Chapter Eleven: Bloody Orbit

ORBIT OVER AERILON

1142 Hrs

Primus Squadron

"I've got a bead on him; he's three o'clock low… see him?" Captain Hilarion, call-sign Achilles questioned.

"Copy that I've got a tally-ho on the bandit, three o'clock low," Lieutenant 'Dice' Cortez responded immediately.

"He's breaking right. Well, Dice, what do you say we pull the old 'drag and bag'?" Achilles questioned. Currently Dice was acting as the Primus Squadron commander's wingman. The two were flying in a fighting wing formation, with Dice holding a tight position off Achilles' rear-left wing.

"Roger. On you," Dice agreed.

The two broke off their pursuit of the Cylon Raider and watched as it broke off its initial vector, gained a great degree of separation and then realigned itself so that it was headed directly for them both. At this point the two human pilots separated the distance between their two aircraft. Dice veered left and Achilles broke harder to the right. The Cylon Raider decided to give chase to Achilles, whose rapid deceleration in a high speed right turn presented a more lucrative target. The Raider maneuvered into position in a lead pursuit posture behind Achilles, who continued to break hard to the right.

Meanwhile Dice broke off his previous flight direction and rolled back toward the Raider and his wingman, Achilles. Dice, acting as the number two accelerated his Vorams to catch up to the Raider who had since become fixated on Achilles. The Primus Squadron commander was still in the midst of a hard right break. He continuously glanced behind him to ensure the Raider was trailing him and had taken the bait. Indeed it was and it had cutaway a chunk of separation between the Raider and Achilles' Viper. Nevertheless the Captain was forced to waggle his tail a bit as the Raider let loose with a stream of gunfire. The rounds passed errantly in the Viper's wake. The Raider still had not positioned its nose within the gun envelope and was struggling to achieve a good gunshot.

Dice rapidly advanced towards the two fighters and noticed just how deftly Achilles handled his fighter. The older man was taking quite a risk by allowing such a minimal degree of separation between his Viper and the Cylon's aircraft, yet in doing so he was allowing Dice to get in for a closer shot. The Raider had become fixated on Achilles and was intent on destroying him. In the meantime the trio of Cylons piloting the craft had not noticed Dice maneuver in behind them. The young pilot cut into the Raider's turn, assuming a similar pursuit posture that the Raider had taken up against Achilles. By the time the Cylon pilots had noticed their error Dice was already riddling the bandit full of 30mm rounds. Fuel and hydraulic fluid spewed out of the wounds that punctured the skin of the Raider. It spun helplessly out of control before colliding with an anti-ship missile fired from its own Basestar.

"Another bandit down!" Dice exclaimed excitedly.

"Nicely done, Dice," Captain Hilarion praised. "But it took you a little longer to line up your shot than I would have liked."

"Just testing your nerves, sir," Dice joked. Inwardly he realized just what a risk Achilles had taken. He was one of the best pilots aboard the Galactica—seconds perhaps only to Archie, the CAG. However, in the world of dog-fighting it was all about angles and timing. A second too long, a second too late, or assume the wrong angle and you were dead.

Despite the small victory the two had achieved the fight around them was going terribly. Like a mighty sea of chaos a massive battle had erupted in every direction all around them. They were two tiny birds in the midst of a grand hurricane. Massive bolts, tracers from the hulking Battlestars streaked across the black backdrop of space only to be passed in transit by anti-ship missiles leaving billows of smoke in their own wake. Explosions lit up their surroundings as Vipers destroyed Raiders and Raiders destroyed Vipers. Point defense turrets aboard the Battlestars and smaller destroyers pulsated and sent cascading streams of gunfire outward in huge arcs of fire attempting to provide defensive umbrellas for their armored skin against any would-be attackers. Debris floated listlessly in the weightlessness, some bits of wreckage still smoldering—especially chunks blasted from the Battlestars, Basestars and larger destroyers. Frigates sought advantage through speed, racing through the fight in small formations and concentrating well calculated salvos of guided rocket fire towards the Basestars.

