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.
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More books by Caleb Wachter:
As of 04-15-2018
IMPERIUM CICERNUS: THE CHIMERA ADJUSTMENT
Book I:
(Available Free)
Ure Infectus
Book 1.5:
(Bridge novella available FREE by signing up for my newsletter)
Guarding an Angel
Book II: Sic Semper Tyrannis
SPINEWARD SECTORS: MIDDLETON'S PRIDE
Book I: No Middle Ground
Book II: Up The Middle
Book III: Against The Middle
Book IV: McKnight's Mission (A House Divided, I)
Book V: Middleton's Prejudice
Book VI: Lynch's Legacy (A House Divided, II)
Book VII: The Middle Road
Book VIII: A House United (A House Divided, III)
SPINEWARD SECTORS: A TRACTO TALE
The Forge of Men
SPHEREWORLD NOVEL SERIES
Book I: Joined at the Hilt: Union
Book II: Joined at the Hilt: Dross
SPHEREWORLD NOVELLA
Prequel: Between White and Grey
SEEDS OF HUMANITY: THE COBALT HERESY SERIES
Book I: Revelation
Book II: Reunion
Books by my Brother: Luke Sky Wachter
SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVEL SERIES
Admiral Who?
Admiral’s Gambit
Admiral’s Tribulation
Admiral’s Trial
Admiral’s Revenge
Admiral’s Spine
Admiral Invincible
Admiral's Challenge
Admiral’s War - Part One
Admiral’s War - Part Two
Admiral's Nemesis – Part One
RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVEL SERIES
The Blooding
The Painting
The Channeling
RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVELLAS
The Boar Knife
COLLABORATIVE WORKS BY LUKE SKY WACHTER & CALEB WACHTER
SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVELLAS
Admiral’s Lady: Eyes of Ice, Heart of Fire
Admiral’s Lady: Ashes for Ashes, Blood for Blood
Get access to my exclusive free book giveaways and news about upcoming releases by signing up for my email newsletter!
Table of Contents
Prologue: The Big Chair
Chapter I: With These Rings
Chapter II: A Dance of Ice & Fire
Chapter III: Earning Hazard Pay
Chapter IV: Starting Over
Chapter V: Lacking Political Capital
Chapter VI: Tit for Tat and Letter vs. Spirit
Chapter VII: New Game, Same Rules
Chapter VIII: Mixed Signals
Chapter IX: Playing to Strengths
Chapter X: The Sleeping Dragon, the First Visit
Chapter XI: A New Player
Chapter XII: Walk a Mile in Another’s Feet…
Chapter XIII: Prejudice, Pride, and the Past
Chapter XIV: Bread Crumbs
Chapter XV: Sleeping Dragon, the Second Visit
Chapter XVI: Breaking Bread
Chapter XVII: Disappointment
Chapter XVIII: Warmer…
Chapter XIX: Sleeping Dragon, the Third Visit
Chapter XX: Smoke & Mirrors
Chapter XXI: After Action
Chapter XXII: Raising The Bar
Chapter XXIII: A Plan Comes Together
Chapter XXIV: Springing the Trap
Chapter XXV: Closing the Trap
Chapter XXVI: Answers
Chapter XXVII: Shopping for a Gift
Chapter XXVIII: Last Minute Details
Chapter XXIX: Twilight’s Fall
Chapter XXX: Taking a Stand, and Shaking a Hand
Chapter XXXI: A New Plan
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
Chapter XL: Fight Out of It
Chapter XLI: The Fray
Chapter XLII: A Wall of Iron
Chapter XLIII: Cleaning Up
Epilogue I: Advice…and an Airlock!?
Epilogue II: Coming to Terms
Epilogue III: Debriefing the Admiral
Prologue: The Big Chair
“Have a seat, Lieutenant Commander,” the young Admiral, Jason Montagne, gestured to the seat opposite his own in the Admiral’s office adjacent to the Flag Bridge.
Lieutenant Commander Tyrone ‘Tim’ Middleton was apprehensive about the nature of the meeting, but he was more intrigued than concerned. So he took his seat as indicated, acknowledging with a nod, “Thank you, Admiral.”
After he had been seated, he felt the Little Admiral—a moniker which was far from respectful in its origins—pour the weight of his gaze over his features. The young man had absolutely zero military training, having been born into a relatively minor branch of his home planet’s nobility and being placed aboard the Lucky Clover as little more than a face-saving piece of political theater. Just a few months earlier it would have been inconceivably ludicrous to suggest that he would be commanding one of the most powerful mobile assets in the entire Spineward Sectors. But, as is so often the case, reality turned out to be more incredible than the cheapest fiction.
“I’ve been going over our latest status reports,” the young Admiral began, gesturing languidly to a neat stack of data slates on the desk before him, “and it seems that the Lucky Clover has no further use for you on her bridge.”
“Sir?!” Middleton said in surprise. He had been the First Shift Tactical Officer ever since Admiral Montagne had fully assumed command of the aged battleship, and to his mind he had performed his duties precisely as needed.
Admiral Montagne nodded coolly, lacing his fingers before his face as he explained in his aggravating, Royalist manner. “The Clover’s crew, while still a tick or two below a proper military standard, have rounded into form nicely under the direction of her various department heads—your own department included.”
“We’ve just been doing our jobs, Admiral,” Middleton said guardedly. The truth of his own circumstances was that if the Imperial Navy had not withdrawn the entirety of its mobile assets from the Spineward Sectors just a few short weeks earlier, he likely would have already retired and moved on to the next phase of his life. He had no great wish to abandon the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet—the peacekeeping force to which he had been attached for the past several years—but the time had come for him to move on from his twenty year military career.
“As have we all,” Admiral Montagne agreed easily, but Middleton felt the younger man’s gaze p
Lieutenant Commander Middleton picked up the data slate, and within a few seconds his eyebrows rose in surprise—and then lowered darkly as he realized what those orders entailed. “Admiral—“ he began to protest, but the younger man cut him off.
“You’re the top bridge officer aboard this ship, Lieutenant Commander Middleton,” the Admiral said smoothly, “or, at least, the top one with the necessary credentials to fulfill this particular duty.”
Middleton shook his head dubiously, knowing there had been supposedly good reason why he had not advanced higher up the chain of command than he had already done. “My psych profile—“
“Is just one of several data points I’ve incorporated while making my decision,” the Little Admiral interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I assure you, Lieutenant Commander, that this will be a simple ‘wave the flag’ mission. The people of the Spineward Sectors need to see friendly faces in light of the recent chaos caused by the Imperial withdrawal; a month-long patrol on the border of Sectors 24 & 25 should alleviate some portion of the anxiety felt by those citizens living there.”
Middleton considered the younger man’s words, and as he did so he realized he was probably right. The people of the Spineward Sectors needed a stabilizing force—or at least the appearance of one—and with that in mind he arrived at what most would deem an unnaturally quick decision. But as a Tactical Officer, it was Middleton’s job to adapt to new variables as quickly as possible—and there were precious few TO’s in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet who were as good at that particular part of the job as Lieutenant Commander Middleton.
“I’ll need a few days to draw up a roster,” Middleton said as he leaned back in the chair and considered possible crew for the mission.
“You’ve got forty eight hours to submit your transfer requests,” Admiral Montagne said with what Middleton suspected was a false smile, and the young man stood to offer his hand across the desk. “Congratulations, Captain Middleton.”
Chapter I: With These Rings
Three weeks later.
“Comm., report,” Captain Middleton turned to address the Communications station, “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.