A Learning Experience

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Sol System

“Earth’s governments have been alerted,” Kevin said, quietly. “They’re standing by.”

Steve gave him a sidelong look. “For what?”

“For what little they can do,” Kevin replied, evenly. “And for civil defence, if necessary.”

“True,” Steve said. He looked back at the display. Thirty incoming starships, some of them clearly very large. If they wanted to take Earth, Earth would be taken. “And maybe they can swear blind that they have nothing to do with us too.”

He thought, briefly, of Mariko. She’d flatly refused to go down to Earth or board the Mayflower, even though the latter would have given her an excellent chance of survival. Instead, she’d insisted on staying on the Warcruiser, despite the certain knowledge that the giant starship would be badly outmatched. Steve cursed himself, mentally, for not marrying her when he had the chance, even though he had no intention of leaving her at some later date. It would have shown just how much he cared.

Angrily, he pushed the thought aside. Earth’s time might be about to run out. He shouldn’t be thinking of anything but fighting to defend his homeworld, the world he loved. And he did love it. In the end, Earth was worth fighting for. But did he have enough tricks up his sleeve to save the planet?

“The ghost squadron and the Q-ships are in position,” Mongo called. “They’re ready to deploy.”

“Hold them in place,” Steve ordered. They’d run through countless simulations, trying to think of all possible contingencies, but the universe had presented them with overwhelming force. They could do everything right and still lose Earth to the enemy. “And inform everyone that Earth expects them to do their duty.”

Kevin snorted. “Couldn’t you think of a better quote to steal?”

Steve shrugged. “The old ways are still the best,” he said. “Besides, I couldn’t think of anything from Doctor Who that fitted the bill.”

Mongo chuckled, then glanced at his console as the enemy ships dropped out of FTL quite some distance from the planet. “Steve,” he said, quietly. “They’re here.”

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.

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.”

All right, Steve thought, as he looked at the display. Oddly, he found himself wishing he knew who he faced. Maybe the knowledge would have provided an insight into the Horde’s plans. If you want Earth, you bastards, we’ll claw you good and proper as we go down.