Ebrose
As the helicopter touched down on the deck of the Iron Islands, Maester Ebrose found himself on the bridge with the captain and Blythe. The two rangers and Turk stayed below to find a meal. Ebrose had no appetite. Blythe needed to relay her orders, so Ebrose accompanied her. Captain Ellwood was unimpressed by their mission. A lot of fuel wasted; he'd muttered when they reported back to him.
"I have these orders, sir," Blythe finally presented the sealed envelope bearing the signature of General Poole. The captain took the envelope, nodding slightly and cracking it open. He scanned it before snickering and handing it to his XO. Ebrose took a seat.
"Deplete our entire supply of long-range missiles at Weymouth, then sail back to Dragonstone and bombard the shore, eh?" he repeated his orders out loud before turning to Blythe. "Does the general have any plan for us to resupply?"
"Not that I am aware of, captain," she answered honestly. He grinned angrily.
"Of course not."
"I am, however," she began. "I am convinced that this is the right move. We entered Branton completely unobstructed. The wights we did fight were summoned there. That means that the city was emptied. All of those people had to have gone somewhere – "
"Don't call them that," the captain spat. Blythe furrowed her brow.
"What should we call them, then?" Ebrose offered before anyone could take further offense. The two officers glanced at him.
"Not people," he repeated in disgust. "They're not people anymore. They're targets, or tangos, or bogeys – whatever you want to call 'em... just not people." Blythe nodded slightly. Ebrose looked unsettled.
"Understood, captain," she confirmed. "Our drone ops confirmed that the entirety of the enemy force is staging for an invasion of Dragonstone. We can do devastating damage to the... targets... before they get the drop on us. If this battle fails, there will be no need for resupply," she concluded.
"Oh?" the captain mused. "Because we'll have died too? Is that it?" She nodded.
"Yes, captain," she agreed non-ironically. "We will have joined OpFor." The captain's face drew into a neutral expression before softening slightly. He turned his head.
"Ops, get me targeting and firing solutions on every speck of land between Rosby and Weymouth," he ordered.
"Aye, Captain!" a voice cried out from a terminal. After a few moments, it called out again: "We're about two hours out of firing range for the Slingers, captain!"
"What about the Ballistae?" Captain Ellwood asked.
"We have thirty-two ready to fire with a further sixty-four ready to load, but..." The voice answered before trailing off. The captain turned to the sailor.
"Speak, crewman!" he barked.
"Sir, sixteen of our Ballistae are nuclear tipped," the sailor reminded him. The captain's expression didn't change. Ebrose's heart skipped a half-dozen beats.
"Target the area closest to Weymouth Bay with the missiles we've got ready right now. Comms, get me Poole!" he barked. Blythe took a step back. Ebrose rose to his feet.
"Captain, you surely aren't considering using the nuclear weapons – " Ebrose began before Ellwood waved him off, picking up the black handset from the wall.
"Sir," he began, putting a finger in his opposite ear. "Ellwood, Iron Islands. Sir, I'm preparing to deliver a salvo towards Weymouth Bay with my Ballistae, but I've been informed that I have sixteen nuclear warheads on board. Requesting permission and targeting parameters for tactical nuclear strike on the enemy." Ebrose looked at Blythe uncomfortably, but Blythe said nothing. She focused instead on the captain. She could hear a voice from the headset, but it was too faint and muffled to be heard by anyone except the captain. "Yes sir," he finally answered, nodding to himself. "Understood. Standing by," he confirmed, hanging up the headset.
"I think we're okay," Ebrose whispered to Blythe, who glanced at him worryingly. Ellwood quickly barked orders.
"How are we on that firing solution, Ensign?"
"Ready to fire in three minutes, sir!" the sailor called out.
"Good, fire when ready then prepare the next salvo. Do not load the nuclear weapons until we've exhausted the rest of our arsenal. By the time they're loaded, we should be in firing range of our Slingers. We'll hold the nukes off 'til Poole calls," he answered. Ebrose stood and exited the bridge, his heart racing.
