[TSW] America in Space, yeah!

[Heretic]

President Flash Stalin (Man of Steel in Russian. It isn't UnAmerican if you are using the name for American purposes, yeah!) flipped through channels on his videoscreen, using a small remote. He was too lazy to use voice command. United Systems, OAS, C-Web...all news reports from almost all the polities were in his view. Starkland. The slick haired president there was grinning and talking about regulating guns. The damn socialist was regulating the right to bear arms, a piece of the Bill of Rights! Flash Stalin grinded his teeth menacingly, sending bad vibes to James John, John Adams, John Josh, whoever the current convenient president was at the time. The United Republic of Starkland had the dumb balls to call themselves Americans! Well, they are a bunch of Euro-polity boot licking socialist liberals who hide behind fascism and propaganda, thought President Frank Stalin as he got up his comfy chair and looked through the concave window.

Gardens, green lush temperate gardens of roses, orchards, and birds lay before him, with the statues of all previous American presidents scattered around, their deeds carved in plaques that are built into the square pedestals. Presidents like Washington, Jackson, Polk, Coolidge, Roosevelt, Nixon, Reagan, Clinton (that damn socialist), Bush, Obama, Palin, Colbert, Lyefield, Samtar...Stalin's eyes broke off the statues when he heard a buzzing on his ivory desk. Twirling around swiftly, the spiky haired president came to the red buzzing lump and tapped it.

"Yes?" President Stalin said as he turned on his video screen. Usually, when his General of the Army called, video feed was usually there. And so it was. It showed a arid planet. It had brown spots all over, indicating mountain ranges, there were light green plains in the northern hemisphere, and a few large lakes. In red urban letters on top of the planet it said "Cornubus 2".

"Mr. President, recent info from the networks have stated that a socialist revolution has taken place here, and the new government is planning a military build up. The Shadows that Don't Exist there have said that..." President Flash Stalin slammed his fist on the table.

"DAMNIT, INVADE! COMMUNISTS! PRE-EMPTIVE STRIKE!" President of the damn American Space Polities howled.

"Yes sir." The General of the Army said without hesitation before signing off. Flash Stalin panted wildly. Cornubus 2. That was close to the Wakatchee System, ASP's most western state. Reds near Wakatchee. Reds must die.


General Dan Halberyt sighed as he pocketed his special cell phone. Flash Stalin, America's 69th president, was a man of simple ideas. Democracy=good. Communism=bad. Now, Dan Halberyt and all of his staff that sat silently in the conference table waiting for his answer whole heartily agreed on that latter. But there were problems with democracy. The masses, the majority, bolsheviks in Russian terms, had the vote. And if they wanted communism, so be it. The collective has spoken. One good thing about America is that it's more of a constitutional representative democracy. There are laws, there are representatives for the minorities, and you get to vote on your president alongside the Electoral College. Communist proof.

The 58 year old general brushed back his crew cut hair, and turned around to face his colleagues.

"War." The tall general's word just sent nods as a 3D holographic map of Cornubus 2 hovered in the air. General Halberyt sat at the tip base of the table as he discussed his plans.

"Alright. Though the People's Collective of Cornubus, or PCC, is still weak and recovering, the government has purchased a few battleships decked out with pods of tracer missiles. Their infantry, a splatter of conscripts with guns, are in huge numbers. The Shadows that Don't Exist have said that the government slaps a outdated Kevlar vest and a box-ammunition fed rectangle with a barrel for a gun. Espionage reports also state that small arms bullets are being mass produced, so we know they are planning on a mass slug-fest. But don't think that sending a few AFVs will solve the problem. The Shadows say that light armored tanks are being made in the dozens as a way for a last ditch attempt.

What we are going to do.." General Halberyt took out a cigarette and popped it into his mouth, letting an aide next to him light it, "...what we are going to do is send a few remote-controlled space missiles through the needed eddies, get the commies' space fleet's attention, do a little damage even, and then send the battleship United Metal with a few troop vessels behind. We want the War Officers to smash the communists first. Get the homefront mood going before we start enlisting men into the fight. That will be our main strategy. Any questions?" General Halberyt looked across the room. The men and women there just shook their heads, and took notes. "Well, let's get down to the logistics...."


Two weeks later, in an unknown location at Cornubus 2

Thud. That was the only sound the interior of the virtually soundproof drop pod made as it slammed into the ground, whatever and wherever it was. Still, General Dash Havoc felt the immense shake as the cone-shaped head of the pod came into contact with the ground. Scientific wonders kept this thing from burning upon atmospheric contact and survived crashing into the surface of the planet at full speed. Once this was over, Dash Havoc vowed to himself that he would study physics. Hell, he barely had any scientific learning during his younger years, as the Base focused on training killing machines and charismatic people. Still, he did have some understanding of the human body, such as where to get an instant kill, and botany for making poisons, but not much else. Being a genetic-engineered human owned by the government meant a different education.

General Havoc unbuckled the body belt around him with a single press on a buckle in the middle, and after untangling himself, opened a panel on the side. Though the pod wasn't spacious, it had enough room to hold everything the general needed, as well as to execute a move. Inside the panel was a tri-barrel pistol whose barrels made a triangle. The thing was a laser weapon, something that needed a ludicrously large amount of energy. General Havoc's whole body armor was filled with batteries for it, but even with state of the art energy containers and efficient anti-waste technology, he could only fire ten shots effectively if firing all barrels at the same time, a little more if firing each one independently. On the gun's back, a power input was added into the gun. Dash tapped his shoulder and a small elastic tube came out, a power plug on the tip. He placed it into the input of the gun, and a little hum came from the pistol. Opening another panel, he took out a red, white, and blue headband and wrapped it around his forehead. Checking his green body armor which covered all of his body, General Havoc clicked on his ear-mic.

"Havoc here. Ready for deployment." A buzz of chatter came after.

"General Havoc, you are permitted to deploy." A clear voice came out of the communication mess, which was obviously intended for him. Sighing a deep breath, and raised his knee.

"God have mercy on those Un-American sons of a bitch." General Dash Havoc muttered as his foot came in contact with the door.



