McIntire sat in one of the armchairs in his personal quarters, facing the transparent wall portside of the ship and watched a squadron of Agincourt class cruisers pass by.
He had arrived early, knowing that his guest would not let him wait. That just was not the mans nature. He wanted to enjoy a little time of peace and quiet before the meeting, something all too scarce in the last few weeks.
Before too long he was torn from his thoughts by loud knocking at the wooden door. While usually a practical man he had his quarters furnished in a manner more befitting a traditional manor. It created a calm atmosphere.
You may enter
He said firmly, keeping his gaze fixed on the space beyond the wall.
The door burst open and slammed shut. The hand that opened it did not know of gentleness, and if it did, its owner would make sure to urgently suppress such a weakness. It belonged to an individual who could easily assume the role of a dishevelled McSynth regular from Manhattan, but this individual was neither from Manhattan, nor something as impermissibly infra dig as dishevelled. He was from a countryside of New London, he could trace his forebears to the era of the princes, and his horizontal gauge was tightly restrained by a quality belt, impeccable posture and the power of will that could stop a Valor mid-cruise. In fact, it did do something similar on at last one occasion. His face was cleanly shaven, hair, although greying for long by now, perfectly combed, uniform ironed and stratched as if it had just rolled off from a factory conveyor belt, and the only thing he could not bring to any kind of standards, no matter the willpower, was his height. His figure towered over the thoroughly relaxed McIntire, frozen in a salute and silent until ordered otherwise, as any good Bretonian officer should do.
McIntire turned towards the man and pointed at the second armchair next to the small table. The hint of a smile appeared on his face when he saw the almost cramped posture ease, marginally.
I didn't invite you because I need another coat rack, I want to discuss a possible assignment for you. And since we haven't met in quite a while I thought we could use the opportunity to catch up, too.
He fell back into the depths of his armchair and started pouring his guest a drink, without asking of course. He knew he would turn down the suggestion as a matter of principle, but he would never embarrass a superior officer by refusing the offered glass.
The armchair creaked in pain when the nearly two metres of lard, muscle and self-confidence slumped over it. The somber visage that resembled the facade of a government building suddenly burst into laughter too baritonic for a man of this calibre and revealed a face of pastoral innocence, prudently kept hidden from all but the closest acquaintances.
"To address the elephant in the room, Jack", he tapped his quivering belly, "I really do need an assignment, or ten. If you value your furniture." His meaty hand nonchalantly lifted the glass of scotch in the air.
His smile grew wider as he picked up his own glass. He had always appreciated Sebastian's jovial nature, since he first saw it break a path through the stiff conduct he usually indulged in. It had more than once brightened his day in the very joyless times of the battles for Magellan and Leeds.
I noticed, what have you been up to the last months? Bravely defended the realm from foreign pastries?
Sebastian's joviality had a habit to freeze whenever someone other than him made a joke on his account, but with old friends it was more like a soft deflation than frost. "Those fops can keep their culinary delicacies. You know I've never had a weakness for luxury. This", he grabbed the fat on his gut, "This is good and honest officer rations. And seven years of wasteful idleness. Seven years? Is that how long it's been since I held the Jeanne D'Arc with two thirds of the Royal Oak?"
It has, time flies. In hindsight I almost miss the war, it felt like everyone was more... purposeful.
He said looking at the glass in his hand, absent-mindedly. Then he pulled himself back together.
I sound like an old man bemoaning his glory days. What a time to be alive, who would have thought we would get to grow old and fat in peace. Though not quite yet.
That assignment I got in mind for you will get you back up to speed, that much I can promise.
"We are friends, Jack, but you are still my superior. Tell me what to do and I'll do it. Don't make it sound like a birthday present, I'll melt all over your chair."
I do enjoy seeing you guessing what it may be but you're right, I've kept you on the edge of your seat for long enough. You will take the position of second in command for the Oversector South. That means, as you should know if you followed your mail closely, that you will be the one responsible for any and all operations in Dublin. The final decision to attack has not been made yet, so it may still be called off at any moment, but expect the order to come sooner rather than later.
He kept his eyes fixed on his friends face, waiting for his reaction.
I need someone who can prepare our troops for a dirty and ugly war. Not one of those new faces that only got their position because better men fell against the Gauls.
![[Image: 396AUfe.png]](https://i.imgur.com/396AUfe.png)