Nugget
Drawing in a deep breath he sat there in anticipation of the launch order. All around him he could hear the commotion of the fighter bay crews as they double checked every inch of the Vipers. Though he had promised himself to keep his eyes ahead, he couldn't help a quick glance to either side. From what he could tell the rest of the pilots in the squadron were as calm and collected as though they were about to do a shuttle run. Their lack of panic only worsened his own; and as a bead of sweat dripped from his brow he only grew that much more aware of his own fears.
"Hey Grindstone," came a voice from just to the left of his Viper. Looking towards the voice a figure appeared suddenly, looking back at him.
"Ccc-aptain Apollo sir," he addressed the figure. Without giving it another thought he squirmed in his cockpit to try and raise an arm in salute, but a quick gesture from his CO made the formality unnecessary.
"Are you prepped for the mission Grindstone?" Apollo asked of the younger pilot.
"Yes sir. Ready to waste some frakkin' toasters." He replied with a shaky quality to his tone.
Sensing the unease of the pilot before him Apollo took a moment to reassure him. "You'll do fine Grindstone. Just stay on my wing and remember to keep it tight. The Cylons will try their best to break the formation so they can pick us off one at a time."
"Aye sir."
With a slight smile the Galactica CAG patted Grindstone's Viper before turning and heading towards his own Viper fighter. As he did so Grindstone just sat there feeling worthless as a Colonial soldier. Surely Apollo had noticed how he was nearly shaking out of his flight suit in terror at the chance that he might not be coming back alive. While he couldn't say for certain given the CAG's reaction, Grindstone knew that Apollo was certainly considering leaving him behind. For that he couldn't blame him, but he only wished that he had just an ounce of the courage that so many around him seemed to have in abundance.
Placing his helmet on, Grindstone couldn't help but to recall how exactly he had wound up in this cockpit. A few weeks ago he had just been a simple deckhand aboard the Rising Star, left mopping floors and wholly displaced in the aftermath of the Cylon's Holocaust of the Twelve Colonies. Even though they had fled from their homes to start anew among the stars the Cylons had relentlessly pursued them, as though they wouldn't be satisfied until every last human lay dead at their chrome feet.
Several engagements with Cylon Raiders had left the Galactica in need of Viper pilots, and that was when the recruitment requests started circulating through the fleet. There wasn't a soul amidst the survivors who had not left someone behind to die on the Colonies, and with this common thread gave birth to a universal angst to strike back at the frakkin' chrome plated bastards.
Grindstone himself had left behind a fiancé on Picon. While that fact alone was enough to justify him signing up for Viper training, he had another reason entirely. Aboard the Rising Star he had felt so out of place and useless. He knew that he had to do something more to help the survivors to survive and to help those fallen rest in peace.
Before the attacks, before the Cylons had taken everything away from him, he had run a small produce stand. It hadn't brought him a lot of money, nor was any prestige attached to the position, but it had been a living. And it had been something he had enjoyed doing. There was just something so carefree about it that he couldn't help but to smile every morning when he opened his shop. Now all of that was gone.
After visiting a friend on Aerelon he was returning back home to spend a week with his fiancé, planning the last few details of their marriage ceremony. Daleena. Her name was Daleena, and as he became lost in his thoughts Grindstone couldn't help but to wonder what her final moments had been like. Was she alone? Did she even know what was going on? What was her last thought? Was it about him? A thousand questions raged through his mind, each more painful than the last.
He had been on a passenger cruiser when the attack came down. At first the only thing that he and the other passengers had known was that they were being diverted away from Picon for some reason. Confusion began to turn into panic until finally Commander Adama of the Battlestar Galactica had relayed the news of the attack to their ship, along with orders to jump to Ragnar Anchorage where a survivor fleet was assembling. Along with fifty thousand other souls his world had been forever changed in the blink of an eye.
With a squint and a shake of his head he tried to pull himself back into the present. There was no use for him to be stuck in the past, stuck in a life that was no longer possible. Even though the attack was still fresh in his mind, it still didn't give him an excuse to weep about it. Not even for Daleena. For her sake, and everyone else's sake, he had to be strong. He had to push on. Frak, everyone had to do that. If they didn't then those lost on the Colonies would have died in vain and the Cylons would ultimately succeed in making humanity extinct. Besides, he didn't have the luxury of being a broom pushing civvie anymore. He was a Viper pilot, part of the Colonial Fleet's first line of defense, and as such he now had the responsibility of the entire fleet's lives in his hands. No pressure.