Dyke Osiris strolled on the ancient concrete walls made by the founders of this nation. He was proud to be a guard of the starport, which was the gateway from this world to space. Slinging his cumbersome boxy M42 Machine Pistol over his shoulder, Dyke rested his arms by taking out a pack of cigars and taking one into his mouth, lit it. The blockade by the blasted American Space Planets took a toll on luxuries, and rations were enacted on goods like smokes and such. Hell, even cyberspace is being hacked by those space Americans, and it is hard to get on a good site without getting American propaganda. Still, the People will prevail against those bigoted imperialists. The People's Collective of Cornubus have always survived threats, whether from natural disasters or Duban pirates.

Taking a puff, Dyke looked up at the stars. ASP battleships are said to be seen with telescopes orbiting around, reprimanding or destroying any ships coming from here. The leaders sent a message to their friends in ORC for help, but nothing yet. Course, all of the Outer Rim Coalition have problems at hand, and would never sacrifice precious ships for a single planet state.

Turning around, he heard a low rumble from above. Dyke looked up to see a small bright spark falling above him. As it came closer, it got faster and faster, until it zoomed by and crashed near him, causing the ground to shake. It was located in the forest facing the wall, and its distance was quite far, two miles or so, but it still caused debris to fly. After ducking down from incoming splinters, Dyke stood up straight again. There was no fiery blast, or chemical acid. Just knocked down trees and a pillar of smoke from the location of the crash.

"A meteorite?" Dyke said to himself puzzled as he walked down from the wall and headed into the forest to see. Despite his patriotism, he was curious. Anyway, if God, karma, or whatever disproved of his action, an alien pathogen could possibly come out and mutate his poor little body, like in the movies. Of course, the pathogen he was going to meet was American.

Coming to the location, he saw that it created a decent sized crater. In the middle of the depths was a small man-made missile head-shaped pod. Fear struck into Dyke's system. A nuclear Unexploded Bomb? No, it has a hatch of some sort, and its too big to shoot out chemical agents. Something is inside. Dyke fiddled with his portable communicator, but then placed it back. What if it was a dud, or a single unit in there? He didn't want to waste his commander's time with something trivial. I know, Dyke thought, taking out some grenades, I'll rig it so that if anything comes out, they will get a big surprise. Anyway, he reassured himself, even if it was a bomb, it would be a conventional one, and Dyke would be away from the blast radius by then. Nodding, he climbed/slid down to the crater and came to close proximity with the hatch. Taking out some duck tape and a few string-pulled grenades, Dyke placed his hands on the hatch and was about to bent down when he heard a thud, felt a vibrating thud, and got the whole metal hatch flying into him. The knock blasted him back a few feet. Hissing from the pod could be heard, but Dyke was too busy trying to regain composure and get the hatch off, the tiny metal stamped letters saying "Made in USA" dotting on the side.

"Alright, listen up!" Comrade Dyke heard a booming American voice speaking English. " I'm General Dash Havoc of the Patriotic Army, of the United fucking States of Fucking Ameri-fucking-KAH! But, due to some wusses taking our rightful name, you can call us the American Space Polities! We are here because Uncle Sam's commie radars are blaring, and Uncle Sam doesn't like commies appearing inside his commie radar! So guess what, we are here to make sure we Uncommie you! Why, you ask? BECAUSE WE CAN! So, hurry up and die, you piece of worthless socialist shits, because that's all you are gonna do for the next few weeks!" As Dyke got up, he saw a tall muscular cleft chin blond man with the hairstyle of a superhero, wearing a metal suit of armor platings, with a red,white, and blue headband wrapped on his head. He had a triple barreled pistol of some sort pointing up to the sky, smiling at the air. "Don't worry, Dear America, folks back at home, I'll make sure to bring some souvenirs back!" Comrade Osiris, taking the chance, jumped up, pushing the hatch away from him, and grabbed the machine pistol next to him. Raising it up to the tall blond American, he screamed.

"Die, Imperialist pig!" As he opened fire. Most of the bullets missed, but Comrade Osiris kept blasting away anyway. Some bullets bounced of Dash Havoc's armor. Frowning, the American raised up his tri-barrel laser pistol and fired. Three green beams seared through Osiris's black kevlar and red utility coveralls. As the soldier collapsed, Dash Havoc trampled over the body.

"Oink." He simply said as he walked off, letting the invisible remote cameras hovering around take images and video feeds for the news reels and patriotic documentaries.

OOC: Maybe if I feel like it, I'll add more.

[Shroom Man 777]

Heretic, you're insane. That's ridiculously hilarious, and I love FLASH STALIN ribbing those Space Athenians, and the fact that your General DASH HAVOC is a complete and utter asshole! GODDAMN COMMIES! SPACE AMERICA FUCK YEAH!

God have mercy on those Un-American sons of bitches!



You're a funny man, Herrytick. That's why I'll kill you last.

Seriously. I love your utter asshole writing style.

[Heretic]

God have mercy on those Un-American sons of bitches!

Shoot, I did that sentence wrong, didn't I?

[Heretic]

The limit of the Willing Suspension Of Disbelief for a given element is directly proportional to its degree of coolness.

Man, that shall be my new signature, and I should also get an awesome new avatar. Heck, that could sum up the core of my current writing style.

[Shroom Man 777]

God have mercy on those Un-American sons of bitches!

Shoot, I did that sentence wrong, didn't I?

It was a cool line. I had to repeat it.

[Heretic]

Ah. Well, thanks anyway. The way I posted it was wrong.

[Heretic]

"Why hasn't Comrade Osiris reported in?! He never misses a routine call!" Commander Defa snarled as he paced around the half-buried bunker, bumping into the machine gun emplacement that peered through the bunker slit, ready for anyone to come up the hill. Behind Commander Defa a pudgy officer in the red utility jumpsuit tailed behind.

"Comrade, last time we checked, Comrade Osiris was doing a routine patrol near the ruins." The pudgy officer huffed as he followed his superior, circling the long planning table which had maps and datapads.

"Well, someone give him a call!" The Commander's long mustache bristled up. A communications officer sitting at a panel near the right wall quickly said "Yes, Comrade." and pressed a side button.




General Dash Havoc of the Patriotic Army that Kicks Ass 24/7 heard a buzzing near the dead commie. A jumble of words crackled through. Havoc moved back to the body and yanked the buzzing communication mike. The American placed the voice slot to his mouth.

