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Bolo_MkXX_Tremendous_DMD

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  1. Should USN cruisers be done away with in-game?

    Des Moines have no honor. but the Light Cruiser is a glorious ship for men who are men. I want light Cruisers for America but also for every country, or at least Germany. If they do that, I will end up playing Worcester, Minotaur, and whatever else more than anything.
  2. The primal sea

    The crew seems in high spirits at mess. My crew sits together as we do almost everything together, as true comrades should. Often I have heard about how proximity and time spent lead to animosity, but the distractions of this current assignment along with the news that we shall return home soon have raised the morale of the whole crew. The mess chief discreetly gave me an extra helping of island potato, for which I am grateful. Apparently I am some sort of hero now. The thought itself makes me feel embarrassed. The strutting pride of Nordlanders has always been distasteful to us common farmers, but to become prideful after nearly walking the gauntlet has given me pause. I fear failure now more than ever before. My work schedule has nearly doubled since becoming a gun chief, and I notice that I have become even leaner than before, so any nutrition is welcome. The mess chief is tactful and makes no special mention to me, which dissolves any feelings of awkwardness I may otherwise have felt. Gun 1's crew comes into the mess shortly after we sit down. Big Tom is gregarious as ever, and invites them to sit in the empty spaces next to ours. It is good to see Franzel up and moving, even though he now has one leg and must use a crutch. His comrade from Gun 1 carries his tray for him as we all sit together, animosities forgotten. I have to remind myself to remain silent about the startling news about war being imminent. I do my best to follow the conversation but I am more reserved than before. The second stripe on my working uniform's collar may look like a small thing, but responsibility lies heavy. Even with this newfound responsibility, I have had restful sleep. The nightmares of failure are behind me now. I feel like I have been a changed man, but whether it is the two stripes on my work collar or my combat with the sea monster, I cannot say. The routine duties of the next few days are tedious but a good way of forgetting all of the heavy matters on our minds. The sea is especially quiet on this day. It is nearly high noon and the crew will begin to cycle through the galley. Thirty minutes more of watch before we eat. The sky is clear over the broad green sea. The jagged peaks of the islands are clear in the distance. We are presently in position outside the Three Gardens, as we have named them for the purple potatoes that grow naturally on them. I think back to harvest at home one last time before I am alerted by my subordinate and replacement in lower billet, Gunlayer Rondel. The captain has sounded general quarters. A Destroyer of the Federated Powers has been spotted and is closing on our position!
  3. The primal sea

