Bretonian Armed Forces Defense Intelligence Staff (DIS) (iRP) (AO)

[Dieter Schprokets]

The parade square on the Stirling was crowded with officers of the fleet. Many scarred, many very young, replacing veterans who had finally failed to dodge death just once. All it took was once.

Wartime was a good time for promotions and glory in the Armed Forces. A lousy time to stay alive, though.

A bald, grim man took the stage with the aid of a cane. Fleet Admiral James Ralston was still breaking in a synthetic hip.

"I am here today to honour a man whose dedication to Bretonia is without parallel, whose skills as a pilot are top notch, and whose cunning as a commander has won more than a few battles."

"I am here today to promote to the rank of Admiral, one very deserving Firmus Piett."

The men who were assembled there gave a cheer, and the new Admiral came forward to receive his rank insignia and documentation.

The marchpast was well executed. Many of the men were rusty at drill (combat skills being, for stunningly obvious reasons, a priority in training these days) But they still apparently knew what they were doing on a parade ground, a fact that Ralston appreciated.

If all went well, in another year or so, it would no longer be necessary to know how to pilot a Templar better than how to execute a proper Wing marchpast.

If all went well; if Bretonia prevailed.

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