Stargate: The Twelve Colonies

by Seraphin2011

The Cylons are preparing to attack the Colonies, and they are determined to end all human existence once and for all. But the Cylons don't know the Terrans have learned about their attack, and they will not stay idle and let the Cylons commit such atrocity, not if they can help it. This is a spin-off from the other story I'm writing, splitting around the half of the second book.

31. Road to Perdition II

Author's note: It's done! I finally did it, and it took me only four months to write this chapter. Well, at least it is done now. The positive side is that while I had trouble coming up with what to write, I wrote two-thirds of the following chapter, so you won't have to wait as long as for this one before it comes out. Well, there aren't many chapters left.

I'm looking forward to finishing this story, so I can devote all of my free time (not much) to writing the main story for as long as it takes until that one is done do.

Well, without further ado. Thanks to my beta, and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter.

---

While walking through Galactica's corridors, Adama thought about the events that had transpired during the past two days. Reaching the Nebula—one located more than a thousand light-years away from the Cyrannus System—should have meant the Expeditionary Fleet was safe from sudden Cylon incursions. If he needed to fear someone so far from home, it should be the many other hostile races they had met recently. Thus, it came as quite a shock when the ship's alarm sounded, and the CIC promptly informed him that a large group of basestars had appeared. From the way they began accelerating towards them, it was apparent why they were here.

The wretched toasters' wanted nothing else but to turn them into interstellar dust.

The battle was fierce, and the odds were stacked against them from the very beginning. Occasionally, Adama would feel a sliver of hope trickling into his heart, believing for a fleeting moment that they could survive this latest ordeal, only to have that same hope mercilessly shuttered the very next instant. The Cylons would find ways to regroup and, with their numerical superiority, would plow through his fleet with very little he or anyone else could do to change that.

It was all over. That particular thought had crossed Adama's mind several times on that day. He was sure they were all going to die. And it would have been a futile death at that, in a place far from his beloved home while carrying the profound regret knowing that he failed in completing the entrusted mission. More so, he felt vexed at the thought that Earth was close—so close that he could smell her—yet, reaching it would remain an unattainable dream. All because the wretched Cylons were able to find them in the nick of time. Just a few short steps before they could claim the prize.

Even now, days later, he could still remember the despair he had felt while watching the men and women he knew were going to die. Back then, a fleeting wish of having been blasted by any other race rather than the Cylons jumped into his mind. He would be happier if the end came at the hand of a mighty foe like the Asgard, the Jaffa, or the Aschen. The thought of dying at the hands of the Cylons was too cruel of an outcome to bear.

Then, a miracle happened. A new group of Cylons appeared and blasted the other group without hesitation. He didn't know how he should feel about that. Just moments ago, he was irritated at the thought of dying at the hands of the Cylons. Now, instead, he was infuriated at the idea of the Cylons being the ones who had saved their lives. Considering having to show gratitude to the toasters was causing him great mental anguish.

Turning another corner, he stepped in front of President Roslin's office. After straightening his uniform, he knocked on the door.

Her reply came quickly. "Enter."

He opened the heavy door and stepped inside.

"Madam President," Adama spoke before plopping his large butt into the closest available armchair.

"Admiral, we should have met half an hour ago. We've scheduled this meeting for noon," Roslin said. She seemed quite tired.

Adama had no excuse for his tardiness. The fact that he had overslept was inexcusable. After the battle had ended, their priority shifted toward saving lives. The Raiders had caused extensive damage to many ships, especially in the civilian portion of the fleet, which wasn't at all surprising. Even conventional missiles were enough to put a hole in most civilian ships. During the battle, the vipers gave their best, but it was to no avail. There were too many missiles targeting too many civilian ships to catch them all. While many layers of armor protected the President and him inside the sturdy Galactica, the people on board the civilian ships did not enjoy such protection. Breaches would cause sudden decompressions, which in turn caused people to be blown into space. Even on ships lucky enough to have stayed in one piece, the Grimm Reaper was still taking many souls with him. For those exposed to the vacuum of space, there was no hope for salvation. However, some people had timely closed the bulkheads between compartments and, by doing so, had managed to escape death. But their lives were still in jeopardy, which meant that a race against time had begun.

In space, if a ship lost power, especially one with a breached hull, the temperature would plummet into the freezing zone in a matter of minutes. There was no time to wait or to strategize. They dispatched Raptors immediately to provide aid to the damaged ships. Amongst them, the Columbia was the most difficult to handle. The vessel had broken in half, but since the old gal was a sturdy ship meant for war, many people remained trapped inside its bowels but still alive. In the end, they succeeded in bringing a quarter of the crew aboard other ships.

Unfortunately, the people on board the destroyed Defender weren't as lucky.

The rescue operations lasted twenty hours, in which time, he did not indulge in any sleep. Consequently, Dr. Cottle ordered him to take a few hours of shuteye. He obliged, under protest. The two-hour nap somehow turned into six hours of uninterrupted, dreamless oblivion. He didn't even hear the alarm clock as it went off for many long minutes. Slowly, groggily, he stood up, only to learn there was barely enough time left to familiarize himself with the current situation before his scheduled meeting with the President was to take place.

Hence the reason for his delay.

"I apologize, Madam President. It seems my alarm clock wasn't enough to bring me back amid the living. And not even one of my officers came to wake me. I need to start an inquiry into the precise reason for such unwarranted behavior," he explained. He knew they had done it on purpose. Still, these weren't times in which he could take it easy and rest for as long as one wished.

"I was joking, Admiral. I was the one who asked your XO to let you sleep longer unless something important happened. We still have a long way ahead of us, and we are worse for it now than two days ago; much, much worse. That's why I'll need the Admiral in command of the Fleet to be in top shape," Roslin said.

During the twenty hours spent rescuing people, many idiots with nothing better to do assailed the President with a myriad of pointless questions and requests. The most common and cliché one among the complaints that she had to suffer listening to and even having to answer occasionally, of course, was, 'How could they have let that happen?'

People were asking how come the military didn't protect them against the Cylons and who was the person responsible for the ill-planned maintenance schedule that prevented the fleet from leaving. As if they could have known in advance when the Cylons would turn up and could have planned their maintenance schedule accordingly. For that, they would need to have a few prophets on standby, ready to help plan everything with absolute certainty by knowing what the future held. He understood that these ingrates were only pestering her because they didn't have anything better to do, but he wished that at least a few—or even just one of them—came to her with a simple yet compelling sentence: 'How can we help?'

Ten hours ago, when he came for a short visit to give the President a status report, he witnessed something that made him lose the minuscule amount of patience he still had. A group of annoyed-looking people formed a small column that led to her office. Some of them seemed annoyed because they were forced to wait. One of them even yelled at him because he was cutting in line. He turned, with his displeasure fully showing on his face. It was enough for the guy to turn pale like a blank sheet of paper. Better him cutting in line than him starting to cut idiots to pieces. It was true that this whole ordeal had lowered his tolerance level by a considerable amount. It wouldn't have been strange if he had started sharing punishments left and right to vent his frustration. Hence, he had to remain calm, which wasn't an easy feat to accomplish. While entering her office, he had to hear the stupid reasons why those individuals came to annoy her. At one point, he was sure that the President had achieved nirvana, unphased by anything that happened in the physical world surrounding her. That, or she had fallen asleep with her eyes wide open. Unfortunately, he was far from capable of attaining such a state of calmness, which prompted him to threaten the dumbasses with removal from his ship, but also informing them that he would not be providing a raptor beforehand. He also instructed the two Marines standing guard to toss out anyone who spoke nonsense, without specifying what he meant by out.

It was then that he heard the President whisper, "but that would leave no one."

Anyhow, this incident had prompted the President to hurriedly call Cottle and have him checked for signs of profound exhaustion. Cottle agreed that some rest was necessary, quickly prescribing some pills that would put even an elephant out for the count. Thinking about it for a moment, he came to realize that might have been the reason why he didn't hear the alarm clock ringing, no matter for how long it rang.

