Message Class: Textual
Encryption: Rosehip
To: All Bretonian Modular Base Operators
From: Admiral Sir Georg Röhrich Hell
To all administrators of modular space stations in Bretonian space,
the Bretonian Armed Forces, the Bretonian Police Agency and the Bretonian Intelligence Service have promised to do their very best to protect the lawful citizens of Bretonia, the protégés of the Queen, from every single danger that might enter our beloved space. Mollys, Gaians, Corsairs and Gallia. Our men and women fight in unity. Our men and women fight for their homes. Our men and women are loyal to the death. Our men and women are Bretonians!
However, sadly, we have to face the truth. With Leeds still being a warzone, Bretonia's economy has been weakened noticable. The constant ambushes from Gallia and the Corsairs force us to split out fleet, and while our pilots and soldiers do everything possible to defend Queen and Crown, Bretonia needs to feed them. All of them.
So here I am forced to inform you, the owners of the modular bases we defend over and over again from all the hostiles that try their luck on pirating and marauding our people, that from now on, the Bretonian Government mandates a monthly tax of twenty million (20.000.000) Sirian Credits per modular base and base core level, in order to continue our duty of successfully defending our economy, our citizens, our families and our history.
Please forward the payment towards the account of the Bretonian.Rosehip.Bank within the next fourteen (14) days. In case of payment issues, please contact the Bretonian Government in time to inform it about a delay (maximum one (1) month).
Our brave forces will continue the fight. Leeds will soon be ours again, and then, Harris. Gallia will regret the day they decided to assault Bretonia. We will strike back. We will not lose this war!
Message Class: Textual
Encryption: Tommy Lee Jones
To: Admiral Sir George Richard Hall
From: Admiral Sir Georg Röhrich Hell
You, Sir, are an imposter.
I am throwing my gauntlet at you. There can only one Admiral Sir of our initials. The cargo bay of the battleship I command, the HMS Earthwirerer, contains a fine load of original Curacao passion fruit tea. You will visit me on my ship infront of New London and will drink five cups of this tea with me. Winner is whoever is the true Bretonian. Winner is who will not get a bulge!
|><| |><| |><| ENCRYPTED TBH FREQUENCY |><| |><| |><|
Pepe "El Comisario" Ladron, calling from local tavern, somewhere at Crete
Senor Sir! *looks happy*
Caramba!
How mucho awesome is to see someone with so right approach to business! And of course, for such a special economy expert, I'd have a special business proposal!
1. We will leave all Bretonian bases in one piece (and peace) for a mere 25% of your awesome new tax income.
2. We will take our best care about ones that refused to pay. Price for that is negotiable and depends of forces I'll have to spare from Imperial Mighty Armada. A tip: my Nutella storages are almost empty.
Si?
*Pepe winks and reaches OFF button with his hand. Button thinks "wooow, what a macho" and cracks a bit*
|><| |><| |><| EMPTY SCREEN WITH MUCHO SNOW ON IT |><| |><| |><|
Message Class: Textual
Encryption: Tommy Lee Jones
To: Admiral Sir George Richard Hall
From: Admiral Sir Georg Röhrich Hell
You, Sir, are an imposter.
I am throwing my gauntlet at you. There can only one Admiral Sir of our initials. The cargo bay of the battleship I command, the HMS Earthwirerer, contains a fine load of original Curacao passion fruit tea. You will visit me on my ship infront of New London and will drink five cups of this tea with me. Winner is whoever is the true Bretonian. Winner is who will not get a bulge!
Do you dare to accept my challenge, you rascal?
Sir Georg R. Hell
Admiral
Bretonian Farmed Horses
Open for Replies
Message Class: Textual
Encryption: A Thousand and One Rose
To: Admiral Sir Georg Röhrich Hell
From: Admiral Sir George Richard Hall
You, "Sir", are an imposter.
I thrust my tongue into my cheek at your insolent jests. A Bretonian admiral and a knight too would never drink imported tea during such a plight that is upon us now. I invite you, instead, aboard the HMS Norfolk, for a cup of national tea, grown on the sweet-scented plantations of Cambridge.