24 DECEMBER, 2275 11:30:31 Zulu
The Anarcho-Confederate Starship Defiance exited warp 900 kiloklicks from a barren, barely-habitable worldet in the middle of the Kuiper belt between the stars Asterhoth and Kolob, its helmsman and executive officer, Major Thomas J. Selkirk, expertly flipping ship and beginning his decel burn, while the 33,500-ton Avenger-class cruiser's commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Avery Winfield, relaxed in his chair at the center of the ship's red-lit Combat Information Center, and thought about the price the shipment stinking up his payload deck would fetch himself in particular, and the rest of the crew in general.
He also thought of the loving judgement and final punishment he would be delivering them to, and the start his and his crew had made in the sexual correction and repentive education of the procreator and the fornicator, the harlot and the sod—
Abruptly, CIC went dark, alarms screaming inside Winfield's helmet, as the holo of Defiance's chief flight engineer, Captain Edward O'Bannion, shrieked in his Personal Heads-Up Display:
"Primary power grid 61% disrupted! Secondary power grid 44% disrupted, radiators one to seven, nine and fifteen have been destroyed; internal heat now—"
"Helm!" Winfield barked out, ignoring the rest of his sparkchaser's bleating,"counter burn, now! Drones, release the hounds, downfire one squadron for point defense! Ficon, fire at will, all MAHEMs!"
“...Mama?!” the thirteen-year old girl screamed, kneeling over her mama, holding her hand...she was bleeding from the ears and the mouth, her chest was all crushed, legs bent out of shape...she wasn’t moving.
“Mama,” Jami pleaded, hearing the engine roaring, tires squealing as he turned around again, “ you gotta get up, now, please, he’s comin’ back, Mama, please, please, you gotta get up.”
The roar of the gasburner’s engine grew louder, he had gotten up speed, Jami felt the headlights burning into her as he charged back down Long Street, horn blasting the first few notes of “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” into the night, he’d be on top of them any second now, out to finish what he’d started doing.
“Mama, please,” Jami sobbed,“please, get up, please get up, please—”
Hot, burning white lights....
...flooded the Pit, more alarms screaming in her head, goddamn Snakes, Mountaindicks, and Roadies everywhere she looked in the flickering master holodisplay, and not one hope in Hell's chance of making it out of this alive.
““Primary and secondary electrics are burned out!” Red shouted from the weapons engineering station to Jami's right. “teritary electrics 78% disrupted, antimatter pulse torch severely damaged, APT thermpile shorting out, auto-repair system off line, Mounts Alfa Two, Bravos One and Two offline, penetrations on all decks, radiators one to three, four and six have been destroyed, internal heat now 62 degrees, rising rapidly.”
“Number One,” she then pleaded,“ baby, I know you want to save as many of them as you can, we all do...but—”
[/i]“SHUT THE FUCK UP, AND RETURN FIRE!” the frightened senseless nineteen-year old girl now at the conn of this busted-up warbird screamed.
“—you’re in command now,” that bitch just fucking had to remind her,“you have to think of your ship and crew as well...you’ve done all you can, you have to....”
24 DECEMBER, 2275 11:32:31 Zulu
“...release the hounds! Downfire one squadron of Raptors for point defense!” ordered Starship Commander Jami Lee Selkirk, skipper of the Commnwealth Forces Starship Unbroken."Number One, three seconds, emergency burn! Fusiliers to the stage, I say again, Fusiliers to the stage, and stand by!"
"Three seconds, emergency burn, aye, Skipper," Flight Lieutenant Scarlett "Red" DeLong calmly, professionally, replied from the piloting station at the front and center of the crampled, red-lit systems deck(more commonly, the Pit), as she inputted the necessary commands into her multi-function holodisplay, and jiggered the stick in her left hand to briefly fire the RCS thrusters.
"Downfiring one squadron of Raptors, keeping them close to the ship," Flight Sergeant Erica McClure reported from her station immediately to Red's left.
