Star Trek - Series Fan Fiction / Star Wars - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Gung-Ho Gun Hos ❯ The Price of Freedom Is... ( Chapter 2 )

Colonel Alan Naumann, Supreme Commander of the Freehold Military Forces (FMF), didn't wipe the sweat off his brow-- he couldn't afford to let his Freemen sense his fear. 'Don't worry, the High Castle,' his headquarters, an orbital defense station, 'has more phasers and torpedo launchers than Deep Space 9. Soldiers-- real soldiers with real weapons, wearing real armor-- guard this station. When the turtle ships drop shields, they'll find the Castle a deathtrap. If we're lucky, we might capture some ships for...' He shivered, remembering what the "Slow Deaths"-- Gonghe Navy cruisers weighted down with additional weapons and armor-- did to his "Starfleet." Fortunately, he was near invisible in the darkened command center.

Naumann was a Federation marine who, disgusted by concessions his former commander-in-chief made to end the Cardassian Wars, left the Federation to seek his fortune in "frontier" colonies far from the founding members' homeworlds. He made it in the Dominion War, when the Romulan Guard paid him 750,000 bars of latinum to command a xenolegion (non-Romulan mercenaries). The mercenaries remained loyal to Naumann (and his money) after the war, and followed their leader to the Freehold of Grainne, whose people lived by the ideals "Work or starve," "One credit, one vote," and "No infringement upon other people's freedoms-- especially government interference, like taxes." Unlike the Federation and its "defeatist" policies, the Freehold respected military service members-- Freemen must "earn" citizenship through military service.

The catches were "It's not my problem if you're too sick or injured to work," "The guy with 1000 credits, 1000 votes is ass-raping you because you have but one credit, one vote? Too bad-- you should've worked harder and earned more votes," and "No police or fire departments to save your sorry ass-- taxes pay for those things." Naumann became one of several oligarchs fighting a civil war-- war that consumed money faster than phaser fodder-- and tempted to beg for government intervention.

Those who chose to "live on their knees instead of dying on their feet" were already begging. The Gonghe Republic-- frequently mispronounced as "Gung-Ho"-- answered them, offering "Land for the peasants, peace for the soldiers, bread for the workers," under its rule.

Naumann heard himself say, "The price of freedom is eternal vigilance. The price of Gung-Ho peace is our freedom. Do not be tempted-- be deceived to think we're alike because our laws defend the right to bear arms. While we Freemen bear arms to defend ourselves-- from our own government if necessary-- the Gung-Ho government will only allow its people to bear arms to defend the government itself, and takes measures to ensure its forces are always better armed than the people it oppresses, as demonstrated by its arms restrictions," his warning to the oligarchs, now propaganda to raise Freemen morale. His fist clenched as he remembered the "sheeple" who capitulated to Gonghe laws limiting the replication, sale, possession, and use of explosives (except small arms ammunition) to military service members, police officers, and licensed mercenaries-- bearers of responsibility for accidental damage, deaths, and injuries their weapons caused.

"Has Admiral Shinzon answered our request for aid?" Naumann asked Second Lieutenant Nullhänder "Nulli" Snowman, his executive officer.

"Ewwww!" Nulli recoiled in disgust, the muscular man behaving like a schoolgirl.

The colonel's head banged against his console. 'No wonder Starfleet canceled the Super Marine Project,' Naumann thought of the genetic engineering program that created Nulli and his brothers. "Tell me the truth, or die by my hand-- did you hear from Admiral Shinzon?"

"See for yourself." Nulli pressed a button.

A human male in a Romulan Guard uniform-- what remained of the uniform, which a female Romulan loosened to reveal the cock she now bounced upon-- appeared onscreen, the video dated 90 minutes ago.

"Don't ever stop fucking me!" Sela (the female) demanded.

"I can keep up as long as you want, Sela," Shinzon (the male) replied.

"Ewwww!" the super marine's recorded voice interrupted.

Shinzon turned to the communicator. "Oh, it's on?"

Nulli's recorded voice began, "Admiral--"

Sela's orgasm interrupted Nulli. "Oh yes, it's never been better-- never better."

"If this is about the Freehold operators, tell Naumann to forget 'em-- operators too stupid to know when to shut up don't deserve to be operators," Shinzon said, using a general term for Special Forces personnel.

"The turds can keep Captain Kenny. I'm calling to request aid-- financial, material, or military-- in our struggle for freedom from--"

"I'm not stupid enough to waste resources on the losing side of a war."

"Hey!"

"I will provide advice on account of his service in the Dominion War." Shinzon's eyes burned red to demonstrate psychic powers he received from... God knows where... and show he was serious. "Alan, call your group the 'Patriotic Libertarians of Gonghe' or something, swear allegiance to the crocodiles," a nickname for Gonghe warriors, "and join the winners-- you might even get elected to public office in their government-- or you're phaser fodder." The admiral shutoff the communicator-- the video ended.

