Chapter 4
"Lieutenant Starbuck, proceed with landing on Deck two."
"Roger that," Kara told the disembodied voice on her wireless. She thought it sounded like Dualla, but she might have been wrong. Her wireless was acting up, and she was getting an awful lot of static. Thankfully she didn't need to be told what to do. "Port deck two, I have the ball."
She glided into the bay on minimal thrusters before easing herself down to the deck. She felt the magnetic lock engage, and powered down the engine. She had her cockpit open and her helmet off before the steel ladder could be set up by her wing. It was all routine: the patrol, the landing, and the adrenaline drop that followed.
She fought the surge of anger that always accompanied the end of a flight. She didn't know why she was always furious when she hit the flight deck, but she assumed it had to do with the adrenaline rush that went with flight. She didn't mind it really, and had come to expect it. Some pilots got out of a bird ready for sex. She got out ready to fight.
A glance to her right showed the lift coming down from deck one. Rand was one of those that came off a flight on an unnatural high. She had learned to stay clear of him. He would be on the lookout for anything female, and she didn't want to be in the line of fire. He was one of her few friends that had survived the beginning of the war, and she didn't want to lose him to a fight.
Cally locked her ladder into place and removed the helmet collar. "Everything go okay?" she asked. It was part of the routine.
"The wireless has a lot of static," Kara told her. "Probably has a wire crossed or something."
"We'll take care of it," Cally said efficiently.
Kara nodded as she climbed down the ladder and began walking towards the metal stairwell that would take her up to the ready room. Over half-way there, she spotted Chief Tyrol leaning against a wall and watching his crew work. She would bet that he was on a break, and was still here in the bay. It was just how he was. He trusted his crew, but he liked to be accessible if there were problems.
"How's it going?" she called as she changed direction and began walking towards him.
He looked up at her and offered a smile. "It's going well," he admitted. "That's what has me worried."
"You're worse than I am," she remarked, leaning against the wall next to him and watching the bay as he was. "Always waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"And I'm rarely disappointed," he reminded her. "How's my bird?"
"My bird's fine," she told him with a sideways glance. "The fuel dispersion is much smoother, and acceleration is fine. Cally knows her stuff."
"She should; I trained her."
"Wireless is giving me trouble," she admitted.
"She'll take care of it."
Kara nodded. She followed his gaze across the bay and saw that he was indeed watching Cally as she climbed into the Viper and began working with the radio. She could almost feel the pride coming off Tyrol in waves. He really cared about his crew, and he took it just as personally when they did well as when they screwed up. Most of the crew had come on within a year of the Galactica's decommissioning, so they had been Rooks when the war began. They weren't any longer. Those that had survived were as good as they came, and she knew that the Chief had played a large roll in that.
"So, you getting ready for the dance?" she asked, turning to face him.
He didn't return the favor. "I have a crew to supervise," he told her. "I'm sure some of them will go, because it's required, but I won't be there."
Kara waited a moment, selecting her words carefully. She knew she was walking a fine line between professionalism and friendship, but she also knew that her rank would keep her pretty safe from the Chief's retribution. "Sharon's up for a silver cluster," she said. "I got a sneak-peak at the awards sheet. She might like to have you there when she gets it."
"It's deserved," he said softly. "She got her Raptor to Caprica, repaired it, and rescued a number of people afterwards. It wasn't a bad show for a Rook."
"She turned into a good pilot," Kara agreed. "I wasn't sure she would when she was at the academy. She was determined, but she tended to freeze up in simulations. That's why I put her in for Raptors. I figured she'd have more time to think and keep herself straight."
"It was a good call," he agreed.
"She's a lot better now," Kara continued. "Might even do well training for Vipers."
"You'll have to talk to the CAG about that. We have a full roster, so I don't think there's any training scheduled."
She could hear the tightness in his voice, so she didn't press - much. "It's just easier to bring in recruits for Raptors. If we need to free a slot, that's a way."
