WSG-1: Above and Beyond

by Kelso323

Having escaped the genocidal Cylon onslaught, the beleaguered survivors of the Twelve Colonies find themselves confronted with new challenges and dangers none of them could have foreseen. Caught up amid a brutal interstellar war, old sins and secrets rise from the shadows of a forgotten past to threaten humanity once more.

1. Part 1 - Grunts

Warstar Galactica
Combat Information Center

"Still nothing on wireless, sir," sighed Petty Officer Rocca, shaking her head slightly as she looked back across CIC to Commander Kelso.

"Damn," muttered Kelso, his fingers gently drumming away on the plot table as he cast his eyes back up to the DRADIS displays overhead.

It had been close to twenty minutes now since wireless contact had been lost with both Gaines' team as well as the Raptors and Scimitar flying overwatch. But even though they couldn't talk to them, Galactica still had a firm DRADIS track on the trio of loitering Colonial craft.

Per mission profile, all three were making a wide circle around the valley that Gaines' team was searching, keeping tight to the surrounding mountain ranges. Taking a deep breath, Commander Kelso tried to take that as a good sign; if they were still following their original flight profile then presumably the Raptors and Scimitar were still safe in spite of the loss of wireless contact.

What was still decidedly unclear, however, was the actual status of Gaines' team as well as the identity and disposition of the four unknown craft that had appeared just prior to the loss of wireless contact. The four unknowns had come in fast along the surface from somewhere beyond the horizon. Their presence, or more precisely their rapid appearance on the scene presented Commander Kelso with two decidedly uncomfortable prospects; either there was some sort of base or airfield on the surface they didn't know about or they had come from a ship, maybe even several ships, loitering just beyond DRADIS range on the far side of the moon.

Still, much as he did with the fact that his own birds were still showing up on the screens overhead, Commander Kelso tried to take it as a good sign that the four unknown craft had not landed or begun loitering near Gaines' last reported position. Nevertheless, the mere presence of the four unknown craft still left the Commander more than a touch unnerved.

Sifting through wreckage was one thing, even hunting down a wireless beacon might seem somewhat innocuous overall, but having four unknown aircraft operating so close to his people, moreover, having at least one of those contacts apparently land so close to the origin of the wireless signal they were down there to investigate was enough to make him wary.

"Hangar deck reports Alert Five Vipers are prepped and ready to deploy on your order, Commander," said Major Burke evenly as she stood with the handset pressed to her ear.

"Very well, Major, go ahead and have them launch and augment the CAP," replied Kelso evenly as he continued to watch the contacts near the surface on DRADIS. "They are to hold orbit for now, but I want them ready to vector in on that valley on a moment's notice."

"Aye, sir," replied Burke, nodding gently as she began relaying the order over the handset.

As he watched the additional Vipers sortie out to meet up with the CAP, Commander Sean Kelso took in a deep breath, fighting back against his instinct to send his planes in.

The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that were he to do so his pilots would be operating in an almost complete information vacuum. So far as he could tell from the DRADIS track none of his people were under any direct threat, more to the point, he was reluctant to take any overtly offensive action without any clear idea of who or what his Vipers would be encountering.

No.

Much as he hated it, Commander Kelso knew he had to play this situation very much one step at a time, matching action for action; rash decisions tended to create more problems than they ever solved. However, as he continued to stare up at the DRADIS display, the Commander was loathe in admitting, even if only to himself, that the deeper they waded into this already murky situation, more and more questions kept bubbling to the surface and woefully few answers.

With his eyes firmly locked on the unknown contacts on DRADIS, Commander Kelso took in a deep, steadying breath.

"Come on now," he muttered under his breath. "No harm done if you do, but just tell me who the hell you are."

---

Fox Company
Second Battalion, Twenty-Third Marines
United States Marine Corps
Operation Redline

Captain Nathan West huddled down tight behind a large boulder as one of the three Chig fighters overhead came around for another low pass, the enemy fighter firing off a torrent of weapons blasts that peppered the area around him

Coughing heavily from the dust kicked up by the impacts, West hunkered himself in as close to the large boulder he was hiding behind as he possibly could, his mind feverishly playing through the whirlwind of events that had brought him to this miserable chunk of rock at the proverbial ass-end of nowhere that hadn't even rated a proper name.

Six months ago, it had been his squadron, the Fifty-Eighth, that had inadvertently warned the Chigs of the objective of Operation Roundhammer, the long-awaited invasion of the Chig homeworld expected to bring the long and brutal interstellar war against the aliens to an end. While scouting a moon of the enemy homeworld, codenamed Anvil, the Five-Eight had come across a lone alien being on the surface, a being they'd believed could possibly be the last of its kind. At the time, he and his fellow squadron members had believed they were doing the ethical thing by warning the lone creature they'd come across on Anvil of the impending invasion, upholding the hallowed ideal that even in war there were limits to what was morally acceptable or conscionable.

Instead of the grand humanitarian gesture they had intended, however, the members of the Fifty-Eighth Squadron soon learned that the life form they had encountered, far from being the last of its kind, was in fact a civilian member of the same enemy species that had butchered countless human lives. Their lone act of compassion and mercy had the horrific consequence of extinguishing the flickering hope for peace.

With Roundhammer compromised, the leadership for the United Nations combined fleet believed they had little choice but to carry forward with a hastily arranged meeting with a purported Chig peace envoy, a gamble that bore equally abysmal results when the Chig Ambassador staged a suicide bombing aboard the Saratoga. With no back-up plan and no clear course of action to take in the face of unfolding events, the combined Earth forces had instead stutter-stepped.

In that vacuum of initiative by Earth forces, the Chigs, apparently very much mindful of how close their own homeworld had come to becoming human-occupied territory reemerged from the Helios system with a vengeance. All along the stalled front, the combined Earth fleets and ground-based garrisons fell under siege, the advances into enemy territory gained through hard-won victories at staggering costs in terms of lives steadily rolling back in the face of a revitalized enemy's military juggernaut.

In one of many attempts to stabilize the line, Saratoga and the remains of the Fifteenth Fleet had landed a Marine infantry force on this miserable backwater moon to establish a forward operating base and airfield. Dubbed Operation Redline, the mission had begun with moderate hopes of success bolstered by a grim determination to stabilize the lines before the enemy rolled over the last of their resistance.

Now however, just over four months after the first boots hit the ground, the operation seemed doomed to go down as one of several catastrophic failures in a war that had already claimed far too many lives. That is, if history, human history at least, survived long enough to learn their fate.

Four months of nearly constant fighting had whittled the once three-hundred-plus strong infantry company down to only a few dozen, including Nathan West.

When it had first become apparent that the Fifty-Eighth were directly responsible for the Chigs learning what had been one of Earth's most closely guarded secrets, a general court-martial for treason seemed all-but-inevitable for the members of the once-irreproachable Fifty-Eighth squadron.

As if that alone were truly the worst fate they could have suffered.

No, fickle fortune had quite a different path for them to yet follow.

The suicide bomber's assassination of several key officers and officials of the unified Earth forces sewed still more confusion as events spiraled frenetically away from their control. Amid the chaos following the bombing, it had been Commodore Ross, himself disobeying a direct order, who'd thrown the seemingly disgraced Fifty-Eighth back into the fray by assigning them to rescue a group of repatriated civilian prisoners, including Nathan's long-lost beloved Kylen Celina.

And it was during that crucial engagement the hallowed luck of the Wildcards at last seemed to be played out.

In staying behind aboard a jettisoned cargo module, Paul Wang had almost assuredly died, valiantly fending off several Chig fighters as the ISSAPC carrying the civilians made good its escape, his defiant battlecry echoing over the radio until a Chig fighter crippled by his withering counter-fire slammed headlong into the module.

The fate of Shane Vansen and Vanessa Damphousse was even more distressing if only because of its ambiguity. After enemy fire blasted their cockpit module free from the rest of the ISSCV airframe, it had plummeted towards the surface of Celestial Body Two-Zero-Six-Three-Yankee, disappearing beneath the thick, sickly green clouds of the upper atmosphere. With their survival deemed doubtful and wider events spiraling out of control, no SAR mission had been possible, all but dooming Vansen and Damphousse to the ambiguous purgatory of being declared Missing-In-Action.

The last, but by no means least devastating blow that day was the loss of Lieutenant Colonel Tyrus Cassius McQueen, the laconic sage that had first forged the Five-Eight into an effective team, rallied them through some of the war's darkest hours both by his example as well as by his infamously blunt oratory. Losing his leg to the Chig suicide bombing, McQueen had been hastily loaded aboard an evacuation ship bound for Earth. For the moment, West had no idea whether they had actually made it back.

In a single day, the tight-knit unit that had endured so much together, had carried one another through a maelstrom of incomparable horrors, was utterly eviscerated.

To the remaining brass, it must have seemed hardly worth convening a court-martial, especially in light of the fact that the military situation had begun to deteriorate catastrophically.

Yet even without the stigma of a court-martial hanging over them, West and Cooper had nevertheless found themselves virtual pariahs amongst their peers for their role, no matter how inadvertent, in fatally undermining Roundhammer.

The one safe harbor West and Hawkes still had was the blanket of protection Commodore Ross himself had placed around them. In spite of the fact that his faith in the Five-Eight had been bowed, it had not apparently been broken. After pushing through West's stalled promotion to Captain, Commodore Ross began using the two remaining Wildcards as his own personal special operators as the fleet reeled under the renewed pressure from the Chigs.

Thus, as the pummeled Earth forces tried to rally, landing a ground force on this particularly miserable chunk of rock in an attempt to reestablish a line of resistance, Nathan West and Cooper Hawkes were slated as escort for the mission.

"We're drawing a line, gentleman," Ross had said. "And I need it understood CFB; this is where we will hold the enemy. It's a tough job, but that why I'm sending in my toughest operators."

West couldn't help but wonder if the Commodore had any idea how much of an understatement even that had been.

Although the initial landing went unopposed, those first boots had hardly been on the deck long enough to get dusty when a Chig strike force arrived in system and began pummeling the fleet. The shattered remains of several lost escorts cutting fiery trails across the dark skies bore somber testament to the valiant effort the fleet made to repel the enemy, but in the end, the sheer ferocity of the Chig attack forced the fleet to withdraw.

With no friendly ships in orbit, no additional support, no prospects of extraction, the Marines on the surface found themselves marooned behind enemy lines.

To West, it had felt like a replay of the near-rout at Demios all over again with one at least initially somewhat satisfying difference.

During the operation on Demios, the Fifty-Eighth had suffered the misfortune of their planes being on the ground when the enemy struck, destroyed without any of them ever having the opportunity to fire a shot in return. Here, however, West and Hawkes had still been airborne when the enemy unleashed their assault.

Outnumbered nearly nine to one, the two battle-honed aviators had nevertheless made a good account of themselves, occupying the Chig aircraft long enough for most of the grunts on the ground to retreat and find cover. Yet even as the duo violently knocked their seventh enemy fighter from the sky, it seemed that the time had come for West's own personal luck to run out.

After jinking to avoid a Chig missile, enemy cannon fire peppered his left wing, sheering it away nearly a third of it. With his critically wounded plane heeling over from a complete loss of hydraulic pressure to the control surfaces, it began to fall from the sky with no hope of recovery. With his panel lit up light a Christmas tree and warning alarms screaming of multiple internal fires, West chose discretion and cranked the chicken-switch, punching out of his doomed plane with barely enough altitude remaining for his chute to open safely.

As for Hawkes, the last West had seen of his erstwhile wingman was a pair of afterburner contrails ascending up into the sky with the remaining Chig fighters in hot pursuit.

From that moment on, however, Nathan West felt as though her were all but cruelly reliving the months-long hell of Demios.

With his Hammerhead a smoldering wreck on the desert floor, West had thrown his lot in with the stranded grunts. As days turned into weeks, and then weeks into months with no contact from the fleet, the growing realization that no rescue was forthcoming began to hang like a tortuous specter over the minds and hearts of those on the ground.

