Battlestar Arcadia
Chapter One
Tauron Fleet Shipyards, Day One
"Frak this," Colonel Matthew Gideon muttered, balling up one of the many useless reports that cluttered the desk of his cabin and throwing it unceremoniously in the waste bin that sat to the side of it.
For the past two hundred and sixty eight days, Gideon had performed the same duties day-in and day-out, until his shift ended. He had ended up with the rather lackluster posting as a commanding officer. While others would hear that statement and think that Gideon was whining, he knew for a fact that this posting was a surefire dead end.
While he had been been given his own ship at the rather young age of thirty nine, it had come with several additional caveats. The ship the Colonel had been posted aboard was a reserve vessel, meaning that the ship remained in its current berthing, a relatively unoccupied section of the Tauron Fleet Shipyard. While unfortunate in its own sense, it was not the only downside.
The ship Gideon had been assigned to was a Virgon-built battleship from the days before the Unification of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, back when individual Colonies maintained their own standing military force, that had been converted into a battlestar during the early days of the Cylon Revolt.
Initially belonging to the Boskirk-class, the heavily armored vessel had been put into drydock during the Cylon War for a number of months and had two flight pods attached, bringing her fighter complement up from a mere twenty to sixty Vipers, a significant improvement. The flight pods also allowed the ship to handle combat landings, rapid recovery, and a number of other duties that standard battlestars could perform.
The downside of this conversion was that her main armament was slashed. Originally, the ship had boasted multiple up-sized anti-ship turrets on the port and starboard sides of her midsection that had to be removed to allow the installation of the flight pods and the forty Viper launch tubes that were split up between the two sides, with twenty launchers on the port side and twenty on the starboard side.
As such, the conversion only boasted an armament of six dorsal mounted primary batteries, two forward mounted primary batteries, twelve broadside mounted primary batteries split evenly between starboard and port, and four ventral mounted primary batteries, with a total of twenty four primary turrets spread across the ship. She also possessed four ventrally mounted missile tubes capable of launching either conventional or nuclear missiles and four hundred and twelve smaller caliber point defense cannons for anti-fighter duty.
While each of the primary batteries required a crew of three to operate, the point defense cannons were automated, meaning that less than a hundred crew was required to operate the artillery mountings boasted by the converted Boskirk-class.
Unfortunately for Gideon, his battleship-turned-battlestar required a minimum crew of two thousand five hundred odd men and women to operate effectively, with Fleet Headquarters supplying only nine hundred and fifty three while the ship was in reserve. With only nine hundred and fifty three of the twenty five hundred plus minimum, Gideon severely doubted his ship could cruise out of her moorings, much less be returned to operational status.
As a matter of fact, the Colonel was skeptical as to whether or not his ship, christened upon her launching as Arcadia, would last with the end of the fiscal year approaching. With the way President Adar was cutting defense spending, the Reserve Fleet had already been nearly wiped out of existence, with a mere seven battlestars and twenty three other various ships still on standby for reactivation.
Pushing that particular thought aside, Gideon stood from his desk and moved to exit his quarters, finding himself in one of the many dimly lit causeways of the twelve hundred meter long vessel. The design shared many characteristics with the earlier battlestars, such as the commander's quarters being a mere four minute walk away from the combat information center, allowing the commanding officer to quickly assume command of their vessel if an emergency arises.
In his nearly three hundred day tour aboard Arcadia, Gideon had gotten into the habit of timing his walk to the CIC time and time again, finding that it took him three minutes and forty two seconds on average to reach the nervous system of the ship. Why he retained such facts, he would never know.
As Gideon opened and passed through the bulkhead that led into the elevated levels of the CIC, he could see a handful of crewmen manning a few stations, though the CIC was well below the recommended crew complement during operations. "Commander on deck," one of them called out, boredom dripping from his voice as he began standing to attention.
"As you were," commanded the Colonel before the various crewmen could fully rise from their stations, marching down to the command and control console where his executive officer, Major Mackenzie Warfield, stood with her hands clasped behind her back. "Anything to report, Mac?"
"All's quiet, Colonel, though Captain Mills is still reporting power fluctuations on midship deck seven. It seems it's mostly just effecting local lighting and a few unnecessary tertiary systems," she explained.
