[Round 13] Bringing it Home

[Guest]

Captain Miles Whittacre - "Bringing It Home"

((Bridge, USS Arthur Royale))

::The replacement Security ensign was doing a fine job, but that wasn't stopping the Ronin from undoing a lot of the repairs the Arthur Royale had recently received.::

Gordon: Incoming!

::The ship shook violently and sparks flew from the ceiling.::

Gordon: That was the transporters, Sir.

Whittacre: ::looking at Gordon:: They made it over there, didn't they?

::The fresh-faced ensign gave what Capt. Whittacre liked to call the Starfleet battle-smile: half-sneer, half-smile, all-confidence. As Miles looked back at the viewer, the Ronin stopped its attack run and began to settle into a full stop. The once-black-haired man sighed in relief. They were lucky, this could've gone a lot worse, but it still didn't go at all the way he might've hoped. He'd requested patrol duty in Sector 001 because he wasn't ready to retire, but he was more than ready for something vastly different than what he'd been forced to do in the Dominion War.::

Jackson: =/\= Jackson to Arthur Royale. The Ronin's bridge and Engineering sections are secure. We're starting a deck-by-deck sweep. =/\=

Whittacre: =/\= Good work, Aaron. We'll feed you data from our sensors as best we can...we're still putting out fires over here. =/\=

Jackson: =/\= Understood. Alert Sickbay that we've got injuries beaming back. We'll be in touch. Ronin out. =/\=

::Captain Whittacre stood and adjusted his uniform jacket.::

Whittacre: Number One, have Striker make the tractor beam his first priority. Once it's back up, tow the Ronin back to Utopia.

Tuttle: Aye, Sir. Whittacre: I'll be in my ready room.

::Tuttle nodded and watched him go. Once he was nearly clear of the bridge, she opened the comm to the Engine Room.::

Tuttle: =/\= Mr. Portleby, Cap'n wants-- =/\=

((Captain's Ready Room))

::Miles knew his people could handle the rest. But he was tired. And that little incident had just necessitated more reports than he felt like writing. As he made his way around to the back of his desk, he caught a glimpse of himself in his window. His grey hair stood out in his mind. Sitting in his chair, he groaned as his muscles protested the chair's presence.::

Whittacre: I'm getting too old for this...

THE END -----

Captain Miles Whittacre

Commanding Officer

USS Arthur Royale