Author's Note: This story has been in my mind for a while, about doing an ATL based on the story of Legend of the Galactic Heroes.
However, although this story does have a moment wheN things change drastically from the OTL, the change won't be sudden. Things will change first very slowly, so don't be worried if some scenes sound like the series – that's the point.
On another note, this story will largely be told from a Free Planets Alliance point of view. Although some people from the Galactic Empire will make it in there as POV characters, it might take a while, and they'll not be as central to the plot as the Alliance characters.
As always, LOGH belongs to Yoshiki Tanaka.
Enjoy!
LEGEND OF THE GALACTIC HEROES
AN IDEAL TO FIGHT FOR
Prologue
There were few things that the Imperial and Alliance historians truly agreed on about the last three centuries of human history, from the launching of the Ion Fazekath to the short-lived Occupation of El Facil.
Centuries of different cultural basics and an increasing disdain for the other side helped it. A psychological need to make the nation they worked for and to varying degrees believed in cemented it.
The history of the Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy was fundamentally different. However, there were some points on which the schools of thoughts on both sides could find consensus despite the entrenched disdain and distrust of the other's objectivity. Namely, that if not for Arle Heinessen's uprising and flight, it would currently not be anything of note.
This came from social and economic realities. Namely, that in the semi-feudal epoch that the Galactic Empire had fostered, the High Nobility wished to remain as close as possible to the key center of power. And that power, for the last half millennia, was the Valhalla Starzone, and most importantly the imperial capitol world of Odin.
Imperials likely would have found the two corridors, but passing through them and creating colonies would have been cost-prohibitive at best. Some surmise that a few younger and more reckless nobles would have crafted small fiefs, but these would have been seen as the backwater of backwaters, a subject of derision in the conservative and traditions-bound Imperial Court.
Barlat Starzone might have eventually been discovered, and the fourth planet of its main system would have certainly been considered quite a find. After all, the planet was not only habitable, but rich in resources and having one of the closest natural ecosystems to that of the Earth Standard, necessitating little in the way of terraforming.
The planet, however, would have been very far from the center of imperial power, and most historians muse that it would have likely become an agricultural center with little industry, or perhaps a sort of resort planet for the nobility who wished to go far away from the hustle, bustle and inherent dangers of the core imperial worlds.
It would have been insignificant, a footnote, an obscure name in the Imperial Navigation Database.
However, one group of refugees changed that fate.
The Exodus Fleet, as Alliance citizens now called it and which even Imperial scholars increasingly named it, had braved the unknown reaches of space. It had done so largely out of fear of pursuit, as being caught would have been death or worse. That knowledge pushed them to get as far away from the centers of imperial power, so far away that the Empire's repressive apparatus wouldn't find them.
To a people who had suffered half a century of flight, punctuated by loss and accidents and other strife, the fourth planet of the Barlat System was nothing short of a metaphorical godsend. Here, they could live and thrive. And so they named the planet Heinessen after their initial leader, and claimed the planet for their own. And from there, they proclaimed themselves the Free Planets Alliance.
The uncanny energy and dedication – some called it a form of controlled desperation - of the original settlers made Heinessen the fastest growing world that mankind had ever seen, enough that by the time the Alliance and the Empire finally encountered each other over eleven decades after initial landfall, it was able to field a military force which dealt the Imperial Fleet its first complete defeat in centuries.
The war came largely out of the fact that the Empire simply couldn't acknowledge any other nation but itself. It alone, Imperials said, had been there for humankind when the Galactic Federation had failed. It alone knew how to best serve the interests of humanity. Only House Goldenbaum could claim rulership over it. Any who would strike out on its own was an affront to the strength of the empire, and thus in open rebellion against it.
Even reeling from the unprecedented defeat, the Empire refused to acknowledge the Alliance. The humans within the Sagittarius Arm were rebels, and those who fled to it following the initial defeat at the Battle of Dagon were deemed cowards and turncoats.
Hopes of coexistence were dashed, and the two nations entered a strange, continuous type of warfare. Years of conflict pitted the generally attacking Imperial forces against the generally defending Alliance units, each battle costing enormous numbers of ships and hardware and horrendous costs of life.