By now ten of the hulking Cylon capital ships had floundered and had either been destroyed or floated lifelessly along. Yet in that same vein nearly as many Battlestars had succumbed to their wounds and had either exploded in a tragic array of light and debris or had become floating graveyards. Likewise many frigates, destroyers, and troop transports had been obliterated by the staunch defense put up by the Cylons. Another Battlestar's commander had shamefully retreated from the fight after his sub-light engines had been destroyed and he'd sustained significant damage to the starboard section of his ship.

The Galactica had fared better than some of the other Battlestars. Commander Nash, with great assistance from Colonel Faulk, had done an excellent job of training his gun crews in the past. Their heavy turrets fired shell after shell at the Basestar the Galactica was engaging. Ordnance teams were quick to resupply the gun batteries and the men that loaded the shells (affectionately referred to as 'Gun Rocks') were deftly ensuring each gun had an ample amount of extra ammunition. When a battery's gun-targeting system would go down the gun team would heave together and manually rotate the gun into position utilizing a seemingly archaic crank system. But they were effective. They put more rounds on target than their adversary did and they were accurate too. Each time a fissure or chink in the Basestar's armor would present itself they would bombard it with high explosive, dual purpose rounds. By exploiting the cracks in the Basestar's armor they were successful in destroying the first ship they engaged. A mighty cloud of smoke, flame, and fragments expanded violently outward in every direction. Vipers and Raiders alike scurried to avoid the wreckage that now acted more like a projectile. Some were luckier than others.

"Basestar destroyed, sir!" Oliveira reported with a distinct rise in her voice, excitement welling up inside her chest. A jubilant smile crossed her cherubic face, yet she remained steadfast and focused upon her console.

"Excellent work, Mr. Edgars," Commander Nash praised his weapons officer. "Helm, bring us about thirty two degrees starboard, all ahead full. I want to be engaging those Basestars in the next two minutes," Nash ordered seriously, referring to the two ships pummeling the Nemesis. "Miss Oliveira, inform Commander Green the Galactica is on its way to provide assistance."

"Yes, sir!"

"All Galactica squadrons, this is the CAG, form up on Primus squadron and follow heading 992 at 350 kph. We're to provide all possible assistance to the Nemesis, she's taken a heavy beating and needs additional fighter support," Major Archibald Gates explained over the wireless. He listened intently as heard the remaining pilots of the Galactica's air group roger up. "If you're Winchester, or you've gone bingo on fuel RV with the Galactica for refueling and rearming, understood?" Within a short amount of time the pilots had assembled their fighters and were pressing toward the engaged Battlestar Nemesis with all possible haste.

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

1248 Hrs

Hangar Deck

Banzai looked around the deck with amazement in his eyes. Deckhands, snipes and knuckle draggers dashed about with tools and supplies to repair and refuel many of the Vipers coming back aboard. Banzai was one of three that were just being towed in from the recovery deck. Meanwhile ordnance teams rushed to and fro, dragging carts loaded with belts of 30mm ammunition for the Thraxon cannons, or the more volatile HD-70 Lightning Javelin missiles.

Perhaps a more troublesome part of the scene was the many medical personnel present. Several Viper pilots were being dragged down from Vipers that had been riddled with gunfire but had miraculously returned to the Galactica. Among them were two Vipers from the Nemesis who had likely docked with the Galactica out of desperation. Medical technicians were beginning to assess their patients and treat their wounds. Banzai thought about all of the men and women that hadn't been lucky enough to get back to the ship in one piece, or who were still floating in the midst of all the carnage, having ejected and survived the destruction of their aircraft. In addition to the Viper pilots there were the returning Raptors and their crews. They were being hauled off the elevators that had carried them down from the recovery pods. Many of them were damaged, but Marines were rushing aboard, the deckhands were towing the Raptors right back onto the elevators and the pilots were spooling up the engines. Amazing, Banzai thought. To him, the Marines and the pilots flying them were suicidal. He couldn't imagine surviving unarmed in the hellish mess outside the Galactica's bulkhead. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Other Marines and some Raptor crews were being carried out of the bullet-ridden transport craft. Blood was seeping from wounds caused by flak bursts or accurate shots from attacking Raiders. Young men and women howled from the pain their wounds caused them and Banzai shuddered from the sound. A shout from a nearby knuckle dragger brought him out of his momentary lapse. "Lieutenant! Here are the rounds you needed, you've got to load them yourself I'm needed over there!" the man reported. He was an avionics tech by trade and had to take a look at another Viper's nose cone. There was no reason this pilot couldn't load his own guns. "Lieutenant!"