Worse still, the Chigs themselves had not been content to simply let them wither on the vine; regular skirmishes with the enemy slowly gutted the infantry unit, most especially its chain of command until West alone remained as the sole commissioned officer alive, and by default, in command.

So, with the strafing Chig fighters making yet another pass overhead, Captain Nathan West cynically considered petitioning Commodore Ross to amend the Oh-Three-Oh-Two Infantry Officer occupational specialty to his service jacket.

If he survived…

As the Chig fighters pulled away in a wide arc to come around for another pass, West looked up past the choking dust and felt an irritating twinge of shame.

Here he was, a Captain in the United States Marine Corps, huddling beneath a boulder like some petrified rodent. The hallowed annals of the Corps' long history seemed to scream out that he was not supposed to be huddled beneath a rock, not with the enemy so near. No, according to that stirring lore he to be standing atop that boulder, boldly unleashing round after round until the enemy understood that hell itself held no fury comparable to that of an enraged United States Marine.

"Bullshit!" he sputtered to himself as another pounding barrage rained down all around.

If four months of fighting on this infernal rock had served to reinforce anything in his mind it was that vainglorious audacity might have its place in a Hollywood movie, but it sure as hell had no place on the field of battle. Indeed, people who tried to make such gallant stands in real life in the face of the real enemy typically had tragically short lives.

Indeed, he knew the real cost of such myopic stupidity only too well; it had been the shallow bravado and vainglorious actions of a boot-ass butter-bar more concerned with making a name for himself than keeping his men alive that had killed Nathan's brother, Neil.

No, far too many lives had already been lost for West to even consider such an act of plucky absurdity; the hard learned lesson from hearing the last, terrible screams of the fallen echo through the dry air.

Screams of terror and of impotent rage.

Now, as the battered remnants of what was now his unit to command clambered about the small, rocky outcroppings, desperately searching for cover from the withering fire raining down from overhead, West felt a resigned certainty that the end was near.

After over two years of war, Chig SOP was well known.

The fighters overhead would continue to raze the hilltop positions, killing or otherwise pinning down all of his surviving Marines. Meanwhile, the Chig transport that had landed in the plain below would be disgorging a Chig ground force that would soon begin its assault up the hill to finish off every human being they found.

If only killing them one by one was the worst the enemy had in store for them, no; as the Chigs went from body to body, they were going to utterly butcher them, rending away limbs, splaying them open, disembowel and shred them, his own body included.

It was a repugnant and gruesome compulsion, almost a ritual, one the enemy had cultivated since the earliest days of the war. The most plausible scuttlebutt on why cites how the Chigs themselves had no notions or concepts of an afterlife before encountering humans. In learning about these human beliefs in a life beyond death, the Chigs somehow interpreted them literally, believing human corpses actually had the potential to come back to life if left intact. Thus, within their cold alien logic, chopping up the bodies of dead humans was the only clear way to prevent their enemy's resurrection.

"Oh, shit; make a hole!"

The voice echoing out nearby had barely registered in West's ears when a pair of boots landed hard next to his face, the body they were attached to tumbling in a ball of flailing limbs and dust a moment later. As another hail of enemy fire pounded the rocks and ground all around, West glanced up to see Corporal Andrew Wilson as he scrambled in beside West.

"What the hell, Corporal?" burst West as he reached over, grabbing a handful of Wilson's gear and yanking him in closer to the boulder.

"Damned Chigs caught me in the middle of taking a crap, Captain," sputtered Wilson as he brought his rifle up and fired off a few rounds at a Chig fighter as it raced by overhead.

"Save your ammo," snapped West as he slapped a hand down on the back of Wilson's helmet. "Five-Nineties won't so much as chip their paint."

"We can't just sit here while they chew us to shreds, Captain," replied Wilson as he watched another Chig fighter streak by.

"Use your head, Corporal, those fighters are the least of our worries," said West as he too looked up at the fighter. "They're only here to piss us off; it's the ground troops they'll be sending up before too long that we need to worry about."

"Wish I had a SAM right about now," growled Wilson as he watched the Chig fighters coming about for another pass. "A nice heat-seeker right up their ass might make them think twice about flying that low."

"Where's the rest of your team?"

"OP twenty meters over there," replied Wilson as he pointed past a clump of boulders. "Set in with the remains of third squad."

"Then you need to find your way back over to them," said West flatly as he watched the Chig fighters line up for another run.

"Aye, Captain," sighed Wilson, shaking his head slightly.

Crouching for a moment, Wilson quickly made the sign of the cross, took a deep breath, then leapt up, weaving and bounding his way up around the cluster of boulders as the air around him was peppered by Chig fire.

For his part, West didn't have the luxury of spending any time wondering whether Wilson had made it around the other side of the boulders back to his team's OP.

Peering over the boulder he was using for cover, West looked down along the slope of the hill as best he could, the flashes of Chig weapon impacts casting barely enough light for him to make out the Chig infantry assembling near the transport below, roughly eight hundred meters away.

Snapping his rifle up to his shoulder, West aimed in and let off a short burst at the cluster of Chigoes. Before West had a chance to see whether his rounds had found their mark, however, the enemy fighters overhead let forth with yet another torrent of strafing fire that peppered the area around him.

Twisting around, startled, West stumbled, lost his footing for a moment, then felt a sharp pain in his left ankle as he collapsed back down into the dirt.

As the air and ground around him exploded from weapon impacts, West once more huddled up against the boulder as his ankle throbbed.

Glancing down, he saw no obvious wound, just felt the painful throbbing.

Chig fighters overhead, Chig ground troops preparing to assault up the hill, and now, because of one bad misstep, he'd twisted his ankle.

"Reinforced ankle support, my ass," snarled West as he pointlessly massaged his throbbing ankle through his non-issue, and expensive, boots.

Glancing over, West saw the rock he presumed he'd stepped on, and out of frustration, grabbed it and angrily hurled it away.

It was then that he caught a glimpse of his rifle.

The Chigs might have missed him, but they hadn't missed the rifle.

On the right side of his weapon, a Chig round meant for him had torn into the mechanism, rendering the weapon little more than useless.

Bad ankle and a wrecked rifle…

Even as more fire peppered the area nearby, West simply took a breath and shook his head.

"Isn't this a messed-up war?" he muttered bitterly as he tried to glance around the boulder, only to see another boulder blocking his view.

Looking back up at the night sky overhead, West caught sight of a Chig fighter as it raced by, presenting a beautiful view of its aft end.

Wilson was right; if only they had a SAM.

But wishing wasn't going to do him or his Marines any damned bit of good.

This situation was beyond the help of mere wishes.

"We need a god-damned miracle," he muttered as another Chig fighter angled in for its next strafing run.

---

Colonial Marine Recon Team
Unknown Moon

Taking in deep, rapid breaths heavy with exertion, Captain Jordan Gaines rushed up a small rise and dropped to her belly as she reached the top. As her Marines raced up on either side of her, likewise dropping to the ground as they fell on-line with her, Gaines reached down into a pouch on her gear and pulled out her night vision.

Her breathing still heavy from her team having double-timed their way the last couple of kilometers, Gaines nevertheless fought back enough control over her respiration to hold the night vision set steady as she looked out at the hill, now only a few hundred meters away.

The three craft overhead were still making their strafing runs on the area, pounding the hilltop with a withering fire.

"Everyone present and accounted for, Captain," muttered Bowman as he slid in beside Gaines.

"The locator still indicating the signal is on that hill?" asked Gaines as she continued to try and locate something, anything, through the night vision.

Pulling the locator out, Bowman turned it on.

"Strong and steady," he replied. "Range indicates it's somewhere on the summit."

Moving her gaze to the peak, Gaines eyes continued to scan the hill for signs of just what it was the strange craft overhead were firing on

But as she scanned the boulders, Gaines began to hear something else besides weapons fire echoing out through the night air.

As a slow shiver made its way along her spine, Gaines realized all too well what they were.

Screams, human screams…

Steeling herself to the cold tingle she felt across her body at the sounds of the screaming, Gaines finally caught sight of something on the hilltop. For the few brief moments between strafing runs, Gaines could see figures moving about. Dashing from boulder to boulder, the figures bounded about amid the craggy outcroppings seeking cover.

"Got movement up there," snapped Gaines as she handed the night vision over to Bowman.

While Bowman gave the hill a look, Gaines cast her eyes up at the three craft as they once more turned around for another run.

"You see them, Corporal?"

"Affirm, Captain," replied Bowman as he shifted his gaze. "Whoever they are, looks like they've dug into the defense on the high ground."

"They're keeping to cover, hard to get a handle on how many are up there," muttered Gaines as she looked back at the hilltop.

Just then, the craft overhead let forth with another punishing bombardment.

"Can't say I blame them under that kind of fire," said Bowman as he dropped the night vision away from his eyes. "Stepping out into the open would be the fastest way to meet the gods."

As the blasts lit up the night sky, the flash of light was just bright enough that Gaines thought she could see the larger craft that had landed near the base of the hill, only this time, she also thought she could see movement around the ship.

"Give me those," she muttered as she reached over and snatched the night vision back from Bowman.

Lifting them back to her eyes, Gaines looked out at the base of the slope. While whoever or whatever was occupying the hilltop were keeping largely out of sight and under cover, Gaines was able to see a large group of figures milling around the ship at the base who were doing anything but.

"I've got more movement at the base of the slope," muttered Gaines.

His ears perking up a bit, Bowman scooted forward, gazing out to try and get a view himself as weapons fire continued to light up the sky.

"Think they're with whoever's on the hilltop?"

"Doubt it," replied Gaines flatly. "Unless I miss my guess, that larger ship is some sort of transport, looks like it let out some troops down there."

Handing the night vision over to an eager Bowman, the Corporal snapped them up to his eyes as Gaines looked to either side of her at the rest of her team.

"I count maybe sixty troops," said Bowman evenly. "If they're assembling down there, they'll probably be moving up that hill once those ships overhead cease their bombardment."

Taking a deep breath Gaines returned her gaze to the embattled hilltop.

Every so often, she heard a pained scream echo out from the hilltop, punctuated by a cacophony of yelling. Even though she couldn't make out what was being said, Gaines could sense the urgency in their all-too-human-sounding shouts.

And it was really pissing her the frak off.

It was then that she realized that Bowman, indeed, every Marine in her team, was watching her intently.

"Orders, Captain?" asked Bowman expectantly as he lifted the NVGs back up to his eyes.

Looking around at her team, Gaines could practically read what was going through their minds. Taking the night vision back from Bowman, Gaines looked back out at the figures at the base of the hill.

Since they were only a few hundred meters away, far closer than the figures on the hilltop, Gaines could see them quite clearly as they waited next to the transport. They were tall, maybe two meters in height, encased head to toe in what she presumed was some sort of armor, their heads encased in a large, somewhat triangular helmet, a large projection whose function she couldn't even begin to guess at attached to the front of the torso.

As she took in what she was seeing, one thing was clear in Gaines' mind; the bodies they'd found in the desert some kilometers back had not been wearing armor or equipment even remotely similar to what the figures at the bottom of the hill were.

The bodies in the desert had been human, horrendously butchered, but still clearly kindred.

The strange figures milling about at the base of the hill felt anything but; there was something decidedly odd about them beyond just their armor, something that felt off or amiss. Although they stood upright like humans, had two arms, two legs, there was something that to Gaines' mind was decidedly inhuman about how they moved, how they carried themselves, aping human movement in such an oddly deliberate or methodically different way that it almost seemed mechanical…

Almost like a Cylon Centurion…

As this profoundly disturbing and incensing thought passed through her mind, Gaines caught a glint of light near one of the figures, the motion of an object that made her heart skip a beat.

