McKnight's Mission: A House Divided, Book 1 (Spineward Sectors- Middleton's Pride 4)

by Caleb Wachter

  “Two things on that,” McKnight said, lounging onto the right arm of her chair and drumming her temple with the fingers of her right hand, “first, I’ve learned just how powerful lies can be while fighting you people. Second,” she added as she allowed a self-satisfied smirk to cross her features, “Captain Middleton taught me many things—including the fact that he hated being called Tyrone.”

  “As far as last speeches go,” Bashir drawled in his mild accent, “that was rather pathetic, Lieutenant Commander.”

  “I’ll grant you that,” McKnight said as she heard a soft chime sound from her chair’s com-link, “but I’m new at this…and I’m just getting warmed up.”

  “Captain!” Tactical Officer Ryan shouted as a dozen new signals began to populate the main view screen. “I’m detecting a series of local point transfers.”

  “That would be my fleet, Captain Bashir,” McKnight said, watching as the enemy formation continued to bear down on her isolated warship. “But if you don’t believe they’re real, you’re welcome to ignore them.”

  There was a pause as the enemy commander looked off-pickup for a few seconds. He then returned his focus on the camera feeding his image to McKnight’s bridge. “I might actually enjoy this, Commander,” Captain Bashir said, his eyes flashing with hungry anticipation before he severed the connection.

  “Helm, bring us into formation with the rest of the fleet at best possible speed,” McKnight snapped.

  “Aye, ma’am,” Marcos acknowledged, “we’ll be in position in eighteen minutes.”

  The ship shuddered all around them an instant before the Shields operator reported, “Turbo-laser impact on the forward shields. Bow shields are at 86% and holding, ma’am.”

  “They were one for three on that salvo, ma’am,” Tactical Officer Ryan said as the Freedom’s Bastard began to move on an intercept course toward the heavily-shielded bulk freighter which would serve as the heart of their formation. “We’ll enter firing range in twenty minutes.”

  McKnight had one more trick up her sleeve that she wanted to save for as long as possible, and she knew that it would be the last move she could make before the engagement became little more than a battle of attrition.

  The Bastard shook once again, prompting Shields to report, “78% and holding, Captain.”

  “They were one for two on that round, ma’am,” Ryan added tightly.

  “XO,” McKnight spun in her chair to face Lieutenant Spalding, “run whatever diagnostics you need to on the shield merging system. I want it ready to go as soon as we enter the fleet’s envelope.”

  “Running diagnostics now, ma’am,” Tiberius acknowledged. “My preliminary data shows that the fleet merged its collective shielding output just a few seconds after emerging from the inertial sump. The system looks to be operating in the green across the board.”

  “Keep an eye on it, XO,” McKnight ordered, probably unnecessarily. If Tiberius’ shield system went down, there was essentially zero possibility of the mission succeeding. “What’s happening with those fixed weapon platforms—“ she began, only to be cut off when the ship lurched from port to starboard, then back to port in rapid succession. There was something different about the impacts, though; it was as if they had actually struck the ship rather than the shields.

  “We’ve got multiple impacts on the hull, ma’am,” Damage Control shouted. “I’m reading hull breaches in non-critical sections; we’re losing trace gases through the rents.”

  “What did they hit us with?” she demanded, turning to face Tactical Officer Ryan.

  “My best guess is they hit us with mass drivers, ma’am,” Ryan reported after a few seconds of flipping through screens of information.

  “Mass drivers?!” McKnight’s eyebrows rose before lowering thunderously. “Mass drivers are illegal under every military accord drafted since the AI Wars,” she growled before adding, “but shame on me for being surprised at the Raubachs using banned tech.”

  “I’m programming our PD plasma cannons to intercept incoming projectiles, ma’am,” Ryan said as he worked furiously over the Tactical controls. “They might slow the pellets down a bit, but they won’t stop them.”

  “Good work,” McKnight nodded as she called up the sensor logs for the salvo of mass driver impacts. A few seconds was all the time she had to pore over the information before a pair of impacts shook the forward hull.

