L'Epée, La Couronne, et Les Flammes

[Wolfs Ghost]

Gallic Occupied Space - Edinburgh
Magenta Battlegroup,
Battleship Villeneuve

"A leader is a dealer in hope."
-- Napoleon Bonaparte

'Things are... peaceful for once.'

Those where the thoughts running through Julie's mind as she gracefully walked down the hall with her hands clasped behind her back, passing cheering crowds of various men and women whom she now commanded. Today was a decisive victory against the rebel forces of Gallia, and those of Bretonia. A small strike wing of the best pilots she could muster, herself included, engaged the enemy high in Leeds orbit, taking everything in their path down from several fighters to the mighty Bretonian Dunkirk and everything in between. To make it better, not a single Gallic pilot was lost.

The first victory. The first of many more to come.

She wore a light grin on her lips as she mulled over the events that had happened, but the only thing that mattered was the victory on the Leeds front, as it seemed to be the first major military victory to happen since forcing the Kusari Empire-turned-Republic into surrendering, and this particular victory comes days before the Tri-Nationale War Convention... the thought alone turns her grin into a sheepish smirk.

Julie allowed the celebrations to continue and even allowed for the party to continue this late into the night, as she made her way down towards the Hanger deck to inspect a Taureau Assault Transport that was in the process of being modified for diplomatic and personal pleasure, rather than militaristic.

The gaze of her blue eyes rested lovingly on the ship as it came into view, The Provence. She had named the ship after the system her family was from. She had enlisted a small majority of former Royal Guard members who had served under her before while protecting the Prince, and even used her own money to pay for the commissioning and refitting of the transport itself.

The rear cargo bay doors were open as she approached. Inside she could see various men and women moving things into and out of the cargo bay, this gave her pause as she stopped to silently observe what the people were doing. As she watched, thoughts began racing through her mind.

With the Tri-Nationale War Convention only days away, she knew what she wanted to discuss, what she wanted to say. But she also knew that her people had attacked the Sirians without warning, only declaring war after their fleets had broke through both Kusari and Breton lines. A move that left a foul taste in the mouths of many Sirians, and many of whom she encountered. By luck she had managed to get one of the major houses to actually attend the Convention itself, and it was going to take a miracle to get everyone to agree on specific terms.

She wasn't like most of the Maréchal's that had served before her time. No... she was indeed different. She wanted to fight a war as cleanly as possible, as honorable as possible. She wanted to prove to the rest of Sirius that not everyone in the Gallic Royal Navy were monsters who tortured their prisoners, and she wasn't going to leave the Convention until terms of warfare had been met and agreed upon all parties.

She knew she couldn't fail as failure would mean weakness, and a weakness that the enemy would feed upon time and time again. All of Sirius would be watching, all of Sirius would be informed, no... failure here wasn't an option, not when billions and billions of people throughout Sirius were watching, and waiting.

She needed to exploit their weaknesses... and she let out a heavy sigh as the one person who could help in that regard came to her mind. Uncrossing her arms, she turned away from the Provence and began walking towards the exit of the hanger, heading towards the communication room.

'Call it a favor... Directeur.'

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