[Complete Fanfic] MAILED FIST
Moderator: LadyTevar
-
Falkenhorst
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 572
- Joined: 2002-09-02 01:14am
- Location: Wisconsin, USA
-
Falkenhorst
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 572
- Joined: 2002-09-02 01:14am
- Location: Wisconsin, USA
hold yer horses...
time apart makes the heart grow fonder. Therefore, the next chapter will come out on saturday, giving you all time to have at least 1 dream involving characters and situations from this fic. BTW, I saw RED DRAGON sunday night, and have had 2 dreams about it since then, and in the last one, Dr. Hannibal Lecter appeared to me and gave me some advice about stuff, HEHEHEHEHHEHEH
time apart makes the heart grow fonder. Therefore, the next chapter will come out on saturday, giving you all time to have at least 1 dream involving characters and situations from this fic. BTW, I saw RED DRAGON sunday night, and have had 2 dreams about it since then, and in the last one, Dr. Hannibal Lecter appeared to me and gave me some advice about stuff, HEHEHEHEHHEHEH
Falkenhorst
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
*pours a glass of Chianti and looks for the Fava beans*Falkenhorst wrote:hold yer horses...
time apart makes the heart grow fonder. Therefore, the next chapter will come out on saturday, giving you all time to have at least 1 dream involving characters and situations from this fic. BTW, I saw RED DRAGON sunday night, and have had 2 dreams about it since then, and in the last one, Dr. Hannibal Lecter appeared to me and gave me some advice about stuff, HEHEHEHEHHEHEH
Björn Paulsen
"Travelers with closed minds can tell us little except about themselves."
--Chinua Achebe
"Travelers with closed minds can tell us little except about themselves."
--Chinua Achebe
-
Falkenhorst
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 572
- Joined: 2002-09-02 01:14am
- Location: Wisconsin, USA
OK, this is a special post for me, since it's POST 114 for me. 114 is a number which crops up in my life very often and has almost mystical qualities of good luck for me. Therefore I will make this a good post for you the readers as well as I will be giving you 2 chapters of MAILED FIST.
Chapter 4
The shuttle carrying Captain Heinz von Falkenhorst
dodged through the gap in the massive plasma storms, heading
into the badlands. It had been a week since he had routed
the Starfleet attack in the Carlon system. Since then,
Confederate scout ships had reported that the remains of the
Starfleet taskforce had returned to Starbase 304, where they
were recieving repairs and reinforcements.
The shuttle's pilot guided the ship along the marked
route, where the plasma storms were almost nonexistent.
Nobody knew this route existed as far as the Confederacy was
aware, and that was why they put it to use. During the war,
the Dominion had found this area, and moved into it. Deep
within the badlands, they had constructed a massive
shipyard. When they had left, it had been inherited by the
Confederacy, whom the Dominion had groomed to take up the
fight once they left.
The shuttle broke through and into a wide area of
peaceful space, surrounded on all sides by the deadly vista
of the badlands. A monstrous construct hung there,
stretching for several kilometers in all directions. It was
roughly oval shaped, and within it's framework, Falkenhorst
could see the hulls of many ships under construction. There
was the Galaxy-class ship captured at Carlon. The /Galaxy/
was being stripped of her less combat-oriented Starfleet
systems in preparation for refitting to Confederate Navy
spec.
The Starfleet ships used extremely volatile Warp
Cores, inefficient EPS conduits, and centralized computer
systems. They were very vulnerable to disruptions of their
power and control systems, and that was unacceptable. The
EPS lines would be replaced with regular high-conductivity
armored cables, the Warp Core replaced by more efficient
and safer reactors, and the weapons replaced by more
powerful Phaser Cannons. The large crew quarters of the ship
would be torn out, replaced by military crew accomodations,
namely bunks. The officers would have small staterooms,
there would be room for 3,000 troops, and 2 of the ship's
holodecks would be retained for training purposes. Separate
computer cores would be installed, and multiple redundancies
added to the vessel. It would recieve a thick skin of
ablative armor similar to that of the Defiant class. When
the ship came out of the yards, it would be a completely new
vessel,a vessel of war. It would have only minimal
scientific capability, and NO CHILDREN aboard. Falkenhorst
cursed under his breath at that. Stupid Feds.
The /Excelsior/ was at another berth, surrounded by
large blinds. No-one knew what was happening to the ship. As
soon as it had been towed in, several officers of the Death
Corps, the Confederacy's dreaded elite military
organization, had arrived and presented orders signed by the
Chancellor himself. The orders gave the Death Corps men
carte blanche at the yards to commandeer resources and
personnel to work on the vessel for their unknown,
diabolical purposes.
The shuttle made it's way slowly through the
controlled chaos of the yards, heading for the
administrative section in the center of the construction
area. The shuttle passed the massive bulk of an incomplete
Fleet Carrier, one of 3 under construction. When it was
comissioned, the 1000 meter long, multiple flight-decked
vessel would carry 240 Starhawk fighters. Just one of these
ships would be able to provide more fighter cover than 50
starfleet ships with their small shuttlebays full of
Peregrines. The huge ships were only about halfway done,
however. It would be another 6 or 7 months before any of
them saw action.
The Confederate building program centered around 3 basic
hull types. The smallest was 250 Meters long, while the
intermediate size was 500 Meters and the largest was 1
Kilometer. The Large Carriers were built on the same hull
as the Dreadnought type, of which 3 more hulls were under
construction. Those mammoth warships came in two types of
their own, one armed with hundreds of heavy long-range
missiles, and the other armed with powerful Kinetic Plasma
weapons. The Cruisers followed the same principle, although
they used smaller missiles and Plasma Cannons. The
destroyers were conventionally armed, although they shared
many other characteristics with their larger sister ships.
Closer to completion were 5 light carriers, at 500
Meters long able to carry 24 fighters into combat. Large
numbers of pilot trainees were spending untold hours in the
holodecks, practising carrier operations, takeoffs,
landings, attack runs, and general flight training. Unlike
the Starfleet Academy Pilot Schools, which turned out 10 or
15 pilots out of 100 trainees, each of the pilots was given
the basic 1 month training course. They were taught by a
cadre of Starfighter Corps officers who had flown Dominion
fighters in battle against Starfleet in the massive fleet
engagements in the Tyra system, Chin'toka, and Cardassia
Prime. Each had racked up dozens of starfleet kills, untold
numbers of Federation pilots and ships having been scythed
down by their deadly flying skills.
The Dominion had been planning on using the military
units they raised from the Mavis sector as security forces
once they had conquered the Federation. The idea was that
the humans would react better to occupation troops of their
own race rather than the brutal Jem'Hadar. The Dominion was
not exactly comfortable with transferring large portions of
it's military through a wormhole that had already swallowed
up over 2000 of it's best ships. The recruits and officer
candidates from the Mavis sector had been assigned to
Jem'Hadar ships, attack squadrons, and ground units, giving
them valuable combat experience against the Federation.
When it had become clear that the tide was turning
against the Dominion, the Vorta had assisted the Mavis
sector in organizing an independent government for
themselves. The Dominion had contingency plans, but these
were only to be activated if the Confederacy sent a
preplanned series of signals through the wormhole.
Looking at the scale of the Ships and Fighters being
built, Falk was again hit with the sheer bulk of men and
resources the Confederacy was pouring into it's war effort.
The victories they needed were not mere rhetoric fodder for
speeches, the Armed forces were a significant portion of the
total population. Without new planets and systems the
Confederacy would run itself into the ground. As much as the
strength on display made his chest swell with pride, the
unspoken cost it would demand for victory to mean anything,
was ever present in his thoughts.
The shuttle glided into a hangar bay and landed.
Falkenhorst picked up his briefcase, thanked the pilot, and
disembarked. He passed numerous Confederate military
personnel, mostly navy crewmen, on his way across the busy
hangar deck. He boarded a turbolift and was rocketed many
decks upward.
The wide double doors were emblazoned with the silver
eagle insignia of the Confederate Military. Falkenhorst's
boots made echoing clack-clacks on the deckplates as
he approached. Two guards in black, powered armor stood
stolidly at attention, their faces hidden behind their
tinted faceplates. The Death Corps eagle, with a downward
pointing sword added behind the eagle's body, shined
prominently on their breastplates. Their shoulder pauldrons
were emblazoned with the shield and crossed swords of the
Death Corps HQ Escort Battalion. They snapped off a salute
as he approached.
"Long live the Confederacy!" They said in their
filtered voices. Falkenhorst returned their salute, raising
his right arm, elbow bent at 90 degrees, his palm up as if
taking an oath.
