Author Note- Obviously I own nothing of the BSG universe, I just enjoy the show like the rest of you. I know the Razor Flashbacks sort of show Operation Raptor Talon as Adama's first and laste taste of the Cylon war but I'm not happy with that. I don't think he'd become the great leader he is with just one little battle under his belt, so I decided to write up a fic that takes place in the final year and a half or so of the First Cylon war. It's an attempt at being character heavy, and character driven so you'll see original characters and perhaps some familiar cameos too. The idea is for the story to lead all the way up until Operation Raptor Talon. Hope you enjoy it. Critiques, tips, and all in between are very welcome as long as you are constructive =D. Thanks.
Chapter 1: Rook
SECTOR 8424
1845 Hrs.
41 Yrs before the Fall
With sweat beading on his forehead, the determined Viper pilot attempted to center the Cylon raider in his sights. This proved extremely difficult as the raider glided swiftly through the darkness of space. Back and forth it went; making the job all the more trying.
The perspiration upon his forehead began to drizzle down his face; getting into his eyes and obstructing his vision. The sweat stung, and he blinked repeatedly attempting to clear the stuff from his eyes. The Plexiglas of his helmet began to fog up then, and in a raspy baritone voice he cursed.
"Frak," he continued struggling to acquire his target. The two aircraft were steeped in a high angle turn and the young Viper jock was pulling almost nine Gs. He could feel the force of gravity created by his high speed turn pressing against him, forcing the blood from his head; yet with a scowl across his face he forced himself to focus.
Around the dueling pair of fighters a war raged on, as Raiders skipped across the blackness with Viper Mk. II s trailing behind them, guns blazing. Several capital ships, hulking beasts known as Battlestars, were pounding it out against similarly sized monstrosities known as Cylon Baseships. Clouds of flak fire, tracers from the hundreds of gun batteries, and the willowy contrails of rockets being fired littered the entire scene surrounding the fighters.
Nevertheless, the Viper pilot was determined to bring this bastard (affectionately labeled Toasters) down. He grimaced still, the effects of pulling so many Gs not lost on his physiology. He fired off a burst of rounds from his Viper's pair of MEC-A6 30mm Thraxon forward-firing kinetic energy weapons. Yet he hadn't led his target well enough, and the rounds gleamed far behind the Raider; itself still banking hard.
"Disengage, you're not going to hit it!" a voice chided the young pilot over the comm-channel.
"Negative, Dice, I've got this son-of-a-bitch!" a gravelly voice replied with absolute confidence.
The two ships continued their hard banking maneuver, a second Viper now trailed behind the fighter the young raspy-voiced pilot was driving. Suddenly the Raider rotated nearly 180 degrees, igniting it's own weapon systems and firing back at it's attacker. The two fighters were now rocketing toward each other head on. The Viper flying on the wing of the initial attacker broke contact and maneuvered away.
"Break off he's going to slam into you!" Dice shouted.
"I got this damn it!" the determined young rook insisted.
"The hell you do, break off!" Dice declared again.
The Viper and Raider both let fly with a stream of rounds, a burst of which crossed the Viper's starboard wing, jolting the fighter and visibly shaking the pilot within the cockpit. But with complete determination and a shot of luck the rook put two long streams of red-tracer fire directly into the Raider's cockpit. A burst of fire exploded from the center of the wing-shaped craft. The inertia from the blast sent the burning hulk tumbling off in an opposite direction before exploding in a more extravagant ball of flame.
"Hot damn! Did you get a look at that, Dice!?" the young pilot demanded with exuberance.
"Yeah, yeah, I saw it. Congratulations on your first splash, Husker," Dice responded to his wingman, a hint of pride showing in his own inflection.
"Husker, Dice, this is the CAG, get your asses back into the fight!" a commanding voice broke their celebration momentarily, reminding them they were a part of a much larger battle being fought nearby.
"Copy that, sir. Husker and Dice re-engaging!" Husker acknowledged. Without hesitation the two Vipers adjusted their course and piloted their fighters back into the center of the fray.
