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Colonel Alan Naumann, Supreme Commander of the Freehold Military Forces (FMF), didn't wipe the sweat off his brow-- he couldn't afford to let his Freemen sense his fear. 'Don't worry, the High Castle,' his headquarters, an orbital defense station, 'has more phasers and torpedo launchers than Deep Space 9. Soldiers-- real soldiers with real weapons, wearing real armor-- guard this station. When the turtle ships drop shields, they'll find the Castle a deathtrap. If we're lucky, we might capture some ships for...' He shivered, remembering what the "Slow Deaths"-- Gonghe Navy cruisers weighted down with additional weapons and armor-- did to his "Starfleet." Fortunately, he was near invisible in the darkened command center.

Naumann was a Federation marine who, disgusted by concessions his former commander-in-chief made to end the Cardassian Wars, left the Federation to seek his fortune in "frontier" colonies far from the founding members' homeworlds. He made it in the Dominion War, when the Romulan Guard paid him 750,000 bars of latinum to command a xenolegion (non-Romulan mercenaries). The mercenaries remained loyal to Naumann (and his money) after the war, and followed their leader to the Freehold of Grainne, whose people lived by the ideals "Work or starve," "One credit, one vote," and "No infringement upon other people's freedoms-- especially government interference, like taxes." Unlike the Federation and its "defeatist" policies, the Freehold respected military service members-- Freemen must "earn" citizenship through military service.

The catches were "It's not my problem if you're too sick or injured to work," "The guy with 1000 credits, 1000 votes is ass-raping you because you have but one credit, one vote? Too bad-- you should've worked harder and earned more votes," and "No police or fire departments to save your sorry ass-- taxes pay for those things." Naumann became one of several oligarchs fighting a civil war-- war that consumed money faster than phaser fodder-- and tempted to beg for government intervention.

Those who chose to "live on their knees instead of dying on their feet" were already begging. The Gonghe Republic-- frequently mispronounced as "Gung-Ho"-- answered them, offering "Land for the peasants, peace for the soldiers, bread for the workers," under its rule.

Naumann heard himself say, "The price of freedom is eternal vigilance. The price of Gung-Ho peace is our freedom. Do not be tempted-- be deceived to think we're alike because our laws defend the right to bear arms. While we Freemen bear arms to defend ourselves-- from our own government if necessary-- the Gung-Ho government will only allow its people to bear arms to defend the government itself, and takes measures to ensure its forces are always better armed than the people it oppresses, as demonstrated by its arms restrictions," his warning to the oligarchs, now propaganda to raise Freemen morale. His fist clenched as he remembered the "sheeple" who capitulated to Gonghe laws limiting the replication, sale, possession, and use of explosives (except small arms ammunition) to military service members, police officers, and licensed mercenaries-- bearers of responsibility for accidental damage, deaths, and injuries their weapons caused.

"Has Admiral Shinzon answered our request for aid?" Naumann asked Second Lieutenant Nullhaender "Nulli" Snowman, his executive officer.

"Ewwww!" Nulli recoiled in disgust, the muscular man behaving like a schoolgirl.

The colonel's head banged against his console. 'No wonder Starfleet canceled the Super Marine Project,' Naumann thought of the genetic engineering program that created Nulli and his brothers. "Tell me the truth, or die by my hand-- did you hear from Admiral Shinzon?"

"See for yourself." Nulli pressed a button.

A human male in a Romulan Guard uniform-- what remained of the uniform, which a female Romulan loosened to reveal the cock she now bounced upon-- appeared onscreen, the video dated 90 minutes ago.

"Don't ever stop fucking me!" Sela (the female) demanded.

"I can keep up as long as you want, Sela," Shinzon (the male) replied.

"Ewwww!" the super marine's recorded voice interrupted.

Shinzon turned to the communicator. "Oh, it's on?"

Nulli's recorded voice began, "Admiral--"

Sela's orgasm interrupted Nulli. "Oh yes, it's never been better-- never better."

"If this is about the Freehold operators, tell Naumann to forget 'em-- operators too stupid to know when to shut up don't deserve to be operators," Shinzon said, using a general term for Special Forces personnel.

"The turds can keep Captain Kenny. I'm calling to request aid-- financial, material, or military-- in our struggle for freedom from--"

"I'm not stupid enough to waste resources on the losing side of a war."

"Hey!"

"I will provide advice on account of his service in the Dominion War." Shinzon's eyes burned red to demonstrate psychic powers he received from... God knows where... and show he was serious. "Alan, call your group the 'Patriotic Libertarians of Gonghe' or something, swear allegiance to the crocodiles," a nickname for Gonghe warriors, "and join the winners-- you might even get elected to public office in their government-- or you're phaser fodder." The admiral shutoff the communicator-- the video ended.

<>
LOVE GUNS 2: THE PRICE OF FREEDOM IS... NOT COVERED BY MY INSURANCE POLICY

By Sidewinder, 2009. Inspired by Darth Fanboy, Falkenhorst, and MKSheppard's story 'Unnamed Porno Fanfic'-- itself inspired by George Lucas and Gene Roddenberry's-- plus Kurt Vonnegut and Michael Z. Williamson's.
<>


His former employer's words shocked Naumann, whose jaw stayed down for ten seconds. "Damn it! Hail him again!"

"Ewwww!"

"Leave a message: 'We won't work for you again, Shinzon. The next time your ass needs saving, just bend over and relax your anal sphincter for a Jem'Hadar dick.'" Naumann tried (and failed) to ignore Nulli's joy at the thought of anal sex with a Jem'Hadar. 'Damn you, Kenny. I should've left you outside the airlock.'

[Start explanation]

Capt Kenneth "Kenny" Chinran led the Special Forces "operatives"-- a term used for "plausible deniability," denying the operatives protection under the laws of war-- sent to launch terror attacks against Gonghe civilians. Naumann thought the civilians would force the Gonghe government to end the war, or even overthrow the government and replace it with an anarcho-capitalist society in the Freehold's image.