"Yo yo yo, commies, wazzup?!" Dash Havoc did his best to be gangsta, though he ended up being wangsta. The other end was quiet.

"Jambro? Hu ik won line? Osiris? Comraz Osiris?" A heavy bass accent came from the other side. General Havoc gave a grin. This is gonna be fun.

"Hello?" Dash shouted rudely. "Can you repeat that again? I only English. You know English right? You sound high. Where can I get some of the stuff you are taking?" The other end became quiet. Then:

"Who the hell is in this line? I know English, thank you very much! Where is Comrade Osiris?!" The voice on the other line shouted back.

"Wow there!" Dash pulled his head back and smirked. "I'm just a guy trying to find the capital of this planet. As for Osiris, is it the guy I just shot a few minutes ago?" Silence on the other end.

"By Karl Marx's beard, who are you..." Silence.

"Yep. I'm General Dash Havoc of the only nation important around these parts. And who are you?" Havoc knelt beside Osiris's body, and scavenged around the charred body. Found a pack of cigars, a few family photos, and daily rations. Taking the cigars and the rations, Dash Havoc also took the M42 commie machine pistol, a small thick weapon with a thick box magazine. Communists and their cheap bullet wasting ammunition.

"AMMURICAN!" A shrill came from the other side. Took that stupid red long enough. Dash Havoc, the only important man in this whole planet, mused as he got up. "YOU KEELED MAH MAN!" The commie was hysterical. Dash just popped a cigar in his mouth, and lit it using matches found in a pocket of Osiris. Dash let the man screech as he took a few puffs.

"Chillax, woman." Dash sighed as he smoked the Cuban. "He shot at me first."

"And I wish he killed you, capitalist whore!" Dash smiled at that fling.

"Tis true, brotha. The ladies want me so bad that they pay to get a turn." He heard a snarl from the other end.

"I hope you die from a million diseases!" The accented communist shouted. Dash slowly opened the communication device without cutting off communications, and after rustling through his utility pouch on the left hip, placed a small clamp with a box at the end to a few wires. A low hum came. The General of America the Free will find out where the woman and her posse were soon enough. Until it got a lock on, Dash had to keep the man talking.

"That shows I got laid alot. But you, my friend, are as clean as a clean piece of paper, a virgin for all eternity." Dash chuckled, checking on his wrist computer how much progress was made. A few more minutes.

"You son of a bitch!" The communist cried.

"I may be, but you and your comrades are sons of a bitch." 50% completion.

"That makes no sense, you uneducated American Hick."

"I mean, comrade, the men had to share a single woman. You know, for the collective?" 60% completion.

"Why you..! Don't bring my mother into this!" 70% completion.

"Now now, it isn't YOUR mother, remember? You all have to share!" 80% completion. Dash Havoc heard a hiss on the other end.

"When I get my hand on you, American, I'll make sure all the people in Cornubus 2 share the cleaver!" 90% completion. Dash had to have the final say.

"Yes, and the people will rejoice with their cell of human meat. For once, they will have enough to eat." Dash said as he dropped the communication device to the ground and stomped it with his metal boot of AMERICAN STOMPING! Then, checking the coordinates on his wrist computer, Dash Havoc strolled towards a concrete bunker up a hill, two miles away.

[Shroom Man 777]

AMERICAN STOMPING!

God, Heretic. You're terrible!

Terribly entertaining, that is! Goddamn, man, this is hellarious! You've got an awesome knack for asshole comedy. I salute you, sir!

Chillax, woman.

[Heretic]

"Get the short-range sensors going!" Commander Defa shouted as he marched through the room, turning this button and yelling this man out as he got the whole defense bunker into red alert. There were two stories of the block of machine guns and missile pods. An antennae dish revolved around on top, guarded by four Gatling turrets on all the corners. Commander Defa was on the lower section, where the comrades quartered and had their supplies in, acting as a barrack/supply stop/keep/checkpoint/command center for the geographical sector.

"Commander, sensors are on 100% search." A desk monkey with a headset barked as he typed like a crazy communist on cocaine on the various computers all bunched together, information pouring in, out, between, above, and under each other. "We have no sign of the Am...Hold on! South East quadrant (4,5)! A big blue dot!" Commander Defa stomped to the sensor officer.

"Oh, our little pig trying to camouflage inside some bushy crevasses, eh?. Launch one missile. Let our communist iron cock ravage his bushy hole. Fire one Okyt missile!" Commander Defa ordered. A utility jumpsuit man behind a console pushed a red button, and pressed the number 1 on a keypad.



"Missile incoming. Predicting trajectory..." The computer inside Dash Havoc, American Hero, blared. And just as it spoke, a quick piercing hiss came from behind as Dash's neck felt a heat blast. "Countermeasure propelled. Have a nice day." Dash grunted as he continued crouching behind the bushes, taking his radioactive dump. Dirty bombs, man. What takes years for a two-bit terrorist to make, it only takes a few minutes and an ass for the United States of America (in Space).

"Hunh, so those commies found me." Dash Havoc wiped his American Bowels of Steel with the communist cigar wraps that he kept after smoking the lot, and pulled up his napalm-proof trunks before dragging his metal pants back up. Placing two fingers on a small pressure point on his chest, Dash Havoc of Manliness coughed.

"Command, this is Dash Sexy Havoc here. I got weak cocks molesting my back. My auto-needle went up to counter one, but I don't know how much more they are gonna send to me. I mean, I only got 9 more needles left." Dash heard a buzz as another anti-missile needle propelled from his suit.

"This is Command, we understand your situation. The battle in space is heated here, so it'll be a while before we can send you any hard ordnance. We'll send a cloaking signal around your designated diameter of 10 miles. Be quick though, this will only last an hour." A male voice from the other end said.

"Got it." Dash Havoc lowered his body into a ready stance, the ones used for sprinting marathons. 5 heated hisses came from his back. The enemy was getting serious now on molesting the men of men Dash Havoc. And, as if knowing what Dash was doing, the other end said:

"Go!" And Dash Havoc the speeding American went, smashing hippie trees and stomping little pinko bunnies to their deaths along the way, going inhuman miles. The communist Cornubians were gonna get it now, because...



