As I started writing today’s memoir, I found myself struggling; deleting what I had already recorded, pausing while giving serious consideration to the topic, realizing there is no definite answer to the question I had posed to myself when motivated to pen this in the first place.

What is command?

—

“Colonel Wieler, what brings you to -A- space?” Paik asked cordially. I was enroute through nullsec towards Ushra’Khan’s primary station of operations in Catch Region. Unfortunately, Kinda’Shujaa’s director hadn’t established our status as allies ahead of time; something that would’ve been useful for me to research prior to my trip. On the plus side, I was flying a cloaked Hound stealth bomber named Tique, having already acquired a healthy paranoia from my solo flights in Curse Region.

“Requesting blue status, sir. Kinda’Shujaa is the Ushra’Khan’s military division, fighting the good fight against the Amarr. I’ve come here to offer my services to our alliance, and their partners, of which -A- is most notable. Unfortunately, I’m KOS right now, which is making for a nerve wracking flight.”

“One moment, Colonel. As a diplomatic liason for -A-, and already being familiar with your career record, this shouldn’t take long.”

“Understood, sir. I appreciate your assistance in this matter. Wieler out.”

—

Is it rank? Perhaps authority? Power, respect, inspiration, leadership?

On the surface, they might seem like simple answers we each can answer for ourselves, but therein lies the issue; defining command is as unique and individual as our own personal experiences with the subject matter itself. One might find a defined approach exemplary, while another might find that same methodology deplorable.I suppose that is one more thing to add to the mix of questions when trying to derive an answer: Do those commanded determine what is good command?

—

“Your status has been set to blue, Colonel. Welcome to Catch.” Paik notified me shortly thereafter. Already I was impressed with the efficiency of diplomatic process out here; back in Empire, there would’ve been countless channels and endless red tape to get a security request of this nature processed. Seems the nullsec alliances knew how to cut to the chase.

“Roger that, sir. And thanks.” I replied.

“Not a problem, Roc. And lose the sir out here; we’re all brothers. Paik out.”

No small talk. No wasting time. I was feeling better about this with each passing moment.

—

My initial conclusion is that I can only share my own opinion; I cannot hope to authoritatively define command, and have others take it as fact. I can only attempt to present my point of view with supplemental arguments, and let any readers of this page extract from it what they will.

—

V2-VC2
V2 FREEDOMS FORGE STATION
USHRA’KHAN SOVEREIGNTY

“Your request for docking permission has been denied, Colonel Wieler. I advise you to put some distance between yourself and this facility now.” the docking manager stated over the comm.

I wasn’t a fool. Sitting cloaked 70 km off of the station, I had already watched several battleships, cruisers, interdictors, and every other type of ship in the Ushra’Khan armada fly by. There was only one opportunity to make a first impression, and if that went poorly, there might likely not be a chance for a second impression.

“Understood. Tique leaving station perimeter. Could I trouble you to be put in touch with someone with the authority to grant docking access?” I inquired.

“Not my job, pilot. You’ll need to talk to a diplomat.” he replied with disdain and annoyance in his voice.

“Roger that.” I disconnected the comm.

—

Every individual experiences the responsibility of command at some point in their lives: whether it’s with offspring, coworkers, pets, or even just themselves, command is an aspect of humanity that we all must learn to further progress our own, or someone else’s, objectives.

—

“Sorry to trouble you again, sir.” I said to Paik in a private comm.

“No trouble. And stop calling me sir.” Paik replied with humour in his voice.

“I need to get in touch with a U’K diplomat. I know you might not be the best suited to ask this, but you’re the only person I know in this region currently. Could you help me out?”

There was silence on the other end of the comm for a few moments too long.

“Get in touch with Maestro Ulv. He’s expecting you now. Paik out.”

—

Master Cho had commanded me with intimidation and violence. I feared failure. The cost of failure was often physically brutal and unrelenting. Through Master Cho I had come to fear God. Eternal damnation because of fate choosing the race I was born was more frightening than any of the beatings I had suffered at Master Cho’s hand. There came a point in my adolescent life where I no longer respected Cho, but the fear remained.

Fear is a tool of command.

—

“THE Roc Wieler, geez. What brings you out here, celebrity?” Maestro Ulv chirped cheerfully. Great. A fan. Well, at least I could use that to my advantage.

“I’m having some issues acquiring docking permissions in V2-VC2, sir. I was hoping you could help me out.” I replied in as friendly a demeanour as I could muster. I was growing impatient and trigger happy. It was taxing on the nerves being a minnow in a sea of hungry sharks.

“Hmmm, nobody showing online and available status with authority over that station. Let me see what I can do, though I can’t promise this will happen quickly. You ok waiting?” he asked, genuine concern creeping into his voice.

“Just sitting cloaked outside of the station perimeter for the last hour or so. What’s a few more?” I said, trying to appear lighthearted with just enough sarcasm to let him know I was losing patience.

