[Complete Fanfic] MAILED FIST

[Faram]

**Bump**

Now gimme some more

[Falkenhorst]

Chapter 9
Commodore Kazuaki Shimazaki stepped down off of the
ramp of the shuttle and onto the hangar deck of the Light
Carrier CNS Fencer. The ship's officers were lined up at
attention before him, along with the pilots and flightcrew
of the ship's two Starfighter squadrons. A severe looking
Captain in an impeccable navy uniform stepped forward,
raising his right arm in salute.
"Permission to come aboard;" said Commodore Shimazaki,
returning the man's gesture.
"Granted. Welcome aboard, Commodore." Said the
Captain, Extending his hand.
Kazuaki shook it firmly as the man ID'd himself.
"Captain Roger Jackson, pleased to meet you."
"Ahh, Captain Jackson. Weren't you with the fleet in
the Tyra system?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I was there. Weapons
Officer Trainee in the 34th Battlecruiser line."
"I heard about how you wasted that Feddie Cruiser
Squadron. Good shooting."
"Thank you, sir! What unit were you with?" asked
Captain Jackson.
"I was attached to the 895th Attack squadron." Said
Commodore Shimazaki. "That was one hell of a battle."
"I'm glad to know I'll be serving under one of the
guys, sir."
"And I'm glad to have you and your men. How about a
tour of this fine vessel?" asked the Commodore.
"Sure!" said Jackson, motioning for a rating to take
the Commodore's baggage. The two officers made their way
towards the doors, chatting about their experiences in the
war.

2 days later, the Fencer was holding station outside the
badlands, along with 2 other light Carriers. Commodore
Shimazaki strode into the Fencer's ops center, buried
beneath layers of armor and hull compartments somewhere in
the bowels of the ship. Unlike the Federation, the
Confederacy took no chances of exposing it's limited numbers
of experienced officers to direct enemy fire. Too many
times, Starfleet ships had been lost because their exposed
bridges had been taken out by a lucky enemy hit. But when
the Confederates and their Dominion "Occupiers" had begun
designing and building the first destroyers, back in the
first year of the Dominion war, they had eliminated all the
weak points of Federation vessels. These principles had
been carried over into the design and construction of the
larger fleet units, of which the Light Carriers were the
first examples. The larger Cruisers and Dreadnoughts
scheduled for commissioning in a few months were built the
same way.
Kazuaki walked to the sensor section.
"What is the ETA of our Escort?" he asked.
"Another hour, sir. Also, as of 0600, we received
word that we will only be getting 3 Destroyers for
protection. The other was diverted to Arkellia. Seems the
Feds are preparing to move into the Walmor system."
"Our men will kick them right back out again,
Lieutenant. Notify me when the Destroyers arrive."
"Aye, sir."
Captain Jackson came up and stood next to Commodore
Shimazaki.
"I don't like it, sir. We really should have more
escort units, if our mission is what I think it is."
"We'll just have to keep our eyes peeled, and move
fast then. We'll manage." Replied Shimazaki, his voice
quiet and confident.
"Yes, sir."
"About our orders, Captain Jackson. I have summoned
the Captains of the Longbow and Javelin to meet us shortly."
"Very good. In the briefing room?"
"Yes," replied the Commodore, glancing at his wrist
chrono. "In another 10 minutes."

Commodore Shimazaki was seated at the head of the long
table in the Fencer's briefing room. To his right sat
Captain Jackson, to his left was Captain Seymour, of the
Javelin, and opposite him was Captain Rodriguez, of the
Longbow.
"Men, we have our orders from Grand Admiral
Strowbridge."
Shimazaki got up and activated the large 2D screen on
the wall. A map of the Federation and the Confederacy
appeared.
"As you know, the Federation currently has very large
fleet assets deployed in our area. We have largely avoided
combat with these units because they are being repaired and
resupplied after the advance on Cardassia. However, as they
are returned to duty, the enemy presence is becoming
intolerable. Even with our qualitative superiority in terms
of starships, we will not be able to defeat a massed
Federation advance into our territory." While he explained
this, Commodore Shimazaki used a pointer stick to illustrate
his points on the map.
"This is where we come in. Something must be done to
draw ships away from our borders. Starfleet has taken
massive losses in this war, and it will take their shipyards
a long time to make those losses good. Their fleet is
stretched very thin in their home territory. Our orders are
to penetrate Federation space using our cloaking devices,
and destroy as many starbases, fuel depots, and other
significant targets as we can. A contingent of Death Corps
commandoes is en route aboard the destroyer escort. They
will be inserted onto Federation planets, where they will
create unrest and incidents requiring the attention of
Starfleet." Explained Commodore Shimazaki.
" We will also tie up numerous Federation starships as
they try to hunt us down;" ventured Captain Sanchez.
"Exactly;" replied Commodore Shimazaki. "The idea is
to draw enough Fed ships off of our borders that our fleet
has a chance of holding Starfleet at bay. If we can survive
long enough to get our big Cruisers out of the yards and
into action, we'll be able to hold our own for sure."
"A few dozen destroyers and modified freighters isn't
a lot compared to the Feds;" said Captain Jackson, "But our
guys have the spirit. The will to win. If we can give 'em
a chance, they can pull it off."
"We leave as soon as our escort arrives, gentlemen. I
wish you all the best of luck and good hunting." Said
Kazuaki, ending the briefing. The Captains beamed back to
their respective ships. A short time later, the 3 escorting
destroyers arrived, and the small armada set a course, one
that would take them to the heart of Federation Space.

[Kuja]

KILL THE FEDDIES! *evil laugh*

[D.Turtle]

Yay!

The destruction of the Federation draws near...

[Falkenhorst]

<bows> thank you, thank you.

[Ted]

So when do I appear in it?

[Falkenhorst]

Patientce, young recruit. First you must bring me the heads of 50 Feddies.

[Sea Skimmer]

KILL THEM, KILL THEM ALL

[Ted]

Patientce, young recruit. First you must bring me the heads of 50 Feddies.

Here's one!

*hands head of a feddie to Falkenhorst*

[Falkenhorst]

Ok, foolz. Since the GSDA is coming up soon, here are the last 5 chapters of MAILED FIST. I urge you all to nominate it for GSDA, and help me hammer my name into the hall of fanfic-fame as one of the few authors of a completed fanfic, EHHEHHEHHEH

Chapter 10
The Starfleet armada burned through space at high
warp, lancing closer to the Walmor system with each passing
hour. Flying in the center of the formation were 8 bulky
transports, loaded with 8,000 troops each. Their objective
was Walmor II. By occupying this strategically placed
border world, Starfleet hoped to cut off the Confederates'
outside help from the Romulans.
Ensign Frank Roberts got out of his bunk when the
intercom sounded, calling all the soldiers to the armories
and transporter rooms, where they would receive their
weapons and be deployed for combat. He jogged down the
corridor, reaching the armory. He was issued a Phaser rifle
and 2 bandoliers of powerpacks. He also carried a Type 2
hand phaser and a tricorder. Along with the rest of the men
in his squad and platoon, he made his way to the big
transporter room they had been assigned. The men unslung
their weapons and held them ready as they were beamed down
to the planet. They would be landing just 3 kilometers
outside the largest city, which contained all the spaceports
that mattered planetside. In a swirl of energy, Ensign
Roberts was sent down, the next group of troops stepping up
to the pad.

