No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) (49 page)

Just then the damaged destroyer’s icon flashed red several times before going grey. “The first destroyer is gone, Captain; its point transfer system went critical just after those smaller ships cleared the vicinity.”

“Are they lifeboats of some kind?” Middleton asked during a rare instance of his mouth working faster than his mind. He immediately rebuked his subconscious for seeking the easy way out of their current circumstances.

“Negative,” Sarkozy said after returning to her Tactical group, “they look more like fighters, judging by their acceleration and energy output.”

Middleton felt the urge to squirm but resisted. The one thing the
Pride of Prometheus
was completely ill-equipped to deal with was a full wing of fighters, which could easily swarm the larger, slower Cruiser and pick it apart while staying clear of her big guns’ firing arc.

“Let’s prime the point defense turrets,” he said, as though it was necessary, “and pray to the Saint our big guns can pick them off before they get here.”

“The battle cruiser is firing its primary weapon,” the Sensors operator reported, and Captain Middleton looked up to the tactical overlay to see the second destroyer’s icon flash red before going grey. “Target vessel is destroyed, Captain; no fighter launches detected.”

Before anyone could celebrate the total destruction of the second ship, the icon of the battle cruiser flashed red several times, making Middleton’s stomach turn.

“The remaining destroyer has fired its main weapon,” Sarkozy reported. “The battle cruiser’s shields have completely collapsed and I’m seeing structural damage to their ventral hull. Those fighters are closing fast on the battle cruiser’s position—ETA twelve minutes.”

“Engage the fighters,” Middleton ordered, and Commander Jersey began to do precisely that as the Pride adjusted its course and speed to move away from the faltering battle cruiser. “That cruiser’s going to have to handle the destroyer on its own.”

“If the destroyer fires its primary weapon again,” Sarkozy said after performing some calculations, “it appears the battle cruiser will sustain, at minimum, critical damage and be knocked out of the fight.”

“If those fighters close to grips with either of our ships, it’s only a countdown to the inevitable,” Middleton countered, knowing full well that the Tactical Officer was correct. “We’re just going to have to hope our wingman’s got enough left in the tank to knock the destroyer’s primary weapon offline before it can fire again.”

“The interval between shots of those siege weapons, combined with the continued fire being exchanged, suggests—“ Sarkozy began.

“I know the situation, Ensign,” Middleton cut her off before activating his com-link. “Mr. Fei, I need an update.”

Lu Bu grunted with effort as she slid the final missile into the shuttlecraft, wiping the sweat from her brow as she saw Corporal Gnuko—and even Peleus—begin to tremble from the extreme exertion of the past few minutes.

“The missiles are loaded aboard the shuttle, Captain,” the young man replied a few seconds after Lu Bu and her companions had finished loading the final missile. “We will launch in one minute; I require a package of targets to program once we have cleared the shuttle.” A moment later, Fei Long looked down at his com-link and nodded, “I have received the package, Captain; I estimate the weapons will fire in seven minutes.”

Lu Bu cast a doubtful look at the still-unconscious shuttle pilot, who Atticus was dragging into the shuttle via the side door. “We need new pilot,” she said in Confederation Standard.

“Of that, I am aware,” Fei Long replied curtly as he jumped up on top of the first row of missiles before sliding toward the cockpit with a look of determination.

“You are not rated for this craft,” she snapped in her native tongue while Corporal Gnuko entered the cabin via the rear, cargo ramp. “Captain Middleton must have his best pilot on this mission; we should wait for a replacement.”

“I assure you that I have logged over three hundred hours in various small craft cockpit configurations,” Fei Long riposted. “I am more than qualified to fly this mission.”

“You?” she scoffed as she clambered over the missiles while the cargo ramp slowly raised behind the four of them—five, including the unconscious pilot. “You have never flown any spacecraft; I have read your file!”

“I confess my only experience is in virtual sims operating at three hundred percent regular speed. Still…I am pleasantly surprised to find you have been reading up on me,” he quipped as he slotted into the co-pilot’s chair.

