The difficulty with trust, Schönkopf thought, was that it was addictive.
He’d taken control of Iserlohn’s command center, as Yang Wenli had ordered, following Yang Wenli’s plan, with Yang Wenli’s voice echoing in his head. Things hadn’t been simple, but they’d been smooth, and that was more important. They had accounted for all the dangers. They had overcome all the obstacles. They had done exactly what Yang Wenli had asked of them, and Schönkopf was proud of his forces for living up to Yang Wenli’s faith in them.
As soon as they stabilised their hold on the command center, Schönkopf loosened the Imperial uniform and ordered his men to capture Iserlohn’s forces and open the gates wide for the rest of the 13th Fleet. He didn’t need to micromanage; the Rosenritter knew their tasks well, and were eager to perform their duties. They’d proven that long ago: while training at their base, during previous missions, on the way to Iserlohn to complete this formidable task. Schönkopf trusted them, and they returned that trust and gave him their best work as a result.
Yang Wenli trusted him. Schönkopf rolled that idea through his head again, staring out the window at the vast nebula and the seemingly-tiny ships sliding into Iserlohn’s embrace. He’d been contemplating that trust since the day Yang Wenli walked into the Rosenritter complex, presented what he needed from Schönkopf, and shared his dream of peace.
Schönkopf had decided, eventually, that Yang Wenli growing up on a trader’s ship explained a few things about him. None of it explained why he had looked at Schönkopf and decided—with no evidence—to trust him with a complicated plan that hinged on Schönkopf not doing what everyone expected of him.
It was, unfortunately, very easy to like someone that honest and open. Schönkopf sighed and forced himself to look away from where the 13th Fleet now circled. It wouldn’t take long, he knew, for Yang Wenli to come see the results of his plan.
To see how his trust had been well-placed.
(The warmth that quivered beneath Schönkopf’s skin at the thought was disconcerting, but not unpleasant at all.)
Yang Wenli entered the command deck with no fanfare or warning, yet Schönkopf found his attention drawn to him from the moment the doors opened. He saluted, gave his report, and was struck—more than anything else—by the quiet relief in Yang Wenli’s voice as he said “I guess it really did work out.”
“It would seem so,” Schönkopf replied, more out of a need to say something than because they were helpful words to say. But it must’ve been the right thing to do, or at least not the wrong thing, because Yang Wenli’s smile didn’t fade.
They shook hands.
Yang Wenli’s warm hand lacked the calluses of most military men. But then, he was a bridge officer, not a frontline fighter like Schönkopf himself. The strength of his grasp, the clarity of his space-dark eyes as they met Schönkopf’s, the way Yang Wenli tilted his head in realisation that Schönkopf didn’t want to let go—
Well, Schönkopf had tried to chase people for less. He rubbed his thumb across the back of Yang Wenli’s hand, trailed his fingers against Yang Wenli’s palm as he released their hands, and let his eyes drop half-closed. Yang Wenli blinked at him, then let out a soft huff of laughter, turned away, and continued with the duties of his command.
It was the barest acknowledgement, but it wasn’t a rejection.
Schönkopf watched him, a smile curling around his lips and desire gently rooting itself in his heart. He’d need to be careful, but that would make any successes all the sweeter.
Iserlohn’s fleet attempted to retake Iserlohn, lured there by Yang Wenli’s plans and traps. Schönkopf stood in the command center, watching Yang Wenli as he sat upon a desk and ordered his men to fire with the goal of destroying the fewest ships necessary to achieve their goal.
Schönkopf knew many commanders. He’d served under people who saw lives only as numbers, those who fought only for the thrill of battle, ones who avoided conflict at every turn. Admiral Yang called this a massacre with grief in his quiet words, and Schönkopf caught the way his lips turned down and his eyes closed as they refused to surrender.
But Yang’s eyes were wide open as he stood and ordered his men to destroy the command ship.
No matter his dreams, Yang Wenli was not a pacifist to turn from battle; he was just a man tired of his role as an instrument of violence. As Yang Wenli told his adjutant to inform the Alliance he had succeeded, Schönkopf looked at the retreating glints of light from the Imperial Navy. So many other men would have turned them all into dust drifting through the nebula. They were the enemy, after all; if the lives of one’s own people could be spent in service of victory, what of the foes?
Schönkopf came back to himself when Yang Wenli stopped next to him and said, “The heart of a warrior, indeed,” with enough resignation that Schönkopf wanted to turn and grasp his shoulder in comfort. He couldn’t. They were still on a command deck, and they didn’t know each other well enough. “It’s because of men like him that the war won’t end. I’m sick of being involved with that type.”
Before Schönkopf could find something to say in reply, Yang Wenli left.
A warning? Schönkopf wondered, watching him go. Or simply a statement of fact?
The next day, Schönkopf made his way to Yang Wenli’s temporary office. He’d claimed it, Schönkopf suspected, more to make his adjutant’s life easier than because Yang Wenli himself cared. It wasn’t far from the command center; Schönkopf wouldn’t even need to use Iserlohn’s internal rapid-transit system to reach his post after checking in with the admiral.
The door opened easily for him. Surprisingly, Yang Wenli sat at his desk, though his hat was off his head and Yang Wenli seemed more occupied with eating breakfast than reading through the reports scattered on surfaces around him.
Schönkopf saluted, as was proper, and Yang Wenli returned it with a lazy smile. “Good to see you in a proper uniform again, Commodore.”
“Good to be wearing one.” Schönkopf relaxed and took a seat. “Did you know you’re the first person I’ve served under to be so certain of me?”
Yang Wenli took a sip of tea, dark eyes considering. “I had some idea.”
“It’s a good experience.” Schönkopf spun his grandfather’s pen between his fingers. It might not be useful for writing anymore, but that hadn’t affected its balance at all. “I don’t want to leave it behind.”
Yang Wenli tilted his head, sending a stray lock of hair in front of his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice, though Schönkopf wanted to brush it aside. “Is that a request, Commodore?”
“I’ll send it through official channels too, Admiral, don’t worry.” Schönkopf offered Yang Wenli a crooked smile, and then belatedly realised it was the same one he used to flirt in bars. “You requested the Rosenritter be attached to the 13th Fleet for this operation. I want that assignment to be made permanent, and to have my unit operate under your command.”
“I’d hope that capturing Iserlohn leads to peace, Schönkopf.” Yang Wenli propped his chin on one hand, brows tightened unhappily. “Do you think otherwise?”
Schenkopf sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve made my peace with my place in the Alliance,” he said, more frankly than he would to any other commanding officer. “And the place they can accept me is as a weapon. If I’m to be one, Admiral Yang, I’d like to follow the orders of a man who thinks of me and mine as people first and potential traitors not at all.”
Yang Wenli’s lips thinned, which told Schönkopf he understood. Schönkopf didn’t look away, no matter how intense Yang Wenli’s gaze was or how much he wished neither of them needed to be asked this question. If they could leave war behind and find another way to live—
It was a dream, Yang Wenli had said, and Schönkopf quite liked it.
He just wished he could believe it, too.
“Submit the official request,” Yang Wenli said, after a minute had ticked by on the clocks. “I’ll make sure it happens.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Schönkopf said, standing and saluting even though he could already see Yang Wenli waving off the formality. “I’ll make sure the Rosenritter live up to your expectations.”
“Don’t worry,” Yang Wenli said, voice soft as his smile. “You already have.”