"Uh yeah, yeah," Banzai responded, shaking his sweat soaked head. "No problem." Banzai immediately went to work, dragging out the links of heavy 30mm rounds and thrusting them into the loading mechanism of his Viper. While he did that he took note of the many scorch marks that had stained the exterior of his Viper—a disconcerting reminder of the many near misses he'd had.

"Ken!" he heard a woman's voice call out. He turned around to see Lieutenant Jaycie McGavin marching toward him. Her hair was matted down from sweat, much like his, but she seemed to have a look of absolute relief upon her face. "It's good to see someone from the Primus in one piece," she explained as she stopped just in front of him.

"Jaycie, what's the word?" Banzai asked, not sure of what else to say.

"Word is we're getting torn up really bad out there," she expressed with distress. "Is Billy—is Husker okay, do you know?" she asked, and then felt stupid for the question. Why would Banzai know, Adama was planetside with the ground forces.

"I'm not sure," Banzai admitted, noting the concern on McGavin's face.

"No, wrong of me to ask. I almost forgot he wasn't out there in a Viper this time," Jaycie admitted.

"I'm not sure which is worse," Banzai added.

"I'm not either," McGavin agreed, shaking her head. The worry still did not vanish from her face.

"How are things on Aerilon?" Banzai asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"Not good. We lost about half our Raptors on the inbound flight then a dozen or so more couldn't make the return trip because they sustained too much damage. At this point only a token force of Marines is going back in with a second wave. I don't think it's going to be enough," her voice trailed off as her thoughts traveled to Adama down on the surface… if he had made it to the surface. Gods she hoped he'd landed safe and sound.

"Lords…" Banzai murmured. It seemed the entire operation was unraveling already. Gods damned fleet and the Admiralty had committed them to a fight they couldn't win from the start and now they were all just being slaughtered like animals. "What do they have you doing now?" he inquired, hoping to take his mind off the monumental task that lay ahead of him: going back out.

"They're strapping the rockets to the rest of us to get out there and help you guys," Jaycie told him, referring to the rocket pods and the multi-tube missile batteries that were being mounted on the Raptors. Some of the other Raptors were having 30mm cannons mounted to hard points on the vehicle's exterior. "What about you?"

He stood momentarily, hanging in the moment speechless. He looked beyond Jaycie—through her, at the carnage that resulted from the fighting beyond the Galactica's bulkhead. Jaycie pressed him and he shook it off. "Uh, loading up these rounds and going back out," he stammered. He looked down at his hands to see that they were shaking, the belts of 30mm rounds as well.

Jaycie traced Banzai's own gaze downward and noticed the slight trembling in her fellow pilot's hands. She also saw as an embarrassed look crossed his face. "Here, let me help you," she offered, taking the rounds from Banzai who gazed vacantly at the Vipers he'd flown in with; they were already being towed back into the launch tubes.

"Th-thanks," he muttered. Together they loaded the rest of the Thraxon cannons' rounds. He let out a deep breath and cracked a reluctant grin. "Well, time to get back out there," he relayed sheepishly. Jaycie offered a smile in reply. He clamored back into his cockpit and was assisted by several deckhands. With his pressure collar locked and his helmet sealed he brought forward the canopy of his Viper. Moments later Jaycie watched the deckhands tow the fighter into the launch tube. The door sealed shortly after it had been fitted onto the magnetic catapult.

"Jaycie," she looked over to see Lt. Toriyama, her ECO, waiting. "Everything okay?" she questioned with concern.

"Yeah, everything is fine," the Raptor pilot lied.

"All Viper flights, all Viper flights, this is the CAG—break into flight package sierra-bravo and keep the skies clear along the Nemesis' dorsal axis. CIC reports the Nemesis has sustained severe damage and there are exposed frames along that entire region of the ship," Archie briefed the Galactica's air group as they sped toward the ailing Battlestar. Along the entire dorsal axis of the ship—that can't be right, can it? He thought to himself.