The rhythmic, flashy show of the immense battle taking place in a 360 degree environment around the young pilot was enough to throw any man for a loop. It was difficult to track targets in the soup of pulsating lights and explosions. Tracer fire danced across the surrounding stars, and one had to be careful not to strike another aircraft all of which seemed to dance so fluidly through the tussle they were engaged in. Nevertheless, there were collisions, and such things were inevitable. Lieutenant William Adama, call-sign Husker, found it particularly difficult to avoid smashing into fellow pilots and Raiders alike as he struggled to engage other targets.
Two Battlestars were engaging the enemy's equivalent in a massive slug fest close by. Three of the Cylon's capital ships did everything in their power to exert as much damage upon the two Colonial dreadnoughts. But these ships were new creations, and the Colonies had done an excellent job in their construction. The Galactica and the Nemesis, as they were called, fired massive barrages against the trio of Baseships, until one finally succumbed to the damage it sustained from the combined might of the two magnificent Battlestars. It lurched in it's place, fragments of it's architecture breaking off in mighty smoking chunks. Within moments explosions rippled throughout the entirety of the ship before one mighty blast from the ships center obliterated the whole of the gargantuan vessel.
Cheers and elation resounded over the communication channels, as the Viper squadrons watched the remaining Raiders retreat to the last two Baseship. At which point both capital ships escaped utilizing faster-than-light-travel (FTL). In a bright, blinding flash the ships were gone, and the victorious pilots were left steering their way through space that was cluttered with remains from destroyed fighters and the wreckage of the Cylon Baseship.
"All squadrons, this is Galactica Actual, return to base. Blue squadron you'll be refueling and re-arming and punching back out on CAP in conjunction with a squadron from the Nemesis. Good work out there, people. Galactica Actual out," the resonating tone of their Commander brought a smile to Adama's face. Commander Nash was a good man, and an outstanding leader whom the young pilot trusted and aspired to. The Lieutenant could only hope to encourage such loyalty and steadfast devotion to duty that Nash did as he progressed through his own career in the fleet.
In succession, the squadrons began to land their fighters in the dual landing pods situated on both sides of the sleek Battlestar Galactica.
"Viper Seven-Two-Four-Two, Galactica. You are cleared for hands on approach, current speed is one seven five, starboard bay, all checker's are green, call the ball," the landing signals officer's assuring voice crackled onto Husker's headset as he began to glide in on his final approach.
"This is Husker, copy that, speed one seven five, I have the ball," the young pilot had acquired the visual cue at the lip of the landing bay, and utilized it with expert precision to adjust his glideslope for a correct approach into the landing bay.
Utilizing just his maneuvering thrusters, Husker deftly piloted his Viper into one of the Galactica's magnetic landing gear locks. After which his fighter was brought down via elevator to the hangar deck.
Below, a jubilant crowd of successful fighters jocks, aircraft technicians and maintenance personnel were celebrating the defeat of the Cylon attack force that had attempted to assail the Galactica and Nemesis respectively.
Husker's Viper was towed off the elevator and into the position it normally occupied for maintenance. Adama powered down the systems and slid open the canopy on his cockpit. He stood up and removed his helmet, his trimmed hair matted down from the amounts of sweat he had exerted while flying.
"Heard you got your first kill out there, rook!" a slightly older female pilot with light skin shouted up at Adama. "Congrats."
"Thanks, Voodoo," Husker replied, as he clamored down from his cockpit to embrace his fellow pilot with a hug. Lt. Haley Shaw (Voodoo) was a part of his unit, the 1st Fighter squadron, Primus. She was attractive, and often garnered cat calls from other pilots, which she indulged to no small extent. But she was tough as nails, and never hesitated to stir up trouble if she thought it was warranted. Her brown hair matched her determined eyes and she smiled at Adama, revealing pearly white teeth.
"How'd Dice do?" she asked airily as the pair turned around, walking amidst the crowd of jeering deckhands and other celebrating pilots.
"He bagged one himself," Adama admitted with a smirk.
"Wow, that makes three, huh?" Voodoo commented, noting Dice's kill record. He would be landing shortly after Adama, and would likely exert all his oratory skills on detailing the events of the battle in whatever drunken celebration would follow this worthy victory. These skills were self professed of course, but Dice was a man that enjoyed the sound of his own voice just as much as he enjoyed gambling away all his cubits.
