“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 do
wn 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.”
The communication cut out, and Middleton felt a wave of relief wash over him. The Elysium’s Defiance was still some thirty minutes out of even maximum turbo-laser range, but if Captain Raubach decided to remain and continue to dish out punishment to the Pride for more than twelve minutes, he would be unable to escape the firepower of the High Captain’s state-of-the-art Battleship.
Middleton ran a series of simulations through the primary computer and concluded that in their current alignment and capacity, there was a 30% chance Captain Raubach’s ships could disable—and potentially destroy—the Pride of Prometheus if they remained and continued the assault. But that chance brought with it a nearly equal probability that High Captain Manning would then do the same to the Dämmerung in the ensuing battle.
The Dämmerung began to maneuver away from the incoming vessels and rain fire on the Pride for several minutes, and Middleton’s ship lurched beneath each successive impact on the unshielded forward hull. The Damage Control stander worked frantically to direct repair crews and isolate affected systems as they failed, and for the time being it appeared he was managing the job.
The Pride’s forward weapons continued their own assault on the Heavy Destroyer, but until the Elysium SDF vessels came into range, Captain Middleton knew that Raubach’s shields would hold as he continued to present his freshest facings while pouring his fire onto the Pride of Prometheus. Ensign Sarkozi had essentially neutralized the flanking Corvette by peeling off the Pride’s flank and threatening its failing broadside shields by going out wide and gaining a superior firing angle.
“Captain, the incoming Corvettes are coming about,” the Tactical Officer reported suddenly, and a few moments later the icons on the main viewer began to peel off as they each made for the hyper limit. Judging by the Dämmerung’s current trajectory, it appeared that he had decided it was time to withdraw rather than face a coin flip chance at victory against the fresher, heavier, longer-ranged Elysium’s Defiance.
“Should we pursue, Captain?” Jersey asked quickly.
“Negative, Helm,” Middleton replied. “We have a less than one in four chance of disabling the Dämmerung before she exits our firing range, and a one in three chance of sustaining critical damage and casualties in the process. We need to call this one a draw and fall back to the planet,” he said with equal measures of bitterness and relief.
He knew that with the Dämmerung’s acceleration, the Elysium’s Defiance would be unable to catch it before the Destroyer made the hyper limit. And if High Captain Manning was as experienced as he appeared, he wouldn’t risk sending his two slightly-faster CR-72 corvettes after any of Raubach’s vessels for fear of being cut off and surrounded.
Middleton sank back into his chair as the distance between the Dämmerung and the Pride grew until both ships were completely out of their effective firing range, at which point he focused his attentions on High Captain Manning’s attached instructions. Those instructions advised Middleton to make high orbit over the planet, and that was enough to make him breathe a sigh of relief since Manning wouldn’t possibly suggest that a man he didn’t trust should assume a potential firing position over his fellow Elysium nationals.
Several tense, silent hours passed until Captain Raubach’s ships point transferred out of the system one by one from well beyond the hyper limit. A few minutes after the last ship had left the system, Middleton received a hail from the Elysium’s Defiance, which he had put up on the main viewer.
“Captain Middleton,” High Captain Archibald Manning IV greeted evenly as he leaned forward in his command chair, “not to be rude, but I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
“Of course, Captain Manning,” Middleton replied with a curt nod, “my people are prepared to hand over the Elysium’s Wings as we speak; you give the word and I’ll send a shuttle to collect my people before yours re-assume command.”
Manning nodded. “Send your shuttle, Captain,” he said in his gravelly voice. “My son and his team are already en route, but will remain in a holding pattern while your people evacuate the Wings and return to where they belong. When that is concluded, I propose you join me for dinner aboard the Defiance so I can properly thank you for the meritorious service you’ve rendered my world this last week.”
Middleton hesitated, knowing that to willingly go over to the other man’s ship was effectively the same as surrendering to him. “I appreciate the offer, Captain,” Middleton said while inclining his head respectfully, “but my ship is going to need immediate repairs, and I’m afraid I need to oversee those repairs so we can get under way as soon as possible.”
Captain Manning’s eyes narrowed before he began to chuckle harshly. “Captain, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a dinner invitation refused,” he said, clasping a hand over his chest and feigning offense before once again turning serious. “But your caution is well-deserved, given recent events. If it would be more agreeable, my Marine Captain and myself will come aboard your ship—unarmed—shortly after the transfer of the Wings is concluded, and my men have taken control of those two crippled Destroyers. I believe we have a great many things to discuss—privately,” he said heavily.
Middleton decided to trust his gut and nodded slowly. “We would be honored to receive you, Captain Manning,” he said.
“After the transfer, then,” the other man said with a curt nod before severing the connection.
Chapter XXX: Taking a Stand, and Shaking a Hand
Lu Bu moved as quickly as she could manage through the press of bodies scattered throughout sickbay. The Captain had
requested that all crewmembers with advanced first aid or better training report to sickbay as soon as hostilities had ceased, and Lu Bu had rushed to help her fellow crewmembers in the aftermath of their bloodiest battle since she had boarded the Pride.
“No, not that one,” Doctor Cho snapped after Lu Bu had retrieved the thoracic outlet packet, “I said ‘the cardiac relay kit’.”
Lu Bu was certain she had heard him call for the outlet packet, but she knew it was not her place to argue; her fellow crewmen and women were dying, and every second she indulged her temper brought them closer to death, so she quickly retrieved the cardiac relay kit from its place in the row of stacked materials.
“Yes, that’s the one,” he grudged after she returned to his side, and he tore the kit open as he began to make a long incision on the left side of the patient’s ribs just below the woman’s left breast. A few moments later, Doctor Cho was attempting to maneuver one end of the bypass relay unit’s tubing through the mess of blood and tissues in the crewwoman’s chest. But he failed to correctly implant the device on three separate occasions until finally succeeding, after which he fumbled with the second piece of tubing—which caused him similar difficulties.
Lu Bu saw Doctor Middleton looking up over her own patient on the other side of the room. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she worked quickly, yet efficiently, on a similar procedure involving a horrifically burned engineer who had apparently been too close to a power junction when it overloaded.
“Is he gonna be ok, Doc?” Chief Garibaldi asked Doctor Middleton. The Chief appeared to have sustained rather significant injuries himself, including a huge gash over his half-bald head and major burns to his right arm and leg which had melted his uniform and exposed beefy, red tissue beneath in several patches.
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