Stop teasing General

Evans skimmed over the latest war news displayed on his computer. It wasn't encouraging: the Allies' blitzkrieg, which had seemed unstoppable when the war broke out, had suffered setbacks and slowdowns in the past--the relaization that the Korx had capital ships came to Evans's mind--but now it had, in essance, stopped. Gone were the pictures of jackbooted Federation soldiers, Thalan battle-mechs, and Assryian shocck troopers parading through captured Korx cities. More often, pictures of ruined tanks, once-beautiful fields pockarked with craters, and the dead of both sides being lowered into mass graves (though Korx casualties suffered that indignance more than Allied ones did,) were displayed on the screen. Not only had the blitz lost momentum, but the planets already siezed were becoming problematic: stories of car bombs and geurialla raids were becoming more and more commonplace, and some of the colonies that had declared their independence were beginning to become less and less cooperative. (Evans wondered why news of thier declarations had escaped everyone's notice). But there was one thing that was especially troubling: the Korx work camps. The concept of using POWs and criminals as a cheap larbor force wasn't completely unheard of to Evans: the Federation had a small number of such camps, and they were well-known. But the Korx camps were another matter entirely, or many different matters: every one was different. Some treated thier inhabtants well, some were gulags, some were in between the two. What everyone was wondering--and worried about---was if a "Second Holocaust" had been going on behind the scenes in the Dominion for all these years. Evans hoped the suspisions were wrong. The war had taken a severe toll on the Allies' economies, particualrly the Federation's, and an occupation of a conquered Dominion would be even bloodier if fanatical Korx murderers survived to wage thier own private war. Anti-war sentients were brewing, too. If the war didn't end soon, riots might break out.

Evans turned off his console and reached for a glass of mild brandy. (Captain's privilage, he thought with a wry laugh). As he sipped, the comm system by the computer beeped for attention. Pressing the speaker button, Evans answered, "Evans here. What's there to report?"

"Sir, we've arrived at the Epsilon system," Lt. Hernendes replied, and then added, "and, to be frank, one hell of a plan is in the works."

Now I'll see why I was ordered to come here--and if whatever's going to happen is as bad as I think it is, Evans thought. Aloud he said, "I'l be coming on the bridge. Hold an orbit until I get there."  A few minutes later, Evans arrived on the bridge, his entry announced by an unseen officer barking, "Admiral on the bridge." Out in front of them hung the Epsilon system, a pale green star burning fiercely as a gray, mountainous planet drifted through space, surrounded by dozens of ships---human, Thalan, and Assryian---and scarred with craters, some of which loked recent. As the Barbados neared the planet, a huge  pyrimidial object came into view from behind the moon. Hushed gasps and not-so-hush whistles filled the air as the monolith came closer. Evans needed a moment to recognize it: it was a Federation starport, bristling with evil-looking weapons and made bulky by its thick armor plating.

"Why would anyone build such a badass starport in a no-account system like this? I mean, it's in Federation terriory," somone said.

Ignoring the crude diction, Evans answered, "They're probobly plannng something big"--something that could end the war--"and don't want these ships getting jumped."

"Makes sense, but why would they need so many ships? Looks like they're just practicing bombardment."

"No, there's some transports in there, too....and it looks like they're landing soldiers," Hernendes cut in.

They're planning an invasion of a vital planet, Evans realized. Then he realized something else: Which ever one we invade, it's going to be a slaughterhouse.

"The station's hailing us," Tendath said.

"Onscreen. Let's see why they called us here," Evans answered.

An Assryian, looking uncomfortable in his Starfleet uniform, appeared on-screen. "Federation ship, identify yourself, or we will be forced to take defensive measures." By his voice, it was obvious defensive measures really meant vapoize yor ship, and the Assryian officer didn't look like he'd hesitate for a second to give that order. Pushing the thought from his mind, Evans repied, "I am Admiral William Evans of the EFS Barbados. I was ordered to come here by Rear Admiral George Healy." 

The Assryian officer looked through some computer files and announced, "Your story proves truthful, procede to Docking Bay Eighty-Four G and await furthur instructions." In meanacing tones, he added, "And do not tell anyone of what you have seen here, unless they are your superiors...or the consequences will be severe." With that, he closed the channel. Evans's lips shaped a silent whistle. Something big was going to happen, and it would defintely bring the war to an end.

How many would die for it to succeed, and what would happen if this plan (whatever it was) failed, Evans didn't want to think about.       

