When the near-complete victory report from the Fourth Fleet reached headquarters, General Marcus Thorne — the army commander — knew it wouldn’t be long before the Army took the stage. The preparatory work for Epsilon II was nearly finished; at least the first phase of the amphibious assault was thoroughly ready.

  The first wave would call up more than sixty fully mechanized infantry divisions and over twenty armored divisions, including two of the Federation’s premier formations — the First Army Armored Division and the 3rd Marine Armored Division — which would form the backbone of the landing. The spearhead, however, was entrusted to the 16th Marine Armored Division and the reconstituted 9th Armored Division — the two formations that had most distinguished themselves during the Epsilon II campaign.

  The 9th Armored Division had held Atlas Station, the largest industrial city on Epsilon II, with half its force in coordination with sister units until the Federation’s major counteroffensive arrived; it had fought some of the hardest battles. The 16th’s glory came at the Garo Ridge campaign, when Victor Steele, the theater commander, had almost run out of deployable troops. If the 16th had failed, the Federation would have collapsed on the eve of victory. Instead, the 16th held the line and later spearheaded the counterattack; the Imperial forces they routed and captured outnumbered them two to one.

  In the Ninth Division’s hall of honors hang banners and unit medals of every sort. On the main wall, there is a blank space — a newcomer once asked why that exact spot had been left empty. An old veteran answered, “That place is reserved for a first-class mechanic. At the critical moment in Atlas Station, if not for the mechanic who knocked out the enemy forward command post and delayed the Empire’s assault by two days, Atlas Station and the 9th would not exist. The division commander said: Heroes arise in chaotic times; mechanics can create miracles, too. Let that spot be for him — and for heroes to come.”

  The division commander’s words sent a thrill through every new recruit who set foot in the Ninth. The blank square became a target in every soldier’s heart — a soul for the Ninth Division was born, and cohesion and fighting spirit rose noticeably.

  By contrast, in the 16th Armored Division’s tension-filled pre-deployment phase, the former special reconnaissance company (now reorganized at battalion level) showed little sign of pre-battle anxiety. In a few hours, the unit would board the heavy transport ships as the first wave, destined to land on Aurora, the primary world of the Vega Cluster, yet many read, played ball, and lounged as if the impending battle were nothing of consequence.

  The soldiers newly assigned to this battalion were veteran fighters hand-picked from the division’s regiments — the best of the veterans. Naturally, they were curious about the mysterious deputy company commander who, with a single squad, had once caused such a stir behind enemy lines. In Torik’s company, several fresh members of the special reconnaissance unit tracked him down in the junior officers’ lounge.

  “Sir, tell us the story. If people ask about our unit’s deeds later, at least we’ll have something to talk about, right?” one asked.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Torik glared. “That’s classified. You want me to tell you so you can go brag about it?”

  At the mention of the deputy commander, the veterans in the lounge came to life.

  “Big guy, what do you think the deputy is up to now?” Blake asked.

  Big Guy didn’t look up from his book. “Probably hassling somebody,” he said.

  Big Guy hailed from Cerberus on the Hades frontier and served as Torik’s fire support operator; his Juggernaut chassis carried an extra energy cannon, its suppressive fire savage and precise. His personality matched: taciturn, blunt, and deadly reliable.

  The answer surprised everyone; there was a burst of laughter and nodding. The former deputy had always been in trouble when he’d first joined the recon outfit. Alice, the unit’s nurse, still regarded the special recon team with a wary eye.

  Torik sighed with a smile. “If the deputy comes back, I wouldn’t mind going back to being a squad leader.” The men nodded.

  …

  Jack was studying combat cases. Russell judged that the fat lieutenant still had untapped potential and needed pressure: Jack was ordered to memorize and digest the lesson plans within a month. The corporal’s head filled with after-action reports, data, analyses, and deployment schematics — a sponge soaking up everything. In the process of committing and analyzing these cases, he found himself starting to think about alternative plans: what he would do in those situations. This was the first step toward Jack forming his own tactical thinking.

  …

  General Cassius von Adler of the Dragoon Empire still stood before the window, gently setting his wineglass on the sill. He breathed out; the view outside that pane had not granted him the insight his predecessor Russell seemed to draw from it. As his secretaries never understood Russell’s fondness for that window, Adler himself did not know why Russell had preferred to stand there.

  A voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Respected General Adler, I believe you are encountering a bit of trouble.”

  Adler turned angrily, but when he saw the visitor, he was struck dumb. Beside his chief private secretary stood two men. The younger of the two was no stranger — Prince Viktor von Reiss, third-in-line of the Dragoon royal von Reiss house and the Empire’s prodigious military scion.

  Standing next to the prince was a slight old man Adler had never met in person but knew well by reputation: Alexander Reed, director of the Naga Military Command Institute. Naga is one of the Western Alliance’s democratic states — small in systems, but formidable in military theory and capability. Because of border disputes with the Rhine Republic, Naga had ultimately joined the Western Alliance led by imperial powers. Politics there was pure interest, not justice: victory grants the right to declare righteousness and to cloak wrongdoing.

  Three years earlier, Viktor had emerged triumphant from a competitive field of dozens to become Alexander Reed’s top pupil in Naga — a fact that had strengthened calls among some nobles and the public to elevate Viktor as first in line for succession. The military, however, still backed the first heir, Grand Prince Maximilian von Reiss.

  The relationship between the military and the crown is a delicate one: they obey royal command while sometimes nursing their own small calculations. Viktor’s hunger for power unnerved the generals; Maximilian, though fond of nightlife and quick-tempered, posed no comparable systemic threat in a polity where crown and military rule supreme, and a mediocre ruler is often easier for the generals to manage.

  Adler’s concern deepened. The prince’s sudden, forceful appearance alongside the “empire’s savior” was not relief — it was a wolf coming to take the throne. With Russell gone, no one in the Imperial High Command could now blunt such a tactical genius’s edge.

  This was trouble indeed.

  (CH105 end)