(Aboard His flag ship a war weathered Commander packs his painite pipe full of oinion head. A gift given to him from a much appreciated captain from his last campaign tour. Sipping on a Ancient blend of whiskey one of his last few bottles from earth. He sits at the helm slowly drawing smoke from his pipe as the ships damage control monitors the starports ground crews progress in repairs.    
 
    Activating his side panels viewing the communications display he draws a deep lung full followed by a long swig of whiskey before exhaling in a sigh of relief and of fatigue. As he flips through the seaming endless Page's of intel, combat, coalition requests, and lastly the casualty reports and projected refugee influxes. His brow heavy as he reviews the latest progress reports on the front line he stops to finish his pipe and drink softly muttering sarcastically" lines " as he starts reading the report. With his ship docked on the hangar deck and the ships sensors set to long wide range his radar softly beeps as wake signals register and fsd flashes appear through the airlock. The radio chatter explodes as security and CAP patrol ships move to intercept the unknown contacts.

     Various civilian ships and a few heavily damaged war ships nervously begins cueing there IFF codes pleading for assistance there most severely damaged ships requesting emergency landing. The Commander quickly flips is comm to open local broadcasting to all ships. "Let them land" he orders following with a data stream of standard operating procedure agreements for the incoming Captain's to sign as a mutual agreement to provide support for services and aid rendered. He scans the few war ships still attempting to do there escort duty's when they should be focused on damage control. Placing his empty Scotch glass down on the edge of the control panel he finishes whats left of his pipe rubbing his forhead. " Theres more and more every day." Cues the comm in internal security channel " have the war ship Captain's power down there weapons and relay docking instructions to convene to the war room where there coalition requests and fleet orders will be given out."
   
      He slowly packs another pipe of onion head pulling two vary old paper wrapped 12 Gage 00 buckshot Shell's out of his pocket and begins to juggle them in his hand. " The more they push the more are numbers grow guess its back to work." Placing the shells back in his pocket he slowly makes his way to the ships airlocks the AI in the background reporting secure cabins and bulkhead's as he makes his way off the ship.)