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Plymouth Outpost - Operations Center Voice Recorder- Final Entry Wrote:<<BEGIN PLAYBACK>>

[8251123/INTERNAL] This is Plymouth Control. All readings normal, wormhole appears stable. You may jump when ready.

[8251123/COMMREC] LNS Gettysburg to Plymouth Control, roger that. We're entering the gate now. See you in a few moments!

[8251123/INTERNAL] Gettysburg is in the wormhole, we should see it short... Sir, I'm reading a massive energy spike from the gate. The wormhole is destablizing!

<<Sensor records show a plume of plasma ejected from the gate at the time the Gettysburg was expected to arrive in Poole>>

[8251123/INTERNAL] Can you get it under control?

[8251123/INTERNAL] No, sir. The hypergate isn't responding to commands!

[8251123/INTERNAL] Shut it down, now!

[8251123/INTERNAL] We can't! Sir, the gate's going to explode any minute. We need to evac....

<<END PLAYBACK>>

November 23rd, 825 AS. Bretonia's darkest hour. The destruction of the Alberta-Poole hypergate and the loss of the Libertonian reinforcements marked the moment when Bretonia's last hope of victory, or even mere survival, was snuffed out. The Bretonian Armed Forces barely had enough time to scrape together a last-ditch defense before the Gallic Royal Navy launched their offensive into New London.

Battleships Norfolk and Stirling were moved into New London to reinforce the defense of the planet, while the Harlow worked to secure the evacuation routes to Liberty as long as possible, with orders to fly to Liberty themselves when the situation became untenable and surrender the ship to the Liberty Navy. The Gwent would do the same on the Rheinland border. Every ship Bretonia had capable of fighting joined the defense in order to give the Queen, the Government, and as many civilians as possible a chance to evacuate. In the end, though, it wasn't enough.

The Gallic Royal Navy came in force through the Newcastle Gate, which had been redirected to their own Gate in Leeds. They destroyed Southampton Shipyard before advancing on New London itself. The battle that ensued in New London's orbit was the most valiant last stand Sirius had ever seen. Proud ships with valiant crews were reduced to flaming hulks, burning up in New London's atmosphere. The finest men and women who ever put on a uniform gave their lives that day for Queen and Country. The Battleships Essex, Suffolk, MacDuff, Norfolk, Stirling, Sovereign, Pendragon, and many others, along with countless destroyers, gunboats, transports, fighters, and support ships were lost that day. Though they made the Gauls pay for every ship they destroyed, attrition wore down the last of Bretonia's defenders.

As the Gallic fleet gained orbital superiority and landed marines on all the orbital facilities, panic reigned on New London. There was nothing left to prevent the Gallic Royal Navy from bombarding New London back into the industrial age. An Emergency Cabinet had been hastily assembled by the remaining Lords and MPs. They activated contingency plans to shift New London's ground troops from active defense to underground resistance, then gave the order to officially surrender.

Gallia, at last, stood triumphant. The war was over.

Just over a month had passed since the end of the war. Most of the turmoil had died down, people eager to just get back to their lives. Bretonia was under direct Gallic control at first, but the BPA was allowed to continue keeping the peace. Both to reduce Gallic manpower requirements, and to put a Bretonian face on the occupation. A Resistance had begun to form, built around the SIS and Privateers, composed of BAF officers and troops who refused to concede defeat. Resistance attacks were still sporadic at this point as they were mostly still organising and digging in rather than attacking. For the first week, BBC had gone mostly off the air, limited solely to official Government releases. When it came back online, it was under Gallic control. The changes were subtle, but there was a definite pro-Gallic slant to the news. Other news sources were silenced. Most Bretonians were now secretly getting their news from the underground Voice of Bretonia, which was broadcast at irregular intervals.

Over the last two weeks, the Gauls had been working to shift from direct control to allowing Parliament to meet, at least those members not tied to the Resistance, and constitute a new Government. Bretonia would, in theory, be easier to control as a client state than through a direct occupation. In the last week, BBC began pushing the Gallic line that the Bretonian Government-in-exile was illegitimate, and composed of disloyal cowards who chose to run rather than stay with their people. The propaganda also held that Queen Carina and her direct heirs had abdicated their right to the Throne when they withdrew to Liberty.

