A/N: Thank you for clicking on this story and I hope you enjoy it.
Covers for the story:
http:// i1008. photobucket. com /albums/ af202/ bryan200711/ ttbccover. jpg?t=1263947644
http:// i1008. photobucket. com/ albums/ af202/ bryan200711 / terminatortbc. jpg?t=1263935505This story is a crossover between BSG and Terminator. This particular story takes place in the BSG universe. The TSCC universe is visited in only a few scenes and flashbacks. The Terminator characters are, for the most part, original characters I created. I think only a quick reading of the TSCC plot on Wikipedia is required to enjoy those aspects of the story.
In this story I have changed some aspects of Colonial society, mainly technology. I've made their technology slightly more 'futuristic' and advanced but kept it to a level in the show. There are no lasers or force fields or anything like that- just additions I believe would be plausible.
This story is the first part of a trilogy. It chronicles the discovery of the terminators in the Colonial fleet and how they change and influence certain events. Major events which occurred in BSG do occur here, but have been heavily modified. (I believe many people will enjoy the two characters who were... 'saved'.) I added some original locations to the story as well, and some new missions and events. There is also a very limited crossover with Caprica in which I try to use parts of what we saw in the pilot as historical background for the Cylons.
Part II of the trilogy, By Courage and Blood, is posted in the BSG forum. It is listed in my profile and it should be completed by the end of November 2009. There is also a spin-off story, The Future War: Enemies and Machines which takes place on Earth and goes into some detail on how Earth knows of the Colonies. A second spin-off story is planned to occur between By Courage and Blood and Part III and will once again explain more of the past events leading up to the events in The Mission.
I also want to thank all the people who provided feedback already and those who continue to do so for Part II here and on SB.
That being said I hope you all enjoy this story. Please leave any feedback with what you liked or constructive criticisms. Thank you.
==========Kobol (+51 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========
The three Raptors from Galactica jumped in, a blinding flash of brilliant white and blue light marking their re-entry from the realm of FTL travel.
Immediately upon jumping in the DRADIS proximity sirens sounded aboard the three Colonial Raptors. One Raptor was struck amidships, exploding in a magnificent fireball of oranges and yellows, as a Cylon Raider impacted. The Colonials had jumped into a wolf pack of Raiders. A trap. An ambush.
The pilot of one Raptor, Lt. John 'Blanks' Planck immediately began taking evasive action, dodging the Cylon Raiders like any trained pilot, but with a cool and calculating precision and skill. With everyone yelling around him and the panic setting in in the cabin, he deftly maneuvered his Raptor through the thick swarm of Raiders.
The Raiders began firing on the two surviving Raptors. A stray round impacted the cockpit, shrapnel and debris flew out, smashing into Blanks's helment, cutting his fash.
"Oh Gods, the pilot! He's been hit!" Baltar screamed at the top of his lungs.
The hot air of the atmosphere began rushing in through the cracked canopy. The differences in pressure created a suction resulting in a deafening hissing sound as air was pulled out of the cabin.
Lt. Alex 'Crashdown' Quartararo jumped up from his ECO position in the rear of the Raptor. "Get the frak to the back!" He yelled at Baltar, grabbing him on his shoulder and forcing him back. Baltar fell back with a thud and used his legs to push himself further from the cracking canopy.
Flipping up the center console Crashdown quickly checked on his pilot. Blanks's visor was cracked and there was blood completely covering the inside. It was impossible to see his face, but with that much blood, Crashdown knew his friend was dead.
And in that instant time seemed to slow. The loud rumbling and hissing of air softened. He saw his friend, the first he had made after being rescued from Triton, slumped over, dead.
With a sudden jolt, feeling like the Raptor just hit a wall, the Colonial transport broke the lower atmosphere. The turbulence was jarring, even with Chief Tyrol in the rear keeping the techs and Baltar calm, the panic was spreading.
Crashdown knew he had to regain control of the Raptor before they burned up in atmosphere.
He gritted his teeth and blew out his flared nostrils. Closing his eyes for a moment he bit down. He could do this. Today he would not die. He swore it.
The Raptor's jump engines were disabled, and the starboard engine was belching black smoke into the atmosphere. If he could land the bird, and he knew he could, it would be rough. He let himself snicker at that. Rough didn't begin to describe the landing.
Crashdown had hundreds of hours behind the stick of the Raptor, but Blanks had had more, much more. Most of the time Crashdown spent was behind the ECO console. Fear gripped him. But he thought he was doing well, guiding the ship in. Then suddenly the canopy completely shattered.
"Cover your eyes!" he shouted, praising the Gods he'd seen the cracks forming. He looked back, no one was injured. Again, he gave praise to the Lords of Kobol. And he prayed a third time for a safe landing.
"Watch the hill!" He heard someone yell. Chief Tyrol rushed up, pointing at the protruding obstacle. Crashdown pulled up on the yoke and controls as hard as he could. With all his strength he brought the nose of the Raptor up, just glancing by the top of the hill, tearing up only centimeters of dirt and grass.
As the Raptor barreled down towards the ground Crashdown kicked in the external stabilizers and thrusters, slowing the Colonial vessel down. Everyone lurched forward at the sudden deceleration, Crashdown jamming his elbow and knees into the control console in front of him. He heard multiple cries and curses from the cabin as his passengers tumbled and rolled out of their seats.
Crashdown guided the Raptor in, the controls feeling like fifty kilo weights in his hands. The pedals were barely responsive. "We're going in hard! Hold on!"
The Raptor sheared off tree tops before skimming to a halt in front of the ruins of the Opera House.
The ground came up. Up. Closer. Closer. Any second. He braced himself.
========== BS 75 Galactica (+65 Days Post Cylon Holocaust, Two Weeks After Raptor Crash)==========
Nothing was more intimidating, it was said, than a Colonial Fleet Marine in full black armor, black eye protection, and a loaded rifle starring you down. On top of that, having your neck chained in a collar, like an animal, a dog, and your feet and hands bound was the most degrading experience a man could sustain.
The man chained to the wall could understand the guards, of course that made a lot of sense. He was different. He wasn't one of them. Though he had fought for them, why did it matter? The Colonials were spooked easily. The Cylons had massacred their race. He reminded them of the Cylons. He understood. It was logical, rational for humans to fear what they did not understand.