<>

GUNG-HO GUN HOS 2: THE PRICE OF FREEDOM IS... NOT COVERED BY MY INSURANCE POLICY

An 'Unnamed Porno Fanfic' fanfic by Sidewinder, 2009. Based on Darth Fanboy, Falkenhorst, and MKSheppard's story-- itself based on George Lucas and Gene Roddenberry's-- plus Kurt Vonnegut and Michael Z. Williamson's.

<>

His former employer's words shocked Naumann, whose jaw stayed down for ten seconds. "Damn it! Hail him again!"

"Ewwww!"

"Leave a message: 'We won't work for you again, Shinzon. The next time your ass needs saving, just bend over and relax your anal sphincter for a Jem'Hadar dick.'" Naumann tried (and failed) to ignore Nulli's joy at the thought of anal sex with a Jem'Hadar. 'Damn you, Kenny. I should've left you outside the airlock.'

[Start explanation]

Capt Kenneth "Kenny" Chinran led the Special Forces "operatives"-- a term used for "plausible deniability," denying the operatives protection under the laws of war-- sent to launch terror attacks against Gonghe civilians. Naumann thought the civilians would force the Gonghe government to end the war, or even overthrow the government and replace it with an anarcho-capitalist society in the Freehold's image.

The operatives were genetically enhanced and trained to go without food, water, or rest, until they earned it-- after weeks in a dense jungle, deep swamp, fiery desert, or freezing tundra-- by fighting instructors who outnumber and outgun them. Their immune systems allowed them to resist chemical and biological weapons-- including the piss, puke, and shit covering their bodies because the instructors denied them permission to use the latrine. Muscle enhancers (steroids and growth hormones) gave them the strength to climb sheer cliffs unaided. They were trained to survive short-term exposure to the vacuum of space, in case their spacesuit was damaged as they stormed an enemy ship or space station. The training program killed or crippled 99% of the trainees, but those who graduate were the strongest, fastest, most aggressive and ruthless warriors in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, "The best of the best of the best."

Note that "smart" doesn't describe the operatives.

Without a government agency to collect "voluntary taxes," the Freemen resorted to extortion and outright robbery to finance the war. Even this failed to raise enough money to buy a real warship, like old battlecruisers and warbirds the Klingon and Romulan governments sold to pay for new ones. Naumann hired a Ferengi freighter to transport the operatives to Gongye III, the Gonghe presidential capital.

The Ferengi captain overheard (and recorded) Kenny boasting, "We'll crush the turtles in their shells," and "flush the turds down their metal shitters," using two nicknames Naumann gave the Gonghe warriors. The operatives were arrested minutes after the ship entered Gonghe space, and their "confessions" used to justify what was about to happen.

If you're curious, the Gonghe government subsidizes the sale and operation of ex-Navy vessels-- the catch is the Gonghe military can and will recommission the vessels, and their licensed mercenary crews, in states of emergency. This was unacceptable to Naumann, who bought second-hand freighters-- many used to transport organic fertilizer (shit) to agricultural colonies-- with improvised armor and gun mounts bolted on. You're not stupid enough to think an armed freighter can beat a purpose-built warship, right?

[End explanation]

Naumann convinced half the oligarchs they could beat the Gonghe military, whose doctrines put warriors in tactical suits or "tac-suits," based planetary garrisons on orbital defense stations instead of warships, and maintained stockpiles to let garrisons endure the months it took for Slow Deaths to bring reinforcements. The defenses consumed resources needed for ships and other offensive systems-- a weakness the Breen exploited, coming within minutes of using a trilithium weapon to destroy the Gongye System. Afterwards, the Gonghe military reviewed its doctrines, deciding to replace 50% of its static defenses with "expeditionary forces," which required years to build and train.

The other half-- "Fools, cowards, and traitors all," in Naumann's words-- saw the writing on the wall, which Slow Deaths burned into the concrete above their stronghold gates, and swore allegiance to the Gonghe government. The colonel was cursing these oligarchs when the tactical officer reported, "Colonel, sensors have detected... Gods and goddesses, is that a Federation class dreadnought?"

"What are you, a eunuch from the Principality of Zeon? Those turtle boats will never get past the OWPs," orbital weapon platforms the starving Cardassians bartered for ten shiploads of food. Naumann installed the platforms' central generator in the High Castle, and second-hand power plants (from scrapped shuttles) in the platforms to provide 40 to 70 minutes of power, in case the generator went offline.

"You have one minute to surrender your station and save yourselves. You have 50 seconds..." The Gonghe admiral counted down, his fleet-- one dreadnought (his flagship), one Li Xiaolong class assault cruiser, eight Constitution WANK class cruisers, 12 Saladin WANK class and four Tianjian class destroyers-- staying outside weapon range. "You have ten seconds... nine..."

"Turn off that shit," Naumann ordered.

"Sir, the Gonghe ships are launching fighters-- F-5 Tigers."

"They were obsolete when the Treaty of Algeron was signed. Have the High Castle's weapons engage the fighters. Keep the OWPs on standby until the turtle ships drop shields-- then give 'em hell." He ignored an incoming fighter, which tumbled as a phaser beam...

Boom! The colonel found himself on the floor. "What in hell...?" He couldn't hear his own voice. 'A photonic shock wave?' He felt-- not heard-- the next hit. "Shit!"

