Part 1, Chapter Eight – The Verge of Death

Legend of Galactic Heroes, Part 1 – Dawn

Chapter Eight       The Verge of Death

            I

            In the first month, the entire Alliance Space Fleet was friendly with dazzling excitement. As that friendship cooled, their mood dampened, and only impatience and anxiety were left. The officers asked where there were no spacemen around, and spacemen asked where there were no officers around, and all of them asked each other:

– Where is the enemy?

Vice Admiral Ulanhu led the Alliance 10^th Fleet as the vanguard, and invaded 500 light-years into the Imperial territory. More than 200 star systems fell into the hands of the Alliance Fleet, and of those, 30 were underdeveloped but populated. Altogether, there were approximately 50‑million civilians. The viceroys, margraves, revenue officers, and military personnel that governed them all fled, so there was little or no resistance.

“We are the liberation fleet.”

The Alliance pacification officer told the groups of miners and farmers who were left behind.

“We bring you the promise of freedom and equality. You will not suffer the oppression of despotism anymore. You will be given all of your political rights, and you will begin your new lives as free citizens.”

However, they were disappointed. They were not welcomed with impassioned cheers. After feigning to listen to the pacification officer’s passionate but boring speech, the farmers’ representative spoke:

“Before you give us the so-called political rights, we would like to receive the right to life. We do not have food. There is no milk for the babies. The military has taken everything and left. Before freedom and equality, will you bring us the promise of milk and bread instead?”

“Of course.”

Faced with these requests that were devoid of idealism, the pacification officers felt very disappointed as they replied. They were the liberation fleet after all. Providing the security of life to these miserable people who struggled under the heavy fetters of the Empire was a responsibility as important as, if not more important than, actual combat.

In addition to providing the food supplies from each fleet, they also requested the following items from the Iserlohn General Headquarters: 180 days’ worth of food for 50‑million people, seeds for over 200 species of edible plants, 40 artificial protein manufacturing machines, 60 hydroponic devices, and convoys in order to transport the above items.

“This is the minimum necessary to permanently rescue the residents of the liberated area from starvation. As the liberated area expands, the amount required will consequently increase.”

Looking at the annotations attached to the written request, the expeditionary force’s chief of logistics staff, Rear Admiral Cazerne, groaned involuntarily.

Speaking of 180 days’ worth of food for 50-million people, just grains alone would amount to 10-million tons, and would require 50 two-hundred-thousand-ton class cargo ships. Furthermore, this alone far surpassed the Iserlohn Fortress’s food production and storage capabilities.

“Even if we empty out all of the warehouses in Iserlohn, we would still only have seven-million tons of grains. If we mobilize all of the artificial protein manufacturers and all of the hydroponic devices…”

“I know we do not enough.”

Cazerne interrupted his subordinate’s report. Cazerne personally drafted the supply plan for the 30-million Alliance Fleet servicemen. He was confident in the operational aspects of his plan.

However, it was a different story if non-combatants twice the number of the entire fleet were included. The plan must be modified and scaled up by threefold. Moreover, it was urgent. Cazerne could easily imagine the agonizing screams of each fleet’s supply department under the unbearable burden.

“Nevertheless, are those so-called pacification officers morons?”

He thought as he read the last portion of the written request.

“As the liberated area expands, the amount required will consequently increase.” – Did this not mean the supply burden would become heavier and heavier? This was not a situation where they could innocently and happily expand their sphere of influence. Furthermore, this contained a fearsome implication…

Cazerne requested to meet with the commander-in-chief, Fleet Admiral Lobos. Commodore Falk, the operations staff officer, was also present in the commander’s office. This was what Cazerne had expected. The commander-in-chief seemed to trust Falk more than he trusted Chief-of-Staff Admiral Greenhill. Falk was always on the look-out besides the superior. Recently, even malicious gossips such as this surfaced: “The commander-in-chief is only a microphone for the operations staff officer. The person talking is in fact Commodore Falk.”

“You want to discuss the requests of the pacification officers…?”

Fleet Admiral Lobos stroked his thick chin.

“What is it? I am really busy, so please be brief.”

Incompetent men could not become fleet admirals. Lobos had earned deeds-of-valor on the front-lines, demonstrated his competence in administrative matters, and he was a man who was capable of leading large forces and managing staff teams. At least, that was the case up until he was in his forties. Nowadays, his decline was very apparent. He was lethargic towards everything, but he particularly lacked energy when it came to judgments, insights, and decisions. That was probably why Commodore Falk was allowed to be imperious and dictatorial.

Why did the man who was once considered a prodigy regress to this state? There were a variety of theories to explain the cause: some said it was the symptoms of encephalomalacia triggered by the mental and physical abuse of his youth years; some said it was due to chronic heart disease; and some said it was the aftermath of being defeated by Fleet Admiral Sithole in the battle for the position of the chief of Joint Operations. The officers and men all spread their wings of imagination and gave different narrations.

When the wings spread too far, the theories would even suggest that it was because Lobos, who was indiscriminate when it came to beauty, was infected by a terrible illness during one of his one-night-stands with some woman. There was a bonus to this theory. It was said that the woman who made the fleet admiral an infamous patient was an Imperial operative. Those who heard this rumor would give an unscrupulous smile, and then shiver from the chills down their spines.

“Then, I will make it brief. Sir, our fleet is facing a crisis, and it is a serious crisis.”

Cazerne daringly cut directly into the issue, and waited for the opponent’s response. Fleet Admiral Lobos’s hands stopped stroking his chin, and looked at the chief-of-logistics-staff in disbelief. Commodore Falk somewhat distorted his badly-colored lips, and it was not just due to his propensity.

“So sudden? What is it?”

There was no sense of astonishment in the fleet admiral’s voice. Cazerne thought it was more due to his dulled sensibilities instead of his ability to maintain composure.

“I believe you already know what the pacification unit is requesting.”

Cazerne said, and thought that it could possibly be considered a rude question. Falk obviously thought so. His lips became greatly distorted, but he did not say anything. He probably intended to raise an issue with this at a later date.

“I know. I also feel the request is excessive, but in terms of our occupation policy, it may be unavoidable.”