  “Two turbo-laser strikes, ma’am,” Ryan reported as he worked furiously.

  “I have located the fixed assets, Captain,” Mr. Guo said in his usually calm manner.

  “Pipe them over to Ryan,” McKnight ordered, impressed that the relatively inexperienced technician had managed to do so—let alone that he had done so with such alacrity.

  A moment later, the main view screen populated with no fewer than fifty distinct platforms which orbited the planet in a perfectly symmetrical arrangement which left zero gaps.

  “They seem to be of an older design,” Guo continued as his hands danced across his workstation in much the same manner as Fei Long’s had done aboard the Pride of Prometheus. “They appear to be relics from the AI Wars—Decimator Class orbital platforms, to be precise.”

  “How would you know that?” Tiberius shot across the bridge, briefly looking up from his workstation. “Those things haven’t been manufactured for centuries.”

  “Apparently my youth, spent playing historical command and conquest strategy simulations, was not so much a waste as my mother once thought,” Fengxiao said pleasantly. “The visual profile, EM footprint, and weapon impacts were consistent with Decimator platforms, ma’am.”

  McKnight had already begun to call up whatever information was in the ship’s databanks regarding Decimator platforms, and it took a few moments before she found the information.

  “I recommend tying the following packet of sensor information to the Helm, Captain,” Mr. Guo suggested just as a breakdown of that packet appeared on McKnight’s console. “We can utilize evasive maneuvers to avoid a significant portion of the incoming fire if we do so.”

  “Do it,” McKnight ordered. “Coordinate with Sensors immediately to feed that information directly to Marcos’ station.”

  “Done, Captain,” Fengxiao said a moment later.

  The ship lurched again, suggesting that another mass driver pellet had struck the ship. “This will take a minute, ma’am,” Marcos said tensely. “I’m not used to incorporating this type of data feed…”

  “Allow me to assist,” Fengxiao suggested. A few seconds later he asked, “Does that interface help?”

  Marcos nodded, her blond ponytail bobbing enthusiastically as she called over her shoulder, “Yes, that’s much better.”

  McKnight’s inner ear briefly rebelled, causing her vision to narrow as Helmsman Marcos reacted with evasive maneuvers to avoid incoming mass driver fire. A lone impact rang out through the hull in the span of nearly twenty seconds before another chorus of turbo-laser fire slammed into the bow of the ship.

  “Four for four, ma’am,” Ryan reported.

  “Shields down to 43% with mild spotting,” Shields added. “I’ve got a blown relay on the starboard primary grid; working to bypass.”

  “Get a team on that, XO,” McKnight said as she performed some simple math on her chair’s console, which suggested they would not reach the formation before the forward shields were gone entirely. Unlike the Pride, the Bastard’s armor was far from robust—which meant that maintaining the shield grid was of even greater importance than it had been aboard the old Hammerhead Cruiser.

  “We’ve got damage control working on it, Captain,” Tiberius reported. “They estimate two minutes before they can swap out the relay.”

  “Establish point-to-point communications with the fleet, Mr. Guo,” McKnight said after confirming that her ship was extremely unlikely to reach the formation before being critically damaged by incoming fire. “We need them to take some of the pressure off us.”

  “Yes, Captain,” F
engxiao acknowledged.

  McKnight saw that a second formation of enemy vessels had broken orbit and was set to intercept the collectively-shielded fleet which Lynch had assembled for this particular occasion. The current count showed that only five warships remained in orbit of the dark, rogue planet while the rest were either already engaged with, or moving to engage McKnight’s small fleet.

  She checked a timer she had placed in the corner of her chair’s readout and saw that it still had twenty minutes remaining before it reached zero. She gritted her teeth as her Destroyer slowly drew nearer to the relative safety of the Cruiser’s formation.

  “Come on…” she growled as she verified that her ship’s engines were already redlined, and the Freedom’s Bastard drove toward the relative safety of the fleet’s tight formation.