To that end, the Gallic Governor had approached Lord George Mountbatten, Duke of Westminster, and "offered" him the Throne. The implied threat should he refuse went unspoken, but was unmistakable. George knew that there would be a target on his back no matter what he did. If he accepted, he would rule as a Gallic puppet, forever hated by his own people, regarded as a traitor and a usurper. If he refused, he would soon disappear, along with his wife and his one remaining child, John, and John's own children. Were the penalty limited to George himself, he'd refuse and die with honour. He couldn't bear to throw his son's life away, too, along with the lives of his grandchildren. So, George accepted, then got drunk as soon as the Governor left him alone.

They had decided on a Christmas Day coronation. The ceremony had gone without incident, though it was a much more somber affair than the usual Royal Coronation. George looked over into the seats. None of the Lords and Ladies there would look him in the eye. Most had forgone the traditional Coronation clothing, making it clear to everyone who understood the symbolism that they regarded the entire proceeding as illegitimate. Fleet Admiral Charlotte Brooks looked distinctly unhappy. The HMS Ark Royal was cut off in Newcastle and unable to join the defence at the Line, so Brooks was the highest ranking field commander remaining in the BAF. Her promotion to the BAF's highest rank came far sooner in her career than she planned, and under the worst possible circumstances.

At last, George reached the altar. It was all he could do to maintain his dignity and accept his lot. He went through the motions of the ceremony, though his heart wasn't in it. Just as the Archbishop was about to set the Crown on his head, though, he had a sudden impulse. He put up his hand to block the Crown, then stood and removed his ermine cape and placed it neatly on the throne. Everybody watched in stunned silence. This had never happened before. He then began to address the crowd.

"For the second time in my life, I have been offered a Throne to which I have no right. First, by my father, who misled me into believing I was our nation's rightful Sovereign, treason disguised as justice. Now, nine years later, I am again offered the Throne, this time by our Gallic "benefactors". They contend that Queen Carina has abdicated through her departure for Liberty. I respectfully disagree. Her Majesty represents the purest expression of our national character. A Bretonia that remains forever unbowed, unconquered by any foreign power. Though we, her subjects, must endure the unendurable, she must forever remain untainted by our shame, a symbol of better times and our hopes for the future."

George took the Crown from the Archbishop and placed it gently on the throne, atop the ermine cape.

"On this day, I will not accept the Crown. It is not mine, and I have no right to claim it. It will remain on the throne, untouched by everyone until its rightful bearer returns to claim it."

George motioned to one of the stunned Lords in the front row, asking for his chair. He carried it over and placed it in front of, and one step below, the Throne. He then quickly whispered instructions to the Archbishop.

"Until that day, until the return of the Queen, I will rule in her stead, hopefully with her blessing, only as Steward to the Throne of Bretonia. I will wear none of the Royal Regalia, nor claim any of the Royal Titles."

George knelt again and took the quickly modified oaths. When he finished, he sat down on the much simpler chair he had placed near the Throne. Applause erupted throughout the Cathedral, only the Gallic delegation remaining quiet. He could see the fury on the Governor's face, but he was sure he'd get away with it. Any sycophant they found to take his place would never be accepted by the Bretonian people. They needed him, and they knew it. That didn't mean they wouldn't find some other way to make George suffer, though. Whatever happened from this day forward, however, he would at least retain his honour.

"Oi, Jimmy! Shut that shit off, we're almost there."

"Right-o, Captain!"

Jimmy reached over and shut off the radio. Six people were seated around the hovervan's interior. Leading them was Nathan Hughes, formerly a Captain in the Royal Anglian Regiment, now a leader of a small Resistance cell on New London. The other five people were the other members of his cell. A seventh man, a Bretonian in his mid-20s wearing a Gallic Royal Navy flight suit, was bound and gagged on the floor of the van.

"Listen up, everyone, my contact in the BPA tells me that the local traffic controller will be in the loo for about fifteen minutes, but no longer. Once we land, we'll only have a couple minutes to do what we came to do and blend back into local traffic. You've all been briefed on the plan, so you know what to do. Any questions before we land?"