Another eighteen silvery-blue bolts of light hissed out of the 30,000-ton Dauntless-class cruiser’s six 24cm Magnetohydrodynamic Explosive Munition guns, those bolts screaming toward its thirty-three and a half thousand-ton antagonist at 0.95c, all of them burning through his Whipple armor and his spaceframe, as he brought his six track-mounted eight-inch MAHEM guns to bear on Unbroken, while three of his four squadrons of QA22C Predator combat drones burned hard on an interc—
The systems deck briefly went dark, and more alarms inside Jami's helmet, her starship engineering officer, Flight Officer Chelsey Ford, shouting from her station on the far right-hand side of the forward rim,“primary electrics 64% disrupted, secondary electrics 47% disrupted, internal heat now 44 degrees, continuing to—”
“Wee-O, return fire!” Jami ordered her weapons engineering officer, Flight Officer Phyllicia Gaines(seated between Chels and Red), as her avionics operator, Master Corporal Caitlin McDonough, reported,"starships egressing hyperspace, zero by zero, 900 kiloklicks downrange and closing us at three kilokips."
"Confirmed," Unbroken’s intel officer, Flight Officer Celina Albright, wedged between Erica and Caitlin, reported."One America-class heavy cruiser, eighteen Avenger-class cruisers, probably the survivors of the expeditionary force which bounced the Sweet Jasmine at Summer Rain's 900-kiloklick limit."
"Correction, it's definitely them," she then added, as eleven other Dauntless egressed hyperspace, and rained fire down on the newly-arrived Anarcho-Confederate Starforces machines, as they closed them from astern.
24 DECEMBER, 2275 11:33:04 Zulu
“I didn't recall this topic as one being open for debate,”Sean Missouri Ferguson, anointed King of the Anarcho-Confederacy of Galt coldly said, as He glared at the Others in the conference room of the Hilton Head Island Resort.
“Well, then, you were wrong, weren't you?!” Theodore Krantz, President of the Mountaindove Republic, dared talk back to Him, the ugly fucking troll of a man staring back at him through horn-rimmed bifocals. “And, not for the first time.”
“The race of Adam Iosue Madhadmedus Caesar Christus cannot be wrong!” the He Who Was Over All Others reminded the rodenty little Mountaindick, as He rose majestically to His full height. "We were made in His stainless image, and He is incapable of error!"
“Now,” He added,“ is the time to take back what's Ours; they have been free far too long, and it would be cruel of Us, their anointed, evolutionary Lords and Masters, to let them continue being free.”
“You've been breathing your own arse fumes again,” Albert Lord Drake, Viceroy of the Principality of New Dominion, remarked,“haven't yahahahahahahaahahahahaha hahahaahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam-makeitstaaaaahhp!”
“Beg!” the Lord of his worthless life spat at him, after saying his name.“Then go down!”
"Maybe then," He whispered to the mewling Ginnie bitchboy,"I might be inclined to stop.
“He’s right, gentlemen,” Harrison Braidwood, President of the California Free State, spoke up. “Now is the time to show the spoiled, ungrateful inmates of Earth what liberation truly means.”
“They were free,” Rashad Malcom Muhammed, President of the Secret, Supreme, Exalted High Committee of the Thirteen of the New Confederate Order, reminded the Others, “before their dared defy Our inalienable right to govern them almost three hundred years ago; they had every modern convenience, access to modern healthcare, food in their fat guts, clothes on their ungrateful backs, roofs over their pointed little heads, the latest toys for the asking; all We wanted in return was simply an honest day's work out of them.”
“Und,” Leopold Eichmann, Fürher of the Bundesnationalsozialismusrepublik, added, “that was too much to ask of them 291 years ago, und it is still too much to ask of them now. They would rather talk of democracy than do anything which would actually improve their lot.
And, they call us the bigots.”
“We,” Ian MacKenzie Real, CEO of the Honourable Rhodesia Company plainly said,“ simply are not ready to resume our campaign against them. We haven't made good the materiel losses we sustained from fighting the last war.”
“Morale,” Maximillen II, King of the Restored Burbon Monarchy, spoke up,“amongst our people is at an all-time low.”