As the loosely formed flight of Vipers drew nearer, however, all pilots noticed just how badly the Nemesis had been wounded. A great gash seemed to run along the entire dorsal portion of the ship as if some mighty beast had dragged a blade across the Nemesis' back. Great plumes of smoke rose from still burning flames that lingered in portions of the ship where oxygen was still present and where fuel had added a nasty combustible to the equation. Small explosions left pockmarks all over the charred exterior of the Battlestar and many of its gun turrets were already destroyed.

"My Gods…" Dice mumbled soberly.

"All right Primus, tighten up let's bounce these toasters," Achilles immediately ordered, sensing his pilots apprehension. His aircraft rocketed forward and a moment later the others followed. The Primus squadron took a direct path straight toward the wing of Raiders that were attacking the limping Nemesis' open wound. The flight of Raiders, noticing the inbound Vipers, immediately broke away and scattered—Primus squadron broke formation to pursue. Standard operating procedure for Galactica's air group was never to fly without a wingman and thus every Raider was now being chased by two Vipers.

Seconds later Major Gates and the remaining three squadrons from the Galactica entered the fray. The Nemesis was weakening considerably, however, and the majority of its Vipers had been destroyed. Desperately, its remaining gun batteries continued their withering amount of fire upon the first Basestar that had assailed them. The other that was firing upon the Nemesis was still largely undamaged. Commander Green then ordered for the port side maneuvering thrusters to be fired and rolled the Nemesis over. This maneuver was done to protect its injured dorsal area as well as allow the somewhat fresher gun batteries upon the Nemesis' belly to engage the flagging Basestar.

"Mr. Edgars engage the damaged Basestar when we are within range," Commander Nash ordered. "Helm, position the Galactica between the Nemesis and those two Base ships, understood?"

"Sir!"

"Commander…" the XO began.

"Not another word, Colonel. Commander Green has been facing two Cylon Basestars for the better part of an hour now. If we don't get in there and soak up some of the damage then it is very likely we'll lose the Nemesis," the aging Commander declared resolutely. "I'm not going to allow that to happen."

"Yes, sir," Faulk nodded. In that moment the executive officer of the Galactica saw Commander Nash's return to form. It was a dangerous decision to make and it was one that placed Nash's people at risk in order to protect another ship, but it was a command decision and Faulk was happy to carry it out. "You heard the Commander!"

The crew within the CIC worked feverishly. Officers were dispatching damage control teams to necessary sections while CIC staff isolated system failures and attempted to work around issues within the targeting systems of some of their defense turrets which had taken damage. Likewise, Lieutenant Oliveira was busy gathering reports on Viper and Raptor losses and seeing to the coordination of any and all returning and departing flights. It was a lot to take in and she thanked the Lords of Kobol when a Petty Officer was free enough to assist her.

Just as the Galactica came into range and started pounding the damaged Basestar the Nemesis began to buckle.

"What the hell is happening?"

"It's too much she can't take anymore!"

"All Vipers get clear, get clear of the Nemesis now!"

"We can't leave it."

"Move it! Go! Go! Full throttle, move!"

"I'm frakking hit—"

"Violent decompression along the port side hull… oh Lords I can see the… the bodies…"

Dice watched as the port side recovery pod upon the Nemesis broke apart. The bridges that connected the pod to the Nemesis' superstructure crumpled and the pod ripped slowly away from the rest of the Nemesis' hull. His eyes were wide with amazement as he witnessed the event. It took only a few seconds, but it seemed like ages to him. He watched as dozens of rockets from the combined Cylon assault careened into the belly of the capital ship. He held his breath as great fissures opened up within the armor and then he was forced to look away as his vision was blinded by a bright light. The Nemesis had broken apart and then exploded. Desperate cries had flooded the wireless for only a moment before they were silenced.

"The Nemesis!"

"It's gone! It's gone, they got the Nemesis!"

"May the Lords bless them…"

"All those… all those people."

"Poor souls."

"Frakking chrome jobs!"

"Listen up, people! This is the CAG, get your heads screwed on straight—we're still in the game!"

