A gigantic metal construct floated over the famous West Point Military Academy in the busy New York system, a pair of Navy fighters paving its way among the flow of space commerce. The huge vessel in question was a Liberty Dreadnaught, possibly one of the oldest still in service. Its appearance was made more unusual by a duck insignia painted on its side, which was to be found on each of the fighters accompanying it as well. The inscription above the logo read "Feathered Pond"; it was the mobile headquarters of the 36th Soaring Ducks squadron.
The battleship lazily placed itself above the mooring clams of station and sat down on top of it in the company of flashing crimson lights. A pillar erected from the academy and joined the airlock of the vessel, granting its visiting crew passage to the interior. Using the opportunity, three silhouettes crossed the corridor and entered the space station.
A metal door hissed and slid open.
[color=#000066]"ATTEN-TION!"
The deep voice of the deck officer echoed through the hall. A dozen Liberty marines standing near the doorway clicked their heels and raised their heads hastily despite the heavy armor they wore, their sights covered by their helmets flashed as they looked towards the corridor's light projector.
The three characters previously seen in the spaceport jetty stepped in; spearheading the group was a female Captain in her late fourties, wearing a black trenchcoat over a navy blue uniform. She kept her brows lowered, which made her entire face shift into an intimidating, angry look chiefly due to the eerie placement of her wrinkles. On her side stood two of her Lieutenants of an entirely opposing character; one was muscular and visually uneducated, the other's intellectual manners were betrayed by his complexly assembled eyeglasses while one could tell he had difficulties with even lifting an assault rifle. The general appearance of the soldiers shifted into a tone of grotesque even more so once their unit insignia, as described above a duck, was noted.
The deck officer welcomed the guests with a salute, which was a gesture the Captain repeated.
"Welcome back to West Point, Captain Evans."
"Can't say it's a pleasure to be here, Lieutenant. We have some mean stuff to discuss with the Real Admiral..."
She raised her eyebrows, looking behind the deck officer greeting her.
"I trust he's expecting us?"
The Lieutenant nodded.
"Yes, ma'am, your arrival has been scheduled but... in all honesty I can't say the Rear Admiral was happy about it."
"In all honesty, I couldn't care less. Take me to his office while my Lieutenants pick up the necessary supplies."
"Yes, ma'am."
The officer turned around and started marching towards the elevator, Captain Evans following closely behind. The news she brought was not even remotely pleasant, her frustrated look betrayed her intentions before she even set her foot on the station.
Rear Admiral Anderson gained a considerable amount of weight since his promotion and transfer to West Point, overseeing the training of Liberty's finest required no more physical conditioning than what was needed for pushing papers and sending files. Ever since his decision to even grow a mustache, his general outlook placed him among the ranks of the Liberty Police rather than high-ranking Navy officers. Despite his body mass and mustache growing parallel, his patience was a quality that shortened, quickly placing him among the most despised leaders of the West Point Military Academy.
His reaction to the notification regarding the arrival of the Feathered Pond was one of the types that established this general level of distaste from the station's staff.
The communicator beeped as he was sitting in his office, occupied with playing online poker.
[font=Comic Sans Ms][color=#000099]"Sir, Captain Evans of the 36th Fighter Squadron has boarded the station and is on her way to your office."
[color=#C0C0C0]"What the hell does that witch want now? Her toddlers ran out of wooden guns to play with? "
"No, sir. Their arrival has been scheduled, according to which she's here to discuss 'matters of dramatic urgency.'"
"Get her in then, but for Jacobi's sake tell that frigid whore to hurry up; I'm a busy man!"
"Affirmative, sir!"
He closed his game and opened up some weapon transfer manifests, folded his arms, leaned back and lit a cigar, awaiting the Captain's arrival. Soon, the anticipated knock came.
The Rear Admiral reacted with pressing a pair of buttons, as a result the door automatically opened. Captain Evans, maintaining her usually grim look, entered the office which was now filled with smoke.
"Captain Ilsa Evans, 36th "Soaring Ducks" Liberty Navy Heavy Fighter Defense Squadron. I have a report to make."
She saluted. Anderson nodded, then placed his cigar into the ash tray.
"Spit it out, Captain. What's that issue of dramatic urgency? Someone broke his thumb and started crying?"
"With all due respect sir, I would like to ask you not to refer to my squadron in such a scornful manner. These people risk their lives---"
"And there you go, crying again. Last time I heard this matter was oh-so-important. Why don't you just get the hell on with the report then?"
The face of Evans shifted red, she narrowed her eyebrows more than what is thought to have been the limit of human capabilities.
"Yes... sir. As you may know, there has been a little internal incident above Manhattan earlier today---"
"No, I don't know. You're making this report so I can know, now hurry up with it before I decide to just ignore it and throw you out of my office."
The Captain paused. She took a deep breath, toyed with the thought of splattering the brains of the Rear Admiral on the wall with a Rheinländer infantry shovel, then continued.
"As I was saying, there has been an internal incident above Manhattan. We have one man down and two injured, two ships are also lost."
"Heh? Internal incident? This is not what I think it is, right?"
"What happened specifically was that two pilots... one 36th and one of the Primary Fleet, attacked each other over some domestic dispute. As a result, a third pilot, over whom the dispute was sparked, committed suicide... taking her fighter with her."
"You... you can't be serious... what? Am I dreaming?"
Again, the Captain took a deep breath, then adjusted her pistol belt. With retaining a cool expression, she continued.
"We believe that there was some sort of love triangle between three or possibly four pilots. The fight was set between Primary Fleet officer Jacob Beaumont and 36th Commander... former one at that... Mason Ralusch. After the incident, Commander Ralusch willingly left the 36th service branch. Ensign Natasha Gurlswill of the 36th committed suicide directly afterwards by crashing her fighter into the planet atmosphere."
The chubby Rear Admiral leaned forward and laughed into the face of Captain Evans. The proud officer persisted with the report regardless.
"Needless to say that considering the size of our unit, such a loss is a crucial one, which will require immediate replacement. Since the 36th is made up of soldiers fresh out of training..."
Anderson roared up with laughter, shedding tears, which he wiped off with a tissue. He gestured the Captain, who retaining the same rigid expression, to finish the report.
"Captain... your unit... is the biggest failure the Liberty Navy has ever seen. You are a shame to this organization and those who serve the country the way it's supposed to be served. You will not get any additional personnel... no way in hell I'm granting you any more material or men. In fact..."
He picked up his cigar and took a puff, then opened up his computer.
"... I will... now file a proposal to disband your unit... the High Command should... review this in... a day or two..."
While he was typing, the eyelids of the Captain suddenly trembled.
