Previously in Star
Trek: The Proud Few;
In 2368, near the
start of the Klingon Civil War, Private Michael Drake
and his platoon of Starfleet Marines from the Federation Embassy on Qo’noS are assigned to infiltrate the Capital City’s old
quarter to locate and retrieve an operative from Starfleet Intelligence, who
Drake is surprised to discover is his former martial arts instructor and mentor
Lin Fau Chang, just as a violent confrontation
between Klingon gangs appears ready to start.
Qo’noS, Homeworld of the Klingon Empire
Market Square
“Walc! Get your team over here!”
2nd
Lieutenant Joshua Collins and his team were surrounded. They tried to avoid one oncoming gang from
the rear; only to have another one arriving from another direction. And without much preparation, not caring who
their enemy looked like—or even what clothing they wore—they drew their
disruptors and opened fire.
There was
no choice now. Collins ordered his
marines to defend themselves.
“Take
cover!” The Luna born platoon leader
ordered as his men took up fighting positions—whether behind a large object or
a dead animal carcass. His team,
consisting of squad leader Sergeant Tamara, Bolian
Corpsman Loc, Corporal Rawlins, Private Hector Gonzales and Private Michael
Drake, along with the man the had been deployed to retrieve, Starfleet
Intelligence officer Lin Fau Chang. The entire unit was unable to obtain a
transporter lock and beam out of hostile territory, having been informed by the
commander of the embassy guard, Major McGregor.
The Klingon gangs were preparing an all-out
assault on the embassy, waiting for the complex’s defenses to lose power. These bandits, through outside aid (most
probably the House of Duras) had been planning this
incursion for some time.
Doc Loc
took aim with his rifle, and fired a blast at a charging Klingon
wielding a bat’leth.
He then fired another one at a gang member with a spear, and took out a
third with a disruptor rifle, as the attacker attempted to plant himself into
firing position. Corporal Rawlins took
out a photon grenade—and as soon as he activated the device, tossed it several
feet away at another armed group. Within
seconds, an explosion went off, sending Klingons flying through the air.
Facing the
other direction, Lieutenant Collins and Sergeant Tamara attempted to fend off
another oncoming group. One Klingon managed to break away from the crossfire. Holding his yan
sword, he ran to where Sergeant Tamara was positioned. As the Klingon
closed in on her, Tamara rose to her feet and used her rifle against the
striking blade, parrying it. Deflecting
the blade to the side with her weapon, the Japanese NCO then shoved the butt of
her rifle into the Klingon’s face before sweeping the
adversary’s leg with her foot, taking the enemy down. The gang member tried to get up, just in time
for the Starfleet Marine to slam him with the butt of the rifle again. Another gang member entered the fray, arena
raising his bat’leth and executing a downward
strike. Tamara used the same technique
with the rifle, parrying the blade away.
She then delivered a karate front kick into the assailant’s body. Then by taking the rear grip of the firearm,
she swung it across the Klingon’s head, like a
martial arts tonfa club, taking out the enemy. She quickly brought the muzzle back out and
returned fire at another Klingon. Alongside Tamara, Lin Fau
Chang and Michael Drake faced off against several Klingon
attackers, engaging them in blade-to-blade combat. The Chinese martial arts teacher and his
former student successfully defeated their adversaries.
Nearby,
Collins faced-off with a knife-wielding combatant. The opponent knocked the platoon leader’s
rifle away. The marine then tried to use
his disruptor pistol, when the Klingon grabbed the
wrist Collins was holding it with. The
same time the lieutenant grabbed the wrist holding the d’k
tahg. Both
fighters were now locked with each other in a death struggle. Collins felt the overpowering strength of the
alien warrior. Then, the might of his
foe weakened; the young officer noticing his opponent’s eyes widen. He had received a mortal blow from
behind. The enemy warrior fell to the
ground. As he dropped the body,
Lieutenant Collins noticed a small disruptor hit in the back of his foe.
The Klingon gang members turned around, only to be struck down
by rapid phaser fire.
They attempted to retaliate only to be taken out quickly with several
rapid blasts, from what appears to be coming from a Starfleet Squad Support Phaser Weapon, or SSPW.