All four resistance members spoke up at once. "No, sir!"

"Good show! Jimmy, take us in."

The hovervan pulled up out of the line of traffic and flew towards the top of the Tower Bridge. As the van came to a stop, the side door opened, and five resistance fighters jumped out and got to their assigned tasks. The sixth remained in the van, in the pilot's seat. Two of them ran over to the flag pole and lowered the Gallic tricolor and raised the Bretonian flag in its place. Hughes took a long rope out and secured one end to the bridge's structure. The other end was fashioned into a noose. The remaining two resistance fighters removed the prisoner from the van and held him while the noose was slipped over his neck. The prisoner's eyes widened and a wet spot began to spread around the crotch of his flight suit. Hughes attached a small holoprojector to the front of the flight suit, and then the resistance fighters threw the prisoner off the bridge.

Everyone's tasks completed, they all jumped back into the van and it flew down to merge into mid-morning traffic. As they looked back towards the bridge, they saw the holoprojector light up, the words "RUPERT DAVIES - TRAITOR!" shining brightly above the body hanging from the bridge. BPA patrols were starting to fly towards the bridge, but there was no indication that they were being pursued.

"Mission accomplished, gentlemen! I think we've made a statement today. Let's get back to the safehouse and start working on something a bit flashier."

As she finished her broadcast, Agent Sarah Mountbatten shut down the transmitter and began to gather her few possessions. When she was ready to leave, she triggered the safehouse's self-destruct mechanism. The safehouse had been a useful place to lay low and coordinate the Voice of Bretonia broadcasts, but interrupting the BBC's feed meant that the Gallic-controlled BPA would soon trace her broadcast back here. By the time they did, though, she would be off world and all evidence that could tie her to the broadcasts would be destroyed.

It had been a real risk, but she could only hope that the message to the SIS' remaining agents was worth it. It would be weeks before she could get set up somewhere else and start transmitting again. Sarah understood the importance of her role as the Voice of Bretonia, but she yearned to take on a more active role in the Resistance. It didn't feel right hiding in a safehouse behind a microphone while others fought and died, but everyone, including her father, thought she had died on the Line. Director Weber thought it best that everyone continued to believe that, as it would protect her family from facing Gallic reprisals for her activities.

She walked a few blocks to one of Beeston's better-known fish-and-chip restaurants, and made a specific order. The order, combined with the exact combination of bank notes used to pay for it signaled the resistance operative behind the counter that she required immediate extraction. The combination of notes and coins she received as change, as well as the number of napkins in her bag, indicated when and where she needed to be. She had a little time, so she sat down on a nearby bench to eat her food. It would look suspicious not to.

At the appointed time, a shuttle landed nearby. She greeted the pilot with a pre-arranged sign. When he responded with the appropriate countersign, she got into the shuttle. She didn't really begin to relax until the shuttle broke atmosphere and she was sure she had made good her escape. She wasn't sure where she was going next. She could only trust the Director's judgement and hope for the best.

To say that Sergeant Olivia Bailey was having the worst day of her life would be the understatement of the century. Actually, her life had been getting progressively worse every day since New London capitulated. One of the first things the new puppet government on New London did was renounce all Bretonian claims on Gran Canara and the Omega-49 system. At first, it hadn't been too bad. They weren't answering to Gallia, and OSI had generously offered to supply the colony.

The good times didn't last, though. Within a few weeks, the Corsairs took advantage of the Bretonian withdrawal from the system to claim it for themselves. In a surprise attack, the Corsair fleet swept aside the few ships the the Zoners were able to muster at short notice and quickly captured the Zoner stations. With space superiority achieved, troop transports landed outside every major settlement on the planet. Most of the cities were not equipped to resist a full-scale invasion and fell quickly to the Corsair advance. The last few pockets of Zoner resistance fell within the next couple weeks. The Corsairs established their capital in Gran Canaria's largest city and claimed it, under the name Planet Kythira, as the newest territory of the Corsair Empire. Port Jackson stood alone.

