SKYTREK - CHAPTER 13 (standard:humor, 3466 words) [13/15] show all parts
Author: Danny Miami	Added: May 24 2010	Views/Reads: 1968/1589	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Third last chapter of the comedy novel.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


The Captain nodded. “Play along with him,” he whispered. “We'll disarm
him at the first opportunity.” 

“Line up for inspection!” yelled the General. 

Sniggering at each other despite the seriousness of the situation, the
bridge crew lined up. First in the row was the Captain. General Bradley 
stepped forward and inspected the American football shirt, shorts and 
women's high heeled shoes he was wearing. 

“That's more like it,” the General said, nodding approvingly. “How are
you, Sergeant?” 

“Fine sir,” replied the Captain, fighting back a smile. 

The General leaned closer to him. “How's morale in the outfit?” he
whispered. 

“Pretty good, sir,” the Captain told him. 

Butch nodded. “It'll be even better when I'm done with it,” he replied
and moved on. 

Mr Sprock was next in line. He was dressed in a pink frilly dress and a
pair of combat boots. His ears, large human-type ones, were sticking 
out nearly at right angles to his head. 

“With ears like that you must be the radio operator,” General Bradley
said, causing muted sniggering amongst the troops. “Get back to your 
post. Try and raise HQ for me.” 

“Yes sir,” Mr Sprock answered and marched over to the communication
consoles. 

Next in the row and wearing a very low cut t-shirt and a thong was
Lieutenant Youhoor. The General slowly looked her up and down, his eyes 
lingering on her ample brown bosom which was spilling out of the 
t-shirt. 

“What the hell are those, soldier?” he asked. 

Youhoor glanced down. “Why sir, they're my--” 

“I know what they are,” Butch interrupted. “They're abscesses. Pretty
damn big ones at that. I admire your guts, boy – trying to stay at your 
post with things like that. You must be in a lot of pain. Get down to 
the Sick Bay and get them lanced.” 

Lieutenant Youhoor bit her lip to stop herself laughing. “Yes sir,” she
said, saluting and leaving. 

Simon, the Orion's Beautician, was next in line. He was attired in black
bra, panties, stockings, suspenders and high heels. 

The General grinned at him. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?” he
asked. 

“Why I'm a soldier, sir,” Simon replied coyly, fluttering his eyelashes.


The General roared with laughter. “Soldier my ass!” he drawled. “You're
one of them pretty little whorehouse gals that follow the army around, 
ain't you?” 

Having long had more than a sneaking admiration for Butch and
immediately sensing the possibilities of the situation, Simon pouted 
girlishly and nodded. 

“I knew it,” the General said, slapping one of his lasers against his
thigh and then holstering it. “Thought you could fool the ole General, 
eh?” he chided, tickling Simon under the chin. 

Simon patted his hair and fluttered his eyelashes. 

“You'll do as my Secretary,” General Bradley decided. “Stay close to
me.” “Try and stop me,” murmured a delighted Simon. 

The diminutive Crackers was next in the row. He too was wearing an
American football shirt which was several sizes too large for him and 
which further ridiculed his height. 

The General looked him up and down. “Life's too short to worry about –
and so are you!” he said and moved on. 

Last in the line was Mr Zulu. He was wearing baggy white shorts and had
a pair of boxing gloves on. 

“What the hell's the meaning of this, boy?” the General asked, running a
finger over his dusky brown chest. “You're filthy!” 

Zulu glanced down. “But General, that's ma skin,” he replied. “Ah's
coloured.” 

“Bull!” snapped Butch. “You're filthy! Get the hell into the showers,
boy. I won't tolerate poor hygiene in my outfit.” 

“Yez boz,” said Zulu. He saluted then cartwheeled his way out of the
bridge. General Bradley waved his laser in the air. “Everybody back to 
their posts!” he ordered. 

The depleted bridge crew returned to their positions, the Captain taking
over Zulu's position at the Navigator's console and Mr Sprock taking 
Lieutenant Youhoor's position at the Communications console. 

General Bradley naturally took over the Captains chair and settled
himself into it with Simon perched on his knee. 