The operatives were genetically enhanced and trained to go without food, water, or rest, until they earned it-- after weeks in a dense jungle, deep swamp, fiery desert, or freezing tundra-- by fighting instructors who outnumber and outgun them. Their immune systems allowed them to resist chemical and biological weapons-- including the piss, puke, and shit covering their bodies because the instructors denied them permission to use the latrine. Muscle enhancers (steroids and growth hormones) gave them the strength to climb sheer cliffs unaided. They were trained to survive short-term exposure to the vacuum of space, in case their spacesuit was damaged as they stormed an enemy ship or space station. The training program killed or crippled 99% of the trainees, but those who graduate were the strongest, fastest, most aggressive and ruthless warriors in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, "The best of the best of the best."

Note that "smart" doesn't describe the operatives.

Without a government agency to collect "voluntary taxes," the Freemen resorted to extortion and outright robbery to finance the war. Even this failed to raise enough money to buy a real warship, like old battlecruisers and warbirds the Klingon and Romulan governments sold to pay for new ones. Naumann hired a Ferengi freighter to transport the operatives to Gongye III, the Gonghe presidential capital.

The Ferengi captain overheard (and recorded) Kenny boasting, "We'll crush the turtles in their shells," and "flush the turds down their metal shitters," using two nicknames Naumann gave the Gonghe warriors. The operatives were arrested minutes after the ship entered Gonghe space, and their "confessions" used to justify what was about to happen.

If you're curious, the Gonghe government subsidizes the sale and operation of ex-Navy vessels-- the catch is the Gonghe military can and will recommission the vessels and their licensed mercenary crews in states of emergency. This was unacceptable to Naumann, who bought second-hand freighters-- many used to transport organic fertilizer (shit) to agricultural colonies-- with improvised armor and gun mounts bolted on. You're not stupid enough to think an armed freighter can beat a purpose-built warship, right?

[End explanation]

Naumann convinced half the oligarchs they could beat the Gonghe military, whose doctrines put warriors in tactical suits or "tac-suits," based planetary garrisons on orbital defense stations instead of warships, and maintained stockpiles to let garrisons endure the months it took for Slow Deaths to bring reinforcements. The defenses consumed resources needed for ships and other offensive systems-- a weakness the Breen exploited, coming within minutes of using a trilithium weapon to destroy the Gongye System. Afterwards, the Gonghe military reviewed its doctrines, deciding to replace 50% of its static defenses with "expeditionary forces," which required years to build and train.

The other half-- "Fools, cowards, and traitors all," in Naumann's words-- saw the writing on the wall, which Slow Deaths burned into the concrete above their stronghold gates, and swore allegiance to the Gonghe government. The colonel was cursing these oligarchs when the tactical officer reported, "Colonel, sensors have detected... Gods and goddesses, is that a Federation class dreadnought?"

"What are you, a eunuch from the Principality of Zeon? Those turtle boats will never get past the OWPs," orbital weapon platforms the starving Cardassians bartered for ten shiploads of food. Naumann installed the platforms' central generator in the High Castle, and second-hand power plants (from scrapped shuttles) in the platforms to provide 40 to 70 minutes of power, in case the generator went offline.

"You have one minute to surrender your station and save yourselves. You have 50 seconds..." The Gonghe admiral counted down, his fleet-- one dreadnought (his flagship), one Li Xiaolong class assault cruiser, eight Constitution WANK class cruisers, 12 Saladin WANK class and four Tianjian class destroyers-- staying outside weapon range. "You have ten seconds... nine..."

"Turn off that shit," Naumann ordered.

"Sir, the Gonghe ships are launching fighters-- F-5 Tigers."

"They were obsolete when the Treaty of Algeron was signed. Have the High Castle's weapons engage the fighters. Keep the OWPs on standby until the turtle ships drop shields-- then give 'em hell." He ignored an incoming fighter, which tumbled as a phaser beam...

Boom! The colonel found himself on the floor. "What in hell...?" He couldn't hear his own voice. 'A photonic shock wave?' He felt-- not heard-- the next hit. "Shit!"

Naumann moved his command center to cargo bay in the middle-- the original command center was located on the station's first level, and booby trapped to surprise anyone attempting to capture the Castle. The turtles fell for it, but Naumann paid for the deception.

The Gonghe Navy was not Starfleet. The warships did not lower shields to beam commandos aboard the orbital defense stations-- the "warning shots" forced the Freemen to choose between abandoning the stations, and expiring as they became gunnery ranges. Naumann got a foot in his escape pod when a Feng Shen-- "Wing God," an obsolete fighter converted into an unmanned, long-range torpedo-- crashed through meters of tritanium armor to explode inside the command center.

"Thank you, Chief Blau." Captain Wilhelm Alshain took the beer mug from (the hot, blonde, and well-endowed) Chief Petty Officer Blondine Blau-- 'Bavarian beer, the best in the galaxy,'-- and emptied the mug. "Ahhhh!"

Lieutenant Junior Grade Jacqueline "Jackie" Romanova, the (hot, redhead, and well-endowed female) communications officer, reported, "Captain, the Western Han is hailing us."

"Holo-communicator." Alshain's chair turned sideways to face the hologram of a crocodile standing on her tail, her jaws around a human head-- a woman in the tac-suit Gonghe warriors wore for defense against shrapnel, radiation, biological and chemical weapons. "Hello, ladies," he greeted, smiling.

Vice Admiral Aurelia Liu's frown was visible through her visor. "Captain Alshain, are you inebriating on duty?"

Alshain laughed. "I'm no longer a Starfleet officer-- that regulation no longer applies."

"If your inebriation costs a Gonghe citizen or civilian's life, I will carry out great vengeance and punish you in my wrath. Then you will know that I am Han Wudi," the Han Dynasty's Martial Emperor, "when I take vengeance on you."

'You're too cute for Ezekiel 25:17.' Alshain raised the mug in salute. "Don't worry, Madam, you can trust us not to require a demonstration of the Western Han's firepower." 'I pity the fools who will.' The GGV Western Han and her sister ships (named after Chinese dynasties) were license-built variants of the Federation class dreadnought, alias "Federation WANK," after the Warrior Armament, Naval Kind Project. Unlike the United Federation of Planets, the New Human philosophical movement did not reach the Gonghe government-- the Navy's dreadnoughts were not scrapped as "cruel relics of an uncivilized, bygone era," until their replacements (Li Xialong class assault cruisers) were built, though senior officers continued to favor dreadnoughts as flagships.

