I
“A TASTE FOR WARFARE is in the kaiser’s character”: this assessment of Reinhard von Lohengramm was entirely uncontroversial among both his contemporaries and later historians. Reinhard’s own words and deeds continually affirmed it. Some historians criticized him severely on these grounds: “Take a bit of militarism, add gaudy gold plating, and there you have it: a statue of Kaiser Reinhard.”
However, fairness surely demands that the historical circumstances surrounding Reinhard be taken into account. The Goldenbaum Dynasty had been an entire society build on unjust plunder. Some of its great rulers had pursued reforms, but by Reinhard’s time the corruption and atrophy had already progressed beyond any hope of recovery. All that lay ahead of the dynasty was its downfall.
Most historians agree that if the great man known as Reinhard von Lohengramm had not made his appearance at this time, the Galactic Empire would have fractured into several smaller kingdoms, each with a powerful noble family at its core. Frequent popular rebellions would have driven further fragmentation until the former empire dissolved into ungovernable chaos. Reunification would have been a distant prospect, and civilization would have regressed on each isolated world. It was Reinhard who had averted this fate, and to do so he used military force to scour away five centuries of accumulated grime.
In February of the New Imperial Calendar’s third year, Reinhard was, as a private individual, husband to his kaiserin Hilda, who carried his child in her womb. Intellectually, he understood this, but he struggled to cross the great, misty river that seemed to separate this understanding from true realization.
When speaking with Hilda, he tried to restrict himself to the role of husband, but here too he failed, still seeking her counsel on political and military matters as a trusted advisor. For Reinhard, of course, this amounted to seeking counsel on every aspect of life.
“The republicans on Iserlohn have made the first move this time, then,” he mused aloud one day. “An unexpected development, I must admit.”
The previous year, when the Iserlohn Republic had refused to join von Reuentahl in rebellion, Reinhard had assumed that his next opportunity to go to war with them would not be for some time.
Clad in loose clothing tailored for her condition, Hilda smiled as if to soothe his conquering spirit.
“Your Majesty, why not begin by sending a diplomatic mission to them? I see no reason for the empire to force a hasty resolution.”
“Kaiserin, your counsel is well taken, but one cannot sleep soundly if even a single mosquito lurks near one’s bed. The republicans have thrown down the gauntlet, and I mean to pick it up.”
The exchange took place in Stechpalme Schloß, but it might well have been heard at Imperial Headquarters. Reinhard was by no means lacking in sensitivity, but his manner of expressing it was rather prosaic. Of course, not all the blame for this can be laid at his feet. Hilda, too, still showed a certain hesitancy in her role as kaiserin. They were a young couple of rare beauty and insight, yes—but also rare awkwardness.
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To the highest-ranking officers of the Galactic Imperial Navy, Wahlen’s disastrous defeat all but guaranteed an expedition in response, most likely to be led by the kaiser himself. To discuss the matter, they gathered in a conference room at Imperial Headquarters. They were six in all: Mittermeier, Müller, Wittenfeld, Kessler, Mecklinger, and von Eisenach.
“Such masterful tactics,” Wittenfeld said in wonder as scenes from the battle recorded on optical disc played on the screen. “The ‘Revolutionary Army,’ was it? If this is what their commander can do, we had best not underestimate him.”
Mittermeier shook his head slightly. “That is true, of course, but that flanking attack bears the mark of a veteran—Merkatz, I suspect.”
“Of course! So Merkatz was there, was he?”
“Be sure to keep that in mind, Wittenfeld. He’s a skilled and knowledgeable strategist—so much so that even the late Yang Wen-li welcomed him as an honored guest.”
“And yet, had Merkatz served the kaiser, he would be a pillar of the imperial military now, with all the status and glory he could wish for. He chose poorly.”
“I suppose he did.” Mittermeier uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his honey-colored hair. “But how dreary our battles would be if our side had a monopoly on talent. The loss of Yang Wen-li has made the galaxy a lonely place. Hearing that Merkatz is alive and well is, if anything, happy news. Do you not feel the same?”
“I do—and I fear this shows I am beyond salvation,” said Mecklinger, Hilda’s successor as chief advisor at Imperial Headquarters. His rueful laugh drew similar chuckles from Müller and Kessler, while von Eisenach tapped the surface of the strategy desk without moving a single cell in his face. Wittenfeld just grunted, apparently torn between agreement and irritation.
“In any case,” said Mittermeier, “Wahlen made the best he could of a bad situation, but our forces on this side of the corridor were thoroughly humiliated. We cannot simply let this go.”
As head of the Imperial Navy’s operational forces, the Gale Wolf could not allow the matter to pass without some response. The rift between marshals and senior admirals on the one hand, and the rest of the admiralty on the other, was glaring. Grillparzer had had the brightest outlook among the younger admirals, but he had died betraying both his colleagues’ expectations and his own aspirations. Thurneisen had been given a sinecure after his error during the Vermillion War, and his bright star had dimmed dramatically. Bayerlein still needed to build experience, broaden his perspective, and nurture deeper insight. Until he did, it fell to the marshals and senior admirals to hold the line firm. On the other hand, they were not yet weary of the fight, and this was a cheering prospect for their spirit.
At this time, Mittermeier was considering the construction of a military base at the entrance to Iserlohn Corridor that would be on the scale of Drei Großadmiralsburg, intended to reinforce the navy’s strength in the core imperial territories. He was also tempted by the prospect of overseeing this project personally.
As future historians would aver: “There was no group that had traveled so far and wide across the galaxy as Kaiser Reinhard and the admirals under his command, storming back and forth across the sea of stars. Marshal Wolfgang Mittermeier in particular will surely remain known to history for some time as the military officer who traveled the greatest total distance in his life.”
But Mittermeier knew nothing of how history would judge him. He would turn thirty-three this year, and was still young and fierce, with no desire to dedicate himself to desk work. The position of commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada satisfied both his abilities and his ambition, so that when Count von Mariendorf put his name forward for minister of domestic affairs, he felt not gratitude but reluctance. Had his friend Oskar von Reuentahl still been alive, Mittermeier would surely have recommended him to serve as the kaiser’s most important lieutenant—though that selflessness was, in fact, one of the qualities that made Mittermeier a worthy successor in the count’s eyes.
On February 18, Kaiser Reinhard announced his intention to lead an expedition to Heinessen.
The expedition, however, was ultimately postponed due to the kaiser’s health. On February 19, he came down with fever for the first time that year, but it was the worst bout yet, and his doctors were pale with anxiety for some time. On February 22, the fever finally broke, and the kaiser drank apple juice with honey brought to him by the kaiserin herself.