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant Walc!” Collins complemented to the Tellarite platoon sergeant, as he and the rest of Bravo
Squad took up positions where the rest of Alpha Squad stood.
“Thought
you were gonna say, ‘what took you so long?!’” the
muscular, pig-faced marine asked Collins in his arguing manner.
Collins
answered in his traditional custom, “The thought did cross my mind!” He saw his platoon sergeant nod in agreement.
Approaching
to where ‘Doc’ Loc and Corporal Rawlins happen to be, Lance Corporal Henry
Ferguson, or ‘Tex,’ placed his SSPW upon a fallen concrete structure, extending
the weapon’s bipod in place before opening fire at the rest of the opposing
gang.
“Everyone’s
all here now!” Collins addressed the rest of the unit. “Commence firing, fire at will!”
The rest of the teams, which also included
Private First Class Vance Haden, Jr. and Silverman, obeyed. Collins turned to the Private as he asked,
“Haden, you got that isometric disintegrator?”
“Copy, sir!”
“Use it!”
Haden set
his phaser rifle down. On his shoulder was slung a large pack. Setting it down, he opened it before starting
to piece together the components. The
long-tube, isometric disintegrator was in place. Using the scope to target the gang members a
few yards away, as they used cover to fire their disruptors, the Starfleet
admiral’s son took aim
“Ready!?” Collins
checked on his subordinate.
“Yeah!”
“Do it!”
“Fire in the hole!”
The
Starfleet Marines near him took cover, as Haden fired his high-powered
weapon. The blast took out the entire
gang emplacement. Haden checked the
scope. His weapon had done its job.
“Clear!”
Collins
surveyed the area. The gang that had
attacked them were now out of action. Their part in the Klingon
Civil War was over.
“Fan
out!” Collins told his marines. “Make sure there’s none hiding behind those
crates!”
Sergeant
Tamara led some of the grunts out to check out the area as Collins joined Walc nearby and both Slater and Kirby maintained watch at
the rear. The platoon leader, before
conferring to his second-in-command, noticed something else happen. As Doc Loc pulled out a hypospray.
Corporal Rawlins had been seriously wounded in the final assault, and
was not responding.
“What
happened, Doc?”
“He took a
direct disruptor hit to the chest, sir.”
“Will
he…?”
Loc
examined the corporal’s injuries.
Several indication sounds beeped out from his tricorder
until the one long tone indicating ‘flatline’ told
the marine Corpsman…
“He’s
gone, sir.”
Collins
took a moment to reflect on this sudden loss.
Corporal Rawlins was the first casualty in his unit, under his command.
“Tag him,
and bag him, Doc.”
“Aye, sir.” Loc
complied, as he removed a Starfleet-issued body-bag from his pack.
The
platoon leader then turned to Walc. “Any news from the embassy,
Sergeant?”
“Still nothing, sir.”
Collins
looked over to the street ahead. He
could hear from a distance still more armed gangs approaching.
“We gotta get out of here…Any ideas?”
Drake
spoke, as he pointed to a tall structure, “We could head over to that building
just half a klick away.”
Lin Fau Chang added, “The Black Tower, which the Private and I
used to use as a test of bravery.”
“…Heights
that is, sir,” Drake added. “The thing’s
taller than the
Private
Hiram Silverman, who had grown up in
“How do
you know it’s taller than the
“’Cause Lieutenant Chang and I climbed up the exterior of it years
ago?”
“Do you
think the gangs may already be there?”
“Most
unlikely, Lieutenant Collins,” Chang informed him. “The Klingons consider the Tower a sacred
place. Even some of those gang thugs
would think twice before desecrating such a place in an armed skirmish!”
With no
other available option, the Starfleet Marine officer had to make a decision.
“Alright, marines!” Collins rounded everyone up. “Let’s just get there before the Klingons
down here give us an honorable death!
Let’s move!”
Space, the Final Frontier…
These are the adventures of the Starfleet
Marine Corps.
Our mission: To protect and defend the
constitution of the United Federation of Planets from all threats…
...Anytime, anywhere.
Star Trek:
The Proud Few
“Gangs Of Qo’noS” By
David Kingsbury
Federation Embassy
“What are
they waiting for?” Private Jake Kurland
manned his firing station, as he looked on behind the wall. Below, several armed Klingon
gangs kept shouting battle chants and curses at the defenders. They hoped to frighten or psyche them into
submission. “Why don’t they just shut up
and bring it on?”