Captain Falkenhorst watched the viewscreen from his
command chair, enjoying the view. The Bloodhawk and the
Falcon were laying cloaked directly aft and below the
Federation taskforce.
"Shouldn't we paste those transports, Cap?" asked one
of his officers.
"We could, with their shields down, but that would
spoil the party. The Army and Death Corps boys want all the
Feddie soldiers on the ground so their men can get some
target practice."
"Ok, sir. They've beamed down 40 percent of their
troops now, mostly concentrated around the capital city and
the outlying settlements."
Any freighter that could had already fled, and many of
the criminals and pirate types on the planet had holed up to
defend themselves against the Feds.
"Tactical, plot a firing pass on that Galaxy there;"
said Falkenhorst. "I want to hit him with all the torpedoes
we can on his aft, and then swing around and blow off a
nacelle or something."
"Attack vector plotted, cap." Said the weapons
officer.
"Stand by." Ordered Falkenhorst. About 15 minutes
later, the Feds had finished beaming down their ground
troops. Falkenhorst smiled. Now the real fun would begin.
"Comms, signal 2nd and 3rd squadrons to commence
attack. Tactical, commence operations if you please."

The Federation ships were still in formation around
the transports when the 6 Confederate Destroyers dropped
their cloaks, already accelerating. The Bloodhawk and
Falcon came roaring directly up the aft of one of the 2
Galaxy class ships in the Formation. Torpedo after torpedo
flashed from their launchers, the first 4 slamming into the
unprotected aft section of the ship before it's crew got
their shields up. The 2 destroyers raced low over the
ship's saucer section, raking phaser fire along the ship's
shields as shocked Starfleet crewmen gaped out of the
viewports at the 2 confederate ships racing past within
spitting distance.
The Bloodhawk banked sharply to avoid a burst of fire
from an Excelsior, the helmsman lining up on one of the fat
Starfleet transports. The phaser cannons began hammering,
spitting burst after burst of energy into the big vessel's
shields.
The 2 other groups of Destroyers had attacked from
above and to port and starboard of the formation. They were
now twisting and firing, moving fast as they shot their way
through the Starfleet line and raked the transports,
concentrating on their engines. Unseen in the heat of
battle, a small ship painted with white death's head
insignias slipped closer and closer to the battle, invisible
behind it's cloak. Once it entered range, it waited.

The Bloodhawk spun around in a wide loop, the helmsman
heading back toward the Galaxy class ship they had hit
earlier. The aft end of the vessel was blackened with
damage, and one of it's nacelles was holed in several
places.
"Signal the Falcon! We're gonna take down that
Battlecruiser!" ordered Falkenhorst.
The Bloodhawk raced in, firing torpedoes in twos from
it's forward launchers. They dashed in, hammering down the
Galaxy class ship's shields. The Starfleet vessel fired
back, striking the Bloodhawk's shields hard. The ship
rocked but stayed on course. From the ship's starboard
side, opposite the Bloodhawk, the Falcon attacked, riddling
the "Neck" of the ship with phaser shots. The Galaxy class
brewed up as the 2 destroyers raced past within meters of
one another on opposing vectors, their crack helmsmen
dodging at the last second.
Behind the 2 ships, the big Battlecruiser was split
with explosions, the saucer and part of the ship's neck
spinning off one way while the engineering hull went
another. Suddenly a series of explosions ripped open the
ship's torpedo magazines, the blasts reaching the antimatter
stores and blowing the damaged drive section apart, taking
the saucer with it in a brilliant flash.
Another Confederate destroyer was not as lucky, caught
in a crossfire from several Starfleet vessels. It took hit
after hit, the solid construction holding up even after it's
shields were gone. The ship's helmsman's evasive maneuvers
came to naught as another burst of phaser fire tore the
vessel apart.
The twisted, flaming wreckage of the destroyer slammed
into a nearby Excelsior, wrecking it's warp nacelles.
A light flashed on Falkenhorst's display. He nodded.
For all their cloak and dagger BS, these Death Corps guys
were always on time. A series of coordinates and vectors
scrolled across his screen.
"Helm, bring us about to the following heading; I'm
transferring it to your station now. Comms, signal the
fleet to follow."

The 5 remaining Destroyers finished their attack runs
and acclerated away, heading for seemingly open space. The
Starfleet ships that could follow fell into formation and
gave chase. The Confederate ships raced towards the
coordinates delivered to them by the Death Corps, whose ship
was sitting cloaked out here, somewhere.
The Death Corps captain sat in a bucket seat on the
bridge of the small courier that had been hastily modified
by the Confederate shipyards. Only his helmsman and
weapons/comms man were there with him. Another crewman was
below, watching over the jury-rigged equipment in the hold.
A small box with a toggle switch had been welded to one arm
of his chair, with several wires coming from it, bound by
duct tape and snaking down the access hatch near the back of
the small compartment.
He watched the small tactical screen as the federation
ships came into position, occupying the select coordinates.
They would be relatively safe if they stayed there, but he
was just waiting to see if they could stop in time. He
reached over and flicked the switch.

The Intrepid class ship leading the chase suddenly
rocked and heeled over, bracketed by explosions, shields
failing. The Starfleet commander didn't realize what was
happening until something exploded on the forward shields of
his own Ambassador class starship.
"MINES! Full stop!" he ordered. The 10 or so ships
that were left came to a stop, their sensors frantically
working to detect the deadly bombs. They wouldn't, though.
The most important freighters in the convoy that Falkenhorst
had escorted to this planet had been loaded to the bulkheads
with thousands of cloaked, self-replicating mines. These
were now deployed in a huge globe formation, inside which
the Federation fleet was trapped.
The mines were inactive until the signal had come from
the hidden Death Corps ship, sending them to active status.

Falkenhorst watched the data scrolling across his
screen, transmitted from the Death Corps vessel that was
still lurking out there.
"Now we've got em where we want em, he muttered,
turning to the weapons console.
"Fire torpedoes, full spread." Then, keying his
comms;
"All ships, break by squadrons and disperse. My
tactical officer will set up a firing pattern. We will
cloak, move and fire until these pukes are all destroyed.
Keep your eyes peeled for ridgeheads."

The next few hours found the federation ground troops
getting more and more uneasy at the loss of communications
with their orbital support and the ongoing flashes and
explosions faintly visible in the sky.



Chapter 11

Admiral Kazuaki Shimazaki watched his tactical holoplot as
the green blips representing his fighter squadrons raced in
towards the Federation refueling station. Voices crackled
over the comm. frequencies, filling the bridge of the Fencer
with chatter. On the screen, enemy targets began flickering
and winking out, the blinking dots of confederate missiles
intersecting their holomarkers.

"This is Green Lead, all squadrons have engaged the enemy.
We're making quick work of them!"

Shimazaki smiled as points of light bloomed in the distance,
the antimatter stores and repair facilities of the
federation outposts consumed by the powerful warheads of the
Confederate Space Rockets and Kinetic bombs.

A young rating at the sensor station spoke up.
"Admiral, long range sensors show a Federation starship
approaching this position at Warp factor 6!"

"What's their ETA?" asked the Admiral.

"20 minutes, sir!"

"Very well;" said Shimazaki. "CAG, tell your men to finish
up as quickly as they can. Signal the fleet; tell them we
will move in closer to pick up the fighters. It's time to
leave."

10 minutes later, the Fighters were back aboard the
carriers, and the ships were accelerating away, leaving the
wreckage of the federation fueling station behind them. In
another minute, they vanished to Warp speed, leaving the
Federation ship to look for survivors.