Power fluctuations were to be expected with a ship that was nearly seventy years old, though Arcadia performed rather admirably for her age. In fact, it was for that reason alone that Arcadia had enjoyed such an extensive service life. The aged battlestar was simply too reliable. Even as a reserve vessel, officer holdovers from the war continued pushing for her to remain off the chopping block during every fiscal reveal, resulting in her outlasting many other ship classes that had been commissioned long after her initial launch and conversion.
"Have the Captain cordon off the effected sections until we can get an honest-to-gods maintenance team scrounged together. Make sure she has all power routed to those sections rerouted elsewhere. I don't want any electrical fires on my watch," Gideon ordered, desperately wishing for a cup of coffee. The mess hall had run out three days ago and resupply wasn't expected for another week.
"Understood, Skipper. Gods, I would kill for some coffee right about now," muttered Warfield, who rubbed her eyes while she spoke.
With a slight chuckle, Gideon nodded his head in understanding. "I was thinking the same thing. You're on watch for two more hours, Mac. I'll be up to relieve you by then. Just wanted to check in," the Colonel stated, turning to move away from the command and control console.
"You're the boss, Skipper," called Warfield from his rear, a small smile plastered onto her face.
Before too long, Gideon found himself back in his quarters, sitting in front of his personal computer terminal, silently glaring at the message he had received several minutes ago. He had already read it multiple times, but the words stung nevertheless.
Matthew,
I want the papers signed and sent to the lawyer by the end of the week. You've had three months and I'm sick of waiting. Despite your best efforts, this marriage is over. Honestly, it has been since the beginning. Your career is at a dead end and I'm not following you anymore. Your lead has gotten Sera and I nowhere nice.
Once those papers are finalized, we can move on. And please, for the sake of your six year old, respond to her Godsdamned calls. Sometimes you truly disappoint me. You need to work on your problems, but I won't be apart of the process.
Sign the papers.
Sincerely,
Diane.
With a heavy groan, Gideon subconsciously reached into the second drawer down on his desk and produced his flask of Queenstown Yards Brandy and a bottle of morpha tablets. Quickly popping one of the pills into his mouth and downing it with a swig of the brandy, he pulled up a clear draft to prepare his own e-mail.
Diane,
Go frak yourself, you unfaithful bitch.
Sincerely,
Matthew.
"Simple, elegant, and effective," Gideon muttered to himself with a slight grin, taking another swig of the brandy. Deep down, he knew he was being immature, but he wasn't the one who had slept with a Rear Admiral while he was deployed flying a Viper aboard the Columbia.
Just as the computer cursor hovered over the send button, the phone in his quarters sounded out, prompting him to move away from his computer. "Report," he stated simply through clenched teeth.
"We've been contacted by a shuttle inbound to the station, Skipper. The academy trainees are arriving," Warfield's voice reported over the line, prompting Gideon to sigh.
Reserve ships like Arcadia were often utilized as a proving ground for Fleet Academy cadets to receive hands on training, as it wasn't as much of a problem if they damaged something on an aging vessel such as his. "It's gunnery cadets this time, right?" he questioned.
"Yes, sir. They'll be docking with the shipyard and proceeding to the docking umbilical before coming aboard," his XO explained dutifully.
"Let me know when they're in the CIC," Gideon commanded, his brows furrowed as he placed the phone back into its designated spot. Staring back at his computer, he sighed as he pressed the power button to deactivate the terminal.
After an hour of signing request forms, duty reports, and other miscellaneous paperwork, Gideon had been informed that the trainees and their instructor had arrived in his CIC, prompting him to make his way to the combat information center.
Once he arrived to the normally quiet CIC, Gideon found the group of formally dressed cadets gathered around the battlestar's damage control and gunnery control stations, ogling the outdated systems as if they were on a field trip. It only served to infuriate the Colonel further as he approached the command and control console where Major Warfield stood speaking with an unfamiliar officer.
"Ah, Colonel Gideon, this is Captain Silva. He's these cadets' instructor," Warfield explained, motioning to the curious cadets who were examining the outdated systems.
