No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) (27 page)

“Begging the Captain’s pardon,” Jersey put in respectfully, “but if we’re just going to hide the other two ships within the planet’s atmo, why go to the trouble of re-rigging transponders and modifying energy output patterns to make them think the conversion is the
Wings
and vice versa?”

 “Because that destroyer’s too fast, too maneuverable, and her weaponry can outdo ours at extreme range if she knows what she’s up against. In a heads-up, one-on-one fight, she beats us four times out of five,” he explained seriously. He swept the room with his hard gaze before allowing a smile to crack his otherwise stony features before adding, “And I aim to tilt the odds our way.”

Chapter XXIV: Springing the Trap

“Incoming jump detected at the hyper limit, Captain,” the Sensors operator reported precisely on schedule.

“Initiating handshake protocols,” Jardine reported. Fei Long was seated at a Comm. console beside him, with his hands clasped over his lap.

“Remember,” Middleton said, “you’ll be speaking as the conversion, Jardine.”

“Yes, Captain,” Jardine replied before placing a finger to his ear briefly. “Incoming transmission, Captain.”

“Go ahead, Ensign,” he said with a gesture. If this worked, they just might take the Incumbent-class vessel at the outset. If not, there was nothing to stop the faster, longer-ranged vessel from sighting in their guns at extreme range and picking the
Pride
apart until there was nothing left—or until he tucked tail and fled, leaving the two thousand colonists at the tender mercy of these marauders.

“This is Lieutenant Drummond,” Jardine said, using the name of the pirate Comm. officer. He had spent the previous hours studying the man’s file, and using a voice modifier heavily augmented by static interference, Middleton had been assured that the Ensign could passably impersonate the man. “The package is secure and awaiting extraction; we require immediate assistance.”

“This is Captain Rodriguez,” a surprisingly familiar man’s nasal voice came over the speakers, “activate your visual pickup and transmit on the assigned frequencies.” Middleton had previously met the man during a major summit some years earlier. Rodriguez had been a Lieutenant in the MSP at the time, and Middleton had actually played a game of chess against him—a game which Rodriguez had lost rather spectacularly.

“Negative, Captain,” Jardine replied, “our engines are disabled and we’re in a decaying orbit within the fifth planet’s atmosphere. Our Comm. unit is boosted to maximum to penetrate the local EM interference; it’s only a matter of time before we lose the ability to transmit entirely.”

“The fifth planet?” Rodriguez demanded. “What in the Demon’s name are you doing there? Where’s Raubach?”

“Lieutenant Commander Raubach was killed seizing the
Elysium’s Wings
, Captain,” Jardine replied, adjusting the gain on his transmitter so as to garble the signal. “He and the others managed to disable the ship’s weaponry before they were neutralized, and our Marines disabled her engines before they could make the hyper limit, but we lost contact with them after they entered the atmosphere. We can confirm that Captain Manning was in Marine custody before we lost contact with the
Wings
.”

“Why in Murphy’s name did you follow them in?” the pirate captain asked with obvious irritation.

“Sir,” Jardine replied, “our top priority was to seize the
Wings
. We attempted to send a shuttle over after they entered the atmosphere, but encountered unexpected pockets of unstable gas which damaged our engines and destroyed the shuttle, along with our engineers.”

“Say again, Drummond,” Rodriguez demanded, “your signal’s breaking up.”

Jardine continued to manually degrade his transmission as he replied, “Our engines are down; without replacement parts we can’t break free of the planet’s gravity on maneuvering thrusters alone. We need an engineering team to affect repairs—“ Ensign Jardine cut off mid-sentence as he tapped a glyph to cease transmission.

“Good work, Ensign,” Middleton said. “Now we wait for them to take the bait.”

Minutes began to tick by after the destroyer changed course to approach the planet Middleton had chosen for the trap, and the tension on the bridge was palpable as the crew ran through their final preparations.

Eventually, the Liberator-class Destroyer under Captain Rodriguez’s command made high orbit of the planet, while continuously transmitting hails in an attempt to contact the fake Lieutenant Drummond. The real Lieutenant Drummond was currently locked away in the brig along with nearly two dozen other prisoners, who had thus far cooperated with the Master at Arms’ interrogations and supplied the necessary intelligence for Middleton to set this particular trap.