"Why is he just standing there?!" Commander Defa raised his eyebrow. "Does he think his little anti-missile darts will last forever? Bah!We have literally thousands of heat-seeking missiles! Comrade, keep firing at the American! There is only one, and from what I learned in Enemy Intelligence Studies, those Space Americans have their War Officers. Strong, advanced, fast. But as long as we keep shooting, an Achilles's heel will show." As he said that, he felt a quick tap on his shoulder. Defa saw it was a pale young sentry. "What is it, Comrade? What is wrong?" The soldier just jerked a shaking thumb back at his monitor. Defa looked over, and saw a blond, muscular cleft-chin faced American smiling in front of the camera stationed in a remote area in the forest. And then, a a buzzing screen.

"He's near!" Commander Defa shouted as he grabbed his machine pistol. Grabbing his communication pin on his chest, he ordered all personal to get into their stations. It was clear that the American was coming.

Damn, Comander Defa thought as he rubbed his head, I need a cigar.

Then, as he spoke, shouts came through the radio channel, and then gunfire. Screams, Cornubian screams.
The American was already here.

There would be no cigar break.

[Shroom Man 777]

DIRTY BOMBS!

You know, you do bring up an excellent point. We never see our badass power armored infantry take shits and shit. Next time I write a story for SOTS or something, I too will depict my badass spess marines pulling their pants down and taking a dump.

Physiological processes, mang! Physiological processes!

(Man, imagine what ungodly forms of shit a Space Marine from 40k might unleash when he takes a battlefield potty break!)


There would be no cigar break.

[Magister Militum]

...?...!

You're a lunatic, Heretic, and I thank you for that.

Seriously, I've always loved the insane writing style that you've developed over the time, and this is probably the epitome of it. Keep it up.

[Heretic]

"This is totally killer, man." General Dash Havoc the mightiest man alive snorted as he raised up two choking communists and bashed their heads together before dropping them on the concrete ground. The distant gunfire zinged off his torso armor. The Havocmachine squinted his eyes. In the thick trees, he could make out the barrel flashes. By the way they are raised from the ground, the attackers are on some elevated platform. Maybe the bunker is hidden. Still, they should have at least been subtle and not make this outer concrete defense wall. Two soldiers in red utility jumpsuits peered around a corner and fired at Dash Havoc, who simply jumped behind a rock and blasted them with his laser tri-barrel pistol. A few more charges left.



"Someone tell my why that lazy American is still on our radar as far away, yet he breached our first defense?!" Commander Defa pulled out his plasma pistol and went upstairs, followed by bodyguards and a few officials.

"Commander, it seems like the Americans sent a false signal to us. The attacker used this as a camouflage." One official with a normal machine pistol said as the group went up to the machine gun and artillery nest.

"Order all artillery and missiles to smash through the vicinity of the area after a few minutes. I want the American to be in deep territory before we attack." Then, the sensor wall panels changed and showed the red fucking blip a few feet from the headquarter concrete keep. Commander Defa looked at it and sighed.

"Make my first order...point black." Nothing surprised him anymore.



Out into the grimdarkness of space, where no one can hear you scream, a fleet of small blue cruisers with the insignia of a saber in front of a red star were firing missiles from missile tubes under their small stubby curving wings at red block ships that fired countermeasures and missiles of their own. The red blocky industrial ships were the CCP's. But the blue weren't AMERICAN, damn it. No AMERICAN ship would have a wussy saber in front of a red star nor would they have curving girly stub wings. No, these ships that were attacking the CCP weren't AMERICAN, damn it. These were two-bit ships from a two-bit polity that the USA allowed to tag along for the ride. Something about “vengeance and retribution for an age-old ill that the Cornubians brought upon our mighty nation". Something the Americans were too busy kicking ass to pay attention. The Star Kingdom of Lumeria was five systems strong and expanding. The Royal Lumerian Navy, as it was wussingly called, was a proud fleet of two battleships, 30 cruisers, 10 destroyers, and a numerous amount of frigates and starships. And in the current battlefield, a battleship, two cruisers, and 3 frigates carrying troop ships under their wing were in the front, bravely fighting the CCP.

Inside the Battleship, which was called the LNS Retribution, the commanding officer, Captain Haylee Mackington was on the bridge, her and a bunch of two-bit officers were surrounding a space map that showed the situation.

"My lady, the Cornubian fleet is made up of thirty "block weapons", hastily constructed ships with minimal armor and armed with outdated missiles. Despite this, what they lack in quality they gain in time and mass production. Already, two block weapons have been launched from unknown shipyards and are supplementing the current fleet, and due to red tape bureaucracy holding our feet down, the Cornubians are sending reinforcements from their colony planets." A middle aged first officer with a scar said as he showed the strength of the enemy. "We are outnumbered and outgunned."

"Damn." The tall blond captain snarled as she looked at the status report. The enemy ships were charging full speed at the enemy, ready to do a wave attack in hopes of surrounding the small fleet. "Luckily, we have enough armaments to withstand the whole lot. But if we make one mistake...well, soon, there will be enough mass produced mothballs and reinforcements that....well," Captain Mackington stood straight up, her face with grim resolution, and adjusted her wide brim captain hat, "let us hope Empress and Country look favorably upon us, our last stand."

"My lady?" One of the officer at the sensor readings said. Captain Mackington took no heed. She moved to her captain's chair at the front of the main battlescreen and brushed her buckled overcoat as she sat.

"All ships, reload missile bays and turrets with MK.2 Seekers!" She bellowed. The control station gave a "Yes, My Lady!" as they went into communications with the other ships. "Get the telescreen prompt up. I want to send possibly our last, final speech to our troops." Captain Mackington stood up straight, her blue overcoat captain suit and general hat making a imposing figure on her.

"My lady?" The same officer whispered. The captain held up a finger for silence. The man hushed up. The lights dimmed as the Lumerian Kingdom Anthem came on, it's droning of male bass choirs and female shrills. After the anthem, the lights turned onto Haylee Mackington, Captain of the LNS Retribution and youngest daughter of the Empress Hannah Abreza Augustus Immortius Anastasia. Until one of the heirs or heiresses succeed the empress, they all have different last names.