As he was introduced by Warfield, Captain Silva offered Gideon a salute, which the Colonel returned swiftly. "With your permission, sir, I'd like to walk one of the cadets through the system startup process for the gunnery control station," stated Silva, whose hands were tightly clasped behind his back.
It was interesting to Gideon to hear that one of the cadets had not yet mastered even the simplest of steps involved in operating gunnery control systems, but he would humor both the cadet and the instructor all the same. "Proceed, Captain," replied Gideon professionally, before turning to speak with Warfield. "Mac, did Mills report in about those fluctuations?" he questioned his XO.
"I'm using her words, not mine, when I say this, Skipper. 'Frakkin' bitch is gonna be a frakkin' nightmare to reroute. Godsdamned seventy year old bullshit, lights going out and shit. Could put electrician down on my Godsdamned resume at this rate. Everything needs frakkin' replaced on this flying tub of ball sweat and grease. Ship's frakkin' older than my Godsdamned grandpa'," the Major spoke, imitating the gruff Aerilon accented chief engineer as eloquently as possible.
"She truly does have a way with words," muttered Gideon softly in response, grinning at Warfield's impression of the gruff engineer. Despite Mills' seemingly dismissive attitude towards Arcadia, the Colonel knew that the brash engineering officer loved the aging battlestar more than she showed.
Just as Gideon began to open his mouth once more, the lights on the CIC went dim, leaving the confused crew in complete darkness. Several crewmen began to voice their concerns before a firmer voice prevailed over the noise. "Relax! Give me one second," bellowed Silva over the panicked voices, before the lights illuminated the CIC once more. Several of the bulbs had given up the ghost as a result of the sudden power fluctuation, leaving several areas in dim light. "And that's what happens, cadet Schaffer, when you perform a system startup procedure out of order," the Captain scolded the younger man who sat at the gunnery control station, whose face had reddened in embarrassment.
Before he could catch himself, the Colonel's emotions and frustrations let loose and Gideon snapped. Marching menacingly towards the station and brushing past the other cadets, grabbing the young man by his tunic's collar and hefting Schaffer up to face him. "What the frak are you doing to my ship?" he practically hollered into the young man's face.
"I'm... I just..."
"You're a frakkin' disgrace! You can't even figure out a Godsdamned startup procedure? A five year old would have more reason to be messing with this terminal than you would," the Colonel growled at the crestfallen cadet, before releasing the man's tunic. "Stay the frak away from these consoles until you can pull your head out of your ass, cadet."
Before anyone in the CIC speak another word, Gideon was marching out of the room with Warfield hot on his heels. "Captain Rollins, you have the deck," Warfield called out to the Captain who acted as the landing signal officer for the battlestar's single Viper squadron and the second mate of the ship. "Matt, wait up," she called to Gideon, though it seemed as if he hadn't heard her.
The Major followed the Colonel all the way to his quarters, where he entered and tore into his desk, producing his flask of brandy and two cognac glasses to drink from. After pouring both himself and the Major two finger's worth of the brandy, Gideon rapidly downed his drink, setting the cognac glass back onto the desk. "I can't take this anymore, Mac. Gods, I just lost my cool in my own CIC. What kind of lousy CO does that kind of crap?" he questioned as he slumped down into his office chair.
"I guess a human one," responded Warfield who was sipping at her own drink, sitting in one of the wooden chairs placed around Gideon's desk.
"You really ought to look in a career in philosophy," said Gideon, before he was torn away from the conversation by the clunky outdated phone ringing once again, prompting him to angrily retrieve the device from its slot. "What?" his tone came off more agitated than he meant it to sound and he instantly regretted snapping at whoever was on the other end of the line.
Several moments passed before the answer came. "Sir, we have a priority one message from Fleet Headquarters. It was transmitted in the clear," reported his ship's tactical officer, Lieutenant Kepler, bringing Gideon to full attention. A priority one message was rare enough, but one transmitted in the clear was practically unheard of. "Message begins: Attention, all Colonial units. Cylon attack underway. This is not a drill," she reported shakily, leaving the Colonel stunned.
The Colonel placed the transceiver back into its assigned slot, motioning for Warfield to follow him as they made their way back to CIC. Gideon couldn't quite find the words to tell Warfield what was happening and instead would rely on the hope that the physical paper the message resided on would shed some light on their newfound situation.
