Sender: Noah Angel, formerly commander of of [L]LS-Angel, adrift. Recipient: Hellfire Legion Remnants Subject: The worst has come.
Out there in the depths of Liberty, my crew and I have protected our cause aboard the Legion Battlecruiser Angel. We were a tight-knit team, forged through battles and challenges, with me, their Commander Noah Angel, at the helm. Together, we faced the unknown, guided by loyalty and shared purpose. But as time wore on, cracks began to appear in our unity. A growing unease had settled among us. The crew, who had always stood by my side, were burdened by the weight of constant sacrifices. My decisions, once trusted implicitly, now seemed to cause them distress. It's like they could no longer see. They could no longer see why we fight. What legacy Drake taught us. Liberty is broken and we are its saviours, we must do whatever it takes.
Then came the distress signal from Veracruz, our sanctuary against the ever-looming threats, our last bastion. The mad Admiral Brandt with foam around his mouth smashed into our defenses. I commanded my crew, bravely, and we all fought the maniac in the front lines. A third of my women and men perished that day when we eradicated the Delaware Battlegroup.
Months passed, and after Liberty licked their wounds like an ominous angel of evil the outlines were seen in the distance. The massive battlegroup Ohio, heading straight for Veracruz, their path cleared by the suicidal Brandt, and our defences cracked. There was only one right thing to do, for the Legion, for Drake, for Liberty. My proposed solution, however, hit them like a shockwave. I ordered a daring, desperate manoeuvre—a suicide charge to save the planet. The announcement sent shockwaves through the ship as my crew grappled with the once unthinkable demand. I was fully expecting my people to give their lives proudly for our cause, to become Martyrs who will give the oppressed people of Liberty and our cause hope.
In a dimly lit briefing room, a group of determined individuals, my soldiers, gathered. Their faces, etched with concern and frustration, looked to me for guidance. Among them was First Officer Maya Carter, a warrior as loyal as they come. In hushed tones, they voiced their concerns about my decision. Tensions filled the air, thick like electricity. The camaraderie that once held us together began to fragment. The crew was at a crossroads—remain loyal to me or take control of their fate. Whispers of rebellion grew louder, a desperate plan to seize control of the ship. I could see it in their faces, their loyal salutes were changed with something else, something more tentative. They were losing hope.
Then came the pivotal moment. My crew stormed the bridge, their resolve unwavering. They took me, and escorted me to an escape pod, and with a heavy heart, I saw the stars as the pod jettisoned me into the void. With me gone, my crew surrendered the Angel to the Liberty Navy in Vespucci. Their act of defiance marked a turning point. The ship, once a symbol of our unity, now bore the scars of our internal struggle. As they transitioned to our mortal enemies, their eyes spoke of the burden they carried. The path ahead was uncertain, but they held onto the hope that their desperate gamble would lead them to the survival they yearned for.
Then, just as I saw my once pride depart for the Navy's position with its shields down and I couldn't imagine hitting even a bigger low I saw...them. The Gladius, broken. the Separatist traitors. The entire fleet just abandoned their cause and fled towards Magellan, leaving myself and the thousands still clinging to the feint of hope of defending Veracruz, or those not willing to leave their homes at the mercy of the invaders.
What is to happen to my former crew? Will they sell out their surrender for Leniency? What of the people of Veracruz who refused to live under Liberty's and LPI's oppressive amoral values? What of the rest of the Hellfire Legion, will I ever see them again? I am on the way to Leniex, to scramble whatever craft I can to still fight. All our Warships are gone, and all hope is lost in Vespucci, but I know of one thing...I will go on, I will try to reunite with you still loyal and the Hellfire Legion.
If anybody is out there . . . I don't know where and when, but we shall meet again, and we shall reform....somehow...and continue our fight. Our ideals will not die as long as I live.
I knew that the situation around Veracruz wouldn't hold for long after the final Flights left. Too much time had passed, and the cracks had long since begun presenting themselves. While I'm confident that we made the right decision, it doesn't change the fact that this was still the hardest order I've ever given.
Such stress after so long under siege, you can't expect a normal person to go through that, no matter how thorough their training, and not see cracks. The human psyche doesn't work like that, and it was a reality we had to face when preparing each wave out through Magellan. 'Would we be able to keep up this level of defense long enough to get as much out as we could?' 'Would it leave weak points in the garrison that the Navy could exploit?' 'Can our people even keep this up for that much longer?' I could try justifying everything that happened after every Flight, but it wouldn't change the fact that each decision was made with the goal of survival, for both as many people as we could realistically evacuate, and as much equipment, data, and favors as we could afford. Was each of them correct? I can only hope that they were, lest I have abandoned thousands of my own with no hope of seeing their sacrifices avenged.
Angel, all I can really say for this is 'get out'. Find a ship, grab as much as you can, and set course for the rendezvous coordinates from the network. Leniex has nothing left. Code Utah is in effect, and once Triton is disabled, charges aboard Leniex will force the station to self-implode.
Fate's Hand has strikecraft set up for automated deployment, which will relinquish control to manual with a pilot in the cockpit. Just please don't land on Leniex.
I'm sorry, Noah, for your crew and Veracruz, but I promise you that we will avenge their loss, and make Liberty bleed tenfold for every man and woman they butchered to get here.
I hope to see you at the rendezvous.
Libera te ex Inferis.
West, out.
Transmission Ends
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