Falk just nodded to them. The Death Corps had some
peculiar protocols. Members were selected for their
intelligence, initiative, and cunning. They were also
unswervingly loyal to the Confederacy, and would not
hesitate to lay down their lives defending it. The Death
Corps answered directly to the chancellor and his cabinet,
and handled Confederate intelligence and internal security.
However, their power against citizens and non-members was
restricted in the Confederate Constitution. It was still
dangerous to be an enemy of the state, however, because the
Death Corps was ever vigilant.
One of the guards spoke over a secure channel, and
looked at Falkenhorst.
"You may enter." he said.
The doors slid smoothly open, and Falkenhorst walked
into a large ops center. This was the war room, from which
the Confederate military directed it's operations. One whole
wall was taken up by a huge tactical screen, which
was now set to display the Confederacy and Federation.
Falkenhorst gave it a quick once-over.
The Confederacy was at the center of the map, the 13
worlds of the Mavis sector sandwiched along the Cardassian
border on one side, then the badlands, open frontier, and
a short span of the Romulan border. On the other side was
the Federation. A small number of green symbols arrayed
among the Confederate worlds indicated Naval defence
forces, consisting mostly of small groups of 2 or 3
destroyers. Concentric green rings around planets denoted
their orbital defenses. Known Federation dispositions were
marked in blue. Six fleets were present, each about 300
ships, but these were growing smaller and smaller almost
daily. The Federation would have to reassign it's fleet
resources back to home space soon, or their absence would be
increasingly felt.
One fleet was currently deployed within former
Cardassian space, along with smaller forces of Klingon and
Romulan ships. That was about 250 Federation vessels, and
100 Each for the Klingons and Romulans. 4 of the Federation
battlefleets were known to be preparing to depart the
warzone, to be reassigned to their peacetime duties in the
hinterlands of the Federation. One large force of about 150
ships was apparently moving toward Starbase 304. Another,
larger fleet of about 200 vessels was in the Bajor system.
The Federation was obviously maintaining a heavy fleet
presence in the danger zone near the wormhole.
A young Lieutenant walked up to Falkenhorst and
saluted.
"This way sir," he indicated across the crowded room.
"The Admiralty is in session."
"Ah. Lead on." said Falkenhorst. The navy man led him
through the maze of sensor plotting boards and
communications stations. Up a flight of stairs and onto a
raised deck, Falkenhorst emerged onto a wide balcony
arranged so it's occupants had an unobstructed view of the
main situation screen, and centered around a "pool table"
plotting board. A group of men in olive Navy Staff uniforms
was clustered around the table, along with a few silver-
trimmed black uniforms of the Death Corps. The Lieutenant
stood at attention and announced Falkenhorst.
"Captain Falkenhorst, on Deck!"
The group broke up and the men turned to face him.
Grand Admiral Strowbridge smiled warmly, taking
Falkenhorst's hand in his own and shaking vigorously.
"Good to see you, Captain. Do join us." he said.
Falkenhorst nodded and stepped up to the table. The
screen was configured to show the Cardassian border.
Strowbridge spoke. "As you all well know, Cardassia is
occupied by the Federation. They are engaged in rounding up
groups of military personnel and shipping them to camps in
Federation space. General Sheppard here;" he nodded to a
severe looking man in Death Corps black and sunglasses
standing nearby, wearing a peaked military hat with a silver
death's head above the visor. "has informed me that
operatives of the Death Corps have infiltrated the structure
of the Obsidian Order, or what remains of it."
Sheppard leaned in over the table. "My men have made
their way into the highest echelons of the Obsidian Order."
he reiterated. "While that organization was virtually wiped
out in the war, it still has files on
virtually every Cardassian who is anybody. We have
identified a starfleet vessel;" he hit a series of buttons
on his keypad, "which is carrying a group of the most
distinguished officers of the Cardassian military.
Apparently they are being deported to the Federation
prison colony on Dorkan 2."
An icon appeared on the screen, making it's way across
the Cardassian border toward Federation space.
"This convoy is scheduled to depart in 3 days' time. A
taskforce, moving from Concordia," he indicated the
Confederate world closest to the Cardassian border, "will be
able to intercept it en-route, if it leaves by tomorrow. We
need those officers alive, if our plans are to be carried
out." said Sheppard.
"Just what are these plans of yours?" asked
Falkenhorst. He noticed Strowbridge giving him a dirty look.
"That's classified, soldier. We need you to do this."
Sheppard snapped.
"What about that Excelsior you guys swiped? Can't you
get it out of that dockslip of yours and do the mission?" he
asked.
Sheppard just smiled. "That ship belongs to LT. Hit-
Man now. I suggest you take that up with him."
Falkenhorst choked on his next sentence. An icy chill
crept up his spine. "Oh, Shit." he muttered to himself, as
he cringed for the blow from the unseen hand of the LT that
would strike him down. Sheppard snickered as he saw the look
in Falk's eyes.
"I-I'll do it." said Falkenhorst.
"Good man. You leave tomorrow," said Strowbridge,
stepping in and turning the conversation to other issues.
"Now, about those minefields..."
Chapter 5
The CNS /Bloodhawk/ drifted silently in space, along
with it's sister ship of the same class, the /Rapier/. Both
vessels were cloaked. Holding station alongside, and also
cloaked, was an old freighter. This ship would not
ordinarily amount to much, armed with old style phaser
strips and weak engines. However, it carried a hidden punch.
4 subspace jamming coils were housed in it's cargo holds.
They were powered by 2 extra reactors housed in
torched-out compartments within it's hull. The vessel was
capable of generating a powerful subspace jamming field that
would prevent the use of subspace radio and warp drives for
a radius of several light-minutes. For this mission it
carried the Designation Interdictor 1.
Falkenhorst puffed patiently on a cigar as he watched
the viewscreen. They were expecting the prison ship any
moment now.
"Sir!" reported an officer at the sensor console.
"Spill it, crewman." ordered Falk.
"Sensors have detected a Nebula class starship
approaching at Warp factor 5."
"Comms, order the I-1 to power up it's jammers.
Deploy us on the far edge of the jamming field's radius.
Prepare for action." he ordered. Throughout the 2 ships,
crewmen raced to their battle stations in a drill well
practised in the previous battle with Starfleet at Carlon 3.
The stubby, overpowered destroyers moved into position
and charged up their phaser cannons. They did not have to
wait long.
A Nebula-class starship dropped violently out of warp,
one of it's warp nacelles trailing plasma and arcing with
uncontained electricity. It's field grilles flickered and
went dark.
"Sir, Enemy ship's warp drive has overloaded and shut
down. Their power systems are fluctuating."
"Tactical, decloak us and fire one EMP torpedo,
proximity burst. Signal Rapier to remain cloaked."
The destroyer decloaked off the drifting /Nebula's/
port bow, one of the ship's forward launchers hurling a
missile toward the starship. A blue explosion blossomed in
space, washing the ship with crackling energy. The vessel
went dark by sections as it's power and computer systems
went into overload and dropped offline. Falkenhorst smiled
as he watched the enemy vessel go down under his ship's
fire.
"Commence boarding operations." said Falkenhorst.
The Rapier decloaked, and the 2 Confederate ships
began beaming over canisters of stun gas, preceding the
Death Corps troops embarked specially for the occasion. The
Death Corps men arrived aboard and began raising hell,
dispatching the starfleet security teams relatively quickly
and fighting their way to the ship's brig. Once there, they
liberated the Cardassian prisoners. Meanwhile, the Death
Corps' intel officers located the ships now offline Computer
core and began to affix Transport enhancers in pre-
determined positions. Once set they signalled I-1 which
transported the whole thing aboard, into a special cargo
compartment. Then the boarders and the liberated Cardassians
were beamed back to the Destroyers.
Once the Death Corps men and their charges were
aboard, Falkenhorst ordered the /Nebula/ destroyed. A signal
was sent, setting off the bomb the boarders had planted in
the ship's antimatter stores. The /Nebula/ detonated in a
spectacular display of boiling plasma and white hot
wreckage, taking it's unconscious crew with it. The I-1
powered down it's jammers, and the 3 ships cloaked. They
silently warped away, leaving nothing but an expanding cloud
of cooling debris.
Chapter 4
The shuttle carrying Captain Heinz von Falkenhorst
dodged through the gap in the massive plasma storms, heading
into the badlands. It had been a week since he had routed
the Starfleet attack in the Carlon system. Since then,
Confederate scout ships had reported that the remains of the
Starfleet taskforce had returned to Starbase 304, where they
were recieving repairs and reinforcements.
The shuttle's pilot guided the ship along the marked
route, where the plasma storms were almost nonexistent.
