was affected due to the gravity and the magnetic force being stronger than anticipated, so the navigators were forced to use a primitive method to recalculate their route: by pen.

            Because of that, his fleet was delayed, but they finally reached their destination space-zone.

            Behind the Alliance Fleet, there was a large and dense minefield.

            The Alliance Fleet leadership believed that, even if the Imperial Fleet were able to go around behind them, the 40-million fusion mines would hinder the Imperial Fleet's progress. While Yang was not entirely confident about it, he too believed that even if the enemy had an effective means to break through the minefield, it would not be possible to accomplish that quickly. He thought that even if they were able to reach the battlefield, the Alliance Fleet should be able to adjust their formation to retaliate by then.

            However, the Imperial Fleet's tactic surpassed even Yang's prediction.

            “Discharge the directional Seffle particles.”

            Kircheis's order was transmitted.

            The Imperial Fleet successfully developed the directional Seffle particles ahead of the Alliance Fleet, and this would be the first battle to utilize it.

            Three cylindrical discharge apparatus were guided to the minefield by a repair ship.

            “If we do not hurry up, we might not have enemies to defeat anymore.”

            General Staff Officer Captain Sintzer said loudly, and Kircheis gave a slight smile.

            The dense particle groups passed through the minefield like interstellar cloud pillars, and the heat and mass sensors on the mines had no reaction at all.

            “The Seffle particles arrived on the other side of the minefield.”

            The vanguard ship reported.

            “Already, light them up!”

            Kircheis shouted. The vanguard ship carefully aligned the three beam cannons' respective directions, and the beams were fired.

            Within a moment, three large pillars of fire cut through the minefields. After the incandescent light disappeared, three portions of the minefield were hollowed out. All of the mines in those areas disappeared.

            In the midst of the minefield, three tunnels of safe passages that were two-hundred kilometers in diameter, and three-hundred-thousand kilometers in length, were made in an instant.

            “All ships! Charge at maximum speed!”

            The Imperial Fleet charged at the young, red-haired vice admiral's order. The thirty-thousand vessels of his fleet flowed through the three tunnels like three meteor streams, and attacked the Alliance Fleet's defenseless rear.

            “Large enemy fleet to our rear!”

            As the operators were screaming about sensing an indeterminable amount of luminescent materials, Kircheis's vanguard fleet had begun its bombardment, drilling one hole after another into the Alliance Fleet's formation.

            The Alliance Fleet commanders were in a panic, and that fear was amplified many folds when it was transmitted to the spacemen. –– In that instant, the Alliance Fleet's formation collapsed.

            Their formation disintegrated. The Alliance Fleet scattered chaotically as the Imperial Fleet's bombardment showered upon them, mercilessly beating them and crushing them.

            The victor had been decided.



            Yang silently watched as his allies were crushed. He finally realized that it was impossible for humans to predict all situations, but it was too late.

            “What should we do? Commander?”

            Patrichev asked while loudly swallowing.

            “Well, it is still too early to run away.”

            Yang replied as if this was unrelated to him.

            Meanwhile, the Imperial flagship Brünhild sprung up with victory.

            “This is the first time I have seen a pursuit with ten-thousand ships.”

            Reinhard's voice had the vigor of a youngster. The gray-haired chief-of-staff's reaction was calm.

            “Should our flagship advance, Your Excellency?”

            “No, there is no need. If I were to advance at this stage, people would probably say I was stealing my subordinates' feat-of-valor.”

            Needless to say, it was a joke. Reinhard wanted to show that he was at ease.

            The battle itself was coming to an end, but the severity of the destruction and slaughter showed no decline. Fervent attacks and desperate counterattacks were repeated multiple times. The chaos caused the Imperial Fleet to fall into an inferior position in this enclosed space-zone.

            It did not appear that there was any meaning to win tactically at this stage. The side on the verge of victory was hoping to make the victory more thorough, and the side on the brink of defeat was hoping to bring back as many spacemen as possible to atone for their disgrace.

            However, in this impassioned struggle, the winning side, the Imperial Fleet, was also forced into bloodshed. Yang Wen-li had organized an orderly resistance that allowed his allies to safely escape into the safe zone while he remained on the battlefield.

            He approached it by concentrating his firepower locally to divide the Imperial force, and after he confused their chain-of-command, he targeted them individually.

