Miniseries, Night One
A/N: This fic follows the other half of the Colonials' continuous struggle for survival, the Colonial Marines. I've done my best to make sure that the canon is represented as accurately as possible, including scenes from the show that Marines were present at. Thanks to en. and members. for providing episode scripts. Useful stuff, check it out. There is some slight AU, but nothing so noticeable. Also I would like to thank the Abbot of Beregost and his Gunny Sims fics for their inspiration on my own.
The last remaining 31 Colonial Marines of the battlestar Galactica's compliment stood smartly at attention as their C.O., Lieutenant Xavier Ming, and Gunnery Sergeants Terry Burrell and Rob Crawford prepared to take the last roll before the decommissioning of the antique warship.
"I don't want any monkeying around," Lt. Ming warned, pushing his glasses up. "Commander Adama is due to begin his speech in a couple of minutes, so let's get this over with." Ming had been strongly disliked by the enlisted Marines. He was an overzealous and ambitious officer who detested his stay aboard the no-action Galactica. Ming had made everyone miserable, with constant drilling and spit-and-shine policy.
"Over with? Shouldn't he say something inspiring, or something?" Private First Class Nathan Franco whispered to the man in front of him.
"Shut up, Franco," Sgt. Omar Fischer warned aside of him. Franco sighed, but remained at attention. Gunny Crawford was reading down the roll.
"Collins."
"Here."
"Collishaw."
"Here, Gunny."
"Danelli."
"Here."
And so on, and so forth though each of the Marines. Franco had never been to a decommissioning, and this was probably the only chance he'd get. Galactica was going to end up either a museum or a luxury liner for Caprica Cruise Lines. And that prick Ming was going to have them at roll, or doing some other such trivial task. He knew it, deep in his gut.
"As you all know," Ming said clearing his throat. "As you all know, the Galactica and her crew served with distinction in the Cylon War. She was the pride of the fleet, and today we will bid farewell to this proud battlestar." He looked around the barracks, as if remembering fond moments with his troops. Franco had begun to think his gut was wrong.
"However, the state of this ship is deplorable! Look at this! Lockers open, personal items strewn all about! It's disgraceful, both to Commander Adama and to the Galactica. Fleet reporters and tourists are onboard for the ceremony, and I will NOT have any part of this ship under my command in such a frakking mess."
Gunny Burrell looked at Ming as if he were crazy. "Sir, I doubt that anybody will be paying a visit down here. It's a historic event. Why not let the men enjoy the ceremony and clean up after? It's their last day here."
"No Gunny. This is not some raggedy-ass civilian ship which will be run all to shit. You and Gunny Crawford will make sure that no one leaves this barracks before it is squared away. Do I make my self clear?"
"Yes sir," Crawford and Burrell replied. Ming left the Marines to their task, accompanied by his lackies, Sgt. Richard and Sgt. Anderson.
"You have got to be frakking kidding me!" PFC Pete Bonnington exclaimed when Ming sealed the hatch. "Nobody else would pull this kind of shit!" Several other Marines voiced their agreement.
"Stow your bellyaching, Marine!" Crawford snapped. "The ceremony is in ten minutes. The faster you get done, the faster you get out of here."
"You heard the Gunny," Franco's best friend, Corporal Joe Pike said. Pike was an exceptionally skilled NCO. Built like a sprinter, Pike was tall, thin, and quiet, but respected by the men under his command. "Get it done."
Bonnington grumbled, but picked up a wrinkled pair of trousers and folded them. The 27 other corporals-and-below Marines got into it, moving with admirable speed. Staff Sergeant Hadrian checked and secured the arms the Marines had stored in the barracks, while SSgt. Mathias supervised the enlisted.
Despite the Marines best efforts, they simply could not get done in time for Adama. Gunny Crawford stopped them and turned on the ship's intercom, allowing his men to listen to the address. If Lt. Ming had seen the Gunny using the riot bullhorn to amplify the tiny com speaker, he probably would have burst all the blood vessels in his face at the misuse of Corps equipment.
"Can you believe this? We don't even get to see it, Pike. We can't be more than ten minutes away from the frakking flight pod, and we don't get to see it. Frakking ridiculous," Franco complained.
"Sssh. I can't hear with your blubbering, Franco."
"The Cylon War is long over," Adama's voice began from the intercom. "Yet we must not forget the reasons why so many sacrificed so much in the cause of freedom. The cost of wearing the uniform can be high, but...sometimes its too high."
"You know, when we fought the Cylons, we did it to save ourselves from extinction. But we never answered the question, why? Why are we as a people worth saving? We still commit murder because of greed, spite, jealousy. And we still visit all of our sins upon our children. We refuse to accept the responsibility for anything that we've done. Like we did with the Cylons. We decided to play God, create life. When theat life turned against us, we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that it really wasn't our fault, not really. You cannot play god then wash your hands of the things that you've created. Sooner or later, the day comes when you can't hide from the things that you've done anymore."
