In every conflict, there comes a cost. Material, monetary or souls. Some are lost psychologically, and some physically.
Saoirse Keane was one of these lost souls, a fighter for the Republic. One devoted individual, on account of Bretonia’s cruel grip on it’s not-quite-fully aligned people. Her life had been challenged by them even through her earlier years. It took most of her courage to finally step up but when she did, that burning desire to see them burn raged strong. On Halifax, she reached out to the Molly’s Republic and requested to be allowed to join the cause, pledging allegiance to them. They instructed her to make her way over, and set Keane up with the Deliverance.
Since that day, Keane had lived her life fighting for the Freedom she believed in. Every evening that she could was spent writing a letter or resting. None of the letters stayed, except one. A letter that rested in a little box in the unit next to her bed. A box that held words for more than a few in the Republic. A letter of Goodbye.
Saoirse Keane had been in the republic for a little over a year, before the Dublin war broke out in full. On the final day of her life, she was tasked with the captaining of the fireship “Hope”. The Hegemon had been packed full of explosives, to be driven at full speed into the Battlecruiser Bracknell. A golden opportunity, but an ill-fated one.
Alongside the “Hope”, was a sister ship by the name of “Fortune”. Both these vessels had their crews, and their orders: Lead the charge, take their targets out at all costs. Neither ship would be returning, intact at least. Both vessels stood proud, side by side with their payloads well-shielded to provide protection from premature detonation through weapons fire, and that was well-calculated. Bretonia had awoken once more, and this time was far bolder than almost any time before.
The ensuing battle saw the “Fortune” relatively safely to its target, the Bretonians struggling to make a dent through the reinforced hull of the repurposed Asteroid miner. “Hope” was not so lucky. Keane could see the Bretonian forces, and knew what she had to do. Sandwiched between a couple of their warships, there wouldn’t be a better opportunity. In her hand, the rigged up detonator lit up ready for priming the fuse timer. A jolt from a heavy blast of kinetic weaponry rocked the Hegemon, causing her to slip her finger across the primed switch. Her last word was “Five”, boldy yelled over the comm of the ship to its surrounding vessels.
The Armed forces never had enough time to react. One of their last shots rocked through the vessel, tearing a hole in the starboard side where an engine previously resided. The projectile that punched into the weakened hull smacked right through one of the crucial fuse lines. A failsafe kicked in and the hull of the Fireship buckled early, before erupting outwards in a bright flash. The explosion tore through the ships closest, while the intended target was able to reinforce its shields just enough to escape total annihilation. Damaged, but not destroyed. Only partially a success in the fireship’s mission.
Search and rescue teams had turned up nothing good from the little remaining debris that only added to the Dublin star system. Not even a single body had been recovered, escape pod or no. No escape pods from the “Hope” had meant the room on Arranmore wouldn’t ever again be graced by her presence, nor her writing. Something that seemed to have become begrudgingly accepted as time pressed onwards. Bretonian patrols had begun to increase, every attempted scouting rescue team spent less and less time out there, and looking less hopeful with each return trip. Then, there was the broadcast through every Molly frequency. Those who knew her well were left distraught, those who didn't gave a head bowed out of respect. Another life claimed by the War. Another life that sacrificed themselves for the rest of them to live on free.
![[Image: wqccOLD.png]](https://imgur.com/wqccOLD.png)