Marching through the cramped corridors of the Trotsky, Alvarez was checking reports from the Red-list campaign. Recent victories had helped to push the SCRA back to the forefront of the Sirius consciousness. The problem was that the campaign was proving costly in man power. That meant he needed to fill empty cockpits.
The CIC was dark, Commander Broch on duty, she was proving a capable commander for the vessel, turning it to the ruthless duty of persecuting the enemy where-ever they were hiding.
Alvarez nodded at her, setting his reports down and scooping up his mug of coffee from the edge of the situation table.
"Keep an eye on things up here," he ordered. "I am going below to deal with our prospective Comradas."
Returning to the office, he walked into the broad, wood panelled room, with its book shelves, and large table that had been installed when Katz had been Captain. He walked around it, looking over the files, as the glass pannelled wall pivoted open to admit Alicia.
"Comrade-Captain, there are several people waiting..." she inclined her head.
"Then they must learn patience, I am not here for them, homes, I have a job to do..." He shook his head in disgust as he opened the front of his leather jacket and reseated the heavy .65 pistol in its holster.
"Send in the first of the idiota, si? I will make this short, and show you how to get rid of lines, the Coalition way!"