Chapter 2 – Battle Stations

"Fire up that main board! Let's move it, people! They're not paying us by the hour!" Munro yelled, striding around the CIC like a force of nature. "Harper, you ready over there?"

"I think so, sir. All the connections are in. It should work."

O'Neil held his breath. They'd powered up Endurance's various systems from time to time for testing purposes, but firing the whole thing up in sequence was very different from switching on the odd console. There was no telling if the ship's old electrical grid would handle it.

"Come on, old girl," he whispered.

Munro nodded. "Hit it."

Harper flicked the main breaker switch. There was a loud hiss, and the lights in the CIC dimmed. Nobody moved or spoke. If they'd blown the grid, they could kiss goodbye to any chance of leaving the shipyard.

Then, mercifully, the lights returned to normal. A low hum began to spread through the room as old computers whirred back into life, monitor screens flickering on, status boards lighting up. The ship was returning to life.

"It worked," Munro said, looking both impressed and surprised. "DRADIS is coming up."

O'Neil nodded. "I want all stations to report in as soon as possible." He turned to Tyler. "Get in touch with Fleet Headquarters. Find out what the frak is going on. And contact the other Reserve ships – tell them what we're planning and advise them to do the same thing."

"I'm on it, sir."

He returned to the chart table, eyes quickly scanning the schematic readouts in front of him. There were still a lot of red lights across the board – old systems waiting to be brought back online. Powering up a Dreadnought wasn't as easy as just flicking a few switches.

Munro moved closer, lowering his voice. "Mind if I ask what you're planning to do?"

That was the question. He really had no idea what they would do when, or if, they managed to get Endurance going. Where would they go? What could they do?

"We try to link up with any Colonial forces we can find, then go looking for trouble," he replied, in absence of a better plan.

"You can't be serious. This ship belongs in a museum, and we've got less than a skeleton crew aboard…"

O'Neil fixed him with a hard glare. "We're at war, Danny. And last time I checked, this was a Colonial warship."

"Thirty years ago. Now she's just an old hulk waiting to be broken up."

"She might be old, but she's still got one more round left in her. Anyway, she's all we have right now. If you've got a better idea, I'm wide open."

Munro stared at him, silent.

"I need your help on this one, Danny," O'Neil implored him. "I need an XO that'll back me up. Are you in or out?"

The younger man chewed his lip. "All right, I'm in."

O'Neil nodded. "Good. First thing we need is ammunition for the main guns. Once we're out of here, our first port of call should be Ragnar Anchorage."

Munro shook his head. "No need. There's a mountain of shells right here in the fleet arsenal."

O'Neil frowned. "You're kidding."

"They don't make shells for Dreadnoughts anymore, so there was no reason to move them to Ragnar when they were offloaded twenty years ago. They're still here."

He couldn't believe his luck. That was the first thing that had gone right all day. "Get a team together, and take a squad of Marines with you. Grab as much as you can and bring it back here."

Munro nodded. "All right."

Ten minutes later, the reinforced bulkhead leading to Tauron Shipyard's Heavy Arsenal was hauled open and twenty Colonial soldiers rushed in.

"Okay, let's move!" Munro shouted, rushing between the dusty boxes of artillery shells. "Get those hydraulic lifts fired up!"

In Endurance's CIC, O'Neil was pacing back and forth as technicians fought to bring the ship to combat readiness. It was a slow process, hampered by poor training and old equipment, but gradually the status board was changing from red to green.

"Engine room reports reactor power at fifty percent and rising," the chief engineer reported. "Fuel levels are about sixty percent."

O'Neil nodded. "Very good. What about FTL?"

The man shook his head. "It's frakked. Inertial calibration is all over the place. We could end up anywhere."

That wasn't so good. Dreadnoughts weren't known for their speed or manouverability at sub-light. "Keep working on it." He turned to the DRADIS console. "Mr Greene, any DRADIS contacts?"

"No, sir."

That was something. But how long would it stay that way?

"Weapons, where are we on rearmament?"

"The first shipment's aboard now, sir. We've got shells for the main battery and secondary guns."

"Any missiles?"

"No, sir. Nukes are stored at a separate facility."