Naumann moved his command center to cargo bay in the middle-- the original command center was located on the station's first level, and booby trapped to surprise anyone attempting to capture the Castle. The turtles fell for it, but Naumann paid for the deception.

The Gonghe Navy was not Starfleet. The warships did not lower shields to beam commandos aboard the orbital defense stations-- the "warning shots" forced the Freemen to choose between abandoning the stations, and expiring as they became gunnery ranges. Naumann got a foot in his escape pod when a Feng Shen-- "Wing God," an obsolete fighter converted into an unmanned, long-range torpedo-- crashed through meters of tritanium armor to explode inside the command center.

>>

Sweat soaked Brevet Capt Stark's uniform-- 'This better be sweat,' he thought of the crotch of his pants-- as the Ghost Strider, his Klingon-built shuttle, approached Grainne. 'Remember, a cloaking device won't make a ship undetectable, it only reduces the range at which it can be detected.' Stark couldn't sleep without hearing Capt Endar (the man he replaced) scream when a phaser beam hit Endar's shuttle, vaporized his genitals, and transformed the cockpit into an oven as the out-of-control spacecraft burned up in Grainne's atmosphere.

The viewscreen displayed a swarm of flies surrounding a round turd-- Gonghe warships surrounding the heavily polluted Planet Grainne, whose oligarchs didn't want the expense of maintaining orbital factories (which vented industrial waste into the vacuum of space) or environmental cleanup. No one interrogated the Strider's identification friend or foe (IFF) system-- very bad news. "I knew the OWPs were pieces of shit-- I fought the First Battle of Chin'toka-- but no one listened to me! I warned Colonel Naumann about the PENISes," Phaser Enhancement, Nuclear Isotope Surge weapons, "but no one listened! No one even bothered to read a 'Jane's Defense Weekly' article and compare a WANK cruisers' weapons range to an OWP's, or a PENIS cannon's output to an OWP regenerative shields'!"

Stark breathed deeply to calm himself. "Damn turds. Why don't you crawl back to your fucking swamps and leave us Freemen alone? We don't need your kleptocracy, your bullshit bureaucracy, your retarded regulations, your ruinous taxes, your parasitic welfare programs..." Stark remembered the logistical problems plaguing the FMF when the oligarchs declared war. "Okay, we need to raise taxes to pay for a fleet that'll kick your collective asses, but we'll only tax the spineless shits who chose to live on their knees instead of dying on their feet."

The cloaked shuttle stopped and waited in orbit. Stark knew the cloaking device would become useless upon reentry-- atmospheric friction would literally light up the Strider. "So I just wait for a turd bird to begin reentry, stick my nose up its ass, and the turds won't shoot off my balls? Great idea, Colonel Naumann. When you die, I swear to dig up your grave, crack open your coffin, and shit on the face of your corpse."

Stark had nothing to do-- had nothing he could do-- but stare at the stars until he went insane and thought the stars were a billion eyes staring at him, and bitch about the oligarchs. "Brilliant strategy, Colonel Naumann. We'll kick the turds' collective asses by going 'into the wild' and waging a 'people's war,' like the mujahideen who kicked the commies' asses in Afghanistan. What about the billions of credits in aid the mujahideen got from the one superpower that gave the commies nightmares? You forgot, right? What about the secure routes through which the mujahideen received guns and ammo? You didn't secure billions of credits in aid from the Federation, Klingons, Romulans, Cardassians, or anyone else with a fleet of warships instead of the warp-capable toilets. Now your would-be freedom fighters are emasculated," he shivered, "as they run out of guns, ammo, food, water, toilet paper, bandages, toilet paper to use as bandages..." The insanely bored man recited his cargo manifest: supplies the enemy blockade denied the FMF.

Beep, beep, beep! The alarm interrupted Stark's latest bout of self-pity. "Finally!" he exclaimed as atmospheric friction illuminated a D12 or Anjian class bird-of-prey. "If I'm lucky, the turds will think the Strider is their own bird's sensor afterimage." The shuttle raced into the enemy ship's wake, the resulting slipstream reducing the power needed to match the more powerful bird-of-prey's speed.

The good news: the Strider was so close to the turd bird, even if enemy sensors could differentiate the two starships, enemy air defense units couldn't shoot the shuttle without shooting the bird-of-prey. The bad news: the Strider was close enough to trigger a collision warning, and by the time Stark realized this, he was close enough to kiss the incoming photon torpedo.

"Sh--" The Freeman's curse was interrupted when the torpedo shattered the viewscreen, flew overhead-- the exhaust vaporized Stark's hair-- pierced the bulkhead behind him, and exploded in the cargo compartment. Stark puked, watched his half-digested lunch fly around his chair, and felt it slide down his ass crack as the out-of-control shuttle spun violently enough to... "She's tearing herself apart!" the Freeman screamed-- or would've screamed if he could breathe as a hurricane raged within the cockpit.