            Yang had no opportunity to enthrall in the tragic beauty of martyrdom and self-sacrifice. On one hand he was covering his allies as they fled, on the other hand he was trying to secure his own fleet's escape route, and wait for an opportunity to withdraw.

            Chief-of-Staff Oberstein who was alternately looking at the main screen and the tactical computer’s panel issued a warning to Reinhard.

            “Be it Vice Admiral Kircheis or anyone else, please send someone to assist Vice Admiral Bittenfeld. The enemy’s commander will definitely focus his attack on the weakest portion and break through. Unlike before, our fleet currently has the surplus forces, so we should send help immediately.”

            Reinhard ruffled his blond hair and his eyes quickly scanned the screen and the panel. Finally, he looked at his chief-of-staff’s face.

            “Let us do that. Even though this failure of Bittenfeld’s will haunt us forever!”

            Reinhard’s order was sent through the FTL communication portal into space. After receiving the order, Kircheis extended the forces under his command, and set up another defense line behind the Bittenfeld Fleet.

            Yang who had been eyeing for an opportunity to retreat noticed the Imperial Fleet’s movements, and for a moment, he felt as if his circulation froze. Our escape path is cut off! Is it too late? Should I have retreated earlier?

            However, here, luck sided with Yang.

            Upon seeing the Kircheis Fleet’s fast movements, the Alliance Fleet battleships who were traveling in that direction were stricken with panic. Despite being near large masses, they still initiated sub-space jumps.

            This was not necessarily uncommon. The battleships knew escape was impossible, so between certain death and the fear of the unknown, they chose to escape into the sub-space even though they could not calculate their route. If they could not escape, then their only option is to surrender. The signal to surrender was predetermined, but in their frenzy, they did not notice. What kind of fate awaits those that escaped into sub-space? Just like how there was no established theory on the world after death, nobody knew.

            Even so, they still took their destiny into their own hands. For those who did not choose it, it was a disaster. The battleships in front of them disappeared, and the operators of each Imperial Fleet who noticed the violent space-time warp occurring sucked in air as far as their lung capacity would allow, sensing the danger. The cries of avoidance orders overlapped each other. The front half of the fleets were sucked into the disordered whirlpool, and in the chaos, several vessels were damaged.

            Because of this, Kircheis had to reorganize his fleet, which gave Yang some valuable time.

            Bittenfeld was zealously attempting to redeem his honor, so he led his few subordinates and bravely fought back. However, he was only able to react to the movements of the enemies in front of him, and he was not able to see the overall situation.

            If he was able to notice Kircheis’s movements, then even though Reinhard already cut off communication with him, he might still be able to notice Yang’s intentions, and effectively cut off the escape route.

            However, since he lacked that organic link with his allies, his fleet was simply a minority force that was fighting alone.

            Yang targeted Bittenfeld’s remaining forces and destroyed them in one fell swoop.

            Bittenfeld had the will to atone his previous failure, and he had the ability to do so, but he had a critical shortage of forces to be able to make the best use of them. Furthermore, he lacked sufficient time to deal with the situation.

            Soon, the Bittenfeld Fleet was reduced to a handful of ships including the flagship. The commander was still shouting for them to counterattack. If general staff officer, Captain Eugen did not desperately try to stop him, they would literally have been wiped out.

            Yang’s retreat path was thus ensured. One vessel after another, Yang led his Alliance 13th Fleet away from the battlefield. Bittenfeld dumbfoundedly watched them from nearby, and from a distance, Reinhard watched in anger and disappointment. The two of them watched as the group of light spots flowed away orderly.

            Between them was Mittermeyer, Reuenthal, and Kircheis, who was forced to abandon cutting off the enemy’s retreat path. The three young and talented vice admirals opened up a communication circuit and started a conversation.

            “What about that. The rebel fleet also has a great guy like that.”

            Mittermeyer praised candidly, and Reuenthal agreed.

            “Yeah, I look forward to meeting him again.”

            Although Reuenthal was a handsome young man with nearly black dark-brown hair, when people first see him, they were often startled, because he had two different colored eyes.

            His right eye was black, and the left one was blue. The condition was a congenial abnormality called “heterochromia iridis.”

            None of them gave the order to pursue.

            They were aware that they lost their chance. Further pursuit would only trigger the enemy’s survival instinct, and then they would not be able to ensure their own or their subordinates’ survival.

