Read No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) Online
Authors: Caleb Wachter
No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride)
No Middle Ground
by
Caleb Wachter
Copyright © 2014 by Caleb Wachter
All rights reserved.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, or hidden in the confines of your own imagination is entirely coincidental. Respect my electronic rights because the money you save today will be the book I can't afford to write for you tomorrow.
Other books by Caleb Wachter
SPHEREWORLD NOVEL SERIES
SPHEREWORLD NOVELLAS
SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVELLAS
Admiral's Lady: Eyes of Ice, Heart of Fire
Books by my Brother:
Luke Sky Wachter
As of 05-12-2014
SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVEL SERIES
RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVEL SERIES
RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVELLAS
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Table of Contents
Chapter II: A Dance of Ice & Fire
Chapter III: Earning Hazard Pay
Chapter V: Lacking Political Capital
Chapter VI: Tit for Tat and Letter vs. Spirit
Chapter VII: New Game, Same Rules
Chapter IX: Playing to Strengths
Chapter X: The Sleeping Dragon, the First Visit
Chapter XII: Walk a mile in another’s feet…
Chapter XIII: Prejudice, Pride, and the Past
Chapter XV: Sleeping Dragon, the Second Visit
Chapter XIX: Sleeping Dragon, the Third Visit
Chapter XXIII: A Plan Comes Together
Chapter XXIV: Springing the Trap
Chapter XXVII: Shopping for a Gift
Chapter XXVIII: Last Minute Details
Chapter XXX: Taking a Stand, and Shaking a Hand
Chapter XXXII: A Lesson in Game Theory
Chapter XXXIII: An Unexpected Guest
Chapter XXXIV: An Update…and the gift of Red Hare
Chapter XXXV: Meetings of the Minds
Chapter XXXVI: A Hub and a Surprise
Chapter XXXVII: Protecting the Ball
Chapter XXXVIII: Repair and Regroup
Chapter XXXIX: One Headache after Another
Epilogue I: Advice…and an Airlock!?
Epilogue III: Debriefing the Admiral
Chapter I: With These Rings
The following begins three weeks after the
Pride of Prometheus
was sent on patrol by Admiral Jason Montagne. The patrol was only supposed to last for a month…
“Comm., report,” Captain Middleton turned to address the Comm. station calmly, “has the southern corvette signaled the pirate base of our location?”
“No signals detected, Captain,” reported the man at Comm.
“Neither corvette appears to have reacted to our presence, Captain,” reported the officer at Tactical, a capable if somewhat timid young Ensign named Sarkozi. “They’re continuing on their respective orbits around the gas giant.”
Middleton glanced down at his chair’s built-in screen, which mirrored the tactical readout currently on the main viewer. He had never quite gotten used to processing information from the main screen, being a Tactical officer himself until three weeks earlier when Admiral Montagne had field-commissioned him as a Captain of the
Pride of Prometheus
. ‘Captain’ or not, Lieutenant Commander Tyrone ‘Tim’ Middleton was much more comfortable hunched over a console than sitting in the Captain’s chair but he managed to ameliorate that discomfort via the chair’s built-in displays.
The gas giant’s most remarkable feature, aside from an enormously powerful EM field, was a nearly continuous ring of rock and ice which was easily of the most spectacular ring systems on record. The rings’ median thickness measured two kilometers, and they extended nearly five hundred thousand kilometers from the edge of the planet’s atmosphere nearly uninterrupted. Only two moons made their orbital paths through the rings, each clearing out narrow bands of material during their countless orbits.
The moon which the
Pride
had hidden behind was on the outer edge of the rings, and that moon’s abnormally large mass had likely been the reason the gas giant’s rings were so spectacular, with the planetoid’s gravity providing gravitational stability.
After flicking through a few screens of data, he was satisfied that they had not yet been detected. The twin, old-style CR-70 Corvettes appeared to be in good shape, but they were nowhere near the
Pride
’s match in a firefight. Even working together, it would take some fancy maneuvering to give Middleton’s people any serious trouble.
It would take another twelve minutes to close to the
Pride
’s extreme firing range, and if they could remain undetected that long then this engagement would be a walk in the park. They had locked the
Pride of Prometheus
into a stationary orbit behind the gas giant’s largest moon two days earlier, and since then they had operated under silent running protocols while the orbit of the moon had brought them around for an advantageous position on the pirate base—a gas collection facility which had gone silent some two weeks earlier.
A real military commander would have run sorties on a regular schedule to cover the dark side of the moon, which was to say nothing of the massive rings around the planet, but these pirates were clearly lacking proper military discipline. Middleton almost felt sorry for the pirates…almost.