Years became decades, and yet neither side showed any willingness in giving up. The smaller Alliance eventually found itself hard-put in covering the costs of its ever-increasing war machine, while corrupt nobles and merchants were willing to sell technology and information to its enemy for outrageous prices.
These elements of greed and despair were what gave birth to the Phezzan Dominion, situated in one of the two space corridors linking the Orion and Sagittarius Arms. A political and economic go-between that was an Imperial world only on paper, Phezzan soon monopolized much of the trade between the Empire and the Alliance and became the wealthiest known world, and a powerful – if secondary – force in mankind's affairs.
In the one hundred and fifty-five years since war was declared between the two enemy nations, their forces had clashed no less than three hundred and thirty-two times. Hundreds of thousands of ships were lost. Hundreds of millions of lives were lost. Star systems became floating graveyards. And yet neither side budged, and the killing continued. All in the name of what had become stubborn patriotism and dogmatism on both sides.
As with all stalemates, however, one side eventually has to give. History has shown that such is the way of all wars: none are eternal. Another point that Alliance and Imperial scholars agreed on.
For the past five years, Alliance efforts in the war had met with general failures. Their attacks were repulsed, and their defensive efforts had been costly both in terms of ships and manpower. Military spending, already in the red, was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
The civilian population also caught on to the fact that their side was now clearly on the losing side of a war they couldn't afford. A general desire for the war to end grew stronger and a few voices were starting to wonder if the Free Planets Alliance couldn't find a way to negotiate a conditional surrender to the Galactic Empire.
The military and civilian leaders of the Alliance tried their best to assuage public fears, but increasing dogmatism and the presence of extremist groups that the government could not – or would not – stop had jaded the population. The social problems continued.
The Alliance needed a victory – any victory – to regain some momentum.
It was then that intelligence came down from the Phezzan Dominion: the Empire was on the move again with a relatively large fleet. It was led by a young upstart named Reinhard von Lohengramm, who had until recently had the family name of von Musel. It had been due to him that the latest battle with the Empire had been lost.
A fluke, nothing more, many Alliance admirals said. That intelligence was, they and their civilian leaders agreed, exactly what was needed. They'd send a far larger fleet against the youngster, and destroy him. That way, some confidently proclaimed, they'd have two rewards. Firstly, their coveted victory. Secondly, the life of a brat who had dared make fools out of them all. It was perfect.
And so the Free Planets Alliance Star Fleet mustered again, almost universally confident that this battle, this encounter would break the run of bad luck they'd been having. And if a few thought differently, or urged caution, well, there were naysayers everywhere.
After all, Reinhard von Lohengramm was likely nothing but a nobility-favoured child who was playing at warfare, his achievements exaggerated or due to luck. Once he would fight experienced fleet commanders who could focus entirely on him, some said, he'd crumble easily.
This was the prevalent feeling within the Alliance military.
They would shortly come to regret their own overconfidence.
December 19, Universal Calendar Year 795
Edwards Space Port, Heinessen
There was absolutely no good in the military dispatch he was going to take part of. Of that, Yang Wen-li was certain. It wasn't just his personal inclinations talking, although that helped. No, the entire operation reeked of nothing but propaganda.
Everywhere he looked just confirmed that opinion. The Edwards port was sometimes used for returning troops, and he supposed those returning deserved it to an extent. They had just been through another battle, had likely lost friends. Couldn't they have some encouragements from loved ones, succour from friends and family, to help them through the trauma of the fight?
They did. Yang didn't mind it for that reason. But usually, departures were affected through the official and more efficient shuttle launch facilities located near the Strategic Planning Center. Dispatches were generally more sober affairs then returns.
But not this time. This time, Yang felt as if he was in the midst of a holiday celebration. Christmas come early, as it were.
Military bands were playing the national anthem and other nationally-applicable tunes. Stands filled with people proudly showed flags of the Alliance, as well as messages promising heroism and glory to all who would defend the motherland.
There was confetti thrown. There was glitter here and there. Balloons were given to adults and especially children who had come. And throughout the stands were people coming and going, selling everything from popcorn to hotdogs. There was a festive feeling pretty much all around. All that was missing were clowns and mimes. All that clashed with that were the military personnel milling around, saying goodbye to parents, family, siblings or lovers in ways that often had no hint of amusement in it.
