Battlestar Ulysses

by RebelRunner

Years of behind-the-scenes scheming at the highest levels in the Colonial government and military have reached critical mass. The Fall is preordained, Cylons or no Cylons. The crew of the Battlestar Ulysses must now survive not only the Colonial Holocaust, but a bloody civil war fought on home-colony and religious lines.

4. Chapter 4: Initial Discrepancies

Chapter 4: Ghosts

CIC, Battlestar Ulysses

In orbit of Aquaria, Helios Delta System

1 month BCH

"Sir, Raptor 490 reports their element has safely jumped in. Thrasymedes is launching Vipers," Duck reported to his commanding officer. "I'm sending our Raptors in with the fighters."

Murray nodded. "Got that, CAG. Tactical, any word from Warden?"

"No, sir," Wolfe said. "She's holding formation with Thrasymedes."

The commanding officer nodded, hoping that his plan would proceed as intended. With any luck, Aurai would fall into the trap laid by Warden and Thrasymedes, which, working in concert, could easily cripple or destroy the small Battlestar.

"Uhh…belay that, sir. Flash from Warden; she and the Raptors have positive ID on Aurai. Lieutenant Commander Vought is requesting firing clearance."

"Granted. CAG, get your Raptors on ASM suppression of Aurai."

"Copy that, sir," the air wing's commander acknowledged. "Raptor 490, 542, 295, 324, commence flak-suppression of the target, cleared hot."

Murray could hear several garbled replies over the usual din of routine wireless traffic that filled the CIC, while the VLF wireless output spat off streams of data. A glance upwards showed numerous blue tracks on the main DRADIS plot, representing friendly fighters and capital ships.

"So we just wait for them to come to us?" Kleiner grumbled. "Damn passive strategy if you ask me."

"Passive, I know. Thing is, Invincible was hit pretty hard. We can't just let Aurai's escort show up and roll over her"

The XO muttered something under his breath. "We should at least send out Raptors to sweep the area. We overlooked that earlier and it might bite us in the ass if we aren't careful."

"It might. CAG, how many Raptors do we have available?"

"Ahh…three, sir."

"Launch them now. I want eyes on the opposite side of Aquaria; we haven't gotten a good look there since we jumped in."

"Should they jump?" Duck suggested.

"Affirmative. We need 'em there yesterday."

"On it, sir."

"The Aurai's got targeting DRADIS coming online," Hatch muttered. "No fighters, though. What the hell is she doing?"

"Beats me," Deliverance shrugged, flipping the 'MASTER ARM' switch and selecting the Raptor's missile pods. "I've got a firing solution on her ASM tubes-"

"Frak! Aurai's spooling up her FTL drive!"

"Aw, hell," the Raptor pilot groaned. "Tell Ulysses and Thrasymedes. Now," he ordered.

"Aurai just jumped out!" the ECO exclaimed.

"Sir! Aurai just jumped away from Warden and Thrasymedes! Protector's got eyes on her; she jumped right next to Invincible. Fighters launching, sir!"

"Frak it!" Murray growled. "CAG?"

"Vipers launching now, sir."

Wolfe frowned, touching a hand to his headset as if he had heard something wrong. "Protector Actual has a jump signature…it's Harmonia!"

"That's just frakking great," Kleiner muttered.

Murray suddenly snapped into action. "Helm, all ahead full. Make your course zero-one-zero, carom zero-two-zero. Roll one-five degrees to port. Mister Redman, get us a firing solution on the Harmonia." He paused to catch his breath. "Mister Wolfe, inform Lieutenant Commander Lambert that nuclear release is ordered against Harmonia and Aurai."

"Sir?" the tactical officer looked up from his terminal, stunned. In the continuous internecine warfare between the Colonies leading up to the Cylon Uprising, nuclear weapons were rarely, if ever, used. Not until the Uprising had they entered into common use. Now, Battlestar commanders were granted release authority over the weapons, but their use was still frowned upon.

"That was an order, Lieutenant Wolfe," Murray snapped. Jarred, Wolfe hurriedly typed and sent the message.

The commander softened his tone after the tactical officer had dispatched the message. "If this were a real war, we could be saving a Battlestar and thousands of lives with those nukes, Mister Wolfe. If I order a nuclear launch, I'm deadly serious. Understood?"

"Yessir," the young lieutenant nodded nervously.

"Good. Mister Redman, how long to effective weapons range?"

"Closing into effective range now, Commander."

"Load AP. Fire for effect."

"Aye, sir," the Ulysses' tactical officer grinned, calling up an anti-ship fire mission for the second time that day. "Firing for effect."

Wolfe sighed. "Flash from the Invincible. She has a fire on her starboard flank, and is down to sixty percent engine output because another fire forced a shutdown of the number-two tylium turbopump. Oh, and Protector reports six nukes away."

"Inform Invincible that we'll begin transferring DC and firefighting teams momentarily. Call PriFly and order all of Invincible's small craft to be cleared for recovery if necessary."

"On it, sir," Wolfe paused, "-ahh, you might want to see this." He tore a dispatch off the VLF output printer and handed it directly to the battlestar's commander.

Murray laughed despite himself. Both the Aurai and [Harmonia had been calculated to be 'destroyed' by the nuclear-tipped Diamond Shark missiles. To avoid presenting the easy target of a unitary weapon, each Diamond Shark released its warhead along with a cluster of decoys designed to confound enemy point defense systems. The decoys appeared to have worked, as four of the six warheads were judged to have 'hit' their targets. "FRAKKING CLEVER BASTARD," the report ended. "CMDR. F.H. RICHARDS BS-75" Murray grinned. "I try to be," he muttered.

"What?" Kleiner asked.

"Nothin', nothin', just a...personal victory." He handed the printout to the XO.

With no enemy capital ships remaining, Ulysses' task group had theoretically won this round of the exercise. The exact scores would be tabulated in approximately three hours, permitting a detailed debriefing to take place.

Several minutes later, the "ALL CLEAR" dispatch arrived, terminating the day's exercise.