Many hours later, they were once again in her office. The difference was that it was now devoid of morons. He thought they might have been tired of waiting and decided to go back to their ships to sleep it off instead. In his humble opinion, they should have done that from the start.

"I suppose these six hours of sleep were necessary," Adama responded, now with a much clearer mind. Perhaps, he wouldn't mind sleeping it off for a few more hours.

"So, Admiral, do you feel refreshed enough for us to begin our discussion?" Roslin asked.

"I am. Though, I can't say the same for you, Madam President. It might be that you're in greater need of rest than anyone else on the ship," Adama said. She didn't look too well. Few did, but she seemed particularly exhausted.

"I'll take some rest after we end our conversation. I think I'll take one of those pills that Cottle prescribed me."

"Don't expect to wake up after a short nap. Not after taking anything that Cottle prescribes," Adama said, sure that Cottle thought of them more as some big animals than as humans.

"Noted," Roslin responded. It might be that she was looking forward to a prolonged period of nothingness. "Now, how is the fleet doing? By now, your people should have had the time needed to perform a thorough check."

Adama sighed. "They did and… it's not great. Apart from the Galactica that sustained only light damage due to its shield, the rest of the fleet is in poor condition. The Pegasus was the sturdiest ship in the fleet, and it should have fared the best. However, the ship received the attention of no less than three basestars. If we discard the destroyed Columbia and Defender class ship Aeneas, the Pegasus suffered the most damage. It is questionable if the ship will ever again be combat-capable. It is also doubtful it can make jumps of any decent length.

"But it turns out that's not such a big problem for us since the rest of the fleet is in a similar if not in a worse condition. I'm not sure if we can reach the designated candidate system that we believe contains Earth without performing extensive, fleetwide repairs first."

"Are you telling me that we are stuck here? With no way of proceeding? Don't we have a manufacturing facility that can build us everything we need?" Roslin asked.

"We do, but the microfractures on the hulls are the main problem. They have worsened because of the battle. We can't manufacture the supporting columns, much less swap them while in space, and while people are on board, not without the assistance of a drydock."

"We must find a way. I refuse to believe that we came this far and have survived through so much only to die here in the void of space."

"We have two choices, Madam President," Adama said, but he disliked both of them.

"Which are?"

"The first option is, most of the people board the civilian ships that are still in decent shape while the rest stays behind and tries to limp towards the system. If we can make it, only the Lords know that."

"Nope. Don't like it. Give me the second option."

"We accept their help," Adama said while feeling as if something irritating got stuck in his throat.

"And by them, you mean the Cylons," Roslin stated. "What's your opinion on that?"

"I don't like it. There's too much risk involved in giving the Cylons access to our ships," Adama began complaining.

"Wait! Wait! What's this about giving them access?" Roslin asked.

He might have started too strong. "There's a way to fix the microfractures. The Cylons have developed an organic compound that can reinforce our hulls, but they need to get on board and apply it to our support beams. They are the only ones to know how to do it."

"Let's first backtrack a little. I can't decide if I don't get a few more details first. Let's start with the most important part. Do you believe their story?"

"You mean, the little they've told us?" Adama asked. Seeing Roslin nodding in response, he continued. "They have given us a plausible explanation. But I think there's more to it that they are not telling us."

Their story was simple. Their little group had a falling out with the other models and decided to split. They knew they didn't have the strength to oppose the model named One, so they opted to seek the Expeditionary Fleet instead. Of the limited number of choices, that was the one that made the most sense at the moment.

"They found us thanks to the Raider that brought Helo and the model Eight to us. That's also how the other Cylons found us, is that correct?" Roslin said.

"That's right. And we had one a stealth Raiders trailing us for quite some time. When they saw that we were under attack, they decided to act," Adama added another piece of the puzzle.

"Do you think they might have waited until we were half-beaten before swooping down to save us like heroes?"

"It's possible, but I don't think that's what happened," Adama said while shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"We've run simulations. It would have taken time to prepare their fleet to match our vector and speed. It would also have taken time to prepare before performing a precise jump that would put them directly in our path. Even with the most optimistic calculations, they might have managed to make it a minute or two earlier at the most. I think they jumped as soon as they decided to help us, with very little or no delay."

"So, that part of their story is true. Then, the part about the priest should also be true," Roslin inquired further.

It had come as a shock having one of the open murder cases solved by the Cylons. Upon showing them the picture of the Cylon named One, Adama had realized that the killed priest was a Cylon. The reason why they murdered him followed immediately after. They explained their disconcerting way of faster-than-light communication in the form of a bullet shot through the messenger's head. Consequently, the poor schmuck would resurrect light-years away and deliver whatever message needed passing on.

Quite the way of delivering messages, if someone asked him. Demented and utterly insane. No wonder they believed One was a lunatic. He thought the communication method might be the possible cause of his mental breakdown. But then they explained that the weirdo was like that from the get-go, so he had nothing more to comment on the matter. Thinking about it, it was weird the Cylons didn't split sooner, or it might be that the rest was no much saner than One was.

"I think so. No reason for having a picture of the killed priest if he weren't one of theirs, right?" he answered.

"I'm having trouble finding holes in their story. It might be that they are telling the truth about what happened back home. The change in their leadership might be the main reason why the Cylons suddenly started attacking civilian targets instead of military installations. This One character seems to be quite the fruitcake, doesn't he?"

"If we believe them, he's someone bent on destroying humanity and has a propensity for torturing people. Not a guy I'd like to meet in a dark alley without a trained gun," Adama said, then getting chills as he remembered that he had met the priest before and that he didn't have a gun with him, much less having it already trained.

"I don't like that they are hiding things from us. Why do they want to wait until we reach Earth before telling us anything?" Roslin asked.

"They say that it will be better if we hear it after setting foot on the planet," Adama said. "Rather, I'm more preoccupied with how much they know about the Earth. They know more than we do!"

"Now that you mentioned it, I didn't even think of that," Roslin replied but then waved her hand dismissively. "I'm so overworked and tired that I'm starting to miss important details. Ah, I don't care anymore. Let them explain whatever, whenever they feel like explaining. The fact that they are willing, it's already quite the boon."

Adama scrutinized the President. She seemed as if she would fall asleep any second. It would be best if they postponed this meeting, but he knew she would protest if he suggested it. The only thing he could do was to keep it short. "Then I will tell the Cylons to start repairing our ships. I'll put people to watch over them at all times. It would be great if we can bring all of our ships in jumping order, but somehow I don't think it will go that smoothly."

"Ah! I just realized what will happen the moment the civilians learn we are giving access to our ships to the Cylons!" Roslin said, immediately looking even more tired than before.

"I don't envy you. Madam President," Adama replied. "I predict that tomorrow there will be an even longer column of people in front of your office. And none of them will be there to cheer you up."

Her shoulders slumped even lower, her eyes suddenly devoid of life. "I hate my job."

"I'll leave you to take some rest then. I'll instruct the Marines to stop any moron from even entering the corridor where your office is. You'll be able to rest for the remainder of the day," Adama said. That was all he could do for her at the moment.

"That sounds great," Roslin replied. "But there's one more thing that I want to ask you before you leave."

"What is it, Madam President?" Adama asked.

"What do you think about the planet where we are going? I mean, I wouldn't think much about it, but after the Cylons told us that they would explain after we reach the planet, I suddenly have a strange feeling that—"

"A strange feeling that it won't be the reunion with the Terrans that we've been hoping for," Adama concluded.

"Exactly!" Roslin said. "It somehow doesn't fit. I mean, the Cylons know about Earth more than we do, but if that is true, then I don't think they would have attacked the Colonies the way they did. The Cylons seemed bent on killing all of humanity, but the people from Earth stopped the attack on the Colonies. Yet, the Cylons speak of Earth as if they had been there before. It's all jumbled up."

