His eyes looked out of the window near his kitchen, the view filled with the ever-lit capital city and the brash signs proclaiming the names of the corporations that ran this world and so many others. He spat at the floor in disgust. At just what, he did not know. Was it himself, the system he served, the cards he had been dealt? Was it the way he had played the game, or how it had instead played him. The haze of sleep and alcohol pulled that answer just out of reach.
It is said that knowledge and wisdom is paid for with grief and sorrow. For Senior PackMaster Rollen, this price is finally being paid. War has always been a professional’s occupation for him. Deaths are a regrettable but understandable price in the contest of nations. So it was easy to excuse the enemy dead as at least somewhat willing participants. They had their coin in the pot, so to speak.
But Unternehmen Zweihander was something else. It was as much a revenge raid as it was a “legitimate” military attack. Payment in kind for atrocity. And there was only one way where that could end. Would end. And for someone who always was in control, the feeling of being swept away by events was more terrifying than
While dark, this has been one of the little scenes that I have always been proud of. That moment of realization that one is no longer in control of what is going on, and with just enough knowledge to know just where things are going and not liking it one bit.
And even worse, understanding exactly why.
Dollarton Proxima Shipyards 