NOTE: This other, I mean author, is out of ideas. So as a loyal reader of my crappy stories, I would appreciate it greatly if I were given a few DECENT ideas. If you just happen to have one, TELL ME!!!!!!!!! Oh yeah, here's the story.

  The year is 2012, the peak of World War III. Atop the distorted sphere that is Earth, three spacecrafts slowly maneuver through the black emptiness. One ship is from America. The other two are from England. The war has left countless aircraft but only these three spacecraft intact.

  Captain Mason Hickman of the U.S.S. Beaver ordered his tactical officer to arm the weapons' array.
  "Report, Ruffu!" he bellowed.
  "We got two British vessels: one an A-33, one an R-15."
  "Hail the A-33, Ensign Tinado." Hickman halted his pacing and sat in his chair just as the face of a British captain appeared on the forward monitor.
  "I am Captain Paul LeMaire of the U.S.S. Cheese." the captain sighed deeply. "What d'y want?"
  "Send one of your ships back to Earth." Hickman began. "That way we are equ----"
  A sudden jolt sent all but Lieutenant Ruffu skidding across the bridge.
  "I see you have just heard from our sister ship." LeMaire chuckled loudly. "Good work, Greer. Their shields were down."
  "Shut'em off, Tinado!" Hickman said as he stumbled to his feet. "Clower, damage report."
  "We got a disruption in our aft plasma valves." Clower called through the comm. "I estimate about half an hour before we have a leak."
  "Damn," Hickman swore, as he watched his enemies fall back.

  Captain Greer looked over at his second in command: RJ Regenold. He'd just been assigned to the U.S.S. Weasel from a low-rank status.
  "Why haven't they fired on us, sir?" called the science officer.
  "I don't know, Browder." Greer sighed. "Probably wantin' us to sweat a bit, so they can saver our fear and agony. Well those ------- won't get it out of me. I'm not one who dwells on things to come."
  "Whatever." the tactical officer murmured.
  "What was that, Messer?" Greer asked. "You just got out of prison, and I'd hate to write up a report that would result in a court martial, right?"
  "Yes, umm, Captain." Messer turned back to his radar. "Sir, the American ship, it's charging weapons."
  "Raise shields, Lieutenant, and fire on my mark. Ensign, evasive maneuvers!" Greer shouted. "Weapons' status on that American ship, Mr. Browder!"
  "Pretty loaded." Browder sighed. "They got full laser banks, and eight proton torpedoes."
  "Crap." Regenold said under his breath. "Red alert!"

  LeMaire watched as the U.S.S. Beaver began bombarding the U.S.S. Weasel.
  "Lieutenant Dower, report." LeMaire said quickly.
  "The Weasel will be able to withstand the lasers and proton torpedoes for approximately five more minutes."
  "Hail the Beaver." LeMaire commanded.
  "What, what is it!" Hickman demanded. "Tryin' to save the poor, impudent Weasel, eh? Well, their shields are down to 47%, and we got about ten minutes-a fire still on stand-by."
  "Open fire!" LeMaire shouted. "Ensign Trammell, evasive maneuvers!"

  A nerve-wrenching jolt rocked the bridge of the Weasel. Messer had been bounced off a bulkhead, and Regenold had been thrown against the wall. Both now lay unconscious. Browder shouted to the young ensign over the sounds of their ship falling apart.
  "What's the status of our structural integrity, Clower!"
  "We have 71% and falling fast!" Clower shouted back. "Our engines have failed, not that that applies to the situation, but I'd thought you'd want to ---"
  "Shut up!" Greer bellowed as the lights began to flicker. "Reroute all available power to the shields, Lieuten-umm, Ensign."
  "Captain, captain!" Jones shouted from engineering. "We have a leak in the warp engines. An explosion is imminent."
  "Ensign!" Greer began pacing. "Open a channel with the U.S.S. Cheese. Tell'em we need assist-aaaa!"
  Another jolt from a proton torpedo let loose several sparks. As Greer staggered to keep his balance, he heard Ensign Clower shout over an explosion. When Greer turned to the helm, he saw that the top half of the console had completely come off, letting loose a powerful electrical current. Clower lay dead on the deck nearby.
  "This is Captain Robert Greer of the U.S.S. Weasel, calling the U.S.S. Cheese. Emergency transport! Our shields are down, engines destroyed, crew dead, please, please, we need assist---"
  Two torpedoes bombarded the ship, sending Greer into the back of his chair, knocking him unconscious.
  "Please respond, Weasel?" came LeMaire's voice.
  "This is Lieutenant Commander Browder." Browder braced himself as a laser targeted the bridge. "All bridge officers are down, two of which are dead. Please."
  "Stand by, Weasel," came LeMaire's voice again. "We're locking on to you, now."
  Browder pitched in his seat as the cool sensation of a transporter blocked out the chaotic scene on the bridge. When the blur of the space-time continuum had dissolved, Tyler Browder and Forrest Jones stood next to the unconscious form of RJ Regenold.
  "Where's Captain Greer?" Jones asked. "He's coming in the next---" Ensign Trammell stopped.
  On a small window, the brilliant light of a ship's exploding engines shown brighter than a thousand suns. The Weasel, had been popped.

