Battlestar Galactica Fan Fiction Story
Battlestar Group 41
As I washed my face and rinsed out my hair, I looked at the blood going down the sink. It made me think about everyone that was dead. It made me think about Sheraton spitting up blood as she died. It made me think of Shelly Godfrey. Shelly Godfrey. After thinking of every possible reason she would have done what she did, I could only partially believe one: she was psychotic and just snapped. I refused to consider she was working with the Cylons. Too much was already lost for humans to work with the enemy. I wanted to investigate the matter further, but there were other more pressing matters.
I wanted to change into a clean uniform, but I had to wait until repair crews fixed the hull breaches. When I finally returned to the CIC, I was informed that the hull was indeed patched and the ships engineer wanted to do a few hours of stress testing. I gave him an unspecified amount of time, "You have until I jump us back into the fight." With the hull fixed, I shifted the teams to the next most pressing matter, our weapon system. I would not take us anywhere unless we had full control of all the gun and missile batteries. That made my brain think ahead to our ultimate goal: retaliation. I needed to start coming up with a battle plan. No matter how hard I tried, I had the distinct feeling this was where I would get everyone killed.
Another few hours went by. Most of the crew had cleaned up and changed. I finally had a new uniform on, with Commander's insignia. I had tore off the Craton's shoulder patch from one of Sheraton's uniforms in her locker. I wore it on my shoulder (I had the Colonial R&D Command patch). The hull was stressed and given a green light by the chief engineer. He advised we not go into battle though. For a few minutes I entertained the idea of using the structural limitations of the hull as an excuse not to go back. But I knew I couldn't. I had the command of an entire, fully armed and operational Battle Cruiser. I had to go back.
The Raptor team returned and reported that all twelve worlds were destroyed. This news devastated the crews moral. Again, my brain looked for any excuse to not go back. The Raptor also reported that they intercepted plenty of survivors caught on space ships during the attack. Furthermore, and to my relief, the Raptor reported a broadcast on the Emergency Wireless Band. It was encrypted and needed the Craton's scrambler to decode it. Once we placed it into the Communications System, the computer displayed the communication on the screen. TO: ALL COLONIAL UNITS: FROM COMMANDER BATTLESTAR GALACTICA: MESSAGE READS// COMMANDER WILLIAM ADAMA TAKEN COMMAND OF COLONIAL FLEET. ALL UNITS ORDERED TO RENDEZVOUS AT RAGNAR ANCHORAGE FOR COUNTERATTACK PREPERATIONS//MESSAGE ENDS 1553210012
That message was the only thing keeping us going. Once I checked the time stamp on the message, I knew I had to get us moving if we were going to get there in time. "Ensign Stevens, plot a jump to the Ragnar Anchorage." I looked at my watch again and thought about the time. "Strike my last." Stevens stopped what he was doing and looked at me. I saw what I looked like reflected in the monitor across the CIC. The light from the information management table was casting a reverse shadow on my facial features. At 72 inches, I looked intimidating, just like my father. "If the time stamp on the scrambler was right, then the Cylon's would have received the message also, and probably had time to decrypt it. Make your jump to just outside DRADIS range of Ragnor." Stevens nodded and continued at his station.
I flipped open a map and scrolled it across the lit table. A young woman handed me a paper. It had 'FINAL COUNT' on the top. There were 729 survivors. 490 fatalities, and 312 missing. The missing probably were caught when the hull decompressed and vented into space. The Craton had lost over half its crew, but we had enough people to operate her to her fullest. The final count paper had more than just lives on it, it had assets, and all of it was good news. The Craton still had all twenty Raptors in its landing bay, with thirty pilots to fly them, and thirty ECO's to operate them. The ship's ten nuclear missiles were intact as well as it's armories. And as the final icing on the cake, we had six Mark VIII test Vipers in the cargo hold. The mark eight's were to be dropped off at Virgon Station L5 for field testing on our way to the Armistice Line. I couldn't help but laugh silently to myself because I designed the computer system the mark eight uses.
Right when I laughed at myself, the commander of the Raptor Squadron walked in wearing his flight suit. He immediately looked at me with contempt. He walked right up to the other side of the table and saluted. "Captain Mike Marks reporting as ordered."
I returned the salute and noticed he immediately checked out my wings. "Thank you for coming Captain."
"You fly Commander?" he asked sarcastically.