    Despite the nearly thousand men present, the courtyard of the ancient fortress is nearly silent but for the burning of torches along the stone walls. This was a great castle and all that stood on the grounds of Northeg, where the King of Burlswyth once set out on expeditions against the kingdoms of the Nordlanders. Now it is an artifact within a great city of more than a million, used to teach schoolchildren of both Midlanders and Nordlanders of their shared heritage...and of course for ceremonies like the one we are here to partake in. We stand in close formation in the courtyard, black sailor's tunics and caps blending in the torchlight seamlessly with our Armycorps brethren in their gray and blacks. Those trained at Northeg come from all across the empire - regional regiments having been abolished twenty years prior during the People's Reforms of our current Emperor. The high walls block out the gas lights of the city and create a trancelike atmosphere, which is appropriate for the holy oath we are about to swear. The Admiral schoolmaster marches to the center of our horseshoe formation, flanked on either side by an ancient, bearded Gothi with one eye and course robes, and a well groomed priest wearing the white and black, to represent those who still follow the Triune God of the southern and western territories. On order, we raise our hand in the manner of swearing an oath and repeat those words that we have all known since our earliest days. We are now men under the banner of our Emperor and we will serve him until death takes us. The memory of the last night of my Navyman's Basic Training come back to me time and again as I spend the night in the cramped cell of our Brig. Duty is a sublime word - it is more than raw courage. Heroes and gods alike do not succeed on courage alone, but often as not they are required to be clever. It is not the warrior's courage alone that allows the nation to subsist through hard winters, but the thankless task of the farmers and the workers which comprise the soul of a nation - its body politic. It has been said that the Nordlanders and Midlanders would have fought each other to our mutual doom if bravery were our only virtue. But our debt of service to the All Highest, our Emperor, is greater than either. It was that same discipline which led to the First Emperor's victory and unification of us all as one people. This thought is on my mind as the hours slowly pass. I try to count the tow chains stored opposite my prisoner's cage, but nothing can make me sleep. With so much having transpired in the past day, I almost fear to dream more than I fear the Master at Arms finding me asleep and unrepentant. Owing to the Destroyer's limited space, we have only a ten by seven foot corridor. Wire cages isolate prisoners from one another, with the maximum capacity being sixteen only if the cells are doubled, and that is not counting for the primary use of our Brig as chain storage. There is no natural light, and I sit here beneath the waves, mentally preparing myself for the gauntlet which will surely come tomorrow, if not the next day. Justice does not take long to find me. At dawn the next day, I am brought a wet cloth to wash myself and my service uniform. I put on the full uniform as a brace myself for the sting of having it removed and for the pain of the gauntlet itself...but I am not led abovedeck. The Master at Arms leads me a deck above to the entry of our Captain's wardroom, just past the war room, where the map of the Primal Sea and its islands hangs on the wall, still being completed by the topographist/navigator. I keep my eyes ahead while avoiding the gaze of my shipmates as they go about their duty. I am puzzled as to why I am being taken to the Captain beforehand. No one has mentioned this part of the procedure. After fifteen minutes of standing at attention outside of the Captain's hatch, the Master at Arms is given instructions by the ship's Executive Officer, and I am told to enter and report to the Captain. I come before the Captain's desk, here at the fore of the ship, and come to rigid attention with the appropriate greeting "Loyalty." The Captain stands and returns my greeting before returning to his seat. Science Officer Grolek and the XO are both present and seated. "Why are we here so far from home, Gunner's Mate 3rd Class Funk?" the Captain begins. I state that patrolling across Ocean is simply the duty of Oberland ships and sailors. The Captain looks mildly irritated with my textbook answer and looks to Science Officer Grolek, who stands and speaks to me. "You are a sharp lad, Funk. Surely you know that I am more than a mere Science Officer." His relaxed tone puts me at ease somewhat and I nod, not wanting to play the fool but not wanting to give anything away either. All of the enlisted men talk that he has further duties for the Ministry of Public Enlightenment. "This is a ship of war, but it war is not the greatest achievement of man, regardless of what the Sagas may say," the Captain says. "We aren't here as oilers, fishers or whalers, nor do we interfere with those of hostile states...at least for now." Science Officer Grolek pauses in his speech to come forward and look at me in the eye. "'Duty is sublime,' as it says on the first page of the Soldier's Manual. Our present duties are trifold: We are vigilant should the day of battle come, but every man who is sent to the Destroyers is selected for his aptitude at Logic and Rhetoric. Seeing beyond the horizons and understanding the natural world are not inferior to victory over other men, and they elevate not only the status of our race, but that of all mankind" He produces a record listing the Rational Intelligence rating of the entire crew, as though to underline his statement. Folding his arms behind his back, he turns his head to the map of known lands on the wall of the Wardroom. "The Western Duchies have navies stronger than ours, but it is not only for world power that they maintain this. They deny knowledge to all of mankind, so we must have the dual purpose of being explorers and warriors. In that way, we are no different from the Heroes your village Gothi raised you to admire." I am startled by this frank speech, which seems to have nothing to do with my act of negligence and breaking of protocol. The Captain continues "Science Officer Grolek is a servant of the All Highest, the same as you and I, but he is in many ways freer than anyone who lives in those supposed lands of freedom to the west of Oberland, including their vaunted men of letters in their marble universities. Do you believe in the All Highest?" Instinctively I respond with the oldest phrase from my childhood, "I am the sword of the Emperor and he is our shield." "Yes yes yes we all live by the same oath," the Captain interjects. "What is important is that the Emperor also believes in us. You must know that we have been on the brink of war for twenty years, ever since we as a nation withdrew from the quadrilateral accord." I nod. "The threat of war will not prevent us from exploring ever outwards, and from achieving the destiny of man on this plane." The Captain looks to Grolek, who says "Our mission here is as much one of exploration as of war, and I tell you now in confidence that we are going to be at war very soon. We may very well be the last Oberland ship to make it all the way across Ocean for decades. Perhaps we have not even halfway crossed Ocean - no one knows for sure...but with the knowledge we have obtained while here, we will give the Universities material to ponder over as long as our nation is besieged. More pragmatically - how do you think we are able to keep this ship running so far from an oiler? The coal we have extracted are more potent than even what our factories can refine, and our discovery of it is why we did not return immediately." I feel the solemnity of the situation in a rush. This mission truly was more than a routine training voyage and patrol. It also begins to dawn on me why our ships are designed to be so multi purposed. Our engineers are equally adept at using archaic coal fuel as they are at managing oil at various speeds. Supposedly, only the ships of Veldan across the Southern Sea can achieve this, although they never explore. The Science Officer is a master at reading kinesics and he appears satisfied that he has made his point. He returns to his seat and defers to the Captain. "Gunner's Mate Third Class Funk. You broke protocol for the recovery of a ruptured diver and endangered your life in the process, potentially depriving the crew of a gunner's mate." This sudden shift back to the primary meaning of this council causes me to instinctively stiffen my posture and to gulp. I look ahead, eyes fixed on the porthole behind the Captain. "You also demonstrated incredible physical courage and risked your own flesh to rescue a fellow crewman, regardless of your past animosity." I have no idea where the Captain is going with this. "We need every man on this ship, and we shall be returning home soon before the hurricane season is on us. Petty Officer Franzel can no longer perform his duties. Considering that your actions were both eminently necessary and against protocol, you will receive no citations nor awards." He stands. "Oberland needs men of courage - you are hereby given the duty of Gun Chief for Turret 3 on the GOS Fenrir and the Rank of Gunner's Mate Second Class. Your former Gun Chief shall take over for Franzel's boys - Gods know they need a leader now more than ever. We expect you to perform your duty in a manner worthy of our hallowed ancestors. You are dismissed!" My head is spinning as I return to the crew quarters. I have been promoted...just like that? What lesson do I take from this? I do not yet know the consequences of these events, but I feel responsibility more grave than any I have known since the night I took my Oath of Service.
  4. The primal sea