  Ruffu continued targeting the wreckage of the Weasel.
  "Stop it, stop it!" Tinado shouted. "You destroyed the damn ship!"
  Tinado vaulted over the rail and belted Ruffu so hard in the jaw that it knocked him against the wall, his eyes bulging. Then she turned to the captain.
  "Just before the ship exploded, I detected three crewmen transported onto the U.S.S. Cheese."
  "How many torpedoes left, Lieutenant?" Hickman asked.
  "Umm," Ruffu gulped in shame as he glanced at his display, "three."
  "Three!" Hickman shouted. "You damn fool! Why didn't you just use the damn lasers! The banks were full!"
  "Not anymore." Ruffu said weakly. "But, umm, I hit the Weasel with almost half of them."
  "Oh, Lieutenant, Lieutenant." Hickman sat back down. "Thanks to your careless display of the term, "trigger happy," we may not win this damn war!"
  "Sir," Besselman looked up from the display, "the Cheese is charging weapons and hailing us, sir."
  "Put the transmission through, Commander." Hickman replied grimly.
  "Hello, again." LeMaire grinned with triumph. "I see that your lieutenant wanted to make sure he'd destroyed the ship, eh? Well, unless you surrender, the fate that has befallen the Weasel, will befall you as well."
  "Do I get to shoot the torpedoes, Captain?" Ruffu asked, eyeing the controls.
  "Damn it, Ruffu!" Hickman shouted. "Thanks to the-what the hell?"
  Three simultaneous shots from the U.S.S. Cheese rocked the bridge.
  "Damnage report, Ensign Tinado!" Hickman shouted.
  "We have a hull breech on decks three, eight, thirteen, and fifteen!" Tinado shouted. "Evacuation in progress."
  "Ruffu, shield status?"
  "We got 37% shields, and dropping at a rather ala--"
  "Captain, captain!" Clower shouted over the sounds in Engineering. "The warp core containment is at 31% We can't take much more of this!"
  Three more violent jolts knocked half the crew to the deck.
  "Life support systems will go off line in ten minutes and thirty-one seconds." Besselman said grimly. "I think we're beat, Captain."
  "The hell we are!" Hickman quickly turned to Ruffu. "Target their weapons array and fire at will, Lieutenant."
  "Alright!" Ruffu began hitting the button marked: "Torpedo launch" in rapid succession. "Kill'em, they must die!"
  "We've been hit!" Trammell murmured. "Minor damage to the aft shields."
  "Then why announce it," LeMaire said sarcastically, "if it's only minor damage?"
  "Go to hell, Captain." she retorted.
  "What was that, Ensign?"
  "I said "Go Blue Bell." It was an ice cream company that my father ruined after the great economic crash of 2003." she replied.
  "My apologies, Ensign." LeMaire turned back as the Beaver began hailing them.
  "You must think your some captain, eh LeMaire!" Hickman patronized. "Well, let me tell you somethin'! In five minutes, my ship's gonna blow!"
  "What!" Tinado shouted. "You need three senior officers to back up the self destruct sequence! Just because you're the captain don't mean you can blow up the damn ship without consulting at least one member of your crew. No wonder those American -------- thought of you as a stubborn old mule. Every answer for you is to blow up a ship, rather than just face the fact that you were defeated. I swear that you'd think you were a--"
  "That's enough, Ensign!" Hickman shouted. "One more remark and I'll have you off this bridge so fast, you'd think Ubtar the three-hoofed walrus had a hold of your brain!"
  "But if you don't--" Tinado protested.
  "Get off my bridge!" Hickman commanded.
  No sooner had he finished, had two large monkeys come scurrying onto the bridge. Each took a hold of one of Tinado's wrists.
  "Bob, Rob," Hickman addressed the two communist monkeys, "please escort Ms. Tinado to the brig."
  They did so.
  "Just admit defeat, Hickman." LeMaire said slowly. "Because if you don't, the remaining crew of the U.S.S. Weasel and the crew of the U.S.S. Cheese, will have to destroy that shell you call a ship."
  "Computer," Hickman turned from LeMaire, "commence self destruct sequence Hickman 1 Beta, five minute silent countdown."
  "This is madness!" LeMaire began pulling out his hair in frustration. "You'd rather kill yourself and your crew than admit defeat? Listen up! If any of you "Americans" choose to be prisoners of war rather than roasting corpses in the endlessness of space, my ship will beam you aboard."
  At that moment, the chief engineer, Stephen Clower, came barreling through the automatic doors.
  "The core's in stage four of its implosion sequence!" he said quickly. "It's gonna blow in five minutes."
  "Once again!" LeMaire shouted over the confusion on the bridge. "If any of your crew wish to be prisoners of war, speak now, or forever hold your, umm, death."
  "No!" Hickman bellowed. "No, no, no!"
  As he continued shouting, Ruffu had given LeMaire a quick nod. Soon after, Besselman, Stidham, and Clower followed.
  "No, no, no!" Hickman watched the countdown descend from 405, to 404, to 403, to 402.
  The four senior officers immediately dissolved from the bridge in the sparkling lights of the transporter.
  "Don't be a jackass, Captain!" LeMaire exclaimed. "Separate the Cheese into the three shuttles, Ensign!"
  "You know the ol' sayin', LeMaire." Hickman said softly. "A captain always goes down with his ship."
  "That's when he has no choice of survival!" LeMaire protested. "Look this is your last chance. Because in two minutes, we need to be a safe distance from your ship. Now beam aboard, or call it off."
  "Sorry, Captain," LeMaire switched him off.
  "Estimated time to self destruct, Long?" LeMaire asked.
  "Three minutes, fifty-one seconds," Long replied.
  "Full impulse, Ensign." LeMaire said turning to Dower. "Have the three subsections of the ship separated?"
  "They will within thirty seconds, sir." Dower replied.
  "Go to section Beta, and establish a comm. link when you arrive." LeMaire called from his station. "Delay the separation until Dower has reached deck twenty-seven."

