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In this instance 'we' would mostly be used to coordinate between both evacuation groups, city defenses, and those of us that would play decoy. It was during the march, or more precisely during the speech made during the march, that I learned that
all of the decoy ships had been put under command by anyone with wireless certification. Their reasoning was that with a shorter chain of people between the ground observers and people on the ground there was less chance for things to go wrong.
 

Somehow this logic didn’t sit right with me. A few others had also, when moments allowed, voiced their dissatisfaction. However in this... how does that line go?
Ours is not to reason why. Ours is to do or die.
 

If by some cosmic joke or divine intervention I somehow survive I’m going to let it be known that there were those amongst the newly appointed captaincy that were wholly against the notion. We didn’t have the experience flying these things. Sure, using radio officers to coordinate was a good idea, but putting us in charge? We only went through with it because time was pressing and most of us figured a coherent plan was better than a disorganized mass.
 

There had been more going on than what I had write here, much more. However it would be better to talk to
 

Kate, or Finn, or any of those that were on the ground at the time. There was simply too much, even now that I've had a chance to puzzle through things, to form a coherent picture from just my perspective.
 

Date: 03
 

November
 

Liftoff!
 

The sun was shining, the crew seemed in good spirits, and Billy had just given me a pair of goggles for the occasion. They were hardly necessary, after all it wasn't like we had been on the open-air deck on a sailing ship, or one of those impossible flying vessels that seemed to be little more than propellers and dreams holding up the impossible bulk, but I like how they look. There was also the convenience that they seem to allow the wearer to swap out lenses, which is good because they seem a bit dark for my tastes. Jack's plan had everyone working, which kept the panic down, but no matter how good an idea seemed while it was being pitched those half ignored fears tended raise up at the last moment to sink hold.
 

So then, as captain of this ship what shall my duties be? I suppose the logical choice of tasks right now would be to consult with Navigation, check with the rest of the ‘fleet’ to make sure our intended course wasn’t going to bump into anybody. It was eight hours till launch and no word from on high on what each would be doing. Maybe I was letting this whole 'captain' thing get to my head. Lets face realities. I was drafted to act as the lead man on ship with a skeletal crew that was going to act as an attention getter for things that had murder on the mind.
 

Doing what I could to remain dignified despite my stomach doing back flips and my nerves feeling shot, I slowly made my way to the radio room. Those that I passed shook their heads as they saw me, but didn't speak. Perhaps it was plainly obvious that I was ill, or perhaps they mistook my sickness for grim determination. I hope the latter.
 

Snapshots of the battle of Ashton
 

We rose, more or less as one massed force, from the airfield. Most felt everyone was too crowded, but we were far enough apart so that one ship wouldn't have caught everything around it on fire. Shots fired at us. One ship down. Several returned fire to hold their attention while the city's guns repositioned. Spotters confirmed one of the machines were destroyed. One ship down and several others with holes punched through their envelopes. They wouldn’t be able to maintain altitude. Hoped they would manage to get away from here. At least the ‘crash’ would be a slow and relatively gentle thing.
 

Two other Machines sighted by other ships. Their equipment looked like it had failed. My ship had the best firing solution. Unconfirmed, but they were momentarily out of the fight. Felt bad for destroying buildings to do the job, but it beat trying to hit man-sized targets from where we were.
 

Ground forces ordered to move now that we had their attention.
 

Something hit the cargo compartment. Lost one of our gunners. Ship stable.
 

Flash of white, can't see. Both receivers gave nothing but static. I ordered us to retreat at best speed. Glad the Gholem amongst the crew seemed less affected. Dizzy. Heard screaming. Think it was my own.
 

Fallout
 

Ashton is gone. Numb. Can’t process.
 

Other than expected wounds, infections from those wounds, airsickness, and emotional trauma, no unexplained sicknesses. Still think that might have been one of those city destroying Bombs my history professor talked about. Don’t know how else it could have happened. Even with damage from our guns it couldn’t have bee this bad.
 

'My' ship had been one of the lucky ones to survive the attacks. I would like to say that we had done some good, but in my bleaker moods I thought back to standing safe in my ship while the town burned. That wasn't entirely true. There was nothing that could have been done by any of us in the air. Our ships would have gone up like torches and likely have rained burning debris down on the heads of anyone that somehow managed to survive.
 

We scattered, and were to have met at Signal Hill because storms in and around Milton. We'd reached Signal Hill only to discover that they had also been hit and, like Ashton, had been reduced to a blackened cinder. All sense of coordination went to pot when the group that had fled by ground scattered despite best efforts by those put in charge of keeping everybody together.
 

A week passed then we were stopped by Eastern Republic troops. They saw our people moving and, despite repeatedly pointing out we had broadcast our situation on the hour every hour for three days prior, decided it was an elaborate cover story for an invasion that they had just interrupted. Idiots should never be given power of life and death over anything, for they will abuse it as this paranoid commander had with us.
 

We were broken into smaller groups of two dozen while vehicles came. There is comfort in that these men did every thing they could to keep families together. That small ray of light was a brief and feeble in the face of our group being forced to march alongside the troop carriers. Only the sick or those that could walk no further were allowed to ride, and then only after being beaten 'to make sure they're honest.' I was one of these people. So was Billy after she tried pulling them off me. I will speak no more of it.
 

Our captors took my journal from me, said it was to be examined for... what I can't recall, but considering they thought we were a military outfit I would presume. Once there we were examined by a local surgeon and apparently were judged to be in good health despite the beatings, no sleep, having been forced to march for the past two days, and other unpleasantness I don't want to record.
 

