Well guys, you roped me in! It didn't take too much convincing I'll admit. I thought the Prelude to Axanar was awesome and then you follow up with two good stories based on that war. It was something I couldn't resist. This is a work in progress, so bear with me. I hope you enjoy it.
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STAR TREK: FOUR YEARS WAR
BEST SERVED COLD
Imperial Klingon Warship Chong’poQ
2242
Lt. Kaaj dared to stand beside his commander. Captain Kern sniffed as if he smelled something putrid. His large hands flexed as if he were ready to strike the impertinent subordinate, but he kept them at his sides.
There was larger prey to attack, the Federation outpost on Caleb IV. Kaaj’s eyes also lit with predatory hunger at the prospect. The entire bridge was brimming with anticipation. Together the men stared out of the main viewer, the stars streaking by. They were the tip of the strike force.
Finally he would have a chance for real honor, the honor befitting a true warrior, something that had so far been denied him.
Kaaj hated thinking of his withered right arm, the deformity that should’ve consigned him to the dregs or worse. But he came from a powerful, respected House, and their influence had helped gain him the first officer’s slot on the Chong’poQ.
He hated thinking of his weak arm, though he rarely thought of anything else. It was the great obstacle that he would never fully overcome, the first and eternal great challenge of his life. In his more sanguine moments he considered his handicap a backhanded blessing because it had forced him to use intellect to defeat physically stronger opponents.
He knew the weaknesses in the hearts of men and he exploited them whenever possible to secure his position among the crew. If it was not a place of honor, it was one of grudging respect, born of his ability to manipulate but also a necessary cruelty.
Even Kern, though he never would admit it, was impressed with how Kaaj kept the crew in line, especially the HemQuch like himself. The HemQuch had been untainted by the Qu’Vat virus, their brows still bearing the proud ridges of the ancestors. Kaaj was one of the QuchHa’, the smooth paned descendants of the affliction that had knifed through the Empire nearly a century ago.
In truth he bore two marks of shame, his arm and his ridge less brow. The QuchHa’ were considered to have less of a warrior’s prowess and more of a human’s guile. QuchHa’ were often forced to prove themselves of even being “true” Klingons.
Similar to how his arm had compelled him to use his mind to overcome his enemies, Kaaj also believed his bastardized heritage made QuchHa’ more suited to defeat the humans. On a larger scale he knew that QuchHa’ understood the humans, the main drivers of the Federation, better. They knew that regular Klingon bluster and show of arms would not deter them, that cunning was just as important as any bat’leth.
Too many of the HemQuch thought any problem could be battered into submission; hence this glorious campaign.
And it was magnificent, Kaaj had to admit. The warrior’s song stirred his blood. The desire for glory in combat, to reach the gates of Sto’Vo’Kor was as strong as any man or woman in the Imperial Fleet.
“Captain we are in communications range of the outpost,” the communications officer reported. “Should we jam their transmissions?”
Kern, not taking his eyes off the view, said, “No. I want their starships to arrive. I want them to see what will befall them and the Federation.”
Kaaj grimaced. It was standard procedure to block communications. To no to do so introduced an unknown variable and could provide the enemy an advantage. “Captain,” he said quietly. This incensed Kern more.
“Speak!” He bellowed at Kaaj. The first officer took the spittle in his face in stride.
“We should block their transmissions,” he said, daring not to show weakness in front of the larger man. “The Federation will know what is coming for them soon enough, but we shouldn’t make it too soon.”
“Ha,” Kern’s laughter was as hard as the man. “You don’t even want to give the outpost a chance to prepare for us. To let them die on their feet or for their Starfleet to rally a defense, not matter how futile it will be. You QuchHa’ are as cowardly as Ferengi.”
Kaaj stanched his growing anger. His hand itched to pull his d’k tahg from its sheath and gut his commanding officer. If he trusted that he would not be immediately vaporized by those loyal to Kern he would’ve done so. Instead he replied evenly, with just enough edge in his voice to hopefully satisfy his captain, “Warning them impedes the mission. Our goal is to attack, to sow terror, in advance of the invasion fleet. We do that best if we are unannounced.”
Kern glared at the man. Kaaj held his gaze. He knew to break it would be fatal. The muscular Klingon spat at Kaaj’s boot. “Fine,” he snorted. “Jam communications.” He slapped Kaaj heavily on the back and laughed again.
“Soon we’ll dip our blades in blood,” he promised. “And the galaxy will never be the same.”
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USS Kelly
In orbit of Caleb IV
Captain Emilia Fonseca leaned forward in her seat, “Could you repeat that?” Communications Officer Swanson held the transceiver back up to his ear.
