Chapter 25.
D'Anna gingerly ran her slender fingers across the top bar of the baby's crib, the highly polished ivory-colored crib was made of fine Caprican oak. The baby's bedroom had been situated on the east side of their lakeside cabin. Hephaestus had chosen one of the nicest spots along the pristine lake to make their new home. The home contained no military memorabilia, but was quite rustic and simple. Horses roamed the four hectares of land and there were assorted farm animals that Matthew insisted upon. She smiled and realized that you could take the man out of Aerilon, but you could not take the Aerilon out of the man.
The Cylon ability of 'projection' is what made her time in Galactica's brig bearable. Her ability to mentally escape the dark gray confines of glass and steel filled her day with hope that one day she would actually be physically free of this cell, free to live life with the human who dared to fall in love with her, and she with him and raise the child now growing within her. The master bedroom had floor to ceiling glass windows and a large four poster bed that Matt would make by hand. The bright sun blinked in and out and she brought herself back to reality. The overhead lights were flickering, and she could feel the subtlest tremor to the deck beneath her. The brig was nestled in the very center of the Battlestar, so whatever was going on outside the ship had to be fairly intense if she was feeling the impacts all the way in the center of the Galactica.
Galactica CIC.
"Admiral we're taking heavy ordinance from the Basestar!" informed the tactical officer.
"Make sure our armed civilian ships do not engage the Basestar, with the addition of the three ships from Cronus, advise them to keep the Eastern Alliance destroyers off balance." ordered Adama. Galactica's main batteries continued to hammer away at Cavil's command Basestar as the second Basestar was attempting to flank them. General Xalain detected the 2nd Basestar's attempts to get in close and broke off to intercept. Their main guns continuously firing.
Nina saw the dreaded singular red flashing pulse that passed for an eye on the Cylon raider bearing down on her crippled raptor, she couldn't outrun it, and she had no missiles left to defend her and sleepwalker with. Death in combat was something she always expected, but this felt wrong, she didn't expect the icy cold embrace of death to come so soon, not before finding Earth. Two mini flashes appeared briefly beneath the raider as the bio mechanical monstrosity launched its own missiles. They streaked towards her at blinding speed, yet Nina followed their movement as if they were moving in slow motion. She briefly closed her eyes to await the impact when her entire craft was buffeted by an explosion and subsequent shock wave. Her eyes snapped open in time to watch the unmistakable aft view of a Mk. II viper streak past her. Whoever it was destroyed the incoming missiles now was engaging the raider who fired it.
"Betty – Prometheus...you're in the clear, get back to the bucket before someone blows your ass out of the stars. Lt. Dennis "Sky" Walker's call sign was Prometheus, but most aboard Galactica knew him as "Sky," a nickname that few if any knew the origins of. Silver Spar's assistant squadron leader appeared on Prometheus' six and took out the second raider effortlessly. Nina worked her controls and brought her raptor in on final approach on Galactica's starboard landing bay. Prometheus stayed on her wing the entire way as the point defense turrets ceased firing to allow them entry. Once Nina was on the deck Prometheus continued on throughout the length of the flight pod and exited the other end and back into battle.
The wraiths were cutting a swath through the Cylon forces, allowing the Colonials time to rearm and refuel their fighters. The odds were still against the humans, but miraculously they were holding their own, and inflicting serious casualties on the enemy.
Prometheus was just clearing the 'Alligator's head' of the Galactica when he found himself on the defensive with three raiders attempting to catch him in the dreaded Cylon pinwheel that claimed so many viper pilots throughout history. Gambler and Starbuck were once again airborne and Starbuck saw the lone Silver Spar under attack.
"Gambler – Starbuck, we've got a trio bearing down on a Mk. II at ten o'clock high...I'm in!"
"Starbuck – Gambler...I'm on your wing." The two members of Blue squadron depressed their thruster pedals to the firewall and took off to assist their comrade. Prometheus couldn't shake the raider fire, his viper took several hits but remained combat worthy. Dennis Walker was a seasoned viper pilot with well over one hundred kills to his name prior to this battle, but the raiders seemed to adapt to every one of his moves, not an encouraging sign. One more hit took out his high engine which reduced his speed significantly, the same blast severely damaged the stabilizer that was attached to it. Prometheus made a dash for Galactica's landing bay, the raiders hot on his trail.