There was a sudden noise that caught his attention, and finally gave him the chance to focus on something other than the past. The last of the Viper jockeys were making their way into their cockpits. Overhead there was a crackle of static before Commander Adama's voice came over the intercom. Undoubtedly he was giving some rousing speech about the op and about how certain he was that they would win the day. Grindstone didn't hear a word of it.
In his cockpit awaiting the final order all he could hear was his own thumping heart. He himself had never been fond of speeches. Whether they were political or military they always seemed to be carefully worded so as not to give away the whole picture. Those that gave the speeches were always careful to weed out words or ideas which might have a negative impact on whoever was listening. While Grindstone could understand this discretion, he always felt that it would just be better to be told the truth. At least then they would know what to expect.
"Good hunting" came Adama's final words before there was a moment of silence in the launch bay.
Stretching his fingers and tightening his gloves Grindstone felt ready to take on the Cylons. At least, as ready as anyone ever could be. So many had already been killed by them; both on the Colonies and since the fleet had left charted space. Now it was his turn to do the killing, to bring the might of wrath and justice down upon them. Swallowing hard, he just hoped that he had the strength to do so.
There was a slight sensation of movement that came from all around him. The Galactica had just used its FTL drive. Almost instantly, Vipers began to move to the end of the launch bay, before blasting out into the depthless space. As his own Viper moved into position Grindstone couldn't help but to do a last minute check on the control panel. Everything was green, including himself. His Viper was ready to face whatever it may, and as he remembered all of the botched landings and sloppy jukes he only hoped that when it counted he would make it happen.
Bringing his hand to his helmet's faceplate he just held it there for a second before touching a picture of Daleena that he had set on his control panel. This was all for her, for her memory, and in that moment he wasn't sure what he would do if he let her down. Then, he took in a deep breath of air and closed his eyes for a moment as the Viper moved out from underneath him, and was launched into space.
When he opened his eyes again all he could see was a velvet blanket of space, dotted by a thousand twinkling points of light. It was all so breathtaking. Spending all of those evenings staring up at the night sky from his backyard had hardly done the beauty of space justice. Melting into the scene something indescribable took hold, and for a moment he became lost. Sliding in front of him came another Viper however, blocking the view and pulling him back into the reality of what he was about to do.
"This is Apollo," the CAG's voice came over Grindstone's helmet radio. "You guys know the drill. Strike force one is on my wing, strike force two has Starbuck's. You've all trained for this, and you know how to get the job done. Now, let's go bag us some toasters." As Apollo's transmission cut-out there was a few 'hoorahs' sent across the comms line before the Viper squadron broke down the middle and headed in opposite directions.
Keeping his eye on the lead Viper in formation, Apollo's Viper, Grindstone just slowly breathed in and out to maintain his composure. There were six other fighters in formation alongside his own and the CAG's. While he may not have spent years in military training, Grindstone had no less understanding about the importance of watching each other's back. Things were about to get very messy for them, and when everything went down then the only thing they had to count on was each other.
As they made their way through space Grindstone began to fidget slightly in his cockpit as his eyes kept wandering down to the control panel before he forced them back out ahead. Part of the angst in being a Viper pilot was about facing a mission, especially one as dangerous as combat against the Cylons. However, there was also angst made in the moments before an op actually began. Since he was already out in space then he was anxious to tear up some Cylon Raiders and complete the mission. In this moment of calm before the storm he found that it was the hardest yet for him to keep his focus, as angst and excitement collided within him.
A glint off to his left caught his attention. Flying in a tight formation demanded that he focus all of his attention ahead of him, yet he couldn't help but to turn his gaze towards the glint. For a moment as he took in the image he didn't know what to make of it, but as soon as he realized what it was his heart leaped into his throat and he slid his hand onto the Viper's joystick, letting his thumb hover over the trigger.
Half a breath later Apollo saw the same glint that Grindstone did. Seeing their target, Apollo's lead Viper suddenly stopped in its momentum with a puff of brake thrust. Veering towards the Cylon ships Apollo led the fighter jockeys of his wing into that moment they had all been waiting for, the moment when they would finally be given the chance to strike back at the enemy that had already taken so much from them.