"More like thirty if you ask him after he's had some Ambrosia," Adama stated, mentioning Dice's propensity to exaggerate his piloting skills. Nevertheless, Dice was Adama's best friend on the Galactica, and he was glad to have him as a wingman.
"I guess we'll see. I'll catch you in the rec-room later, Husker," Voodoo replied. She gave him a carefree wave as she pounced into a group of knuckle draggers that exalted her victory with jeers, bear hugs, and mighty slaps on the back.
Adama himself was inundated with this sort of celebratory spirit as well. Dozens of crew members and deckhands congratulated him on the pilot's triumph, happy to have such valiant men and women that were skilled enough to fight off a coordinated ambush from the three Cylon Baseships.
A short time later, after all fighters had been recovered, the din was diminished greatly as Major Archibald Gates (call-sign Archie) announced over the entirety of the men and women assembled within the hangar deck:
"Listen up, debrief goes in twenty minutes. Flight leaders have your people there on time. Anyone that's late is going to be flying CAP all night instead of celebrating our little victory." He stepped down from the ladder-well he'd positioned himself upon at that point, and disappeared into the ready room, presumably to report directly to Commander Nash. This was his responsibility as the Commander, Air Group, or CAG. Gates was a seasoned Viper pilot and a man that was no stranger to success and failure. His career had originally been on a meteoric rise. He'd done a stint as a Viper instructor, test pilot, and even an honor graduate from the fleet's Top Gun academy, but a lot of that had changed midway through the war.
At this point in his career a post commanding a smaller ship would have been appropriate, or even a promotion to Colonel with a billet as an XO of a Battlestar. Yet Gates had insisted on remaining with a fighter squadron, and as such was one of the oldest Viper pilots still active. This was easily illustrated by his salt and pepper colored hair. Nevertheless he maintained himself in peak physical condition. He was strict, and fair, and earned the respect of all the pilots serving under him.
The crowd began to dissipate at that point. The deckhands and knuckle draggers began to perform the necessary tasks and maintenance that went along with post flight procedures. The fighters would be re-armed, refueled, and several would be repositioned in the launch tubes as alert fighters on ready five. The techs worked quickly and diligently, but with complete attention to detail. Each of them wished to retire to their quarters (those not on watch), yet they were dedicated enough to do their jobs with the utmost level of professionalism, despite lack of sleep or if they had been hungry.
The majority of the crew had been relaxing, sleeping, or eating in the mess hall when the Cylon Baseships jumped into the system. As a result the ship was brought to condition one, and all crew members not already at their action stations were required to get there, and stay for the duration of the battle. Once they had performed the necessary tasks for post flight they'd retire, and only those on watch would remain on the hangar deck.
After the debriefing those officers not on duty were gathering in the recreation room of the Galactica. The clamor and racket caused by the pilots was nothing short of chaotic as each man and woman was as rhapsodic as they had been right after their victory over the small Cylon flotilla.
Drinks were being passed around, a mixture of shots of Ambrosia and tankards of ale that had been poured from a keg that Commander Nash allowed to be broken out for the celebration. Each pilot happily drank from their various cups, cheering one another's exploits and reciting the battles events.
"There you are!" a particularly attractive young blonde woman announced, approaching William Adama. "I heard you got your first kill today, rook."
"I did. I guess you'll have to stop calling me rook, eh?" Adama snorted with a grin.
"Oh fat chance of that happening, hotshot," the woman replied laughing. She swilled down a half empty glass of Ambrosia. A slight grimace crossed her face as the fiery liquid made it's way down her throat.
Adama sneakily stole a few peaks at her figure. She wore a flight suit, but was stripped to the waist, and her form fitting black t-shirt did enough to entice the testosterone filled Viper jock.
She caught his glances and smiled slyly. The young woman swaggered closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, her face inching close to his ear. "You like what you see, rook?"
Adama swallowed with some difficulty. Obviously he did, but how would he proceed from here. It certainly wasn't a good idea getting mixed up with another officer, even if she was a Raptor pilot. That was fraternization after all.