Gunners attempted to give him cover fire, but all four fighters were within Galactica's security envelope now. Lt. Walker felt a brief rush of relief as he started to cross the threshold into the cavernous opening of the port flight pod. That sensation was replaced by the devastation of Cylon cannon fire shredding his viper to pieces. He felt the searing white hot pain of the round enter from between his shoulder blades and exit from his chest. He placed his fingertips to the exit wound and merely stared at it. He was already dead, his brain had yet to relay the message to his body. The viper slammed nose first into the deck and bounced up into the ceiling of the pod causing massive structural damage to both decking and steel support members. The viper exploded sending pieces of fuselage in all directions, one striking a refueling truck that was currently refueling a Mk. VII viper from Blue squadron. That explosion caused the Mk VII viper to explode, killing nearby ground crew and pilot immediately.
The raiders were now within the flight pod and firing wildly at anything that moved. Starbuck and Gambler roared into the pod and targeted the raiders, being careful to avoid hitting anything else. Gambler sliced one raider in half, causing it to plunge to the deck in a crumpled heap. The zero gravity within the pod carried the crumpled raider to the other end of the pod before allowing it to drift into space like the refuse it was. Starbuck made short work of the second raider as the third continued down the length of the pod and attempted escape out the forward section. Gambler would have none of that and gave chase.
"Mother fraker thinks it's actually going to get away?" hissed Gambler through clenched teeth. He saw the devastation caused by these raiders and was not about to let those deaths go unavenged. The raider didn't make it very far as Gambler unleashed both Thraxon cannons into it. 30 mm colonial rounds shred the raider mercilessly.
Hephaestus burned through the upper atmosphere at breakneck speed, he was lucky enough to bring his ship around nose first before atmospheric reentry burned him to a crisp. The viper was now coming in as it should, but he was piloting what amounted to a flying brick. Avionics was shutting down, and he could smell the familiar acrid stench of an electrical fire. Wisps of smoke broke out from behind the gauges and underneath the control panel, he was in serious trouble. He reached to the right and pulled a red T-shaped handle that would discharge the bromochlorodifluoromethane, otherwise known as 'halon.' He wasn't concerned about the volatile extinguishant thanks to his pressurized flight suit and helmet keeping a nice supply of oxygen flowing. He pulled the handle three times until the fire was fully extinguished. He could see the city of Cronus on the horizon and hoped his viper might make it that far before having to eject. There was no way he was going to be able to land his ship. He glanced down at a small photo of D'Anna he had taken months ago and taped next to his altimeter gauge. He so desperately needed to survive this situation; she and their unborn child was waiting for him. Her green eyes always captivated him, he knew she wasn't truly human, but human enough to conceive a child. None of that mattered, he loved her and she loved him. His closest friends never quite understood the attraction to the humanoid Cylon, but they respected his decision and privacy.
Glancing at his altimeter which he prayed was still accurate he noticed he was getting close to a safe ejection point. His vector would put him at a ten o'clock position of the city, perhaps 15 miles out, almost near a large canyon that he briefly saw during a flyover a week ago. Water traveled through that canyon and emptied out into the main body of water along the coast. Minutes passed and Matt heard a massive wrenching of metal, then feeling the tearing of the port wing from the fuselage. The viper started to spin again and he knew now was the time to eject before he rolled and faced downward which would be extremely bad for ejection purposes. He grasped the large black and yellow ring beneath his legs and pulled up hard. The canopy blew off and the seat was soon thrown upward at incredible speed. Once the chute popped, Matt released his chest harness, allowing the seat to drop to the surface. The atmosphere was incredibly thin, and he didn't need any extra weight to bring him down to the surface faster than he would already be traveling.