Jassilar Voren Dranak crept silently through the night,
clutching his curved Serril blade in his left hand. He
peered over the crest of a low hill, raising the compact IR
scope to his eye. He spotted a Starfleeter, the man sitting
on the ground, phaser rifle propped against a nearby rock,
rubbing his hands together against the cold. A predatory
grin crossed Voren's rugged face as he crept stealthily
along the rise, moving behind the unsuspecting feddie. He
lurked closer and closer, until he could hear the man's
breath. With a silent lunge, Voren's left arm wound around
the man's head, jerking his neck into an exposed arch as the
fleetie tried to struggle against the iron grip of his
assailant. Voren's blade flashed briefly in the night as he
brought it in for the kill, blade facing out, stabbing into
the side of his enemy's neck. With a smooth jerk, the cold
steel slid out through the flesh and trachea and jugular,
the twitching body slumping forward, dark blood steaming in
the cool night air.

Voren whispered the invocation of Reavoll, the Skreean angel
of Death. Wiping the Serril on the dead man's trousers, he
moved on, crawling through the dark.

In another hour, he met with the other members of his unit
at their rendezvous point. He squatted with the other 7
Jessilars as the Kassilar, or Sergeant appeared out of the
gloom.
"What have you to report, brothers?" he asked them.

"I have seen many of the enemy asleep within their camp to
the north, Kassilar." Said one man. He ran down the
important details of what he had seen. The others made their
reports, and then it was Voren's turn.

"I killed one of their sentries, Kassilar," he said.

"It cannot be helped. The first blood is ours." Said the
Kassilar. "Let us leave this place and make our report.
Tomorrow the full weight of our forces shall fall upon
them."
***


Ensign Roberts rubbed his hands together, squinting to the
east as the sun rose over the horizon. The nights on Walmor
2 were damned cold. A Lieutenant near him was looking out
into the countryside surrounding their position, trying to
see through the fog that hung low to the ground. As the fog
evaporated, he began pointing and squinting.

"What are those lumps in the distance? They weren't there
yesterday." he said. Someone cursed, wishing for
binoculars, no doubt. Another officer pointed his tricorder
towards the undefined group of objects, which must have been
at least 4 or 5 kilometers away down a gradual slope.

"Go and get Commander Richards," said the Lieutenant,
pointing to Ens. Roberts, who saluted and walked towards the
Commander's Tent.


Lieutenant Rob Dalton peered through his field glasses,
scanning the low ridge where the enemy was encamped. His
black-gloved fingers drummed on the turret of his Subjugator
Battle Tank as he scoped out the enemy line. The other 9
tanks of his Company were hidden among the trees and
boulders, with Hessian netting and foliage positioned to
disguise them. The company's Grenadiers were hidden nearby
in a gully, cooling their heels and checking their weapons
as they prepared to assault the enemy position. A voice
crackled in Dalton's Headset.

"Anaconda Company, this is Cobra, authorization 4017-tango.
Attack commences in 5 minutes. Our artillery will lay down
suppression fire while you advance. Good luck."

"Roger that, Cobra." Said Dalton, keying over to the
Company frequency. "Ok, Men. We move out in 5 minutes. Our
artillery is going to hammer their feddie asses as we move
in, but keep on the lookout. The other companies will be
moving from the other side of the ridge, so watch for
friendly fire, got it? Saddle up!"


Much closer to the Starfleet position, where the Feds were
milling around excitedly after finding Ensign Joslin's stiff
carcass, it's throat cut, Voren Dranak hunkered down in his
well-camoflaged foxhole. His Serril was sheathed at his
belt, ready for use, and he had a Skreean 10 Millimeter
assault rifle with him. He clutched the comlink in his hand,
ready and waiting to report the results of the artillery
strike.

Soon enough, it started. First, he heard the ghostly,
freight-train moan as the heavy shells passed overhead, and
then he was slammed into the damp earth as the first round
impacted. By the Gods, those shells sound like the horn of
Readak, he thought. Readak was the Skreean herald of
judgment. The scripture said that he sat at the right hand
of Reavoll at the gates of Halnoth, the Skreean afterlife.
Every year on the winter solstice, he would sound his horn
to call forth the souls of the newly dead to have their
souls weighed on the scale of life and death.

The roaring bombardment picked up it's tempo, the echoing
thunder of the heavy cannons rolling across the terrain.
The shells cruised in leisurely, sending dirt and debris
fountaining into the air where they hit. Voren called out
adjustments over the comlink as the attack laid waste to the
Federation positions on the ridge.

Lt. Dalton's tank bounced over a few rocks, crushing scrub
brush beneath it's tracks as the driver gunned the vehicle
out of the treeline. The artillery was whining overhead,
and Dalton could see the enemy positions wreathed in fire
through his turret periscope. Anaconda company fell into
line, the tanks rolling forward in wedge formation. Once
they got close enough, their gunners began firing at exposed
Starfleeters with their main cannon and co-axial machine
guns. Within minutes, the company's infantry rushed forward,
and the battle was joined.

Dalton led his Tanks over the ridge, cannons and machine
guns blazing. The Starfleet 'soldiers' who had survived the
bombardment ran in panic, getting off a few phaser shots
that barely scratched the tanks' thick armor. The
grenadiers rushed over the ridge, blasting any starfleeters
they saw with their assault rifles and machine guns. The
pitiful remnants of that particular group of feds ended up
surrendering when they saw the other formations of
Confederate tanks approaching from their rear.

Lt. Dalton stood on the turret of his Subjugator, watching
as files of ragged, wounded prisoners were marched past. He
shouted down to the Sergeant in charge of the guard detail.

"Keep those pukes as healthy as you can. Our diplomats can
probably use them as leverage to assrape the Federation at
the bargaining table, heh heh heh."


Chapter 12

William Riker awoke to a stabbing pain, his world flashing
black and white, bursts of searing light alternating with
placid blackness. He mumbled and turned his head. Pain
shot up his neck. Opening his eyes, he saw 2 of himself
standing in front of him.

That can't be right. There's only 2 of me. he thought,
blinking. His 2 doubles slowly moved together and merged,
until he was looking up at Thomas Riker. His transporter
double was leaning against the doorframe of the small room,
twirling a mean-looking pistol in his gloved hand. He
glared at Will, who was tied to a chair against the back
wall.

"Nice to see you had a good nap." He said, smiling in that
sarcastic, predatory way.

"No thanks to your goons;" muttered Riker.

"I suppose you can't fault my men for their lack of
subtlety. In the Death Corps, we admire that trait, among
others. We want our men to have the ability and willingness
to strike hard when necessary. That's something which we've
found Starfleet lacking of late."

"So now you've got me." Said Riker. "What are you going to
do, use me as a bargaining chip? Use me to get at Captain
Picard?" he asked.

The Death Corps man walked over, twirling the pistol
blindingly fast, flipping it from hand to hand in a blur of
motion that Riker's aching eyes couldn't follow.

"You see, every race of sentient beings has their range of
possible capabilities and achievements. You feds are at the
low end. We Death Corps soldiers, on the other hand, are
superior. We are psychologically hardened, at our physical
and mental peak, and we have armed ourselves with the
weapons to carry out our goals. You starfleeters melt away
like butter under a hot knife when we attack. Your
Federation does nothing but repress the potential of
Trillions of beings."

Riker just looked at his double.

