A/N: Fragged was something else, I'll try to do it justice. This is the finale, for this part of Sims' continuing adventures. More of them can be found in other fic, 'The Job'.
They collapsed about three miles later. Sims was doing well -having just woken up- but everyone else was exhausted. They set up camp as best they could, people slumping over stumps and moss. Sims and Sullivan stood guard. The supplies burdened them too heavily, with so few people to carry them. As the small band panted and rested, Tyrol handed out field glasses to Crashdown, Baltar and Seelix.
"El-tee, you got your head back?"
He nodded, but the marines exchanged glances. They didn't trust him.
"Okay, leave your gear here. Crash, here's my sidearm. The three of you scout around, find out why the Cylons haven't been chasing us. Keep low, eyes and ears, and if you get into trouble, just run."
Sims outright frowned, but Tyrol had a rifle, as did Seelix. The three scampered off into the woods, trying to keep low. He turned to the two marines. Callie was covering them as the chief spoke in a low voice.
"Okay, guys. I need your support on this."
"On what?"
"Getting Crash to do his job and lead us."
"Frak that BS!"
"Listen, he went to officer school, and we didn't. You guys can fight, and I can fix things, but he's the only one who actually went and learned about commanding people and small unit tactics."
Sims nodded. It was true, and he was more qualified to lead.
"Just prop him up, make suggestions. I think he's learned his lesson."
"Okay," muttered Sullivan, "but he better well have. We don't have the luxury of knocking in his teeth now."
The three returned, breathless. Cylons had been spotted ahead, dragging missiles from a downed ship to a small clearing. Tyrol groaned.
"A missile. They're building a missile battery."
"Well, at least we know why they're not chasing us," grumbled Crashdown. He obviously wasn't too happy, either.
"Why? Why aren't they chasing us? Surely a missile launcher would be impractical!" Baltar exclaimed, remaining confused at the dour expressions on the faces of the marines and officers.
"Because they don't have to. They can just sit back, launch a missile barrage that'll wipe out every living thing in this valley," the chief responded wearily.
"Yeah, airbursts with a chemical agent. Sarin, VX, that sort of stuff. My dad was in the last Cylon War, said it was pretty common," added Sims. His father had burns on his wrist from not sealing his chemsuit fast enough.
Tyrol, Callie, and Sims followed Crash to the site, looked it over for themselves.
"I count... six missiles being carried into the forest site so far."
Sims nodded. She was astute. A six missile conventional battery, it looked like. A handful of Cylons to go with it.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute. El-tee, check this out."
"What do you got, Chief?"
"Forty-five degrees east of the launcher. You see that tree stump?"
"What the hell is that?"
"It looks like a dradis dish. At least, the Cylon version of a dradis dish. It's probably salvaged from the nose cone of the ship. They're building an anti-aircraft battery."
"Anti-aircraft? For what? There are no other aircraft around here," Callie stated. Then, it dawned on her too. Tyrol spoke it aloud, voicing everyone's chilling realization.
"The Galactica's gonna send a search and rescue team. When they do, that's at least two raptors doing a low pass over the crash site. When those raptors come looking for us, risking their lives to rescue us..."
Crashdown finished the sentence.
"Cylons will shoot 'em down. "
Everyone kneeled or sat in the clearing, reporting on their own scouting ventures. Sims and Sullivan looked on quietly, trying to evaluate the situation. Crashdown started, everyone rallying around him.
"The launcher looks like a simple point-and-shoot. No built-in guidance. Ordnance appear to be standard ship-to-ship missiles. They're modifying them for atmospheric flight."
"One Cylon sentrywalks the perimeter, stopping at regular intervals," Callie interjected. Sims nodded politely at her. The nature of the missiles didn't matter at this point, only that they had to be put out of commission. Baltar was next,Crash pointing to each person in turn.
"The dradis dish that controls the missiles is on the 4.5 kg wavelength, judging by the diameter. It's guarded by two centurions, I think."
"I'm sorry, Doc, did you say it was guarded by two centurions?"
"Yes, I did," the battered bureaucrat responded as evenly as he could. Crash continued speaking down to him. Sims could hear the doctor gritting his teeth in agitation.
"Okay, is the dradis guarded continuously of intermittently?"
"I saw two centurions through the field glasses...continuously, for five minutes. In that time, they didn't leave their post."
