Hermann was...surprisingly calm and patient while the Gefreiter was speaking. As he finished his speech, Hermann stood up and walked to the cupboard behind his chair.
"Consider yourself forgiven for this, Gefreiter." - said while searching for a letter. "I'm going to send you away, though..." - he found what he'd wanted - "...definitely not home."
Hermann put the dark green envelope between him and the Gefreiter on his desk. Let's do this fast, before I change my mind. He took the letter out and handed over to the Gefreiter.
"Desperate request for help from Battleship Westphalia."
"Westphalia lost several pilots in the past few weeks to libertonian reconnoisant forces. Command of the Second Fleet suspects an assault strike with heavy capital ship support, although they have no evidence to confirm this theory."
"High Command of the First Fleet sent a full wing of assault fighters to reinforce the Westphalia as in Bremen and the surrounding sectors, but they still lack of pilots. Vizeadmiral Roth is planning to set up a new reconnoisant wing."
Hermann stood up.
"You are hereby reassigned to this squadron and you're to get your first briefing from me..."- God knows why - "Do you have any questions before we start?"
He sat still, looking at Hermann much like a culprit looks at a judge in court before the sentence is proclaimed. His hands were slightly shaking and tiny pearls of sweat, which he didn't dare to wipe, ran down his forehead.
"Bremen frontline....that's my punishment? What the hell did I do wrong to get transferred to that craphole? Well, frack this. I can either stand up and completely throw protocol out of the window - then they'll probably throw me out right away and I don't have to suffer that backwater suckpile of an assignment - or I try to reason with that self-important son of a Libertonian barmaid...." he thought.
Albrecht wrinkled his nose.
"Whatever....let's see what the Gesichtselfmeter over there has to say..."
Two Fliegers were standing close to the door of Quarter #6, having their ears pressed at the metallic door. Busy pilots who were running past, stopped for a moment, shook their heads and continued their everyday duty as nothing happend. A deep sobbing was heard from the inside, followed by fits of silent weeping. As one of the Fliegers slowly opened the door, the crying noise stopped at once and a tearful voice shouted:
"Leave me alone you Alufolienglattstreicher! There's nothing you can do for me!"
The Flieger shocked as he didn't expected that a beauty like her, with those doll-like lips and flowing brown hair, can have such powerful and dominant voice. He was totally irritated.
"Feldweb-bel B-braun? Ehm t-tschuldigung, ich m-meant Frau B-braun?"
He stuttered intimidated.
"Ach du... have you swallowed a broomstick or what? Tell me already what the matter is! I'm being verdammt-nochmal busy, and I've got to catch a transport!"
She angrily threw a pen after him and looked up from the piece of paper she was writing on. The Flieger's face became as pale as clay, as he came closer and put a letter on her desk. Then he ran out of the quarter as if a hungry beast was after him. Sarah disgustedly opened the letter and read:
"Redundancy letter... Mrs. Braun, you're hereby disband from the Rheinland Military. Your recent behaviour has shown..."
She took a deep breath and in rage, she tore the letter into a hundred pieces.
"Scheisse!"
Half an hour later, Sarah calmly left her quarter a last time with a backpack and a folded slip of paper in her right hand. She ignored the prying eyes on her and made her way to the Officer quarters. "Vize Admiral Theodor Wilhelm Falk von und zu Sittlingen" was standing in dark green letters on a golden sign. Sarah shivered. She turned her head and checked if the corridor was empty. Then she quickly slided her letter underneath the doorsill and pushed it on the other side. When she stood up again, she hastily proceed to the hangar bays where her public transport to Planet Stuttgart was waiting for departure.
The Vizeadmiral's boots were echoing through the nearly empty hallways of the Moselle's officer quarters as he made his way to his office, throwing quick salutes at the occasionally bypassing flag officers. Arriving at the door that was adorned by a badge, spelling out his name, he slid an access card through a panel to it's right, which made the heavy, metal door split in half to slide open. He stepped inside, plucking his black, untextured leather gloves off his hands. Just as he wanted to place them inside the pockets of his coat, he slipped on something lying on the floor, stumbling forward with flailing arms as he was sent flying. It wasn't a long descent, though, his head kindly stopped the fall about half-way through when it violently met with the edge of his desk.
"SCHEISSDRECKVERDAMMT!!!!........" echoed through the hallways.
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