A story of change, in a time long forgotten. The sleeper ship Gallia was launched from Sol much later than the rest of the Sirius bound sleeper ships, and they had an agenda. Upon landfall, the monarchy was founded, and the grudge that would last hundreds of years began to grow amongst the people.
Kings fell to the blades and bullets of their sons and daughters. Until one family was established dominate, the DeFrance family. However, that story is for a different time, a different era, an era that was falling. The dynasty is beginning to crumble. A popular revolution fell through it's own shackles before, now the second revolution has begun.
The year is 710 After Gallic Settlement (794 A.S.), the beginning of the second Gallic Civil war, and the spark that would tear the house in half. A young man was crouched in a series of trenches that scattered across the fields of Marne, bomb shells rained from over head landing nearby, sending debris everywhere. He wore the uniform the Royal Army, baring the rank of Private on his shoulder. He winced as a shell went off nearby. In his hand was a data-pad, and he began writing...
January 26th, 710,
The king has ordered our forces into the area of this city. After hearing news of many nobles complaining that the workers here were slowly starting to protest. The Royal Police weren't able to arrest many of the workers here. Someone managed to grab a pistol and shot an officer pointblank. After, the fighting had started to erupt across the city. Rumors and news of a revolt began to spread. It's day twenty-six, and one of my best friends was gunned down, right before my own eyes. I was the killer.
My friend was one of the idealists, speaking out against the King, for whom I serve with the utmost loyalty and devotion. It was true that he was an enemy combatant, and he was running towards me with a rifle, aiming it right at me. I took the first shot and watched as it ripped a hole into him. I've never fired a rifle outside of training simulations before but, it felt amazing, I pulled the trigger again making sure he was dead and moved onto the next.
The fighting in the city was horrible. My squadron, Bravo, was to rendezvous at a nearby store with the rest of the company, so we could push to the Alpha-Site. A squad of eighteen, only three of us managed to make it to the rendezvous, the rest of the company met similar casualties. Never-the-less we pushed forwards, being ambushed at nearly every intersection. The resistance was heavy, heavier then the intel had first suggested. Could never trust those bastards.
But we still pushed forwards despite the heavy losses. Finally it was down to myself and a pilot, I never did like the fly boys, but he knew what the hell he was doing. I remember him shouting at the top of his lungs, he was behind me, and I will never forget the image that haunted me as I turned around. My ears rang, and my sight went black, for the moment.
When my vision came back I saw his body torn apart, had I been standing there I would've been dead. The revolutionists didn't posses artillery, it was our own that had began bombarding the city. I heard the distinct whistle of another shell coming in. Looking up, I saw the shell collide with the top of a building, debris spewed up in the air, and I began to run.
I ran, and I ran until I could hardly breath. This wasn't what training prepared you for, nothing could prepare you for this. I continued to push myself until I collapsed into one of our trenches. The alpha-site was close by, I can see it.
He heard shouting, and shoved his data-pad back into the left breast pocket. Someone was shouting the call phrase, "For that we serve!" The phrase was passed between all royal soldiers when they spot someone they couldn't make out, and it had it's return phrase. He shouted back, "Le Crown!" He quickly grabbed his rifle as a spot light shined on his position, another whistling sound was heard, followed by a rumble of the impact in the distance. Pushing himself weakly to his feet, he began sprinting down the trench. The spot light following him.
War over religion. War over resources. War to overthrow a corrupt government. It's still the same no matter where you look. The bloodshed, the corpses, the smell of burnt flesh. Do we really need to fight wars? In some cases we need to. On top of that, war doesn't change, the weapons, technology, places, people, and times do.
The spot light continued following the man, a shot ran out and a whizzing sound flew past him. He dropped instantly. He could hear his heart pounding. It was dead quiet now. Distant shouting and sporadic fighting was very clear, and very real. Was he hit? He didn't feel anything, and nothing was hurting. Someone saw him running and took a shot off. They probably moved off now filled with success at killing someone. Should he risk it?