"Faithful servants of Royal Lumerian Navy, I, Captain Haylee Mackington of the LNS Retribution salute you! In this day, the enemy outnumbers us and outguns us, we are few, and though our weapons are still at full capacity, we do not know how long we will hold. But always remember, we shall give the enemy our vengeance. Cornubus has insulted our great nation long ago, when the Prime Minister there mandated the savage rape and violation of Princess Alrunia, the youngest of the first emperor! A hundred years later, we stand here, ready to deliver than late justice! Even if we die here, we shall make the Cornubians fear us! Thousands of years later, when fact dissolves into myths, they will tell of the sky demons that brought hell upon them! Children shall quiver at the bogeyman called the Lumerians, who shall deliver fire upon transgressors no matter how long it takes! My faithful servants, rise up and scribe your name upon the road of history, become the devil itself!" She clicked her heels and drew out her long golden rapier, and pointed it at the screen. "For every Lumerian ship that falls, a thousand more shall take its place! May the Kingdom turn into the EMPIRE! All hail the EMPRESS!" The crowd cheered and howled through all the ships as the screen as the cameras turned blank. Holstering her sword back into its finely decorated sheath, Captain Mackington came to the young officer at the sensor terminal.

"What is it, ensign?" Captain Mackington took a deep breath as she knelt next to the console. She was 6'1.

"My lady, it's a hailing request from the Americans." The captain raised an eyebrow. She completely forgot the Americans during all this.

"Where were they? I haven't seen their ships since this morning." The captain looked at the beeping red screen. Reaching her cuffed hand, Haylee accepted the communication.

It was Flash Stalin, the President of the American Space Polities, who was in what seemed to be a single cockpit, and was Haylee Mackington's fiance.

Oh no. The blond captain thought as she saw the short and spiky haired president tooting Yankee Doodle on a kazoo.

[Shroom Man 777]

Wow. FLASH STALIN's fiancee is a tall and hot smexy Lumerian space captain? What a man! What a mang!

FLASH STALIN!

Havocmachine!

Hot chicks! Hot prissy Imperial chicks! 6'1!

Yum yum.

[Heretic]

"Hello, sugar." Flash Stalin, the man who leads men smiled as he pocketed his Iron Kazoo of Command. The blond and gaunt face on the other side didn't seem to smile back. "Oh come on, can't you thaw a bit?" His tall fiancee just looked to the side.

"I shall talk to you in my personal quarters. My fleet is currently in position to meet the Cornubian..." Flash Stalin the man of the relationship silenced the women with a flip of his hand.

"Don't worry about those commies. America got it under control!" The screen just turned blank. Flash Stalin the pilot just shrugged and grasped his keyboard and pulled it towards him. All systems were 100%, Flash Stalin the Hulk saw, as he sent Starship One into the main fleet of enemy "box weapons", ships with cheapo missiles because the commies couldn't afford anything else. The screen turned back on as Captain Mackington's fox face came up.

"Alright, Flash, I want to ask you this: What the hell are you doing here? In the battlefield?! Aren't you suppose to be at the White House, conducting the American operation?" Flash Stalin just shrugged again.

"Oh, I thought it was time to finish the fight..." Captain Mackington gasped as her face almost exploded. She was as red as a cherry and her eyes furrowed menacingly.

"Oh...my...g-you mean to tell me that you came here to fight? Hell, the Cornubian Box Weapons will annihilate you! I mean, even if you are in some top-notch spacefighter, they...they're are gonna destroy you! They have massive numbers and are armed to the teeth with anti-starfighter weaponry" That struck Flash Stalin like a lightening bolt. His face turned from a smug smiley face into a white pale face of a distorted gape. Captain Mackington placed her face onto her hands and sighed deeply. "You just thought of that now? Ok, look, we can get you to dock with one of the messenger ships, and they can take you back to D.C. or wherever you are lo.." But Flash Stalin, bravest of men, was not shocked because of anti-starfighter missiles and damn communist play toys, but what his fiancee said.

"Star..fighter?" Flash Stalin, American to the cell, muttered. Mackington looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" The older one of the two said, her long hair creeping over her shoulder. The Man named Flash Stalin, who was looking down earlier in shock, looked up, his face with a twisted smile.

"You just called my ship a fucking starfighter?!" President Stalin sneered. Captain Mackington just shook her head.

"Well, information on your ship is just coming in, with our MUDAR systems being slowed by the enemy.." She looked looked to the side a bit. "It says here that you are in a..." She stopped, her breath choking in her neck. Captain Mackington slowly adjusted her cap on her head and looked at Flash Stalin, who was smiling with his reflective teeth. "How the hell...that thing is one mile long..."

"No, it's one mile and a foot long exactly, Haylee. Extra space for my snacks." Flash Stalin pulled up his keyboard and typed something. "Not as wide as most flagships, but I took out unnecessary stuff like sleeping quarters and locker rooms and added more weapons and energy storage units."

Haylee's face scrunched up as she looked at the screen she was looking at in her own room. "But, it looks like a pine cone..." Flash Stalin sighed at this. His woman needs to pay him more respect.

"Yes, and when it folds up, it looks like my..." This time, his woman stopped him with a hand.

"I don't want to hear your little puns right now, Flash. What I want to know is how much armaments your flagship has." To this question, Flash Stalin the sly devil beamed.

"I have pods...of missile pods." He placed emphasis on the last words. "And those missile pods are equipped with multi-rocket shells. In total..." Flash Stalin the overachiever checked his ship's information on a small panel, "too many to count." Haylee Mackingotn, Captain of the LNS Retribution and the youngest of the Empress let out a sigh.

"Oh boy. What about defense measures?" She stood up, ready to lead her fleet to glory.

"What defense measures? Americans don't cower and hide in holes. We pummel commies with superior firepower. I am gonna kick commie ass and then kick ass some more, so that I can kick more ass when I get closer to their asses." Flash Stalin the riddler said. Haylee hardened her face into a commander mode.

"Good. Can you cover our charge from any flanking forces? We are about to stand ground in hopes to tire the enemy out of resources, but with you in the picture, I think we shall now do a full charge against the enemy..." she looked at the side as if to read the screen and try to consume the sheer insanity of Starship One, "...if the ship you are on is as lethal as you say it." Flash Stalin, the president of awesomeness saw the slide doors open as a middle aged officer with a gaunt face came in.