“The Iserlohn General Headquarters does not have the quantity of supplies requested.”

“Just request it from our country. Although it might cause hysteria within the economic bureaucracy, they will still have to send the supplies.”

“Yes, they will certainly send the supplies, but what will we do before the supplies reach Iserlohn?”

The fleet admiral began stroking his chin again. ‘The extra lard will not fall off no matter how much you rub it,’ Cazerne wickedly thought.

“What do you mean? Rear Admiral.”

“I mean the enemy’s strategy is to overburden our fleet’s supply line!”

He said bluntly. What he originally wanted to yell was, “Do you not understand something that is this simple?”

“In other words, the enemy will attack our logistics convoy in an attempt to cut-off our supply line. Is that the chief of logistics staff’s opinion?”

Commodore Falk said. While it was unpleasant that he interjected, Cazerne still nodded.

“However, the sector of space between here and the front-line is being occupied by our fleet. There is no reason to worry. Well, no, of course, we should attach escort units to them just in case.”

“I see, just in case, huh.”

Cazerne replied cynically with all his might. What would Falk think? Who cares.

Yang, please come back alive. – In his heart, Cazerne called out to his friend. He could not help but think it would be too absurd to die for this battle.

II

At the capital of the Free Planets Alliance, Heinesen, the proponents and the opponents were having an ardent debate over the large-scale request from the expeditionary force.

The proponents argued that the original purpose of expedition was to liberate the people stricken by the Empire’s oppression. Naturally, it was their humanitarian duty to rescue the 50-million people from hunger. Additionally, once they knew our military had rescued them, coupled with their repulsion for the Empire, it was inevitable that the public sentiments would tilt in favor of the Alliance. From the standpoint of both military reasoning and political significance, they should respond to the expeditionary force’s request and donate food and other supplies to the residents in the occupied territory…

The opponents argued that the expedition was reckless to begin with. The original plan called for a necessary budget of 200-billion dinars, which was 5.4% of the national budget for this fiscal year, and the equivalent of more than one-tenth of the military budget. Even if that was the case, it was still a certainty that the actual financial expense would far exceed the budget. In addition to that, if they also donated food to the residents in the occupied territory to maintain the territory, then their financial bankruptcy would be foreseeable. Therefore, they should discontinue the expedition, abandon the occupied territory, and return to Iserlohn. After all, as long as Iserlohn was secure, they would be able to prevent an invasion from the Empire...

The principles and policies were entangled with calculations and emotions, and it seemed that the heated debate had no end in sight, but:

“Give our military the chance to be killed in battle. If we stand idly by, then they would face the crisis of being disgracefully starved to death.”

The report from Iserlohn, or rather, the cry of despair from Iserlohn, finally cleaned up the situation. The requested supplies were collected, the transportation was initiated, and then the addendum request for about the same amount of supplies as previously requested arrived. The occupied territory expanded, so the number of residents in the occupied territory now exceeded 100-million. Of course, there was no choice but to increase the amount of necessary supplies...

The proponents were daunted. The opponents said, “Do you see this? Do you see an end to this? Fifty-million became one-hundred-million. Eventually that one-hundred-million will become two-hundred-million. The Empire intends to destroy the Alliance financially. The government and the military that carelessly fell for their trap will be made responsible. There is no other way. We must withdraw!”

“The Empire is using their innocent populace as a weapon against our military's invasion. While that is a despicable method, since our military is using liberation and relief as our justification, we must admit that that is an effective method. We should withdraw now. Otherwise, our military will carry the hungry populace as they struggle forward, and when they are exhausted, the enemy will launch a full-on counterattack and gang up on them.”

The secretary of the treasury, João Rebelo, said at the High Council.

Those who supported the deployment were silent. They sat quietly, wallowing in their disappointments. The secretary of transportation and information, Mrs. Windsor, stiffened her elegant face and stared into the gray screen of the computer terminal that was not displaying anything.

There was no other way except to withdraw. Mrs. Windsor knew that well. The expenditure to date could not be helped, but additional expenditure would overwhelm the economy.

However, if they withdrew now without accomplishing anything, it would put her, who supported the deployment, in a bad position. Both those who were originally against the deployment and the war proponents who currently supported her would without a doubt pursue her political responsibility. The seat of the supreme chairman, the position she sought since the day she aspired to become a politician, would also be out of her reach.

What are the incompetent fools in the Iserlohn Expeditionary Force General Headquarters doing? Mrs. Windsor clenched her teeth in a fit of anger. Her beautifully manicured nails were digging into her tightly closed fists.

The withdrawal was unavoidable, but even if it was just once, could they win a military victory against the Imperial Fleet? If they could, then she would be able to save face, and the future generations would not condemn this expedition as a symbol of waste and stupidity...

She looked to the old Supreme Chairman. The ponderous, apathetic old man that occupied the seat with the ultimate power.

People ridiculed the head-of-state and said he was “not chosen by anyone.” He was the politician who benefited from the result of the dirty game of politics. He was the one who said all that about the next election. I just picked up on it. – She sincerely hated the chairman who tossed her into her current plight.

On the other hand, Secretary of Defense Trunicht was quite pleased with his foresight.

He knew that this was going to happen. Based on the current financial strength and military strength, there was no chance that the invasion of the Empire would succeed. In the near future, the expeditionary force would suffer a devastating defeat, and the current administration would lose the support of the citizens. However, Trunicht was against the reckless deployment. As a person who was rich with true courage and insight, instead of being wounded by this incident, the incident would enhance his reputation greatly. After this, Rebelo and Huang would remain as competitors, but they did not have the support of the military and the defense industry. At the end, Trunicht would become the supreme chairman.

That would be splendid. Internally, he gave a self-satisfied smile. “The one who defeated the Empire and the best head-of-state in the history of the Alliance,” a title as such should be given to him. Other than him, no one would be suited for such an honor...

Ultimately, the withdrawal was rejected.

“Before the front-line produces some results, the military's actions should not be limited.”

This was what the war proponents argued with somewhat of a guilty tone. This alleged “result” was also something Trunicht very much looked forward to. However, the “result” he expected was different from what the war proponents hoped for.