“And, they’re getting ready to pounce,” HIM, the Prophet Morris Hatch, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and absolute ruler of Deseret, remarked.
“We’re having difficulties keeping our people in line,” Eugene Herman, Chairman of the Vargas Movie Board, spoke up,“and I don’t mean just amongst the rank and file either.”
“We are stretched thin enough trying to keep the animals in the places We have made for them,” Tomas Krautmann, Princeps of the Timocratic Republic of Terra Nova, spoke,“ without having to commit to another war against the Dirts.”
“Same with us,” Samuel Charles Bush, President of the Republic of New Liberia, said. “Every rape/murder I sign off on only seems to strengthen their resolve to oppose the natural order of things.”
“The same is true,” Real said,“ for all of us, I have the reports here if you—”
“Reports don't mean shit!” the Dominus Christus Of His Anacrho-Confederacy snapped. "Only statists and Jewnazi banksters give two shits about reports! His anointed Patriarchs and Biological Authoritarians are interested only in doing His Work of Evolution!"
“Your opinions also don't mean shit," He added."Catering to the opinions of others is another sign of a statist, a procreator, and a fornicator!"
“Doesn't matter,” Theodore replied. “We have the votes. Deal with it.”
Caesar Madahmedus Christus simply chuckled in response.
"You have the votes," He said.
"You have the fuckin' votes!" He repeated, laughing harder, jerking His hand at the Ginnie bitchboy still in the throes of lesbian sexual esctasy from the pain centers of his tiny little bitch brain being overstimulated by the cerebral implant granting him life eternal.
"Well, I have THIS!" the Spiritual Liege of Mankind reminded His vassals.
"Deal with it!" He barked.
[b]24 DECEMBER, 2275 11:33:57 Zulu[/b]
“— internal heat 67 degress, still rising!” Captain LeVar Scott reported from engineering, adding to the litany of disaster, as ACS Enterprise's Combat Information Center went dark a second time, Captain Walter Takai desperately trying to jink and burn the 190,000-ton America-class heavy exploration cruiser away from the crude, blue-on-grey, needle-shaped Communist warship's antiquated drones and primitive laser armament, while her fire-control officer, Pavel Rozhenko, replied with Enterprise's arsenal of 45 cutting-edge, track-mounted eight-inch MAHEM guns.
CIC went dark again, more alarms screaming in Colonel Jean-Claude Gilbert's helmet, along with Scott's damnable bleating, as his first officer, Major L.B. Spiner, ordered “Drones, have fifty Predator squadrons assume escort formation around Enterprise, and downfire them for point-defense! I want all remaining birds to converge on that Dirt war machine and take it out of my sky!”
“Aye, sir!” Chief Master Sergeant Eladio Sifuentes quickly replied, as this modern, 23rd -century platform of peackeeping, science, and exploration continued fighting the militarist, the statist, the procreator and the fornicator.
"Colonel!" the avionics watchstander then reported, as CIC went dark yet again."We've lost the Reliant and the Intrepid! Hornet reports his impulse engine is offline!"
"Take control of their drones!" Gilbert ordered, ignoring Scott's hysterical caterwauling."Add them to the point defense of this ship! Helm, ten seconds, emergency burn!"
"Ten seconds, emergency burn, aye," Takai responsed, Enterprise executing a brief four-kilograv burn, with the slightest viff from the RCS thrusters to complicate its vector.
While bringing its arsenal to bear on the Communist war machine which had been dogging the ship's every move, Rozhenko, to his credit, hardly needing his commander's shouted order to "take the shot, now!" even as the doomed enemy cruiser's drones stabbed Enterprise with silvery blue-hot eight-inch beams.
[b]24 DECEMBER, 2275 11:34:00 Zulu[/b]
Unbroken’s evacuated, blood-lit systems deck went dark again, while Chels reported over via the ship-wide AI network(or shipnet):
“Primary electrics 77% disrupted, secondary electrics 52% disrupted, radiators four and five destroyed, internal heat now 52 degrees, continuing to rise!”[/i]
At the same time, her Red tearfully whispered:
“Fuck! Oh, fuck, Skipper, Defender...C-cat...she's...they're...”