  Hickman knew escape was hopeless. He watched as the countdown timer went on down. 95, 94, 93, 92...
  "Captain Mason Hickman, personal log," Hickman said slowly, "date: 3:07 AM, Wednesday, August 15, 2012. The only other ship in the system is moving out on impulse. A few years back, I made a tragic mistake by steering the U.S.S. Badger off course and took the escape pod reserved for my captain at the time, Captain Bob T. McCommmunistmonkey. I vowed that when the time came, I would stay on board, like he had to. This will be my last log, for the sequence is almost complete. Hopefully, no other captain will ever have to do, what I am about to. But as a credit to myself, I have sped up the implosion process on the warp core. When the precise moment arrives, it will implode as the rest of the ship explodes. The combining radiation will create an explosion so massive, that any titanium-based ship in the sector will be severely damaged. Hopefully, I'll take out some of the damn British with me."
  The log ended.

  Ensign Trammell had been sent just before the ship separated to watch those who had fled the Beaver. As of now, no one had tried to escape in the confusion. All of them seemed to know what they had done and that retaliation would only further damage their record. Only one put up an argument.
  "You ---- British!" Ruffu shouted. "Your ---- transporters could've gotten the ---- captain off, but no! You had to stay and watch'em die a horrible, agonizing death! You ---- ain't worth ----. I wish that you ---- ------ would go ---- some ------ to ----. You'd think you'd---"
  A guard aimed a disrupter at Ruffu's chest, which silenced him.

  The countdown continued. 31, 30, 29, 28, 27... On the third section of the U.S.S. Cheese, Dower watched as sparks began coming from the Beaver's engines.
  "All hands, this is the captain." LeMaire's voice drew her attention from the Beaver. "All shuttles must be at least fifty thousand miles away from the Beaver. I repeat: all shuttles must be at least fifty thousand miles away from the Beaver!"
  "Twenty seconds, Captain," Long murmured.
  "Shuttles Beta and Gamma, report!" LeMaire bellowed.
  "Beta is forty-three thousand miles from the Beaver."
  "Gamma is forty-eight."

  Hickman began sweating bullets. Just twelve seconds until the end.
  "Computer, increase the rate of the core's implosion!" he continued to watch the display: 9, 8, 7...
  "Report!" LeMaire watched in frustration as smoke began shooting out the Beaver's aft thrusters.
  "Beta at forty-nine thousand."
  "Gamma at fifty-two thousand."
  "Five seconds, Captain!"
  "All hands, brace for impact!"