III

Before the supplies arrive from our home country, the necessary supplies shall be procured locally by each fleet at their respective locations...

When this policy was communicated, the faces of each of the Alliance fleet commanders darkened.

“Procure locally!? Are they telling us to plunder?”

“What is the Iserlohn Expeditionary Force General Headquarters thinking? Did they become pirate bosses?”

“Supply plan failure is the first step to a strategic defeat. This is common sense when it comes to the military. To shove that responsibility to the front-line is distasteful.”

“The General Headquarters said that the supply system is flawless. What happened to that grand speech?”

“When there is nothing to begin with, how are we supposed to procure supplies?”

While Yang did not join their clamorous uproar, he thought the same. The General Headquarters was extremely irresponsible, but since they deployed troops based on irresponsible motives to begin with, naturally the operation management would be handled irresponsibly. Cazerne was probably struggling now.

Nevertheless, he believed that they were already at their limit. As a result of their continuous donation to the residents of the occupied areas, the 13^th Fleet was already scraping the bottom of their storage for food. The dissatisfaction and anxiety of Captain Uno who was in charge of supplies finally detonated.

“What the people seek is not ideology or justice. It is just food. If the Imperial Fleet shipped in food, they would be groveling on the ground and chanting 'Long live the Kaiser.' It is as if they are living just to satisfy their basic needs. Do we have to starve to keep people like that fed!?”

“This is so we do not become Rudolf.”

After he made that reply, Yang called in Sub-Lieutenant Frederica Greenhill, and asked her to open a direct faster-than-light (FTL) communication portal with Vice Admiral Ulanhu of the 10^th Fleet.

“Hi, Yang Wen‑li? That's unusual. What's up?”

Through the communication screen, the descendant of the ancient Eurasian nomadic group asked.

“Vice Admiral Ulanhu, you seem to be doing well.”

That was a lie. The fearless Ulanhu's entire body seemed to be exhausted. He was thrown a problem that existed in a different dimension than courage or military science. Even he who was honored as a brave general seemed to be trapped.

When asked about his food stockpiling situation, Ulanhu turned much bitterer.

“I only have enough for one more week. If more supplies do not come in by then, we will have to forcefully requisition them from the occupied territory. – No, decorative words will not mask the facts. We will have no choice but to plunder. The liberation fleet will be shocked to hear that, but even then, that is assuming there will be things for us to plunder.”

“I have an opinion regarding this....”

Yang prefaced as such, and suggested that they abandon the occupied territory and withdraw.

“Withdraw!?”

Ulanhu slightly raised his eyebrows.

“Without exchanging fire even once? Is that not a little too negative?”

“We must act while we still have reserve capacity. The enemy is waiting for the moment when our supply runs out and we are starving. Why do you think that is?”

“...Are you saying they will take the opportunity and switch to offense?”

“It will probably be an all-out attack. The enemy has the geographical advantage, and their supply line is shorter.”

“Hmm...”

Even the daring Ulanhu seemed to be shaken.

“But, if we retreated poorly then we will be inviting the enemy's offense. If that happens, we will stir up a hornet's nest.”

“We will have to fully prepare for counterattacks. That is very important. While that is possible, if we wait until when the spacemen are starving, it will be too late. We have no choice but to retreat in an orderly manner before that happens.”

 Yang urged as Ulanhu silently listened.

“Besides, the enemy is probably also estimating the timing of when our military will become hungry. If they interpret our retreat as a full-on rout, then we will have many ways to fight back. Additionally, since the timing is too early, it will also be good if they consider this to be a trap. We may be able to retreat unscathed. It is unlikely, but the chance of that happening is lowering by the day.”

Ulanhu carefully considered the circumstances, and made a decision before long.

“I understand. Your opinion is correct. We shall be ready to withdraw. However, how will we contact the other fleets?”

“I will contact Vice Admiral Bewcock now. I think him contacting Iserlohn would be more effective than me trying to convince them...”

“Alright, then we will both work on it and try to get this done as soon as possible.”

Right after the conversation with Ulanhu ended, Yang received an urgent message.

“The residents of the area the 7^th Fleet occupied revolted. It is a large scale revolt that was triggered because the military stopped providing food.”

Frederica had a grim expression as she read the report.

“How is the 7^th Fleet handling it?”

“They used debilitating gas and the situation has been suppressed temporarily, but it seems like it will reoccur soon. It is a matter of time before the military escalates its countermeasures.”

The situation has become pathetic. – Yang could not help but to think.

The Alliance Fleet that self-proclaimed to be the liberation fleet and the protector fleet had turned against the public. At this stage, there would no longer be a way to resolve the distrust between both sides. The Empire's attempt to divide the Alliance and the public had succeeded brilliantly. 

“Excellent work, Count Lohengramm.”

If it were me, I would not be able to be so drastic. Even if I knew if I did it I would win, I would still not be able to do it. That is the difference between me and Count Lohengramm. That is the reason I fear him.

–– This difference may one day prove to result in serious consequences...

The commander of the Alliance 5^th Fleet, Vice Admiral Bewcock, sent an FTL communication to the Iserlohn General Headquarters. The face that appeared on the communication screen was the pallid face that belonged to operations staff, Commodore Falk.

 “I requested a meeting with the Commander-in-Chief. I do not recall asking to meet with you. You are merely an operations staff. Do not impose yourself when you are not called!”

The old admiral's tone was scathing. In terms of both dignity and forcefulness, Falk was no match for him.

The young staff officer was instantly shaken, but then he arrogantly replied:

“Meeting requests and petitions to the Commander-in-Chief will all have to go through me. What is your reason for requesting the meeting?”

“I do not need to talk to you.”

Bewcock also forgot his age and became combative.

“Then I cannot relay the message for you.”

“What...?”

“However highly you are ranked, you will still have to follow the rules. Do you want me to end the communication?”

Did you not arbitrarily make up that rule? Thought Bewcock, but he was forced to concede in this situation.

“The commanders of the fleets on the front-line wish to withdraw. We wish to seek the Commander-in-Chief's consent in this matter.”