Barging into the now occupied CIC, Gideon marched straight to the auburn haired Kepler, who shakily grasped a small stack of papers in her clenched hands. Finally managing to pry free the papers, Gideon began scanning the documents.
From what the reports told, the Cylons had achieved complete surprise against the Colonial ships in orbit of Picon and had obliterated Fleet Headquarters in the opening wave. Just from the preliminary reports, the Colonial Fleet had suffered a loss of fifteen Battlestars, with Admiral Nagala taking personal command of the Fleet from aboard the battlestar Atlantia.
Picon, Aerilon, and Scorpia had all had reports of nuclear detonations on the surface of the planets, with no known status appearing from any of the other Colonies. Passing the reports to his XO, Gideon walked over to the command and control console and grasped one of the transceivers from its slot. "Give me 1MC," he ordered the Specialist who manned the communications center, who promptly complied. "Action stations, action stations. Set condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. All sections send readiness reports and standby for primary board ignition," he said, his voice not nearly as authoritarian as he had hoped it would be, but the words did enough by themselves.
The CIC erupted into a buzz of activity as the action stations klaxons began calling out once more after years and years of inaction. Gideon severely doubted that the ship had been called to condition one since the Cylon Revolt, but she was needed once more. "Sir, transmission coming in from the battlestar Draco."
Draco was an Orion-class pocket battlestar that was placed alongside Arcadia in Hulk Alley, commanded by one Lieutenant Jeff Gaines. Gideon motioned for the Petty Officer to patch Draco through to the transceiver he held. "This is Arcadia-actual, go ahead Draco," the Colonel spoke.
"Draco-actual here. Colonel, can you confirm the validity of these reports I'm holding?" Gaines nervously questioned.
"I'd suggest firing up Draco's primary grid, Lieutenant. Have you gotten a hold of Naomi-actual?" inquired Gideon.
Naomi was a member of the Artemis-class light battlestar line of ships, being a product of the early days of the Cylon War, and was the only other true battlestar on Hulk Alley aside from Arcadia.
A nervous sigh came before an actual response. "Commander Marcussen claims to be otherwise indisposed, sir, and won't return any of our calls. The commanders of the Nightshade, Delphi, and Hades have all tried as well," Gaines reported, driving Gideon to near anger. Marcussen was the senior officer among the six ships of Hulk Alley, effectively placing him in command of the ad hoc battlestar group. What could possibly be so damning that he could not properly attend to his duties in a time of desperation baffled Gideon.
"Jeff, get the Draco operational ASAP. Unless Marcussen contacts you directly, forward your reports to me. Arcadia-actual, out," ordered Gideon, before he placed the corded transceiver back into its slot on the side of the plot table.. "What was our earliest reactivation projection placed at?" he questioned.
"For full operational capabilities? Three weeks, with a possible extra week in drydock for any urgent repairs."
"I need that cut down to two hours, Mac," he said, nearly driving Warfield to full blown laughter, before she realized the Colonel was one hundred percent serious.
Several silent moments passed before the Major nodded her head. "I'll see what I can do," she stated, knowing full well that the odds against her succeeding were astronomical. Powering up the occasional ship system once every few months was one thing, bringing the entire ship online all at once without a proper safety survey of the core was foolish. The power draw alone could cause the reactor to overexert itself, which would result in a core overload followed closely by a catastrophic explosion.
"All decks report set at condition one, Colonel," Lieutenant Kepler reported from her station. It had taken them nearly ten minutes to reach condition one with the crew so thinly stretched. Gideon had no doubts that his crew had brought the ship up to condition one as quickly as they could, but that time frame would be no match against Cylon reaction times.
"Give me 1MC," Gideon ordered Petty Officer Osiris once again, who nodded his head once he was patched through. The crew was preparing the ship for condition one without truly knowing what was happening and, unfortunately for him, Gideon would be the one to pass on the news. Grasping for the transceiver, the Colonel brought it up towards him. "This is the CO. Minutes ago, we received word that a Cylon attack against the Colonial Fleet is underway. We have confirmation that nuclear weapons have been utilized against at least one Colony, with unconfirmed reports from multiple other Colonies. I need the assistance of all hands in bringing this mighty ship back into a serviceable state to face this threat. Go with the speed of the Gods and continue the reactivation procedures."