    With the ship at full stop and no anchor, I remove the bulky diving suit and prepare for the Physician's Mate's routine checks. A shallow dive doesn't require any time at decompression, and our primary duties prevent us from going too deep to begin with. Nevertheless, his duty is as important as mine, as we must practice repairs both at anchor and even while in motion. Wearing only my belt, sailor's undershirt and skintights, I feel the chill of the autumn breeze. We are well into the Month of Grain. Right now, my family is finishing the harvest before the fierce northern winter sets in. I am sad that I cannot be home for the Sacred Harvest, but that is life in service to the All Highest. My dive partner, a Petty Officer by the name of Methel, is preoccupied with stowing gear while we have daylight available. I notice that the second dive team, Petty Officers Zunn and Franzel, are also beginning to reboard the ship. No sooner does 3rd Class Zunn remove his brass helmet than I see the winch wheel begin to spin out of control. Zunn is immediately tripped and falls to his feet. The recovery winch line goes slack and Franzel's air hose immediately springs up and traverses across the midship like a wire saw making its way across soft wood. Zunn is immediately tripped and lands hard on his head. The lazy atmosphere vanishes as crewmen variously attempt to get the recovery winch back into operation and begin to unpack nets, hooks, and any gear that might be used to save an overboard crewman. The hose crashes through gear on the deck and comes to a stop against the railing, with the full tension of big Franzel pressing against it and more. He has become snagged on something! We all hear Franzel's transmission - he is crying out in pure terror. The air hose can act as an emergency tether, but the weight limit is only 40 stone - it is possible that our drifting boat is moving enough to break that easily...but what can he possibly be snagged on? Thinking of nothing but a crewman in peril, I grasp the railing and leap overboard. The ancient sea is warm almost like bathwater, even at this late month. I quickly locate the oxygen hose and begin to swim downward while moving hand over hand. The water is not so murky that I cannot see - twenty feet below, Franzel is adrift...he is drifting in the water, not caught on anything at all. There is a severe gash on his right leg and blood fills the water. Franzel has gone unconscious. I briefly contemplate performing an emergency drop of his gear when off to my right I see a large, shadowy form round about and come near. What appears before my eyes is the image out of a nightmare - a large, iridescent plate of a face with a hinged jaw, eyes like two coins with holes in them, jaws that form what looks like a pointed double guillotine, and a massive green-brown hulk of carapace with primitive looking pointed fins. I am bearing witness to an armored killer, longer than any shark, with small pectoral fins, a large dorsal crest, and a menacing ray of a tail that trails as it moves in a meandering fashion towards us. This thing does not attack like any shark, spearing into its prey, but rather like some kind of horrible twelve foot centipede...swaying its massive greenish bulk back and forward as it closes the distance in seconds that pass like whole minutes. Silently praying to Tir the god of warriors, I unsheathe my only weapon, a small net cutting knife which I have on the required belt which goes under the dive suit. I mark the rhythmic sways of the terror, I time my thrust, and I stab for those shiny circular eye plates. The monster's jaws open and close rapidly like a machine in a factory. My thrust feels impotent as though I am trying to hack apart stone. The knife seems to deflect off of that armored face plate and slides backwards...into the corner of those strange discs that cover its eyes, where it stays lodged. I see the creature's blood in the water as it thrashes its head to my left. The creature's deadly maw is parried from what would surely be a fatal bite, but in turning I am whipped by its massive body as it spins away. I am completely out of breath and strain all of my mental capacity to not panic as I begin to swim upward to the surface. I am up long enough to get a lungful of air before I dive again, hoping to remove Franzel from this horrible situation. I see the rescue divers have already resuited and made their way to him. Within moments they reattach the winch and have him back on deck. Almost before I can comprehend the situation, I myself am being grasped by the strong, steady hands of 2nd Class Methel, who forces me up into the prepared life preserver before quickly retreating from the water himself. The strange creature circles below still but makes no further attack. My last glimpse of it is what must be at least forty feet below, swimming with the speed of an apex predator. Minutes later, Franzel is brought back to consciousness and his suit is removed. His right leg is a ruin - this does not look like any injury I have ever seen. Where there should be a strong thigh there is a gap of missing flesh and crushed bone. Two tourniquets have been applied and I am amazed at how he has not passed out or bled to death. The tourniquets do their work and the bleeding has stopped minutes ago. Franzel is pale and even the exposed flesh looks more like the meat of a chicken, being cut deeply into and drained of blood. That bite was able to drag him down and to break loose the recovery winch. He gives me a look which is both thankful and sorrowful, and I start to feel bad that we were enemies before today...but his sorrow is not misplaced. The Master at Arms ambushes me before I even know he is there and strips me naked on the deck. I have violated protocol and placed lives in danger without authorization...even though the life is my own. I know that I am the center of focus and I stand at rigid attention in the dying sunlight, knowing that my duty now is to await my punishment.
  5. Low Tier Pyongyangs