"Well, you notice Pardus is fairly small?" an accented voice-- 'Frank... Something,' the surname escaping Alshain's memory-- asked.

Another-- 'Kenny Chinran, the dictionary definition of "dumbass,"'-- answered, "Small, cute but alert-looking, yes."

"Boss, they have lower physical requirements for women. And they don't require them to take muscle enhancers."

"In a special warfare unit?"

Alshain turned to the tactical console, where (the hot, raven-haired, and well-endowed female) Lieutenant Carrera Porsche was decrypting a message piggybacked to a FMF propaganda film. 'I know her!' he thought of the beautiful woman onscreen, with leopard-spot tattoos and a Chinese People's Liberation Army dress uniform. 'Panthera Pardus, the porn star!' Alshain frowned at the flat chest-- a man's chest. 'Naumann couldn't use a female officer's photo when he doctored this one for Freeman propaganda?'

"Even here," Frank continued.

"Fuck me."

Carrera couldn't suppress a "Ha!" at the lie.

"Worse," Frank continued.

"Worse?"

"They have a precise quota of gender, orientation, race, nationality, educational and social backgrounds for their troops, whether the troops want it or not. So some of the troops going after us are gonna be idiots, some will be weaklings, some won't speak a language the universal translators are familiar with-- or that have enough vocabulary-- and some will not be trained for this at all."

"What shit-licking, dog-fucking, bastard son of a goat came up with that?"

"It's their policy: the military cannot discriminate. It's bad for society to suggest that certain people are superior to others, and casualties are the small price you have to pay to maintain that equality."

"That illusion," Chinran finished.

'That illusion is why you're working off your ass in a Gung-Ho,' Gonghe 'labor camp.' Alshain and his crewmembers-- 60% of them beautiful women, including bisexuals who preferred a 3:1 ratio (a three-woman tag team fucking one man near death, but a welcome death)-- knew the Gonghe military had no such quota. Fortunately, they could watch someone else learn "the hard way" instead of receiving a lesson themselves-- from a weapon's business end, still warm from vaporizing a city.

>>

The registry number "NCC-1718" identified Constitution class heavy cruiser named "USS Excelsior." When this name was reassigned to the NX-2000 prototype, Starfleet began using the NCC-1718 as a testbed for advanced technology, including the cloaking device Capt James T. Kirk captured in 2268 CE.

Starfleet Intelligence continued developing cloaking devices, even after the Treaty of Algeron prohibited the Federation from developing or using cloaking devices. Alshain directed one of several programs to develop a "perfect cloak" and a ship to exploit the cloaking device's full potential. Many physicists, researchers, and engineers in these fields were female-- a fact Alshain exploited to build a harem. Life was good-- until 2370, when Rear Admiral Erik Pressman was arrested and court martialed for violating the treaty.

Years ago, Alshain warned then Capt Pressman, "Combining a cloaking device and a molecular phase inverter is like combining a blowtorch and dynamite-- a surefire recipe for disaster." Pressman did so anyways to develop the USS Pegasus' interphase cloaking device, which (predictably) malfunctioned, destroying the testbed. When the Pegasus and her cloaking device were rediscovered, the Judge Advocate General cast an extremely wide net, ruining dozens of senior officers' careers-- including Alshain's, forcing him to accept early retirement.

By then, the NCC-1718 was a testbed for the Stealthy, Agile, Battle Effective Refit (SABER). The ship was skeletonized (purposefully perforated) for reduced energy needs-- the saucer section now resembled a wagon wheel, with the main bridge as the "hub" and four corridors as "spokes" linking it to a circular frame (the crew quarters)-- the surplus energy now applied to enhanced shield generators. A sensor beam absorbing material nicknamed "black pitch" enveloped the ship to interfere with enemy targeting systems when the ship decloaked to fire his own weapons. The warp drive was enhanced to improve acceleration, deceleration, and maximum speed-- this also made the warp coils glow purple-- and the warp nacelles mounted on skeletonized pylons. The cruiser now resembled an angel of death, and was nicknamed "Totenkopf," after the skull and crossbones insignia worn by Prussian hussars.

Alshain falsified records stating the NCC-1718 was scrapped, and sailed the Totenkopf to the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) to earn a living as a smuggler, pirate, and mercenary. Maquis sympathizers in the Federation exploited the fact the ship officially did not exist, paying Gonghe armament companies-- owned by human (and therefore, Maquis) sympathizers-- to replace the now redundant navigational deflector with a heavy PENIS cannon and its independent power plant. The hangar was extended, angled, and received a portside door so she could simultaneously launch and recover Maquis raiders. Giant silver Totenkopfs adorned the saucer-- the bones crossed over the spokes-- shielding the ship's enhanced sensor and electronic warfare (EW) systems.

In 2372, the True Way-- Cardassian terrorists blaming the Federation for the chaos plaguing their government and economy-- attacked a freighter transporting organic fertilizer (shit) to an agricultural colony in the DMZ. This pissed off three states whose citizens and civilians died in the attack: the Federation, the Freehold of Grainne, and the Gonghe Republic. The Federation (predictably) filed a formal complaint to the Cardassian government, which countered by claiming the Maquis-- and by implication, the Federation-- intended to manufacture fertilizer bombs for terror attacks against Cardassian colonists, starting a verbal war with no resolution. Colonel Alan Naumann tracked down the True Way member responsible for the attack-- 'Ila Ghassan,' Alshain recalled-- and hired the PMV Totenkopf to transport Special Forces operatives to a Cardassian colony.

Alshain succeeded, thanks to the cloaking device. Then Senior Sergeant Chinran led the operatives to Ghassan's safe house, captured him and several True Way members, and began to torture and maim the Cardassians, taking care to leave them alive as examples.