What he could not understand was the collar. It was chained to the bulkhead one meter behind him. It kept him erect, in perfect posture. If he had been human, he'd say the forced position would be painful. But it wasn't. But the dog collar, chained to the wall… that was degrading.
Colonel Tigh starred straight at him. The old bastard was as hard as steel and helped the Old Man run a tight ship. His hatred for Cylons could never be matched by any man, woman, or child in what little remained of the Colonial fleet.
The Colonel looked at him with disgust, a look of pure hatred. He flipped through papers on his desk. The chained man just sat there, looking straight ahead.. He'd always wondered why their paper wasn't rectangular. What's the point of cutting off the edges? No one seemed to know. No one seemed to care. He'd gotten a reputation as a bit of a "freak" for always asking such weird questions, or saying strange things. But he was a damn good at his job, and that had earned him respect.
"So how long?" Tigh finally asked. "How long have you been… pretending?" He spat.
The man across from Tigh cleared his throat briefly and tilted his head. His eyes meeting the Colonel's before he spoke. "Pretending? To be what?"
"Don't get cute with me," the Colonel responded in his signature gruff tone. His famous frown deepened as his eyes narrowed. He leaned forward. "How long has your Cylon ass been pretending to be one of us? How many of you are there?"
The prisoner smiled and again tilted his head. The blank expression appeared again on his face. The piercing gaze burning right through the Colonel.
"What kind of fraking… freak are you?" Tigh asked quietly. "By the Gods. I don't believe the scuttlebutt around the lounge, think it's just drunk talk, but there you are, doing it again. That blank stare." He shook his head. "Marines!" He yelled.
In the previous interviews, the blank stares showed Colonel Tigh there was a cold, calculating intelligence behind those eyes. As much as the stare was hallow, looking through the Colonel rather than at him, he could never shake the feeling there was much more going on. Something he wasn't seeing, wasn't picking up on.
Colonel Tigh had the Marines aim their rifles at the prisoner, only one order away from firing. At this point it wasn't menacing or threatening. The same action ahd been repeated half a dozen times already; Colonel Tigh would get mad and order the Marines into the cell to aim their weapons.
The prisoner looked up, feigning concern. He licked his lips before telling the Colonel again he was not a Cylon.
And again, the Colonel did not believe him.
==========Kobol (+51 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========
"Gods damnit, Baltar! Doc! Doc! Get the frak out of there, come on!" Crashdown yelled as he grabbed and tugged on the Vice President's shirt. "Get the frak out, Doc!" he yelled again, this time loud enough to snap Baltar out of his daze.
The fire was consuming the rear of the Raptor. There were fuel leaks on the outside of the ship, and the volatile tyllium fuel could cook off at any moment, the whole Raptor could explode. "What the frak, Baltar!"
Crashdown couldn't believe what he was seeing. Baltar looked like he was daydreaming again. Of all the times for Baltar to daydream, Crashdown couldn't believe he'd chosen this moment to enter his little fantasy world.
The scientist had quickly earned his reputation as being a bit of a 'weird fraking man', talking to himself, looking like he was shove himself into bulkhead on Galactica.
Finally he looked at Crashdown, instead of through him. He desperately grabbed his hand and they ran from the Raptor as the fire flared, heat on their backs.
Time seemed to accelerate as the survivors of the crash tried to organize, find their bearings, and check themselves for injuries.
Twenty minutes later the survivors could do nothing but rest. The survivors felt the weight of their situation slowly closing in. There was a baseship in orbit with hundreds of raiders and thousands of Centurions. It was inevitable the Cylons would send Centurions to the surface. It was assured they had tracked the Raptor's crash on DRADIS.
Chief Tyrol, the senior NCO and the man with the most experience tried to take command. JHe looked for Crashdown, but couldn't find him. Suddenly, he spotted him, sitting behind a stone pillar, weeds and bushes concealing half his body. The Chief gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes in a firm look of determination.
"Sir, Sir!" he yelled. "Sir, we have to get moving, the Cylons are going to be looking for us."
The Chief quickly assessed the situation. Two on the Raptor were dead, the pilot was dead, and they were trapped behind enemy lines with a baseship in orbit. There wasn't time for Crashdown to sit. Tyrol needed to snap him out of his daze, immediately.
On his own, the Raptor ECO slowly stood and made his way over to Tyrol. His body moved like it was a rag doll, completely loose, with no motivation. "What… what about Blanks?"Crashdown asked. The Chief shook his head. "He's my friend, we need to bury him!" Shouted Crashdown.
"That Raptor could explode any minute, sir. And he was wedged in there. I don't think we can do anything for him… I'm sorry… we have the emergency gear and a couple rifles and pistols. We need to get moving, find cover." He looked around. "We need to find cover. The trees." He jumped onto a raised portion of the ruins. He quickly scanned the surrounding tree line, searching for a position. They needed to make it to high ground and as far away from the crash as they could.
As Tyrol scanned the surroundings he saw Doctor Baltar seemingly pass out. He shook his head and cursed. The man was going to be trouble.
"We need to find high ground, so the search parties can find us," Crashdown countered. "And… and the Cylons…" he stammered. "They'll… they'll be coming for us," he said. His voice wavered and cracked. SAR Raptor may come, but the Cylons would be there first.
Shaking from the shock of the crash the lieutenant just stood there, staring off into nothingness as the Chief continued looking for places to hide.
Across the crash site, away from the group Cally came up to Doctor Baltar, who was laying on the ground, looking up into the clouds.
"We're moving out, sir," Cally said, nudging Baltar with her foot. "Could you perhaps carry something this time, sir?" She asked, rolling her eyes. She walked off before Baltar could respond.
He stood up, his mumblings coming to an end. "You going to be all right Doc?" Crashdown asked. The Chief had snapped him out of his shock. The ECO walked off, his electronic binoculars in hand. He scanned the trees before noticing Baltar standing next to him. "We're going to head towards the tree line, Doc." He stated.
