The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7)

by Caleb Wachter

  “Have Mrr’shan’s people secure those ships,” Middleton said promptly, “but make sure she understands that they are to conduct themselves according to the military codes I repeatedly went over with her. Also have her use that big gun of hers to support the Corvettes—they could use a little help.”

  “Yes sir,” Hephaestion acknowledged, and the Mothership slowly began to turn its bow toward the fleeing Destroyers.

  Mrr’shan correctly waited until the fifteen still-armed missiles fired on their targeted Destroyer before finally firing the Lion’s Roar. The Imperial-built captures under her command also lent their fire to the effort, and after the volley was sent the feeds surprisingly showed that the target Destroyer was still under full power.

  “Why didn’t it go down?” Middleton wondered aloud, more confused than annoyed by the big gun’s failure to do what it had already done on several other occasions already in this battle.

  He replayed the feeds and saw that, somehow, the Imperial’s shields had still been up—they had been severely weakened, standing at just twenty percent with critical spotting, but they were still ‘up’—at the moment the Lion’s Roar struck.

  “Strange…” he muttered as he examined the Roar’s beam signature and then it came to him, more intuitively than due to anything he saw in the sensor feeds, “that weapon must be fine-tuned for direct strikes against crystalline armor. The Destroyer’s shields, even weakened as they were, still managed to scatter the beam an order of magnitude more effectively than they would deflect a standard turbo-laser.”

  “I concur. The Roar’s beam signature appears to ‘resonate’ within mono-locsium, creating maximum molecular agitation with nearly zero energy loss in the process,” Hephaestion agreed, forwarding several supporting analyses to Middleton’s station and, after a cursory glance to confirm their contents, Middleton sent the young man an approving nod.

  Just a few short years earlier, Hephaestion had lived in an iron age world without ever knowing about the workings of anything more complicated than a mechanical clock—if even that. And now here he was, commenting on naval artillery with command of the subject seemingly equal to a ten year veteran whose formative years had included daily access to high technology.

  The six remaining Lupines unleashed another barrage against the Corvettes, this one including a pair of heavy lasers each. The closer the Corvettes came, the more their evasive maneuvers would benefit them. But that edge only managed to keep the damage in line with previous volleys, as they managed to avoid half of the incoming fire but still lost two Corvettes to the Imperials’ wrath.

  Middleton checked the Prejudice’s shields and saw that he had one facing, presently situated over the stern, which was at sixty percent. “Switching shields to the bow,” he declared, “Toto, let’s lend the Void Hunters a hand.”

  He somehow felt slimy, or less than honorable for waiting so long before joining the fray. But his ship was torn up—as clearly evidenced by the patchwork repair job where his main viewer used to be—and there was still a third Imperial Battle Group out there to reckon with.

  Toto drove the Prejudice toward the enemy Destroyers, having maintained a position opposite that of the Corvettes for much of the engagement. As the Void Hunter Destroyers authored a concentrated volley against one of the peripheral Lupines, that Lupine quickly rolled to present a fresh shield facing to the Void Hunters—which meant Middleton’s guns were now trained on a nearly-exposed flank.

  “Firing!” Toto growled, and the Prejudice’s eight turbo-lasers stabbed into the Destroyer’s exposed flank—and one even punched through and out the other side of the ship!

  “That’s a first,” Middleton said in surprise as the Destroyer predictably fell out of formation with its fellows as its engines spectacularly failed. Explosions rippled across the ship’s stern, and it quickly ejected its fusion cores.

  Middleton re-powered the stealth suite, hoping to scatter incoming sensors, but surprisingly the Destroyers remained focused on the Corvettes instead of turning their fire onto his ship.

  The Prejudice was just at the edge of medium and long range, but against Lupine-class Destroyers there was little difference between the two. Those ships were designed for long-range, fast-moving attack formations and thus possessed extremely limited short-range capabilities. As such, with their depleted numbers, it was not significantly more dangerous being this close compared to at the limit of long range.

  “They’d rather deal with our guns than with Void Hunter boarding parties,” Middleton realized as the Void Hunters suffered another volley which claimed a single Corvette. “That’s probably the smart play, to be honest.”