The
marines and the security contingent were well aware of the slow power drain,
caused by an unknown source. The last
thing the officials wanted was an army of bandits and thugs sacking and
pillaging the embassy, leaving no traces of life behind once they were
through. Now everyone was on alert
status. All non-essential personnel had
been sent to secured areas deep beneath the building. At the same time, teams of engineers and
technical experts were busy trying to restore full power.
Major
McGregor looked over with his field glasses taking a look at the war-frenzied
gang members. He could see the look in
their eyes; as if glowing red like a rabid wolf, with drool foaming from its
mouth, teeth widening--ready to launch itself at any moment at an unintended
victim, ripping it to shreds. The older
commanding officer had seen Klingons before in their fighting frenzy. But these were not the honorable warriors he
was used to encountering. It looked like
a very bad imitation of that 20th century movie, Braveheart,
McGregor thought.
Captain Sholvok, the commander of Bravo Company, moved up next to
McGregor, also looking at the scene a few blocks away.
“Status report, Captain?” McGregor requested, as he lowered
his field glasses.
“All
perimeters and defense positions are manned, Major,”
the Vulcan reported. “Roving patrols are
stationed within the compound. I have
posted guards at all high level areas.”
“What
about those portable transporter inhibitors?”
“They are
in place, sir. If the gangs have
transporter devices, they will not be able to beam one member into this
complex.”
“Unless
the shields are down and the gangs charge in to knock the devices out as they
send an infiltration unit into the operations center.”
McGregor
looked over at the gangs once more.
“I don’t
know what’s worse, Mr. Sholvok: facing an armed group of punks, or possibly
facing a powerful family that doesn’t like us that much.”
“If you mean the Duras Family. Their illogical and dishonorable actions
could threaten the security of the Federation.”
“And one
source of proof is out there…,” McGregor pointed his eyes toward the horizon
overlooking much of the Klingon city. “…And we can’t get to them.”
Inside the
operations center, Starfleet Intelligence Commander Lance was overseeing his
control operators attempt to restore power levels to normal. Most of their attempts met without
success. Power was still being drained
at a slow rate. Monitors and viewscreens remained somewhat fuzzy; even the Hogh Council broadcast had gone dark. All that everyone could do was hope for a
miracle. Nearby, a few armed marine and
security guards were posted around the room.
All of them carried phaser rifles and other
vital equipment. The control personnel
were also armed with phaser pistols. They were ready in case the gangs managed to
break in.
“Sir!” the
ensign, who had monitored the gangs’ movements earlier, called out.
“What is it, Ensign?”
“Sir, I’m
getting a faint coded message coming in on subspace...Starfleet frequency!”
“Display
it on screen if you can!”
The ensign
nodded to the enlisted man operating the console. A partial message started to display on a
small viewscreen, but the static from the inference
jammed most of the text. The two
Starfleet officers examined as much of it as they could before the static
covered the screen, the transmission lost.
“That’s
all there is, Commander. I almost could
read it, but with the distortion interfering, only barely. If the transmission is authentic, which we
were unable to concur, it would appear that Starfleet
believes the Romulans are supplying the Duras Family.”
Commander
Lance had sent operative Lin Fau Chang to ascertain
any evidence if there was a Romulan connection in this conflict.
Chang may
be right, Lance thought. Still no word
from him, or the marine platoon sent to find him. With the transporters offline, there was no
way to beam them back. Shuttles were out
of the question. And there were reports
of gang members having commandeered several transport vessels prepared to shoot
anything within their flight path.
Meanwhile, the ensign continued.
“Starfleet
is sending a blockade of starships to prevent any Romulan vessels from crossing
the Neutral Zone.” He turned to discern
anything else he could make out of the message, but could only add, “I am
afraid that was all we were able to receive from them.”
“I wonder
if they are even aware of what’s going on here?” Lance looked toward a partially lit display
screen, where Captain Sholvok and Major McGregor were
observing their marines nearby. “It
won’t be long before the power drain will subject the Embassy to a full-scale
massacre. …Or worse,
if Gowron loses this war.” Commander Lance then took a look at the
system scanners. “Any luck on locating
the cause of the virus?”
