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Across the many depths of space surrounding the Barrier Nebula, a single packet of data shoots across the many signal and transmission buoys littered throughout the many systems of the Tau and Bretonian corridors. In the many homes, stations, starships, and military bases surrounding the system of Leeds, their camera feeds and transmission systems are overridden, with a deep navy blue screen emblazoned with the Libertonian Star filling the feed. A Libertonian march begins to play, filling the halls and cabins of persons across western Sirius with a cacophany of orchestral sounds. As the music fades, the face of an older man, donned in a navy blue uniform, stands before the feed.
"Good evening, Sirius. I'd like to take a moment to reach out and thank those fighting Bretonian men and women on the surface of Leeds, striving to save their Nation from the oppressive heel of the Gallic Crown. Their service is unequaled by any other fighting force we've known in our time, and the sheer fact that they persist to this day is a testament to both their skill and patriotism. It is a true example of how every soldier should conduct themselves.
But congratulating and supporting the Leeds resistance was not why I overrode every buoy from here to Gallia. I would like to direct this message to the Gallic Forces surrounding and occupying Bretonia, playing around in it like some form of perverted sandbox. It is my solemn duty to inform you that your reign of terror directed upon the Bretonian people has come to a swift and sudden end."
The camera shifts to a view of a single, blue-gray warship dominating in size the space around it. Those astute enough in the field of Libertonian warships would recognize it as an Overlord-class, particularly the Durango. The camera begins to pan out slowly as Davies continues to speak, showing more warships - Defiant, Archer, Overlord, Monument, Interdictor, Atlantis - any class of ship ever fielded by the Navy is here.
"The many sins and horrors the Gallic war machine has conducted upon Sirius, primarily the poor Bretonians, has been found to be a crime of the highest degree. Their attitude not only toward their enemies but even toward their fellow man has been almost sickening, and it would take far too long to recount them all. But they are aware of their crimes, and accept them as some form of sick pleasure. So it appears a form of...inoculation is in order.
I have commanded almost every free warship I have under my command to strike at the heart of the Gallic offensive. Military analysts expect a full surrender of the Gauls within two weeks; I give them just under a day, myself...and as you can see, miss Grande Maréchale, you're rather outnumbered and outgunned. I would suggest a total capitulation of your fighting force, but I know you're too stubborn for that. So instead, I will simply deliver unto you a simple message."
The camera feed returns to an image of the naval officer, now standing in-front of a large, war-room table. His hands are pressed against the table, and he leans forward, staring at the viewscreen. His face has taken a rather grim tone, and he practically scowls in anger at the transmission feed.
"Today will be remembered as the day Gallia lost the war."
As the last of his icy words rebound upon the many persons viewing the feed, the transmission cuts out abruptly, leaving only the silence of deep space to accompany their thoughts.