After several moments of silence past, a lone voice echoed through the CIC. "Sir, where do you need us?" Captain Silva asked as he approached the Command and control console.
"I need you at gunnery control. Do any of your cadets possess any cross training in regards to helm controls?" Gideon questioned.
Despite the ship having a dedicated mess staff and enough crew to operate the twenty four three-man operated main batteries, the Fleet had never assigned an additional helmsman to the battlestar, despite the numerous request forms he had sent to his command. Nearly every ship in the Fleet required two helmsmen to physically control the ships movement, while Arcadia had only been assigned a single helmsman, much to the commanding officer's chagrin.
To Gideon's partial horror, cadet Schaffer nervously stepped forward. "I took the beginner's course my first year," he offered.
"I swear to the Gods above, Schaffer, if you crash my ship, I will end your existence. Get over there and help Ensign Jennings," Gideon commanded, with the cadet scrambling to the helm control. "You cadets can consider this a field promotion to Ensign. Find a station that you can operate or help who you can. Silva, begin coordinating with the gun captains. I want all batteries at one hundred percent in the next half hour," he added, turning to face Petty Officer Osiris at the communications center.
"Aye, sir," replied Silva, who whipped around to march towards gunnery control.
Standing stiffly with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, Gideon stared straight up at the DRADIS screen, silently wishing the console was active. "XO, what's our ETA to system startup?" he questioned as Warfield scrambled from station-to-station, personally receiving status updates from the station commanders.
"We can get the startup sequence cut down and ready to go in twenty minutes. We'll be taking a lot of shortcuts, but I'd say it's a necessity," she explained, bouncing between the tactical, damage control, and communications stations as she did.
Nodding his head, Gideon superstitiously kneading his palm against the center console, encouraging Arcadia. He needed her help now more than ever.
Twenty minutes came and went, with Warfield reporting that Arcadia was as ready as she would ever be for primary ignition. All that was left was for Gideon to verbally issue the order and hope for the best. "XO, commence primary startup sequence," the Colonel ordered his XO, who was standing next to the damage control station, ready to respond to any disasters that may arise from the startup.
Starting up the main grid was little more than flipping the main breaker switches on the DC panel and praying for the best. Warfield did as he commanded and closed her eyes tightly in preparation for the worst.
"C'mon, old girl," muttered Gideon, who was subconsciously rubbing the flattop of the center console as if to encourage the aged ship.
The lights in the CIC flickered and dimmed before sputtering back to life, with a spectacular wave of brightness that the Colonel had not seen in this ship before, with a low hum spreading through the CIC as stations that had not been powered up in sequence for thirty odd years returned to life. The DRADIS console came to life, showing several green blips situated in the nearby area, with their IDs appearing several moments after.
Arcadia was positioned as the fourth in the line of six ships docked to the reserve area of the Tauron Shipyards, with Naomi at the front end and Draco directly ahead of the Battleship, with all other ships behind them. "Inform all reserve vessels that our primary board is active," he ordered Petty Officer Osiris, who quickly relayed the message as ordered.
"Sir, Draco and Hades report as operational, but Nightshade and Delphi have both reported that their primary systems are a no-go. They're requesting instruction," Osiris reported, glossing over the fact that Commander Marcussen had not responded to the Colonel's transmission.
"Get me Draco-actual," Gideon ordered, picking up the corded transceiver once more. "Lieutenant, do you require additional crew?" he questioned the commanding officer of the cramped and humid miniature battlestar.
Several moments passed before a cackling static sounded out. "We're cramped enough as is, sir. We have all the crew we need," explained Gaines, before he severed the transmission.
Gideon knew for a fact that the Hades, a Berzerk-class assault carrier commanded by Lieutenant Derek Carson, possessed almost the maximum amount of crew and pilots needed to fully staff the ship and its squadron of Vipers, leaving only Arcadia herself as the ship that required additional crewmen.
