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Lt. Commander
Join Date: Dec 2007
Posts: 120
# 10
05-23-2011, 01:15 AM
.................................................. .......A Matter of Honour.
...Year of Kahless, 1033.

...General Bor’tan stood at the far side of the bridge watching the unfolding chaos around him. A console exploded to his right, showering him with white hot needles of light. He bore the pain as it raced down his face. Warriors moved around him trying to contain the plasma that had invaded the bridge, slowly consuming the breathable air with a hunger that would only subside after their dying breaths. Asphyxiation is no way for a warrior to die, he thought to himself.

...The Romulan Cruiser was turning for another lateral run against the I.K.S Mun’chu, a Vor’Cha class cruiser. Their shields were down to less than thirty percent, disrupters were at half strength and the forward torpedo launcher had sustained severe damage that could not be repaired outside of a spacedock. The Romulan cruiser was faring little better; one of its great wings hung together by a few metal beams and forcefields.

...“Divert power from life support to the forward disrupters. Target the port wing, and fire all weapons.”

...The shipped hummed as they weapons reached their optimum power. The deck plates shuddered as several green bolts of energy erupted from the weapon points and sailed across the vastness of space. They silently struck the damaged wing of the warbird, causing the great mound of metal and machinery to fracture and break away from the green, falcon like ship. It began to spin widely as secondary explosions rippled across its super structure. A second wave of fire struck the ship head on as it continued to spiral out of control. The nose section was decimated instantly, before a third volley split the ship in twain.

...A chorus of cheers echoed through the bridge, as warriors thumped control consoles and slapped each other on the back. Even Bor’tan, who was no stranger to tense space battles cheered at the doom of his enemy. These were the times when warriors would do great deeds. How we whished he was young again, and could command his own ship, and not be stuck doing the tedious work of Governor of Mel’BruQ, a small colony on the edge of the Klingon/Tholian border.

...The cheers of the crew died down, as several engineers tried to lock down the plasma leak that still threatened to rob them of a glorious death.

...“My lord, another starship is entering the system. It is a Romulan bird of prey.” came the sound of a grim voice, almost spitting the word Romulan from his mouth as if it was posion.

...“Can we cloak?” asked Captain Dulek sharply. Dulek, was a young warrior who had made captain far sooner than his years would suggest. He was the nephew of High Council member Malk’tus. A scheming and despicable man; one that should never have been born a Klingon, let alone sit on the council.

...Bor’tan shook his head at the sight of the young man sitting awkwardly in the chair that he had yet to earn. After the death of Chancellor Martok, it would seem the Empire had fallen back into old patterns, where warriors were given honour instead of taking it. Yet this victory had shown there is fight in him. Perhaps he would break way from his families dishonour and prove himself a true warrior. “I asked you a question.” he snapped to the tactical officer.

...“Yes, the cloak is functional.” replied the grim voice.

...“Then do it.” ordered the Captain. Many would consider cloaking and hiding from an enemy to be a dishonourable, even cowardly action, but to a Klingon there was rarely anything dishonourable about winning.

...The bird of prey edged closer into the system, toward the burning wreckage of her fallen ally.

...“Has she detected us?”

...No, sir. It appears the explosion of the cruiser masked our signature just long enough for us to cloak.

...Bor’tan looked at the unwitting ship as it grew larger on the view screen. An easy victory perhaps on a level playing field, but a victory that would be perilous in their current condition. A victory that would be well earned.

...“Good, take us out of the system. Once we are far enough away from the wreckage take us to warp. Plot a course along-” he never had time to finish his orders.

...“You mean not to destroy it?” The thunderous Voice of Bor’tan filled the bridge.

...The silence was soon broken. “Yes, do you have a problem with that.” snarled the captain.

...A quiet rage began to grow in the pit of his stomach. “We have a chance for victory, she is unaware of our presence. We should destroy it now, or do you forget what they did to us?”

...“I am aware of the situation. We have a mission to complete unless you had forgotten that, the very reason you are here. I will not risk this ship over one Romulan vessel. We are falling apart as it is.”

...Bor’tan fist came crashing down on an already broken console. Another wave o sparks shot forth from it. “You are a captain in the Imperial fleet; this is a vessel of war. We do not allow our enemies to live. Destroy the ship now, or I will do it myself.”

...Dulek snarled at him, his jagged and broken teeth on display. The showing of the teeth was an old Klingon trait stretching back hundreds of thousand of years. A sign that he was willing and able to kill. Everyone on the bridge new was what about to follow. “This is my ship, General. We all know your record and what you have done for the Empire, but I will be seen dead before I let you give orders on my ship.”

...Bor’tans d’k’tahg was in his hand before he had even thought to use it. Years of experience had already moved him to the captain left, his weaker position. “Then you will be dead.” he said, rage and instinct taking over.

...He lunged at the captain, who quickly parried the blade away. Dulek backed off to give himself a few feet of room. The general circled around the massive support frame and lunged a second time. Dulek parried a second time, yet the general had anticipated the parry and threw a left hook into the captain exposed chin. He staged back down two steps into a console. Mor’tan pounced from his now elevated position as the blade came swooping down towards the captains chest. Dulek narrowly avoided the strike by rolling across the console to his right. He quickly regained his balance and drove his wickedly sharp right boot into the side of the general’s ribs. He grimaced at the pain and was lucky to avoid the knife that was aimed at his head.

...Dulek moved forward, trying to trap the general into an edged corner of the bridge, the sounds of the crew chanting rang in his ears as he closed in, the d’k’tahg shimmering with the feint glow of the plasma leak. Now was his turn to lunge. Mor’tan blocked the blade with his left arm, as it cut deep into his wrist the pain seared through his arm. However the knife was now temporarily lodged in his arm allowing a free opening into the captains exposed body. Without hesitation or regret he rammed the knife into captain’s chest and twisted as hard as he could.

...Dulek slumped to the ground in almost silence. Only a gargle emanated from his throat, before a trickle of blood seeped out.

...The crew continued to cheer and laugh at the fight. Some nodded in approval while others, who had backed their captain to win, reluctantly gave their respect.

...Bor’tan slunk into the cold chair and looked at the bird of prey on the screen. Dulek was right, they were in no condition to fight, and even the element of surprise guaranteed them no victory on this day. A day that what every warrior lived for. A good day to die.

...He had taught that lesson to Dulek and to every able body on the bridge. A Klingon must be prepared to win at all costs. This was no time for caution, for planning and regrouping. They were not the children of the Federation, or the cowardly petaQ of the Star Empire. They were Klingons, and this was a time for great warriors to do deeds worthy of song.

...He looked upon his new tactical officer. “Arm the weapons, lock targets and drop the cloak.” he said as the call of the warrior filled his heart.