Silence fell over the entirety of the CIC staff. Nash stared at the DRADIS console above the tactical control board in the center of the CIC. He seemed enthralled by the sight, now sans the Nemesis' signature. His eyes were wide and his aged face appeared greatly anguished.

"Commander, what are your orders?" Colonel Faulk asked. He narrowed his gaze on the Commander, who still stared blankly at the DRADIS screen. He saw as a mist began to appear within the Commander's eyes, and a slight quiver materialized upon his lips.

"Destruction of the Nemesis is confirmed," Lieutenant Oliveira relayed the information with great difficulty. She was breathing hard, more an attempt to hold back tears for all the lives lost aboard the Battlestar than anything else.

"Commander, what are your orders?" Faulk asked once again. Commander Nash did not respond. He continued to stare endlessly at the console as if he were willing the Nemesis to reappear or waiting to see that it was all just a glitch in their sensors. The XO thought he heard the Commander mumble Gods but he could not be sure. Finally, he'd had enough.

"Mr. Edgars, pour everything we've got into that damaged Basestar. Tell our gunners to focus on the damaged areas near the ship's central portion," he commanded, referring to the extended cylinder that connected the two large discs that made up the Basestar. "As soon as we've blown that bastard apart I want-" He was cut off as Lieutenant Oliveira interrupted.

"Sir, urgent order from Admiral Hawkins…" she trailed off, unsure of whom it was she was reporting to. However, she glanced at Commander Nash and saw that he still seemed to be in shock.

"Well, what is it, Lieutenant?" Colonel Faulk demanded.

"Sir… the Admiral—the Admiral is ordering a retreat…" her voice was solemn and almost inaudible.

"That can't be right!" Faulk blurted, eyes widened. He was disgusted by the thought of it. "We still have people on Aerilon. What the frak…" he trailed off, careful not to go off on a tirade in front of the crew.

"Yes, sir. Several ships have already begun to jump away. It's a general retreat. Every airborne aircraft is ordered back to their respective Battlestars and we are to regroup in orbit around Canceron. I don't know why, sir," Oliveira explained almost helplessly. She felt horrible and she stifled a snivel.

"Put me through to Admiral Hawkins!" Faulk demanded furiously.

"Yes, sir!"

Moments later the sound of Hawkins's once confident voice came in over the secure wireless channel. Colonel Faulk picked up the handset alongside the tactical display table. "Admiral Hawkins this is Colonel Faulk," he addressed his superior.

"Colonel," the Admiral greeted genially enough with all things considered. "Where is Commander Nash?"

The question was expected, but Faulk wasn't altogether certain how he would answer. He looked over at Nash, who had now decided to take a seat upon one of the chairs offered to him by the CIC staff. He seemed wholly overwhelmed by the situation. He was breathing heavily, blinking repeatedly and flexing his grip on his cane. It seemed as if he'd just had a minor stroke. "He's indisposed, sir," Faulk said lamely.

"Very well then. What can I do for you, Colonel?" the Admiral questioned, although he probably already had an idea of why he was receiving the call. Faulk believed he couldn't be the only commander, or rather officer that was calling about the order given.

"Sir, why are we retreating? We have people still on the ground, thousands of them," he blurted.

"I'm well aware of that, Colonel. Tactical considerations require us to withdraw, however. We'll be back for our people as soon as we are capable," the Admiral told him. There was an edge to his voice, indicating to Faulk that he was on thin ice and aggravated over the call to begin with.

"What tactical considerations? If we leave them behind the Cylons will slaughter them!" Faulk cried over the wireless, his voice rising and his tone becoming dangerously insubordinate—something wholly out of character for him.

"Colonel!" the Admiral began to protest.

"My apologies, sir, but I don't understand what the frak is going on here," the Galactica's XO expressed. He adjusted himself, attempting to calm down.

"Colonel… Canceron is under attack," the Admiral admitted hesitantly.

"What?"

"It appears the Cylons were expecting us to attack Aerilon—once they knew we'd massed the majority of our forces in order to launch the operation they sent an attack force toward Canceron," the Admiral's mood now seemed dismal.