"...dead," Mordy's holo whispered, cradling the Skipper's burned, blasted, barely-recognizable body in his arms, as he dazedly stepped off the telegate stage, and the shipnet dutifully informed her...
"...Unbroken has command of the squadron," Caitlin reported.
"Additional starships egressing hyperspace," she added. “Zero by zero, and plus fifteen by twelve decimal five, 288 kiloklicks downrange and closing us at three kilokips.”
“One expeditionary force of Starforces hired out to the Rhodesians,” Celina further elaborated,”another expeditionary force hired out to the Timocracy.”
“Fifteen seconds, emergency burn!” Jami ordered, angry at herself for not being able to save Cat or console her little sister.”Drones, keep those point-defense birds tight and close...”
“...I can't e-evade, so, you're going to have to keep them off us; Drives, stand by the teleg—"
Two dozen eight-inch MAHEM beams burned into Bearclaw Station's East Cylinder just ahead of Unbroken, the silver blue-hot shafts of molten tungsten...
...snapped the mast of the Avenger her ship had pursued here from Summer Rain like a dry twig, after shredding and slagging his drive housing.
The oblong main hull continued drifting toward the planetoid at slightly less than hyperspace ingress velocity, as Jami ordered Red to close to assisted telgate range, and started to tell Chels to launch a telegate targeting beacon, and stand by to bring the gate on line.
Before the Snake son of a bitch blew his payload hatches, and the 168 people they'd abducted from Sweet Jasmine flew into the unforgiving void, where they would die ninety seconds later.
Because she'd failed them too.
“You miserable sons of bitches!” Jami screamed impotently at the hulk, as it blew itself apart. “You cocksucking sons of whores!”
[b]24 DECEMBER, 2275 11:35:23 Zulu[/b]
"You have reached your maximum allowed daily caloric intake limit," her PHUD said to Susan Watson. "It is a violation of His Received Canon, punishable by sexual correction and repentive therapy, for this food service provider to sell you any food items and for you to consume any further food."
"I guess it's just coffee then, sweetie," Susan sheepishly said to the young Chick n' Waffle sales associate.
"Black," she added.
"Be just a moment, ma'am," said the waitress, before ducking behind the line to make a fresh pot, Susan wincing inwardly at the pre-teen girl having to play grab-ass with the old men at the high counter, and in some of the other booths, and the look the grubby little grill operator gave her just made her almost physically ill.
She rapidly turned her attention to front windows, playing by the rules of those who'd decreed rule of law to be heresy against His Received Canon, watching the traffic streaking along Intercorporate Highway 49, and on IC75 passing underneath, while the holoprojector in the corner by the bathrooms nattered on, in the voice of Intercorporate Media Syndicate's Rachel English:
“That was Captain Shoshanna Nyree Johnson, chief medical officer of the ACS Intrepid, described by her father—himself a retired Starforces Security chief master sergeant—as a God-fearing Christian woman, a homebody who liked to cook, who ardently believed in her country and the just and holy cause to which every Anarcho-Confederate should be committed.
At this time, her father, confined to an automedic due to exposure to Communist biological agents during the Ninth Interstellar War, has no idea as to his daughter’s fate...but, from what we are witnessing now, carried live on all the Prison Planet's entertainment channels even now, it is certain her ordeal will be an ugly, dehumanizing brutal nightmare of ‘re-orientation’ designed to eradicate all the civilized behaviors her father and the other anointed Masters and Lords of her life, and return her to the wild of her own innate jungle-bunny lusts, before they release her back into our Anarcho-Confederacy, where she will become just another danger to our way of life."
"Another criminal misogynist what's gonna running round loose, kickin' up sand, cryin' bout oppression, where there ain't none," Susan heard a man's booming baritone, the man then snorting, before continuing:
"And, that weak-kneed, epileptic North American fuckin' freak wants to negoiate with 'em?! Really?!"