He didn't answer at all. She didn't expect him to.
"Oh, and I wanted to let you know something. It's off the record."
He looked at her then, but didn't speak.
"The Commander isn't holding us to rank for the banquet and dance. We can go with who we want to."
Tyrol looked at her for a moment more, then flashed a smile. "Are you asking me on a date?" he joked.
"Yeah, right," she returned. "Just wanted you to know." With her piece said, she turned back towards the stairwell and started up. She was nearly to the top when she chanced a peak back down towards the Chief. He was nowhere to be seen.
Lee Adama looked in the mirror and grimaced. They all had lost weight. He just hadn't realized how much until he'd pulled out a dress uniform in his size and tried it on. It was huge.
It took two more tries before he found one that fit. The man looking back from the mirror was too thin, pale, and definitely needed to do some rethinking of both diet and exercise. He was healthy enough - the flight surgeon saw to that - but six months of stress, lousy food, and irregular schedules had cost him some pounds that he couldn't afford. He wasn't the only one.
Immediately following the jump from Ragnar, in preparation for the funeral services, all uniforms on the Galactica had been inventoried and placed in a central locker. They had retained their flight suits, which stayed in the ready room with their helmets, but working uniforms became community property that were laundered and returned to the locker. They picked them up when they needed them, and discarded them into laundry bins when finished. The dress uniforms were likewise collected, and this had been the first time he'd had a need for one since the massive funeral at the beginning of the war.
It was very efficient, and with all of them essentially living on duty it had made sense. There were new recruits showing up almost daily, and many of their complement was now dead. Uniforms had to be distributed and laundered in a practical fashion. And if it kept him from having to do his own laundry, that was more than fine with him.
But it had kept him from realizing just how much he had changed. Kara had too, as she'd mentioned that morning. He knew that she had snagged her own uniform and left it in her locker rather than turning it into the pile. He couldn't blame her. The uniform had been brand new, and a perfect fit. She was going to have to hit the uniform locker as well.
He changed back into his working uniform and tossed the formal one over his arm. He checked out with the young lady at the front chair - she didn't even have a desk - and headed back towards his quarters. Just before reaching the door, he heard footsteps behind him.
"Captain Apollo?" she called.
"Madame President," he acknowledged with a nod. "What can I do for you."
"I wanted to give you the awards listing for your pilots. As CAG, you'll be presenting them."
He nodded as he took the list from her. "This is a lot of awards," he commented, some surprise in his voice. This was just the pilots.
"We have a lot of pilots that deserve to be recognized."
"Yes, we do."
"I realize that you're still getting to know your squadrons, but if you could please say something about the recipients - something more than just 'here it is, you earned it,' I would really appreciate it."
"I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Captain. I see you're already getting prepared for the celebration." She gestured towards the uniform draped over his arm.
"It looks that way," he admitted.
"But you aren't happy about it."
He didn't see a reason to argue. "I think the situation is still a little serious to be celebrating."
She nodded, placing one hand against the passageway wall and leaning slightly. "I had this same discussion with the Commander. Please keep in mind that there is more to living than mere survival. If we aren't willing to truly live, then we are no better than the machines that are after us."
"I understand that."
"But you don't agree?"
He took a deep breath and answered honestly. "I don't know. I guess I've been so concentrated on surviving, and keeping this fleet intact, that there hasn't been room for anything else. Changing gears is difficult."
President Roslyn nodded, and seemed to cling to the wall for a moment before she regained her feet and released it. He was on the verge of reaching out to help her when she pulled herself up and spoke. "I need to get back my office. I left a stack of work that needs to be done."
She still looked wobbly, but it wasn't his place to say anything. If his responsibilities were weighing on him, he couldn't imagine what she must be going through. His father had called her a school teacher, and at heart he supposed that was what she was. She was far too soft for her current position. She was too much the optimist, and not enough of a strategist.