    I don't care about how they line up historically. The only thing which I hope they do is to add more light cruisers. Not just the American, but the German as well. Hopefully an M Class for Tier VII and paper designs for the rest of the tree.
  6. Low Tier Pyongyangs

    I'm not seeing what makes the Longjiang supposedly on the same level as the V-25. You can't duel other DDs with your torps and your torps have a long range but are ridiculously slow. Even when I get spood beest on them, I fear they will still be pitiful. The Tier IV is pretty lulzy though. Completely overpowered. It makes me wonder why the Tier V is even a thing. The guns aren't good enough to make it a successful hybrid and it has to hug islands to be successful at torping: very situational! I don't think I'll hat the later botes but this Tier V is not good at all. I would much rather play the T-22. Now there is an underrated Torpedoboat.
  7. Your most common/least common achievement?

    Most common is first blood or dev strike, but least common is die hard. I've never had a solo warrior.
  8. The primal sea

    I meant to finish the story but I will soon. Christmas interrupted both my gaming and my story but now things have slowed down at work and I have more time. There will be Dunkleosteus in the next episode. thank you for compliments tho ((:
  9. T 61 anyone know whats happening

    it's thrashing around in its cage, snarling, waiting to be unleashed on unsuspecting and soon to be terrorized Pyongyang DDs and Battleshits
  10. 1st tier 5

