No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) (48 page)

“Status report,” Middleton growled after it became clear the enemy vessel would not fire—yet.

“The enemy vessel is coming about, Captain,” Sarkozy reported in surprise bordering on shock.

Just then, Jo fell to her knees and clutched the sides of her head as her face twisted in agony.

“I am reading intense comm. activity, Captain Middleton,” Fei Long reported an instant before Jo had fallen to her knees.

“Can you make anything of it?” Middleton demanded, very much disliking the sudden uncertainty of the situation. He didn’t wish to die in a firefight with an overwhelmingly superior foe, but at least when that had been the inevitable outcome he knew he could manage the last few minutes of his life reasonably well. Now, however, new wrenches had been tossed into the gears…and Middleton disliked unaccounted variables almost as much as the prospect of death.

“No, Captain,” Fei Long replied promptly. “I can only conclude, from the apparent structure and duration of the exchange, that this is a significant exchange of information.”

“They…say,” Jo breathed between sharp, panting gasps as she knelt on the deck, “they say…they…can’t win…against three of them,” she yelped wordlessly as her body was wracked with a brief spasm. “They say…you should…retreat!”

It took him only a second to realize what Jo was saying—and to realize that doing as she suggested ran wholly counter to his way of thinking. “Tactical,” Middleton barked, “I want fresh simulations based on current intel on these vessels and I want them ten minutes ago!”

“Re-running for a three-on-two scenario, Captain,” Sarkozy replied promptly.

“Make it fast, Sarkozy,” he growled before turning to Jo, who was still gasping on her knees as she clutched her head in obvious agony.

Lancer Lu Bu wore a look of shocked disbelief as she looked at the Doctor.

“Lancer,” Middleton said, and when the young woman failed to respond he repeated, “Lancer!”

Lu Bu tore her eyes from the Doctor and raised a numb salute. “Captain.”

“Escort Doctor Middleton to her new quarters,” the Captain said through gritted teeth before adding, “in the brig. You are to report to me when you have done so, do you understand?”

“Yes, Captain,” Lu Bu acknowledged, just as Jo’s hands fell from her temples and her features relaxed fractionally.

“Transmissions between the vessels have ceased, Captain,” Ensign Jardine reported before adding, “I’m reading a blanket of jamming signals from the three vessels. Our comm. can’t penetrate this level of interference, sir.”

“What is the current attitude of the fourth vessel?” Middleton demanded as Lu Bu physically helped the Doctor to her feet before leading her off the bridge.

“No change, Captain,” reported Sensors. “They’re continuing to maneuver for an interdictory position between the
Pride
and the hostile formation, which is still on an intercept course with us. Estimated time to firing range is eleven minutes.”

“Sarkozy,” Middleton said evenly, “I need the results of those simulations.”

“The initial batch is seventy percent complete, Captain,” the Ensign reported, “I will have results in two minutes.”

“We don’t have two minutes,” Middleton snapped before deciding on a course of action, “and we’re not going to tuck our tails and run. Helm: maneuver to support the fourth vessel; we’ll act as its wingman like Sarkozy did for us aboard the
Elysium’s Wings
.”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman acknowledged.

“Captain,” Commander Jersey interjected, “our maneuvers were carefully coordinated between the
Pride
and the
Wings
due to constant communication.”

“We’ll just have to play this one by feel, Commander,” Middleton grudged, well aware of the myriad obstacles before them.

“Then I request permission to take the helm, sir,” Jersey said without missing a beat.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Middleton said dryly, gesturing to the console. “Permission granted, Commander.”

After Jersey had taken over at the helm, Middleton knew he needed to bolster morale however he was able. So he activated the ship-wide announcement channel and raised his voice, “This is the Captain. We are about to engage in a firefight with an uncertain ally and an even more uncertain outcome. I’m not going blow smoke up your skirts or make a lengthy speech; you all know your jobs better than anyone else on the ship. Stay focused, stay calm, and stay in the fight,” he said sternly before smirking. “Whoever said ‘
Pride
goes before a fall’ never met this crew.” He could almost feel the bridge crew respond to his words as he cut the channel and swiveled to face Fei Long. “Mr. Fei,” he said lightly, “this ship could use some fire support, don’t you agree?”

