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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.
*As the transmission feed flickers to life, Lucie's face could have been carved from stone.*
Enemies of Gallia - Fleet Admiral Davies, Fleet Admiral O'Brian - you and all those allied with their cause: you are already beaten. The men under your command - and the people of your respective nations and organisations - should have best been served by laying down your arms immediately. Unfortunately for those millions of souls, that juncture has long since passed, and the opportunity to join hands peacefully under Our Royal banner is no longer available.
By the grace of God, and His Majesty King Charles XI of Gallia, your navies shall crumble before us.
*The visual feed cuts out for a brief second, before reappearing - this time from the point of view of some kind of camera drone. Planet Leeds is silhouetted against the sun, providing a dark-brown backdrop to the Chant du Cygne. The kilometer-long, gleaming white starship hangs in low orbit of the planet, dwarfing the Obstinates, Perilouses, and various strikecraft that mill around it.*
Your fleets will be destroyed, your unlawful and unjust resistance will be ended, and your peoples will prosper under a new, divine rule - that of the Kingdom of Gallia. The old ways will be swept aside as a new era of justice and unity comes to all your worlds. Our only regret is that this union could not be made peacefully - but the burden of this betrayal lies on your shoulders, not ours.
To those peoples of Bretonia and Liberty; know that your leaders led you to this. As your Houses' proudest warships fall one by one, and this spectre of war moves further and further into your once-tranquil homes and spaceways - know that those who swore to protect you failed the very moment they opposed the Kingdom. Know that each and every one of you was afforded the opportunity to swear fealty to Us, but cynically refused or failed to take advantage of Our benevolence and generosity.
*The video stream goes black, leaving only audio.*
Honneur et patrie, valeur et discipline.
The Royal Fleets of Gallia stand ready - fleets that have not known failure for millennia. This war shall be no different.
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The Bretonian people have held their heads up high with pride and respect long before the war started. We prospered, we laughed, we shared thoughts between one another. Then the Gallic war hit us. Our people were hit hard, they were brutally slaughtered by the Gallic War Machine but we still marched on. Our heads will be held high with the thought that Gallia's false king and country will one day be crushed.
Today will be remembered as the day Gallia lost the war.
Captain Pearson
Executive Officer of the First New London Command Fleet
A woman of Kusari origin, standing in front of a holographic planning table appears on the screen. Although she shows no facial expression, her whole appearance screams: Menace. Her Hair is strictly bound behind her head, showing already the first shade of grey. She is of undefined age, and wears a perfectly in shape uniform of the Kusari Naval Forces, although the central circle of Kusari's emblem is replaced with a yellow chrysanthemum on red ground.
She begins to speak, folding the hands behind her back.
Good evening to all the hoping people of Bretonia and especially Leeds watching this. Good evening to all the People in the Tau Systems. Good evening to the honourable men fighting in the name of the Emperor.
And yes, even you get my greetings, gaul, even if you don't deserve them.
Not only the people of Bretonia suffered under the Gallic assault. My people had to accept a rule it never wanted and is suffering. My men suffer every day, and so do the brave men of the Armed Forces.
But I will not waste time in saying things Wildkins-San or Pearson-San already said.
I just want to make one thing abundantly clear. The 343rd Exile Battlegroup, and the other forces loyal to the Tenno, stand with Bretonia and now with Liberty. We will stand together against the forces of evil, against the horrors the devils of Gallia bring upon us.
We will not falter.
Today will be remembered as the day Gallia lost the war.
The hell is this ****? You damn Navy idiots interrupted my favorite tune for this? Is this supposed to scare the Gallics because I bet they are laughing their asses off right now. Well I couldn't give a flying **** honestly but I am always willing to shoot some frog eaters for a bit of extra scratch. Also, stop clogging the neural net with this ****.
Sender: Captain Freewill Thomson of the BPA Salad Force Destroyer
The comm screen cuts to showing a Bretonian man sitting in the captains chair of his own nations destroyer. Plastered against the back of the wall in its large showing glory is the BPA's emblem. The man turns and stands from the captains chair and turns to look at the other members of the Salad force's behind him who are already planning something in advanced it seems. Throwing his fist into the air, the man yells
"Salads! Tonight, we dine in hell! Everyone to their stations!"
Before getting a responding acknowledgment before returning to the captains chair and sitting down, turning the recorder on.
"You have our support in any way you need admiral! The Salads got your back; for tonight we not only will dine in hell, but for tonight, will be remembered as the night Gallia lost the war!"
Grabbing the comm system to other Salads near by in space
"TO WAR OFFICERS!"
He yells, the blue, white and red flashing lights followed by the blaring sound of police sirens follow as several fighters and a select number of bombers shoot into space from Southampton Shipyard, followed by the lone Salad Destroyer behind them, flying into the field behind the shipyard before the screen cuts out.
- Message Class: Audio-visual - -= No Encryption =-
Priority: Low
To: Hooking up to Frequency
From: Admiral George Richard Hall
Location: H.M.S. Norfolk, Cambridge System
Subject: Reply
"Bretonia has lost a battle. Alright. This is war, and until it is won, or not, tides change. Now that the Liberty counter attack is obvious, I assume I can disclose that Edinburgh was merely a diversion. It was good to see so many ships not in Leeds.
Soldiers of Gallia, valiant patriots, innocent tools of ambition, you have fought well, but your commanders have overestimated their fleets, they have started a war with a revolution at home, they attacked Kusari only to show off, which, well, I don't really blame them for, and they named the system that is your main front after one of your people's greatest defeats.
Please clean up the mess before you go, if you have enough time."
He takes a glance at a small piece of paper that has just been delivered to him by a courier.
"Today will be remembered as the day Gallia lost the war.
I suppose... What, today? Already!?"
He wonders for a moment and then mumbles for himself.
"Oh dear... I hope the Omega-49 jump hole is still active..."
He rubs his forehead as a gambler who has been losing for about half an hour.
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