He watched her until she made it to the bend in the passageway and disappeared from sight. For a president, she was very accessible to her people. On his father's demand, she was staying on the Galactica where they could at least have security personnel close to her. Lee still felt that she probably needed more than they gave her, but he wasn't sure how much of his opinion was based in fact, and how much had to do with tradition.
Lee went into quarters. It was buzzing with quiet chatter and constant movement. There was nothing like trying to live with thirty of your closest friends. He wished that was what they were. Instead, he was living with twenty-eight men and women that were under his direct command. This was one of three pilot's quarters that had been set up, each about the same size and housing a full squadron.
His father had given him the option of his own room, but at the time space had been an issue. He hadn't felt comfortable staying with his father, so he'd decided to bunk with the pilots. It wasn't difficult choosing which of the quarters to make his home. He knew only a few people aboard, and those were all in Blue Squadron, so that was where he had chosen to be. At the time, he had been able to select from a dozen empty bunks. He had picked out the one above Kara because she was at least a friendly face.
A week later, they had moved in additional beds to enlarge the squadron from twenty to thirty. The Galactica's five squadrons were paired down to three, each with enough personnel to maintain a quadrant rotation. He had worked with Tyrol on setting up a schedule, and for those first months they had worked themselves ragged. There had been little food, no fuel, and an oppressive atmosphere that bordered on threatening.
He had not been well liked. Part of it had been because he was new to the ship and taking over for Starbuck, who probably should have been promoted from within. Another part had been that he was in charge, and therefore responsible for every decision that they disagreed with, every duty that they didn't want. The final blow had been that his father was the commander. It was one of the reasons he had never sought to work on his father's ship - he didn't need the hassles that being the Commander's son brought.
But he was the senior officer, and so he'd taken the job. He had never been one to step down from responsibility. Thankfully, Kara had given him her complete and obvious trust, and that had swayed a lot of Blue Squadron. Red and Yellow had come around eventually, but it had taken time. He'd had to prove himself by taking some of the worst duties, and personally flying with each pilot on several occasions so that he could be sure that flight commanders, trainers, and even the weaker members of the squadrons were appropriately placed. The one thing he had not done was separate the original squadron survivors. He had dispersed the two dissolved squadrons - a total of only nine men - to Red and Yellow squadrons, and he had kept them together with teammates as well. Everyone needed someone to cling to, and he tried to give them that.
Even in this, Kara had been a huge help. It hadn't always been overt, but subtle remarks given about what was working and what might help. He had learned early on that she had a feel for those that she flew with, and she was very good at judging where people felt comfortable. He found it more than ironic, because she often seemed so uncomfortable herself.
He wished that she would smile more. That was a pretty trivial thing given the seriousness of their situation, but it was something that his mind kept returning to. The Kara he had grown up with had both a ready smile and an adventurous spirit. The Kara he knew now was serious, intent, and quieter than he remembered. It was more than just losing her fiancée, too. She had smiled after that, joked around and been herself. Now she worried about the squad, worried about his father, and worried about him.
And she rarely smiled. Even when she did, it never quite reached her eyes.
None of them really smiled anymore. Looking around the quarters, he saw small groups talking or single pilots resting. There was no laughter, and less energy. The little enthusiasm he had heard had indeed been over the upcoming ceremony, and yes he had seen a few smiles from younger officers and enlisted personnel who took this to mean that they must be safe.
Maybe his father had a point. Maybe they did need to stop existing and start living. Maybe this could be a first step. God, he hoped so. Something had to bring this group back from the dead.
