Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 22 Jan 2004 04:23:16 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: sisko2374@aol.com (Sisko2374) REP TOS "Eugenics Wars: Prelude: First Victory" Khan PG-13 by Sisko2374@aol.com Summary: The modest beginnings of Khan Noonian Singh's career in Afghanistan in Khan kept the sights of his RPG anti-tank launcher just slightly ahead of the treads of the lead Soviet tank. He had let the BRDM armored car recon vehicle pass and ignored the BTR-70 armored personnel carrier at the head of the long armored column. A burning APC could easily be pushed off the narrow road that clung to the mountain side, but a crippled 41 ton tank would prove a most effective roadblock. As the lead T-72 rounded the bend he squeezed the trigger. A modest recoil rocked him as the armor piercing rocket grenade flew out of its launcher toward the target. The unprotected treads of the tank exploded in an orange blossom of fire and white smoke with a thunderous "karump!" that echoed down the mountain valley. The long snake of the column ground to a halt in a chain reaction of screeching treads. Already he could hear the sound of another explosion far to the south where his men were sealing the fate of the enemy by creating a second roadblock at the rear of the column, flaming another tank. Now there would be no escape. As the enemy troops below bailed out of their armored vehicles, the mujaheddin above opened up with their Kalashnikovs. Escalating automatic weapons fire from both sides merged into a cacophonic chorus with a single chord, punctuated only by the RPG launchers and heavy machine guns of the APCs. The only other accompaniment to this opus were the screams of the wounded and dying on both sides. One by one, the tanks went up in flames, unable to maneuver, unable to elevate their guns to hit the guerillas above them, their lightly armored engine compartments were easy targets for the rockets. The infantry fared little better, exposed in the open on the road below, bunched up, desperately trying to shelter behind the few boulders that littered the barren mountain side. Khan could see the officers frantically trying to rally their troops. Chaos was beginning to overtake the Russians. Soon they would call for the helicopters. He saw them before he heard them. As the Hind-D attack helicopters flew up the center of the valley from the south, they resembled nothing so much as a flock of geese in a ‘v' formation. "Joachim," Khan called on the radio, "Are you ready?" "We have them," came the crackling response. The American supplied Stinger anti-aircraft missiles began to find their targets. As the first helicopter exploded, the rest broke formation zooming toward the valley floor or up toward the heavens. Long red streamers of flares fell toward the earth as the Soviet pilots unsuccessfully attempted to decoy the heat seeking missiles. Khan pulled on his beard. He could almost feel the despair that must be in the minds of the enemy soldiers below as they watched their saviors annihilated in the sky above them. Now was the time for maximum firepower to crush their will to resist. He ordered the 82mm mortars dug in farther up the mountain side to begin bombarding the road. Shrill whistles filled the air as the mortars zeroed in on the unprotected enemy infantry. Explosions smothered the road as men flew into the air from the force of the blasts. Within minutes it was over. Survivors were coming out from behind burning, shattered vehicles waving tattered white shirts in surrender. "Advance!" Khan ordered. "No killings. We need prisoners, information." Despite the elation of victory, he was disappointed in the Russians. He had expected better of them. Now here they were surrendering less than twenty minutes after he had fired the first shot. Didn't they know what awaited them? The mujaheddin began moving the prisoners up the mountain. As they filed past Khan, hands on their heads, a young, bare headed Russian officer, his face smudged with oil caught Khan's attention. Stopping the column he asked in Russian, "What is your name soldier?" The brown haired young man had a look of grim defiance. "Lieutenant Pavel Chekhov, Red Army serial number C973-0004-4524." "What is your unit?" The Russian remained silent. "What was your objective on the other side of this mountain?" Receiving no reply again, Khan became slightly irritated at this close mouthed Russian. "I think you will find that the Geneva Convention is quite unknown among the mujaheddin here. I think you will also find, Lieutenant Chekhov, that I am an excellent judge of men. You appear to be an educated man, perhaps even part of the intelligentsia. Tell me, are you familiar with the author Rudyard Kipling and the advice he once offered to captured British soldiers on the Northwest Frontier?" There was a moment of hesitation from the young Russian officer. Perhaps a flicker of fear in his eyes as well? "Yes." "And what was that?" The Lieutenant swallowed. "He said to save the last bullet for yourself." "Which you