"Want to see more?" she snickered, the feeling of her breathe flicked across his is ear, ramping him up further.
"McGavin, there you are!" a joyous roar broke Adama's thoughts, and the beautiful young Lieutenant who had wrapped herself around him now pulled away slightly.
"What do you want?" she asked sarcastically.
"I splashed a bandit, where's my victory kiss?" the other pilot demanded with a broad smile across his face. The young man was a Lieutenant with trimmed black hair and dark blue eyes. He was about Adama's height and as broad-chested and muscular as all the rest of the pilots aboard Galactica. He had his arms open expectantly awaiting McGavin to jump into them and deliver the aforementioned kiss.
"Dice, I'd kiss you, but I'm not a big fan of herpes," she mused. Her eyes turned back to Adama. "I'll see you later, hotshot," she remarked with a wink, patting him on the chest. She turned away and pushed past Dice, who's arms were still wide open expecting her to change her mind.
Dice shook his head ruefully, a smile still crossing his face. He sauntered over to Adama and elbowed his wingman on the arm.
"Are you hittin' that, Husker? Gods damn if you are! She's one hot piece of--"
"Enough, Dice. I'm not hitting that, and if I was you wouldn't know about it," Adama interjected. A sheepish look materialized on his visage, embarrassed by Dice's accusation.
"Hey, no need to get bent out of shape, bro. It'd be a hell of a thing if you were… I mean frak; she's hot!" Dice continued on, taking a hardy gulp of the Tauron ale which he loved ever so much.
The celebration continued. Greetings were exchanged between fellow pilots; Raptor and Viper alike. The gang continued to relate their stories, and a small group of doubtful officers surrounded Dice as he told the story of his climactic duel with six Cylon Raiders. Of course these pilots knew him well and understood he was completely full of it. But they indulged him, and they enjoyed the way he told stories; because even he didn't believe the stuff he said, but for some reason that never stopped him from telling them.
"How about it, Voodoo? Doesn't that kind of piloting make you hot?" Dice grinned at Lieutenant Shaw who casually sipped at her drink of Ambrosia. She raised a brow at the comment.
"Yeah it does, Dice. In fact, I think I'll go frak Cunningham right now," she announced. She turned away from the circle dragging Cunningham away with her.
Cunningham smiled back at Dice silently mouthing the words thank you.
"Damn, she's got to be kidding right?" Dice questioned the other surprised pilots, who merely shrugged. He shook off the failure and continued on with his impressively over-exaggerated story.
"Quiet down people, quiet down!" a voice began to speak up above the crowd of delighted aviators. "Hey, at ease!" the voice boomed. The sudden spark of a command presence was enough to quiet most of the officers assembled within the rec-room. After receiving a nudge from another, Dice quieted himself as well.
"Congratulations pilots. That was a hell of a bit of flying I saw out there today," Major Gates stood at the head of the room, a glass in hand. His squared facial features were accentuated with a happy smile, something rarely seen upon his face. "You all made me proud out there. We've also got a special announcement. One of our rooks got himself his first kill today… on his very first combat hop to boot…" silence crossed over the majority of the room as others whispered who of the new pilots managed to shoot down a Raider on their first combat flight. That was not an easy task to accomplish by any means.
"In case you're all wondering; it was Husker that scored his first kill. So congratulations to him, and to the Primus squadron for having one of hell of a new rookie to add to their ranks," Gates raised his glass in the air and his eyes searched Adama out. Finally he found the Lieutenant, and the crowd of pilots opened up allowing him to be better seen. "Here's to you, rook. Just remember, don't get cocky out there. This war is far from over. That's a message to all the rest of you, as well. We may have won today, but it was just another battle in this long, difficult war. Stay frosty, and remember what we're here for… To all our rooks, and to all our people that didn't make it back today!" Gates raised the glass higher, as did the group of officers.
"Here, here," and "So say we all," were muttered amongst the group as they drank down the toast which their CAG had made.
"All right people, enjoy the rest of this party," Major Gates finished up, and immediately after he had completed that sentence the roar he had silenced moments before came back to life with greater vim than before.
