Bruno slept in his bunk aboard the SMS Bismarck. The Grand carrier which was the pride and joy of the German High Seas Fleet sat in the bay outside of Havana. Flanked by its twin Sister, and all of its supporting vessels.
The light above his head illuminated slowly, giving his brain time to adjust to the silent alarm that signaled his presence was needed.
Judging by the ungodly hour, either something had gone horribly wrong, or the Americans had made a move.
Because of this, the man roused from his slumber, and climbed out of his bed, dressing in a flight suit, and a pair of deck boots before stepping out of his quarters and into the illuminated streets of the floating city.
Few recognized Bruno without his usual glitz and glamour. The Marshal of the Realm wearing nothing but a standard flight suit did not turn heads quite the same.