With a blip the Cylon convoy appeared on his Viper's dreydis and with that blip they suddenly became more than hypothetical points in a mission briefing. The four ships they were moving to intercept were very real indeed. Carrying tylium and who knew what else for the construction of Cylon Raiders made their destruction a necessity. It was a necessity that he would see to the end, as the reality of what he had become in the wake of the Holocaust suddenly began to sink in.
"Weapons free, let's take down these Cylons before they knew what hit them," the Galactica CAG said over the comms.
When the order finally came down exhilaration came over Grindstone that no amount of training could have prepared him for. No amount of mock runs, flight simulations, or hours spent watching stock footage could have prepared him for the actual sense of fighter combat; and it wasn't until this moment that he realized this.
As the rest of his squadron peeled off towards the massive Cylon freighters Grindstone found himself just sitting there still. Slowly breathing in, his conscious reminded himself that back on Picon he hadn't killed so much as a fly. Now here he was, weapons primed, and expected to kill. Somewhere in the distance he heard his CO's voice requesting a status from him. Instead of focusing on this he focused on the only thing he could, his heartbeat. Blinking for a moment or two as time came to a near stop Grindstone just sat there, completely overwhelmed by everything and unable to move.
All of his life he had prayed to the gods of Kobol, and done nothing but be a kind and gentle soul. But where had it gotten him? Where had it gotten any of them? The Cylons didn't care about honor, or justice, or even faith. They were merely mindless drones whose only purpose was to kill. They were frakkin' soulless machines; without a heart or a conscience. Reminding himself of this Grindstone found his hand back on the Viper's stick and his thumb back above the trigger. Suddenly Daleena's face flashed in his mind, and at this flash Grindstone became lost in a blind rage as he pushed his fighter into full throttle and pressed his thumb down as firmly as he could.
Out of nowhere Grindstone's Viper came flying and instantly found itself amidst the fierce engagement. In an almost choreographed manner the Viper fighters flew between and amongst the four Cylon freighters, firing everywhere and anywhere they could. Surprisingly enough, there was very little chatter over the comms. Most of the pilots, like Grindstone, were fresh recruits; or nuggets as they had almost affectionately been labeled. This inexperience caused them to be even more focused on their task then normal.
Back in the launch bay Grindstone had resolved to stay on Apollo's wing, and follow the senior Viper jock through this battle's paces. In the chaos though that he found himself in it was impossible to distinguish who anyone was, much less the Galactica CAG. Everything was a blur of gray fighter plating set against the depthless black of space. Were it not for the pure adrenaline that was coursing through his veins at this moment then Grindstone would have found himself wholly disoriented by the Viper maneuvers.
During their pilot training one of the things that was stressed time and time again was the Gs that a Viper pulled in combat. Reading about it and hearing about it did nothing to accurately describe the experience. In the pit of his stomach Grindstone felt a great push, as though his body was being crushed and forced outward all at once. For his mind he felt almost lost as his head began swimming in an almost surrealistic sense. Focus; that was all he could do. He had to focus on taking out the Cylons, and about making sure he didn't frak up. That, and he had to make sure that if Daleena was somewhere watching him then she could be proud in this instance.
Skimming the underside of the fourth Cylon freighter Grindstone fired at any target that opportunity provided him. The Intel that they had gotten concerning Cylon freighter design listed the ablative plating they were constructed out of to be more than a meter thick. This plating was preventing the Vipers from doing little more than cosmetic damage despite the ferocity of their attack. It was this fact that would bleed them dry of ammo long before any sort of appreciable damage could be caused.
"Frak, we're getting nowhere sir," came the voice of one of the Viper pilots, call-signed Digger, over the comms.
Inside each of their minds played out the fact that they were getting nowhere in their attack, and with this fact realized each of them worked to divine some sort of strategy for success.
"All right pilots, we'll have to do this by the book," Apollo said, breaking into each of their thoughts. "I want three man formations. Digger and Nova form up with me. Grindstone and Hopper take Spectre's wing and hit freighter one. Fireball and Lowdown sit back and keep your trigger fingers itchy. No need to empty your barrels if this doesn't work."
With their orders now resonating in their skulls the Viper pilots went to work. For a moment Grindstone wondered if Apollo had any clue about how to take down these oversized menaces, but any such thoughts were quickly tossed away. Sliding into formation Grindstone simply resolved that any sort of plan was better at this moment then a blind tactic.
