01-19-2015, 02:02 AM
“…And in recognition of his most conspicuous bravery, daring acts of self-sacrifice, and extreme devotion to duty in the presence of the enemy, it is my honor to bestow upon Sir Lieutenant Commander Horatio Nelson, the Victoria Cross."
Nelson stood proudly in his uniform knowing it would be his last time. This Victoria Cross would be added to his plethora of other awards adorning his chest. His career as a special operative of the Britonian Special Forces was one filled with combat, and at thirty years old he was considered a senior citizen among his peers. Most moved out of BSF or were killed before they hit their late twenties.
To offset the honor he was being given he knew that he would, in a matter of moments, face the disgrace of being useless. As the medal was pinned onto his uniform by his monarch he looked down at the empty sleeve that was folded neatly and buttoned to his chest. He withheld the sigh that caught in his chest, knowing he would never again serve his nation.
“It is with a heavy heart and our deepest regrets that, due to debilitating injuries sustained during the course of duties, we must discharge thee, Sir Horatio Nelson, from service.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Horatio Nelson continued to serve as civilian consultant flight instructor to assist in training naval recruits in the art that is space-combat. After more than a year of this mind-numbing task he retired and took to tinkering with ships. It was something he had always enjoyed as a young man; and now in his thirties he found it much better to work with equipment than with people.
Another year found him restless to be grounded again, and he set about modifying an old combat fighter for himself, taking away the disability of his missing arm by a clever control scheme in the cockpit. He knew the BAF would never take him back with his injury, and by this point he was certain he wouldn’t have wanted them to.
His first flight took him to the border system of Tau 23. Without any provocation he took the first unsuspecting Gallian Freighter by surprise. He saw the escape pod launch from his target just as it’s structural integrity failed in a catastrophic explosion.
He felt his lips curl into a smirk as he trained his guns on the pod and in a quick burst of his cannons felt satisfaction at the revenge of his limb on the potentially innocent merchant he had just taken. In his twisted mind it wans’t a person he had just killed though. He had killed a Gallian. All of whom, to him, were guilty for the loss of his arm.
Nelson stood proudly in his uniform knowing it would be his last time. This Victoria Cross would be added to his plethora of other awards adorning his chest. His career as a special operative of the Britonian Special Forces was one filled with combat, and at thirty years old he was considered a senior citizen among his peers. Most moved out of BSF or were killed before they hit their late twenties.
To offset the honor he was being given he knew that he would, in a matter of moments, face the disgrace of being useless. As the medal was pinned onto his uniform by his monarch he looked down at the empty sleeve that was folded neatly and buttoned to his chest. He withheld the sigh that caught in his chest, knowing he would never again serve his nation.
“It is with a heavy heart and our deepest regrets that, due to debilitating injuries sustained during the course of duties, we must discharge thee, Sir Horatio Nelson, from service.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Horatio Nelson continued to serve as civilian consultant flight instructor to assist in training naval recruits in the art that is space-combat. After more than a year of this mind-numbing task he retired and took to tinkering with ships. It was something he had always enjoyed as a young man; and now in his thirties he found it much better to work with equipment than with people.
Another year found him restless to be grounded again, and he set about modifying an old combat fighter for himself, taking away the disability of his missing arm by a clever control scheme in the cockpit. He knew the BAF would never take him back with his injury, and by this point he was certain he wouldn’t have wanted them to.
His first flight took him to the border system of Tau 23. Without any provocation he took the first unsuspecting Gallian Freighter by surprise. He saw the escape pod launch from his target just as it’s structural integrity failed in a catastrophic explosion.
He felt his lips curl into a smirk as he trained his guns on the pod and in a quick burst of his cannons felt satisfaction at the revenge of his limb on the potentially innocent merchant he had just taken. In his twisted mind it wans’t a person he had just killed though. He had killed a Gallian. All of whom, to him, were guilty for the loss of his arm.