And the humans had left five freighters behind. It was… suspicious.
“The humans are to be engaged as soon as we enter range,” he ordered. If it was a trap, his best bet was to spring it before his fleet was fully committed. Even the most zealous Hordesman would accept that retreat was the best option if they ran into something they couldn’t handle. “And then…”
“Incoming signal,” one of his officers snapped. “Sir, it’s a challenge!”
Yss!Yaa listened to the tidal wave of invective and knew he’d lost control. The humans had definitely been studying… and they’d probably had the help of one or more Hordesmen when they’d crafted the message. If even he felt the outraged desire to forget caution and simply charge the enemy, his lesser subordinates would lose complete control of themselves. One by one, the Horde starships picked up speed and arrowed directly towards the enemy formation. The formation Yss!Yaa had carefully outlined came apart within seconds.
“Take us after them,” he ordered, clicking his claws in anger. Not at the humans, but at his fellow Hordesmen. If they had been something different, they wouldn’t have had to worry about the results of the challenge. But any show of weakness could be disastrous. “And prepare to engage the enemy.”
“I think we made them mad,” Mongo commented.
Steve nodded. In Iraq and Afghanistan, they’d sometimes lured the insurgents into a suicidal charge by screaming out challenges and insults. The insurgents, largely made up of young and therefore foolish men, had taken the bait more often than they should, much to the irritation of the older and wiser terrorist leaders who wanted their deaths to actually serve the cause. In that sense, at least, the Horde was no different, with the added problem of a system that rewarded promotion by assassination. The strong survived, the Horde believed, while the weak perished. But it sometimes meant that the new holder of any given position was nowhere near ready for it.
“Very mad,” he said. “Tell the ghost squadron to engage on my command.”
Daniel Featherstone had once had cancer, a particularly vile form of the disease that had been on the verge of killing him when he’d been recruited to the lunar colony. As a former seaman on a United States Navy submarine, he’d adapted well to Heinlein… and then to the alien freighter, when he’d been offered a chance at command. Swearing loyalty to Heinlein instead of the United States hadn’t been hard; he’d given the United States one life, after all. He could give his second life to someone else…
But now it looked as though his second life was about to come to an end.
John Paul Jones was no warship, certainly not by galactic standards. She was an interstellar freighter, so primitive that she didn’t even have a teleport bay of her very own. The whole idea of putting her in the line of battle was absurd. But human ingenuity had gone to work and outfitted the freighter with plenty of weapons, provided her crew didn’t mind the risk of near-certain death. When he’d heard about the mission, Daniel had volunteered at once. He owed the lunar colony.
“They’re coming into range now,” Christian Lawson said. She was a thin hatchet-faced woman, her face twisted into a permanent scowl. And yet she was also a good technician, good enough that Daniel had tried to talk her out of going on the mission. But she’d refused to budge. “I have weapons lock on five targets.”
“It seems as good as we are about to get,” Daniel said. Their weapons were impressive, by human standards, but they were all one-shot wonders. “Link into the other ships, then prepare to fire.”
The Hordesmen came closer, their weapons charging as their sensors locked onto the freighters. Daniel wondered, coldly, why they weren’t firing already, then he realised they were being macho idiots. Just like a particularly idiotic biker gang, he decided, they wanted to play chicken. Accidental collisions in interstellar space were rare, according to the datafiles, but deliberate collisions quite easy. The incoming ship had to be vaporised completely to prevent it doing real damage.
“We have permission to fire,” Christian said.
Daniel sucked in a breath. Life on a submarine hadn’t prepared him for deep space warfare, not really. And it hadn’t convinced him that he might have to make a last stand…
“Fire,” he ordered.
For a long moment, Yss!Yaa simply refused to accept what he was seeing. The freighters had fired… and nine Horde starships had simply been blown out of space. Their weapons had burned right through the defence shields and chewed right into their hulls, ripping them open effortlessly. It was impossible. And yet it had happened.
He watched, helplessly, as the advancing starships opened fire, their directed energy weapons slicing through minimal shields and then cutting deep into the freighter hulls. And then there was another colossal series of explosions. The entire command network crashed under the tidal wave of radiation. He swore out loud, then demanded answers from his staff as they worked frantically to reboot the system. The entire fleet was vulnerable until they managed to get the command network back up and running…
It was impossible, part of his mind insisted. But it had happened, somehow. And a number of his ships had been destroyed by a far inferior foe. How?
“Antimatter,” the sensor officer said. “They crammed the ship full of antimatter and just waited for us to destroy it.”
Yss!Yaa silently gave him points for brains. Yes, it was obvious now. The humans had mass-produced antimatter and turned it into a weapon. It was one hell of a risk, but it had paid off for them. The Horde had lost nine starships, at least. Piece by piece, the command network shuddered back into existence. Two more starships, it seemed, had vanished in the blasts.
But they’re resorting to trickery, he thought. The Galactics rarely bothered to be subtle when they were pruning the Hordesmen down a little. They can’t be very strong.
“Keep us heading towards their world,” he ordered. He would need to do something to make it clear to his subordinates that he was still in command. They couldn’t be allowed to think of him as weak, not now. He knew, all too well, that none of his subordinate commanders would be able to handle the battle. “And prepare for long-range bombardment.”
Steve heard his crew cheer as the enemy ships were struck, then the antimatter explosions slapped the Hordesmen back. The idea had been simple enough; they’d mounted dozens of bomb-pumped lasers on the freighter hulls, giving them an unexpected advantage over their opponents. As overconfident as they were, the Horde had clearly never expected the freighters to be turned into traps — and then bombs. The whole tactic had clearly caught them by surprise.
He watched the remaining Horde starships, trying to get a handle on what his opponent was thinking. In their place, Steve knew he would have backed off, particularly if his women and children were also on the line. But the Hordes seemed to be composed of prideful asses. If their leader thought better of the attack, it was quite possible that his subordinates would overthrow him and then continue the charge. The volley of insults Steve had fired at them probably didn’t make it easier for the aliens to be coldly rational.
“Prepare the fallback position,” he ordered, softly. On the display, the Hordesmen were finally overcoming their shock and advancing once again. “And warn the Mayflower to run.”
“Aye, sir,” Mongo said. “The Q-ships are in position, as are the mines.”