Post by brickwall on Nov 28, 2023 19:39:26 GMT -7
In the Federation's Galacta tongue, the word qIH sounded like the word "key" and meant "one thousand daggers". The tallest mountain range of that world looked like a thousand upright lev'ek, the three bladed daggers any decent Klingon warrior wore. Impressed by the sight of this formation of nature, the first colonists built their settlements close to it. Many warrior trainees and adventurers braved the elements to conquer the summits and their inner selves in the process.
But now the settlements were still smouldering piles of ash or scattered ruins of stone and steel. They couldn't even be identified from satellites anymore. The legions of the Tordell Empire wrought thorough destruction against their Klingon victims.
Sitting on top of one such heap of rubble, Colonel Lirat smiled with satisfaction at his victory over this new enemy. His small clan was the last one untested in battle in this new addition to the Empire. It had been a bloody business but his clan had prevailed, thanks to its great tradition in martial arts. He couldn't show his rivals anything more spectacular than slaying a foe with his bare hands. Still his agile combat skills enabled him to wear them down until their submission to his will.
It didn't matter to him how many died on this path to glory. But those who remained survived long enough to remember and honor him. He could have never imagined being remembered in such a way before. The whole planet seemed to owe him now. Perhaps Her Majesty herself would soon name him governor of this new conquest. All the better for both her and him.
In his hand was one of those lev'eks drawn against his fellow soldiers. Triple bladed, two lower shorter blades stuck out on either side of the main blade. It didn't break under pressure. It was a proven workhorse of their Klingon foes. Nothing to scorn or laugh at, for those like it took the lives of his battle comrades during the invasion. He nodded, appreciating the simple weapon in his hand.
"The wise warrior relies not on one weapon, no matter how effective it is," he said to himself. "These fools never learned that lesson, I guess. Pitiful." Smiling again, he resumed scanning the landscape around him. No sign of the enemy as far as he could see.
With an exaggerated sigh, he rose up and sheathed the dagger under his belt. He headed back towards the shelter of the remaining intact buildings which were now his headquarters. It was time to relay his after-action report to Imperial Command. As they would expect nothing less from him. That was what made him good at his job.
In his report, he'd tell his superiors they underestimated this new foe on this planet. They never expected a few hundred stubborn colonists to fight with the strength of an infantry division. In that respect, it was only a question of strategy now. How would they strike back if they did and with what? And how many?
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Among Gaelic speaking Earthlings, his name sounded like the word for "strength of mind". Mishnak appreciated this during his visit to what other Earthers called the Emerald Isle. The green fields, the lonely mountains, the rugged coastlines of Ireland reminded him of his homeworld Qo'ngem or "forest realm". He learned Irish stick fighting techniques on the sly during his travels there. He enjoyed the illegal bare knuckle boxing matches the Traveler communities set up. When he returned to Klingon space, anytime he had gagh, the serpent worms Klingons ate, he always went for the green ones. He earned the nickname Three Leaves for the shamrock pendant he wore around his neck.
Mishnak also knew how to play the komerex zha - - the Great Game - - just like every other Klingon did from raw recruit to the Emperor himself. To earn great glory and honor for oneself, one's family line and the Empire, one kept a close eye on all who did likewise. No one was trustworthy. Everyone kept everyone else in line. Which meant no mercy for dishonorable opponents. As he got older, he grew intolerant of anyone acting independently. If any crossed the boundaries he set for his ship's crew, Mishnak could be very ruthless indeed. That rarely happened nowadays.
No other Klingon gave him cause to doubt his decisions. He was just and fair in his first captaincy of a starship. So much so, no complaints ever came from Troidorn, the Imperial Security officer onboard it. It was the same when he commanded a typical patrol of three D-7s along both Federation and Romulan borders. Then came the first ever capture of a intact Valhallen destroyer along with it's crew. That guaranteed his earning the rank of admiral and other benefits for his staff. He knew he deserved them. It had taken him five years to gain that title. A lot longer than he'd hoped but it had finally paid off.