Lee grabbed the metal ladder and pulled himself up to his bunk. He tossed the dress uniform down at the foot of the bed and leaned up against the wall at the head. He was tired. He hadn't slept much the night before. After Kara had awoken him, his mind had kept returning to Caprica where his mother had died without even knowing that her family was going to pull itself together. She had been so upset with him the last time he'd seen her. She had tried to get him to call his father, to talk to him. To forgive him. She had believed as Lee had, that the eldest Adama had been responsible for placing Zak where he didn't belong, but she hadn't held it against him. For all her frustration with raising a family alone and doing everything herself, she hadn't had anything except love for his father. At the time it had infuriated him. How he wished he could tell her that she was right. She had always been right. And how she was gone.
So many were gone. Even six months later the emptiness was still apparent. He wondered if it was ever going to go away.
The buzz of the claxon startled him from a half-doze. He jerked himself upright even as the phone on the wall was grabbed by a nearby pilot.
"Captain Apollo, they need you on the port deck immediately. There's been an accident."
He was down from the bunk within a heartbeat, thankful that he hadn't bothered to take off his boots before climbing up to the bed. He took off for the hanger at a run, hearing the medical crews and fire crews requested on the ship's overhead speakers. He passed through one corridor, opened a hatch, and slid down the stairwell with his hands on the railing. His feet didn't touch the ground. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that while an emergency had been declared, Action Stations had not been called. This was not an enemy attack.
As he made his way into the port flight deck, he saw what the emergency was. Smoke was billowing from the back of a Raptor as fire crews tried to douse the flames. Medical personnel were standing by, waiting for an all- clear so that they could do their job. His crew chief was doing his best to command the situation with a look of pure panic on his face. Lee didn't need to get close enough to see her name on the side of the Raptor to know that it was Sharon in there. Boomer and Hawk were on the roster for Blue Squadron. Lee had put them there himself.
"Get that fire out," Tyrol yelled from his position near the forward hatch to the Raptor. He stepped closer, was backed up by the heat, and he screamed at them again in frustration. "Port engine. Douse the port engine. We'll need some coolers over here to get the hatch open."
Lee made it to the accident scene in a few more steps and grabbed Tyrol's shoulder. He understood how the man felt, and would likely be acting the same way if he'd been in the Chief's shoes, but staying calm would be essential to getting anyone out alive. "What happened?"
"We think it's a fuel leak," Tyrol yelled over the roar of fire hoses and yells of emergency personnel. "Get up near the hatch!"
Lee forcibly turned Tyrol around, demanding his attention. "What started the fire?" His hand remained in place, ensuring that he kept the Chief's attention off the rescue efforts behind him.
"Sharon reported in that they were losing power. She brought the Raptor in early, and when she came onto the deck she hit the landing pod and ignited the fuel. The back of the Raptor went up when the fire hit the fuel cell."
"Any other injuries?" Lee asked him, keeping his attention diverted. The crews were finally to the hatch, and he didn't want Tyrol in the way. "Has the fire spread?"
"Negative," the Chief reported, but he was resisting the steady pressure to his shoulder and trying to turn around. Lee finally let him, and immediately wished he hadn't.
The medics were just now bringing out the stretcher, and Hawk wasn't looking very good. Burns were evident on his face and arms, and an oxygen mask was covering his mouth and nose. He grabbed Tyrol's arm as a second team came out of the Raptor with Boomer on an identical stretcher. With the medics positioned where they were, he couldn't see her face, but he assumed it was similar to Hawk's.
"Chief!"
"Yes, Sir," he answered, but his mind was elsewhere. The only thing keeping his body there was Lee's hand.
"You can't leave the deck until it's secure," he said firmly. The look on Tyrol's face gave him a moment's pause, and he was reminded that this was more than just a pilot who had been injured. There were no secrets on battleships. "Get Cally," he informed the furious man. "Make sure she's set, then you can report to the infirmary. They'll need a while to get her checked anyway, so they won't let you in there. Secure the flight deck first."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he managed to restrain himself. With a single nod, Chief Tyrol yanked his arm from Lee's and headed in the opposite direction of where they were carrying Sharon. Lee took a deep breath, closed his eyes to say a silent prayer for his team, and then headed towards the smoldering plane.