  “Lookin’ good,” Lynch said as the mag-lev hurtled down the tunnel, with the AI Core Fragment in tow. “So far everything’s breakin’ down like we planned. Your Captain had an unconventional approach, but it looks like it’ll pay off; she managed to verify the enemy’s weapon range, minimize the chances of intel leakage, and even drew some of the defending ships out of position before the real fleet arrived. Looks like she’s still holdin’ that Cruiser of yours in reserve, though,” he added with what Lu Bu took to be mixed approval and annoyance. “We’ll see how it plays out…but things are still lookin’ close.”

  “Has Fisher turned the defensive platforms against the Rim Fleet ships?” Lu Bu asked.

  “Not yet,” Lynch shook his head, causing Lu Bu to set her jaw in anger as he continued, “his fire control program is only good for two salvos; we get one shot on the enemy, and then we get one shot on each platform to destroy the network. ‘Til then, it’s best if we let them think they’re good on that front.”

  “You let them fire those platforms on our allies when you could use them and destroy them,” Lu Bu growled, clenching her fists in anger.

  “Keep a lid on it, Lu,” Lynch said flatly. “We’ve got one good shot to put these people down, and the whole plan hinges on us takin’ that shot at the right moment. Besides…the fight goin’ on in orbit is just about getting’ us a clear path outta here. McKnight will have to outperform my expectations to actually win up there; all we gotta do is get off the surface with Archie here and this whole op is a huge win.”

  “They will follow us,” Lu Bu countered. “Prey runs; we must stand and fight them here.”

  “You have no idea how much I wish we had the firepower to go at ‘em head-to-head,” Lynch shook his head bitterly. “But we ain’t holdin’ that kinda hand here—at least,” he added with a knowing look, “not yet, we ain’t.”

  The mag-lev hurtled down the tunnel, drawing them ever nearer to the lift which would take them to the surface. Lu Bu knew that they would be fighting their way out of whatever complex awaited them at the surface, and she was eager to do precisely that.

  All of this skullduggery and sneaking through the shadows had worn away what little patience she had—soon she would do what she did best.

  “We’ll be in the formation in three minutes,” Sensors said after yet another turbo-laser strike impacted on the forward shields.

  “Forward shields are down to 17% with critical spotting, ma’am,” Shields reported frantically. “We’re in danger of an imminent cascade failure!”

  “Cut the engines,” McKnight snapped, “present the stern to the enemy squadron while we coast the rest of the way in, Helm.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Marcos said even as the ship began to tumble end-over-end before once again stabilizing in a completely reversed orientation from its previous one. “We’re stern-on,” she reported with some relief.

  “Our allied formation is adjusting course and speed to allow us to intercept on our current course,” Ryan reported. “We’ll rendezvous with them in two minutes.”

  “Continue evasive maneuvers to avoid those mass drivers, Helm,” McKnight instructed. “Just keep our bow in the clear until we’re in the freighter’s expanded shield envelope.”

  “The mass drivers have re-focused their fire on the fleet, ma’am,” Ryan explained with some portion of relief.

  “All the same,” she snapped as the ship shuddered from a turbo-laser strike near the stern, “maintain evasive maneuvering as needed, Helm.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Marcos nodded.

  The seconds ticked by, during which time another half dozen turbo-laser strikes landed on their stern facing. “Stern shields down to 44%, ma’am,” Shields reported. “Forward shields are up to 33% with mild spotting.”

  “Ten seconds to rendezvous,” Ryan said in a raised voice.

  “Helm, re-orient the ship and match our trajectory with that of the fleet,” McKnight ordered.

  The ship lurched beneath their feet, and once again McKnight’s inner ear threatened to rebel against the improbable change in apparent gravity as the ship’s grav-plates struggled to keep up with the rapid maneuvers which Marcos was putting it through. But after a few seconds, the lurching and vertigo ceased altogether.

  “We’ve synced up with the formation, ma’am,” Marcos reported just as McKnight’s vision cleared.