Those below him at the command levels learned to read each other quickly, trusting nobody without sufficient evidence to do so. That would keep them alive in battle. It was the Klingon way to survive. And survive they did. For six decades, he never lost a single warship. Never lost any significant number of personnel. Stopped four Orion pirate raids. Foiled an assassination attempt on his person before turning fifty. This made him dangerous to the Imperial Council, fearing that he might make a claim to the Throne itself. Especially after he turned sixty. Too old for his kind. Or maybe not. Time alone would tell.
It was the destruction of the colony on qIH that gave the Council an opportunity to eliminate the threat Mishnak seemed to pose.
They learned of it's death by Tordellian hands at the end of the Botchok Conference. Organia's new government head told the Federation team there to release every ship Star Fleet captured since the Four Years War. The condition for this was that they had to go to qIH rather than strike the Federation again. Both they and the Kephans were dealt bloody blows also from this new threat. Hence was formed an unusual informal cooperation between the Conference's three powers. Behind the scenes, everything related to this new empire would be shared among them. However, as was standard operating procedure, the Klingons would reveal what they discovered only so long as it gave them any advantage over either Earth or Kepha.
The Imperial Council was shocked when they learned how many ships Star Fleet still held intact. News of it caused a public scandal in the Federation Assembly. Their fears of Mishnak and his record of successes equaled the news of these ships. The Great Houses within the Council convinced the Emperor to appoint him as overall commander of this new fleet. It would rid them of the specter of Three Leaves and his supporters while getting rid of now old or obsolete ships. They had to be disposed of anyway to make room for new constructions and refits.
When brought before both Emperor and Council to receive his new orders, Mishnak accepted them with gratitude. "Your Majesty, those who took this world from us shall not prosper," he vowed. "They are thieves and cowards. That which they stole from us shall be restored even if by bloodshed. The Naked Stars themselves will relish our crushing these bands of brigands. The Empire will triumph over any other who dare to call itself an empire. Q'APLA!"
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
"Lirat, your stew is ready," yelled the mess sergeant. The colonel smirked as he finished typing his report.
"Did you cut down the salt in it this time?" he yelled in return.
"What salt? That's just your imagination." Lirat chuckled at that. He allowed only a few to engage in comedic insults with him. It broke up the boring periods he sent the required after action reports to Imperial Command. He enjoyed wearing his long black thermal coat despite the fact that it was woven from recycled plastic. Just because he hit sixty doesn't mean he had to dress like some kind of monster. In the beginning, he hated it. Now, he learned to accept it. After many decades of hard service, he reached the point where no set of clothes insulted his eyes any longer. Or anything else for that matter.
"Stew for my insides, coat for my outsides," he murmured as he closed his portable processor. Leaving his small officers' quarters, he went down a narrow corridor towards the mess hall. The place smelled good. Even in its relative cleanliness compared to his own quarters. An Imperial doctor checked it regularly and monitored his health. A quality life was another benefit of serving the Empire. The endless days and nights of work made him appreciate things others took for granted.
"None of those serpent things these barbarians eat around here?" Lirat shouted to the mess sergeant.
"I know better than that. Eat it while it's hot."
He chuckled as he spied Lieutenant Piyoi at her table, a steaming bowl of broth in front of her as she typed on her processor. The only female member of his senior staff saluted him, then turned away to focus on her report. He didn't really care though. They were too busy or too tired to socialize together except during off hours. Even then, one never knew when the Silent Hand would strike if one got too frisky off duty. Friskiness caused trouble. And if the most feared of all state security forces thought you were trouble, they did something about it with lethal results. That was the Hand for you, silent and deadly.
He grabbed his bowl, then sat in front of her. "Anything new, Pivoi?"
She looked up briefly, then continued typing. "Just suspicions, nothing more. We've been on this world for the past few weeks. Been no sign of these Klingons returning. I'm convinced they're making plans for an attack, though. Just have to flush them out." She glanced at him again.
