02-01-2014, 03:43 PM
"The GRN finds New London".
The headlines.
"Gallia attacks Southampton".
The subtitle.
Thomas sat on the chair, unmoving, looking at the last number of the Times, at its front page. No, not looking at it; staring at it. Staring at the front page.
He was there when it happened. It probably was a raiding force, but it took the BAF completely unprepared. Another attack like this, and his own country would've fallen. Eight hundred years of history...gone.
The libertonians were nowhere to be seen, his country stood alone and he wasn't even serving it. Flying around between the Tau systems and Rheinland, safely (or almost safely) hauling cargo and making money, instead of joining the armed forces, he felt like he deserved something worse than being stripped of his citizenship, in times like these.
But there was a question in his mind: "how much would have I lasted there? And how many frogs would have I clipped before going out of this world for good?"
He replied to himself, with a low tone of voice:
"Not enough..."
That calmed him, a bit.
There was rage and fear in his head. Losing the citizenship of his country while still being able to live within its borders, talking with its people, interacting with that country, was something, but having it see annexed
by an enemy whose sole reason of war was conquest was something else.
He muttered a number:
"178".
God, the floating district! His new home!
Were the people of 178 planning to move somewhere else after what happened? Or would they show themselves stupid but defiant (or defiant but stupid) in front of the danger of death?
The Màrine Royale wouldn't have spared the giant ship orbiting New London. They would've shot it down, with its thousands of people inside, and eventually claimed it as a side casualty.
He heard rumors of similar "performances" from the refugees from Leeds he used to smuggle to Cambridge; torture, arbitrary executions, entire cities on Leeds razed...
Thinking about the refugees made Thomas feel somehow better. Smuggling civilian refugees out of a war zone. Civilian refugees from his country. Maybe he wasn't entirely useless...Maybe he still had a way to serve
his country, his people. After all, if he wasn't to die in a Templar or as a bretonian marine during a gallic boarding, he could've died from gallic fire...in Leeds' orbit, his ship, himself and his crew teared apart by those
snail-eaters on the bridges of battleships, cruisers and gunboats. Hopefully, with no refugees on board, his lifter friends being on Leeds to pick them.
Ok, enough about Leeds, focus Thomas!
178, he had to discuss about a possible evacuation of the floating district to...somewhere else, to Omega 3 or Cambridge, just in case things go horribly, horribly wrong in New London. After all, if he couldn't protect
the lives of billions, he could at least try to protect the lives of those in his situation...
The headlines.
"Gallia attacks Southampton".
The subtitle.
Thomas sat on the chair, unmoving, looking at the last number of the Times, at its front page. No, not looking at it; staring at it. Staring at the front page.
He was there when it happened. It probably was a raiding force, but it took the BAF completely unprepared. Another attack like this, and his own country would've fallen. Eight hundred years of history...gone.
The libertonians were nowhere to be seen, his country stood alone and he wasn't even serving it. Flying around between the Tau systems and Rheinland, safely (or almost safely) hauling cargo and making money, instead of joining the armed forces, he felt like he deserved something worse than being stripped of his citizenship, in times like these.
But there was a question in his mind: "how much would have I lasted there? And how many frogs would have I clipped before going out of this world for good?"
He replied to himself, with a low tone of voice:
"Not enough..."
That calmed him, a bit.
There was rage and fear in his head. Losing the citizenship of his country while still being able to live within its borders, talking with its people, interacting with that country, was something, but having it see annexed
by an enemy whose sole reason of war was conquest was something else.
He muttered a number:
"178".
God, the floating district! His new home!
Were the people of 178 planning to move somewhere else after what happened? Or would they show themselves stupid but defiant (or defiant but stupid) in front of the danger of death?
The Màrine Royale wouldn't have spared the giant ship orbiting New London. They would've shot it down, with its thousands of people inside, and eventually claimed it as a side casualty.
He heard rumors of similar "performances" from the refugees from Leeds he used to smuggle to Cambridge; torture, arbitrary executions, entire cities on Leeds razed...
Thinking about the refugees made Thomas feel somehow better. Smuggling civilian refugees out of a war zone. Civilian refugees from his country. Maybe he wasn't entirely useless...Maybe he still had a way to serve
his country, his people. After all, if he wasn't to die in a Templar or as a bretonian marine during a gallic boarding, he could've died from gallic fire...in Leeds' orbit, his ship, himself and his crew teared apart by those
snail-eaters on the bridges of battleships, cruisers and gunboats. Hopefully, with no refugees on board, his lifter friends being on Leeds to pick them.
Ok, enough about Leeds, focus Thomas!
178, he had to discuss about a possible evacuation of the floating district to...somewhere else, to Omega 3 or Cambridge, just in case things go horribly, horribly wrong in New London. After all, if he couldn't protect
the lives of billions, he could at least try to protect the lives of those in his situation...