I could tell he didn't like recognizing my authority. I wondered if I talked about flying if it would win him over? "I was a Viper pilot for a few years. Did most of my time instructing. If I knew now what I knew then, I would of gone Raptor." I winked at him. It worked. I saw a slight smile break on his face. "I am glad all your pilots are okay. Furthermore, you did good work on your recon flight."
"Thank you Commander. How did the Cylon's get the jump on us?"
"They exploited a weakness in the Command Navigation Program. That's why I had all the ECO's retrofit the Raptors with the old program. Captain, I didn't ask you here for a chat." I saw that remark made him angry. "I called you here to order you to appoint a new Squad Commander and put these on." I slid two metal rank insignias across the table. "Your my new XO." I went back to working at the table, but kept an eye on him through my peripheral vision. He picked up the rank and just stood there. I gave him a moment before commenting. "Your out of uniform Colonel. Get changed and carry out my orders. I need you up here. We have a jump coming up and planning to do."
When he left the CIC, I tried to make an effort to figure out everyone's names. There was Petty Officer 2nd class Quinton James at Communications. Chief Petty Officer Dedie Ruben was in charge of the Damage Control team. Petty Officer 1st class Beverly Weston was the Craton's driver at Helm Control. Ensign Rivers Dyson manned Weapons Control in the far corner, and I already knew Ensign Tom Stevens, my Tactical Officer. When I looked at Stevens, he looked back and nodded. I knew it meant the jump calculation was completed, but there was something else in Stevens look. I walked over to his station. "What is it Mr. Stevens?"
He spoke very low to me. I had to lean across the tactical stations back lit table to hear him. "I have plotted the jump, but there is a problem. While it is inside our FTL range, its past the Yellow Line."
"Correct me if I am wrong Ensign, but the Yellow Line is anything over eight light years?" I asked him even though I knew the answer. I had still failed to see why it bothered him.
"Sir, this ship was about to begin trial runs. This was to be her shake down. The FTL Drive has never been tested in this ship before. The Yellow Line means something different on a shake down. The Yellow Line is when we jump farther than before, but still within our capability."
I saw his point. I knew the FTL test guys when working at R&D. I was friends with a few of them. I had faith in their designs and construction abilities. "Noted." I walked back to Command and Control at the center of the room. "Mr. James, put me on speakers." My order was received by the communications officer. I saw him nod in my direction. I picked up the corded phone connected to the information management table and spoke in the mouth piece. "Men and women of the Craton, this is Commander Cody. Presently, we know that all twelve colonies have been destroyed. After sending a recon team back into the system, we have learned there are survivors." I spoke and looked around the room. People were looking at me. I saw I had their hopes on my shoulders. I hated the pressure. As I continued to speak, crewmen came in from the outside corridor to watch. I didn't know what to say. I just kept talking.
"How did you know what to say?" I asked my dad as he kept cleaning the dirt off my face.
"What do you mean?" he asked as he set the rag down and started the shower.
"After the explosion. Everyone was scared and running around, but you got up on a car and got everyone to help you search for people until the firemen came. How did you know what to tell them. Everyone was acting crazy!"
He laughed and felt the temperature of the water. "I didn't know what to say Ryan. When people are scared, they become chaotic. All they need to remember who they are is a firm, warm, voice that instills hope into their soul." He began to undress me.
"Dad!" I exclaimed tugging at my shirt. "I'm old enough to do it myself."
"Sorry kiddo." He smiled and turned to leave the bathroom. Before he left the room he said, "When you are the guy in charge, people don't care if you don't know what to say. They just want to hear you. Just don't ever let them know that you have no idea what to do, then you lose every string of trust you might of earned from them."
"Commander Adama has taken personal command of the Colonial Fleet on board the Battlestar Galactica. Our orders are to rendezvous at the Ragnar Anchorage for a Cylon counterattack!" I noticed everyone smiling with revenge. "However, the message was sent some time ago. We will jump far enough from Ragnor to get a fix on the Colonial Fleet before joining them." The XO walked back into the room in his Officers Duty Uniform. "Set Condition One!" I set down the corded phone. The digital alert in the background on the speakers sent a shiver up my spine from the battle the previous night. The double door entry to the CIC slid closed, as did the hatch that lead to the NAO corridor. "XO, jump the ship."
"Aye sir." Colonel Marks walked over to the FTL station next to the NAVCOM terminal. "Mr. Stevens, confirm jump calculations."
"Jump calculations confirmed," Reported Stevens.
Marks typed in his access code. The red jump display turned to green. "On my mark, three, two, one, mark!" He pressed execute on the panel. My stomach felt the ship enter oblivion.