The two Adamant-class frigates each possessed around two hundred crewmen which, when added to the Arcadia's rather lackluster roster, would bring the count of crew aboard the battlestar to roughly thirteen hundred, bringing the total crew count to nearly half of the minimum requirement of twenty five hundred. Gideon would take that over the current nine hundred odd men and women aboard.
"Petty Officer Osiris, on my authority as acting commander of this battlegroup, have Lieutenants Farrow and Kittridge transfer their crews to us and report to me for reassignment," Gideon ordered, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he did. Marcussen was not present to make decisions and the Colonel would not stand idly by awaiting for orders while the threat of a Cylon attack loomed.
"Skipper, Commander Marcussen could have you tried for undermining his authority," Warfield whispered to her commanding officer.
Gideon tilted his head to face his XO. "I will not allow an indecisive Commander be the death of this ship. Until he unfraks himself and his priorities, I will continue issuing orders as acting commander of the battlegroup," he explained with a distasteful scowl plastered onto his face. Warfield nodded in response and returned to her post, allowing Gideon to continue his attempts at bringing Arcadia up to full operational capability. "Silva, where are we at with weapons?" he questioned his newly assigned gunnery control officer.
"Our primary batteries are out of action for the time being, as we don't have the munitions for them aboard ship," Silva reported dutifully. "However, our point-defense cannons are set and ready for automated targeting," he added as an afterthought.
The Colonel's brows furrowed in annoyance after Silva reminded him that the primary batteries did not possess the munitions required. Having a full ship magazine on a reserve ship was seen as a waste of resources, though it was a silent miracle that the Fleet had allowed the munitions for the point-defense cannons to be left aboard.
"Tactical, get me a plot of all known unit locations in the system, Colonial and otherwise. XO, begin scouring reports of nearby munitions depots," Gideon spoke to both Kepler and Warfield, who both quickly moved to comply with their newfound tasks.
"Colonel," a familiar voice spoke from behind, prompting Gideon to turn around. Before him stood Lieutenant Kittridge, former commander of the Nightshade, sweat glistening from his face and breath heavy, as if he had been running. "Where do you need me, sir?" Kittridge questioned, offering his new superior officer a salute, which Gideon swiftly returned.
"I see red lights popping up all over the DC panel, Lieutenant. Take personal command of damage control and get this ship squared away. We'll see about a permanent posting once we breakaway from our moorings," the Colonel explained, before taking a report from Petty Officer Osiris, who appeared to be a mixture of mournful and furious.
Taking a moment to skim through the report, the Colonel's face suddenly went crestfallen, before he turned back to Osiris. "Give me 1MC," he ordered, bringing the transceiver up near his mouth. "This is the CO. New reports indicate that a thermonuclear device ranged at fifty megatons was detonated over Caprica City ten minutes ago. Nuclear detonations have also been confirmed on the planets of Aerilon, Picon, Saggitarion and Gemenon. No casualty reports as of yet. I know what you must be feeling, but we cannot let these reports interfere with our work. The sooner we launch, the sooner we can defend our homes," he spoke softly, before he placed the transceiver back into its slot, hands shaking.
It took all he had mentally to push out the thought that his six year old daughter Sera resided in Caprica City with his ex-wife. After spending a few moments to regain his composure, Gideon glanced upwards to find Osiris in front of him once more, a confused look plastered onto his face as he read through a new batch of reports. "Colonel, I'm getting some really odd malfunction reports from throughout the Fleet," he reported.
"What's odd about that? Malfunctions happen, especially at a time like this," Gideon countered, understanding full well that malfunctions were bound to occur as ships that had not been tested by combat in their lifetimes or since the First War were thrown into the chaotic fray unfolding around them.
"It's the frequency of the reports, sir. There are at least four reported instances here of battlestars and their fighters completely shutting down. Vipers launched from smaller ships and stations are all reporting similar occurrences. I've got one battlestar here that reported it was like someone flipped a switch. The only ships that seem to have any measure of success are in need of some serious drydock time," Osiris explained, offering the reports for the Colonel to review himself.
As he began flipping through them, Lieutenant Kepler made her way to his side. "Sir, I have a rough plot of all known ship locations," Kepler stated, motioning for him to follow her towards the center console.
