The Fine Print: The Brocks!

Friday, May 27, 2011

The Brocks!

Semper Paratus

By : Dennis Stein

The Brockville Armouries building, constructed in 1900, is one of the few examples in Ontario of a community militia building constructed of stone, instead of brick. The building itself is a beautiful testament to the city's proud heritage, rooted in 19th century architecture.
The beginning of the Brockville Rifles found it's start even before confederation, founded in 1796 as the 1st Battalion Leeds Militia at Elizabethtown. Later, during the war of 1812, people living here changed the name to Brockville, after Sir Isaac Brock, the British General. It was during the war of 1812, that the regiment, made up of citizen soldiers, fought in the Battle of Chrysler's Farm, and the capture of Ogdensburg. The group was reorganized several times, contributing to forces in many battles such as the Boer War in 1899, and fighting valiantly with other units in World War I. One hundred and five members of the Brockville Rifles were killed or died from wounds in the first World War, 10 officers and 95 men. Following this, the unit was again reorganized into The Brockville Rifles. The unit also joined forces with the Stormont, Dundas, and Glengarry Highlanders, landing on the beaches of Normandy on D-Day in World War II. They were the first allied force to enter Caen. After the war, The 'Brocks' were converted several more times to serve different roles, until 1959, when the group returned to it's current designation.
The Brocks generally train at either CFB Petawawa or CFB Kingston, but can be seen on occasion performing urban training here in Brockville. The rifles train a minimum of one night per week, and one weekend per month, and some of the Brocks are on, or training for, deployment to Afghanistan...
The Brockville Rifles represent a very proud group of men and women, who serve this country, and share in the pride of a unit which has contributed to many battles, received many awards, and helped in peacekeeping efforts around the globe. This pride is reflected in their motto, "Semper Paratus" or "Always Ready".

No comments:

New Stuff!

Space Mail

The main console came to life, and LEDs began to light up everywhere in the darkened cockpit. It had been three months in cruise mode, and an audible beeping woke her from cryogenic sleep. Kara was drowsy, not with it yet. The computers came back online slowly, and the bay where she slept lit with a faint light. She was cold. Yawning and rubbing at her eyes, she sat up, sweeping blonde hair out of her face. The console was flashing with an indicator for a message waiting. Can’t even wait for me to be conscious, she thought sarcastically. There were several hours to spare before there was any need to make corrective maneuvers in her ship’s course in order to dock with the atoll, so she reached for her housecoat and told the galley computer she wanted her tea. It was ready in an instant, and she held the acrylic mug in both hands, feeling the warmth promised by her favorite morning drink. Was it morning? she mused briefly. It certainly didn’t feel like it. Reading the incoming messages, Kara shook her head. They knew she was the only one inbound to them, knew that she had their precious spares aboard. Still, the bullshit. She tapped out a quick reply, and headed to get dressed, the shower on board being little more than a tight closet. Kara spent a lot of time to make sure she was as well groomed as possible, an ingrained idea that she followed on a daily basis. It was better than nothing, and she always arrived smelling much better than her male counterparts. ‘Mailers’ were a group that were different than most others. Tough. Able to weather any storm. She hadn’t even glanced out at the stars today, she suddenly thought. Something she normally loved about these long runs between humanity when Kara first took this job. As the shower door closed and sealed, the small ship sped forward, having dropped from lightspeed, gliding effortlessly through the vacuum of space…

The atoll ‘Constellation’ was a massive vessel, well over two miles in length at this point in time, and carrying almost three thousand people. Massive solar sails stood erect off the cruiser’s surface, feeding power to all of it’s internal needs. The atoll was one of several, spread throughout the galaxy, and it’s interior had become home to humankind. The hum of the ion drives could be felt even out in the coldness of space. Pinpricks of light pierced the hull, windows out on the only solace that humans had now. The bridge of the ship stood up on a spire above the main body of the hull, like an eye on it’s surroundings. The commander sat here. It had been a long day for everyone, and he sat in the command chair, reviewing the day’s logs. Food shortage. Problems with waste disposal. Electrical relays that had begun to fail. He needed those replacements, or it would soon be a dark atoll, regardless of the output of the sails. Danek put his face in his hands, tossing the tablet aside. Too much today… All of the critical systems strung together throughout the ship were showing their age, and he wondered if it wasn’t simply the sheer size of the vessel that still made it habitable at times. Today alone the power had failed on part of the concourse level, the atmosphere generators dropped their output levels, and the waste recycler had stopped for several hours. If one of the main ion drives suffered a failure, the atoll would be adrift, helplessly tumbling through space. He stood up from the command chair, walking forward to check on the sensor banks, flat screens laid out on a desk-like console. Nothing but the service drones, flying around the hull to perform inspections. He needed those spare parts. The other atolls were just as desperate, their mining and manufacturing just as taxed as the constellation. He looked up briefly, everyone was at their post. The dozen or so people still on the bridge looked at their panels, working diligently.

New Stuff!

The White Room

He had not slept again. Days and nights were the same here, after all. No changes in the amount of light, and everything was devoid of colour. For his own safety, and that of others. His room was very carefully designed, round with no edges, even the locked doorway was seamless, the lighting a harsh bright white glowing from behind translucent panels in the ceiling. Color was not a good thing for him. The table he sat at was of course entirely white. The same for his chair. A bed at the other side of the room was little more than a futon, but again, white. No color anywhere. His hair had been shaved, a precaution against him pulling any of it out and seeing it's brown strands, and he was clothed in white, a simple t-shirt and pajama pants, white pull-on sneakers and gloves. Without any mirror in this cell, he could not even look upon the color of his own eyes. He sat at the table quietly, waiting. A voice over some hidden loudspeaker had told him to do so a short while before.