>>

A decade ago, Sergeant Ishara Yar and Corporal Yosh were mortal enemies who'd used the weapons at hand-- G44 automatic rifles loaded with armor piercing explosive (APEX) ammo-- to kill each other. Now they must use the weapons to protect their former enemy and even save each other's lives, or else. 'Were we better off before the crocs annexed our colony?' Ishara and Yosh recalled life before the Gonghe Republic assumed responsibility for their homeworld, the colony of Turkana IV: hiding from rape gangs, fighting the civil war, looting enemy corpses for food and other supplies-- both sides resorted to cannibalism more times than they wanted to remember-- fleeing from the enemy's lynch mobs, joining their own lynch mobs... 'Maybe not, but that doesn't mean I like peace.'

[Start explanation]

The Charter of the United Federation of Planets affirmed the "equal rights of members of planetary systems large and small," an ideal for which the Turkana IV government passed hundreds of laws to ensure everyone was equal in every way. Certain individuals received implanted radios to disrupt their thoughts and ensure no one was smarter than anyone else. Certain individuals wore grotesque masks to ensure no one was better looking than anyone else. Lead weights were locked around certain individuals' necks to ensure no one was stronger or quicker than anyone else-- some even proposed to make the weights prevent certain individuals from standing upright, ensuring no one was taller than anyone else.

You don't need to "take unfair advantage of your brain" to realize this is a recipe for disaster. The smarter, stronger, and faster individuals formed gangs to defend themselves from government agents who'd otherwise "equalize" them-- increasingly violent actions were answered with greater violence. As the wave of "crimes against the equality of all citizens" became a civil war, the Turkana IV government formed two special units of "temporarily unequal individuals"-- the Alliance (Yosh's side) and Coalition (Ishara's side), whose members received implanted proximity sensors so the government could track them and, at the war's end, equalize these otherwise smarter, stronger, and faster individuals. When these units (predictably) overpowered their government supervisors, the Handicapper General-- de facto leader of the Turkana IV government-- used weapons of mass destruction to render the planetary surface inhospitable, ensuring no one was better off than anyone else. The Alliance and Coalition forgot their original casus belli as they fought for dwindling supplies of food and water.

When the United Federation of Planets offered humanitarian aid to Turkana IV, both sides-- unable to stop hating, fighting, and killing each other long enough to accept the aid-- threatened to kill anyone who ventured onto the planet. When the Gonghe Republic-- expanding towards new territory and resources while its military expanded at rates requiring lightning promotion of warriors-- offered to assume responsibility for Turkana IV, the Federation wasted no time in getting rid of their former colony.

The Gonghe-appointed governor of Turkana IV declared, "We will extend hands of friendship to those who were once our enemies, and work together to build a better future for our children and our homeworld-- or else." Alliance and Coalition members who refused to comply were arrested or outright kidnapped, brainwashed with a neural neutralizer or lobotomized with a bullet in the head, and then released to advocate friendship and cooperation with their former enemies. Calmer (smarter and saner) members petitioned the Federation embassy for their rights, only for the ambassador to say, "The right to wage war? Kill and maim fellow humans? Destroy your own homeworld in your zeal to destroy each other? I won't shed a tear for your losses," words the Gonghe military's near omnipresent surveillance systems recorded, as demonstrated by the Public Security officers' "friendly visits."

Ishara and Yosh, uncomfortable with peace, joined the Gonghe military to commit acts of sanctioned violence, for which the "crocs" would not put a bullet in their heads.

[End explanation]

Now in Grainne's stratosphere, the GGV Mojian's cloaking device could manage the heat resulting from atmospheric friction, and became invisible. Reverse-engineered from a captured bird-of-prey nicknamed "HMS Bounty," the Anjian or "Dark Sword" class cutter was the fruit of Federation and Gonghe labor. Starfleet stopped using the Anjian class after the Federation signed the Treaty of Algeron, but the Gonghe military refused to surrender a tactical advantage to demonstrate moral superiority-- the Navy continued using the cutters for reconnaissance, to insert and retrieve Special Forces operators, and even assassinate "enemies of the people."

Ishara and Yosh felt the cutter shiver and then stop. The lieutenant (platoon leader) led Gonghe warriors-- including Ishara and Yosh-- down the lowered ramp to hide in the Titan Grass, their weapons extended like porcupine quills to cover the Mojian's departure.

The lieutenant's rifle-mounted tricorder scanned the area-- then her hand waved to signal, 'Motor scouts, advance.' Two warriors mounted Sidewinders-- motorcycle-like hovercraft, named after the AIM-9 missile-- and raced away.

The lieutenant waited for the Sidewinders to signal the projected path was "Clear," before she signaled, 'Even numbers, advance.' The even numbered warriors complied, led by a "gunhound"-- a quadruped robot armed with "too damn heavy" machine guns and isomagnetic accelerators-- as the concealed odd numbers covered their advance. Then she signaled, 'Odd numbers, advance.'

>>

Naumann was figuratively and literally pissed, thanks to his wounds. 'Damn turtles and their kamikaze!' he mentally cursed. 'They aren't supposed to fight like this!' The colonel felt and felt like shit-- the exploding Feng Shen sent shrapnel through both intestines and his bladder. The good news: he was so near death, enemy sensors failed to detect his life signs during the trek here (to his command bunker). The bad news: vultures and other scavengers thought he was dead (and ready to eat), and he expended all his rifle ammunition shooting at the... "Argh!"