The Bowex Colonial Authority had foreseen the possibility of an enemy attack on Port Jackson and equipped the local security forces accordingly. Every attempt to enter the city had initially been repulsed, but everyone knew it was a matter of time. Every ship at the spaceport capable of carrying passengers had loaded every refugee they could and attempted to run the blockade. Most, but not all, made it safely away. A few days ago, the Corsairs had finally managed to breach the city's anti-air defenses and landed marines. Since then, a furious street-to-street battle had taken place.

Sergeant Bailey hadn't slept at all in the last 48 hours and was nearing the end of her rope. Still, there was work to be done. BCA troops slowly pulled back to the spaceport in an orderly retreat, killing as many Corsair marines as they could in the process. They kept on coming, though, their numbers seemed endless. At last, the surviving BCA troops were pushed out of the city itself, with only the spaceport remaining uncaptured. There was only one ship remaining at the port, the luxury yacht SS Golden Hind. Sergeant Bailey had spoken with the Hind's Captain, Warren Belch, briefly. He was a decent sort, if a little nervous and paranoid. She couldn't hold that against him, though. He remained behind long after others had fled in the hopes of saving as many lives as he could. Once the ship was loaded to capacity, the crew quickly buttoned up the hatches and requested clearance to depart.

Once they received it, the ship lifted off. Just as it started to gain altitude, though, an artillery shell struck the Golden Hind directly amidships. The yacht started to fall back out of the sky, back towards the spaceport. Just before it struck the ground, Sergeant Bailey only had time for one thought.

At least I don't have to worry about tomorrow...

Over nine months had passed since the end of the war and the beginning of the Gallic occupation. The Gallic authorities had hoped that, with the the end of a decade of war, the Bretonian people would be eager for a return to peace. Instead of resistance tapering off, however, across Bretonian space and beyond, resistance attacks had only become more fierce and widespread. Despite the attempts, through the occupation-controlled BBC, to control information coming in from Gallia, the resistance learned of the Council's continued victories as they slowly gained the upper hand against the Royal Navy. The Resistance knew that if they kept the pressure on, kept the GRN tied down in Bretonia, it would only be a matter of time before Bretonia would be free again.

Right now, though, none of that mattered to Constable Patel. He had joined the BPA to help keep the peace and to serve his community. He never wanted to be the face of an enemy occupation. Still, Cambridge was usually quiet, and his duties differed little from before the occupation. Today was not a normal day, however. A week before, Gallic soldiers had disrupted classes and taken a number of faculty and students into custody, including Lord John Mountbatten, Lecturer in the Political Science department and son of the Steward, Lord George Mountbatten. Since then, students walked out of classes and staged a protest on University grounds, demanding the release of the taken faculty and students.

At first, the protests had only been attended by a handful of students and were relatively peaceful. Since then, though, they had grown. Now, the entire student body had abandoned their classes and the atmosphere was becoming increasingly restive. Constable Patel held his riot shield ahead of him, in formation with his fellow officers, just trying to keep the protests contained. The students were pushing against the line, shouting insults at Patel and his comrades. He could hear his Sergeant, a collaborator recently assigned to his unit, shouting at the students through a loudspeaker, ordering them to disperse and threatening the use of force.

Just ahead of him, he saw a young woman, she reminded Patel of his own daughter, respond to the sergeant's orders with a two-fingered gesture. Just then, he heard a weapon go off and saw the young woman collapse to the ground. Patel saw his sergeant, sidearm in hand. Without thinking, he drew his own pistol and shot his sergeant. The murder of the young student, no older than 19, had been the last straw for him. Everything around him went silent, as everyone stood stunned at the sudden violent turn things had taken. Students and police alike paused for a brief moment that seemed an eternity. Then, up and down the police lines, officers turned on the collaborators in their ranks.

The Cambridge Uprising had begun.

The uprising on Cambridge had been raging for the last week. What had started as a student protest at the University had quickly turned into a planet-wide uprising. The BPA had purged itself of collaborators and linked up with resistance units. Together, along with a ragtag army formed from the planet's civilian populace, they quickly pushed the Gallic garrison back to their main base at the planetary spaceport.