"I also have the vague inkling that the story doesn't fit. That might be the reason why the Cylons are saying nothing before we reach the intended system. Also, they are proceeding with us towards Earth, where there should be people who have stopped their plan to kill us all, which means they should be hostile towards them. It just doesn't make sense," Adama said.

"We are missing an important piece of the puzzle. The worst part is that I don't think we'll learn the answer before we reach Earth."

"We are tired, which isn't strange since only a few people have ever been aboard a ship for as long a period as we have. If we add the fact that we have been under a constant sense of peril, it is no wonder that we want to get some answers as soon as possible and go home," Adama said, pausing for a moment before continuing. "The crew is also at its limits. They want to stretch their legs on the surface of a planet—preferably a planet with amenities they got accustomed to from back home—but they know we are nowhere near begin able to rest. This mission needs to end, and it needs to end soon."

"Agreed. Not to mention that the whole reason for this mission makes less and less sense," Roslin said. "The person who sent us here is in prison or maybe already dead, and the war with the Cylons will probably be over before we can contribute to it in any way. The civilians in the Fleet have realized that as well. Each day, more and more people are asking me to turn around and return home."

Adama chuckled. "Well, you can tell them that will never happen because the fleet is unable to reach the Colonies while staying in one piece."

"I can't tell them that. You've just told me that the sailors under you are at their limits. Can you imagine how the civilians who never spent more than a few short days on ships while traveling between the planets in the Colonies fell right now? If I tell them that our ships are about to break and that there's no hope of reaching home, it will be anarchy."

Adama didn't say anything for close to a minute. But then he jumped back on his feet. "Ah, who cares! Thinking about such depressing things doesn't help us one bit. We have no answers, and the situation doesn't give us any leeway. So what? We will thread the only path available to us, and get our answers and the end of our journey!"

"Do you truly believe that?"

"I do," Adama said, full of confidence. "And now let's get some well-earned rest. I feel that the six hours I slept weren't enough."

Roslin chuckled. "You're right. No point in mulling over things I cannot change. I'll get some rest too."

"That's the spirit. Good night, Madam President." Adama said before turning to leave her office.

"Good night, Admiral."

---

"The jump is complete, sir," Norton's XO, Harris informed him. "We are now twenty-five thousand kilometers away from the surface of the moon.

Norton nodded. He was feeling on edge and for a good reason. This was it. The final battle that would end the war was about to start—the battle that would finally stop the Cylons. That would be a dream come through for all Colonials.

After the fleeing basestar had shown them the general direction where to focus their search, it took them two more weeks to discover the Cylon final bastion. The sent stealth raptors had scanned the whole system and snapped countless pictures, recording in minute detail all the currently existing Cylon assets. The following week, they spent it monitoring the Cylons' general disposition. They quickly realized the enemy had turtled up around their base, with no indication they would send ships out. The Cylons must have realized that the Colonials could track their vessels. As a result, they were currently holed up inside the system, awaiting who knew what. Maybe they were hoping for the Colonials to miss the system or to give up with the search if, after a time, there were no new clues. Norton didn't know how the Cylons' thought process worked. Therefore he could only guess. To him, it seemed that, at this point, their actions were meaningless. In his opinion, it would be better for them to jump with their ships in random directions in an attempt to, at least for a few of them, escape retribution. He wasn't complaining, however. If the situation remained the way it was, they would be easy prey for his Fleet.

Or that was at least what he thought at first.

It didn't take long for the sent stealth raptors to notice that something else was also present inside the system. They thought they were here to do some target practice with the Cylons, but unexpectedly it turned out that there was an internment camp on the surface of the only inhabitable planet and that it had humans in it. Norton assumed the Cylons had taken the imprisoned people from Caprica and Geminon after the initial attack on the Colonies. Then they were brought here for who knew what reason.

In an instant, their task changed from an assault into a rescue mission first and foremost, which complicated things considerably. No matter how much he hated the Cylons and how much he wished to blast them the moment he saw them and only afterward care about other aspects of the mission, he knew their current task had shifted into one focused on rescuing their people.

"It seems they've finally spotted us," he said while looking at the display that was part of the large table in front of him. From the detected energy emissions, it was clear that their base located on the moon was powering many systems. "Are you sure that big thing can't reach us here?"

"Their main plasma cannon should be comparatively similar to that of our warstar. From that, we can assume that at such a distance, a plasma bolt fired from their primary weapon would lose its containment field the same way as ours. Also, our PDs have more than enough time to lock onto a fired plasma bolt from such a distance and take them down before they can reach us. Therefore, even if they were able to solve the problem of the dissipating containment field, we should still be safe at such a distance," Harris explained.

Their fleet, comprised of three dozen capital ships and other smaller support vessels, was slowly getting into a loose wall formation—the most standard of all battle formations. "Which means we will have to slug it out with our railguns."

Unlike the powerful plasma bolts, fired railgun slugs did not have a maximum range. In space, once a slug was fired at a certain velocity, it would keep flying at that speed until it hit something. That meant they could fire it from a significant distance with the confidence they would reach the target. With distance, the accuracy would drop, which implied that at their current range, most slugs would miss their mark. However, they could rectify that by increasing the number of slugs they fired.

"Are we ready to initiate the attack?" Norton asked impatiently.

"Just about, sir," Harris ordered. "Firing solutions from all ships are ready. Firing in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1."

Silence descended inside the CIC. After every discharge of the heavy railguns, Norton could feel the vibrations while leaning against the table. Crewmembers watched their monitors, waiting to notice hints of enemy movements. It was important to react to any change in the enemy disposition in a timely fashion. Norton and his XO were looking at the large display, watching intently to see if any Cylons ship would disappear from the DRADIS.

"It is quite a boring wait, isn't it?" Norton said. With the CIC engulfed in silence while also permeated with a sense of trepidation, he felt he should say something.

"It will take minutes before the slugs reach their target," the XO concurred.

"I don't like this kind of battle much. While we wait, all the suspense goes away," Norton responded while frowning. The slug's travel time was quite long even though fired at an impressive 52km/s—around five times faster than the escape velocity from a world like Caprica—the railgun slugs would still take eight full minutes to reach the target.

"I agree, sir."

"We can almost take a nap, for frak sake," Norton stated, not liking this kind of warfare one bit. In truth, this is the first time they were doing it. In the first place, it was only applicable if the target was stuck in place, therefore unable to dodge the incoming slugs.

"The distance is large, sir. There's nothing we can to about it."

"I bet those Terrans have weapons that take less time," Norton said, feeling vexed. As a member of the military, he would like to have better weapons than what he currently had. Norton knew how unreasonable that was. He was presently standing inside their newest warship, the warstar Ares, built only months ago and equipped with freshly-developed plasma cannons the Colonies of one year ago could have seen only inside sci-fi movies. Such unexpected upgrades should have been enough. He should show modesty and be content with what he had. Yet, in his mind, these upgrades weren't even close to being enough, especially since he knew that there were other races out there with dreamy tech that he could not even imagine properly. "An energy beam weapon that travels at relativistic speed, or something similar. That's the kind of weapon I would like for us to have."

"That would be nice, sir, but that's not likely to ever happen," his XO promptly responded. "Although such a weapon would need to expel only light particles, firing them at relativistic speeds still requires copious amounts of energy. A ship with such a weapon would need to have powerful fusion reactors the size of a mountain to provide the necessary power output. There are other concerns as well, like how to generate so many particles in mere seconds. I believe we will never see such a weapon, sir."

His XO was probably right. The newly developed plasma cannons were able to fire bolts of incandescent plasma at a much higher speed than their railguns could fire slugs. However, plasma cannons were not perfect. It might be because they rushed their precious scientist Desai, or because of the inherently tricky concepts employed by the weapon, but it turns out that plasma bolts aren't as stable as they had initially hoped. Shortly after being fired, the containment field responsible for holding the compressed plasma would lose cohesion, and the plasma bolt would explode. If they increased the velocity of the fired bolt further, the containment field would collapse even sooner. They worked great at typical engagement distances, but in the current situation, in which they were twenty-five thousand kilometers away from their target, they were useless. It was a limitation of the currently developed technology that they will eventually have to address and rectify. However, although disappointing, that limitation had also given him an idea. The Cylons had plasma cannons based on the same concept as they did.