He slowly reached for his rifle that laid in front of him, the spot light went off. They thought he was hit? Or they knew the sniper, gunner, was out there still. Waiting. His fingers brushed against the butt of the rifle. Damn, It was just out of his grasp. He sighed lightly, slowly breathing out as he pushed himself forwards in a low army-crawl.
He grasped the butt of the rifle fully and dragged it down towards him. Stopping suddenly as he heard the crunching of leaves, and footsteps. Reinforcements, a medic even? He let go of the rifle and rolled onto his back and grabbed for his side-arm, un-holstering it and sliding the breech, cocking it. The footsteps stopped abruptly at the sound of the side-arm cocking.
He looked up to see someone peering over the trench in the dark, the figure was standing only a few meters down from where he laid, he could make out the silhouette of the person, and the rifle he carried perfectly. The figure slowly started to descend into the trench, and he took aim with his side-arm. Quietly.
The choice laid heavy on his shoulders. To call out the phrase and end up dead? Or to shoot the man and be charged with treason? He had the perfect shot, and it was better to take it now, then to risk his own life and end up a bullet filled sponge. He pulled the trigger, and the muzzle flashed. The bullet hit the man, who shrieked in surprise, there was another more distant bang. Another bullet had ripped through the man, who lurched forwards from the hit. The sniper was still out there? Great, he thought.
He couldn't lay in this trench forever, not since he pulled the trigger. He holstered the side-arm quickly and rolled back onto his stomach and pushed himself up, making sure to grab his rifle in the process, the ranking officer would have him marched back out into this hellhole to be executed, by enemy fire, if he forgot it.
Another shot rang out, hitting the dirt wall nearby. Shortly after, a loud rumble was heard, and he could feel vibrations in the ground, an earth quake? No. Everything went quiet again. He stopped seeing the artillery piece firing off the round and took a chance to see where the round would hit. Another shot rang out, slamming closer to him. He saw the muzzle flash, which shortly turned into a brighter flash as the artillery shell slammed into the snipers position. He could feel a smile appear on his face. He decided it was best not to stand in the open like a dumbass, and proceeded down the trench to the Alpha-site. Shouting the call phrase as he went until the spotlight turned on, shining on him once more.
No one doubted that, if you did you were blinded, a fool, and a noble slob. But no one within his majesty's ranks spoke out against the King. To do so was to be charged with treason. Treason meant death by firing squad. If you managed to speak out against the king, you instantly tossed your entire life down the drain, and risked your families lives. So many people would die for nothing.
He continued running, getting closer and closer to his goal. He was almost to the sanctuary when something hit him. He dropped instantly again and let out a painful cry. This time he was hit. He didn't hear the shot mainly because the heavy artillery began firing off again randomly.
Where the hell was he hit? He realized he was hit not once, by twice. Two separate shots from two different weapons? He didn't care. The pain filled his nerves as he attempted to low-crawl. He let out another scream as he put pressure on his right leg. He was shot once in the leg, but where was the one? He looked over to his that his helmet had fallen off. Three times? He was shot, and hit, three times? Thank god for the helmet. However, it didn't answer the question on where the second round had hit. He was sore all over from running, and only felt the pain in his right leg. Unless? Yes, that answered it. He was hit twice in the same area. Not exactly in the same area. But two separate bullets had hit him in the calf muscle.
He attempted to crawl forwards again, this time not using his right leg and pushing off with his left leg. He looked up to see three men, wearing similar uniforms, running towards him. "Come on." One of them said grabbing his left arm, as another man took his right. Now, he was being dragged forwards, and the pain was soaring higher than anything he'd ever imagined.