“Sir, our long range communications are being jammed,” the ginger-haired man gravely replied.
“From what or by whom?” Fonseca demanded.
“I think we’re about to find out shortly,” the Science Officer said, looking away from his scope. “We’ve got several vessels incoming, on an approach vector straight for the planet.”
“Hostiles?” Fonseca asked, though she already guessed the answer.
“We can’t say for certain sir, but in my estimation, yes,” Lt. Graeg replied back. “It could be more Orion raiders or Nausicaan pirates,” The Coridanite added, somewhat hopefully. Piracy by both had been a growing concern in this sector of space. “The jamming signal is scrambling other ship’s sensors. We have yet to obtain their transponder data.”
“It could just as well be the Klingons,” Lt. Commander Ruddy inveighed, acknowledging the elephant in the room. Emilia frowned at the prospect that her first officer might be right. The peace talks undertaken by the Vulcans had broken down and tensions had been high running along the border. But the situation always seemed to be tense with the Klingons. The captain didn’t see anything that precipitated more aggressive action from the Empire. Then again, when did they ever need a reason?
“Red alert,” the captain announced, pressing the button on her armrest. The lighting dimmed and the bridge became tensed.
“Ready weapons and increase shields on my mark,” she ordered. “Also, Mr. Swanson, can we still communicate with the outpost?”
“Yes sir,” the man was relieved.
“Contact Commander Drexler and tell him to prepare for potential hostilities,” she ordered.
“Aye sir,” Swanson swiftly turned the captain’s words into action.
“After that, call the crew back up from the surface. Leave has been rescinded.”
“Yes sir,” Swanson said, not able to hide his gloom. He had been scheduled to go planetside after his shift was over.
“Inform me the second everyone is back aboard,” the captain said. Once Swanson acknowledged, Fonseca ordered a log buoy be prepared in the event that they encountered serious trouble.
She waited uneasily, picking at the gold braids on the right wrist of her uniform until Swanson said, “Everyone is back aboard.”
Fonseca hit a toggle on her chair. “Engineering, this is the captain. Prepare to leave orbit, warp factor two on my mark.”
“Aye sir,” Chief Tanvi crisply replied, “We’ll be ready for whatever you need.” Emilia smiled. The Andorian was her closest confidante onboard and the fast, solid support was certainly needed.
Commander Ruddy turned half around in his chair. The thickset, dark skinned man looked at her, trying to divine what she intended to do next.
“We’re going to meet these bastards,” Fonseca declared.
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IKS Chong’poQ
Lt. Kaaj barely could sit in his seat. Captain Kern had forgone doing so. He had stridden to the prow of the vessel, his nose nearly touching the main viewscreen. The large man nearly blocked the magnified view of the Starfleet vessel rushing towards them.
Despite the impediment Kaaj saw that it was one of the Marklin-class destroyers. The compact ship should provide them with good sport.
“The Starfleet vessel is hailing us,” the communications officer informed them.
“Let them eat static,” Kern crowed. “Soon they’ll be nothing more than that.”
Testing the captain, Kaaj said, “Put the communique on speakers.” Kern rounded on him but said nothing.
“Klingon vessels, this is Captain Emilia Fonseca of the Federation Starship Kelly. You have violated Federation space. Alter course and return to Klingon space or you will be fired upon.”
Kern laughed. “When will we be in weapons’ range?”
“Five thousand kellicams,” Weapons Officer Rogaak, another HemQuch, said. Kern stomped back to his seat where he fell into it. He ran a hand roughly down the golden sash running from his left shoulder. It bore the mark of his House. Kaaj had noticed the man often touched the medal before a battle, as if it brought him good luck.
He sneered at the superstition, but kept his disapproval to himself. “Inform the strike force not to fire,” he ordered, “This little bird is mine.”
***************************************************************
USS Kelly
“I hate being right,” Michael Ruddy said. Lt. Arroyo, fresh from his sojourn to Caleb IV, and now back at the helm, muttered, “Damn.”
Captain Fonseca shared those sentiments. Pressing down on them was a Klingon flotilla of three capital ships and a wing of attack craft. The ones that gave her the most pause were two D5 battle cruisers and one long-necked D’aka assault ship. The D’aka was in the lead.
“Replay my warning,” Fonseca ordered Swanson. The young man did so, but they all knew it was in vain. The Klingons were coming for Caleb IV, they were coming for blood.
And Kelly was the only thing that stood in their way.
