ThLingan maH!

"Ja'Qui... they're dropping out of warp. Initial contact confirmed: scout vessel USS Lotus and battlecruiser USS Spectre. Both in file formation, scoutship leading; bearing 045 mark 20, heading 120 mark 10. Distance, nine hundred thousands kelikams."

In the nigh-backed chair dominating the entire bridge stations pit between his pedestal and the large vidscreen, Ja'rod sat with one elbow on his wide right armrest, gauntleted fist clenched, leaning forward with his dark eyes glaring at the image of the sleef fish-shaped Intrepid class and the much larger saucer-shaped Akira class following it closely. On the tactical screen just under the main one, data on both Starfleet vessels scrolled, both from computer banks and from passive sensor readings. Not much could be confirmed this way from what Intelligence had gathered before their departure; but using active sensors would have betrayed their position.

"Have they detected us?"

"No, HoD," answered the research and surveillance officer on his right. "Current Starfleet sensor technology has yet to match are latest cloaking developpement... except for those recent reports about a... Syntron Space Sonar as they have dubbed it."

Ja'rod grunted and rubbed his face with his left hand.

"Sounds more like Federation misinformation to me. They certainly had nothing special on this Prometheus warship that we met with the Negh'Var last week."

"Nevertheless, if it's real, reports state that it can only be implemented through modification of their main deflector dish. So iof that have such a system, it can only sweep their forward arc. As long as we stay away from their bow, we'll remain undetected."

"Until we strike," then growled the task force commander. "Move in to attack posture Kruge One. All weapons on manual targeting of their propulsion systems; warp, then impulse. Prepare to decloak and fire at my command."

"Torpedoes loaded, Ja'Qui," reported the woman siting in the mobile tactical tower as it turned towards the main screen on his left. "Ready to energize disruptor banks and cannons."

"No! Keep those disruptors cool so that they will not detect their energy surge... And transmit our tactical directives to the other ships as we decloak and send our first volley, not a second before!"

"My Lord," then started to protest the woman; are we... are we going to strike from behind and out of concealment with no challenge given or received?"

Ja'Rod turned an angry glare towards her.

"There is a reason why Houses such as yours are disappearing, Naelar, daughter of Kempec," he spat with a sneer; "its because, like you, they foolishly stick to obsolete values of Honor instead of having the courage like us, Durass, to do what it takes to achieve glorious victory!"

The tactical officer swallowed her pride and her anger but here eyes were smoldering as she retorted dryly:

"Dead men learn nothing; if we destroy them, Starfleet will just send more ships..."

"We will immediately destroy one of them and send the other one limping back to its masters, to tell them of our might and of our claim to this part of space. by the time they stop quaking in fear and then try to talk their way out with the High Council, we will have established a beach head here and a full fleet to secure it."

He then looked at her squarely, lfting his chin arrogantly.

"If you don't have the stomach for the battle, woman, I can releive you and send you to prepare our ghagh and targ meat for our victory feast."

With a snarl, she gripped her controls and glued her head to her targeting scope.

"Ready to fire at your command, HoD," she growled.

With a furrowed brow, Ja'rod turned slowly in his seat to look over the rest of his bridge crew at his feet.

"Qa'pla!" they shouted, silencing any further argument from the woman sitting at tactical but more intent at quelling any doubt about themselves from their overlooking commanding officer.

"Nadem GosS..." he said, satisfied. "Helm; overtake, move behind and over them, point blank range."

On the screen, the two unsuspecting Starfleet vessels' sterns grew larger as they closed in, their assault vector trapping both between them and the awesome raging inferno of the anomaly barely fifty million kilometers away. Like a vengeful ghost stalking unsuspecting mortals, invisible claws extending to rip their souls from their bodies, the Klingon command ship moved to assume under cloak its chosen attack posture.

Death was about to strike. And it pointed a leather-gloved finger at the displayed scene.

"Tactical... target... this one."