Which meant they were under the same constraints.

"No matter how we look at it, we have the advantage here. The moon base can't reach us with their plasma cannons, big or small, and they can't hope to hit us, moving targets, with their railguns either," he said.

"Yes, sir, which means they will have to send their fleet to us," he concluded.

Now the question was how long it would take for the Cylons to take action.

Minutes crawled much slower than they should, with the crew's restlessness steadily rising as each minute passed. Norton couldn't say that he was feeling anxious because of the prolonged wait—in his mind, they would win this war, no doubt about it—but he still felt annoyed. No one liked waiting, and he wasn't an exception. The strategy they had come up with should be advantageous in the current scenario in which the Cylons were on the defensive, unable to leave the system if they didn't wish to forego their assets present here. If they did, they might be able to survive this day. Still, they would turn into vagrants with no base of operation, no resupplying capabilities, and continuously under chase, never knowing if tomorrow would be the day when the Colonials finally caught up to them.

A fight was inevitable, and the Cylons were on the defensive. It was just how Norton liked it.

"Sir, there's movement in orbit of the planet. We are also detecting a raise in power inside their ships," the XO notified.

Norton watched the large screen as; first, several icons blinked out of existence (those were the Cylons basestars stationed in orbit), and, second, the same number of symbols flashed back into reality near the symbols that represented the ships part of his Fleet. "They are finally on the move."

"Yes, sir. Eighty percent of their ships orbiting the planet have jumped," the XO said. "The few Cylon ships stationed near the moon base have also jumped. They have surrounded us."

"Good! We can stop shooting at the base now. Switch to formation Omega-3 and prepare to face the enemy ships," Norton reported. "Also, send the signal to initiate Operations Armadillo and Jackal."

"Already on it, sir," the comm officer replied.

The fleet was changing its configuration. It was turning into a circular one with the warstar in the center. While coming into battle formation, ships were also launching their Raptors and Vipers. They would provide the outermost layer of defense.

"This is worse than when we were waiting for the slugs to reach the moon. Which, if I think about it for a moment, haven't reached it yet. The wait is killing me."

"The Cylon ships are firing," the XO reported.

Norton stopped complaining and started focusing on the tactical display that was part of the table. They were at a numerical disadvantage. Not by much, but the Cylons had thirty percent more ships than the Colonials. Norton didn't take this as a decisive factor in this battle. He was on board the warstar Ares, a ship that could easily face several basestars and their large entourage of Raiders and still come out victorious. After all, the Ares was their most potent warship that had proven unparallel offensive and defensive capabilities during the last battle they fought in the Cyrannus system.

The same as last time, the ship didn't wait before showing its teeth. While the other ships were creating a protective layer, Norton directed the Ares to turn its bow toward a lonely basestar. Soon, he began hearing a strange charging sound. On display, Norton saw how the ship's capacitors were being emptied at a frightening pace even though the reactors were working at 120 percent output. As the weapon completed charging, on another display, he saw a massive bolt of plasma erupt from the bow of the warstar and sped at incredible speed. It probably broke through 200 km/s.

The Cylons knew what happened during the battle fought in the Cyrannus system, where the Ares had shown the weapon's destructive power. They must have understood that the plasma bolt was powerful enough to break their vessel, and that's probably why the ship had tried to evade the incoming plasma bolt with all its might.

"We hit one of the top arms near the center. It isn't a decisive blow," the XO stated.

Norton watched as the one discharge blew off an entire arm, but that was it. The ship did not go down. He wished he could fire the primary weapon in rapid succession, but that would be too much to ask. It would take minutes to recharge the capacitors and for the gun to cool down enough before it could fire again. "The other ships can take care of that one. We are going to target another ship. Wait for the right opportunity. I have the feeling they will come up with a way to protect their ships from our main gun soon enough."

"Operation Armadillo has commenced, sir," the XO informed him.

Norton watched on another display as, in orbit of the habitable planet, more than three hundred thousand kilometers from their current location, Colonial ships began popping into existence one after the other. Fully aware of the position of the remaining Cylon ships, their incursion was near perfect. The moment they finished their jump, they were already inside their firing envelope. With no reason to wait, they opened fire at the smaller detachment of basestars and Raiders the Cylons left in orbit of the planet.

It wasn't a fair fight. The Colonials were having a five to one advantage, and the outcome was easily predictable. An ambush and overwhelming numerical superiority were enough to seal the faith of the hostiles stationed there. Nukes began detonating against the hulls of the basestars, causing massive damage. Raiders, on the other hand, were vanishing inside the various maelstroms comprised of high amounts of heat and other forms of radiation.

However, that was only a small portion of Operation Armadillo. More effort would be needed before they could say the mission was over. Some distance away from the raging battle in orbit, six large dropships, accompanied by two dozen raptors, appeared and began their sharp descent inside the planet's atmosphere. Norton watched on a screens the direct feed from one of the lieutenants on board a dropship. He activated the audio option so that he could not only see but also hear what the marines were saying.

"Perform the last check!" the Lt's deep voice was heard over the comm.

Marines began checking their weapons and other gear meticulously. Only minutes were separating them from landing inside hostile territory.

"They are about to begin," Norton said. "Let's hope nothing unexpected happens."

"It shouldn't, sir. All previous scans have shown that the internment camp doesn't have defensive positions with heavy weaponry. Even the detachment of toasters should be small in number," the XO assured.

"We can't be sure of that. I know there's no reason for the Cylons to keep a large number of tin cans on the surface, but you never know," Norton responded.

Norton never liked sending Marines into dangerous situations with only sketchy intel. But there was no way around it. The only data they could collect was from the long-range scans and photos the stealth drones had taken a few days ago. It was at that time that they learned the Cylons had brought humans onto the surface of the planet and were putting them in an internment camp. He didn't want to contemplate the reason why the Cylons were doing it. What he knew was that they had become increasingly vicious in their actions as the war progressed, which meant they needed to save those people asap. Their whole strategy today had been changed from a simple assault intended to annihilate all hostiles, to a primarily rescue mission.

The annihilation part would have to come afterward.

The camera from the same lieutenant shook, a sign that the dropship had touched ground. Confirmation came immediately as the rear ramp began opening. Marines were already on their feet, ready and waiting to exit the craft. Through the camera, he could see around thirty Marines. As the ramp touched the ground, the Marines rushed out. Not even half of them were out when bullets started flying. The storm of bullets cut the first two Marines down instantly.

"Hostiles to the left! Take them out!" he heard a voice shouting. He wasn't sure, but it seemed to have been the voice of the sergeant standing near the Lieutenant—the one standing in front of the camera.

Marines took defensive positions as much as they could and began firing back. "I see two hostiles! One's down, and the other took shelter."

It seemed strange to Norton hearing that a toaster would seek cover. It wasn't their usual MO. However, ever since they discovered the existence of Cylons made of flesh and blood, they needed to stop making assumptions on what the Cylons would or wouldn't do.

"Take it out with an RPG!"

"On it!" one Marine replied while taking out a one-time-use RPG launcher with practiced expertise. The Marine put the launcher on his shoulder. The RPG flew outside of the camera's field of view.

He could only hear the resulting explosion.

"It's down!" another Marine shouted.

"Marines, move, move, move! Set a defensive perimeter!" the sergeant was shouting while himself rushing out of the craft.