"But we need to be efficient in these tough times. Maybe in
a decade or 2, we'll be able to overwhelm the Federation by
Main Force, but until then, we've got to use stealth and
guile as our weapons. That's where you come in."

Tom Riker pressed a button on a wall panel. A minute later,
2 technicians in Death Corps black came in, pushing carts
loaded with equipment.

"Now I'll thank you to co-operate with my men here. They've
got a job to do, and the less you resist, the easier it is
for all of us. I'll see you soon, Will." Said Tom,
holstering his pistol with a smooth motion and leaving the
room. Riker looked up with mounting fear as one of the
technicians came towards him with a steel skullcap. He
fought and resisted, but fell limp when one of the techs
injected him with tranquilizer.

The two men plugged in the wires and leads, making sure all
was in order. They turned on the machines, which began to
hum and flash, filling Will Riker's head with carefully
calibrated impulses that would have some very interesting
results in a few days.


Commodore Shimazaki watched as the starlines on the view
screen changed into points of light again. His force was
cloaked, and presently sitting in the middle of empty
interstellar space. Only one of the destroyers was present,
the other having parted ways as a part of this little
detour. Shimazaki was waiting now for it to return.

He didn't need to wait long. The CNS Fencer dropped out of
warp drive. It assumed formation with the Carriers, and
minutes later, Shimazaki was watching the stars streak past
again.

An hour later, he was sitting in his office talking to the
passenger who had joined his fleet via the Fencer. Kelam
Rodama sat on the lounge near the wall screen, sipping a
glass of ice water. The Bajoran man was in his 50s, and
sported a fairly plain traditional earring. He wore a gray-
green uniform, with a red circular patch on the left
shoulder. It showed a crossed sword and lightning bolt.
General Rodama had been a moderately well-known resistance
leader during the occupation of Bajor, when he had founded
the Bajoran Independence Army. Originally a scattered
alliance of resistance cells, he had spent years building up
membership and organizing units. Now, after the Dominion
war, the movement counted over 50,000 members.

"Thank you for taking the risk for my movement, Commodore
Shimazaki;" said Rodama.

Kazuaki nodded.
"It's still worth it, even if the admiralty didn't tell me I
was carrying thousands of small-arms in my cargo bays. But
tell me, General; what deal did you strike with the
Chancellor?"

"It was a little iffy at first. Your Death Corps has
entirely too much operational freedom. Their damnable
scheming nearly trashed the negotiations at first, but we
finally got it figured out. The Chancellor agreed to supply
my forces with weaponry and training and I agreed that my
Government will join the Confederacy once we take over."

"A good plan. That will ease our situation greatly.
Obviously, we're heading for Bajor now, but there's rumors
that a fleet's being assembled. I'm expecting operational
orders in the next few days." Said Shimazaki.

"I'm interested in the Skreeans. They wanted to settle on
Bajor a few years ago. I understand they've joined the
Confederacy?"

"Yeah." Said Shimazaki. "The Dominion conquered another
group of aliens that was using them as slaves, back before
the Dominion War. The Dominion allowed the slaves to leave,
and about 3 Million of them came through the wormhole, as
you know. After they left Bajor, the Federation settled
them on Zytor 2, in the Mavis Sector. They renamed the
planet Nerada Skree. I think that means "New Homeland" in
their language. Anyway, the Federation treated them badly.
They slacked on shipping them farming equipment and medical
supplies and things like that. So when the Confederacy rose
against the Federation, they joined right in. Even though
there's only a few Million of em, they're fierce warriors."

"Is that so?" asked Rodama.

"Yeah. They've formed some elite ranger units, and they
make excellent Starfighter pilots. I've got a few aboard my
ships, in fact. They're serving a tour of duty with the
fleet so they can form core cadres for all-Skreean fighter
squadrons in a few months." Explained Shimazaki.

"Excellent." Said Rodama. "Now let me get my maps, and we
can discuss beamdown locations for those stores of weapons."


General Sheppard sat behind his desk, which was located in
his office. His office, in it's turn, was located deep
within the hidden complex buried nearly 2 kilometers beneath
the surface of Concordia. The facility was the nerve center
of the small but growing Death Corps Empire, which was
presently stretching it's arms across the Confederacy. The
complex contained it's own replicator facilities, computer
cores, arsenals, hangars, and other features that made it
the ultimate hideaway. It was built to withstand direct
hits from Megaton range weaponry, and it's computers were
shielded from the EM pulses by layers of dampening material.

Sheppard sipped his coffee as he eyed the Cardassian officer
sitting in the chair across from him.

"Well, Legate Valkar. I've got an offer to make you." He
said, cutting straight to the chase. The Cardassian officer
had been brought in only a minute ago.

"Since you're the highest ranking officer in the Obsidian
Order after the demise of Enebran Tain, you're very
important to the Confederacy and the future of Cardassia."

Valkar looked suspiciously at Sheppard. "What makes you
think I'm the senior member of the Order?" he asked.

"Don't play dumb with me, Legate. My men know their
business. Would you like to see the transcripts of our
intercepts? Seems your codename was "Black Talon", wasn't
it?"

Legate Valkar's neck ridges stood out, pulsing a bit.
Sheppard could tell that he was mentally adding another name
to his hit-list. Probably some poor cipher in a sodden
basement somewhere on Cardassia prime.

"Anyway;" continued Sheppard. "I believe it's in both our
best interests, and in the interest of the Cardassian
People, that the Obsidian Order began working more closely
with the Death Corps, wouldn't you agree?" asked Sheppard.

"Ordinarily I would consider this treason, Sheppard, but in
these times, I don't see how I have much of a choice. The
Federation has occupied our space, and our military is
disarmed and demobilized. I suppose the Confederacy is our
only chance of regaining our former status." Said Valkar.

"That's just how I see it;" replied the Death Corps General.
"That's also why I ordered you and the other Obsidian Order
agents to be rescued from Federation custody. I've arranged
a fast transport to take you and your men back into
Cardassian space. Once there, you can begin fomenting
resistance against the Federation. Can you do this?"

"I'm sure we can;" said Valkar. "Most of our old network is
still intact. It should be easy to foment unrest and
distrust against the Federation forces. We merely need to
convince the people that they've traded the Dominion for a
worse master."

"Indeed," mused Sheppard. "You understand guerilla tactics
well. If you can provoke the Federation into harsh
reprisals, you'll win over the people to your cause. My men
will give you contact information. Once you've begun
operations, contact us. I have several cloaked freighters
ready to run weapons and supplies into Cardassian space in
support of your operations."

"Excellent." Said Valkar, standing up. "It's been a
pleasure doing business with you." He said, shaking
Sheppard's hand. As he did, he noticed with some unease
that the Death Corps man's skin was cold as ice.


Chapter 13

Fleet-Captain Falkenhorst watched through the viewports as
his new command ship came into view. The newly rechristened
CNS Hellhound loomed large overhead as the small transport
headed for the aft hangar bays. The Galaxy class vessel had
been rearmed and refitted. The stardock crews had stripped
out all the scientific equipment and holodecks and reworked
the ship's Electroplasma system. Now the power trunks that
had served the recreational systems and science labs were
directly interlinked to power the dorsal and ventral Plasma
Cannons. The ship carried 8 Plasma Driver cannons, 4 dorsal
and 4 ventral. They accelerated plasma to phenomenal speeds
with powerful magnetic fields, which produced highly
destructive energy bolts. The shields and hull armor had
also been beefed up, and numerous boarding shuttles were
carried for ship-to-ship actions.

