No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) (35 page)

The lights on the bridge flickered briefly as the
Dämmerung
rolled while passing almost directly above the
Pride of Prometheus
, in order to unleash the full power of its weaponry in as short an interval as possible. Both of its flanking Corvettes did likewise from their positions some distance away, and Middleton watched as Jersey expertly rolled the ship to present the Heavy Destroyer, and its as-yet-undamaged Corvette wingman, with the
Pride
’s more stable starboard shields.

Middleton had completely ignored the
Dämmerung
to this point in the battle, because its shields could soak more damage than two Corvettes combined—it was better to pick off the smaller fry before going after the big fish, especially give the
Pride of Prometheus
’ peculiar strengths and weaknesses.

One on one, Middleton’s ship could out-throw any vessel of her class currently operating in the Spineward Sectors. In fact, the Hydra/Hammerhead class had initially been billed as a Heavy Cruiser, but had been re-designated not long after its implementation throughout the Spine. Even so, against multiple vessels with superior maneuverability and similar fighting range, its lack of robust armament to cover its flanks became a critical weakness which nearly any tandem of warships could exploit to deadly effect.

The fleeing Corvette’s stern armaments were minimal and while they pecked away at the
Pride
’s stern shields, but Middleton knew they would create no immediate danger. Given the enemy ship’s current formation and proximity, it had become impossible to keep all three vessels on the same facing.

“Captain,” the Tactical Officer said, “if we come about and drive directly at the planet, we can bring those other two Starfire groups to bear on the enemy ships.”

“Once our forward shields come back up, I have every intention of doing just that,” Middleton assured the young man before opening a channel to the Chief Engineer. “Garibaldi, I need a status update on those shields.”

“We’re on schedule, Captain,” Garibaldi replied before the com-link was filled with the sound of an explosion. “Give us two more minutes and we’ll have the grid re-aligned for another run. I’m guessing the shields will be just over half capacity when we’re done.”

“Good work, Chief,” Middleton replied before severing the connection.

The
Pride
shuddered under the weight of another volley, and the lights flickered as the grav-plates fluctuated yet again. “Starboard shields at 42% and holding, Captain.”

“Captain,” the Sensors operator nearly leapt out of her chair, “incoming point transfers detected!”

“Give me a breakdown,” he snapped impatiently.

“I’m reading three vessels,” she replied as the tactical overlay added three icons on the opposite side of the system. “Two CR-72 Corvettes…and one Defiance-class Battleship,” she added in disbelief, “the newcomers are on course to join the engagement, Captain.”

Middleton actually felt the air escape his lungs as the reality of his situation sank in. The Defiance class was one of the most well-rounded, powerful capital ships ever produced in the Spine, but only a handful had been manufactured and deployed before the firm developing them had been bought out by the Cornwallis-Raubach consortium some forty years earlier.

It seemed that Captain Raubach had, in fact, brought sufficient resources to assure victory—but Middleton wasn’t going to give up just because there was no reasonable chance of victory.
After all
, he thought to himself,
I rather enjoy being an unreasonable person
.

“Helm, come about and execute a maximum burn on my engines,” he ordered coldly. “Tell the
Wings
to stay on our flank; we’re going to drive Raubach into those two remaining Starfire clusters near the planet, but we’re only going to get one shot at it before those wounded Corvettes get back into the fight and circle us like vultures—to say nothing of the newcoming vessels.”

“Aye, Captain,” Jersey replied evenly as he adjusted the course of the
Pride
.

“The Chief reports final repairs are completed to the forward shield array, Captain,” the Damage Control operator reported no less than ten seconds after they had begun their maximum engine burn in pursuit of the enemy vessels.

“Tell him to evacuate his people from the forward hull,” Middleton ordered. “Initiate lockdown in the gun deck, and secure the forward sections by sealing all pressure doors. Things are about to get hairy, people, and I don’t want unnecessary casualties.”

“Relaying orders now, Captain,” the operator acknowledged.

“Incoming transmission from the
Dämmerung
, Captain,” reported the Comm. stander stationed beside Fei Long.

“Open the channel,” Middleton said stiffly as he resumed his rigid posture.