“Now for some real action!” the Orion's new Commander announced,
grinning happily. “Let's blow the shit outa some Commies!” He turned to 
the Captain. “Plot me a course for Cuba, boy,” he ordered. 

The Captain frowned. “Cuba? That's impossible, General,” he told him. 

“Why?” 

“It doesn't exist any more.” 

“I mean the planet Cuba, not the country, you dickhead!” snapped the
General. 

The Captain cleared his throat and tried to hide a slight blush but
failed. “The planet Cuba. Very well, General,” he said and bent over 
his console to plot a course. 

A minute later he had the details and he passed the co-ordinates to
Crackers. Shortly afterwards the Orion changed course and still 
travelling at Warped Speed, veered away towards its new destination. 
Unfortunately for the threatened planet Earth, this was several million 
space miles in the wrong direction. 

PART THREE 

The one hundred ships in the Klinger battle fleet winked their lights in
salute as the Mother Ship approached and a satisfied smile broke over 
General Draygo's ugly face as he watched them on his forward 
observation screen. 

The outermost ships parted to make way for him and slowly the inner ones
followed suit. Within fifteen minutes of the rendezvous the Mother Ship 
was at the centre of the fleet with the other ships spread in 
protective circles around it. 

When all the ships were in position, the Fleet Commanders beamed across
to speak personally with Draygo and Kharg and draw up their battle 
plans. They were in conference for nearly an hour and after the 
celebratory drinks, Draygo had himself relayed through the fleet so he 
could address the troops. 

“Klinger warriors,” he said to the several thousand who were watching on
their observation screens, “your names will live forever in the history 
of our planet!” 

This brought cheering and whistling from the troops. 

“Shortly we will embark on a mission against our oldest and most hated
enemy - Earth. Only this time we are guaranteed victory - we are going 
to attack and destroy the planet Earth! When we are finished, Earth 
will no longer exist!!” 

This brought even louder cheering and whistling. Klingers by nature
liked destroying and blowing things up. The fact that they were going 
to destroy Earth which was at the centre of the hated Federation was a 
bonus. 

“Before now,” Draygo went on, “such a mission would have been impossible
but this time we have a weapon which gives us supreme advantage. We 
have a weapon which can't be beaten and can't be destroyed. He paused 
dramatically then bent down and opened one of Kharg's gold caskets, 
revealing a giant phial of jet black Anti-Matter. He showed it to the 
warriors. “Anti-Matter!” he announced triumphantly. 

“Anti-Matter!! Anti-Matter!!” chanted the warriors, all of them
completely ignorant of what it was or what it could do. 

“It would only take two or three of these giant containers to destroy
Earth,” Draygo informed them, “and we have to thank our new ally, 
Kharg, for generously offering to share it with us.” 

An unwilling Kharg drifted up beside Draygo and bowed stiffly to the
troops. 

“Kharg!! Kharg!! Kharg!!” they chanted. 

Draygo waited until they were quiet again. “After we destroy Earth there
will be little resistance left in the other Federation planets,” he 
continued. “They will surrender or face the same fate. We shall easily 
dominate them then the Klingers and Kharg can take their rightful place 
in the Universe – as its rulers!” 

The prolonged cheering, whistling and yelling that followed went on for
a couple of minutes as the Klinger troops celebrated their forthcoming 
world domination. 

When the noise had died down Draygo began explaining the details of
their battle tactics to them. 

Despite the tremendous advantage that possession of the Anti-Matter and
an alliance with Kharg had given General Draygo, there was a slight 
problem with his carefully worked out plan. 

Although it had seemed a clever idea to him to rendezvous with the Fleet
near a rebel planet which was sponsored by the Klinger Empire and which 
he considered a safe area from which to launch his devastating attack 
on Earth, unfortunately for him it just happened to be the worst place 
he could possibly have picked. It was the planet Cuba. 

PART FOUR 

“How long till we reach Cuba, boy?” a cigar-chewing General Bradley
asked. 

“Thirty minutes, sir,” the Captain told him. 

The General nodded. “Only thirty minutes? Good. Makes me feel kinda warm
inside knowing we're gonna waste those Commie faggot bastards. What 
d'you say, honey?” he asked Simon who was still perched on his knee. 

