// Main text to be read in a strong Welsh accent. ;)
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==== Planetform Inc. ====
Application No. - 32785
Available position - Bomber Escort
Note - As detailed in the 817 Amendment to the Employment Act of 736 A.S., Planetform is required, during the current war with Kusari, to request information beyond that sanctioned by the Workplace Discrimination Act of 745 A.S. This information will be held using methods detailed in the Parliametrary Data Protection Guidelines, and used only to confirm the identity and integrity of potential employees.
Name: Ivor Jenkins
Age: 53
Heritage and place of birth:
Cardiff Smelter. Rather a dingy sort of place, if you ask me. Still, my ol' da' always said it was a good place to be born. "A real taste of Wales", he called it, "No frills, but simple honest folk with a song in their hearts." Maybe my da' was rather stuck in the past. Full of stories about the old days, like he was there. Back on Earth fighting for independence under Madog ap Llywelyn and Owain Glyndwr. Day long battles against the Coaltion, fought around around the moons of Saturn. A Strong Oral Tradition, I suppose you'd call it.
My mam was rather more up to date. She always had plenty of gossip about the rest of the family: Crazy aunt Gwen running off with a rather shady Rheinlander for his diamonds, young cousin Rob getting into Cambridge. Apparently he's now one of the most respected scientists in his field, whatever that is. Never really heard from him after he left Cardiff. Snotty twit, in my opinion. Still, they're the exceptions. The Jenkins family's always been what you'd call working class. Reliable. Hauling freight in one form or another, like my da'. Engineers, like uncle Dai, working on ships in Southampton. I even had a few cousins join the Armed Forces, before the War.
Previous occupation:
Atmospheric Haulage with Farnley Haulage Co. That was the official name, back on Leeds. Just a glorified taxi driver really. Licensed to transport virtually anything. And that we did. Pianos, people, animals, machinery. Sometimes all at the same time.
Reasons for leaving:
Well I suppose it comes down to the war, really. Mr Farnley, boss of the haulage company went off to fight Kusari, the daft patriotic bugger. Not really sure what happened to him, but the company just fell apart after that. A lot of things on Leeds have been falling apart recently. The refugees can't be expected to pay for haulage, but we can't work for free either, and there aren't enough subsidies to go around. So, I guess that's the end of atmo hauling for me.
Flight experience:
They say atmo haulage is a cushy job for BAF veterans who've done fighting. Bollocks, I say. I learned to fly better on Leeds than any young hotshot in the Army. The smog is always there, no avoiding it, except for those few strato flights and orbit hauls (precious few of those with Farnley - we were only a small company after all - strato flights between continents are for the rich, and orbital hauling's given way to the elevators recently).
Anyway, the smog means you can't see a thing. Pure instrument flying most of the time, and I must say I loved it. Peaceful, like, without seeing the other ships whizzing past. Of course, the real skill is when the weather turns nasty. It rains half the time, as you'd expect for Leeds. Dirty stuff, clogging scanners and rusting the hull. Still, that's nothing to the storms, and they're only getting worse nowadays. Most pilots won't take off in a Leeds lightning storm, but that wasn't how we worked at Farnley. There's a knack to spotting when the lightning's coming, and you get used to dodging the blasts after a while.
Combat experience:
Other than the lightning I suppose you could say I'm a bit lacking in that department. There was the time I was hijacked on Leeds in '02. Some daft idiot was running through a smog storm waving at me and clutching a case to his chest. Figured I should let him in the back, and he pulled a gun on me! Yelled at me to take him to the docks. Well, what with the smog I just dropped him off outside the BPA department. Not like he could see the difference.
Anyway, flight combat experience is what you'll be after. I used to run test flights for uncle Dai on his souped up ships at Southampton. Weapons testing was a part of that, though I was careful not to tell my mam. So, when old Tobias said he'd trade me a civvy bomber for my little hauler, I figured I'd get my eye in, as it were. I must say it all seems to be coming back to me quite nicely. Ran a few missions here and there. Used the last of my credits on some decent equipment. About time I used it for something, really.
Experience with wildlife:
I was never very good at handling the little buggers myself. My dad owned an old sheep transport for a time; running the critters from New London to Planet Harris. Only ever had trouble with pirates once or twice, but that was the old days. In any case, I know for a fact that wildlife and space combat don't mix.