"So there's three toasters near the launcher. Two more out by the dish. That's a lot of Cylons. You ever handle a weapon?"
"Who, me? No. I'm not a soldier, Crashdown," he said, as if such a suggestion was ridiculous.
"I'll try to give you the most simple assignment, but I'm gonna need every man."
"You're not suggesting we attack the Cylons?" the chief broke in incredulously.
"We owe it to Socinus and Tarn to tack the frakkers out before they kill anyone else. We have equal numbers. We have the element of surprise. Therefore, we have the initiative. We can attack at the time and place of our choosing."
"El-tee, a word... in private."
The lieutenant pulled Tyrol aside, talking in an aggressive tone. Sims looked at them briefly, but turned back to the conversation amongst the others. Baltar, it seemed, was rapidly slipping into insanity.
"He's crazy. I'm not trained for this kind of thing. I've never fired a gun in my life."
"I haven't fired one since basic," offered Seelix, shrugging helplessly. Sims looked to his lancejack, who was quietly laughing at the dark humor of their predicament.
"You?"
"I just joined to pay for dental school," Callie said, shrugging as well. Sims almost had to slap Sullivan to keep him from guffaws. Then, yells broke over the chatter. Everyone's gave turned to Tyrol and Crash. The chief was remaining calm, staring the clearly angry lieutenant down as he got in the older man's grill.
"That's enough! Chief, look, under the circumstances, it's important that you keep your cool."
The marines turned to face them, and they could see begrudging respect emerge. He knew he was on thin ice. Tyrol responded quietly, too quietly to be heard. Crash was talking louder now, grumbling. He turned away, notebook in hand, and ventured off a little ways from camp.
"This briefing will outlining a plan of attack in five graphs. Graph one: Situation. Our situation is that we are stranded on Kobol with a group of five Cylons who plan to use an AA to destroy any SAR craft sent to find us. There are no friendly forces present."
Looking at the crude map on the ground, Sims had to admit it was a decent plan. Better than he would have come up with, at any rate. He nodded, and turned to Sullivan. He too was nodding, obviously a little surprised at the quality of the assault graph. Baltar was confused.
"What's all this graph business?" he asked the chief in a melodramatically loud aside.
"It's a five-paragraph order. It's a basic command tool. It's taught at officer candidate school. It's just not usually used this... literally in the field."
Tyrol was obviously displeased at being forced on the attack with only two trained soldiers, four men and women with questionable ground combat skills, and one who couldn't even handle a firearm.
"...Graph four: Execution. We will assault the Cylon launch site from the northwest, using--"
"Oh, come on. This is absurd. What, we're talking on the Cylon army, are we? Us? Look at us. What, with two rifles and a canteen? Have you lost your mind--?" Baltar was yelling, incensed. Sims could see his point, but they didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. It was the only real tactical option. 'Run for your life' was no longer a viable strategy.
"That's enough, doctor."
"Is it? Look, no disrespect, but why are we always going uphill? Does anybody else think that this plan is frakking nuts? I'll tell you what's fair. This is fair. We'll have a show of hands--"
"No! Absolutely not! This is not a democracy! The El-Tee's in charge! The El-Tee's in charge. No ifs, no ands, no buts. He say we go, we go. There's no questions..."
Tyrol stepped up, confronting the panicking Baltar. Sullivan moved to support the chief, but Sims stopped him with an outstretched hand. They both watched the argument carefully, ready to intervene. Baltar was yelling now.
"We've already lost two men, Chief! How many more people are we gonna lose?"
Aw, frak. Well, now morale's ruined. Great, Sims thought to himself as the other blanched. What Baltar said was true- this was a very, very bad idea. But they had to do something. Tyrol's voice dropped to a low growl.
"You need to sit down. And shut up right now."
"Nobody tells me to shut up. I'm the Vice President--"
"You need to sit down and shut up right now," the chief shoved him, and Sims stepped to where the shaky man could see him cradling his submachine gun.
"Your briefing, El-Tee."
"Thank you, Chief. Graph four. We'll approach the Cylon launch site from the northwest, using natural ground cover to mask our approach. Our objective is the command and control console. once we reach this position, Cally and Seelix, you're gonna flank out to the left, making a feint on the Cylon position. Hopefully drawing their fire long enough for me and the Chief to flank out to the right and get a shot at the console. The Vice President will stay at position one with the marines,"-Sims gritted his teeth as Crash virtually spat the word- "and provide covering fire for both flanking maneuvers."