Falkenhorst's boots clanked on the hangar deck as he made
his way through the chaos, his staff trailing behind. When
they got to the ready room, he sat down at the head of the
long table which had been newly installed. A steward
brought him some grape juice while the rest of his staff and
various officers arrived for the meeting.

When everyone was present, Falkenhorst stood up and crossed
his hands behind him.

"Gentlemen, everything is in place. I have been ordered by
Central Headquarters to commence Operation Hammerstrike as
soon as possible." He stated. There were murmurs around the
table.

"As you all know, Commodore Shimazaki's Taskforce has been
hitting Federation supply dumps and fueling stations over
the last few weeks. The result of these actions is that the
enemy has had to reduce his active patrols along our borders
to conserve fuel. This gives us a window of opportunity."

Falkenhorst began pacing up and down behind the assembled
officers.

"We have amassed sufficient fleet strength to challenge the
enemy in open battle. Our Bajoran allies have 50,000 troops
prepared to stand with us against Starfleet when we attack
the Bajor system. As you all know, the objective of
Operation Hammerstrike is not to defeat Starfleet in detail,
but rather make them commit themselves to defeating us.
I've been assured that the Death Corps is prepared to carry
out phase 2 of the operation." Falkenhorst stopped behind
General Sheppard. The man nodded and stood up.

"While the fleet is engaging the Federation forces, my men
will cross through the wormhole and summon our Dominion
allies. Founder Chordall has informed me that more than a
thousand heavy warships now stand ready on the other side
of the wormhole. We have only to engage the Federation and
it's allies in the Bajor system and they will come to our aid."

"You're sure of this?" asked one of the Fleet officers.

"I'm dispatching my top lieutenant to see that the Dominion
arrives in time. He can be very persuasive if need be."

This seemed to satisfy the navy man.

Falkenhorst stepped back in. "I'd like to open the floor
for discussion; any concerns you all may have, now's the
time to get em out."


Thomas Riker sat at the controls of his modified runabout,
watching the readouts. The other Death Corps man was
running the controls as the cloaked ship led the Death Corps
taskforce into the Bajor system. The 6 'Special Mission'
ships broke from their invisible formation and spread out to
form a pattern stretching for several light minutes and
completely covering the area of space around the wormhole
and Deep Space 9.

The seventh ship, a modified Excelsior class, headed for the
wormhole under cloak. It's mission was perhaps the most
important of all the cloaked ships present.

"Sir, I have a fix on the USS Enterprise. The aft ventral
running light on her port nacelle seems to be blinking out
of pattern."

Riker looked at the flickering light.

"That's no bad bulb, son, it's secret code." He muttered,
keying in some commands. The ship's computer analyzed the
blinking light and began showing a string of numbers across
his display. Then Riker put an isolinear chip into the
reader, trying his decryption program on the numbers. Soon
he had a match.

"Aha, see here. It's Code XT-21, "Black Lotus". The
message began scrolling across the screen.

"ATTN T. RIKER. REPORT FOLLOWS. 40 VOR'CHA KLINGON CRUISERS
PRESENT BAJOR SYSTEM, LED BY 4 NEGH'VAR KLINGON CRUISERS.
ALL VESSELS CLOAKED. END."

"Damn!" muttered the one eyed Death Corps officer. "Joe,
I'm taking us out of the system. I want you to transmit
that message to General Sheppard marked top priority. He
said as he swung the ship around. The other ships stayed
put, knowing their orders.

Now it was a race of time to see who got where first: The
message, or the Confederate fleet, which was even now
bearing down on Bajor at high warp.


Chapter 14

Captain Picard looked over at Data.

"Just what is going on here?" he asked.

"Unknown, captain. We detected a subspace distortion just
moments before the wormhole opened. Analyzing sensor logs."

"Lt. Decker, ETA of the Confederate taskforce?"

"10 Minutes and closing, sir! They're angling for Deep
Space 9!"

"Deploy Cruiser wings 2 and 6 to reinforce the station.
We'll beat them at their own game. We can wear them down
against the station's defenses. Have the Klingons stand
by."

Commander Riker reached over to his console and tapped in a
few commands, terminating the blink-code he had programmed
into the running light. By this late stage in the game, he
knew that either his twin had seen the message or was not
there. Either way, he couldn't blow his own cover. He
noticed Counsellor Troi looking at him, a bit concerned.
The crew was overjoyed at his return in a prisoner exchange
with the Confederacy, but there was little time to welcome
him back as the battle was fast approaching.

Fleet Captain Falkenhorst watched the glowing dots on his
holoplot close range. He had the Hellhound's command
squadron, 2 destroyers plus the flagship, and 5 Destroyer
squadrons of 5 destroyers each. His 2 Cruiser squadrons
hung back, and even mix of missile and Plasma armed ships.
He had 2 Light Carriers with his fleet, each loaded with
elite Confederate Guard squadrons from Concordia. Commodore
Shimazaki was waiting under cloak in the inner system, ready
to hurl his battle-hardened pilots into combat once more.

"Signal the Missile Cruisers to maneuver for a firing
solution on DS9 and instruct Commodore Beyer to prep 2
squadrons of fighters with heavy KE missiles. I want that
station gone. Destroyer squadrons 3 and 5, prepare to
attack the station." Ordered Falkenhorst.

The Starfleet line was maneuvering to reinforce DS9, 30
ships adjusting their formation to bring them into position
to support the station. The missiles flashed out in trails
of fire as Falkenhorst's Cruisers vented their tubes and
launched a full spread. The missiles streaked in at high
sublight speeds. The station's phaser banks started firing
wildly along the incoming vectors, actually detonating a few
missiles short of the target. The rest raced on, slamming
into the station's shields in a series of violent
explosions, severely depleting them.

Following the missiles came the concentrated might of two
squadrons of the Confederate Guards, crack veteran pilots
specially chosen for this assignment. They locked and
loaded their weapons, said their last prayers, and focused
on their target which was rapidly approaching.

Commander Andrew Thorpe looked to his right and left, the
other fighters of the 1st Confederate Guard Starfighter
Squadron spread out alongside in an arrow formation.

He keyed his comlink. "1st Guards Squadron reporting!
Missile strike successful! We're going in!" Thorpe
advanced his throttle, the Starhawk shuddering with power as
his engines kicked into afterburn. Deep Space Nine loomed
larger and larger as Thorpe armed his twin XG-9 Heavy
Kinetic Bombs and centered the targeting reticle on the base
of one of the station's huge docking pylons. He zigzagged
his ship from side to side to keep the station's phaser
crews from getting a lock on him.

"Fox 1 Away! Fox 2 Away!" he called, pressing the release
button twice. He hauled back on the yoke, kicking the right
rudder pedal, sending the fighter into a hard starboard
climb.

"Guards lead, this is CNS Ranger flight control; we show
bogeys vectoring to engage you."

"Roger that. Look sharp, boys. The feddies are sending in
fighters!"

"I see them! Coming in at 2 o'clock high!" said one of his
pilots.

The Confederate squadrons turned to face their adversaries,
and soon space became a swirling melee of twisting and
diving starfighters. The Confederate pilots fought like men
possessed, for they knew that the survival of their nation
rode on their actions. They scored heavily against the
enemy fighters, but the Federation starships were closing
range too fast.

