Hellfire Legion Recruitment Center - Closed.

[Zig]

Incoming Transmission: Ned Ballantine

A questionnaire, eh? Not terribly original, but who am I to judge?

What is your name?

Ned Ballantine. Formerly of the Liberty Navy. Lieutenant rank.

How old are you?

Old enough to commit murder, eh? How's that? *Ned grins, not that this would be visible through a sub-space transmission.*

Write a brief description about your build and combat skills;

My "build"? What is this, eh? You, uh, asking about my physique? Odd sort of bird, aren't you? Well... disregarding that, if it's my talent behind the controls of fighter spacecraft you're inquiring about, have no fear, have no fear. I'm the best damn fighter pilot the Liberty Navy has, correction, had to offer, not that that means much. Standards are falling everywhere, ain't they? Look at the clowns Naval High Command presents with warship commands, for example.

What are your reasons for joining us?

Well, like I mentioned earlier, I used to be a cockpit jockey for the grand old Liberty Navy. I wore a Lieutenant's stripes right before I, uh, up and quit. *Ned makes an invisible deprecating gesture.* Your average ramrod-stiff, poker-up-his-arse officer, puffed up with self-importance like a frog in a gasket. Strange times. Strange times.

Anyway, not to drift off-topic, the day came when I, serving a tour of duty outside of my Guardian aboard my commanding officer's charter, assisted in the capture of a meandering Daumann Heavy Industries mining convoy out in the Bering system. Poor bastards, must've been from the sticks and completely ignorant of the news. Can't have heard that there was a war on, no sir. I was given the order to execute the kraut officers after we ignominiously hauled them aboard Commander Ashford's precious gunboat, and, well, I objected to that. You know how it is. Not to sound soft, but the poor sons-of-bitches' knees were knocking together and all that. Wouldn't do it. Commander Ashford, now, he was a right racist, not to mince words here, disliked krauts even more than your standard commissioner, and he, in turn, objected to my objection. Informed me, easily as you please, that I could either carry out the order or have it carried out on me. Had his Garner out and ready and all. Military issue. Quality weaponry, if I do say so myself. Well, before I knew it, I had the bridge's fire axe in my hands and my commanding officer, he wasn't in too good shape by the time I was done. "Bloodbath" would be the melodramatic but appropriate term to use here, yeah. No harm done in my opinion. Quite the opposite. Killing kraut invaders is one thing, butchering innocent civilians, in cold blood, is quite another. Ain't it? Well hell, I never liked the bastard anyway.

Well, one thing, as one can see, led to another, and here I am. I tend to be the one to disapprove of fascist, oppressive goings-on, and I doubt there's any going back for me anyway. Give me one of those Sabres, I'll do terrible and inventive things in it.

How would you joining the Hellfire Legion benefit us?

You'd get my bewitching talent at piloting fighter spacecraft, my original style, wit and charm, and my snappy sense of dress, of course.

Transmission Ended

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Luls:

Role-play is not the be all and end all.