Jonathan Sinclair – Resurgence

[Matthews]

“At ease Commodore, there’s no need for formalities right now”
The Admiral spoke while slowly moving towards him, the insignia on his shoulders shimmering in the dim light.
“Sit down.” He said while pulling up a chair and gesturing him to come closer. “You must be extremely hungry and thirsty, we can get you something. Siccard!”, he shouted. Shortly after the door flew open as the boy hastily entered the room.
“Get Sinclair here something to eat and drink.”
Siccard nodded and left the two of them alone. All the while Jonathan still stood at his place, not being able to move, the situation seemed too unreal to him. All he had managed to do, was standing at ease.
Only the door falling shut behind him snapped Jonathan out of his trance, a sound all too familiar to him. Jonathan began to scan the room, taking his gaze away from the Admiral. The room wasn’t anything special, yet to Jonathan, who had only seen the inside of his small cell the past years it seemed wast.

Opposing the door was a small window, through which one could only see the darkness of space with the distant glow of an odd star here and there. On the right side stood a small board, probably containing some dishware and writing materials John thought. On the top of the board lay a coat, neatly folded, and a sidearm, both obviously belonging to the Admiral. Next to those lay a small box, known to Jonathan as usually containing Bretonian Armed Forces Rank-insignia for formal Uniforms. On the left side of the room stood a heavy, wooden table around which stood four chairs, including the one the Admiral had motioned Jonathan to sit. The Admiral had, in the meantime, taken a seat on the opposing side, patiently waiting for Jonathan to conclude his survey.

Finally Jonathan began to slowly move towards the assigned chair and sat down. Looking up, he met a steady and questioning look.
“You must have many questions, however for most of which this is not the time or place to answer.” The Admiral slowly spoke. “Let’s start by introducing myself. I’m Admiral Paul McKinley, Commander of the Ark-Royal Battle group, currently stationed in the Newcastle System. I was sent here to bring you back home to Bretonia."
Jonathan kept quiet, not yet sure what to make of the situations.
McKinley continued: “Right now we do not know what happened to you Sinclair and we are quite intrigued to learn your experiences, however a detailed report will have to wait. For now all I want to know is, if the assumption is correct, that you were taken captive during the battle of Edinburgh?”
Jonathan slowly managed to hoarse out: “I think so.”
McKinley nodded. “Right now we are on board a small forward operating base. I am to accompany you to Fort Winchester for a full debrief. There you will also get the chance to be reassigned to the Bretonian Armed Forces if you wish. If not, nobody will think ill of you.”
McKinley stood up and went to fetch the insignia box. Standing to John he sat it in front of him and went back to his seat.
“There is something I have to tell you first, before you make a hasty decision about your service. This will give you time to think about it. Due to your being MIA we had to reassign your post as Commodore. As well due to your long time away from combat situations and space flight in in the duty of the Armed Forces, the decision was reached, should you decide to return to the service of the Armed Forces, you would be reassigned the rank of Commander. This should give you the necessary time to adjust to the new political situation, as well as tune your piloting skills once again.”
McKinley finished his monologue and looked at Sinclair, not expecting an answer.

Jonathan was overwhelmed, his brain still slow, trying to get to grasp with the mountain of information McKinley dumped on him. Fortunately at that time Siccard opened the door, carrying a try, holding a pot of tea and a plate full of chicken. He sat it in front of Jonathan and left again, wordless. John looked at it, slowly reaching for knife and fork. Even after an eternity without holding anything even remotely resembling cutlery, his muscle memory kicked in.
John ate, blissfully enjoying having proper dishes again. The food and tea felt great in his throat. But Jonathan couldn’t help but notice, that I could not have been a Bretonian who had prepared the food. Seasoning was off and the chicken wasn’t as juicy as he remembered from his home on Cambridge. The tea was just slightly flavoured water. In any different state Johnathan would have never drank it, but currently he didn’t care. He was just glad, that he got something between his teeth, that didn’t taste like a weeklong cooked shoe.

As John had finished everything on the tray, he noticed that McKinley was gone. He had left while John had been completely occupied. Jonathan sat for a while, pondering his thoughts. Finally he reached a conclusion, to the question running his mind. He stood up and made his way to the door. Just as he wanted to reach for the handle, Siccard opened it from the other side.
“We are ready to leave.“ Siccard spoke, “We’ll accompany you to your vessel. However, if you wish there is a change of clothes in your room.”
Jonathan nodded and the two of them made their way back, through the same hallways as before, again flanked by two Bretonian soldiers.


Jonathan breathed in deeply, slowly running his hands over the smooth material of his new clothes. The folds of his dress uniform ran straight along his body, everything felt so familiar and yet so different. As his thoughts wandered, his gaze lay upon the “Palace” visible through the small window in the gate-door in front of Jonathan. The somewhat old, yet majestical Bretonian Liner shimmered in the so familiar colours of his homeland. Most promptly the silver red, which covered most of the ship.

As Jonathan made his way to board the Liner he was greeted by Siccard, who silently flanked him, no soldiers this time.
On board awaited Admiral McKinley, wordlessly nodding in acknowledgement towards the Commander’s Insignia on Jonathan’s shoulders. Nothing needed to be said, both of them knew there would be enough time and necessity to discuss everything in detail once they would arrive at Fort Winchester.
Jonathan took his seat at one of the windows, vis-à-vis of McKinley, Siccard once again closeby. He felt the familiar rumble of the ship’s engines run along the hull. The small base came into view for a short moment as they departed and Jonathan couldn’t help but notice how derelict it looked. Despite having been inside just moments and having seen the pristine condition it was in, he still wondered how it hadn’t fallen apart yet.

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Jonathan stood in the centre of the hearing room. Having just gone through everything he knew about his capture and time in captivity. He was sweating. Dark times lay behind him, he wished he could just forget the, but he wasn’t permitted to yet. He had to earn back his place among his brothers and sisters in arms by recounting everything, over and over again.
There was only one question he, and no one else could answer. No one knew the whereabouts of the HMS-Sheffield and her crew, his crew, his responsibility. The knowledge of having abandoned them weighed heavy on his shoulders. He had hoped someone had heard from them, but now all he was left with was hope. Hope that they had made it out. They were extremely skilled and if anyone could have brought the Sheffield and her crew to safety was his XO. She hadn’t been on the bridge at the time of the explosion, but had been down in the engine room to instruct the men and women down there on how to get everything out the old Lady. Carla Clarke had been Chief Engineer on Sheffield for a long time before being promoted to XO, just weeks before the Edinburgh incident. This had ment, that the new Chief Engineer was still learning the little details of Sheffield’s very characteristic engine. Because of the immense hurry they had been in, Carla had gone down to coach him through the emergency run.
“Thank you Commander.” McKinley spoke, sitting in the middle of the council. “You may leave now.”
Jonathan hesitated. There still was one question he couldn’t shake.
“I’m sorry Ladies and Gentlemen. But there is one thing I need to ask. Has anyone heard from Layla Cooper? She sat beside me on the rescue-vessel and I haven’t seen here since.”
McKinley swallowed. Having exchanged a quick look with his peers he replied:
“I’m sorry we have not.”
Jonathan couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it, but he didn’t press it. He nodded and tried to leave the room gracefully, yet failed miserably, shaken by just having relived his horrors.


//first draft. If you want to give some Feedback please feel free.

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