Nobody knew this route existed as far as the Confederacy was
aware, and that was why they put it to use. During the war,
the Dominion had found this area, and moved into it. Deep
within the badlands, they had constructed a massive
shipyard. When they had left, it had been inherited by the
Confederacy, whom the Dominion had groomed to take up the
fight once they left.
The shuttle broke through and into a wide area of
peaceful space, surrounded on all sides by the deadly vista
of the badlands. A monstrous construct hung there,
stretching for several kilometers in all directions. It was
roughly oval shaped, and within it's framework, Falkenhorst
could see the hulls of many ships under construction. There
was the Galaxy-class ship captured at Carlon. The /Galaxy/
was being stripped of her less combat-oriented Starfleet
systems in preparation for refitting to Confederate Navy
spec.
The Starfleet ships used extremely volatile Warp
Cores, inefficient EPS conduits, and centralized computer
systems. They were very vulnerable to disruptions of their
power and control systems, and that was unacceptable. The
EPS lines would be replaced with regular high-conductivity
armored cables, the Warp Core replaced by more efficient
and safer reactors, and the weapons replaced by more
powerful Phaser Cannons. The large crew quarters of the ship
would be torn out, replaced by military crew accomodations,
namely bunks. The officers would have small staterooms,
there would be room for 3,000 troops, and 2 of the ship's
holodecks would be retained for training purposes. Separate
computer cores would be installed, and multiple redundancies
added to the vessel. It would recieve a thick skin of
ablative armor similar to that of the Defiant class. When
the ship came out of the yards, it would be a completely new
vessel,a vessel of war. It would have only minimal
scientific capability, and NO CHILDREN aboard. Falkenhorst
cursed under his breath at that. Stupid Feds.
The /Excelsior/ was at another berth, surrounded by
large blinds. No-one knew what was happening to the ship. As
soon as it had been towed in, several officers of the Death
Corps, the Confederacy's dreaded elite military
organization, had arrived and presented orders signed by the
Chancellor himself. The orders gave the Death Corps men
carte blanche at the yards to commandeer resources and
personnel to work on the vessel for their unknown,
diabolical purposes.
The shuttle made it's way slowly through the
controlled chaos of the yards, heading for the
administrative section in the center of the construction
area. The shuttle passed the massive bulk of an incomplete
Fleet Carrier, one of 3 under construction. When it was
comissioned, the 1000 meter long, multiple flight-decked
vessel would carry 240 Starhawk fighters. Just one of these
ships would be able to provide more fighter cover than 50
starfleet ships with their small shuttlebays full of
Peregrines. The huge ships were only about halfway done,
however. It would be another 6 or 7 months before any of
them saw action.
The Confederate building program centered around 3 basic
hull types. The smallest was 250 Meters long, while the
intermediate size was 500 Meters and the largest was 1
Kilometer. The Large Carriers were built on the same hull
as the Dreadnought type, of which 3 more hulls were under
construction. Those mammoth warships came in two types of
their own, one armed with hundreds of heavy long-range
missiles, and the other armed with powerful Kinetic Plasma
weapons. The Cruisers followed the same principle, although
they used smaller missiles and Plasma Cannons. The
destroyers were conventionally armed, although they shared
many other characteristics with their larger sister ships.
Closer to completion were 5 light carriers, at 500
Meters long able to carry 24 fighters into combat. Large
numbers of pilot trainees were spending untold hours in the
holodecks, practising carrier operations, takeoffs,
landings, attack runs, and general flight training. Unlike
the Starfleet Academy Pilot Schools, which turned out 10 or
15 pilots out of 100 trainees, each of the pilots was given
the basic 1 month training course. They were taught by a
cadre of Starfighter Corps officers who had flown Dominion
fighters in battle against Starfleet in the massive fleet
engagements in the Tyra system, Chin'toka, and Cardassia
Prime. Each had racked up dozens of starfleet kills, untold
numbers of Federation pilots and ships having been scythed
down by their deadly flying skills.
The Dominion had been planning on using the military
units they raised from the Mavis sector as security forces
once they had conquered the Federation. The idea was that
the humans would react better to occupation troops of their
own race rather than the brutal Jem'Hadar. The Dominion was
not exactly comfortable with transferring large portions of
it's military through a wormhole that had already swallowed
up over 2000 of it's best ships. The recruits and officer
candidates from the Mavis sector had been assigned to
Jem'Hadar ships, attack squadrons, and ground units, giving
them valuable combat experience against the Federation.
When it had become clear that the tide was turning
against the Dominion, the Vorta had assisted the Mavis
sector in organizing an independent government for
themselves. The Dominion had contingency plans, but these
were only to be activated if the Confederacy sent a
preplanned series of signals through the wormhole.
Looking at the scale of the Ships and Fighters being
built, Falk was again hit with the sheer bulk of men and
resources the Confederacy was pouring into it's war effort.
The victories they needed were not mere rhetoric fodder for
speeches, the Armed forces were a significant portion of the
total population. Without new planets and systems the
Confederacy would run itself into the ground. As much as the
strength on display made his chest swell with pride, the
unspoken cost it would demand for victory to mean anything,
was ever present in his thoughts.
The shuttle glided into a hangar bay and landed.
Falkenhorst picked up his briefcase, thanked the pilot, and
disembarked. He passed numerous Confederate military
personnel, mostly navy crewmen, on his way across the busy
hangar deck. He boarded a turbolift and was rocketed many
decks upward.
The wide double doors were emblazoned with the silver
eagle insignia of the Confederate Military. Falkenhorst's
boots made echoing clack-clacks on the deckplates as
he approached. Two guards in black, powered armor stood
stolidly at attention, their faces hidden behind their
tinted faceplates. The Death Corps eagle, with a downward
pointing sword added behind the eagle's body, shined
prominently on their breastplates. Their shoulder pauldrons
were emblazoned with the shield and crossed swords of the
Death Corps HQ Escort Battalion. They snapped off a salute
as he approached.
"Long live the Confederacy!" They said in their
filtered voices. Falkenhorst returned their salute, raising
his right arm, elbow bent at 90 degrees, his palm up as if
taking an oath.
Falk just nodded to them. The Death Corps had some
peculiar protocols. Members were selected for their
intelligence, initiative, and cunning. They were also
unswervingly loyal to the Confederacy, and would not
hesitate to lay down their lives defending it. The Death
Corps answered directly to the chancellor and his cabinet,
and handled Confederate intelligence and internal security.
However, their power against citizens and non-members was
restricted in the Confederate Constitution. It was still
dangerous to be an enemy of the state, however, because the
Death Corps was ever vigilant.
One of the guards spoke over a secure channel, and
looked at Falkenhorst.
"You may enter." he said.
The doors slid smoothly open, and Falkenhorst walked
into a large ops center. This was the war room, from which
the Confederate military directed it's operations. One whole
wall was taken up by a huge tactical screen, which
was now set to display the Confederacy and Federation.
Falkenhorst gave it a quick once-over.
The Confederacy was at the center of the map, the 13
worlds of the Mavis sector sandwiched along the Cardassian
border on one side, then the badlands, open frontier, and
a short span of the Romulan border. On the other side was
the Federation. A small number of green symbols arrayed
among the Confederate worlds indicated Naval defence
forces, consisting mostly of small groups of 2 or 3
destroyers. Concentric green rings around planets denoted
their orbital defenses. Known Federation dispositions were
marked in blue. Six fleets were present, each about 300
ships, but these were growing smaller and smaller almost
daily. The Federation would have to reassign it's fleet
resources back to home space soon, or their absence would be
increasingly felt.
One fleet was currently deployed within former
Cardassian space, along with smaller forces of Klingon and
Romulan ships. That was about 250 Federation vessels, and
100 Each for the Klingons and Romulans. 4 of the Federation
battlefleets were known to be preparing to depart the
warzone, to be reassigned to their peacetime duties in the
hinterlands of the Federation. One large force of about 150
ships was apparently moving toward Starbase 304. Another,
larger fleet of about 200 vessels was in the Bajor system.
The Federation was obviously maintaining a heavy fleet
presence in the danger zone near the wormhole.
A young Lieutenant walked up to Falkenhorst and
saluted.
"This way sir," he indicated across the crowded room.
"The Admiralty is in session."
"Ah. Lead on." said Falkenhorst. The navy man led him
through the maze of sensor plotting boards and
communications stations. Up a flight of stairs and onto a
raised deck, Falkenhorst emerged onto a wide balcony
arranged so it's occupants had an unobstructed view of the
main situation screen, and centered around a "pool table"
plotting board. A group of men in olive Navy Staff uniforms
was clustered around the table, along with a few silver-
trimmed black uniforms of the Death Corps. The Lieutenant
stood at attention and announced Falkenhorst.
"Captain Falkenhorst, on Deck!"
The group broke up and the men turned to face him.