He watched as his beloved, yet aging Mk. II viper spun uncontrollably to the surface. He had given her the name Nemesis when she was first assigned to him after the surprise attack on the colonies. Almost all of Galactica's air wing of state-of-the-art Mk. VII's were destroyed by the Cylons who were able to infiltrate their on board computers and disable every system on board before destroying the aircraft utterly. Many seasoned pilots were lost that day, and the admiral made the obvious decision to reactivate the obsolete Mk. II vipers which were sitting in Galactica's Starboard hanger bay as museum pieces. These forty year old vipers did not have the compromised navigational software that allowed ships that had them to be shut down like flipping a switch. A Mark II was capable of holding its own against many times its number of Raiders in the hands of a seasoned pilot. Since Pegasus joined the Fleet, Mark IIs have been steadily phased out in favor of retrofitted Mark VIIs thanks to the now-departed Pegasus' on board construction facilities to produce replacement Vipers. Lensherr twice declined to replace his Mk. II with a Mk. VII viper, now he wondered if that could have been a mistake.
Aboard the Eastern Alliance command destroyer, Commandant Leiter was advised of the safe ejection of the pilot that humiliated him before Leobin and his men. His ship had significant damage, and would need to land to inspect the extent of battle damage and initiate repairs. He wanted this pilot, he had suffered the indignity of having Cavil place Leobin aboard his command ship to keep an eye on him, but then to have a lone star fighter inflict enough damage to take him off the field of combat was too much for him to take.
"Helm, I want that parachute tracked, and when he sets down I want you to land this ship as close as terrain conditions allow."
"Will you be needing my Centurions to capture this pilot, Commandant?" asked Leobin, not attempting to mask his amusement at the thought of Leiter's growing obsession with the pilot.
"That won't be necessary...thank you though, but my men are more than capable of tracking and capturing one man." replied Leiter feigning gratitude at Leobin's less than altruistic offer.
Far above Lensherr and the Eastern Alliance Destroyer, the battle rages in space. Peacemaker's Red Aces squadron had inflicted serious damage to several of the Eastern Alliance destroyers, and destroying two. Throughout the battle, Captain Jon Horlach had stayed close to his lover; Lt. Marcia "Showboat" Case. She was a gifted pilot that came over from Pegasus with him, but soon were separated by the deadly latticework of cannon fire. She was racking up some serious kills when the raiders turned their attention to her. At least eight raiders had engaged her, and they offered no quarter to the viper pilot. Their attacks were relentless, and her performance in the Mk. VII was one for endless discussion in the pilot's ready room. She deftly evaded several lethal passes with ease, but they were herding her away from the bulk of Colonial vipers and the Wraiths. A heavy barrage of cannon fire had struck the dorsal cannon on her fighter resulting in the complete destruction of the stabilizer. Damage warning sounded throughout the cockpit as she fought to regain control of her viper. Another barrage walked its way across the port engine, blowing it apart. Avionics was shutting down, power failure throughout the ship was occurring faster than Showboat could register.
"Viper 1622 declaring an emergency...this is Showboat, I'm in a world of felgercarb here!" said Case over the secured frequency. Peacemaker could hear the panic rising in her voice, glancing down at his dradis screen he located viper 1622's IFF. She was over thirty seconds away and losing power fast. He jammed the thruster pedal hard and completed a reverse loop. He headed for Showboat's last known location at full speed as Lt. Gwynn "Stingray" Sinclair and Lt. Booster "Wizard" Antilles formed up on his six.
"Showboat – Peacemaker...I'm on my way, thirty seconds out!"
Showboat's mouth formed a slight smile, she knew that her beloved Jon would be leaving a scorched trail to get to her. Unfortunately it was too late, she heard the missile lock warning blare in her headset. She depressed the transmitter button on her joystick and uttered what would be her final words. "I love you Jon...I'm sorry that we..." The transmission was cut as no less than six air to air missiles struck her viper. Jon Horlach lost his wife and daughter to the Cylons, it had taken him an incredibly long time to open himself up to another person, let alone another woman. He arrived just in time to see the missile's impacts. His scream had nearly blown out his lip microphone as he descended upon one of the offending raiders with murder in his heart.
