The WIck
07-05-2009, 22:03
PNS Thunderer
Flagship, 5th Battle Squadron
Home Fleet, Ticonderoga System
Capital, Wickian Protective Association
He had finally gotten to sleep with eight days having passed from the shockingly violent attacks that had eliminated the former Concordat government. Most of the confusion in the aftermath of the attacks died off. A new government was forged, the Protectorate in what little more then a week ago would have been seen as a perverse powershare, but Wickians often did the unexpected and for now there was at least cooperation, and maybe he could finally get some sleep.
Clang, Clang Clang.
The harsh metallic rapt woke him. He groaned his body was stiff, his muscles were sore, his joint hurt as he could feel his bones rub as his cartilage disappeared more with every day. He had been in the Navy to long, he had lived to godamn long. He was almost one hundred and fifty years old and all but fifteen of those he had been in the Navy. He was one of the few officers left that had served in every major conflict since the liberation, and was a professional officer. He did not have a shining career like some others it was rather undistinguished to be punctuated only by black spots created from his over drinking and numerous affairs with subordinates, or drug use. Yet, he was able to do his job well and the Navy couldn’t afford to fire him so they kept him in command of one of the oldest battle squadrons which had dreadnoughts as old as him.
Clang Clang Clang.
The knocking didn’t stop. He looked at the clock on the bulkhead, 0345. Christo it must be important for a messenger to wake him personally and not simply use the intercom. He was sleeping in his wrinkled uniform, he stood up and didn’t bother to put on his boots as he lifted his suspenders up over his shoulders.
“Enter.” He croaked out, the Marine sentry opened the hatch and stepped in. Gordon took out some small white pills from an orange prescription bottle, he swallowed them from good long pull from a bottle of Amber bourbon.
“Message from the War Department Sir to be delivered in person.” The Marine sergeant told his captain.
“What is it? Have those asshole at the War Department finally ordered my arrest?” He said defensively. “The charges are bullshit I will protest them I won’t let those Guild tit sucking bastards get me on trumped up charges”
“Sir, you misunderstand. I am to inform you that the War Department has promoted you to the rank of Admiral, and you are to be given command of the Fleet.”
The Admiral grabbed the bottle again and took another pull. What could it hurt now, he was in command who could tell him not to.
“Shit.” was all he could say that came to mind.
Flagship, 5th Battle Squadron
Home Fleet, Ticonderoga System
Capital, Wickian Protective Association
He had finally gotten to sleep with eight days having passed from the shockingly violent attacks that had eliminated the former Concordat government. Most of the confusion in the aftermath of the attacks died off. A new government was forged, the Protectorate in what little more then a week ago would have been seen as a perverse powershare, but Wickians often did the unexpected and for now there was at least cooperation, and maybe he could finally get some sleep.
Clang, Clang Clang.
The harsh metallic rapt woke him. He groaned his body was stiff, his muscles were sore, his joint hurt as he could feel his bones rub as his cartilage disappeared more with every day. He had been in the Navy to long, he had lived to godamn long. He was almost one hundred and fifty years old and all but fifteen of those he had been in the Navy. He was one of the few officers left that had served in every major conflict since the liberation, and was a professional officer. He did not have a shining career like some others it was rather undistinguished to be punctuated only by black spots created from his over drinking and numerous affairs with subordinates, or drug use. Yet, he was able to do his job well and the Navy couldn’t afford to fire him so they kept him in command of one of the oldest battle squadrons which had dreadnoughts as old as him.
Clang Clang Clang.
The knocking didn’t stop. He looked at the clock on the bulkhead, 0345. Christo it must be important for a messenger to wake him personally and not simply use the intercom. He was sleeping in his wrinkled uniform, he stood up and didn’t bother to put on his boots as he lifted his suspenders up over his shoulders.
“Enter.” He croaked out, the Marine sentry opened the hatch and stepped in. Gordon took out some small white pills from an orange prescription bottle, he swallowed them from good long pull from a bottle of Amber bourbon.
“Message from the War Department Sir to be delivered in person.” The Marine sergeant told his captain.
“What is it? Have those asshole at the War Department finally ordered my arrest?” He said defensively. “The charges are bullshit I will protest them I won’t let those Guild tit sucking bastards get me on trumped up charges”
“Sir, you misunderstand. I am to inform you that the War Department has promoted you to the rank of Admiral, and you are to be given command of the Fleet.”
The Admiral grabbed the bottle again and took another pull. What could it hurt now, he was in command who could tell him not to.
“Shit.” was all he could say that came to mind.