Grand Admiral Strowbridge smiled warmly, taking
Falkenhorst's hand in his own and shaking vigorously.
"Good to see you, Captain. Do join us." he said.
Falkenhorst nodded and stepped up to the table. The
screen was configured to show the Cardassian border.
Strowbridge spoke. "As you all well know, Cardassia is
occupied by the Federation. They are engaged in rounding up
groups of military personnel and shipping them to camps in
Federation space. General Sheppard here;" he nodded to a
severe looking man in Death Corps black and sunglasses
standing nearby, wearing a peaked military hat with a silver
death's head above the visor. "has informed me that
operatives of the Death Corps have infiltrated the structure
of the Obsidian Order, or what remains of it."
Sheppard leaned in over the table. "My men have made
their way into the highest echelons of the Obsidian Order."
he reiterated. "While that organization was virtually wiped
out in the war, it still has files on
virtually every Cardassian who is anybody. We have
identified a starfleet vessel;" he hit a series of buttons
on his keypad, "which is carrying a group of the most
distinguished officers of the Cardassian military.
Apparently they are being deported to the Federation
prison colony on Dorkan 2."
An icon appeared on the screen, making it's way across
the Cardassian border toward Federation space.
"This convoy is scheduled to depart in 3 days' time. A
taskforce, moving from Concordia," he indicated the
Confederate world closest to the Cardassian border, "will be
able to intercept it en-route, if it leaves by tomorrow. We
need those officers alive, if our plans are to be carried
out." said Sheppard.
"Just what are these plans of yours?" asked
Falkenhorst. He noticed Strowbridge giving him a dirty look.
"That's classified, soldier. We need you to do this."
Sheppard snapped.
"What about that Excelsior you guys swiped? Can't you
get it out of that dockslip of yours and do the mission?" he
asked.
Sheppard just smiled. "That ship belongs to LT. Hit-
Man now. I suggest you take that up with him."
Falkenhorst choked on his next sentence. An icy chill
crept up his spine. "Oh, Shit." he muttered to himself, as
he cringed for the blow from the unseen hand of the LT that
would strike him down. Sheppard snickered as he saw the look
in Falk's eyes.
"I-I'll do it." said Falkenhorst.
"Good man. You leave tomorrow," said Strowbridge,
stepping in and turning the conversation to other issues.
"Now, about those minefields..."
Chapter 5
The CNS /Bloodhawk/ drifted silently in space, along
with it's sister ship of the same class, the /Rapier/. Both
vessels were cloaked. Holding station alongside, and also
cloaked, was an old freighter. This ship would not
ordinarily amount to much, armed with old style phaser
strips and weak engines. However, it carried a hidden punch.
4 subspace jamming coils were housed in it's cargo holds.
They were powered by 2 extra reactors housed in
torched-out compartments within it's hull. The vessel was
capable of generating a powerful subspace jamming field that
would prevent the use of subspace radio and warp drives for
a radius of several light-minutes. For this mission it
carried the Designation Interdictor 1.
Falkenhorst puffed patiently on a cigar as he watched
the viewscreen. They were expecting the prison ship any
moment now.
"Sir!" reported an officer at the sensor console.
"Spill it, crewman." ordered Falk.
"Sensors have detected a Nebula class starship
approaching at Warp factor 5."
"Comms, order the I-1 to power up it's jammers.
Deploy us on the far edge of the jamming field's radius.
Prepare for action." he ordered. Throughout the 2 ships,
crewmen raced to their battle stations in a drill well
practised in the previous battle with Starfleet at Carlon 3.
The stubby, overpowered destroyers moved into position
and charged up their phaser cannons. They did not have to
wait long.
A Nebula-class starship dropped violently out of warp,
one of it's warp nacelles trailing plasma and arcing with
uncontained electricity. It's field grilles flickered and
went dark.
"Sir, Enemy ship's warp drive has overloaded and shut
down. Their power systems are fluctuating."
"Tactical, decloak us and fire one EMP torpedo,
proximity burst. Signal Rapier to remain cloaked."
The destroyer decloaked off the drifting /Nebula's/
port bow, one of the ship's forward launchers hurling a
missile toward the starship. A blue explosion blossomed in
space, washing the ship with crackling energy. The vessel
went dark by sections as it's power and computer systems
went into overload and dropped offline. Falkenhorst smiled
as he watched the enemy vessel go down under his ship's
fire.
"Commence boarding operations." said Falkenhorst.
The Rapier decloaked, and the 2 Confederate ships
began beaming over canisters of stun gas, preceding the
Death Corps troops embarked specially for the occasion. The
Death Corps men arrived aboard and began raising hell,
dispatching the starfleet security teams relatively quickly
and fighting their way to the ship's brig. Once there, they
liberated the Cardassian prisoners. Meanwhile, the Death
Corps' intel officers located the ships now offline Computer
core and began to affix Transport enhancers in pre-
determined positions. Once set they signalled I-1 which
transported the whole thing aboard, into a special cargo
compartment. Then the boarders and the liberated Cardassians
were beamed back to the Destroyers.
Once the Death Corps men and their charges were
aboard, Falkenhorst ordered the /Nebula/ destroyed. A signal
was sent, setting off the bomb the boarders had planted in
the ship's antimatter stores. The /Nebula/ detonated in a
spectacular display of boiling plasma and white hot
wreckage, taking it's unconscious crew with it. The I-1
powered down it's jammers, and the 3 ships cloaked. They
silently warped away, leaving nothing but an expanding cloud
of cooling debris.
Falkenhorst
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
-
Falkenhorst
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 572
- Joined: 2002-09-02 01:14am
- Location: Wisconsin, USA
-
Admiral Drason
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 768
- Joined: 2002-09-04 05:43pm
- Location: In my bomb shelter
-
Falkenhorst
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 572
- Joined: 2002-09-02 01:14am
- Location: Wisconsin, USA
yeah, it's all there, just waiting to be posted, HEHEEHEH...
ALL 15 CHAPTERS!!
ALL 15 CHAPTERS!!
Falkenhorst
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
-
Soontir C'boath
- SG-14: Fuck the Medic!
- Posts: 6844
- Joined: 2002-07-06 12:15am
- Location: Queens, NYC I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF MANHATTEN IS CONSIDERED NYC!! I'M IN IT ASSHOLE!!!
- Contact:
FIFTEEN!!!!! and one chapter every week......Cool.
Cyaround,
Jason
Cyaround,
Jason
I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season."
-
Soontir C'boath
- SG-14: Fuck the Medic!
- Posts: 6844
- Joined: 2002-07-06 12:15am
- Location: Queens, NYC I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF MANHATTEN IS CONSIDERED NYC!! I'M IN IT ASSHOLE!!!
- Contact:
It's cool b/c it's cruelTed wrote:Thats not cool, thats cruel.
Cyaround,
Jason
I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season."
-
Soontir C'boath
- SG-14: Fuck the Medic!
- Posts: 6844
- Joined: 2002-07-06 12:15am
- Location: Queens, NYC I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF MANHATTEN IS CONSIDERED NYC!! I'M IN IT ASSHOLE!!!
- Contact:
Pain is GOOOODTed wrote:masochist
Cyaround,
Jason
I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season."
-
Falkenhorst
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 572
- Joined: 2002-09-02 01:14am
- Location: Wisconsin, USA
Chapter 6 for you, you misguided children, hahhahahhah.
Chapter 6
The USS /Enterprise/ hung silently in space near
Starbase 304. About 30 other ships were present. A team of
technicians in EVA suits were outside the hull, finishing
repairs on a small but nasty phaser hit that had blown out
part of the dorsal phaser array. Many members of the
/Enterprise's/ crew were on the starbase, taking a rest
from the new war that was threatening to envelop the
Federation.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Cmdr. Riker walked into
Admiral Thomas' office aboard the Starbase. The Admiral was
behind his desk, and Picard could have sworn he glimpsed the
man hiding some kind of flask away in his desk drawer as he
came in.
"Picard! Riker! Good to see you again." said Thomas.
"It's good to be back, sir." Replied Picard.
"Commander Riker believes he has a plan that may be of great
interest to you. Will?"
"We think we may have figured out a way to hit the
Confederates without attacking those infernal Asteroid
forts." said Riker.
"By all means, tell me. We lost alot of good men in
that last assault. Starfleet command was _not pleased_." the
last two words dripped off his tongue and splattered on
Picard's boots, leaving the latter with a gnawing hollow
feeling of hidden guilt. Riker, noticing the Admiral's
subliminal stab at his captain, forged on.