“Oh you big strong hunks are all the same,” Simon scolded, stroking the
back of Butch's neck. “Always wanting to fight and kill and--” 

“General!” Sprock interrupted from the Communications Console. “I think
there's something you should see.” 

“What the hell is it, soldier?” 

Mr Sprock transferred what he had spotted on one of the scanners to the
forward observation screen. 

“My God!” the Captain muttered softly when he saw it. 

The scanner had picked up the one hundred strong Klinger battle fleet
with the Mother Ship at the centre and this was now the view on the 
observation screen. 

“Klingers?” the Captain asked, glancing round at Sprock. 

“Klingers plus Kharg plus Anti-Matter,” he replied. 

“Commies!” shouted General Bradley, jumping up excitedly and forgetting
Simon who was dumped on the floor. “Let's waste the mothers!” 

The Captain groaned and held his head. 

“Taking into account that we're vastly outnumbered, don't you think it
would be more prudent to withdraw, General?” suggested Sprock. 

“You mean run away?” spat Butch in disgust. He squared his shoulders and
puffed out his chest. “General Butch Bradley never ran away from a 
fight in his life,” he stated proudly. “Especially with Commies. No, 
soldier, we don't withdraw – we attack!” 

“There is a strong possibility that the enemy may have Anti-Matter in
their possession, General,” Sprock warned. “Are you aware how powerful 
a substance that is?” 

“Of course I am, jug ears,” the General retorted then grinned at them
all. “It just so happens that we've got the best weapon of all,” he 
said, glancing round at everyone. “Surprise!” 

Simon had by now picked himself up and was fussily dusting himself off.
Butch helped him up then patted his black-pantied bottom. 

“You run along now, honey,” he said. “The General's got work to do. This
ain't no place for little girls. Go and wait for me in my cabin.” 

Simon fought to contain his excitement. He had dreamed about such an
invitation during the voyage but realistically had never expected one. 
“Okay General,” he replied coyly, walking his fingers up Butch's chest 
and playfully stroking his chin. “I'll keep that big bed warm for you.” 


The General grinned broadly as he watched him mince out of the bridge.
“Cute little ass!” he remarked then returned to his seat and swivelled 
round to the observation screen and studied it. “Which of them ships 
would be carrying this Anti-Matter then?” he asked. 

“The large one in the centre,” Sprock told him. “The Mother Ship.” 

General Bradley chewed on his cigar as he looked at it. “So if we hit
this Mother Ship with the Anti-Matter it would explode and take the 
rest of the fleet with it, eh?” 

Slightly interested, the Captain studied the screen with him. “You know,
General, you could be right.” 

“Course I'm right!” the General retorted. “There's only one problem –
how do we get a clear shot at the Mother ship?” 

The Klinger battle fleet was arranged in decreasing circles with the
huge battle cruisers on the outside and then the smaller faster attack 
ships and the supply vessels on the inside, with the Mother Ship at the 
centre. 

General Bradley however had found a way. “One shot will do it!” he
announced and thumped the arm of his chair. 

The Captain glanced at him. “How?” 

“Shields!” the General replied triumphantly. 

The Captain glanced over at Mr Sprock who shrugged and shook his head.
“Gimmie a pointer!” the General demanded, snapping his fingers. 

Crackers searched through one of his console drawers and found him one.
Butch took it and strolled over to the observation screen. While his 
back was turned Crackers drew a small laser pistol from the still open 
drawer. He glanced questioningly at the Captain who shook his head and 
waved at him to put it away. 

“Scale this down a bit,” General Bradley ordered, tapping the screen
with his pointer. 

Sprock held a button down on his console and the Klinger fleet grew
smaller on screen. 

“That's better,” said the General. “Right, pay attention men – its
briefing time. You'll notice that the Commies have bivouacked in a 
circle. On the outside are the large battle cruisers,” he went on, 
tapping the outer ring with his pointer. “On the inside, in the next 
two circles, are the attack ships. Then they've got another circle of 
supply vessels then another of attack ships. At the centre is the 
Mother Ship,” he said, tapping its outline several times. “We're gonna 
take it out with just one shot.” 

Curious, the bridge crew waited for an explanation. 

