Chapter 38.
Debris from the mangled wreckage of the starboard flight pod's pressure dome continued to break away, floating off into space. The Cylon heavy raider lay on the deck, a shattered mess. It had been mere minutes since the Galactica arrived at the emergency jump coordinates that the civilian fleet had jumped to. Damage control teams had yet reached the former flight pod turned museum and would not witness the Cylon boarding party of centurions until too late. Colonel Tigh was checking in on Adama when the first power failure occurred. He immediately contacted the CIC for a sitrep.
"It's the virus, sir. I think it must have spawned copies of itself in some of the computer systems. It's knocked out main power and auxiliary units." reported Gaeta. Acting executive officer Captain Aaron Kelly was on the other line getting a report when his faced turned ashen.
"Say again!" he ordered. He looked up at Gaeta. "Cylons reported in the starboard flight pod. "We've been boarded."
Port Flight Pod
Matt had to be cut out of his damaged viper by Galactica's crash crew, he yelled out in pain as they pulled him out of the wreckage. A medic quickly evaluated his injuries, and diagnosed a dislocated shoulder. He refused the backboard and stretcher, he preferred to walk to infirmary to get treated. He and the medic ascended the decks, making their way to the sick bay when the shooting started.
"What the frak is that?" said Matt looking around. "Whose firing?" They started to quicken their pace when two Marines rounded the corner at a full run. Matt immediately recognized Lt. Terry Burrell. "Terry, what the frak-" The large marine officer cut him off.
"Get down, we've got Cylons on our asses, find fraking cover right now!" ordered the Marine. A Cylon centurion soon rounded the corner, firing the weapons built into their forearms. The two marines dove to the floor and rolled to each side of the hallway. Matt jumped back towards the bulkhead, slamming his injured shoulder against a vertical support strut. He felt like a white-hot poker had been driven into his shoulder, he was overcome by nausea as he dropped to the deck in agony. The medic was less fortunate, he had frozen at the sight of the metallic monstrosity and was struck by a barrage of rounds that turned his head into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. Matt was spattered with blood and brain matter. The marine private let loose on full automatic, the rounds merely denting the centurion without slowing its advance. Another long burst struck the optical visor of the Cylon, shattering the telltale flashing red eye. The centurion staggered, as if trying to regain its balance. Lt. Burrell leaped up and brought his assault weapon to shoulder height, firing a short burst into the damaged visor. The Centurion's weapons retracted unexpectedly, and Burrell jumped onto the back of the Cylon, he disgarded his assault rifle and placed both of his large, powerful hands around the metallic head, and applied pressure the way he was instructed to do. A loud audible snap could be heard, and the Cylon dropped to the floor in a loud crash.
"Terry...what the frak be happenin here," asked Matt. "How did toasters get on the ship?"
"I'll explain on the run, Heph. We need to get the hell out of here." The two marines helped the injured viper pilot to his feet, stepping over the body of the dead medic they ran down the long hallway, and up two decks until reaching their destination.
"What the hell are we doin' at a small arms locker?" demanded Matt out of breath from the run.
"You see that clip of standard rounds my Marine pumped into that clanker? All it did was dent the armor, we need some explosive rounds to take these frakers down." replied Terry punching in the code to unlock the small arms locker. Once inside, they secured the hatch and the young Marine immediately located the locker containing the explosive rounds. "How many do you have, Corporal?" asked Burrell as he withdrew his walkie-talkie from a pocket on his combat vest.
"Got a dozen explosive rounds, lieutenant, and about six mags of armor piercing 5.7 x 28 's." replied the corporal dividing the ammunition between him and Burrell.
"How's the wing, Matt? Can you handle a weapon?"
"Lucky I'm right-handed, most I'll be able to handle is a sidearm." he replied motioning with his head to the service pistol on his hip.
"Corporal, take the Captain's sidearm and replace the standard rounds with the armor piercing ones, let's give the flyboy half a chance, eh?" said Burrell with a wink in Matt's direction. He turned the dial to the appropriate frequency and keyed the his lapel mike. "Hardcore to Almighty, over."
"Almighty...go ahead." Almighty wasthe unofficial callsign for the senior marine officer aboard Galactica, Captain Dav Sharpe.
"We've got clankers on multiple decks, unknown numbers. Be advised, standard rounds ineffective against Centurion armor. I've got a wounded pilot and Corporal Whime with me at Small Arms locker Delta two one."
"Alright Hardcore, try to hook up with the nearest fire team, and start coordinating search and destroy through CIC. Colonel Tigh seems to believe that the Cylons are heading for Secondary Damage Control and Auxiliary Fire Control, your job is to make sure they don't reach either one...good hunting, lieutenant."