"Our scouts have observed suspicious activity along
the Romulan border, specifically at the Walmor system. Since
the end of the Dominion war and the beginning
of this damn rebellion, Ferengi freighters have been making
more runs across the Romulan border than ever. We think that
the Confederates may be recieving shipments of
something from the Romulans, most likely the cloaks for
their Destroyers, by way of the Ferengi traders. I recommend
we send a team to investigate these activities and possibly
find a way to stop them. At the very least we can use the
shipments to get teams on the Confederate planets without
engaging the Forts in battle, hopefully they can then knock
them out!" said Riker.
"Good. Since you hatched this plan, you can carry out
a preliminary mission to test the feasibility of getting
Starfleet personnel on these Freighters. Take Lt. Selak from
security with you. You're free to use one of the station's
runabouts. Just bring it back in one piece."
Picard spoke up, having finished beating his
conscience. "Sir, I must respectfully object!" he said.
Admiral Thomas just smiled. "Overruled, Captain. Riker
goes. I'm a firm believer in allowing my subordinates to
prove their theories."
"But sir.." interjected Picard.
"Dismissed. Good luck, Riker."
"Admiral, I must respectfully request that you
reconsider.."
"Noted, Captain. Now please leave."
The two men walked out, the doors shutting behind
them. When they were gone, Admiral Thomas breathed a sigh
and took out his flask of southern comfort again. He popped
the cork and took a swig. The Confederates were just a bunch
of backwater hicks. He would crush them one of these days,
when he got around to it.
Outside his office, Picard and Riker made their way to
the Enterprise. Riker needed to get his things ready for his
mission, plus he wanted to talk with his Captain and friend.
"Captain... Jean-Luc, you can't let him get you down.
He is being hit with the flak from Starfleet headquarters,
and if he cannot handle it and feels he needs to pass it
down to you.. Then that's his problem!"
"Commander Riker, I do believe that is
insubordination." Picard stopped, then turned to his First
Officer. "Will, he had a point. As badly expressed as it
was, it was still valid. I let them dictate my actions in
that engagement, that cannot be allowed to happen in
future!" He continued his course back to the Enterprise,
this time a small smile appearing at the corners of his
mouth. "Of course, we never got around to telling him Mr
Data's plan for defeating those Fortresses, should your plan
prove untenable... Such a pity he ordered us out so
peremptorally, we'll just have to keep that as a secondary
course of action won't we?"
Riker smiled in turn. "That we shall, sir. That we
shall." He followed his Captain through the base, satisfaied
that the Admirals sniping had not been as effective as that
officer had intended.
Chapter 6
The USS /Enterprise/ hung silently in space near
Starbase 304. About 30 other ships were present. A team of
technicians in EVA suits were outside the hull, finishing
repairs on a small but nasty phaser hit that had blown out
part of the dorsal phaser array. Many members of the
/Enterprise's/ crew were on the starbase, taking a rest
from the new war that was threatening to envelop the
Federation.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Cmdr. Riker walked into
Admiral Thomas' office aboard the Starbase. The Admiral was
behind his desk, and Picard could have sworn he glimpsed the
man hiding some kind of flask away in his desk drawer as he
came in.
"Picard! Riker! Good to see you again." said Thomas.
"It's good to be back, sir." Replied Picard.
"Commander Riker believes he has a plan that may be of great
interest to you. Will?"
"We think we may have figured out a way to hit the
Confederates without attacking those infernal Asteroid
forts." said Riker.
"By all means, tell me. We lost alot of good men in
that last assault. Starfleet command was _not pleased_." the
last two words dripped off his tongue and splattered on
Picard's boots, leaving the latter with a gnawing hollow
feeling of hidden guilt. Riker, noticing the Admiral's
subliminal stab at his captain, forged on.
"Our scouts have observed suspicious activity along
the Romulan border, specifically at the Walmor system. Since
the end of the Dominion war and the beginning
of this damn rebellion, Ferengi freighters have been making
more runs across the Romulan border than ever. We think that
the Confederates may be recieving shipments of
something from the Romulans, most likely the cloaks for
their Destroyers, by way of the Ferengi traders. I recommend
we send a team to investigate these activities and possibly
find a way to stop them. At the very least we can use the
shipments to get teams on the Confederate planets without
engaging the Forts in battle, hopefully they can then knock
them out!" said Riker.
"Good. Since you hatched this plan, you can carry out
a preliminary mission to test the feasibility of getting
Starfleet personnel on these Freighters. Take Lt. Selak from
security with you. You're free to use one of the station's
runabouts. Just bring it back in one piece."
Picard spoke up, having finished beating his
conscience. "Sir, I must respectfully object!" he said.
Admiral Thomas just smiled. "Overruled, Captain. Riker
goes. I'm a firm believer in allowing my subordinates to
prove their theories."
"But sir.." interjected Picard.
"Dismissed. Good luck, Riker."
"Admiral, I must respectfully request that you
reconsider.."
"Noted, Captain. Now please leave."
The two men walked out, the doors shutting behind
them. When they were gone, Admiral Thomas breathed a sigh
and took out his flask of southern comfort again. He popped
the cork and took a swig. The Confederates were just a bunch
of backwater hicks. He would crush them one of these days,
when he got around to it.
Outside his office, Picard and Riker made their way to
the Enterprise. Riker needed to get his things ready for his
mission, plus he wanted to talk with his Captain and friend.
"Captain... Jean-Luc, you can't let him get you down.
He is being hit with the flak from Starfleet headquarters,
and if he cannot handle it and feels he needs to pass it
down to you.. Then that's his problem!"
"Commander Riker, I do believe that is
insubordination." Picard stopped, then turned to his First
Officer. "Will, he had a point. As badly expressed as it
was, it was still valid. I let them dictate my actions in
that engagement, that cannot be allowed to happen in
future!" He continued his course back to the Enterprise,
this time a small smile appearing at the corners of his
mouth. "Of course, we never got around to telling him Mr
Data's plan for defeating those Fortresses, should your plan
prove untenable... Such a pity he ordered us out so
peremptorally, we'll just have to keep that as a secondary
course of action won't we?"
Riker smiled in turn. "That we shall, sir. That we
shall." He followed his Captain through the base, satisfaied
that the Admirals sniping had not been as effective as that
officer had intended.
Falkenhorst
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
-
Soontir C'boath
- SG-14: Fuck the Medic!
- Posts: 6844
- Joined: 2002-07-06 12:15am
- Location: Queens, NYC I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF MANHATTEN IS CONSIDERED NYC!! I'M IN IT ASSHOLE!!!
- Contact:
Hmmmm yummy.
Cyaround,
Jason
Cyaround,
Jason
I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season."
-
Falkenhorst
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 572
- Joined: 2002-09-02 01:14am
- Location: Wisconsin, USA
Chapter 7
William T. Riker materialized in a back alley
somewhere in the downtown of the capital city of Walmor II.
The air was dank and musty, and he smelled rotting garbage.
This miserable fringe world had once been a Federation
colony. However, after years of neglect by the Federation,
the planet had become a haven for pirates, criminals, smugglers,
and the bottom feeders of the Alpha Quadrant.
Riker began walking down the alley, toward the street.
A six-legged rodent scurried across his path. He absently
kicked it, and it squealed, running off and hiding in an
overturned garbage can. He reached the street and began
walking casually along. He got more than a few suspicious
glances. His clothes, freshly replicated aboard the runabout
in orbit, were far too clean, and he was carrying no
noticeable sidearm. He had a Type 2 hand Phaser concealed in
his tunic, but everyone else seemed to be armed with what
looked like automatic rifles or carbines and smaller
handguns and blasters, all carried quite openly.
After about a half hour of walking, he reached a bar
near the spaceport. It was nestled in between a large
warehouse and a landing pad, which was occupied by an old,
beaten up Klingon cargo shuttle. The marquee over the bar's
entrance showed a scantily clad Orion slave girl in chains
with a martini cup dangling from her fingers. The sign's
neon light was flickering on and off, giving the place a
sleazy, unkept look. Riker unconsciously held his breath and
stepped inside.
"Hollup. No weps 'lowed." said a short, swarthy man
who was missing his two front teeth. He must be the bouncer,
thought Riker. A nasty looking pistol hung in a well-worn
holster on the man's belt. He scratched his unkempt beard
as he fiddled with a scanner. It began
beeping.
"If it's any help to you, I'm armed. Here." said
Riker, handing over his phaser.
"Yo's a fleetie, eh? Watcher step in issere dive."
Drawled the man in his peculiar spacer lingo, tossing the
phaser into a box filled with various deadly looking
weapons. "5 lat strips'l get it back on yo way out." he
said.
"Will you take Credits?" asked Riker.
"Shee-at. We don want no fedcreds innere. Now do yo
bisniss oa git out."