and your comrades have unfortunately failed to do. Now, you may either talk to me, or you can talk to them." Khan gestured grandly toward the rag tag band waiting expectantly behind him, most of them sporting large knives in their belts. But Chekhov remained silent. Khan motioned for one of his men to bring over the wallets of the captured Soviets. With only a brief search he produced Chekhov's billfold. "What have we here? Military I.D., Party card, ah yes...family photos. You have a lovely wife Lieutenant Chekhov. Tell me, the baby in the picture, is it a boy or a girl?" Khan searched the young man's eyes carefully. For a moment, but only a moment, as the Russian gazed upon the picture of his family, it appeared as if he was going to break. "He is my son, Ernesto." "You realize of course, that unless you cooperate with me, you will never see your wife and child again." Chekhov's face screwed up into raw hatred. Immediately, Khan sensed that he had misjudged the man. "You are going to kill us all anyway, you bandits! So what difference does it make?" "Oh, it makes a great deal of difference how one dies, Lieutenant Chekhov. Time, it is all a matter of time. When you die, and how. Quickly....or very slowly." "I am not going to help you. I will tell you nothing!" Chekhov looked back toward the other prisoners behind him. "That is most unfortunate. Because in the end you will. Under the knife, everyone talks...eventually." Khan gestured to two mujaheddin behind Chekhov. "Take him away." As Chekhov was dragged toward the waiting tribesmen he shouted, "We beat the Nazi's at Stalingrad and Berlin and one day we will crush you too!" Joachim came up, his Stinger anti-aircraft launcher slung over his shoulder, staring at the Russian being dragged away. "Interesting, a fanatical Communist. We don't see many of those these days." Khan shook his head. He didn't think he would ever quite forget the ferocious scowl of hatred on Lieutenant Chekhov's face. "Indeed we do not. I find it .... most refreshing. What have you to report?' "One hundred and eighty-seven enemy bodies, thirty seven prisoners, twenty-five killed on our side with forty wounded. One hundred and fifty-three captured rifles. We think there are about thirty enemy soldiers unaccounted for. They may be making their way down the mountain, through the scrub brush." Khan smiled and firmly grasped Joachim's left shoulder. "Well done! An entire mechanized battalion destroyed! With this victory we have announced ourselves...to our allies as well as our enemies." Joachim nodded. "Due to your superior intellect. I did not think they would take the bait after we attacked the government village on the other side of the mountain. But you read them correctly. Should we pursue the survivors?" Khan shook his head. "No. Nothing spreads demoralization so quickly among the enemy as first hand news of a massacre. On the other hand, we may be able to bait more of their comrades out of their bases in the towns. Who were they by the way?" "514th Guards Mechanized Battalion." Khan shrugged. "They did not fight like guards. Make sure we get as much information out of the prisoners as possible before we turn them over to the mujaheddin." Joachim nodded and unslung the American Stinger launcher, hoisting it to his chest. "With these we can turn the tide of the war. They will never have air superiority again." Khan nodded. "Yes now that we are here and the Stingers are beginning to be distributed among the clans, victory is only a matter of time." "News of your victory is spreading fast." Joachim emphasized the word ‘your'. "You have already received a dinner invitation from the leader of a nearby international volunteer unit. Tonight we dine by candlelight...in the caves." Khan found the other foreigner volunteers somewhat amusing, particularly their leader. He immediately formed an impression of him as a rich, puritanical playboy. A living contradiction. For their part the other foreigners were surprised to find that a Sikh and a German had such close ties to the Americans. They admired what Khan and his local mujaheddin had done today, particularly the destruction of the helicopters. And an entire battalion of the atheist infidels destroyed as well! Over a repast of goat meat and bread, some of the local mujaheddin regaled the two groups of foreigners with tales of Communist atrocities. The communists had forced their girls to learn to read and write, while sitting in the same room with boys! Women were actually encouraged to go without their burkhas and in the cities women wantonly dressed like those in the West, flaunting their faces and bodies before men. Many even had the same jobs as men. The government allowed them to kill babies within their wombs. One tribal elder recounted what he considered to be the worst of all, how in the spring of 1978, right after the beginning of the revolution in Kabul, the Afghan Communists had come and distributed deeds of land to debtors in the clans saying that now they were entitled to own the land as individuals and that their