| James_McIntyre | Date: Saturday, 22 Aug 2015, 2:18 PM | Message # 1 |
 Ensign
Group: Users
Messages: 11
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| Deep space, devoid of the majority of light that was closer towards a star's center, was something McIntyre found peaceful. From the bridge of the DP20 frigate Liberation, he stared out at the jump route that would take his fleet to Molavar, their first stop. His contacts at Roon were expected to tell him when the assault there began; it was no secret that Moff Cole intended to strip the planet of rebel sympathizers. Someone had to act, had to pull possible recruits out of the Abrion Sector before it was too late. That was where McIntyre came in, with his fleet.
It was odd to have an Army Colonel over the navy, but as he looked outside, he felt a swell of pride as he looked at the vessels arrayed beside his. The fellow DP20 Emancipation, the pair of CR90 corvettes, Reliance and Judgement and the eight GR75 transports, simply identified as Rescue-1 through Rescue-8. He hadn't been happy to take unarmed transports, but he needed the space for the people, and every inch of those GR-75s was ready to be packed with human cargo, providing this went as planned. Of course, it if all went according to plan, he'd be surprised. Nothing ever went according to plan.
Among the larger ships, seven squadrons of snubfighters buzzed about. McIntyre felt sorry for their pilots, cramped in such small spaces for so long, but they'd known what they signed on for. Many of the fighters were at rest, their pilots napping briefly, or talking on the squadron channels. Good, all good. Looking towards his comms officer, McIntyre inclined his head. "Inform me when we are down to T-minus 60. I'm stepping away for a moment." From the bridge, he moved to the captain's quarters, preparing a message for the admiral who was to assist him.
Colonel James McIntyre
Alliance Army
Abrion Sector Irregulars
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