"Hey, your boyfriend is here." Flash knew the dude behind Haylee. Some Lt. Jonathon Hellington or whatnot. His name was two-bit. Haylee flushed red as she looked back. Lt. Hellington in his blue jumpsuit uniform stood up straight and saluted.

"Report came in. The American fleet has retreated." The brown haired crew cut lieutenant said, giving a quick glance at Flash Stalin before looking back and stared straight. Haylee looked back at Flash Stalin nervously before looking at Jonathon.

"Yo, tall dude with the suit, the Americans didn't retreat. The fleet tactically withdrew so that they let a bigger badass enter the fray: me." Flash Stalin the short titan was offended by that comment. The Lieutenant just stared straight ahead, ignoring him.

"My..fiance is here to support us. Send the message to all the ships that we are charging, guns ablazing. Lt. Hellington nodded but hesitated a bit. Haylee looked at him, a hint of some emotion Flash couldn't read because he didn't comprehend wussy emotions like love or sadness. "Is there something wrong?" Flash Stalin, missing the whole point entirely of Haylee's comment to Hellington, her ex-lover, decided to chip in.

"Hey, Hell a ton or whoever you are, I know. You are jealous that I got your woman. Don't worry, all three of us can have fun tonight after the battle. You can take one side while I take the other." Flash Stalin the daredevil said. The lieutenant straightened up while Haylee twirled around. All Flash could see was a fist break visual communications. And the manufacturers said that Lumerian telescreens were usually diamond strong.

Flash Stalin the Warrior of warriors just shrugged and grabbed hold of his control sticks, deciding to manually control the whole ship and its armaments of pods of missile pods. A lumerian communications officer sent the message to him that when the signal was given for the go, he was to unleash American hell on the Cornubian communist clunkers.

Flash Stalin knew this might be his last day. But hell, the USA (ok, fine, the ASP to those accuracy OCD whiney pants) has become the most free place on the galaxy, so there was no real need for a president, except keep things in check and kick commie butts.

Despite being the shortest titan in the world, despite being the men of all men, despite being the smartass of America, despite a numerous titles, Flash Stalin at the end of the day had one true title.

A beep came into his computer console, stating that he can open fire on all sides. He pressed a single button, and the whole ship shook as missiles upon missiles launched from the one mile and a foot long ship of pure death, missile throwinng, punch-reality-in-the-face awesomeness incarnated. As he saw the clouds of missiles seeking their targets, he knew who he really was at the end of the day.

Flash Stalin, President of the United States of America (in Space)

Flash Stalin.

President.

Flash Stalin, President.

Man, Flash Stalin.

Of the USA.

Space USA.

Yeah!

[Shroom Man 777]

GOD-DAMN



God, Flash STALIN is an asshole! FLASH STALIN! My god! What a complete and utter ASS! Man. Haylee must be mad as absolute pure HELL! How on Earth did they get engaged in the first place anyway?!

[Heretic]

It was probably just a political arrangement, with the monarchy in Lumeria. With the Americans connected symbolically, they could gain strategic resources with ease.

[Shroom Man 777]

And Flash Stalin likes feisty tall blondes who can kick his ass?

[Heretic]

Dash Havoc snarled as the artillery cannons that had their large hard tubes point down at him opened fire. He managed to hide behind the concrete outer defense walls as it was blown into a thousand pieces, but it provided enough protection to keep him from dying of direct blast radius. His Awesome American Alloy Armored Muscles of Military Madness (AAAAMoMM) were built to withstand the trivial blast wave that would kill mere mortals within hours, having their whole organs screwed up inside and just dying out of the blue. As long as the direct blast doesn't hit him, he was fine, with his AAAAMoMM, his hi-tech armor, and his fire-proof undies.

A blast came a few feet from him, and Dash Havoc did a barrel roll to a boulder behind the concrete walls, shooting all the mini-cameras he could see with the crappy commie combustible carbine. More artillery strikes point blank near his position.

"Give me a break!" Dash Havoc the uberAmerican snarled. And as if karma decided to be jerk, the artillery stopped and a bunch of red utility jumpsuit soldiers with repeating recoil-less rocket launchers charged at him, climbing over the concrete wall while firing off multiple rounds of high-explosives.

Dash Havoc, seeing the first missiles coming, ran for his dear life back into the woods, firing off his stolen machine pistols at them, which was inaccurate and made the commies laugh at Dash Havoc himself! Trees fell as shrapnel and heat exploded through the woods.

"Dudes, thing of the trees and animals!" Dash Havoc the conservationist shouted as he stomped through the forest, curb-stomping a bear cub with his super-heated metal cleats on the awesome heavy combat boots and elbowing a mama bear as she charged at him, while leaving burn marks on the ground that would start a forest fire down the future, long after the war was over.

As Dash Havoc jumped into a ditch, he reached for his back, where the backpack of counter missile darts were. Rotating it so that it was in front of him, he opened a panel and began working on it, artillery rounds starting to fire all around him.


"Fire! Fire like there is no tomorrow!" Commander Defa shouted as he reached the roof of the bunker, where long cannons were stationed, commanded by small computers plugged into a port on the side of each gun. "If you do not catch the American, he will surely kill us all!" Defa took no arrogant chances with this man. He heard of these War Officers, the professional American. More reckless than the reckless, being more arrogant than Americanly possible is a requirement for them. Trained in the secret arts of ancient Hollywood action movies, these men are lethal, solo or in a pack.

"Commander, we are trying to hack into the American radar jamming computer in space and stop the fog of war, maybe a bonus of gaining intel on their plans." A stiff blond private saluted next to the commander. He was from the computer section. Commander Defa nodded as he looked at the downhill forests at the distance. Somewhere, the American was there.

"Good, comrade. Comrade Aigust!" A bearded man who was looking over at one of the artillery specialists looked up. "Send a few men around the perimeter to see if the American is behind us and we aren't just shooting at trees." The bearded man saluted and walked back down the open metal trapdoor, where the stairs led down to the inside, the HQ.