"Everyone who ain't helm, nav, engineering, or flight, take two hours," Murray ordered of the CIC's numerous officers. "Great performance, all of you. You deserve the rest."

Several CIC crew cheered, a hard-earned celebration of a largely successful exercise. The commander allowed himself to smile, absently watching icons representing fighters and other small craft recovering onboard Ulysses.

Deliverance shut down his Raptor's turbines, unlocking his helmet seals and stretching for the first time in several hours. He looked back, seeing Hatch do the same.

"Good time?" the female ECO asked.

"Hell yeah! The computer says we bagged a Viper and a half." He patted the Raptor's instrument panel affectionately. "Pretty good for a school bus."

"Or a tractor," Hatch cracked.

"Sure, a tractor with Javelin pods."

The ECO snorted.

"Hey, I wouldn't mind that for shootin' up varmints!" The pilot hoisted himself up and out of his ejection seat, taking care not to trip over Hatch as he walked to and opened the Raptor's fuselage hatch.

Hatch, having shut down her station's electronics, stood and exited the Raptor just behind Deliverance. Raptor 542 was parked directly adjacent to 490, and Krunch could be seen engaging in an animated argument with the aircraft's crew chief. Deliverance walked over to intervene, while Krunch gestured madly at one of 542's maintenance access panels.

Hatch stifled a laugh, and instead decided to appear interested in a VFAQ-141 Strike Viper being towed past by a tractor unit. The interest was actually not merely feigned; she had only seen a Strike Viper up close one time before the Shadowhawks were transferred aboard Ulysses. It was a lethal-looking craft, every inch a reflection of its namesake. The Strike variant replaced the Mark VII's shark-like vertical stabilizer with a bulge containing additional electronic equipment, and added a weapons systems operator's position behind the pilot's ejection seat. Twin raised fairings on the nose housed a precision target acquisition system, while pods on each wingtip served to mount electronic combat equipment. Each bladelike wing sported a pair of inert, training-only Kodiak anti-ship missiles, as well as a thirty-millimeter KEW and roll-axis RCS thrusters.

Hatch overheard something about the Raptor's FTL navigation computer being missing, and a laptop computer Krunch happened to have on hand being used in its stead. Finding the other pilot's dilemma somewhat interesting, she walked over to 542.

"What the hell is going on here?" the ensign asked, making a show of examining the Raptor and its attendant personnel.

Krunch shook his head. "Some frakking idiot of a knuckle-dragger took the FTL nav computer out without telling us. Apparently the paperwork was filed wrong or something like that." He held the thick three-ring binder containing the aircraft's maintenance logs, open to a recent date's records. "Where the hell is Chief Adams when you need him, anyways?"

"Well, the parts ID for the FTL nav is damn near the same as the ID for the backup astrotracker's power-supply computer," Deliverance explained. "I ain't never heard of one of those ever goin' down, and I guess Petty Officer Michaels-" he gestured towards 542's crew chief- "didn't think it was a down gripe for it to be missing." The pilot shrugged. "By the manual, he's right."

"How do you know that?" Hatch asked, somewhat unsure as to how the Raptor pilot would know parts-ID codes for the craft's computer systems.

"Back home on Aerilon, we owned a de-milled Raptor kitted out for crop-dusting. I took over workin' on her when I was fifteen; we'd get spares from the Fleet storage depot in Anniston," he explained.

"Oh."

The unfortunate crew chief had absolutely no idea why the computer had been removed, but verified that the unit was, in fact, missing from its housing. Finally deciding that the issue warranted attention from higher up, the petty officer walked over to the nearest interphone station and paged Chief Adams.

"That's all I can do, sir," he said, looking at Krunch. "It's not a standard check-item to see if the computer's there. We…uh, we just assume that nobody's randomly took parts off our bird."

Hatch shrugged, fully aware that her presence could do little good for the situation. "Let's go get some chow," she recommended.

Deliverance grinned. "I'll second that."

"I have to say, I was impressed by your initiative, Commander," Rear Admiral Oliver Wasserman said, leafing through sheets of performance reports gathered over the course of the exercise.

"Thank you, Admiral," Murray nodded, with Kleiner standing by his side. "This was an interesting twist, not having any prep time. More like a wartime scenario, I guess," the battlestar's commander shrugged, looking away from the exercise referee and towards the DRADIS plot. He had known Wasserman almost from the beginning of his career, but never felt close to the man. A Caprican, his upper-class, cosmopolitan sensibilities had not appealed to the son of a poor farmer from Moutrie, Aerilon.

"I could see that the Aurai's maneuver threw you through a bit of a twist," Wasserman noted, underestimating the havoc that such an event would have wrought in an actual fleet action.

"That's an understatement," Kleiner snorted. "I had absolutely no clue what to do; nukes worked, though."

"That they did. It hurt your battlestar group's score on the exercise, but you pulled it out. Zero losses with both hostile battlestars destroyed- bluntly, Commander, that's damn impressive. In case you were wondering," the referee said, pulling a paper out from the bottom of the stack, "your score, computer-calculated, is three thousand nine hundred and twenty-four. That's in comparison to the Aurai's and Boreas' one thousand six hundred and seventy-two."

"Gods," the Ulysses' XO chuckled. "We wiped the floor with them."

Both of the battlestar's senior officers saluted the admiral, who, along with most of the referee crew located on Ulysses, departed the CIC for the waiting shuttle in the starboard hangar. The remainder of SILVERFLAG was geared towards fighter and small craft operations, to be undertaken both in orbit and on Aquaria proper.

"All Vipers and Raptors have recovered, sir," Duck announced. "We'll have everything turned around well before morning."

The next major component of the exercise involved recapturing a civilian vessel seized by terrorists. It was to be run concurrently with numerous combat drills for the Viper pilots, allowing them to practice their skills against new adversaries and some of the hodgepode of other Viper variants operated by other vessels in the Fleet. Fighters were far from standardized- the Ulysses flew several different blocks of Mark VII fighters, while, for example, the Aurai operated a mixture of late-block Mark Vs and Mark VIIs.

