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Wes Roberts

33

33 (With apologies to RDM for borrowing the title)

2387.216

 

“Reset the clock. Set Condition 2 through out the station,” Wes said, scrubbing his face with his hands.

 

“All personnel, Condition 2. The clock is running,” Betty called over the intercom, as the big digital countdown clock reset and began counting down from 33 minutes. “Mr. Roberts, its your 20 minutes.”

 

“Thank you, Betty.” He shuffled into his office and closed the door. The 65th consecutive attack, and the station held. Barely. Engineering was reporting multiple shield emitters overloaded and burned out in Pylon B, along with hull damage in the cargo areas. The former Diplomatic wing was, as yet, untouched. Other attacks by the KraH'kHn had knocked back the defense grid, the fighters, and a raid in the shipyard. The station was missing 5 fighters and three pilots; Revenge had lost two of her Wraiths. The Protector had its sensor dome blasted away, and the Anicetus lost her port nacelle and portside controller pod. The Revenge had taken damage during one of the attacks, her weapons pod out of the fight with a damaged autoload system. Unbuckling and removing his holster, he threw his pistol on his desk, next to the bowl of food Tarja had brought from Mai. He needed to go down to the Midway, and reassure the civilians, but there wasn't any time. Glancing at the clock, he'd already wasted 5 of his precious 20 minutes in retrospective thought.

 

He settled down on the couch, pulled the old wool blanket up over him, and closed his eyes.

 

ACTION STATIONS, ACTION STATIONS. SET CONDITION ONE THROUGHOUT THE STATION. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!” The electronic bonging of the klaxon pulled Wes out of his 20 minute nap. At least someone on the Operations desk had replaced the air raid siren for something a little less jarring.

 

Tossing the blanket aside, he grabbed his holster, stormed out his office. “Report!”

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