Peacemaker had unleashed years of pent up fury upon this raider, slicing it in half with a heavy salvo of 30mm rounds. Wizard had engaged one head on, obliterating it before it had a chance to fire. Two more raiders fell to Stingray's twin MEC-A6 30mm Thraxon forward-firing kinetic energy weapons.
Wizard was enjoying the kill, there were so many raiders you couldn't miss, but his excitement was tempered by the loss of Showboat, and what the impact would be on his squadron leader Peacemaker. He had flown with Peacemaker countless times, yet was now witnessing an almost totally different pilot. He could see the Mk. VII that Horlach had christened Punisher tearing across the battlefield on full thrusters taking out Cylon raiders almost in a maniacal fashion. He keyed his transmitter to contact Stingray. "Stingray – Wizard... form up on me lass, I'm gonna stick with the skipper. At this fraking rate he's gonna burn through his fuel reserves and or ammunition."
As the battle raged over Cronus, Viper pilots Issa "Eos" Nimoy and Tev "Lancelot" Torbek were doing their best to keep the raiders off of the Cronus command ship. Eos glided her bird through the massive field of flak put up by the 12 inch guns to take out six raiders that zoomed in and out like Caprican bats. These warships were holding their own in the fight pretty well and each pilot who witnessed their prowess all thought what an addition they would make to the fleet on their quest for Earth. Galactica had modified various civilian ships with point defense turrets and limited heavy 8 inch guns, but none of them were true warships. These ships from Cronus could take and give a beating. Best of all they couldn't be detected by Cylon Dradis.
There was one raider left in the immediate vicinity, and Eos was in hot pursuit. She had lined up her shot perfectly and was about to squeeze the firing trigger when the Cylon flipped 180 degrees and fired off two missiles. Eos barely evaded one but was struck by the other which blew the rear half of the viper completely away. The pain to her lower back was excruciating, and she barely remembered pulling the ejection handle prior to passing out.
Poseidon had witnessed Issa's ejection, and ordered her ECO Hustler to prepare to make a space walk to retrieve the obviously unconscious pilot. Hustler attached the D-ring of the titanium cable to his harness and waited by the door. Lancelot had ruthlessly finished off the last raider and repositioned himself to cover Poseidon's raptor while in rescue mode. She was low on fuel and completely out of missiles, she wanted to get this rescue over quickly and back on the deck of the 'bucket.'
Aboard the lead Basestar, Cavil followed every aspect of the battle, his hands submerged in the data stream as reports of killed or disabled raiders came in. His own Baseship was taking a pounding from the combined might of the unidentified warships positioned alongside Galactica and her pathetically armed civilian ships. He was not pleased, he had expected the fight to have long been over by this point. A Basestar's propulsion was far superior to a Colonial Battlestar's, he had earlier directed the second basestar to flank the Colonials, but they were not pressing the attack as he felt they should. Battlestars were blunt instruments, capable of taking a massive beating, including a direct hit from a low yield nuclear weapon. The Basestar was sleek, faster and with over 700 raiders at their disposal should be more than a match for the aged Galactica. He turned to Doral who also was not pleased with the progress of the battle.
"Would you mind explaining to me why our dradis is unable to detect these new arrivals, or why our raiders cannot establish a firing lock on them?" asked a visibly irritated Cavil.
"I don't know why, Simon seems to hypothesize that it has something to do with the composition of the craft itself, perhaps a unique dradis-bending alloy?"
"Oh that is just wonderful," replied Cavil sarcastically. "I've waited years to get that antiquated wreck of Colonial technology in just such a predicament and someone comes riding to their rescue with technology we can't detect."
"Our raiders are making headway in destroying them, but they're doing it by visual lock as opposed to their computer-generated targeting systems." offered Doral.
"Well if we can sit around here for another day maybe we may finally get the upper hand." replied the number one model with even greater irritation.
"Perhaps if we call in reinforcements?" asked a Boomer model.
"The nearest Basestar is at least twelve hours away." replied Cavil dismissively. "No, we have sufficient firepower to carry the day, it's time to push that ridiculous pile of scrap metal to its limit.
