A tall, brown-haired, somewhat haggard young man shuffled awkwardly down the Recruitment Centre's main hallway and turned right, making for the BAF recruitment office. Rubbing the brown stubble he'd inadvertently forgotten to shave that morning - he'd been fairly apprehensive about his upcoming interview, most untypically - he sighed, relaxed, and attempted to let his tension ebb away. It's not every day you sign up to the Armed Forces.
Suddenly smiling, the young man rubbed the fatigue from his eyes and stepped briskly into the office proper. Stepping before the local recruitment officer's desk, he stooped somewhat, shook the officer's hand, and, grinning almost apologetically, launched into his tale.
"Morning, sir. My name's Orwell - John Orwell - and I've come to apply to the Armed Forces. I'd like to be deployed in a fighter, - throw me into the thick of it.
Why, you ask, sah? I'll do my best to keep it brief.
I'm... not a soldier, sir, nor am I a professional pilot. You may have heard of me before - I'm actually a reporter, planetside, on New London. Work for the New Sunday Telegraph. Had the occasional piece on the Bretonian Colony News Service. Been granted indefinite leave for the moment - I'm afraid I've become far too restless. Battle beckons to me, sir; I'm afraid I'm an incorrigible patriot. I'll be (entirely) honest; I suppose enlisting's a form of escapism, as well. I certainly wouldn't mind getting away from... well... routine and dreary tedium, as stereotypical as that sounds; expect you hear that all too often, sah.
I've undergone requisite arms and piloting training, sir. I wasn't recruited, I volunteered - to be perfectly frank, I've longed before to be a part of the Armed Forces and the war effort as a whole. My civilian resistance training was undertaken in the Cambridge system; I was taught by Sergeant O'Keefe of the 484th Reserves. Here are my papers - I doubt you'll find my marks lacking.
I understand perfectly well I'm an idealist, sir. I don't care; I look forward to my share of warfare. Even the experience alone would suffice. Will the BAF have me?"
Orwell straightened his tie and looked expectantly at the recruitment officer.
A 20-years old, quite tanned man enters the room. He approaches the recruitment desk, looking surprised at the variety of persons in the queue. He doesn't get in line, but instead he walks straight to the officer's desk and fetches an application from the pile stacked in the corner of the table. He takes a quick look over it, as if he was in a hurry. The recruiter glances at him.
'What?!', the man said.
The recruiter raises his eyebrow.
'I came all the way from Dublin for this, am not going to wait any further. There's a bloody war out there, and frankly, I don't think we've got time to waste, sire.'
My name is Pierce Quinn, I used to be an escort pilot in the BMM. I have fought many battles to keep those bloody pirates away from the gold mining operation in Dublin. But last week just topped them all. I witnessed one of our convoys getting ambushed by a Kusari squadron, in the Tau 31. The relentless dogs slaughtered all the poor civilians in those transports that were headed for the Tau 23 Gate Construction Site. Those were innocent people! They could have just taken the goods! I knew some of those lads, you know? I cannot let this happen again, not while my heart still pumps, I swear.
For this, I wish to dedicate my life to serve for the Armed Forces and the Queen. I might sound cheesy, but it's what I have to do. If I will be recruited, I will accept either a bomber or a fighter, it doesn't matter to me, I can fly both, and I have some experience from my BMM days. Of course, I will only be able to prove that after you...'
Pierce didn't finish, as the officer was about to say something...
Signature violates 1.7, please resize:
1.7 - Pictures that exceed 700px width or signatures that exceed 700*250px*3 MB are not allowed on the forum.
Mephistoles
The doors closed and a man walked into the room. A small recruitment office on Planet New London. As the recruitment officer welcomed him, he sat on a small chair opposite of the officer.
-''Welcome to Bretonia Armed Forces recruitment department, sir. Tell us something about yourself.''
''I heard you are looking for expirienced pilots, so I came here. I recently quit the Alliance Star Fleet, since they have moved away from my homeland, Bretonia. For the past 5 years i lived on Leeds, looking at the Kusari invaders coming closer each day, each year.''
He looked at me, and then back to the profile folder.
''I have 5 years expirience as a Fighter and Bomber pilot, but recently i had an opportunity to command a Cruiser.''
-''I see you are willing to fight the Kusari Naval Forces, and you are a good pilot, so welcome aboard, pilot.''
''One more thing sir.''
-''Yes?''
He looked at me again, holding his hand above the touchscreen.
''My grandparents gave their lives for Bretonia a long time ago. Im prepared to do the same.''
"OK, lad", said the Recruiting Officer as he pushed the notepad back across the desk.
"I see you have had a lot of experience and could prove useful to us in a combat role. But there's just one thing?"
He fixed the potential recruit with a steely glare
"You have not given us your name - that kind of helps us, you know?" He laughed, a little menacingly
"So, fill it in, here and here. First name and Last name. We can then check our records and verify your background"
The Recruiting Officer sat back and looked at the embarassed recruit. Why oh why were his toes itching - when he had no feet? He grimaced and cursed again at the pain and irritation his lost legs still caused him.
"Hurry it up, lad - I want to get home this evening"
![[Image: siggy.jpg]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/668638083616342047/668993104837083156/siggy.jpg)
![[Image: u3cld.jpg]](http://i33.tinypic.com/u3cld.jpg)
![[Image: 10qdnc1.jpg]](http://i36.tinypic.com/10qdnc1.jpg)