Then the Western Han and three Constitution WANK class cruisers appeared in orbit, launched fighters, and blockaded the colony. Then Commodore Liu identified herself and said, "We are here to arrest Misters Ila Ghassan..." She named the accomplices, "who are charged with piracy under..." She listed the laws they violated. "We are transmitting the evidence to you for cross examination and consideration. Please deliver Misters Ghassan..." She gave a park's coordinates. "You have 60 seconds to comply before we fire upon what we believe are their safe houses. 50 seconds..."

At "Zero," the Gonghe warships' PENIS cannons vaporized a house-- Chinran was fortunate it was not Ghassan's. The colonists sent a distress signal, but no one came to their aid-- no one could come to their aid, thanks to Gonghe firepower and EW systems-- as Cdre Liu counted down again. 60 seconds later, a second house was vaporized, followed by a third. The now desperate colonists stormed the safe houses, captured whoever was inside, and dragged their fellow Cardassians to the park-- Alshain had to evacuate the Freemen before they finished the job. The (cloaked) Totenkopf passed debris, Cardassian escape pods, and a thoroughly perforated Galor class destroyer-- in the DMZ, violating the Federation-Cardassian Treaty-- on the return trip.

When the Freehold decided to resist the Gonghe attempt to annex its territory, Alshain thought Naumann was smart enough to join the winning side. The fact the Gonghe Republic's founders were super soldiers-- genetically engineered to fight genetically engineered superhuman tyrants-- demonstrated ruthlessness and a willingness to "fight fire with fire," with superior firepower in Gonghe hands. Then he realized the Freeman operative was a dumbass.

Chinran starred in an FMF propaganda film, exposing himself when an operative must remain incognito to infiltrate populated areas, before his ill-fated mission to Gongye III. The same film identified the Western Han as an FMF warship (bearing FMF insignia) despite the fact the Gonghe Navy alone now operated Federation class ships, or that her construction and operating costs would bankrupt the entire Freehold. Naumann was no fool-- he demonstrated tactical genius in the Cardassian and Dominion Wars-- but he was a sadist, a sociopath, delusional and downright insane.

Alshain's heart was for his Cardassian War buddy, but his head was for the crocs (and their money). "I hope Alan's senses return before he becomes phaser fodder," he thought aloud as the Totenkopf plotted an intercept course.

>>

The Freeman operative cell-- let's call its members "Jacques One" (the leader) through "Nine"-- huddled in an alley. "The files on Hezuo IV," the Gonghe legislative capital, "didn't say anything about this." "Nonetheless, we have our orders: hit civilian targets, hit them hard, get the turtles' attention, and make their government leaders devote their efforts to chasing us operatives instead of--"

Jacques Four grabbed One's shoulders, spun him towards the street, and pointed. "Instead of taking revenge on the Freehold? Make 'em shit their pants so they can't come after us? I just saw a girl walk into a shoe store with a... No, two girls with MG44 machine guns slung across their boobs! Gung-Ho civilians aren't defenseless sheep at the mercy of us wolves, they're a wolf pack-- they outnumber and outgun us, and their cops outgun them all!" He pointed at the dust clouds two departing main battle tanks (bearing police insignia) left.

Jacques One's elbow slammed into Four's nose, putting him on his back. "We got to put our heads on the chopping block and dare them to chop. That's what we're here for-- that's what we'll do." The operatives' orders were to descend upon the "sheeple" like wolves, and put as many rabid dogs (police officers) out of their misery as possible. Jacques One checked his rifle-- a full magazine, a round in the chamber, weapon on AUTO-- and turned to Jacques Two (his XO). "How are things on your end?"

"We have no getaway vehicle and no nukes."

"What?!"

"I lost a good soldier trying to get one of those cop cars, thanks to the perimeter defenses around the police motor pool. As for the nukes, the turds," Gonghe military, "intercepted the shuttles that were supposed to deliver 'em-- I just heard it on a Public Information broadcast."

"We'll have to improvise. Even numbers, go east. Odd numbers, with me. Regroup in the August One Park. If you get your hands on a hovercar or some decent mode of transportation, bring it-- bring two, so we have one to kamikaze a government building. Let's go." Jacques One charged out the alley, shooting at the "sheeple" along the street, oblivious to the fact Jacques Two through Nine were charging-- fleeing in the opposite direction. Two people died, another fell beneath his mighty rifle, screaming in... Rat-at-at! "Ahhhh!" Jacques One found himself kneeling, a gaping hole where his genitals were. He heard footsteps, looked up to see a young woman (an off-duty warrior) swing her MG44, and felt the barrel shroud-turned-club launch teeth from his mouth.

The second woman lowered her MG44-- she was covering her friend-- to call the police. "Consider yourself lucky, terrorist scum."

"Ah, ah, ah!" The Freeman meant to say, "You bitch! You should've killed me!" but his jaw was broken. A surgeon would restore his speech, but Jacques One would answer most of the police officers' questions with "Ahhhh!"

>>

The holo-communicator showed Adm Liu's fleet engaging-- perforating the Freeman ships. "Cardassian-built freighters with Cardassian-- and Ferengi-- weapons," the former Starfleet officer noted as the freighters' cargo bay doors opened to reveal System-5 disruptors and Ferengi missile launchers. "How ironic." The System-5 was a planetary defense weapon, requiring more energy than a freighter's warp core provided-- scorches weren't even visible on the heavily armored and shielded Gonghe warships. Two freighters accelerated towards the Western Han, but the Gonghe military was no stranger to suicide attacks-- focused gunfire reduced the Freeman ships to debris, scratching the dreadnought's dark gray paint and nothing else.

"Contacts, three-- now five. Right on schedule," Carrera noted as three Ptolemy class transport/tugs appeared along the course she decrypted. Three strategic missiles (modified cargo containers) detached themselves from each tug and rocketed... at a snail's pace... towards Zuzhi IV, the Gonghe Army Headquarters. "They couldn't afford decent warp and impulse drives for these things?" she wondered as each tug launched three missiles.