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STAR TREK: FOUR YEARS WAR
BEST SERVED COLD
Imperial Klingon Warship Chong’poQ
2242
Lt. Kaaj dared to stand beside his commander. Captain Kern sniffed as if he smelled something putrid. His large hands flexed as if he were ready to strike the impertinent subordinate, but he kept them at his sides.
There was larger prey to attack, the Federation outpost on Caleb IV. Kaaj’s eyes also lit with predatory hunger at the prospect. The entire bridge was brimming with anticipation. Together the men stared out of the main viewer, the stars streaking by. They were the tip of the strike force.
Finally he would have a chance for real honor, the honor befitting a true warrior, something that had so far been denied him.
Kaaj hated thinking of his withered right arm, the deformity that should’ve consigned him to the dregs or worse. But he came from a powerful, respected House, and their influence had helped gain him the first officer’s slot on the Chong’poQ.
He hated thinking of his weak arm, though he rarely thought of anything else. It was the great obstacle that he would never fully overcome, the first and eternal great challenge of his life. In his more sanguine moments he considered his handicap a backhanded blessing because it had forced him to use intellect to defeat physically stronger opponents.
He knew the weaknesses in the hearts of men and he exploited them whenever possible to secure his position among the crew. If it was not a place of honor, it was one of grudging respect, born of his ability to manipulate but also a necessary cruelty.
Even Kern, though he never would admit it, was impressed with how Kaaj kept the crew in line, especially the HemQuch like himself. The HemQuch had been untainted by the Qu’Vat virus, their brows still bearing the proud ridges of the ancestors. Kaaj was one of the QuchHa’, the smooth paned descendants of the affliction that had knifed through the Empire nearly a century ago.
In truth he bore two marks of shame, his arm and his ridge less brow. The QuchHa’ were considered to have less of a warrior’s prowess and more of a human’s guile. QuchHa’ were often forced to prove themselves of even being “true” Klingons.
Similar to how his arm had compelled him to use his mind to overcome his enemies, Kaaj also believed his bastardized heritage made QuchHa’ more suited to defeat the humans. On a larger scale he knew that QuchHa’ understood the humans, the main drivers of the Federation, better. They knew that regular Klingon bluster and show of arms would not deter them, that cunning was just as important as any bat’leth.
Too many of the HemQuch thought any problem could be battered into submission; hence this glorious campaign.
And it was magnificent, Kaaj had to admit. The warrior’s song stirred his blood. The desire for glory in combat, to reach the gates of Sto’Vo’Kor was as strong as any man or woman in the Imperial Fleet.
“Captain we are in communications range of the outpost,” the communications officer reported. “Should we jam their transmissions?”
Kern, not taking his eyes off the view, said, “No. I want their starships to arrive. I want them to see what will befall them and the Federation.”
Kaaj grimaced. It was standard procedure to block communications. To no to do so introduced an unknown variable and could provide the enemy an advantage. “Captain,” he said quietly. This incensed Kern more.
“Speak!” He bellowed at Kaaj. The first officer took the spittle in his face in stride.
“We should block their transmissions,” he said, daring not to show weakness in front of the larger man. “The Federation will know what is coming for them soon enough, but we shouldn’t make it too soon.”
“Ha,” Kern’s laughter was as hard as the man. “You don’t even want to give the outpost a chance to prepare for us. To let them die on their feet or for their Starfleet to rally a defense, not matter how futile it will be. You QuchHa’ are as cowardly as Ferengi.”
Kaaj stanched his growing anger. His hand itched to pull his d’k tahg from its sheath and gut his commanding officer. If he trusted that he would not be immediately vaporized by those loyal to Kern he would’ve done so. Instead he replied evenly, with just enough edge in his voice to hopefully satisfy his captain, “Warning them impedes the mission. Our goal is to attack, to sow terror, in advance of the invasion fleet. We do that best if we are unannounced.”
Kern glared at the man. Kaaj held his gaze. He knew to break it would be fatal. The muscular Klingon spat at Kaaj’s boot. “Fine,” he snorted. “Jam communications.” He slapped Kaaj heavily on the back and laughed again.
“Soon we’ll dip our blades in blood,” he promised. “And the galaxy will never be the same.”
**************************************************************
USS Kelly
In orbit of Caleb IV
Captain Emilia Fonseca leaned forward in her seat, “Could you repeat that?” Communications Officer Swanson held the transceiver back up to his ear.
“Sir, our long range communications are being jammed,” the ginger-haired man gravely replied.
“From what or by whom?” Fonseca demanded.