"Lieutenant Commander Wilde, are you current on your flight hours?" Murray asked.

"Yessir. Why?"

"You're leading the hostage-rescue mission tomorrow."

"That doesn't leave anyone to-"

"I'll put Deliverance and Hatch on battle-management. They can fly an AWACS profile and coordinate the mission. I understand your concern, but I want our pilots to see you leading from the front."

The CAG grinned. "Happy to oblige."

Onboard MTL Rebel

Canceron Naval Shipyards, Helios Delta

"The shore crew foreman just said that the last transfer pipe is depressurized and secure," Tom Mandell, the BBT Rebel's flight engineer, reported. The Rebel, a Gemini-type bulk freighter, had been loaded with fifty thousand tons of powdered aluminum to the shipyards for use in casting fighter hulls and other lightweight components. Now empty, the freighter was waiting to receive several pallets of computer equipment to transport to a defense station on Helios Alpha's outer rim.

"Gotcha," Paul Bryant, the bulk freighter's captain, nodded. He was seated in the Rebel's cockpit, several feet forward of Mandell's station. "Is the reactor spun up?"

"Ninety percent, cap'n." The interphone rang, prompting a sigh from Mandell. The grizzled engineer reached forward, picking up the handset. "Flight deck, Mandell here." He listened for a moment before hanging up.

"Benny says the Fleet folks have that computer stuff onboard. The spares for the forward RCS system, too. They're closing the cargo bay hatch as we speak." Benny Hulman, the bulk freighter's loadmaster, was, along with a handful of other crewmen, aiding the Colonial Fleet personnel in loading cargo into the Rebel's small cargo hold, located three decks below the cockpit and just forward of the hangar bay.

"Good. Give 'em five minutes and we'll push off. Lucy, do you have a course plotted?"

Lucy Peterson, the Rebel's navigator, nodded. "I have a coordinate set and a vector to the jump point. Should take us about four hours."

Bryant acknowledged her before reviewing the cargo manifest yet another time. The Fleet was paying two fifty thousand cubits- cash- to the Rebel's owning company in exchange for the safe transport of four tons of computer hardware. Bryant wouldn't have questioned it were it not for the cash payment and four Marine guards who had come aboard with the pallets. Even then, he could hardly complain. A quarter million, untaxed, for a low-weight, minimum cost hop was far from poor pay.

"Hatch sealed," Mandell said, seeing the indicator light on his all-analog console blink to green.

"Give separation call," Bryant instructed.

"Aye, aye." Mandell picked up the interphone handset yet again. "All hands, prepare for separation. All hands, prepare for separation. That is all."

Bryant flipped several switches on the overhead cockpit panel, releasing the maglocks securing the Rebel to the shipyard's retractable gangway. He then fired a brief two-second pulse from the aft reaction control system thrusters, permitting the old bulk freighter to ease out of her slip before engaging her main engines. The captain carefully slid the quadruple throttle levels out of their idle position, and the four main fusion engines slowly glowed to life. He kept the power setting in the fifteen percent range until crossing the shipyards' inner exclusion zone, at which point he throttled up to the standard eighty-percent cruise setting.

"Canceron Naval, BBT Rebel. Be advised, we are exiting the outer perimeter," Bryant transmitted on the yards' traffic-control frequency, announcing the bulk freighter's final departure from its controlled space.

"Copy, BBT Rebel. Have a nice day, Canceron Naval, out," one of the on-duty traffic controllers replied.

"Well, can't say I'll miss this place," Mandell muttered, looking out the flight deck windows towards Canceron itself. "What do they call it, the Largest Democracy or something?"

"Yeah," Lucy snorted. "More like the Largest Corrupt Oligarchy, once you get down to it. So, what do you figure is actually in those containers the Fleet cares so much about? My guess is nukes."

"Nah," Mandell shook his head. "I was Ordnance when I was still in. The security protocols for nuclear-" he pronounced the word 'nukuler' -"weapons were tight. Real tight. Four Marines wouldn't cut it on a civilian ship. Too much room for something to go wrong. Besides, our radiation leak sensors would have gone off. I didn't have to cut any wires, so it ain't nukes."

"I'm thinking it might be some kind of mainframe system," Bryant surmised. "If it's that heavy and it's really computers, we're looking at something huge. You know that CNP thing the Fleet's all on about?"

"Yeah, how could I not?" Lucy frowned. "A flesh-and-blood navigator's always better. Computers glitch out all the time. They should know that- my grandma told me all the time about what the Cylons would do during the Uprising."

"Anyways, they've had to replace computers on some ships for the CNP to work, at least that's what I read in the Picon Current. Some just won't get it- it would cost too much. They guessed around ten percent of the fleet."

"Yeah, they're the ones that would survive," the female navigator sighed.

"If it's a station mainframe, it might be some kind of command thingy that they'd need to replace for the CNP."

"Might be," Mandell agreed. "Important, but not enough to warrant a full platoon of Marines or anything like that."

The flight deck door squealed, sliding aside on poorly-oiled rails. "What'd I miss?" Benny Hulman asked, wiping his hands on his grease-stained yellow coveralls before stepping into the cramped compartment.

"Oh, nothing, just our next scheme to rob a bank," Mandell said nonchalantly. "There's ten billion cubits sitting on a courier orbiting Aerilon...you missed the planning session, so I guess you'll just have to stay home."

"Aw, the hell I will!" the engineer laughed, sitting down at the cheap, laminate-top table by Lucy's station and the small flight deck galley. His expression turned more serious when he saw the briefcase of paper banknotes on the tabletop.

"Am I the only one with a weird feeling about that mainframe?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"How do you know it's a-" Lucy started.

"Unitary packaging on an electrically insulated container pallet? What the frak else could it be?"

"I guess when you put it that way..."

"It's not nukes, Lucy," Mandell shook his head. "Might be worse."

"I agree, there's something odd 'bout this whole deal, but how's a mainframe worse than a nuke?" Hulman frowned.