The line of Confederate Destroyers flashed past, heading for
the station at flank speed, slamming it with repeated bursts
of phaser fire and torpedoes. The station fired back,
inflicting damage on it's attackers, but they were too fast.
First one weapon pylon exploded, it's magazines cooking off
in a series of heavy explosions. Then the Starfleet line
was upon them, and the melee grew hotter.

Falkenhorst was watching the battle unfold on his tactical
plot.

"Sir, the Federation fleet is committed around the station.
The destroyers have taken down the station's shields and
inflicted damage." Said a sensor officer.

"Have the Cruisers finish it off. Signal the fleet to move
to engage the main body of the Federation line. Instruct
the Missile ships to commence firing in support the left
flank once they have destroyed the station. Deploy the
other Cruiser squadron evenly among the destroyers. We
shall stand by to cover the Right wing. Have 3rd and 5th
Destroyer squadrons fall back to our position."

The 2nd Cruiser Squadron accelerated to join the Confederate
Destroyers on the line, which were barely holding back a
renewed Federation assault. The gunners aboard the big
ships began targeting Starfleet vessels with their huge
Kinetic Plasma batteries. Once they got into range, the
Starfleeters wouldn't have a chance.

Commander Thorpe zigged and zagged, watching the Federation
ship on his aft screen that was trying to stay with him. He
keyed his comm., contacting his wingman.

"Frankie, I'm gonna slow down and bank to port. You loop
around and finish him off."

"Roger, Commander." Replied Frankie.

Thorpe pulled his throttle back, stomping the rudder pedal
to heel the ship over to port. A few phaser blasts lanced
close past his cockpit, but scored no hits. A sudden flash
from behind him told Commodore Thorpe that Frankie had done
in the enemy fighter. His wingman pulled alongside,
waggling his wings.

"Good shooting, Frankie!" commented Thorpe as he and the
other pilot raced low over the station, which was listing
heavily, sections breaking away in boiling clouds of fire as
it was slammed from all sides by fire from the confederate
Destroyers.

"We've got 3 more Peregrines coming in at 6 O'Clock!"
radioed Frankie.

"Go to afterburn and follow me!!" shouted Colonel Thorpe, as
his fighter rocketed ahead.

"Fuck, sir!! Heavy missiles incoming!! They must be from the
cruisers!" yelled Frankie.

"Stay with me!!" shouted Thorpe as he began jinking and
weaving to avoid the huge warheads as they screamed past.
The 3 Federation fighters couldn't take the heat, especially
when one of them slammed into one of the massive bombardment
missiles, the explosion shredding his fighter instantly.
The other 2 broke off and looked for easier prey.

Thorpe and Frankie yelled in exhultation as they raced clear
of the swarm of missiles and blasted away on full afterburn
as the warheads ripped Deep Space 9 apart in a massive orgy
of explosions.

Chancellor Martok was commanding the Klingon fleet element
personally aboard the IKS Negh'Var. He watched his tactical
plot as his 40 Vor'Cha Attack Cruisers split into groups of
10, each led by another Negh'Var. These in turn were
screened by a host of smaller K'vort class Cruisers and
squadrons of B'Rel class Birds of Prey.

The tactical plot blinked and updated, DS9 flashing and
holding blood-red, and then turning grey and vanishing.

A signal flashed on Martok's console.

"Helmsman! Accelerate to flank speed! We shall carry the
attack!"

The armored hull plating vibrated beneath Martok's boots, as
many decks below him the ship's huge engines began screaming
under full military power. The monstrous battleship
shuddered and leapt forward, it's crew thirsty for the blood
of the enemy. Behind it, spread in echelon formations, the
other squadrons followed. They raced in like a hammerblow,
aiming to deliver their assault point blank into the rear of
the Confederate Fleet.

General Mark Sheppard gripped the rail on the auxiliary
bridge of the Superdreadnought C.N.S. Decimator as the ship
shimmied and shook it's way past Warp Factor 9.7. A grubby
engineer called out from a console behind him.

"Gen'l! She won't take much more of this! We didn't get to
calibrate the subspace generators before ya took us out of
the Yards!"

"I don't care what happened, just get us to the Bajor system
at your best speed." Said Sheppard as another jolt rang
through the warship's duralloy skeleton. Trailing the
Decimator to port and Starboard were it's sister ships,
Incinerator and Violator.

Sheppard's intel section had brought back some vital info,
info which couldn't wait for official channels. The
Klingons had lent a much larger fleet to the Defense of
Bajor than the Central Command had allowed for. So large
that it placed the outcome of the Plan in jeopardy.

Some minutes later, the 3 giant warships approached the
Bajor system, where their comrades in arms were barely
holding up against the assault of the Federation fleet. The
3 ships weren't even cloaked, hell, they hadn't even had
their cloaking devices installed yet.

"All weapons stand by for action. Signals, tell the fleet
to drop out of warp behind the Confederate ships and orient
to protect them from behind."

"Got it, sir!"

Deep inside the ship, engineers worked frantically to clear
missile launchers for action and connect power grids to the
huge Plasma Batteries. Only a handful of trained gunners
had been available in the yards. They were spread among the
3 ships along with hundreds of laborers and technicians to
whom they had given rudimentary training on the mad dash to
the Bajor system. Luckily the main fire directors had been
installed and were operational, so the weapons could
actually be fired by the one trained crew in central
gunnery. But if that was to go out, the ship's fighting
ability would be badly impaired.

The Klingon fleet raced in, heading straight for the rear of
the Confederate fleet. Just as they began dropping their
cloaks, they got the shock of their lives. Sheppard's 3
Dreadnoughts dropped out of warp squarely in front of them.

Sheppard nearly shit his pants as he saw the looming shape
of the IKS Negh'Var heading straight for him on the
viewscreen.

"Helm, evasive action!! Gunnery! I want an alpha strike on
that Negh'Var NOW!"

The Dreadnought maneuvered to the side, bringing it's port
batteries to bear. In a sudden brilliant flash, they lashed
out, and the huge Klingon ship ran into a fiery wall of
plasma. The giant vessel actually staggered in space before
it's own gunners returned fire, and the battle began in
earnest.

Falkenhorst whirled as the sensor officer called out that
new ships had entered the area, and looked in fascination as
his holoboard updated. The 3 Dreadnoughts, Decimator,
Incinerator, and Violator appeared on the screen, their IFFs
blinking green. Instants later, the Screen updated again,
showing no less than 40 Klingon vessels dropping cloak and
racing for his rear.

"FUCK!" Cursed Falkenhorst. "Signals, the Command Squadron
will support the Dreadnought Taskforce. Order the Missile
cruisers to maneuver to split their fire in support of both
flanks."

The Hellhound and it's sister ships turned and raced toward
the Dreadnoughts, charging their weapons for action. The 3
Monstrous warships had each engaged a Negh'Var and it's
supporting elements and were starting to take a beating.
One of the huge ships had taken a devastating hit to it's
forward module, and it's wrecked heavy disruptor cannons
were trailing incandescent wreckage and plasma as it
continued to fire on it's opponent. The Decimator was
hammering back and forth with the Negh'Var, the 2 ships
trading heavy fire like 2 sailors in a tavern trying to
drink each other under the table.

"Order the Carriers to launch their remaining fighters to
support us!" Said Falkenhorst as the Command squadron opened
fire on the 1 Negh'Var and 10 Vor'Chas before it. The ship
shook with a heavy hit as the huge Klingon warship fired
it's monstrous forward disruptors. Falkenhorst held onto
his chair. There was no more time for anything now but
fighting and dying.

