"Luis smiled when he heard the answer. It was not a imaginative one, but rather seemed like his parrot's words. Oh yes his parrot was on every each and one of this so called meetings. Shame it died from a disease called Tokarev. Its a common sickness this days on the Trotsky, not too contagious but deadly.
Alright Comrade Dex i am not satisfied with your answer, take a seat ill get back to your painful examining as soon as i deal with Comrade Gottfried. You will have one more chance to prove your worthy.
Kostya handed the completed papers to Alicia, giving her an affirmative nod and the best smile he could manage before returning to his old seat in the waiting room. He had nowhere else to go right now; the next supply ship arrived in twelve hours or so, and he was dependent on it for transportation back home.
He worked his jaw and slowly clicked it shut, satisfied that it wasnt broken. Compared to what could have happened he was in great shape; a massive bruise still graced the side of his face where it had smacked onto the metal flooring of the ship, half of his tongue was one massive scab, and his ribs felt as if they were just shy of fracturing after being stepped on by that metallic beast. The medics had applied a fast-acting clotting solution in his mouth and had given him a shot of painkiller, then sent him on his way.
Alive. Breathing.
Hed made it so far. Granted he hadnt made the whole journey but this was a good first step; it counted for something, to him at least.
He smiled a little to himself and picked up a copy of Workers Weekly Magazine, immediately flipping to the front-page advertised article about applying Marxism to piloting. The segment about "class-based ship markings" was especially intriguing.
"Worker's Weekly Magazine: Applying Marxism to Starfighter Piloting, pg. 37 Wrote:"Awards, kill marks, and other such designs applied to starfighter hulls tend to denote a rank or skill of a pilot along with a given individuality. Quick assumptions in the heat of combat could draw conclusions such as, "That pilot is the most dangerous, avoid him," or, "That pilot is the most dangerous, we must remove him first".
While the Coalition employs our own elite squadrons who are given all due credit, we tend to refrain from guilding our ships with such things, but perhaps they could be useful? Researchers at the Fighter Weapons and Tactics School aboard Zhukovsky Station have recently devised a scheme by which fighters are intentionally marked up in order to draw on the strings of Capitalist pilots. Essentially, using first impressions of appearance, the enemy would make assumptions and act accordingly, either trying to avoid or eliminate a given pilot. That pilot would then serve as either bait to lure the enemy pilots into a slaughterhouse, or be allowed to roam free, scaring and dispersing enemy ships, thereby weakening their level of mutual support."
"Correct...You know...We'v been cooped up in this office for quite some time." he comments lightly, a small smile starting to form on his face. "How about we take a little...stroll?" he asks before getting up, his Pistol holstered and his cap on his head, Ben heads towards the office door and exits, fully expecting both applicants to follow him.
Passing by Alicia he gives a rather unamused stare at her before coldly speaking, letting her know subconsciously he didn't appreciate her earlier teasing.
"I am leaving the office, do not send anyone in." He stated simply before coldly striding past the desk, heading down the corridors towards the Airlocks.
* The man sitting in the waiting room sees the several men exit the recruitment office. While they leave, one, presumeably the recruiment officer, gives a woman a rather....hard look. Figuring that he should not keep his liquor to himself, he speaks up*
Officer! While we dont know each other, I would like to offer you a bottle. It would be rude to keep it to myself, no?
Alvarez's smile was toothy, predatory, and definitely amused.
"You ever fly a light fighter, muppet?" he asked, setting in a martial-arts stance, his muscles tensing as he drew a pair of combat knives from his wrist sheathes. "Most people like to fly VHFs or Bombers around here, I fly a Partisan by choice... why you ask? Simple, smaller means I move faster..."
He was running a second later, propelling himself with his soft shoes up off of the deck, catching a crate that he used to give himself even more air. Hitting the side of the XKR that Vicenta was languishing alongside, he shot back, crashing into the unprepared applicant, sending him sprawling.
Alvarez rolled, and came up, already sprinting for Boris, as the lumbering man obliged by dropping to a knee, allowing Alvarez up and off again, to land on the sensor bowsprite of the Social Credit, high and out of reach.
"You see," Alvarez called down, "Partisans have a really high survival rate because, if used right. No one can touch them... so you sure you want to take me on, Esse? Or would you rather give a Heavy Fighter a try?"
Williamson watches as the man talks and moves around," Me personally? I think i prefer either light or very heavy, One extreme or the other, ive never been one for the middle ground. As for taking you? I doubt I could, but thats not why I am here is it?"
When life gives you lemons..... throw them at your enemies!!!
Alvarez patted the hull of the Storm class CPW-Social.Credit, one of the oldest and longest serving gunboats in the Coalition.
"See, we start small and then we work our way up to this..." he gestured to a marine who unslung his breaching shotgun, handing it to Vincenta. "See, there are those out there who think automatic rifles are the key, spray and pray... but with Three Razors, three pulses, the Social Credit isn't about prayer. Explain to me... in detail, what the advantage of this type of weapon set up is to a gunboat... And explain to me why the BAF run away from this ship everytime they see it..." He balanced perfectly on the narrow spar, walking towards the tip. "Get it wrong, and Vickie there will demonstrate on you, homes."
Everyone shivered as the Commissar pumped a shell into the chamber.
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