A story inspried by "33". As always, BSG belongs to Ron Moore and Glen Larson. Special thanks to Lona who reads and corrects all my crimes against correct grammer, spelling and punctuation. Remember read at your own risk and feedback is always welcome.

"10 Minutes"

by Capt Kathy "Doc"

Lords I'm tired, but I can't let anyone see it. Not here in CIC. I hear Lt. Gaeta's voice. "Jump 237 complete."

While I wasn't really ready for retirement, I certainly never thought to find myself commanding the last remaining battlestar while trying to protect civilian survivors against the Cylons' relentless FTL pursuit. If Lieutenant Gaeta didn't announce the jump number I would lose count. I certainly can't remember the last time I ate, shaved, or slept for that matter. I've stopped counting the number of times Saul has muttered, "Maybe this time," before the Cylons reappear. I wonder if I look as bad as everyone else does and admit I probably do. Maybe worse.

I have a special interest in military history and can't remember ever reading about the Cylons using this type of pursuit before. It's safe to assume that human look-a-like Cylon spies among the survivors are somehow giving away our position. I'm so tired that I've given up trying to think about why it always takes the Cylons thirty-three minutes to locate our position. But thirty-three minutes it is, as though they'd added and divided eternity and come up with thirty-three minutes as the necessary interval between life and death, which is why we have been setting a clock for the last 236 jumps. If this keeps up mistakes will happen. You can only push men and ships so far. More civilian ships are having problems making the FTL deadline. That translates into the Galactica hanging back to protect those ships and engaging the Cylons. Galactica may be old, but she's a combat ship and made to last. The civilian ships weren't made to do this repeated FTL jumping. I'm not sure how much longer they can keep this up before we start losing ships and civilians.

I can't remember, is it my ten minutes of relief time or Saul's? When Saul tells me it's mine, I give a silent sigh of relief and make my way to my quarters.

I lie down on my bunk for a stolen ten minutes but can't seem to rest. Too many questions are going through my mind. I've already worked out a plan for at least some ships to evade the Cylon pursuit. Unfortunately it leaves several ships without any protection. I doubt that will go over well with the President.

As I close my eyes, I'm suddenly bombarded with images of my life before the war; The day of my wedding. The day Lee came into the world. My first command. The day I first saw Zac. The day I was given command of the Galactica. The day I received the divorce papers. The day Lee was accepted into the academy. Zac's acceptance into the viper training program. Zac's death and Lee's subsequent accusations. The first time I met Kara Thrace. She's more a daughter to me than Lee has been lately. Why now, when I'm tired, do these pictures of my life come to me? In these few moments of rest, the past that I have lost becomes a series of images I cannot avoid no matter how hard I try. I take a deep breath and calm myself. While I have lost so much, I still have a lot to be thankful for. I have another chance to be a father to my only son. I have my adopted daughter. I have my best friend, and a job that needs doing to keep my mind busy. That's a lot more than many survivors have. As I start to drift off my alarm sounds announcing that my ten minutes are up.

Time for me to get back to CIC. I know the crew calls me the "Old Man" but I also know they look to me for calm, reasoned leadership in a time of chaos. I never considered myself to be smart, but I can try my best to keep my "family" safe, and if my "family" has grown from two thousand to fifty thousand, then so be it.

Damn, I'm hungry. When did I last eat? Did I dream it or did I actually see Saul eating my dinner? I better get to CIC.