  Then the Corvettes entered firing range, and much to Middleton’s surprise the remaining Lupines followed the example of their two predecessors by striking their reactors and signaling their collective surrender. He narrowed his eyes as he watched escape pods begin to launch from those ships, and set his jaw as scuttling charges claimed all five of the remaining Destroyers—none of which had sustained significant damage, and each of which represented a hull that Middleton had dearly wanted to incorporate into the AG Fleet.

  “That’s not a surrender,” Middleton said tightly, “that’s an abandonment of their ships in the middle of combat.”

  “Some codices regard the two as similar, if not identical,” Hephaestion said pointedly.

  “But the AG charter doesn’t, Mr. Hephaestion,” Middleton countered a bit too harshly. “They abandoned their ships rather than surrender to us which, according to the directives that govern my station, means I don’t have to prioritize their retrieval like I do the two ships that actually surrendered. These clever Imps thought their odds of survival were better off in escape pods than surrendering their ships to me—for once in my life, I’d like to demonstrate to our enemies just how erroneous that assumption is by letting them rot in those tin cans.”

  “Will you do that, sir?” Hephaestion asked neutrally.

  Middleton ground his teeth for several seconds before shaking his head, “No—but I’m also not going to prioritize their retrieval. Message to Mrr’shan: she is to remain here with her Corvettes to oversee the recovery of those two properly-surrendered Destroyers. If she deems it safe and appropriate to do so, she may also retrieve the various escape pods the enemy ejected prior to their defeat here—but she must follow the same regulations even when dealing with those who refused to surrender and instead abandoned ship.”

  “Yes sir,” Hephaestion said, and Middleton could detect a note of relief in the young man’s melodious voice. “Mrr’shan acknowledges, saying she will ‘give them some time to reconsider their decision’.”

  “Good for her,” Middleton grunted. “Tell her Destroyers to move to reinforce the Stalwart at the second planet—and Helm, set course for us to do likewise. We’ve got one more round to go,” he said tightly, pulling up his tactical simulator and plugging new variables—specifically an arsenal of eight hundred Independence-class missiles, most of which would be of some use in the coming battle—into old simulations, “and it’s the most important one yet.”

  Middleton knew very well that he could easily win the battle but, ultimately, lose the war if he permitted Imperial One’s commander to scuttle his ships rather than surrender them.

  Unlike its predecessors—both of which had been brutal but straightforward affairs—this third act was going to be tricky.

  Chapter XXXVI: A Proper Duel

  “I have the latest status updates from Primarch Beam,” Hephaestion said as the Toto red-lined the Prejudice’s engines en route to a rendezvous with the Stalwart Battle Group.

  “Forward them,” Middleton instructed as he perused the new Imperial formation which incorporated the remaining battle-worthy elements from Imperial Two alongside the full strength Imperial One. His lip curled when he saw the final numbers: twenty full-strength Lupine Destroyers, seven Cruisers, and two Battleships now bore down on the Stalwart position near the second planet.
None of those ships bore battle damage, and this new Imperial Battle Group would not have to contend with aggressive boarding actions since the Void Hunters had already spent that particular card in the earlier rounds of this deadly game.

  The Stalwart, on the other hand, had five functional Destroyers, eight Cruisers and one Battleship.

  In terms of throw weight and under ideal conditions, the Stalwart were laughably outgunned by something on the order of five to one. But it was even worse when one considered the battle damage sustained by the Stalwart in the engagement with Imperial Two. With that factor incorporated into the equation, the Stalwart were outgunned closer to seven to one.

  The Secular Liberation League’s reinforcements, which had nearly reached the Stalwart position, consisted of sixteen Corvettes, twelve Destroyers and six Cruisers. The Corvettes would be largely useless in the coming engagement due to their short-range weaponry, so Middleton resolved to have them present a feint to the stellar west which—if all went according to his new plan—would help funnel the Imperials into the path of nearly five hundred Independence-class missiles.