The third man dropped, being literally riddled with bullet holes. "Damn it! They're moving closer." Someone shouted, a burst of rounds roared out from the rifle of the man that was just turned into a bullet sponge. "Damn it, another man down! Where the hell are our reinforcements?" Someone else called out. "I'll tell you one thing, the bastards got guts for fraking peasants!" A third man shouted. Was he at the Alpha-site? He couldn't tell as he was staring directly at the ground. Though the reassuring sounds of friendly voices did comfort him a bit. Until the roar of the artillery went off.
Suddenly, he wasn't being dragged anymore and could feel something sharp getting stabbed into his left leg. He wanted to scream, but didn't now. The pain was starting to get tolerable. Or the fast acting morphine was starting to take effect. Either way, he could feel someone prying at his left leg, and could feel cold metal enter. A medic? Had to be. He felt his muscle tighten, and then twitch as one of the bullets was removed. Whoever this medic was, he or she, was damn good at their job. Or so he was letting himself believe. He felt the cold metal being removed, and then inserted again at a different spot, this time the metal. Again, his muscle tightened, twitched, and again the cold metal was being removed. "Right, get that stitched."
There was a heavy thump nearby, and he turned his head to the right to see a man bleeding out badly, and by badly I mean you could see the blood rushing out of his stomach. The medic worked furiously, taking the mans own hands and putting them on the wounds and telling him to keep pressure on them. The medic then reached underneath and felt something. He looked at the guys face, as he heard a gasp and a light murmur. "Damn it! Damn it to hell and back!" The medic shouted, taking his hand from underneath the mans back and in frustration, reached for his own helmet, taking it off and tossing it.
Nine days ago. I will never forget what happened that day.
January 27th, 710
"Is Arthur alright?"
"Yeah, should be fine. He's passed out from the shock at the moment."
"A run like that? The bastard is lucky it was only his leg."
"A third bullet had hit him. Luckily the helmet."
"That man...damn lucky."
He stirred on the cot slowly, opening his eyes. At first everything was blurry, he blinked a couple of times until his vision came back to him. Finally he was staring up at the top of a tent, the color being a dark forest green. He was still at the Alpha-site, and from the sound the fighting had stopped.
He sat up slowly, his abs burned. Must've been quite a run he had last night. He looked down at his right leg and noticed that his uniform pants were ripped and a white gaze was wrapped around it. Someone stepped into the tent and he looked up quickly. The man who had entered was his companies officer, Simon Dumont, a Lieutenant. This man was someone that he could careless about, an officer that treated him like crap most of the time.
"Good to see that you're awake, Private."
"Oui, as am I. Sir."
"Can you walk?"
"Just woke up. I'll try none the less."
He shifted himself to where his legs were over the cot, and he placed his left foot down first applying pressure before he applied pressure to his right. He winced and nearly shouted out in pain. But either way he pushed himself to stand. "Hurts like hell, Sir. But I'll live."
Dumont nodded and smiled, his hands were behind his back. The door to the tent opened slightly and another man quietly intruded. He could see the man reaching to his side-arm and with his other hand placed it over his mouth. Quietly the man pulled the side-arm out of the holster and crept forwards.
"Private Arthur Levesque. I'm quite surprised that you survived the ambush I sent your company into." Dumont moved his hand out from his back holding a pistol. His finger slipped behind the trigger guard as he brought it up to Levesque's chest. "Of course your duty ends here, Royalist. So do please mind holding your tongue."
It wasn't until he finished the sentence did a loud explosion from outside went off. Dumont hesitated for a second turning towards the explosion. In the moment of hesitation, Levesque grabbed the mans wrist and attempted to twist the pistol out from his hand. But the person, who had entered silently, fired two rounds into Dumont. There was another explosion outside, and the man that had just virtually saved Levesque's life shouted, "Come on. No time to lose, it seems we have traitors amongst us."
He was right. Just as Dumont's body fell to it's knees, the man had stepped outside of the tent, only to be gunned down by a person wearing the exact uniform as him, the person kept coming closer to the tent he was in. He raised the newly acquired pistol to level and fired out a round, it hit the man but it didn't drop him. He fired again.