It was a blade…

Caught in the light of a fading weapons blast, the glinting image of the curved blade instantly seared into Gaines' consciousness as the image of the butchered bodies once again flashed through her mind…

Just as another terrible, all-too-human scream echoed out from the hilltop…

In an instant, she felt flushed with rage.

And within the crucible of that rage, Gaines the slag of uncertainty fell away to reveal clear, immutable certainty.

On the top of the hill were human beings, just like her, just like the Marines under her command. On the plain below, in the aircraft overhead, were some other type of beings, creatures, not human, who would soon move onto the top of that hill and likely kill every human being they found there.

No, worse than just kill them, they would be outright butchering them without mercy, severing limbs and rending them apart as though they were slaughtering livestock.

And right there, only a few hundred meters in front of her very eyes, one of those creatures was checking to make sure its blade was honed and ready to inflict that carnage.

For Gaines, the murky and complex questions washed away, replaced by a new and burning clarity.

Dropping the night vision back away from her eyes, Gaines looked over to Bowman.

"Bring everyone in one me," she said firmly.

Nodding, Bowman quickly made his way along the line, motioning for all the Marines to fall into a circle around the Captain.

As each of them dropped in around her, Gaines glanced back over her shoulder and watched as the craft overhead began a wide circle around for yet another punishing run on the hilltop.

"What's the story, Captain?" muttered Bowman as he dropped to one knee beside the rest of the assembled Marines.

"Okay, people, I have something to say," began Gaines as she looked back at them. "Now I know you saw what happened to those bodies we found, I know it must be as much on your minds as it is on mine so I need you to listen to what I am about to say very carefully."

Taking a deep breath, she looked intently at each of them.

"Corporal Bowman?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Our orders are to find the source of the wireless beacon, are they not?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

"Now, you say the locator has triangulated the position of the beacon on the top of that hill, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay, now, here's where I need my intent to be understood, people," continued Gaines as she leaned in a little closer to the team. "As I see it, in order to accomplish our mission, we need to protect the source of that wireless beacon, do you follow me?"

"I do, Captain," replied Bowman, grinning slightly.

Looking once more around at her Marines, she saw each of them nodding as well.

"Good, now that we have an understanding, here's what we're looking at," nodded Gaines. "We've got approximately sixty troops in the open near that large wedge-shaped ship preparing to assault up the hill and three aerial targets. We still have those three SAMs handy?"

"Affirmative, Captain," answered Lance Corporal Sahn evenly as she swung her launcher around from her shoulder and cradled it in her lap.

"Good, we'll need them to even the odds a bit," muttered Gaines as she glanced over her shoulder at the hill. "Okay, here's how we'll play this; make ready all three missiles, salvo fire, take out all three craft overhead at the same time. The rest of you, get online with the missile teams, prepare to lay down some heavy suppressive fire with our light belt-feds and MGLs on those troops at the base."

"Okay, you heard the Captain," began Bowman as he popped up. "Let's get it done."

With that, her Marines quickly spread back out in a defensive line along the small dune.

As the three missile teams began preparing their weapons for launch, the remaining Marines set in a couple of belt-fed machine guns. Bowman quickly made his way along the defensive line, checking and rechecking each missile and machine gun team. Pausing on his return leg to snatch up a couple grenade launchers, Bowman made his way back over to Captain Gaines.

"Here you go, Captain," said Bowman as he handed her one of the MGLs.

Taking the weapon in hand, Gaines looked down along the line as the three missile teams took a knee and brought their launchers up onto their shoulders.

"Okay, people, we have one shot at this," she muttered. "Make sure each of you engages a separate craft. Remember; miss even one, and we'll be in world of hurt."

With that, each of the three missile teams muttered back and forth with one another until each team was clear on which craft they'd engage.

"Sahn, Obar, Chaffey, you three ready?" muttered Bowman as he looked down along the line.

"One, set."

"Two, is set."

"Three, set; let's do this."

"Prepare to fire on my mark," called Gaines as she looked down across the plain towards the hill.

Lifting the missile launchers up, each of the three teams aimed in as the craft overhead continued their wide arc back towards the hill.

Within moments, each of the gunners called out, "Target acquired."

"Backblast areas all clear," called Bowman as he looked down along the line, ensuring that none of the Marines were behind the missile launchers.

"Gun up!" called all three gunners simultaneously.

"Mr. Bowman, take those motherfrakers out of my sky!" growled Gaines evenly as she watched them angle back in for another punishing strafing run.

"Fire all!" called Bowman.

"Fire in the hole!" called all three gunners.

A moment later, Gaines heard three separate pops; the sounds of the firing motors on the missiles spinning up. A moment after that, three loud bangs echoed out through the night air as all three missiles fired, kicking up a cloud of dust behind their defensive line.

Looking up, Gaines watched as the three projectiles streaked off into the night sky, the rocket motors burning bright against the backdrop of stars as they raced off towards the three craft overhead.

"Come on," she hissed as she watched the missiles rise away.

Finally, she lost sight of the motors.

All she could see were the three craft as they continued to close in on the hilltop.

For one brief, terrible moment Gaines feared all three missiles had missed their mark, a dreadful eternity that lasted right up to the moment she saw three blinding explosions erupt in the night sky, all three craft immediately disintegrating in midair.

The ships hadn't even attempted to evade.

Three craft, three missiles, three hits.

Thank the gods; no duds.

As the smoldering wrecks fell towards the ground, spewing flames and debris, Gaines' Marines likewise erupted in cries of triumph.

As the three burning craft smashed into the desert floor in fiery wrecks, Gaines brought the night vision back to her eyes and returned her attention to the troops assembling near the craft at the base of the hill.

Through the night vision, she could see that they too were looking at the three burning wrecks that had been their air support, seemingly dumbfounded.

But not for long…

Apparently some of them had seen where the missiles had come from, or perhaps had heard the triumphant cry of her Marines. Whatever the reason, a group of the troops immediately turned and began racing towards her team's position. As they started closing in, Gaines dropped the night vision away from her eyes.

With three burning hulks casting new light across the stark battlefield, Gaines had little trouble seeing the figures making their way towards her people.

Without hesitation, Gaines snapped the MGL up to her shoulder and pulled the trigger, lobbing the first high explosive round off towards the advancing figures.

Even as the round she had launched was flying in towards her target, the entire line of Marines, taking their cue from Gaines, opened up with little short of everything they had instantly filling the air with a thunderous cannonade of rifle, light machine gun and grenade launcher fire.

As the first rounds began tearing into the first wave of advancing figures, a good number of them falling heavily to the ground under the punishing barrage, the rest of the assembled figures turned and charged towards Gaines and her Marines.

With little more than a horde now racing across the few hundred meters directly towards them, the Marines continued to pour round after round into the advancing mass of inhuman troops.

But whatever shock had been instilled by Gaines and her team's unexpected strike, the enemy seemed to recover, opening up with their own weapons as they began rapidly closing the distance. As the return fire began peppering the rocky dune where they'd set in, Gaines and her people hugged closer to the ground, dust and debris flying through the air as round after round of return fire slammed into the ground and tore through the air around them.

"Well, Captain," smiled Bowman as he lay prone in the dirt. "I think we got their attention."

---

Fox Company
Second Battalion, Twenty-Third Marines

As he sat in the dirt, hunched up against a God-forsaken boulder on this God-forsaken moon, a useless rifle cradled in his lap, Captain Nathan West began to view everything around him with a curious detachment. Because of moments like this, West occasionally found himself truly wondering how it was the human brain worked the way it did.

Glancing up over his shoulder, watching the three Chig fighters angling back in for yet another strafing run on the hilltop, West found his mind, curiously, flashing back to his childhood.

Influenced by his parents, Nathan West had never really spent much time playing 'war' like so many other boys in his affluent neighborhood. He'd frankly never seen the point of racing about pretending sticks were rifles, arguing about who had 'shot' whom.

Moreover, even at a young age he'd recognized how shamelessly cliché old war movies could be, glorifying over-the-top testosterone-fueled heroics against the backdrop of what was arguably mankind's greatest self-inflicted folly and tragedy. Worse still was the oft-overused pseudo-melodrama revolving around the lone hero, trapped and outnumbered fighting against staggering odds being rescued at that last possible second by the unexpected cavalry charge.

And always a victory accompanied by some snappy one-liner…

By every indicator of his youth, Nathan West knew he had been the type of person least likely to join the Marine Corps, and yet here he was.

His younger brother Neil had joined the Corps as well, answering the proverbial call to duty by enlisting as the brutal war with the Chigs dragged on into its second punishing year. But there had been no honor or grandeur when his brother had died, no heroics, only an utterly pointless skirmish on some other forsaken ball of dirt brought on by an inexperienced officer's near-sighted arrogance and glory-seeking.

It was with that thought passing through his mind that West glanced up to see the three Chig fighters lining up for another approach on the position he and his battered Marines were so bitterly, fatally occupying.

And as he kneeled there glaring up into the proverbial face of the enemy that would soon snuff out his life, Captain Nathan West was struck with an impulse to do something that for him was what many would describe as utterly uncharacteristic.

"Come and get me you shit-eating Chig motherfuckers," he muttered acidly as he held up his hand and extended a lone middle finger towards the three Chig fighters.

A split second later, to his utter and profound amazement, all three Chig ships exploded in midair.

Stunned, Captain Nathan West followed them with his eyes as they came crashing down to the ground in satisfying heaps of smoldering wreckage.

West then looked curiously down at his own middle finger.

The most powerful middle finger in the universe…

Shaking his head at his own stunned foolishness, West popped up to his feet, reflexively slinging his useless rifle while drawing out his sidearm and looking out at the ruined Chig fighters.

A million questions flashed through his mind…

Had some of his Marines downed the ships somehow?

No, impossible, they had no SAMs…

As his eyes began searching the skies for friendly fighters, West heard the distinct rumble of weapons fire erupt on the plain below.

Scoffing at his own stupidity, caught in his amazement at the downing of the Chig fighters, West realized he'd almost forgotten about the Chigoes assembling near the transport below. As the gunfire continued to echo up along the slope, West crouched back down behind the boulder, his eyes darting about for any sign of the enemy making their advance up the hill.

Sidearm extended, West continued to scan the area but saw no Chig infantry coming up the hill.

As the distinct thud of grenades detonating echoed up the hill, West soon realized that whatever the action was, it was not happening on the hill his Marines occupied.

Curiously indignant that he and his people were seemingly no longer in the thick of the action, West braved a few tentative steps out from cover to look onto the plain below.

A couple hundred meters away from the base of the hill, perched atop a small rocky dune, West saw the heartening muzzle flashes of distinctly non-Chig weapons blazing away, tearing into the horde of Chig ground troops that had until moments ago been preparing to assault up the hill. With the rattling staccato of machine guns echoing out through the air at little less than full auto, whoever it was occupying the small dune on the plain below was pouring a true hell-storm in on the Chigoes.

"Now who the fuck are these guys?" snapped a voice next to West.

Startled, West looked over to see Corporal Wilson standing beside him, a small group of Marines coming up hard on his heels.

Shaken from his mild shock over the profound change in events, West looked back down at the group of Chigs as they began advancing in on the dune, laying down their own withering fire that seemed to be effectively pinning down the unknown benefactors.

"Don't just stand there gawking!" snapped West as he dropped to a knee, aiming in on the Chigoes with his sidearm. "Let's kill some Chigs!"

As West began firing his semi-automatic pistol, the small group of Marines that had charged up with Corporal Wilson formed into a firing line and likewise opened up with a reinvigorated gusto.

With his Marines slowing the Chig advance on the dune with their high angle crossfire, Captain Nathan West found himself resisting an urge to charge down the hill.

Quickly slapping another magazine into his sidearm, West racked the slide and resumed firing feverishly, zealously at the Chigs below.

"This is for seventeen weeks of hell you bastards!" he cried, his finger pulling back on the trigger.

---

Marine Recon Team
Unknown Moon

Popping her head up slightly over the dune, Captain Jordan Gaines couldn't help but second-guess the wisdom of her decision to engage such a numerically superior force at close-range.