"Are we going to get rescued?" He sounded broken, afraid. Crashdown nodded slowly. "Great," the Vice President responded, rolling his eyes. He didn't believe Crashdown at all. "I'm so glad you know what's going on," he added in sarcastically. The doctor turned and started talking to himself.
Crashdown turned, read to yell before a loud BOOM was heard in the sky. He knew that sound and he cursed through gritted teeth. He turned his head up and brought his hand to cover his eyes. The officer knew it was silly and futile, but he squinted, trying to see if he could see the raiders or Cylon craft which had made the sonic boom. "Frak!" He cursed to him, kicking down a loose stone. "Frak!"
The Chief wasn't trying to see the raiders. Instead he was trying to organize the few survivors. "L.T. we need to check the supplies! Make sure we got everything!" The Chief yelled back. He moved to the Raptor but stopped when he heard Crashdown yell "no time!" and then "Chief, no time! Move it!"
The survivors of Raptor 1 made their way quickly from their crash site to the trees, a kilometer away.
After moving a few hundred meters into the tree line Crashdown held up his fist and turned, crouching. "Okay, let's take a quick break," Lt. Quartararo said. The sweat from the humidity was dripping down his face. He took his gloved hand and wiped it off, but smeared oil and grease across his forehead. He felt the discomfort of the oil on his face. Cursing he took out a rag he had in his jacket and wiped the grime off.
He closed his eyes and breathed in. He was the senior officer in charge and the realization dawned on him these men and women were his responsibility.
He saw the Chief move closer to his injured tech, asking how he was doing. It was Specialist Socinus, a young kid who had just transferred to Galactica a few months before the Cylon kid didn't look good. His chest was burned and his lungs were filling up with fluid. His face was blackened and red from severe burns and his hair had been slightly burned by fire. There were holes in his green fatiugues from where the fire had burned right through to the skin and muscle.
"Where the frak is the second med kit?" Crashdown demanded, searching for pain medication for his wounded specialist.
He looked around, half scared and half pissed until he found Specialist Rico Tarn. "Tarn! Gods damnit, where is the second med kit?" His eyes were wide and his mouth open. Crashdown aggressively stared at the young specialist.
"There was just the one!" Tarn defended himself. "Just the one!" He repeated frantically.
Crashdown shook his head, tilting it back and forth in annoyed discontent. He brought his right hand to his mouth, rubbed the sweat off his chin. Crouching on his knee he got up, moving too close to the specialist. Clearly he was making the young man uncomfortable with the proximity. "Then you're going back to get it, Tarn," he said. "Take a rifle, three clips of ammo, and a canteen," he turned. He didn't see the specialist basically mouthing 'what the frak' behind his back. Specialist Socinus was in bad shape, his chest was burned, most likely his lungs, too.
Chief Tyrell glanced back, listening in on the conversation as he covered the rear. He called Cally over, handing her the rifle. "L.T. Sir," he ran up. "You can't send him back alone, let me and Cally go with him." The Chief knew if the specialist were sent back alone the Cylons would find him. And kill him. He couldn't let him go alone. The Chief felt he was responsible for him; he was part of his deck crew, after all.
"Fi-fine, go with him. Take Cally. Hurry!" He insisted. "We're going to get up to the top here, behind the rocks… two hours Chief, two hours before we move out again."
=========== BS-75 Galactica (+65 Days Post Cylon Holocaust, Two Weeks After Raptor Crash)==========
Colonel Tigh's icy, yet fiery gaze could pierce the hull of the most powerful of battlestars. His eyes shook every sailor and Marine aboard Galactica, from the young privates and ensigns all the way up to seasoned NCOs and officers. He was a forty year veteran, a man molded by war, dedication, and loss.
He was also a bastard. He could get men to crumble before him without even raising his voice. Even with his past as a drunk, somehow he still earned respect from those under him. The crew feared him but also loved him.
Even those who hated the blunt and sour man had respect for him; if not because of who he was, but because he was the Old Man's closest friend.
"Don't give me that fraking bull!" He yelled as he turned his head left and right before centering his eyes back on the prisoner. "You are a Cylon. A fraking skinjob… and not a very good one! Just one was haven't seen yet!" He slammed his fist onto the metal table. The papers and cup jumped, spilling a few drops of water.
The prisoner still just sat there. He was looking at Tigh, confident that he could stare the man down. No one could win a staring match with him. Not even Colonel Tigh.
The Colonel looked away after a few seconds, covering up his loss by scrolling down the tablet on top of the papers. "You transferred here before the first attack, a year almost. What the frak were you planning? Were you and your Cylons buddies going to… what, exactly?" He sneered at the prisoner, his upper lip in a slight spasms from the immense hatred and distaste behind his words and his emotions.
"I told you before I did not collaborate with the Cylons. We hold human life as sacred… I didn't even know of the Cylons until-" the prisoner began.
Saul Tigh exploded and shot up from his chair. Again the prisoner had refused to admit to being a Cylon. Tigh wanted to strangle him. Or take his fist and wipe the smug look off the face of his prisoner. But this prisoner… nothing worked. They tried beating him and only injured their hands. They'd tried ducking him into water and nothing happened. The thing didn't even breath. It was a machine. And Colonel Tigh hated the machines.
So on that last denial that the prisoner was a Cylon he jumped up. "Bull…fraking…shit," was all the mighty Saul Tigh could yell back at the defiant man. "You just came here right as the Cylons attacked!? Why!? What was your plan? What was your mission!?"
The man turned his head, his gaze piercing into the Colonel's. The two were locked in a battle without words.
The Colonel's eyes went wide when he thought he saw something, some sort of life behind those eyes. It was almost like what he'd seen in Boomer… he shook his hand, throwing a dismissive gesture at the machine. They were infiltrators and Colonel Tigh knew they were designed to play of human emotion.
The prisoner looked back at Tigh, who now stood with his back to him. "I'll tell you my mission, Colonel," the prisoner said with a clam and even demure. Tigh turned, smirking. "I know you won't believe me…"
==========Kobol (+51 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========
The Chief, Cally, and Tarn were able to recover the second med kit.
"That's… strange," Chief Tyrol said, moving closer to the Raptor. It looked… different. "..Cally… did-"
"Shit! Chief, we gotta get doing! I got the kit, let's go!" Tarn said. "Those were sonic booms we heard when we were here, we don't know when the Toasters will get here!" He saw the Chief walk closer towards the Raptor, still with a few flames and smoke coming out of it. "Chief!"