“Nothing yet, sir.”
* * *
Somewhere within
the Capital
The clash
between the Red Targ and the Iron Hammer was only a
diversion for the real plan—while other major gangs (names unknown to most
Klingons) were still at each other’s throats, literally.
“Why do we
wait when I have men ready to attack?” Yeto, the leader of the Red Targ,
yelled into his communicator on his wrist.
He was speaking to his primary supporter, Tol’dak. Yeto had gathered
many of his followers, had agreed to this plan; as did T’Kar,
the leader of the Iron Hammer. Both
sides formed a mutual pact according to the instructions of their benefactor,
who was in turn receiving aid from Lursa and B’Etor—in hopes they would destroy Gowron’s
forces in the conflict that was taking place throughout the Empire.
“It won’t
be long, I assure both of you.” Tol’dak informed them.
“You told
us that your virus would weaken their shields easily!” T’Kar of the Iron
Hammer stepped up. He was even more
impatient than his counterpart.
Tol’dak explained, “There are many of you! They have few! Once their defenses are eliminated, you will
have no trouble overwhelming the guards, and anyone else in your way.”
“You think
so?” T’Kar
asked, beginning to doubt their benefactor.
“Believe
me, T’Kar.
Once all power is gone, they won’t have a chance. And Starfleet will not be able to do anything
about it once the Duras have achieved victory. The Empire will deny this incident; claiming
it as an act by petty thieves and criminals.”
“Watch
what you say!” Yeto
warned Tol’dak, even though it happens to be
true. There were no honorable warriors
among the gangs. They were all fighting
for either Gowron or the Duras. No matter.
Tol’dak told them, “They have only an hour. Your time is near.”
“Very well!” T’Kar agreed. “We will wait. But do not disappointment us!” The communication was ended.
* * *
Platoon
leader’s log, stardate 45022.4: 2nd
Lieutenant Collins recording;
Cut
off from the embassy and surrounded by the various street gangs, our platoon
has finally reached the Black Tower, a very high-rising structure where,
according to Private Drake and Lieutenant Chang, a young Klingon
warrior will test his bravery in overcoming what some of us humans often
experience, a fear of heights. Choosing
the internal route up a narrow set of stairs, we’re heading up to the
observation level located on the top. We’re also keeping an eye out for gang
members, just in case.
The
Private
Walt Slater and Private Sarah Kirby took point, with Drake and Gonzales backing
them up. The rest of the unit
followed. After what seemed like hours
and thousands of steps, the platoon approached one more level leading to the
final set of stairs. This must be the
observation tower, Drake thought to himself.
It was almost like they were heading up to take on an evil dictator. Would have loved to take on both Lursa and B’Etor single-handedly,
Drake imagined. He had heard that one of
them was a real flirt!
“Clear!”
yelled Slater.
“Clear!”
added Kirby. The rest of the team moved
up. In their way now
stood a set of blast doors. Drake
walked over to examine the obstruction.
“I don’t
remember blast doors being here.”
Walc, the Tellarite platoon
sergeant approached, acting in his traditional criticizing manner. “You’ve probably been away for too long be an
authority on the tourist attractions of Qo’noS,
Private.”
“He’s
right, Staff Sergeant,” Chang said as he moved up next to Drake. The Chinese operative also examined the
door. “This thing shouldn’t even be
here.”
“How can
you tell, Lieutenant?” Collins asked.
“This
entire structure, even though sturdy enough, is centuries old. That door…,” Chang pointed out, “…is fairly
new.” He looked down over at the side
plating. “I would have to say no more
than two to three months old.” Chang
also noticed something else, as he scanned with his tricorder. “I’m also getting something else here,
Lieutenant.” The intelligence officer
motioned for the platoon to quiet down.
Once there was silence, the marines also started to recognize sounds
coming from beyond the blast door.
“I’m
detecting computer controls, monitoring systems.” Chang shook his head a little. “Gowron’s gonna have a targ when he finds
out this sacred structure is being used for a communications center.”
“Let’s
confirm that.” Joshua Collins began to
issue instructions. “Drake, scan the
interior for any booby traps and other devices.