"Oh, sorry, Colonel." Doctor Pox-- a Denobulan male who claimed his ancestor served under the "legendary" Jonathan Archer-- grabbed a hypospray. "I'll administer an anesthetic-- oops! This is the potassium cyanide I use to perform euthanasia." Pox turned to a tray of medical equipment. "Breast ripper, crocodile shears, instep borer, Pear of Anguish, Spanish Tickler, thumbscrew..."

"Stop fucking around! Patch the holes in my guts and bladder, stop piss and shit from leaking out of 'em!"

"Ah, of course, Colonel." The Denobulan resembled a "bug-eyed monster" from Earth's 20th century cinema, thanks to his medical visor (it covered his eyes) and unusually wide smile, as he began closing the holes with needle and thread-- Pox claimed regenerator emissions would be detected.

'"Crocodiles are ambush predators," "You're marching into a trap," "I told you so." When the Freehold is liberated, I'll tell you so with a steel-toed boot up your ass,' Naumann thought of the oligarchs who refused to help him. "Argh!" He drew a Colt, Smith & Wesson B-47 revolver-- chambered for 17.8 x 89 mm R (.700 Nitro Express) rounds, it was the most powerful handgun in the galaxy-- and put he muzzle against the doctor's groin. "I'm no corpse. I feel pain-- stop inflicting it, or I'll send your genitals through the Bajoran Wormhole!"

Pox finally stopped smiling. "Oh, sorry, Colonel. Where did I put that hypospray?"

A communicator beeped. "Hidden Guard to Freedom One," Nulli hailed.

"This is Freedom One," the colonel replied.

"Sir, sensors have detected two Sidewinders approaching the Hidden Castle. The smart guns," sound suppressed M2000 machine guns, slaved to motion sensors, "are tracking the motor scouts. Should we...?"

"Save the ammo for the platoon those Sidewinders are scouting for."

The super marine giggled. "Okay." The communicator fell silent.

Naumann's attention returned to Pox. "Hurry up! I have a battle to fight and an army to lead!"

"Ah, yes, Colonel." The smile returned. 'Oh, goody! More people to torture in the healing arts' name!'

>>

'Do we need this many people-- armored, carrying a week of supplies, supported by motor scouts and heavy weapons-- to capture...?' A bullet pierced Yosh's visor, hit the headband he wore as a former Alliance member, and knocked him down. "Gurgle!"

Ishara found herself on her back, under Yosh's body. "Get off me!"

The lieutenant hissed over the communicator to signal 'Enemy fire!' and pointed at the forest. The Gonghe warriors lay prone, scanning it from behind their gunsights. Yosh's visor cracked, absorbing another bullet and sparing the headband (and his head).

"Shit!"

Remote controls let Naumann aim a smart gun from the safety of a pillbox. 'Die already!' he thought as the turtle with the headband-- mistaken for a platoon leader's communications headset-- continued moving. The colonel didn't see Ishara under Yosh's body, pushing her former enemy to free her rifle.

Then the platoon sergeant's MG44 machine gun silenced the smart gun.

[Start firearms fetishism]

10.9 x 42 mm rounds-- the smallest to use APEX bullets-- are "necked up" versions of the 7.62 x 51 mm (7.62 mm NATO) round, like the .44 AutoMag. The Gonghe Republic's founders-- Chinese People's Liberation Army super soldiers who fought in the Eugenics Wars-- favored 7.62 mm NATO rounds, making German and American weapons in this caliber status symbols. When multiple shots proved necessary to kill "drugged soldiers" of World War III, advances in metallurgy allowed the Chinese Army to develop weapons that wouldn't explode when firing heavy APEX bullets at velocities necessary to pierce contemporary body armor.

The G44 is a bullpup with a "floating" barrel and operating mechanism to reduce recoil when firing bursts, like the G11 assault rifle. The magazine, inserted parallel to the barrel, feeds rounds into a revolving chamber. Using cased or semicombustible cased ammo instead of the G11 rifle's caseless ammo, it ejects spent casings or case heads downwards-- the weapon can be fired from either side without modification. The G44sL variant has a schwerer Lauf or "heavy barrel" for sustained fire-- it's issued as a light support weapon on a 1:4 ratio (one G44sL for every four-warrior fire team). Users of both models prefer side-mounted sights and scopes to reduce their silhouette.

The MG44 is issued on a 1:9 ratio (one MG44 for every nine-warrior squad), like the MG42 it resembles. Its ammunition is interchangeable with the G44 rifle, but warriors avoid using G44 ammo in the MG44-- the machine gun's feeder may crack the lighter, semicombustible cases. The MG44Kr variant has a Kryotechnik or "cryogenic" system to reduce its infrared signature and eliminate the need to change barrels, but its use is limited to static defenses and armored vehicles-- the MG44Kr can't use quick-change barrels, which remain lighter than the system, its coolant tank and power supply.