Gideon handed the reports back to Osiris and ordered him to keep an eye on any similar reports to see if he could find the cause of the malfunctions, before turning to follow Kepler. Retrieving a grease pencil from her pocket, Kepler laid down an enlarged chart of the solar system and began marking down X's and O's to indicate known ship locations.
As she finished making her marks, Gideon noticed a large amount of X's and O's placed around Virgon. "That's where the fight's shaping up?" he questioned, motioning towards the miniature symbol of Virgon that represented the location of the Colony.
"Yes, sir. The Atlantia and fourteen other battlestars, along with a myriad of smaller support ships, are attempting to intercept a small Cylon fleet before they can launch their warheads on the Colony. I'm working with updates that are almost instantly becoming outdated, but this is the most up-to-date chart I can give you," Kepler explained, sweat glistening on her forehead.
"XO, give me a sit-rep on munitions," Gideon barked out, beckoning Warfield to the plot table.
With her own grease pencil in hand, Warfield circled a planet at the very edge of the system. "Persephone Anchorage. It's the closest munitions depot and one of the more likely to be overlooked. It's been dormant since the Cylon War, but according to what records I can scrounge up, it should have most of what we need. It's probable that there are no nuclear warheads, but it should possess enough standard munitions to keep us going for a couple of years," the executive officer explained.
"You don't sound so sure."
"The Fleet hasn't handled the records of these anchorages too well, Colonel. I'm piecing together a list from ten reports varying in age from one year to thirty four years. There's no way we can get to Ragnar Anchorage without an FTL jump, so based on what I can gather, Persephone is our next best hope," Warfield added, obviously frustrated from the lack of solid information.
Gideon nodded his head in understanding, turning to face Kepler. "What's the status of our FTL system?" he asked, tapping his fingers nervously on the console. They were simply running out of time.
"It's no good as is, sir. Calibrations are completely off. I've got Mills working on it, but we may very well end up in an entirely different system if we tried a jump right now," Kepler explained with a grim frown plastered onto her face.
Without a workable FTL drive, Arcadia had nowhere to run to if the Cylons did show up. "I need a no-shit assessment, what do we need to do to get underway?" Gideon questioned, eyes narrowing as he studied the chart laid out before him.
"Primary thrusters are functional and active, but we're still calibrating the majority of our systems. This ship hasn't broken away from this dock in nearly thirty years. Without the proper calibrations, there's no way we can ensure that everything will function as it should," Kepler reported.
Before Gideon could speak again, the DRADIS console began blaring out a warning klaxon, causing everyone in the CIC to cease what they were doing and to glance upwards towards the console. Five unknown contacts had jumped in close proximity to Tauron, with three of them breaking away from the others towards the shipyards.
"We need to launch. Now. Calibrations or no," Gideon stated firmly, with the other two nodding in agreement. There was no other way. "Sever docking umbilicals and prepare our primary thrusters," he bellowed, driving everyone into a frenzied state of work. Silently, he hoped that all of the crew from Nightshade and Delphi had made it aboard, but he pushed that thought away as best as he could.
"Station reports all hatches sealed! We're clear for breakaway," a crewman cried out from his station.
"Engineering reports engine startup is a go," another voice echoed through the CIC.
"Helm, activate thrusters full to starboard. Communications, advise Hades and Draco to do the same," Gideon ordered, focusing his efforts on moving his ship away from the combat zone. Slowly, but surely, the thrusters of the seventy year old battleship-turned-battlestar brought her away from the docking arm of the station, finally bringing her out into open space where she could maneuver freely. "Helm, ahead full," he commanded, staring intently at DRADIS as the presumed Cylon baseships approached the station rapidly.
"DRADIS contacts are still on course towards the station. ETA to intercept is six minutes," Kepler reported from the tactical station. They simply weren't moving quickly enough.
As Arcadia moved away from the developing battle, Gideon saw the Orion-class pocket battlestar Draco and the Berzerk-class assault carrier Hades begin moving away from their moorings as well, positioning themselves to follow the significantly larger battlestar's lead.
Just as Gideon prepared to issue further orders, the DRADIS console called out again as new contacts emerged from near the station, though they were marked as Colonial Vipers.
