Oh Laura.
I will get you off of that godforsaken planet. And it is godforsaken, because there is no logical reason for why benevolent gods would leave their prophet and their people to die on that rock. If your gods do exist, I think you left them on Kobol. Not that they did us much good there either.
I should have let you steal the election. I should have helped you steal the election. I'm so sorry, Laura, I'm so sorry.
People say we were living on borrowed time since the first attacks on the Colonies, but we weren't. The time of the billions of people who didn't make it off of the planets was taken away from them. This is time that soldiers and civilians have bled for. This time is not by any account borrowed. And I assure you, Laura, as I hope to any gods left that you already know, that we will continue to fight for every hour, every minute of time and life we can give to you.
My greatest hope is that you are alive and well. My tactician's mind tells me that it's unlikely, given our previous experience with cylon invasions. But the heart of William Adama believes you are alive.
I know you won't get this letter. At least, not before we're face-to-face again. My first order of business after I get you back to Galactica is to lock the two of us in my quarters and hold you until they break down the hatch. But I will give this last letter to you, because I need you to have it as a witness to my love for you. I will seal it in an envelope, write your name on it, and put it in my desk drawer, waiting for you to open it.
Until we meet again,
Bill
The End.