"Aye sir, Hardcore out."
"What's so frakin important about Secondary Damage Control? I can see the Aux Fire Control, but SDC?" asked Cpl. Oz Whime. Matt had to think about that for a moment, then he realized what the Cylons were after.
"Decompression safeties." said Matt matter-of-factly. "If they reach SDC they can override our safeties and vent us all out into space, game frakin over."
"Then let's move out, Matt I know you're wounded, but can you carry this?" Burrell handed Matt a very menacing looking rifle that he took from a wall rack.
"What's this?"
"Thump Gun, Lieutenant. A grenade launcher, from the distinctive noise made when firing." replied Whimes with a grin.
"You plan to use this within the ship?" asked Matt incredulously.
"One never knows, sir. Adapt, improvise, and overcome I always say."
"Ooh Rah!" replied Burrell opening up the hatch. Matt was seldom surprised by Colonial Marines, they marched to their own beat to be sure. He holstered his newly loaded sidearm, and slung the grenade launcher over his good shoulder. The three took off towards the aft section of the Galactica to try and intercept the Cylon raiding party. It was not known how many Centurions were actually aboard, there was chaos with the sound of gunfire, human screams and the power failures. Many of Galactica's crew had never encountered actual Cylon Centurions, only a handful in the entire fleet were old enough to have encountered them in the first Cylon war forty years earlier. Not one of the Marines, Lt. Burrell included, had encountered a Centurion, and the ones they knew looked nothing like the monstrosities they now faced. The Cylons had obviously upgraded their soldiers.
Stepping onto deck 12, the trio encountered two fleeing crewmen from engineering division, the first was covered with blood, and visibly close to a full panic. "My gods, they're right behind us, do something!" pleaded the young specialist. Corporal Whime pushed the two behind a large storage container and dropped to his knee, lining up his weapon to drop the first centurion to round the corner. The first of two centurions appeared, Burrell and Whime let loose with their weapons. The armor piercing rounds stitched the Centurion up the middle, causing it to stagger back. A sickening whine, and crackle of burning circuitry could barely be heard over the echo of the gunfire. The Damaged Cylon raised both arms, firing it's built in weapons. The shotgroup was all over the place, they obviously damaged the targeting system. Burrell flipped a selector switch and a laser sight flashed on the damaged Cylon who slowly approached. He depressed the second trigger, launching a small explosive projectile that struck the Centurion center mass. The explosion was deafening, and metallic fragments sprayed in all directions. Whime cried out, a three inch fragment struck his upper thigh. Matt's eardrums felt like they had burst open, and he ran to the downed Corporal.
"You okay, mate?"
"Fine, sir. Just a frakin flesh wound." said Whime through gritted teeth. Matt and Terry helped him to his feet when the second centurion appeared. The Cylon had all three dead to rights and was prepared to fire when it was struck from behind. It spun around, only to get sprayed again with armor piercing rounds. The final blow came from an explosive round that took the Centurion's head clean off. Apollo had rounded the corner with two Marines, and a female pilot in tow.
"You guys okay?" asked Lee.
"Aye sir, we took two down so far, any idea how many we've got aboard?" replied Burrell.
"Not sure, the reports coming from CIC is fubar, could be close to a dozen." said Lee.
"We were heading for Secondary Damage Control when we came upon these clankers." said Matt.
"Okay, we're going to go loot the small arms locker on this deck for explosive rounds, we'll meet up with you guys later." said Lee. Both groups parted ways and Lee's group was soon at the small arms locker.
Combat Information Center
Tigh leaned over the plotting table that contained a schematic of Galactica's interior. Gaeta was marking section with a red grease pencil as Captain Kelly looked on.
"Lt. Wallace reports his unit destroyed two Centurions at this junction." he circled one section of decking. "They've trapped a third in the ship's laundry. It can't walk but it's still shooting." reported Gaeta.
"At least we've contained the threat to Auxiliary Fire Control." added Kelly.
Tigh frowned and looked at both men directly. "Trust me, they're still heading for aft damage control." A messenger ran up to Gaeta handing him a note. The news was not good.
"Sgt. Hadrian reports her unit had to halt their advance on Deck 10 at frame 69. Cylons cut through the hull ahead of her, and the compartments are open to space."
"Smart move. Keeps us from chasing them." said Kelly.
"There's nothing between those Centurions and the decompression safeties." said Tigh. The tension was palpable as Kelly and Gaeta looked stunned at each other. "If you know any prayers, now's the time."