She felt herself go red-faced at his suggestion and slapped the back of his head with probably more force than she should have. “I
have
interfaced with this craft, and of the four conscious crewmembers aboard the shuttle, my reflexes are best and I
am
rated for emergency operation of such a vehicle.”

“Why do you think I chose this chair?” he said with an exasperated sigh as he rubbed the back of his head before gesturing toward the pilot’s chair. A moment later, Fei Long’s fingers flicked across the various switches and control icons which put the shuttle through its pre-flight routine, and there was an audible hum as the systems came online.

Lu Bu strapped into the pilot’s chair and assisted in the pre-flight routine wordlessly, casting occasional glances over at Fei Long as he carried out his portion of the procedure.

Corporal Gnuko ducked his head into the cockpit and proffered a pair of head bags with attached com-link ear buds before asking hesitantly, “Are you sure you two can fly this thing?”

“Yes,” Lu Bu snapped as she snatched a head bag and placed it over her face, after which she placed the ear bud and gave it a test. She then activated the self-sealing apparatus to lock behind her jaw, ears and occipital bone, at which time it sealed and she began to breathe her own recycled air.

Fei Long did likewise, and when he spoke she found his irritating voice to be thankfully muffled, “Shuttlecraft
Galileo
making emergency liftoff in twenty seconds; all personnel are to evacuate the shuttle bay. Repeat: evacuate shuttle bay in sixteen seconds in preparation for rapid decompression.”

The seconds ticked by, and the light above the cockpit’s main viewport flashed yellow before turning green, which said the shuttle bay was now cleared for an emergency liftoff.

Lu Bu pulled back on the manual controls and the craft lifted a half meter from the deck as the twin set of doors at the shuttle bay’s exit opened, causing a rush of air as the remnants of atmosphere inside the chamber escaped through the rapidly opening airlock doors.

“Commencing flight,” Lu Bu said, having forgotten the actual phrase she was supposed to use as she twisted the left side of the manual interface and spurring the craft forward.

They exited the
Pride of Prometheus’
shuttle bay and Lu Bu immediately banked wide, in an attempt to get clear of the ship’s flare-zone—the immediate vicinity surrounding an actively-shielded vessel—so as to avoid any potential redirected, incoming weapons fire from catching the
Galileo
in the dissipation wave caused by impact on a warship’s shields.

She risked a glance at the
Pride of Prometheus
, for the first time having a chance to see their vessel’s exterior with her own eyes. The ship was even more impressive to the naked eye than its technical schematics and scantlings could ever convey, and she felt a surge of pride as its forward batteries fired in rapid succession, with each of the ten heavy lasers sending a blast of fiery red shot forward as the
Pride
’s engines burned with a bluish-green light.

“Where do we deploy the missiles?” she asked in their native tongue, knowing that perfect communication was more important than protocol in this particular circumstance.

“Anywhere,” Fei Long replied as he undid the harness which secured him to the chair, “we are already well within the tactical range of these devices. Cut the engines while we prepare to deploy the missiles.” He scampered out of the cargo bay and withdrew a data slate from his pocket as Lu Bu cut the engines.

They made their way into the cabin, and found that Gnuko and Peleus had already removed the access panels from each missile. Fei Long set down beside the first missile and made a hard connection between it and his data slate, which had yet another type of cable connected to it. He finished more quickly than she thought possible, and as he moved to the next unit Gnuko made to replace the access panel.

“There is no need, Sergeant,” Fei Long said dismissively as he repeated the process, which took him ten seconds per missile. When he was finished he gestured for the Sergeant to open the cargo ramp, and wrapped his arm around a nearby cargo net. Lu Bu and Peleus did likewise, while Gnuko went to the control panel and began the gradual decompression cycle of the cabin. Normally they would have stored the atmospheric gases in the shuttle’s reserve tanks, but that process would have taken several minutes. So there was a gradually increasing rush of air as the ramp lowered slowly, but after just a few seconds the effect diminished until dissipating entirely, and the ramp lowered completely.

“Do we need to point these things in a certain direction?” Gnuko asked over their ear bud com-links after the door had opened.

“Simply slide them out one by one,” Fei Long urged, “and keep them as straight as possible. The onboard guidance systems will do the rest after they are activated. We must hurry, however,” he added almost as an afterthought, “they are on a manual countdown of two minutes before their drives will ignite.”

