DontPissUsOff
10-07-2005, 03:01
Star Point Naval Base, Main port of the Northern Fleet, 00.50
The Soyuz-class battleship Victory
The rain has not abated since just after ten O’clock yesterday morning. It’s driving me mad since my cabin leaks and the noise of it against the steel is never-ending. Yet another thing we have to thank the Liberals for, not that that matters to some people. Like Singer. He’s a complete bastard, no idea why he joined up in the first place, and thinks that these reforms are “just what the Navy needs.” What, being starved – literally! – is what we need? I despair when I hear such nonsense, and so do most of the rest of us. Hopefully we will get a government that knows the value of a functioning Navy before too long, and get rid of traitors like Singer from in our midst.
The men are becoming restless again. We’ve been kept aboard ship for the last seven days, waiting to go to sea, with these interminable delays, and my orders are to let nobody disembark. What do they think is going to happen?! I see no reason to refuse my men permission to get off this ship, but as per usual this idiotic administration can’t be trusted to see sense. It’s bad enough that they keep us here, but we can’t even do anything; our VLS tubes are empty and we’ve only our CIWS for use as air defence, since missiles are too expensive to be kept aboard ship, where they degenerate. What the hell’s the point in building them if we don’t have them ready aboard ship?
What the hell’s the point in even having a Navy if we don’t keep it ready?
WHAT’S THE POINT?!!
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Captain First Rank Kaito Nomura was a professional. That meant, above all, obedience of orders, or so he had always thought. Yet now HOW could he obey his orders? His orders had kept his men confined to ship for a week, while she sat rusting at her berth, and now they were getting even more stupid. He read the order in his hand, and crumpled it into a fist. Those insolent halfwits! He was a captain in the Republic Navy, not some farmer from the interior, and yet THEY had the temerity to tell HIM and HIS OFFICERS that they had violated orders by running the ship’s engines up against orders?! He balled his fist tighter and hurled the message into the bin.
“Seth!” His Second Officer sprinted along the narrow corridor and leapt down a companionway to the Captain’s cabin, then burst almost theatrically through the door.
”Yes sir!”
“Seth, summon all the officers to the officers’ wardroom immediately. It’s not as if we’re going anywhere.” Seth bounded back out of the office and saw to his task, while Nomura calmly walked to the wardroom, quietly furious, and waited.
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“Excellent. We’re all here.” Seth coughed noisily to quell the room, for his Captain spoke quietly. “Feel free to help yourselves to snacks and so on.” Nomura coughed uncertainly.
“Gentlemen, it’s no secret that this ship is in a dire spot. The men are very restless, most of them are angry, and it’s not a surprise. Their accommodation’s poorly-kept, their wages have been badly cut, and they have virtually nothing to do.” Nods of agreement circulated the table like a Mexican wave. “And it’s about to get worse.” He unscrewed the ball of paper with their new orders and passed it around. One by one, the officers’ faces assumed expression of anger and in some cases despair. Nomura scowled at the paper when it reached him again, and flung it to the floor.
“These orders, my friends, are an outrage! As if it was not enough to confine us aboard this under-maintained ship with nothing to do in miserable conditions, they then tell us that we are guilty of disobeying orders!” Murmurs of discontent ran ominously round the table, diffusing into the smoky, muggy air. “They want to destroy our Navy totally, reduce us to the use of a coast-defence force.” He stood up, ramrod straight and leaned forward. “We cannot, we must not allow this to happen!”
“I agree with the Captain,” intoned the Executive Officer, Rachel Anson, her eyes flaming. “It is ridiculous that we and the rest of the Navy degenerate while the Liberals merely look on! We must show them that this will not be tolerated!”
“By what?” Anson snapped her head round to face the new speaker. It was Singer, the ship’s Radio Officer, his reedy, sneering voice seeming to mock them all. “Mutiny, perhaps?”
“If necessary! Our Navy is being slaughtered, Singer, and what do you care? Why did you even join the Navy?” Anson shouted, temper flaring even further. “Do you not care about the state we’re in?”
“I merely care, Ms. Anson, about obeying my orders. I would have thought that a man so… loyal to this force as yourself could see the merit in that.” Singer smiled mirthlessly. “To even talk in this manner could be constructed as mutiny, don’t you think?”
