Ethan Valerii

[daveystella]

My name is Ethan Valerii and I was there.

I was there when the Colonial Republic fell.

I was there at the beginning - or was it the end? I'm still not sure. Perhaps it was both, but I was there. I was there when the solar flares exploded from our star and laid waste to our planet. The religious leaders said it was the "wrath of God, come to punish us for the evil deeds which we had all committed". The politicians said it was "a great opportunity to spread our wings further amongst the stars". Whatever! Some people called it the Exodus, some called it the diaspora. Most just called it the end of the world.

We left. We took as many as we could and we left. There was nothing more we could have done, no way we could have seen it coming and no way we could have saved more souls. Maybe if we'd had just had a little more warning, a little more time. We should have consoled ourselves with that knowledge, but we didn't. We couldn't. It doesnt work that way. They were dead and we weren't. Why? Why them and not us? It wasn't fair. "Survivor's guilt", I've since heard it called. It hardly matters now. Those we saved were but a tiny fraction of those we left behind. It was the end of life as we knew it. It was the end of time.

I was just pushing 30 back then and had been in the service for a fair few years. I started off in logistics, hauling cargo, but by now I'd moved on and was serving as a Nyx pilot. I wasn't the best, but, if I say so myself, I was a pretty good stick - did well in the sims even better on actual missions. Some said I had a flair for it. I don't know. I was doing pretty well, bucking for a promotion and hopefully a big fat payrise. I had a wife, two young kids, a third on the way and everything to look forward to. Life was good, things were looking up and then ..... And then!

We left the Crayter sector, looking over our shoulders, scarcely able to believe the devastation we were leaving behind. I remember the last time we lifted off. I can still see the faces of those we left on the ground. Begging, pleading for us to take them with us. I still see them in my dreams. Mothers and fathers cuddling their children and telling them that everything would be ok, all while knowing that their fate had already been sealed and that they would go to their graves with a lie on their breath. Those faces will haunt me forever. Nobody spoke.

We looked for a new place to settle. Somewhere, anywhere, it didn't matter. The journey was long and hard. Many of those who set out were destined never to set foot upon solid ground again. At the end, nobody who survived did so without having lost someone. Then we found it. Somewhere to start again. Somewhere to live. Somewhere to rebuild. The Sirians called it "Tau-44". Soon, we just called it home. Our new home. A new chance. A new life. I pulled what remaining strings I had and procured a transport - the newly renamed "Sirius Conveyor" - an Atlas class transport. My Nyx was mothballed - we had no need for machines of war now - and I devoted myself to trying to feed what was left of our people. It was all I had left. Like I said, everybody lost someone. Some of us lost everyone.

I did the the trade runs, something I'm still doing to this day. Sure, I missed being in the cockpit, but, like I said, there was hardly anyone left for the military to protect and I needed a purpose - a reason to go on.

We lived that way for years, but in time, we built. We built homes. We built trade ships and we built alliances. The GMG, the IMG, the autonomous Zoners. We put down roots and we planted the seeds of a new society. We began to believe that maybe, just maybe, we had a found a place once more.

Then they came.

They took everything. Everything we had fought so hard to rebuild. Everything we had. Everything we'd established. They took it all in one fell swoop and we were powerless to stop them. The Gallics! They claimed Tau-44 and, indeed, a large part of the entire sector, as their own. They talked of needing a "buffer zone" and "room to expand". History is littered with such words, spoken by tyrants to justify their unending thirst for power and personal glory. By sheer weight of numbers and with overwhelming firepower, the Gallic war machine came, brushing aside everything in its' path. The Bretonians felt the worst of their wrath, but they refused to yield a single system. They bent, but they did not break and, after being repeatedly pushed back and against all the numbers and all the odds, finally, they held.

We were not so fortunate. With our military so severely depleted, we could not hope to mount any sort of real defence. We were hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned, but we never gave up. Where others would surrender to dispair, we fought back with an even greater ferocity. As one died, another would stand up to take their place. we would weep, we would pray and we would hold our loved ones tightly in our arms. We would kiss them goodbye and then we would throw ourselves into the abyss to try to buy just a few more minutes - enough for one more civillian transport to escape the inexorable fire. When we ran out of missiles, we used guns. When we ran out of guns, we used our own ships to try to ram them. Those of our ground forces that were left used knives, sticks, rocks and, when they had nothing else left, their bare hands. We died in our thousands. We never ran out of courage, but in the end, we simply ran out of time.

Again, we were forced to run and again, we were forced to find a new home, this time in a place known as the "Coronado" system. We settled on a new planet known as "Pecos" - a cold and barren place - a frigid world. We started yet again. It was hard. So very, very hard, but this time, something was different. We all sensed it. We all knew it. This was as far as we would go - as far as we would be pushed. We drew a line. We would make our stand here and we would fight. Fight to reclaim our homes and our society. Fight to reclaim our identity. Fight for our very existance.

I'm still the right side of 50 - just. The dark hair that I once had is more "salt and pepper" now and the bright future I once had has long since turned to darkness, replaced now with a dimmer flame which yet burns - Hatred! I may have slowed a touch since the old days, but I'm still a pretty good stick. They are many and we are few, but we will fight them. We'll fight with every weapon we have and with everything that we are. We will fight and we won't stop fighting until the fight is done. We shall give them nothing. We shall take from them ..... everything.

We will make them pay. We will make them pay with their dearest blood. We may not win, but we'll be the best frakking second those bastards have ever seen.

We will not go quietly into the night and we shall never surrender.


For those we left behind.