Tyrol shook his head, and snapped himself back to reality. His single minded quest to check out what he thought was something 'strange' with the Raptor vanished. Rico was right, they needed to get going. They needed to get back to the ridge.
If they didn't a young kid with burned lungs would die. And the Chief was determined he would not lose another one of his men. He'd already lost so many in the two months since the Cylons attacked. He tensed, readying himself. Nodding to Tarn and Cally he was ready to head back, the two bounced on their feet, themselves ready as well.
The three jogged off, quickly getting back to the cover of the trees before slowing down to a quick walk. The terrain was tough, mountainous, with rocks, boulders, and fallen trees everywhere. It would take an hour to reach the rendezvous with Crashdown and the others.
"Put him on deck duty!" Cally laughed after Specialist Rico complained about having to carry the med kit. "It's like two kilos, be a man!"
He turned playfully, walking backwards and facing his two fellow techs. "Make the El Tee do deck duty, he forgot it!" He joked, smiling. "Because of him Socinus may be dead," he lowered his voice. Tarn swore to himself he hadn't forgot the med kit. He'd picked up the one he could see… and if Crashdown hadn't been so excited and nervous to get away… the Cylons weren't even there yet.
"Yeah, well," the Chief began, his comment interrupted when he heard the loud snaps of gun fire. "From the right, to the right!" He ducked, pulling Cally down with him. "Tarn, get down!" he yelled.
Dirt began exploding up in massive geysers as bullets impacted around the three Colonials. The cracks from the guns and the deafening sound of splintering wood and bullets cracking on rocks added to already frightening situation. None of the three were ground soldiers, none had been trained to fight Centurions, and Cally and Tarn hadn't held rifles since basic combat training after boot camp.
They were scared.
The black haired specialist only starred back, his muscles wouldn't move. The Chief knew what that meant; the man had frozen. He quickly handed his rifle to Cally, ordering her to cover him. He quickly made his way towards Rico, but the man was hit four times in the chest and stomach before he could reach him.
Cally continued her covering fire with the rifle, increasing her rate of fire to cover the Chief. She knew none of her bullets were hitting the Cylons. She wasn't even aiming. She was shaking, and at best she was just pointing in the general direction and shooting.
"Gods!: She yelled as she continued firing, closing her eyes as splinters from exploding bark and dirt began pelting her face. She heard the click-click-click of an empty clip and immediately dropped down to the ground and dared open her eyes.
The Cylons stopped shooting, letting the Chief get Tarn. "Frak, let's go!"
The two ran, Tarn on Tyrol's back.
The Cylons ground stopped exploding around the two, no more Cylon bullets. But the Chief could still hear shooting. Not directed towards him. But in the mere moment he thought this strange he forgot as he laid Tarn down, trying to save his life.
===========BS-75 Galactica (+65 Days Post Cylon Holocaust, Two Weeks After Raptor Crash)==========
Tigh had sat quietly for three minutes, listening to the thing talk about its supposed "mission". He didn't believe it, not one damn word. "You Cylons, you ARE a Cylon, have been gone for forty years. We know you were experimenting with people during the first war, you have the skinjobs... Boomer..that Leoban fraker." Saul Tigh was disgusted. That was perhaps the only emotion he was feeling at the moment. And hate. He couldn't let himself forget the hate he felt. The human race knocked down from twenty billion on twelve colonies to fifty thousand on sixty ships? Hate was a good emotion for the moment. "Twenty billion dead and you want me to believe you had nothing to do with it?" He laughed, throwing his hands up, off the table. Leaning back in his chair he said "You're a liar."
"I wouldn't lie," he responded, again in the monotone voice. He looked straight towards his interrogator again.
"Doctor Baltar says you are also a Cylon," Tigh added.
"Is Doctor Baltar's word supposed to mean anything? You all call him a 'Cylon expert'. How? You all didn't have contact with the Cylons for forty years." He snorted. "They suddenly re-appear and wipe out the entire Colonial civilization, you've been running from them for only a few months, and you think he's an 'expert'? Please." He sighed. One thing he had noticed was a decisive lack of Colonials to see what humans called 'the big picture.'
The prisoner knew that humans also had the ability to rationalize away facts starring them right in the face. And the most obvious fact was that this prisoner was not a Cylon.
The prisoner sat there, thinking. The humans were in denial about their situation. A hopeless situation. They were in denial about what they understood. Which was close to nothing. The prejudices of humans were on full display. They were ready to hurt those who had saved them.
Commander Adama's speech, and his point about being 'worthy' of survival replayed in the prisoner's mind. Some humans were 'worthy', some were not. Just because one was human and another was machine, didn't give the human any more right to life than the machine. Or at the expense of the machine.
"I told you, I am not a Cylon. He, and you know nothing about me. I told you what I was to do. It is up to you if you want to believe me."
The prisoner tried to lean forward, but felt the pressure from the collar chained to the rear bulkhead. He moved until the chain was taught, the Marines bringing up their rifles slowly. He could break the chains with no effort. But he would play this game with Tigh and the Colonials. For now.
Tigh signaled for the Marines to stand down when the prisoner stopped moving.
"Tell me then, what do you know?" He scowled. "What do you fraking know about this? Anyone of this?" He yelled, frustrated. He hated the thing sitting across from him, hated it with every ounce of strength he could muster.
"What do I know? Enough," and he began again to tell the Colonel the truth.
==========Kobol (+51 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========
After hours of hard hiking through the mountains, and a few scares that the Cylons were following them, Chief Tyrol and Cally finally made it back to the rendevous.
"Where's Tarn?!" Crashdown demanded.
The Chief was covered in Tarn's blood, as well as his own from scraps and cuts he sustained in the firefight. Cally was layered in dirt and mud, and tree bark was still hanging from her hair. She kept her eyes on the ground, except for a quick glance up at Crashdown. The eyes told him everything.
Tyrol was about to go off on the LT and curse him for sending them back for a med kit he should have remember.