True, they'd had the incalculable element of surprise…

True, her team as well as the defenders on the hilltop now had the enemy caught in a crossfire…

But in spite of the punishing fusillade, the strange figures continued to advance on her team…

If they managed to survive, Commander Kelso was probably going to be pissed.

As the ground in front of her exploded in a cloud of dust from enemy weapon impacts; what the hell kind of weapons were they firing anyway; Gaines dropped down just far enough behind the dune to prevent her head from being torn away.

As she lay there, spitting out the bits of dust and dirt she'd gotten in her mouth, Gaines heard her wireless headset begin to crackle back to life.

"…me in Junkyard-Six…"

"This is Junkyard-Six," snapped Gaines as she slapped her hand down on the transmit button.

"Thank the gods; we were beginning to fear the worst ever since we lost wireless contact with you."

It was one of the Raptors flying overwatch.

Gaines felt nothing short of elation.

"Do you know what happened to those bogies; we just lost DRADIS track on three of them."

Braving a hesitant glance over at the three burning wrecks, Gaines couldn't help but grin a bit.

"I have an idea," she smirked, glancing over at Corporal Bowman.

Whatever had been jamming the wireless channels had apparently been destroyed along with the three craft.

And with wireless contact restored, Gaines suddenly felt empowered. Her team wasn't alone anymore, and by no means helpless. She'd already made the decision to be proactive, how much more harm could come from taking that decision one step further?

"Junkyard-Six to Deacon, is Sierra One-Zero-Five still holding on station?"

"Affirmative, Six, go ahead and go direct on this channel."

"Junkyard-Six to Sierra One-Zero-Five, do you copy?"

---

Sierra One-Zero-Five
Scimitar Gunship
Unknown Moon

Lieutenant Samantha Larson let out a long sigh of relief as she heard the sound of Captain Gaines filter in over the wireless channel. Like the Raptor crews, Larson had feared the worst when wireless contact with the Marines on the ground had been lost, and still even worse thoughts when three of the contacts they'd been tracking on DRADIS disappeared.

But now that wireless contact was restored, Larson was no small amount of relieved in spite of the unmistakable sound of gunfire evident in the background.

"That woman just refuses to die," muttered Lieutenant John Becker from the back seat of the rugged Scimitar gunship.

"She didn't on Sagittaron, why start now?" replied Larson evenly.

"Junkyard-Six to Sierra One-Zero-Five, do you copy?"

"This is Sierra One-Zero-Five, we read you Junkyard-Six," snapped Larson as she toggled the thumb switch for the wireless.

Gaines might not be dead, but from what Larson could hear in the background, the Marine Captain had at least found herself back in the middle of one hell-of-a firefight.

"Junkyard-Six to Sierra One-Zero-Five, I need a CAS mission ASAP."

Her heart skipping a beat, Larson focused in her attention more intently.

"Go ahead with mission order, Junkyard-Six," replied Larson as she glanced back at Becker, receiving a nod from him indicating that he too was paying close attention.

"I need direct fire support four hundred meters North-Northwest of my current position. Target; one large aircraft on the ground and troops in the open advancing on our position. Do you copy?"

"Copy, Junkyard-Six," replied Larson as she again looked back over her shoulder. "Becker?"

"Bringing up eye-in-the-sky now," replied the Weapons Officer as he toggled a few switches on his console.

Reaching over to her own panel, Larson toggled the switch that engaged the forward canopy's large light-enhanced HUD.

"Okay, I've triangulated our peoples' position," called Becker.

"What about the target?"

"I think I've got it."

"You think or you do?"

"Take us in lower, I should be able to get better target discrimination on the IR."

"Copy that," replied Larson flatly as she banked the Scimitar into a steep dive.

After a few seconds, Larson again leveled the nimble craft out and began a wide circle.

"Sierra One-Zero-Five to Junkyard-Six, verify one turkey on deck and troops in the open advancing from the base of that hill?" said Becker.

"That's affirmative Sierra One-Zero-Five, do you have the target?"

"Beautiful as can be," muttered Becker. "Okay, Sam, I'm switching my feed to your HUD."

Looking up through the canopy, Larson watched as the HUD slaved to the targeting computer began highlighting the craft and several dozen figures in the open plain between Gaines' team and the hill.

"Couldn't make it easier if they were standing still," muttered Larson as she absently licked her lips a bit. "Okay, Junkyard-Six, we see your bad guys, what about the signatures on the actual hilltop?"

"Negative Sierra One-Zero-Five, believe occupiers of the high ground to be friendlies."

"Copy that, Six," muttered Larson she brought the Scimitar around on a wide turn towards the optimal attack angle. "Junkyard-Six, this is Sierra One-Zero-Five, we've acquired target, rolling into position, coming in high from the West at your nine o'clock."

"Be advised, Sierra, we are in serious danger of being overrun, we really need you to make this pass count," replied Gaines, the distinct rumble of heavy weapons fire echoing in the background. "Strafing isn't going to cut it, we need some heavy ordnance on target ASAP."

"Negative, Six," countered Larson. "We drop the frag munitions this close to your position…"

"If you don't drop them, we won't have a position!" snapped Gaines, the distinct din of rifles and belt-fed weapons firing at the rapid rate echoing in the background. "On my authorization, drop everything you have, danger close, I say again, danger close!"

"Frak," muttered Larson bitterly as she looked up at the targets on the HUD. "Okay, you heard the lady, Becker, think we can put our rounds on the spot?"

"Margin for error is pretty tight," replied Becker evenly. "The advance element is barely a hundred meters from our own people."

"Then you'd better not miss the bullseye," smiled Larson as nosed the Scimitar into the attack run. "Sierra One-Zero-Five to Six, be advised, we can comply but this could be a little rough for your people."

"We're already hugging the deck pretty close, Sierra One-Zero-Five," replied Gaines flatly.

Licking her lips slightly again, Larson pushed the Scimitar's throttles forward a bit.

"Okay, Six, be advised, we're in the glide path, pouring on the speed."

"Copy that, Sierra One-Zero-Five," replied Gaines. "Bring the rain."

Smiling a bit, Larson steadied the Scimitar into the perfect glide path for the targets on the open plain.

"Okay, let's do this; Becker?"

"Master arm is active, cleared hot for engagement."

As she watched the targets continue to rise up towards her on the forward HUD, the ship on the ground and the mass of troops as clear to her through the light enhancement as if it were mid-day, Larson gently gripped her fingers around the control stick, moving her thumb in over the trigger.

"This is Sierra One-Zero-Five, targets acquired, weapons free, committing."

Pressing her finger down hard over the trigger, Larson throttled up a bit more to steady the ship as the chin-mounted auto-cannon erupted to life.

As the heavy rounds tore through the ship and then through the formation of troops on the ground, Larson held the ship steady as the desert plain streaked by below. A moment later, she felt the stout gunship rock slightly as the underslung ordnance dropped free.

"Weapons away," called Becker. "Get some altitude unless you want some frag up our own ass."

Pulling back hard on the stick, Larson felt the pressure of the mounting G's press her back against her seat as she pointed the nose skyward.

---

Fox Company
Second Battalion, Twenty-Third Marines

As the events around the hill continued to unfold, Captain Nathan West couldn't help but truly wonder just what the hell was going on.

First, the Chig fighters had pinned down his few surviving Marines on the hilltop, softening them up for what he'd been certain would be their last firefight.

Then, as he'd watched the three Chig fighters angle in for what would have been another punishing strafing run on their position, persons-unknown had blown the three craft from the sky.

And now with a full-on firefight taking place on the plain below, West began to hear the unmistakable rumble of engines in the dark skies above.

At first he wondered whether some other Chig craft was about to drop a world of hurt down upon them.

But as he continued to peer out into the darkness, West began to doubt that assessment.

The rumble, whatever it was, didn't sound like anything the Chigs had.

As he continued to search the night sky for the source of the rumble, West caught sight of two faint lights streaking across the sky.

No, not just lights; they were engine contrails; a ship!

Even as that thought registered in his mind, the night air erupted with a new, thunderous drone.

Startled, West stumbled back as the sound of heavy rounds tearing into the Chig transport and then impacting hard dirt and rock echoed out across the hilltop, followed moments later by the thundering rumble of explosions. As a series of hard concussive thumps and bright flashes of light burned out into the night sky, West watched as a veritable sea of fire and a hailstorm of racing red-hot frag engulfed the plain below and all the Chigs with it.

Still half expecting some horrendous hail of rounds to rip the last shreds of life from him, West was surprised when he instead heard his Marines let out an exalted cry that echoed across the hilltop.

As the light of the devastating explosions below faded, West saw that the craft, wherever the beautiful son-of-a-bitch had come from, had completely ripped the entire Chig position apart. The transport itself lay shattered in several smoldering heaps while scattered across the plain nearby were the torn, shredded, in some cases still-twitching, but in most cases thoroughly charred bodies of the Chig ground troops, the mangled figures strewn about like so many broken toys.

"Yeah, payback motherfuckers!" growled Corporal Wilson as he practically jumped up on top of a boulder.

Looking up, West smiled as he caught sight of the retreating afterburners of the craft that now owned all of his worldly devotion as it rose once again skyward.

---

Marine Recon Team
Unknown Moon

Her head pounding a bit, Captain Jordan Gaines felt the distinct taste of dirt in her mouth as she struggled back to consciousness.

"Bowman," she growled as she spit the dirt from her mouth and pushed herself up onto her knees.

Picking up her MGL, Gaines looked out onto the devastated plain in front of her. Groggy and a little disoriented, she felt like she was trying to think through mud. Nevertheless, she still retained enough awareness to know that there might still be a few enemy survivors out there.

"Bowman!" called Gaines again, this time a touch more forcefully.

"Still here," coughed Bowman as he too slowly crawled forward, coming up next to Gaines on top of the dune. "Barely."

"Bit closer than I was expecting," sighed Gaines as she checked her rifle, her head continuing to clear.

"Probably why they included the word 'danger' in danger close, Captain," said Bowman as he reached over and grabbed hold of the MGL lying on the ground beside him.

Looking around, Gaines could see the rest of her Marines lying about on the ground as the dust cloud surrounding them continued to clear up. From the looks of them, like her, they'd been stunned by the heavy concussion of the blasts from the ordnance dropped by the Scimitar.

Forcing herself to her feet, Gaines took a deep breath, then stepped off to check on the rest of the team.

"Hey, you okay?" asked Gaines time and again as she stepped from Marine to Marine.

Most were coughing, a few were clearly dazed, a few could only muster themselves enough to give her a thumbs-up as they peeled themselves from the ground, but at least they were all alive and moving. As each of them slowly pulled themselves back together onto the firing line, weapons in hand, Gaines began making her way back over to Bowman.

By the time she reached him, Bowman seemed to have more or less recovered and was busily scanning the plain for any signs of movement. Dropping back down beside him, Gaines pulled her night vision set back out and looked out through them.

"Hope we never have to do that again," sighed Gaines as she watched for any signs of movement along the plain.

"No argument here, Captain, one more jolt to the system like that, and I'll have to think about mustering out," said Bowman as he continued to look out across at the devastation.

"Too bad for you the Commander instituted a stop-loss," sighed Gaines as she continued to survey the area through the night vision.

Bowman simply chuckled.

After several tense moments of scanning over the devastated plain, Gaines handed the night vision over to Bowman.

"On the bright side, looks like that pass managed to take out both the ship as well as the entire formation," said Gaines as she pulled out her canteen, took a swig of water, swished it around in her mouth, then spit out the remaining amount of dirt and grit.

"Another glorious chapter in the annals of our beloved Colonial Marine Corps," chuckled Bowman as he focused his attention on the hill.

"You see anything on the hill?"

"Looks like the survivors are getting ready to make their way down now," replied Bowman as he handed the night vision back to Gaines. "Whoever they are, they'll probably be coming our way in short order."