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Hessarah grasped the guard rail and leaned over the edge of the raised walkway, staring down at the massive bulk of the Telenath. After years of quietly, secretly building, researching weapons, defences and propulsion worthy of such a monster, and hundreds of workers dead, (she dipped her head in respect for those who had died building the ship), it was finally completed. It's our last hope, she thought. The only thing standing between our civilization and slaughter. She watched workers striding along the workways, tending to thier jobs. A few weren't workers at all: they carried whips, clubs or other weapons as they coerced the slaves, many of whom were Snathi, to thier jobs for them. Hessarah eyed the slave drivers with something stronger than disaproval but weaker than hatred. She had no great use for slavery of any sort, and only had a few servants herself. She turned her gaze back to the Telenath. Weather it stops the war or not, everyone will know that we fought back. Next to her, somone cleared thier throat uncofortably. Turning, Hessarah saw the person in question was Torren. "Yes, Torren?" she asked.

Torren swallowed nervously. "Y-Your Excellency," he stuttered, "many of the Telenath crew are expressing....dissatidfaction at oyur planned use of the ship."

Hessarah nodded, she had been expecting this. "How so?" she asked evenly.

Torren seemed to shrink a bit. "They, ah....think we should launch immediatly and attack the facsits' homeworlds, instead of waiting for them to come to us."

"And I suppose you share this view?" Hessarah asked cooly.

Torren went pale. His head tilted forward and he looked at the floor. "Yes, Your Excellency," he said quietly.

Hessarah nodded. "Assemble the crew immediatly,and have them meet in the main briefing room."

Torren, his head still bent, replied, "Yes, Your Excellency," and skulked away.

Sighing, Hessarah looked back to the Telenath. From nowhere, she remembered that an Earther prophet had predicted that after a great battle, everything would be at peace and war would be forgotten. That didn't seem likely for the battle she would fight, but she hoped it woulg happen soon.

One questions where are the pics. of the ships and bases.

How did you get your allies to plan with you.  In games I play the only thing that my allies are good at is getting their fleets killed in useless attacks.  How did you get their armaddas together in the same system.

The Telenath crew filed into the briefing room, each member shooting out thier arm in salute as they took thier seats. "Are you sure they are all loyal to me, Torren?" Hessarah whispered, with an undertone of, They had better be.

Torren spoke with grave certainty: "Of course, Your Excellency.We handpicked them specifically for this ship, and we...relieved any who showed disloyal tendencies of thier duties."

Hessarah nodded mutely. Most of those warriors had been discreetly excecuted, but she had no doubt the crew assembled before her knew perfectly well what had really happened when a friend suddenly disappeared. No one had tried to kill her yet, but she allways carried a plasma pistol under her robes so any opertunistic assassin would be unpleasently suprised. Dismissing Torren, Hessarah took the podium.

"Comrades," she opened. "It has come to my attention that many of you are dissatisfied with my planned use of the great ship you crew. You have said that since it is finally completed, we should launch immediatly and strike at our enemies' homeworlds, or that we should gather a masive fleet and rampage across sapce, destroying everything we find. I will only say this once, so listen well, all of you: We will stay here."

Most of the crew sat silently, either--resignedly--agreeing with her or holding objections in, fearing the consequenses of speaking out. Others stirred uncomfertably, mumbling things she couldn't here. But none of them objected, or even called to be acknowledged. Hessarah approved. If none of them would try to contradict her, she wouldn't have to waste time by correcting them---and it would give Torren one less victim to mark for murder.

"I will tell you why we must stay: no matter how cunning, intelligent, or resourseful our foes may be, they will have to face one truth: any invasion of our homeworld will require a massive amount of ships and troops, which would take painfully long to organize, and reuire vast sums of money. If we wait for them to come to us, we can destroy thier marauding fleet with our maginifcant ship"--she waver hand, emcompassing the enitre room--"and gallant warriors. When that fleet of monsters who wish to destroy the Dominion is destroyed, our enemies will have no choice but to accept peace, because it woud take them years to build up strength again. If we rampage across the cosmos, we may deal a great deal of damage, but we will not end this war, for every ship from the smallest fighter to the mightiest dreadnought will want our blood. If we suprise our foes, they will caught like a dust mite in a balj web, and stand no chance against us. Remember the words of Kaxxtar The Great: 'As there are many stars in the sky, so there are many roads to victory.'" She paused to let her words take hold, then shot our arm and shouted, "Long live the Dominion!"

If nothing else convinced them, the quote and the salute to thier home--thier civilazation--did.

"Long live the Dominon! Long live Hessarah!" The chant came off them in waves as they jumped to thier feet and shot out thier arms in salute.

Hessarah nodded. "I am glad I was able to convince you. Now, I have an announcement: the orbital fortifications around Korx are not yet finished, so I am ordering task forcees from the rest of the Navy too attack one of the fascists' main training grounds for thier invasion: the Episilon system."

How they cheered! It was as if their military formality and bleakness dropped away and withered to nothing, and thier shouts of delight were so loud, so piercing, they might crack the stars.

"Thank you all," Hessaeah said, genuine pride in her voice. "You are dismissied."