It was a decent plan. No one was really exposed, and the twin vectors of attack ensured at least a measure of success. Leaving the marines back to provide a decent fire support base also worked well, allowing the more experienced men to act as reserves in case anything went wrong. They all nodded, but Sims knew most of the fight was out of everyone.
"Okay, cock the rifle, click the safety, open the scope. Okay, cock the rifle, click the safety, open the scope."
Sims watched Callie go through the standard drill again and again in wonderment. Sure, the drill wasn't bad in and of itself. But the way she did it seemed so...innocent. It contrasted against her resolve and strength, something he had seen time and again.Sullivan was helping Seelix clean her sidearm, trying to explain how it worked and a few pointers. Baltar simply rocked back and forth, muttering to himself. Tyrol and the Chief were off, scouting again. Over the vice-president's mumblings, he heard the ancient mantra in Sullivan's thick Virgonian accent.
"Tap, rack, fire."
Sullivan demonstrated, slapping the pistol's magazine hard from beneath, then racking the slide and pulling the trigger. He continued the lesson, trying to pound it in to her.
"That doesn't work, eject, rackrackrack, reload, rack, fire."
He demonstrated again, hands moving with practiced ease but with exaggerated slowness. The magazine fell into his left hand, and he slid it back up between the grip and his thumb, pinning it in place parallel to the magazine well. Then, his left racked the slide three times, he reloaded, and pulled the trigger again. The magazine was empty, so there was nothing but a dull click again. He handed the gun back to her.
"Now, I want to see you do it until you get it right. might save your life. Whatever you do, don't drop the magazine into the dirt, or your ammo might end up worthless."
Sims watched the instruction carefully, walked over to Baltar. He shook the man's shoulder gently.
"Hey, sir. Do yourself a favor, let Sullivan teach you a few things, okay?"
Baltar nodded, eyes wide, and ambled over to the lancejack. Sims turned to Callie, taking away her rifle. He checked the sights and the action, like he had on his own weapon. The marines were cocked, locked, and ready to rock. Sims wasn't so sure about the others. The gun was serviceable, but Sims would have rather cleaned it. But, she needed to learn. Bright brown eyes looked up at him silently, trembling and wet.
"Here. Before you go in, chamber the round, and use the scope instead of the field glasses. That way, you have the frakking toaster in your sights beforehand. Hell, at these ranges, I'd tell you to take it off entirely and use the iron sights, but we don't have time to do that, or the kit."
She nodded as he demonstrated stance.
"You always want to be prone. Less profile, more cover, and a decent platform to absorb recoil from. Remember, keep your body bladed like you're in Weaver stance. Keep your thumb near the safety and your finger outside the trigger guard."
She smiled, and he watched her mimic his movements for a few seconds before the two leaders returned.
"Saddle up. It's time to junk some toasters."
The survivors of the crash huddled in a small culvert, where the marines intended to fire down on the Cylons from. Sims and Sullivan stared through low-power scopes, as Tyrol and Crash looked through field glasses. Cylons moved about, vision devices scanning menacingly.
"There they are. All three of 'em, right where they're supposed to be. All right, people, this is it. We're going in. Cally, Seelix, move up the tree line to point alpha."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. El-tee, there's five Cylons at the launch site."
"What?"
"Something's wrong, isn't it? Something's wrong with the plan--" Baltar started to panic again. Sims didn't take his eyes off the enemy. He couldn't.
"Quiet down, There's nothing wrong. There's just a couple Cylons that we didn't account for. That makes for seven Cylons. Five here, and two up at the dish. Are you absolutely certain about the two guards at the dish?" asked Crash for about the third time.
"I know what I saw," counted the doctor defensively. Sims heard Tyrol intervene, trying to explain. Rationalize.
"Maybe there are only five Cylons. They just changed their deployment. They brought the two that were guarding the dish down here. Now the dish is unprotected."
"Gods, Chief, that dish is, like, almost a click away."
"So what? It's unprotected. We can go take it out. We don't have to take on the whole Cylon army."
Sims knew he was right. Three Cylons versus seven humans? It had a fair chance of working. Five Centurions versus seven humans was a bloodbath waiting to happen. Familiar thunder filled the air. The Centurions looked skyward, one of them moving towards a control panel. Sims could hear Baltar screeching.