"Suit yourself." said Riker, stepping in. He was hit
with a wave of smoke and fumes, voices, and music. The area
was dimly lit, with any number of weird aliens and dangerous
looking humans sitting around tables and bars. A few dancing
girls gyrated on a stage at one end of the room, stripping
in time to the music. Occasionally one of them would snatch
a tossed latinum strip out of the air and slip it in her
garter belt. Riker licked his lips, he would have to see
what those dancers did on their off hours.
At a table in the corner, two Ferengi spacers were
enjoying their liquor. The one facing the door spoke up.
"Don't look now, Doran, but a strange Hew-Mon just
came in."
"Really now, Takol. How thrilling, imagine a Hew-mon
entering a bar on a planet filled with Hew-mons. What are
the chances?" replied the other in a rather sarcastic,
though devious and cunning voice.
"He looks like _Starfleet_, Captain! What should we
do?" asked Takol.
"Shut up and act normal, you fool! Don't attract his
attention." said Doran, the leader of the two, and captain
of their ship.
Riker took a careful look around the smoke-filled
room. Were those Ferengi in the far corner? He began moving
closer.
"He approaches!" said Takol, his voice rising in
alarm.
"Be silent! Let me do the talking." replied Doran,
reaching down and sliding off the safety on his Varon-T
disruptor. The tall Human walked over.
"Mind if I join you two?" he asked.
"Not if you foot the bill, Hew-mon. This place is
rather expensive." Doran replied.
"Sure thing." said Riker, bluffing. He took a seat
next to Takol.
"So what brings you here?" asked Doran.
"I'm looking for a berth on a freighter. Do you know
where I can find work? I'm good with weapons and machinery."
said Riker.
Doran smiled a bit. "Well, I could use a new
technician aboard my ship. The old one is a bit looney,
and he's a stingy bastard on top of that. Always folds on
the first hand, if you know what I mean."
"Sure. What are you willing to pay me?"
"5 Bars of latinum per voyage. We run the Voldor gap."
Doran's voice became all business, with the discussion of
money.
Riker feigned indecision. "Isn't that a bit low? The
Voldor gap is infested with pirates."
"Very well. 8, and that is my final offer." said
Doran. Takol gave him a dirty look, but Doran ignored him.
"I guess that's ok." said Riker, wondering where this
Ferengi had gotten his snuff, and what it was laced with.
"Come with me; I'll show you the ship." said Doran,
standing up. The two Ferengi walked with the human towards
the door. When they had stepped outside, Doran turned to
Takol.
"Fetch Jax and Folkor. Have them bring those spare
parts back to the ship." he said, winking to Takol behind
Riker's back, as the undercover Federation officer paid for
the return of his phaser. Apparently he thought he was
keeping the weapon hidden from Doran's observation, The
Ferengi sighed inwardly at the stupidity on display and was
thankful that the Hew-mon's were not better versed at
deception - his profit margin would plummet for one thing!
"At once!" said Takol, scurrying off.
When Doran and Riker reached the landing field, he led
the Hew-mon toward a relatively nice looking light stock
freighter.
"Here she is, the Lor'pak." Doran swept his hand
across the vessel with pride.
"Nice ship." Commented Riker, walking up the ramp. He
didn't notice that Doran was now allowing him to take the
lead, as the Ferengi pointed the way towards the Cockpit.
Riker kept his eyes peeled for any suspicious looking access
doors that might indicate smuggling compartments. Entering
the Small space he saw the pilots seat was occupied.
"Hey, I'm Will Riker; the new technician," He said,
waiting for the pilots reply.
The chair slowly turned around, revealing a man in a
well-fitting black uniform, black combat boots, and
sunglasses. He held a sleek pistol in his gloved hand,
pointing at Riker's chest. Riker noticed the grinning silver
death's head on his military officers' hat, but his
attention was drawn back to the man's face.
"Remember me...brother?" said the man, removing the
sunglasses. A patch covered his left eye, and he had no
beard. He was, however, identical to Riker, but he seemed to
have fought his way out of hell. His face was thinner,
harder, marred by several ugly scars, one of which
intersected his left eye on it's course down his cheek.
"Tom..." said Commander Riker.
"One and the same, you shithead."
"How... What happened?"
"Well, I escaped from Lazon 2, as you can tell. Nasty
place." An evil, predatory smirk crossed the man's hard face
as he said that.
"What are you doing here?" asked Riker, glancing
nervously at the gun in his duplicate's hand. This was not
the same man who had come aboard the Enterprise as a
Lieutenant several years ago. His twin, created in a
transporter malfunction, had obviously suffered alot in the
Cardassian labor camp on Lazon 2.
"I'm in the Death Corps now. And you're my prisoner,
you Starfleet SOB."
"What!" exclaimed Riker, backing toward the door.
"We Confederates don't appreciate you _feddies_
snooping around our contacts, you hear? What we do is our
business, and whoever helps us does it because they want
to," Said Tom, standing up. "You're coming with me."
Riker thought fast. He lashed out with a swift kick,
sending the pistol flying out of his double's hand, then
turned to run.
He slammed into Doran, knocking him down. He ran down
the ramp, sprinting towards the entrance to the docking bay.
Tom must have called his cronies, because an aircar full of
black-uniformed men came roaring into the landing bay behind
him. The men opened fire with automatic rifles, blasting
fist-sized chunks out of the concrete next to the fleeing
Officer.
Riker saw his double run down the ship's ramp and
vault into the passengers seat of the aircar, slapping the
driver on the shoulder, who gunned the throttle. The aircar
took off with a whine of superchargers.
Riker was running down the street, attracting curious
looks from the spacer types lounging in the doorways.
Suddenly the aircar sped around the turn behind him, gaining
fast. He pulled out his comlink.
"Riker to Selak! Beam me up!" Static. The Confeds must
be jamming the channels, he thought.
The aircar was almost on top of him now. One of the
troopers steadied a long tube over his shoulder and
fired. Riker found himself tangled in a web of sticky fibers
that dragged him down. The more he moved to try to break
free, the more the fibers stuck to one another, pinning him
in a cocoon. The aircar spun to a halt, and then a boot
slammed into the side of Riker's head. His world disappeared
in a flash of white pain.
----
Up in orbit, Lt. Selak watched in what, in a non-
Vulcan, would have been dismay as Riker's lifesigns
flickered. She was about to beam him up, when suddenly, the
sensors went blank with static. Before she knew what was
happening, the shuttle rocked with a hit and lost power. The
sensors being dead, she looked out of the viewport. A black,
crank-winged fighter screamed past, a Death's Head insignia
painted on the tailfin. The runabout spun off axis. The
viewports rotated out of line-of-sight, and the young Vulcan
never saw the shots that killed her. The 3 Death Corps
fighters circled the wreckage a few times before turning and
accelerating towards one of the planet's small moons. Their
mission was accomplished.
William T. Riker materialized in a back alley
somewhere in the downtown of the capital city of Walmor II.
The air was dank and musty, and he smelled rotting garbage.
This miserable fringe world had once been a Federation
colony. However, after years of neglect by the Federation,
the planet had become a haven for pirates, criminals, smugglers,
and the bottom feeders of the Alpha Quadrant.
Riker began walking down the alley, toward the street.
A six-legged rodent scurried across his path. He absently
kicked it, and it squealed, running off and hiding in an
overturned garbage can. He reached the street and began
walking casually along. He got more than a few suspicious
glances. His clothes, freshly replicated aboard the runabout
in orbit, were far too clean, and he was carrying no
noticeable sidearm. He had a Type 2 hand Phaser concealed in
his tunic, but everyone else seemed to be armed with what
looked like automatic rifles or carbines and smaller
handguns and blasters, all carried quite openly.
After about a half hour of walking, he reached a bar
near the spaceport. It was nestled in between a large
warehouse and a landing pad, which was occupied by an old,
beaten up Klingon cargo shuttle. The marquee over the bar's
entrance showed a scantily clad Orion slave girl in chains
with a martini cup dangling from her fingers. The sign's
neon light was flickering on and off, giving the place a
sleazy, unkept look. Riker unconsciously held his breath and
stepped inside.
"Hollup. No weps 'lowed." said a short, swarthy man
who was missing his two front teeth. He must be the bouncer,
thought Riker. A nasty looking pistol hung in a well-worn
holster on the man's belt. He scratched his unkempt beard
as he fiddled with a scanner. It began
beeping.
"If it's any help to you, I'm armed. Here." said
Riker, handing over his phaser.
"Yo's a fleetie, eh? Watcher step in issere dive."
Drawled the man in his peculiar spacer lingo, tossing the
phaser into a box filled with various deadly looking
weapons. "5 lat strips'l get it back on yo way out." he
said.
"Will you take Credits?" asked Riker.