Now that the Lieutenant with the camera was out of the dropship, Norton could finally see the battle unfolding. There was not much difference in what was happening with the other dropships. They were all disgorging Marines while under fire from the tin cans that had come out to welcome them. With the Cylons, it was impossible to achieve a surprise attack with the same effect as it was with humans. Stupor, fear, and limited communication would freeze humans for long enough for the attacking side to gain an advantage. However, the Cylons did not fall into a stupor and did not show any signs of fear. Additionally, they were always connected, able to share information instantly. The Cylons were aware of their attack before they landed, and the tin cans were already engaging the intruders.

Norton hated the Cylons precisely for that reason. Their inhuman way of fighting.

While he was thinking about trivial things, the Marines had created a perimeter with heavy machine guns placed and ready for use. It seemed their intel was right and that there wasn't heavy weaponry in the internment camp. If there were, the guns would have mowed the Marines down the moment they exited the safety of their ship.

"We lost fifteen Marines in the initial phase," the XO said with a somber tone.

Norton only nodded. He knew they would never be able to save their civilians without incurring losses. It was simply impossible. That was the main reason why, at a certain point, he had contemplated fighting the battle in space before rescuing their people on the planet. But he could not have done that while there were hostages on the ground. With what the Cylons had shown recently, they could easily decide to kill them the moment the battle in space went badly.

"Let's see how will the phalanx formation work out," Norton said, sounding unsure.

He had the inkling they were regressing to a past self when the People of Kobol had barely colonized the first planet in the Cyrannus system, Geminon. It was a time when clans fought each other for dominance with only spears and swords as weapons. It was a time where resources were scares, with no industry capable of making more advanced weaponry or the needed ammunition for the guns they had brought with them. It was a time in which the People of Kobol had reverted, practically turning into cave dwellers and savages. During that chaotic period, a Phalanx formation was an effective tactic they often employed during battles.

"It should be quite effective, sir. So much so that I predict it will surprise even the Cylons."

While several squads of Marines sneaked around trying to circumvent the enemy, several platoons were performing a direct frontal assault. Of course, those Marines did not lose their minds by deciding to die heroically. The reason they could accomplish such a feat was because of the contraption a few Marines in each squad were carrying. It was a light frame that many would find out of place on a battlefield.

During the creation of the fusion reactor, doctor Desai developed a one-way forcefield intended to keep the incandescent plasma from spilling outside of the reactor's core. Since human ingenuity has no boundary, it didn't take long for someone to find a use for it on the battlefield. A one-way forcefield was able to protect the Marines while they could shoot through it indiscriminately. It was like the best present a Marine could hope of receiving, no matter what occasion for getting the gift it was. Having a clear line of fire while protected from incoming bullets was a dream come through to any infantryman.

The Marines were progressing at a fast pace towards the main building while the Cylons were uncertain how to respond. They kept rushing forth, partly because none of them wanted to discover what would happen if the forcefield failed while in the middle of a clearing.

Mincemeat came to mind for some reason.

The Cylons must have understood that the situation had become fubar. With Marines storming from the front as if nothing could ever harm them, and with other Marines crawling from the sides, their only hope was to retreat inside the building and chance their luck there. At this point, the best would be for the Marines to proceed cautiously, first setting up a perimeter around the structure and then slowly find the best breaching point. But they couldn't do that. The humans inside could be slaughtered at any moment.

The Marines quickened their pace and chased after the receding toasters.

Unfortunately, they could not utilize the protective forcefield indoors. It was too big. Its purpose was to protect six Marines while standing abreast. They couldn't use it inside a building filled with narrow corridors, nooks and crannies, and doors where the Cylons could prepare ambushes.

While leaving the protective barrier behind, the Marines boldly stormed inside the building. It didn't take long before they came under fire.

The camera fell sideways onto the floor.

"The Lt's down!" one of the Marines shouted.

"He's dead. Nothing we can do but press on!" the sergeant replied. "Let's kill these Frakers!"

The Marines rushed forward until the camera could not record them anymore.

"Should we switch to another camera, sir?" the XO asked.

"No, they have their battle to fight, and we have ours. Let's focus on what we need to do up here," Norton responded. It wasn't like he had a lot to do. As an admiral, his job wasn't to captain every ship in the fleet. His task was to set the strategy for the entire Fleet. But now that he had already given the orders, the various captains on their vessels were in charge. Since there was no change in the battle theater in the past ten minutes, he could do nothing but wait while watching what the Marines were doing. Still, he was the admiral in charge of the fleet. His job wasn't to monitor what the Marines were doing but rather what the fleet was. "The Cylon ships above the planet have been cleared. For now, our ship's detachment should remain in orbit of the planet and keep watch if the Cylons decide to jump a few ships to mess with our operation on the surface. I don't think they will, but you never know."

Their current task was to save the people on the planet. When that was over, they could recall the rest of their warships and launch a full offensive. Meanwhile, the battle taking place near the moon was proceeding sluggishly, which wasn't strange. Except for the warstar, he had set all ships to form a purely defensive formation. Their primary job was to intercept any missiles and Raiders on approach. The rest would have to wait after they saved the civilians on the planet. Still, he hoped the operation wouldn't last too long, for it would spell doom for many of their ships that were continually under fire.

"Sir, should we keep using our primary weapon?" the XO asked.

Norton understood what the XO was implying. Their primary weapon wasn't as effective as it had been in the beginning. Since the rest of the fleet was on the defensive, the Cylons could easily predict when and where the warstar would use its devastatingly powerful primary weapon. He watched as the solution the Cylons came up with just played out on one of the screens in front of him. A swarm of Raiders was flying in front of the targeted basestar. The fired plasma bolt hit one of the Raiders, miles in front of the capital ship. Upon impact, the plasma bolt obliterated the Raider, but, as a consequence, it also exploded. The destruction of a single raider was a negligible gain that no one would spend any time cheering.

"No, we can stop firing. We can use it later with greater effect," Norton said, knowing that once the real fight broke out, the Cylons wouldn't have the time to employ the same or similar tricks.

"Sir, one of our support ships is at its limits," an officer informed.

On the relevant display, Norton watched as two basestars were bombarding the lonely Defender class ship. He knew there wasn't enough time to do anything. Then, the screen fleshed brightly. "Did the reactor blow up?"

"Yes, sir. The basestars were mostly targeting the ship's stern where the reactor was."

Norton felt sadness welling up. They were fighting for less than fifteen minutes, yet it had already been long enough to lose one ship. Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury to feel sad for very long. "That's faster than most of our predictions."

"We should take more note of the changes the addition of plasma weaponry introduces. Ships are unable to survive as long as in the past, on both sides."

"Despite the precautions that we took," Norton stated. He thought that the new armor they had designed to counter plasma weapons would endure longer than it did.

"Yes, despite that. We believe it gives our ships fifty percent more resistance against incandescent plasma. However, once the plasma breaches through the outer layer, it deals an ample amount of damage to the insides of a ship."

"Still, how did the plasma reach the reactor?" Norton asked, knowing that if there was a place that had an additional layer of protection, that was the ship's reactor room.

"Besides the high heat capable of melting even steel, it seems that the developed plasma weapons also spread a form of energy that can interfere with sensitive components. Because of it, plasma weapons are quite deadlier than railguns."

"So, even though the reactor wasn't hit directly, the energy shockwave reached it and caused what exactly, the fuel to ignite?"

"That or it disrupted the electronics responsible for the reactor's normal operations."

"We have witnessed a similar effect on the human body. A person is still shocked by a plasma blast even when protected by a defensive layer capable of blocking the heat," Norton said. There was a theory that when the plasma bolt hits, it results in the containment field breaking and a shockwave of disruptive energy bursting outward.

After they had learned that plasma weapons were possible, scientists had begun working on creating handheld plasma weapons. They were still far from creating a working prototype, mostly because they could not make a compact enough power source to fit it inside a rifle. But if they succeeded, the weapon would be much more useful than regular bullets ever could, especially against their archnemesis.

"That same energy should work wonders against the toasters. Too bad that this war will end before we can use the weapons."