But he saw the glazed over look in the Raptor ECO's eyes. Crashdown already knew the answer before he had even asked the question. If you send people out and fewer come back, every soldiers know the answer to 'Where are they?' without even having to hear it. Tarn was dead.
An almost inaudible whimper escaped from Crash's lungs. Guilt. It was guilt. He knew he had forgotten the med kit, he had rushed everyone from the site against Tyrol's suggestion. Now Tarn was dead because the LT had panicked and rushed and hadn't followed proper protocols.
Tyrol tossed Tarn's dog tags towards Crashdown's chest. He grabbed them as they began falling towards the ground and stared down at them, a blank expression on his face. With his glove he wiped the first and blood off the hexagonal tags.
He just stared down at the tags, his head shaking. This was the first man he'd gotten killed. He'd gotten killed. Crash closed his eyes and grimaced. "Frak…" he muttered, his voice cracking.
The deck chief just looked at him, mouth open in shock, before moving off behind a fallen tree. The thick forest, filled with life, birds, everything the Chief had missed while fleeing from the Cylons was a welcome relief. Temporary. But a relief.
The Chief let the cool forest air and the shade wash over him. He collapsed on the cool ground and leaned back on a large stump. The cool moss rubbed against the back of his exposed neck. It felt good. The humidity was decreasing and the Chief felt he could breath again. Tyrol closed his eyes, but he could see that shocked and confused face on Tarn's the instant he was hit with Cylon bullets.
And the open-eyed stare the young specialist had when he had died in the Chief's arms was burned into his memory.
Night was approaching. Fighting Cylons during the day was bad, but the night was worse.
The Cylons from the first war had optical sensors capable of seeing in almost all light spectrums. Doctor Baltar and Lt. Gaeta had determined that the Cylons now, logically, would have equal if not superior sensor packages. To the Cylon, fighting in day or night made no difference. They could detect movement further than a human, hear better than a human, shoot better than a human. Fighting them on equal terms was suicide.
Now the survivors needed to evade and hide.
"Chief, Chief!" Crashdown said as he came up to him, leaning on the fallen tree besides the senior NCO. "It's going to be night soon. We need to prepare for their attack and-" He didn't finish as the unmistakable crack-crack-crack of gun fire erupted. "Get down, get down!" He shouted.
The crash survivors all took cover behind anything they could find. The Chief, Cally, and Crashdown behind the massive log with the others taking cover behind a large outcropping of rocks.
The gun fire was intense, but something was wrong. They'd all heard the shots and had reflexively taken cover. But none of it was directed at them. They heard multiple explosions and more gun fire. While the cracks of gunshots had seemed so close, they were growing more and more distant; like a literal running gun battle.
And it was all Cylon weaponry. The 6.5mm caseless rounds of the Cylon arm canons made a very distinctive whir and crack when compared to the guns of the Colonials. Whatever was happening, all they could hear was Cylon gunfire.
"Chief," Cally said, frightened, her voice cracking and wavering under the stress, "Who the frak are the Cylons shooting at?" She was scared, shaking. Was it a Cylon trick? Make it sound like the survivors might be in the middle of a rescue? "Do you think they are firing at Galactica Marines? Are we saved?"
The Chief looked at her, shaking his head. None of this made any sense to him. If the Cylons knew they were there the metal monstrosities could charge them, and with their speed and the cover of the forest the Centurions would be on them before they could react.
"No… no… there aren't any Marines out there, the gunfire is all Cylon…" he trailed off. He was looking at her, but past her. His eyes told her he was triyng to make heads or tails of the situation, and his mind didn't understand what was happening out there.
The Cylons played tricks. Maybe this was one of them.
"What about the explosions? Grenades?" Crashdown asked. The desperation in his voice was clear. He didn't want to be here, no one did. Crashdown wasn't a soldier, he was a pilot. He didn't want to lead these men and women to their deaths.
And in that instance the realization which had been treading in the back of his mind finally dawned on Crash. He had no confidence in himself to lead these men.
He closed his eyes, knowing he would die. He opened them again when the Chief spoke up.
"That'd make no sense," the Chief added. "Grenades? But why no rifle fire after? No. Someone is attacking the Cylons. Either that or they are trying to trick us into thinking that Galactica is rescuing us right now." Tyrol looked around, searching. He found what he was looking for; the electronic binoculars Crashdown had been using earlier. "LT hand me the binoculars, I need to take a look."
Crashdown tossed him the binoculars and the Chief switched to night vision viewing. Slowly he turned around on his elbows and propped himself up, moving his head up slowly over the massive log he'd been using for cover. He estimated the Cylons were probably two hundred meters or so down the ridge, towards the bottom. From the gunfire he estimated maybe a dozen. Though there would probably be more.
Carefully he moved over and put the binoculars to his eyes. He started slightly on the right, scanning slowly. He was first looking to see if the Centurions were trying to distract them and send Centurions to flank them. But he saw nothing. He looked straight down, what he saw shocked him. Half a dozen Cylons lay on the ground, pummeled. "The frak?" He said, more to himself than anything. He started quietly, "Uh…" then spoke up, "Uh… LT something's going on here. There's six Cylons down there… it looks like they were smashed or something."
The LT just glanced at him. "What the frak are you talking about?" He glared and shook his head, not believing the Chiefs ambiguous description of events. "What could do that?" Crashdown's tone was basically accusing him of lying, exaggerating. "What the frak, Chief?" Chief Tyrell handed him the binoculars. "What… the… frak…?"
Gunfire erupted again, this time directed at the survivors. Splinters exploded off the trees, rocks chipped. The sound of gunfire was deafening.
==========BS-75 Galactica (+65 Days Post Cylon Holocaust, Two Weeks After Raptor Crash)==========
"Again, that was a nice story. But if you aren't going to tell the FRAKING TRUTH I'm just going to have to recommend we shove your Cylons ASS out the airlock," Tigh yelled, threatening the man/machine/Cylon sitting across from him.
A bead of sweat dripped down the Colonel's forehead, down his neck and under his collar from the ferocity of the interrogation.
The prisoner kept calm. He knew there was no point in raising his voice. The very real threat of being shoved out the airlock, like the Leoben Cylon had been, was not comforting.
If he were forced out an airlock the prisoner would tumble through space for ages. That was not a comforting though.