Something is wrong here. He thought hearing the gunfire, finally making his way out of the tent, the pain soared in his leg as he limped his way out. He looked left and saw people wearing the same uniform as him shooting the other. Had revolutionaries infiltrated the camp at night, stealing the uniforms of soldiers? It was a likely scenario.
He had to make his way off the Alpha-site. He turned left and started running, as best as he could with an injured leg. Passing a soldier that was just gunned down he crouched and holstered his side-arm, grabbing the rifle that wasn't needed by the downed soldier anymore. He recognized the man that was just shot and muttered his final goodbyes before forcing himself up on his own feet again. If he made it alive off the Alpha-site he would need to head directly to the Royal Army base. If it wasn't overran.
He had been walking for nearly two hours. Somewhere down the line he dropped his rifle and picked up a stick to use as a crutch, just as somewhere down the line he had torn the stitches open on his leg. He could feel the warm blood against the gaze. He let out a heavy sigh, and could see his breath against the cold air. The cabin was getting closer.
He attempted to move faster, hoping that this was a place of refuge. As the cabin was getting closer, the light started to fade, the sun was setting in the distance. There has to at least be a few more hours of daylight, and what little warmth the sun provided. He staggered, his crutch catching a deep hole, either a pit or a former animal's shelter. The crutch snapped under the torture and pressure as he went forwards, landing face first in a puddle of cold mud.
"Monsieur, are you alright?"
He heard someone call. It was a male voice, and it was coming from in front of him at a distance. He struggled to push himself back to his feet. "Non." He replied back pushing himself up, and now attempting to return to his feet, when he heard footsteps getting closer.
"Come on, let's get you inside so you don't freeze to death."
Warmer inside then outside, which one could say is a good thing, or a horrible thing. His wound had re-opened as he spent the last few hours of daylight traveling through the cold. He had finally made it to that cabin he saw in the distance, although he had fallen face first into some mud, which left him colder then he originally was.
The Cabin belonged to a Jean-Francios Dassault. A single man who lives at his quiet countryside home, two hours drive away from the city where he works as an accountant for a factory. Due to his views, he and his family don't get along quite well and have been known to get into arguments about political views. Dassault, was a Liberation movement member, and a down right republican since the movement began. It was a bit against his values to take a royalist in, but he did it because he felt it was the right thing to do at the time. Years later the two would be working together to establish the Republique they both wanted. However, that story is for another time.
Helping him onto the nearby couch, Dassault left the room shortly after to fetch a few items. Levesque attempted to as Dassault questions from time-to-time but Dassault simply ignored the helpless man and continued getting things. Until finally Dassault spoke up.
"Tomorrow we're taking you to the Military base. You can stay here for the night. I'll grant you that, Royalist. But by no means will I take part in this revolution by drawing blood. I will, however, if you force me too." He said glancing over at the pistol that laid on the table.
Levesque simply nodded.
He watched as Dassault left the room before he turned his attention towards the ceiling of the cabin he was in. His leg hurt, actually his entire body hurt and he could feel himself slowly slipping into a deep slumber. The sounds of the war drawing out as he slipped into a sleeping state.
***
"Get down!"
Someone shouted, a small pineapple shaped object landed nearby. Levesque noticed it quickly and grabbed the person that shouted, using his strength to pull himself and the husky man out of the way of the explosion. The grenade went off, leaving a ringing sound in their ears. The man glanced over at Levesque, and Levesque saw that his attempt had failed, and it was this husky man that actually saved his very own life. The man let out a dead gasp, and his eyes rolled back into a white stare.
Levesque pushed the body away quickly as the horrible image of the mans contorted, shrapnel laced face bled out furiously. He stared at the body once more before shaking the shock out of his mind and getting up. That was the last man of his combat team that was attempting to make their way out of the Alpha-site, and the rebel forces were drawing closer.