LT.Hit-Man sat in the leather command chair of the DCNS
Invictus, looking to his bridge crew like a deadly predator
resting after a bloody meal. On the forward viewscreen, the
wormhole effect faded away and a huge array of Dominion
warships appeared. Hit-Man hid his dark pleasure as he saw
the vast array of combat power spread out before him. No
less than ten of the titanic 5 kilometer Dreadnoughts sat in
deadly splendor among a host of still huge Battleships and
Battlecruisers. Swarms of scorpion-like attack ships buzzed
around the massive formation, each and every one of them
packed with vicious, bloodthirsty Jem'Hadar, who couldn't
wait for the payback against the Federation which they knew
was to come.

"Comms, open a channel to the Dominion flagship." Snarled
Hit-Man.

"Channel open, sir!" replied a young officer as the claylike
face of a Founder appeared on the screen.

"Founder Chordall, we meet again.." said Hit-Man.

"Hello, Hit-Man. What is the status of your fleet in Bajor
space?" he asked.

"Fleet Captain Falkenhorst has engaged the Federation ships
as per our plan. However, there are 40 Klingon vessels
present, led by 4 Negh'Vars. When I came through the
wormhole, they had not yet committed themselves to the
battle." Stated Hit-Man.

"Very well;" said the Founder. The Klingons had lost a
great many ships in the last stage of the Dominion war, a
war which they were about to find out was not yet over.
There was still one final bloody act of revenge to be played
out, and 43 Klingon ships destroyed by the Dominion was 43
that the Confederacy wouldn't have to face.

The founder turned to a subordinate and spoke an order.

"Take the Fleet through the Wormhole."


One minute Captain Picard was watching his fleet press the
Confederates back against the oncoming Klingons, and the
next moment, everything went to hell in a handbasket. Data
called to him. "Sir! The wormhole is opening!"

"On screen," said Picard, a sinking feeling tugging at his
guts.

On the viewscreen, the Wormhole spun open and from it poured
the demons of hell. Hundreds upon hundreds of Dominion
attack ships raced out, followed by hordes of massive
Battlecruisers and Battleships. Several shocked gasps were
heard around the bridge, and then the Dreadnoughts started
coming through. One after another of the far-oversized
battleships made transit until there were no less than ten
of them fanning out into Bajor space.

"Oh we are so screwed." muttered an ensign somewhere behind
Picard.

"Merde.." whispered Picard as the Dominion fleet suddenly
oriented itself and vanished into warp drive for an instant.
Suddenly they reappeared in blocking positions surrounding
the Federation and Klingon ships. Even as Picard watched,
the huge Dreadnoughts began pouring torrents of fire into
the Starfleet ranks, relieving the hard-pressed
Confederates.

"Helm, take us in there. We have to do what we can!" said
Captain Picard.

"My God, that would be suicide!" Riker pointed out.

"If we don't, all those ships. their crews! They'll be
lost!" exclaimed Picard. "Calculate a warp jump to get us
in there!"

At that very moment, the crews of the 6 cloaked Death Corps
ships activated their powerful Subspace jammers. One of the
ships had been with Falkenhorst when he rescued the
Cardassian officers, and the others had been outfitted since
then, for just this occasion. They had to drop their cloaks
to activate their jammers, but the Dominion had been
briefed. No sooner than they appeared on sensors, Dominion
ships swarmed to protect them.

"Sir!" interrupted Data. "A powerful subspace jamming field
has just appeared all over this part of the system. Going
to warp would wreck our engines and possibly breach the
Core!"

"They've got us then." Said Picard, sagging back into his
chair. "By God they've got us.." he murmered, staring at
the screen in shock.

"Captain, we've got to get out of here, warn Starfleet!"
said Riker.

Picard paused for a moment, then seemed to get ahold of
himself.

"Do it then."

Data's hands flew over his console, and the big Sovereign
class ship turned and leapt away from the battle under full
impulse power, heading for the edge of the subspace jamming
field.

General Sheppard picked himself off of the deck as something
belowdecks exploded with a sickening thud.

"Sir, fire control's been damaged! Our weapons are on
independent control now!" reported the chief gunner.

The big ship rocked again as the Negh'Var fired it's
remaining heavy Disruptor Cannon into it's weakened shields.
Suddenly, a familiar voice came over the comms.

"Hey General Sheppard!! Hit-Man here, and I brought our
friends to the party!" said the deranged cyborg from the
bridge of the Invictus. The modified Excelsior class ship
raced past the embattled Decimator and cut loose on the
Negh'Var with all it's weapons, ripping the forward command
section apart in a raging fireball. The 3 Confederate
Dreadnoughts fell back to deal with their heavy battle
damage as 4 Dominion Dreadnoughts rumbled ponderously past,
unleashing a devastating wave of fire on the biggest Klingon
ships. One after another, their guns fell silent, the
Dominion ships switching their fire away as the Negh'Vars
lost their weapons and engines. Then the smaller Dominion
ships were upon the remaining Klingon ships, and they pressed
home their attack. Soon space was filled with burning,
drifting Klingon vessels as the Dominon warships swarmed
around their defeated enemies.

The crews of the Confederate ships cheered as the Dominion
fleet swarmed over the Klingons, taking them out of the
fight with less than 15 minutes of concentrated fire. The
Federation ships were similarly overwhelmed. A dozen even
surrendered when they saw how the odds had become heavily
stacked against them. The Confederates breathed a sigh of
shaken relief. Sure they had been hurt bad, with several of
their best ships destroyed and almost all of the rest
damaged, but they had won. And that's what counted.


Chapter 15

General Mark Sheppard stood on the catwalk overlooking the
huge asteroid shipyard. The massive asteroid had been bored
out using heavy machinery and Death Corps slave laborers.
Below him laid the alloy skeleton of the first Dreadnought
of the Death Corps Navy. He had already decided to name it
the Bismarck. A few slips over, it's sister ship Prinz Eugen
was beginning to take shape as well. He rubbed his gloved
hands in anticipation. Once his fleets were strong enough,
he would dominate a vast economic empire in the fringes of
the Alpha Quadrant, ruling the masses of slaves and subjects
with an Iron Fist.

Meanwhile, on the surface of Bajor, the hour was at hand.
General Rodama had been sent down to the surface, and all
over the planet, his men had received the shipments of
weapons from Commodore Shimazaki's carriers. Even now, the
ships hung in orbit over the serene world of Bajor,
launching their fighters in support of Rodama's ground
forces.

The chamber of ministers was in session, trying to decide
how to react to the new Dominion incursion and the
Confederate presence in the Bajor System. However, crowds
were forming in the streets of the capital as Confederate
fighters screamed past overhead.

General Kelam Rodama stood tall in the back of the
hovertruck as it cruised through the streets of the capital,
holding an assault rifle in one hand and waving with the
other, showing the salute of the Bajoran Independence army.
Behind his vehicle came other hovertrucks and busses loaded
with his best men, all armed to the teeth. They raced down
capital boulevard, the crowd parting for them as they
reached the steps of the chamber of ministers. A line of
brown-uniformed members of the Bajoran Militia stood in a
protective line in front of the Chamber building, armed with
phasers. Rodama picked up a loud hailer and began speaking.

"You guards stand aside! The criminals in that building
have looted and oppressed Bajor and it's people for too
long!" he said.

