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.”
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.
“You need to sit down and have your wounds seen to, Chief,” Doctor Middleton said calmly as she completed her own procedure. She then cast a hard look at Doctor Cho, who was still fumbling with the second bypass tube, before she moved on to the next patient triaged in front of her.
“I said ‘suction’!” Doctor Cho snapped irritably, and Lu Bu grabbed the portable suction unit from beside the bed—quite certain the Doctor had not, in fact, previously requested suction. But she dutifully inserted the device into the crewwoman’s chest cavity, and after a few seconds the tissues were exposed to where even she could discern the different structures inside the woman’s body.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice fraught with tension as he finally connected the second tube. He flipped the switch on the portable device and gestured to a nearby, vacant bed, “Transfer the patient there and connect the bypass device to the power supply.”
“No,” Doctor Middleton shouted across the room, “do not move that patient, Bu!”
“This is my patient, Doctor Middleton,” Doctor Cho snapped, wiping what few wisps of hair remained on his head away from his eyes.
“No she is not,” Doctor Middleton said adamantly as she continued to work on her latest patient. “As Chief Medical Officer of this ship, I’m relieving you of duty; you spent two minutes to perform a ten second procedure, and that woman will likely suffer neurological deficits due to prolonged anoxia thanks to your incompetence—to say nothing of the other patients you’ve ‘treated’ today.”
“I am Chief Medical Officer,” Doctor Cho retorted hotly as he made to begin working on his next patient.
“Not any more, you’re not,” Doctor Middleton said before looking up over her glasses and locking eyes with Lu Bu. “If he attempts to so much as assess another patient, restrain him; I won’t have him harm another member of this crew—they depend on me, and I’m not going to abandon them,” she said with a knowing look before lowering her eyes and returning her full attention to the task at hand.
Lu Bu felt a surge of excitement as she squared off on the elderly Doctor Cho. “Doctor Cho should return to quarters,” she said evenly while pointing at the door.
The elderly Doctor looked perplexed and genuinely offended, and appeared ready to protest until Lu Bu cracked her knuckles demonstrably while taking a step toward him.
With that, the elderly doctor opted to quit the field, and a few seconds later he had left the sickbay.
“Bu,” Doctor Middleton said in a raised voice, causing the younger woman to turn around wearing the biggest smile she could remember, “I’m could use another pair of hands over here—and we’ll need that thoracic outlet tray.”
Lu Bu did as she was instructed, brushing past a large, Tracto-an medical assistant as she did so and felt a wave of positive energy flow through her veins.
Doctor Middleton is going to stay! she thought gleefully.
“Captain Manning,” Middleton said officiously as soon as the Elysium shuttle’s door had opened and the surprisingly robust-looking man—whose file indicated he was one hundred six years old—descended the ramp with a similarly square-jawed man at his heel.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” High Captain Manning asked officiously.
“Permission granted,” Middleton said with a nod, “welcome to the Pride of Prometheus, sir.”
“Sir?” Manning repeated as he made his way across the hangar deck to where Middleton stood, with Sergeant Joneson to one side and Ensign Jardine to the other. Archibald Manning stood less than a meter from Middleton’s face and looked up and down his uniform before chuckling, “I miss the old uniforms; they look good on you, Captain. But none of this ‘sir’ business, eh?”
Middleton shook his head. “MSP protocol, sir,” he said while bracing to attention as a show of respect, with Joneson and Jardine following his lead, “the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet recognizes locally-granted ranks in all official interactions with its allies. Plus, I’m technically still a Lieutenant Commander operating under a field commission of Captain.”
Manning wagged a finger reprovingly, “I served in the MSP back when this ship of yours was
still considered top-of-the-line; I know the regs as well as any man living. You only respect local ranks while on sovereign soil, and only when interacting with your fleet’s constituent members. To my knowledge, as High Captain of Elysium’s SDF, we do not currently contribute any vessels to the Confederation’s MSP—and I think I would know if we had,” he added with a stern look.
“I’m hoping we can alleviate at least one of those unfortunate circumstances today, Captain,” Middleton said as he gestured to the hangar’s main exit.
“Let’s take things one step at a time,” Manning said as he gestured to the tall, broad-shouldered man behind him. “This is my Marine Captain and youngest son, Cooper,” he said before turning with a grim expression on his face. “He was a Sergeant until just a few short days ago, when an…unfortunate incident befell his predecessor.”
“I read you, Captain,” Middleton said with a knowing nod as he turned to Joneson and Jardine respectively, “this is Lancer Sergeant Walter Joneson, and my chief Comm. officer, Ensign Kenneth Jardine.”
Manning’s eyebrows lifted fractionally as a smile crept across his face. “My son was right,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially to add, “I do like your style.”
“Let’s proceed to the conference room?” Middleton suggested.
“By all means,” Archibald Manning agreed, taking the lead as they exited the corridor. A few minutes later, the five men had ridden a lift in complete silence and arrived at the senior officers’ conference room.
When everyone had taken their seats, Captain Manning looked purposefully around the room. “I knew a few planets still serviced these old ships, but I hadn’t expected to set foot on one again.” He gave a curt nod to Middleton, “You’ve done good work with the old bird, Captain. On behalf of my world, and the thousands of people whose lives you’ve safeguarded, I would like to extend our appreciation.”
No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) Page 28