    The Omaha is horrible!
  11. The primal sea

    I can hardly conceal my grin as I take off the bulky, bronze colored diver's helmet and begin the process of post-dive gear checks. I notice that most of the other novice divers have a similar attitude, but what catches my eye is the look on the face of our senior divers by trade and the science officer. Apparently the strange plants and nautiloids are something that they have never seen before in their time. I suppose that there is some wonder for them in this job, even though their duty is normally confined to repairs. True to my word, I perform my tasks diligently and efficiently. My primary duties still take precedence, and I will not leave my borrowed suit in poor condition because I have watch duties in less than half an hour. Of course Gunner's Mate 1st Class Franzel shows no such enthusiasm. I still don't understand why he volunteered for this. Of course I won't ask him, but it seems more likely that he would have been happier selecting another secondary duty training. "Good efforts out there, but let us not become distracted by these biological marvels. Remember that repairs and salvage are a diver's primary task." Our patrician voiced Science Officer does his part to remind us of our duties, but even as we respond with our affirmatives, we can tell that he is as taken by the wonders as the rest of us...probably more so. I store the dive suit properly after cleaning it and performing the proper checks. There can be no second guessing the equipment! In a place where the land plants can even corrode silver, who knows what the undersea microorganisms do to brass and rubber. The watch goes by without incident. We are told to be on the lookout for warships of the Federated Duchies, but we also know that civilian freighters are as much a concern. The Federated Duchies consider the whole of the Sea to be their domain, and we are still a ship of war. Wars have begun for lesser reasons than a chance encounter, even in this strange island chain two thousand miles across Ocean. The only thing I see of note are the strange, skin winged lizards that inhabit some of the larger islands. They look fearsome - a wingspan larger than any bird known to man and a lean but muscular frame. I have witnessed one devouring an island lizard the size of a large dog, and without much trouble. The most unsettling thing is that every new one we encounter seems to be larger than the last, and some have menacing looking tails that cannot possibly be used for anything other than a natural weapon. As I turn my watch over to big Tom, my reliable loader on Gun Turret No. 3, I think about how different this strange sea is but also how much the sunset reminds me of a complete day's work on our farm at home. I only just now realize how hungry I am. Truly the experience of learning new things distracts me even from those mundane complaints that must be common amongst all sailors. Supper will, of course, be fish again. Fortunately our Galley Chief has tried to make things more interesting by complementing the food with some of the island fruits. No one has choked or broken out in rashes yet. We all love our Captain - he was the first one to try it. It is said that which of the gods a Captain most emulates by how he conducts himself at mess. This is another difference between us Destroyer crews and those of the big ships - we do not stand on formality when it comes to eating. There is one common hall, like a King and his warriors in the old sagas. Surely this is a life of Duty worth living!
  12. Why are big spenders (whales) hated in video games?

    yeah you do that. It will be more relevant to your college paper than your college degree will be to the real world
  13. The primal sea

    "Add twenty, adjust right seventy!" Our gun chief's directions are clear and I respond with the proper corrections as easily as taking a drink of water. As gunlayer for Gun Turret No. 3, I am experienced enough to read the results ahead of time and to mentally prepare myself for our corrections. The loaders, I can tell, are confident in their duties. Shirtless in the tropical heat, they remove one training round, replace it, and close the breach block. Our precision is like a well oiled machine, as good as any product of Wercha engineering. Satisfied that our gun crews are responsive and sharp, the Captain calls off the drill and we stand down. The shouting from Gun Turret No. 1 can be heard from here. Clearly Franzel's harsh discipline and the unusual climate is beginning to take its effects on him and his men. I try to put it out of my mind and seek out our Science Officer. Oberland's Navy ensures that an official from the Ministry of Public Enlightenment is placed on every one of our ships, but we Destroyer crews are lucky in that we usually receive one with a role more suited to exploration than to propaganda. Ours is exceptional in that he is as interested in exploring the Primal Sea even more than I am! Science Officer Grolek is still at his duty station at the aft lookout post. Tactfully, I remind him that I would like to be added to the next inland expedition and I am obliged. ................... Two days after our latest expedition inland, I receive more good news. The outstanding performance of our gun crews have convinced the captain to allow us secondary training. I see the sad looks on the faces of Gun Turret No. 1's crewmen and I wonder if this means that Petty Officer 1st Class Franz will have them working as scullions. When asked by the Chief of the Boat what I would like to specialize in, I almost break my composure in anticipation: Diver is what I want. The stories from our own Divers have intrigued me - the sea here is as strange and wonderful as the primordial islands we are patrolling. The Senior Chief seems somewhat bemused by my enthusiasm, but he makes his recommendation all the same. A few minutes later, I am informed that my diver training will begin tomorrow at first light.
  14. Why are big spenders (whales) hated in video games?