"We're ordered to protect the Ministers, Rodama;" said the
Sergeant of the guard. "We don't want to fight you, but if
we have to, we will."

"Very well then, Sergeant. I'll do what I must." Said
Rodama, flicking off the safety on his assault rifle. His
men began piling out of their motor transport and taking
cover as the crowds of civilians began to run. He didn't
see who fired the first shot, but in seconds the street was
filled with flashes of phaser fire and whizzing bullets.
Rodama leapt down from the truck and opened fire, hammering
out 3 round bursts at the guards, who had taken cover behind
the massive pillars at the top of the steps.

"SERGEANT MORZICK! GET UP HERE!!" yelled Rodama. In
another minute, Sgt. Morzick was crouching next to General
Rodama. Morzick and his men were each toting an RPG, and
most of them were carrying extras slung across their backs.

"Fire on those guards when I signal. You and you; aim for
the doors." He said, pointing out 2 men. Then Rodama
crouched and ran over to a hoverbus, where a squad of his
men were trading fire with the guards.

"I've got a squad of RPGs ready to go on my signal. Come
on, men." He ordered. They smiled and cracked vulgar
comments, reloading their weapons and preparing to charge.

"Morzick!! NOW!!" he yelled.

There was a horrific flash of smoke and fire, and a rush of
noise as 9 RPGs fired as one. A huge fist seemed to slam
into the front of the Council of Ministers, explosions
walking across it's stone fa&#8225;ade. One of the huge pillars
took two hits, cracking at the base and collapsing
violently.

"HURRAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" came the shout as Rodama and his
troopers charged through the smoke and dust, firing at the
stunned guardsmen. They were killed in short order, and the
BIA troops found themselves at the wrecked doors to the
Council of Ministers. Rodama gave a kick, and the
splintered doors collapsed inward. The heavily armed troops
poured into the chambers, training their weapons on the
Ministers, who were cowering in fear. Rodama mounted the
podium, emptying the last of a clip into the ceiling.

"I hereby declare this chamber dissolved in the name of the
Bajoran Independence Army!!" Then he pointed at the
ministers, who his troops had herded out onto the debate
floor. "Take them outside. It's time the people got their
justice."

The Ministers were marched out onto the steps. The BIA
soldiers kicked and prodded 20 of them into line, holding
rifles on them. Rodama mounted the pile of debris from the
fallen pillar, shouting to the BIA troops and civilians who
had crowded into the street once the Chamber was stormed.

"People of Bajor! Here are the criminals who have
mismanaged our world, squandered our chances at greatness!
I have brought them to account for their blunders, here
before you! What should be their punishment!?!?" he yelled.

A few moments of intense murmuring passed as the crowd made
it's decision. Then:

"DEATH!" They screamed.

"DEATH!" Again, louder this time.

"DEATH!" The cry rose like thunder from the crowd.

"Very well! Very well!" said Rodama, screaming over the
crowd, which became silent again. "Death shall be their
sentence. Men! Form a firing line!" he ordered. A column
of 20 troops formed and marched out to face the ministers
who were standing on the steps.

"Ready!"

"Aim!"

"Fire!" ordered Rodama. A loud simultaneous crack echoed
across the square as 20 rifles fired. The ministers slumped
to the steps, red pools of blood spreading quickly.
There was a scuffle as one of the remaining ministers broke
away from the guards and tried to run. The crowd raised a
cry and fell upon him. His screams died slowly as he was
beaten to death. Twice more, groups of ministers were
herded onto the steps, and twice more they were shot down
like dogs. A new era had begun for Bajor.


The crowds were thronging along the Grand Plaza in the
downtown of the Confederate Capital on Concordia. Fleet
Captain Falkenhorst stood next to General Sheppard on the
review platform, along with Grand Admiral Strowbridge, the
Chancellor, and the General Staff. The band struck up the
Anthem of the Death Corps as the first ranks of the "Iron
Fist" Armored Division rolled past, the Death Corps Tank
Commanders standing in the open turrets of their Subjugator
MBTs, holding a smart salute to General Sheppard as they
passed by.

While the Death Corps was marching past, the overcast skies
were darkened as hundreds of Fighters roared overhead in a
huge endless formation that stretched for many Kilometers.

Next came the marching regiments of infantry from all the
planets of the Confederacy, waving their massed standards
aloft in a sea of color.

Somewhere in the background of the celebration, away from
the news cameras and marching bands, LT.Hit-Man and Thomas
Riker were lurking in the shadows discussing the next phase
of operations. The war was far from over. They had made
terrible enemies of the Klingons just weeks before in the
Battle of Bajor, and there was much unfinished work.

"Soon, LT.Hit-Man, the Cardassians will rise up under my
direction and throw off the chains of the Federation and
it's lackeys once and for all." Said Riker, a smile on his
scarred face.

"Yes, and what of the Federation? They have suffered
grevious losses by our hand." Stated Hit-Man.

"If I know Section 31, and I'm rather sure I do, we won't
have to worry about them. They'll be pushing the
Federation's industries and it's citizens so hard to make up
their losses, they won't be going on any offensives anytime
soon. Knowing how S-31 works, the stress on the Federation
economy and civilians will also cause friction along
cultural and racial lines, which we'll exploit of course.
And on top of that, now that our Dominion allies are
constructing their new Fleet Base on the other side of the
Wormhole, the Federation would be suicidal to raise a hand
against us. With these new convoys the Dominion is sending
us, we'll soon have a war industry to equal that of the
Federation." Replied Riker

"True enough, but what happens the Federation can and does
come back in a big way?" asked the towering cyborg.

"That's where you come in. With your deadly covert ops and
infiltration skills, you're perfectly suited for the mission
I've got planned. You'll make sure that they never even get
that far." Said Riker, handing the LT. a PADD.

"You'll be going under cover in the Federation, much like
I've got the Obsidian order doing in Cardassia right now.
Your job will be to bomb important installations,
assassinate important people and officers, and steal
important information and technology. Us and the Dominion
have got 'em down, now we're gonna kick 'em. In short,
you're going to weaken the Federation and Starfleet so badly
that we'll have only to push over the first domino and the
rest will fall."

"Cool." Said Hit-Man, in a voice that was colder than liquid
nitrogen.

"That PADD contains info on the transport and cover
identities I've arranged for you, safe houses, contacts and
a list of other important agents we have in the Federation
right now, along with ways to contact me. Once you're
inside and creating havoc, I'll have more orders for you."

"You won't be disappointed," said the LT. Just then,
fireworks began bursting overhead. Riker turned his one
good eye towards the sky and looked for a moment, taking in
the beauty of the victory celebrations. When he looked
back, Hit-Man was gone.

[Faram]

Great work Falcenhorst!

And a

[Soontir C'boath]

Loved it.

Cyaround,
Jason

[Einhander Sn0m4n]

Hey you still workin on this?

BUMP!

[Falkenhorst]

no, it's complete. I left it open for sequels though.

[Swordsman]

Great story. Any chance of a sequel?

[Falkenhorst]

I began a sequel, set in the immediate aftermath, which has the Confederacy fighting a vietnam-style war on bajor against the federation-backed resistance against the Confederate-allied Bajoran government, but it dosen't seem to be working. Currently I'm helping shep on the UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC, though. It's here:

http://bbs.stardestroyer.net/viewtopic.php?t=6598

[Falkenhorst]

This fanfic has been nominated for best ending in the GSDA awards. I call upon all of you who liked it to please vote for it when the time comes.

Thank you.