The ground was coming up to meet him very quickly, far quicker than he expected. He could see the lights from the city to his right, looked about five to ten miles away. He attempted to guide his chute to flat ground yet his efforts resulted in bringing him towards the heavy wooded mountains that held a lone footbridge over a massive stream. Lensherr struck the first tree hard, by the second and third tree he was barely conscious. He hung suspended by the chute some twenty feet off the ground. His hand reached the release lever on his harness and he plummeted to the ground. His chin struck his left knee and blackness soon enveloped him.
Ghostrider and Apollo flew wingtip to wingtip through the maelstrom of raiders, it seemed like the battle would never let up. "Ghostrider – Apollo...the fact that we're still in this fight means we have a fraking chance, how are you holding up on necessities?"
"Apollo, I'm down to 200 rounds and one missile. Fuel load is approaching my reserves, I'm going to need to set down soon." replied Ghostrider.
"Those wraiths have bought us some serious breathing room, they're really taking it to the toasters." shot back Galactica's CAG. "Get your scrawny ass back to Galactica and refuel!"
Galactica CIC
Colonel Tigh had noticed the tide starting to turn in their favor. There were fewer raiders coming in to support the attacking Basestars. Galactica had taken the best the Cylons had to offer and was still standing.
"Admiral the fact that more Basestars have yet to arrive leads me to believe there are none in range to call in for assistance." offered Tigh.
"They probably figured two Basestars with their complete raider compliments, including those piece of felgercarb Eastern Alliance pussies would be enough to take out a lone Battlestar. They couldn't have anticipated the presence of Cronus, never mind actual combat support from them. What surprises me is that they're still in the fight, whomever that Baseship commander is, they're persistent!"
After laying there for some minutes, Hephaestus started to come around. Every fiber of his being was in pain. Pushing off the hard ground he got too his feet, discarding the damaged helmet he retrieved his wireless radio. The hard landing had damaged it and he could not raise Galactica, or anyone else for that matter. He would have to head for high ground to get his bearings. Fifteen minutes into the climb he had to stop and catch his breath, the air on Cronus was so thin, there was no way the fleet could have made a home here. The familiar sound of an engine could be heard close by, he was still under the canopy of the high trees and could not see where it was coming from. He knew it didn't sound like Colonial or Cylon, so that meant it was from Cronus or the Eastern Alliance. Time to get moving again, he checked the rounds in the clip of his pistol and placed it back into his holster strapped to his right thigh.
By the time he reached the highest peak he could find he had a fairly decent view of the valley around him. His fears were confirmed, an Eastern Alliance destroyer had set down less than two miles east of him, he pulled out his small binoculars from his emergency pack and increased the magnification. Not enough to produce any great detail, but he was catching a glimpse of something shiny making its way through the vegetation, away from the ship at high speed.
"Centurions! Frak this is unexpected." said Lensherr to nobody in particular. He turned in the direction of the stream that would lead to the city and started to quick march. It would do him no good to run and get winded this soon. He finally made it to level ground and started to jog along the water's edge. He could feel the terrain starting to climb, the water was soon 10 feet below him and getting further down. About five hundred yards ahead he could see a bridge spanning the river that was now twenty to twenty-five feet below. If he could cross that bridge and destroy it he could buy serious time getting to the safety of the city. By the time he reached the foot of the bridge Lensherr was on his knees panting, he couldn't suck in enough oxygen to recover. It was taking all he had not to pass out. Destroying the bridge was going to be harder, much harder than he thought. He had no explosives, and breaking the planks that made up the floor would be time and energy consuming.
He stood up and stepped onto the bridge when the first Centurion appeared. Matt drew his pistol out with blinding speed and fired off a half dozen rounds. The first two struck the tree immediately behind and above the centurion. The remaining shots found their home in the skull. No effect. Between the distance and small arms ammunition he merely damaged the centurion slightly. The Cylons were not hampered by the thin atmosphere, and they caught up with him in record time. The second centurion fired off a warning salvo at the ground in front of Lensherr's feet. There was nowhere to run without getting picked off. Hephaestus placed the safety on his weapon and threw it to the ground. He raised his arms in surrender. The metallic monstrosities stood well over a foot higher than the six foot Lensherr. They studied him with their red optical scanner, awaiting Leobin and their human allies.
