Parece muito com o romance 1970 de Gordon R. Dickson Hora da Horda, que foi perguntado e respondido anteriormente aqui.
O protagonista é selecionado pelos alienígenas como o único representante da Terra em uma guerra intergaláctica. Ele tem um tipo de sensibilidade que não é típica, e que é essencial para operar as armas a serem usadas em uma batalha futura para desviar uma frota inimiga de nossa galáxia.
Após a sua seleção, o protagonista é colocado em um navio de combate muito pequeno nos restos da frota de defesa, onde ele é basicamente orientado a ficar fora do caminho. Cada membro da tripulação da nave também é um único representante de seu planeta:
The room was full. On its furniture and around its walls, stood and
sat a variety of different-appearing beings. All were four-limbed,
standing upright on the lower two and with hand-like appendages at the
end of their upper pair. They were all roughly the same size and
proportion and general shape. But there was tremendous variety.
No two of them had the same skin color. No two of them had the same
facial appearance. All had roughly similar features, as far as
possessing two eyes and a single nose and a mouth was concerned. But
from there on everything was different. Their appearance ranged from
that of the completely innocuous, to the completely ferocious — from
one being who seemed as round and inoffensive as a toy bear to one who
seemed a walking tiger, equipped with a pair of ripping teeth
projecting over his lower lip from the upper jaw.
Insatisfeito com essas instruções, e descontente com a aceitação disso pelos outros alienígenas na tripulação de sua nave, ele luta cada um contra um para subir na hierarquia de comando informal da nave.
Eventualmente, ele assegura a cooperação de todos os outros no navio. Quando a batalha climática chega, os alienígenas comandantes ordenam uma retirada geral, que ele ignora e, em vez disso, cobra a frota inimiga:
“Retreating?” echoed Miles. "Retreating — you mean just we little
ships are retreating? Or more than just us?”
"Haven’t you been informed?” roared the harsh voice, above him. “The
Center’s computational devices have calculated and found an answer
that predicts defeat if we try to stop the Horde. All are leaving. All
— ”
The voice was cut off suddenly, as Miles jabbed at both voice and
sight communication controls. Abruptly, in the screen before them,
formed a schematic of the whole Battle Line. It showed the whole Line
from end to end, and the ships in all their sizes and varieties, but
as if only a few yards separated them. As Miles, Luhon and Eff
watched, ships were winking out of existence in that Line. Even the
huge globular Dreadnaughts of the Center Aliens were disappearing.
It was true. After everything — after all their work and the work of
the Center Aliens and others to set up this Battle Line — now just
because of some cold answer given by an unliving device, the greatest
strength the galaxy could gather was not going to face the Horde after
all. They were all going to turn tail and run, save themselves, and
let the Horde in to feed upon the helpless worlds they had been sent
out here to protect.
...
Before Miles, in that moment, there also rose up a picture of his
people and his world — the world as he had seen it, during those last
days when he had moved like a ghost from spot to spot about its
surface, and among its many people. He saw it, and at the same time in
his mind’s eye, he saw the picture of the world that the two Center
Aliens had shown him — the world that a million years before had been
cleaned to the point of barrenness by the Horde.
In his mind’s eye now, he saw Earth like that. One endless,
horizon-wide stretch of naked earth and soil, with nothing left.
Everything gone — all gone. The cities, the people within them, their
history, their music, their paintings, Marie Bourtel...
“I won’t!"
...
Miles hands slapped down on the console in front of him. To his right,
Luhon’s flashing gray fingers were already blurring over his controls,
and Eff was busy at his left.
Like a living creature with one mind, the Fighting Rowboat lifted
from its cradle and flashed into shift — single-handedly and alone
into attack against the uncountable numbers of the Silver Horde.
Isso afasta a configuração da frota inimiga o suficiente para que o comandante defensivo veja uma oportunidade de atacar e reverter o recuo, vencendo posteriormente a batalha.
De acordo com o ISFDB, a história foi publicada originalmente na edição de maio da 1969 da Venture Science Fiction Magazine, e pode ser Leia online no contexto de sua publicação original, cortesia de archive.org.