“Withdraw?”

As the old admiral expected, Commodore Falk's lips became distorted.

“Vice Admiral Yang aside, even the brave Vice Admiral Bewcock is advocating retreating without a fight. That is unexpected.”

“Do not speak so offensively.”

Mercilessly, Bewcock rebuked him.

“This all began because you proposed this reckless deployment plan. How about you accept some responsibilities now?”

“If it were me, I would not withdraw. This is a great opportunity to slaughter the Imperial Fleet in one fell swoop. What is there to be afraid of?”

His irreverent and irresponsible reply made supernova lights burst out of the old admiral's eyes.

“I see. Then you should be here instead of me. I will return to Iserlohn, and you can replace me and come to the front-line.”

Falk's lips could not become more distorted.

“Please do not suggest things that are impossible.”

“You are the one that is suggesting things that are impossible. You do it without even leaving your safe zone.”

“–– Are you insulting me?”

“I am simply tired of hearing you gloat. You should show us your talents with track records instead of cheap talk. See if you can do as you instruct others to do. Try it. Let's find out.”

The old admiral thought he heard the sound of blood draining from Falk's anemic face. What happened next was beyond Bewcock's imagination. The eyes of the young staff officer lost focus, and fear and dismay spread over his entire face. His nostrils flared and his mouth was distorted into a quadrilateral shape. He raised both his hands to shield his face from Bewcock's view, and within this moment he made a sound that did not sound like either a groan or a scream.

Bewcock was speechless as he watched, and from right in front of his eyes, Falk's body sank to the bottom of the communication screen. The screen now showed panic-stricken people running about. During this time, there was no updates on the situation.

“What happened to him?”

“Well...”

Bewcock's adjutant who stood next to him, Lieutenant Clemente, was not able to answer his superior's question. For about two minutes, the old admiral waited in front of the screen.

After a while, a middle-aged man wearing the white uniform of military doctors appeared and saluted.

“This is military doctor, Lieutenant Commander Yamamura. Right now, Commodore Falk is under medical treatment in the infirmary. I will be happy to explain the situation.”

Just drop the attitude. Bewcock thought.

“What kind of illness does he have?”

“He has nerve blindness induced by conversion hysteria disorder.”

“Hysteria!?”

“Hmm, the frustration has caused him to become unusually excited, which temporarily paralyzed his optic nerves. He will be able to see again in about fifteen minutes, but in the future, these episodes may become recurrent. It is triggered by a mental illness, so if that cause is not removed, then...”

“Then what should be done?”

“Do not defy him. Do not give him a sense of frustration or defeat. Have everyone follow whatever he says, and do everything according to how he wants them to be done.”

“...Doctor, are you being serious?”

“These symptoms of ego-centrism could sometimes been seen in young children who were raised with an abnormally grand sense of self. Good and evil is not a part of their consideration. To them, what is important is having their desires and egos satisfied. Therefore, Sir, if you apologize to him for being rude, implement his operations plan at any cost, and praise him when you are victorious... when that happens, the cause of his illness will be eliminated.”

“I am grateful for your suggestion.”

Bewcock did not become angry.

“Are you saying that, in order to treat his hysteria, we must send 30-million spacemen to their death? How nice. He might drown in a sea of tears-of-gratitude.”

The doctor laughed weakly.

“If the goal is only to treat Commodore Falk's illness, then this is the only way. If the concern is the entire fleet, then naturally there may be other solutions.”

“Yes, we can just fire him.”

The old admiral said harshly.

“If that happens, it will probably be most fortunate. This guy has the same mentality as a toddler crying over wanting chocolate. If the Imperial Fleet found out that he is the strategist for over 30-million officers and men, they would probably dance with joy.”

“...In any case, things unrelated to medicine are beyond my authority. I will transfer you to the chief-of-staff...”

The illicit union of politicians aiming to win an election and a prodigy serviceman with infantile hysteria somehow mobilized 30-million officers and men. If anyone discovered this and still aspired to fight more earnestly, then he would be either a masochistic narcissist or a fanatical war lover. Bewcock thought bitterly.

“Sir...”

The person that appeared on the communication screen in place of the military doctor was the expeditionary force chief-of-staff, Admiral Greenhill. His handsome, gentlemanly appearance was shaded with deep sorrow.

“Here comes the chief-of-staff. I am sorry for taking time out of your busy schedule.”

Although it was said with blatant sarcasm, people could not find him detestable. It was one of the natural virtues of the old admiral.

Greenhill laughed the same laugh as the military doctor.

“I should be the one to apologize. I am sorry for that unsightly scene. Commodore Falk will probably be placed on leave immediately, but it has to wait for the commander-in-chief's approval...”

 “Well, what do you think about the 13^th Fleet's proposal to withdraw? I wholeheartedly agree with him. The front-line spacemen are in no position to fight, be it psychologically or physically...”

“Please give us some time. This will also require the commander-in-chief's approval. It is not possible for me to provide an immediate answer.”

Vice Admiral Bewcock's expression showed that he was fed up with bureaucratic answers.

“At the risk of being rude, Chief-of-Staff, I would like to meet with the commander-in-chief directly. Would you please request that for me?”

“The commander-in-chief is napping at the moment.”

The old admiral's white eyebrows knotted and he quickly blinked. Then, he slowly asked:

“Could you please repeat that? Chief-of-Staff?”

Admiral Greenhill replied rather solemnly:

“The commander-in-chief is napping at the moment. He ordered not to wake him unless if we are under enemy attack. Because of that, I will notify him of your demands after he wakes up. Please wait until then.”

Bewcock did not attempt to respond to that. It was difficult to see, but his shoulders appeared to rise and fall slightly.

“...Very well. I understand.”

Well over one-minute elapsed before this voice full of suppressed emotions left the old admiral's mouth.

“Before then, as the front-line commander, I will carry out my obligations towards my subordinates' lives. Sorry to trouble you. When the commander-in-chief wakes up, please tell him Bewcock sent his regards and wished that he had a nice dream.”

“Sir...”

The communication was cut off from Bewcock's end.