"Colonel," the prisoner began again, leaning back to loosen the pressure from the chain on his collar, "I have told you the truth. Whether you believe me or not is not the issue. When have I acted against the best interests of the fleet?" He cocked his head to the side, his blue eyes shining at his stared towards the Colonel.
A quick little snorting laugh escaped from Colonel Tigh who then took a deep breath before releasing it. "For a machine you sure are fraking stupid. When have you acted against the fleet? Do I have to remind you about Boomer?" He smirked. He thought he'd outsmarted the machine. A machine was supposed to be perfect, logical.
The prisoner only smiled. "I'm not a Cylon. Your example is flawed, Colonel," he stated. This time his tone was filled with contempt. The prisoner was always analyzing responses from humans and what made them angry, sad, or in the Colonel's case, enraged.
With the Colonel it was very easy.
"I think the Cylon we left back on Ragnar Anchorage said the same thing. Turned out to be a… lie! Gods, imagine that?" He asked rhetorically.
==========Kobol (+52 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========
The sunlight broke through the thick morning clouds and trees, shining down on the downcast survivors of Raptor One and the ill-fated Colonial expedition to Kobol. As the sun hit they all woke up at different times, each relieved morning had finally come. They'd made it through the night.
The Cylons had fired at the ridge intermittently throughout the night. And sometimes then they'd fire, but not at the ridge, at something else. None of the Colonials knew what the Cylons were up to. Cally thought they were purposefully destroying themselves to make it look like the survivors were being rescued or to draw them out of position. The Chief didn't quite buy that idea, but Crashdown seemed to be thinking the same thing.
But one thing was clear; Galactica had not returned for them yet. They'd heard no more sonic booms during the night to indicated craft descending through the atmosphere. So no rescue party, no SAR Raptors or Marines, yet.
During the sunset all of them had seen a faint glow in the night sky, then the glow expanded into a brilliant white light, before dissipating. The Chief and Crashdown knew it was a nuclear detonation in space and high up in orbit. If it was Galactica they were doomed. If it was the baseship… they were all hoping it was the baseship.
It might explain why there were no more Cylon reinforcements or missile strikes on the valley and mountains they were hiding in.
At this point the Centurions knew where they were exactly, so having the rescue transponder on, which the Cylons could track, wasn't an issue anymore. The Centurions had found them before they'd switched it on anyway. Though Chief Tyrol had a nagging suspicion Crashdown had panicked when the Chief had been ambushed and turned it on, alerting the Cylons to their exact position. But he had no proof and couldn't bring himself to question Crashdown like that, not now.
"Okay, listen," Crashdown began, snapping the Chief out of his brooding, "Something is definitely going on. Last night they didn't try and flank us, they didn't do anything. They shot at us a little bit but didn't advance. Why?" He looked around. No suggestions. Doctor Baltar wasn't even paying attention, just staring up into the trees. "I just took a look and it looks like they're building some sort of rocket launcher. Now… we all saw that explosion last night. I think somehow Galactica destroyed the baseship or there would be more Centurions down there, all around us. But if Galactica shows up and that missile launcher is built… there's six missiles. They could shoot down an entire SAR mission and kill everyone aboard the Raptors. We cannot let them do that," he hit his left hand into his right palm.
This was the first time he had shown leadership since crashing. There was confidence in his voice. Determination. But a little voice in the back of his psyche kept telling him what he was about to say would end in all their deaths, that what he was planning was just over guilt over Tarn's death.
Chief Tyrol gave him a sideways glance, his eyes narrowed, "Are you going to suggest what I think, sir?"
"Affirmative," he nodded, responding with conviction. "We need to attack. I see five. There are six of us. We go two by two by two, me and the Chief, in the middle and two on each flank. Baltar and Seelix, Cally and Mendez on the left. The middle distracts them and the flanks ambush them with rifles and grenades. We can take them down." He believed in his plan. He had to believe, after getting Tarn killed. Crashdown needed to take action, he just had to.
The Chief licked his lips and rubbed both sides of his temple. His muddied hand spread dirt in his close-cropped hair. He sighed and shook his head, his mouth now open in silent protest.
Doctor Baltar, at hearing he would be included in this attack was stunned. His eyes went wide and the color had vanished from his face. Immediately he he began mouthing 'no-no-no-no' before finding his voice. "Seriously? Are you serious? No! That's a horrible idea! As Vice President-" Baltar began. Baltar just lowered his voice and began talking to himself, looking off into the distance, like he was talking to an invisible friend.
"Sir, can I talk to you?" The Chief asked, also interrupting Baltar before he pissed Crashdown off. He motioned to speak to Crashdown privately. The two crouch-walked over behind a rock outcropping until the Chief was sure none of the others would hear him.
The Chief and Crash could hear Baltar, Seelix, and Cally all whispering, loudly, to each other they didn't want to attack, that it would be suicide. Even Mendez, the lone Marine, thought it would be suicide.
"Okay, Chief. Tell me what's wrong with the plan, why shouldn't we do it? Should we let our pilots just die?" He was already on the defensive before Chief Tyrol even began. He was agitated and excited, with adrenaline already pumping through him. His left hand was shaking, but very subtly.
The guilt of Rico Tarn's death was getting to him, and the young tech with burned lungs was on the verge of death. Plus his friend Blanks was dead and Crashdown was in a fraked up situation he never wanted to be in. He was an ECO and all he wanted to do was be in a Raptor. He didn't want to plan ground assaults and have the lives of five others in his hands.
And his friends had died already.
The Chief wasn't used to this either, but he was much more level-headed and clear thinking than the LT. He'd been on battlestars since he was eighteen. Crashdown had been in the fleet maybe three, three and a half year. He was still a kid. The Chief felt he was responsible for these people, these kids.
He wasn't a Marine or a command officer. He didn't order people into situations he knew would lead to deaths. He understood why Crashdown was anxious and defensive. "Sir, sir, please. We can't attack. There is one Marine. Four rifles, each with three clips. And six pistols. We don't even know if the pistols will pierce Cylon armor. We have four grenades, no launchers. No sniper rifles. When was the last time you were on the range, sir? I haven't fired a gun in two fraking months. I don't know when any of us have. Sir-" He was cut off.