"Sir?" The computer specialist said. "I got movement coming fas.." He stopped as an explosion ruptured from the barrel of one of the artillery pieces. It threw bodies and shrapnel around. Commander Defa ducked behind an ammo box, missing blades of cannon by inches. The computer specialist and some others weren't so lucky. The commander saw blood squirting from the young comrade, who tried to scream, but decided to just fall down and die. Another explosion. And another. Nine artillery pieces were destroyed, and the remaining 6 were badly damaged, their operators dead or bleeding. Ringing came into Defa's ears, who just lay there, looking up at the sky. Then, a soldier with a white beret with a red cross on the middle came over to him and knelt down, pulling out needles and various tools. He try to say something, but Commander Defa couldn't hear him. The man opened his shirt and started checking for any injuries that might hamper movement or cause more injuries if the commander moved. Defa was gently rolled over and felt a warm buzz behind his back as the medic checked for back wounds. Seeing none, he felt himself being lifted and put on a stretcher that unfolded itself. Then, two soldiers carried him down into the relative safety of the bunker, debris and smoke filling the air. The Commander gradually heard buzzing in his ears, and whispers from shouting soldiers gradually came to. A medic took some sort of suction cup and placed it into Commander Defa's right ear. His eardrums felt like they were being pulled, but he could gradually regain hearing as he started hearing the humming of the medical instrument get louder and louder.

After the left ear was fixed as well, Commander Defa stood up. He was in one of the barracks, which became an emergency medical ward. On the cots, bleeding men screamed and moaned in pain, some becoming suddenly quiet and having medics come and put them into body bags. A young soldier came to him.

"Commander, the artillery unit has been completely wiped out, and our missile systems seem to be malfunctioning. We have no word yet from the missile teams on their pursuit on the American. Casualty reports are in the sixties. High Command has told us in an emergency broadcast that with the main invasion taking place near the capital, they can't send any more rei..." The comrade soldier was silenced when the commander held a hand up. The comrade soldier looked at his commander's face. It wasn't the boisterous bossy pomp he usually had.

Janell Defa's face darkened, his walrus mustache adding to the seriousness.

"I know, comrade." He said in a hushed voice. "I think I will take a stroll."

And he lit a cigar, because for Commander Defa, the Man-stache wielder, there is always time for a cigar break.

[Shroom Man 777]

Badass. Man, those ridiculous descriptives used on DASH HAVOC are brilliant! The conservationist! *stomps bears*

I love your absurdly-described war stories, Heretic. AAAAMoMM! Walrus moustaches! Forest fires!

[Heretic]

Modified the sentence "We are just shooting at trees" to "We aren't just shooting at trees". Simple edit.

Man, sometimes, I amaze myself, Shroom, because I'm just that American.

[Heretic]

Explosions surrounded Dash Havoc, Man of Testosterone, as the recoiless repeating rocket teams fired at him from a wussy safe distance behind trees. And Dash Havoc responded by firing the machine pistols (dumb 9mm wannabe rounds. Real humans, like Americans, would use .45 for all sidearm usages) at the treelines, while zigzagging here and there before going into a long diagonal so that the enemy doesn't got a pattern idea, before just stopping and firing like a madman. Multitudes of rockets zipped around, falling trees and making pretty explosions all around. Dash managed to down a few, but had to fall behind cover or move around as the repeating missiles just kept coming and coming.

And he had enough. Feeling impatient, Dash Havoc jumped up and jumping over dirt ditches and woody shrubs and fired like a madman. When his hijacked machine pistols ran out of ammo, the American chucked the guns at the missiles heading to him, causing some to explode in mid-air. The repeating rocketeers moved back as the Bull of the US of A(!) charged forward, as they needed to reload their limited supply of rockets, and were stupid enough to forget a sidearm, not that it would make a difference against Dash Havoc, who just charged in between two comrade soldiers and rammed his elbows against their heads, making a cracking sound and causing both to fall and die. The remaining soldiers hesitated a bit in order to comprehend the sheer American-ness that just hit them. Then, they raised their rocket launchers up, and then realized that he was close. Close enough that if they shoot they would die too.

Dash Havoc, who had his back hunched down a bit, saw this and used it as an advantage. Jumping forward, he grabbed, with both hands, the front handles of the launchers and jerked them up. The soldiers had their fingers pull the triggers, and a dozen rockets flew up into the air, telling the whole damn world where they (and Dash) were. But there would be no salvation for the other two comrade soldiers, for as their launchers were pushed up and had their wrists snapped from the sheer force of Dash Havoc's own wrists, Dash himself jumped up with his hulking heavy hellfire armor and did a split kick, ramming his metal cleats of flaming fury into their ribs and shredding them up. As the chunks fell down, the others fired away, being safely on the opposite side from him now, hiding behind natural mounds of ferns and forest debris. Dash Havoc jumped back as the rockets and explosions came, but not before grabbing a repeating rocket launcher from the dead body of his first kill. Actually, because he killed two at the same time, he took both their launchers. While he made the last two dead fire off their rockets into the air, these ones were nearly full.

"Alright, Mofos! It's time for my daily asskicking!" He hollered as Dash the fucking Havoc of America, Yeah! aimed both the recoilless smoothbore shooters at the enemy's hiding mound and opened fire. Dual missiles upon dual missiles spat out, and sped to the floral dunes. And being that the launchers were recoilless, Dash Havoc had awesome arm strength and control, and his exoskeleton was wicked, it was like firing a BB gun. The missiles hit and pushed into elevated terrain, causing a hole to be punched from one side and having flashing flames, flying dirt, and flying human chucks go the other side. "Yeah, crap heads!" Dash Havoc cackled as he continued holding the trigger. "Fly away! IN SEGMENTS!" He continued firing until both launchers ran out of munitions. The dust floated and covered his sight, but as the smoke and particles dimmed down, the organic hippie walls protecting the communist missile launcher infantry specialists was gone, as was the forest that was in the way of Dash's most incredible moments. And it was all filmed on tape by the invisible camera drones that floated around. Dash Havoc smiled up, waited a little for the invisible cameras to adjust to that signal, and then shot a thumbs up.