  It didn't seem like an explosion to LeMaire. It felt more like the ship had suddenly been caught in a black hole. The first ten decks, which were shuttle alpha, seemed to spin without end. The bridge and its crew were a blur as LeMaire was pitched this way and that by the force of the explosion. It seemed like an eternal depiction of pandemonium.

  At the moment of impact on shuttle Beta, all but Tinado were instantly knocked unconscious, and in the case of Ruffu and Stidham, killed. Tinado watched all of them slam head-first into bulkheads. She herself went along with them, but she managed to grab hold of an overhead beam before hitting the bulkhead. Tinado hung on for dear life because if she loosened her grip, she would be pummeled against the numerous objects that were flying around the cargo bay. Even as she saw the bodies of Ruffu and Stidham slice in two as a chipped bulkhead met their air-born bodies, she held on.

  A bulkhead "bonked" Browder on the head. After making a few odd, wheezing noises, he took hold of a fallen hatch from a medical locker and began beating Jones repeatedly over the head.
  "Browder, Browder!" Regenold shouted, (as best he could). "Quit it!"
  "Urshtin heigendorgen!" Browder continued.
  "Holy crap!" Regenold retorted.
  As he said this, the wall opposite of him was completely torn off. A bone-chilling cold stunned all four who occupied that part of deck thirty-eight. Regenold tried gasping the last of the oxygen, but it had long since been sucked from the room. A bright light from a plasma coil blinded Regenold, thus he didn't see, they didn't see, the concentrated blast of theta radiation, which destroyed the entire Gamma shuttle a moment later.

  The Alpha section had settled down just in time to see the Gamma explode.
  "Analysis, Long," Paul said quickly.
  "Some Theta radiation reacted with the clowerium deposits in geology labs three, seven, and eight."
  "How many were on board?"
  "Sixty-five."
  "Crap."

  Tinado struggled as the shuttle continued to pitch in every direction. It was only a matter of time before she lost her grip. Her arms had gone numb. She'd watched her fellow officers bounce off the walls in the most painful of positions. It made her sick. As the pain grew worse and just as her vision began to grow dim, she heard the sound of the comm. activating.
  "Shuttle Beta," the voice chimed, "this is Captain LeMaire to shuttle Beta. Can you hear me. Is anyone alive?"
  "Ow!" Tinado slowly released her grip and sighed with relief. "Ensign Marie Tinado, U.S.S. Beaver. No survivors, Captain. Well, none in here, at least."
  "Stand by, Ensign," came LeMaire's voice, "we're beaming you aboard."

  Tinado blinked as she appeared on one of the transporter pads on the bridge. The limp form of Trammell occupied another. Two more injured officers occupied the last of the pads.
  "All hands," LeMaire said sternly, "prepare for conjoining sequence."
  Just as LeMaire sat down, a small, bright ball of light danced in front of the forward monitor.
  "Ms. Long, identify," LeMaire said uneasily.
  "The anomaly won't regist--"
  "Captain," Ensign Wick's voice stopped Long in mid sentence, "section Beta has completed its connection to Alpha."
  "Wick!" LeMaire hurried to the comm. "Get any crew members above the rank of ensign, a med unit, and report to the bridge."
  He added to Long:
  "Raise shields!"

  By this time, the orb of light had begun hurdling towards the Cheese.
  "Any readings, Long?" LeMaire asked.
  "Still noth-wait. Uh, we're receiving a transmission."
  "Put it through." LeMaire seated himself at the science station. "Tinado, take a seat at the helm. If you cooperate, it might delay a stay at a POW camp."
  "Hello, Mr. LeMaire." Hickman's voice barked. "Oh, am I dead? Well, heh, heh. Did you think I was some kind of suicidal freak? Well maybe I am. But the point is, this, "anomaly," is a little gift from the after-life. You may think this is just some kind of harmless hydrogen cloud, but observe. Watch the colors, LeMaire. Can't you see? It's a nitroplasmic planetoid. Let's see you escape this explosion!"
  "Good work, Wick." LeMaire briefly glanced at Wick as she, two ensigns, and two lieutenants entered the bridge. "Launch a class B probe, Mr., umm, Barr, Bore, Burr..."
  "Bear, sir," corrected Ensign Curtis E. Bear, "and the probe is launched."
  "Crap!" Wick retorted. "The probe's been destroyed. Its last readings indicated a strong graviton field."
  "Estimated time until we're effected by the field, Bear?" LeMaire asked.
  "One minute forty seconds."
  "Man the escape pods!" LeMaire shouted into the comm. "We have one minute to clear the ship!"