"What the hell was that?"
"Sonic booms," came Crashdown's reply, even. He knew they had to move, and soon.
"Spacecraft entering the upper atmosphere."
"It's the SAR mission. They're here. They are right up there, Chief. We gotta go. There's no time for discussion. All right, everyone, move out. It's game time. We're taking these toasters out before they kill any more of us."
There was heart shuddering pause. Some shuffling, but not enough. Sims gritted his teeth. This was going to be a slaughter, and his Callie was going to take the brunt of it. She and Seelix would go out, get pinned down by the weight of fire, and get torn to shreds.
"Cally, I said move."
"I can't."
Good girl, he urged her mentally, force him to rethink things.
"What? That's an order."
Tyrol cut in again. His voice was even off to Sims' left. The lieutenant was trying to drown him out, talking louder.
"She doesn't have to. We can just go take out the dish."
"Cally, you have to move. Cally, this is not a joke. Go. This is not a game, Cally. Go. We have people counting on us. They're up there, Cally. Move!"
"Listen to me. We still have time to double back and take out the dish."
Negotiating, now.
"Shut up for a second. Cally, Cally. Specialist. You have your orders. I need you to go out there and create a distraction now! Move! Move!"
It wasn't working. The panic spread to Seelix. Sims could hear it in her voice.
"There were only supposed to be three Cylons and now there are five. How are we supposed to take on five Cylons?"
"Frak orders, frak court marshal. Our people are up there. We have to save them. We don't have any time. Move!"
Crash was yelling now. Sims felt Sullivan tense, and he too watched carefully through the scope. It was a miracle in and of itself that the toasters hadn't heard them already. Callie sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
"I can't do it."
"I said move!"
"No!"
The sound a safety coming off.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey, hey. Put it down. Put it down," Tyrol repeated. Sims whipped around, drawing his own sidearm as Tyrol did.
"You're going out there, Cally. You're going out there or I'm gonna blow your brains out. Right here, right now."
Crash had his gun pointed at Callie's head, finger on the trigger. Callie was petrified, and stared imploringly at the marine. Sims felt the lancejack stir beside him, but unable to take his sight off the Cylons. She begged Sims with her eyes, tears coursing through the blood and dirt on her face. She knew she couldn't save herself. Sims drew the best bead he could on the man from his awkward position on his back.
"Put it down. Hey, El-Tee. Easy. Take it easy."
"I'm gonna count to three."
It was a cacophony, a quiet cacophony as voices overlapped. Seelix was chanting, Tyrol trying to negotiate, and Crash counting down. Sims didn't dare try to speak.
"This is crazy. This is crazy!" Seelix repeated to herself, rocking back and forth.
"One."
"Put it down right now."
"Oh, my gods."
"Two."
"Listen to me! Drop your weapon!"
"Three."
Sims heard two shots. His heart leapt into his mouth as milliseconds turned to hours. Recalling the event later, he saw a flash from Baltar's gun, the bullet striking the lieutenant in the side. And exit wound appeared just below the right armpit, bullet thumping into the ground beside the gunny. Then, Sims' gun jumped, the bullet reducing the back of Crashdown's head to bone shards and a red mist that showered across everyone. He slumped forwards, resting against a tree stump, eyes sightless.
Sims barely had time to take Callie into his arms, feel hers pull him close before the toasters opened up. Tyrol was screaming.
"Fall back! Fall back! Go! Go! Go!"
Sims whipped around, watching Sullivan return fire as he let go of the specialist. A cascade of brass fell onto Sims as he knelt, bringing up his subbie one handed. He heard the other scrambling back, Tyrol leading them in what the sergeant thought was the direction of the dish. It was hard to tell as bullets whipped around them. Sims drew a bead on the first machine was it advanced, putting two three-round bursts into its chest plate. Staring through the scope, he watched sparks fly. The Cylon didn't even pause. Sullivan took a knee, only to be cut down in a hail of fire. Sullivan's chest exploded, shredded as the bullets tore through the vest. Sims hoped he bought enough time for everyone else, taking to heels as he grabbed his best friend's dogtags and yanked. Sims muttered a feverish prayer as he ran, trying to catch up to the others.