"You sound confident."
"Shouldn't we trust their reactions, sir?" she asked.
"What does that mean?"
She smirked, and pretended not to notice his raised eyebrow. "Trust their behavior instead of our own calculations. Revenge is in their blood just like ours. How do you plan to counteract that?"
"By keeping my men alert as always."
"On the ground, yes, no question. How about space?"
"Not my jurisdiction. Not my worry."
"How about telling that to Admiral Hing?"
The moment she mentioned that name, she noticed Lirat visibly bristle.
"If he messes up out there again, we'll bear the brunt of his follies here." She brushed her eyebrows with her finger. "If there was ever someone the Silent Hand should have erased...."
"Say no more," he murmured. "We're of one mind on that subject."
Pivoi nodded. "Why they assigned us one assault ship for this operation is beyond me. The way these colonists came after us? We should have had a full army corps on hand to strike them down."
"Can't complain," said Lirat, now smiling at her. "Good thing he isn't here to gloat. Still, it worked out well so far. Casualties have been light. So forgive my blind optimism."
Pivoi smiled back. She enjoyed teasing him when the mood was right. He put little value on her beauty and focused on her wits instead. She appreciated this professional attitude. Otherwise, her skills would be wasted. After many years, he had earned her trust. Another reward for his devotion to Empress and Empire. At least he believed he had.
Then the loud screech of his communicator shattered the mood. He slapped his left ear, growled. "Lirat here."
"This is Hing. Need you on the bridge, now."
"Of which ship, sir?"
"The command cruiser. Drop everything and get here yesterday."
He shook his head. "Yes, sir. Out."
With that, he rose and pushed his bowl of stew at Pivoi. "Eat well. Dry cold rations in our near future, I'll bet."
"Your optimism at it again," she said, covering her heart with a hand. "Stay careful, my friend."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
"Why do you seek my approval?" asked Troidorn. The long-term Imperial Security officer in Mishnak's staff kept a close eye on the new admiral's actions for years. But this request was unusual even for him. "Am I not an underling? Why seek me out as an equal?"
"I'm well aware of your standing. I'm also aware of your command abilities, ever since you were assigned to me. When we strike the bandits ahead of us, my attentions will be elsewhere. Forty-eight hours now separate us from plowing into them. So I ask your permission to promote you to captain. The crew will look to you for guidance during battle."
Troidorn held his breath.
"Besides," he went on. "Thanks to your advice, I led the strike to capture that Valhallen ship. Your masters in Security got their precious intelligence on them. You raised your profile in their eyes and for the better. The Emperor himself put me in charge of this fleet. All because of you." He nodded as he walked before the briefing room table covered with an old-fashioned paper map. "To my mind, you are a Klingon's Klingon. There is no shame in such a legacy."
Troidorn swallowed. His eyes went wide. He kept his lips tightly shut. He slowly nodded his assent. "As you wish, Admiral. Will there be anything else?"
Mishnak grinned, delighted. "Your opinion, Captain, on this plan of attack." Then he turned serious. "We have an embarrassment of riches in our fleet. Ninety-three old ships freed from Star Fleet captivity, all bound for qIH along with their crews. There's glory enough for all, so all should have a chance to grab it."
A warm smile came over Troidorn. "My compliments, admiral," he murmured, trying to hide his sudden emotion. "What do you suggest?"
"Like in bare knuckle boxing, aim for the knockout blow to the jaw." He laid both hands on the map. "Two groups will hit them. Planetary forces will hit qIH with the troop cruiser, troop transports and assault ships. The escorts and frigates will protect them along with one scout to warn them of enemy reinforcements. Every other ship, along with the remaining scouts, will attract the bandits' attention. They'll eat away at their defenses, one trio of ships after another, not letting the Tordellians rest until there is nothing left of them."