He found himself heading towards the mess hall, where he expected to find his friends. For a moment, he'd hoped to see Meadows, but quickly remembered the impossibility of it. He felt the sweat bead on his forehead as he entered the mess. There, the two brothers of the Night's Watch were having a lively conversation with the few sailors not at their stations. Turk sat with them, silently eating his dinner. Ebrose sat across from him.
"You look disturbed," Turk finally gave in after a few uncomfortable moments of silence between them. The soldiers kept on with their banter, leaving the two civilians chatting alone.
"Very soon, this ship will engage in a bombardment of the Army of the Dead with long-range missiles," Ebrose explained carefully. Turk stared at him, concern written on his expression, but he continued to eat, nonetheless. They entered a second period of silence, broken only by the klaxons sounding and general quarters being commanded. The sailors quickly scurried off, leaving the rangers to rejoin their companions.
"What do we do?" Beck asked, stealing a fry from a slightly annoyed Turk.
"Wait for Blythe," Ebrose instructed. "When she comes for us, we'll depart."
"I was thinking," Lance suddenly spoke, causing the other three to glance at him.
"Don't hurt yourself," Beck snorted.
"I wonder how many are left," Lance ignored the jape. The men stole uncomfortable glances again.
"Black Brothers?" Beck asked. Lance shook his head.
"People," he corrected. "All over the world, the army of the dead has swept across every major city we know of; Our governments are all toppled; What's left of our fighting men are all scattered... There are what? Four thousand at Dragonstone? Two thousand fighters and two thousand laborers? Dragonstone's got to be the largest city in the world right now," he went on. He furrowed his brow and frowned. "I wonder how many of us made it."
"Probably all of us," Beck sighed. "They're probably all holed up at Castle Black or Point Farrow," he reasoned. "We'll get these back to Dragonstone and head there ourselves."
"Oh?" Ebrose perked up. "Leaving us now that Meadows is gone?" Beck shook his head.
"It's not like that, old man," he lamented. "But we're just two men and we're not even from this country. We've done all we can to protect you, but we must return home to be with our own."
"Then we'll make sure you have everything you need," Blythe suddenly announced, rounding the corner and stepping into the galley. The two men stood, leaving Turk and Ebrose sitting.
"Ma'am," Lance acknowledged.
"I'll requisition you a helo ride to the Direwolf. From there, you'll be back with your own. You've been a wonderful addition to our team. I'm sad to send you on your way, but I understand," Blythe explained, sitting on Turk's opposite side from the two rangers and stealing one of the precious few fries remaining from him.
"Thank you, ma'am," Beck bowed his head slightly. "It's been an interesting year with you Southerners. Food wasn't bad, though," he joked. Lance grinned. Blythe smiled genuinely. The moment was suddenly and permanently ruined by the echoing roar of the missiles launching.
"This, I've got to see," Lance enthused as he jumped up and headed out to watch the launches. Beck grinned and followed him. Blythe turned to the two civilians.
"Are you alright?" she asked. Ebrose nodded slightly.
"I'm fine," he sighed. "All things considered."
"I am also fine," Turk reported. "Although, I am dismayed that we have not heard from our friend since our arrival."
"As am I," Blythe admitted. "But, we're going back to Dragonstone regardless. We'll make our stand there – with or without his help." With that, she turned and left the room. Ebrose turned to Turk.
"Turk," he began slowly. "I would ask something of you." Turk raised an eyebrow.
"I am listening," he answered at a matching tempo.
"The next time you are in contact with our friend, could you ask him to... come to me?" Ebrose asked with great uncertainty.
"I am not sure he takes these requests," Turk scoffed. "However, for you, friend, I will ask him." Ebrose smiled.
"Thank you, Turkesh." Ebrose then stole his last fry.