debts to the clan chiefs were canceled. Others among the mujaheddin loved to tell the tale of how the Afghan communists had fallen out among themselves and how one side had called on the Russians for help. That mistake would prove their undoing, for everyone hated the Russians. Now that there were 100,000 foreign volunteers in Afghanistan fighting the Russians and the Americans had supplied these wonderful new missiles to shoot down helicopters, they knew that they would win. The tall leader of the other foreigners said that as long as the Pakistani border was open, they would get help from the Americans for the jihad. It was Allah's will that they use the infidel Western capitalists against the infidel communist atheists. The local mujaheddin all agreed and proceeded to bring the struggle back to the personal and local once more by a recitation of the murders of family members by the Communists or the Russian Communists and the tales of mujaheddin revenge upon the atheist government school teachers. Khan listened closely, absorbing everything, but saying nothing.. Later that night, wave after wave of Afghan government Migs bombed the entrances to the caves. The mountain shuddered. But Khan's men and the mujaheddin remained untouched. In the morning they made their way to the mouth of the cave and found it blocked. The tall man who led the other group of foreigners thought that they would have to excavate enough space to get a radio antenna through, then call another unit to dig them out. But Khan said his men could handle it. In a few moments the super-men set about clearing the entrance, hoisting boulders above their heads and tossing them like medicine balls down below. This produced wide eyed astonishment among the mujaheddin, mutterings of "Allah be praised!" and not a little carefully concealed fear in the leader of the other foreigners. The sun was up over the mountains when they emerged, the skies clear with no sign of the enemy. After prayers the mujaheddin set about stripping the Russian corpses and tossing them down the mountain side. Khan noticed the mutilated form of Lieutenant Chekhov among them. He felt a slight wave of sadness. What was it that Wellington had said after Waterloo? "Next to a battle lost, the saddest thing is a battle won." Yes, it was sad in a way to have to fight the Russians. Like him, they were modernizers, in their own fashion. Watching the mujaheddin working over the corpses reminded him of watching a colony of victorious army ants. Whatever would he do with this human dust, this refuse? Could an army be forged out of it? An empire? He gazed out over the wide vistas before him, admiring the beauty of these unconquerable mountains. For it was here that Alexander's armies had failed over two thousand years before. Alexander's empire had stretched from the Mediterranean to the Indus, as would Khan's someday. However, Alexander's empire did not long outlive his death. Khan's empire would have to be different. Made to last. If the region were united and industrialized from the Middle East to South Asia, it would have the resources and potential to outstrip the Europeans, perhaps even the Americans. It needed only a unity of purpose, a drawing together in a common great cause against outside powers. A cause great enough to cut across the religious, linguistic, tribal and national barriers that fragmented it. There was strong anti-imperialist sentiment in this region, long simmering resentments at colonial arrogance, occupation and exploitation of resources. It only needed a man with a vision to set off the spark. Himself. There were possibilities. The Americans were already sponsoring two wars by proxy in the region, one here in Afghanistan against the Soviets and the other in the desert, Iraq against Iran. Wars and destabilized governments were opportunities where he and his followers could intervene, perhaps before the American CIA realized that its genetically engineered "super-soldiers" had turned against them. Once Afghanistan fell, Pakistan could be dealt with. The Sikh separatist movement in India could be stirred once more. The possibilities were endless for him and his lieutenants. But along the way, a few minor details would have to be ironed out. The tall man approached him smiling, offering him tea. Khan nodded and smiled back, taking it graciously. Yes, he thought to himself, you are too charismatic a competitor to remain alive. And not at all a modernist, but a medievalist. Soon, very soon, you will meet with an accident. Or perhaps become a martyr in combat. No, that would not do. An accident was necessary. Yes, a fall from a great height. These mountains are so treacherous. "Hot tea is very good in the morning, Osama. Especially after a victory." The two men laughed. Khan pulled on his beard. Someday, in the future, after he had forged an empire, he would have to shave it off, to prove to the West that he was a civilized man. END -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ Yahoo! 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