"Sir, Naomi just launched her two squadrons," Kepler explained after examining her scaled-down DRADIS console, confirming that those planes were from Commander Marcussen's battlestar.
"You can run like the cowards you are, but I'm destroying these Cylon bastards here and now," Marcussen's voice cackled over the loudspeakers of the CIC, causing Gideon to grimace.
Naomi was in the same situation as Arcadia, with no munitions for her primary batteries. It was suicide to throw the near defenseless First War-era battlestar at three baseships, even with assistance from the one or two other battlestars near the shipyard that were moving to intercept the Cylons.
"Now he frakkin' talks," Warfield muttered, hand pressed against her forehead in frustration.
Shaking his head in annoyance, Gideon grabbed the wired transceiver attached to the center console. "Give me an open channel," he ordered and, after Osiris gave him a thumbs up, began speaking. "Naomi, recommend you recall your Vipers and move away from the combat zone immediately," he spoke firmly, hoping that Marcussen could be brought to his senses before bringing death to his ship and his crew.
"Arcadia, you are ordered to form up and prepare to engage! Launch your squadron immediately," Marcussen's rabid voice responded, prompting Gideon to slam the transceiver back into its designated slot. Several tense moments passed as all eyes in the CIC turned to him.
"Helm, pull to starboard thirty degrees and maintain speed," the Colonel ordered, outright ignoring the order. Despite the fact that he had just ignored a direct order in a time of war, none of his crew moved to object, instead choosing to follow Gideon's orders.
Silently, Gideon offered a silent prayer to the men and women aboard Naomi, but he wasn't about to allow those under his charge to foolishly sacrifice themselves in the same manner they were about to.
Several of the non-reserve ships docked with the station had begun moving away from the station, with several ships forming up alongside of Naomi in her foolhardy attempt at facing the Cylons.
As they began their engagement with the encroaching basestars, Gideon could see that, based on the DRADIS signatures, the Vipers launched from the other battlestars had begun drifting aimlessly as they came face-to-face with the Cylon Raiders, while the two squadrons from Naomi continued moving.
"Gazer to all units, the Vipers from the other ships just stopped! They're dead in the water," a panicked Naomi pilot broadcasted in the clear, bringing a frown to Gideon's face.
"Oh Gods, the other battlestars are drifting! They've been disabled," another pilot bellowed, before Gideon motioned for Osiris to disable the incoming transmissions. The Colonel severely doubted any more communiques from the doomed pilots would serve any real purpose other than to damage an already low morale.
"Starboard drift complete. Continuing on course ahead full, sir," Ensign Jennings reported from his station, with Schaffer sitting adjacent to the ship's lead helmsman.
Gideon nodded his head approvingly, watching as the baseships began intermingling with the disabled Colonial battlestars. Drifting Vipers slowly began to disappear from DRADIS as the Raiders swarmed their formations.
"Sir, at best speed, Persephone is three hours away. Those baseships will turn on us as soon as they're done with Naomi," Warfield explained, her voice hushed as not to worry the surrounding crew more than they already were.
The Colonel sighed, knowing what needed to be done. "Tactical, begin jump preparation immediately. Target is the Persephone Anchorage," Gideon spoke, drawing the eyes of almost every man and woman on the CIC to him.
"Sir, without completely calibrating the system, I can't guarant-"
"Lieutenant Kepler, we have no choice and very little time. Begin the calculations. Communications, inform Draco and Hades to do the same," the Colonel ordered, eyes set on the DRADIS console. It was now a race against time.
Jump preparations generally took anywhere from fifteen minutes to thirty minutes if done properly, but Gideon and Kepler both knew that they would need to rush this jump, which was generally inadvisable. With no other option in sight, Kepler had the jump preparations complete within ten minutes, just as the baseships began closing towards the three runaway ships.
"Begin the count," Gideon ordered as soon as both Draco and the Hades were away, their FTL drives having fared better than Arcadia's over the years.
As Kepler counted down over the ship-wide communications, the basestars launched the first of their missiles at their target, hoping to at least damage the ship before she jumped away from them. Seeing this, Kepler quickly glossed over the last few numbers, turning the key that initiated the gut wrenching jump.
Then, Gideon's vision went black.