Greenhill somberly stared at the communication screen that became an off-white flat panel.

IV

After Reinhard finished reading the reports from the reconnaissance forces, with a nod, he called over the red-haired Vice Admiral Siegfried Kircheis, and assigned Kircheis an important mission.

“Iserlohn dispatched a logistics convoy to the front-line. It is the enemy's lifeline. You will take all the vessels given to you and attack them. I will leave the operational details to your discretion.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Information, organization, supplies, you can take whatever you need.”

Kircheis turned to leave after saluting, but Reinhard suddenly called out to him. To his best friend who turned around in confusion, the young fleet admiral said:

“This is for our victory, Kircheis.”

He knew. Kircheis was critical of the harsh tactics utilized: to starve the populace of the occupied territory in order to bind the enemy's hands and feet. Although Kircheis neither said it nor showed it, Reinhard knew. Siegfried Kircheis was that kind of a person.

Kircheis saluted again and left. Reinhard spoke to the remaining admirals.

            “As Vice Admiral Kircheis destroys the rebel fleet's logistics convoy, we will launch an all-out attack. Simultaneously, we will send out fake intelligence, saying that while the logistics convoy was attacked, it was fine. This is to prevent the rebel fleet from losing all hope and lashing out like a cornered rat attacking a cat. At the same time, this is also to make it so they are not aware of our attack. – Of course, they will eventually find out, but the later the better.”

            He glanced at the man sitting beside him. In the past, the person next to him had always been the tall, red-haired, young man. Now it was this gray-haired man named Oberstein. This was his own decision, but there was still this slight sense of incongruity.

            “It should be noted that our supply convoy shall provide food to the residents as we recapture the occupied territory. Although this was done in order to counter the invasion by the rebel fleet, forcing His Majesty's subjects to endure starvation was not our fleet's intention. This is also a necessary step to show the border region residents that only the Empire has the capabilities and responsibilities required to govern.”

            Reinhard's real intention was to let him, rather than the “Empire,” win the hearts of the people. However, there was no need for him to disclose that in a situation like this.

           

            The logistics convoy led by Commodore Gredwin Scott was comprised of one-hundred 100,000-ton-class cargo ships and twenty-six security attachments. The chief of logistics staff, Rear Admiral Cazerne, had argued that the number of security escorts was “not enough; at least one-hundred security escorts should be provided,” but his opinion was rejected.

            The reason for the rejection was because it was believed that the Imperial Fleet would not mobilize a large fleet just to attack the logistics convoy, and that dispatching too many ships would cause the security at the Iserlohn General Headquarters to be undermanned. He was given this kind of excuse in this impregnable fortress far away from the front line. Cazerne was now pissed off.

            Commodore Scott was much more optimistic than Cazerne. Although Cazerne specifically told him to guard against the enemy before he left, the advice came in one-ear and went out of the other. He did not even step onto the bridge. Instead, he played three-dimensional-chess against his subordinates in his private room.

            When the convoy general staff, Commander Nikolsky, came to talk to him while pale in the face, he was just about to checkmate. He asked crossly:

            “Did something happen at the front line? This is too noisy.”

            “At the front line?”

            Commander Nikolsky was stunned as he looked at his commander.

            “This is the front line. Did you not see that? Sir?”

            He pointed to a small panel that was linked to the main display on the bridge. On there, a white cloud of light was expanding rapidly.

            Instantaneously, Commodore Scott lost his voice. Even he did not think that was allies approaching. Astonishingly, they were surrounded by a large enemy fleet!

            “This... I don't believe it!”

            Scott finally squeezed out his voice.

            “We are merely one logistics convoy, and they sent such a large fleet... Why?”

            As Nikolsky drove the hydrogen-powered-vehicle through the corridor leading to the bridge, the commodore kept repeating that moronic question. “Do you not understand the significance of this mission?” Just as Nikolsky was about to say that, the operator's voice came through the speakers in the corridor.

            “Large number of enemy missiles approaching our ship!”

            A moment after the announcement, the voice itself turned into a scream.

            “Unable to counter! There are too many!”

           

            On the Imperial commanding flagship Brünhild ––

            The communications officer rose from his seat, and excitedly beamed at Reinhard.

            “Vice Admiral Kircheis contacted us! It was good news. The enemy's logistics convoy was annihilated. Additionally, all twenty-six security escort were completely destroyed. Of our fleet, only one ship and fourteen Walküres were damaged...”

            Cheers flooded the entire bridge. Since the fall of Iserlohn, even though it was necessary strategically, the Imperial Fleet had been retreating without fighting. It was a long time since they felt the pleasant feeling of victory.

            “Mittermeyer, Reuenthal, Bittenfeld, Kempff, Mecklinger, Wahlen, and Lutz, in accordance with our existing plan, attack the rebel fleet collectively.”

            Reinhard gave the order to his waiting admirals.

            After responding, “Yes, Your Excellency,” the admirals turned to leave for the front line, but stopped when Reinhard called out to them. Reinhard ordered the spacemen to give each of them a glass of wine. It was a pre-victory celebration.

            “Victory has already been determined. From here, we just need to complete it. Do not let those rebels who do not know their place go home alive. We have sufficient conditions to make this happen. May Odin bless you. Prost!”

            “Prost!”

            The admirals chanted, downed their wine, and threw their wine glasses on the ground as was customary. A myriad of fragmented lights brilliantly danced on the floor.

            After the admirals departed, Reinhard stared into the screen. There, he found inorganic light groups that were colder and more distant than the scattered lights on the floor. However, he was fond of those lights. He wanted to grasp those lights with his hands. That was why he was here now...

            V

            October 10^th, 16:00 of the standard calendar.

            Vice Admiral Ulanhu positioned his fleet on the orbital path of planet Rügen (リューゲン). Utilizing the gravity gradient method, he realized that they were under enemy attack. He positioned 20,000 reconnaissance satellites in the surrounding areas. Approximately 100 of the satellites in the two-o'clock direction transmitted countless lights, and then ceased video transmission.

            “They are coming.”

            Ulanhu muttered. He was conscious of the nervous current rushing towards his terminal nerves.

