Colonel Tigh stalked the corridors, accompanied by several marines, their guns loaded and trained on the area in front of them.
"Keep alert, keep loaded and for fraks sake keep your finger off the trigger unless there is a clear threat!" he ordered, marching round a corner, down another corridor. As he walked hurriedly past a hatch, it opened slowly. Tigh stopped, his hand signalling the marines to look in the direction of the distraction. They huddled around, their breathing measured as their gun's aims rested on the hatch. A man appeared, his hands slowly moving up over his head. Tigh looked at the name on the hatch.
Ward Room.
He rubbed his jaw, turning away from the man.
"Frak me," he muttered, although he was inwardly relieved. Tom Zarek stood, his hands on his head. He smiled crookedly, his eyes shining with arrogance and amusement.
"I knew you hated me, Colonel, but I was sure that my title implied that I shouldn't have to face the firing squad without civilian representation," he said smoothly, looking straight at Tigh. The XO resisted pulling out his sidearm and taking the frakker out, but only barely. He clenched his jaw and kept his chin up, not letting the man in front think he was anything special.
"What the frak do you think you're doing here, Zarek?"
"I asked for a meeting with our esteemed Admiral Adama. It would seem he is late."
"He doesn't have time to be frakking arguing in circles with you right now. We've been boarded."
"He has time to argue with President Roslin but never me- Boarded?" Tom looked flustered, and Tigh felt a smug sense of satisfaction that he knew something the 'esteemed' Vice-President didn't.
"Boarded. Now you are more than welcome to run around and get shot, hell it might save one of my more useful men if you do. However, it pains me to recommend you get your ass out of this corridor!"
Zarek didn't reply, just looked down the corridor to his right. Tigh looked in the same direction, as did his marines. A faint tapping sound slowly drew closer, alerting them. A small object, cylinder in shape, rattled as it rolled around the corner at the end of the corridor. Zarek squinted, trying to figure out what it was.
"What the frak is-"
"Get down!"
Tigh tackled Zarek to the ground, and all the marines shielded their heads as the explosion resounded.
....
The lights flickered and the computers jolted.
"Sitrep!" Adama shouted, gripping the console and glancing at Felix Gaeta. The rumbling was felt throughout CIC and red lights flashed.
"Decompression on deck C, sir! Possibly caused by an explosive!"
"An explosive?" Adama asked, his expression once more a stone wall, "We're dealing with a serious threat then."
"Sir!" Dee called, capturing the Admiral's attention, "numerous reports have come in of armed groups aboard the Galactica. They're attacking military only, sir."
Adama's jaw clenched and he let out a low breath, his head hanging.
"I want them all located. I want teams of marines dispatched to neutralize each threat. I don't want their grievances, I want them gone."
....
Tigh sat down, clasping his arm. They were sealed in the Ward Room, the hatch secured. It had been a close call. Two marines dead, one dying. After the initial explosion, Tigh wasted no time in quickly crawling into the closest room to them; the ward room. Zarek, catching on, also moved quickly into the room, followed by the marines. Tigh had turned around and that was when he spotted two marines, lying on the metal floor just outside the hatch. The last marine was pushing the hatch closed as quickly as he could, but it wasn't enough. A loud creaking emanated and Tigh wondered briefly whether the ship was going to implode. The marine at the door started to choke, falling forwards onto the hatch, which slammed shut with a loud 'clang'. Tigh strode quickly over to the fallen marine and noticed the symptoms. The blue lips, the choking, bloodshot eyes. The force of the grenade must have caused some sort of hole in the ship, causing major decompression. While they were safe in the Ward Room, enclosed, Tigh could do nothing for the marine in front who was so obviously dying. So he sat down, his arm throbbing from the impact with the floor at the initial explosion.
Zarek, breathing heavily, collapsed in a chair, using his shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat on his forehead away. They had been so close to dying. If ever a time Zarek felt like praying, now was it.
"Thank the Gods that we-"
"-shut the frak up."
Tigh was in no mood to listen to Zarek preaching. He barely restrained himself when the actual President did it. At least she had better reasons, as completely frakking deluded as they were.
"Marines," Tigh growled, watching with satisfaction as the remaining marines saluted, "we need to get out of this room. Access through the vents is probably our best shot. It should lead us onto the next deck if we head left. We need to get to the deck above us or gods help us we are well and truly frakked."
The marines nodded their assent and began moving towards the vent grate at the far end of the room. Left alone, Tigh rubbed the tender bruise on his arm, his mind elsewhere.
If we all die, at least I'll get to see Ellen again, he thought, and suddenly he wasn't in such a rush.