Lt. Thacker, you are hereby requested and required to report to the Commandant of the Fighter corps for immediate reactivation and return to duty.
You will report to the Quartermaster on starbase to receive your new Insurgent and Revolution fighters, and will be assigned to a fighter wing shortly.
It is good to have a loyal and dedicated officer such as yourself returning to the frontlines. Serve well, fight well, and take the Red Dawn closer to our enemies.
Commissar-Captain Alvin Katz
Комисса́р-Капитан 1-го ранга Элвин Кац
СРЩ-Трoцкий
Sirius Coalition Revolutionary Army
Революционная Армия Коалиции Сириуса
"I have spoken with Mao." She levelled a gun at him. "And do you know what he had to say? Eh? You know what he said, when he heard the name Petr Diordienko?"
She cocked the gun and pressed it to his forehead. "You think you're clever, Diordienko? You want to know what he really said?" She paused for a moment, then lowered the gun. "He said 'Give him the paperwork'." She shoved the papers into Diordienko's hands. "Don't think you're out of the woods yet, Mandalorian. If High Command don't like your answers..." She pointed to the door. "Go. Fill it out."
Sameli Demochev walked slowly into the recruiting office. Red banners and recruitment posters covered the walls, urging him fowards. He looked around, listening to the various, not all pleasant, noises which he heard around him. He caught sight of a row of seats, with several applicants queueing before him. He took the seat at the back of the queue, his mind racing. All his life, he felt, had been leading up to this.
For months, years even, he had debated with himself about signing up to fight for the Revolution. He'd seen so many of his friends, his comrades, flying sorties for the Revolution and returning with tales of glory. His heart swelled as he thought about it. He, too, wanted to bring glory to the name of the Revolution.
He watched as more applicants left the commissar's room. Some were moving, some were not. Not for the first time, a growing feeling of dread and nervousness rose in him. What if he wasn't accepted? He knew that denied applicants rarely made it out of the office still kicking. He turned his thoughts back to what he would say, watching the line of applicants in front of him grow slowly shorter...
Vicenta received an urgent message on her comm unit from Zhukovsky. Her other duty was calling.
With a sigh almost of relief, she collected the paperwork neatly and headed out the door, passing the new commissar on the way. "They're all yours, comrade-Commissar."
The applicants sitting in the waiting room were getting impatient. They kept checking their watches and tapping their feet, as the now familiar sound of shouting and shooting from the Commissar's office seemed to have stopped over time. The door stayed closed with nobody coming in or out, and even the secretary sitting next to them managed to slip out undetected somehow.
The clock kept going, and the applicants were starting to get nervous, as the only new person in the room was a whistling man in orange coveralls, lazily mopping the floor with a cigarette in his hand leaving an ash trail where he just cleaned up. He eventually got to the commissar's room, stopped whistling and moving and glanced at the applicants behind him. Then he pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and stuck it on the door, afterwards resuming his whistling and moving off to a different room.
The applicants, shocked as they were, didn't know what to make of it. One of them came closer to try to read from the bad handwriting.
"Gone fishing?! Seriously?!"
Everything else was quiet. All they could do now was wait.
Commissar Katz was standing at the twin tables in the office, typically there were no chairs, and books are almost obsessive-compulsivly arranged on the table.
His sleeves were rolled up, and, as usual, there was no uniform in sight.
Just his trade mark black waistcoat, with its lone silver watch chain.
He had spectacles on, reading something on the table before him.
By the door a large hulking mound of machinery that hisses occasionally as the valves release pressure. six sets of photo-receptors whirr and click as it adjusts, zooms in, and focuses on the new arrival. The heavy coalition SAW at rest in what can only be described as a gauntleted hand.
Katz looks up as the rotating glass panels shut off the noise of the CIC behind Lt. Alicia as she enters, sealing them inside. He reaches out for a cup of tea that has been steeping on the edge of the table. a string of beads wrapped around his right wrist that look wholly out of place.
"The ship is in position outside of the Omega-5 Jumphole," Katz said. Typically his words were chosen with deliberate care. "It is time to tell people that the Commissar is back from his fishing.”
“Sir, and the standard rules apply Commissar?” Alicia inquired, the dark-haired Ontarian Girl took notes.
“Yes, if they don’t report here in person, they are not to be heard. They must come and see me personally,” he sipped from his tea cup. “If they are suspected of being a spy…”
The war-bot in the corner stirred, the deadly sound of a heavy assault weapon being cocked.
“So noted, Commissar,” Alicia replied.
“Here is hoping that this batch fare better than the last ones…” Katz murmured as he set his steel grey eyes back upon the recon photos spread across the table before him.
//OOC- Limited run recruitment. APPLY IN PERSON. We Reserve the right to shoot people that apply… Also we are looking for Newer players, or players with limited commitments to other factions. That’s right, we want them nice and tender for brain-washing.
CPW-Trotsky is a Coalition Cruiser, it is stationed at the jump hole to Omega-52 in the Omega-5 System. It has docking facilities capable of housing vessels of a broad array of types.
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