            “Operator, how much time before enemy contact?”

            “Six to seven minutes.”

            “Alright. All fleet, prepare for all-out war. Communications officer, contact the General Headquarters and the 13^th Fleet. Just say we encountered the enemy.”

            The alarm sounded, and on the bridge of the flagship, orders and responses were being rapidly fired.

            Ulanhu told his subordinates:

            “Soon, the 13^th Fleet will rush to our rescue. It is led by 'Miracle Yang (奇蹟のヤン).' That way, we will be able to pincer attack the enemy. There is no doubt that we will be victorious.”

            Sometimes, the commander must convince his subordinates even if he did not believe it himself, thought Ulanhu. Yang would also be under attack by a large number of enemies at the same time. They would not be able to afford coming to the 10^th Fleet's rescue.

            The Imperial Fleet had begun its major offensive attack.

            Sub-lieutenant Frederica Greenhill was pale-faced and nervous as she looked up at her commander.

            “Sir! Vice Admiral Ulanhu sent an FTL communication.”

            “Enemy attack?”

            “Yes, Sir. At 16:07. They seem to have engaged in battle with the enemy.”

            “It finally started...”

            The end of that sentence overlapped with the cry of the alarm. Five minutes later, the 13^th Fleet was exchanging fire with the Imperial Fleet led by Vice Admiral Kempff.

            “Enemy missile approaching from 11 o'clock!”

            The operator cried. Flagship Hyperion's (ヒューベリオン) captain, Captain Marino (マリノ), quickly reacted.

             “Deploy decoys in the 9 o'clock direction!”

            Yang was silent as he immersed himself in his own duties of the operational command of the fleet. The offense and defense of the ship is the duty of the captain. If the commander had to intervene there too, then his nerves would burn out.

            Laser-hydrogen-missiles were attacking like ferocious hounds. Instead of utilizing nuclear fission, this weapon used super-thermal-lasers to initiate nuclear fusion.

            The decoy rockets to counter them were fired. By emitting an abundance of radio waves and heat, the decoys try to fool the detection system of the missiles. The group of missiles made a sharp turn and pursued the decoys.

            The collisions of energy and energy, matters and matters, continued to fill the dark void with ominous glows.

            “Spartanians (スパルタニアン), prepare for battle!”

            After the order was conveyed, a pleasant sense of nervousness filled the minds and bodies of the thousands of personnel boarding the Spartanians. They have strong confidence in their skills and reflexes. They were the personification of the god of war, Mars. The fear of death was only a subject of insult for them.

            “Now, shall we go for a bit?”

            The person who shouted cheerfully abroad flagship Hyperion was “ace (撃墜王)”, Lieutenant Warren Hughes (ウォーレン・ヒューズ).

            Hyperion has four aces. In addition to Hughes, there was also Lieutenant Saleh Aziz Choukri (サレ・アジズ・シェイクリ), Lieutenant Olivier Pouplin (オリビエ・ポプラン), and Lieutenant Ivan Konev (イワン・コーネフ). To flaunt their ace titles, they painted the ace of spade, diamond, heart, and club on their respective Spartanians with special paint. They had the audacity to treat war as a kind of sport. Perhaps, this was a major element that allowed them to survive.

            “I will come back with five victories. Chill some champagne for me.”

            Pouplin said to the mechanic as he hopped into his cherished Spartanian, but the response was cold.

            “We probably don't have any. I'll make sure to have water for you at least.”

            “What an unromantic guy.”

            Despite his griping, Pouplin and the three others leaped into space. The Spartanian wings reflected the lights from the explosions, shining iridescently. The missiles bombarded with great hostility, and the beams were also shooting by.

            “Like hell you're going to hit me!”

            However, the four of them boasted simultaneously. Those were the words of proud warriors who have survived past the verge of death many times.

            As if to show off their superhuman skills, the Spartanians made a sharp U-turn and avoided a missile. Unable to withstand the sudden gravity shift, the missile that was originally chasing them snapped in the middle of its slander barrel. Mockingly, the Spartanians flapped their wings. The Imperial Fleet's Walküres jumped out in front of them, and challenged them to a dogfight.

            Hughes, Choukri, and Konev each responded gladly with their battle-crafts. One by one, the enemy battle-crafts turned into fireballs.

            However, one of them, Pouplin, was flushed with doubt and anger. He shot the enemy with uranium-238-bullets at the rate of 140 shots a second. The bullets were well capable of penetrating metals, and once they hit the target, they will emit super-thermal heat and explode. Yet, all of his bullets were sucked into the void. Except for him, the other three already made blood sacrifices of a total of seven battle-crafts.

            “What are you doing?”

            The person who loudly smacked his tongue was the Imperial commander, Vice Admiral Kempff.

            Kempff was also an ace. He was a brave veteran who rode on a silver-winged Walküre and slammed dozens of enemy battle-crafts into the bosom of the Reaper. Although he was exceptionally tall, it did not feel that way because of his wide girth. He had short, brown hair.

            “Why are you fiddling around with enemies of that caliber? Semi-surround them from behind and drive them into the cannon range!”

            The instruction was correct. Three of the Walküres half-surrounded Lieutenant Hughes's Spartanian from behind, and skillfully drove him into the battleship's main cannon range. Hughes realized the danger he was in, made a sharp turn while firing a uranium 238 bullet into the cockpit of one of the battle-crafts, and attempted to escape through the gap where the battle-crafts dropped off. However, he did not take into account the enemy ship's secondary cannon. Beams shined, and with a single blow, Hughes and his cherished battle-craft disappeared from this world.

            Choukri was killed with the same tactic. The remaining two barely shook off the Walküres' pursuit, and escaped into the bind-spot of the cannons.

            Konev was able to bury four enemy battle-crafts, but Pouplin had to flee back without shooting down a single battle-craft. His self-esteem was irreparably wounded. 

            When he discovered the reason that not even one of his bullets hit the target, he exploded into heartbreak and anger. Pouplin returned to the mother ship, swiftly leaped out of the cockpit, and yanked onto the collar of a mechanic who ran over.

            “Tell the ally-killing chief mechanic to come out! I will kill him!”