He raced as fast as he could to catch up to everyone else. Every now and again, he ducked behind a tree a sent a burst back, to give them something to think about. Soon, he had caught up to Callie and Seelix, hearing their rifle rounds rip through the air, covering his retreat. He smiled at the short brunette, taking her position as he covered her in turn. He changed mags, fired a brief burst of automatic at the Cylons, who were perhaps fifty feet behind them. As he turned, he panted. Tyrol and Baltar were far ahead, dashing as leaves and wood shredded around them. Callie and Seelix were about twenty feet ahead of him, looking over their shoulder to make sure he was still there. Then, it happened.
The back of Seelix's leg exploded in a horizontal line. She called out for Callie, screaming in pain. Sims and the specialist got to get at about the same time. He looked over the wound- it was largely superficial, a ricochet. She was lucky.
"Grab her arm!" he called out over the gunfire. Rifle in one hand, she didn't even hesitate, filling Sims' heart with pride. They all but carried the young woman, her one good leg flailing wildly to try and gain some momentum. Foliage exploded around them, fountains of dirt erupting as they ran.
They had a clear view of what happened then. The Baltar fired his pistol wildly past them, the chief bringing up the grenade launcher. Suddenly, Tyrol spasmed, clutching his upper arm. The launcher fell.
"Doc! Gimme the launcher! Gimme the launcher!" he screamed, crawling towards a large tree stump. Baltar looked behind him, kept firing as he crabbed crawled towards the weapon, into enemy fire.
Good lords, is that man brave, Gunny thought to himself.
Rifle in one hand, Baltar tossed the launched to the chief with the other. The Cylons were ignoring Sims and Callie now, focusing their fire on the other two. Sims sweated and panted as he ran, watching with horror as the dish aligned itself. Tyrol aimed one handed, fired. The device exploded, and the chief and Baltar looked at each other in disbelief. The fire stopped for a brief moment, raptors screaming overhead. Sims and Callie dived into cover at last, mere feet from the others. They propped Seelix up, and Callie began to weep as she dressed the other woman's leg. The fire resumed an instant later, turning their joy to terror.
They were pinned. The weight of fire was incredible. Baltar continued firing until empty, dropping his rifle and scooping up Callie's as she discarded it. Everyone sheltered behind stumps and rocks, not daring to emerge. Sims looked across at the chief. His eyes spoke clearly, all fear gone.
This is the end, gunny. It's time to accept it and sell ourselves dearly.
Sims grit his teeth, kissed the top of Callie's head. Tyrol was screaming, reaching for his sidearm.
"Stay there! Stay there!" the sound of his voice had a ragged but clear quality.
The three stood almost simultaneously- Tyrol, Baltar, and Sims- weapons leveled. They opened up, a primal roar emerging from their mouthes as they went cyclic. Sims emptied his subbie on full auto, watching the sparks dance across the enemy. Something stung across his forehead as he went for his pistol, pulling the trigger as fast as he could, lost, seeing death and embracing it...
And then the Cylons exploded. He looked to Baltar, then to the chief...who was looking at his nine millimeter as if it had caused the series of explosions. Looking up to thank the heavens, Sims settled for thanking the raptor pilots instead.
The medics looked them over, throwing Seelix onto a stretcher. Sims was bleeding. Other marines milled about, keeping watch. Lee was talking to Baltar and the Chief. Sims wiped his forehead, coming back with a palm full of dirt and blood. A familiar voice called out behind him.
"Hey Gunny, you look like hell."
He turned and smiled.
"Thanks, Hernandez," he growled with a smile, reaching up and clasping arms with his squad's scout. They slapped each other on the back, and Sims' voice got thick.
"Here."
He handed the man Sullivan's tags carefully, and Hernandez nodded. He slapped the gunnery sergeant on the should, and moved past him. Sims spied Callie leaning against a raptor, squatting with her head in her hands. He approached slowly, and put his arm around her shoulders. She sniffled, crying, and put her arms around him. One lay across his chest,t eh other behind him.
"It's over. C'mon, let's go. I need a shower."
She sniffled, rubbing at her nose with freshly bandaged hands. They stood, and she looked around. Making sure no one was in sight, she stood on her toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. Arms supporting one another, they sat down in the cramped transports, taking off for the Battlestar.
A/N: Read 'The Job!'! Review, and as soon as I can find an excuse, we will see yet another adventure from everyone's unfortunate marine. Best wishes and many thanks,
The Abbot of Beregost