Lensherr stood upon the outside of the heavy timber foot bridge, looking downward at the fast-running water twenty five feet below him. His hands were tied behind him, his wrists bound by a thin cord that dug deep into his flesh. A thicker cord encircled his neck. It was attached to the large cross-member above his head. Standing upon the very end of a plank one of the Centurions ripped off from another part of the bridge, it was held in place by another of the heavy mechanical monstrosities. Matt assumed the Centurion, when ordered, would merely step aside, the plank would tilt, and he would tumble down six to eight feet before the cord stopped his descent, breaking his neck, or worse, leaving his neck unbroken which meant he would die a slow death by strangulation.
Leiter's cruel eyes fixated upon the helpless viper pilot. Matt ignored his gaze by closing his own eyes in order to collect his thoughts upon D'Anna and their unborn child. He could see her clearly in his mind's eye, their first meeting when she was posing as a reporter for Fleet News when nobody suspected her of being a Cylon. He soon finds himself laying in tall grass in a glade on New Caprica, the Cylons had discovered them two months earlier and were occupying the planet. D'Anna had approached him alone and unarmed to talk. Before he realized it he was kissing her, feeling her flawless body in his embrace. Her lips tasted sweet, he couldn't place the taste, but it didn't matter, all he wanted to do was continue to kiss her. He realized that she would never know what truly happened to him, sitting in that cell with their baby growing in her womb. He would never know his child, and that realization caused tears to gather in his eyes. Opening his eyes he looked down at the stream. "If only I could free my hands," he thought to himself, "I could throw off this damned noose and dive down into the stream and escape."
"Captain Lensherr, do you have any last words?" asked Leiter.
"Yes I do...you're a fraking traitor to the human race, and a stupid one at that." said Matt sternly. Leiter opened his mouth as if to reply when Matt continued. "Do you honestly believe the Cylons will keep you alive once they've destroyed the Galactica? As soon as they've destroyed the last surviving Colonial Battlestar they're going to pick off the fleet one by one like a malicious child...then they're going to kill you and wipe out all of your colonies. You're being used, but I'll die with the satisfaction of knowing you won't be too far behind me." He glanced at Leobin who merely smiled.
"A moving speech young Captain, but now it is time to die. Only the strong survives, and the Eastern Alliance will be around for a very long time." Leiter turned towards the Centurion. "Centurion...stand aside!" The metallic killer just stood there, the red optical scanner flashing back and forth. Leiter looked confused and soon turned towards Leobin who in turn looked at the Centurion and nodded. As soon as the centurion stepped off the plank, Lensherr abruptly slid off the end and down to his death.
As Matthew Lensherr plummeted downward off the side of the bridge he briefly lost consciousness as if dead already. He awakened-hours later, it seemed to him, by the searing pain and tightness around his throat. He could not breath, and the pain traveled down his spine to every extremity in his body. He was aware of his body convulsing, spinning uncontrollably, then all of a sudden the heavy timber cross beam above him grew smaller with amazing speed, and soon all was cold and dark. With his senses restored to him he realized that the cord suspending him in the air had broken and he had fallen into the moving stream.
Miraculously he was able slip his hands free from the bonds that must have loosened upon impact with the water. He clawed at the cord around his neck, trying to remove it. He was under the water over thirty seconds now and he could feel the current pulling him downstream, he needed to get to the surface fast or he would surely perish. He felt as if his lungs would explode and soon he was able to pull off the noose. Immediately he beat the water with downward thrusts, forcing him to the surface. Once breaking the surface he engulfed the thin, yet precious air. He kept inhaling trying to fill his lungs.