"Lieutenant Starbuck, proceed with landing on Deck two."
"Roger that," Kara told the disembodied voice on her wireless. She thought it sounded like Dualla, but she might have been wrong. Her wireless was acting up, and she was getting an awful lot of static. Thankfully she didn't need to be told what to do. "Port deck two, I have the ball."
She glided into the bay on minimal thrusters before easing herself down to the deck. She felt the magnetic lock engage, and powered down the engine. She had her cockpit open and her helmet off before the steel ladder could be set up by her wing. It was all routine: the patrol, the landing, and the adrenaline drop that followed.
She fought the surge of anger that always accompanied the end of a flight. She didn't know why she was always furious when she hit the flight deck, but she assumed it had to do with the adrenaline rush that went with flight. She didn't mind it really, and had come to expect it. Some pilots got out of a bird ready for sex. She got out ready to fight.
A glance to her right showed the lift coming down from deck one. Rand was one of those that came off a flight on an unnatural high. She had learned to stay clear of him. He would be on the lookout for anything female, and she didn't want to be in the line of fire. He was one of her few friends that had survived the beginning of the war, and she didn't want to lose him to a fight.
Cally locked her ladder into place and removed the helmet collar. "Everything go okay?" she asked. It was part of the routine.
"The wireless has a lot of static," Kara told her. "Probably has a wire crossed or something."
"We'll take care of it," Cally said efficiently.
Kara nodded as she climbed down the ladder and began walking towards the metal stairwell that would take her up to the ready room. Over half-way there, she spotted Chief Tyrol leaning against a wall and watching his crew work. She would bet that he was on a break, and was still here in the bay. It was just how he was. He trusted his crew, but he liked to be accessible if there were problems.
"How's it going?" she called as she changed direction and began walking towards him.
He looked up at her and offered a smile. "It's going well," he admitted. "That's what has me worried."
"You're worse than I am," she remarked, leaning against the wall next to him and watching the bay as he was. "Always waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"And I'm rarely disappointed," he reminded her. "How's my bird?"
"My bird's fine," she told him with a sideways glance. "The fuel dispersion is much smoother, and acceleration is fine. Cally knows her stuff."
"She should; I trained her."
"Wireless is giving me trouble," she admitted.
"She'll take care of it."
Kara nodded. She followed his gaze across the bay and saw that he was indeed watching Cally as she climbed into the Viper and began working with the radio. She could almost feel the pride coming off Tyrol in waves. He really cared about his crew, and he took it just as personally when they did well as when they screwed up. Most of the crew had come on within a year of the Galactica's decommissioning, so they had been Rooks when the war began. They weren't any longer. Those that had survived were as good as they came, and she knew that the Chief had played a large roll in that.
"So, you getting ready for the dance?" she asked, turning to face him.
He didn't return the favor. "I have a crew to supervise," he told her. "I'm sure some of them will go, because it's required, but I won't be there."
Kara waited a moment, selecting her words carefully. She knew she was walking a fine line between professionalism and friendship, but she also knew that her rank would keep her pretty safe from the Chief's retribution. "Sharon's up for a silver cluster," she said. "I got a sneak-peak at the awards sheet. She might like to have you there when she gets it."
"It's deserved," he said softly. "She got her Raptor to Caprica, repaired it, and rescued a number of people afterwards. It wasn't a bad show for a Rook."
"She turned into a good pilot," Kara agreed. "I wasn't sure she would when she was at the academy. She was determined, but she tended to freeze up in simulations. That's why I put her in for Raptors. I figured she'd have more time to think and keep herself straight."
"It was a good call," he agreed.
"She's a lot better now," Kara continued. "Might even do well training for Vipers."
"You'll have to talk to the CAG about that. We have a full roster, so I don't think there's any training scheduled."
She could hear the tightness in his voice, so she didn't press - much. "It's just easier to bring in recruits for Raptors. If we need to free a slot, that's a way."