Anson threw up her hands, disgusted. “What does it matter? Our Navy is dying because of yes-men like you!”
“Sit down, Rachel…”, murmured Nomura, but Anson went on, pacing round until she was standing behind Singer’s chair.
“Your kind are all the same, betraying your comrades and your country for the sake of payment and political favour! You make me SICK, you…”
“Sit DOWN!” Nomura’s voice thundered in the confined space. Anson shook where she stood as Singer smiled smugly, but took her seat. “Ms. Anson is right: we must show the politicians that the Navy will not tolerate such shabby treatment. We have all agreed so for some months now, have we not?” He watched as the officers, many now fuming at Singer’s self-satisfied, oily words, nodded gratingly. “Very well, then. I will read these orders to the men via the intercom system, and then we shall decide what to do.” The wardroom fell silent, save for the soft creaking of the ship’s hull and the endless, maddening drumming noise of the rain, as Nomura clicked the intercom unit beside his chair to “transmit” and read out their orders. Almost immediately, he felt something “ping” inside the ship; as though something had finally snapped, and the Victory herself would no longer tolerate such indignity. But such sounds were quickly replaced by a different sound: shouting and yelling from below as the anger and shock spread throughout the ship. Nomura smiled sadly.
“It seems that the crew is in agreement with us,” he declared. “Mizz Anson, would you do the honours?”
“Certainly, Captain.” Rachel stood up and walked behind Singer’s chair.
“Singer?” Nomura rose from his position at the head of the table.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m not a religious man. But nonetheless, may you be reincarnated as a snake.”
With that, Anson calmly smashed the ashtray she had concealed behind her into the top of Singer’s skull. With a quiet moan and a spray of dull-coloured blood, Singer slumped to one side, his eyes closed.
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They dropped Singer’s corpse overboard quietly, weighted with a couple of old shell tips, and watched it sink into the depths of the bay. Beneath them, Victory’s reactors were warming up. It would be at least another ninety minutes until they could leave harbour, so there was plenty of time to get the ship ready. Nomura stared at the dejected-looking shoreline for a moment, then turned away and made his way into the steel maze of Victory’s superstructure, slamming the steel door closed behind him. Time to go.
The Soyuz-class battleship Victory
The rain has not abated since just after ten O’clock yesterday morning. It’s driving me mad since my cabin leaks and the noise of it against the steel is never-ending. Yet another thing we have to thank the Liberals for, not that that matters to some people. Like Singer. He’s a complete bastard, no idea why he joined up in the first place, and thinks that these reforms are “just what the Navy needs.” What, being starved – literally! – is what we need? I despair when I hear such nonsense, and so do most of the rest of us. Hopefully we will get a government that knows the value of a functioning Navy before too long, and get rid of traitors like Singer from in our midst.
The men are becoming restless again. We’ve been kept aboard ship for the last seven days, waiting to go to sea, with these interminable delays, and my orders are to let nobody disembark. What do they think is going to happen?! I see no reason to refuse my men permission to get off this ship, but as per usual this idiotic administration can’t be trusted to see sense. It’s bad enough that they keep us here, but we can’t even do anything; our VLS tubes are empty and we’ve only our CIWS for use as air defence, since missiles are too expensive to be kept aboard ship, where they degenerate. What the hell’s the point in building them if we don’t have them ready aboard ship?
What the hell’s the point in even having a Navy if we don’t keep it ready?
WHAT’S THE POINT?!!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Captain First Rank Kaito Nomura was a professional. That meant, above all, obedience of orders, or so he had always thought. Yet now HOW could he obey his orders? His orders had kept his men confined to ship for a week, while she sat rusting at her berth, and now they were getting even more stupid. He read the order in his hand, and crumpled it into a fist. Those insolent halfwits! He was a captain in the Republic Navy, not some farmer from the interior, and yet THEY had the temerity to tell HIM and HIS OFFICERS that they had violated orders by running the ship’s engines up against orders?! He balled his fist tighter and hurled the message into the bin.
“Seth!” His Second Officer sprinted along the narrow corridor and leapt down a companionway to the Captain’s cabin, then burst almost theatrically through the door.
”Yes sir!”