[End firearms fetishism]

"Damn." Naumann ordered the computer to report the smart guns' status, hoping to find a functional weapon and resume shooting. Simultaneously, the gunhounds' isomagnetic accelerators-- man-portable 66 mm Gauss cannons, commercially known as "bazookas"-- sent APEX shells through the pillbox walls. "Argh!" Naumann rose from the rubble that was the pillbox. "You damn chink cunt! That hurt!"

"Warriors, come out and play!" Nulli approached the Gonghe platoon, firing an M2000 from the hip to draw attention to his crotch.

He also drew gunfire. "Ah! You bitch! You shot off my...!" Then the super marine's head exploded.

"Good riddance." Naumann's right hand drew his revolver-- would've drawn it if the hand hadn't become ground beef. "Damn." His left drew the... Shriek! "Shit!" A Combat Neural Stimulant "boosted" his speed to 48 kilometers per hour, moving him out of the returning Sidewinders' line of fire. "You bastard!" Naumann squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet over a motor scout's head.

The Sidewinder pilot's head turned-- a nose turret with twin MG44Kr machine guns, slaved to its movement, turned in the same direction-- then he pressed the firing button. The bad news: 10.9 x 42 mm rounds gave APEX bullets a muzzle velocity of 800 meters per second (2880 km/h)-- only fools and lunatics believed FMF propaganda claiming the stimulant let them dodge bullets. The good news: the Gonghe warriors thought Naumann was a gunhound, shot to kill, and spared the colonel further pain.

>>

The sounds of death and destruction echoed through the bunker, increasing the pleasure Pox felt as one hand held a personal access display device (PADD) simulating various firearms' effects on the human body, while the other and his tongue stimulated his genitals. "Oh! I hope the tactical suits will spare a Gonghe warrior from death! The thought of amputating a human limb--" Lick! "Excising the lungs or other organs--" Lick! "To leave a human immobilized and permanently dependent upon a biobed's life support systems--" Lick! "Neutering or spaying a human-- the species greatly and illogically overrate the ability to reproduce--" Lick! "Without anesthesia and in the healing arts' name..." He had an orgasm. "Ohhhh! I hope the Colonel allows me to contribute to another sentient life form's enhanced interrogation!"

The explosions prevented the Denobulan from hearing the Freemen hitting and kicking the infirmary door-- he was unpleasantly surprised when a sergeant burst into the room and shouted, "Stop licking your own... whatever you call the Denobulan equivalent of a cock and balls! We got casualties to triage and treat!"

"Patience, Sergeant. Time is required to properly analyze, diagnose, and treat a wound." Pox didn't bother closing the fly of his pants-- the sight put several Freemen in shock-- as he began treating the most severely damaged bodies.

"Stop wasting time on the corpses!" the sergeant demanded.

The indignant Denobulan stopped working. "I am a medical professional, you are not. Please respect my expertise in the healing arts and..."

>

A containment field protected the comatose Yosh from biological and chemical weapons as the medic raised his visor to remove the half-embedded bullet from his skull-- "From a 12.7 x 99 millimeter weapon," the medic noted.

"Lucky son of a bitch," Ishara muttered as the medic continued diagnosing and treating her former enemy.

The Mojian and the Gonghe platoon collaborated to scan the Hidden Castle-- the resulting map appeared in front of the cutter captain and the platoon leader.

"I estimate we'll suffer at least 60% casualties storming the anarchist bunker-- more if the dark terrain," areas impenetrable to their sensors, "conceals booby traps, smart guns, or anarchist reinforcements," the lieutenant stated.

"I doubt potential reinforcements will receive Naumann's request-- it's under the Yuan's EW umbrella," she said of a dreadnought's electronic warfare systems, "but I doubt the anarchist leader's head is worth your rangers' lives. Retreat to Perimeter One Alpha."

"Yes, Ma'am."

The medic lowered Yosh's visor, sealed the hole with transparent tape, confirmed the tac-suit's life support system was functional, shutdown the containment field generator, and then tapped Ishara's arm. The former Coalition member looked down to see the medic signal, 'Stretcher,' and-- with some difficulty, as she lacked the other stretcher bearers' genetic enhancements-- lifted Yosh off the ground.

>

"I fear I must amputate the limp to prevent the necrosis from spreading." Then Pox removed a Freeman corporal's intact genitals instead of the shredded leg.

"Ahhhh!" The corporal struggled to free his restrained arms, put his hands around the doctor's throat, and strangling Pox. He screamed again when the Denobulan inserted a catheter.

"Please stop moving-- you'll only irritate your injuries and increase the pain." The doctor's head lowered to hide a smile as he closed the wound around the catheter. Boom! "Ouch!" Pox felt blood flow from the "crown" of broken glass left by the ceiling light that shattered upon the floor. "Do not tempt me." He ignored the patient's screams and resumed sewing-- then a concrete block fell from the ceiling. "Ah!" The doctor's head slammed into his patient's groin, the needle in his hand piercing an eye before Pox fell unconscious.

"K-k-kill me," the corporal begged. A kinetic torpedo-- loaded with lead instead of explosives to minimize collateral damage-- entered and exited the infirmary. "Thank you," he whispered as the walls and ceiling collapsed, killing everyone in the room.