    You are a liar UrbanDictionary is one of the most underrated resources on the internet you pathetic soy boy https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=soy+boy
  15. The primal sea

    I move slowly through the strange and nameless plants. My summer working uniform is stained with sweat, as usual, but now also with the noxious pollen and grass stains of these curious islands instead of the usual grease and powder of my station on ship. I move slowly so as not to startle this strange lizard that walks high on its hind legs. His movements are almost feline to my eyes - not at all like the creatures back on the farm at home. He seems to be luring me, I realize, as I begin to worry that I am going too far from the rest of my shore party. Then, all of a sudden, I'm staring at him face to face...only this time he isn't so small, but seems to grow before my eyes. That blue tongue, normally concealed, stretches out towards me. The stench is unbearable! I feel pain in the front of my skull and a ringing in my ears. What have I gotten myself in to?! I will be injured and punished for my distraction. What disgrace! My one stripe will be reduced to none and I will return in half a year to explain to my family that I lost it. I don't know if the fear of dishonor or this pain is worse for me, but both rise to a crescendo before I sit up in my rack...it was all a nightmare. What could have interrupted my sleep? My body is exhausted from my volunteer missions with the shore party, and my routine duties have not ceased, nor have the drills. It is then that I notice the acrid smell from the dream has not left, and that I am not dreaming. The strain on my ears is from the ship's alarm and the shouting of my shipmates. This is something normally not heard on our ship except during gun drills, as our Captain places great emphasis on stealth and discipline when underway. The fire is not in our station - I would know, and seeing as it is one of my many responsibilities as gun layer on Turret 3, it is an almost unthinkable disaster to me. No, the fire is in the galley, or so the shouting would indicate. I pull on my working uniform and boots in less than half a minute with long mastered practice and I take an oxygen mask off the wall. Fighting the fire is a task all sailors know, and one that us Destroyer crewmen must be especially adept at, since there are fewer of us than on the Capital Ships of our Ocean Fleet. The fire is a simple matter and none are seriously injured in the task, but our hydroponics lab is destroyed. I don't even have time to feel regret for the loss of my tomatoes as I realize that this can only mean that negligence is to blame. A fire amidship can only be the fault of one of the crew being remiss in his duty. The next day I carry out my sad duty with the rest of the crew. The Captain's Inquiry has found Electrictian's Mate 2nd Class Sund negligent in his monitoring of the wiring system of our ship. This is not uncommon in our navy, considering that our wiring is known to be inferior to that found on the ships of the Western Alliances. Our scientists surely are not to blame, but whereas we are rich in iron and renowned for our quality of steel, our copper reserves are of an inferior quality. None of that matters when there is a man assigned to the task, however. Electrician's Mate 2nd Class Sund is stoic about his punishment. He strips his service uniform shirt - the same one we are all wearing - and begins his walk down the gauntlet. I am only thankful that I am positioned towards the rear of the foredeck, so that I do not have to strike him after he has begun to collapse...and they all collapse towards the end, no matter how brawny or resistant to pain they are. The enlisted men must pass one of the Master at Arm's clubs down the line to strike Sund with, and strike hard we must. Once the captain has rendered judgement, it would be presumption of authority to do anything less, and the Master at Arm's eye will fall on any man who shows undue mercy. I strike my blow and hand off the club, glad to be done with my gruesome duty. Gunner's Mate 1st Class Franzel is another matter. He seems to relish his role in dispensing justice, but the rest of my gun crew all knows the truth - he is a cruel man. I don't understand how. He comes from a farm just like me, and although he is bigger, I don't think that he is as tough or as brave as he presents himself. It was Franzel who was the first to kill one of the strange animals we encountered on these islands, and for no reason at all! As much as I wish to fight him, I know that it would only bring disgrace to my station and would ensure punishment for myself. I console myself with the knowledge that my gun crew works for our gun chief because he instils respect, not fear. As expected, Sund can barely keep himself on his feet, and by the time the Petty Officers and Officers strike him across the back with the flat edge of their swords, he begins to shout in pain, his pride extinguished. There is a science to this - a man must be made to feel shame before his rank is stripped from his sleeve, and stripped it is by the Senior Chief of the Boat. Franzel does a poor job at hiding his sadism and I only hope that the redness of my face is less obvious than his grin. Sund does seem to regain some of his dignity, and whatever our Captain says does at the very least seem to be constructive. The Captain is not a cruel man, but we have our traditions, and there is no Captain in Oberland willing to presume that he knows more than what four hundred years have taught us. The formation ends at last and it is a feeling much like at the end of a funeral. Electrician's Mate 3rd Class Sund is recovering in sickbay while the rest of us go about our duties in relative silence. Now, more than ever, I am eager to take part in the next shore party's expedition. I do not like this somber atmosphere, and with no hydroponics lab, it is now more necessary than ever to procure the fruit that at least two of the islands have been found to offer. That fruit, though found to be edible, is a rare luxury. I don't know if recent events will make it taste better or worse for me and the rest of the crew.
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