I felt like I could sleep forever. The new body was fine of course. The trauma and exhaustion were still in my mind. I have always found mental discipline to be a fascinating exercise. We have all pushed ourselves further than we believed we could go, then reflected in self amazement at what our minds could make our bodies do. It’s a whole other level as a capsuleer. My body still aches. My mind makes it real.

“Sorry to cut your rest short, Roc, but it’s time.”

I get up from my bunk, and finish adjusting my dress uniform. The corporation has called a formal ceremony. I wonder who has died now. I sigh inwardly at my own callousness. I remember when I was a raw recruit how hard each new death of a friend would hit me. I guess when exposed to an excess of anything we become desensitized. I never thought I would become numb to death.

The Lance Commander waited patiently outside my door until I was ready. As we walk through the hallways towards our corporation office here in Dal, I pick up the feint sense of excitement. It raises an intrinsic curiousity as to what might actually be waiting for me around the next corner. Maybe we achieved a significant victory against the Amarr? That would be welcome news.

As I turn the bend, I stop in my tracks, shocked, not an easy thing to accomplish with me. The entire corp is gathered in rank before me, saluting. Our Intelligence and Tactical Director stands front and center, saluting, the biggest smile I have ever seen spread across his wide face.

“Vorshud Major, ten hut!” I immediately snap to attention, a crisp salute practiced a thousand times over pushing itself into this new body flawlessly. Again, the mind is a wonderful, powerful thing.

“Roc Wieler, for your continued bravery, for your enduring initiative against the Amarr, for your dedication and service to Freeform Industries, for your valor and heroics to all of the Republic, it is my sincere pleasure to award you the rank and title of Fleet Commander. Step forward and accept your promotion my friend.”

My brain autonomously moves my body forward. My thoughts swirl viciously in my head. I had never strived for recognition. To me, it was all politics. Often times you get bogged down in the minutia of day to day operations, effectively severing you from the very thing you live to do. I lived to fly. I lived to serve.

An ensign hurredly rushed to the Director, a small, velvet box in hand, which was accepted with an almost imperceptible nod. The ensign resumed his place in the formation. Turning to me, the smile never leaving his visage, he opened the box. On a fine satin cushion lay an intricate and elegant rank pin facing towards me. It’s design was beautiful, yet fierce. It was a tribute to the skills of fine Minmatar craftmanship.

Removing the pin from the cushion, and pocketing the box, he stepped forward, securing it to my left breast alongside my many other accomodations and accolades.

Another set of crisp salutes, a barked command, and the congregation was at ease.

“I present to you, our Fleet Commander, Vorshud Major Roc Wieler. May he continue to do what he does best, and lead us all to a free Republic!”

With that, thunderous applause and cheers.

My own fleet. That’s all I could think about. No more worrying about the discipline of selfish, untrained pilots. No more hesitation when recruiting from the Tribal militia. Now I get to mold my own pilots into my own vision. Now I get to really take this war to our enemies.

The smile that creeps onto my face is misconstrued by our Director. “I’m glad to see how happy this makes you, Roc. I trust you will do good things and continue to bring us great pride and honour. Would you care to address your fleet?”

My fleet. I see the excitement in their eyes. Many of them are green with inexperience. Some of them don’t even have basic flight training. That will change. I hope they know what they are in for. It will be a harsh reality for many of them.

“Signup for the fleet will be voluntary. Basic Flight Training will be mandatory. Any interested in training to become a dedicated squad commander or wing commander talk to me after this gathering. Welcome to Roc’s Renegades.”

With that, another round of applause and cheering, louder than any previous, erupts from the assembled pilots. I admire their enthusiasm. I welcome their passion.

Now it’s time to focus. Now it’s time to train. Amarr beware.