            Chief mechanic, Lieutenant Toda (トダ技術大尉), rushed over, and Pouplin's rebuke came flying.

             “The sight on the machine gun was at least nine to eleven degrees off! Did you even maintain it properly? You salary thief!”

            Lieutenant Toda raised his eyebrows.

            “Of course I did. While humans can be made for free, battle-crafts cost money, so I care about maintenance.”

            “You bastard! Are you going to make jokes about it?”

            The combat helmet was smashed hard enough into the floor that it bounced. The flames of fury burned in Pouplin's green eyes, and Toda's eyes became narrow and sharp.

            “You want to fight? You insect!”

            “Sure, let's. So far, I have killed who knows how many Imperial men who were all superior to you. One hand is probably enough to fight the likes of you. I will give you a handicap!”

            “Bullshit! Don't make your own lack of experience someone else's responsibility.”

            Some did shout for them to retrain themselves, but their brawl had already begun by then.  While Toda was able to get in two or three punches, he was soon forced to be on the defense as his footwork started to drift. Just as Pouplin raised his arm, someone caught it.

            “Fool! Enough is enough!”

            Commodore Schönkopf said bitterly.

            The brawl subsided. No one dared to disrespect the hero that captured Iserlohn. However, as far as Schönkopf was concerned, to only be able to join to stop the brawl was woefully disappointing...

            The Imperial commander that was tasked with attacking Ulanhu's 10^th Fleet was Vice Admiral Bittenfeld. He had orange-colored long hair and light-brown eyes. His narrow face and his strong body seemed somewhat inharmonious. He had strong brows and sharp eyes, suggesting a warlike personality.

            All of the vessels under his command were painted black, and they called themselves the “Black Lancers (黒色槍騎兵).” They were a fierce fleet. It was this fleet that Ulanhu delivered significant damages to, but the damages his own fleet sustained was comparable – based on not ratio, but absolute numbers.

            Bittenfeld's fleet was larger than Ulanhu's fleet in terms of numbers, and furthermore, his spacemen were not starving. Both the commander and the subordinates were filled with fresh vitality, and even though they paid considerable sacrifice, at last, they succeeded in placing the Alliance fleet under a full siege.

            The 10^th Fleet was neither able to advance nor retreat, therefore it was impossible to avoid the barrage from the Bittenfeld Fleet.

            “Just fire and you will hit them!”

            The Imperial Fleet's gunners showered a storm of energy beams and missiles at the concentrated Alliance Fleet vessels.

            After the energy neutralizing magnetic fields were torn, the outer shells of the ships sustained unbearable impact. The impacts penetrated the ships, explosions occurred, and the deathly flash fire knocked out the officers and men.

            The destroyed vessels lost their thrust and began to be pulled away by the planetary gravity. Half of the planet's inhabitants saw countless meteors in the night sky. Momentarily, the children were mesmerized by this sinister beauty and forgot their hunger.

            VI

            The 10^th Fleet had reached the limit of its battle strength. They lost 40% of their vessels, and half of the remaining vessels were so devastated that battle would be impossible. The fleet's chief-of-staff, Rear Admiral Chen (チェン) palely turned towards his commander.

            “Sir, it is no longer possible to continue the battle. Our choices are limited to surrendering or fleeing.”

            “Choose between two disgraceful options, eh?”

            Vice Admiral Ulanhu mocked.

            “Surrendering doesn't fit my personality. Let's run away. Send the order to the entire fleet.”

            Even if they wished to flee, they still had to open a path of blood. Ulanhu reorganized his remaining vessels into a spindle formation and rammed through a corner of the encirclement. Ulanhu knew how to utilize a concentrated force.

            His bold and skillful tactic allowed half of his subordinates to escape the jaws of death, but he was sacrificed.

            His flagship fought the encircling enemy until the very end, but the moment it tried to withdraw, its missile muzzle received a direct hit by the enemy's energy beam, and his ship exploded.

            In all parts of the front line, the Alliance Fleet was beginning to taste the bitter juice of defeat.

            The 12^th Fleet's commander, Vice Admiral Borodin, was raided by the Lutz Fleet. He fought to the point where only eight gunboats remained by the flagship. When escaping the battle became impossible, he pointed the blaster at his head and pulled the trigger. Rear Admiral Connally (コナリー) assumed the command, stopped the actions, and surrendered.

            The 5^th Fleet was attacked by Reuenthal, the 9^th Fleet was attacked by Mittermeyer, the 7^th Fleet was attacked by Kircheis who earlier annihilated the Alliance logistics convoy, the 3^rd Fleet was attacked by Wahlen, and the 8^th Fleet was attacked by Mecklinger. In response to their respective onslaught, the fleets made repeated retreats.

            Yang's 13^th Fleet was the only exception. Faced with the Kempff Fleet, he utilized a clever half-moon formation to avoid the enemy's offense. Then, he caused the enemy repeated blood loss by alternately striking them with the right and left flanks.

            The unexpected loss startled Kempff. Rather than waiting for the excessive blood loss to lead to an awkward and debilitating death, he came to the conclusion that he should instead make drastic changes to the situation. Therefore, he pulled back his fleet in an attempt to reorganize it.

            When Yang saw that the enemy pulled back, he did not take the opportunity to go on the offensive. Yang thought that there was more meaning in surviving than there is in winning this fight. After all, even if he had won here, at the end, he would still get beaten by the enemy's entire fleet with their superior circumstances. Therefore, he took this opening where the enemy pulled back to escape as far away as possible.

            “Great! Whole fleet, run away!”

            Yang ordered solemnly.

            The 13^th Fleet ran away. In an orderly manner.

            The enemy that was in the advantageous position did not chase after him. Instead, they started to retreat rapidly. Kempff was thoroughly surprised. He had anticipated that the enemy would pursue, and his fleet would be subjected to considerable damage, but he had worried in vain.

            “Why did they not pursue us when they were winning?”

            Kempff asked himself, but it was also to ask his staff for their opinions.