“Give Captain Rodriguez a little encouragement, Ensign Jardine,” Middleton said after a few minutes, “but just enough to whet his appetite.”

Jardine nodded before adjusting the settings of his console and speaking, “Repeat, we require an engineering team to affect repairs on the Elysium’s Wings’ engines in order to break free of the planet’s gravity. Watch for pockets of unstable ice on descent—“

He cut the transmission and turned to face Captain Middleton, who nodded his approval.

Lieutenant Commander Jersey approached the Captain’s chair and clasped his hands behind his back as he made to survey the bridge while speaking under his breath, “How do you know he’ll go for it, Captain? Taking our shot now might be the best play.”

Middleton shook his head. “These pirates were on explicit orders to recover Captain Manning’s corvette,” he explained, “and I doubt their superiors—whoever they are—will look kindly on their failure to do so. Not only that, but I’ve met ‘Captain’ Rodriguez,” he added with a contemptuous snort, “and the man is prone to taking unnecessary risks with his primary assets if his goal appears to be in sight. He knows his destroyer’s engines won’t be affected by the planet’s atmosphere, so he’s unlikely to risk a dangerous shuttle trip when he can just descend through the atmosphere far enough to minimize the danger to his engineers in transit. My guess is he’ll come close enough for a good, close shave.”

Middleton shook his head in wonderment as he remembered the chess game they had played some years earlier. Now, much like then, he was offering his opponent a free piece on the board while in actuality making designs on the other man’s queen—a gambit which had paid off and won the game for Middleton. He had little reason to suspect this situation would play out any differently.

Jersey’s face was a mask of professionalism, but a note of his former gruff, sour attitude came through as he said, “You’re the Captain.”

“Yes, I am,” Middleton replied as smoothly as he could while keeping his eyes fixed on the tactical display.

“They are descending through the atmosphere, Captain,” the man at Sensors reported in his people’s distinct accent. He was one of the few prisoners they had recruited whose aptitudes and performance to date had earned his way onto the bridge, and Middleton found himself more comfortable than he had expected to be with his new crewmembers’ performance and ability to integrate into the
Pride
’s crew.

“Thank you, Sensors,” Middleton replied, knowing it was only a matter of minutes before his trap would spring. With any luck, they could disable the other vessel’s engines and force a boarding action before the pirates broke free of the planet’s gravity. “Bring them in, Jardine,” he said, turning to the men at Comm. before adding, “and prepare to summon your sensor ghosts, Mr. Fei.”

“Yes, Captain,” the men replied in unison.

“We read you on sensors,” Jardine said as he continued to adjust his instrumentation in a seemingly random fashion.

“We’ll deploy bucking cables,” Captain Rodriguez said over the comm., “hold tight and we’ll pull you out of there.”

“Enemy vessel closing, Captain,” Sarkozi reported, “range is now two thousand kilometers…one thousand eight hundred…one thousand five hundred.”

“Close enough for a shave yet, Captain?” Jersey asked from his position between Tactical and Helm.

“Indeed, Commander,” Middleton said with an encouraging gesture, “I think it’s time we said ‘hello’. Mr. Fei,” he turned to the Comm. section, “activate the ghosts.”

“Yes, Captain,” the young man replied as his fingers flew across his console for several seconds before the Tactical display on the main viewer showed a new signal which represented the
Pride of Prometheus
emerging from the planet’s far side.

“Enemy vessel’s descent has stopped, Captain,” Sensors reported. “Range now six hundred kilometers and holding.”

“Activate your hailing program, Ensign,” Middleton ordered.

Ensign Jardine did as ordered, and a second later a recorded transmission came through over the same channel as they had used to communicate with the pirate destroyer, “Incumbent-class destroyer, this is Captain Jardine aboard the MSP Cruiser
Pride of Prometheus.
Heave to and prepare to be boarded by our inspection teams.”

“This is Captain LeBron Rodriguez of the Sector Guard Destroyer,
Cardinal’s Wrath
,” Rodriguez responded in obvious surprise, “we do not recognize your authority to conduct an inspection of Sector Guard assets. We are here on the orders of Commodore Raubach to investigate reports of an attack in this area, and must assume you were the perpetrators of this act of barbarism.”

Middleton suppressed a snicker, since Jardine’s recorded message had been the only one of its kind.