O'Neil shook his head – frakking Fleet. "Distribute it out as soon as its aboard. Main weapons have priority."

"Yes, sir."

"Message coming in from Endeavour, sir," Tyler reported.

"Put it on the horn." O'Neil picked up the microphone. "This is Endurance Actual."

"Rick, this is Vince Taleri. I heard you were planning a little joyride. Want some company?"

Despite the situation, O'Neil grinned to himself. Taleri was a good man, a career fleet officer acting as commander of Endeavour's caretaker crew. "Sounds like a plan, sir. What's your situation?"

"We're itching to get into the fight. We're taking on ammunition and spooling up our engines right now. We can be underway in thirty minutes."

Endeavour was Endurance's sister ship, and ships of the same class always had names starting with the same letter. He had to admit, they stood a much better chance with a second Dreadnought to back them up.

"Any word on Vengeance and Valiant?" Two Dreadnoughts were good, but four would be the makings of a real combat force.

"No good. Valiant's engines are in pieces and Vengeance's gun batteries are frakked – no way can they be ready in time. We're taking their personnel aboard. I'd suggest we split their crews between us."

"No problem. We've got plenty of work for them." A fully operational Dreadnought had a crew of more than two thousand. With scarcely two hundred men at their disposal, they were seriously undermanned. "Any word from Fleet Headquarters?"

"Nothing, but we know Atlantia's been destroyed – it's every ship for herself right now. We've caught scattered reports of equipment malfunctions and power failures, something to do with their computer systems and the CNP. The Battlestars are dropping like flies. More than half the fleet is down."

"Gods help us." O'Neil clenched his teeth. Thousands of his people were dying by the minute, and he was powerless to do anything about it. "What about the Colonies?"

"Caprica, Virgon, and Picon are ash. They've been hit by dozens of high-yield nukes. It won't be long until they hit the lesser colonies."

"Including us," O'Neil concluded grimly.

"Looks that way. Hang in there, Endurance. I'll advise when we're ready to move. Endeavour Actual, out."

O'Neil replaced the phone in its cradle. There was nothing more he could do for now but wait.

Twenty anxious minutes later, another call came through from Endeavour. "This is Endeavour Actual. We're about to withdraw from our moorings. Hold station until we're clear."

"Roger that, Endeavour." Damn, that was fast. Taleri must have been working his crew like slaves.

O'Neil and the rest of the CIC crew watched the DRADIS screen as the huge mass of the Endeavour moved away from her berth, slowly at first, then gathering speed as her momentum increased. Within a minute, she was clear of her moorings and out in open space.

They'd waited long enough. It was time to leave.

"Patch me through to Munro," O'Neil ordered, then picked up another phone. "Danny, this is Rick. You need to pack it up right now. We're out of time."

"But –"

"No arguments. Double-time it back here."

"Roger that. On the way."

O'Neil replaced the phone, then turned to the helmsman on the other side of the room. "Helm, prepare to get underway. Standby to retract moorings."

"Aye, sir."

Suddenly Greene cried out a warning. "DRADIS contacts! Two Cylon Baseships just jumped in. Range… fifteen thousand metres and closing."

"Frak." Heart pounding, O'Neil reached for One MC. "All hands, man your battle stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill!"

"Sir, we have to undock now," Greene said.

"Not yet," O'Neil shot back. "We've still got men on the station."

"And we've got four hundred men on board," Greene reminded him. "It's them or all of us."

O'Neil grabbed the phone in sweating hands. "Danny, where are you?"

"Almost there! Twenty seconds!" He could hear the man's laboured breathing as he ran.

"Cylon Baseships closing to twelve thousand metres!"

"We're sitting ducks here!" a young ensign yelled.

O'Neil rounded on them. "No one gets left behind! You hear me? No one!"

Suddenly alarms started to blare out as several small dots detached themselves from the much larger DRADIS image of the nearest Baseship.

"Missiles inbound! I've got a radiation alarm. They're nukes!"

O'Neil's heart leapt. "Weapons, can you get a track with the Point Defence Guns?"

The weapons officer shook his head, his face pale. "Gunnery control's still offline, sir."

There was nothing more they could do. They had been caught in the most vulnerable position imaginable, and they were going to get hit. "All hands, brace for impact!"