"It ain't the mainframe, it's what's on the thing," Bryant said.

"Software, you mean?"

"That's exactly what I mean. You don't sneak around with cash payments if you're doing something aboveboard."

"So, this is black?"

"If I were a betting man..."

Onboard Viper 717

In orbit of Aquaria, Helios Delta System

Duck sighed, having forgotten the sheer exhilaration that came with flying a Viper at the edge of its performance envelope. His Mark VII Block 30, callsign Diamondback 717, was situated at the head of a formation of seven other fighters of VF-102 'Diamondbacks'. The squadron had given an excellent account of itself the day before, and, accordingly, had earned the number-one slot on the day's primary operation.

Sixteen Mark VII Vipers had been launched, along with two Raptors on AWACS mission profiles and four more with Marine assault teams onboard. VF-201 'Hunters' was acting as a ready-reserve squadron, orbiting a holding point until needed. Finally, several additional Vipers were maintained on alert in the Ulysses' launch tubes.

The blue icon representing the 'hijacked' civilian ship, an Intersun liner supposedly carrying the Secretary of State, gradually drew closer on the Viper's central DRADIS screen. However, it was not alone. Six unidentified icons had arranged themselves in a spherical formation around the liner.

Duck flipped his wireless frequency selector to the GUARD emergency frequency, required to be monitored by all spacefaring vessels. "Unidentified vessels in the vicinity of Intersun 633 Heavy, this is Colonial Viper 717. Please identify and state your intentions," he said flatly. No use going in guns blazing if we don't have a positive ID, the CAG thought to himself.

"Colonial Viper 717, turn back now and we'll let you live," a clearly-disguised voice said on GUARD.

Well, that didn't sound friendly... "Ulysses, Diamondback 717. Be advised those bogies appear to be hostile," he reported to the battlestar.

"Copy, 717. Ulysses Actual here, engage at will."

"Roger that, Actual. Diamondacks, weapons hot."

Seven wireless calls came in from the assembled Vipers, all acknowledging the order.

"Diamondback, Raptor 490. We have positive ID on the bogies. They're Asp Mark Fives. Old but agile; recommend you engage at long range. DRADIS targeting data is incoming now."

As if on cue, the symbols representing the apparently hostile fighters gained a red diamond on the DRADIS display, signifying a target lock. The icons flipped, showing that the data was from a datalinked source, namely, the CNP's networking feature.

"Diamondbacks, fire at will," Duck ordered. He had already flipped on the 'MASTER ARM' switch, and simply selected two of the four Javelin anti-fighter missiles loaded into the Viper's magazines. "717, fox two, fox two," he called, pressing the firing button two times. Several other pilots made the same wireless calls, and a flurry of Javelins shot away from the Viper formation. The Vipers quickly scattered their formation, adopting varying flight vectors to complicate targeting for the enemy.

Three Asps flashed yellow, counted as 'destroyed' by the exercise computing system. Another was winged, but not completely destroyed. Their return volley, a storm of KEW rounds fired off blindly in the general direction of the Colonial fighters, minorly 'damaged' one Viper with a lucky hit, but otherwise accomplished nothing.

"Two bandits left," Squirrel, flying 626, reported. "I think we can-"

"Colonial fighters, this Asp 381 of the Aerilon Republican Army. We have target lock on your liner. Disengage now; we will kill your Secretary of State if any weapons fire is detected."

Damn, Duck thought. The exercise planners came up with a new one here.

"Acknowledged, Asp 381. We are disengaging," he stated.

"Sir?" Viper 245's pilot asked, hesitant.

"245, we're just buying time. I'm not about to let them get away with this," the CAG reasurred him before switching to Ulysses' frequency. "Ulysses Actual, Diamondback 717. Did you copy their last?"

"Affirmative, Duck."

"Sir, recommend we launch some of those Block 50s." The Viper Mark VII Block 50 incorporated limited DAM, or DRADIS-absorbent material, in its fuselage skin. Combined with reworked avionics, the fighter was detectable at less than half the range of an older-block Mark VII. Ulysses carried around eight, assigned to VF-251 'T-Bolts' on an operational-evaluation basis.

"Agreed. I'll call up Chief Adams and get 'em in the tubes."

"Roger, Actual." The CAG looked down again, checking that the other Vipers under his command had, in fact, disengaged. "Raptor 490, Diamondback 717. Can you run the detection math on a Block 50 for a stock-model Asp?" he asked, hoping that Hatch would have the necessary data on her Raptor's expanded data library. As part of its secondary AWACS role, the Raptor's onboard computers were preloaded with a far greater quantity of tactical data than a Viper or other similar craft.

"Affirm, 717," the female ECO replied. "I'm setting it up now."

"Good to hear, 490."

"Sir, I overheard the exchange on GUARD. I reccommend nailing the liner's FTL drive simultaneously or they'll jump out on us."

"Thanks, Hatch. Good point."

"Colonial fighters, this is ARA Asp 381. We will free your Secretary of State in exchange for fifty million cubits and twelve tactical nuclear warheads.

"He's got to be frakking kidding me," Kleiner muttered. "If this weren't an exercise..."

"Well, it is, so let's play it clean. Bad-mouthing my home or not," Murray said, picking up the wireless handset. "We just need to buy enough time for the Vipers to take out their fighters."

"Right."

"ARA Asp 381, this is the commanding officer of the Colonial battlestar Ulysses. I copy your request. Do you have the ability to receive small craft?"

"We do. I want a Raptor docked with the cash and the nukes in fifteen minutes. Am I clear?"

"Perfectly clear."

"I can have a Raptor docked in ten."

"So do it."

Kleiner looked shocked. "You're going through with it?"

The commander lowered the handset. "Did I ever say I'd put anything on the Raptor?"

"Of course not."

"Marines."

"You sly bastard," the XO chuckled.

"Sir, PriFly reports low-observable Vipers launching now," Lieutenant Wolfe reported.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Kleiner nodded. "Have them launch another Raptor with a Marine fireteam onboard."