Canceron was the most populous colony in the Cyrannus star system. With a population of nearly seven billion the planet actually shared the same orbit as Hestia and Aerilon around the Helios Delta star. Because of its close proximity to Aerilon a large fleet had been positioned in orbit in order to safeguard the planet from Cylon attack. However, with the planned operation to retake Aerilon in mind the Admiralty was forced to draw a significant number of ships from the Canceron defensive fleet. It was thought that the Cylon ships defending Aerilon represented the largest concentration of Cylon forces and that it was unlikely any attack would occur on any of the remaining eleven colonies. Now that proved to be incorrect. Indeed, it was more along the lines of a massive tactical blunder. "What is the current status?" Faulk asked plainly.

"All reports indicate the defensive fleet over Canceron has been annihilated and the Cylons have committed to an orbital bombing campaign of several major population centers including Hades, Prommos, Mangala and possibly more," the Admiral explicated solemnly.

"I—I…" the XO had no words to describe the horrors he now imagined in his mind's eye.

"It is of the utmost importance we precede to Canceron with all possible haste. Once we have dealt with the Cylon threat there we can regroup, finish the fight here and get to our people. Until then they'll have to hold it together without support. It's regrettable, but there is no other option open at this time," Admiral Hawkins stated with complete sincerity. "Get your people back aboard and RV at the coordinates that you have been sent. Understood?"

"Understood, sir. Galactica, out," Faulk almost stumbled over his words. He hung up the handset and looked to Oliveira. "Lieutenant, get our people back aboard and any survivors from the Nemesis' squadrons too."

"What about SAR birds for any surviving pilots?" Lieutenant Oliveira questioned almost pleadingly.

Faulk wanted for nothing more than to rescue any downed pilots, but he was well aware there was absolutely no time for that now. Still, he looked over to his tactical officer and saw that desperate look gleaming within her innocent eyes and he felt like telling her no would break his heart. "Have any remaining Raptors do a cursory search if it's possible before returning to the Galactica. They have five minutes. I'm sorry but… there isn't time for more."

"All planes, all planes this is the CAG—be advised we've been ordered back to the Galactica. Shake off or finish whatever fighters you're engaged with and beat feet back home," Gates commanded over the wireless. A deep, sharp pain seemed to rumble up from the pit of his stomach and strike at his heart. Retreat… retreat and abandon all those poor souls on the surface. Gods be with them. He thought.

"What the frak? We're retreating? No! How the frak can they do this! We've still got our people down there fighting the frakking toasters on Aerilon. Adama is down there! What about SlyPig and Voodoo, or Grimm—we can't leave!" Dice bellowed over the wireless. "Gods damn cowards. Frakking Admirals, what the hell does he know anyways? We can win this one—we have to win this one!"

"Dice! Stow that immediately," Achilles shouted back over the comms.

"But, sir, we're just leaving them to die!"

"They're big boys and girls, Dice, they'll be okay," the Primus leader assured him, but he certainly didn't believe that to be true…

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

1433 Hrs

Commander's Quarters

Colonel Faulk entered Nash's quarters after rapping on the door twice. Nash answered with a brusque 'Come in'. When the Galactica's XO entered the cabin he was surprised to see Commander Nash slouching upon one of the sofas within. His service blouse had been removed and he wore only his undershirt now. His cane was on the floor just beyond the cabin's entrance and Faulk noticed that two chairs from the table positioned before the sofas had been cast onto their side. Commander Charles Nash's face was a muddle of pain and despair and he appeared to be drunk. His eyes were gloomy and he cast them upon the floor at Faulk's feet. A half drunken bottle of bourbon sat upon the couch beside him and in his hand he held a sweating glass of the same liquid.

"Sir," Faulk muttered quizzically.

"I knew Commander Green for," Nash paused, sniveling for a moment. He looked up in the air as he tried to recall. "For almost twenty years. We served together back on the Albatross, but Gods that was ages ago." He drunkenly raised his empty hand up and pawed at his chest, scratching at an itch that didn't exist.

"He was a good man," Colonel Faulk offered.

"Oh yes—yes he was a good man," Nash agreed. "He was the kind of man that made you ashamed to be yourself. The better kind of man…" he trailed off for a moment and then took a gulp of his bourbon. "Like so many that went before him."