"Just decloak so we can do what we're paid to do." Alshain raised his mug overhead, letting Blondine refill it. Alert, competent Freeman crews fired phasers and disruptors a split-second after the SABER cruiser decloaked, but the tugs were not purpose-built warships with stable weapon mounts-- this meant no accurate weapons. The few hits made the Totenkopf shiver just enough to spill some beer onto Alshain's hand. 'Damn. I hope that didn't scorch the silver paint.'

>

Brevet Captain Voluntaryist saluted the Freeman ships' crews. 'Your sacrifice shall not be in vain.' The Cardassian-built freighters attacking the Gonghe military headquarters were decoys for the tugs and their missiles, themselves decoys for the Black Watch-- a Klingon-built shuttle with dorsal mounts for the cargo container-turned-multimission platform-- transporting Voluntaryist's squad. The operatives' mission: to engage in special warfare, to strike with new tactics and new equipment, to boldly do what no one has done before... James T. Kirk.

The Black Watch launched ion engine sleds loaded with operatives and their equipment-- including a gigaton-level bomb, in case they must destroy the enemy ship-- towards the Totenkopf. Former Federation marines-turned-Freemen devised the insertion technique-- "One of an operative's most useful insertions is across space in naught but a suit. It's almost impossible to detect, and so tricky, almost no one imagines anyone will attempt it in the first place," Voluntaryist's instructor said.

The FMF instructors claimed operatives and their transports' combined mass and velocity were "too low to even register on the sensors." The good news: they were right. The bad news: a velocity "too low to even register on the sensors" was also too damn low to keep the maneuvering cruiser within reach. Then the Totenkopf went to warp-- Alshain finished his job, the Freeman ships and strategic missiles were scrap, it was time to collect his pay.

"Shit!" Voluntaryist sent the emergency signal. The Black Watch decloaked to retrieve the operatives, and it was time for Plan D-4.

Chinran and Jacques One failed Plans A, the Cardassian-built freighters failed Plans B, the Ptolemy class tugs failed Plans C, and Voluntaryist just failed Plan D-2 (odd numbers were another ship and squad's responsibility), though it was not his fault. The Freeman leaders repeatedly assumed their Gonghe counterparts were like Fleet Admiral Gene Roddenberry's Federation and Starfleet: passive pacifists who employed violence only as a last resort, usually after the deaths of 100 or more Federation citizens. The Gonghe government and military were like Capt Kirk's: aggressive militarists who resorted to violence much sooner, willing and able to claim an eye for an eye.

Voluntaryist's chances did not look good.

>>

Naumann's voice echoed in the bridge, the colonel speaking with passion that would impress Adolf Hitler. "Some of you may wonder why we are targeting civilians. I examined plans exclusively targeting the Gung-Ho military, but they are impractical. The Gung-Ho juggernaut encompasses 76 systems--"

"88," Carrera corrected.

"The majority of which are orbital stations, ships, and other spaceborne facilities," Naumann continued. "These targets are unreachable unless our operatives have years to build cover-- an impossible task. Therefore, we must strike the turtles politically, destroy their desire to fight, make their so-called warriors too concerned for their homes to attack Grainne or any Freeman target.

"You must harden your heart, as I was forced to do. The Freeman attacks will have varied effects by design. We must plant in people's minds the idea nothing was safe-- work, home, food, water, or transportation. Large or small, their towns are targets. Helping others will expose them to attack. There is nowhere to run or hide-- nowhere safe. We will throw entire planets in panic."

"Gonghe culture is sick. The Gonghe government is cancer, a malignant tumor that must be treated-- be cleansed from the galaxy before its poison spreads beyond its borders.

"We are merely the catalyst. They will provide the tools with which we will hurt them, and in their pained thrashings, they will destroy their so-called civilization for us.

"In less than a day, Gongye and Hezuo will be completely nonfunctional as a political power."

The speeches was encrypted and intended for Freemen only. If those outside the FMF heard it-- as they did now, thanks to the Gonghe Military Intelligence Service's cryptologists-- the resulting outrage would erase any and all support the antigovernment oligarchs had.

"The real value of today's attacks lies in the psychological impact, not in the immediate casualties. For one thing, our efforts against the Gonghe system gained immeasurably in credibility. More important, though, is what we taught the politicians and the bureaucrats. They learned today that not one of them is beyond our reach. They can huddle behind razor wire and mechanized strikers on the planetary surfaces, they can hide behind the deflector shields and automated defenses of their orbital estates, but we can still find them and kill them."

Now it was Kenny's turn. "None of the attacks were indefensible against. None were particularly state of the art, although warp drives used as disintegrators is a new technique." There was no mention of past efforts to build "warp bombs"-- failed efforts. "It was simply unthinkable to attack in such a fashion, laying waste to civilian territory so callously. And it would've remained unthinkable if the turds didn't use WMD," weapons of mass destruction, "first, against the Freehold."

"Ha!" Carrera laughed, knowing the Gonghe military did not use WMD against Grainne. "You call the crocs 'thieves,' but thieves know not to burn down the house they intend to steal from. Fire the idiots who write your speeches."

Kenny's words greeted Blondine as she entered the bridge-- naked but for her slippers, the hair of two other women entangled in hers, her skin flushed from hours of sex. "He doesn't know the attacks failed?"

"How can he?" Carrera countered, turning away from her console. "The crocodiles threw enough EW systems at Grainne to turn the planet into a microwave oven. This is a prerecorded message-- the transmitter's on the Cardassian side of the DMZ, and a task force will soon silence it. Grainne will send and receive no messages without croc permission."

"Let us honor the 300 operatives who gave their lives to inflict six billion casualties upon the enemy. Let friend and foe alike know the cost of war with the Freehold: one Freeman will be martyred to destroy one of the enemy's cities, two Freemen will be martyred to destroy two enemy cities, on and on until the enemy surrenders."

"Captain on the bridge." Blondine rose to attention.

Alshain sat in the captain's chair-- wearing Hugh Hefner-style red silk pajamas and slippers, his face and chest red from hours of sex and three women's lips. "What's the word, Lieutenant Porsche?" he asked as Blondine handed him a coffee mug.

"The Freemen will hit us-- or rather, this and other shipyards in a coordinated attack. They want to get their hands on real warships."