"Corporal Bowman, go ahead and get me an ammo check," said Gaines as she watched the activity on the hill.

While Bowman stepped away to take care of the Captain's order, Gaines continued to watch as a couple dozen figures made their way down the hill. Most moved on their own, a few were being aided by others, carried really, but they nevertheless joined up in a group at the base of the hill they'd only minutes before been trapped upon.

"Junkyard-Six, this is Sierra One-Zero-Five, do you read?"

It was the Scimitar.

Reaching up, Gaines pressed down on the transmit button for her wireless set.

"This is Six, go ahead Sierra One-Zero-Five."

"Good to hear your voice," replied the Scimitar pilot, the relief evident in your voice. "When you didn't call in your BDA, I was afraid you'd been caught in the blast."

"Close but not quite," chuckled Gaines as she glanced over at her Marines. "As for the strike, you put it right on the bullseye; one hundred percent effective. That makes two we owe you now, doesn't it?"

"By our count as well," chuckled the pilot. "A round of Ambrosia for my Weaps-O and I should settle the account."

"I'll see what I can do when we get back to Galactica," replied Gaines evenly as she looked back out onto the plain. "Go ahead and pull back onto station to our South for the time being."

"Copy that, Six, Sierra One-Zero-Five, out."

As Gaines again lifted the night vision back to her eyes, she could see that the figures that had come down off the hill were still holding their position at the base.

No doubt they were curious as to whom it was that had just ripped up the local real estate as Gaines and her Marines were about them.

"Junkyard-Six, Junkyard-Six, this is Deacon."

Reaching down, Gaines again toggled the wireless transmit button.

"Send it, Deacon."

"Be advised, we have reestablished contact with Galactica; Actual is requesting position and situation."

"Relay to Galactica-Actual our position and action to date, advise him that we are still trying to ascertain final disposition on the source of the wireless beacon."

"Copy that Junkyard-Six, will relay per instruction."

"That answer's not going to hold the Commander for long, Captain," muttered Corporal Bowman as he stepped up, the hand cupped over his ear indicating he'd been listening to the wireless transmission. "Something tells me he's not going to just wait patiently once he learns how much ordnance we just unloaded on this rock."

Looking back over at the cluster of figures at the base of the hill, Gaines let out a long sigh.

"Well, since he's going to want to know why, probably be best if we completed the mission he sent us down here for, and I'm betting those survivors have some of the answers we were sent down to this forsaken rock to find."

---

Fox Company
Second Battalion, Twenty-Third Marines

"Team leaders, get me a head count," called West as he slung his useless rifle over his shoulder. "Don't want to leave anyone behind."

"Are we abandoning our position, Captain?" asked Corporal Wilson as he stepped over and offered up a rifle magazine to West.

Waving off the offered magazine, motioning towards the damage to his weapon's action, West began nodding his head.

"We'd have to be pretty damned foolish to stick around here, Wilson," muttered West as he pulled his sidearm back out, checked the ammo in his last magazine, then slipped it back into its holster. "Three Chig fighters downed, one transport smashed and around sixty of their ground troops spooged across the ground; you can bet your ass the Chigoes will be back here before long looking for payback."

"About that, Captain; who the hell downed those fighters in the first place?" asked Lance Corporal Bishop, another of the team leaders as he stepped up. "We sure as hell didn't shoot 'em down."

"It was probably those troops we saw tearing up the Chigs from that dune over there," said Corporal Wilson as he motioned over at the small rise a couple hundred meters away.

"But what about that plane that ripped up the Chigs on the ground?" chimed in yet another Marine, Lance Corporal Roberts. "I didn't think anyone in IFOR had anything like that."

"Alright, lock it up, this isn't a town hall meeting," snapped West as he looked out across the barren landscape. "Check your gear, get the wounded ready and prepare to move out."

Whether it was their trained obedience to orders, or the curt tone of West's voice, the surviving Marines nevertheless complied. Collecting up their weapons and gear, they formed up into a hasty defense while they tightened up the straps on their packs, reloaded weapons and helped the injured get ready to move.

As he stood there in the center of the muted activity, West looked out towards the dune again. While he'd been quick to snap his people back to the task of preparing to leave the area, West himself was no less curious, even confounded by the events which had just unfolded.

With an eerie hush settling in over the area, West wondered just who it was that had been firing from the dune. Had they survived the air strike?

Questions, so many questions, and far too little time to answer them.

West knew all too well it wouldn't be long before Chig reinforcements arrived in the area to discern the fate of their comrades. Time was ticking, and all West knew for certain was that they didn't want to be there when the Chigs showed back up.

"Everyone's assembled and ready to move on your order, Captain," said Corporal Wilson as he stepped back over to West.

Taking a deep breath, West continued to scan his eyes in the direction of the dune.

"We'll head out that direction," said West as he pointed out across towards the dune. "With a little luck, maybe we can link up with whoever it is up on the dune. If not, there's a ravine about ten clicks from here we might be able to hole up in, could provide some cover from aerial observation."

"Understood," replied Wilson simply as he motioned for the other Marines to start moving into formation.

"Okay people, we're getting out of here," sighed West as he turned back to his weary Marines. "You know the drill; staggered column; since we have no night vision left, try and keep it tight, but stay alert. I want eyes and muzzles outboard, wounded at the center."

As the Marines shuffled into formation, West turned back towards the dune and pulled his sidearm back out.

With West in the lead, the surviving Marines of Fox Two-Twenty-Three set out from the base of the hill towards the dune.

While having their last surviving officer in the lead was contrary to just about every SOP in the book, West had always considered himself more an officer by default, not design; even now he refused to think of any of the Marines around him as any more expendable than he was. Besides, whomever it was up on that dune that had torn up the Chigs and saved their asses, he wanted to be first to meet them so he could shake their hand.

Making their way forward, West nevertheless had difficulty making out shapes in the stifling darkness. Even though the main planet the moon orbited, known simply and unglamorously by IFOR Intel as Gorgon-One-One-Three-Eight-Charlie, was high overhead casting its dull light down upon this miserable stretch of desert, it was still very difficult to discern much against the volcanic rocks that made up the majority of the surface.

But what West and the Marines could see both awed and grimly delighted them; all around the area, the shredded and cooked bodies of the Chigs wiped out in the air strike littered the area.

With weapons ready, they continued on past the bodies, sometimes just parts of bodies, thankful that for once someone had dropped a world of hurt on the enemy instead of them, but nevertheless keenly aware that they still had no idea of just who their rescuers were.

His sidearm in hand, West was stepping past yet another Chig when it suddenly lashed out with one hand and clutched onto his ankle.

In a whirl of movement, West let out a cry, first trying to yank his leg free from the Chig's grip, then mustering himself into a devastating kick with the other that knocked the Chig back, freeing him from its grip. Then, in adrenaline-fueled reflex, West snapped his sidearm up and put three rounds center mass on the Chig's head.

With a sickly gurgling sound, it ceased moving.

Giving the corpse one more derisive, angry kick, West then stepped back and took a couple deep, steadying breaths.

After a few moments, West looked back over at his waiting Marines and motioned for them to once again start moving towards the dune.

A little warier of the next couple Chig bodies he passed, even the ones that had limbs blown clean off, West nevertheless continued forward towards the dune.

Glancing up at the dune every so often, West still couldn't see anything significant ahead, not even with the flickering fire from the shattered Chig craft or the planet overhead casting its dull light.

But what he couldn't see, West soon realized, he could hear.

Reflexively bringing his sidearm up a little, he listened in more intently, trying to discern between what might be the sound of the Marines moving behind him, and what might still be lurking out ahead of them.

And that was when he heard it.

Low, unintelligible, but also unmistakable; a voice.

No, a couple voices.

Chigs didn't talk, at least, he'd never heard them talk, not like humans did anyway; simply used that God-damned clicking-choking-gurgling sound.

AI's sometimes talked, but they also had a telltale electronic chirp from their wireless modems to give them away.

Straining to listen, West heard neither.

But he didn't relax his posture any either.

Nathan West liked to think he'd survived the war thus far through his merits, or at least, by not being overtly stupid.

Glancing back over his shoulder, West could see by the expressions of the Marines directly behind him that they too could hear the voices up ahead. Moreover, a few seemed to be reflexively pointing their weapons towards the voices, uncertainty creasing their worn features.

Perhaps they were being just a bit jumpy, but after weeks of intermittent close-quarters combat and near-constant retreat he couldn't fault them for that. Someone using equipment with which they were unfamiliar had just blasted three Chig fighters, an accompanying transport and over five dozen enemy infantry right to hell.

Anyone worth their salt on the battlefield would tell you that was no small feat.

And anyone who killed the enemy on such a scale was owed no small favor.

But considering everything else that had taken place during the war, the disappointments and deceptions, they couldn't afford to just take it for granted that anyone up ahead was a friendly by default.

Assumptions had filled a lot of body-bags in the past.

Looking back out towards the dune, West took another step forward and then suddenly felt his heart rate skyrocket.

Against the vague outline of the volcanic horizon, he could see the outline of several figures on top of the dune.

Throwing up his hand, West brought the formation to a halt.

"Corporal Wilson?" he whispered, his eyes not leaving the outline of the figures up ahead.

"Captain?" asked Wilson simply as he stepped up beside West, his eyes likewise locked on the figures up ahead.

"Everyone take a knee, hold here, I'm going to check up ahead," said West evenly as he watched a couple of the figures move along the dune.

"Maybe I should go, Captain," offered Wilson as he slowly brought the muzzle of his rifle up.

"You heard me, Corporal," said West simply as he slowly reached out and pushed Wilson's muzzle back down. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, swing wide of that dune and make for the ravine."

"Aye, Captain."

As Corporal Wilson and the rest of his Marines kneeled in place, West began flexing his fingers around the grip of the sidearm as he continued making his way towards the dune.

With each tentative step, West made his way forward. His eyes still locked on the shadows, West realized that while most of the figures on the top of the dune were still holding their place, two of the figures had begun slowly making their way towards him.

"Okay, whoever you are, I'm all alone," he whispered, his boots crunching on the small rocks that littered the ground.

Before long, the two figures that had come down off the dune towards West had moved in close enough that West could hear their boots crunching on the ground as well, but still not close enough for him to make out any features.

Chigs?

A.I.'s?

His flippin' imagination?

Pausing, West slowly lifted the muzzle of his sidearm

"Halt and identify yourself!" he said evenly as he aimed in center mass on one of the figures.

Both instantly stopped.

"I said identify yourself immediately or I will open fire!"

Nothing.

"Captain!"

It was Wilson.

"Hold your position, Corporal," snapped West as he continued to look out at the figures in the darkness ahead.

"Understood!" replied Wilson warily.

For a few tense moments, West kept his eyes and the muzzle of his sidearm on the figures. He could hear them whispering but couldn't make out what they were saying. And then, he heard the sound of crunching footsteps begin again; one of the figures was coming closer.

"Don't move," he growled, his unwavering aim directly center mass.

But the figure didn't stop.

"I said halt!"

Then, through the darkness, West saw a flash of red light.

But it was not directed at him.

In the low red light, West instead saw a face staring back at him.

Standing perfectly still only a few meters in front away was a woman in combat gear with a flashlight shining directly onto her own face.

"Name, rank, unit ident, now!" warned West, his aim never wavering.

Slowly, the woman began shaking her head slightly, an almost perplexed look on her face.

Damn, just what West needed; a language barrier.

---

Marine Recon Team
Unknown Moon

Captain Jordan Gaines stood there, heart racing, her flashlight aimed squarely on her own face, desperate to show the visibly tired, worn and suspicious man with a sizeable pistol aimed at her that she meant him no harm.

Of course, it didn't help that she couldn't understand a single word coming out of his mouth.

True, Corporal Bowman was only a few meters behind her, doubtless with rifle at the ready, more than prepared to rip the man in front of her apart if he did anything crazy, still Gaines wasn't very keen on the idea of dying today, not when she felt she was close to finding the source of the wireless signal they'd come to find.