"A battle of attrition then," said the new captain. "Let them bleed to death."
But now the settlements were still smouldering piles of ash or scattered ruins of stone and steel. They couldn't even be identified from satellites anymore. The legions of the Tordell Empire wrought thorough destruction against their Klingon victims.
Sitting on top of one such heap of rubble, Colonel Lirat smiled with satisfaction at his victory over this new enemy. His small clan was the last one untested in battle in this new addition to the Empire. It had been a bloody business but his clan had prevailed, thanks to its great tradition in martial arts. He couldn't show his rivals anything more spectacular than slaying a foe with his bare hands. Still his agile combat skills enabled him to wear them down until their submission to his will.
It didn't matter to him how many died on this path to glory. But those who remained survived long enough to remember and honor him. He could have never imagined being remembered in such a way before. The whole planet seemed to owe him now. Perhaps Her Majesty herself would soon name him governor of this new conquest. All the better for both her and him.
In his hand was one of those lev'eks drawn against his fellow soldiers. Triple bladed, two lower shorter blades stuck out on either side of the main blade. It didn't break under pressure. It was a proven workhorse of their Klingon foes. Nothing to scorn or laugh at, for those like it took the lives of his battle comrades during the invasion. He nodded, appreciating the simple weapon in his hand.
"The wise warrior relies not on one weapon, no matter how effective it is," he said to himself. "These fools never learned that lesson, I guess. Pitiful." Smiling again, he resumed scanning the landscape around him. No sign of the enemy as far as he could see.
With an exaggerated sigh, he rose up and sheathed the dagger under his belt. He headed back towards the shelter of the remaining intact buildings which were now his headquarters. It was time to relay his after-action report to Imperial Command. As they would expect nothing less from him. That was what made him good at his job.
In his report, he'd tell his superiors they underestimated this new foe on this planet. They never expected a few hundred stubborn colonists to fight with the strength of an infantry division. In that respect, it was only a question of strategy now. How would they strike back if they did and with what? And how many?
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Among Gaelic speaking Earthlings, his name sounded like the word for "strength of mind". Mishnak appreciated this during his visit to what other Earthers called the Emerald Isle. The green fields, the lonely mountains, the rugged coastlines of Ireland reminded him of his homeworld Qo'ngem or "forest realm". He learned Irish stick fighting techniques on the sly during his travels there. He enjoyed the illegal bare knuckle boxing matches the Traveler communities set up. When he returned to Klingon space, anytime he had gagh, the serpent worms Klingons ate, he always went for the green ones. He earned the nickname Three Leaves for the shamrock pendant he wore around his neck.
Mishnak also knew how to play the komerex zha - - the Great Game - - just like every other Klingon did from raw recruit to the Emperor himself. To earn great glory and honor for oneself, one's family line and the Empire, one kept a close eye on all who did likewise. No one was trustworthy. Everyone kept everyone else in line. Which meant no mercy for dishonorable opponents. As he got older, he grew intolerant of anyone acting independently. If any crossed the boundaries he set for his ship's crew, Mishnak could be very ruthless indeed. That rarely happened nowadays.
No other Klingon gave him cause to doubt his decisions. He was just and fair in his first captaincy of a starship. So much so, no complaints ever came from Troidorn, the Imperial Security officer onboard it. It was the same when he commanded a typical patrol of three D-7s along both Federation and Romulan borders. Then came the first ever capture of a intact Valhallen destroyer along with it's crew. That guaranteed his earning the rank of admiral and other benefits for his staff. He knew he deserved them. It had taken him five years to gain that title. A lot longer than he'd hoped but it had finally paid off.
Those below him at the command levels learned to read each other quickly, trusting nobody without sufficient evidence to do so. That would keep them alive in battle. It was the Klingon way to survive. And survive they did. For six decades, he never lost a single warship. Never lost any significant number of personnel. Stopped four Orion pirate raids. Foiled an assassination attempt on his person before turning fifty. This made him dangerous to the Imperial Council, fearing that he might make a claim to the Throne itself. Especially after he turned sixty. Too old for his kind. Or maybe not. Time alone would tell.