The face of Captain James Raubach IV filled the viewer, and his mouth was twisted contemptuously as he shook his head. “Middleton, you actually had me thinking you
did
have some sort of fleet backing you up after that initial volley,” he said piteously. “It’s not often I bite on a feint like that, so I’d like to offer my congratulations before I pound your oversized tin can into scrap. But you know what they say, ‘fool me once, shame on you’,” he said as he continued to shake his head emphatically. “There is
no
fooling me twice, Captain; you no more have a Defiance-class Battleship at your beck and call than I have an Imperial Command Carrier at mine. Drop the smoke and mirrors routine, and I’ll go easy on your crew, but one way or another that Corvette is coming with me after your ship’s been slagged by my guns.”

“Captain Raubach,” Middleton began with a confident grin, after finally deducing who it was that the newcoming ships must have belonged to, “I was just about to make the same, generous offer to you. Tell your ships to stand down, and I promise the MSP will see them transported to the nearest Core World to await a more tempered measure of justice than we—or the crew aboard these inbound ships—are likely to afford the group responsible for the atrocities committed in this system.”

Raubach snorted derisively. “I admire a man who sticks to his guns,” he said with a grudging nod, “and I suppose I should be thanking you—while I still have the chance.”

Middleton’s eyebrow arched slightly. “Thanking me?” he repeated in open confusion.

The other man nodded. “A full honors burial and posthumous commendation for my late wife, Captain Meisha Raubach, are a Hades of a lot more affordable than the fifty-fifty split she would have gotten in our inevitable divorce,” he said smugly. “Goodbye, Captain Middleton,” he added with finality before nodding to someone off-screen, after which the
Pride of Prometheus
was rocked by another incoming volley of fire as the connection cut out.

“Forward shields down to 44%, Captain,” the operator reported, “working to correct minor spotting.”

“Hard at them, Helm,” Middleton growled fiercely, knowing that he could still salvage a victory here. He only hoped that the newcomers had been monitoring the recent back-and-forth, and that they wouldn’t tip their hand until they were in position to tip the scales. “Tactical, tell the gun deck to commence firing on the
Dämmerung
; they are to ignore all other targets.”

“Firing on the
Dämmerung
, aye,” the Tactical Officer reported before another series of impacts struck home on the
Pride
’s dwindling shields.

It took several minutes for the
Pride of Prometheus
to reverse its momentum and begin bearing down on the enemy vessels, by which time they had already gone to medium tactical range, which actually favored the
Pride
—for the time being.

“Captain, the wounded Corvettes are on an intercept course,” the Sensors operator reported. “Their shields have been stabilized; estimated time to their firing range, twelve minutes.”

“Steady on, Helm,” Middleton said in a carrying voice after another volley shook his ship, bringing their forward shields down to critically low levels. Another volley, or two at the most, and those shields would collapse entirely, leaving nothing but the
Pride
’s formidable reinforced armor plating to absorb the damage. But no armor, outside of the strongest Imperial Locsium crystal, could repel heavy weaponry for long before succumbing to the uncompromising laws of physics.

“If the enemy ships continue on their current course,” Fei Long interjected, “we can maneuver the Starfire missiles to firing position within six minutes—on your order, Captain,” he added awkwardly, with his lack of military training and discipline painfully obvious to all on the bridge.

“As soon as the
Dämmerung
is in range, I want those Starfires to coordinate with the gun deck to provide maximum simultaneous fire,” Middleton instructed the young man, causing the boy to nod in acknowledgment before going back to work.

The enemy ships continued to maneuver, with the
Dämmerung
essentially allowing its momentum to carry it toward the planet while tumbling its body in a controlled sequence to bring maximum firepower to bear on Middleton’s increasingly abused vessel. Meanwhile, its flanking Corvette went out wide to gain a superior firing angle on the
Pride
’s flanks. And with two more Corvettes just minutes away from re-entering the fray, Captain Middleton knew it was now or never if they were to land a decisive blow against Raubach’s squadron.

“Forward shields have collapsed, Captain,” reported the Shields operator, “minor damage to the forward hull reported.”

“I’m getting dangerous energy fluctuations from Reactor Number Two, Captain,” reported the Engineering petty officer from his console, “Chief Garibaldi recommends we decrease engine output to 60% to avoid a core meltdown.”