He was a mere private in the Army, trained to follow the kings orders even to death. But he was scared, he was scared for his own life. War wasn't a child's game that everyone made it out to be, and he saw this now. He watched his friends, and brothers-in-arms get slaughtered right before his own eyes.
Amongst the chaos he even gunned down a friendly that was running towards their position. It was quite literally a hellhole, and he had to get out of there. Grabbing his rifle once more he managed to push himself out of the ditch, using all of his strength to combat the sore, and sheering pain that sent sparks throughout his bodies nervous system.
An explosion went off nearby. Causing him to flinch and nearly lose his already horrible balance. He pushed forwards, grinding his teeth together to keep from screaming in the sheering pain. He could literally feel the air heat up near his ear as a bullet whizzed by, a close call, reminding him once more how quickly his life could end today, here, now, at this very moment.
Someone was running towards him, carrying a pistol, to his left. He didn't have time to shout the call phrase, nor did the other guy. He quickly aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger three times. The first two bullets striking the man in the chest, the third hitting the man in the arm. This person wasn't going to recover quickly. He went to put another round into the man, but that shot missed, as the man spun from the first three shots and dropped to the ground. He didn't bother to check if the man was dead or not. He had to keep moving.
To his left, another explosion. One that sent debris, up into the air, along with the now dismantled body of the guy that he had just gunned down. He flinched again and stumbled forwards, his nerves flared up in his leg, causing him to gasp as he recovered from the stumble, and continued to press forwards, now slowly jogging.
In front of his was a fence, a barbed wire fence to be exact. He cursed out loud and suddenly stopped, hearing the distinct whistling of a bomb dropping in. He dropped to the ground saying "You're sh-" The explosion had cut him off as chunks of dirt rained from the sky, pelting him as if it was hail.
He could feel something warm against the gaze. He wasn't even out of the Alpha-site and he already tore open his stitched wounds. He cared about it, just he didn't care about it at this moment, as he was still getting shot at by friends and foes alike. He forced himself up once more, ignoring the pain to the fullest and started sprinting towards the newly opened gap in the fence. Another whistling sound, followed shortly by an explosion. He didn't stop running, but he knew that shell landed where he was originally.
Granted I made it out of that hellhole alive, and granted I still alive. I couldn't quite understand why this man actually let me live. He ignored me, literally giving me a cold shoulder for the time I stayed at his cabin in the middle of no-where until the next morning. He was kind enough to take me into the next town that, I thought wasn't ravaged by war. We got to the entrance, however, we were immediately halted by the military checkpoint of the Royal Army. Sporadic combat could be heard in this area, apparently the rebels just started, and were more organized then where I had came from.
The man whoever never gave me his name, looked nervous as he nodded for me to get out. Remembering he had my pistol still, I did as he wanted, opening the door and climbing out. My leg wasn't doing any better at the time, but thankfully the medic was nearby and he rushed over to me, before I collapsed in the pain. I have to say that I'm thankful for this man, and that I hope I won't have to kill him in the future.
The Morning of January 28th, 710,
"Get up."
The voice was rather horsed, and it startled him as he sat up as quickly as he could, at gunpoint. He nodded slowly as the man, Dassault, waved the pistol to the door. "Time to leave. I promised to take you as far as the military base. Other then that, I don't want anything to do with you Royalists." Dassault remarked. He started to get up slowly, and Dassault grabbed his arm, aiding him but still keeping the pistol aimed at his chest. He winced as the pain sparked his nerves again.
"Outside, come on."
The man sounded like he was in a hurry, as if he had a meeting to attend to or worse, friends coming. Or maybe he just wanted the royal soldier out of his cabin and dead somewhere. It didn't phase him a bit as the man with the pistol held the ultimate power in this situation. If he was to die in such a cowardly way, he was to die for the crown. However, the man seemed honest about taking him to the place he promised to day him.
The next city was only a thirty minute drive from the cabin. However, they came to a blockade about ten minutes until. Royal soldiers approached the car and Dassault nodded to his passenger. Who calmly got out. After a few minutes, the vehicle drove off, back to the cabin.