“Seth, summon all the officers to the officers’ wardroom immediately. It’s not as if we’re going anywhere.” Seth bounded back out of the office and saw to his task, while Nomura calmly walked to the wardroom, quietly furious, and waited.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Excellent. We’re all here.” Seth coughed noisily to quell the room, for his Captain spoke quietly. “Feel free to help yourselves to snacks and so on.” Nomura coughed uncertainly.
“Gentlemen, it’s no secret that this ship is in a dire spot. The men are very restless, most of them are angry, and it’s not a surprise. Their accommodation’s poorly-kept, their wages have been badly cut, and they have virtually nothing to do.” Nods of agreement circulated the table like a Mexican wave. “And it’s about to get worse.” He unscrewed the ball of paper with their new orders and passed it around. One by one, the officers’ faces assumed expression of anger and in some cases despair. Nomura scowled at the paper when it reached him again, and flung it to the floor.
“These orders, my friends, are an outrage! As if it was not enough to confine us aboard this under-maintained ship with nothing to do in miserable conditions, they then tell us that we are guilty of disobeying orders!” Murmurs of discontent ran ominously round the table, diffusing into the smoky, muggy air. “They want to destroy our Navy totally, reduce us to the use of a coast-defence force.” He stood up, ramrod straight and leaned forward. “We cannot, we must not allow this to happen!”
“I agree with the Captain,” intoned the Executive Officer, Rachel Anson, her eyes flaming. “It is ridiculous that we and the rest of the Navy degenerate while the Liberals merely look on! We must show them that this will not be tolerated!”
“By what?” Anson snapped her head round to face the new speaker. It was Singer, the ship’s Radio Officer, his reedy, sneering voice seeming to mock them all. “Mutiny, perhaps?”
“If necessary! Our Navy is being slaughtered, Singer, and what do you care? Why did you even join the Navy?” Anson shouted, temper flaring even further. “Do you not care about the state we’re in?”
“I merely care, Ms. Anson, about obeying my orders. I would have thought that a man so… loyal to this force as yourself could see the merit in that.” Singer smiled mirthlessly. “To even talk in this manner could be constructed as mutiny, don’t you think?”
Anson threw up her hands, disgusted. “What does it matter? Our Navy is dying because of yes-men like you!”
“Sit down, Rachel…”, murmured Nomura, but Anson went on, pacing round until she was standing behind Singer’s chair.
“Your kind are all the same, betraying your comrades and your country for the sake of payment and political favour! You make me SICK, you…”
“Sit DOWN!” Nomura’s voice thundered in the confined space. Anson shook where she stood as Singer smiled smugly, but took her seat. “Ms. Anson is right: we must show the politicians that the Navy will not tolerate such shabby treatment. We have all agreed so for some months now, have we not?” He watched as the officers, many now fuming at Singer’s self-satisfied, oily words, nodded gratingly. “Very well, then. I will read these orders to the men via the intercom system, and then we shall decide what to do.” The wardroom fell silent, save for the soft creaking of the ship’s hull and the endless, maddening drumming noise of the rain, as Nomura clicked the intercom unit beside his chair to “transmit” and read out their orders. Almost immediately, he felt something “ping” inside the ship; as though something had finally snapped, and the Victory herself would no longer tolerate such indignity. But such sounds were quickly replaced by a different sound: shouting and yelling from below as the anger and shock spread throughout the ship. Nomura smiled sadly.
“It seems that the crew is in agreement with us,” he declared. “Mizz Anson, would you do the honours?”
“Certainly, Captain.” Rachel stood up and walked behind Singer’s chair.
“Singer?” Nomura rose from his position at the head of the table.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m not a religious man. But nonetheless, may you be reincarnated as a snake.”
With that, Anson calmly smashed the ashtray she had concealed behind her into the top of Singer’s skull. With a quiet moan and a spray of dull-coloured blood, Singer slumped to one side, his eyes closed.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They dropped Singer’s corpse overboard quietly, weighted with a couple of old shell tips, and watched it sink into the depths of the bay. Beneath them, Victory’s reactors were warming up. It would be at least another ninety minutes until they could leave harbour, so there was plenty of time to get the ship ready. Nomura stared at the dejected-looking shoreline for a moment, then turned away and made his way into the steel maze of Victory’s superstructure, slamming the steel door closed behind him. Time to go.