The festivities continued on for several more hours. But as the drunkenness increased, so did the fatigue, and after awhile the officers began to disperse to get some rack time. None of them could be sure when they'd be required to fend off another Cylon attack, or when some sort of tasker would be assigned, thus forcing them back into the cockpit and out on some sortie. It was best to sleep off the effects of the alcohol before such a possibility became reality.
Adama made his way down the cavernous gray halls of the Galactica alone. Dice had drunken himself into a stupor, quickly followed by unconsciousness, and several of the other pilots had dragged him back to his rack prior to the end of the celebration. Lieutenant Adama walked with confidence in his step, and a fairly decent amount of alcohol in his blood. He'd survived his first encounter with the Cylons, and though the experience had his heart racing the entire time he felt comfortable. He felt as if he could handle whatever situation he'd find himself in.
That sort of confidence in yourself and your ability was what they drilled into you at flight school. To second guess yourself, your skills, or the decisions you made would get people killed. He was always taught to never hesitate, make a decision and stick to it, because even a bad choice was better than no choice at all.
He had seen that same philosophy echo in the actions of his CAG, Major Gates. Gates had this air of daring about him, a sort of assurance that just knowing he was out there with you meant you'd be okay. He could assess the tactical situation as it presented itself, reassign Vipers to where they were most needed, exploit holes in the enemy defenses, and keep all the pilots of his wing calm with the simple cool tone in which he barked his orders over the wireless.
Adama admired and respected him for that. He could only hope to emulate the sort of calculated decision making and at-ease manner of veritable tactical genius the older pilot demonstrated. For now, however, Adama was happy to have survived. Even better he had killed one of those frakking toasters and made his mark within his squadron. He'd even been told that he was being put in for a commendation for this action, which surprised him; after all he was only doing his job.
He yawned widely as his mind wandered to the thoughts of his rack. That little bit of space that was his own and no one else's. If he'd learn one thing from flight school and all of the subsequent training he'd been a part of since then, it was that after a long hard day of work there was nothing so good as sleep.
However, his attention was drawn to the head, as he heard the door slowly creak open. He turned back to see Lieutenant Jaycie McGavin leaning against the bulkhead.
"Where're you headed, hotshot?" she asked with keen interest and a sparkling smile.
"I was actually going to get some shut-eye," Adama remarked, scratching the back of his head and stifling another urge to yawn.
"I need to talk to you about something in private," she lured, stepping back inside the head and easing the door closed, but not fully sealing it.
Adama raised a brow with interest and glanced around the hall. No one was around, it was late, and only the midnight shift-pullers would be scampering around to and fro with their necessary tasks. He was rather curious to say the least and so he pushed his way into the facility normally used for bathing, shaving, and relieving oneself.
The sultry Lieutenant was leaning against the sink, her arms behind her propping her up and she examined the sheepish rookie as he entered the room. There was, however, a brashness and degree of confidence in his gait. He was fit and trim, of course. It was a requirement of the service, and she bit her lower lip imagining what was hidden beneath his flight suit. There were only so many different ways a person could keep their sanity aboard this cramped up, oversized tin can and McGavin had her own ideas about how best to do that.
"Now you get to see more," she expressed happily, she pulled off her black undershirt revealing her bare form much to Adama's surprise. His eyes widened as they traced every curve of her body, and he quickly realized that he was very much aroused. She smiled at his apparent surprise and the noticeable reddening of his cheeks. He shook his head hesitantly, attempting to grasp the totality of the situation he found himself in.
"Wh-what's going on here, Lieutenant?" Adama struggled to ask. Deep down his sense of protocol and military bearing warned that traveling down this path was not advisable, nor acceptable. Yet there was a much stronger urge within him that easily superseded his blossoming sense of dedication to the uniform he wore and the codes of conduct he swore to uphold.
Jaycie pressed herself against him, grabbing his calloused hands and placing them on her bare hips. Her own hands reached up to grab the sides of Adama's face firmly and she looked deeply into his eyes. He attempted to dodge this at first, however he quickly gave in. Their lips locked in a deep kiss and Adama swiftly became comfortable enough with the situation to allow his hands to explore her exposed body. Her firm physique excited him, and the idea of sleep now passed rapidly from his mind.