            The subordinates' opinions were split into two camps: one hypothesis was that the fleet might be rushing to the rescue of the other Alliance Fleets that were cornered; the other hypothesis said that they were inviting us to spot the chance and go on a light offensive, so they could try for a more thorough attack.

            There was an ensign by the name of Theodor von Lücke (テオドール・フォン・リュッケ), a young officer who just graduated from the academy, who fearfully opened his mouth.

            “I... um... I think the enemy is not looking for a fight. It is just running away.”

            His statement was completely ignored, so blushingly, Ensign Lücke took his leave. His opinion was the closest to the truth, but no one noticed it, not even him.

            Kempff was a tactician rich with common sense. After deep contemplation, he reached the conclusion that the enemy's withdrawal was a trap, and abandoned the efforts to initiate a counterattack. Instead, he worked on restructuring his fleet.

            During this time, Yang Wen-li's fleet continued to flee, and they fled to the portion of space the Imperial Fleet named the “C war zone.” There, the Imperial Fleet caught them, and a new battle was initiated.

            On the other hand, the Alliance 9^th Fleet commanded by Vice Admiral Al-Salem was repeatedly fleeing in response to the onslaught by Imperial's Mittermeyer Fleet. Vice Admiral Al‑Salem was desperately trying to prevent the collapse of the command system.

            Because Mittermeyer pursued extremely rapidly, the vanguard of the pursuing Imperial Fleet mixed-in with the rear-guard of the Alliance Fleet, causing the two fleets' vessels to parallel each other. The spacemen who saw the enemy vessels' marks through their windows were all astounded.

            Additionally, having a high-density of materials in a narrow space-zone caused a material reaction, so although each vessels had their collision-avoidance-system operating at full capacity, they were still cut-off by enemies and allies in every direction. There were also vessels that were rotating in circles.

            A battle could not commence under this situation. If an enormous amount of energy was freed at this density, it would create an uncontrollable energy cyclone that would wipe out everyone. That was obvious.

            However, contact and collision happened. In order to avoid having the collision-avoidance-system become “mad” from being forced into the plight of antinomy caused by the lack of safe direction to travel, many of the vessels had switched to manual steering.

            The pilots were drenched in sweat, which was unrelated to the temperature control system of their combat uniforms. They clung to the steering board, and they could see in front of them their enemies who shared a common goal with them: to avoid collisions.

            This chaos finally settled after Mittermeyer ordered his subordinates to slow down to increase the distance between the two fleets. For most in the Alliance Fleet, this only meant the reorganization of the pursuing enemy. After a safe distance was achieved, they were showered with the Imperial Fleet's artillery fire. One by one, their vessels and their lives were lost.

            The hull of flagship Palamedes (パラミデュース) was damaged in seven places, and Commander Vice Admiral Al-Salem's ribs were cracked. He was seriously injured. Deputy Commander, Rear Admiral Morton (モートン) took over the command, and struggled to command the remaining fleet onto their long road of defeat.

            Of course, they were not the only ones that experienced the hardship of defeat.

            Each of the Alliance fleets were surrounded by the same sorrow. Even Yang's 13^th Fleet was no exception.

            At this moment, Yang's 13^th Fleet had retreated six light-years (approximately 6.5 billion kilometers) from the original battlefield. Currently, they were forced to face an enemy fleet four-times larger than their own. Furthermore, Kircheis, the Imperial commander of the “C” battle-zone had already defeated the 7^th Fleet, and was bringing supplies and forces to the very front-line in quick succession in an attempt to exhaust the Alliance Fleet by fighting with no interruption.

            This tactic was not the product of some out-of-the-box strategy. It was an orthodox method, which was extremely solid in operation.

            “There is no chance for us to exploit and run away.”

            Yang said with a sigh.

            “Count Lohengramm has excellent subordinates. He is not ostentatious. He fights well...”

            He could not simply be impressed. In a straightforward battle, it was clear that the numerically inferior side, the Alliance Fleet, would be driven into defeat.

            After some consideration, Yang determined the tactics to be taken. He planned to discard the currently secured space-zone and leave it in the hands of the enemy. However, he would retreat in an orderly manner, and entice the enemy into his U-formation. Then, during the opening where the enemy's supply line and formation were extended to their fullest, he would fight back from three sides with all his might.

            “This is the only way. However, the enemy will have to take the bait, but...”

            Yang's tactics, if given enough time to accumulate his forces and full command authority and independence, may be able to achieve some degree of success, and block the advancement of the Imperial Fleet.

            However, he had neither of those luxuries. As Yang was withstanding the onslaught of the massive and overwhelming Imperial Fleet, while he painstakingly reorganized his fleet into a U-shape, an order from Iserlohn was delivered.

            “Rendezvous at the Amritsar Star System (アムリッツァ恒星系), space-point A by the 14^th of this month. Immediately cease all battles and head over to the rendezvous point.”

            Frederica saw the shadow of bitter disappointment across Yang's face when he received the order. It was gone in a split second, replaced by a deep sign.

            “It is easy for them to say.”

            Although that was all he could say, Frederica understood the difficulty in retreating from in front of the enemy under the present situation. That is not an incompetent enemy. It was the same situation as when they were facing Kempff. If he could retreat, he would have retreated in the beginning. If was because his opponent would not allow him to retreat, that was why he fought.

            Yang obeyed the order. However, his fleet sacrificed far more spacemen as the result of this difficult retreating battle.

            On the bridge of the Imperial Fleet chief flagship Brünhild, Reinhard received Oberstein's report.

            “While the enemy is retreating, they are maintaining their order, and it seems that they are heading towards the Amritsar Star System.”

            “That is close to the entrance of the Iserlohn Corridor. However, I do not think they are merely looking to escape. What do you think?”

            “They are probably gathering their forces for another offense. It appears that they are belatedly becoming aware of the stupidity of dispersing their forces.”

            “But it is too late.”

            Brushing aside the blond hair that draped from his forehead to his eyebrows with his beautiful fingers, Reinhard coldly smiled.

            “How would you like to respond, Your Excellency?”

            “Of course, our fleet will also rendezvous at Amritsar. If the enemy wants Amritsar to become their graveyard, should we not fulfill their wish?”