It was quiet in the barracks. Franco was stunned. Was something wrong with everybody today, that they had to have a defeatist or miserable attitude? Adama had made it sound like the Colonials' time was running short...not likely considering that the new Viper VII was supposed to easily smoke two dozen Raiders by itself. In formation...shieet.
Pike patted him on the back. "There, now you heard your speech. I'm gonna go see if I can call my sister. Take my shift?" Pike's sister was a gunner on the Mercury, his next duty post.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Franco said, distracted. There was something off here, he knew it.
Pike took an empty terminal and dialed the Mercury. Because of the distance, it took several minutes for the Mercury to receive the signals that Galactica was sending, and vice versa. A tired-looking communications specialist appeared on Pike's screen.
"CS 2nd Class Marks, Battlestar Mercury. Go ahead, Galactica."
"This is Corporal Joseph Pike. I'm looking for Gunner's Mate Samantha Pike. She should be off duty by now."
The tech looked unimpressed. "Look, Corporal. We've been having buggy reports from all decks for the past twenty minutes. Almost all our equipment is malfunctioning, and the Old Man wants me up on A Deck to replace all of the wiring in Section 4. ALL of it. And you want me to find one rating so you can chitchat?"
"Nonono. I'm transferring to Mercury in a couple of days. This is strictly business."
"Strictly business, huh? Alright, I'll see if I can get a hold of her," Marks said grudgingly.
The screen went blank for a few moments before the Mercury's comm room once again filled his view, this time with Sam in the tech's chair.
"Joe?"
"Hey Sam. How it goes?"
"I'm fine, Joe. Good to see you! What's up?"
"Oh, not much, not much. Shit details, patrols, routine stuff mostly."
"Sounds fun. You were so right when you said I should have enlisted in the Corps."
"Yeah, shut up. So, well, I've been thinking about Mom and Dad's anniversary. You go on shore leave in three days, I'm due off the Galactica in four. Maybe we could, you know?"
Sam looked at him incredulously. "I have target acquisition on all our battery computers going haywire, and you want to talk about throwing a shindig for Mom and Dad? Joe, now is not the best time."
"Come on, Sam. You haven't seen me in two years."
"We talk almost every week, you dunce."
"You know what I mean. Not being several thousand kilometers out from each other."
Sam was about to reply when flashing red lights and klaxons ripped through her section. She looked up, surprised. Cries of 'battle stations!' filled the background.
"What's going on?"
"I dunno," Sam said. The Tac officer was announcing several that the approaching DRADIS contacts didn't match anything in the database. The last thing Pike saw was Sam turning to leave her terminal. Static worked its way into the small picture, fuzzing to nothingness.
Pike nearly jumped out of his skin when Galactica's own action stations alert sounded. Curious crew, who had never experienced a real drill, fell into the same state of shock that Pike did at the accompanying message.
"This is the Commander," Cmdr. Adama announced over the ship-wide. "Moments ago, this ship received word that an attack against our home worlds is underway. We do not know the size or the disposition or the strength of the enemy forces. But all indications point to a massive assault against Colonial defenses. Admiral Nigala has taken personal command of the fleet aboard the battlestar Atlantia, following complete destruction of Picon Fleet Headquarters in the first wave of the attacks...As of this moment, we are at war." Stunned silence accompanied the declaration of war.
"WAR!" Pike yelled, running out of the comm room. "Move! Hop to it!"
The crewmen were spurred into action. They raced to their stations, some manning point-defense turrets that had no ammunition, others donning fire-fighting equipment in preparation for the upcoming battle.
Pike double-timed it back to the barracks, boots pounding on the deck. He knocked several crewmen out of his way, at one point knocking a pretty female deckhand flat on her ass. He reached the barracks just in time to join Franco, Dubois, and Sykes as thye began to move to their team's position. The seven four-man fire teams on Galactica were each assigned a point most likely to be boarded by Cylons during a battle. In the case of Pike's team, it was just outside of the starboard flight pod.
"What the frak is going on, Corp?" Sykes asked, handing Pike his helmet and armored vest. Franco tossed him one of the outdated MN-23 rifles that the Marines had been issued. Despite its compactness, invaluable in close-corridors, the small 4.4x50mm FlatHead round that it used was barely sufficient to crack through Centurion armor. Or, at least it was 40 years ago. Now it might not even pierce. Who knew what the toasters had cooked up for this new war?
"War, Sykes," Pike said, snapping his chin-strap into place. "Or haven't you been paying attention?"
"Well, I know that Corporal, but..."
"If you know, don't ask."
"The toasters ain't gonna know what hit 'em," Dubois said, racking his rifle. Franco slapped the back of his helmet. Dubois turned around angrily, but Sykes intervened.
"We're fighting the Cylons, you knuckleheads, not each other."
"Team Two, what's your status, over?" GySgt. Burrell's voice crackled over the radio.
"In position, Gunny, over," Pike said.