  “Point to point communication has been established,” Mr. Guo added confidently, “handshake protocols have been authenticated. We are ready to hand over Helm control to the freighter’s pilot.”

  “Do it,” McKnight ordered, gripping the arm of her chair as the minimal contents of her stomach made a very serious attempt to gain emancipation from her innards.

  “Helm control has been handed off,” Marcos said, making a clear display of removing her hands from her station for a few seconds.

  “I’m linking the shields now,” Lieutenant Spalding declared from the Engineering console. “Our shield emitters are synchronizing their output frequency with the formation,” he said as he turned from one side of the console to the other. “Matching amplitude…aligning local power grid output—“

  The lights on the bridge flared with a short-lived intensity that saw McKnight’s heart briefly stop before once again resuming their usual luminosity—minus a trio of now-dark illumination strips on the port side.

  “We’re in,” Tiberius said with a short sigh of relief. “Everything looks to be operating in the green.”

  “Good work,” McKnight said before seeing that the tight formation—which saw each ship separated from its closest neighbor by only a few hundred meters—resumed its previous course and speed toward the dark planet which was their ultimate goal. “Tactical, fire on the incoming warships according to the priority we established in the mission brief; coordinate with the other ships and pick them off one by one.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he acknowledged, and a few seconds later the Freedom’s Bastard unleashed its arsenal on an inbound Corvette which had already been compromised by her fleet’s concerted fire. The Corvette’s engines appeared to fail, prompting its commander to drop out of the formation and alter its course to gain maximum distance between itself and McKnight’s—or, perhaps more appropriately, Lieutenant Spalding’s—unusual formation.

  Faint shudders followed their outgoing volley every few seconds, and those shudders coincided with the main viewer’s tactical readout registering an inbound turbo-laser strike.

  “The formation’s forward shields are down to 73%, Captain,” Tiberius reported.

  “Our forward shield grid is severely compromised, Captain,” the Shields operator reported. “We’re going to need to replace at least three power relays in order to regain better than 90% coverage on that facing.”

  “How are the other facings?” McKnight asked, knowing they had been lucky just to link up with the rest of the fleet.

  She saw that the Freedom’s Bastard was on the port flank of the formation, which meant that its forward shields were not presently contributing to the formation’s front shielding. The control system which Tiberius and his people had developed would automatically maneuver each ship carefully within the
formation so as to provide maximum protection while minimizing the risk of overloading the individual ships’ shield generators and power grids.

  Even as she watched, one of the Corvettes in their formation fell back from the bow and was replaced by a Destroyer which had previously been at the stern. The adjustment took less than two seconds to execute, which only emphasized just how important it was for the linked helm control system to function unimpeded.

  Weapons flared from the formation, and an enemy Cutter was destroyed outright by combined allied fire—much of which erupted from the newly-positioned Destroyer’s arsenal. In reply, a host of inbound mass driver pellets and turbo-laser fire slammed into the formation.

  The ship lurched dangerously around them as one of the allied ships’ icons flashed red before turning grey. “We just lost a Cutter,” Tactical Officer Ryan said anxiously. “This shield formation isn’t doing much to stop the mass driver pellets, Captain.”

  “Forward shields are at 68%,” Tiberius reported. “Engineering says they’ll need twelve minutes to replace the overloaded components and bring the forward grid back online.”

  “They’ve got six minutes,” McKnight snapped as another concentrated volley slammed into the forward shields of their formation. “And they would actually impress me by coming in comfortably under the wire for a change!”

  She half-expected her XO to chafe at her rebuke and was mildly surprised that he held his tongue. McKnight scolded herself for letting the tension of the moment get to her, though she knew that the worst thing she could do at this point was to start second-guessing herself.

  “Time to orbit of the planet?” she demanded, turning to face Ryan when a quick check of her own tactical readouts failed to provide the information.

  “At our current course and speed,” Marcos replied when no answer was immediately forthcoming from the Tactical station, “approximately thirty four minutes, ma’am.”