“I do, indeed,” Fei Long replied as he stood from his console. “I will require several able-bodied crewmen to assist me with readying the ten remaining Starfire missiles for deployment.”

“They’ll meet you in the cargo bay,” Middleton said with a nod.

“Simulations complete, Captain,” Sarkozy reported after Fei Long had left. “I’m forwarding the relevant results to your console, as well as to the gun deck.”

“Very good, Ensign,” he replied, knowing they would need every available resource, no matter how small.

Chapter XL: Fight Out of It

The
Pride of Prometheus
shuddered slightly as the first strikes of enemy fire splashed against its shields.

“Forward shields at 42%, Captain,” the Shields operator reported, which was more than slightly surprising.

“That shot should have brought the forward shields down outright,” Middleton said darkly. He was equally glad for the fact that his shields were still up, and upset by the continuing unpredictability of the battle as it began to unfold.

“I’m reading several, distinct impacts, Captain,” Sarkozy reported. “This was not the same primary weapon like we encountered during our first exchange with a ship of this type.” The icon of their ‘ally’ vessel flashed as Sarkozy reported, “Massive power surge detected from the battle cruiser.”

Just then the lead vessel of the oncoming trio had its icon flash red, signaling that it had been grievously damaged.

“The first destroyer is showing major fluctuations on its power grid like nothing I’ve ever seen. They might be going critical,” Sensors speculated.

“The destroyers are showing similar power surges; they’re returning fire,” Sarkozy reported as the battle cruiser’s shields visibly flared. “I’m reading shield collapse along the battle cruiser’s dorsal facing; she’s rolling to present her ventral side.”

The chime on his chair signaled an incoming com-link, and Middleton glanced down to see it was from Lu Bu. “Report, Lancer.”

“Doctor Middleton is transferred to brig, Captain,” the young woman replied.

He had seen the status update flash across his chair’s console when the Master at Arms had received the Doctor into his custody, but he had wanted the young woman to report to him directly regardless. “Thank you, Lancer; get down to the cargo bay and help the other Lancers.”

“Yes, Captain,” she replied before he severed the link.

“Continue on course, Helm,” Middleton ordered, “I want to add our guns to the fight as soon as possible.” He then flicked his com-link on as he activated the main speakers inside the cargo bay. “Mr. Fei, where are my missiles!?”

Fei Long deftly activated his wrist-mounted com-link and replied, “Four missiles are loaded on the shuttle, Captain. I estimate another twelve minutes before we have loaded all ten weapons onto the craft,” he said confidently.

Just then Corporal Gnuko fell over unexpectedly, dropping the nose of the missile which he and the Tracto-ans had been maneuvering into the shuttle’s cramped cabin and causing Fei Long to wince at such careless handling of a live, thermonuclear device.

“Perhaps thirteen minutes, Captain,” he corrected, attempting to relay the most accurate information possible as he maneuvered the grav-cart next to the makeshift rack the crew had built to hold the Starfire missiles.

“Why are you loading them onto the shuttle?” demanded the Captain. “I want them dropped out of the cargo bay, Mr. Fei, not prepared for transfer.”

“I appreciate your demands, Captain,” Fei Long replied calmly as he unclamped the safety latches holding the next missile in place as the grav-cart slowly rose in the air to accommodate the four meter long, half-meter in diameter device’s not-insignificant bulk. “But, to give you the short version, deployment will require manual target acquisition and programming due to the heavy jamming signal which the enemy vessels are putting out. Seeing as only I am capable of doing this, I will accompany the missiles on board the shuttle before manually assigning targets and releasing them.”

There was a brief pause. “If that was the short version, assume I’ll never require the long one, Mr. Fei,” Middleton said eventually. “Have the pilot bring you back as quickly as possible when you’ve finished deploying the weapons.”

Fei Long hesitated before replying, “Understood, Captain.” The channel went dead and Fei Long breathed a sigh of relief at still being able to breathe at all, following his utterance of a borderline falsehood. The device implanted in his brain made such an infraction a potentially deadly act, but Fei Long had not wished to trouble his Captain with such a trivial matter as the one he had yet to deal with regarding the shuttle’s assigned pilot.