Apollo began to lead his wingmen on an attack run on the Cylon ship designated as freighter three, but neither Grindstone nor his own wingmen were aware of this fact. A short burst of thrust pushed the three-Viper formation out ahead of the Galactica CAG and towards its own goal. Enough space had been placed between the four Cylon freighters so that the Vipers could easily weave between them. With his thumb just above the trigger Grindstone waited for Spectre to give the go ahead. For some reason he couldn't help but to take in a deep breath and give a silent prayer to the gods as he waited for the kill order to come down.
"Target locked, weapons committing," came Spectre's voice as the Viper jock fired his two missiles at the Cylon freighter.
Where the fighter pilots had been sticking solely to their Viper's rail guns moments ago, they now decided to give their missiles a try. Grindstone hoped that he wasn't alone in his initial reservations about the use of these weapons. With only two missiles per Viper they were something to be used only out of necessity. In a toe to toe skirmish with a Raider then it was best to have some restraint and rely on your Viper's rail guns instead. For targets such as these however, then a bit more force was obviously required. Frak, what else were they going to use them for?
In synch with Spectre's missiles came the missiles from Hopper and Grindstone. Pressing down on the corresponding trigger to release the Viper's missile safeties a slight shudder vibrated through the fighter. It nearly took Grindstone by surprise, until he reminded himself the force which he had just sent towards the Cylons. Gripping his fighter's stick he just sat there for a moment and waited to see what reaction, if any, would come from the missile fire.
When the six missiles impacted along the freighter's outer plating there was a moment of eerie stillness. As the small explosions caused by the missile detonations dimmed and faded out Grindstone couldn't help but to wonder for a moment what exactly it would take to end the daunting presence of the chromed vessels. Suddenly, his wondering became unjustified as the freighter's hull began to buckle as his Viper, as well as the Vipers of Hopper and Spectre, flew over their target.
"Did you catch that?" Hopper asked of her fellow wingmen as the Cylon freighters shrank in the distance behind them.
In his mind Grindstone wanted to acknowledge Hopper's question, but something within him seized up. For some reason his mouth felt suddenly dry and all he could do was keep his focus on the Viper's controls and sit there in waiting silence.
"Roger that Hopper," Spectre decided to respond back with. "You and Grindstone stay on my wing; I'm going full turn here."
With a push of brake thrust and an exaggerated glow from his Viper's engines, Spectre abruptly decelerated. Coming to a near full stop he suddenly pulled a 180 degree turn, which he finished off with a kick back into full throttle once his Viper was realigned. Following suite came Hopper and Grindstone in the maneuver, before all three of them were back on their way to their Cylon target.
For a moment as the massive Cylon freighter grew ever larger before him Grindstone couldn't help but to think back to his Viper training. The constant drills and practices should have made him feel like an experienced fighter jock, yet he couldn't help but to feel as though one slight twitch would spell doom for him and those relying on him.
"Alright, lock your fire on where those missiles impacted," Spectre ordered. "Maybe if we all hit these mother-frakkers in the same spot then we'll be able to see just how invincible they are."
"Affirmative that Spectre," Hopper couldn't help but saying back to the lead Viper.
Instead of making any sort of verbal reply Grindstone merely gripped his stick and prepared to respond with force as his thumb found its way back to the rail gun trigger. Taking in a deep breath he just stared ahead at the Cylon ship, fearing that if he strayed in his focus then the Cylons would find some way to defy the pilots' attack once again and survive. The moment he saw Spectre open fire on the freighter then Grindstone squeezed the trigger with all he had to unload every bullet his Viper had upon his foe.
Weapons fire from the three Vipers scraped across the freighter's outer hull, until the bullets finally found their mark. Suffering from the missile impacts from before the weakened section of the freighter began to buckle in response to this new threat. The more the bullets impacted these spots then the more the outer plating began to twist and give way. From their vantage the Viper pilots were unable to see the full extent of the damage that their weapons wrought, and thus were unaware of how effective this new strategy was until a sudden stream of atmosphere burst out through the opening their weapons had created.
