Totenkopt's Adventures in New London

[Koolmo]

Storm class Coalition Gunboat (Recon Variant) CPW Death's Head, Waterloo Station, Planet New London, New London System

Totenkopt coughed, then sighed. It had all been going so well, until that little prick 'Stoat' lured him into New London. I thought I could just finish the bugger off, then make a run for it. No such bloody luck. He could feel the hole in his infected leg knitting back together already. Luckily for him, the thing didn't bleed anymore, it just sat there glowing, and twitching occasionally.

"Okay boys! Get the hell out, grab anything you can. We're going to shred this f*cking joint until the marines show up!"

Leuitenant Greg Machia and Petty Officer Evan O'Toole unstrapped themselves and started snatching up weapons. Totenkopt snatched his rifle, pistol, body armour, and grenade launcher from their racks beside his console, and started kicking open the hatch just abaft of the cockpit. Snarling, he backed up and racking the cocking handle on his grenade launcher.

"Stand clear boys! YeeHaw!" Shoom!

With a blast of flame and smoke, the hatch blew open, and the three heavily armed revolutionaries poured out into Waterloo. Specifically, the medical bay of Waterloo. As the medics looked on in horror, Totenkopt let out a terrible laugh through his mask, and leveled the grenade launcher and pistol on the crowd.

"Move your asses over to the other side of the room, and we'll spare you! Go!"

As the gaggle began to shuffle over, horror filling their faces, two BPA officers burst through the door and skidded to a halt. Before they could even draw their weapons, another grenade landed between them, turning both into pink mist and bone paste. Totenkopt regarded the scene levely.

"I don't suppose you lot have medical insurance, do you? Heh... Anyways, I am Captain Totenkopt, Leader of the glorious revolution's recon squadron. You may call me 'Sir'." He said with a generous air. "Now, since we're going to be here until someone pulls us out, you might as well get to know me. I'm pretty much half nomad at this point, have no compunctions about killing anyone, and have been shooting scum like you since the nomad wars. Oh, and you really don't want to know what's under my mask. Capiche?"

A medic blanched, and threw up on her shoes as the sickbay staf huddled in the corner of the room farthest from the door. As O'Toole and Machia kept watch on the door, Totenkopt turned to the huddled crowd.

"Now, as I am both a Captain and a Commissar of the Coalition, I possess the power to spare you, to execute you, to torture you into oblivion. I hold your lifes in the palm of my hand, and I shall exersise my power now."

Totenkopt propped his grenade launcher on his left shoulder, squared his feet, and faced them squarely, pistol held looseley at his side.

"Who among you shall repent for his life of sin and join the glorious revolution?"

They stared at him, like sheep caught under the gaze of a wolf.

"No-one? You're sure? Okay then... you, on the end. Are you sure you don't want to toss off your royalist, capitalistic trappings and live a free life as a soldier of the revolution?"

The mousy looking woman looked to her left and right, then shrugged helplessly.

"Uuuh.. No, please sir?"

"Whoops! Wrong answer there, comrade." Blam!

As her body hit the deck, Totenkopt turned his pistol on the next man, who stared with eyes like saucers through the grey matter on his face.

"So, what'll it be for you then, mate?"

---

<span style="color:#FFFF00">&quot;General Solo, is your strike team assembled?&quot;
&quot;Barely, they're pretty drunk.&quot; </span>
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I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.