“Enemy destroyer is coming about, Captain,” Sarkozi reported crisply before pausing briefly and then adding, “she has presented her stern to us.”

“Instruct the gun deck they are cleared to engage,” Middleton ordered, feeling a surge of excitement as he did so. “Light her up!”

“Aye, Captain,” Sarkozi acknowledged, and less than a second later the forward batteries let loose as one and the tactical icon representing the
Cardinal’s Wrath
flashed yellow for several seconds before reverting to a shade of slightly-dimmer-than-before green. “Ten hits, Captain,” Sarkozi reported, although anything less would have been a complete shock. Six hundred kilometers was the equivalent of point-blank range in space combat, and the enemy vessel had obviously thought they had several minutes before the merchant conversion—disguised as the
Pride of Prometheus—
would come into firing range. “Enemy shields read twenty percent on the stern facing with moderate spotting.”

“Full power to the engines, Helm,” Middleton ordered, “I want to keep these blighters in our sights as long as possible.”

The enemy vessel’s acceleration was roughly twice that of the
Pride of Prometheus
, and it was maneuverable enough that it could roll to present fresh shield facings often enough to make this a close affair—unless the
Pride
managed to damage the pirate’s engines, in which case it would only be a matter of time before the larger, heavier-shielded MSP Cruiser wore the other ship down and forced a surrender.

Middleton flipped on his chair’s com-link and switched to the broad-spectrum frequencies while also activating the video pickup. “Captain Rodriguez, this is Captain Tim Middleton of the MSP Cruiser
Prometheus Fire
,” he lied, suggesting there were in fact two MSP cruisers in the system rather than just one. “You are ordered to lower your shields, power down your fusion cores and heave to while awaiting our inspection teams. Failure to comply will result in the immediate application of deadly force.”

“Middleton?” Rodriguez said with a blank look on his fatter-than-Middleton-remembered-them features. He quickly regained his composure as a sneer spread over his features. “Blast you,” he growled.

Middleton couldn’t keep a smirk from his features as he leaned forward in his chair. “It was ‘rook to queen’s bishop seven,’ right?” he goaded, reminding the other man of the move which had forced Rodriguez’s resignation years earlier.

Rodriguez’s face turned bright red and his eyes widened furiously as he leveled a finger at Middleton. “You’ve had your shot, Middleton,” he spat, “now I’m going to have mine!” With that, he cut the transmission and the
Pride of Prometheus
was subsequently rocked by a series of impacts.

“Multiple laser strikes on the forward shields,” Sarkozi reported, “forward shields at 78% and holding.”

“Return fire at will,” Middleton ordered, turning to Jardine and Fei Long, “be prepared to immediately jam any Starfire missiles you detect.”

“Yes, Captain,” Jardine replied, while Fei Long appeared to be distracted by something on his console as he failed to respond to Middleton’s order.

The
Pride
was rocked again, and this time the grav-plating was briefly disrupted. Such a disruption may have been a disaster like the one which had previously sent a pair of bridge standers to sickbay, but Middleton had made sure every workstation on the bridge was now equipped with twelve-point harnesses, which only Commander Jersey and Captain Middleton had eschewed.

“Plasma cannon impacts,” Sarkozi reported with a note of surprise in her voice, “forward shields at sixty two percent and holding.”

The Incumbent-class Destroyer was generally not equipped with plasma cannons, but combat variables were as fluid as they were varied, so Middleton knew he had no need to order Sarkozi to re-run the tactical simulations in order to find the optimal course of action. Regardless of her character flaws, the woman was a top-notch—if inexperienced—Tactical Officer and the Captain knew he could trust her to do that part of her job as well as anyone else on the ship, including him.

The
Pride
rose above the planet’s atmospheric veil and the background of the tactical overlay on the main viewer was replaced with a visual representation of the
Cardinal’s Wrath
.

“Enemy range is increasing,” Sarkozi reported, “I estimate we’ll get five more salvos before they’ve gone to extreme range.”

“Make your shots count, Tactical,” Middleton said calmly as he verified the destroyer’s course had followed his predicted path. It would be a close thing for the
Pride
to bring the
Wrath
’s shields down, assuming the destroyer maneuvered properly to present its freshest shield facing to them. And while Rodriguez could be called a reckless man, he was at the very least a competent officer, so Middleton doubted he would be on the receiving end of any further blunders by his opponent.