Once again, the man screamed out at her.

Slowly, Gaines shook her head.

How the hell could she get this man to understand when she couldn't talk to him?

Taking a deep breath, Gaines slowly held out her hand.

The man twitched a bit, but nevertheless simply watched Gaines as she slowly brought her hand up to her own collar.

Very carefully, Gaines pulled her uniform shirt collar out from underneath her body armor, gently slipping her fingers in around the rank pin fastened to it. Tilting her flashlight slightly, Gaines held the collar and pin so the light shone down upon it.

"I am Captain Jordan Gaines," she said slowly.

The man simply stood there for a moment, looking at her, then at her collar.

She felt a bit foolish, but it was the only way she could think of to try and establish some sort of understanding.

"Captain," said Gaines, gently tapping the collar pin as she did so.

Gaines then gently tapped her other hand against her own chest.

"Jordan Gaines."

For a moment, Gaines truly wondered if she was getting through in any way.

Then, to her profound relief, the man slowly began lowering his pistol, straightening up, relaxing his posture. Then, taking a deep breath, the man gently nodded his head.

As the man continued to lower the muzzle of his weapon, he too slowly reached up, and like Gaines, reached in under his body armor, pulled out his collar, and held up what Gaines presumed was his own rank pin.

"Captain," said the man.

Then, as Gaines had done, the man then tapped his hand against his own chest.

"Nathan West."

Nodding her head, Gaines smiled a bit.

Now what?

Clearing her throat, Gaines motioned with her head back over her shoulder.

"Over there," she began. "I have twelve more people."

To emphasize, or more accurately, to try and convey what it was she was trying to say, Gaines pointed over her shoulder, then held up all ten of her fingers, then two fingers, then pointed back over her shoulder again.

"We," she continued, making an exaggerated circular motion over her shoulder. "We shot down the ships from overhead."

Gaines then pointed to the sky, and as ridiculous as she felt, went 'boom, boom, boom' at the sky.

Thankfully, the man seemed to understand, gently nodding.

Relaxing his posture even more, the man stepped forward, and slowly extended his hand to Gaines.

This, Gaines felt, she understood.

Taking hold of the man's hand, Gaines gave it a firm couple of shakes.

"Thanks," said the man.

Though she didn't understand the word itself, Gaines thought she at least understood the sentiment.

"You're welcome," smiled Gaines.

---

Fox Company
Second Battalion, Twenty-Third Marines

"I was getting worried, Captain," muttered Corporal Wilson as he let out a long, relieved sigh.

He had only just gotten back up on his feet when Wilson realized that Captain West wasn't alone.

Reflexively snapping his rifle up, Wilson dropped back down to one knee.

"Stand down, Corporal!" snapped West, throwing up a hand. "These people were the ones who took out the Chigoes for us."

"Well, fuck, too bad we don't have some hooch on this rock," muttered Corporal Wilson as he slowly stood back up. "Taking out that many Chigs deserves a drink or three."

Then, as the thirteen other figures accompanying West stepped even closer, Wilson gave them a quick look over.

"What unit are you guys from?" asked Wilson, unable to recognize their uniforms.

Taking a deep breath, West looked back over his shoulder at the new arrivals.

"Save it, Wilson," he said evenly. "We've apparently got ourselves a bit of a language barrier."

At that, Wilson began gently shaking his head.

"Shit can never be simple, can it, Captain?" he said simply.

"Murphy's Law, Marine," huffed West as he continued to eye their unexpected visitors. For his part, West didn't have any more idea who they were than Wilson, their uniforms and insignia were from no IFOR nation he'd ever encountered, and he'd served alongside troops from almost every nation in the United Nations unified command.

Nevertheless, from the sheer number of Chig bodies lying about the area, he had to admit they did seem to know their business when it came to combat.

Even now, as his own Marines waited, tired and ragged, little more than gaggling about in a loose perimeter, these guys had spread themselves into a tight defensive circle and were diligently scanning the surrounding the area with their eyes.

Looking over, West saw the woman who'd made contact with him, Gaines if he'd heard her correctly, talking to what West presumed was one of her subordinates. After a few moments, the man she'd been talking to nodded his head and stepped away, going around to each of the other members of the Gaines' team.

Within moments, the man stepped back over to Gaines carrying a duffel bag, handing it over to the woman. Gaines then stepped over to West, smiled, then motioned over at West's exhausted Marines. Gaines then pointed over at another person in her team, a young woman wearing an armband, then back over at some of West's wounded Marines. While West may not have been able to speak their language, he felt he understood the meaning behind the simple red cross on the woman's armband.

A medic.

West nodded.

With that, the woman with the armband snatched up a pack and made her way over to West's wounded, immediately setting about the task of looking over their injuries.

As the medic worked, Gaines stepped up to West and extended to him the bag she'd been given by the subordinate. As West took hold of it, Gaines handed him a flashlight and nodded for him to look inside.

Casting the light down into the bag, West saw a small pile of what looked like canteens inside the bag. Glancing up, West saw Gaines making a tilting motion with her hand and understood.

They were indeed canteens.

Nodding gratefully, West handed her back the flashlight as he took a firmer hold on the bag.

"Wilson, get your butt over here," said West as turned back to his Marines.

As Wilson stepped up, West handed the bag over to him.

"Canteens; spread them around."

"Aye, Captain," replied Wilson enthusiastically as he reached inside and pulled one out.

As West watched Wilson step away to begin handing out the collection of canteens, Gaines pulled a small electronic device from her gear and held it up for West to see.

As West looked down at the device, Gaines held it up, pointing at the small display screen, then up at the hill they'd been defending.

For a moment, perplexed, West simply looked at Gaines, shaking his head slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Gaines motioned over at her team, then at the display again, then began moving the small device around a bit, making of all things a ridiculous 'beeping' noise as she did so.

"It's a locator?" muttered West, nodding his head slightly, then snapping his fingers. "Damn, that's right; the ELB."

Quickly patting down several of the pouches on his gear, West found, then pulled out the Emergency Locator Beacon he was carrying. With a slight grimace, he realized that the device was already turned on.

"Damn, that must be how the Chigs found us," he groaned, shaking his head slightly over not having figured out as much sooner.

Nevertheless, he held up the ELB to the device in Gaines' hand, the woman turning on her own device, the display practically squealing as she did so. As both Gaines and West looked down at the indicator on the screen, they saw that it was indeed pointing directly at the ELB.

Nodding her head, Gaines then put her locator device back in one of her pockets.

"Well, now we know how you found us," sighed West as he stood there looking at his proverbial counterpart. "Now what?"

---

Marine Recon Team
Unknown Moon

Captain Gaines took a deep, slightly satisfying breath.

While direct communication with the man, apparently named West if she'd heard him correctly, was still, at best, being made in baby steps, Gaines was starting to feel somewhat hopeful.

"What's the story, Captain?" asked Bowman as he stepped up beside Gaines.

"Well, that device he has is definitely the source of the wireless signal we picked up," said Gaines as she glanced over at Corporal Peters, the medic herself still engrossed in assessing the wounded. "I guess you can call that a 'mission accomplished'."

"But the million credit question becomes 'what now'?" countered Bowman as he casually looked out towards the horizon.

"Well, at least we're not shooting at one another," sighed Gaines, grinning a bit. "That's a start, I suppose."

As Bowman chuckled a bit, Gaines heard her wireless headset crackle to life.

"Junkyard-Six, Junkyard-Six; this is Galactica-Actual."

Glancing at one another, Gaines and Bowman both took in a deep breath.

"He doesn't sound happy," muttered Bowman.

Motioning with her head for Bowman to step away, Gaines took another deep breath, hesitating for a moment. While it was arguable that she had in fact accomplished the mission the Commander had sent them down on, indeed, accomplished it with zero casualties, Gaines couldn't help but feel as though the other proverbial shoe was about to drop on her. As ridiculous as it might have seemed, Gaines almost felt like a child who knew they were in deep trouble.

Tentatively reaching her hand up, as much to keep from making sudden movements in front of the still visibly cagey West, Gaines pressed down on the wireless transmit button.

"This is Junyard-Six," began Gaines, forcing a calm into her voice she did not actually feel. "Go ahead, Galactica-Actual."

"Junkyard-Six, what is your current status?" asked Commander Kelso evenly.

"Our status, sir?" asked Gaines almost coyly as she looked over at West and his beleaguered troops.

"Affirmative, Junkyard-Six, your current status," replied the Commander firmly. "I sent you down there on a recon run to locate the source of a wireless signal. Now I'm being told that you called Sierra One-Zero-Five in on a CAS run. While I'll try and reserve judgment for the moment, I would at least appreciate the courtesy of being brought into the loop on exactly what it was you had blasted to hell."

A firm, even tone; long, precise grammar.

Yeah, Gaines felt like a kid in trouble.

Time to play her high card.

"First and foremost, Actual, I'm pleased to report we're located the source of the wireless signal," grinned Gaines as she stood looking at West and his troops.

"And what did you find; what's down there?"

"Short answer, sir?"

"Very short, Junkyard-Six."

"Approximately three dozen survivors, sir," replied Gaines flatly, grinning a bit.

There was a long pause.

"What do you mean by 'survivors', Junkyard-Six?" asked Kelso, the edge ebbing from his tone.

"We have made contact with thirty-three human soldiers here on the surface, sir."

Again, another long pause.

"Did you copy my last, Actual?" asked Gaines lightly, her initial hesitation having dissolved into light amusement over the muted reaction she was now getting from the Commander.

"Actual copies, Six, you've located human survivors," replied Commander Kelso, letting out what she clearly recognized as an almost resigned sigh. "What would you like to do next?"

"Well, sir, if I may suggest, we should evacuate them up from the surface," began Gaines as she once more looked over at the surviving soldiers. "They have wounded needing medical attention, and judging by the looks of them, I'd guess they've been trapped down here for some time, been through some pretty heavy action."

"You want to bring them up to here…to Galactica?"

"Affirmative, sir," replied Gaines evenly. "Like you said, you sent my team and I down here on a recon mission, to find some answers. With respect, doesn't the Commander think it would be easier getting those answers from living survivors instead of wreckage?"

"Point taken," sighed Commander Kelso evenly. "How many extra birds do you need for a full extraction?"

"The two Raptors we have on station will be able to bring my team back up, but we could use five more for the rest of this group, and some more medics as well to treat them while we transit back up to Galactica."

"You've got 'em," replied Kelso flatly. "Expect them to be on the deck in approximately thirty mikes."

"Copy that, Actual," smiled Gaines, feeling very much pleased with herself.

"But, you'd better be prepared to give me one hell-of-a detailed after-action report when your boots are back on the deck," continued Kelso, the slightest edge, however veiled, slipping back into his tone. "Is that understood?"

"Copy that, Actual."

As the wireless channel closed, Gaines looked over at Bowman, a coy smile creasing his lips.

"You look like you've got something to say, Bowman," said Gaines evenly.

"Just couldn't help but notice you didn't mention our little 'communication barrier' to the Commander, Captain," said Bowman evenly.

"Like the Commander himself always says, 'we'll take this one step at a time'," countered Gaines evenly as her team's medic, Corporal Jenna Peters stepped back over from assessing the wounded.

"What's the story, doc?"

"Two serious GSW's, one to the shoulder, one in the abdomen, missed the liver but he's gonna need surgery, and soon," began Peters as she glanced back over at the tired men. "I've dressed their wounds, but we really need to get some evac birds down here."

"Already on the way; what about the rest?"

"Abrasions, superficial lacs mostly, dehydration, some early stage malnutrition," finished Peters. "Rationing aside, I don't think there's a one of them who's had as much to eat in a month as we get in a single meal."

"Alright, good work, Peters," sighed Gaines as she looked back over at West. "Keep an eye on the worst off till the evac Raptors get here."