Needing no further encouragement, the three Lancers aboard the shuttle forcibly shoved each missile out the back of the shuttle, which created a rather ominous sight. After each missile cleared the grav-plates of the shuttle, they floated directly behind the craft—with their noses pointed directly at the tiny, all-too-vulnerable shuttle.

When the tenth missile was out, Lu Bu turned and entered the cockpit, finding Fei Long had already done so. Gnuko closed the cargo door, and a few moments after the seals had locked down, the cabin began to fill with life-giving atmosphere.

Before she could re-gain her seat, Lu Bu saw Fei Long bank the shuttle toward the
Pride of Prometheus
, which was only visible by a pinpoint of blue-green light marking its engine flare, and then by another red-hued volley from the forward batteries.

“Missile engines lighting in three…two…one…fire,” Fei Long said calmly, and his words were followed by a sequential flaring of white engine fire as the missiles activated in a line, starting at the front of the group and leaping like dominoes to those behind.

As the weapons surged toward the fray of battle, Fei Long sat back in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head and breathed a short sigh, “Our task is now complete; we should attempt to rendezvous with the
Pride of Prometheus
.”

“Negative,” Gnuko said severely as he leaned into the cockpit, “protocol dictates that we hang back so we don’t limit the
Pride
’s maneuvering options. This shuttle’s unarmed, and our shields can’t withstand the capital weapon exchanges out there; we sit tight for now and stay out of tactical range. We can’t do anything else from here.”

“Starfire missiles on approach, Captain,” Sarkozy reported. “If their timers are correctly set, they’ll fire in forty seconds.”

“Make sure there’s no overlap between their assigned targets and the gun deck’s shots,” Middleton reminded as the battle cruiser received another volley of fire from the remaining destroyer.

“The battle cruiser’s ventral weaponry is mostly off-line; that destroyer’s firing with surgical precision, Captain,” Sarkozy said with obvious admiration.

“Remember,” the Captain reminded, “those guns are under the direction of computers.”

“Man, not Machine, Captain,” Sarkozy said unexpectedly, and while Middleton had never cared for that particular expression, he knew that many of the crew would share the expressed sentiment. He had issued a fairly damning repudiation of the droids’ potential sentience himself at the outset of the battle, so he let the political catchphrase slide. “If recharge rates are constant, the battle cruiser’s primary weapon should fire in two minutes,” the Tactical Officer added.

“They aren’t ‘recharge rates,’ Ensign,” Middleton corrected. “Those big guns are powered by antimatter so it’s not an issue of power generation. The siege weapons should fire as soon as they’ve loaded another pellet into the breech; we just don’t know enough about their weaponry to guess how long that will be. Still,” he added pointedly, “we’ll use your interval until better information is available.”

“Starfires to fire in three…two…one,” Sarkozy reported, and the swarm of enemy fighters on approach with the battle cruiser flashed as the icons of the Starfire missiles winked out in unison. “Ten hits, ten kills,” she said fiercely, “that leaves twelve fighters entering short combat range now, Captain.”

The twelve remaining fighter icons approached the battle cruiser and flashed, indicating weapons’ fire. The icon of the battle cruiser became bright red, and it began to strobe rhythmically, indicating serious structural damage had been indicated.

“The battle cruiser’s primary weapon should fire in twenty seconds” Sarkozy reported as the Pride’s forward batteries took what would likely be their final shot at the fighters before their proximity to the battle cruiser made such fire too great of a liability to continue doing so. The seconds ticked by, and when the clock reached zero there was no great flash indicating weapon fire.

Middleton tensed. “If their primary weapon is offline,” he said darkly, “then the table just tilted against us. Concentrate all fire on the destroyer, Ensign.”

The battle cruiser rolled to present its freshest facing and unleashed a fresh volley of standard weapons fire on the relatively fresh destroyer. “The battle cruiser has overcharged her turbolasers, Captain…the destroyer’s shields are fluctuating like nothing I’ve ever seen. Enemy fighters are attempting to veer off from the battle cruiser, sir.”