"Keep wearing them down." Summers transmitted his mental fluctuations to the three high-tier individuals:
"The low-tier members are expendable. Throw them in. Keep throwing them in until the enemy's psionic weapons overheat and shut down. Until their ammunition runs out."
The three High-Tier Gold-Eaters received the order and dispersed to coordinate their respective attack waves.
Summers did not go with them.
He turned, all six compound eyes focusing in one direction. Not the Moon. The front of Blue Star.
The planet Blue Star.
He had discovered something in the frontline battle reports: humanity had concentrated all its defensive forces in the orbits facing the Moon and the direction of the Gold-Eater Clan's advance.
On Blue Star, the South Pacific Ocean, Antarctica, and the half of the planet facing away into deep space had only a third of the defensive density of the front.
The Psionic Barrier Layer did cover the entire planet. But its power distribution was uneven. Seventy percent at the front, thirty percent at the back.
Thirty percent.
Summers's antennae slowly curled at his sides. He did not smile... the Gold-Eater Clan had no organs for smiling. But something sharp crept into his mental fluctuations.
He had no intention of charging straight through the front.
The front had that main warship's Psionic Cannon, along with the firing positions in the craters. An enormous pit on the Moon had shown no activity today. Summers suspected it had been prepared for him.
The high-tier Demonic Beasts, monster beasts, and others that had fled Jupiter had not appeared either. He could break through from the front, but the cost would be too great.
Go around.
Tear through the Psionic Barrier Layer from behind. Lead the high-tier members straight into Blue Star's core regions. Bring the fighting to their rear supply lines.