Chapter Two
Harsh Realities
- 0630 Hours, 0.2 light years outside Helios Delta near the Hecate Cloud, Fleet Reclamation Yard Delta -
Having been awake for several hours; Michael stared out the small window in his ready room like he had every morning for the last month. Pieces of wrecked ships flooted passed like a sad imitation of a pass and review on a parade ground. One large piece of debris appeared to be what was left of the engine block from a Mercury Class Battlestar. Michael realized once again that the scenery was not going to improve his dismal mood, Michael Struck stood up from his desk chair and stretched hearing several satisfying pops as he did so. When he awoke this morning he began to review what paperwork was actually completed from his subordinates and trying to keep from pulling his hair out. Stepping over to the old worn couch that was located in his office, Michael grabbed the dark blue Colonial Uniform jacket for his pressed duty blues and put them on. Buttoning up the jacket he left his combination quarters and office, and headed down the narrow corridors, most of the lights did not even function and the walls were almost completely covers in rust. The dim lighting and the rust gave the hole station a macabre appearance and looked like dried old blood had oozed out of the walls. The hall led to what was left of the original station's CIC. It was a large circular room with more non functional workstations then it had functional ones. A single small light table for maps or other documents was in the center under the partially functional dradis screen; and a few crew members at computer work stations scattered around. The station was the old pre-war dockyard that was past its prime even before the war started.
"Morning Sir." mumbled the only senior officer in the room, Major Jones. Major Anthony Jones was the 38 year old Executive Officer assigned to Yard Delta and was second in command and had been Stations at the yard for four years. Major Jones was of average size and height at 5 foot 9 and 190 pounds. The Major had appeared to have a promising career and was the Operations Officer for the Maintenance Yard above Sagittaron. But he started to develop a bit of a gambling problem and got in over his head and owed money to the wrong types of people. He had been approached by a shady character willing to pay off his debts if he was willing to sell some outdated military equipment. It turned out that the shady character was actually an undercover investigator with Fleet Criminal Investigations Division and got himself send to this illustrious posting. "Coffee sir?" he asked.
"Yes please, has are supply shipment arrived overnight or is it week old grinds again?" Michael asked heavily already dreading the answer.
"Unfortunately. Our Monthly supply shipment is late, again. Not like we're part of the Fleet or anything."
"I will send another dispatch to Fleet HQ and see if we can get a status on the supplies." Everyone around the CIC just shook their head already knowing the answer, if they get one at all.
Just then, a loud bang sounded from overhead. "What was that?" asked Colonel Struck, just loud enough for others to hear.
"Probably just some junk bouncing off the hull, again?" responded a marine corporal lazily leaning against the wall near the entrance to the CIC. And with a sharp look from Colonel Struck he hastily added "Sir."
Everyone chuckled a bit at the response. Colonel Struck has been trying to re-instill some level of respect and decorum in his new command but it was slow going due to the feeling of hopelessness and abandonment most of the crew of the yard felt.
After getting his slightly tinted water masquerading itself as coffee and with no new news, Michael took his leave and headed for the observation deck. "Major Jones, you have the con."
"Aye sir, I have the con." came the reply from Jones.
Two Decks below the CIC in the central hub of the station was a large observation deck. It was the only place on the facility that possessed large viewing windows. Standing at one of the windows, Michael gazed out over his command.
Michael observed the station itself, setup like the spokes of a wheel the arms of the station extended out of the center Control hub. There was plenty of room for over 50 ships to dock to the station and past that was a collection of old decommissioned warships and many civilian ships floating haphazardly around the station. Every ship there was waiting to be stripped of all usable parts and scrapped. Even still, the sight was pretty impressive.
The large docking structure suggested the place was once a major shipyard, and by the looks of it comparable to even those at Picon or Scorpio. In its prime, the shipyard anchorage would support nearly 15,000 personnel and maintenance workers, but his command only consisted of 2,156 crew members. One Squadron of 20 old mark five Vipers for defence, 30 raptors and 5 heavy tugs for collecting ships and scrap around the anchorage, and 2000 crew members working the functioning parts of the facility in order to process the parts and scrap collected.
Closest to the facility was the heavily damaged Mercury Class Battlestar Theseus. One of the main power reactors had gone critical and had blown the engine section into pieces and had taken a pretty large chunk of the central hull with it. With nothing put one primary reactor left, no FTL capability, no engine section, combined with the public outcry at the deaths of over a thousand fleet personnel, the entire ship was sent to the yard for scrap but due to the radioactive nature of the explosion what was left of the once great warship flooted dead in space.
Next to it was a much smaller vessel, a dilapidated escort ship that saw more than its fair share of action during the Cylon War. Hull breaches everywhere, no engines, and most of the armor had already stripped off. There were several other hulks floating in the Military section awaiting there final fate but the Mercury was blocking his ability to identify most of them.
