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     Col Prescot |
Sir Jacob Prescot the XIIth cracked his neck once and yawned in the turbolift as it made its way towards the bridge of the RS-Vanquish. The lack of action was beginning to unnerve him a bit. It had been almost a full year since the any major offensive. His veterans had begun to retire and their ranks were starting to be filled with rookies that hadn’t seen combat. 'Some of them haven’t even seen a REAL Hegemony solider except in combat simulations!!' Prescot thought to himself shaking his head in dismay. Then there was all the talk about a decrease of standing forces. Prescot didn’t want to think about such issues right now and rubbed his forehead as he leaned against the wall, the hilt of his false matter blade clanking against the lift wall. It was hard enough to keep their ranks full, let alone gather more troops to exterminate the Hegemony once and for all. So many of the refugees never understood why they still fought, or why they must still have such forces. Sighing Prescot thought that one over, wondering why he still didn’t think of the whining civvies with the disgust that most of the other Marines and warriors he had known had begin to regard them with. No, he knew the answer. In any society, civilized or not, there always is the weak and the strong. It was his job to protect those that couldn’t protect themselves. Even those that hated him had a right to live, even if they would never appreciated all that he did. He had nearly been killed twice over the past few years of the war, now he was more than likely going to be tossed aside. Prescot smirked at that thought. He had made a point of being one of the most ruthless commanders to be under. He pushed his men harder and farther every time. He was certain that some of that had leaked back to the civilian population, and that they would call for him to retire. However despite the long marches, the trench warfare, and everything else his men still loved him. At the end of the day he would lead them to victory or back home to those they loved. And for that they loved him, and endured all kinds of harsh treatments and suicide missions. Prescot snorted, knowing full well that seven eighths of the whining crying civilians would soil themselves at the first sign of even light combat with the Hegemony. Prescot took up the task of protecting the weak a long time ago, and now was no exception. Even if they hated and despised his methodology and ideas, Prescot vowed that he would continue to defend those that could not defend themselves. Colonel Jacob Prescot Commander of Defiant Fleet Ground Forces RS-Vanquish |