"I don't care what weapon we use, as long as we end this war," Norton said, still having the people inside the destroyed ship heavily weighing on his mind. It should have been a quick assault at the Cylons position. That way, their losses should have been minimized. However, the need to save the people on the planet's surface had introduced an unfavorable variable inside the battle theater that he knew would cost them dearly. Still, it was the duty of the soldiers to protect their civilians, even if it cost them their lives.

"The Cylons are not faring any better, sir," the XO stated.

His XO might have felt his brooding disposition. He looked at a screen where plasma bolts coming from multiple ships were showering a Cylons basestar. It wouldn't be long before the ship broke apart. "Yes, our plasma weapons are doing the same to them."

"We should still hurry with the operation. It would be ideal if Armadillo ends in less than ten minutes."

Norton had to agree. If the rescue mission dragged longer, it could jeopardize the whole operation. There was a limit to how long they could keep a large portion of their fleet doing nothing while the rest was engaging the Cylon fleet on their own. Battles in which jumping was possible was quite tricky. If they jumped their ships away from orbit, those ships would be unable to jump again for a short period. That would undoubtedly give the Cylons strange ideas, like jumping above the planet and send a few nukes on the surface to obliterate the rescue team. Keeping a large number of ships for much longer would also spell doom. It wasn't like the Colonials had much leeway. Surely not enough so that they could spare so many ships to serve as mere bystanders in the middle of the decisive battle.

Norton took a deep breath. Thoughts were swirling in his head. Reflections like what if we can't rescue the people on the surface in time? What if the introduction of plasma weapons causes their calculations to be off the mark? Many crucial questions that, depending on the answers, could mean the difference between success and failure. Those thoughts and the constant pressure in trying to find the best way to minimize losses was causing him considerable stress.

It was the burden of being the person in charge—the responsibility of being the person that decided who lived and who died, knowing, regrettably, that it was futile to try and save everybody.

"Sir, you should look at this."

Norton turned towards the screen his XO pointed. On the screen, the same Cylon basestar that had been on its last leg must have decided there was no hope for them. The ship moved at full speed with the clear intent to ram the battlestar Scorpio. The Scorpio was trying to evade while other vessels were trying to provide support by firing at the dashing basestar. But it was to no avail. The Cylons ship hit the starboard side of the battlestar near its bow. The armor bent and broke under the tremendous pressure, followed by internal explosions emanating from inside both ships. The entire front of the battlestar was in ruins, but it was still in one piece. Then, a blinding light blanketed the whole screen.

"What happened?" Norton asked.

"Their nuclear ordinance has detonated. All of it."

"At once?" Norton asked while watching the inglorious end of the battlestar Scorpio. There was no way it could survive that explosion.

"Yes, sir. I believe it was intentional."

"Frakers! They are getting desperate," Norton said. In the last three months, the Cylons had shown a remarkably sharp decrease in their sanity levels. In his opinion, they were now nothing more than malfunctioning machines that they needed to turn into scrap before they caused more damage. "Let's clean this place, once and for all."

"Yes, sir. The Marines on the surface seem to have cleared the internment camp of all hostiles. They are now rounding up all the civilians and are moving them toward the transport ships. The moment they are in the air, they are going to activate their jump drives and leave the system."

"Good! Synchronize with the rescue team. I want the ships in orbit to join us the moment the transport ships are gone," Norton said. He was scrutinizing the large table that was displaying the entire battle theater. "Split those ships in orbit into two groups. I want them to jump here and here, and to engage the Cylons immediately. Notify our ships already here to prepare for an all-out assault. We first break one side of the encirclement, and then we change into a wall formation and clear the rest."

"I agree. It should be quite effective."

Norton was fed with the Cylons. They needed to be gone, and by that, he didn't mean tomorrow, in a week, or this year. He wanted them gone in the next thirty minutes. "But inform the fleet to demonstrate caution. There are bound to be more suicidal attacks like the one we just witnessed."

"I'll inform the captains," the XO said before going to work.

There was a lot the XO needed to do in the next five minutes—the time it would take for the Marines to load the rescued civilians onto the landed transport ships and leave. Thankfully, there were no more than a couple of hundred civilians that needed saving. Although, Norton realized that the reason for so few people needing saving wasn't because the Cylons had taken only so few from Caprica and Geminon, but rather because these were all the people that survived the internment on the planet. He had the feeling that one day, they would find many collective graves on the surface.

One day, but not today.

Time trickled by while he looked as many civilians at a time boarded the ships. He had quite a decent view through the cameras the Marines were wearing. The civilians were in bad shape (evident malnourishment, lack of strength, and nasty coughing). However, their faces still showed hope on them—hope that had probably returned the moment they had realized rescue was coming. None of them was slow at boarding the transport ship. It seemed like a mad dash done with every last ounce of the little energy their frail bodies still possessed.

With the civilians on board, the transport ship took off at full power. Once it reached a decent altitude, the tactical display stopped showing its position. More followed shortly after.

"The transport ships are jumping, sir."

Mimicking the departed transport ships, those in orbit vanished from the display, only to appear near the rest of the fleet. With the arrival of more ships, a portion of the Cylons fleet was now sandwiched. The rest of the fleet reacted quickly by pushing closer. From a purely defensive stance, the whole fleet had switched into an all-out assault in a blink of an eye. Plasma blasts, missiles, and railguns began showering the Cylons ships on that side. They needed to break their backs, maybe even their spirit—if they had one—in the shortest possible amount of time.

"It's working," Norton said. The Cylons seemed to be in disarray. The sudden change in tactic, plus the received reinforcements, had put them in a dangerous position. Under the concentrated barrage of several battlestars, one basestar was already at its breaking point. The same as the Cylons, the Colonials were also not against targeting a ship's reactor, with a clear intent behind it.

"Just blow already," Norton said.

A blinding light signaled the destruction of the first in a list of many Cylon ships that were going to blow up very soon. Or at least that's what Norton hoped.

"They are jumping away, sir." The XO informed.

"These Toasters are faster at reacting than I gave them credit. I was hoping we could destroy more of their ships before they fled," Norton said.

"They didn't escape unscathed, sir. Many of their ships have suffered extensive damage before jumping away."

On the main display, small icons representing ships began popping into existence. Even before seeing it, Norton already knew where they were going to jump. It was near their moon base. It was the only logical place where they could go. After all, if they lost the moon base, they were as good as lost. Still, the thought of some of them managing to escape was quite unpleasant. He wanted to purge them all today.

"All right. Notify the fleet to begin preparations for the last battle. We will go with the planned wall formation," he said.

"Yes, sir."

"How's Operation Jackal proceeding?" Norton asked.

"With the last encrypted transmission, we know that the stealth raptor has landed, and the infiltration team has successfully breached inside the moon base."

"How long ago was that?"

"Nine minutes ago."

Norton was nervous. The success of Operation Jackal could mean the difference between failure and success. "I just wish they could have gone inside while carrying a nuke."

"That would have been difficult, sir. Not only are nukes heavy to carry, which would have limited their ability to search for the right place to use it, but there's a high possibility of the Cylons discovering the weapon's radiological emissions. With a nuke, they would have probably been discovered even before stepping inside the base," the XO explained.

"True, but going in without one isn't much better," he said, not liking what the team needed to do.

Among other weapons, the moon base had a massive plasma cannon as its primary gun. It was probably the reason why the Cylons were still confident that they could survive this day. And they were utterly wrong about that. Both plan B and plan C would result in many losses before the primary weapon could be disabled. Norton was sure it would take a single shot from the cannon to cripple a battlestar, and the moon base had a massive reactor capable of recharging the damn weapon quickly. Even so, he was confident they would eventually prevail. No matter what, today, that base would fall. However, after he saw the projections on how many Colonials would die, it made him think of a better plan.