"Sweet America, in war, the weapons don't matter, whether they are wonderful American AS87 or the cheap and crummy commie carbines as you saw me wielding a bit earlier, it's the soldiers who use them that matter! With a spirit of a lion and the free will of an eagle, anyone can..!" Dash Havoc was pumped up from the battle and was giving his lecture to the newsreels when he felt a massive heated wind past him. "What was tha.." Dash Havoc slowly looked around and saw a huge ugly barrel. A tank barrel. And on top of the circular turret was a moustached man with the red jumpsuit and black anti-munitions vest, but he had a red trenchcoat. And he smoked a cigar. A massive cigar. on a tank. with a massive barrel. And a massive machine gun on top of that.

"Comrade, that is correct. It really depends on the user of the weapon. As you have seen, my men were sadly foolish to think that they could take on a bulldozer with collateral weapons at close range. You on the other hand, have made mass-produced weapons into lethal quality killers." He placed his index finger and his thumb on the cigar that he smoked and took it out for a casual puff. "Don't mind me. I'm here to just do some target practice in the forest. Thank goodness my rounds ignore small metal stumps, or else you would have exploded." Dash Havoc furrowed curiously at what the commie was blabbering about, but then realized...or to be specific, didn't feel it. He raised the hand that he thumped up with.

There was no thumb.

[Acatalepsy]

So, next time on AiS, the Red Empire Strikes back? With more communism?

[Heretic]

Lol, well, it boils down to man to man single combat real soon. And come on, if you catch all the clues I have been spilling, you know who is gonna win in the end obviously!

Or...will it?

[Shroom Man 777]

God, the sheer amount of testosterone, hot blood and guts is awesome. And, man, now it is Dash Havoc versus TANK! Excellent!

[Heretic]

"More reinforcements have appeared through the other graveddie!" One tactical officer shouted as the screen mingled with green and red missile indicators, some becoming grey, as even with high tech sensor advancements, the President of the United Space Polities launched too many missiles that even those sensors couldn't respond to that much munitions in their intel space. And the screens had to zoom down to a more local area, or else all the Lumerians and the Cornubians would see is a swarm of missiles, like locusts plaguing the sensory farmland.

The tactical officer brushed a few pads as the screen zoomed into a real time real video camera view of massive clunker blocks with wings of missile pods bolted on the side come out from a small segment of space. And this view too was covered in American missiles, thick dome-headed rockets zipping by, their silent engines blowing pushing force from their fin-less ends, the small English print saying "Made in the USA, Loser" on the side side, with an American flag stamped next to it.

The Americans don't waste any expense in showing off. The Tactical Officer said as he remotely commanded a couple of side turrets to aim up and pick off any close missiles from above. As the Lumerian fleet got closer to the Cornubian Box Weapons, firing missiles and countering them became more real time, and with the computers showing where all possible trajectories of the enemy missiles might be heading, the tactical officers had a good chance of fighting them off. Of course, the Cornubians were fighting hard as well, fending off the American President's cloud of missiles while attacking the Lemurian ships with their not-so-junky missiles. A couple almost annihilated a small destroyer. Not good.

"I want all ships to pull back and form a line, with both battleships to the side, making a hilt!" Captain Mackington barked as she was in the tip of the control room, looking at the main battle scene, where there were more missiles than stars. One ensign looked up at her.

"A Lemurian Colonist charge?" She asked. The captain turned her head and gave a twisted smile, her eyes hungry.

"Why yes, my dear subordinate. A charge. In space." And before anyone could protest that insane idea: "Now." As Mackington walked down the sub-balcony, she tapped the internal ship administer, a small man who looked up with big glasses.

"Send me to the frontal ship, that heavily armored destroyer..what was it called? The Wrakath? How appropriate, being the first thing killed in Lemuria when Lord Junb Ala and his colony train came." The administer gaped.

"My lady, you are asking me to send you off into a shuttle pod, in the middle of a missile hell, to go to the front of a moving formation!?" Captain Mackington just smiled as she walked out of the bridge and headed towards the maze of corridors. But before she left, she looked back.

"Jonathon, you're in command now." The stiff and tall grizzled veteran just nodded as he went up the sub-balcony and sat down on the command chair. Mackington turned around and headed to the launchpads.



His thumb...was gone. No one has ever scratched Dash Havoc before. No one. Dash Havoc looked at his thumbless hand and felt a queasy feeling, but shook it off. He turned back to the tank man and smiled.

"Oh well, I always wanted a metal thumb." He said as he pulled out his laser pistol. The trenchcoat man held up a hand.

"Shouldn't we introduce each other like civilized gentlemen before we go into mindless violence, slashing our guts out?" The man took another puff of his cigar.

"Fine," Dash Havoc growled as he stood up straight, placed his thumbless hand on his hip, and bent his elbow up so that the gun was raised. "I am Dash Havoc, General of..." The man held up his hand.

"I know who you are, Dash Havoc of the Patriotic Army, War Officer, Number 2428. Raised in New Langley, Lincoln Sphere, you were one of the top trainees of the Junior War Officer academy. Of course, being raised by a retired drill sergeant/special operations agent all your life, America, her values, and the military was a part of your life. You aspired to fight in combat for the country. You were raised to believe that your mother died because she was sick of wussies, and went off to a borderland world and wrestled artificially made T-rexes for a past time, and that she died from drinking too much. You as a child played baseball, joined the Boy Scouts, went to church like a good little boy, and generally was a true American. But there is one thing I should let you know as a part of the introductions." The man wiped some ashes from his mustache and knelt down into the turret compartment before coming back up with a bunch of papers. It was binded together.

"You know how fast and easy it took to compile all this information? A bit of a tragedy, really, seeing what happened to them. And I wonder what they would think if they saw you." He tossed the bundle of papers to Dash Havoc, who snatched them with a clutched awkward grip. Tearing the thread with his teeth, he looked at the front page.

"So? Why are you giving me all my personal information? Are you trying to scare me with your all seeing eye thing, because it ain't working, pal. I can just blast you away." Then, the front page fell down, revealing the second page. Dash Havoc turned white.


Commander Defa smiled at the American. So he could be broken. That gave pleasure to the commander, who smoked his cigar and smiled sadistically.

"You weren't born American, Dash Havoc. Nor were your real parents American. Shocking, isn't it? The pure icon of the United States of America isn't so pure after all. I even took the liberty of making a story on how things happened, with the help of forensic reports of the police and a few journals your parents kept. Let us begin."