Upon seeing the venting atmosphere a new level of excitement found its way into each of them, and in response they merely further pressed their attack. All around the freighter hull's cracked opening weapons fire from the Vipers impacted, and with each fresh impact then the damage was that more devastating. Consumed by the action they simply watched on as the weapons sent pieces of the Cylon ship flying in all directions, before finally a few errant rail gun streams broke through the ablative plating on the freighter's opposite side; splitting the chromed vessel in two. With this tear along the freighter's entire hull there came several small explosions, which splashed into each other and intensified until the entire ship was set ablaze in a ball of flaming brilliance.
"Take that you soulless mother-frakkers!" came Hopper's otherwise small voice over Grindstone's helmet radio.
While one Cylon freighter faded and dimmed into pieces of lifeless debris, Grindstone felt a touch of relief. He knew that they were now one step closer to their mission's goal, and in turn had forced the Cylons to be one step further away from whatever twisted goal ran through their minds. Still though, he knew that with three other freighters than they were hardly about to dock aboard the Galactica for a celebration. At least not yet.
Sticking to Spectre's wing both Grindstone and Hopper followed the lead Viper as Spectre led them back to where the rest of the squadron was engaging the enemy. Quickly taking in the scene Grindstone noticed that Apollo's original target was likewise vaporized and that now his wing, in addition to Fireball and Lowdown, was currently engaging what had been the second freighter in the Cylon convoy.
"Can we be of assistance sir?" Spectre asked the CAG with a tone that reflected the smirk that the pilot was wearing under his helmet.
Taking everything into account Apollo assessed the situation, and saw how quickly the tables had been turned on their robotic foe. Two freighters down, and a third well on its way, made their goal suddenly all that more tangible. "Render away," he briskly said so as not to pull any of his attention away from his attack upon the Cylon freighter.
Flying in alongside their fellow pilots, Grindstone and his two wingmen engaged the second Cylon freighter. Missiles from Fireball and Lowdown had already made their way to impact near the enemy freighter's nose, and it was here that the Colonial fighters focused their efforts.
Due to where the missiles had hit or not no one was sure, but this freighter was proving to be harder to destroy than the previous two. Cylon vessels had no means of electronic deterrence, and in fact only the chilling Raiders could mount any sort of defense. For these freighters the Cylons had relied solely on the thick ablative plating, which proved to be more than decoration when it came to the Vipers' weapons.
Despite how thick the plating was it couldn't last out for long. Each pilot in the attacking squadron knew this, and they only hoped that their ammo could outlast the Cylon plating. With eight of them all raining down fire on the same spot then the corresponding plating began to buckle. Without a single missile left between them the small fighter group had to simply use their rail guns, even though they seemed almost ineffective against the massive Cylon vessel.
From the impact marks of Fireball and Lowdown's missiles the plating weakened and began to shred away. As before, atmosphere vented from these spots in streams of white air. The streams almost seemed to be some odd form of surrender coming from the failing Cylon ship. None of the pilots were little interested in any request for surrender however. The Cylons hadn't allowed for a surrender when humanity was devastated, and these pilots saw no reason to extend such a courtesy either. Converging on the broken bits of the freighter's hull the eight Vipers fired everything they had, and were rewarded with a flash of brilliance as the freighter was vaporized.
"Hoorah! Three down!" Lowdown said over his headset.
"Let's take down that last toaster vessel," came an energetic Nova.
"You heard her guys," the Galactica CAG said in response, "full throttle to the last freighter."
As the eight Vipers formed up and headed towards the last remaining Cylon freighter something struck Grindstone as odd. There had been no Raiders escorting the freighters. There had been no sign of any Raiders at all. Without these escorts the Cylons had left their freighters to be sitting ducks, which was something that didn't sit right in Grindstone's mind. Almost as if reading Grindstone's thoughts a new voice came over each of their headsets.
"Apollo this is Starbuck," the female ace said over the comms line. "We're meeting some heavy resistance over here. The Cylons have Raiders swarming all over this supply depot. Buzzsaw's already burned up, and Kat's Viper was clipped." There was a pause before Starbuck decided to add, "Mission outcome looks doubtful captain."
Taking the situation in and quickly thinking about it Apollo relayed the only thing that came to his mind. "Alright Starbuck, break off your attack and throttle it over here. We'll take the heat off of you."
"Roger that Apollo, breaking off….." The transmission cut-out abruptly as a sharp hiss of static replaced Starbuck's voice.