“Contact!” called out Sarkozi in a raised voice. “I’m reading two…make that, three vessels on approach from the system’s edge.”
“Range?” Middleton demanded, his previously confident mood taken down a notch as he flipped through his chair’s tactical readouts. His crew was extremely green, but they had spent the past two days in preparation for this, and he was pleased with their displayed focus and professionalism to this point.
“They’re entering medium weapon’s range now, Captain,” Sarkozi replied, her voice taut with disappointment.
The Comm. officer piped in, “I’m receiving civilian freighter ID’s on the newcomers, sir.”
Middleton nodded, feeling a wave of relief at the newcomers being civilian ships rather than warships. Even if they were converted with whatever weaponry they could fit, they would be little to no factor in the coming engagement.
“How did they get so close?” grumbled the Helmsman, an older man named Jersey whose demeanor was always on the surly side.
“The gas giant’s EM field overpowered our passive sensors,” Middleton grudged. It had been a risk going to silent running for the approach, since doing so had restricted the use of their primary sensor array as its transmissions were too easily detectable and would have given away their position. With the passive sensors and Comm. array as their only eyes and ears, they had been nearly as blind as the pirate corvettes. “Engineering,” he raised his voice, turning fractionally to face the Engineering officer posted to the bridge during first shift, “silent running protocols are suspended; I need my engines back and I need them now.”
“Yes, sir,” the engineer reported before relaying the orders to Main Engineering via his workstation. A few seconds later the lights on the bridge brightened to their usual luminosity, causing Middleton to squint as his eyes adjusted. “Main power restored, Captain,” the engineer said crisply. “Engines coming online now; you should have full power in ten minutes.”
“You have five minutes,” Middleton snapped irritably. The
Pride of Prometheus
was an old design, being a Hammerhead-class medium cruiser nearly two hundred years old. Its myriad flaws were punctuated by antique, underpowered engines and limited armor, but the lone saving grace of having these particular old, underpowered engines was that they could be fired up far quicker than their newer, more efficient counterparts. Middleton had read the specs, inspected the engines personally, and knew that any engineer worth his salt could get the job done in four and a half minutes in combat conditions with already active power plants.
The Engineering officer went back and forth the Main Engineering for a moment before turning to Middleton and clearing his throat, “The Chief says the protocols call for a five minute pre-fire checklist, followed by—“
“To Hades with the protocols!” Middleton snapped. Chief Engineer Alfred ‘Mikey’ Garibaldi — the ‘Mikey’ moniker was one reserved for close friends — had been a proverbial thorn in Middleton’s side since he had assumed command three weeks earlier, but there was no one else aboard the ship who was qualified to fill his post. He was capable enough, and had been an acquaintance of Middleton’s for several years, but the man had an insufferable predilection with running things ‘by the book.’ “Tell him we need those engines up in five minutes; I’ll take responsibility if the blasted things blow up!”
The Engineering officer relayed Middleton’s order before nodding curtly. “The Chief says he’ll bypass the regs…and that he’s making a note in his log,” he said timidly.
“See that he does,” Middleton growled before turning to Ensign Sarkozi, the Tactical officer. “Overcharge the forward array for the opening salvo on the southern corvette; if this lasts longer than two exchanges, their friends might be able to get into the fight. I want these pirates down and out before we enter their range so we only have to reinforce one shield facing.”
“Yes, Captain,” she replied professionally before going about her task.
“Comm.,” Middleton continued as his fingers flew over the tactical display on his chair, “begin squawking our ID on the hailing channels and order those corvettes to stand down, heave to and deactivate their power plants. They have two minutes to comply.”
“Yes, Captain,” the man acknowledged.
“Helm, get us moving however fast we can manage on the following course,” Middleton ordered after he had performed a few quick calculations and forwarded the results to Jersey’s console. The numbers confirmed that his initial belief had been correct: if the southern corvette was able to withstand more than two barrages from the
Pride
’s forward array then its ally would have time to maneuver and outflank the
Pride,
and then they’d have a real fight on their hands.
We needed those extra twelve minutes!
Middleton swore silently. There was little doubt the
Pride
would prevail in a slugfest, but good people would get hurt in the process and their ship would take an unnecessary beating—neither of which was an acceptable concession before a shot had been fired.
“Aye, Captain,” Jersey replied in his usual, gruff, semi-irritated manner. A few moments later, Middleton felt the barely-perceptible shift in gravity as the grav-plates adjusted to compensate for their forward motion. Some of his crew still got space-sick during tactical maneuvers on such an outdated vessel, but the ship’s doctor had dispensed the proper pharmaceuticals to counteract the vertigo and other deleterious effects the outdated artificial gravity system was infamous for.
“Shall we raise shields, Captain?” Sarkozi asked stoically.