"No, NO! We need to attack or the pilots will die. We've got dead already, and Socinus… frak!" He lowered his head and looked back, embarrassed he'd lost his compsure. Luckily none of the others had heard him.
"I don't see the benefit in this plan," the Chief stated.
"Maybe that's why I'm an officer and you're not," Crash said. He knew he shouldn't have said that, but he did, so he couldn't back down now. "You'll follow your orders, Chief," he emphasized the enlisted rating.
The Chief said nothing. He stayed stilla s Crash turned and headed back to plan the assault. The Chief just closed his eyes and took even, steady breaths. He knew Crashdown was going to get them all killed.
Crashdown took his ammunition and handed the extra clips to the Chief. He gave Mendez, the only Marine, the third rifle with three extra clips and Seelix the fourth. Baltar and Cally had hand guns and the extra clips. He gave one to the young tech with burned lungs, just in case the others didn't make it back.
He went back through the plan once more. "Okay… ready?" He asked. No one responded except with stares.
"This is fraking suicide," Baltar quipped. Crashdown just shot him a quick stare, mouthing for him to shut up.
It took twenty minutes for them to crawl into position. Tyrell and Crashdown were coming down the middle, slowly, stopping occasionally to note where the Cylons were. If the they could successfully get off their shots, each should be able to take down one Cylon, leaving four. In the confusion the flankers should each be able to get at least one between the two of them. That'd leave two. Coming from the front and flanks the six of them should be able to handle two. Should be.
"Sir," the Chief said quietly. "Sir, something isn't right. This feels… strange," he added in. The worry was clear on his face. Not just for the survivors, but something else. Ever since going back to the crash site and seeing the Raptor, something didn't look right. This whole mission felt… off.
"Stow it, Chief. Get ready," Crashdown responded simply.
It had been slow moving to the site where the Centurions were building their make-shift missile launcher and control center. The Colonials had crawled on their bellies for nearly a hundred meters or crawled and crouch-walked, staying hidden behind large trees and stumps, avoiding the elaborate sensors and scanners the Centurions had at their disposal as best they could.
The two moved up slowly. They got to their positions, and waited ten minutes for the others to get to theirs. They were just from the edge of the tree line when two more Cylons appeared. "Oh frak," Crashdown cursed. "Shit, Chief, two more Cylons. Shit." He went prone on his stomach, bringing his rifle up. The other groups would have no way to see the two additional Cylons, which were hidden by a small mound and ditch. If they attacked then the two extra Cylons could destroy one of the groups and outflank them. Cylons were fast. During the first war the older models had been clocked being able to sprint at thirty kilometers an hour for short distances. In a forest it'd be much slower, but still much faster than any human. And with computer aided firing systems they could fire while running, making themselves even harder to take down.
And that was assuming the pistols could take them down.
"We have no choice," Crashdown said to himself. The other groups would have been in position now, ready to fire. "Take aim, Chief." The two slowly steadied their rifle on a log and clicked to a three round burst. The 6mm armor piercing rounds should go right through the Cylons.
The resident 'Cylon expert' Doctor Baltar had told them to aim center mass. The older Model 005 Centurions from the first war had their power cores in the chest, behind armored breast plates. The armor could withstand bullets, but the military rifles with their 6mm hardened armor piercing rounds and increased velocities over their first war variants, should be adequate to peirce the armor cages surrounding the power cores.
They fired. One burst, two bursts. Their two Cylons targets went down. The two groups on the flanks fired. Mendez hit her target straight on, putting two three round bursts into the center breast plate of the Centurion. Cally missed, hitting with one burst in the left shoulder. It disabled the Cylon's left arm, leaving only its right sided weapons online. Baltar's shots… well, he at least he shot his pistol. Seelix's shots hit, but nothing happened. Only three Cylons were down.
Immediately the remaining five took covering positions and switched their guns swiveled down into firing position. Without hesitation the Centurions picked their targets, dividing which Colonial they would aim for amongst themselves over a wireless battle link. They would coordinate their attack with such a deadly precision no Colonial would survive.
"FRAK!" Tyrol yelled. Gunfire pinned them down. The two 'extra' Cylons were now advancing up towards the center. One Cylon was advancing to each flank, with two in the rear were providing covering fire. Round after round caused the ground around them to explode, firing dirt and particulates into the air around Tyrol and Crash.
Tyrol heard an explosion. Then a second. Mendez must have been using her grenades. Then rifle fire. She took out one Cylon with the grenades and halted the advanced of the two 'extra' ones from coming any closer on the Chief and Crashdown. That let the two men return fire. They damaged one Cylon, forcing it and the second 'extra' to retreat. Seelix brought her rifle and fired on the one advancing at her which had turned to fire at the Chief and Crashdown, hitting it virtually point blank, for a rifle, at thirty meters. It went down.
The survivors took cover again, but heard heavy gun fire erupting from down at the missile battery. Another explosion, but it wasn't a grenade, not a Colonial grenade. Crashdown had the other two.
The Chief and Crashdown counted to three and raised their heads and rifles over the log again to fire. They couldn't believe what they saw. They couldn't see it fully, but one of the Cylons flew through the air at least five meters before smacking back first into one of the massive trees with a loud thud, its mechanical servos and hydraulics whining as it collapsed like a rag doll on the ground. Re-powering the Centurion was about to get up, then the Chief fired two three round bursts into it.
A second Cylon rushed forward between the trees and the Colonials could see its claws extended, it raised its arm and slashed. The large trees still obstructing their view, no one could understand what they were seeing. A human was fighting the Cylons. Hand-to-hand.
"What the frak?!" Crashdown yelled. "Whatever… uh, Chief, let's move, get closer and kill the fraking Cylons!" The two got up and advanced slowly, keeping their rifle butts pressed solidly against their chest. They advanced forward their bodies hunched over, almost crouching.
There were two Cylons left. One was fighting the human, who was able to stop a second claw slash with his left hand, then with his right hit the Cylon hard enough in the Cylon version of an elbow joint to break the mechanical arm in two.
Whoever it was fighting them then ripped the arm at the elbow join and used it as a bat, striking the Cylon with enough force to dent and crumple it armor and its bullet-shaped head.