Past this was a collection of civilian ships, either impounded for piracy or smuggling, or damaged in accidents and hauled away with or without the owner's permission. Michael could see the domes of a Argo Class Cruiser sticking out over the top of the other craft that floated in the civilian area.
Thinking back to the supply issue, Michael remembered his days growing-up and working on his foster families farm on Sagittaron. If the Argo ship had a serviceable dome maybe they could supplement some of the food supply and maybe even add to their diet. The idea had merit but also had many issues.
Before he could think on the issue any more, the stations intercom crackled to life, "CIC to Colonel Struck, please contact CIC."
Colonel Struck lifted the wall old receiver off the wall and once the connection tone sounded clearly stated "Actual to CIC".
"Actual, we have Raptor Leader on the com for you, sir, patching you through now." the communications specialist stated.
"Go for Actual." Michael said.
"Actual, this is Flame, just want to confirm what junk we are targeting for today's flight. We're locating usable gun barrels from some old vipers and then taking some more hull plating of the old escort ship right? Or were we going to remove some engines from that civvie freighter?" Captain Cathlene "Flame" Moody was his fierce red headed lead Raptor pilot, hince her callsign Flame.
She almost always led the raptor teams through the yard on the scrapping runs. She'd been transferred to the shipyard after punching her Commanding Officer in the face and then taking a raptor from the Battlestar Hera on a joyride. That ride earned her ticket to the deepest pit in the Colonial Fleet. But for whatever indiscretion, they found it fulfilling to drop her on the edge of Colonial space.
"Flame, this is Actual. Take the Barrels and then the plating. Those engines are a low priority." Mike stated, having reviewed the priority list that very morning.
"Roger that sir." a moment of silence. "So when are you finally going to come out and join us for a flight Colonel? We know you still have flight status." Out here on the ass end of nowhere there was no one to care what happened this was the dumping ground for the unwanted and troubled Colonial Fleet personnel. Michael could easily just take time to fly, something he had not been able to do much since he left being CAG.
"Captain, you know I have to stay…" Colonel Struck started.
"Yes, you have to stay in the base in case some all important message comes through. Colonel, you work at a junkyard. You could take the day off and I doubt anyone would notice." Michael thought about it for a few more seconds and figured it would be a good to 'stretch his legs' so to speak.
After a few seconds of quite the Captain once again transmitted on the com, "Actual, are you still on the line…"
"Roger that Flame, I will meet you outside in one hour."
"Sir, yes, Sir." came the excited reply.
Michael hung up and then once again picked up the old receiver and stated "Actual to CIC".
The specialist at communications voice crackled of the earpiece "CIC here, sir."
"Please contact Chief Holbrook on the Flight deck and tell him to ready a viper for me," Michael stated clearly " and put me on to Major Jones."
"Yes, sir" came the curt reply.
"Go for Jones" came the somber reply.
"Anthony this is Actual, I am about to go out and stretch my legs and take a flight around the yard. You are in Command of operations until I return."
"Yes,Sir."
"And Anthony I also need you to pull all the information on that old Agro ship that is out in the civilian yard. I want to have a look at it when I get back."
"I will see what we have but most of the records on the civilian craft is shoddy at best." Jones responded.
"Understood, Actual out." Michael then hung up the phone and left to make his way to the hanger bay.
AN: Thanks to all those that have reviewed but I got a negative review that i wanted to reply to directly.
Per canon Adama described Adar as a "moron" and in script as a "prick". Mary McDonnell stated in an interview that adar was married when he was sleeping with her. Also he is besties with Baltar who is depicted as an egocentric "prick", birds of a feather and all that.
Adar was willing to use Marines on his own citizens in order to get his way which resulted in deaths, and make deals with murdering terrorists for political gain (all canon). He even wanted Roslin's resignation when she peacefully ended a teachers strike and he could not get his way. Also immediately after the first Cylon strike at Picon he offers a complete and total unconditional surrender, not even willing to fight. Is this his decision alone or did his political appointee Military Leaders tell him to, canon does not say.
Being in the military for many years I can tell you that many Senior Generals and Admirals are appointed "Yes Men", Obama did it multiple times and was know to fire those that did not tow the line. Corman ordered Adama to execute the mission on the red line but when it goes south takes away Adamas bright and shiny Battlestar and sends him to the Old Galactica.
So my depiction of Adar and Corman maybe a slight stretch but I find it realistically possible and unless my research tells me different and I find canon to backup changing my interpretation I will go with my experience. You said that there was "nothing in canon to say that the Military budget was being reduced by Adar in any way nor that Corman was anything like he's portrayed here at all" but there is also nothing in canon that opposes my interpretation.
Thanks for the review.