“Tell the Chief to baby it as long as he can, and eject it when he is no longer able to do so,” Middleton snapped as another volley of fire smashed into the
Pride
’s bow. “Besides,” he added with certainty in a raised voice, “we’re not going to need all three reactors after our second batch of Starfires come into play.”

The forward batteries shot forth again, and the
Dämmerung
’s shields flared under their combined weight, but according to the tactical readouts they were still well over fifty percent across the board.

“Starfires are in range, Captain,” Fei Long reported calmly, “I will commence linked fire with the gun deck as soon as the forward batteries recharge.”

“Make it count, Mr. Fei,” Middleton said, trying to keep his voice level and hearing significantly more urgency than he would have liked to convey.

The charge cycle indicators for the eight remaining forward heavy lasers continued to climb, with two of the ten powerful weapons having been knocked off-line by fire from the
Dämmerung
after the forward shields had collapsed. When they had all reached maximum charge, Middleton leapt out of his chair and made a slashing gesture, “Now, Mr. Fei!”

The forward batteries lanced out, and the image of the
Dämmerung
was briefly surrounded by a trio of distinct laser barrages, which caused its shields to flash and buckle on its stern and starboard facings.

“Reading minor decompressions on the stern of the
Dämmerung
, Captain,” reported the Sensor officer gleefully. “Her aft and starboard shields have collapsed!”

“Drive it home, Helm,” Middleton roared, overcome with the thrill of the moment in an uncharacteristic outburst.

But as he watched, the tactical icon representing the enemy Destroyer flickered and its briefly collapsed shield quadrants began to read as restored to ten…twenty…thirty…then, finally, forty percent of maximum!

Silence hung over the bridge for what seemed like an eternity, but Middleton consciously knew it could have only been two or three seconds. Still, the point had been made: they had taken their best shot, and it hadn’t been enough.

“Incoming hail from the
Dämmerung
,” the Comm. stander reported stoically as a series of impacts registered on the Pride’s port shields when the flanking Corvette continued its methodical, medium-range assault.

Middleton straightened his uniform and turned toward his chair, where he deliberately sat down and resumed his rigid posture. “Put him through.”

Captain Raubach’s smug features filled the viewer, and Middleton took absolutely no comfort in seeing a line of blood running down the man’s face and into his salt-and-pepper beard. “You’re just full of surprises, Middleton,” he said grudgingly. “But this is the end for you and your precious
Pride
; it’s time you gave up and spared your people.”

Middleton took a deliberate look around the bridge as he took in the countenances of his crew. To the last one, they had looks of hardened determination on their faces—and he could not find a single ounce of ‘quit’ in the whole group.

“Captain Raubach,” Middleton began softly before hardening his voice, “spare us your insurrectionist speeches. If we go down, we’re taking you with us. Aside from the occupants of my brig,” he said with a derisive snort of his own, “there isn’t a single person on board this ship who would willingly join terrorists who manufacture and deploy bioweapons,
or
pirates who jeopardized the lives of a quarter million colonists on board a settlement ship in an attempt to pirate the
Elysium’s Wings
from its rightful government.”

“Very well,” Raubach said angrily before cutting the channel. Captain Raubach had a reputation as an unflappable officer, so Middleton allowed himself a smirk at having gotten under the man’s skin.

“Captain, incoming hail from the approaching squadron,” reported the Comm. officer, and Middleton gestured for the transmission to be put on the main viewer.

The image of a completely bald, white-bearded man sitting in a command chair—which nearly rivaled that of Admiral Montagne’s aboard the
Lucky Clover
—appeared on the viewer. “This is High Captain Archibald Manning IV, commanding the Battleship
Elysium’s Defiance
,” the man said in a gravelly voice. “To all vessels in this system, you are instructed to disengage immediately and move to the quadrants designated in the accompanying data packet where you will await further instructions. Failure to comply will result in Captain Middleton being proven correct: there will be no justice administered by my turbo-lasers…” he said, pausing to allow the gravity of his words to sink in as he leaned forward with eyes that glinted as though they were made of iron. “I come bearing retribution for those behind the recent crimes in this system against my fellow citizens—and unlike the two of you and your incessant chatter, this will be the final communication you receive from me that isn’t transmitted by my guns.”