"Aye, sir."

"And now," Murray said, looking up at the DRADIS plot, "we wait."

"Make sure those Block 50s keep out of detection range," Deliverance warned Hatch.

"I heard you the fifth time," the ECO laughed. "They're well beyond DRADIS range for the Asps. Besides, that Raptor is under five minutes out."

"Sure hope so..."

"Relax. They'll dock, the Vipers fire, and it's down to the Marines."

"You ever heard that old saying, 'no plan survives contact with the enemy?'" Deliverance asked.

"Of course I have. This one is foolproof."

"That's what they all say," he shook his head.

A burst of quick chatter came over the GUARD wireless frequency. "Sounds like they're docking now," Hatch mused, fiddling with the frequency fine-tune knob on her electronics console.

"Yeah, I show positive contact," Deliverance said, having aimed the Raptor's high-powered infrared sensor onto the liner. "Give 'em two, then roll in the Block 50s."

"Copy that," the ECO chirped. "I'm letting the assault Raptor crews know; they'll go in first."'

The first Raptor could be seen to enter the liner's spacious cargo hold, which then closed and repressurized. Deliverance whistled softly, thinking of the firefight the Marines would most likely find themselves in momentarily.

"T-Bolt 113 and 341, you're cleared hot onto bandits one through three," Hatch said. "Be advised we have a firing solution on the liner's FTL; sending it over now."

"Copy, Raptor 490. T-Bolt 113, engaging," the flight leader replied. The DRADIS icons representing his and his wingman's fighters suddenly darted towards the 'hijacked' liner. In an actual engagement, KEW muzzle flashes would have been accompanied by numerous Javelin missiles streaking away towards their targets. For now, Hatch settled for seeing the remaining Asps' DRADIS icons flash yellow. The targeting data on the liner's FTL drive was also accurate, rendering the hijacked craft unable to escape.

Hatch quickly directed the assault Raptors away from their holding tracks and onto a course for the Intersun liner. One by one, the utility craft used their RCS thrusters to precisely match their speed and attitude with the target, after which the landing mag-locks were used to anchor to the hull. Each Raptor's retractable boarding skirt also lowered, allowing Marines with cutting torches to access the interior of the 'hijacked' vessel whether its crew wanted them to or not.

"Ulysses, Raptor 490," she called over the wireless. "Be advised, we have a live wireless link with the Marines now, sir." Their helmet-mounted communications systems were not powerful enough to allow full-on ship-to-ship communications; accordingly, a Raptor- 490 in this case- would be providing a relay link to the Ulysses. This would allow the Marine battalion commander back onboard to directly coordinate the boarding operation from the safety of the battlestar's CIC.

"Copy, Raptor 490," Lieutenant Wolfe said. "We're receiving."

Flight Deck, BBT Rebel

Approach vector to Cybele Station, Helios Alpha System

"Could someone please explain to me what the frak a VIPR team is?" Lucy asked, frustrated with the seemingly random inspection request that had forced the Rebel to expend several dozen tons more fuel than budgeted, and delayed its arrival at the station by approximately an hours.

"Dunno," Bryant shrugged. "Some kind of Marine boarding team, I guess." The freighter captain glanced at the cockpit DRADIS display, watching the blue icon representing a Raptor cautiously approach.

"Sir, VIPR is a Homeland Security unit for boarding and search work," one of the Marine security troops explained. "And, off the record, I hate the bastards. Arrogant motherfrakkers, and there's a lot of rumors about 'em."

"Rumors?" Mandell sat up.

"General conspiracy-theory stuff. Most people don't put any stock in it, but I still don't trust those guys." The marine fidgeted with his helmet chin strap, wondering if he, perhaps, had said too much.

"Docking request from that Raptor," Bryant announced. "Tom, depressurize and open the starboard hangar," he ordered.

"On it." Mandell flipped several switches at the engineering station, dumping the hangar's atmosphere into holding tanks and opening the armored hatch. "Hatch's open."

"Okay...Corporal, take two Marines and meet those clowns."

The Marine nodded, immediately leaving the bridge for the freighter's lower decks.

Several minutes later, after receiving an interphone call from one of the Marines, Bryant picked up his civilian-spec M22 rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and climbed down the thirty-foot ladder to the hangar deck. The sealed divider between the two bays was still in place, on account of the Raptor having just docked.

A dun-colored craft in the markings of VAQ-136 'Gauntlets', the Navy Raptor was unarmed, unlike the VIPR team that had just exited its rear passenger compartment. The four Homeland Security personnel were equipped similarly to the Marines, but wore full-face helmets and had DHS patches on their fatigues' shoulders. A visible friction existed between the two groups, and Bryant could see Corporal Hollis, the Maine fireteam leader, running one finger over his M22's safety. Benny, the Rebel's loadmaster, looked furious at the armed HomeSec personnel standing in his hangar.

"Let's get this over with," Bryant muttered. "We've got a delivery to make for y'all's boss, so get to it."

One of the VIPR men nodded, prompting the others to remove an object similar in appearance to a very large pistol from their web gear. "Where's the cargo access?" the VIPR team leader asked Bryant, correctly inferring his position as the Rebel's captain.

Bryant pointed towards an interlock hatch at the rear of the hangar. "There. Make it quick; every single ore silo's empty. The mainframe's one frame forward of here."

The boarding team split into two elements. One, accompanied by a pair of Marines, headed aft for the access tunnel running between the bulk freighter's four separate cargo silos. The other started for the cargo bay.

"Ah, 'scuse me," Hollis said, stopping the VIPR team leader in his tracks. "We've got sensitive cargo onboard. I'll need positive identification before I can allow you into that compartment.

"The frak you do," the Homeland Security soldier snorted, his contempt for the Marine glaringly obvious.

"All right then, by Fleet regs section two, subsection thirty-nine, you are under military arrest for attempting to access a security-restricted compartment without providing proof of authorization. Captain Bryant, should I transport these men to the brig?"

One of the Raptor crew, sitting on his craft's stub wing, tried but failed to suppress a chuckle.