>>

Stark was downright miserable, simultaneously starving, bloated, freezing, burning, and exhausted. He ate his last meal, an animal that found itself on a turd machine gun's business end, five days ago-- then puked out his guts when he saw the mangled dog tag attached to the meat, marked, "NAUMANN, A" (broken line) and "COL, FREE" (broken line). It was already too late-- bacteria spread from the rotting meat, continuing the putrefaction process and filling his guts with methane. Stark became feverish and freezing, as he ran out of money before he could buy snivel gear-- cold weather clothing, sleeping bags, or personal air conditioning systems-- for his survival kit. The Hidden Castle's stocks-- what remained after orbital bombardment transformed the command bunker into molten slag-- had but a handful of stimulants to keep the Freeman awake. "If Bunker 37's medicine cabinet is anything like the Hidden Castle's, I will dislocate the doctor's jaw and let diarrhea run its course-- down his throat."

Each step sent shit flowing down his legs. "Thanks a lot, Colonel Naumann," Stark cursed as he limped towards another bunker. Sleep deprivation sapped his strength, but he must remain alert-- the forest was crawling with turds. "I hope those who died of STDs," sexually transmitted diseases, "are ass-raping you in Hell."

A howl interrupted Stark's bout of self-pity. 'Shit!' The Freeman recognized the sound of an approaching MS-9 Dominator's levitation drives-- 'Two metal shitters!' he corrected himself-- and rolled into... 'A pit latrine? Disgusting! At least I know I'm close to the bunker.' He held his breath to fight the suffocating stench.

The humanoid robots-- officially called "mechanized strikers" or MS-- filled Stark with fear, anger, and hatred. When 'Jane's' reported the Gonghe Army using the MS as a tank-gunship hybrid, the Freeman dismissed the robots as "metal shitters," no threat to real tanks and gunships. He said, "Serves them right," when the turds declared a local state of emergency, recalled civilian contractors from the Freehold, and the antigovernment oligarchs' MS became armored outhouses. Then he learned these contractors formed 76% of the FMF maintenance crews-- the FMF now had armored outhouses instead of warships to "Crush the turd invasion fleet like overpriced beer cans," fighters to "Swat down turd gunships and shuttles like Balloon Birds," tanks and infantry fighting vehicles to "Flatten turd soldiers like bipedal cockroaches," in Naumann's words. Worse, a LOCKDOWN code accompanied the Gonghe government declaration, preventing the Freehold's replicators from assembling weapons and ammunition.

"For freedom!" "For the Freehold!" "Fuck you!" four Freehold soldiers shouted as they rose from foxholes and squeezed the triggers of their RPG-7 rocket launchers. Three rockets raced towards the robots-- the fourth exploded in its launcher, killing the user and maiming the man beside him. "Ahhhh!"

The good news: the robots' backs had thinner armor, especially around the cockpit hatch-- rockets and armor piercing projectiles could pierce their shields, which were optimized for phasers and other directed energy weapons. The bad news: the Gonghe Army also knew this, used reactive armor to counter armor piercing projectiles, trained the pilots to work in pairs and cover each other's vulnerabilities.

'Sucks to be you, dumbass.' Stark felt no sympathy for his fellow Freemen-- "Survival of the fittest" was among the Freehold's few laws. He knew the rockets failed to penetrate the robots' armor, and that the Freemen died when the robots returned fire-- Stark saw nothing through the shit in his eyes, but the Dominators' weapons were downright deafening.

The worse news: the robots were the low altitude partner of a "high-low" team. The high altitude partner was a Raven (a gunship variant of the Raptor class assault shuttle) whose gun turret-- an upside-down tank turret mounting two 140 mm Gauss cannons and an antiaircraft-turned-antipersonnel PENIS emitter-- rained phaser beams and APEX shells, sending shrapnel and certain death to everything within a 100-meter radius.

Stark was at the edge of this radius-- shrapnel tore holes in his intestines, sending more shit down his legs. "Ahhhh!" No one heard his scream over the exploding shells, or the robots' light PENIS cannons.

Then the Raven and Dominators departed, leaving Stark alone with the smoking crater that was Bunker 37. 'Shit! He scrambled to pick up pieces of his lower body. 'I hope I can get this reattached.' His uniform was torn up to make bandages. 'Fuck, it's cold!'

Two days later...

>>

"What in hell am I doing here?" Ensign Harry S. L. Kim marched through the forest, frequently pausing to scan for land mines and booby traps. He moved sluggishly despite the fact his employer, Capt Ai Teppou-- a "freaky firearms fetishist who probably uses her GLOCK pistols as dildos," in his words-- steadily raised artificial gravity during their journey, acclimating the crew to Grainne's stronger gravity.

"We're here to do our job: find the nukes the Freehold operatives hid for this situation." M First Lieutenant Jules Winnfield-- the "M" indicated higher rank as a mercenary, who'd revert to sergeant major if the Gonghe Army reenlisted him in states of emergency-- marched ahead, seemingly thinking, 'Damn the mines, full speed ahead.'