"Shee-at. We don want no fedcreds innere. Now do yo
bisniss oa git out."
"Suit yourself." said Riker, stepping in. He was hit
with a wave of smoke and fumes, voices, and music. The area
was dimly lit, with any number of weird aliens and dangerous
looking humans sitting around tables and bars. A few dancing
girls gyrated on a stage at one end of the room, stripping
in time to the music. Occasionally one of them would snatch
a tossed latinum strip out of the air and slip it in her
garter belt. Riker licked his lips, he would have to see
what those dancers did on their off hours.
At a table in the corner, two Ferengi spacers were
enjoying their liquor. The one facing the door spoke up.
"Don't look now, Doran, but a strange Hew-Mon just
came in."
"Really now, Takol. How thrilling, imagine a Hew-mon
entering a bar on a planet filled with Hew-mons. What are
the chances?" replied the other in a rather sarcastic,
though devious and cunning voice.
"He looks like _Starfleet_, Captain! What should we
do?" asked Takol.
"Shut up and act normal, you fool! Don't attract his
attention." said Doran, the leader of the two, and captain
of their ship.
Riker took a careful look around the smoke-filled
room. Were those Ferengi in the far corner? He began moving
closer.
"He approaches!" said Takol, his voice rising in
alarm.
"Be silent! Let me do the talking." replied Doran,
reaching down and sliding off the safety on his Varon-T
disruptor. The tall Human walked over.
"Mind if I join you two?" he asked.
"Not if you foot the bill, Hew-mon. This place is
rather expensive." Doran replied.
"Sure thing." said Riker, bluffing. He took a seat
next to Takol.
"So what brings you here?" asked Doran.
"I'm looking for a berth on a freighter. Do you know
where I can find work? I'm good with weapons and machinery."
said Riker.
Doran smiled a bit. "Well, I could use a new
technician aboard my ship. The old one is a bit looney,
and he's a stingy bastard on top of that. Always folds on
the first hand, if you know what I mean."
"Sure. What are you willing to pay me?"
"5 Bars of latinum per voyage. We run the Voldor gap."
Doran's voice became all business, with the discussion of
money.
Riker feigned indecision. "Isn't that a bit low? The
Voldor gap is infested with pirates."
"Very well. 8, and that is my final offer." said
Doran. Takol gave him a dirty look, but Doran ignored him.
"I guess that's ok." said Riker, wondering where this
Ferengi had gotten his snuff, and what it was laced with.
"Come with me; I'll show you the ship." said Doran,
standing up. The two Ferengi walked with the human towards
the door. When they had stepped outside, Doran turned to
Takol.
"Fetch Jax and Folkor. Have them bring those spare
parts back to the ship." he said, winking to Takol behind
Riker's back, as the undercover Federation officer paid for
the return of his phaser. Apparently he thought he was
keeping the weapon hidden from Doran's observation, The
Ferengi sighed inwardly at the stupidity on display and was
thankful that the Hew-mon's were not better versed at
deception - his profit margin would plummet for one thing!
"At once!" said Takol, scurrying off.
When Doran and Riker reached the landing field, he led
the Hew-mon toward a relatively nice looking light stock
freighter.
"Here she is, the Lor'pak." Doran swept his hand
across the vessel with pride.
"Nice ship." Commented Riker, walking up the ramp. He
didn't notice that Doran was now allowing him to take the
lead, as the Ferengi pointed the way towards the Cockpit.
Riker kept his eyes peeled for any suspicious looking access
doors that might indicate smuggling compartments. Entering
the Small space he saw the pilots seat was occupied.
"Hey, I'm Will Riker; the new technician," He said,
waiting for the pilots reply.
The chair slowly turned around, revealing a man in a
well-fitting black uniform, black combat boots, and
sunglasses. He held a sleek pistol in his gloved hand,
pointing at Riker's chest. Riker noticed the grinning silver
death's head on his military officers' hat, but his
attention was drawn back to the man's face.
"Remember me...brother?" said the man, removing the
sunglasses. A patch covered his left eye, and he had no
beard. He was, however, identical to Riker, but he seemed to
have fought his way out of hell. His face was thinner,
harder, marred by several ugly scars, one of which
intersected his left eye on it's course down his cheek.
"Tom..." said Commander Riker.
"One and the same, you shithead."
"How... What happened?"
"Well, I escaped from Lazon 2, as you can tell. Nasty
place." An evil, predatory smirk crossed the man's hard face
as he said that.
"What are you doing here?" asked Riker, glancing
nervously at the gun in his duplicate's hand. This was not
the same man who had come aboard the Enterprise as a
Lieutenant several years ago. His twin, created in a
transporter malfunction, had obviously suffered alot in the
Cardassian labor camp on Lazon 2.
"I'm in the Death Corps now. And you're my prisoner,
you Starfleet SOB."
"What!" exclaimed Riker, backing toward the door.
"We Confederates don't appreciate you _feddies_
snooping around our contacts, you hear? What we do is our
business, and whoever helps us does it because they want
to," Said Tom, standing up. "You're coming with me."
Riker thought fast. He lashed out with a swift kick,
sending the pistol flying out of his double's hand, then
turned to run.
He slammed into Doran, knocking him down. He ran down
the ramp, sprinting towards the entrance to the docking bay.
Tom must have called his cronies, because an aircar full of
black-uniformed men came roaring into the landing bay behind
him. The men opened fire with automatic rifles, blasting
fist-sized chunks out of the concrete next to the fleeing
Officer.
Riker saw his double run down the ship's ramp and
vault into the passengers seat of the aircar, slapping the
driver on the shoulder, who gunned the throttle. The aircar
took off with a whine of superchargers.
Riker was running down the street, attracting curious
looks from the spacer types lounging in the doorways.
Suddenly the aircar sped around the turn behind him, gaining
fast. He pulled out his comlink.
"Riker to Selak! Beam me up!" Static. The Confeds must
be jamming the channels, he thought.
The aircar was almost on top of him now. One of the
troopers steadied a long tube over his shoulder and
fired. Riker found himself tangled in a web of sticky fibers
that dragged him down. The more he moved to try to break
free, the more the fibers stuck to one another, pinning him
in a cocoon. The aircar spun to a halt, and then a boot
slammed into the side of Riker's head. His world disappeared
in a flash of white pain.
----
Up in orbit, Lt. Selak watched in what, in a non-
Vulcan, would have been dismay as Riker's lifesigns
flickered. She was about to beam him up, when suddenly, the
sensors went blank with static. Before she knew what was
happening, the shuttle rocked with a hit and lost power. The
sensors being dead, she looked out of the viewport. A black,
crank-winged fighter screamed past, a Death's Head insignia
painted on the tailfin. The runabout spun off axis. The
viewports rotated out of line-of-sight, and the young Vulcan
never saw the shots that killed her. The 3 Death Corps
fighters circled the wreckage a few times before turning and
accelerating towards one of the planet's small moons. Their
mission was accomplished.
Falkenhorst
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
-
Soontir C'boath
- SG-14: Fuck the Medic!
- Posts: 6844
- Joined: 2002-07-06 12:15am
- Location: Queens, NYC I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF MANHATTEN IS CONSIDERED NYC!! I'M IN IT ASSHOLE!!!
- Contact:
Yea.......you MUST REPLACE B&B!!! YOU
Cyaround,
Jason
Cyaround,
Jason
I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season."
-
Falkenhorst
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 572
- Joined: 2002-09-02 01:14am
- Location: Wisconsin, USA
Chapter 8
The CNS /Bloodhawk/ and her consorts had been sneaking
stealthily along, matching warp speeds with the convoy of
Confederate freighters for some time now.
Captain Falkenhorst was pacing the ship's cramped
bridge, glancing over the sensor operator's shoulder every
now and then. The convoy was just now passing a rather large
nebula. "Sensors, keep a close eye out for enemy vessels. I
want every man ready for action if the feddie scum try to
jump us."
"Aye, sir."
Falk had actually managed to doze off for a moment
when he was jolted awake by the alarm Klaxon. He looked
around, clearing his head in an instant.
"Report!" he snarled.
"Sir! 2 Akira-class cruisers just left the Nebula,
warp factor 3! They're heading for the convoy." Answered the
sensor operator.
"Ready the torpedo tubes and charge the phaser
cannons! Helm, line us up to intercept them!"
The 3 destroyers wheeled around, the cannons sending a
low rumble through the decks as they were primed for firing.