Silverman, get your equipment.”
“Aye, sir.”
As the
“No
devices detected, sir,” Drake reported.
“Alright, Silverman,
get ready,” Collins signaled.
“Set,
Lieutenant.” The young tech genius
placed a device over the control panel to the right of the doors and activated
the controls, unlocking them. A loud
clanging noise could be heard. “Done.”
“Drake,
check it out,” Collins ordered the young marine as he headed in to scout around
once the door opened.
“Lieutenant
Collins,” Chang said. “Mind if I tag
along with the Private?”
“Just make
sure you stay in one piece, Lieutenant.”
Chang
nodded and followed Private Drake into the room. As they entered, they encountered a series of
controls and other devices. It was a
small control room. Along the walls hung
several bladed weapons… But what caught
Chang’s eye was a large Klingon-made stone portrait
of a warrior in standard-issued battle armor.
Lin remembered this particular warrior from four years earlier.
“Who is
he, sifu?”
Drake asked, noticing the look of recognition on Chang’s face.
“His name
was Korris; a renegade Klingon. Several years ago he and a several
co-conspirators commandeered a Talarian freighter
which they used to destroy a Klingon battle
cruiser. While I was on the
“So that’s
the one, huh?” Drake remembered one of
his letters from Chang, during his sifu’s previous
assignment on the
“He was
loyal to the Duras until his death.”
Indeed, Korris had been a secret ally to Councilor Duras. But when Korris was killed aboard the
“And still
is…,” a voice said from behind a nearby console. Chang and Drake immediately turned to face a young Klingon male wearing
civilian-clothes. Suddenly the sounds of
the blast doors closing filled the space.
Drake and Chang watched as the room sealed, locking the rest of the
marines out. Chang and Drake were now
trapped.
“If you
served aboard that Federation ship that my father died on, then
I have also his murderer’s associate to put to death.”
“What are
you talking about?” Chang demanded.
“Once I
finish you, Starfleet,” Tol’dak threatened, “I will
ask the sisters to hand over to me the former security chief of the
Former security chief? Chang thought. Could the Duras
Family have captured Worf?
Tol’dak drew out what appeared to be a weapon. Drake responded and aimed his rifle. But before he could fire, the Klingon swung something long and knocked a piece of
equipment onto Drake’s head, knocking him out.
Chang drew out his disruptor, but Tol’dak
knocked it away. The intel
officer now took out his mek’leth.
“Nice
moves! Must be advanced weaponry
training,” Chang noted the traditional instrument that Tol’dak
drew. It was a targwhip. Made of the skins and hide of a targ, the targwhip acted just
like an Earth bullwhip. Wielded by an
expert, the effects of this Klingon weapon could be
most devastating. Tol’dak
took out a yan from his sheath with one hand then
swung the targwhip around with his other, in an
attempt to frighten the Starfleet Intelligence officer. However, Lin Fau
Chang drew out his own whip-like weapon, a sectional kung fu chain whip; an
elegant weapon used in the Chinese martial art.
Chang swung it around in several directions, readying himself for the
confrontation. Tol’dak
had been wrong in judging some humans in their fighting abilities. He should have listened to how two Klingon assassins had failed to kill Worf’s
second cha’dich two years earlier.
Both
combatants slashed at each other with their whips. Flashing, jumping, and evading each time, as
if in an old-Earth kung fu movie. Each
fighter matched one another in weapon and ability; hoping to exploit a weakness
to end this contest with a killing blow.
Chang received a few strikes from Tol’dak’s
animal-hide whip. The Chinese expert in
kung fu returned the favor with several blows on the Klingon. A last stroke from the targwhip
was quickly entwined by Chang’s metal version, and with a sharp tug, Chang
quickly disarmed his adversary. Tol’dak and Chang immediately charged at each other with
their blades, clashing metal against metal, while executing several mok’bara positions.
Chang parried one attack, countering with a punch. Disarming his enemy, the Chinese officer then
exchanged a series of martial hands strikes, kicks, and sweeps.
“Where did
you learn to fight like a Klingon, human?” Tol’dak furiously
demanded to know, having seen techniques similar to
his own in addition to the Starfleet operative’s maneuvers. Chang decided to mock his adversary.