He didn't answer at all. She didn't expect him to.
"Oh, and I wanted to let you know something. It's off the record."
He looked at her then, but didn't speak.
"The Commander isn't holding us to rank for the banquet and dance. We can go with who we want to."
Tyrol looked at her for a moment more, then flashed a smile. "Are you asking me on a date?" he joked.
"Yeah, right," she returned. "Just wanted you to know." With her piece said, she turned back towards the stairwell and started up. She was nearly to the top when she chanced a peak back down towards the Chief. He was nowhere to be seen.
Lee Adama looked in the mirror and grimaced. They all had lost weight. He just hadn't realized how much until he'd pulled out a dress uniform in his size and tried it on. It was huge.
It took two more tries before he found one that fit. The man looking back from the mirror was too thin, pale, and definitely needed to do some rethinking of both diet and exercise. He was healthy enough - the flight surgeon saw to that - but six months of stress, lousy food, and irregular schedules had cost him some pounds that he couldn't afford. He wasn't the only one.
Immediately following the jump from Ragnar, in preparation for the funeral services, all uniforms on the Galactica had been inventoried and placed in a central locker. They had retained their flight suits, which stayed in the ready room with their helmets, but working uniforms became community property that were laundered and returned to the locker. They picked them up when they needed them, and discarded them into laundry bins when finished. The dress uniforms were likewise collected, and this had been the first time he'd had a need for one since the massive funeral at the beginning of the war.
It was very efficient, and with all of them essentially living on duty it had made sense. There were new recruits showing up almost daily, and many of their complement was now dead. Uniforms had to be distributed and laundered in a practical fashion. And if it kept him from having to do his own laundry, that was more than fine with him.
But it had kept him from realizing just how much he had changed. Kara had too, as she'd mentioned that morning. He knew that she had snagged her own uniform and left it in her locker rather than turning it into the pile. He couldn't blame her. The uniform had been brand new, and a perfect fit. She was going to have to hit the uniform locker as well.
He changed back into his working uniform and tossed the formal one over his arm. He checked out with the young lady at the front chair - she didn't even have a desk - and headed back towards his quarters. Just before reaching the door, he heard footsteps behind him.
"Captain Apollo?" she called.
"Madame President," he acknowledged with a nod. "What can I do for you."
"I wanted to give you the awards listing for your pilots. As CAG, you'll be presenting them."
He nodded as he took the list from her. "This is a lot of awards," he commented, some surprise in his voice. This was just the pilots.
"We have a lot of pilots that deserve to be recognized."
"Yes, we do."
"I realize that you're still getting to know your squadrons, but if you could please say something about the recipients - something more than just 'here it is, you earned it,' I would really appreciate it."
"I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Captain. I see you're already getting prepared for the celebration." She gestured towards the uniform draped over his arm.
"It looks that way," he admitted.
"But you aren't happy about it."
He didn't see a reason to argue. "I think the situation is still a little serious to be celebrating."
She nodded, placing one hand against the passageway wall and leaning slightly. "I had this same discussion with the Commander. Please keep in mind that there is more to living than mere survival. If we aren't willing to truly live, then we are no better than the machines that are after us."
"I understand that."
"But you don't agree?"
He took a deep breath and answered honestly. "I don't know. I guess I've been so concentrated on surviving, and keeping this fleet intact, that there hasn't been room for anything else. Changing gears is difficult."
President Roslyn nodded, and seemed to cling to the wall for a moment before she regained her feet and released it. He was on the verge of reaching out to help her when she pulled herself up and spoke. "I need to get back my office. I left a stack of work that needs to be done."
She still looked wobbly, but it wasn't his place to say anything. If his responsibilities were weighing on him, he couldn't imagine what she must be going through. His father had called her a school teacher, and at heart he supposed that was what she was. She was far too soft for her current position. She was too much the optimist, and not enough of a strategist.