"He will be sorely missed, sir," the Colonel stated, although perhaps at this point he thought it might be better not to speak.

"Commander Green had the Nemesis for just about a year. Did you know that, Colonel?" Nash inquired.

"No, sir."

"Yes, just about a year and now—well now he's already gone. A Gods damn frakking shame too…" he trailed off once more. His face transformed into a weary state and his aged visage wrinkled ever-so-slightly, as if he were fighting back the urge to cry. Then he looked up at his XO and that same misty eyed look that had come over him in the CIC during the battle had returned. "Why am I still here, Colonel?"

Faulk opened his mouth for a second as if it to answer, but then he was unsure of what his response would be. He thought for a moment. "Because you're a good, Commander," he opined, hoping the answer would suffice.

Nash grunted and took another gulp of his bourbon, finishing the glass. He poured another while he spoke. "No, not that I'm afraid," he drank some of the alcohol he'd just poured before continuing. "I'm here because I just won't die." He felt it too, he'd seen so many of his peers come and go whether it was by death or by promotion, but for some reason he had remained. He languished here, winning great victories for the Colonies and losing many more. It had been a long road and a heavy, horrible burden and he wanted it to be over, but for some reason it would not end and for some reason he could not let himself leave willfully. Promotions never came and he never tendered any transfers—a silly notion of pride or sense of duty and still he remained. More died and others left, but Nash was present—a permanent fixture within the Galactica. He was as much a part of the ship as the sub-light engines or the FTL drive. "I've sent enough boys and girls to their deaths to man a company of Marines in Elysium."

"Sir, I hardly think that-" he didn't finish his sentence as Nash raised a hand to stop him.

"What is the status of the ship?" he asked suddenly, attempting to clear his eyes. He sat up straighter as well

"Uh, well, sir," the Colonel stuttered. "Damage was relatively light all things considered." He paused for a moment, unsure of whether he wanted to continue given the Commander's current state. "The Air Wing suffered considerably worse, however, we've lost half of our Viper compliment and about a third of our Raptors. We have some survivors from the Nemesis that should help augment our numbers, but uh, manpower is certainly going to be an issue."

Nash let out a lungful of air and collapsed back into his sofa. He said nothing and an awkward silence hung in the air as Faulk was unsure how to proceed. "Would you like a drink, Colonel?" he asked suddenly then.

Faulk thought for a moment and then nodded. The aged Commander nodded toward a clean glass on a table across the room. Colonel Faulk retrieved it and held it out for Commander Nash to fill. "Thank you, sir."

"Tell me something, Colonel… have you ever wished you could just give it all up?"

"Sir?"

"Command. You know, being an officer, running a ship, having the lives of everyone aboard this vessel in your hands?" The Commander canted his head and focused in on his XO, as if preparing himself for a fascinating response.

"I've never held a command billet, sir," the Colonel told him.

"Oh, nonsense. You're in command of the Big G," he exclaimed with a chuckle, drinking from his glass once again. "You're as much in charge of this bucket as I am, Colonel. You know that, the crew knows it. Hell, you'd probably do a better job than I have."

"I don't know about that, sir."

"You're an engineer by trade, yes?" Nash continued.

"Yes, sir."

"What attracted you to that field?" the older man pressed.

"I'm not sure, sir. I've always had a knack for mechanical things. Cars, motorcycles, boats, whatever—if it had an engine I could fix it. Plus I suppose my line scores when I tested at the academy were a factor," he smiled then at the memory. "I probably wouldn't have had a choice even if I wanted to do something else."

"You know most Battlestar commanders are former fighter pilots?" Nash told him, stifling a burp.

"Yes, sir, I am aware," Faulk nodded.

"Yet here you stand—a Colonel, and the executive officer of the Battlestar Galactica. That's a fine accomplishment," Nash praised. He spoke slowly, the effects of the alcohol evermore apparent.

"Thank you, sir," the XO acknowledged with another nod.

"Colonel…" Nash took in a deep breath and sighed. "Never sell yourself short." He looked up at the Colonel then with an almost desperate, saddened gleam in his eyes. "Never."

Again Faulk nodded.

"That'll be all, Colonel. Thank you for stopping by."