“Understood.” Ulv said through laughter. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

—

Blade Commander Stone was a man I respected. Even though he was my basic training officer when I joined the Tribal Liberation Force, which to most would harbour immediate resentment, I admired the man. He was harsh, strict, disciplinary, reprimanding when needed, but never with malice or hatred. He was a soldier, and a professional, through and through. I learned a lot from Commander Stone, and attribute him with the disciplined attitude I have today in all I do.

Respect is a tool of command.

—

Several hours passed, filled with growing trepidation. Every wing of ships that docked and undocked seemed to pass closer to my cloaked ship, threatening to break my veil of invisibility. I had blue status to U’K of course, but my instincts still told me to be wary. This was there territory after all, and I was the unwelcome visitor still.

“Alright, I’ve had you cleared. You should be able to dock now.” Ulv announced unexpectedly.

“Thank you, sir, for your diligence.” I replied, moving my Hound, Tique, towards the station, requesting permission to dock.

“No problem at all, Roc. Quit calling me sir. It bugs people out here. We’re all brothers.”

“Military training, sir … brother. I will do my very best to adapt to your standards.”

Ulv laughed. “Relax, Colonel. Things aren’t all by the rules out here. It’s a lot more casual than what you’re used to, I’m sure. You’ll be fine. What are you flying anyway?”

“Hound, sir.” I replied without thinking.

“You torpedo capable then?” Ulv asked, his rising curiousity evident in his voice.

“Not yet, … brother, but I can be if needed.”

“I’d start training it up. Definitely a need for that out here. I look forward to flying with you, Colonel. Enjoy your stay in Catch. Ulv out.”

—

Valkear General Sasawong was an inspiration to us all. His unrelenting aggression against the 24th Imperial Crusade had sent tremors of doubt throughout their ranks for years. Wherever the action was, there was Sasawong on the front lines, leading our pilots to victory after victory against our oppressive, tyrannical enemy. There were stories told of his feats for decades, inspiring new generation of pilots, and even though I was considered an old veteran by then, Sasawong had been not only a friend to me, but an inspiration as well. He practiced what he preached; he led by example, not by textbook theory. He put his money where his mouth was, and when needed, he could always be counted to stand the gap.

Inspiration is a tool of command.

—

“Tique cleared to dock, Hound pilot Wieler.” The docking manager said over the comm. “Please proceed to birth 72A-12. Steam shower and fresh clothes will be waiting for you upon pod egress. Have a nice day.”

That made me grunt in amusement. A fresh shower, clean clothes; Ushra’Khan paid attention to the details that mattered to its pilots. Nobody liked walking around in their own pod filth.

“Roger that. Wieler out.”

Half an hour later I headed to the pilots lounge, the entire time surprised to see how active and busy the station was. There weren’t many civilians here, just contractors under Ushra’Khan employ to meet the many needs of the V2 Freedoms Forge station.

I was warmly greeted by the other pilots there, and quickly we were swapping tales of glory.

“So they want you on stealth bomber duty? That should be amusing for a while.” a young, female Caldari pilot said to me. She had rejected the ideals of her people only two years ago, choosing to stand alongside the Republic instead of standing idly by watching Tibus Heth destroy the her beloved Caldari State. Of course, Tibeth Heth had proven more than capable, and with his military prowess had completely conquered all contested Gallente systems months before.

I don’t recall how many hours I spent there, enjoying my newfound brothers and sisters in arms, or how much beer we drank, but I had no trouble fitting in. It felt like home.

—

Maleatu Shakor stood with his arms behind his back, gazing out over the capital city of Pator, breathing deeply. He had come so far in his career, overcome so many obstacles. The Republic was in disarray around him, and that burden ultimately fell squarely on his shoulders. He was the leader of the Minmatar Republic. He was the embodiment of all his people strived to be. He was a fair man, an intelligent man, one which could see the endgame approaching, and knew he had to play his pieces carefully in order to achieve the victory he desired. Shakor understood the affect power could have, the influence position gave. How he used those understandings would shape the fate of an entire people.

Power is a tool of command.
Position is a tool of command.

—

I reported for duty the following morning, my pilot suit pressed and cleaned, walking tall with proud posture, my boots polished. I was ready to work under the command of whomever the Ushra’Khan had in place for the stealth bomber squadron.

“Colonel Wieler.” a pilot of unknown rank greeted me. I saluted crisply. With only a slight hesitation, he returned the salute. I remained standing at full attention.

“Your pilots should be here shortly; not everyone is as punctual as you it would appear.” he said, a smile on his face. I had been ordered to report for duty at 0900. It was 0900. There was no room for being late in the world I knew.

This wasn’t my world.

Then his words sank in… my pilots.

“Sir?” I asked. He frowned his brow.

“You really need to lose that shit, Wieler. It’s gonna look condescending, like you’re better than us, and nobody wants to fly for a smart ass ego prick. We’re all equals. Better get used to that and quick. Good luck on your first flight with the Ushra’Khan, Colonel.”

With that, he walked away, leaving me to figure out what the hell had just happened. Had my reputation proceeded me? I had led many fleets before, but had been working mostly on solo ops for a good eight months. I hadn’t a pod kill to my name in almost as long a period.

As my pilots slowly staggered in to report for duty, I realized once again I was a wing commander.

What kind of commander would I prove to be?