YC125-01-17
The constant and uninterrupted trials of war were adding up on Cyrelle. Day after day, week after week month after month, she undocked her ship and patrolled the war-zone.
This morning started no different; leaving her quarters in the 24th Imperial Crusade station, it was only a short walk to the flight hanger. The station was always active no matter the time of day it was. People scurried about everywhere but she hardly noticed them as she took another sip of coffee. “Thank god for caffeine” she muttered as she made her way down the corridor. Cyrelle paused at a viewing window that overlooked the nearby planet. Small flashes of light pulsed over the planets surface, reflecting in the atmosphere making light shimmer in different colours. Strategic orbital bombardments continued on the planets surface, clearing any remaining Minmatar supply caches and bunkers.
Entering the hanger, Cyrelle looked at her ship with the crew busily loading cases of rounds for the weapons systems. She sighed as she realised that her crew were running late after the extensive repairs the ship needed from the night previous. It was a particularly rough patrol as she engaged multiple targets at once. The Republic forces had adopted the use of the new Thrasher fleet issue destroyer and the firepower of these ships had almost completely ripped through her double plated armor…almost.
Finishing her coffee, she placed the cup on a workbench and walked around her ship checking to make sure the repairs were to her standards. Happy with her inspection, she paused and smiled as she noticed a man painting another two kill marks on the hull.
Looking back, so much had changed since first deploying into the Amarrian Militia, and joining Task Force 641. Almost a year had passed since that day. She was so bright eyed and naive with only one confirmed kill to her name and thought that she alone could help change the course of the war. Cyrelle learned quickly that it wasn’t going to be so easy as she lost her first ship within hours of first entering the war-zone. Since then, she had lost plenty of ships, and their crews, but had close to two thousand enemy kills to her name. The enormity of human loss was overwhelming, but the combined might of the militia had finally retaken the Bleak Lands and Devoid regions with the system of Huola being the crown jewel. The Empress would be pleased.
“Time to go to work” she said to no one in particular as she walked up the ramp and boarded her ship.