My father was a wolf

I'm a kinsman of the slain

Sworn to rise again

I will bring salvation, punishment and pain

The hammer of hate is our faith

Power and dominion are taken by the will

By divine right hail and kill

Manowar - "Hail and Kill"

There’s an old Earth legend that tells it best:

A horse, having a wolf as a powerful and dangerous enemy, lived in constant fear of his life. Being driven to desperation, it occurred to him to seek a strong ally. Whereupon he approached a man and offered an alliance, pointing out that the wolf was likewise an enemy of the man. The man accepted the partnership at once and offered to kill the wolf if his new partner would only cooperate by placing his greater speed at the man’s disposal. The horse was willing and allowed the man to place bridle and saddle upon him. The man mounted, hunted down the wolf and killed him. The horse joyful and relieved thanked the man and said, “Now that our enemy is dead, remove the bridle and saddle and restore my freedom.”

Whereupon the man laughed and replied, “The hell you say. Giddy-up Dobbin!” and applied the spurs with a will.1

After ten years, the Triumvirate horse now despised its rider.

Not all of them, of course. There were many that looked upon the Humans as saviors, while others shrugged and accepted them as a necessary evil. But there were those that chafed at the changes mankind had wrought on their perfect society, longing to see them put back in their rightful place. In the quiet places of the Tetrarchy, they spoke in hushed tones, far from human ears, debating one idea after another how to retake their civilization from the upstart usurpers.

Only there was one small problem they kept running into...the usurpers had all the guns. Not to mention the proven will to use them.

When the Khonhim returned for Round 2, this time focusing their attacks on the humans, the old guard rejoiced as if delivered manna from Heaven. With the upstart apes hobbled, life could once again return to the idyllic perfection they had known before the barbarians had stormed the gates. The fleet sent to Sol after the destruction of Earth Force...with the assistance of an anonymous donor...was the culmination of their plans. All they needed was the final signal to kick things off.

After all...timing is everything.

Admiral Fujimoto stared in horror as thousands of red icons appeared on the display. The shouted alarm from Tactical had given her only a few seconds warning, not enough time to mount an effective defense. Her fist smashed the emergency icon mounted on her armrest as she shouted, “Red Alert! All ships, weapons free!”

She had honed their skills for years, overseen their training, turned the fledgling Tetrarchy Navy into a professional service worthy of the name. Their ships and weapons were best they could design, manned by a crew that had taken her lessons to heart. Hélène would have stacked them up against any foe, past or present.

If only they’d had time to prepare.

Her universe exploded as dozens of missiles detonated against Zaaronq’s hull, tearing away great gouges of metal and exposing entire decks to the vacuum of space. They fought to bring their guns to bear against the enemy, only to have them blasted into debris. The fleet began to break apart, scattering in the desperate hope to stay alive, only to have the hunters run them to ground.

It was a slaughter.

They didn’t go down without a fight. Despite the incredible odds against them, they clawed back with everything they had. Several ships of the Khonhim fleet joined the Tetrarchy in death, while many more were grievously wounded. It was only because of the damage inflicted by the doomed task force that allowed any of their brethren to escape, their survival bordering on the miraculous.

But as any veteran will tell you...miracles come with a price.

Nassat could only listen to the screams and shouted orders coming over the com, often cut off in mid-sentence, unable to intervene. The perimeter was holding for now, but that was the least of his worries. Without the fleet, there was no way to return home, and without its protection, the Khonhim could take them at will. They had no ships, limited weapons, and supplies, outmanned and outgunned at every turn...but even that was not his greatest fear. Raichret was aboard one of those ships. He did not know if she was alive or dead...and he hadn’t even had the courage to say goodbye when he’d snuck off like a thief in the night.

And there was now the strong possibility he’d never get the chance ever again.

Lin was at his side, steadying him without a word. He could see the desperation in the eyes of every soldier who had followed him on his fool’s crusade...thankful to be alive, but recognizing it was only a momentary reprieve. Their turn would come, as certain as the sunrise.

“...Nassat.”

It took several moments to register, as he turned towards the voice. Jiyazh gazed at him, his expression unreadable, while his human guards hovered in the background. He looked at the Khonhim warrior, as desolation filled his soul.

“We cannot stay here,” the former Dhyaksh said. “By maintaining the perimeter we are a target for the fleet above our heads.”

His words were grim confirmation of the hopelessness of their situation. “What do you suggest?” he asked in desperation.

“We must disappear into the terrain,” Jiyazh said. “Break up into smaller groups, and scatter in all directions. Infiltrate the nearby cities and villages, and use their presence to shield us from Chugaz Uydan’s forces. This is the only way we will survive.”

Lin nodded in agreement. “Guerilla warfare,” he chimed in, giving the strategy a name.

Nassat took a deep breath. “They will hunt for us,” he said without emotion.

“Yes, they will,” Jiyazh concurred. “But for the clever warrior, there are ways to turn the enemy’s advantages against him.”

A cold smile appeared on Sergeant Lin’s face. “Damn right there are,” he said, hefting his rifle, “and humanity has spent thousands of years learning every dirty trick in the book.”

It wasn’t much...in fact, it was almost nothing at all. But for a desperate man, a flickering candle can seem like a raging bonfire.

“Very well,” he said at last, “...do it.”

Admiral β 892 Sine ζ had grown tired of the charade, of playing the smiling lackey to the barbarians. But his superiors, the former ministers cast aside by Leandra Singh, had insisted he stand by until all was in place. Surprise was the key to their strategy, and though they had convinced the humans they were their staunch allies, the ministers had ordered him to hold until they gave the command. It was obvious they were waiting for something, but waiting for what? It made no sense to him, but it was obvious he was not privy to all their plans. There were still the Triumvirate worlds to be reclaimed, so perhaps they were delaying until they had completed their other preparations.

Whatever the reason…the moment had come at last.

The Admiral’s metal form lacked the ability to express emotion, in fact, even the concept was poorly defined in his race. They knew happiness, and sorrow, hate, and fear, but somehow they seemed diluted in the Ronin, compared to the biological species.

Now, however, he could have danced with joy.

He settled into his chair, gazing at the displays. “It is time,” he informed his crew, as they readied themselves for battle. The Khonhim attack of Earth had been as thorough as it had been brief, all but wiping out the various satellites and installations orbiting the planet. The few that had survived had been hastily repaired, forming the nucleus of the shipyards now housing the skeletons of Earth’s replacement fleet. It would be the work of many months before they were completed...except they would never give them that chance.

“This is Admiral β 892 Sine ζ to all ships in the Task Force,” he said with great satisfaction.

“Target the shipyards...and fire.”

Isaac Asimov, Foundation