Captain Chanteraide of the Destroyer Bellegarde had received new orders to proceed to Cambridge and provide a demonstration to quell the uprising. For the last few months, the Bellegarde had been keeping the peace in Omega-3, ever since the GRN had taken over management of Aland Shipyard to restore their depleted forces and to construct ships for the new BAF. The IMG had put up a fierce resistance, but they hadn't counted on Gallia's secret weapon, the Warwolf siege cannon carried by the Bellegarde and her sister ships. The impressive weapons had torn through IMG defenses, allowing marines to land and secure the yard. Since then, IMG security forces had been engaged in raids on GRN patrols and Gallic shipping, making it necessary to keep Omega-3 garrisoned.

As the Bellegarde exited the trade lane at Cambridge it took up a geosynchronous orbit above the target. Chanteraide hesitated to give the order, as firing on civilians went against everything he believed in. The Gallic forces on the planet were counting on his ship's assistance, though. Chanteraide walked over to the weapons console and took over from the young officer manning it. He couldn't ask anyone else to take responsibility for what needed to be done. He aimed the weapon at the target coordinates and opened fire. A few short minutes later, the historic University and a large portion of the surrounding city were reduced to ruins.

As Chanteraide stepped away from the console, feeling sick at the atrocity he had just committed, he heard a proximity alert from the sensor station. The officer manning it spoke up.

"Captain, the Battlecruiser Fortitude has exited the lane and is approaching on an attack vector."

The Fortitude was the lead ship in a new class of Battlecruiser, the first new ship produced for the post-war BAF. She was a fusion of Bretonian and Gallic technology, intended form the backbone of the new Gallic-allied BAF. The Fortitude was supposed to be in orbit of Ross Planetoid, coordinating local BAF patrols to free up GRN ships for use elsewhere.

"Comm, hail the Fortitude."

"Channel open."

"Fortitude, you are away from your post. Return to your assigned area, and we'll forget this breach of discipline."

"No response, sir. They're continuing to close in."

"Helm, keep out of their weapons range and get us back to the trade lane. Set course for Omega-3 and rendezvous with the rest of the Battlegroup."

The Fortitude was a powerful ship, more powerful than the Bellegarde, but she was slower than the Bellegarde, allowing the smaller ship to minimize time in weapons range and get their distance. Just as they were about to enter the trade lane, Chanteraide heard another proximity alarm.

"Sir, an IMG battlecruiser has just exited the lane ahead of us and disrupted it behind them."

Chanteraide knew it was over at that point. With two battlecruisers working to keep the Bellegarde pinned down, there was no way they would be able to escape. He wasn't about to die without a fight, though.

"Turn us back toward the Fortitude and ready the Warwolf. Fire as soon as you have a target lock."

As the Bellegarde fired their Warwolf, the IMG ship fired it's own heavy weapons. With the power demands of the Warwolf, the Bellegarde's shields were already compromised and quickly fell to enemy fire. The Fortitude was soon reduced to a flaming wreck, but the as the IMG battlecruiser's weapons continued to find their mark, the Bellegarde soon began to come apart.

Chanteraide knew, as his ship came apart around him, that what he felt now was nothing compared to the eternity in hell that awaited him.

The destruction of Cambridge University several weeks past, rather than calming the situation down, only inflamed the resistance further. In the aftermath, roughly half of the BAF defected to the resistance, and managed to carve out an independent Bretonia in the Omega-3, Cambridge, and Poole systems. Since then, a rough stalemate had settled in. The Free Bretonian Navy lacked the forces to liberate New London, and the Gallic Royal Navy was stretched thin trying to secure both occupied Bretonia against the FBN and their home territory against the Council. The situation wouldn't last, though. Everyone knew something had to break soon.

That's why, in an attempt to bolster flagging morale amongst the occupation forces and project the appearance of strength and security, King Charles himself was on a tour of the Hebrides and Occupied Bretonia. His latest stop, after touring Roussillon and the recently recaptured Tau-44, was the newest jewel in the Gallic Crown. Planet Bordeaux, formerly known as Gaia. Development on this once-pristine world had been rapid, and most of the Gallic nobility had already constructed lavish estates on some of the choicest land.