He watched her until she made it to the bend in the passageway and disappeared from sight. For a president, she was very accessible to her people. On his father's demand, she was staying on the Galactica where they could at least have security personnel close to her. Lee still felt that she probably needed more than they gave her, but he wasn't sure how much of his opinion was based in fact, and how much had to do with tradition.
Lee went into quarters. It was buzzing with quiet chatter and constant movement. There was nothing like trying to live with thirty of your closest friends. He wished that was what they were. Instead, he was living with twenty-eight men and women that were under his direct command. This was one of three pilot's quarters that had been set up, each about the same size and housing a full squadron.
His father had given him the option of his own room, but at the time space had been an issue. He hadn't felt comfortable staying with his father, so he'd decided to bunk with the pilots. It wasn't difficult choosing which of the quarters to make his home. He knew only a few people aboard, and those were all in Blue Squadron, so that was where he had chosen to be. At the time, he had been able to select from a dozen empty bunks. He had picked out the one above Kara because she was at least a friendly face.
A week later, they had moved in additional beds to enlarge the squadron from twenty to thirty. The Galactica's five squadrons were paired down to three, each with enough personnel to maintain a quadrant rotation. He had worked with Tyrol on setting up a schedule, and for those first months they had worked themselves ragged. There had been little food, no fuel, and an oppressive atmosphere that bordered on threatening.
He had not been well liked. Part of it had been because he was new to the ship and taking over for Starbuck, who probably should have been promoted from within. Another part had been that he was in charge, and therefore responsible for every decision that they disagreed with, every duty that they didn't want. The final blow had been that his father was the commander. It was one of the reasons he had never sought to work on his father's ship - he didn't need the hassles that being the Commander's son brought.
But he was the senior officer, and so he'd taken the job. He had never been one to step down from responsibility. Thankfully, Kara had given him her complete and obvious trust, and that had swayed a lot of Blue Squadron. Red and Yellow had come around eventually, but it had taken time. He'd had to prove himself by taking some of the worst duties, and personally flying with each pilot on several occasions so that he could be sure that flight commanders, trainers, and even the weaker members of the squadrons were appropriately placed. The one thing he had not done was separate the original squadron survivors. He had dispersed the two dissolved squadrons - a total of only nine men - to Red and Yellow squadrons, and he had kept them together with teammates as well. Everyone needed someone to cling to, and he tried to give them that.
Even in this, Kara had been a huge help. It hadn't always been overt, but subtle remarks given about what was working and what might help. He had learned early on that she had a feel for those that she flew with, and she was very good at judging where people felt comfortable. He found it more than ironic, because she often seemed so uncomfortable herself.
He wished that she would smile more. That was a pretty trivial thing given the seriousness of their situation, but it was something that his mind kept returning to. The Kara he had grown up with had both a ready smile and an adventurous spirit. The Kara he knew now was serious, intent, and quieter than he remembered. It was more than just losing her fiancée, too. She had smiled after that, joked around and been herself. Now she worried about the squad, worried about his father, and worried about him.
And she rarely smiled. Even when she did, it never quite reached her eyes.
None of them really smiled anymore. Looking around the quarters, he saw small groups talking or single pilots resting. There was no laughter, and less energy. The little enthusiasm he had heard had indeed been over the upcoming ceremony, and yes he had seen a few smiles from younger officers and enlisted personnel who took this to mean that they must be safe.
Maybe his father had a point. Maybe they did need to stop existing and start living. Maybe this could be a first step. God, he hoped so. Something had to bring this group back from the dead.