  It was utter confusion as the crew of the Cheese hurried to the escape pods. As the gravity of the planetoid slowly began pulling the Cheese towards it, over 90% of the crew had left the ship.
  "Long, how long until we reach the sphere?" LeMaire asked.
  "Approximately forty-five seconds."
  "Let's go." he rose from his chair, and Long followed.
  As they exited the bridge, two forms appeared. They didn't make a sound, but went to work. One sat in the captain's chair; one sat at tactical. They wore hoods and black jump suits, masking their identities. The one in the captain's chair entered a sequence of letters and numbers into a computer station near the captain's chair, and the orb disappeared.
  "All pods have been launched," murmured the one from tactical.
  "Good," the second glanced at the hundred or so pods that were drifting through space, "launch a dozen proton torpedoes, full spread."
  "Yes, sir." the figure at tactical began pressing the "torpedo launch" button in rapid succession.

  "Oh my God!" Tinado gasped in horror as torpedo after torpedo exited the torpedo bays.
  She turned from the sight in time to see three escape pods explode in three balls of fire. Tinado also noticed the face of one medical officer, who'd been thrown in their direction. He was screaming at the top of his lungs in pain, but as they say, "in space, no one can hear you scream."

  LeMaire steered his escape pod towards Earth, which now seemed as if it were simply out of reach. With the numerous pods being fried by the proton torpedoes, each passing second seemed like an eternity.
  "I can't believe it." he thought aloud. "We beam aboard the crew of a destroyed ship, conquer the Americans, break apart during its explosion, barely escaped that sph-wait."
  It was then that Paul noticed that the sphere hadn't destroyed the ship it hadn't even damaged it. Yet, it was indicating signs of unimaginable power. Then, it had suddenly made sense.
  "Approaching Earth's upper atmosphere," Long murmured.
  "Thank you, Commander." LeMaire said blankly. "That couldn't be what happened."

  Meanwhile, more and more pods were being targeted and destroyed. The figure at tactical looked up.
  "We're all out, Sir." he declared.
  "Damn it." the second said under his breath. "How many escape pods are entering the atmosphere?"
  "Four." the first replied. "Total life signatures, nine."
  "That's the best we can do." the second rose. "Let's go."
  In a brilliant flash of blue light, the two figures vanished, and with them, the Cheese.

  "LeMaire," the nasal voice of a young military officer called through numerous frequencies of static, "you're clear for landing."
  "Good." LeMaire turned to his first officer. "How many made it?"
  "Seven, besides ourselves:" Long replied, "one lieutenant, three ensigns, and three medical personnel."
  "Have they prepared for landing?"
  "Yes."

  Giles Montague, a British engineer, watched as the four escape pods landed, a bit shakily, in a small field just outside his outpost. He watched as one of the airlocks slowly opened.
  "How's the war?" LeMaire called across the field.
  "Over." Montague replied walking towards him.
  "We won?" LeMaire paused. "Right, we won, right?"
  "Well," Montague looked down, "while you Kirks and Spocks were out there playin' your little war games, the Americans had gotten a hold of some communist monkeys who kind of kicked England's ---."
  "Well," LeMaire sat down, "we kicked theirs in space but lost all but seven members of our crew."

  As luck would have it, as if this comes as a surprise, Tinado, Trammell, and Wick all survived, along with Ensign Regie Nold, Theodore and Curtis E Bear, and Pavel Chekov. All were given $10,000,000,000,000.03 by the British government. As an additional debt of gratitude by the English Space Force, LeMaire was given the rank of admiral, and Long was given the rank of captain.

  Paul LeMaire stopped spinning in his chair. He couldn't believe the news. The secretary of state of Russia had pantsed President Garcia of Spain, which had ditched the royalty crap soon after World War III. However, this action, as LeMaire had just heard, resulted in a war between the two nations. Since Briton was a supporter of Spain, LeMaire knew that he would be back in space with a whole new crew and a whole new adventure.

  He was serving on the U.S.S. Steer, assuming the role of captain.
  "Captain Paul LeMaire: personal log." LeMaire began. "Celebrating the new year's eve of 2033 was obviously disregarded in Russia. As the only surviving captain from World War III, I was the first up for the captain's chair in England's flagship. This looks like a familiar start, to World War IV."