"I know. Admiral Shinzon and... what's the new Klingon Chancellor's name? Barracks or something? Both told Madman Naumann to go fuck himself. What else is new?"

>

The thought 'Fuck, it's hot!' was simultaneously shared as Voluntaryist's squad approached the Gonghe shipyard. The superstitious might assume this was due to psychic "gifts." Their instructors might claim this was due to training and teamwork exercises, granting the operatives coordination comparable to telepathy. Competent instructors-- something the FMF lacked, thanks to the antigovernment oligarchs' fanaticism-- would claim this was because it was fucking hot in their "stealth suits."

Other militaries considered this technique for inserting Special Forces units, and all dismissed it as impractical-- even suicidal. A humanoid body generated considerable waste heat, as did a spacesuit's life support systems-- infrared sensors could detect them all. Preventing waste heat from radiating would make it build up until it could boil water, effective heat sinks were too damn big, and cloaking devices generated deadly levels of tetryon radiation.

Voluntaryist felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see an operative-- using sign language to deny the enemy transmissions to intercept-- say, 'Our suits are becoming ovens! Give the sled more juice before it becomes a dining car!'

The squad leader replied, 'If the sled goes any faster, it'll register on turd sensors! Even if the turds assume the sled's an asteroid, they'll shoot us so we won't scratch their pretty...!' Voluntaryist watched another operative succumb to heatstroke, release his grip, and fly from the sled. 'Don't panic, Elliot! We'll rescue you once the mission is complete! Don't panic-- don't activate your beacon and make us abort the mission!'

Voluntaryist's chances looked worse.

>>

"Thank you, Gung-Ho trigger-happy firearms fetishists!" Alshain cheered once his bank confirmed the transfer. "This calls for more beer!"

"What about Romulan ale? All beer and no hard liquor make Jackie a very dull girl," the communications officer said from her console.

"Fine, we'll stop by a Leary station," a commercial space station where recreational drugs were sold, "after we complete the next mission and get paid."

"Yay!"

The Totenkopf sailed out of the shipyard and... "What in hell?" Alshain wondered about the collision warning. "Jesus Christ!"

Dead and half-dead operatives appeared onscreen, men (and one unfortunate woman) whose stealth suits became ovens and literally cooked them. Voluntaryist, "the best of the best of the best of the best" of them, swung a "samurai sword" at the viewscreen-- an impressive effort, even for someone who wasn't a breathing serving of barbecue beef.

It was a futile effort. A starship's viewscreen must withstand asteroid impacts as his impulse drives propelled him at fractional light speed, "just in case." A sword-- even a genetically engineered superhuman operative's-- could not hope to match the power of a golf ball-sized nickel-iron asteroid whose relative speed was thousands of m/s. Worse, meat was cooked for ease of cutting and tearing into bite-sized pieces-- the operative's arm muscles were stripped from his bones.

Jackie watched Voluntaryist's mouth open to scream in pain. "Shall we beam him to sickbay?"

"That sled isn't there because God said, 'Let there be a transport for Freeman operators.' If we decloak to beam him onboard, we're drawing a big red bull's eye for the launch vehicle-- likely a cloaked Freeman ship," Carrera speculated.

'Ah, little Jackie, so cute and kind-- too damn kind.' "Lieutenant Porsche is correct." Alshain turned to Blondine. "Scan for plasma exhaust."

>>

Second Lieutenant Kunio Okawara, the Black Watch's overworked communications officer/helmsman/navigator, wondered, "What in hell is taking Captain Voluntaryist so damn long? Each minute here-- 'cannon to the left of us, cannon to the right of us, cannon in front of us,' ready to 'volley and thunder' the moment the tachyon detection grid picks up our bird-- brings us closer to death." Slap! "Ow! What was that for?!" he demanded.

"How dare you?" Major Mitsuo Fukuda, the shuttle captain, stood on his toes to tower over Okawara. "87 years ago, our ancestors brought forth on Grainne a new state, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all sentient beings are born free. Now we are engaged in a great war for liberation, testing whether this state-- or any state so conceived and so dedicated-- can long endure.

"We are assembled on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to deny a portion of this field as a haven for the enemy, so those who gave their lives so our state may live, will know their efforts were not in vain. It is altogether fitting and proper that we do this.

"But in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate-- we cannot consecrate-- we cannot hallow this cause. The brave men and women, living and dead, who struggled for our cause, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The galaxy will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what we do here. It is a mere inconvenience for us, the shuttle crew, to aid the brave men and women in the completion of their mission, for which they and those now fighting elsewhere have thus far so nobly advanced.

"We must be dedicated to the great task remaining before us: that from the honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion... that we here highly resolve that the dead shall not have died in vain... that this space, under the goddess Amaterasu's protection, shall be reborn as one of freedom... that the Freehold, the ideals it embodies, and those willing to fight and die for its ideals shall not perish from the galaxy."

"Bravo! Bravo!" Brevet First Lieutenant Chiaki Morosawa, the tactical officer/chief engineer/captain's woman, applauded.

'Abraham Lincoln said it better.' Okawara glanced at the monitor Chiaki stopped watching during Fukuda's speech. "What the...? Sir, the WANK cruiser just disappeared! It may be cloaked!" He mistook the Totenkopf for a Gonghe Navy vessel.

Chiaki turned to the monitor. "Mitsu-kun, the WANK cruiser just disappeared! It may be cloaked!" she repeated.

"What?! But the Treaty of...!" Fukuda remembered the Gonghe Republic did not sign the Treaty of Algeron-- the Navy did not use cloaking devices because each cost a king's ransom, not because "Our heroes don't sneak around," as Adm Roddenberry said to convince the Federation President to sign the treaty. "Okay, nobody panic, nobody move... the Black Watch, or we'll eat a damn torpedo."

"We can't stay here forever-- we've only enough food and water to last a week!" Okawara noted.

"We'll only last minutes-- even seconds-- if we move and leave plasma exhaust or a warp signature...!" The Totenkopf decloaked behind the shuttle, triggering a red alert. "Shit!"