"Aye, Captain."

As Peters stepped back over to continue tending to the wounded, Gaines stepped closer to West.

---

Fox Company
Second Battalion, Twenty-Third Marines

Captain Nathan West had simply stood there while the Gaines carried on her conversation with the female medic.

While he still didn't understand a word of what they were saying, West presumed it was simply a field report on the status of the wounded. As the medic stepped back over to continue tending to his injured Marines, Gaines slowly stepped back up to West.

As she stepped up to him, Gaines smiled, then pointed at the earpiece wrapped around her right ear. She then pointed at her collar, and then up at the stars overhead.

Rudimentary as the communication was, West thought he was getting the gist of what Gaines was trying to convey.

She'd spoken with her CO.

She then made a motion with her hands, starting with them lying flat, palm down above her head and then slowly moving them down as she made a whistling sound.

West mimicked the movement, nodding his head; Gaines had called in some ships.

West in turn pointed over at his Marines.

The young woman nodded, making a wide motion with her hands towards all of them, then began making the whistling sound once more as she moved her flat hand up, then pointed towards the stars overhead.

"What's going on, Captain?" asked Corporal Wilson as he stepped up beside West.

"Well, unless I'm way off in my understanding, they're gonna take us off this rock," replied West evenly.

"What, there's a ship in orbit?"

"That would be my guess, otherwise, how did they get here?" muttered West somewhat sarcastically. "They look way too clean and well fed to have been here as long as we have."

Nodding his head, Wilson let out a long, tired breath as he turned and made his way back over to his fire team, flopping down on the ground beside them as they passed him one of the canteens.

Looking back over at Gaines, West smiled.

Small talk was hard when you only had rudimentary hand gestures and improvised sound effects as the basis for getting a message across.

But as West stood there, Gaines motioned over towards her own team. Following Gaines' gesture, West watched as she then pointed over at his own tired Marines, making a wide circular motion.

Gaines wanted to put her people in a perimeter around West's Marines.

West took a deep breath while he considered it.

United States Marines didn't generally like asking for 'help'; a bit of collective service pride.

Nevertheless, facts were facts; his people were worn, ragged, bloodied and nearly out of ammo. Gaines' people were fresh, rested and most decidedly well armed; three downed fighters, a shattered transport and sixty dead Chigoe infantry left little doubt of that.

West nodded his head.

Snapping her fingers, Gaines looked back over at her subordinate, said a few quick words and motioned for her people to form up into a loose circle around West's people.

With Gaines' people settling in around the area, West began making his way around to his Marines. He mostly chatted it up with them, traded a few jokes, even a few dreadful ones he hadn't heard before. But through it all, by their tones, by their demeanor, there was an undercurrent of suspicion he detected from them.

After two years of brutal warfare, outright trust was a hard-earned commodity.

Such overt helpfulness on the part of Gaines and her people left his Marines paradoxically wary, especially when they dressed, were armed and were supported by craft with which they had absolutely no familiarity.

Truth be told, West wasn't entirely comfortable himself, especially considering the language barrier. But since his only options seemed to be either trusting in Gaines and her goodwill or staying on this forsaken rock and eventually being hunted down by the Chigs, West was willing to make a leap of faith for the sake of the men under his command

As West was finishing with checking up on his two wounded Marines, Private Jackson and Lance Corporal O'Malley, he began hearing a low rumble from overhead.

His heart skipping a beat, West's hand snapped to his holstered sidearm as his eyes began scanning the sky.

It was then that Gaines stepped back over to him, pointing first towards the rumble overhead and then patting her own chest.

Okay; whatever was coming down belonged to Gaines.

Nodding his head, West relaxed a bit, his eyes nevertheless continuing to search overhead for the source of the rumble. After a few moments more, seven small ships similar to the one he'd seen tear up the Chigs settled down on the ground nearby.

Almost as soon as the ships touched the ground, hatches on the side opened up, disgorging half a dozen more personnel dressed similarly to Gaines and her people, each one with an armband similar to Gaines' medic. At Gaines' direction, the new arrivals made their way quickly over to West's wounded Marines, lowering a couple stretchers to the deck and quickly moving the wounded Marines onto them.

As West watched his wounded get loaded onto the stretchers, Gaines stepped back up to him. Looking over, West watched as Gaines motioned for him to gather up his Marines and begin moving them over to the ships.

West nodded.

"Alright Marines, time to get the hell off this rock," snapped West as he began motioning for him to people to get to their feet.

"Captain, can I talk to you for a second?"

"What is it, Corporal Wilson?"

Stepping up to West, Corporal Wilson kept casting a wary eye back over at Gaines and her people while they began guiding the Marines towards the waiting craft.

"No disrespect, but is this really a wise idea?" whispered Wilson. "I mean, we don't know these people. Hell, we can't even talk to them."

Watching the activity himself, West took a long breath.

"Let me tell you something, Wilson," sighed West as he continued to watch the activity. "Before this damned war started I was slated to join the Tellus colony with a group of people drawn from all different walks of life. The one big lesson I learned from that experience is that people don't have to look, talk, or sometimes even act like you do for their hospitality to be genuine."

"I hope you're right, Captain," sighed Wilson, shaking his head slightly.

"Go get our people together," said West as he gave Wilson's shoulder a quick slap.

With that, West watched his Marines form up and begin making their way towards the waiting ships. A moment later, Gaines stepped up and began leading West over towards one of the lead ships. Stepping up, West could see that though it was much smaller than an ISSCV, it seemed a good deal more rugged.

Making his way up onto the winglet, with more help from Gaines than he'd expected he'd need, West casually looked back to see how his Marines were doing, but caught sight of a couple of Gaines' people making their way back out of the darkness with a stretcher. While it was still relatively dark, West could nevertheless make out a body on the stretcher, encased in a body bag.

While he knew it was possible that Gaines' might have had a KIA of her own, West had seen enough Chigs, dead and alive, to recognize the outline of one even inside a body bag.

With all the Chigs killed in this war, why were they bothering to load this one?

When he felt a tap on his shoulder, West looked back at Gaines.

Holding up her own weapon, Gaines made a very deliberate show of unloading it, then motioned over at West's Marines, then at the radio boom West was wearing.

Nodding, West reached down and pressed the transmit switch for his squad radio.

"This is Captain West; make sure to unload all weapons, I say again, clear all weapons; we don't want to accidentally blow any holes in our rescue rides."

As the series of acknowledgements came back in over the squad-tac, West stepped down from the winglet into the ship's cabin. While the craft was relatively small by comparison to a Marine Corps dropship, the interior cabin was surprisingly roomy.

As West slowly lowered himself down to the floor of the cabin, along with Corporal Wilson and three other Marines, West watched Gaines make her way forward to the ship's pilot.

As the entry hatch lowered back to its closed position, West heard the ship's engines begin to spin-up.

Content to take the opportunity to get a bit of rest; God only knew and he himself couldn't even begin to guess the last time he'd really had a chance to sleep; West leaned back against the craft's bulkhead and slowly closed his eyes. In fact, it felt so good to actually close his eyes, West tried to drift off as the small ship rocked around him as it began its ascent.

Even with his eyes closed and as groggy as his thoughts felt, West was nevertheless able to feel the pull of the g-forces; the ship was making a rapid ascent.

Much more rapid than an ISSCV…

His eyes closed, West nevertheless smiled slightly; small and fast; whoever these ships belonged to, as a pilot, he had to admit he was impressed.

As he felt the gentle rocking of the ship's climb through the atmosphere, West could almost convince himself he was being rocked to sleep. Trouble was, West quickly realized he was so tired, too tired, to even sleep, just drift at the edge of consciousness.

First respite in months and he was facing a bout with insomnia?

Before long, even the gentle rocking ceased, presumably because the ship had finally passed out of the moon's atmosphere.

As he continued to simply listen to the gentle rumble of the ship's engines, West felt someone begin gently shaking his shoulder.

Opening his eyes, annoyed, West found himself looking at Corporal Wilson.

"What is it, Wilson?" muttered West, his annoyance clear in his tone.

For a moment, Wilson hesitated, moving his lips, about to say something, but finally ended up just pointing out past the forward canopy.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, West reached up, grabbed onto a handful of the cargo netting hanging on the bulkhead and pulled himself forward enough to look out the canopy.

And as he caught sight of what it was Wilson wanted him to see, West could only muster one response.

"Holy shit," he muttered.

"Would you look at the size of that motherfucker?" muttered Wilson, the power of speech finally returning to him, however crass.

Their attention thoroughly captivated, West and Wilson watched as the small ship angled in towards the largest damned ship either of them had ever seen.

"She makes a Kennedy look like a goddamned toy," muttered Wilson, the naked disbelief evident in his tone.

As West sat there, awestruck, he caught site of Gaines looking back him from one of the pilot seats up front. She was grinning slightly, obviously enjoying the dumbfounded look on West's face. Gaines then held up her hands, holding them palm inwards, moving them slowly apart then motioning her head out towards the big ship.

West nodded as Gaines sat there chuckling slightly.

"Yes, you guys have a big ship," whispered West.

As he continued to watch Gaines, the woman's face suddenly froze, her smile quickly fading. As she turned back towards the front, West couldn't miss the abrupt change in Gaines' demeanor. Moreover, the actions of the ship's flight crew changed as well, becoming more deliberate, rushed.

Wilson hadn't missed the change either, gently tapping on West's shoulder as he pointed up at the pilot pulled back on what West surmised were the ship's throttles.

As Gaines and the pilot in the front seat continued to chat rapidly back and forth, West still had no idea what it was they were actually saying, but there was an urgency in their movements that he was able to read clear as day.

Something was wrong.

---

Warstar Galactica
Combat Information Center

"I say again, Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Section heads report to Combat upon manning of Action Stations."

As the sound of Lieutenant Cortez's voice echoed through the CIC from the overhead speakers, Commander Sean Kelso stood firmly in place below the DRADIS display, arms crossed, attention keenly focused on the screens.

On one half of the screen, the seven Raptors and lone Scimitar were angling in for landing aboard the Galactica.

On the other side of the screen, the myriad of unknown contacts that had prompted the alert were emerging from a DRADIS shadow on the far side of the moon.

"Report, Mr. Cortez," snapped Major Burke as she leaned in somewhat hawkishly over the main plot table.

"Multiple unknown contacts coming in from the far side, Major," replied Cortez instantly as he leaned in towards his display. "Contacts are coming in fast, CBDR, estimate fifteen minutes to weapons range."

"Presuming their weapons have similar range limitations as our own," muttered Kelso evenly as he watched the contacts continue to emerge from the far side. "Any idea what we're looking at, Lieutenant?"

"Based on readings, Commander, I'd say we have three capital-grade vessels complemented by well over a hundred escort fighters, but all of unknown configuration."

"I wouldn't necessarily call them capital-grade," muttered Burke as she motioned up at the three largest contacts on the screen. "Put together, they barely mass half the size of Galactica."

"Don't have to be big to inflict big damage, Major," countered Kelso evenly as he glanced across the table at her. "We have no idea of their weapons or capabilities."

For Kelso's part, as he watched the ships coming around from the far side of the moon, his mind kept recalling the fate of the other unknown ship which had brought them to this system in the first place, the shattered vessel whose debris was scattered across the outskirts of the star system.

"Time till our birds are back on the deck?" asked Kelso evenly.

"CAP is already in the landing pattern," replied Burke as she glanced over and verified the approach of the Raptors and Scimitar. "Retrieval birds are about eight minutes out, Commander; we should have some time to spare."

"I'm not counting on that," sighed Kelso as he glanced over to Lieutenant Cortez. "Start spinning up the FTL and plot me a jump back to the rest of our fleet."

"Aye, Commander," replied Cortez as he jumped up and quickly made his way over to the jump computer.

"Commander, if I may, this might be a good opportunity to gain some intel on their capabilities," offered Major Burke.

