Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

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.

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.”