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Captain Hammond,
These orders are classified as EYES ONLY and are NOT to be disbursed beyond senior staff without authorisation by Fleet Command - HMS 'Imperator'.
You are ordered to take the battlecruiser HMS 'Corvus' and transit to the enclosed grid co-ordinates. There, you are tasked with assisting local forces in orbit of the ecumenopolis planet known to the locals as 'Coruscant'. Naval Intelligence has appended a data-packet regarding what intelligence has been recieved, with regards to the situation, local forces and attributed opposition planetside and beyond. Understand, however, that what information we do have is both scant and subject to change; expect the unexpected and prioritise the safety of your ship and crew, if necessary.
You are otherwise free to act at your discretion, the RMN Rules of Engagement and in concert with any friendly or neutral forces in this sector of space. I trust you to use your best judgement, discretion and the capabilities of your ship and crew to do what needs to be done.
Go with God, and fight well.
LADY-DAME HONOR S. ALEXANDER-HARRINGTON
ADMIRAL OF THE FLEET - GRAND FLEET
HMSD(P) 'IMPERATOR'
ROYAL MANTICORE NAVY
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Switching off the data-terminal embedded in the laminated wood of his desk, Captain (Junior Grade) Christopher Hammond let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes. He could not recall the last time he'd gotten much sleep in the past 48 hours and now, he was less then a matter of minutes from jumping right into Sanagami-knows-what on the other side of his battlecruiser's hyper-corridor.
He'd just been in the process of reaching for his stone-cold cup of coffee when a buzz sounded from his desk's communicator.
"Captain's Quarters. Hammond." he sternly answered, stifling a yawn.
"Bridge here," the slight sing-song lilt of Hammond's executive officer - Commander Lancaster - replied. "Astrogation reports final approach to the co-ordinates specified. Transition in four minutes; you're requested on the bridge."
"Thank you, Commander." Hammond replied, his voice failing to hide the small smile he had in that moment; God bless 'Miri' Lancaster for being his rock in his hour of need. "I'll be on the bridge shortly. Conduct transition to realspace on arrival and disperse Keyhole pods - let's get a good eye on what we're walking into."
"Yes, sir. Lancaster, clear."
Reaching across for the white beret - marking Hammond as a senior officer in charge of a hyper-capable combat vessel - and doffing it on his buzz-cut blonde hair, Christopher straightened his Prussian-collared, dark blue uniform out and strode for the hatchway leading out.