Despite the heavy security that accompanied a royal visit, Bordeaux was the resistance's best opportunity to strike. For the first time, the King would not be on his ship, and Bordeaux's defenses weren't as well established as those on Leeds or New London. Simultaneous large-scale raids by the Council in the Taus and a renewed offensive by the Liberty Navy in Cortez and Magellan drew away most of the forces normally stationed in Aquitaine, and would slow the arrival of reinforcements.

The Gallic Royal Navy had dispatched most of the ships in the system to deal with the enemy attacks in the Taus and the Libertonian Border Worlds, leaving the system's defenses to local patrols and the King's own escorts. Some of the GRN's officers were uncomfortable having the King so lightly defended, but they were confident that the enemy wouldn't be able to get any significant forces into the system undetected. That's why they were taken completely by surprise when a diverse flotilla of enemy ships from the Free Bretonian Navy, the IMG, the Gaians, and the Fifth Vagrant Fleet suddenly appeared in orbit of Bordeaux. As soon as the ships got their bearings after the jump, they broke and attacked, managing to inflict heavy losses on the Gallic defenders before the GRN managed to regroup into an effective defense.

In the chaos, nobody on the Gallic side noticed when a number of troop transports and light fighters undocked from the VCS Olympia and flew directly for Bordeaux.



Taskmaster Eva Flores' troops were fortunate that Bordeaux's defenses weren't completely in place yet. They'd have never made it into the atmosphere on any other populated world. The fighters escorting her transports managed to clear the skies of whatever defenders could scramble without taking any losses. Now, her troops were on the ground, working to secure the spaceport to prevent anyone from leaving the planet. During a lull in the fighting, Flores thought about how they had reached this point.

Ever since Tau-44 had fallen to the GRN life had been difficult for the remnants of Natio Octavarium. They had managed to evacuate their entire civilian populace from Canberra and joined a Crayterian flotilla evacuating as many of their own civilians to Coronado as they could. The Octavarium Cabinet and much of the government bureaucracy had chosen to evacuate aboard the exploratory ship Redshift. The Redshift had been scheduled for a shakedown cruise and jumpdrive test at the beginning of the year, but the project had been put on hold due to the Gallic victory, and instead resources had been put into shoring up the Fleet. The only government official not aboard the Redshift was Taskmaster Escher of the Octavarium Intelligence Commission, who had chosen to remain aboard the OCS Black Cloud to help with the defense. The Fourth Octavarium Fleet and Octavarium Intelligence Commission worked worked with the Crayter Military to give the civilians time to escape.

After the civilians made it safely out of the system, the military forces soon followed. The GRN, preferring to consolidate their gains and avoid taking further losses, chose to allow the Crayterian and Octavarian fleets to withdraw. They soon regrouped in Coronado to take stock of their losses. The Redshift had suffered some sort of malfunction in its jump drive and failed to appear in Coronado. That, combined with the loss of the Black Cloud with all hands meant that the Octavarian remnants were now without their leadership. The civilians from 44 were soon settled into a hastily-built refugee colony on Baja, with no distinction made between Crayterian and Octavarian citizens. Former OMG Guildmaster John Riley took charge and formed a governing council to lead the new colony and see to the people's needs.

The military was a different story. The Crayterian government chose to place their remaining military forces on a defensive footing, a decision that didn't sit well with everyone in the Crayter Military. They tried to convince the Fourth Octavarian Fleet to merge with the Crayter Military, but nobody in the Fleet was interested. They wanted Gallic blood, and they wouldn't get it by sitting in Coronado and waiting. Admiral Xander chose to resign his commission and join them, and brought a significant portion of the Olympia Battlegroup with him. The new combined forces of the OIC, the Fourth Octavarium Fleet, and the Olympia Battlegroup christened themselves the Fifth Vagrant Fleet, under the overall command of Taskmaster Penrose, formerly Commander Kelly Combs of the OIC, and set about striking Gallia's supply lines in the Taus, boarding transports and destroying GRN stragglers wherever they could find them.

Flores' ruminations were interrupted by an alert on her visor. She quickly opened a comm line.

