It was cold outside - the rain this time of year had a habit of doing that. The young man, mid twenties, pulled the collar on his jacket tighter as he made his way down the street. It was wartime, all the newspapers made a point of letting you know it and the recruitment signs ha had deliberated over for the last 3 days weren't helping the situation any. Passing one of the offices, on a whim he headed inside, ignoring what was a presumably dirty look from the automated attendant when he turned in his dripping coat. The room was everything you'd expect from a military recruitment office - sparse, small and smelling of cigars. A small lineup had formed, so he went ahead and took a seat.
"Sir?" The recruitment officer woke him with a start. "This is a military office, sir. If you'd like, there's a shelter just down the street."
"Oh, i'm not homeless yet, my friend." The dark look on the officer's face gave away the fact that his rheinland accent was still thick. "Although many would see it that way. I'm here to enlist."
"Enlist? You? You sound like you're straight off New Berlin."
"<i>Da</i>" he replied, "And damn lucky to be here, too. Local police tried to impound my freighter, but I move faster than the warrant office." A small hint of a smile began to creep onto the officers face, but it didn't last long. He was well trained, thought the man.
"So why the BAF? Why not Liberty?"
"I've no love for the libertonians, but neither do I hate them. It's the organized crime sector that gets me, the ones that killed my family, and the BAF seems to be the only organization with the balls to do anything about them. Now, if you're done stalling, where's the damn paper? My ship needs repairs." The officer handed him a clipboard. Several minutes of red tape later, and the man collected his coat and left. Curious, the officer checked the sheet. Scrawled at the bottom was the name "Schmidt, C. E."
