Chapter Text
Heinessen – 1 Day after the 13th Fleet arrived from the capture of the Iserlohn Fortress
The word about Rear Admiral Yang's capture of the impregnable Iserlohn Fortress reached the Alliance space much faster than his ships, so to no one's surprise, he barely stepped on the soil of the homeworld, when he was swept away by the waiting dignitaries. They all shook his hand so enthusiastically that he thought it would fall off. The grand celebrations upon his return were endless and, even worse, he couldn't take a French leave because he was the star of the evening. Yang endured all the attention in silence, as the people he didn't even know sang his praises, which he tolerated with gritted teeth, or attempted to pat him on the back, which he avoided. When he finally got back home, he took a bottle of brandy with him to bed and drank himself to sleep.
Unfortunately, he didn't oversleep because Julian was a kind of an alarm clock that couldn't be just turned off whenever one wishes to. Yang had no choice but to freshen up, put on a clean uniform and shield himself from that irritatingly bright sunlight with his trusty sunglasses. Thus equipped, he went to work and arrived right on time. Yang entered the office without any hurry, covering his mouth as he yawned.
“Good morning, sir,” his adjutant greeted him with a salute.
Yang saluted back. “Good morning.” He noticed an empty cardboard box on her desk. “What's this?”
“Oh, it's nothing, just a box. The mail was inside, but I already sorted it and laid it out on your desk, sir,” sublieutenant Greenhill explained.
Yang scratched his head. “There was so much they put it in a box?”
“Yes, I understand it has been accumulating since the fleet left the capital. Some of the letters seemed like late congratulations for your promotion to rear admiral, sir.”
He laid a cool palm on his forehead. “I need a drink.”
“I'll bring tea,” Greenhill offered.
Yang didn't exactly have tea in mind, but at the moment he was willing to take anything. He nodded, which caused a spike of pain to drive into his skull. With a wince, he massaged the spot and made a mental note not to move his head like that again. Then he went into his private inner office. It was separated from the sublieutenant's workplace, which doubled as the front office.
He took his seat and glared (or rather looked, because he found out that glaring also hurt) at the piles of envelopes taking up the space on his desk. He took a few off the top and noticed they were sorted by the sender and then by the timestamp. The thickest stack was from the civilian citizens. Yang decided to deal with it last.
The sublieutenant came with tea and after she left, he noticed that she had also brought him painkillers. How did she know of his headache? He hadn't said anything to her.
Yang swallowed the pills and washed them down with the tea, then he leaned back in his chair, put the sunglasses in his breast pocket and closed his eyes. He decided a nap would be in order to get rid of the headache faster. He couldn't do any work with it anyway.
“Sir.” The soft voice of his adjutant woke him up. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It's been only half an hour.
“Yes?” he rasped.
“Are you feeling better?”
That's when he realized the pain disappeared. “I'm fine.”
“I'm relieved. Here are the reports.” Greenhill put them down on the desk before him.
“Thank you,” he said, already reaching into a pocket to get a pen. Instead he touched paper, which reminded him of another important matter he planned to take care of as soon as possible. “Sublieutenant, could you schedule me a meeting with Fleet Admiral Sitolet? At the earliest convenience, today or tomorrow?” he requested.
Greenhill put a finger to her lips in thought. “He's pretty busy right now, so I don't know if that'll be possible...” she said, then saw his dejected reaction, “... but I'll see what I can do.”
Yang gave a small nod.
“Please do. Get me the earliest date you can.”
“Yes, sir.”
When she left, Yang took the paper out of his pocket. It was his resignation letter. He'd had it prepared for a long time, this was just the newest reincarnation of the same letter he'd composed when he'd entered the service. The addressee changed, the date changed, his own rank changed, but now he thought that he finally got his best shot at successfully leaving the military. He gave them Iserlohn on a silver platter, with only half a fleet at his disposal and sustaining no losses, that should be enough of a ransom to buy him out of this life he hadn't chosen. He was never a soldier material anyway.
“Sir, your appointment will be tomorrow at 1800 hours,” Greenhill told him.
Yang quickly hid the letter back in his pocket. “Good, thank you.”
She definitely saw what he did there, but she ignored it. She wasn't a nosy person, which trait he more than appreciated. “Fleet Admiral will be all day today and tomorrow out of the office, but he rescheduled other meetings to see you first when he gets back. If it wasn't for you, I'd have gotten an appointment no sooner than in two weeks.”
Something about her comment grated him and he spoke without thinking.
“Sublieutenant, do you think I get special treatment because I won a battle?”
“Sir, it's to be expected that-”
“No,” Yang cut her off, “it's because Sitolet likes me. We've known each other since I was a student and he was my principal in the academy. That's all.”
“I-I understand, sir,” she said, looking surprised and a little hurt by his tone. Yang cursed himself inwardly. He had an annoying tendency to say the wrong things around her against his own intentions or common sense.
“Sublieutenant, I wasn't scolding you,” he began in a conciliatory tone. “But if there is one thing I learned in my military service, it's that victories have their price. The more you win, the more enemies you gain.”
She was taken aback again, this time by his pessimistic outlook, but she recovered shortly. “I'll remember that, sir. Excuse me,” she said and walked out.
That went well, Yang thought sarcastically. At least I'm getting out of the military soon, so I won't have to take my own advice any longer.