It was the destruction of the colony on qIH that gave the Council an opportunity to eliminate the threat Mishnak seemed to pose.
They learned of it's death by Tordellian hands at the end of the Botchok Conference. Organia's new government head told the Federation team there to release every ship Star Fleet captured since the Four Years War. The condition for this was that they had to go to qIH rather than strike the Federation again. Both they and the Kephans were dealt bloody blows also from this new threat. Hence was formed an unusual informal cooperation between the Conference's three powers. Behind the scenes, everything related to this new empire would be shared among them. However, as was standard operating procedure, the Klingons would reveal what they discovered only so long as it gave them any advantage over either Earth or Kepha.
The Imperial Council was shocked when they learned how many ships Star Fleet still held intact. News of it caused a public scandal in the Federation Assembly. Their fears of Mishnak and his record of successes equaled the news of these ships. The Great Houses within the Council convinced the Emperor to appoint him as overall commander of this new fleet. It would rid them of the specter of Three Leaves and his supporters while getting rid of now old or obsolete ships. They had to be disposed of anyway to make room for new constructions and refits.
When brought before both Emperor and Council to receive his new orders, Mishnak accepted them with gratitude. "Your Majesty, those who took this world from us shall not prosper," he vowed. "They are thieves and cowards. That which they stole from us shall be restored even if by bloodshed. The Naked Stars themselves will relish our crushing these bands of brigands. The Empire will triumph over any other who dare to call itself an empire. Q'APLA!"
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
"Lirat, your stew is ready," yelled the mess sergeant. The colonel smirked as he finished typing his report.
"Did you cut down the salt in it this time?" he yelled in return.
"What salt? That's just your imagination." Lirat chuckled at that. He allowed only a few to engage in comedic insults with him. It broke up the boring periods he sent the required after action reports to Imperial Command. He enjoyed wearing his long black thermal coat despite the fact that it was woven from recycled plastic. Just because he hit sixty doesn't mean he had to dress like some kind of monster. In the beginning, he hated it. Now, he learned to accept it. After many decades of hard service, he reached the point where no set of clothes insulted his eyes any longer. Or anything else for that matter.
"Stew for my insides, coat for my outsides," he murmured as he closed his portable processor. Leaving his small officers' quarters, he went down a narrow corridor towards the mess hall. The place smelled good. Even in its relative cleanliness compared to his own quarters. An Imperial doctor checked it regularly and monitored his health. A quality life was another benefit of serving the Empire. The endless days and nights of work made him appreciate things others took for granted.
"None of those serpent things these barbarians eat around here?" Lirat shouted to the mess sergeant.
"I know better than that. Eat it while it's hot."
He chuckled as he spied Lieutenant Piyoi at her table, a steaming bowl of broth in front of her as she typed on her processor. The only female member of his senior staff saluted him, then turned away to focus on her report. He didn't really care though. They were too busy or too tired to socialize together except during off hours. Even then, one never knew when the Silent Hand would strike if one got too frisky off duty. Friskiness caused trouble. And if the most feared of all state security forces thought you were trouble, they did something about it with lethal results. That was the Hand for you, silent and deadly.
He grabbed his bowl, then sat in front of her. "Anything new, Pivoi?"
She looked up briefly, then continued typing. "Just suspicions, nothing more. We've been on this world for the past few weeks. Been no sign of these Klingons returning. I'm convinced they're making plans for an attack, though. Just have to flush them out." She glanced at him again.
"You sound confident."
"Shouldn't we trust their reactions, sir?" she asked.
"What does that mean?"
She smirked, and pretended not to notice his raised eyebrow. "Trust their behavior instead of our own calculations. Revenge is in their blood just like ours. How do you plan to counteract that?"
"By keeping my men alert as always."
