This week, the Ranger offered me a choice between two words for a short story. While both were "particular", he said one was more versatile. I would've been inclined to choose the more versatile word, except the other one drew my interest more. Thus, this week's word is armada. I did not follow any guidelines nor try to limit myself on how much to write this time. I just tried to be succinct and say a lot in as few words as possible. That, and I'm also just incredibly busy...nonetheless, enjoy. Without further ado, The General:
“General, there’s too many! What do we do?!”
The question hovered over silence, filling the room in an uncomfortable spell. The officers all exchanged worried looks among themselves, watching the battle slowly but decisively coming to an end before them, watching the enemy inch closer, watching the general, whose back was to them all as he studied the scene before him.
The general did not answer. Hands clasped behind his back, he kept on observing, planning his next move, keeping quiet and keeping his back to the other officers, an admittedly desperate stall for time as he struggled to think of what to do next. But it was too late. Andaerion was closing in. He could see him in the distance now, injured, but bearing the red and golden striped flag of the Uprising on the bow of the central ship. As Andaerion’s armada broke through the general’s blockade, the general imagined whether he’d be forced to walk the plank with his hands clasped behind his back.