"Medic!" One of the soldiers shouted as he watched the private start to collapse, the Medic was thankfully only a few steps away, he came running over quickly grabbing the private before he fully collapsed, another soldier ran over and helped. After a few minutes, they were in a very similar tent back at the Alpha-site, and his leg was getting patched up once more, this time foam medical gel was inserted into the wounds which expanded, closing the wounds off. A shot of morphine was given to him so he wouldn't feel the pain spark up his nervous system when he attempted to walk.
"Private Levesque! Commander Silvain Vernet would like you to meet up with his platoon a few clicks north of here."
He looked over and was immediately surprised that someone recognized who he was, he snapped a quick salute and turned northwards, when suddenly an armored personnel carrier rolled in. It stopped immediately in front of him the ramp dropped with a loud thud, one that made his ears ring and made him mumble something under his breath regarding the newly acquired headache. Someone smacked him on the back and then shoved a helmet into his chest, he quickly grabbed it before it dropped on the ground. The person waved to him to follow, heading inside the APC.
It was about three hours of relaxing in that tent before I stepped outside, and it wasn't that I didn't want to drop the helmet, I did...but my reaction made me quickly grab it. Here I stood looking at the APC, wondering why the hell was I getting drafted into a platoon I hardly even knew. Why the hell was I getting thrown back out into the war when I just got here from another one? Are they running low on expendables, it seemed so as when I entered the carrier, I realized I was the lowest ranked person, the next thing I knew someone shoved a sniper rifle in my hands. There I was, once more on the move in the back of the APC.
It was a short ride from the check point to where the APC dropped him and the small squad of at least eight to ten people off at the pinned down platoons location. The ramp dropped letting a loud thud ring out once more, he mumbled as he grabbed the helmet that was shoved at him not only twenty minutes earlier, and placed it on his head, then he grabbed the sniper rifle and filed out of the APC quickly.
The distance of the gunfire seemed to grow louder, and he noticed a few tiny splotches of dirt getting kicked up, and not just every-once-in-a-while, but rapidly. Something was wrong here, but he had a job to do. Whatever the hell it was that he was suppose to be doing. He followed behind the group of men that filed out from the APC, in a few short minutes they found themselves behind a rather tall building, the gunfire louder.
Private, we have an enemy regiment dug in behind some pill boxes and a sandbag barricade straight up this road. Someone called out, he looked over and saw the name tag 'Vernet'. This was apparently the guy he was suppose to meet. He pressed himself against the wall and moved closer to hear. Leaning the sniper rifle against the wall, he wasn't going to need it at this moment, if the rebel forces did decide to rush, they'd get slaughtered and he would be screwed over anyways.
An explosion went off, but the man carried on. I want you to flank right and get into a high ground area, set up an over watch and start picking off any targets you see. I'll have this platoon move forwards once you're in position! Understood, Private?
He nodded and gave a thumbs up shouting as another explosion went off. Understood sir, Moving now. He lifted up the sniper rifle from and slung the sling over his shoulder, ducking behind some debris and moving off to the right.
It took him five minutes to find a decent location, thankfully he didn't run into any hostile foot soldiers. He removed the rifle from his shoulder and slide it forwards on the ground quietly. Setting himself up in the new position. He couldn't say he was the best in his class with a sniper rifle, but he had training with it and knew what he was doing. He reached forwards and opened the lens and set the electronic distance modifier. He looked up at the sky as ships flew over. Royal Fighters by the looks of it, a siege was beginning on the planet, good.
He looked back down and hit the radio on his collar. In position. All is quiet right now, Sir. Taking the first shot. Get ready to move. He whispered, peering into the scope and slowly moving the rifle to where he could see someone. After a moment of searching, he found someone, another sniper, aiming directly at him. Damn. He mumbled, it was now a game of chicken. Who would fire first?
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