'How does he...?' "Ah!" Kim fell forwards, face to face with a rotting corpse. "Ahhhh!"

"Ensign Kim. Ensign Kim!"

"Ahhhh!"

"Ensign Kim, knock that shit off, or I will kick your ass so hard, you'll puke out your gallbladder."

Kim stopped screaming, rose to his feet, and saw Jules gripping the knight saber-- a device projecting a purple energy beam to a fixed length to serve as a blade-- standing on an overhead branch. "He's d-d-d-d--"

"Dead? He's no Si-- vampire. He won't rise from the grave to suck your blood, so cool down or I will put you down."

"Yes, Sir."

"And search the body-- carefully, in case it's booby trapped."

"Yes, Sir." Kim drew a handheld tricorder-- a former Starfleet officer, he preferred it over a rifle or machine gun-mounted tricorder-- and scanned the body. "What the...?" He stared at the displaced organ in the corpse's mouth. "He was hungry enough to castrate himself and eat his own genitals?!" The dead man couldn't correct the former Starfleet officer-- he didn't castrate himself, a Raven class gunship did.

"Was he an oligarch?"

The ensign found a bloody dog tag hanging from the corpse's neck. "STARK... 1LT... I can't read the rest." He raised the tag to see (and let Jules see) the hole it. "Looks like shrapnel damage." He began searching the late Brevet Capt Stark's pockets. 'Shit, I can smell... Okay, not really, but I imagine the smell is terrible.' "I found a map-- confetti that was once a map. A pistol, like the 11.43 x 23 millimeter," .45 ACP, "weapons my ancestors used in the 20th century. A combination munitions container and spring actuated loading device for 11.43 x 23 mi--"

"Say, 'Magazine.' Stop using Starfleet bullshit."

"Yes, Sir. A magazine with 11.43 x 23 millimeter munitions. A book, labeled 'Atlas Shrugged', 'Ayn Rand'? It's a form of execution, right?" Kim grimaced, remembering its description in a Romulan history book-- reserved for "enemies of the Empire," the Ayn Rand was performed by inserting glass bars into the orifices, caning the head and torso to shatter the glass, puncturing the mucus membranes until the condemned died of blood loss or shock.

"Maps, frequencies, or orders? Anything to tell us what the fuck these Freemen have planned?"

"Wait, he has a... Starfleet communicator? No, it's tourist trap bait-- a Ferengi knockoff attached to a Soong encryption unit. They were using these for communications?"

'The Freemen are just like the Federation's New Humans-- idealists who let their ideals blind them to reality. If they were realists, they wouldn't impose anarcho-capitalism and expect an individual's common sense to prevent abuses of power, not laws or the government agencies enforcing them.' Jules shutoff his knight saber. "Bag anything nonperishable and get back to work."

>

Eight weeks later, the Freehold-- renamed Jiefang, "Liberation"-- was secure. Contrary to FMF propaganda, the licensed mercenaries, and the Gonghe Public Security officers replacing them, did not go berserk and rape or loot the citizens and civilians-- the Gonghe government had zero tolerance for chaos and lawlessness, especially from those in its service. Environmental protection laws were enforced, polluting factories shutdown, and cleanup operations were launched. The people of Jiefang adapted to restrictions on public indecency, health and safety, and unsanctioned violence-- no nudism or sex in public areas, no ignoring sanitation procedures to save money at restaurants and hospitals, no substituting appropriate materials with cheaper (weaker) ones when building humanoid habitats and workplaces, no fatal duels as a means of settling disputes, like "when we were Freemen."

They were content with the government's sky high tolerance of sanctioned violence, like self-defense-- braining would-be thieves, maiming would-be muggers, castrating would-be rapists-- or bounty hunters (police employed mercenaries) apprehending criminals with "regrettable but necessary violence" resulting in their mutilation.

<>

Not the end.

This chapter serves to provide background information, like 'Gung-Ho Gun Hos Zero'. If you'd rather see something fun instead of "'Atlas Shrugged' through a mirror, darkly," sorry-- writer's block is like a dam, nigh unmovable when intact, but unleashing a nigh uncontrollable torrent when cracked.

GGV stands for Gonghe Government Vessel. The name "Anjian" is from the Chinese proverb "A bright lance is easy to evade; a dark sword is difficult to escape." Mojian means "Demon Sword." WANK stands for "Warrior Armament, Naval Kind" for those who didn't read the previous story.

If you're curious about Naumann's guns, assume Colt and Smith & Wesson merged and then bought a license to sell more powerful Pfeifer Zeliska revolvers (http://www.pfeifer-waffen.at/cms/html/index.php?module=htmlpages&func= display&pid=32) in the Gonghe Republic. The bazooka is actually called an "isometric disintegrator" (http://memory-alpha.org/en/wiki/Isomagnetic_disintegrator), but that sounds like a one-trick pony.

The MS-9 is a Dom from Sunrise and Tomino Yoshiyuki's 'Mobile Suit Gundam', adapted for 'Star Trek' technology. What can I say? I love seeing giant robots beat the scrap out of each other.

Jules is named after a character Quentin Tarantino and Roger Roberts Avary created.