"Warlord Bravo 6, Warlord Bravo 6, this is Warlord 6 Actual, over."

"This is Warlord Bravo 6, go ahead, over."

"You've got a frog squad trying to sneak up on your right flank, over"

"Copy, Warlord 6 Actual. We see it, moving a squad to intercept, over."

"Acknowledged, Warlord 6 Actual out."

As Flores closed the comm line, she saw a squad from Bravo Company break off and take up position to intercept the enemy soldiers. Content that the situation was in hand, she checked on other units' progress and what her command suit's sensors could see of enemy movements. So far, Taskmaster Xander's plan was working out flawlessly. The audacity of jumping an entire fleet so far behind enemy lines had put the GRN on the back foot, and they were completely unprepared for the ground attack. They already controlled most of the spaceport, including the landing pads. The garrison was, naturally, proving to be the toughest nut to crack, but Flores knew her troops would take it down soon, and they'd soon be able to begin sweeping the city to hunt down and capture King Charles and put an end to the war once and for all.

Once again, her ruminations were interrupted by an alert on her visor. Rather than enemy movements, however, the alert was for a group of allied ships flying towards the city opposite the spaceport. IFF data indicated a mixed group of Vagrant and Bretonian freighters with a handful of fighters escorting. Freighters? Confused, she zoomed her suit's optics in for a closer look at the ships. Visual inspection confirmed what the IFF data said, but something looked a bit off about the ships. As they moved closer, she made out what looked like gas dispersal rigs attached to each of the freighters.

It took a moment before the implications sunk in. "Madre de dios..." She quickly reopened the comm line, hoping the order wouldn't come too late.

"BREAK, BREAK! This is Warlord 6 Actual. All units, engage NBC protocol. Repeat, All units engage NBC protocol now! Over!"

As the chorus of acknowledgements came in, the freighters flew overhead, spraying their deadly payload over the spaceport. Soon after, an alarm went off in her helmet. Something was eating away at the seals on her suit. Suddenly, she understood why Taskmaster Penrose hadn't been interested in the ground attack planning after the capture of the spaceport itself. Flores and her troops were never meant to capture anyone. Their role here was merely to keep the Gauls confined to the planet. Flores knew she was going to die on this world, so she did the one thing remaining to her. She checked the weapons on her suit, then joined the attacking troops herself. If this was to be the end, Flores would make sure her sacrifice, and the sacrifice of those under her command, would not be in vain.


The attack on Bordeux had been the brainchild of Taskmaster Penrose and Commodore Sarah Mountbatten of Free Bretonian Navy. They had created a cocktail of biotoxic nanobots, replicated from a sample taken from Canberra Star City, and spores from the Carlisle bacteria, then sprayed it over every populated area on the planet. What remained of the deadly cargo after that was sprayed at random before the freighters left the atmosphere. Bordeaux, as new construction, did not yet have VIP shelters in place. Within hours, much of the civilian populace was dead, at first mainly from the nanobots, but more from the bacteria as the spores came to life. The few that managed to seal themselves in died within a day after that, as the nanobots slowly breached what makeshift containment people were able to erect on short notice.

The nanobots were not designed to self-replicate, and shut down over the first couple days. The bacteria, on the other hand, found fertile ground, as nothing in Bordeaux's ecosystem had a defense against them. Over the coming months, the flora and fauna across the entire planet was infected and died off. This once beautiful, pristine world was fast turning into a tomb, devoid of life.

Gallic investigators later learned that the King himself, along with his entourage, managed to get off world on the Governor's private yacht. It was the only ship on the planet that was not at the spaceport, and they managed to slip off world while the attacking forces were withdrawing from orbit. The yacht, not being a military ship, was not equipped for decontamination, and some of the bacterial spores were brought on board. Weeks later, the ship was found adrift in space, everyone aboard having died in agony as the bacteria dissolved their internal organs. The investigators shuddered at the realization of how close the Gallic people had come to a massive epidemic.

As Gaia died, one thought was on everyone's mind, from Gallia to the deep Omegas. King Charles and much of the Gallic nobility was dead, but was peace worth the price paid?