The warstar could not hope to match the base's primary weapon's rate of fire, and the Cylons would also do whatever it takes to protect the cannon, even if it meant sacrificing their ships by putting them in the line of fire. Therefore, Norton wanted a better way to go about it. Plan A, or rather, Operation Jackal, was meant to stop the main gun from firing for at least a few minutes. The plan was to infiltrate the moon base and sabotage the cannon, which wasn't going to be easy. From previous scans, they knew the places with high energy readings. They were even lucky that a stealth raptor had witnessed the cannon's firing during a test, which had given them an energy roadmap inside the base that they could follow. Along the route, they could find places where to enact their sabotage. However, they still needed to send people into the heart of the enemy base, not knowing what they would find inside or what type of resistance they would have to face.

Norton didn't give them more than a fifty percent chance of succeeding.

"We can't wait much longer," he said.

In truth, they could. With the civilians brought to safety, they could siege the moon base for an indefinite amount of time. At least that was the conclusion they agreed upon during their preparations. He understood that, but he was nonetheless conflicted. To him, leaving the Cylons time to think and strategize was a terrible idea. The consensus was that the Cylons had changed since they have turned from toasters into more biological-in-nature tin cans. In short, something went wrong with their brains. They turned into complete fruitcakes—unpredictable psychos not constrained anymore by their logical thinking.

To him, that meant they had become extremely dangerous and prone to actions that would put countless of their civilians in deadly peril. Case in point, the attack on their worlds with the clear intent to kill as many of their people instead of going after strategically more sound targets, clearly showed the Cylons' twisted state of mind. At any moment, the Cylons could decide to send their basestars on suicide runs where they could emerge deep inside a planet's atmosphere and detonate all of their nuclear payloads, including their large reactors. Such actions would not help the Cylons win the war, but it would still cause many deaths in their worlds.

They needed to act. The Fleet needed to attack before the Cylons could enact some crazy plan that would put their people back home in jeopardy.

"I agree with you, sir. I don't like to think about what the Cylons might do if we give them time to think."

"Sir, we are receiving a live transmission from the infiltration team," the comm operator informed.

"They are breaking radio silence. Something must be wrong," Norton said. Broadcasting from inside the moon base was tantamount to giving the Cylons their exact ubication. He was already dreading the worst-case scenario. "Put it on display."

The display switched from showing the moon and the moon base to displaying the leader of the team. Besides the face of the Marine, he could also hear the sound of gunfire. Since the Marine was alone, it probably meant that the rest of his team was busy engaging the enemy.

"Sir, we were able to enter the main power node dedicated to supplying the primary cannon. As we speak, my demolition expert is placing the last few charges around it. We are confident that once we detonate them, the cannon will stop functioning, and that even if they restore power, it would have to be through secondary conduits. That will cause its rate of fire to drop. We will detonate the charges in sixty seconds, sir," the Marine said on camera.

"Good job, Marine. Place the last charges and get the hell out of there. We will give you enough time to clear the moon base."

"No need, sir," the Marine said while showing a sad expression. "They've surrounded us. There's no way of getting out. We also need to protect the charges until the last moment; otherwise, the Cylons might have enough time to disable them."

Norton did not speak immediately. He wanted to find a way to get them out of there, but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't find a solution—not even one with a low probability of success.

"Sir, we knew the outcome even before we signed up for this mission," the Marine kept talking. "We are fine with that, sir. Just promise us one thing."

"What is it, son?" Norton asked.

"Promise us you'll finish this war once and for all. Promise us you'll avenge our families on Caprica."

"Son, you did your job. I promise you that I'll do mine," he replied. "I will end this war today."

"Thank you, sir," the Marine said before looking somewhere else. He looked back. "All charges are set. Detonation in twenty seconds!"

The Marine didn't wait. He immediately severed the connection.

"You heard the Marine! Prepare the fleet to jump! We are engaging the enemy the moment we have confirmation the cannon is disabled."

The crew went to work, instructing the rest of the ships in the fleet to prepare. Right now was the moment he had waited for so long. There was no chance he wouldn't fulfill the promise he had just given to the Marine. After all, his family had also been on Caprica when the Cylons had attacked.

"Sir! Scans show a sudden drop in energy near the base's main cannon," the tactical officer reported.

"Jump the fleet!" Norton shouted.

The Colonial largest fleet vanished in an instant, only to appear five hundred kilometers away from the moon base. In terms of distances in space, this was the same as entering spitting distance.

Broadsides of plasma bolts exploded forth from the fleet—no guns were to wait in reserve—with one large plasma bolt from the lonely warstar overshadowing all others. The target was clear. There could be only one; the base's main cannon. Raiders heavy or not, and basestars damaged or not; all took the brunt of the barrage. They knew the Colonials would go for the cannon. Hence they had placed their ships in front of it. The large plasma bolt fired by the warstar hit a basestar in its central strut. A large chunk of the ship was blown away, with all functions immediately ceasing. It exploded, a clear sign the main reactor had exploded.

"One's gone. More will follow," Norton said. However, they still did not accomplish what he wanted the most.

The main cannon also wasn't the only threat. The moon had other plasma cannons littering the surface of the moon. It was just that they could not cripple one of their ships in a single shot, but that did not mean they weren't a threat.

Raptors began popping up at spitting distances from those plasma cannons on the moon, immediately unleashing their payloads. Missiles flew in droves, many targeting the same guns. PDs placed to protect them came to life, taking down most of the incoming missiles. Many, but not all. The distance was to short for the PDs to take them all down.

Massive detonations bloomed on the moon's airless surface, only to disappear as quickly as they came. With no air, explosions were not as spectacular as those inside an atmosphere. However, the damage was real. Those missiles that impacted the cannons did enough damage to disable if not to destroy them outright.

"We are losing many raptors and vipers, sir," The XO reported.

The current tactic was efficient, and it would give them the highest chance at taking down the base's defenses in quick order, maybe even before they could restore the main cannon. However, their raptors and vipers were risking a lot.

"It was bound to be a bloody battle," Norton said. No matter how much he wanted, he could not give the order for their smaller crafts to take their time and clear the PDs first and only then go for the cannons. They did not have the leeway.

"How is our main target doing?" Norton asked.

"We almost scored a few direct hits, but the nearby PDs were always a step ahead and were able to destroy the plasma bolts just before impact. Unfortunately, the damage to the main cannon is still negligible, and it will be able to fire once they restore power to it."

"It's a race again time, and I don't like it. Inform the fleet to spread out and to try and find a good angle to hit that damn thing," he said, even though he knew the captains of the various ships were already attempting to do precisely that. The idea was to find a clear line of fire that the Cylons would not be able to close with their basestars or raiders in time. If they find enough such clear lines, they could saturate the nearby PDs enough for a few shots to hit the accursed main cannon.

"Sir, our sensors are detecting a rise in energy inside the main cannon," the tactical officer informed.

"They must have bypassed the destroyed power node. Not good," Norton said while clenching his fists.

"Sir, the cannon is entering its firing sequence!" the same officer said.

Not only did they fix the cannon faster than anticipated, but it seemed that the cannon had already been half charged. A giant ball erupted from the main cannon, taking them by surprise. The bolt flew at a much higher speed than anything they had. The bolt flew unimpeded, striking the battlestar Gemini. The explosion turned all the screens monitoring that region of space completely white. The ship's reactor had sustained a direct hit. The armor accomplished nothing in stopping the plasma from reaching deep inside the bowl of the vessel.

"My gods. That thing is more powerful than anything we can make," he said. It seemed the Cylons technology was far more advanced than theirs, even though they were the ones who had the technology first. It was another reason why they needed to end this war today. "Is it charging again?"

"It is, but slowly. Even slower than our main cannon."

"Send a message fleetwide. All ships are to target the main cannon. All other targets are irrelevant."

The fleet was continually firing, and they were inflicting considerable damage to the basestars and raiders that were successfully protecting the main cannon. Soon, the number of protectors will diminish enough for their plasma bolts to start raining on the main cannon. However, that would not happen quickly enough; that was his assessment of the situation.