  All told, Middleton’s AG Fleet had seventeen Destroyers, fifteen Cruisers and one Battleship against the Imperials’ twenty Destroyers, six Cruisers and two Battleships. It was closer to even than he had expected it to be, with a throw weight disparity of close to three-to-two in the Imperials’ favor. But that still wasn’t even enough to entice his opponent into taking the bait on his calculated series of feints, counters and charges.

  If he could get the enemy commander to maneuver his ships into the ‘kill box’—which Middleton would create by launching the aforementioned five hundred Independence missiles from their outer system platforms—he might be able to do significantly better than simply destroying this Imperial fleet as he had done to Commodore Paganini’s task force.

  “Send a p2p to the League’s fighter carrier holding position in the outer system,” Middleton instructed. “Have them move to support their Corvettes’ feint to the stellar west. If we don’t give that grid some more teeth, the Imperial commander might just run through them and leave to report back to his superiors. It will take them an hour to reach a supporting position, but that should give us plenty of time.”

  He forwarded the specifics to Hephaestion, who took several minutes to send a broad-beam p2p to the location of the League’s Carrier. “Message has been sent on broad confinement to their location in orbit of the system’s fifth planet, Captain,” Hephaestion reported after completing transmission. “We will not receive confirmation of receipt for fifty four minutes, by which time they should be halfway to the designated coordinates.”

  “Good,” Middleton acknowledged as he forwarded the Corvettes’ new orders to the young sensor-slash-com-tech, “tight beam this to the Corvette commander.”

  A minute passed, “Message sent and confirmed; Captain Billingsley is moving to comply.”

  Soon Middleton saw the sixteen League Corvettes move toward the position he had indicated. If all went well, they would not need to fire a single gun in order to fill their role. If all did not go well, they would almost certainly die before they ever got the chance to return fire.

  He was purposefully exposing them by separating them from the rest of the fleet, but given the reinforced Imperial One’s posture and formation—which closely resembled that of the Battle Group which the Void Hunters had just turned back, except this one had significantly more ships—he was as confident as he could hope to be that the feint would succeed.

  There were a hundred and twenty Independence missiles hidden in the trailing cloud of Lagrangian objects locked into orbit with the system’s fourth planet. Those missiles would provide the vast majority of actual deterrent Middleton could afford to task to protecting the Corvettes and Fighter Carrier, but they would clearly be well short of able to deter the entire Imperial One Battle Group.

  If he could turn them away from the Corvettes, and keep them en route to the second planet then Middleton was convinced he could funnel his adversary into a path which took the enemy ships near to the fifth, outermost planet in the star system. That planet was a gas giant with forty one moons, many of which were armed with dozens of Independence missile silos.

  “Imperial One is slowing, Captain,” Hephaestion reported, “they appear to be setting up for a long-range assault of the Stalwart and League ships. I am detecting faint drive signatures departing from the Battleships…”

  Middleton checked the readings and nodded knowingly, “They’re sending recovery teams to Admiral Edelweiss’s ships.”

  “They will arrive in forty minutes,” Hephaestion correctly projected.

  “They will not arrive at all,” Middleton said flatly. “We left enough Independence missile warheads on or near those ships to scrub a dozen small craft on final approach.”

  “I am reading eight shuttles en route, Captain.”

  “Then that part of the trap will spring just like it should,” Middleton said in satisfaction. “What we have to do is keep them from running through those Corvettes and the Carrier.”

  “The Stalwart are accelerating, Captain,” Hephaestion reported, “they are moving toward Imperial One’s western flank.”

  “Good,” Middleton nodded, “that should only entice the Imps to test our resolve on the western front before committing to a course of action. Toto, take us to the eastern flank. I want to give them every reason to pursue that path instead of the western one.”

  “Yes sir,” Toto grumbled in his usual, irritable fashion. For a moment Middleton was reminded of his Helmsman-turned-XO, Jersey, who served—and died—aboard the Pride of Prometheus during its initial deployment under the MSP banner. Middleton briefly wondered if it was simply his lot in life to have surly Helmsmen aboard his ships before pushing that useless thought from his mind.

