Bretonian Armed Forces Recruitment Centre (iRP)

[Flanker 66]

Arthur Davenport approached the recruitment office with anxiety and excitement churning in his stomach. He had lived on New London for quite some time, and now he was ready to risk life and limb for his nation - or, at least, make Bretonia's enemies do so for theirs. Hopefully, his basic flight training would give him a leg up. Rapping gently on the office's door, the brown haired, fair skinned 24 year old waited to be called in before entering. A bored voice called out, "Come in."

Despite his reservations, Arthur entered the office with scarcely any hint of trepidation. Looking over the man who was clearly the recruiting officer, he said, "My name's Arthur Davenport. I'm here about the draft and -"

"Ah, excellent," said the man, who sounded anything but pleased at the prospect of another greenhorn wishing to join the Bretonian Armed Forces. "Just fill in these papers and assuming everything checks out you should be part of our number in no time."

Feeling almost giddy, Arthur took the forms and sat down, starting to write almost as soon as he had settled.

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