"On the ground, yes, no question. How about space?"
"Not my jurisdiction. Not my worry."
"How about telling that to Admiral Hing?"
The moment she mentioned that name, she noticed Lirat visibly bristle.
"If he messes up out there again, we'll bear the brunt of his follies here." She brushed her eyebrows with her finger. "If there was ever someone the Silent Hand should have erased...."
"Say no more," he murmured. "We're of one mind on that subject."
Pivoi nodded. "Why they assigned us one assault ship for this operation is beyond me. The way these colonists came after us? We should have had a full army corps on hand to strike them down."
"Can't complain," said Lirat, now smiling at her. "Good thing he isn't here to gloat. Still, it worked out well so far. Casualties have been light. So forgive my blind optimism."
Pivoi smiled back. She enjoyed teasing him when the mood was right. He put little value on her beauty and focused on her wits instead. She appreciated this professional attitude. Otherwise, her skills would be wasted. After many years, he had earned her trust. Another reward for his devotion to Empress and Empire. At least he believed he had.
Then the loud screech of his communicator shattered the mood. He slapped his left ear, growled. "Lirat here."
"This is Hing. Need you on the bridge, now."
"Of which ship, sir?"
"The command cruiser. Drop everything and get here yesterday."
He shook his head. "Yes, sir. Out."
With that, he rose and pushed his bowl of stew at Pivoi. "Eat well. Dry cold rations in our near future, I'll bet."
"Your optimism at it again," she said, covering her heart with a hand. "Stay careful, my friend."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
"Why do you seek my approval?" asked Troidorn. The long-term Imperial Security officer in Mishnak's staff kept a close eye on the new admiral's actions for years. But this request was unusual even for him. "Am I not an underling? Why seek me out as an equal?"
"I'm well aware of your standing. I'm also aware of your command abilities, ever since you were assigned to me. When we strike the bandits ahead of us, my attentions will be elsewhere. Forty-eight hours now separate us from plowing into them. So I ask your permission to promote you to captain. The crew will look to you for guidance during battle."
Troidorn held his breath.
"Besides," he went on. "Thanks to your advice, I led the strike to capture that Valhallen ship. Your masters in Security got their precious intelligence on them. You raised your profile in their eyes and for the better. The Emperor himself put me in charge of this fleet. All because of you." He nodded as he walked before the briefing room table covered with an old-fashioned paper map. "To my mind, you are a Klingon's Klingon. There is no shame in such a legacy."
Troidorn swallowed. His eyes went wide. He kept his lips tightly shut. He slowly nodded his assent. "As you wish, Admiral. Will there be anything else?"
Mishnak grinned, delighted. "Your opinion, Captain, on this plan of attack." Then he turned serious. "We have an embarrassment of riches in our fleet. Ninety-three old ships freed from Star Fleet captivity, all bound for qIH along with their crews. There's glory enough for all, so all should have a chance to grab it."
A warm smile came over Troidorn. "My compliments, admiral," he murmured, trying to hide his sudden emotion. "What do you suggest?"
"Like in bare knuckle boxing, aim for the knockout blow to the jaw." He laid both hands on the map. "Two groups will hit them. Planetary forces will hit qIH with the troop cruiser, troop transports and assault ships. The escorts and frigates will protect them along with one scout to warn them of enemy reinforcements. Every other ship, along with the remaining scouts, will attract the bandits' attention. They'll eat away at their defenses, one trio of ships after another, not letting the Tordellians rest until there is nothing left of them."
"A battle of attrition then," said the new captain. "Let them bleed to death."
"Indeed. They stole this beautiful world of a thousand daggers from us. They shall die slowly from them, so to speak." Mishnak nodded, shut his eyes as if uttering a prophecy. "This pretty jewel of Empire and Emperor shall be restored to it's rightful owners...one way or another."
*********************
Battle campaign details upcoming.
or if not fully disabled then go kamikaze on folks in the name of the Queen 