“If the Mother Ship goes, the Anti-Matter goes,” he continued, “and if
the Anti-Matter goes you can kiss the whole godamned fleet goodbye. 
Agreed?” 

The Captain nodded but Mr Sprock was a bit doubtful. 

“One major flaw in your plan, General,” he said, strolling over, his
long pink dress swishing as he walked. “The Klinger fleet are 
positioned in such a way so we can't get that one shot at the Mother 
Ship. How do you propose to hit it?” 

General Bradley grinned at them. “Tell me, boys,” he asked, “what would
be the first thing them Commie bastards would do if we screamed in and 
attacked?” 

The Captain slid his baseball cap to the back of his head as he
considered the question. “Put up their Deflector Shields,” he answered 
eventually. 

“Exactly!” agreed the General. “That's just what we want them to do!” He
turned back to the screen. “We fire one shot and it goes through a gap 
in the outer circle,” he explained, tracing the shot with the pointer. 
“The shot hits a ship in the second circle, bounces off its Shield--” 

“--goes through a gap in the next circle, hits another ship, bounces off
its Shield and deflects on to the Mother Ship,” the Captain finished 
for him. 

“You've got it!” the General congratulated him. “That was pretty smart
of you, Sergeant. A bright boy like you could probably wind up in 
command of his own ship one day.” 

The Captain smiled indulgently at him. “Thank you, sir,” he said. 

“Well, what d'you think of the plan now, big ears?” the General asked
Sprock. 

Mr Sprock ignored the insult and concentrated on their tactics. “What's
to stop the Mother Ship raising its Shield as well?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” replied the General. “In fact, they probably will but by then
it'll be too late. Tell me, boy,” he said, throwing an arm round 
Sprock's shoulders, “how long would it take our shot to travel from us 
to the Mother Ship?” 

“Considering that it has to deflect off two other ships, possibly about
four or five seconds,” replied Sprock. 

“And if the Commies decide we're attacking, how long would it take them
to pass a message from the edge of the fleet to the Mother Ship and for 
it to raise its Shield?” 

“Longer than four or five seconds, knowing the Klingers,” answered the
Captain. 

“Problem solved,” said the General, grinning. 

Sprock nodded and glanced at the screen. “Our attack angle will have to
be absolutely exact,” he warned. “Especially since we're going to get 
just the one shot.” 

“We'll also need Warped Speed immediately after we fire,” added the
Captain. “There's going to one almighty explosion when that Anti-Matter 
and the Klinger fleet go up.” 

“Get to work then, boys,” the General ordered, strolling back to his
chair. “I want all the details on my desk sharpish.” 

The Captain watched Mr Sprock as he walked back to his console. “Nice
dress!” he muttered as he passed. 

“Relay me through the ship, boy,” Butch ordered Crackers. 

Crackers flicked a switch on his console then pointed to the intercom on
the Captain's console. 

Butch removed his cigar and cleared his throat. “This is General
Bradley,” he announced to the ship. “We've sighted a Commie war pack 
and we're gonna blow the mothers outa the sky. There's gonna be one 
helluva bang soon so anybody not directly involved in the action best 
get their heads down somewhere. General Bradley out.” 

Pleased with his announcement, Butch leaned back in his chair and lit
his cigar. When he had it going to his satisfaction he swivelled round 
to Sprock. “Worked out that attack angle yet, soldier?” he asked. 

“Yes General. We have to approach to within one space mile and fire at
an angle of thirty seven degrees to hit the ship in the second circle.” 


“If we go to maximum speed as soon as we fire how far away will we be
when the Mother Ship blows?” 

Mr Sprock had already made the calculation. “One hundred space miles,”
he replied. 

“Is that far enough?” 

“We'll probably catch the edge of the blast.” 

“Chicken shit!” scoffed the General. 

“There is one problem if we approach to within one space mile though,”
said Sprock. 

“What's that?” 

“The Klingers might start firing at us instead of raising their
Shields.” 

“Shit!” cursed the General, punching the arm of his chair in annoyance. 

The Captain stood up and smiled at them all. “Fear not, gentlemen,” he
said. “I have already considered that aspect of our plan and I know 
exactly how we can get close to the Klinger fleet without them 
suspecting a thing!” 


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