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Turning True Blue

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It had been a while. Admiral John Redmond had left Planet Sydney several weeks ago, leaving the planet to his staff while he returned to New London to take part in the battle unfolding. His actions had earned him a promotion, and with it the command of the Essex. Though the latter likely a result of the previous commanders untimely demise. With the command however, the Stirling had become a burden that needed lifting. Plans were being made for a succession of sorts. In an twist of fates, the Fleet Admiral had the serving MP for Port Jackson lined up for the role. She had been given a BAF commission on a warship prior to the battle of New London, and had proven herself a commander of skill and merit. The role of Stirling command required civilian skills and military skills in equal measure, and John himself had been required to handle civilian contracts for planet-side development and fortification efforts.

John had once spoke very briefly to the commander-in-waiting, though such is his abrasiveness to junior officers, he had insulted her father in the process. Mot exactly making the brightest of starts. Nevertheless, he shared a few things in common with the Commander: 1. A Leeds heritage, 2. A New London battle honour and, 3. A connection to a certain unscrupulous faction from the northern Tau region.

The nature of the task ahead in Omega-49 put very much the issue of Leeds relocation efforts at the forefront, and both parties had emotional investment. Additionally, the Northern Connection, as it was being referred to, may well be called upon to give a leg up in development, with Bretonian post war resources and financial assets being deployed more so in Old Bretonia. The New Bretonia may well appreciate a little Northern investment to shore up the rapidly depleting Regional Development Funds.

Time was pressing, the Essex was being readied to move to Dublin, and with its movement the distance to Omega-49 would be lessened, allowing both fleets to work more closely. As the fleet made ready, John directed himself to Planet Sydney, arranging for the commander to make her way to the Chateau d'Or, the former pleasure palace of a wealthy Zoner that now constituted the Admiralty command center planet side.




"A man, or more?"

Elizabeth wrote somewhat of a diary. Not a diary in the full sense of the word, rather a book of confessions. She could not let her womanly emotions impact her career, so before or after dealing with someone burdensome, she would make confessions to the only one who could keep a secret. "A man, or more?" -- the concluding line about Redmond.

"His jaw looks like a very persistent rock spitefully protruding out of a granite quarry", it mentioned, "not at all the part you would want to punch, even if you were a professional boxer. But his words flowed like a river spring -- slow, gentle, could even be political if he had any finer polishing in that art. A man of the earth, made to withstand it, and at least try to understand it. Or more? Maybe I have had the fortune to only see the benign side of this mountain of a person, and have been spared the way it could erupt at an enemy. A man of outstanding quality, afraid of his own strength and for good reasons, or a thick-headed brute doing his best to wage war according to the rules? A man, or more?"

The memories of Chateau d'Or haunted Elizabeth. She had spent the last decade of her life on Gran Canaria, and no more people than in a town lived on the whole planet. Chateau d'Or was not in her confessions as the memory was much older, but she knew very well about it. The wealthy Zoner was an old man, but age had only made him more shrewd. Elizabeth was a client, or rather somewhat of an employee, of a Corsair mobster who worked with him. One night she was a gift to the old man, a depersonalized sold good, a slave in all but word as slavery was illegal for the Corsairs, and had to do all she knew to satisfy his outlandish carnal tastes. It was her luck that Admiral Dagon had been killed in battle before they could have any significant interaction, because that night developed a certain uneasiness at the sight of prosthetics in Elizabeth. But, she was well paid, and she needed to be in order to both survive and afford herself the best education the desolate planet could offer.

She entered the villa not in disgust, but in triumph -- as a conqueror, for that's what she was, and not only of the physical place, but of her past as well. If Redmond had invited her there to give her one of the rooms as her office, she knew very well which to choose, and look the smuggest in.


John looked in the mirror at a man not as young, not as hopeful. The glee he felt when receiving a patronage and place in the BAF Officers Academy from a local noble on Leeds feels like a distant memory, one from a different life. John had noticeably increased his alcohol intake - not exactly modest to begin with - in recent days and weeks. The pressure of the office, the pain wrought by the vivid imagery of what was now Leeds, now etched into his soul, had necessitated more "drowning". If he had not received the financial assistance in his youth, it was not lost to John where he would have ended up. The privilege of being an officer was not easily forgotten.

Returning to the mirror from his thoughts, John molded a mask and donned it.

The Naval Secretary, Junior Secretary Margery, whom had been attached to the newly starred Admiral, had informed John that Commander Elizabeth Hall had arrived at the Chateau, and was waiting for the scheduled meeting to begin.

"Margery, show the commander to my office, we will begin in earnest." John spoke softly to Margery, wary that the Naval Secretary Office to which Margery belonged, was an important functioning part of the Admiralty, and getting on their bad side was a sure-fire way of having a difficult time as an Admiral.

John called it an "office", but such was the nature of the previous use of the Chateau, it more or less resembled a casual business meeting room, with luxurious sofas, highly decorative chandelier and all the trappings of a villains hideout. John had checked for any trap door opening buttons and revolving bookcases several times on his more heavily inebriated nights.

John took his usual seat, and awaited the Commander.




Upright posture, uptight uniform, energetic pace, bridled hear, and just a little cut above the left eyebrow to show participation and sacrifice in the war -- a laurel wreath was the only thing Elizabeth lacked for a true triumphant entrance. "See, the conquering hero comes! Sound the trumpets! Beat the drums!"