They shot out thier arms in perfect unison, and filed out of the room.

Now, Hessarah thought as she got down, There is the matter of that Earther missionary that was press-ganged into the Navy. I wonder how Torren will take to the news...and if he knew about it. The thoughts dripped with meanace.

*Sorry to disapear, but school's in full swing*

Colonel Alexandr Kosolov shifted in his seat as the dropship descended through the atmosphere, its engines snarling like wild boars as the craft cut through the air. "Alright, people, listen up!" Brigadier General Hans Richter barked in his gutteral German accent,  "I know full well each and every one of you wants to land on Korx and take the fight to the Greyskins as much as I do, but I'll let you in on a little secret: the planet is full of mountains. So we're going to go down to Epsilon and give you flatfoots some training in mountain warfare, so you all don't fall off a cliff when we're on the drop in Korx. And this isn't Basic, either. In some places, it's a hell of a long way down." He paused to let that sink in, then growled, "Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear, Sir!" Kosolov shouted in return, his voice one among many.

Richter nodded briskly. "Good. Now get your butts in gear; we're on the drop."

The dropship's dive steepened. The roar of the engines deepened, and the air whooshing past sounded eerily like a Siberian blizard. Hands tightening around the restraints holding him in his seat, Kosolov looked out through his vision slit. He couldn't see much, but the scene was an impressive one: hundreds of dropships diving through the clouds toward the surface, and soldiers--who were little more than specks at this altitude--running out of the drop ships that had already landed.

The dropship touched down, creating a jolt that made Kosolov appreciate the restraints: if they hadn't been there, (or if they weren't locked down properly) he would have been sent pinballing around the dropship. No sooner had the thought gone through his head than the aforementioned restraints detatched themselves, and the ramp at the rear of the dropship fall open.

"Go! Go! Go! Don't stop to think, just move!" General Richter barked, with officers echoing him, only far more profanely. Kosolov sprang from his seat and ran like a man possesed down the ramp with everyone else on his heels. Cold smote as soon as he stepped outside, but he kept moving, only stopping when he came to a group of Marines standing at ease but in neat ranks. Marines kept running out of landing dropships and joining their comrades until the 357th United States of Europe Brigade was assembled in the rocky outcropping in its entirity. Kosolov's eyes skimmed his surroundings: mountains, looking like nothing short of natural pyrimids, soared heavenwards everywhere, many capped with snow; enormous craters--he reliazed they were from ships practicing orbital attacks--pockmarked the landscape, turning mountains into plateaus and creating sinkholes that gaped monsters' jaws in the dim moonlight. 

"Aten-hut!" General Richter ground out. Without consious thought, Kosolov straigtened his back and clicked his heels. Richter strided over to the Marines, his jackboots thumping on the rocky ground as the breeze created ripples in his uniform's black tunic.

"Now that we're here, let's make a few things clear:--" He had said clear at the same instant a dropship exploded in midair.

Richter whipped around, drawing his pistol. More drop ships were bursting into fireballs, the debris raining down in glowing shards that absurdly reminded Kosolov of fireworks.

General Richter cursed horribly and snapped his attention back to the Marines...but he seemed to be looking right at Kosolov. He asked the inevitable question, biting off one word at a time: "What-the-hell-is-going-on?"

As if to answer his question, a low rumbling filled the air, and six bat-like shapes roared overhead, seemig to cut the air in half. "Good God, those are Korx fighters!" Koslov shouted in shock.

"That doesn't make sense!" General Ricter shouted back. "They're supposed to be hoarding all thier ships in a defence fleet around Korx!"

 Is it a diversion? Are they attacking somewhere else right now, but only using this to catch us off guard? Were these ships even ordered to come here? A few captains have gone rougue.  All that went through Kosolov's mind in a heartbeat, but that the Korx might be stalling for time hadn't occured to him.

Flashes of light in the sky: ships coming out of hyperspace. Korx ships.

General Richter snarled something Kosolov didn't catch, and barked outy orders: "Take cover, NOW! The Greyskins will pulverise this rock with everything they have! Keep your heads down!"

But no bombardment came, save for debris from the destroyed dropships. Kosolov looked in the sky. Points of light danced around each other, with arcs of glowing energy arcing between them.

Two thoughts ran through his mind. First: This is what a space battle lookd like plaentside. Then, with genuine horror: They found us. They know where we're training.

A ship--whose side was it on?--exploded. It wasn't the spectacular, horrible fireball Kosolov had seen before. It was simply a point of light flashing bright then fading away as if it has never been. More and more ships perished in similar fasions.

The Battle of Epsilon had begun.

The worst kept secrets are military ones.

If you take no prisoners then how do you find out if this attack was planned or spur of the moment. 

In other words how do you find out when your secret got out.