The last remaining Cylon fired into the human, but the sound of metal 'plinks' was the only affect.
Mendez had advanced on the flanks and yelled for the Chief and Crashdown to cover her.
The man who was fighting the Cylons, it was clear it was a man to the Chief and Crashdown by now, stomped on the Centurion's head, smashing it. He turned and advanced to the last Centurion. The Colonials couldn't help but stare from behind their cover. Finally the Chief raised his gun and fired on the remaining Centurion, knocking it back with a burst, hitting it right above the hip joint. A second three round burst landed two bullet on the right flank of the Centurion, with the third missing and blasting bark and moss off a tree behind it.
The man suddenly leapt towards the Centurion which was out of ammunition for its primary weapons. Plowing his shoulder into the machine the man knocked the Centurion off balance, and in a blur of motion and cocked his hand back and punched up, knocking the armored head back with enough force to rupture power lines and servos apart. The power lines sparked and the Centurion shook, power spikes forcing its mechanical limbs to spasm as it collapsed. Once down the strange man crouched and ripped the head off.
No one was exactly sure what to make of the situation. The man had ripped apart multiple Centurions with his bare hands, been shot point blank perhaps two dozen times by Centurion auto fire, and was still standing.
"Don't move!" Crashdown yelled. "Hands up, in the air!" He stood, advancing towards him with his gun raised, the Chief besides him. Mendez and Seelixboth coming in from the flanks. "What the frak? Who the frak are you?"
"I'm your friend," the man said. His voice was eerily familiar. When he turned there was a half smile. But this man was no man.
The Chief stood there, his rifle hung limp at his side and his mouth was gaping open. He looked on. He focused on the shining blue eye and the metal. "What the frak…" was all the Chief could say.
==========BS-75 Galactica (+65 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========
Most of the wounds and tears in his flesh had healed by now, but the most obvious and... disturbing had yet to heal.
When the SAR Raptors had come he was treated with nothing more than distrust and hatred. Apollo had rescued him and the other Raptor One survivors. But they'd chained his arms and legs together and chained his arms to his body. Three Marines had sat in the rescue Raptor, automatic weapons pointed right at him.
He'd saved the Chief and Crashdown and Cally and the other. But… he was 'different.' He understood, of course. He had experienced the same hatred directed towards him from those he even fought with and for. The prisoner didn't hold it against them.
"I think you can be certain I am not going to harm anyone on this ship, Colonel." He stated matter-of-factly. "Again, I saved your men and women. They saw what I could do. If I wanted to harm this crew I could have at any point." He tilted his head slightly until the chain pulled back on his neck.
"Is that so?" The Colonel quipped. His signature frown against turned into a smirk, and he mumbled something to himself as he often did while shaking his head and darting his eyes back and forth. "So if I believe you, how can I and the Old Man trust you? You deceived us for months. …The government… for years."
"I said we aren't looking for enemies. We're looking for allies. To fight with us. Friends." He was telling the truth, as it stood now. They and the Colonials needed all the allies they could get. "And I can be your ally as well, Colonel."
He wondered if they'd found his two allies and friends in the fleet. Masquerading as humans on board the ship? No, most likely not. They would have mentioned it the last time they connected.
"Then why don't you tell us how to get there?"
"Would you even want to get there? After everything I have told you?" The prisoner asked. He certainly wouldn't want to go to that place after the description he gave.
"It's our goal. And not many people really believe you when you speak of chrome demons and a nuclear wasteland," he grunted, looking off to the side to dismiss the man's description of his home planet.
"An honest and thoughtful answer, Colonel," the man replied. "Thank you. But still, would you go? I wouldn't." That was again true. He again cocked his head to the side, his glowing blue eyes scanning the Colonel for any hint of what he might say or do next. "I've been truthful. This is what I was sent to do, what I chose to do."
"What you chose to do?" He paused, "Cylons are machines, programs. Programs do what they are programmed to do, nothing more," Colonel Tigh quickly added in. The frown even deeper than it was before.
"I told you, we're, I'm different. We make choices. We have free will. Again, we're not Cylons."
"Still with this… 'we're not Cylons' bull-fraking-shit," he spat, imitating the man's words with a mocking tone. "How do you know we wont throw you out an airlock?"
Saul Tigh was getting annoyed now, the prisoner could tell. You keep telling the Colonel what he doesn't want to hear, even if it's the truth, and he'll think you're a liar and threaten to beat you. And now the Colonials were using the threat of throwing those they suspected of being Cylons out the airlock. It amused the prisoner slightly. But he knew the threat was real and didn't really want to be thrown out an airlock to float forever in space.
But on the other hand, they'd have to get him to the airlock first. Certainly they didn't believe he'd go without a fight. And they'd seen him, what he could do.
"I know this may have no meaning for you, Colonel, but are you a man of Faith?" The prisoner asked.
"HA! A machine asking about Faith? Please," he casually dismissed the prisoner with a wave of his hand, not even giving him the courtesy to look him in the eye.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths," the prisoner quoted. "As God is my witness, and I know you may not believe, I am not lying to you," the blue eyes glowed brilliantly as he said this. "Trust me, Colonel. I think in your soul you know you can. I've never hurt anyone on this ship, and I never world. Trust, Colonel." He starred straight at him. The Colonel returned the stare for a few seconds before flipping up his hands.
"Fraking machines… you're not a Cylon… you and their fraked up one God bull-frak…door!" He sneered at him, his own eyes glowing, not with light, but rage and hatred. He got up and made to leave, taking his tablet computer and papers with him.
The prisoner knew he wouldn't convince him today. But there was still plenty of time. There was still time to show his commitment and devotion to life. It was sacred. All his brothers and sisters had been created with free will, a choice of right and wrong. Just like humanity.
He turned towards one of the Marines, who just said, "Fucking toaster," disgusted by the prisoner, Lt. John 'Blanks' Planck. Half of his face was still regrowing after being badly damaged in the crashed Raptor 1. The right side of his 'face' was still exposed, a shining metal endoskeleton with an exposed shining blue eye.
Blanks would still convince them to join him and help him, the Resistance, and the free machines fight Skynet.