"Starbuck come in," Apollo said in response to the static. Waiting for a moment and getting nothing but more of the piercing static, Apollo began to worry about the fate of Starbuck, and it showed in his voice. "Kara?" he asked frantically.
After another silent moment Starbuck's voice returned with, "Frak, Hawkeye just bought it." Taking a breath, Starbuck followed with "We're coming in hot Lee, hope your squad's ready."
"You just worry about keeping yourself in one piece Kara, we'll mop up the Raiders for you."
Coming over the comms line allowed for each of the pilots in Apollo's wing to hear Starbuck's report. Sinking into their minds came the fact that at least two of their comrades wouldn't be making it back to Galactica, and that each of them was about to get their first real taste of combat; whether they felt ready for it or not.
Slowing down and veering towards the direction of where Starbuck's wing was fast approaching Grindstone couldn't help but to swallow hard. His mouth had gone dry the moment his Viper had touched open space, so he wasn't entirely certain why he had swallowed. It was instinct, that's the only thing he could think to blame the action on. Facing an imminent and very dangerous threat he just sat there as his breath nearly fogged up the inside of his helmet's visor. In front of him his hands shook as he ached to be back in the safety of his bunk on Galactica.
Up ahead several twinkling lights slowly took on the forms of vessels, until six colonial Vipers could be made out against the starscape. Behind them was well over two dozen gleaming Raiders, all with weapons primed and firing at Starbuck and the other pilots.
"Pick your targets and go," Apollo suddenly chose to break into the eerie silence with.
All around Grindstone the other Vipers, led by Apollo, burst ahead to meet the approaching wing of Cylons. As he reached for his own throttle Grindstone nearly vomited. His nerves were shot, and terror seemed to course through his veins. Inside his head came a voice that told him how insane he was for signing up for the Viper training program, and of how he should have stuck to mopping the dirtied floors of the Rising Star. He was going to die, he suddenly felt very sure of this. While he felt certain that this would be his ultimate fate today he knew that he couldn't just sit there. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daleena's smiling face in the tacked up picture and he knew that his death would only return him to her waiting arms. If he could take a few toasters with him then maybe his life would be worth something after all.
When Grindstone's Viper joined the others they had nearly met the incoming Raiders. With natural precision, Starbuck's Viper pulled a 180 loop, followed almost gracefully by the other survivors of her wing. Stopping in among the ranks of Apollo's wing the reunited Vipers didn't take a moment to welcome each other back, but instead feverishly opened fire towards the incoming Cylon Raiders.
Rail gun fire from the Vipers struck the Cylon Raiders, claiming several of them. The Cylons though didn't break away by this act. Not that anyone was expecting them to. They were frakking machines. They knew no fear, nor did they know anything other than their purpose; which in this instance was the complete slaughter of those that dared attack them.
Having the enemy nearly on top of them, the Vipers moved to break formation. In a show of force the pilots had defied the Cylons by remaining still, but now they realized how frenzied things were about to become. For one of them this realization came too late however, and as the Raiders descended upon the Viper line then a series of enemy fire cut through Lowdown's fighter, turning it instantly into a ball of flame.
Before anyone could react to Lowdown's death each of them veered away, scrambling to save themselves from the same fate. Above his own cockpit Grindstone heard a familiar whooshed hum as a pair of Raiders flew over him. Everyone knew the sound that Cylon Raiders made, and its chilling tone was enough to put fear into anyone's hearts.
With the Viper line broken each of the pilots scrambled to get out of the way as the Raiders opened fire on the scattered Colonial wing. Another fighter, piloted by a young nugget call-signed Bruiser, came under fire from at least three gleaming Raiders. At least Grindstone thought it was three, but it was near impossible to tell anything. However many Cylons had focused on the lone Viper wasn't all that important. What was important was that a stream of Cylon fire hit the Viper's cockpit, and after a few spins the ship blew apart.
In the next few moments nothing seemed to make sense to Grindstone. Both the Raiders and the Vipers were maneuvering so fast that if he tried to focus on any of them then his being would become so disoriented that he would have no chance to recover before meeting oblivion himself. Over the comms he could here several voices that all ran and jumbled together to make a truly chaotic scene.
"Stepchild, juke right!"
"No joy no joy!"
"Toasters clipped me, I'm down a gun!"
"Frakkin' machines!"