  “Have the League Destroyers and Cruisers maintain their head-on approach to Imperial One, mirroring the Imps’ posture and maneuvers as they do so,” Middleton said to Hephaestion as the battered remnants of the Stalwart formation crept closer to the Imperials’ firing range.

  The Imperial Destroyer on the westernmost edge of Imperial One’s formation opened fire, and a slow but steady ripple spread from the west flank of the Destroyers as those ships also entered firing range. It was not the most efficient deployment of turbo-laser fire Middleton had ever seen, but he suspected that efficiency was less important to his opponent than projecting a certain aura: an aura of command, discipline, and cold logic.

  Truthfully, his counterpart succeeded in demonstrating such qualities as a Stalwart Destroyer briefly fell out of formation before resuming its previous course.

  The Stalwart Destroyers suddenly came about and fell back, moving toward the gap between the Stalwart and League warships before they would have suffered catastrophic fire from the Imperial Cruisers’ guns. Both the Stalwart and Imperial Battleships had kept back from the fray at this particular point in the engagement, but with the Destroyers pulling back Middleton knew the time for the heavies to unleash their guns was drawing steadily nearer.

  “Imperial Cruisers are opening fire,” Hephaestion reported, and a volley of far more coordinated and well-timed fire belched from the enemy Cruiser’s guns. “A Stalwart Cruiser, Fateful Star, is falling out of formation,” the young man said with evident disappointment, “and its eight companions are pulling back in a similar fashion to the Destroyers. The Glorious Burden is also coming about and making to form up with the League ships.”

  “Good work, Primarch,” Middleton nodded approvingly, “if they pursue a direct engagement, they’ll have to follow back to our high ground.”

  Everything was going according to plan—until four Destroyers peeled off from Imperial One and took a perfect course toward the Corvettes’ rendezvous point.

  “Fine,” Middleton grunted, as though speaking to his adversary, “so you know that’s where I’ve got them headed. But I’m not tipping my hand just yet. Four Destroyers isn�
��t enough to encircle sixteen Corvettes, let alone break through them.”

  The rest of Imperial One followed the Stalwart retreat, obliging Middleton by accepting a heads-up fight with the bulk of his forces. They could still pull out of such an engagement if they did so in the next three minutes, but if they delayed any longer than that it would be too late to avoid a potentially decisive exchange.

  The only routes available to Imperial One, if they chose not to engage the Stalwart, were back past the third planet where Mrr’shan’s remaining forces were posted, or through the kill box Middleton had established with the bulk of the Independence missiles. Middleton still had a hundred eighty Independence warheads—minus their engines—near the third planet that he could use to discourage an egress along that path, but if the Imperials committed to taking it they would undoubtedly emerge victorious in this final, crucial act. Not only would they flee the star system with a full Battle Group intact, but they would also destroy whichever of Mrr’shan’s ships didn’t flee as fast as their engines could drive them.

  “Four more Destroyers are veering toward the third planet,” Hephaestion reported tightly.

  “That was unexpected,” Middleton admitted, “but not unplanned for. Mrr’shan’s ships are posted on the side of the planet opposite the remaining missiles; if the Imperial commander is gutsy he might just go straight at Mrr’shan’s Mothership. But if he’s not, he’ll take the safer route—and run headlong into our missiles. A hundred and eighty of them is more than enough to take those four Destroyers down. In the meantime, the odds just came a lot closer to even.”

  “The Destroyers could be working a flanking maneuver,” Hephaestion offered, but Middleton shook his head in negation.

  “Their inertia, and that of the rest of their formation, won’t allow them to come back into play on any of the scenarios I’ve drawn up,” Middleton said firmly. “I’m still not certain which of the three options this Imperial commander will take: first, he could fight us to the death at the second planet, almost certainly winning the battle but leaving himself vulnerable to whatever other surprises we’ve kept off the board. Second, he could only partially engage before breaking for one of the three potential escape paths. Or third, he’ll break off sometime in the next thirty seconds and max-burn for the hyper limit with his tail tucked between his legs, probably passing by the Corvettes as he does so. I’m betting on the second scenario, in which case the questions are: which path does he choose to take, and can we help him make that choice?”