A funeral march, that's what the trumpets would be sounding. Elizabeth's metaphorical trail of triumph was paved with corpses. A girl craving to pluck the golden apple that was rightfully hers, through fire if necessary, that was Elizabeth when she enlisted. A broken spirit that had smelled the scent of a billion dead, the fire tasted, the apple not yet -- herself now. The place where she was born, destroyed -- not the house, not the city -- the planet! Then Bretonia's daughter, now striving to become the caring, though limping, mother -- that was Elizabeth.

Not something her father would ever feel. No, he lived for himself, and only for himself. But unlike him, Elizabeth was born in the slums and understood the miseries of common life -- and she was a woman.

Her gentle frame, subjected to the explosive crescendo of the Gallic War, exposed its newfound resilience with a curt salute. Her eyes avoided direct contact as she was in front of a higher ranking officer, but exuded a flame of individualism thirsting to burst out of all the memories of sentient, human souls waiting in a queue to be mechanically slaughtered, as if on a conveyor belt, devoid of their humanity, out of a series of tragedies that had been reduced to mere statistics. Her name to be remembered, that was Elizabeth's motive.

"At your service, Sir!"


As Elizabeth entered the room, John at first did not bother to turn to face her, knowing his visage was a touch on the intimindating side, he found it best to avoid staring at guests as they made the short walk - A good 5 seconds worth at a brisk pace, walking alongside the bar area to the right, and a pole placed upon a small circular platform, heaven knows what it was used for, on the rleft - to the space where guests are to set themselves, else the tone of the meeting will be dictated by that initial 5 seconds of intimidation.

As Elizabeth made her way to the sofa area, John, sitting on the single-seat sofa closest to his desk and opposite a 2-seat, where guests tended to sit, separated a coffee table - mostly used for tea - occupied his attention with a small bushel of papers, the contents of which were irrelevant.

With the salute and greeting, John turned his attention to the guest. First impressions were mixed, on the one hand, the commander was smart, easy on the eyes, and exhumed an radiant source of energy. On the other, John felt that the seemingly bubbly aura put out by the commander masked an eccentricity that bordered on barking, and John was wary to put someone not one hundred percent stable on a position of immense pressure and weight.

"At ease, Captain." As John spoke, he attempted to gauge the reaction of Elizabeth, who was at present still a commander. "Oh, do excuse me, getting a little ahead of myself. Take a seat and we can start." John gestured to the 2-seat sofa as he spoke.






Should she correct him is what she first thought. Redmond looked like a person not keen to be corrected by lower ranking officers, but Steiner watched her back. A soul of high ambition and low birth, Elizabeth's, and without her love for dare she wouldn't have enlisted in the first place. She was overthinking it, she was aware, but that tendency was one of the things that made her proud of herself.

"You mean commander, Sir?"


"Well you see, I seem to have gotten ahead of myself a little, Commander. Depending on this little discussion, you may very well find yourself a Captain. I have an offer for you, and should you accept it, it will come with some perks, a promotion is one of them." John, not beating at all around the bush, went straight into the main topic without messing with small talk to soften the impact at all.

"I suppose you will want to hear my offer?" John could not help but to crack a small grin, widen his eyes and turn his head at a slight angle in a jovial fashion.




"Oh", Elizabeth thought, "It's free real estate!" Probably not the first time a Bretonian had this thought on this planet. But why was Redmond the one offering it? Didn't he have a quarrel with her father, as his disrespectful manner of speech about him once suggested? Maybe Steiner was spinning Redmond about his little finger? If she was to find out in whose favour she really was or wasn't, she could not do it openly, and would need time to prepare a plan.

"I can reject", she spoke, "Neither new duties, nor new responsibilities. What needs to be done?"


John took a moment to sift through a pile of folders located on the right hand side of the coffee table between himself and the Commander, pulling out a red folder with the words 'Plan E' handwritten, likely by someone not the Admiral on the cover. "Hall, take this folder, open it, and read it carefully." Johns had taken on the most serious of tones, as if he was handing a medal of honour to a pilot before a mission in which he would earn it.

Inside the document contained the following bullet point overview of the contents, with more details listed in respective sections:


"Essentially I, and by extension the Admiralty, are offering you the Stirling in all but name. You will nominally report to me, but I will afford you as much independence as is realistic. You will need to make on the spot decisions, I assure you. The command of the Stirling is not just the command of the Stirling. You are responsible for this entire planet and the forces that defend it. The document will list the activities I have engaged in during my tenure, and a lot more, and you can attempt to build on them.
Should you accept, you will need to get used to this Chateau, Commander, you will be spending a great deal more time in it. If you wish time to consider, and have no questions as of now, I will have Margery take you to some quarters for you to delve into the contents. Give me your decision tonight, I will have a dinner arranged."
John attempted to summarize what the document intended to say, to make sure it was absolutely clear what was being offered to Elizabeth.




A chance not to miss. Or a scheme to isolate her? To give her, as inexperienced as she is, such a complex task as well? No, rather unlikely, she thought. Steiner was micromanaging everything, and he wouldn't allow schemes against Elizabeth. This must be a chance produced by him. Or still a scheme, but one designed to give Steiner more and more control of Bretonia? After all, Elizabeth was his client.

"Wait... Would this not give me both military and civil authority within the system? Is that even legal?"


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