"PMV Totenkopf to unidentified vessel, you are in restricted space. Shutdown your engines, decloak, and lower your shields, or we will,"-- Alshain paused, thinking, '"Open fire," is so passé,'-- "get medieval on your ass."

"Shit! What are we gonna do?!" "They're bluffing! They don't really know our location, so if we ignore them, they'll leave!" Boom! "Ah!" "Ow!" The cockpit had no seatbelts-- the warning shot threw the Freemen onto the floor.

'Drunken monkeys working with pliers and blowtorches can't make that ship look stupider,' Alshain thought when the Black Watch became visible for a split-second. "Did you feel our warning shot, hillbillies? We're not through until you surrender or you die. What's it gonna be?"

The Black Watch's crew continued arguing. "Okawara, do something!" "Why me? You're the tactical officer slash chief...!" The second shot made the lights flicker. "Hurry!" "Let's surrender!" "What?!" Slap! "Ow!" "You impotent coward! The WANK cruiser's just lucky, and their luck is being expended with...!" Boom! "Ow!" "They're luckier than us! Let's surrender befo--" Bang! "Ahhhh! You shot me! You shot me in the guts!"

Fukuda, a hand over his bloody nose, climbed up to see his woman with a smoking gun and his navigator bleeding on the floor. "Cease such nonsense! We have better things to do today than die." He put on a headband resembling a World War II fighter pilot's-- with Japanese characters for "anarchy" and "capitalism" flanking the rising sun-- and sat back down. "Computer, activate manual flight controls!"

"We're all going to die," Okawara lamented.

>

Now that the Totenkopf's crew knew what to look for, the cloak became less effective. "Sir, the bogie," unidentified sensor contact, "is..." Carrera gave the Black Watch's course, acceleration rate, and then speed.

Alshain smiled. 'You wanna play chicken? We'll play chicken.' "Computer, Sport Leicht Mode!" Romanticism towards the Age of Sail once inspired plans to use a wooden steering wheel as the SABER cruiser's manual controls, but the former Starfleet officer revised it to better control a starship-- the new inspiration came from Alshain's Mercedes-Benz 300SL continuation car. Floor panels retracted to reveal analogue instruments and manual controls-- resembling the Mercedes' dashboard (modified, with the speedometer indicating warp factor), steering wheel, brake and accelerator pedals-- now within the captain's reach.

>

"Mitsu-kun, the WANK cruiser remains at our six o'clock!" Chiaki reported.

"Not for long!" Fukuda maneuvered the shuttle like a Mitsubishi A6M Zero, demonstrating godlike skills. Alshain did the same, the cruiser dashing in and out of firing positions like a Messerschmitt Me-262 Schwalbe. "Come on, come on..." Sweat flowed down the shuttle captain's head as disruptor beams and micro-torpedoes reached for his target. "Damn it! I paid an arm and a leg for those torpedoes!"

The "dogfight" challenged both men. For Alshain, the Black Watch's superior stealth and agility allowed it to stay out of the Totenkopf's weapons' line of fire. "Motherfucker!" he cursed as the shuttle evaded another photon torpedo. 'Good thing the croc contract covers the cost of the ammo we expend.'

For Fukuda, the Totenkopf's superior speed kept the cruiser beyond the Freeman torpedoes' effective range. Worse, the cruiser's superior endurance prevented the few hits from causing serious damage, while superior sensors allowed Alshain to exploit his superior firepower-- Fukuda knew each minute brought victory closer to the Totenkopf's reach. 'That bastard isn't cloaking-- he's coming in for the kill.' "Okawara!"

"I'm bleeding to death here! What in hell do you expect me to do?!" the navigator cried.

"Modify the navigational deflector to project a false target! Well stab the enemy's back as she chases our shadow!"

"That's Morosawa's job! She's the tactical officer slash chief engineer!"

Chiaki held her Nambu Type 14 semiautomatic pistol's muzzle against Okawara's temple. "Respect Mitsu-kun-- our captain's authority!"

'Bitch.' Pain stabbed the navigator's abdomen from every rivet he crawled over to reach the console. "Ah! Ow! Gasp!" 'The pain's almost as bad as existing under the same stars as you lunatics! I'm tempted to disable the cloaking device and let the crocs end my suffering!' "There!"

Fukuda watched the Totenkopf overshoot, sending phaser beams and torpedoes towards the false target. "Now!" The shuttle automatically decloaked when Chiaki pressed the firing buttons, sending forth a storm of disruptor beams and torpedoes to... scorch the paint and nothing more. The torpedoes couldn't even find their target, thanks to the cruiser's EW systems.

Unfortunately for Fukuda, the Black Watch was too damn small to use EW systems capable of disrupting the Totenkopf's weapons and targeting systems. Fortunately, the shuttle captain was vaporized when a phaser beam entered via the cockpit floor and exited via the roof, killing him quickly and minimizing his suffering.

"Mitsu-kun, noooo!" his woman cried.

"Does my ship-- an honest-to-God warship-- look like a bitch? Now be good little hillbillies and surrender-- the crocs pay more for prisoners, and," Alshain shrugged, "at least they won't castrate you like Zeon's male-hating lesbians. You might even get paroled."

"Better dead than a Fed!" Chiaki defiantly shouted, and then whispered, "Okawara, what are the self-destruct codes?"

"How the fuck should I know? How the fuck should I know if this piece of Klingon shit even has a functional self-destruct system?" the navigator replied. "We're lucky the emergency force fields still work aboard the piece of shit Captain Kamikaze bought for blood wine money!"

>

"This is fucking ridiculous," Carrera commented.

'Indeed.' "If we're in no danger of eating a torpedo and phaser beam sandwich, beam those yahoos to the brig." Alshain's body language told Blondine he wanted a beer, so she handed him a mug. "Thank you, Chief Blau." He turned to Carrera. "The croc contract covers the cost of our provisions, right?"

"Yes, but considering how they obsess over the details, I doubt we'll get away with charging them for the beer," the tactical officer answered.

"We can charge them for the radiation protection's water, right?"

Jackie and Blondine's lips met Alshain's in a three-way kiss. "Brilliant!" "Ingenious, Sir!"