As he continued to watch both his own birds and the unknown contacts close in on Galactica, Kelso mulled over Burke's suggestion. It did have merit, especially since he had little doubt that they'd be encountering them again.

Nevertheless…

"One step at a time, Major," sighed Kelso finally as he returned his attention to the closing Raptors. "Let's find out what Captain Gaines learned on the surface first. Until we know more, I'm reluctant to risk an engagement when we don't have to."

"Understood, Commander," replied Burke evenly as she returned her attention to the screens overhead. "Six minutes till all our ships are aboard."

"Lieutenant Cortez, status of our jump prep?" prodded Kelso, his eyes not leaving the DRADIS.

"FTL cores spun and synch'd, Commander," replied Cortez. "Setting jump coordinates for the fleet now."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso leaned forward, his fingers gently drumming the surface of the plot table as he began mentally ticking off the remaining seconds in his head.

They had a pretty comfortable time margin in which to jump away before the unknown contacts closed range, provided that the range of their weapons were on par with Galactica.

But if they weren't…

For several tense moments, Kelso kept his eyes locked on the flight deck camera as the line of Raptors and the lone Scimitar gracefully lined up single-file for a landing on the Port flight pod. Racing ahead, they all executed a precision turn at nearly the same time, the line breaking up as each craft settled in over a separate lift down to the hangar deck.

More like a flight demonstration than a combat landing…

"Jump prep?" snapped Kelso as he watched the last Raptor lock into place over a lift pad.

"Coordinates set," replied Cortez instantly.

Taking one last look at the unknown contacts, Kelso took a deep breath.

"Initiate jump, Lieutenant."

Acknowledging the order, Cortez rattled off a rapid countdown. As Cortez reached zero, the Galactica was enveloped in the energetic field released from her FTL cores.

In an instant, the moon, the closing contacts, all of it, were all gone.

Within the blink of an eye, the DRADIS display overhead changed before Kelso's eyes, the unknown contacts replaced by the IFF verified contacts of their own refugee fleet.

As he stood there watching the system tag each icon with each ship's identification, Kelso chuckled slightly to himself.

Strange; he'd always heard that repeated exposure to FTL jumps lessened the effects of a jump on human perceptions, but until that moment, where his awareness was little more than the change on the DRADIS display, not the overwhelming vertigo, he hadn't really thought about it. Guess it was true.

Taking a breath, Kelso looked up at the screen which now showed the fleet of civilian and military ships that were under his charge.

Even as they themselves aboard Galactica were still picking up the pieces, literally and proverbially, of the puzzle they'd stumbled across, how would the rest of the fleet handle what they'd only just begun to learn?

Between the debris, the nuclear signature, the nascent reports of Gaines engagement and finding of survivors, the answer would seem to be just one thing; a war.

They'd literally run away from a war six months ago.

And now, after wandering through an unknown wilderness, they seemed to have stumbled across another.

Worse still, they'd possibly stumbled into a war about which they knew practically nothing.

How would he explain it to the fleet?

How would they react to it?

The questions running through his mind must have translated to a questioning look on his face, for as these thoughts were passing through the Commander's mind, Kelso heard Burke's voice prodding him back from his concerns.

"Something wrong, Commander?" she asked, looking at him somewhat quizzically.

Forcing himself to grin, Kelso looked across the plot table to Burke.

"Guess I'm not used to coming out on the upside of events like that," he said simply. "Almost felt too easy."

"I kind of enjoyed not having to make a jump in the midst of a bone-jarring missile barrage, Commander," grinned Burke as she returned her attention to the overhead DRADIS.

"Can't argue with you there, Major," shrugged Kelso as he continued to mull over what to tell the fleet. "Still…"

Tapping his fingers against the plot table, Commander Kelso finally waved away his own lingering concerns for the moment. Letting out a long breath, Kelso looked over to Lieutenant Cortez.

"Mr. Cortez, have all the ships from the surface been secured?"

"Hangar deck reports they're locking down the last Raptor now, sir."

"Very good," began Kelso as he gave the plot table a gentle thump with his hand, turned, and began making his way towards the entryway. "Major Burke, go ahead and make contact and obtain status checks with the rest of the fleet, military and civilian."

"Do you want me to have the other ship commanders assemble aboard Galactica?" asked Burke as she slowly picked up the handset on her side of the plot table.

"Not yet," replied Kelso curtly as he made his way towards the entryway.

"So what do you want me to tell them?" asked Burke flatly. "We're back hours ahead of schedule; they're going to ask why."

Pausing midstride, Kelso barely glanced back over his shoulder at Burke.

"Tell them…" he began, pausing, pondering.

As much as he hated it, as much as he wrestled with it, for the moment, Kelso could think of only one response.

"Tell them to standby," he finally said. "For now; need-to-know only, and they don't need to know, at least not until we have something substantial to actually tell them."

"Understood, sir," replied Burke dubiously.

Picking up on the tone in Burke's voice, Kelso finally looked back over at her. She wasn't pleased with relaying his answer. Truth be told, he wasn't pleased with having to give it. But right now they knew too little, and the rumor mill worked best and came up with the worst gossip the scarcer hard facts were.

The last thing he wanted or could afford to have happen was for the civilian refugees to be whipped into a panicked frenzy over haphazard innuendo.

"But," sighed Kelso as he glanced back up at his fleet on the DRADIS. "Advise all ship commanders, even the civilians, to be ready at a moment's notice for action."

"What kind of action, sir?" asked Burke, now clearly perplexed at the Commander's rather nebulous statement.

"Just tell them to be ready for anything at a moment's notice," said Kelso as he rapidly stepped out through the entryway. "I'll be on the hangar deck."

Watching him go, Major Burke simply watched Kelso disappear off into the corridor, confused, perplexed.

She had a thousand questions, but she was bound above all else to follow his orders.

"Understood, Commander," she sighed even though Kelso was long gone.

---

Fox Company
Second Battalion, Twenty-Third Marines

"And I thought she was big from the outside," muttered Corporal Wilson in nothing short of complete awe as he stepped down off the winglet onto the deck.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Captain Nathan West likewise stepped down off the winglet and looked around at the massive hangar facility. Stretching off to either side of him, the space was enormous, far larger than any other hangar facility aboard any carrier he'd ever seen.

Hell, the hangar deck alone seemed bigger than any carrier he'd ever seen.

It was as he continued to marvel at the sheer size of the space that West caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of Wilson slowly dropping to his knees, leaning down, and planting an audible kiss on the deck.

Staring at him rather dubiously, West began slowly shaking his head.

But West quickly realized he wasn't the only one who had noticed Wilson's unusual display of affection. From behind, West heard Gaines chuckle slightly, and several other personnel, flight deck crew presumably, had also taken note.

"Get the hell back on your feet, Corporal," muttered West as he watched a couple of the hangar crew wandering away, clearly perplexed. "You're making a spectacle of yourself."

But even as Wilson complied, West noticed that the attention being paid to him and his Marines hadn't really subsided. Indeed, even as West and his Marines huddled back up after disembarking from the ships, still more of the hangar deck personnel began assembling at the periphery, kept mostly at bay by Gaines and her people, but nevertheless paying West and his people a higher degree of attention than seemed warranted.

"You'd think they'd never seen US Marines before," muttered Wilson evenly as he looked around at the gathering crowd.

"You noticed that too?" replied West as he continued to watch the curious looks on the faces around them.

Strange.

No, 'strange' didn't do this situation justice, it was borderline creepy.

As he continued to look around past the gathering crowd, West saw that the ships that had brought them up from the surface weren't the only ones with which he was unfamiliar. Stretching off into the distance, large work bays set on one side of the hangar were filled with other ships, tri-wing planes, with which he was equally unfamiliar.

Who the hell were these people?

Even as this thought continued to bounce around in his consciousness, West caught sight of Gaines off to one side of the hangar deck speaking with an older man. Unlike the plain black combat uniforms Gaines and her people wore, this man was dressed in a blue uniform, like everything else it seemed, a uniform design with which he was completely unfamiliar.

French maybe?

No, if they were French, someone around here would be able to speak English.

While he still had no grasp whatsoever on whatever language they were speaking, West could tell by the way that Gaines kept motioning over in their direction that she was talking to him about West and his Marines. Before long, with Gaines at his side, the man began making his way over.

Coming to a stop near West, the man seemed to hesitate for a moment, clearly full of questions, but unsure how to even begin trying to ask those questions.

After a few uncomfortable moments wherein West and the man simply stood there staring at one another, evaluating each other, Gaines cleared her throat and stepped a bit closer.

Looking over at Gaines, West watched as the woman once again reached up, grabbing hold of her uniform collar, holding out the diamond-shaped insignia, then holding her hand out about chest high.

Gaines then pointed over at the somewhat more ornate insignia on the man's collar, then held her hand up above her head.

Nodding his head, West felt he understood.

"So this is your CO," he muttered as he looked back over at the man.

Quickly pantomiming Gaines hand movements, West pointed over at the man.

The CO nodded his head.

"Okay," muttered West, nodding slightly.

At first, West, Gaines and Gaines' CO simply stood staring at each other expectantly. After a few moments, however, West realized that Gaines' CO had slowly turned his attention towards West's Marines.

Looking back over his shoulder, West suddenly felt flushed with a measure of embarrassment as he saw that his Marines were little more than standing about in a gaggle, gawking and pointing every which direction around the large hangar bay like a bunch of school children on a fieldtrip.

Muttering a curse under his breath, West turned around, snapped his heels together and came to crisp attention.

"Marines, fall-in," snapped West, his voice echoing a bit off the bulkheads.

For a moment, West's Marines simply stood there, stunned, uncertain, as if they weren't sure he was being serious. Understandable; Nathan West had never had much of a reputation as a true, died-in-the-wool by-the-book officer. Still…

"I said, fall-in," snapped West again, his tone stark enough to erase all doubt.

Spurred by his tone, the Marines this time reacted just as West had intended, no, as he expected them to.

Mustering the last remnants of their strength and discipline, the tired, bruised, battered Marines swiftly began falling into place in a neat formation. While his face remained unreadable, West nevertheless felt a peculiar twinge of pride as he watched them pull together, exhausted as they were, encrusted head to toe in dust and dirt, their uniforms stained with splotches of blood. Whatever else they'd become over these last brutal weeks, drained, perhaps even a bit jaded, they were still United States Marines.

So it was that the surviving Marines of Fox Two-Twenty-Three fell into place as West stood before them at rigid attention.

"Marines, atten-hut!" snapped West, his voice booming even more off the surrounding bulkheads.

With the crisp slap of hands to their sides and boot heels against one another, the Marines likewise snapped to attention.

As they stood there in formation, their bodies worn and ragged, but their spirits plainly unbroken, West executed a smart about face, turning around once more to face Gaines and her CO.

Without a word, without a breath, West stood there for a moment, then raised his hand to his forehead in a crisp salute.

For their part, Gaines and her CO seemed genuinely surprised by the display. But whatever words they hadn't actually understood, they clearly understood the gesture West was extending towards them.

Respect.

Snapping his own heels together, Gaines' CO likewise came to attention before West, and with a slow, deliberate, respectful motion, returned the salute.

Returning his hand first to his side, West then raised it back to his chest, much as he'd done with Gaines down on the surface.

"Captain Nathan West."

Muttering quickly with Gaines, the CO apparently got an answer to whatever question it was he'd asked.

Then, placing his own hand on his chest, he smiled.

"Commander Sean Kelso."

Okay, names.

West hadn't understood the first word, but at least he felt he was able to discern names.

Letting out a long sigh, West conceded that it was at least a start.

Smiling, he looked back over at his Marines, themselves mostly watching the exchange intently.

Letting out a long sigh, West mused for a moment more how truly ragged the surviving Marines actually looked.

Then, looking back over at Gaines' CO, the man apparently named Kelso, West shifted somewhat uncomfortably.

"Well, sir," he began, knowing full well Gaines' CO had no idea what West was saying. "What now?"