"Be aware, a basestar has just jumped into the area. Prepare to repel boarders, over."
"Vipers are away."
"Team two wilco, over."
"Vipers?" Franco asked. "I thought they all left for Caprica?"
"What about the Mark IIs?"
"Lone Raider inbound."
"Dubois, you twit. They're relics. Museum pieces. We can't fight a war with them."
"We did, once. Each Viper in the museum has a full combat load, and Chief Tyrol kept the reactor rods," Pike said.
"Galactica, Starbuck. He's trying to transmit a signal to me, doesn't seem to have any effect."
"Nuclear missiles detected! Vipers are intercepting."
Sykes nodded. He patted his own ammo pouches.
"Yeah, so do we. But what about the Galactica?"
The other Marines shifted on their feet, uncomfortable. They had forgotten about the Galactica's empty cannons. She'd have to rely on the Vipers for defense until she was resupplied by an orbital ammo station.
"Brace for impact, all hands. Missiles incoming."
Pike grabbed for a handhold, as did Sykes and Franco. Dubois wasn't quick enough and the force of the blast, even though it hit the other side of the ship, threw him from his feet.. He was slammed headfirst into a bulkhead. Pike waited a few seconds for more missiles before checking on Dubois.
"Frakking new guy," Sykes muttered. Only his helmet had prevented Dubois from having his head caved in by a bolt on the bulkhead. Even so, he most likely had a concussion and was out cold. The radio was completely bogged down with chatter, mostly from the port side of the Galactica.
"Firefighting Team Six, the fire is spreading towards your section."
"This is Jenkins from Team Four. We've lost Waller and Koning. It's really getting out of hand down here."
"Dunno if we can get these guys out, gonna need a corpsman over here."
"Frak me! Chief, we can't get out. A bunch of supports just collapsed onto our exit. Can you get somebody down here to cut us out?"
"Negative, negative. You're going to need to find another route."
"What do we do with Dubois?" Franco asked.
"Take him to sickbay. Me an Sykes will hold here."
"Ooh-rah." Franco grunted as he hoisted the unconscious private in a fireman's carry and carried him towards the sickbay.
A series of barely audible thumps sounded, coming from port. Sykes leaned up against a bulkhead, striking an old-style match and lighting a cigarette. Pike shot him a hard look for lighting up during a battle. It was against at least a dozen Corps and Navy regulations. Sykes shrugged in return. "It's the end of days, Corp. Judgement. Might as well go out with calm nerves."
"Belay that talk, Sykes. We're still Marines and we still got a job to do."
"Didn't you just hear that, man? They just spaced an entire section."
"What?"
"I seen it once before. Heard it, really. On the destroyer Hephaestus. Ammo mag for one of the big ship guns went off. Big boom. Took out almost the whole fore section. Fires were everywhere, and we had better gear than the Galactica. X.O. vented the first half of the ship. Saved it, but we lost a third of the crew. This is worse. This fire is nearer to a big fuel line. That goes, we lose the whole battlestar."
"You're just full of information, aintcha, Sykes? Frak regulations, hey. Gimme one of them smokes."
"Yep."
The two Marines stood their post in silence until Gunny Burrell called them to the barracks to debrief them and fill his men in on their next mission.
Gunny Burrell stood in the barracks, the only one. He had allowed the Marines to sit one their bunks out of consideration of the burden he was about to place on them. Pike, Franco, and Sykes entered, the last team to do so, but Burrell held off reprimands. He faced them.
"Marines," he started. "I'm gonna make this short and simple. As of twenty minutes ago, the 12 Colonies are at war with the Cylons. But you already knew that." He gestured abstractly to port, where the nuke had struck.
"The Colonial Marine Corps had always been called on to defend the interests of the Colonial government and it's people. From the inter-Colony wars to the Cylon War, Marines have shed blood and spilt blood in every armed conflict since our beginnings. Today was no exception. It is my regret to inform you that Lt. Ming, Sgt. Anderson, Sgt. Richards were killed attempting to rescue trapped crewmen in the fire. Gunnery Sergeant Crawford has been honorably discharged from the Corps following a wound that leaves him unfit for active duty. Yes, Private?"
"Sir, how bad is Gunny Crawford that he was discharged?" PFC Griggs asked. A couple others murmured in agreement.
"Bad. Leave it at that. I have a new job for you leathernecks. We've set a course for Ragnar Anchorage to load up on munitions before laying up with the Colonial Fleet above Virgon. Chief Tyrol asked me for volunteers, and I told him the Colonial Marine Corps would be more than happy to lend a hand to quicken the transfer process. The Galactica will arrive in 42 minutes. SSgt. Mathias, you will have command of the party, squads 1, 2, and 4. Squad 3 will continue business as usual aboard the ship."
The Marines 'yessir-ed!" enthusiastically. They were going to show those motherfrakking toasters who was boss. It would be a battle for the ages, guns raging and explosions filling the corridors as the great ships waged their space war. Or so they thought.