"Yep, Marc," another, twangier male voice replied,"that's what He wants to do, Him and the Intercorporate Council, they all wanna just give our Anarcho-Confederacy away to the foreign Jewnazi banking syndicates who they've already mortgaged their souls—and Our Aristocracy—to, and to the radfemperv apes, like Gilda Schrenko,who own them."
"That's right, Len," another man's weaselly little voice then said."She owns them, owns stock in every last one of the foreign Jew banksters that have been trying to subvert us economically by forcin' the Council to pass so-called 'free-trade laws' that load the dice in favor of the elites and against the corporations in order to turn us into a Jewbankster National Socialist welfare State just like they did the inmates of Earth."
"Same with all that social-justice and socialized medicine shit the Bad Witch of South America's been trying to ram down the throats of Him and His Council," another man spoke up. "Like that Bill a Equal Rights—"
"Now," Marc boomed and pounded,"what the actual fuck is that bullshit all about?! 'Equal rights.' Shee-it, anyone with a half ounce of brains can see that every one of His Natural Aristocracy got the same fuckin' rights as every other—hey, look y'all, in that booth over there, ain't that—"
"It goddamn sure is," Len replied menacingly.
"Ma-ma'am," the waitress then stammered, as she stood right beside her."Ma'am, I-i'm sorry, but I've just been told that you're offending the beliefs of some of the other customers, an', p-per Canon, you're gonna have to go. I-i-it ain't my idea, ma'am, b-but—"
With a sigh, Susan got up, told the young woman,"I know, sweetie," echoed a tip to the girl's com, and walked out of the store.
[b]24 DECEMBER, 2275 11:36:19 Zulu[/b]
He decided to let the little Chick n' Head keep the tip.
"Tag her for future reference," the anointed King of Israel ordered one of the techs in the Anarcho-Confederate Security Service Incorporated's Internal Surveillance Center—one klick directly underneath the Museum Of Arts and Sciences in Payne City—a good thousand or so klicks to the north and west of Hilton Head Island, as He sipped a waterglass of Burbon and kike, propped His feet up on the desk of His private study, and kept His eyes peeled on little Miss Suzy Floozy Watson's rear view.
"How long are you going to play with her like this?" Doctor Samuel Brannen III stupidly asked.
"Til I'm damn good and ready to stop, Samuel," the Heir to the New Jerusalem replied to His Chief Executive Officer, moving on to the holo of still another therapy session with one who didn't get away with her non-Canon bullshit, smiling as the dops in Dirt Forces uniforms—or the tight, skimpy, pleather Movie Board versions thereof—tried their best to cure poor little Shoshanna of her innate pathology.
That smile faded, the King Of Kings, Lord Of Lords staring uncomprehendingly at His workstation terminal,as, with a scream of animal fury, the uppity, goddamned little black bitch somehow broke free of the restraints binding her to the metal chair, before she picked up that fucking chair, and cracked the skull of the nearest dop, before snatching its arcwhip, firing it up, and using the flexible pinched charged-particle stream to take out the others, even as more dops charged into the room.
And, it was at that point Commanding General Freeman Zephiniah Ezekiel Lang, Executive Vice President Of His Anarcho-Confederate Starforces, Inc., demonstrated his usual indecency in comming his true Father at preciesly the wrong moment.
To tell Him precisely the wrong thing:
“We've got a breach in containment on Vieques. Apparentally, the apes saw the Commie warbirds in their sky as a sign t'set it all off.”
“Ya think?!” was the nasty response the Rightful Inheritor of the New Jerusalem.
“They've overwhelmed the the colony's Corporate Defense Agency, and its SS contingent, and local management's put out the call for all male associates t'report for Militia duty.”
“Son of a bitch!” swore the Dominus Christus of His Intercorporate Government, before telling Freeman:
“Well, don't just stand there with your itty-bitty little fuckin' clitty in your pasty fuckin' hand, Freeman! Get on the line to Gilbert, and tell him to fuckin' put the boots to those ungrateful, goddamn, lazy little sluts!”