Carrera shrugged. "It's your funeral."

"Make it so-- that'll still save us a good chunk of money." The bridge had a 2700-liter water tank under the floor to absorb neutron radiation from the matter/antimatter reaction assemblies-- Alshain redesigned it to refrigerate beer, which fed to two taps behind the captain's chair.

>>

The Totenkopf and his crew were released from their contract eight weeks later-- major combat operations ended with the FMF's total destruction. Alshain earned enough to buy another Constitution class cruiser, or an industrial colony's moon as his "retirement home"-- the former Starfleet officer's first thought this morning was, 'How should I spend my...?' "Yawwwwn!"

Blondine, wearing an apron and (nothing other than her) slippers, handed him a "wakeup beer" from the tray she carried.

"Thank you, Chief Blau." Alshain took the mug as Blondine served the other crewmembers. "Good morning, Lieutenant Porsche."

"Good morning, Carrera!" Blondine kissed the tactical officer's lips-- chastely because Carrera made it clear she did not lust for women. "Would you like a wakeup beer?"

"Yes." The tactical officer put down her suitcase. "Thank you." She downed the beer and returned the empty mug to Blondine's tray.

"How was Planet Mauser?" Alshain asked of where Carrera was vacationing.

"Not bad. You get insane discounts on its namesake's historical products-- I got two M712A9 Schnellfeuers for pocket change," she knocked on her new machine pistols' (synthetic) wooden holsters/stocks.

"Wow!" Jackie's eyes widened-- only the Jem'Hadar could resist saying, "How cuuuute!" and then giving her hugs, kisses, and anything she wanted. "Can I test fire one?"

"After I get my civvies cleaned, pressed, and returned to my closet." Carrera picked up her suitcase and marched towards her room.

"Yay!"

"Computer, logon to Outer Heaven," a network for licensed mercenaries and their employers. "Let's see where my next paycheck is coming from."

The women began discussing what to do with their share of the profits. "Do you think now's a good time to buy ownership of Freeman companies, while the war against their former owners keeps the prices still low?" "No-- most of those companies will be shutdown for violating one regulation or another. Hell, shit-- organic fertilizer-- will be worth more than their stocks." "The health industry's a good bet. Guns may be banned," as in the Federation, "but bandages and medicines will always sell." "Good idea. Which company manufactures bone drills?" "Bone drills?" "To hollow out the Freemen's braincases. Their skulls are currently solid bone, and they need room for functional brain cells." The women began laughing, and then stopped when they noticed Alshain covered his face in grief. "Sir?"

"Alan..."

A picture of... it looked like ground beef... appeared under the headline "Anarchist Leader Alan Naumann's Body Found". "Oh, Willi!" a nickname the women rarely used, out of respect for their captain. "We're so sorry about your friend!" "Do you want a moment alone?"

"Stay with me... for great is my grief for my former brother-in-arms... and I need all of you lovely ladies' help to honor his passing!"

"Yes, Sir!" They discarded what clothes they had and then pounced.

Alshain was buried alive under a mountain of lips, tits, nether lips, and buttocks. 'Can't... breathe. Getting... dark... red? No, that's the inside of Jackie's vagina. This... will be a good death.'

>

The former Starfleet officer didn't die that day. By tomorrow morning, he was planning his mercenary company's expansion, shopping for ex-military ships, and... 'Life is good again,' he thought, watching the promotional film attached to several potential recruits' resumes-- the teaser for 'War of the Lilies', in which Gonghe warriors (all hot females of Japanese descent, moonlighting as porn stars off-duty) formed two lesbian armies, drew "samurai swords" with dildos replacing the blades, and met to battle determined to "overwhelm the enemy" with orgasms.

<>

Not the end.

The Totenkopf, "Death's Head," is referred to as "he" because the German word for "head" is masculine. The plural for "Totenkopf" is spelled "Totenköpfe" (the singular and plural for "Schnellfeuer" are identical)-- assume the German government will simplify the language to improve literacy in the future.

"Warp bombs" were mentioned in Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens' novel 'Federation' (http://memory-alpha.org/en/wiki/Federation_%28novel%29).

Uraniun235 provided the following idea in the "Your captain style" thread (http://bbs.stardestroyer.net/viewtopic. ... 8&t=113963).

[Start]

I'll steal an old refit-Constitution from mothballs, paint it black, change the interior warp nacelle grills from "blue" to "dark purple," stick a swept-back flagpole/sensor tower just fore of the impulse deflection crystal, hoist the flag of freedom, and engage in a career of space piracy.

The wooden ship wheel shall be optional.

"B-b-but piracy in space is dumb and doesn't work and..."

Shut up! Space piracy is completely thematically consistent with the Age of Sail metaphor, as well as highly satisfying to my personal aesthetic tastes!

(And it's HELL of awesome compared to all this "'Star Trek' is SERIOUS BUSINESS" nonsense.)

[End]

When I offered him a cameo as "Thanks for letting me use your idea," he described his self-insert like so (edited for easier reading):

[Start]

I'd like to appear as Captain Wilhelm Alshain, a grizzled old veteran starship captain who, following an embarrassing incident, was offered retirement or desk duty. Alshain picked retirement, and immediately used his connections and his retirement fund to secure a license and a starship, and has captained the Totenkopf for some years now.

I imagine him as looking (and sounding) somewhat like an older, well-groomed Commodore Decker (but not prone to suicide attacks)-- if that fits your story, of course. Feel free to adjust as needed.

Preferred weapons:

1. Phasers on wide-beam stun. "Spray 'em all, let Doc sort 'em out."

2. Trained soldiers. "I'm too old for this shit anyhow."

3. Surprise attacks and traps, followed by boarding actions if he feels punchy. "The best kind of battle is the one you won before it started."

His favorite drink is cognac. He has a fetish for straight, buxom women-- no green skin, as "It's like I'm fucking a cucumber or some shit like that,"-- and a grudge against those behind his early retirement.

[End]

My self-insert is a whole damn state with a whole damn army and navy, plentiful weapons of mass destruction and a willingness to use them. You got to think big for an 'Unnamed Porno Fanfic'!