“Why don’t
you ask the son of Mogh! Perhaps he can give
you a real fighting lesson?”
“I don’t
acknowledge murderers or traitors!”
“Mogh’s name was cleared!” Chang replied as he grabbed Tol’dak when his opponent tried to strike him with his
arm. “And your daddy was hardly Klingon warrior material either!”
“You pa’taq!”
“Want at
it again?!” Chang pushed him back. “Fine!”
Tol’dak grabbed him and took him down to the ground, grabbing
him in a restraining move. “The
Federation alliance is dust! The Duras will triumph!”
“You know,
for an honorable warrior species…you talk too much.”
Chang
twisted his body in position and tossed an overreacting, infuriated Tol’dak to the side.
The Klingon landed on the stand that held the
stone portrait of his father, knocking it to the floor, where it shattered to
pieces. Chang rolled out of the way as
the statue of Korris fell hard onto Tol’dak’s head, crushing it.
Chang
immediately got up, turning to Private Michael Drake, who was groggy but had
awakened from unconsciousness. “Are you
alright, Michael?”
“I’m
okay.” Drake held his head with his
hand. The marine looked over to where
the stone portrait now rested on Tol’dak’s head. “What happened here?”
“Like
father, like son, I guess you could say,” Chang commented as he went to help
Drake open the blast door. The rest of
the detachment of 2nd Platoon entered.
Lieutenant Collins stepped in to the observation area.
“Are you
guys okay?”
“We had a
bit of a run-in with an animal product.”
Drake looked over his shoulder to where Tol’dak’s
body lay. Collins did not bother asking
specifically; he would wait for a more detailed report later.
“Sir!” Private Hiram Silverman, the tech expert, called
out. Both the
lieutenant and Staff Sergeant Walc, Private Drake and
Lieutenant Chang headed to where Silverman was standing. The marine was scanning with his tricorder.
“What do
you have, Private?” Collins asked.
“I can see
why that Klingon was so intent on keeping us out of
here,” Silverman said as he looked at the screen on the scanning device. “From what I can make out of this, this
stuff’s got some Romulan technology into it.
Somewhat sophisticated by the way the instruments have been programmed…”
Lieutenant
Collins interrupted, “Just give me a short version, Marine.” Silverman went to the immediate answer.
“I know
why the embassy can’t get a transporter lock on us. They’ve been bombarded by a computer
virus.” Private Silverman looked at the tricorder alongside the Klingon
computer displays. “From the little Klingonese I know, the Federation complex has suffered a
series of power shortages. Some of their
defenses are still holding, but not for long.”
“With
those defenses weakening,” Chang added, “the gangs could overrun the complex.”
“Can we
shut the virus down from here?” Collins
wondered.
“Not here,
Lieutenant.” Silverman looked over to
the panel. “This is just technical
information from an outside source.”
“Romulans?” Walc
guessed.
“No.” Chang corrected, adding information from what
he had gathered during his mission.
“From some of the intel
that I gathered, the Romulan operatives were able to pass on a virus to the Duras, which they would have to install in their Klingon database and deliver by broadcast.”
“A Klingon Bird of Prey?” Collins guessed.
Chang
said, “Probably one of the few available warships the Duras
currently control; keeping most of the Romulans out
of the loop.”
“And when
our people try to figure out the source, the gangs will already be on top of
them, literally,” Drake added.
“…Giving Lursa and B’Etor—with Romulan
support—a chance to decide the ultimate fate in the Federation-Klingon Alliance,” Chang noted. “That’s the reason I tried to get back when
all hell broke loose.”
“Anyway
that we can create a feedback that could help nullify
this virus…a counter-agent?” Collins
looked over to Silverman.
“I think I
can come up with something with the data we have.”
“Go to
work.”
Silverman
nodded, activating his tricorder and checking the
readings, which he used to analyze and develop an anti-virus to transmit and
deactivate the alien virus which a hidden Klingon
ship had transmitted to the embassy’s computer systems.
“Can I be
of assistance?” Chang asked. Collins
nodded, tilting his head to where Silverman began to work on the
counter-virus. Chang moved next to the
private. As they worked, Private Kirby,
one of the guards that Collins had posted at the open blast doors, entered the
room. her
expression looked anxious.
