A party of seven men and two women entered the bar and sat down around a large circular spool of heavy duty electrical wire pushed on its side, pulling up crates and a few scattered chairs to sit on. All nine were dressed in black Order uniforms. Most bore evidence of recent injuries.
The oldest among them, a seemingly aged man wearing a captains dress uniform with freshly treated shrapnel wounds covering half of his already scarred and pockmarked face, placed a datapad down on the improvised table. Rough stubble covered the half of his face that had not been shaved clean to treat his injuries and his eyes were weary with travel. "Alright," he began, "I know we've already been through hell, but we're not done yet."
He switched the datapad on and brought up a map display. "As far as the data indicated," he bagan, pointing to the map, "the Hepshetsut was adrift at these coordinates when the rescue party arrived."
He brought up another pannel, this time a ship schematic. "The hull was reported as being shot full of holes and we know from the battle that the engines were the first thing to go," he said, pointing to various parts of the schematic as components flashed red at his touch.
He sat back on his crate and looked to a young man no older than twenty five wearing an engineers uniform. "Wallace," he bagan, "since Balleto didn't make it out, you're our new head engineer."
The young man bowed his head briefly and gulped before looking up to meet the captain's gaze and nodding solemly. "Once we board the wreck," continued the captain, "you and your party will head straight to the engine room with the fresh components and bring the engines back on-line."
He mapped out the route with his finger on the schematic. "These Corvos are rugged things, so this should be a cake-walk compared to the Reshephs you trained on."
He turned to a man to his immediate left wearing a scuffed and battered suit of matte black combat armour. Above the heavy sealant ring where the vacuum sealed combat helmet was normally attached, the mans face was badly scarred from plasma burns, his head devoid of hair. "Von Clause, since you and your marines are the only ones with proper vacuum gear, we'll need you on the outer hull, patching up the worst of the holes," said the captain, "without the worst of the damage patched, the whole ship will fall apart the second we bring the thing up to cruise speed." "You can count on us captain," the fearsome looking man replied, the Rheinland accent pronouncing itself as he smiled grimly "although don't expect us to do zis often ja?"
A subdued chuckle passed around the group at this. "Now, Mac'Callegh," the captain went on, turning to a firey haired woman to his right, "you will accompany me to the bridge and take the helm in preparation for our departure while I bring the ships systems back online." "Aye I'll get her outa' there cap'n don't ye' worry," she replied, smiling broadly under a badly broken nose and a gash held together with strips of sterile medical tape.
The captain looked round at the group, bracing himself on his knees with his hands, wincing slightly from an injury concealed by his uniform. "Once we have propulsion and the hull is patched up, we'll bring the marines back on-board and get the hell out of Omega 58 as fast as we can," he said, "hopefully we can get the Hepshetsut back to Evora for a full repair without the nomads knowing we were even back."
At the mention of the nomads, the group went silent and an air of quite reflection came over the group. They sat like that for a minute or so until the captain spoke again. "I know we haven't had the best luck with the Hepshetsut so far," he began, "us being the only survivors from her first major engagement and all..."
He paused and looked to the floor for a second. "But we knew what we were getting into when we chased that gunboat into '58 and when we were taken out of action, I know none of us were expecting to survive."
He paused again to look each of the crew in the eyes. "As far as I'm concerned, you all gave your lives so we could get the word out," he continued, "and we should all be damn proud about what we did."
He stopped and let his words sink in. "Now, go get yourselves some drinks on my tab and lets celebrate before we head out," he said, "0600 hours tomorrow in the starboard hanger."
A collective cheer went up from the small group and they waved over the bartender to take their orders...
Quote:Dublin Miner: I am Gallic admiral earning money in Bretonia.