While the warstar's primary cannon had turned another Cylons basestar into floating wreckage, Norton watched the readings suggesting that the base's main cannon would soon be able to fire again.

"Sir, the cannon is turning to face us," the tactical officer said with an apprehensive voice.

"Evasive action! Pitch at forty degrees downwards and push with the main engine at full thrust. Use the thrusters as aids to further shift our trajectory!"

The warstar was a fat lady. The primary way to defend against incoming plasma bolts were the PDs, by creating a wall of shrapnel with the task of destroying their containment field, which would cause the bolts to burst like a bubble. However, he knew that the one that the Cylons were about to fire was too powerful. Its containment field had to be an order of magnitude sturdier than that of regular plasma bolts. Hence, the shrapnel would be unable to pierce it.

The plasma bolt erupted for its second time today, its path clear.

The impact sent Norton flying, the same as most of the people in the CIC. After landing roughly, darkness enveloped him. It didn't last long, as emergency lights quickly brought light back into the CIC. He could also sense a strange tremor through the ship's floorboards. To him, the ship felt like a wounded animal in agony. He felt the same. He felt shellshocked, was having trouble focusing, and his side was hurting. However, now wasn't the time to dally. He had to push through.

"Status!" Norton shouted as, through sheer willpower, he got back on his feet.

The sensors officer also got back on his feet and quickly went back to his station. "Our starboard side was hit. A large chunk of it is gone. Thankfully we were able to evade the plasma bolt from hitting our reactor. We have impaired maneuverability, and the power conduit responsible for supplying our primary weapon has sustained damage."

"In short, we are sitting ducks, and no main weapon to fire back!" he said. The situation didn't inspire confidence. He was sure that sooner or later, one of their ships would be able to destroy that accursed cannon, but he would much like being still alive to see it happening. However, he knew they would be the cannon's next target, and he also knew it would be their last. "Any chance we can restore the weapon?"

"I believe we can, sir," the tactical officer said. "But, we would need to connect it with the secondary power system."

"So, what's the problem?" he asked. It was easily discernible from the officer's expression that he was reluctant to perform the bypass.

"Since it doesn't have the same safety measure as the primary power system, it could cause an overload. It could even cause the main reactor to shut down."

"Do it; no need to think about it. We are already sitting ducks. Restore the main cannon and point it towards that thing; that's all that I want."

"Yes, sir. Already working on it."

With many thrusters lost on one side, the ship needs to rotate every time it wanted to change its inclination; else, it would keep spinning uncontrollably. Motion in the emptiness of space was quite different than inside the atmosphere where air would always stabilize a plane. It was a slow process, but it would also take time to charge the cannon through the secondary conduits, even though the cannon had already been charged to ninety percent. Still, his calculations showed that they would be able to fire before the enemy could. Their ships had also made room for their cannon to fire. Therefore there should be a clear line of fire to exploit.

"Cannon is ready to fire in ten seconds, sir."

"Don't wait for my order. Blast that thing the moment you can."

Ten seconds passed in a blink of an eye. "Firing!"

The large bolt erupted from the bow of the massive warstar. It might not be as spectacular as the one the moon base fired, but it was still a plasma bolt capable of obliterating the affronting main cannon with ease.

Then, a basestar blinked into existence, causing the fired shot to slam into it. It caused massive damage to the basestar, and it sent it on a crash course with the moon's surface.

"Frak! From where did that ship jump?" Norton was mad. They had wasted their best chance to blow up their primary weapon to smithereens.

Nobody replied. It didn't matter where it had come. Its sacrifice had prevented them from blowing up the damn weapon into bits and pieces. The battle was not going the way he had thought it would. Everything was happening too fast, and the enemy's primary weapon had turned out to be too powerful and too fast. Evading the blow was almost impossible even while you knew it was coming.

"Their weapon is entering its final firing sequence!" the sensors officer shouted.

Of course, there was no doubt what its target was.

"Can we evaded it?" Norton asked.

"Negative, sir. Our shot forced the reactor to shut down to prevent an overload. We are powerless, with only a portion of the thrusters working. It will take some time for the reactor to restart."

"Fraking Cylons. Why don't you die already." He didn't know what to do. He watched the display and the reading that was indicating the imminent discharge of their main cannon—a release that will signify their doom.

Then a blinding light blanketed the screen.

"What happened?" he asked, clueless of what was going on.

"Not sure, sir. Their main cannon was firing when it happened."

"It exploded?"

"Umm, yes, sir. Don't know why though, sir," the tactical officer said, scratching his head.

They were all baffled and utterly clueless about what was going on but, at the same time, joyous that they were still alive.

"I know the reason, sir." The comm officer replied. "Before it blew, there was a short transmission from one of our support ships containing a short message. It says: For the Colonies."

"What does that mean?" Norton asked.

"Sir, the support ship jumped in front of the cannon while it was firing. Part of the ship was close enough to be touching the cannon. It completely destabilized the containment field of the fired plasma bolt."

It was a great tactic—one he could never order any of his men or women to perform. He could never tell his people to execute a suicide attack like that. However, it seemed that he did not need to ask.

For the Colonies. They were giving their lives for the Colonies.

"Get that reactor back online. Order the fleet to begin targeting the basestars. We need to clear them before they decide to flee. Let's end this."

With the order given, a constant barrage of plasma bolts, railguns slugs, and missiles (nukes or not) began finding their targets inside the crippled Cylon fleet. The number of ships was diminishing at an astonishing rate. The number of defensive batteries on the moon was almost completely gone, and most of the Cylon ships were severely damaged. No way they could survive this ordeal now. He predicted that all vessels would be goners in less than ten minutes, and then they would be free to hammer the moon until there was only a crater in the place of the base.

"Sir, we are detecting a raise in power inside their jump drives."

"As expected, they are trying to flee," Norton knew they had won the war, but he didn't like the idea of having to chase a dozen crippled basestars around the galaxy. "Can we stop them?"

"Unlikely, sir. Most of them will be able to leave before we can inflict the necessary damage."

Norton didn't like it, but he wasn't a god that can stop ships from jumping.

Time passed quickly, with each second, he wished that they could prevent at least one more ship from fleeing.

"Shouldn't they have already jumped?" the XO asked, a little clueless of what was going on. At this pace, they would exterminate them all.

"It's not like I'm complaining, though," Norton stated the obvious. If the Cylons were taking it easy, he was more then willing to wreck them in the meantime.

"Sir," the sensors officer said, with a puzzled expression plastered all over his face. "I'm not sure why, but our jump drive is showing an unknown error."

All ships had their jump drives ready. With a single word, they could jump away. It meant that the jump drive was in its final stage, already charged and one step from rupturing space. That was always the standard procedure during any engagement. "What does that mean?"

"Not sure, sir. The system is informing us that the drive is incapable of rapturing space."

"It must be a malfunction due to damage," another officer commented, confidently.

"No. Other ships are reporting having the same difficulty," the comm officer informed.

"What a frak is going on?" Norton said.

"Sir!" the XO said while staring Norton straight in his eyes. Something big was behind that intense glare, he could sense it

"Yes, what is it?"

"The Cylons must also be unable to jump."

Norton thought about it for a moment, before putting a wicked smile that would scare even hyenas. "The Gods! They are helping us! They are preventing the wretched Cylons from escaping! We must take the chance the Lords of Kobol are giving us. Let's burn them all to ashes!"

A cheerful chorus of agreements was the answer he got.

One after the other, the Cylon ships currently unable to flee were being turned into interstellar dust. Soon, there was nothing left, but to begin the job of scrapping the moon base. Not even the tiniest of Cylon logical circuit—organic or otherwise—would survive the bombardment intact.

"It's finally over. The war is over," Norton stated, feeling happiness filling his body. They had sustained substantial damage, more than he thought they would. But, in the end, they had prevailed. And that was what mattered the most. He could now go home with his head held high and tell his friend Nagala that the war was over.

He could finally tell him that the Cylons were no more.

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