            “The rebel fleet has been expelled from the Imperial territory, and they are fleeing to Iserlohn. It is enough to say we won for the moment. Besides, for the time being, our Fleet is not in the spirit to invade, nor do we have the power to do so.”

            Reuenthal said, and this time, Mittermeyer nodded.

            Kircheis looked to the disappearing lights, and wondered: What is Reinhard thinking right now? Subsequent to the Battle of Astarte, Reinhard’s pride was also hurt since he was not able to obtain a complete victory at the end. Will he be feeling as generous this time as he did last time?

            “Communication from the general headquarters! Return after sweeping for enemy remnants.”

            The communications officer reported.





            II

            “You have done well.”

            On the bridge of the flagship Brünhild, Reinhard said to the admirals that returned.

            One after another, he shook hands with Reuenthal, Mittermeyer, Kempff, Mecklinger, Wahlen, and Lutz, announced their deeds-of-valor, and promised them promotions. When he came in front of Kircheis, he lightly patted Kircheis on his left shoulder without saying anything. For the two of them, that was sufficient.

            When Oberstein reported that Bittenfeld’s shuttle arrived, the young Imperial fleet admiral’s face was eclipsed with bitterness.

            Fritz Joseph Bittenfeld’s fleet, if you could still call that a fleet, quietly returned. In this battle, no other Imperial officers lost as many subordinates and ships as he did. Also, because his colleagues Mittermeyer and Reuenthal were consistently fighting fierce battles, it was not possible to shift the blame for the magnitudes of damages that he suffered onto others.

            The joy of victory ceded its seat to awkward silence. The pale faced Bittenfeld looked as if he was prepared for the consequences as he walked up to his superior, and he bowed his head deeply.

            “We won the battle, but while I want to say you also fought courageously, your performance was disappointing.”

            Reinhard’s voice sounded like a whip. The brave admirals who did not even raise an eyebrow when faced with large enemy fleets all shrug their necks involuntarily.

            “I know – You wanted to excel, so you advanced when you should not have. Your one mistake caused the balance of our entire frontline to collapse. Our fleet could have been defeated before reinforcement arrived. Also, you needlessly caused the Kaiser’s spacemen to die. Do you have any objections to what I said?”

            “I do not.”

            His response was low and feeble. Reinhard took a breath and continued.

            “Our military stands by the rules of reward and punishment. After we return to the Imperial capital Odin, I will discuss your responsibilities. Your fleet will be placed under the command of Vice Admiral Kircheis. You will return to your room under confinement.”

            That was harsh. Everyone felt that way. Among the silence, a voice rose up like a gas cloud, “You are excused!” Reinhard’s voice thundered through, and he strode towards his room.

            The colleagues started to gather around the hapless Bittenfeld to comfort him. After glancing at them, Kircheis ran after Reinhard. Oberstein watched him in silence.

            “He is a capable man, but…”

            Silently, he said to himself.

            “If he thinks his friendship with Count Lohengramm gives him some kind of privilege, then it will be troublesome. A ruler should be immune to personal feelings.”

            In the empty hallway leading to the commander-in-chief’s private quarters, Kircheis caught up to Reinhard, and yelled out to him.

            “Your Excellency, please reconsider.”

            Reinhard sprung around violently; his ice blue eyes bursting with flames. The anger he was suppressing in front of others exploded.

            “Why should I? Bittenfeld did not complete his mission. He has no excuse. Of course he should be punished!”

            “Your Excellency, are you angry?”

            “Is it wrong to be angry?”

            “I just wanted to ask you what you are angry about.”

            Sensing a deeper meaning, Reinhard stared at his red-haired friend, and Kircheis calmly stared back.

            “Your Excellency......”

            “Stop with the Your Excellency. What do you want to say? Kircheis, spit it out already.”

            “Then, Reinhard, who are you angry with? Bittenfeld for failing?”

            “Stating the obvious.”

            “I don't think so. Reinhard, you are angry with yourself. You made Vice Admiral Yang famous. Bittenfeld was simply the scapegoat.”

            Reinhard wanted to say something but swallowed it. He clenched his fist in a neurotic tremor. Kircheis gently sighed, and suddenly looked at the blond-haired young man with great care.

            “Does it make you that upset to be the cause of Vice Admiral Yang's fame?”

            “Of course I am upset!”

            Reinhard screamed and violently clasped his hands together.

