reservation.”
I see now, Yang thought, impressed. So there really are people in the world who think this way, too—who get the cause and effect, the action and reaction, just magnificently backward. True, they have no idea what’s really going on, but still …
This had gotten unexpectedly humorous. Admiral Dawson, acting director of Joint Operational Headquarters, had a reputation for mediocre tactical planning, and contrary to all expectation, that might mean he was just the sort of man who wouldn’t do exactly what Reinhard wanted.
If a large regiment were left sitting in the capital, that would throw a wrench into the plan and cause problems for the conspirators. Unable to make their move even if they wanted to, their plan might never be put into action. Of course, even if they were thus obstructed, they’d probably try something else, but at least for the time being, they wouldn’t be able to strike with the fleet away and do as they pleased with an undefended capital.
Of course, all of this had only just happened to turn out this way. Dawson’s intention was probably to work Yang and his subordinates to the bone. That much Yang had surmised, but what he couldn’t understand was the reason why Dawson was doing it. Though he had heard Dawson was not one to forget a personal grudge, Yang had never met the man in person; therefore, there was no way he could have possibly slighted him.
Yang’s question was answered by Julian. No one was tighter-lipped than that boy, so sometimes Yang would let him listen when he was thinking out loud, halfway talking to himself.
When Julian heard Yang wondering aloud about Dawson’s motivation, he chuckled and said it was easy to explain.
“How old is this Dawson fellow?”
“Midforties, probably.”
“And you’re thirty, Admiral, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, that finally happened.”
“Then that explains it. You’re both full admirals, even though you’re that far apart in age. Unless you’re as old as Admiral Bucock, he’s going to envy you.”
Yang scratched his head.
“Is that it? I see. How careless of me.”
Yang had no equal when it came to guessing the thoughts of an enemy on the battlefield, but Julian had just pointed out his blind spot.
Over the course of the past year, Yang had rocketed to prominence, rising three ranks from commodore to full admiral. To the man himself, this was nothing but headache and hassle, but to others—particularly the type to whom rank and position were everything—he was doubtless an object of envy and jealousy.
Those were the kinds of people who couldn’t recognize the existence of values that differed from their own, so there was no way they were going to believe that Yang’s wish was to retire from active duty as soon as possible, live off his pension, and write a book on history sometime before he died.
If you’re the man they call Miracle Yang, let’s see you put all four insurrections down by yourself. If you succeed, that’s fine and dandy; if you fail, I can deal with you however I like. That was probably what Dawson was thinking.
If I do fail, maybe they’ll let me retire, was Yang’s thought.
It was just as that outrageous thought was occurring to Yang that Julian spoke again.
“Attacking all four of those places one by one is going to take too long and be a major headache, isn’t it?”
“You said it,” Yang agreed with a strong nod. “Above all, it goes against my personal philosophy of winning with as little effort as possible. How would you settle this if it were up to you?”
Julian leaned forward. Lately, Julian’s interest in military tactics had been growing stronger.
“How about this: concentrate the enemies from all four sites in one location, and hit them there.”
Yang took off his black military beret and looked up at the ceiling.
“That’s a good idea, but there are two problems with it. One is the method: how do you get enemies from four different sites to move to the
I see now, Yang thought, impressed. So there really are people in the world who think this way, too—who get the cause and effect, the action and reaction, just magnificently backward. True, they have no idea what’s really going on, but still …
This had gotten unexpectedly humorous. Admiral Dawson, acting director of Joint Operational Headquarters, had a reputation for mediocre tactical planning, and contrary to all expectation, that might mean he was just the sort of man who wouldn’t do exactly what Reinhard wanted.
If a large regiment were left sitting in the capital, that would throw a wrench into the plan and cause problems for the conspirators. Unable to make their move even if they wanted to, their plan might never be put into action. Of course, even if they were thus obstructed, they’d probably try something else, but at least for the time being, they wouldn’t be able to strike with the fleet away and do as they pleased with an undefended capital.
Of course, all of this had only just happened to turn out this way. Dawson’s intention was probably to work Yang and his subordinates to the bone. That much Yang had surmised, but what he couldn’t understand was the reason why Dawson was doing it. Though he had heard Dawson was not one to forget a personal grudge, Yang had never met the man in person; therefore, there was no way he could have possibly slighted him.
Yang’s question was answered by Julian. No one was tighter-lipped than that boy, so sometimes Yang would let him listen when he was thinking out loud, halfway talking to himself.
When Julian heard Yang wondering aloud about Dawson’s motivation, he chuckled and said it was easy to explain.
“How old is this Dawson fellow?”
“Midforties, probably.”
“And you’re thirty, Admiral, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, that finally happened.”
“Then that explains it. You’re both full admirals, even though you’re that far apart in age. Unless you’re as old as Admiral Bucock, he’s going to envy you.”
Yang scratched his head.
“Is that it? I see. How careless of me.”
Yang had no equal when it came to guessing the thoughts of an enemy on the battlefield, but Julian had just pointed out his blind spot.
Over the course of the past year, Yang had rocketed to prominence, rising three ranks from commodore to full admiral. To the man himself, this was nothing but headache and hassle, but to others—particularly the type to whom rank and position were everything—he was doubtless an object of envy and jealousy.
Those were the kinds of people who couldn’t recognize the existence of values that differed from their own, so there was no way they were going to believe that Yang’s wish was to retire from active duty as soon as possible, live off his pension, and write a book on history sometime before he died.
If you’re the man they call Miracle Yang, let’s see you put all four insurrections down by yourself. If you succeed, that’s fine and dandy; if you fail, I can deal with you however I like. That was probably what Dawson was thinking.
If I do fail, maybe they’ll let me retire, was Yang’s thought.
It was just as that outrageous thought was occurring to Yang that Julian spoke again.
“Attacking all four of those places one by one is going to take too long and be a major headache, isn’t it?”
“You said it,” Yang agreed with a strong nod. “Above all, it goes against my personal philosophy of winning with as little effort as possible. How would you settle this if it were up to you?”
Julian leaned forward. Lately, Julian’s interest in military tactics had been growing stronger.
“How about this: concentrate the enemies from all four sites in one location, and hit them there.”
Yang took off his black military beret and looked up at the ceiling.
“That’s a good idea, but there are two problems with it. One is the method: how do you get enemies from four different sites to move to the
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