"Captain," Commander Ethan Hayes stood at attention. Despite his relatively young age for such a high-ranking position, he exuded an air of responsibility. The stress of his role as the 2IC of the ship often showed on his face. He usually appeared clean and presentable, but it was clear that the weight of his responsibilities had left its mark. He had noticeable eye bags under his eyes, and his light-brown hair was usually neatly combed, but a few strands frequently broke free, refusing to conform. His fair skin suggested that he hadn't had much exposure to sunlight. His eyes were a deep, thoughtful shade of brown, often reflecting the gravity of his decisions.

He stood there awaiting his Captain to respond. It had been a hellish few weeks, yet they had nothing to show for it. The bridge was eerily quiet as the crew quietly performed their duties, most trying to stay busy to quell their despair. Another planet was lost, and all they could do was run.

Captain Samuel Irons leaned on the holotable, his once expressive green eyes fixed on the holographic replay of the planet's final hours. Exhaustion had taken its toll. He pinched the bridge of his nose and ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. With a heavy sigh, he replaced his hat, wondering if there had been anything more he could have done.

Clearing his throat once more, Ethan moved closer to his commanding officer. “Sir,” he addressed him again, this time capturing the Captain's attention. “Blind Jump completed, Captain. What are your orders?”

Irons glanced down at the holotable one last time before pushing himself up and away from it. He shook his head and focused his attention on the helmsman. “Mitchell, ready the FTL and plot a course for Sol. We are going home.”

"Yes, Captain," the helmsman replied. Ensign Elizabeth Mitchell was a skilled and dedicated officer. Normally, she carried herself with poise and confidence, but the long battle had taken its toll on everyone, their movements showing signs of fatigue. Her chestnut hair, typically neatly held in a bun, had come loose in places as she brushed a strand away from her face. Her brown eyes scanned her console, initiating preparations for the jump.

The crew quickly returned to their posts. The Captain soon left the bridge, Hayes and Nathan, a tactical officer, saluted as Irons made his exit. It would take them several days to reach home, and most of the crew would enter cryo sleep. However, Samuel quietly went to his quarters. As soon as the door to his cabin closed, the aging captain took off his hat and hung it on a hook on the door. He unbuttoned his coat, took it off, and hung it on a wire hanger. He did so with practiced, step-by-step precision. The moment he stepped into the room, his mind had already wandered, and muscle memory and military discipline had taken over.

The moment the weight of the coat left his hand, as the burden of responsibility lifted from his shoulders, he stared at the insignia pinned to his coat, how useless it was. He slammed his fist against the wall, then walked away, settling on his bed. Minutes passed as Irons sat there, attempting to maintain his composure and dignity as an officer. Finally, he spoke, “Apollo, status.”

A projector on a nearby table suddenly turns on, casting a deep blue light that soon formed a hologram of a man in his early twenties, wearing what appeared to be a space suit from the late 20th century. “Captain,” the AI responded, “Sixty percent of the troops we allocated for the last engagement are either missing or confirmed KIA. Firebase Gamma had a battalion of marines when the General Retreat was ordered.”

“Their last transmission indicated they were being overrun,” Irons corrected, though he was mostly trying to reassure himself. Communications had broken down when the enemy bombardment of the planet began. He couldn't be certain if there were just a few left or a full battalion, all healthy and awaiting rescue. 

“Of course, sir,” the AI replied, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Most of our air assets have been recovered, but many require repairs. Our war factories are unable to construct replacements due to several civilian and military transports not on our ship’s roster docking in our hangars during the evacuation.”

The captain waved his hand toward Apollo, signaling him to continue as he lay down on his bed. He hadn't slept in days, and exhaustion had taken its toll. “Three of our heavy lift vehicles were destroyed, and replacements are in the queue. Most of our ammunition and missiles are depleted. Sections four to fifteen are sealed off due to hull breaches, venting the atmosphere and resulting in the loss of twelve crewmen…” The AI's voice trailed off as he observed Irons closing his eyes, pondering whether he should continue the report.

Samuel waved his hand again, weakly this time as exhaustion was digging its claws upon his body, but he needed to hear it. The AI simply nodded and continued, “Electronics in section two have been fried and are in need of replacement, Chief said it’ll be fixed in a few hours. Apart from the 2055 civilians on board we also have 47 enlisted personnel from other battlegroups, ships, military branches or battalions currently on the ship. Dr. Bennett reports as of right now we have 733 wounded, 259 KI…. 732 Wounded, 260 KIA." 

Of course this number is only for what they have on board, not counting the thousands of soldiers they have left behind and have no idea of their status. As Apollo finishes his report, he checks on the captain once again, finding him asleep. The AI could only imagine what troubling nightmares run on his head right now. 

 The ship’s intercom suddenly cackles to life, the Captain’s First Mate makes an announcement, “May I have your attention please, this is 2IC. Preparations to jump for Sol System are complete. All hands, Brace. Jumping in 3…. 2….1”