The direct line to the plotting table sounded, Kelly picked up the receiver, relieved to hear the voice on the other end. "Colonel, it's Apollo! He's on deck 12, aft frame 86, between the Cylons and Aft Damage Control." Tigh took the receiver.
"Apollo, XO, sitrep."
"Five armed effectives. We haven't seen anything but bodies between here and the hanger deck." He paused for a moment, "strike my last...we met up with Burrell and Lensherr who reported they took out two centurions, we took out a two more. They're making their way to ADC as well."
"Any Marines with you?" inquired Tigh.
"Privates Collishaw and Twinam." replied Lee. Tigh looked over at Marine Captain Sharpe who was coordinating his fire teams from the CIC. He nodded to the XO indicating that they were two good marines.
"Take your men and proceed without delay to Aft Damage Control." ordered Tigh.
"Aft Damage Control, RFN...On our way, Apollo out!"
Burrell, Lensherr and Whime had finally made it to the aft deck containing the Auxiliary Damage Control. They were on a causeway on the port side of the ship and had yet to encounter any more Centurions. At the end of the causeway was the hatch that would lead to another connecting causeway that would quickly cut across, leading them directly to the ADC. Burrell turned the circular hatch mechanism that would have unlocked the door, and pulled on the handle. Nothing.
"What's wrong?" asked Matt. Burrell pulled harder, with the same results. The atmospheric indicator to the left side of the door indicated a vacuum.
"Frak me, the causeway beyond this hatch has been depressurized, there's no way to open this door." said Burrell slamming his hand against the hatch. "We'll have to double back, and get in from the starboard side of causeway echo." replied the Marine lieutenant brushing past them in a hurry.
Aft Damage Control
Apollo's team made it to ADC without incident and quickly set up covering positions to fire from. This would be their final protective line — the perimeter at which the enemy has begun to overrun friendly troops, signaling the commencement of final protective fire in desperate self-defense. The gunfire was becoming louder by the second. The Cylons were less than one hundred yards away. Apollo instructed everyone to get out of sight just in time. Two Centurions burst through the hatch and started towards the ADC when they were distracted by something outside of Apollo's field of view. The Centurions opened fire on their unseen targets, and Apollo took advantage of the distraction. "Fire!" yelled Lee jumping up from his position.
Multiple hits from explosive rounds took out the lead Centurion, the second quickly got to its feet and returned fire. Private Twinam was cut down by enemy fire, her body armor offering little protection from the Cylon projectiles. Collishaw stepped out from behind his cover to get a better shot only to be lethally struck down. The Centurion was now in a full run as Apollo scrambled to reload the last of the explosive rounds. The Cylon leaped high just as he squeezed the trigger. The explosive round struck the Cylon from less than a meter, sending a shockwave that threw Apollo backwards with extreme force. The top half of the destroyed Centurion sailed past him and skidded to a halt against the rear bulkhead. The threat was ended.
Six hours later- Galactica Infirmary
Lee stood over the bed that his father lay unconscious upon. William Adama was on a mechanical ventilator, a device that mechanically assists or replaces spontaneous breathing. A large incision ran dead center down his sternum where medic Ishay performed emergency surgery. Laura Roslin, in the company of her marine guard stepped closer to Lee, her voice soft and reassuring. "He's gonna be alright, you know that." After a pause, Lee nodded and agreed. She turned towards Colonel Tigh, who stood cross armed with a scowl across his face. "Colonel, I assume there's a cell out there waiting for me?"
"That's right!" replied Tigh. Laura wasn't sure if she detected the slightest smile across the face of Saul Tigh. She was soon led back to the brig by Corporal Venner. He approached the bed, and looked up at Lee with a disgusted look on his face. "I can't believe you sided with that woman against the old man. I wouldn't do that if you put a gun to my head, and you did!" He made sure Lee was looking right at him when he spoke his next words. "As far as I'm concerned, you're not fit to wear a uniform."
Lee stared off into the room and nodded his agreement. "You're right about that part, I am not fit to wear the uniform...and maybe I never was. Then again, neither were you." shot back Lee caustically. The two locked eyes, and Tigh was seeing a different side of Lee Adama, a man he knew since the day he was born to Bill and Caroline Adama. "But this isn't my ship, and it sure as hell isn't yours. It's his!" said Lee motioning to his father lying before them. "And when he wakes up, he'll decide what to do with the both of us." Bending down, he kissed his father's forehead and left with his guard to return to his cell.
Major Sherman Cottle, Galactica's ship's surgeon, finally arrived aboard ship and raced to the infirmary. He brushed aside the president's chief of staff who was attempting to speak with him. After being given a report on Adama's condition, he immediately prepped the commander for a second surgery.