            “I was able to put up with it at Astarte, but this is the second time! Why must that guy always get in my way when I am about to win completely!?”

            “He also has things he is upset about. Why couldn't he face Count Lohengramm as an equal from the very beginning?”

            “......”

            “Reinhard, please understand that smooth paths do not exist. As you climb to that highest position, it is a certainty that you will face difficulty. It is not just Vice Admiral Yang who is going to become an obstacle. Do you think you will be able to eliminate them all by yourself?”

            “......”

            "If just one failure invalidates all of his previous achievements, then you will lose your people's loyalty. Reinhard, you already have Vice Admiral Yang in front of you, and the aristocrats behind you. You are being sandwiched between two formidable enemies. Do you want to create enemies among your subordinates too?"

            For a long while, Reinhard stood completely still. Finally, with a long sigh he let go of all the pent-up energy within him.

            "I understand. I was in the wrong. I will not pursue Bittenfeld's responsibility."

            Kircheis lowered his head. He was not just relieved for Bittenfeld, but he was also glad to see that Reinhard was able to tolerate candid advice.

            "Will you deliver my orders?"

            "No, I cannot do that."

            Kircheis flatly refused. Reinhard nodded as he understood Kircheis's intention.

            "Yeah, it is not meaningful if I don't say it myself."

            If Kircheis were to convey the reprieve, then Bittenfeld who was rebuked by Reinhard would feel grateful towards Kircheis while harboring resentment towards Reinhard. Such is human nature. In that scenario, Reinhard’s reprieve would bear no significance, which is why Kircheis refused to relay the message.

            As Reinhard was about to turn to leave, he stopped to face his confidant again.

            “Kircheis.”
            

            “Yes, Reinhard?”

            “…Do you think I will be able to grasp the universe with my hands?”

            Siegfried Kircheis looked straight into his best friend’s ice blue eyes.

            “Nobody but you may realize that, Reinhard.”



            The Free Planets Alliance Fleet was quietly dragging their defeated selves back to Iserlohn Fortress.

            Those killed-in-action or missing-in-action amounted to approximately twenty-million people. The number calculated by the computer was as cold as the hearts of the survivors.

            While they were also in the vortex of the mortal combat, the majority of the 13th Fleet survived.

            Magician Yang performed yet another miracle – in the eyes of the subordinates, the young, black-haired Vice Admiral was a beacon of faith.

            The target of their absolute trust was currently on the bridge of flagship Hyperion. He was dangling his two legs off of the command console with a blatant disregard for manners. His fingers were laced across his abdomen, and his eyes were closed. Underneath his youthful skin, arduous fatigue loomed.

            “Sir…”

            Barely opening his eyes, he saw his adjutant, Sub-Lieutenant Frederica Greenhill, standing hesitantly.

            Yang put one hand over his black military beret.

            “Pardon my rudeness in front of a lady.”

            “No worries. I was thinking about making a cup of coffee. Do you want one?”

            “Black tea would be fine.”

            “Alright.”

            “If possible, please add plenty of brandy.”

            “Alright.”

            Just as Frederica was about to leave, Yang called out to her unexpectedly.

            “Sub-Lieutenant… I studied a bit of history. What I know is there are two schools of thought in society. There is the thought that there are things that are more important than life, and the thought that life is more important than anything. People often use the former as an excuse to start a war, but use the latter as a reason to end the war; and that has been the case, and will continue to be the case, for hundreds of thousands of years…”

            “……”

            “What happened earlier will probably repeat itself in the next thousands of years…”

            “…Sir.”

            “No, humanity as a whole don’t matter to me. I just think this amount of bloodshed should at least earn us something of value.”

            Frederica could not respond, so she simply stood. Suddenly, Yang noticed this, and gave an expression of mild embarrassment.

            “My bad. I said some weird stuff. Don’t mind me.”

            “… No, it is fine. I will go make your black tea. With a bit of brandy.”

            “A lot of brandy.”

            “Alright, a lot of brandy.”

            ‘Did she agree to the brandy as a reward?’ thought Yang as he watched Frederica leave. Then, he closed his eyes, and muttered:

            “… Is Count Reinhard going to become the second Rudolf…?”

            Of course, no one answered.

            By the time Frederica returned with the tea tray, Yang Wen-li already fell asleep in that same position, with his beret covering his face.