“I think we’re about to find out shortly,” the Science Officer said, looking away from his scope. “We’ve got several vessels incoming, on an approach vector straight for the planet.”
“Hostiles?” Fonseca asked, though she already guessed the answer.
“We can’t say for certain sir, but in my estimation, yes,” Lt. Graeg replied back. “It could be more Orion raiders or Nausicaan pirates,” The Coridanite added, somewhat hopefully. Piracy by both had been a growing concern in this sector of space. “The jamming signal is scrambling other ship’s sensors. We have yet to obtain their transponder data.”
“It could just as well be the Klingons,” Lt. Commander Ruddy inveighed, acknowledging the elephant in the room. Emilia frowned at the prospect that her first officer might be right. The peace talks undertaken by the Vulcans had broken down and tensions had been high running along the border. But the situation always seemed to be tense with the Klingons. The captain didn’t see anything that precipitated more aggressive action from the Empire. Then again, when did they ever need a reason?
“Red alert,” the captain announced, pressing the button on her armrest. The lighting dimmed and the bridge became tensed.
“Ready weapons and increase shields on my mark,” she ordered. “Also, Mr. Swanson, can we still communicate with the outpost?”
“Yes sir,” the man was relieved.
“Contact Commander Drexler and tell him to prepare for potential hostilities,” she ordered.
“Aye sir,” Swanson swiftly turned the captain’s words into action.
“After that, call the crew back up from the surface. Leave has been rescinded.”
“Yes sir,” Swanson said, not able to hide his gloom. He had been scheduled to go planetside after his shift was over.
“Inform me the second everyone is back aboard,” the captain said. Once Swanson acknowledged, Fonseca ordered a log buoy be prepared in the event that they encountered serious trouble.
She waited uneasily, picking at the gold braids on the right wrist of her uniform until Swanson said, “Everyone is back aboard.”
Fonseca hit a toggle on her chair. “Engineering, this is the captain. Prepare to leave orbit, warp factor two on my mark.”
“Aye sir,” Chief Tanvi crisply replied, “We’ll be ready for whatever you need.” Emilia smiled. The Andorian was her closest confidante onboard and the fast, solid support was certainly needed.
Commander Ruddy turned half around in his chair. The thickset, dark skinned man looked at her, trying to divine what she intended to do next.
“We’re going to meet these bastards,” Fonseca declared.
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IKS Chong’poQ
Lt. Kaaj barely could sit in his seat. Captain Kern had forgone doing so. He had stridden to the prow of the vessel, his nose nearly touching the main viewscreen. The large man nearly blocked the magnified view of the Starfleet vessel rushing towards them.
Despite the impediment Kaaj saw that it was one of the Marklin-class destroyers. The compact ship should provide them with good sport.
“The Starfleet vessel is hailing us,” the communications officer informed them.
“Let them eat static,” Kern crowed. “Soon they’ll be nothing more than that.”
Testing the captain, Kaaj said, “Put the communique on speakers.” Kern rounded on him but said nothing.
“Klingon vessels, this is Captain Emilia Fonseca of the Federation Starship Kelly. You have violated Federation space. Alter course and return to Klingon space or you will be fired upon.”
Kern laughed. “When will we be in weapons’ range?”
“Five thousand kellicams,” Weapons Officer Rogaak, another HemQuch, said. Kern stomped back to his seat where he fell into it. He ran a hand roughly down the golden sash running from his left shoulder. It bore the mark of his House. Kaaj had noticed the man often touched the medal before a battle, as if it brought him good luck.
He sneered at the superstition, but kept his disapproval to himself. “Inform the strike force not to fire,” he ordered, “This little bird is mine.”
***************************************************************
USS Kelly
“I hate being right,” Michael Ruddy said. Lt. Arroyo, fresh from his sojourn to Caleb IV, and now back at the helm, muttered, “Damn.”
Captain Fonseca shared those sentiments. Pressing down on them was a Klingon flotilla of three capital ships and a wing of attack craft. The ones that gave her the most pause were two D5 battle cruisers and one long-necked D’aka assault ship. The D’aka was in the lead.
“Replay my warning,” Fonseca ordered Swanson. The young man did so, but they all knew it was in vain. The Klingons were coming for Caleb IV, they were coming for blood.
And Kelly was the only thing that stood in their way.
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I really liked how you provided the Klingon perspective and their internal conflict between captain and first officer, ridge head v. smooth brow.
Several unexpected turns here, particularly the fact that Captain Fonseca and the Kelly will live to fight another day. She certainly shows that the old adage, "know your enemy," can make a decisive difference in battle.