"Eat lead mother-frakker!"
Blinking, Grindstone could hardly believe that what was going on around him was real. It seemed so dream-like that he had a hard time processing it. Somehow though he was processing it, as his right hand subconsciously moved his Viper's stick back and forth to avoid being struck.
It was at this point that Grindstone completely lost all sense about what was going on. Running on nothing but instinct and adrenaline he fired his rail guns; taking out first one, then a second Raider. "Short bursts. Squeeze off short bursts," he said to himself and repeated one of the lessons that Starbuck had taught him during combat training. Viper guns had a tendency to jam up if fired too rapidly, so keeping your bursts short not only improved precision but helped to keep your fire constant as well.
Flying in behind a Raider Grindstone squeezed the trigger, blasting it to pieces. A hard right got him out of the path of another Raider, to which he spun towards and blasted to bits as well. Somewhere in the midst of everything three of the wounded Vipers had broken off to take down the remaining freighter, leaving the rest of them to mop up the Raiders alone. Despite having the numbers against them, the Colonial pilots had turned the tide in the heated skirmish. The Cylon Raiders were being shot out of the sky left and right, but no one paid this fact any heed. They were all too busy wrapped up in dwindling the Cylon numbers even further to know just how many of those numbers remained.
Inside of his chest Grindstone could feel his heart nearly beating out of his body. With a left juke he slid in behind one Raider, cutting it apart with a few rail gun bursts. Another right gave him a second target, which he also quickly disposed of. Were he a different man then he might have enjoyed all of the maneuvering and killing he was engaged in. He almost had to remind himself that a lifetime ago he was a man of peace, and all of what he had now become was done so out of necessity. He kept that thought in mind as he prepared to fire upon his next victim.
Click
For a moment he couldn't understand what was going on, and he frantically pressed the trigger as fast and as hard as he could. Nothing different came from this action, and only a dry click filled his ears as his Viper's guns signaled that they had run out of ammo.
Whether it was intuitive or not, the Cylon Raider that Grindstone had in his sights seemed to know that his Viper had been bled dry. With a soulless ambition it flew towards him, eager to claim his life. Knowing nothing else to do he took one last look at Daleena before closing his eyes.
"Lords of Kobol, grant my soul everlasting rest and welcome me into your divine arms," he muttered quietly to himself. "Let me forever find peace in your home, and let me find all those to whom I have already lost waiting to welcome me back into their loving graces." At this prayer's closing Grindstone was ready to die.
Suddenly, instead of being shot down by the enemy Raider, Grindstone felt only a vague sense of heat all around him. Confused, he wondered what exactly had happened. Turning his head to look behind him he saw only a few scraps of debris, both Raider and Viper, settle where he had just come from.
"Holy frak, Spectre!" Hopper shouted over the comms.
While he didn't immediately register what had happened, Grindstone was able to put enough together to know that Spectre had taken the hit for him. The man must have known that he was out of ammo, and instead of sitting there and watching him be sacrificed on the Cylon's altar Spectre had charge ahead, colliding with the enemy Raider and saving Grindstone's life.
Wholly shaken by his touch with oblivion he just sat there, staring outward as the last of the Raiders were shot down. Without any ammo there was no use in him trying to mount an attack anyway, but with what had transpired a heartbeat ago he didn't feel like he could do anything more of value in the fight.
Quickly the last of the Raiders were destroyed, along with the remaining Cylon freighter. Settling into an eased stance the surviving Viper pilots just sat there for a moment, half in shock and half in awe over what they had just lived through. Their mission had been a success, and for that they knew that some sort of celebration was in order. But with more than a quarter of the pilots lost to oblivion those that remained couldn't help but to feel somber and hold a solemn presence.
"Good work guys, everyone back to the barn." Though he meant to sound encouraging, Apollo's words did little to ease the shaken pilots. This had all been too much for their systems, especially for those that had never seen combat before.
An odd feeling rested in Grindstone's being. He felt dead, though he knew that he was far from it. He was alive. He was alive thanks to the sacrifice made by one of his wingmen and best friends. Had he have known what was going to happen during this battle then he would have stayed behind. Spectre was dead because of him. It was just something he couldn't quite wrap his brain around. And as he fell in line with the other Vipers to head back to Galactica there was another, even more devastating fact that thumped in his mind. This was only the beginning.