"What- I- you don't-" the VIPR leader spluttered.

"ID. Now; that was not an idle threat," Hollis snapped, raising the muzzle of his rifle by an inch or so.

Both Homeland Security personnel sighed, producing standard-issue card keys with photographic identification.

"All right, then," Hollis said, faking a cheerful demeanor. "Follow me and we can continue your inspection."

The Marines led the two VIPR men through the heavy hatch into the cargo bay, Bryant following behind with his rifle, and Benny with a crowbar ostensibly for opening crates for inspection.

Benny gestured towards several massive pallets secured to the rail-mount cargo-handling system. "There they are," he said. "Knock yourselves out."

"Literally," Bryant swore he could hear the other Marine whisper under his breath.

The HomeSec personnel waved the pistol-like objects over the pallets, revealing their identity as handheld x-ray scanners/radiation detectors. This continued for several minutes before the team leader motioned to his subordinate, indicating an all-clear, at least for that compartment.

"Avionics bay?" he asked Bryant.

"I don't think so," the freighter captain shook his head.

"This is a mandat-"

"Fleet regs, section three, subsection twenty-seven, inspections of military-contracted vessels are directed by the senior Colonial Forces serviceman onboard," Hollis said. "My fireteam and I have been aboard this vessel for five hours and conducted a safety/security inspection upon embarking, as is standard procedure for a contracted vessel. This inspection is redundant and quite frankly a waste of all of our time; you are ordered to leave this vessel and return to your facility of origin."

"I-"

Bryant unslung his rifle. "My dad always told me to listen to Marines. I think it's about time you learned that lesson. Get the frak off my ship or I will not hesitate to defend myself."

The two VIPR men stood, stock-still, for several seconds. The freighter captain thought he heard a few whispers of wireless communication from their helmet sets, but could not be entirely sure. Either way, it was irrelevant as the Homeland Security personnel quickly exited the cargo bay and access tunnel, snapped something unheard at the Raptor crew, and boarded the small craft inside of three minutes.

All members of the freighter crew returned to the flight deck in preparation for depressurizing the bay, allowing the Raptor to exit. Two of the Marines took positions in the cargo bay, while Hollis and another accompanied the crew to the flight deck.

"Atmosphere dumped, hatches open," Mandell called. "Raptor 282 is away."

"We've got re-clearance onto Cybele," Lucy announced. "Take course zero-eight-niner, carom zero-one-five.

"Zero-eight-niner, zero-one-five," Bryant acknowledged, swinging himself back into the pilot's seat and executing a handful of precise thruster burns to adopt the approach course. "On course."

The female navigator nodded.

Slowly, the Fleet station came into view. Arranged as a ringlike structure with a half-dozen docking slips along the perimeter of the ring, a handful of ships were already docked. A contracted liner and a Pandarus-class Missilestar were situated in adjacent slips, but were not the most interesting of the vessels.

"All back full," Lucy called.

"All back full." Bryant pulled back on the quadruple throttles, firing retro-thrusters to slow the lightly-loaded bulk freighter to a safe docking velocity.

"Hold speed."

A minute later, the Rebel glided into its assigned slip, next to a peculiar warship. Bryant pulled back on the throttles again, bringing the freighter to a halt inside the slip. Retractable gangways slowly extended and locked into position as the freighter captain engaged the mag-lock seals.

"All right," Bryant grinned. "One secure cargo delivered, a quarter-million in the bag." He allowed himself to look over at the vessel the Rebel was sharing her slip with. She was approximately the size of a medium-light Battlestar, but nearly all similarities ended there. The ship was an angular, bladelike vessel, with conformal launch bays scabbed into either flank. She was painted a uniform dark grey, with an odd metallic sheen, and had no visible weapons aside from a half-dozen missile launch tubes on her sides. Even more strangely, her engines were almost completely shrouded and covered in numerous grille-like baffles. In dark grey, nearly black lettering on her sides, she proclaimed her name to be Banshee.

"Now that's a damn weird-looking ship," Mandell laughed.

"She actually ain't bad-looking," Bryant mused. "I'm just guessing here, but I reckon she's stealth."

"Good guess," the chief engineer agreed. "I heard about this kind of stuff while I was still in, but never really thought I'd see it."

"Stealth doesn't mean invisible," the the freighter captain pointed out. "Hey, Lucy, any sign of her on DRADIS?"

"Nope," the navigator laughed. "Just a black hole. Infrared barely sees her, either. My guess is that you wouldn't see her coming unless you were looking for her.

Mandell picked up the interphone handset. "Hey, Benny, what's the deal on the cargo offloading?" A moment later, the loadmaster squawked a reply over the din of forklifts and miscellaneous cargo-handling equipment.

"All right, good. Did you catch what it's for?"

"I said, what is it for?" the engineer asked, forced to raise his voice to be heard.

"Okay! Thanks." Mandell hung up the interphone. "Gods," he muttered.

"What'd Benny say he heard?"

"One of the Fleet techs said it was a replacement mainframe computer for the station. Guess I was right."

"Damn techno-junk," Lucy grumbled. "It's gonna bite 'em in the ass, you mark my words."

CIC, Battlestar Ulysses

Helios Alpa System

Several days later, after the conclusion of SILVERFLAG Phase One, the Ulysses and her battlestar group executed an FTL jump into the outer rim of the Helios Alpha system. As per Fleet procedure, the group entered the outer rim to receive orders from one of the command stations located along the system's edge.

"Sir, the computer's returning an error from that message. Again." Lieutenant Wolfe said, attempting to resolve the issue for the third time. "It's that damn CNP format." As far as the tactical officer could tell, the station's automated wireless system was broadcasting only in a data format designed for CNP-equipped computers.

"Well, then ask the idiot for a flash transmission!" Commander Andrew Murray growled, frustrated with the Cybele's apparent inability to account for the older vessels in the Colonial Fleet.

"I tried, sir. It's automated and won't accept our input."

"Get a direct line with Cybele Main," the battlestar commander said, his calm tone hiding the utter fury he was trying to suppress.