It was ridiculous to the extreme. Since when had the military become some kind of circus act?
"It's really rude to space out, Commodore!" a young voice said in a chiding tone, and Yang's slightly brooding reverie was shattered as his eyes focused away from the fanfare and back to the teenager in front of him, standing right on the other side of the waist-high steel barrier separating civilian and military personnel.
Julian Mintz looked up at him with slightly exasperated eyes that looked far more mature than his nearly-fourteen years of age. Of clear Caucasian descent, he had blonde hair, large brown eyes that seemed to scream of decisive intellect, and a general fair countenance that Yang was sure was one day going to make the youngster quite a hit with the ladies.
It wasn't something Yang had much experience in. Although not ugly by any stretch of the imagination, his blue-eyed, black haired face – which had pretty much nothing Asian in it, despite his name, the looks came from a mother he had pretty much only known in pictures and stories – were contained on top of a fit body that was average in pretty much everything. That and his bookish nature had made him anything but a hit within female circles.
Well, with but one significant exception, that is.
Once Julian saw that his attention had returned, the teenager sighed in what seemed to be slight frustration. At twenty-eight, the youngest Commodore in recent Alliance history felt he was being scolded. It was a feeling he had gotten used to over the nearly two years since he'd officially adopted Mintz as his ward. The blond teen was a natural mother hen.
He felt more than he saw the knowing, amused looks that his two oldest friends were shooting him as they surveyed the surreal scene. But Julian wasn't finished.
"Commodore, while you're at the front, please make sure you eat properly," The teen fairly admonished, smiling benevolently, "Because even if you're busy, it's useless if you don't eat regularly."
Yang wondered how many mothers and wives were saying very similar words at the moment to young soldiers. Still, he'd had far stranger orders thrown his way, so he did what he was good at when something harmless bothered him: he shrugged it off.
"It's okay. I won't work that hard anyway this time." Because admiral Paeta wouldn't listen, but he kept that last part to himself as he smiled at his ward wryly. The boy seemed unconvinced. Yang couldn't blame him. He did then to forget food at times.
"Jean-Robert…" A gentle, female voice started haltingly next to him, and Yang looked to his right despite himself. Right at the one exception in the desert that had been Yang Wen-li's love life. A beautiful woman his age, with short blonde hair and greenish-blue eyes, stood looking at an equally blond man whose optimistic brown eyes always seemed to look for the bright side of things.
Her name was Jessica Edwards, and he had loved her since the first day he had seen her. He was Jean-Paul Lapp, his oldest friend who had been a much-needed support at the Officer's Academy. He loved her as well and, knowing his feelings, had asked for Yang's blessing to marry her.
No matter how much that had hurt, it had never occurred to Yang to refuse. Lapp was by far the more stable man, the one who could make her happy. So he looked at the two as they stared at each other lovingly, and if his heart ached, he kept it to himself, and always would.
Lapp stared at her with a smile before, as usual, working to alleviate the sorrow of the moment. "Please don't make that kind of face," He said gently, putting his hand on her shoulder as if to give her support. Yang grinned at that. "And don't worry. This time, it's an easy victory."
The lieutenant-commander's optimistic face turned towards the black-haired commodore's. "Right, Yang?"
Caught flat-footed, Yang agreed, and hoped the slight hesitation in his tone didn't betray his doubts. Not the place, and not the time, Wen-li, he told himself. He felt Julian shift towards him, and knew that the young man, at least, wasn't duped.
Jessica and Lapp exchanged a few more pleasantries, centered on him definitely coming back and them going to hunt for a house for them to live together once they married. Then he kissed her.
For the briefest of moment, she hesitated, and looked at Yang. He smiled, nodded, and looked away peacefully, closing his eyes and locking away whatever pain the sight had caused. He would never be selfish, not towards those two.
A few moments later, the two made their good-byes. Before they could get far, Jessica's voice stopped them, calling their names. They turned.
"You both come back in one piece, alright?" She said, and they both agreed. They left together, walking towards the enormous military shuttles which would carry them and the other soldiers to their ships in orbit of Heinessen.
