Horde Commander Yss!Yaa kept his body absolutely still, betraying no emotion at all, as the fleet brought its journey to an end. His subordinates were intent on rushing forward to stake their claims to scoring victory, but he’d issued strict orders for them to stay in formation and wait for him to evaluate the situation. It was yet another problem with the Horde, he knew, as the display started to fill with data. He couldn’t supervise his commanders from another ship, which allowed them to contemplate independent action — and get away with it, if they succeeded. A lucky warrior enjoyed the protection of the gods.
There was nothing particularly interesting about the human star system, but the sheer level of development in less than a local year was staggering. The humans, according to the information they’d been slipped, hadn’t even had a serious space program. Now, they had a large base on their moon and there were radio sources scattered across the star system… and traces of terraforming operations on the fourth planet from their star. Earth itself was surrounded by space stations, free-floating industrial nodes and a small fleet of starships, most of them clearly passed down from the Galactics. Had the Varnar actually come to terms with their human allies?
“Scan the system,” he ordered. “Are there any major warships in the sector?”
He waited as his staff ran the scan, silently cursing their incompetence under his breath as they worked. Once, having the strongest warriors move up the command chain had seemed a good idea; now, as their commander, he had other thoughts. The ones who were capable of operating a scanner were often not the ones who won fights, either in duels for command positions or outright challenges of honour. But it wasn’t something he could change, he knew. If he told mighty warriors with more brawn than brains that they were being held back in favour of wimps who preferred brain to brawn, he would be overthrown. And then the brainy ones would be purged on suspicion of being dishonourable bastards who plotted to overturn the natural order of things.
“Three warships,” his officer said, finally. The Horde Commander was uncomfortably aware that any of the major Galactics would have the answer almost at once. “One of them is definitely a Class-VIII Warcruiser.”
Just like the one that went missing, Yss!Yaa thought. The humans had clearly taken it, presumably killing the crew in the process. He wondered, absently, just how long it would take his officers to draw the correct conclusion, if he gave them time to think. But there was no time. He had to win the battle before one of the major Galactic powers intervened. It was quite possible that the whole system was a trap.
If he could, he would have withdrawn. But his subordinates would never have tolerated it in the absence of a major threat.
“The homeships are to hold back,” he ordered. Bringing the entire Horde had been a risk, but it looked like it had paid off. Earth could support them for generations to come, once they’d taken the high orbitals and poured fire on any resistance from the ground. “The remaining ships are to fall into attack pattern and prepare to advance.”
He ignored the grumbling from the homeships as the fleet shook itself into formation. It still bemused him how someone could have lasted long enough to be rewarded with command of a homeship and yet refuse to accept the simple fact that their starships were not designed for interstellar warfare. No, their task was to carry the women and children from star to star, just incidentally making it easier for the Horde Commander to reward the officers and crew he wanted to reward. They had absolutely no place in a dedicated line of battle. But he’d had to bring them with him just to ensure he maintained control.
The human fleet didn’t look that dangerous, he told himself, firmly. Natural warriors or not — and even he wasn’t prepared to concede that there was anyone more dangerous than the Horde out there — they simply didn’t have the numbers to hold him back. They could stand and fight — and die. Or they could run for their lives, leaving the planet exposed. Either one, he knew, would suit him.
But it wouldn’t suit his people. They wanted the fight.
“Take us forward,” he ordered, quietly. “And remind everyone to stay in formation.”
Steve watched, expressionlessly, as the enemy fleet slowly shook itself down. And it was slow, he noted, compared to what the Galactics showed in the data records. It looked as though each Hordesman regarded his ship as an individual weapon, rather than part of a greater whole. Steve couldn’t help thinking of some of the fighter jocks he’d met, but even the most obsessive fast-jet pilot had never been as undisciplined as the Horde. Given some luck, his plan to defend Earth might actually work.
And they were definitely Horde ships, he knew. If the ragtag nature of the fleet — and clear signs of poor maintenance — hadn’t proved it, the images the drones reported stencilled on their hulls would have made it clear. The Horde seemed to like naming their ships openly — Tongue Ripper, Lie Killer, Savage Guardian — and practically daring the Galactics to take offense. Perhaps he would have been scared, if he had time. Instead, he had to concentrate on the coming battle.
“Five of the ships are staying back,” Mongo reported. “The remainder are coming towards us at a slow steady pace.”
Steve nodded, accessing the torrent of data through the interface. The five colossal starships had once been bulk freighters, according to the files, something that staggered him. What sort of trading community needed a starship that was over ten kilometres long? But they were now homeships, home to the Horde’s women and children. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would bring them into the combat zone, not when a stray missile might easily find the wrong target and slaughter helpless civilians. Wouldn’t it make more sense to leave their homeships at the edge of the star system? If the battle went badly, they could simply retreat.
Maybe it’s a pride thing, he thought. Or maybe they’re just stupid.
He dismissed that thought, angrily. Assuming his enemy was stupid was the greatest mistake a commander could make. Instead, he looked down at the display, silently contemplating the alien formation. It looked crude as well as inelegant, he realised, without even a hint of showmanship. In many ways, it suggested, very strongly, that he’d been right. The Horde was simply unused to any form of coordinated action.
“We will proceed with defence pattern alpha,” he said. “The ghost squadron is to remain in place. On my mark, the rest of the fleet is to begin falling back.”
“Understood,” Mongo said.
Steve winced. He was about to send fifty men, volunteers all, to certain death. He’d told them, back when they’d started planning the operation, that it would almost certainly be suicidal. But they’d accepted the mission, regardless. Their courage put him to shame.
“And prepare to transmit the planned signal,” he ordered. “I want to make them mad.”
“Cowards,” someone hissed, as the humans started to fall back.
Yss!Yaa had his doubts. The humans knew they couldn’t face the massed might of the Horde in open battle, so they were falling back on the defences orbiting Earth… if there were many defences orbiting the green-blue orb. Some automated weapons platforms had been spotted, but there were hundreds of other stations in orbit around the planet, most of which were completely unrecognisable. A Galactic scanner crew might have been able to identify them, he knew, yet his crew could only mark them as unknown. All he could do was take them out from a safe distance.