"Aye, sir," Wolfe said, quickly switching frequencies. "I have a line."

Murray picked up the handset. "Cybele Station, this is Ulysses Actual."

"Good afternoon, Ulysses, Cybele Main."

"Cybele Main, please explain to me why in the hell your automated dispatch wireless is only broadcasting CNP data packages."

"Wait one, sir."

Murray stared directly at the DRADIS polar plot, looking as if he was trying to break the impact-resistant polycarbonate with sheer anger alone. Ensign Dremmond turned from her navigation console, looking concerned.

"Ulysses Actual, Cybele Main. Be advised we just exchanged mainframes in compliance with directives from the UCNP Fleet 2000 program office. Automated broadcasts are CNP data package-only."

"How about the ten percent of the fleet that cannot receive CNP data?" the commander asked, trying to keep calm and avoid referring to the UCNP Fleet 2000 program office as several hundred worthless overpaid insufferable technocratic Caprican city-rat frakheads. Some old habits died hard.

"Ahh...VLF flash is commencing now, sir."

Wolfe flashed a thumbs-up. "Receiving," he said in a low voice.

"Thank you, Cybele Main. Ulysses Actual, out." Murray slammed the handset down. "Gods!" he exclaimed. "There ain't a lick of common sense in any one of those idiots!"

"I'm not disagreeing, Andy," Kleiner shook his head. "This could get people killed, you know. What if there's a war on? Are we going to have to berate station crews to get workable orders dispatches? This is frakking ridiculous."

"Dispatch, sir," Wolfe announced, handing Murray the flash printout containing the battlestar group's current orders. The commander skimmed it over, his demeanor softening somewhat.

"We're to dock at the Scorpian Fleet Shipyards. The Missilestar Axylus is to join BSG-67; we're then to jump into Helios Delta and conduct a six-week patrol orbit in the Aerilon-Sagitarron region," he read, summarizing the report.

"We're goin' home," Kleiner said, seeming quite pleased.

Murray picked up the wireless handset, flipping a switch to set it to PA mode. "All hands, all hands, this is Commander Murray. In less than six hours, we will be docking at the Scorpian Fleet Shipyards to accept a new vessel, the Axylus, into our battlestar group. We will then be conducting a six-week low-readiness patrol in Helios Delta; liberty will be permitted."

The various officers and enlisted personnel in the CIC cheered.

"Well, I ain't complaining," Deliverance grinned several seconds later. "Birmingham sure beats Caprica City."

One of the other pilots in the VAQ-142 ready room flashed him an odd look.

"More tractors," Krunch explained.

The Aerilonian Raptor pilot laughed. "Exactly. There's more tractors. All I care about, actually."

"Thanks for admitting it," Hatch said. "Here I was thinking it was all just a joke..."

"No problem," Deliverance said, picking up a model of a Raptor and a Viper from the operational-planning table at the front of the ready room, next to the laptop computer controlling the overhead projector. He held both models at arm's length, placing the Viper behind the Raptor and moving them in unison. "See?" he asked expectantly. "Space tractor."

The handful of Grey Wolves pilots gathered laughed.

"If we hook up a BRP and have the Viper hook up, we could probably tow it in an emergency. Seriously!"

Hatch nodded, finding the idea at least somewhat feasible. An BRP, or buddy refueling pod, was a system designed for the Raptor and some Viper variants that allowed the craft to act as a refueling tanker for other small craft. It used a drogue basket trailed behind the tanker on a long carbon-nanotube hose, which the refuelee would use as a target for its retractable refueling probe. Once the hookup was complete, tylium fuel would be pumped from tanker's internal or external fuel cells and into the receiving craft. Some larger tankers, usually based off passenger liners, existed, but could not be carried aboard most battlestars due to their considerable size. "I guess it would probably work."

"That's the spirit," Krunch said.

CIC, Battlestar Banshee

Cybele Station, Helios Alpha

1 month BCH

Commander Pete Nichols, the Banshee's captain, paced his ship's cramped CIC, visibly nervous. He had just received a highly-classified report from the Office of Naval Intelligence regarding a paramilitary terrorist organization with ties to the STO. Allegedly, the organization, the so-called Gemenon Liberation Front, had obtained one or more tactical nuclear weapons and were planning to strike high-value targets on the surface of Caprica.

The report was based on various HUMINT, SIGINT, and hard sensor data on a station in Helios Delta, closest to Sagitarron. The Banshee, as one of the handful of stealthy battlestars in existence, and the only one not currently undergoing a refit, naturally received the call.

"CAG, what's the status on those Habus?" Nichols asked Lieutenant Commander David 'Breaker' Kitchen, the commander of the stealth battlestar's air group.

Breaker grimaced. "Four...mostly airworthy, sir. The rest, not even close. Should I have them loaded anyways?"

The commander nodded. "Yes. Have the rest of your crew onboard as well; we'll be departing in under an hour."

"Yessir." The Habu was a stealth fighter only just entering service, and still experiencing teething troubles. The Banshee's complement of eight were the reason for its stopover at Cybele; the station boasted some maintenance and fabrication equipment that the reconnaissance/surveillance battlestar did not. Recently, an issue had cropped up over poor-quality forgings in the Habu's rear fuselage. Banshee did not possess the proper specifications or blueprints to manufacture the components, and the installation of replacements was a time-consuming endeavor requiring something approaching a complete teardown of the fighter's structure.

"Mister Benson, weapons status?" Nichols asked the battlestar's weapons officer.

"Seventy-five percent on KEWs, twenty-four ASMs loaded, sir."

"Engineering?"

Lieutenant Nadia Christophe looked up from her console, currently displaying a diagram of detected maintenance problems across the ship. "Reactor and engines are green, life support is green, minor fault on the navigation computer, but we're working on it. All critical systems are green or patched," she reported.

"Nav?"

"Coordinates for destination are plotted, sir. Valid for ninety more minutes."

"Excellent."

