II
Reinhard was floating in infinite space.
The bridge of the Imperial Navy flagship Brünhild formed a vast hemisphere, and its entire upper half was a display screen. Scattered by the galaxy, innumerable particles of light and darkness poured through this screen and onto Reinhard in the commander’s seat. With his whole body immersed in the stream and the interplay of light and dark synchronized with his heartbeat and breathing, he felt at one with the galaxy itself. These moments were the pinnacle of joy for him. He felt the shower of stars at the root of his soul, felt every cell in his body move in accordance with the cosmic order. Brünhild was currently docked in the stellar region of Shiva, twelve days out from Heinessen, but in this moment, such names meant nothing. He was part of the galaxy, the galaxy was all of him, and none could rend the two asunder.
At this time, Reinhard knew that he was running a mild fever, but he had not spoken of it to his chief vassals or his personal attendant. Had they known, they would surely have locked him up in his residence overlooking the Winter Rose Garden on Heinessen until he recuperated. The very idea of himself as an invalid could find no seat in his consciousness, and was ejected from his body entirely.
“Better to fight and rue the outcome than rue not fighting at all.” Although attributed to Reinhard in later ages, this aphorism cannot be found in any reliable historical sources concerning him. Nevertheless, it appears to have made a deep impression on many people as a vivid representation of the kaiser’s Mars-like aspect.
Reinhard was just sipping a cup of coffee with cream that Emil von Salle had brought him when the tense voice of an operator filled the bridge.
“Enemy sighted! Distance 106.4 light seconds, approximately 31.92 million kilometers. Earliest red zone breach estimated at 1,880 seconds from now.”
A gigantic, unseen fisherman cast his net of worry over the Imperial Navy. Not even those who had cut swathes through countless battlefields and faced innumerable deaths had grown accustomed to the trembling, cold hand that touched their stomachs, lungs, and hearts.
Eventually the enemy fleet appeared on-screen as a clump of glowing points in the endless darkness. The computer calculated their formation and projected it holographically. After a few seconds of observation, Reinhard allowed that it was up to his standards.
“They lack experience, but there is something about them worth watching,” he said. He had begun his military career six years before Julian, and his martial accomplishments were incomparably superior in both quality and quantity. This June would mark ten years since he completed his principal education and experienced battle for the first time. How long that decade had been, and how short! As the things he had lost and the things he had gained passed before his mind’s eye, he spoke into the microphone to his troops.
“Before combat begins, a reminder for all of you. Whatever may have been the case under the Goldenbaum Dynasty, so long as the Lohengramm Dynasty endures, its kaisers will always lead the Galactic Imperial Navy from the front.”
The kaiser’s voice filled the bridge like water fills its vessel.
“I speak for myself and my son as well. No Lohengramm kaiser shall ever hide behind his men, directing wars from the safety of the palace. This I vow to you all: the Lohengramm Dynasty shall never be led by a coward.”
The moment of stillness that ensued was shattered by wild enthusiasm.
“Sieg Kaiser Reinhard! Sieg Prinz Alec!”
These cries dominated the navy’s communications circuits, beginning on Brünhild and spreading to the entire fleet. Mittermeier and the other admirals nodded, each on the bridge of his own flagship, each wearing a different expression. How proud they were that their kaiser always kept his back to his allies and his chest bared to his enemies!
And then—
“Feuer!”
“Fire!”
At 0850 on May 29, the Battle of Shiva began.
It started as a relatively orderly exchange of fire. Spears of light tore through the skin of the ancient night to bounce off the energy fields of opposing ships, creating a spectacle like a million birds of fire dancing together. Such a mysterious, phantasmagorical sight could not exist in this world except as the formal raiment of Death.
After fifteen minutes of cannon fire, the left wing of the Iserlohn Revolutionary Army fell back. As if drawn toward its opponent, the Imperial Navy’s right wing began to drift forward, but the wing’s commander leapt in to put a stop to it.
“Don’t give them what they want!” Wittenfeld said. “They can only win by luring our forces within firing range of Thor’s Hammer. Don’t be taken in by such obvious deceptions.”
The forbearance in this order may have been out of character for him, but it spread through the Black Lancers’ entire formation and slowed its advance. When the Iserlohn forces halted their retreat and launched a counterattack, the Black Lancers took the opportunity to fall back themselves.
