Fluke's bulky legs barely fitted under the desks. Her typing was about as smooth as one might expect from a veteran guerilla, but she made up for it with her knowledge of alliance regulation. The first thing to check were the bulkheads; the doors leading to the mess hall in particular. Surely there would be... Yes! An unscheduled lunchbreak. Oh, how bad she felt to screw them over with a 5-Z. It was a known weakness in alliance regs; even those fascists themselves thought it went too far.

Fluke only needed to remind herself it was the alliance they were screwing over. Rules could be ignored, but bombardements must be avenged. And so, with fiery eyes, she turned to her superior. "Captain! We've got another five-zet. Possible resistance sabotage." Hah! If only they knew...