Sunday, 10 May 2015

PHR Food Court - A Piece of Fan Fiction

Dear Reader,

I have now been writing my blog for two months and I am very pleased to say that I have just passed 1000 hits on the site. Thank you for reading my scribbles. (Thanks also to Dan for my new banner). To celebrate the achievement I have entered the arena of fan fiction (see below). As always, I would be very pleased to hear any comments you have about the blog's content. Happy wargaming.

The PHR Drop Ship Veltoria had arrived above the atmosphere of the planet. Preparations onboard were being made for a swift and well planned invasion. A famous general once said 'an army marches on its stomach', and this adage was well known in the kitchens on the 'Velly'; the crew's nickname for the ship.

The catering staff of Food Court 17 began to get ready for their next set of hungry arrivals. As always the Catering Manager gave a short pep talk before the shutters went up and the newest member of the staff, Catering Assistant Third Class Andreson listened intently to the speech and had to admit to himself that he was a little excited to get up close to the soldiers and various pilots and crews of the PHR's finest war machines. His mentor, Catering Assistant Second Class Retmeire was less enthused having seen this cavalcade of post humanity many times before. For him any magic the day had in store had been lost long before now.

Standing at the serving hatches with serving utensils in hand Andreson and Retmeire watched as the very distinct personnel of the PHR armed forces entered the food court. Retmeire gave a running commentary.

"See that young rabble over there in grey fatigues? They are Immortals. Was there ever a more misnamed group."

"Why?" Asked Andreson.

"So that gullible idiots join up. One of the rarest things onboard ship is an old Immortal." Retmeire then pointed out how the young recruits went to sit down next to a group of Sirens, and as usual, the ladies were unresponsive to their lame attempts at pick-up lines.

The shift continued and it became clear to Andreson how stereotypical everyone was. Menchit crews enjoyed barbecued spare ribs and the larger than life Hades pilots made slow trips to and from the all-you-can-eat-buffet without a care in the world. In stark contrast, those in the flying outfits belonging to the Triton squadrons look permanently nervous and when someone dropped a metal tray on the floor they were almost out of the door before they realised it was one of the Immortals playing a prank. Andreson felt sorry for them, and decided to give them larger servings at the next shift.

Time passed, and the tables slowly began to clear as the various groups returned to their embarkation areas. Andreson asked Retmeire about a group who seemed in no rush to move. "Angelos crews" was his short answer. Later still and Andreson was wiping down tables when there was a commotion at the door. The Angelos crews looked up expectantly. Several pilots, in various states of dress stumbled haphazardly into the hall. A member of the catering staff explained to them that everyone had gone already, and the pilots left in the same rushed manner as their arrival.

Andreson went over to Retmeire, "who were they?" He asked. Retmeire looked up, "Athena pilots" and added "always late".


  1. That's excellent. I was worried at first, thinking "where the hell is this going?"
    Very enjoyable read

    1. You are very kind. I promise not to give up my day job.

    2. I hope you don't mind, but I shared it on Facebook, so you might get a few more views

    3. Your not kidding. 37 views already and two new countries to add to my readership. Thank you.

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  3. Keep em coming, it did make me laugh!

    1. Laughter. Mission achieved - returning to base.