“Lieutenant,”
she said to her commanding officer.
“We’ve got company!”
“More
gangs?” Staff Sergeant Walc guessed.
“Looks
like it, Sarge,” Drake muttered.
“Get
Slater and
“Yes,
Staff Sergeant!” Kirby obeyed.
“…So much
for keeping things sacred!” Gonzales remarked, referring to the
Haden and
“
“How much longer, Private?”
“Give me a
few minutes and I’ll bring that Klingon ship down!”
“We don’t
have a few minutes!”
Silverman
took the news to heart; but the progress bar indicating the downloading was
still taking its time. At the door, the
enemy combatants were now trying to ram it down from the other side, while the
marines held their rifles in position.
“They
don’t give up, do they?!” Slater remarked as he aimed his rifle toward the
heavy doors.
“Well what
do you expect, Walt…?” Private Kirby asked.
“They’re Klingons!”
Gonzales
commented, “Got any Metal tunes to inspire us, Mike?”
“I got
some Ozzy Osborne in my pack!” Drake joked a little.
“Keep
cool, guys!” Collins assured them.
Lin Fau Chang moved
over to the control panel. He looked at
the set of controls and located one particular switch. Without hesitation, the Chinese officer
activated it. Silverman looked at the
indicator line, and was surprised to see the speed with which the download
quickly accelerated; the counter-virus had initiated.
“I got
it!” the New Yorker shouted. That was
what Collins and the rest of the members of the platoon wanted to hear, as the
gangs continued their attempt to break through the blast doors. Lieutenant Collins headed over to Silverman’s
station.
“Is it
going into effect?”
“Yes,
sir,” Silverman informed his CO. “I just
located the Bird of Prey that is broadcasting the virus. Taking it out right now.”
“Any
attempts by the Klingons to block the counter-virus?” Chang inquired.
“If they
try to, they’ll be too focused on trying to recloak
their vessel.”
“Got a
point there,” Collins commented as he and Chang, followed by Silverman, joined
the others and readied themselves for an incoming fight. Near his platoon leader, Drake heard a comm signal coming from his badge.
“Lieutenant! I’m
getting a transporter signal!”
“Confirmed, sir!”
Sergeant Tamara acknowledged.
“Everyone!” Collins
informed his unit. “We’re ‘dusting off’
now!”
Weapons
still drawn, the marines of 2nd Platoon were quickly surrounded by the
dematerialization of the transporter.
Their physical forms disappeared in the glimmering beams. Just as the Starfleet Marines and the
intelligence operative escaped, the gang members broke down the doors and
quickly entered. The warriors searched
the room, only to find a control consol that had been tampered with and a dead Klingon leader - Tol’dak, son of Korris—his hold on the gangs now crumbled.
* * *
High in
orbit, an old D12 class Bird of Prey, one of the ships loyal to the Duras from Captain Larg’s
squadron, was suffering a few technical malfunctions. As crewmembers scrambled to redirect most of
their power to the vital systems to keep the ship from crashing onto the
surface, the captain began to swear. His
curses were heard all over the bridge--typical Klingon
behavior. Already at the same time as
the gangs were losing the element of surprise against the Federation Embassy,
the Duras Family has suffered heavy losses following
Chancellor Gowron’s latest offensive. Defeat appeared inevitable. These bands of street thugs, with no major
support from the powerful family, would now be en route to either Ruha Penthe or the demon Fek’lher’s domain.
“Sir!” The captain
turned to the communications officer who had spoken. “Kurn’s squadron is
entering the system! And I am also
getting an urgent message from Lursa and B’Etor!”
The Klingon captain swore again. Now he had two more troubles! Rescuing the would-be leaders of the Empire
and trying to avoid Kurn’s squadron… All in very little time.
“Keep the
ship cloaked!” he scowled at his crew.
“And have the transporter chief prepare to beam Lursa
and B'Etor aboard.
Then warp us out to rendezvous with the rest of Larg’s
fleet in the Mempha sector!” According to the information he received from
his intelligence officer, Larg’s forces were
regrouping at the site of the recent battle, what was left of the forces loyal
to the Duras Family now mostly decimated or on the
run. Members of a proud House, hoping to
lead the Empire into a new era, would now become fugitive outlaws, their chance
at glory quickly fleeting
* * *
Federation Embassy
They made
it.