Lee grabbed the metal ladder and pulled himself up to his bunk. He tossed the dress uniform down at the foot of the bed and leaned up against the wall at the head. He was tired. He hadn't slept much the night before. After Kara had awoken him, his mind had kept returning to Caprica where his mother had died without even knowing that her family was going to pull itself together. She had been so upset with him the last time he'd seen her. She had tried to get him to call his father, to talk to him. To forgive him. She had believed as Lee had, that the eldest Adama had been responsible for placing Zak where he didn't belong, but she hadn't held it against him. For all her frustration with raising a family alone and doing everything herself, she hadn't had anything except love for his father. At the time it had infuriated him. How he wished he could tell her that she was right. She had always been right. And how she was gone.
So many were gone. Even six months later the emptiness was still apparent. He wondered if it was ever going to go away.
The buzz of the claxon startled him from a half-doze. He jerked himself upright even as the phone on the wall was grabbed by a nearby pilot.
"Captain Apollo, they need you on the port deck immediately. There's been an accident."
He was down from the bunk within a heartbeat, thankful that he hadn't bothered to take off his boots before climbing up to the bed. He took off for the hanger at a run, hearing the medical crews and fire crews requested on the ship's overhead speakers. He passed through one corridor, opened a hatch, and slid down the stairwell with his hands on the railing. His feet didn't touch the ground. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that while an emergency had been declared, Action Stations had not been called. This was not an enemy attack.
As he made his way into the port flight deck, he saw what the emergency was. Smoke was billowing from the back of a Raptor as fire crews tried to douse the flames. Medical personnel were standing by, waiting for an all- clear so that they could do their job. His crew chief was doing his best to command the situation with a look of pure panic on his face. Lee didn't need to get close enough to see her name on the side of the Raptor to know that it was Sharon in there. Boomer and Hawk were on the roster for Blue Squadron. Lee had put them there himself.
"Get that fire out," Tyrol yelled from his position near the forward hatch to the Raptor. He stepped closer, was backed up by the heat, and he screamed at them again in frustration. "Port engine. Douse the port engine. We'll need some coolers over here to get the hatch open."
Lee made it to the accident scene in a few more steps and grabbed Tyrol's shoulder. He understood how the man felt, and would likely be acting the same way if he'd been in the Chief's shoes, but staying calm would be essential to getting anyone out alive. "What happened?"
"We think it's a fuel leak," Tyrol yelled over the roar of fire hoses and yells of emergency personnel. "Get up near the hatch!"
Lee forcibly turned Tyrol around, demanding his attention. "What started the fire?" His hand remained in place, ensuring that he kept the Chief's attention off the rescue efforts behind him.
"Sharon reported in that they were losing power. She brought the Raptor in early, and when she came onto the deck she hit the landing pod and ignited the fuel. The back of the Raptor went up when the fire hit the fuel cell."
"Any other injuries?" Lee asked him, keeping his attention diverted. The crews were finally to the hatch, and he didn't want Tyrol in the way. "Has the fire spread?"
"Negative," the Chief reported, but he was resisting the steady pressure to his shoulder and trying to turn around. Lee finally let him, and immediately wished he hadn't.
The medics were just now bringing out the stretcher, and Hawk wasn't looking very good. Burns were evident on his face and arms, and an oxygen mask was covering his mouth and nose. He grabbed Tyrol's arm as a second team came out of the Raptor with Boomer on an identical stretcher. With the medics positioned where they were, he couldn't see her face, but he assumed it was similar to Hawk's.
"Chief!"
"Yes, Sir," he answered, but his mind was elsewhere. The only thing keeping his body there was Lee's hand.
"You can't leave the deck until it's secure," he said firmly. The look on Tyrol's face gave him a moment's pause, and he was reminded that this was more than just a pilot who had been injured. There were no secrets on battleships. "Get Cally," he informed the furious man. "Make sure she's set, then you can report to the infirmary. They'll need a while to get her checked anyway, so they won't let you in there. Secure the flight deck first."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he managed to restrain himself. With a single nod, Chief Tyrol yanked his arm from Lee's and headed in the opposite direction of where they were carrying Sharon. Lee took a deep breath, closed his eyes to say a silent prayer for his team, and then headed towards the smoldering plane.