As they walked, Yang couldn't help but reflect on how almost everyone was thinking this would be an easy victory, and how that sort of certainty had a tendency to breed dangerous overconfidence. The carnival-like atmosphere only made it more apparent.
Clearly, that train of thought showed on his face, as Lapp cut into it. "What's the matter, Yang? Worried about something?"
Another officer might have been slightly put off at seeing a lieutenant-commander talking to a commodore in such a familiar way, but Yang had never cared much about military protocol, or the military period. He certainly wasn't going to let that come between him and Lapp, and he was glad that Lapp, for his part, didn't resent Yang's career jumping ahead of his.
With Jessica and Julian out of earshot, Yang thus opened up a bit.
"Even with double the numbers that the enemy has, it doesn't mean we can't make a mistake," He explained, "And then, if we make a big mistake…"
He left the thought unfinished, but Lapp, of course, had followed it up quickly. His tone was more serious now, cognizant of the danger. "If that happens, no guarantees that we'll win easily."
"Right."
That's if we win at all, Yang thought, but refused to voice it. He was certain that Lapp had thought the same thing, anyway. That was the sort of thing that had to remain unspoken.
As was his style, Lapp quickly covered the moment with his unflagging optimism. "Hey, if the Hero of El Facil's with us, its unavoidable that we will!" He said cheerfully, using the moniker that Yang had been known as for seven years, and slapping him in the back, laughing. "It'll be fine, just fine!"
And Yang smiled despite his doubts. Maybe Lapp was right. Maybe Reinhard von Lohengramm wouldn't be the problem Yang feared he might be. He'd been wrong before. It was just that he was much more often right that prevented him from putting his mind to rest on the matter.
They strolled firmly for the shuttles, heading for two which had different destinations. Yang's would go for the flagship of the Second Fleet, the Patrocles, while Lapp's would go to the Pergammon, flagship of the Sixth Fleet. Yang's shuttle being the closest in their trajectory, they walked in easy silence towards it.
The whole situation was a small miracle to Yang. Although they had known each other for over twelve years, and been friends nearly that long, distance, time and jealousy had destroyed friendships all too often. And although they had grown somewhat more distant over the years as their duties denied them much time to catch up, no resentment had cropped up.
Lapp had never resented the fact that he had been generally sent to backwater posts, which had made him a mere lieutenant-commander despite his great talents. All the while Yang had found himself in postings where his contributions – and, to Yang, an absurd amount of luck – had made him a hero to the Alliance, a Commodore in his twenties, and if things continued likely a Rear Admiral by thirty.
And Yang, for his part, had never begrudged Lapp becoming more important in Jessica's life than he was, and eventually becoming her love, and her fiancé. The man was simply more suited to making her happy, and getting angry over something like that was completely alien to Yang's mind. Pain he did feel, but never bitterness.
They stopped in front of the mechanical stairs which would take Yang into the gargantuan shuttle, and paused there for a moment. Lapp turned towards him and stretched out a friendly hand.
"Well, even if it somehow goes south, we're returning from this alive." He said with utter conviction. There was no way to counter that sort of optimism. Yang certainly didn't have the words, or the will, for it.
So he grasped his friend's hand and shook it firmly. "Right." He said, with as much conviction he could muster. They nodded, and with a last wave of his hand, Lapp turned away and started to jog to his shuttle, still some distance away.
Yang watched him a moment, then went on the stairs, letting them carry him up. Lapp's upbeat words to Jessica played in his mind. This time, it's an easy victory. Right, Yang?
Part of him wanted that to be true. But the tactician in him, the historian in him, both remembered that risk-taking, aggressive, but creative white imperial ship, and what it had done at the Fourth Battle of Tiamat just a few month ago.
He simply couldn't be sure.
And he was certain Lapp, for all of his optimism, wasn't either.
December 19, Universal Calendar Year 795
Edwards Space Port Outskirts
Watching the departure of the shuttle with the best view possible was something that he had always had a knack for doing. It had taken him years to find that this park, built right at the periphery of the main grounds, offered the best angle from which to look at it.