Now in full command of senses almost preternaturally focused and aware, he looked up into the sky to see a large bird hundreds of feet above him. He could actually hear the crisp snapping of the feathered wings. The roar of the water did not seem to distract him from hearing the metallic clacking of the Centurion's long fingers retracting into the housings in the forearms, soon to be replaced by their weapons which they started firing immediately in his direction. He was almost four hundred yards downstream, yet could hear the footsteps on the bridge as Eastern Alliance soldiers ran to the side to be able to fire upon him. The rounds struck the water all around him, and for a moment, Lensherr thought he could actually see the rounds coming at him in slow motion. The near death experience surely was playing games with his mind as he rolled over and started to swim downstream a bit further. He needed to get the cords tied to his legs off, and he couldn't do that until he reached the banks of the stream. He made sure to get off on the opposite side of the steam.
He went over a small waterfall, upon breaking the surface he glanced towards the bridge which was still in view. Eastern Alliance soldiers and Cylon Centurions were now firing at will, he could see clearly the cold blue eyes of Leiter, the snarl on his lips as he was well on his way to escape. A long tree branch hung low over the water, he grabbed the thick branch and pulled himself along its length until he reached the muddy shore.
Something was different, he wasn't breathing as heavy as he should in the thin atmosphere of Cronus. He removed the cord from his ankles and broke into a run. If he followed the stream he should come close to the city walls by nightfall. Two hours had passed and the scenery seemed to have not changed a bit, something Matt had found very unsettling. By nightfall he was near exhaustion, he had not seen Colonial or Cylon ships overhead since his escape from the bridge, not even a shooting star. Either the battle was still raging, or they had lost. By now he felt sure he should have the city walls in view, something was wrong. He finally found an opening in the thick wooded area, it was a trail and he decided to follow it. There had been no sign of pursuit, there had been no sign of life at all. His eyes caught a glimpse of light through the darkness, a faint flicker of hope. He ran for the light and soon found himself within a clearing. The stars overhead were gone, "impossible" thought Lensherr. About fifty yards ahead was a cabin, a very familiar cabin. He came to an abrupt halt as he got within twenty feet and was stunned. It was his cabin! The cabin he spent hours describing to D'Anna while laying beside her in her cell aboard Galactica. This was impossible, the door and front window were exactly as he described it to her, right down to the stone chimney for the fireplace.
He cautiously stepped onto the wooden stairs and placed his hand onto the door knob. He slowly turned the knob and opened the door. He could smell the roast cooking in the kitchen, the smell of paprika and parsley stood out to his sense of smell. He walked through the great room where two huge logs were burning in the fireplace. The kitchen he knew was dead ahead. Walking through the threshold he stopped cold by the sight before him. D'Anna was sitting at the table nursing an infant, and his good friend Jon Horlach was behind the counter cutting vegetables. D'Anna looked at him as if expecting him all the while. Her face was a mask of sadness. She didn't speak, she did not have to. Her look was one of immense sorrow and pain. Jon had stepped out from behind the counter and put his hand on Matt's shoulder. He spoke in an unusual tone, the voice was ethereal.
"Don't worry my friend, they will be cared for...always!" Lensherr pulled back, unable to fully grasp what he was experiencing. His old friend returned to cutting vegetables and looked up. "I'm so sorry Matt, your time here is over." He wanted to ask what he meant by that, and quickly looked at D'Anna who seemed to slowly disperse like sand in the wind.
In a panic he reached out to her as if to hold her together, it was then he felt a sharp jolt to the back of his neck; a staggering incandescent light envelopes him and the cabin soon disappears. Finding himself suddenly in lightlessness and laconism, Matthew Lensherr was dead; his muscular body, with a broken neck, swung back and forth beneath the heavy timbered bridge on Cronus that he never escaped from, it was a dream, or had he been a Cylon, it would have been described as projection. The only witnesses to his violent death had been the Cylons and fellow human beings who would not see the ultimate truth until it would be too late. Leobin walked over to Lensherr's lifeless body and seemed to study it for a moment. "Yes...I was correct, you really didn't belong!"
"What do you mean?" demanded Leiter who had heard the humanoid Cylon.
"Oh nothing...just a conversation the late Captain and I had once." said Leobin smiling. The smile completely unnerved the eastern Alliance Commandant, what was worse was that he knew that Leobin knew it unnerved him.