--Having
lost only one of their own in the street battle, the marines of 2nd Platoon
made it back alive…with the Starfleet Intelligence operative in tow. Michael Drake took a deep breath seeing the
sight of a Federation transporter room.
At least for a brief moment; unsure if the Klingons might still try to
breech the complex’s defense perimeter.
Lieutenant Collins hoped that Private Silverman’s counter-virus was not
quickly countermanded. But the ‘Lunar
Schooner’ had faith in Hiram’s technical know-how.
As the
troops stepped off of the transporter platform, their superiors, Major
McGregor, Captain Sholvok, and Commander Lance,
supported by a team of Starfleet medics and other Starfleet personnel, greeted
them.
“Sorry it took us so long,” McGregor
apologized to his marines. “Somehow,
just now, we managed to restore our systems.”
“I know,”
Collins said. “By accident, we stumbled
across the source of your power drain and eliminated it.” The marine officer looked over toward
Lieutenant Chang. “Mister Chang will
debrief you all on some of the information he had collected.”
Commander
Lance stepped up to Lin Fau Chang. The Chinese Starfleet Intelligence field
agent took out a small device from his tattered robes.
“Here’s
the information, Commander; actual proof that the Duras
are secretly working with the Romulans.”
“At least
that will add to the rest of the information,” Lance said.
“…Rest of
the information?” Chang inquired.
“A
Starfleet armada under the command of the
“No
kidding?”
“The tide
of the civil war has turned. Gowron’s fleet are about to launch a final assault on the Duras Family’s forces.”
“Did you
get…?”
“Shields
are at maximum.”
Having
overheard his sifu and his commanding officer,
Private Drake looked over to Hector Gonzales.
“Looks
like the gangs are going to be outnumbered,” Drake commented.
Gonzales
added, “And totally outgunned.”
Major
McGregor turned toward the rest of the unit.
“Marines,
if you please.” The older officer could
hear the disruptor sounds outside the building.
“The fireworks have begun.”
* * *
Marine’s
personal log, stardate 45025.4: Private Michael Drake
recording;
We’ve
managed to secure the embassy. News of
the forced Romulan withdrawal near the border, and Chancellor Gowron’s victory, has allowed his troops to round up the
gangs and restore order. The danger is
over…but like every small conflict, it came at a cost. During our skirmishes with the gangs, we
suffered one casualty: Corporal Victor
Rawlins. His body will be returned to Starbase with us, where a memorial service will be held,
then transported by the starship
Drake and
his friend and squadmate, Private Hector Gonzales,
walked along the wall of the embassy complex.
Both men, now in their “surface operation blacks”, carried their Type
III phaser rifles and other equipment--having shed
their Klingon attire since returning to the
embassy--en route to the transport that would take them off Qo’noS
and back to Starbase 24, along with the body of
Corporal Rawlins. The two marines talked
with each other as they passed a number of engineers, service technicians, and
embassy personnel.
“Gowron’s got a big task ahead of him, now that the Duras Family is no longer a threat,” Gonzales said to
Drake.
“For now
at least,” Drake said as he turned toward his young Hispanic comrade and nodded
in agreement. “I have a feeling the Duras sisters will try and retake the Empire again. And I wonder if they’ve now got a personal
grudge against certain members of Starfleet?”
The
‘certain members’ Drake was referring to were Captain Picard and the crew of
the Enterprise, especially Lieutenant
Worf, the Klingon security
officer and adversary of Duras, and probably anyone
else who ends up in their way--meaning also a bunch of Starfleet Leathernecks.
“How’s
your sifu, by the way?” Gonzales asked.
“Haven’t heard from him since we returned from our mission. His position with Starfleet Intelligence
doesn’t give him much free time. But I’m
sure he’ll check in on me later on. He
always does.” Gonzales shook his head a
little.
“Well,
Michael, we made it through one piece of history in the Federation text books.”
“Well,
Hector, this is what we signed up for.
Got through one adventure; more coming our way.”
“Semper Fi!”
The End
Return to 2369.
Return to Stories Archive.