Trees, artistic flower beds, and carefully manicured grounds created the impression of calm. A stream with a wooden bridge with cobbled ways snaking through it, as well as two large fountains, only made the impression of a peaceful place even more all-permeating. It was far away from the noise, close enough to the action.
From where he sat, he clearly saw shuttles taking off, one after the other. Dozens of shuttles leaving streaks of white as they climbed up and away. As a youth, the sight had fairly impressed him, and even now, it still gave off a good vibe even as the poison did its job on his body.
It was a good place as any to die in. The people who went about the park, of course, would never understand what happened to him. It would be a shocking moment, once some realized, but they would get over.
Someone walked and sat in the spot on the bench next to him. Others had done it before, and generally he kept himself looking at the sky and would only answer if the other occupant made a comment.
But not this time. He had recognized the gait easily enough, knew exactly who it was who was now looking pretty much at the same spot he was. He was only surprised it hadn't occurred well before. Consequently, he spoke first. His body was already feeling the drowsiness. He didn't have that long left.
"Twenty-two point ninety-five percent of the Star Fleet," he said, as if the other man wasn't just as acutely aware of the numbers. "That's what we're sending this time."
"The Stanford administration is working hard to look good, that's all," Came the easy, even reply. Not a hint of the anger many of the others likely felt. A very zen kind of man. "Politicians using their toys to get re-elected, nothing more to it."
"Think we'll win this one?"
"I don't know, and I couldn't care less. This one is a freebie we'll work with no matter what happens." A moment of silence, and then his colleague subtly shifted away from the present. "You really pulled a fast one. Some of the higher-ups are fairly… dismayed."
Now there was one clear understatement, he told himself. The higher-ups were likely out for blood. After all, the man he was sitting with was one of their very best hounds.
"Too late for that. I won't give them the satisfaction." He mused. The drowsiness was getting worse. This thing he'd taken was quite effective.
"I noticed that. Bleak Dreamer poison, from the looks of it. Must have cost a fortune, that one."
"I've got the cash to spare. Let me tell you something: no matter how idiotic the Imperial nobility is, they've got one thing going for them: they know their poisons."
No response to that, which he took as silent agreement. He was getting so… tired. It'd be over soon.
"All because of what happened to your sister at Tiamat. Stolen information, betraying the cause." There was restrained heat in that last comment, and that made what little fight was left in him lash right back.
"They got her there as a warning. They shouldn't have done it."
It all came down to his sister. The only family he had left, one who had no idea what they had been up to for generations. Too idealistic. So idealistic, in fact, that she'd gone and joined the military despite being discouraged from the course of action. She had defiantly gone to the Academy, had fought the great hesitations of the male-dominated officer corps to promote women to field duty.
And she had done well. Promoted to captain of a battleship, no less. He'd helped her slightly there. A minor nudge, but one that had been deemed unforgivable. So they'd made a point.
And, in retaliation, he had decided to make his own.
"My vision's going out of focus," he noted. He didn't think dying would be so…trivial. It really was darn good poison there, worth its price. "If you have any questions left, now's the time."
"You gave the data away, didn't you." It certainly wasn't a question.
He smiled as his vision became increasingly blurry, and nodded. "No point in all this if I didn't, right?"
"At a place where there'd be too many people to screen. Not bad. But we'll find him, whoever it is."
"Maybe. Good luck with that."
"It's not the first time we've had something like this. The House will overcome your act of spite as it did everything else."
He chuckled at that even as his eyes forcibly closed. He felt the arrogance of centuries of secrets and lies in that last sentence. He'd once sounded exactly like that. But he also knew, because of that fact, that the House wasn't as invincible at it seemed. One way or another, he was going to make things difficult for the elders for a while.
"Right. Until then, enjoy the panic." He said, and he drifted into one last, dreamless sleep, even as around him, people cheered at yet another show of force by their military.
On December twenty-second, 795 UC, the Free Planets Alliance Star Fleet sent a powerful force made up of three fleets against Reinhard von Lohengramm. It was seen then as a political move more than a battle proper. An easy victory, and great political and social benefits for both the government and the military.
Nobody then could have known that the following battle would start a chain of events which would irrevocably change the status quo so far maintained by the two sides.