When they made sure we were up to their standards of health they led us into a holding area where people would be taken from now and again, presumably for interrogation. This belief was bolstered by the fact whenever anyone returned they had, more often than not, fresh bruises.
 

It was my turn. I was led away at gunpoint. My questions went unanswered. There was a heavy door that that closed once I was on the other side. The man that talked with me, Colonel somethingor-other, smiled at this matter of fact statement and leaned forward, switching off the recorder that sat between us and whispered in my ear that he regretted what he would have to do, and that he would try to arrange for everyone to 'escape' while in transit, complete with bullet riddled trucks and burnt and blackened corpses. No I will not ask or, if I can help about it, even think about where these would come from. I should ask. I should suspect a trap. On Reflection there were lots of things I should have done or asked, but that realization comes only with a clear head and rest.
 

I possessed neither at that time, and am fortunate to have survived to write this. After this ray of hope was revealed he turned the recorder back on and flew into a rage directed at me. Had I not known different, I would have sworn on a stack of holy texts, his contempt that I would help 'subhuman gutter trash' escape the overflowing kindness of civilized society for a life of mis-gotten pleasure and perversions of human decency was sincere and as real as that of any slave-holder a century ago.
 

I knew what I was required to sell to his officer that his way of 'dealing with us' was the only way possible. To that end I played the part of screaming innocent; emphatically denying any wrongdoing while at the same time begging for leniency. I even got on my knees and begged. Every word I said then was truth. We did what we could to warn others before the attacks came. We weren't collaborating with anyone.
 

I saw him wink at me before his boot caught me in the stomach. It hurt a great deal, and as expected I reacted accordingly. After all, pain is pain, and getting beaten is going to hurt regardless on if its for a performance or if the person on the other end is genuinely trying to 'educate' you. Oh it goes without question that he had gone soft on me, softer than others had gotten anyway. It still hurt.
 

I prayed that the man wasn't lying. I didn't want to die. I didn't want any of the other's to die. We did nothing wrong save only that we wanted shelter from the devil's toys that were killing anyone left behind.
 

Roughly a half hour later Billy was thrown in a spare room with me. She looked about how I felt, run through the wringer. She sighed and leaned against me and fell asleep. I hoped that he wasn't lying when he said he would help spring us, but there was that worm of doubt that made me think that there was a chance he had just told me that so that I wouldn't resist, possibly so I would give up names or places, or maybe, just maybe, he and those that worked with him actually believed our story and wanted to help us get back to our native soil.
 

I said at the onset of this document I dislike the general Confederate attitudes towards gholem. I like how the Eastern Republic has treated them even less.
 

Date Unknown
 

An interminable time later Billy and I found ourselves, along with several dozen others, lead to a small convoy of trucks. We were ordered (at gun point) to pile in the backs of. I was just grateful that the summer heat had finally loosened its grip.
 

Billy was in a different truck, so I wasn't sure how she was held up. If everyone else were any indication she was tired, confused, and by my own bruises she was probably hurt. No, tried to push it out of my mind. What you needed was to remain calm. If things worked like I hoped we had a chance to escape. If not, then I hoped we would have been able to fight our way free. Stupid to think that we would have been a match for them, but I refused to give up.
 

The trucks stopped. We were separated from the vehicles. From the truck the guards rode in two bodies had been carried out and tossed in the backs of the ones we rode with before men approached with giant tanks on their backs. These men pulled triggers that were attached to gunlike things connected to these tanks. Each vehicle was then bathed in flame till there had been little left save for the metal shells. After they felt they had done enough damage they got back into the waiting vehicles.
 

I don't believe it. They left. Our belongings were piled by us. Few had the things geared towards survival, but collectively we should be able to make something work. Along with what they had decided to return to us was a map that was 'dropped' by one of the troops that escorted us out.
 

While I would have liked nothing more than to lay here for the next week and rest, I knew we needed to get moving. People would have eventually shown up. We were all tired. We hurt, but we lived and we had a goal. Escape wasn't much, but it had been a direction to push for. Time passed. I didn't know how much, but eventually we caught sight of a settlement. Hoped they were friendly.
 

Eventually we stumbled, half dead and mostly starved, into a town who's name escapes me, but keep hearing the word 'Lasagna' whenever I try. We agreed to work off our debt if we were fed and given a place to sleep. They could have turned us away, but instead took us in. Deus show them charity for having helped us.
 

November 5
 

Slices of Normalcy.
 

We left 'lasagna' three days after we arrived. At the time we felt we risked too much by staying. There had been some argument over if we should have stuck together, or scatter and trust that we won't be followed. There had been no news here in Jefferson about the attacks on Ashton, nor were there more than whispers of a people that had dared God by opening things that He had made us forget.
 

In this case I considered no news good news. While we didn't have papers appropriate for that part of the continent those of us that decided to stay for the winter had skills that kept us fed and sheltered. I was fortunate enough that Jefferson's several radio stations needed someone of my skills to keep their transmitters running. It was tedious and sometimes dangerous work, but it kept Billy and I fed. Eventually it would buy us a ticket out of here in the spring. Sadly Billy's luck hadn't been as good as mine, and for the time I supported both of us. It hadn't been as bad as it could have been. I just wished I had found out if any of the other groups had made it to safety.
 

While I worked as a freelance repairman between stations I had the opportunity to listen to what was going on in the wider world. If my count was right all but four of the machines were destroyed, and even those four could have gone up with Signal Hill or Twin Peaks. Deus, Twin Peaks? They had been able to travel fast.