The young man risked a glance at the pilot, whose unconscious body was still propped up against the side of the craft. The pilot had slipped during the loading of the first missile and struck his unprotected head against the edge of the ramp. The injury did not appear serious, but he had not yet regained consciousness in any capacity.

“Lu,” he heard Gnuko snap, “get over here and lend a hand, for Murphy’s sake.”

Fei Long felt a thrill course through his body at hearing that the young Lancer had arrived in the cargo bay. But he fought down his base, animal urges as he knew that they would do nothing but hinder his efforts to assist the crew he had come to think of as his family—and right now that family, very much
unlike
the one of his birth, desperately needed him.

“Yes, Sergeant,” Lu Bu replied from the doorway just as Fei Long finished prepping the fifth missile for transfer, and he noted—with hopefully-concealed appreciation—just how tightly her armor, Red Hare, hugged the broad, powerful lines of her body.

Snapping his thoughts back into focus, Fei Long called over the din, “Missile ready, Sergeant.” Just then a series of klaxons went off overhead, signaling incoming fire.

A second later the ship was rocked by an impact, and it was only by blind luck that Fei Long managed to stop the missile from crashing into the floor as his hand fell on the grav-cart’s control and managed to compensate for the sudden shift in the ship’s attitude.

Then he looked up and saw that it hadn’t been totally blind luck—Lu Bu had grabbed hold of the missile’s far end and using her incredibly powerful physique, physically held the end of the twelve hundred pound device in place as the grav-cart stabilized under the new weight distribution.

“Thank you,” Fei Long said shortly as his eyes lingered on her hips for a moment before he directed the grav-cart to move over to the shuttle’s loading ramp, down which Gnuko and the three surviving Tracto-an Lancers were only now descending after successfully loading the fourth weapon.

Lu Bu helped him direct the sleek, new-style grav-cart into position, after which time she assisted the other Lancers in maneuvering it into position on the stack of missiles already inside. Fei Long then returned the grav-cart to the metal rack containing the other half of the Starfire missiles.

“Forward shields at 35%, Captain,” the Shields operator reported.

“Status of the battle cruiser?” the Captain demanded.

“Their ventral shields are holding against the smaller weapons the enemy are bringing to bear,” Sarkozy reported. “I can’t be precise, but they’re still over half strength on that facing and at maximum on the bow and stern, while the dorsal facing is recharging.” The spherical representation of the
Pride of Prometheus
’ effective firing range slowly moved forward until the nearest of the three enemy vessels was just within it, and Sarkozy reported, “Firing range achieved, Captain.”

“Helm, provide a firing window for the forward battery,” Middleton ordered.

“Window open in ten seconds, Captain,” Jersey replied gruffly.

The bow of the
Pride
swept around slowly as the ship briefly shifted course out of its proscribed vector which would move it to provide support for the droid battle cruiser.

The forward batteries fired in unison less than a second after the
Pride
’s bearing stabilized, and less than a second after they had fired, Commander Jersey returned the vessel to its original course.

“Seven for ten, Captain,” Sarkozy reported before adding bitterly, “enemy shields are holding. No damage detected.”

“Captain,” Jardine called in a raised voice, “I’m getting strange signals from the wounded destroyer. It looks like—“

“I’m reading multiple inbound missiles from that ship, Captain!” the Sensors operator shrilled. “Ten—twenty—thirty six distinct, inbound objects.”

“Verify that count,” Middleton said heavily, knowing full well that thirty six Starfire missiles would easily destroy the
Pride of Prometheus
in its current state.

“Count confirmed, sir,” the operator reported.

“Those aren’t missiles, Captain,” Jardine interrupted, and when Middleton turned to face him the Comm. Officer’s skin had turned ashen. “They’re ships.”

“What?” demanded Middleton.

“Confirmed, Captain,” Sarkozy piped in as she slid over to the Sensors station, “we’re reading individual shields, drives, comm. traffic, the works; they share the same twelve-sided design as the destroyers, but measure ten meters across and appear to have launched from the damaged warship.”