The 2 /Akiras/ streaked in, firing their burst
launchers. The freighters went evasive, throwing clouds of
chaff and accelerating. The torpedoes began detonating
around the ships, tossing them around but failing to score a
fatal hit. The /Akiras/ were almost on the Confederate
vessels when the 3 destroyers dropped their cloaks and
opened fire. The leading Cruiser was raked with powerful
phaser pulses as the Confederate gunners unloaded on the
speeding ship. The 2 vessels broke and split off, turning
in different directions. The /Bloodhawk/ peeled off from the
other 2 destroyers and followed the first ship.
"Stay with him!" Shouted Falkenhorst, gripping the
rail as the ship's inertial compensators tried and failed to
hold them all upright. The /Akira/ twisted and dodged.
All the while the /Bloodhawk's/ weapons officer was
hammering it's aft shields with his Phaser cannons. "Their
aft shields are close to critical!" he shouted.
Falkenhorst punched a button on the arm of his chair.
"Engine room, give me all you've got!" he said.
"Aye, Cap!" came the reply. The vibration changed
beneath Falk's boots and the lights dimmed as the engines
cranked over into a higher output range. The destroyer
surged ahead, gaining on the fleeing starfleet ship. A
photon torpedo flashed past, the helmsman's quick reflexes
saving them all from a swift and fiery death.
"Give em the forward torps!" called Falkenhorst. The
helmsman held the ship steady while the weapons officer
gained a lock. The tone sounded throughout the bridge.
"Torpedoes away!" he said.
"Reverse engines!" ordered Falkenhorst. On the screen,
the ship was bracketed by the fat Confederate torpedoes,
their powerful warheads ripping the Cruiser
apart in a blast of shredded wreckage and billowing plasma.
The Bloodhawk spun around, accelerating back towards
the other firefight. The /Rapier/ was hot on the tail of the
remaining cruiser. Weapons fire flashed back and forth
between the two. The /Bloodhawk/ raced in from astern,
pulling up alongside the /Rapier/ just as a spread of
torpedoes lashed out and slammed into the Destroyer head on.
The shields flickered, held, then collapsed under the
barrage of explosions. The /Bloodhawk/ was buffeted as it's
gunners opened fire, punching through the shields of the
Starfleet ship and raking fire across the upper torpedo
tower of the Cruiser. A tremendous flash erupted as the
Akira's magazines went off, inflicting severe hull damage on
the Starfleet ship. The /Falcon/ came in from the ship's
port quarter, pumping phaser fire into the port nacelle of
the battered, air-streaming wreck. The ship detonated
seconds later, scattering burning debris across space. The
/Rapier/ had gotten it's damage under control, and the 3
ships moved back into position to escort the convoy the rest
of the way to it's destination.
It was as they turned they saw the Klingon Birds of
Prey recloaking, the wreckage of the convoy spreading across
space. Two torpedo's flashed in towards the Rapier, one
impacting adding to that ships troubles. The other hitting
the shields of the /Falcon/ as the Destroyer tried to put
itself between it's injured sister and the incoming weapons.
Falkenhorst swore as he reviewed the Convoy. 10 of the
18 freighters were totally destroyed with 4 more damaged.
The Feddies had lured his escorts away whilst the klingons
hit the convoy. It was an adaptation of an old Klingon
tactic, and it had worked because he had seen Starfleet and
forgot they incorporated Klingon vessels in their patrols.
He did not look forward to reporting this to Headquarters.
The destruction of the Feddie Cruisers was all well and
good, but the loss of the freighters would be frowned on by
the Top brass. He just had to hope the information regarding
the new mixed group tactics, and the fact the four biggest
and most important freighters had not been so much as
scratched in the engagement.
He slumped back down in his command chair, rubbing the
bridge of his nose.
"Scan those wrecks for surviviors and beam aboard any
you find." The destroyers finished recovering the few
survivors of the convoy, and acclerated to warp again.
The CNS /Bloodhawk/ and her consorts had been sneaking
stealthily along, matching warp speeds with the convoy of
Confederate freighters for some time now.
Captain Falkenhorst was pacing the ship's cramped
bridge, glancing over the sensor operator's shoulder every
now and then. The convoy was just now passing a rather large
nebula. "Sensors, keep a close eye out for enemy vessels. I
want every man ready for action if the feddie scum try to
jump us."
"Aye, sir."
Falk had actually managed to doze off for a moment
when he was jolted awake by the alarm Klaxon. He looked
around, clearing his head in an instant.
"Report!" he snarled.
"Sir! 2 Akira-class cruisers just left the Nebula,
warp factor 3! They're heading for the convoy." Answered the
sensor operator.
"Ready the torpedo tubes and charge the phaser
cannons! Helm, line us up to intercept them!"
The 3 destroyers wheeled around, the cannons sending a
low rumble through the decks as they were primed for firing.
The 2 /Akiras/ streaked in, firing their burst
launchers. The freighters went evasive, throwing clouds of
chaff and accelerating. The torpedoes began detonating
around the ships, tossing them around but failing to score a
fatal hit. The /Akiras/ were almost on the Confederate
vessels when the 3 destroyers dropped their cloaks and
opened fire. The leading Cruiser was raked with powerful
phaser pulses as the Confederate gunners unloaded on the
speeding ship. The 2 vessels broke and split off, turning
in different directions. The /Bloodhawk/ peeled off from the
other 2 destroyers and followed the first ship.
"Stay with him!" Shouted Falkenhorst, gripping the
rail as the ship's inertial compensators tried and failed to
hold them all upright. The /Akira/ twisted and dodged.
All the while the /Bloodhawk's/ weapons officer was
hammering it's aft shields with his Phaser cannons. "Their
aft shields are close to critical!" he shouted.
Falkenhorst punched a button on the arm of his chair.
"Engine room, give me all you've got!" he said.
"Aye, Cap!" came the reply. The vibration changed
beneath Falk's boots and the lights dimmed as the engines
cranked over into a higher output range. The destroyer
surged ahead, gaining on the fleeing starfleet ship. A
photon torpedo flashed past, the helmsman's quick reflexes
saving them all from a swift and fiery death.
"Give em the forward torps!" called Falkenhorst. The
helmsman held the ship steady while the weapons officer
gained a lock. The tone sounded throughout the bridge.
"Torpedoes away!" he said.
"Reverse engines!" ordered Falkenhorst. On the screen,
the ship was bracketed by the fat Confederate torpedoes,
their powerful warheads ripping the Cruiser
apart in a blast of shredded wreckage and billowing plasma.
The Bloodhawk spun around, accelerating back towards
the other firefight. The /Rapier/ was hot on the tail of the
remaining cruiser. Weapons fire flashed back and forth
between the two. The /Bloodhawk/ raced in from astern,
pulling up alongside the /Rapier/ just as a spread of
torpedoes lashed out and slammed into the Destroyer head on.
The shields flickered, held, then collapsed under the
barrage of explosions. The /Bloodhawk/ was buffeted as it's
gunners opened fire, punching through the shields of the
Starfleet ship and raking fire across the upper torpedo
tower of the Cruiser. A tremendous flash erupted as the
Akira's magazines went off, inflicting severe hull damage on
the Starfleet ship. The /Falcon/ came in from the ship's
port quarter, pumping phaser fire into the port nacelle of
the battered, air-streaming wreck. The ship detonated
seconds later, scattering burning debris across space. The
/Rapier/ had gotten it's damage under control, and the 3
ships moved back into position to escort the convoy the rest
of the way to it's destination.
It was as they turned they saw the Klingon Birds of
Prey recloaking, the wreckage of the convoy spreading across
space. Two torpedo's flashed in towards the Rapier, one
impacting adding to that ships troubles. The other hitting
the shields of the /Falcon/ as the Destroyer tried to put
itself between it's injured sister and the incoming weapons.
Falkenhorst swore as he reviewed the Convoy. 10 of the
18 freighters were totally destroyed with 4 more damaged.
The Feddies had lured his escorts away whilst the klingons
hit the convoy. It was an adaptation of an old Klingon
tactic, and it had worked because he had seen Starfleet and
forgot they incorporated Klingon vessels in their patrols.
He did not look forward to reporting this to Headquarters.
The destruction of the Feddie Cruisers was all well and
good, but the loss of the freighters would be frowned on by
the Top brass. He just had to hope the information regarding
the new mixed group tactics, and the fact the four biggest
and most important freighters had not been so much as
scratched in the engagement.
He slumped back down in his command chair, rubbing the
bridge of his nose.
"Scan those wrecks for surviviors and beam aboard any
you find." The destroyers finished recovering the few
survivors of the convoy, and acclerated to warp again.
Falkenhorst
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
BOTM 15.Nov.02
Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm
"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"
-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"
UPF: CARNIVAL OF RETARDS
-
Einhander Sn0m4n
- Insane Railgunner
- Posts: 18630
- Joined: 2002-10-01 05:51am
- Location: Louisiana... or Dagobah. You know, where Yoda lives.