At 1010, after several repetitions of this advance-and-retreat pattern, Attenborough made an irritated noise and gave up on trying to lure the Black Lancers into Iserlohn’s crosshairs. Pulling off his black beret with its white five-pointed star, he turned to his staff officer Lao and shrugged. “Looks like our reckless boar Wittenfeld has added a few words to his dictionary, like ‘prudence’ and ‘caution.’ What does he hope to achieve by playing the intellectual at this point?”
The imperial forces that participated in the Battle of Shiva included some 51,700 ships and 5,842,400 troops, while Iserlohn had 9,800 ships and 567,200 troops. The empire’s numerical advantage was overwhelming, and the Iserlohn Revolutionary Army was forced to field ships with skeleton crews. This was a weakness, but it was also the matrix from which a new ruse was generated.
Julian ordered Ulysses forward. He had not made an announcement of intent like Reinhard, but the youthful, flaxen-haired commander had also decided to stand at the head of his forces, accepting the danger. This was, of course, due to Yang’s influence, but at that time Julian may have had some boarlike tendencies himself.
Vast fireballs bloomed like flowers in the sector ahead.
Ulysses plowed right into the swelling tangle of energy without even slowing her pace. The ship’s frame groaned and shuddered, but finally Ulysses emerged, seemingly hurled out by the energy storm, at a different angle from the one she had entered by. Directly ahead, an unfortunate imperial cruiser was exposing her starboard flank.
Thick bolts of white-hot energy roared from Ulysses’s main cannon, tearing the cruiser apart even as she desperately began to come about. A new flash of light pierced through the iridescent explosion. Ulysses’s energy-neutralization field glittered like a thin, jewel-spangled robe, but her luck remained strong and she changed course to dodge additional cannonry as she returned fire.
Six kilometers to port of Ulysses, an allied vessel was showered in imperial fire. The vessel continued to advance as she disintegrated, becoming a cloud of particulate metal and energy in seconds, and disappearing in a flash of light. The energy of destruction and slaughter spiraled through the void in torrents, creating balls of fire and light like holes punched in a black wall.
The Iserlohn fleet’s minor advance all but bounced off the impenetrable wall of the Imperial Navy. Neither Mittermeier at the front, von Eisenach on the left, nor Wittenfeld on the right allowed their formation to falter as they continued to parry the Iserlohn fleet’s attempts to penetrate their ranks. This was not a passive strategy. Under the kaiser’s orders, they were storing up the energy that would enfold and crush the Iserlohn forces in steel and flame and rage. But Reinhard somehow could not find the right moment for a frontal attack.
“Yang Wen-li’s successor is quite skillful,” he muttered to himself. “Or is this Merkatz’s handiwork?”
The flush of crimson in his porcelain cheeks was not from excitement alone. His mildly feverish body craved water. He also felt a slight chill. His condition was now too poor to ignore, which was unpleasant in itself. His spirit and passion had not weakened in the slightest, but his concentration did appear to be flagging. Irritated, Reinhard put a white finger to his dry lips and examined the screen.
“Your Majesty. Your Majesty!”
The voice entered his awareness after several disorderly intertwinings of light and dark had imprinted themselves on his retinas. Reinhard shifted his gaze to see the faces of Senior Admiral Mecklinger, chief advisor at Imperial Headquarters, and Vice Admiral von Streit, his senior imperial aide. Their faces bore a range of unfamiliar expressions: worry, anxiety, and above all, that look worn by the healthy when watching over the ill. Reinhard replied with a smile, but it was somewhat lacking in mildness and generosity, and indeed came within millimeters of a sneer.
“What is it? Do you see the shadow of some curse on my face?” he joked. “Billions might have tried to place one on me, not least Marquis von Braunschweig.”
Mecklinger acknowledged the kaiser’s unskilled attempt at humor with a solemn salute.
“My apologies. It appeared that Your Majesty was off in a different galaxy entirely…”
Reinhard sighed hotly. It was not his heart that was hot, however, but his lungs and airway.
“I see,” he said. “Before I think of other galaxies, I had best seize total control of this one. I will be relying on your assistance.”
The kaiser closed his mouth, and the businesslike atmosphere of Imperial Headquarters appeared to be restored to Brünhild’s bridge.