The centurions started to walk towards the path they originally entered from when a grapefruit-sized metallic object rolled between their metal legs. Before either could react the object exploded sending deadly shrapnel in all directions. The centurions were utterly destroyed, as were two Eastern Alliance soldiers. Leiter grabbed his face and dropped to the ground in agony, a piece of shrapnel had lodged in his left eye.
The remaining soldiers raised their weapons and scanned the treeline frantically to find their attackers. One by one they were picked off until only Leobin and Leiter remained alive. Out of a dense growth of palm-like plants stepped Mazzax; Overlord of Cronus. Two equally large bodyguards remained at the treeline with their weapons aimed at the heads of the two offworlders.
"You defile my world with your bloodshed, outworlders!" said Mazzax angrily. You kill a defenseless pilot who was shot down, have you no honor?"
"Honor? He was the enemy, and where I come from you KILL the enemy, as we will you!" bleated Leiter as he wiped the blood from his now-missing eye.
With lightning speed, Leobin had closed the distance with Mazzax as he brought his heavy broadsword down with equally blinding speed. The Cylon caught Mazzax's wrist and held it with incredible strength. If the Overlord was in pain he did not show it. He followed up with a forearm strike to Leobin's face, breaking the nose with his long chain mail gauntlet. The armor Mazzax wore weighed close to seventy pounds, but someone watching the exchange would never know that because he moved with incredible speed and strength in it. Leobin's nose was grotesquely disfigured, it was clearly broken and blood poured down the mass of flesh and synthetic cartilage. His piercing blue eyes flashed wide, and with a smile he whispered "Not nearly enough meat-sack!" Mazzax could actually feel the pressure on his wrist through the chain mail and knew it would soon break if he didn't break the hold. A head butt to the same broken nose had the desired effect, Leobin momentarily loosened his grip and Mazzax was able to break free. He could barely hold the great sword in his hand, something that would hinder a lesser man, but not the ruler of Cronus. He merely switched hands.
"You see my friend, I am equally deadly with a sword in either hand." said Mazzax. Leobin lunged towards Mazzax howling like a wounded animal, with his rage and momentum he never felt the blade enter his body from just below the neck. The heavy broadsword cut through muscle and clavicle until it stopped somewhere in the thoracic cavity. He looked directly into Mazzax's eyes and spoke.
"I shall...return...not over..." said the Cylon as his eyes rolled back into his skull. With effort, Mazzax pulled his sword free from the dead Cylon and turned towards Leiter.
The Eastern Alliance commandant leveled a pistol at Mazzax, unfortunately with his compromised vision he never saw the heavy blade fall. It wasn't until he saw the actual severed arm still clutching the weapon at his feet did he become aware of the injury. Mazzax was impressed that Leiter did not scream, he watched as the maimed traitor to humanity merely clutched the stump and dropped to one knee. "I guess this is where you too download into a new body?" asked Mazzax.
"I am not a machine!" sneered Leiter. "I am a man, an officer in the Eastern Alliance!"
"Human? You sided with the Cylons against your fellow humans?" yelled Mazzax imperiously. "By the light of Apollo I should run you through right here and now, you daggit!" Mazzax had stayed his mighty hand and called for his bodyguards to come forward. "Remove this traitorous piece of refuse from my sight, we're returning to the city immediately, we'll turn him over to Adama for him to deal with this filth!" ordered the Overlord. The two men dragged the still bleeding Leiter away as Mazzax walked up to the bridge. He felt great sorrow upon glancing at the young pilot hanging lifeless from his own bridge. He grabbed at the rope and pulled the lifeless corpse up. He carried the body over his shoulder back to the transport that would take them back to the city walls.
The tide had turned completely, reinforcements from Cronus had leveled the playing field, and the Cylons were taking heavy losses. Adama had taken Galactica toe to toe with the second Basestar and destroyed it with help from General Xalain's forces. Cavil was stunned by the turn of events and ordered a complete withdrawal of his remaining forces. Two Eastern Alliance destroyers drifted too badly damaged to jump away with the retreating Cylon forces. They were immediately boarded by Marines and troops from Cronus. There was no resistance, the captains of each ship knew they were hopelessly outnumbered, outgunned and now relied on the very people they were trying to kill to survive so far from Paradeen.