"Launching Habus now," Breaker reported as all four of the squadron's operational fighters were fired from Banshee's starboard launch tubes. "Designate Marauder 112, 115, 114, and 118. Vipers away, designate Dragon flight."

"DRADIS has multiple contacts, Adders, vicinity of Amphion Station," Lieutenant Tracy Hall, Banshee's tactical officer, reported. "Sir, Dragon is receiving multiple hostile challenges and several Adders are breaking towards them."

"Understood," Commander Nichols said. "Helm, all ahead full, course zero-three-six carom zero-two-zero. Port roll four-zero degrees," he ordered. Almost immediately, but nearly imperceptibly to those onboard, the stealth battlestar pitched upwards and rolled along its lateral axis, presenting its full firepower to the station. "CAG, Dragon is to engage bandits."

"Aye, sir," Breaker said. "Dragon 224, make your course three-three-two carom three-four-five. Commit intercept."

"Dragon 224, Judy," the Viper squadron leader reported.

"Cleared hot, Dragon."

"Copy, Banshee. Engaging."

Several thousand miles from the battlestar's position, eight Mk. VII Vipers of VF-192 'Dragons' tore into the formation of Adders. The Adder was a somewhat newer design, roughly on par with a Mk. VI. It was similar in appearance to a Viper, only somewhat more angular and with four stub wings arranged in an x-like pattern.

In contrast to the Asps 'engaged' by VF-251 during SILVERFLAG, Adders were serious and extremely lethal modern fighters. Two of the group of six exploded at the merge, but Dragon 452 was reduced to a drifting hulk by a fragmentation missile that peppered its skin with hundreds of alloy fragments. Dragon 224 shot another down with a well-timed KEW burst, shearing the fighter's nosecone off and ripping apart its x-shaped wing configuration, but Dragon 127 lost a large chunk of its vertical stabilizer to a KEW round that also vented a tylium cell into vacuum.

Approximately two minutes later, Lieutenant Hall informed Nichols that the first group of Asps had been engaged and destroyed for one Viper lost and another damaged. 452's pilot had ejected, along with two of the GLF pilots.

"CAG, have Marauder and Dragon approach Amphion Station. Launch the alert fighters."

"Aye, sir," Breaker said. "Marauder, Dragon, you are to rendezvous at the initial point. Use dispersed formation; we have additional Adders and may be dealing with antifighter missiles on the station." He switched from wireless to interphone. PriFly, PriFly, this is CAG. Launch alert-five, repeat, launch alert-five."

"Argonaut is launching," he reported, glancing back at the battlestar's commander. "When will we launch the assault element?"

"Once those damn fighters are destroyed," Nichols stated. "Are all Thunderbirds ready for launch?"

"All six, sir. The Marines are onboard; they're just waiting for the go-ahead. I have to say, it would be a lot easier to just blow this place to dust," the CAG pointed out.

"I don't disagree, but orders are orders. We're supposed to recover the warheads." All six of the Banshee's Thunderbird dropships currently airworthy, out of eight total, had been loaded with a full Marine platoon to facilitate that particular operation. The Thunderbirds, while well-armed, simply could not stand up to numerous, sophisticated hostile fighters, at least not while trying to dock.

"All Argonaut Vipers are away," Breaker said. "They're closing on Amphion to support."

"Excellent," Nichols replied. "Helm, all back full. Dead halt."

"Aye, sir." The helmsman pulled the Banshee's throttles back to their maximum reverse position, bringing the battlestar to a halt in under a minute.

"Habu and Dragon are engaging," Lieutenant Hall said. "Looks like there's missiles on Amphion...we just lost a Viper. No beacon," she said sadly.

"ETA on Argonaut?" Nichols asked the CAG.

"Under five."

"Frak. That's not soon enough. Mister Benson, extend main KEWs and prepare to fire flak rounds against Amphion. Helm, forty percent ahead."

Both crewmen acknowledged the orders. On the Banshee's upper surfaces, serrated-edge hatches opened, allowing the battlestar's primary automatic KEW batteries to be raised on their hydraulic mounts. Ordinarily concealed to avoid presenting a large DRADIS signature, the weapons gave the small battlestar firepower comparable to that of many Gunstars.

"Firing solution achieved, sir," Benson reported. "Should I give the order?"

"Fire," the commander ordered, eliminating any possibility of confusion.

"Aye." All twenty KEWs opened fire, requiring minute thruster burns to compensate for their substantial combined recoil. The guns were fired more slowly when used with flak rounds, as the massive shrapnel clouds created removed much of the need for a large volume of fire.

Nichols grinned despite the situation as the turrets' steady thrum echoed throughout the ship.

Taking care not to fire through the ongoing 'furball' of Vipers, Habus, and Adders, the stream of flak rounds impacted the station, scouring its surface and destroying several point-defense missile installations that had been harassing the Colonial fighters.

"Two bandits remaining," Breaker called.

"Most PD emplacements are offline," Hall said. "It's just the Adders now."

The CAG said something into his headset before turning the Nichols. "Sir, I'm pulling back Dragon and having Argonaut wait it out. They just killed the last two bandits and the Habus can work the point-defense safely. Recommend we launch the Thunderbirds as well," he said.

"Good call. Launch the Thunderbirds," the commander ordered.

"Thunderbirds launching."

Approximately ten minutes later, the first of the Thunderbird dropships were sealing themselves to Amphion Station in preparation for boarding. Habus and Argonaut Vipers buzzed past, providing security for the assault force.

"Sir, the first Marine team has landed," Lieutenant Hall announced. "They're reporting no contacts. Radiological detectors are reading faint traces; I'm talking to one of the WMD team leaders. He says that they think they have a rough location and are moving to search it."

"All right. Keep me posted," Nichols said, beginning to tally losses from the battle to secure the station's local area. He had just received word that the Viper pilot shot down earlier had been safely taken aboard a CSAR Raptor when Hall jumped, surprised. "Marines are engaged- they're saying that it's- Cylons!" she exclaimed. "Centurions, Uprising-era! Dozens of them!"